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sappho-favourite-pupil · 2 days

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Tw use of the term "slut" in a sexual contest [idk if that even is a tw but i wanted to specify it].

So, there is a certain person i've been interacting with, here on this blog. I think you know who you are. You know i'm talking about you, dear 😏

And there is also this recurring fantasy going on and on in my mind.

The two of us are hanging out together with some other friends, hand in hand, and you are wearing a delicious short skirt. One of those flowery skirts, extremely sexy, and easy to lift up, by the way. I love it, i love it and i love the way it looks on your body. The urge to take that off of you, right in front of our friends and everybody else around us, it's making it hard to focus on the conversation taking place.

And, to make matters even worse, i know you are a little bit of an attention slut...well, you are an attention slut, big time. You want my attention to focus on you, only you, and you can't help acting all bratty.

You smile at me in that way, twirling your hair just like the slut you are, and then look away. You keep accidentally touching my waist, my thight, my hair, and making up stupid excuses for it. <<There was a fly on your shoulder>> or <<I thought you spilled some coffee on your trousers>>. But the worst thing is, you act like you're not doing it on purpose, like you're not doing anything wrong.

What is it? You can't stand it, when i give my attention to all of this people, instead of focusing it all on my little slut?

Well, it's not like i didn't tell you before what i think about this kind of behaviour: i don't like it, when you act like that in public. Maybe it's time for me to show you what this bratty behaviour gets you.

I would propose to sit down at a table, and of course make you sit right in between my legs, so that everybody can see who you belong to. <<My little slut is a bit jealous, mmh?>> I whisper in your ear, and enjoy as my words make you stir against my lap. Enjoy as i watch your pretty cheeks blush.

When the waitress arrive to take the order, i ask for a glass of pomegranate juice. And it would be a real shame if i were too- mmh, idk, spill it on that pretty dress of yours. Oopsie, you know i'm a bit clumsy sometimes, baby. I'm so sorry. Of course it's not like i meant to stain your skirt, to make it all adeherent to your legs and sheer.

Our friends give me some tissues to dry your legs up, of course. But, alas, i can't do it properly if you don't spread your legs a bit. They're under the table: no one except me can see what's behind that slutty skirt of yours. I start slowly rubbing your inner thights with those tissues, up and down. Try to keep a straight face now, slut. Or would you like all of our friends to know exactly what's going on under the table?

Isn't that what you were suggesting, my dear?

Oh, you were trying to suggest i'd take you home, first? Well, too bad, slut. Act like a brat in public, get punished in public.

I push my hand even further, pressing the soaked tissues on your even more soaked underwear, and you let out a loud gasp. It's loud enough for everyone else at the table to hear it, loud enough for you to be forced to make up an excuse for it.

Good luck with that, slut.

And what kind of punishment would it be, if i gave you what you wanted? Oh no, you gotta learn your lesson: as soon as it feels like you're starting to enjoy it, i stop moving my fingers and move them away from your clothed cunt.

Yeah, i want you to get more and more frustrated while i use you as i please.

<<Try to keep a straight face, slut. Take your punishment, and wait until we get home>>.

#hehe 🤭#requests are open #spicy fantasy #lesbian smut #wlw nsft #wlw ns/fw #you know who you are dear #lesbian #dykeposting #sappho would be proud of me #happy lesbian visibility week

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whatisame · 2 months

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A bartylus microfic with side jegulus. ~2k words. Summary: Crime is sexy. Thank you.

Rating: Mature

Regulus’ eyes hadn’t strayed from him since the moment he walked through the door.

Not that Barty could blame him. The fucker was tall and athletic, looking like he'd walked straight out of a magazine cover of Health and Style. He had probably never tried the mind-altering substances that currently fogged Barty’s perception of reality. Even through the hazy daze, he could make out the expensive fabric of his collar, his watch's golden glint, and his shoes' fine craftsmanship. He reeked of old money. Sufficiently comfortable with it to unknowingly flaunt it, like it was no big deal.

Like people like Regulus or Barty wouldn’t kill to have a taste of it.

The man was now in the kitchen alone, having successfully shaken off the flock of desperate amateurs that begged for a wisp of his attention. Regulus watched with rapt attention as the man sipped a drink.

“You should go talk to him,” Barty told him.

Regulus just rolled his eyes, redirecting them to Barty. His gaze was intense, never without a dangerous edge. Barty was surprised the tall man hadn’t felt Reg’s eyes following his every move throughout the night.

“I’m serious. It could be fun.”

“Remember what happened last time?” Regulus raised his eyebrows emphatically. “Not fun.”

He remembered pieces of it. Regulus and some guy dancing. A dirty song. The guy’s hand inching lower and lower. A crack. His knuckles aching and blood on the counter.

Barty flashed him his teeth in a smirk. “For who?”

“You have to stop messing up our plans.” His tone suggested annoyance, but Barty knew that wasn’t the case. For all the fussing Regulus put up, it was obvious that he loved it when Barty got like that. He enjoyed riling him up to the point where Barty couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t bear watching another second of another’s hands on Regulus. He took pride in watching him go mad; biting, scratching, smashing someone’s skull against glass. No matter how hard he tried, Regulus could never fully hide the small smirk hiding in the corner of his mouth.

But Barty was a patient dog. If the reward was high enough, he could wait for his turn and watch Regulus play with someone else.

“This is different,” Barty reminded him.

“I know.”

“Then what’s stopping you?”

Regulus lowered his gaze, and when he looked at him, he was the picture of regret, all scrunched eyebrows and wide eyes. The tide in Barty’s stomach sloshed unpleasantly. He covered it up with a scoff.

“Now, don’t tell me you’ve gone soft on me, pet.”

Regulus frowned, taking a step back from him.

“I haven’t. You know I haven’t, so don’t even fucking start.” He huffed. “God, you can be such a bitch.”

“Good,” Barty said, ignoring his last comment. “It’d be a shame if you forgot what this is.”

He could feel the fury radiating off Regulus like waves. The scrunch of his brows, the downturn of his lips. He was beautiful when he was angry.

“You tell me what this is, Barty,” Regulus spat dangerously. “Just so I don’t forget.”

Barty felt a sharp pang pierce through him and smiled. There he was, the Regulus capable of cruelty that yielded words like a weapon, just as Barty did his fists.

When Barty didn’t answer, Regulus batted his hand away and took another step forward. He hadn’t realized he had grabbed him in the first place. Now, there was barely an inch of space between them, and despite having to crane his neck up to look at him, it felt like Regulus hovered over him. At that moment, there was nothing around him that felt as real as he did.

Maybe it was the drugs. Or maybe it was just Regulus, whose eyes were the sharpest silver, framed by thick dark lashes. Quietly striking. Eyes that had seen true darkness and embraced it instead of running from it. Regulus whose red mouth was meant to be chewed, spat, filled. The elegant slope of his nose. His sharp cheekbones. The freckles on his rosy cheeks. He wished he could scratch and bite and mark, but he knew he would never. Barty was a sinner at the whipping post at the mercy of a morbid executioner, who always chose to delay the fatal blow.

The violent thumping of his heart persisted as Regulus softly traced his eyebrow with his fingertip, as his hands circled his shoulders and his lips placed a gentle peck under his ear. It persisted when Regulus started pulling away and Barty’s hands flew to his hips, trapping him there, flush against him. Come home with me, he wanted to say. It scared him how much he meant it.

He lightly shoved Regulus away.

Regulus hung his head between his shaking shoulders. “Okay.”

“Reg…”

He was laughing.

“Forget it, Barty,” he snorted, “you’re right, as always.”

With that, he turned around and left.

…

Regulus didn’t care to be good. He had given up on it when he was 9 years old and the choice between hurt or be hurt presented itself to him. It wasn’t the first time he had been given the opportunity to choose but it was the first time he made the right call. Aside from the regret that had since been trained out of him, nothing and no one ever again stopped him from getting what he wanted.

He met Barty in a dark place, both figuratively and literally. He had just earned his freedom and had been yet too cowardly to dare step out of the shadows. Barty had tried to coax that out of him, but Barty himself was a dark void.

Regulus embraced it. He knew Barty wasn’t good, but Regulus had never cared about that.

Knowing everything he does now, he wondered if that still rang true.

He wondered if he’d ever made a right fucking choice in his life.

A light tap on his shoulder pulled him away from his thoughts. It was the handsome man from earlier, holding a lighter out in a silent offer, no doubt having noticed the forgotten unlit fag held between his teeth. Regulus debated whether the momentary relief was worth the unwanted company.

Eventually, he leaned in, allowing the man to light his cigarette. His hands were certain, the practiced flick of his thumb a stark contrast to his pristine image. Regulus sucked on his fag and looked at his face. Strong eyebrows, warm eyes, playful smile tucked in the corner of his mouth. Even prettier up close.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” the man asked, which irritated Regulus. He usually preferred his company to keep their mouth shut.

“Does that line usually work for you?”

The man chuckled warmly. “Usually.”

Regulus figured. A man who looked like that must know what kind of power he had. Regulus would know. He might not have the charm or the money, but he knew how to take advantage of the weapon he had.

The man continued, “But really. I know I’ve seen you before somewhere, care to help me out?”

Regulus exhaled the smoke in his lungs, then looked him up and down, a slow smile making its way to his lips. “Trust me, if we’d met, I would have remembered you.”

That seemed to please the man immensely, chest puffing out almost comically. Regulus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was almost laughably easy.

“Let me introduce myself then,” the man flashed him a dimpled smirk, “James Potter.”

Regulus’ gaze narrowed as he shook the extended hand. Not that he’d admit it, but the name did vaguely ring a bell. Perhaps Potter hadn’t been that off, after all.

“And what is it that brings you here, James?”

James’ eyes lit up. An overeager puppy ready to please. It almost made Regulus feel bad for what was coming to him.

“I’m new in town and I saw some flyers of this place at work, thought making some friends couldn’t hurt.” James shrugged bashfully.

“In this city?” Regulus chuckled. “Might hurt. Sorry to break it to you.”

James chuckled along. “You seem harmless enough.”

“See? You’re already too adorable,” Regulus cooed exaggeratedly before faux sadness overtook his face, “I’ll hate to watch when they rip you apart.”

“Already like me that much?” James grinned, and Regulus was horrified to find that he was enjoying the conversation a little too much.

“No, I just hate watching pretty things get ruined.”

This time, when he took a drag of his fag, James’ eyes followed.

“I think you’re playing it up,” he replied, and he was closer now, breathing in the smoke Regulus let out. “A whole city can’t be bad.”

“What about me?” Regulus looked at him through his lashes.

“What?”

“You think I could be bad?”

“I—” James breathed out, swallowing hard around the word.

Regulus dismissed the hiccup, hiding his smirk from the other man. “Tell me, James, where do you work?”

“I—uhm. Police department. Well, not really. We help each other out but it’s not like I’m a policeman or anything. I can’t say right now—it’s…”

“…complicated?” Regulus suggested.

“Yeah,” James breathed, thankful.

“So… you’re just in town for a job?”

“A big job,” James grinned. Regulus gathered that much. No one called a private detective (because it was now painfully obvious that that was what James was) to help out the police for just any case. It set his nerves on edge. “So, you know, we might be able to see each other again.”

“Yeah,” Regulus replied absentmindedly, ignoring the fact that they’d just met, and James had a serious case of coming off too strong. There were far more important things swirling through his mind.

“Sorry, was that too much?” James asked like he’d read his mind. He was looking at him apologetically, letting out a self-deprecating laugh. For the first time, Regulus noticed he was nervous. He didn’t know why he said it, but the words were out of his mouth before he could bring himself to process them:

“Want to get out of here?”

“Oh—uhm.” James’ eyebrows shot up. “Your boyfriend won’t mind?”

“My—” he looked over to where James signaled, noticing Barty at the bar nursing a drink. “Oh, God no.” He laughed at the absurdity of it. Of Barty being anyone’s boyfriend. “We’re not…”

“Got it.” James chuckled. “For a second there I thought he must be, judging by how he never left your side and by the way he started fuming the second I approached you.”

“You were watching me?”

“Who wasn’t?”

“Oh no, you’re a charmer, aren’t you?”

“Depends…” James leaned into his space, fancy cologne and top button undone fogging Regulus’ judgement. “Are you charmed?”

“You know what?” Regulus placed his hands on his hard chest. Christ, this man. “I’m not completely annoyed.”

“I’m flattered.”

“You should be.”

Their breaths mingled as they chuckled. And James’ eyes turned soft, hand coming up to tuck a loose curl behind his ear.

“You really are one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. I don’t care if saying it means I have no game, I’m so fucking glad you’re single.”

The heat creeping up on Regulus’ neck was due to James’ proximity and not at all due to his words. “Are you saying you wouldn’t take me home if I had a boyfriend and I asked you to?”

James’ arms circled his waist and Regulus felt his pulse through his shirt, saw the fluttering breath escaping him— like he couldn’t believe Regulus was letting him do as he pleased.

“Would you humor me,” Regulus continued, “if I told you to kiss me in front of him?”

James’ fingers flexed, digging into his skin. “Is that what you want?” his voice was low, lower than it had previously been, and it sent a dangerous bolt up Regulus’ spine.

“And if it was? If I wanted to use you just so he’d come crawling back to me?” Regulus’ hands traveled from James’ chest to his nape, tightly gripping the soft curls there and guiding his mouth to his, not quite touching but— “If I knew he loved me enough to put up with everything I did and I didn’t care for it? If I only used you for entertainment… What then? Would you take me home? Am I pretty enough?”

“Yeah,” James almost whined. “Fuck me, I think I would. You’re—” he tried closing the distance between their lips just as Regulus pulled back. He laughed breathily. “… unreal.”

Regulus hummed, satisfied, and took a full step back, untangling himself from their embrace.

“You’re not good, James. I’m starting to think you’ll fit right in,” he told him approvingly before turning away and starting to leave.

James watched dumbfounded his retreat, the gentle sway of his hips paired with hands tucked in trousers and the man at the bar readily following him like a guard dog.

Later that night Regulus and Barty would stay at Paris’ most expensive hotel and would spare no expense.

“Have a good night, Mr. Potter.”

“You too,” Regulus would smile at the receptionist and make his way to the elevator. Once it closed, Barty would have him against the mirror walls once, and once again against the window of their penthouse room, overlooking the city.

“We’re fucking winning, baby,” Barty would laugh breathlessly behind him as he pounded into him, and then, after they were both spent and lying between soft sheets, he would draw the same pattern over and over on Regulus’ back. A pattern the other man would never figure out.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

It would take James Potter three days before he found out that the pretty man at the bar stole one of his cards, replacing it with a torn-up piece of paper with a single black star drawn on it. It would take him no more than a second to realize he had been in the presence of notorious conman Regulus Black, widely suspected as the mastermind behind the mysterious disappearances of dozens of multimillion-dollar art pieces around France.

Their only leads? He never traveled alone, and all he ever left behind was a single black star.

#the most selfindulgent shit ever #it's really dumb but i was in the mood #bartylus #barty crouch jr #regulus black #jegulus #hehe 🤭#conmen bartylus #i think u con on men enough for the both of us hehe. omg im losing my mind #crime is hot #partners in crime #idk how to tag. clearly #mature

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