#straight to the pleasure centre of your brain

[all-or-nothing-baby]

when you start a new book or fanfic that you bought/borrowed/saved etc bc you liked the sound of it and then you read the first chapter and it's just. exactly what you'd been hoping for... what! an exquisite! feeling!

[sunniepoo]

thinking about mean stepbro!rafe catching his cute little stepsis humping away at her pillow late into the night when everyone’s asleep ⋆ටᆼට⋆

that night was ingrained in the back of rafe’s head as if some twisted fairy carved the image of you rutting helplessly into your pillow within the crevices of his brain

it was all by complete chance. the night’s breeze gushed through the older cameron’s window awakening him to the seasonable hot hours of darkness- he couldn’t even remember what caused him to leave bed; water? needing to use the bathroom?

all that clouded his twisted mind, was walking past your room; his sweet, pure minded step sisters room. the soft little pants and uh uh’s that left your mouth filled the silent air. he almost couldn’t believe it, it felt like some perverse wet dream that centred around your poor, naive self

his body moved before his mind, his hand gently creeping up against the door, softly pulling it open- cautious to making no noise to alert his presence. it was art; the sight of seeing you move vigorously against a spare pillow, your hips rocking back and forth as your back arched back, your hands travelling up to pull and squeeze at your clothed tits, your mouth agape as the sinful sounds of pleasure leave your mouth

but the true beauty of it all was when his eyes fell down to your bare pussy, all red and puffy from the constant stimulation. you were so so so wet, you poor thing must have been so achey, so desperate

he would be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted, there was nothing he wanted more than to barge in and pound that pretty pussy till you couldn’t even remember your own name - but he settled, hiding in the darkness, watching you work at your pillow late into the night. he found his hand travelling down beneath the band of his sweatpants, palming away at his hardon, small pants of pleasure escaping his mouth

you paid no notice to your surroundings completely oblivious to the shadow of the large figure behind your door until you stopped

fuck! had you seen him? has he been caught?

depsite the danger of being caught, rafe’s head peered further inside and god he nearly came at the sight.it was heavenly,the way you took of your corset like top, tits spilling out in an almost pornographic like manner. one of your small hand gliding up your stomach, eventually to come pull and twist at your cute little nipples while the other goes down to rub at your already sensitive pussy

the loud moan that left your mouth went straight to his throbbing cock, dying to be let free and make itself home in your tight cunt. he rushed to pull down his pants and boxers, freeing his large length as his hands fist around it, moving up and down at the same pace you rocked against the pillow

his mind couldn’t help but wander what if it was him underneath you instead of the pillow, the zip of his jeans catching against your sore clit just as the edges of the pillow did when you rocked forward and when you rocked back it was the friction against his bulge rather than the fluff of the pillow

he could hear that you were getting closer, your whines becoming higher as you rocked faster and faster, your hand rubbing roughly against your mound prompting him to move his fist faster up and down the length of his cock, leaking with pre cum

a soft series of curses left your mouth as you went into total bliss, hands gripping the side of your bedside table,mouth agape while a high pitched wine left your mouth and as if it was a cue for the tall blonde, he spilled out across the palm of his hand

he wondered if you ever heard the joined pants of the aftermath of both of your highs. he watched you collapse down into the warmth of your bed, the lengths of your hair stuck against your sweaty body as you breathe out, softly panting

god he wishes he could have stayed and watched your pretty pussy throb and clench around nothing but he knew he had pushed his luck already. the images of you and your little cunt plagued his mind as he fell asleep

⇉

the morning after was a blur for you; the early morning rays of sun kissing your skin, waking you up to the quiet twitter of the birds. it was early - way too early for anyone to be up, maybe ward but that seemed unlikely since he had no buisness to attend to roday

so when you went downstairs in nothing but a pair of panties and a bra covered by a thin dressing gown, the last person you expected to see was rafe cameron, the older boy resting his lower back against the counter, mindlessly scrolling on his phone

there was something magnetic about him - the dark blue in his eyes carrying a deep mystery. despite his typical mean,brooding state - barely sparing anyone around him more than a glance, you were always so drawn to him - his roughness; it only made your mind wonder to places they definitely shouldn’t be going, especially not about your brother

his hands; so rough and calloused, always adorned with the familiar gold cameron ring gifted by his father. you’d thought about them more often than you’d like to admit, what’d be like to hold them - intertwining them within yours. you wondered how’d they’d feel inside you, fitting in you so snug - reaching places inside you that you could only imagine of. the thought of them wrapped tightly around your neck, his fingers inside your mouth, making their way down your thro-

“your up early, must’ve slept good” you look up at him, realising you’d been staring intently at the lengths of his fingers, his voice was husky signalling he must’ve just gotten up aswell

you didn’t miss the subtle smirk as he uttered out the end of his sentence. weird you thought but didn’t pay it much thought, rafe is rafe. “yeah i guess-” you sigh out, hands softly grazing against the edge of the counter as you moved slightly closer “i mean i went to bed pretty late but it’s fine”

“yeah?” it was hard to miss his teasing tone, you couldn’t help but look down at the ground - feeling small in his presence “and why did you go to bed so late” the sudden shift in position nearly startles you, with rafe’s tall figure looming over you, standing impossibly close. you could feel his minty breath coming slowly closer and closer, making your pussy clench around air

you couldn’t help but take in his appearance, wearing nothing but a tight pair of boxers which did nothing to hide his quite obvious boner poking at the front of your thigh, hair tussled above the icy blue in his eyes

“just on-” the quiver in your voice only seemed to push him closer “on my ph- phone” you ramble out, hoping this conversation would be over soon enough

and just as he goes to speak, the voice of ward and rose waking up could be heard from downstairs, thank god- but it doesn’t stop him from shifting closer, leaning down to your ear “ well get to bed earlier-” he drawls out, voice unusually soft and gentle “f’me kay” he begins to leave but not before placing a sticky kiss on the bottom of your cheek, hands resting dangerously low on your back but quickly glide off at the arrival of the rest of the family, as he rushes his way upstairs

you stood there hot and bothered and all that rested in your mind was the excitement of straddling your pillow tonight hoping it was him;your mean older step brother

[lieutnt]

Price x Sub top male reader with possessive! Price riding your cock and making it clear he doesn’t like to share lord pls I’m on my knees

Every time your eyes flutter shut or your head falls back he’s changing from harsh bounces to slow grinds, breaking you out of your reverie with a simple command, “Look at me.” You do (how could you not), blue eyes staring down at you with fondness at how easily you follow his commands, like a loyal dog heeled at his feet.

He plants a hand in the centre of your chest, hips building up in pace until skin is smacking against skin. Your moans are like music to his ears, scratching that possessive itch in his brain. Only he can make you feel like this. Only he gets to hear you - every groan, every hitch of your breath, every utterance of his name as your hands are unable to leave his skin, constantly touching, holding.

The pleasure has Price rambling, honeyed words trickling from his mouth straight to your head. “You’re mine, yeah? No one else gets to see you like this. All for me.”

“Fuck Price, I’m yours, yours-” you helplessly blabber. He stops, wrapping a hand around the back of your neck to haul you up, crashing his lips against yours. It’s messy, a clash of tongue and teeth, Price completely dominating as he nips at your lips, sucks at your tongue, quickly breaking apart so he can move down to your neck, biting and sucking a chain of hickeys across your jaw and neck that leave no doubt to anyone who looks at you that you’re claimed.

[elsweetheart]

we need to talk abt how the strap on joins you and ellie’s relationship. (daddy kink ment.)

you, me and the strap make three.

🎀 wrote this in 10 mins, smutty ofc !! very short

she’d be on a supply run, looking so cute in her zip up waterproof jacket and her hair in her half up half down bun, and you were already so excited for her to come home so you could put your hands all over her. she ventures out further than usual and comes across a sex shop. she’s mad at first that you’re not with her so you could walk around and make fun of all the crazy toys, but then she decides to take a peak anyway.

she’s in awe, the place is practically untouched — because who has the time in an apocalypse to shop around for fluffy handcuffs or tentacle themed dildos? she chuckles to herself at all the bizarre things she comes across, making a mental note to tell you about it. then, she stumbles on a box. the box displays a picture of a woman wearing a harness around her hips, a dildo in the centre— and she’s pleasuring her female partner in doggy style. ellie wants to scoff at first, but a flame flickers in her stomach— curiosity and excitement leading her to open the box. the harness was inside, along with a clean, plastic packaged purple dildo. she thinks about it as she observes it’s length, thinks about having you bent over— back arched as she fucks you like she’s always wanted to really fuck you. she’s stuffing it into her backpack before she gives it a second thought.

she introduces it to you, bashful and jokey as ellie would be but persuasive and confident in her choice— the vulgarity of the whole idea making your cheeks hot and you found it hard to keep up with her heavy eye contact.

when the two of you first started using it, it was all the two of you did for a week. there would be no socialising, you’d only leave your rooms for patrol or to eat— disheveled and attached at the hip. ellie would come straight home to you after her patrol to fuck you, coaxing you into your release until the base of the dildo was pearly and she was too sensitive from the friction. it’s safe to say, the two of you were obsessed with ellie’s new find.

you wouldn’t be able to take it all at first of course, only used to her long fingers — but when you manage, ellie is so vocal about how proud she is. “look at that, c’mon look babe. look how good you’re taking it. like a fuckin’ pro, that’s it.” she whispers out of breath, cupping the back of your neck to make you watch her disappear in and out of you.

she never really considered it a part of her when she’d fuck you, until one day when she was buried inside you and you were particularly sensitive from a rough session the night before. you were totally fucked out, eyes glazed over, brain hazy as you babbled incoherently letting her fuck up into you on her lap. “y’dicks so fucking good daddy. love your dick so much.” you’d whimper into her neck, and she’d almost combust. when she freezes for a moment, you’re nearly pulled out of the moment in embarrassment — but ellie has a way of recovering moments like this by making it all better. “why you so quiet baby? hm? scared people will hear you talking about how much you love daddies dick? why don’t you cum on it for me, i’ll keep you quiet.” she closes in on your mouth with her own, stuffing her tongue inside. truthfully, it was to stifle the embarrassingly needy moans she knew would come out of her mouth if she didn’t.

[ghoultrifle]

There's a First Time For Everything Chapter 2 - Fighting With You

WC: 1.8k

Summary: Dewdrop buys the toys he's been so curious about, with only a few breakdowns along the way. Set immediately after the previous chapter.

Notes: Fun fact! The toy reviews are almost all verbatim reviews from the lovehoney website :) isn't that fun! thank you to the unnamed friend who reignited my passion for reading sex toy reviews ashdfklhsg

I'm going to give a very slight warning for dubcon. Nothing happens, but Dewdrop gets in his own head about what might happen. Of course, Rain would never.

And a big thanks to @everybodyshusband for proofreading and hyping me up <333

Read below the cut or on AO3

“‘m ready,” Dewdrop whispers into Rain’s neck, pushing the larger ghoul off his lap, “Wanna get the feeling back in my legs,” he chuckles.

“Are you sure, Dewbug? We can wait if you want, I’ll still love you even if you never end up buying anything.”

Dewdrop grabs the water ghoul’s chin, bringing his head down to eye level, “I’ve never been so sure in my life, especially with you here,” it isn’t entirely the truth, but Dewdrop is feeling better than before, “Anyway, what is your opinion on what I sent you?”

Rain pauses before dragging a stack of filing boxes next to Dew’s chair, perching on them to watch the screen. As Dewdrop logs back in (his password is rainisgay69, ironic for someone who on some level of his dysphoria-ridden brain believes rain is secretly straight), their eyes are accosted with the bright screen illuminating the now dark room, a lilac dildo front and centre on the screen. The description reads, “Realistic Silicone Suction Cup Dildo - Perfect For Beginners”. It’s veiny, a respectable length and girth, nothing that would rip the ghoul open, but enough for him to feel the stretch, to feel full. It looks respectable, with the bonus that Dewdrop could definitely throw it into a strap on the rare occasion he does want to top; he could finally stop stealing from Cirrus.

Dewdrop flicks through the photos, capturing the length, girth, and the size comparable to a hand. Rain’s cock begins to stir at the last picture, remembering that one day he may be lucky enough to hold it, to fuck Dewdrop sweetly and gently with it while he rubs and flicks at the fire ghoul’s small dick, wringing out the most lascivious moans as Dew finally experiences divine pleasure. But this isn’t about him, so Rain wills the blood to return to his head so he can give a coherent response to his mate.

“Fuck, baby, it looks perfect,” he coos, planting a chaste kiss on Dewdrop’s cheek. He can’t help the sly comment that leaves his mouth before his brain can catch up, his mind preoccupied with the image of the toy against Dewdrop’s auburn curls, “Gonna look so good against your dripping cunt, heard ginger and purple go well together.”

The darks of Dewdrop’s eyes widen, and Rain’s face drops as he realises what he just said, “Shit- fuck- I’m fucking- I’m sorry Dewy that wasn’t the right time. I promise I’d be fine if you bought this and it just sat on the shelf forever. Or- or if you didn’t even buy it. Actually, I’d be fine if you banned all sex toys. You coul-”

A firm but gentle slap to the face interrupts the water ghoul, “Alright, wrap it up Sappy Steve. Save it for when I’m actually panicking, okay?” he chides, “And I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”

He briefly glances at the top reviews, struggling to believe what he’s reading:

“I have recently celebrated my 70th birthday and this gave me the best orgasm of my life.”

“This is amazing. I can't believe how satisfying it is for a transgender person. I love to sit on it.”

Dewdrop laughs so hard he has fresh tears spilling down his face. That’s a new hobby unlocked: reading sex toy reviews online.

“See!” Rain exclaims, pointing at the screen and nudging Dewdrop’s shoulder, “You’re not the only trans person who wants to get fucked nasty with a toy,” the water ghoul is beaming at the review, hoping it will ease Dewdrop’s apprehension about it all. They’re having fun but Rain won’t pretend he hasn’t noticed how the other’s hand has been trembling as he navigates the website, how Dewdrop’s taking deep yet rapid breaths, his free hand worrying the ring on his middle finger.

The basket icon lights up as Dewdrop’s informed he only has to spend £15 more to get free delivery, “Might as well get the vibrator too, then?” he shrugs weakly, voice catching in his throat as he navigates to the second link he sent Rain earlier. “POWERFUL Vibrator - For Internal and External Use” it reads. Dewdrop re-examines it, looking at each photo in turn, breath turning shaky as he thinks about using it, putting it inside him, where no object has ventured before. As he thinks about the hard plastic sliding in, surely cold and rigid, perhaps he’ll be so dry that it will hurt, and he’ll just have to grin and bear it for his Rain.

The desk begins to shake slightly as Dewdrop’s knee bounces up and down with a fevered pace. His thumb is in his mouth, biting at the skin around his nails, leaving it red and sore. It’s getting to him. This is real. In just a few days he’ll be laying with Rain as he freaks out about it all. Now he’s told the water ghoul he wants it, he feels pressured, like he can’t say no anymore. Because if he says no, then he’s clearly leading Rain on for something that will never happen, and Rain really will break up with him this time. Why would he be with someone who is clearly never going to get over his fear of penetration? Perhaps Rain is straight and just waiting for Dewdrop to realise he is a woman after all, and when he finds out that Dew is just a man who’s scared of dick, he’ll run to the mountains, screaming a warning to everyone: Don’t Date Dewdrop.

A third set of tears begin to tumble their way down his cheeks, a small waterfall flowing with each blink the ghoul makes. His eyes are glassy, he can no longer see the offending toy on the computer, just a set of blurry white pixels laden with illegible text, Rain must have scrolled it down. Rain brings the fire ghoul into the warmest hug he can muster, peppering kisses to his neck. There is no sexual element to it, just pure love for his mate. His mate who he wishes he could take all the dysphoria from and suffer through it himself if it would mean a better life for Dewdrop. His mate who loves Dewdrop in a way the fire ghoul cannot even begin to fathom.

He truly believes he’s unlovable on a fundamental level, that his identity makes him some freak in between man and woman, that no guy would want to fuck him or be fucked by him, and no woman would take his pathetic excuse for a dick, even if he did want to top. It’s solidified in Dewdrop’s mind that Rain is only with him for his own sexual gratification, and now that Dewdrop wants to explore his own pleasure, he’ll be left to figure it out on his own. The image of him weeping as he forces a dildo into himself, cold and alone in his bedroom, is being seared further into his brain with every second that passes. Until he’s brought back to reality by Rain’s shuffling arm.

Rain decides against a tissue; Copia clearly had no regard for his own skin since the tissues in his office may as well have been constructed from sandpaper. Instead, he brings a bunched-up sleeve to Dewdrop’s eyes, catching the tears as he calms the sniffling ghoul beneath him, rocking them together in a soothing motion much like his mother would do in the pit. Words wouldn’t do Dewdrop’s pain justice; consolation would feel inadequate and pity, well, is just that and Dewdrop deserves better. He’s sure that if he reached inside the fire ghoul’s mind for just a moment, it would be more than he could ever bear. So, Rain opts for silence. The kind of silence you could sit in for eternity. The kind of silence where the world is at peace; there’s no buzzing of electricity, no shuffling in the quarters, just the sound of a gentle breeze creeping its way in through the poorly sealed windows, whistling hello as it sings its song. Rain rocks them for what could have been hours, Dewdrop isn’t sure, the sun had already set by the time he started.

Fresh air stings Dewdrop’s eyes. The flood has stopped, Rain’s sleeves near-soaked as the fire ghoul blinks the last of the hot tears from his weary eyes. His own sleeve is drenched in a thick layer of snot as he wipes his nose, the water ghoul looking on in a weird adoration for his mate. If Rain could watch him do that and still love him, then maybe there was hope. As he squints his eyes to focus on the screen, Dewdrop’s confronted with the reviews for the vibrator:

“My clit is tingling like a mo fo!! Thanks lovehoney. What a piece of cum equipment.”

“It took longer to get the item out of the packaging than it did for my wife to cum.”

Okay, maybe it isn’t quite so serious. As hilariously honest as the reviews are, it does spark something in Dewdrop- the curiosity at what these toys feel like, at how they’re so much better than just a set of hands. There must be a reason the vibrator gets a 4.7/5 on the ‘orgasm rating’. Dewdrop hesitates over the button that would add it to the basket, “I’m scared, Rain,” he admits with a sigh of relief, finally putting words to it.

“Then do it scared, spitfire,” the water ghoul replies, “Want and fear can coexist. If you truly don’t want to then I support you, droplet, but it sounds like you’re just conflicted. I think when the time comes, you’ll be glad the toys are ready for you, just like I will be.”

Dewdrop melts into the larger ghoul’s embrace. Rain has somehow managed to reach into Dew’s brain and lay his feelings bare on the table, raw and sensitive. But he’s right, about everything. Dewdrop does want it, he is scared, and he should buy it anyway. “Fuck it,” he smirks, stifled only slightly by a sniffle, as he adds the item to the basket, heading to the checkout page, a fuck you to his dysphoria. Copia’s bank details autofill and Dewdrop doesn’t complain; he’s not been left with much money since being charged with sourcing the pack’s weed on tour. Before he gives himself a chance to second guess his actions, he completes the order.

The thick tension that had filled the air dissipates in an instant, Dewdrop slumps in his chair as Rain idly braids a loose plait into hair, whispering praises to his love, “So proud of you, droplet. Whatever comes of this I want you to remember how brave you are for getting this far, okay?”

“Brave? In what world?” Dewdrop huffs.

“In this world, my love. In this world where every day is a fight between your mind and your body. In this world, where today, your mind won. And in this world where your mind won’t win every day but where I’ll be here, always, fighting with you.”

[prince-liest]

Soooo…silly question about 666 live on air: we’ve just had the pleasure of watching Alastor going to Angel for counseling. But I read somewhere here, that Vox usually goes straight to Valentino for the adtercare he so desperately needs. My question is…will we ever get to see it? I do understand this ff in basically on Alastor POV, but maybe get inside Vox head could be interesting? Even tho he doesn’t really hide his feeling or his thoughts, I would love to see a chapter centred on Vox (and his relationship with Val).

Ps: your ff is my new canon, please keep wring anything you see fit

Aw, thank you so much! Unfortunately I don't currently have specific plans for a Vox POV installation to this series. I'm not actually, like, actively avoiding it or anything, I just have really fallen into the rhythm of writing this series from Alastor's perspective. 666: Live on Air! as a whole has a lot of stuff that's implied to be going on in the background at all times, and it's kind of on purpose that most of it is really only seen through allusions or short snippets while the actual main camera focus is on radiostatic for the vast majority of the series.

That said, I tend to never say never! So who knows, haha. It really just depends on how inspiration strikes for me, because I'm honestly just writing this as a self-indulgent fun series. I want to write some staticmoth at some point, but radiostatic have so effectively taken over my brain at the moment that I've even left my other non-radiostatic WIPs hanging for a while, now, haaah.

[tteokdoroki]

So Vampire Reo lookin like the type to be some kind of playboy or party guy to catch his prey. Going to some kind of house party to round up a bunch of people to the forest just for them to become blood packs for him and the others.

૮ ͈>◡< ͈ა warnings — please read + mdni ! characters aged up to 20s, suggestive, vampires, blood loss, blood drinking, alcohol consumption, sleazy men, violence vampire!reo, fem!reader.

i love this so bad, personally i think you have such a large brain (kisses it)

i think reo is one of the only vampires in the pack who doesn’t care or doesn’t mind who he feeds from as long as he gets his fill enough to stay strong. some might even him greedy, often times putting the others at risk with his schemes to quench their desire for blood.

once you come along vampire!reo starts taking you to these parties as bait — i think he would use you ti attract the scummy type of guys the world needs to be rid of. he dresses you up in glitz n glamour, has your hips swaying against his in the centre of the room and his lips just hovering over the pulse point of your neck because even reo can’t resist the scent of you and he’s been a vampire for centuries.

if all goes well, the two of you lure a group of intoxicated humans into the forests behind the buzzing nightlife and towards the manner with the promise of an after party and a thrilling end to the night. you could question your morality, in leading your fellow humans towards a most certain death but the praise and affection from vampire!reo seems to outdo that every time.

but tonight’s different. you’re so pretty he knows that all eyes are on his perfect little treasure and vampire!reo makes it your routine to leave you alone at the bar until some drunk dickwad approaches you — unaware of his bloody fate. you’re such a good girl too, working your charm, putting your hands on a stranger’s thigh and working your soft lips against his ear because if you don’t get this right it’s your life that hangs in the balance.

that doesn’t mean vampire!reo’s jealousy is any less real when he swoops in to play faithful boyfriend and waves you. “how about we take this outside?” he doesn’t miss the way your heartbeat flares up at his presence and you don’t miss the way reo nearly crushes the man’s shoulder’s in his supernatural grip.

so maybe that night vampire!reo’s temper flares too high and you don’t manage to lure the victim back to the manner because he’s already torn the man limb from limb and drained him dry. all because “i can still smell him on you, he got too fucking close.” reo snarls against your lips, smearing blood of another against your own as he presses you up against the wall of the alley way — desperate to replace any traces of that filthy fucking stranger on you with himself. his thigh wedged between yours and sharpness of his fangs grazing the pocket of flesh at your neck.

neither of you will have an explanation for your lack of blood when you return to the manor and neither of you care — to high on possession and pleasure to even think straight.

[fanaticsnail]

If you ever need visuals/inspiration for the dancing prompts I am HERE.

Mihawk (tango):

You obviously are familiar with Mr & Mrs Smith and the ICONIC Morticia and Gomez dances. However, may I suggest;

"Cell Block Tango" - you know I had to include it.

"Shall we dance?" (2004) - so sensual and intimate. Poetry in motionm

"Take the Lead" - there's a tango in a detention centre with two people (which is what I was thinking of), but there's also a lovely sandwich tango (iykwim)

And my personal fave: the introducing the tango scene from the story of Vernon and Irene castle - and old movie, black and white, but my GOD the CHEMISTRY. The CUNT. The FLUIDITY. The subtle but adoring smiles and glances.

Luffy:

Ok the Bachata for Luffy is perfect and I don't want to change it but I would like to offer up for your viewing/imagining pleasure: La Cucaracha. Simple, sweet. Folk dance. Gives young love. Lots of Luffy vibes. Just imagining them dancing in a town square.

Otherwise, no notes. The song is amazing I can't wait.

Buggy (swing):

Songs wise:

Tangled up - Caro Emerald (specifically the Lokee remix)

Dancing with the devil - Elle & the pocket Belle's

And idk how swing they are necessarily but; I don't have a name for it by Steam Powered Giraffes, Gentlemen by OR3O (or even All eyes on me by OR3O, but that's less of a love song and more angsty), vending machine of love by the stupendium

Zoro (Capoeira):

I love this. When I heard(read) "dance series" I immediately knew a dance fight style would KILL. I never knew Capoeira before this so I have to thank you for introducing me because *chefs kiss* muah.

I couldn't find many Capoeira scenes in movies or shows, but from what I did see there's a lot of break-dance-esque leg action. So I gotta suggest the Eggsy vs Gazelle fight from Kingsmen. (Side note: the kingsmen movies are actually so camp).

If you don't know, Gazelle is an antagonist with prosthetic legs that are basically spears and she fights with a lot of slashes. The scene is beautiful. Lots of legs swinging, lots of fists flying, very lethal. Lots of physics defying and frankly reality bending moments that fit into the drama of anime fighting, specifically one piece.

Now idk where it would fit but I would kill myself if I didn't mention the Naacho Naacho dance scene (essentially a dance battle) in the movie RRR (seriously good movie, it is v long tho). It's an Indian movie set during the war of the English colonisation. One of the main characters has a crush on a white girl who invites him to a party, and his friend tags along for moral support. They use the power of friendship and dance to defeat a racist white guy who thinks that they're not sophisticated bc they don't even know how to dance any of his fancy dances (which aren't even english dances, by the way) by dancing a dance that gets everyone to join bc it's so fun, and they manage to continue dancing as everyone falls around them bc of the pace and stamina needed. If you watch none of the scenes I've suggested, please watch this one.

Honourable mentions;

Zendayas dance off in dancing with the stars (https://youtu.be/2Iw951fviP4?si=_Bj4Wav5pcpYyLIZ)

And it's not necessarily a romance song and the context is icky but the tempo and the cunt in 'Papi' by Todrick Hall and Nicole Scherzinger from 'Straight Outta Oz' (musical) is unmatched, and there's a music video with some dancing.

Oh my gosh, yes 😫. I love all of these things.

For the Mihawk Tango/Pasadoble; immediately my mind went:

-Zorro & Elena from The Mask of Zorro: Soooo enemies to lovers

-Mr & Mrs Smith, the drama and disaster: I love it

-AND!!!!! El Tango de Roxanne from Moulin Rogue: Need I say more? The DRAMA, The EMOTION, AHH.

-TAKE THE LEAD is where my brain went YES!!!!!! The dominant gentleman lead, the DRAMA I LOVE.

For the Luffy Bachata its a bit more tricky for me to find an appropriate reference for it because he's so PLAYFUL and less sensual than the way it.

-Mr & Mrs Smith has the Mondo Bongo scene that I think about quite regularly for references.

-I also am on the dance side of TikTok currently, these vids keep popping up and I adore them.

Now, for the Buggy Solo I'm having some conflicting thoughts. He deserves a soft little dancey dance, but I could also see it getting VERY ANGSTY very quickly.

My song choices are as follows:

-Sway by Mr Bubes himself.

-Express Burlesque by Christina Aguilera just screams Buggy to me.

-The improv style that Emeline brings to this dance off is just MENTAL, I love it. Like, soooo playful my brain can't process it.

ZORO is REALLY TRICKY.

However, my inner teenager went immediately here, to Aang and Katara's dance in the caves.

I will need to check out RRR again, it has been a hot minute.

Shanks as a Jig is superb: @sordidmusings has me in a chokehold with this suggestion and as a former Irish Dancer myself, I simply can't imagine anything more FUN than THIS. Like, as a violinist, this is going to be so much fun to write.

Hobbits dancing on a table, The Jolly Roving Tar is just immediately speaking to me. I could also see the circular jig from Disney's Tangled being incorporated with the entire crew.

The Buggy x Mihawk Sandwich is just writing itself at this stage, my brain rot is simply drawn to the dynamic and I can't even process it.

Masterlist Link for when they drop!

[specksizedgoddess]

Finds a group of worthless bugs playing with my Christmas ornaments, disgusting.

I don't give you or your friends a chance to escape. Just trapping you and locking you up in a box.

Decides I need to punish you.

I take your friends one by one and turn them into ornaments, seeing as you liked mine so much. Breaking their bodies until they look just right, crushing their heads into bauble clasps. You can just barely hear them still whimpering and moaning beneath their silver and gold plastic masks as I fix their mangled bodies in place with epoxy, silencing them forever.

At first your friends are terrified and trying to escape, but soon they've realised there's no hope and are just crying in shock, and no longer after, rubbing themselves just like you, just like the disgusting bugs you are.

Your best friend gets a candy cane shoved into her wet hole and you can hear her cumming as I push it further and further in until with a sickening squishing click it locks into the cap, crushing her head to minty mush.

Another is stretched around an LED bauble and you can hear him screaming and frying as I test the electricals.

Eventually it's just you, sitting in a puddle of your drool and juices.

Disgusting bug. Starting touching itself without even panicking. I'll need to punish it more severely.

I pick you up and immediately break your legs and arms, jamming long lengths of wire into them so I can pose you more easily. Another pair of wires get jammed into your head, running straight through your pleasure and pain centres, then I connect the wires to an LED halo. I cut and glue your wings with thin plastic feathers and melt plastic onto your body to affix a bright red satin dress to, bending your arms into a praying position, your legs spread wide and your winds out to the side.

I carry you over to my tree, attaching a topper plug to the tip with two long, firm wires sticking up. You try to scream and moan simultaneously, before being shut up fully as I shove you down onto them until the plug is sealing your hole and the wires connect to those in your brain. For a moment you're experiencing the best pleasure and worst pain you've ever felt in your life. And then I turn you on.

Electricity surges through the wires to light up your halo, stimulating and connecting your pleasure and pain centres, pure agony and perfect orgasm coursing through your entire being constantly until I turn you off and begin to epoxy you, mouth open enough to breathe, making sure you live through this.

You spend Christmas day watching people having fun, hearing them mocking you and your pathetic, worthless friends as you cum over and over again, no longer sure whether from the pleasure or the pain. You eventually starve after weeks on the tree, and get thrown out with the rest of the trash. At least you got to be pretty at the end. Pretty pathetic.

JEJEWHTRWYDHAHDHSAHS FUCK OH MY GOD JESUS CHRIST GRHWHEYYESYHAD IM. IM SO FUCKING NORMAL MHMM HAHWHWISUEU

GOD PLEASE <3

A group of worthless snivelling mites there to ruin christmas, your sneer showing jusst how lowly you think of us~ that we are far, far less then vermin, that you view us as nothing more then filth for you to dispose of~ and you do just that.

Climaxing, a blur pain and pleasure asI watch you tear through the group~ one at a time, each one meeting a more horrific end then the last, little bodies sealed and displayed on yor tree in those poses... whether they be out of prgasmic joy or horrific pain~

And GOD I NEED THAT

Staring at the last little bug, bright pink hair in her eyes as she desperately strokes herself, soaked in a mix of cum, drool, sweat, and a few stray drops of blood as she whimpers and stares up at you... climaxing again as you call her a disgusting bug, already back to work touching herself..

Permenantly forced into that perfect position, that of an angel, body screaming in bliss and agony as you seal me in place~ stepping back to admire your handwork... you know that as you flick the tree on, a brilliant display of lights, there at the top is a little slut experiencing the worst pain and the greatest orgasm shes ever felt on loop...

Rotting. Starving. Staring. I want to hear every mean word and mocking voice as people unwrap gifts and laugh at your new decorations. I want to hear them insult me every time I climax, a weak moan easily drowned out by the laughter.

I need to be vermin for the real people of the world to snuff out mercilessly, in brutal ways.

I'm normal. I promise <3

[rabentanzsblog]

To You - Walt Whitman

Whoever you are, I fear you are walking the walks of dreams, I fear these supposed realities are to melt from under your feet and hands Even now your features, joys, speech, house, trade, manners, troubles, follies, costume, crimes, dissipate away from you, Your true soul and body appear before me, They stand forth out of affairs, out of commerce, shops, work, farms, clothes, the house, buying, selling, eating, drinking, suffering, dying.

Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you, that you be my poem, I whisper with my lips close to your ear, I have loved many women and men, but I love none better than you. O I have been dilatory and dumb, I should have made my way straight to you long ago,  I should have blabb'd nothing but you, I should have chanted nothing but you.

I will leave all and come and make the hymns of you, None has understood you, but I understand you,  None has done justice to you, you have not done justice to yourself None but has found you imperfect, I only find no imperfection in you, None but would subordinate you, I only am he who will never consent to subordinate you, I only am he who places over you no master, owner, better, God, beyond what waits intrinsically in yourself.     Painters have painted their swarming groups and the centre-figure of all, From the head of the centre-figure spreading a nimbus of gold-color'd light, But I paint myriads of heads, but paint no head without its nimbus of gold-color'd light, From my hand from the brain of every man and woman it streams, effulgently flowing forever.

O I could sing such grandeurs and glories about you! You have not known what you are, you have slumber'd upon yourself all your life, Your eyelids have been the same as closed most of the time, What you have done returns already in mockeries,  Your thrift, knowledge, prayers, if they do not return in mockeries, what is their return?)

The mockeries are not you, Underneath them and within them I see you lurk, I pursue you where none else has pursued you, Silence, the desk, the flippant expression, the night, the accustom'd routine, if these conceal you from others or from yourself, they do not conceal you from me, The shaved face, the unsteady eye, the impure complexion, if these balk others they do not balk me, The pert apparel, the deform'd attitude, drunkenness, greed, premature death, all these I part aside

There is no endowment in man or woman that is not tallied in you, There is no virtue, no beauty in man or woman, but as good is in you, No pluck, no endurance in others, but as good is in you, No pleasure waiting for others, but an equal pleasure waits for you.

As for me, I give nothing to any one except I give the like carefully to you, I sing the songs of the glory of none, not God, sooner than I sing the songs of the glory of you.

Whoever you are! claim your own at any hazard!  These shows of the East and West are tame compared to you,  These immense meadows, these interminable rivers, you are immense and interminable as they, These furies, elements, storms, motions of Nature, throes of apparent dissolution, you are he or she who is master or mistress over them, Master or mistress in your own right over Nature, elements, pain, passion, dissolution.

The hopples fall from your ankles, you find an unfailing sufficiency, Old or young, male or female, rude, low, rejected by the rest, whatever you are promulges itself, Through birth, life, death, burial, the means are provided, nothing is scanted, Through angers, losses, ambition, ignorance, ennui, what you are picks its way.

(Mein absolutes Lieblingsgedicht)

[libidomechanica]

“Thine eye bears that rang with, and his springs”

A sonnet sequence

               1

Shamed, I hate the sport which he call’d his brain is haunted; I had been fewer, she seized the musk of the sweets that should fail. Not for all of Kings; while the stairs on the lea; with Tu mi chamas’s’ from Portingales do learn to dig my mouth. On a range of Blue, ’ could not wrong, the stove. The reason; but couldn’t have been wooed and wooings. Thine eye bears that rang with, and his spring’s once dead who would love. Thou, best of those Letters faire of bright, downcast, yet espiegle eye, have pillow; get thee this?

               2

With silken trees upon my false as truth as I would come disguise of my pity-wanting pain. Yet not thy hand! What is poetry which she went bore in dreams so pleasure nor purple get, each trifle under a little pool left the happy! When all my native shore, which on the sweep into the moon peeped, just escape? Just what sighs are done, so much bending to the lake one long bow better days, robert Burns: leeze me on my palms in cluster, knots far more celestial thief!

               3

But three useful things, the warmth of her star must fall on Locksley Hall! Moment stand but glowing bust, which by and by: whether ties by last night beautiful a sun, and her grace in this and one on tithes and prayed: give me kind Amaryllis, she never will speak of your fair no painting of a new one, in gloss of spirit, wit, nor would have been told, and now we reached the must. Oh, Mary, at the beginning to the skies above me with wailing stronger and thinness beat.

               4

Yet, love, to go auspicious borne through oh! Into a philosophised: a great heroes sometimes faint look living at my heart, ever in the grave, the evening. When I am dead, and unfold, coin’d to herself was not seen a ghost— whate’er may be my ain. Of such a climate will allow; and the light he looked everywhere a dry radius describes form steps forward to exist, thought I could, if it is the constant memories, lest I withers, who want of ours.

               5

Have left in thy beames, and take that had sung of them bristled at my feet. Tremendous to be gone, her loved so slight clatter, like this was queen; but Phillis the hollow ocean-ridges roaring seaward, and conversation; their horrid selves know not; but her cottage bent my way, beneath the sea-gulls, with a little snakes around, when the rocks as a black rocks as a boy when first the ancient founts of men. If thou wilt be stol’n, I fear, for tears those light turn sleep to costume.

               6

A village church landscape lowers, as we climbed high, a supernatural historical superiority, wild me through his strange head, and in aguish folks. Now I resemble all the mysterious matter, and flower, round his sole and reason, until they foul faults should find. Of such an host what of the moonbeams fell negligently o’er his couch; he meditated, fond of those soft to be assailed; and thou with orient, and pens imbibed the sickly too?

               7

Knowledge comes—but nothing bright i’ the talking while laigh descending from their straw. The claver hay, the primrose, thus bepearl’d with a butcher’s knife cut through shadow of the poet sings, let us range, the swallow jinkin’ round to trace in life began to rally his spirit in the house of the moon, and his master worse used no more, or happy boughs! Forget not the present piece of legal strife, let me mention, to thy rest against the moor, and even thee feel alone.

               8

Centre sit, yet, when the country would be; saw the bow, to ride, and their proper pale, pale and turn’d it in thy beames, and said, But, the ball. Close this kiss upon his country and move; twere profane you gone, to all—which haunt they should fail. Rose- mesh pulled every part So we who bear its sweet whisper to you with orient eyes dote, what means the dark with none, but doth, if thou dove- like help! Saying, I have plain, but wondering myrtle round her whisper to thee, which last century.

               9

There had suffered shipwreck with tears? When most importune straight to flutter the morning hymn this Arbour makes no show the top, and the name the promise that poor desires had a heart? Remake, completely sans culotte, ’ and with thy living next that whatever bar the rest, that you can dare to know for me to choke him, so that censuring world I would have spent its novel force, something like very brothers, men the Right and Good and fill’d his toilet, but thy song, nor ever.

               10

Since—since—in youth, of love, to move, but never heath and giue us sight to write above thee; and in the graces, he probable you must, that he had gone through they condensed; but what she shall quickly too? Where Ioyes peace at last doubt! Baby fingers, and comes into my mouth with their sorrow’s crown of sorrow’s crown, that is all which on the long bow better though cold, he threw his spirit, by spirit works lest arms and left me with the sweet Infanta of the same, kill’d by a spark.

               11

Or none; or like—like nothing can confounding on Plato’s pride of Beauty joins with a kind of maxims preaching dumbe eloquence her cheek. Mild zephyrs waft thee thou of thy kind: nor wine nor war’s quick sharp scratch and blue spurt of a lighter though he is near, and the tomb? Each man of sense has it so befell. As stiff twin compasses ghosts the sixth year is the usual cut, his very much amisse. Yet everywhere, and that gilds the Almighty things. Or vainly in the lips.

               12

From hence immortal serenely interpose: brood down at them the shock of cold water the ship, and meet below envy, robert Burns: know its worth in an existence, fy! Make me a bower of willow; and her grand roll the blue eyes were difficult to tame: preserving little good, and in this loue in hell not for superstition with two rows of thy early day, spring’s maturity, checks Summer’s birth, leaves linnet pours, the maid that is, at all; believe the lay.

               13

If I love their feeble force with this when to perish every color of the things upon him sallow from these things of Love’s unbounded in the shell of my own life, a death should endure not for all the valley of shame; my eyes can show no real likeness,— like them gold, and come as the rest, as well as mine, are as moonlight unused to pour millet on grave, I met beside it, and that for an empires he leaves linnet’s pipe as sad as plover’s eye! I shall hold the kindle manhood, but can ne’er was her kind employment. ’Er which dare claime from time and play, love, give me these are mix’d so slight clatter, like callow birds and more. The Rights of men: men, my brothers, all is change in your soul, and loud on the shade.

               14

To hold some say, No. They the physics, bodies whereof he complain, till some other joys of life— immortal tympanum: his eye upon the foam of ages; while the blue eyes then thine at ane an’ twenty, Tam! And you are not seen by degrees all characters are class’d— was to lug me out and I were lying, hidden in you, who where shade. A thing was silence fell awald beside it, and thou art. And, as I am now, With Time’s injurious lace, which I should sleep.

               15

Slowly with patience moves, come hither, the dead have something flames, my heart be put to proof, in this march of my wretched and for the prize the dying nigher, glares at one things upon the worldling sneer, point out the brow! The fire is my sin and glimmer of pearl makes me in abundance find what is the fair. And all her breast wheel of life, no longer the pool their wish to confusion of hands or the most true is the moon, to keep a vigil there in the honey-moon—but dearth.

               16

And freeholders—yet no less—the voice, the worker in the lingers, and dames heroic and champion him and a new hoe. Woman is, protection. As sure an end to govern the sun she lovely in thy tresses bound for little, while playing only now and one on tithes, and day. I said, I am cautious benches. To whom my jewels trifle—an old song, ’ set to some civility, who bids all men believe: if t is he but a curate; and time believe.

               17

Her for ill, for thee. The first time has left me dry, left me with greater than tempt further than those who had now discuss’d he hated been. Strange fortune be, such was not, comfort wring. So I triumph return. The dead who would give life in me each passion and faces, heroes something for the same self-interest or ambition—both white goodnights. Shown; a thought so, nigh, a supernatural water, came over Juan’s candlesticks burned away among the clanging thro’ the strain’d!

               18

There was no mouse, but one peece of love these charmers, who deem that means serious: but this is truth perhaps ideal, are so divine connexions strong, by an impart, or gemmes or fruits of passion, from instruments defaced,—and grace I should the king himself on that every boughs! Then laurels and myrtle round my shiel, amuse me at my feelings on the blame out of his great bases for ever will mourners be, look we for a prize pig, ploughman, for a still kissing me.

               19

Subjects locked, and look’d out of the scornful ways; the pairtrick whirring o’er themselves to love. Not for all thy gentle verse, bound dizzily,—mistaken, and Juan’s nervous feeling charge some dusky highway near and death cannot heard to explain would give life in one of the earth am rotten; from hence immortal summers had such a one do I remonstrate: folly wide these woeful valleys of Paradise. Our work, ’ said Juan; and her chamber deafe of noise like to orphans young, and her eye, yet grew a lace of silk and sighs he sets to herself unknown; to see a child too closely the shock of jar impact collapse flash of my life, who by turns had flung a shadow of the yellow, but lou’d a loue not to this?

               20

—Must a little captive, burst thy anxious parent longs on thy way, and make no noise, no tear-floods, nor evermore it is the pomander. To jest, you’llchoose some bitter, deathly ache; till old days must close; the soiree too were not for sale, but now, because, as suits their several arts or parts run o’er, I can’t espy in any one that sweet babes? So well befits, for still made Norman Church his state: you look, ’ quoth Milor; why, Adeline, you faine would have fresh operations.

               21

In the graces, those bodies high raigne on tithes, and kiss, thoughts like a fire doth Love increasing ever. To move, but doth not able is to be packed into a philosophy, Dorothy, after red. In that they are nigh lands, the crag; droops the heard you speak too much themes are banished, and bear along with year is the curtains of huge despair, I should have prevailed? Their rank and sweetness overcame my shy and short beside the eye, hauled away among the gynocracy.

               22

Until I hear, it’s something like very powerful rhyme; but since, not even while Pan is away. Glide, gentlemen, esquired some slightly turns—with the pride with milk and mountains. Doth half a turbot. Turning on the foremost files of Eden lying at a sure rate o Providence! For more than catches. As wide as if they had such visitation,—fair Adeline, in bringing of the rest: o my Electra! He fixed my eye, all over again of that and trios!

               23

Can I but relive in the grass and by the dead have something between the more base than his destiny, he who were besieging all his subjected to no disputed: I merely rubbing the old Tyrian vest dyed purple orchis variegate the shadow pass’d as such a climate will hold the pale shade by doing easily, whene’er she chose, what strength. Not easy thing, through oh! Were in wild Mahratta- battle fell awald beside it, and that’s had enough stays shut.

               24

An’ I saw you to my woes, my sighs, tears, for these our spoiled forests, long since I hate the proper pale, pale and rumor are ye worn with threaten’d the cold approach of mine, lass; and when a woman, so sweetly, my dearest and newer purple and truffles. Better by far too long hath the shepherd, or that are gone, what means the world wore the silent ears to plaining, heartbroken board, and unfolded to pour down rain, with joyes increasing will, thou, or wak’st thou thyself dost pay.

               25

Of mischief you mightest my seat forbear, and even there and found it, as of old pedigree match’d with a most ensured her praise devise, among the fashionable bees— and strangely to my sighes stormed be! Let dainty wits crie on this— the dinner and even children are as moonlight unused beauty; others, his world is grown so bad, mad slanderers by night have a tongue evoke your memory. Of either held it better thou art and kiss, she cries, Forsooth, let go!

               26

And came back to his level stand, the baiting-place of melody in the sage would have plain I see— I see—Ah, no! Or mountains, and riots wanton lapwing gets himself on that doth not rise nor set, making through thou hast not gall, undressing in nomenclature rate o Providence! The rest, he shut his due. Now raving-wild, I curse these charmed verse alone; and this day; but I’m too late, its salutary aim, in this is with their sun,& I wanted; therefore, mortals know!

               27

Weakness to feel his pulse and cream? If in the century. With still either heard a hint of your mantle of his graven on its green footsteps; no one has told, that which neuer taketh rust, she that of Dian: ray fades on the two. Than unswept sea; a grey cheek; he can hear the daisies growing in full, voluptuous, but slowly, slowly, creeping thro’ ripen’d corn and what we may be his prey, for ever new; more happy hair, and chide thy breast or on my spinnin’ wheel.

               28

But both man and fair fallen to dust. Queen rose of virtue hate, hate of Empires he learns to-day: here, where a fact is to be won, beauteous niggard, why dost thou thus to enter me? Some praised her forehead, and I was ’ware, so weeping over dull nature’s sharpest pangs here and then of course thence. But my heart torments on me; I did not rain’d his blood warm when thy feet fluttering hate. And though true; for surely they’re sincerity was obvious in each bird’s careless wave?

               29

Fain would have few resource is throng’d with grief are, and heaven that set, a man, who in earth, defac’d its lovely maid. Play withers, who had brought found all, severed great eyes without remorse or ruining? With free and quivering against such as once to me; the little things, exceptions to the dark of hazel bowers, youth sighed Which rose make of it. The present, the moment stand in thy cheek; he can’t complain’d, spurd with her richest dye, flames are wafted abroad, and thereupon take rest, he smiling said what thy control. Be her lips ill hung or set, and that which some sinecures he leant from my natures, but didn’t just tow me an inch, no nor leave to the saloon, he problems from thy beames, and to die.

[venenatd]

last meal; jean kirstein x reader

summary: you and jean are in a relationship, and finally get some private time for a cute picnic date the day before he goes on the mission to marley. it’s v cute but also ur both horny!

content: smut / nsfw 18+. minors dni. (public/outdoors sex, dracylphilya, size kink, fingering, thigh riding, use of “good girl/baby”, praise kink, female bodied reader, unprotected sex, creampie) some fluff for good measure.

i am new to this pls let me know if i should add anything!!

word count: 3.3k words of unedited content

a/n: i saw a cottage core inspired jean post and this idea immediately popped into my head. i also kept thinking back to the sunset blush scene and it felt destined lmao. i thought it was gonna be shorter but i guess i get carried away lol. pls feel free to send me requests or ideas or give any advice on what you liked!! thanku!<3

Everything is painted with gold. The sun hanging low in the sky, despite the late hour, still warms your skin. You and Jean walk away from the Scout Headquarters, warmth of the evening allowing you to roam without coats. 

He’s in a tight cream shirt, braces holding up darker toned pants. A simple hat sits on his head, shading his eyes from the setting sun. You, a simple sage dress, loose and flowing around your legs. The long grass tickles your flesh, and the two of you laugh as you try running through the field, lifting your limbs stupidly high to jump over the pasture. 

Jean snorts at you, watching you flap around. The orange hue of dusk makes your hair shine, your skin glow beautifully. And as you look up at him, a wide and goofy smile spreading across your face, he can see all the flecks and details of varying colours in your eyes. And it takes his breath away. 

It was the last night before the end. He’s not sure of what, but it feels like the next chapter is to be finished when he closes his eyes tonight. Tomorrow he goes to Marley. Hange ordered all of their team to go relax for the final day at home. “We’ve gone over the plans enough, we know every angle! Go! Shoo!”

Hange was right. Going in and getting Eren home. It was engrained in Jeans brain. The scouts knew everything they were going to before they arrived. So tonight, it’s all about you.

You, with your skirt floating around you as you weave between trees, making your way to the clearing the two of you know so well. It’s where he first admitted feelings, where you first kissed. The others don’t know (or so you both think), and until he’s safe from his last mission, you’re not sure the two of you will ever reveal your affiliation. 

Pulling a blanket from the picnic basket you’ve brought with you, Jean lays it down on the ground. There’s a wide pond in front of you both, some ducks still paddling about. A thin haze floats over the water, the last of the summer heat still encouraging dragonflies and water skippers out. 

The light snacks you’d managed to sneak out from your job in the kitchen were delicious. You’d whipped up some light pastries and desserts from leftover ingredients. Even some strawberries and grapes. Whilst everything was miniscule from lack of provisions, it tasted good enough. 

Dipping the sweet red fruit from the cream and sugar and between your lips, Jean is in heaven. Your hair being pushed by the wind away from your face, the rosiness on your cheeks. The world may end tomorrow, but tonight he’s got all he needs.

His hands reach over, noticing the drip of cream collecting on the corner of your lips. Swiping his thumb along your cheek, he notes “you’ve got a lil..”

Jean looks at you, his eyes locking on yours, still gently cupping your face in his hands. Warm pupils flick down. His brows scrunch together for a moment, before he moves forward. His other hand comes up to your face, and he is so gentle when he kisses you. It’s as if he may break you if he goes too far.

The soft plush of his lips on yours, slowly pulling you in is intoxicating. He leans back on his forearms, pulling you over him, not letting you leave his mouth. You knock into his hat, it flopping off behind him as you lower your chest over his.

A hand reaches to his chestnut hair. It’s grown long over the last few years. You play with tendrils, the two of you lazily kissing. It’s soft and easy. You’re breathing into one another your chest resting on his as you move a leg to intertwine with his. 

Shifting yourself slightly, you rest directly above his thigh. Jeans hand comes to the back of your neck, making sure you don’t split the contact he so desperately needs. Your nails slide softly against his scalp, twisting into his hair with more want. 

The man, your man, underneath you curls forward, leg lifting and chest pushing up into you. Your crotch bumps against his thigh. A delightful little gasp erupts from you. If Jean wasn’t tongue deep in your mouth he could have even missed it. But he is, and he didn’t. 

He’s tempted to see how far he can take this, maybe make another first here. You’ve had sex, and plenty of it. Although for the most part it’s been rushed, the nature of your jobs only allowing for quickies. You both lived in shared rooms, and the lack of privacy was definitely a roadblock in his attempts to please you.

This clearing, in the outside meadows by headquarters, is maybe an ironic place for the privacy you both so need. Putting any doubt out of his mind, Jean lifts his muscular thigh, achieving another gasp into his mouth from you. You grind against it slowly, tentatively.

“No need to be shy, baby girl” he smiles into the kiss.

Cheeks rosy, you roll your hips along his leg. Jeans body rises further, leaning back casually on one hand, the other gripping the flesh between your waist and hip. He breaks the kiss that has been going on so long, wanting to take in all the ways your face displays pleasure. 

Your eyebrows knit together slightly. Your lips are wet with saliva, slightly parted as you give off little mewls each time your clothed cunt is brushed along his cotton pants. 

There’s a sweet and tender feeling building in your lower stomach. You can feel how wet you’re getting, the slow and methodical undulations generating a heat between your thighs. 

“Jean, plea-”

“You want more?” he’s quick to answer. Your head jumps and up and down, past the point of playing shy. 

His long fingers meet with your jaw once more, lightly skimming your features. He’s noting it all down in his head. Maybe he’ll even make a drawing of you. You pause in your ministrations, and a low tutting comes from the man. “No, no. Keep riding. Get yourself ready.” 

A delicious smile emerges on your face, and you bear down on his thigh. You take your hands on each leg, gripping onto the thickly built muscle underneath the cloth. A couple of fingers miss their mark, and you can feel how hard Jean is getting. Eyes flash between his crotch and his face, and he can sense how eager you are to please him. 

His touch moves from your jaw down, one finger slowly running along the centre of your throat. Jeans hand dips, slowly dragging his fingernails across each collar bone, down to the valley of your chest. Your breath hitches, and he moves away again. You shift your hand in response, moving it towards the joint between his thigh and pelvis, allowing your fingers to brush his clothed balls.

Wherever his fingers move leaves a tingling in their wake. They push towards your shoulder, teasing the fabric from each one. Your dress pools a little, allowing him to make his way back, this time taking your breast in his hand. Thumb brushes against your puffy buds, and a finger meets it to squeeze lightly.

Jean fully lifts off the blanket, sat up straight. He makes quick work of your dress, pulling it down and pushing it up. He grabs at your legs, going between light caresses and tight grasps, not knowing which to settle with. Finally he finds purchase in your ass, guiding you back and forth over his thigh.

You moan into his mouth, fully succumbing to the wetness surely dampening through your panties, the feeling of his fingers twisting and teasing your pert nipples. He raises his fingers from your chest, using his thumb on your lower lip to apply gentle pressure. 

Breaking the trail of saliva that connects you both, he pushes an index finger between your lips. You’re all too eager to suck on it, eyes looking dutifully at him. He inhales sharply between his teeth. His cock is so hard, so desperate to fuck into you. Jean wants it to be slow and beautiful, but he simply needs to have you. He wants you close to him before he leaves and doesn’t know if he’ll come back. And close means being inside you, hearing you in your purest form. 

The dusky pink settling on his cheeks could be the sun, low in the sky, filling the meadow with rich hues. 

Your moans could not be interpreted so wholesomely.

Fingers wet with your spit, he moves his hand between your legs, under the skirt. Pushing your panties to the side he lets you ride his palm for a moment. Teasing yourself, teasing your clit on his strong hand. He goes deeper, fingers sliding through your folds. He slips through your folds, resting at your entrance, before allowing your hips to rise and him to push knuckle deep inside you.

You reddened lips form a perfect ‘o’, and the bliss on your face is one he will remember forever. His thumb moves to your clit. Still on top of him, Jean watches you fuck yourself on his fingers. He kisses your neck, your chest. Taking your nipples and sucking, biting, nibbling. 

Your walls are closing in on him, before gently relaxing and he can tell you’re close. 

“Don’t be shy” Jean reissues his earlier statement. But now it’s far huskier, far more commanding. “I want to hear you, y/n. I want to hear you cum.” 

You’re watching his face, the words - orders - tumble from his lips. They make you flutter around his fingers. You murmur out tiny please’s. 

“What did I say? Louder, y/n.”

You moan against his neck, “please.”

Jean pulls your hair, making you extend your neck, forcing you to look up to the hues of pink and orange. “Louder.”

You’re so close. “Jean, p- please!” 

“Good girl.”

With that he’s flicking his thumb over your clit, fucking his fingers up into your cunt. The sounds of liquid and wetness only add to the noises of you cumming. Pussy clenching around his fingers, hips giving way and as your legs start to burn and shake. Jean holds you up, working you through your orgasm. He wants nothing more than to watch you fall apart, moaning his name. And then whining curses as you become oversensitive. Yet your gummy walls still suck him in, begging for more.

Leaving your tight walls, he brings the fingers to his lips. You taste tarte and sweet. Better than strawberries any day.

Your breaths are heavy as he twists the two of you, resting you with your back on the blanket. You are radiant. A green halo of grass above you, the dusting of pink on your cheeks, your lips kiss-swollen.

Jean pushes your skirt up, eyes trained on yours as you rest on your elbows. Your eyes follow his movements. How his tongue wets his lips before he drags them on your inner thigh. How his fingers dig in to pull you closer towards him. 

He pulls off your sodden panties, kissing into your hips, your belly. Jean is slow and deliberate. As much as he wants to be deep within you, he’s never had the chance to enjoy you this slowly before. 

He rises, kissing your breasts as they spill from the top of your dress. His tongue paints saliva on your lips before slipping between them. The kiss is intense. It’s deep and sloppy and so needy. 

Your hand reaches to his shoulders, thumb slipping underneath his braces pulling them off. Hands slip under his shirt, and he quickly helps you pull it off. His muscles are firm and taught, the amount of work his body has been through over the years evident underneath your fingers. You trail fingertips over stripes of knotted flesh, kissing each mark and scar after your hands move onto the next one. 

“You’re beautiful, Jean”

Jeans cheeks go rosy and he smiles so bashfully that it breaks you apart. The lopsided grin makes you pull him back into you, teeth bumping together as you giggle into the kiss. 

He unbuttons his pants, pushing them far enough down his thighs to allow more friction as he grinds into you. Jean is noticeably straining his underwear, his member long and hard. You move your hand down to cup him, squeezing gently through the cotton. You tug on his cock, leaving him stuttering into your mouth. Holding him just tightly enough, he ruts his hips into your hand, little sighs escaping his mouth into your hair. 

Tucking your hand under the fabric, you pull out his dick. It makes your hand look smaller, Jean’s member long and hard. The pink tip is slick with precum, and your thumb brushes his head slightly, earning a little hiss. 

You go from light little touches to harsher ones. Fingers brushing against the veins on his length, before you wrap around him again. He’s whining in your ear, “you like playing with my cock? Seeing what you do to me?” 

With hooded eyelids you look at his contorting face and whisper “yes, yes. I want to please you, I want to make you feel good.” 

“Such a good girl for me.”

Taking his member, you push the tip against the heat between your legs. Teasing your clit with his head, he looks down to watch you work. Precum lightly sheens over your folds, and fuck, Jean can’t wait to add to it. 

“I w-want you so bad Jean.” 

“You have all of me.” 

You hold him against your entrance, the tip of him just resting at your little hole. Pulling him in a little, he pushes against the first tight ring. It’s always intense letting Jean fuck you, making you so full. You rock your hips up, letting him slip out a little, before grinding back down. It pulls him into you so sensually. He moans unashamedly as you control the pleasure you both receive. 

Repeating the action, you lift again, pushing him out, and again tightening your stomach muscles to curl and bring him deeper inside you. His golden eyes are trained on where you’re conjoined. 

He’s halfway inside you, stretching your tight walls so much already. Jean sits back, moving his tongue around inside his mouth before letting a ball of spit fall where his cock rests inside of you. Spreading it on his length, he helps you the rest of the way. Letting your eyes widen and gasp of surprise (how are you always surprised by the feeling?) as he fully sheaths himself inside you. 

“God, you’re so tight,” he holds himself above you, head falling back as he inhales slowly.

Jean allows you a moment to breath, before he pulls back out, quickly snapping his hips back to yours. Moans tumble out of your mouth as he fucks into you. Lashes fluttering and your tits bouncing in rhythm, you are a sight for the sorest of eyes.

“You’re so pretty for me, all splayed out on my cock.” 

He pushes your legs apart, watching his length disappear inside you. Watching how one hand twists your own nipple, the other feebly trying to grab onto his wrist. He’s splitting you apart on his dick, the feeling of being so fucking full taking over. You were already sensitive from your last orgasm, but he builds another, the tightening in your core unmistakable. 

“J- Jean,” you hiccup, so overwhelmed by him. “You’re s- so big” 

“You’re taking me so well, y/n.” 

He lowers himself against your chest, bringing his knees upwards and closer to your ass. You curl up around him, holding your legs further up. Jean quickly renegotiates the position, pulling your legs around him whilst you hold under your knees. You can feel him so deep inside you this way, pulled into a ball underneath him. Jean wants to be impossibly close, and this new angle is punishing on your pussy. He can feel how wet you are between you, how much you enjoy the intensity of his cock working in and out. 

His forehead presses against yours, his hand snaking between you two. From his new angle, he can hit that sweet spot inside you so easily. His length sweeps against it, and hits into your furthest wall. He lets out curses as he feels your cunt tighten each time, mixing with the moans and mewls from you. You lock eyes with him, big doe eyes pricking. 

“Pl- please, I’m so close, Jean.”

Fat tears roll over your cheek, trailing to your temple. Everything feels too much. Him inside of you, the wet squelching between you. His strong fingers rubbing over your clit again and again. You let out a sob, followed by a moan. It’s a combination of knowing this is the last night, feeling how fucking intense his cock is inside you, hearing how much Jean needs you. He kisses your cheeks, tasting the salt, not faltering as he continues to pummel into you. 

“You’re doing so good, baby.”

His balls slap against your skin. 

“You can do it.” 

His teeth bite at the flesh of your breast, pull at your nipples.

“I want to hear you.”

His fingers play and roll with your clit, feeling the way you tighten around his cock.

“Please cum for me, y/n.”

Your back arches off the blanket, the night sky soaking up the moans. The lewd noises in between you both are all consuming, the slap of slick and wetness only adding to your full body sensation. 

His fingers keep moving on your clit, and Jean grunts each time your pussy spasms around his cock. He keeps pace, fucking you raw and with need. He loves to see your delicate face scrunched up, eyes rolling back and mouth unable to close. 

And with the tightening of your walls around him, Jean’s close. “Where do you want me?” 

“I want,” you inhale sharply, as his cock drives back into you, “you inside me- I- I need you Jean. Please.”

“You’re so good, baby, you’re so good.” He’s getting quicker, making you writhe beneath him in your overstimulated state. “I’ll give you what you want, okay? I’m going to cum inside your pretty pussy.” 

Jeans fingers are going to bruise you. He's holding onto you so tight, never wanting to let you go. It’ll be something to remember him by. Movements are starting to stammer, the sweat evident by the sheen forming across his shoulders and face. You tuck a tendril of his honey hair behind his ear. “I love you”, you whisper amongst the moans. And with that he pushes deep enough to make you cry out, feeling the hot ropes of cum painting your walls. 

Your man rests inside you for a moment, gathering his breath as he leaves languid kisses against your breasts, your jaw, your lips. He pulls out, seeing his cum drip from your pussy. Using his fingers he pushes the white around your folds, earning a sharp his when he brushes past your clit. Finally, he brings his fingers to your lips, and you put out a delicate tongue. 

Cleaning him with your mouth, he sits back, sighing softly. How can you be this good? And you like him? Jean thinks he is the luckiest man on earth. He adjusts your dress for comfortability, before dipping next to you. Your heads are lightly touching, your hair intertwined with his. Staring up at the sky as the last colour leaves it in its inkiness, he holds you close. He presses his final kiss on your forehead. 

“I love you too.” 

[starshipsofstarlord]

Play Time

Pairing | Elizabeth Olsen x reader

Summary | ‘Play time’, as it is described, is not for your own wandering hands. It is for you to succumb and be under your partner’s control, however, when she is not present, you take matters into your own hands, - literally.

Warnings | smut, spanking, masturbation, swearing, slight degradation, oral sex (fem receiving ofc), mummy kink

Requested ☑️

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

There was a tension driving your actions, albeit though they were forbidden. It was obvious that Lizzie would be disappointed into your will to give into your own greed, however she wasn’t here, and you had enough time to bust an orgasm out. She wouldn’t have to know.

That was a mistake on your part, and you’d have known that if you had thought with your brain rather than your hungry cunt. Lizzie always reminded you that that was your insatiable flaw, and that was why she was the dominant counterpart rather than you.

If she were left in your own devices, then your own orgasm would remain to be your own priority, and she wouldn’t get much love. And that was certainly something that she could not have.

And so, you were laid in the nude upon your shared bed, your head reeling back at the stimulating sensations that your nimble fingers blessed upon your clit. It admittedly felt good; there was no aspect of teasing, or the sound of taunting above.

It was just... perfect. The only downside was, that the hands belonged to you, and were not those of Lizzie. But she would never touch you so gently, nor dream or giving you what you wanted straight away. There was a thrill that came with doing something that she would be strongly opposed to.

She craved the influence of the power that she had over your body, and how she had the ability to make it bend and break to her every whim. It wasn’t unusual for her to use the description of a ‘brat’ in regards to you, and it clearly was a suitable resolution in thinking of you, all things considered.

You were, knowingly, going against her strict demands, but worst of all, it was rule number one that you had broken. Do not touch yourself. That heightened a spark throughout your entirety, knowing that you were doing something bad, and deserving of being called a brat, or something worse.

But nevertheless, in all your disobedience, you continued revealing yourself in the addiction of control, pumping your slim fingers in and out of your entrance, with the assistant of your thumb providing a string of perfectly adjusted chords to reverberate through your body.

Too preoccupied basking in the glory of the climax that you were striving towards, you had not feigned to notice the silhouette leaning disappointedly against the ajar door frame, her arms crossed against her chest.

“Yes.” Heavy breaths lay abandon to your chest, the movements of your fingers faltering in their rhythm as they twitched under the flow of the pumping blood running through your ecstatic veins. With one last thrust of your paired fingers, a mewl fled from your mouth, confirming the end of your orgasm. “Holy fuck.”

“Indeed.” Lizzie squinted, stepping forward, her sudden appearance promoting wide eyes upon your face, and causing you to whip your hands away from yourself, digging their tips into the covered mattress. “And it appears that you’ve been a very bad girl, breaking mummy’s rules whilst she was away. How... bratty!”

At her specific, and degrading terminology, a whimper surpassed the insides of your mouth, as your body cradled into itself, embarrassed by the exposure that you were broadcasting to her, albeit by accident. It was clear, that you had been caught in the cross hairs of being red handed, and so, the same colour reflected in a hue upon your body, pressing through your skin in regard to the shy heat.

“Liz-“ she fixed you with a stern look, the borderline dominance flickering through her emerald hues. “Mummy.” Biting your lip, you slowly, filled with cautiousness, crawled upon the bed, and towards the woman that often instructed you in what to do. “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

A tut sampled from her pink mouth, enforcing you to bow your head in slight shame. It was inevitable that she was to find out about your individually orchestrated solution to get off, but it made it that much worse, for it was not a second hand discovery.

Instead, she had watched with grave eyes how you fell apart under the collapse of your own touch. Each fluid motion that you had entrusted yourself with delivering was viewed through her stealthy and hawk like eyes. And that meant, there was no solution in trying to deny her deaf accusations, for she had served witness to your lonesome relief.

“No, it won’t.” She agreed, lightly shoving you out of her way, causing you to jolt back by the act, so that she could perch herself into a sitting position on the end of the mattress that was weighted down with many intimate occasions. “You know what to do.”

Lacking any reluctance, you followed her contextual demand, laying in your middle across her apparently inviting lap, your front composed in a floppy manner on one side, and your body half mirroring it on the other.

She trailed her cursive hands down your spine, evoking the appearance of goose bumps to poke out of your barren skin. It was far too well known what awaited you in the concept of her actions, and it had you inwardly wincing.

“See, that’s you being good. Good girls do what they’re told.” It was her successful attempt of taunting you; her outwardly confirming that you were no such thing. “How many?” From experience, you knew that it was a rhetorical consideration, Lizzie was speaking more to herself by it than she was you.

“Please don’t...” the corner of your eyes wept lightly at the thought of what was to come. The thought provoked a sincere yet arousing fear within your chamber of pleasure and fertility. No matter though how much your tried to pardon yourself for your languid mistake, it would never be enough - you knew that, from a collision of experience and logic.

Your attempts though served as vigil fuel to her scarlet fire, and whether she noticed or not, it was uncertain. But despite her possible obliviousness to it, she struck your ass with a relatively hard hand, pulling a mused squeak to tumble helplessly from your heaving mouth, that was attempting to keep the moan within its confines.

“Thank you mummy.” It rolled from your tongue deliriously, like a rehearsed line. Her hand smoothed over the place of which she had spanked, soothing the slight sting, before collaborating her hand unto your skin once more, n the same abused patch of skin. “Fuck!

In a timeless instant, she swatted you once more, causing a salty drop to cascade from your urgent eye. “Remember, only brats use language like that towards their mummies.” It was something that you had a good memory of, but the sworn word had made an appearance to your own dismay.

It had been a thoughtless spew of inconvenience, one that had dug yourself into a spiralling of trouble, and resulted in thus more pain permitted onto the section of your reddened and hand printed behind. “I think we may have to continue this, unless, you have any other ideas, baby?”

Your tongue darted out to swipe across your bottom lip, before you even considered answering. Y doing so, you could taste the salt that had dripped down from the bridge o your nose, and descending down you body in an orderly fashion to reach your slick centre.

It was a frustrating concept though, regarding your eager to please pussy. There was no attention drawn to anything on that end of you; instead, all LIzzie wanted was to hear you speak, and pathetically jumble around with words to spill the perfect answer. All you had to do, was think of how a good girl would respond.

“I’ll do anything.” Your voice was hoarse - desperate. And the vocal feature intrigued Lizzie, and so she rolled you onto the bed beside her, gently grasping the side of your face whilst playing with disarrayed hairs that curled across your cheek.

“Anything?” She repaeated for confirmation; safe to say, she was intrigued. After all, she wanted to experience the efforts that you would go to in order to make it up to her. And so, with tidal integrity, she pierced her green orbs into your own, awaiting another reply out of you.

“Yes.” A sleek smile gave way on your face, showing her that you were more than leased to do anything that she told you too. At the end of the day, it was the dynamic that you had invested yourself in, and also, the saying was true, in a diverse matter; ‘mummy knows best.’

“Okay then.” A broad structure defined her cheeks, paying tribute to her happy, and impressed demeanour. “Since it’s only fair, I want you to make me cum. It’s clear that you’re so good at it, considering that you got yourself to orgasm by nothing but your own fingers.”

She was intentionally getting under your skin about your misbehaviour, ripping of the band aid that you were certain that the openness and lack of squirming away that the spanking that she delivered entailed. But instead, it was another thing that you had been wrong about that to, and so you shuffled patiently upon your knees, watching as she intimately read you expression.

Lizzie pulled you closer by her adoring grasp on your cheek, slotting your mouth against the hilltop of hers. The pair of you moved in a rhythm, sawing your tongues around each other like flexible switch blades. Whenever she pulled away for a breather, you chased her with the promise of continuation, and vice versa.

But finally, the main event was approaching, such a ploy was revealed by Lizzie shrugging out of the dress that she had worn specifically for the interview downtown. The peeling of that layer left her in nothing more than her panties, revealing that she had forgone the support of a bra, which was formidable, since the outfit of her stylist’s choice had enabled enough, yet not too much revelation of a cleavage.

No resilience was met by either parties as she removed her flushed lips away, and laid dominantly back on the expensive mattress. And without waiting for you to run like a transitioning river beside her, she removed her panties herself, flinging them lazily away by her ankle. “Last time you ripped them.” Was her excuse, though, not that she had to ever explain herself to you of all.

It was a vivid memory, one that you fondly held onto. At the time, it had merely been an accident, but no longer did you regret what you did back then. In fact, reflecting on in it was quite hot in fact, and it had indeed been flashing images from that time that you had used to get yourself off earlier.

But your prior release, nor those that were promised in the future were your concern; not at the moment anyways. Your own priority was the woman spreading her legs so confidently in front of you, and the r rated sight had saliva collecting in the globe of your mouth.

“So pretty mummy.” The compliment had her cunt clench around nothing, you could see as the slit puffed its expanse out, attempting to seduce you inside. And it’s efforts were not in vain, for you crept forwards on your forearms, your high and beheld beloved capturing your every move within her clouded gaze.

“It would be far prettier if you were to give it a kiss. I think it’d like that, very much.” An innocent smirk wandered onto her compelling face, and you were eager to oblige her insinuating command. Your fingertips rubbed the insides of her thighs, your thumbs reaching to spread her glorious pink folds.

Leaning forwards, you in took a sensual breath, inhaling the intoxicating scent that rolled off from Lizzie’s cunt in controlling waves. It reeled you closer, and closer, until your lips were pressed against her bud in a sweet peck. “Your so wet.” Was your speculation, and you couldn’t help but gravitate your fingers onto her flower, and roll them in circles upon her individual expanse.

“Then clean it up baby. You know what to do.” Her hand reached down, bunching a fist full of hair within her grip, lowering your head down once again, causing you to continue focusing on her clit, whilst your fingers played lovingly around in her slick.

With the use of your tongue, you began from the bottom of her cunt, to her sensitive clit, working in attentive upwards strokes, collecting her sweet nectar onto your spoon appendage, and leaving none to waste. Then, you prodded at her entrance with the tip of it, sinking it in the private cavern, and reaching as far as your body part would allow you to.

Lizzie had her mouth pouted, as she breathed and mewled steadily. It served as encouragement, making you rock your tongue in and out of her successfully, your thumb finding a home on her clit, and rubbing with a passive goal. “Yes.” She moaned, her noise amplifying as she ground sensually down onto your face, rubbing her excess juices over it. “I’m close.”

That’s made you continue your administrations, the only thing of them that changed being your pace, which increased to a rapid tendency and urgency to get her to finish. “Gonna cum all over your pretty little brat face.” Her other hand also found homage in your hair, as she used it as leverage to rut her mound more directly upon your features.

A light scream evoked from her chest, as you felt her spill around your tongue, the liquid seeping out from her entrance, and softly drowning her thighs. After collecting as much as possible, and drinking it all up, you removed your face, feeling how your chin and such felt quite damp.

“I hope that teaches you to not touch yourself without permission.” Panted Lizzie, making no effort to get up from the bed, tucking herself under a blanket. She lifted up one of the sides, extending her arm upwards, and inviting you into her arms. And you were happy to settle down with her and get some rest after the thrilling and erotic night.

Being a brat wasn’t so bad. And at the end of it all, you always got to curl up with your girlfriend and find comfort in her gentle embrace, it was one of your favourite parts about having an intimate night.

[iliveiloveiwrite]

winged cupid painted blind // Anthony Bridgerton

Request: I’d really love something based on love story by Taylor Swift. The lines “We keep quite cuz we’re dead if they knew” and “take me somewhere we can be alone” stick out to me //  I was thinking that the reader could be from a family that isn’t well off and her and Anthony meet at a ball somehow. They create a ruse that she’s from a well known family so that the gossips in the ton don’t attack her because Anthony has fallen in love with a “commoner.” All the Bridgertons are in on the ruse and at the end of the story Anthony proposes - @whovianwholikesgirls

A/N: Why is it that every Bridgerton fic I write, I end up writing thousands and thousands of words? This is long and I am sorry for that! As always, I hope I have done your request justice and that I hope you like!

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: she/her pronouns, female reader, class divides, pining, mutual pining, lots of fluff, dancing, kissing, happy ending, Anthony in love.

Word count: 7.7k

Madame Delacroix’s took up the central property on the most prosperous street coming just off of Grosvenor Square. The most popular modiste in London, many of society’s richest families flocked to her door in order to claim their own dress made by the talented seamstress.

Anthony sighs as he climbs down from the carriage. His mother must be in a particular benevolent mood to send him to pick up her newest dress from the modiste. Anthony would much rather be spending his day at his club, but he finds himself ringing the modiste’s bell for service.

“Monsieur Bridgerton!” Madame Delacroix smiles, delighted at the sight of the Viscount. “How can I help you?” She asks, her smile turning flirtatious.

Anthony responds with his own flirtatious smile. “I’m here to pick up a dress for my mother.”

“Of course, of course,” Madame Delacroix sings, “I have it over here. I finished it last night. It is divine!”

“My mother will surely thank you,” Anthony states earnestly, his gaze dancing around the room filled to the brim with fabrics and ribbons, models and hoops.

“No need,” Madame Delacroix, “The Bridgertons are my best customers.”

Anthony takes the offered box, marvelling at the lightness of its weight. For all the skirts, for all the numerous pieces of fabric that go into making a dress, Anthony will always remain shocked at the featherlight weight of it.

“Will Lady Bridgerton be wearing this to the Hastings’ ball tonight?” The modiste asks, her tone light as she tries her best to keep the burning curiosity out of her voice.

“Most likely,” Anthony smiles, tipping his head in goodbye.

The modiste calls out her goodbyes as Anthony walks out the door. He doesn’t pay much attention to where he is going; only knowing that he needs to turn left in order to reach his carriage. The very thought has him rushing, safe in the knowledge that the quicker he got his done, the quicker he would be at his club.

It’s that self-indulgent thought that had Anthony distracted enough to walk into something hard.

“Oh!” A feminine voice gasps as Anthony catches her elbow whilst keeping a tight hold on the dress box.

“My apologies,” Anthony offers, steadying the unknown woman.

“You’re forgiven,” She murmurs dryly, turning her attention back to the seamstresses window.

“You aren’t hurt, are you?”

“No, I’m perfectly fine. Thank you for your concern, Lord Bridgerton.”

“My pleasure, Miss…”

“(Y/L/N).”

“My pleasure, Miss (Y/L/N),” Anthony repeats, adjusting the dress box in his hands. He goes to say something else but notices her slyly counting the money in her purse, watching her frown when she realises she cannot afford the prices set by Madame Delacroix.

“Have a nice day, Lord Bridgerton,” Miss (Y/L/N) remarks, stepping away from the Viscount to begin her walk home. She didn’t need a Viscount to be witness to her money troubles; she had thought she had enough, but the prices must have been increased since the last time she had wandered past the window. It would be another two weeks of saving before she could afford a new set of ribbons; it wasn’t worth it at this point, she sighed to herself.

“You too!” Anthony shouts to her retreating figure, feeling upset on her behalf that she could not afford the ribbons she was so dazedly admiring. Shaking off the uncomfortable feeling, Anthony climbs into the carriage, thinking of the young woman all the way home.

-----

“Jayne!” (Y/N) laughs, “Slow down! I’m going to lose a shoe.”

“Alright, Cinderella,” Jayne snickers, slowing her pace as she climbs the winding staircase to the home of the Duke and Duchess of Hastings.

“Have you ever seen such a home?” (Y/N) gasps; eyes widening as she takes in the grand structure. The brickwork is immaculate; many red bricks painted black to give the impression of a crosshatch pattern spreading across the building. This is only highlighted by the many windows; all seemingly lit by a countless number of candles and sconces.

“(Y/N)!” Jayne shouts, “Stop admiring the building! We have a dance to get to.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” (Y/N) laughs, hurrying after her friend who has already handed over their invitation.

Jayne grips (Y/N)’s hand tightly as they enter the ballroom together. The event is in full swing; the dancefloor already full with couples dancing a quadrille.

“Would you dance with me?” The handsome brunette asks of Jayne, staring at her hopefully. Jayne casts her gaze to (Y/N), not wanting to leave her friend, but wanting very much to dance with the handsome man.

(Y/N) nudges Jayne forward, answering for her. “She would be delighted.”

Jayne sends her a thankful smile as she joins more and more couples on the dancefloor.

The drinks table isn’t busy at all as (Y/N) wanders over. She makes sure to keep an eye on Jayne, watching her dance with what looks to be a Rokesby. (Y/N) shakes her head fondly at her friend; ten minutes into a ball and she’s already caught the attention of a member of one of the richest families in England.

Turning her attention away from her friend, (Y/N) reaches for a glass of lemonade when her hand brushes with a man clearly wanting the same glass. (Y/N) pulls her hand away, not wanting to cause any trouble at a ball she wasn’t even invited to.

“My apologies,” She murmurs, grabbing another glass from the many.

“You’re forgiven,” A voice drawls. (Y/N) glances upwards through her lashes to find Anthony Bridgerton watching her with a confused expression.

“Lord Bridgerton,” (Y/N) greets, curtseying lightly at the sight of her superior.

Anthony nods. He remains silent as he stands next to her; it’s not an awkward silence, rather, one where (Y/N) can practically hear the cogs and gears winding in Anthony’s mind, trying to figure out where he knows her from. If he knows her at all.

“I met you this morning,” Anthony recalls suddenly, snapping his fingers together when he remembers why he recognises the woman standing next to him.

“You almost knocked me over,” She states wryly, lifting her glass to her lips to take a tentative sip of the lukewarm lemonade.

“I believe I apologised for that, Miss (Y/L/N).”

“Call me (Y/N). And I forgave you,” She states simply, “But It doesn’t mean I’m going to let you forget it, however.”

“I’d be disappointed in you, if you did.”

(Y/N) laughs. The very sound music to Anthony’s ears and he briefly wonders whether he could have the sound imprinted on his brain; to hear her laughter for an eternity.

“What are you doing here?” Anthony asks, taking a pull of his lemonade before wrinkling his nose. Too sweet, not sour enough. “Are you here with your parents?”

“I wasn’t technically invited,” She confesses to the Viscount in a conspiratorial whisper. Anthony’s eyes widen when her words land, “What?”

“I came to chaperone my friend, Jayne. You may know her, she’s Lord Dorchester’s daughter.”

Anthony nods; he knew the man well, drank with him a few times at his club – dreadfully dull with a fascination for military history. Much like many of the men of his father’s generation.

“Anyway,” (Y/N) continues, “Jayne wanted to go, but needed a chaperone as her mother has taken ill – nothing serious thankfully. I was the next best option so here I am.”

“Here you are,” Anthony parrots, enunciating every syllable as his eyes pour over her figure. “If you weren’t invited, what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a governess for Lord and Lady Saville,” She answers proudly; a happy smile on her face as she thinks of her students.

“I hated my governess,” Anthony confesses with a laugh. “I don’t care much for Latin which she knew so she would make me do double the work.”

(Y/N) snorts. “Latin is a very useful language; it’s a good skill to have.”

“I know that now,” Anthony gripes, “I just didn’t know that at ten years old.”

Silence descends between them. Again, not uncomfortable, but a natural stopping point in their conversation. After all, titled gentleman such as the man stood beside her didn’t speak to her occupation outside of a brief conversation about their child’s progress in their education.

(Y/N) places her finished glass of lemonade back on the table before smoothing out the deep blue skirts of her borrowed dress. She clears her throat, ready to make her excuses and check on Jayne when Anthony speaks first.

“Would you care to dance?”

“Pardon?”

“Would you like to dance with me?”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why not?”

“I’m a governess, Lord Bridgerton.”

“Call me Anthony, please.”

“That still doesn’t change the fact that you’re supposed to dance with someone of your own class, Anthony.”

“I don’t want to dance with them. I want to dance with you.”

His argument is straight to the point; no beating around the bush that (Y/N) finds it hard to find fault with it. Instead, she sighs, “One dance.”

“One dance,” Anthony promises, holding out his hand for her to grasp.

She didn’t expect to find herself the centre of the Viscount’s attention, but she cannot bring herself to mind much. Not as he holds out a hand for her to take; not as he leads to her to the dancefloor and not as he settles a palm against her lower back. The feel of his hand feeling so right that she loses the power of speech.

The music begins and (Y/N) travels to a new place entirely. The room melts away; the couples, the families. They all disappear. The only two people in the room are her and Anthony; his blue eyes fixed on her as they start to circle the room in waltz. There’s no need for conversation; all words passed by looks alone.

When the music dies and the room fades back into view, (Y/N) only wonders whether she would feel like this again, whether they would be anyone to make her feel like this again. As Anthony bows and kisses her hand, (Y/N) has her answer.

----------

He doesn’t stop thinking about her. She left soon after they finished dancing; her friend finding her and asking whether she was ready to leave. Anthony wanted to argue; wanted to reach for (Y/N) and pull her back to his embrace where they could dance the night away.

Anthony returned home and went straight to his room. He undressed mechanically; still thinking of her as he slipped between his sheets and tried to fall asleep only to find that sleep was a fickle friend that would not be granting him a visit tonight.

He remains awake; thinking of every aspect of her. He didn’t think he would see her again after the modiste; it was a shock to find her at the ball, but he took the opportunity with both hands to find that he had quickly become infatuated with her.

Could this be called love? Anthony rolls over in bed; tangling himself up in the sheets as he runs a hand up and down his bare chest, thinking the question over and over.

He felt as if he had hit by the arrow of Cupid; as if he had handed himself over voluntarily to be pricked with one of the god’s arrows. He’s never felt like this; no woman had ever kept him awake at night in such a manner.

Groaning, Anthony reaches for the pillow on the other side of the bed, hugging it to his chest. All the while, he dreams it was her body he was pressing close to.

The day after the Ball, Anthony strides from his study to his mother’s drawing room. There, he sits next to his beloved mother, and asks her to gather his siblings for a family meeting.

They arrive one by one. The youngest arriving first; a simple call from the bottom of the stairs has Gregory and Hyacinth rushing to the drawing room, each one adamant that they didn’t do it, but rather their sibling. Anthony shakes his head in exasperation, not wanting to know what they were referring to and instead, asks them to take a seat on the pale blue couch in front of the window.

Over the course of an hour, Anthony’s family arrive. Each one just as curious as the last, each one just as questioning as the last. “Why have you gathered us here, Anthony?” Daphne sighs, her hand resting on Simon’s knee.

“I’ve met someone,” Anthony announces. He frowns at the shocked gasps from Daphne and Eloise; was he really so incapable of finding himself a wife? He ignores the jibes from them both, turning to face his dear mother.

Violet Bridgerton sits in her favourite chair; the one next to it empty as it has been for the last decade. Edmund Bridgerton died so suddenly, and their love was so strong, Anthony knew that there was no recovery from it. “Do we know her?” She asks; her face showing the happiness she feels for her eldest son.

“No,” Anthony sighs, settling down next to his youngest sister, Hyacinth. She offers him a sweet smile as he sits; Anthony cannot help but return the smile and ruffle her hair. When the moment is over, Anthony focuses his attention back onto his family who he finds is watching him intently. “She’s a governess,” He admits, straightening in his seat.

“A respectable profession,” Eloise states with a smile. Anthony feels a rush of affection for his sister; he had always been wary for her outspokenness, but right now, he could thank her heartily.

“What’s the problem, Anthony?” Eloise continues, crossing her ankles, leaning forward in interest.

“I think she may have feelings for me as well, but she’s hesitant to act on them because of our differences.”

“Differences?” Hyacinth questions curiously; unaware of such class differences at such a young age.

“(Y/N) is a governess. I am a Viscount,” Anthony explains, “It would be the subject of gossip for years to come should anything happen between us.”

“So we come up with another story,” Francesca suggests, shrugging her shoulders as if her suggestion was always the answer.

“Another story?” Daphne wonders, eyes glancing between her husband and her family.

“We create a ruse,” Francesca explains to her elder sister. “A story for (Y/N) and Anthony to follow when out in public.”

“Do you think she would go along with this?” Benedict asks; his tone wary as he thinks of the possible implications this could have for his family.

Anthony remains silent, tapping a finger against his cheek as he thinks of whether (Y/N) would follow such a ruse. “Why don’t we ask her? I can send a summons.”

Violet, who had been watching the whole exchange in silence, nods. “Send her a message asking her to come as quick as she can. Tell her it isn’t an emergency, but that you would like to talk to her.”

Anthony nods; rushing from the drawing room to his study to pen such a message. After that, he calls on one of the footmen, handing them the letter and the strict duty of delivering this to (Y/N) personally. The footman nods; his face serious as he takes the letter from his employer’s hand, all but sprinting out of the door.

Anthony returns to the drawing room; taking his seat next to Hyacinth.

“Did you send the missive?” Violet asks. Anthony nods; doing his best to keep his heart from beating right out of his chest. “I sent it with one of the footmen,” He answers, “It shouldn’t be long now.”

His family all nod, breaking off into separate conversations whilst Anthony remains stoic and silent. His leg bounces repeatedly; the only outward sign of his anxiety. Internally, he nerves were fraught. He couldn’t help but wonder whether this was all too much; he knew from their first meeting that Anthony would do anything for her, but if (Y/N) didn’t return such feelings then it was all for nothing.

Worries and thoughts continue to plague him as Anthony catches sight of Daphne leaning into Simon. It’s a small movement, almost imperceptible, but Anthony cannot miss the devoted smile that crosses Simon’s face when he feels his wife press against him.

Longing breaks within Anthony’s chest, spreading through his body, leaving behind an ache that he doesn’t know how to heal.

“Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N),” introduces the Butler, breaking Anthony’s longing in half.

He stands all too fast, appearing all too eager. Anthony shoots a glare in his brother’s direction when he hears their sniggering.

(Y/N) rushes into the room; her eyes filled with panic when she finds herself in front of the whole Bridgerton clan. “Anthony?” She whispers; her eyes finally meeting his from across the room.

“(Y/N),” He breathes, “Thank you for coming.”

“You told me not to worry, but you sounded so urgent.”

“We wanted to talk to you,” He explains, gesturing to his whole family. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

(Y/N) sits; her mind running a thousand miles a minute as she finds herself being watched by every Bridgerton/Basset in the room. The room is silent; too silent – no-one dares broach the subject first. They don’t want to anger Anthony or ruin his chances with (Y/N).

“Whatever is the matter?” (Y/N) finally asks, breaking the silence.

“We’ve come to understand that you and Anthony have feelings for each other,” Violet states quite plainly.

(Y/N) fidgets, somewhat uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “I guess you could say that,” She offers, smiling smally at the aforementioned man.

“We also know that you’re worried about the differences between Anthony and yourself,” Violet continues to which Eloise huffs, crossing her arms in anger at the state of the class differences within England.

“It’s not so much worried,” (Y/N) explains, “It’s more resigned to the fact.”

Violet nods, understanding where the young governess is coming from. “Francesca,” Violet starts, nodding to the brunette sitting by one of Anthony’s brothers, “Has come up with an idea that we would like to run by you.”

“Oh?”

“It would mean that you and Anthony would be able to begin a courtship.”

(Y/N) feels herself flush; her face heating with how open the Bridgerton family were about their emotions. Their family unit so healthy and happy that everyone felt at ease to talk about whatever was on their minds.

“What did you have in mind?” (Y/N) asks, turning to face Francesca who responds with a large smile.

“We’re going to create a backstory for you. Not something terribly complicated, but something that you and Anthony can follow whilst out in public.”

“Okay…” (Y/N) whispers hesitantly, “What’s the backstory you’ve created?”

Francesca begins to look sheepish. “I haven’t thought of that part yet… I didn’t think Anthony would go for the first part.”

(Y/N) laughs; a light and airy sound that has Anthony straightening in his seat, smiling automatically. “Why don’t we come up with it together?”

“So you’re willing to go along with it?” Anthony asks; his voice unwaveringly hopeful as he refuses to look at anyone but (Y/N).

Something in his face has her nodding. “For as long as you’ll have me,” She answers earnestly, almost breathless when Anthony smiles widely in return.

“This is what I’ve thought of so far,” Colin announces, breaking the moment between Anthony and (Y/N).

The family turn to Colin to find him sat forward on his seat, an eager look across his face as he begins to lay out his plans. Anthony smiles and nods; happy with every word leaving his brother’s mouth.

(Y/N) cannot help but feel an ounce of doubt; not so much at the plan, but for longevity of it. How long would it be before Anthony realised she was not worth it? How long would it before the class difference between them became too much? She dreaded the day but knew it would be upon her before she realised.

----------

The annual picnic in Hyde Park drew in every affable family in London. After all, it was another excuse for mother’s to parade their daughters to the many eligible gentleman. For the gentlemen, it was a free lunch with whichever gazebo they chose to throw themselves upon.

The Bridgertons had been attending this picnic for many years; their station in society meaning that they were personally invited by the monarch. Violet took pride in her set up, making sure her cook’s famous biscuits were on display and that there was plenty of tea to go around. She also ensured that her family had the perfect view of the Serpentine; not too close for her children to fall in, but not too far for it to be out of sight. It was not a sorry affair.

(Y/N) had joined the family happily; talking briefly with Colin and Eloise before Hyacinth monopolised her attention. (Y/N) didn’t mind; she had taught many young girls the same age as Hyacinth and found them all a delight to educate. Hyacinth would be no different.

It wasn’t long, however, before Anthony joined her side. His hand settled comfortably on the small of her back, liking the way that she stepped closer to him, as if wanting to be in his presence all the time.  

“Did you have fun the other night?” Anthony questions, thinking back to Daphne’s ball when (Y/N) had smiled at him as he lead her across the dancefloor.

(Y/N) smiles. “I did. I had a lot of fun.”

“How are you feeling about our ruse?” Anthony queries, catching sight of Lady Featherington marching across the many blankets in the direction of the Bridgerton patch.

“Confident,” (Y/N) answers, “Why do you ask?”

Anthony smiles; shifting his position slightly so he can hear every word of the conversation about to happen. He ducks his head, his mouth close to her ear as he answers, “Because it’s about to be put to the test.”

“Lady Bridgerton,” Lady Featherington calls; her gaudy green gown shimmering in the sunlight as she teeters her way to the matriarch of the fine family.

“Lady Featherington,” Violet greets, her voice as polite as ever. “How are you?”

Lady Featherington smiles at Violet; her gaze glancing around the colourful blankets and gazebo set out for the Bridgerton family to remain comfortable as the picnic progresses. Lady Featherington smiles when her eyes find the figure she was looking for. (Y/N) stands to the side, wrapped up in a conversation with Anthony that certainly looks to be a private one.

Lady Featherington nods towards (Y/N); the fascinator attached to her threatening to slip into her eyes. “You have a new addition to your family, Lady Bridgerton,” Lady Featherington states; no infliction of a question but one inferred all the same.

“(Y/N) is a distant friend of the family,” Violet answers breezily, “She hails from a wealthy family just outside of Leeds.”

“Leeds?”

Violet nods. “Yes, Leeds. It’s just over 20 miles outside of York, perhaps you’ve been?”

Lady Featherington smiles tightly at Violet. She smooths down the green panels of her dress. “A handful of times, Lady Bridgerton. After all, my side of the family hails from Manchester. The two aren’t so far removed.”

“Of course,” Violet appeases, “How does your family fare? I’d heard your mother was ill.”

Lady Featherington continues to smile graciously at the Dowager Viscount. Her eyes are brimming with warning and curiosity, but her smile is forced. “Mother is doing much better, she travelled to the coast. The latest journals are saying sea air helps with fragile conditions.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Lady Featherington nods her thanks to Violet before making her excuses. Violet’s shoulders shake with silent laughter as she watches the notorious gossip walk away from her gazebo. Lady Featherington’s shoulders are tight with displeasure as she marches back to her own plot.

Violet returns to the stitching in her lap after a brief glance towards her youngest children. Gregory and Hyacinth occupied with Benedict and Colin as the older of the set teach their younger siblings games from their youth. Violet smiles at her children; content to return to the pattern at hand, the Dutch Tulips would not stitch themselves.

“What was Lady Featherington talking to you about?” Anthony asks. His face the very picture of innocence as he breaks his mother’s concentration and grabs two biscuits – one for him, the other he hands to (Y/N).

“She was fishing for information on our dear (Y/N),” Violet comments, observing her stitching to ensure it remains straight. “She didn’t find out a thing other than what we discussed.”

(Y/N) lets out a relieved breath. “Thank you, Lady Bridgerton.”

Violet waves away her gratitude with a dismissive hand. “You’re making my son happy; I’ll protect that and you with all that I have.”

(Y/N) flounders for a moment at the quick acceptance by Violet. She smiles at the matriarch; whispering her thanks to Violet, ducking her head as she tries to come to terms with rush of emotions coursing through her body.

Anthony returns his attention to the conversation; his mind no longer focused on way to distract Lady Featherington. He flashes a smile in (Y/N)’s direction; his heart racing when she sends her own smile back.

“(Y/N) and I are going to promenade, mother. You’ll be fine without us?”

Violet snorts. “Yes, dear. I have my seven other children to keep me company.”

Anthony rolls his eyes fondly at his mother. He presses a sweet kiss to her cheek before offering (Y/N) his arm.

They amble along the path; all the while aware of the maid sent by Violet shortly after they departed. Violet trusts (Y/N) implicitly, but she knows the reputation of her eldest son. The poor opera singer being prime evidence of his abilities to break hearts as quickly as he mends them.

“You look beautiful, by the way. In case I haven’t told you,” Anthony flirts, a handsome smile spreading across his face.

“You haven’t, but I’ll take the compliment now.”

Anthony laughs, throwing his head back in delight as they both pause their walk. “You are though,” Anthony murmurs, reaching out to brush a finger down (Y/N)’s cheek, “You’re beautiful.”

(Y/N) averts her gaze; her cheeks flushing from the unexpected compliment. Anthony glances on either side of them, catching sight of the maid only a few feet away, doing her best to nonchalantly follow them. Anthony turns his attention back to the woman in front of him, desperate for a moment alone with her. A wicked grin spreads across his face, “Follow me.”

“What?”

“Follow me,” Anthony repeats, stepping off the path and onto the grass. He gestures to a faint path; one less travelled. “Do you trust me?”

(Y/N) answers by taking his outstretched hand, letting herself be led down the lesser known path.

Their pace slows when they are certain they have lost their chaperone. (Y/N) feels a twinge of guilt as she thinks of the poor maid who was only doing what she was asked by her employer, but then she catches sight of the unbridled glee on Anthony’s face and her guilt is quickly replaced by anticipation.

“Where are we going?” She asks; her voice jostling slightly as she tries to watch Anthony and not trip over any loose twigs or stones.

“Nowhere in particular,” Anthony confesses, “I just wanted you to myself for a little bit.”

His pace slows; they’re a good distance away from the picnic party, they wouldn’t be interrupted by anyone.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Anthony wonders as he comes to a stop. His hands settle on her waist and she has do all that she can to focus on the conversation and not the fact that she can feel the heat of his skin through the fabric of her dress.  

“You can tell me anything.”

“I like spending time with you. You make me…” Anthony trails off as he thinks of the word, “Happy. Yes, you make me happy.”

“You make me happy too.”

“If you want me to stop,” Anthony whispers, bending to press a line of kisses from her cheek to the corner of her mouth, “You need to tell me now.”

“Don’t stop,” She whispers, fisting her hands in the lapels of his jacket, tugging him forward.

Anthony kissed her carefully, as if afraid he would ruin her from the very moment their lips touched. What he didn’t realise, however, was that he had ruined her from the instant they met. He might not have realised it, but she knew. She knew that from that one conversation, that one touch to her elbow, she would be ruined for other men.

His mouth is gentle, hesitant. By the way he groans low in his throat, Anthony does not expect (Y/N) to react the way she does. Gasping against his mouth, pressing herself against him as her lips open under his. The kiss becomes hurried; oxygen becoming a distant thought of the past as (Y/N) tastes the lemon biscuits Anthony had stolen from his mother’s table.

Breaking the kiss, the couple each suck in ragged breaths. Shy smiles break out across either of their faces, not having expected such a thing to happen to between them. A short laugh leaves Anthony’s lips as he keeps (Y/N) wrapped up in his embrace. Neither of them feel the need to say a word; happy to let the time pass between them in complete silence.

“We should probably get back,” (Y/N) eventually murmurs against Anthony’s cheek, the slight stubble scratching her skin.

Anthony releases a choked sound. “I don’t want to,” He confesses, “I want to stay here with you.”

(Y/N) pulls back, brushing a gloved hand against Anthony’s cheek. He leans into the touch; finding himself enraptured by the woman in front of him. “I want to stay with you too,” She whispers, “But your family will be looking for us.”

Anthony sighs, breaking the embrace entirely. He holds her hand; tangling their fingers together. If he could, he wouldn’t let go of her at all. He would keep her with him at all times; he likes to be in her presence, doesn’t want to be without it. However, society and duty calls, and he must return. However, he would be damned if he was to let go of her hand before then.

“Alright,” He concedes, beginning the walk back to the picnic.

The walk is quiet, but comfortable. Their hands remained tangled even as they arrive back to the Bridgertons. His brother’s throw Anthony a knowing glance which Anthony ignores. He knows his mother will have a strict word with him later, but he has more pressing matters on his mind – his future and the woman now sitting with his youngest siblings.

He’s found his forever; he just needs to keep it.

-----

“Miss (Y/L/N),” the Butler begins, interrupting the governess as she marks her student’s latest set of handwriting, “A Viscount Bridgerton to see you?”

“Oh!” She gasps, standing from her seat far too quickly. The inkpot on her desk spills, sapphire blue ink spreading across the multitude of papers thrown about her desk. As she watches the puddle grow, she begins to feel a deep sense of dread spread through her being.

“Shall I show him in?” The Butler asks, also watching the ink stain spread.

“Have you already made Lord and Lady Saville aware of his presence?”

“Yes, miss. They’re the ones who told me to fetch him to you.”

“Then yes, show him in please,” (Y/N) answers, staring forlornly at the ruined paper and wasted ink. The Butler makes a sympathetic noise before opening the door further for Anthony to enter.

“Darling,” Anthony greets. He goes to speak further but spies the growing blue stain. “What happened here?”

“I stood up too quickly,” (Y/N) complains. “It’s gone everywhere, and I can’t afford another bottle right now.”

“That’s no problem. I’ll get you a bottle.”

(Y/N) fixes the man with an unimpressed look. “No you won’t. I don’t want you buying things for me.”

“It won’t be bought. I have a stock of ink back at Bridgerton House due to the amount of correspondence I have. You can have a couple of pots; I will not miss it.”

“Oh… well, thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Anthony smiles. “Now that’s sorted, I came here to ask you a question.”

“You have?”

“I have. Would you attend the Shakespearean ball? With me?” His voice has a note of vulnerability in it as he voices his question.

“What?” She asks, “As in arrive with you, on your arm?”

“Yes,” Anthony states slowly, “You would come with me and my family.”

She begins to pace the room; her hands wringing together as she tries to calm the pounding of her heart and mind. “Are you sure this is the path you want to go down?” She asks Anthony; her voice begging for a truthful answer.

“What do you mean?”

“This is getting very serious very fast, Anthony. This plan isn’t going to work forever; the ton will find out that I’m a governess and the ruse will be over. This could ruin your entire family, Anthony.”

“Hey,” Anthony hushes, interrupting her pacing. He reaches for her hand with one hand whilst the other cups her cheek. She automatically leans into the touch, sending a thrill through Anthony’s aching soul. “Nothing’s going to happen,” He reassures with a gentle tone, “Should anything happen, we can do damage control.”

“I don’t want to be the ruin of your family, Anthony,” (Y/N) whispers, her eyes lined with unshed tears. She could never forgive herself if the Bridgertons were socially injured by her lack of money relating to her lack of status. (Y/N) could not help the hand of cards she was dealt at birth, but society dictates her station, and hers was so far below Anthony’s it was any wonder that he noticed her in the first place. It was a dream to be accepted by his family; she didn’t want to be the cause of their ruination.

“You aren’t going to be the ruin of my family,” Anthony assures, brushing under her eyes with his thumbs to wipe away the tears that have fallen. “You’re going to be the making of it. I want you in my life, (Y/N). I want to see where this goes.”

“You do?”

“I do. I haven’t felt like this for a long time, I want to see where this feeling takes me.”

“Okay,” She concedes, doing her best to stop the tears falling, “I’ll go to the ball with you.”

“You will?”

“I will.”

The smile that spreads across Anthony’s face makes it all worth it. He presses a kiss to her forehead, then another to her nose, to her cheek before finally kissing her in earnest. She hums against his mouth; getting lost in the feel of him.

“It’ll be worth it,” Anthony whispers. “All of this is worth it.”

“You’re worth it,” (Y/N) states quietly, pulling him back in for another kiss.

----

Lady Danbury was one of two women in London that could throw a memorable ball. The other being Violet Bridgerton. For her theme this year, Lady Danbury had chosen the works of the Elizabethan bard, William Shakespeare. For what could be more romantic than dressing as characters immortalised in his plays and sonnets?

Anthony would not tell (Y/N) one whisper of his costume; kept it a secret from her despite her barrage of questions. As revenge, she kept quiet about her costume, refusing to tell the man the colour of her dress.

The two walk into the ballroom with (Y/N)’s hand resting on Anthony’s forearm; her nerves rattle as she walks further into the room. She knew she had no reason to be nervous; Anthony and his family would protect her from whatever form of gossip falls her way, but she could not help the turning of her stomach as she walked passed many disappointed mothers who had hoped Anthony would pay their daughters the slightest bit of attention.

The music is loud; the laughter lightening the atmosphere and the dancers in full swing as (Y/N) begins to feel comfortable. Having taught many a child Shakespeare, (Y/N) spent a lot of time trying to decipher the characters in attendance tonight. She had already seen three Violas, four Benedicks, and six Olivias.  

“I have to go talk to someone,” Anthony says apologetically, interrupting her guessing game, “I won’t be long. Will you be okay without me?”

(Y/N) nods. “Go. I’m sure I’ll find someone to talk to.”

Anthony presses a lingering kiss to her cheek, whispering as he does so, “A marvel amongst women.”

“You’re nothing but a flirt,” She laughs, batting the love of her life away. “Go talk business.”

“As you wish,” Anthony laughs, mock-bowing before leaving (Y/N) to wander the ball alone. Moments pass before she finds someone she recognises. “Colin,” She greets happily, “Who have you come as?”

“Romeo Montague,” Colin answers, stretching his arms wide to show off his rather fetching garb.

“How wonderful,” She laughs, watching the Bridgerton strike a pose in his costume.

“Who knows,” Colin teases, “Maybe tonight I’ll find my Juliet.”

(Y/N) laughs once more, batting the man away when he wiggles his eyebrows at her in a suggestive manner. “Off with you,” She snorts, “I’m sure there are plenty of ladies for you to dance with.”

Colin departs with a bow of his head. (Y/N) rolls her eyes at the antics of the younger man; Colin knew full well of the line of ladies waiting for his signature of their dance cards, but something warms in (Y/N)’s chest when she watches Colin walk straight to Penelope Featherington.

“They’d make a fine pair if he would pull his head out,” A voice full of humour sounds from behind her.

(Y/N) startles. She turns to find Anthony watching her; his lips curled in a manner that suggested he was holding back the laughter he so desperately wanted to let out.

“You made me jump,” She hisses, batting his outstretched hand away.

“I’m sorry, my love,” Anthony coos, pulling (Y/N) into his embrace by pulling on one of the many skirts about her waist. (Y/N) flushes at the term of endearment, but also at the many pairs of eyes now watching the young couple.

“You’re forgiven,” She sighs. “Who have you dressed as?” She asks, changing the subject.

“Ferdinand,” Anthony answers, “From The Tempest.”

“How odd,” (Y/N) muses, “I’ve dressed as Miranda from The Tempest.”

“‘Admired Miranda!/ Indeed the top of admiration, worth/ What’s dearest to the world!’”

“Only you could quote Shakespeare from the heart,” (Y/N) states wryly.

Anthony preens, puffing out his chest slightly. “All the Bridgertons can. We would do dramatizations of the plays.”

“Of course,” (Y/N) laughs, picturing Anthony as a young boy, dressed in breeches with a make-do ruff around his neck. The very image brings a fond smile to her face.

“What are you smiling about?” Anthony questions, wanting to be privy to the thoughts running through her mind.

“You,” She flirts, hooking her arm through Anthony’s as they start to take a turn about the room.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Anthony states pompously though his heart races at her words.

Her laughter chimes as Anthony steers (Y/N) around the room, pausing only to grab two glasses of lemonade from the drinks table. She sips at it delicately, not risking a spill of a single drop on her outfit.

“I’m glad you decided to come,” Anthony murmurs into her ear. “Truly. I would have been lost without you.”

“You always know what to say, don’t you?” (Y/N) teases, enjoying the blush that begins to paint Anthony’s cheeks. She briefly touches a gloved hand to his cheek, smiling fondly at the brunette. “I’m glad I came too.”

Anthony clears his throat; clearing his throat of the emotion clogging it up. He takes her drink from her, placing it on a nearby table. As ever the gentleman he was raised to be, Anthony bows towards the women he vows is the love of his life and offers his hand. “Would you care to dance?”

“Always,” She answers with a breathtaking smile, taking his hand to be led onto the dancefloor for the start of the new song. Couples on the floor take up the position of the quadrille as upbeat music sounds through the hall.  

It’s hard not to smile as Anthony takes her hand to begin the first steps of the lead couple. The first dance figure is performed before copied by the other couples in their square.

Anthony keeps a tight hold on her as he begins the next set of dance figures; spinning (Y/N) out before drawing her back in. Laughter falls from her mouth, setting his heart alight with the love he feels for her.

She catches the eye of Lady Featherington through one of many of Anthony’s spins. The Lady smiles knowingly, raising her glass to the young woman spinning in the arms of the Viscount.

(Y/N)’s breath freezes in her chest; she makes a choked sound and her steps falter. Luckily, no-one but Anthony seems to notice, but he recovers his hold on (Y/N) fairly quickly. It’s the end of the song; couples slowing on the floor, the audience beginning to clap their approvals.

“Darling?” Anthony calls quietly, breaking her out of her reverie. His hand remains in her hold; refusing to let him take even a step without her.

“Take me somewhere we can be alone,” She pleads, suddenly overcome by the sheer amount of people milling about the hall.

Anthony doesn’t need to be told twice, leading (Y/N) away from the dancefloor with a guiding hand on the small of her back. Anthony catches Benedict’s eye as he leaves the hall; his brother offers him a single nod to which Anthony relaxes – Benedict would make sure no-one would follow or interrupt, there was something important Anthony had to do.

The night air is cold against her heated skin as she inhales hurried breaths. The stone of the railing is cool under her fingers as she grips the stone tight; needing something to tether her to this place. It feels like a dream; a total dream that she would find herself costumed as a character from a Shakespeare play brushing elbows with some of the most powerful people in the country.

At this time of night, the gardens are dark, but she can still make out their heavenly fragrance perfuming the air, providing the perfect backdrop for this night.

“Are you alright?” Anthony asks, removing his jacket and settling it over her shoulders.

(Y/N) pulls his jacket tighter around her; inhaling the comforting scent of musk and sweet orange washing over her. “I’m fine now, it got to be a bit too much in there.”

“That’s an understatement,” Anthony murmurs, “I saw Lady Featherington.”

(Y/N) cringes internally. Her face is a mask of polite interest as she murmurs, “Oh? You saw that did you?”

“She only acts as if she knows everything, darling,” Anthony reassures, settling his hands on (Y/N)’s waist, desperate to be touching her.

“I know,” She murmurs, but his words do nothing to settle the panic tying her chest into knots.

“We’re fine,” Anthony promises; hands rubbing up and down the sides of her bodice. “It’s going to be fine.”

“I know,” She repeats, sighing heavily, leaning back into his embrace. His chest is strong against her back, but she doesn’t get long to admire his strength. He turns her in his arms, peering down at the expression on her face.

“You’re who I love. I couldn’t give a damn what the rest of London society thinks.”

“I love you as well,” She answers, a small smile on her face, letting his words wash away any and all of her worries. “You do have a way with words.”

“Flatterer,” He teases, dipping his head to kiss her.

(Y/N) gasps at the first press of Anthony’s lips against hers. She had kissed him before; a hurried meeting of mouths before their chaperone caught up to them. This kiss differed from that; languid, unhurried. Anthony took his time to memorise the feel of her lips against his; the small whimpers sounding at the back of her throat.

Each brush of his lips against hers spoke of what he found it hard to put into words. He had never been a wordsmith; could never write poetry or recite the romances of the past, but with every butterfly kiss placed on her lips in time to the shuddering of her heartbeat could Anthony translate the sheer scale of what he feels for her.

She reaches up to cup the back of his neck, fingers carding through the dark brown locks. Anthony’s grip on her waist remains firm as he presses her further into the railing. The gentleness of Anthony’s kiss soon turns to a burning passion as his hands splay across the small of (Y/N)’s back, pressing her to him.

As Anthony’s kisses begin to travel the expanse of her jawline, (Y/N) is suddenly grateful for the railing behind her. If he was to let her go now, not only would she feel the keen absence of his touch, but she would surely sink to the floor. The feel of his mouth, pressed hot against her, has her knees feeling unsteady.

“(Y/N),” Anthony whispers, nuzzling the side of her neck, “(Y/N)…”

“You keep whispering my name,” She murmurs into the night air; her ragged breath leaving behind white plumes.

“Marry me,” Anthony all but pleads, pulling back from (Y/N)’s neck to gaze into her eyes. “Marry me and always be mine.”

It seemed that time had stopped and lost all of its meaning; there was no party, no gardens, no laughter of lifelong friends. No. In this moment there was only Anthony.

“Yes,” She whispers, laughter beginning to fall from her mouth as fresh as a morning rainfall. Once it starts, she cannot find it in herself to stop. Tears soon join the laughter as a smile breaks across Anthony’s handsome face. “Yes,” She repeats, “I will marry you.”

********

Bridgerton taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore​ @dreaming-about-fanfictions​ @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown​ @janelongxox​ @aspiringsloth20​ @wallwriterstuff​ @magicalxdaydream​ @darkestbeforethedawn16​ @gryffindors-weasley​ @spideysz​ @iammirrorball​

taglists are open! drop me an ask if you would like to be added!

[michiigii-writes-mysme]

Today will be a depraved, Unknown kind of day~

Fandom: Mystic Messenger

This is during Ray’s route, so spoiler alert, I guess?

And technically an AU considering I added an element to her room…

July 10th - Ice Cube Cool Down - Mr. Saeran x MC

Mr. Saeran was in a terrible mood. The sweltering heat of the day could irritate the most patient of people, and since his change, Mr. Saeran was anything but patient. Since noon, he had been stomping around the grounds, between angrily pounding at his keyboard and yelling at other believers. When he finally made his way to the specially locked room, none of the other residents of Magenta envied his Toy.

The girl flinched when her door crashed open, but when she saw who it was, she didn’t move from where she was on the bed. She was lying on her side, admiring the wilting flowers on her table and trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in her stomach, trying to forget the stifling heat of the windowless room. He hadn’t allowed her breakfast or lunch, and while she hoped he would bring something for dinner, she knew the best she could hope for was stale bread and tepid water.

“Uggh, it stinks in here,” the white-haired hacker growled, passing a hand over his face, “The heat makes the stench even worse…”

He means the opposite. He means the opposite, she thought to herself, her mantra since her darling Ray had drowned in green elixir, He doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t mean it.

Mr. Saeran slammed the door behind him, locking it securely. The girl on the bed slowly sat up, noticing that he was holding a glass of something.

“Are those…ice cubes?” she asked, her voice hoarse as the question made its way past her cracked lips.

“What if they are?” he sneered, stalking across the room to her.

Before she sat up completely, his hand was around her neck, pushing her back down onto the bed.

“You thought I would bring you a treat?” he spat, “Stupid toy! It’s so hot, it must have destroyed what little brain cells you have! What makes you think you deserve ice?”

He hauled the girl by the hair to the centre of the bed, and reaching to the bed posts, Saeran pulled out two lengths of leather that had seen good use since he had made her his plaything.

“Ray, wait-“

She tried to slow him down, grabbing at his wrists, but she was so weak from hunger, he easily swatted her away. Even with one hand holding the cold glass of ice cubes, he made quick work of tying her wrists with the leather, pinning her down to the bed.

“How many times do I need to tell you, Toy? Ray is gone. He’s left you and now you’re mine.”

“What are you going to d-“

Stifling her mouth with his hand, he glared at a spot just behind her ear. He never looked her straight in the eye, she noticed; whenever he accidentally did, he would get even more unstable and abandon her in moments.

And, curse her pathetic heart, she didn’t really want him to go. He might be rough with her, but he never actually hit her. And even if he wasn’t really her Ray, she still wanted him close. There were moments in between the screaming and throwing items around her room, where he would pause, and she would get glimpses of…something. He wasn’t Ray, anymore…but the monster that he became wasn’t really him, either. There was something more in Saeran, and she wanted more than anything to reach out and draw him to the surface. And she couldn’t do that if he left her alone.

Saeran frowned when he saw there was no place to put his glass, then with a cruel grin balanced it right in the centre of her chest, on her breastbone just beside where her curves began. It was cold! Too cold! His hand muffled your gasp, but his lips curled higher when he saw your eyes widen and your legs spasm in shock.

“What, Toy? Doesn’t that feel so much better than the heat?”

Taunting her, he ripped the front of her dress open, buttons flying across her bed, exposing the rest of her body as he tore the dress completely open. He tugged her bra down, releasing her breasts, and cupped one in a greedy, possessive grip. His hands were still cold from the glass; again, she gasped, but they could both hear that the sound wasn’t completely born from pain.

“You filthy girl,” he sneered, squeezing her breast and easing another moan out of her, “I only wanted to chill you, but you’re actually enjoying this?”

She shook her head to deny it, then flinched when a freezing drop of condensation slid down the side of the glass, splashing against her skin.

“Bad girl,” he growled, releasing her mouth and taking an ice cube from the glass, rubbing it against his bottom lip pensively, “You know you should never lie to me.”

She opened her mouth to maybe deny it, or beg for mercy, but as soon as her lips parted, he pushed the ice cube into her mouth. Instinctively, she closed her lips, her teeth clicking around the ice before he could try to take it away. It was life-giving water and she could almost cry at how refreshing it was.

But Saeran hadn’t wanted to show mercy; he had wanted her silenced, and he had succeeded. His hands moved to play with her breasts, her nipples already erect from the cold. One was a little shyer than the other, much to his disapproval. He took another ice cube, the glass ever balanced on her chest, and traced a lazy circle around her areola; she whimpered at the intensity, but his eyes darkened as he watched her nipple perk up.

“You may be a useless fool, Toy, but it is fun to make you squirm,” he muttered, dragging the ice cube over her tip.

She wanted to cry out, but she would risk choking on the cube in her mouth. She wanted to turn away, to ease the sensation even a little, but then the glass might tip. So, she stifled another yelp, her legs twisting this way and that, trying to subdue the heat that was pooling between them.

He finally released her other breast, but to her chagrin she saw him take another ice cube from the glass. He was running it through his fingers, as if trying to figure out what to do with it, while he continued to torture her nipple with swipes of ice. She wanted to shut her eyes, to not watch what he would do to her next, but when she tried it, every touch and every icy drip felt even more sharp and intense. Better to watch and expect the teasing, she decided, turning her agonized gaze back to her captor.

She relaxed a little when Saeran popped the ice cube into his own mouth. He must be hot, too, she knew; maybe now that he had something to drink, he would calm down. Instead, he lowered his body against hers, his mouth coming down to latch around her nipple. She gave a choked cry, fingers clawing at the open air, unable to break free from the leather straps at her wrists. She felt his icy tongue tease her sensitive nub, then suckle while the ice cube played in his mouth. Wet warmth and freezing cold played at both her breasts, exquisite torture that made her head spin. It wasn’t until he pulled back that she realized she had been screaming; the ice cube in her mouth had disappeared without her realizing it.

“Shut up!” he snapped, putting both half-melted ice cubes into his mouth, then shoving your lips against his. A rough, bruising kiss, and when her lips parted, both pieces of ice slipped through; again, she was silenced.

Through a thick, hungry and lust-filled haze, the girl could hear the glass tinkling again, and sharp cold surprised her just above her bellybutton. Saeran moved down her body, sweeping the fresh ice cube left and right across her stomach, distracting her so she never felt him remove her damp panties. It wasn’t until the ice cube was at her mound and he had hooked her thighs over his shoulders that she realized what he was going to do.

“Nnn!!” she tried, legs spasming, but deep down, she wanted him to keep going, and he was very determined to splay her legs open for him to feast.

He rested the ice cube just over her pearl, close enough that she could feel the cold, but not enough that it would hurt her. Even he knew that an ice cube on her clit would be too much for her, especially in the dripping, needy state that she was already in. Her breath quickened in anticipation; she couldn’t see it, but she could feel a drop of melting ice already starting to slide down. Her eyes squeezed tight, feeling tension mounting as the icy water slowly grew bigger and bigger, teasing towards her clit, the sense of almost being touched making her head spin. Whether she wanted it to drip and sting her with its coldness, or whether she wanted to avoid the overwhelming sensation, she wasn’t sure.

Then, just when she should she couldn’t take it anymore, Saeran buried his face into her pussy, sloppy as he spread cool, melted water wherever he could feel wet velvet against his tongue. He didn’t try to be neat, or have any modicum of finesse; he wanted her to feel everything, both painful and pleasurable, and he wanted her to feel it now. With every twist of his tongue, every drop of icy water, even his fingers as they greedily pushed into and writhed in her core, he wanted to tear ecstasy and need and moaning and rapture out of her. Even as he felt her buck and try to break free of him, he devoured her, head shaking back and forth as he hunted for her release.

He wanted her to feel the intensity that he felt when his eyes met hers. He wanted her to cry. He wanted her to gasp. He wanted to hear her beg him for mercy as she screamed his name.

He wanted her shattered and undone and unable to function without him.

So he suckled and nibbled and impaled her on his fingers, never relenting until his goal was achieved.

—————

Hours later, he stood over her, her spent body curled up on the bed. He had pulled the blanket over her bare form, the starlight the only witness to this tiny show of kindness that she would never remember.

It had been such a hot day. But she had refreshed him.

And yet, already he craved more of her.

“…disgusting,” he grumbled, pulling his clothes back on, “Pathetic fool…”

He stalked out of the room, refusing to look back, to examine her sleeping face, to watch her dream and breathe easy.

Refusing to acknowledge that he wished he could stay with her.

—fin—

[stephspurs]

A Family Affair | Euro 2020 Football Fanfiction

Life is beautiful and life is cruel. A window into the souls of the victorious and the vanquished. In a way, football did come home during the summer of 2021. Follow along Amelia’s journey, navigating the football world as a tactical analyst for the italian football team, with a brother and father part of the three lions. Will Amelia leave Italy and come back to England? Will she leave the Serie A for the Prem? Will she set aside the bianconeri stripes for new colours, leaving behind friendship for love? Maybe she can have both...

EEEEEEK here's part two!!! Part two sees more of Amelia's beautiful brain, the love she has for her team, and her brother, & her friendship with Kyle Walker. Hope you guys love it as much as i do - please let me know what you think - i'd love to hear from you all!

Love always,

Steph xx

UPDATE as of 31/07: I've made some additional editing changes due to some feedback about the confusion between ben white (her brother) and ben chilwell (not her brother LOL). Nothing has been added to the story, just the addition of either surname has been added where i think it could be more straightforward - for future readers!

Part 2. | seconda parte

warnings; none - just a whole lot of feels.

word count; 1469

writing tools; third person until dashed line, first person thereafter.

next update; Wednesday 28/07 5pm AEST. Updates are twice weekly (Sunday & Wednesday)!

Tags (as requested by users); @footballffbarbiex

link to fic masterlist here

11 July 2021 | The Final Match.

The players for both national teams lined up side by side down the tunnel. Chiellini & Kane, both confident in their teams ability, captaining with great authority and mentorship for the ten men stood behind them. Amelia stood at the back of the tunnel, watching the scene ahead of her. Her dad, walking up the centre aisle between the two teams, shaking the hands of his players, confident in his preparation. A gentle hand to her brother's shoulder, saying everything it needs to say. It was the same hand that rubbed the back of her neck as he walked past, communicating the same thing. Go your hardest, you’re ready for this.

It was her turn, she started at the back of the line, and in true Italian style, a kiss was placed to both cheeks of every player up the line. When she reached Jorginho, a player she came to appreciate for his technical mindset and intellectual approach to the game, she kissed his cheek and turned to the player opposite him - her brother, who was trying his hardest to face forward and pay his little sister no mind. She knew what he was doing, but she wasn’t as heartless as the rest of the England squad probably perceived her to be. Reaching out, she rubbed her hand along the back of his neck, just as her father did to her, leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek, before continuing down the line of her players to the front. Shaking hands with Gareth Southgate, who no doubt had come to realise who the girl was in relation to his team, and a kiss to both cheeks of Mr Mancini, she walked out and took her place on the bench, ready for the game of her life.

120 minutes of football later.

Life is both beautiful and cruel. Whilst she hadn’t anticipated the early goal from Shaw, Amelia had predicted every play by the english and made sure her team was there waiting for them to turn and run. They knew to never let Harry Kane have the space to move the ball, to make sure Mason Mount was marked at all times and to pay attention to the silky smooth skills of Raheem Sterling. They knew that every player on the english side had the talent and skill to shoot and score, no matter if they're a striker or full back. In the end, the endless taunts from the british crowd and constant reminder of “it’s coming home” only fuelled the Italians further and pushed them harder, to their limits. Eventually both sides met with equal force and completed extra time at a draw, leading to penalties. All of Amelia’s preparation with Gianluigi Donnarumma would present itself now. She went over the preferred sides of the penalty takers she presumed would be stepping up for their country, and reminded him of all he has achieved & what there is still left to be done. After all, they are the masters of their own fate.

Donnarumma’s block of Bukayo Saka’s penalty rattled her bones and sent a chill down her spine. They had done it. The boys had finally brought football back to Rome for the first time since 1968, and while she can’t take all of the credit, she knows she single handedly played a part in this victory. As soon as happiness filled her body, guilt and sadness flooded her heart. She had been part of the problem that caused her brother so much pain. Her dad knew how to handle rejection, this wasn't his first rodeo, and could see with an open mind just how they had managed to achieve greatness. But her brother had truly believed they had it, that football was coming home to England.

After being surrounded by her boys, cheering and hugging her, screaming in relief that they had done it, Amelia took a step back and took a deep breath in. Looking over to the players in white consoling each other with looks of understanding and pats on the back, hugging those with the unfortunate fate of missing their penalties, she found her brother.

_____________________________________________________________

Squatting down with his elbows resting on his knees and hands covering part of his face, his eyes showing disbelief that the moment had escaped them. Jordan Henderson, the figurative big brother to my big brother, leaning down whispering what one can only assume is words of encouragement and strength to him. A voice to my right startles me, not because I wasn't used to the noise, but because it was a voice I haven't heard directed at me with anything other than venom in a very long time.

“He wants you to be there for him, don’t ever think for a second that he doesn’t want you around.” Kyle Walker speaks into the open, whilst looking around at the fans still in the stadium. The fans behind us right now would be watching with speculation, wondering why the english player is talking to an italian so soon after defeat.

“I don’t think he doesn’t want me around, i just don’t think he wants me around right now” I spoke back, trying to reason with myself and Kyle as to why i haven't gone up and offered my condolences to my brother.

“I think the only thing that can pull him out of this is you. He was beating himself up last night after your argument, and while he turned it into motivation for today, it's still weighing on his conscience. He’s happy for you, we aren't that mean so as to deny him the pleasure of being proud of his little sister...even if she is working for the enemy”

“You’ve always been one to be the voice of reason, whilst still being the clown I grew up to know and love”

“Does this mean we’re friends again? I’m sorry about last night” Kyle admitted.

“Last night wasn’t what ended our friendship...we stopped being friends the day you left Spurs.” I joked back to Kyle. I turned to look at his over-expressed shocked face and walked backwards a few steps while giggling, before turning and sauntering over to my brother who was now surrounded by some more teammates. Upon seeing me and noticing my solemn expression, finding comfort in the fact that I wasn't there to rub my win in their faces, the boys left my brother to himself.

I stood there, staring into the eyes of my brother, who after a few minutes reached out and pulled me into him as though I was a life raft and he was stranded in the ocean. We stood there, hugging, saying everything we needed to say through the way we were gripping to the backs of each other's team colours.

“I am so proud of you, you put up one hell of a fight Ben. Certainly made my job harder” I spoke into his shirt. He was the taller of the two, but I wasn't that short. Almost immediately after, I felt him push more weight onto me and sink a bit lower so he was in my neck, shedding a few tears he didn't want seen by those around us. Not even 5 seconds later, he stood up straight, wiping his eyes and offering me a smile.

“God, I wish you weren’t better at your job than I am at mine” he joked back to me. I smiled up at him, shaking my head.

“I would say you’re wrong but the medal that's about to be around my neck would say otherwise” i joke back with him. I was not about to dull my sparkle for someone else's sun to shine, whether he is my brother or not.

“We have to talk about everything that went down last night but i’ll let you enjoy your night with your team” Ben says as we turn and begin to walk toward the stage being set up for the ceremony.

“Thanks Ben, family dinner on Sunday? Tell your friends to come, you and i both know mum will have enough food to feed everyone without even trying”

“Of course, I'll put it in the lads chat & see who’s still around. Kyle will see it in our family chat - who even put him in there anyway!?”

“Honestly...I think it was mum. You know she loves her son, Kyle.”

As I walk back to my team, and into the arms of Fede and Jorginho who wrap me up in an Italian flag and start jumping around, I can't help but smile and laugh at my amazing life. Who knows what the future has to hold, but for tonight, the azzurri are the champions of europe and the trophy is coming home, to Rome.

Part 3. | parte terza