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faeriekit · 2 months

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The Foster Mother

Now on ao3 and VHS release

There was, supposedly, someone waiting for him in the green sitting room.

“…Why?” Tim asked. Most of the usual suspects had already come by to give their “condolences”—former Drakes Industries investors, curious about the newly orphaned heir; fellow socialites, once again flocking in to give and receive sympathies for their “close friends, the Drakes”; gawkers come to see what they could scavenge off of a dead family’s home, never mind that their child was alive.

“She claims to know you, Master Tim,” Alfred offered, kettle in his hand. He spent a moment deciding between different two canisters of tea; a sign of possibly difficult future conversation. “Her interest in your father's estate seemed quite…minimal.”

…Alright.

Tim was still in his formalwear. Dissolving Drake Industries would take at least another year, and plenty of future hours cementing the future home of certain resources in their dissolution, but the outfit probably was more appropriate for whatever oncoming conversation that was about to ensue than his planned change into Dick’s old hoodie and board shorts.

Okay. Tim steeled himself. The self-determination…mostly worked. Whatever. He trudged up into the green sitting room from the kitchen with his usual introduction ready on his tongue.

And then Tim walked into the room.

And then Jazzy was there.

Tim had been three, and Miss Jasmine had been his had been his third nanny. He’d outgrown the wetnurse early on, and his second nanny had been dismissed, so although Miss Jasmine was the third nanny, she was first nanny Tim could consciously remember.

She’d had red hair. She’d been very gentle with him.

She got him up in the morning and put him to bed at night; for the first time, there had been someone who sat with him until he was asleep, reading all sorts of books his parents had left to engage him with as an early genius. Then, when those were over and done as promised to his parents, they got unauthorized books from the library: silly books with made-up words, dinosaur books, books about teddy bears and adventures around the world.

Tim hadn’t been allowed to travel the world. Tim hadn’t been allowed a teddy bear. His parents had thought it would encourage undue attachment.

(It had been the same reason he’d never been given a pacifier.)

Miss Jazz had given him a knitted bunny. She’d said her dad had made it especially for him.

The toy’s name was Bunny and Tim remembered him being very soft.

She didn’t smile all the time, but smiles were rewards that were easy to earn. He finished his meal and she smiled. He finished an educational puzzle and she smiled. He was quiet all through her phone call and she smiled, and answered all his questions once she was done.

Jazzy had been the first person in his life who was there all the time. She’d kissed his forehead after the bath and kissed his scraped knees; she’d carried him in his arms when he was tired and sometimes even when he wasn’t. His parents had wanted him to be independent, proactive, and not clingy, but Jazzy had been someone who he could run to from his bed when he’d had nightmares and someone he could cuddle on her lap with when he’d cried.

She was gone when he was seven. He didn’t remember why. His parents had probably never told him, but still; he'd assumed he'd have found out why eventually.

Jazzy looked the same right now as she looked in Tim’s memories, although she was likely no longer a college student at a nannying gig. Her red hair was pulled into a high bun, her dress modest and conservative from her neck to her ankles. There was a backpack beside her foot. She was sitting, one leg crossed over the other, on the high-backed loveseat in the green sitting room.

She looked up when he came in.

Tim. Stopped in his tracks.

It didn’t matter. Jazzy—Miss Jasmine stood up as soon as she saw him, eyes alight with worry. Foggy memories were swimming to the forefront of Tim’s brain. He couldn’t move.

“Tim?” Ja—Miss Jasmine asked, teal eyes raking over his frame. Tim froze where he was. He didn’t move, wide-eyed and terrified for no reason at all when Miss Jasmine got closer to him, at a distance that was more appropriate for a conversation.

She stood there. Watching him. It felt like his mother had just come home from her trips with Dad, and a ghost of old terror wafted through him as he waited for her to decide he’d done something wrong. Her voice got softer. Her eyes got softer. Why was Tim feeling so wrong-footed?? It was only a former staff person!

“Tim?” her voice was so gentle. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m—“

“M’s Jazz,” Tim croaked. Which. Wasn’t the level of formality he’d been going for, but better than Jazzy. He wasn’t a toddler anymore.

Miss Jasmine was so tall—honestly, was she taller than Bruce? She’d seemed insurmountable as a child; he hadn’t expected her height to truly be so statuesque as an adult.

(Or. Well. Almost an adult.)

She didn’t quite kneel down, but she did stoop lower, as if Tim was small and he needed to be on equal footing in order to have a serious conversation.

He could see all her freckles. Tim swallowed. It was too familiar. Everything about her was too familiar.

“You’re so big now,” Jazzy whispered, looking at his hair, his suit, his polished shoes. He didn’t feel it. “Oh, you’ve grown up so well.”

Thanks, Tim almost said. Something stopped him—something thick in his throat, to impassable to break through.

“I—“ he tried. He coughed. “Why…you… You’re here?”

Jazzy threw him an incredulous look, and then an incredibly wry one. “Well,” she drawled a little too primly, in the way that Alfred occasionally made obvious statements, “I’d think it obvious that when one’s parents have passed away, that those who care about you might come to check and see if you’re alright.”

Which. That didn’t make sense. Jazzy hadn’t come back for any other reason; she hadn’t come back for his mother’s funeral, nor when his father was injured publicly by a villain. Why start now?

“And,” Jazz added, seeing his visual confusion and distrust, “Your parents can’t exactly threaten me with a kidnapping charge for visiting you when they’re dead.” Pause. “Which I am sorry about. My condolences.”

Which. Whiplash. What a statement.

“Uh,” said Tim, who was rapidly losing control over the situation.

Jazzy stood again, and went back to her seat; she didn’t set herself down, though, as she only stooped to grab her backpack. “I am sorry for being unable to visit, although I really wanted to; you were at a very vulnerable age and had already moved into a class a year above you, and your parents should have been less hasty about replacing your main caretaker. The assassination attempts were unwarranted, but they did drive the point home that attempting contact was perhaps discouraged.”

“What,” said Tim. “Assassin what.”

“They were ninjas,” Jazzy offered, as if that was an answer. “Except the last one, which was a former marine. The point is that I do care about you, and wanted to ask if you had any idea where you’re going now that your parents are no longer…available guardians.”

Tim’s mouth opened. It closed.

Jazzy waited patiently.

“…How have you been?” Tim tried, resorting to a part of the script they hadn’t gone through yet.

Jazzy’s laugh was tired, but no less real. It was nothing like listening to his parents titter politely; he didn’t think Jazzy would even know how to fake a laugh. “Well, my brother told me that my former bosses had died, which was somewhat stressful. Otherwise, I’m pretty happy: I live with my brother and worked with him for the last few years. I was going to pursue medicine, but…well. The assassination attempts made it hard to interview for scholarships. I suppose that I could return to that now,” Jazzy mused, attention now elsewhere. She pulled the backpack off the floor and up into her grip. She opened it, and flipped through its contents. “How are you doing? I know that Wayne Manor fosters, but your parents were always rather…hands off. I thought the difference in levels of attention might be overwhelming.”

It was. Tim should be surprised how clearly she sees through him—

—But Jazzy used to watch him stim for almost a full hour after school, twisting Bunny’s arms back and forth until he could calm down. Seeing other people all day had been too much for him. Coming home from his parents’ parties had been similarly stressful.

She’d never been mad at him for it. She held him while he talked and stimmed and talked and talked and talked, and brushed his hair sometimes, or if it was very late and he was very young, helped him brush his teeth through all the medieval execution facts he could name.

“It is a lot to get used to,” Tim agreed quietly. He didn’t want to be ungrateful. He didn’t want to let on anyone about his plan to leave.

He had an out. The papers had already been filed; there was an actor waiting to play his uncle for a custody battle, ready for the fight.

Tim was ready to up and go. It was no hardship to leave all the good things here; anything beat making Bruce stick his fingers into Tim any deeper than they already were, compromising the dynamic they’d already established.

It was for the best.

“I can imagine,” Jazzy sympathized easily. “And I wanted to offer—well. I know there’s probably a lot of choices available to you, but my brother and I recently moved back to Gotham proper for the time being. He’s teaching astronomy courses at the university and I’m filing paperwork for Arkham patients. It’s not so privileged a home, but it’s quieter, and more central in town.”

…Tim’s heart skipped.

He. He couldn’t stop staring. Jazzy stared back at him, quiet and sure. Sure of what, Tim had no idea, but…

Why? Why would she want Tim? There was no way she would be able to get to his trust fund without his help, and he for sure knew better than to enable her ability to leech from him. The last time she’d known him, Tim had been a snot-nosed kid who cried all the time and couldn’t be normal for twenty consecutive minutes. His parents couldn’t even stand to be on the same hemisphere as him as a child. What appeal did this have for her?? What could having a teenager with severe baggage living in her house do for her?

And it’s not like there was any chance she knew he was Robin!

“Oh,” Jazzy suddenly interrupted. “I brought these for you, by the way. Your parents had tossed them out at various points; I’ve washed them since, of course.”

She handed him the backpack by the handle.

…Tim peeked inside.

On top was Bunny, still a washed-out faded sort of pink. He looked as fresh as he had the day when Tim’s parents had ”cleaned out” Tim’s nursery—in other words, a faded, a little gray, and slightly discolored from an old spaghetti stain. His button eyes were big and blue.

And beneath him were books that hadn’t passed his father’s muster as appropriately masculine reading material: The Velveteen Rabbit, with the cover a little scarred from a fierce attack of wet wipes. There’s A Monster at the End of This Book, with a goofy-looking Muppet on the cover, gold spine beat up beyond belief. Art Tim’s teacher at the time must have laminated and sent home; Tim’s dorky, crayon cat proved he would never make it as an artist, but attached to it was a photograph of a grinning boy with a bowl cut and a missing tooth.

Tim stared. There’d been purple marker on his hands and face. His grin looked…really bad, actually, like as if he was baring his teeth because he didn’t know how to smile. There was no formal grace there. Nothing to show the neighbors, nothing worth framing to put into the line of sight of the investors in the office.

Jazzy had kept it and brought it home with her. Jazzy had fished it out of the trash, and brought it with her to give back to him in Gotham.

It was crinkled like it’d been folded, over and over again. Further down in the bag was a crumpled certificate dedicated to “Timmy Drake, for: knowing a lot about octopi”, and a baby blanket Tim didn’t even remember. It had rocket ships on it. It looked as if someone had cut into it with scissors, although it had been obviously and brightly mended with red embroidery floss later on.

Jazzy had only been his nanny until Tim was seven. She had simply been gone one night, and Mom and Dad had been home for ten nights after without help before giving in and hiring Mrs. McIlvane and Mrs. Edith. Ms. Edith had never been so…permissive…with Tim as Jazzy had been.

Tim swallowed. He carefully put everything back into the backpack, unsure if he even wanted to keep it or not. It wasn’t like he could leave it here; he’d be gone, ideally, before the week was out. There was no point in taking it with him if he only planned to live with a stranger until he was eighteen.

“J…” Tim tried. He cut himself off before he could get too informal without prompting. “Miss Jasmine—“

“Just Jazz,” Jazzy corrected politely.

“—Why are you here?” Tim asked, ignoring how she’d technically already answered. He didn’t believe her. “What made my parents fire you?”

Jazzy’s expression turned…soft. Tim couldn’t look at her. Something horrible was welling with it, and he didn’t know how to cope.

“I’m here because I care about you,” Jazz repeated, and knelt beside him. She looked up into his face, and took his hand. Tim didn’t know why. He was practically an adult—he didn’t need this!

“And I was fired because your Mother overheard you calling me ‘Mommy’ on accident when you were tired. I suppose she was insulted, although I’d never know why; it’s not like she was ever home to bond with you in the first place.”

Tim’s throat closed. He missed his mom. He missed waiting up for his parents’ flight home, seeing their headlights outside the window, and knowing they’d bring home gifts from overseas. He missed using Mom’s perfume, and knowing he’d used more of the bottle sitting on her dressed than she ever had, but that it still smelled like her. He missed hearing his Dad telling all sorts of adventure stories and promises through the phone to be home for the holidays, even if Tim knew there was every chance he’d find some other way to spend the time back in Gotham.

And there was some small child in him who missed Jazzy, who hugged him and walked him to the library and made him soup from a can instead of fancy dinners and, who’d never needed to be waited for in the first place.

Tim looked at Jazzy’s round, freckled face.

He swallowed.

Tim moved out before the end of the week, as expected.

#dp x dc #Jazz fenton #tim drake #that one time Tim specifically hired a fake uncle so that Bruce couldn't adopt him #free to a good home #Jack Fenton knits btw #I'm not going to continue this but i thought it was a cool premise and needed its time. Have fun with it if you want to!#this is dedicated to all the fulltime nannies at the library who are fully just college girls raising babies #dpxdc #dcxdp #Jazz said is anyone going to raise this baby and was targeted by ninjas for it #I don't have any future plans BUT there is a moment where Dick tries to sneak into her apt to 'check it out' and she fully Gets Him with a #TBI and a Fenton CreepStickTM #also. parents who try to shape their kids by denying them every form of human comfort and access to their interests. You're dead to me #also also also I'm still a Tim Drake Autistic truther #not NOT inspired by the Say Uncle by Megarakles. This one's for you fellow fans #also. if he goes with her. He gets parented for the first time ever and it Sucks Ass lol.#faer fic

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luminiamore · 4 days

Text

basketball player ony x black spiritual reader

first part here

warnings: bomb dick, vibrating panties (idea came to me last minute)

masterlist

The day finally arrived. The man you had been crushing on for months— the man who sucked the soul out of pussy just two days ago— was taking you out on a date. Your nerves were racking up, your breathing heavy as you stared at yourself in your mirror. The scent of lavender and the burning blunt you just rolled are lingering in your nostrils. It was 5 p.m., 30 minutes before Ony told you he was coming with your outfit.

You were stuck in the mirror, fixing the baby hairs on your ginger wig as you took another hit. Your head was being hit pretty hard by the effects of the marijuana. Your gold and stone bracelets jiggled around with every movement you made. Why were you so nervous? This is the same man that slobbered over your clit on your clit appallingly not too long ago. So, why were you so nervous? You jumped when you heard a ding coming from your phone.

“omw mama.”

Another hit. You read the text without even clicking on the message, and if Ony was the type of nigga to go 50 on a 20 road, you had about 10 minutes before he came knocking on your door. You quickly wrap a pink silk robe from one of your hangers on your body, not putting on panties because you have a gut feeling. You already showered, already lathered your body in your strawberry body milk. Your light makeup sat perfectly against your skin, your lips brown and glossed.

The only thing left for you to do was to spray a bit of your Kayali Sugar Candy perfume, and after the final spritz, you heard a light knocking sound coming from outside your room. Your heart is beating ten times faster— he didn’t even tell you he was outside. Another hit, and you ash it out outside your window.

Your feet could barely be heard on the ground as you rushed to open the door and shit. Seeing Ony outside of his usual attire was doing more to you than you cared to admit. He was in a white dress shirt and black suit pants— all dressed up for the date he was taking you on. His hair was freshly cut, the first two buttons on his shirt were loose, and he had a freshly ripened hibiscus bouquet in his right hand and a medium-sized bag on his left. How did he know those were my favorite flowers?

“Heard you tell that girl you always with that you really liked these.” He smirks a bit when your eyes widen in realization that you said your thoughts out loud. You grab the flowers from his grasp, fingers burning when you accidentally graze his hand, and mutter a small, “Thank you, they’re beautiful. Come in, Ony.”

His aura alone was so potent, so calm and safe, and inside, you knew your spirit guides were probably cheering you on. Your cat’s immediate approach to him, rubbing its head on his legs, was a sign that you made the right choice. Waiting for him to pet her, she plopped down on the floor, and unsurprisingly, Ony crouched down to honor her wishes.

You wanted him to take you now, but you knew Ony was a man of his word. He wouldn’t fuck you until after tonight. You just had to wait until after tonight. You glance up to where a regular clock is hanging above your door.

5:25.

..Waiting until after tonight suddenly seemed like forever.

“Not as beautiful as you. You smoking in here?” The smell of it was immediately detected when you opened the door. He smiled internally because he was waiting outside your apartment in his Hellcat while he texted you and lit his own joint. You really were meant for each other.

Ony thought you looked good enough to eat. Again. Nothing but a thin robe on you, accentuating your curves and showing a slight peak of your voluptuous brown tits. Flashes of you moaning his name and bucking your hips wildly onto his tongue started slipping into his mind— would it really be wrong to taste you again?

Your pretty voice breaks him out his thoughts, “Yea, you want a hit? Or two?” You release a chuckle, the sound making the tall man shiver a bit. He takes a deep breath— patience. He has to have patience. You’ll be moaning his name soon enough.

“Nah, was smoking before I got here. Here, mama.” He hands you the bag he was holding after you got done putting the flowers on your kitchen counter. You were a bit.. skeptical when Ony asked if he could dress you for tonight, worried that he might choose an outfit that you wouldn’t like.

What you didn’t know is that Ony observed you. Studied your peculiarities and the way you dressed when you walked up into Econ, he wouldn’t have asked such a question otherwise. He had precise knowledge of what to give you, and it was evident when you took the bag from him and found an exquisite crochet skirt set.

The skirt ended with shades of light to a deep royal purple, and the top had no straps. Flower patterns were all over it. There was also a pair of shoes, white mini heels with thin straps. And when you reached the bottom of the bag, you saw panties, purple, and flower patterns all over it, too.

“Ony, this is- It’s gorgeous. I-”

He kisses your cheek and gently pushes the items to your chest, “Go put ’em on. Reservation’s at 6:30.”

You giggle and nod, rushing to your room on your tiptoes. In your living room, Ony is waiting for you, lying down on your comfortable couch and petting your cat after she jumps onto his lap. He has reason to believe that you two wouldn’t make it outside if he came inside your room with you.

You take your time, slowly putting each piece on to not stretch the crochet material. Your last step was the panties, and you couldn’t help but feel that they were slightly heavier than any of the panties you owned. You’re about to examine it a little more, but you stop short when you hear Ony’s voice: “You ready, mama?”

Any confusion about the panties was long gone after you put them on, following the heels. After spritzing your perfume one more time, you grab your keys and head out the door, Ony following closely behind you.

It was a peaceful ride to wherever Ony was taking you, with only soft Brent Faiyaz music playing in the background and the light-burning sound of the half-finished joint he offered you. At every red light stop, you would let him take the hit until both of you finished it.

He parked his car in front of a garden-like spot just before you ashed it out, just in time. You are about to reach your hand to open your door but fall short when you hear a click!

“You should know better.” Was all he said before he got out of the driver’s seat and got to your side. As he opens the door for you, he grabs your hand to guide you out and leads you to a person who is ready to seat you both. Hand in yours the entire time. “Reservation for Onyankopon, please.”

The man gives a smile and gestures for you both to follow him. It would be an understatement to describe how beautiful the area was when you surveyed it. It was like a restaurant in a garden of flowers. You are led by the person to a table surrounded by grass and daises, with occasional butterflies flying around you.

“How did you even find this place?” You ask in complete awe. Ony spent a while trying to find a place he knew you would like. You didn’t seem like the type of person to like classy restaurants, and he definitely didn’t want to take you to some low-end place. He wanted to find something that resembled you. A place where you would feel completely comfortable.

And well, when you sat down, and a white butterfly made its way onto your awaiting finger... Ony couldn’t help but think he made the right choice. You look like a goddess. An ethereal being that was all his. “I drove by it one time, and it reminded me of you. You like it?”

He hoped you did. The expression on your face wasn’t telling him enough. He wanted to hear the words come out of your mouth, or else he would drown in his anxiety. All he wanted to do was please you.

“I love it, Ony.” A bright smile graced your face. You never looked more pretty— aside from when you made those gorgeous faces when he was pleasuring you.

A server came to take your order, Ony ordering for himself before the woman turned to you,

“And for you, miss?”

“Could I please have the-” The sensation of intense pressure vibrating on your clit causes you to stop your sentence with a faint gasp. Both of your hands are gripping the table to provide support.

“Miss? Are you okay?”

“You good, mama?” You look up when Ony questions and catch the faux concern in his eyes, his lips twitching up a bit as he almost fails to contain his smile. This was his doing. You knew those panties were different. And you seriously should’ve questioned why he bought you a pair anyway. Fuck it felt so good.

You steady your voice so you don’t stutter when you speak up, “… I’m okay. Could... I have the-the Shrimp Fried Rice, p-please.”

You curse yourself internally when you stumble upon your words. You observe as she reluctantly nods and accepts your order. You would’ve flushed your head down in embarrassment, but in your defense, you had a vibrator going at full speed on your clit. Fuck whatever she was thinking about you right now.

The minute she walks away from the table, you give Ony the meanest glare you could muster— which, to him, wasn’t doing much. In retaliation, he just turned the vibration up, causing you to yelp silently.

“Ony! W-why?” You whimper out as quietly as you can so as not to raise attention from the people around you. He just shakes his head, amused at how weak he could get you.

“You look so pretty like this, mama. Enjoy yourself, hm? You deserve it.”

He couldn’t get his mind off the events that occurred when you came to his dorm. Could you even blame him? For wanting to see more of those pretty faces you make. For wanting to eat you whole again.

He realized he couldn’t outright finger you in a public setting, not here anyway. He didn’t want to wait to fuck you so he could witness you fall apart like you did last time. He longs for you with a strong desire. Even 72 hours later, the flavor of your juices is still lingering on his tongue. “But-”

“Shh. Just try not to get too loud, yeah? Don’t want anyone else seeing those gorgeous faces you make.”

Squeezing your thighs together, your head falls back against your chair. This goes on for a good while, Ony just staring at you, biting your lips to stop the moans bottling in your throat from getting too loud. He watches as your pretty lashes flutter open and close while your eyes roll in the back of your head.

You rub your lower hips against the chair subtly in quick, fast motions to stave off your impending orgasm. Light gasps released from your throat when you feel a burning sensation in your abdomen. Just when you start feeling like the dam is about to burst and ruin the only thing that holds you up right now, everything comes to an end.

The vibration, your rubbing— nothing but your ears buzzing can be heard until you finally register what just happened. You don’t have time to dwell on it much because your waiter comes back with what you both ordered.

“Would you like some water, miss?” And this time, Ony grants you the mercy of answering for you, ears still buzzing and clit still twitching because of your ruined orgasm.

“She would, please.” When the waiter walks away from your table, Ony almost cracks under the pleading look you give him. He can’t believe it took him this long to ask you out. What if someone got to you before him? He wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

Your soft and crackling voice reaches his ears, “Please, Ony. Let me-”

“Eat your food, mama. I said enjoy yourself, never said you could cum.”

Giving him a pout is all you can do, and his tone indicates that this is not a subject for discussion. The rest of the night went surprisingly well. The conversation was full of rich details about both of you. Only told you many stories about him, how he got to be a basketball player, and how it was a dream of his since he was a toddler. In return, you told him how you even started your spiritual journey, spoke about your childhood even because you were just so comfortable around him.

He didn’t turn back on the vibrator for the remainder of the evening, only listening to the sweet melody of your voice whenever you said something or laughed at something he said. It seemed like you hadn’t been here for that long when the bill came. You were truly in the present moment with Ony, so you lost all sense of time. But you caught a glance at your phone— 9:30.

Damn. It’s already been three hours? Ony takes out his wallet and pulls out some cash. He gently grabs your hand to pull you out of your chair so that you and he can leave together. Before you know it, you both are on your way back to your apartment. What catches you off guard is the intense vibration from the restaurant coming back, causing you to let out a loud moan in his passenger seat. Your passenger seat after tonight, if he was being honest.

Your body thrashes against the seat belt, hips bucking wildly because you are still so horny after being left on the edge like that. “F-Fuck!”

He pretends to be unfazed, his eyes still focused on the road as you release the honey moans contained in his car.

“Can you hold it f’me? You’re almost home, mama. I’ll make you cum as much as you want when we get there.”

He must like torturing you. That’s the only explanation. At his words, you don’t think you ever worked harder to stave off an orgasm in your life. The pressure feels so good, your body bubbling with heat and the pleasure being felt in every corner. You wail when the vibrator hits a particular spot on your clit due to your hips rapidly shaking and moving.

Your breathing starts to become erratic as you release light hiccups. Your efforts to not cum are so intense that tears are falling from your brown eyes. Why was it taking so long to get home?

“I n-need to.. cum. Please!”

How do you do that? Look so divine while your pussy is being overstimulated? He almost wants to let you have cum because you look so pretty while trying to beg for him. But then he thinks about how he doesn’t want you finishing on anything other than the massive tent in his pants, and he figures— you can wait a bit. He’s pulling up in your garage anyway, and he wasn’t going to fuck you in his car for your first time together.

Your heavy breathing and the sudden slam of Ony’s door are all that remains in the car when he puts it in park. He opens your door and swiftly holds you in a bridal style to your apartment number. He presses light kisses to your cheek, his tatted hand rubbing gently on your wide hips.

He doesn’t wait a second to devour your lips once you open your door, your moans being muffled by the sheer force of the kiss. His lips were soft and sweet against yours, fitting perfectly as your lip gloss was smeared onto him. Still in his hold, you weakly point to the direction of your room, which he follows wordlessly. Heels are long gone, and been thrown in the hall amid your make-out session.

He plops you down on your mattress, and you don’t hesitate to yank him down towards you into another brutal make-out session, your smooth legs encircling his waist. You gasp when he firmly squeezes the fat of your tits, allowing him to dip his tongue into yours, deepening the kiss.

Fuck, you wanted him so bad. Your skirt rises, and soon, there’s nothing but his pants and your panties separating the two of you. Ony was unusually big.. you knew this when you first saw his print at his dorm. And right now, as he was fumbling to take his belt off, your mind was scrambling, trying to figure out how you were going to fit all of him inside of you.

All thoughts went out the window when he ripped your damp panties off in one go and immediately started playing with the obscene amount of slick that’s been gathering ever since he came to pick you up. Your cute sounds are heaven to him.

His deep voice whispers in your ear, “You’re so wet, baby. Don’t need me to prep you, right?”

His fingers are moving rapidly against your clit, as he is awestruck by how his hands keep slipping off out of rhythm due to your wetness. Or maybe he was already drunk on you, desperate to split your pussy apart on his cock. His pants aren’t even entirely off before he’s fisting his fat cock out of his boxers and slapping his brown tip right on your pussy lips, creating wet squelching sounds.

“Could just slip right in with how you’re leaking all over your sheets. You gonna take it, mama?”

And he was right. Your wetness was creating a dark stain on your bed, likely gonna start seeping into the mattress. You sneak a glance down at Ony’s ministrations, and you immediately try to move your hips away. This man was dead-ass walking around with a third leg. It was so big, it actually scared you. How the fuck was that supposed to fit inside of you? Even your last fling wasn’t this hung.

He immediately pulled your hips back towards him, refusing to let you run away from the deep fucking he’s been craving to give you. “Don’t do that. Take it f’me, baby. Please?”

You whimper, his pleading tone getting you even more wetter. “O-Ony.. you’re too b-big! I can’t- Ooo fuck.”

You didn’t have time to finish your sentence before he sank his length past your tight walls, making you feel every inch of him. Fuck, he was so deep, and he almost wanted to cum right there. He looks down at you and shit.

You never looked more beautiful, as he said. Your mouth is constructed into a lovely “o” shape, and your eyes roll back so deep into your skull he can see your white eye sockets. You were drooling, the feeling of his dick inside of you simply too much for your tiny brain to handle. He wasn’t gonna last long.

Your wet cunt was so stretched out, and Ony didn’t even give you a second to relax before he started feeding you deep, harsh strokes. You could do nothing but let tears fall from your eyes and wail his name so loud you’re sure you’ll probably get a noise complaint from your neighbors.

“Gorgeous. Such a good girl taking my dick like this, you love it baby? Talk to me, mama.” He pleads as his face is buried in the crook of your sweat-filled neck, the feeling of your pussy being better than he ever imagined. Than he ever dreamed of. The sounds you both were making were so lewd, so nasty. But it was bringing you much closer to splashing all over his disheveled dress shirt.

“So-so good, Ony! L-Love it s’much.” Your pretty cries make him groan loudly against you; you can feel it vibrating against your chest. Your mind is blanking, and the fire in your stomach that you felt twice today is coming back, only much stronger. Your already overstimulated clit is causing it to come much faster.

With every thrust he gives you, you give Ony a beautiful yelp. And he could only watch your face contort as you struggle to find something to hold on to, to ground you. You’re a bit dense if you think he would let you do anything other than feel every spec of what he gave you. He grasps both of your hands with only one of his hands and presses them above your head.

“Pussy’s so damn good, shit. M’gonna cum. Where you want it, mama?”

And you respond to him so eagerly, choking on your spit when he presses down on your stomach, his bulge being prominently displayed every time he thrusts in and out of you.

“Ahhh! M-me too! Inside, Ony. P-Please Ony, cum in m-me.”

He can’t say no to you, not when you beg him to fill you up with tears like that. The final straw for you was when he forced his tongue into your panting mouth again, swallowing every gasp and moan that managed to fall past your lips. You make a sudden and unwarranted shriek against his mouth, and your pussy splashes all over him.

He groans as you babble his name repeatedly, allowing salty tears to flow freely down your cheeks. Your body twitches as your pussy creams and squeezes tightly around him, and that’s enough for Ony to shiver as his cum spurts past your womb. He should have slowed down or stopped because now you both feel overstimulated.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t stop thrusting his hips rapidly against you, the feeling of you squirting on his dick quickly becoming something he wanted more of. He needs you to do that again. He needs you to spray your sweet juices so hard it reaches his face. Your chest is heaving as you try to wriggle your hands out of Ony’s grasp to slow him down. Your attempt doesn’t do much but make him tighten his grip on you,

“Give me another one, mama. Come on, just one more, baby.” And by the look on his face, even you can tell it wasn’t just going to be one more. You were in for a long night.

#onyankopon x black y/n #ony x black reader #onyankopon x reader #aot onyankopon #ony x y/n #onyankopon x black reader smut #onyankopon smut #onyankapon #onyankopon fluff #onyankopon x you #aot x black y/n #aot x reader #aot smut

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randombush3 · 7 months

Text

labor omnia vincit

alexia putellas x reader

words: 7538

summary: well, it’s how you meet your wife (posh + becks style)

content warnings: a little bit of drugs and alcohol

notes: HEY HEY HEYY. this is a TRILOGY and here’s the first part. enjoy the build up x

2015. London.

You groan at the thought of singing another word. The mug set haphazardly on the ledge reserved more for instruments than crockery, half in the air after the last time you returned it to its place, is now empty. There is no hot water left to soothe your burning throat, and there is no patience remaining in your finite store.

The girls, on the other hand, seem to soldier on. A harmony is incorrect? They sing it again. The producer, a fat old man called Dave whose taste in music might rely on his taste in women, isn’t a fan of a certain beat? They are thinking of ways to change it.

Ever since your single was released two years ago, this has been your life. Or, at least, the less glamorous side of it. The other side, consisting of sold-out arenas, exclusive clubs, and a world tour that only increased your total domination over the music industry, has been paused while you and the girls slave away on the second album. Apparently, you’re being uncooperative. You would call it boredom.

“It’s four in the morning, Dave,” Anya states, jabbing out her index finger towards his Rolex, paid for with the revenue from the last single you released. It topped the charts for days. Dave glances down at the clock face with a grunt. “Look, Y/n’s already left us and gone to bed.”

“Still here,” you murmur, rather unconvincingly, from your spot on the far-too-comfortable sofa behind the mixing desk. Sprawling out even further, you wrap your legs around the third member of your group, Gio. She squeals as you pull her on top of you. “I want to go home, though.”

“Don’t we all know it,” Gio giggles. She’s had at least six cups of coffee since you arrived at the studio for the second recording session of the day – a solid nine hours ago. That was only after a break for a late lunch or early dinner (whichever your dietician preferred to call it).

“We need to finish.”

“I need to sleep,” you reply. Gio scrambles off you in time to avoid the glare you are sent by your producer. “And I’m not sleeping here again. Last time it gave me a crick in my neck and I’m fairly sure the cleaner felt me up.”

“The sexy cleaner is mine,” Anya declares, jerking you upright. Your stomach lurches with emptiness. “Otherwise, I agree. Let us fuck off home. Please, Dave.”

He looks at the three of you, bags under your eyes, making long rubbed off (or cried away, in Gio’s earlier over-emotional state). You have changed out of the outfit the paparazzi pictured you in earlier, opting for the stained, grey joggers you folded away in your Birkin. Anya and Gio snuck in so that they weren’t caught in their pyjamas.

Dave sighs.

“Tomorrow, don’t go for lunch with any of your silly boyfriends. Come here for noon, and we’ll finish when we finish. We’re getting this album done, and you can’t fire me until it’s out.”

His sense of humour is appreciated, even if his work ethic is not, and you practically bolt out of the studio, friends in tow.

Anya grabs your hand as you rush down the corridor, making your way to the exit. “No lunch with your boyfriend,” she repeats Dave’s words, mocking his gristly voice. You roll your eyes, snatching your hand away from your friend before pushing open the back door of the studio, heading towards your new BMW i8.

You have been friends with Anya Kazi and Giovanna Bartoli since the age of two, meeting them on the first day of nursery, specifically after cutting one of Gio’s ringlets off with safety scissors. Though Anya happily clapped along, she did not defend you, and so you went for her hair as well. Your teacher, hoping to quell the budding animosity, placed all three of you in time-out, where a united front was formed. It hasn’t been broken since that moment, though a few years ago, you were terrified it would be. You, with a well-concealed preference for women, however, have managed to keep your friends. They assured you that they 1) already knew and 2) could not care less.

“You don’t even like cars,” Gio scoffs at the sight of your latest purchase, your last name printed proudly on the number plate. “Was this an ‘I’m famous’ buy or did your daddy get it for you?”

“He emailed me a few recommendations,” you answer off-handedly, sliding into the driver’s seat, switching on the ignition. It growls with a mean, menacing precision, the engine’s quality known and heard. “And don’t pretend that your family doesn’t have a Roll-Royce parked in the driveway of their million-pound townhouse.”

“You are just as much from Hampstead as I am, girl.”

You roll your eyes, stifling a yawn. Anya pulls out in front of you, no doubt speeding off to avoid the boy-racers you and Gio become at this time of night.

Your flat has progressed from that of the one you shared with the girls in Princess Park two years ago. It’s nicely decorated, you like to think, with most of the work being done to it while you were touring.

The walls are hung with artwork; some your own, some not. The canvases and frames adorn every room, dictating the vibe, declaring your individuality to any visitors who choose to admire the paintings and sketches. Then, if they were to look at the shelves dotted around the space, they’d see books with matching themes to the art. Your living room has a print of Van Gogh’s ‘Starry Night’, blown up in a gilded frame, hanging above your green leather sofa, adding colour to the white walls, and then a bookshelf filled with navy-bound novels about whatever you fancy. You’re quite chuffed with the design, though it was really the interior designer you hired who came up with the idea.

Without a second glance to any of the intricate details of your home, you stumble your way to the bathroom, going through the motions until it is time to get into bed. It’s a big bed – one that often feels too big for just one person – but the mattress is inviting and you dive into a deep sleep head-first, knowing you will not be getting up until someone calls you tomorrow morning.

…

Barcelona, seven hours earlier.

The bar is busy, as most are in Barcelona at this time of night, and the girls are out for dinner and a post-training drink. The wine glasses have deceived them all, though, because they have been emptied and refilled a few more times than Xavi would be impressed with.

A young, budding star does not drink during the season, the alcohol drought both self-inflicted and encouraged by every coach who promises to take her far. Her eyeliner must be smudged by now, but Alexia can’t leave yet because Jenni has promised that she can stay over at her place and she needs her to take her back.

The reason for her temporary relocation is that Alexia is fed-up with her mother’s pestering, seeing as it is only one week into the season and she is already being called a workaholic. She can’t stay in that house tonight, especially when her little sister is the complete opposite: sleeping with anyone who gives her a chance and never doing anything that will help her future. Eli Segura is baffled by the lack of balance in her life – two daughters, two extremes – but she is the most concerned with her eldest, angering Alexia to no end.

Alexia is also fed-up with this conversation. It’s all the girls seem to be talking about these days, utterly consumed with this new English girl group just like the rest of the world. 2sday has completely taken over all interesting topics of discussion, and Alexia doesn’t think she can handle being asked which one of their songs she likes the most one more time.

She likes them, she guesses, but so does everyone. Todo el mundo is in love with all three members.

The girls are discussing who their favourite is.

“She’s Italian though, and that’s cool of her,” Jenni argues, putting forward her case for Bartoli as if she chose to have parents from a certain country. Alexia hums in thought, thinking of the pictures she saw from the world tour – how long her legs are, tanned and sculpted and shown off nicely by the mini-skirt she wore. “Did you know that her little sister is a model? She’s called Cristina or something. The beauty is practically in her DNA.”

“Aren’t all three of them models?” asks Marta pointedly, finger tapping the photoshoot on the magazine cover.

“Well, all three of them are sexy,” Jenni replies, remembering just how enamoured the world is with the three break-out stars. “Ale, which one is your favourite?” The magazine that had sparked this conversation is slid towards the twenty-one-year-old, and she looks at the picture on the front page: you, Gio, and Anya, all dressed in oversized suits with nothing underneath, hair slicked back and eyes piercing, ‘girl power’ brandished over the bottom of the photograph.

“Y/n L/n,” Alexia answers easily, fascinated by the sculpture of your face. She thinks you are beautiful, in a less crass way than her teammates. “And you lot sound like men with the way you talk about them.”

“Ooh, Alexia is getting all high-and-mighty,” Jenni teases. “Looks like it’s time to take the baby home.”

“She’s cranky because she’s tired and it’s past her bedtime,” adds another teammate, though Alexia is too wound up to really care who.

They all make little pouty faces at her as she finishes the last of her glass of water, the clear liquid standing out against the deep red of most of the table. Jenni rolls up the magazine and swats her shoulder with it, before handing it over to its owner and finally allowing Alexia her rest.

In silence, they sit in her car – an old Ford in need of replacing but not on the footballer’s list of things she will buy with the money they are now getting. FC Barcelona Femení has become, at last, a fully professional team, and Alexia looks ahead to the future with a hopeful dream and the knowledge that she will need to work hard if she ever wishes to become the best. Jenni has become a good friend ever since she joined the club last year, and she brings a global ambition to the friendship that she knows Alexia does not have. Jenni is from Madrid, and plays for Barcelona because she can, not because it is her club. Her team is the same as her grandfather’s, and she often expresses to Alexia her wish to play for them someday, as well as scoring in every league she possibly can. Young Alexia Putellas has never once considered stepping foot outside of Spain.

Not only that, but her father died three years ago and here, in Barcelona, is where she feels closest to him. She cannot fathom a life past the plazas and the cobbled streets of her home. And she’s glad. She’s safe here, and she needs nothing more than her team, her family, and a football at her feet. What more could she possibly want?

As she settles on Jenni’s sofa, blanket pulled over her body, head resting on a plump cushion that smells faintly of Jenni’s dog, Alexia decides to watch whatever is on TV right now. Jenni, in an attempt to learn English, has found an English news channel that seemingly reports on ‘exclusive’ celebrity news. There you are, plastered on the screen, your picture zoomed in to the point of the pixels blurring.

The woman speaking has a high-pitched and critical voice, saying words that Alexia does not hear. She stares at your picture, considering the life you have, imagining that, one day, footballers like her have the stardom of Beckham and Messi and Ibrahimovic. Though she herself does not crave that exposure, well aware of her shyness, she thinks about the future with a wistful sigh, lost in her dream as the English woman narrates what she can see, judging how you have opened your mouth to take a bite of the food, listing the brands you are wearing.

And, in her weird, exhausted haze, she sees your face. It’s probably only because you’re on the screen and she’s staring at it, but you are there as she pictures the growth of women’s football. You’re there in the stands as she plays in front of a sold-out Camp Nou, cheering and singing along to Catalan chants she knows you’d never actually know in real life. Slowly, she falls asleep, and, just before she closes her eyes, you are there: back to her, dressed in a familiar shirt. Alexia. 11. Somewhere in a far-off fantasy land, Alexia Putellas marries you that night.

…

It’s Sunday.

You drive to your parents’ house in Hampstead, only twenty minutes away from the flat you now live in, to reluctantly attend their weekly Sunday Roast. Before, it was a condition of remaining on the booking list for the annual family holiday, seeing as you had declared university was going to wait until after your gap year and then had become a popstar instead. Now that both you and your brother can afford to come anyway, the tradition is there for sentimental value. A world tour made you realise how much you love them all, even your annoying older brother.

Your parents are lawyers who met at university and found love in a city that they never moved out of, both of them doing extremely well for themselves. They raised you and your brother to ski, horse-ride, and attend prep schools and public schools, although boarding school was not quite desirable. Your dad speaks in a booming voice, received pronunciation an act used for court, slight Mancunian accent lilting his words whenever he relaxes.

“Darling!” your mum exclaims, surprised at your attendance just like she is every week. “Come on in, come on in. Daddy has the footie on, and your brother is on his way. Don’t you have songs to sing? How come you’re here?”

Ushered inside your own home, you smell the brief scent of your family before adjusting to it all and fitting right back into the chaos. There’s beef in the oven, and the roar of the crowd playing faintly from the kitchen where your dad must be preparing the potatoes. He’s proud of his potatoes.

You slip off your shoes – a new pair of Uggs – and follow your mother to the kitchen. Dad is there, doing exactly what you’d expected, hands working instinctively as his eyes focus on the TV, mouthing along with the commentary as Manchester United take on their opponent. “Sit down,” Dad says as soon as you walk in, pointing at the stools tucked into the island. “We’re not doing too badly, and today should be an easy win.”

“I know. I do watch the football without you, Daddy.”

He tuts. “Yeah, but you don’t get the same level of commentary on your own. Plus, United isn’t even what I wanted to talk to you about. I have thought of a publicity move that you should definitely make – it would really help you guys out.” You entertain his suggestion, knowing that’s what dads do, sitting back on the stool with a smirk on your face, already thinking of an interesting way to tell him he is being stupid. “So, what I was thinking was that you guys do a half-time show! You love football, and the girls love footballers – what isn’t to like? Plus, I bet any club would jump at the chance to make some money from extra tickets sold just to see you.”

“And you haven’t already contacted our manager?” you check, finding your father to be quite unpredictable and rash. His ego is also far too inflated by clients who don’t see him for the kind but bumbling fool he truly is, and so he often takes it upon himself to put forward any ideas he has to your management team, much to everyone’s inconvenience (the last thing they need, amongst sorting out photos of you snogging girls and your friends in various compromising positions, is an old man telling them what he thinks will boost your image). “It’s a good idea, I must admit. I’ll bring it up.”

“Good stuff.” There’s a clang of metal as the potatoes go in the oven too, and the fridge opens with a pop as your dad begins to fish out the carrots and parsnips to complete your meal, Your mother is responsible for everything else. “Try to get it at Barcelona or Real Madrid,” he says off-handedly. “Imagine singing in the Nou Camp. That’d be crazy.”

“Not the appearance I dreamt of when I was little, but I’d still get to touch the grass,” you agree.

“Y/n, we knew you’d never be a footballer. You haven’t got the coordination for that.” They tried to support you, they really did, but then music lessons took over and the sport became a form of entertainment, not exercise. “Women’s football is really something, though. In twenty years, it’ll be good. Maybe you should invest.”

“I know zero women’s footballers, apart from – what’s her name? Kelly Smith. The English one?”

“The Arsenal player, yeah. It’s a shame we don’t have a proper women’s team.”

“Should I fund one?” you joke, but his face lights up and he has taken you seriously. “Okay, I know we’ve been successful thus far, but we haven’t raked in that much. Who knows! It could all go to shit and I could end up right where I started, in my childhood bedroom with no degree and no choice but to mooch off my parents.”

“I get the sense that you’re slightly stressed about this album,” Dad says slowly, smiling wide, proud to have worked you out. He has always been good at that; knowing what you are feeling. It is a wonderful trait for him to have, seeing as your mother struggles with emotional connection of any kind. She is too much of a corporate big-shot for that, anyway.

“It’s killing me.” You sigh, slumping on the stool. “It’ll be released and then we’ll hop on tour and I’m so tired. Anya has a crush and Gio’s dating someone and now all of our songs are about love and I just… I don’t know about that. I don’t know if I will ever know about that.”

And, though he hesitates, Dad walks around the island and places a hand on your shoulder, telling you that you will find the right man someday.

Deep down, he knows that the daughter who loved to watch football and never once commented on their hairstyles or pretty faces – the girl whose crushes on members of boy bands always seemed half-hearted and forced – is not a daughter who is going to bring home a man one day, with a smile on her face and a ring on her finger. He knows. It is quite possible that he has always known. Whether he is going to bring it up before you feel comfortable to talk about it is a different matter, especially since your mother has dreams of her daughter’s husband that she has whispered to him ever since they found out their second child was a girl.

Sunday is pretty routine, which you are grateful for. Your brother, also a lawyer, discusses his latest case, resembling the stories your father used to tell at the dining table: stories you’d both yawn at when you were younger. You dish out a few industry secrets, recounting your most recent trip to Cirque Le Soir. With disdain, your mother berates you for any possible drug-usage, scolding you for something you have not admitted to but somehow knowing that you are guilty of it anyway. It feels much like the family dinners of your teenage years, but you suppose that pop stars never really have to grow up and decide that it isn’t all bad. After all, you drive home in a very stylish car.

Then, the week starts with another gruelling, waste-of-time day at the studio, where you go inside before the sun comes up and emerge long after it has set. Dave is decently pleased with the vocals so far. There are another seven tracks to go, but most of those are being written by other people. Mark Ronson, you’ve heard, is open to working with your group. It’s all very exciting, even if you feel like you have run a marathon by the end of the day.

On Tuesday, you remember to tell your manager and publicist (she’s a woman of many talents) about your father’s idea. At first, her reluctance is extremely evident, but it later dissipates once she thinks about it, having promised you and the now-excited girls to see what she can do.

You are on a private plane to Barcelona before you can realise what is happening.

Bags packed with more make-up and spangled underwear than proper clothes, and sunglasses shielding your hungover eyes courtesy of last night’s consoling of a newly-single Giovanna Bartoli, you try your best not to vomit while in the air and even squeeze in a spot of light reading. The girls laugh (wincing at the sound) when they see you revisiting the Aeneid. You like Virgil, though, so you don’t mind.

“How many days are we here again?” Anya asks, equally hungover.

“Three,” replies your manager, not bothering to look up from her laptop. “Today, tomorrow, and the day after. Please check if the players are married before you do anything with them.”

“I’ve sworn off men,” mumbles Gio miserably. She stretches her legs out with a sniffle, and then draws them back in to protect her broken heart. “If I’d get off with any woman, I’d like her to be Spanish.” She clears her throat, the lump of tears disappearing as she retrieves her GCSE-level Español, giving it a shot. If not to be serious than to at least piss you off. “Hola. ¿Cómo estás? ¿Quieres dormir conmigo?”

“What? And then you’re going to shove your tongue down her throat?” Gio looks at you with a smirk. “That is not how you kiss a woman.”

“Hey, you can’t keep them all to yourself!”

You laugh, though your manager’s attention has been caught and she is already showing her disapproval. “It would be better that I did if that’s how you think it works.”

“None of you are kissing women.”

“That’s not fair,” Anya protests, upset that she didn’t even get to join in the conversation before it got shut down as swiftly as a rowdy houseparty in an American teen-movie.

“I agree. That’s not fair on Y/n, who actually needs to kiss a woman so her knickers aren’t in a twist all the time.”

“I’ll twist your knickers in a minute,” you threaten, fist raised to Gio in good humour.

“See what I mean? She needs to let off some steam.”

“Well, do it discreetly if you must. Do your shows, go out with the players, and bring whoever into your bed as long as they have tight lips and no vendetta against you. Gio, we’re going to have to say something about him ch–”

You gulp, not wanting your friend to cry again. “Wow, the view is really nice,” you interrupt, catching Anya’s appreciative nod in the corner of your eye as you splay your palm on the glass of the aircraft’s window, marvelling at Barcelona’s plazas and cobbled streets. Imagine this being your home, you think to yourself.

…

Jenni is squawking when Alexia makes her way into the circle of players during their drinks break. Alexia knows her friend is excited to go to the men’s game later on today, but she hadn’t realised it is to this extent until she gets grabbed by the forward and shaken as though she is a snowglobe.

“I got the golden ticket,” Jenni shouts in her ear, making their teammates around them laugh. “Me, you, and Mario are going to the match tonight!”

“I already knew that?” They don’t really get free tickets, but they can be heavily discounted. Tonight isn’t a super big deal, though Alexia may stand corrected. “Was I not supposed to know that?”

“Of course she doesn’t know,” Mariona says, squirting some of her water at the midfielder. She recoils from the droplets, but they land on her training top anyway, and Alexia is already pissed off with the entire world. “Alexia, do you seriously live under a football-shaped rock?”

Alexia takes a moment to brush off the teasing, picturing the bursting trophy cabinet that is almost within her grasp. “Yes, and it is very homely.”

“Madre mía, you are one of a kind,” Jenni says with a sigh, movements less aggressive as she drapes an arm around Alexia’s shoulders. “Guess who’s singing at half-time tonight. You’re going to drool so much that the people below us will think it’s raining.”

At this, Alexia knows exactly who Jenni is talking about, and she blushes though it could easily be mistaken for redness from exercising.

“I just think she’s pretty,” comes Alexia’s slightly defensive reply. They walk to the middle of the training pitch, rejoining the team as Xavi explains a confusing drill. Neither really listen.

“Is this your first celebrity crush?” Mariona jibes, overhearing the conversation and finding it necessary to join in. Any excuse to poke fun at the baby of the team.

Jenni ruffles Alexia’s hair, ruining her neat ponytail. “Alexia’s in love with a straight girl,” she sings.

It’s then that the whole team chooses to get involved, ears perking up at the mention of Alexia’s lovelife – a more or less forbidden topic. Their captain, Marta Unzué, even chimes in with a ‘we’ve all been there’. Like a stroppy teenager, Alexia folds her arms over her chest and turns to focus entirely on football, something that she knows she loves and loves her back. They leave her alone for the rest of the training session.

She even manages to forget about what comes after the first forty-five minutes of the match, sitting comfortably in a stadium that is her version of heaven.

You, on the other hand, cannot distance yourself from the nerves of performing in no less than ten minutes.

The players were nice when you accompanied Anya to speak to them, and they spent a good while fumbling their way through English to invite you all to join them tonight at Pacha. You took photos with Messi and Neymar to show your father.

The outfit, if you can call it that, is tight and could possibly show your entire bum to eight-five thousand Culers tonight if you’re not careful. Silver eyeshadow glistens in the mirror when you peer at your reflection, inspecting the bejewelled bralette and tiny shorts you are wearing.

Anya and Gio, who both look dazzling in their own silver combinations, tell you that it is time to get your microphones sorted. When you stand in the tunnel, ready to go out, you see that they have laid out a sheet on top of the grass so your heels don’t ruin it. Part of you wishes that you were in a football strip and boots. The music starts before you can get too reminiscent.

You sing with the same adrenaline you always get, and the crowd becomes a blur in your mind as you lose yourself to the melody. The bass hits your heart just like the lyrics do – especially since this song was written by Anya about her last boyfriend – and you hold back tears as the choreography leads your limbs in an energetic dance that must be entertaining to watch.

When it finishes, and your chest is rising and falling quickly as you try to catch your breath, Alexia thinks you almost catch her gaping at you. Your eyes seem to be scanning the stands. Maybe you see her.

Maybe that is why you, in your big, black hoodie and paparazzi-proof baseball cap are sitting in the stands of Estadi Johan Cruyff the very next day.

Alexia does not point you out to her teammates. You make it clear to all who recognise you that you are trying to be incognito, and either the fans at the stadium have no knowledge of popular culture, or they are granting you your privacy.

She is now the entertainer, shining under the spotlight of the bright sun, a ball at her feet like that is where all balls were made to be. And you watch carefully – she can feel it – but you do not stay long enough for her to even think about approaching you.

…

2016. Somewhere in the sky between LA and New York.

This time round, the tour has confirmed your hatred for all plane journeys, hotels, and sold-out concerts.

You’re dead on the inside, numb to the glitter and sparkles of your life, and your eyes are always halfway to being sealed shut in the deepest slumber humanly possible.

There are a few things that ease the disdain you have for your career, but none of those compare to the channel you have found that streams Barcelona Femení’s football matches. Your excuse, made to no one other than yourself, is that Manchester United has no women’s team. Of course you’d watch them instead, if you could.

“This is peak lesbianism,” Gio comments, her fifth time saying the exact same thing, prodding a napping Anya to alert her to your boredom-killer on the flight. You’re glad these planes have wi-fi. “We’re in America, which has all the women’s football in the world, and you still choose to watch your crappy little stream on your cracked iPad.”

“If you hadn’t decided to jump out at me, the screen would be just fine,” you grumble, transfixed on the way Alexia Putellas dribbles with the ball, turning and passing to Jennifer Hermoso who slots the ball right into the bottom-right corner of the net. The pitch looks damaged, and you really have researched how you can help out the sport, but it is hard to dispute anything the girls say about your crush on an unknown squad member when everyone knows you could get your football fix from the Premier League.

You’re yet to tell anyone that you have just bought this season’s Barcelona shirt. You’re not sure if you’d be invited on the family ski trip if your father were to find out.

“Sorry, sorry,” replies Gio, hands raised in the air, a gesture of surrender. In hindsight, your response was clipped. “Didn’t mean to distract you from such an important task. When will you tell us who it is that you fancy? We’ve been waiting for you to come to us, but, fuck me, you’ve got tight lips.”

“And, before you say it – we’re not nosy. We just care. And we find it cute.”

“And…”

“What?” you practically grunt, biting your tongue as a hefty challenge sends Alexia Putellas face-first onto the patchy grass. It makes your heart jump.

“Well, it’s not like she won’t want you, so make your move.”

“Just like you made your move on Justin Bieber?” She winces. “We did warn you, babe.”

“It’s alright,” Anya comforts with a small smile, though you are well aware of how funny she also found the situation. Being in LA, as a celebrity, is always an interesting experience. In Gio’s defence, she did not know about a certain model standing right behind her, and you are fairly sure she had run off to do lines with someone or other earlier. “But, yeah, seriously. Y/n, do you want us to guess?”

“Go on. Guess.” You smirk, because they’ll never–

Anya’s hand flaps as she puts her privately-educated memory to good use. “What’s-her-face?” she squeals, hand slapping down on her thigh as the name eludes her, the flapping resuming once she remembers. “Alexia Putellas!”

You rip your eyes from your cracked screen, widened in horror. “How did you know?” you ask, voice a whisper as you swallow your shock.

“You talk about her all the time. ‘Ooh, she’s the future’ this, ‘watch her grow’ that. Just talk to her. She’ll fancy you back.”

“She’s not a celebrity. Normal people don’t slide into people’s DMs like we do, and I have no clue whether or not she can speak English,” you reason, having said the same thing to yourself every time your finger hovers on that feature of Instagram. “And I don’t like her? You saw me kissing–”

“God, drop it. You know she kisses anyone with a mouth, and you also know that you’re lying your arse off. Whoever this footballer is, just talk to her. If anything, it’ll be good for you to spend time with someone who isn’t going to drag you right into their own closet.”

“Closets in LA can be very big,” you say with a sigh, having already received a lecture about the damage-control your publicist always seems to be doing. You don’t really think it’s ‘damage’ if a photo of you enjoying yourself with someone, but your publicity team deems any picture of you with a woman one to be locked away in some encrypted file and never released in the papers.

…

You: Hola! Congratulations on the win. :)

You cringe so hard, but you send it anyway, your friends leaning over either shoulder as they egg you on, wishing your closet gobbled you whole and spat you out somewhere further away than Narnia.

Alexia, in Barcelona, groans at the sound of her phone buzzing, wondering who on Earth is texting her this late.

And she drops the device on her face when she sees what the notification is.

Because it really does not make sense, and she is not used to the idea that women’s footballers could one day fraternise with celebrities like you without feeling out of place. (And she’s had a crush on you for about two years and you’re texting her at midnight to congratulate her.)

You, on the other hand, are gripping onto your phone with trembling hands, holding on for dear life. Anya, who claims her C in A-level Spanish was unjust and incorrect, is brainstorming your next message, adamant that you’ll seem cooler if you display some knowledge of her mother tongue. You don’t tell her that, of course, Alexia’s first language would have been Catalan, because you don’t want it to be obvious that you have done a little bit (a lot) of research.

Gio tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear for you – a comforting gesture. “Hey,” she says kindly, “what’s the worst that could happen?”

She tries.

She fails.

You have compiled a list within a millisecond. “I don’t know,” you start, but, oh, you do. “She could screenshot the conversation and leak it to Twitter? Or she’s not a lesbian and she is disgusted that I am? She could have a girlfriend? She could think my account’s been hacked and report me and everything’ll be deleted? Or all of the above?!”

The chat is still open on your phone, but you can’t see past your tidal wave of anxiety.

“I think you’re just nervous.” Understatement of the century.

Before you can make a snide remark saying exactly that but to Anya’s face, your message is no longer the only one present.

“She replied!” you shout, volume a concoction of fear and excitement and a thousand emotions in between.

Alexia: Gracias por ver :)

“Thanks for watching,” Anya translates.

You exhale. “Okay. Done. No more.” You ignore both of their facepalms with the sort of blissful ignorance you’re sure only delusional people possess, but it is better to have a healthy heart rate than to understand the lyrics to whatever ballad the two of them have in the works.

…

“Kiss her.”

“What?”

“Just kidding,” Jenni giggles, winking at Alexia and stealing her glass of something-not-too-strong.

The team has been invited to a party with the men’s team, all because their favourite girl group is back in town and are treating the club like a pit-stop on their way to Madrid for the European-leg of their tour. The album has been in the top ten worldwide ever since it was released.

Alexia looks good tonight, as said by Jenni who thought her wardrobe consisted solely of football strips and Barcelona merchandise, and she revels in her little secret. Your little secret. She hasn’t told anyone that you messaged her two months ago, even if the conversation ended with her response.

Which is why Jenni is set on teasing Alexia about her non-existent chance with you, especially when you have spent your entire night on the other side of the reception room, deep in conversation with Neymar Jr., who is not shameful about his appreciation for the plunging neckline of your tight dress. He has a girlfriend, but Alexia has seen enough tabloid headlines to know that most famous people don’t care.

Your glass is always full, though that is your own doing. Something about the way a pair of hazel eyes have been watching you from the minute you walked in makes the air around you feel heavier than it should, and alcohol helps to dull your fluster.

Anya and Gio have circled back a few times, adding to their persuasion each lap. When you see Gio heading your way, a small smile playing on her lips as someone or other trails behind, you excuse yourself from your conversation with your personal hero (who, sadly, would be able to describe your boobs but not your face if he were asked) and clasp your fingers around her forearm, pulling the two of you even further from a certain women’s footballer on the other side of the room.

“She’s staring,” says Gio in a low voice, leaning in to speak into your ear. “She’s staring at you like she wants to eat you.”

“I’d let her,” you reply, lips loosened from the champagne you’ve been drinking. “She is beautiful.”

“She is still staring.”

You decide to be bold. You stare back, and Alexia is trapped, frozen to the spot. “She is so beautiful.”

“Now you’re both staring.”

“I’m going to talk to her.”

“You should,” she encourages, slurring. The blur might come from your distraction, your drunkenness, or her own intoxication. You don’t care.

Absently, you nod. “Yeah.”

She presses her fingertips between your shoulder blades, cold hands making you shiver. “Go. You got this.”

“Yeah.”

She pushes you away from her, in Alexia’s direction. Your feet carry you on what feels like an inevitable path.

And you… walk right past her, out of the door, and into the warm air of the evening to have a smoke instead.

Behind you, Gio lets out a silent scream, turning right around and giving up on your happiness because what more can she do? And Alexia, who is confused about what just happened and bored of this event anyway, is glad to be given an excuse to leave.

Except, you are blocking her exit, cigarette pressed to your lips as you inhale the smoke like it is a lifeline. She frowns, lips a tight line of disappointment, really. “¿Tú fumas?” she asks, though she knows both the answer and of your incompetence when it comes to her language.

You let your eyes meet hers, and Alexia shivers, though she tells herself it is only because it’s November. “Hola,” you reply.

For some reason, Alexia is drawn in. She steps closer to you, and you don’t have anywhere to go, backed against the wall you are leaning on. You’re drunk, and the cigarette has burned down to a stub of orange and black. She’s also drunk – less so than you – and she has nothing to lose right now. She is no one, in her mind, and you are far from prudish.

She decides, once she is barely ten centimetres away from you, that your dress is provocative, but it only adds to your existing beauty. You push your chest out, standing up straighter.

The dance is very still, and very silent, but you can imagine what it feels like to kiss her and you know that she is thinking the same thing.

“You can, if you want to,” you whisper, hoping she understands.

Luckily, she does.

Alexia fumbles her way through the first tentative second, shocked that this is what she is doing, but she finds her footing and relaxes into the taste of champagne and cigarette smoke, the heat of your body sparking a fire within her. You pull her closer, pressing her body into yours, and you are now consumed by desperation. The kiss grows messier, and Alexia’s hands begin to roam, mind lost in a haze of desire. She is explorative but she is gentle, and you gasp into her mouth as her tongue pushes past your lips and a hand settles on the curve of your bum, the other cupping your jaw.

Briefly, she wonders how many girls you have done this with. You seem experienced. The thought, while a little disturbing, sort of spurs her on, feeding into her competitive nature. This will be unforgettable for her regardless of the outcome because it’s an interesting story to tell, but what about you? Are you even aware of what you’re doing? Are you straight? No, you can’t be. You messaged her, so you started this. She is only… finishing it?

You sense her distraction, pulling back with a blink and a deep intake of fresh air. She tries to move back, afraid of what comes next, but you don’t let her go, clutching onto the hardened muscles of her arms to hold her in place, ready to kiss her again.

The moment is spoilt by a voice – an English voice – and the theft of your attention. Your eyes, previously hooded and dark, widen as they flit towards the door behind her, terribly upset that your friends have developed the worst timing known to man. Gio shouts again, telling you that it’s time to go. You have to get to Madrid, and the pilot would be incredibly annoyed to hear that the flight was delayed because you were too caught up in snogging a girl you may or may not fancy.

“We really need to go!” Anya repeats, growing impatient with you as you debate giving up your entire music career. “Like, it is insane how badly you need to get your arse over here to say your goodbyes and then jump in the taxi to the airport with us.”

“Can it just–”

“No!” they both shout in unison.

You sigh, looking at Alexia, the proximity prodding at a feeling low in your stomach. She doesn’t squirm under the intensity of your gaze, instead sporting a lazy, blissfully ignorant grin. And you’re about to break her little heart.

“I have to go,” you say softly, forehead resting on her shoulder as you mumble your words out. You have a duty to your job, or, as Virgil puts it: labor omnia vincit. Work conquers all.

“You have to…?” she tries.

“Go.”

“Tiene que irse,” Anya translates, reminding you of her presence (and her much better comprehension of Spanish). “Ahora.”

“Ah.” Alexia’s hand cups the back of your neck as you raise your head, and she kisses you, though the kiss is short.

You pat your body down with a sudden haste, wandering past your alcohol-clouded thoughts to remember the location of your ticket, reaching down to grab your clutch from where you’d dropped it on the floor while having a smoke. It pops open as Alexia watches your movements, and you retrieve a pen and a scrunched up ticket (you have no idea why that’s in there, but you are grateful that it is).

“Here.” You hand her the ticket, pressing it into the palm of her hand and then sealing your goodbye with a quick peck to her lips.

Then, you are gone, running off at an impressive speed in those heels, chasing your friends into the building.

She pauses herself in time for a moment, drawing back her grasp on reality as her thoughts still and she breathes in your lingering perfume. And then she blinks – blinks her way back into midnight in Barcelona.

She opens her palm to see what your gift was, unfolding the piece of paper with an overwhelming curiosity that almost rips it at the edges.

A boarding pass from London Stansted to Barcelona-El Prat Airport, decorated in fresh, black ink.

Scrawled on top of the flight details is something much more valuable than the entrance into First Class the paper allows.

Eleven digits.

Twenty-two-year-old Alexia Putellas, the catalyst for change in women’s football as the world knows it, suddenly sees her future set right out in front of her. Because there you are.

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso #woso fanfics #barca femeni #fc barcelona

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kana-daydreams · 3 months

Text

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 || 𝐙𝐨𝐫𝐨(𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐀)

summary: Zoro surprises you with a compliment and you express your appreciation with a surprise of your own—by unintentionally stealing his first kiss. genre: fluff cw: added just a li'l bit of spice wc: 3.3k kana's notes: This was originally suppose to be a drabble, but ig I couldn't help myself😓. Anyways hope you enjoy my fellow Zoro lovers :D

“Told you it was a waste of time.” Nami drawls as she continues to peruse through racks of clothes searching for an outfit to wear for tonight’s dinner while you sit, sulking in a corner next to a discarded heap.

“You don’t have to rub it in y’know.” You lift your head from off your knees to peer up at your friend with a pout. “I’m already regretting all my past decisions.” You say, feeling heat bloom at your cheeks as you recall the couple of model worthy poses (well at least you think they were) you’d mustered up the courage to perform in front of a certain green-haired individual as you tried on multiple styles of clothes ranging from cute to elegant along with a few that showed off some skin— none seeming to had piqued the swordsman’s interest. Not even shamelessly batting your lashes had been enough to earn an ounce of a reaction from him except for his concern that something might have gotten stuck in your eye.

You release a stifled cry at the embarrassing memory, plopping your head back down onto your knees.

“Why did I have to fall for someone incapable of giving a girl a decent compliment?” You say, your words muffled by the fabric of the outfit you’re wearing.

Fishing for compliments wasn’t a habit of yours and seeking validation for your appearance, especially from a guy, definitely wasn’t either. You knew you were a hottie— by your standards anyways. It’s just that you really had somewhat of a thing for Zoro who you’d known for some time now, and hearing him compliment you for just once in your life, no matter how small it was—even if it was only a single word—would be more than enough to send you, having lived a fulfilling life, right to heaven’s pearly white gates.

“C’mon, it’s not the end of the world.” Nami crouches down at your level, giving you a tender pat on the head and you peek an eye open at her to notice that she’s changed into a beautiful and traditional chinese dress; its red colour complementing her ginger-orange hair.

“I’ve already told you, you look great. Sexy and cute— a deadly combination.” She gives you a wink and you giggle lightly at the action.

“Thanks, Nami.” You smile.

“No problem.” She lightly pinches your cheeks before standing to her full height. “Now let's finish getting ready, shall we?” She extends a hand down at you. “I have a bet to win.”

You playfully roll your eyes, remembering her bet with Luffy before taking her hand, the two of you making your way out the grandeur of the closet.

Later at night, under the dazzling lights of a grand chandelier, you and the rest of your newly formed crew along with Usopp—a boy you and the others recently befriended—stand scattered about the spacious foyer of Miss Kaya’s home, awaiting the birthday girl’s presence as you mingle and indulge your taste buds with lavish delicacies being served around on silver platters.

While you and the crew wine and dine, Zoro stands amongst his own company near the staircase, nursing in his hands, his fourth glass of cocktail—deep brown eyes pinned on your form standing beside Luffy and Usopp.

He watches as you converse with them and as you chow down on platter after platter of food like it’s the last meal of your life alongside Luffy, his gaze drinking in your every smile, your every laugh and the adorable expressions you make as you stuff your cheeks full with every bit of food that comes your way. It makes him wonder if you and Luffy are having a full on eating competition at the rate the two of you are going.

He only takes his gaze off you when he realises his glass is empty after he goes to chug some of the liquid down, discarding it onto a nearby end table laden with a few more empty glasses alike.

His eyes then search across the room for the server, wanting to satiate his taste for more alcohol, flitting over in your direction when he hears the sound of your voice calling his name.

“Zoro, you’ve gotta try these!”

Zoro watches as you approach him with animated steps and glances down at the tray you carry in your hands to see chocolate, pink and milk-white covered squares.”

“Is that cho—”

“Yes! And it’s really good!” You bounce on the balls of your feet, the action making Zoro suspect that you’d had way too much chocolate than your sweet tooth could handle.

“Here, you should try this one.”

“Chocolate isn’t really my th—” Zoro cuts himself short when he sees one of your hands pick up a chocolate-coated square, offering it to him.

He looks down at the piece of chocolate pinched lightly between your fingers, then back up at your face beaming with a wide smile and then around the room at everyone occupied either in conversation or eating, before returning to settle his gaze back onto you.

He heaves a sigh. “Does it have alcohol?”

“I don’t think so, but I can go ask if there's any wi—”

“No, it’s fine.”

Zoro stops you before you can leave, and you watch as he leans forward a bit, shuts his eyes and slightly parts his lips, his actions causing your head to tilt slightly in confusion.

Your questioning look, however, doesn’t last long, slowly fading away and morphing into one of surprise when your brain registers the purpose of his actions.

You almost heave a cough, feeling heat creep up your neck; burning at your cheeks while your hand remains extended with the chocolate held between your fingers as you continue to stand there, unmoving, simply staring up at him— up at a sight you never quite expected to see or would ever see.

When Zoro doesn’t feel any sign of sugary sweet pressing against his lips, he peeks an eye open to see you staring at him, wide-eyed and mouth agape.

“What are you waiting for?”

“N-Nothing!” Your voice immediately squeaks out.

Zoro only lets out a hum at your response before once again closing his eyes, waiting for you to feed him the chocolate square.

You swallow hard. And your heart rate picks up as you inch the chocolate closer to his mouth, its beat increasing more so when the tips of your fingers brush against his soft lips.

When Zoro feels a sweet warmth mixed with a hint of salt melting against his tongue, he doesn’t have much of a reaction and simply opens his eyes to look down at you.

“I-It’s good? Isn’t it?”

Zoro nods. “Yeah.”

Silence.

“Okay, well, um..I’m gonna go,” you say with a nervous chuckle, pointing a thumb behind you. “Gonna see what else they uh, gotta eat.” You slowly start to reverse your steps, bumping into the server behind you as you do, almost knocking her over along with the full platter of food in her hands.

You profusely apologise to the woman who sends you a disapproving glare before continuing with robot-like movement back in the direction you came, unable to see the hint of red that colours the tips of Zoro’s ears and also the way his gaze lingers on your retreating figure, all the while he stands there regretting that he still couldn’t find the courage nor the right words to tell you how beautiful you were in the outfit you’d chosen to wear tonight, and how cute, pretty—and sexy you looked in the many more he had watched you try on.

When Kaya’s birthday dinner unfortunately comes to an early close due to her outbreak of rattling coughs, she’s kind enough to allow you along with your friends to stay the night unlike her overprotective butler who wasn’t keen on extending your stay, especially after Luffy and his big rubber mouth revealed that you were pirates.

However, instead of lying, snuggled under the thick, warm blankets of a queen size bed, you traverse through a dim-lit hallway in search of the kitchen to help yourself to a midnight snack.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have given up on looking for Luffy.” You murmur to yourself as you continue to amble along the empty halls with no sense of direction as to where you were going, involuntarily releasing a gasp when your body suddenly collides into another, one more firmer than your own, just as you round a nearby corner.

You look up at the figure that slightly towers over your form, a much less startled expression on their face.

“Z-Zoro?!” You breathe a sigh of relief at the swordsman’s presence. “Thank the heavens you're not that scary butler. What are you doing here?” Your eyes dart down to the three swords attached to his right hip.

“I’m looking for a drink.” Zoro watches as you place a hand across your chest, attempting to calm yourself down from the jumpscare he’d unintentionally given you. “What about you?”

“Food hunt.” You look back up at him with a small smile.

“...Right.”

There’s a lull in the conversation as you notice Zoro’s gaze fall behind you and on instinct, you turn around to see where his eyes follow.

“Where’s Luffy?”

The swordsman expected that if you were here; Luffy was here, as the two of you seemed to be joined at the hip everywhere you went, especially when food was involved.

You turn your gaze back to him. “Back in his room, I guess.” You say, your hand no longer attached to your chest trying to calm your racing heart. “I did plan on inviting him, but I don’t know where his room is.”

Something that wasn’t your fault since you were the first to be assigned a room and didn’t get to see where the others’ rooms were.

“So…” you drawl and Zoro glances down at you to see your lips curve into a mischievous smirk. .

“Since Luffy isn’t here...” you continue. “Wanna be my partner in crime instead? You know, help me scour the kitchen for some gold?” You suggest, with a slight wiggle of your eyebrows.

Your words seem to pique the swordsman’s interest as similar to you, a smirk pulls at his lips and he makes a gesture with his head for you to lead the way and you do, him falling in step beside you.

Apparently, you taking the lead was not the best idea when it came to navigating through a house designed like a maze—a fact you should have known with hindsight—as you and Zoro still continue to roam around the mansion like headless chickens for what seems like about an hour.

“Why is this place so huge?!” You groan and release somewhat of a frustrated cry, already feeling the urge to quit your endeavour of a kitchen raid. Though, you do not act on the tempting idea since you have no clue of the direction you and Zoro came from—the soft grumbles of your stomach doing little to curb your frustration.

Zoro, as he walks beside you, remains silent at your mini-breakdown, his head craning in your direction when he hears you speak again.

“By the way,” You start. “How was the party?” You ask, trying—key word, trying— to keep your mind from being occupied by the thought of food and mostly because you couldn’t let the opportunity of your alone time with Zoro slip past you.

“The alcohol was good.”

You wait to hear if he will add more, but he doesn’t, not surprised that his reply ends rather abruptly.

“Yeah, it was.” You agree.

Zoro arches an inquisitive brow. “You drink?”

“Not exactly. But the mocktails were great and so was the food.” You smile and so does Zoro, one so faint that your eyes fail to catch it, when he recalls the happy expression on your face as you devoured any and everything that passed your way; continuing to listen at the soft and vibrant melody of your voice that fills his ears.

“...and what I loved most of all were the desserts, especially those choco..lates.” Your voice suddenly falls when the memory of you feeding Zoro pops into mind, together with how soft his lips felt when your fingers brushed against them.

“Something wrong?”

You glance to your right to see that Zoro is looking at you with a concerned expression, your face warming from his attention.

“Ah, N-No. Nothing’s wrong.” You reassure him with a small smile. “Just got sidetracked, that’s all.” You go silent shortly after your response when your eyes make the mistake of flickering down to his lips and quickly turn your attention away from him, dropping your gaze to the ground.

Zoro doesn’t know what causes your sudden silence which prolongs as you both continue down the hall, but he does know that he misses the sound of your voice which leads to him racking his brain for a topic that might be interesting enough to get you to speak again, blurting out the first thing that comes to mind.

“That outfit you wore tonight—It was nice.”

The words you think you hear Zoro say makes you slow to a stop.

When Zoro notices you’re no longer walking beside him, he turns to see your shock-filled features, immediately feeling himself go pale, and starts to regret the words that just spilled from his mouth—words he’d held back from telling you at Kaya's birthday dinner the entire time his eyes were glued on to you.

“W-What did you say?” You recover just enough to ask.

Zoro, who stands no more than a few feet away from you, looks back at you and ponders if he should just play it off due to your reaction, but tells himself that doing so would be a cowardly move—and he was not a coward.

He directs his head to the side to keep his face that flushes a light shade of red away from your view. “The outfit you wore at dinner. It looked really nice on you.” He says again, his voice seeming to struggle to get the words out.

You feel heat rush to your skin.

So you did hear him right the first time.

You replay Zoro's words in your head before nervously raising your gaze to look at him. “So, um…” You fidget a bit where you stand. “You think I looked pretty?”

Zoro visibly flinches at your question, still very much avoiding any eye contact.

“Yeah.” He manages an answer after what seems like a couple of seconds. “You always look pretty.”

At his response, a full and goofy smile blossoms on your lips. Then, without thinking—so overcome with joy at Zoro’s one in a lifetime compliment of you that it pushes most of your nervousness aside— your footsteps start moving closer towards his direction, and you tip-toe, just a little to reach his height, aiming at showing your appreciation for his words by gifting him with a kiss on his cheek.

However the supple softness that your lips meet when you kiss Zoro is not the softness of his cheek, but that of his lips instead when he suddenly turns his head in your direction.

Both Zoro’s dark eyes and yours widen at the realisation and you stumble back, away from him, watching as he touches a finger to his lips.

“I-I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that!” Your face steams as you attempt to explain yourself for the accidental kiss. “I-I was just trying to give you a kiss on the cheek—not on your l-lips.”

Dread fills you when you realise that Zoro doesn’t have much of a reaction towards your words and all sorts of thoughts race through your mind at what he might be thinking about the indecent act.

Though all your worries subside when Zoro eventually decides to speak.

“Can…we do that again?”

Your eyes become saucers at his request. “W-what?”

“I..I want you to kiss me again.”

You almost choke.

Never in this lifetime or any lifetime would you think the stoic swordsman would utter such a request—one that you will be more than happy to fulfil, despite your buckling knees.

“A-Are you sure?”

In a few steps, Zoro closes the distance between you both; a gasp leaving your lips when you feel his strong arms snake around your waist pulling you into his larger frame.

“Yes, I'm sure.”

Your heart races as he silently stares down at you, noticing his gaze flicker down to your lips, then slowly back up to meet your eyes.

Heat creeps up your neck at the action, settling on your face and increases ever so slightly at the feeling of the heat that radiates off of Zoro's skin through his clothes from his body being flush against your own.

"You don't want to?" Zoro asks when he notices your somewhat hesitant expression. "It's fine if—"

"No. I do, I do." You rush out, reassuring him that the feeling is mutual. "It's just..." You hesitate. "I've never kissed someone. Well except for you—just now." You smile sheepishly. "I...I might be bad."

Zoro's gaze softens at your words. "Same goes for me."

You feel your heart swell and warmth rise to your cheeks. "That..I was your first?"

Zoro answers you with a single nod, the blush deepening on his face.

You let the revelation sink in: You were Zoro's first kiss.

A reality you can't help but take a moment of silence to relish in as you remain caged between Zoro's arms and the comforting warmth of his body, a warm smile subconsciously gracing your face.

"Can you close your eyes?" your voice comes out barely above a whisper when you're finished relishing in the moment.

Zoro's face wrinkles in confusion. "Why?"

"Because I want to kiss you. "Your voice quavers a bit as you speak. "Won't it be weird if we do it with our eyes open? Though if that's your thing—"

"No. I'll close 'em." Zoro says as his eyes immediately flutter close. And with his eyelids pressed shut, you can't help but stare back at him, admiring every inch of his handsome face and the deep blush that paints its tan skin.

Gingerly, one of your hands reaches up to caress one side of his face as you lean in, swallowing lightly when your lips near his, but pause just before they could meet. "You're really sure about this, right?" You can't help but ask the question again just for good measure.

Zoro shudders a little from the soft touch of your hand against his cheek, and also when he feels the warmness of your breath brush against his lips a few inches away from your own.

He doesn't answer your question immediately and it makes your heart sink that he might be having second thoughts until you feel his lips press tenderly against yours in a feather-light kiss.

The sudden action renders your body somewhat into a state of surprised stillness. But only for a beat, before your eyes flutter close, hands circling Zoro's neck as you lean into the kiss that starts off slow with you both savouring the taste of each other; before it escalates into one more confident, filled with longing and passion.

And the next day after you and Zoro shared a heated kiss at midnight in the dim lights of a lone hallway—forced to pull away, when Luffy unexpectedly popped out from nowhere— you both sneak a quick kiss at the shipyard, where eyes cannot lurk, before joining the rest of the crew who’d acquired a new member to its team, aboard its first ship—The Going Merry.

reblogs appreciated🥰

#𓇻 kana's op ddrms #zoro x reader #one piece x reader #zoro x f!reader #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro fluff #op fluff #canonverse

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g1rld1ary · 3 months

Text

kiss me on the dance floor ; remus lupin x reader

➻ yayay first remus fic !! happy valentines!!!!!!! (my fav holiday <33)

➻ word count: 2071

➻ synopsis: you and remus keep meeting when you have to hold your friend's hair back at parties; it turns out to be effective bonding time

➻ warnings: alcohol & being drunk, drug use/being high (minor), mentions of vomiting, swearing, kissing, fluff

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You liked parties a very normal amount. You weren’t massively into drinking or staying out all night every night, but you liked to dance and you liked spending your weekends with your friends, so you ended up at most of the parties thrown around Hogwarts. The best of these were the ones thrown by the Gryffindors; they had the best music, the best booze, and usually the cutest boys.

On one fateful Friday evening you were attending one of the aforementioned Gryffindor parties — this one specifically in honour of Halloween. You and your group of friends had all decided to go together, coordinating outfits to be Charlie’s Angels from the muggle television show. Looking and feeling good you’d all enjoyed the party to its fullest, spending the long hours of the night dancing and drinking. That was, until your best friend, Jen, began to appear more shaky than upright, and you knew exactly what was coming.

You grabbed her hand and led her through the crowd, mercilessly elbowing guys out of the way when they tried to start conversation.

“Hey, where’s the bathroom?” You shouted at James Potter, who pointed you along to a hallway leading off into relative darkness. You tried to hurry the both of you along, hoping to spare your friend the embarrassment of vomiting all over the Gryffindor common room, and you could have kissed the ground for making it in time if it wasn’t so grimy. The crisis directed your focus until you were absolutely sure Jen had made it over the bowl and her ponytail was safely in your hands. After the urgency had somewhat worn off your eyes could take in the rest of the room, noticing there were already two inhabitants in the room, one hunched over the sink.

Remus Lupin was the one holding back the other’s hair, which gave you a pretty good indication it must have been Sirius Black. Remus was already looking at you when you locked eyes and you gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“Hey,” He said, patting a hand on Sirius’ back to soothe him.

“Hi,” You replied. You’d never spoken to him properly before despite being in school together all these years, but you supposed now was as good a time as any.

“How are you liking the party?” Remus asked and you almost laughed.

“Well the party itself is just fine — the Gryffindor music is almost always better than Slytherin’s EDM shit. Can’t say I’m as pleased with my current job, though.” You seemed to have amused Remus judging from the snort he released and you felt a flash of pride.

“I’ll take your compliment, it’s almost always my records James puts on for parties,” Then he lowered his voice to a stage whisper, “But I never lend him my Bowie records — they’re basically my children.”

“That’s not true, Moons,” Sirius interrupted, momentarily pulling his head up, “He was playing my Zeppelin tape before.” Remus gave him a smile similar to one you might give a child when you know you need to acknowledge what they’re saying but knew they were talking complete nonsense. You decided to focus on Remus’ earlier statement.

“I love Bowie!”

Once you’d found some common ground the conversation was easy. You sat for almost half an hour, the two of you chatting lightly whilst feeding your respective friends water and waiting until they were ready to be upright again. You almost dreaded leaving the gross toilets, your unexpected meeting with Remus becoming the surprise highlight of your night. You hesitated at the door.

“We should get going. The rest of our friends are probably worried,” You trailed off awkwardly, unsure of how to end your acquaintance.

“It was nice talking to you,” Said Remus, “Despite the, uh,” He gestured at the location. You laughed, nodding.

“Well, if you’re anything like me, I’m sure I’ll see you next time.” With that you and Jen said your goodbyes, waving at Sirius and Remus before darting into the crowd to find the rest of your roommates.

You saw Remus again sooner rather than later. Not at the Slytherin party the next Friday — the Marauders refused to go on principle — but at the Ravenclaw one the weekend after to celebrate their quidditch win. This time he was comforting Peter, not Sirius, and you didn’t even know the girl you’d accompanied into the bathroom. You were pretty sure she was a year or two below you, but you didn’t want her to be all alone while she was drunk.

Remus smiled softly as you explained that to him, getting so invested in your storytelling that he momentarily loosened his grip on Peter’s sandy mop. You both winced at the dull thud of his forehead hitting the toilet bowl. He simply laughed, which in turn made both you and Remus laugh, states possibly heightened by substances but you weren’t admitting anything. Your laughter subsided and you looked at Remus quietly, scrutinising his face. You liked talking to him, he wasn’t nearly as mean as his resting bitch face or the rumours made him seem. In fact he was quite nice, complimenting your outfit and giving you pointers when you started whining about the essay you were procrastinating.

It started to become a habit, the two of you meeting like that at parties and ending up hiding in the toilets for longer than was strictly necessary to take care of your respective friends. After three instances you were pretty confident you could even call him a friend, the interactions lasting outside of the singular moments at parties.

The first time he’d acknowledged you in the light of day with a wave as you passed him in the hallway you were too stunned to return it, only able to spare him a backwards glance when he had already passed. You had to ask the roommate you were walking with if it was even directed at you. Remus, in turn, was on the verge of humiliation when he thought he’d totally misread your interactions for something more than just necessity, quietly devastated when you didn’t return his greeting and interpreting it as you not actually wanting to be friends.

You managed to ease his worries the next time you bumped into him, a shy but excited “Hi, Remus!” when you passed him entering your shared potions class. You didn’t stay to watch his friends make a ridiculous fuss over the minute interaction, Sirius in particular knowing exactly what was going on. But you were glad you were becoming real friends nonetheless, the prospect of possibly talking not in a greasy toilet sounding very appealing.

Despite the introduction of small ‘hellos’ and waves when you crossed paths, your schedules were hardly aligned, so most of your relationship was confined to the parties you attended. Neither the Marauders nor your own friend group were ignorant of the two of you becoming individually more eager to attend these parties, and you could have sworn they’d started exaggerating their drunkenness to get you two to spend more time with each other.

A Valentine’s Day party in February had you dressed in your prettiest pink and white dress, the Gryffindor common room the perfect venue for a red-themed party. You’d been enjoying the party itself; you’d come up with a game where you guessed which music belonged to which Marauder — the best tracks were always Remus’.

When Jen tugged on your arm saying she was feeling sick far too early in the night you raised an eyebrow, but you weren’t going to be the arsehole who let her be sick on her own. And so you participated in the near-weekly ritual of steering her through the crowd towards the bathroom you were now well acquainted with.

For the first time in a while you were the first two in there. You stared at Jen curiously. She wasn’t exactly retching over the toilet despite the act she’d put on earlier. You were just trying to figure out how to ask the question when the door pushed open, and in walked Sirius and Remus. You could have sworn Sirius had winked at Jen, but you were too enamoured by Remus to be focusing on anyone else. Sirius at least had the decency to commit to his performance, leaning over the sink, occasionally groaning half-heartedly.

You and Remus took your customary places next to each other, periodically rubbing your friends’ backs lightly. You made light conversation with him, enjoying the way he got when he was high. His eyes became softer, hazel shining through as he locked eyes on you. Your favourite was his smile though, dopey and eliciting easy giggles at every joke you made. You were engaged in a passionate conversation about aliens when Sirius groaned louder than his pre-vomit sounds.

“Merlin, would you please just kiss already! Moony’s mooning over you!” He cried, and you watched as Remus face flushed an adorable shade of red. You assumed yours probably matched, but you were at least handling it better than the boy across from you, who looked like he wanted to drop dead in that moment. You couldn’t contain your giggle, slapping a hand over your mouth to try and lessen Remus’ embarrassment. You set your eyes on Sirius instead.

“I’m not kissing anyone in the fucking bathroom, no matter how cute they are.” You chanced a wink at Remus, then followed Jen out of the bathroom, trying not to betray how flustered you were by your own actions.

The two of you giggled all the way back to the rest of your friends, who were promptly filled in on the story and let out similar shrieks. A glance over at Remus’ friends showed them already looking at you, James Potter with a delighted expression on his face. You turned away and missed Remus’ friends hyping him up, Peter handing him a full-looking shot for confidence.

The next thing you knew, a hand slung around your shoulder. You looked up, smiling when it was the slightly dazed frame of Remus Lupin, giving you a fond grin.

“Wanna dance?” You were surprised at his request, everyone knew Remus Lupin hated dancing. And yet, here he was dancing with you to Pink Floyd as your friends made kissy faces when he wasn’t looking. You were just happy to be spending time with him not on the bathroom floor.

You were about four songs in and you could tell that Remus was tired but you were still puzzled as to why he hadn’t sat down yet. You were pretty sure even his high was wearing off which would ordinarily be an indication it was time for him to leave. But he was here. For you. You were about to question him when he leant down so his mouth was right next to your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“I know you said you wouldn’t kiss me in the bathroom, but how about a dance floor?” You could feel your jaw drop open.

“I… would say that dance floor is a green zone.” You smiled. You watched him return it, so close you could see every fleck of colour dancing around his eyes. He closed the distance first, scooping you up into his arms and kissing you with such fervour you could only imagine how long he’d been waiting for it. You returned it just as eagerly, swiping your tongue across his bottom lip to deepen it as you’d daydreamed about in class just days ago.

A frightening yell came from behind Remus and you both pulled away to investigate, rolling your eyes when it was just Sirius — clearly smashed but surprisingly wholesome in his celebrations of you and Remus finally taking some action. His heavy hand clapped Remus on the shoulder, rambling nonsense that emphasised how long it had taken the two of you to bite the bullet. Both of you ignored him, stuck in ignorant bliss, sneaking kisses between bouts of laughter.

All in all, it was a pretty decent Valentine’s Day — not actually needing to clean any throw-up was just an added bonus.

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emotionallyattachednerd · 7 months

Text

Only Human | TP Ratchet x f!human reader | NSFW 18+

Word count: 2500+

Warnings: Smut ( sex and light bdsm ), soft dom Ratchet, angst, depression and robot on human.NSFW 18+.

Notes: This story was made from two requests. The title was originally 'Aftercare' but I felt this new title was more suited for this story. There's a lot of emotions going on, and a human just being human, like we all do, and Ratchet having patiences with her. There's more angst than smut which is slightly different, but I did like to get into the angst a bit.

Thanks for all your support. Enjoy. 🥰

☕ Coffee

Everything lately has been such a big effort, from simply getting out of bed, eating food, or even brushing your teeth, everything just feels like a lot of work. You get these moods every now and again, though this time it seems it's lingering longer than you would like.

Working as a nurse had its ups and downs. You love helping others, making them smile and even sharing a small conversation with your patients. Although it can be quite intense, both mentally and physically, wearing you down day and night until you just want to hide under my blankets and never come out.

It seems the only good thing you have is Ratchet. You both met through June, after seeing one of them by accident and you were suddenly thrust into a world you never imagined, and you both slowly grew fond of one another.

Over time you both start growing more serious, and you discover he has certain kinks, as you do as well, and we are happy to participate together to fulfil these desires. In the past you've had horrible ex boyfriends with the same kinks, only for them to never work or they were just heartless towards you, at least this is how it felt.

All in the past. Ratchet is different, on so many levels, and you want there to be a future for you both. Although those thoughts lately have been clouded as you weren't even sure how to fix yourself, and you feared he'll grow tired of your dull mood soon enough and leave.

It was date night, and you put on your best smile and outfit for Ratchet, trying to sugar coat everything to be as happy as possible. When he comes over he uses what is called mass displacement, giving him to become your size at least. This you liked, because it means you can spend time together anywhere, and even much more sexual things together.

All you want is to keep Ratchet happy, to give him reason to stay with you, to show you weren't boring at all and keep what you have still thriving. You're a good girl after all.

You lay across his lap and let out a squeaky gasp as he gives your bottom a slap across your already sensitive cheek, which you lust after of course. Getting spanked like a bad little girl has always been a kink for you, and Ratchet seems to like it himself as he skillfully treats each side to a slap and whispering praises to you.

You weren’t being punished, you both only did it for fun.

This goes on for a bit, gasps turning into moans before he finally stops and tugs your skirt back down across your bottom. "That's a good girl." He allows you to stand back up

Your legs are so weak that you're unable to hold your weight up. Ratchet has you though, he always does, making sure you are looked after. None of your ex boyfriends ever did this so it was a little confusing at first.

"Ratchet, I'm fine." You try to assure him as he holds you in his arms and places you with care on the bed, settling you in his lap as he starts to gently massage your shoulders. You can't help but moan faintly from the contact and the soothing release it gives you.

"Hm. I want to do this, to give you attention and comfort, provide care for you." Ratchet answers, though he sounds perhaps a little leery, like he was treading carefully. You pick up on this but decide to not say anything.

Instead, you lean into his touches, trying to relax yourself under his touches. This goes on for a bit, and when he does stop he helps you sit up on the bed, soft gravely optics staring at you. He breaks.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, fine." You shrug it off, wanting to move on, but he refuses.

"Don't lie to me, please. You've been like this for weeks, only it's worse tonight. I wish I didn't ignore it before but I didn't want to impose or...." His pause has your attention.

"Or what?"

"If there's someone else in your life, someone human." He was hesitant as he asked this.

"Someone else? No, no, there's no one else. Why would you think that?" The fact he thought you might be cheating on him does hurt a little. He vents, a heavy relief leaving him.

"Then what's going on?"

"I already told you, nothing!" You snap, wanting to move on, but he wasn't going to make it that easy.

"Stop lying, I'm begging you, just talk to me. It's not just me, June has taken notice your clouded mood and she's worried about you, I am as well."

"So you're talking about me behind my back?"

"Primus..." Ratchet lets out an onerous vent, so heavy you feel the heat fog against your skin. "You shouldn't get upset because we care about you. I want to help, but I can't if you don't talk to me about what's going on. Please, I love you, and it breaks my spark to see you like this."

Your bottom lip quivers and you finally break down, sobbing gently as you bury your face in your hands while feeling his servo running across your back. You hate this, feeling weak and broken. Finally, you find your voice.

"Ratchet, it has nothing to do with you. This is how I am, an emotional wreck. I've had my moments all my life, they come and go so randomly. I just feel I have nothing in my life, it's just a blank and dark abyss, that's there's just no quality or value, no purpose. But I also know that's not true, and I tell myself that all the time. I have an amazing friend like June, a good quality job, and I have you, the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Hearing this makes him give a warm petite smile at you.

You manage to return the same smile through your tears before it slips away. " Like I said, it's not you, it's my problem. I don't want my burden on you. It's a weight I need to carry myself until it passes."

"Then what? You said you've had this your whole life, that it comes and goes, and that shouldn't happen. You don't need to carry this weight yourself, it's not fair. I wish you didn't degrade yourself mentally like this. Look what it's doing to you? You're miserable."

You roll your eyes through your tears. "Gee, thanks. You've been a great help."

"You shouldn't get upset or offended if you can't listen to what I have to say. I'm trying to help, but I can't if you don't ever talk to me about what you're feeling, and I can't give you words if you're only going to be annoyed over it." Everything he's saying is true, but you can't help yourself, it's just how you are.

"I'm scared you're going to leave me."

"What?' He sounds surprised and even a little scared himself. "I'm not leaving you. What gave you that idea?"

"You know, fucked in the head thoughts." You point bluntly against the side of your head. "I'm a wreck."

"You're not a wreak. You're only human." His touches were soft and you find yourself relaxing better under him. “What would make you happy?”

"I don't know..." You can only shrug.

"Do I make you happy?” Of course he's going to question that.

"Of course you do! I know I don't seem happy but...fuck!"

Ratchet lets out soothing hushes to you, servos massaging gently against your skin while you let out soft whimpers and cry out whatever tears were still left over.

"You don't need to say anything else. We don't need to talk about this anymore if you don't want to, I'm only trying to help. All I care about is your wellbeing and happiness, and I feel powerless. I'm unable to keep you happy."

"It's not your fault, it's my fault, my problem. Some things are just not meant to have an easy fix." That's what you had yourself convinced.

An idea comes to him. "What if we go somewhere?"

"Go where?"

"Wherever you want. I do have a ground bridge that can take us anywhere on earth." Hearing this seemed to light something in you.

That's it! Travel.

"Well...maybe we can go to Edinburgh, in Scotland? I heard it's beautiful there. How would you...join me?" You don't want to sound rude.

"I can take a hologram. We'll look like the perfect couple in love."

You're silently bursting with joy for what felt like the first time in so long. Ratchet smiles through a soft chuckle as he takes notice of your mood, a small victory from him.

"There's my glowing star. Shall we leave tomorrow?"

"Yeah, that sounds great."

It's official. You're going to Scotland! It's been a long fantasy to visit, but you were never convinced you were never going to make it there.

"Now, I think we can continue this in the bedroom?" He holds a broad smile making you nod early.

"Yes, please."

Laying on your bed naked, your hands are tied above your head, wrapped with soft silk and a fluffy blind fold across your eyes. The feeling is very erotic, your body craving the soft bondage.

Ratchet uses his servos to gently glide across your soft skin, letting his digits linger in certain places and making you mewl softly, hips wiggling with a lingering appetite and silent wishes for more.

He likes this, just as much as you do, something you both enjoy. All you ex boyfriends liked it as well but were much rougher, while Ratchet was more softer about it, not that you're complaining. It was just different and you weren't sure how to respond to his aftercare treatment.

Letting out a gasp you feel his digit push into your core and gently curl against your walls, another rubbing at your clit making you gasp out through a throaty moan.

"Does that feel nice?" He asks you gently. Though you couldn't see, you can feel his smile on you.

"Yes, so good." You manage to answer through your heated voice.

"You're clenched around me so tightly, haven't even spiked you yet. Your arousal levels are even skyrocketing." He smiles proudly. "You've very eager, aren't you?"

He doesn’t give you much time to answer, leaning down to kiss you. It always starts so softly, his lips on yours like you’re in the purest sort of love.

Your response is a muffled mewl against his lips, his glossa coiling with your tongue, his denta's giving a teasing nibble against your lower lip. You love it, the way he teases your body, it makes you wither with need. He just knows every weak spot on you.

A second digit is added, stretching you more, not that you need to be stretched as you are already soaking wet, but you both enjoy it, letting the moment linger for as long as possible.

You feel his mouth move to your neck, heated vents prickling against your skin as hsi glossa drags gently across, denta's nibbling at your flesh.

"Ratchet." His name moans from you, darkness still closes your vision as he keeps the blindfold on. "Feels so good." You clench yourself more around him, rocking your hips and moaning more, silently screaming for more.

His digits are removed and you feel them trail up against your body before touching your lips, and you eagerly take them into your mouth, sucking and gliding your tongue around them.

"Such a good girl, my beautiful star." Ratchet purrs loving the sight of you tasting your sweet juices. "You're perfect, never doubt that. I love you with all my spark." His words were warm and nurturing.

Letting his digits slip from your mouth with a wet pop you manage to find your voice. "I love you too." You whimper through your growing pleasure.

He settles between your open legs, pressing his already emerged spike against you and running his throbbing tip between your folds and across your clit, earning another gasp from you as your hands tug at the silk bounds.

Ratchet keeps the blind fold on you still and leans over, sealing his lips over your own, before sinking into your depths with a slow thrust, filling you to the brim and stretching you widely.

Your hips arch up off the bed, feeling his thickness fill you so much and letting out an ecstatic moan. clenching around him before he starts to move against you, slowly, rolling his waist back and forth against you with his servos gripped into your hips.

"Ratchet, fuck, you're so big." You mewl in delight, moving yourself with his movements. Your head tilts back against the plush pillow in your tied position while he moves slowly yet firmly, tugging you back against his movements.

His heated vents fill the air as he says words you don't fully understand, but you do guess it's things in his own language, repeating over again with each thrust.

His spike is quite fascinating you think. You feel every ridge and bump rubbing against your walls, every throb sending small jolts through your core and imprinting right on your brain, wilding craving for his thickness to be buried deep in your, day and night, like a beautiful addiction you didn't want to shake off.

His thrusts grow more intense, snapping his waist against you while his digit rolls against your clit more fiercely. The darkness wrapped across your eyes adds to the thrill, earning a stronger sob of arousal to echo out from you.

"I'll cherish you always, I promise." He tells you between each thrust given. "Go on, cum when you're ready darling. I've got you." He leans across your body, covering you, his firmly rutting against you now.

You don't hold back as you cry out through your boiling orgasim, clenching around his thrusting spike and arch up more off the bed, body breaking loose with jolts of electricity. Hearing his increased sounds and feeling every strong movement is the only warning you had before he jerks forward and you feel a bubbly warmth fill you to the brim.

You feel yourself being filled so much, some seeping out as every twitch feels like a shockwave through you. "Fuck..." He gently pulls himself out then, servos smoothing over your quivering body.

Once untied, he removes the blind fold and your vision is brought back, faced with Ratchet's tender gaze before he leans over and kisses you, letting your lips linger before kissing her cheek. You smile, silently thanking him, before nuzzling into him against his side with his arms wrapped around you.

"I'll always take care of you, my beautiful girl." Ratchet smiles softly before kissing your lips tenderly.

"Thank you, Ratchet, for everything." You can only murmur gently into his audio, before sleep takes over.

#transformers #ratchet #prime #valveplug #ratchet x reader #robot x human #reader insert #smut #fanfiction #writing #sugarrusheag #the angst broke my fucking heart!

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loveharlow · 8 months

Text

MILE MARKER

PAIRING‧₊˚ Racer!JJ x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ [3.5K] During a race against Rafe, JJ's the victim of poor sportsmanship, leaving his girlfriend and the crew to not only patch him up but defend his honor as well

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, mentions of injuries, foul play, mentions of blood, self-endangerment, degrading names, mild violence, mentions of abuse

A/N‧₊˚ I am super shocked that I have not seen this AU anywhere, like if JJ had any alternative personality, I feel like a racer is my first thought and this just became my favorite version of him.

˗ˏˋ jj masterlist ˎˊ˗

UNRULY TEENAGE POGUES FROM EVERY CORNER OF THE CUT were tucked onto a vacant street as two daring boys, who held a grudge against one another since seemingly the beginning of time, geared up to race against the other.

Every weekend, kids on The Cut gathered on any unoccupied back street, preferably off of Shoupe's radar, to watch the unorthodox relay— where two bike-obsessed, thrill-seeking teenagers went head to head. For being an unofficial Pogue event, it was fairly well organized.

There were mechanics who made sure the bike were good to go, flag girls who strut their stuff in checkered outfits and signaled for them to go, and people like you who advised your racer of their route, their speed, and whatever else to make sure they got to the finish line first.

So, while the crowd cheered, you were busying yourself with securing JJ’s helmet as he strapped on his gloves. You pushed his head up after he looked down to fiddle with the velcro strap for the fifth time.

“Someone’s a little rough tonight. You alright, mama?” He questioned, the only readable part of his expression being his eyes that peeked through the small part of the hard headgear. You offered no response, only continuing to loop the straps through the adjustments before he grabbed your wrists gently, lowering them in front of his chest.

“Talk to me.” His voice was slightly muffled and his concern gleamed through his eyes.

“It’s just…” You started apprehensively, looking to your left where Rafe Cameron and some kook chick stood in a similar stance, her adjusting his helmet before tapping him on the head. “If you don’t dust his ass, we won’t hear the end of it. But I don’t want to put that kind of pressure on you...”

JJ bent his knees slightly, bringing his face closer to yours. “Hey, there’s no pressure. I’ve been doing this way longer than him and you know how that asshole gets; too blinded by his own rage to do anything right.” He assured you, speaking hearteningly.

“The thing is, I may have already come up with a...system, of sorts…” You started, avoiding JJ’s eyes as they fell into confusion. “C’mere.” You mumbled, slipping your wrists out of his grip to grab one of his, leading him to your setup off to the side of the main road where the bikes waited to be driven— two portable laptops, a keyboard, and your headset that connected to the mic inside of his helmet lay on the small table. You released his wrist in exchange for pointing at the dimly lit laptop screens, a path outlined in red on the screen.

“What’s this?” He asked, bending down next to you to view the monitor.

“I made a slight alteration in your route.” You started. “You already know how to read this; the red line is your entire path, the yellow dots are your mile markers, the flag is the finish line, yada yada.” You continued, trailing your finger up the display and stopping on the fifth yellow dot. “Right here is where I made a change. Originally, I was going to have you follow along to the end of the road and make your right turn to the finish line as sharp as possible to cut down on the speed lost during the turn…”

“Mhm.”

“But this is a street race, so we can bend the rules. Considering, y'know, there aren't any.” You tapped the panel with your finger twice for emphasis. “Once you hit the five mile marker, I made it so that you’ll veer off the main road. You’ll end up on another street, much more narrow and risky but you can do it and it cuts down the distance between you and the finish line by an entire mile, leaving Rafe a good distance behind you.”

“And how will I know when to make the turn?”

You looked up at him in question. “The same way you always do — I’ll tell you. Just keep your mic on and make sure that you can hear me.”

“And you’re sure this’ll work?” He was looking down at you now, standing to his full height.

“No.” You were honest, this was JJ’s well-being, and his reputation, on the line. Lying wasn’t in his best interest. “But I’ve gone over it in my head so many times, you wouldn’t believe it. This is our best shot.”

He let out a deep breath, shaking his shoulders out and bouncing slightly on his feet.

“If you don’t think this'll go smoothly, we can stick to the original route-”

“No, no, It’s good. I’m good.” Once he was steady and unmoving, you looked him in the eyes — any sign of uncertainty and you were going back to the original plan. But as you scanned his eyes, you couldn’t find one. So without any other protests, you nodded and edged closer to him, kissing the side of his helmet.

“Ok then.” You turned your head towards your station once more, picking up your headset and adjusting it to your head, leveling the small microphone with your lips. “You better get out there.” You encouraged, head tilting in the direction of his waiting bike, hearing your own voice in your ears due to the close proximity.

“You got me?” He asked.

“Always.” You smiled, turning to make sure everything with your display was up to speed. JJ took the opportunity to grab a small handful of your ass considering you were bent over the table slightly. “Get away from here.” You chuckled, swatting his gloved hand away.

“Can’t help myself.” He joked, retreating towards his motorcycle with his hands up in mock surrender.

As you hit keys and adjusted settings, you could hear the crowd get louder as the boys mounted their bikes. You took your eyes off the monitors in front of you to see the flag girl strutting between the two with the checkered banner held high in the air, crossing one leg over the other as she walked to the front, the crowd dying down as she turned to face the two boys.

It was a small pause, a brief second, then she was bringing the flag down like a hammer on a nail and all that was heard was cheers and engines popping, tires creating clouds of smoke in the empty space behind the vehicles as the bikes practically launched themselves off the concrete.

You wasted no time in whipping your view back to the monitors, the icon that resembled JJ’s bike position moving fast along the path.

“Hey, J, can you hear me?”

“Crystal clear, baby.”

You smiled, letting your elbows rest on the wooden surface, eyes never leaving the bright interface, watching as JJ practically zipped past the first mile marker.

“You’re doing good, alright? Keep going at this pace for now, but once you start to come up on your turn, you’ll need enough time to slow down. It’s a narrow path, JJ. I need you to focus.”

“I hear you.”

“Good.” You continued watching as the crowd watched the race on a bigger monitor that was set up within their view, watching the live feed from small cameras attached to both of their bikes streaming side-by-side. It wasn’t long before JJ passed the second marker, then the third, coming up on the fourth.

“Okay, this is where you need to decrease your speed. Not too much, about two-thirds of what you’re going now.”

“If I do that, I’ll fall behind.”

“No, you won't.”

“Baby, I'm telling you. He’ll pass me and be miles ahead before I even reach the mile marker.” His tracker was showing that he hadn’t dropped his speed at all and he needed to if this was going to work.

“Listen to me. The path is shorter and allows you to travel less distance, you'll still be ahead. Slow down, now.”

You could hear him sigh into the mic. “We're doing this your way.” He said almost skeptically, like he didn’t believe this was his way to the finish line. Your eyes zeroed in on the computer screen, watching him roll through the forth mile marker at a more compatible speed.

“Okay, edge towards the right side of the road to get further out of Rafe’s peripheral. If he sees you, he might follow.”

You watched him veer off down the path with no issue. A bright smile crept onto your features as you silently cheered to yourself. “Yes! Okay, we can do this. Just keep going, J. You’re not far from the end.”

“The hell?” JJ’s voice boomed on the other side of the line. His tracker icon swerving side to side on the screen. “Shit! He’s tailing me!”

“What?” You could feel the way your face immediately fell.

“He reversed his fucking bike to follow me... Dammit!” His frustration was as clear as day, the sound of engines revving growing louder in the mic. The crowd's demeanor changed as well, causing your vision to reluctantly drift over to the large TV monitor, watching as Rafe’s side of the screen grew closer and closer to the back of JJ’s bike.

“JJ, speed up!”

“I’m going as fast as I can! Is there a way off this damn road?!”

“No, there isn’t! When I- fuck!”

You were frantic, hands above your head as you paced around in your space. Eyes never leaving the screen as the crowd grew more and more anxious.

You were trying to think. If this were any other person, your assumptions that they would run your boyfriend into a ditch would be low. But this was Rafe Cameron. A man with something severely wrong with him. And you could hear your heartbeat racing, thump after thump, as you watched Rafe’s bike grow close enough to collide with JJ’s back tire, sending him flying off of the bike into the middle of the street. The screen showing JJ’s bike view as it slid across the concrete before glitching out.

The crowd grew half-angry with Rafe’s actions and half-shocked, loud protests breaking out as arms flew in the air. Your eyes burned with tears and your voice croaked as you practically hollered into the speaker unit. “JJ?! I swear to God, can you hear me?!”

You snatched the headset off your head before making a b-line for your own bike that you’d rode here, wasting no time in knocking the kickstand and taking off. The wind blasted the tears out of your eyes as you followed the path you’d mapped out yourself, coming up on the road where you could see your boyfriend curled up into an unmoving ball.

Your bike screeched as it came to a halt while you hastily hopped off with not a care in the world as it clambered to the ground. You almost tripped over your own feet as you ran towards JJ, skinning your knees as you fell to your knees next to him before you stopped running practically sliding before you flipped him over onto his back.

“C’mon…” You mumbled to yourself as you worked on getting the helmet off of his head, throwing it to the side without caution as his face was exposed to you — blood leaking from his nose and trickling from his now split lip accompanied by a large bruise on his cheek. He was coughing and groaning and you were too focused on scanning him for more injuries that you didn’t hear the distinct rumble of John B’s van pulling up, five distressed friends who had been watching from the sidelines piling out of the vehicle and surrounding the both of you.

“Oh my-”

“Is he okay?!”

“Does he look okay?!” You yelled, lifting his shirt to take a look at his torso — purple-ish splotches blooming around his ribcage, red and irritated skin abrasions beginning to bead with blood. You cursed under your breath, slipping your arms underneath him in an attempt to lift him on your own. “We need to get him to the garage.” You spoke as your friends crowded to help you carry his weight as you all hoisted him into the van.

“Why not a hospital?” Cleo quizzed incredulously.

“Too many questions," John B offered.

"And they’ll call his father. We can handle it.” You spoke absentmindedly, carefully laying JJ down on the floor of the Twinkie as you, Kie, Pope, and Cleo piled into the back while John B and Sarah rounded the front. The automobile jumped as John B turned the key before the engine roared and it was taking off down the road.

“I think we should get him to a doctor.” Kie spoke up in a troubled manner.

“No! Okay, we all know they’ll call his dad and he’ll walk out of there with more bruises than he went in with.” You reprimanded. JJ’s health was the first thing on your mind and though they may not understand, taking him to a hospital would make things worse. Between racing illegally, his abusive father, and his already not-so-clean record? Walking into a building full of mandated reporters was not an option.

The van fell silent, all eyes on JJ's heaving figure or looking out the window watching street lights go by. Deep down you all knew he’d be fine but until you knew for sure, the space hung low with tension from worry and disagreement on how to handle the situation.

“You’re bleeding…” Pope pointed out, motioning to the blood leaking slowly from your knees. It must’ve happened when you ran over to help JJ.

“Don’t worry about me.” You eased the boy’s concern. It wasn’t long before the van was pulling into the garage, the fluorescent white light illuminating the space in the dead of night. The vehicle hadn’t even come to a full stop before the side door was flung open as you, with the help of the others, hauled JJ’s limp frame to the sofa in the corner of the workspace. Once he was situated, you rushed over to the opposite corner of the room, sifting through boxes of tools and manuals until you found the long buried first aid kit and medical supplies.

JJ had sustained a decent amount of injuries in the duration of his hobby of his but it never exceeded much more than a few shallow cuts here and there. Kneeling next to the worn down sofa, you doused a cotton ball with alcohol and dabbed it onto the injured parts of his face. Of course, you were met with the loudest groan he’d made since you all plucked him from the road.

“I’m sorry.” You mumble apologetically, turning your head slightly when you feel a warm hand on your shoulder.

“You’re shakin’.” Cleo observed. Looking down at your hands, she was right. From your wrists to the tips of your fingers, you were trembling. “Go pull yourself together, girl. I’ll patch him up.”

You gave her the best appreciative smile you could muster, truly grateful for her kindness and keen eye. Handing her the cotton ball, you placed your hands on your stinging knees to help yourself up, walking a just few feet away. You’d clean yourself up later. You just needed a moment to collect yourself.

You couldn’t help but feel some guilt. There was a part of you that was mentally scolding yourself like a parent for suggesting the route change in the first place. What possessed you to put JJ’s safety on the line like that? But then there was that more lenient part of you that kept reminding yourself that Rafe Cameron was not one to play fair and that there was a chance that he would’ve pulled something like this either way.

You were facing away from the group, one hand on your hip as the other ran down your face until it settled on covering just your mouth as you finally allowed the hot tears that took home in your waterline to fall. A small, almost inaudible sob left your lips before you shook your head; sniffing up your tears, rubbing the wetness from your eyes, and telling yourself to stop being ridiculous.

As your mind cleared, you could hear engines in the distance, your brows pinching in puzzlement. You, along with Pope, Kiara, John B, and Sarah, edged towards the opening of the garage as Rafe's bike pulled up with Topper’s truck trailing close behind. Cleo was still kneeling and attending to JJ’s wounds.

Rafe stationed his bike and tore his helmet off as he dismounted, Topper and Kelce hopping out of the truck behind him. Rafe’s lips curled into a smirk, parting to say something but he never got the chance before you were closing the space between you two, clocking him in the jaw.

You stumbled forward a little as you did so, watching him recover from the hit as he took the opportunity to grab you by the shoulders and spin you around and push you down, practically pinning you to the solid ground. You could hear his friends and yours screaming as you both brawled on the concrete.

Rafe’s first raised and came down, just missing your face as it collided with the street, causing him to let out a mangled cry. Distracted by his own pain, you managed to push him off of his straddling position above you as he fell on his ass, you taking the opportunity to kick him in the chest, knocking him completely on his back. You scrambled to your knees, little rocks getting in the cuts on them and strand of hair obstructing your vision as you frantically hit his chest and face. Not landing every hit but enough of them.

He spoke through the blood in his mouth from your initial hit, calling you all sorts of names ranging from ‘lowlife’ to ‘bitch’. He eventually managed to grab a hold of your wrists that were coming down on him in a frenzy. He pulled you up by them, slamming you against Topper's truck that was still running, your head spinning for a few moments from the collision.

“Get off of her, you psycho!” Kiara's voice rang out.

You found enough strength in your daze to snatch your arms out of his grip, pushing his shoulders back cruelly just in time as John B and Sarah stepped in between the both of you. Rafe wiping blood from his lip as John B pushed him further back while Sarah’s hands were on your shoulders asking you questions you could barely hear through the ringing in your ears.

Your eyes wandered, seeing a frazzled Kie and an enraged Pope in front of Topper and Kelce who were trying to get past them to get to Rafe, Cleo seemingly safe-guarding JJ’s resting figure as she was crouched beside him with a switchblade clutched in her hand.

Once the humming in your eardrums ceased, you could hear John B telling off Rafe and his goons. “She's a girl, dipshit! You don't touch her!”

“She hit me!” Rafe tried to defend.

Then Sarah’s blonde hair was whipping in front of you, now facing her crazed brother. “Because you ran her boyfriend off the road, Rafe!” She screamed. “Just…go! Okay, leave! Go home.”

Rafe licked his lips, nodding his head and looking side to side before shrugging his shoulders. He rubbed his jaw, taking wide strides towards his bike as he snatched his helmet that had fallen out of his hand in the scuffle from off of the ground. He stopped less than a foot in front you, his face distressed and eyes mad.

He didn’t say anything, just glared at you before chuckling under his breath and throwing himself over his bike. Topper and Kelce following his lead and clambering back into the truck before both vehicles reversed and sped back in the direction they came.

"Jesus..." John B breathed out, running his fingers through his hair.

You took a deep breath, running a hand over the top of your head.

“Guys,” Cleo called out. “I think he’s wakin’ up.” She waved you all over.

You all rushed over, crowding around the injured blonde who was shifting as his eyes squinted, groaning as he clenched his torso.

“What the fuck…”

A small chorus of laughter was shared amongst the group, looking at each other in relief.

“My ass hurts.” JJ pouted, Cleo shaking her head and rising from her crouched position beside him, patting him on the shoulder.

“Don’t move too much, blondie. You need to heal.” She offered before leaving the space beside JJ open, motioning for you to take it. John B and Pope walked by him as well, giving him a pat on the shoulder, mumbling similar variations of ‘Glad you’re okay, man.’. Sarah offering a simple smile while Kie rolled her eyes telling him he was reckless.

“She’s totally glad I’m alive.” JJ tried to joke.

You brushed the sweaty strands of hair from his forehead. “We all are.” Your voice was solemn. “This was my fault. I should’ve stuck to the initial plan.”

“Don’t start that.” He insisted. “I agreed to it and it wasn’t our fault, regardless.” His voice was strained and raspy. “He couldn’t stand to lose. That’s all. Don’t sweat it, ‘kay?”

Reluctantly, you nodded, laying your head on his shoulder as one of his arms went around yours.

You both laid in comfortable silence for a few moments until he spoke again.

“I know I was out of it but… did you fight Rafe?”

You smacked your teeth and groaned while he chuckled. “I was upset. I got him in the jaw one good time, though.”

He squeezed you closer to him as much as his body would allow for a quick moment, planting a small kiss on the top of your head. “That’s my girl.” He praised. “I’m still gonna kick his ass for putting his hands on you, though.”

“I expected nothing less.”

“Glad you know.”

General taglist; @livlaughquinn

JJ Maybank Taglist; @ronnieissupermegafoxyawesomehot @maybankslover

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

©loveharlow

#jj maybank x you #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank #obx jj #jj maybank x reader #obx jj x reader #obx netflix #obx #jj mayback imagine #jj mayback x reader #rudy pankow x reader #rudy outer banks #rudy pankow

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eldritch-spouse · 9 months

Note

Okay... I have an idea

Icons walking into their Queen in the Dungeon while she is crushing a prisoners head with her heels. When she notices them she just smiles with flowers and shit while a her clothes have minor (major in her heels case) blood stains.

Bonus if its because the Queen is short and someone teased her about it so she is releasing her rage by watching a prisoner die because they were under her.

TW: Gore.

Vesper asks what you're doing in the dungeons. It's hardly a pretty place for someone like you, you're above that. Although, seeing the pleasure written all over your features, if he's failed to bring enough violence into the bedroom, you simply only needed to tell Vesper. He'll make sure things are a lot more to your tastes next time! Now, can he have the absolute delight of licking you clean?

Rinx sighs in relief. He doesn't like his possession treasure out of sight. If you wanted to play around here, why not tell him? He flicks whatever bits of gore clings to your upper body away and shakes his great head. The prisoners have nothing you can take from them except their lives. If you wish to steal away their last moments alive, then do so by all means, just warn him of where you are next time.

Vorticia snickers. That's a waste of perfectly good slop for the pets, you know? In fact, some of the dungeon guards delight in feeding prisoners to each other as torture. So really, she's volunteering to help you find some other skulls to bash. But first, the Queen's grabbing that gory mess you made and sliding it down her gullet. Come on, you clearly need more stimulus, you remind her of her teenage kids.

Zizz wonders why you left the bed to do this. You must be really upset. A mind without proper rest is unstable, you wouldn't be playing in muck if you were well. Zizz is at least happy that you seem to know your way around the dungeons. He'll ask what has you so upset even as he starts readying a bath for you.

Cero groans. Really? He can't leave you alone for two seconds you're already getting grime all over your heels? Sincerely, you're like a child. He drags you away by the arm and has you change clothes, that set is being trashed immediately now that it's been dirtied with peasant gore. You can explain you were defending your pride, which will at least make the King understand your ire, but he's still mostly upset about the damage to your outfit.

Livius joins in. No questions no problems, just lands a hit to that prisoner with tenfold the force of yours, reducing them to a pulp. That was fun! You're so angry! What's happening! He's angry too, why not check the other cells?

Kalymir is thanking whatever cosmic power is out there to allow him this view. It's one he's currently burning into the forefront of his brain and furiously pumping his cock to. He doesn't even stop when you look at him, just motions to the prisoner with his free hand as if you aren't quite done yet. At some point, the King moves closer, panting against the top of your head, inhaling the gore, your fury- You're quickly dragged into the next cell.

#Cero oc #Vesper oc #Zizz oc #Rinx oc #Kalymir oc #Vorticia oc #Livius oc

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cod-dump · 11 months

Note

At the soapghost wedding-

Rudy: Pull yourself together Ale

Alejandro, a sobbing, snotty mess because he’s an absolute SAP: I-I’m Try-Trying

What You Deserve

AleRudy, SoapGhost

(Disclaimer: I don't speak Spanish so I used an online translator. I am sorry if it doesn't come out legible or accidentally summons demons when read out loud)

___

Alejandro hadn’t expected Ghost and Soap to visit the Los Vaqueros base. The pair were glowing when Alejandro and Rudy greeted them. He could feel their joy and excitement.

“My friends! What has you smiling so broadly?”

Ghost, who had an arm on Soap’s shoulders, squeezes them and immediately Soap held up his hand. There, a simple silver band with a gold stripe rested on his ring finger. Alejandro gasped and Rudy grinned. They were getting married. They grabbed they men and smooshed them in a hug, Soap laughing loudly.

It took them a moment to release them, both jittery with excitement and joy, now matching the energy of their friends.

“We didn’t want to tell you over the phone.”

“I would’ve killed you if you did!”

They ushered the two off to grab drinks. They had already told Laswell, seeing that they were in the US first to tell her. Then they flew here to tell Alejandro and Rudy.

“You have to stay for dinner!”

Soap looks at Ghost and grins, “Told you they were going to ask.”

Ghost rolls his eyes fondly, “Laswell stuffed us with pie when we saw her.”

“Then we’re going to have to stuff you with birria tacos.”

Soap slaps Ghost chest to prevent him from saying anything, “Oh, we’re staying!”

They ended up going back to their house, Soap deciding to help Rudy in the kitchen while Alejandro and Ghost were banished to the living room. Ghost was bouncing his knee as Alejandro grabbed them beers.

“I can’t believe you’re finally getting married!”

“After carrying the damn ring in my pocket for a year, yea.”

Alejandro laughs, “A year?”

“The most gruesome year of my life.”

Ghost and Alejandro open their beers, Ghost taking a swig. Alejandro could tell he was wanting to say something. The bouncing knee and now him fidgeting with the beer bottle.

“Something on your mind?”

“Yea, I was wanting to ask you something…”

Alejandro tilts his head and Ghost breathes out before looking to him, “Would you be my best man?”

Alejandro, of course, was in mid drink of his beer when he processed the question. He immediately choked on the drink, almost spilling the rest of his beer while trying to blindly put it on the coffee table. Ghost panicked and pat his back to help clear his lungs. After a moment of coughing, Alejandro breathed in.

“You… want me to be your best man?”

“Yes?”

“Me- Simon, I love you. I am honored that you have asked me but- what about John? Kyle? Kate?”

Ghost laughs, “John is more like my father and Kate is unofficially my mother if you haven’t noticed. Not exactly best man material. And Kyle is Johnny’s best man. You should’ve seen the river he cried when Johnny asked him.”

Alejandro stared before he grins. He grabs Ghost and pulls him into a hug. Ghost immediately hugs him back, laughing.

“Is that a yes?”

“You bet your ass it is!”

After a minute Soap yelled from the kitchen, “I’m assuming the coughing and yelling is because Ale is now your best man and not that you killed him!”

Rudy screams, “ALE IS GOING TO BE HIS BEST MAN?!”

After dinner and much talking, Ghost and Soap left even though Alejandro and Rudy insisted they stayed the night. Alejandro was riddled with anticipation, unable to sleep that night. Soon Alejandro was helping get ready for the wedding. He of course made time with Rudy, planning their outfits and shopping for wedding gifts. It was truly one of the happiest they had felt. They had been to weddings before but this one was different. Two of their closest friends were getting married. Two of the bravest men they had the pleasure of knowing.

Two men, like them, never knew if they would ever be able to have this.

Alejandro and Rudy didn’t have an actual ceremony when they had gotten married. They took the quickest route to tie the knot because, at the time, they weren’t sure if they would ever get another chance. Though Rudy has told Alejandro time and time again that not having an actual ceremony didn’t bother him and he was happy, Alejandro felt as though he deprived his husband the wedding he deserved.

The wedding was taking place in Scotland, at a church that was near a cliff overlooking the ocean. This was where Soap’s parents had gotten married. And now it was where Soap would be marrying the love of his life. Alejandro was up one night talking to Ghost about it, he could hear the smile on his face even over the phone. Alejandro was outside, enjoying the cool breeze as they talked. He was watching Rudy through the window as Ghost expressed his excitement and joy.

“Every little detail matters. I’m going to make it the most wonderful and memorable day of Johnny’s life.”

Even though Rudy was smiling as he read his book, Alejandro felt himself frown.

“All of us are going to make sure you both have a wonderful and beautiful day, Simon. It’s what you both deserve.”

Alejandro had the pleasure of helping wrangle everything together along with the rest of the wedding party. Gaz was trying to act like he wasn’t holding back tears as they planned his best friends’ day. Alejandro had found Gaz sobbing behind some flower arrangements.

“Kyle?”

Gaz didn’t bother to look at him, “They’re killing me!”

Alejandro saw that Gaz was looking at his phone, seeing a paragraph of text from Soap.

“Johnny just sent me a rough draft of his vows. It’s so sickening! I might throw up with how sweet it is!”

Alejandro smiles and pats Gaz’s back, “Save the tears.”

“If I do that I might flood the church!”

Price wasn’t much better. He, Laswell, and Alejandro went with Ghost to look at tuxedos. When Ghost tried on the third tux, Alejandro could see Price struggling to keep it together. Laswell had to step away to give herself a moment before she came back. She was also taking a million pictures, Ghost groaning when she kept having him turn around.

“I don’t even know if I want this one.”

“I don’t care! I’m savoring every moment of this!”

Ghost didn’t pick a tux that day but no one was in a rush. That night, Gaz called and talked about Soap and how his father and mother were pestering him about growing his hair out for the wedding. Alejandro laughed, he couldn’t imagine Soap with a full head of hair.

“It’s getting closer…”

Rudy nodded, falling asleep on Alejandro’s chest. Alejandro thumbed his wedding ring, wondering what kind of wedding Rudy and him would’ve had. Something traditional? A small gathering of their closest friends and relatives? Rudy hasn’t been in contact with his parents and family for years. Would they come? If not, who would walk Rudy down the isle?

“Estás pensando demasiado alto, amor.” (You’re thinking too loud, love.)

“Lo siento, flor” (I’m sorry, blossom.)

Rudy mumbles, burying his face against Alejandro’s chest. Alejandro sighs, closing his eyes and attempting to drift off to sleep. For the next couple of months, up until the wedding, Alejandro continued to think. As everything built up, to the decorations, seating arrangements, guest list, food— All Alejandro could think about is what Rudy and him would’ve chosen. He tried to not let his busy mind get in the way of helping make his friends’ most amazing and impactful day of their lives become reality.

The dancing classes Alejandro attended with Gaz, Ghost, and Soap was fun. Soap insisted that Alejandro and Gaz were going to dance together at the wedding, and Alejandro laughed as Gaz stared at him in judgment.

“I don’t dance.”

“You will!”

Gaz groaned loudly before turning to Alejandro. Alejandro had to laugh at the face he was making as they followed the dance teacher’s instructions.

“At least you haven’t stepped on my feet yet.”

Immediately after those words left Alejandro’s mouth, Gaz purposely stepped on his foot.

“Oh, my bad.”

Alejandro went to say something when he noticed Ghost and Soap as they practiced. He saw how carefully they moved, Soap grinning like a madman. Ghost was looking at him like he was the only person in the whole world. Alejandro stumbled over his own feet and made Gaz lose balance, causing him to fall against Alejandro. They didn’t fall to the floor, thankfully, but they still were in a awkward position.

“You clumsy ass!”

The old lady who was instructing them gasped at Gaz’s words while Soap laughed. Alejandro helped Gaz stand while grinning. Once Gaz was standing on his own, he smacked Alejandro’s shoulder and backed away.

“I don’t know how Rudy deals with you!”

“I am very charismatic.”

Gaz glares at Alejandro while the instructor announces that it was break time. Soap and Ghost walked over with matching grins.

“Do we need to separate you two?”

Alejandro shrugs, “I don’t know what’s Kyle’s issue. I thought we were doing fine.”

It isn’t a secret on how some friends can’t work with each other due to how they distract one another. Gaz and Alejandro so happened to be that type of friends. Well, sometimes they were like that. But they knew that this wedding was important and they weren’t going to be the ones that disrupt it.

“I swear if it rains-“

“Tents exist, Simon.”

Soap and Ghost were set on everything happening outside. The actual ceremony would happen inside the church but everything else would be outside. Alejandro and Gaz had been running around to make everything was perfect. From looking at pole tents, DJs, what drinks and food to serve, getting all allergies down— It was a lot of work but they were happy to do it.

With the wedding right around the bend and finishing touches being made, Ghost became increasingly anxious. He was pacing as he and Alejandro went over last minute details to make sure everything was perfect.

"What if he changes his mind about marrying me?"

Alejandro rolls his eyes, "Mi hermano, in what world or timeline would Johnny not want you?"

Ghost sighs, "Just... he could do so much better than me."

"Simon, you are a damn good man. I can't imagine a single person who is better than you."

Ghost huffs but Alejandro could see a hint of a smile in his eyes. Alejandro helped Ghost arrange a gift to be sent to Soap the night before the wedding. A simple bottle of whisky and chocolates with a note. Ghost worried he should have something more extravagant delivered but Alejandro assured him Soap would love anything he sent him. From a bottle of wine from the corner store or a bottle of whisky straight from the distillery.

Alejandro had to help Ghost calm down enough to sleep. Though he, too, had a hard time settling down. Tomorrow was the big day.

"No sneaking out the window," Alejandro joked as Ghost sat on his hotel room's bed.

They decided Soap would stay at his parents' house while Ghost stayed in a hotel. Alejandro and Rudy were staying in the room right next door and Laswell was in her own room with her wife down the hall, Price in the room across from hers. If Ghost did try to run (which he wouldn't in a million years), someone was bound to catch him in the act.

Alejandro groans and falls into the bed next to Rudy. He feels his husband rub his back which made Alejandro groan again.

"Can't wait for the wedding to be over with?"

"I love Simon and Johnny but god I had no idea planning a wedding would be this exhausting."

Rudy hums and Alejandro felt his heart twist. He would've been just like Ghost if he was planning his wedding with Rudy. Every detail would matter. Location, guests, decorations, the food-- Everything. Alejandro sits up in the bed, kneeling in front of Rudy.

"Mi amor? Something wrong?"

Alejandro reaches over and takes Rudy's hand, thumbing over his wedding band.

"Remember when we were kids and you talked about your dream wedding?"

Rudy sighs, "Ale-"

"Rudy, please..."

"Yes, but that was years ago. What child doesn't dream about their wedding?"

Alejandro scoots closer, "I should've given you that wedding. Some way or how-"

"Alejandro, I don't need a wedding. I am married to you, not having a ceremony does not change that."

Rudy moves and crawls closer to Alejandro, cupping his face.

"I am happy, my love. I have you and that is what matters."

Even with Rudy kissing him to seal that fact, Alejandro still felt doubt. When they were children, while Alejandro was sword fighting the neighborhood kids with sticks, Rudy was creating stories. One story was his wedding. Back then, Rudy and Valeria would 'kidnap' Alejandro and have a dramatic mock wedding. If Alejandro knew those silly games would be the closest thing he had to having a ceremony with Rudy, he would've done things differently.

When morning came, Alejandro put on a face for the wedding. He felt anxious so he knew that Ghost was going to be far worse.

"Today's the day," Alejandro muttered as he went to make sure Ghost was ready to get this over with.

Rudy parted from the hotel after giving Alejandro an encouraging kiss. Hearing Laswell finally let out a sob when reality hit her brought Alejandro's attention back to Ghost. They dressed Ghost, made sure everything looked in order, then headed out for the church. Alejandro could feel the tension coming off of Ghost in waves, the man fidgeting with the cuffs of his suit.

"Everything is going to go perfectly, mi hermano."

Ghost breathed out, head resting against the back of the seat, "I hope so... I never thought this day would come for me..."

Alejandro pats Ghost's knee, "Course it would come. Just had to wait for Johnny."

Ghost cracks a contagious smile that Alejandro couldn't help but return.

Everything from that point on, thankfully, went without issues. The guests were behaved (Alejandro was concerned about Soap's family but he wouldn't dare say that out loud), everything was in place, the priest was ready to go-- Everything was perfect! Gaz had given Alejandro an earpiece so they could communicate and Alejandro couldn't help but laugh.

"This isn't a mission, Kyle."

"Uh, yes it is. A life mission."

Alejandro laughed as Gaz continued out, both of them making sure no issues even had a chance to take root. Finally, it was time. Everyone took their places, and soon the ceremony started. The priest took his place at the alter, then Ghost took his place with Alejandro following suit. Alejandro could see Rudy in the crowd, near tears. Alejandro could see Ghost fidgeting again as the rest of the wedding party took their places and, finally, Soap walked down the isle with his father.

Alejandro could see the awestruck look on Ghost's face, the love and adoration as Soap made his way down the isle, kilt and all. The look never went away, even with Soap standing in front of him. Alejandro found himself imagining him and Rudy in their position, in front of an alter, family and friends around them, laying witness to their union. He was unaware of how much time passed, of what was said. Alejandro was lost, imagining a beautiful ceremony, catered to Rudy and all that he ever dreamt of.

Then the priest started to give a speech about marriage and he snapped out of it. Ghost and Soap seemed almost lost staring at each other, the love so strong that Alejandro could get sick by it. Finally, it was time to exchange vows,

"Simon and John, have you come here freely and without reservation to give yourselves to each other in marriage?"

"Yes."

"Will you honor each other as husbands for the rest of your lives?"

"Yes."

Alejandro could hear a shake in Ghost's voice as he spoke, holding Soap's hands in such a delicate manner. As if he was afraid this would all go away if he squeezed too hard.

"I, Simon, take you, John, to be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life."

Alejandro could see Price sobbing, tears streaming down his face. Laswell was rubbing his shoulder, tears also in her eyes.

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, take and wear this ring as a sign of my love and faithfulness."

Ghost managed to slip the ring onto Soap's finger without dropping it. The man was barely containing his shaky hands. Alejandro swallows hard, thinking about the ring he had gotten Rudy. It wasn't anything special. Wasn't expensive or worth showing off. It was just a plain wedding band, something to show that Rudy was taken. Nothing more.

There was more preaching and prayer until, finally-

The kiss shared between Ghost and Soap was the most passionate one Alejandro had ever seen them share. Tears in their eyes, Soap cupping Ghost's face as they smooshed their faces together. Alejandro swears he could hear Price losing it but he didn't look to confirm it. After the priest's final blessing, the wedding party begun to leave. Soap's nieces who served as flower girls skipping down the isle, throwing their petals with glee.

Alejandro joined with Rudy as soon as he could, choked up by it all. He swept his husband into his arms, not giving the man a chance to say anything. He captured his husband's lips into a kiss before pulling away, holding his face.

"Let's get married."

"What? Ale-"

"I want a do over. A ceremony."

Rudy places a hand over Alejandro's that held his face, "Ale, I don't need a ceremony."

"But you deserve one. And I swear I will give you one."

Rudy chokes up, leaning in to kiss Alejandro. They part smiling, tears wetting their cheeks. They made their way back to the rest of the party, Ghost and Soap pressed against each other, staring at each other like there was no one else there. Alejandro kept a firm hand on Rudy's, smiling.

He'll make sure his husband gets this. It's what he deserves.

___

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mariipun · 10 months

Text

Adventures of Wally & The Gang (plus their Caretaker)

Off Script Shenanigans

Warnings: None. Humor, wholesome content.

Word Count: 1,513

Brief Description: The Welcome Home cast is alive and live alongside humans. You have been contracted to be their Caretaker, tending to their needs, schedule, and keeping them from (getting themselves into) bad publicity. The gang has some downtime on set, entertaining themselves or each other with nonsensical activities to pass the time as the Technical Director works on fixing the issues.

Welcome Home belongs to @partycoffin [in no means is my work canon]

Dedication: @kandavers

[ /I hope this gives you a little serotonin boost, I’m cheering you on from my side of the world! ]

The studio was as energetic as ever. Production had halted due to technical difficulties that needed to be resolved. You lazily sat on one of the deck chairs, elbow on the armrest, cheek leaning against your palm as you scanned across the set and watched some of the cast members. You were glad to get a break and off your feet.

[Eyes first land on Sally]

Sally was going over the script, suggesting certain scenes to be revised with the Director, and penciling in changes.

Sally: “I just think we really should include a song during this scene, making it more—lively, ya know?”

You overheard her conversation, chuckling as the Director gave her a puzzled look. You weren’t sure how much more ‘lively’ the show could be with the beautiful array of bright colors and every other episode already containing musical numbers. “Oh! Maybe even a dance sequence—”

[Eyes pan towards Poppy]

You watched as the red fluff of feathers hummed to herself, sitting near a basket of props. You couldn’t tell what she was doing exactly, but it looked like she was probably knitting something? Well, she had her hobbies outside of teaching children their ABC’s.

[Next, you saw Julie]

Julie: “Howdy-ho neighbors! Come tour the Welcome Home set with me!”

A small smile formed on your lips as you watched the bubbly puppet hold her phone slightly above her face as she chatted with fans on her live feed.

Your eyes trained on her for a minute as she walked about, introducing some of the wardrobe designers and makeup artists that work on her outfits, looks, and so on. As she moved on, you kept watching as Julie draped an arm around Wally’s shoulders before he could snatch up one of the apples sitting at the spread table, adjusting her phone so both were in the frame of view.

Julie: “Wally Darling, say hello to everyone!”

Wally: “Well hello dear neighbors! Hope you’re all looking forward to the next episode.” He waved, smiling.

Barnaby soon came up from behind the two with a large grin, saying hello as well. You could tell the chat was going absolutely insane getting to interact with them. You giggled at their antics, happy that they got to spend some time with people from all around the world, even if it wasn’t during one of their face-to-face meet-and-greets.

Probably one of the many things you admired about them.

Although sometimes crazy (and difficult to handle), they were always dedicated to entertaining the masses with wholesome content. On camera anyhow. It was your job to make sure no scandalous rumors ended up in the media; constantly protecting their image off screen. You’d hate to see the show canceled, especially since you were dedicated not only to the basis of the show but because you deeply cared for them.

Julie: “Oh! Barnaby, someone asked how many things you’re able to juggle at once.”

Barnaby: “Well, let’s see. Hey, lil’ buddy, toss me a few of those apples will ya?”

Julie released her light hold on Wally, flipping the camera so she could point the phone toward the pair. She stepped back as Wally began gently tossing a few apples in Barnaby’s direction. The blue mass caught them with ease, beginning to juggle. 1…2...3…4….

Barnaby: “Ha! Too easy, c’mon, toss me a few more.”

Julie: “Oh, oh! Someone also said to make it more challenging.”

Wally: “Guess we just have to give our dear neighbors what they’re asking for.” He muses, scanning the spread table and grabbing one of the bananas, then tossing it toward Barnaby.

Again, catching it with ease, Barnaby chuckled as he nodded toward the soda cans. Wally picked one up, tossing them his way.

Barnaby: “…5….6!” The juggling continued, items being tossed a bit higher to make some space as he caught and tossed, and tossed, and tossed.

Julie: “Think you can handle any more?”

Barnaby: “I’m the Great Barnaby B. Beagle, nothing can stop me now!”

Wally looked over, pondering what to toss his friend next. He decided on some sunglasses, then grabbed one of the bowling pin props and a small stress ball out of a box one of the stagehands was carrying as they scooted by.

Wally: “…7…8….9….”

You continued to watch, tilting your head up slightly as Barnaby’s juggling began to waver and then steady.

Barnaby: “Let’s make it an even 10. Toss me one more please.”

There weren’t many other options readily available until Wally saw one of the saran-wrapped sandwiches on the table. Picking it up, he tossed it but misjudged the distance as Barnaby jolted to catch it. Stepping forward, he caught it, but it threw off the balance of the juggled circle and the items began slightly leaning more and more until Barnaby began staggering toward you.

You perked up, stiffening. You noticed he was moving toward one of the cables on the floor, which was unfortunately not taped down to prevent a tripping hazard.

Caretaker: “Barnaby, wait—”

Too late.

Barnaby: “Whoa--!” The puppet’s foot was caught underneath the cable, the apples, banana, sandwich, sunglasses, bowling pin prop, stress ball, and can of soda flying in your direction.

Everything crashed down around you, save for the soda can, which plummeted right in front of you. The sheer velocity of the aluminum can hitting the ground had enough force to burst, a steady, but violent stream of soda onto your face. (Did everything that went wrong have to be an overly exaggerated gag bit?)

You held your hands out to try and shield yourself, aggressively coughing as you accidentally inhaled the fizzy beverage through your nose. After what felt like an eternity, it finally stopped blasting in your face.

Both Wally and Julie were immediately by your side, asking if you were okay, while Barnaby repeatedly apologized from the ground. You could hear the commotion around you as Sally ran to grab a towel, Poppy squawking in concern somewhere in the background.

Wally: “Care, are you okay?” He asked, reaching over, and gently placing a hand on your arm. “Are you hurt—” He stopped, eyes widening slightly as you began to laugh under your breath, which soon turned into loud, boisterous laughter.

You didn’t quite open your eyes since the soda stung, but you couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Doubling over, you just couldn’t stop yourself from cracking up. Both Wally and Julie sighed in relief, smiling as you confirmed you were okay. As you calmed down from your fit of laughter, you thanked Sally for the towel and wiped your face.

Wally: “Well, I’m glad you’re alright Caretaker. It’s also nice to see you having more fun.”

Julie: “Yeah! You have such a wonderful laugh! You should do that more often.”

Barnaby: “Pfft—you call that a laugh? It was more of like a goose hon—” His mouth shut automatically as you gave the blue puppet a warning glance. “Uh.. ha, ha, ha. I mean, your laugh is fantastic Care!” He backtracked before standing and looking you over. Placing his hands on his hips, he shifted his weight to one leg, smiling down at you. “But, it does sound refreshing to finally have you let loose.”

You shake your head, wrapping the towel around your shoulders.

Julie: “Oh! Right!” Julie swapped her phone camera again, leaning closer and placing you both in the frame. “Hey, hey neighbors! Crisis averted! They’re A-O.K.! But let me also introduce you to the most important member of the Welcome Home Cast! This is our dear Caretaker! They work super hard!”

Wally: “That’s right. They always take great care of us.” He adds, leaning closer despite the threat of getting his felt sticky.

Sally: “And they’re super cool!”

Barnaby: “Not to mention, a real spitfire.” He nudged your shoulder gently once he made his way to you.

At this point, Poppy, Eddie, Howdy, and Frank had appeared, joining in the cascade of praises. You were a bit too stunned to speak, not quite used to being complimented so much. You definitely weren’t anticipating this. You were skeptical at first, but their words were truly genuine as each of the cast members looked over to you with smiles reaching all the way up to their eyes. You heard and saw the swift pings of comments from the fans, not being able to read all of them, but catching a glimpse of the ‘hello Caretaker’, ‘keep doing your best’, and ‘you’re incredible’.

Caretaker: “I… thank you….” You replied sheepishly, feeling your face begin to flush. You reached up, grabbing one of the ends of the towel that was wrapped around your shoulders, bringing it up to your nose to hide the blush that had formed.

All cast members, in unison: “No, thank YOU, Caretaker!”

[Bonus]

You would later clean yourself up and ended up scolding Barnaby, Wally, and Julie about the dangers of carelessly tossing so many things in the air without properly considering their surroundings. Someone could have seriously gotten hurt after all.

#[fffff----- i went over board again. i cant seem to shorten them lmao]#[my writing is so inconsistent. the brain rot is eating at me]#marsfics #welcome home off script #Adventures of Wally & The Gang (plus their Caretaker)#Adventures of Wally & The Gang (plus their Caretaker) series #[throws out another one of these]#[i srsly cant get enough of Barnaby being such a jokester]#[gASP--- House of Cards AU merhaps?]#[too many ideaaaas--]#wally darling x reader #wally x reader

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hoodharlow · 7 months

Text

The 3rd Act

AN: everyone thank that anon 🤪

Requested? By anon

Warnings: breakup news, messy comments, and shady posts 👀

Word Count: n/a

@'pagesix: Kentucky native, Jack Harlow and the daughter of Mateo Dominguez and Isabela Miller, Miriam Dominguez-Miller, split after two years from a source close to the Grammy nominated rapper. Details on why the couple split aren't known, but both remaim friends and still support each other's projects. Click on our bio for more

@'mackstan: I just fell to my knees 😭

@'miriamfan: they were just promoting Jack's cameo in SZA's music video 💔

@'mackshipper: April fools is in April, not rn

@'jackstan: as much as I joke about wishing Jack was single, this is lowkey sad

@'miriamhater: kinda pathetic that her name is always attached to her parents

View all comments

•••

@'mdm: just entered my Broadway era 🥺😭 In all seriousness, I feel super honored to be part of the cast for the 30th anniversary of The Nightstmare Before Christmas. Being on Broadway is a dream come true and I want to thank everyone who's been so supportive of this. Can't wait for y'all to see what the cast and I have in store. Opening night on October 6th <3

@'katdominguez: since when did you stop being scared of this movie

-> @'mdm: I'm faking it till I make it 😭

@'saintclauds: proud of you bestirini 🥺

@'zendaya: already booking my ticket. I'll be in the front row

-> @'theestallion: get me a ticket too, I'll venmo you

-> @'Kehlani: me three

@'haileybieber: excited for this!

@'miriamstan: and when she wins a Tony then she'll be the youngest EGOT winner 🤭

-> @'miriamhater: yeah thanks to nepotism

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•••

@'jackharlow: Denver out now

@'nuggets: 🔥

@'urbanwyatt: this was everything

@'shloob: ain't missed on a vid ever

@'nicolescherzinger: everything about this was breathtaking

@'twittergirlie: what if they posted the breakup news to get people talking about them so they could release their projects and get hype

-> @'mdmxjh: they don't need to provide fake news to get people to talk about them. They just have the misfortune of having people not root for their relationship like Justin and his wife

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•••

Jack Harlow via Instagram Stories

•••

@'justjared: more than co-stars? Euphoria star, Jacob Elordi, and the daughter of Mateo Dominguez and Isabela Miller, Miriam Dominguez, were spotted out in New York. The Australian also shared a picture of himself with 24 year old actress backstage during rehearsals for their Broadway production of The Night Before Christmas. 🔗 in bio for more

@'internetstan: this mf collects nepo babies like infinity stones

@'jackfan: the New Balances, she knows where her loyalties are lol

@'miriamfan: the matching outfits down to brown shoulder bag 😭 Jack could never

@'zendayastan: isn't Miriam friends with Z? The number one rule of girl code is to no go after your friend's ex

-> @'miriamfan: first of all, Miriam and Jacob have explicitly said they are friends and co-stars. This is some bs click bait. Also Z and Miriam were spotted getting lunch a few days ago. I don't think Z cares her friend is working with Jacob. Do you think Z came for Laura Harrier when they did some perfume ad together or at Hunter who had several scenes with Jacob in Euphoria. This is work. People are bound to work with their friend's exes.

@'mackshipper: why only post this angle. There's a video on tiktok where a bee kept following Miriam and Jacob was using a paper to remove it off her

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•••

@'mdm: I adopted Daisy Flor Dominguez-Miller three years ago. Miss when she was a puppy and not the sassy it girl that she has become

@'JosephDominguez: your ass still owes me for helping your sneak her in the house

@'medegutierrez: Panchito's bestie 🦦

-> @'calumhood: Actually Duke is Panchito's bestie, he told me himself

@'40yearoldweirdo: bring back natural makeup like this. None of that caked up shit

-> @'mdm: literally wearing full glam with lashes and a brown smokey eye be so fucking fr you weirdo

@'mackstan: they really broke up huh 😪😔 no more Jack being unserious in her comments 💔

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•••

Jack Harlow via Instagram Stories

•••

@'jacobelordi via Instagram Stories

•••

@'jackharlowsource: some behind the scenes of 3D

@'jackxmiriam: he's in his outfit flop era. Miriam would style him DOWN

@'jackfan: he's on to better things like working with literal idols

-> @'miriamfan: Miriam introduced them when she and JK filmed their Calvin Klein ad. She's the reason why he has these connections

@'jackstan: can Miriam stans leave y'all are being annoying 🙄

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•••

@'chismepage: awkward moments at Jay Z and Michael Rubin's Reform Alliance charity casino night when recent exes Jack Harlow and Miriam Dominguez-Miller, walk past each other with out another word. Sources at the party mentioned that Harlow greeted Mateo Dominguez and Isabela Miller, but curved their youngest daughter whom he had been in a two year relationship. It's still unknown why the couple split up. 🔗 for more

•••

@'zendayac.96: Z at the opening night of The Nightmare Before Christmas supporting long time friend Miriam Dominguez-Miller

@'zstan: two Emmy award winning besties

@'mackshipper: did anyone happen to see Jack 😭 I'm holding out for hope

-> @'tomsdaya: hold out for delusion bestie

@'twitterstan: need them to play lovers in a movie like yesterday

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•••

Clay Harlow via Instagram Stories

•••

@'jackharlowsource: Jack at the Lousiville and Notre Dame game today on Oct. 6th

@'jackstan: since when does he have a dump truck back there lol

@'mackshipper: 😔 I was hoping he'd go to opening night 🥺 his parents, Clay and Clay's girlfriend went

@'miriamhater: he's living his best life now that the annoying nepo baby is done riding his coattails

@'twittergirlie: the mullet is mulleting

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•••

@'jacobelordi: conquering opening night jitters the Evans siblings way

Comments have been limited

•••

@'mdm: no big deal just me at mother Kelly Clarkson's show talking about my directorial debut and Broadway then I closed the show with a teaser for Last Dance. Before y'all do your conspiracy theories, Tenemos Que Hablar was about my character and her first love interest. It has nothing to do with my personal life. Anyways watch me embarrass myself talking about the Justin and Kelly movie

@'mdmxjh: she left THEE Kelly Clarkson GAGGED with how effortlessly she did that note

@'twitterstan: nepotism aside Miriam is so fucking talented. The pop girlies are lucky she's mainly an actress.

@'mackshipper: was she shading Jack in her new song?

-> @'miriamfan: re-reading her fucking caption. It was made for the movie WAY before they broke up 🙄🙄🙄

@'saintclauds: you're a staurrr

@'andreiiosivas: Spotify when

@'Alinahunter: literally obsessed qith you 🥰 can't wait to see you on stage 1937383 more times

@'zendaya: YES!

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•••

@'saintclauds: my bestirini joined me on today's episode of Girl Chat. We talked about ice makers, Libra men with pretty hair and going back to school in the middle of performing a Broadway play

@'mdmfan: I love me some Miriam and Claudia 🤞🏻 they're so funny together

@'miriamstan: as an immigrant kid can she not set a new standard for us academically 😭 my mom is gonna be on my ass bc Miriam is doing her masters and Broadway at the same time

@'saintclaudsxmdm: when they would go 👀 at each other and change the subject 🤭 they have so much chisme lol

@'miriamhater: she couldn't even mention Jack's name when she talked about the movie 🙄 she's so annoying

-> @'mackshipper: can you leave her alone? If she doesn't want to mention Jack she shouldn't. She's not obligated to just because they were in a movie

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•••

@'andreiiosivas: 🎁😎🥰

@'mdm: *Schmidt from New Girl* A libra man?! No!

-> @'andreiiosivas: why your surprised? The second thing you asked me what my Big 3 were 💀 I'm taking the icemaker back

-> @'mdm: no <3

-> @'miriamfan: Ariana what are you doing here

@'NFL: Joe Burrow gave him the best birthday present

@'saintclauds: no I get it

-> @'medegutierrez: 🦦

-> @'Alinahunter: okay I see it 👀

-> @'giahunter: y'all are so inconspicuous 😭 but 👀👀👀

@'twittergirlie: why are Miriam and her friends here 👀

@'twitterstan: he's a Libra man with pretty hair 👁👄👁

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•••

@'jackharlow: Here I come

@Druski: miss you gang

@'claybornharlow: let's fucking GOOOO

@'laufey: hyped

@generationnow: 🔥up

@'miriamhater: a diss album 🤭 drag that bitch

@'messyman: idk if you saw but your ex bitch is in some other dude's comments

@'miriamfan: as long as he doesn't diss Miriam we're good

@'mackshipper: I'm a sucker for breakup albums but not my parents </3

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•••

@'miriam_spottings: Miriam out with Princeton Alum/ Cincinnati Bengals wide receiver, Andrei Iosivas, after her sold out show at Minskoff Theater

@'twitterstan: are football players the new trend 😭

@'mdmxjh: I'm a child of divorce fr 💔

@'miriamfan: everyone was worried she was with her co-star only for her to pop out with an NFL player. It's kinda camp if you think about it 😭

@'mackshipper: no shade but damn that was quick

@'mdmstan: Miriam’s back in her WAG era we love to see it

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•••

@'jackharlowsource: More videos of Jack at @'thehubpm

@'mdmfan: I'd be blasting corny breakup music too if my ex (that was WAY out of my league in the first place) was seen with a fine ass NFL player who went to an Ivy League

@'miriamfan: when you're at football games but her new man is IN them 😭

@'jackstan: Jack don't embarrass me like this be strong not petty 😭

@'jhxmdm: I didn't want it to end like this 😔

View all comments

Taglist: @sativachilombo @heavyhitterheaux @cherry4everrr @carma-fanficaddict @youngharleezy @youngharleezyxo @babyharleezy @that-90s-girllll @alinaharlow @harlowcomehome @nattinatalia @webinurcloset @gassyandsassy1 @jackharloww @awhore4moree @noescapricho-essentimiento @neon-lights-and-glitter @purecinnamonextract @whywontyoulovemecami @camificrecs @itsyagirljaz @w1ldthoughts @vanwritesfan-fiction @xxkoolkatxx

#jack harlow #jack harlow instagram au #jack harlow insta au #jack and miriam #jack harlow angst

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yumeka-sxf · 4 months

Text

It's time for another merch post, my biggest one yet since I went kind of crazy for merch in Dec/Jan...my wallet is still recovering 😵‍💫 (also, I made scans of some of this merch in a previous post here if you haven't already seen).

First is one of two Mercari orders. I only intended to get the movie booklet (which I've posted about previously) but added some more stuff to make the shipping worthwhile!

I got the towel with the cruise arc outfits that's part of the merch line for the Tokai Steamship collab. It's a bit small, but I still love it!

I always liked the art for the Tower Records collab, so I got a poster! (the seller also included stickers and postcards).

I also like the art for the Cruise Buffet collab, so I got a paper placemat which makes a great poster! The seller shipped it in this nice plastic cover, so I decided to keep that on to protect it (they included a postcard too, which will be part of my next miscellaneous scans post 😁)

The below acrylic stands were recently released as part of the movie merch line (sold at theaters I believe). Anya had a couple different designs, including one where she's in a director's chair and one where she has 3D glasses. But I picked the one where she's eating popcorn since Bond is with her (gotta always get the whole family when I can!)

A couple weeks ago I took a trip to Animate, where they just happened to be having a SxF promotion where you'd get postcards of the new camping designs if you spent a certain amount on SxF merchandise. I bought the four camping acrylics, which was more than enough to get all the postcards 😊

Also picked up these two magazines, since a Kinokuniya store was at that mall as well (scans of these coming soon!)

Below is the second Mercari order!

I absolutely love these painting acrylics! They're definitely one of my favorite sets ❤️

Some acrylics from the movie! The big one in the middle is really cool, the background is reflective but transparent too.

I love the Waku Waku Park designs, but was only able to find acrylics of Anya & Bond. Hope to add Loid and Yor to the collection one day. So I just got a clear file in the meantime, lol.

Couldn't resist this adorable CODE: White overnight bag! I decided to use it to hold my many TCG decks 😅

And lastly (kinda of) was my usual Amiami preoder!

The "Anya helping with chores" designs are so cute, I got them as both acrylic stands (from Amiami) and reusable bags (from the aforementioned Mercari order).

I got more acrylics and postcards of the lovely kimono designs ❤️ (postcards scans coming soon!)

As I posted about previously, I got the Operation Diary video game along with these nice goodies that came with the preorder! (that keychain is rare official Twiyor merch 👀)

And I got even more TCG accessories! (another set of sleeves, a few deck boxes, a card box, and card holder).

The reason I've been getting so much TCG stuff, as well as why I said the Amiami order was only "sort of" the last of my merch from the past couple months, is because I had also preordered a case of SxF Weiss Schwarz cards! I preordered it back in August, and the set officially released in English last week...but that will be covered in another post, so stay tuned~

#spy x family #spy family #sxf #spyxfamily #loid forger #yor forger #anya forger #bond forger #damian desmond #becky blackbell #yuri briar #fiona frost #sxf merch

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melanieph321 · 2 months

Text

Ruben Dias/Trent Alexander Arnold x Reader - Dark Rivarly Part 8/15

What a perfect day to release a chapter hahaha. 🤣 It's derby day between Man City and Liverpool and with the beef going on between Trent and the team my story becomes more and more unrealistic, or what do you think? 🤔

Could Trent ever make peace with somone like Ruben? Let alone allow Ruben to date his sister?

Part 9 and 10 are already out on my Patreon!

Reader is Trent Alexander Arnold's twin sister. The two have been inseparable since childbirth, more so now when Reader is fresh out of university looking for a job, crashing at her brother's place whilst doing so. One day Reader gets a job offer that she cannot refuse, however it would mean working for her brother's biggest rival in football, Ruben Dias.

Enjoy!

"These are actually pretty good."

"Really?" You perked up where you sat on the sofa in Ruben's hotel room. He was sitting next to you.

"Yes and the press seems to love the outfit you choose for Ruben, look."

Miranda turned her Ipad around, showing you the published images of Ruben, wearing the outfit you had picked out for him.

"I'll admit that I had my doubts at first, but the reviews have all been great. Good job Y/N."

"Um, thank you Miranda." A complement from her felt like a lifetime achievement.

"I'm gonna call the photographer that took these and see if he can send me the negatives. We might be able to use them on Instagram to summarize the weekend. Miranda left the room to make the call, leaving you alone with Ruben, who had barely acknowledged you this morning.

"I better pack my bags." You said, rising from the sofa. Ruben however, refused to move his legs out of the way to let you pass.

"Excuse me?" You groaned. It wasn't funny, neither of you were laughing. "Ruben?"

His legs wouldn't budge, and you were getting agitated. "What the he'll are you doing, move your..."

Ruben drew back his legs just as you were about to swing at them with your own. This caused you to stumble forwards, almost tripping yourself.

"What was that for?" You frowned.

Ruben's expression was emotionless as he stood, and for the first time the height difference between you was intimidating.

"I...I just wanted to go to my room and pack my bags." You stuttered.

Ruben exhaled. "We need to talk first."

"Talk about what exactly?" You crossed your arms.

"The way you left me last night, it was unprofessional." He said.

"Ruben, I told you that I came down with something." Which was a lie, but it was the best one you could come up with on such short notice.

"And what exactly was it that you came down with?" He asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Well you seemed fine when you left my side at the party. What made you suddenly wanna run off Y/N?"

"Ruben, for the third time, I wasn't running, I just needed to get back to the hotel and lie down."

"So that's where you did it?"

"Did what?" You frowned, his tone spiteful to you.

Ruben shifted in his stance, crossing one arm over the other. "Y/N, I expect you to take your job seriously. For you to then run off with some guy...."

"I didn't run off with some guy."

"Don't lie to me Y/N, John saw you!"

The echoes of his words bounced off the walls. The room fell silent.

Ruben's eyes searched your face, he was angry and wanted answers, rightfully so. "Who is he Y/N, an old flame from your university days?"

"Ruben."

"No." He shook his head. "Don't tell me. It's none of my business." He walked over to the windows, running a hand through his hair.

"Ruben, it's not what it looks like. That guy, he is my...."

"Just know if you ever pull something like that on me again...." He said, slowly turning to you. "I won't be giving you any second chances, understood? Do your job from now on or the next time you're fired."

"There. The photographer gave me the thumbs up. He'll be sending me the...." Miranda stumbled into the room but paused at the sight of you and Ruben. "Everything alright?"

You were staring blankly at each other, something heavy forming in the base of your throat. Your voice shook when you spoke. "I have to pack my bags." You said and ran off into your room, gasping for air once you stood behind closed doors. You were gasping for air from the unstoppable flood of tears.

You were considering your life choices on the journey back to London. What if you just moved aboard and started a new life in some foreign country? No one would know you and you wouldn't have to lie about who you were. You'd be nothing and therefore be someone.

"Y/N! You're back early."

You stepped into Grandma's shop carrying your suitcases. You had forgotten your keys to her apartment but was glad to be welcomed by Jennifer at the front desk. However, her initial joy of seeing you quickly faded. "Oh my god, you're soaking wet. Is it pouring outside?"

"Just a drizzle." You murmured, as she rounded her desk to help usher you inside. "Is my grandma here? I forgot my keys."

"She's in her office, sorting out a golden suit. You won't guess who it's for." She giggled.

"Trent."

Her smile withered. "How did you know?"

You removed your soaked coat. Your shirt beneath had also been ruined.

"Oh my god, tell me about your weekend." She gasped. "London Fashion Week, was it as exciting as they make it to be? And your boss, was she happy with your work?"

"He." You corrected.

"What?"

"My boss is a he, and no he wasn't happy with my work."

"Oh my god. I'm so sorry Y/N. Is he high maintenance when it comes to fashion?"

"No, he's just a fucking dickhead."

"Language."

Grandma walked into the room, pinching a dozen sewing needles between her teeth.

"But he is a dickhead Grandma. And I don't care anymore, I'm not going back to work for him."

Grandma spat out the needles in her mouth, all the pins dropping soundless to the floor. "Well you're not coming back to work for me!"

"But where else am I supposed to go?"

"Home. To your mother, and tell her she's failed to raise her children."

"Ha ha, very funny."

"I'm serious Y/N, you're not staying with me. I'm getting tired of your tardiness, not to mention that furball you've got running around my apartment."

"What does Whiskey Jr, have to do with any of this?"

"He stinks, just like your attitude towards authority."

"I don't have an attitude towards authority. "

The bell above the front door rang in the distance. "Guys?"

"No, tell that to your current boss. I've overheard you talking, I bet he's done with your tardiness as well."

"Hey, guys?"

"What are you talking about Grandma, you don't even know my boss and if you did you would agree that he is a fucking piece of...."

"Y/N, please!"

Your argument with grandma was interrupted by Jenny's objections. She stood by the shop entrance, greeting the customer that had stepped through the door. He was soaked with rainwater from head to toe.

"You have a new client." She said, cheeks as red as they come. You on the other hand, couldn't find the words to speak and so grandma stepped in. "Can I help you sir, we're not open for much longer."

Ruben stepped forward. "No....I mean yes. I want to speak to Y/N."

"My granddaughter?" She frowned. "And who might you be, young man?"

You shook your head as Ruben met your eyes. However he went ahead anyway. "I'm Ruben, Ruben Dias, her boss."

"Oh. My. Days!"

You saw Jenny bouncing up and down in the corner of your eye.

"There's no way." She squealed. "There is no fucking way."

"Jenny please." You groaned, begging her to spare Grandma who hadn't been as quick to put two and two together.

"Your boss is Ruben Dias? Of all people." Jenny was clearly overjoyed by the drama unfolding before her. "Y/N, you're basically working for the enemy."

"Please don't be so dramatic". You sighed.

"Does Trent know? He's got to know, right?"

"Trent?"

You looked to Ruben as the name escaped his lips. His eyebrows furrowed. "Is that who you were with in London? Is that the name of your boyfriend, Trent?"

"Ha!" Jenny snorted, slapping a hand against her mouth. "You ran into Trent in London? Oh the drama. I can't."

"For fuck sakes Jenny!"

"Y/N!" The room fell quiet as Grandma's voice rose above all. "Language."

"But grandma..."

"No buts." She said, forcing your silence. "Now." She stepped up to Ruben, examining him. "This young man. Your boss? He has come here to speak to you, let's hear what he has to say."

It was a nightmare come true. Even Ruben seemed a bit taken aback by Grandma's demeanor. However he did gather the courage to address you as if you were the only two people in the room.

"I came here to apologize." He said. "For being a dickhead to you this morning."

Jenny snorted somewhere behind you, however grandma shot her a glance that made her fall back.

"You have the right to do and see whoever you want. I was just jealous and upset that you chose to do so on the night of my friend's gallery opening. For some reason I really believed that the two of us were...."

"No way." Jenny gasped, once again interrupting you. "You're fucking him too?"

"Oh for the love of..." You grabbed Ruben's arm, pulling him aside, into Grandma's office in the back room. There the two of you were left alone, however this game was getting old, the game of Ruben hurting you then crawling back, begging you to forgive him.

"There's something you should know about me." You said, wanting to get it over with. Ready to get it over with.

"Alright." Ruben nodded. "Tell me."

It was now or never.

"That guy your friend saw me with last night wasn't my boyfriend, or an old flame from my university days."

"No, who was he then?"

Another one bites the dust, you thought. Telling the truth meant that you were going to lose Ruben, just like the truth made you lose your old friends. You sighed before you spoke. "He is my brother Ruben, my twin brother."

"Oh, okay." There were clear signs of relief coming across Ruben's face, a slight twitch in the corner of his lips.

"His name is Trent, Trent Alexander Arnold. You might recognize the name since..."

"Wait." His expression went stiff again, carved by a deep frown. "Did you say Trent Alexander Arnold? As in..."

You nodded. "Yes, THE Trent Alexander Arnold. Liverpool's right back, however you might know him better as the guy that got booked for trying to punch you out the last time Man City played Liverpool."

Ruben's snort was unexpected. "Tried to, is the right word for what he did."

It made you gasp, as well as playfully nudge his arm. "I'm being serious."

"Trust me Y/N, I'm also trying to be serious. So you're telling me you're related to Trent Alexander Arnold, your twin brother to be exact?"

"Yes. I'm the oldest, if you must know."

Ruben's bright eyes searched your face. But it was unclear to you what had suddenly lightened his mood.

"Is this the reason?" He asked."

"What reason?"

"Why don't you want to be with me? Because of who your brother is. My "rival" in the football world?"

"Well that and the fact that you are my employer which would label our relationship as highly inappropriate."

"Yes, but it's mainly because of your brother, no? You worry about what he will think of you, of us. It's why you had him take you home the other night, because you didn't want the two of us to meet, no?"

You nodded. "He doesn't know that I'm your stylist. And I don't think that I want him to. The truth would send him through the roof." You still wondered why it hadn't sent Ruben through the roof, what was his angle?

"Y/N, I don't give a fuck about who your brother is?" He said this in a way that shook your core. Ruben then stepped forward, grabbing your face between his hands, tilting your head upwards. "Can we stop pretending that what we have between us isn't real?" He chuckled. "Can you just accept the fact that I want you and you want me Y/N?"

"You want me to run into your arms?"

He frowned. "What?"

"Like the girl in the painting." You smiled. "He's waiting for her to run into his arms."

"Yes." Ruben nodded. "Exactly. Come to me, run into my arms."

You crashed into his lips instead, with Ruben initiating it by pulling your face towards his. Just like that you we're back to square one, the game between you having stepped into a second round. And the next round was guaranteed to involve less tears and more fistfights.

#fanfiction #football imagine #ruben dias #man city #manchester city #footballer imagine #footballer x reader #ruben dias x reader #football angst #ruben dias imagine #trent alexander arnold x reader #trent alexander imagines #trent alexander arnold #liverpool fc #liverpool football club

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justjams2003 · 2 years

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Thundering return

Cha~ idfk hello:) I want more dark Thor >:( Please somebody, I need it. Or mob boss Thor, anything where he is doing something criminal >:(

Pairing: Dark!Thor x slave!wife!reader

Warnings: Mentions of previous rape, manipulation, stockholm syndrome type situation, violent sex, degrading, praising.

Summary: Thor comes home lustful after a heavy battle in need for a release. (Basically just smut)

Word count: 1.6k, not edited also it’s 1:30 am

When you first got hear, the sound of a storm made yours body quiver with fear. Fear of Thor, of his return. A clear sign that his mood is unstable and most likely you will be forced into the cross fires of that anger. You will be used to relieve that frustration, in any way he possibly sees fit.

After all, your marriage was forced. Your father and the all father coming to agreement. You were seen as one of the most beautiful maidens, creatures to have lived, right under the gods of course. And so you were married off and Thor was in complete defiance.

Yet still, he was over protective of you. Not allowed out without him by your side or a select view guards. Not allowed to make eye contact with any man nearby. Not to speak without his before-decided permission. All outfits had to be seen by him before any other could see.

It confused you at first, his quick mood changes. One moment he’d be cherishing your whole being with such devouring eyes. Protecting you at all costs and making sure not another would even think of upsetting you. You were happy about the marriage, having heard many good things about him.

But at nights when thunderstorms were booming loud and he took you without question, you put up a fight. As any other would. That would only upset him more. But soon he convinced you and made you realise this is how he shows his love. He’s tired and angry and then he turns to you to comfort him.

To you, he goes to you for relief. You can’t go on without him. He is the reason you have all these lavish gowns and feasts upon feasts. People protecting you from the horrors outside of the castle walls. You have the most handsome prince in all nine realms relishing your body. And so you realised how much you need him. Giving yourself to him fully and allowing yourself to be happy here.

So when thunderclouds began to form late in the afternoon, your heart raced wildly. Finally he is to return from his battle. He’s been gone at least two weeks now and it has been hell for you. Beyond lonely as you are usually to accompany Thor everywhere.

And so when you awoke just slightly past midnight with a huge boom and clap of thunder you immediately grew wet with anticipation. Urgently your closest maiden rushes in, slamming the doors open. “His Majesty has returned and demands your greeting at once,” she says, already helping her exit.

Thor is first in the greeting hall. His blonde hair is dripping wet, similar to how you are feeling. His eyes are filled with a dark cyclone. Just then as those tempestuous blue eyes land on your figure, a massive lightning bolt hits the ground. Illuminating the everything behind Thor, making him seem like only a dark shadow.

“Wife...” His voice is dripping with lust and yet his eyes filled with anger, jealousy and an emotion indescribable to you. Then you realise. Thor’s fighting company is right behind him. The Warriors Three, Sif and even Loki. They all respect you and fear you far too much to even look at your form.

He had called to you and you came without even thinking. Leaving in only a night gown, one made of satin and silk. Perfectly falling over your curves like a waterfall smooths over rocks. Thor grabs you, right by the waist. Pressing your body as close to him as you can.

You follow his lead, wrapping your arms around his neck and shoulders. Bringing him in even closer. “We will discuss this in the bedroom.” He states, with a low growl into your ear. “For now you will stand behind me as I greet my friends for the night.” He commands to you, his voice low and trilling.

And so you listened and followed his every word. Waiting as he allows your maid to leave, commanding her to start with feast plans. He greets his friends with joyous laughter and an adrenaline filled hug. And finally when they were all gone, he turned to you.

His eyes switching from fire to lightning. He does not speak a single word but simply grabs you closer by the neck once more. His lips grapple around yours, his hands dropping mjolnir with a thud. Causing you to jump slightly and he easily takes that as an opportunity to do both pull you up to wrap your legs around his waist and devour his tongue into your mouth.

His hands squeezes onto your waist and the other holding onto your ass for dear life. Bruises will most definitely be left there within the next hour. Soon, not even sure how it was that soon, you reach the bedroom. He throws you down on the bed without much care.

“You whore!” Is his very first words, watching your every move and every curve in his body. Again a bolt strikes, he also begins removing his clothes. His cape falling, chain-mail clattering to the floor. “I spend two weeks away, surrounded by women throwing themselves at me.” His voice gruffs out as he continues.

Each time he wants to put extra care to a word thunder would boom or lightning would strike. “And I had to keep myself away from them. For your sake! To keep you happy, keep our image clean.” He explained, as if it is such a big thing to do.

But to you, it does. To you it is the most obvious thing in the world. You weren’t allowed around a select few men, not allowing you to be seduced. Thor doesn’t have that same privilege. Having to keep his mind pure without someone there to help him. Sure to others it makes no sense, but you’re so in love it only makes sense to you.

“Then the first thing you do, is show up in that! In front of Loki even!” Thor is sacred of losing you, to anybody. Especially to Loki, not that he had done much to deserve such treatment. “That...” he mumbles out, finally dropping his pants. Allowing his massive girth to show fully.

He purrs, crawling onto the bed and fiddling with the night slip. “This is not much to cover yourself with,” he seems to chuckle. Then, just to show how much stronger he is than you, he rips the garment right from your skin. Another bolt hits when he sees your body in full.

The blue light creating shadows on your perfect curve. The colour just sending thrills down Thor’s spine, his colour lighting up your body. He lets out a corrupt chuckle. “By Gods, you my dear are so perfectly crafted,” he mutters, taking in to see each part of you.

“I quite like seeing blue on you,” he announces, his cock right on your clit. Both of you slippery and so ready for each other. “Oh fuck,” you moan out feeling him rub himself on you. Feeling just how big he gets from seeing you. Then his mouth is all over your body.

Kissing and sucking on each part of flesh that will be seen when wearing any garment. Leaving hickeys that will turn blue by the morning. So that everyone can see who exactly you belong to. The whole time rubbing his girth up and down your clit and vulva.

At that point you were coming close, he knew how to get you there even if it is with just his cock. Meaning that he knows damn well just how close your are becoming. He removes himself from you. His dark eyes lit with joy at the whines that leave your mouth.

“You dark get to whine, you pretty little slut.” He warns you, flaring his nostrils with annoyance. “This is for me and me alone. You are to take my cock like the good scant pet you are.” He commands, lifting your legs around his waist, lining himself up with your hole.

“Yes, my prince,” you’ve been trained well. Knowing exactly how to respond to him. He smirks at this and thrusts himself deep inside you. He moans out, burrowing his face in your neck. “So tight for your husband,” he mutters out. You can’t help but wince and also moan from the sheer size of him.

Even after each time it is still so hard to take him all in. Your legs wrapping around him to bring him in even deeper. Have himself close to you just to ground yourself. Your head lolling back as he pounds into you. Your mind going numb from the pure pleasure.

In between he leaves praises and then calling you exactly the opposite. And finally when Thor feels himself coming closer, he lifts you up higher. To get himself deeper in you. Perfectly hitting your pelvic bone, hitting your clit just right.

“Tomorrow you will have my cum leaking out of you.” He commands, knowing full well this will go on for most of the night. Cumming deep into you over and over again. Just like now, hot liquid spewing deep inside of you, allowing you to do the same with him deep inside you.

Thor used you in every way he could that night. Leaving marks all over you, leaving your body a hot, gushing mess. And finally when he decided rest is needed, to have you looking for the feast. “You’re sleeping naked from now on.” Is the last thing he says to you.

A/N : So I missed the birthday post...because I kept coming up with new ideas. But I promise I am like,,,,, 5000 words away from being finished? It’s worth the hype, to me at least, I have bee planning it for like 3 years now. Anyways, I am a whore for dark!Thor. Which, doesn’t really fit in my story so here we are. (Thank you for all the followers btw and to everyone still supporting even though I am so inconsistent.)

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thatfreshi · 2 months

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"Did I Smudge the Scars?" (Uni AU P. 19)

Hello. The long-awaited Halloween party (I know it's almost spring whoops). This took a different turn than I was expecting, but it felt right to me.

TW - alcohol, references to grooming, references to self-harm

When you get to Karlach's dorm, you're met at the door with a lot of scuffling and 'ow!'s, as well as other pathetic hurt sounds.

"Tav, they've been fighting and I can't get them to stop."

A disheveled Gale and Shadow are on the shitty dorm floor, pulling at each other's hair. You glare at your tallest friend.

"Are you... you're serious? As if you aren't literally an athlete?"

She shrugs.

"Well, I'm not going to tell my girlfriend what to do, and I think if I touched Gale he'd fall into tiny pieces. C'mon, please? Just say something to try and get them to break apart?"

The heaviest sigh you've ever let out released from your lungs.

"Hey losers! Astarion and I kissed!"

And as if magically, they stopped clawing at each other. The pale girl is the first to talk.

"What?! And we weren't there?"

She gets off of the artist and fixes her braid.

"Yeah, you guys weren't there because it didn't happen! Karlach's phone call interrupted what was about to be the best kiss of my life, but thanks for getting into another stupid argument that I have to solve for some reason! If I get brought into your bullshit one more time, I swear I will burn this university to the ground."

Gale's eyes go a little wide.

"Can we... at least be outside when you burn it down?"

Your strong gaze doesn't falter, causing him to abandon his lame joke.

"And next time Karlach, please just manhandle her. That's probably what she wants anyways."

You open the dorm door and proceed to slam it, hearing Karlach laugh at her lover.

~~~

The next evening, the seven of you are in Astarion's dorm getting ready for the Halloween party. Shadow and Gale seem to have put their feud away, at least for the night. Your best friend is helping Karlach put on fake horns. You remember her explaining her costume a while ago.

"Listen, I know I'm like super nice! That's why I'm gonna be a demon, because it's like the opposite of me!"

You stare for a while, since your outfit is already put together. Gale catches your gaze lingering for a little too long and gives your shoulder a push, and the two of you laugh a little under your breath.

"Alright, if that amount of eyelash glue doesn't hold those in place I'll give up on makeup forever."

Astarion finishes testing the horns, and they seem to stay in place.

"Tav, come here darling."

You're taken aback, considering your costume was finished first.

"What? Did I smudge the scars?"

Your look for tonight is a scrappy adventurer, something you'd find in a Dungeons and Dragons campaign.

"No no, they're fine my dear."

You sit on the couch beside him, and he grabs his eyeliner.

"If you're going to be some fierce adventurer, your eyes have to stand out at least."

You're not sure if it was just in your head, but it felt like the entire room got silent. He grabs your head and goes to work on his craft.

"You know you have to close your eyes for me to do this properly, right?"

You didn't realize you had been locking eyes with him.

"Right, sorry."

A light chuckle comes from your throat as the cold, black liner hits your skin. After what feels like only a moment in time, he lets go of you, taking in his work.

"Hm, I probably could've done that a little more evenly, but it'll do. Besides, I doubt eyeliner is all that even in the wilderness."

You open your eyes again, and he smirks when you do.

"Well, thanks for making sure I look 'fierce' or whatever."

He smiles.

"Are we all ready to go then?"

You look at a bored Shadowheart, who is unsurprisingly dressed as a sexy nun. Apparently the lovely couple's costumes matched more than you thought.

"Yeah, I think everyone's done getting ready. Gale, you good?"

You're checking on your friend in a shitty cheap wizard costume, who has been intently staring at his phone for the past 20 minutes.

"Yep, ready to go!"

And suddenly his phone is back in his robe pocket, and the air around him dissipates. So, after a long walk to the parking garage, Gale drives you all past GU, onto the rich area outside the city. When you get to the location on the invite, you're all a little baffled.

"Is Halsin secretly a millionaire? Because he should teach us a thing or two about finances in college if so."

Everyone laughs a little at Wyll's quip as the seven of you exit the van. You all decided to get to the party about an hour after it started, leaving plenty of time for things to pick up. Astarion is a little paranoid before you get inside, and you tug at his vampiric blouse sleeve.

"Hey, it's fine. No one has any reason to think you're here. And if it just so happens that someone less than friendly finds you here, then we leave, simple as that."

"Right, of course. No reason to be worried."

He's trying to convince himself, but before you can further reassure him, Halsin meets your group outside the front door.

"Ah, if it isn't Tav and their lovely friends! Please, come in."

"So like... do you own this place? Or like your mom?"

Halsin turns to respond to Karlach.

"Hah! No, not in the slightest. A friend of mine let me borrow the place. He's from a much richer family than I am, and I figured a party should be held in a vast mansion such as this. Anyway, there's plenty of food, beer pong, board games, and plenty of stunning people looking for a fun time."

He winks at Shadowheart playfully.

"I'll be around, let me know if you all need anything. Please though, go have fun!"

Karlach and Shadowheart look at each other knowingly and start eyeing a couple across the room. Wyll and Lae'zel make their way to beer pong, and Gale wanders off to wallflower somewhere, very unlike him. That leaves you and Astarion, gazes skipping around the room.

"Certainly a much larger abode than I expected. Don't get lost in here darling, I can't remember the last time I went to a party that wasn't purely for PR."

Astarion seems excited. The news of his social media blackout seems to be relatively hidden for now, and there's almost a manic sense about him. For once, he's not a model, he's not repping a brand, he's not watching his figure for some shoot, he's just a college kid.

"Well, what do you want to do then?"

"Perhaps go check and see if the punch is spiked?"

There's a little bit of lust on the tip of his tongue, lust for life, and maybe even you. It's hard to tell though. Emotions have been so high as of recent, and Astarion is difficult to read at best.

"Perhaps we shall."

You playfully extend your arm to interlock, and he accepts. There are most definitely whispers as the two of you go across the main room, and you start to wonder if the articles are coming out, if everyone knows. You try desperately not to grab your phone, and succeed, at least for now.

As you two take a sip of unspiked punch, you take in the scenery. It's quite dark, obviously. Halsin and his friends have very intensely decorated the entire first floor, with all eco-friendly and thrifted items as he constantly reminds everyone.

"Hey! You're that ghost lookin' model boy right?!"

Some party-goer yells, who is clearly drunk. Astarion ignores him at first. The random drunk then yells even louder, as if the music was drowning him out.

"He's gonna fucking kill you!"

He perks up after that, making eye contact with the stranger.

"What did you say to me?"

"I said that weirdo is gonna fucking kill you! Szarr or whatever? I mean good on you though, making a cool statement or whatever. I used to date a model that worked under him, and a couple months after we broke up she went 'missing!' Crazy right?! Anyways man, I hope he doesn't kill you because you're a fuckin' looker. Have a good night!"

After the guy walks off, you and Astarion look at each other.

"Did you know about that?"

"I mean, I knew one of the models he used to work with disappeared, but it was never determined what happened. You don't think..."

You put a hand on his.

"Let's not right now. Let's not go down that route right now."

"Right. I think I need this to actually be spiked."

He leans down and grabs a flask out of his boot.

"I didn't know you brought booze."

"Eh, an emergency stock in case they didn't have any here."

You twiddle your hands nervously.

"Just don't get like, drunk drunk, please? I really cannot handle that tonight."

"Dear, you think I can't handle my liquor? How little you must think of me."

He takes a sip of his newly mixed punch, tapping red acrylics on the cheap plastic cup.

"Let's see if our wonderful Wyll and Lae'zel are winning beer pong, shall we?"

It's as if you've seen a new man tonight, overconfidence to mask fear. Of course it concerns you, because he constantly concerns you. You want to reason, to say that he's enjoying some kind of newfound freedom, but this isn't the Astarion you've come to know. He's not the simple dorm room you've come to love, the glasses he won't tell anyone about, the late-night hours spent on reviewing law papers. Something about it makes your stomach sink a little, wondering if this is who he is now, somehow. That maybe-

"Are you coming darling?"

"Of course."

And your lips curl into a smile, one that you find yourself faking the way he does.

"Bullshit! You moved the cup you fool!"

Lae'zel has already started arguing with various frat bros. Her and Wyll are a surprising duo, already wiping out the competition and taking several cups of shitty, watered-down beer.

"Lae, it's fine, be a gracious winner!"

The guys across the table disperse and leave the champions to reset the table, clearly being the sour ones in this situation.

"Well well well, already winning silly little games are we? Might as well start putting money on it."

Lae'zel turns to Astarion.

"As if I would waste my money on chance. Some people have brains around here."

He simply rolls his eyes, and turns his attention to Wyll.

"I'm sure daddy wouldn't feel too good about you being in a place like this."

Wyll mocks him back.

"I'm pretty sure 'daddy' doesn't even care what I'm doing right now."

He then goes to somberly refill the rest of the cups on the table. You push Astarion's shoulder and give him a look that should clearly say 'hey, that was mean, what the fuck are you doing?' but all he does is shrug at you.

"Don't mind him Wyll, his father doesn't care about him either. That makes you even."

Before the three further bicker about parental relationships, you hear a familiar voice off towards the corner of the room.

"Because Gale, I miss having a friend! I miss knowing you were in control of your life, not some stupid professor. And right now? Right now I'm yelling at you, at a party, instead of hanging out with my hot girlfriend and that sexy GU couple we just chatted up."

"As if you haven't been hiding things from me too Shadow."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm just saying, maybe there's a reason you picked sexy nun instead of sexy cat this year."

"What does that even mean Gale?"

"Oh, don't think I didn't notice during our little scuffle earlier, your arm?"

Suddenly, she gets very quiet, extremely aware of how many people at the party can hear her and Gale yapping. She then grabs his arm and drags him outside the side door. Your stomach is in knots at this point, because for some reason everything is wrong. Everything was supposed to be right after the blackout. Your friends would all be happy and get along, Astarion would be a free man, you'd finally get that kiss you'd been waiting for, and yet here you are, at some Halloween party hosted by your ex, and everything is just... wrong.

Without thinking, you go to the nearest exit of that room, the staircase. You're trying to block out the loud music at this point, but it feels almost impossible. The closest door is the first on your right and you open it, slamming it behind you. You're met with a large bed, probably belonging to some rich couple. The giant windows are covered with blackout curtains, and the carpet is luscious. Things are quieter in here, except for a soft knock at the door once you sit at the edge of the bed.

"Go away!"

"It's me Tav."

Of course Astarion followed you up here, how inseparable the two of you are.

"C'mon Aster."

When he comes in and quietly shuts the door, your head is in your hands. You feel the mattress move as he sits down next to you.

"I'm sorry."

You wipe at a watery eye, the tears just beginning to come in.

"For what? I'm the one that ran off."

He doesn't say anything at first, pondering how to best word this new thought.

"You- you're the first person who has helped me recognize my own patterns, that when I get scared I have this wall up. I've been feeling it since we sat down and cleared all my socials, this overwhelming feeling, like I'm being hunted to the ends of the Earth. And that fear, it makes me someone I don't like. Especially tonight, being outside of campus for the first time since, I just-"

He cries too, the first time you can remember seeing him cry. You lean on his shoulder. He continues.

"I thought I was ready, and I'm not. I'm not ready to be a normal person right now, a college kid that goes to parties."

You scoff slightly.

"I thought things would be normal too. Like somehow we had fixed everything, ya know?"

"Yeah... I do."

"I would like to find normal though, someday... with you."

He turns toward you, forcing you to pick your head back up.

"What does that mean?"

"It means, I think it's time to admit that this isn't just a close friendship. Not to me at least. And that scares the shit out of me too, just like everything else right now."

"Out of billions of people in the world, you would choose to try and find normal, with me?"

"Yeah, if that's okay?"

He hesitates, fear.

"Why?"

"I don't know. Is that bad, that I don't know? I just know you're different, and special to me, and that's enough to me."

"Well... maybe we can give you some time to find out?"

"Well, could I kiss you then, and maybe I'll learn something?"

You two laugh, quiet enough as to not disturb the room, but loud enough that the two of you feel the happiness radiate. He wipes at a tear and nods. It's different than the first time you met, vastly different, as if you've gotten to know someone entirely new. Although, you're not sure what words could really describe the kiss. Fearful, yet excited? Nervous, yet brave? It's over before you know it though, leaving a little flit in your heart. He interrupts your thoughts.

"We should definitely try that a couple more times."

And so you do, alone in a stranger's bedroom, and for once you forget about the various issues spiraling back at RU, about Gale and Shadowheart hating each other, even about Szarr. There's just this soft time in between, where two barely adults having fun just kissing each other, even if it's only a short moment in time, it's yours forever.

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #freshiau

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