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alchemistc · 2 days ago

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Based on my own post from earlier this evening because I can't stop thinking about it.

vanilla

He doesn't mean to see it. He swears. It's just - Tommy's laptop is right there and Buck's is all the way in the office and if he doesn't look up the lifespan of a Cecropia moth right now he's going to forget about it for a month only to remember in the middle of something vitally more important than watching Planet Earth reruns.

So he twists the thing around from its spot on the side table, boots it back up, types in Tommy's password (pA$$word3, because no one would ever guess that he'd be both so lazy and so creative in his laziness), and watches Firefox boot itself up. It's an older laptop, and Tommy doesn't take great care of it - case and point, he didn't even close out of his tabs, they're all still there, and - well. Shit.

That's the most ridiculous dildo he's ever seen.

Biggest, too.

Jesus.

Buck immediately forgets 100% of what he was doing.

And - and looking up Tommy's history is absolutely a line crossed - there's no reason for him to fucking spiral just because there's a bright purple dragon something on the screen with a base as wide as Buck's thigh. There's no reason why he should -

He clicks the search history and regrets it pretty immediately.

That kills two hours.

He has three more until Tommy's off shift, and now everything is worse. Because.

Okay so.

Like.

They have a pretty healthy sex life, Buck thinks. A year into Tommy and Buck Part Two and they still can't keep their hands off each other. And - so, like, sue him for preferring all the boring stuff he never really got to enjoy long term - the way he knows Tommy goes a little crazy when they're lying on their sides and Buck can just slip right in and press his lips to Tommy's shoulder, tuck his hand under Tommy's where he's got it on his chest, curl their fingers together and just breath into each thrust. Sue him for liking it when they're face to face and Tommy's looking up at him with the pads of his fingers tracing the shell of Buck's ear and he can see the love love love in his eyes, see the way his tongue curls out Buck's name like a prayer. Sue him for his fantasies always drifting to that sunny afternoon in their bed, Buck on his belly and Tommy everywhere around him, over him, inside of him, humming useless nothings into Buck's ear while the sweat from their skin eased the chafe of being pressed together from pelvis to collarbone.

Buck picks up his phone. Watches the familiar name ring out one, two, three - answered on the fourth ring.

"Am I not kinky enough, do you think?" Buck asks, and gets a drawn out moment of silence.

"Nope," Ravi says, and the call drops.

And who else is he gonna call, really? Hen and Chim? (Hard no, they nipped that in the bud back when Buck and Tommy were still in Part One) Maddie? Another line too far, but this one he doesn't feel like crossing today. Eddie? If he'd even pick up?

Buck dials out again.

Ravi picks up on the second ring. "Buck, I love you man, but I get a front row seat to your little love fest at least once a week, four hours a night. I am not equipped or willing to help you with your sex life."

Fair. That's fair. Boundaries are important. Ravi does an excellent job of setting his up and announcing where they are.

"It's just I found something in Tommy's browser that -."

"Absolutely not. I'll block your number for twenty-four hours."

"Right. Cool. Sure thing." Buck breathes.

"Talk to Tommy, if you're freaking out about it." Ravi caves, just a bit. "Every time. I say this every time, and it always works, doesn't it?"

True. On both accounts. When did Ravi become his go to guy?

(When he started picking up the phone whenever Buck called. When he came to Buck with his own shit and didn't apologize for it.)

"Yeah. You're right. I'm gonna talk to him."

"We're still on for Friday, right?"

Buck has to search his memory to figure out what he's referencing. Tommy's taking Ravi to the farmers market over in Venice Beach that Buck refuses to go to on principle because Sherri's Treats aren't even homemade. She gets the baked goods from Costco and decorates them with store brand icing.

"Talk to Tommy," Buck throws back, just to be a brat, and Ravi sighs.

"Touche."

He's still freaking out when the call ends three minutes later, and he doesn't want to have to pull this trigger.

Except. Like. It's still there. Right on Tommy's screen. Watching him.

The phone rings six times.

He's contemplating how ridiculous it is to leave a voicemail when Lucy answers with a groggy "'lo?"

"Am I not kinky enough?" Buck asks, and gets the start of a cackle and then a long, slow pause.

She's gonna hang up on him. She's absolutely going to -

"It's ten-thirty in the morning on a Wednesday, Buckley."

And it sure is.

God, this would never have happened if he hadn't started an update on his phone mid-episode.

"Walk me through it," she continues, all business, all of a sudden, and so Buck tells her, grateful for her hums and uhuh's as she starts her day. Buck talks over the sound of her brushing her teeth, and pouring her coffee, and absolutely doesn't mention that he thinks she should probably have better sleeping patterns while he spirals about Tommy being unsatisfied with the sex they have.

"Gonna break bro code here a little to tell you you have literally nothing to worry about there. Seriously. You're getting gold stars every night, I promise you."

"He's been looking up gimp suits and gags, Lucy!"

She's quiet on the other end, for a moment.

Then she starts laughing.

Again.

Which is a great feeling for Buck. He loves it when Lucy laughs at him.

"Oh, Jesus, I'm sorry. Honey those aren't for you."

Well, now he's kinda mad at the implication that Tommy would -

"Not for Tommy, either," she interrupts, like she knows where that spiral leads. "I forgot what time of year it was. This is new for you."

"What's new for me?"

He can picture the sly grin on her face as she pours something into a bowl - milk maybe. Then cereal.

God, what a psycho.

"Tommy and an army buddy of his have had this escalating prank war going on for like...seven, eight years? I don't know, I wasn't here at the start of it, but I guess it started as the most heterosexual man you've ever met trying to be a good ally to his newly out buddy and sending a set of butt plugs to the only address of Tommy's he had available."

Weird. But not the weirdest thing he's ever heard. "Which was?"

"Oh, Harbor. Yeah. Got it his first week there. So now every year on the anniversary they try to send each other shit at work that should technically be grounds for a sexual harassment claim from their coworkers. Last year Tommy got a fully custom furry suit. Dude probably dropped thirty grand on that thing."

He shouldn't ask. He definitely shouldn't -

"It was a horse. Because of his big fat -."

"I get the picture, thanks."

"So yeah. It's coming up on time for them to push a boundary a little too far and actually have someone complain about it, this time. They won't stop until one of them gets a write up."

It's kinda funny. Kinda sweet, too, in that really weird way military men are with each other. Irrationally, Buck kinda wants to slew foot the guy for being an unintentionally massive flirt.

Straight dudes are the literal worst at allyship, in the weirdest ways possible.

"He's out of state, so don't go getting territorial, Buckley."

Never gonna live that down.

"But seriously though? Back to the original point. Which is you freaking out that Tommy is unsatisfied in your sex life. Number one: talk to him. You guys are the actual worst. Always gotta have a second opinion before you bite the bullet and do the normal thing. Number two: I know too much. And I know you have nothing to worry about. Number three: when he gets home I want you to record his reaction when you turn the laptop screen on him like a spurned wife and send it to me. I'm having a bad day. I could use the entertainment."

"You just woke up."

"And had to talk an old coworker down from a ledge about how satisfying his sex life is with a current coworker. Bareback, no lube, just wake up and go."

"I think this also counts as sexual harassment."

"You started this conversation with 'am I kinky enough' so I'm not super concerned."

By the time he gets off the phone with Lucy he's very firmly on solid ground. And also wondering exactly how much Tommy actually talks about their sex life when he's not around. Tommy keeps things pretty close to the vest. He can't imagine he's going around bragging about that time he started crying when Buck hit his prostate right as he licked into his mouth and slid a hand up his arm to link their fingers together.

Maybe in less detail.

Something about seeing God, maybe. That seems more like his style.

---

Tommy has a routine, when he gets home from work. Keys hung up, jacket on the coat rack, duffle tucked into one of the cubbies of his makeshift mud room. Shoes under the bench, two minutes of head scritches for Goose as she meows her way down the hall to greet the only man she'll ever love.

(Buck's super cool about the fact that Tommy's breakup cat hates him. Totally chill.)

When Goose has had her fill and darted off to go bounce off the walls of the office, Tommy likes to amble in to whatever room Buck is in and drape himself across Buck's back for a moment, mouth pressed to the knob of Buck's spine, hands roaming for a moment before he manages a greeting.

He's making risotto for dinner when he hears the lock click in the front door.

He's ignoring Lucy's text reminding him to get a reaction shot.

He listens to Tommy talk back to Goose like he understands every "mrow" listens for the shuffle of socked feet down the hall, listens to him pad across the kitchen tiles, braces himself for the dead weight of Tommy against his back.

Tommy's got a hand halfway up his shirt when he mumbles into Buck's ear. "So I hear we have something to talk about."

"Ravi snitched."

"Ravi still thinks I'm the sensible one, of the two of us."

Buck snorts. Tips his head back against Tommy's shoulder and basks in the moment while Tommy buries his nose behind Buck's ear.

"Before I say anything else, I know you said I can use your laptop whenever I want but you should know I definitely snooped where I shouldn't and jumped to some wild conclusions. Which Lucy has already cleared up on your behalf, because apparently we're both too chicken shit to have a conversation without using a lifeline."

Tommy stills. "I didn't close out my browser session last time, did I?"

"You did not."

"And Lucy told you about the horse costume Dom sent me last year."

"She sure did. She very specifically called it a furry suit, though."

Tommy blows out an exasperated breath against his neck. "And you were freaking out because...?"

"I thought maybe you were bored with the sex we have."

That gets Tommy going. He pulls free just to get enough leverage to spin Buck to face him, hands on his hips and eyes catching Buck's like if he doesn't see Buck's eyes in the next five seconds he'll do something crazy, and Buck doesn't really know how he got so lucky but he's not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth. Even if it's a furry.

"Evan. Please understand when I say this I'm not exaggerating. Our sex is life altering. I want to have slow, quiet, vanilla sex with you until the day I die."

"Which won't be for like another fifty years."

Tommy hums. "I'm gonna be popping Blue Chew when I'm ninety-five and have two bum hips."

"Oh, so I have to do all the work?"

"Why do you think I dated younger?"

Buck has to kiss him about it. And then he has to pull back and duck his head to remind Tommy of the part he blazed right past. "Full disclosure, when I said I snooped I meant I went into your search history."

Tommy's chuckle shakes them both. "I figured. You go back far enough to find the single porn link in amidst all the shitty plastic used actuators for sale on eBay?"

"I'm not a masochist, Tommy." Figures he'd get so frustrated looking for a part to fix the rattling in the Jeeps dash he'd want to rub one out. Usually takes him more than a single video, though. Probably he'd decided he'd feel too guilty to actually get off until he had the part ordered.

Tommy shifts his weight a bit. Wedges a knee in between Buck's legs. His eyes get that sparkle to them that means he finds Buck to be an adorable menace. "How married to the risotto are you?" he asks, hands shifting from Buck's hips to behind his thighs.

"Not - not terribly." It had been a distraction from thinking about Tommy's army buddy, mostly. The recipe still isn't perfected and even though Tommy's complimented it every time, Buck can tell it's missing something and Tommy is just letting him figure it out on his own.

"Maybe we could order in and I can show you how satisfied I am with your service."

"We - that's definitely an option. On the table."

"How about this very sturdy counter, instead?"

They haven't done it somewhere not-the-bed in months.

Their knees aren't gonna thank them for it.

Buck has to attempt to ignore Tommy mouthing at his neck to remember if there are enough ice packs in the freezer for the both of them, right now.

"Yeah - yep, let's do that instead."

Tommy gets both hands under his ass and lifts.

He doesn't quite swoon over the move, anymore, but it still makes him more than a little giddy.

"Wait, did you decide on the dildo over the gimp suit, because if you're escalating at the same rate as your friend I think -."

"Can we talk about Dom after I get my satisfaction scores in, please?"

"Shutting up now."

"I don't believe that for a second," Tommy says, and then shuts him up with his mouth anyway, just for good measure.

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan fic #if you hadn't noticed i'm apparently still peeved with the OG crew #but lucy and ravi are fun to play with

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rinsnumber1fan · 2 days ago

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Playing a prank on the blue lock men by leaning down when they're manspreading as if you're about to give them head but you're really just picking something off the ground.

Featuring: isagi yoichi, rin itoshi, kaiser michael, sae itoshi.

Itoshi Rin:

After seeing this trend, you puckered up your lips and squinted your eyes, glancing at your boyfriend who sat on the bed of his apartment watching a soccer game on television. You had acquired your target and locked up.

Rin was very focused on the TV screen, his eyes didn't move from there and he tapped the remote every once in a while to pause and write something down in his notebook, whilst munching on some snacks on the table infront of him. He's so focused it's almost cute. Then there was you, you had noticed one of his pens down right next to his foot.

Your plan went into action, you stretched very nonchalantly and got off your place on the couch. He didn't pay you any attention, continued writing, you took it as a sign to keep going.

You went down on your knees, he turned his eyes down and he froze for a moment when he saw you right in between his legs, your hair tickled the cloth on his thigh. His breath hitched but he prepared himself, leaning back slightly. "Y/n.." he breathed out. He even closed his eyes.. but he didn't feel your hands anywhere or.. your mouth so he flickers his eyes and peeks but when he doesn't see you down there anymore he blinks in confusion and slight irritation.

"Sorry about that, you dropped your pen." And you placed it down to his desk. He blinked slowly, "right.." murmured but he'd never admit he thought you were going to do something else.

Isagi Yoichi

He's sitting on his bed while he's doing something random. He said he wanted to cure his boredom and get interested in anything small that doesn't involve soccer. It was an experiment of his to see if he's really obsessed with soccer that he won't play or involve soccer in everything.

You were sat beside him, helping him out with the art he was doing, applying paint on his brushes as he tried to paint on a canvas for the first time and yes it looked like shit. You were.. increasingly bored. You didn't want to watch paint dry, literally. Do you came up with a plan. A master plan.

You accidently drop the paintbrush right next to isagis manspread. You lean down, and isagi flinches but he looks down at you "whats wron-" the words die in his throat when you pull your hair back and glance up at him.

"O-oh okay.. um.." He immidently turns red, leans back and places a hand on top of your head but he almost whimpers when you lean your head south. And you grab the paintbrush. He freezes. In embarrassment.

"Uh- you- what--" He stammered unable to form coherent words. And you just smiled innocently "I dropped this." You hung up the paintbrush.

Sae Itoshi

Sae was really tired, he had countless meetings with different managers to arrange different matches with him. So when he returned home to his cute girlfriend he just sat down on the couch like a dead body. An exasperated sigh leaves his mouth but he doesn't calk you, he's too tired to.

You return to the living room, offer him some water as you glance at his dead body. You knew he was tired and exhausted but.. you really wanted to have some quality time!!! So you tried everything.

From "how was work?" And he replies with a deadpanned expression "don't ask." And you smiled because you had no fucking idea if you were supposed to ask him again after that. "Want some water?" You asked him with a slightly concerned expression and he blinked "no.. thanks." WHAT NOW?!

SO you pulled the ultimate move.

The ultimate attention giver.

You had a piece of food under the bed from the takeout you ordered when sae was out. So you decided to do it. You got on your knees right infront of him and he gave the subtlest of a reaction but he spread his legs a little bit more.

His eyes were half lidded as he undid the first button of his shirt. "You couldve given me a warning or something, love." He murmured in a deep voice but you just looked up after collecting that piece, "Huh? What?" You acted all confused and sae seemed just as confused.

"Drop the act." He would urge you as you got on your feet again. But he pulled you closer by the collar, "really? A prank like that after I'm so exhausted?" He sighs. "Get on your knees" He shakes his head in slight annoyance but a little bit cocky. Your cheeks turned pink but you complied anyway.

We all know what happens after that.

Michael Kaiser.

He had his glasses on as he read some book with full attention.

When the attention should really be on you!!

He didn't even compliment you after you dressed up so prettily to come and visit his apartment. So naturally you had to resort to other means.

While he's distracted by the essence of his book, his hand circles around your head like he's patting your head, just enough to let you know my book is important so I'm gonna only pat your head.

You decided its time to use the onlt way you could to get his attention. You bent down, kneeling before him, pulling your hair back and he raises a brow, "mm? Such a good girl I didn't even have to ask--" and not even in a moment you got up and sat back down with a normal expression except with an eraser in your hand. "Huh?" You tilted your head "what are you on?" You asked again.

Kaiser blinked once twice "I thought you..." He licked his lower lip. "Nevermind.." He didn't wanna bruise his ego by mentioning he expected you to suck. But after this prank he got a lot more touchy with you. In the end, he got that blow job anyways.

Plan? Worked.

A/N: LEAVE A COMMENT PLSPLSPSLS

#fyp #blue lock #blue lock x reader #fanfiction #itoshi rin #rin itoshi #rin x reader #sae itoshi #sae x reader #isagi x reader #kaiser x reader #michael kaiser #itoshi sae #blue lock fanfiction #blue lock smut #prank

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sturnioz · 1 day ago

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fratboy!chris uses shy!readers tummy to sort out his edibles and package them, but when one thing leads to another...

based off this ask.

you're lying still as you possibly can, your body pliant beneath chris' touch as your gaze stays fixed on his hands, watching as he sorts the colourful edible gummies scattered across your tummy, acting like some sort of human countertop.

one by one, he groups them by colour—reds with reds, greens with greens, oranges with oranges, and so forth—before carefully sealing them into small plastic bags only for him to start the process all over again.

earlier, you had been far too energetic for chris to deal with; something about today just put a spring in your step, leaving you happy and buzzing as you bounced around the room—feet thumping against the floor and words tumbling from your lips in an endless stream until chris snapped, forcing you to remain still and quiet in promise of a treat later.

it worked.

you had laid down and stilled instantly.

those sweet, strawberry-flavoured lollipops that you love so much—the ones that he refuses to tell you where he gets them from—was enough to keep you obedient for the time being, but now, you're beginning to get a little fussy.

"stay," he warns you as you shift slightly, causing a few gummies to roll out of place. you let out a huff, but his eyes snap to yours, narrowing. "watch it."

"i don't want to do this anymore," you murmur, your lips pushing into a pout, yet despite your words, you don't actually move—apart from your eyes which flit back down to the gummies scattered across your tummy. "what flavour are the red ones?"

"raspberry." he answers flatly, not looking up from his task.

"why not strawberry?"

"'cos they're raspberry."

you pause for a moment before asking another, "what flavour are the green ones?"

"watermelon." he says, not missing a beat.

"why not apple? greens are usually—"

"bun." he hisses at you through clenched teeth, glaring at you.

the warning in his voice makes you press your lips together into a tight line, silencing yourself on instinct. you're left in the quietness of the room again, the only sound heard is the faint rustling of the bags that chris fills and moves to the side.

you can feel yourself getting antsy again, and before long, you're lightly wiggling your foot and toes, trying to shake off that stuck, heaving feeling of staying still for so long.

chris doesn't speak, but he notices, and he shuffles forward, his waist pressing down against your foot to pin it in place. the weight is firm, and it stops you immediately, but the pout on your face deepens—your brows knitting together as you peer down at him again.

the question slips out before you even realise it, "what flavour are the yellow ones?"

"lemon." his tone is flat again, like the answer should've been completely obvious, but you don't take the hint of the annoyance in his tone.

"do you think they make banana ones?"

"probably."

"i like bananas."

"i know."

for a moment, you're quiet again, now staring up at the ceiling. usually, you're fine with quietness, you didn't mind it every now and then. but for whatever reason, this time you didn't like it—it was strange.

was it because he was doing something, admittingly so, intimate? of course he wouldn't see it that way, he never will. to you it felt intimate��having to lay here, completely still, letting him use a part of your body to 'help' him do something.

well, it wasn't exactly to 'help' him—you were just irritating him with your energy, he wanted you to calm down. it should make you a little upset, but the thought of the treat he promised to give you after all this is completed makes you feel a lot better, a smile finding its way across your face.

however, the smile falters when you feel something wet and warm graze across your tummy, and your attention shoots down, the muscles in your core tensing as you watch chris mouth at the leftover gummies—his tongue flicking across your skin in his path.

"w-what are you—"

"shh." he interrupts you, hovering over another gummy before taking it into his mouth, his warm breath causing goosebumps to rise.

you squirm beneath him, your own breathing quickening as his lips brush against your navel, using his tongue to lick at a stray gummy resting over your belly button—chewing it slowly as he makes his way further down.

without warning, as usual, chris shoves his face between your thighs, his nose pressing against your underwear and you gasp, a strangled noise following as his tongue darts out, licking a slow path along the already damp fabric of your panties.

your hands fidget at your sides, fingers twisting in the bedsheets, your broken whimpers filling the room as he hooks his fingers beneath the band, pulling your soaked panties—all thanks to his tongue—to the side to expose your puffy pussy to the cool air, causing you to shiver.

he dives in, mouth attaching to your slick folds, tongue working its familiar magic over your clit, his arms curling around your thighs to keep you still for him to feast. your hips jerk involuntarily, uncontrollably noises seeping past your lips as your head falls back.

you're lost in the sensation already, tummy sucking in with large gasps of air, your spine arching off the bed as your toes curl in your socks—thighs trembling beneath his hold as you squirm again, unable to control the movement of your body as his tongue dips in and out of you, slurping you up so loudly that you throw your arm over your face to cover it.

"don't hide from me, bun," he speaks against your pussy, the vibrations making a whimper fall from your lips. "y'know i don't like that shit. watch me."

divider credits. @issysh3ll

#chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets smut #chris sturniolo smut #☆ fratboy!chris #☆ shy!reader #꒰ fratboy!chris x shy!reader prompt ꒱#©sturnioz

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hornydilfsinyourarea · 1 day ago

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my favourite thing is that when they start gripping and clawing at anything around them (bedsheets, the edge of the table, literally anything) to ground themselves because the pleasure is getting too much

like, them squirming to escape the pleasure, only for you to hold them down firmly, making sure there is limited space for them to move so all they could do is take, take, take—

and of course, them scolding you after, all flustered, and you apologizing knowing damn well you're not thinking of stopping anytime soon ♡

(haven't written anything in a while, might have gotten rusty 🥀)

-🌹

I love this, saw yandere! college professor drabble a while earlier... and now I can't stop thinking of it, also, subtop turned power top reader anyone???? x dombottom character??? Just me? Okay. also, tw: slight dubcon

IMAGINING... a strict! college professor and jock! reader... they're always so strict with you- with everything, mean and stuck up, but you liked that, almost. They would always put you in detention, no matter what- you talked? Detention. You looked over your shoulder? Detention. You came to class 2 minutes late? Detention. They didn't care if you had sports practice or not, why should they? It's your fault you're such a bad boy. No one knew what goes on in the professor's detentions- no one ever wanted to find out, the professor scared them a little- but fuck... it was both torture and heaven for you... You see, you had a little secret with your dear ol' teacher.... they weren't just your teacher- no, well- teachers don't jerk off their students, now do they? You fell first- I mean, who wouldn't? Your professor was HOT. Or maybe, you just liked that they were older, almost old enough to be your parent. Even though you fell first- they fell harder. You were cute, a bit dumb, but cute. You were a typical jock- you played sport, was good in it- but at the expense of your education... so your professor had to give you extra classes- private lessons. And during some of those lessons? Let's just say... if any of it got out- your professor might just lose their job. Of course, it didn't first start off sexual, it was innocent. Till they noticed how... you looked up at them each time they would stand by your desk- those pretty eyes of yours... it awoken something inside of them. It started with light teasing, their hands on your shoulders, their breath softly tickling your ear as they talked, their head close to yours- it also didn't help when they would bend down next to you when they had to help another student- their ass right in eye view for you, took all your willpower not to stare at it directly, but god did you want to. Then... it turned into their hand rubbing your crotch in the empty classroom, their voice explaining the subject. You had to focus, because if you got it wrong... they won't let you cum- and you really, really wanted to.

When you did good, really good... they allow you to get a taste, all you had to do is drop down to your knees and eat them out like their a 5-star 4 course meal. And if you do it good, they might just let your grade reflect that. But you know what frustrated you? They never allowed you to fuck them, not that you minded, you at least get a blowjob here and then- but when you did bad? When you were a bad boy? They never allowed you to cum, not once during the sessions. God, the edging was bad, almost enough to make you cry sometimes- not to mention they ONLY allow your tip to enter them, saying it's "punishment" for being bad, or failing the test, and that you could've had more if you've been good... you had good self-control, you didn't lack any... but were they really expecting you not to just... break one day?

And break you did. The weekend was suppose to be for studying, but your coach didn't let you, there was an upcoming game, a big one- you couldn't afford to fail on that. Your coach worked you hard, really hard- you barely had any time to study, always coming home tired and sore. And so, it wasn't a surprise that you didn't do good on the test, a D- on your test paper when you got it back, and as you looked up slightly, your disappointed professor gave you a glance, shaking their head slightly- you knew what that meant. But it wasn't your fault! It wasn't fair! Making you stand there, them bent over the desk, scolding you, the tip of your cock ever so slightly inside of them. You could feel them clenching down, gripping around you. It wasn't your fault, and it was unfair- everything about this was unfair! And you had about enough of getting bossed around, you needed some motherfucking relief. A quick "I'm sorry" flying out of your mouth, your hand moving to grip his shoulder, "Wait- what are you-!" your professor said before they got cut off by you just... thrusting the rest of your cock inside of them. You couldn't help it, okay? You were stressed out, and being teased and edged was NOT something you needed right now. And it didn't help they just felt so good... their moans, the way they grip the table- trying to stable themself... how they clenched down on your length each time you hit that sweet spot inside of them... those "Ahh~! Ooohh, mhph!" leaving their mouth. You just couldn't stop yourself. Maybe they didn't want you either You don't even remember how long you've been fucking them before you released yourself deep inside of them- a surprised moan turned gasp leaving their mouth, they didn't expect you to actually cum inside of them- they had to go home like this! Their clothing ruined and their skin sticky. They were too lost in their own orgams to realize that you didn't intent to pull out to cum. "Y-you... pervert" They would mumble out, glaring at you as you just stood there, bashful almost- whoops... got a little ahead of yourself there buddy, didn't you? After you left- in their car, driving home... they thought about that little session, how rough you were, so in control, taking their body like you owned it... they were used to being in control- but now? They couldn't help getting aroused again about imagining how much more dominant you can get, if you put that strength you have to good use on them

love how I completely forgot this in my drafts before I literally went on hiatus :/

#𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐘𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐁.𝐎𝐑𝐆 #replying to 🌹#🌹 ★彡 #male reader #x male reader #top male reader #sub character #bottom character #dom reader #dom male reader #seme male reader #sub male reader

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samhasnocontrol · 3 days ago

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Even more!!! God, I love them sm but also idk how to draw em more.

#bsd #bsd fanart #bungou stray dogs #bsd dazai #dazai osamu #bsd kunikida #kunikida doppo #kunikidazai #kunikizai #knkdz #they're not boyfriends but also they are #they're something ill never understand #and you wont understand either #or something idk #ig #send help

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blchwaaaan · 2 days ago

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You know that tomorrow is the day you die. You heard your wife conspiring with her lover that they will kill you and inherit your wealth. You did not marry her for love. You knew that her parents made her marry you, for status, for connections, and both of you were your families' puppets since you were born.

You never resented her. The mansion is so big that you didn't see her for days at a time. You've only met her at the gate sometimes, and when you had to visit your elders. You lied and said that you're trying for a child, just to please her parents and your parents, and your wife sat by your side and held your hand for as long as she was expected to. She had confessed on your wedding night that she couldn't have children even if she tried, and didn't say why. You left her to her own devices. Your marriage bed was left untouched. You didn't care who'd inherit the fortune that you didn't do anything to earn.

Most of your days are uneventful. You've never had to work one day in your life. Your butler manages your estate. Your butler hires people to manage your farm, and your factories, and all you ever do is own things. You pay your butler well. You ask him to pay everyone who works for you well, and you choose to trust him like your father trusted his father. You don't mind if he takes more money for himself without telling you. If he steals anything, he already deserves it.

He's the one who tells you that your wife has taken a lover. He is sorry for you, but you feel happy. You have never seen her smile, but when you approach her side of the mansion, you hear laughter. Her joy echoes in the walls. Her handmaidens giggle to themselves. She wears colorful dresses and puts roses in her hair.

Today your wife is running through the hedge maze with her lover. You hear their laughter and playful cussing and other noises that you know you're not supposed to hear. Your wife doesn't know that you come here to read and that you like when the butler calls your name and fetches you from the middle of the hedge maze then scolds you for making him worry. But today you don't hear the butler's voice. Instead, your wife's lover says, "we'll kill him tomorrow, then we'll have all of this to ourselves."

She agrees with him, but her voice is uncertain. You listen a bit more and it's so easy to tell. How could you have missed it. He coerces her and she just wants to be loved. He has no love to give, only greed.

You wait until they're gone, then make your way back to the mansion. Your butler is surprised that he doesn't have to go out and fetch you. But he is glad and doesn't dwell on it for long. Stacks of paper tower over him and he reads through each one, signs some and puts others into envelopes. His eyes are brown and there are bags underneath them. You know this, because you see him everyday. You tell him to rest for the week. He doesn't need to be here when it happens. And you don't want to risk your wife's lover killing him for fear of witnesses.

The butler is astonished. He tells you no, these papers are important. Everything is important. He scolds you for not knowing anything about your businesses then apologizes for stepping out of line. But he is right. You wish that you could help him. Instead you slip into the kitchen and make little chocolate tarts, because you know they are his favorites, and in your infinite boredom you decided to learn this for him one day, and you did. You eat some of them with him and he feels guilty for scolding you still. But he thanks you and retires for the night.

You go to bed in your soft blankets and silk sheets. You wonder if your wife and her lover will come for you in the morning or in the afternoon, or perhaps in the night. You don't mind. Your fortune, everything you own, none of it matters. It was passed down to you and someone was bound to inherit it at some point. But then you are plagued with worry for your wife. Her lover will kill her next, no doubt.

You regret not watching over her, letting her fall prey to such a man. Perhaps you can bargain with her and make her see the truth. But does it matter? You don't have anything to live for, not even her. Not even...

The butler sleeps a few doors down. You remember his tired eyes. They are so clear to you. You could draw them from memory if you wanted. You could draw his hands smoothing down the edge of an envelope before applying your seal. The little smile that he does when he's divided the shares of the harvest and everyone's got enough for the winter. The frenzy of panic he'd go into whenever a worker was hurt. Today was the last good day for him too. Or maybe your wife will leave her lover and your butler will be safe. Maybe everything will be alright once you're dead. Your butler will no longer have to scold anyone for being late to dinner.

In the night you wish he came to fetch you one last time. You wish you could get him to rest until the bags under his eyes disappear, and that you knew enough to help him with the piles of work he does in your stead. You hope that if your wife's lover comes for him, he'd be smart enough to find an escape. He should be. You know he is. You've never trusted anyone more, after all.

In the morning you look into your coffee. Its color is nothing unusual, nor its taste. You drink it and nothing happens. Your butler is dressed the same as yesterday and the day before. His stack of paper hasn't gotten any smaller. You go to the hedge maze because your wife and her lover don't know that you spend your days there, and it may buy you time. You hear their voices eventually, then your wife's lover says, "we'll kill him tomorrow, then we'll have all of this to ourselves."

She agrees in the same uncertain tone, and you wonder about all of it. Have you hallucinated the entire thing? are you hallucinating now? You run back to the mansion and your butler is happy to see you come back early in the day, then worried when he sees your shaking hands. He tells you to sit down with the cats but you are restless. In the end you sit by his side and read through the letters he's writing, if only to have something to do.

His handwriting is neat and pretty but has quirks that you remember, the Rs look like the Ss sometimes, and you can tell when he's made a conscious effort to make them look different. You make him tarts like the night before and he accepts with a thanks. "Are you hiding something from me," he asks with a grin. He thinks you're apologizing for something. You laugh. You tell him again that he could take the week to rest and he waves you off all the same.

You go to sleep and try not to think about anything. Perhaps this is all a fever dream. Your wife has already poisoned your coffee this morning and you're bedridden and hallucinating. How nice it is that in your fever dream you sat at the butler's side and read his business letters. And that you went up to make him the chocolate tarts that he likes. Perhaps this is it. Or maybe your wife and her lover decided to wait another day, and they're coming for you tomorrow.

The day comes and again, your wife's lover tells her the same words in the hedge maze. Her voice is too low for you to hear. This time you wait till the butler comes to fetch you, and he does, he is exasperated but not angry. He is never angry with you, he is too fond of you to be upset. You have counted his lashes once, just for fun. You look at him and they're all there, every single one, and this couldn't be a dream. You are trapped into something beyond your understanding, repeating the same day. In the real world you must have already died, and this is the afterlife you are trapped into.

In the beginning you counted the days. Every morning you asked your butler what day it was, and he gave the same answer, April 1st. You lose track of your count because what does it matter anymore. Everyday is the same chilly air, the same rain falling at dawn. Everyday you barge into the study and pluck the butler from his precious paperwork, he is reluctant first but he says he'll indulge you today, and only today. You make him run with you in the fields then sit in the sun like cats. Maybe go for a swim, or sneak into the kitchen and make him try out all the new things you've learned to cook because he might like them.

Some days you almost have the courage to tell him how much he means to you. It's difficult to put into words. The world could burn and you wouldn't care as long as he is happy. But it is such that he needs the world. He is happiest when he's making sure your workers are looked after. His contentment comes from his work, so after the day loops around enough times for you to understand this, you let him be. You sit by his side and help him with his stacks of papers. He is astonished but teaches you what you need to learn. Ten loops later he is also astonished, at how much you know, which he doesn't remember teaching you.

The days loop around and maybe now they have meaning. You muse this as you take in the smell of paper and heated wax seals. Your butler took you to meet the managers at your factories and they were so human, so normal in ways you could never fathom, their lives so far away from yours yet so much more real. At the mansion your wife and her lover conspire in their bed and none of it matters, tomorrow repeats again.

You wish he would remember, but he never does. You got to know him so much, you told him secrets you've never told anyone, and every morning he wakes up a new man and you bear the burden alone. You gather your blankets and show up at his room in the night. You tell him you can't sleep, which is true, and he lets you snuggle up to him. You want so much more but you cannot ask. To him you are a benefactor, the one he serves. At most, if he was being generous, a childhood friend. It would be most shameful and unfair to ask him. You imagine how he would look at you, trapped, unable to say no, and unable to love you in return. You cannot subject him to such power imbalance. The days have meaning now indeed. The meaning is the pain you have to endure.

The morning after you do not approach him. He does not find this strange and of course he wouldn't, he remembers nothing while you suffer alone. You go to the hedge maze and decide that even if he calls for you, today you will not answer.

You expect your wife and her lover to have that same conversation where they plot your demise. You think about confronting them, perhaps they will kill you then and there and you would be free. Except that today only her lover's voice rings into the distance, calling out for her, so lovingly. A little after, the sound of running, then there's your wife bleeding from her arm. She is frozen in shock when she sees you, then walks over to you and takes your hand. She leads you to hide into an opening in the tree growth, and her lover passes by, unknowing. When he is gone and she leads you back to the mansion, what she says is enough to knock the air out of your lungs.

Her days have been looping the same as yours, and she is perpetually stuck in April 1st. She had known about your ordeal for sometime, but couldn't reach you. Everyday her lover tries to kill her and she runs from him. Whether he kills her or not, she wakes the next morning in the same day.

So, you and your wife are trapped. You stare at her, helpless, desperate for an answer. She then says, "it's all for the butler. It is him who must die."

You are stuck in a time loop, but you have no intention of ever breaking out of it. After literally millions of resets a new person appears in the loop and asks you why you are still in the loop.

#i wrote a thing #in a stream of consciousness #idk if it makes sense at all #writing prompts #I wrote this when the prompt was posted and it sat in my drafts since. for a almost a full year now. I might come back to finish it one day #the butler lives in my head rent free now #the wife is not a bad person #perhaps her lover will hunt them like a horror movie villain. who knows. not me #the poor y/n and the butler and the wife might become the throuple of my dreams

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superhoeva · 2 days ago

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the thought of walsh and abbott both getting possessive over reader at work and the both of them competing while double domming reader after they're all off is driving me insane

(i think you've opened pandora's box...)

When your name tumbles from their lips at the same time, all you can do is freeze.

“C’mere for a sec, kid. Got a good one for ya.” Jack is the first to start again, B-lining for where you stand at a monitor, ten seconds-post finishing a chart for your latest patient. “Guy in 18 has a–”

“Actually, I need you with me. Single GS incoming, six minutes out,” Walsh appears on the other side of your shoulders, clenching her hand together to keep her from grabbing your arm like she so desperately desires.

Pursing your lips, you keep your eyes on the screen. You end up kicking yourself in the inside when you can’t find anything to make it look like you’re busy.

“Well, sorry, Dr. Walsh but she’s coming with me,” Jack declares, making sure to soften his face with a quick smile when he nods his head at you to follow. “Gotta reattach the tip of an index finger, want you gloved up so I can talk you through the suture–”

“Too bad. I need her with me in Trauma. Have Parker do it, she could handle that with her eyes closed. Easy.”

“Parker’s busy, and this is a good learning opportunity for the kid. Or have you forgotten we’re a teaching hospital, Dr. Walsh?”

“She can learn just as much from a GSW as she can from a replantation.”

“You sure about that one?”

“Hey,” you breathe out, moving to step in between where the two are starting to unconsciously tug toward one another. You even throw a little frown at them but it probably looks like more of a pout because you hate when they get like this–and you know they know you hate it when they get like this. “Really, you guys? Right here?”

A handful of thick seconds pass. Finally–

“...come on.”

“...let’s move.”

Huffing, you drop your arms and toss an annoyed glare at the ceiling. “Fuck me.”

“Fuck me…” you whisper out, flinching when Emery circles a drenched tongue around your clit at a whine-indcucing pace. You squirm against Jack’s front, who doesn't stop the sloppy kisses he pressing just below your ear when he tightens his grip around you. “Ah.”

“Thought y-you all we’re supposed to be–shit–making up f-for earlier,” you whimper, “not this.”

“Should’ve had me go first. Would’a let you come on my tongue at least three times by now, doll.”

“Oh, I think you spent your fair share of time down here yesterday afternoon,” Emery smacks along your slit, hand squeezing at the plush of your thighs as she sends a cutting look past you toward Jack. He meets the sharp gaze, sending a just-as-piercing leer while his teeth move to nibble at your jaw. “Could still taste her when you kissed me before work. You should fucking shave, by the way.”

Just as Jack hurries to rebut, Emery sucks at you clit with enough force to wail a moan from you loud enough to cover Abbot’s rasp. He rolls his eyes at the two of you even though his cock jumps at the sound and the sight.

“Can someone please just fuck me?”

A little of the tension melts, Jack and Emery sharing a small quirk of the lips.

Dragging her lips up your body, Walsh hangs over you and Jack in a close hover. She bends a little, sharing a long snog with Jack before pulling away and turning to you.

“We’re sorry, baby,” she coos, cupping your cheeks and bending to kiss your lips. You feel Jack breathing deep behind you as her tongue swipes across yours. Giving you one last peck, she pulls away with a quick wink that only you can see before helping Jack shift you against him. “Got her?”

“Yeah. You set, hun?”

A genuine smile ghosts across Emery’s mouth, and she stares at you and Jack. Chest warming, she hums out an easy mhm.

“You?”

Jack grins at Emery, pecking a kiss to your shoulder just before lacing his fingers with the woman at your front. “Never better, baby.”

#the pitt x reader #emery walsh smut #jack abbot smut #emery walsh x reader #jack abbot x reader #dr walsh x reader #dr abbot x reader #emery walsh x you #jack abbot x you #the pitt x you #jack abbot #emery walsh

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catmaraudersfan · 2 days ago

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😳 ..... I just had an idea. 🤯:

I was reblogging a story idea, when it made me think of another few prompts, and it gave me an IDEA~ (This idea has only been done once and even then I'm gonna spin it differently.)

Rather than be Jason or Damian's alternate self, Danny is BRUCE WAYNE'S alternate self!

*The Batfam winds up in the DP world (I got the "DC winds up in DP" idea from a brilliant prompt scroll my blog. You should find it. I reblogged it very recently.), sees Danny, and IMMEDIATELY clocks him as alternate Bruce.*

After getting used to each other, the topic of alternate timelines gets brought up and with them evil selves get brought up too.

Seeing the gloomy looks starting up, Danny decides to cheer them up by giving them hope and brings up Dan. (Post Glitch in Time.)

At first, the Batfam is HORRIFIED. Bruce isn't too shocked. He made the "No killing" rule FOR A REASON. Jason ........ now gets why B never killed Joker. This actually helps him start to forgive him.

Bruce SHUDDERS to learn that this almost happened to him, powers or not, if he had leaned into his rage and didn't have Alfred.

They then are happily shocked when they hear future-B was redeemed. They weren't surprised, B is B no matter the timeline.

Sometime later a kid looking like Danny's twin shows up with a girl who looks EERILY similar to them both.

They aren't surprised by the twin, Danny explained about the clone body thing. They're more interested in the girl.

Dan sees the lack of surprise at him, sees the surprised looks being aimed at Ellie, and correctly assumes the twirp told them about him but didn't get to explaining Ellie yet.

*Dan:*

The name's Dante Masters. This is Danielle Masters. Vlad (he also correctly assumed Danny explained Vlad.) created her after the twirp rejected his proposal to be his son.

#Dcxdp #Dpxdc #Danny Fenton is alternate Bruce Wayne #Batfam travels to DP world

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ddlydevotion · 2 days ago

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Sweet Love, All Night Long . ݁₊ ⊹

nsfw & sfw headcanons for Grace and Bo Chow

a/n: These headcanons aren’t separated by character, you’re basically a third in their marriage. I was stressed the hell out today but I had to get this out for ya’ll <3. Read part one here 💌.

Currently listening to: Come Get To This by Marvin Gaye

SFW

Everyone in town knows you by your name, your incredible work ethic, and as a good friend of The Chows. You stayed even after your shift was over to assist Bo around the store, bringing in new imports and placing them in their assigned aisles. It was sweet how dedicated you were to helping him around the store and giving extra hours. It was even sweeter just how willing you were to help him in the storage room for minutes on end.

They never fail to invite you to family/friend centered events. It's not like they need to make up a reason to see you, not anymore at least. They just see it as an opportunity to spend even more time with you. You already see a lot of the couple since you practically live at their home despite it not being your permanent residence.

Grace is the conscientious one of the two, while Bo is down for anything as long as it means he'll have you near. This attitude translates into the lengthy friendship he shares with the Moore twins. Bo is open to participate in anything you're interested in, whether that be enjoying a lively night out at the juke joint or having you sit near him (close enough for him to drape your thigh over his leg) as he dominates a game of poker.

Now, Grace isn't exactly opposed to having a good time but she'll hesitate before doing so. Her hesitation is never long lived but she has a habit of making sure you and her husband aren't putting yourself in harms way while going out. She always accompanies the two of you when the opportunity for a night out on the town arises.

"Don't let 'im get into too much trouble with the twins, alright? Y'know how grumpy he gets in tha mornin' after he drinks too much", she says while sending you off with Bo before pressing a chaste kiss to your awaiting lips.

These two are a pair of smooth talkers. They know just how much their flirtatious nature gets to you and they take advantage of that. Not only do they compliment you to the point where it's almost overwhelming, they're so touchy on top of that. Grace will trace her eyes over your face as she applies her lipstick to your lips, wiping off any excess with the pad of her thumb before saying:

"There ya go, baby. Ya look so pretty, dontcha? What were ya sayin' about red not bein' your color?"

Bo lovesss to look you right in the eye while fixing your hair before saying something that he knows is gonna make you look away, face flushed with heat.

“Why are ya gettin’ all shy? C’mon look at me, wanna see that pretty face.”

It doesn't matter if you're in the middle of hanging the clothes up to dry or working on dinner, that will not stop them from hugging you from behind or pulling you by your cheek to face them so they can kiss you as if you have all the time in the world.

They're both incredibly protective over you and their mouths can get really smart when it comes to defending you. Grace can break people down with just a simple glance. It never fails to surprise you just how easy it is for her to detect someone's weakness and use it against them.

Bo is childhood friends with the Moore twins, so this man knows how to defend himself and the people he cares about. He’ll get really agitated at the mere thought of somebody speaking about you in any way that’s not positive. He’s not above getting in their face and asking them can’ya repeat that? He’s not the type of man to hide away when confrontational conversations turn physical. He makes the other person feel stupid for even opening their mouth in the first place.

They care about you so intensely it can get a bit overwhelming at times. Please don't make them worry about you because they'll loom over your shoulder and follow you around to make sure you're actually taking care of yourself. They understand that you can get busy and that certain tasks can get in the way of you sleeping and maybe even eating, but they won't let you get used to depriving your body of what it needs.

In a modern au they're definitely the type of people to text you in order to remind you to eat.

You cannot hide anything from them. They know when someone's upset you and not even a second passes before they demand to know the person's name. It's really easy for them to read your mannerisms and expressions,. Even if you're not upset, they know when you're excited/happy about something and are waiting to tell them the good news.

"I knew you had somethin' going on with that little smile ya had on your face. It's not that hard to know what's goin' on in that head of yours."

NSFW

Grace doesn't have any sexual experience with women, so she's learning your body just as you're learning hers. She'll settle herself in between your thighs, holding them with such a tight grip you're convinced she thinks you'll disappear at any second. She'll flick her tongue over your throbbing clit while peering up at you to gauge your reaction. The pauses she makes to look at your flushed face make you feel as though she's teasing you, drawing it out on purpose. Bo has his hand tangled in her dark locks, guiding her head deeper into your thighs and acting as a coach of some sorts.

"There ya go, baby, jus' like that. Suck on that clit, theree you go good girl. maybe bite it if you wanna. She likes that."

He notices the tears of impatience welling up in your eyes from your orgasm being denied for far too long, and reaches a hand out to caress your cheek.

"Oh don't cry, baby. She's still learnin', ya gotta be patient with her, okay?"

As always, Bo was right. Grace was a fast learner and you knew that, but what you didn't know was just how obsessed she'd become with eating you out. Bo was an obsessed man on his own but you were shocked at how quickly she picked up that trait of his. She'd crawl over to you after Bo was done with you, plugging your pussy that was leaking with his cum using her tongue and holding your hands in hers as an attempt to soothe your overstimulated cries.

Bo has you ride him with his back against the headboard, you're facing forward with Grace twisting, pinching, and pulling at your sensitive nipples while latching her lips onto yours with feverish urgency. She takes one of her hands away from your chest as one of them remains tweaking & toying with your nipples. She licks her index and middle finger before reaching down and rubbing your clit with such a delicate touch it almost makes you want to scream.

The three of you make an effort to keep things exciting in the bedroom. Grace comes out of the washroom with her hair down and face bare wearing a silk nightgown traced with delicate lace, a tiny slit running up her thigh. Their tongues nearly lolled out of their mouths when you surprised them by wearing an entire lingerie set that consisted of a suspender belt, silk underwear to match, a basque that enhanced your curves that they loved oh so much, and nylon stockings.

Grace loves toying with your clit while Bo presses his hips flush with yours. You can't help but cry from all of the sensations you're experiencing at the hands of the beloved couple. Bo has you nearly folded in half with his sturdy hands placed on the back of your thighs, and Grace has her ring and middle finger circling your pulsing clit that is due for a break. Bo buries his face into your neck when he finally cums inside of you and moves his hips in a circular motion that makes your legs kick out and wrap themselves even tighter around his waist, similar to a snake trapping it's prey. When your moans grow a bit too loud, Grace swallows your cries by pulling you into a sloppy kiss that ends with drool spilling out from your connected lips.

"shh I know, I know. Feels so good don't it, baby? Y'look so pretty like this. Ya can't be shy right now, honey, c'mon. Look at 'im while you take that cock."

Bo is just as mouthy as his wife when it comes to getting you to look at him while he fucks you into the bed/overstimulates your pussy.

"yer so wet f'me, baby, do ya hear that? Ya hear how good your wet little pussy is takin' me?"

"we're gonna fuck ya so good yer not gonna want nobody else. I'll be damned if anybody else sees ya like this."

taglist: @bochowssinner @bochowswife @mjwhis @officialthrad @missroro @thegr33nc0met @warfaredoll and i think that's it!

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fishmech · 9 hours ago

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that's lovely and all but the more common versions of the same sort of person who is using chatgpt for everything now? that was:

-just straight up copying off someone else (compensated or not)

-cliffs notes and its various clones. my youngest sibling tells me the version of this people were using when they were in high school in the early 2010s was called "chegg" and they even had services where there was "homework help" that would just straight up have someone write shit for you.

-those sites and services where people posted up their own essays for various middle school/high school class topics that you would just tweak the words on because nothing was going through any national/global level anti-plagiarism check on (lol)

-you could get the teacher's guides/supplements for a lot of textbooks and related materials at many libraries

-and finally for a particular purpose that i've seen a lot of people claim they "need" chatgpt for, filling up space to meet a word/page requirement? heavy abuse of thesauruses and quotes and purple prose lol

that's the classic 90s-2000s methods of coasting through school as the typical heavy chatgpt user wants. and many of those things you had lazy students doing all the way back to my grandparents' day in the 40s and 50s. like it's safe to say the people who are "relying" on chatgpt et al are very much never going to bother with actually paying attention at school might as well meet them were they're at by telling them what their dumbass ancestors relied on before 2022 or whenever.

"what did students do before chatgpt?" well one time i forgot i had a history essay due at my 10am class the morning of so over the course of my 30 minute bus ride to school i awkwardly used by backpack as a desk, sped wrote the essay, and got an A on it.

six months later i re-read the essay prior to the final exam, went 'ohhhh yeah i remember this', got a question on that topic, and aced it.

point being that actually doing the work is how you learn the material and internalize it. ChatGPT can give you a short cut but you won't build you the the muscles.

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hrrtshape · 19 hours ago

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a guide on how to survive socialite nyc

hi. i'm emma. i shifted to my better current reality at seventeen where i live on the upper east side, my mom's a billionaire, my dad's kind of royalty-adjacent, and i'm the kind of girl who says "i have to study" but don't actually ever study.

someone asked me to make a survival guide for new york socialite culture, and i did. but now i'm rereading it and i think i accidentally wrote an exposé. i don't know what happened. i blacked out. i woke up and there were ten thousand words about the whitney board and custom-moulded ski boots and my fake boyfriend named marco. this was supposed to be gossip girl meets succession, and somehow it turned into joan didion gets eaten alive by her own cotillion class. i'm sick and i'm dying and please don't look at me.

anyway. take this as a guide. or a warning. or a cry for help. i'm definitely killing myself over this. ok bye.

section i . appearance

you're not trying to be beautiful. you're trying to be "correct-looking". you need to look like you live inside a fridge built by dior and lit by a tolomeo lamp. your skin should glow in the dark but in a non-radioactive, genetically superior sort of way. if you're doing it right, no one compliments you. they just say, "you look well." and that means something. it means you've been seen and passed inspection. not praised, not envied, confirmed.

hair colour : blondes get treated like family money. brunettes get mistaken for pr girls until proven otherwise. redheads (natural only) get suspected of being from somewhere interesting. the kind of interesting that means your grandmother maybe wore galliano and drank at indochine with madonna. dark roots are only acceptable if they've been there since easter brunch at the plaza. don't dye it platinum unless you're in the lvmh bloodline. don't balayage. don't ombré. don't do anything you saw on pinterest. your hair needs to look like it's been this way since you were four and your au pair gave you a haircut with gold scissors. the correct answer when someone asks what you do to it is "nothing really." your shampoo is unavailable in the u.s. and comes in an opaque bottle wrapped in brown paper from a pharmacy in geneva.

face : everyone is pretty. you need to look congenitally expensive. clean skin, no highlighter, not even for the birkin gala. your brows should not be threaded. they should just be like that. your lashes are never fake. your blush is from exhaustion, not makeup. your under-eyes are hollow from birth and elite suffering. use the drunk elephant moisturiser but put it in an avene bottle. no contour. no bright lip. your lipstick is the same shade as your tongue. your foundation is mixed by a dermatologist who doesn't believe in sunscreen. your beauty mark is real. your cheekbones are not filler, they're "genetic."

body : you don't need to be skinny. you need to look "expensively maintained". if your thighs touch but your pilates instructor knows your dog's name, you're fine. your arms are long. your back is straight. your posture is from equestrian camp, not yoga. you don't run. you get walked by your trainer. no muscle definition. no fake tan. you are vitamin d deficient in a $900 tennis skirt. your legs are bruised from skiing, not clumsiness. you own two pairs of trainers: one for walking, one for looking like you walk.

when to wear designer : never in a way that's obvious. your hermès should look inherited. your dior should be vintage (even if it's not). if you're wearing chanel, it better be archival and you better be with your grandmother. never wear logos unless they're ironic, and even then, only if your parents own property in provence. the only monogram allowed is stitched into the inside pocket. not even your driver should know you're rich. it should just be assumed. if it zips, it better have been tailored. if it buttons, it better be mother-of-pearl. if you wear a tee shirt, it should be hanro. if you wear sunglasses, they should be old céline. the only exception to the logo rule is a goyard tote with your initials. but only if it's filthy.

the optics :

looking rich = old money.

looking cultured = foundation grants.

looking interesting = childhood trauma + niche education + subtle jewellery.

ideally, you're all three.

but if you have to choose: go with cultured. rich is obvious. cultured is strategic. interesting is what gets you profiled in air mail. interesting is why the chair of the whitney board remembers your name. interesting is why you were asked to read at the pen america gala even though you don't write.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　┊

section i (and a half) . location

fifth avenue (upper east side only) : if you live above 60th and below 96th, you're in the golden rectangle. this is the museum mile stretch. your doorman will be asleep but he'll still remember your bat mitzvah dress. you don't take the subway from here, you exit the city. buildings here come with plaque-level pedigree. if your building has a name, not a number, you're already winning. your neighbour is on the board of the frick. the florist downstairs knows not to wrap in brown. this is where your mother did her christmas shopping at barneys before it closed. you get sent the new year's schedule for the philharmonic by name.

park avenue : if you say you live on park and don't clarify east 96th or south 30th, people will assume you mean the correct part: between 60th and 92nd. this is legacy socialite land. your grandfather had a secretary. your parents met at a squash match. you eat cottage cheese and pineapple for breakfast and call it wellness. everyone has the same doorman portrait from their childhood: red vest, gold buttons, white gloves, first name basis. your apartment is large but cold. rugs from sotheby's. kitchen never used. the smell of your building is bergamot and chlorine. no one wears shoes inside. you say things like "oh, i think she was in my cotillion class."

central park west : used to be weird. now it's "stable." it's the address you give when you don't want people to google your last name. you have taste. your parents are both remarried. the living room has a view of the reservoir and a de kooning. you own three dogs and a therapist. you've had dinner with a gallery owner. your friends' parents have all written memoirs. your friends' memoirs were published before age 25. this side of the park is for people who fund ballets but never attend them. your building has a doorman named larry. he has seen you through every era of your life. you still cry when you see him.

central park south : this is the purgatory between hedge fund dads and finance guys who think they're philosophers. your building is sleek. there's no dust. the fridge talks. you're new here. you're rich but (sadly) you're not trusted. your kitchen has smart lighting but no knives. people here drink negronis in blackout sunglasses and pretend to read the economist. there's no art on the walls because the interior designer said it would "overwhelm the space." you have an investment property in lisbon. your girlfriend's name is genevieve and she's "between agencies."

upper west side : sweet. proper. unchanging. your dad is in publishing. your mom is a therapist. your apartment has books on every surface. the hallway smells like antique wood and dog. your oven's broken. no one cares. the window sills are wide enough for your cat and your emotional crises. you still get bagels from h&h and take them to riverside to eat on a bench. you applied to columbia and got in. you didn't go. your clothes are unironed but made of cashmere. your rich is subconscious. there's a poster for the new group theatre on the door. your parents met at a rally. they still go to lectures.

upper east side : not to be classist but this is the final boss. not because it's hard to get in, but because once you're here, you never leave. you have a driver named salvador. you have a doorman who fought in a war. your mother has not cooked since 1987. you get your hair cut by a woman named giancarla who doesn't advertise. you were in cotillion. you have a junior board. you've had the same family lawyer since you were born. you've never written your own check. you think going downtown is "a treat." your friends live within a ten block radius and you all eat lunch at sant ambroeus pretending not to.

west village : this is curated bohemia. your mom's a sculptor and your dad used to be famous. your godparents are in theatre. your apartment smells like parchment and good weed. you still use a landline. you never use google maps. your life is full of corner bookstores and 18-year-olds from new jersey who think you're mythical. your floors creak. your cat has an agent. you've dated a writer. you've dated a painter. you've dated a waiter who told you he was a painter. you own records. not vinyl. records. this is where you say "i just grew up around artists" like you didn't go to dalton.

downtown (tribeca, soho, nolita, chinatown, etc) : this is status coded in reverse. you pretend not to care while spending twelve grand a month. you have an ice bath. you wear jnco jeans and a $500 shirt. you've been to art basel but not for art. you own one suit and it's margiela. your idea of a splurge is a $90 candle. your building used to be a button factory. now it has a pool on the roof. you don't talk to your neighbours. one of them is a dj. another is a war criminal's daughter. everyone has an aura. yours is grey. your therapist told you that means grounded. your girlfriend sells resin art. your boyfriend is in berlin.

brooklyn : ONLY carroll gardens. only if inherited. only if your grandmother still lives upstairs. otherwise, you're pretending. the people here have opinions about olive oil and four kinds of salt. you use a tote bag your friend screen printed. you only go into manhattan for doctor's appointments or your godchild's choir recital. your rent is fake. your clothes are all wool. your wine is always open. if you have a backyard, you're a demigod. you have friends who've moved upstate. you judge them. you get coffee from the same man every day and he calls you miss. he doesn't know your name, for som reason that's how you like it.

the real secret : co-ops. you want a board. you want restrictions. you want to have to know someone to get in. if your building has a concierge, you're either french or new here. if you live in brooklyn, it must be carroll gardens, and it must be inherited. if you rent, lie. say it's your godmother's pied-à-terre. say she's an editor at large for t: the new york times style magazine. say it was passed down through divorce, not death.

what your building says about you :

740 park = you were born in the wrong one but with the right lawyers.

one beacon court = you're nouveau riche but hiding it well.

15 central park west = your parents are on the board of the met.

any new development with "tower" in the name = leave. go back to miami.

the elevator should be brass. the lobby should be beige. the staff should have known you since you were small enough to be carried in a burberry baby sling. the security guard should call your mother "ma'am" and you "honey."

floor plan flags :

pre-war = elite.

post-war = insurance money.

floor-through = fine.

duplex = trust fund.

maisonette = you're weirdly connected and possibly european.

penthouse = new money but trying.

anything with "open concept" = west coast interloper.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　┊

section ii . routine

you are never busy. you are booked. your calendar includes lunch with your father, your mother, art auctions, pilates at reform club, and a three-hour window to wander madison in silence. your days are carved into ritual: the same cashmere sweater, the same black coffee, the same twenty minutes sitting in the lobby of the carlyle pretending to wait for someone. you own a franklin calendar. you own a montblanc pen. you never ask for wifi. you already know the password.

before 8am : your macrobiotic chef makes you a green juice. you only drink half. your vitamins come in sachets from a doctor who doesn't advertise. you read the ft weekend in your mom's bathrobe. you do pilates in your mother's solarium. your skincare is nine steps and none of them are from sephora. you take calls on speakerphone in the bath. your toothbrush is swiss. your towels have your initials. you journal. you write thank-you cards. you reply to three emails. one of them is from your trust administrator.

after 8pm : dinner at casa cruz or omakase at masa (only if you're being courted). otherwise . . . late drinks at bemelmans. your table is the one in the corner, under the portrait of ludwig bemelmans' dog. if it's taken, you leave. you are not on the list at cathédrale. you don't want to be. you don't go to equinox. your gym has no signage. your doorman calls the elevator for you. you own pyjamas with piping. they are ironed. you read on a chaise. you only wear cotton at home. you answer no calls after 9 unless it's from your mother or your lawyer.

where you never go :

equinox

any place with a prix fixe menu and instagram account

any rooftop without a legacy donor

restaurants with tiktok in the reviews

dumbo

the whitney gift shop

times square (unless your cousin is in a broadway revival)

the standard

jack's wife freda

any café with neon signage

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　┊

section iii . networking

school : i had scripted in my own private school, st lazarus, but you can go to chapin. or spence. or brearley. if you don't, you don't bring it up. your mom tried to get you into dalton but your father said no because of the art teacher scandal in 2012. your friends are legacy kids. your enemies are legacy kids. your ex-boyfriend is a legacy kid who got into harvard by playing squash and writing an essay on cicero. you've known each other since that nursery in the carlyle. you've all taken a photo on the met steps. you've all blacked out at the same house in east hampton. you've all cried in the same powder room at the four seasons.

you only socialise across schools when you're forced to. you pretend not to know who got into yale or harvard or oxford early. you've cried at the nypl. you've been grounded for getting caught sneaking out of a deb ball. you went to model un once. it wasn't for you but you think your boyfriend is about to take over and become a dictator. your notes app has two kinds of people: those who sat next to you at cello recitals, and those who married your godfather.

trust fund friend groups : you know the difference between old money (soft voice, bad jeans, two homes in nantucket) and new money (veneers, cashmere joggers, the words "start-up"). the trick is to be old money in temperament but new money in liquidity. you summer in sagaponack but you winter in switzerland. you know when to split the bill and when to pretend not to see it. your group chat is called something obscure. there is always someone in it who's a kennedy cousin. one of them tried to kiss you at ski camp. your best friend's trust is bigger than yours. you've never spoken about it.

legacy circles : talk about horses, not brands. never correct someone on pronunciation unless they say "hermès" like it's a venereal disease. don't name-drop unless it's a baroness. remember who summered in sardinia vs. st. barths. know which parents got indicted. know which parents bought the judge. always act bored by scandal. always pretend your parents are normal. always say "oh i think we met at the greco-roman exhibit" even if you didn't. never bring up college unless it's to say you left.

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section iv . reputation

rich girls are on the list. wealthy girls own the building. important girls don't explain. they're just known. you are not a brand. you are a rumour. you are the girl who cried during the metropolitan opera but not at your own party. you are known because you never speak on important matters online. your last tagged photo was three months ago and you were holding a cigarette and a copy of the golden notebook. it was taken by someone who's now at columbia for film. you left the party before midnight. you didn't say goodbye.

you are trusted because you don't post on tiktok that has below 500k followers. you are invited because you don't ask. your last scandal wasn't even public. you've ghosted every publication that tried to profile you. you said no to vogue. you said no to tavi. you said yes to nothing.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　┊

section v . dating

first rule : date like there's a will being written.

second rule : most of the time, don't date at all. it's embarrassing. it's traceable. it's how scandals start.

there's a difference between a real boyfriend and a power arrangement. a real boyfriend carries your bag and makes fun of your therapist and remembers your cat's birthday. a power arrangement is when you date a venture capital heir so your dad can get invited to that investor dinner in geneva. you know the one. the one with the truffle risotto and the private quartet.

finance bros : acceptable between the ages of 17 and 19. don't make my mistake and date a non-homicidal-patrick-bateman-guy. don't even think about it. they must be reformed. they must be family-adjacent. they must be afraid of your mother. goldman > evercore > lazard. no citadel boys. no softbank freaks. you can date someone who did a summer at bridgewater, but only if he cried about it later.

art boys : fine in theory. dangerous in execution. he must not be trying. he must have inherited his gallerist grandmother's house in tribeca and only show in basements. if he says the word "residency" and means it sincerely, RUN. if he was at your cousin's RISD graduation in 2021, he's fair game.

older men : proceed carefully. he must be already-divorced. he must be the one who offers you a ride and never the one who asks for one. he can call you "kid" but only if you once made him cry during a backgammon game in east hampton. you must have a point of exit, a fake emergency contact, and a backup dinner invite ready. if you end up in air mail or curbed, you did it wrong and in less than three years he will be cheating on you .

( and . . . ) how to date someone older without becoming a story : never be alone with him two nights in a row. always say you're "not looking for anything serious." never show up in a dress you wore in high school. and when he tries to show you his collection of rothkos, ask if he's ever read any female authors who weren't in his divorce deposition. don't be his publicist. don't be his therapist. don't be his pr plan.

how to reject an heir without it becoming a scandal : smile. say you're flattered. say your schedule's a mess right now. say you're seeing someone in geneva (you're not). if he pushes, invoke your mother. say she's very protective and doesn't approve of his politics. if he still pushes, leak his trust size to the girl who runs the party list at the standard.

timing :

never date in spring (too many engagements)

never date in september (school chaos)

never date during tax season (obvious)

only date in november if you're ready to spend christmas at his family estate in montauk

only date in summer if you've already been to his family's place in capri and didn't find anything weird in the guesthouse

first date script :

no alcohol unless you know where it was sourced

always pretend you're allergic to something obscure

order the second most expensive thing on the menu

ask him what his family's position on offshore accounts is

leave before dessert

if he survives, you may text back.

boyfriend hierarchy :

real boyfriend (emotional support, security detail, hot)

soft-launch boyfriend (for optics only, must be good at standing near you)

trial heir (wealthy but mid)

scandal buffer (older, boring, strategic)

ghosted ex who still keeps you on his private flight list

and finally : if he doesn't know your favourite book, your mother's maiden name, and your preferred florist, he's not your boyfriend. he's a liability. date accordingly.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　┊

section vi . travelling

there's a way to go. and there's a way to leave. you never go. you're leaving. very different verbs. no one should know where until you've already landed. no itinerary posts. no time stamps. just a quiet flick of the wrist and the next thing they hear, you're in geneva and your hair's doing something new. it always does something new when you're in geneva.

teterboro if you have the car. jfk if you have the mood stabilisers. laguardia if you lost a bet. commercial or charter. it doesn't matter as long as you behave like your father's plane was just in maintenance and you're coping. you do not complain. you gesture vaguely. you don't take photos in the lounge. you don't say "priority boarding." your phone is already on airplane mode. your driver put your bag through security. you're holding a black coffee and a boarding pass tucked into an envelope from le sirenuse. you forgot your charger. you remembered your eyebrow serum. you don't sleep on flights. you pretend you don't know how.

airport outfit :

cashmere jumper. the same one you wore to your eighth birthday. still fits. still smells like almond soap. or a bit like your mum's perfume when she used to hug you goodbye.

cream trousers. lint rolled. slight stain from pistachio gelato in venice. you don't notice. or care. you only notice if someone else tries to comment.

rimowa carry-on. no stickers. only initials. silver. dented. ancient. perfect. it's been with you since ibiza 2016 and it holds grudges.

passport cover is leather. no logos. no pink. initials or nothing. it was a christmas gift from someone who now only communicates via monaco lawyers. you've started keeping a pressed flower inside it.

headphones are big. they don't even connect to your phone anymore. you carry a dongle. your driver hates the dongle. you lost one of the earpads and found it in your mother's glove compartment. they creak when you adjust them. they're a personality trait now.

optional add-ons :

box of clementines for the plane (you eat none), but you drink a lot

tiny stuffed animal that lives in the front pocket (you do not explain it)

old envelope with customs forms you never filled out

prescription sunglasses that only work in theory

hotel slippers you keep stealing "by accident"

inside the rimowa :

three paperbacks. one by simone weil. one by joan didion. one you never actually read. sometimes it's the ethics of ambiguity, sometimes it's franny and zooey, sometimes it's a paperback copy of the bell jar with your notes in red pen. one of them is in italian. you don't speak italian.

an extra white shirt. a pharmacy bag from france. a lint roller you don't use. travel candles you got as a gift and pretend to hate. your skincare fits in a pouch labelled "derm." eye mask from a spa you didn't enjoy. your mother's pearl earrings in a sock. an open pack of gum you've had since zurich. emergency earrings. letters you never sent.

summers :

sagaponack = you call it "the house." not "the hamptons." not "our place." it's the house. the lawn is mowed by someone you've known since you were five. your bedroom still has the wallpaper you picked in 2009. the shower smells like aveda. you bring two friends. you forget one of them on the ferry. someone's cousin always shows up with a guitar. you steal peaches from the kitchen and eat them standing over the sink. someone brings up boarding school. someone cries in the linen closet. someone's mother flies in from stockholm and gets mad you used her shampoo.

capri = your godmother lives there. your mum has a chair on the piazzetta. the boat is moored in the wrong spot and you know it because the neighbours texted. you eat fruit with a knife. you tan on stone. you call the waiter by name. your sandals are leather and broken. you get a rash from the hotel's pool towels and blame climate change. the lemons are too big. the espresso is always burnt. you fall in love with a waiter named marco who disappears the next morning. your mom pretends not to notice. you write down his name on the back of a postcard and forget which book you hid it in.

east hampton = acceptable only if your grandparents bought before 1980 or your cousin is on the zoning board. otherwise no.

montauk = only if you inherited a property with a bad roof and a wine cellar. or you're having a crisis and need to be ignored.

south of france = acceptable. avoid cannes unless you're on a yacht or being paid. you stay in provence, not antibes. you bring books and forget sunscreen. your uncle knows the vineyard owners.

italy = always a yes but never rome in june unless you're doing latin summer at the vatican or on some kind of bureaucratic punishment. florence if your brother is with you. venice if you're meeting someone's parents. sardinia if your friend's dad is on a boat.

winters :

switzerland = you ski. obviously. your boots were custom-moulded in geneva. you complain about the snow. you throw up at altitude. you do après in your ski trousers because your legs are too sore to change. your mother buys a painting you hate. your brother drinks half a bottle of grappa. someone cries in the sauna. it's never you. your instructor is mean and british and calls you “miss” and you have a crush on him for three years. you pretend not to know how to put your gloves on. you get a nosebleed. you flirt while bleeding. you fall asleep next to a fireplace that doesn't work.

maldives = your father booked it. you weren't consulted. the villa has no wifi. you reread death in venice. you cry because you got too tan. you take pictures you don't post. the staff speak four languages. you pretend to speak five. you get bored. you tan again. you find a crab and name it after your boyfriend. you order room service and pretend it's a tasting menu. you fall asleep during a massage and wake up alone and confused and covered in oil. you swim in the rain. it's freezing. you pretend it's not. you write a poem in your notes app and delete it the next morning. your mother asks if you're okay. you say you're cold. she gives you her scarf.

austria = underrated. real power girls know how to ski and speak german. you go for christmas, say you're visiting your cousin, come back with a new necklace and a changed perspective on the monarchy.

the bahamas = only if it's someone else's island. it doesn't count if you paid for the villa. must be family-invited or romantically-involved. you can only post photos from the plane.

los angeles = no. never. not even for premieres. if you must go, tell people it was layover-induced.

spring and fall :

japan = if you've got art world parents or you're visiting someone who's getting married in kyoto. no cherry blossom photos. no public commentary on sushi.

berlin = you pretend you hate it. you secretly love it.

morocco = if your aunt is weird and rich and doing her doctorate on colonial textiles. you bring too many skirts. you forget to charge your kindle. you have mint tea and say you needed this.

oxford = if your older brother is graduating or if you've just gotten over someone named milo. you wander into blackwell's and pretend not to care. you buy four books you won't read.

paris = only if you're registered for something. a language program. a dance intensive. an unpaid internship your mother arranged. not for fun. for improvement.

barcelona = because we love barcelona.

back to the city by october. you don't miss halloween. or midterms.

how to behave in other countries :

be polite. be bored. be quiet.

never speak more than three words of the local language unless you're fluent.

tip in cash. smile with your teeth. never say thank you too much. looks weird.

buy one souvenir. it must be heavy and inconvenient. your dad must sigh when he sees it.

no guidebooks. you do not read tripadvisor. you text your auntie who once dated warhol and ask for the name of her favourite trattoria in milan. she replies with a fax number. you go anyway. it's closed. you end up at a restaurant that doesn't have a name, just a doorbell. you eat alone. it's incredible. you say nothing about it online. you keep the receipt. you tape it into your notebook. you show no one.

bonus behaviours :

be a mystery. leave before the bill. carry receipts in other currencies. pretend your tan is genetic.

tell customs you were visiting family even if you weren't.

lie about your return date.

pack snacks you never eat.

send one postcard and never mail it.

pretend not to know the timezone. check the time every ten minutes anyway.

key principle : you can go anywhere, but you don't arrive. you're simply present. for now. the trick isn't leaving. it's acting like you never did. you went somewhere, but you never went away.......you know what i mean? anyways ok bye

232 notes · View notes

sswed · 9 hours ago

Text

away nights

alexia putellas x barcelona!reader

A/N: pure unadulterated smut and g!p reader, thus minors DNI, thanks

wc 3.9k

You and Alexia dance around the tension. You can feel it and you damn well know that she can. Each press of your body against hers in corner drills, each stray glance whilst you work out in the gym.

It makes you all hot inside and you've had to remind yourself a few times in training or at the gym. You've caught yourself having to think about someone dying a few too many times to stop yourself from getting hard each time Alexia raises her shirt or looks particularly sweaty in the gym.

It's all built up over the months since pre-season, the stray glances in the gym or on the pitch, the pressing of your body against hers and you swear that she's grinded against you a few too many times for it to be an accident.

Now you're in Wolfsburg, playing a quarter final of the Champions League with high expectations and you're sharing a room with Alexia, your worst nightmare and best wet dream. It's also random allocation, which means there is no escape from the captain, not even a reassignment.

The first night, you manage to escape any kind of interaction by falling asleep quickly, the plane ride was tiring and you'd spent all of the evening training session focusing on two things. Trying to play well and not look at Alexia.

Tonight, however, you're not so lucky.

You had managed to destroy Wolfsburg, put in a goal of your own, yet that's not help sedate this need of yours. Which has got you to this current place. You've got Alexia pressed into the mattress, hands firmly gripping onto hers, holding her down. The kiss is rough at best and borderline violent at worst, Alexia's bitten into your lips and you're bleeding all over her and the sheets.

You don't care, the pain is dull and Alexia is lapping at the blood in your mouth like a dog. She's so hot, still in her team issue clothes, Barcelona crest on her chest crumpled by your pressing hands. You don't think she'd look better if she tried.

She's covered by a thin layer of sweat from your roughhousing and you think it adds to the whole essence of the event. You let go of one of her hands and let yours travel down her body, from her chest to her stomach where the abs flex under your firm fingers.

"You don't know how long I've been waiting," You murmur against her ear, it's low and deadly.

Alexia whines like you've never heard before. The captain, as you've learned and had previously been warned about, is quite serious when it comes to football. Put in the hard work and get results, that's what it's all about. So the high-pitched, borderline pornographic moan catches you off guard.

Your hand stops on her stomach for a moment. You feel crazy, so hot and bothered you can't think straight. Alexia's abs flex under your hand, firm ridges under hot fingers make your eyes roll back into your head.

Alexia turns her head and murmurs into your ear, "I need you."

"I've needed you since I knew that you'd be joining,"

You feel liquid heat flood your stomach at the admission that Alexia has wanted you before even seeing you in person. It makes you painfully aware that she can feel just how hard you are right now. Your cock is pressed against her leg and you resist the urge to roll your hips, you want to give her what she wants but God, you don't want it to end.

Instead, you let your hand travel all the way back up. Trace the ridges of her abs, feel the softness of her chest before grabbing her jaw and turning her to face you again. Alexia eyes are blown wide open, giving you a front row viewing of honey brown eyes that have been staring at you for months. They're a little red around the edges and you can't help but smirk, you've got Alexia so worked up that she's breaking down. She's got her mouth slightly open, chest rising up and down shallowly.

That's when you know you have Alexia right where you want her.

You lean forwards quickly, striking fast. You kiss Alexia hard, letting your tongue into her mouth as you hold onto her jaw. She kisses back with just as much passion, tracing the inside of your mouth with her tongue, licking each fang of yours.

You grin and tighten your grip on her jaw, taking exactly what you want. That's when Alexia decides to move her leg and grind it into your crotch, you hiss at the contact and pull back from her mouth to stare at her.

Alexia's got a grin on her face, wide and happy. You frown then raise a brow.

"You won’t get what you want if you play dirty, Ale," You warn, your hand still on her jaw yet loose now.

"Then maybe you shouldn't make me have to play dirty, baby," Alexia smirks sweetly and moves her leg again, grinding it directly into your cock and you lose it.

The pet name on top of the contact has you going into overdrive but losing control now would mean a very quick end that you want to avoid.

You let go of Alexia's jaw and shoulder, lean back and place your free hands on her thighs, pushing them open. Alexia looks at you with a smile, thinking she's finally going to get what she wants but she doesn't because you don't take off your trousers and only tug her shorts off.

You throw them over your shoulder without a second thought then glance at her underwear. They're soaked through, a patch of wet staining the front of the grey material and you grin at the sight. You want to fuck her more than anything but then again, you had a lesson to teach. One of patience.

"I didn't think I had to teach you patience but..." You smirk and lower yourself until you've got your teeth on the waistband of her underwear.

The action earns you a sharp gasp that you chuckle at, Alexia has done this to herself. Maybe she'll listen after a lesson in obedience? You peel the underwear down her legs slowly, painfully so. Each brush of the soft material against her skin feels like a thousand years, each nick of your sharp teeth at the soft skin of her abdomen like a burn.

"Fuck," Alexia mewls softly and you can see the way her head lulls back to hit the fluffy white pillows of the hotel room.

Now, this is not what you had in mind. You allow one of your hands to leave her thighs and go to grab her jaw again, this time in a hard grip that forces her to look at her.

"Did I say that you could look away, huh?" You raise a brow with a smirk that has Alexia clenching around nothing.

"No-" Alexia begins and you quickly cut her off with a loud scoff.

"You may be captain on the field but when you're here, that doesn't mean shit to me," You grin at Alexia's wide eyes. It's a delicious reaction that has you twitching in your sweatpants.

"Look while I tear you apart."

You hold her gaze with your own wide eyes as you lower your head back down to tug her underwear down the reminder of her legs. It's horrendously slow but worth it by the way Alexia resists to thrash against your hold on her.

Once her underwear is discarded and left to sit next to her shorts in the corner of the room, you lick your lips whilst looking at Alexia. She groans in response and her eyes roll into the back of her head deliciously.

You wet your lips again before peppering the insides of her thighs with wet kisses. You can feel the toned muscle with each flex and you briefly wonder whether it would be too much to give Alexia a bite.

You don't think of it anymore, instead, you decide to just go for it and sink your teeth into Alexia's flesh. She jumps a little before letting out a low grumble moan, her hands come to rest on your own that keep her thighs open and you let her lace your fingers together as you lick the wound.

"That was so hot, baby," Alexia murmurs hoarsely and you barely even catch it.

"Yeah?" You smirk and rest your cheek against her thigh before looking up at her.

"How about this?" You ask playfully before ducking your head and licking a long strip along her pussy.

Alexia arches off the bed like she's in some horror movie and gasps loudly at the contact she's been wanting all day. You revel in the reaction, the way you have her wrapped around your finger without even trying.

You grin against her and lick another strip before circling your tongue around her clit. Alexia's hands dig into your own, holding onto you hard and you give her a squeeze to check in. When you offer her own squeeze back you smile happily.

She's ridiculously wet and you drink it up like you're drinking water in days, you can't help but lap up and down. Alexia tastes like everything you want and you can't believe you have it in the palm of your hand right now.

Alexia's thighs thrash in your grip, opening and closing as she tries to get some leverage on you. Yet, you don't budge, you have hands clamped down securely on her muscular legs to keep them open.

"Please, shit," Alexia mumbled above you and you know she's close.

You decide to give her a little more and finally suckle on her clit. In response, she curses loudly and it bounces off the walls before reaching your ears in a wonderful melody.

You flatten your tongue against her soon after and allow her to grind into her face. It's like she's riding your face without actually doing so and you can't help but love every second of it before you stilt her movements by swirling your tongue around her for the second time. Your saliva mixes in with her wetness and you can feel it all over your mouth like clear face paint.

"I'm-" Alexia tries to say but is interrupted by you grazing your teeth against her clit in a wonderful kind of pleasure.

Alexia never does finish her sentence because the next moment she's shaking as she comes, her back arching ever so slightly and mouth open in a silent moan.

You grin against her, giving kitten licks through her orgasm before pulling away from her pussy to look at her. She's got unshed tears in her eyes and her chest rises and falls quickly. She's a vision, your vision.

You let go of her thighs, allowing them to fall half closed in front of you as Alexia catches her breath. Her shirt clings to her, drenched with a layer of sweat whilst it's half ridden up her torso from where you have been pushing it up.

You lean forwards to kiss her stomach as it rises and falls. The hard muscle there flexes under your soft touch and you can taste the salt from her sweat on your lips.

Alexia's hand comes to tangle into your hair, allowing herself to run a gentle hand across your scalp. You sigh into the touch, letting yourself relax for a moment. It's nice to be this way, soft and without care after an important game like a quarter final.

Alexia tangles her other hand into your hair as well and you press a cheek against her abs, enjoying the soft feel of her warm skin against your colder cheeks.

"Alexia," You murmur into her skin, pressing a closed kiss to the hardened flesh.

Alexia responds with a low hum that reverberates through her whole body like the banging of a drum. You hear it right against your ear and it sounds like a symphony.

You put your hands on her and tangle them out of your hair before raising your head to look at her. She's got her eyes half shut and a half grin plays on her lips. She looks radiant and you want to keep that image forever.

You lace your fingers between hers and shuffle up until you're slotted between her legs and have your nose touching hers. You let go of one of her hands and tuck a stray hair behind her ear before kissing her cheek twice.

"You're wonderful... Like an angel," You mutter before pressing your lips to Alexia's in a gentle embrace.

You can feel the smile on her lips as you kiss her and you grin in return.

"What's all the sweet talk for?" Alexia chuckles against your kiss and you pull away with a shake of the head.

"Can't I be nice?" You grumble, an exaggerated frown painting your lips.

Alexia raises a brow at your expression before laughing and leaning forwards to capture your lips into a short kiss again. She tastes like whatever is in the post game concoction that the team makes along with summer berries.

"What if I just want you to fuck me instead of being nice?" Alexia smirks and you can't help but groan at the thought.

"I don't know... Maybe it's time for me to go?" You say playful and roll off Alexia before pretending to leave for the door.

Alexia's hand shoots out and wraps around your forearm before pulling you back harshly. Your head hits the fluffy pillows and you're dazed for a moment before you feel Alexia straddle your hips.

You look up at her with wide eyes, she's got a wide smirk on her face that screams trouble and you aren't sure whether it's you or her who's more excited.

She strips the sticky shirt off her, revealing her sports bra for a brief moment before pulling it off as well. You stare at her with dark eyes, she's so sexy it hurts at this point and you lick your lips to seal your fate.

"You're a little overdressed, no?" Alexia asks slyly as she runs a hand down your stomach suggestively.

"Are you going to help me then?" You raise a brow in question and swallow hard.

Alexia laughs a little before unceremoniously tugging your shirt off and throwing it to join her own clothes on the floor. You send her a wink when you spot the way her eyes are trained on your toned mid section and Alexia flushes, her hands resting on your flexed abs, pawing at the skin for a moment before they make their way to the waistband of your sweatpants.

You let out a sigh, you’ve been waiting for what seems like forever for Alexia to touch you. At first it was because you didn’t think she, the so-called queen, could like you too… Then it was just you and her tiptoeing around the situation.

Now you’re here, with her, right where you want to be.

“Alexia…” You let out a breathy moan as Alexia slips a hand into your sweatpants, just grazing your cock.

She leans forwards, her hand still down your trousers, just resting there, unmoving when all you want her to do is fucking touch you. She comes close, so close that you can feel her breath against your lips.

“Who’s all this for?” Alexia murmurs sultrily as she finally palms your cock.

The touch makes you take a sharp breath in, her hand is hot like lava on you and billions of scenarios run through your head automatically.

“Fuck, who do you think, darling?” You groan out as Alexia presses her hand against harder, more deliberately.

She leans in and captures your mouth in a bruising kiss that has you threading a hand through her hair to tug at it. She in turn, slips out her hand from your trousers which makes you groan unhappily into her mouth but Alexia immediately makes up for it by grinding her hips down in a long stroke.

Your eyes roll back into your head and you think you see stars. Alexia perfectly grinds right down into you like she was made to do so and can't help but want to hold on to her. Your hands automatically try to land on her hips, to have some kind of control but Alexia's own hands come to intercept and they hold down your hands by your side.

"Can I get my turn now or are we being selfish?" Alexia teases playfully then nips at your nose with her teeth.

You turn your head to the side and Alexia laughs a little before letting go of your hands to grip your face instead. She turns your head in her grip and you see the way she looks at you, like she wants nothing else, with a love sick look that has your heart contracting and stomach flipping.

"Can I make you feel good?" Alexia askes in a whisper that has your breath shortening.

"Let me do it for you," Alexia murmurs as she cards her hand through your hair and kisses you softly.

You give in because how could you not when Alexia is the one asking. When she's telling you that she'll make you feel good, make you feel something you've wanted for months.

You nod and Alexia grins. She slides off you for a moment, kneeling beside you as she pulls your trousers down slowly, like there is no rush, like you two have all the time in the world to just enjoy each other.

She lets your trousers fall onto the ground near the foot of the bed before her eyes narrow in on the outline of your cock in the patterned boxers. Alexia's manoeuvres until she's between your legs, her hands drawing patterns on your thighs as if they were an unlimited canvas. She looks at you and you stare right back at her, those honey eyes are filled with a kind of desire that you haven't seen today.

One of her large hands comes to rest of the waistband and she allows a finger to hook under the elastic. She looks back up at you and all you can do is nod frantically, you want this more than anything else in the world right now.

So, Alexia takes the go ahead and fully hooks her fingers under the elastic before tugging your boxers down your toned legs and throwing them over her shoulder to join the pile of clothing on the floor. You hiss at the cool air of the room and simultaneously feel hotter than ever as Alexia eyes your cock up.

She comes to rest over your crotch, her muscular thighs over your hips and her wetness directly on your cock. You twitch at the slickness, it feels like heaven on earth and you don't think you've felt anything better in your life up till this point.

"Ale, I-" You groan out when Alexia moves her hips, it's all painfully aching and you don't know why the pain feels so good.

Alexia leans in and captures your lips in a wet kiss that's nothing like the previous ones, it's gentle like a feathery pillow and slow enough to be sensual.

You sigh and allow your arms to wrap around her waist, pressing her impossibly close to your own torso. You don't think you've felt this complete with anyone else, no ex or hookup had made you feel like Alexia is right now.

"Shh, let me," Alexia shushes gently and then you finally feel her hand wrap around your cock.

The skin feels like a burning sensation that you've been waiting for all your life and you screw your eyes shut in pleasure. The tension in your stomach builds fast, like it has been building for months and the core finally snaps when Alexia sinks down slowly.

You groan and allow your mouth to fall open in ecstasy. She feels like velvet, like a luxury that you don't deserve. Your hands grip her sides with an iron hold as she lifts her hips for the first time before falling back down gradually.

"You," Alexia starts with a breathy moan against your lips.

"You feel so good," She finishes just as you bottom out again and you can't help but nod your head whilst she rests her forehead against yours.

It feels like Alexia was made for you, like she's been waiting for you and you've finally gotten the chance to make it true. Your hands fan out across her sides and you encourage her each time she grinds or moves.

"Alexia," You whimper out, it's all too much for you to stay cool.

Alexia presses her cheek to yours and wraps her arms around your strong shoulder to support herself just as much as to ground you. You know you won't last, not with practically months of foreplay behind you and an hour of making out under your belt.

"I'm close," You whine into her ear and you can feel Alexia nod against the side of your head. She can tell too.

Alexia speeds up her movements, grinding on your cock quicker than before and you don't know if your heart can keep up. You're so turned on that you've been transported to a different headspace, one that only Alexia and you seem to exist in.

"Let go for me, baby, let me take it," Alexia purrs into your ear and you know that it's too late to hold it in anymore.

You come with a muffled yell and Alexia tightens around you as she meets her second orgasm with you. It feels like a discovery, your core tightens and back arches off the bed slightly whilst Alexia digs her nails into your shoulders, leaving behind crescent moons on the lean muscle.

The high lasts for minutes and you wish you could bottle it up forever. Bottle the moment and replay it whenever you could want but soon it disappears and you're left blissfully tired. You smile mellowly and go to help Alexia off but she doesn't budge.

"Can't we stay like this for a little bit?" Alexia mutters and you can only nod, there is nothing you wouldn't agree to if Alexia is the one asking.

You lay there for a while, inside of Alexia where it keeps you painfully aware of just how much you want her. She rolls off you after a few minutes and you stifle a groan at the lost contact.

She stumbles out of bed and for a moment you truly believe that she'll walk out to never come back but instead she patters over to the bathroom and turns the shower on. She leaves the door open and you take it as an invitation to join her in the scalding water.

The rain shower washes over the two of you as you watch Alexia, she's got her eyes closed and arms wrapped around your shoulders gently. You grin and Alexia laughs.

"I can feel you watching me," She points out and you chuckle.

"I assume that you'll accept my date invitation after tonight, right?" You ask playfully and Alexia smacks your shoulder.

"Don't be stupid," Alexia warns with a cat like smile

"Oh, I would never but that’s a yes, right?" You smirk.

Alexia shoves you away playfully with a half laugh before launching herself at you to frantically kiss you again. You assume that’s Alexia for yes.

Up until that point, away games have been your worst nightmare, the constant travel leaving you sick to the core but it turns out that they happen to be the best, they landed you Alexia after all.

#woso x reader #barca femini x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #woso fanfics #woso smut

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drunkinyourbenz · 21 hours ago

Text

୨ৎ i sleep so i can see you. b.e

୨ৎ billie eilish x fem!reader

୨ৎ genre: fluff and a hint of angst but MOSTLY fluff

୨ৎ content: implied homophobic family but they're not in this. this is honestly one of my favourite things i've ever written, they're so soft (and also at the beach I LOVE THE BEACH). swimming. just read and find out im giggling while i type thisssssss

୨ৎ note: MAJORLY based off sailor song by gigi perez <3 also heavily based off true blue by boygenius feeling very lesbian today.

୨ৎ wc: 2.6k

you and billie loved each other so truly, so deeply. you were two halves of a whole and you fell together perfectly. if soulmates existed, that was what you were. the connection between the two of you was electric and heartfelt and you could never wish for anything more. it made sense—very few things in your life had made sense until you met billie, and then everything seemed to click into place.

the sole problem was the world you lived in. the cruel, cruel world. you had accepted that you liked women long ago, and although it was hard with the family you had, you knew very well that you couldn't change a thing. it didn't help that you got the same homophobia from others everywhere you went. you couldn't escape it, no matter how hard you tried.

when the two of you came out as a couple, there was a lot of support, but there were also the repulsed reactions of others—it reminded you a little too much of your parents, exactly what you’d tried so desperately to escape from. it was strange, being gay, after being raised to believe it was deeply wrong. you were making it through, though. with billie by your side, perhaps you could make it through anything.

you were currently on tour with billie, and you had a few days between shows. so, the two of you naturally found your way out to the beach, where your heart felt at home.

it was a small, secluded little cove you'd found, the tree coverage sheltering the two of you from any unwanted attention. it was peaceful, as the two of you sat together, the waves lapping at your feet. one of your hands was intertwined with billie's, and the other was fiddling with some dainty seashells. your heart felt at peace, here with her.

your nails were painted a pale yellow, which she had picked out for you, and hers were painted a light summery green. that had been one of your pastimes in the hotel room, painting each others nails. billie adored doing anything like that for you, be it skincare, nails, makeup, you name it. she just loved taking care of you.

your head rested on her shoulder as the two of you sat by the water, the peaceful sounds of the waves gently lapping healing your heart.

the sun was just beginning to set over the water, painting a soft golden glow over the bay, and you have a small picnic basket of food to eat. these kind of dates, where it's just the two of you—where you’re normal people away from the view of the world… these were your favourites. it was healing in a way nothing else ever could be.

billie’s arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer against her side. she watched you as the setting sunlight gave your skin a warm glow, highlighting your features. the way the orange light played over your skin felt somewhat like a song to billie—a song she could write, perhaps one that you’d hear coming softly from her guitar in a week or two, a voice note to be recorded. a voice note that could be released, or could just stay as your song. the two of you had a lot of those.

leaning down, billie pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, before resting her chin on your shoulder. “beautiful,” her voice came as a soft murmur, as if she were scared of disrupting the peace the two of you had created so perfectly.

“you are,” you whispered back, pulling your eyes from the gently lapping tide to look into her eyes.

billie’s lips curled up, “i mean the sunset.”

your lips twisted upwards into a smile, and you hummed, “sure, love.” leaning in, you pressed a kiss to her lips, revelling in the way she leaned in as you pulled away, chasing your lips.

the smile on billie’s lips was permanent, a feature you felt so blessed to see as often as you did, “both you and the sunset are beautiful,” billie hummed again, not hiding the way she was still leaned in slightly, gaze drifting between your eyes and lips, “is that better?”

you laughed softly, “ much better.”

for what felt like hours—and possibly was, time had no meaning with her—the two of you just sat together, your head rested on her shoulder while you ate bits of food from the picnic you’d packed. after a while, she pulled you to your feet, hand reaching for your waist to steady you when you stumbled slightly on the rocks. she gestured towards the water with a grin, “wanna swim?”

“obviously,” you hummed in response, pulling your top over your head and hanging it over a low branch. both of you stripped down to your bikinis, billie grabbing your arm before you headed towards the water, pulling you in for a quick kiss.

the two of you stepped into the water, and you tensed slightly at the cold, hand snaking down to squeeze billie’s as you shivered slightly. she laughed at your reaction, but you could see the way she practically recoiled from the cold, stiffening up and tugging you closer. the two of you waded in ever so slowly, feeling like you were making progress, but in reality it had taken you five minutes for the water to reach your mid thighs.

billie’s hand let go of your own, and you barely had time to glance back at her in confusion before she’d pushed you forward into the water. you fell backwards, the water muffling the laughter you would have heard leaving her lips, the coldness enveloping you. a few seconds later, you’d resurfaced, water dripping down your skin, the remaining glow of the sunset illuminating your skin—and you saw the way billie faltered, that lovesick look in her eyes that you were so familiar with.

you took her pause to your advantage, reaching forward, hand closing around her wrist and pulling her into the water after you. her hands grasped for you as she plunged into the water, and she gasped when she rose again. she ran her hands through her hair that was dripping with water, attempting to tame it slightly, but to no avail.

“bitch,” she muttered, but there was no real bite to her words. lifting her hands, she splashed water towards your face, drawing giggles from you. you took in the way her dark hair looked sticking to her skin, the way the water dripped down her skin.

shivering slightly, billie whined, “i’m coooold.” tugging you towards her again, she wrapped her arms around you, clinging to you as she buried her head into the crook of your neck.

she stays like that for a long moment, just nuzzled into you, before her hands travelled down your waist to your hips. her thumbs moved in soft circles, the repetitive touches soothing you slightly. your arms moved, draping over her shoulder as you stepped the two of you backwards, deeper into the water.

the two of you stayed like that for a moment, before billie spoke softly, “baby?”

“hmm?”

“does it bother you? the things people say, i mean.”

you looked at her, thinking for a brief moment. “i mean, sometimes. a lot less than it used to.” pausing, your eyes travelled to the the last remains of the sunset before you continued, “i don’t think it matters when i’m with you. like, the happiness cancels out everything else.”

you saw the way her eyes lit up at those words, they way her whole body seemed to relax, “yeah,” she murmured. “yeah, same.”

billie gently lifted her head up so her chin was resting on your shoulder, and she nuzzled her face into your neck. the water was starting to grow colder, a soft bite to the chill of the cold night air, and billie let out an involuntary shiver.

“cold?” you whispered, hands moving to her arms, rhythmically moving up and down to warm her up slightly, feeling the muscles of her biceps under your touch.

“yeah.” billie sighed, “don’t wanna go in though. i like it here, with you. i don’t feel like i’m billie eilish with you, just bils.”

your lips twitched up, the same smile that had lit up her face earlier, “you’re always just bils with me, you never have to worry about that.” your gaze moved up to the sky, where the sunset had fully disappeared, replaced with the darkening blue sky. “it’s late, though. we should head back soon, we can cuddle.”

billie smiled softly, “can we come back here?”

“of course.”

the coldness of the night was more obvious once you were out of the water, and you shiver, reaching for a towel, passing a towel to billie as well. the two of you started to dry yourselves off in a gentle silence, the chill of the air becoming more apparent with each second that passed. billie glanced over at you as she put her towel in the bag, pulling on her jeans and hoodie over the bikini, and she took a second to appraise you as you dried yourself, her eyes roaming over your body in the dim moonlight.

your eyes flickered up, catching the lovestruck way she stared at you and feeling your lips twitch up into a grin—someone loving you as much as billie did was a blessing, truly.

“see something you like?”

“obviously.”

still grinning, you pulled on your jeans and another one of billie’s hoodies, grabbing your bag in one hand and her hand in the other, “let's get back to the car, i’m freezing my tits off.”

billie giggled, letting you pull her back up the winding, tree-covered path to the car, the flashlight on her phone lighting the way. you got to her sleek black car, opening the passenger door and slipping into the seat, instantly turning on the heater.

turning on the playlist that you and billie shared, the drive passed fast, with the music you knew and loved, billie’s hand on your thigh for most of the drive. soon enough, you pulled into the place where you were staying, which was just the tour bus for the night because it was a short overnight stop before you kept driving.

the two of you were still holding hands as you entered. finneas, maggie, and patrick all look up when the door opens, maggie and patrick together on the couch and finneas in the kitchen area. billie’s family adored you. truly, they all knew that there had never been anyone better for their daughter, and you were a part of the family.

"where'd you two disappear off to? we all got a little worried when you suddenly took off." maggie spoke, her warm smile on her face.

ÿou smiled softly, "we went down to a little cove by the beach, had a picnic. fucking freezing."

patrick let out a laugh, "ah, to be young and in love."

finneas turned around fully, leaning on the kitchen counter, “you guys make me want to throw up.”

scoffing, you spoke. “please, you can't talk. have you seen you and claudia?"

finneas rolled his eyes, “i hate you—” he didn’t hate you, of course. he adored you. he knew you made his sister happier than anyone else ever could, and that was more than enough for him. “i’m going to bed, y'all are annoying.”

it didn’t take long for the two of you to also head to bed—a small room at the back of the tour bus, which only really had a bed and some storage, but you and billie had made it feel cozy and as homey as you could. photos stuck up on the walls, fairy lights, the one potted plant that could survive the travel.

clothes shed to the floor—her eyes lingering on your body in a way that was simply appreciative, perhaps adoring. the two of you had your fair share of sexual intimacy, but tonight was not one of those nights. the two of you peeled off your slightly damp clothes, billie unable to stop her smile at the sight of you pulling on one of her oversized t-shirts.

before you knew it, the two of you were curled up under the blankets, limbs intertwined and her head resting on your chest, your fingers brushing through her hair soothingly. breathing synced, eyes shut, the two of you just lay together. you would be forever grateful that this was how all your nights ended, tangled up under the sheets with the girl you loved more than anything in the world.

nuzzling her face into the crook of your neck, billie’s lips gently brushed the skin of your collarbone where the t-shirt had slipped down ever so slightly. you breathed softly, not opening your eyes when you spoke.

“I wanna marry you one day,” your voice was barely audible—tentative, but not scared.

not missing a beat, billie hummed in sleepy agreement, while her lips curled into a smile against your skin. “mhm, one day you’re gonna be my wife.”

and just like you’d said you would, the two of you had returned to that cove.

around a year later, once you’d been home in los angeles for a few months, you’d suggested a holiday. a getaway from all the work things billie had going on, some time for just the two of you. billie had instantly brought up returning to new zealand, where the cove from that blissful evening a year ago had been.

so soon enough, the two of you had made your way there. new zealand was refreshing, in a way. it was as if billie wasn’t a celebrity, people would stare in awe for a second, perhaps approach her once, but then they’d move on with their days. it was the contrast you needed when you lived in los angeles, where billie only had to walk down a street with shark for two minutes to have the paparazzi in her face.

a year after that swim, a moment that you felt had been one of your favourites of your entire relationship with her. a year after those sleepy words, a year since the idea was seriously planted in billie’s head. a year later, the same cove, another sunset, another simple picnic.

it was straight out of a movie, the soft breeze, the painted sky, the image of the two of you sitting there together, your head resting on her shoulder.

it was like billie had planned it all out, the way you reached into the picnic basket for another piece of fruit, only for your hand to fall on a small box. you faltered slightly, pulling your hand from the basket and looking at the box in your hand for a long moment.

“open it.” billie’s gentle voice broke the silence.

and so you did. in the box sat a ring—a ring you could’ve sworn you’d mentioned to your best friend before. it wasn’t too extravagant, too flashy, it wasn’t a statement. it was just a gorgeous ring, one that you stared at in a trance for a long moment.

when you looked up, billie’s eyes were fixed on you. she had a slightly nervous look about her, and was fiddling with her hair, lips pursed slightly. still, she was smiling. a soft, small smile, eyes glued to you as she watched every single reaction you had to unboxing the ring she didn’t speak yet, letting you process the sight of the ring on your own. you could practically see the way her heart was racing, the way she was hoping with every fiber of her being that you'd say yes.

“will you–”

she didn’t need to finish her sentence, you already knew your answer, a smile lighting up your features as you stared at her for a second. you almost felt as though you were about to cry, and you reached out to take her hand that had been fidgeting with her hair.

“yeah. yeah, i will.”

୨ৎ tags: @47lake @st0nerlesb0 @n0vabug @darkside-0f-the-sun @asterisk-eyes @amara-eilish @dragoneyelashart @greenbttrflyy @bilswifee @tan1shere @asothinking @ilovealiceosemann @chrissv4mp @lovelyy-moonlight @b1lli3sgirl @giababyyyishereee @bitchesbrokenpromises @foliverfalls @cantlandonmyfeet

#୨ৎ lyd writes #billie eilish #billie eilish x reader #billie x reader #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish fic #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish x you

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ronearoundblindly · 2 days ago

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Cozy

platonic Bucky Barnes x Alpine!Reader Steve Rogers x shapeshifter!Reader

part of Companion Animal (see previous or series)

Summary: After months of 'knowing' Alpine, Steve and Bucky get to see, hear, and touch you, the real you, for the first time.

Warnings for subtlety and incomplete discussions. They're breezing over some of the deeper stuff since everyone is carefully trying to get to know each other. Forgive them their awkwardness...and my lack of editing. I stuck very close to my standard of "IT'S JUST CUTE, FLUFFY PUNS" which is likely a warning at this point. WC 1.3k

“You cold? Hungry? Thirsty?”

His forgiving, light hold anchors you in place like lead. Steve’s warmth is radiant, heavy without mass or malice. Somehow the weight of expectant words has you tongue-tied as he sits up at the ready.

He’s whispering a long list of possibilities. “I could get you some water. Or coffee? Or do you prefer tea? Have you eaten anything since yesterday?” He reaches for the untouched pile of clothes on the table, reminding you to tuck the blanket tighter around your chest. “I should have brought you clothes,” he mutters absently.

“And how would you—“ Bucky grunts and stretches his neck without opening his eyes yet “—pick out clothes for her?”

“I got a good enough look,” Steve says simply and instantly. “It’s…a skill from my stage days.” He shifts out from under your legs, blushing. “Dancers talk about their sizes all the time, so…let me get you that water, babygi—oh god, I’ve—I forgot your—”

Bucky snorts. “Know her bust and hip measurements but not her name, eh, punk? Oh yeah, you’ve got your priorities straight.”

“I’m just trying to be nice!”

“I need coffee,” Bucky groans, standing. “Guess I’m still the only one using their thumbs in this house.”

You playfully slap his leg, and Bucky jumps in faux hurt.

“Yikes, that’s worse than your angry-tail…Everyone want food? Great.”

“I can do it,” Steve rushes to help.

Perhaps because you’ve never spoken a word in this apartment, perhaps because they’ve never expected to hear you speak, perhaps because…they really, really want to make you some sort of drink in a human container, the men leave for the kitchen and continue to argue.

You look around at the bizarre and tiny difference in the room from your new perspective. The couch is large and deep but doesn’t swallow you whole anymore. The coffee table is not at a height you need to prepare for scaling. The plants are—still in need of water. Why can’t Bucky keep these things alive without you?!

Your fingers feel cramped, still clutching the blanket, so you scoop up the pile of clothing, wrap the throw around your back and skitter off to the bathroom, horrified to find there are bits of leaf stuck in your hair from last night. Once you see them, the grit smeared on your skin makes itself known, and you can’t imagine pulling borrowed clothing overtop this mess.

Fast as you can, you’re in the shower, scrubbing, willing yourself to finish using Bucky’s water and his shampoo and his soap, nervous about using resources you hadn’t before and never asked about and wouldn’t have needed one-tenth this amount of just yesterday.

You hum to soothe yourself. It’s why you purred even when Bucky wasn’t home. It never mattered before that you did. Then the humming becomes gentle singings. You thought you were still so quiet.

In total, no reasonable food could be completely cooked in the same stretch you were in the bathroom, but you exit to find both men staring from the other end of the hall.

Steve wears an expression of great admiration.

“You have a lovely voice,” he says with a smile.

Bucky frown, looking down at the sweats he gave you. “We should have let you go shopping, Stage Boy.”

“They’re great. It’s no big deal. I’m sorry to be a bother.”

Both of them step closer immediately at the first proper words they’ve ever heard from you.

“You’re not a bother, doll,” Bucky insists while Steve blurts, “you look great.”

Bucky flashes his pal ferocious side-eye, something you like to think you taught him over the last few months.

“Cozy,” Steve corrects. “You look cozy. It’s great that you’re cozy.”

All you can manage is a shrug and crossing your arms over your chest, maneuvering around the baggy shirt.

“Breakfast?”

The sizzling of something in a pan wafts to your less-sensitive ears, and the impulse to raise your head and sniff takes you by surprise. You’ll be doing that for days, at least, moving like a cat, and you wonder how stupid it must look to them.

You nod instead of reply and stalk toward the kitchen.

Bucky, however, does nod.

“Good girl,” he mutters, taking a sip of his coffee and stopping mid-swallow. The gulp is deafening. “Sorry…”

Nobody responds. All three of you exchange glances, but they aren’t familiar with your body language as you so Steve and Bucky just end up staring.

“You know what,” Bucky breaks the silence, “I’m gonna get my part of the debrief out of the way.” He chugs the rest of his mug. “You wanna check that, Steve—“ Bucky ticks his head to the growing aggression of the popping pan “—while I say ‘bye?’”

Steve, though clearly annoyed at the dismissal, steps away.

“You okay if he’s here? Would you rather be alone for a bit?” Bucky watches the last drops of coffee wriggle around.

“No, I…”

It’s weird to want so much from them and yet be so afraid of saying so. Yesterday, you could walk all over them, literally, and now treading on eggshells in the same room seems risky.

“How did you know my name?” you finally whisper.

“Well,” Bucky sighs, “I did think Alpine was a cat—your family cat—which you might come ‘round to find eventually. I kept the photo your father handed out, just in case, but…” and this part he goes very, very quiet for “…I’ve made people go missing. I know what it does to families. I want you to be happy here—or wherever,—it’s just—“

He looks over his shoulder at Steve.

You say it for him. “I can’t be cozy forever if I’m always running away.”

Bucky bites his lip. “Damn. Nat was right. You’re one smart lady.”

“With great hair,” you add on instinct.

His laugh is loud and unguarded.

Bucky plunks his mug down, grabs his keys, and turns to you at his dying chuckle.

“May I?” His arms open for a hug, and you press yourself in like you used to fall with your whole feline weight. Bucky nuzzles into your hair like he used to, too, giving your temple a kiss.

It feels normal though you’ve never felt it this way before.

“Don’t tease him too much,” Bucky warns, releasing you to stand straight. “He’s not usually this…No, he is always like this. Heart on his sleeve. He just wasn’t expecting, ya know, you.”

After a quick peek at this morning’s chef, you hold up your hands.

“No claws, I promise.”

Bucky reiterates that he’ll be back in a few hours. Steve yells a goodbye to his friend and makes his own promise to ‘take care of everything here.’

You creep up beside his spot at the stove.

Steve’s smiling. “And yes, I know that includes the poor plants.”

He watches as you struggle to say a deeply important thing, one you’ve meant to mention since last night even in the throws of shock and arguments. It’s stupid. It seems so stupid, but you have to tell him.

He’s so patient, carefully removing the pan from the heat and waiting.

“I…I don’t mind—I mean, I…like when you call me ‘babygirl.’”

You don’t get the boyish grin you expect. Steve’s smile turns subtle, a small gesture that swells into his body and makes his eyes light up.

His hand finds yours, his thumb petting your smooth skin.

“Okay, it’s time for breakfast, Babygirl, then I’ll water the plants.”

[Next Part???]

[Main Masterlist; Steve Rogers Series List; Bucky Barnes Masterlist]

A/N: This is...all I had strictly planned for this series, so I'm open to more though I've no clue what it would be... Still, I hope you enjoyed!

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