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bellelvrs · 2 years

Note

Hello! I have an idea, what if reader tries to break up with homelander and he doesn’t take that too well. Like he’s smashing stuff, “ you can’t break up with me”, etc. it’s perfectly okay if you don’t do this 😁 it’s just a thought.

A/N - SORRY THIS IS LATE THE OLD COPY GOT ACCIDENTALLY DELETED!! Thank you for this idea though, I was super inspired by this prompt! LOVE the idea of writing Homelander as the psychotic monster he is, and how he interacts with those around them. Especially those he loves ;)

UNTIL DEATH / HOMELANDER

summary - never break up with Homelander.

warnings - swearing, abusive behavior, dub/non con (no explicit nsfw), violence

a/n - gn reader, 1298 words

Careful eyes glared at the monster who lay ever so comfortably in your lap. Hair like a golden crop of hay, so sleek and prim, yet dark streaks seemed to spread. You wondered if the color was natural.

‘Y/n.’ Homelander murmured, half of his face buried in your thighs.

Numbness had infected and settled into your body. You couldn’t even touch him. No thoughts, no words could be conjured up in this grey feeling. This abyss you seemed to be helplessly falling through. All due to your idiocy. You idiot. How could you not kno-

‘Yes?’ Your eyes averted to the wall ahead of you.

‘Y’know that gala Vought’s hosting this weekend for all the charity programs and their reps?’

‘Mm,’ after all these years with him, you had learned how to steady your heart beat, ‘what about it?’

Nonetheless, the anticipation induced a nauseating anxiety. Your heart gradually began to race, a cold sweat accumulated on your brow.

Homelander often did not scare you. Yes, he was very much an intimidating figure, but beneath that facade of the perfect American hero was a soft, sad boy.

Things were different now. You caught a glimpse of reality after reveling in the paradise he brought into your life. The home, the money, the protection, the love. Something you used to only dream of. Those days spent in that studio on the borders of the Eastside. No family, no job. Just hope and youth. You wished to be a supe, one that could rewrite time. One that could right all the wrongs, replace the rushed choices of young adulthood. Or maybe one that could pop heads.

That might be easier.

‘I want you to come with me.’ Homelander said, fixing his position so he could look at you.

‘I-um…why?’ You knew why.

‘I just think it’s time I introduce you to The Seven. The media. My team already got some PR stunts planned, I ordered some designer for you to show up in and all that bullshit.’ His gaze felt like a blade piercing into your skin. Intense, sharp. ‘I want to show you off.’

It was time.

‘I-‘

A beat.

‘No.’ You shook your head, wriggling out from under him. He sat up, blatant confusion painted on his face.

‘No?’

You stood up, head hanging low, palm on forehead. Before you could let any more words slip, you had to think. Process what you had to say. Every sentence must be presented with perfection, in fear that repercussions would be fatal.

‘Look, I just, I can’t.’ You said, stumbling over your words.

With the entire apartment dimly lit, it only seemed to enhance how menacing his presence was. It was almost as if a dark, crimson aura fit the outline of his silhouette. The radiance of the cityscape danced against the definition of every muscle and bone. Shadows fell from the features of his face. He stood and approached you, causing you to instinctively draw back.

‘What do you mean you can’t?’ He sneered with a puzzled grin.

‘Homelander, we need to talk-‘

‘I don’t get why you’re making this more difficult than it should be,’

The sound of his gloved fist flexing rang through your ears like a siren.

‘I mean I’ve already prepared everything…I’ve done all the dirty work and now you want to back out?’ Homelander chuckled, hands on his hips.

‘I don’t want to fucking go. Can you just let me spea-‘

‘Jesus, y/n, just say yes. It’s one night, you don’t even have to do anything hard, so stop being a brat.’

Homelander turned to face the city, blocking it’s illumination. You cursed under your breath, slamming your hand on the kitchen counter beside you. He wasn’t used to rejection, especially from you.

‘Why are you being like this?’ For once, he spoke softly.

He’s just a sensitive little boy. That’s all he is. All he will ever be.

Life was so precious, and you had just started to live it. The thrill of first class living, the luxuries and connections it offered. The way he came to you with open arms, the strongest, most loving superhero the world had ever met. Everything, every last detail, item and action, was for you. All for you.

But at what cost?

‘I saw the Flight 37 video.’

Both of you struggled within the silence. Air caught in your lungs, every breath grasping for more than your body could take. Homelander, seemingly serene, massaged his temples and let out a laugh. A laugh. Something sinister hid behind that face. That pristine, calculated, manufactured face. Nothing about him was natural or real. An artificial man molded from lies.

‘Y/n, come on-‘

‘At first I didn’t believe it to be you. I denied that you could do such a thing.’ Heavy tears trapped at the rim of your eye line.

‘But I know that face,’ Your lip trembled, ‘I know what you can…be like. And-and I can’t turn a blind eye to something so horrible, Homelander. It just makes me think, what if else have you done? What other fucked up things, huh?’

Not a single sound left him.

‘I mean, murdering kids? Seriously? You let all those innocents die?’

Homelander clicked his jaw, ‘What are you gonna do y/n?’

Brow furrowed, you felt your blood go ablaze.

‘Hm?’ He turned his head to the side, not completely making eye contact with you.

‘I’m leaving you, you vile, sadistic son of a bit-‘

Shattered glass fall onto the ground like raindrops. A heated ray of light tears through the walls and the couch as if they were thin sheets of paper. Furniture incinerated into oblivion.

A shock of adrenaline runs through every limb in your body. Frantically, you rummage through every drawer in search of a weapon. There’s no use, but it seems right in the moment. A chef knife glistens, catching your eye. In good condition, but child’s play against a man like Homelander.

He turns to face you with a predacious stare. His chest is heaving with rage, eyes still aglow.

‘I swear to god, if you come near me you fucking psychopath!’ You blurt, presenting the knife.

‘Don’t talk to me like that you little bitch!’ Homelander growls, pointing a finger as he quickly makes his way toward you.

Panic drowns your sanity as you attempt to escape from the kitchen. Before you could even lift yourself to jump over the counter, he grabs the back of your neck and aggressively pulls you away.

‘Let me go! Let me go!’ You screech, a guttural, terrified scream following.

‘Oh no,’ Homelander flipped you around, pushing you against the edge of the counter before delicately wrapping his entire hand around your neck. Your body slightly lifted from the ground.

‘No, no, no.’ Homelanders face twitched with anger, ‘You aren’t going anywhere. You are mine.’

A few pathetic whimpers left your throat. Struggling against his weight only made his grip become tighter.

‘Oh look at you. Tsk, tsk.’ Homelander teased. ‘Tell me, who showed you the video? Did your slutty ass fuck some lousy pap for it?’

Trembling aggressively, you could only release grunts of pain and fear. His growing erection pushed into your hip as he held you against the counter.

‘Such a puny little thing. Admit it, you need me.’ At this point, Homelander only spoke to himself. Rather than talking to you, he admired how you squirmed and cried. Pain looked beautiful on you.

‘The only time we will ever be separate is when you’re dead in the ground.’

That smile. That wicked, crazed smile.

‘And I’ll decide when that happens.’

Homelander pressed a desperate, hungry kiss onto your puffed lips, sitting you down on the cold marble to spread your legs.

#homelander x you #homelander x reader #homelander #the boys x you #the boys amazon #the boys #the boys series #the boys season 3 #starlight #queen maeve #billy butcher #hughie campbell #marvin milk #the deep #kimiko miyashiro #frenchie

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chvoswxtch · 8 months

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speak now- headcannons (request a vault track to make it spicy)

.......i wanna be billy's secret little gf so bad... just sneaking around with him... fucking in like broom closets and shit.... oh, and he deserves it to be a vault track, i mean, duh. the hoe deserves it.

I got another request for billy's version of "I can see you" and that's exactly what this headcannon is giving me so let's get slutty

as a reminder, from the vault means it's spicy! (minors dni)

headcannon below the cut

i can see you (billy's version) (from the vault)*

let's just say for funsies you're billy's personal assistant

and not to diminish your talent, you're damn good at what you do, and billy hired you bc he found you extremely impressive and felt like you could keep up with him and his busy schedule, and not be daunted by the work he would demand of you (he's a high maintenance diva and we all know it)

but, that doesn't mean that billy didn't find you attractive from the very first interview (it was i wanna fuck at first sight)

and i'm not saying he purposefully curated a plan to make sure the two of you spend as much alone time as possible together (a lot of late nights you feel me) but he definitely did

billy is a charming fucker and he knows it, but he's also smart, and he never says or does anything blatantly inappropriate, but he doesn't hide how he truly feels about you either

and as much as you try to fight it, one night after attending a gala together (bc a good personal assistant has to fill him in on everyone that's important in attendance) and several glasses of champagne (billy's fault) somehow he ends up in your bed after innocently trying to drop you off at the end of the night

neither one of you can deny your chemistry any longer after that, but you don't want people thinking you fucked your way to the top (alexa play lana del rey) and billy doesn't want to impede your impeccable reputation so the two of you agree to keep things strictly professional at work while there's people around

but the second his office door shuts and there's a good fifteen minutes before his next meeting, billy's got you spread out over his desk like a full course meal and he's devouring your pussy like a man starved

sometimes when you're feeling bratty, you'll hide under billy's desk and take his cock in your mouth, purposefully being a tease to see how long he can keep his composure while someone tries to give him the breakdown of a report he asked for

but billy is nothing if not vengeful, and even though there's a blissed out look on his face when he finally empties himself down your throat, there's a twinkle of danger in his deep eyes that lets you know you're in for it, and that's enough to make your pussy flutter with excitement

and that's how billy ends up slipping his hand up your skirt in a crowded elevator, toying with your clit meticulously while six men stand in front of the two of you discussing a topic you could care fucking less about bc god his fingers feel so good

but bc you were a brat and teased him, billy is doubling down on payback, and he fingers you enough to get you close to free-falling into the abyss of pleasure, but doesn't let you come

and the cheeky fucker licks his fingers clean as he exits the elevator, flashing you a warning look that lets you know if you come without his permission it'll be the last time you come until he thinks you've earned it, and then grins wickedly at you

"see you tonight for dinner, doll."

billy gets off on the thrill of it all as much as you do so he's fucking you everywhere

over his desk, in a supply closet, in several conference rooms, in the backseat of his rolls royce, in the training facility, anywhere he can get you alone for a few minutes

oh and let's not forget billy is jealous and possessive, so anyone that hits on you automatically gets fired, but he saves face by making up excuses about them not performing well enough in the role bc he can't tell anyone the truth

in conclusion, you are re-awakening my thirst for this man

#court's 3k followers celebration #court's 3k friends celebration #the eras tour (court's version)#billy russo #billy russo x you #billy russo x female reader #billy russo x fem!reader #billy russo headcannon #billy russo x f!reader #billy russo request #billy russo smut

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alexglitches · 7 months

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Twisted Wonderland Timeline pt 2

except this time i don't explain anything and we're all in event hell :)

Prologue

The Crimson Tyrant

Rebel of the Savannah

Ghost Marriage

Screaming

Endless

Dance and Wishes

Masterchef

Camp Vargas

Camp Vargas (pt 2 electric boogaloo)

Merchant of the Deep Sea

Tactician of Hot Sands

New Years

Yasmina Fireworks

Harveston

The Beautiful Oppressor

Keeper of the Underworld

White Rabbit

Fairy Gala

NRC Anniversary

Tsum Tsum

Ruler of the Abyss

GloMas

Port Fest

Tamashina-Mina

Stitch

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coffeedrawingandwriting · 8 months

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La Douleur Exquise (Fairy!Dream Sans x Moth!Fairy Reader)

la douleur exquise - exquisite pain

The day and night are just as separated as their lords, Dream and Nightmare.

But your heart yearns for the sunn, even as the moon pulls back at it and tries to keep you safe.

As long as no one gets burned, it should be fine to just look.

Right?

(Mild angst, unrequited/forbidden love, a hint of Nightmare Sans/Reader)

-----------------

The soft glow of the moon brought a calm serenity to the deep glades of the forest, moss hanging in an elegant weave down branches and trunks of the birch and oak trees.

Smells of old forest, rotting wood, mushrooms, the faint floral hint of hidden bluebells and wild strawberries breaking through on faint breeze.

Tonight was a special night.

The fairy rings of mushrooms had grown the night before, dew fresh on their caps, forming a multilayered wall of security around the deep glens of the woods.

Fall was coming, the time of preparation for winter, but a time to celebrate the colors and their change.

For those, at least, of the day and summer.

Elegant fae with butterfly wings of gold, silver, every imaginable color, decorated in mesmerizing colors of flower and tree.

Delicate maiden fae dressed in daisies, snowdrops, and lilies. Wiser matrons dressed in layered rose gowns. The young daring men darting to and fro in dashing armor of oak and birch bark armor, and the stately lords in fir and yew armor.

The glade was filled with the soft lights of fireflies, and fairy candles lit all around. Soft young grass surrounded the large rock that the gathering was centered around. The rock was black in color, sharp and jagged, flat on the top, carved in ancient runes.

A small throne of oak twig had been placed on its peak; citrine stone woven into the thin fibers.

The throne for the lord of the day, the lord of the-

A gust of wind shook the branch you were resting on, your eyes widening as you squeaked in fear, wings trying to steady yourself, rapidly flapping your wings.

Despite your efforts, it wasn’t enough. You dropped to the ground, landing outside the glade, rustling among the dead leaves as your antenna twitched, the fluffy strands indicating what you were.

Not invited, for one.

This gala was exclusively for those with butterfly wings, beautiful and large wings. The ones who loved the day and were loved by it.

Not for those of the evening and dusk, those who burrowed in the ground, were able to bear the cold winter, cherished the dark.

Tonight was the migration festival, a time to celebrate before the butterfly fairies went south to weather the winter. And your kingdom, your people, were not invited.

They never were, but it would be nice if, for once, those of the night were invited.

Your wings fluttered, as you tried to evaluate the best place to once again look upon the festivities.

You were a tiger moth, or at least, had the wings and the antenna of one. The nape and collar of your chest and back to your shoulders was soft white fuzz, with black patches on the back part. Your wings branched from the middle of your shoulders, the upper a checkered black and white, crisp and clean. Your lower wings held a gradient from orange to yellow, with black spots. On the inner of your arms and legs, red blotches of color with black emblems spiraled to your feet and hands. The white fuzz was dusted around the base of your antenna, soft black feathery things. It was also prominent along your calves and lower arms.

Soft paper bark made up a soft halter top, and a blue morning glory made your skirt.

You were sneaking, of course, trying to catch a glimpse of the festivities.

Of course, your king had tried to stop you, but then again, he was a firm believer in learning through painful mistake. Such as what had happened to him, long ago.

Nightmare was kinder than his name implied, and he ruled over the dark abyss of the moth kingdom fairly, more so than he said his frivolous brother did.

His own wings were impressive, dusky purple and black perfectly complimenting his dark gray bone. The streaks of black along his bones made him impressive, purple eye lights fierce and stern in those deep sockets.

He was waiting for you, back among the shadows.

You had expressed your desire to see, just once, the beauty of a butterfly festival. He had begrudgingly led you here (after you had begged and begged him). You were lucky he was your good friend.

So, here you were. Peering into a world you would never belong in.

Music serenaded those within, as couples came together to dance a song of life, love, long travels and the well earned rest at the end of it.

But that’s not who you wanted to see.

Ah! There.

The quick flutter of true golden wings, shimmering in the light due to their unique opaqueness. Blue and black specks like dust on his wings, the sweep of pale bone into a hard set, the seriousness of the prince of light and day shining as he settled into his throne, wings spread.

Dream.

Draped in silk of golden spider thread, his presence caused awe among those gathered, admiring yet fearful glances thrown his way. His bones were pristine, white, not a mar or fleck upon them. His own eye lights, a deep teal like a shining gem deep in a river, scorched the surroundings, searching.

Any one fairy would be honored to be asked to dance with him, but instead, he sat coldly on his throne.

You often wondered if he was waiting for someone to approach him, or waiting till one caught his eye. Not that you think anyone would. They were too dim in his presence.

You sighed in adoration, pupils shrinking to properly adjust to the light. He was so bright, almost too much so, yet you couldn’t tear your eyes from that wonderful visage.

The first time you had seen him had been your first journey into the canopy, to explore what was beyond the roots and shady underbrush you had long familiarized yourself with. Your antenna twitched with every rogue gust of wind, every trill of a bird from afar.

But it had been so worth it to see the blue sky beneath green dappled leaves, to peer at the fluffy white things in the sky (Nightmare had called them clouds), and to wonder at the great landscape all around.

The snap of a twig; the pale eyes of a shrike seeing you.

A butcher bird.

While your colors blared danger to those who dared to try and eat you, it still dove. Your panicked yelp echoed as you dove as well, spinning among the branches and trying to shake off your pursuer. For several harrowing minutes you tried your best to weave and dodge, its claws nearly grasping you several times. In a panic, you crashed roughly into a nightshade bush, burrowing into the depths of its shade, vines pulling at your wings.

Its ugly cry alerted you to its hunt as it circled, then twisted midair. Claws extended for you, its eyes fixed on you, exposed even among a plant of the night.

You shrank back, arms raising to futilely cover your face.

A burst of golden light, teal eye lights blazing in fury darted by to sink a spear into the shrike's wing, the bird shrieking and wheeling off. Its pained squawks echoed for quite a time.

He had hovered there, those wings of his keeping high and aloft, defending you.

You had wanted to step out, to thank him... when a crowd of fairies came to croon and congratulate him on his hunt, how extraordinary he was. Realization gripped your heart that he may have just been showing off, not knowing he had saved a lowly moth from death.

Regardless, you had pledged yourself a vow of gratitude to the lord of the day, the lord of warmth and sun.

The flap of wings startled you, the alert of a patrol to catch any wandering fae other than those invited. You knew the punishment that came with trespassing, even among fae, and there was no chance that you would be charming enough to get yourself out of serious punishment. And Nightmare wouldn’t step in either, you knew.

It was his demand as a king, to be just and fair.

You buried yourself into the dead leaves, the jagged cut of your own wings helping you blend in.

The patrol passed without taking notice.

A deep sigh left you. It was time to go.

You clambered over leaves and twigs, going outside the fairy circles to Nightmare's side, his eye lights soft with understanding. His own wing closed around you to keep you close, the dusky scales of his wing shielding you.

Your heart often wondered if you would ever be able to repay the debt you felt you owed Dream.

Or at least, to speak to him and thank him.

Nightmare grasped your hand in his, a comforting squeeze as the two of you descended in the depths of his realm.

Unknowing that teal eye lights had been tracking you all this time.

#undertale #dream sans #dream x reader #dream sans x reader #writing #xreader #sans x reader #x reader #moth reader #fairy dream sans #fairy nightmare sans #moth fairy reader #angst #unrequited love #longing #forbidden love #just realized this has strange magic vibes

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ice-cream-writes-stuff · 2 years

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uuuuuuuu im going mad over your civilian!bruce x ex-villain!reader !!!!

if its not too much trouble, can you write a fic on how they met and the reader slowly realizing their feelings for bruce and being in denial abt it for a while or smth🤗🤗 i love ur works!!!

[Yeah! @kiyterra thank you for inspiring me and making this au!]

"So, how'd ya guys even meet?" Dick asked, taking a small bite of his breakfast.

You smile as Bruce leans his head against your shoulder as he read the newspaper. While you pour coffee into his drink. "Well, it's a bit of a long story.." You mutter, pouring sugar packets as itdevolves into the dark abyss.

"I met them at a Chairity Ball," Bruce started, his tired blue eyes becoming hazy with nostalgia.

Bruce side of the story:

Bruce had came up to you, a charming smile on his handsome features as he playfully spoke with you. You scowled at him, unsure of him and his actions.

He offers to take the conversation onto the balcony. You oblige, allowing him to guide you to the terrace as you watch the city lights of Gotham together.

You made small talk and try to fight off the romantic mood, but as the city lights grow brighter once you he stared into your eyes. He was about to beg for your name.

Before you could reply, a scream is heard as a hand is wrapped around your wrist and gun pointed to your neck.

(Y/N) Side of The Story:

You and your group had decided to crash some fancy charity event because of the fun of it. Yet you had lost track of time and had you hadn't been having a good time. Even the fancy food couldn't help take your mind off of the fancy folk sneering at you.

Disgruntled, you throw a fancy glass of water into the fireplace as you watch your henchmen snack on bird livers.

Then the sweetheart billionaire strides up to you, instead of being swayed by his charms. You keep your guard up.

Soon finding yourself being lured outside with small flirting thrown here and there.

Soon a scream ripping you out from your haze as a gun was placed on your neck.

It was one of your henchmen.

Back to The present:

"After that, (Y/N) slapped the gun out of their hand, found all the intruders and led them outside towards the police." Bruce explained as you stupidly nodded along.

Knowing that the truth was that you sent your drunk co-workers home in a Uber and took all their weapons.

"Bruce asked me to dinner ten times before I finally said yes. He asked me after the Gala, hospital, texted me. Letters!" You laugh at Bruce from his attempts at courting you. Now here you were, feeding him breakfast as you talked about the past.

"So cheesy." Tim replied, drinking his eighteen cup of coffee.

#yandere male #yandere batboys #yandere batfam x reader #batfam imagine #batfam x reader #batman x reader #batman x villian reader #batman #dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #nightwing #red robin #tim drake #villian reader #civilian bruce au #civilian bruce x villian reader

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mythriteshah · 3 months

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Pg. 14: Wave-Carressed Arcanum

(MODEL: Prince Horu Higuri)

Crashing into the stage of high fashion comes a set of clothing worthy of the Archfiend of Water himself, Cagnazzo. The Wave-Caressed Arcanum takes from the Drowned King’s imposing form and has immortalized it into a regal set of finery.

Blues and golds reminiscent to the aqueous Archfiend set the scheme for this piece: a flowing, caped vest with accents resembling cresting waves; dark blue gloves lined with gold to mirror Cagnazzo’s claws, all brought together with a precious pendant and crown jeweled with pearls said to house his own power.

Created in the Hingan couturial style known as “Ouji” or “Prince”, the Wave-Caressed Arcanum also blends elements from Aristocratic fashion, resulting in a unique fusion of flowing cuts and exquisite frills.

And what better way to compliment a set of water-aspected attire than with a parasol? This clothing set comes with your very own means to beat the rain, and its heavy water aspect makes it water-resistant, allowing you to look your best even in the dreariest conditions.

The Wave-Caressed Arcanum is your ticket to princely fashion, and with it worn, you are bound to make a statement and make a splash upon the couture realm!

(Credit and thanks to Sapphrix for the creation of this masterpiece!)

#thiji higuri #higuri regalia #ffxiv #high fashion #fashion #ffxiv a realm reborn #lalafell #pib catalogue #ffxiv rp #haute couture #voidsent #the abyssal gala #cagnazzo #ff4 #final fantasy iv

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leahnardo-da-veggie · 10 days

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Personality Through Quotes Tag

thanks @modernwritercraft for the tag!

My prompt: A quote about being called a monster when they made you a monster

This prompt fits all my characters so well, hahaha, almost like I keep writing the same tropes over and over again :/

Luna:

"Oh, me? I'm the monster here? When you- You bloody, accursed bastards thought it was fair to hunt down a kid and rip her soul right out of her chest? Do you know what it's like to grow up knowing that your whole country considers you an irredeemable monster?! Do you know what it's like to cry yourself to sleep with nobody to hug you but your thralls?! Do you- Wait, let me answer that. No, you don't. You just decided that the chance of me turning on you was worth killing an eleven year old over.

"But I'm here now, I'm not eleven anymore, and you're going to pay."

2. Ina:

"First, they took my freedom. I could have lived in chains in any case. Then they took my sisters. I could have plodded on in my grief still. But they took my husband, the light of my life, and for what greater sin than loving me? They cast my daughter into the abyss and named her 'demon', they sentenced my people to eternal servitude. And when I took up arms against them, they called me their Bane, the Godhuntress, callous and cold. A monster in name and soul.

"They were right. But they will not live to enjoy that rightness."

3. Hans-el:

"Who, little old Hans here? Why, I'm honoured that you noticed! Was it the mounds of corpses that gave it away? The intricately woven tapestry of skin and intestine? Or was it the goblet of blood made of a skull? Please, as if you don't have your own rivers of blood. As if you didn't find it amusing to torment a weak, small, male child who would never amass the power to get vengeance. As if you never ripped my piercings whole from my ears and smeared mud on my face. Hah! You ought to be in a Kvi'ora routine, with how you make me laugh. You can join it right after I have your limbs cut off."

4. Iraela:

"You are correct. I am a monster. I am a monster you made, with your little room at the top of the stairs, your giggling behind the fluttering of fans, your silent nights with the faint music of galas I was not invited to. I am a monster, and I am taking what I deserve. When you're a corpse dancing to my strings, I want you to remember that you had a chance to be nice to me. This, all this, is what you deserve."

Your prompt: a quote about remembering the ones they lost

Tagging @kaylinalexanderbooks, @kitkins13, @mywipsdontend, @memento-morri-writes, @drchenquill, @ink-flavored, @italiangothicwriteblr, @i-can-even-burn-salad, @oliolioxenfreewrites and anyone else!

#Tag games #tagging game #writeblr #writing #Might use some of these later #Pretty good for something I came up with half-dead from a fever lol

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rorimoon9597 · 5 months

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Lance had barely believed it when Keith reciprocated his feelings, and he'd sobbed ugly, happy tears when Keith proposed. Now, they were newly weds on their honeymoon, and Lance couldn't be happier.

Their days were spent together, exploring hand-in-hand, or swimming in the ocean together, Lance trying to drown Keith or kissing him while they were underwater. Their nights were filled with love and sweetness, cuddling with each other or doing... other things.

Lance stood on Veradero beach, where Keith agreed for them to spend their honeymoon, and stared up at the moon.

Arms wrapped around him from behind, a kiss was pressed behind his ear, and Keith rested his head on Lance's shoulder.

"Can't sleep?" He asked. Lance shivered slightly when he heard Keith's voice right in his ear. His husband's time in the quantum abyss meant that not only did he get taller and buffer (it was almost unfair, how Keith was taller than him now, and much buffer than he had been when he'd left for the blades) but Keith's voice had gotten a little bit deeper.

None of the others had noticed the changes in Keith when he got back, except for Lance, because he'd spent many nights memorizing Keith's body and voice before he left. The only other person to notice had been Shiro, and that was only after he'd been brought back was less out of it.

Lance had decided, after the first night they had been able to get alone after everything that had happened with Lotor and finding that Earth had been taken over by Sendak and his troops, that he liked Keith's deeper voice.

"I was just thinking," Lance answered Keith's question.

"What about?"

"About how lucky I am to be married to you." He turned his head and pressed a kiss to Keith's head.

"I think that I'm the lucky one here. Younger me would be freaking out over the fact that I'm now married to someone as smart, and amazing, and incredible as you."

"Shut up," Lance mumbled. Keith smirked.

"You like being praised though," he said.

"KEITH!" Lance shouted. Keith burst out into laughter and holy crow, he loved to hear that sound.

"'m sorry," Keith managed.

"No, you're not. You know exactly what you're doing," Lance said. He poked Keith in the cheek. His husband hummed and pressed a kiss to Lance's cheek.

"You're right, I'm not. I love seeing you all flustered."

"At least you admit it."

"You still love it, though." Lance shook his head, a fond smile on his face.

"Because I love you," he replied.

"Hey, babe?"

"Mm?"

"Can you turn to face me?" Lance turned in the circle of Keith's arms to face him.

"Why?" He asked. He registered that maybe he should've asked that before turning around, but he trusted Keith. It was one of the reasons why he agreed to marry Keith despite still being rather young.

Keith answered his question by stepping away slightly and offering his hand with a small bow, a soft look on his face.

"Would you like to dance?" He asked. Lance couldn't help but smile.

"I'd love to," he said, placing his hand in Keith's own. Lance's other hand came to rest on Keith's shoulder, and Keith's other hand rested on his waist.

They started to dance slowly, with no music but the waves behind them. Lance studied Keith, the way the moonlight glinted off of his hair and lit up his face in the best ways possible. He committed the moment to his memory, not wanting to lose it. He filed it away with all the other times they'd danced together; that one time on Black's head before the Atlas launch, all of their dances at diplomatic dances and galas or whatever they were called, and their wedding, the most recent of them.

It went right there, with all of those other dances.

They moved together, perfectly in sync. Keith guided them, picking up the pace slightly every few moments. Lance moved to match him, adjusting his speed to match.

A few spins, laughter bubbling out of Lance each time. Faster, more spinning, a few dips that made Lance laugh even more than the spins, eyes closed, head tilting back to meet the breeze coming from the sea.

Faster, and faster and-

Keith dipped Lance down again, arm supporting him. Lance made contact with Keith, their momentum lost to the wind. Keith's eyes were soft with love and adoration, a look that was reserved for Lance and only Lance. Not even Shiro could get that look, and he was basically Keith's brother, like Allura was Lance's sister.

Keith pulled him upwards again. He leaned forwards and kissed Lance. He returned the kiss, letting himself get lost in the feelings he felt towards Keith.

"I love you so much," Keith whispered when they pulled apart. Lance ran a hand through Keith's hair, loving the way it felt so silky and soft in his hands.

"I love you too," he replied in a whisper. He pressed another kiss to Keith's lips.

They had to return to the post-war recovery efforts in a couple more weeks. But for now, the war never happened. For now, they had graduated from the Garrison together, and had decided to get married. For now, they were never Defenders of the Universe.

For now, they only existed with each other and for each other.

#istg I make some of the softest shit ever #this is so sweet and i love that I was able to write this #its been stewing in my head for a few hours now #inspired by 'You & Me' by Jennie #voltron #vld #keith kogane #lance mcclain #klance #fluff #they're married

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starbound-prince · 1 year

Text

@corsair-princess-nenime sent 🎈: Send 🎈 for our muses to attend the same party

The Night of the Black Sun was a once in a lifetime party. Hosted by the corsairs of the Abyssal League, any pirate, brigand, and privateer with any confidence and self respect hoped for an invitation from Yldras Karhrvall, the Duke of the Black Sun himself, and his Abyssal Council. Not only was an invitation an opportunity to see the League’s home in the Absentian Abyss, but it was a chance to network and rub elbow with some of the most influential and powerful corsairs in the sector. To be invited was a mark of pride in and of itself, but to leave the party with palms greased and new friends made was beneficial to everyone involved.

Talisyr had been amused more than anything when his invitation had arrived. He had not been aware he had garnered the attention of the Abyssal League, but it was strangely flattering to know that they were interested in his exploits.

The prince of the Sunpool Reavers arrived at the Absentian Abyss dressed in his formal attire, silvery-green armor polished to a mirror sheen and cape of fangmora eel scales draped around his shoulders. The number of corsair vessels at anchor around the Council Seat, the largest of the trading stations that made up the League’s home port, was vast. There were more banners and heraldries present than there were stars in the night sky, and Talisyr was eager to see who else had been invited to this year’s event.

Talisyr passed along the docking quays with a quartet of Reavers serving as an honor guard, their armor and blades in pristine condition. They were met on the opposite end of the quay by an emissary from the League and another quartet of corsairs, each one garbed in the wine colored armor the League typically wore and bearing long polearms with ribbons attached to the blades. The emissary guided Talisyr and his entourage to the gala hall, announcing the prince’s arrival loudly and professionally as they stepped through.

As Talisyr stood in the doorway, letting the other corsairs experience his arrival, he scanned the crowd, picking out heraldries familiar to him, and noting those that were not. He plucked a flute of champagne from the tray of a passing server before slipping into the crowd to begin mingling.

#corsair-princess-nenime

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save-the-villainous-cat · 2 years

Note

hey I adore your writing and heard about your pride month snippets that you might be posting soon??? starting with asexual for the alphabet (which is really creative I love that 😊!) and so I was hoping that maybe you could do a very flirty villain finding out hero is asexual and all the questions and almost like friendship that sprouts from it?!?

if not don’t worry! love your work!! ❤️❤️❤️

The villain hummed and very suddenly and very softly their hand landed on the hero’s shoulder. The hero had enough time to turn around before the villain could presumably ambush them.

“You look so lonely, darling. You look like you have the world on your shoulders.” In one second, the hero had almost enjoyed the gala and in the next, their devilish nemesis was here to mess everything up again.

“I didn’t know you’re allowed on galas,” the hero said. They scrutinised the villain to find any kind of threat, any weapon on them.

And yet again, the villain was the threat. They were the weapon.

The villain grinned from ear to ear.

“I am not, darling.” They took a sip out of their champagne glass and wiggled with their eyebrows. “But let’s just say that I invited myself in. I wanted to see you.”

“Oh.” The hero hadn’t expected that. It was flattering. But it scared the hero. It scared them so much. “That’s very nice.”

They flashed a smile at the villain, trying not to let them catch the fear in their eyes.

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about you for a while. The way you kicked my ass two weeks ago…I can’t get that out of my head.”

The hero tried to control the thoughts racing through their mind. They didn’t want to have a conversation that turned into a debate with a person they were intrigued by again.

“Are you drunk?”

The villain looked deeply into their glass, their gaze absent but still as intelligent as ever. Their smile was a bit sheepish, though.

“Mmmmaybe. I don’t think I’d have the confidence to tell you this when I’m sober.” They swayed a little but at least they weren’t jumping at the hero. It was funny in a way that a cat staring into the abyss was funny.

“Do you do that often? Going on galas to get yourself drunk?” The hero smiled a little. It was entertaining to see the big scary villain in civilian clothes. It was even more entertaining to see them being tipsy. This way, the hero could’ve been so cruel to their nemesis.

They could’ve arrested them. They could’ve questioned them. They could’ve blackmailed them. But technically, the villain’s civilian persona hadn’t even done anything. Yet.

“Only when you’re at the gala. I like you. A lot.”

The hero took a deep breath and the anxiety came bouncing back. They already felt guilt they shouldn’t, they felt this stupid responsibility again.

This was always the worst part.

As if they owed the villain. As if they weren’t enough. They knew those thoughts were wrong and generally speaking, those were thoughts of the past which they’d banned from their brain.

Nonetheless, habits are hard to kill.

“In what way do you like me?”

“In that way.”

“What?”

“Huh?” The villain was drunker than they’d expected.

“I’m asexual,” they said. It always felt like a confession.

And that was wrong, too. You can confess a crime. You admit something damaging to yourself. That’s confessing.

There’s nothing wrong about feeling the way you do. And still, still the hero had to explain it, justify it. Why couldn’t they just feel the way they did?

“I like you. You’re fun,” the hero admitted. “But I don’t want you in that way. I don’t want you sexually.”

The hero knew what would come next.

You haven’t found the right one.

That’s unnatural.

I can fix you.

It was so frustrating by now. They couldn’t blame people for their curiosity. But the hero wanted to blame them for their ignorance.

At this point, they were just tired. It wasn’t something they could let go of. The responses from other people got to them.

“Ah, would you like to go on a date with me? Like romantically? Or platonically if you’re aromantic, too?”

“Sorry?” the hero asked, stunned enough to let out a shaky breath. No one had ever gone into that direction.

“Oh, was that wrong to ask?” The villain looked deeply embarrassed. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to! I just like you a lot and if cuddling is all you want or just a platonic relationship, then that’s okay for me. I just want something with you. If you’re interested in that.”

The hero was flabbergasted.

“Yeah, let’s do something together,” they answered shakily. “You didn’t say anything wrong. You said the perfect thing, actually.”

#happy slay month #mmmmm my dear asexuals you deserve to be appreciated and loved in every way shape or form you’re comfortable with #writing snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroxvillain snippet #heroes and villains #hero #villain #hero x villain #heroxvillain #request #an answer for an ask #asexual hero #asexuality

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comphy-and-cozy · 2 years

Note

Pls I am begging for a fic where the reader works in team’s front office and literally any avalanche player 😌😌😌😌😌

Something to Dream About - JT Compher

Pairing: JT Compher x Reader (f)

Summary: Secret relationships are messy. They’re even messier when your boyfriend is a professional athlete playing for the organization you work for. Surely nothing will happen when you have to spend the evening together at the charity gala that you’ve been planning for months… right?

Word Count: 5.5K

Author’s Note: I don’t know who I am but JT Compher has taken over my life. This fic came out of absolutely nowhere.

Warnings: Smut (18+ ONLY). Secret relationship, brief alcohol use/mention, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex, risqué sex (do I have a thing for this???)

Part 2 / Moodboard / Masterlist

The sound of your heels clicking on the cement echoes through the halls, your pace quickening to reach the door. Your mind is flooded with checklists, to dos, trying to keep all of them straight to write down so they don’t get lost in the abyss.

Reaching your destination and opening the double doors, you look around Ball Arena, amazed at the transformation that’s come over the building in the last 24 hours. The ice has been covered with a wood flooring, decorated further with carpet. Cocktail tables covered in elegant black tablecloths are scattered around, the stage erected on one end of the arena, lights and balloons outfitting it nicely. Above you, two men stand on ladders as they erect a large banner, another man standing on ground level and shouting left, a bit further, that’s too far. Your eyes trace over the words at the center, Avs Fight Cancer, the logo standing proudly at the center of the banner, symbolizing all of your hard work the last few months putting together the annual charity gala.

Tonight is the night, and all of Denver’s finest will be there, schmoozing and — hopefully — donating even minuscule fractions of their wealth to support the cause that the Avalanche have rallied behind. The entire Avalanche organization will be there, including Joe Sakic and Stan Kroenke, as well as all of the players and coaching staff, mingling with fans and donors alike. As the Executive Director of Community Engagement, the bulk of the coordination falls on you to manage and ensure everything runs as smoothly as possible, and as the hours wane down until the doors open, you’re certainly feeling the pressure.

Pulling out your phone, you jot down the few remaining notes that bounce around in your brain before you’re called to sign off on the liquor delivery. The next few hours pass quickly, you and the events team pulling the last pieces together before the event. When you finally leave to head home to get ready, you’re exhausted and aching but satisfied with the way things had come together and excitedly anxious for the night to come.

The dress you've selected for the evening is a one-shouldered floor length black number, with a slit going mid-way up your thigh, elegant for the occasion and still classy enough for a professional event. Your hair is done up in a neat bun, keeping it out of your eyes for the running around you’ll undoubtedly be doing. You’re pleased with your appearance, and although looking good tonight is a secondary priority, you’re motivated to make sure you impress in more ways than one.

The event kicks off, and people begin flooding in, checking coats and perusing the items for the silent auction. You’re doing rounds, glancing over everything even though you’d double and triple checked it all before you’d left.

A pair of russet eyes catch yours, a smile sent in your direction beneath a thick, freshly groomed auburn beard. You return the gesture, unable to prevent your eyes from sliding down the body attached to that smile, tailored suit hugging the well-kept muscles that lie underneath.

It’s not the first time you’ve checked out JT Compher in public, but it is the first time you’ve seen him dressed to the nines for a black-tie gala. There’s a moment between you, across the room, temporarily thick with longing, for you can’t cross the floor to be with him the way your heart wants to, kissing him in front of everyone the way you wish you could.

As you glance at him, admiring how good he looks with the rich black of his suit complementing his creamy skin, the conversation you had with him three months ago floods your mind, flashing before your eyes.

You were leaving the office for the day, keys in hand as you walked toward the exit. There was food in the fridge, but you didn’t feel like cooking, so you were debating what you should order for takeout on the way home.

“Y/N, hey, wait up,” a voice called from down the hallway. You paused, turning to see JT Compher jogging toward you, sporting sleek black Colorado Avalanche warmups and a backwards baseball cap.

“Oh, hi, JT. How can I help you?”

“Yeah, um, I wanted to talk to you about something… if you have a minute?”

You smiled and nodded, placing your phone in your purse and turning to face him to give your full attention.

He swallowed nervously, and you noticed that he was fidgeting a bit, shifting from foot to foot. “Will you — would you like to go out with me sometime?”

You stared at him, defense mode kicking in and immediately assuming he was playing a prank on you. “What?”

“You know, like, for dinner or something.”

“JT, are you asking me on a date?”

A blush rose to his cheeks, accenting the red in his hair, and he shoved his hands in his pockets bashfully.“Well, yeah.”

You were unable to help the way your eyebrows rose in surprise. This man was a millionaire athlete, playing in the best league in the world, traveling from city to city every night — and he wanted to take you out on a date?

He was attractive, you couldn’t deny that, always having a soft spot for the depth of his brown eyes and the way he always managed to stop and say hello to you, his down-to-earth personality making it easy to chat with him every time. But, technically, he was your coworker, and you had a strict rule not to date colleagues. You didn’t interact much outside of events and the occasional marketing brief, but the fact that the same person signed both of your paychecks was enough of a reason for you to nope out of that scenario faster than a Cale Makar breakaway.

“I’m flattered, JT, but I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you picked your words carefully, rejection never a strong suit of yours. “We work together, and it could get messy.”

Something shifted in his face, though he remained smiling. You could see his eyes fall as he nodded, “Oh, yeah. I totally understand.”

“I’m sorry.” You smiled, trying to soften the blow and do anything you could to get that fucking look out of his eyes.

“No worries at all,” he said, quickly, maybe more to himself than to you, before offering another smile, bidding an awkward goodbye, and sheepishly walking away.

From that day, those beautiful chestnut eyes followed you wherever you went, haunting you, as if to tell you that you’d make a mistake not accepting his advances. Whether it was frequency illusion or just a coincidence, he seemed to be everywhere you turned. First, it was a photo shoot for the PetSmart puppy calendar. Then, it was a youth hockey event, which you coincidentally parked next to him for. He showed up in your dreams two weeks later, his same charming and jovial self.

Things changed when you were at home one night, wine drunk on the couch with your best friend watching The Bachelorette. (Even at home, away from work, you found that the tall, ginger contestant reminded you of another tall, bearded redhead.) She snatched your phone while you were aimlessly swiping on Hinge, exclaiming with a slur, “‘M gonna find you a husband.”

Giggling, you watched as she swiped, providing commentary on the various men’s dating profiles, and you gasped when she paused. Smiling up at you from the screen of your phone were the same eyes you’d been trying to avoid.

“Oh, he’s cute,” she said, scrolling through his pictures. His profile included a wide array of photos, including one with his sisters (clearly related, you determined, given the same shade of fiery red hair), a cropped picture of him and some guys on the beach, and a picture of him smiling down at two puppies in his arms. You’d been there that day, trying to ignore the way your heart melted seeing him coo over the puppies, so small in his big arms.

“D’you know him?” she asked, turning the phone toward you to show the last picture: celebrating a goal, Avs logo standing proudly on his chest as his arms stretched for an incoming hug.

You nodded, and before you could get a word out, she’d swiped right. You shrieked, her cackle nothing short of maniacal as she held your phone out of reach despite your best attempts to steal it back.

“Elle, no —“

“It’s a harmless swipe, Y/N,” she shrugged nonchalantly. “You can always unlike —“

She gasped, and you both looked down when your phone dinged, signaling that you had a match. You groaned, throwing your head against the back of the couch as you scrubbed your hands over your face. Even if you could undo the match, the damage had been done, for JT had seen the match already.

You managed to avoid him for the next week, embarrassment flooding every time you saw his car in the parking garage and turning down the wrong hallway just to prevent yourself from running into him.

It was a Thursday when life as you knew it changed forever.

You were reviewing the line items from the liquor vendor for the gala, checking the quantities and the prices. Engrossed in the numbers in front of you, you didn’t hear a certain athlete approach with a confident saunter.

“So, about that date… ?”

You closed your eyes at the sound of his voice. “Hi, JT.”

“Come on, not even a smile?” he grinned. “I know you can’t be that disappointed to see me.”

The reference, while subtle enough if anyone else had overheard, was glaringly obvious to you, the image of your photos bouncing together on the app with ‘It’s a Match!’ flashing through your mind. You glared at him, then nodded your head toward your office door, signaling him to get inside.

“Oh, we’re doing this right now? I would’ve dressed a little nicer had I known.”

He’s confident, a complete 180 from the way he’d been a few weeks prior, stuttering and nervous like he was a 17-year-old asking someone to prom. His recent 3-game point streak was enough of a reason for the enhanced confidence, though you still hadn’t connected the dots as to the additional factors for the added edge in his game.

“JT, please,” you said once you’d closed the door, thankful that the rest of your colleagues had left for the day. “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“We’re coworkers,” you said pointedly.

JT scoffed with a smile. “Coworkers? Hardly. Our jobs barely overlap. We just work in the same building. This is like, best case scenario.”

“I don’t mix personal and professional,” you said, sounding more firm than you felt.

“What about pleasure and professional?” he asked with a wink. You rolled your eyes, and he added, “Really, Y/N. It isn’t that big of a deal. I can name like, at least three guys that are dating someone who works for their team.”

“That’s not the point! It’s a principle.”

“You afraid I’m a stereotypical hockey bro? Not all of us are just pretty playboys.”

‘You sure are pretty, though,’ you thought to yourself, instead replying with, “It has nothing to do with that.”

“Please,” he added. His voice was a little deeper, more serious. “Just give me a chance. One date. That’s all I’m asking.”

You swore you could feel the actual heat of his gaze on you as you looked away to contemplate. Truthfully, there was nothing written against it in the handbook, and he was correct in stating that your jobs really didn’t overlap that much.

What harm could come of it?

“You will not tell a soul.” Your voice wavered, but you looked him square in the eye as you said it.

A smile broke out on his face as he mock saluted you, and any remaining doubt you had flew out the window at the sight, the light in his eyes filling you with a little too much joy than you’d care to admit. Before you could think twice, he was handing you his phone to input your number. You did, and handed it back to him, looking at him expectantly.

“I’ll change your life,” was the last thing he said before winking and walking out.

That was three months ago, and, true to his word, he had indeed changed your life in the two-ish months that you’d been dating. It had all been a blur, really, after the first date, and as things progressed you’d still sworn him to secrecy despite his every effort to remind you that you weren’t doing anything wrong.

So, here you are, casting coveted glances at your boyfriend across the room at a million-dollar event, except no one in the room knows that he’s your boyfriend, except for JT himself. It’s a secret, weighing heavy on you every time you come into work or have to watch him go stag to an event that you should be on his arm for.

Someone calls your name, and you tear your eyes away from him, turning to address your colleague, Grace, who’s standing beside you with a tablet, ready to have a final run through of your carefully crafted checklist. You review it twice to ensure that everything is in place and that no loose ends are left.

After a brief team meeting, everyone knows their posts, and Stan Kroenke is waiting by the stage, being briefed by another one of your colleagues with a rundown of the night’s schedule.

You catch JT’s eye, and he sends you a quick wink for luck before you take a breath and walk onto the stage. Doing your best to ignore the bright lights, you focus on not tripping before you get to the podium to welcome everyone. You’re nervous, but the words come to you easily as you explain the night’s festivities and introduce Stan, who is speaking after you.

The speeches go smoothly, as planned, and soon enough the time for mingling has begun. Naturally, most people gravitate to the players, wanting photos and autographs, and at this point, your only remaining assignment is to monitor and be available to assist with any issues that may arise. Everything is going smoothly, so you allow yourself to take a breath and let loose, just a little. You grab a glass of champagne, letting the tickle of it rest in your throat as you go to chat with your colleagues and brush elbows with the donors.

You’re not sure how much time has passed, only aware that the silent auction has begun, meaning it must be around 9pm. The music in the rink is a distant background noise, the sound of amiable chatter echoing in the arena.

“Great job up there.” JT sidles up to you, startling you and causing you to jump. He chuckles before taking a sip of his beer. Your eyes flick to the foam that remains on his mustache, watching the way his tongue darts out to retrieve it.

“Thanks,” you reply with a smile, careful to keep your distance, being in such a public setting. “Been doing this for years but still never gets any easier.”

He hums in response, then lowers his voice slightly. “This whole thing has turned out amazing, babe. I’m really proud of you.”

All you reply with is a look, silently scolding him for the pet name in public. His expression is apologetic, but he doesn’t say anything, instead stepping closer to you under the guise of setting his glass down on the table behind you.

“And for what it’s worth, there’s no way you’re getting out of here tonight without getting fucked, looking like this,” he whispers in your ear. It’s low, murmured hotly, and fire courses through your veins at the words, which is presumably the exact reaction he’s aiming for.

You splutter in response, stepping away from him. “JT —“

“You look so fuckin’ good, baby,” he husks, and you can hear the hunger in his voice. “Can’t keep my eyes off you. Took everything in me to keep my hands to myself.”

“Don’t… don’t talk like that,” you breathe, feeling the heat in your cheeks despite the fact that no one is near enough to overhear.

“Why? Do you like it?”

The pang of your heartbeat is loud in your ears as you look at him, shaking your head. He smirks, knows that you’re lying, can see it in the way your breath hitches when he runs a hand over his beard.

“C’mon,” he urges, nodding toward the door to the hall, marked with a sign that says Staff and Personnel Only.

With a hesitant sigh, you glance around the room. The guests are chattering, laughing, drinking, everything going exactly as planned. It can’t hurt to take a few minutes away, right?

Your redhead grins when you turn back to him with a shrug. The two of you slip into the hallway, and you do your best to walk both quickly and quietly, your heels clacking loudly on the cement floor.

“JT, there are no private bathrooms down here,” you protest, heart thumping in your chest.

“There’s one,” he grins. “Follow me.”

He leads you away from the rink, down a different hallway from the guest bathrooms.

“JT, where are we —“

“Shh, only a bit further,” he whispers, glancing behind you before taking your hand.

The next thing you know, you’re standing in front of two large sliding doors, the Avalanche logo carved into the rich wood.

“JT, no.”

“Why not?” he smirks, fishing out his access card from his suit coat pocket. “No one’s gonna find us in here.”

Before you can protest, he’s scanning his badge, the doors sliding open with a beep to reveal the entry way to the Colorado Avalanche locker room. You’ve been in it before, but never with a player, and certainly never alone with a player.

The doors are quiet when they shut behind you, and JT steps up to press his body against you, warm against your back as his hands find a hold on your hips.

“Finally alone with you,” he murmurs. “So I can do this.”

The whiskers of his beard tickle your neck first, soothed quickly by the softness of his lips that press a kiss against your skin. You can’t help the sigh that leaves your throat, feeling too good to ignore.

“And this,” he continues, hands giving your hips a squeeze through your dress before he’s flipping you around to face him.

You meet his eyes, soft despite the obvious heat in them, like melted chocolate in the center of a fresh, warm lava cake. He moves to cup your jaw, stroking your cheek gently with his thumb before he’s leaning in, whispering against your lips, “And most importantly, this.”

The kiss is all you need to make you forget where you are, head spinning with his lips against yours. Your internal moral code that was screaming at you up until five seconds ago has quieted, unable to think or feel anything except JT; any protest you had died the minute he touched you.

His hands quickly find their place back on your hips, this time reaching behind you to give your ass a squeeze. You can taste the beer on his tongue as it slides against yours, probing, letting the temperature heat up to near scorching levels. He groans into your mouth, colliding with the moan you let out when he massages the globe of your ass in his hand.

“Stall,” he manages to get out between kisses. “M’stall.”

Slowly, he begins walking you backwards, mouth never leaving your body. You trust him to not run you into a wall, blindly kissing him as your hands find purchase on his jaw. When the back of your knees bump into the wooden bench, you let out a soft grunt and he’s helping to lower you down, making sure you don’t fall.

Once he’s sure you’re seated, he sinks to his knees before you and you bite back a moan at the sight of him kneeling in front of you. With a smirk, he draws the fabric of your dress up your legs, making you shiver as your skin is revealed.

“So pretty,” he murmurs as he takes your leg in his hand, delicate, kissing your calf. It’s slow and torturous, the way he trails his lips up your leg, his beard tickling the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, and you know he’d be teasing you for hours if you had more time.

“No panties?” His voice is deep, husky, when he reaches the bare apex of your thighs, eyes unable to tear themselves away to meet yours.

“Mm,” is the response that you manage, for his finger is running lightly through your folds, coating him in your slick, before you can even answer. “P- panty lines. Panty lines.”

“Sure you weren’t just trying to get fucked? Wanted something easy access just for me, huh?” he teases, a glint in his eye as he looks up at you from between your thighs.

“JT, please,” you whine, rolling your hips against his hand.

“Oh, now she wants it,” he smirks. “You’re lucky I’ve been wanting to taste this pretty pussy since I first saw you walk in tonight. God, my girlfriend is a smoke show.”

“M’not gonna be your girlfriend for much longer if you don’t do something.”

“Oh yeah?” he breathes, mouth inches away from where you want him. The heat from his mouth makes you drip even more, throbbing desperately for his talented tongue. “What’s gonna happen when you break up with me and there’s no one to fuck you the way you want, hmm?”

“If you don’t touch me I’ll do it myself,” you threaten, and he chuckles.

“Think I’d really like to see that,” he muses, and you can tell by the glassy look in his eye that he’s envisioning the sight. “Maybe when we get home. But for now…”

His mouth finally presses against your molten center, tongue running over your lower lips and savoring your taste. He groans into you, beard scratching your thighs in the most delicious way. The man was a natural born pussy eater, you couldn’t deny it, knowing just how to maneuver to turn you into a whimpering mess. Your intense attraction to his thick beard only made your desire stronger, something he’d quickly deduced early on in your relationship and frequently took advantage of.

“So fuckin’ wet for me,” he praises you against your core, feeling the slight vibration of his deep voice all the way in your stomach. “Fuck, you taste s’good, sweetheart. So gorgeous.”

He laps at you, wants to take his sweet time but knows he’s racing against the clock, that things will be worse for everyone if you’re gone too long. Undoubtedly, someone will be looking for you, and soon. So, without warning, he plunges two fingers into you to earn a shriek from your lips before you’re clapping your hand over your mouth to muffle the sound.

Tongue and fingers working in tandem, it doesn’t take long to send you hurtling over the edge, legs shaking on his shoulders as he expertly works you through your high. Your knuckles are white, fisted in the formerly perfectly styled locks on his head, and you hold him against you as you gush against his face.

When he pulls away to grin at you, his thick beard is soaked in your essence and it draws a moan from you, quickly leaning forward to kiss him. The taste of yourself on his beard as his tongue probes your mouth is downright sinful, and you feel yourself throb as if to say, not done yet.

“JT,” you breathe against his mouth, his tongue flitting against your lips. “Fuck me.”

“You were just bitching about getting caught and now you want me to —“

“Need you. Now.”

The snark disappears when he hears the sincerity in your voice, pure instinct taking over as he’s quick to unbuckle his expensive belt, the sound of his zipper sliding down like music to your ears. Your eyes are glued to his length as he pulls himself out of his dress pants, noticing the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he strokes himself.

The locker room, while spacious, isn’t exactly made for this kind of physical activity, so finding a place to lie down comfortably is difficult. He takes your place in his stall, seated, then tugs you into his lap, bunching the fabric of your dress over your waist again once your thighs are nestled on either side of his hips, core pressed firmly against him. You can feel him, hard as steel against you, and you reach between your bodies to wrap your hand around him.

His jaw goes slack, eyes not leaving yours as you pump him, then swipe your thumb over his tip, smearing the precum over his head before bringing it to your mouth. JT groans as he watches you suck the dew off your finger, his own fingers digging into your hips illustrating that he likes what he sees.

“You want it?” you ask with a smirk.

“Fuckin’—” he curses, unable to keep his lips off of you, “yeah, fuck yeah, please, beautiful.”

Briefly, a moment of clarity hits you as the event flashes through your mind, and you remember where you’re supposed to be, in contrast with where you are. In that split second, you’re faced with the decision — be responsible, or give in to your desire. Given the way JT’s lips are pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, his rock hard dick pressing against your naked core, throbbing wantonly against you, it’s not a difficult decision to make.

The sound that your boyfriend emits when you sink down onto him is otherworldly, and you bottle it up, hoping to elicit that sound from him over and over again.

And you do, moving up and down his length while his hands reach to grip your ass, helping your movements. He lets out the same moan against your mouth when you duck down to kiss him, swallowing the sound. When he shifts his hips, tilting them to press himself deeper into your tight heat, you mimic the sound, crying out a call of his name into the emptiness of the room, echoing out of the empty stalls surrounding you.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice low and sending waves of arousal straight to your pussy. “Feels so good, squeezin’ me so tight, baby.”

You lean in to kiss his lips, swollen and red and downright delicious, and your tongue seeks out his own as your hands clutch onto his broad shoulders for leverage. The sound of you bouncing in his lap has his belt buckle jingling, and he rips it out of the last belt loop before chucking it somewhere on the ground behind you, landing with a dull thud on the carpet. A free hand palms your breast through your dress, and the warmth even through the fabric makes your nipples harden, your back arching into his touch. He’s all over you, in your lungs and on your skin, and in that moment you swear you’ll let yourself be swallowed by him, devoured amidst the low lighting in the Avalanche locker room.

“J,” you sigh, breathless. You hope he can pick up the rest of what you’re trying to say, unable to speak words for the bubble of heat that’s rising in your belly, his dick drawing enough pleasure to render you speechless.

Fortunately, he does, and he’s using his grip on your ass as leverage to coax you up and down, faster, striking the perfect spot within you. One of his hands leaves its post on your waist, snaking between your bodies to find your clit, knowing he’s found the bud when you gasp against his jaw. Fireworks dance in front of your eyes, and you throw your head back, eyes squeezed shut tightly as you swear you can visualize your high, just on the horizon. He applies pressure, just enough, circling slowly to gauge your reaction, looking up at your face like you hung the moon and the stars. When he sees your eyes begin to roll back, he repeats the action, desperate to feel you come while wrapped around him.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he coos, voice dripping in honey.

He claps a hand over your mouth when you cry out in ecstasy as your peak hits you, rippling through you while your hips falter their once steady movements. Between the fluttering of your heat around him and the blissful expression on your face as you climax, JT’s soon reaching his own, spilling deep inside you in the final waves of your orgasm.

There’s a haze around you for a few peaceful, wonderful moments following, and you smile when you see him grinning at you, holding back laughter. The corners of your lips curl up into a smile, and soon enough you’re giggling along with him.

“Can’t believe you just did that,” he says through his laughter.

“You started it!”

“Yeah, but you went along with it,” he winks, grunting when he helps to slip you off of his lap. You can feel his cum dripping out of you, thankful that your dress is floor-length and black, hiding any leakage. He dashes away, returning quickly with a wad of toilet paper and a kiss to help clean you up.

“Kinda want to do it again.”

“JT,” you warn as you adjust your dress, smoothing it out to hide any wrinkles. “We need to get back.”

Nerves flutter inside of you now that the heat of the moment has passed, and you suddenly feel guilty for abandoning the event you spent months planning, even if your temporary distraction is a delicious, incredibly attractive hunk of a man.

“Hey,” JT says, seeing the way your hands have started to wring themselves. His voice is soft and he takes your hands in his, giving them a squeeze. “Everything is fine, okay? You did an incredible job planning this — so good, in fact, that everything is running perfectly smoothly without you, and you are allowed to take a break.”

He’s right, of course, a smug expression on his face when he slips back into the hall ten minutes later, staggering his arrival with yours. His hair has been combed, no evidence that you’d been running your nails through it not 20 minute prior, though you do notice the flush of his lips against the glass of the new beer he’s gotten. The only person who noticed your absence is Grace, but you’re quick with an excuse that you were cornered by Stan, who is notorious for his long-winded conversations. She looks at you, but if she is thinking anything, she doesn’t say it, and you mentally pump your fist that she’s bought your lie.

As you are both approached by Joe Sakic, you have to hide your smile knowing that you’d just fucked one of his players in the locker room just down the hall. You can’t help but feel undeniably smug — and maybe a little bit turned on — that while you chat with some of the wealthiest, most important people in Denver, you can still feel the warmth of JT’s cum inside of you, one bead dripping down the inside of your leg.

Another hour or so later, the last few remaining guests take their leave. The clean up crew begins their practiced routine, and you make your rounds to ensure that the vendors have their appropriate tips and payment before you head up to the office to wrap up for the night. Grace is waiting for you, to tell you the initial count of dollars raised has exceeded $20,000, and you grin, feeling both relieved and quite satisfied at the culmination of your hard work.

Not much later, you and Grace walk to the parking lot together, and you commend her for a job well done, thanking her for keeping you sane. As you bid her goodbye and slip into your car, you take out your phone, smiling to yourself when you see a text.

[JT:] Meet you at yours? [JT:] I’ll make you breakfast in the morning.

You chuckle, sending a text back to let him know you’re on your way.

[Y/N:] I’m heading home now [Y/N:] I prefer waffles, by the way [JT:] Lucky for you, I am a waffle extraordinaire [JT:] See you soon, beautiful 😘

You start your car, stowing your phone in your purse as you exit the parking garage. The bluetooth in your car dings with another text from him, and you roll your eyes as the message pops up on the screen.

[JT:] Still want to see you touch yourself like you promised… I’m waiting 😉

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