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honkytonk-hangman · 1 year ago

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Good In Bed

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Summary: Jake has made it crystal clear to you that you're only friends with benefits, so why did he go and delete your dating apps?

Warnings: brief mentions of smut but not smutty, jake kinda being an asshole, reader getting upset and yelling at him, fluff ending all the way baybay

Notes: u have no clue how much i love u @roleycoleyland for literally being the reason this got finished <;3 <;3 <3 title from Good In Bed by Dua Lipa <3

Masterlist

Jake pumps his hips hard into yours one final time, before he at last collapses beside you, chest sweaty and heaving, his eyes closed and his face raised to the ceiling. Your position had shifted from the pure force of your fucking, and somehow your head had fallen off the side of his bed, leaving you hanging slightly as you too try to catch your breath.

“Damn, I’ve missed this,” he says a short time later, shifting himself fully out from between your legs, and tucking his hands behind his head, the afterglow of a good lay lingering on him beautifully. Once upon a time his words might’ve sparked pride or even joy, but now they’re just one more cut that stings painfully before being swallowed up. You note sourly he doesn’t say he’s missed you, despite the fact he’s been gone ten weeks now, and against your better judgement you missed him.

You lay there on his bed in the late evening and regret every moment that led you to this point. You shouldn't have picked up when he called tonight, you shouldn't have come over for drinks, and you definitely shouldn't have had sex with him again.

It’s not that Jake isn't a nice guy, well, he isn’t always, but for the most part he was a mile more decent than most of the guys you’d actually dated in the past. From the start he was straightforward and blunt with you about what this thing between you would be, how much he was offering you, and to his credit, he rarely seemed to step outside of that. And like an idiot, you’d gone and gotten feelings for him anyway.

You should have stopped seeing him long before his most recent deployment, and you shouldn't have been there the night before he left for him to hit you with another straightforward and blunt assertion that you were only fuck buddies, nothing more.

The thing is, you and Jake got on well, so well in fact most people assumed that you were an item, and at this point maybe you were blinded by your feelings, but you couldn’t exactly see why you shouldn't be, aside form the fact that Jake didn’t seem to be interested in any sort of commitment, despite what that offered was basically what you had now, only he didn’t have to go out of his way to break your heart once a week.

After the last time, before he’d left for ten weeks, you’d sworn off him for good. You put his name in your phone as ‘DO NOT CALL’, you downloaded a few dating apps, you’d even been on a few dates… and then Jake had sauntered back into your life, invited you over for the night and just like none of your progress existed in the first place, you’d come at his beck and call.

You lay there feeling pathetic as it sinks in what you’ve done, but swallow back your emotions for now. You were an adult, you chose to do this with him tonight, you knew what it would do. Warm fingers make you jump as they wrap around your wrist, and you glance up to watch as Jake effortlessly tugs you back onto the bed, closer to him, never letting his hand leave your skin as he releases you to skim his fingers up and over your shoulder, drawing you even closer until you’re almost cuddling. You nearly pull away.

Jake wasn’t a post-sex cuddler, not really anyway. Aftercare? No problem, but this wasn’t exactly the sort of session that required aftercare, so you’re more than a little surprised by his continued affections, staying still as he curls himself onto his side to face you, hand dropping to grab at your thigh, which he hikes over his, as if this was something you normally did.

“You may need to give me a few before we go again,” you tell him, realising this position was probably just him gearing up for round two. Jake peeks an eye open at you, and lifts an eyebrow as though what you’ve said is very funny.

“I don’t think I’ve got more to give tonight,” he says, adjusting your leg around him again, pulling you in even more. You refrain from frowning, if only to avoid explaining to him why. Jake closes his eyes again and lets out a contented sigh. His hand stays curled around your leg, though he begins rhythmically smoothing his thumb back and forth over your skin after a few moments, and you begin to wonder at what point he’s going to withdraw from you like he usually does.

Luckily you’re saved from the dreaded wait, your phone buzzing loud and distractingly. You use it as the perfect excuse to extract yourself from him, instead moving to a sitting up cross-legged position as you reach for your phone, and draw the screen closer to your chest when you see who it’s from. Jake seems only a little disgruntled by your movement, though gets over it quickly, replacing his hand almost exactly where it once was around your thigh.

“What's going on?” he asks casually, eyes closed again as you tap out a reply. You spare him half a glance, but don’t feel much point in lying to him about things, seeing as he’d never done so with you.

“Just this guy I met on Tinder a while back.” you tell him lightly, completely missing how his eyes pop open immediately and he stares up at you with an unreadable expression.

“You’re on Tinder?” he asks, voice blank, finally making you look down at him properly. You blink and shrug, before going back to your phone.

“Sure, I mean, I don’t know how else to meet people these days, I kinda don’t get out much when Dagger’s not around,” you inform him, shifting in your place slightly as he withdraws his hand from your thigh to lay over his sternum instead.

Feeling the mood shift, but unsure as to why, you force out a laugh and shrug.

“It’s been sorta nice, trying to get back out there again properly, not just, you know, settling or whatever.” that makes Jake react clearly, frowning at you while pushing himself into an upright position. “Settling?!” he repeats, though it’s not really a question. You stare at him in confusion.

“I don’t know, I guess I’m getting past the point in my life where I wanna be doing this,” you getsure between the two of you. “All the time.”

Jake blinks at you in clear offence, before quickly his entire demeanour seems to change all at once, and his expression falls into a somewhat familiar cocky grin.

“Alright, I get it,” he says, only further confusing you and you’re caught off guard enough that when he reaches out and plucks your phone from your hands, you don’t have time to react.

“Hey! Jake!” you protest, suddenly a little panicked as he very easily plays keep-away from you, using one of his hands to do something on your screen, while the other easily bats away you various attempts to swipe your phone back.

“You don’t need any of this shit, alright?” Jake tells you almost condescendingly.

“Jake!” you warn, your voice growing less calm by the moment.

“There, gone. Deleted.” he says proudly, before at last turning your phone screen around to face you, and letting you take it back off him, which you do hurriedly, snatching it away and standing up from the bed.

“What the fuck?!” you demand, looking agape between your now tinder-less phone, and Jake. The blond looks more relaxed now, and all of a sudden any thought of keeping your brooding and your feelings to yourself goes out the window. Your eyes prickle.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you do that?!” you shout. Jake has the smarts to at least drop his smug grin, but now he stares up at you in even more annoying surprise.

“I was just–” he starts, but you don’t even care what he has to say anymore.

“You don’t get to leave for ten weeks after, especially after reminding me that you don’t want me, and then just show up again and ruin my chances at finding someone who actually does!” your raised voice wobbles, and you don’t bother trying to hide your sniffling as you continue to lay into him. “That’s not fair! You’re being unfair!” you cry. “How many girls did you take home while you were away, huh?”

Jake blinks at you, a shade of indignance colouring his features now.

“None.” he tells you, but you can only scoff.

“Right. And how many did you flirt with? How many did you buy drinks for?” he stays silent at those questions, either not wanting to answer or no longer seeing the point in the face of your tirade. You stare at him until your eyesight blurs completely before at last you reel back from him.

Gasping a little at the state you’ve worked yourself into, you turn half away from him and wipe desperately at your eyes.

“Baby–” Jake starts, his fingers brushing your wrist, but you jerk away this time, pulling your hand and your phone to your chest.

“I need to go. I shouldn’t have come,” you tell him, collecting your clothes quickly before escaping into his bathroom.

You can't help but feel a little pathetic as you cry harder once you’re in the relative privacy of his ensuite, a strange but familiar disappointment lancing through you when he doesn't come after you. However upon swinging the door back open once you’re dressed, you find Jake standing in front of his bed, sweatpants now fastened around his hips, and a determined expression on his features.

“I’m not letting you leave like this,” he tells you firmly, as if he has any say in what you do. You scoff at him, but don’t cover up your still dripping eyes. If anything, his resolve seems to strengthen.

“Look, be pissed at me, I deserve it, but I’m not letting you drive home when you’ve been drinking,” his voice leaves little room for argument, and even though in the back of your mind you know he’s actually being the decent version of himself right now, you can’t help but snarl at him in disgust.

“Fine! Then I’ll call an uber. I’m not staying here.'' You're aware you sound a little childish, and you feel a small pang of regret when Jake’s face flashes with hurt that is quickly covered up by sternness. Going against all the signs you’re putting out to him right now, Jake moves forward and stops your movements to find your shoes by laying both hands on your shoulders. When you look up at him, eyes still blinking away tears, he seems sincere and pleading.

“Just… just stay here, I’ll sleep in the lounge, alright? Just don’t go home like this.”

You want to snap at him that he has no right to ask that of you, but somehow you think he already knows that, and is still asking anyway. You realise dully, that just like you always wanted, Jake was chasing you now, though, you aren’t sure you really want it anymore.

“I wasn’t trying to upset you–” he cuts himself off, just as you shrug out of his hold.

“Please do not talk to me right now.” is all you can manage by way of agreeing to his terms.

You can barely bring yourself to look at him as he goes about collecting up his pillow and a spare blanket, and a part of you feels cruel, but the bigger part of you is proud that you’ve finally put your foot down. Maybe at some other time you’d let him talk, but right now all you can think about or hear is every moment prior to this night when he’s hurt you.

You’d hoped you’d at least be able to fall asleep somewhat fast, but the longer you lay there, the longer you go over and over every little detail of your night until you find yourself downstairs, wrapped up in the throw blanket from Jake’s bed, and standing a few feet away from him on the couch. He sits up immediately when he noticed you, chucking his phone down and focusing intently on you. You note he doesn’t open his mouth, or attempt to speak yet, and you almost regret telling him not to earlier.

You stare at one another hard, until you have to suppress a small hiccup, at which point you frustratedly wipe your face with the back of your hand and cross your arms in front of you.

“Why did you do that?” You ask, amazed your voice sounds as firm as it does. Jake stares up at you with a mixture of uncertainty and something you want to say is remorse but you can’t bring yourself to believe right now that he would be.

“I’m not good at this stu—”

“—No, tell me why you did it.” You cut him off, not willing to listen to his self-pity right now. Jake closes his mouth and blinks up at you, staring intently for a few moments before he shifts in his seat. “Did you miss me?” You prompt after he continues to stare, eyes somewhat pleading. You understand relationships and vulnerability are hard for him, you’re willing to give him this olive branch for now. To his credit, Jake immediately nods, his hands coming together across his spread thighs to wring anxiously.

“Yes. I’m sorry—”

“—If you ever try any of that shit again, I’m kicking your ass,” you tell him. Jake blinks, then straightens up, and nods again. Your lip wobbles and this time when he reaches a hand out for you, he doesn’t grab you, but waits for you to shuffle forward toward him before pulling you in.

He tugs you forward to come stand between his legs, and bows his forehead to rest against your abdomen, his hands anchored at your hips.

“I don’t want you to think I don’t want you,” Jake mumbles, loud enough for you to hear, and you know this is a big admission for him.

“I know it probably doesn’t feel like it, but you can just, you know, tell me that…” you reply, letting your hands fall into his hair where you begin to smooth down some of the mess you made of it earlier. “I want you,” you say, realising while he may subconsciously know that, you’ve also never told him before. “I would never have let you mess me around if I didn’t,” you add with a short laugh, and flick his ear gently. Jake huffs, and lifts his head so he’s looking up at you now, chin resting on your belly.

“I don’t want you to date anyone else. I should have told you that back when I realised it…” he says softly, looking for the first time since you’ve known him like holding your eye contact is uncomfortable for him. “Is that okay?” He asks even quieter.

“Only if you don’t half ass it,” you peer down at him with playful scepticism.

Jake’s fingers at your hips tighten and his eyes narrow.

“I don’t half-ass anything,” he tells you sourly, before making a face. “Tonight notwithstanding.” he adds after a moment. You can’t help it then, you chortle, and hold the sides of his face. Jake smiles, seemingly proud of himself for making you laugh, and he adjusts his hold on you, moving his hands down to tug you into him, so your knees buckle and you’re forced to catch yourself on his shoulders just as he manoeuvres you to sit on his thigh.

“I’m sorry,” he says, far more seriously, leaning his forehead against yours now that you’re face to face. You cup his cheeks again, and dip forward to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

“You will be out on the curb so fast if you fuck me around again,” you tell him cheerfully, making him laugh this time.

“Noted,” he says, before he steals another kiss, longer this time.

When he pulls back at last, you feel yourself relax fully against him, and move to rest your head in the crook of his neck.

“Can we go to bed now?” he asks after a few seconds. You nod, stifling a suspiciously timed yawn, and yelp a little when he scoops your legs under his arm and stands, grinning smugly all the way back upstairs.

#jake seresin x reader #jake 'hangman' seresin #jake 'hangman' seresin x reader #jake seresin #hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake 'hangman' seresin fanfic #jake hangman seresin #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick

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ohdeerfully · 10 months ago

Note

Requests? I got you 😌

Reader who made a deal with Alastor, be his informant, and he'll provide aid when needed. And reader was damn good at holding up their end of the deal, while Alastor hasn't really needed to uphold his since aid hasn't been asked for.

So what might happen when his dear little informant hasn't came back from gathering info on the Vee's?

EATING IT UP idk i love this kind of stuff thank you so much. im making this a two-parter! it was getting kinda long and i wanted to get something posted (:

Your Half of the Deal (i)

Alastor x Reader part i part ii part iiiTW: kidnapping, cursing, alastor is manipulative (per usual), alastor is in denial if you want to be tagged in the next part, let me know! join my discord! ═══ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ═══

Deals with Alastor were, for a lack of better words, a big deal. Not something to mess around with. His twisted nature allowed him to create so many loopholes for himself, forcing one to do more than what they bargained him for. It was unfair, but that’s what happens when you make a deal with the Radio Demon.

You weren’t as lucky as the other demons at the hotel, not receiving the typical advice Vaggie debriefed any newcomer. Alastor got to you first. He got you soon after you fell into Hell, before you even knew exactly what was going on or the whole ‘soul�� thing.

“My,” A light voice cooed from the shadows, causing you to jerk your head up. Your ass still stung from the tumble you took after falling down into god knows where. You were curled up in a dark, moldy corner, a brief respite from all the freaks that you kept running into. Your fingers–no, claws?--still aches after defending yourself from a pair of spiked thugs.

“What a poor sight. How dreadful!” He continued. You could barely make out the form of the speaker. You just knew he was tall. With blazing red eyes. His voice had a radio-like filter over it, with a general low frequency humming around himself during the silence.

He had seen you, a new fallen demon, fight yourself away from those two earlier, a wild look in your eye. How it pleased him, seeing that look somebody gets when they are desperate for their life. But you, in particular, piqued his interest. To be able to acclimate to a new body, in a new place, and fight for your life at the drop of your hat.

You seemed capable, and he liked that. He knew you were naive, fresh meat always was. And he liked that.

You had yet to speak, only looking up at him from your fetal position. But he could tell you were tense and ready to spring, if need be. He played a grin on his face and leaned down closer to you.

“Oh, how rude of me! I’m Alastor,” He held his hand out to you from his bent over position. You shook his hand cautiously. “I saw that scuffle earlier, and dear if I may say, you fight like a wild tigress.”

You quirked your brow at this comment. “Thanks,” You replied plainly. “(Y/N).” You didn’t want to talk right now. But, you were at least glad to see a face that didn’t immediately go through your throat.

Alastor, of course, didn’t go after those of the ‘fairer means,’ as he would put it. At least, not in a violent way. He was all for the typical manipulation.

“Even still, a fair lady such as yourself needs someone to protect her! And,” He stood up straight again, a dangerous glint in your eye. “For a price, I could be at your beck and call.”

“A price..?” You responded weakly. You had to admit, seeing this tall, confident man in front of you did seem to put you at ease. He seemed kind. And it wouldn’t hurt to have some help, if there were more creatures wanting to attack you.

“Your soul!” He said, all too cheerfully. Your mouth dried up at this. With everything that has happened to you so far, you had a hunch that the term ‘soul’ actually carried meaning in this place. But, how much..? Was it worth the protection he promised?

“More like a mutual contract, really! Mutual benefactors!” Alastor lied, seeing that hesitance in your expression. “I get your soul, you do what I ask, and I protect you! Simple enough.”

The expression he held, with that tall grin of his, didn’t do much to calm your nerves. As chipper as he seemed, there was something to it. Something more, but you couldn’t quite tell.

“Deal?”

His glowing eyes seemed to darken as he squinted them in anticipation, his smile somehow growing wider. The static in the air seemed to crackle with more energy, almost violently, as you considered his hand that he had held out. There was an ominous aura that made your skin crawl.

Ah, what the hell. Flashes of those thugs from earlier was enough to put you on your feet. You could only imagine the other shit that lived in this place, and had a feeling they were the bottom of the barrel. You had only just managed to get away from them.

You made eye contact for a couple of seconds, the prickling sensation on your skin becoming harsher and more aggravating the closer you stepped to him. You grabbed his hand.

You were thinking about your unlucky situation–which you often did in your free time–as you gave yourself a onceover in the mirror, black eyes examining your tight outfit. A little spy getup–a little stereotypical, something you would definitely see in the movies. But, hey, it never failed you.

Thinking back, you could tell now that his words and smile were filled with deceit and manipulation. You often got pissed at yourself for how naive you were. You hadn’t even called on him once since then, and you’ve been stuck as his little pet for nearly four months now. He runs you around like a doll in a big playhouse, sending you this way and that to get intellect from his various enemies.

“I’m much too popular to be roaming in those areas!” He had claimed when you questioned why he, the Radio Demon, couldn’t just do it himself. “Demons flee at the sight of me. The Vee’s would see me from a mile away.” You had a suspicion that he just didn’t want to be seen in public making such a petty fuss over his television rival.

There was no point in dwelling on it, but you couldn’t help the occasional feeling of regret that twinged your chest when you thought too long. You were stuck as his, whether you liked it or not.

Slicking back your hair, you finalized your sleek outfit. Another day of being thrown into precarious situations by that red asshole. It was becoming a weekly thing, with Alastor requesting more and more information, especially from those Vee’s he hated so much. In fact, now that you thought about it, they were the only demons you snuck by. How obsessed they were with each other.

It was no easy task, getting through the security of that place. In fact, it was nearly impossible, seemingly getting harder every time. You had a cautious feeling that they knew what you were up to, and kept falling short of catching or stopping you. There were cameras pointed in every direction, every angle, in the highest quality imaginable. Every trip left your heart racing with adrenaline.

“On your way now, are you?” Alastor asked coyly. He waited for you at the entrance to the hotel, a glint in his eyes. Oh, how he loved playing with you like this. Watching you bend and break for him. He loved it. And you hated him for it.

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll get killed this time,” You said snidely, referencing the increasing danger of each trip. “Wouldn’t that be a treat for me.” You said this in a whisper, but Alastor still heard.

He bent at the waist to be eye level with you, that sinister grin of his lowering slightly. It seemed he had wanted to say something, his teeth parting for a moment before closing again. His grin perked back up and he straightened himself into a stand. He simply reached out and patted your head.

“Now, don’t go out with that kind of mindset! Why, you know our deal!” His lips curled in reference to the rather one-sided promise you made each other. To be honest, considering you never had to call for Alastor’s aid, you weren’t even comforted by the notion. Who’s to say he even shows up? How will he even know if you need help?

Alastor stepped towards you, his hands flapping as he shooed you out of the door. “The night is only so long! Go along!”

So, now you’re here. Tucked behind a corner near the Vee’s residence. There were cameras everywhere, obviously, and you swore you saw more than last time. What point does Alastor even have, making you come here so often? What more could he want? You knew him and Vox were rivals, but it wasn’t like Alastor didn’t know how to take care of the TV-head.

You had a sick feeling that Alastor just enjoyed making you do bullshit for him like this, and didn’t care much for the actual information. The thought drew a sneer on your face. If you weren’t literally soul bound to this guy, you would probably just let yourself get caught and likely killed on the spot. But, of course, your deal made that dream impossible.

With a couple hops on your toes, you began your brisk walk towards the back of the manor. You were hyper aware of all the cameras, and hoped that your dark outfit helped blend with the shadows.

However, the second you lifted a window and stepped foot into the building, lights flashed and an alarm rang. Fuck.

The television demon himself got to you surprisingly fast. As if he had been waiting. Which, honestly, wouldn’t have surprised you. You briefly wondered why it took them so long to have an alarm system in the first place, and began frantically looking for a way out. The window behind you had shut and locked. The hallway was incredibly narrow and Vox stood in the way.

Fuck it, you made a mad dash for the Overlord, hoping to catch him off guard. You raised a clawed hand and swiped at his television head. A pointless attack, you realize, as the screen nearly flickered for a moment; his wide, pixelated grin staring into you. Before you could move again, his arm tightly gripped at your throat. You felt an electrifying sensation, stinging through every nerve, and blacked out.

“Heyy, Al?” Charlie’s voice rang through the doorway of Alastor’s radio tower. “Have you seen (Y/N)..? She was supposed to help with some decorations.” She had opened the door without warning.

He paced back and forth in thought, gripping the top of his cane with one hand and tapping the end of it in his other. He didn’t respond to Charlie, but the question did ring in his head over and over. You hadn’t come back from the night before. You always came back before the day broke.

He didn’t know the feeling that stirred in his chest as he watched the minutes pass by. The hours pass by. All without a sight of you. He never thought to keep watch as you worked, refraining from sending his shadow to spy on the spy, as he always saw you as capable enough.

Besides, he thought to himself. What a waste of my time that would be. Fretting over a single demon.

“Alastor,” Charlie said again. He craned his neck to her, stopping his train of thought. His grin had a strain to it and his nose wrinkled in aggravation. Why was she in his space? He hated intrusions.

“What?” He said bluntly.

“(Y/N)?” She spoke your name again, hoping to prompt some conversation out of the Radio demon with the implied question.

Alastor composed himself, acting unphased by the… worry? That he felt. “Why would I know where she is? I take care of this hotel, but not so much the residents.” It was a true enough statement, as he preferred just watching the demons Charlie try desperately to rehabilitate and fail miserably every day.

“Now, if you don’t mind,” He interrupted Charlie before she could say anything, her mouth hanging open and words dying on her tongue. He briskly turned on his feet and walked towards her, standing at the doorway. “I would prefer you knock next time.” He shut the door on her.

He couldn’t handle the heavy feeling that threatened his lungs as he thought about what was happening at the Vee’s residence.

Did he really care to go out, risk a scene, risk the intel, just to get you? To make sure you were okay?

Yeah. He had to. He hated that feeling in his chest, especially as it just grew heavier and more overwhelming. He just chalked it up to the deal he had made with you putting a pressure on his own soul to hurry up and deal with it. But he couldn’t help the tightness that consumed him when he thought about what you were doing in that place. Or what they were doing to you. He brushed the emotion aside, trying his best to ignore it.

He argued with himself that yeah, he was only going because of that deal he had made. No, no way did he have a soft spot for you. No way in Hell. He was just doing this to hold up his deal. Yeah.

With a heavy sigh and a twitch at the corners of his lips, he brushed his talon-like fingers through the fringe of his hair, pushing it back before letting it fall into place again. He tried to maintain a leisurely composure, but a wild glint in his eye was proof enough that he was stressed out.

Best to get this over with. He had a deal to uphold. He opted for the faster route, melting into his shadow.

part ii part iii

#alastor #alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #tw: kidnapping #kidnapping #alastor doesnt realize he Feels stuff

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confettiibunny · 1 month ago

Text

ᴀ ʜᴜsʙᴀɴᴅ’s ғᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ᴘᴀsᴛɪᴍᴇ ༉‧₊˚.

MDNI | Writing smut is hard but I’m harder 🤯‼️🥶

You sucked in a harsh breath and oh, how Nanami loved the way your body quivered when he curled two of his fingers just right into your drooling cunt. All your sweet slick ebbed down his hands as he continued his ministrations, the rumble of a deep chuckle resounding in his chest at the sight of your dumbed-out expression. As your husband, this just had to be his favorite pastime.

“So pretty…” he cooed as he gave a particularly harsh thrust of his fingers into your most sensitive spots, staring in awe at how greedily your pussy squelched and pulsed around him, knuckles-deep in you as he ground his palm against your clit.

With your body sprawled on your bed and hips propped up with down-filled pillows, it was a gift for Nanami to lay eyes on all your soft squish and curves, your pajamas shucked off your body once he had laid eyes on you in it. You looked so divine with your head kicked back and eyes screwed shut, your naked body bathed in the gentle glow of evening sunlight. A symphony of weak mewls and whines made their way to his ears and straight to his cock straining in his slacks but no, your pleasure was his pleasure and there was no way he was going to stop now. Shudders racked his body as you grazed his hair with freshly manicured nails, tugging at his head to beck his mouth closer to the apex of your thighs. What a shameless and spoiled little wife he’s created. He loved it.

Another low moan escaped your lips as his tongue darted out to give your puffy clit a teasing lick, gauging your reaction with half-lidded eyes. Albeit your whines and pouty huffs, your movements were lazy; sluggishly tossing your legs over his shoulders with a yawn. Look at you, lounging like a kitten as he was on his stomach and pleasuring you like it was his sole purpose in life. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

All at once he latched his lips to your clit and sucked, running his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves and pumping you full of his thick fingers. He couldn’t even help how he groaned into your cunt, subconsciously starting to hump the mattress under his groin. It was all too much for the both of you, your body strung as tight as a bow as you lurched off the bed and frantically tugged at his hair. Your heels dug into Nanami’s back and your thighs clamped down on the sides of his head, effectively smothering him as you mindlessly babbled out sweet nothings. So cute.

“Gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum!“ Your entire face scrunched up and that’s when he knew that, yes, you were going to cum. You were too much for him to handle, too gorgeous to not make you sob from ecstasy. With renewed fervor he continued to lap at your cunt, scissoring you like his life depended on it. And that’s when he felt it; the familiar pulsation of your walls fluttering around his fingers and gush sweet ambrosial cum, your face contorting as you let out a lone cry. Nanami could barely breathe with the way your thighs encased his head and you were pulling at his hair a little too hard for his liking but the smell and taste of your essence had him pussydrunk.

Just as quickly as your body became taut it went slack against the mattress and thus, finally allowing Nanami to actually breathe and eventually plaster his body onto yours. You groaned under his weight and felt the last sparks of pleasure course through your system, gingerly slipping a hand down your thigh and spreading your sticky folds together. “Ugh…tired.” There wasn’t much you had to say except another yawn, watching with keen eyes as he licked his fingers clean of the creamy mess you left on his fingers.

“Look at you. Spoiled rotten. Don’t make me remind you of your manners.” Despite Nanami’s stern voice, there was still the air of breathless desire laced in his tone that made you giggle. He was just a man at the end of the day, needy for the warm body of his wife as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. And it was so painfully clear just how needy he was with the way his sweat-stained dress shirt clung to his torso and how painfully strained his slacks looked. Spoiled you may but never cruel, skillful hands going to undo the buckles of his pants. One, two, three kisses you laid on his head as you tugged his belt off, tossing it somewhere km your room. A trouble for a later date.

“Mhmm, love you lots. Now get started or I’ll fall asleep right here, right now.”

#nanami kento #jjk nanami #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami kento smut #jjk nanami smut #jjk smut #im so rusty #writing smut is hard #:(((#milly writes ૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა #divider by dollywons #divider by gatchinko

274 notes · View notes

naturesapphic · 6 months ago

Note

Could you do more Jade west x reader? 💕 maybe a more girly reader like the total opposite not like full blown cat Valentine but girly 🥰

Headcannon: Jade who has a girlfriend who’s opposite of her

Jade west x girly!fem!reader

Warnings: cussing, fluff

- everyone is surprised that jade’s new girlfriend is so opposite of Jade

- they think it was some kind of prank or something

- you always wear bright colorful colors where jade sticks with the darker colors

- you also wear more colorful makeup too where jade keeps hers dark just like her style

- jades thing is scary stuff where yours is not so scary

- you do love horror and that made Jade fall even harder for you

- the both of you dye each others hair

- surprisedly, you have great music taste that involves rock and alternative stuff. Whenever someone walks by you they can hear the heavy metal through your headphones while you look like the sweetest girl on earth and wouldn’t hurt a fly

- you always keep Jade calm

- Jade loves whenever you can ground her. No one really got her to do that besides Beck but it’s different with you

- since you are so outgoing and sweet, you have many friends and that makes Jade jealous

- not because you have more friends than her but because they might make a move on you

- she does NOT share

- she actually got into a fight with a girl who tried to touch you and flirt with you. Let’s just say that Jade won and the girl got put in the hospital

- you two rarely share clothes unless you are asking Jade for her clothes

- Jade will NOT wear any type of bright colors but if you asked her nicely she most likely would because she’s a simp for you and wouldn’t do it for anyone else

- you are a pillow princess and a passenger princess

- she treats you like a princess all the time

- when she drives, she must have her hand on you at all times, your hand, your knee, your arm, your thigh, etc.

- you make sure to treat jade like a princess too because she deserves to be spoiled

- you love art so you always paint and draw her things and she keeps all of it

- she even lets you do her makeup sometimes

- she will even let you experience your bright colors on her but only when y’all are at home

- all in all y’all are complete opposites but she adores you anyway

A/n: I hope anon that you like this and I hope the rest of y’all like it too!! Remember to stay hydrated and rest! I love y’all! :)

#jade west x fem!reader #jade west fluff #jade west masterlist #jade west fanfiction #jade west #jade west x reader #victorious x fem!reader #victorious x reader #victorious #nickelodeon #nickolodeon #Nickelodeon x reader #elizabeth gillies x fem!reader #elizabeth gillies x reader #elizabeth gilles #elizabeth gillies

281 notes · View notes

punksdoll · 11 months ago

Note

hey, im the damian anon💓

Can you write Damian x reader with enemies to lovers where they are forced to team together for the mixed tag team tournament and they win it all and when they get backstage he takes her to his locker room and kisses her

~~~𝒀𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒛𝒆~~~

gif not mine like, comments, & reblogs appreciated

𝑫𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒂𝒏 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ^owner of gif

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔𝒏’𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒘𝒊𝒏, 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒛𝒆 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒚.

𝒂/𝒏: 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒐𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒊 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒃𝒉…𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒕’𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆😁. 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚𝒆𝒅𝒅<𝟑𝟑𝟑

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔😏, 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆, 𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒓, 𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒄𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔, 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒘𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓 ✨𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆✨ 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝒎𝒊𝒙𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒂𝒈 𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕, 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒂𝒍, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒊��𝒂𝒍 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉 𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒌𝒊𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒄 𝒊 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆😞, 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒊𝒎, 𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇

translations: Hola cariño: hello love/sweetheart/honey/etc etc. pero coño, mira ver: but dam, watch yourself. Claro que sí: of course. Chupa me: suck me (my dick without actually saying my dick.). Salte: get out/move. culo: ass. Mira pinche cabron: look fucking (any swear word tbh but I use it for asshole.) Siéntate: sit down. Lunes: Monday. No hice nada: I didn’t do anything. Exactamente: exactly. Tenemos una problema: we have a problem. Noches: Night. ¿estas bien?: are you good/ok? Que linda: how pretty/so pretty. hacemos la finisher tuyo: let’s do your finisher. Nos ganamos: we won. Mira Mamaguevo: oh my god cocksucker or ay cocksucker. Cálmate cálmate. No voy ningún lado: Calm down, calm down. I’m not going nowhere.

not proofread

“You will be competing in the mixed tag team tournament.” Adam tells y/n as soon as she sits down on one of the chairs in front of his desk.

Y/n looks at him with a raised eyebrow, “since when was that a thing?”

“Since today, since now. I want you to be in it.” Adam says.

“Am I going to be able to pick my partner?” Y/n tilts her head to the side.

“You’ll be finding out who it is right now.” Adam smirks, “go get ready, you have a match right now with them.”

•••

Y/n walks down the ramp with a smirk as she makes eye contact Bianca Belair and Motez who are watching her. She had no clue who her partner was which made this whole thing all the more excited. Their match was the first match of this tournament and the first reveal of her match. She had options of course of who she wanted it to be.

Braun Strowman, he’s a big strong guy.

Cody Rhodes, he’s hot.

Drew Mcintyre, so hot and mean.

Seth Rollins would seem nice but he’s most likely with Beck

Y/n gets in the ring and gives Bianca and Montez a nod as mutual respect as the show goes on commercial break.

“You know who you have?” Bianca asks as they switch corners.

“Not a single clue…” Y/n shakes her head, “I’m hoping for Braun maybe, Cody, and Drew. Maybe even Seth but he’s probs with Beck.” Y/n shrugs.

“Who don’t you want?” Montez asks as he sits on top of the top rope.

“Damian.” Y/n spat.

Bianca and Montez both chuckle as they move over to their corner once the show is back. Everyone stares at the ramp as they wait for y/n partner.

The lights go purple and suddenly “The Other Side,” starts playing. Y/n narrows her eyes as she watches who will come out. She knew it had to be either Finn or Dominik because she had made it very clear to Adam that she did not want Damian.

“before I go and get ready,” y/n clears her throat as she stands up, “Do not make Damian my partner.”

Adam stares at her and smirks, “and if i do?”

“Your views won’t stay up for long.”

Y/n watches and her face drops as Damian appears and immediately she looks at the referee and shakes her head. “I am NOT doing the match with that thing.”

Referee raises his hands up, “you’ll be disqualified from the tournament.”

Y/n’s jaw drops as she looks at the ref then back at Damian who has a smirk plastered on his face as he stares at her. “asshole…”

Damian gets inside the ring and holds up his Señor Money in the bank before turning towards y/n with a smirk. “Hola cariño.” He smirks and immediately y/n runs at him.

“Y/n is attacking her partner!” Michael Cole laughs as they watch y/n slaps Damian’s arm multiple times.

Damian looks down at her, amused as she pushes and slaps his arm. “You. Aren’t. My. Part. NER.” She sends a punch on his arm, “YOU AREN’T MY PARTNER!”

“Clearly I am. Now move your ass out the ring.” He lifts her up and puts her over the rope, outside the ring before handing over his briefcase to the ref.

Y/n scowls as she stares at the back of his head, “i hate you.”

“The feelings mutual.” Damian called over his shoulder before the bell rings and the match is on its roll.

•••

Throughout the match, y/n made it her mission to slap Damian every chance she got. Whether that be to tag herself on by tagging him unexpectedly on the back or tagging him in by slapping his chest. Did that really affect him? No. Did he enjoy seeing her get annoyed by his existence? Absolutely.

Damian absolutely loved the idea that was brought up to him with being y/n’s partner when he had overheard her convo with Adam. It would mean to be able to fuck with her every chance he got and to be around her everyday. He enjoyed knowing that his presence alone can make her go crazy and make him wish he was dead. He loved it. He loved her.

He always had and always will. He just approached it the wrong one which is why she hates his guts.

They’re in Nxt when they first met and at catering. Y/n was with Bianca as they sat at their own table with Montez and Angelo. Damian had been staring.

“Who’s she?” Damian looks over at Keith Lee who looks over and raises an eyebrow.

“Y/n Y/l/n.” Keith answers, “she’s from raw but is making an appearance today.”

“And I haven’t heard of her because…?”

“She’s been out due to an injury, she’s making her come back here.” Keith says.

Damian nods and gets up, “I’m gonna get some more food.”

In truth, Damian had seen her get up and was going to make it his mission to talk to her.

Y/n is putting food on her plate with Bianca by her side as they converse.

“Are you like debuting here?” Bianca asks, “we could really use some more views.”

Y/n shrugs, “I don’t know yet. They just wanna see me start anew ever since my injury.” She pops a crouton in her mouth from her plate before gathering some more.

“do you wanna go back to the main roster?” Bianca asks.

“Of course,” y/n nods and turns around only to bump into a chest and getting her food all over her.

Bianca gasps as she stares at y/n who watches her plate drop. Y/n is fuming. She is embarrassed. She can already feel the stares on her as she stares down at her plate that is upside down on the floor and the food that’s on her. She wanted to cry. She didn’t even want to look up at the person she bumped into, too focused on the fact that she did something so little that embarrasses herself immediately.

“pero coño, mira ver.” Y/n hears a deep gruff voice say as they back up a bit to see the messed that they cost.

Y/n looks up at the person narrows her eyes as she watches him stare at her as if it was her fault. “Are you blaming me or something?”

“Claro que sí.” Damian scoffs, “you’re the one who should have listened to your surroundings.”

Y/n narrows her eyes and stares at him before leaning down to grab her plate that was knocked out of her hand and throw it at him, “Chupa me.”

Damian will admit that the way he went about it was fucked. But he knew his people and he knew that they’d get over it, especially with his charm. Clearly that didn’t work and now he regret ever even doing such thing to her. After that day, it led to Damian taking it upon himself to make her time a living hell in Nxt and for y/n to try and hold back and not choke him.

She had left unfortunately. She had left Nxt to be back in her main roster, leaving Damian empty knowing he won’t be able to see her and continue on what he started. Until he got the message that he was moving up the main roster and he made a name for himself. Finding out that there was a mixed tag team tournament? Adds 10 bonus points to his success. Finding out y/n will be in there? 10 more.

Damian feels as slap on his shoulder making him chuckle and turns around to see Y/n getting into the ring and shoves him towards the ropes, barely budging. “Salte.” She demands.

Damian smirks and leans down towards her, “give me a kiss and i will.”

“get over yourself.” Y/n rolls her eyes before turning herself towards the match.

Damian chuckles as he gets out the ring and behind the ropes, watching y/n. “Your culo looks great in those shorts!” Damian smirks.

Y/n snaps her head at him with wide eyes and a flustered face, “excuse me?” she says.

 Y/n was used to this treatment from Damian ever since he came into the main roster. It was always backstage, nothing more. Hearing it in front of people? It gave her a sense of warmth that she refused to acknowledge as she ignored his comments and continued fighting.

Y/n caught the win for them and immediately rolls out the ring, storming up the ramp as she makes her way backstage.

She was going to get her answer on why the hell Damian is her partner after saying not to have him.

•••

“Mira pinche cabron.” Is the first thing that comes out of y/n’s mouth as she enters Adam Pearce’s office, stopping in her tracks when she sees Damian.

Damian looks over at her with a smirk and pats the chair next to him, “Siéntate…”

“I thought I told you I didn’t want him as my partner.” Y/n glares at Adam who looks at her with a bored expression. “How did you even get here before me.” She stares at Damian who simply gives her a smirk.

“You need to learn how to work with him, that’s why I paired you both.” Adam shrugs, “Don’t like it? You’re disqualified from the tournament.”

Y/n’s jaw drops as she stares at Adam. The ref was most definitely right about that. “Are you kidding me…”

“Am I laughing?” Adam sasses.

Y/n’s eyes darken and she goes to jump at Adam only to get caught by Damian who lifts her up as she thrashes against his hold, “See you Lunes for our next match.” Damian winks before walking out the office and closing it, setting Y/n down as she stares at him with a glare.

“What did you do. What did you say. He never pairs me with someone I don’t like.” Y/n demands answers.

“No hice nada.” Damian shrugs.

He lied.

Damian walks into Adam Pearces office right after Y/n left with a smile. He wanted to make her smile in so many ways.

“Priest,” Adam raises an eyebrow and looks up at Damian over his glasses, “what can i do for you?”

“Partner me up with y/n.” Damian motions over to where Y/n had just left.

Adam shakes his head, “she just threatened to drop my views, absolutely not.”

“you do realize she’s bluffing right? She loves this place.” Damian scoffs.

“I believe her.” Adam dismisses.

“Did she leave when I got here when she told you she would if I did?” Damian smirks and Adam pauses as he stares at his papers, in thought. “Exactamente.” Damian chuckles, “put me with her.”

Adam sighs and nods, “Alright, but you’re explaining to her.”

Y/n looks him up and down before nodding slowly, “i’m going to make your life a living hell through all of this.”

Damian smirks, “you do know we’re also going to be sharing a hotel room, right?”

Y/n sucks in a breath, “helll noo.”

“helll yesss.”

•••

“Why why why why.” Y/n walks inside her and Damian’s hotel room, walking quickly over to the bed that she will be claiming only to stop and see one bed. “oh HELL no.”

Y/n twirls herself around and immediately bumps into Damian’s chest making her suck in a breath as he looks at the one bed then at Y/n. “You need to really start paying attention to your surroundings…” he chuckles.

“This cannot be happening right now.” Y/n mumbles as she looks back at the bed then at Damian before shoving him away, “move.”

Damian moves to the side and watches as she storms out of the hotel room, no doubt about to go to receptionist. He takes his time to look around and sees the couch. He walks over and checks, nodding once he realizes it can turn into a makeshift bed.

Meanwhile, y/n is storming towards the front desk and plasters a fake smile. “Hi. Me and the man i was with, our room has only one bed.”

The receptionist looks up and frowns, “were you guys not a couple?”

“fuc- no. no we are not.” Y/n smiles.

“Well let me check if there’s any other rooms with two beds then.” The receptionist goes digging and y/n waits in front of her impatiently. “I’m so sorry…but the only other one is with one bedroom.”

Y/n clenched her jaw before nodding slowly, “that’s fine, thanks.”

Y/n walks away and back to her and Damian’s floor. She walks into their hotel room and sees him walking out with a towel wrapped around his waist and his body dripping with water. Y/n can’t help but gawk as he stops when she enters.

“Dam…” Y/n mumbles as she not so subtly checks him out.

“Like what you see?” Damian smirks.

Y/n snaps her eyes up to his face, “no.” She says with her face flushed.

“You were checking me out,” he smirks as he walks over to the makeshift bed. He unwraps the towel from his waist and immediately y/n shouts, covering her eyes. “I’m wearing underwear.”

 y/n peaks through her fingers and huffs as she drops her arms seeing him with underwear. “there is only one hotel room left but it’s with one bed. We’re stuck with this one.”

Damian shrugs, “that’s fine.”

Y/n looks at the makeshift bed then back at Damian, “i’m not sleeping on that.”

“I know.” He says as he puts on some pajama pants, “never said you would.”

Y/n frowns, “are you sleeping on that…?”

“Mhm,” Damian nods and y/n starts feeling bad.

She usually wouldn’t have given a dam if he did but knowing he’ll be sore the next day, she couldn’t help herself. So the words that came out were a shock to her.

“I’ll sleep there…you can sleep on the bed.” Y/n says.

Damian and her both stare at each other with complete shock. “Your joking?” Damian raises an eyebrow and when y/n just stares at him with wide eyes he knows she’s not. “oh you’re not…”

“I know…” Y/n looks at him warily.

“Nah, you can have to bed.” Damian waves her off as he gets on the makeshift bed and y/n nods slowly.

“ok…it’s still up for grabs if you want it. you can always put me on that one…”

 Damian looks at her warily and nods slowly, “uh huh…”

Y/n nods before rushing towards the bathroom to take herself a shower, leaving Damian with a smile that broke onto his face. That request alone made him feel all giddy inside and he was actually considering the offer.

That night though, he went against it and stayed his ass right on the makeshift bed.

•••

The weeks of the tournament was hell for y/n. Every dam hotel room they got it was with one bed. Every match they had Damian just had to get on her nerves and make her want to backstab him during every match. Every comment that came out of his mouth would make her flustered and her stomach warm up, which she did not like.

So far they were the ones winning each and every match they were in. Getting closer to the top of the chain for raw to win the whole dam tournament. On smack down, AJ Styles and Mia Yim were the ones reaching the top for their roster.

It was clear that Adam had a lot of hope on them seeing as they’re the only ones that have been winning.

Y/n and Damian walk into their new hotel room and y/n lets out a loud groan as she sees one bed, again.

“Unafuckingbelievable.” Y/n huffs and Damian rolls his eyes.

“It’s not something we haven’t handled before, cariño.” Damian says as he walks over to the couch.

Y/n rolls her eyes and throws her suitcase on the bed as she unpacks her pajamas.

“Tenemos una problema…” Damian says as he stands up straight and turns towards her. “It ain’t a sofa bed.”

Y/n hearts drops to her stomach as she feels herself get flustered, staring between him and the bed. “Oh…” was all Y/n said.

Damian sighs and looks at her, “i’ll go see if there’s any other rooms.”

“or i can sleep on the sofa…” Y/n blurts out and Damian stops in his track as he stares at her with a raised eyebrow.

“If anyone should sleep on the sofa, it should be me.” Damian says, “you can have the bed.”

“You’ve been sleeping on the sofa ever since this started, let me sleep there.”

“No.”

“yes.”

“no.”

“yes.”

“no.”

“yes.”

“no.”

Damian smirks as y/n lets out a shout, “i meant yes damit.”

“i’m sure you did.” He chuckles as he sits down on the sofa. “Why not share it?”

Y/n snaps her eyes towards Damian who seems to be nonchalant by his question but really, his heart is beating and it’s almost beating out of his ass.

“What?” Y/n questions.

“Why not share it…seeming as we won’t take yes or no as an answer. Problem solved. Only if you want to though.”

“and if I say no?” Y/n asks with a frown.

“I’m still sleeping on the sofa.”

“We can share.”

•••

Y/n is laying down on the bed on her side as she listens to the hotel shower running. Her heart was pounding as it gets closer to Damian ending his shower and them sleeping with each other. She made herself take a shower first so she didn’t have to walk out and see him on the bed, knowing she’ll force herself in the sofa.

They never slept in the same bed together. It was always Damian sleeping on the sofa bed whenever they had this type of situation.

Y/n snaps her eyes over to the bathroom door when she hears the shower stop and hear the curtains move. Her heart was pounding faster if that was possible as she waits for that door to open.

Damian himself was not doing too well. He was but you know. He was just as nervous as she was. When he had told her that there was no sofa bed and suggested they’d sleep together, he did not expect her to say yes, of all things. He expected a “hell no,” or something close to a no that had a swear word combined with it.

Damian takes in a deep breath and opens the bathroom door and walks out the bathroom door, making eye contact with her as she lays on her side with her arms curled on the side of her head. Y/n watches him as he walks by the hotel bed and on the side that he claimed. She didn’t want to turn her head to stare at him but she did feel him dip the bed and slowly get in. Their backs facing each other.

“Night…” y/n whispers as she keeps herself away from him.

“Noches…”

•••

Y/n had been avoiding Damian. For multiple reasons that is(no she isn’t.) She thinks it is, but it isn’t. She just practiced reasons just in case he was to ask her why she’s been avoiding him. The actual reason was because of what happened that morning.

Y/n whines as she hears her alarm go off, indicating that it was fine for her ass to wake up for work today. Y/n slowly opens her eyes and frowns when she hears something thumping underneath her. She also felt something soft but hard against her. It was comfortable actually. She felt herself pressing her head into the thing underneath her and gripping her arms that was around something. She was too comfortable. She was slowly falling back asleep until she felt whatever was underneath her, move. That immediately made her eyes snap as she slowly takes a side glance over at what she was lying on. She seen a tattoo on the right chest she was laying on and she immediately flies up as she looks down at Damian who her arms caging his head as he slowly wakes up. Out of instinct, y/n rolls away and ends up falling off the bed with a thud.

Damian jolts awake as he looks around, to see y/n side empty and his chest cold as if something was lying on there. “y/n?”

“yeah…” y/n mumbled as she stays on the floor.

“¿estas bien?” Damian asks with his morning voice that has y/n closing her eyes and taking in a deep breath.

“mhm…” she hummed, “just…chillin.” she says as she slowly gets on her knees and starts crawling to the bathroom.

“ok…”

She didn’t even know if Damian knew that she had slept on him. That thought alone evaporated from her mind as she didn’t want to think about that. The embarrassment of knowing that he might know? She couldn’t handle that.

Y/n walks out her locker room with her gear on and ready to start the last match for the tournament. Her and Damian vs AJ Styles and Mia Yim.

“You’ve been avoiding me, cariño,” Y/n stiffens as she hears Damian’s voice as he walks over to her.

“No i’m not.” Y/n says as she starts walking with him trailing behind her.

“Yes you are.” Damian scoffs, “since this morning may I add.”

“why are you worried about that when you should be worried that the match we have is today? It’s to decide who wins the whole dam thing.” Y/n excuses as she gets them to the curtains. “Bye bye.”

•••

“Bye bye.” Damian watches as Y/n walks out backstage and towards the arena.

He knew what had happened. He had woken up in the middle of the night when he felt it.

Damian’s eyes snap open when he feels another weight on his body. He goes rigged as he feels arms wrap around his neck. He slowly looks down to see y/n’s head on his chest and her arms around his neck, cuddling against him.

“y/n…” he whispers gently. He tries removing her arm away from his neck but her grip only tightens. He didn’t mind, he really didn’t. But he knew how embarrassed she gets and if she woke up to cuddling him? Even more embarrassed for her.

Y/n whines in her sleep as she pulls herself as close as possible to Damian, refusing to let go in her sleep. He smiles a bit as he stares at her peaceful face.

“Que linda…”

Was he going to tell her? Possibly, possibly not. He was still debating.

“your on.” Someone tells Damian and he walks out to the arena.

•••

Damian and Y/n stares at each other as Mia and AJ are both in between them. Mia on y/n side and Aj on Damian’s side. They were trying to figure out where the hell to go from here. They had the upper hand, they just had to figure out how to use it.

“hacemos la finisher tuyo.” Y/n says and Damian raises an eyebrow before nodding and they both get right at it.

Y/n claps her hand in front of Mia’s face right as Damian did before setting her up for The Reckoning.

They both pin the duo down and win the match as the crowd goes crazy and the announcer announces them as the winner.

They ignore though. They’re too busy staring at each other with emotions coursing through their eyes as the ref helps them stand up and raise their hands.

“Nos ganamos,” Damian says as he walks over to y/n who nods slowly.

“yes we did…we won the whole dam thing.” Y/n swallows as she stares up at Damian with an unfamiliar feeling.

Damian snaps and throws her over his shoulder, making her scream as he gets out of the ring with her hung.

“MIRA MAMAGUEVO!” Y/n shouts as she thrashes in his arms while the crowd cheers for them.

Damian storms up the ramp and backstage, ignoring everyone that stares at them as he leads them to his locker room.

“put. me. down.” She smacks his back as he walks into his locker room and shuts the door. Y/n feels herself get set down and before she has the opportunity to open her mouth, it’s caught in a kiss.

Y/n automatically closes her eyes as she wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him down for more.

 Damian smirks in the kiss as he wraps his own arms around her body, lifting her up a bit to meet him to his height.

It ended too quick for y/n as she chases after his lips when he pulls away, making him chuckle. “Cálmate cálmate. No voy ningún lado.” He smirks.

Y/n huffs and covers her face when she realizes how desperate she looked. “Why’d you kiss me…?”

“Give you your prize for getting us the win…” Damian says as he lifts her head up to look at him, “and to show you that i love you.”

Y/n feels a smile appear on her face at that. She’s accepting that what she was feeling was that. Love.

“And…i might love you too.”

#wwe imagine #wwe raw #wwe smackdown #wwe x reader #wwe one shot #wwe superstars #wwe judgement day #damian priest x reader #damian priest #damian priest imagine #damianpriest #wwe damian priest #the judgement day

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randombush3 · 1 year ago

Text

audentes fortuna iuvat

alexia putellas x reader

part one, part two

words: 9541

summary: alexia and you as posh + becks III

content warnings: there’s some (a lot of) cheating + postpartum depression. it’s more frustrating than sad though x

notes: this covers 2019-22(ish). It was SUPPOSED to be the last part. It’s not anymore. I’m gonna do a fourth to deal w the mess I have created in a more self-indulgent amount of words than the 3k i had planned. That will probably have smut in it 😛

“Y/n left me.”

The limousine you are in is completely black, save for the white lines being measured out right next to you.

“What?” says Jenni.

“She left me,” Alexia says once more. The hotel room is a non-committal beige. They lie in the same bed, the older of the two welcoming her lost teammate wordlessly and without judgement. Tomorrow, they will return to Barcelona, losers yet another time. “She moved back to london. She took Nico.”

“She can’t just take Nico, can she?”

“Y/n, how’s Nico?” Your stomach turns, but whether that is provoked by the thought of the baby boy you left crying in your father’s arms or by the white powder outlining the rim of the woman’s nostrils, you don’t know.

Your son’s creasing eyes, red face, and grabbing hands appear in front of you. He screams as you walk away. He doesn’t understand why he has not smelt Alexia in weeks, and he misses the comfort of home.

Everyone waits for your answer. No one comments on the bags under your eyes. “He's fine,” you say with a smile. “He loves it here.”

“I think she is depressed,” Alexia tells Jenni, comforted by the arms wrapped around her waist, holding her close and tightly and reminding her that she is not as alone as you have made her feel. “She told me that she couldn’t be in Barcelona anymore, but she said that without giving me a chance to come with her. Her bags were packed before the conversation started — she might as well have called me from the plane.”

“Are you angry at her?”

“Yes.”

Alexia thinks about it.

“No.”

“No,” you say when they point at your very own line. The drug holds a place of both familiarity and hatred in your heart. The fine, white powder reminds you of greatness – of being the most successful girl group in the UK – but, also, of hospital visits. It’s not a past addiction, but it could have been. You light a cigarette instead, though it will make the vehicle reek. “I can't. I have a son.”

“You’re not a saint.” They boo. “You’re allowed to have fun. I saw you the other day, and you had no qualms with any drugs then.”

“No, I'm not a saint,” you reply. You regret that night — however little you remember. “But I am a mother.”

“Is it that thing? Postpartum?” Jenni asks. “The baby blues are really shitty, I've heard, but they’re not supposed to cripple you. Maybe the relationship has other issues.”

“I'm not angry at her, Jenni,” Alexia repeats. “I miss Nico. He looks like her. He has started to look a lot more like her now.”

“He would definitely suit those sparkly bralettes.” Jenni giggles at the thought.

With an understandable lack of good humour, Alexia ponders something more realistic. “He would suit a Barcelona kit.”

“He would be made for it. You are his mother.”

“I'm not angry at her,” Alexia says for the third time, just to make herself believe it. Just to carve those words into her bones and tell herself that it isn’t anger, what she’s feeling. “I don't want to be angry at her. I think I'm going to see if I can move to arsenal.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Well, I'm not angry at her.”

“Alexia.” Jenni cups her cheek tenderly. “Ale.” She knows she shouldn’t. She’s not angry at you, and so there is no punishment needed. Not that… Not that kissing Jenni would ever be utilised as a weapon to get back at you. Or that she’d actually kiss her.

“Daddy, I can't get him tonight. No, I don't want to stay over. Daddy, I…” You hate the baby. You hate yourself. You hate that Spain hasn’t done well, and that your fiancée is disappointed that nothing is how it was supposed to be. Alexia is probably lying awake in bed, missing her son, and missing you. You expect one of her teammates to call you soon, and tell her that she needs you. You’re her person. “I'm going to get some sleep and I'll pick him up tomorrow. Probably around lunchtime, okay?”

“Alexia, bésame.”

…

You had passively bought your house. It’s how property sale works when you’re a celebrity. People are always willing to do things for you if you know the price, and it never hurts to use your name to add a new flashy level to whatever stupid business they are running. It’s a mutual exploitation, to some extent.

Highgate is beautiful. The house is beautiful.

The reception room, with its high, decorated ceilings, is your favourite place to numbly take in the twisted jigsaw of your life when Nico has cried himself to sleep. The nursery is on the first floor. He is near enough for safety, but at a distance that allows you to regret all the mistakes you have made.

You watch him roll over onto his stomach, eyes trained on the baby monitor though your fingers graze the ivory keys of your new piano, attempting to compose something worthwhile. At this rate, your solo career is going to fail just like your relationship seems to be doing.

Yesterday, while Alexia seemingly disappeared from the face of the Earth, you came out. It was an off-hand comment during the Graham Norton Show. A quick ‘my fiancée named him. She’s from Barcelona’ was all it took. You hope Alexia, wherever she may be, has heard about it. Jenni would have told her. You trust Jenni to be somewhat on your side because she always has been.

The doorbell rings just as you sniffle, wiping away the tear that slips down your cheek. “Don’t be pathetic,” you mutter to yourself. “You didn’t pay five million pounds to sit here and cry. You chose to come back home.”

Being in England – colder, drearier, lonelier England – has made you realise that your decision was not the right one. Or maybe it was. It has proven that you are as terrible a mother as you convinced yourself you were back in Barcelona, and it has also shoved the cavity Alexia leaves in your life when you refuse her entry right down your throat in the form of a constant lump and a dull stabbing in your chest whenever you think about anything past whether Nico has had anything to eat. You can’t even feed him properly, despite it being supposedly in your nature. You buy formula from the nearest Waitrose.

The doorbell rings again.

The insistence is not uncommon seeing as you are, at the minute, the English press’s number one target. You open the CCTV app on your phone so that you can decide whether or not to ignore the potential stalker, and your heart rate spikes when you see the hooded figure standing on the porch. Back to the door, it is not possible to determine the threat. A well-buried maternal instinct kicks in for once, and you ensure that Nico is still peacefully out cold before getting up to answer the door with the poker from the Victorian fireplace firmly in your grip. Just in case.

You are a mother, in whatever capacity you have decided that role looks like, and so you undo the three latches on the door with brave, protective fingers. The baby monitor’s volume has increased, and the fuzz of white noise is audible if Nico were to make a sound. The vague repulsion at the idea of it all is only an aftertaste in your silent prayer for the hooded figure to not want to kill you. Some sick part of your brain imagines Nico dead, as well. It tortures you.

The poker in your other hand, for the most fleeting of moments, is almost plunged into your chest. The imaginary, self-inflicted wound makes you think of the blood and how the baby upstairs would wail until someone found him. The grimace of annoyance on your lips is nothing new, but you have no more time to torment yourself because the doorbell is pressed again, rather impatiently.

You open the door and the hooded figure is right in front of you. “He’s asleep,” you say, the Spanish foreign on your tongue.

Alexia shrugs, and her hood falls down, revealing the brunette tendrils that hang from her slowly sinking bun. “I came for you,” she replies, so earnestly that it is as if nothing ever happened: past pain forgotten and replaced by sprouting memories of soft kisses and mornings where leaving was too hard to do. Some of them, you think, are not real. They don’t seem to be. Your blank stare is unsettling. You almost don’t believe her. “Can we talk?” she tries, and you notice the team-issued duffle on the tiled floor she is standing on. Then, from the pocket of her hoodie, she extracts a pastry box. The plastic window is filled with circles of different colours, and she holds out the macaroons to you as if to bribe her way into a home in which she is unsure she belongs to.

Stepping aside, leaning the poker against the wall by the door, you scratch at the bare skin of your neck. Alexia, while sweeping an arm down to collect her bag, fixes her gaze onto the ring you are wearing, and the diamond glistens with hope that this can all be fixed. “Would you like to come inside?”

She swallows the whine of anguish that tears her heart open at the idea that this might never be her house to live in, too, and she follows you dutifully as you lead her through hallways far more luxurious than the flat in Barcelona could ever be. This is what you left her for – the person you are, no longer in worn clothing with messy hair, is quite the opposite of the woman with her back to her moments before she had to focus on football. The necklace draped on your sharpened collarbones is new, and she does not dare believe what she has been hearing is true. Yes, there are pictures, but she trusts you. She will always trust you.

“Have a seat,” you say, gesturing to the wooden dining table. It is clean enough for her to determine that it is unused. Alexia places the macaroons in front of her, and aches at how you sit at the opposite end.

“I…”

“I thought you were going to give me all the time that I needed.” It is a statement of distance, as if your location is not enough.

Alexia, eyes widening at how unwelcome she suddenly feels, needs only to remind herself of the impending date of the wedding. It is beginning to loom uncomfortably, with the excitement of getting married drained out like a low tide on a deserted beach. “We have two weeks. If it isn’t going to happen, then you should tell me now. We have to give everyone notice so that they can cancel their flights.” Your silence spurs her on. “You will need to contact the wedding planner, because you refused to let me have a hand in any of it so I don’t even have their number. I’m sorry that you won’t be able to wear your dress. Vivienne Westwood is a big thing for you, I know. I’m sorry that it’s inconvenient.”

“But Alexia,” you whisper, “I don’t not want to get married.”

Her eyebrows furrow, head tilted slightly to the left. “I know. That is why I am saying this.”

Your voice grows louder. “No, no. Sorry, that wasn’t the easiest thing to understand.” Across the dining table, your love that has faltered, that has hesitated and been reconsidered and been stamped down over the past month, extends towards her: its final destination, always and forever. Alexia feels it grab her by the throat, wrenching the words from her before she can even formulate a thought in response, and her body is so drawn to you, in such a powerful fashion, that she pushes her chair out from the table with a grating scrape and is stepping towards you with a finality that makes her wonder if she’ll ever leave your side.

As she approaches, the idea that she is here becomes a little too real. You have played with the fantasy of it, of course, but the tenderness in her usually fierce eyes does not match the anger you had expected, and, in the most feeble fashion, you have never felt more apologetic in your life.

“I’m so sorry,” you begin to say. Tears stream down your face with freed anguish, and the words are so simple yet they bear the weight of your entire soul. “I’m so sorry, darling. I made a mistake, and I have been met with the most crushing of realisations: I can’t do this without you, Alexia.” I still want to marry you, Alexia.

The room seems to close in on your despair, attempting to bottle it, almost, and keep you trapped underneath a haze of emotions you don’t quite know how to sort through. “I… I’m beginning to hate him.” The confession hangs heavy over Alexia’s bowed head as she stands frozen in place, stuck in her journey towards you but unable to arrive. “I’m acutely aware of how cruel it is,” you continue, this next admission being what agonises you the most. It floods the room with guilt, and your voice trembles with self-condemnation that reigns harsher than any other voice in your head.

“It’s ridiculous. I’m evil and I’m wrong, and I just feel like it is inherently in my nature to be like this, as though some fault has been built into me with warning signs we evidently ignored.” You struggle to breathe. “I wish I could take back the day we decided to have him,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper, lips doused in tears, skin searing with shame when Alexia cups your cheek with a strong, calloused hand. “He should not have to be stuck with me as a mother.”

Your chest heaves, and you are finished. You have never verbalised it before now, and it is impossible to decide whether it has helped remove the lead lining of your heart where it has been bolstered against your will. Her other hand steadily rises to your face, but then, with only a second of hesitation, she is pulling you upwards and enveloping you in her embrace. You feel a little bit closer to her. “Mi amor,” Alexia murmurs, tone cracked with sorrow and regret. “Lo siento mucho. Desearía haber sabido, desearía haber estado allí para ti.”

Gently, she tilts your face upwards to meet her gaze. “You are not evil and no estás equivocada. Estoy aquí ahora, y no te dejaré enfrentar esto sola nunca más.” You collapse into her. “I’m here, cariño, and I am not going anywhere.”

The sentiment is wonderful, and Alexia makes good on her word.

When Nico begins to cry, the sound piercing through your choked sobs, Alexia realises she has missed all of her life with you. Being separated and being apart due to work, she now knows, are two excruciatingly different things. The whiny wails from upstairs visibly jar you, though you pull away from Alexia to attend to him. “I will do it,” she declares, though her firmness is not mean. “Sit down. Eat the macaroons – they’re… ‘to die for’?” You nod with instinctive encouragement. “Sí. They’re to die for. Try. Jenni says that the pink ones are the best.”

“Jenni picked them out?” you ask with a briefly regained humour, eyebrows raising. “Had to get your friend to choose your apology gift?” In truth, neither of you know what Alexia would be apologising for, but Nico’s crying grows more incessant and Alexia is climbing the carpeted staircase before the topic can be discussed.

Alexia reaches her son with tears brimming in her eyes. The failure of Spain at the World Cup is amplified by the idea that she has disappointed him, though he does not yet possess the tools to pledge his allegiance to her country. In fact, Nico has been sleeping in Manchester United attire (your father has been his primary carer of late, and he does not charge you money, so the price is obviously Alexia’s sanity). She is more than glad to smell his nappy, and delighted about the opportunity to change him into something less hideous.

“Mama loves you so much,” she tells him as she manoeuvres his chubby legs into a plain, inoffensive onesie. “I promise, petit. I am going to help her, okay? And we are going to get through this together.” Alexia forgets about the taste of Jenni’s lips and the heat between them. “Mama just doesn’t see the direction she is going in. It is like her eyes are covered, and she is telling herself that she is walking down the wrong path, but this is not true. You are the most special thing in the world to us. You are the sunrise, the sunset, and the hours of the day.”

She pauses to stand him up on his tiny feet, hands hoisted underneath his armpits. He is heavier than when she last held him, but she is stronger than before, too. Women’s football is growing, along with her muscles. Nico babbles out a vague reply, but Alexia hears what he is trying to say. “I agree. We’ll be alright.” And, with all her heart, it rings true.

…

The following day, she calls the doctor for you, script written out on a piece of paper in front of her, translated perfectly so that her concern does not waver the information she needs to tell the receptionist. The clinic is famous and discreet, and they are quick to prescribe you antidepressants before the week draws to a close. You won’t be able to drink at your wedding, and everyone might think you are pregnant again, but Alexia reassures you that it will be worth it.

Wrapped up in your own bubble, the three of you enjoy London in a way that isn’t possible in Barcelona.

Here, Alexia has no commitment to football. There are no training sessions she must rush off to, there are no teammates to pry, and no one else to interfere with your private little routine. You quite like it, and she does too. It is only temporary, before you fly out to Menorca and hand Nico off to Eli in order to enjoy your respective bachelorette parties and then, in exactly seven days, your wedding itself.

“You’re still smoking,” Alexia says disapprovingly, the sleep in her voice enough to make you feel a pang of guilt. It’s late at night when Nico has finally been soothed from his aching gums, and she has been able to climb back into bed expecting to find you asleep already. “Why are you awake?”

“I’m still smoking,” you tell her. She sighs at the way you parrot her words, but presses an affectionate kiss to the junction of your neck and shoulders despite the lingering smell of cigarettes. “If I can’t drink, I’m going to smoke. This is Hollywood.”

“This is Highgate.” Her accent curls around the name with something a little too foreign for her to ever consider this place home. “Why are you awake?” she repeats.

You look down at the open notebook in your lap, the pages either blank or full of crossed-out lyrics. “He was so loud, but I can’t seem to write anything either so, really, it has been quite redundant.”

“I had to get a glass full of ice and hold it to my fingers so that I could help him. I could have lost some very important assets, but it seemed to do the trick.” He’s teething. You’re telling yourself that the antidepressants are little pills of miracle, and have kicked in already. “Feel.” She presses two freezing fingers to your cheek, and you gasp, flinching away from her.

“There’s a teething ring downstairs, you know,” you tell her. She shrugs. Maybe it isn’t clean. “Don’t give yourself frostbite. I happen to quite like your fingers.”

Alexia’s smirk is beyond suggestive, and her lips hit your neck once more with an entirely different heat to them. “Yeah?” You push her head away. “I bet it would feel good. Nice and cold.”

“You’re delirious.”

She continues to kiss you. “I don’t know what that means,” she mumbles into your neck, until her lips reach your face and she is near climbing into your lap – notebook long pushed onto the floor. “Dímelo en español.”

“No lo sé.”

“Ah. Una palabra inteligente.”

“Claro.”

She laughs into the kiss she presses against your lips. She never has never felt like this with anyone else. Never this relaxed, or loved, or safe. “Me vas a matar con tu inteligencia y voy a sentirme estúpida para siempre.”

“I love you,” you state softly. “I love every part of you.” Alexia, in that moment, decides to never do what she did with Jenni again, and to never break your heart by informing you of her betrayal.

…

You’re married.

You’re married to Alexia, a woman who bears the beauty of a goddess and the strength and will of someone who could capture the sun and tame the fire that rages on its surface.

You admire her as she sleeps so peacefully beside you, tanned skin warmed by the sunlight streaming in through the large windows of the hotel room. Later, you will get on the ferry, go back to Barcelona, and then fly to Capri for three days alone before Alexia’s preseason starts. Aside from a few meetings with Dave, you theoretically aren’t swamped with anything. You’ll be joining her in her city with Nico with a bit more permanence than last time.

Alexia buries her face in the covers, crawling into your open arms the minute the sunlight rouses her. “Everything is sore,” she groans, her bare skin slightly sticking to yours, the sweat from last night not yet gone.

“What happened to ‘mi vida, one more time won’t hurt’?” you tease, impersonating her heavy accent over your English with enough drama to get her to elicit another grumble. This time, it’s something about being bullied. “Darling, we have to get up. We’re having breakfast with our parents, and apparently Nico has been upset that we got a night to ourselves.”

“Pobrecito,” she replies with a newfound level of English sarcasm. She spent the wedding reception avoiding the dance floor, engaged in a long conversation with your father. The topics spanned over most areas of life, and briefly touched upon how you are doing now. Alexia, with much pleasure, confirmed the improvement, however miniscule it has been. She is very proud of you, and he is too. “I only want one thing for breakfast.”

Her hands begin to roam, the band of her wedding ring hitting your pubic bone. “Mi vida, one more time won’t hurt,” she mocks you from before but in her sexier, Spanish husk, sucking at your collarbone, straddling your waist.

You replace your near moan with a thoughtful hum. “I really want pancakes. Do you think they’ll make me some?”

Downstairs, where it is brighter and impossible to conceal the hickeys on both of your necks, you greet your parents, brother, Anya, and Gio. Alexia’s mother, her sister, and Jenni are sitting at the table, too. Your baby is pretending he isn’t teething, and grinning like an angel.

“How’s married life?” Anya asks as you take a seat opposite her, Alexia to your right. The table has a gradient of bilingualism, but Gio discovered that she picks up Spanish quite easily considering she can already speak one romance language. “We’ve already found, like, four articles talking about it.”

“How?” you ask, but you are not offended.

Gio shrugs. “Drones, I guess. Nothing bad, though. Some speculation about the other bride – if the article does mention that. Most talk is on the dress.” It was a bloody good dress. “And I suspect that there’ll be a juicy little question about who was your Maid of Honour.”

“Don’t be salty,” you tell her. The MOH issue was sorted out years ago – perhaps 2015 – when you binged Friends together despite having watched it thousands of times before. Anya has been yours, Gio will be hers, and you will be Gio’s. And they say trios never work.

“I left Mia with her dad for this.”

“You shouldn’t have had a baby with a man-slag,” Anya says with a snort, enjoying her second mimosa and Gio’s grimace at the idea of her daughter having to put up with her father’s revolving door of one-night-stands. “You’re one to make terrible decisions. At least our girl over here’s married someone who looks at her like she’s hung the moon.”

Alexia turns to you with a smile, as if on cue, with Nico in her lap. You glance at his rounded cheeks and shining eyes, looking back up at your friends as though to check they are still there. Alexia leans forwards so that she can whisper in your ear. “Te amo. Nico, también. Mi familia es perfecta.”

…

Returning to Barcelona comes with one negotiated condition on your part. You buy a bigger apartment, where there is space for an office and extra bedrooms. Alexia says her teammates will be taking the piss out of her grand new place the minute she sees it, but she is more than content to contribute to the finances with her new-and-improved salary for this season. “It’s weird to think that I’m from Mollet,” murmurs Alexia, standing in the middle of the large lounge area, surrounded by boxes. Most are from your old flat, but a few have been flown in from London. Alexia wanted you to have your Grammy with you. “This place is so fancy.”

“It’s half of what the men’s team get,” you remind her, holding Nico with care as he gnaws away on a frozen carrot. His saliva drips onto you, but the antidepressants are working, and the therapy has been effective enough for you to start taking childcare in turns. (You had tried to previously, but Alexia wanted you to focus on yourself, knowing that things will change for all of you once the season started.) “Hey.” You place your hand on her shoulder. She tickles Nico’s chin. “We deserve this. You deserve this. Why don’t you host one of your team’s dinners? I’ll take Nico round to your mum’s – God knows she’d love to shove some food down my throat, too.”

She shakes her head, strands of brown unstraightened due to the stress of the move and falling out of her bun with a determination to defy her hair bobble. “They would kill me if I did it without you. They’re all far too grateful that you invited Taylor Swift to our wedding.”

“She’s a friend.” If you hadn’t been distracted by various other happenings that night, you’d have clocked that Alexia’s side of the guests were completely up to their ears in celebrities they’d never expected to meet. “Okay, so do you want me to stay here?”

“I always want you to stay here,” she answers.

“Not what I meant.”

“I won’t take it back.”

Nico babbles an incoherent yet cutely Spanish-y noise, though his words are getting closer to being said at the old age of eight months. Then, suddenly, something in him clicks. “Mama,” he squeals, his little fist scrunching up the fabric of your t-shirt. “Mamama.”

“Nicolau!” Alexia replies with just as much enthusiasm, cupping his cheeks. She kisses his nose, and then his forehead, and then his chubby knees and socked feet. “Nicolau, sí, la mama et té a las mans! Bon noi, el meu bon i intel·ligent noi.”

“Does that count?”

“Mama,” Nico repeats, tugging your earlobe. “Mama. Mama.” It is easy to forget about the (lessening) resentment you harbour when he speaks. Alexia gets him to say it as many times as she can before he goes back to his carrot, but, even then, the two of you stay in that spot, marvelling at your creation.

Slowly, she turns around in a circle, absorbing the plain walls and towers of boxes. “This is going to be good. Life is going to be good,” you declare with such a firmness that it has to be true. “Darling, let’s get to unpacking and then we can think about a date for this dinner party.”

“We are going to plan the party?” She raises her eyebrows at you. “Is this party going to start at five o’clock?”

“Not all of us shit yellow and red.” (In a national sense – you’d have haemorrhoids for United any day of the week.)

Alexia takes Nico off you, in a show of cultural dominance. You’re actually outnumbered, considering he isn’t a British Citizen, and though he shares no DNA with your wife, he has inherited the same ability to narrow his eyes just enough to serve absolute cunt whenever he so pleases. If you weren’t feeling so ganged up on, you’d be a little impressed. “Nico y yo vamos a hacer croquetas de jamón. Adiós.”

“Darling, the kitchen isn’t–” But you cut yourself off, deciding that she can discover that on her own, along with the criminally empty fridge. You don’t hide your smugness at all when she finds you in your almost-finished bedroom, wearing a look of utter disappointment and mumbling out a heartbroken request for a food delivery as soon as possible.

…

November marks three years of being together and, also, four weeks of having Alexia’s ‘DNA’ – a pomeranian called Nala, whose Instagram account is run by her favourite parent after you called it silly and told your wife you’d much rather attend to your own seventeen million followers.

Towards the end of the month, after a well-spent morning and then a family outing to Barcelona Zoo, Alexia meets Jenni Hermoso in a restaurant in what Jenni calls ‘your new rich-people neighbourhood’ in her text to Alexia.

Alexia, really and truly, is happy to have her best friend back in Barcelona. She missed her last year, when Jenni had returned to Atleti, and that separation maybe made what happened the night Spain was knocked out of the World Cup just that bit more understandable. “You’re a Culer, no matter how hard you try to fight it,” Alexia had said when she had climbed back into her own bed, not wanting to fall asleep in Jenni’s arms. “It was terrible to not have Y/n or you.”

You and Jenni: Alexia’s people.

“How’s your wife?” Jenni asks with a grin, two glasses of wine into a pleasant evening at an expensive restaurant. “You’ve left her with Nico, so something must be working.”

In truth, you have been determined to get better. There were articles released not long after the photos of your wedding were circulated, and those speculated a lot about how you are finding motherhood. The baby pictured, captured by long-range lenses and invasive drones, was the world’s first glimpse at what Nico Putellas L/n looks like, and reminded many of them that you had a child to care for when in London, yet were frequently spotted at nightclubs and parties. You rise to most challenges, however, and find it a lot easier to adapt to weekly therapy sessions and pills every morning when you have a wrongful image to disprove.

“It’s as if it never happened,” Alexia says, both with pride and surprise. “She now seeks to spend time with him. She takes him with her to the recording studio – the album’s coming along well.” It’s your first on your own. Nico plays with one mixing desk, while Dave (flown in from London with the promise that the Barcelona sun will do wonders for his wife’s misery) plays with another. “And… Jenni, we’ve been talking. The clinic that we used for Nico asked us if we wanted to reserve sperm when we first had him, and now they have called asking if now is a good time. I think… I think that she is really considering it. She told me yesterday that her therapist wants me to sit in on the next session, so we can go over how we can make this time different.”

Jenni frowns, which is not what the woman opposite her had expected at all. “Why are you two having more children? You’re only twenty-five, Ale. Isn’t this going to affect your career?”

“The men do it all the time.” She’s done a spot of research. They are younger than her when their girlfriends start getting pregnant, and they continue to play with the added admiration that they are fathers as well.

“Yes, but they have the benefit of getting paid millions. They don’t have to fight with their federation for pitches or pay, and they can focus on football without their career sparking controversy for even existing.”

“Then my children will grow up with a mother who fights for change.”

“Or they grow up with a pop star who only wants things she cannot have and a footballer who can’t spend any time with them because she is too busy speaking at various conventions so that the next league match isn’t cancelled.”

“Jenni, do you think your opinion would be different if Y/n was a man?”

This elicits laughter from the other woman, who rolls her eyes in a way that can only be described as condescending. “Alexia, you’re forgetting that I’m a lesbian too, which is a magnificent feat.” Jenni references the kiss they shared, and what happened after that. “But, no. I don’t. I want you to be the greatest footballer in the world, and you want that too. What are you going to do when Y/n tells you she wants to move back to England? Are you going to give up your future here for her?”

The waiter interrupts briefly, collecting their empty plates and carting them off with a mission to retrieve the bill after a sharply declined offer for the dessert menu. “You don’t even know if that will happen,” Alexia scoffs, though she is a little sad that her exciting news hasn’t been well-received. “I was going to say that I’d think about the name Jennifer if it ends up being a girl, but now I’m leaning more towards María…”

She is kicked under the table, and she has to hold in her cry of pain because this restaurant is one of your favourite places to eat. “Mapi cannot have this victory over me. She’d be insufferable. Ale, you simply aren’t allowed to do that.” There’s another kick, but it is more playful this time.

Alexia laughs, smiling and thankful that the tension has diffused. “I’m only joking. Y/n has a list scribbled in the back of her lyric book. She’ll probably be called Elena.” That is much more acceptable to Jenni’s ears, and she files that information away for next year, when she’ll tell Mapi that Alexia doesn’t like her name.

…

It works. Alexia and you are lucky. The doctor tells Alexia that, if she were a man, the two of you would have to be extremely careful. Your wife marvels at your ability to destroy your body and stay fertile, but she supposes that you are not the kind of woman to be a lesbian. Sometimes, she wakes up in a cold sweat, believing that you have changed your mind and left her.

The New Year is a fresh start. Alexia decides to fix the (not so) hidden cracks in your relationship. She confides in her newly-acquired therapist. She may have made a mistake once; the secret is sandwiched between her worries about your susceptibility to depression and how Nico is a decided food critic.

Though the therapist, a lovely bilingual woman named Sofía, raises her eyebrows, she does not pry. She slides a paper calling card over to Alexia. The paper squeaks along the coffee table between the two comfortable armchairs of the office. “I specialise in couples. Seeing as your wife is already a client of mine, I think you should consider a joint session.” Alexia is new to the idea of mental health. Before, she had been too focused on football to care about it. Even when her father died, any professional she spoke to was only hearing how her mind worked because she knew it was what was best for her performance. “And, Alexia.” She looks up at the therapist with a small, nervous smile. “Congratulations on the pregnancy. I am sure Nico will make a wonderful older brother.”

Morning sickness drags you out of your shared bed most days.

Alexia asks you about couples’ therapy when you have finished your dry-heaving one morning.

“I mean,” you begin before pausing, gulping down the sour taste in your mouth and hoping nothing else is trying to hit the toilet water until tomorrow. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.” She is dressed in her training kit, but she slings her jumper over your shoulders as soon as you shiver. “Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“It would do no harm.” As long as Sofía does not bring up Alexia’s confession, your statement will ring true. “You book the appointment. It’ll be easier to work around your schedule that way.”

“When are you flying back to London?” Her question is not filled with hatred for the city, but with resignation to the fact that your job involves you being stretched between here and there.

“Not until next month. I thought that I could take Nico to an away game with my dad if I got a flight for Saturday. The rest of the week would be interviews and photoshoots.”

“How’s the album doing?”

So far, your songs are only written when Alexia has paid you enough attention to swirl your thoughts and blur your vision. It is in these moments that the lingering, sinking weight inside of you dissipates. “Dave remains hopeful. It won’t fail, but I need it to be better than what we currently have.”

Shamelessly, Alexia is aware of her effect on your songs. She smirks; “Alba has been begging to babysit, you know.” With no care for your current state, Alexia’s eyes rake up and down your body. You grow embarrassed by how you are slumped over the toilet, and how she is standing above you as though she runs your world. “You look beautiful, mi amor,” she murmurs as you bashfully duck your head between your bent arms.

“You’re a flirt.” It feels too late for her to still be in the flat. “And you’re going to miss training if you don’t get a move on. There are eggs in the fridge, and Nico definitely liked the omelette you made him a few days ago. He’ll be waking up soon.”

A small sigh escapes the midfielder’s lips, but the prospect of the things she loves most in the world appearing in her life consecutively is enough to convince her to pad her way out the bathroom, swanning into the corridor with a little grin on her face as she sings out ‘bon dia’ to an impressively multilingual toddler and heads into the kitchen with the domestic intention of getting breakfast started. She leaves an omelette out for you, which you attack shortly after Alexia and Nico disappear into their daily routine. She drops him off at preschool, and you pick him up a few hours later, taking him first for lunch with Alba, and then to the studio.

You come home to a showered Alexia who is memorising her most recent match. She lets Nico slide into her lap without hesitation, but she stays focused on the football even when he tugs on the strands of hair falling out of ponytail. You marvel at the idea of having enough room in your heart for so much love. You decide that you are not like Alexia, though it is not necessarily a terrible thing. A further observation from watching your wife settle her son with a calm, muttered Catalan telling-off, coaxing him into loving football as though he does not already, is that you are so very content with your life at the moment.

But 2020 kind of sucks.

For the entire world.

You’re cut off from your home in any other manner than a digital one, and being stuck in a luxurious penthouse in Barcelona isn’t the worst fate, but it really isn’t ideal.

Elena, however, has the benefit of coming into the world with ever (physically) present parents, who could recite the java script for Zoom given that they spend hours on therapy calls. Elena, bright and smiley and the picture of her mother, spends the first few months of her life in a happy, happy family, protected by an entire football team and a fierce older brother. (And a yappy Pomerianian called Nala.)

“Y/n doesn’t like the name María,” Jenni tells Mapi when Alexia sends the first picture of your new addition to the Barcelona group chat.

“The next baby is going to be a Jennifer,” Mapi says, to both the forward and the unimpressed midfielder walking a few paces in front of such a silly conversation. “For that, I can only feel sorry for her.”

…

The routine changes the following year.

It starts with an abrupt but expected conversation. One that Alexia has been dreading.

Your album – the first one that is just you – was released two months ago, and it has done too well. Selfishly, Alexia had hoped it would fail. You have enough money, and she is earning more and more each season. Success, unfortunately, means that this little life can no longer exist. Or can it?

“I have to do it,” you whisper to her, tears in your eyes though the smell of sex still lingers. The quietness of a child-free apartment allows for you to hear her gulp. “It’ll be different this time, darling, but I can’t be here anymore. I can’t fly out to London every few days. I can’t leave you with a five-month-old and a toddler when you are training every day and playing matches every weekend. It’s not fair on anyone.”

Alexia kisses your bare shoulder, hands slipping round your waist as she pulls your sweaty body into her. Her chest presses against your back, but she is only behind you in this bed. She does not agree with you. She does not support it. But, like she always does, she bites her tongue. “If that’s what you want,” she replies, and part of you dies with the thought that she does not really care. “I love you. I want what’s best for you. For us.” And she tells Jenni all about it when she goes to see her a week later – the flimsy excuse of meeting a childhood friend for dinner enough to wrap a cloth around your eyes and leave you at home with a screaming toddler and a baby whose only flaw is that she grows distraught the moment she is put down.

In the dimly lit living room, the tension hangs thick in the air. You lock eyes. “Why can't you just move with us? Everyone will want you, darling, and life would be easier,” you plead, a month down the line. The house in Highgate has been readied for your more permanent return.

Alexia takes a deep breath, her gaze unwavering. “Why can't you get it into your head that I'm not leaving Spain or Barcelona? This is my home.”

“What about the children? School? Life? My career? Does it mean nothing to you?”

Her eyes soften. Your heart breaks, and the piece of you that has already died somehow dies again. “I'm thinking of the children. All the time, I think of them. About the reputation of my name – their name. Putellas, the greatest in the world, or Putellas, the one with potential wasted at West Ham?”

“You're being selfish, Lex,” you snap. “This is an opportunity for all of us, not just me. Think about their future!”

“Their future is here, in the culture they know, the languages they speak. I won't strip them of their identity for the sake of a 'better' life. And my career? I've worked too hard to build what I have here. I won't throw it away.” I don’t want to throw it away. Underscored by Don’t leave me again.

The room echoes with the weight of her voice. “Their identity comes from both of us.” It’s too final for either of your liking. Elena begins to cry in her cot. “I want to try it. I want you to be open to trying it.”

She gestures to the suitcases by the door. “Trying it and doing it are two different things. You’re taking them from me!”

“You’re probably going to love life without them anyway!” you shout. You feel like the crying baby, except the tears rolling down your cheeks carry much more suffering than hers. “You’ll – what? You’ll go out with your friends, and you’ll be able to go to the gym whenever you want. No arguing, no crying, no toddler to entertain, no nappies to change. You never wanted children. I forced it upon you. I regret it, and I’m sorry. We’ll go.”

“Don’t go.”

I don’t want you to go.

“I have to.”

You turn your back to her as you fly through the corridor, prepared to console Elena in a taxi. Alexia slips her ring off her finger, and clutches it in her palm instead. Desperately, she searches for a solution. There is nothing within her reach, not even you.

…

She is an island amongst a sea of happy people. She is going to be the greatest footballer in the world. It kills her to realise that she can now focus on football.

Nico starts nursery, attending the same school you once did. He adjusts to life in London seamlessly, and Elena does not seem to care either way. He learns more English every day, and his other mother calls him nightly to read to him.

With childcare more than sorted, you are free to be interviewed, pictured, and invited to events. You rake in the publicity, especially after laying so slow over the course of the lockdown in Spain.

“Alexia.” Jenni’s hands knead her tight shoulders, partly teasing her. Alexia wears a frown, eyebrows knitting together with an emotion she’s not sure she can name. “Ale, it’s the same game as always. Nothing has changed.”

“I know,” she murmurs. “I don’t understand why I feel like this.” She has continued to speak to Sofía, though your joint sessions have now come to a halt while you spend your time doubling as a singer and model. The therapist, try as she might, cannot evaluate the situation effectively enough. Eli and Alba have both tried to help, hoping that weekly dinners and the constant reminder about the invention of aeroplanes would ease the turmoil of Alexia’s mind. It does not. “I am so alone, Jenni.”

Nala is too small to fill the emptiness of the flat. Screens don’t allow for her to kiss you, or play with Nico. She is scared she will miss Elena’s first words.

“You don’t have to be.”

It only takes a month for Alexia to break, and it sort of works.

In Jenni’s bed, it works. Hips keening, soft pants falling from her mouth.

Quiet moans that stay locked in Jenni’s apartment.

Each time Alexia leaves, though Jenni repeatedly requests that she stays, she walks out as half a woman. She blinks back her tears and she checks her phone. When she calls you – not a video call – you are never any the wiser to the scratches down her back.

Alexia remains an island, but the sand beaches are tainted with the arrival of someone else.

In this way, she is functional.

She can do sex. She can deal with borderline romance. She can fill the space that you are tearing open with every passing minute spent in that god-awful country you insist on calling home. She can fix it a little bit with Jenni.

She tells herself that it does not mean anything more than a bandage means to a wound. Who wears the bandage once the gash has healed?

Where does she put the used bandage?

Why is she focused on bandages?! She’s having an affair. It’s not an affair! (It is.) Alexia doesn’t… quite… wanttoadmititjustyet.

…

The buzz of your phone is the final push that gets you to conclude the current interview you are trapped in. Before checking what the notification is, you glance at the time. You have half an hour before you need to pick up Nico, and your parents said they would drop Elena home once they returned from London Zoo.

Alexia: Jenni has had a really good idea

It’s an intriguing text amongst the more practical ones that oil the mechanics of managing the distance. Tonight, Barcelona play their last match of the season. After this, she’ll be flying out to London. You have missed her. The last time you saw her in person was after Barcelona embarrassed Chelsea in Gothenburg. Elated and filled with pride, it was incredibly nice to have the biggest room in the hotel to yourselves. Her medal was almost as beautiful as her.

You: Go on…

Alexia: Just draw a heart on Nico’s hand from me porfa. You’ll see.

You slide into the driver’s seat of your newest self-indulgent car; a Porsche. Momentarily distracted by a camera flash, your turn onto the main road is a little risky, but you manage to make it to the school in time to collect your son.

“Was he good?” you ask his teacher as she hands you Nico’s book bag. You take in the sight of him: hair messy, school uniform stained though they require the little ones to wear aprons for most of the day. “It’s a little different here. I’m hoping that he’s enjoying himself.”

“Our new assistant is from Spain,” says the teacher with a small, tired smile, batting her long eyelashes at you. “We had to pry him off her.”

You let out a laugh. “He misses his mum.”

“He’s extremely intelligent. He knew to speak Spanish to her and English to us.” Though your grasp of Spanish is near-fluent after such reluctance from your wife to try English, you know that the two-year-old has a talent for juggling the three languages he is growing up around. You’re proud of him. “You shouldn’t worry about him. And, speaking of, we have a parents’ coffee morning just around the corner. It’s always great for the parents to get along – it helps the school feel even more like a family. Will it just be you attending?” Nico’s teacher is around your age, and you can smell her rose perfume that mingles with the soft hint of ready-mixed paint. She has deep, brown eyes, and she is definitely flirting with you.

“Next week, right? I’ll have to check with my wife.”

It’s then that a toddler-sized hand grips your fingers and tugs. “Mama, me voy,” he groans; something akin to Alexia’s impatience. It reminds you of when you used to go shopping and she’d herd you out with the threat of getting in the car and driving away. “Venga.”

“One sec, sweetheart.” There are countless ways in which you miss Alexia. “My wife and I would love to come.”

Her smile does not falter on her lips, but there is a greyish disappointment that dulls the warmth of her irises. You smile as you turn your back and lead Nico to the car. You are so excited for Alexia to complete the broken puzzle.

You melt when she kisses the heart drawn onto her hand when celebrating her goal. Nico copies her, lips pursing and sloppily mimicking the action on a similar heart. “For you, sweetheart,” you tell him as he settles back into your side, careful not to jostle Elena who has fallen asleep on your chest (the therapist did wonders for you).

“It was for you,” Jenni tells Alexia after the match. Her goal is now serving as the move Alexia feared she’d make. They have changed and been massaged and done the media the are required to do (women’s football is growing): they are free to roam Barcelona if they so wish.

Her flight is tomorrow evening – “I have a flight tomorrow evening.”

“Come over tonight.” It isn’t a question, yet it is not quite a command. Mapi passes the two of them, eyes narrowing at the way Jenni has wrapped her hand around Alexia’s wrist. The defender is aware that something is going on, though it breaks her heart to imagine Alexia ever doing that to you. Not knowing they are being watched, Alexia steps in; cups Jenni’s face, brushes her cheekbone with a stroke of her thumb Mapi knows is meant for her wife. Mapi’s stomach lurches. She feels sick.

“I need to…” It’s not a ‘no’. “Jenni.” She hates that it is not a ‘no’.

“Ale.” There’s a beat. Mapi blinks twice, shakes her head, and backs away. “I’ll miss you, you know?”

…

Jenni doesn’t seem to mind when, the next day, blurry pictures of you on a family outing make rounds through the tabloids she usually doesn’t read. The fact that, up until now, no one has known that your wife is Alexia Putellas has no effect on her. She was stupid for thinking the last six months meant something. Winning together, losing together. Sleeping together.

In this deal, Alexia has fucked over both women who love her. Except, you don’t know. She hasn’t told you, though Jenni had hoped for it secretly – hoped Alexia chose her – and it is obvious. Obvious to Jenni, who is well acquainted with the blonde hair in the wings of your concert at the O2. Obvious to Jenni, who refuses to think of herself as the other woman.

She consults Mapi.

Mapi, who she has come to shamefully realise already knows.

“I can’t believe the two of you.” The defender is clear in her distaste and disappointment and, honestly, her disgust. “But I am not going to be the one to break that poor girl’s heart.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

What is she asking? What does she want from this utterly useless conversation?

“Mapi.” Jenni closes her eyes, but she sees two faces instead of darkness. Nico. Elena. She’s Elena’s godmother. You decided that – convinced Alexia to choose her best friend over her younger sister, told your wife that there’d be another for Alba to corrupt. “Mapi, I love her. I don’t know what to do.”

“She loves her wife.” The next sentence proceeds to brutally remind Jenni who that isn’t. “Tell her you’re done. Find someone else. Anyone but her.”

That is Jenni’s resolve, because she knows that Mapi is right.

…

June, July, and August pass with bliss.

Everyone says that you are a beautiful couple with beautiful children. Alexia beams with pride as she flaunts her practised English, and gladly claims ownership of Nico when he wins a prize on speech day. Every child in Reception is awarded something but that doesn’t stop her from boasting.

She explores the country with the children while you shack up in the recording studio, and brings hugs and kisses (and Red Bull) every evening after dinner. The visits are what reminds you of the sun Alexia brings, especially as the warmth follows her from Barcelona and London is blessed with golden days. Dog days.

“This isn’t permanent.” Alexia looks up from her phone, comfortable in your bed. The house in Highgate has flecks of Spain woven into the decor now, and you like it that way.

You climb into the bed beside her, and her arm lifts so that you can snuggle into her chiselled stomach (wow, she has been working hard this season). “What’s Jenni saying?” you ask, following your statement and hoping you’ll get her attention. She presses her phone screen into the duvet before you can translate the message – it is too long of a paragraph for you to handle. “Anyway, I wanted to tell you that this isn’t permanent.”

Alexia, over the past few months, has been the most affectionate, loving, amazing person with the same smile and giggle you married. You thought she had disappeared and was replaced with stern, career-focused Alexia Putellas, jugadora del fútbol. You were wrong.

“I’m thinking January is when we’ll come back. Nico’s English will survive.” Your parents are going travelling. They’ve never been on the Orient Express before. “I want to be with you.”

It is a good thing Jenni has just broken up with her.

“I love you,” you continue. “So much.”

Alexia hums. Her heart breaks, and she does not know for whom. “¿En serio?” She is happy, she thinks. Certainly, she is glad that the four of you will be reunited.

You are.

January 2022 ruins things for Jenni Hermoso. She calls Pachuca back.

#barca femeni #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso #fc barcelona #woso imagines #mapi leon #jenni hermoso #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas

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kanmom51 · 7 months ago

Note

https://twitter.com/parkjmwins/status/1782358915939774874

Idk whether you will even answer this ask or will block me but this is exactly why JK had similar concept pics like Jimin. Jikookers made it to be romantic while Fandom made it to a joke 'JK always copy Jimin' (ofcourse). I've seen you making multiple posts about Jikook concept pics being match is a proof of them being a couple when in reality Hybe don't even take permission of original artist before using their ideas for another. One hybe label just got into trouble for copying newjeans and according to CEO min heejin it was BANG SHIHYUK who wanted to copy newjeans to create a second version of them through illit. And guess what he made sure illit gets 10x more success than newjeans, a 2 day song was already charting in different charts including hot 100. The same bang shihyuk who ignored every bit of Jimin's success but shamelessly copied his ideas and visions of concept pics for another favorite member. He shamelessly asks staffs to copy original ideas of artists who created them and use them for a cheap version of the said artist, Newjeans and Jimin are just examples.

Was it JK's fault ? Not necessarily but unlike rookie Illit he had power and capability to make his own decisions and use his own visions instead of doing what he was asked to do by the staff (his words) but he didn't and sat comfortably while using another person's hardwork. If you still think those similarities were because they were couple then idk what to say because in that logic Newjeans girls and Illit girls are dating.

Talk about TikTok generation ask.

Linking me to a tweet that has zero actual information and/or proper discussion, just stating a fact that isn't necessarily even a fact. Ignoring the full picture (like y'all do when it comes to Jikook as well, btw).

And I also find it so so funny how you are basically hanging your all on something that a very problematic figure within the Kpop industry is claiming, all to try and deflect from despicable behaviour she's being accused of, including using and revealing private info of Hybe idols obtained in illegal and despicable manors, perhaps including having to do with certain private info leaking of certain BTS members (including the one person that you so vehemently claim to love and stand in defense of).

You think that by sending me this link you are proving something?

You say that you read through my posts. Well, obviously you've missed those many posts I've written explaining how JM and JK being a couple can be deducted not from one action or one behaviour alone, but the combination of many many actions or behaviours. A puzzle built of not 10 or 50 or 100 pieces, but one built of so many many more.

I find it funny how with everything that has been going on with JM and JK you guys are still at this.

We're back to JK copying JM.

Like seriously.

Like even if the whole NJ Illit thing was true there was some kind of a comparison to be made with these two men.

Like JK, who's album concept is 180 degrees different than JM's doesn't have stylists at his beck and call to create a concept that isn't a full on copy of JM's. Right down to the studs and colours and minutiae details of some of the outfits.

Like if he did copy JM, that same scorned poor JM (that's how you guys love to portray him, as a damsel in distress awaiting you to swoop in and save him) CHOSE to fly to NY to be with JK and spend Silver day there with him, travel with him multiple times and spend his entire 18 months in the army with that awful copy cat JK.

Your ask tells me that you have zero understanding in human interactions and relationships. JM saying time and time again, JOKING time and time again, about JK copying him, it's a tease but also something that he LOVES. How he inspires JK, how JK perceives him as his catalyst.

But this here, the photo concepts and the whole of JK's wardrobe while promoting, claiming it's all about copying JM is just bull crap. This was planned. And it was planned by the two of them. It's not a coincidence that JM happens to wear the bottom part of a two piece outfit months before JK wears the top part of the same exact outfit.

And if we are talking about copying, is it the concept he's copying or is he so far gone that he's literally copying down to the smallest of details?

Like seriously. You think that's about copying JM?

Or because it worked for JM so he thinks it will work for him? Literally same hairstyle rocking as JM had in Face? Cause why not use a concept that works? Seriously? JK's all "I should do this cause it worked for JM so it will work for me"?

Was that what he was thinking when he rocked a highlight of JM's hair colour over the years? That the colour works for JM so I should have a strand of that colour in my hair as well, copying his success? Is that the theory you're working with?

Or when JK wore the same jacket as JM on Valentines day, you know, in a clip that JM himself records and uploads, that JK also copying JM?

Babe, this isn't just about the concept pics either. And it's not just about Face and Seven or Golden. Wearing the actual same black leather or leather-like pants just because he couldn't find any other pants? That level of copying? Or perhaps it wasn't about copying and more about mirroring.

About "You are me I am you", which they have been screaming at the top of their lungs for years now!!!

It amazes me how you have zero issue in taking an over decade long complex super close relationship (no matter how you perceive it they are super close) and simplifying it into "JK copied JM's concept because JM's concept worked for him", or to even compare whatever went on with JK and JM and those similarities to a claim made (by a disgruntled and caught red handed employee of Hybe) about one new GG copying concepts and whatever from a GG that's been around for 2 years now. No connection between them. No long term relationships between the groups. One group supposedly copying from another. Yeah, definitely the comparison needed to be made between that and Jikook's behaviours or decision making.

How infantile of you.

Oh and that paragraph of yours at the end. Laughable really.

Like I already said, go compare 2 GGs in two different companies to 2 men that have been close for over 10 years now. And let's also disregard the long history of those two doing the similar and same outfit (during official shoots, performances etc, or during their free time) thing and look at this one single concept.

Probably styled (funny how the styling seems to be similar for years now on many occasions, and just with the two of them)

Not styled.

These are just examples of MANY MORE instances.

Oh, and I suggest you go read this post too. Not mine, but recently written and oh so relevant to the conversation.

I can't help but wonder how different your pov would have been if one of those two young men was a female. Just thought I would throw that in here too.

But I gotta give you an A for persistence. You guys, you never give up, do you? No matter what JK and JM will throw at you, you will find a way to twist it around to fit your narratives. I guess you also think that JM was forced into enlistment with JK, ah? And their trips together and the content that will drop, also forced on him? I guess him saying otherwise isn't enough to convince you guys either, right? I love the way how you guys are so intrenched in your belief of victimhood that you don't even listen to what JM himself tells you. You love him so much that basically call him a liar. Good for yous I guess.

So, to clarify my answer to you, just in case it wasn't as clear as day already...

You do you, cause nothing I tell you, or show you, or you know what? Nothing that even JM himself will tell you or show you will satisfy you. Because you are living in a self built fantasy of what and who JM is and what and who those that surround him are, all to fit that narrative of yours in which he needs you guys as his saviours and knights in shining armour to swoop in and save him from the big bad JK.

One more thing.

JM's Face was a masterpiece.

We all agree on that. JK included.

He adores JM, he's his no. 1 fan and he's been showing us this throughout 2023.

JK is not a person that would callously copy a concept used by a bandmate just because it succeeded for his bandmate and might work for him too.

Let alone from JM.

His person.

Not even if, as you put it, he was told to do so by the powers at be (which yeah, he'd tell to go shove it up their asses if they ever did 'tell' him to do that btw, and they wouldn't do it anyway seeing that they know that would be his exact reaction).

So, no.

That is my answer to you.

Just a whole big fat NOPE.

No to copying. And surprisingly no to blocking you.

Yet.

#Jikook #kookmin #minkook #jungkook #jk #jimin #jm

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semisgroupie · 1 year ago

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TWO BIRDS OF A FEATHER

nerdy perv!armin arlert x perv!fem. reader

wc: 2.2k

warnings: unprotected sex, creampie, mentions of panty stealing and panty sniffing, handjob, armin gets a little rough (he’s pent up, what do you expect?), mentions of non consensual filming and photo taking, mentions of male masturbation, armin is called pretty and reader is called slut, pussydrunk!armin, ruined orgasm (m!receiving), dacryphilia (kinda)

synopsis: the star of your twisted delusions is just as sick as you

You knew this was wrong. He’s your best friend and an unsuspecting victim in your perverted delusions. But you just couldn’t help yourself with him.

Armin was just so cute and just the perfect prey for your predatory mind.

The way a blush always crept onto his face whenever you leaned just a little too close to him, how his fingers looked whenever he turned the page of the book he was reading or whenever they pressed against the dark frames of his glasses to adjust them on his nose, or your favorite: the way he always stumbled over his words whenever he got flustered and had to end up looking away because his face was too flushed.

It just made you think about how he might look as you kneeled between his legs and stroked his cock. Or how he might look as you rode him to the point of overstimulation or edged him. Would he cry? He would look so pretty crying for you, his pretty blue eyes all puffy and his bottom lip jutting out in a little pout as tears streamed down his face.

Little did you know he had his perverted fantasies of you. If only you knew that he was pressing his favorite pair of your panties against his nose while fisting his cock. Letting his glasses get all fogged up due to his heavy breaths until he made a mess all over his hand. If only you knew that whenever he watched porn or read hentai, he imagined you as the female lead. Imagining what it would feel like to make you cum on his tongue over and over or how you would tremble when he sank his cock into you. God, he’d let you do whatever you wanted to him. He’d be at your beck and call, your toy to use as you please.

He was in the middle of his daily ritual, a pair of your silk panties were pressed to his nose as he fisted his cock. He was right on the edge when he received your text. He dropped everything to read it and had to shove his hard cock back in his pants before getting ready to head to your place. You were bored at home and wanted to see if he wanted to come over and watch a new show you found.

After some time your doorbell rang and you got up to open the door. He was taken aback a little from seeing your outfit, one of the shirts you stole from him and a pair of sleeping shorts that were barely visible. He felt his cock twitch back to life and let you lead him in. “So, I put out all of our favorite snacks and got some drinks ready for the show. I saw a lot of good reviews about it and I thought it might be up your alley.” He just nodded along with whatever you said, more focused on how his shirt looked on you and he tried not to let his mind wander too much.

You pulled him onto the couch and stretched your legs over his lap, your calf brushing a little too close to his crotch. He tried his best to focus on the show, to try to focus on anything but how close your legs were to his cock but you made it so difficult. Shifting around too much or adjusting your legs and bringing them closer to his cock. Then you finally did it, you put your leg right on his crotch, actually feeling how hard he was.

Your eyes widened a little before you looked over at him, a deep red blush bloomed across his face but he didn’t bother to move your leg. “Armin, have you been hard this whole time?” It was an obvious question with an obvious answer but you wanted to hear it from him. He looked over at you and adjusted his glasses on his nose. “I’m sorry, this isn’t right. I should just go.” He made a move to get up but you quickly stopped him, now that you were finally able to get your hands on him, you wouldn’t let him leave.

“You know, you can’t go outside like this. Anyone could see your boner through your pants and who knows what they might say?” You moved closer to him and moved to straddle his lap before moving your hands down to his pants. He watched your hands with wide eyes and bated breaths, he couldn’t believe this was happening now. You pulled his cock out and you were impressed, it was bigger than anything you would’ve imagined and definitely bigger than what you fantasized about. You brought one hand to your mouth to spit on it then brought it back down to start stroking his cock. You were hyper focused on it, the red tip that leaked the perfect bead of precum, how it throbbed in your hand as you worked it, it was perfect.

“You have such a pretty cock Armin, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so pretty. Just like you.” You finally lifted your head to gauge his reaction, a deep red blush along his cheeks and his bottom lip was tucked between his teeth. His bright blue eyes were focused on your hand before they finally met yours. “Please keep stroking me.” His voice trembled as he spoke, as if he was unsure of what he was telling you and it just spurred you on even more. You started moving your hand faster, your spit and his precum mixed to lube his cock and slick sounds along with his groans hit your ears.

“Fuck, fuck your hand feels so good.” He shut his eyes and bucked his hips up into your hand, more moans escaping his lips. You leaned in close and pressed your lips against his, slipping your tongue into his mouth as you continued to stroke his cock. He moaned into your mouth and moved his hands up your thighs and gripped your waist to bring you closer to him. His cock still throbbed in your hand as you pumped it. He gripped you tighter, he was embarrassingly close, being pent up from earlier and finally having you touch him brought him closer to the edge.

He broke the kiss and rested his head on your shoulder as he whined. “I’m gonna cum baby.” There it was, the door to the perfect opportunity finally opened. You released his cock and moved back, watching how it twitched frantically and a weak head of cum spilled from the tip. A broken moan left him and he looked at you with wide eyes. “Why would you do that?” He pouted a little and felt some tears brim his eyes as he looked at the satisfied look on your face.

“Why wouldn’t I? You just look so pretty when you’ve been denied like that and I just wanted to see the expression on your face for myself. It’s not like you didn’t cum, you just had a ruined orgasm and look how hard you still are. I can give you my hand again.” He hated the smug look on your face and he wanted to wipe it off — no, he was going to wipe it off.

He gripped your hips tightly and lifted you off his lap to drop you onto the couch, then in a swift move, he moved between your legs and pinned your arms above your head. Your eyes widened at his actions and your breath was caught in your throat. “There it is, that’s a better reaction.” He bit his lip and held both of your wrists in one of his hands and then moved his free hand down between your legs and pressed his palm against your covered pussy. He groaned and looked at you, “fuck, look at that. You’re just absolutely soaking through your shorts. It would be a shame to keep this on don’t you think?” All you did was nod, you couldn’t find the words to string together because your mind was trying to understand the shift in his demeanor. The control was all yours and now it’s all his.

He pulled off your shorts and panties haphazardly and tossed them aside. His cock was still hard and throbbed as he finally saw your bare pussy. “You know, even though you did offer your hand again, I see a perfectly good hole just waiting to be used. What do you think? Want me to fuck this needy pussy?” You looked down at his cock and spread your legs a little more for him, you couldn’t help but be turned on by him and this side he was showing you. You never thought he would have a dominant bone in his body but looks were definitely deceiving. “Please fuck me, Armin.”

He gripped the base of his cock and dragged it along your folds, collecting your juices on the tip before he pressed it against your entrance, slowly sinking into you. A whimper followed by a grunt left him as he started thrusting shallowly, pushing more of his cock into you. The feeling of your warm, wet walls clenching around him made his head all fuzzy. All coherent thoughts left his mind as he sank into you. He released the grip on your wrists and moved both of his hands to each of your thighs to spread them wider for him, letting him sink deeper into you.

His hips slammed into yours and your moans and whines spurred him on. “You don’t know how long I’ve dreamt about this. I’ve been dying to fuck you. I started to think that I was sick in the head. There’s so many things and there were so many times where I wanted to fuck you. All those nights we spent here on the couch cuddling, I didn’t want anything more than to just bury my head between your thighs and take you. And I know you wanted it just as much. All those times you wore those short skirts and short dresses, it’s like you were begging me to take all those photos and videos of you. I even have them saved on a private album in my gallery.”

His confession poured out of his lips as he slammed into you over and over, the grip he had on your thighs was hard enough to leave a bruise but you could care less. All you did was clench around him and moaned even more. Your best friend was more sick and perverted than you were and all it did was turn you on. “Armin! Fuck!” He was hitting all your sweet spots and he continued to drill into you, it was like he was possessed at the moment. He just fucked you like an animal. “I also have a collection of your panties. They always smell so sweet, just like you. I’m surprised that you haven’t questioned where they went. Are you just that naive? Or did you know that I was taking them the whole time? Hm? Was this what you wanted? Wanted me to fuck you like the greedy slut you are? Was that why you opened the door today wearing my shirt? Knew it would just spur me on?”

Honestly, you didn’t have a plan going into seeing him today. His shirt was just comfortable and smelled like him and then you were bored of just lounging around. “N-no! I just wanted to spend time with you like always!” He looked into your eyes and he couldn’t see a thought behind them, so it was safe for him to assume you weren’t lying. “So just naive then? A naive little slut all for me and a naive little slut that’s getting ready to cum all over my cock.”

He moved one hand and brought it closer to your pussy, your clit was swollen and begged for attention. He brought his hand to his mouth and licked his thumb before bringing it down to your clit to start rubbing it. The feeling of his thumb on your clit was more than enough to set you off, you clenched around his cock tightly and squirted your juices along his hand and cock, soaking him and the cushions underneath you. He leaned down and smashed his lips against your as he continued to thrust and it didn’t take him long to finish after you. Thick ropes of his cum filled you completely, stuffing you to the point where you started leaking out around his cock.

He broke the kiss and panted as he rested his head on your shoulder, his cock still twitching inside you. You weakly wrapped your arms around him and peppered a few kisses along his face. Once he caught his breath he slowly lifted himself off of you and pulled you up with him as he sat up. He rubbed your sides and kept you close to him. “I’ve wanted this for such a long time, pretty boy.” You mumbled into the side of his neck before you lifted your head to look at him. A smile broke on your face when you saw his disheveled state, you brushed some hair out of his face then reached down on the couch to grab his glasses that had fallen off without you realizing it. You adjusted them on his face and caressed his cheek. “I’ve probably wanted this for even longer, beautiful. But just know, this isn’t the last time for us and I will get you back for that ruined orgasm earlier.”

tagging: @delirieum @briefrebelfanalmond @vampgloss

#armin arlert smut #armin smut #aot smut #attack on titan smut #tw:unprotected sex #tw:creampie #tw:noncon elements #tw:dacryphilia

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 6 months ago

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an impolite use of magic

I was rereading Malleus’s Dorm Uniform vignettes to gather information for another post! Something that stuck out to me upon the reread was how magic can be used in an insulting or disrespectful way. We often hear about how both NRC and Twisted Wonderland itself has many rules and regulations which govern magic and its uses—but it seems there is a social component too.

A quick summary of the aforementioned vignettes; they center around Malleus trying to make it to a dorm leaders meeting. After his peers fail to successfully remind him of their appointed time and day, Malleus decides it would be easier the other dorm leaders come to him rather than him going to them. He then casts a spell which transfers those he wishes to meet with (the headmaster and dorm leaders), bringing them directly to him. This is where it gets interesting, because it is Malleus using this spell on his peers that offends them.

Azul indicates that he had never been treated with such disrespect and that Malleus’s act is an insult. Vil and Leona express upset that Malleus seems to think of them as nothing more than objects, luggage, a pen, or a book. Malleus says he does not understand why everyone is mad because the same spell he used on them, they use all the time to summon their magical pens to them. Riddle clarifies: “PENS ARE OBJECTS AND WE ARE HUMAN BEINGS!!” Lastly, Idia likens the situation to being treated like a familiar that Malleus sees fit to summon at his beck and call, which is also just as irritating.

Judging by the other dorm leaders’ reactions, we can infer that most mages find it extremely impolite to have a spell which is typically used on objects cast on them/living beings. Riddle implies you must obtain consent before doing so, otherwise it violates decorum. (This aligns with the idea that magic is usually formally regulated; for example, medical mages must still get their patients’ consent to operate on them or to heal them.)

Reviewing the other lore we know of, this piece of magical manners (?) makes sense. It seems to be okay to cast object-oriented magic so long as permission is granted. For example, in Floyd’s Labwear vignettes, Adeuce are shown practicing color changing magic on an apple. Vil would use similar color changing magic to alter his and his father’s clothes when they were being hounded by the paparazzi. A similar situation would occur in Lilia’s Suitor Suit vignettes, in which Malleus uses his magic to create a suit on Lilia that perfectly matches his image. I’m sure there are many other examples you could think of; these are just the most obvious ones that come to my mind.

Where does that leave us? Well, with a bunch more questions!! Firstly, what else is considered rude use of magic? Secondly, are spells which violate control over one’s mind and body also considered transgressions of social norms??? They must be, right?? Then why was everyone so chill when discussing how Ruggie and Jamil used their UMs in the main story compared to Malleus casting his transference spell? Isn’t having someone else’s will overwrite your own equally as, if not more, degrading and dehumanizing??? (We do see the the other students upset about the magic being casted on them after the fact, but talking about the possibility of it isn’t done with horror; maybe because it was already established that doing these things is a no-no.) In which case, Ruggie and Jamil, who have UMs meant to be used on living beings anyway, is also “impolite” because their spells still violate other people’s autonomy. Why isn’t this banned by law or at least regulated?? Because it’s too hard to control through legislation alone? (That actually makes sense 💦)

What about when Deuce cast a floating spell on Ace to launch him at the chandelier in the prologue? Or the time NRC students made rude Halloween goers (Magicam Monsters) leave campus by floating them over the school gates?? Were those instances considered impolite too???? And is it more impolite to use magic against a non-mage (since they cannot defend themselves) than against a mage? They mention in Terror is Trending that there are laws against using (attack) magic on non-mages, but what about non-attacking spells and with consent like color changing magic???

What are the rules around casting magic on sentient objects like the Mirror of Darkness, is that considered rude as well since the object is “living”? Do ghosts count as “living” enough to be offended by having an object-oriented spell cast on them? Where do blessings and curses fall in this, since those can be cast without consent (Lilia on baby Silver in book 7) and can also be cast on objects (Vil with the gifted cake and pie in book 5).

I must.. know… 🤡

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asvterias · 7 months ago

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𝖫𝖺𝗓𝗒 𝖣𝖺𝗒 & 𝖫𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖲𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗌 ~ 𝖣𝗂𝗈𝗋 𝖦𝗈𝗈𝖽𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇

dior masterlist

warnings: none!!

pairings: dior goodjohn ✘ black!fem!reader

genres: reader is an excellent baker, dior calling reader mamas (OMFG- 😩) cocky!dior, reader is VERY squeamish around snakes, gym!dior (JUST BCS), just cute sweet fluff between reader & dior, dior’s fans LOVE the couple

summary: spending a lazy day with your actress girlfriend while sometimes being involved on an instagram live is your favorite way to bypass quality time. wanting to help soothe your girlfriend’s stress from the production of her first song, ‘Focus’, so you decided to bake dior’s favorite cookies.

word count: 4.5k+

tag list: @addil244 @onxlyficcharacter @wtafaidh @mymyapplesigh @444-polar @sinmalssimp @silent-phantom120 @glwmcres @f4riedimples @babyzzlove @lov3rgirllll

author’s note: kinda a self-indulgent fanfic ngl. also if dior says she doesn’t like fanfictions about her, then i will delete this. i don’t wanna overstep any boundaries and make her uncomfortable.

Being bored in your house alone wasn’t as entertaining when you actually had the energy to make it enjoyable. Your parents and older brother had gone out for the day and your little sister, Leah spent the afternoon with her friends Walker and Aryan. Unfortunately, Dior was unable to keep you company as well, tending to her schedule. Since your girlfriend was occupied at the studio with the producers, practicing for her new hit single ‘Focus’, she couldn’t just ditch and be with you. She had her own life, consumed by other priorities that didn’t involve you.

Now, you weren’t an actress like your sister and girlfriend, yet you had a decent lifestyle despite Dior trying to spoil you endlessly with gifts from famous name brands.

Dior Goodjohn, there were so many words to describe her. Beloved multi-talented actress, who’s been a doting affectionate girlfriend of 2 years and overall a great girl in your life.

The car ride to your girlfriend’s apartment was a simple 30-minute drive and the entrance into her apartment was even easier. For your 1st anniversary gift, Dior gave you a spare house key, trusting you enough with that, telling you to come over whenever. She didn’t mind your presence beside her as she always admires your surprise visits.

It was her with the suggestion of you two living together, but neither of your parents ever allowed it, considering you’re still minors. Although you two were disappointed in their final decision, the couple made the extra effort and hosted as many sleepovers as possible.

Deciding upon doing an Instagram live whilst you waited for your girlfriend to arrive back home. Supposedly, she was busy with her first new single on the way called ‘Focus’ and you understood everything. The late nights returning back home, her exhausted state, all of it, you witnessed and supported her all the way. Whenever Dior needed you, you were there at her beck and call, helping her relax when the impending stress became too overwhelming.

An hour ago, she had sent a text, reassuring you that she’ll be home soon. By the time she’d reached home, it’d been almost nightfall, the evening disappearing.

Once you’ve started the live, you greet the fans with a quick wave and smile, observing the number of fans joining your live. At first, you didn’t keep the conversation short with them, updating them on your whereabouts.

Walking into the kitchen, you took the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies and grabbed the materials needed. Tending to the chocolate chip cookie dough as you silently read over the simple recipe placed on the counter.

Just in time, there was loud shuffling heard outside the front door and you squealed in excitement. Your beloved girlfriend had finally reached back home. Dior has been consumed at the studio, all with the anxious release of her first new single ‘Focus’. Sometimes your girlfriend invites you over to the studio to preview her song with her and honestly share some helpful insight on it.

When she walked into the apartment, her tensed shoulders relaxed and her droopy eyes lit up at the sight of you. There you were in all your glory; her beautiful girlfriend to the rescue, providing her that gorgeous smile and unlimited cuddles of comfort. She’ll always cherish her moments with you, no matter how long time will grant. Closing the door and locking it behind her, she sends you a cheery smile, discarding her bag on the floor.

Very tiredly, she staggered over to the kitchen where you were.

“Hey mamas,” She greets you, eagerly accepting your inviting hug, giving you a soft short kiss on the lips.

“My wifey is back home!” You grinned, shoving her presence in the camera, hugging her tightly.

“How was your day?” She asked.

“So boring until you arrived.”

“Hey guys,” she waved with phone in hand and her other hand still wrapped around your waist, keeping you secure in her grasp. You felt the beads of sweat on her forehead, cheeks flushed and her breathing seemed erratic. Her outfit was quite appealing to the eye, wearing a black Nike gym outfit and the kitchen light glared onto her toned stomach, causing you to be flustered.

Probably just redressed in her backup gym clothes and finished a late-night gym workout to help ease her worries. She always did so whenever her nerves got the better of her.

Often, she’d be gym buddies with Charlie but not tonight, looks like she wanted to be alone.

“Go take a shower,” you whispered in her ear, scrunching up your nose when she boops your nose, “You’re all sweaty and shit.”

“I was planning to.”

You nodded assuredly and released yourself from Dior’s hug, watching your girlfriend leave the kitchen, heading to her bathroom to take a nice shower. Staring at her figure until she disappeared behind the door, your back facing the camera and you redirected your attention back to the live.

For the time being, you comfortably sat on the kitchen counter, gaining a sudden sweet tooth, and munched down on the chocolate chips while answering the viewer’s questions. After you got a toothache from the sweetness of the chocolate chips, you balanced it out with warm water. Suddenly you gained the random urge to bake cookies, rather than continue your process of it. For some reason, you started creating the cookie dough, but ultimately got distracted and impatient…and also bored of doing so. As a matter of fact, you remembered snacking on the chocolate chips and answering questions on your live not even 30 minutes ago. You shake your head at the recent memory, amused by your own tactics, and now determined to surprise your exhausted girlfriend with a hot batch of delicious cookies downed with a fresh glass of milk.

Everything about this was the perfect timing. To help soothe your girlfriend and impress her fans with your amazing baking skills. Mostly, it was to help your stressed girlfriend.

You leaned forward, one hand still holding the mixing spoon, and squinted your eyes as you read a live comment, “Where is Dior right now?”

“Ummm….she’s in the shower because she just recently reached home.”

That statement sparked brand new questions for fans to ask:

‘Do you like Dior’s body build?’

‘Are you two gym buddies?’

‘Bet you absolutely love seeing Dior work out! 😉’

‘Where’s your little sister Leah??”

“Of course I do, everything involving Dior I’m obsessed with! Absolutely not, I can’t work out to save my life, and no I’m not my sister’s bodyguard!” You chuckle, applying the dry ingredients into the mixing bowl.

‘What are you making?’

You showed the camera the mixing bowl filled with raw cookie dough, which lacked the chocolate chips yet.

“Chocolate chip cookies, they’re Dior’s favorite,” You said, “She’s such a sweet tooth.”

@: ‘Aww, Y/N’s soo sweet.’

@: ‘Wish I had a gf to bake my favorite treats!’

“Good thing, Dior always has a spare chocolate chip bag around here.” You bite your lip, “Just need to get my hands on them.”

Deeply invested in your baking, you didn’t recognize how quickly time passed by when Dior appeared behind you, instantly going for your warm touch. She inhales your scent, hugs you from behind, and peppers your face and neck with innocent kisses, enjoying the erupting giggles from you.

“Never mind you guys, Dior’s here.”

Your head sashays with every movement making your braids tickle her skin lightly.

Paying no attention to her presence, you stirred the pot listening to her low humming while rocking you side to side. These were the days that Dior loved, a chance to catch a breather and soak in relaxation days with you.

Her eyes analyzed the Instagram live on your phone.

“Where did you hide the spare chocolate chip bag?”

“Like, I’d tell you,” she scoffs, “Last time I told you where I hid the chocolate chips, I heard you in the middle of the night, snacking on them. We had an unprepared visit to the dentist the following morning and we both know you hate going to the dentist.”

“That was an inconvenience!”

“No, No! That was karma, I warned you multiple times to not eat so many sweets at one time. You’re just a stubborn girl.”

“Yeah, and so what I’m your stubborn girl,” You leaned closer towards her, noses hovering over the other as you stared into each other’s eyes. “Which makes me your problem!”

“Oh, you’re a problem, alright.”

“Yeah, your prettiest problem too!”

She huffed as you consistently pestered about the other hidden bag of chocolate chips, finally being convinced by your whining. You beamed in excitement, gripping the fresh bag as you sauntered back over to the mixing bowl.

Another buzz feed of comments was spiraling your girlfriend’s way.

@: ‘The cutest couple to ever exist!!’

@: ‘Couple goals fr!’

@: ‘How long have you and Y/N been dating?’

Dior informs them, “We’ve been dating for 2 years, our anniversary is coming up soon.”

“What you gonna get me?”

“It’s a surprise, my love.”

“I do love surprises,”

“I know you do.”

“Just don’t pop up with no snake.” You said, your sweet tone disappears.

“Someone popped up with a snake thinking it’ll be funny.” You referred to Dior with an unimpressed look.

“Update it was.”

“Show up with a snake again, and I swear someone is getting punched.”

“You wouldn’t punch me, my face is too pretty for that kinda damage.”

“Well, I’m obviously not punching the snake!”

“You wouldn’t punch me.”

“If you bring a snake I just might,” Obviously, you were kidding. You’d never do that to your sweet beloved girlfriend.

She frowns slightly, rethinking her upcoming words.

“Last time it wasn’t funny! Everyone knows I don’t fuck with reptiles, especially snakes.”

“That just means she likes you!” Dior insisted.

“I don’t care, that goddamn yellow snake can like me at a safe distance behind a glass cage at the petting zoo!” You shout, “Either that or nothing!”

“You guys see what I have to deal with on a daily,” Dior points to you, sarcasm laced in her tone, “Such a drama queen.”

Nodding along to your girlfriend’s statement as you applied the chocolate chips to the batch of raw cookie dough.

“Yet, she loves this drama queen,” you retorted.

Dior scans some more of the fans’ comments.

@: ‘DIOR PLEASE POST THE SINGLE OUT NOW 🙏🏾🙏🏾!!’

@: ‘OMG HOW IS FOCUS GOING??’

@: ‘CAN WE GET ANOTHER TEASER??’

“Sorry guys, I already said when Focus is getting released and unless you’re my girl, you don’t get a preview.” She confirms with the viewers, “Also it’s going really well.”

@: ‘Omg they’re so cute, it’s not even funny!’

@: ‘When will this happen to me??’

@: ‘How was the preview Y/N??’

“It was fucking awesome,” you answered the last commenter, “Like her voice is so beautiful, like I fell in love with her a million times over again, it’s completely outrageous.”

“We can’t wait for you guys to hear it!” Dior cheers.

“All of your ears will be certainly blessed after hearing her magnetic voice, I know I was.” You agreed.

“Aren’t you quite the flatterer.”

“I’m just being a supportive girlfriend who’s always honest with you.”

“Never said I didn’t like the compliments,”

“Baby, can you preheat the oven to 350 degrees for me?” You gently asked her.

Dior remained quiet, complying with your request, walking to the oven, and preheating it. She skipped back over to you, arms wrapped around your waist, continuing to hug you from behind, gazing at you. You started to ball the cookie dough, your tongue sticking out slightly in concentration as the silence in the atmosphere was turning palpable.

“Why are you so quiet?” Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, turning to the curly-haired girl, pausing your movements.

“Nothing…it’s just you’re so beautiful.” She murmured, taken away by your beauty. “Gimmie a kiss…” she puckered her lips, leaning into you.

Instead of giving in to her demands, you swipe a decent amount of remaining flour on your finger, smearing it across your girlfriend’s cheek.

“Did you just—?” her eyes widened in shock, glancing at the flour placed on her cheek.

“I did!” you giggled, applying another ounce of flour on her other cheek, “And I’m not even sorry,”

@: ‘You can’t tell me they aren’t in love, like just look at them!’

“You’re lucky you’re so cute and adorable,” she pouts, swiping an ounce of flour on your nose.

“Not the only reason you’re letting me off so easy,” you whine as she places her head into the crevice of your neck, still placing tiny kisses there.

Her voice was muffled. “We can always order in, you know that, princess.” you turned off the stove, leaving Dior’s fingers lingering on your stomach.

“I know,” you sigh, turning around to face your girlfriend and her hands immediately redirect on your waist. you tried to avoid eye contact, in hopes of getting your point across without being distracted but her hazel eyes remained on you. “I just wanted to do something special for you cause you deserve it and I wanted to help brighten your day.” Finally, you manage to gaze into Dior’s eyes only to find her already admiringly staring back.

You never took in her outfit, eyes slowly trailing down at her body. She wore a white Nike sports bra with gray shorts and her hair was still damp from the shower.

You didn’t realize you were checking her out until Dior pointed it out.

“Gorgeous, my eyes are up here.” She teases, chuckling slightly at your reaction towards her clothing.

“I don’t need a fresh pair of my favorite cookies to know that you love me. Just you being here brightens up my day and I want you to know that.” her fingers glide over your cocoa-brown skin, drinking in your skin tone with her delicate touch. “I appreciate every single thing that you have to offer, because, believe me, I’d be a damn fool if I ever let you go.”

You chuckle and caress her face, slightly stroking her cheek. “I love you so much, Dior.”

“I love you too, mi amor.” she leaned in for a kiss and you complied, making her hum and deepen the kiss. completely mesmerized by the passionate kiss, you didn’t react when you felt two arms lifting you by the thighs, throwing your body onto her shoulder like you weighed nothing. She patted your hips twice, turning to the phone and sending the viewers a wink before carrying you over to the couch.

“No!! Babe, Dior…put me down!!” you mercifully pleaded with your girlfriend but it was rendered useless when she finally dropped you out of her hands…and right onto the couch which was nearby. The Instagram live was able to see you two, only at a farther distance.

You end up lying upside down on the couch as your braids hang over the floor and your legs dangle in mid-air. Dior’s laughs fill the atmosphere and the butterflies flutter in your stomach, due to slight embarrassment and amusement.

“Alright jokes over, help me up now, Dior.” you held out your hand, eager for reliance.

“Oh no, that’s the oldest trick in the book. I’m not gonna fall for that one.”

You roll your eyes, pulling yourself up using your elbows as support, and hastily grab her shirt and pull her down with you. A shocked gasp left her lungs as she tumbled down beside you and once she’s recovered from her fall, she turned to look at you.

With your hand still gripping her shirt, and instead of another sudden ambush, you pulled her in for a soft kiss, gently pecking her lips and giving her the widest grin you could’ve displayed.

“Now we both know that you could do better than that.”

Your harsh grip on her sweatshirt loosened, and this time Dior leaned in and kissed you tenderly, highly content that you reciprocated the action back. The brunette pulled away, “Great, now can we order in? You know, you’re my girl and all, who I wholeheartedly adore, but I don’t want to be sick for the rest of the week.”

You feign shock, shoving her in the stomach as she dramatically acts being hurt, clutching onto her stomach, and falling on the floor. You were truly offended at your girlfriend’s words while she just laughed boisterously.

“I could so cook!” You argued.

“I love you gorgeous, but no you can’t.”

You throw the couch pillow, hurling the item towards her face. Much to your dismay, Dior’s reaction time was faster, stretching a hand out to block the flying pillow and catching it.

“Guess you’ll be on a kissing ban.” You cross your arms and twist your nose in the air.

“No, I won’t.”

She stood up menacingly, stalking closer towards you, making you look at her and unfurl your folded arms.

“Oh yes, you will,”

“You’re gonna seriously ban me from your kisses all because I said you’re a horrible cook.” Dior defends herself, “You’re an excellent baker now.”

“I’m petty as hell, don’t forget it.”

“I thought you meant pretty as hell,” Dior smirks.

“That too!”

“You bet your ass you are.” She pinches your thigh.

“Wow, thanks for the compliment, d,” You roll your eyes.

“No problem, princess.” she kissed your knuckles before trailing up your arms and halting at your collarbones, “You drown in my compliments, and I love to see it.”

“Yeah, yeah whatever,” you murmur, a fond smile tugging at the ends of your lip.

Her hot breath fanned over your ear. “Come on, babe.” she groans against your skin, pressing a chaste kiss behind your ear, missing the way you squirmed lightly from her ticklish lips. Her energetic eyes met yours once again as she spoke, “Let’s order takeout, Chipotle, your favorite, it’s all on me.”

“How can I say no to that?”

She shifted her weight from you, allowing some space since she was lying on top of you, making you escape much easier from her embrace.

Keeping you on her watchful gaze, you venture to the dining room table to retrieve the Chipotle menu.

“Or how can you see no to me?” She states when you returned back to the living room.

“Real smooth, Goodjohn.” your sentence rolls off your tongue with ease. You swore you witnessed Dior shudder at the sultry tone of your voice, mentioning her last name. The vulnerable sight of your cocky girlfriend made a smile widen across your face.

“Isn’t that how I’m dating you? You were swooned by my alluring charm?!” she questioned, staring at you, curious for the answer. “Or unless,” she gasps shockingly, causing you to resist the temptation of rolling your eyes, “You’re only with me for my body and popularity,”

“No no you were a sexy dumbass and I was your smart savior,” you reaffirmed her accusations. “You being an uprising celebrity is just one of the many advantages,”

“Whatever, you fell for me and my charms, regardless,”

You huff, crossing your arms as you avoid Dior’s gaze. “I like you because of you,”

“Damn right you did,” she pulled you in closer by the waist, “And I know you wouldn’t change me for anything.”

“I hate it when you’re right,” you scoff.

“Oh but I love it when I’m right,” Dior chuckles, bringing your lips onto yours, pouting slightly when you refuse the kiss. “Makes me feel like I’ve beaten you at something,”

Her mood brightens when you change your mind, settling for a quick peck on the lips.

Anything was better than nothing, Dior supposed, but then immediately disagreed. She grew irritated at the lack of your attention, at this point feeling it was better if you didn’t reward her with a kiss anyway. Snapping her eyes at you, sending a glare of irritation, observing the cocky grin on your face.

This sneaky little vixen, Dior thought as she maintained eye contact with you. Of course, you were fully aware of Dior’s total hatred towards light kisses, and to give her a peck was so wrong in many ways. Clearly, it meant you didn’t love her anymore and that peck was the first sign of you losing interest in her.

Dior shook her head, disposing of those thoughts, knowing she was being a dramatic queen right now.

“Keep this attitude up and you’ll be sleeping on the couch,” you snarled, hoping your demanding tone would encourage Dior to oblige. Oh, Dior loves your confidence, but not when it was used against her.

It was necessary to humble you, right then and there, or else you’ll never learn your lesson. After all, you were a very smart girl and not a stupid one, it wasn’t your tendency to make frequent mistakes like this.

Without saying a word, she squeezes your stomach, her hands slithering their way upwards against your chest and you release a tiny squeal of shock. Dior had her gaze locked down on you during the whole time. You refused to look your girlfriend in the eyes as you closed your eyes, internally cursing yourself for being so submissive to her actions. and rather, a very simple action at that too. God, you thought you had more pride than you let on.

Guessing it was Dior’s way of saying; don’t bite off more than you can chew.

“No, I won’t, and I know you won’t do that. You’ll miss me too much,” she admitted, grinning at the scowl appearing on your lips. your girlfriend shuffles slightly on you, keeping her warm hands underneath the hoodie you wore, “Baby, don’t scowl, it promotes ugly wrinkles.”

That comment earned Dior a flick to her forehead and you pushed her to the floor, giggling at her dejected groans of pain.

You looked at your phone, grabbed it, and flipped the camera, showing your girlfriend sprawled out on the floor. Her beautiful curls spread across the carpeted floor as she squints her eyes at you.

On Instagram live, comments and viewers flooded in alike, observing the sapphic couple.

“Look at this dumbass,” You stated, bringing the phone closer to her as you straddled her lap. Instinctively, her arms rest on your hips, lightly tracing imaginary patterns on the clothed flesh. Limbs tangled together, constant swooning with each other through quick stares, and the faint giggles erupting from both of you filled the quiet atmosphere.

“Not too close,” she warns, puckering her lips, “My lips are all yours.” Out of the camera, your girlfriend kisses your cheek and then

“Gimmie a kiss and a real one this time!” Dior demands, mumbling it to you.

You pressed her lips against yours softly, seemingly making the kiss sweet and innocent. Tugging one of Dior’s loose curls that dangled in her face, you pulled it behind her ear as your lips moved as one. You adored Dior’s hair, thick voluminous curls flowing down to her neck and you couldn’t resist playing it in when she was close.

She could kiss you a billion times, and that still wouldn’t suffice for you, Dior made sure you know that on numerous occasions, often being the one to overextend your kisses. You felt your girlfriend’s smile in the kiss as she deepened it, her grip on your waist tightening.

It was one of those slow and steady kisses that you cherished with her. There was no need to rush your makeout, a calm chaste kiss sealed the deal and got the point across. Dior was just drowning in your lips, never reluctant to refuse your kisses, moving on one accord.

She couldn’t go on with another minute without your loving kisses. Those kisses shared with you, your soft and sweet lips, were like nicotine to her, a special type of drug, stupidly yearning for your lips even more. You were Dior’s drug and she was your addiction. Insanely addicted to your lips making her act crazy, practically begging on her knees for an ounce of your attention, wondering if you saw her in the same light she perceived for you.

Sucking in a breath as the kiss intensified, one of Dior’s hands traveled to your lower back as the other remained on your hips, lightly squeezing the flesh there. You moaned in the kiss, spurring your girlfriend further on as she tugged at your lower lips, biting down gently, hardly enticing any discomfort from you.

Dior gave you time to adjust yourself again as she stared at you in contentment. Your hand teasingly runs down from the crevices of her breasts down to her toned abdomen and her breath hitched at this. However, she gains dominance as her hands grip the flesh of your thighs, squeezing down on them as you shuffle slightly.

Eventually leading up to the risk of getting insanely high, and resisting the temptation to become sober. Never take the risk of being sober if it means that she gets to be high off of you every day, obsessed by everything you achieved. Like hell was your girlfriend was gonna waste the chance of losing your touch once more, she’d be crazy enough to beat those allegations.

“I’m your….” Dior clarified, lips swollen from the intense making out. The camera frame caught onto her loose curls and barely the side of her face, “Sexy dumbass, you said so yourself,” She nods reassuringly, smiling slightly at your laughter.

“Think that’s it for today, we’ll see you later!” You concluded, and gave Dior your phone, displaying her presence on the live, “Say goodbye Dior!”

“Bye, you guys! Love ya!” Dior blows an air kiss at the phone screen. She ended the Instagram live and placed the phone on the coffee table as you both sat upright.

“Damn, baby,” she chuckles, wiping away the flour from her cheek. Her gaze never left you, peering at the flour mess on your face too. Your girlfriend smirks at you, “Looks like we’re gonna both take a shower sooner than expected.”

likes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated!

#dior goodjohn #dior goodjohn x reader #dior goodjohn x fem!reader #dior goodjohn x black!reader #dior goodjohn x black!fem!reader #dior goodjohn imagine

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hhnguyen · 2 years ago

Text

future light

♢ Pairing: Oldest Sully sister!Reader x Brother!Neteyam (PLATONIC)

♢ Word count: 2.6k

♢ Genre: Sibling love, family fluff, comfort, angst - Warnings: jealous siblings, swearing, slight angsty Neteyam but sissy is here for him don't worry, Jake is a worried parent not a bad one people

⌲ Description: Neteyam can no longer keep silent in seeing his father’s favoritism against you, who just happened to be in his line of fire when it went off.

Stupid brat.

That was all Neteyam could think as he stood before his father, Lo’ak beside him with his head hanging low and avoiding eye contact as Jake was glaring down at them with one of his signature scolding expressions.

His little brother had somehow managed to get into trouble, again.

This time being mere inches away from being swallowed by a palulukan and missing the eclipse curfew set for them to be back home.

Lo’ak had run off to explore after his training lessons ended much earlier than Neteyam’s, dragging Spider with him as they ventured outside the safety lines of the village and into the awaiting jaws of the forests.

In the daytime, the jungles of the Omatikaya were their terrain. Every branch, tree, and leaf was at their beck and call as they moved through the canopies as easily as breathing. Yet as dark fell, the night and its life were as perile to the Na’vi as the sky people if not treading carefully enough.

Especially if that Na’vi in question was his stupid fourteen-year-old brother still struggling to shoot straight with his bow.

Neteyam loved Lo’ak, there was no damn question about his affection for him. He would do anything to keep his siblings and family safe, but sometimes just like now, he felt the burden of being the oldest son lay heavily on his shoulders.

How his dad’s glaring gaze seemed unfair for placing him underneath the same shade as Lo’ak when he hadn’t even been there - but arrived in time to save both of the young boys from their untimely death until his parents had come swooping in and chased away the palulukan.

“You should have known better than let him go off on his own!” Jake was reprimanding with a shake of his head. “You’re the older brother, Neteyam. It is your responsibility to keep him safe when your mom and I, or even Y/N are not around to protect you.”

Maybe Neteyam was being childish, but the mention of your name only managed to aggravate him further.

Then why wasn’t he yelling at you too for being an irresponsible sibling? You’re the oldest after all, not just him.

He knew that wasn’t happening.

You were Y/N - Toruk Makto’s pride and joy, who was nearly always seen by your father’s side in all important matters regarding the clan, sometimes being asked for input whereas Neteyam was stuck with other teachers showing him the essential ropes of what was expected of him as the future Olo’eyktan.

All hypothetical scenarios rather than letting the real clan leader - his father - take him out on actual excursions.

Biting back his thoughts, Neteyam kept his eyes firmly on the ground, jaw clenching before he replied. “I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.” What utter bullshit that was.

Seemingly satisfied with his response Jake turned his ire towards Lo’ak who seemed to cower away. “You are grounded. No flying for a month and only ikran clean up duty. You are to join Neteyam in all his lessons after your own and help your grandmother whenever she needs it. Understood?”

Somehow Neteyam felt like it was more a punishment for him than his younger brother.

“Yes sir.”

As their father turned to leave, Neteyam went the opposite way of their hut, the constrained anger still clearly present in him when he heard Lo’ak call after him.

“Bro where are you going?”

“Away from you, little dipshit.”

There an offended scoff. “I said I was sorry!”

Neteyam whirled around in a fit of frustration so sudden that it made Lo’ak stop in his pursuit seeing how well pissed off his older brother was. “You’re always sorry, Lo’ak! But you never learn, do you? Always doing the same shit over and over again, and who takes the blame every time for you? Me. So how about you stop saying sorry and try thinking for once?!”

The hurtful disbelief with unshed tears staring back at him caused a string of regret to follow his words, but with a hiss, Neteyam turned back around to get away as far as he could without leaving their village.

There were no footsteps following after him this time.

He found himself on one of the smaller hometrees, just on the edge of what Jake had deemed as their ‘village line.’

After the war and the destruction of his mother’s former hometree which had served as the Omatikaya’s home for centuries, they had for a time located closer to Hell’s Gate at the leading of his father until they decided to migrate back to the jungle and now lived in scattered villages throughout the forest.

The hunt for a new hometree was still ongoing. But he had heard there was a lot more involved than just picking one. It had to be large enough to house their whole clan and not cross into other territories before the shaping and building itself could start - something which took years in itself to complete.

Though his father was against making another hometree theirs yet again, of the fear of them becoming vulnerable again to attacks from the past. If the sky people had managed it before, they could do it again. It was just a matter of time until the decision was final and where the Omatikaya would end up settling once and for all.

Neteyam had scaled the trunk easily enough before making himself comfortable on one of the hundreds of branches, on the lower side that hung over a cliff facing towards the setting sun, painting the sky in hues of orange, soft pink, and reds.

Time was nonexistent for him at that moment, and he cherished the short moment of silence to himself to calm his racing heart and betraying thoughts towards his family. Or at least he tried.

Until a screech woke him from the trance.

At first, it sounded like any other ikran before it was followed by a particularly vicious one that made him nearly think Toruk the beast himself had returned. But then the familiar sight of a midnight blue ikran made itself known in the sky, its rider hollering in greeting before landing on the edge of the large branch he was occupying.

Neyteyam watched as you jumped off swiftly with a bright grin, patting the neck of Atanzaw, who caught sight of him sitting there. Despite the long distance between them, and the slim chance of being remotely hurt by the mount, the aggressive snap that the ikran sent his way still made him flinch.

He didn’t understand how you had managed to bond with that vicious beast. A broken wrist or not.

He supposed it was another one of your many talents being born as Toruk Makto’s oldest. There was no stopping the roll of his eyes at the thought.

Oblivious to his foul mood, you soothed your bond with a gentle pet before making your way over, bow slung over your shoulder. “Hey little brother, I thought I recognized something blue!”

You had never been the most humorous person when it didn’t involve crude language.

“Is that supposed to be funny?” He muttered in reply as you shrugged and sat down beside him.

“A little bit, yeah. So why are you up here?”

“Why are you still out?” he didn’t know why he felt the need to ask that, before adding. “It’s way past eclipse, you know.”

Again your reply was easygoing. “Dad knows I was out and he was good with it, as long as I was back before complete dark.”

No surprise there. The favorite child gets the favorite treatment.

“Of course he was. Anything for you.” A bitter mutter.

At this point there was a no brainer that Neteyam was mad at something. At that, something was seemingly directed at you, as your frown got deeper and you leaned back to get a better look of him.

“Okay…out with it.”

“What?”

“What did I do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Because we are apparently being mad at Y/N today, and she wants to know why.”

His forehead creased further in confusion. “Why do you refer to yourself in such a way?”

Your teasing smile vanished as you blanched at him. “Are we really doing this right now ‘Teyam?”

He looked away again, tongue poking the inside of his cheek in contemplation before glancing back at you, his braids following the movement and beads clinking against each other while you remained silent waiting for him to decide.

“It’s not important.”

“Okay, I don’t believe you.”

“It’s none of your business, Y/N.”

“Ohoho, I definitely don’t believe you now.”

“Can you stop that?!” his explosion of anger was unexpected even for him as Neteyam sprung up on his feet and stalked away from you. “Do you ever get sick of it?”

Opening and closing your mouth, you took a moment to consider your next choice of actions as you observed him carefully. Your words were neither angry nor kind, simply said as a swift question. “Sick of what?”

“Acting like you’re better than anyone else!”

“Excuse me?” The slight hiss of your words matched with the warning growl coming from Atanzaw as the ikran paced on the edge of the branch at the aggravated emotions coming from your brother. “You need to calm down.”

“No!” Neteyam was properly glaring at you now, lips pulled back to show his fangs at you. “I am sick and tired of you being treated like an untouched treasure of this clan, while father keeps looking at me like I’m some sort of a large disappointment because Lo’ak can’t manage to remain on his ass for one second!”

Your retort died on your tongue as you realized where his frustrations were coming from.

“It’s always me; the oldest brother, the older son whose responsibility is to watch over our siblings. But why should it be my fault because Lo’ak decides to be a stupid brat?”

This was something entirely else, you thought. A build up of something that had been festering underneath his strong armor. Neteyam had never been a person to harsh language, especially not directed towards family. This was a completely new and hurt side of him you hadn’t seen before.

Your own heart was hurting at seeing Neteyam falling overboard. How all of his emotions were grappling within him, pushing each other to the surface and not being able to stop as all his burdens revealed themselves to the star filled night of Pandora winking back at him.

There was a sharp snap from behind you as you ordered firmly. “Mawey, Atanzaw,” the aggravated scufflings of your mount ceased.

“It’s always me. Never you - the actual oldest of the family. I’m the one training to become Olo’eyktan, so why…” His voice broke, shoulders sagging with clenching fists. “AH!”

You moved forward in a rush as he turned to punch the bark of the tree, your hands swiftly pulling his hand towards you after impact. “‘Teyam! Don’t hurt yourself.”

There was a slight resistance as he tried to pull away, but you were firm in holding on as he realized this and relented. You lead him further out to the branch, closer to where the suspicious ikran stood watching and left him a few feet away as you rustled in your bag and pulled out some first aid bandages for his torn skin.

You felt his gaze on you the entire time you silently looked over the broken wounds, but nothing too serious except for some stinging on his part.

“Why are you not speaking?” His voice was raspy and low, a clear sign of overuse. He was already taller than you despite his younger age, hovering an inch or two above.

“Do you wish for me to speak, little brother?”

“Rather than you giving me the silent treatment.”

“Oh? And do you think you deserve it?”

The silence that occurred made you think he was genuinely thinking about it, but his next words made you pause for a single second before resuming.

“Please stop doing that.”

He meant your ability in drawing out anything you wanted from them with your way of questioning to the point of revelation. You never did it as a means of making anyone feel bad, but rather encouraging them to say their honest thoughts and feelings without feeling embarrassed. You made everyone feel validated, listening to all their struggles with an understanding look, never once making them feel small in telling their darkest truths.

“You know what I think?

Neteyam shrugged.

Offering a small, yet comforting smile you grabbed both of his hands and let them hang between your bodies.

“I believe you might have misunderstood all of this.”

Opening his mouth, you were quick to shut down his words. “Wait. You say it’s unfair that dad is faulting you for the troubles of Lo’ak. Don’t you get it ‘Teyam? You said it yourself. You are the future Olo’eyktan of the Omatikaya. You will face far worse accusations against you from so many different people, about things that you cannot control. Dad’s way might not be ideal, but he is preparing you for the worst out there. I don’t speak about the worse monsters or animals, I mean actual people, either sky people or other Na’vi who might not agree with your decisions. It’s about a responsibility larger than yourself.”

Neteyam felt the breath leave his lungs, a clarity sweeping through all his dark thoughts as he stared down at his older sister with a slackening grip on her hands.

“And about me getting everything I want?” even in the darkness you could see his ears flickering to lay flat down on his head, eyes avoiding your own until you encouraged him to look back up. “You are not wrong. But you forget, Neteyam. You are the oldest son, not me. I am merely a firstborn daughter. Not Olo’eyktan, not even Tsahik in training. I feel blessed that you haven’t seen what I have - How many Na’vi that do not agree to have me beside our father.”

That was a truth Neteyam had never expected to hear. Their actual clan members opposed to the things his sister did? One of the best young warriors they had. There were not many that could compare to your fearlessness. What absolute bullshit.

“I have to be better than anyone else ‘Teyam. Or else I’m nobody. Only another daughter. It’s a matter of proving myself to be someone worth something other than the next clan leader, or Tsahik. Do you understand now?”

How couldn’t he?

But now that the reality was here, it left feeling him like he had done something unforgivable. Spitting hurtful words at the one person besides his parents that would give their life for him without a single thought. Just jump straight into the line of fire with a triumphant grin.

“I’m a fool,” he whispered.

You cupped his cheek with a shake of your head. “No, you are young. You are allowed to feel things that might seem hard. It’s all about growing up, little brother.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“Never,” you grinned, tiptoeing up to peck his cheek quickly before suddenly dancing backward with a shift in mood as the grin turned into a mischievous smirk. “But I believe a proper apology would be to join me on the flight home.”

This wasn’t good.

“But…my ikran is not here?” His confusion melted away at the realization as he locked eyes with the glaring yellow irises of the blue devil standing behind his sister. “Oh no. No, no, no, no!”

“That’s my payment. Take it or leave it.”

He was certain of it. The evil glint in your eyes was not his imagination.

The night for the two older Sully kids ended with Neteyam screaming for Ewya to spare him as Atanzaw did everything he could to shake the boy off his back, despite being firmly strapped in by yours truly, and your laughter followed his every scream.

taglist: @nao-cchi @eywas-heir @ssc7514 @spicycloudsalad @calums-betch @httpjiikook @ricecakeslove @fanboyluvr @narutoboii561-blog @iwaslikeblah @the-wandering-pan-ace @avatarloversblog @eternallyvenus

#avatar imagine #avatar the way of water #avatar #sully family #sully reader #sully family x reader #neteyam imagine #neteyam x reader

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