#And I wanted to say something but someone else was saying something too... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fxstpace · 2 days ago

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only angel

summary: on paper, you and joshua hong are the perfect rivals, heirs to competing companies, each primed to outshine the other. what a pity you can’t seem to get enough of each other behind closed doors.

⇢ pairing: rich kid!joshua hong x rich kid!fem!reader ⇢ contains: smut (semi-public sex, oral sex, protected sex, fingering, dirty talk, exhibitionism, overstimulation), fluff, rivals to lovers au, friends with benefits au, rich kid au, profanity, implied misogyny, alcohol consumption, the nickname “angel”—please let me know if i’ve missed anything! ⇢ word count: 4.7k ⇢ note: title is taken from harry styles’ only angel.

“I’m just saying, if we want to see other people, we should.”

You roll your eyes. From your position on the bed—curled-up, facing Joshua—he looks sleep-drunk and honey-sweet. You can’t really say that to him without sounding like a sap, so you kiss the corner of his mouth instead. He hums, low and satisfied.

“What was that for?” he asks. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“So that every time you see another girl, you remember that my kisses are way better.” You let a slow smile spread across your face.

“That’s… possessive,” Joshua says, sounding mildly impressed. “And kind of toxic.”

He leans forward this time, brushing his lips against yours. Strictly speaking, you and Joshua have no reason to be so tender with each other. Intimacy is a rarity you can’t afford.

“Are you interested in seeing someone else?” you ask, when he pulls away.

A laugh ripples through his chest, and you grin impishly up at him. “Seeing people, yeah. Fucking them, no,” he says.

“I won’t stop you even if you do fuck other people.”

“How considerate.” His smile is teasing, but you’re not joking.

Your relationship with Joshua Hong would cause a scandal unlike any other if word got out—and rightfully so. Your family has always been at constant odds with the Hongs, continuously trying to one up each other. As some of the biggest business conglomerates in the country, competition between the two companies was inevitable, but you certainly didn’t expect it to attain the level of aggression it has reached now. You and Joshua often joke that you’re like Romeo and Juliet, minus the idiocy of ingesting poison and the whole falling in love part.

While the rest of your family and business associates do their best to eliminate their rivals once and for all, somehow you and Joshua didn’t get the memo.

Secrecy is a must in your situation. Only a select few people are aware of the illicit nature of the relationship between Pledis Industries’ doted-upon child and Hong Holdings’ golden boy. Even then, you’re careful, hiding your comings and goings from your parents and superiors. You usually make up some excuse—you were out with your friends, you went on an impromptu day trip—something to make them stop sniffing your trail.

By all logic, you and Joshua should hate each other as well. But he’s a charming guy, objectively attractive, and more than that, he’s fantastic in bed. One formal event and too many glasses of champagne later, you found yourselves scurrying off to a deserted room, as though you were teenagers trying to sneak out during a school trip. It’s been a few months since then, but this arrangement has lasted.

So, logically speaking, all this small talk and commitment is utterly unnecessary. You’re not searching for any new guys to fuck, but if Joshua wants to fuck other people… Well. That’s his choice.

“You see people every day,” you remind him.

“Your point is?”

You move closer to him, throwing a leg over one of his. His cock twitches. You grin and reach down, splaying your fingers over his bare abdomen. He hisses at the contact, quickly tugging the blanket off.

“My point is,” you whisper, rubbing your thumb against the soft patch of hair that’s right above his groin, “I’ll see you tonight at the launch event, Mr. Hong. Do try not to get your dick wet until then.”

“You’re evil, you know that?” Joshua whines, fingers curling into his palm.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed, fishing underneath the covers for your bra and panties. The lacy lingerie secured a few attempts later, you stand up and stretch your arms lazily. The horizon is tinged light pink; the glass door that leads to the balcony reflects the sun’s earliest rays. The city is just barely awake. Five o’clock in the morning on a Saturday lies somewhere on the threshold between dawn and night, and it’s a good thing no one you’ve come to the convention with will be awake now, after all the drinks they’ve had the night before.

“One of my better charms,” you reply flippantly to Joshua’s previous comment.

You fasten your bra and quickly pull up your underwear. Bending down to pick up your discarded clothes—a formal skirt and blouse—you know Joshua Hong is already staring blatantly at your ass.

Sure enough, when you turn around, you find him watching you dress with his mouth hung open and a dazed look in his eyes. This might be your favourite part of your excursions, you think: Driving Joshua Hong mad. You once asked him why he liked seeing you dress up again so much, and he cheekily said that he loved imagining undressing you all over again. It had made heat flush your cheeks, and he had laughed at seeing you so flustered.

Now, it gives you a weird sense of delight, because more often than not, you leave Joshua with a hard-on and a curt order to not touch himself. Whether he actually complies or not, you don’t know, but you’re satisfied anyway.

“You should sleep in for a bit,” you tell him, once you’re fully-dressed. You run a hand through your unruly hair in an attempt to detangle it.

In the light of the day, Joshua’s hotel room is a lot more… fuller. In the dark, all you did was grope about, pray you didn’t stub your toe on something and clutch the back of Joshua’s shirt like it was a lifeline while he fumbled to find the lamp on the bedside table. With crumpled sheets, a half-opened suitcase by the plush armchair, and an empty mug of instant coffee on the table in front of it, it looks lived-in—a weird contrast to yours. You prefer keeping your hotel room pristine because you feel strangely guilty giving the hotel staff more work to do.

Joshua yawns. “So should you. The conference isn’t until seven in the evening, no one’s going to be awake.”

“I… need to prepare for my speech,” you say. It’s a lie—you’ve practised your speech so many times, you know it verbatim now—but you’re absolutely paranoid at the thought of someone accidentally finding you and Joshua together.

And then you’d be forced to stay away from him, and what good would that do? It would cause more misery than you want it to.

“Oh.” Joshua perks up. “You’re presenting today? Good luck.”

“Thanks, Joshua.” You smile. “I’ll see you in the evening.”

“Yeah, alright.”

You clutch your shoes in your hand—it’s too early to prance about in high heels—and twist the knob on the door. Joshua, ever the suave gentleman, winks at you raunchily before you roll your eyes and shut the door behind you.

The carpeted hallway is soft against your bare feet. You can hear the distant whirring of one of those big carpet-cleaning machines further away. You quicken your pace; your room is one floor below Joshua’s and you can’t risk getting caught, even by the hotel staff, so close to the Gojo heir’s room. The lights cast a soft glow throughout the gilded walls, making the abstract art paintings pinned up shimmer. A vase with dried-up roses sits prettily on a marble-topped table as you round the corner towards the staircase.

You quickly descend the steps two at a time, nearly running straight into a waiter holding a tray with a pot of coffee aloft. You give him an apologetic smile and a shrug when he glances at your haphazard state, as though to say Well, what can you do? and head on over to your room. Thankfully, you don’t run into anyone else along the way.

You swipe your keycard against the lock and push your door open. Dropping the heels on the floor, you let out a relieved sigh. First things first: you’re going to brush your teeth and take a nice, long shower. You think about the dress you’ve planned to wear for the evening and smile.

Joshua Hong is going to love it.

Your speech was a resounding success.

Despite being one of the few women speakers invited to the conference, you refused to hang your head low. Yes, you might have gotten to the position you’re at only because of your parents, but that doesn’t mean you’re good at your job. You delivered every line perfectly.

You deserve a reward.

The grand ballroom shimmers under the glow of crystal chandeliers, the soft hum of conversation interspersed with the gentle clink of champagne glasses. You glide through the sea of tailored suits and designer dresses, exchanging pleasantries with industry leaders and dignitaries. You’re here as a representative of Pledis Industries—and, by extension, your mother and father. Connections are vital, and you can’t be caught slacking.

Your gown, sleek and fitted, feels like a second skin, catching the light just right as you move—enough to draw eyes, enough to give off an air of importance. Your makeup is light, only accentuating your best features. You’re the talented daughter of one of the country’s richest CEOs; your image should come off as authentic and empathetic.

But there’s only one gaze you can feel lingering on you from the moment you stepped off the stage, and it’s Joshua’s.

You pause, taking a sip of your almost-finished drink. Your conversation with Kim Taehyung—a famous businessman—about philanthropic organisations is intriguing, and it’s a good chance to network and earn some favour. But even though Taehyung is smart and intelligent, and extremely good-looking (he looks like a Greek statue carved by the Gods; you’re slightly envious of his jawline), you can’t stop yourself from trying to catch Joshua’s gaze. You wore this dress for him, after all.

He meets your eyes from where he stands, leaning against the bar, looking effortlessly elegant in his tailored suit. His hair is combed back, a few strands falling across his forehead, and he sips from a glass of some dark liquid, raising it slightly like it’s a toast. A small, knowing smile tugs at his lips, before it’s quickly replaced by the polite, blank expression both of you have perfected over the years—though his eyes twinkle just the same. It sends a wave of warmth straight to your chest and down your navel.

Swallowing down the last of your champagne, you place it on a nearby table and excuse yourself. You can’t linger in his stare for too long; that would only be giving yourself away. Joshua tilts his head, and you know what he wants.

You make your way to a quieter, less crowded part of the ballroom, near one of the staff rooms. Just as you prepare to slip out through one of the side doors, a hand grabs your wrist, and you’re yanked into the quiet, dimly lit space. The door clicks shut behind you. Joshua’s body is pressed flush against yours.

“Did you wear that just to drive me insane?” he murmurs, breath ghosting over your ear.

You can’t help the smirk that tugs at your lips—you knew he would love this colour on you—but your words falter when his hand slides over the curve of your waist, fingers teasing the slit of your dress.

“You’re not the only one in the room,” you manage to say. “Maybe I dressed up for the crowd. There are tons of eligible bachelors out there.”

“Yeah? Like who?”

“Kim Taehyung,” you say, startled by your own boldness.

Joshua’s eyes widen with momentary surprise. “Is he why you brought up the idea of seeing other people this morning?”

“God, no.” You swallow. “Not at all.”

His lips ghost over your neck, the slightest hint of a chuckle escaping him. “You love getting fucked by me,” he whispers, his hand traveling further down, gripping your thigh, pulling your leg to the side as he presses himself against you. “You just like to make me remind you.”

Your breath hitches when he yanks your leg up around his waist, the fabric of your gown slipping higher, exposing more skin to his wandering touch. You place your hands on his shoulders for balance.

“You were amazing, you know,” he continues, lips a hair’s breadth away from yours. “Couldn’t take my eyes off you. My gorgeous angel.”

“What do I get for it?” you whisper back.

“Oh? So greedy,” he says, rubbing circles on the bare skin of your thigh. “I’ll give you what you want, don’t worry.”

Joshua’s promise makes heat pool in your stomach, and you crash your lips with his. His tongue slips through your parted mouth. You tangle your fingers in his hair, messing up his careful hairstyle. He groans into your mouth, pulling you closer until your chests touch.

His hands are everywhere—tracing the curve of your hips, slipping beneath your dress, fingers finding your panties and tugging them aside like they’re in the way. The cool air hits your skin, making you shiver.

“You’re soaked,” he mutters, voice tight as he slides a finger through your slickness. “All this just from me watching you?”

You bite your lip, trying to keep yourself from making a sound when he slips a finger inside you. The stretch is familiar, yet it never fails to send a ripple of pleasure straight through you. Your knees almost buckle. He smiles, adding a second finger. His pace is slow, teasing, building the heat between your thighs until you’re struggling to keep quiet.

“Joshua,” you gasp out, barely able to catch your breath. His thumb brushes your clit, sending sparks shooting up your body. You know you should stop this, that anyone could walk in at any time, but the way he’s touching you, the way his fingers curl inside you—it makes coherent thought impossible.

He presses you harder against the wall, his mouth leaving a trail of kisses along your throat, sucking just lightly enough that he doesn’t leave marks. His other hand snakes along your waist, holding you steady while his fingers work you closer and closer to the edge, the rhythm of his thumb on your clit driving you wild.

“I think we’ve got… twenty minutes before people notice we’re missing,” your rival breathes out. “Think I can make you cum in five?”

You let out a strangled gasp, your body trembling as he quickens the pace of his fingers, thrusting them deeper, harder. The coil in your belly tightens with each stroke, every flick of his thumb over your clit; you can’t hold back the soft moans that escape your lips.

Joshua grins, clearly enjoying the way you fall apart in his hands. “That’s it. Don’t hold back.”

His words, the heat of his breath against your ear, send you spiralling. You grip the front of his suit jacket, your legs shaking as the pleasure builds, higher and higher, until it’s too much. Your hips buck against his hand, chasing that final push as his thumb presses harder against your clit.

Your orgasm rips through you, a wave of white-hot pleasure that makes your vision blur. Your thighs shake as you cum around his fingers. You bite down on your lip to keep from crying out loud, but a small whimper still slips through. He continues to pump his fingers, prolonging your release.

When it finally subsides, Joshua pulls his hand away, fingers glistening with your arousal. He watches you for a moment, a satisfied look on his face. You try to catch your breath, leaning heavily against the wall for support.

“God, you look so good when you cum for me.” He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, almost tender.

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can, he shushes you and brings his fingers—still wet with your slick—up to your lips.

“Suck.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, but you do as he says, wrapping your lips around his fingers, tasting yourself as he watches silently. His thumb brushes your lower lip as you release him, his gaze not leaving yours.

“My turn. I want to eat you out.” Joshua’s grin is mischievous, but evil is how you would describe it.

“F-fuck, no, Joshua, I— I can’t—”

Your protests fall on deaf ears. Joshua drops to his knees, uncaring of the fact that the linoleum floor beneath him is probably dirty enough to soil his expensive trousers.

“Joshua, wait, let me just—” You kick off your heels. The floor is cool underneath your bare feet and it feels better now that you no longer have to worry about accidentally twisting your ankle because you couldn’t hold yourself up.

“Hold your dress up for me, angel.”

You comply, bunching up your dress in your arms and holding it above your waist. The fabric wrinkles under your fingertips. You want to say something snarky back to him—but the only thing that escapes your mouth is a small squeak when Joshua cups your ass with a hand, pulling you closer to his face. He licks his way up your thighs, only stopping when you whine.

“Shhh, angel. You’re going to draw someone’s attention if you keep making those pretty noises.”

You nod but whimper softly, because if Joshua Hong angled his head just a little bit, his breath would be ghosting right against your centre, the only barricade being the soft cotton of your already-soiled panties. He rests a finger against the front of your underwear, his touch light. When he sees the way you bite your lip to hide your moans, he presses more firmly, rubbing against your pussy.

“Fuck,” you curse under your breath, attempting to fuck yourself on his finger. He looks up at you with a wondrous expression, watching you swivel your hips, trying to get yourself off. Finally, having had enough, Joshua hooks his fingers through the waistband and roughly pulls it down.

If you weren’t so high off his touches, perhaps you’d have been embarrassed at the arousal that glistens over your pussy and inner thighs even though you just orgasmed. As such, you do not give a fuck—especially not when you hear Joshua’s sharp intake of breath at the sight. He licks your clit slowly, once, twice, thrice, and then grabs your ass and pulls you closer. You free one hand and hold onto strands of his hair to steady yourself. Joshua’s mouth attaches to your clit, slurping and sucking on the sensitive bundle of nerves. The moan that bubbles out of your throat draws a satisfied hum from the man eating out your cunt.

He slides a finger inside your clenching hole, slick with arousal, swirling his tongue around your clit. Your mind feels blank, lost to the pleasure that Joshua Hong readily gives you. You let out a slew of curses, until finally, you nearly cry out, “Joshua—oh—I think I’m going to cum—”

Your rival completely disregards your comment, instead adding another finger and pumping them both in and out. His mouth still works your clit diligently. It’s not long before you close your eyes and see stars on the inside of your eyelids. Your chest heaves as your orgasm washes over you. You come undone on Joshua’s face and fingers, shuddering and gasping out profanities.

“Good job,” he praises. You open your eyes and find him still kneeling on the floor. The bulge against the front of his jeans is prominent and for a brief moment, you feel a bit guilty for not giving him the same pleasure he gave you. He glances at his slick-coated fingers, and once you meet his gaze, he pops them into his mouth and licks every bit of your juices off of them.

“What about you?” you breathe out.

“What about me?”

“You’re hard,” you point out, as if you’re not stating the obvious.

Joshua arches an eyebrow and stands up. “Very astute observation.”

“Oh, fuck off. I don’t even know why I bother, honestly—”

Joshua grins and kisses the corner of your mouth. “Are you offering to suck me off?”

“No fucking way.” You scowl. “I spent hours on my makeup.”

“Hm. Not that that did any good—”

Your scowl turns fiercer.

“—I mean, you still look beautiful, even though you’re all sweaty. I was just teasing,” he amends. “I’ll be fine. I’ll just go back to my hotel room all by myself and jerk myself off all by myself. Or I could fuck you against the wall.”

Your eyes widen. Joshua—ever the observant one—notices.

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he drawls, unzipping his trousers. His bulge is more prominent, now, with only one layer of fabric covering it. “You get off on that, hm? You like being pressed against the wall, so close to everyone outside? Anyone could hear the sounds you make with that pretty little mouth of yours, and then everyone will want to know who’s coaxing them out of you. You like the sound of that?”

His words, crass and filthy by all means, make you shiver. Joshua knows you better than most people. He has mapped out all the places that make you moan, how to bring you to your high as quickly as possible—but he also knows how to make you laugh and smile, and what type of dessert is your favourite, and about the time you cannonballed off the diving board and broke your arm because you didn’t land inside the swimming pool correctly.

Joshua Hong knows you, and it is this fact, more than anything else, that makes you trust him.

“Once more for me, angel. Can you do that?” he asks, pulling his underwear down and freeing his cock.

You nod dumbly, mouth watering at the sight of him—white strands messed up by your fingers, dick hanging out of his pants and curving upwards, the formal button down with the sleeves rolled up and the collar askew, and the lipstick stain on his cheek. He is a vision, and he is all yours.

Joshua smirks, like he knows the effect he has on you. You really should get him back for that, you think.

“Turn around for me,” he coos.

You do as he says, dress still bunched up in one hand. Joshua presses into you from behind, the curve of his dick against your ass, and curls an arm around your chest, cupping one of your breasts. He pinches your nipple lightly through the satin-like fabric of your dress; you gasp.

You turn your head, trying to catch a glimpse of your lover. He stares back at you, mouth pressed into a thin line like he can barely restrain himself, eyes darkened with lust. He pumps his cock a few times, spreading his pre-cum over the length.

“Joshua,” you whisper, pleading.

Joshua kisses you at the same time he enters you, swallowing your moan with his mouth and running his tongue along yours. He still tastes a bit like you, and it’s enough to make you shudder coupled with the feeling of him filling you up.

“Fuck, angel,” he murmurs against your lips. “So perfect for me. Gonna fill you up so well, yeah?”

You can only groan in reply, your free hand coming around to clutch his. His grip is tight and warm, and he squeezes your hand when he pulls out and thrusts back in. You let your head drop back and lean on his shoulder, your eyes fluttering shut and pants escaping your throats.

“So pretty, so beautiful, so perfect,” Joshua mutters, swivelling his hips and thrusting faster into you. He moans, the feeling of your walls clenching around him nearly driving him over the edge. He mouths kisses at your neck, your jaw—no longer careful to not leave marks. He doesn’t care anymore. Some twisted part of him gets off on showing the world that he’s fucked you—his rival since both of you were declared the inheritors of you respective companies—so well. Others would kill to be in your place, or in his, but you only want him and he only wants you.

“J-Joshua, ‘m gonna cum,” you gasp out. His dick drags against your walls, and one particularly rough thrust makes the tip of his cock find that one spot that makes your toes curl with pleasure. You nearly keen at the sensation.

“Cum for me, angel,” he mumbles. “Doing so well for me. You deserve it. You’re on the pill, yeah?”

“Yes,” you moan, leaning your forehead against the rough surface of the wall and squeezing your eyes shut. You squeeze Joshua’s hand once more, the only sounds being the slap of skin against skin and the breathless noises that escape both your lips. Your thighs tremble and you feel stars burst against your eyelids as Joshua brings you to an orgasm for the third time that night.

He rides you through it, continuing to pump his cock in and out of you, though his thrusts have turned sloppy. With a string of curse words mumbled under his breath, Joshua finally cums inside you. You groan at the feeling. He stays there, quiet, simply holding you while both of you catch your breath.

Joshua slips his softening cock out of you and tucks it back into his pants. You turn around, wrinkle your nose, and bend down to pull your panties back up. You’re sweaty and you feel sticky all over, and you can barely stand without leaning on Joshua for support.

There’s no way you can go back to the convention in this state.

He wipes the sweat off your forehead with the back of his hand. You smooth out your dress and adjust your hair, trying to look presentable. He takes a step back, eyes sweeping over you one last time.

“You have lipstick on your cheek,” you inform him. He brings a palm up to his face and rubs at it.

“Here, wear this,” Joshua tells you. He picks up his blazer from where it was thrown on the floor—you hadn’t even realised it was there. Mumbling your thanks, you drape it over your shoulders.

“Come on. I’ll take you back to your room,” he says. “We can shower together.”

“God, no, Joshua. Knowing you, you’ll probably have me against the bathroom wall again.”

“What do you take me for? A hormonal teenager who just discovered Wi-Fi and incognito mode?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, so that isn’t offensive at all,” Joshua whines. “Please? I’ll even shampoo your hair for you and I promise not a single thought about sex will enter my mind.”

“That’s practically impossible for you,” you mutter. Still, the thought is enticing. You could really use a warm bath right now, and if Joshua is offering to wash your hair for you—well, it’s one less thing for you to worry about given how tired you are. “But fine. We’ll have to be careful so that no one sees us together, though.”

Joshua grins. “Of course. I think everyone is out there getting drunk. We’ll be fine.”

He picks up your heels for you, and, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, twists the door knob.

(You frown and shove your phone into Joshua’s face. The screen is open to an article, which reads:

Has The Notorious Bachelor Of Hong Holdings Finally Settled Down? Joshua Hong Photographed Leaving Hotel Room With Mysterious Girl.

Underneath it is a grainy photo of him, with his hand around your shoulders and your heels in his hand. Thankfully, your face is blurred enough that no one knows it’s you, but still.

“Speculations about who the mysterious girl is rise as the Internet goes into a meltdown,” Joshua reads, trying—and failing—to keep a straight face. “Joshua Hong, considered one of the most eligible and successful bachelors around, has never once been caught or embroiled in any love affair. The most popular suspicion is that the woman in question is a secret spy, sent to seduce him and steal his extensive collection of designer sunglasses,” he continues, pausing to dramatically adjust one of the said pairs of sunglasses perched on his nose.

“I’m going to kill you,” you mutter, raising a hand to shove his shoulder.

Joshua laughs and catches your hand, using it as leverage to pull your body closer to his. “You won’t. You’re the only angel I know—you’re too nice to do that.”

“Try me,” you say, but you tilt your head up and capture his lips in a kiss instead.)

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bunny-jpeg · 2 days ago

Text

not second best

max verstappen

tags: smut/pwp, redbull driver!reader, teammates au, jealousy, possessiveness, missionary, dirty talk, rough sex

"if you could be teammates with anyone else, who would it be?"

you stood in front of the camera and thought on it for a moment before you answered, "oh, easy! i'd choose charles! i'd say we're pretty close and i'm hopeful this year is the year we wins... but he'd have to beat me first!" then winked at the camera with your hands on your hips.

your teammate, max, was behind the camera and his ears were burning. he knew the question was a joke, but he didn't want to see his favourite teammate be on the same team with his most loathed rival.

in the hotel room, max's hand lingered across your back a little more as he guided you away from your hotel room and towards his. his nose brushed against your neck, taking in your scent before he went to open the door.

when he got the door closed behind you two, his hands were on you once more. his lips at your neck and between kisses he asked, "you'd pick, charles, huh?"

you squeaked, "they said pick someone else." you looked into max's eyes, "we're already teammates." and your eyes went a little wide as he pressed himself further against you. you two have had sex before, it was no secret - with the amount of time you spent together it was inevitable.

"could have picked anyone else." he said lowly as he rubbed up against you further and touched your chest, "you know how i feel about him. how he gets under my skin. i wouldn't want anyone to be on the same team as you. you're mine."

you knew his reaction was overbearing, but you knew that max deeply cared for you. he yearned for you deeply. the thump of his heart was in time with how much he adored you, needed you. so the idea of charles taking you away from him only poked at something in his brain.

you gasped when he bit into the skin of your neck, you knew it would bruise. but something curled in your gut as you felt the a certain lust wash over you.

"you're red bull or nothing." he said lowly, "by my side, or off the track." he said as he started to play with the front of your jeans, "i don't want charles to get the wrong idea, so tonight. i'm going to make sure you firmly remember who you belong to." he placed another kiss on your neck before you ended up in the bedroom and on the bed.

you could have said no, you could have stood your ground and had him slink away with his tail between his legs. but there was something about the domineering max that just made you wet. the looked in his eye, cold, commanding. he looked like the villain that everyone thought of him as.

you took off your branded t-shirt and you felt his gaze linger on your breasts. he licked his lips and you got your bra off, slowly your jeans came off too along with the rest of your under garments. socks throw in two different directions and your panties on the other side of the bed. max was quicker to get undressed before he got on top of you in bed. he pushed you up against the pillows and gazed down at you.

his cock was fully erect. you knew he got off to submitting you under him. he told you once that he liked when you posed a challenge on the track because that meant he could fuck you harder. a real champion can take anything, he told you once when he had you in a headlock and bullied your poor pussy.

"look at you." he said as he hiked your hips up closer to him, "see, this is what no other driver can have. you're just so sweet on the track, you're their little star. but you need someone to actually keep you safe. and charles would never do that." max said lowly and rubbed the tip of his cock up against you, "too trusting. you should only be trusting me."

you swallowed, "please, max." you held onto the pillows under your head and you lifted your hips a little to give him better access to your cunt. you were wet and max knew it. he loved that he carried that bit of control over you, easily making you soaked between your legs.

he remembered after a rough practice he spent what felt like half an hour rubbing your cunt through your driver's suit and he knew that you raced the next round with stickiness between your legs. risky move, but max had to plant those seeds early.

that after formula one, you wouldn't become an engineer or a reporter, or whatever else ex-drivers seemed to do. no, you'd be max's wife. and hopefully married after after that season ended.

he looked at you and licked his lips. you met his gaze as he sank his cock into you. you arched your back a little and he relaxed against you. and so did you. he planted his hands on either side of you, he leaned in to kiss you on the lips as you wrapped your legs around him.

"look at you." he said.

you shifted yourself on the bed a little and reached for him. your arms wrapped around his neck. you held on while he moved against you. pleasure moved through both of you. you loved the feeling, even with max's harsh words, you still felt affection for him. both as a teammate and a lover.

"i'm always looking out for you." he said, he drank in the sight of your face, "i want you well, i want you safe. and i want you as mine." his strokes started to move faster, he felt a slight fire in his gut from the feeling of his cock buried inside of you slick pussy.

you were on birth control, but still it was a risk to take you this way. to have him bare inside of you. but, it eased his jealousy just a little bit to know that he was the only man to ever take you this bare. to take you as his, all his.

"please, max. it feels so good." you encouraged him as you held on tighter, the pleasure was growing in your core as he rutted against you. there was something about how his cock moved inside of you that hit all the right areas that made your eyes roll a little out of pleasure.

"you don't know what you do to me." he said lowly, "i don't want you to ever think about having another teammate ever again. i want you to only need me by your side. matching cars, matching uniforms." matching last names.

he continued to thrust into you, he held onto the bedding a little tighter and felt the sweat at his brow. it was hot between you two. the movements of him against you only had you holding onto you tighter.

"max. fuck."

"i know, it feels good. you love how you feel under me. do you like being my teammate?"

you nodded and your nails nipped at the back of his neck as you held on, you swallowed before you said, "i love being your teammate, max. you know that!"

"do you want another teammate? want another man to fuck you the way i do?"

you shook your head, "never. never in a million years. i want us to win the constructor's this year!" you arched your back a little when his cock nudged against just the right spot that made you feel tingly all over. he laid another heated kiss on your lips and continued to fuck you quickly and roughly.

the headboard slammed against the wall from the force that he was fucking with you. you whined into the kiss and he held onto your hips tightly, you were pinned under him while he fucked you. he felt your body quake under him, the feeling of heat under your skin. you were the sparks in his brain and the fuel in his blood.

fucking you was the same intensity as driving. except he could let his mind grow hazy with each powerful thrust. to know you'd never want another meant the world to him, to know that you were all his. you moaned against his lips and clawed down his strong back.

you didn't last much longer. you broke the kiss and made a strong yet whiny noise as you came around his cock. you arched your back and squeezed your eyes shut as you climaxed. it only spurred him on, it made his heart hammer along with yours. the pleasure flooded your head and after you reached your peak, you let go of him and let him have his wicked way with you.

"beautiful." max said as he continued to fuck you strong thrusts. he left himself feel all of you, every inch of you felt warm under him. you were sweaty and hot. he licked his lips and the pleasure throbbed in his body.

"please, max. i'm sorry that i made that comment. i knew i couldn't pick you." you whined.

max kissed at your neck, "next time, pick someone else. alex, george, even carlos. just not charles, i won't let that sweet talker take you from me." you could feel the possessiveness in his tone.

he knew he was close, with a few more heavy thrusts he finished inside of you. he groaned under his breath and wiped the sweat from his forehead. your cunt fluttered around him and he drank in the feeling. you felt amazing, warm all over and so soft. he knew he had to have you always.

"perfect." he cooed before he pulled out and laid out next to you in bed. he cupped your face with his large hand. those large hands on your soft skin. he leaned in, "tell me again."

you opened your eyes and asked, "tell you what?"

"that you don't want charles."

you shook your head, "i don't want charles. only you, max." and you curled up closer to him. his touches were more gentle, the jealous beast in him calmed down. for now.

"if you could be teammates with anyone else, who would it be?"

you thought about it for a moment, the reminder of last time tickled in your gut. but quickly you looked back to the camera and said, "i'd have to pick, lando! he got really close to the wdc last year, but if we were teammates he'd have a little more competition."

and you knew behind the camera, max verstappen was seething. <3

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flaminhotlili · 1 day ago

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you make me wanna blush.

synopsis — telling your lads boyfriends that you have a crush on them <3

warnings — just disgusting fluff i fear

featuring — xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus, & caleb (separate fics)

notes — this is my first fluffy work and it's reminding me how single i am irl 😀 also if u want to be tagged in my future works don't forget to send me an ask asap! anyway have fun reading and lmk what yall think!! love u lots <3

lili's navigation

After receiving a weirdly ominous text from you–we need to talk, ASAP–Xavier was relieved to notice the shy smile on your face. It didn’t seem that important after all, but his curiosity was already piqued. As he sat on the empty chair next to you, he smiled when you tucked in a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m here. What did you need to tell me?” he asked you.

You glanced at your boyfriend and immediately looked away, your face heating up. “I have something to tell you…” you muttered.

Xavier waited for you to continue talking, scooting closer to you. He leaned closer to you and blinked curiously.

“I… have a crush on you, Xavier.”

Xavier let out a laugh and grabbed your hand, kissing it firmly and then letting it rest against his cheek. “That’s what got you so worked up?” he teased, contradicting the quickening of his heartbeat.

“Hey! Confessing to you like this takes hard work!” you protested and squished your boyfriend’s cheek in your hands. Xavier chuckled and kissed your palm, “Don’t worry, I have a crush on you too.”

Zayne could already tell that you were up to something from the way you were trying to stifle your grin. He sat across from you on the dining table, where you kept stealing glances at him. Zayne wiped the corner of his mouth for any crumbs and focused his attention onto you.

“Okay, what are you up to?” he asked directly.

You grinned at your boyfriend, “I… have a huge crush on someone.” you replied.

Zayne raised an eyebrow at that; that was not what he was expecting. But he finally knew what you were up to. He then smiled, picking up an uneaten macaron from the box you bought for him earlier. “Is that so? Tell me who this person is.”

You giggled, glad that he was playing along. “Well, he’s a really good doctor at Akso Hospital… and he’s super smart…”

Zayne hummed, “He sounds familiar. Is he a colleague of mine?”

“Hmm, does a Dr. Zayne Li ring any bells?”

Zayne chuckled and gestured for you to open your mouth, where he then gently placed the macaron into it. “That’s good to know, because I believe this Dr. Zayne Li has a crush on you too.” he said. You laughed at his reply, kissing his fingertips as you chew down on the macaron.

Rafayel thought he’d gone deaf, “What did you just say?”

“I said, I have a crush on somebody.” you repeated, your smile growing wider. Rafayel frowned deeply; why would you have a crush on somebody else when he was right there?

“You’re being ridiculous, cutie. I’m literally right here! Why would you have crushes when I’m right here?”

You rolled your eyes, letting out an exasperated laugh. “I have a crush on you, dummy!” you said.

It takes Rafayel a while to register what you had just told him. By the time it sinks in, you were already bent over laughing at him. Rafayel whined, “Hey, this isn’t funny!” he protested, pulling you into his arms. You continued to giggle, “It’s a little funny–you got so worked up!”

Rafayel affectionately rolled his eyes at you, opting to place a thousand kisses over your face to shut you up instead.

“Sylus.”

Sylus looked up from his phone with a hum. You walked into your shared bedroom in just his shirt, your face still wet from washing it. “What is it, sweetie?” he asked, holding out his hand for you to take. He pulled you into his embrace, placing a gentle kiss to your head as you sat with your back to his chest.

“I… have a crush.”

“Oh?” Sylus smirked, instantly getting what you were up to. You nodded, your face hilariously serious for such a tiny thing. “Yeah. I’ve had it since forever.” you replied in a hilariously serious tone.

“Is that so? On who?” he asked, playing along. You let out a breathless laugh as his large hands began massaging your back. “I’d like to know so I can… have a little chat with this person,” he added.

“Well, how are you going to have this little chat with yourself, then?” you asked, turning your head to face him. Sylus let out his signature expensive laugh and kissed your nose.

“Alright, you’ve outsmarted me, kitten.” he said fondly.

Nothing can ever truly bypass Caleb, not even your harmless pranks. He could already see what you were up to from miles away, but he pretends to be oblivious about it anyway.

“So, Caleb…” you said, grabbing his arm and letting it rest over your shoulder so you could be closer to him. Caleb welcomes this skinship, trying his best not to smile. “Yeah, Pipsqueak?” he asked.

You hesitated for a moment, biting your lip as if you were actually nervous. Caleb chuckles and slides his arm down to your waist, pulling you closer to his chest.

“I… have a crush on somebody.”

Caleb scoffed, “Really now? Who is this lucky person?”

You pretended to think about it, “Mmm, I don’t wanna tell you… you might know who he is.”

Caleb smirked, of course you wouldn’t tell him right away. “Aw shucks, I wanted to tell you who my crush is if you had told me yours.” he said with a faux pout.

You immediately snap your attention to his words, trying to find out if he was messing with you or not, “You’re not being fair!” you whined. Caleb laughed at your reaction, hugging you with both of his arms around you this time. “Then just tell me who this mystery man is and I’ll tell you who my crush is!”

“It’s you, obviously!” you said, pouting up at Caleb. He cooed at your flustered face and kissed the apples of your cheeks. “That’s great to know, Pipsqueak, because I have a crush on you too.” he sighed, his lips against your flushed skin.

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wernerherzogs · 23 hours ago

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some of my fave buddie fics for anon in no particular order! please mind all the ratings, tags, and warnings of these works while browsing:

plot-focused:

about the present series by Amiril

The day of the shooting, Eddie got stuck in a time loop. But that was three months ago. He's completely fine now.

boys, when my baby found me by nondz (pinkjook)

Three months later, things are mostly back to normal.

And then there's an accident.

the city is a jungle and i’m a beast by putanauhere (TRUST ME.)

“There are no wolves in Southern California,” Buck states, another bit of trivia. He just doesn’t know it’s a lie.

The Things All Come and Gone by moodlighting

“I didn’t—it’s not that I couldn’t be alone,” Buck explained, pausing to find the right words. “I just. Wanted to be here.”

I Broke What You Gave Me, But You Kept Giving More by rcdwings

Evan Buckley wakes up without eight years of his memories with some guy named Eddie Diaz on his bedside. Which could mean nothing.

lonely little love dog by littleghost

When the 118 is closed for reconstruction after an earthquake, Buck is a floater for different stations around the city. He tries not to let it get to him. Much.

kerosene by mandolare

He doesn’t— need more of Eddie. This is enough. This is plenty. This is more than anyone else has of him; he can deal with the marrow-deep want that’s begun to choke him every once in a while.

all my little words by youbetsya

Eddie: Did you just send me an email??

Buck: yeah lol

Eddie: Why…

I dont think you’ve ever emailed me actual words before. Just stuff to print when your printer is broken

Buck: did you read it?

Eddie: Not yet

Too busy trying to figure out why the fuck you’re emailing me

Buck: just read it dude 🙄

instructions on not giving up by Wildehack (tyleet)

Eddie gave up in July.

Live and (Don't) Let Die by xylodemon

The guy gets straight to the point, asking, "What do you need?" in a dull, bored voice.

"My best friend is going to die. I want that to… not happen."

"No small feat, bringing back the dead. And it comes at a cost."

It's Eddie. Buck says, "Yes," without a second thought.

good pretender by likeshipsonthesea

“Okay, but what are the rules?”

Ravi stares. “The rules for…?”

“Casual sex.”

Ravi continues to stare. It is 5:39 in the morning.

i can tell just what you want (you don't want to be alone) by Talls

In which Eddie keeps secrets and Buck is incredibly normal and rational and even brave about his reaction to this.

here’s my hand, there’s the itch by signetsealed

"I wasn’t kidding when I said I could talk about Chris all night,” Eddie says. His voice is quiet and close in Buck’s ear. “But that’s not why I called.”

been lost for a while by trysetmeonfire

Eddie's wife has been dead for two weeks. There's a firefighter in bed five. These are not necessarily related facts, but Eddie will have a hard time separating them out, later.

Downward Facing Doggy Style by Survivah

Eddie and Buck pick up a new hobby while Chris is in Texas.

slaughterhouse by kithmet

Eddie announces he’s leaving. Buck, naturally, begins a slow descent to madness.

Choosing Joy 'Verse series by ithilien22

In which Eddie mends fences with Chris, starts something new with Buck, and navigates the complex emotions he has around his parents.

the sweetest apparition by hyruling

Eddie moves to Texas. Buck keeps accidentally telling people Eddie's dead. It goes about as well as you'd expect.

pluperfect by unreckless

Buck is always good for a ride to the airport. He’s good at lots of things, like being a good friend and goodbyes.

beating the horse by doitgently

Eddie is moving to Texas. Buck finally figures out what he wants.

Burn a bridge, learn how to swim series by WatermelonShots (AvocadosUnderTheEaves)

In which there is some unexpected making out, some pining, one third of an existential crisis and a lot of unhelpful advice. Not necessarily in that order.

you drew stars around my scars by ladieslunching

Someone at the 118 doesn't know how to leave Buck's clipboard alone. Buck would be a lot more upset about it if it didn't bag him the love of his life.

Hot Ghost Problems by ebjameston

The ghost would prefer to go by Buck, if Eddie wouldn’t mind.

ripples all the way down by iriswests

This is the tumultuous road to finding out what Buck truly wants, paved by pebbles.

throw a bone, i’m finally home by fleetinghearts

“Oh, Buck,” Eddie says softly, torn between unbearable fondness and an ache that threatens to crack his breastbone.

when everything's on fire by beartowns

Eddie and Chris move in with Buck after a fire. Buck breaks up with his boyfriend, buys a house with Eddie, and realizes he's in love. In precisely that order.

ice cream before dinner by cloudydaisies

The problem is—well.

Actually, backtrack for a sec. There were a few problems.

Eddie’s got a whole lot of them, lately, and maybe that was The Problem.

Something in the Air (Is Giving Me Bad Ideas) by paramountie

After Christopher comes back from Texas, Eddie makes an important decision: he is not going to blow up his life anymore.

crossed the muddy line by Anonymous

Eddie Diaz is from El Paso, Texas; a fact which accounts for both more and less than he ever expected it to.

the tortured poets department by colonoscopys

The first time Buck touched him, Eddie blew an ambulance up.

still by brewrosemilk

For the first time, Buck longs for a bullet wound to treat. Dirt to dig at. A door to break through. Something. There’s nothing.

somewhere to stand and stay by teaspoon

“What are you doing right now?” Eddie asks. He sounds distracted; Buck can tell immediately that he’s driving.

authentication by v_greyson (greyson)

"Yeah, Eddie picks the guys so I don't make stupid decisions," Buck says, flicking through menus to pick a new racetrack.

The combination of Hen munching peanuts and looking back and forth between them makes Eddie feel like he's a zoo exhibit. Best Friends, captured in the wild, still feral, exhibiting behaviors heretofore unknown to science.

"Well, good luck with - all that," Hen says pointedly to Eddie. She is definitely not talking about the video game.

keeping score by arcanaphora

After getting dumped, Buck is left with two tickets to a weeklong cruise. Eddie steps in to support a friend in need, but complications arise when his friend becomes his fake husband. All's fair in love, war, and trivia.

if i said you could never touch me by marviless*

Eddie pulls back from him with a half-confused, half-concerned furrow in between his eyebrows. “Buck?”

Buck sags against the wall. “Sorry,” he says, wiping the back of his forearm against his forehead in a mixture of frustration and newfound exhaustion. “Sorry.”

Counting Pulses by tinyydancerr*

Eddie Diaz’s life is going great. He’s in therapy, he’s got a great girlfriend, a great kid, his friend is getting married to the woman of his dreams, and his best friend just came out to him.

Now his best friend is dating their new friend.

Things are going great. He promises.

porn-heavy (only a few of these are straight up pwp though):

Feel You Forever by semperama

“Is this…” Eddie meets his eyes again. “Is this new?”

a mess of my creation by Anonymous

They’re in the fucking bunk room. There’s someone snoring in the bed over by the bathroom, a good twenty feet and two beds away, and Buck doesn’t know if it’s Hen or Chimney or Bobby, but they’re in here, they’re asleep, and this is awful, this is so fucking unprofessional and if they get caught they are going straight to HR.

blood in the highs and count the stars by seachanged

“Go on,” Eddie says, nosing into the soft spot under Buck’s jaw.

Buck laughs, a little hysterically. ”You’re not serious.”

look straight ahead if you like it slow by hattalove

“This gets you going, huh?” Eddie grins, propping himself up on his elbows so he can move higher on the bed, reach the pretty pink bow of Buck’s mouth. “Devotion? You being it for me?” He stretches up toward Buck’s ear, whispers: “Monogamy?”

hang me up on your bedroom wall by eddiegettingshot

“You’re going to be a great father someday,” Eddie says eventually, because he’s worse than he used to be and Buck’s reverent eyes make him feel—they just make him feel.

“Eddie, I—”

“You are,” he repeats, firm. “Don’t you think I’d know better than anyone?

buck and eddie's red hot infidelity summer series by cranberrymoons

He’s not thinking about it. He’s not. He’s definitely not.

the moon like a spotlight by dykeries

Three months after Eddie moves to El Paso, Buck comes to visit.

this ecstasy, this forgetfulness of living by glorious_spoon

"You guess," Eddie repeats under his breath, but he sounds amused. He sets the boxes down and kicks the door shut behind him to wind through the chaos of Buck's half packed away kitchen. "You're insane."

love's not a game by thatbuddie (talktothesky)

“So that goal, huh?”

Buck groans, his hands clawing at the sheets beneath him as his toes curl up, the fire that’s been building up inside him for what feels like hours sizzling and uncontrollable in its path through Buck’s body.

i might kiss you on the back of your neck (because it’s christmas time) by sibylsleaves

Five Times Captain Diaz and Recruit Lieutenant Diaz fail to sleep together and one time they do.

would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses? by brattybuckley

Evan Buckley is currently on cloud nine.

Well–

Honey on the Vine by sirencalls

Buck wakes up to an Eddie with stubble for the first time in months and refuses to let a good opportunity to go waste.

lock me down tonight by lecornergirl

Buck tells everyone Eddie talks him into it, but when it comes to Eddie, he’s never needed much convincing.

Mind Blowing Mess by EtoileGarden

"I’d like to have a threesome. I think.”

“You think?”

“Yeah,” Taylor eyed him for a moment, and then leaned a little further over the table, her chin in her hand. “Have you ever had one before?”

songs and poems and promises by lesbianrobin

“It’s crazy how different sex is with men,” Buck says, and everyone around him groans.

rodeo queen by okanus

“What’s the saying again? Save a horse…hm, y’know, I don't quite remember the rest of it.” Eddie can’t help the smile curving up the corner of his mouth.

“You’re an asshole,” Buck says, scowling. The tips of his ears are pink.

yes god don't speak by detectivemeer

“You’re staring.”

“What.” Eddie says. “No I’m not.”

#sorry that tumblr ate your ask and my og response!#also sorry that this is just a short sample but otherwise i'd never get this done.#buddie #911 fic #911 #fic #fic rec #anonymous #a response #please let me know if any link is broken!#and please appreciate that this took Ages on mobile 😭#like. literally about three hours and i'm not counting the three (3) drafts i'd lost before this 😭#long post #eta: two recs here don't have links bc apparently i'd reached the limit of 100 links per post. fuck. and sorry.#hopefully you can google the links yourself!#those are the fics marked with *. apologies to the authors i didn't know about this limit 😭#buckeddie #oh and also i kept it 1 work per 1 author #but as usual i encourage everyone to check out the authors' other works

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faemurmur · 1 day ago

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-> soft yandere caleb hcs:

1. “you’re mine. you said so.” you get busy—miss a call, forget a text—and when you finally answer, his voice is calm, too calm. “i waited. for hours.” you apologize, sweetly, teasingly even, but he doesn’t laugh. “you promised you’d always be there, remember? don’t break your promises. i… don’t handle that well.” and later, when he holds you close, you feel the way his hands tremble slightly against your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

2. his name in your phone has a lock emoji. -> he changed it himself. he also disabled the option to delete his contact. “just in case someone thinks they can slide into your messages,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, “they’ll know who you belong to.”

3. he tracks you. -> not in a creepy way (okay maybe a little), but he has your location always. and when he sees you’re somewhere unexpected, he texts immediately: “what are you doing there?” ……you ask how he knew. “because you’re mine pipsqueak, and i need to know you’re safe. that’s not too much to ask, is it?” and the look in his eyes? he’d burn the whole galaxy just to get you back home.

4. he doesn’t like you being friends with your ex-> at all. he doesn’t raise his voice. doesn’t tell you not to. he just shuts down emotionally, turns icy and unreadable. it’s bound with his actions though… he would probably still do everything acts of service wise. but he wants you to understand something is wrong, wants you to probe… and when you confront him, he finally murmurs, “i don’t want to be second choice to anyone. i want to be your only. and if that’s too much—” you cut him off with a kiss. you have to. because his voice was starting to sound a little unhinged and a little too honest.

5. he locks the door when you argue.-> not to trap you essentially (which he thinks he isn’t doing…) just to make sure you don’t leave. “we’re not going to sleep angry pips,” he says, softly. “you don’t walk away from me. not when we love each other this much baby.” and when you calm down, he pulls you into his lap, arms like iron around you, and whispers again and again, “mine. mine. mine.”

6. he doesn’t like you dressing up for anyone but him.-> you put on a new outfit, stunning, radiant—and his jaw clenches. why are you so breath-taking my gorgeous he thinks… no wonder he wants a world with just the two of you. “who’s that for?” / “me,” you say, innocent. but he steps closer, cups your jaw gently, possessively. “next time, wear it only when we’re alone. i don’t want anyone else seeing what’s mine. or~ you’d hate how i become and say something like i killed your old caleb.”

7. his anger is unpredictable.->when someone flirts with you in front of him, he doesn’t start a fight. but sometimes the look in his eyes speaks more than words ever could. maybe he will break their bones when you leave, maybe he will let it slide. who knows what caleb’s mood dictates him to do. sometimes, he just smiles. and later, when you’re home, he pins you softly to the bed, hands on either side of your head.“do you want them?” he asks, voice flat. “because i can make sure they never speak to you again.” and you— you tell him it’s just him. it’s always been him. like a prayer, like a chanting to balm his rage. and he finally kisses you like a starved man, whispering “good girl.”

8. he deletes numbers from your phone.->you’ll never notice. he’s too smooth. but people you used to talk to? stop replying. and when you ask caleb, he just shrugs with a soft smirk, “maybe they realized they could never compete with me.” and then changes the subject with a kiss and that dangerous look in his eyes again…. this isn’t out of sheer possessiveness though its just out of trust issues.

9. he doesn’t like letting you sleep mad at him.-> you try to turn away in bed, still upset. away from him… back on his face like an iron wall. but he slides his arms around you from behind, strong and unyielding.“no. you don’t get to walk away from me in your sleep, either.” and you can feel how serious he is. “we fix this now, angel. i’ll do anything. but you don’t leave.”

10. he has nightmares about losing you.-> he never tells you the full details either. just that he wakes up shaking, pale, and pulls you into his lap, holding you so tightly it almost hurts. “i saw you leaving me,” he whispers into your neck. “don’t ever do that. i wouldn’t survive it.”

#love and deepspace #lads x reader #yandere lads #yandere caleb #caleb x reader #caleb hcs #caleb headcanons #lads headcanons #love and deepspace headcanons #lads #l&ds #lnds caleb #yandere lnds #yandere caleb x reader

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jean47mclean · 2 days ago

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I don't think it's niche by any means but I've ALWAYS wanted to write a Marching Band AU because man I suffered too much for 4 years to not make my comfort characters suffer either.

Been thinking about it here and there but I was in Color Guard so I'm not as familiar with their instruments lol

I would say for JJK though I've thought quite a lot about it. And yes I know this is an American thing but whatever.

Really wanna make Shoko, Gojo, Geto, Utahime, Haibara, and Nanami the seniors to the other student's sophomores + freshman. I'm thinking Yaga as band director

As for where they'd all go...

From what I know about band kids *cough* the rest of my family *cough* I'll try my best

Gojo: trumpet. I've heard all trumpets have HUGE egos. Any more to explain for that?

Shoko: percussion. They're all chill. Kinda knew everyone but also kept to theirselves a lot. If I didn't make her a student she'd for sure be one of the med tent people (shout out to the med tent people they literally keep the band afloat)

Geto: oboe. This one's a little harder for me to explain, but canonically he's just as exceptional and skilled as Gojo but more overlooked just because Gojo has two super special techniques. To be an oboe player, you have to be pretty dedicated to your instrument and good at it. The same isn't said for trumpet but I think Gojo also plays Oboe in class, just prefers trumpet while marching

Utahime: tuba. My sister actually plays tuba, and they're very important to the band. They're often very overlooked, but their written parts are integral to the overall music. Also according to my sister the tubas and trumpets have some beef so... yeah

Haibara: clarinet. Almost every single clarinet player I know is extremely friendly, talkative, and outgoing. It's not a necessarily hard instrument and it's often one of the most popular, but they're very social people. I think he'd be a great section leader :')

Nanami: trombone. Many of the trombone players I've met are very level headed people. They know what they want out of life and keep to themselves for the most part. I have personal beef with them but we aren't gonna get into that. Otherwise it just felt like the one that fit the most for someone as collected as him

Kusakabe: I'm actually gonna go an interesting path here so stay with me. We're gonna make him one year older and have him coach the Color Guard. As a CG graduate my section was pretty self-reliant, we didn't really need our coach that much. As soon as we had our choreography it was pretty much up to the captains to organize and lead sectionals, and I think Kusukabe's lazy bum would be more than cool with that. He'd be killer with the rifle and saber tossing, probably made it to nationals or something if he competed

(Side note but Mei Mei shouldn't be allowed in Marching Band for obvious reasons)

Megumi: flue. There's two types of flutes, and Megumi falls into the first category. He's pretty quiet and reserved, but insanely talented. Pretty reflective in nature and seems to know everyone more by coincidence than by choice. Level headed, precise, and only steps in when necessary

Yuuji: bass drum. Drumlime is super team reliant, everyone needs to know their part and they have a LOT of extra hours poured into their section, but it's very rewarding to them. They're obviously some, if not, the most important people to the band in general. I think he'd be too confused with the tenor drums (cuz there's like 5 or 6 of them) and the snare just seems to tiny for him. I think he'd like that it kinda feels and sounds like a heartbeat

Nobara: saxophone. My dad's main instrument is saxophone and oh boy. I can't really imagine my girl playing anything else. They're slightly self-absorbed and are extremely argumentative people, but they sound really good if played well

Kirara: majorette. It's a time-comitment for SURE, and even though they come off as kinda pompous people it's just because they HAVE to know what they're doing and being aware of each other. I've also kinda related their batons to twinkling stars if thrown high and fast enough, which is really cool. I've also found that the majorettes often felt like they had really strict rules that sucked and I dunno. Felt very Kirara coded lol

Hakari: trombone. I'm combining the two opposing trombone personalities I've interacted with. Some other trombone players I knew were self-absorbed, a little too horny, brash, and typically uninterested. They had their silver linings, but all in all not the type of people you'd really wanna befriend

Yuuta: mellophone. Purely because french horn is his main in class instrument and you have to be incredibly talented to sound good on the french horn. Mellophone/french horn players are often friendly but reserved. Nice to everyone but has a close knit friendgroup. Also apparently french horns often get very "melancholic tunes" in music

Toge: clarinet. Lots of clarinet players are jokesters, class clowns, memers, etc. I feel like the sections would learn JSL just for him and eventually almost the entire MB does just because like. Yeah clarinets have one of the two hugest sections of the entire MB and they're pretty peaceful people

Maki: color guard! Mostly because I relate her use in weapons instead of techniques as similar to the use of flags, rifles, and sabers instead of instruments. She'd 100% switch between rifle and saber, and would despise using the flags. Less personality based with this one, but you can't tell me she wouldn't itch to throw a saber or rifle instead of playing an instrument

Panda (yes I'm including him): snare drum. We're going with mostly the comedy of this huge tall guy, like 6'4 or 6'5 guy playing the tiny drum of all things. People are constantly wondering why he doesn't play bass and he plays snare purely because it's funny and he has a good time in drumeline

Todo: tenor drums. You need to be soooooooo friggin talented to play these drums man AND very fast. I swear I can't even see the stick moving sometimes when they play. Takes a lot of self control, knowing the beat, and being firm in what you do to play well. I think these suit Todo extremely well

Momo: piccolo. ugh I feel like she'd play piccolo because wind instrument and flying lol. But also I knew quite a few stuck up and rude piccolo players so yeah

Mai: color guard but flags and rifles. She's always so upset that Maki is better than her at rifle even though she's been practicing it for longer than Maki has. She doesn't touch sabers though the balance just feels too off, and since Maki doesn't like flags Mai is great knowing she's good at something Maki isn't

Miwa: color guard. I feel like this kinda goes without saying, but between the saber, Kusakabe being the coach, and giving most sword users a position in CG, it just fits too well. This one however is more based on personality, because everyone in my section was very kind and respectful to each other. She'd probably also do flags but she could totally do saber as well and be pretty good at it

Kokichi: tuba. It's a pretty hefty instrument, they're seriously no joke. Be a cool contrast to how in this universe he can play the heaviest instrument compared to his crippled body in the JJKverse. This is also the time whereI should mention that Utahime and Kokichi are kinda similar in terms of personality and I feel like they get along well

Tsumiki (guess you weren't expecting her): clarinet. Just read previous clarinet personality descriptions and I think you'd get why I put her here

Okay it's 3 am and I'm tired. Might make a part 2 of this or something later but hopefully someone out there enjoyed reading this. Would Be very interested to hear opinions and other instrument choices 👀 talk marching band to me lol

if you have a niche sport/job/hobby it’s your sacred duty to make the most specific incomprehensible AUs with the characters you like. no more coffeeshop aus no more college aus you have to put those guys in a microbial lab. your fave is a high school english teacher. that show is about bowling now sorry. THIS IS MANDATORY!!!

#jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #geto suguru #shoko ieiri #utahime iori #nanami kento #haibara yu #itadori yuuji #fushiguro megumi #nobara kugisaki #inumaki toge #okkotsu yuuta #kirara hoshi #I'm so tired #marching band #Marching Band AU #Can you tell I was a CG geek

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himasgod · 3 days ago

Text

HOUSEWARDENS X READER

Where you are mute PART 2

How would the housewardens act towards you if you were mute?

kalim, idia, vil and malleus.

Part one with riddle, leona, azul is on my profile <3

Kalim Al-Asim

For Kalim, the fact that you're mute doesn't change how much he enjoys being with you.

If there's anyone who's never had any prejudices about how people communicate, it's him.

From the very beginning, he treats you with the same warmth and enthusiasm as anyone else.

His reaction to learning that you can't speak is more curiosity than concern.

"That's amazing! So how do you communicate? Do you have a special method? Teach me, I want to learn!"

He's not immediately good at sign language because he's a bit slow with memory :( but that doesn't stop him from trying his best.

If you use another method, like writing or using expressions, Kalim adapts quickly because he's already someone who is very guided by emotions and gestures.

Something he loves about you is that, even though you don't speak, you express so much with your eyes and your smile. He finds it beautiful how your face conveys so much without words.

When he's really excited, he forgets that you can't answer him right away and talks nonstop, but as soon as he notices you need a moment to type or respond with signs, he waits patiently with a big smile.

"Oh, sorry! I got too excited again, didn't I? Hehe, it's okay! Take your time, I want to know what you think."

Because he's so expressive, it's easy for you to understand him without him having to say much.

Sometimes just by looking at him, you know exactly what he's feeling, and that makes him even more attached to you.

If someone makes an insensitive comment about your muteness, Kalim flies into a rage. He's not the type to get angry easily, but if someone disrespects you, you can see the serious glint in his eyes as he says,

"Don't ever talk like that again."

Overall, Kalim is the type of person who loves and understands beyond words, and being with you is proof of that.

Idia Shroud

When Idia finds out you're mute, his first thought is like

“Great! I don't have to worry about talking out loud all the time-”

It's not that it bothers him when people talk, but he's someone who hates forced social interactions and finds it stressful to have to respond constantly.

However, when he starts getting closer to you, he realizes something important: it's not that you don't talk, it's that you have a different way of communicating. And that intrigues him more than he thought.

If you use sign language, Idia feels clumsy trying to learn it.

His fingers are fast for games, but when he tries to sign, it feels like he's casting a weird spell with his fingers.

“Ugh, this is harder than learning to program in five different languages…”

But if you use a device to type or communicate in other ways, he feels much more comfortable.

He programs a personalized app that helps you type responses faster, or even a voice synthesizer if you ever need it.

At first, he gets nervous trying to interpret your expressions, but after spending so much time with you, he begins to understand you with just a glance.

"Hey, hey, … in this new game, there's a character who communicates without speaking, just like you! Want to see it? I'm sure you'll love it."

If someone ever makes a hurtful comment about your muteness, Idia first goes pale with fright, then red with fury, and then hacks their devices to play a cruel prank on them

No one messes with his special someone and gets away with it :>

He may not say it out loud, but Idia truly loves how you communicate without words. After all, the best connections don't always require sound.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil has always believed that elegance isn't just about appearance, but also about the way a person communicates and expresses themselves.

When he meets you and discovers you're mute, his first impression is fascination.

“How interesting… You speak without words. It's a unique and beautiful form of expression.”

If you use sign language, Vil learns it without difficulty. He has an excellent memory and is a perfectionist, so he masters it quickly.

If you communicate in other ways, such as with expressions or writing, he watches closely. He becomes adept at interpreting your emotions with just a glance.

He loves the way you convey so much with so little. Sometimes, when others are filling the air with unnecessary words, he looks at you and feels that the connection you have is purer and more genuine than any empty conversation.

When you're in public with him, he doesn't let anyone make you feel inferior for not speaking up.

If someone tries to belittle you, a single glance from him is enough to make them immediately shut up.

“You don't need words to prove your worth. Your presence speaks volumes.”

Malleus Draconia

For Malleus, the fact that you are mute is neither strange nor worrisome.

He himself has spent centuries surrounded by awkward silences and conversations filled with empty formalities.

In comparison, your presence is refreshing.

From the beginning, he takes a genuine interest in how you communicate.

If you use sign language, he learns quickly, and whether you prefer to write or use gestures, he adapts seamlessly.

He isn't someone who needs words to understand you. Over time, he develops a special sensitivity to your body language, to the point where he sometimes asks you something and, before you answer, he already knows the answer just by looking at you.

"You don't need to explain anything. I can see the answer in your eyes."

He loves the reassurance you bring. In a world where people always fear him or treat him with extreme formality, the fact that you can communicate without words gives him a special kind of intimacy he's never experienced before.

When you go for a walk together at night, the silence between you isn't awkward.

Sometimes he simply sits beside you and enjoys the feeling of company without needing to speak.

If anyone dares to belittle you or mock your muteness, his dark presence becomes crushing. Suddenly lightning illuminates the sky man, and his gaze turns icy.

"You dare disrespect someone so precious to me? How insolent."

He's a prince, but to you, he's just Malleus, someone who understands you beyond words.

#twisted x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #vil schoenheit #vil x reader #kalim x reader #kalim al asim #idia shroud #idia x reader #malleus x reader #malleus draconia

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alohajix · 3 days ago

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𝑹𝒐𝒐𝒎 1014

Description: freshly single and craving something reckless, Cassie meets a soft-spoken stranger in a hotel lobby. One look turns into one night—filthy words, slow touches, and a room she might never want to leave.

Warnings: explicit sexual content, smut, oral sex (f. receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, light chocking, soft dom harry, alcohol consumption. Readers +18.

Words count: 12K.

*****

The lobby was quiet, humming with the low buzz of a piano track playing somewhere overhead. Glass walls caught the last flickers of city light, and the air was thick with cologne, polished floors, and money. It was the kind of place where everyone either had somewhere to be—or was waiting for something to happen.

I was the latter. Sat on the edge of a velvet armchair in a dress I probably wouldn’t have worn two weeks ago, I sipped what was left of my watered-down drink and crossed my legs tighter. My breakup was still fresh—three years gone in one loud, final fight—but I wasn’t here to sulk. Not really. I’d told myself I just needed to get out, clear my head. Let the city hold me for a while. But deep down, I wanted to forget. Maybe even get a little reckless.

I’d spent the last hour pretending to scroll through my phone, watching couples pass by, laughing, arms linked or fingers brushing. I tried not to let it eat away at me, but it did. That sharp twist of loneliness, edged with something hotter—want. Need. I wanted someone to see me. Crave me. Someone who didn’t know my past or my favorite coffee order or the sound of my laugh at 2 a.m. Someone who wouldn’t ask why I wasn’t home.

I ran a finger along the rim of my glass. I didn’t need a relationship. I didn’t even want a conversation. I just wanted out of my head.

That’s when I noticed him. Tall, broad-shouldered, leaning casually against the bar with a glass in his hand and his head tilted slightly toward me. He didn’t look like everyone else here—too understated. Wavy brown hair that curled at the ends, a plain black tee hugging his chest beneath a dark jacket, rings on his fingers that glinted every time he adjusted his grip on the glass. He had a quiet confidence, like he could ruin you without saying a word.

And then he walked toward me. My heart kicked up the moment our eyes met. His lips curled just slightly, but he didn’t smile.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, voice low, smooth with that unmistakable British lilt.

I blinked up at him, pretending I wasn’t already a little dizzy. “Be my guest.”

He took the seat beside me—close, but not too close. Enough to feel the heat off his body. Enough to make me ache for more.

“Didn’t look like you were waiting for anyone,” he murmured, eyes still on mine.

“I wasn’t.” I tilted my head. “Are you always this forward?”

He chuckled softly, gaze dropping to my lips. “Only when it works.” God.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was thick, full of something unspoken, crackling beneath the surface. I shifted in my seat, my dress brushing against his thigh as I did. He didn’t move. His scent—clean skin, faint spice, something woody and warm—settled into my nose like a drug.

“What’s your name?” I asked, voice a little breathier than I meant it to be.

“Harry,” he said, tilting his glass toward me. “You?”

“Cassie.”

“Cassie,” he repeated slowly, like he was tasting it. “Pretty name. You look like you’re not quite sure what you want tonight.”

That made me pause. My lips parted, but I didn’t speak. He leaned in just slightly, voice softer now, aimed only at me. “Or maybe you do. You’re just waiting for someone to ask.”

My thighs clenched instinctively. I could’ve played it coy. Could’ve teased or deflected. But something about the way he looked at me—like he already knew what I was thinking—made the words slip out before I could stop them.

“Do you have a room here?” His eyes darkened instantly.

“I do,” he said, voice gravelly now.

I stood, slowly, letting him look at me. His gaze dragged over every inch, lazy and deliberate.

“Then take me to it.”

————————————————————————————————

It should’ve felt too fast. But it didn’t. I followed him through the sleek glass elevators in silence. There was something magnetic in the stillness, something dangerous in the calm. The doors slid shut behind us, and I suddenly became aware of the way his hand brushed mine as he reached for the button. His knuckles were rough, the backs of his fingers dusted with ink. I wondered what his hands would feel like on my waist. On my thighs. Around my throat.

“Regret it yet?” he asked, barely glancing at me.

“Not even close.”

He nodded once. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t flirt. Just pressed his back to the elevator wall and let the air between us fill with everything we hadn’t said yet. The ride was slow. Too slow. I didn’t lean into him. He didn’t reach for me. But when the elevator dinged, I could still feel the tension in my gut, hot and liquid.

He walked ahead, key card ready, and I took my time watching him—broad shoulders rolling under that black jacket, jeans sitting low on his hips. His walk was confident, grounded. Like he knew exactly what he was doing. Like he wanted to make me wait.

Room 1014.

He slid the card in, the light flashed green, and he opened the door for me.

“After you.”

The room was dark and cool, the soft scent of linen and something musky drifting out from within. I stepped inside, heels clicking quietly against the hardwood. I heard the door click shut behind me. But he didn’t touch me. Not yet.

“You nervous?” he asked after a moment.

I turned toward him slowly, my hand resting on the back of a chair. “Should I be?”

His lips twitched, the ghost of a smile. “Not unless you’re scared of wanting something too much.”

I didn’t respond. I was too focused on the way he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over a chair. His sleeves hugged his arms, tattoos curling over his skin, disappearing into the dark fabric.

“I’m not going to rush you,” he said, stepping closer, voice low and even. “We don’t have to do anything.”

“I didn’t come up here to talk,” I replied quietly.

He raised an eyebrow, pausing a few feet in front of me. “Didn’t think you did. But you look like someone who’s been pushed around before.”

My jaw tensed. His eyes caught it.

“I won’t do that to you,” he said simply. “Even if you want me to.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. Instead, I took a step closer, closing the space between us until we were nearly chest-to-chest. I could see the gold flecks in his green eyes now. I could smell the heat on his skin. He didn’t move. He didn’t reach. He just looked at me like he was waiting.

So I whispered, “What if I want to be touched?”

His voice dropped. “Then tell me where.”

My breath caught somewhere between my chest and throat. I didn’t answer right away. I was too aware of the silence stretching between us, too wrapped in the feeling of his gaze on me. There was no smirk, no playfulness in his face—just heat. Pure and controlled and terrifying in how much it made me want.

I swallowed. “Everywhere.”

He blinked, slowly.

“Cassie,” he said, low and deliberate, like he needed to say my name just to stay grounded. “You sure?”

I nodded, but he didn’t move. He waited. Patient. Unrelenting.

So I said it. “Yes.” That was all he needed.

His hand lifted first, fingertips grazing the side of my jaw so lightly I barely felt it. But I leaned in anyway, craving more. He cupped my cheek, thumb tracing a path just below my eye, and his other hand followed—slow and careful—brushing down the slope of my neck until his palm pressed just above my collarbone.

“You’re warm,” he murmured.

“You’re slow.”

He smiled at that, a tiny curl at the corner of his mouth. “That’s on purpose.”

His hands traveled downward, not groping—just exploring. Over the curve of my shoulder, down the outside of my arms, until his fingers wrapped gently around my wrists. He guided my hands to his chest, placed them there like he wanted me to feel him. And I did. Solid warmth under soft cotton. A steady heartbeat under inked skin.

“You haven’t been touched like this in a while,” he said softly. It wasn’t a question. And I didn’t deny it.

His thumb brushed over the inside of my wrist, eyes holding mine.

“Tell me something,” he whispered.

“Mm?”

“What were you thinking about… when I walked over to you?”

I let out a slow breath. “Whether or not you’d be worth it.”

His grin deepened, and something flickered in his eyes—darker now, mischievous, but still patient. He dipped his head just slightly, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he asked, “And what do you think now?”

“I think you’re still being too careful.”

His hands slid down to my hips, fingers curling around the fabric of my dress. “You want reckless, don’t you?”

I nodded, barely.

“You want to forget.”

“Yes.”

He stepped forward, pressing his body against mine without warning, and I gasped—his chest firm against mine, his thigh between mine, his hand suddenly tangled in my hair. He didn’t kiss me. He just looked at me, holding me still.

“Say it,” he murmured.

“I want to forget.”

“Forget what?”

“Everything.”

His mouth brushed mine. “I can do that.” And then he kissed me.

God—he kissed me like he meant to erase every other man before him. His lips were soft but sure, coaxing rather than demanding. But when I opened my mouth to him, he groaned low in his throat and pressed me back toward the bed. I went willingly.

He guided me with both hands, like he’d done it a hundred times before, like he knew exactly where my body would go and how it would respond. When the backs of my knees hit the edge of the mattress, he paused. His forehead rested against mine, and his fingers slid down the length of my arms again.

“You nervous?” he asked again, but softer this time.

“No.”

“Good.”

He kissed me again—deeper now, slower, teeth scraping just enough to make my knees buckle. I clutched the front of his shirt, pulling him in closer, and this time he let his hands wander. One dragged up my thigh, pushing the hem of my dress higher. The other trailed over my ribs, just barely grazing the side of my breast.

“You feel good,” he whispered against my lips.

“Then touch me.”

His smile curved against my mouth. “I am.”

“Not enough.”

He laughed once—low and rough—and his mouth moved to my jaw, then my throat. He took his time there, letting his lips brush over my pulse before sucking gently at the skin. I arched into him, desperate for more, but he didn’t rush.

“Cassie,” he said again, dragging my name out like a promise.

“Yes.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“You.”

“You have me.”

I pulled back slightly, looking at him. His eyes were dark, pupils blown, lips kiss-swollen.

“I want your hands on me,” I said quietly.

He didn’t respond. Just leaned in, slowly, and kissed the corner of my mouth before pulling back entirely. For a second, I thought he was stopping. But then he dropped to his knees. My breath caught. He looked up at me from the floor, palms gliding up the backs of my thighs, pushing my dress higher, higher, until I was completely exposed to him. He didn’t touch me—not there. Not yet. He just stared, taking his time.

“You’re trembling,” he said.

“I know.”

He pressed a kiss to the inside of my thigh. “You’re soaked.”

“I know.”

And then—finally—he slid my panties down, inch by inch, until they pooled at my ankles. He helped me step out of them, kept eye contact the entire time, and pocketed them with a smirk.

“Souvenir,” he said, like it was nothing.

“Fuck,” I whispered, breathless.

“I haven’t even started yet.” He said it like a promise. Like a threat. Like he already knew how I’d unravel.

I didn’t move. Couldn’t. Just stood there in front of him—bare from the waist down, dress hiked around my hips, legs slightly parted, breathing shallow. Harry stayed on his knees, still holding eye contact. The sight of him like that—broad shoulders, messy curls, gaze locked on me from beneath long lashes—made something inside me twist.

Then he leaned in. His hands slid slowly up the backs of my thighs again, thumbs brushing over the curve just beneath my ass. He kissed the inside of one thigh, then the other. Feather-light. Like he had all the time in the world.

“Still want this?” he murmured against my skin.

“Yes,” I breathed, my voice thin.

“Good. Wanna taste how fucking sweet you are.”

He hooked one of my legs over his shoulder. The shift forced me to balance with one hand gripping his hair, the other clutching the edge of the dresser behind me. He didn’t tease. Didn’t draw it out. The first stroke of his tongue was slow—so slow—it made me gasp. The second had my hips tilting forward. By the third, he was groaning into me like he needed it just as much as I did.

“Fuck, look at this cunt,” he muttered, voice rough against my skin. “Dripping all over my tongue already.”

He hummed in response, the vibration shooting straight through me. One arm wrapped tighter around my thigh, holding me steady while his mouth worked in slow, deliberate circles. He alternated between soft licks and firm pressure, and when I squirmed, he simply gripped me harder, tongue dragging deeper, wetter, filthier.

“Gonna ruin this pussy,” he said between licks, lips slick and red now. “Gonna fuck you so hard you forget your own name.”

The words made me moan. My head dropped back, my spine arching as pleasure crept higher, faster than I wanted it to.

“Harry—” I choked out.

“Yeah, baby? That close already? Go on. Fucking soak my face.”

“I’m gonna—”

“Cum for me. Wanna feel that pretty pussy fall apart.” That did it.

My orgasm hit with a low, desperate cry, my legs trembling as I came against his mouth. He held me steady, licking me through it, only easing up when I was gasping for air. When he finally pulled back, his mouth was shiny, and his expression was dark, intense, like he wanted more.

“Fuck,” I breathed. “That was…”

He stood up, licking his bottom lip as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “That was just your warm-up.”

I blinked. “Warm-up?”

“Yeah, love. I’m not even close to done with you.”

He kissed me hard—filthy and deep, tongue sweeping into my mouth like he wanted me to taste myself. I moaned into it, grabbing at the hem of his shirt, pulling until he raised his arms. I tossed it to the floor and finally got a full look at him.

Jesus.

His chest was strong, defined, tattooed with black ink that danced over his collarbones and down his ribs. I ran my hands over it slowly, letting my nails drag. He hissed softly, eyes dropping to my hands.

“You’re fucking unreal,” I whispered.

“Wait ‘til you feel me inside you.”

He turned us toward the bed and lowered me onto it gently. Then he undid his jeans, pushing them down his hips—no boxers underneath. My eyes widened slightly at the sight of him: thick, flushed, already hard. He caught the way I looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

“You gonna be a good girl and take every inch?”

“Every single one.”

He crawled onto the bed and hovered over me, trailing kisses down my throat, between my breasts, over my stomach. Then he paused, hands bunching the hem of my dress again.

“Still want me to fuck the heartbreak out of you?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Gonna make you cum ‘til you forget who fucked you over.”

He pushed the dress up and over my head, leaving me fully naked beneath him. I felt bare in every way, but I didn’t look away. Not when his hand gripped my jaw. Not when he leaned in and kissed me like he owned me.

“Condom?” he asked against my mouth.

“In my purse.”

He reached for it without rushing, pulling one out and tearing the wrapper with his teeth. My thighs rubbed together while I watched him roll it on—his hands slow, practiced, deliberate. When he looked back at me, I was already panting.

“Spread those legs for me, pretty girl.”

He didn’t make me ask twice. The first push of him inside me stole every thought from my brain. He was thick, stretching me inch by inch, and still slow—always slow.

“Shit—this pussy’s so fucking tight,” he groaned, forehead pressing to mine. “So warm. Fucking made for me.”

I wrapped my legs around his waist, drawing him deeper. “Please fuck me. Don’t make me wait.”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. Gonna fuck you nice and deep.”

He set a rhythm that made my body burn. Deep, steady thrusts that dragged across every sensitive spot. His hand found my throat—not tight, just enough pressure to make me feel claimed—and his other hand slid under my knee, angling me open even more.

“Look at me,” he said. I did.

“Let me see how pretty you look when you take cock.”

He fucked me with purpose—filthy, perfect purpose. His hips ground against mine with every thrust, pelvis catching my clit just right, making my moans get louder, higher. I clawed at his back. He kissed me through it, groaning when I clenched around him.

“You gonna cum again for me, baby?”

“I’m close,” I gasped.

“Do it. Cum on this cock—make a mess. Want you soaking me.”

I shattered with a cry, body arching beneath him, eyes fluttering shut as my second orgasm tore through me. He didn’t stop—just fucked me through it, still holding eye contact like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. When I came down, he was still moving—slower now, controlled.

“You okay?” he whispered.

I nodded, breathless. “Don’t stop.”

He groaned again, hips stuttering slightly. “Gonna fill you up, even if you can’t keep it in.”

“Do it.”

He kissed me hard one last time, then buried himself to the hilt and came with a low, drawn-out moan, his grip bruising on my waist. I held him through it, shaking slightly, head spinning. Then he collapsed beside me, chest heaving. Silence filled the room. Not awkward. Just… full.

I turned my head toward him. He was already watching me.

“Worth it?” he asked.

I smiled. “You have no idea.”

*****

hope you enjoy this one lovelies! 💕

don’t forget to ask any request you'd want to see next

#harry styles #harry #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry x reader #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #one shot #masterlist

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strawberry-bubblef · 2 days ago

Note

Hi,

I got this fun idea for a twst request and I was hoping you could fulfill it (You don't have to if you don't want to)

Idk how many characters your limit is, but i was wondering if you could write for the overblot boys with a reader who knew the great seven? (Whether it be, the reader is immortal and helped them with their schemes or if you decide something else)

And if it's not too complicated, could they all be platonic except for Idia? (If that's too much, you can make it just Idia or make them all platonic, I don't wanna seem too demanding)

OB with a reader who knows the great seven

Synopsis: You have lived through centuries, once an ally, confidant, and accomplice to the Great Seven in their rise to power. Time has left you a relic of an era long past,until you awaken in Night Raven College, where the shadows of history stir once more.

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle Rosehearts had always admired the Queen of Hearts. Her laws, her discipline, her unwavering authority,all things he strove to embody. He had read every record available, memorized every rule, and dedicated himself to upholding her legacy. But you? You had known her.

It was something that left him utterly speechless when he first learned the truth.

You were an enigma wrapped in the guise of an ordinary student at Night Raven College, but in reality, you had walked through history, stood beside the Great Seven, and witnessed their reigns firsthand. To someone like Riddle, who built his entire life around the teachings of one of them, your very existence was nothing short of astonishing.

His first instinct was skepticism. Surely, you were exaggerating or simply playing a joke on him. But then, you spoke.

"The Queen of Hearts had a habit of twirling her scepter when she was deep in thought," you mused one day, as the two of you studied in the Heartslabyul garden. "She used to hum a certain melody under her breath when she was pleased with something, though I doubt any record of that survived."

Riddle nearly knocked over his teacup. "That… that can't be,how could you possibly know that?"

You gave him a knowing smile, one that sent a shiver down his spine. "Because I was there."

The weight of that realization crashed down on him like a tidal wave. You weren’t lying. You weren’t mistaken. You had seen the Queen of Hearts with your own eyes, heard her voice, stood in her court.

For the first time in his life, Riddle was at a loss for words.

From that moment on, his fascination with you only grew. He wanted to know everything,what the Queen was like beyond the strict laws and formal depictions, what kind of ruler she had been when she wasn't delivering orders.

"Did she ever smile?" he asked hesitantly one evening, his voice quieter than usual.

You chuckled. "Of course she did. She wasn’t just a ruler,she was a person, Riddle. No one is defined solely by their laws."

That sentiment struck something deep within him. He had spent so long striving for perfection, for absolute adherence to the rules, that he had never stopped to consider the person behind them. But you… you had seen the Queen as a living being, not just a figure in history.

It changed something in him.

Your bond deepened over time, shifting from awe to companionship. Riddle found himself more at ease in your presence than he was with most people. He still respected you immensely, of course,how could he not? But there was something else, something softer.

He valued your opinions, sought your guidance. When he struggled with doubt, he turned to you.

And one day, as you walked together beneath the rose-covered arches of Heartslabyul, he hesitated before speaking.

"Would you say that… you were proud of her?" he asked carefully. "The Queen of Hearts?"

You considered his words for a long moment. "She had her faults, just like anyone else. But she was strong, determined, and she left behind a legacy that shaped the world. Yes, I think I was proud of her."

Riddle exhaled, something in his chest loosening at your words.

"And you?" you asked, tilting your head curiously. "Do you think she'd be proud of you?"

His breath caught in his throat. He had spent years chasing an ideal, trying to be the perfect Heartslabyul student, the perfect rule enforcer. But would the Queen of Hearts herself have approved of him?

He looked at you, and for once, he didn’t feel the pressure to be perfect.

"I… I hope so," he admitted.

You smiled, and it was warm, reassuring. "I think she would be."

And for the first time in a long while, Riddle allowed himself to believe it.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona had always admired the King of Beasts. It was a well-known fact. The stories of his strength, his cunning, his ability to take what he wanted with no hesitation,all of it resonated with him. He knew them by heart, had grown up with them as a source of inspiration and, in some ways, justification. After all, if the greatest ruler in history had operated by his own rules, why shouldn’t he?

So when he first heard about you,the acolyte of the Great Seven, the one who had actually stood beside the legends themselves,he had his doubts. He wasn’t the type to fawn over old figures, no matter how influential they were. But there was no denying that you carried a presence, a confidence that made it clear you hadn’t just studied history,you had lived it.

And the fact that you had worked alongside the King of Beasts himself? Well. That was something worth paying attention to.

He never asked you about it outright, at least not at first. If you wanted to talk about it, you would. Leona wasn’t one to pry, and he wasn’t about to beg for details like some starry-eyed cub. But when you did speak about it,offhanded comments, casual recollections,he listened. More than that, he committed every word to memory.

“You sound just like him sometimes,” you mused one evening, after Leona had dismissed someone’s attempt to bother him with a single, sharp look.

Leona snorted. “What, ‘cause I don’t have time for nonsense?”

“That, and because you think ahead,” you replied. “Most people assume he was all brawn, but he knew how to plan, how to manipulate the battlefield before the fight even started. He saw the bigger picture.”

Leona’s ears twitched. That wasn’t something most people focused on. The stories always talked about the raw power, the victories, the intimidation. But strategy? That was something only someone who had been there would know to appreciate.

“You’re kinda good at it you know?”

Leona didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let his gaze drift across the savanna-like fields outside, the golden light of the setting sun making the world look like something out of an old memory.

“…You think he’d respect me?” he asked, voice quieter than usual.

You tilted your head. “The King of Beasts?”

“Yeah.” He exhaled through his nose. “Or would he think I was just some lazy second-born?”

A slow smile spread across your lips. “He’d recognize you, Leona.”

Leona’s tail flicked. “Hah. Bold assumption.”

“He respected strength,” you said simply. “And he knew that strength wasn’t just about brute force. He’d see the way you think, the way you analyze people, the way you play the long game even when you pretend you don’t care. He’d see himself in you.”

Leona turned his head slightly, just enough to look at you out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t say anything, but there was something different in his expression,something thoughtful, something… lighter.

“…Heh. Guess that means you see it too, huh?”

You chuckled. “I’ve always seen it.”

Leona huffed, shaking his head. “You and your big words.”

But he didn’t argue. And later, as he lay stretched out beneath the stars, he found himself thinking about your words more than he cared to admit.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul Ashengrotto had spent years studying the legends of the Great Seven, drawing inspiration from their cunning, their power, and their undeniable influence. But never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that he would one day meet someone who had actually known them.

You.

The acolyte of the Great Seven, a living relic of history, standing right before him. And not just some distant figure lost in the annals of time,you were real, tangible, and, to his absolute shock, quite fond of him.

Azul prided himself on keeping his composure in negotiations, but even he had to admit that this revelation nearly made him drop his pen.

“You… were close to the Sea Witch?” he asked, voice carefully controlled, though his fingers twitched slightly where they rested atop his contract book.

“Close?” You hummed, tilting your head in thought. “I suppose you could say that. I learned from her, advised her at times. She was a remarkable woman.”

Azul’s grip tightened. “Remarkable indeed.”

To say that Azul revered the Sea Witch would be an understatement. He had spent years modeling his business strategies after her, refining his persuasive tactics to mirror her legendary deals. And here you were, someone who had witnessed her genius firsthand.

“What was she like?” The words tumbled from his lips before he could stop them. He was usually so calculated in his speech, but the opportunity to learn more about his idol was too tempting to ignore.

You chuckled, the sound warm, nostalgic. “Clever, naturally. A force to be reckoned with. But she was also pragmatic. She knew how to get what she wanted without wasting time. And despite what the stories say, she valued loyalty.”

Azul’s eyes gleamed. “Loyalty…?”

You nodded. “She never gave something for nothing, but those who proved their worth? She took care of them. Not out of kindness, but because she knew the value of strong allies.”

Azul absorbed every word, committing them to memory. He had spent years honing his skills, but hearing confirmation from someone who had been there? It made everything feel… validated.

Then you leaned in slightly, voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. “But between you and me? You’re already quite the businessman yourself.”

Azul froze, his mind stuttering over itself.

The praise shouldn’t have affected him so much. He had received compliments before, flattery from clients and students alike. But this was different. This was coming from someone who had seen the rise of the Great Seven, who had stood beside the Sea Witch herself.

And you thought he was impressive?

A slow, self-satisfied smile curled his lips. “Well,” he murmured, adjusting his glasses, “I do try.”

You laughed, and Azul felt a strange warmth settle in his chest. He had always sought validation, always yearned to prove himself. And now, hearing it from you, it felt… right.

Maybe, just maybe, he was on the right path after all.

Azul's reaction to meeting you is absolutely priceless. You’re someone who actually knew the Sea Witch, the very legend he admires most, and your praise holds more weight than anything he's ever heard before. The way you validate his ambitions and skills?

It’s the ultimate boost to his confidence.

Jamil Viper

Jamil had always lived under the shadow of another,always serving, always being overlooked. But you? You had once stood at the side of the Sorcerer of the Sands himself. If anyone understood the burden of duty, the weight of loyalty, it was you.

The moment Jamil found out who you were, his mind reeled. The legends, the history,the Sorcerer of the Sands was a figure he both admired and resented. And you? You had actually known him. Not just as a distant, untouchable icon, but as a real person.

"So, was he as powerful as they say?" Jamil asked one evening, voice measured, carefully neutral. "Or is it all exaggerated?"

You hummed, leaning back. "He was powerful, yes. But more than that, he was clever. He knew how to manipulate, how to turn the tides in his favor."

Jamil's fingers twitched. "And you? You helped him?"

You smiled knowingly. "Of course. I was his acolyte, after all. But power isn't everything, Jamil. Even the greatest sorcerers can fall."

That hit closer to home than he cared to admit.

Yet, despite the enormity of your past, you never looked down on him. You saw him. The real him. Not just as Kalim's servant, not just as someone who had overblotted, but as Jamil Viper,someone with potential, someone worthy of his own ambitions.

He found himself drawn to you, not just because of your history, but because you understood. You had lived through more than he could fathom, yet you still walked forward, unbound by the weight of the past. It was a future he wanted for himself.

One night, as the desert wind howled outside Scarabia’s halls, Jamil found himself speaking words he never thought he would.

"Do you think...someone like me could ever be free?"

You looked at him, gaze steady. "Of course. It’s just a matter of making the right moves."

Jamil exhaled, something unspoken passing between you.

For the first time in a long time, he believed it might actually be possible.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil Schoenheit had always held the Beautiful Queen in the highest regard. She was the pinnacle of elegance, refinement, and ambition an emblem of the perfection he constantly strove for. He had studied every detail of her legend, every calculated move that led her to power, every stroke of her infamous beauty. But he never expected to meet someone who had actually known her.

And yet, there you were, standing before him, ageless and composed, your presence both regal and effortless. You, who had walked beside the Beautiful Queen herself. You, who had been her acolyte, had seen her rise and fall with your own eyes.

At first, he was skeptical. Many admired the Great Seven, but few could claim to have known them personally. But as you spoke,of courtly intrigue, of the Queen’s dedication to her craft, of the sharp mind behind her legendary beauty,he knew you weren’t lying. Every detail you provided matched what he had read, and then some. You spoke of nuances only someone who had been there could know. It was astonishing.

“You knew her,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “Truly knew her.”

You smiled softly. “I did. And I see a piece of her in you.”

Vil felt a shiver run down his spine. It was a compliment of the highest order. He had spent his life striving to be as captivating, as powerful, as poised as the Beautiful Queen. To hear it from someone who had been by her side… it felt surreal.

He was full of questions. What perfumes did she favor? What was her personal beauty regimen? Did she ever feel insecure, even at the peak of her rule? Was there ever a moment where she faltered? He wanted to know everything, every secret, every unspoken detail.

But what truly fascinated him was your perspective. “You must have been close to her,” he mused, watching you carefully. “Did you ever fear her?”

You considered the question, tilting your head slightly. “Fear? No. I respected her. She was cunning, but she was not cruel without cause. She understood the weight of power and the cost of beauty. She taught me that to be admired, one must be feared just enough.”

Vil’s lips curled into a slow smile. “And do you follow that lesson still?”

“I do,” you admitted. “But I’ve learned that admiration without understanding is shallow. The Queen was feared for her beauty, but few understood the burden of it. You, however, understand that weight. That’s why you are not just beautiful,you are formidable.”

His breath caught. Flattery was nothing new to him, but your words held the weight of history, of someone who had seen legends rise and fall. To be acknowledged by you was no small thing.

From that moment on, Vil held you in the highest regard. He valued your opinion on everything,his performances, his fashion choices, his approach to leadership. You weren’t just another admirer, you were someone who had witnessed true greatness and found him worthy of the same heights.

And in return, he ensured that you were treated with the dignity you deserved. If anyone dared to question your wisdom, they faced his scathing tongue. If anyone disrespected you, he reminded them, with icy precision, that you were not just anyone.

You were legacy. You were history.

And in his eyes, you were nothing short of magnificent.

Idia Shroud

For someone who spent most of his time locked away in his room, Idia knew a surprising amount about the Great Seven. Not just the basic history everyone learned in school,he knew the strategies they used, the choices that led to their victories, the little details that only the most obsessive researchers could piece together.

So when he found out that you, his s/o, had actually known them? Had worked alongside them? Had been there for everything?

Yeah. That was a full system crash moment.

"You're—you’re serious? You're not messing with me? You actually met them?" Idia’s voice was higher-pitched than usual, his hair sparking wildly.

You nodded, amused by his reaction. "I didn’t just meet them, Idia. I was their acolyte. I worked beside them. I saw them rise to power."

Idia made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a strangled squeak. He scrambled to grab his tablet, typing furiously. "Okay, okay, hold up,I need details. All of them. What were they actually like? Did they really do all those things the history books say? "

You told him about the Queen of Hearts’ unwavering sense of order, the King of Beasts’ cunning, the Sea Witch’s unmatched charisma. You spoke of the Sorcerer of the Sands' intellect, the Fairest Queen’s beauty and ambition, the king of the under wicked humor, and the thorn fairy unmatched power.

Idia hung onto every word like he was absorbing the lore of his favorite RPG. "Wait, wait,so the Lord of the underworld was actually as sarcastic as the stories say? And the Sea Witch? A total manipulator, right?"

You grinned. "You have no idea."

Idia let out an excited wheeze, nearly vibrating. "This is insane. My partner is literally the ultimate lore drop. This is like finding a hidden character in a game that suddenly reveals the entire backstory of the world!"

You rolled your eyes playfully. "Glad to know I’m just a walking DLC to you."

"No, no, you’re, like, the main storyline! The secret boss fight with a tragic yet incredible backstory! The one that players theorize about for years!"

You shook your head, but you couldn’t help the fond smile on your lips.

Later, as he finally calmed down, he looked at you, quieter now, more thoughtful. "You know… that must’ve been lonely. Living through all that, watching history play out firsthand."

You hesitated. "…Sometimes. But I had them. And now, I have you."

His hair turned pink. "Ugh, you can’t just say things like that. It’s super effective, okay? My HP is dropping."

You chuckled, leaning closer. "Then I guess I’ll have to revive you."

Idia sputtered, turning bright red. "G-great, now I’m dealing with status effects. I didn’t sign up for a romance route!"

You only laughed, watching as he melted into a flustered mess.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus had lived for centuries, his lifespan stretching far beyond that of most beings. Yet, for all his years, he had never encountered someone quite like you,someone who had not only witnessed history but had actively shaped it. You weren’t just a bystander to the stories of the Great Seven; you had stood beside them, walked through the rise and fall of their reigns, seen their triumphs and their downfalls with your own eyes.

It fascinated him.

Dragons hoarded treasures, and Malleus had spent his long life collecting knowledge, legends, and history. But you,your memories were worth more than any artifact. You weren’t just a piece of history; you were history.

“I have read countless accounts of the Great Seven,” he mused one evening, his emerald eyes glowing in the dim candlelight of the Diasomnia dorm. “Yet none compare to hearing the truth from you.”

You laughed softly. “You say that now, but if I start rambling about how the Queen of Hearts once lost a game of croquet to a commoner, you might change your mind.”

Malleus’ lips curled into a rare smile. “On the contrary, I find such tales far more valuable than the embellished versions written in books.” He leaned forward slightly, his gaze intent. “Tell me more. What were they truly like?”

So you told him,of the Queen of Hearts' temper, the King of Beasts' boundless charisma, the Sea Witch’s cunning. You painted them as they truly were, not just as rulers but as people with flaws and ambitions, regrets and victories. Malleus listened, utterly captivated, hanging onto your every word.

Yet, even with all his fascination, there was something deeper beneath it,something warm, something fond.

“I envy you,” he admitted one night, voice low and contemplative. “To have known such figures personally, to have stood beside them in their prime… It must have been extraordinary.”

You tilted your head. “It was. But it was also lonely.”

His expression shifted, as if he understood all too well. “Ah.”

A quiet stretched between you, comfortable yet laced with unspoken words. Malleus had spent much of his life set apart from others, and though he was feared and respected, few truly knew him. You, however, did. And you, more than anyone, knew what it was like to outlive those around you.

“You are not alone,” Malleus said at last, his voice carrying a quiet promise. “You need not carry their stories by yourself. If you wish, I will remember them with you.”

Something in your chest tightened at that,at the sincerity in his voice, at the way his glowing gaze held yours as if offering you something precious.

You smiled. “I’d like that, Malleus.”

His eyes softened, and for the first time in a long while, you felt truly understood.

English is not my first language

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderlands headcanon #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland x reader #OB student #OB x reader #riddle rosehearts #Leona Kingscholar #Azul Ashengrotto #jamil viper #Vil Schoenheit #Idia Shroud #Idia Shroud x reader #malleus draconia #platonic twst

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woso-story · 23 hours ago

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Better Boyfriend Than Him - Part Thirteen

Alexia Putellas x Reader - Other Parts

The weekend was meant to be simple.

No games, no obligations—just you, Alexia, a stack of movies, and way too much pizza.

You were halfway through an action movie, and while Alexia was completely captivated by the explosions on screen, your mind was somewhere else entirely.

You needed to talk to her.

“Alexia,” you said, but she didn’t react.

You tried again. “Alexia.”

Without looking away from the screen, she waved a hand at you dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, take the last slice of pizza.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. How could someone not listen at all like that?

Shaking your head, you nudged her side with your foot. Once. Then again.

She finally grabbed your ankle to make you stop, turning to you with a confused expression. “What’s wrong?”

You suddenly felt nervous under her gaze. Too intense. Too close.

You swallowed, willing yourself to just say it. “I, uh… I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Alexia immediately let go of your ankle and shifted closer, her focus now entirely on you. “Okay,” she said, voice softer. “I’m listening.”

That didn’t help.

Your heart pounded as you tried to find the words, but the way she was looking at you made it impossible to think straight.

Alexia frowned. “Is something wrong?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. Then, without really meaning to, you blurted out, “You haven’t brought anyone home in weeks.”

Alexia blinked, clearly caught off guard. “…What?”

You cleared your throat and forced yourself to keep going. “I mean exactly what I just said. You haven’t brought anyone home. You don’t have to hold back just because I’m… alone right now. Because I got cheated on and everything.”

She still looked perplexed. “I—what?”

You kept talking before she could say anything else. “It’s probably best if I move out soon anyway. You should be able to go back to your old life without me as a burden.”

At that, Alexia reached out and placed a firm hand on your knee. “Stop.”

You swallowed hard.

Her touch was warm, grounding, but it did nothing to calm the storm inside of you.

“You don’t have to move out,” she said firmly. “And me not bringing anyone home has nothing to do with you.”

That wasn’t entirely true.

Over the past few months, Alexia had found herself looking at you differently. She told herself it was wrong. That you were still healing, still getting over Luis. That she couldn’t—shouldn’t—let herself feel something for you.

And besides, Mapi had warned her. She’s off-limits, Ale. Don’t even think about it.

So she had tried.

But then you looked at her like that—your eyes wide, vulnerable, unsure—and it took everything in her to stay still.

“I like having you around,” she admitted. “It’s nice to have company. Someone to share ice cream with.”

You let out a small laugh at that, thinking back to that night, how calm you had felt beside her.

Alexia’s expression softened. “I don’t understand where this is coming from.”

You dropped your gaze, staring at her hand on your knee.

And that’s when it hit you.

The way your stomach flipped. The way your skin burned where she touched you. The way your heart ached at the thought of her with someone else.

You were so far gone.

But you were nothing to Alexia. Just a friend. Just someone she had taken in when you had nowhere else to go.

She didn’t see you that way.

And one day, she would bring someone home, and it would break you.

You were already in too deep.

Alexia saw the shift in your expression, saw the way your eyes grew distant, lost in thought.

She hated seeing you like this. More than anything, she wanted you to be happy. She wanted to be the one to make you happy.

Then, suddenly, your eyes filled with tears.

You tried to wipe them away before she noticed, but it was too late.

Alexia cupped your chin gently, tilting your face toward her. “What’s going on?” she asked softly. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head. “It’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.”

Her voice was so quiet, so full of concern, and she was so close, only inches away.

Her hazel eyes searched yours, and before you could stop yourself, before you could even think, you leaned in and kissed her.

The second your lips met, a jolt of electricity shot through you, warmth flooding your entire body.

But then reality crashed down.

You pulled away like you had been burned, jumping to your feet as panic took over.

You just kissed Alexia Putellas.

Your friend.

Your roommate.

You needed to get out. Away from her. Away from this moment.

You turned to run, but Alexia was faster.

She stood up and grabbed your arm, spinning you back around to face her.

Your chest heaved, your eyes still damp with tears.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Neither of you spoke.

Then, slowly, like in a dream, Alexia stepped closer.

Her hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing away a stray tear.

And then she leaned in.

Was she really going to kiss you?

And more importantly..

Would you let her?

#woso community #alexia putellas fanfic #alexia putellas x reader #woso #woso fics #alexia x reader #alexia putellas #barca femeni #woso x reader #woso fanfics

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angelsforthenight · 19 hours ago

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scream babe, mean babe, guess who’s gonna cream babe! (pt. 4)

camgirl!vi x reader (pt 1, pt 2, pt 3)

summary: days are going by too quickly and fickle feelings blossom between you and vi. you make the most of each day with her, but when a certain someone comes back and places a hard choice on you, decisions will have to be made.

PRE A/N: hi lovelies,, even though i really really love when u guys send me messages and express how much u love my work (i adore it sm pls keep doing so) pls don’t ask me when i will update a chapter because i can never tell you a specific time and it stresses me out .·°՞(¯□¯)՞°·. believe it or not it takes a lot to write a series fanfic and i’ve already got a lot on my plate with work and school so pls acknowledge that ;; ANYWAYS I HOPE U ENJOY AND I LOB U GUYS

content (18+): lots of smut, situationship, tribbing, sub!vi, brat!vi, dirty talk, begging, risky sex, sort foot fetish but i don’t wanna call it that 😭🙏, very faint angst, lots of fluff too!!! crushing & yearning, dbf!sevika feature, we get a bit of vi’s pov, cliffhanger at the end :p

“you’re never gonna forget about me, are you?”

your legs are currently slotted in between vi’s, sticky not only from the film of sweat coated over your bodies, but also the undeniable arousal that has grown and festered between you two.

vi gasps sharply when you push yourself forward; bumping your clit against hers and smearing your fluids.

“you’re so… f-fucking smug.” she has to force the words out, now familiar with the fact that you always expect an answer to your questions. you reach down and cup her face, squeezing her cheeks.

“because i’m right. you’re gonna go off to wherever the hell knows where and i’m still going to be on your mind.” you grin, fucking her harder. vi’s hand flies to her mouth as she stifles in a cry. she doesn’t want to wake your parents who are asleep next door.

“i prefer not to think about that.” vi pitches her hips up, making sparks of stimulation rivulet down your entire body, right down to your feet. a whine doesn’t fail to escape your lips.

you and vi have been at this since the night of the barbecue party. fucking. it’s the best thing you could’ve wanted, especially because you always get to tease and taunt vi in the process. the unconscious ‘competition’ that had been going on between you two is now no more, but if it was, you’d be so many points higher than vi right now.

“i’m close. keep talking to me.” you sigh, eyes fluttering closed.

“i— fuck… c-can’t really talk either, you know. hah!” vi tries to sound snappy, but with the way your clits are gliding together at an intense pace, her voice comes out as pathetic instead.

“how bad do you need to cum right now?” you huff, your gaze struggling to focus as the impending release threatens to overtake you.

“real bad.” vi whines, tipping her head back. your hand reaches for vi’s, intertwining your fingers with hers.

“beg for it. i know you can.”

with how close you two are about to cum, your movements begin to grow sloppier, inconsistent. vi squeezes her hold on your hand.

“oh god… please let me cum. pleaseplease—“

it’s a salacious view alright. what with the harsh pants and the outwardly pornographic noises filling the room, creaming your sopping pussy against her own.

“then go ahead. make a mess.” you permit. vi doesn’t even need to be told twice, tipping her head back as her body goes rigid, shuddering violently. she swears she can see god, and you, the same.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

you are something quite like the sun these days. even your parents have noticed your heartened mood.

“you have roses in your cheeks.” your mother would point out warmly, the old-fashioned saying never failing to make you blush even more. you’re fucking glowing, and you have no one else to thank but vi. the bond between you two have nurtured like a river, flowing deeper with each passing day. is it too early to say that you’re falling in love?

it’s currently the evening and vi’s exhausted after a long day of running after animals, cleaning kennels, feeding and watering. you’re half sat/half laying in between her legs, with the cd she bought for you playing soothingly in the background. vi traces her name on the nape of your neck and you squirm, scrunching your face up.

“that tickles. and you’re not slick.”

you turn around only to see vi smiling impishly, like a mischievous child. “i was gonna write violence, actually.”

“liar.” you smile, turning back around and nuzzling comfortably against her front. you could fall asleep right now if you wanted to.

her fingertips graze against your scalp, tracing circles and stars and spirals. her name is what she writes the most, however, from the back of your head to the nape of your neck. as if engraving her name in your brain.

you’re the happiest you’ve been in a while.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

fried chicken for dinner tonight. vi’s got one of those nights when she comes early from work, and your parents like her so much that they insist on eating all together and chatting when they all have the chance to. whereas two weeks ago you hated it, you’ve now come to appreciate it.

you sink your teeth into a wing, immediately regretting doing so because of how hot it is.

“damn it.” you mutter, blowing on it repeatedly. vi, sitting across from you, watches you amusedly. a slack smile playing on her lips.

“that’s why you gotta be patient.” she chirps, and your parents agree. you roll your eyes, though your heart betrays you by fluttering in glee. any sliver of attention from vi gets your heart going, and by the way she’s looking at you makes you hope she likes you the same way you do.

your clothed foot grazes vi’s under the table before sliding up her leg. vi quickly glances at you before focusing on her food again, quietly clearing her throat. you smile, your eyes brazenly set on her. it seems to be embarrassing her, considering the way her skin is beginning to match the colour of her hair.

you make matters worse by guiding your foot upwards, boldly pressing the heel of your foot against her crotch. it makes vi jolt so hard that her knees hit against the table, making the dishes clatter. you quietly snort.

“are you okay, violet?” your dad asks, raising a brow. vi’s jaw slacks open, her brain momentarily short-circuiting as she tries to figure out something to say.

“i… um. sorry. i get… s-shivers.” she mutters slowly. your foot doesn’t move.

“it’s okay, dad, i get them too sometimes.” you chime in, though your eyes are still settled on vi’s nervous ones. you take this a step further by ever so slightly shifting your foot up, with the right amount of pressure. vi instinctively clenches her thighs against your foot. the fabric of your sock crammed against vi’s dressed cunt is unbelievable, and vi hangs her head low, pinching the bridge of her nose as she tries her hardest to act normal at the dinner table. this is all so fun, watching vi try to stay as still as possible. her food is left discarded on her plate, completely forgotten about, whilst you amusedly nibble on a fry.

you press too hard, and high-pitched whimper leaves her lips. she thinks nobody heard because she instantly shot up from her seat, offering to take plates to the dishwasher. she shoots you a withering glare, one that makes you feel a pang of heat on your lower stomach.

you innocently smile back at her, offering her your plate for her to take.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“that wasn’t cool what you did back there.” vi huffs whilst she tilts her head to the side, letting you pepper sloppy, open-mouthed kisses all over her neck.

“you didn’t like it?” you let yourself be selfish, planting purple bruises on the slope of her neck where it meets her shoulder.

“it’s not th—ah..t. it’s ‘cuz we were with your p-parents, so it’s weird…” vi’s voice is beginning to slew into a heap of slurred babbles, because you’ve now brought your teeth into the mix; nipping and sucking at her skin.

you glance up at her, taking in the hazy look on her face, the way her eyebrows are already settled in that familiar needy look you worship so much.

“good thing we didn’t get caught then. right?”

vi gazes down at you, furrowing her brows. the corner of her lips twitch into a little smile.

“you’re really something y’know?” she whispers, brushing your hair to the side so she can see more of your face. “you know what? you’re right. i’m probably not gonna forget about you.”

you blink, eyes widening a fraction as you register what she’s just said. mere words have somehow blown you off your socks and left you speechless, your dominant and playful demeanour gone like the wind. vi isn’t going to forget about you.

you glance down, busying yourself by running your hands up her thighs so vi can’t see how flustered you’re getting, how hard your heart has started to pound against your ribs.

“you mean that?” you mumble quietly, the question slipping out of your lips before your brain even gets a chance to stop them. you mentally curse yourself for sounding so needy and desperate. vi looks down at you quietly, before gently guiding your chin up to focus your gaze on her. she flashes you a grin.

“what was that tone? ’you mean that?’ you sound so sad.” you flush red when vi mimics you, swatting her hand away and looking away from her.

“fuck off.”

“no! just say you’re gonna miss me.” vi teases, trying to get you to show your face. you jerk away like a baby refusing to be spoon-fed. “come onnnn!” she coos.

vi pounces on you, making you both tumble onto the sheets. you squeal as you two get yourselves into playful roughhousing. you lightly pull at vi’s hair whilst she shoves your face, rolling around on the bed. you can’t help but burst out laughing at how silly you two are acting.

“there she is.” vi breathes, raising herself above you, her hands being on either side of your head. you guys both pant breathlessly, synchronised, as if connected.

“so what if i am going to miss you?” you mutter.

vi smiles sympathetically, a look you both want to diminish from your brain and keep it locked in there forever. you really don’t want vi to go. for her to just go back to being a cam-girl on your screen.

vi leans down and presses a chaste kiss to your lips. though vi was the one to initiate it, your lips chase after hers, cupping her cheeks and holding her close. as if she’ll disintegrate if you let go.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

you two sleep together in your bed that night. it wasn’t planned, it just kind of happened. your heads are huddled together, vi’s cheek pressed against yours. despite the onslaught of boiling summer heat you’ve been experiencing these past few weeks, the covers are pulled up high, just under your chins, tucked in comfortably with the woman you’ve come to fall for.

you sleep so well that you don’t even realise your mother coming in the room to leave some towels in the cupboard. she’s quite surprised at the sight, not having really known how close you two have gotten. she smiles to herself and creeps away quietly, not wishing to wake you two up. she knew you’d be embarrassed if you found her there.

it’s the sound of vi’s alarm that wakes you two up. you inhale sharply at the unexpected blaring noise, whilst vi groans and lazily switches it off. she squints her eyes at the harsh sunlight bleeding through your sheer curtains. she then glances down at you — who’s trying to bury your face in her arm so you’re isn’t met with how bright it is.

“think it’s time to get up.” vi mutters, her voice laced with sleep. you groan awake, stretching and purposely shoving her a little while you do so.

“hey.” vi giggles, shoving you back.

you two end up staying in bed for a while longer, lazily mumbling about all sorts of things: how vi has the day off today, and you suggesting you go to the ice cream parlour downtown together. all the while, the tip of vi’s nails drag against your scalp soothingly.

though this little tranquil moment feels lovely, there’s a little voice nagging in the back of your head that vi will be leaving soon, in less than a week, so you shouldn’t feel too comfortable. guilt slithers up your spine at how much this feels like a relationship, like you two are girlfriends. the fact that this moment won’t last upsets you.

you faintly move away from her. “i’m gonna start getting ready.”

“mmm i’m gonna stay here for a little longer. i like your bed.” vi stretches.

after getting dressed, you pad downstairs. you expect to see your parents in the kitchen, but instead you surprisingly find sevika instead. sitting against the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee, reading a magazine as casual as ever, as if she’s been here all along.

“oh, look who’s finally up.” she glances at you through her glasses, before taking it off and setting it down on the table.

“sevika?” you blink repeatedly, “what are you doing here? where are my parents?” your thoughts frantically rush to vi, dreading how awkward things will most-likely be if she comes downstairs. your mind then proceeds to flash to the barbecue party, how you were so drunk you were practically throwing yourself all over the poor woman.

“they went out, told me to look after the house.” she grins. “i haven’t left this side of town quite yet. sorry to disappoint.”

“disappointed? no! definitely not… i’m more than happy you’re here actually.” you ramble, spilling more than you should. sevika simply stares at you amusedly.

“what’s with you lately? sit next to me.” she instructs gently, her voice so low and guiding that you can’t help but comply immediately. her silver eyes pierce through you so hard you’re afraid she’ll be able to somehow read your mind, so you look away. you do not want vi to come downstairs and see you like this.

but alas, vi does. skipping down the staircase and even cheerfully singing a little tune to herself. however upon seeing you and sevika, her face falls. in fact, it even sours.

“oh. hello.” she greets sevika flatly. glancing at you straightaway. you want to melt.

“morning. violet, was it?” sevika looks at her.

vi hums in response, you internally cringe at vi’s obvious attitude. “you?”

“name’s sevika. i’m a friend of the family.”

there seems to be this inexplicable tension in the room that is so thick that it feels like it’s being shoved down your throat and constricting your airways. you make up an excuse to leave, lying that there’s plants that need to be watered.

vi fleetingly hates you for leaving her alone with this older woman, who exhibits an air of being intimidating yet lenient all the same. she knows you two are close, judging by the way you two acted at the party. it may be selfish to admit, but she didn’t like it. not even in the slightest. sure, it’s worrying, considering you two aren’t even dating, and she’ll probably never see you again once her stay here expires, but she doesn’t care.

“you’re staring at me a lot. is there something on my face?” sevika smiles. vi swears she’s not being crazy when she says she can feel the condescending tone bleeding out of her.

“no.” vi mumbles as a response, trying to peek at the garden to see where you are at; silently pleading for you to come save her from this painful conversation.

“so… you and y/n? y’all close or..?” sevika raises a brow.

vi narrows her eyes. she’d be pleasured to snap in sev’s face about that being frankly none of her business and that she should be playing bingo or some shit (vi has no sense of what forty year old women do.)

“sure. close enough to know that she’s good with her hands… which explains the planting thing.” vi passes it off as a simple gardening thing, but she meant more, and sevika knows she meant more. they glare at each other silently, an invisible zing of electricity charging between the two of them.

you come back just in time to fizzle out the tense moment, and both women stare up at you, saying your name at the same time. vi and sevika glare at each other whilst you stand there confused; obviously unaware of what happened whilst you were gone.

sevika’s the first to successfully grab your attention, getting at your name first before vi does.

“you mind if we talk? privately?” she mutters.

“it’s fine, i’ll just go upstairs.” vi bitches, storming up the stairs like an angsty teenager. you furrow your brows at her behaviour. maybe it wasn’t such a good idea leaving them alone.

“anyway. i mostly came here to talk to you about something.” sevika says, her eye contact as strong as always. you quietly nod, though a little inkling in your brain is worrying about vi, hoping she isn’t actually sulking upstairs.

“i’m leaving today. do you want to come back with me?” sevika’s words make you pause, your gaze fully focused on her.

“just for a few days. i already talked to your parents about it. i think you’d like it. would be good for you.” sevika smirks.

your brain short-circuits, just shy of exploding. a year ago, you were absolutely gutted upon hearing that sevika was leaving. you wanted nothing more than for her to pack you up in her suitcase and take you with her. you adore sevika. anything she says, goes.

but on the flip side, you cannot just leave vi: someone you’ve bonded with heavily, even outside of sex. you can’t even begin to imagine her face if you’d tell her, especially since vi’s days of living in your house are coming to an end. you don’t even think you’d be able to see her go if you went with sevika.

then again… vi came here with a purpose. she simply wanted to do volunteering and wanted a place to stay in. having sex with you is probably just a mere bonus, that’s all she probably sees it as. you two don’t mean enough to each other than you hope.

you get out of your head, noticing that sevika is looking at you expectedly. whatever you pick will matter, and will leave an impression that’ll hardly be forgettable…

a/n: ACKKKK WHO WILL READER CHOOSEEEE AHAHAHAH 😈😈😈😈 pt 5 will be the last part and bc i’m going on holidays soon then hopefully i’ll be able to come out with it faster. also thinking of making an epilogue 🤫🤫

taglist: @moonchildcovenxx @h0n3yf0rlif3 @vxtanne31 @elliesbabygirl @jaydonisnothere @wlw-please @d1psht @morticeras @bambiaches @drunkenrosesluv @vicforelsfavorite @elliezlils11utt @ghgygd @gel6tine @yearningandstillnotlearning @honeyboo-1 @scissorszex @rishofkf @jajsnjz @kmhbygss @pornoangelz @ilikegirlz @rhian88 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @goticapomposa @etherealpixie8 @elliecoochieeater

(whoever asked to be tagged but isn’t on the list, your mentions r off!!! check ur settings and switch it on for next time :3)

#arcane #lesbian #vi arcane #lesbian smut #smut #wlw #vi x y/n #vi x fem!reader #vi x reader smut #vi x reader #vi x you #vi smut #vi fanfic #wlw fanfic #wlw fiction #arcane x you

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svtiddiess · 1 day ago

Text

Hey! He's Mine!

Synopsis: Sometimes, you have to wonder if your boyfriend is really yours. With Seungcheol constantly hogging him (and lowkey being obsessed with him), fighting for Jeonghan's attention has become part of your daily routine. But you're not one to back down—if Seungcheol wants him, he'll have to pry Jeonghan from your cold, dead hands (and honestly, don't be surprised if he actually does).

Pairing: Jeonghan x afab!reader, Seungcheol x afab!reader (platonically!)

Genre: fluff, crack, established relationship

Rating: sfw

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: Seungcheol and yn bicker a lot but they have a sibling dynamic so it's all good fun, Jeonghan menacery, lemme know if I missed anything!

Note: This was requested! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it anonie!

Click here to join my taglist!

Read on ao3

Reblogs are appreciated ♡

.ᐟMinors/blank/no age indicator blogs will be blocked.ᐟ

You're not the jealous type—really, you're not. But there's something about seeing Seungcheol constantly stealing Jeonghan away from you that tugs at your heart, just a little. And it's a valid feeling, you tell yourself. After all, you're his girlfriend, and it's not exactly ideal to have your man constantly being claimed by someone else. Yet, here you are, day after day, battling for your boyfriend's attention against his best friend.

"Hey! I was cuddling him first!" you protest, glaring at Seungcheol as he strolls into Jeonghan's apartment and shamelessly pulls him away from your cozy moment.

"You've had your turn—now it's mine," Seungcheol retorts, tightening his arms around Jeonghan, who looks far too amused by the whole situation.

"Excuse me? I'm his girlfriend. That gives me cuddling priority over you!" you fire back, crossing your arms.

Seungcheol just smirks. "Best friend of 12 years here. I've known him longer, so I think that trumps your claim."

"That's not how this works!" you argue, throwing your hands up.

"Actually, it's exactly how this works. Longer history means more cuddle rights," he teases, sticking his tongue out at you playfully.

"Hannie!" you whine, turning to Jeonghan for backup.

He just chuckles, shrugging. "Sorry, bubs. You're on your own for this one. Gonna have to fight him fair and square."

You let out an exasperated sigh, watching as Seungcheol smugly pulls Jeonghan even closer, clearly enjoying his victory.

You hug yourself tightly, trying to ward off the chill as you wait for Jeonghan to pick you up. The sound of a honk snaps you out of your thoughts, and you glance up to see a car pulling up. Squinting, you notice Jeonghan in the passenger seat and Seungcheol behind the wheel. Of course, Jeonghan probably talked Seungcheol into driving—classic Jeonghan behaviour. You can't help but chuckle to yourself as the car comes to a stop in front of you.

Jeonghan hops out and immediately pulls you into a warm hug. You melt into his embrace, the cold instantly fading as he holds you close. He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head and murmurs, "Did I keep you waiting long?"

"Not at all, I just got out here," you reply, smiling up at him.

He kisses your temple once more before guiding you to the backseat and sliding in beside you.

"Why are you sitting in the back?" Seungcheol pouts, glancing over his shoulder at Jeonghan.

"Because I want to sit with Y/N," Jeonghan replies with a grin.

You shoot Seungcheol a smug look, wrapping your arms around Jeonghan and sticking your tongue out playfully.

"The front seat is way more comfortable," Seungcheol mutters under his breath.

"Maybe, but he's happier sitting with me," you say with a smirk, hugging Jeonghan tighter. "Now step on it, Uber driver, or I'll have to give you a one-star review and complain about your attitude. And trust me, I'm very detailed in my feedback."

Jeonghan snorts, trying to stifle his laughter, while Seungcheol glares at you through the rearview mirror. "You know, I don't even get paid for this," he grumbles.

"Consider it a charitable act," you shoot back, grinning. "Now, less talking, more driving. Chop, chop."

Jeonghan's laughter fills the car as Seungcheol mutters something about "ungrateful passengers" and finally hits the gas. You lean back, feeling triumphant, and snuggle into Jeonghan, who's still chuckling at your antics.

You let out an exasperated huff, glaring at the man sitting across from you. Turning to your boyfriend, you pout dramatically.

"Hannie, why is he here?" you grumble, pointing at Seungcheol, who's too busy shovelling noodles into his mouth to notice your irritation.

"Because I was bored at home and missed Jeonghan," Seungcheol remarks, barely looking up from his food.

"We're on a date," you remind him, crossing your arms.

"And I missed Jeonghan," he repeats with a grin, stuffing another forkful of noodles into his mouth.

"You see him every day! Probably more than I do!" you argue, your voice rising slightly.

"There's nothing wrong with missing my best friend and wanting to hang out with him," Seungcheol shrugs, completely unbothered.

"I'm on a date with my boyfriend, and you're ruining it," you grumble, shooting him a pointed look.

"Don't act like the three of us haven't gone out together before," Seungcheol fires back, rolling his eyes.

"Well, I don't want you here this time," you deadpan.

Seungcheol gasps dramatically, clutching his chest like he's been wounded. "Well, I don't want you here either!"

"You're the one crashing our date!" you exclaim, gesturing wildly.

"You're the one crashing the time I was spending with my best friend!" he retorts, matching your energy.

"You guys weren't even together before this date!" you counter, your voice rising.

"And how do you know that?" Seungcheol challenges, raising an eyebrow.

"Because I was with him the whole time!" you shoot back, exasperated.

"Well, I was texting him, so technically, he was spending time with me too," he says smugly, leaning back in his chair.

"That doesn't even make sense!" you groan, throwing your hands up.

"It does!" he insists, grinning like he's won the argument.

"Nu-uh!"

"Uh-huh!"

Meanwhile, Jeonghan sits between the two of you, happily munching on his pasta, completely unfazed by the chaos. Damn, this place makes really good pasta, he thinks to himself, blissfully ignoring the bickering.

You lean back in your seat, resting your head on Jeonghan's shoulder and getting comfortable. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer, and rests his head on top of yours. The two of you sit there, perfectly content, listening to the sizzle of meat on the grill and breathing in the delicious aroma filling the apartment.

"I should've changed the passcode to the front door," Seungcheol grumbles from his spot by the small electric grill in the corner. He's busy flipping pieces of meat, clearly annoyed but still committed to his role as the designated grill master. Tonight was supposed to be a BBQ night for Seungcheol and Jeonghan, but, well, you decided to tag along as Jeonghan's plus one…without letting the both of them know.

You glance over at Seungcheol and smirk. "Even if you changed it, I would've figured it out eventually. Seriously, what kind of passcode is 0001?"

"A perfectly good one! And I only changed it because you figured out the last one!" Seungcheol fires back, defensively waving his tongs in the air.

"Oh yeah, your super secure passcode of 0000," you snort, rolling your eyes.

Seungcheol pouts and turns back to the grill, muttering something under his breath that you can't quite make out. Meanwhile, Jeonghan leans over, grabs a few pieces of meat, and feeds you one. You hum in delight as the flavour bursts in your mouth.

"Cheol, your barbecuing skills suck," you comment, chewing happily as Jeonghan continues to feed you more meat.

Seungcheol's head snaps up, and he stares at you, visibly offended. Jeonghan stifles a laugh beside you.

"What do you mean my barbecuing skills suck?!" Seungcheol exclaims.

"The meat could be cooked a lot better. Just saying," you shrug.

Jeonghan pops another piece of meat into his mouth and nods in agreement. "She's right, Cheol. It could be better."

Seungcheol looks back and forth between the two of you, mouth hanging open in disbelief. His shoulders slump, and his lips form a dramatic pout. "You guys are mean," he whines.

"We'd be nicer if you grilled the meat better," you tease, grinning as Jeonghan feeds you another bite.

Seungcheol huffs and lets out an incoherent grumble, turning his attention back to the grill. You can't help but snicker as Jeonghan continues to spoil you with more meat, the two of you enjoying yourselves at Seungcheol's expense.

Sitting in the corner of one of HYBE's practice rooms, you watch as your boyfriend and the rest of SEVENTEEN rehearse for their upcoming performance. A proud smile spreads across your face as you see how hard they're working, their energy and dedication filling the room.

When they finally take a break, you rush over to Jeonghan and wrap him in a tight hug, showering him with praise. "You're doing amazing! I'm so proud of you!" you gush, your voice full of admiration. He hugs you back, laughing softly, and peppers your face with kisses as his way of saying thank you.

Just as you're basking in the moment, you spot Seungcheol heading your way. Instinctively, you step in front of Jeonghan, blocking him like a human shield.

"Hey, hey! No! This is my time with Jeonghan!" you say, holding your hands up to stop Seungcheol in his tracks.

"I just want to talk to him!" Seungcheol whines, trying to peek around you.

"You can talk to him later! I've been patiently waiting for my turn," you huff, standing your ground.

"Stop hogging him!" Seungcheol complains, crossing his arms.

"I'm not hogging him! You were with him the entire practice!" you shoot back, glaring at him.

Jeonghan just stands there, a soft smile on his face as he watches the two of you go back and forth. Seungkwan walks over, clearly over the drama, and groans. "Jeonghan, stop egging them on. We all know what you're doing."

Jeonghan chuckles, completely unbothered. "But it's so fun to watch them bicker. Why would I stop?" He grins, clearly enjoying the free entertainment.

And honestly, who can blame him? Free entertainment is free entertainment, after all.

Taglist: @tinyelfperson @gyuguys @stay-tiny-things @unlikelysublimekryptonite @miyx-amour @iamawkwardandshy @codeinebelle @brownbunnyb @do-you-remember-summer-127 @sclovreina @theidontknowmehn @toplinehyunjin @gyuhao365 @mysticfairies @cherrylovescheol @cookiearmy @4shypotato @lxnnrobin @sashaaahh @xueisaaa17 @aeriyell @eshia16 @dreamingofpcy @archivistworld @kyeomiis @iwannakisspoutycheol @foxiesgf24 @livelaughloveseventeen @kwanniehae @ateez-atiny380 @junnhuisworld @horangipower17 @aliiikareed @jennwonwoo @brownsugarbaybee @adiknyamingyu @smiileflower @cherrybb96

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halfmoonaria · 2 days ago

Text

her words, not mine

pairing: top!tara carpenter & sub!female reader

summary: you and tara kept things simple, no complications—until she made one.

warnings: smut (18+) fingering (r receiving), secret relationship, office sex.

author’s note: i haven’t proofread this one so..

Tara liked control.

She always had. Even as a child, she found comfort in order. It wasn't just about neatness or routine—it was about knowing.

Knowing that things were in their right place, that nothing unexpected would throw her off balance. Her toys had to be arranged a certain way. If someone moved them, she'd notice instantly. Her bookshelves had gone through endless reorganizations—not because she couldn't decide on a system, but because she needed to find the best one.

Genre made sense, but what if she wanted all her favorite books together? What if she needed to sort them by spine height so they looked even? What if, what if, what if?

She liked puzzles. Not because she enjoyed the picture at the end, but because she liked solving something that had a clear answer. She liked math for the same reason. Two plus two would always be four, no matter what. There was no uncertainty. No surprises. Just rules that made sense, that she could rely on.

She learned early that people weren't like that.

At school, group projects were a nightmare. The moment the teacher assigned one, Tara's jaw would clench, already anticipating the frustration. No one ever did what they were supposed to. No one ever cared as much as she did. So she took over. Not because she wanted to, but because if she didn't, things would fall apart.

People didn't appreciate that.

They called her bossy. Controlling. Too serious.

But what was wrong with wanting things done right? What was wrong with making sure things were finished on time instead of hoping someone else would magically pull through at the last second?

She stopped caring what people thought of her.

By the time she was a teenager, she had already accepted that if she wanted something done properly, she had to do it herself. And that suited her just fine. She didn't need anyone else. She had her plans, and she followed through on them, no matter what.

Tara never half-assed anything. If she committed to something, she owned it.

It was how she got through college at the top of her class. While other students partied, Tara studied. While others procrastinated, she finished assignments weeks in advance. Not because she was a genius, but because she refused to let herself fail. She didn't do 'good enough.' She did more.

And when it came time to enter the workforce, she carried that same mindset with her.

The first job she landed was nothing special. Just a stepping stone. She knew that the moment she walked in. But while others treated it like just another paycheck, Tara treated it like an opportunity. She learned fast, adapted even faster. She memorized company policies inside and out. She figured out what made people listen, what made them respect her.

She wasn't the boss. Not yet. But she knew she would be.

So she worked. And worked.

Late nights, early mornings, weekends sacrificed in the name of something bigger. It wasn't enough to be good at her job—she had to be the best. She studied the people above her, watched how they operated, learned from their mistakes. She climbed the ladder so quickly it made people's heads spin.

By the time she got to the top, no one could say she didn't deserve it.

Now, she was the one in charge. The one who gave orders instead of taking them.

Her office ran exactly the way she wanted it to—strict, efficient, with no room for distractions.

Or at least, that's how it was supposed to be.

But then there was you.

Tara didn't notice you at first. Not in the way she would later. You were just another name on a new hire list, another employee she expected to follow orders and do their job. You weren't the first person to work under her, and you wouldn't be the last.

But you were different.

She saw it almost immediately. While others hesitated around her, unsure whether to tiptoe or challenge her authority, you never wavered. You didn't shrink under her sharp tone or the weight of her expectations. You never sighed when she gave you extra work, never rolled your eyes when you thought she wasn't looking.

The others tried to hide their exasperation, their thinly veiled frustration whenever she demanded precision. It was in the subtle way they hesitated before saying yes, ma'am, in the tight-lipped expressions they wore when she sent them back to redo a report that wasn't up to her standards. They obeyed, but with reluctance. Even the best among them still carried that underlying sense of just let it go, it's not that serious.

But not you.

You followed every instruction to the letter, not just meeting her standards but exceeding them. If she asked for paperwork, it was on her desk before she even had to remind you. If she wanted reports sorted in a specific way, you did it without question. Not once did she have to send something back because it wasn't done right.

You did everything her way. Everything she wanted.

And you never complained.

At first, she told herself that was all it was—just appreciation for competence. Respect for someone who took their job as seriously as she did. But then she started to watch you.

She noticed things she had no business noticing.

The way your fingers tapped lightly against your desk when you were deep in concentration. The way you chewed on the end of your pen absentmindedly during meetings. The way you bit your lip when you read over a document, eyes narrowing just slightly as if you were committing every word to memory.

It was ridiculous. Inappropriate. Unprofessional.

And yet, sometimes—only sometimes—she would catch herself looking lower.

It wasn't intentional. At least, that's what she told herself. But her gaze would flicker downward, lingering for a second too long. It didn't matter that you never dressed revealingly. You could be wearing the most modest blouse imaginable, and still, her eyes would betray her. The way the fabric hugged you just enough, the way it shifted when you moved—it was infuriating how easily her mind wandered.

She scolded herself for it. She was better than this. Smarter than this.

You worked for her.

And yet, no matter how many times she told herself it was nothing, that it didn't mean anything, the thought was always there. Looking isn't doing anything wrong. Thinking isn't acting.

As long as she never did anything about it, there wasn't a problem.

Right?

...Right?

Tara told herself it would pass.

That it was just a phase—an overactive mind, too many late nights, nothing more.

But the longer it went on, the worse it got.

Because you made it hard.

She had control over everything. Everything. Her schedule. Her business. The way people spoke to her, the way they listened when she gave orders. Control was what she did. It was what she was.

And yet, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't control this.

Couldn't control the way her eyes lingered on you when you weren't looking. The way she caught herself anticipating your presence, your voice, the way you carried yourself so effortlessly through the office. Couldn't control the way her mind drifted at night, replaying insignificant moments as if they meant something.

But you—you were controlled.

You followed the rules. You knew how to navigate her world, how to move within the strict lines she had drawn. You did everything right. Everything she wanted.

And it infuriated her.

Because no matter how much power she held over you in that office—no matter how much control she had over everything else—she couldn't control what you were doing to her.

She tried to push it down. Buried it beneath long hours and stricter expectations, forced herself to focus on anything but the way her breath caught when you got too close.

It didn't work.

Because eventually, there was that night.

It was late. The office was empty, save for the low hum of the air conditioning and the faint glow of computer screens still in sleep mode. She hadn't planned to stay so late, but neither had you.

And she hadn't planned on letting her control slip.

But it did.

And once it happened the first time—once that line was crossed—there was no going back.

The headache had settled in hours ago, a dull ache at the base of Tara's skull that no amount of pinching at the bridge of her nose had managed to fix. The office had been silent by then—just the faint buzz of a light she had kept meaning to replace, the occasional creak of the building settling.

She should have gone home.

But the end of the day had always felt like a void, like the moment she stepped outside, she would have nothing but time—time to think, time to dwell, time to let her mind wander places it shouldn’t.

So she had stayed.

A few reports had still needed reviewing, a contract had been waiting for her signature—excuses, really, but enough to justify the extra hours. She had skimmed through the papers in front of her, rubbing at her forehead as she had tried to focus.

Then, a soft knock against the doorframe.

Tara had looked up sharply, her thoughts scattering like glass.

And there you had been.

You had smiled, the same polite, professional smile she had seen a hundred times before. The kind of smile you had always given her when you had stepped into her office with a file in hand or a question on your lips.

But that night, it had felt different.

Or maybe that had just been her.

Because it had been after hours. Because she had been tired. Because her body had been tense and restless in ways she hadn't been proud of, and now you had been standing there, looking at her like you always did, and for the first time, she had felt like she couldn't look away.

"Ms. Carpenter..." Your voice had been soft in the quiet space, hesitant but not nervous.

You had shifted slightly, holding up a folder with one hand. "I was finishing up the reports from the vendors, but there were a few inconsistencies in the invoices. I thought you might want to go over them before I send them back."

Tara had swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

Of course. Work. That had been why you had still been there. Why you had approached her. Why you had spoken her name so softly it had sent a shiver down her spine.

She had nodded, forcing herself to look at the folder instead of at you. "Right. Leave them on my desk."

But you hadn't moved right away.

And Tara had realized, in that small pause, that this had been the moment where it all had started to go wrong.

You had nodded at her words and stepped forward, placing the folder neatly onto her desk before turning to leave.

And Tara had watched you go.

It had been instinct, at first. A passing glance that had lasted a second too long.

The way you had walked—unhurried, confident but not cocky. The way your skirt had hugged your hips just enough to make her grip tighten around her pen. She had never let herself stare before, but she had been exhausted, her thoughts already slipping past her usual restraint, and for a brief, fleeting moment, she had let herself want.

Just as quickly, she had forced herself to look away.

Of course she hadn't said anything. Of course she had stayed silent, eyes snapping back to the papers in front of her, pen dragging across the page as if that could erase the fact that, for one split second, she had almost wished you had stayed.

But the knowledge that you were still somewhere in the building—that it was just the two of you, alone in the dimly lit office—was enough to make her pulse thrum a little too fast.

She had tried to push it down. To ignore the sudden heat simmering beneath her skin, the restless energy that made it impossible to focus on the words she was supposed to be reading.

But her hands had felt unsteady.

Her grip on the pen had been too tight, her skin too warm, her breathing a little too uneven. She had even flexed her fingers, pressing her palms flat against the desk as if she could ground herself, but nothing had helped.

And it had been infuriating.

Because this wasn't what control felt like.

Control was certainty. Control was discipline. Control was her thing.

This? This had been something else entirely.

Tara had exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down her face before glancing at the clock. It was late. Too late.

She had decided then—before her thoughts could spiral any further—that it was best to go home. If she was feeling this off, this hot and restless, she was probably coming down with something. Maybe a fever. That would explain everything.

With that excuse firmly in place, she had snapped her laptop shut and started gathering the scattered papers on her desk.

And that had been the exact moment you had walked in again.

She had frozen, just for a split second, fingers still curled around a loose stack of documents, before forcing herself to relax.

The same soft smile. The same perfectly put-together demeanor. A thinner folder in your hands.

"Ma'am," you had said, voice smooth, effortless, sending something sharp and electric straight through her spine.

She had swallowed, gripping the papers a little tighter.

You had stepped closer, holding out the folder. "I finalized the edits on the quarterly report, but I wanted to double-check if you wanted me to send it to the board as is, or if you'd prefer another review first."

Tara had barely heard a word you had said.

She had tried to listen—to focus—but she had still been picking up the last of her things, still forcing herself to act normal, and that had already taken every ounce of willpower she had left.

You had glanced at her desk then, at the way she had been straightening up. Something in your expression had shifted, a flicker of hesitation before you had spoken again.

"Did you want me to close up?"

Your voice had been softer that time, more casual.

And it had been a simple question. A normal one. But for some reason, the sound of it had made something deep in Tara's stomach tighten painfully.

She had nodded, too quickly. "Yeah, that would be great."

Her voice had been neutral. Measured. Like she had barely been paying attention.

But she had been paying attention.

Too much.

Because she had still been pretending to organize the papers in front of her, still trying to do something so she wouldn't have to think about the fact that her whole body had felt wound too tight.

And then you had said it again.

"Yes, ma'am."

And that had been the last drop.

Tara had never let herself indulge. Never let herself do more than look—and even that had been rare, controlled, brief.

But suddenly, none of that had felt like enough.

Suddenly, control hadn't mattered at all.

Tara hadn't planned it.

She hadn't thought about it—not really, not in a way that acknowledged what she was actually doing.

She had just moved.

One second, she had been standing there, still gripping the edges of her desk like it could somehow ground her, still trying to will away the heat in her chest, the tightness in her stomach. And then, suddenly, her hands had been on you, her lips pressing hard against yours.

It hadn't been careful. It hadn't been slow or thoughtful or rational—it had been instant. A desperate attempt to make it all stop.

Because if she kissed you, maybe the thoughts would go away.

If she kissed you, maybe the tightness in her chest would finally ease, maybe the heat in her stomach would stop twisting itself into unbearable knots, maybe she could get her control back.

And for one agonizing second, as she had felt your breath hitch against her lips, she had been terrified that she had ruined everything.

That you would push her away. That you would look at her like she had crossed a line. That you would pull back, storm out, and cost her everything—her reputation, her position, everything she had worked for.

But then you had leaned in.

Not quickly, not in a way that screamed urgency or recklessness.

You had just looked at her—wide-eyed, surprised, the soft glow of the office lights making your lips look even more kissable than they already were.

And then you had kissed her back.

Tara had barely registered the sound of a sharp inhale, barely processed the way her pulse had thundered so hard it almost hurt, because suddenly, her back was hitting the desk, and her legs were wrapping around your waist like she needed you closer.

She had needed you closer.

Everything had been fast—desperate.

The sound of her desk chair scraping back, the crash of a stapler and loose papers hitting the floor as she grabbed at you, pulled at you, let herself want.

She had never been this desperate before.

But she had clung to you like she needed you to breathe, grinding up against your hips with reckless urgency, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, lips parting against yours as her fingers tangled in your hair.

She had felt electric.

Like her whole body was on fire, like every part of her was wired too tight, coiled up with months of restraint she hadn't even realized she had been holding.

And then your hands had slid down.

Slow. Intentional.

You had pushed up her skirt, fingers grazing along the inside of her thigh.

Tara had gasped—actually gasped—her nails digging into your shoulders, her body arching up into your touch, her mind blanking completely when your fingers pressed against her.

She had never let go like this before.

But with you, she hadn't wanted to hold back.

She remembered everything.

Every sound. Every touch. Every second she had let go.

She remembered the way her legs had trembled when your fingers pushed inside her, how she had gripped at your shoulders, nails digging in like she needed something to anchor herself, to keep herself from completely falling apart.

She remembered how wet she had been, how embarrassing it should have been, how it only made you move faster, made your touch rougher, made her hips chase the pressure.

She remembered the way she had moaned—loud, desperate, shameless. How she hadn't even thought about keeping it down, about the fact that anyone could have still been in the building, about anything except the way your fingers curled just right inside her.

She remembered your mouth.

How it had found the skin of her neck, her jaw, the shell of her ear. How you had sucked at her pulse, kissed down her throat, whispered things against her skin that made her throb.

She remembered the burn of her desk against her back, the way her blouse had ridden up as she squirmed against the wood, the way her thighs had ached from being spread so wide around your hips.

She remembered how her own voice had sounded—breathless, high-pitched, needy.

She had never sounded like that before.

She had never let herself sound like that before.

But she had wanted it. She had needed it.

And when she came—legs shaking, mouth open in a silent cry, forehead pressing into your shoulder—she had realized something that terrified her.

For the first time in her life, she had lost control.

And it had felt so fucking good.

After, there had been silence.

No awkwardness, no words, no need to fill the space with anything but the sound of hurried breaths and rustling clothes. Tara had smoothed down her skirt, fixed the buttons on her blouse with slightly unsteady hands, and watched as you did the same. Neither of you spoke about what had just happened.

And maybe that was for the best.

When you left the office, you didn't look at her any differently. You didn't linger in the doorway, didn't hesitate, didn't ask what it meant. You just said Goodnight, Ms. Carpenter—like you always did—and walked away.

Tara didn't say anything back. She had just sat there, perched on the edge of her desk, feeling HOT all over, feeling something that wasn't quite regret but wasn't satisfaction either.

That night, she couldn't sleep.

She had tried. She had needed to, but every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was the way your lips had parted against hers, the way your body had pressed against her own, the way you had taken without hesitation, without letting her control a single moment of it.

And that was what stuck with her the most.

She had never let that happen before. She had never let anyone else dictate HER. Not at work, not in life, and definitely not in bed.

But she had.

And the worst part—the best part—was that she had liked it.

She wanted it again. She knew that much.

But if it happened again, it had to be her way. Her rules. Her control.

Because this wasn't who she was. She wasn't reckless, she wasn't impulsive, and she wasn't someone who let her own employee bend her over a desk without thinking.

If she was going to do this again, it would be different. It had to be.

And it happened again.

It shouldn't have. Tara had told herself that. She had laid in bed the night after that first time, forcing herself to believe it had been a mistake—one she wouldn't repeat, one she couldn’t repeat.

But then, not even a full day later, she had found herself alone with you again. And just like before, she hadn't thought. She hadn't stopped herself.

It kept happening after that.

At first, there had still been some semblance of restraint. A tension she tried to hold onto, an unspoken boundary she convinced herself still existed. But then it became a routine.

She didn't call you into her office for work anymore.

There were no excuses, no flimsy justifications—just a glance, just a moment, just a shift in the air between you that made it clear what you were both there for.

It happened almost every day.

And if a day was missed? It was made up for the next.

Tara hadn't expected it to get that far. She had thought maybe it would be like some passing phase, some moment of insanity that would fade with time.

But it hadn't.

And what made it worse—what made it better—was that it didn't just happen after hours anymore.

It happened during the day. During work.

Behind a locked office door, when the sun was still high and the sounds of the office still filled the space beyond the walls, you would take everything she gave you. Let her be the one in charge. Let her have the control.

And maybe that was why she let herself keep going. Because even though this was the one thing she shouldn’t be doing, at least in this, she still had control.

Most of the time.

Because there were still moments—rare ones, fleeting ones—where you took it back. Where you reminded her of that first time, of what it had felt like to be completely at someone else's mercy. And when that happened, she told herself she hated it.

But that was a lie.

It always started the same way.

A glance. A shift in the air. A moment where the tension between you sharpened, like a wire pulled too tight, waiting to snap. And then it did.

Tara would push you up against the door, lips crashing into yours before the lock had even clicked into place. She was always desperate in those first moments, always acting like she had spent the entire day trying not to think about this—about you.

Her hands would be on you immediately, slipping under your blazer, shoving it from your shoulders. Your blouse was next. She had learned how to work the buttons quickly, how to get you bare in seconds. She never wasted time.

Her mouth would trail down your neck, your collarbone, as she backed you toward the desk. She had done it enough times to know the perfect angle to sit you on the edge, to stand between your legs, to push your skirt up just enough to let her fingers tease along the inside of your thigh.

She liked teasing at first, watching you shift against the desk, watching your body react before she even really touched you. But she never made you wait long.

Because she couldn't.

Because the second she slipped her fingers inside, she always realized just how wet you already were. For her. From nothing but the anticipation. And that drove her insane.

Tara knew exactly what you liked by now. She knew the pace, the rhythm, the angle that made your body tighten, that made your fingers grip the edge of the desk like you'd fall apart otherwise. She knew when to slow down, when to speed up, when to press her thumb against your clit just right. She knew how to get you to say her name exactly the way she liked it.

But it was never enough.

Not for her.

Because by the time she felt you clenching around her fingers, by the time she felt you coming undone, her own body was aching for more.

And you always gave it to her.

She barely had time to catch her breath before you were tugging her blazer off, pulling at the buttons of her blouse, pushing it off her shoulders. Your hands always moved differently than hers—slower, more deliberate, making her feel seen in a way that made her shiver.

When you pushed her onto the desk, when you kissed your way down her stomach, she never stopped you.

She couldn't.

Because by then, she was gone. The moment your mouth was on her, the second she felt your tongue against her, she lost everything else—her control, her thoughts, her pride.

All that was left was this.

Your mouth, your tongue, your fingers pressing into her hips, holding her there as she gasped and writhed and tried so fucking hard to keep quiet even though she never fully could.

And it was in those moments—when you were on your knees between her legs, when she was unraveling, moaning, shuddering—that she knew the truth.

She could tell herself whatever she wanted. That she had the control. That this was just another thing she handled the way she handled everything else.

But it was a lie.

Because the truth was, when you had her like this—when you had her completely—you could do whatever you wanted to her.

And she'd let you.

Only until she decided she was done letting.

Because no matter how good it felt to give in to you, to let herself forget, to let herself be taken—Tara never forgot for too long who was really in charge.

Like now when she had you right where she wanted you.

You were on her desk, legs spread around her hips, your back arched slightly from the cool surface beneath you. The usual casualties of your encounters—a few scattered papers, a pen rolling off the edge, the ever-present risk of knocking over her coffee—were long forgotten. The only thing that mattered was the way Tara was inside you, her fingers buried deep, her palm pressing against your clit with every slow, deliberate thrust.

She watched you, dark eyes fixed on the way your body moved against her hand, on the way you clenched around her fingers with every roll of your hips. It wasn't enough for her to just have you like this. She needed to see what she was doing to you. To feel it in the way your breath hitched, in the way your fingers dug into the edge of the desk like you needed something—anything—to hold onto.

You were grinding down against her hand, chasing the friction she was only half-giving you, and that alone made her smirk. It was always like this. Always you getting so desperate for more, even when she was the one giving it to you.

Her free hand skimmed up your thigh, fingers pressing into the soft flesh before sliding higher. She tugged at your blouse, pushing it further up your stomach, exposing more of you to her. Not that she needed to—she had already seen you like this more times than she could count—but she liked it. Liked having you spread out for her, flushed and desperate and completely at her mercy.

Her pace didn't change, even though she knew you wanted her to move faster, to push you over the edge. But that wasn't how this worked.

Not with her.

It had started the way it always did. With Tara deciding she wanted you and making sure she got you.

She had been restless the night before, shifting beneath her sheets, unable to sleep because every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was you. The way you looked when you dropped to your knees for her. The way your lips parted when she pushed her fingers deep inside you. The way you whimpered her name when you were close—breathless, desperate, completely hers.

By the time morning came, she knew she wouldn't be able to make it through the day without doing something about it.

So she did.

She had barely been in the office an hour before she made sure you'd end up exactly where she wanted you. She didn't call you herself—she never did. That would've been too obvious. Instead, she had one of her employees, someone whose name she barely remembered, find you and let you know that she needed to see you in her office.

It was routine. Expected. If Tara Carpenter called someone to her office, it was for a reason, and when she was finished, they'd leave.

No one ever suspected that when you went in, you didn't come back out right away.

That by the time you did, your blouse was just a little more wrinkled, your legs just a little shakier, your lipstick just a little smudged.

Now, Tara had you exactly where she wanted you.

You were gasping beneath her, moaning into her mouth, your forehead pressed to hers as her fingers fucked you, deep and slow, the way she knew drove you crazy. Your breaths mingled—hot, shaky, desperate. She could feel the tension in your body, the way your thighs clenched around her, the way you needed her to move faster, to give you more.

And fuck, she loved this.

Loved the way you looked right now—eyes hazy, lips parted, skin flushed. Loved the way you sounded—soft moans mixing with shaky breaths, filling the space between you.

Loved knowing she had done this to you. That she could have you like this whenever she wanted.

Your hand fumbled for her tie, fingers curling around the silky fabric she had chosen that morning—the one she only wore on certain days, for reasons only she knew.

It was loose around her neck, slightly loosened from the heat between you, but not enough to ruin the sharp, put-together look that drove you crazy. You wrapped the material around your fingers and tugged, not hard enough to choke her, just enough to make her feel it—to pull her closer, to make her fingers push deeper inside you, dragging a desperate whimper from your lips.

Tara exhaled through her nose, slow and heavy, her lips parting just slightly as your mouths hovered against each other. Your breath tangled together, hot and uneven, your gasps mixing in the small space between you.

You felt burning—all over, inside and out. Every brush of her fingers, every shift of her wrist, every slow, torturous drag of her touch sent another wave of pleasure coursing through you, tightening in your stomach, making your thighs tremble around her hips.

Your lips barely moved against hers when you whispered, "I love when you wear a tie."

Tara let out a slow, shuddering breath, like she was feeling your words as much as she was hearing them.

And fuck, she was.

Because the second you said it, she felt it—low in her stomach, pulsing between her legs, sinking into her chest like an intoxicating warmth that she never quite knew how to handle. Your voice, the way you said it, the way you looked at her as you did—it sent a fresh spark of heat through her veins, made her fingers curl inside you on instinct.

You gasped at the sensation, a choked sound escaping your lips as your thighs tensed around her waist.

Tara smirked, just a little, her confidence spiking at the reaction she pulled from you. "Oh yeah?"

Her voice was lower now, thick with satisfaction, teasing but dark—like she already knew the answer. Like she just wanted to hear you say it, wanted to watch the way your face twisted with pleasure when you admitted it.

Your stomach tightened, and you pressed down against her hand, chasing the pressure, the friction, the pleasure.

Her fingers curled deeper.

Your breath caught.

"Yes, ma'am."

Tara sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth, her entire body reacting.

Her fingers stilled inside you for half a second, but only because she felt it—really felt it. Like the words sent a jolt of electricity through her veins, like they cracked something open inside her.

Her stomach clenched. Her thighs pressed together involuntarily. A deep, primal kind of satisfaction settled low in her gut, making her pulse throb in the worst, most intoxicating way.

You saw it happen. You felt it happen. The way her muscles tensed, the way her throat bobbed with a quiet swallow, the way her eyes darkened—heat flickering in them like a barely restrained fire.

And then she exhaled, slow and heavy, before letting out a quiet, dangerous laugh.

Her smirk returned—wider, more dangerous, dripping with the kind of power she knew she had over you.

Her fingers moved again.

And this time, she was ruthless.

Tara's eyes roamed over you, taking in every detail—every messy, undone, wrecked part of you.

Your hair, which had started the day in a neat ponytail, was loose and disheveled now, strands falling around your face and sticking slightly to your skin from the heat between you. It framed your features perfectly, making you look even more ruined, even more gone under her touch.

Your shirt—crisp and professional when you arrived—was a mess. The top buttons had been carelessly undone, either by you in desperation or by her when she pulled at the fabric to get her mouth on your neck earlier. The soft lace of your bra peeked through the open collar, teasing her, taunting her. And fuck, if she wasn't already losing her mind, that definitely would have done it.

She dragged her eyes back up to your face, breathing heavily, watching the way your lips parted, the way your lashes fluttered, the way your forehead pressed against hers like you needed the contact to stay grounded.

And fuck, she wanted to ruin you even more.

Her fingers moved again, curling deeper, pressing harder—just to see the way your body jerked in response, just to hear the way your breath hitched in your throat.

But then—

A sharp knock at the door.

The handle rattled.

You both froze.

A voice—muffled through the wood but clear enough to snap you both back to reality.

"Ms. Carpenter?"

Your stomach dropped.

Tara's body tensed between your legs, her fingers still buried deep inside you. Your breath hitched in your throat, your entire body humming with the worst kind of anticipation—stuck somewhere between panic and overwhelming need.

Tara didn't move. Didn't pull away. Didn't stop.

She turned her head slightly toward the door, her expression unreadable, her breathing slow and controlled. And then—very deliberately—her fingers curled again.

You gasped.

Tara smirked, her fingers still moving inside you, slow but deliberate, as she turned her head slightly toward the door. Of course she knew who it was. She always knew.

"Yes, Derek?" she called, her voice perfectly even, professional—like she wasn't currently fucking you on her desk.

And then—

She pressed deeper, her fingers curling inside you, her palm pressing firmly against you as she quickened her pace. The sharp, overwhelming pleasure sent a jolt through your body, making your legs tighten around her waist, your breath stuttering.

The moan slipped out before you could stop it—loud, desperate.

Tara reacted instantly.

Her hand clamped over your mouth, the warmth of her palm pressing firmly against your lips, muffling the sound. Her grip was just tight enough to be controlling, just enough to make it clear—you had to stay quiet. Her dark eyes locked onto yours, a silent command flashing in them. Behave.

On the other side of the door, Derek kept talking, oblivious.

"I just sent over the reports you requested, Ms. Carpenter. I wanted to go over the projections for next quarter—"

Tara's fingers dragged inside you, slow and deep, pressing against the spot that made you tremble. Your whole body clenched around her, your hands gripping at her arms, nails digging into the fabric of her blazer. Your muffled whimper barely escaped against her hand.

She leaned in, her breath hot against your ear. Her voice was impossibly soft, teasing.

"Be quiet."

Your thighs twitched against her hips, your entire body working against you, betraying how desperate you were for more.

Derek continued, still unaware. "There were a few discrepancies I thought you should look at before we move forward with—"

Tara's fingers curled, pressing deeper, her wrist flexing as she fucked into you with slow, devastating precision.

Your entire body shook. Your head tipped back slightly, your lashes fluttering, your breath coming out in sharp, stifled gasps against her palm.

Tara's smirk deepened, her lips ghosting over the corner of your mouth. She felt every little movement, every twitch, every uncontrollable reaction you had to her.

"And?" she prompted smoothly, as if she weren't currently ruining you.

Derek hesitated on the other side of the door, then cleared his throat. "Uh—actually, may I come in and show you?"

Tara exhaled a soft, knowing laugh, like she found the idea ridiculous. Because it was.

She didn't stop. She didn't slow down. If anything, she only pushed harder, deeper—testing you, taunting you.

"I'm currently speaking with Ms. L/N," she said, her voice steady, unshaken, the perfect contrast to how wrecked you were against her.

She knew what she was doing to you. She knew how close you were. And she knew you couldn't do a thing about it.

Her fingers curled again, sharper this time, hitting just right, and your entire body shuddered. Your nails dug into her arms, your hips jerking forward, desperate for more.

Tara pressed her forehead to yours, her eyes locked on yours, watching you come undone in her hands.

Her smirk widened.

"I'll be ready in just a second."

Her voice was steady—controlled, composed—but you could feel the way her breath hitched against your lips, the way her fingers pushed just a little deeper, chasing something she wasn't even sure of.

And then, just as you hit that peak, just as your body clenched around her fingers, she pulled them out.

Not slow. Not gentle. A calculated retreat, leaving you trembling, gasping, still teetering on the edge.

She brought her fingers to her lips, holding your gaze as she sucked them clean, and something about the way she did it—just a little slower than usual, just a little less smug—made your stomach twist.

Then it was gone.

She smirked as she straightened your skirt, smoothing it down over your thighs like she hadn't just had her fingers buried inside you. Like you weren't still sitting there, trying to catch your breath.

"Fix your shirt," she murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

It was normal. The same teasing aftercare she always gave.

And yet.

There was something in the way she stepped back too quickly. The way she turned away before you could see her face. The way she ran a hand through her hair like she was trying to shake something off.

It wasn't obvious.

But it was enough.

And later, when everything changed, you'd realize that maybe it had started here.

___

Tara had been acting weird.

At first, it wasn't anything obvious. Nothing anyone else would notice. But you did.

Because she hadn't called you into her office.

Not once.

Days passed. The longest you'd ever gone without her pulling you aside, without the press of her lips against your skin, without her hands gripping your waist, pulling you close, taking what she wanted. The silence stretched between you, thick and unspoken, but you felt it every time you glanced toward her office door and saw it closed. Locked away. Off-limits.

Still, everything else seemed normal. Or at least, it should have.

Tara walked the halls like she always did, head held high, voice sharp and sure when she spoke. In meetings, she still nodded at your input, still approved your reports with the same efficient flick of her pen. But the moments in between—where her gaze should have lingered, where her fingers should have trailed along your wrist as she passed by—were gone.

It didn't make sense.

You saw her in the break room, standing by the coffee machine like usual, but she didn't acknowledge you beyond a brief glance. Not a smirk. Not a word.

In the hall, you brushed past her, felt the heat of her presence right there, but she didn't stop you. Didn't pull you aside. Didn't so much as glance over her shoulder.

And yet, sometimes, when she thought you weren't looking—you swore she was watching.

But it wasn't the same.

Because before, when her gaze had lingered, it was heavy with intent. With want. Now, when your eyes met, something unreadable flickered across her face before she quickly looked away.

Something wasn't right.

Something had changed.

And it wasn't like you could just ask her.

That wasn't how it worked.

You didn't get to knock on her office door and ask if you could come in. Didn't get to slip her a note or send an email saying, Why don't you fuck me on your desk anymore?

That wasn't your place.

That wasn't the deal.

Tara called the shots—literally. She decided when, where, if. And for weeks, that had been fine. More than fine. She wanted, she took, and you let her, because it worked. Because she always wanted. Because there was never a reason to question it.

Until now.

Now, the days dragged on in silence, and you didn't understand.

How do you go from every day—every single day—to nothing?

At first, you told yourself she was busy. Of course she was. She was the boss. She had a company to run, responsibilities, meetings, deadlines. She couldn't always make time for you. That was reasonable. That made sense.

But then—shouldn't she have at least acknowledged it?

Even if she couldn't pull you into her office, couldn't press you against the door, couldn't have you falling apart beneath her hands—shouldn't there have been something? A glance, a smirk, a comment under her breath when no one else was around?

Anything?

But there was nothing.

Just silence.

And it didn't make sense.

Tara had stopped calling you in.

That much had been obvious from the start.

That was the first thing you noticed—the first thing that made no sense.

It happened so suddenly that, at first, you didn't even realize it. Maybe it was because you were busy with your own work, caught up in the never-ending tasks that came with the job. Or maybe, deep down, you just hadn't wanted to notice.

But the absence of it became impossible to ignore.

Days passed. Then a full week. Then another.

And still, nothing.

No glance in your direction when you walked by her office. No subtle nod, no small, barely-there smirk that told you to close the door behind you. No teasing remarks under her breath as you followed her inside. No whispered orders. No lingering looks.

You had told yourself it was fine.

Tara was the boss. She had responsibilities. She wasn't exactly available every second of the day, and it wasn't like the two of you had some set schedule—this was never something you had planned in advance. It had always been unpredictable, sporadic. Sometimes you'd see her multiple times in a week. Sometimes you'd go days without so much as a touch.

That was normal.

That was how it worked.

But this...this was different.

Because it wasn't just that she didn't have the time.

It was like she had chosen not to.

And then, there were the other things.

The moments that should have been insignificant, the ones you would have ignored completely if they hadn't felt so off.

Like the way she suddenly couldn't look at you.

You noticed it one afternoon, passing by her office at the exact time she would normally call you in. It was almost muscle memory at this point—the way your body tensed slightly, the way your pace slowed just enough to see if she would give you a look, if she would signal for you to step inside.

But she didn't.

Instead, she kept her eyes locked onto her computer screen, her fingers tapping against the desk in an anxious rhythm.

And it wasn't just that she didn't see you.

It was that she wouldn’t.

She had seen you from the corner of her eye—there was no way she hadn't. But instead of even acknowledging you, her shoulders went stiff, her expression blank, like she was forcing herself to focus on anything else.

You almost stopped walking.

Almost said something.

But what the fuck were you supposed to say?

And then, a few days later, you tested it.

You had found a reason—something small, something professional, something completely work-related. It wasn't an excuse, not really. You had needed the information. She had to answer.

So, you had gone up to her desk, waited for her to glance up at you, and asked.

And she had answered.

But only in the shortest way possible, her voice clipped, her tone completely detached, like she had no interest in having the conversation at all. She gave you just enough to satisfy your question, nothing more, then immediately turned back to her computer as if you weren't even there.

There was nothing playful in it. No teasing, no lingering glances, no flicker of amusement in her eyes. Just a sharp, calculated disinterest.

And then there was the break room.

Late at night. The office almost empty.

You had been standing by the coffee machine, half-expecting—no, half-hoping—for her to say something when she walked in.

A tease. A smirk.

Something.

But she didn't.

She didn't even acknowledge you.

She walked past you like you weren't even there, went straight for the cabinet, grabbed a mug, poured herself coffee, and left.

No glance in your direction. No hesitation. No reaction.

And you had just stood there, fingers wrapped too tightly around your cup, heart pounding in a way you didn't understand.

You had thought, for a while, that the worst part was the silence. How quickly she had slipped out of your reach—like all those nights, all those moments, had meant nothing at all. Like she had just...moved on, and you were the only one still stuck in place.

At first, you had tried to reason with it. Maybe this was just how things were now. Maybe it had always been inevitable. You weren't entitled to her attention, after all. You weren't owed anything.

But knowing that didn't make it any easier.

And lately, it had started to feel heavier—the quiet, the distance. Like you were walking on a fault line, waiting for it to crack beneath your feet.

But it never did.

Not yesterday. Not today.

Today had passed like all the others. You had come in, sat at your desk, gone through emails and reports, answered questions, filled out forms—played your part, just like always. But it wasn't just another day, not to you. It had been a week now. A full week of nothing.

No call into her office. No lingering glances. No accidental touches.

You had still looked for it, though. Every time you heard footsteps, every time your phone buzzed, every time you passed by her door, you felt that flicker of something—hope, desperation, whatever it was—only for it to be ripped away just as fast.

And it wasn't just about the sex. It wasn't about the heat of her hands or the way she used to look at you like she needed you. It was the absence of it all. The absence of her.

The office had started to empty now, the low murmur of voices fading as people packed their things and headed home. Someone laughed a few desks over, lighthearted, easy. The scent of coffee had gone stale in the air. Phones still rang in the background, but fewer now. The usual hum of the place—the life of it—was winding down.

But you were still here. Still waiting.

And she still hadn't called for you.

Until she did.

It was just as you were reaching for your phone, pretending to check something that didn't matter, that you heard the soft click of a door closing down the hall. You barely had time to register it before footsteps approached—heels tapping against the tile with a steady, unhurried rhythm.

You glanced up just as the sound reached your desk, and there she was—Sophie, from marketing.

She was around your age, maybe a little older, with sharp, dark eyes and a practiced kind of friendliness that never felt too forced. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, her makeup was still intact despite the long day, and she carried herself with the kind of effortless confidence that made her good at her job.

She had just come from her office.

You knew it before she even said anything—before she stopped beside your desk, before she tucked her phone into the pocket of her blazer, before she shot you a look that was neither warm nor cold, just neutral. Indifferent.

Then, with no warning, no weight behind it, she said, "Ms. Carpenter wants to see you."

No glance in your direction. No hesitation. No reaction.

Your grip tightened around your pen.

For a second—just a second—it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room.

Your heartbeat, slow and dull all day, suddenly jumped in your chest, rattling against your ribs like it had been waiting for something. Waiting for this.

It was automatic, the way you straightened up. The way your breath caught. The way you felt yourself reacting before you could stop it.

Because finally.

Finally.

She wanted you.

It should have been obvious what this was. It should have been clear that this wasn't an invitation, that it wasn't some whispered promise of relief. But you had gone days without hearing her say your name, without feeling the weight of her attention, without even knowing where you stood.

And now, she was calling you in.

You weren't expecting an apology. You shouldn't have expected it to begin with.

But this—this was something.

You swallowed hard, nodding stiffly as you grabbed your notebook—an instinct, an excuse, something to hold—and stood. Sophie was already gone, her heels clicking away, already moving on with her day.

But you were stuck there for a moment, standing beside your desk, fingers pressing into the cover of your notebook, heart pounding so hard it almost made you dizzy.

This was it.

You had been waiting.

And now, she wanted you again.

You moved without thinking.

The path was familiar—down the hall, past the break room, past the framed awards and corporate slogans lining the walls. It was the same walk you had made so many times before, the same quiet stretch of polished floors and low conversation, the same flicker of overhead lights casting everything in that soft, sterile glow.

It felt like routine. Like muscle memory. Like something ingrained in you, something you had done over and over until it no longer required thought.

But today—today, something about it felt different.

Maybe it was the way your pulse hadn't settled, the way each step felt just a little too careful, like you were trying not to let yourself get ahead of anything. Or maybe it was the fact that, for once, you had no real idea what was waiting for you when you got there.

Not that it stopped you.

You reached the door too quickly, or maybe not quickly enough.

It was closed.

Of course, it was.

You hesitated only for a second—just long enough to take a slow breath, to steady the way your fingers twitched at your side—before lifting your hand and knocking, light but deliberate.

The response came almost immediately.

"Come in."

Her voice.

It sent something through you, something automatic and unshakable, something that made your stomach tighten in a way you shouldn’t have let it.

You exhaled, turned the handle, and stepped inside.

The door clicked shut behind you, and the first thing you noticed was that she wasn't standing.

She wasn't waiting for you. She wasn't already crossing the room, wasn't reaching for you, wasn't closing the space between you before you could even get your bearings.

She was sitting.

She was perched at her desk, one leg crossed over the other, pen in hand as she finished writing something in the notebook before her. There was a chair in front of her desk, positioned deliberately—waiting for you.

That was new.

Your gaze dragged over her, slow, searching—like you were trying to find something familiar, something that would make this feel normal again.

Her blazer was still on, though it looked slightly looser, like she had been tugging at the collar absentmindedly. Her hair was the same, dark and perfect, framing her face in a way that made her unreadable.

And then, finally, she looked up.

Her eyes met yours, and for a second, she just held your gaze, expression unreadable. Then, she offered a polite nod, her voice measured.

"Welcome."

Her tone sent something uneasy down your spine.

You barely had time to process it before she added, smoothly, "Ms. L/N, would you mind closing the door for a second?"

For a moment, you just stood there.

Closing the door wasn't unusual. It was something that had happened plenty of times before.

But not like this.

Not like this, where your fingers curled around the handle, where you turned and pushed it shut yourself. Normally, it wouldn't be you closing it at all. Normally, the weight of it against your back would come from her, from the way she would back you up against it, from the way she would kiss you like she needed to.

This—this didn't feel like that.

Nothing about this felt right.

You turned back to face her, but you could already tell.

There was something in the way she was sitting, something that made your stomach tighten. She wasn't relaxed. She wasn't leaning back in that easy way she sometimes did, wasn't watching you like she already knew what she wanted from you.

Instead, she looked... uneasy.

Her hand twitched slightly before she brought it up to adjust the sleeve of her blazer, fingers brushing over the fabric like the motion would somehow steady her. Her lips pressed together, and then, finally, she lifted a hand—gesturing to the chair in front of her.

"Would you please sit down?"

Polite. Too polite.

The words landed in your stomach like a stone.

You hesitated, but only for a second—then, with a quick nod, you muttered, Yes, ma'am, before lowering yourself onto the chair.

She was watching you.

Or, at least, she had been.

As soon as you met her gaze, she looked away—eyes dropping down to the desk, hands shifting against the surface like she wasn't quite sure what to do with them.

Something about it sent a sharp, uneasy feeling through you.

Tara Carpenter didn't fidget. She didn't look away.

And yet, here she was—sitting in front of you, fingers pressed against her desk, avoiding your eyes like she couldn’t meet them.

Something was wrong.

You sat there, watching her, trying to piece together what this was.

It couldn't be anything serious.

At least, that's what you told yourself.

Maybe it was just a minor issue with some paperwork you had sent in—something from last week, or maybe even three days ago. Maybe there had been an error somewhere, some formatting issue, something that had made its way up to her desk. It wouldn't be the first time. She might just be calling you in to correct it, to give you that sharp little look, to let you know in that dry, amused way of hers that she expected better.

Or maybe—maybe it was about this.

About you. About her.

Maybe she was going to say it had to stop.

Maybe she was going to tell you that she couldn't do this anymore, that she had been thinking about it for a while now and it was too risky, too complicated. Maybe she was going to sit there, all composed and professional, and tell you that this thing—this thing that had felt so effortless, so natural, so right—had to end.

Your throat felt tight.

But even that didn't explain the way she looked.

Tara Carpenter wasn't a nervous person.

You had seen her in meetings, handling high-stakes deals with nothing but a smirk and a raised brow. You had seen her walking the floor, speaking in that firm, confident tone that made people straighten up when she passed.

And beyond that—beyond the person she was in the office, beyond the way she commanded attention in a room—there was you.

You had seen her in ways no one else had.

You had seen her with her head thrown back, her lips parted, her hands fisting, You had seen her hair messy, tangled from fingers pulling through it. You had seen the smooth glide of her bra slipping from her shoulders, the slow reveal of bare skin beneath dim office lights.

You had seen her unravel.

So why, why, was she looking like this?

Like she was trying to hold herself together.

Like she was the vulnerable one.

Tara inhaled sharply.

She started to speak, then stopped—lips pressing together like the words weren't quite right.

Then, after another second, she tried again.

"It has been brought to my attention—"

But she cut herself off, exhaling through her nose, shaking her head slightly.

That wasn't it.

She tried again.

"I wanted to discuss—"

Another pause.

Her fingers tapped against the desk. She let out a short breath, dropped her gaze for a moment, then lifted it again.

You just sat there, waiting.

Feeling the weight of it, the heaviness in your chest growing stronger with every second she spent not saying it.

Tara let out a slow, unsteady breath.

You weren't sure you had ever seen her like this before.

She had always been so sure of herself—whether it was in the office or when she was pressing you against the door, her mouth on yours, her hands sliding beneath your clothes. There was never hesitation, never DOUBT. And yet now, sitting across from you at her desk, she looked...unsteady. Like she was losing her grip on something she had been trying so hard to hold onto.

She tried again.

She parted her lips, inhaled like she was about to speak, but no words came out.

Another pause. Another exhale, shakier this time.

You just sat there, silent, watching her.

Afraid to say anything. Afraid to move.

And then, finally, she spoke.

Her voice was measured, like she was trying too hard to keep it even.

"There have been—" She stopped, her jaw tightening. Then, after a beat, she continued, forcing the words out this time. "There have been concerns regarding—"

Another pause.

Her fingers twitched against the desk.

You could tell she was frustrated—frustrated with herself, frustrated with whatever this was, frustrated with how impossible it was for her to just say it.

And then she did.

Sort of.

She started talking—not stopping herself this time, not cutting herself off—but none of it made sense.

"I have to consider the overall professionalism of this workplace," she said, her hands fidgeting slightly, like she didn't know what to do with them. "And it has come to my attention that... certain dynamics could be viewed as compromising to that environment. As a leader, I have to ensure that all professional relationships remain, well, professional, and given the circumstances, it has been deemed necessary to take appropriate action in order to maintain the integrity of this organization and uphold the standards expected within a corporate setting."

The words kept coming, all strung together, tangled and stiff and unnatural.

Like she had put together a bunch of professional-sounding phrases and hoped they would add up to something real.

But they didn't.

Because none of it explained why she was looking at you like that.

Like she was barely keeping it together.

Like this wasn't just business to her.

But Tara kept going.

She kept talking, even as her voice wavered slightly, even as her fingers twitched against the surface of her desk, even as her eyes darted around the room, landing anywhere but on you.

"I've had to take into account the... potential risks of certain workplace interactions and the possible implications of, um... interpersonal relationships that could—" She cut herself off, her jaw tightening, like she was annoyed with herself. Then, a quick inhale, a forced recalibration, and she tried again. "There are expectations that need to be upheld, and I can't allow—" Another pause. Another shift in posture. "It's important to set clear boundaries in order to ensure that the workplace remains an environment of—"

She was stringing together words that, on their own, might've sounded reasonable.

But put together like this?

Like a desperate attempt to say something that justified this?

It was ridiculous.

Your brow furrowed slightly as you just stared at her, struggling to follow along, struggling to even comprehend what the hell she was getting at.

And she wouldn't look at you.

Her fingers tapped against the desk. Her posture was tense, rigid. Her eyes flicked toward the papers in front of her, then the window, then the floor—anywhere but at you.

And then, finally, she finished it.

Her voice was quiet but firm, like she had to force herself to say it.

"...Which is why I've decided that I'm going to let you go."

You blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Your brain stalled, like you had misheard her, like maybe she had just said it wrong, like maybe if she tried again it would make sense.

But she didn't.

She just sat there.

And all you could do was stare.

The second the words left her mouth, you saw it happen.

Something in her cracked.

Her expression wavered, that firm, professional look she had been trying so hard to maintain slipping away the moment she heard herself say it out loud. And for a second—just a second—her face was bare. No control, no composure. Just guilt.

It was in the way her fingers twitched against the desk, the way her throat bobbed as she swallowed, the way she tried to get that same firm expression back, but it was already too late.

It was already slipping.

And she knew it.

You didn't react right away.

The words hit you like a slow-moving train—impacting in pieces, each one slamming into you harder than the last.

Your breath came out unsteady, like your body didn't quite know what to do with this.

She had just—

No.

She didn't just say that.

She didn’t.

"What?"

The word spat from your mouth before you could stop it, sharp and incredulous, like your body rejected the very sound of it.

Tara flinched just slightly—so slight you might've missed it if you weren't looking so closely. But you were.

And you saw how her eyes immediately dropped to her hands, suddenly fascinated with her own fingers, as if you weren't sitting right in front of her, burning holes into her skull.

She didn't respond.

She didn't say a single word.

Your pulse slammed against your ribs, a roaring sound filling your ears as you sat there, waiting. Waiting for her to say something, anything, to fix whatever the fuck this was supposed to be.

But she didn't.

And the silence only made your anger grow, burning through your veins, pressing hot against your chest.

Your chair scraped back just slightly as you leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?"

Still nothing.

She wouldn't even look at you.

She just kept staring down at her hands like she wanted to disappear into the desk, like she already regretted everything she had just said, everything she had done.

Your breath came out sharp, clipped. "So that's it?"

No reaction.

Nothing but the sound of the office clock ticking in the distance.

The bitterness came creeping up your throat before you could stop it, before you could even try to swallow it down.

"You called me in here just to sit there and ramble a bunch of shit that doesn't even make fucking sense—"

Your voice faltered, not because you doubted what you were saying, but because you didn’t doubt it.

You had been sitting here for minutes, minutes, trying to decipher whatever the hell she had been saying, and yet, none of it—not a single fucking thing—had led to this.

This wasn't a warning. This wasn't an adjustment.

This was you're fired.

This was get out.

And you didn't even get the decency of a real explanation.

Your voice came back stronger, rougher, laced with disbelief.

"—just to fucking fire me?"

You let the words hang there, hoping—daring—her to look at you again, to at least own what she was doing.

But she didn't.

She just sat there, barely moving, barely breathing, guilt written all over her face.

Her head hung low, her hands stiff on the desk, her shoulders tight with something that almost resembled shame.

She didn't have to look at you to know what she'd see. She heard the anger in your voice, felt it in the way the air shifted between you, thick with disbelief.

And for a second, she looked like she might say something—her lips parted slightly, like she was searching for the words, but then she hesitated.

Her mouth closed.

She figured it wouldn't do any good.

Your voice came next, clipped and sharp. "On what basis?"

Tara flinched at the formality, the sheer professionalism of your tone despite everything.

Unprofessionally enough, she still didn't answer.

She looked up at you briefly, just a fleeting glance—but regretted it immediately when she saw the way you were looking at her.

Like you knew.

Like you weren't fucking stupid.

Your voice cut through the silence.

"I didn't fuck you well enough, is that it?"

Tara's whole body went rigid.

Her breath caught in her throat, fingers twitching slightly against the desk, but she didn't move, didn't react, just sat there, stiff.

"Not hard enough?"

Her eyes flicked to the door as if she were checking—praying—that nobody was standing just outside.

But you weren't done.

"You chose somebody else to do my work instead?"

The meaning was clear.

Your tone was clear.

And Tara panicked.

Not outwardly, not obviously, but you saw the way her lips parted like she wanted to object, to say something, only for nothing to come out.

The way her hands clenched just slightly in her lap.

The way her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, barely, almost shaking her head—but it was so light, so small, it wasn't even convincing.

Then why was it?

Why was she doing this?

Your patience snapped.

"Then what is it, Tara?"

Her name came out like venom, spat from your lips like an insult, like it wasn’t supposed to be spoken by you at all.

And she felt it.

She felt the way it burned coming from you.

She felt the way it stripped away every ounce of authority she had left.

And for the first time since she started this—since she said those words—Tara felt small.

Tara still didn't answer.

Instead, she took a slow breath, trying to steady herself, before straightening her posture like it would somehow make her seem more in control. But the way she held herself was stiff, unnatural—like she had to FORCE herself to sit upright, to look like she was handling this professionally when she so clearly wasn't.

Then, without meeting your eyes, she started shifting through the papers on her desk, her fingers slightly unsteady as they flipped through each one. It was like she was buying herself time, like if she just focused on the paperwork, she could pretend this wasn't happening.

"I understand this might come as a shock," she said finally, her voice careful, like she had to pick each word as she went. "And I know it's short notice. But I want you to know that I appreciate everything you've done for this company."

Your stomach twisted.

The way she was talking, like she was trying to soften the blow without actually explaining anything, only made you feel worse.

Tara didn't acknowledge the fact that she was skipping over the real issue. She kept her eyes down, finally finding the paper she had been searching for and sliding it across the desk toward you.

Then, after the briefest hesitation, she reached for a pen and set it carefully on top.

"I just need your signature on this."

Her voice was quiet, hesitant.

It was the first time she had said something direct in the entire conversation, but even then, it wasn't an answer. It wasn't an explanation.

It was just a demand.

It was real.

This was real.

You were being fired.

And she wasn't even going to tell you why.

Your fingers twitched slightly as they rested against your thigh, the weight of the realization crashing over you like a slow, suffocating tide. All you had gotten was a mess of words strung together, words that barely made sense next to each other but had been forced into sentences anyway, as if saying something—even if it was nothing—would make this feel more justified.

You let your gaze drop to the paper in front of you, your eyes skimming over the fine print, the legal jargon meant to make this look official. Termination of employment. Effective immediately. Company policy compliance. You could barely process any of it. The words blurred together, shifting in and out of focus, and you weren't sure if it was because you weren't trying HARD enough to read them or if it was because your eyes were beginning to sting.

Tara was actually doing this.

You were actually losing your job.

A dull, empty ache settled in your chest, something worse than anger. Something heavier. Because now that the initial shock was starting to wear off, now that the confusion and disbelief had settled into something more solid, you felt... sad. Not just because of what was happening but because of who was doing it.

It didn't make sense. It didn't feel real. But it was.

You could feel Tara watching you, her eyes fixed on you like she was waiting for some kind of reaction—maybe bracing herself for it. And when you finally forced yourself to look up, meeting her gaze, you could tell immediately that she felt it.

She looked guilty.

Gut-wrenchingly guilty.

For the first time since this conversation started, she didn't immediately look away. Maybe it was because she saw the water in your eyes. Maybe it was because she realized what she was actually doing. Maybe it was because, deep down, she regretted it.

Her lips parted slightly, but she didn't speak.

Her throat bobbed with a hard swallow.

And you didn't care anymore.

Clearly, she had made up her mind. Begging wasn't going to change anything.

So you clenched your jaw and spat, "Fine."

Tara's face shifted, something flickering behind her eyes—something almost soft, almost surprised. Like she had expected you to fight harder. Like she had wanted you to give her some kind of reason to stop this, to take it back.

But you didn't.

Instead, you reached for the pen, flipping it between your fingers once before pressing it to the paper, signing your name in sharp, deliberate strokes. You didn't bother reading any of it. You didn't care what it said. It didn't matter anymore.

The second you were done, you slid the paper back toward her side of the desk. Tara's eyes never left you, not for a single second, even as she reached for the document. She was gripping it too tightly, her fingers pressing into the paper like she was trying to keep them steady. She looked like she was trying not to cry.

She glanced down at your signature, lips parting like she wanted to say something else—something more. But instead, all she said was, "Thank you for your cooperation."

The words sounded hollow.

Your stomach twisted at how easily she said it.

A humorless laugh slipped past your lips, sharp with sarcasm as you leaned back in your chair, tilting your head slightly. "You're really good at this, huh?" you mused, voice laced with venom. "I'm guessing I'm not the first person to sit in this chair while you use words like compliance and company policy to make it sound like you actually know what you're doing."

Tara's expression faltered.

You could tell she knew you were lying, could tell she knew just as well as you did that she sucked at this.

But she didn't acknowledge it.

She straightened her posture, smoothing her hands over her desk before speaking again, voice carefully composed. "You'll be expected to vacate your position by the end of the day," she said, slipping right back into that stiff professionalism. "You'll have until tomorrow morning to collect any remaining personal belongings from your office space before your company access is revoked."

Her words meant to sound formal, meant to sound like she had control. But the slight shake in her voice, the way she hesitated before certain words, made it painfully obvious that she didn't.

You just stared at her.

And Tara swore she saw your eyes darken.

Then, suddenly, you stood, the legs of your chair scraping loudly against the floor as it nearly tipped over behind you.

Tara flinched slightly at the sudden movement, her fingers curling against her desk.

You met her gaze one last time, your expression unreadable.

And then, with a voice cold as steel, you spat, "Fuck you, Tara."

The words felt heavier than anything else you could have said.

And then you turned and walked out, leaving her sitting there, hands still gripping the desk, face still stuck in that tense, guilty expression—watching you go.

Tara didn't call after you.

She didn't try to stop you.

She just sat there, frozen in place, watching as you disappeared through the doorway like you had never been there to begin with.

The silence in the office was suffocating.

She let out a slow, shaky breath, fingers twitching as she reached for the document you had just signed. Your name stared back at her, bold and unforgiving, ink still fresh against the stark white paper. Her grip tightened around it, knuckles paling, and for a moment, she just stared.

You hadn't even looked at her before walking out. Hadn't hesitated. Hadn't faltered.

It was done.

And yet, as the echo of your footsteps faded down the hallway, leaving her completely, utterly alone—Tara had never felt less in control.

#jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #mabel x reader #vada cavell x reader #wednesday addams x reader #melissa barrera x reader #sam carpenter #ask #sam carpenter x reader

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