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ahhhwomen · 8 months ago

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Nothing really matters.

Vampire Empire

Part 3

Pairing: DarkVamp!Wanda Maximoff x DarkVamp!Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

A/N: Well this was depressing to write... Anyways, enjoy!

Disclaimer: English is not my first language. All mistakes are my own.

AU Warnings: Human pets, abuse, violence, possessiveness, probably incorrect vampire lore, angst, panic attacks, hurt/comfort, kitten play (?), also this is not a Carol positive fic (I have nothing against her, but I needed a villain), death Minors DNI 18+

Summary: You feel numb, what does it matter anymore?

Word Count: 2.1k

Taglist: @thinking1bee

The next time either of them sees you is in one of Natasha’s business meetings a few weeks later.

Back in Carol’s possession, you kneel in the corner of the conference room while Carol raises her voice at anyone with a slight attitude toward her idiotic ideas.

After half an hour, the constant bickering between the blond woman and Natasha’s respective staff members had become background noise.

There is a crinkling of paper as Natasha scuffles her documents around for a moment while deep in thought. The paper is smooth and high quality, her golden rings glide against the white surface, and she traces black lines of information she can recite in her sleep.

To Natasha’s surprise, you had seemed indifferent to her presence, you didn’t even glance at her once during the introduction to today’s meeting.

Following the same line back and forth, the ink smudges and blurs after the seventh round of Natasha's thumb gliding gently on top of the unimportant details.

She had to give credit where credit was due. You were poised and unbothered.

She could not say the same for herself, however.

Ever since she could smell you getting in the elevator with blondie, she kept glancing toward the door, waiting for your arrival. And now, she continuously spares a glance in your direction when she thinks someone talks too loudly or expresses themselves with broad gestures.

It doesn't take long for her to understand you a little better.

Carol changes you.

Your eyes are cast downward, and you hold your head low in a display of obedience. You are sitting on your heels with your hands just out in front of your knees. Your back is strung tight to form a perfect line and the muzzle is only for show. But whereas your posture and attitude would be considered perfection, your eyes are empty.

Natasha’s chair creaks and groans as she rocks back and forth, the leather cushion softens the knockback as her leg bounces against the flooring, unfitting of her usual characteristics, she can’t seem to keep her calm and collected demeanor.

Small tears and wrinkles form, as Natasha tightens her hands against some case report she wrote half-heartedly before bed the previous night. She inhales sharply, her nostrils flaring.

You are still covered in bruises.

They are healing, and so are the once red and angry lines, they are now pinker and more muted. But it’s clear some of them were fresher, it had been close to a month since she had seen you last, yet the color of some were as fresh as a daisy.

Specifically, your face seemed to have been put through the gutter.

Though it was clear that whatever transpired that day hadn’t been repeated, she could still sense in you that Carol wasn’t very light-handed.

She tells herself it is because she pities you for having to go through the blonde’s rage, but there is also something about the two small puncture wounds on your neck that aggravates her.

Her fingers drum against the table in annoyance while she thinks it over, her nails clicking against the resin top of her newly polished conference table.

Pinching the skin between her eyebrows she sighs loudly. Enough so, that the man currently presenting stutters and has to loosen his tie before continuing with a slight tremor to his hands.

She can’t figure it out.

She huffs and readjusts her posture to show she is listening.

Never mind, the little mystery you are, she has business to attend to. With one last glance, she emerges herself back in the matter at hand and makes sure to fix Carol with a hard glare whenever something becomes too heated.

You are sitting on an old wooden bench in the garden.

The flowers bloom around you and rustle in the fresh, spring, wind. If you close your eyes, you can almost smell the rosebush across the tiny plot of land. The birds sing in a tune you are not familiar with, but it’s nice. Lilies hug your legs, all colorful and fresh, there are tiny little droplets atop their pedals, it must have rained before you got out here.

That would explain the chill that settles deep in your spine.

There are dogs around, you hear them bark and growl at each other on the other side of the fence, but you don’t mind.

Because you are in the garden. With a fence between you and them.

Until one of them jumps the fence.

You have been staring at the ground with a slight tremor lacing your every move for the better part of an hour. She seems like a calm dog, but she’s big, bigger than you, and there is this presence to her that you don’t know what to do with.

She smells like the flowers around you, maybe that’s why you don’t flee. No matter how much you want to, you are frozen in your seat as the big hound stares at you.

She licks her snout and blinks slowly while you sit there. It feels like she is mocking you, almost as if daring you to move.

The wind picks up every now and then, the howling of the other dogs growing louder and more concerning, but the big dog doesn’t bat an eye. She growls deeply, but you can tell it isn’t directed at you, and then the other dog’s calm.

Maybe she is a nice dog, but it doesn’t matter.

A dog is a dog.

The fence opens with a piercing screech. Even as you close your eyes in hope, the big dog does nothing. She doesn’t run away, but she doesn’t help either.

She just watches as Master drags you away. You don’t know why you thought she would do anything else.

Master is right.

Master is always right.

No one will help.

You don’t deserve it.

When the meeting commends, Carol drags you out of the room quickly, she has other matters to settle tonight, and she can’t be bothered to stay here too long.

Your knuckles rasp against the expensive flooring of Mrs. Romanoff´s office. The tasteful tree-work makes your bones ache, and your tag jingles repeatedly as bone connects with fifty thousand dollars worth of Brazilian rosewood. The blond woman tugs at your leash impatiently.

“Carol. Wait a moment.”

Please don’t.

Master halted her movements just before she passed through the elevator´s door, effectively also halting yours.

“There is some paperwork James wants you to finish up before you leave.”

Natasha waves her hand around with a roll of her eyes, showcasing false annoyance she knows the blond will eat right up, “Something about an unsettled bank record?” The redhead squints in the blonde’s direction, displeasure hidden not so greatly on the CEO’s face.

Natasha has to work extremely hard to not showcase how disgusting she finds the woman in front of her to be.

The woman beside you tenses up. She bunches her eyebrows and sighs before nodding slowly and releasing the tight clutch on your leash.

A pointed finger comes into view as Carol shifts her body towards you and tilts her head downward to face you. “Stay here.” Her voice leaves no room for arguing, it’s a clear command, you know she only does it to showcase her power over you. You couldn’t talk back even if you wanted to, the clinic made sure of that long before you even knew Masters hard angles.

Nonetheless, you bow your head and place your rump back onto the cruel flooring, somehow it feels even stiffer than the concrete inside your familiar slammer.

There is a long and rather awkward silence before Miss Romanoff clears her throat and breaks the stillness.

“Are you in pain?” Natasha gestures towards her own face as if you need a hint to understand what she means.

Just a few months ago, Romanoff acknowledging you in the slightest would send you through a rollercoaster of fear and wonder. Now you merely play dumb and tilt your head in confusion.

Of course, it hurts.

That was the point, wasn’t it?

“You smell different.” Carol scrutinizes you from afar.

If it weren’t for the years of experience you have with this sort of thing you would give yourself away immediately by tensing up and begging for her mercy, instead, you remain impassive.

The blond woman studies you carefully, waiting for any telltale that you heard her.

It’s easier than you thought.

Maybe it’s from the emotional drainage these days have been, but you barely feel anything as Carol looks you over. No matter how much she has hurt you, her eyes hold nothing compared to the power that the Maximoff clan’s leader has in hers.

You can hear the familiar crunch of rough concrete beneath a heavy army boot.

Master moves closer, but still, you feel nothing.

It’s been three days since that day. The first night you sobbed your sorrows, your pain, your fear, everything that has been building up and suppressed throughout the years all expressed in a puddle of tears and blood.

You don’t know what the women wanted, but something about them had made ancient wounds reopen, and the floodgates that followed were inevitable.

You don’t even remember falling asleep, you find it more likely that you passed out from dehydration or exhaustion.

The other days had passed in a blur.

It’s like you have been stuck in a trance where nothing really matters anymore.

Then the smashing of keys came back, and still, you were inconsolable. You didn’t even acknowledge her when she ran her hands over your bare body. Didn’t blink as her hands took a threatening hold of your collar.

She was testing this new side of yours; you could tell it angered her that she didn’t affect you.

You ruined her little power trip of the day.

She grips the back of your neck and forces you to face her. “Look at me when I am talking to you!” Spit sprays on your face as she talks through gritted teeth.

You don’t care, you just stare at her through hooded eyes, looking but not seeing.

Her hand connected hard with your face; you could feel the vibration inside your skull. And yet, all you could think about were them.

The feeling of concrete pouring through your veins wasn’t so scary anymore.

*slap*

You wonder what would happen if she went all the way…

*slap*

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if they killed you.

*slap*

“LOOK AT ME!” Carol screams into your ear, but it is fuzzy and unintelligible to you.

*slap*

“CAN’T YOU TELL I AM TALKING TO YOU, YOU STUPID BITCH!?”

*slap*

“Look at me?” Her hand strokes your chin lightly, but you know her…

*slap*

Your head bounces against the pavement.

*slap*

Your vision becomes blurry and unfocused.

She hit you a total of twenty-four more times, before finally relenting and stomping away.

From that day forward you decided to play into it, pretend like what took place with the powerful women never happened to begin with. You were sure it would anger them.

If this is what Carol does when you ruin her little high.

Maybe, they will return and finish what they started if you ruin theirs.

Natasha scratches the nape of her neck as you sit there staring into nothingness. Your brows are slightly raised, and your eyes are wide, to Natasha, it seems like you are in a completely different world.

She leans against the wall, her shoulder squishing against the glass panel, and she crosses one leg over the other. Relying solely on her right leg to hold her up, she looks down at her dress shoes.

Her question was stupid, she knew as much, but what else was she supposed to say?

She wanted to talk to you.

Nat knows she should just leave you be and return back to her office, but when you were being led out of the room earlier your eyes had connected with her, it was a mere millisecond. But in that moment Natasha had felt a chill run down her spine.

Something was definitely wrong.

However, she didn’t expect you to completely shut down after just one simple question.

You are unresponsive to any stimuli while you sit in the hallway with Natasha’s presence close by. The older redhead tries to tap her foot or grunt obnoxiously, just to get a response, but nothing.

It’s not until you can hear Carol’s heavy footsteps that you quicken up and bow your head down.

Carol nods in Natasha’s direction before she passes her and collects you. Her gruff hands slide up and down the expanses of your leash until she finds the position that will yield her the most amount of control over your movements.

If the circumstances were different, Natasha would kill Carol on the spot.

Yet, as Carol takes ahold of your leash and steers you both into the elevator, Natasha lets you go.

Convincing herself it’s for the better. Again.

#wanda maximoff x reader #dark!wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff x reader #wandanat x reader #dark!natasha romanoff #vampire!natasha romanoff #vampire!wanda maximoff #dark!wandanat

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imaginespazzi · 4 months ago

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Part 4: Warning Bells

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11

I don't think I can do this again (do you remember it too?)

(In which a self-admittedly all over the place writer takes you on a bit of a rollercoaster)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Fluff, Angst, Pining (the usuals)

Words: 6.1K

TW: Swearing, Mentions of Divorce

A/N: Hi lovelies :) Guess who made a deadline again? I'm as shocked as y'all are but I do wanna just warn y'all that August is gonna be really busy for me so as much as I'm gonna try to stick to schedule, there's a pretty good chance I won't. I really appreciate y'alls feedback with live-reacts/long reviews and it's truly the motivating factor behind my writing so pretty please keep sending them. I did edit (as usual) but please let me know the most likely existent typos anyway. As always, let me know what you liked, disliked and what you wanna see next. Have a lovely rest of your week my loves <3

March 2033

Here’s what Azzi has learned about motherhood: having kids means that there will come many times in your life, when you will look around you and wonder how the hell did I get here. It’s that thought that’s currently plaguing her as she finishes hanging up the WELCOME HOME banner on the living room wall in her ex-girlfriend’s new apartment. And when she’s talking about kids, she’s not talking about her five year old who’s currently sticking purple hearts on every surface she can find. No, she’s talking about her 6’5 teammate who she’d once “adopted” as a joke in college, but who’s basically become her surrogate child ever since they’d ended up on the same WNBA team.

It had started as a casual conversation when Jana, as she often did, had shown up for an impromptu lunch. The topic of Paige was hard to avoid considering it was Stephie’s favorite subject, heightened by the fact that Paige was coming back soon and Stephie was far too excited to finally have her Miss Buecks back. Jana was more than happy to indulge the little girl in conversation about what Paige had been like at UConn. And if Azzi had lost herself in those memories for a moment, transported back in time to a world that had once been blooming with promise before wilting in a darkness she’d created herself, well, she’d done an excellent job not letting it show on her face.

The real issue had started when Jana had casually let slip her idea of surprising Paige with a little welcome party. And as Stephie had started reciting all the different things they could do -because of course me and Mama will help you Aunty J, Azzi had glared at Jana, only to receive an innocent smile in return that told her everything she needed to know. She’d been set up.

That’s how, instead of spending her Saturday curled up on her comfortable couch with a book in her hands, Azzi is here instead and in true fashion, she’s the only one actually getting anything done. Jana, who had just left about twenty minutes ago to pick Paige up, had invited some of the other girls on the team to come help out yet, something about more hands on deck. Those supposed helpful hands had spent the last hour blowing up and popping balloons and getting nothing else done.

“I can’t believe y’all have me decorating for the woman who cost me my first national championship,” Joyce laments, “I still have nightmares from that game.”

“You gotta let that hurt go Aunty Joy,” Stephie says impishly, mimicking what Jana would normally say whenever the infamous 2025 South Carolina vs UConn national championship got brought up.

“Don’t sass me Miss Stephanie,” Joyce sticks out her tongue at the little girl, throwing a purple balloon at Stephie’s head, “hasn’t your Mama taught you that we don’t mock people’s pain.”

“Ignore her Steph,” Tessa says, bumping her former Gamecock teammate as she shares a devilish grin with Azzi’s daughter, “she’s just upset she only won one. Some of us have two.”

Joyce guffaws, throwing another balloon, this time aimed at Tessa, “dude we’re supposed to be on the same team. What would Coach Staley say to you teaming with UConn people of all things to bully me?”

“She’d thank me for making sure you didn’t get a big head,” Tessa snipes back.

Whatever response Joyce has to that quip is cut short by the doorbell ringing and Azzi feels her heartbeat quicken as Stephie lets out a squeal, dropping everything to go answer it. Things had been different since the facetime call almost two weeks ago. They’d accidentally on purpose settled into a routine where Stephie would call Paige at exactly 7 p.m. and Paige would answer on the first ring, promising to stay on the phone till the little girl fell asleep. And it would’ve been fine if that’s all it was. But then Paige started staying on the phone till after Stephie fell asleep and suddenly it was like they were back to their teenage selves, talking about everything and nothing, trying to learn every page of each other’s story all over again.

Azzi had missed so much about Paige in the last couple of years but there was nothing she’d missed more than just talking to her best friend. She’d missed the way Paige would tell a story, going off on a million tangents in between. She’d missed the way her eyes would light up when she got to a particularly exciting part of the story, specks of gold shimmering in the blue like sunlight hitting the ocean. She’d missed the way Paige’s hands would be flying animatedly all over the place, even when she was whispering. She’d missed the way the blonde would pause halfway through to observe if Azzi was still listening, making sure all of the attention was still on her. And she’d missed the way that when it was Azzi’s turn to speak, Paige would hang onto every word like it was gospel, intently listening like she’d never forgive herself if she couldn’t recite everything Azzi had just said from memory. She’d missed the way Paige would let her emotions freely flicker across her face, because whatever happened to Azzi, Paige felt it too.

She’d missed and missed, convinced the pain would be the end of her, until she’d tricked her mind into forgetting. And now Azzi’s beginning to realize that remembering it all again, might just be the thing that kills her.

“Nevermind,” Stephie walks back to the room, sulking slightly, “it’s just Aunty Liyah.”

“Oh thanks Stephie babe. That makes me feel so wonderful,” Aaliyah says, walking in behind Stephie with an offended expression on her face, “and here I thought bringing cupcakes would make me popular.”

“Tell me those are store-bought Chavez. I ain’t trusting them if you made them yourselves,” Joyce says, side-eyeing the cupcakes.

“Trust me I would never waste my precious time baking for y’all ungrateful ass-”

“Aaliyah,” Azzi shoots her younger teammate a sharp look.

“-ungrateful people,” Aaliyah corrects sheepishly, “cupcakes because y’all clearly don’t appreciate me.”

“I pre-ciate you Aunty Liyah,” Stephie says innocently, trying to get a better look at the aforementioned cupcakes, “you got the pu-ple ones right? They have to be pu-ple for Miss Buecks.”

Aaliyah bends down to Stephie’s level to show her the box of sweet treats “the perfect purple cupcakes for your Miss Buecks. How come you never wanna do nice things like this for us Stephie?”

“Because Miss Buecks is special,” Stephie retorts matter-of-factly.

“Oh so we’re not special?” Tessa asks, raising an eyebrow at Stephie.

“‘Course you are but Miss Buecks is special-er.”

And while her teammates all pretend to dramatically gasp at that, shaking their heads at Stephie, Azzi feels like someone’s squeezing her heart, twisting and twisting but never fully breaking it. She wonders if that might hurt less.

It’s another 10 minutes later when the doorbell rings again and Azzi watches her daughter’s face break into an incandescent grin, filled with hope, as she rushes to open the door because it has to be Paige this time. Azzi follows after her, trying to keep her breathing under control as anticipation clings to her nerves. Azzi’s gotten so spectacularly good at lying to herself that she tells herself this next one with ease: there’s not a single part of her that’s eager to see Paige again.

“SURPRISE,” Stephie screams, flinging the front door open with as much strength as she can muster. She doesn’t give Paige a chance to react before she’s throwing herself against the blonde’s legs, hugging her thighs.

It takes a second for Paige to register what’s happening, but when she does, it’s Azzi she’s looking at. Everything seems to move in slow motion as they stare at each other, the reality of the moment suddenly settling in. Paige is here. In Oakland. They’re going to be teammates; they’re going to see each other almost every day. Just like they used to. Except nothing is like it used to be and as that bitter truth comes up like bile in Azzi’s throat, she has to force herself to look away.

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie calls out, tugging at the hem of Paige’s white shirt to get her attention, “do you like my surprise?”

Paige tears her eyes away from Azzi, leaning down to pick Stephie up before peppering her faces with kisses and making the younger girl squeal in delight, “best surprise ever.”

And Azzi really, really, can’t watch this. Not when it makes her want to walk over and cocoon herself in with the two of them, makes her want to pretend that she’s living in another life, one where she hadn’t thrown away the chance of a happily ever after with the girl she’d fallen in love with at fourteen,

“Oh yeah Stephie, your surprise. Take all the credit. Not like the rest of us did anything,” Joyce rolls her eyes goodnaturedly, before pulling Paige into a one-armed hug, “welcome to the Bay Area Bueckers.”

Tessa and Aaliyah are next, both sharing warm hugs with their new teammate. Once they’ve had their turn, all eyes seem to turn to Azzi expectantly and the brunette blanches under their gaze. Other than Jana, who suddenly seems pretty heavily interested in the doorframe, the rest of her teammates don’t know about her past with Paige. So it’s only natural they’d expect her to greet Paige with all the cordiality of an old friend.

“Y’all good?” Joyce asks slowly, looking between the two of them, “do you want me to introduce y’all or?”

“Shut up,” Azzi murmurs before drawing in a deep breath and stepping towards Paige. She tries not to fixate on the way Paige’s jaw flexes when the blonde swallows, tries not to think about all the patterns she’d once carved against that little patch of skin because she knew it drove Paige insane. The thing is Azzi can’t even really remember the last time they hugged beyond a for-the-cameras one at a game. But as she wraps her arms around Paige, the older woman’s breath tickling against her ear as she grips Azzi’s waist, it doesn’t feel that much different from how it used to be. Paige’s arms are still safe and strong and Azzi still wants to melt into them. But what’s different is that Stephie’s in between them now, tiny hands securely fastened around both of their necks. And Azzi almost, almost gives into the feeling of belonging as she whispers two simple words that mean just a little too much.

“Welcome home.”

***

Seven pairs of eyes watch as the movers move box after box after box into Paige’s apartment, until there’s more cardboard than floor visible. The three non-UConn girlies are wide-eyed as they watch the pile grow endlessly. Meanwhile Jana is laughing while Azzi tries to hide a smile behind her hands as the realization that she’d have to unpack all of her stuff hits Paige in waves, and her expression grows more and more somber. Once the movers are finally done, it’s Stephie, whose hand is still firmly clasped in Paige’s, who breaks the silence.

“You have a lot of things Miss Buecks,” the little girl crinkles her nose, as she points out the obvious, “do you really need all of this stuff.”

“Of course I do Stephie,” Paige says indignantly and Azzi scoffs, earning her a withering glare from the blond.

“Aight well it was nice to meet you-” Joyce starts, slowly backing away from the mess until Jana blocks her way.

“Oh no you don’t. I told y’all we were all gonna help her move in. Call it team bonding,” the Egyptian says, her voice vaguely threatening.

“Most of the team isn’t even here,” Aaliyah points out cautiously.

“That’s not the point,” Jana rebukes, “alright team listen up. Here’s how this is going to go-”

“Maybe Paige should take charge. It is her apartment,” Tessa says slowly.

“If we put Paige in charge she’ll tell us all to go home and procrastinate doing anything until after the season,” Azzi says, a knowing smirk playing on her lips.

Paige pouts, “hey! I’m not that bad.”

“Oh you absolutely are.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“O-kay,” Jana claps, breaking apart the bickering, “it’s good to see the two of you are apparently younger than Stephie,” she holds up a hands a both Paige and Azzi start to splutter in their defense, “now as I was saying before being rudely interrupted. We’re gonna split this up. Joyce and I are gonna do the living room. Aaliyah and Tessa, y’all are gonna fix the guest room. Which leaves,” Jana smiles, and it’s only because Azzi knows her so well that she can read the menacing sparkle behind it, “Paige and Azzi to tackle the master bedroom.”

They both open their mouths to protest but are quick to get cut off by an excited Stephie, “I’mma help Mama and Miss Buecks!”

“Of course you are, why would you ever help anybody else? Clearly you don’t love us anymore. Not since your precious Miss Buecks got here,” Joyce says dramatically and while Paige smirks and the rest of the girls pretend to act mock offended, Azzi uses the distraction to sidle up to Jana.

“What the fuck are you playing at El-Alfy,” she hisses under hear breath.

Jana shrugs innocently, “the master bedroom is the hardest because Paige has so many fucking clothes so I’m letting y’all old heads do it. Some of us are below 30 ya know.”

“Cut the bullshit,” Azzi snaps.

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about Fudd,” Jana says airily as she starts to unpack a box, leaving Azzi muttering curses under her breath.

“Hey-”

Azzi spins around at the soft voice, only to find herself crashing against a solid body. It’s instinct, the way Paige’s hands immediately reach out to steady her and it’s instinct, the way Azzi’s hands grab at the lapels of the blond’s shirt. Goosebumps trails up her skin as Paige's breath, hot and heavy, fans across her face. They’re too close; way too close and yet the idea of stepping away feels like a sin. Azzi gulps as her thumb accidentally brushes Paige’s collarbone and the other woman shivers under her touch. She thinks she could probably get drunk off the feeling of knowing that she can still affect Paige like that.

“You uh-” Paige swallows, fingers squeezing involuntarily against Azzi’s hip, “you don’t have to listen to Jana. I can- I can figure it out myself.”

“N-no,” Azzi stutters and she wonders if Paige feels a high from the way she still affects Azzi too, “there’s um- you have- uh- you have a lot of stuff. I can-,” she sucks in a deep breath, “I’ll help.”

“You sure?” there’s a vulnerable edge to Paige’s tone and any resolve Azzi could ever have melts immediately.

“I want to help,” she says softly, letting a small smile slip onto her lips.

The smile she gets in return is bright and sparkling, just like Paige herself and Azzi’s heart lurches, pleased to be the one receiving it, pleased to be the one who’d elicited it, “Good, cause I really wanted your help.”

Azzi shakes her head, trying to ignore the warning bells blazing in her head at the fact that they’re still holding each other, “why’d you pretend you didn’t?”

“I just wanted to hear you say it first,” Paige says, biting at her bottom lip. It leaves a light mark and Azzi finds herself wanting to soothe it over with her own tongue.

She thinks it might have been easier if it was just a little harder to fall back into Paige. It shouldn’t be so simple to fall back into late night conversations, so simple to fall back into easy teasing, so simple to fall back into feeling at peace in Paige’s arms. But it is.

“Mama, Miss Buecks,” it’s Stephie who breaks their bubble but instead of jumping away from each other like they should, they step apart only enough to let the little girl into the space between them, so she can lace her hands through both of theirs, “are you ready?”

“Before you go Paige,” Tessa calls out, holding up a clear bag of corner guards and edge protectors, “what are we doing with these?”

Paige shuffles her feet nervously, “you um- you put them on the edge of like tables and stuff.”

“Bro but they’re for people who have children?” Joyce says, giving Paige a weird look, “you have a kid we don’t know about?”

Paige’s eyes flicker to Stephie for a brief second and Azzi freezes, a warm realization tickling up her spine. Butterflies erupt in her stomach, their wings fluttering to the beat of what’s mine could have been ours.

“Of course not. I’m just super clumsy so precautions and all that,” the blond explains, shooting Jana a glare when the taller woman barely masks a giggle, “quit procrastinating by asking all these questions and get to work.”

“Has anyone ever told you the importance of first impressions? Because I’m telling you Bueckers, using your teammates as unpaid labor the first time you meet them is not it,” Aaliyah gives Paige a pointed look.

“This wasn’t even my idea in the first place,” Paige defends.

“True,” Tessa nods with a sickly sweet smile, “but you’re gonna pay for the pizza anyways.”

“I’m not pay-”

“PIZZA,” Stephie squeals, “Miss Buecks you’re gonna get us Pizza?”

“Yeah Miss Buecks,” Azzi smickers, crossing her arms as Paige’s stubborn retort dies on her lips, “you gonna get us pizza?”

Paige glares at her before she’s swinging Stephie up onto her lap again. And she really needs to stop doing things like that because it’s not remotely good for Azzi’s mental health to watch the way Stephie seems to fit perfectly in Paige’s arms, “of course I am Steph, what do you want?”

The two of them are lost in their own world discussing pizza toppings as Paige starts walking over to the master bedroom, until suddenly they're both turning around, looking at Azzi with identical expressions. And the brunette feels her heart tap out this could be my everything against her ribcage.

“You coming Azzi?”

“Mama, are you coming?”

I’d go anywhere with the two of you, Azzi thinks as she nods her head, a light skip in her step as she moves to catch up with the two of them.

“Of course I’m coming.”

***

Less than 10 minutes into trying to unpack, Azzi realizes that she’s the only one trying to unpack anything when she looks up from where she’s been folding t-shirts -trying and failing at not breathing in their familiar scent- to find Stephie decked in a colorful cardigan that goes all the way down to her toes, her feet clad in a pair of PB4’s that must be three times the size of her own shoes. A pair of Louis Vuitton sunglasses hide almost her entire face as she strikes pose after pose and Paige diligently takes pictures of her.

“YES Stephie,” the blond indulges, “work it girl. There you go babe, hold that pose for me. You’re a natural in front of the camera.”

Stephie giggles and Azzi feels her heart constrict. Her favorite sound in the whole world has never sounded more like a signal for danger.

“Ahem ahem,” she coughs, narrowing her eyes at the two people in front of her, “doesn’t look like y’all are unpacking to me.”

“Mama Miss Buecks has so many pretty clothes,” Stephie gushes, completely ignoring what her mother just said.

“They’d look even prettier folded in her closet,” Azzi says pointedly.

Stephie pouts, “you don’t think I look pretty?”

“You look really pretty in my clothes Stephie,” Paige cuts in, tapping the little girl on the nose before she turns her gaze towards Azzi, “just like your Mama used to.”

The silk material shirt slips out of Azzi’s hand as Paige’s words drizzle around her, like the rain after a drought. It takes every little bit of strength she can muster to force herself to ignore Paige’s words and pick up another shirt to fold even if she can’t stop the rouge tint that colors her face. There’s this part of her that’s been dormant for years but every little interaction with Paige threatens to awaken it and Azzi’s scared that if she lets that happen, she’ll never be able to put it to sleep again.

“Just- just focus on unpacking,” Azzi mutters darkly.

She spends the next hour or so, keeping her eyes downcast, her complete focus on the task at hand. Because if she looks up, if she lets herself see the way Stephie and Paige are folding clothes together while giggling about something, if she lets herself see the way Stephie climbs onto Paige’s back so the woman can give her a piggyback to the closet to deposit the folded clothes, she thinks she could fall in love with this moment, capture it behind her eyelids and let it live there forever. But this moment doesn’t belong to Azzi. Because Paige doesn’t belong to Azzi. Not anymore.

Azzi’s taken away from her thoughts when she feels a tiny hand wrapping around her neck from behind, Stephie’s warm body pressing against her back and just like that, all the tension in her muscles seem to dissipate.

“What’s up sweetheart,” she asks, turning her head to press her lips against her daughter’s temple.

“Nothing Mama,” Stephie says sweetly, “just wanted to give you a hug.”

“Sure you’re not just trying to get out of helping Miss Buecks unpack?” Azzi asks slyly, pulling Stephie from behind her, so the little girl’s lying on her lap instead. She can feel Paige’s eyes focused on the two of them and even without looking, she thinks she knows what she’d find in them if she did.

“Of course not Mama,” Stephie grins and then squeals as Azzi begins to tickle her.

“I think you are,” Azzi sings-songs as she continues to poke at her daughter’s stomach, reveling in the way it makes the child laugh.

“N-no Mama stop, stop,” Stephie manages to wrench herself out from Azzi’s grip, darting to hide behind Paige’s legs, “Miss Buecks save me.”

“There’s no saving you now Stephie-bear,” Azzi roars dramatically as she picks herself off the floor, smirking at her daughter as she wriggles her fingers menacingly.

“You know what the best way to stop someone from tickling you is Stephie?” Paige says slowly, sending the little girl a conspiratorial wink.

“Don’t you dare-”

“You tickle them back,” Paige yells and Stephie eyes widen with excitement, “did you know your Mama’s extremely ticklish?”

“Paige no,” Azzi starts moving back, hands held in surrender.

“You started it.”

“Yeah Mama, you started it.”

“Paige. Stephie. Ple-” Azzi cuts herself off with squeal as two sets of hands start mercilessly prodding at her ribcage. She can’t get away, not when Paige has her securely wrapped from the back and Stephie’s pressed against her front, both of them laughing maniacally. They’re a mess of limbs that’s becoming harder and harder to tell apart as the three of them topple onto Paige’s bed. And Azzi thinks maybe she doesn’t want to escape it at all. She thinks she’d like to freeze them in this moment instead. Forever.

“Pizza’s here,” someone yells from the living room and it’s Stephie who stops first, immediately jumping off the bed at the mention of food, leaving Paige and Azzi alone. On Paige’s bed. Barely an inch of distance between them as they try to catch their breath. It’s Azzi who sits up first, smoothening the wrinkles on her shirt. And just as she’s about to stand up fully, she feels a hand circling around her wrist.

“It’s gonna be weird being alone tonight,” Paige confesses softly and Azzi feels her breath hitch.

“Didn’t you live alone in Dallas? At least after the divorce?” she tries to keep the bitterness out of her voice at the last word, a bitterness she knows she has absolutely no right to feel.

Paige shrugs, her shoulders brushing against Azzi’s, “I did but I knew Dallas. I don’t know this place.”

“What exactly are you asking me?” Azzi asks even though she knows.

“I’m not asking you anything. I don’t know if I have that right anymore” Paige says softly, letting go of Azzi’s wrist as she starts to walk towards the living room, turning her head back slightly once she gets to the door, “I’m just telling you I don’t wanna be alone tonight.”

***

Damn Paige Bueckers and her vulnerable eyes and her earnest tone because Azzi would, really, really like to be enjoying her slice of pizza right now. Instead everything tastes like ashes as Paige’s unsaid plea rings in her head. There are so many reasons why Azzi absolutely shouldn’t give in, why she should grab Stephie, get into her car, drive home and never look back. This involuntary dance the two of them are starting is far too familiar to what they’d done when they were teenagers and the vivid memories of the day the music stopped and they’re feet stopped moving still haunt Azzi every time she lets herself think of it for a little too long. And she shouldn’t push herself into this fire again, not when there’s Stephie to think about, but there’s a tiny little problem. She thinks she might be addicted to burning in Paige’s flames.

So when the pizza’s done and the house is more or less in order, and her teammates are ready to leave, looking expectantly at Azzi, she finds herself leaping into lava, “um- I think Stephie and I are gonna stay for a little bit longer.”

“We are?” Stephie asks, a huge smile stretching the length of her face as she looks up at her mother.

“Yeah. Um- Paige’s bedroom still um- still needs some work,” Azzi tries to justify her decision, ignoring the heat of the blond’s eyes that seem to be perpetually stuck staring at her.

Joyce raises a perplexed eyebrow, “it looked done to me.”

Paige clears her throat, “there’s definitely uh- a couple more things that need to be handled.”

“It’s almost Stephie’s bedtime. I could stay and help-” Jana begins, eyeing the two of them suspiciously.

“No,” Paige says, a little louder than necessary, “I mean you’ve already done so much for me today Jana,” she manages a smirk, “let Azzi pull her weight a little bit too ya know.”

Janna narrows her eyes but doesn’t push it. It’s oddly domestic, standing side by side with Paige bidding goodbye to their teammates, Stephie in between them happily waving at the people that are leaving. The warning bells get louder and louder; Azzi continues to do nothing to stop them.

“Mama, how long are we staying?” Stephie asks innocently.

“We um-” Azzi chews at her lip, finally giving into the temptation to look at Paige, “we’re gonna stay with Miss Buecks tonight so she doesn’t feel alone.”

The shrill scream that escapes Stephie’s mouth could probably break glass as she turns herself around to grab at Paige’s waist, “Miss Buecks I’m gonna stay with you! We’re gonna have a sleep-over.”

Paige laughs, kneeling down so she’s face to face with the little girl, “yeah we are.”

“Are you scared to sleep alone too Miss Buecks?” Stephie asks cautiously, cupping Paige’s face with tiny hands.

“Just a little bit,” Paige admits, leaning into Stephie’s touch.

“Me too,” Stephie whispers shyly, “that’s why I sneak into Mama's bed and she gives me lots and lots and lots of cuddles. Mama’s cuddles are the best,” she turns to Azzi, “Mama will you give Miss Buecks cuddles tonight too?”

“I uh-” Azzi swallows, taken aback by the question, “I thought you didn’t like sharing Mama’s cuddles?”

“I don’t,” Stephie agrees, “but I’d be okay sharing them with Miss Buecks.”

***

Azzi had planned -a loose term because really she hadn’t planned on any of this- for her and Stephie to take the guest room. Paige had been ready to give up her own room on the grounds of politeness. And Stephie was insistent that she needed to sleep in between both Mama and Miss Buecks tonight because it’s a sleepover we all have to stay together. Obviously out of the three of them, only one of them was going their way and it didn’t take a genius to figure out who that would be. That’s how they’d ended up here, dragging chairs and pillows and blankets into the middle of the living room to create a makeshift fort.

Azzi’s putting on the finishing touches, stringing purple fairy lights Paige had produced out of nowhere, when Stephie emerges from Paige’s bedroom where she’d gone looking for something to wear in lieu of pajamas.

“Mama look what I found,” Stephie beams, proudly pointing at the black t-shirt she’s found that covers her whole body, “it’s you and Miss Buecks when you were littler.”

It’s their SLAM cover t-shirt and Azzi feels tears prickling at her waterline as she’s met with the picture of a younger version of the two of them. Back when they’d been so hopeful and carefree, ready to take on the world as long as they could do it together. Back when they’d been 2 in a million.

“I can’t believe you still have this,” Azzi whispers, unable to stop herself from running her fingers across the version of who they used to be. She wonders what those girls would think of them now; those girls who’d laid and bed and pinky promised forever. She thinks they’d probably be appalled at the fact that Paige and Azzi had spent eight years barely speaking. She thinks maybe they’d hate her for what she’d done. She thinks maybe she hates herself a little bit for what she’s done to them.

Paige is leaning against the wall, her voice quiet when she speaks, “I couldn’t let it go.”

And they both know she’s not talking about the shirt.

“Can we watch a movie?” Stephie asks, diving into the fort and peering up at the two adults.

Paige recovers first, “yeah- yeah of course Steph,” she looks at Azzi, “do you- do you want something else to sleep in?”

“I’m good,” Azzi says, trying to inconspicuously brush away a rebellious tear. The shirt she’s wearing feels itchy against her skin but she doesn’t think she could handle wearing something of Paige’s. She scooches into the fort, leaning back against one of the pillows and Stephie’s quick to curl into her and Azzi absentmindedly rubs her hands down her daughter’s back. Paige switches on the TV, letting Stephie dictate a movie choice before letting herself into the fort, laying down on Stephie’s other side.

“Miss Buecks come cuddle,” Stephie demands from where her head is laying on Azzi’s chest. When Paige hesitates, the younger girl takes it upon herself to pull Paige’s arms over her, making the older woman lie on her side so she can drape her hands over Stephie's stomach, accidentally brushing against Azzi’s ribcage. Stephie lets out a satisfied sigh, lying back down against Azzi, crossing her arms so she can hold Paige’s hand with one and latch onto her mother with the other.

“Perfect.”

And it is. The sound of Stephie’s chatter slowly fading away mixed with Paige’s quiet breathing is the perfect lullaby and Azzi finds herself drifting off into the best sleep she’s had in years.

***

Sunlight peeks in through the window and Azzi groans at the interruption. Her whole body feels a little stiff, not used to sleeping on the floor like this. A quick glance at her phone tells her it’s 7 a.m. and Azzi’s just about to let herself fall back asleep when her eyes land on the two sleeping figures next to her. Stephie’s face is buried in Paige’s neck, one arm slung over her waist. Paige, mouth slightly ajar as she sleeps, has both hands fastened on the younger, holding her tightly against her chest like she’d fight the world if someone tried to steal her from her grip. They look happy, content, at peace. And Azzi can’t breathe.

The warning bells in her head create a cacophonous commotion that she can no longer escape. It hits her like whiplash that she can’t do this. She doesn’t know what had gotten into her last night, why she’d agreed to this, to any of this. But she can’t do this.

“Stephie,” Azzi whispers urgently, trying to pull her daughter out of Paige’s grasp, “Stephie wake up.”

“Az?” Paige asks groggily, stirring in her sleep, “what’s going on?”

“We need to go home,” Azzi says and she can’t bear to look at Paige.

“What?” Paige is far more awake now as she glances at her phone, “it’s 7 am Azzi. What’s the rush?"

Azzi ignores her, still trying to wake Stephie up who groans, “Mama too early.”

“Steph-”

“Azzi,” Paige’s voice is firm as she wraps her hand around Azzi’s wrist, slipping Stephie off of her, “what is going on.”

Azzi grits her teeth, “nothing’s going on. We just need to go home.”

“Azzi-”

“We shouldn’t have stayed last night Paige,” Azzi bursts out and Paige freezes.

“Come out of the fort Azzi,” the blond says, her voice eerily calm as she stands up. Azzi follows after her, heart beating rapidly against her chest as she tries to keep the tears at bay.

“We need to go home,” the brunette repeats, struggling to breathe, “this was a mistake,” Paige flinches and Azzi feels a knife turn in her own hurt, “we can’t do this.”

“Do what Azzi?” Paige asks exasperatedly, still trying to keep her voice low for Stephie’s sake.

“This,” Azzi all but shrieks, throwing her hands up, “it’s too much, too quick and Stephie- Stephie’s getting attached and I can’t- I can’t let that happen.”

“Why not?” Paige argues stubbornly.

“Because these last two weeks she couldn’t fall asleep without you on the phone. Because you’re all she talks about sometimes. Because she’s gonna want you forever,” Azzi’s voice breaks, “and she can’t have you forever.”

“Az-”

“And you’re getting attached too. I see the way you look at her and it’s amazing but it’s not- it’s not sustainable Paige. For either of you. Because you’re gonna find someone soon,” the words taste sour on Azzi’s tongue, “and you’re not gonna have time for her and missing you is going to kill her and the guilt of that is going to hurt you. I’m trying to pro-”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Paige’s voice is hard now, eyes gleaming with fire, “you’re basing all of this on a hypothetical that might not even come true. You’re not protecting anybody. You’re projecting.”

Azzi reels back, “I am not projecting.”

“Yes you are,” Paige hisses, “you’re not scared of Stephie or me getting too attached. You’re scared of yourself getting too attached.”

“Mama? Miss Buecks,” Stephie’s tired eyes look warily between the two of them, “what’s going on?”

Azzi plasters a smile on her face as she picks up her little girl, trying to pretend that the truth in Paige’s words haven’t just made her feel hollow, “we’re going home Stephie.”

“I don’t wanna go home,” Stephie fights against Azzi’s grip, looking helplessly at Paige, “Miss Buecks I wanna stay. Can I please stay?”

“You have to listen to your Mama sweetheart” Paige says softly, heartbreak written over her face as she moves to press a kiss against Stephie’s knuckles, “but I’ll see you soon okay. I promise.”

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie whimpers and Azzi has never hated herself more as she rushes out of Paige’s new house, willing herself to not look back. She buckles Stephie in the back, pretending she doesn’t see the way Paige is watching them leave from the porch, like she’d do anything to stop it. And then she drives away.

It isn’t until she’s safely in the confines over her own room, that Azzi finally lets the tears fall. And she consoles herself with the fact that it’s okay to crack her daughter's heart, to crack Paige’s heart, to crack her own heart, if that’s the only way she can stop their hearts from breaking altogether.

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #wcbb

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kkami-writes · 7 months ago

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waiting for us — chapter fifty one. the wedding cw. smut!, semi-public sex (bathroom), piv, protected sex (shout out to condoms) wc. 1,965 + 4 ss a/n: THIS IS UNEDITED. I FINALLY FUCKING FINISHED THIS MY GOD. I'm so sorry this took forever...that's my bad <3 hopefully the motivation keeps rolling and i'll finally finish this fic.

The ceremony had been perfect, something right out of the pages of a fairy tale. The venue had been small since they had kept it to close family and friends but it still had been breathtaking. Minghao had made you his best “man” and there was no place you’d rather be than next to your best friend on the most important day of his life. (and if you cried while they were reciting their vows, you’d never tell. Though Minghao had taken plenty of pictures of you ugly crying to store in his blackmail folder.)

It was probably inappropriate to daydream during a wedding, but Jeongin couldn’t help himself. You were standing up there, looking absolutely breathtaking, it was hardly his fault that his mind had wondered what you would look like, dressed in all white at their own wedding.

If he was honest, he never expected to get married. Well, he supposed that’s wrong. While he does in fact plan on getting married eventually to all his soulmates, before you had come into the picture that had agreed that a ceremony between eight people would be a little hectic. He didn’t need some grand ceremony to show his love but for now, he could dream of seeing you in a wedding dress for now.

The reception is just as gorgeous as the actual wedding, with lavish decorations and a crystal chandelier.

Currently you were being dragged from table to table, both Minghao and Jun introducing you to people like you were their child. (though Minghao would argue that him and Jun were indeed your dads).

From across the room you can feel a pair of eyes on you, practically burning a hole into your flesh from his heated gaze. Jeongin was sat at your assigned table, a drink forgotten in front of him while he stared you down. His gaze is enough to set you aflame, cheeks reddened from how intense his eyes felt against you, not so subtly running along your body. The boy was practically eye fucking you from across the room, not a shameful bone in his body. It was quite distracting as you tried to introduce yourself to Jun’s grandmother.

The two of you make eye contact and it’s impossible to look away, his deep chocolate eyes captivating you. Jeongin’s tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, your eyes following the movement and the cheeky fucker smirks, knowing he’s caught you in his web. With a subtle nod towards the bathrooms, he gets up, suddenly paying you no mind before striding in the direction he directed you to. It leaves you a little mystified, blinking and frozen in place. You clear your throat, turning to Jun with a small smile.

“Excuse me Junnie,” You mumble before escaping the male’s grasp, but he lets you go easily enough, too caught up in a different conversation.

As you make your way towards the bathrooms there’s a sense of heat that starts to fill your lower belly, a wave on anticipation for whatever Jeongin has up his sleeve. It fills you with excitement, hands practically shaking as you open the door.

The bathrooms are one of those fancy single ones, lights dim and fancy expensive soap. You don’t have time to admire the decore as Jeongin pins you back against the door, the tell tale click of the door being locked. He doesn’t hesitate to press his lips to yours, practically devouring you. It’s all teeth and tongue, groaning into your mouth desperately. The sound goes straight to your pussy.

Jeongin presses against you, already hard in his slacks, hips rutting up against you.

“Fuck. Do you even know how good you look?” His voice is raspy and deep, sounding already so gone. You can’t help but giggle, rather enjoying the effect you have on the boy.

“Mm, I have no idea,” You singsong. “Maybe you should tell me,” Your words illicit another groan from the boy before he’s picking you up and carrying you over to the counter and setting you down there. Perhaps the way he had lifted you up like it was nothing turned you on further, it would seem your baby bread has been accompaning his hyungs to the gym more often.

Jeongin runs his hands up until they’re splayed across your thighs, easy access thanks to the slit in your dress. His lips are on yours again, this time much softer, taking his time to savor your taste. Meanwhile his hands grope and squish at the soft flesh of your thighs, fingers running up until they hook under the waistband of your panties, pulling them down to your ankles.

You let out a gasp as his long fingers make contact with your wet core and Jeongin takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your awaiting mouth. You’re completely at his mercy, deft fingers circling your clit and his tongue stealing your breath away.

“So wet,” His voice is deep, slightly gruff as he nips at your now swollen tiers. “Eager are we?” The cocky tone makes you want to roll your eyes at him, but they’re rolling to the back of your head anyway as he easily slides a digit into your core, a whine falling from your lips. “Look so good like this for me,”

You can vaguely hear the sound of the music that’s blasting in the venue, the walls of the bathroom muting it but even then, the sound of your slick echoes lewdly in your ear and it heats your body up.

Jeongin is so content like this, watching you fall apart on the counter, soft moans filtering from your lips as he’s lazily thrusts his fingers into you. As much as he would love to take his time with you, his cock is starting to ache, still trapped in the confines of his slacks.

“Can I fuck you baby?” He asks against your ear, pressing soft kisses to your earlobe and trailing them down your neck. You nod your head, probably a little too eagerly but there’s pretty much nothing on your mind besides Jeongin’s cock splitting you in half. But then you remember something important and it makes you whine.

“Innie…you don’t have a condom do you?”

The question makes him freeze and if he wasn’t literally two fingers deep in your cunt you would have laughed at his bewildered facial expression. But then suddenly he’s pulling out of you, a whimper leaving your lips at the loss of his fingers filling you up. Jeongin is frantically patting at his slacks, as if searching for something, leaving you slightly baffled at the sight. Finally he pulls his wallet out and from it, produces a singular condom.

“Seungminnie hyung said I should keep one in my wallet just in case…never really thought anything about it. I’m gonna kiss that man later,” His words make you snort, shaking your head at how silly he is. But if you were honest, you’d probably kiss Seungmin later for the same reason.

The two of you don’t waste anymore time, remembering you are in a public space, at your best friends wedding for goodness sake. In your defense, your brain is no longer working, especially when Jeongin is bending you over the (very nice) counter, moving the skirt of your dress aside and slipping your panties down your legs.

You arch your back just slightly, legs spreading to give the boy a peak at your glistening folds and Jeongin swears he could probably cum in his pants. He’s quick to slide the condom over his almost painful erection, coming close to press his chest to your back, trailing kisses along your shoulder. He ruts his cock against your soaked core before positioning in front of your entrance. With how aroused you are, it’s an easily glide in, just a slight stretch that feels all too good.

Jeongin lets out a borderline pornographic moan when he bottoms out, your wet warm heat squeezing his cock feels heavenly and he already knows he’s not gonna last very long. He shudders against your body as he holds you tightly, large hands splayed across your torso.

“Fuck- You feel so fucking good,” He groans, needing just a second to calm himself down before he blows his load already. You can barely register his words, not faring any better. The sensation of being so full, of having your soulmates cock buried inside your heat is a feeling you don’t think you’ll ever get used to.

The two of you simply relish in the moment for a second and while maybe Jeongin might have jumped the gun on your first time together, he promises that the next time he’ll take his time to savor you. For now he just wants to feel you coming apart on his cock.

He moves his hips rather expertly, rocking into you with strong thrusts and you feel yourself further melting into the cool counter, the drag of Jeongin’s cock against your gummy walls feels too fucking good. Any and all thoughts are leaving your head, the only thing you care about is the heady pleasure that builds steadily in the pit of your stomach.

Jeongin is pressed flush against your back, sucking marks into your skin and whispering sweet dirty words into your ear and you feel yourself getting closer and closer to your peak.

“Such a good girl, hm? Taking my cock so well. You feel so good baby…I’m not gonna last long,” He nips at the back of your ear and you nod your head in agreement.

“Innie! I-Innie…” You’re mumbling his name over and over like a chant, your walls clenching around his length sporatically. “I’m so close…gonna, gonna cum,” You gasp out, the rubber band threatening to snap each time the tip of his cock hits that spot deep inside of you. He brings a finger to your clit, rubbing the swollen button in circles.

“Go ahead baby, cum all over my cock,” He says with a grunt, thrusts somehow getting even harsher and the sound of skin slapping reverberates against the walls.

It doesn’t take much longer before you’re gushing around his cock, coming with a whimper. Jeongin does his best to fuck you through your orgasm but with the way your walls clench around him has him spilling into the condom not too far after you. Both of you need a moment to catch your breath, slowly coming down from the euphoria of such an act. Jeongin seems to collect himself before you, not even noticing him pulling out. You only finally come out of your haze when you feel something damp against your skin.

Jeongin is cleaning you up, even if he didn’t cum inside, you can still feel your own release against your thighs. Slowly, he also helps you pull your panties back up before picking you up to settle you on the counter. He fusses over you, smoothing your hair down and fixing your dress and your heart flutters in your chest at how attentive the younger boy is after having just dicked you down. You giggle before wrapping your arms around him, pulling him into a sweet kiss, one that he happily melts into.

When you two pull away, he’s giving you that bright fox-like smile, dimples practically blinding you as he helps you off the counter.

“C’mon baby. Let’s go dance and hope that your friends didn’t notice your disappearance,” You snort.

“Even if they didn’t, I think the hickies speak for themselves,” Jeongin has the gall to blush, his tongue running along his teeth.

“Sorry, not sorry,”

“You are such a brat,”

“Guilty!”

You roll your eyes, spanking him before moving towards the door.

“Let’s go dance baby bread,”

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watatsumiis · 2 years ago

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Sitting in their lap - part 3

I'm really enjoying writing this series, so here's another part! :D

Content: Gender neutral reader (referred to as 'you'), described/implied to be physically smaller than most of the characters (simply because I am and that's how I project, but if you'd like an alternate version, send me an ask and I'll whip it up!), pre-established platonic relationships (though this may border into romantic if you consider physical affection to be that way, so be warned)

Part 1 - (Ft. Albedo, Al Haitham, Ayato, Arlecchino, Capitano, Childe)

Part 2 - (Ft. Dainsleif, Diluc, Dottore, Gorou, Itto, Kaeya)

Characters in this one: Kaveh, Kazuha, Lisa, Morax, Pantalone, Pierro

Kaveh is a bit of a squirmer - he loves being kept company though and will do anything he can to make sure you're comfortable. If he's particularly absorbed in a project, he may barely acknowledge you, but you'll find that he just absently starts to fidget and toy with you, stroking your hair and touching your face, tugging at your clothes, as if he's just making sure you're still here. Sometimes he may even ask for your opinions on what he's working on and will just absently chatter away to you. You don't have to listen super intently, he doesn't mind either way, it's just like he enjoys hearing the sound of his own voice.

Kazuha tends to get up and move around a lot, even when he seems to be settled. He finds that moving around can help get the creative juices flowing - but he'll still himself for a while if it seems like you're in need of some attention. He mutters to himself a lot and may even be working on more than one thing at once (sometimes even holding pencils in both hands), catching little snippets of inspiration before they're gone with the wind. Sometimes it seems like he's looking for your input on a quote or idea, but he always seems a little shocked/startled when you provide a response - but not at all displeased, he really likes having someone to share his ideas with. You notice that his writing tends to border into softer/fluffier sorts of stuff when you're sitting with him - perhaps the physical touch affects him more than he lets on.

Lisa thinks it's super cute and sweet of you to seek her out this way - she certainly doesn't mind having an excuse not to do her work (though it's not like she was going to do it in the first place). She'll chuckle and tease you a little, then settle in for the long haul. She may disturb every now and then to ask you if you need anything or if you can shift your position just a little, but other than that you're pretty much left alone - except for the odd occasion when she's particularly bored and might prod or poke you to make you squirm or giggle. She really does enjoy the company - it gets rather lonely in the library sometimes, especially when people are just dropping in and out for books.

Morax, despite his spiky, horned exterior, really enjoys some snuggles, regardless of his current temperament. The clashing of cold blooded dragon and warm blooded human can mean he has difficulty regulating his own temperature, so having something warm curled up in his lap is often just what he needs to even himself out. He'll curl his big tail around you and rest his chin atop your head - you swear you can feel some kind of purr resonating from somewhere deep in his chest. It's almost possessive, the way he curls his unnaturally tall form around you, puffing out a little sigh into your hair. If he happens to be in a talkative mood, you cuddling up to him may also prompt him into telling you a story or reciting a poem he heard long ago - his voice sounds different from behind those wickedly sharp fangs inside his mouth, but it's still unmistakably him. He'll always make a point to thank you for keeping him company once you get up to go (or if he has to go for whatever reason).

Pantalone acts aggrieved at first - don't take it as a personal slight, he's just dramatic. He'll quickly figure out how to continue his work around you (though you may get booted off if someone walks into his study) and you'll find that he starts to absently use you as a fidget toy, twirling your hair around gloved fingers and pressing his cheek lightly against you as he lets out a content hum from the back of his throat, so quiet that you almost feel like you imagined it. If it becomes a regular thing between you two, he may eventually organise for his workers to bring up extra snacks, and maybe a book or something to keep you occupied. His work is mind-numbingly boring and he doesn't really have any way to entertain you personally. He may get a little strict (or even downright mean) if you fidget and squirm too much, and will remind you "You're only in here because I'm gracious enough to allow you to occupy both my time and space. That opportunity can be taken back at any time." Meanie :(

Pierro has a bout of initial confusion and shock, but doesn't really let it show. He'll just let you climb into his lap, giving you this stern and vaguely-disapproving look as you do so, but he won't say anything or make any move to discipline or redirect you - that's pretty much him giving you the go-ahead. He'll hardly even acknowledge you, just working around you as he does what he needs to do. If anyone happens to walk in, he'll act like you're not even there, just go about his business as usual. His resting temperature is a little cool, but not to an unpleasant degree. You may find him setting a hand on your hip or back every nod and then so that you don't tumble off as he shifts his weight around or reaches for something on his desk, but other than that it's like you don't exist at all - unless you get too wriggly or start asking questions, in which case he just lifts you off of him and sets you on your feet somewhere off to the side of the chair like a mother cat repositioning a kitten.

Please don't repost, steal, copy or otherwise plagarise my writing! This includes posting translations to other sites.

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crows-heart · 2 years ago

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Howdy Pillar Headcanons :D

be aware this is my first time writing on tumblr so if its a tad odd in some places, i apologize :))) i should be doing my math work i missed or sleeping but guess what i wont

cw: staring mentions (?), howdy being cheesy, i think that's it? ( i do not know how to tag stories)

(look at the funky man!!)

Dating Howdy!!

i just KNOW this man loves to give hugs from behind

everytime you're doing literally anything that has you with your back exposed, he's going to pick you up

you could be in the middle of cleaning and next thing you know four limbs are wrapped around you and you're being picked up

he is both big spoon and little spoon, ignore the fact that he's like 7 foot/213 cm

if you don't like being hugged/touched, that's fine! he likes to make sure that you're comfortable with how he shows affection.

instead of hugging you, he tends to move things around to make it more accessible for you (especially if you enjoy cooking/baking, there are a lot of things in the howdy-sized cabinets but not the y/n-sized cabinets)

sometimes he does purposefully move things out of your reach to have you call him over for help so he can come bother you >:)

that is until you learned that you can climb on the counters... (as someone who is short, this is in fact the most effective way of getting things [dont do this])

he loves holding hands with you! regardless of whether you're in public or at home, he enjoys making sure that you don't get lost /j ("Its hard to see you all the way down there, neighbor!")

he is also a big fan of pinky holding <3

i hc him to have some anxiety issues, so this is a big reason why he enjoys holding hands/pinkys

it's become a big way to help him calm down, and if you start rubbing shapes (?) into his hand it makes things a lot better (he does it to you too <3)

after a long day at the bugdega (bodega? I've seen someone call it that so I'm calling it that bc it's funky!), he will fwump literally anywhere it is convenient for him to do so

let's just hope you're not on the couch/bed because you are a candidate for him to do so! (good luck)

he constantly is making sure that you're ok, mentally and physically! he is a great listener, and he gives great advice too.

everytime you try to help him out at the bugdega, he CANNOT focus

he will literally stare at you for ages until either you or a neighbor points out he's doing so ("howdy, are you ok?" "huh- oh yeah! it's just that you're really pretty...")

he also gives you an 100% discount if you agree to a kiss

either he's really cheesy, or he's reciting poetry to you, there is in fact, no in-between

"i love you berry much! *holds out a strawberry*"

"If i was to be given the option of eternal life, i would turn it down, for a life without you is not one worth living."

all in all, your relationship is berry sweet!! (help i regret writing that)

Being friends with Howdy!!

if YOU have chaotic energy, HE has chaotic energy

he could be cheerfully having an exchange with julie to chanting "thief" to wally in the corner with you (art idea??? might make this)

howdy is great at adapting to your current mood! if you're being funky and all gremlin-like, so is he! if you're tired or sad, he makes sure to give you your time and space to talk if you want!

regardless of this, he does give mother-friend energy

not in the sense of like making sure you're sunscreened, but just looking out for you and making sure you're ok :O)

he LOVES to spook you. regardless of how tall he is, he is in fact, great at sneaking around!

he is also good at being quiet on his feet, which does not end well when you're in the middle of doing something

i feel like he is genuinely a sweet guy, but when he's with friends, he's a totally different caterpillar

if tiktok existed then, you would constantly point at him and say "caterpillar" in that voice (y'know the one from the audio that everyone draws frank spying on howdy with [i absolutely love that audio])

HE KNOWS ALL OF THE GOSSIP OOH JUST YOU WAIT

"did you hear? frank and eddie are finally dating!" "HAH WALLY OWES ME HIS APPLE SUPPLY"

wally is definitely a part of your guy's shenanigans btw it's canon I'm howdys hat

if howdy needs something delivered (most likely wallys hairspray/apples) and eddie isn't available, he asks you! you're practically a second employee so you might as well ahshefs

you still get an 100% discount, since you know, you're kinda working there so that's fabulous!!

he's practically your babysitter at this point i just kinda imagine y/n being one of the leash kids

he can and will throw you on top of his shoulders, you think he's not buff under those sleeves? he has to carry around literal HUNDREDS of apples for wally pretty much everyday

i feel like he likes making things with his hands (I'm really projecting here arent i)

HE LIKES MAKING TINY THINGS OK OK GLAD WE CAN AGREE

random little figurines or things you enjoy will just appear. you have little to no clue where they came from but that's fineee

he knows some of the most obscure things, either about you, or anything really

he loves hearing people infodump about anything! he loves learning new things about people's special interests :D

at the end of the day, he appreciates being your friend so much! he's so glad he got to meet you <3

i am very tired so im probably going to sleep now!! i really liked making this but headcanons are not, in fact, my strong suit. requests are open, i would love to write some more for welcome home!!

#moony writes!!#im incredibly tired but i really wanted to get this out so here it is!#howdy is a funky little guy <3 #howdy #howdy pillar #howdy pillar x reader #howdy pillar headcanons #welcome home #welcome home show #welcome home puppets #welcome home puppet show #tumblr #writer #writers on tumblr

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l0vem41l · 9 months ago

Note

Forgive me if I disturb you, but if your requests are open can I have a romantic Glamrock Freddy x Animatronic Cat reader who's really shy and insecure about themselves?

skittish

「 tws + notes: no tws, SUPER unedited, animatronic cat reader, i love making stuff up thatz Not In Canon, writer is bad at animatronic reader writing (my bad), cat animatronic reader has cat-like behaviour becuz i Said So 」

「 gn!reader, romantic relationship <3 」

↳ ft. glamrock freddy (other glamrocks, the dca + vanessa mentioned)

author's note: no ur not disturbing me at all!!! ^_^ my fnaf reqs are were open!! :3 i don't typically write for animatronic reader so i hope i did this ok!! i'm so sorry if this was a little slow!! but tysm 4 ur patience! i hope u enjoy o(*￣▽￣*)ブ <3

▸ a new animatronic at the plex meant a new companion! a new opportunity for friendship! at least, that’s what freddy initially expected. every attempt to greet you was met with you fleeing, every friendly wave met with awkward silence as you quickly averted your eyes and pretended not to see— and conversations were nonstarters.

he started to get nervous that you didn’t like him. which was a very rare experience for freddy.

▸ he asks vanessa all abt you. what were you built for? were you a new glamrock? why did you not like him? :(

“officer vanessa! i was looking for you! if i may ask—” freddy’s sentence was cut off with an exasperated sigh from the overworked security officer, barely through her shift and already done with everything. she jus like me fr.

“if it’s about that cat you keep asking about, upper management barely gave me any information. i’ve told you what i know,” vanessa rubs the bridge of her nose, reciting the info she had already told freddy possibly a thousand times, “the new animatronic is under beta testing, currently coded to not be overly social in case people get attached, and probably not going to stay very long.”

his ear twitches at the last part.

“i… i see.” freddy nods thoughtfully, thanking vanessa politely, which she dismisses with a small shrug before walking off.

he doesn’t notice you around the corner, quick to leave the scene before your presence could be discovered.

▸ skittish. that is his first impression of you. your first interaction is nothing more than him grinning at you and greeting you with a “hello!”

this seems to startle you. he expects you to make your escape immediately, as per usual— but to his surprise, you manage to muster up the tiniest “hi” before leaving.

he’s giddy about the exchange all week. the others never hear him shut up about you, freddy always gushing about the progress he made with you.

monty considers decommissioning him over this /j

▸ while vanessa had informed him of the fact you were not particularly socially inclined for the sake of beta testing, freddy began to question if that was the truth. in a few weeks time, with plenty of attempts made to speak to you and the utmost amount of patient, you grow close to freddy.

one day, you express a distaste for the limelight. something about the amount of eyes being on you frightening you, he recalls. and he’s certainly never felt that way— made for the spotlight, made to perform— freddy has a hard time conceptualizing what that might be like. and while he may never understand, he’s determined to help

▸ no, he won’t force you to be friends with everyone at the pizzaplex and frankly doesn’t think that’s a good idea— but he certainly tries to encourage you to talk to the others who are just as curious about you as he was

freddy can’t help but be worried though. what if chica overwhelms you with her chattiness? what if roxy intimidates you too much? what if monty scares you away? what if sun and moon— well… the daycare attendant is a whole other thing in itself.

so, yes, while wanting you to speak to others and interact, he can’t help but be just the tiniest bit protective. freddy really doesn’t mean to hover. but yes, he looks out for you always. can’t have any of his hard work be undone! not after he spent so long trying to get you out of your shell.

▸ this ends up in you two developing a system when first meeting the others. freddy accompanies you, holding your paw in his. every so often in the conversation, he squeezes it gently to ask if you’re okay.

one squeeze back for yes, two for no.

this is especially helpful when you get overwhelmed or anxious midway through a conversation and have no idea how to end it. he’ll simply make an excuse and find a quiet place for the two of you to calm down. he’ll always tell you he’s proud of your progress at the end of meeting someone new. slowly but surely, freddy sees you grow into yourself more— and he’s just delighted :))

▸ he’s quick to reassure whenever you’re insecure, earnest as ever. when you grow comfortable enough around him, freddy likes to hold your hand when speaking to you. a very good listener, and an insanely good pep talker.

▸ freddy is busy almost constantly, but he chooses to spend his free time with you!!!!! you contemplate with him what you life will be like after your beta testing stage.

he tries not to think too hard about it. to him, you’re here to stay. you have to be! he’d miss the way you absentmindedly paw at things when your bored, the way your voice box emulates a purr when you’re content, the way your yawn was stupidly cute— annndd yes fine, whatever, he was getting attached.

your shyness may have been coded as a feature to keep people away, to deter any potential attachment before a finalization of your launch in the pizzaplex— but it never deterred freddy. It just drew him in closer. and how special he felt, getting to know you.

“i don’t think i’m built to be a glamrock,” you say suddenly, breaking the silence as freddy organizes his room. the gifts from fans are arranged purposefully by him, each one placed with utmost care. you're sitting at the edge of his couch, kneading into a throw pillow absentmindedly as he decorates.

“and what makes you say that?” he questions, gaze focused on putting up a drawing done by a young child, depicting him in an array of messy lines of marker. he straightens it out and places it on the wall, taping it down before giving it a little satisfied pat.

“i’m just not as good as you guys. you’re all total rockstars and i’m just… useless.” you trail off awkwardly, averting your eyes from him. “my consciousness could be programmed into a staff bot and i’d still manage to be lousy.”

he looks at you. a beat of silence before he speaks again.

freddy’s voice is soft. “you’re perfect, superstar. you could be a glamrock. you could be anything.”

you glance up and him. he knows you don’t believe him.

“you have a place here.” he reassures.

“yeah? where?” you challenge.

“with me!” freddy’s response is quick, ears wiggling happily as he declares it— it takes him a moment to process what words just came out of his mouth.

“...and chica, and roxy, and monty— the rest. you’re one of us, now.” he tacks the last part on quickly, feeling bashful.

still, you smile, feeling slightly flustered yourself. “you think so?”

“i’m certain.”

▸ freddy loves you. in all your skittish, awkward, shy glory— he loves you.

naturally, he’s ecstatic to receive the announcement you’re there to stay! he can’t wait to see how you grow into yourself, and of course— he’ll always extend a helping paw when you need him.

— reblogs always appreciated!

#fnaf sb #fnaf security breach #glamrock freddy #five nights at freddy's #glamrock freddy x reader #glamrock freddy headcanons #fnaf sb headcanons #fnaf security breach headcanons #fnaf x reader #five nights at freddy's security breach #i don't know how to tag anymore #animatronic reader

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multifanatics · 2 years ago

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Waiting Out a Storm

A/N: I put nearly everyone in this so I could get a taste of their characters. I nearly fell asleep writing this so hopefully its not horrible.

Warnings: Sexual content, General fluffiness, Anxiety due to storms, There could be more that I didn't think of.

Edward Nygma // Riddler

It’s raining and he’s unable to hear himself think against the loud noise of the wind.

He’s annoyed nonetheless, he can’t get work done in these conditions.

Makes himself hot chocolate and steals all the blankets in the house.

If you're nice to him he’ll maybe share one blanket but don’t count on it.

If the power goes out and there’s nothing to do.

He’s offering you to warm him up.

He gets cold and hates being cold.

He’s miserable and makes it your problem more than it is his.

If you seem nervous or scared because of the storm he may be more accommodating to letting you have blankets. MAYBE.

One way or another definitely leads to sex.

Victor Fries // Freeze

It’s snowing in Gotham? It’s Christmas for Victor.

The wind and heavy snow he’ll be outside the entire time.

That is of course if you aren’t at all nervous due to the blizzard.

If you are that’s alright, He’ll stay inside for you.

Making sure you are warm enough.

You both are going to sit on the couch and watch your favorite movie.

Power goes out? May not be what you want but he’s willing to play chess or any other type of board game with you.

If you ask him, he may be willing to try and keep you warmer. Even if his body temperature is lower then the current storm.

Keeps you wrapped up in blankets no matter what.

His body temperature can handle the negatives but yours can’t or at least shouldn’t.

Harvey Dent // Two Face

Harvey hates storms, while Harv doesn’t mind them.

Harvey will cuddle you under piles of blankets clinging to you for warmth.

While Harv will more than likely be found outside if the coin allows him to be.

Otherwise Harv is indoors and clung to you in a much different way than Harvey.

Harv typically has his hands on your hips, chin on your shoulder everywhere you go.

While Harvey is much more a pile of blankets and cuddles.

Human furnace and knows it.

Harv would be much more open to fucking for warmth, even offers.

Harvey strikes me as the kind of man who would build a pillow fort during a storm if you’re both anxious or the power is out.

While Harv would be fine just falling asleep.

Jonathan Crane // Scarecrow

One of the first things you told him was your fear of storms.

And now he gets to watch how you react.

He does not leave your side during the storm for personal reasons that can range from your warmth to your fear.

Horror movies, blankets, and hot chocolate.

If the power goes out? Horror stories with a flashlight like they do at camps in October.

Cuddle him and tell him about your fear he was a psychiatrist after all maybe he can help… or make it much worse by accident, possibly.

I’m in the middle of him waiting for you to offer sex or he doesn’t enjoy it during a storm.

I see him as a “No power, no problem.” kind of guy and somehow getting everything he needed done.

He gets cold and sort of carries around a blanket like a cape. Over his shoulders and occasionally encasing him if he stands still.

Paranoia is his specialty, don't try to hide it from him, he’ll find out anyway.

Jervis Tetch // Mad Hatter

Tea party in the dark even if the power is working.

Definitely at least a little bit anxious himself.

Is against any kind of “more heat” ideas you can think of.

He has a routine, hiding in blankets and drinking tea in the dark and silence.

Though since you’re there maybe it doesn’t have to be silent.

Sharing blankets is a must with him, maybe not all cuddly but definitely share your blankets.

Can be clinging if he’s extra anxious.

He keeps the power off even if it’s working. He can’t hypnotize the lights to stay on so he rather not have the surprise.

Super sweet if you are anxious as well.

Recites his favorite poetry, books, or lines from a movie.

Joker

His current hideout has a backup generator so don’t worry about the lights going out

What? If there’s no lights how is he supposed to know if people actually enjoy his jokes?

He’s nowhere to be seen except you know he’s in the same place as you.

He takes this time to get more work done.

If you need him for warmth you can sit on his lap while he works.

If he doesn’t have anything to get done? He’ll drive you mad with a bunch of different jokes.

He doesn’t cuddle and he won’t screw around during a storm.

Gives you blankets then sits next to you.

He doesn’t get cold, maybe a little bit but it’s not something he can’t handle.

If you’re anxious he can always offer a kiss and some jokes.

Oswald Cobblepot // Penguin

It’s storming? Since when?

He has to look outside to know it’s storming.

He’s not at all phased by any type of storm unless he’s caught wind of someone plotting against him.

You need to voice to him you’re nervous and want him to stay around otherwise he’ll be off working.

If you voice to him you are anxious he’ll offer to watch a movie or something.

He’s burying you in the warmest blankets if you say you’re cold and you have goosebumps.

He’s actually very understanding and not very bothered by you at all.

It was about time he took a break anyway.

He has backup generators for backup generators he has power in all ways that matter.

If you want to screw around he’ll cockwarm but he’s only going to mess around if the mood takes him.

Harleen Quinzel // Harley Quinn

She complains.

She hates the cold but surprisingly doesn't mind storms.

Harley will cuddle or at least fall asleep on your chest or shoulder.

Will steal your blankets.

Clingy in a non clingy way. She’ll go up to you and stare at you until you get a clue, if you don’t then she minds her own business.

Definitely down for messing around, much more teasing.

She will do whatever the hell you want too.

She’ll talk about the days before she became Harley Quinn, and how much colder the cells are at Arkham.

If you manage to snuggle up to her she’ll share her blankets.

She clears all anxiety with her degree.

Pamley Isley // Poison Ivy

Claims its nature letting go.

LOVES storms and doesn’t mind the cold.

Checks on her plants during the storm.

Disregards you unless you pay attention to her.

Say you're cold and she will make the best herbal tea.

She’s calming your anxiety with talk of which plants grow better in the cold and why they need the cold.

She understands nature and wants nothing more than to ensure everything she likes is alright.

She shares her blankets with you.

Would watch whatever.

You fall asleep and she’ll leave you a few blankets and go outside to enjoy the storm.

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suzdin · 1 year ago

Text

Two For One: Ch. 3

Part One | Part Two

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, pre-vampire Max, pre-Equalizer 2 Dave, familial drama and angst, mentions of drug use/abuse, fingering, oral (f receiving), spitting, oral (m receiving), dom!Dave, soft!Dave, dom!Max, unprotected p in v, degradation, choking, voyeurism.

Word Count: 10k+

Notes: I don’t even know. Max is an asshole as usual but also kind of sweet at one point, Dave is his normal creepy self but that’s why we love him. Reader has a magical vagina apparently

——

Dave barely slept without you next to him.

He could still smell you on his sheets, his skin. It was driving him insane, his proximity to you. So close yet so far. There were several times he debated getting out of bed and going to you, but he willed himself to stay. Dave knew he wasn’t a good man—a fucked up man, even—but there were lines even he wouldn’t cross.

Still, dreaming about sneaking into your apartment in the middle of the night to fuck you senseless was making him hard as ever. You made him feel young again.

He settled for fucking his hand to the video he took of you instead, hot tendrils of spend soaking his stomach as he honed in on the faces you made, listening to your pretty noises. It was nowhere near as good as the real you, but it was all he could do to alleviate the ache, the constant yearning he felt.

He wakes early the next day. Before sunrise. He knew you were unlikely to be up at this hour, so he tries to preoccupy himself with packing for the trip, neatly arranging his clothes in a small weekend bag, packing a smaller separate bag for toiletries. Lastly, in its own case, his trusty Beretta M9A1, which he tucks into the larger of the two bags.

He sips on a cup of tea, extra strong, his head fuzzy from only having gotten a couple of hours of consistent sleep at best. He googles the hours of your coffee shop, uncertain if you would even be there, to find it doesn’t open for another hour and a half.

He settles for walking to the 24 hour store on the corner and purchasing a can of Monster, toying with his phone, wondering if he should try messaging you despite how early it is. As he’s rounding the corner back to his building, glancing up at your window which is still dark, he finagles his phone out of his pocket and opens his texts.

There’s already one there from you, a simple “Hey”, when you’d texted him last night so he would have your number. It tugs at his chest seeing the lone message.

Dave: Morning. You up?

He hits send and instantly chastises himself for being so needy. It’s done now, though. Nothing he can do about it. He’ll worry about it later.

He goes back to his apartment and chugs the cocktail of pure sugar and caffeine, tossing the can into the trash, but it does little to curb his exhaustion, only elevating his heart rate. Finished packing, and complete with his intel gathering on Jonathan for the time being, he isn’t sure what else he can do before he needs to leave for Virginia. He can, of course, depart early, leaving nothing to the fate of traffic and other unknowns. But he doesn’t like that idea. He would much rather see you.

He starts to think of last night again, his dick hard again, and he grunts, annoyed with his never ending horniness at this point.

He tries to ignore his slew of persistent thoughts by turning on the TV to watch the early morning news, slumping into his couch and propping his feet up on the coffee table. The weatherman is currently reciting the 10-day forecast. Supposed to be nice weather into next week. That’s good news, Dave thinks.

He leans back and makes himself comfortable, rubbing his ever present erection over his pants, trying to take his mind off of you. He doesn’t want to jerk off again. He wants the next time he cums to be with you. In you.

“Jesus,” he mumbles to himself, wiping his eyes.

He checks his phone even though he’s sure you haven’t responded. Still nothing. He frowns and tosses the offending piece of technology onto the couch and shuts his eyes.

With your face the last image in his mind’s eye, Dave drifts off.

——

He startles himself awake, sleep deprived brain in a panic, concerned that he’s running late, concerned that he missed his window to see you.

He checks his phone for the time, breathing a sigh of relief. It’s only been half an hour, but it feels like he slept for half a century.

There’s also no texts from you. You’re probably still asleep. But part of him also worries that you’re dodging him.

He cards a hand through his hair, groaning in frustration. He needs to shower. And then he needs to eat. Food is the last thing on his mind right now, though. The only sustenance he wants—needs—is you.

It’s just after 5 AM. He could get in another cat nap in, if he wanted, but he’s worried he might not get so lucky a second time. He decides not to risk it, urging himself to get off the sofa and into the shower.

As he strips down to bare skin, stiff cock springing free, he can’t stop thinking about how the wet press of your body would feel against his. How you would feel sandwiched between himself and the shower wall as he drives himself into you over and over until your throat is raw from screaming his name.

He wishes you were here.

——

The edges of consciousness start to blink into existence. You can see sunlight filtering through the flesh of your closed eyelids, hear the distant sounds of the city that drift in through the window by your bed. You hear a dog barking somewhere and the grind of a garbage truck a block down.

And then another noise, foreign to your ears, breaking through the song of the city and the fog of your mind: a loud, aggressive buzzing from somewhere inside your apartment.

What the fuck?

You jerk awake, early morning sun too bright to your sleep-wasted eyes, and the buzzing is bellowing at you again, making your head throb. You grumble in aggravation.

You scramble out of bed, tripping over your comforter as you do so, to locate the source of the invasive sound. It doesn’t take you long to find it, a bronze panel on the wall with a speaker and button by the door that you’ve largely ignored until now, thinking it was defunct when the landlord never took the time to explain it to you.

You go over to it, cautiously depressing the button under your finger, mumbling a sleepy, and slightly irritated, “Hello?”

There’s the faint scratch of static and then a voice, tinny and distorted, but clear enough to understand and recognize: “Hey. Sorry if I woke you. It’s Dave.” His tone is apologetic.

You blink, rubbing your eyes. What time is it? Why is he here?

“It’s okay. Morning, Dave.”

There’s a pause. Then: “I brought you some breakfast. Can I come up for a minute?”

You let go of the button and sigh. You should really say no, but he went through the trouble of getting you something—your people pleasing nature rearing its ugly head once again—even though you were just going to eat the baklava you both forgot about last night for breakfast.

You press the button again. “Yeah, sure. I don’t think I have a way to buzz you in so I’ll be right down…” you say.

“No, no, it’s okay, I see someone coming down now,” Dave responds, followed by more static and what you think is shuffling. “What’s your unit number?”

It’s all a ruse on his part, of course, because he already knows the unit number and no one is actually coming. But he has to make it believable. He has to see you, take care of you—in more ways than one.

Before he left his apartment, he pocketed a piece of technology left over from his CIA days, a small spy camera roughly the size of a golf tee. Part of himself thinks he should feel guilty for even considering what he’s about to do. It was an invasion of privacy, surely, something most often reserved for criminals and terrorists. You were neither—far from it—but he knows he needs to keep you in his sights as often as possible. He’ll go mad if he doesn’t. Especially while he’s gone.

“Be right up,” he replies when you give your unit, tapping in the door code from memory and letting himself into the building.

He clutches the bag with your everything bagel and bottle of orange juice and heads up the stairs. He deliberated on getting you a coffee, but considering where you work, you probably have your own coffee at home, so he settled on orange juice for the vitamin C to cure the undoubted hangover you surely have.

He reaches the landing and finds you already standing in the doorway of your apartment, waiting for him, a cigarette already perched between your fingers, smoke curling to the ceiling.

You’re not exactly dressed to impress in your dark blue camisole, pink plaid pajama bottoms, fuzzy black slippers and sky blue house robe covered in fluffy white clouds. Your hair is a rat’s nest and everything about you screams disheveled and just rolled out of bed, barely having the energy to shower last night and then going to sleep with wet hair, but Dave slows when his gaze lands on you, taking in the full sight of you. Forcing himself to maintain composure.

“Hey,” he says quietly, a warm smile pooling across his face.

“Hey,” you offer back, mirroring his smile. You can’t help it—he looks good—damn good—in his slate gray tee and black sweatpants that don’t leave a lot of room for interpretation.

You blush feverishly and he responds in kind, averting his gaze and rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. The audacity of this man to act bashful after what he did to you. Your stomach flutters full of butterflies.

“Is that Sal’s?” you query, pointing at the bag and diverting your wandering thoughts. “I love them!” You’re pretty sure Sal’s is one of the first places you ever noticed Dave.

“Yeah. Everything bagel with extra cream cheese,” he responds. “I’ve overheard you order it before. I hope that isn’t weird.”

Maybe it is a little weird, but it’s fine. At least he pays attention. Jonathan lived with you for months and still couldn’t remember a damn thing you liked.

“No, I think it’s sweet. Thanks,” you say, taking the bag from him and peeking inside.

“And orange juice for vitamin C and hydration. Good for a hangover,” Dave points out, hooking one corner of his lips into a lopsided grin.

You smile at Dave. You aren’t sure if you should ask him in or what the custom even is for a situation where you just met a guy and he fucked you into another dimension.

Your head adjusts slightly and you meet his gaze. A look is shared between the two of you—Dave giving you the same look he gave you last night, dark eyes and tightly pursed lips—arousal sparking hot between your legs as your mind starts to replay all the events from the previous evening. A blaze licks through you like unchecked wildfire.

Dave takes a tentative step towards you at roughly the same time Mrs. Tobin’s door starts to click open over his shoulder, your eyes going wide as you gather a handful of his shirt and yank him into your apartment, quickly shutting the door behind you before she can see the cigarette still smoldering in your hand, ash slowly flitting to the floor in a rush of movement.

You start to tell Dave that the old bitch has already reported you for smoking in the building, but the words don’t have a moment to leave your mouth, broad hands spanning your waist to walk you backwards, lips crashing into yours as you both share a desperate moan.

You grunt into Dave’s mouth when you feel the kitchen counter collide with your ass, still very much sore from the night before. He plucks the cigarette and bag from your hands, snuffing the carcinogenic stick out in the sink next to you and placing the bag on the counter for you to indulge later.

He undoes the binds of your robe to let it splay open, hands slithering around to your backside to cup both cheeks in his hands, kneading, pulling you apart.

You keen in reverence of his touch. You and Dave are an incendiary mix, fire meeting gasoline, your only time spent together so far a need to be so close your fibers might as well be fused at the seams.

“I missed this ass,” Dave whispers, giving it a small slap. “Couldn’t sleep because of it.” Because of you. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over being the first to pop your ass cherry and how well you took it.

He kisses you again, tongue dragging the cavern of your mouth, lashing against your own. You don’t even give it much thought as you slip your arm down the front of his pants to find he isn’t wearing anything under his sweats, hips bucking into your clutches as your fingers circle and stroke his shaft.

“Fuck,” he pants into your mouth. “I don’t have much time.” His eyes drill into yours, wild and chaotic, lips parted in a savage, carnal snarl. He should have been on the road fifteen minutes ago, but he couldn’t resist leaving without seeing you. Especially not now.

“We need to be fast, then,” you suggest, and that’s all the confirmation he needs. He removes your robe and lets it fall to the floor, fingers digging into the sensitive meat of your ass as he lifts you up to carry you to the bed.

You link your legs around his waist and hold onto his wide shoulders to steady yourself as he carries you, your back making contact with the mattress a moment later.

He rips your pajama bottoms down your legs, revealing that you, too, are not wearing any underwear.

“Prettiest fucking cunt I’ve ever seen,” he surmises, spreading you open, bending down to spit directly onto your sex. He doesn’t have a lot of time to prepare you, but he needs to give you something, gliding two of his fingers through the mixture of your arousal and his spittle, pressing said thick digits into your opening, pumping.

“Do you remember the safe word?” Dave asks you.

“Yes,” you say quietly. Your tunnel tightens around his fingers, sucking him in, your body already in pursuit of relief.

He lands a sharp smack to the top of your cunt with a growl, your walls squeezing even harder around his fingers. “Say it. And address me as sir.”

“F-foxglove, s-sir,” you reply, your voice wavering. He rewards you by curling his fingers against your sensitive patch of nerves, making you keen.

“Atta girl. Are you ready to take me?”

“Dave—I mean, sir—I have condoms

—“

He stretches an arm over you to slap a breast, this time. The sensitive one that he did a number on last night, causing you to choke on a gasp, your core flooding with arousal at the rush of pain.

“That’s not what I asked, sweetheart. Our rules from last night still stand. You need to trust me.” He deliberately slows his fingers, bringing them nearly to a stop as he looks up at you with not-quite-innocent, expansive brown eyes, awaiting your answer.

“Yes sir. I’m ready to take you, sir,” you acquiesce, rubbing your sensitive breast. He doesn’t reprimand you this time.

He pulls his fingers from you and stands, sliding the sweat pants down his legs and kicking them out of the way, revealing smooth, well muscled thighs; engorged sex flared red and weeping.

He spreads your legs apart and doesn’t give you any additional time to ready yourself, notching himself at your entrance and then shoving himself forward all the way until he bottoms out, exhaling a long breath as he does so, hips shuddering with pleasure.

He fills you in ways you didn’t think were possible, flaying you apart, making you feel every last centimeter of his length and girth, even with the initial shallow gyrations of his hips.

“Shit,” he rumbles, leaning onto his calves so he can watch you swallow him. “So good at taking me, sweet girl.”

He could watch you like this all day, split open and keening on his cock, but time is a mournfully pressing issue. He lifts your legs to rest your calves against the wide breadth of his shoulders, parting you even more as he wastes no time in breaking into an unrelenting sprint.

It sends you spiraling, the small of your back coming off the mattress with a loud cry that vibrates your lungs.

“Touch yourself,” he commands. “Make yourself cum.”

You don’t need to be told twice. Your hand finds your swollen clit just shy of the press of your bodies, gathering some slick on the pads of your fingers, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Still so sore,” you plead, your fingers flicking lightly between your legs. “Don’t know if I can, sir.”

Dave clicks his tongue. “I don’t care. You will cum for me. Or I’ll flip you over and fuck that sweet ass of yours again if you don’t,” he threatens, causing your asshole to pucker at the mere mention. “Make you leak my cum two days in a row.”

“N-no,” you mumble, your words rising and falling with every hard slam of his hips. “Please don’t.”

“Then cum for me,” he snarls, the bridge of his nose creased in a sneer, bottom lip jutted outward in concentration. He slaps one side of your hip to aggregate his point. “Cum on my cock or I’m filling your ass again.” His dick thrums just at the thought.

Your fingers move faster, circling and strumming at your clit, a definite sting of discomfort ever present but fading gradually as your pleasure begins to build, the tell tale sensation growing deep in your core. You never thought of yourself as a person to enjoy pain, or being so carelessly manhandled, yet here you are.

“Oh, Dave…” you whine, cupping your unmarked breast with your other hand, rolling the nipple between your fingers.

His grueling pace doesn’t falter. Your noises are driving him to the brink and he isn’t sure how much longer he can hold out, but he wants you to cum. Needs you to cum.

He’s poised on his knees, gripping handfuls of your upper thighs, slamming into you as deftly and expeditiously as he can manage at his age, with a back destroyed by years of hard physical labor.

You let out a high pitched moan and he grunts, fingernails digging into your flesh, leaving behind tiny pink crescent moons of himself there. Another stake in his claim to you.

“Alright baby, alright baby. Come on now. Cum for me.” His voice is soft and deep, eyes trained on your face. He can feel your walls tightening around him, and he knows you’re close.

The tight coil in your lower abdomen unfurls and your climax suddenly works its way through you, a cry rolling from your lips, back arching as you clamp down and strangle him, sucking him deeper. He growls, guttural and worshipping, as you peak.

He rears back to spit on you, a hot globule of saliva landing on your stomach and pooling in the hollow divot of your belly button.

“That’s right, you fucking whore, fuck— sit up and open your mouth,” he snarls in a deep timbre from the depths of his chest.

He doesn’t give you a moment to respond or even comprehend, pulling out of you and yanking you upright to the edge of the bed, digging his fingers into your hair at the base of your skull to pull your mouth onto him, and you part your lips subserviently.

He presses the slick, engorged head to your lips and pushes himself forward into your mouth. He’s so girthy, stretching you beyond what you’re used to, but you let your muscles slacken, everything relaxing to better accept him.

He groans and pushes deeper, a trek through the wet heat of your mouth, holding your head in place as he finds his way.

“That’s it, sweet girl, open up for me—“

He begins to thrust, shallow at first, working you apart centimeter by centimeter. He reaches the back of your throat and it is a struggle not to gag, tears breaking at the rims of your eyes, but you push through it, exhaling through your nostrils as you peer up at him through your lashes.

His hand finds the outer bend of your throat, collaring you, gripping snugly as he begins to rut faster, feeling himself moving in your esophagus in the cradle of his hand. It’s all too much, too much and somehow not enough to diminish his never ending thirst for you, cock twitching and balls pulling tight in his scrotum as he starts to empty himself down your throat with a loud groan, panting your name on his lips.

“Fuck!”

He keeps you there for several moments longer, everything from the waist down shivering and shuddering with exertion, until he starts to grow soft between your lips. His cock slips wet and heavy from your mouth, a thin line of spittle connecting and then breaking as he moves away.

He falls into bed next to you to catch his breath, landing on his back, one large hand settling on your thigh as he shields his eyes from the rays of sunlight with the other. “Thank you,” he says quietly, broad chest rising and falling with every breath.

You tilt your head at him. “No, thank you,” you counter.

You look down at Dave, the sharp cut of his jaw and plush lips peeking out from beneath his hand. An unexpected scorch of anxiety moves through you as it occurs to you that you’re liking Dave a little too much and too quickly, making you feel nothing but unsettled, your stomach doing flip flops. You don’t want a repeat of Jonathan.

“I should, um. Go clean myself up,” you say, pushing yourself off the bed. Dave’s hand slides from your thigh with a heavy thud against the mattress, and he watches you go, disconcerted at your apparent and sudden unease. But knowing this is likely his only chance to plant the camera, he lets you go.

“I’ll join you in a second,” he calls out. As soon as you disappear into the bathroom, he slowly scoots off the bed, quietly as he can to not arouse suspicion. He hears the creak of a faucet being turned and water spilling out.

He rises to his feet and glances around. Your apartment looks as much as he imagined it would, faded blue walls with a few pictures hung of what appears to be family, along with several pieces of art. You seem to like dark and semi-abstract, one of the larger pieces a bloody skull on a black background, daisies placed in the skull’s eye sockets, paint strokes appearing to be scratched together with a palette knife rather than an actual brush.

It stirs something in his soul, if he has one. He is the skull and you are the flowers. He steps closer for further examination but doesn’t see an artist signature anywhere. Did you paint this? Did your ex?

His jaw ticks.

You have a few plants in the window sill, some of them thriving and some not. The apartment is cluttered and unkempt but not trashy. You aren’t as fastidious as Dave, but he likes that about you. It compliments him, balances him out. He notices a few empty bottles of alcohol in the trash bin next to the kitchen.

He dips to grab his pants where the camera is stowed, reaching into the pocket to grab it as he continues to look for an optimal location. And then he finds one: a bent slat in the vent by your window, which directly faces the bed. The gap is just wide enough to slip the camera in between.

He moves to the vent and tucks the camera inside, between the slats, the lens pointed directly at your headboard. He maneuvers it into place until he’s satisfied with its placement, hoping it will stay put. He’ll be able to control it from both his phone and his computer.

As he turns to join you in the bathroom, he notices your own laptop propped precariously on a folding table in the corner, screen open to what appears to be a word document, cursor still visibly flashing. A work in progress of sorts. Curiosity gets the better of him and he moves over to the screen, bending to read the words written there:

Raye found herself in what appeared to be a pasture, grass as high as her chest, which was bathed in a gentle pouring of pale golden moonlight. Her shirt clung to her sweat-damp skin and her chest heaved with effort, legs pumping as quickly as she could move them, propelling her forward into the tall grass.

She was alone as far as she could tell. No cows or horses that she could discern, nothing that could act as possible interference for the creature in pursuit. No buildings in sight. Only a line of trees in the nearby distance, and swarms of june bugs that smacked into her face and body as she ran.

She knew there must be a road somewhere beyond the trees. She had gotten lost after running out of gas in the middle of her road trip down south, turning down the wrong kind of country road in the middle of Louisiana at night, which had landed her smack dab in the middle of the woods, her bearings and sense of direction scrambled, the thing chasing her still snapping at her heels. She had only glimpsed the massive animal for a split second before she bolted, her instincts telling her to run.

And then the inevitable happened. Her foot found a well in the soil, her momentum so great that she tumbled ass over teakettle into the dirt and grass, a cry of pain escaping her lungs as her shoulder made contact with the hard packed earth.

She only had a moment to look up before she saw it, the massive wolf-like monster’s jaws descending on her, fangs flashing silver in the glow of moonlight. Patchy tendrils of black fur streaking out of its dark, greasy skin.

It ends there and he hums to himself. You hadn’t talked about writing before, and he’d found no evidence of it otherwise. It’s good. Really good. You continue to intrigue him.

He makes it to the bathroom and you’re just starting to towel off, smiling at him with your eyes. There’s a damp rag on the edge of the sink. He reaches for it.

“May I?” he asks, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles.

The audacity of this man.

“By all means,” you reply, taking a step back, stumbling on a pile of dirty laundry. You watch and blush as Dave runs the moist towel over himself. Even soft, his size is impressive.

“So, what are you going to Virginia for?” you query, making conversation. His eyes meet yours and his expression grows somber.

“To see my two girls,” he answers honestly. “My ex and I… well, I get to see them twice a month. It… it’s a fucked up situation.” He doesn’t elaborate. This man is a fucking enigma.

You aren’t sure how to process this new snippet of information. Two girls? Ex? You must be making a face because he reaches for your hand.

“I’m sorry. I meant to tell you last night—it just wasn’t the right time.”

“It’s okay,” you offer weakly. “I mean, kind of a shock, but it’s fine.”

He brushes his fingers over the back of his neck, regretful that he didn’t tell you sooner, so consumed in his desire of you he didn’t want to send you running for the hills. “Yeah, I get it. It’s a lot.”

You cross your arms. “What are their names and how old are they?” you inquire.

“Mollie is six and Alice is four,” he replies.

You nod. “It is a lot,” you confirm, a vicious knot twisting its way around your stomach. You weren’t a big fan of kids. Maybe this could actually be what prevents you from falling for Dave, a fact you couldn’t help to admit you were a little grateful for. “But it’s okay. I understand.”

His countenance darkens into a sad smile, those dark brown eyes gazing at you, shiny and big and apologetic. God, why does he have to look at you like that?

“I’m sorry,” he says again, and pulls you into his chest, arms circling your back, hands finding the swell of your ass and softly squeezing. He bends to kiss you, and in spite of yourself, you let him. It’s a tender kiss, delicate and gentle, reminding you once again that Dave is a man of many faces.

He breaks the kiss a moment later, staring into your eyes, brushing your hair back from your face. “I really don’t want to, but I need to be going. Will you walk me to my car?”

——

You walk Dave down. You don’t bother putting on real clothes, wearing exactly what you had on when you woke up. The only difference is you briefly ran a brush through your hair.

He walks with his arm linked around your shoulders. He’s proud to show you off even in your current state. You try not to think about it. You don’t need more reasons to get attached. You need less.

“This is me,” he says, pointing to a sensible black Elantra, which you’ve definitely seen around before.

“I hope you have a nice trip. Have fun with your girls,” you say.

“Always do.” That was a lie. As much as he appreciated spending time with them, it was always full of undue stress and bone numbing exhaustion, two weeks worth of anxiety crammed into a single weekend. If only he could take you with him to ease some of the suffering.

“We’ll have to go out again sometime when I get back,” he suggests. “I’ll call you.”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

He smiles. Kisses you, again, more passionate than the last, but not at all salacious. You break the kiss, this time.

“You’re beautiful,” Dave says, his hand resting against the column of your neck. “So beautiful.” His thumb traces your pulse point.

You playfully shove at his chest. He doesn’t budge an inch because he’s an immovable wall of flesh. “Stop it. I look like shit. And you need to go.”

“You don’t look like shit. But I do need to go.”

He goes to kiss you one final time, cradling your jaw. The last for who knows how long, depending on how long the hit takes.

A sound registers at your six. And then barking, loud and shrill, a familiar voice attempting—and failing—to calm the offending dog.

“Good mornin’, dear,” Mrs. Tobin says in a thick Irish accent, and you turn to find her coming back from her early morning walk with her Yorkie, Jack.

“Morning, Mrs. Tobin.” Your hand goes to your neck, doing your best to hide the dark marks on your skin.

“Morning,” Dave offers. He pretends not to be bothered by the interruption.

“Come now, Jackie boy, it’s just our neighbor and her friend,” she says to the small dog with a knowing wink, still trying to settle him. Her eyes track where your hand is. “Or maybe more’na friend. You don’t have to hide those from me, dear. I was young once too, yeh know,” she says with a short laugh.

You blush. Dave blushes, too. God. This man.

“Well, hope yeh have a nice mornin’. Let’s go, Jackie boy, give ‘em some privacy,” she says, tugging at the leash.

“You too,” you reply with a touch of annoyance. Dave lifts his hand in a wave. As soon as she’s a reasonable distance away, he finally gets to kiss you. Again. And it’s nice. Too nice.

Okay, maybe you are falling for him.

——

After hastily shoving the bagel down your throat, you end up going back to bed for a few hours. No work, no responsibilities. You put your phone on Do Not Disturb. If there’s a work emergency, they can call Maury or they’ll just have to figure it out themselves. You can’t always hold their hands for them. You’re going to take advantage of the opportunity to get some rest.

You wake later in the day to several missed texts and four missed calls from your mom. And one from Dave, from before he showed up at your door.

You groan and hesitantly open the texts from your mother. You let out a sigh of exasperation when you read what’s got her so spooked, deciding it isn’t worth it to call her back right away. At least not before you have some coffee to lift the haze from your mind. She’s waited this long; she can wait longer.

Mom: Ur brother is back in jail. Call me when u get a chanse ok?

Of fucking course he is. You toss the phone down with a roll of your eyes. Garrett has had so many run ins with the law since you were a kid, you’ve lost count at this point.

You brew yourself some coffee. One of the perks of managing a coffee shop is free bags of coffee, and this one is good—pumpkin pecan, one of the new seasonal flavors. You were as basic as they come when it came to anything pumpkin flavored.

You scarf down the baklava as you inhale your coffee, which you suppose is your lunch. You feel a little bad that you forgot to offer Dave half of it, but he got what he showed up for, so you don’t dwell on it.

Your mom calls again. You answer, this time, sighing as you place the phone against your ear. You don’t even bother with a hello.

“I already saw. Sorry to hear that, mom.” You really aren’t.

“Where the hell have you been? I was worried sick!” your mom chides. “Your brother’s in jail an’ you’re MIA?”

“Yeah, mom, I’m a grown woman with my own life in a different city. I was resting. I don’t have to be at your every beck and call, especially when it isn’t even that import—“

“The hell it ain’t! How’m I supposed to get him out of there? I don’t have bail money!”

You light one of your cigarettes and take a long drag before responding. “I’m not sending you money to bail him out,” you state firmly. “First of all, I don’t have it right now. And secondly, he’ll never learn if—“

“Then what’re we supposed to do?” she snorts.

“I don’t know. Leave him in there, or get a bail bondsman. Not my problem,” you say, your tone flat and apathetic. You’ve been numb to this issue since you were a teen. Since all the empty promises he made to you of coming clean.

“You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me!”

“No, I’m not. I’ll send you money for grandma’s medical bills, or groceries or rent, but I’m not sending money for this.”

“So, that’s it, huh? You just don’t give a shit about us?”

You roll your eyes so hard you’re surprised she doesn’t hear it through the phone.

“How’s grandma?” you question, notably changing the subject.

The line goes dead. You stare at the phone. She hung up on you.

Figures.

You don’t bother calling her back. There’s no point. You’ll never come to an agreement on the issue, anyway, and it will only stress you out more than necessary.

Garrett has always been your mother’s favorite. It used to bother you. As expensive as Boston is, and as much as you miss Texas and your grandma, you’re happy to be well removed from that life right now. Studio apartments are more your jam than living in trailer parks.

You decide that your anger with the issue is a good enough motivator to help you clean, which you’ve been sorely neglecting doing for far too long. You turn on your angriest playlist—Korn, Deftones, Slipknot, et cetera—and spend most of the day deep cleaning everything. The Deftones’ ‘My Own Summer’ comes on and you scream along to the lyrics. “Shove it, shove it, shove it!”

Not that it matters anymore. Two men have already seen your home in its state of disrepair, but it gives you something to focus on and decompress for a few hours, which is what you wanted.

You ponder texting Dave. Needing to vent to him or anyone since you don’t really have any friends that you talk to anymore. After some consideration, however, you change your mind. You don’t need to burden him with your bullshit. Least of all while he’s visiting his kids.

You settle on googling how to get rid of a hickey instead.

——

Max has never really dated anyone.

Not that he wants to date you.

He had tried to convince himself you were a one time thing. A quick and impermanent release of tension and little else. A means to put you in your place for publicly embarrassing him. So why can’t he get you out of his mind? Why have you been the first and last thing he’s thought about all day? He’s been fighting with his dick, trying not to think about yesterday, and failing miserably. He holed himself up in his office most of the work day.

It wasn’t just about the sex. It was more than that. But Max doesn’t date. He fucks and moves on. Simple as that.

But if that’s the case, why is he at The Beanery again, asking metal-face kid what your favorite drink is?

Vincent shrugs. “I dunno. She likes…cold drinks, I think?” he answers unhelpfully. Max isn’t a patient man. Or a nice one. But he’s trying, for you. He really is.

“You don’t know what she orders?” Max presses. His already paper thin patience is waning by the second.

“Not really,” Vincent responds. “Sorry.”

Max rubs his eyes with the pads of his fingers. He doesn’t want to show up at your door empty handed, although he isn’t really sure why it matters, or why he cares this much. He’s never wooed a woman in his entire life.

Flowers would be too romantic. He isn’t quite there yet. Not that he’ll ever be. But he needs to bring you…something, to make it less weird.

He’s fully aware he has no fucking clue what he’s doing.

“She likes the pumpkin fall latte. Iced,” another voice pipes up. A tall woman with brown hair that Max recognizes as the assistant manager steps out from behind a wall with a clipboard in her hands. Probably taking inventory, Max thinks. She doesn’t like Max—no one does, except Maury—but she wants to get him out of here ASAP.

“Thank you,” Max responds with a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he says again, canting his brows in annoyance towards Vincent.

“I’ll take one. Large. And my usual.” He purses his lips, taking in a breath through his nose. “Please,” he adds, still trying his best, adding his signature crooked smile.

Sarah and Vincent don’t question why Max is asking after you or buying your favorite drink. They don’t care enough to know.

He runs the yellow tie around his neck through his fingers as he waits as patiently as he can manage, still struggling and failing to keep his dick on a leash. God, what the fuck is he doing?

——

God, what the fuck are YOU doing?

Max is at your door. And he brought you a gift.

He shoulders past you into your apartment without asking, causing your jaw to clench in frustration. He’s always doing that. Doing whatever the fuck he wants. It pisses you off to no end.

“You can’t just storm into my home, Max—“

“Here.” He hands you your drink which is partially melted due to the walk over, offering you his most flattering grin. He just wants to see you. He isn’t going to give up so easily.

You begrudgingly accept and take a heavy sip. It’s a nice reprieve from the rest of your day. You’ve been in a bad mood since the conversation with your mom, so sugar and caffeine are a welcome distraction right now.

You poured the time after you were done cleaning into your writing. Letting your anger guide your hand as you described the werewolf in your story tearing into Raye’s abdomen and slurping her entrails like meat spaghetti.

That isn’t where the story was going or what you had intended to write, but it helped to take some of the edge off. Until now, at least. You’ll change it later.

What’s more, you couldn’t find a good solution to your hickey problem, and you really hope they’ll be gone by tomorrow morning. You’re doing opening shift again. You wish Dave wouldn’t have left them in such an obvious, visible place.

Yeah, you really weren’t in the mood. Even if Max did somehow find out what your favorite drink is and bring it to you. What is it with men today, bringing you your favorite things…completely unprompted?

It’s baffling.

“Thanks, Max, for the drink,” you begin evenly. “I appreciate it, I do. But you need to go. I’ve had a weird day and—“

“What is that?” His eyes flash. He smirks, but it’s lacking mirth or humor. You don’t need to track their movement; you know exactly what he’s talking about.

“What do you mean?” you ask innocently, your hand involuntarily moving to your neck.

He grabs your arm to pull your hand away, stepping so close you can smell his cologne. His nostrils flare in anger. “Who did this to you?” he asks shortly, examining your neck.

The crass, cocky, self-important Max is gone. Now he’s just pissed.

“You did this to me yesterday, remember?” you retort.

“I didn’t do that. I did…this,” he explains, curving the back of his index finger against the vaguely incisor-shaped bruises on your neck. “But these? These aren’t my style.”

You step away from Max with a frown, taking another sip of your drink with your back turned. You aren’t beholden to Max. Or even Dave, for that matter.

“Did you fuck someone else?” Max accuses, stepping closer to you. “Who?”

“It doesn’t matter, Max. It really doesn’t.”

“It does matter.” He places his hands on his hips and stares you down.

“No, it doesn’t, unless it’s you, it’s none of your business who I fuck. And I’m not fucking you again, so get out,” you snap back.

Max isn’t going down without a fight. His lips twist into a grin, and he moves into your space, crowding you against the small table by your kitchen which you mostly use as a catch-all. It rattles as a result of impact.

“It was your white knight at the coffee shop. Wasn’t it?” he presses. He plucks your drink from your hand and puts it down on the table.

“No.” Your lips tremble. You’re a bad liar.

He raises his eyebrows in victory. He has you exactly where he wants you.

He isn’t sure why he cares. Or why he’s feeling so possessive over you. He barely paid attention to you before yesterday.

He cages you in with his hands planted on either side of your body on the edge of the table, nose bent to yours, looking down into your eyes. Brow wrinkled in disapproval.

“How does he fuck?” Max asks. Eyes burning holes through you, dick twitching in his slacks.

“Better than you,” you spit.

“Ouch, baby.” Max grabs the underside of your jaw, angling your head back, aquiline nose pressed firmly against your cheek. “Guess we’ll have to make a comparison then, hmm?”

Without warning, Max picks you up effortlessly and tosses you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. You squeak in surprise, your legs thrashing against his torso.

“Max, put me the fuck down!” you yell. He doesn’t listen, his hand firmly rooted in the small of your back until you reach the bed, dropping you face down on top of your bedding and pillows.

He mounts you from behind before you have a chance to wriggle away, his full weight pressed into you, erection dragging your ass. You can’t help it—you moan.

“How many times did he make you cum, sweetheart?”

“Max, that really isn’t any—“

“How many?” he growls into your ear, snapping his hips against the soreness of your ass.

“Five,” you admit in defeat. “Five. Can you let me up now?”

His lips pull back in snarl. “Mmm. I don’t know. It sounds like I have some catching up to do.”

You huff out a breath as he rises, flipping you onto your back and sliding your pants down your legs. You’d actually changed into something other than pajamas, for once, but you’re still devoid of undergarments. He eyes you hungrily, licking his lips.

“Did he fuck you rough or soft?” Max asks, undoing the cuff links on his jacket so he can shuck it off. He takes it off carefully, draping it over the back of your couch, and begins rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

“Rough,” you answer, swallowing, watching him undress.

Max nods, eyes darkening with lust. He crouches in front of you, hands spreading your thighs apart. “That’s right. Whores always like it rough, don’t they?” You can feel his breath ghosting your inner thigh.

Fresh arousal seeps out of you, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Max. He grins up at you, visage remaining hard. “Looking real tasty for me, sweetheart.”

“Max…” you attempt to protest, but there’s little point. You’re fucked up as they come because you’re enjoying being used like this. Just a series of holes for both of them. One man didn’t want you, and now two men want you, at the same time.

It sure as hell made you feel a lot better about the entire situation. Empowered, even.

Your core throbs with more arousal as you imagine how it would feel to take them simultaneously; Dave pressed to your back with Max beneath you. Or Max fucking into you from behind as Dave spears into your mouth.

“Mmm. Such a good little whore,” Max coos, dragging two fingers through your slick. “Let’s start with the first of five, shall we?”

His fingers find your opening and he presses them inside, languidly rolling them inward, shallow to start and then traversing deeper. His fingers are already drenched in you by the time the meat of his palm reaches your entrance.

“She’s weeping for me,” Max muses, twisting his fingers to stretch you out more. “Isn’t she?”

“Mmhmm,” you moan, your hips mirroring the movements of his hand. “You feel so good.”

“Damn right I do.”

He opens you up further as he bends to lick a wide, slow stripe up your seam, a precursory taste, pausing at your clit to slowly circle it with the ball of his tongue. You’re impervious to stop your back from coming off the bed at the shock of it, Max’s arm sliding up to bar across your stomach to keep you pressed against the mattress.

“Don’t move,” he growls.

His mouth dips lower, hawkish nose grazing your clit as he does and you moan, writhing beneath him. His arm clamps harder.

His mouth finds your entrance and he begins fucking into you with his tongue. Your fingers dip into his dark, neatly groomed hair, twisting it, just to have something to grip onto while he works his magic between your legs.

Max finds himself grinding against the edge of the bed for some relief. He’s having a hard time not resigning himself to just saying ‘fuck it’ and sinking into your wet heat.

His lips move back up, tongue parting your seam, circling your clit again as he uses his other hand to slip three fingers into you.

Max hums as his lips close around your clit, the sound vibrating your bundle of nerves. You moan. “Oh god…”

Your fingers tighten in his hair. A simple action but one that spurs him on nonetheless, curling his fingers to fuck into you, lips suckling at your clit. It’s a struggle for Max to keep you against the bed.

He’s barely just started and you’re already about to lose it.

Max smirks between your legs. He briefly removes his arm from your stomach to free himself from his pants for some much needed relief, his cock swollen and aching as it springs free. He pumps himself a couple of times before moving his arm back to your torso, pinning you in place once more.

Max has always been more of a self-serving lover than anything. He had enough skill to pull at least one orgasm out of his partners, two if he was feeling generous — but five? He would never admit it, or even acknowledge it, but he’s more than a little anxious that he’ll be able to get that many from you.

He’s trying his damndest, though, as he applies more pressure to your clit, increasing the speed and force of his fingers inside of you. He ruts against the bed again, wanting nothing more than to fuck you into next Tuesday, but he can’t do that. Not yet.

There’s just something about you that makes him want to try. There’s also something about envisioning your white knight making you scream that’s driving him even further into a downward spiral of lust and longing.

His fingers curve just right, hitting the cluster of nerves against your cervix just right, lips suctioning just right, and you’re crying out Max’s name, chest heaving as you bear down on his fingers and cum hard.

He pulls his lips away, giving you some relief, riding out your high with his fingers until you whine for him to slow down. He does, but he doesn’t stop entirely.

“That’s one,” he chuckles, “Only four more to go.”

“Hey Max, um—“ you start, grabbing at the arm still barred across your stomach. It doesn’t move. “Before we continue, can we, establish a… safe word?”

Max pauses, lifting his face from between your thighs, to look at you. Really look at you. You’re serious. And it tugs at something in him. Sparks his imagination as to what your limitations could be.

“What did you have in mind?” The face he gives you is ponderous even as his lips still glisten with your slick and cum.

You look around. You don’t want to use ‘foxglove’, feeling that would be a bit convoluted and debased. You glance at the window sill, your eyes landing on the dead, brittle lavender plant you should probably get around to throwing out some day.

“Lavender,” you say. Because it’s dead. And because it’s also a flower, like foxglove.

He nods in approval. “Lavender,” he agrees. “If you want me to stop, you say ‘lavender’.”

He doesn’t give you time to process the thought before his head is back between your legs, lips sealing firmly around your clit, sucking hard. You buck your hips reflexively and Max pushes you back down with an irritated grunt, fingers marring your hip.

You resort to moving your legs when you’re unable to move your abdomen, and he pulls away from your cunt with a low snarl of disapproval, pinning your legs beneath his hands.

“Stop fucking moving or I will tie your limbs to the bed,” he threatens. You kind of want him to. And he absolutely would if he had a means to do all of them.

He goes back to lapping at your folds like a man starved, pushing you firmly against the mattress with all his might when your hips reflexively buck upward again.

It isn’t long before you peak a second time, your arms twisting the bedding because it’s all Max will give you the freedom to move.

“Good girl,” he praises, riding out the ebbs of flows of your orgasm. Watching your face, memorizing it.

His dick pulses hard and he can’t waste another minute without you sheathing his cock, all the noises you’re emitting in reverence of him turning him into some kind of feral, unchecked monster. He stands, removing the rest of his attire, no longer worried about being neat, tossing them wherever they happen to land as he rids himself of the hinderance.

He climbs onto the bed next to you, turning you on your side, resuming the same position from yesterday, sans tie. If he weren’t so desperate to cum, to make you cum, he would have taken the extra time. He likes you restrained and maleable.

But his yearning for you has rendered him restless and lacking patience.

If you and Dave are an incendiary mix, you and Max are a noxious one: two elements coming together to create an all consuming cloud of poison that steals your breath and chokes the person you once were right out of you.

He pulls your leg over his hip and slots himself between your thighs, palming himself as he glides the head of his cock through your slippery folds, gathering your slick and then pushing in until he bottoms out in a single thrust.

You are sore. Raw. Used. And you like it.

“Fuck,” he spits against your ear. “So fucking tight.”

He encircles your throat with a broad hand, tilting your head back and against his shoulder as he gives a few precursory slow thrusts, bottoming out and holding every third or fourth one, hips shaking with effort.

His grip tightens. Your vision swims and your core pulses hungrily around his length.

“You ready to get fucked like the little whore you are?”

All you can do is nod, unable to find your voice.

Max jerks your head back harshly. “Words, sweetheart. Fucking words.”

“Yes, I want you to fuck me now, Max. Please.” Your voice is pathetically small.

“Good girl,” Max commends, crooking his arm in the bend of your knee, splaying you open for him as he begins to rail into you with unbridled vigor.

You keen as he angles your head back even further so he can watch your blissed out face. Your mouth is hanging open in the shape of an O, a silent scream etched into your features. To his surprise, he almost finds himself kissing you, barely able to reel himself in from doing so. This is why Max doesn’t do face to face stuff—he doesn’t want his partners getting the wrong idea about him.

But with you he almost breaks.

Each slam of his hips is ludicrously loud. For a few moments you think you actually forget how to breathe.

He lets go of your leg and moves his fingers to where he’s currently cleaving you down the middle, dancing around your clit, flicking with expert precision.

“Yes,” you pant. “God, yes.”

“That’s right, baby. Wanna hear you,” Max praises.

He bites into the rounded hill of your shoulder, incisors bearing down, branding you with yet another mark in the shape of his teeth. At least this one can be hidden.

His pace doesn’t falter. While Max doesn’t share Dave’s calculating focus, he more than makes up for it with his tenacity and grit.

Your hips jolt when he touches a particularly sensitive nerve, your moans filling the air.

“That’s it, sweetheart. C’mon baby. Gimme another.”

You reach your third climax, your muscles briefly seizing under the duress of Max’s spell.

“Good fucking girl. Goddamn little slut, cumming as she’s stuffed full of my cock.” He presses his lips to the shell of your ear, whispering in a deep, dark timbre, “Two more.”

You whimper and shut your eyes. Max’s fingers never hasten their onslaught. Tears ring your eyes, body overwrought from the sting of overstimulation, but the last thing you want is to throw in the towel now.

“What would your white knight do if he were here right now? Do you think he would watch me fuck you?”

Max can feel your throat constricting under his palm as you swallow. “I- I don’t know.”

You already feel another orgasm building on the tail end of the last.

“Did he fuck you here? In your bed?” he presses.

“Yes,” you whimper.

“Mmmm,” he hums lowly. His dick twitches. He wets his lips, eyes trained on your face as he watches you. “Which hole did he fuck, sweetheart?”

“Max, don’t—“ Despite the humiliation you feel, you’re close, so close, to your fourth.

His fingers squeeze your face, digging in to the soft meat of your cheeks. “Answer me,” he tuts, gnashing his teeth.

“All of them,” you answer earnestly, honestly. “All of them… oh, fuck.” Your walls bear down hard, tightening around Max, vision pulling white as you pant his name on your tongue.

“You let him fuck your ass?” he barks into your ear. “You’re even filthier than I thought, you. God. Damn. Whore. Shit—“

Max can’t hold back any longer, scrotum tightening and cock pulsing as he pulls himself from your throbbing snatch in the nick of time, pumping himself in his hand and painting your inner thighs with thick tendrils of his spend. The groan that vibrates the barrel of his chest as he cums is inhuman.

He buries his face in the apex of your neck and shoulder, inhaling your post-coital scent. Savoring it. “Fuck. Fuck, sweetheart.” The edge in his voice is gone. It almost sounds affectionate.

He moves away from you, propping himself up on an elbow to admire the way his semen slides down the skin of your thighs. He swipes two fingers through the thickest part of it, bringing it to your lips. You open without hesitation, accepting him as he pushes into your mouth with a quiet murmur.

“Good girl.”

He grabs your hips, rolling you onto your back as he once again slithers to the lower regions of your body, eyes locked on your face.

“What’re you—“

Max shoots you a slanted grin. “You said five.”

——

It’s late. Too late, after a long road trip, after the stress and drama of picking up his daughters because Carol had insisted he was behind even though he’s sure he wasn’t.

Especially when you’ve been the only thing on his mind all day.

It’s later in the evening before he has a chance to check on you, his daughters already tucked away safely in bed. He sits at the table of his suite’s kitchenette and opens his laptop, dick already painfully hard and straining against his pants at the mere notion of seeing you.

Three clicks and he opens the camera’s live feed. The apartment is dark, and you’re curled up in your bed, watching television. He can’t make out what show it is at this angle, but from what he can hear, it seems to be some kind of reality medical show about weight loss.

He watches you like that for some time, palming himself through his pants, wishing he were there curled up with you.

After a while, when you don’t move, he clicks on the camera’s recorded footage and starts scrolling through.

Though you’re out of shot most of the time, he listens as you have the conversation with your mother, wishing he could pull you through the screen and into his arms. He can’t hear the full conversation, but he gets the gist of it, and it sends a dagger of pain through his chest seeing you so worked up.

He’s glad you’re well removed from that life.

After the phone call, you clean for several hours, before sitting down to write. He scrolls through most of that footage, pausing occasionally if something in particular catches his eye.

He stops scrolling when he notices your head lift toward the door. You get up from your chair, padding barefoot to the door to peek through the peephole. You sigh, shaking your head, reluctantly opening it for whomever is on the other side.

He can only partially see what’s happening, but he can make out enough to instantly recognize the man that steps inside.

Dave’s eyes grow a shade darker and his hand is in his pants before he even realizes what he’s doing.

He fast forwards to where Max already has you on the bed. By all accounts, Dave should be jealous. It doesn’t make sense that he isn’t, considering what Carol did. Considering that he nearly killed the man she was sleeping with with his own bare fists.

Given Dave’s skills and proclivity for killing, the man was lucky he didn’t.

But for some reason, with you, things are different. Everything with you is different.

Dave puts in his headphones as he continues to watch, letting out a quiet moan when Max’s face dips between your legs. The face you make is nothing short of euphoric.

He continues to stroke himself, precum leaking onto his wrist as he watches events unfold right in front of him.

He picks up his phone, thumbing the screen to get to your messages, opening it to type two words and hitting send.

Dave: Hey, you.

Your phone lights up a minute later.

—

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#pedro pascal #writing #romance #smut #author #fanfic #pedro fanfic #max phillips #dave york

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