#which colour see when you close your eyes the answer is not black

[banglakhobor]

চোখ বন্ধ করলে কোন রং দেখা বা অনুভব করা যায়? উত্তর কালো নয়, তাহলে বলুন কোন রং

Which colour see when you close your eyes, the answer is not black: এই প্রতিবেদনে তেমনই একটি প্রশ্ন আপনাদের সামনে নিয়ে আসা হয়েছে। প্রশ্নটি হল আমরা চোখ বন্ধ করলে যে রঙ দেখি তার নাম কী? এর উত্তর কালো নয় তা আগেই জানিয়ে দেওয়া হল। Source link

[myfictionaldreams]

I have such a specific idea for poly marauders so please bare with me .

James and Sirius were out to a fancy party and they come home early to see reader and remus having sex in the kitchen , remus has her spread on the table while he fucks her and she arches her back and sees sirius through blurry vision and calls his name, remus doesn’t notice them so he thinks shes calling her other boyfriends name “ wrong boyfriend sweetheart “ so he fucks her harder until she calls his name “ there you go love”.

You could continue this however you would like Maybe james and Sirius join them. I also love the idea that after everything when they’re showering she reassure remus and says something like “ it’s hard to think of anything else when I’m around you , you’re all consuming “ and the boys agree THATS SO CUTE.

I’m so sorry that this is long and graphic.

Say My Name // Poly!Marauders x Fem!Reader

A/N: Whoever you are, anon, I thank you for giving me this request because, holy shit, it has turned me (and Remus) absolutely feral, and I have no regrets.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, fluff, werewolf troupes, feral remus lupin, dom/sub undertones, possessive sex, size difference/kink (!), praise kink, dirty talk, self-confidence issues, gentle touching/kissing, rough oral sex (f receiving), rough sex, overstimulation, table sex, manhandling, multiple orgasms, crying, body worship, anxiety attack (nearly), restraints, blindfold, begging, aftercare :)))

Words: 5.7k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

“You both look so damn handsome!” you admire dreamily with a thick lace of sarcasm as you tighten the burgundy scarf around Sirius’ neck. The mischievous glint in those twinkling grey eyes brightened as he rolled them in jest, matching the doting smirk on his full lips. “Maybe you should forgo the leather jackets more often for the waistcoats”, you say with a lustful undertone to your words as you look up at him through your lashes.

“Hmm, you think so?” he asks, dipping his height ever so slightly so that he could press his lips to yours in a surprisingly gentle kiss that still managed to pull desire in your abdomen as you leaned in for more but whined as he stood back to full height and straightened the waistcoat you loved so very much.

From behind you at the entrance to the bathroom, James was attempting to knot his bowtie when he wondered, “Are you sure you both don’t want to come with us? We each can have a plus one, which means there’s room for two. We don’t mind being fashionably late”. Glancing over your shoulder, you took in his slick attire that also caused warmth to bloom beneath your cheeks. A simple black jacket shaped perfectly for his slim waist, a crisp white shirt beneath and a matching shade of burgundy to Sirus was the colour for his tie.

The matching colours were an idea of Remus’, who was lounging across the mammoth bed, his long legs stretched out beneath him with one ankle crossed over the other. He watched James intently, the corner of his eye twitching at the messy-haired Marauder's attempts to tie his bowtie.

Remus stood and approached him, batting away James’ fingers as he began to do the job for him. You watched them fondly before answering the unanswered question. “No, it’s ok, James. Remus and I have a lovely night filled with a romantic home-cooked meal and a fancy bottle of wine. Who knows where the night may take us? Might end in some lovely… hand holding”, you say with a simple shrug to your shoulders, returning to straightening the already pristine waistcoat of Sirius.

“Oh yeah? Some strong hand-holding, Moony, is that what you’ve got planned? You might need to up your game”, Sirius jokes under his breath as he watches your fingers closely with a dipped head.

Remus snorted, smiling to himself, knowing that your night would be filled with anything but hand-holding, especially as the hours ticked closer to the following day. It was approaching the full moon, not tomorrow but the next day, but that didn’t matter as the changes were already beginning to affect Remus, and it all started with his desire for possession.

The wolf in Remus took a keen liking to you, even from all those years ago when you met the Marauders on the train to Hogwarts. It was an obsession, a need that devoured him completely to be with you. It had been described to you like a mating. Remus’ wolf thought you were his mate; therefore, as the gap between Remus’ and the wolf’s mind thinned with the full moon, the desire would take hold of Remus. There was still the deep, adoring love that he held for James and Sirius, and thankfully, this stopped him from ever deeming them a threat against your love, but others? Well, that’s where the danger lay, and therefore, it was easier for everyone if you and Remus stayed in for the night rather than have a territorial wizard with werewolf anger in a room full of people.

“Remember to please be safe out there tonight. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, and for the love of Merlin, James, please don’t drink and fly again. I’m not having another incident like last time”.

“Yes, Mum”, James grumbles sarcastically as Sirius chuckles under his breath.

“I’ll make sure that Prongs is on his best behaviour”, Sirius reasons with you as his hands come to rest around your waist, pulling you ever so gently closer.

“Good”, you say promptly, whilst curling a piece of his long hair around your fingers before reaching up to kiss his lips with a fierce press. “You look so handsome tonight,” you try to praise him as your mouths are still kissing together.

“Don’t I always?” he responds cheekily, earning a half-hearted eye-roll as he eases away, swapping places with James so that he can say goodbye to Remus and James with you.

Your fingers automatically try to tangle through James’ hair, attempting to flatten out the messy strands, but after a couple of minutes of attempts, James tugs you by your wrists. “I don’t know why you even bother; you know my hair will just stay messy. Anyway, doesn’t it add to my roguish good looks?” he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively as he gives you a broad grin whilst kissing each of your palms.

Your fingers cup his freshly shaved cheeks, caressing the smooth skin as you say, “I hope you have fun tonight”, whilst leaning up on your tiptoes to kiss him with as much vigour as you could hear from the groans across the room with Sirius and Remus.

James sighed into the kiss, one hand matching yours by resting along your cheek and the other on your lower back as his lips pecked across your face until hovering next to your ear. “If you need us to come back, just send a note as we taught you; two flicks of your fingers and it should disappear, and we’ll come back straight away”.

Nodding your head in understanding, James kissed your cheek quickly before standing up to his full height and looking over at the other two men. “Sirius, take your tongue from Moony’s mouth; we must go!”

You tried to stifle your laughter as the two men pulled away from each other with rosy cheeks and wet lips.

Sirius and James disappeared with a flurry of green fire through the flu network installed in your shared home's kitchen. Remus turned to you with a heartwarming smile as he asked, “Shall we put some music on and start with dinner, love?”

You left it in Remus’ capable hands to find suitable music on his record player, and it ended up being a medley of David Bowie, which you were always happy to listen to. The two of you worked in unison to cook a beautiful roast dinner, moving around one another without getting in the way but making sure to remain at arm's length. Lingering touches to arms or backs, sipping slowly on the bottle of wine as Remus sang along to Bowie under his breath. You’d told him he could sing louder as you wanted to hear him, but he simply smiled and kissed your cheek, like he was embarrassed at being caught, but it was a rare day where Remus Lupin was embarrassed about anything.

The dinner was beautifully cooked, and there was enough for many more people than just you and Remus. Soon enough, you were stuffed full, thankful for deciding to wear a loose dress today with your expanded stomach. Remus was still eating as you sat and slowly digested your food, talking idly about fond memories from Hogwarts and how your work had been this week. Just anything domestically happy that the two of you could as you shifted closer in your seat so that his large scarred palm could rest on your thigh and your fingers interlock over the back of his hands.

“It’s a rare time when it gets to be just the two of us”, Remus muses, his hand squeezing your fingers and thighs as he pushes away his empty plate, his eyes solely focused on you.

“It’s been nice. As much as I love having all four of us together, sometimes it’s hard to keep up and give each of you all my attention, so when it's just one-on-one, it feels so intimate, wouldn’t you agree?”

His eyes softened as he nodded, “I definitely agree. You look so beautiful tonight, by the way. Have I told you that?”

Warmth filled your cheeks as you looked away to the glass of wine in your other hand. Even after all these years, one small compliment from Remus felt like the world, and it wasn’t the first time he had said that tonight; he’d said it every other sentence, but that didn’t hinder the giddy feeling from spreading in your chest.

“You, Mr Lupin, are a smooth talker”, you say, drinking a sip of your wine, ignoring his growing smile. Placing the glass onto the table, you shifted closer to Remus, resting a hand on his chest as you realised how much time had passed over the night. “So pudding, what would you like? I think we have some ice cream in the freezer, or if you’re lucky, James would have left us a couple of slices of his mum’s cake from yesterday”.

Remus didn’t answer immediately as you realised he was just silently watching you with the beautiful twinkle back in his eye, a curve to his lips that you itched to caress with your thumb. But then, he shifted forward in his seat so you were only mere inches from your faces touching, and the soft flop of his mousey brown hair fell into his eyes. “You’re so pretty, Remus”, you admire and then hold back a giggle as his cheeks flare with colour at your compliment.

“Pretty and scarred”, he muttered in response, cupping your wrist and bringing your fingers to his lips so he could kiss them carefully.

Your automatic response was to shout at him. It wasn’t that he had said anything remotely negative, but you knew the self-conscious thoughts that laced his words that he rarely spoke but still thought. You wanted to remind him of the hundreds of times he had ever scolded you for making negative comments about yourself or any self-doubt. Still, if you did, you knew it would ruin the positive mood for the night, so you wanted to continue with words of affirmation.

Closing the gap between each other, you kissed the tip of his nose whilst cupping both cheeks, paying specific attention to the thick pink scar that ran down from his temple, over his brow and his cheek. “I love you, scars and all”.

Remus’ tension seemed to ease from his shoulders as he breathed lightly out of his nose, his face lowering to rest on your shoulder as you held him for a moment before he began to stand and offered a hand, “What about a dance m’lady, then I’ll find you something sweet to suck on for desert”.

Ignoring the innuendo, you grinned up at him, placing your hand into his much larger palm. James and Sirius had lessons growing up from their families on how to dance for special balls they were forced to attend. You and Remus, on the other hand, were utterly clueless, but this only added to the joy and laughter as you both clumsily tried not to step on the other's toes or twirl without knocking into furniture.

You’d laughed so hard that a stitch formed in your side, causing the vivid dance to settle into a light sway. Your head rested on Remus's shoulder as his cheek pressed against the top of your head, arms around your shoulder as he lightly sang the next Bowie song.

Everything was perfect, especially as his rough fingertips danced up the nape of your neck, carefully tipping your head back so that you were now staring up into his kind eyes, his lips no longer moving along to the lyrics as he licked them carefully, moistening them before dipping his head. The kiss was as gentle as his hands now cupping your face, and you wondered for a moment if you were lightheaded from holding your breath in anticipation or from the effects of having your boyfriend kissing you.

Remus was soft, lovely and perfect as he eased away to put a gap between your mouths, but only so that he could adjust his position by keeping one hand on your jaw and the other around your waist before taking your breath away once more. Instantly, your body rose to the tips of your toes to be closer to him and firm the kiss.

The breath you’d both been holding released, noses pressing into each other's cheeks as the warm air tickled your ears. His tongue teased the seam of your lips, and as you relaxed into the kiss, many things seemed to happen at once.

The grandfather clock in the living room chimed midnight, and the soft Remus you’d been carefully kissing and exploring with your lips was now firmly gripping the back of your thighs, lifting you whilst simultaneously stepping towards the table as you squealed in shock, desperately gripping his shoulders for support.

Plates and glasses smashed onto the floor as Remus shoved aside the lovely table setting so that there was a firm blank canvas for you to be led on.

“Woah, Remus, just give me a minute.” You try to reason with him to at least get your bearings. Having been standing up two seconds ago, you were now led on your back with your boyfriend having become frantic with his actions. His shoulders shook with restraint, and his eyes didn’t lift from the edge of your skirt as he reached for the material. Not only this, but the brightness in his eyes had one, replaced with sinful hunger.

“Need you-” he muttered with a gruffness that hadn’t been there moments ago.

This was why you’d decided to stay in. Sometimes, Remus would curl around your body with the need to simply just breathe you in and declare that you were his; he’d become somewhat feral.

The fire in your body scorched to life as the need seeped into your core. As lovely as it had been, seeing him like this just did something to you. You wanted him just as desperately.

Frantically, you tried to help him lift up your skirt, but he was in control, pushing the material and tearing it in places with his firm grip until your legs and underwear-covered pussy were revealed. For a moment, it looked like he was going to dribble as you tried to reach for him to tell him to take a breath and compose himself, but all you were able to do audibly was scream out, head tipping back as Remus devoured you.

The Marauder hadn’t even waited for your underwear to be removed before his mouth was on you, hands not-so-gently wrapping around your thighs to push your legs apart, the slippers you’d been wearing now flying off in different directions across the kitchen. It was like he’d not eaten a single thing all night with the way his lips and jaw moved against your most sensitive of areas.

The sensation was odd with the barrier of cotton in between your cunt and his mouth. All you had was the pressure, wetness beginning to soak through from his tongue and the overwhelming heat from his mouth. Remus moved hungrily, licking and caressing with his mouth as you lay with your arms gripping onto the edge of the table above your head.

“Rem-Remus! Merlin, please don’t stop!” you begged desperately, allowing your body to succumb to his touch. You couldn’t even open your eyes without feeling dizzy with the sensations of his body all over your lower half as he pressed his tongue firmly against your throbbing clit, circling it with intention.

The hands on your thighs pushed harder, giving his face more room as a deep groan burned from his chest as he needed more. Still, as you whimpered from him to not stop, he stayed in place, stimulating your clit over and over again until your body was tensing with the pulses of desire from your cunt as your orgasm erupted.

His motions continued through the waves of pleasure, and even after, he carried on with his devouring, even as you verged on the edge of becoming overstimulated from the rough material of your panties rubbing against your delicate area. Remus needed more, and he was ready to take it.

The pressure on the back of your thighs suddenly disappears as he drapes your legs over his shoulders, giving you a better angle now to reach down and run your shaky fingers through his soft hair.

With your eyes firmly closed, you hadn’t noticed that your underwear had been torn clean from your body, only noticing when there was no barrier between what you both wanted. Your back arched from the stimulation of him sucking on your bundle of nerves, making an obscenely wet noise as your juices and his saliva caused a heavenly mess. 

Your legs had begun squeezing his face as you weren’t able to control your body, but he didn’t stop; he just simply continued to eat your pretty cunt. “Please….please Remus”, you continued to beg but unsure of what as you were thoroughly warm head to toe with the effects from your last orgasm, but his playful mouth knew just the right ways to keep you at the elevated bliss.

The thickness of his tongue pressed against your throbbing hole, delving as deep as he could go before curling it and exploring the warm softness of your cunt as the tip of his nose stimulated your clit.

It was intense, primarily as his large hands now rested on your abdomen, pushing down and forcing your hips to remain against the table so that he could remain in complete control of the stimulation to your body.

Clenching relentlessly around his tongue, your body couldn’t tell if it was calming down from an orgasm or having another. The overwhelming sensation caused tears to well in your eyes as the apples of your cheeks burned with heat. Everything was too much; even the clothes covering your torso felt claustrophobic as your nipples ached to be free.

“Ah!” you babbled, unable to even say his name as more intense waves of pleasure rocked from your cunt as it pulsed around his tongue. The tears escaped down your cheeks as you tried to gasp for air, your body finally slumping in exhaustion against the table as Remus began to stand from where he’d been on his knees for you.

Each of your legs was carefully eased from his shoulders to dangle off the edge of the wooden surface, not that you could keep them up anyway, as your entire body felt as if it was made of jelly.

“Did so good for me, Love. Taste so fucking good, wanna try?” he asked from where he now looked down at you, hovering only inches away from your face as his fingers wiped away the evidence of the tears. You nod quickly, opening your eyes for a split second to see Remus’ dark eyes and swollen, wet lips before they were pressing against yours, his tongue pushing into your mouth and allowing you the vulgar opportunity to taste your own juices from his mouth.

“My pretty girl tastes so good”, he admired, staring down at you, memorising every flicker of emotions on your face. You mewled at the compliment, nuzzling your face pathetically into his palm as he cradled your face. “What do you want? I want to hear you say it”.

His tone indicated that he was teasing, which was a rare attribute for Remus as he usually just liked to do whatever he had in mind, but when he was like this, wishing to get the very most from you as his werewolf subconscious began to flicker through his thoughts.

“You, I want you. Please!” you stress whilst trying to look up at him, fingers trembling at your side with the need to touch him somehow.

The corners of Remus’ lips tilted up as he smiled down at you, “Have I ever told you how much I love to hear you beg?”

Before you could respond, you were gasping as coolness licked over your chest as he’d swiped his wand down the centre of your clothing until it was falling off of your shoulders, and your body could be free from the confines. His eyes lowered, focused on your pebbled nipples as they begged for him to be touched, but he didn’t rush to them.

Instead, Remus began the long journey of exploring the rest of your body with firm kisses and licking with the flat of his tongue. He paid special attention to your neck, as he always did this close to the full moon as his sharp teeth grazed over your pulse point, the animalistic side of his begging to bite down and mark his girl, but he restrained, knowing it would be painful for you. The last time he’d done so, he’d had a right bollocking off of James and Sirius, who prattled on about how you weren’t his chew toy, even though you had insisted that it was ok.

Moving lower, Remus worshipped your breasts. He was licking the skin around the areola before drawing your nipple and some breast tissue into his mouth, sucking with enough force that the area swelled with the rush of blood. The fire in your core intensified as you gained enough energy to lift your hands and grip his shirt.

“I need you, Remus, please stop teasing me”, you beg, but all that earned in response was an approved grunt.

“Relax, and just let me kiss you”, he sniped with desire as you wanted to sass back but found yourself melting into the table instead. Each inch of your stomach, hips, legs, arms, everywhere he could reach in this position, he praised with his mouth until he was once again hovering above your lips. “All I can think about is you”, he admitted, his tone caught between hunger and pain as his thoughts were becoming too clouded by the wolf’s desire to be close to you.

Your fingers combed through his hair as you tried to sound as calming as possible, “I know, Remus, it’s ok. I’m right here. Take me”.

A shiver ran down his spine as he finally began to unbuckle his trousers, freeing his cock between your bodies as he rested on his elbows on either side of your face so that his face could nuzzle into your neck.

You took the honours of reaching between your legs, grasping his impressively hard cock, admiring the soft skin and veins that bulged as you pulled him closer to where you needed him most.

“Tell me you’re mine”, he begged as you directed his tip to your soaked hole.

Tilting your head so that you could kiss his cheek, you implored, “I’m yours Remus - FUCK!”

All you could do was curse and cling to him as, with one powerful thrust, the majority of his cock stretched into your pussy. You could never take his entire length unless it were through anal play, but that didn’t stop him trying as the pressure became overwhelming as he nudged against your cervix.

Your thighs trembled once more as he gave you time to adjust, sighing blissfully against your neck as if he had finally found what it was that he was looking for. However, as your cunt frantically fluttered around Remus as you adjusted to the intrusion, Remus began to rut his hips in short, snapping thrusts slowly.

You groaned at the sensation and found your hips meeting his until all restraint was gone, and Remus was fucking you hard and fast.

Pushing up on his hands so that he was looking down at you, Remus fucked you hard. The table beneath you groaned just as loudly as you were as it rocked against the floor, and for a split second, you hoped it wouldn’t suddenly collapse beneath you two.

Remus suddenly moved as if hearing your thoughts, widening his stance as he stood to his full height, hands on your thighs and bringing your body to the very edge of the table. In this position, he could fuck you with quick snaps of his hips. Your back arched in this new position, pleasure pouring into your soul.

However, a noise over the sound of the fucking caught your attention as the fire flickered with green flames, and you couldn’t help but gasp, “Sirius!” as he stepped out of the fire, followed closely by James.

Remus, still with his head hunched slightly from where he was watching you intently, growled at the name used, his gaze hardening on you as he leaned back until you looked into each other's eyes. “Wrong name, Sweetheart”, he demanded lowly, fucking into you with as power as he could, causing you to cry out and tense with the pleasure. “I only want my name coming out of your mouth, do you understand?”

“Yes, Remus! I’m sorry!” you plead with him as he fucks you harder.

“There you go, Love. See, it wasn’t so difficult, was it?” As he talks, he lifts his hands and covers your eyes so you can no longer look at Sirius or James as you’re plunged into darkness.

“Don’t be too hard on her, Moony”, James teases from somewhere across the room as you hear him and Sirius shuffling around but are unable to see what they are doing.

Remus grunts but doesn’t stop with his motions, making sure that your next orgasm is just as overwhelming and powerful as the others as your cunt clung to him for dear life, attempting to milk his balls with the powerful clenches but he didn’t stop fucking you all the way through your orgasm.

Having his hand over your eyes was a disorientating position to be in, especially as he would every so often kiss your cheek or neck, savouring your soft skin before moving away so that his momentum could continue.

A hiss echoed across the room from wherever your other two boyfriends currently were, and as another whimper sounded from what you assumed was Sirius, Remus then decided it would be a good time to completely pull out of your pussy, leaving you gaping and empty.

Before you could moan, more disorientation flowed through you as his hand was removed from your face, and your body was being manhandled so that you were now being turned over on the table until your front was pressed against the wood. With a gentle kick to your ankle, Remus made room between your legs for himself and fucked into you. He was even deeper in this angle, which you didn’t think was possible as his chest pressed against your back.

His and didn’t return to your face, allowing you to look at your other lovers. Sirius was currently sitting on James’ lap, both of their fancy clothes more dishevelled from earlier as the bowtie and scarf were off and the top buttons were undone. They stared intently at you and Remus as they touched one another. James was kissing the column of Sirius’ neck whilst his hands groped at the bulge at the front of his trousers. At the same time, Sirius was grinding his hips down on James, who you assumed had a matching bulge that was rubbing against Sirius’ arse.

“You’re mine, Love. Aren’t you? My pretty girl”, Remus whispered with deep penetrations of his cock into your cunt.

“Yes! I’m yours, Remus! You’re so deep”, you proclaim with a cry as you find yourself already wanting to peak and cum over his thick dick again. However, Remus knew you just as well as you knew yourself and could feel the tightening of your soft walls and stopped all thrusting as you sobbed with the beautiful feeling washing away.

His hand eased beneath your face, holding your jaw and forcing your sight away from your boyfriend's until it was tilted to look over your shoulder at Remus. “You only get to cum after them”, he demands before nipping your ear love with a sharp tug of his teeth.

“Moony, you really are tense, aren’t you” Sirius jokes breathlessly as he moves more eagerly against James, whose hand is now fully inside of his boyfriend's trousers, wanking him off in time with the movements.

Thankfully it didn’t take them long to cum, Sirius first with his head thrown back and trousers staining a dark colour in a little puddle. James then rutted up into Sirius a few minutes later, groaning and stilling his movements. Both breathed each other in deeply, lazily kissing and holding onto one another until your sudden gasp echoed around the room as Remus continued with his fucking.

Your head moved to drop onto the table as you accepted the fucking, but Remus’ hand remained beneath, cushioning your face from the hardness of the wooden table as his lips moved to the junction between your throat and shoulder.

With each thrust, Remus repeatedly grunted the possessive word, “Mine!” until it was all you could think about. Your orgasm nearly caused you to pass out with its intensity. Juices streamed from your cunt, dripping down your thighs as waves of clenching pleasure constricted around Remus’ cock until he was forcing as much of himself as he could into you, and thick seed spurted into you. The warmth was welcomed as it soothed your pussy from the inside out as it began to trickle down your thighs, mixing with your own juices.

You were half aware of your movements, more concerned with the fact that you couldn’t control the tremble and sobs as Remus pressed himself harder over your back, making you feel grounded and safe.

“Shh. Slowly breathe in and out for me. That’s it. Slowly breathe for me again, keep going, well done”, Remus encouraged for some time as you’d been close to a panic attack with the overstimulation, close to tipping into the submissive headspace that would have taken them a lot longer to draw you out of.

“It’s just… a lot”, you say shakily, eyes closed and absorbing every warmth he was willing to give you”.

“I know, I’ve got you. I’ve always got you”, he reassured calmly.

You’re exhausted, ready to fall asleep right there on the kitchen table as you whisper, “I wanna go to sleep”.

Remus kissed your naked shoulder, “After we clean you up, ok, Love?”

As Remus begins to stand, his half-hard cock slipping out of your well-used hole with a slurp and shudder from both of you, did James finally step forward whilst readjusting his softening cock in his trousers.

Squatting down next to you, his fingers tentatively caressed your cheek while keeping an eye on Remus behind you to ensure the action wouldn’t trigger him somehow. “You alright there?” James asked softly.

“Mmhm. Just a little sleepy”, you say whilst closing your eyes at the ticklish touch on your face.

Sirius stepped forward from behind James, raising his wand and pointing it to the destroyed rest of the kitchen mess, “I’ll clean up here, you guys look after her, and I’ll join you in the bathroom”.

Remus had to carry you to the bathroom as liquid drips flooded out of you and marked the direction you had been giving Sirius more to clean up. As this house was altered for the four of you, the shower was wide enough to provide you with Remus and James plenty of room to wash together.

You attempted to stand up on your own but ended up leaning heavily on Remus as James washed the remnants of the fucking from your body was skilled, careful fingers.

“You know I didn’t mean to say the wrong name, right? I just didn’t expect to see them standing there and-” you begin to explain with Remus, worried he’d been upset by you saying Sirius’s name earlier.

However, his lips quickly cut you off with a simple peck, “I know”.

Kissing his cheek several times, you mumbled against his skin, “It’s hard to think of anything else when I’m around you. You’re all consuming, Remus”.

Against your lips, you feel the heat radiating off of him in a quick burst of rare embarrassment as he actually blushed at your words.

“She’s right, Moony. Without you, there is no us without you”, James quips in a rare statement of sincerity.

A cough from the bathroom door catches all your attention as Sirius casually leans against the door frame, cheeks round with roast potato as he joins in with the Remus praising. “There’s a reason why we all argue every night to see who gets to be spooned by the magnificent Remus Lupin”.

Three of you chuckled before you asked, “Are you eating my leftovers?”

“What?” he says with a shrug, stepping further into the room and beginning to take off his clothing at last. “The food was scarce at the party, and Moony’s roasties are always so fucking good”.

You nod in agreement before looking up at Remus once more, who looks quite proud of himself for the flow of compliments coming his way. However, as you attempted to lean up onto your tip toes again to kiss his handsome face in some way, your knees decided they were finished holding up your way as you nearly collapsed to the floor, only stopping because of his strong arms wrapping around your waist.

“As much as I appreciate this little pep talk, I think we need to get someone to bed”.

Remus lay in the centre of the bed, where he rightfully deserved to be tonight with you on top of him, face resting on his chest and legs on either side of his hips as each of your hands held his. Sirius and James joined later, deciding they needed some extra alone time in the shower together, as the dry humping hadn’t entirely filled that horny spot for either of them.

You were asleep by the time both men crept into bed, resting either side of you and Remus with arms spooning around your back as the three shared a kiss goodnight. “How was your night?” Remus asked, looking between James and Sirius. “You’re both sober, so I’m assuming no mischief?”

“Oh, Moony, like we need alcohol to cause a riot. Why do you think we’re back so early?” Sirius declares whilst flicking out the laugh and curling in closer to the warmth of bodies as Remus chuckles into the darkness.

[ch0k3herwithaseaview]

@jegulus-microfic | march 13 glare | words: 473

"JAMES FLEAMONT POTTER!" He could hear Sirius shouting from behind a closed door. After six years with this drama queen in one room, James got used to it. His best friend probably found out about Lily and Pandora and wants to make it look like a groundbreaking discovery.

As soon as the door to their dormitory opened, James set up a little straighter on his bed. "Hello, my favourite star," he said cheerfully.

The glare Sirius gave him caught him off guard. "Oh, am I now?" the shorter boy growled lowly. Behind him, James could see Remus and Peter looking like they were going to die from holding back their laughter.

"I'm confused. What's going on?" He adjusted his glasses nervously. He had an idea what it might be about, but he begged whoever was listening that it wasn't that.

In two fast strides, Sirius stood at the foot of his bed, grabbing the bedposts as if to break them. "Am I your favourite star?" the black-haired boy asked angrily. The two others gave in and started laughing hysterically from the door. Sirius didn't even give them a glance.

"Yes?" James answered, almost certain what was it about.

His best friend leaned towards him and, through gritted teeth, said, "I thought it would be my baby brother since you're apparently fucking him," which made James' eyes widen and his skin lose all its golden colour.

Oh, fuck.

They were very careful. How did he find out? And don't get them wrong, they were going to tell Sirius about their relationship; they really were, but they wanted to wait until Christmas to do it in the safety of their home.

"How- Who-?"

"Remus. Now, I'll give you a head start," Sirius said, and he immediately started counting from five. James ran out of the dormitory and across the common room as fast as he could. In a matter of seconds, he was in the corridor, sprinting to the nearest secret passage. He could hear the other boy close behind him, screaming something about incest and James being a brotherfucker.

Meanwhile, in their dormitory, none other than Regulus Black came out of the closet. He sat there for about an hour and a half, waiting to see what Remus had come up with in revenge for the latest prank he and James had pulled on him (yes, he was in on it now, but he did it out of love, so don't judge him). This idea was shit, honestly: James would simply be afraid to sleep in his own bed, and Regulus would face an irritating scolding from his brother. Nothing impressive.

When he dusted off his jumper and his boyfriend's roommates finally noticed him, their jaws went slack.

"Well," Remus started, after a minute of just looking at Regulus, "that would explain the reaction."

[borathae]

↳ Index [Day 14 - Role Playing]

Pairing: Good Boy!JK + Mommy Dom!Reader

Genre: married life!AU, for the sake of the role play: forbidden love!AU, CEO!Reader, prostitute!Jungkook

Kinks: the trope of subby boy totally enthralled by his Domme, sex worker role play, sugar Mommy roleplay, he calls her both Mistress & Mommy, exhibitionism, handjob & blowjob in the car to the hotel room, he is so whiney and subby and pretty as she does it, orgasm control, cock rings, bondage gear which is also used later on, handjob in the hotel room, temperature play with ice cubes, slight food play, masochist!Jungkook, praise, nipple play, mirror sex, subby boy tears, suit kink (she wears the suit), creampie, passionate sex in Amazon Position with his hands tied to his legs, possessive talk, he is THE subby boy, loving & giggly aftercare, they're so in loVE!!!!

Wordcount: 7.4k

a/n: this is based on these two asks 💛 i love him so much holy fuck the drink feeding part ruined me KFADKSF actually everything about this ruined me, you have no idea. he is quite frankly, my ideal subby boy and i might need to leave this earth to go touch some alien grass or smth

Jungkook was told to wait at the usual spot. He arrived earlier tonight, so he has been pacing, asking himself whether or not you would come. You never stood him up before, but there is a first for everything. 

A few people pass him, paying him no mind. They would look at him weird if they knew what he was wearing under his oversized clothes. It was a dark gray matching set of baggy pants and a baggy t-shirt, hiding bondage gear under it. The harness was black in colour and made of the finest leather. It doesn’t hurt nor pinch, but Jungkook definitely feels it when he moves. 

He checks the time again. You should be here any second now. He feels a little breathless at the aspect. He can’t wait to see you. He knows that someone in his position has no right to feel this way, but he can’t help himself. You always treat him right, making sure that he leaves each session lightheaded. Sometimes Jungkook wonders if he should even feel this way as someone who gets paid to have sex with you, but he does. That’s what he is. Someone whose job is sex. He gets a call or a text telling him to wait here and there with the aspect of having to perform sexual activities for the person contacting him. There are a few he doesn’t answer anymore when they contact him and there are such he wishes they would contact him each night. Quite frankly, you are the only one he has such wishes for. It was purely professional at first, but then your gentle nature and immense sexual talent made him develop feelings for you. When he got the text tonight, Jungkook almost screamed in happiness. 

His excitement grows at the view of your sports car rolling up to him. He tries not, but still ends up bouncing on his tiptoes as he waves at you with a big grin. He can’t help himself. He is so, so excited.

The car you are driving is black and imported from Europe. It stops in front of him and the passenger window rolls down. 

“Hi, how are you?” he greets you cheerfully.

“Good. Get in”, you order, leaning over to unlock the passenger door.

Jungkook gets inside, holding his breath as you reach over his body to get the seatbelt. He squeezes his thighs together, gazing at your face. Your arm brushes against his chest, making his skin feel charged. Your scent so close is making his racing heart flutter.

The seatbelt clicks in place, you fumble with it a little to check its tightness. Once you are happy with it, you place your hand on his thigh, connecting your lips with the side of his neck in a long, sensual kiss. Jungkook sighs, closing his eyes and parting his lips. His fingers instinctively grasp your hand, his hips roll up against nothing.

You end the kiss by sucking a slight mark on his skin, purring happily. 

“I missed your scent this week”, you rasp, inhaling him greedily. 

Jungkook moans, fucking the air again. He already feels lightheaded and it has only been seconds with you. 

“Fuck, that’s what I needed”, you purr and sit up. You abandon his thigh for the sake of grasping his chin gently, forcing his eyes to meet yours. “You look pretty tonight.”

“Thank, thank you” he barely gets out in a croaky whisper, feeling starstruck. 

You give him a faint smile and slip your hand away, gripping the gear stick instead to shift it into the right position. The car drives off smoothly. You keep both hands on the steering wheel until you successfully merged back into traffic, then slip your right onto Jungkook’s thigh. 

He inhales sharply, squirming on the seat. 

“How was your week?” you ask him, rubbing mindless circles into his skin. Jungkook dedicates one more part of his soul to you with each circle.

“Good.”

“Yeah? Had lots of work?” 

“I tried not to book too many.”

“No? Why not?”

“Because I knew you would call. I wanted to save myself.”

You scoff in surprise, “hah.” You tongue your cheek and glance at him briefly. “Tch”, the chuckle starts as a scoff. You turn on the radio and touch his thigh again. “You should be careful with the words you’re saying.”

The music you are playing is laced with the taste of sex. You definitely chose it on purpose.

Jungkook shifts needily, finding it difficult to breathe normally. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, sweetheart. I’m not the one who’ll end up crying tonight.”

Jungkook touches your hand. It was so needy in nature, drawing a knowing smirk onto your painted lips. 

You are wearing a suit and tie like always when you pick him up. The suit is grey tonight and you matched a white button up and a dark grey tie with it. The waistcoat is made of the same material as the suit, hugging your curves. You wear your hair in a professional manner and put makeup on. Jungkook is very attracted to you when you look like this. The amount of power and influence you exude makes him want to kiss every footstep you leave. 

You slip your hand to his thigh again. You are currently standing at a red light. There are cars all around you, painting your faces is a mixture of red and white lights. Jungkook spots the sparkles of diamond earrings in the light.

“Are you wearing the harness I told you to wear?” you ask him, rubbing his thigh back and forth. Jungkook tingles each time your hand brushes over his inner thigh.

“Yes, I am.”

“Show me.”

Jungkook glances around himself. You, who feels his hesitation, look at him.

“Go on. What are you waiting for?” you stress him. 

With a fluctuating pulse, Jungkook lifts the shirt over his torso, aware of the cars around you. 

“Mhm, how pretty”, you say dryly. “Good. Hide it again. We don’t want others to see what I pay for.” 

Jungkook makes sure that the shirt is tugged down neatly. His eyes meet yours. You are expecting something from him.

“Well go ahead, will you?”

“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry”, he stammers and lifts his hips to pull down his pants, exposing the fact that he is wearing no briefs. His slightly hardened cock carries a cockring on its base. Glimpses of more gear going down his legs can be seen. 

“There we go. It wasn’t that hard. Get dressed.”

He obeys quickly, sitting back down with a way heavier cock than before. You are already fucking him without having to do anything. Jungkook is so deeply under your spell.

The traffic continues. You drive off, switching lanes after a while. It will take you around ten minutes to get to the hotel. 

You bury your hand in his pants and take a hold of his cock. 

“A-ah”, Jungkook lets out in honest surprise, gripping the edge of the seat as his entire butt lifts off the seat in a needy thrust.

“You know the rules”, you tell him and then no more words leave your lips. 

The only noises are the city around you. Other cars, your own car, the music on the radio. They fill the silence you create. Jungkook helps as well; in breathy gasps and shy whimpers he fills the car together with the slick sound of your hand jerking him off. 

Your eyes are glued to the traffic, you tap your unoccupied hand on the steering wheel to the music. It is as if you were completely unaffected by the situation and you definitely want to give off this vibe. 

Jungkook can’t mirror your state. He is done for. Your hand knows his cock so well, touching him exactly where it feels the best. He goes from soft to rapidly hard from only a few strokes, meeting your touch in needy thrusts.

Truly the contrast is way too delicious. You, completely stoic and calm as you steer through traffic and Jungkook, utterly ruined and panting with shaky legs as he completely forgets that traffic might actually see him. 

You stop at a red light again. Only two more to go before the hotel. You look at him. 

His head is thrown back, his mouth agape and his eyes closed. What a beautifully arousing sight to see. 

You tug his cock out of his pants and use the moment of wait to steal a taste. You sink him in completely, purring around him. 

Jungkook moans. There is no way in hell he would have stayed quiet. Not when you bury him in your tight throat and send vibrations through him with your voice. 

Two more purrs then you slip off, sucking on him hungrily the entire time.

Blop.

You slipped off, licking your lips as you straighten back up. Jungkook whimpers, chasing you with a sloppy cock and throbbing balls. He is leaking so much precum, base stretching out the rubber cockring.

The red light switches. You drive off, playing with his precum by rubbing his cockhead with your thumb. Jungkook is almost louder than the music at this point, head now resting on the spot between the seat and the window and back arched. 

You don’t acknowledge him, steering your car with one hand. You have to switch lanes one more time and then you are already where you need to be. You do so calmly and safely all while your hand closes around his tip again to jerk it. Quickly, as if you were vibrating around him. Jungkook’s legs begin shaking, he drags out his moans, squeezing his eyes shut to the point they crinkle. 

The car rolls to stop again. The red light, the last one before you take the driveway to the hotel. You lean over and sink him back into your mouth, slurping deliciously as you move your tongue as best as possible.

“Mistress!” Jungkook wails, reaching up to twist the seatbelt. His other hand grips the head rest, dimpling it deeply. He is mewling so much, throbbing in your mouth constantly while you messy him with sloppy oral. 

You moan and purr deeply, enjoying every second of his cock, every fucking inch. You swallow him to the base, crying no tears nor feeling the need to gag because you stopped having such reactions years ago because in reality, your lives were flipped once. 

This right here, tonight, is nothing but pretend between a loving married couple. Jungkook has never been a sexworker before nor was he ever paid to have sex with someone. You have no interest in being a CEO nor for you to pay him for sex. In reality, you were once the one he paid after a long day of being CEO until you fell in love and started a life together. One thing however will always be true. Your roles of power. Jungkook will always be your sub while you will always be his Domme. Even in this roleplay tonight. You are both so into it that it feels real. Right now Jungkook is the prostitute who should be used to blowjobs but who is currently losing his control while you are the hungry CEO needy for the taste of her favourite prostitute. You can’t get enough of him, but alas the traffic continues. 

You slip off messily, letting your strings of saliva slap down his cock. You pick them up with your hand, using their slick to jerk off his cock. Jungkook barely wants to stay in his seat, pressing himself into the door wall.

“Mo-ommy ple-please”, he sobs, scrunching his face. He lets out the most devastating noises afterwards, twisting the seatbelt.

You ignore him, ogling the hotel in the near distance. You are so turned on. It’s difficult to drive at this point because of it. Jungkook turns you on so much. His noises are like ecstasy to you. 

“Pl-uh-ease”, he wails and fucks your fist, moaning sweetly as his body shakes against his will. He does it repeatedly, having found the magic spot. 

Your pussy is literally throbbing. If you weren’t so good at pretending that this left you cold, you would already be panting like a dog. 

You roll into the parking garage of the hotel, searching for a parking space while beside you, Jungkook is coming closer and closer to an orgasm. He is squeaking so perfectly, fucking your fist like the neediest bunny ever. 

You find a parking spot, driving into it backwards and with one hand. The motor turns off with a low purr. Jungkook hasn’t noticed that you came to a stop, arching his back from your touch. 

One you retreat now that you are standing. 

“No” Jungkook hits his head against the window and writhes, “I was so close, no please.” 

“We’re here. Get it together.”

Jungkook barely peels his eyes open, looking at you all sniffly and pouty.

You, now gripping the steering wheel with both hands, cock your brow at him.

“What?”

“I, I was close.”

“And?”

He whimpers weakly, “it hurts.”

“How terrible. Don’t worry, we’ve got time. Tell me a little about your day.” 

“What?” he breathes.

“Your cock. It’s way too hard. We’ll stay here till it’s soft again.”

Jungkook mewls, squirming his hips.

“Your day. Tell me about it.”

“I, I thought of you all day.”

“You did?” 

“And all the days before that too. I missed you.”

You haven’t been home for five days for the authenticity of the roleplay. You stayed in this hotel, giving him no calls nor texts. You can’t deny that it didn’t make you want him in more ways than one as well. 

“You missed me?”

“So much. Oh god so much”, he pulls a face of desperation, rolling his hips up, “I’m so hard, oh god.” 

“I can see that. Are you not gonna ask me how my day was?”

“I’m sorry, oh god, oh. Did, did you have a good day?”

“Yes it was good. I had way too many meetings, but I kept getting distracted.”

“Why?”

“I thought of you in all of them although I shouldn’t have.”

“You did?” 

“Mhm, I did.” 

You unbuckle the belt and get on your knees, using your new position to lean over him with one hand on the window. It fogs up from your body heat. He gulps, feeling fragile and weak in your presence.

“Why is that, mhm?” You ask him, studying his flushed face. “I’m merely paying you. It should mean nothing to me and yet...” You trail off, studying his glossy lips. You speak no more thoughts, tracing his lips with your messied thumb. 

Jungkook licks it instinctively, moaning in submission as his big, brown eyes gaze up at you. Every other night, you would be kissing him right now. But not tonight. You sit back and glance at his cock. It has softened a little. Barely, but you are feeling impatient.

“Perfect. You’re good. Get dressed”, you say and leave the car, rounding it in confident steps. 

Jungkook tries to sit up straight, stuffing his cock into his pants. It is very difficult to do because he is still very hard. 

You open the door for him and offer him the hand which, moments ago, was around his cock. 

Jungkook gulps, accepting it so you can help him get out of the car. You are wearing dress shoes because driving in heels would be reckless. Jungkook sees no difference, worshiping you with his big eyes. 

You close the door and lock the car, letting the keys slip into the inner pocket of your suit jacket. 

You take his hand.

“Follow me.” 

He obeys, following you like a good little puppy even if walking with a semi is very difficult. 

Your hotel room is on the twentieth floor. You don’t talk in the elevator, having your back turned to him as you stand right in front of him. Your pinkie fingers are hooked however, letting Jungkook float on cloud nine. He missed you so much this week, despite not being allowed to, and it feels so good to know that you missed him too. That you craved to be close to him as well. Fuck, the lines between professional and unprofessional are so fucking blurry between you and him. 

You step closer to him each time other people enter the elevator, making sure that he is covered from their eyes. He may be walking around with a hard-on but this is still your hard-on to look at. No one else is allowed a glance at it. Not even on accident.

By the time you reach the twentieth floor, Jungkook is leaking into his pants. You take such good care of him. Your overprotective and almost possessive nature makes him want to become your personal little plaything. Seriously, tonight he would be happy living a life in a cage if that is what you think is best for him. You wouldn’t even have to pay him for it. Being close to you, being yours, would already be payment enough for him.

Like always, you booked the biggest suit. Only the best for your favourite prostitute. That’s what you told him when you first led him to your room. Jungkook gazed at it with sparkling eyes back then, not believing his luck. He wasn’t used to such riches and luxury because his other customers take him to motels or fuck him in their cars. You are different. Of course you are. 

“Welcome back, am I right?” you lead him inside with your hand on his lower back.

Jungkook thanks you with a bow of his head, which makes you roll your eyes at him fondly. He is too polite for his own good. 

You were lonely before you met Jungkook. Life as a CEO is busy and hectic and leaves little room for personal relationships. You had influence, you had power and you had money but no one to share it with. No one to spend it on. So you looked for it on dating apps first, but never found what you were looking for. Then one night you stumbled upon the website he was on. It was a website where people could offer their bodies sexually for payment. Back then, you booked him solely from his description. 

Lean, fit male sub with good stamina and expertise. Heterosexual but very open. Dark hair, brown eyes, five inches hard and can keep it up for long. Not opposed to anal. Kinky. Keeps it professional. Payment in cash only.

Maybe you could spend your money on him, you thought back then. You may not find love, but at least your needs will be met.

If only you knew that he would be waiting for you. He with his pretty face and his prettiest eyes, with his cute moans and perfect body, who always has something adorable to tell you and who is so, so polite. He made the loneliness go away and you wanted to spend your every fucking penny on him.

Like always, you lead him to the bed by his hand and sit him down on the foot end of it. Jungkook glances at the ceiling briefly, gulping heavily at the sight of the big ceiling mirror. The indications of what it means makes him shift needily. 

“Sit properly.”

Jungkook straightens his back and presents his hands palms up on his thighs, “sorry.”

“Mhm.” You give him a little smile. “Now that the real fun is going to start, let’s hear our safety rules.”

“The handjob wasn’t part of it yet?”

“Obviously not. Just wanted to examine my product a little.”

Jungkook moans, back slacking in defeat.

“Sit up.”

He shoots up instantly, blinking his eyes shyly.

“Good. Tell me the rules.”

“Green, yellow and red. Snap my fingers three times or hum Happy Birthday. Yes, I want this. Please Mistress, please I really want this.”

“Good. You’re being so obedient tonight. I like this”, you praise and turn your back to him to disappear in the room next door. 

Jungkook waits patiently even if he is a mess. His pants are sticking to his cock. He wants to be with you so much that it hurts not to be. 

You reappear with two flutes of sparkling water. 

“Are you thirsty?” 

“A little.”

You hand him one flute, keeping the second. 

“Thank-” he gets stopped in his endeavour of drinking with two fingers grasping his chin.

“Eyes on me.”

He obeys, struggling with it when seconds later you place the rim of your flute against his lips. You tilt his head back for him, tilting the glass with it. 

“Drink.” 

Jungkook obeys, closing his eyes sensually as you feed him the sparkling water. It tingles on his tongue, wetting his dry throat. He gulps and swallows hungrily, moaning softly. 

You feel so parched, watching him drink from your hands with your lips parted.

“That’s it. Drink”, you rasp, gulping with him. The last few drops roll down his chin messily. The glass is empty. You pull it away and wipe the water from his chin. 

Jungkook flutters his eyes open, keeping them half-lidded as he gazes up at you droopily. His lips are parted, he is breathing heavily.

“How was that?” you ask him with your voice raspy in arousal. 

“Good”, he croaks.

“Sorry that I got you a little messy”, you apologise, rubbing his chin.

“I didn’t mind”, he whispers, gazing at your lips. He wants to kiss you. He hangs on your every word. You fed him water, but in reality, you fed on his soul instead. With each gulp, each cold drop which ran down his throat because of you, he gave you parts of his soul. What a cold, addicting deal you sealed with this act.

“That’s good. Your face is so pretty, it would be a shame if I messied it even more”, you say and straighten up, leaving him to crave something he knows he can’t have. Your sweetened kiss.

You take the flute from his hand and drink from it as you walk to the table to set his empty glass aside. You finished half of it when you return to him, swirling it in your hand casually. You put ice cubes in your water, they clink against the glass as you inspect him.

“Undress.”

Jungkook obeys quickly, sitting down on the bed afterwards. He doesn’t feel uncomfortable being naked in front of you. On the contrary. Being so exposed while you are still in your expensive suit turns him on.

“Shit, you’re so fucking handsome”, you murmur under your breath, licking the rim of the glass mindlessly. 

Jungkook gulps, wishing that he could switch places with the glass. 

“What do you think of the weather lately? It’s been too hot, hasn’t it?” 

Jungkook is a little confused about your sudden need to talk about the weather, but he still nods his head obediently, “yeah, really hot.” 

“Mhm, I agree”, you murmur mindlessly and poke your fingers into your flute of water to fish for an ice cube. You keep it between three fingers and connect it with his neck. 

Jungkook gasps, shivering. His skin is covered in goosebumps instantly, his breath quickens.

“I’ll cool you off a little, yeah?” 

He keens a soft “mh-hm”, nodding his head. It is difficult to keep his eyes open when you make him feel so good. His skin is very sensitive to temperature and you know that. The ice cubes are like cold electricity to him, charging him with so much pleasure that he already wants to cry. He cries easily when he is with you because you always make him feel so good that it’s a little overwhelming.

You guide the ice cube along his collarbones to the other side of his pretty neck. Jungkook follows the touch with shivers running down his back. The ice is actively melting as it touches his skin, leaving behind dripping trails of water. You let them sit on his skin, enjoying the sight of them glistening in the lights. You switch hands because it got too cold for you, using your cooled fingers to grip his chin and tilt his head up.

Jungkook sighs audibly, parting his lips. The ice cube traces the shape of them. He dares not to stick his tongue out, regretting it blissfully when you stuff the small ice cube into his mouth without warning. He mewls and gurgles, curling his tongue to keep the ice inside.

His little struggle makes you chuckle and wipe the water from his lips. He gulps the melted water down, mewling just for you.

“You’re so adorable”, you say and push at his chest.

He falls back, gasping at the impact. His eyes lock with his own reflection instantly, flustering him. He looks to the side.

“Keep your eyes on yourself.”

He obeys even when it flusters him to look at himself like this. Not in a bad way, but in a very arousing way. His hair is messy, his lips so pink from the ice. His neck and collarbones match in colour. Jungkook feels himself reach up instinctively, looking at himself oh so submissively. Look at him. He is such a good sub. Oh god, this is such a turn on.

He is so preoccupied with looking at himself that he doesn’t even notice you crawling on his lap until he feels your weight on him. He tenses up, eyes flitting to you.

You are still dressed, but took off your suit jacket and rolled up your sleeves. The view steals his sanity. You sit right under his cock, making him crave you more than air.

“You’re being such a good boy for me”, you praise him and lift a new ice cube into his vision. “Look at yourself, okay?”

He nods his head, obeying instantly. You connect the cold ice with his neck first, guiding it down to his chest this time around. Each second makes him feel breathless. Watching it pleasure him makes it even harder to bear. It feels so good, reaching its peak when you circle his nipple with it.

“Ah”, Jungkook moans loudly, arching his back into your touch as his fingers grip the sheets and twist.

“Eyes on yourself.”

He obeys, trembling under you.

“Gosh, look at you. Are you already crying?”

“Feels so intense”, he whimpers, barely able to look into his eyes, “Please can I close my eyes? It’s too intense.”

“Of course it is”, you state matter-of-factly and circle his other nipple with it. “You can’t close your eyes.”

“Pleaseeee.”

Jungkook mewls through gritted teeth, arching his back again and twisting the sheets. His cock throbs, leaking on his tummy. His neck is tensed. He is so fucking pretty like this.

“You’re such a pretty man”, you purr, giving his overstimulated nipples a quick break by guiding the almost melted ice cube through his abs. The goosebumps on his skin refuse to leave, the skin around his dark nipples is pink and tender. “So fucking pretty, it’s insane.”

Jungkook closes his eyes. He can’t do it anymore. The praise is too much.

“Hey”, you warn, tugging on his cock once.

Jungkook instantly fucks into your fist, making the neediest noises. The pleasure is so warm and good for two seconds and then burning cold pierces his cockhead as you press the ice cube against it, letting it melt there. In his panic, he opens his eyes, looking at you pleadingly. His noises let you know that this right now hurts in a good way.

“Eyes open. I thought my instructions were easy to follow.”

Jungkook pants and whimpers, writhing under you.

“I know it hurts, but I need you to learn that disobeying me will end in punishments.”

“Please”, he sobs.

“No. No begging. Why did you do it mhm?”

“It, it felt too good. Almost close, I mean, almost ca- cum. Oh god please”, he writhes, throwing his head to the side, “it hurts so much.”

“Well, are you sorry?”

“Yes! Yes, I’m sorry!”

“And are you gonna keep your eyes open?”

“Yes! I’m sorry, I will!”

“Good boy”, you praise, releasing him of his torture by finally opening your fist around his cock. You slip the tiny ice cube between your lips, letting it melt there with a delicious hum. “Mhm, tastes like you.”

Jungkook glances at his cock. The spot where the ice cube was pressed into it is purple from the cold. Of course you spot it as well, rubbing your thumb into it and sending such pleasure through his body that Jungkook almost throws you off from how aggressively his thrusts his hips.

You can handle him, taming his shaky thighs with little struggle until they are pinned under you again. You close the rest of your fingers around his cock to continue where you left off in the car.

Jungkook yelps up in ecstasy, throwing his head back as far as the mattress allows him to. Eye contact with himself is so difficult, but you told him to obey. He can’t disappoint you again. What if you tell him to never come back? What if you stop calling him? He can’t risk any more slip-ups, not when his entire existence is at stake.

Your hand is quick and skilled around his shackled length, forcing his legs to shake under your weight. It feels so good and Jungkook cries as he looks at himself. Not only has it been too long since he last felt your touch and this makes him cry, it is also to view of him which brings tears to his eyes. He is yours right now. Your pretty sub spread out on the sheets while you have your fun with him. He is so happy to be yours. Even if it is only for a few hours.

“I’m yours”, he croaks, feeling your hand falter around his cock.

“What did you just say?”

“I’m yours”, he is looking at himself as he speaks, “I’m yours. I’m only yours.”

“My little star… I’m paying you to be here. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No”, he cries tears, “no, I’m yours. Please, I’m yours.”

“No, Jungkook”, you choke out, dropping his cock for the sake of taking his face between your hands. Your face replaces his view, sending tears of worship down his face. He loves you so much and you have no idea that he does. Your eyes are foggy, your pupils dilated. “You have no idea what you’re saying.”

“I do. I’m yours, please Mistress.”

For just a second, your eyes mirrored the deep feelings Jungkook experiences when he is with you. For just a second he had the reassurance that his words are reciprocated. And then you break away from him, leaving his lap.

Jungkook feels too defeated to sit up. He lies in the sheets, crying little tears in the aching realisation that he is nothing but your product right now. You said it yourself. You are paying for him like you would pay for more milk in the store. The view of him would have probably hurt him irreparably when he didn’t suddenly feel your fingers twist the straps on his legs. He lifts his head, meeting your hungry stare.

“Legs up.”

He obeys, bending his knees and resting them on each side of his torso.

“Arms down.”

He obeys, presenting them to you as  you clearly want to make use of the bondage gear. You open the clasps on his calve belts, hooking it in the ring on his wrist ties. Like this, Jungkook is forced to stay in the folded, open position. He feels so exposed and vulnerable like this, wishing for whatever you wanted to do to him.

“Comfortable? Do you like this?” you make sure.

“Yes, so much.”

“How long has it been since you’ve been hard with the cockring on?” you ask him.

“I, I don’t know”, he stutters, barely able to bring his voice over breathy gasps.

“I think it’s time we take it off, don’t you think?”

He doesn’t answer you, but it is okay for you.

“Promise me to be a good boy and hold back, okay?”

He nods his head vigorously, throbbing in your hand.

“That’s what I’m paying you for. Such obedience”, you praise and unbuckle the leather strap around his cock.

You can literally feel his cock throb in relief and how it grows so much harder in your hand. Pearly drops of pleasure leak from him. They are dangerously close to being white. The noises Jungkook makes and the utter bliss on his face lets you know that you aren’t that far off with your assumptions. 

“Look at you. That feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Mhhmhm”, he mewls, nodding his head vigorously.

“Good”, you say and drop his cock, denying him of heaven.

Jungkook keens, writhing as best as his constricted position allows him to.

“Please, oh god please”, he begs, but to no avail.

You step back, falling back into your stern role. You begin undressing. Jungkook tries to watch you as best as the position allows him.

Your vest falls to the ground, your tie is opened, your shirt is unbuttoned and tugged out of your opened slacks within seconds. You pull said slacks down soon after, abandoning them on the floor alongside your panties. You keep the shirt on, climbing onto bed with the tie between your fingers.

“Eyes on yourself.”

Jungkook obeys, barely catching his breath. He wiggles his hands, coming to the blissed realisation that he can’t move them very much.

“You think you know what you’re talking about?” you say to him and bend over him to guide the tie behind his neck.

Jungkook gulps, gazing up at you with a dizzy head. With skilled fingers, you knot the tie and wrap the excess fabric around your hand two times so it sits snug in your tight fist. A makeshift leash to keep him close.

“You think you want to be owned by me? What do you even know about me? I pay for your company, do you truly think you would want to be with me willingly?”

“Yes”, Jungkook breathes, tilting his head closer in devotion.

You tug, helping him with the movement with the tie around his neck. Your eyes are burning in a dark fire. If you could, you would probably devour him with just a look.

“Don’t say promises you can’t keep.”

“Please, I could serve you so well.”

“No you couldn’t. I’m fucking twisted.”

“I’m flexible.”

An honest laugh rips through you. A glimpse of his love shines through the pretend persona you are performing tonight. Jungkook giggles, scrunching his nose.

“Fuck, you stupid noodle you”, you say, shaking your head in disbelief.

Jungkook’s heart flutters unbearably. He loves you so much.

You clear your throat and shake your shoulders to get back into character. 

“Don’t think that I agree with you just because you made me laugh. I’m an asshole. I earn too much money and decide to spend it on obedient boys like you.”

“I don’t care. Please.”

You grind your teeth and darken your eyes. You know that you can’t change his mind. At least not with words. You straighten up and reach between your bodies to take his cock between your fingers. Jungkook’s breath speeds up.

“Eyes on yourself.”

He obeys.

“That’s it. Watch how your face changes when I sink it in”, you order him, slipping down on his cock. You are on your knees as if you were fucking his ass, but instead you are milking his cock in your tight cunt. The movement is the same, forcing Jungkook’s toes to curl in ecstasy.

His eyes go out of focus but stay locked with his own reflection. Your name slips from his lips, carrying proof of how good it feels for him.

“That’s it. Keep looking at yourself. Watch how you look when I fuck you”, you growl, twisting the tie around his neck as you rail him senseless. The position feels incredibly stimulating to you. His cock naturally grinds against your clit and rubs against your g-spot. The power you have in this position and the view of his big body folded into such a tiny shaking mess does the rest. “Watch how it would look to be owned by me. Is that what you want?”

“Yes”, he moans, “yes, yes, yes, yes please, yes.”

“No you don’t. You don’t want to be mine. You don’t want this”, you growl, fucking him harder to the point the bed shakes.

Jungkook rips his mouth open, rolling his ankles and tugging at his restraints. His lids are so heavy that he barley sees out of them. His face is flushed and his nipples erect. The back of your head is in his view as well, just as the shirt punching up on your lower back is. As is the grey tie twisted in your fist and the marks it leaves on his neck. He doesn’t get it. How could he not want to be yours when he has never looked better before? So destroyed, so marked and ruined. So fucked.

Jungkook arches his back as best as possible, getting pinned down instantly with a strong hand on his hip. He throbs inside you, leaking way too much pleasure on your velvety walls. The strength on your grip makes your shirt stick to your muscles visibly. Jungkook goes insane at the view, finding it difficult to look at the mirror. He wants to roll his eyes back and go brain dead. Please.

“I would break you. I would fucking use you up until there is nothing left of you. Don’t you get it? I’m greedy. In every aspect of life. You think being kind made me CEO? No, I take what I want and ruin it in the process.”

Whatever you are saying is only making Jungkook want to be yours more and more. He shows you his devotion with high-pitched moans and tears spilled only for you.

You tug at the tie harshly, forcing his head to lift. Your breath brushes against his lips. Jungkook closes his eyes, chasing your kiss.

“You would hate him in the end”, you whisper.

“So why are you fucking me raw?” he croaks out.

“Fuck”, your hips stutter before picking up a punishing speed, making it difficult for both of you not to orgasm, “we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Please”, he squeaks, “kiss me.”

“We shouldn’t be…”

“Kiss me.”

“We shouldn’t …”

“Kiss me, please.”

“We…”

Your lips finally touch. You each moan into the other’s mouth instantly, breaking apart together. You drop the tie so you could cradle his face while Jungkook shakes his restraints and fills you with gushes of sticky cum. Your throbbing, tight pussy milks even more out of him, sending him to another planet because there is nothing better to him than sharing a high with you.

Once you come down together, your lower faces are messy from the sloppy tongue kissing you did and your heads are both pounding. The lipstick you once neatly wore is smeared all over your faces.

“Holy fuck”, you croak, dropping your sweaty forehead against his equally as sweaty forehead. You are panting for air, Jungkook is too.

Your pussy keeps his cock warm for now, but it will only be a matter of moments that it slips out on its own.

“Holy fuck, Kookie”, you breathe.

Jungkook whimpers, spilling happy tears with closed eyes and his body floating on the warm afterglow. You never called him like this before. It was filled with so much love. You feel the same for him. Jungkook cries in realisation.

“Why me? I pay you to get fucked by me. It’s nothing but money. How could you possibly love me?”

“Because you’re everything I ever wanted.”

“Fuck”, you twist his hair gently, pressing your forehead closer until your noses are squished slightly, “don’t say that, I might never let you go again.”

“Good. Don’t let me go.”

You chuckle softly, finding enough strength in your ruined body to tilt your head so you could kiss his forehead.

“How about I’ll take you to Hawaii first? All expenses paid.”

“You would do that with me?”

“Of course, my baby star candy.”

Jungkook peels his eyes open, looking up at you.

“Yes, please take me far away from here.”

You give him a smile, Jungkook retorts it.

“End scene”, you say, face morphing into your real expressions.

Jungkook breaks into giggles instantly, squirming under you happily.

“Wow mommy, you made us a-actually be together in the end. I’m so happy, this was so romantic”, he says, spilling tears.

“You’re such a cutie, gosh”, you wipe his tears. “Did you like it? I know you love happy endings.”

“I loved it so much. Oh my god, I’m so happy. This was so much better than I could have ever imagined it to be.”

“Hm”, you chuckle, pecking his lips, “you’re such a cutie, I’m gonna eat you. I would say that this roleplay was a total success. I felt so immersed in the scene with you.”

“Me too. I actually forgot that it was just play. You were so good in your role.”

“What should I say? You were the best.”

“All I did was whine and cry.”

“Exactly, you were the best.”

He giggles shyly, wiggling his arms. You snicker, wiping the messy hair from his face. Your eyes are spilling over in adoration for him. 

“Mommy, can I be untied? I really want to hug you.”

“Of course, Bunny baby.” You say, slipping off of him. You and he are talking as you free him of his gear. “I’m leaking everywhere.”

“Oh no, I’m sorry. I came a lot. I didn’t touch myself this week, just like you told me to.”

“I knew that you wouldn’t, you’re my good Bunny after all. I really fucking missed you this week. I gotta be honest, the handjob in the car was not part of my initial plan.”

“It was so hot, oh my god. I had to work so hard not cum.”

“I could tell, you cutie.” You rub the tender skin where the leather belts lied. “Are you okay? Your skin is a little red where the straps were.”

“I’m okay. I’m not hurting anywhere. Oh my god Mommy, when you put the ice cube on my dick, I actually cried. That hurt so much.”

“Did you like it?”

“So, so much.” He shivers in memory. “I’m shivering just thinking about it.”

You smile, getting off bed to get something to wipe you and him down. He lets you work while he lies in the sheets totally chatty and happy. You listen to him with a content smile on your lips. He always gets chatty after you fucked him right.

“And when you fed me the water, I felt drunk. Please do that again one day, it was such a turn on. The mirror on the ceiling is so hot. Oh god, I can’t believe you picked this room and, and made me look at myself all the time. It was so difficult because it was so hot. Wow, thank you so much for everything.” He sighs, smiling goofily. “I love you so much, Mommy.”

“I love you too, Bunny”, you say and lie down on your side next to him, rubbing his tummy.

He rolls his head to you, grins and flips to his side so he could bury you under him in a strong bear hug. He makes the cutest sound effects, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. You laugh loudly, hugging him back as best as possible.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“You’re such a polite cutie, my Bunny.”

“I’m so happy.”

“I’m happy too.”

“Mhmm”, he kisses your neck and inhales deeply until he can’t anymore. Afterwards he exhales against you, tickling you with it. He lifts his head, giving view to his pretty, glowing face. “Should we get room service and watch a movie?”

“I would love that. Also, this hotel offers a really cool couples spa treatment.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I read about it and knew I had to tell you once you’re with me again.”

“We have this room till tomorrow right?”

“Yup. Wanna book the treatment?”

“Yes please”, he says and squeaks as he hugs you tighter in another surge of love. “I love staycations with you so much, Mommy love.”

“I love them too, Bunny love.”

[swallowtail-lotus]

Harassed {Jack the Ripper/Poseidon}

Repost

I'm sorry that I wrote this

Warning: mentions of murder and harassment. Don't do any of these things

__________

Jack the Ripper🔪-

One of your friends had dragged you to a bar one night, insisting you needed to get out more. You didn't have any plans that night but you still refused. After some convincing, you agreed to go.

A few minutes in and your friend is already gone, leaving you by yourself at the main counter. You only took a few shots, but stopped yourself after the 4th shot.

Suddenly, some drunk guy sat next to you, resting his rough hand on your shoulder. He tried so many times to get you to talk, but you just ignored him and walked out the bar. You began your lone walk to your home.

Just when you turned a corner, hands began to caress your sides. You thrash in the guy's grip but he just held you tighter. You took out a small pocket knife and stabbed his leg. You took off the moment he let you go, running inside your house and locked it.

You had a hard time sleeping after that.

The next day, you refused to get of bed, let alone the house. This worried some of your friends and tried to ask you why, but you kept quiet, which led them to ask the friend who took you.

"I do not know. They just left without even saying anything."

That was all they said. They decided to drop it once they realised their question won't be answered.

The next night, while it was dark, you heard a knock on your bedroom window. To your surprise, it was someone who you grew close to, Jack the Ripper. Your first encounter was when he was injured and you, a kind hearted soul, took him in, unaware of who he was. He originally wanted to kill you but seeing how kind you were, the thought of killing you soon went away.

"Milady, what seems to be troubling you?" He asked, his mixed eyes staring into your soul. Your dropped your head down low, refusing to let him see your tears. You wanted to lie your way out, but Jack would be aware of it.

"I-I was forced to go to a bar and this disgusting man touched me and tried to-"

"What did he look like?" You looked up, seeing the man's face turn to his usual murderous expression, but it seemed more dark.

"W-well, he had black hair and blue eyes and looks a little bigger than you. He also had some facial hair on his jaw." You described the man the best you could. Jack didn't say anything and disappeared into the night.

2 nights later~

Sweeping the floors of your house with a headache wasn't the best idea. After finishing off, you rested yourself on one of your chairs. You felt a piece of paper under your hand and picked it up. It was folded neatly and had beautiful handwriting. You opened it up and read the short letter.

I apologise for leaving you in your time of need, but I had to get rid of the beast who tried to corrupt you.

You felt a presence in your room and turned around, spotting Jack, twirling a knife in his hand. Without a second thought, you jumped up and hugged him. Jack held his arms away from you, not knowing what to do.

"You didn't need to kill him." Your voice muffled by his chest. Silence filled the room after you spoke.

"It was entirely necessary. I refuse to let them take your beautiful colours away."

Tears been to fall out, staining his shirt. Jack lowered his arms, slowly wrapping them around your waist.

He always thought he'd never meet a kind person, until life decided to let him meet you.

Poseidon🔱-

Being married to one of the most fearsome gods has its ups and downs.

One up is that you're the only one who can meet his gaze and live the next day.

One down is that he refuses to let you show affection in public to not ruin his public image in being perfect. (It does upset you, but you understand)

He sees you as his equal, so it isn't much of a surprise when another god stupid enough tries to have his way with you and he is informed.

This god won't leave you alone, even when you declined his invitation to accompany him.

"I told you many times! I do not wish to go with you!" You yelled at the persistent god following you.

It all started when he approached you and started a normal conversation. Then, he started getting a little too touchy with you, brushing his hand against your bare skin, his hands lingering on your shoulders and hovering over your chest for too long. That was enough for you to storm out and head back to your husband, the god you truly love.

"Come on, beautiful! I just want to know you better." The god exclaimed, grabbing your wrist. He pulled you closer to him, smirking victoriously when he saw your frightened face.

"I don't think she feels the same way." A familiar voice chimed in. The god froze in his spot, giving you the chance to wiggle out of his arms and step away from him. You felt relieved to see Heracles, his usual smile not present on his face and replaced with a menacing glare. The god trembled in his shoes and just took off to who knows, too afraid to even try to speak to the towering demigod.

"Fucking coward." You thought, watching the god disappear around a corner. You felt the demigod's hand on your shoulder.

"You should go back to Uncle. I bet he's missing you." Heracles' face changed to a more cheerful one, his smile exposing his pearly whites. You giggled at his sudden change and nodded.

"I should. Thank you for saving me!"

"No problem!"

With that, you took off to see your husband. Before entering, you took the time to stand up straight, take a deep breath and walked in. You faced your husband, slowly making your way to your throne next to his. Sea Blue eyes observed your form, noticing your slightly messy hair and increased speed of your breathing.

He knew these were your signs of discomfort.

"Who is responsible?" His chilling voice filled the silence. You felt exposed upon hearing his question and hesitated on answering. But you gave up.

"Just another god." You finally answered, your hands gripping the armrests nervously. You knew lying to your husband would be impossible.

"Come here." He demanded. You quickly complied, standing in front of him, unsure of his next demand.

"I said, come here." He demanded again, his eyes staring right in your own orbs. You swallow slowly, stepping closer to him. This was strange, he never demanded, let alone asked for anything like this. With hesitation, you wrapped your arms around Poseidon's waist. When he didn't push you away, you lowered yourself down to sit on his lap.

Crying was out of the question if it was for anything else, but after what happened, you couldn't help it.

Your quietly sobbed, tightening the hug. Surprisingly, Poseidon did nothing but sit there, listening to your sobs.

Poseidon will have to wait until he can deal with the living filth that decided to get his dirty hands on his wife...

[gilverrwrites]

Meet Cute Uglies [Bruce]

AN: Shout out to @luckyarchaeologist whose comments inspired me to go a completely different direction to what I had envisioned.🩷 And everyone else who reblogged/comments/voted for a part 2! I hope it lives up 🩷

GN!Reader/Bruce Wayne, 1.6K Words [2/?]

Part One >[Here]<

CWs: Mild/nonexplicit threats of violence, teasing

His hands are soft, and warm, soothing the tension from your body as he uses them to cup your face and hold you steady as he pushes closer, pressing your body deeper into the wall with his broad chest. Up close you can see a smattering of his five o’clock stubble coming through, even under the dim slivers of moonlight breaking through the gloomy alley. You note a hint of coffee on his breath before his lips brush against-

Loud banging at your apartment door startles you awake. Tired eyes sluggishly take in the time on the nearest clock, you’re barely able to process the numbers before the knocks come again. It’s too early. It’s your day of for goodness’ sake and it sounds like someone is trying to break down your door with their fists. When you answer it’s an equally disgruntled delivery driver. They ask your name before bombarding you with a large box and snapping a proof of delivery photo. You ponder your unkempt morning appearance and pray the sender of this parcel doesn’t ever check that photo.

It was almost certainly not from you because you hadn’t ordered anything, especially not anything this big. You don’t recognise the logo, but it, the matte black tape, and the distinct florally smell permeating from the smooth white container tells you that whatever is inside is expensive. That or it’s a trap, designed to lure you in with its unsuspecting exterior, then BAM Ivy toxin or Joker gas. You’re not dumb, you’ve seen the PSAs.

30 minutes, one morning brew, one disposable mask, one sharp knife, 2 gloves, and a whole lot of nerve later you gently remove the contents from its packaging. It’s wrapped in a layer of security card and glittery tissue paper but it’s pretty evident what it is. It’s a very nice bouquet of flowers. A mix of carnations, hyacinths, and baby’s-breath, already sitting in a pretty crystal vase that probably cost more than your rent.  A gold envelope stands out amongst the colourful petals, and you fork it out to read despite being certain you already know who it's from. Nobody else in your life would spend this much money on flowers for you, even if it were a special occasion. The repercussions of telling your name to a stranger, even a famous stranger, who you’d known of all your life, but never known hadn’t occurred to you until you see it printed in foil against the high-quality textured card.

“As you understandably didn’t allow me the chance to apologise last night, please accept these as a token of my penitence. Regards, B.W.”

You’re not sure which irks you most, him cornering you in a dark alley in the first place, his seeking you out to apologise in an unsettlingly short amount of time, the absurd display of wealth, his pretentiously unironic use of the word ‘Penitence’, or the fact that you kinda liked it. The fact that you’d spend the night dreaming about slivers of moonlight and soft hands that didn’t exist. In actual fact, the remainder of the scene had been clumsy and anticlimactic.

“Who are you?” He demands. “And why are you following me?” You squint to read his expressions, barely able to make him out under the faint light of apartment windows high above your figures. There's a disconnect between the upper and lower halves of his face that adds to your already heightened nerves. His jaw and lips remain in an ever-present scowl, but steely blue eyes seem to soften as you tell him your name. “I'm not following you.” Your voice is stunted, weak due to the unrelenting pressure actual billionaire Bruce Wayne is applying to it. “I swear! It’s a coincidence.” He seems to believe you, or at least, he doesn’t consider you much of a threat because his grip loosens enough for you to find your footing again. Before he can change his mind, you scramble out of there, almost tripping on your accidentally discarded bag on the way. Whatever is up with him is not your problem. “I-“ “Save it.” Creep. You’re not interested in his apologies or excuses. You’re just an average person trying to make their way in the crime capital of the world, probably. It’s a miracle he didn’t put you in an early grave due to a heart attack. You could see the headlines now: ‘Playboy Billionaire Charged with Manslaughter: Officials unsure why he corned innocent Gothamite’ which is to presume a man with as much wealth as Bruce Wayne would ever be charged with a crime. Rich, ill-mannered, paranoid, handsome, creep. “Just stay away from me.”

As you stand motionless, relaying the events of the previous night in your head, it occurs to you that there's still something in the envelope, something slightly smaller and thicker than the apology card. You slip it out and flip it between your fingers, a gift card to the coffee shop you’d first seen him in, with a pre-paid value high enough to keep you and all your colleagues caffeinated for the rest of the year, if not longer.

The remainder of your day is spent relocating the two gifts between errands and relaxation time. The gift card is inserted and removed from the card section of your wallet so many times you’ve probably incidentally rubbed off its magnetic strip. Accepting it, and using it wasn’t bad, not really. He wasn’t buying you or your forgiveness it's just a show good intent, not to mention it was basically pocket change to a man with that much money.

But it did feel a little bit like being bought.

And the flowers reminded you of that conflict every time you looked at them, so they made their way onto every feasible surface and counter until you found a spot with enough light to keep them alive that wasn’t in plain sight 90% of the time. Maybe you could sell or donate the vase once the flowers are dead. It really did make the rest of your living space look shabby-er in comparison.  Or maybe you could paint it to match the rest of its new home, cover it in acrylic paint and use it to hold anything else. If you ever see Bruce again you could show him a photo, see if he really did give it in good faith to be used however you pleased, or if it makes him uncomfortable.

In fact, on your next day back at work you’re scrolling through Pinterest for design inspiration as you queue up for the first of many Wayne-funded drinks when you sense it. Him. The enticing scent of his cologne clueing you into his presence. You cast a look over your shoulder and there he is, smiling at you with perfect white teeth. He seems more casual today, his hair still perfectly styled but appearing free of any products, his suit traded in for just the slacks and button-up. Once again, you’re reminded of his player image, it’s not hard to tell why so many people swoon all over him.

“Oh, hello.” He greets, raising his hand as though to wave at you. His fingers don’t look nearly as soft as you’d imagined. They look sturdy and calloused, strange for a man who guzzles champagne and stands behind a podium, smiling for photographers more days than not. Paperwork does not account for skin that thick. “I was hoping to run into you here.”

“Really?” Internally you’re suspicious, but your voice comes out an octave higher than usual, your skin growing warm under his gaze. It’s stupid to think that he’s pursuing you, flirting with you. He’s probably just looking for closure on his apology, ensuring you don’t slander his image by selling the story to the papers. He really is buying you. Your silence. “Why?”

“I was hoping I could buy you a drink.” And without your confirmation he sides steps around you, joining you in your spot amongst everybody else waiting to be served.

“You’re already buying me coffee.” You flash him the gift card he’d paid for. “Or did you forget casually dropping this much cash?”

He laughs at that, like you’ve made a joke. He’s deflecting? Maybe. But he sounds so genuine, so hearty it’s contagious. Your laugh isn’t as cheery as his, but it slips past your lips regardless.

“No, no. I didn’t forget. I couldn’t forget anything about you. Especially not after seeing you in that delivery photo.” He finishes with a wink. That was flirting, definitely flirting. Or maybe an insult. Either way, you’re feeling just as nervous, if not more than you had been that night in the alley. This is just a different kind of nerves, it’s the butterflies in your belly instead of the pit in your stomach kind. “What’s one more between new friends, huh?”

“Friends?” You raise your brows. He does not have the decency to look sheepish under your dubious stare, he just looks back at you calm and collected, just like he is on the TV. A few days ago, you might have bought it, but you’ve seen him lose his cool in person. Something feels off.

“I’d like to be friends, or I’d at least like to apologise in person. If you’ll let me.” For a man so bent on making amends with you, there isn’t a hint of sorrow in his tone or posture.

It’s almost your turn at the counter, you have seconds to make your decision.

The barista gestures for the next customer, as you answer. “Okay fine, let’s be friends.”

“Excellent. You just made my day.” And then his hand cups the small of your back as the two of you step up to order. He does it so casually that you almost don’t notice, you’re not sure if you’re just susceptible to his moves, or if he’s practised them to perfection. Maybe you’re reading too much into it, maybe all pretty boy billionaires act like this, maybe it’s all strategy to keep his image clean, or maybe there’s something shady about Bruce Wayne and his weirdly hard, slick hands. Maybe he's hiding something, and whatever it is, you intend to figure it out.

If you should enjoy the view along the way, well, who could blame you?

[shysuccubusstuff]

day 15: Do you like scary movies?

Content: Mask kink + Size difference + Trapped + Dubcon/noncon + Defiant! Reader + Slight knife kink + Jealous! Childe + Foul language + Non proof-reader - Ghostface! Tartaglia

Word count: 2754 words.

Note: Sorry for taking so long, the essays left my brain like a raisin...

It was finally the night of Halloween, you had been planned that huge party for over two weeks, even despite the nasty rumours of some random dude dressed up as some poor-quality costume was going around killing dumb teenagers. Luckily for you, you were definitely someone dumb, right?

You were just about to finish with the preparations when you heard your phone ringing. You clicked your tongue, annoyed by the bad timing. Regardless of that, you left what you were doing, taking your phone and answering without even looking who was.

“Yeah? Who is it?” You looked at your nails while you waited for an answer. You could barely hear the breathing on the other side of the line. “Hello? I’m gonna hang up if you don’t answer. “

“…Do you like scary movies?” Your blood froze for a moment, your grip tightening around the phone as you started to feel anxious. “Tell me, do you have a boyfriend?” Just as you were about to walk towards the door, a soft laugh started to be heard, barely audible, but just enough to easily recognize it.

“Oh, I don’t know, how about you answer that question, smartass?” The guy on the line laughed, quickly removing the voice changer filter. “You think it’s funny to play these dumb tricks when the whole city is so anxious about those strange murders?”

“Come on, sweetheart! It was just a silly prank, plus you’re the only one I did the prank to.” Ajax kept laughing on the other side, even regardless of your snarky comments.

“Are you ready? Promise me you won’t come here with some crappy Ghostface mask…”

“Uh? I thought girls loved that mask, I mean, a lot of girls seem to be into some hot dude being hidden under a mask… right?”

“I prefer seeing the face of my boyfriend when we fuck, thanks for the offer though.” Ajax chuckled, but he stopped not long after. “Anyways, don’t leave when the party ends, I have a little surprise for you…” Ajax laughed on the other side of the phone, your face suddenly getting flushed.

“That sounds lovely, princess. I gotta run, my brothers are making a lot of noise cause they are waiting for me to take them trick or treating. See ya in a few hours, pumpkin.” Ajax hanged up before you were even able to complain about that corny nickname he had used.

It was finally twelve o’clock, the time in which the part actually started. It didn’t take much time before the first guests arrived, all hugging you and thanking you for taking care of getting the Halloween party ready. Just a few minutes after, Ajax appeared with a Ghostface mask in his hands and a huge black robe covering his frame.

“You have to be kidding me, Ajax.”

“Oh come on! I know that you warned me, but I really didn’t have much of a choice, you know? It was the last costume, in fact, it was either this or a lame Lord Faquard costume, I know I’m quite handsome, but I don’t even think even I would be able to pull it off.” You rolled your eyes at him, simply moving out of the way and letting him in.

“Just make sure to stay close to me, I don’t want nothing happening to you, ok?” Ajax patted your hair, leaving a soft kiss on your forehead.

“You have nothing to worry, sweetie.”

It was already three am, and most people were already leaving, while some others were left sleeping on one of your bedrooms. The people left the house, some were screaming about what a great time they had, while some complained about the floor moving. You closed the door, thinking about finally getting ready to go to bed. Of course, nothing ever goes your way, as you soon encountered a little… issue.

Oh well, not so little, just someone, well, what used to be someone, laying dead on one of your hammocks, the usual, right?

The colour left your face as you went back running, quickly closing the door to your bed and trying to call the police with your phone. The same phone that was dying right then, just great. Tears started to form in your eyes as you imagined what could happen to you, if he found you.

Your fears came true as you started to hear slow but heavy steps that were heading towards your room. You muffled your mouth, quickly hiding under the little space under your bed, your lower half barely fitting. Your cursed under your breath as you heard the door being slammed open, fat tears rolling down your cheeks.

“…Dear? Are you here? I’m pretty sure I saw a very pretty bunny entering this room… Was it because of the body in your pool? Promise I didn’t mean to spoil your party, that’s why I waited until everybody left, you know? Aren’t I thoughtful?” The distorted voice kept talking, even as you tried your best to calm down the rapid heartbeat, afraid of him hearing you. “Oh baby, you know I could never harm you, you’re just so cute when you try to hide… Are you into that? Getting me all worked up as I try to find you like some desperate hunter…” You suddenly heard the door of your closet being fling open. “Oh, guess I just imagined… I just love my sweet girlfriend too much, I suppose.” You heard his steps leaving the room, although you didn’t gain the courage to leave your hiding place until a few minutes later. You tried to squirm away from that tight place, but your lower face was suddenly yanked by two big hands. “Hi there! Seems I was right when I believed I saw a pretty girl running around the house… Did I scare you too much? I know, I know… It must be difficult, everyone’s first time is difficult, baby.” You attempted to grip to the wooden floor as a poor attempt to stop him from pulling you further outside.

“Please just let me go, I promise I won’t say anything!”  You begged, the snot and tears wetting your cheeks.

“Oh, stop, stop. I know you must be scared, but it’s just me, your boyfriend. Promise I won’t do anything you don’t like. In fact, did you do it on purpose? The whole, hiding under this little bed so you could get “stuck”, and I had to rescue you? You’re so naughty… even thinking about this type of stuff in a life-or-death situation. That’s what I like about you, though.” Ajax finally removed his mask, his ginger air slightly sticking to his forehead. “God this mask is stuffy. Now, I can finally appreciate your pretty costume! Those sheer stockings surely make you look even hotter.” His gloved hands suddenly moved towards his belt, taking one of the many knives that he was carrying around his waist. He then moved it to your stockings, carefully cutting them and then ripping them from your body with his own hands. He smiled wickedly, moving the knife to the side of your underwear, the tip of the knife being a bit too close for comfort from your skin. “Stay still, don’t want you to ”He cut them, throwing the poor cloth to the side together with what used to be your trousers, your poor cunt on full display. “Damn, you look so pretty like that… It’s really bad that you are able to rile me up despite I’m supposed to be working, you know?” He removed his gloves, throwing them together with your pants. He then got his face closer to your lower half, his warm breath hitting against your entrance. Suddenly, his tongue started to trace around your entrance, while his finger started to rub that special bud of nerves. “You’re pretty responsive for someone who just saw a corpse, uh?”  You tried to squirm around, maybe as a desperate attempt to try and get to move away from his hands. This was, sadly, useless, his movements only getting bolder as he played with your folds while sometimes playing with your clit. “Uh… What should I do with such a naughty victim? Should I cut their pretty neck on a single slice…” Fat tears began to stream down your face, already feeling as if you were about to die with your body stuck under the bed. Ajax moved his knife to your thigh, almost making a small cut on your skin, the cold touch of the metal making it feel even realer. “… Just kidding, sweetheart, you’re my girlfriend, right? Plus, I can’t allow myself to kill such a pretty face, though, I would lie if I said I don’t want to take advantage of this little game you played… Fucking you on the floor with your upper body completely stuck there…” Ajax smiled wickedly, as you heard the sound of the zipper of his pants. “Be a good girl for me, ok? Promise I’ll leave you almost unharmed.” He left his knife back into his belt, then taking out his cock from his boxers and beginning to stroke it with one of his hands. Ajax took one of his gloves with his mouth, then letting it fall to the ground. “Make sure to get nice and wet for me, baby, I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”  His fingers started to trace around your bare skin, his rough fingertips caressing against your clit. Ajax stopped his left hand, taking one of his fingers to his mouth and coating it with his saliva. He passed his fingers through your entrance, the first finger entering you as you tried to keep your mouth shut. His fingers and hands kept doing that motion, going up and down your poor clit while entering two of his fingers with a punishing rhythm, his face flushed while he smiled excitedly.

“Damn, you’re getting wetter and wetter… Let’s test how prepared are you… Open wide…” He lifted your lower half, carefully positioning himself against your entrance, the tip of his cock rubbing against your sensitive clit.

“Wait! There’s…! Don’t forget the condom asshole!” You tried to hit him with your hands to keep him away, but you quickly stopped as soon as you felt him entering you, the air leaving your lungs from the big stretch.

“Oh… That may have hurt a bit, uh? Sorry, sorry, when you told me you had a great surprise for me, I didn’t expect this kind of thing, though.” Ajax stayed there for a few minutes, slowly moving his hips and establishing a slow pace. “God, you feel amazing around me, would literally kill for this… Get it?” He softly laughed at his own joke, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, guess he wasn’t able to read the room even despite the situation you both were in. He soon realised that this didn’t amuse you a bit, so he chose to simply stay as silent as possible, focusing on the sensation of your walls tightening around you. “It’s quite riling to fuck like this, but I honestly prefer watching your pretty face as I hit your cervix… Let me help you, pumpkin.” He grabbed your hips, his fingers leaving soft marks on your skin. It took him a single pull for him to get your body out of that narrow place, just a soft pull, God, you could feel the heat rising to your face. “Are you sure you didn’t fake it? You were easily able to leave if you wiggled yourself a little… You’re really cute when you try so hard to gain my attention, you know that?” Ajax caressed your hair, petting your head as if you were some kind of pet. “Let me get you in a more comfortable position, let’s see…” Ajax lifted you from the ground, locking your legs around his waist while he let your back lean on the wall. “Damn, you always look so pretty… I always wanted to fuck my pretty girlfriend like this.” Your words tangled on your tongue as you attempted to form a complete sentence, his dick ramming against your insides without mercy.

“Fuck you mean girlfriend, asshole? Did you really think we were still a couple after you fucking murdered some dudes at my own home? Plus, there’s no way you’re getting away with this shit, the cops will get you--!” Ajax entered his whole length with a single trust, his eyes looking much darker than before.

“What do you mean by that? Do you plan on leaving me? Oh, baby… You can’t just decide that on your own, you know? I already talked with my family about how our marriage would be, my family is eager to meet you.”  He started to buck his hips, kissing your cervix with his tip each time he spoke, giving his words much more impact. “Hey… tell me you love me.” His expression changed to a hurt one, his hands gripping your hips with a bit more strength while his trusts began to get rougher. “Come on, do you hate me that much? I killed those assholes for a good reason you know? They were looking at you the whole night, and when you turned around, they even took a few pics of your underwear! I was being a good boyfriend… but of course you wouldn’t ask me, you care more about that damn popularity of yours, right? Always wagging your tail at those fuckers.”  Ajax’s face crumpled, the veins on his arms bulging as his grip tightened. “Wish I could have fucked you in front of them, but I would probably have killed them still, can’t let some assholes fantasise about your pretty pussy.” His eyes locked into yours, a dangerous glint appearing on them as an idea crossed his mind. “The police will be coming in no time, right? It would be amazing if they found the killer fucking the final girl, just imagine their faces…”  Just as he said that, a sudden blow was heard downstairs, followed by two pairs of heavy boots resonating against the wooden floor. “Guess I’m just that good, try to keep quiet, darling.” Just as you were about to scream, one of his hands covered your mouth. “I’m sure you don’t want them to find you getting your guts rearranged by some dude with a bunch of knives with blood… am I wrong? Promise if you get me to cum I’ll leave without a trace.” You furrowed, but nodded, after all, it was definitely the best choice for you… right? “That’s a good girl, now get ready.” His hand went back to your waist, starting to slam his hips against your butt, the slaps resonating around the small room. You bit your lips, trying your best to muffle your moans with your own hands as you felt his pace quicken even further.

“You’re trying so hard it almost makes me want to torture you even more…” A wicked smile crept onto his face as he decided to sit with you on top, his length reaching even deeper as he rammed against your insides. You tried to stop him by hitting his back with your bare hands, but as you saw it was to no avail, you chose to bite him, your teeth sinking into his flesh with pure rage. Ajax smiled even more, his thrust only getting rougher as his hands left bruises on your hips. “Cum from my dick, princess.” He kept the dizzying pace as he came, not even slacking off as he felt your poor cunt leaving his trousers completely soaked. “Just like that, you’re tightening so hard around me, gotta make sure not a single drop leaves, yeah?” His hips started to slow down gradually until he stopped, his whole length buried deep into your insides. He stayed there for a few minutes, the only thing being heard were your heavy breathing and the loud thumps of the police investigating every single room. “You did so good, sweetie. Promise next time we will take it slow, make sure to not get with some prick while I’m not around, you wouldn’t want to see me mad, trust me.”

Ajax left your sore body on the bed, quickly cleaning the mess he had made and covering your whole body with some clothes he had found in the closet. He kissed your forehead despite your complains, opening the window swiftly and disappearing into the night.

[idontcare4urmom]

little red dress

soft!dom! chris x reader!gf!

content:you were aware of the effect you had on your boyfriend,but that didn’t stopped you from wanting him to drool all over you,there was a party on the town and you got dressed up until Chris sees you and completely loses it.

warnings: smuttt,pet names (baby,slut,etc.), praising kink,dirty talk,teasing,fingering,sucking,slight fluff at the end and more

a/n: my first language is not English,so sorry if it’s bad cause it’s also my first fic,please be nice<3 ——————————————————-

.•🎀•.

today was the day,you were about to attempt to one of the ‘biggest’ parties in L.A. with influencers.sure,you were only invited cause your boyfriend was also invited,and you knew that but you couldn’t care less.you were simply excited to meet new people.

you had already had picked up your outfit so you wouldn’t be in a hurry, even though the party was in more than 2 hours. nothing could go wrong with black high boots that boosted your height,a mini leather jacket and a perfect mini red sparkly dress you bought for the occasion.

when you tried it on the store,you knew that you had to get it,it was almost like it was made specifically for you.it complimented your figure and face in a way that you knew you were going to drag looks on you,not to mention that it curved your ass and tits like a glove,and the length of it stopped right above your bare thighs,perfect right?

__________________💋___________________

you eventually started to get ready,picking a nice matching red lace lingerie to match with your dress,even though no one will really see it,at least that’s what you thought .you wore the dress after and tugged with a bit of struggle the zipper up,taking a quick glimpse of yourself afterwards in the mirror to admire yourself before starting to do makeup.

you were about to finish with the final details of your pink glossy lipstick,popping your lips together until you heard a knock on the door.

“baby? are you almost done? we have to leave in like 10 minutes” your boyfriend’s voice echoed through the other side of the room,you didn’t even had realized how much it took you to get ready.

“almost done,you come in you know” you responded,curious about how your man will think of your looks.

there was a click on the door before it banged close,causing you to turn your head and look at Chris who was now staring at you.he was pretty much checking you out and his tongue darted out to wet his lips before he broke the silence “wow..you look hot”.

the comment made you giggle under you breath and respond sarcastically “i always do”.you could feel the brunette boy rolling his eyes but what didn’t you expect was a sudden feeling of hands cupping both of your ass cheeks.

“yeah you are not lying,but this dress fits you better than anything else i have seen you wearing” Chris exclaimed right into your ear,you could swear that his voice was lowered which made you narrow your eyes in confusion but also interest.

“thanks,but get your hands off” you bratted,which made him chuckle and grope them tighter “what about no?”

you scoffed at his answer,turning around to answer but suddenly feeling him grabbing your face and pulling you into a hungry kiss.your eyebrows furrowed but you couldn’t resist the urge to make out with him for a minute.

the kiss soon turned sloppy,both of your tongues fighting for dominance until he tugged on your bottom lip,making you moan. “red is really your colour” you heard him say as you felt his hands lifting up your dress,causing your breaths to get heavier.

“Chris,the party” you warned in a worried tone,which made him smirk for no reason,his hand slipping in between your thighs “you really think I care about that baby? I couldn’t give a damn less”.

the next thing you knew was him taunting you.his fingers barely grazing your pussy that was already dripping wet,opening your mouth to complain but he quickly pushes you into the bed,hovering on top of you and pushing two fingers into your tight hole.

“oh shit!” you groaned at the stretch,his free hand going backwards to tug down the zipper of the dress that was making his cock throb.when he pulled it down his eyes roamed into your body and on your lingerie set,making his fingers thrust in and out of you fast.

“fuck,such a slut,wearing this shit to get me turned me on when you know i can’t resist you” his words made you clench around his fingers and whine pathetically.his head tilted down to place rough kisses on the hook of your neck and creating big hickeys,while his fingers curled up to hit that spot inside you.

you were a moaning and whimpering mess already,and he couldn’t help to think what you will do when his length will be buried into your cunt later.

“i..I am gonna cum” you whispered after some seconds,your voice raspy and Chris pulled with no warning his fingers out,making you frown and him to respond with a simple explanation of “going to save it for later”.

he then left from on top of you and stood up straight,his hands quickly moving to his belt to unbuckle it before shoving down his jeans and boxers,exposing his fully hard self with pre-cum leaking all over his red tip.

your breath hitched at the sight and you desperately wanted to get on your knees,but before you knew he pushed firmly your legs apart and spread them from him,his eyes darkening when he saw how ready you were,your juices glistening all over your thighs.

“hm,so wet,such a perfect sight,all this for me?” he cooed and praised,which only made you nod and feel your desire increasing.

he got in between your legs and positioned his tip against your entrance,starting to tease by grinding his hips against yours,making you groan again at the friction. “Chris,please..” you couldn’t help to beg,which even surprised yourself,but you didn’t regret it cause the next thing you felt was him entering you with a rough and deep thrust.

you practically screamed his name and arched your back,your hands reaching to tug on his hair locks which only made Chris grunt.his pace was fast and almost painful,making sure you felt him completely,and you couldn’t help to move your hips along with his in sync.

the panting from both of you and the skin to skin clapping filled the room in matter of seconds,his head once more leaning down but to lick all over your stomach soothingly while his dick was pounding into your g-spot with no mercy.he soon undid your bra and took one of your nipples into his mouth,sucking and flicking his tongue over the flesh.

the knot on your stomach was already felt,which also was noticeable by Chris and making him speak in a low,slightly hoarse way “already sweetheart? you are gonna make a mess on my cock like the perfect whore you are,hm?”

you only clenched at his words again,your one hand leaving his hair to grasp at the sheets for support,your orgasm already forming again and your legs began to shake.

“you aren’t going to finish yet, understood? he warned,making you look up at him with pleading eyes while his own blue one were looking almost brown,making you shiver and nod at his question “good girl,I know you can hold it for a little longer”

you couldn’t explain it but his voice was both rough and soft at the same time,and it was for sure turning you more.his length continued to tear you apart,basically hitting your spot over and over again while your eyes were watery.even though he had told you to not reach your climax yet,you were unaware that a few specific movements from you will sent him over his own edge.

it was basically you wrapping your legs tightly around his waist to encourage him silently to go deeper,while your nails digged into his lower back and leaving marks behind.with an unexpected loud groan from his lips and his hips bucking up,his muscles flexed and he released his seed deep into your cunt.

you moaned a little when he pulled out after some seconds,leaving you panting and your chest rising and falling,you quickly recovered when he rolled into his side and pulled you with him so he can cuddle you tightly.an exhausted yawn escaped from your mouth into the comfortable silence and he planted a kiss to your forehead “tired?”

“you fucked my brains out,what did you expect” you responded,making you both burst out laughing until some minutes after you were asleep into each other arms.

[russellsppttemplates]

Uh oh, I'm falling in love (Lando Norris)

Y/N and Lando both have jobs that require good sight and attention to detail and yet they're oblivious to their feelings for eachother

Note: english is not my first language. I'm in a very fluffy mood, so I got really excited when I got this request! This also makes my expectations even higher and calls me single in about seventeen different languages at once...

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: mentions a needle (for sewing)

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

"Hey guys! How's everyone?", Max said to the camera as you made sure the set up was right, the screen showing his and Lando's faces on one screen and the table on the other like it was supposed to.

"As per your many, many requests, we have brought our graphic designer at Quadrant, Y/N", Lando announced as you appeared on camera, sending a very awkward first wave to the camera, "today's stream is little different than our usual programming, but it was the only way she agreed to be in one! You guys really wanted to see her, so we had to be creative!", Max said as he moved the friendship bracelets making kit into view on the table.

"Hey, Queen Taylor said we should make the friendship bracelets, so we're just following her!", you chuckled, looking at all the coloured threads and colourful beads, sorting them out and grabbing a pen and paper so you could draw your ideas.

"Since you guys wanted to get to know Y/N, can I tell them to send in questions?", Lando questioned you, "sure, I'll answer them to the best of mu ability", you smiled.

You were picking the letters you needed for the bracelet you were making when Max spoke up, "first one: how did you start working with Quadrant? I'd love to work on the team when I finish my degree!".

"I saw the job offer, and I must admit at first I didn't really know much about the company. I looked it up, looked cool enough and I sent my CV and portfolio in. So keep your eyes peeled for any offers, I guess? We have them now on the website, which was my doing, so you can check them out there if you want to be part of the team", you offered.

"I need help, guys", Lando said as he fiddled with his bracelet, the orange and grey beads with his initials sliding on the elasticated material, I can't do the closing knot on my own", he pouted as you placed your bracelet down.

"You have to flip it like this, here. Just put it on your wrist and I'll do the rest", you ushered him, your fingertips gingerly touching his hand and wrist as you quietly laced it, "this way we don't get frilly bits out and it looks pretty, see? Pretty!", you smiled, modelling his wrist for the camera.

Pretty, that's what he often thought about you. Not only pretty, but it was one of the first physical traits that came to mind.

"We should all have matching ones!", Max said as he completed his bracelet, impressively on his own, revealing the colourful beads with Quadrant spelled in white round beads with black letters, "I'll make one for each of you", he said as he watched you show your own, pink beads and a lyric he assumed was from a Taylor Swift song.

"I'll make Y/N's, she helped me after all", Lando said as one brave fan sent a comment into the chat.

He's so giddy to make Y/N a bracelet, it's a shame it will snap because of his lack of skills

Am I delusional if I say that they'd make a great couple?

If you're delusional, then what do I call myself? I still think they're making heart eyes at eachother whenever they catch the slightest glimpse!

We're joining forces, I think it's a noble pursuit!

He's a dork, Y/N, but you should give him a chance

Have you always known you wanted to be a graphic designer?

"I thought about different careers before I settled on this one, for now at least", you explained, "engineering was in the running up, but then I figured out that I was curious about how things worked, but that didn't mean that I wanted to be the one working on it. And this was a way to express my creativity, my strategy planning as well, and at the moment it's been quite good", you smiled as Lando grabbed your wrist softly, "I need to make sure this fits", he interrupted, "and it won't snap because I've learnt how to do it, thank you very much", he blushed. So he, too, was reading the comments, choosing not to dwell in them.

"Look, this way you always have a lucky charm with you everywhere you go, even if we're not together. We're eachothers lucky charms!", Lando announced as Max mafe a fake gagging noise.

.

"Are you all ready?", you said as you and Tara walked inside the room, clasping your watch on your wrist and hoping to find the boys ready.

Quadrant had been invited to a gala dinner that celebrated the companies in the same line of business, inviting five people to take part in the meal. After some team members politely declining the invitation since they had things booked already, the group ended up being Lando, Max, Callum, Tara and yourself.

The dress required everyone to up their usual style, hence the long dress you were wearing. Even though it was far from your usual everyday attire, you felt beautiful in the dress you ended up with after browsing the online shops for a while. The cut was simple, the skirt widening from your waist down and complimenting your curves as the sheen from the midnight blue fabric looked soft and sweet against your skin.

Lando seemed to think the same, trying his best to not let his mouth hang open when you and Tara walked inside their room, heels clicking on the wooden floor as you hurried them, "does it really take that long to put on a suit? I had to help Tara with the laces on her back and we still got ready faster than the three of you?", you asked, shaking your wrist to check if the dainty watch wasn't going to fall and that it wasn't too tight either.

Looking up to meet Lando's eyes, you were sure you physically and audibly gulped. No one should look that good in a plain white shirt. The cuffs were still unbuttoned, but the shirt itself was tucked in his black pants. He didn't have any jewellery, so his tanned skin caught your eye as it contrasted with his clothes.

"Lando has a problem with his shirt and we are trying to solve it", Max said, a little bit too antsy given that, at the naked eye, there didn't seem to be a big issue with the piece of clothing you had been inspecting quite closely.

"There was a loose button, and I tried to fix it, but I made it worse", Lando said as he pointed to the button on his hand, the slight movement showing you the place where it was supposed to he holding the piece together and closed.

"Three people in this room and no one thought about grabbing the sewing kit from the amenities?", Tara suggested, looking for it in the box that was the same as it was in your room, "see? Simple as that! Can you sew it, Y/N? My hand isn't fully healed yet, I can't quite grasp something that small yet".

Tara had injured herself earlier on in the week, prompting her to ask to tag out of the gala until you pleaded her to go so you wouldn't be alone, so she couldn't do it. None of the other guys seemed to even know how to pull the thread through the needle, so you grabbed the kit from Tara's hand, "sure, I'll do it", you said, "if that's okay with you, that is", you looked over at Lando.

"Sure, anything to solve this. Do I keep it on or should I take it off?", he questioned, wanting to slap himself straight after at his offer. Why would he volunteer to be shirtless in front of you? It certainly wasn't the way to go, shoving himself like that.

"On should be fine", you muttered, missing the snickers going on behind you as you wet the thread with your tongue, careful to not transfer any of the lipstick on it and ruining the piece without point of return for good, easily looping it through and adjusting the size of the ends.

"Button", you put your hand out so Lando could place it in your fingers, "I will do my best not to poke you, let me know if I do so accidentally", you mumbled at the closeness to him you found yourself in. It was the third button from the top, and as much as you loved the sight of the shirt slightly undone, the dinner required his shirt to be done up. Looping the thread on the button a few times, you moved to pierce the crisp white fabric so it would be secure, your hands dangerously close to his skin as you could hear his laboured breath. Lando still remembered and thought constantly about your fingers touching his hand and wrist when you did the friendship bracelets video for the YouTube channel, and right now, it only added to his predicament.

"It's done, all good!", you exclaimed, looking up as you cut the thread and seeing Lando's eyes on you. The intensity nearly threw you off of your balance as you stood the tiniest bit crouched down on your high heels.

Scrambling to further the distance between your bodies, you smoothed out the non existent wrinkles on your dress, storing the supplies back in the kit as Lando managed to utter out a thank you, too stunned and intoxicated by your scent to say anything else.

"I sewed a button as neither of you look any more ready that you were when we got here? We're going to be late!", you hurried, sitting next to Tara and ignoring her smirk as you scrolled through your phone.

.

"That shoot will have to wait since Lando won't be back here soon, then", you said, moving things around in the online shared calendar, "when did you say you could again? I'm sorry", you asked, rubbing your forehead and squeezing your eyes, adjusting your glasses and looking at him through the screen.

"The first weekend of the next month", Lando assured, "are you okay, Y/N?", he asked. The bags under your eyes didn't fool anyone and you looked tired. And sick, he guessed by the layers of clothing you had on.

"I had a pretty shit day, actually", you admitted, "I had to go with the guys from storage because there was an issue. The supplier sent the samples and we wanted to get things moving so I could have some ideas for the description and the social media team also wanted to prep the draft for the whole story telling, but it all went under. I also think I caught some bug, so it's been a fun day", you exaggeratingly smiled, mocking your own misery.

"You look like you need a hug, Y/N. Do you need a hug?", Lando asked as you nodded, "Actually, that would be pretty good, but I live alone. The neighbours would think I'm pretty weird if I went around like this asking for one, too", you reasoned.

Even though he wasn't next to you, Lando still managed to pull a smile out of you as he got up from the chair he was sitting in, hugging his laptop, "did you feel that hug?", he loudly wondered, "it's full of Get well soon fairy dust!", he smiled charmingly.

"Fairy dust, mate?", Callum wondered, reminding you of his presence in the videocall, "you try and spend more than a few hours with a little girl and you let me know. Mila has taught me all about fairy dust and princess magic", Lando added.

.

"How will we get out of here?", you wondered, starting to regret joining Lando, Max and Pietra when they said they were going to watch a football game. You loved the sport and you figured it would be a nice distraction after a work loaded week, but now, things were looking less than a distraction.

"We will let them space out once the game finishes, free up the roads as well because getting out of here will be a pain, too", Lando suggested.

The game granted your team a win and three points in the championship, the crowd going wild as they clapped, whistled and waved their scarfs, slowly leaving the stadium.

"Should we make a run for it now?", Pietra said, holding her boyfriend's hand as she allowed him to pull her away.

You followed Lando, thanking his choice of a colourful hoodie to wear today as it made it easier for you to spot him, "go in front of me, I'll back you up", he switched positions. You weren't having too much trouble until you were met with a ramp, people carelessly shoving others as they tried to leave as quick as they could, all with the same intent of avoiding traffic and crowded roads.

"Here, Y/N", you heard Lando as he grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers in his and pulling you along, excusing you two as you approached Max and Pietra again, "we're here", you tapped the blonde woman's shoulder with your free hand.

"Goodness, that was and adventure", she said once you reached the stadium car park, the crowd clearing up significantly as there was maybe another ten people headed the same way as you were now, "is everyone alright? I think someone stepped on my foot quite a few times, or many people stepped on it at various different times", you reasoned, walking alongside Lando still.

"Don't we need to hand the bracelets back?", Max said as he looked at the sign, taking his bracelet off and depositing it in the box in the booth, Pietra doing the same as you seemed distracted.

"Are you okay, Y/N?", Max asked, seeing you and Lando were still holding hands and, because of that, not taking off your bracelets.

"Yes, why wouldn't I be?", you scrunched your eyebrows, "we need to hand the bracelets back in, so I kind of need to have yours, too", he teased, looking at your hand still entwined with Lando's.

Removing your hand from Lando's as if it har started burning all of a sudden, you removed the bracelet, apologising quietly to the stadium employee as you thanked him, "shall we go now?".

"Dinner out?", Lando gulped, getting into the driver's seat, "Good idea, yes", Max added, sitting in the passenger's seat as you and Pietra sat in the back, your hand rubbing your other hand that had been laced with Lando's own one for a long time. Uh oh, you were falling in love.

.

The launch was finally over after an amazing response from the fans, leaving your heart happy and warm with a sense of mission accomplished.

"Is everything packed into the van?", you asked Tara, "yes, it's just this box. It has fragile things, so do you think you guys can take it in the car with you? It probably only fits at the front, so you'll have to squeeze in with the boys on the back", she smiled apologetically, "it's fine, we'll keep eachother warm like penguins do", you chuckled, holding the door open as she set the box safely.

Saying goodbye to her and the rest of the team, Max and Lando joined you, "You sit in the middle seat", Max pointed at you, opening the door ao you could scoot closer to Lando and he could get in.

"Could you tell me how long we have until get back?", Lando asked the driver, "with traffic at this hour, I'd say around 90 minutes", he smiled, turning on the blinker so he could leave the car park.

"Plenty of time for me to catch up on sleep, then!", you cheered, making yourself comfortable in the space you had, folding your scarf into an impromptu travel pillow, closing your eyes.

"Are you a snorer?", Max asked, making you blindly swat his thigh, "only when I'm sick, and lucky for you, I'm in presteen health, no blocked nose", you grumbled.

It didn't take you long to fall asleep. In the last week, all of the nights combined, you probably slept less than thirty hours, so your body was indeed in need of rest.

"And there it goes", Max said as your pillow undid itself, Lando lifting his shoulder in reflex so your head wouldn't drop drastically, landing on top of him, "Good thing she isn't our engineer, hm?", he chuckled, looking at how his bestfriend was looking at you like you hung the stars and the moon.

"I think I'm in love with Y/N", Lando whispered after he took your appearance in. You had forgone wearing make-up today, so he could see all your moles and scars, your pouty lips and the darkened skin under your eyes. It took everything in him to not bend down and kiss your forehead.

"Congrats on being the last one to find out, mate", Max added, shaking his head, "I genuinely thought you had some issue processing information, I'm glad to find out you don't.

"Now you just have to act on it, which is going to take you, what? Two, three more months?".

[one-piece-aus]

Whumptober Day 24

Paulie x Reader

"[Y/N]! THAT DRESS IS WAY TOO SHORT! WHAT ARE YOU THINKING?!"

"Calm down, Paulie." You roll your eyes and adjust your hold on your clipboard. "It's right at my knees, no big deal."

"Of course it's a big deal! This is a work zone and you're distracting the men here!" Paulie scolded with flustered red colouring his face.

Ah, such is the life of a lady working in Dock 1. You were part of the inventory keepers, noting when supplies arrived and where they'd go. Paulie the shipwright gambler, kept getting flustered over every little thing about your appearance when you two ran into each other during the same shift. At first, it bothered you, and if it weren't for Paulie seeming to be one of Iceburg's favourites, you would've tried drowning him. Then, someway, somehow, he grew on you.

"Oh pleasure, I won't be distracting anyone." You wave your pen around dismissively. "Besides I even got bending down covered, I'm wearing shorts underneath, see."

You tease him and lift the hem of your dress to show him your black shorts. Paulie's nose exploded blood out, steam flying from his face. Giggling, you drop your dress' hem back down.

"I think you broke him, [Y/n]," Kaku commented, walking up to you.

"He'll be fine. Whatcha need?" You turn to your other co-worker.

"New shipment came from the West Blue," Kaku informed you, leaning closer to add, "Devil Water Pose."

Devil Water Pose... Devil Wanted Poster...

Looks like another assignment has been added, which means your time at Water 7 is closing. Who knew Nico Robin would come here...

"Got it." You nod, keeping your smile. Kaku tips his hat and leaves to help other workers.

"What was that about?" Paulie asked, lighting up a cigar and raising a brow at you.

"Oh, Kaku just let me know about some supplies that just came in. I should go mark that." You spin away, finding it hard to face Paulie.

Paulie stares at your back, mildly puzzled. Something felt off, you don't leave in a hurry like that, especially in high heels. Maybe he's just overthinking.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You sigh, sitting at the bridge near Galley-La, clipboard in hand. Clicking the pen several times, trying to brush away writer's block, you stare at the paper underneath all the pages you stuff into the clip. If only you had more time to write this.

"What got you all bummed out?"

"Ah!" You flipped the papers down to hide the final page. Looking up, you see him. "Paulie, you scared me."

"Sorry," he apologized and leaned back against the railing of the bridge. "You gonna tell me what you were writing?"

"A love letter for you," you tease.

"Don't joke about that!"

You giggled, amused by his flustered state, until you looked back at the clipboard. Your mood goes back down. "I... I am writing a letter, I'm just not sure how to write it."

"Who's it for?" Paulie inquired, puffing out some smoke.

"...Someone I care about, I won't be able to see them for much longer."

"How come?"

"Work reasons," you answered, keeping it vague.

"Shame."

"Yup..." You stare at the water canal, biting back your tongue.

"Why don't you take the day off tomorrow to spend time with them?" Paulie asks.

"He'll be busy."

Paulie grumbles beside you. "What a chump, leaving soon and not bothering to spend time with you."

You giggle at the irony. "I don't blame him, Paulie. It's just how things are." You hear the man huff beside you before you continue. "Besides, he probably doesn't realize I care about him... I... I've been a little distant, you know."

"Shouldn't matter if you've been distant, it matters if he cares about you. Otherwise, you're just wasting your time." Paulie put out his cigar. You hum, acknowledging his words, even if your dilemma is different. A hand rests on your shoulder, you glance at Paulie. "If means anything, all of us at Galley-La care about you, [Y/n]."

"Thank you, Paulie." You wrap your arms around him, catching Paulie off guard. If things were different, maybe you would've given more than a hug. "Thank you for caring about me."

Paulie halts his emotions, sensing there's more to your story than you're telling him. He returns the hug, not understanding why it feels like you're saying goodbye.

And he won't know, until he reads your letter after you're gone.

Tags: @bookandyarndragon @roseoftrafalgar

[phoenix-writer2]

lipstick love

mastelist

synopsis: Percy loves red on you, especially on your lips.

College!Au

pairing: Percy Jackson x fem!reader daughter of Dionysus

warnings: fluff, kissing, lipstick, Percy being Percy, make out (but no smut), love, no prof reading, writing on phone because my laptop died two days ago, if I forgot anything say it

Note: I love lipstick and Percy Jackson. So I thought I this could be good. Enjoy it♥️

Word Count: 1004

╔══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╗♥️╔══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╗♥️╔══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╗

Everyone knew that Percy Jackson's favourite colour was blue. If you asked one of his college mates or a complete stranger from his school, everyone knew the answer. But what nobody knew was that Percy also liked another colour. One that he had only discovered for himself a few years ago. And this time it had nothing to do with the sea, Sally's freshly baked biscuits or the colour blue in general.

Quite the opposite. The colour red was very different from blue. While blue was like the peaceful ocean, red was like a blazing fire. And the reason for this fire was none other than you. You who made Percy's world glow. You who gave him a reason to strive. Not to save the world, not to please the gods, no, just to be with you, to make you proud. And if he was really honest with himself, he would bring Olympus to his knees for you.

There were two sides of Percy. The one where he chased after you like a lost puppy and tried everything to get your attention by constantly saying your name and turning his sea green eyes into puppy eyes, the side where he brought you sweets and treats for no reason, and the one where he was sarcastic and cheeky. The side where he showed off your relationship, kissed you and pretended there wasn't a whole class watching. Whichever side of him it was, Percy didn't care what the people around him thought.

Red was a colour for him, which reminds him of you. He always says "I love this colour" whenever you wear it. But what he loved the most, was the red on your lips. He loved to smear the red and leave his marks behind. Loved to see your reaction after he was done painting his lips and your neck in red. He just adored the sign.

"Hey Darling, can you give me hairbrush?"

Percy was shaken out of his throughs. Your voice was like musik in his ears. Angels melody in the air. He was standing at the kitchen counter, when you came in, preparing a bowl of cereal.

You were dressed in a high waist baggy jeans and a black crop top. Your hair was messy and Percy knew you just had awaken from your nap. He looked to his right and saw the wooden hair brush laying there.

"Sure love"

He grabber it and tossed it to you. The objective almost hitting you on the head when you were still to sleepy to realize that it was flying toward you. But lucky enough did you catch it before you got a red hit mark on your forehead.

"So" asked Percy as he watched you how you tamed your hair. "Where are you going at this time?"

You pulled out a mini mirror from your pocket and an all too familiar red lipstick. You always wear it, so it had become your trademark. No y/n without red lips. Which, if Percy was completely honest, delighted him.

"Just to Annabeth", you mumble as you apply the red color to your lips. Percy watched enchanted as the color stuck to your lips. As if on automatic, he pushed himself away from the counter where he had been standing eating cereal and made his way to you.

You saw in your mirror only you and nothing else, so you didn't notice at first when Percy did get in front of you. While you were completely concentrated not to mess up your lips, Percy did get in front of you. He was a bit taller than you, around 3 inches. You didn't mind that because you liked to look in his see green eyes when looking up. Still concentrated on your lips, Percy took the little flip mirror and closed it. Now your attention was on him and only him and this made him happy.

You lowered your lipstick and put it back in your pocket to look at him. Your boyfriend had this shit eating grin on his lips as he looked at you with adoring eyes. You sighed.

"Darling", you began, but his lips were already on yours. The taste of see and salt stayed on your lips and a contented sigh escaped you as your arms wrapped around his neck and played with Percy's messy hair. Percy, as cheeky as he was, had made it his goal to spread your lipstick. Not just on your lips, but on his and your neck too. So when he moved his slightly chapped lips against yours, he transferred the red color to his lips.

His hands rested on your hips as he pulled you up and settled you on the counter of the kitchen. Your sweet sense overwhelmed him as he detached his lips from yours. You little disapproving noise escapes you and Percy smirked. He lowered his lips again, but this time on your neck. You sucked a breath as he began to spread the lipstick.

"Damn you Perseus Jackson, what would Dad say?"

Percy smirked against your skin. "Mr. D? He would turn me into a dolphin for touching you and kill me for making out with his only daughter."

That was no lie. Dionysus was short lived as he found out you and Perseus Jackson or, what he liked to call him Perry Johnson, were dating. Percy literally had to run from the god, while you calmed your father down.

While Percy picked your skin with kisses, you looked at the clock on the wall of your college department.

"Percy", you whispered. "I have to go"

With a little pout he take if from you, but the sign was it worth. All over your skin were lipstick marks from him. "Let's see what wise girl has to say to that", he smirked and pointed at the marks. You rummaging through your bag to find your mirror to see how bad it was. A goan escaped you when you saw the work Percy was very proud of.

"You're impossible", you scolded. Percy grinned again. "But you love me." you sigh again before smiling. "Yea I love you."

And with that your lips were on his again. Maybe Annabeth had to wait a little bit, bevor you showed up. But she already knew that because she knew Percy Jackson. So she waited without a care in the world and a book in her hands until Percy was satisfied with his lipstick smearing, which he called lipstick love.

Don't copy my work!

[emmaofnormandy]

Imagine you and Aegon find comfort in each other.

Warnings: mediæval like; canon divergence with the series; Y/N’s plot is loosely inspired in (TV Show’s) Helaena’s; drama; smut.

***

• (I)

You have dreams. What do you know about them? They come true, that is what you understand. Whatever colours they are painted of, they come true. Mostly they show you the past, but every now and then… these dreams show something beyond your historical comprehension.

“Y/N, my dearest”, the queen calls you out, bringing you back to reality. You raise your eyes and spot this red-haired woman dressed in fanciful green robes eyeing you with a maternal, yet distant care. “There is something we must speak of.”

“What is it?”, you remember your filial duties. Leaving aside your books, you concentrate on what your often absent mother has to say.

“By any means I mean to bring to you a subject that makes me uncomfortable in speaking of”, the Queen forces a smile, but you can tell by the awkwardness in her eyes that she wishes to be elsewhere. “You are soon going to be married.”

“To Aegon”, you observe, resigned. “How could it be otherwise when he’s the heir?”

For someone so young, your tongue can be sharp whilst your eyes give tons of liveliness not afore perceived by your mother. An awkward silence hangs in between the two of you.

“Yes, to him. This will not happen soon, though.”

“But from now on my lessons will change. I am aware.” And you smile to break the sudden tension. “Fear not, mother. I think Aegon and I will be… in good terms.”

She doesn’t know how you can be certain, but the Queen is relieved for delivering at last what she formerly thought to be dreadful news.

***

• (II)

“Marriages are alliances that must not be focused in sentiments”, instructs the Queen. “These must be placed aside for the sake of duty.”

“Is it not commendable to have some degree of affection between the parties?”, asks Aegon, somewhat confused with where this is going.

His mother gives him a look, deprived of comprehension: how could she, when she married his father by force, never nurturing any affection for this man?

“Nay. The Church strongly discourages affection on both parts, for otherwise marriage, sacred in its end for the purpose of continuing the lineage, becomes profaned.”

Aegon sighs heavily. It is worthless to discuss with his mother, he knows it well. This is a matter that women are better familiar with, for, like his grandsire likes to say, it is linked with a feminine world of which men have little doing in it.

According to the old Valyrian tradition, the heir to the throne comes to understand that he’s to marry his younger sister, Y/N. The young man closes his eyes, at first not really excited about making you his wife.

“I shall do as my lady mother commands”, says he in a mechanic tone, eager to leave the meeting.

Must it be constantly uncomfortable every time they gather together?

A question the Queen sees unposed in her boy’s eyes. One of the kind she wishes she could answer, but trapped in her own ambitious web, all she does is eventually dismiss his presence of her.

And serve herself some wine, naturally.

***

• (III).

Aegon watches as you sit by the fountain. Years gone by since you and him grew up and were forced to marry. The union has been consumed, but you have been avoiding each other’s presence ever since.

However, for some inexplicable reason, here he stands, watching you absorbed in your usual reading. The book is black velvet with golden pages, but judging by the content that has you frowning your eyebrows, Aegon believes it not be of religious type.

He hesitates at first in how to come at you. There had seemed to be an unspoken agreement between both of you since that unfortunate day that once consumed, the marriage would remain as void as possible.

Duties were performed, of course. However, ever since Prince Jaehaerys came to pass, a victim of the Summer Fever, neither could console the other properly. As a result, Aegon produced bastards… but never a legitimate son to continue the line. Perhaps this was arranged, albeit unconsciously so, between him and you against Queen Alicent’s and your grandsire Lord Otto’s ambitions.

But now… Aegon cannot handle his demons alone. Out of his siblings, you are the one whose nature somehow… does not mirror others or his own.

Sensing the weight of his stare, you lift your gaze only to be caught off guard by your estranged husband’s presence. You quickly stand, somewhat fearful he might be here just to scowl at you for failing your duties—something that you’ve seen in others’ eyes.

And even though you’ve been having odd dreams where Aegon and you get along, overcoming these initial struggles that a forced match put you through, you are somehow faithless in this. In addition to this, there’s the fact neither speak to the other since your only son’s demise.

“I do not fault you for his… premature departure of this world”, says Aegon, not needing too much to disclosure the reason why there’s a distance between both parts, under covered by a mutual distrust. “His suffering was short.”

“‘Tis part of our position to accept that what the Lord gives, the Lord takes.” You muse thoughtfully.

Aegon glances away. Religiosity has never been his best, even if he’s forced to play the pious.

“Ours, however, has been unnecessarily prolonged.”

The silver haired prince, who wears court garments today, looks like an empty vessel when these words reach his ears. You hope to reach out for him, but…

“Pardon?”

So close, yet so far.

You are dressing a cream silk gown with details in green and pearls. Aegon notices the result of the embroidery you’ve been working, particularly focusing at the dragons that have been so perfectly woven in the cloth.

“I’ve only meant to say…” You sigh, shaking your head as you quit. “Never mind. This battle is lost.”

Aegon scoffs at your behavior, but in retrospective could you be the one to blame when he walked away so easily?

Biting down a bitter answer, he looks down at his feet before saying:

“May we… walk around the gardens? I think we must speak.”

You cast him a long look.

Could this be?

But when this pair of lilac irises encounters yours, mirroring each other’s soul deprived free will—for where hast it been put if not casted upon the creature done in the similitude of its Creator?—it as if the divine ire has been placated at last. As if little by little all is starting to settle.

Almost if there is hope.

“Aye, lord. I do not see why not”, and when you smile, Aegon realizes this is no time to winter, but to spring. “It has been too long since we last spoke.”

So too he smiles, charmed by this woman whom he neglected by force of pride, weakened in flesh and spirit as he knows.

“True.”

In his own way, Aegon and you begin to gravitate towards each other. Thus the dragons dance.

***

• (IV)

“There is a sadness behind your eyes I cannot decipher”, Aegon muses.

You are lying on his lap. The two of you are found at the gardens in this cloud day. You like how he strokes your hair, careful, tender. A positive change in his manners in these weeks which you gladly welcome despite the early distrust.

“I think I might when I come to think about it, but I fear to dig into it…”, he proceeds. “It makes me want to demove it out of you.”

“That is kind of you, but some people are born with it, I guess”, you close your eyes, unsure where these waters are leading you to.

Though your dreams, green they might be, show you facts that come to be true, you are still frightened by them. Some of them brought you to this very moment in spite of your reluctance to it.

Here you are, though.

“I think we are rather creatures of it”, says Aegon. “And I fear that I am one of the reasons why melancholy has found solace in your heart.”

You carefully rise and contemplate your husband. Your eyes scan his handsome features, part of which mirrors yours. Lilac eyes and silver locks, but a nose and a mouth that certainly take after your mother.

Pulled by strange strings that come from above, you are reasoned by the certainty of being pawns of the gods. Regardless of never answering to them, these never answer to your family either. The clash of mortality and immortality often results in misery.

“Pride is our fall”, you muse, able to see so many tragedies in the past that lead to this current one. “It is only equaled by selfishness. We are all doomed in the end. ‘Tis the nature of us all.”

“I often wish I was worthy of being loved, made different by the divine”, so much being brought out by words and yet you are drawn by them.

“No, my dear lover; my sweet brother, we are all capable of loving… and being loved”, you tell him, capturing his face with your hands.

You rest your forehead against his. Aegon closes his eyes, swallowing the tears he’s been ashamed to keep when darkness rises.

“I am not. And I lament with the depths of my soul for it.”

“Shush now. Quiet the riots of your heart, for we are neither too pure nor too profaned, despite being creatures of sin. We can be light when there is darkness.”

“You are too pure for this world.”

Oh, the anguish. The atonement behind words that hurt like knife, so vicious is the pain these cause.

And yet your lips seek for his in attempt to mend it. Aegon is surprised by your pursuit, but he doesn’t shy away. He welcomes gleefully the sweet taste of your lips.

For the first time in a very long time, pain is left aside by another sentiment, to both of you unknown. What is this? What is this if not the spark of joy? The start of something new, where no words are sufficed to translate.

“I want you”, he whispers like a pained lover, realizing a little too late how his prideful heart and doomed soul stole him away from you for too long.

Whilst his tongue mixes with yours, you succumb to the power of gravity. Like the planets attracted to the sun, so is your heart to his. And you want to steal his misery, you want to be desired as much as you want to love this man.

Half of your soul, your other half.

“I am yours, Aegon”, you bite down his lips, letting him have his way to you when lying down the grass and pulling him over you. “Reclaim me, I beg of you.”

“I shall do as my damsel commands me to”, he gasps, breathless.

Where there was cold, there is now fire. Two dragons, two sides of the same coin, about to get burnt.

He kisses you hard, famine for your affection, desperate to reach out for you and you lift your legs to tie him in between all the whilst returning his fierce kiss, hands gripping his hair, making a mess with his silver locks.

And then…. His lips comes to your neck, biting and leaving bruises, pleased to hear small sounds out of your mouth.

His eager hands start to work on your gown, unlacing it eagerly, digging his hands possessively against your back, very clear in his selfish gesture.

“Mine, mine lady”, Aegon whispers against your chest, pausing breathlessly to contemplate the mess you are now.

Your eyes are partially closed; your red-ish lips are open in a small “o”, wanting for more, releasing these desires for so long repressed, for years repented as wrongs that should be cleansed of your soul.

“Mine lord”, you sigh in content.

And looking down at his face, you see a smile crawling over his lips, which rises to his eyes. Your heart melts and you smile too.

“I exhort you to give me a precious gift”, and you lift him so you steal a kiss out of his lips. “Your heart, your soul… I cannot sleep well at night knowing my lover is not well. Let me be your healer as Venus healed Ares when he was in his worst. For I’d go to hell and cross through damnation to save you.”

“Lady, profess naught these words, I forbid you”, and he kisses you in turn. “Unworthy I am of this gesture, this affection! I shall guard, however, your heart as the great treasure to me sent by the divine. Sinful and doomed I may be…”

“I will redeem you if you let me.”

You shush his uneasiness with another kiss. Now you lay him down, taking control of the reins. You reclaim him like he did to you, except the dragon fire makes you bolder this time.

So your kisses do not concern his lips alone: your hungry mouth captures his neck and his chest… all the whilst you unlace his pants. Starving for affection, one needs the other; a need released after being repressed under the guise of good behavior and social rules.

Oh but where’s the etiquette when your hand grips his manhood, taking it the way he likes—oh you still remember your first night together, when even under the effect of alcohol he was excited to teach you the way it’s done.

Bearing this recollection in minds, Aegon throws his head back and lets out a loud groan.

“Heavens! Oh, my lady! Never before so fair, my leof!”

His chest growing heavy, Aegon’s body is instantly warmed with fire. Eyes rolling in the back of his mind, he’s about to come undone, but not wasting his seed, he turns tables and soon you are no longer the hunter, but the prey.

That in finding pleasure you are able to bury scars of cloud days formed through pain is to delight yourself in these marital activities you and Aegon prevented each of the other in the past years.

Now he’s sliding his manhood into your core after locking your hands above your head, you comprehend at long last what these dreams are about.

Your promise prince. The hope of a yet to come spring.

‘Tis the way upon which salvation is craved: when hearts are blended and bodies are intertwined, when parted souls are one united.

***

• (V)

Politics are not the world you were educated to be part of, which is something you are content about. Unlike your mother, the former queen. This is not a field where you intend to seed your ambitions.

To many, you are content with the role delegated to you, and this isn’t completely untrue. But there are times where nights are dark…

…and full of terrors.

“Aegon”, you whisper his name, but he doesn’t respond; his snore tells how asleep he is. You sigh, but you don’t call him again.

Untangling of his arm, you roll out of bed, anxious. Another dream comes to take your peace… something no one knows, no one’s understand.

You walk barefoot towards the window and there you stand, watching through the glass the darkness above. You can still hear the screams in the back of your head, accusations, the sound of blades…

War is coming.

What is there to stop it? The ambitions of the men are seed to the inevitable. Even so, the scenes are hard to unsee.

Lost in your world, you miss Aegon’s groaning when noticing the cold you left your side of bed and not much time after coming for you.

“Y/N”, your husband snakes his arms around you waist, resting his head on your shoulder. “You look pale. Are you unwell?”

You chew your bottom lip, a sign of distress that Aegon’s familiar with. He suddenly recalls the reason why you and him were never close throughout your childhood and subsequent early adulthood: the fact you were always stuck in your own world.

A reason there was to it, but he was afraid to figure it out then.

“What bothers you, my sweet?”

As you slowly turn at him, Aegon spots tears forming in your eyes.

“You’d not understand.”

“Try me.”

You hesitate, fearful of losing him. As if he could read your thoughts, Aegon cups your face and rests his forehead against yours.

“I shall not leave your side, regardless of what it is that daunts you so.”

“You may call me witch for what I am about to tell you…”

The king chuckles.

“Hardly.”

He waits, aware that this is where you open yourself to him. Aegon can tell, by the looks you cast him, how important this is, a test of trust that will rely on his reactions.

Eventually though, with little need to reassure you that whatever that comes out he will not leave your side, Aegon holds your hands firmly and says:

“We have been under neglect for so long. We were not taught affection nor approval, or any of the values our mother praises in public. And yet here we are with the crown over our heads.” He kisses your cheek, there staying for a while. “We cannot be faulted for the sins of our parents, my wife. We are of the same blood, but we are more than that.”

It is only then you finally grant him entrance to a world where none had dared to do so. Aegon is thus told that you have inherited an ability few possessed in the Targaryen dynasty: the one of having green dreams.

Even so… here it is where one estranged couple gets intimate in the most blessed of forms: by trusting each other and overcoming former difficulties.

Indeed, a victory to the Cupid… or the Virgin Mother who brought harmony to two troubled souls.

***

• Epilogue.

War eventually makes its way to the realm. But when it does, all is settled.

“I must lead my troops against this pretender to the throne”, says Aegon in reference to their sister, Rhaenyra, who never entirely accepted to be cast aside in favour of her younger brother.

“Be mindful. She has Lord Daemon by her side”, you advise him.

“But we have Aemond by ours”, Aegon smirks at you.

As you two embrace, Aegon places a kiss on top of your forehead and a hand over your growing belly.

“Beware, my love”, says he, and you detect concern behind his eyes.

But you sweep away his concerns when you smile the brightest.

“No need to worry. You shall come back to my arms and I will perform my duty accordingly. Dare I say that more children will come in due time!”

Aegon chuckles quietly. When he smiles, no beautiful sight could have warmed your heart like this.

“Aphrodite blessed me indeed!”

He takes your hand to his lips before leading you both to the court where he expects to part with his men soon. Aemond soon comes, joined by Lady Alys, his wife.

Even though this is an unusual union for the time where low born are hardly married into high born houses, you and her got along just fine… and she’s been a good help with the dreams you have.

“This shall not be a farewell!”, says Aegon before all, in a ceremony that you are the protagonist of it. Oh, courtly nonsenses, you know, but here are the perks of being queen. “For the divine calls me to take in arms with the one who, as the same blood of ours, has been conspiring with violence and never befriending with peace!”

“The Fortune has set the path to you, my king. Be merciful, I ask.”

Aegon nods his head regally, every inch a king.

“I will keep your request in mind, my damsel!”

And to prevent a civil war, he goes, mounted in his golden horse whom he calls Sunfyre.

***

However, women are not prevented to fight their own wars even if their victories in childbed are not sang nor praised by poets and bards.

Surrounded with the women of your trust, you are now closed to a feminine world where men take no part. Curious to notice that where Aegon fights for the survival of his dynasty, you too take a similar part in delivering its success.

Amidst pain and blood, though, you perform your duties accordingly. Most would applaud your bravery in facing the process with no tears and few screams.

I am as Targaryen as any of them.

A pair of twins comes to breathe the air after the process is done. You opt to name the male after your husband, Aegon, and the female after Rhaenys. It is only fair since you come after their line.

“How is my queen doing?”, Lady Alys asks you once the labour comes to an end and the babies are taken to be cleaned.

“Good”, you smile at her, taking the hand offered and giving a slight squeeze. “Thank you.”

“More will come”, she whispers.

Your smile spreads fully.

“Oh, indeed. A victory granted by the Divine.”

“Even if the Targaryens answer to no men nor Gods”, says Alys.

Both of you chuckle.

“It is what it is”, you give your motto to your sister in law.

Towards the end of the reign of Aegon the Wise, the chronicler writes how you, successfully known as the peacemaker, set the path to other queen consorts in your queenship. Popular throughout the Seven Kingdoms, your hand extended where your husband’s could not.

For example, you helped arranging the marriages of your third child, Rhaella, with Rhaenyra’s son, Jacaerys, as well as your fourth, Hughes, with Visenya. That way you brought Rhaenyra closer to your family instead of instigating another possibly revolt. Such matches pleased her.

It all ended well.

As for you and Aegon, no successful match has been seen since King Viserys wedded Lady Aemma.

You and him found solace in each other and would remain so until the end of your days. There’s a saying in King Aegon III’s reigns that you and your husband’s bond was so strong that both of you were found dead sleeping in each other’s arms in an advanced age.

[t0rturedangel]

can i have some yandere!Vox using his mind control powers on the reader??

╭ . . . 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚗𝚘𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚜 ੭

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄-𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐊 ! 𝐕𝐎𝐗 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

♰ ৎ﹕𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩, 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦

WOOO VOX STUFF, ngl vox is my favorite out of the three vees (idk much abt velvette and i fucking HATE valentino)

✧⠀⨾ the only way he'd ever hypnotize you was if you dared to leave him- i mean who would leave him HIM?? the cool, chill guy Vox, the guy who anyone can trust with their stuff? How could you, in the name of lucifer himself, dare to leave just like that?

✧⠀⨾ you used some lame excuses too, "oh you're scaring me!" "This isnt healthy or alright in the slightest" like seriously? that's not even that serious! all he wants is for you to stay with him. BY HIM. that's all he's asking, is it too much?

✧⠀⨾ fuckin must be, since now you're sobbing and grabbing bunches of clothes- throwing them into a small, very pathetic suitcase so you'd have something when you ran away.

✧⠀⨾ you see, now, now you've went too far- now vox has to step in, which will not be good for anyone.

Through tears in your eyes you grabbed even more clothes, stuffing them all into your [ favorite coloured ] suitcase, occasionally blinking tears away or rubbing them off of your face. Vox went mad, he was always weird to you during the later period of your relationship- always too touchy and manic, too close to you. Yes, the two of you were dating, and everyone thought it was fine- you and vox were happy together. That was true, at least at the start of this twisted relationship, Vox genuinely seemed to care, to love you and would never dare to hurt you, he said so himself.

Yet, recently he's been acting so off- so wrong. Before he was kind, gentle, never forced you to do anything you didn't want to, but now? Lucifer, what happened to him? What happened to that man that you cared and loved so much, what infected his mind? You ,it seemed, were the answer- he changed because of you of how much he "loves" you. he hates seeing other sinners get too close to you- his precious angel- one who should be untouched by the filth of imps and lower sinners, he even went as far as to ban you from seeing the other vees (who you grew decently close to, earning their respect), he seemed to adore the fact that he controlled every aspect of your life and that you failed to notice it at first, too blinded by your love for him, for everything he did for you before the relationship became official- it was so foreign to see him like that now that you knew, that you've opened your eyes and saw the true intent of his actions, now you're scared, horrified.

Through your hysterics, as Vox labeled them when you first began to cry over all of this, you failed to notice that very same 'boyfriend' (you cringed at calling him that, that thing was not your boyfriend- was it ever your boyfriend?) standing in the door frame, his screen glitching with annoyance and screeching out quiet static noises that seemed for familiar yet so eerie, and his eye wider than the other- a beautiful black swirl dancing around on a red background, such an entrancing sight ❝ babe. ❞ you heard his voice, so distorted and full of displeasure making you shrieked out of almost pure instinct and turned your body so fast you almost has whiplash- eyes wide at the sight of Vox, a horror engraved into your [eye colour] irises . Your body began to tremble it felt almost natural to fear Vox, of what he'd do- he want others to imagine him as this stupid cool guy, who has not a care in the world but you knew what he was truly like. you knew what he was, what he said, what he felt about the other desperate sinners.

❝ go away vox- im not your 'babe' im leaving❞ it was barely above a whisper but sounded so loud in your head, so very loud. That one sentence could have leaft you deaf, you wish it did- wishing it left you deaf and blind so you didnt have to hear his voice, coated in an artificial love, dripping with his real poisonous intent, or see his face- that face you loved to see plastered around the pride ring, the face that now glared at you. ❝ Dont be like that [name]- you know you're my [girlfriend/boyfriend/lover] you cant leave me ❞ his voice, still laced with that distortion didn't register in your head, it's like you didn't even hear it- like you really went deaf.

you could hear his steps echo through the room and that confidences you held a meer second ago- drained from your stature immediately. A fear washed over you, overwhelming your body... Millions of questions raced through your tormented mind all desperate to be your sole focul. „ what will he do? ” „will he kill me? Torture me? Sell me off to some beggar?”

Those questions, such meaningless questions you thought, will never be answered. Though do not fear, Vox cherishes you too much to allow you to be in harm's way of anyone else- he just loves you so much, so much so that he'll forgive this silly little attitude of yours just this once: next time he won't be as forgiving. Though, in all his honesty there won't ever be a 'next time' and all he needed to prevent this was for you to look at his eyes, to just give him one glimpse, it's like deja vu for you ist it? What were you thinking? Those fears, those worries and silly little thoughts of leaving him should have never been thought in the first place, oh how could you be so horrible to think that your loving boyfriend Vox would EVER be so controlling and terrible? My dear, Vox only wants what's best for you, and whats best for you if to stay with him! That's all you need to do, he'll do all the hard work, he'll get his hands dirty, he'll protect you. No one else can do what he does, no other overlord, no other vee, no sinner, not even Lucifer himself can keep you safe like how he can.

after all, he just loves you too much to let you leave, and why would you? being with him had never been better. Though now Vox re-thinks letting you think for yourself again, after all last time he did you wanted to leave.

That cannot happen again. NEVER again.

[randombush3]

revocate animos (with or without me)

alexia putellas x reader

part one, part two, part three, part four

the second half of this part (it didn't fit in one post lol)

words: it's over 14k. i had lots to say.

summary: the final part, which originally had a different ending but i was told it was evil so i changed it.

warnings: it's mainly just sad, there's a bit of smut though

notes: i could give you so many excuses as to why this is being posted now but no one wants to read that so i'll just say sorry x

anyway, i got very lost along the way at points and had some serious plot crises that had me tearing my hair out. i researched children's behaviour to the point of needing an honourory qualification, and i spent the last three hours ignoring my girlfriend while i finished this off.

for as much as i put these two through (and myself tbh), i'm sad to finish it off. BUT ALSO NOW IM FREE.

have fun reading! and sorry about the length of it

London smells of dirty rain and exhaust fumes, of a homelessness crisis and inflation attempting to impersonate that of the Weimar Republic; greyish streets, cracks in the pavement, thousands of spices from all over the world. Grubby patterns, hidden by the smudging of millions of bottoms, coloured poles that used to match the train line but no longer do. You breathe it all in, eyes closed as the motion of the underground jerks you sideways, the train leaving London Bridge just as you left Barcelona. Without looking back. 

You had laughed when they told you they’d send a driver to get you from the airport. The luxury of some shiny black car held no appeal when compared to the familiar Northern line, its blackened route well-travelled and your own brick-road home. 

Part of this choice to ‘slum it’ is borne of your desire to return to the past; a time before the fame and the fortune, when camera flashes came from your parents’ Sony Cyber-shot and not paparazzos with a hunger to splash you across the front page of a slimy gossip magazine. There was no Alexia, then. The extent of Spanish in your life was Anya studying for her A-levels, and you’d spend time writing songs without it feeling like pulling teeth. Without having to relive some of the worst moments of your life. 

Those hadn’t happened yet.

God, you were so naive then back then. 

Your London shows are in Wembley. Two nights, two journeys through your album, through your heartbreak. Both are sold out. 

“See it, say it, sorted,” you mouth along to the voice, pushing the handle of your suitcase upwards, rising from your seat. The doors of the tube swoosh open, the yellow line of the platform attacking your tired eyes as Highgate station is revealed to you. You hear a whisper of ‘is that Y/n L/n?’ but you don’t turn around. 

The wheels of your suitcase gurgle against the bumpy pavement leading up to your house, but they grow quieter as you approach. They must sense the tension, glad to have the smoother surface of your driveway to move across as you force yourself to continue walking forwards. 

A woman is standing on your porch. Her body swivels around as she hears you stop just behind her. 

Leah takes in the sight of you, deciding that you definitely did not enjoy Barcelona. “I was just about to ring the doorbell, but I guess you wouldn’t have answered the door anyway,” she says with an awkward chuckle, not sure if you want to talk about how rough you look. You cried the entire flight, and refused to contact anyone once you had landed, hoping they assumed your plane had crashed and you had drowned somewhere in the English Channel. 

“I got here in the morning.” Your voice is unused. It croaks, shattered. 

“Let me get your bag?” asks Leah, rather firmly, leaving you no room to decline her request before she has stepped off the porch and into your personal space. She looks up at you, wondering how you manage to look so beautiful even now, hand blindly reaching out for the hard shell of your suitcase as she stares. “How’re Nico and–” 

Your lips silence her before she is finished. Leah freezes, surprised this is the moment you have chosen to kiss her.

But she misses you as soon as you pull away. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, and she cringes at the self-loathing that drips from your words. A tear rolls down your cheek, but you are unsure whether it falls because you have kissed her or because you want to kiss her again. “I shouldn’t have done that.” 

You must have argued with Alexia. Leah’s realisation weighs heavy on her heart. Something has to have happened for you to have made your move, because Leah had been starting to accept the idea that you were still in love with your ex and she was nothing more than a friend. She had been looking forward to your concert tonight, in all honesty, and was excited to see you again, glad to have you in her life in any way, shape, or form.

“Because,” she starts hesitantly, “because you didn’t like it? Or…” 

“Leah.” 

“If you wanted to kiss me again, I wouldn’t mind.” 

“Leah,” you repeat, the vowels almost failing to drop from the tip of your tongue. This is a dangerous game, but the look in Leah’s blue eyes tells you that she is happy to play it. “Leah, I… I shouldn’t have kissed you?” 

“Is that a question?” 

You blink. “I’m not sure.” 

“If it’s a question, I’d say that the answer is the opposite. And that we should go inside.” She slides her hand over the metal handle of your suitcase, warm skin covering your fingers where your grip is still curled around it. “But only if you want to.” 

Do you want to? 

You value your friendship, you really do; Leah has been there for you many times since you met her, never asking too many questions. She means something more than what you crave from her, and doesn’t deserve to be the woman you use to detach yourself from reality. 

But Leah is looking at you with desire that has been missed, relentlessness promised by her toned muscles. Leah is looking at you as though you are the only star in the galaxy or the sun on a rainy day. Leah is looking at you like she wants to devour you, and you, with no soul left to give, resign to letting her have your body.

“This won’t change anything, right?”

It’s a mean question. You know that. 

“Course not,” Leah lies. 

You let it convince the both of you. 

Pink glitter covers the dining table at one end, and shiny green stars are scattered on top of the brown grain of the wood on the other.

“She might be at soundchek,” Alexia explains to Nico, who is finished with his Mother’s Day creation and is now intent on FaceTiming you to show you the card he has made. “And cards are supposed to be a surprise. That’s why we made envelopes!” 

“But you said my card should be put in a museum,” he replies with a frown, his nose crinkling in confusion just as yours does. “So we show her now.” 

“Mi amor, that’s not how it works,” laughs Alexia, reaching out to ruffle his hair. With Elena settled comfortably on her healthy knee, gleefully pushing piles of glitter around so that it mixes with the glue smeared on her card, it is safe to say that this year’s cards are going to be successes. “Mama has promised to call when she gets home, and you can tell her that you have a surprise for her. That will build up the excitement, and make it even better when she gets to open it.” 

Your son has become a cynic. “And when will that be?” 

“Mother’s Day is on the 19th, so we have three days to wait.” You have purposely chosen a chartered route to Tokyo that flies via Barcelona so that you get to spend the day with your children before your fortnight in Asia to end the first half of the tour. “Do you want to write the words out for Lela once the glue has dried?” 

“I don’t know what Lela wants me to say,” he explains with great concern, turning to his sister with a very serious expression. He speaks to her in English, because he knows that this card is for you. He understands that there are two Mother’s Days, though he thinks it’s because he has two mothers, and that Alexia’s day is in May. When Alexia opens her mouth to speak, Nico is quick to shut her down. “Calla, Mami, no sabes nada de inglés.”

Your legs slam together but find no available route with Leah’s body in between them. 

It feels… good. 

Liberating.

You haven’t brought her into your bed, which she notices but doesn’t comment on. It’s excusable to be on the sofa, to have stayed downstairs for the hours she has spent trying to make you feel better, because the clock has only just ticked its way to lunchtime. You laugh to yourself at the thought of that, amused by the notion that you have already eaten.

Leah is curious when it comes to you. That much you had expected, having been aware of her lingering gazes long before the sores on your heart had calloused into tougher muscle. She has been waiting for this resiliently, and you present yourself to her as though you are a new toy she finally gets to play with. She kisses you slowly at times, to memorise the warmth of your tongue or the jut of your chin, but she often grows impatient, wanting nothing more than to end her torture and find out what it is like. 

What is it like to have a woman like you? To wake up next to you, kiss you, touch you? 

How does your mind work? What do you smell like just after getting out of the shower? Does your accent ever slip, or is it really that posh? 

The air in the living room is hazy now, and your eyes close in bliss as you let your sweat seep into the grainy fabric of your white sofa. Leah doesn’t crawl into your open arms as you assume she will. 

She wipes her mouth. 

Although Leah has enjoyed this very much, she knows that this instance has not been you allowing her to start to love you. It has been for her to help you forget how much pain you are in. Somewhere deep down, she cares, but she doesn’t try to search for the emotion.

“So,” she says with a giggle, as if you are two teenage girls, best friends who have decided to kiss so that they can practise for the real thing, “do I need to send an apology present to your makeup artist?” Sitting back on her knees, she swipes one hand down to pluck her t-shirt from the floor, pulling it on top of her naked body before sending you an exaggerated smirk and prodding the developing bruise on your neck.

“Fuck,” you groan, batting her hand away. “I completely forgot I had that thing tonight.” You also need to call your children before Alexia bans your name from her household (if that hasn’t happened already). 

“That ‘thing’ being your concert at Wembley?” 

“I’d have thought selling out Wembley is the norm for you now, Captain,” you tease, clearing your throat. “England have done it, Champions of Europe for the very first time.” 

“You’re freakishly good at a commentator’s voice.” 

“Gotten used to being my own commentator. Only Spanish streams in my house – even United matches!” You smile at your own frustration but it quickly sours as awkwardness drops on top of you. You bring your arms up to cover your bare chest, but Leah clears her throat with softened eyes and you no longer feel so exposed. 

You feel safe.

“What happened in Barcelona?” You shake your head at her question. “That bad, huh?” she presses. 

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” you tell her, grey clouds hanging over you as your voice darkens and lowers. “Like, at all.” 

“I think you should. It’s better it comes out now than later when you’ve had lots to drink and no idea who you’re ranting about it to, isn’t it? And it’s just me; I’m not going to judge you.” 

“But you know her. You know her friends.” Your hands move to cover your face. Leah can have your body, but you don’t want her to have your tears. “Thank you for caring, babe, but I think I’m going to handle this one on my own.” 

“Well, you know that–” 

“You’re always a phone call away.” You smile, tears sucked back inside you, bottled away in glassware you store in crates labelled ‘VERY FRAGILE’. Desperate to change the subject, you adjust your position on the sofa, sitting up. Leah tries very hard not to stare at the curves of your chest. “You know, Lee, I never thought you’d be that good in bed.” 

…

Alexia is in desperate need of advice. 

Her muscles contract and relax, the tissues pulling on her bone, which, in turn, pulls her. She is strung along, driven perhaps by her leap in recovery and impending comeback. She almost breaks out into a jog, but the church she has dragged herself to comes into view before she can gain speed. 

She had not expected this from herself. 

It’s nothing special to her, though she will admit that the architecture of the building does hold some sense of divinity, but the heavy wooden door is propped open and she is drawn inside. 

The Sacrament of Reconciliation, Fridays, 17.00-17.30. 

Alexia checks her watch, the golden links gleaming on her wrist, catching the sunlight that filters in through the glass windows. 

She catches a glimpse of white behind the doors of the Confession booth, becoming acutely aware of how empty the church is. The curtain has been pulled back, bunched to the left-hand side carefully, as though the previous handler had moved with peace. 

It can’t be that bad, can it? 

It’s just like therapy. 

Her feet carry her forwards once more, leading her into the wooden booth. It smells old. The cushion she kneels on is blue, she thinks, but she cannot tell because it goes dark once she pulls the curtain shut. 

Alexia is not a religious person. Sure, she signs the cross before stepping onto the pitch, and, like most people she knows, she is baptised, but her faith is limited to that. When she tore her ACL, she spent evenings trying to pray, trying to force her to believe in Him. It would have been comforting to know that someone had a plan for her, was watching over her carefully with the knowledge of how it was going to play out. It was to no avail. 

But somehow she knows what to say, and so she does. 

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” She recites the words like lines from a play, head bowed in shame as she writes her next sentences in her mind. “This is my first and, probably, my last confession.” 

Silence. 

She rests her hands in her lap, shuffling around to ensure she is not pressing down on her knee in any way that is harmful. It would kill her to have to push back her return to the pitch because of some stupid thing she has spontaneously chucked herself into. 

“I messed up.” She laughs. “No, that is actually an understatement. I know this is a church and I really shouldn’t swear, but I fucked up. Father, I had Heaven in my hands and I threw it away as though it were meaningless. Was it greed? Was it greed that led me to do it?” 

“Do what, my daughter?” 

The priest sounds younger than she’d thought he would be. 

“I had an affair with a woman whom I am certain I do love a little bit, but, by doing that, I destroyed a life that was perfect. Was it greed?” 

“I think you know the answer to that.” 

“Was it temptation?” Alexia tries again, desperately. Part of her yearns for the priest to tell her it was the Devil so that she can shed the responsibility. “I love my wife. More than anything, I love her. I do not think my own life is worth living if it is not in service to her, to our children, to the smile she reserves for her favourite people. I… I didn’t attempt it, but I thought about killing myself.” She swallows the lump in her throat. “Only once, but I thought it all the same. My sister called me selfish.

“It’s just – forgive me – fucked, isn’t it? I got carried away. I got lonely, I was alone. I craved something to make me forget, to pinch the gaping hole in my life shut. I relied on it to make me feel better, and it did for a time. But now it has made me feel much, much worse.

“And I am sorry! I am so, so sorry. I have grown sick of the word; I’ve used it so much that it holds no meaning anymore. It doesn’t do my regret justice, nor my quest for forgiveness, and I’m really on that quest, Father, I want to stress that to you. I lost my temper and said things I should not have said – things I don’t even believe – but I did not mean them then, and I do not mean them now.” 

“You are not religious,” accuses the priest, very gently. His voice washes over Alexia’s ears like a wave of warm saltwater from the Mediterranean, and she feels comfortable enough to swim into the expanse in front of her. “Our God is forgiving, but it is not His forgiveness that you seek. I cannot give you a prayer that will make her absolve your sins, because our holy words are not spells.” 

“Father,” croaks Alexia. As her lips part, she tastes the saltwater of the sea, dripping down her cheeks as though the tide has come in and there is no other option than for her to be flooded. “Please help me. I don’t know what to do.” 

The priest speaks, but she assigns the voice to someone else. 

The first thing you forget about a person is what their voice sounds like. It lingers like a feeling you can’t quite name; distant, distorted, enhanced by fantasy.

Alexia does not remember her father’s voice. 

The realisation is crushing. 

She knows his words – they are her prayers – but, like Catholics do not know the voice of their God, she can no longer hear the voice of hers. 

What would her father say if he saw her like this? On her knees in a Confession booth, backed against the wall with nowhere to hide?

This is not the girl he was proud of. Alexia, of course, is not that eighteen-year-old anymore; she hasn’t been for a decade. But, recently, the legacy of that unknown Levante player has disappeared. 

Alexia is so very lost. 

She does not know where she is in her own city. In her home. 

She does not know her place in her life, much less her place in yours – if you will still grant her one. 

She has not felt the thrill of football for months, has driven herself to Hell and back, and considered giving up enough to be on the brink of actually doing it. 

She has seen countless meals hit the water of her toilet, never digested, never deserving of the very thing that keeps her alive. 

She has counted your sacrifices, memorising the digits of an ongoing figure so that she can punish herself with the knowledge. 

She has tried to forget English, tried to improve her English, and taken vows of silence. 

She has cried and cried and cried until the only thing left for her to excrete is her hot, red blood. 

She has searched for a way out of the maze. She has failed every time. 

Alexia is lost without you, and she knows it. Everyone knows it, perhaps even you yourself. Do you revel in that fact? Do you enjoy it? 

You have a right to watch her suffer. You do, you do, you do. 

Alexia runs a hand through her damp hair, sweating as she sobs in the booth next to some stranger who she will never meet again. Her mouth is dry but her cries are wet and raw, and they scrape her throat as she chokes them out, losing her breath and falling silent only to catch it and begin again. The cushion burns her knees as though she is trapped in an inferno, the darkness blazing against her skin. 

The priest talks to her for a long time, not letting her leave until she has calmed down. She sniffles, wiping her nose with the back of her palm before softly pressing her thumbs to her blotchy cheeks to clear the final tears from them. 

When he is finished, he instructs her to take a few deep breaths, which she does. “You are not entitled to her forgiveness,” he reminds her. He begins the Prayer of Absolution – he insists for the sake of closure – and Alexia walks away from the church no more than five minutes later. 

She is still stuck in the maze, but she has restored that voice in her head that she knows will help her find her way out.

…

“So you went to church?” Olga asks with an amused smile, taking the first sip of her latte, relishing in the gentle burn of the liquid. She needs this coffee; she stayed up late last night because she knew Alexia has been struggling. There is nothing worse than being asleep when Alexia calls her for help. 

“I have no idea how I ended up there,” Alexia explains, somewhat defensive about yesterday’s catharsis. “Confession is way better than therapy. There is too much accountability in therapy.” 

“You have a lot to account for.” 

She huffs out a breath, taking a sip of her own drink. “I know, Olga, but I cannot change the past, so what would you like me to do?” Olga doesn’t reply. The brunette parts her lips, but promptly closes her mouth when she sees Alexia’s slight discomfort. “Mama wants you to come to dinner tonight. I… I do too.” 

Olga’s smile is big and genuine. “I’d love that,” she answers. “Eli is the best cook out of our friends’ parents. Everyone knows that.” 

You’re in London, childless, and are watching the grand old Arsenal play (reluctantly, forced to by Leah if anything). Alexia has seen the pictures of you at the match on Instagram; she has already felt the frustration that you are most-likely never going to watch Barcelona play again unless it is to support the other team. Like clockwork, Alexia seeks to fill the gaping hole you have left in her life. Somewhere, somehow, the lines of friendship between her and Olga have blurred. 

…

It takes just over a month for Leah to crack. 

You appear in London every two weeks, attending meetings and events, but she has decided, once and for all, to see through your excuses. You come to London for her. She knows that, and so do you. Leah’s ego has not reached a size where she believes she is enough for you, but the facts (and Lia Wälti) tell her she is wrong. 

Except, what Leah tends to leave out is that no matter how many times you let her sleep with you, she still is unable to access a certain part of your mind. 

She has never been upstairs in your house because you always prefer to go to her place in St. Albans. She has never slept in your bed, nor woken up next to you. 

You talk to her like she is still the same old Leah, the captain you befriended during the tournament of her lifetime, your entrance in her life intertwined with the ecstasy of winning the Euros. She closes her eyes and thinks of how you looked that summer; white England shirt, sunglasses pulled down over your eyes. Smiling, cheering. For her, she greedily claims to herself.

Sometimes, in her mind, you lift your sunglasses – you always seem to be crying when she pictures this – but Leah is only vaguely familiar with the timeline of your divorce. This is the issue.

There is a door that you have locked and refuse to let Leah find the key. It leads to heartbreak, to Nico and Elena, to a family you once had. 

“I wish you would let me in,” Leah says one day. (The day she cracks.) She tears her ACL two days prior, something that makes you feel guiltily nauseous, and you have come to visit her. She knows that you had flown over the minute you had swapped custody with Alexia. 

Your legs curl into your chest as you try to reduce the amount of space you are taking up on Leah’s sofa, cautious of her injured knee. Leah misses the warmth of your thighs, and wants to revoke her conversation starter instantly, pained that she has to even ignite the fire of this forbidden topic. “What do you mean?” comes your quiet reply, unwilling to disturb the peace of her living room. The peace of existing side-by-side. 

“Exactly what I said.” Leah nods to emphasise her agreement with herself. “I wish you would let me in, because how do you expect me to love you if I don’t know you?” 

She sees the bullet fly through the air; she sees the moment it hits you, the way you go rigid. Dead. Dying? 

“It’s crazy because it usually takes years for me to feel about someone the way I feel about you, and I just… I just wanted to tell you that it’s okay to let me in. I want to hear everything, to know everything.” 

“Oh.” What had you expected when you kissed her? “Oh, Leah.” 

“You don’t have to apologise.” She assigns your guilt, the tears in your eyes, to your distance. Perhaps you hadn’t realised, perhaps it is a coincidence Leah has never slept in the bed you used to share with Alexia. Maybe you are unaware that Leah has never heard you speak Spanish, and doesn’t know a single thing about your life in Barcelona. 

You’re a busy person, after all. 

“No, no,” you dismiss quickly, shaking your head. Leah can’t help but wonder if the paranoid voice in her head is right; has she been reading too much into this? “Fuck, I am such a twat.” 

But you don’t elaborate further, asking how she’s feeling, distracting her from your realisation about her realisation. Before Leah knows it, you are making her laugh harder than she has in a month, and soon, like most good things, your visit comes to an end. 

Returning to Barcelona is a little weird. 

You feel as though you have done nothing but check over your shoulder the entire journey, staring the past straight in the eye and wishing you could change it. 

You hadn’t meant to make her fall in love with you. (But she has. Oh, she has.) 

This week’s swap is no different; the same park as usual, the same pleasant weather to undergo an unpleasant task. 

On the bench usually occupied by Olga, a different, blonder head comes into view. 

“Irene?” you ask in surprise, wondering if she has been sent in Olga’s stead or just so happens to have brought Mateo, her son, to the very same park. You sit down beside her, somewhat pleased to not see Alexia’s henchwoman today. “Where’s the free childcare?” 

The defender’s eyes narrow, as though she is debating whether or not she should tell you. 

Irene has known Alexia for a long time, and, by extension, has known you for a long time too. She is calm, level-headed, and mature, much like Alexia. Except Irene hasn’t ever thought to cheat on her wife. 

You are clearly in a lot of pain, and you have a right to be; Irene does not rise to your comment. “Olga has gone on holiday,” she states with practised neutrality. 

“Ah, they’ve broken up.” 

Eyebrows raised, she turns to you, breaking her line of sight that encompasses Nico, Mateo, and Elena. The playground is small enough, and very safe. “They were never together.” You wait patiently for her analysis of whatever the fuck was going on between them. “Olga said she wasn’t what Alexia needed. She’s on holiday with Carla, and I guess she is quite upset.” 

“And Alexia?” You know Irene does not like to gossip, nor stir the pot. So you can be nosy about how she is doing. 

“I think her ego was bruised, but she sees Olga’s point. She has been… better recently. She’s focused on getting back onto the pitch, and Jona is only saying good things about it.” Irene’s eyes brighten at the thought of her captain’s recovery, and her tone soars through the air. The entire team has worried for Alexia, spending their own nights tossing and turning, wondering if the old version of her will ever return. “I know you two don’t speak, but if you did, you’d get a glimpse of what it was like before.”

You can’t help your smile, and Irene does not make you feel pathetic for wearing it. “Good.” 

“I heard you were in London?” 

“Visiting a… friend.” Irene is not a gossip, you remind yourself. “I think I might have to stay in this country for a bit and let things cool down over there.” 

She chuckles. “Whose heart have you broken?” She won’t tell Alexia, when Alexia inevitably asks about you, that you are seeing someone. Not that you have confirmed that to her. 

“I’m yet to break it,” you tell her, sighing, “but I know I will, and that is much, much worse.”

“Hey, at least you have two weeks of being endlessly busy to keep your mind off it.”

Children change a lot in two weeks, so Irene then launches into an update on school, clubs, and everything else. She gets the information from Alexia, of course, who writes out a list every time you switch over. No one has ever handed you the piece of paper before, worried that her handwriting will be an unnecessary reminder of the pain she has caused you, but, for some reason, Irene does today.

You are not put off by the swirling Spanish in front of you, instead choosing to study it. You have spent hours in Alexia’s lap as she scrawls out football notes upon football notes, scribbling prompted by footage or, freakishly, her own memory. From the lightness of the indentations of the pen, you figure that Alexia is exhausted. From the half-finished sentences, you decide that she was rushing when she wrote this. 

But, as much as you delight in your brief analysis of the evidence in your palms like Sherlock Holmes solving a mystery, you can’t ignore just how greatly you have missed the letters that swim between the lines (and the hand from which they were written). 

Irene spares you your dignity by standing from the bench and checking on the children just as your tears begin to fall. 

…

You take one last look in the mirror embedded in the sun visor, ensuring your hair is perfectly in place and your earrings match your cream, sleeveless turtleneck to poise you just between casual and smartly-dressed. A quiet grumble from the backseat draws your attention away from your reflection, though your last glimpse at your concealed eyebags and red-rimmed irises leaves you feeling a little dejected and mourning the days you’d actually get some sleep. (Or wouldn’t, smoking cigarettes on the balcony while talking Alexia’s ear off.) 

“Mama, we go,” decides Elena with a huff, tugging on the buckle of her car seat. 

It’s Nico’s first-ever recital tonight. 

He started playing the piano in September, when his teacher at school had mentioned how he boasted to the children in his class that he was a musician: ‘if I am Catalan because my mami is Catalan, then I am musician because my mami is musician’. You felt guilty. His teacher says he is naturally talented, voice lacking surprise but praiseful nonetheless, and is proud to name Nico his youngest student at tonight’s show. 

The bouquet of daisies you ask Elena to hold makes her look like a miniature carnival float, and she toddles into the venue by your side while you do mental gymnastics between the knowledge that Alexia will be here tonight and the nerves for your son’s performance. It’s nothing complicated, but you worry he will hate it. This is the only thing he does that is a nod towards you; his one deviation from his worship of Alexia. 

“Mami!” squeals the walking flowers as soon as you make it to the half-full hall. You direct your gaze to the three rows your daughter refers to, every seat lined with either professional footballers or family. With a sudden rush of blood to your head, you feel out of your depth.

You’re not sure whether the hazel eyes that find yours help or worsen that. 

“Keep it moving,” you mutter firmly, holding her hand so she does not make a break for it and tumble right over to the cohort of FC Barcelona and Seguras. Not wanting to get too close to them, you take your seat in the penultimate row, knowing Nico will not be able to see you over the grand piano set up on the stage wherever you sit. “You can talk to her later, sweetheart.” 

She is in an obedient mood, most-likely intimidated by the tension in the air. You tell yourself it’s the stress radiating from the line of performers sitting on the front row. Nico stands on his chair, waving first to Alexia and then to you (it’s your turn with them so you are a lot less exciting right now), before he is lightly scolded by his teacher and the first child walks up the steps and onto the stage. 

Five uninspiring children later, Nico is finally led up onto the stage. His teacher sits down on the piano stool and nudges him forwards. He smiles brightly at the room. You reciprocate, encouraging Elena to do the same to keep her engaged with an admittedly boring event. 

“Bona nit a tothom! Jo sóc en Nicolau i tinc quatre anys i ara aniré a tocar ‘Brillia Brillia Estel Petit’.” The audience melts before him. “Mama, that means ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’,” he whispers loudly. 

You send him a thumbs up. He sends you a grin back, before giggling as he climbs onto the piano stool beside his teacher. 

Situated comfortably, feet dangling adorably far away from the pedals, his chubby, little fingers hit the ivory keys once, then twice. 

You pray this goes well. 

It does. 

He plays with two hands, something you hadn’t expected, and Elena holds in her noisy yawn until after he is finished so she must have been invested in the performance. Your own hands sting after you clap with such prideful force that you are the loudest in the room, and the hoots and hollers from Alexia’s territory only make Nico even happier as he bounces down the steps and back to his seat to wait for the others to do their pieces. 

After the recital has finished, you walk down the aisle separating the seats in half to get to Nico, daughter-less courtesy of a squadron of football-playing kidnappers. 

“How was that?” you ask him smugly, his arms wrapping around you in a tight hug. “I knew you would be brilliant, even when you were scared you weren’t going to be. Do you know how proud I am of you?” 

“This much?” He holds his hand about thirty centimetres apart. “Mami says this much.” 

When he widens his hands, you gesture something even bigger. 

“‘Immensely’ is the word I would use.” 

“Im-men-lee?” 

“Es que nuestro orgullo llena una casa sin techo. Hasta el cielo.” 

“Up to the sun,” you amend, ignoring the way the voice has made you stiffen. You don’t read too much into her misuse of the collective pronoun. There is no ‘our’ in ‘affair’.

Alexia’s hand hovers by your waist for a moment, muscle memory getting the better of her before she draws it back into her body. Nico gives her a matching hug, telling her how much he has missed her. 

You try not to blame yourself for his derailed childhood. 

“You were amazing, petit,” Alexia says, picking him up with one strong arm and settling him on her hip. You grip the wrapper of the bouquet you are holding. “Did Mama get you a gift?” 

He peers at the daisies in your hand with curiosity. Shaking his head, his confusion deepens as he studies the bouquet you are extending towards him. “They are for Mami? Flowers are for love.” 

“I love you,” you tell him, not trying to make a point but instinctively prickling in the presence of Alexia.

The silence is awkward. 

A few metres away, whilst entertaining the sleepy toddler on her lap, Mapi is excitedly talking to Alba. “Y/n hasn’t killed her yet,” says the defender with glee, one of your admirers. The team respected you before, never questioning their captain’s judgement nor family, but when word got out about the affair amongst the older girls, most of them began to see you as more than Alexia’s wife. A new layer to your character was revealed; you are a strong, independent, and successful woman. Football nerds sometimes forget success comes in more forms than blaugrana kits. “They made such a beautiful couple.” 

“They did.” Alba watches as you talk to your son, your eyes actively avoiding the woman in front of you. “Our mother has sent Alexia over there to invite her to dinner. It killed me to see her sit alone.” 

You are too used to the feeling of eyes on you that you no longer notice the weight of people’s stares, but, if this were not the case, you would know that most of the heads attached to the bodies sitting in Alexia’s rows had been swivelled towards you for majority of the recital. Pity is never a desired emotion to have offered to you, but the Barça girls can’t help but feel that way whenever they see your forehead crinkle in an attempt to understand Catalan, presuming you only speak Spanish as you have more than enough on your plate. (And, as most of the players will admit, your children speak better English than them, so one can only assume that it is your main method of communication.)

“She’s a very good mother,” Mapi comments with a small nod, sucking a sharp breath in as she begins to sympathise with you even more. Not a day goes by where she witnesses the suffering Alexia’s idiocracy has caused – as Ingrid, her girlfriend, knows very well – and does not fail to scream in frustration about her best friend’s stupid mistakes.

“She’s a very good person.” 

They fall silent as they see your head tilt up, jaw clenching as Alexia begins to speak to you. 

“Can you hear what she’s saying?” whispers Eli to her daughter, equally invested in the conversation. “I knew I should have sent you; Alex is too socially awkward.” 

“Mami, she is talking to her wife,” replies Alba, though she remembers what happened the last time Alexia and you had spoken and the outcome of that. Maybe that commences her increasing agreement with her mother… “I guess you– Are they coming over here?!” 

Even you seem surprised by how your legs carry you towards the Barcelona clan, a step behind Alexia and Nico. Hesitant would be an understatement, but most of them are too preoccupied with congratulating the four-year-old they have come to watch to notice your tight-lipped smile and trembling hands. 

“Hola,” you say shyly. 

Eli pulls you into her strong embrace without missing a beat. “Te he echado de menos, hija.” 

You try very hard not to burst into tears. 

They take you to dinner; a plan you had known about but not envisioned yourself included in. Although it’s your fortnight, Alexia (through the conduit of Alba) had previously arranged to drop Nico and Elena over to yours before midnight. 

You blow off your FaceTime call with Leah.

The restaurant is on the lower level of fine-dining. It’s chic, but it does not make your children feel unwelcome. The table is set for five places, though Alba informs you that the reason for this is because the reservation was made before she broke up with her girlfriend. 

“Mama, what are you going to eat?” asks Nico, slipping back into his old life seamlessly, mixing his English with the Spanish he knows everyone can understand, his legs swinging underneath the table with an enthusiastic energy. He is still too young to pick up on how far apart his parents are sitting, or how you refuse to let your eyes linger on Alexia’s tanned skin, far too much of it shown off by the tank top she sports in the humidity of the busy restaurant. 

You glance around the room, searching for those who have recognised you. Under the weight of at least four curious stares, you motivate yourself to enjoy your meal. 

“Not sure yet, babe,” you answer. “Alba, do you fancy sharing something?”

“Yeah, of course.” The younger Putellas smiles. Alexia knows who has lost the war.

Dinner passes with light conversation centred on very neutral topics. No man’s land is clearly the children, and you had never expected to be so desperate to continue a conversation about school lunches until the other options are how Alexia had an affair with her teammate or that your song with her favourite singer is topping the charts and explicitly about being cheated on. 

Although you and Alexia both watch how many times your wine glasses are refilled, Alba lets loose, as does Eli (probably to ease the stress on her heart that her girls force upon her). Their cheeks redden and Nico begins to yawn, Elena already curled into your side halfway between dreams and reality. 

“Should we head out?” you ask it to the table, but the only functioning person is Alexia, really, and so you close your eyes to avoid having to make eye contact. 

“I should probably get Mama and Alba into a taxi.” 

“If you call one for them, I will call one for us?” Your suggestion is instinctive; an old habit reminiscent of many similar nights, back when there was love and happiness and a relationship that didn’t feel like walking on a floor made of broken glass. “Or did you drive here?” 

“No, but you drove,” comes Alexia’s reminder. Internally, you face-palm. Parking the car before dinner seems like years ago; something feels different now. “But if you don’t feel up to it, I could drive you home. I haven’t had much to drink and I have nothing else planned for tonight. Elena is practically in a coma anyway.” 

You laugh – a softened version of it so as to not rouse the dead weight of your daughter. 

“Are you sure?” 

It’s late.

“Yes, I’m sure.” 

I don’t care. 

“Mama,” Alba slurs, pulling her mother in close. “The saint has given her sinner a second chance.” 

It may not be as quiet as she thinks it is. Alexia, occupied, is deaf to the comment. You are not.

This is not a second chance. 

This is a lift home. 

The last time all four of you sat in a car together was the day you found out about Alexia’s affair. 

You had suffered then – are still suffering now – but your anger was hot and sharp and new. Fresh wounds. 

Now, though more scabbed-over than healed, those wounds no longer seem to gush blood; you entertain Alexia’s stiff small-talk. 

She asks about the tour, never veering too far off the road of practicality and shared custody. When does it resume? Which has been your favourite show? 

“Wembley is like playing El Clásico in Camp Nou,” she determines, not needing to ask about that because she knows you too well. 

Your memories of the London shows involve a naked Leah Williamson. (If only she knew that!) 

“Yeah, London was great.”

Awkwardness is part of Alexia’s personality; something you are fairly certain you still love. She is shy, though it perhaps comes off as stoicity, and she has never been good at making conversation. You know she hates it, and you know that her eyes, Alexia’s eyes, are gazing at you every time she thinks you are not looking. 

She is weary about the desire darkening her pupils, but she does not do well to hide her hunger nonetheless. 

“Go into the carpark,” you instruct as you approach your building.

Wordlessly, she presses the correct pin into the pin-pad, never having forgotten it. 

She parks the car beside a new-looking Mercedes. It’s not a car for children, and she imagines it reeks of cigarettes – there is no way you have stopped smoking. 

It belongs in the carpark; in your little world of celebrities and male footballers; of money and fame and fortune. (One could argue you lack the latter, what with your current situation.) Alexia’s life has never moulded with yours. 

Perhaps it never will. 

Perhaps she slept with Jenni because they are equals, you think. Because Jenni understands Alexia in a way you cannot. 

“Mami,” cries a quiet voice from the backseat. You stop staring at the grey, concrete walls, snapping back to reality as Alexia shifts to turn her attention to the source of the whimpering. “No quiero que te vayas.” 

“Lela, me tengo que ir.” 

“Pero–” 

“You could always come up to say goodnight to them?” 

It starts off innocently. 

Of course it does. Of course you are nowhere near forgiveness, more likely to forget about the crushing affair before you excuse any of her actions. Sometimes, you wish for amnesia. Sometimes, you refer to the tab open in Safari – ‘is there a drug that makes you forget?’. 

Alexia is granted a tuck-in and a story for each child, glad that their rooms are separate so that her time in her home is prolonged. The walls are familiar, the floor is the same. There are new pictures in new frames, but the old ones have not been removed. If you had ever wished to take photographs of your relationship down, you have never acted on it. 

She realises you must not spend a lot of time here alone. Maybe you cannot bear it. Maybe your life in London is more important to you than she had thought. 

Anyway, for as much as she subtly noses around and draws out the night, she has no intention of overstaying her welcome, sure that she probably did that the minute she stepped inside. 

In fact, she is on her way out, under the assumption that you will not want to speak to her.

“So you’re back to playing?” 

“Sí.” 

A doorway conversation. 

You’re English. You’re very polite. Alexia knows this, tries to not get her hopes up. 

“Does that mean you don’t want a taste of this ‘97?” You hold the bottle up to her, the cork lying on the granite worktop with the incriminating suggestion that you have already had a glass. 

“We play the day after tomorrow.” 

“Oh, Ale, this is a good one.” 

How many times have you said that to her before? The same tone, the same look in your eye; red tinting your lips, one hand on a lighter because you smoke when you’re drunk, even if you refuse to touch the cancer-sticks when you are sober. 

“Was this a gift?” she asks, drawn into your magnetic field like a flimsy paper clip; thin, worn metal trying to piece the pages of her life back together. “Or have you been making ridiculous purchases again?” 

“I can assure you that it is not ‘ridiculous’.” You moan in delight as you take a sip from a glass you subsequently hand over to her. “Gosh, that is divine, and you are simply going to dissolve when you taste it.” 

Dissolve she does, but one can attribute that to the company. 

The contents of the bottle dwindles quickly, paired with a vulnerable retelling of her ACL recovery (sans suicidal thoughts and huge, huge regret about the affair – she doesn’t want to bring that up, seeing as you are clearly trying to forget about it), and the warm breeze of the Barcelona nighttime. The salty air from the mediterranean mingles with cigarette smoke, though Alexia softly says that you really should stop. 

You hesitate on your next puff, but you inhale it all the same. “I like my wine smokey.” 

She opens the next bottle for you. 

The wine glasses are soon discarded, pouring becoming shaky and difficult. 

“They sleep all the way through the night here,” observes Alexia, surprised that no little hands have knocked on the glass door leading to the balcony. The last time you had reached for the wine, you’d moved closer to her. You have not yet returned to your original seat on the other side of the rattan sofa. 

You raise your eyebrows, under the impression that they were both sleep trained. “They don’t at yours?” 

“Elena keeps trying to sleep in bed with me.” 

“Maybe she likes you more,” you suggest with a light, alcohol-infused laugh. “She must have been upset to find her place filled by your friend.” 

“No,” murmurs Alexia, “it has never been filled. Though I don’t think you can say the same.” 

You swallow the stickiness of the wine running down your throat.

“Not in our bed. My bed.” You fight yourself. “Our bed.” 

“In Highgate?” 

“Anywhere,” you breathe. 

“It’s been months,” croaks Alexia, your hand pressed against her stomach as you slowly lean into the feeling only she can give you. “Months.” 

You kiss her. Time folds in on itself, and you are transported back to when every touch was electric; when nothing was tainted. The pain of the past months, the heartbreak, momentarily fades into insignificance as you lose yourself in Alexia’s warmth.

Her fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, afraid that this moment might slip away too soon. The taste of wine lingers on your lips, and she craves the softness of them – she has been craving them since July.

“Well, now it has only been seconds,” you whisper as you pull away. 

With a sense of urgency, she chases your mouth once more, strong arms pulling you on top of her, manipulating your body against her with no hint of uncertainty. 

Alexia knows you well.

Her touch lacks curiosity and exploration. Her hands are experienced and confident in their movements, and she has hoisted you up and brought you to your bedroom without needing to have been told that this is what you want. 

“Is this what you want?” she asks anyway. 

“Please.” 

And she really doesn’t make you beg. 

Your hands roam her body with a primal hunger, instinctive touches to the most sensitive parts of her, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Her back is tense, muscles flexing as she pushes your clothes off your skin, her own following their path soon after. 

Parted legs and soft moans. 

She slots herself between your thighs. 

Her tongue is determined, fierce. Sloppier because she is drunk, but, then again, so are you. 

Your fingers repay the favour. 

“More,” you request just as she pulls away. 

“Is it in the same place?” 

You nod, panting.

There is a playful glint in Alexia’s eyes as she finds the strap just where she left it. As she secures it in place, you wipe the sweat from your brow, forcing your mind into the dirtiest of thoughts to ward off the building regret.

The room is dimly lit, and the air heavy with desire. Your heartbeat pulses in the silence, the thrum of the organ drums that guide Alexia’s slow, deliberate steps back towards the bed, kneeling atop the scrunched sheets. 

She positions herself between your legs once more, and you can feel the heat of her body radiating against your skin. She leans in closer, her breath hot against your neck, sending shivers of anticipation shuddering down your spine. 

With trembling hands, you reach out, nails digging into tanned, taut skin. You pull her closer to you, urging her to take whatever she wants. 

You want her to have you. You want her to make it hurt less. 

As Alexia presses inside, a jolt of pleasure courses through your body. You cry out, the sound igniting a blazing inferno within her that grows hotter the moment you ask her to move. Feverishly, her hands move over your chest, finding purchase on your breasts with a dormant possessiveness as her hips begin to drive the strap in deeper. 

Your breath hitches in your throat as you surrender to the overwhelming sensation, encompassed by someone so divine that you begin to separate yourself from all things wrong with this situation. The headboard thuds against the bedroom wall as she pounds her thrusts into a rhythm, and you shut your eyes as you quietly ask her to kiss you.

Tears cascade down your cheeks, but you do not know to whom they belong. Her tongue smothers your moans, and her hips begin to snap into yours more urgently, with more desperation. The pressure builds inside of you, and you feel as though you might explode. 

You feel as though this is the end, and you are glad that here is where your misery terminates. 

You’re glad, you’re really glad. 

Your back arches, your chests pressing together, large hands holding you close to her. 

And then it all comes crashing down. 

Everything. 

You wipe your eyes once the orgasmic bliss subsides, seizing your wine haze as the tide goes out and destroying the blindfold that had deprived you of seeing things straight. Right now, with the pleasant ache between your legs, you can’t quite bring yourself to regret it, but you know you will. You haven’t forgiven her; you’re not sure that it is possible. 

“You can shower, but you can’t stay here.” 

…

Nico knows that he is special. He is lucky, and he is loved, and he gets to go to a very nice school that Mateo (his ‘cousin’) claims is fancy. 

He likes his teacher. She reminds him of someone he once knew – you have suggested the nursery helpers back when he lived in London. He is not sure if you are right, but he doesn’t remember what London was like so he tries not to think too hard about it. 

Nico’s friends, like Pau who is sitting beside him, all think it is really cool that he can speak English. Pau says she hears his mother on the radio sometimes, but Nico hasn’t yet grasped the concept of fame past the annoying camera flashes and big, sold-out stadiums. He dislikes fame as he knows it, anyway, because the cameras hurt his eyes and the stadiums are so loud that he has to wear ear-defenders that squeeze his skull a bit too much. 

“My mum is from Bilbao. My dad is from Barcelona,” states Paula as she swipes a crayon over the sheet of paper her drawing is on. Green wax slowly stains the white to form ‘grass’. Everyone is drawing their family today, although Nico hasn’t yet started, waiting for his teacher to circle their table so that he can ask for another piece of paper. “And this,” Paula carries on, squiggling brown hair onto a smaller version of the stick-figure father, “is Ander, my big brother.” 

“Who is that?” Nico asks, pointing at the fifth figure on the page, guessing that the fourth and Pau-sized person is, in fact, Pau. 

“My sister! She’s called Nerea, and she plays basketball.” Pau promptly makes an orange circle the size of Nerea’s head, which floats in the air between her and her sister. “My mum says Nere is going to be a lesbian, but I don’t know what that means.” 

“My mums are lesbian!” he blurts out, excited enough to garner the attention of his teacher. When she appears, he grins at her sweetly; the kind of smile that has melted many hearts, though Nico is unaware of how many people know he exists. “More paper, please.” 

“Nico, you haven’t even tried with your first one.”

She isn’t harsh at all, but he has slowly learnt to stop asking follow-up questions. Six months of exasperated ‘I don’t know, Nicolau’s has taught him that. 

He shrugs. “Okay.”

He learnt what a shrug was the other day, when Mapi told him off for doing it to her. (“Don’t shrug your shoulders at me, Nicolau Putellas!” she had chided playfully. “All I asked was which of your mamas’ houses we need to go to.”)

“Nico, what’s ‘lesbian’?” 

“Mama says football is lesbian. Basketball might be lesbian! That’s why your sister is lesbian.” 

“My mum says that lesbians kiss girls.” 

“Mama kisses girls! And Mami. And they used to kiss each other but now they don’t speak and me and my sister swap houses.” Nico begins drawing it out for Paula when she peers at him, befuddled. “Here is Mama’s.” A big square, a glamorous-looking woman inside of the blue shape; a stick with a circle on the end of it; the notes he sees in his piano music floating in the air. “And…” he says, tongue sticking out as he concentrates on the opposite half of the page, “here is Mami’s.” 

He draws a football. He picks up the red crayon too, and uses both the blau and the grana simultaneously. “Mami plays football for Barça.” He draws two lines on Alexia’s t-shirt. 11. “Mami made me get 11 at football.” Nico had originally worn the 10, but then the affair had come to light and Alexia was suddenly deep in conversation with his coach and apologising to the boy Nico then had to swap shirts with. 

Then, he drops the crayons in his hand and searches for the stack near Paula. He selects the purple one, gripping it tightly, his friend still listening to him with intrigue. 

“This is me and Lela.” Two stick figures are drawn in the middle of the page; the middle ground between each of the squares. 

Nico sometimes feels stuck between it all. 

When Mami got very sad, he and Elena went to stay with Mapi and Ingrid for a few nights. He held his little sister’s hand as much as he could. He always tries to remind her that he is right there with her. 

Mami once told him that it was his turn to protect Elena. Nico hasn’t forgotten that. 

“I keep Lela safe.” He has encouraged her, slightly selfishly, to call him ‘skipper’, which he has picked up from the Lionesses. Luckily, Alexia has not told him off for it because she doesn’t know what it means. “Lela is my little sister. She is a baby. She doesn’t remember what it was like when Mama and Mami loved each other, but I do.” 

The purple crayon scrapes on the page as he presses it into the white, colour rubbing out in the shape of a heart. “Lela and I are together tot el temps. Mami tries to take me from her sometimes, but I don’t let her.” 

His story – and ability to make Paula pay attention for longer than ten seconds – has already attracted the quiet attention of his teacher, but she moves closer as Nico continues. The four-year-old leaves out how Alexia is usually inviting him to training with her. Since Elena has yet to show any interest in football, it remains her and Nico’s special thing, and, of course, his mother misses him when it is not her turn. 

You benevolently give your permission if you have no prior plans. It is upsetting that the only hindrance to extra time spent together is the little boy who once worshipped Alexia Putellas like a god. 

“Nico, why did you want two pages?” asks Paula curiously, assuming he is finished now that his whole family is displayed on the piece of paper. 

He frowns. “Because now I have to do this.” And with that, he tears the sheet in half. 

Paula’s mouth drops open in surprise, as does his teacher’s. 

“What’s wrong?” comes a mature voice, a hand placed on his shoulder just like it is when the other children in his class cry. Nico doesn’t cry. He is strong and brave, like a little soldier. “Did you not like your drawing?” 

“No,” he replies neutrally, “half can live with Mama, and half can live with Mami.” 

“But now you are ripped down the middle.” 

He traces the jagged edges of the halves of his life. One of his legs is on your side, the other on Alexia’s. 

“I know, but it’s okay. I don’t cry.” 

Alexia does, though, when his teacher talks to her that afternoon. 

…

“I slept with Alexia,” you confess quietly, comforted by the sound-proofing of Anya’s home-studio. She asked for help with her album; your success might be contagious, she insists. “Last week, when Nico had that recital.” You clutch your mug protectively, as if she will strip you of the right to drink your tea to punish you for your crime. 

Anya is unsure what you would like her to say. You search her face for anger, but do not find it. 

“If Gio were here, she’d probably slap you.” 

You snort, almost spilling hot liquid all over yourself. “You two are like my mothers, and you’re the nicer one by far.” 

“God, you are such an idiot.” 

“And a slag.” She waits for your next admission with excitement. “I also slept with Leah Williamson.” 

“Do you think you and Alexia are just destined for polyamory?” Her amusement is quite pleasant, but one thing wasn’t dulled by the wine that night and you have been dying to tell someone about it.

Your knee bounces up and down as you gear up for it, having thought it through 

“I think we are destined for each other.” 

Song-writing be damned, Anya fully removes her headphones, placing the equipment beside her keyboard before letting out a small, exasperated laugh. “You are in love with Alexia again,” comes her accusation, with no real malice behind it. 

“I never stopped being in love with Alexia. She just made it a lot harder to love her.” 

Is that an understatement? 

“Hey,” you say with sudden energy, sitting upright and grasping at your phone, tea wobbling over the lip of the mug and running down your wrist. “Should we go to Bali in August?” 

…

You avoid both of your footballers right until the World Cup camps roll around. 

Leah doesn’t get to go, subjected to the ACL curse. Alexia’s call-up is not necessarily unexpected, but you do find yourself wondering how many more betrayals her friendship with Mapi León can handle. (Mapi is on her last straw, but she knows her friend really needed the win after her hellish year. The Champion’s League was never going to sate Alexia’s hunger to be the best at football – possibly an overcompensation for her terrible relationship skills.)

Your children, this time, are delivered to the park by their very own mother. Alexia beats Leah in this sense, because she has a valid excuse to see you without confessing feelings you do not want to hear. 

“I have something for you,” she says just after she has finished her goodbyes, pressing a small box into your hands. Her voice is filled with nerves and you are intrigued, hating yourself for being so. “Don’t open it until you get back home.” Her eyes meet yours for a moment. I’m sorry, they seem to say. “Alright, have fun in Bali, and don’t forget that I legally have custody but I am not going to go to court to battle you for it as long as you put them in Spain kits for Spain matches.” 

She could, if she wanted to be difficult, have you send Nico and Elena to New Zealand during her weeks. It would be very unreasonable, but the contract your lawyers drew up still stands. 

“They were delivered yesterday. I think it’s going to be a struggle to convince them to put on the worst kit ever.” You still don’t forgive Alexia for cheating on you, but there has come a point where acceptance replaces the animosity. Nico’s teacher has been the catalyst in this step forward. The developmental pamphlets she had thrust in your faces were enough for the two of you to come to a mutual agreement of increased civility (that maybe, maybe was only made possible by the fact that you have very recent memories of each other’s orgasms). “But, yes, I agree to your terms. Don’t forget that his favourite player is Alessia Russo, however.” 

“He is in a phase where I am ‘uncool’! It’ll pass.” 

“If you say so, Alexia.” 

“Anyway,” she carries on, rolling her eyes. “Open it when you get home.” She… presses a kiss to your cheek? “I’m so sorry, mi amor.” 

You blink back your surprise, but she is gone before you can reply. 

The small, neatly-wrapped box sits in the palm of your hand, the corners edging off your skin and sticking out as you stare at it. Nico and Elena continue their (unsupervised) playing, but you manage to call out a warning for ‘five more minutes and then we’ve got to pack’ while you examine Alexia’s gift.

Is this how Pandora felt? 

If you open it, what will be unleashed?

Alexia, before now, hasn’t actively pursued your forgiveness. She has given you the time and the space you had broken-heartedly requested, nodding as you communicated your wishes to her through someone else, never before able to confront the face that tore up your life before your eyes. 

There was a time when all you ever wanted to do was talk to her, but she tried to forget about that when she realised the extent at which you went to avoid an interaction. When she had understood your desperation to be left alone fully, she began to breathe. The step backwards gave her room to examine just how royally she had fucked it all. 

She now feels a bit more capable of tackling the clean-up, working with a much clearer mind. Everyone is relieved that she hasn’t killed herself, or, at least, that she is keeping those thoughts at bay. 

You realise that she has bought you a ring, and regardless of whether you wear it or not, she wants to tell you that she is sorry.

...

IT'S NOT OVER YET! THIS WILL TAKE YOU TO THE SECOND HALF

[mlm-writer]

Daddy/Dearest (Wade Wilson x M!Reader)

Pairing: Wade Wilson/Deadpool x Alien!Cis!M!Reader  Rating: Mature (lowest I can go with a Deadpool fic) Words: 1048 POV: Third Summary: You matched with Deadpool on the intergalactic dating app Starcrossed. After exchanging many dick pics, you decided to visit Earth for your first date... and blow the planet up if the date sucked. Note: Inspired by the song Party Tonight by Joe Hedourix and this prompt. Tags: first date, fluff, idk who Nick Fury really is tbh, 4th wall breaks, romcom and reader’s appearance is a little vague but at some point I started imagining Megamind

“Deadpool! Open up!” Wade groaned at the insistent knocking on his door. He tried to rub his eyes, only to find out that he was still wearing his mask. A quick look down revealed he had fallen asleep on the couch in his PJs. The knocking at his door stopped, so he rested his body on the couch. He had barely closed his eyes, when the door was knocked down. 

He raised his head with a groan, only to be incredibly surprised by his guest. “Wow, Nick Fury, I am not sure if I am even supposed to know who you are, because the writer has seen exactly one movie in which you had a cat, but he supposes you’re an important dude or whatever.” 

“Shut it, motherfucker,” the man wearing a black trenchcoat barked back at Wade. He clearly took note of the dirty white shirt with a butt on it and the blue chequered underwear Wade was wearing, but he did not comment on it. “Do you know the app Starcrossed?” 

Wade laughed, not reading the room that had been filled with armoured men and women because we are inclusive here and women can and will kick your ass if provoked. 

“That app with all the metas on it? Why? Did we match? I’m sorry if I did not reply, but you’re not really my type and you must have been an accidental swipe.” 

“Stop yapping! Does this guy look familiar to you?” From his pocket he unfolded a picture printed on an A4 paper. Wade leaned in and squinted at the picture. He did recognise the person on it. 

“Oh yes that’s my daddy - not my father - but like a sexual daddy you know. You should see his dick.” Nick looked like he was gonna lose it. Wade could tell, but he frankly did not give a shit. 

“Well, your ‘daddy’ is the leader of an alien race, whose armada is in orbit right now to drop him off for a ‘date’ with you. So get dressed, because whether we get blown up or not today is apparently up to you.” That was a lot to take in, but Wade was used to weird days and this was simply just another one of them. 

Now it was common to be nervous for a first date, but the fully armed SWAT team dropping Wade off was not helping. He tried making conversation with them, but they seemed to blame him for possible annihilation before dinner time. 

When he stepped out of the chopper, there was a masculine figure waiting in front of the former military base. He held a large bouquet of iridescent flowers. They seemed either fake or from an alien planet. “Wadey!” The figure called out, waving frantically with all hands that were not holding the bouquet. The inhuman coloured skin seemed to change colour wherever the late morning sun was directly shining on it. 

“Hi daddy,” Wade called back in the same cooing tone. He skipped over to his date. “Are those for me?” He mused, knowing the answer as his date handed them to him. 

“I heard flowers are quite common to bring to a Terran date, so I brought some rare flowers from my planet for you. I am afraid they will not survive as long as they would on my planet though. The sun here is weak.” Wade smelled the flowers. They smelled like butt. Could be worse. At least Wade was familiar with the smell of butt. Wade held the flowers close as he thanked the other for them. “Well then, shall we? Your government was so kind to help me set up an Earth-date.” 

The atmosphere was… weird. There was a very extensive brunch on a beautifully decorated table, but they were surrounded by people keeping them at gunpoint. “You don’t seem bothered by being held at gunpoint,” Wade noted as he rolled up his mask just far enough to shove a croissant into his mouth. 

“Likewise,” his date smirked back at him. He reached out and touched the edges of the mask. “Come on, I already know your dick and ass are covered in scars. Your face cannot possibly scare me.” Wade thought about it. Well, his identity was not really a secret right now anyway. They already knew where he lived. Wade lifted his mask off his face, trying to not show how insecure he was about his fucked up face. However, when he looked at the alien before him, he swore he could see a hunger in his eyes. “If these people were not around, I would fuck your face right now,” the man sighed dreamily, before continuing to clumsily trying to spread butter on a piece of toast. 

Wade reached out and decided to help him. Their fingers briefly touched and Wade saw the other man smile at the contact. It set his body on fire with desire. “I frankly don’t care about the audience, but after writing all those kinktober fics the writer can really use a break from blowjob scenes, so let’s keep this from being E-rated.”

Wade sat back down after buttering his date’s toast. He watched as the alien’s facial features reacted to the taste of Earth food. “Fascinating,” he spoke softly. Wade chatted with his date and those mesmerising eyes and charming smile kept drawing him in. At some point he was sure even Nick Fury could smell his arousal from wherever he was keeping an eye on the situation. There was no more food left, when his date rose from his seat and offered one of his hands. “Let’s get out of here.” 

Wade grabbed his mask and put it back on. “We’ll have to fight our way out of here if we want to do that.” A corona of blue light started surrounding the alien, a devilish smile appearing on his face. The sudden display of power got people loading their guns and Wade’s gun filling up with blood really quickly. 

“Do not worry, dearest, that can be arranged,” the most powerful being that had ever held him spoke, before he blasted a hole in the line of armed people, lighting the way to their future in a flurry of blue. “Let’s have a good time, dearest.”

[conchcronch]

Kinktober 2024: Day 7

WC: 2281

Summary: Kid knew what you were up to the second you stepped foot in his workshop after giving you strict instructions to leave him alone. Seems like he needs to teach you a lesson.

Warnings: Pussy slapping, orgasm denial, spitting, breathe play, thigh fucking

He had told you specifically not to bother him, to give him some time to get a few ongoing projects done in his workshop. And yet here you were, shoving the door open in search of him. 

His goggles were down, making it impossible to know if he had noticed you, he had massive headphones covering his ears, his lips moving to the lyrics as he sat hunched over his work bench. Your shoulders were aching just looking at his massive frame curved over his latest project. 

His jacket was done, a faded black shirt stretched over his broad chest to avoid getting burned by any run away sparks. Originally, your plan was to just sit and watch him work, something he didn’t love but had grown accustomed to since you joined his crew. However, you stepped around piles of scrap metal, until you were close enough to rub your hands along his back, pressing your fingers into his tense muscles. He tried to pull away, moving his body in an attempt to get his message across, but you persisted. “What did I tell you?” He paused his work, sitting up and looking at you over his shoulder, pushing one side of the headphones off his ear so he could hear you.

“I wanted to come watch you work.” 

“So go sit in the corner and watch.”

“Can’t I just watch from here?”

“No.” You moved your hands from his back up to his shoulders, pressing into the firm muscles, a small whine could be heard from the back of your throat. “Don’t give me that, brat.” He shook you off his shoulder, the vibe around him turning sour in hopes you would get the message. Which you did, but had no intention of listening to. 

“You’re so tense.” 

“I’m tense cuz’ I can’t get two seconds to myself!” He turned around in his stool, standing up quick enough that you staggered backwards, almost thrown off balance. “Are you stupid or you just can’t follow basic instructions?” He loomed over you, pushing his goggles up onto his forehead, pulling his headphones onto his neck. When you didn’t answer he grabbed your chin, his fingers pressing roughly into the fat of your cheeks, forcing your eyes up to him “Huh?” 

“I wanted to see you.” 

“So you can’t follow basic instructions.” You were at a loss for words, the smell of metal and gear grease filled your nostrils, the anger in his eyes made your thighs clench around nothing. “Oh I get it.” His hand moved from your face to around your neck, a startled moan slipped past your lips before he squeezed hard enough to restrict your breathing. “You wanted this, you wanted me to hurt you, is that it?” He lifted you, not entirely off the ground but enough that you were forced up on your tiptoes. “You want me to fuck you, don’t you?” He pulled your body close to his, his breath on your cheek as he loosened his grip on your neck to allow you to gasp for breath.

“Yes god yes please.” He smiles,  his eyes shifting sunset orange to the colour of a smouldering ember. 

“Too fuckin’ bad.” The freezing metal of his hand makes you want to pull away, but you are completely at his whim, unable to move your body how you please because in this moment, it’s not your body anymore. His hand grabs the waist of your black track pants, yanking them down and off of you, leaving your cunt bare to him. Next is your shirt, the flimsy white material stands no chance as he ripped it down the middle, exposing your pierced nipples to the chilly night air. Your hands are on his forearm, looking for even the smallest amount of physical contact you could get. 

He slid his metal hand over his work bench, sending whatever it was that he had been working on clattering to the ground, quick to be replaced with your body slamming down on the metal table. The second his grip around your neck was gone, you were gasping, bending your knees and clenching them, already feeling the tops of your thighs sticky with your arousal. He forced your legs apart, standing at the end of the table for a second before pulling you closer to him by your thighs. “You come down to my workshop, going directly against my order, and you show up soaking wet.” His hands forced your thighs as far apart as they would go, your folds naturally parting, putting your almost dripping entrance on display to him. “You know what,” He looked up at you, his gaze locking onto yours as he spit on your cunt. “When I was done here, I was gonna’ fuck you so good. I was gonna’ keep you up all night, was gonna’ take my time with you.” His flesh palm ran down your cunt, rubbing his spit into your folds before harshly slapping you, a cry forced from your open mouth. “But you just couldn’t listen, could you.” Despite being phased as a sentence, you knew it wasn’t one. Another slap, the sting went shocks through your body only making your cunt more wet. “I was gonna’ fill you up until you were begging me to stop. And then, I’d do it again.” The slap of his flesh on your’s filled the small workshop, the sound reverberating off the piles of metal that still awaited a purpose. “But now, I’m not even gonna’ fuck you.” 

“Kidd p-”

“Captain” The next slap was particularly hard, his hand lingering against you long enough for his nails to bite into the meat above your clit, refusing to give your neglected bud any attention. “You don’t deserve to have my name in your mouth, brat.” 

“C-Captain please, please fuck me.” He huffed a laugh, his hand meeting your cunt again.

“I’d rather fuck my fist then give you the satisfaction.” You flicked your gaze from his burning eyes to his tented cargo pants. 

“What if you use my mouth, let me make it up to you.” The sting of his slap was overshadowed by his massive metal hand grabbing the tattered fabric of what was left of your shirt, pulling you forward, his teeth bared. 

“You’d like that too much, I’m gonna’ remind you of your place as my fuck toy. You’re here for my enjoyment, not your own.” He racked his dull nails from your cunt up to your collarbone, leaving angry red lines in his wake. “Open your mouth.” You did, extending your tongue out to him, your head tipping back slightly. You weren’t surprised when he spit into your mouth, watching as you swallowed it and held your tongue out again to show him. “What do you say?” 

“Thank you, Captain.” 

“Why the fuck did I need to remind you?” He snarled, his hand connected with your sticky folds again, smiling as the fat tears that had been gathering along your waterline finally began to fall. The sexualfrustration paired with the sting between your legs becoming a lot for you to handle. 

“Thank you Captain.” He looked down at your cunt, your feet planted on the edge of the table making sure you were fully on display for him even in your new position. 

“It really sucks you can’t listen, I was really looking forward to getting a taste of that pretty little cunt of yours.” The moan that you tried to swallow managed to sneak past, making him laugh. “Maybe you’ll remember this next time.” He pulled you by what was left of your shirt, forcing you to step down off the table, your legs feeling more like jelly than bone as he manipulated you to turn around and bend over the table.  

“Yes” You breathed out, thinking he was actually going to give you what you wanted, especially when you felt his hand graze against your exposed pussy as he pushed his pants down far enough that he could fish his cock out. You wanted to look over your shoulder, to watch him stroke his fat cock as he stared at your puffy pussy that was sticky with arousal. But you didn’t want to risk ruining your chances of getting fucked. There was a small aprt of you that was preparing yourself for the painful stretch you were expecting, a touch of fear running through your body when you felt his hand on your ass, bracing for the sting you were bound to fee when he pushed into your unprepped cunt. But instead you felt him slide though your thighs, his body leaning over yours, his breath hot against your neck. You hoped he didn’t hear the disappointed whimper that felt your lips when you realized he wasn’t going to fuck you, but when you heard him laugh you knew he had heard. 

“Something wrong with your hearin’, cuz’ I specifically told you I wasn’t gonna’ fuck you.” You felt his heavy balls slap against the back of your thighs as he picked up the pace, his cock sliding between your thighs with ease thanks to the slick he was gathering between your folds. If he moved his cock to slide between your folds, you were confident you’d be able to cum, but you knew that’s exactly why he pressed his cock lower between your thighs. You dropped your head, your forehead against the cool metal of his table as you watched his cock thrust in and out of your thighs, his tip angry and cum gathering on the black ball of his piercing. “Your thighs feel almost as good as your cunt.” His voice was rough, gravelly almost, his breaths coming in short. 

“Pl-please Captain.” Your voice is quiet, he almost missed it if it weren’t for him feeling the vibration of your voice against his chest as he leaned over you. 

“What d’you want?” 

“I just want to cum, please Captain, it hurts.” You clench your thighs together, getting a long groan in response as he pushes the rest of his cock between your plush thighs. 

“Maybe the lesson will stick this time.” His nails dig into your hips, the speed of his thrusts picking up as his teeth bite down on your shoulder, pulling a painful yelp from your lips. 

It was hard to say whether he took pity on you or wanted to tease you, but in his final few thrusts, his cock slid right between your folds. It wasn’t enough to cum, but it was enough to pull a long string of moans from your lips as he fucked your thighs until he finally came with a groan muffled by your shoulder. 

Your cunt ached, and as he pulled away from you, shoving his cock back into his pants before picking up the project he had been working on from the floor tears of frustration began to stream down your cheeks again. He tried his best to ignore you, to sit back in his stool, pull his goggles down and finish what he had started, but the sight of you was too much. You were naked except for your tattered white shirt which exposed your pretty, pieced nipples. You still somehow had your boots on, a pair of old combat boots you had looted when you first joined, there was even a little dot of cum on the toe. The majority of his cum was still slipping down your legs, drying slowly as you stood next to his workbench. You looked so lost, frustrated tears causing your makeup to run, red lipstick stains peppered along your upper back and shoulder and your poor pussy was red from all the slaps. 

He abandoned his stool, coming up to you and pulling you into his chest. “I’m not sorry.” He spoke into the top of your head, feeling your hands ball in the back of his shirt. “But I think you learned your lesson.” You nodded, wiping your face on his shirt. 

“I promise I did, captain.” 

“Why don’t you go to our room, get yourself cleaned up and when I’m done here I can kiss that pretty pussy of yours all better?” 

“Really?” You looked up at him, sniffing as you wiped your tears with the back of your hand. 

“Yeah, as long as you promise to just clean yourself up and wait for me.” You nodded, clenching your tacky thighs together. “Nothing else, if you touch yourself, I’ll know.” His grip on your waist tightened to reaffirm his point. “Got it?” You nodded, a soft smile on your lips. 

“Can I have my pants back?” He pushed you back so he could look at you, taking in your tattered state. 

“No” you knew he was going to say that, you almost wish you hadn’t asked. 

“So you want me to walk through the ship like this?” You gesture to your very exposed self as he grins. 

“It’s not that far, a little walk of shame never hurt anyone.” He sat back at his workbench, pulling his goggles down over his copper coloured eyes, nodding towards the door when you didn’t make any movement towards it. “Go on, don’t make me change my mind.” And you did, you navigated the halls of the Victoria Punk, one arm pinching the tear of your shirt closed while the other hand cupped your pussy as you walked.

 As you moved through the (thankfully) empty halls of the ship you could resist slipping your middle finger into your neglected cunt, a long sigh slipping from your lips as you did so. There was no way he’d know about one little finger, right?