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jaylaxies · 9 days

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INTO YOU

PAIRING: jay x fem!reader

GENRE/CW: smut, unprotected sex, slight gun play, mentions of smoking, usage of nicknames, fingering, pussy slapping, breeding, enemies to possible lovers.

SYNOPSIS: everyone knows that your families hate each other, being the biggest rivals in terms of business, however, you both don’t seem to care much about it.

WC: 1.9k

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni

A/N: hihi, loves! happy jay birth <3 i had to write something for my man cmon, i hope you guys will like it :3 (not proofread) all likes, comments, reblogs and feedbacks are highly appreciated! iloveyou all <33

Blinding chandelier lights, fancy gowns, fake laughs paired with endless supply of sparkly champagne. Countless camera flashes, and an even faker demeanor as the guests pose and show their best game.

It was yet another weekend; yet another charity ball organized by someone so filthy rich, who didn’t mean to do any charity, but rather, put up a façade well enough simply to expand their business connections.

You watched it unfold from afar, like always, judging everyone as you swirled the drink in the delicate glass which rested on your fingertips, looking for something , or rather, someone to appear and get this boring excuse of an event going.

Your family was close with the Kims, meaning, you’d probably, just probably spend your night with no drama at all, not expecting the Kims to invite the family which is your so-called rival.

So you decided to mingle along, putting on your sweetest smile as you strolled through the big ball room, the slit in your dress allowing the cold air to grace your legs in the otherwise warm room, until it didn’t.

The warmth of a hand encasing your wrist was enough for you to stop, the scent itself was a giveaway of the identity of the one who stopped you in the middle of the crowded floor, a sly smile draping your face with his action.

“Getting into a party without an invitation is rude, don’t you think?” You asked.

He scoffed, which came out as a breathy laugh, “that is exactly why I made sure that Mr. Kim would deliver the invitation personally to me,” he clicked his tongue.

You rolled your eyes, turning your head to the side, looking right into his dark eyes before giving him a once over, almost in a condescending manner as if you were judging his entire existence.

He had another one of his proud smirks plastered on his face, specs perched on his strong, pointy nose, his lips the perfect shade of pinkish-red, resonating perfectly with his melanin. Clad in a black tuxedo, he stood there as if he was the most important man in the room.

Park Jongseong.

“That desperate for what? A party?” You clicked your tongue as a challenge.

His hand only shifted from your wrist to your waist, pulling you closer to his chest effortlessly, earning a gasp out of you, “for a party, yes. You know it, princess.”

That’s exactly when you heard a louder gasp as you pushed him away. Your mother dearest had spotted his mother in the crowd, both of them coming along to meet right where you were standing.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Your mom asked, trying to put on a fake smile so as to not alarm others.

“We were invited, of course,” the lady spoke up, a sick smile on her face.

“Or yet, begged Mr. Kim to be invited here,” you smiled back, looking at Jay right after, who was only amused.

But none of your family members were amused as they scowled, “stay the fuck away from her,” your mother said, pulling you back from Jay.

“Ask her to stay away from my son,” Mrs. Park spat, pulling Jay back.

“Who even wants to be with him?” You scrutinized him again with a bored expression.

“You do, princess,” he winked, making you scoff in disbelief as he said it in front of your mother.

“Shut up!” Your mother said, having had enough.

You both had the corner of your lips upturned by the time your mothers pulled you away, far from each other, his eyes shining as you bit your lip.

Your mom was frustrated and it showed, especially when she reached out to your father, filling him in with the events of what happened a few minutes back.

However, you didn’t care, simply getting away from your family as you started roaming around yet again, patting your thigh gently to feel your gun in its holster—something you kept for safety.

Everyone around you did.

The party didn’t feel as boring anymore, not when you got out of the main ballroom, opening the door towards the secluded balcony; which you were sure would be empty.

And you were right. It was small, secluded, facing the grand gardens of the villa, two big vintage lamps keeping the balcony well illuminated as you took out the cigarette you had hidden in your pocket along with your heart shaped lighter.

A dress with pockets? A blessing from the lords.

Holding the stick between your glossed up lips, you flicked the lighter, bringing it closer to the cigarette as it burned, your eyes closing the second you inhaled the smoke, using your middle and index finger to hold it away as you leaned against the cold marble wall.

Park Jongseong.

Your wrist still burned from when he gripped it, your waist still feeling the warmth of his hand as your silk down did nothing to hide your figure. You found yourself thinking about him again, the proximity was enough for his scent to invade your senses.

Your body became hyper aware as you found yourself close to the similar scent again.

“Smoking is bad for your health, princess,” he spoke, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine.

You smiled, not opening your eyes as you lifted your hand to take another puff of smoke, only for Jay to snatch it up, standing right in front of you, his free hand gripping your chin, your eyes opening to find his face inches away from you.

“Getting too bold, are we now?” He asked.

“Maybe,” you shrugged, challenging him.

“Yeah. I don’t fuck you for one night and you turn into a fucking brat? Is that how you want it, princess? Want me to fuck some manners into you?” He came even closer, turning his head to take the cigarette between his lips, breathing the smoke in before he threw it away.

Grabbing your chin harder, he tilted your head ever so slightly, causing you to gasp and open your mouth, dazed.

He blew the smoke into your mouth and you inhaled it all in, blowing it out of your nose while not breaking eye contact, another shiver running down your body as his fingertips traced your thigh, inching upwards to where your holster was.

“Jay—” you breathed out, biting your bottom lip.

“Shh, princess. Who would even want me, right? I’ll show you exactly how much you need me,” he chuckled, his lips touching your ear.

He was quick to get your gun out, your mind too blank as you were sandwiched between him and the wall. The cold muzzle of the gun was pressed against your inner thigh now.

“Please,” you begged.

“Please what?” He urged you to speak up, the slit of your dress allowing him to graze it up your thigh and near your panties which were starting to get wet.

“I want—” you started and he only pressed the gun right on your clothed cunt, your eyes closing again, your body felt as if it was on fire, a low whine leaving your mouth.

“Say it, princess,” he groaned, his lips near the corner of your mouth.

“I want you, I—I need you,” you managed to speak up, your whimpers were enough for his cock to start hardening, even more now that his body was pressed against your.

He moved the gun in slow circles, your wetness dripping down on it till it reached his hands, as you held on to his arm for support, not being able to stand straight.

“See? It wasn’t too hard, was it?” He asked, pressing the gun right where your hole was, stuffing it in slightly through your panties, your whines turning into moans as he grabbed your jaw again, “never forget that you belong to me,” was all he said before pulling you in a deep, rushed kiss.

His free hand held on to your wrist, curling his fingers around it hard, his teeth nibbling on your lips before he spit in your mouth, not wasting a second before he shoved his tongue in your mouth.

You could barely breathe, whimpering out his name desperately, trying to move your hips to get even a fraction of more friction from the gun.

“That’s it baby, keep making those noises for me, yeah?” He spoke in between the kisses, finally having had enough of the gun as he kept it aside.

It didn’t take him a second to push your panties to the side, covering his fingers in your dripping juices as you bit back a moan, which didn’t last for long as he stuffed you full of his fingers, making you lose control of the last bit of your sanity.

Your wetness was enough for his fingers to slide in easily, which wasn’t enough for Jay as he curled them inside you, “tell me who you belong to, princess?”

“You—you.” Your eyes watered as you moaned it out, and he slapped your cunt right that second, your eyes rolling back at the pain which felt more like pleasure than anything else, your breathing hitched as he did so again before he stuffed three of his fingers into you again, fucking you deeper than ever while kissing your neck, harsh enough for it to bruise later.

He had been going at it for minutes and yet it felt like mere seconds before he took his fingers out, licking them and turning you around, your cheek resting on the cold wall.

As much as he wanted to tear your dress off, he didn’t do that, and you could feel your tears streaming down your face, frustrated as he stopped right before you were about to cum, your cunt clenching around nothing as you heard him undo his belt.

You knew his cock was thick and veiny, but it still shocked you, especially when he lined up his cock to your entrance, rubbing his tip, soaking it with your wetness which dripped down your thighs. You could barely breathe anymore, especially when his cock slid right in with how wet you were, reaching the deepest spots in you, his big hand spanking your ass right as he bottomed out.

Broken moans were all that your mouth could let out by now, along with his name, which you kept on repeating like a broken record.

His thrusts were brutal, almost as if he was using you like a doll and you were simply taking it like you were meant to.

It felt too good.

“Such a good girl, you’re taking me so well.”

The way your pussy sucked him in was driving Jay crazy as he groaned near your ear, biting your shoulder right after, his balls slamming against your ass and he didn’t bother slowing down, not when you were clenching around him like that.

He held you up, knowing that your legs couldn’t keep you up anymore, not when your mind was blank and you were crying, begging for release.

“Cum for me, princess,” he whispered, pinching your nipples as you let out another moan, which sounded like a scream with how frustrated you were, his thrusts getting faster and faster.

“I’ll fill you up good, yeah? Gonna keep my cum in your cunt?” He asked, his voice even deeper as he hit your g-spot.

You nodded, letting out a broken yes in reply, which was all it took for your eyes to close again, your legs shaking as Jay filled you up the very second you came all around his cock, creaming it beautifully in the essence of your unadulterated pleasure.

“You were right,” you breathed out, holding on to him.

“Yeah?” He asked.

“Yeah. I need you, always.”

THANK YOU FOR READING!

TAGLIST: @jaeminvore @macaroonff @ajayke-reads @en-myworld @lunalovesstories @jayzdaze @deobitifull @celeste-hoon @mari-oclock @kpoprhia @ikeuizm @woniebae @lalalalawon @blessedcursd @skzenhalove @heesuncore @seuomo @kyurizeu @haechan-nahceah @tobiosbbyghorl @jezzebear @jaehoonii @itsgivingitalian @bunhoons @hyacandoit @ma-riiii @addictedtohobi @heeliopheelia @haanigurl @dopedels @kaykay11sworld

permanent taglist open! comment or send an ask to be added!

#enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #jay smut #enha smut #enha hard hours #enhypen scenarios #enhypen #kpop smut #fic : into you

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ellemj · 4 months

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Candy Cane: 12 Days of Smut #4

Bucky Barnes x Reader One-Shot

Warnings: profanity, stuck in an elevator, mentions of death, teasing, oral sex (male receiving), face fucking, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Feel free to comment and let me know if this requires any other warnings.

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: I usually hate everything I write but this sure felt like some good shit while I was writing it. Hopefully it feels the same for whoever may read it. Thank you sooo much to @mashedpotatooooos for this beyond perfect prompt, as soon as she submitted it to me I was SCREAMING. So creative, so inspirational, thank you for feeding me with this brilliant idea.

A fucking candy cane. A fucking peppermint treat from the 1840s. That’s what’s going to be the Winter Soldier’s undoing? No. Really, it’s you. It’s the way you’re sucking on the damn thing. The way you’re wrapping your lips around it so sensually, savoring the taste with an innocent little gleam in your eye. That’s what’s going to kill him. He’s had enough.

The sound of a chair scraping along the hard floor breaks you out of your trance. Pulling your half-finished candy cane out of your mouth, you lift your gaze and look across the room to see Bucky silently disappearing down the hallway. God, he’s moody today.

“I bet that’s why they called him the Winter Soldier.” Sam scoffs. You raise an eyebrow at him as you resume your work on the candy cane. “Because his mood is always so damn icy.”

“That’s cute.” You say, refusing to dignify his bad joke with a laugh, although you have to admit, it was kind of funny. He’s right though, Bucky’s been a little extra moody this week. You’re not really surprised that he’d be someone who hates Christmas, it’s very on brand for him. It’s only three days away now and he hasn’t said a thing about it. The rest of you have been watching Christmas movies, having hot cocoa way too often, and at the very least pretending to be festive most days. But Bucky’s been staying in his room excessively more and frowning enough to end up on Santa’s naughty list. Something’s up with him. You’d have already asked what was wrong with him if you weren’t so annoyed at his inability to spit it out unprompted. The man is over a hundred years old but still has the communication skills of a teenager.

Only a few hours later, Bucky’s just finished up taking his frustrations out in the gym when you’re coming back from a run to the grocery store. You needed a few ingredients for the Christmas cookies you plan on baking tomorrow and there’s no better time to hit the grocery store than at night. Of course, just as you’re coming inside the tower, you see the elevator doors sliding shut. You rush forward, throwing your hand out to hold the elevator. Bucky lets out an audible sigh when he sees you step into the small space. He thinks about darting back out before the doors close both of you in, but he knows he’d have to explain himself if he did something that childish. So, he remains.

Bucky keeps his gaze trained on the screen above the doors, watching as it slowly counts each floor that you’re carried past. You, on the other hand, keep your eyes trained on him. He’s clearly just come from the gym, as evidenced by his dark athletic shorts and sweaty t-shirt. He doesn’t wear short sleeves often, so you take the rare moment to steal a look at his black and gold arm. That’s when he finally decides to give you a sideways glance. You’re just about to break the unusual silence by saying whatever pops into your mind first when the sound of grinding metal fills the air. You don’t even have a moment to brace yourself before the elevator practically skids to a screeching halt and throws you and your bag of Christmas ingredients sideways into one of the walls. You closed your eyes on impact, and when you blink them open again, you’re thrust into darkness. The power must’ve gone out. After just a couple of seconds, the very dim emergency lights kick on and you straighten yourself up, stepping away from the wall and trying to fully comprehend the situation that you’re in. Bucky’s analyzing you as you stand there, staring straight ahead in thought. You don’t look to be injured or very frightened that you’re trapped in such a small space, so he feels it’s safe to say that you’re not claustrophobic.

“The button to call the fire department isn’t even lighting up.” You say quietly, more to yourself than to the super soldier who stands a foot to your right. That means you’ll have to try your phones, and if those don’t work then you’ll be trapped in here until someone realizes that you and Bucky have been missing for too long.

“I’ll call Sam.” Bucky fishes his phone out of the waistband of his shorts and quickly types in his passcode, easily finding Sam’s contact since it’s one of the very few that he has saved. He’s just about to hit the button to put the call through when he notices the top of his phone displays a “no signal” alert. Shit. “No service.”

“Of course, no fire department and no phone service.” There’s a hint of nervousness creeping into your voice but you try your best to tamp it down. “W-what floor were we on before it stopped?” You know Bucky was watching the floor counter.

“Fourteen.” Suddenly, you can picture the elevator plummeting all the way down to the ground floor, killing you both on impact. However, the more rational side of your brain reminds you that elevators have emergency braking systems specifically designed to keep something like that from happening. You inhale a shaky breath and try to come up with at least a semblance of a plan in your mind, something to keep you from thinking too much about how you’re trapped so high above the ground in a little metal box. Bucky watches you closely as you move to sit on the floor, letting your back rest against the back wall and drawing your knees up to your chest. You begin rummaging through your little grocery bag and when your hand wraps around what you were searching for, you pull it out and begin opening the small package. Even in the dim light, Bucky can tell exactly what it is. Fucking candy canes.

“Do you want one?” You hold one out to Bucky but he gives you an almost displeased look as he shakes his head, staring down at the candy cane in your hand with disdain. So, not only does Bucky Barnes hate Christmas, but he even hates the most basic Christmas candy. You almost laugh to yourself at how ridiculous he is. He’s turning out to be an actual scrooge.

“Fine, more for me.” You unwrap the candy cane and lift it to your mouth, beginning to suck on the straight end of it. You’re not paying Bucky any attention now, so you don’t notice the way his jaw clenches and he averts his gaze as soon as the candy hits your tongue. He remains standing but leans back against the elevator wall, hoping the cold metal against his sweaty t-shirt might have the same effect as a cold shower.

It doesn’t.

Two minutes later, you’re still quietly working on your candy cane while Bucky has gone absolutely rigid. He has the back of his head pressed against the wall now and he stares up at the ceiling actually wishing that the emergency brakes would fail and the elevator would go crashing down to put him out of his misery. Why does it take you so long to eat those damn things? And how the hell do you not realize what you’re doing? Are you that naïve?

“Are you okay, Bucky?” Your voice is the last thing he wants to hear. He doesn’t even make a move to look down at you, because the fact that you’re already on the floor at the level of his dick and the fact that he knows what you look like when you’re sucking on something you really like will only make this situation that much worse. His cock is already fully erect in his thin athletic shorts, painfully so. The only reason you haven’t noticed yet is because you’ve been distracting yourself with your little snack and because Bucky’s shorts are so dark.

“Fine.” He croaks the single syllable out in just the right way to let you know that he is in fact, not fine.

“Okay, what is it?” You demand to know. Did Tony skimp on having emergency brakes installed and Bucky knows your death is imminent? Is the big scary man secretly afraid of heights or small spaces? “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I said I’m fine.” Bucky repeats the words through clenched teeth. Who would’ve known that such a private man would be such a bad liar? You push yourself up off the floor now and stand to your feet, turning to face him head-on. You’re just about to threaten to stab him with your little candy cane remnant when your eyes land on what it is that’s got him so worked up. The bulge in the front of his shorts is on full display, pulling the seams of the fabric so tight that you imagine Bucky’s incredibly uncomfortable right now. But…why would he be so turned on in such a shitty situation? Is it the fear? The adrenaline?

“Bucky—”

“Stop fucking talking.” He cuts you off sharply, finally snapping his eyes open and meeting your gaze. Even in the dim lighting, you can see the frustration painted over his features.

“No, tell me what’s up with you.”

“We’re stuck in an elevator.” He says plainly, closing his eyes once more. He really does suck at communicating. Obviously, you can see that he’s aroused. He knows that you can see it, but he’s still standing here in front of you pretending like he isn’t. As you stare at the stubborn ass that you’ve just barely come to know over the past year, all you can think about is getting on your knees and sucking the bad attitude right out of him. Maybe that’s what he needs. He clearly needs something. However, the fact that he won’t simply speak his mind and instead chooses to act like a moody fifteen-year-old most of the time still irks you. You want him to open his damn mouth and speak.

“Look at me.” Your voice is so calm and even that Bucky immediately wonders what you’re up to, but he doesn’t open his eyes. You take two steps so you’re standing right in front of him, and then you repeat yourself. “Bucky, look at me.”

“What part of stop fucking talking doesn’t make sense to you?” He snaps, opening his eyes. When his gaze meets your face, he’s met with the sight of you, dragging your tongue along the side of that damn candy cane and he nearly cums right there. He’s thankful that you can’t have possibly seen the way his cock practically jumped in his shorts when his eyes landed on your tongue.

“It’s the part where you think you can mope around here constantly and treat people like shit that doesn’t make sense to me.” You suckle on the end of your candy cane for a short second before pulling it back out of your mouth and adding one bold part to your little tiff. “It’s also the fact that you’re standing here with a hard dick while simultaneously acting like you can’t stand me. That really doesn’t make sense to me.”

Bucky lets out a sound of annoyance at the way you’re matching his attitude. He’s especially annoyed that you actually mentioned his dick, but he’s a lot more focused on fighting the urge to reach out and snap your precious candy cane into a thousand tiny pieces. You see the way his eyes keep flitting to your mouth as you enjoy your candy. Honestly, once you see the look in his eyes and pair that with the huge tent in his shorts, you don’t know how you didn’t put it together before. Maybe it’s because you fear you could die in this elevator, or maybe it’s because you’ve always sort of wanted to know what it’d be like to have such a strong effect on a man like Bucky, but an idea pops into your head that you just can’t seem to shake. You want to make him tell you what he wants. You want to force him to communicate with you, and then you want to reward him with everything he needs. Besides just being an irresistibly hot idea, it’s also a sure way to keep you from thinking about the elevator plunging into the basement at any given moment. You both need this.

That’s what leads you to sink down to your knees at Bucky’s feet. He thinks he’s hallucinating at first, but when he hears your light little laugh as you pop the candy cane back into your mouth, he knows it’s real. Your pretty eyes stare right back up at him as you slowly pull the candy cane out of your mouth, keeping your lips pressed tightly around it.

“Fuck…” Bucky mutters, screwing his eyes shut tightly as he feels a fresh wave of heat rush through his body. You haven’t even touched him yet he feels like he could have an orgasm on the spot. “Don’t do that.”

“Why not? You don’t like this?” You tease. You push the candy cane past your lips once more but he’s refusing to look down at you, so you take matters into your own hands. You hold the candy cane with your left hand while your right hand lands lighly on Bucky’s thigh, dangerously close to where he needs your touch the most. He inhales sharply and snaps his head forward to look down at you again. “Tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you.”

“I need you to stop with the candy canes.” He says harshly, giving you an icy stare. You laugh, but you can’t deny that he actually communicated something. So, you remove your hand from his thigh and fix the wrapper around your candy cane as good as you can before leaning over to drop it back in your grocery bag.

“Was that so hard?” You ask, returning to your position on your knees at his feet. He lets out an exasperated sigh, wondering why the hell you’re not getting back up.

“Are you going to stay down there until the elevator starts up again?” He narrows his eyes at you. You shrug your shoulders.

“Until the elevator starts up again or until you tell me what you really need, whichever comes first I guess.”

“I told you already.”

“Right, but that wasn’t all you needed.” You point out. He watches as your eyes leave his face and coast down his neck and torso, until your gaze lands on the taut fabric of his shorts. You’re perfectly eye level with his hard-on and it’s not making this situation any easier on him. He feels his cock twitch again from the way you’re looking at him. He weighs his options in his head. How bad would it be for him to cross this line? To tell you how badly he needs you to suck his cock the way you’ve been sucking those candy canes the last couple of days? It couldn’t possibly be that bad if you’re already on your knees offering it. If anything, he can at least feel better knowing you crossed a line first. Besides, what if you two never make it out of here? He knows you will, people get stuck in elevators all the time and you rarely hear about it killing people. But, what if? He can’t deny himself this potentially one, final pleasure.

So, Bucky learns to communicate.

“Fix the problem you created.” Bucky’s stare is cold and calloused, but the way his chest rises and falls at a quickened pace and the way his pupils dilate as he looks down at you makes you feel powerful. You test the waters, sliding your palms from his knees up his thighs and then curling your fingertips beneath the waistband of both his shorts and boxers. He remains focused on you, not giving you indication that he wants you to stop. So, you tug his shorts and boxers down until his cock springs free, nearly slapping against his lower stomach as your drop his shorts to his feet. Your eyes are glued to his impressive length, taking in the way precum is beginning to drip down his shaft and the way his balls look so full and heavy between his legs. He’s growing impatient, wondering if you plan to sit there and stare at it or do what you really want to do to it. He’s just about to showcase his impatience with you when you reach up and wrap your right hand firmly around his cock, holding it with just the right amount of grip as you give it one long stroke from the base to the tip. You tighten your fist around the head and let his precum lubricate your palm before stroking back down to the base and spreading the wetness around his shaft. The way his head falls back against the wall makes you feel high. You like having this kind of power over him. You wonder how much more power you might have if you used your mouth, but why wonder? Leaning forward, you continue stroking his cock with your right hand while you plant your left hand on his thigh and press your lips to the tip.

“Shit.” The curse falls from his lips so freely that you can’t stop yourself. The next thing you know, his cock is sliding past your lips and the tip is brushing against the back of your throat as you nearly fully deepthroat his entire length. You only have an inch left to go but you aren’t sure you can fit it all. Bucky looks down and sees your hesitation. He knows he should’ve restrained himself. He knows he should’ve let you take this at your own pace, but he needed it. He needed to feel your throat tighten around his cock. He needed to see how fucking pretty you’d look with every inch of him in your mouth. So, Bucky gently placed his right hand on the back of your head and applied a little pressure. Just enough pressure to make you swallow the rest of his cock. As soon as he felt your nose brushing against his skin, he pulled you back by your hair. His eyes roam over your face now, checking in to see if you’re okay. Your eyes are wide but your pupils are blown with lust. Not only are you okay, but you’re on cloud fucking nine. With the tip of his cock still in your mouth, you nod up at him, letting him know it’s okay to do it again.

Bucky guides his cock into your mouth again, pulling your head closer and closer to him until he feels your throat tighten as you gag around his length. When he tries to pull you away this time, you grip both of his thighs and stare up at him so hungrily that he groans at the sight. You don’t want him to go easy on you, you want him to take what he needs. It’s only a second later that Bucky puts both of his hands on your head and holds you firmly in place as he begins thrusting his cock into your mouth. He’s slow and careful at first, trying not to give you more than you can handle. But the first time you moan around his shaft, slow and careful goes out the window. He fucks your throat, letting his balls rap against your chin with every deep thrust. The obscene sounds and the way you fight to maintain eye contact with him sends him straight to the edge of his release so much sooner than he expected.

“I’m gonna cum.” He rasps, praying that you won’t want him to pull out. Although, he could easily picture himself cumming all over your pretty face. Your only response is to grip onto his thighs even tighter while you look up at him so submissively. That’s all it takes. Bucky gives your mouth one more thrust and then holds your head in place, with your lips wrapped tightly around the base of his cock. You feel every drop of cum as it trickles onto your tongue and down your throat. After a few more seconds, Bucky releases your head and watches as you sit back on your knees, swallowing everything that he gave you. When you lick your lips he swears he could go for round two already.

“That was so much better than a candy cane, Bucky.”

TAG LIST: @gyokujyn @mrsjoequinn @thealloveru2 @nixxaswrld @ordelixx @sweettae02 @frombkjar @hellfirebabe @edelweissbarnes @claireelizabeth85 @fandomsfeminismandme @sunnyhummingbee @jenniferpendragon @siciliano13 @crist1216 @wlkdead

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #mcu #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #marvel #the winter soldier #winter soldier #12 days of smut

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bouncybongfairy · 2 months

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Hello! Could I request some dark smut with Lip? I can also be more specific if you'd like! No worries if you don't want to write it! Also I just found your blog and love your writing! 💕

Fucked Back Into Reality

Lip Gallagher x Fem Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend Lip, hadn't talked to you in a couple of days. After having several conversations about this reoccuring problem, you decied to give him the cold shoulder. He reminds you why doing this is a riskey game.

Word Count: 2.0k+

TW: Rough Smut, Brat Kink, Masocism.

Ref Account: @kaionyx

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

It’s a bitterly cold day in Chicago’s south side. The type of cold where everyone at school is more concerned about staying warm than fashion. You were walking to school, both your parents left for work before you woke up. The school was too close to home for bus services so walking was really the only option. After trying to get in touch with Lip for the past two days, you were now on strike from being nice to him. You weren’t ignorant, Lip had a lot going on at home which meant his undivided attention was rare. Sometimes you wished he would just shoot you a text like: hey super busy day, love you / shits been crazy, talk to you when i can. Having this conversation in the past, you weren’t going to bother having it again. It surprised you to see Lip sitting on the front steps of the school; early which he never was. You started walking up the steps, he stood up and flicked his cigarette bud into the snow.

“Hey,” he said, you just looked at him and kept walking to your locker.

“Oh come one, you’re ignoring me?” he asked, leaning up against the mental lockers as you emptied your things into the locker.

“Seems familiar doesn’t it,” you say, referencing him not reaching out for the past couple days.

“Yeah but mine was accidental not bratty,” he chuckled. Maybe it was because you haven't eaten or smoked that morning but that comment enraged you. Slamming your locker and walking toward first period, leaving him in the hall.

Just your luck to have chemistry as the first class of the day. The teacher took 20 minutes to calm the class down. Kids play fighting with each other or flirting in the back of the room. Groups of students in their cliques, not paying any mind to the instructions given. You felt bad for the teacher, I'm sure she thought an education career would help so many teens. Only to be placed in one of the most poorly funded schools in the state. You didn’t feel too bad though, it only meant less work for you. Lip liked the fact that you cared about your grades, that you had a plan after highschool. As stupid as Lip was acting, you also liked how smart he was. You complained about it alot but you liked how he didn’t fall for your little tricks and games. He doesn’t chase you, or let you push him over. Most guys were just so emotionally unintelligent, not to mention Lip was more mature when it came to sex. The last couple guys you were with didn’t even talk while you fucked. Didn’t know what foreplay was or understand a woman's body. Lip had a really good understanding of when to be gentle or rough. When he would whisper things in your ear it always felt so natural and smooth. There were times when your stomach would randomly flip when thinking about the nasty things he’d told or done to you. Maybe part of the reason you had some animosity towards Lip was because you had been sexually frustrated. For the past couple weeks you felt like you were practically throwing yourself at him and he wasn’t in the mood. Of course you respected that, you just missed him was all; maybe a specific part of him. At lunch he came up to you from behind and hugged you. Still feeling quite stubborn, you allowed it but acted like you didn’t care.

“You still mad?” he whispers into your ear which makes your skin break out with goosebumps. He slides his hands down from your waist to your hips.

“I know we haven’t talked but I’m here now, let’s ditch for the rest of the day,” he said, pressing his lips against your neck. As much as you wanted to give in and agree, you still wanted to make a point. Pushing his hands away, you grab your backpack and walk away without acknowledging him. If he wanted to brand you as a brat then you’d give him his money's worth.

It was the last period, and everyone was waiting for the bell to ring. Some kids just left when they were ready and the teacher didn’t care. He just sat there, staring with cold dead eyes at his computer. Daren was consistently trying his best to spark conversation with you, all he talked about was how he ran track but he was trying his best. The heaters were blasting inside the school because it was snowing. The classroom windows were wet with condensation which made you feel sticky. Becoming overstimulated you decide to leave early, excusing yourself and walking out. Daren followed you into the hallway,

“Hey I was wondering if you wanted to stay after school and watch me practice? Maybe I can take you out after, or something?” he asks.

“Oh sorry I can't. I actually have a ton of homework so, maybe next time?” you say walking away, happy that you’re avoiding the rush of people flooding out the front gates.

Normally Lip would walk you home but you didn’t see him. Your willpower that was fueling your grudge was weakening. Pulling your phone out of your pocket and seeing if he texted you; he didn’t. Looking back you were feeling silly about your actions because look where they led you. It was really cold, snow sticking to your hair and eyelashes. Once you finally got home, Lip was waiting on the porch which took you by surprise. You went to greet him, this is when you noticed he looked angry. He didn’t even say anything to you, even after opening the door and letting the both of you in.

“How’s Daren?” he asks, once you both get to your bedroom.

“What?” you asked confused.

“Well you talked to him all last period and even after you left,” he said, sitting on your bed and lighting a cig.

“Okay first of all, I only talk to him for like two seconds. He asked me to watch him practice and I said no,” you defend yourself.

“That’s two seconds more than you talked to me today,” he remarked.

“Lip that’s not even fair,” you say, which made him smirk and shake his head as he took a drag.

“Do you even hear yourself? ‘tHat’s nOt fAiR’ whining like a baby who didn’t get their way. Why were you so offended that I called you a brat even though you’re acting just like one,” he said.

“What are you trying to scare me?” you ask while laughing.

“Trying?” he asked rhetorically.

You rolled your eyes and started to change into comfortable clothes. While you were only in your bra and underwear, Lip came behind you and ripped the lace material of the panties. You gasp and go to turn around but he presses you against the closet door. Intertwining his hand into your hair, gripping it so tight strands of hair were being pulled out. His dick was extremely hard and feeling it pressed against your ass immediately excited you. Moving your head slightly so he can start kissing and biting your neck. His breathing was hard and with his chest pressed against your back, you could feel his heartbeat. As he marked your neck, whimpers and moans were escaping your mouth.

“Since you were feeling so brave today let’s hope you keep that energy,” he growled into your ear.

“You gonna try and teach me a lesson?” you asked with a patronizing tone.

He chuckled and led you to the bed by your hair. Your heart was racing, your sexlife was by no means bland however, this was the first time he was this rough. It felt like the two of you were breaking the rules or something. Like discovering new and daunting territories. He reached his hand down and started feeling you through the hole in your panties he made. He let out a moan once he felt how wet you were.

“You are such a fucking slut, good to know being put in your place is all it takes for you to soak your panties,” he said, letting go of your hair.

He sat up onto his knees, instead of fully stripping his clothes, he just pulled his dick out of his zipper. Rubbing the tip against your pussy. Your chest was pressed against the mattress but your ass was pressed against his shaft. You start to rock your hips back and forth against him but he starts spanking his hands against your ass. The pain was so bad it burned, you thought he’d stop after a couple times but he kept going. Wanting to show you were handling the smacks, you try your best to take them without complaint. He was unrelenting and you finally begin to squirm away, which seemed to humor him,

“The more you fight and squirm, the more I wanna fuck you,” he said, running his nails down your now bright red ass.

“Fuck just do it already then,” you whine, in response he spits at your face.

“Cum slut’s don’t speak unless spoken to,” he said, pushing himself into your twitching and leaking pussy.

The feeling was enough to make your eyes roll back. After weeks of Lip blue-balling you, the sensation of being filled by him was pure bliss. He was going at a painfully slow rate, pulling himself fully in and out of you after every thrust. As pleasurable as it was, you’d do anything to get him to speed up. Unable to rock your own hips, you kick your feet a little in protest. This made him laugh and slow down even further. He grabbed your wrists and pressed them against your lower back, taking full control of your body. You were dripping down both thighs and tears pooled in your eyes. You were at your limit with his teasing, tightly clenching around him. He pulled out and flipped you onto your back, feeling too embarrassed to look him in the eye. Tears had stained your cheeks and your hair was in complete disarray from being yanked and pulled. He crawled on top of you and started pushing his tip in and out. You were bucking your hips up, tears coming back as he teased relentlessly.

“You’re sensitive here? Perfect spot to abuse huh?” he asked sarcastically, using one hand to smack his cock against your pussy.

In your own little world, trying to cum with what little friction he was giving you. He finally stops and instead wraps his hands around your neck. Then starts pounding into you, slowly tightening his grip over time. You were feeling dizzy and foggy, letting out a moan every time his length fully pressed into you. He was grunting and groaning, a couple beads of sweat dropping onto the bed from how much he was exerting himself. The closer you got to your orgasm the tighter his grip on your throat became. Your face was bright red and a wheezing sound came out of your mouth with every inhale. He seemed to be hummored by this and started to mock you.

“Can’t breathe? Good,” he chuckled.

The mixture of degradation and the fast paced abuse on your cunt was enough to send you over the edge. Shockwaves of pure pleasure began to ripple throughout your body. Legs trembling and eyes rolling back. He was chasing his own climax, seeing and feeling you cum around his cock was enough for him. Rutting into you with no regard for you, as if you were nothing but a toy for him. Seeing how he turned you into such a slutty mess made him feel feral. It wasn’t until he was fully finished that he removed his hands from your neck. After a small coughing fit, you began to come too. Lip was already up, using his shirt to clean you up. Pulling your hair out of your face and into a messy bun. You were half dead, completely exhausted and worn down. He laid down next to you, rubbing your back and whispering affirmations into your ear. You wrapped your arms around his neck, trying to be as close to him as you could.

“I’m glad I could fuck the attitude out of you,” he said, as you fell asleep.

#lip gallagher x fem reader #lip gallagher x reader #lip gallagher x y/n #lip gallagher imagine #lip gallagher smut #lip gallagher fanfiction #smut lip gallagher #one shot #smut fanfiction #fanfiction requests #rough smut #brat taming #shameless fanfic #shameless smut

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randombush3 · 5 months

Text

audentes fortuna iuvat

alexia putellas x reader

part one, part two

words: 9541

summary: alexia and you as posh + becks III

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

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

“Y/n left me.”

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

“What?” says Jenni.

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

“She can’t just take Nico, can she?”

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

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

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

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

“Are you angry at her?”

“Yes.”

Alexia thinks about it.

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t you dare.”

“Well, I'm not angry at her.”

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

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

“Alexia, bésame.”

…

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

Highgate is beautiful. The house is beautiful.

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

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

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

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

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

The doorbell rings again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re delirious.”

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

“No lo sé.”

“Ah. Una palabra inteligente.”

“Claro.”

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

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

…

You’re married.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I left Mia with her dad for this.”

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

“Not what I meant.”

“I won’t take it back.”

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

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

“Does that count?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

You and Jenni: Alexia’s people.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s the album doing?”

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

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

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

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

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

But 2020 kind of sucks.

For the entire world.

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

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

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

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

…

The routine changes the following year.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t go.”

I don’t want you to go.

“I have to.”

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t have to be.”

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

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

Quiet moans that stay locked in Jenni’s apartment.

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

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

In this way, she is functional.

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

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

Where does she put the used bandage?

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

…

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

Alexia: Jenni has had a really good idea

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

You: Go on…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

She consults Mapi.

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

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

“I’m not asking you to.”

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

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

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

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

…

June, July, and August pass with bliss.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are.

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

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

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miguelsslvt · 7 months

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MOTHERR!!

I have a raging NEED for brat reader. Honestly just tiny things that reader thinks nothing of but miggy (miguel) is actually keeping tabs and when reader gets to a certain number or just does something to piss miggy off you get a punishment 🤭

brat tamer! miguel x bratty! reader smut

word count: 2.17k

TW: spanking, punishment, NSFW, smut under cut, possessiveness (???), use of ‘girl’ and ‘pussy’, y/n is a bratty icon

A/N: can u notice i got a bit carried away? happy kinktober!

Miguel wasn’t a pussy. You knew that for sure. He never backed down on anything, whether that be a bet, or a dare, or a fight, or even his girlfriend.

He knew having a girlfriend like you would be a challenge for him, and to be honest, he liked a challenge. being a man of his age, he didn’t do too well with easy girls. Girls who would do anything for Miguel. That gave him the ice, thinking of a girl willingly doing what Miguel wanted. No. He didn’t want that.

He wanted a girl that could bite back. A girl that could tease, and whine, but make it look good. he realised that when he met you.

You, who would go out of your way just to make a snarky comment towards Miguel, you whine when he puts you on a particular mission with a spider totem you didn’t like. You, who would roll your eyes when he told you to bend over, or when you would scoff and even laugh at him after he told you to behave.

But, at the end of the day, what he loved most, was every time he told you to do something, you would end up doing it at the end. He liked that. Knowing that he was the only one you would actually listen to. He felt powerful, knowing that such a pretty thing like you would always end up falling under his little traps.

That was until today.

it all started in the morning, when you were latching onto him like a koala as he got ready. ‘Don’t go today miggy, can’t we just stay home?~’ you whined, causing Miguel to sigh. ‘We can’t, hermosa. The multiverse is in da-‘ ‘my pussy is in danger!!’ you whined, causing miguel to raise an eyebrow. ‘How can your pussy be in danger?’ He asked, you smirked. ‘negligence.’ You said, as he scoffed. ‘We had sex less then 9 hours ago-‘ ‘that doesn’t matter!! Please miggy~’ he ended up having to drag you off him and took you to work himself that day.

But oh, it didn’t stop there. All day, you would find pets and small excuses to go into Miguel’s office to burden him. First you came in for paperwork, then to give more paperwork, then you came in to remind him lunch was soon, then you came in again to report an anomaly. Miguel knew what you were doing. I mean, you could easily call him or put the paperwork into holographic paper so he could access it easier. He knew you only came in to see him. he was tempted, truly, but he had a job to do.

‘Here again, hermosa? I might have to disconnect Lyla and make you my PA.’ he said, turning around to you, as Lyla appeared, scoffing in an over-dramatic manner. You just chuckled. ‘I could never replace someone as perfect as you Lyla.’ You said, as Lyla smiled, disappearing. ‘What are you doing here again exactly?’ Miguel asked, raising an eyebrow.

‘Well, you’re a smart guy miggy, I’m sure you know I just wanna see you!’ You said, Miguel sighed.

‘Sweetheart, you’ve been nagging me all day.’ He said, as you smirked. ‘I haven’t heard any complaints.’ ‘Well now you are.’ He said, sighing and putting his hands on your cheeks. ‘As much as I love you and your persistence, I can’t today. How about later, hm?’ He tried to compromise, which made you even more frustrated. ‘Later? ..hm. fine. I’ll wait later.’ You said, walking out and shutting the door. i’ll show you later. you thought, smirking and going into the cafeteria for lunch.

By 3pm in Nueva York, it was the prime of lunch in the spider HQ cafeteria. Miguel walked in, off to order something to help his growling belly, when he stopped and noticed you with hobie brown. You were touchy with Hobie, hand on his arm and sometimes even on his leg, giggling and talking away to him. You looked over to Miguel, smirking maliciously as you continued.

He knew what you were doing. You were trying to make him riled up. And it was fucking working. Lyla suddenly appeared beside Miguel. ‘Miguel, your heart rate’s sped up. Are you-‘ ‘I’m fine, Lyla. Help out spider-byte or something.’ He said frustratedly, walking over to you and Hobie.

‘Oh hi sweetheart! You don’t look too good..’ You teased, Miguel smirked bitterly. ‘I’m fine. How’s work?’ He said, as you smiled widely. ‘Oh it’s going great! Me and hobie have been bonding really good!’ You said, smiling. You could see Miguel’s jaw move, signifying his fangs have extended. You knew Miguel well enough to know he was fuming. Lyla appeared again.

‘Sir your heart ra-‘ ‘Lyla leave. Now.’ He said, as Lyla nodded, rolling her AI eyes as she disappeared. Hobie raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you alright mate? You don’t seem a-‘ ‘I’m fine.’ He said, looking at you. ‘I’ll see you at home, yes?’ He asked, eyes narrowing.

You smirked. ‘I dunno, me and hobie were talking about hitting the club toget-‘ ‘the club?’ He cut you off. You smiled ‘innocently’. ‘Mhm!’ you replied, Miguel smirked bitterly. ‘How about we have a nice little ‘chat’ huh honey?’ He said, as you smiled, standing up. ‘Mm no, I don’t think so. how about later, hm?’ you said, quoting what Miguel said before. He raised a brow. ‘You sure you wanna do take road?’ He warned, as you smiled warmly. ‘I’ve gotta go refill my drink. Talk to you later?’ You said, as he sighed, holding your arm lightly, but enough to pull you closer to him, his mouth next to your ear. ‘My office. 5 minutes.’ Was all he said, before walking away. Suddenly, he was hungry for something else.

————————————————————————————

As you walked in, you made sure to lock the door. You walked up to Miguel’s platform, his back facing towards you. You looked at his muscles, biting your lower lip as you remember the countless of times you would scratch that perfect back of his, as he made you scream of ecstasy.

‘Lyla, do not disturb until I turn you back on.’ He said, his voice in a low growl. Lyla nodded. ‘Yes captain!’ the AI said, wearing a sailor suit before disappearing.

You took in a deep breath, considering to apologise. fuck no, you thought. You got this far, might as well seal the punishment, right?

‘There a problem, sweetheart?’ You teased, putting your hand on his shoulder, massaging it. ‘You look tense..’ You whispered in his ear, as he took in a deep breath, turning around, looking at you. His eyes were hazy, filled with lust and desire. You tilted your head innocently.

‘Bend over the desk.’ He said in a low growl. You smirked. ‘Or what?’you teased even more. he tilted his head up, not taking his eyes off of you. ‘Don’t make me ask again, pretty girl.’ He said firmly. You just scoffed, doing as he said. You bent down, arching your back. He lifted your skirt up swiftly. ‘Safe word?’ He asked, as you rolled your eyes. ‘red. Now are you gonna be a little bitch and stand there or-‘ you got cut off by a large spank on your ass, as you gasped loudly, your hands holding onto the desk. ‘Count for me, princess.’ He teased, as you bit your lower lip. ‘Fuck y-‘ spank! ‘a-ah okay f-fine!! t-two..’ You said breathlessly, as he smirked. ‘You’re learning.’

spank! ’f-fuck! Three..’ You panted, your ass burning from the sensation of Miguel’s hands hitting it with such force. That’s another thing you love about Miguel. How he could punish you but you could still enjoy it.

’T-twenty!! Please.. p-lease Mig..’ You panted breathlessly. He rubbed your sore ass now, leaning closer to your ear. ‘Have you learned?’ He whispered, as you nodded quickly. ‘I-i’ll be good.. I’ll be so good for you..’ you whispered, as he sighed. ‘ah.. there she is.’ He whispered, his fingers going down towards your slit. ‘Just had to show you who’s boss again, hm?’ He teased, putting in one finger, causing you to gasp, trying to lean your head up, as he pushed it back down with his other hand. ‘Head down, hermosa.’ He said, as you whined a little. ‘You ready for another finger?’ He asked, as you nodded. ‘Y-yes just put it in already..’ You whined, as he smirked, waiting for it.

‘..please.’ you said eventually, as he chuckled, putting another finger in, causing you to hold onto the desk again, gasping in the burning pleasure. ‘Just have to fuck you dumb on my fingers to get you to listen, hm? You like it when you’re full of me?’ He teased, playing with your hair as he leaned to your ear again, placing sloppy kisses on your neck. You nodded. ‘y-yes.. you know I do mig..’ you whispered, as he smirked, going up to your ear once again. ‘Just wait till you’re full of my cock again. You think you can handle it?’ He asked, as you moaned loudly as he pumped his fingers deeper inside you. He smiled softly. ‘Silly question, I know you can handle me. You do it every time like the big girl you are, right?’ He asked, as you moaned breathlessly. He pulled his fingers out of you. ‘That was a question, love.’ He whispered, as you nodded. ‘Y-yes! I-i can take it.. i take it every time, you know I do..!’ you whined, as he smirked, looking at your lust-filled expression on your face.

Your cheeks were flushed, your mouth slightly agape as you panted, your hair messy and eyes half lidded. miguel could feel himself twitch in his pants. He put his two fingers in his mouth, licking them clean as he used his other hand to unbuckle his pants.

‘You ready?’ He whispered to you, as you nodded. ‘words.’ He said, as you looked up at Miguel through your lashes. ‘Just put it in you teasing fucke-‘ you got cut off by a loud moan, as he put his thick tip inside of your pussy. He smirked, watching all the frustration and fight fall out of your face. You bit your lower lip, whimpering. No matter how many times you two fucked, nothing could ever prepare you for the feeling of his cock inside you.

‘Where’s all that brattiness gone, hm?’ He asked, slowly sliding in inside you, letting out a quiet groan. ‘I could’ve sworn you were telling me about hobie brown just a few minutes ago..’ He teased, as you gasped, moaning. ‘H-he could never fill me like you can miggy.. o-only your girl..’ You reassured breathlessly, as he chuckled, leaning closer to your ear. ‘I know baby, I know. Only dumb for my cock, right?’ He cooed, as you nodded before gasping once again as he started pushing in and out. He held your hips in place, as you fell back onto the desk, your back arching into him, causing him to hit all the deep spots inside you. You were a moaning mess, as he watched as his pretty little brat fell apart on his cock. He felt his pride and lust coming out as he held onto her hair lightly. ‘Like it, hermosa? Like being fucked dumb, all you needed was a good dick down to shut up that filthy mouth of yours?’ He teased, as you were practically incoherent. You nodded mindlessly, as he smiled softly, chuckling in your ear. ‘Cant even hear a word I’m saying, can you? Only thinking about how close you are.’ He mocked, as you moaned again, tears spilling from your eyes as his pace sped up.

‘C-close!’ You said a few minutes later, holding onto the desk for dear life as Miguel drilled himself into you. ‘Yeah I know baby, can feel you tightening around me, you wanna cum? Hm?’ He asked, as you nodded. ‘Yes! please.. p-lease I’ll be a good girl.. I-i’ll be your good girl just please..’ You babbled, as Miguel just chuckled, shutting you up by putting his fingers in your mouth. ‘Talking too much, honey.’ He teased, as you moaned through his fingers. He felt your walls clamp around him, signalling your near. He sped up, chasing his own high as well as yours.

Soon enough, you came undone. You moaned loudly, eyes rolled back as you hit your euphoria, your walls spasming around Miguel causing his high to crash too. He grunted deeply, as he continued to thrust his load inside you. you felt his cum deep inside you, as you came back from your high, Miguel panting, giving you one last hard thrust as he finished.

He pulled out slowly, grunting quietly as he moved your jaw to look at him. Your face had that pretty blissed out expression, the one you usually got when you had been fucked dumb. good. Maybe that’ll teach you a lesson next time.

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#miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel spiderman #across the spiderverse #miguel smut #miguel spiderverse #fem reader #smut #spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel x y/n #spider verse #kinktober #miguel ohara smut

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toruro · 1 year

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hyung line + making up after a fight

a/n: find part one with the argument right here and maknae line's version right here! i promised a resolution and here it is! hope you like it, and please leave likes/comments/reblogs <3

w/c: 2.4k

seungcheol

when you wake up the morning after your fight, seungcheol isn’t next to you. you kind of expect it, the effects of last night’s argument still fresh in both of your minds. still, you miss the warmth of his body next to you in the morning, and the chill you’re feeling right now does nothing to aid your already wounded heart. you crawl out of bed slowly, pulling on a sweater as you make your way to the kitchen where you find seungcheol leaning against the counter as he waits for his morning coffee to brew. you realize he hasn’t noticed you yet, and you figure he’s lost in thought so you quietly creep up next to him, looking down when you mutter a quiet “good morning.” he jumps a little, surprised, but then turns to look at you with a soft expression on his face. “hey,” he murmurs, quickly bringing a hand to yours to interlock your fingers in his, “do you wanna talk now?” and when you nod, he’ll agree, pulling you to the dining table so you can both sit across from each other and talk about the situation but much more calmly and slowly than the night before. once the issue is resolved, he’ll be standing up and pulling you into his arms so tightly you think he might just squeeze the air out of you. “i’m sorry,” he’ll whisper as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, “for what i said,” and it would only take you a second before you’re spewing out your own apologies, holding him closer. after a few moments he’ll pull back and let me tell you seungcheol would kiss you SO passionately your mind would go blank. the rest of the day is spent with you two basically joined at the hip, being way more clingy than normal to make sure that there’s no more pent up anger or frustration.

jeonghan

granted, arguments with jeonghan will pretty much never reach the point where you’re both still bitter in the following morning. but in the rare case that you’re still a little sulky in the morning, he’d press closer to you and prop himself up against the headboard, pulling you on top of him so your head was resting on his chest. as he strokes your head, he’d ask you to talk about how you’re feeling and he’d let you ramble all that you want, occasionally adding in his own short and calculated responses. once you’re done, he’d still have you in his arms, talking about solutions and stuff and basically the issue is resolved within minutes if it was not already resolved the night before. he’d still take extra care of you this morning, spending at least an hour cuddling with you in bed before suggesting a shared bath which you obviously can’t deny.

joshua

mornings after Those Arguments with joshua are whole experience on its own. you slept on the couch, so naturally you didn’t have the best night’s sleep—not only was the couch not the most comfortable (you did propose to sleep there yourself though) but the words from last night’s arguments are fresh in your mind, popping up in your vision whenever you close your eyes. that’s not to say joshua had a great night either—he probably stayed up hours more than you thinking about all the things he said and why in fuck’s name he let himself say that stuff. he didn’t mean it, but he understands that that’ll be hard for you to believe so he spends all night thinking of ways to approach the situation in the morning. he’s up super early too, and eventually he can’t stand being in the bed without you beside him so he gets up and goes to the kitchen which is attached to the living room that you’re sleeping in. upon seeing you, he adjusts the blanket over your body before quietly making himself a cup of coffee while he waits for you to wake up. it doesn’t take long though, and when you’re pushing yourself up from the couch and rubbing your eyes, joshua is by your side immediately. there’s a thick silence that coats the atmosphere in the room right now as you look at each other, and joshua is the first to speak, “i’m so sorry,” he says quickly, and you want to start crying again at how sad his voice sounds. and well you technically do. your eyes are already starting to water and joshua tentatively brings a hand up to brush the tears away. when you lean in to his touch as opposed to turning away, he takes this as his chance to cradle your head and pull you into a deep hug. you’re wrapping your arms around his torso immediately, basking in his warmth that you’d been craving throughout the night. when he pulls back, he sits on the couch next to you and faces you so he can start talking. you both pick up the same discussion from the night before but much more civil and without the anger and frustration. once the issue is resolved, joshua would be pulling you into his chest again, mumbling endless apologies along the lines of “i don’t know what came over me,” and “i didn’t mean it,” and endless “i love you.” you forgive him of course, but he still spends the rest of the day wary and heeding by your every wish. it’s a little bit endearing, but eventually you have to kiss him and tell him that everything is a-okay and that he doesn’t need to be worried.

jun

he'd feel so bad for pushing the argument to the point that you felt you needed to sleep on the couch that once you were asleep, he'd make a makeshift bed on the ground in front of the couch to sleep there. when you wake up, you don't even look down, not expecting to find jun in front of you, so you accidentally end up stepping on one of his legs. that has him jumping up from his sleep and it almost causes him to hit his head on the coffee table, but you're quickly throwing out a hand and shielding his forehead from the contact. once jun blinks a few times and realizes what's going on, he looks at you so intensely that you find it extremely hard to maintain eye contact. the air is thick but then jun is pulling himself onto the couch so he can face and you hold your hands in his and he doesn't say anything—you it's because he knows he talked too much the night before and wants you to have to chance to talk, to explain, and to try to reason with him. unlike the night before, he listens and he waits before responding, and now that neither of you are acting in the heat of the moment the conversation flows much more smoothly. the problem that once seemed blaring and hopeless is now being resolved within minutes and jun will pull you so close to him that you think you two might just mold into one. he'd whisper quiet apologies before saying, "also can we like, never sleep in different places ever again? i think that was the worst sleep of my life pretty much ever." you cock an eyebrow. "are you sure it just wasn't because you slept on the floor?' he shakes his head vigorously before responding, "nah, it was all because you weren't next to me." you let out a soft giggle at the corny comment, but jun doesn't give you the chance to make fun of him because he's swooping down to kiss you in no time.

soonyoung

when he wakes up in the morning and you aren’t by his side, it’s like his worst fears have come true—you’ve left him, he thinks. it would take a few moments of him frantically checking under the covers for him to realize that from the noise that’s coming from the kitchen, you haven’t left him and that you’re just probably making some coffee or something. he's scrambling out of bed faster than he can think and you're undeniably a little bit startled when he's barging into the kitchen without warning. he doesn't even wait for a second to approach you but right when he's about to engulf you in a hug the events from the night before are crashing in on him and he pauses, waiting for you to make the final move. when you lean into him, wrapping your arms around his torso, a wave of relief washes over soonyoung, and after holding you for what feels like a good five minutes, he pulls back so he can start spewing out apologies. he's talking so fast that you're mind is racing and after just a few moments you need to tell him to slow down. it doesn't seem to work because he just keeps on talking about how he was so stupid last night and you finally think enough is enough and you decide to shut him up in the only way that you know works: smashing your lips on his. a little unconventional, yes, but it works, and you can see him getting pulled back into the present. "can we have a normal conversation, please soonie?" you ask, and with the way that you're using his nickname, soonyoung will know that everything will, eventually, be okay. you both stand across each other in the kitchen, running over the events from the night before taking things step by step to figure out where it all went wrong. it takes some time, yes, but the issue is eventually resolved—you didn't doubt that this would be how it ended up though, because after all, you could go through hell and back if he was by your side.

wonwoo

you wake up the next morning with his hand draped over your waist, and while you would usually cuddle closer to him, embracing the way he's literally your living heater, this morning is full of thoughts from the night before—you're understandably tentative. you and wonwoo tend to wake up around the same time, so you don't really move much, expecting him to wake up within a few minutes too. you're correct, of course, and within just a few moments he's stirring away, shifting in the bed next to you. it takes both you one more minute before you're escaping your drowsiness, sitting upright to look at each other. the silence that sits between you is uncomfortable to say the least, and you're not quite happy with that. wonwoo doesn't seem too pleased either, and he's the first to speak up. "let's get some breakfast and talk, yeah?" he suggests, and there's no way you can say no. you follow him to the kitchen where you two don't really talk, wonwoo making the coffee and you making some toast. eating in silence, the air is thick and you can't remember the last time things were this awkward between you two. you're so relieved when you're both done eating, finally sitting across from each other at the table to discuss the issue from the night before. on a full stomach and rested mind, both you and wonwoo are much more civil about the way you approach the issue. it's like how you normally deal with arguments (and last night was definitely not normal), but there's the added somberness of the extra mean words you both might have thrown in the night before. the conversation is long and will definitely bring tears to both of your eyes but by the time you're done you feel nothing but relief that it's all resolved and happiness that wonwoo stuck by your side through it all. once you both get up from the table, he'll be striding over to you, pressing you into the wall so he can kiss you fiercely, nearly sucking your breath away, pulling back, he'd rest his forehead against yours and whisper sweet nothings in your ear.

jihoon

he's already awake when you wake up, as expected. you realize jihoon isn't in the bed with you when you open your eyes groggily, glancing around your room before hearing some noises come from the kitchen. you take this passing moment as your chance to fall back into the bed, rubbing your eyes and letting all your thoughts from the night before sink in. jihoon will undeniably want to talk this issue out as soon as he finds out you're awake and don't get me wrong—you'd love to do that too—but you just need a moment to collect your thoughts and think about exactly what you'd want to say to him. after you feel like you've thought enough, you're peeling the covers off of yourself and following the noises from the rest of your apartment to finally catch him in the kitchen, cleaning some dishes. he whips his head around immediately when he hears your footsteps, telling you, "let me finish this for a minute and then we can talk." you nod in agreement, sitting yourself down at one of the tall chairs at your kitchen island, waiting for him to finish. once he's done, jihoon pulls up the chair next to you, swiveling it so that he directly face you. "how's your voice?" is the first thing he asks, voice clearly concerned. you purse your lips, realizing that you haven't spoken since last night. when you respond to him, it's not nearly as hoarse as the night before, but it still comes out as a little strained, causing jihoon to frown. he reaches over a hand to interlock his fingers with yours before he encourages you to talk about what's on your mind. once your done with your own long tangent, he follows with his own response. you both kind of go back and forth like this, letting each other speak and comprehend until all of your emotions and thoughts are out in the open. it doesn't take more than half an hour for you both to come to a solution, you feeling more relieved than anything that this issue is out of the way. you're so happy, in fact, that you pull him into a kiss right after jihoon says, "okay, then it's all good now." he's a little taken aback by your immediate forwardness but the blush on his cheeks tells you all that you need to know—he loves you and you love him and that is all that you need, now or ever.

#seungcheol x reader #scoups x reader #jeonghan x reader #woozi x reader #wonwoo x reader #junhui x reader #jun x reader #joshua x reader #hong jisoo x reader #jeon wonwoo x reader #hoshi x reader #soonyoung x reader #💌 drabbles

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obessedwithfictionalmen · 1 month

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Therapist

Rosie Rosenthal X Therapist! Reader

Summary: Rosie needs to stop controlling everything; maybe his therapist can help...

Warning: +18/ sub!Rosie/ softdom!reader/ riding/ oral sex (f and m)/ forbidden relationship/ mention of death/ swearing/ praise/ use of Y/n/ fingering/

Word count: 3.0k

Her official job title was military surgeon, but since the soldiers needed someone to talk to, Y/n became their confident and gave them advice, she heard a lot of things every day, but today, her newest patient was Robert ‘Rosie’ Rosenthal. A few weeks ago, he was the only plane back from a mission, he saw everyone go down, word on the base was that he was closing to everyone, he didn’t talk about it with anyone, he shut down and acted like nothing happened. As she got ready to see him, she looked at his file, and she looked at his pictures, he was good looking, but she had to stay professional. She saw man like him all the time, not wanting to show any emotions, acting tough but if she said the right things, she could crack this wall he built up.

When he knocked at her door, he was kind of nervous, he didn’t like to talk about what was happening in the air, not with his colleagues and certainly not with a random person. Y/n opened the door, looking at the pilot in front of her, she told him to come inside as she closed the door behind him. ‘’Major Rosenthal, pleasure to meet you, I’m Dr. Mitchell’’ she introduced herself as she sat on a couch in front of him. ‘’Please, call me Rosie’’ he said, sitting down. ‘’Rosie how are you feeling?’’ she shyly smiled, she saw men all the time, but Rosie was really handsome. She had to supress the thoughts she had, they weren’t professional. ‘’Don’t take it personally, Doc, but I don’t know what I’m doing here’’ he started, anger could be heard in his voice. ‘’I understand your frustration, Rosie, but you did fly the mission with the most casualties’’ she delicately commented.

It had been 45 minutes since the session started and Rosie was impatient, he shouldn’t be here and as beautiful as Dr. Mitchell was, he wanted to get out of her office. ‘’Can I ask you one last question, Rosie?’’ she asked, looking at him. He bobbed his head, slowly, before taking a deep breath. ‘’Do you like being in control?’’ she simply asked. He didn’t understand the question. ‘’In control of what?’’ he spat, frustrated. ‘’Things in your life, the time you get up, what you eat, where you go and in control in aspect of your life, like friendships or sexual intercourse’’ she coughed at the end of her sentence. Her cheeks were becoming red and the air in the room felt heavy. ‘’Yeah, I like to control my own life, and sometimes, uh, yes, I’m, uh in control in the- the- bedroom, why do you ask?’’ he stuttered. He tried to not show how nervous he was. ‘’Because that’s why you’re angry of being here, not having control. I’m going to free you from this session’’ he walked towards the door. ‘’Major, we see each other in a week, during this time, can you try to do something that needs you to not be in control.’’ She blurts out. ‘’Like what?’’ he asks, because nothing comes in his mind. ‘’Ask a friend to set up your alarm, let someone organize something, and if you find a woman, let her be in charge’’ she blushed, again. ‘’Of the date or something.’’ She babbled, trying to not sound like she was encouraging him to have sex with someone. ‘’I’ll try, Doc’’ he said before leaving the room.

She couldn’t sleep, too many sinful thoughts were in her mind. It wasn’t professional to think about a patient that way. What was she thinking, suggesting him to have sex and not being in control?! That night, she tossed and turned, thinking about Major Rosenthal in an incriminating way, good news was, she had one week before seeing him again. Bad news was, she had one week before seeing him again.

He really fucking tried, he let his friend set his alarm, he almost did everything she asked him to, but he didn’t see how it helped him. Plus, he had wet dreams about her all week. He kept thinking about having sex with her, how she would moan his name, how her innocent gaze would be when she sucked him off. He was nervous before his appointment. He didn’t know how his body was going to react when he sees her. Nonetheless, he entered her office, smelling her perfume as he pushed the doors. There she was, wearing a white blouse with a beige skirt. When she turned to face him, he thought he was going to faint, since when did she wore glasses? They were transparent, but still it gave her this innocent look that drove him mad.

‘’Major, how have you been?’’ she smiles as she looks at him. He plays with his fingers a little bit, before sitting down in front of her. ‘’Frustrated, Doc, I’ve tried to give up control, but it’s hard’’ he said. That and the fact that he kept thinking about having sex with her didn’t help. ‘’And what did you try to do?’’ she bit her lips as she wrote what he was saying. The air was hot in the room, Rosie was practically boiling alive. ‘’Everything, except things that involved a woman’’ he admitted. Y/n bit the inside of her cheek to supress a grin on her face. She looked at his lips, God she wanted to kiss him right now. She cleared her throat as she pushed her thoughts far away, at least she tried. ‘’And how did it go?’’ she asked. ‘’Like shit, I don’t understand how this is going to help me getting back in the plane’’ he confesses. ‘’Rosie, the urge you feel, of getting back in the plane. That’s because you feel guilty of being alive. You don’t understand why them and not you.’’ She blurts out. ‘’Can I sit next to you’’ he asks, before getting up. Y/n nods and bites her lips again. He was listening to her psychoanalysis of him, watching her face, seeing how she blushed her she caught him looking at her. ‘’But maybe I’m wrong’’ she whispered, looking at him. ‘’Do you have problems with proximity?’’ she asks him. She watches as he shakes his head. ‘’So, you don’t think that everyone around you is going to die?’’ she clarifies. ‘’Why all these questions, Doc?’’ his voice was low, making her shiver.

‘’I’m just trying to understand your mind’’ she breaths out. He noticed how her breathing got quicker and her pupils were dilated. ‘’I just think we would have a clearer idea of what’s rushing you back if you opened up to me’’ she stated, avoiding eye contact, he was so damn beautiful, Y/n thought that if their eyes met, she was going to be as red as a tomato. The tension in the air was dangerously close to burst. He moved his leg ‘accidentally’ touching hers, he watched as she hissed, but she wasn’t scared, she was in the same state as him; desperate. ‘’You’re right, Doc, I feel guilty for being alive, so I try to control everything around me, but this week as been torture. I kept thinking about you’’ he admitted, he wanted to see if she was bold enough to flirt back. Y/n blushed even harder as she took her glasses off, putting them on the side table. She looked at Rosie. ‘’What were you thinking about’’ she tried to stay professional, but it was hanging by a thread. She moved her leg so their leg would touch. He looked at their legs and looked back up to her. ‘’Testing your theory with you, Doc’’ he admitted. Y/n blinked multiple times before biting her lips, again. ‘’Really?’’ she flirted, still not daring to look at him in the eyes. ‘’Dead serious, you’re all I’ve been thinking about all week’’ he leans closer to her face, he could hear her heart beating really fast. ‘’And what are you going to do about it?’’ she breathed out as her eyes trailed all over his body. He smirked; she was flirting back. ‘’I can think of a few things, but again, I’m not good at letting someone else be in control’’ he teased. ‘’I can teach you how’’ she said, against his lips. They took one last look at the other before breaking the rules and kissing each other.

He made clear that he was going to be the dominant one, but Y/n had to remind him. ‘’I’m in control, remember Rosie’’ she grins as she kisses his neck. ‘’Then show me -ah- show me how to let go’’ he breathed out. She smiled as she pushed herself on top of him, as she began to grind her hips, his hands found their way on her thighs. ‘’Let me take care of you, Rosie’’ she whispered in his ears. Y/n felt his erection on her covered core, she wanted him so much. They were both breathing heavily, he watched her breast move as she breathed. He began unbuttoning her blouse, she looked at his fingers with a smirk on her face. She kept moving her hips to a slow, sensual pace, it drove him crazy, he needed her to do something else. His knuckles were turning white, he was gripping the couch too tightly. ‘’Use your words, Major. You want me to do something, you ask’’ she breathed out, kissing his neck. He threw her blouse on the ground and kissed her collarbones. ‘’Please, Doc, ah, please do something’’ he whimpered. Y/n grins before sliding off his lap to kneel in front of him.

‘’You touch me, and I stop, got it?’’ she looked at him in the eyes. His chest was rising with pleasure, how he wanted to take control. He quickly nodded before unbuckling his belt. He let the woman take his pants and boxer off. She was surprised by his length, he was big. She licked her lips before pressing small kisses on the top. Y/n could see Rosie struggling to keep his hands to himself. He threw his head back and his pulse quickened. Y/n kept kissing the top on his length, then she brought one hand at the base of his cock and started to slowly, stoke it. She saw goosebumps on his thighs. ‘’Words, Major’’ she reminded him. ‘’I need you to suck me off, please, Doc, plea’’ his word got lost in throat when she fully took him in her mouth. He moaned in surprise, causing the woman to giggle, sending vibration on his cock. He couldn’t help it, one of his hands went in her hair, she moved her head back, taking his length out of her mouth, making Rosie whimper. ‘’No hands’’ she smirked.

Rosie wanted to say fuck those rules so bad, but he thought that she was so hot, taking control and taking care of him like that. So, he took his hand off and she resumed what she was doing. She never could’ve guessed how vocal Rosie was, whimpers, breathy moans, small growls and shaky breath, that man wasn’t afraid of making sure she knew she pleasured him. Y/n felt his length throb in her mouth, she looked up and it was a sight for sore eyes. His shirt was unbuttoned, showing his abs, his head was thrown back and his Adam apple kept bobbing. Then, when she felt him getting close, she stopped everything. ‘’No’’ he whined. Y/n smiled and got up in front of him, stripping from her skirt. ‘’I didn’t even touch you’’ he tried to plead his case. ‘’I need to come, please, Doc, let me come’’ he begged. He looked so good like this, begging and submissive. His cheeks were red, he looked sweaty but in a hot way. ‘’You want to come, Major’’ she teased in a sensual voice. He nodded, swallowing hard. ‘’Please’’ he whispered. She got rid of her panties, he wanted to touch her so bad, so he swallowed his pride and decided to fully give her control. ‘’Can I touch you, Y/n?’’ her name rolled off his tongue like a prayer. She looked at him, smiling as she sat on the couch in front of him, she spread her legs and looked at him. He got off the couch and crawled to her, he was like a starved man. She had to stay strong, because the look he gave her as he crawled to her was enough for her to throw every ounce of feminism out the window. His eyes were dark, his mouth slightly opened, and his curls were messy. When he reached her, he trailed his hands on her bare thighs, before pulling her closer to him by the back of her thighs. She yelped, surprised by his move. ‘’Can I, please, eat you out?’’ he pleaded, looking at her in the eyes. ‘’Yes, Major’’ she breathed out. He sunk between her thighs and pressed small kisses to her inner thigh before kissing her exposed flesh.

His mouth felt so good, his mustache was adding something else, it was itching, but it felt so good. She threw her head back as her hands found his curls. He thought about playing with the same rules as hers, but she was in control. He was humming around her clit, sending vibrations that drove her mad. One of Rosie’s hands snuck up to play with her breast. She put one of her hands on top of his, she squeezed it to show him how he made her feel. Y/n arched her back as she moaned his name. But Rosie’s other hand pressed down on her stomach, adding pressure. ‘’Oh shit, Rosie, I’m close’’ she breathed out. He hummed to show her that he heard her, then decided to stop playing with her breast, he inserted one finger inside of her. ‘’Holy fuck, you’re soaking wet. Is that because you like to be in control? Uh, you like to be in charge’’ He grins, she felt hot around his finger. ‘’Yeah, right there’’ she breathed out. He looked at her, she looked like a goddess, her hair messy, her skin glowing with the coat of sweat, he could’ve come just with this sight. As he added another finger, he felt her clench around him. ‘’That’s right, come for me, pretty girl’’ he praised her. That was enough to send her over the edge, she arched her back as she was sent into pure extasy.

It took her a few minutes to recover, but when she did, she slid down the couch, to reach Rosie. He was seated against the other couch; she got on top of him. His arms were laid on the couch, he looked so ridable. ‘’Ready, Major?’’ she asked against his lips. ‘’Please, ride me’’ he sighed. Y/n positioned herself on top of him, their lips were touching, but they weren’t kissing. She sunk down on him, they both breathed out, shakily as Y/n took the time to adjust to him. ‘’Fuck’’ he moaned. He kissed her neck, to distract her from the uncomfortable stretching. When she felt ready, she began rocking her hips. ‘’Can I touch you?’’ he moaned. ‘’Yes’’ she whimpered. He places his hands on her hips, to try and guide her to a faster pace, but she denied him. She shook her head as she slowed down the rhythm. ‘’Nah, I’m still in control’’ she smirked. He pushed his tongue on his cheek as he caressed her hips. The smell of sex in the room was intoxicating. She began to rock her hips faster, because it was torture for her too. She arched her back as she kissed him sloppily. The pleasure was too much, she bit down his bottom lip, not too hard, but hard enough to send shivers down his spine. He decided that he wanted more intimacy, so he put his hands on her back and came closer to her body, he was hugging her, but the proximity allowed his pelvic bone to touch her clit and add stimulation. She put her hands in his back, scratching him in the process. The pace was fast, raw, sensual, almost animalistic. They both needed a release. ‘’I’m close, please let me come’’ he moaned in her ear. ‘’Please, please, please’’ he kept begging. Y/n’s brain started to form a sentence. ‘’Come with me, at the same time’’ she ordered. Since he was close, he decided to drop one of his hands and stimulate her clit with his fingers. Right now, she couldn’t care less about him asking permission to finger her, she was close, and he was helping her get there.

Rosie felt Y/n clench around his dick, her thighs started to shake from all this stimulation, he sucked on her neck. ‘’I’m gonna cum, c’mon pretty boy, cum with me!’’ she whined. ‘’You’re doing so good’’ she praised him. It was enough to trigger both their climax, they were a moaning mess as their body shook from pleasure. Y/n could feel his hot release throbbing inside of her and slipping on her inner thigh. They were both out of breath and glistening with sweat.

It took a minute for the both of them to come down from Nirvana. ‘’That was’’ he started, out of words to describe what just happened. ‘’See, letting someone else in charge can be fun’’ she chucked. He rolled his eyes as be playfully hit her ass. She yelped in surprise but smiled. Y/n got up first, even though she didn’t trust her legs, she got her panties back on as she sat on the couch. Rosie got up too, putting his boxers back on and sitting next to her. ‘’Thank you, Y/n, for everything’’ he said, kissing the top of her head. She smiled at the small display of affection. ‘’It was my pleasure.’’ She teased. They both laugh and look at each other. ‘’Do you think you could move my next appointment to earlier in the week?’’ he asked, making her laugh. ‘’Why?’’ she asked. ‘’Because I’m a hard learner and I’ll have to give you control again.’’

#master of the air #master of the air imagine #rosie rosenthal x reader #rosie rosenthal #robert rosenthal #mota smut

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obsessivelullabies · 2 months

Note

bonjour again !

(i luved what you did for my last request 💗)

headcanons on arthur morgan falling face flat on the ground hard in love with the reader? how would he be around you? show his love? would he draw or write about you? jst a cute lil blurb idea on him confessing his feelings 💗🎀

(shy!fem!accent reader once again !!!💗)

Love, 🦢🎀

arthur had already been having a shit day. he was frustrated and sore from his day. seeing you was exactly what he needed, he stared at you as he approached you slowly. the moment you turned to face him, he got nervous and tripped over a stupid rock.

he’d been shamed and embarrassed, yet when you helped him up sweetly, asking if he was ok, he felt good about his fall. his heart swelled as he glanced at your concerned face.

arthur would struggle to start a full conversation with you. he didn’t want to overwhelm you. he’d always try though. he never gave up on talking to you.

sometimes, he just lounges around wherever you are. so he can peacefully keep an eye on you.

arthur shows him love through gifts and acts of service. “i got ya’ this while i was away..” and “i got it, you stay.” are very common for him.

he’d most definitely write about you! he wouldn’t be too sappy, just noting little details about you and things you said. if he has the time, he’ll draw pictures of you, especially if he thinks you look extra pretty that day.

arthur confessing his feelings would be awkward. he’d find you alone and try his best asking you out. “hey, uh, i got some spare cash.. i was thinkin’ you and me go out.. do somethin’. just us.” would sum it up.

aaa i’ll work on my cod requests soon i’m just rlly into rdr2 right now

masterlist! | reblogs and comments appreciated. | unedited.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x f!reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan fluff #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan x reader

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trashywormeateroffics · 9 months

Text

ours (bucky barnes x female reader)

the gif is not mine!

summary: a comment makes bucky question your relationship and he begins avoiding you. tired of his behavior you confront him.

a/n: once again i am asking u to send me requests of bucky, natasha or loki + a taylor swift song so i can write a one shot about it!!!! hope u enjoy this anon<3

masterlist

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you know exactly when it started, and it makes you furious. everything was fine, it was more than fine, it was perfect. until people thought they had the right to meddle in things that weren’t their concern, like who you should and shouldn’t love. and, for the most part, you could handle it, but then… that damned comment. a stupid twitter comment made by an account without a profile picture set him off. by him, you mean bucky barnes, your boyfriend. and by the damned comment, you mean the one that said that they hoped he wouldn’t turn into the winter soldier and kill you by accident. since then he’s been avoiding you and every time you try to talk to him, he runs away. and you’re sick of it. that’s why you find yourself angrily stomping through your way to his room in the compound.

“bucky.” you call out to him as you knock on the door. you can hear some shuffling of things on the other side so you know he’s there. but he’s playing dumb. “bucky.” you call again. nothing. you sigh, annoyed. “james buchanan barnes if you do not open this door right this second-“ the door opening cuts you off and you fall silent. there, in all his sleepy glory, is your beautiful super soldier of a boyfriend.

“i was sleeping.” he tells you in a low grumble.

“too bad. we need to talk.”

“about?”

“oh you know,” you shrug nonchalantly, “about the fact that you’ve been avoiding me like the plague.”

“i haven’t-“ you don’t listen to his excuse and let yourself in. he shuts the door but doesn’t turn around to look at you.

“james. look at me.” you say, a bit more harsher than you intended. “bucky.” you try again, this time more softly, but it still comes out a bit impatient and you know he can hear it.

bucky slowly turns around and glances at you for a quick moment before directing his gaze to the floor and putting his hands in his sweatpants pockets.

for a bit you stay in silence and just look at him while he avoids your stare. you know it’s making him nervous but you don’t care, not right now, not when you’re this angry and frustrated and hurt.

he clears his throat and glances at you for a second to utter his next few words.

“i haven’t been avoiding you.” and his gaze is back on the carpeted floor.

“the fact that you can’t look at me kind of proves that’s bullshit.”

“it’s not-“

“it is.” you cut him off. “you have been avoiding me and i know why.” that’s when he looks at you. you purse your lips. “that comment-“

“what comment?” he asks defensively.

“you know which one, i don’t want to say it.”

“why?” he asks bitterly. “scared it’s true?”

you frown.

“what?” you say, eyes wide. “are you dumb?”

“we both know it y/n, no need to pretend.”

“oh, so you really are dumb!” you laugh without a trace of joy. he frowns, almost offended.

“i’m not- i’m being realistic.”

“realistic? that’s realistic? reading one stupid comment and then avoiding me?” you tell him, your voice raising a bit with every word spoken.

“yes! it’s for your own good.”

“dumb!” you repeat again, like a child throwing a tantrum. “you are what’s good for me!”

his eyes soften at that but he remains unconvinced.

“i’m not.”

“yes you are!”

“it’s best if you leave.” at that your heart drops to your stomach. he really thinks he will hurt me, you think.

“bucky…” you begin.

“y/n, please. leave.”

“bucky.”

“y/n.”

“i won’t leave.”

“leave.” he grits through his teeth.

“no! i love you!” you shout at him as tears begin falling down your face.

“you can’t!” he shouts back.

“why not?!”

“i’m a murderer, a monster! i’m going to end up hurting you!”

“you won’t-“ you plead but he cuts you off.

“you can’t act like that’s not what everyone thinks when they see us together.” he runs his metal hand through his hair in frustration and then raises it to his face to look at it with sorrowful eyes. “you can’t. you’re smarter than this.”

you frown. you’re smarter than this. smarter than loving him as much as you do? smarter than giving this man the love he deserves after a life full of so much pain? smarter than fighting for the one thing that feels right in your life?

you bite the inside of your cheek and look at him. his gaze is back on the floor, but this time you really need him to look at you. so you walk the few steps that separate you both and grab his face with your hands, turning his head your way. still, he doesn’t look at you.

you can see his blue eyes even though they’re not directed at you and they are so sad, so defeated. but they hold so much love there, you know it. he has confessed many times that he burns for you in the same way you do for him. that is why he’s so scared. but what he doesn’t know is that you are too. the idea of ever doing something that could hurt him terrifies you. maybe you’re not scared to hurt him in the same way he’s scared to hurt you, but you understand what he’s feeling, even if you can’t relate to his exact experience.

“bucky…” you begin. his quivering lips purse in an attempt to not break. “baby. please look at me.” you plead. slowly, he does. “listen to me. i’ve told you a million times, but until you believe it i will have to keep saying it. what happened all those years, what your body did, it wasn’t you, it was them.” he shakes his head but you hold him steady, looking at you. “listen to me.” you repeat. “no one has ever taken care of me the way you do. no one,” you tell him firmly as a few tears fall from your eyes, “has ever been kinder to me than you. no one has ever loved me more than you. and i have never loved anyone, anyone, the way i love you.” his eyes shine with unshed tears and you usher him to let them fall with a soft smile. he does. “you are not a murderer, and you are not a monster. you are a fighter, you’re the bravest and kindest person i’ve ever met and most importantly… you are my love.” you chuckle through both of your tears. “they will always have something to say, but this? this is ours james, we can’t let anyone tell us what we are. the only people who know that is you and me. and you know it, right?” he blinks and more tears fall down his cheeks. you wipe them away with your thumbs and began peppering kisses all over his face. “you know it, right?” you ask again. he nods with his eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of your lips on his skin. “say it. please.”

“i know.” he tells you. “i know, i’m sorry.”

“it’s okay baby.”

“no, it’s not. i- i shouldn’t have avoided you, i just- i got all in my head and you know how it is-“

“i do.” you give him a small smile and he returns it before frowning.

“i didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“me neither.” you tell him and he laughs.

“i forgive you, doll.”

“oh? so we’re back on doll territory? no more y/n?”

he narrows his eyes playfully.

“no more y/n, doll-face.”

you purse your lips to stop yourself from grinning but fail miserably. but then you get serious.

“bucky, you got it right? that you won’t hurt me and that- that you shouldn’t listen to what people say, that my love for you is so much bigger than all the hate they may throw at us.”

he slowly smiles and looks into your eyes with so much adoration it makes your stomach twist itself up in knots.

“i got it doll. i don’t know if i’ll ever not be scared to hurt you, but i’ll tell you if i do feel like that. i won’t push you away.”

“please don’t.”

“i won’t.” he grins and grabs your waist to pull you closer to him. as his lips ghost over yours, he says: “it’s you and me against the world.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x yn #bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #mcu x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst

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https-yeonjun · 3 months

Text

honeymoon avenue (k.th)

wc. 2812

genre. angst

tags. established relationship, mention of food, mentions of infidelity, insecurities, toxic relationship, a little aged up but ages are not specified, pet names (baby), taehyun is just really an asshole in this idk

a/n. this is kind of a repost but i finally edited this!! happy taehyun day!!!!!! part two will be up hopefully soon but it's a stand alone fic. this is based on honeymoon avenue by ariana grande, the song of my life <3333

more of my work

“thank you so much for having us.” you greet taehyun’s mother at the door about to leave their house. you’re holding a tupperware full of leftovers that she insisted you take with you. “taehyun doesn’t look like he eats much at home, so why don’t you guys take this with you?” you tried to laugh off her comment, but she pushed the bowl into your hand.

“are you sure you guys can’t spend the night?” she turned to her son, “they said the rain was going to get worse.”

“we didn’t bring anything to stay the night with.” you interjected.

one of taehyun’s best traits, in your opinion, was how much he cared about his family. simultaneously, his worst trait was his inability to say no to his mother.

“yeah, i don’t have to tell you how she gets when she doesn’t do her nighttime routine,” he joked. they both laughed while you stood in silence, looking back at the car, wishing more than anything that you could disappear from this place and erase this entire night from your memory.

“will you guys come to the house tomorrow before you leave?”

“prob—” taehyun began, but you cut him off.

“we don’t think so,” you feigned an apologetic tone. “we have to get out really early.”

“yeah, but we’ll try.” he finished.

you gave his mother a tight lipped smile and allowed her to say goodbye to her son for what felt like the fifteenth time that evening.

you walked to the car together silently.

you sat in the car together silently.

you watched as his mother entered the house and closed the front door.

he started the car, set up the gps, and turned on the radio, without saying so much as a word to you. you scoffed and he quickly turned the volume down.

“what?” he asked with genuine confusion, but there was an undercurrent of frustration beneath the surface.

“seriously?” you countered.

“what?” a hint of defensiveness crept into his voice.

“i can’t believe you said that.”

“what did i say?”

“you completely threw me under the bus with your mom. you know how she gets. please tell me how i get.” your words were sharp, biting with accusation, and taehyun rolled his eyes at your comment, annoyance flickering across his face.

“i’m really tired. i don’t want to do this right now.”

you watched him as he pulled out of the driveway and made his way out of the neighborhood, feeling the tension simmering between the two of you.

it was another rainy day and you were driving into your hometown to surprise your parents. it was hour six of your drive when your phone died and you noticed you were almost out of gas. you stopped at a nearby diner and asked around for a charger. taehyun was sitting by the window, focused on his computer, with papers sprawled on the table in front of him, a half drunk cup of coffee beside him. for the first time in thirty minutes, he looked up when he heard your voice and laid his eyes on quite literally the most beautiful person he’d ever seen in his life. or so he tells everyone whenever he recounts this story.

“hey,” he called out to you. “i have a charger you can use.”

you sat opposite him in the booth, and he took this as an invitation to introduce himself to you. “hey, i’m taehyun by the way.”

“and i’m forever grateful to you taehyun.”

“your parents named you “forever grateful”?” he laughed at his joke and you joined him.

“yeah, it was my great grandmother’s name.” you joked as well. “actually, my name is y/n.”

against your protest, he ordered food for you and you sat with him for hours, completely forgetting that you were supposed to be surprising your parents that evening. when the rain cleared up, you took your phone from him, but not before asking for his phone number.

and now you’re both sitting in a rental car, stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic. the air is thick with anticipation of the impending thunderstorm. you noticed the tension etched in your boyfriend’s features. frustration creased his eyebrows, his jaw clenched with each passing moment of immobility. his fingers tapped restlessly on the steering wheel as his impatience grew with each second you spent at the traffic light.

“what’s wrong?” your gaze turned towards him, searching his face for answers.

“nothing,” he responded tersely as he made an abrupt u-turn.

“tae, what are you doing?” a furrow formed between your brows as you watched his erratic behavior.

“nothing, baby,” he sighed. his eyes remained fixed on the road.

“why are you turning around?”

“too much traffic. this way is faster.” a hint of annoyance crept into his words, but that didn’t stop you from persisting.

“the gps just said you should turn around again.”

“i know where we’re going, baby, this way is faster.” though his voice was firm, there was a note of uncertainty in his eyes that betrayed his facade of confidence.

“tae, are you sure?”

“i don’t need you fucking second guessing me, y/n?” he snapped. you flinched at the tone of his voice, the sting of his anger hitting you like a physical blow. so you quickly muttered apologies to try and ease the weight of his irritation that was pressing down on you like a burden.

“fuck, baby.” he softened. “i’m sorry, i’m just really tired and i want to go to bed,” his hand reached out for yours in a gesture of reconciliation, but you gently pushed him away.

“it’s fine, let’s just get home.”

“you further shrunk in your seat. things weren’t always this tense between you and taehyun, obviously. at first and for the longest time, he was so perfect – your relationship was so perfect. he was so thoughtful and sweet. there was never a morning where you woke up without seeing a text message from him. even when he was busy, he always made time for you – he always made you a priority.

but a year and a half into your relationship, you noticed him pulling away from you. it started out as him arriving late to dinners to him not even bothering to show up sometimes. you noticed him sneaking away to take work calls right before bed. you could go days without seeing or speaking to each other. some days he was out of the house before you woke up and you could hear him sliding into the shower in the early hours of the morning.

he wasn’t as involved as he was before and nothing hurt more than feeling like you were in a relationship with yourself.

and you did try to bring it up to him, on multiple occasions. but he would always shut it down with every excuse under the sun.

“i already said i was sorry, baby.” he groaned at you when you asked where he was. you got home from the restaurant he was supposed to meet you an hour ago to find taehyun on the couch in front of the tv. “i just wish you told me before i wasted an hour waiting for you.” you tried to push the tears back, but it was no use. “you know i’m up for that promotion. i was at work and it just slipped my mind.” he continued. he turned off the tv and walked out of the room, leaving you alone on the couch, tears staining your new dress.

sometimes you felt like maybe you were the problem. maybe you were the one who wasn’t working hard enough to keep him interested. you weren’t doing enough to make him stay.

and that brings you to tonight. you planned this trip to his hometown to visit his parents because he hadn’t seen them in months. honestly, you never really got on great with his mother, but you always told yourself that because she’s important to him, you wanted – you needed – to get on her good side for him.

you did everything for him.

everything was going to be perfect at this dinner. you were going to wow his parents – his mother in particular. you and him were going to get back on the right lane. everything was going to be perfect.

to your surprise, when you walked into the dining room, you saw an extra place setting. “i thought it was a family dinner, are we expecting someone else?” you asked your boyfriend, who just shrugged in response. he gave his mom the bottle of wine that you picked out, and you tried to ignore the idea that something bad was going to happen.

everything was going well. you were in the kitchen with his mom talking about the renovations that they had done on the house last month, while taehyun and his dad were in the living room. the doorbell rang and you stupidly and naively volunteered to get it.

and that was when you saw her, holding the tupperware you were currently nursing in your lap, with a big smile on her face. you turned around to see your boyfriend and his mother rush to the door. his mom squealed, “oh honey, i’m so glad you could make it.”

taehyun, on the other hand, looked like he just saw a ghost.

after ten minutes of tense silence, taehyun finally broke it. “you know, you could have been a lot nicer.”

“i could have been a lot nicer?” your tone was incredulous, eyebrows raised in disbelief at his audacity.

“yeah, you could have been a lot nicer to my mom. she’s really trying, you know.”

you wanted to laugh at him for insinuating that if his mother had any interest in being nice to you, tonight was the night she decided to make an effort. “she hates me,” you sighed, the weariness evident in your voice.

“she does not hate you.”

“she invited your ex-girlfriend to dinner.”

“she’s a family friend.”

“she tried to undermine me,” you began, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

“you’re being ridiculous,” he said under his breath.

“and you do nothing to defend me every time she makes a snide comment about me.” the lump in your throat growing with each word.

he chuckled, the sound lace with bitterness. “okay, what did she say?”

“you want me to recount all the times your mother has verbally abused me since we started dating?”

“verbally abused,” he repeated, mockingly. “that’s definitely a phrase.”

“don’t do this to me,” you pleaded, feeling the tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. “taehyun, i sat for three hours while your mother broke down everything she hates about me and compared me to your ex-girlfriend that she invited to the dinner that i planned for you. so please don’t try to negate the way i feel.”

his silence only fueled your anger, the frustration boiling over inside you. “god, i don’t even know why i’m doing this.”

“doing what?”

“trying to make sure that this thing works.”

“this thing?”

“our relationship–” you exhaled, the weight of your words hanging in the air. “being in this relationship makes me so unhappy. and i– i keep trying to make this work. i keep trying to make you happy and you don’t give me anything in return.”

his scoff cut through the air like a knife, but he remained silent, refusing to engage with you.

“can you please say something?” you begged him.

“i don’t give you anything in return?”

“no tae, you don’t.”

“i didn’t realize this relationship was a fucking business transaction.”

god, why do you always do this?” you threw your hands up in exasperation.

“what am i doing?” he scoffed again.

“every time i try to talk to you, you always try to make me feel like shit.”

“i’m sorry, i’m just not seeing the problems that –” his excuses grated on your nerves, pushing you to your breaking point.

“are you cheating on me?” you asked quietly, the words hanging heavy in the air between you.

“what?” his voice carried a note of surprise, but his eyes remained fixed on the road ahead.

“are you cheating on me?” you repeated, turmoil brewing inside you. you studied his face intently, searching for any hint of deceit.

“you’re fucking ridiculous, i’m not having this conversation right now.” his response was curt, his tone was laced with irritation as he refused to meet your gaze.

“why? because you’re fucking your ex? why can’t you answer my question?” your voice rose, desperation creeping into your voice as you implored him to give you a straight answer.

“no, i’m not fucking my ex.”

“but you are cheating on me?” you tried to calm yourself down, your voice returning to its regular volume.

“no, i’m not cheating on you.” he briefly turns to look at you. “i’m not fucking cheating on you.” he made another abrupt turn, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.

“where the fuck are we going?”

“i told you, i’m trying to fucking go home.” he hit the gas, the car lurching forward. you could tell that you pissed him off.

“then why aren’t you following the gps?”

“because i know the fastest way to get home, just fucking trust me.”

“stop the car.” you demanded.

“what?”

“you heard me. stop the car. right now.” you told him again, you heart pounding in your chest as you steeled yourself for what comes next. he slowed down and brought the car to a halt, pulling over at the side of the road. without a word, you got out of the car.

“can you get back into the car?”

“no, i’m going to find my way home.”

“y/n, please stop being ridiculous and just get in the fucking car.”

“can you please stop calling me ridiculous?”

“well, if you stopped acting ridiculous, i wouldn’t have to call you that.” he countered. “can you please just get in the car? let’s go home.”

you turned to face the side of you. the rain was beating down on you, helping you mask the tears streaming down your face. “i can’t keep doing this. i don’t want to do this anymore,” you repeated to yourself, your voice barely above a whisper. you don’t really know if you’re talking to him or to yourself but the words were heavy with finality.

he unbuckled his seatbelt and met you on the side of the road. he wrapped his arms around you. “you don’t want to do what? go home?”

“i don’t want to be in this relationship anymore.” you turn around to face him

“come one, don’t say that. please just get in the car. we can talk about this when we get home.” he pleaded with you. the threat of actually losing you sobered him up quickly.

“get home? tae, we don’t even know where the fuck we’re going.” you screamed in his face, but he didn’t even flinch. he just wrapped his arms around you and you fell into his shoulder at his embrace.

“you’re gonna get sick, baby. please let’s just talk about this in the car.” you nodded and complied with him, getting back into the car.

you both sat in silence in the parked car at the side of the road.

“i’m sorry,” he finally broke the silence.

“you can’t keep saying that after you hurt me.”

“i know, i know, but i don’t want to lose you,” he confessed.

“i’m sor–” he started but shut up when he saw you wiping the tears from your face.

“did you know?” you looked up at him. “did you know that she was going to be at the dinner?” he looked back at you blinking. you took his silence as an answer.

“my mom told me a few days before we got here, but i didn’t think she would actually invite her or that she would actually show up.” it was your turn now to not give him an answer. “i never cheated on you. you have to believe me.”

“i don’t know, tae.” you sniffed. “i don’t know what to believe. i just know that i’ve never felt this sad ever in my life and i don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

“i don’t want to lose you.” you could see the tears build up in his eyes, even though he looked away from you quickly.

“we’re both miserable in this relationship. this isn’t working for either of us anymore. we should just get out while we don’t completely hate each other. take a break from each other.”

“okay,” he softly conceded.

and with that he put the car back in drive, and followed the route back to the hotel. the only sound in the car is the pitter patter of the rain on the window.

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#fay's works #taehyun #taehyun angst #kang taehyun #txt #txt angst #tomorrow x together angst #tomorrow x together #kang taehyun angst #taehyun x reader #taehyun smut #taehyun hard hours

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itgetsdark-x · 1 year

Note

Hellooo I have a teeny tiny request: dbf!joel taking readers virginity 👀👀 what do you think? The idea just struck me and i believe this would be soo hot but also cute 😳 sry i‘m just a sucker for intimacy 🙈

Anyways it‘s just an idea, no stress, i love your writing 💕

A/N: wheeew, thank you for the request anon! I tried to write Joel a little softer here and it just had me in a mess! I hope this is okay for you and you enjoy it!! I’m sorry for the delay, honey <3

Summary: Joel was always hanging around your house and your dad, one way or another. You wanted him, and badly. He needed to be your first.

Word Count: 3.9k

Characters: dbf!joel miller x virgin!reader (f)

Warnings: 18+, minors dni! fingering (f receiving), first time reader, unprotected p in v (do better pls), slight praise kink if you squint, age gap (everyone is of legal and consenting age, reader’s age not specified)

It was a warm spring day, you were sat in the garden with a beer in your hand; across from you was your dad and his best friend, Joel Miller. Joel was almost a permanent fixture around your house now, he had been in your life for years and it was near impossible to imagine life without him, or how life was before him.

He was a handsome man, close to your father’s age and admittedly, you had quite the crush on him and had done for a few years. Of course you hadn’t acted on it, you didn’t want to upset your dad or ruin anything in your life but then there were the lonely nights that you spent alone, your fingers rubbing at your clit frustratedly, never managing to finish, as you imagined the older man taking your virginity. You knew it was wrong but it didn’t stop you from fantasising, only now, it seemed to happen more frequently.

You smiled as you sipped your beer, your mind wandering as your father and Joel were in deep conversations; occasionally you would throw in a laugh or reply to something either of them said but for the most part, you just enjoyed soaking up their conversations and the late evening sunset.

You weren’t really sure how you had got to your age and hadn’t slept with anyone yet and part of you felt shame that you hadn’t, thanks to the throwaway comments from your friends or the way the media portrayed casual sex. You felt inexperienced and the longer you went without it, the feeling of shame and nerves only seemed to grow, you cursed society and your friends for making you feel that way. You had boyfriends previously but the time never felt right for you, and for that, you were proud of your morals and how you stuck to them. A lot of the time, when you didn’t put out for a partner, they left you and it was frustrating, and more importantly, hurtful. Still, no one ever felt right, no one ever seemed to compare to Joel in your mind.

The sun had fully set by now, your dad and Joel were still arguing back and forth about something trivial and you laughed fondly as you watched them two of them. You had gone inside and to get a blanket which was now wrapped around your shoulders, the chill of the evening not effecting you.

“Sweetpea, I’m gonna head inside and get some rest. Thank you for a lovely day and night.” Your dad spoke to you, fully addressing you. You smiled into his side as he gave you a brief hug and kissed the top of your head.

“You okay to see yourself out? You’re more than welcome to stay the night. Y/N can setup the pullout for you!” Your dad offered to Joel.

“I’ll finish up my beer and see how I feel after, thanks bud. I’ll see you in a couple days, at the bar, if I don’t end up staying. Thanks again.” Joel spoke, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine.

“Don’t catch a cold.” Your dad said, peering down at you when he felt you shiver. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love ya too, dad. I’m fine. Goodnight.” You called to him as he closed the patio door behind him.

A silence fell between the two of you, you placed your bottle onto the garden table and looked up to the sky, stars were slowly starting to twinkle in the evening’s dusk and you sighed.

“What’s up, princess?” Joel asked, he often called you various pet names but that one always hit differently.

“What does sex feel like?” You asked nonchalantly.

Joel spluttered on his mouthful of beer and placed it down, clearing his throat. “Has your daddy not had the chat with you?”

“Well duh, of course he has but he hasn’t exactly told me what it feels like.” You huffed frustratedly, now looking at Joel.

“I uh, I don’t know how to answer that question, really.” Joel admitted quietly. “Have you, uh, have you not?” His question tailed off as you shook your head in response.

“Nope.” You hugged again, wrapping the blanket tighter round you. “Can’t even manage to cum when I touch myself either.”

Joel shifted in his seat, somewhere in his mind he pictured you laid out on your bed, your fingers buried deep in yourself with a frown as you tried to work yourself to release. He pushed those thoughts deep down and shook his head.

“Well it’s different for guys, princess. A lot easier.” He shrugged, hoping you would drop the conversation.

“Yeah but you’ve obviously had sex with women!” You said casually.

“Obviously.” Joel retorted.

“Exactly, so like, you know how to make them cum unless, Joel Miller, you’re openly admitting you don’t know how to please a woman.” You laughed.

“I know how to please a woman!” He defended. “Plenty of women, and I ain’t ever had complaints.”

“Show me.”

It was a throwaway comment, the beers you had consumed flowed through your veins and made your lips a little looser than normal. Before you had registered it fully, the words had fallen from your mouth.

“I’m sorry?! What?!” Joel asked, his voice a raised whisper.

“S-show me… I want my first time to matter, Joel. I want it to be with someone who knows me and cares about me. You care about me, right?” You asked, getting out of your seat and sitting into Joel’s lap, your blanket discarded.

“Princess. I can’t… I… it wouldn’t be right…” He mumbled, sounding like he was trying to convince himself more than anything. “Your daddy would kill us both.”

“I’ll be quiet, please Joel… I’m desperate. Please.” You begged, your voice high and whiny. “I’ve seen the way you watch me, your eyes follow me around like a lost puppy. Especially when I wear little dresses. I’ve noticed it and I’m telling you right now, I feel the same.”

Before Joel could argue again, you dipped your head down and closed the space between your faces to place and innocent kiss to the male’s lips. As soon as you made contact you moaned softly into it; his lips were soft against his rough facial hair and it made you wetter than you could have imagined before.

Joel held his hands up innocently, unsure whether he should indulge in this moment or not but there you were, sitting in his lap needy and innocent, quite literally begging for him. Cautiously he began to kiss you back, one hand came up to hold your cheek and the other held your knee gently. He commanded the kiss, tilting your head to the right angle as he dipped his tongue into your mouth to explore you further. He could taste the beer on your breath and the faint cherry of your chapstick, it drove him mad and he wanted more.

“You’re gonna kill me.” He whispered almost silently. “Are you sure you want this? You won’t be able to have your first time again, are you sure you wanna waste it on me?”

“Joel,” you stopped him from rambling further. “Anytime I’ve touched myself I’ve imagined it was you, I want you so badly. Please show me how to do it.” You whined.

Joel’s hand tensed gently on your knee, the fact that he was the star in your late-night thoughts made him wanna take you right there and then.

“Inside. We need to go inside, I’m not fuckin’ you on the table. Not for your first time, anyway.” Joel teased with a wink. “You’re gon’ have to be real quiet for me though, little girl.”

You stood from Joel’s lap and nodded eagerly. “Of course I’ll be quiet, scouts honour.”

Joel laughed, a short breathless noise and followed behind you as you led him inside and upstairs to your room.

As soon as you quietly clicked your door shut, the tension seemed to fill the room once more and you stood awkwardly by the bed.

“Come sit, relax, princess.” Joel said quietly, his voice soft and hushed.

He sat on the foot of your bed and gently tapped the space next to him, you happily obliged and sat down next to him. You looked up at him and swallowed roughly.

“You nervous?” He asked gently and you nodded in response. “That’s fair enough, I promise I’ll be real gentle with you, darlin’ and if you wanna stop at any point, you tell me and we stop. This is all on your terms, okay?” He asked tenderly, brushing your hair out of your face to cup your cheek.

You leant forward and caught Joel’s lips in a quick kiss. “I — what do we do now?” You asked.

“What have you done before? Have you ever touched a guy before?” Joel asked and you shook your head to say no. “So you’ve never touched a guy’s cock before?”

“N-no!” You replied, almost ludicrously. “A guy tried to make me once but I left in tears and that was that.” You admittedly quietly and Joel stroked his thumb tenderly across your bottom lip.

“Okay, well that’s not going to happen here. I’ve got you now. Okay?” He asked.

“Okay.”

“Let’s start by getting you out of your clothes and comfortable on the bed, is that alright?” Joel asked.

You nodded again, not trusting your voice as Joel removed his hand from your face to gently pull your t-shirt over your head. He then worked on your jeans, he unbuttoned them and you stood to shimmy them off your legs, you stood there a little awkwardly as Joel took in your form and admired your body.

“Look at you.” He breathed, his rough hands smoothed over your sides and cupped your ass gently.

You let out a quiet giggle as your cheeks flushed a light pink in embarrassment; no one had ever complimented your body before.

“J-Joel, can I see you now?” You whispered, your voice shaking with pure anticipation.

He smiled at you and gave a simple nod before he pulled his grey T-shirt over his head and pulled down his jeans before discarding them with your clothes. Your eyes roamed the expanse of tanned skin, hair peppered his chest lightly and a dark trail led down to his boxers where you could clearly see his half-hard cock. You had dreamt about his moment, being able to see Joel in such a state and it made your privates throb with need.

“Why don’t you lay back and show me how you touch yourself, pretty girl.” Joel said smoothly, sitting down next to you on the bed again. “I can help from there.”

“Okay…” you muttered, quickly standing to shed your damp panties before you got onto your bed and laid down so your back was resting against your pillows.

Joel shifted so he was positioned next to you, he was laid on his side and he watched eagerly as you let your thighs drop and you spread yourself further for him to see. He held back a groan as he watched your fingers dip between your wet folds as you began to circle your clit. You let out a high-pitched moan before you clamped your teeth into your bottom lip to silence yourself from making another sound.

You screwed your eyes shut and your brows furrowed together as you rubbed at your clit harshly, trying to bring yourself closer to orgasming but never quite getting there.

“Woah they’re darlin’, slow it down a notch… or ten.” He chuckled quietly, his hand coming to rest on top of yours to slow your movements down with ease.

“Do it for me.” You huffed, opening your eyes to search for Joel’s. “Please.” You whined.

Joel took your hand in his and brought your slicked fingers up to his mouth, he sucked them eagerly and moaned softly as your arousal flooded his mouth. Your eyes shot open widely, shock flooding them and you throbbed as you watched him. You rubbed your thighs together and whimpered weakly.

“Sh sh shh, darlin’.” Joel cooed when he released your fingers from your mouth.

He gently pried your thighs apart with his hand, your own fell to the side of you and your fingers toyed nervously with the sheets below you.

“I’m gonna touch you, princess but you’re gonna have to be real quiet and you’re gonna need to relax for me.” Joel instructed sternly but his voice was edged with softness.

You looked at his face and bit on your bottom lip, nodding your head in agreement. Joel ran his fingers through your wet slit and he bit back a groan at how wet you were already, so receptive and needy for him to touch you. You shifted under his touch, it felt so different to your own fingers or when you would hump at your pillows in frustration. His skilled fingers found your clit quickly and he circled the sensitive bud with delicious pressure, you bit back a loud moan and looked at Joel with mild confusion at how it could feel so good so quickly.

“Feel good?” Joel asked quietly, his breath fanned gently over your lips.

“S-so so good!” You whimpered, your voice shaking as Joel worked his fingers perfectly over your clit.

“Is it okay if I finger you? You wanna see how it feels to have my fingers in you? I’ll be really gentle, princess.”

You nodded eagerly, not trusting your shaky voice to form a proper sentence. Before you had time to fully register it, Joel was gently pressing a finger into your tight hole, there was slight resistance as your wet heat stretched around his thick digit. You mewled quietly, the noise partly out of pain but mostly pleasure.

“Shhh, I know, baby girl. I know. You’ve got this.” He whispered, kissing your cheek and your neck, trying to distract you from any discomfort as Joel’s palm met your body. “I’m gonna move my finger now.” He whispered and your body fluttered with adoration as he talked you through what he was going to do next.

Just as he said, Joel pulled his finger out and gently pushed it back into you. He felt almost alien as he worked his finger in and out of your tight hole, he felt amazing and somewhere in your mind, you thought how you always wanted Joel in you. His thumb gently circled your clit and whilst you were distracted with the intense pleasure, he gently pushed a second finger into you, stretching you further and your eyes balled shut instantly.

“Baby girl, you gotta relax for me. That’s it, atta girl, doing such a good job. I know, I know.” He cooed, his voice was so soft and it sent shivers down your spine as his thumb still circled your clit whilst his fingers scissored you open.

“Feels…” you whined. “Feels so good!” You whispered, your eyes opening to look at Joel. “Please kiss me.” You asked tenderly.

He obliged happily and his lips pressed to yours in a passionate kiss, his tongue invaded your mouth and you laid there as you took all he had to offer you. His fingers moved in you with ease now as you adjusted to the foreign stretch and somewhere in the depth of your belly, something bubbled and grew deeper. You had come this close before but never managed to get yourself over the edge. You moaned into Joel’s mouth, a little too loudly as he quickened his pace.

“Fuck Joel,” you cursed against his lips as you panted, your chest heaved in your bra.

Joel smirked, using his spare hand to free one of your breasts from your bra and he sucked your nipple into his mouth; his teeth nipped gently at it before he sucked on it a little harsher causing your back to arch up to him.

“Something feels weird.” You mumbled, your voice was a quiet gasp. “Feels like I need to pee or something.”

You felt embarrassed, not sure what was happening, usually when you got this far you would stop and go use the bathroom before coming back and trying again to make yourself cum but it never happened.

“Mhmm, means you’re close. Means you’re gonna cum on my fingers.” Joel whispered, his breath fanned out onto your damp nipple and it caused a shiver to run down your spine. “That’s it, cum for me, please, princess.” Joel pleaded.

Your thighs shuddered at his words, your hips spasmed upwards and you brought your hand to your mouth to keep yourself quiet as you felt yourself get slicker and cum around Joel’s fingers, your walls fluttered around his fingers and he praised you quietly, his mouth back near your neck.

Joel pulled his fingers out of you and you grimaced at the lack of being full. He teasingly ran his fingers through your soaked folds and he groaned softly into your ear.

“You’re so wet, you came so hard for me. Such a good girl. Was that your first time? You never managed to do that?” Joel whispered his praises.

“Mhm, n-never managed to do that. Felt so good.”

“Now imagine how good my cock would feel… you think you’re ready for that, little girl?”

“Please.” You breathed, your hand shakily reaching for Joel’s hard member in his boxers. Your hand delicately palmed him through the thin fabric and you gasped at the feeling of him, he felt impossibly big compared to his fingers and your tummy fluttered with nerves and deep arousal. “You’re so… big!”

Joel laughed and switched his position on the bed so he was situated between your thighs. “Promise to be so gentle with you.” He whispered, awkwardly shifting out of his boxers so he was finally fully naked.

Your hands hungrily roamed the vast expanse of Joel’s skin and you hummed in appreciation, the moment you had dreamt of so many times was finally here and you couldn’t quite believe it.

“Fuck me, please. Just do it already, I’m so turned on I’m shaking.” You whispered, making sure your voice was a hushed tone and it was true, your limbs shook with the anticipation of what was to come and you were shivering under Joel’s gaze.

You had discarded your bra and laid there fully naked for him, he brushed his cock head against your clit and you let out a loud gasp, the different sensation taking you by surprise. Joel looked at you and cocked an eyebrow as warning and you nodded, taking the hint and bit on your bottom lip.

“You have to stay quiet otherwise your daddy is gonna hear you being such a good girl for me and I know you don’t want him to see how needy you are for his best friend’s cock.”

He took his length and gently, so incredibly gently pressed the tip of himself into your hole. You bit down harder on your lip and your fingers scratched at Joel’s shoulders, trying to anchor yourself to him as he inserted himself slowly into you.

Your nails left harsh crescent moon shapes into the skin on Joel’s shoulders as he bottomed out inside of you, you stretched around him and he held your cheek tenderly as you adjusted around his thick member.

“I know baby girl, I know. Shh, such a good girl. That’s it, so good for me.” He whispered, his sweet praises sending a delicious shiver down your spine and straight to your core. You turned your head and pressed a kiss to his hand as the sting of the stretch finally started to wear off.

“You can move now…” You muttered softly.

Joel nodded and his hand left your face to hold your hips tightly as he pulled his hips back and sensually rolled them forward to push back into you. You whimpered, the noise was loud and it echoed into your room. Joel tutted and one of his hands clamped gently over your mouth, he squeezed your face gently as he built up a steady pace.

His cock fucked into you, he managed to roll his hips just right and soon enough we was hitting the soft spot inside your spongy walls that had you moaning pathetically under Joel’s palm, the noises were drowned out as his hand squeezed over your mouth harder.

“Touch your pretty little clit for me, princess. I want you to feel how good it is to cum on a cock. On my cock.” Joel groaned as your greedy hole sucked him in deeper and harder.

You took Joel’s instructions and two fingers circled around your clit, you took onboard what Joel said earlier about going slower and it worked wonders, your eyes rolled back into your head as your stomach knotted tightly like a coiled spring. Your mouth opened under Joel’s palm and as you were about to speak, Joel stalled his hips. He was buried deep in you and instead of pulling back to push back into you, he rolled his hips so the tip of his cock nudged into you deeper than before. Your eyes fluttered shut, your fingers sped up and Joel took the chance to finally push back into you roughly. That perfectly timed dance had you cumming around Joel’s cock, the spring in your stomach snapped and you fell apart at the seams as Joel fucked you rougher.

You whimpered as the overstimulation kicked in and Joel took you for his own, he fucked into you quicker than before and you laid there taking everything he had.

“Where do you want me to cum, princess?” Joel asked.

“M-mouth.” You shuddered out.

“Naughty girl.” He chuckled lowly and pulled out of you, you winced at the feeling, already knowing you would feel sore tomorrow.

Joel positioned himself on the bed, knelt beside you as you sat up and timidly reached your hand up to wrap around his length. You gave a few testing stroke and he nodded down at you, encouraging you to move your hand faster. You did exactly that, your fingers worked nimbly around him as you stroked him to orgasm. You opened your mouth eagerly, your tongue sticking out and you made a small noise as the first spurt of his hot cum landed on your tongue.

“Good girl, that’s it. Fuck you’re gonna kill me, look up at me with my cum on your tongue. That’s it.” He groaned, his voice low and sultry as your eyes locked with him.

You couldn’t help but smile as you swallowed down every drop Joel had to give you. Your tongue licked at your lips as Joel swiped his thumb across your cheek.

“Fucking hell, princess.” He huffed, collapsing onto the bed next to you.

You couldn’t help but giggle and you rolled over to look at the older male. “Thank you, Joel. I really appreciate it.”

“No need to thank me. Thank you, for trusting me with your first time.” He looked down at you, his hand reaching out to tenderly touch your cheek as he captured your lips in a soft kiss.

You smiled into the kiss as your fingers tickled through the hair on his chest absently.

“Never wanna stop feeling this good.” You hummed. “You wanna stay here with me for a bit? Please?” You asked shyly as if you hadn’t just had the male in you moments ago.

“Okay princess, just till you fall asleep. Don’t wanna have to explain that one to your daddy.” He laughed softly and kissed your forehead once as your eyes fluttered shut for the night.

———————————————

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thanks for the requests, my inbox is always open for new ideas and I love chatting with y’all so much <3

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#dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel miller x reader #dbf joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #virgin!reader x joel miller #pedro pascal

933 notes · View notes

daryldixonsdoormat · 1 year

Text

Summary: Paul phases and hurts the reader… angst asf

(We gon pretend they have clothes when they shift back 🫡).

Watching anger rack through the person you love is painful in itself. It’s worse when that anger is directed towards you. Sometimes the littlest things set him off, ruining his steak of not having a outburst. Paul’s main focus point was safety, your safety specifically. If anyone were to challenge the comfort and safety of his girl, it wouldn’t be pretty. The same thing applies when his girl wants to walk into a house full of dangerous people. You just wanted to help the past two weeks Paul has told you to stay at Sam and Emily’s till he got back. Yes it’s true there is a vampire out there but it’s not hunting you. It’s hunting Bella. All you want to do is take some of the work load off of Paul by conversing with the Cullen’s and seeing what their plan is. It’s almost like you can feel the exhaustion in Paul’s bones as he fights sleep when your talking. The whole pack is in Emily and Sam’s house planning, and eating all the muffins. Paul is sitting on the arm of the couch beside you listening intently only turning away from Sam to offer you a bite of his chocolate muffin. You shake your head no, you make the decision this is the best time to bring up your idea. You stand up from the couch watching Paul instinctively straighten up as you move. “Guys I was thinking, now that Jake can’t talk to the Cullen’s (Edward is pissed at him) I should….go talk to them” you say in a mutter but everyone hears. Paul is already standing up with a scowl on his face about to speak before Sam beats him to it. “Like over the phone?”, Sam says pulling Emily into his side securely. You fidget a little under everyone’s eyes peering through you. You knew that Paul was getting frustrated waiting for you to finish before he speaks his mind. “Umm… no”, Paul rushes out the front door shoving past Quil. It’s silent for a moment then the slam of the screen door makes Sam sigh shaking his head. “I’ll think about it”, you nod with a shy smile before stepping around some of the boys to make it outside as well. His shoulders rise stiffly and his lip quivers as he tries to calm himself down. He feels so enraged that you even considered risking your life like that, especially by the likes of the Cullen’s. He starts to shake even more when he sees you walk out of the house, the only thing on his mind is losing you. You stand in front of Paul with a worried expression, your arms folded over your chest. “Look Paul, I just want to help. I’ve seen how exhausted”, Paul cuts you off quickly a animalistic sound rumbling through his chest. “That’s not your job, never will be. So don’t”: Paul takes another deep breath, he’s still shaking thinking of you getting hurt. Paul has always been a hot head so it doesn’t surprise you completely that he’s getting fired up. As Paul’s imprint your presence is supposed to calm him down him down in a matter of seconds. Instead he starts to shake more, you can only think of one thing when you realize. Am I really his imprint? Can you lose a imprint? These questions make it hard to think so what you say next isn’t the most thought through comment at all. “I understand why your mad Paul. I do. But what are they gonna do? Drink my blood? Kill me?” you say not believing it yourself. Paul takes a tiny step back and his breathing becomes more erratic, his teeth grits together uncontrollably. He tries his hardest to get it under control, but his muscles start to tighten and his body whips around quickly. Not for one moment did you think Paul was capable of hurting you. So there’s no need to move right? Just talk to him he will be ok… that’s what Sam said to do. “Paul calm down”, he keeps whipping around and his growls sound more and more animalistic, “PAUL” you yell and then it happens. You were only five feet away if that, that distance wouldn’t be enough to protect you, not for a second. Maybe it was fate for this to happen, don’t the ancestors have this happen for a reason? Nail scratch down your left arm, so quick you thought you had imagined it.

But blood flows down your arm, dripping off your finger tips and onto the once green grass. It takes a good 3 seconds for Paul to realize what had happened, he caused you to be in pain. He forces himself to shift back and kneel next to you, right where you collapsed. So many things ran through him in that moment, blood loss? Fear? …she’s scared of me. His hands shake but not out of anger out of absolute terror, he picks up your arm coating his hands in blood. Then it hits him, he’s not alone he can help you. Paul holds pressure on a part of your arm in attempt to stop the bleeding, the blood flows just as quick as his tears. “SAM, please please, SAM HURRY” he screams and the screen door slams again and the boys as well as Emily run outside. Sam runs towards you to examine your arm, pushing Paul slightly to the side to get a better view, he immediately starts ordering the rest of the group to get supplies. Emily stands out front one hand touching the long scar across her face, while tears spill out of her eyes. Paul isn’t in a good state his hands find the sides of your face shakily covered in crimson blood. “I’m so sorry honey. I’m sorry” his voice cracks while his thumbs move across your cheekbones, a action you adored. It feels like it’s been hours of grief, crying, terror but it’s only when Sam uses that commanding voice to talk to Paul that he starts to grasp time again. “Paul I need to carry her in”, Sam says a arm already under his legs. Paul shakes his head no quickly saying the same reply verbally as well, Paul slips a arm under your head and legs hoisting you up. He walks you inside the house laying you down on the guest room bed. Paul kneels beside the bed holding your hand only looking at your face for roughly a hour, till the room door creaks. He doesn’t move, he’s not even curious who’s standing in the door way they don’t matter. They aren’t her. “Paul I’m here to check on her”, Paul stands up quick enough to startle Carlisle. “Get. Out.”, Carlisle turns his head slightly to look at Sam for guidance. Even Sam is unsure what to do. Carlisle decides to be bold and approach you, a growl leaves Paul. So protective everyone in the living room is stunned by the volume it reaches. Carlisle backs up and enters the living room again talking to Sam to see if they patched you up properly sense he cannot see for himself. Paul stares at the door way for another second before kneeling next to you again, taking your hand for many more hours to come.

#paul twilight #paul lahote #paul lahote x reader #paul lahote x y/n #paul lahote x you #wolf pack #twilight #twilight paul #angst

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feralforfrank · 11 days

Text

part two-ish? of this.

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY X FEM!READER

cw idk cursing? NON-DESCRIPTIVE READER.

a/n like, two people asked for more, so ..... voilà.

masterlist | taglist

once you start dating simon, you gradually ease up on the mean nicknames and glaring. your stares aren't as mean as they were when he spilt that beer all over you, or when he took you to what was the possible worst date of your life just to piss you off (don't worry, he made up later).

he doesn't fully escape your wrath, though. he forgot to pick you up from the grocery store in the middle of january, when you had specifically asked him to keep an eye on his phone and wait for your call. he ended up falling asleep while half-watching a documentary and petting your cat.

you had to walk home, which wasn't that bad, considering you thankfully weren't carrying many bags, but you were still super angry with him. although, most of the anger dissipated when you saw him (barely fitting) dosed off on your tiny couch (how would you ever stay mad, he looked adorable), you did hit him in the head violently to wake him up. then purposely gave him the cold shoulder when he tried helping you organise the groceries, accidentally knocking the milk carton's sharp edges on his exposed bicep.

despite the rare occasions when he frustrates you, you're softer with him now. still have the same fire in your eyes and bitchy tone in your voice, but it's hardly ever directed at him.

soap is usually the target of your never-ending wrath. when he teases his lieutenant about how pussy-whipped he is, he gets a snarky comment back which makes kyle cough to hide his chuckles.

"oi, lass, sometimes i think ye donae like me a'all!"

"that's right, i don't!" you'll reply with such a serious tone, johnny has to pause, mouth hanging open.

you'll blankly stare at him for a few seconds and his gaze will flicker from your face to simon's, who's also staring at him unemotionallly, while his fingers play with the end of your dress. he doesn't speak for a few seconds, trying to figure out if you're really serious or not. kyle does his best not to burst out laughing, hiding his smile by drinking, and price just shakes his head and turns his attention to the tv.

the corner of your lip cracks a smile, and soap visibly relaxes. "ye canae do tha' t'me, bonnie. ye hurt me feelings!" he clutches his chest dramatically.

"then you better stop poking fun at my boyfriend, sergeant. or i'll beat you up."

soap raises his hands in surrender, and you feel said boyfriend, burying his nose in your hair and kissing the top of your head.

"my lovely savior."

what simon really liked about you, from your very first meeting, was your ability to yell at anyone (if they wronged you in a way) with no fear. just absolute rage.

there have been times men tried hitting on you, and with simon gone from your side for whatever reason, you have to put a stop to their advances alone.

some are understanding when you say you already have a boyfriend, others leave when you glare at them and call them dickheads for disrespecting a woman's choice, but then there are the annoying dumbfucks who just can't, for the life of them, take the hint.

"did your date ditch you?" you roll your eyes at his smug smirk. "i would never leave such a sexy lady alone, by the way."

you've had enough of the guy, for he hasn't stopped bothering you ever since simon stepped out of line to answer a work-related call. he's behind you, leaning in front to talk in your ear. you haven't even bothered turning around.

the place is crowded and you can't see simon from where you're standing. the lady, three people in front of you, is taking ages to order her movie snacks, and you really are starting to regret dragging him to the movies. you could've pirated it or something.

your leg is nervously tapping on the floor, a tight grip over simon's wallet, and pursed lips hiding gritted teeth. you're sure you look like happiness personified.

"you can sit with me and my friends, if you'd like. i'm sure they wouldn't mind a hot piece of arse such as yourself—" smack.

your slap is uncharacteristically loud and resonates in the room. heads turn, and the guy is frozen in his place, hand touching his burning cheek.

"would you shut the fuck up and take a fucking hint already?!" you try to control your voice, but the words come out as a shout. "for the last time, i have a fucking boyfriend. leave. me. alone."

before he can say anything, a familiar scent enters your nostrils. simon's hand wraps loosely around your shoulder. "what's goin' on 'ere?"

"this fucking pig won't leave me alone!" you take a step closer to the guy threateningly, but simon is quick to pull you back.

"i was just trying to make conversation, you bitch!" smack.

it all happens so fast, simon is barely able to grab you before you claw the guy's eyes out. his friends pull him outside as he throws curses at you, but you just give him the middle finger and allow simon to drag you up to the popcorn section.

"i leave you alone for one minute, lovie..." simon whispers to you.

you shrug. "he brought it upon himself. i was nice by not answering, but he called me a hot piece of arse! and i just had it up to here with him! unbelievable!"

"well, you are hot, and you have a nice arse." simon receives an elbow to the ribs.

"fuck off."

"c'mon, pretty girl, before you terrorise the rest of the cinema."

he finds your scrunched eybrows, flushed cheeks, and fiery gaze extremely hot. your height (compared to him) makes you storming out when angry, almost comical. adorable.

um....this got out of hand....idk.....

#simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley fluff #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost cod #ghost cod x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #fluff #established relationship #frank writes

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magics-neptunes-things · 3 months

Text

I wish I was here

Hi guys!

This is a new Luna's story. I got the idea during the awards evening by seeing the different comments under the photos posted by the official accounts. It tires me to see people shouting at the separation as soon as Lucy is less than a meter from Keira so I dare not imagine what can think Lucy and Ona x)

Also I don't know if Coco is a boy or a girl, sorry if I misgender this poor dog?

Enjoy!

TW : Angst

______________________________________________________________

Staying in Barcelona while her girlfriend participates in one of the most prestigious ceremonies for women’s football is no doubt a bit frustrating, but Ona try to look not upset when it was time to say goodbye to Lucy before she leaves for the airport. With their relationship still not officially confirmed by anyone, it was in Lucy’s apartment that the two young women said goodbye. As Keira is also on the trip, Ona must guard Narla, the dog that Keira and Lucy took together, in addition to her own dog Coco. Fortunately, the two dogs get along wonderfully and had the time of their lives during their trip to Andorra.

After getting the two dogs out, Ona returned to Lucy’s apartment. Coco having already come several times in Lucy's apartment, he knows it better than what Narla knows Ona's. And even if Ona also knows this apartment very well, she can’t help but feel a little alone tonight. Without the presence of her girlfriend, everything seems a little more sad and less interesting.

Sitting on the sofa much too big, even for a person accompanied by two dogs, Ona turns on the television and takes her phone to scroll on the various social networks. She responds to some messages and takes the opportunity to order food. If she likes to cook for or with Lucy, when she’s alone it’s a little different. But her diet is supposed to stay wise and followed, so she opts for sushi.

A few minutes later, her face glows with a big smile when she sees Lucy’s picture on her phone screen. The fullback asks her for a FaceTime and Ona doesn't hesitate a fraction of seconds before answering. Lucy’s face appears, already ready for the ceremony.

"Holà bonita!" says the happy English.

"Hello. How’s it going?" asks Ona while sitting cross-legged on the couch.

"Good! I’m a little late to be honest but I wanted to show you my outfit before you see it on social networks"

"Oh, a sneak peak just for me? I appreciate it" smiled Ona.

Lucy smirk at her answer and backs up the screen so that the youngest can see her entire outfit. And Ona feels her jaw fall. Of course, she’s the first to know how stunning her girlfriend is. But she honestly didn’t expect that.

"Oh fuck me" whispers Ona, her eyes sweeping Lucy’s outfit and body.

"Do you like it?" smiled Lucy as she carried the phone up her face, so that she could look at Ona.

"When are you coming home again?" asks Ona, the mind a little elsewhere.

"During the night" Lucy chuckles as she rolls her eyes, then turns around. "By the way, my parents and brother are here."

Lucy’s laughter extends to seeing that Ona blushed violently when hearing that her in-laws and her brother-in-law are also present. Had she known, perhaps she would have chosen other words to express her admiration.

"Hello Ona!" made Jorge with an amused smile, sticking his head to his sister to appear on the screen.

Despite her embarrassment, Ona managed to exchange a few words with Jorge and her in-laws, before the Bronze had to hang up to get to the party. If a smile remains on Ona’s face after the call, it fades little by little by seeing the different comments on the videos and photos circulating on the evening. Again, Lucy’s name is attached to Keira's, despite the many clues that the four (with Laura) left on social networks.

Seeing the hate that Laura received during her last post of the year, Keira even had to delete the comments section. This is largely what caused Lucy to post nothing at all on her side. But reading comments certifying that the former couple formed by Lucy and Keira is still current is harder to bear tonight. Probably because Lucy’s not with her.

Ona has never complained about this to Lucy, the Spanish knows perfectly well that her girlfriend has nothing to do with it and that she is far from asking for this situation. Ona also knows that this situation is burdensome for everyone and doesn't want to add difficulties by taking things too seriously.

Aitana being also at the party, Ona finally decides to call Salma to change her mind. The young attacker is also a close friend of Ona, despite their age difference. If Salma realizes that Ona doesn't seem particularly on a great mood, she doesn't make comments and is content to talk to her constantly, about everything and nothing. And Ona is extremely grateful.

After the phone call and her sushis, Ona takes the dogs out one last time before going to the bathroom to change. She follows the ceremony with her phone and if she realized that Lucy tried not to position herself next to Keira for the official photos, they were sitted next to eachother. That, too, should not bother her. But in truth, the Catalan would have liked to be able to accompany Lucy. Even if she is far from comfortable in this kind of ceremony, to which she has never been invited. (We will talk about the fact that Ona is cruelly underrated by everyone another time)

After a quick shower and brushing her teeth, Ona returns to the couch to launch Netflix. She sent two messages to Lucy to inform her of the progress of her evening and a photo of Narla and Coco sleeping on top of each other, but nothing more, not wanting to look too needy either.

It's late when Lucy calls Ona, but she doesn't sleep yet, waiting for news of her girlfriend.

"I wondered if you would answer" state Lucy.

"Why wouldn’t I?" Ona asks, frowning. "It’s late, I thought you might sleep" "I wanted to hear your voice" Ona confesses in a timid tone. Lucy thinks that it probably shouldn’t make her so happy, but it does. The rest of the conversation goes through Lucy who explains that they are already on their way to the airport and back to Barcelona. With Fifa having awarded them a private jet, they will be in Barcelona in a few hours and at home just as quickly. But as the conversation progresses, Lucy realizes that something is off with the Catalan. Her answers are brief, her tone evasive and she has a hard time giving her some laughs. "What’s going on, Bonita?" ended up asking Lucy "Nothing... I’m just tired" mumbles Ona, her fingers playing with her dog’s hair. "Are you sure?" "Mhm" replies distractedly the brunette "That’s not how I feel" Lucy distinctly hears Ona sigh softly, making her frown. Ona doesn't hesitate to talk to her about what she usually feels, both having discussed at the beginning of their relationship about the importance of communication in a couple. "It’s nothing Luce, it’s really stupid" "If it bothers you, it’s not stupid Onita" Lucy points out. Despite the fact that the discussion between the two young women isn't made out loud, Lucy is in the car with Aitana, Keira and Cata. It's therefore almost impossible that they don't hear it, despite the fact that they are all three discussing together. But Lucy’s worry drives her to keep trying to find out more. "There are comments that I saw on social media that bothered me a little, that’s all" ended up answering Ona. "Comments about what?" Lucy already knows the answer, but she nevertheless prefers to ask the question rather than assume things.

"You. And Keira. Your relationship, all that. There are those who say that if you were sitting next to Keira it’s because you’re together and if you stood away from her in the photos it’s to not attract attention. Those kind of things."

Lucy remains silent for a few moments, not really knowing what to answer. What she does know, however, is that she doesn't particularly like the turn this discussion is taking.

"Maybe you were right after all, it’s a bit stupid"

Lucy’s answer may be a little too abrupt, drawing Aitana’s curious gaze on her at the same time. Ona, meanwhile, answers nothing.

"You know very well that it's not true, Ona. I thought you were a little more mature and able to ignore these comments"

"I’m sorry" mumbles the Spanish woman rubbing her forehead, thinking that she shouldn't have talked about it and kept these confessions to herself.

A new silence is born between the two young women, however very different from those, comfortable, that they share while cuddling in front of the television or when they are in the car for the training.

"We are at the airport. I’ll write you when we take off" Lucy says.

"Ok. Have a safe flight" mumbles Ona, before hanging up.

Lucy remains silent after the phone call, not realizing that her three teammates exchange looks and communicate in this way. Unlike their arrival, their return isn't filmed and the different photographers or representatives aren't with them. There are only a few security guards in the van, but they are installed in front of and behind them. Jona and others members from the staff are in their own conversation behind them.

The Englishwoman still hasn’t said a word when she settles in the jet, with Aitana sitting beside her, Keira and Cata facing them.

"Everything's okay?" ended up asking Aitana.

"Yeah" Lucy groans as she looks out the window.

Deciding not to beat around the bush and waste their time in this conversation, Aitana decides to go straight to the point.

"I heard your conversation with Ona" begins the Ballon d'Or winner, attracting a new grunt from Lucy. "Did you argue?"

"Not really" ended up sighing Lucy leaving the window with her eyes to shift her attention to Aitana. "She mentioned comments from stupid fans"

When Aitana nods and the other two remain silent, it catches Lucy’s attention again. If she looks at the other two with a suspicious look, it's to Aitana that Lucy talks when she resumes speaking.

"What? Did she talk to you about it?"

"No" sincerely answers Aitana shaking her head. "But I know if she told you about it, it’s because it’s been working on her for a while, Lucy. I’ve known this girl since we started kicking a ball. She’s neither jealous nor possessive. If she told you, it must have been really hard for her at the time."

"You know how she is" adds Cata, sitting in front of Aitana. "She’s the kind of person who wants to deal with things on her own. She even tried to end a match with a concussion a few years ago."

Lucy makes a grimace, remembering the reflections she saw at the time. This dates back to a few years ago, when Ona played with Manchester United.

"I know" Lucy replies, not necessarily a fan of friends knowing more about her girlfriend than she does. "It’s just frustrating. These people don’t stop with these comments and I don’t know what to do to do well. If you post, there are hate comments. If you don’t post either."

With a compassionate smile, Aitana gently taps her on the knee, secretly happy not to be in this kind of situation.

"Weren’t you supposed to send her a message?" asks Cata

"Shit"

Lucy quickly grabs her phone to unlock it and write to Ona, while the flight crew seems to make the final preparations. The plane is already launched on the runway when she finishes.

"You know" said Keira after they took off "I don’t know if I could handle that, if I were in Ona’s place."

Interrupted again in her thoughts, Lucy reports a surprised look on her ex-girlfriend.

"What do you mean?"

"Every day she sees her girlfriend, you, talking to her ex, me. She herself has to bond with this ex, always me, and she does it very well. She has truly never been anything but adorable to me. She sees us talking everyday, because we still friends. And she must be constantly subjected to the headless theories of people who continue to hope for some reason that you and I are still together."

Lucy remains silent for a few seconds. She is obviously clear with all of this, but hearing it out loud and added side by side is different. Her eyebrows are frowned when Aitana speaks one last time.

"Would you see yourself playing on the same team as her ex? Watching her chat and laugh with Ona almost every day?"

"No" Lucy immediately says.

"You half murdered Feli when we played her and her team, and your relationship with Ona wasn’t even a few months old yet" smile Cata.

Lucy rolls with her eyes as she hears Cata’s amused tone, but her gaze shifts to the window once again. Cata is right, all she was able to think at this time is that Feli had Ona at one point in their life. Before her eyes there is only dark, the lights of London having disappeared long ago. She doesn't need more to realize that the other three are right and an intense sense of guilt seizes her. She should never have spoken to Ona the way she did. And her throat gets a little knotted thinking of the Catalan, alone in her apartment.

A few hours later, Lucy delicately opens the door of her apartment. Ona responded to her message saying that they were taking off, but didn't respond when she told her that they had landed. Lucy’s rational side makes her say that the Catalan is just asleep, but her brain hasn’t stopped working for three seconds since her conversation with her teammates and she can’t help but wonder if Ona is just mad at her.

After dropping off her things at the entrance, Lucy goes into the living room and feels her heart melt in front of the scene that takes place in front of her. Ona is lying on her tummy under a blanket on the couch, deeply asleep. Her long hair obscures part of her face and a very slight snoring escapes from her lips with each breath. Her face is illuminated by the lights of the television screen. Coco is tightly hugged, Ona’s face buried in the dog’s hair. Narla is lying on Ona’s legs.

Lucy laughs softly when she sees that new stones are on the coffee table, adding to the great collection of her dog. The sound wakes up Narla who stretches on Ona’s legs before rolling and changing sides to fall asleep again. The movement makes Ona moan gently in her sleep and pushes her to bury her face even more in Coco’s hair.

Delicately freeing Coco from Ona’s embrace, Lucy rests him on the couch alongside Narla before passing her two arms under Ona’s body to lift her from the couch.

"What’s going on?" mumbles the Spanish in a sleepy voice when Lucy puts her on her bed.

"Nothing Princesa, everything's fine" Lucy replies in return, kissing her forehead before gently covering her.

But when Lucy gets up to go to the bathroom, Ona gently grabs her arm.

"Can I have a hug please?"

Sleepy or tired Ona is particularly cuddly, which Lucy has always found adorable. But tonight, the English girl has the impression that there is a little more than that. The guilt at the memory of the tone she talked to her coming back in her mind, she hurries to lie beside Ona and wrap her arms around her.

She lays kisses on the head and the sleeping face of Ona, who smiles softly at this surge of affection. Ona closes her eyes and start to fall asleep again.

"I am so sorry" whispers Lucy, her lips pressed against Ona's temple after having observed the young woman for a long time.

Surprised in her phase of falling asleep, Ona opens her eyes again and slightly turns her head in Lucy's direction to observe her. She doesn't move an inch, keeping her face as close as possible to Ona’s.

"What are you talking about?"

A slight worry is audible in Ona’s tone and Lucy prefers not to wonder where the younger’s mind is running away. Instead, she responds directly, the things she wishes to tell her prepared for tens of minutes in her head.

"About what I told you on the phone and especially the way I told you"

"Oh" just mumbles Ona before shrugging her shoulders "It doesn’t matter. You’re right anyway"

"No Ona, I’m serious"

Lucy takes off from the Latin, causing her to pout and frown. Passing a finger between her eyebrows, Lucy applies herself to relax her skin before resuming speech.

"I shouldn’t have said that"

"It doesn’t matter, Luce, I swear-"

But Lucy interrupts her, putting a finger on her lips. Ona rolls on her back, still frowning.

"Let me speak" says the English woman "I should never have said that to you and told you like that. You have the right to have insecurities and even more need to talk about them. And if you need to talk about it, I want you to do it with me because I want to be there for you. I’m sorry I was so hard to you when you brought it up"

Still driven to silence by Lucy’s index finger on her lips, Ona listens wisely to what her girlfriend is saying to her. Yes, the dry tone that Lucy replied to her briefly squeezed her heart, before she tried to become rational again. Ona thought Lucy might be tired from her evening.

"I’m annoyed by these kinds of comments, and I think I reacted that way because I liked the idea that it doesn’t affect you. You’re important to me, Ona, you’re the most important. And I hate the idea that someone or something might hurt you."

Ona remains silent, always, eyes plunged into those of Lucy. She still remembers perfectly the first time their looks crossed, at the wedding of their common friend.

"But I thought a lot about what Keira and the girls told me on the way back and…"

"You talked about our relationship with Keira?"

The emotions on Ona’s face are hard to decipher, but the fact that she reacts about that before everything else catches Lucy’s attention.

"They more or less heard the conversation we had, I was in the car with them"

Ona groan softly, not really appreciating the idea that their couple problems can be discussed among other people. Even though she knows she can trust their discretion at least from Cata and Aitana. She wouldn't say that she's close to Keira, but she gets along well with her and has always managed to talk to her without any prejudice.

"The three of them defended you" Lucy quickly informs her, pressing her head on her hand, now that she is on her side while Ona is lying on her back. "And they were right. You seem to be living through this situation so well that I sometimes forget that it must not be easy every day for you. If there was one stupid thing tonight it was my behavior."

Rolling on her side, Ona thoughtfully bites her lip before answering her.

"I just want everything to be as easy as possible for everyone."

"I understand. But you must not forget yourself in the process"

Ona makes a famous pout of her composition for simple answer. And Lucy knows perfectly well what the brunette who faces her thinks. Sighing softly, she begins to draw the freckles on Ona’s face with her finger.

"This tendency to sacrifice yourself for others can be worrying, you know?"

"Only for those who deserve it" Ona replies, closing her eyes under Lucy’s caresses on her face. "The ones I love"

Her closed eyes prevent her from seeing Lucy break the existing centimeters between their faces to put her lips on hers, but this doesn't prevent her from smiling against her lips. A sigh of well-being escapes her and her hands attach to the fabric of the clothes that Lucy still wears, the same ones she wore for the ceremony.

"You’re the strongest person I know" Lucy whispers a few minutes later, her forehead leaning against her girlfriend’s.

"Let’s not exaggerate" laughs Ona gently, mixing her legs with Lucy’s.

"I’m serious. Do you know many people who would play on the same team as their girlfriend and ex at the same time? I wouldn’t be able to."

Surprised by this statement, the question can now be read in the chocolate eyes of Ona.

"If you kept talking to your ex, I’d have a hard time, but just imagine that you have to live next to her and talk to her every day… I think I would want to kill her, honestly."

"Are you jealous, Lucy Bronze?"

The surprise gradually gave way to the fun on Ona’s face and voice. This makes Lucy roll her eyes, even if she cannot retain a smile.

"Maybe" simply answers the English.

This seems to suit Ona, since she gets even closer to Lucy, sticking her entire body against the English’s. A silence passes, during which Ona takes the opportunity to soak up the smell and sensation of Lucy’s skin against hers.

"It’s easy because I trust you" Ona says. "You make me feel safe and cared. Tonight was a little more difficult because you were far from me. And I wish I had been with you"

"I wish you was here too" mumble Lucy before adding "At least you can admire me in my outfit anyway"

Ona laughs softly, running her hands over the fabric, soft and light under her fingers. She would have liked to see her put on these clothes, but to have her lying in front of her is not so bad.

"It’s even better in real life"

Lucy smiles again before pressing her lips against Ona's, holding her against her during the kiss that extends a little. Then, she gets up from the bed, causing the surprise of the youngest.

"Where are you going?" Ona asks while sitting on the bed.

"Undress and shower. Want to come help me?"

"We’re supposed to get up in four hours for training" Ona replies, looking at the time on her phone

"Your choice"

Shrugging, Lucy turns her heels to go to the bathroom. It doesn't take more to Ona to throw herself out of bed and almost run after her girlfriend.

"Coming!"

#woso imagine #ona batlle #lucy bronze #ona batlle x lucy bronze #lucy bronze x ona batlle #woso imagines #woso one shot #woso fanfics #woso community #woso

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manicpixiefelix · 23 days

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head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 21.

Summary: The morning after Oliver fucks around with Venetia, and he has the gall to act like he doesn't know why you and Felix are in such a bad mood. Unfortunately his lies about the event don't placate you the same way they do for Felix.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

A/N: 5412 words. this chapter was meant to explain felix & eddie's relationship, but that got YEETED to several chapters in the future when this ended up over 5k as it was. if you're questioning my characterisation of the reader, just know that they're a complex individual and dont always make the most thoughtful choices. sorry it's late, i still love this and you, i will finish this fic or die trying. <3

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

The morning sun is a cruel mistress, you think as one of the maids - Emily? You're barely awake, you can't quite tell in the onslaught of sudden light - pulls the curtains back, announcing breakfast would be ready shortly. Felix groans, sounding exactly as enthusiastic about the prospect as you feel.

"I'm cancelling today," he muttered, muffled where he'd sunk further down into the bed and pulled the covers over his head, "it doesn't exist." Wriggling onto your side and desperately trying to ignore the brightness of the impending day, you hummed in agreement.

"Sounds good to me," you yawned, squeezing your eyes shut, as if attempting to will yourself back to sleep. But you both know it can't really last.

Felix is grumbling under his breath the entire time he's getting dressed - stupid bloody Saltburn, and it's stupid bloody rules, and stupid bloody Oliver, and stupid, bloody, goddamn Venetia; the nerve on her, honestly - while all you could do was yawn, and make faint, distracted noises of agreement. Both of you go quiet on your way to breakfast, keeping your frustrations bottled up to keep the peace in front of the rest of the family, but it still didn't make things easier.

They're eating outside that morning, taking advantage of the beautiful weather by the courtyard. Venetia's looking all kind of pretty and smug, her gaze trained on Oliver as you and Felix join the table, while Farleigh looks to you, cigarette poised and beautiful between his slender fingers, wearing a grim expression as he takes in the state of you and his cousin. When his gaze meets yours, for a second it darkens, and he quirks a single eyebrow in unspoken question. Despite the way you sit primly in your chair, trying to feign nonchalance, Felix slumps down on your other side, between you and his father, the furthest seat from Oliver he can manage. It's answer enough.

"You sleep well?" Oliver turns to both you and Felix. It's almost like you can hear stupid, bloody Oliver run through Felix's head before he answers.

"No, not really, mate," Felix has never been one to hide how he feels. Once, you'd told him as much, and though he hadn't taken it well at the time - he'd been in a mood, it was why the topic had come up at all - but he'd come back to you the next day saying that Venetia and his parents had always told him as much. It was one of the reasons he liked being around you, he'd said, not because you don't bring up his moods - obviously you did - but he said he could never stay in a bad mood for too long around you. In this moment, you were really wishing that was true, because this level of sulking was one you'd only seen in the weeks after Eddie had left.

Oliver looks concerned, the picture of an innocent, worried friend, like he has absolutely no idea why Felix was clearly unhappy. You try not to look at Oliver as much as you can help it. So you stand, press a kiss to the top of Felix's head as you pass him, and make your way to get the both of you breakfast as Sir James talks about the dinner being hosted the following night. Apparently one of the attendees - Sackfield, Sussex natives, if you recall rightly - had dropped out, leaving the guest list at thirty.

"God I forgot about fucking dinner," Felix groaned around a cigarette he'd already managed to light in the short space of time he'd been at the table.

"Wait, who is coming to dinner again?" Farleigh asks with a vague frown.

"The Henrys," Venetia announced cheerfully as Farleigh sighed his protests. The girl had no fucking shame; you fight the urge to flick a blueberry at her, mostly since you know you'd miss at this distance.

"Who are the Henrys?" Oliver enquired, as if trying to ignore the mood of almost a third of the table. If you'd turned, you'd see him looking to you; even now you were seen as a fountain of information about the formalities and events that went on here. If you'd turned, you still wouldn't have answered him.

"Dad's friends," Venetia answers instead, "they're all called Henry."

"Not all of them," Sir James rebuffed quickly from beside his son, looking up from his morning paper.

"Just most," you called back, as if out of habit alone.

"It'll be fun," Elspeth tried to insist, though Venetia was quick to chime in again, smug as always as you made your way back to the table.

"It'll be, being molested by Henry," Venetia's smugness at least dropped with that, adding as an aside to her mother, "you know which one."

"Well I'll put you next to Oliver, then," Elspeth sniped back, "he can molest you instead."

Unfortunately you return the table just in time to see the look Oliver gives to Venetia, and the little giggle she answers with. No-one in this house knows subtlety and you kind of hate them both. However it seems you're not the only one who notices, as Felix's eyes flick between Oliver and his sister, glowering at them both as you place a plate of fresh fruit in front of him. He's surly enough that he doesn't even thank you, but in this moment, you don't care; expressions mirroring each other in a way neither guilty party seems to notice as they focus on each other instead.

"Oh, Oliver," the moment is broken, however, by Elspeth, energised with a new thought, reaching out to Oliver sitting beside her, catching his attention, stealing it from Venetia for the time being, "I was going to say, we should do something fun for your birthday." She's insistent, though Oliver is confused. Right about now you regret informing her that Oliver's birthday would be occurring during the time he was at Saltburn, "a proper party, no Henrys," she's insistent, "something actually fun;" she glances at Sir James, hand still resting on Oliver's, "what do you think, darling?"

"If Oliver would like it, I think it's a splendid idea," Sir James agrees amicably. You begin to eat your breakfast, hoping your gaze doesn't burn a hole in the table like you think it might.

"I think Oliver looks like he'd rather throw himself out of window," Farleigh chimes in flatly, actually startling a laugh from you that you have to quickly cover with a cough. When you look up, he's levelling a cold smile at the man himself, but when his gaze flicks to you and how you're trying to hide your embarrassment in a glass of water, his gaze turns almost fond. Solidarity; for all the shit he'd said to you last night, you really did adore Farleigh.

"What kind of party?" Oliver turns back to Elspeth, and you go back to your food, only after glancing quickly at Felix. He's too caught up in his brooding to be amused by Farleigh's aside; he's too caught up in his brooding to do more than smoke and poke at his breakfast with his fork like it's offended him.

"I don't know, whatever you want," Elspeth offers, already planning in her head, knowing the matriarch and her love of events, "what do you think? About a hundred people?" Chin on her hand, she's looking through Oliver more than she's looking at him.

"A hundred?"

"Or two," Elspeth takes his shock the wrong way entirely, "it invariably ends up being two with this sort of thing, doesn't it?" She looks over to her husband, while Oliver looks to you and Felix, that look in his eyes like he's out of his depth at Saltburn once more, "invite whoever you want," Elspeth insists, returning her attention to him, "all your friends -"

"What friends?" Farleigh mutters cruelly, but this you don't find nearly as amusing. For a moment, there's a twinge of guilt in your chest, but Sir James provides a clean distraction as he excitedly suggests the party be fancy dress.

While Elspeth and Sir James are both enthused about the suggestion - Sir James is always looking for an opportunity to wear his suit of armour, he's almost embarrassingly proud of it - Oliver tries to reach out to you like he can tell you're upset too, like he's concerned. When you shift out of his reach subtly, Felix catches sight of the movement and follows it to Oliver's hand coming back to rest on the table. Expression flickering with irritation, Felix offers you his cigarette, and you take it, crossing one leg over the other as he starts on his own breakfast and you push yours away with your free hand. Both of you are decidedly focused on the table.

Venetia absconds from the table for reasons you can't bring yourself to even half care about as Elspeth settles on A Midsummer Night's Dream as the theme for the party. Usually you'd be all but matching her joy at the suggestion, or at least matching Farleigh and his amused aside about slutty fairies, but your stomach is turning all of a sudden.

Felix clears his throat quietly, and takes a quick sip of water, but it still draws your attention, if not anyone else's. The way he gives the barest gesture with his head would be missed by anyone but you, but you can read it for what it is.

Go if you need to go, don't feel like you have to stay here.

Immediately you stand, drawing all eyes but Felix's, not caring either way. Handing back his cigarette, or what was left of it, he mutters a thanks, but doesn't look up from where he's lazer focused on his food.

"Captain," Duncan's voice speaks into the sudden silence, "if you have finished with your breakfast -"

"I have."

"Then I'd appreciate a brief word with you."

Nodding jerkily, you follow him into the foyer to see a thick, yellow envelope on a little table by the door, topped with a thin piece of card. He hands you the envelope first, before holding the card up to show you it was a notice from the local post office, telling you there was some large items that arrived. They'd be the flowers you'd had flown in; they wouldn't last long in some storage facility. Damn, alright, you sighed, expression pinched as you wondered if it was worth it to even pick them up at this point.

"Have someone collect them and put them in the greenhouse for now -"

"The greenhouse?" Duncan sounds almost confused.

"I mean, check if they're the flowers I ordered, first, and if they are, have them unpacked and put into the greenhouse, I'll get to them," you waved your hand dismissively through the air, "eventually."

"Of course," he acquiesces, and you thank him quietly.

Already exhausted by the day, despite it not even being close to noon, you head to your study, weighty envelope of documents in your hand. Later this week, they'd said in the email, you thought you'd have more time. Huh, that seems to be a sentiment plaguing you often these past few days.

"Everything alright?" Felix, draped over the wicker sofa on his balcony, hears you come in and doesn't even get up. Giving nothing more than an irrate, dismissive noise, you throw yourself onto the bed, "yeah it's a bit like that, isn't it?" He muses loud enough for you to hear.

"It can't be that hard to be a parent," you snapped, rolling onto your back, leaving the envelope on the bed by your side.

"If it was easy, nannies and wet nurses wouldn't have a job," Felix offers, though has the grace to add, "but I know what you mean." Then, sitting up, if the squeaking of the wicker was anything to go by, he asks what's wrong, softer this time. Looking to him, you scowl, and flick your hand to smack the envelope, "they being assholes to you again?"

"Always," you sighed, before adding without much thought, "sometimes I'm tempted to marry you so I can tell people I have half-decent parents for the first time in my life."

"But you'd have Venetia as a sister-in-law," Felix offered with clear distaste, but it's enough to get you to laugh, to break your discomfort.

"Forgot that part; you think Farleigh being my cousin is enough to make up for it?"

And Felix, thankfully, is grinning too. It's him who suggests getting out of the sweltering house on this beautiful day, getting out of both your heads with some time spent down by the pool. Right now, you'd take anything to try distract you from the packet of paper by your side.

The last thing you do before you head to the pool, book in one hand and towel in the other, is toss the envelope onto the desk in your study for later. Later you'd deal with your parents. Later you'd deal with Oliver and possibly get him expelled from Oxford if you're feeling especially vindictive after some reading or a swim. But for now, out of sight, out of mind.

Except it doesn't work for long.

While you'd chosen one of the armchairs to curl up in while you were in the early chapters of a memoir your Marketing professor had recommended to you, which was keeping your thoughts at bay, Felix had said he'd wanted to swim. After getting in for all of five minutes, he'd spent the rest of the time drinking jack and cokes through a curly straw and getting lost in his own thoughts again as he sunbathed. He's been alternating between smoking and sweets, and you have decidedly not commented on his attitude.

Both of you are wearing very little, looking as though you're on your way to the pool or the lake, probably looking like the start of any number of fantasies Oliver may have had. At least, that's what crosses your mind when you catch sight of him, gazing at you both with quiet longing. The sight of him like this, his eyes on you both, so clearly wanting, would have delighted you even twenty-four hours ago. Except so much had happened in those twenty-four hours.

I want to know you. I want to love you. But there's something wrong with you.

And then he'd gone and messed around with Venetia after you'd explicitly warned him not to. Your gaze leaves Oliver as he approaches, instead frowning down at your book, irritation settling in your bones.

Felix notices your shift before he notices Oliver. But that's when Oliver makes himself known.

"Hey," he drapes himself across the sun lounge on Felix's other side, blue eyes boring holes into the side of your best friend's head, while Felix refuses to acknowledge him, "Felix," Oliver tries more insistently, but gets no response, "is everything okay?" Finally Oliver asks. You turn a page pointedly, but Felix still answers.

"Yes," his tone is anything but okay, "why?"

"You seem annoyed about something," Oliver says carefully, almost demurely, "you both do," he adds after a moment as Felix makes a face. You turn another page you have not read.

"I'm not annoyed about anything," Felix clearly lied, and though Oliver sounded unconvinced, he tried to take him at his word. Except Felix isn't done, "it's just slightly bad form, that's all."

"What's bad form?" Oliver asks flatly, as if he has no fucking idea.

"What do you think?" Thankfully Felix's tone is annoyed enough for the both of you.

"What do you think?" He scoffed, disbelieving at this little act Oliver was clearly putting on, "getting with Venetia, Ollie," he has to spell out to make sure Oliver doesn't weasel out of the accusation. Still, he tries - the audacity.

"What makes you think I got with Venetia?"

"Farleigh saw you two," Felix answered immediately, "told Y/N all about it -" finally you allow yourself to look up, to level a cold stare at Oliver, who seems almost surprised when he meets your gaze; you make a faint tsk sound, as if to confirm, and go back to look at your book as Felix goes on, indignant, "it's just fucking cringe, mate, I mean really," he huffed, "you're my friend, you're supposed to be here with me -"

"Look, I didn't want to embarrass Venetia," Oliver cuts him off suddenly. Both you and Felix turns to look at Oliver very slowly.

"What do you mean?" Already Felix's voice is softer, still unable to fully bring himself to look at Oliver, while you're fascinated by the panic in Oliver's eyes.

"Well I saw her- I saw her outside and I went down to see was she okay," Oliver can't look at either of you in this moment; you wonder if he's scared to look you in the eyes as he weaves this little story of his. Fascinating to watch, "and... I think she got the wrong end of the stick because..." he trailed off, but his gaze returned to Felix. So gentle, so eager to placate his friend's ego, "she tries to kiss me, and I politely steered her away." It sounds very believable.

"Farleigh said you two were practically eating each other," you finally find your voice, still wary, unlike Felix, who was quickly buying into this series of events. He wants to believe in Oliver so badly.

"Oh, and you believe him?" Oliver shoots off almost automatically, but the minute his gaze meets yours, he has to look away; you absolutely still believed Farleigh, and Oliver could see it in your eyes. But then he's almost scoffing - "me and Venetia? Come on."

"Well, why didn't you tell me?" Felix sounded softly betrayed, but clearly won over, and Oliver returns his attention to the safer of the two of you, gaze trained on Felix and his pout.

"I just..." he searches for a believable answer, something Felix wouldn't hate him for; Venetia was still his sister after all, "I thought it'd be nicer not to," he settles on, "she was hammered, probably doesn't remember," which was unfortunately in character for the eldest Catton sibling.

"She's so embarrassing," Felix finally groaned, and you know he's bought it, hook, line, and sinker. You go back to your book, "and fucking Farleigh, what a little shit-stirrer," he huffs, to which you add, carefully casual.

"He's always known how to get a rise out of me," you know Farleigh wasn't lying to you; Farleigh was a shit-stirrer, but after last Summer, he would never be so cruel as to joke about this. But you play along. Oliver's looking at you now, you can see it in your peripheries, you can almost feel it.

"Well someone has to entertain us all," Oliver offers, to which Felix faintly agrees, glancing at you with a faint question in his eyes, like you're the final piece left to solidify whether he believes. Giving a faint, exasperated smile, you echo him softly - right - and see him finally relax, "that's why we love him," Oliver adds, in what you know is an incredibly pointed move, considering his strained relationship with Farleigh himself.

Felix finally breathes a loud sigh of relief.

"Thank god," he exclaims, like the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders, turning so casually to Oliver with an easy grin, "you know, I thought we had another Eddie situation," despite his casual mention of the past guest at Saltburn, you, several feet away, go perfectly still.

"Eddie?" Oliver asks carefully.

"Yeah, Eddie was my- um, he was my best friend at school," the way Felix stumbles over his wording momentarily is not lost to either you or Oliver, "and he came to stay with us," he continues as light as before, "and he kind of..." Felix makes an uncomfortable noise for a second, fidgeting at the memory, "developed a little thing for Venetia, and everything just got so awkward." Eddie broke Felix's fucking heart, your mind snarled defensively, though as he always has, since the initial betrayal had occurred, Felix retold a much lighter history, "yeah, it kind of ruined our... you know..."

"Ruined your friendship?" Oliver supplied, getting a noncommittal hum from Felix, who refused to elaborate further, "I can imagine," he quietly adds, sounding altogether empathetic to the situation.

Clearing his throat loudly, desperate to remove himself from the discomfort the memories had left him in, Felix declares his intentions to head back inside, not waiting for either Oliver or yourself before he collects his towel and absconds. At least, you find yourself thinking, he moves with far more ease, far less tension, than he'd arrived with. It eases something in you too, as you watch him go, able to smile at his retreating figure before remembering how you're still being watch by Oliver. Oliver who'd all but yelled at you last night because you hadn't told him about your mother. Oliver who you're almost certain definitely did fuck around with Venetia last night, despite what he'd said.

Sure, you could get over Oliver and Venetia being together for one night since he'd felt guilty for having betrayed Felix, and worked to create a lie that even absolved Venetia of anything other than being a predictable embarrassment to her brother. That you could forgive, even if you knew it was a lie.

But his words still haunt you from last night.

"You're still annoyed at me," Oliver moves to take Felix's seat the minute he figures Felix is out of earshot. You don't want to dignify the comment with a response; your sour look should be answer enough. But then his voice turns soft; "you didn't tell Felix what I said to you, did you?" It's not a real question; Oliver's watching you once more with a kind of anthropological fascination that you remember from back at Oxford. In an attempt to avoid his gaze, you bury your nose in your book.

"No idea what you mean."

There's something wrong with you.

"Can I be blunt for a moment?" Oliver asks with a surprising hesitancy. Oliver is often blunt, so the asking seems more and more like a performance than anything else. You turn the page of the book you're definitely not retaining a single word from.

"'m not going to stop you," you huffed momentarily. Oliver, for the long few seconds that follow, is quiet, is watching you. In this moment, his gaze is like a fucking scalpel; you wonder if he's going to ask if you realise believe him, or if he's realised how he hasn't even tried to apologise for what he'd said.

"Why 're you being good to me?"

"If what I am right now is your version of good, that's bloody tragic," you tell him airily, "what was I to you before, saint-like?" It comes out rather bitter, but thankfully Oliver doesn't seem deterred.

"You've always been good to me; all things considered I think this is the most saint-like I've ever seen you," and it sounds sincere enough that you lower your book, expression flat when you finally turn your attention to him. But his blue eyes are earnest, sitting on the edge of the chair far closer than before, all his attention, his focus on you, "you love me," he says quietly, almost awed by the words themselves, "even after all that stuff I said to you; you still love me enough to keep that from Felix -"

"Because how he feels about you shouldn't be effected by how you feel about me; it's not his business," you tried, feeling trapped by the truth of his words.

"You are his business," Oliver insists, and your mouth snaps closed; you kind of hate that he's right, "and you love him like nothing I've ever seen before," he wets his lips, eyes wide when he leans across the space towards you, hand coming to rest on your knee, "but you know he'd never give me another look if he heard about how I spoke to you -"

"I know," you agreed with an awkward little huff, finally, "so you could at least apologise to me," avoiding his eye contact, the silence spills from one moment to the next until you hear him take a deep breath.

"I'm sorry for prying about your mum," his thumb is gentle as he rubs small circles against your skin. The thing that lays unspoken between the two of you, the remainder of the apology, why it's lacking, is not a mystery; he's not sorry for the rest of his outburst because he believes it's true, and he knows you think so too.

Still, the apology itself has you relaxing, settling, feeling far more unburdened than before.

"What do you want me to say, Ollie?" Finally, you spoke. It's barely more than a sigh, book closed and head turned to the sky. When Oliver makes a confused noise, not quite sure about what you mean, you sighed, "if you meant what you said last night, about wanting to- to know me, to, you know -" love me, sits heavy on your tongue, unable to leave your lips, "what do you want to know, what do you want me to tell you, what can I say?"

It doesn't occur to you the way it does to Oliver, how starkly revealing your choice of words often is. Once again you find yourself acquiescing to others wants, to Oliver's implicit demand for your truth, taking the path of least resistance for yourself. Instead you're wondering why Oliver's hesitating now of all times, when finally being given what he'd apparently wanted; you don't understand his reluctance, how he feels as though he's coerced this offer from you, how he almost feels disgusted with himself for what he perceives to be your honesty under duress.

"What 're you reading?" He finds his voice finally, but it's surprisingly meek. This was not the question you'd been anticipating, and your eyes open, looking to him curiously. There's no coldness to your gaze anymore. Oliver's gone bashful and almost apologetic. Raising the book enough that you could show off the cover, you levelled a confused frown at him as he asks if it's good.

"It's dry," you tell him after a beat, "but it's modern, so it's not the worst of it's kind that I've slogged through." When you rise from your chair, he seems almost confused until you sit yourself down next to him, laying back on the sofa and coaxing him back to recline in the space by your side, as you'd done what feels like a million times over with Felix and Venetia. At first, Oliver is stiff, looking all too much like a timid deer, half pressed to you until you continue to explain, "a lot of biographies published by successful businessmen from pretty much any time before two-thousand will invariably have this weird undercurrent of biological essentialism and how the subject owes a lot of his confidence and intelligence and all that bullshit to the fact that he's a man, which is why I'm glad my professor had the good grace to recommend me this one, since that caveman-binary-bullshit is gross as hell."

Oliver nods where he's tucked up against your side, gazing at the book in your hand. You can feel him relax into the familiar contact.

"Is that really the most pressing question you had?" At least you sound far lighter than before when you asked it, almost teasing, and Oliver takes a deep breath, still looking at the biography and your finger stuck between the pages in leu of a bookmark.

"Why'd you go into business of all things to study?" His cheek presses against your shoulder, your arm around him warm and secure. A humourless laugh escapes you, and carefully you open the book with the one hand holding it.

"Because a failed lawyer makes a terrible CEO," you'd chuckled more to yourself than to Oliver. It takes you a moment to compose yourself and your thoughts before you give a proper explanation; "the only good thing about my father being in charge of my family's business is that he cares so little about it that he hasn't tried to interfere with it, and therefore hasn't run it into the ground, at least that's what Nan says." Then, wetting your lips, you give him an awkward smile, "you asked me a few days ago what my dad does; Andreas - that's my dad - he doesn't do anything," you admitted, "everyone thinks he runs the family business, but it's a vanity title. At best he's a trophy husband to Pearl - you met Pearl - and her artistic, philanthropy bullshit."

Oliver doesn't manage more than a quiet 'oh', but he settles himself against you, chin on your shoulder, arm warm when he drapes it over your middle. For a few, gentle moments you go back to reading, flipping back the few pages you'd skipped in your frustration with him earlier. There's comfort in the slow turning of pages, in the steady beat of Oliver's heartbeat pressed against your side, in the rhythm of your shared, quiet breaths.

"You still believe what Farleigh said, don't you?" Oliver's voice is so quiet in your ear, he actually sounds forlorn.

"Of course I do," you murmur back, trying to focus on the words in front of you.

"He's just trying to push your buttons."

"Farleigh doesn't have to try if he wants to menace me."

"Nothing I say will convince you, will it?"

Finally, you close your book, sighing faintly. Closing your eyes, allowing yourself to accept this conversation was happening now, you shake your head.

"You think I wanted to hurt Felix that badly that I'd fool around with Venetia?" Oliver tries again to convince you, but your tip your head to face him, expression unimpressed, but not unkind.

"Farleigh is a shit-stirrer, and I'd believe that Ven was drunk, but you, Oliver Quick, are neither as subtle as you think you are, nor as harmless as you want everyone to believe; I think I know that better than anyone," after a moment, you take a deep breath, "and trust me when I say that Farleigh wouldn't lie to me about this."

"If you believe that, why'd you let me lie to Felix?" Its as close to an omission of guilt as you'd get, but that's something about how Oliver apparently respects you enough to not outright deny it that brings you a strange comfort.

"You know why," voice softening once more, place your book down to free your hands. Holding his cheek gently, you can watch the faint guilt in his gaze before his eyes fall closed and he leans into your touch, "I know you won't do it again." His head tips until his forehead is pressed to yours, and you sit in this quiet moment for a long few seconds.

"I don't want to break Felix's heart," Oliver breathes, sounding, for the first time, genuinely remorseful. Hand moving from his cheek, you wrap him up in an embrace, "I do love him," he mumbled, voice barely above a whisper, adding, "and you."

"I know," you assured him, "our Ollie," you teased warmly, and though Oliver remains quiet, when you crack your eyes open you can see him turning red, fighting back a pleased smile, "you're very good at playing bashful, so I always find myself especially endeared in these moments between us when it's actually genuine," slips from your lips quite without you meaning it to, only causing Oliver's blush to deepen. But as soon as you've said it, seen his reaction, your grin widens and you double down, "catching you off guard always catches me off guard, I feel like you're always so deliberate -"

Oliver kisses you quick as you laugh, interrupting your teasing kind of analysis of him before you can get too far in. Another deliberate play, but this one you don't mind. Oliver pulls back from you, only a few inches, enough to once against rest his forehead against yours as you're still sharing this space, this single pool lounge together. He's grinning so brightly.

"At least there's one person here I can fool around with without my head getting bitten off because of it."

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