#also whys she dressed like a schoolgirl
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First redesigns :3 ty @g3n3s1s-l0v3 love for telling me to draw eiji in my style i got so pissed off when i saw he didnt have proper photography gear ALL OF HIS SHOTS WOULD BE BLURRY WITH THE WAY HE HOLDS HIS CAMERA!!!! (My dad does photography and i tag along)
Also unpopular opinion why are eiji and jun pale like that. Doesnt eiji spend majority of his time in the forest with cole. Doesnt jun play FOOTBALL…. Whatever
DISCLAIMER!! I’m white!! Do let me know if anything i redesign is harmful in ANY WAY!! My intentions are just to redraw them how i think is better, that DOES NOT mean they’re right and im open to talking about them or changing them
#roblox daybreak#daybreak 2#daybreak roblox#canon redesigns#ok but LISTEN yans supposed to inherit her fathers company. yes shes going to probably rely on nathan for being her bodyguard#and probably some helpers too#BUT SHES??? GONNA INHERIT A COMPANY???#YOU DONT THINK THAT GIRLS GONE THROUGH TRAINING#AND HAS BEEN TAUGHT LIKE. ETIQUETTE SO SHE DOESNT RUN HER FATHERS COMPANY INTO THE GROUND???#also whys she dressed like a schoolgirl#‘ouh shes 18’ 18 YEARS TO OLD TO BE WEARING THAT?? HAVE YOU SEEN THE WAY#RICH PEOPLE DRESS??? SPECIFICALLY SERIOUS COMPANY OWNERS???#THAT GIRL HAS HIGH STANDARD THIS IS THE ONLY THING I WILL NOT BE ARGUED WITH
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Big Mama Pt. 5
Pairing: Terry Richmond x Plus Size Fem Black!OC
Wordcount: +7.4K 🤦🏽♀️
Warnings: MDNI (18+) mature content, such as cursing, teasing, heavily dialogue-centered, use of pet names (Daddy, Mama, lil' mama, pretty girl, good boy, etc.), angst, P in V, oral (female receiving), Dom!Terry, CNC (roleplay fantasy "r-word")
A/N: I don't know how many parts there will be. However, I'm open to critiques. I am a little 🤏🏽 sensitive about my writing. Please, don't be too harsh.🥺 Feel free to bring my attention to any typos. Divider by @firefly-graphics. Also, this work is not to be plagiarized or reposted (on any site other than here on Tumblr). I do NOT give consent for any form of republishing or rewriting.
Big Mama Pt. 1 => 🦋
Big Mama Pt. 2 => 🦋
Big Mama Pt. 3 => 🦋
Big Mama Pt. 4 => 🦋
6 months later ~ Halloween night
“Girl, why the fuck does this man have y'all stayin’ way the fuck out here?” Monica asked while driving. “That's the point. He knows I love the country. Plus, it so fuckin’ peaceful out here,” I said laughing. “’Vana, this is a serial killer's dream. Two black people in the middle of nowhere!” she blurted.
Tonight, we all went to a Halloween party as a group— Monica, Jordan, Terry, and I. The party was thrown at a warehouse downtown. It was fuckin' amazing. I had never had that much fun before. Terry even seemed to really enjoy himself, but he got sick at some point. He let me know that he was leaving early. I offered to go with him, but he declined. After he left, I tried my best to have fun but couldn't stop worrying about him. He wasn't answering my calls or texts which was strange.
I leaned over while sitting in the car. I unstrapped my heels and pulled them off. I was wearing a sexy schoolgirl costume that left nothing to the imagination. We agreed to dress up as a couple with Terry being a nerdy school professor. Our costumes made much more sense when we stood near each other, so I spent most of the night by his side.
Monica drove down the gravel driveway of the large farmhouse. Pulling to the front porch, I realized all the lights were off. It was eerily quiet— almost too quiet. Terry must have actually been sick if he had gone to bed this early. Monica's car came to a stop. She looked out into the field and stared at the barn. “This really is some serial killer type shit!” she said shaking her head. “Shut up!” I said laughing at her remarks. Monica was definitely on edge.
“I'm so done with you,” I said grabbing my heels before getting out of the car. “Just call me or text me. I wanna make sure you're safe. This shit so creepy,” she said scrunching up her nose and looking around. “Okay, scaredy cat,” I said leaning back into the window tickling her neck. “Terry is big and all, but not Texas Chainsaw Massacre big. Be safe!” she said. “Goodnight, whore!” I yelled as I turned and started walking towards the porch. I walked up the steps with the heels swinging in my hand. The front door was left unlocked because Terry had the only key. I opened the door and walked in.
I looked around the open living room in search of Terry. “Terry, baby? Where are you?” I yelled as I turned towards the hallway. Before I could move, I saw something flash across the large floor-to-ceiling window in the living room. I couldn't tell if it was a light or a reflection. I stood there for a second to see if it would happen again. Nothing. I shrugged my shoulders and proceeded to walk up the stairs. I was approaching the master bedroom door when I noticed a stain on the floor. It was a puddle of dark liquid. I couldn't tell what it was, but it smelled metallic. I leaned over in front of the door and hovered over the puddle. It looked like— blood.
I leaned up and quickly backed away from the door. I dropped the heels and held my chest. I turned back towards the stairs. I instantly wanted to flee but realized I didn't know where Terry was. “Terry, please. If this is a joke, this a fuckin' sick one!” I yelled from the top of the stairs. I turned back to look at the bedroom door. What if he was in there hurt? Shit!
I slowly walked back up to the door. I placed my hand on the doorknob and turned it slowly. I opened the door slightly peeking around. “Terry,” I said whispering into the room, “I don't like this.” I walked into the room, staying close to the door. I walked towards the center of the room facing the bed. The master bathroom door was cracked open with the light on. There was a smaller puddle at the bottom of this door. I wasn't liking this at all. My anxiety was pushing my heart through my chest. Every breath was feeling like swallowing razor blades. I inched closer to the door as panic was setting in. What if Terry was on the other side of this door? What if he was hurt, what if he was dead?
As I approached the door, I noticed faint marks leading from the puddle and into the bathroom— drag marks. No! I tried my hardest to level my breathing. I placed my hand on the door and pushed it open slowly. I opened the door to find blood splatter all over the bathroom and the tub covered in it. I almost screamed but covered my mouth. I started to back out of the bathroom. My foot stepped into the puddle by the bathroom door, soaking the bottom of my stockings. Tears were starting now.
As I lifted my foot to remove the stockings, there was a loud thud at the bedroom window. I didn't want to look out, but I had to know if it was Terry. I slowly crossed the room. The window had no blinds just a sheer white curtain. I pushed the curtain open lightly to peek but hopefully not be seen. I looked out towards the field at the rear of the house. That's when I saw him— a man. He was holding an axe over his shoulder. He looked like a lumberjack. THIS WASN'T TERRY! I stumbled away from the window unsure of what I just saw. There was no way this was happening. We didn't come way out here for this shit! I slowly leaned back towards the window to look again. This time I didn't touch the curtains.
He was still there, but his head was tilted up facing the window this time. The axe was resting by his side. He slowly raised the axe and slung it onto his shoulder. I could see there was something in his other hand. Before I could investigate further, he pointed towards the window. He could see me! He raised his hand above his hand and slung whatever was in his hand at the window. I ducked behind the wall. The object hit the window with a splat.
I eased away from the window to see blood splatter dripping down. I backed up towards the bed while still facing the window. Holding my chest, I tried to sort out what was going on. Then, I heard the sound of heavy boots thumping on the back porch. He was closer now. That's when I remembered the backdoor couldn't be locked from the inside. Terry had told me this earlier that day. But if the door couldn't be locked, he could just—. Before I could finish my thoughts, I heard the backdoor open and slam against the wall. The last place I wanted to be was in the room he last saw me in because this would be the first place he searched.
So, I slipped out of the bedroom door and hid in the guest room. I could hear his footsteps hitting the stairs as I closed the door. The closer he got; the louder it became. He paused at the top of the stairs. I heard his footsteps lead towards the room I left. While holding my breath, I heard him slowly open and close the door. I instantly began weighing out all my options. I could hide here like the typical dumbass— under the bed, in the closet, or behind a door. Or, I could sneak and hide somewhere else before he sees me.
Fuck it! I was trying my luck with the second option.
I stood near the door and slowly opened it. Peeking out into the empty hallway towards the other room, I turned around and tried to close the door slowly so it didn't creak. I turned back around and began tip-toeing towards the top of the stairs. Before I could get far, I noticed the bathroom door in the hallway open. I had this odd feeling that I was being watched. I didn't want to look, but I was too afraid to make any sudden movements. I pressed my back against the railing while closely watching the opening and the bedroom door of the room I left.
As soon as I reached the banister, I felt a presence behind me. I was right! He had never gone into the bedroom. He rushed from the open bathroom, coming straight towards me. He tossed the axe to the opposite hand with ease. The mask he wore covered his head entirely, so I couldn't see his hair, face, or eyes. I tried to run away from him, but he managed to grab the back of my top. I yanked away from him, causing it to rip. I stumbled down the stairs with him close behind me.
I knew better than to run out the backdoor. There was nothing but acres of open fields. The kitchen wasn't an option either as it was in the back of the home. I ran towards the front door, leaping off the porch. I sprinted for the barn across from the house. It was far, but I had a better chance of finding a weapon to use. The barn door was open. There wasn't an ounce of light inside. Fuck it! It was too late to turn back now. I ran into the barn and hid behind a mountain of hay.
He was cocky. He didn't even run after me; he casually walked. He treated this like it was an everyday encounter. There wasn't an ounce of worry in his demeanor. His shoulders were squared, and his stance was wide. He stood at the barn entrance, searching for any signs of where I went. He knew I was in here.
He rolled his shoulders and neck. He swung the axe back and forth at his side. He turned around, facing the barn door. He walked to the side and pulled the handle for the door. He slid it across the entrance. He was sealing me inside. There was nowhere to run, but the other door. It was closed, but I only needed an opportunity to run and enough gap to squeeze through.
Walking to the corner, he pulled a metal chain across the bar on the door and locked it. Now, I was LOCKED in. I had to get to that back door. I looked around me, but there was nothing. Had I really gotten locked in here with nothing to defend myself?
I eased along the slide of the bales, trying not to make a sound. I was short enough to stay concealed as I moved. I made it to the other end of the barn before he made another move. He was at one end and I was at the other. I realized that I could go for the door. It didn't look too heavy for me to pull.
All I had to do was get to the door, push it open enough to slip through and run. That's it.
I stood as close as I could to the wall. I took a silent deep breath. I peeked around to make sure he was still on the opposite side. I slipped past the hay and ran for the door. I could see him turn to face me. I grabbed the handle and pulled it as hard as I could. It wouldn't budge. I tried to push it again and again. Nothing.
I turned around to see him walking towards me. Oh no! That's when I heard it— the sound of a chain. This door was locked from the outside. There was no way I had just done this. I kept pulling at the door. I flattened my back against it, turning to face him. He wasn't moving any closer. He stood in the middle of the barn with the axe over his shoulder. I knew for a fact that I couldn't outrun him. So, what do I do?
“Please, just leave me alone. My boyfriend's here somewhere!” I yelled holding my arms in front of my stomach. He barked out the most sinister laugh I had ever heard, before stopping abruptly and going silent. “He's dead, you dumb bitch! You didn't get that from the mess upstairs!” he yelled. The world around me began to spin. He had said the quiet part out loud. Terry was dead, and I just didn't want to believe it. “What? I gotta show you his body for you to believe me?” he said walking closer. “No!” I yelled. “No!” he yelled mocking me, “You sound fuckin' pathetic.” I was crying even harder now. No amount of breathwork or grounding would save me from this. I was about to die, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. “So, is this the part where you run again, huh? Save yourself the trouble, pretty girl. Just come here!” he said pointing in front of him using the axe. “Fuck… fuck you!” I said crying.
His body stiffened immediately. His hand gripped the handle of the axe tighter. “I said to c��mere. Right the fuck now!” he barked. I stood where I was frozen in fear. “If I gotta come getchu or you make me chase you, so help me God!” he spat. I pushed away from the door while slowly walking towards him. I had to try something.
As I moved closer to him, I shifted my path to the side of him. I didn't want to get close to him, but did I have a choice? I stopped a few feet from him so I was out of reach. “You do know that if I swing this fuckin' axe I can still hit you?” he said frankly. I looked between us. He was telling the truth. I wasn't stopping shit. If he wanted to get me, he still could. “Come on, pretty girl. Help me, help you. Stand right here,” he said in a calmer tone.
I still didn't move— I couldn't. No matter what I did right now? I was going to die anyway.
I looked down at my feet. “Is it the axe, baby girl? Tell me,” he said tilting his head. I looked up at the axe and trailed my eyes up to his face. I could sense that he was staring at me. “Look at me, lil’ mama!” he snapped. He seemed agitated with my antics, but I didn't know what to do. He was tall and appeared muscular. My short thick ass couldn't outrun him or fight him.
He waved the axe around wildly, slinging it away. It soared through the air and landed on the barn’s upper level. “See. I'm nice,” he said raising his hands. They were empty, but I wasn't stupid. I knew a man like this didn't need weapons when his hands could do damage and kill.
I wasn't any less scared, but oh well. I walked towards him slowly, holding my breath. Once I was in arm's reach, he grabbed my shirt by the knot in the front. It tore in half. He yanked it from my body, exposing my black push-up bra. I threw my hands up to cover my chest. He smacked my hand down. “Move your fuckin' hands!” he yelled, raising his hand as if he were about to hit me again. “I fuckin' dare you!” he grunted through gritted teeth. I dropped my hands by my side, waiting for whatever was coming. Why wasn't he doing anything?
“What do you really want?” I asked. I was tired of this sicko's games. “Does it fuckin' matter? It's not like you got anywhere to go,” he said laughing. He was faking his composure. He wasn't calm at all. His hands were flexing and his shoulders were tensing up by the second. Why did I let Terry talk me into coming out here?
“Arghhh… If you don't fuckin' move!” he yelled. Fear took over, causing me to take a step back. “You know what fuck that?” he said pulling out a pair of leather gloves from his back pocket. He pulled them over his hands and wiggled his fingers. His hands filled the gloves perfectly. He closed the gap between us in two quick steps. His chest was right in front of my face.
I dropped my head. There was no point in running. “Just do it already!” I yelled hitting him in the chest repeatedly. He stood there and took every hit. His body didn't move an inch. Nothing I was doing was even affecting this man. Angered because I was tired of being toyed with, I pushed him in his chest. He shifted a little. I pushed him again. He shifted back a little more. Before I could push him a third time, he grabbed my hands. He held my hands above my head. “Stupid girl. Was that fun for you? Aww, you're fighting the big bad man. How cute?” he said mocking me.
He released my arms. I looked down and rubbed my wrists. I was caught off guard by his hand wrapping around my throat. He lifted my body from the ground and pushed me against one of the posts on the barn. “If you ever put your fuckin' hands on me again, I'll snap your fuckin' neck! Understand?” he grumbled. His teeth were grinding, and his grip was tightening. “Yes!” I managed to squeal out. “That's what the fuck I thought!” he yelled, releasing his grip.
My body hit the ground with a thud. I held my neck. I was sure there was a mark or a bruise. I was leaning over on one side. He squatted down so that he was right in front of me. Reaching to touch my face, he stroked my cheek and wiped my tears. “You're too pretty to be cryin’, girl,” he said tilting his head to one side. He was just hovering over me stroking my cheek. It was as if he was in a trance. I took in a deep breath. He let his hand roam my body. First, he groped my breast. Then, he caressed my stomach. This didn't feel right. Why was he all of a sudden being so gentle— too gentle?
His hand went lower and stopped at the top of my skirt. He looked back up at me while his hand moved down to my thighs. He pushed my skirt up and began dragging his hand along my thighs. “Damn, I know he’ll miss this,” he said moving his hand up towards my pussy. I clamped my thighs shut. No way was he about to touch me there. His face shot up in my direction. One of his hands shot up and slapped me across the face. “Don’t fuckin’ try me!” he said grabbing my chin. Even though I couldn’t see his eyes, I could tell his gaze was locked on my face.
While still gripping my chin and focusing on my face, his hand began moving again. His hand stalled and rested on top of my pussy. He hooked his pointer and index fingers around the crotch of my panties, tugging them a little. He tore them off my body, and I screamed as the fabric scratched against my skin.
I kicked him in the chest as hard as I could. He grabbed my ankle and yanked me towards him. I tried to find something to grab onto, failing miserably. My palms burned from being pulled through the dirt. “Stop, or else!” he screamed, holding my legs down. “Fuck you! If you're going to do it, do it! Bitch!” I yelled slapping him across the face.
I turned over onto my stomach and began attempting to crawl away. He grabbed the back of my legs, pulling me back towards him. I managed to snatch one leg away. He leaned forward and jumped onto my back. His hands flew to the back of my head, pulling my hair so my back was flush to his chest. “Yell! Scream! Go ahead! Nobody can hear you, dumbass!” he said in my ear, yanking my head up. “Let me go!” I screamed.
I couldn't keep fighting him. As much as I didn't want to admit it, I knew only one of us would walk away from this, and it wouldn't be me. “You don't like living do you?” he said pushing me to the ground. My face hit the dirt. A metallic taste flooded my mouth— blood. I lifted my hand and wiped my mouth. I turned over, sitting on my butt. I pushed on my hands to get up. “Sit!” he screamed, knocking me back. I was tired of this shit. I wanted no part of this stupid ass game he was playing.
I pulled my knees into my chest and began crying. “Hell, nah! Shut the fuck up! The fuck is cryin’ gonna do?” he asked while grabbing the back of my head. He used his grip on my hair to pull me down before straddling me. “You know what? Maybe I was wrong. I like the way you look when you cry. Soft. Sweet. Defenseless. Scared. Yeah, I think I like this,” he said cupping my left breast. His hand wandered to my left bra strap. He pushed it down slowly before doing the same to the other side. “Take it off slowly. No need to rush. We got all night,” he said low. I didn't move. What was the point of doing what he said? Prolonging my ending life seemed futile.
He reached behind him and pulled out a hunter's knife. I stared at the blade, tensing up. I placed my hands on his chest, trying to push him away. He grabbed my hands in one of his and held them above my head. He twirled the knife in his hand before pressing it into the front of my neck. The adrenaline in my body was pumping, and my ears were ringing. “Just do it!” I yelled, sobbing. His focus shifted back to my face. I could almost see his features spread into a smile through the mask. “Okay!” he said laughing. I felt the knife leave my skin. The presence of the blade still lingering behind.
With a heavy heart, I closed my eyes. I waited and waited. Every breath seemed to bring me closer to my last. I felt his grip on my hands tighten but still nothing. What was he doing? I wanted to close my eyes but was too afraid of what I might see.
I felt the knife glide across my stomach. I felt the blade rest on the fabric between my bra cups.
rip
He sliced through the front of my bra and began making quick work of the straps as well. I opened my eyes to see him peeling the pieces from my body. My exposed nipples hardened from the crispness of the Autumn air. He raised the knife to my chest, sliding it across my nipples. The cold blade stimulated the sensitive buds. I squirmed underneath him. This was feeling— I don't know. Was I enjoying this, or was my fear driving me insane?
I moved my hands and twisted my wrists. “No,” I whimpered. “No? You sure, pretty girl? I bet if I rubbed my hand through that pussy of yours, she'd be sayin' something else! Wouldn't she?” he said putting the knife back behind him. “Just…,” I said trying to tug away again. It must have annoyed him because it earned me another slap to the face. “Quit the bullshit, baby! Let's see!” he said, placing his hands on the button of my skirt. He unbuttoned and unzipped it quickly. While grabbing both sides of the zipper, he easily tore the mini skirt in half. “Clean! I like that. You came prepared for me, huh?” he said rubbing the mound of my pussy. The fabric of his leather gloves was like ice against my skin. He scooted back on his knees a little so that he was straddling my thighs more than my waist. He stuffed his hand between my legs, palming my pussy. He cupped his hand, trailing it through my folds. He dragged his hand up and down my slit, grazing my clt each time.
I was shocked by what I saw when he pulled his hand out. Cum! What the hell was going on? “Oh! That's lovely,” he said bringing the wet glove closer to his face mask. He drew in a deep breath. “Now, I might not be the smartest man but that looks like arousal to me. Don't it?” he said bringing the glove to my face. “ Yes… no… I don't fuckin' know!” I yelled. “You might wanna admit it, baby. You like this, huh? You dirty slut!” he said stuffing his fingers into my mouth. I gagged at the force.
“Don't say shit! Just suck!” he said, leaning over me. His face was right in front of mine. I could feel the warmth of his breath through the mask. I opened my mouth wider, telling myself to just do it. I sucked on the glove lightly. “You can do better than that! Come on! The better you perform; the longer you may live. Make me proud,” he said, leaning up.
I sucked on the glove again— a little harder this time. He let his finger roam inside my mouth. I let my tongue slither around each finger, causing his dick to jump. I felt it move against my thigh. I looked down to see a tent growing in his jeans. Shit, it was big! Oh, no. I couldn't be thinking like this. What would Terry think of me?
“Don't worry you'll see it soon!” he said drawing my attention back to him. I realized that I had been unconsciously sucking on his fingers. He pulled the glove from my mouth and smeared my saliva all over my face and lips. “Sloppy. I like it!” he said, lightly tapping my cheek. “Imma let yo’ hands go. Don't do no stupid shit, okay?” he said. I nodded my head yes. What the fuck could I possibly do in this situation?
He released my hands. I instantly pulled them to my chest and began rubbing my wrists. “I'm sowwy. I shouldn't have been so rough when you're so soft and…” he said trailing his hands down my chest to cup both of my breasts. The material of the gloves felt smooth against my nipples, causing me to let out a soft moan. He broke from his trance and focused on my face again. I know he heard it. Why was I moaning from this? What the hell was going on with my body?
“Listen to me. If you promise to be nice, I'll let you live. Who knows maybe you can be my sex slave or something!” he chuckled deeply. “As if I have a choice,” I whispered turning my head. “Well, you're right about that. Shall we begin?” he asked clapping his hands. “Begin?” I asked confused. All I could see was his facial features shift under his mask. He was smiling— no he was grinning. A big sinister grin was spread across his face. He was about to enjoy whatever came next.
He lifted his hips and repositioned himself between my legs. He grabbed the back of my knees and pushed them up to my chest using one hand. With the other, he undid his belt buckle and pants. He didn't even care to pull them down completely. I watched as he grabbed his dick at the base. I immediately knew where this was going. I tried to push my legs back down, but even when using one hand he was stronger than me. He leaned over me and slapped his dick on my clit. It was heavy and hard as a brick. “Remember what I said. The better you perform…,” he said letting his thoughts trail off.
In one quick thrust, he was inside me— deep. My arms flew up trying to push his chest. “Don't do that!” he cooed. “Behave. I promise to make it worth your while,” he lulled, dodging my hands. It was like he didn't give a fuck about me fighting back. He was too focused on—. “Fine. Have it your way!” he barked.
He grabbed my hands and pinned them above my head. With his teeth, he snatched the glove from his other hand. He threw it behind him. I could feel his dick twitching inside me. He grabbed my neck and began pounding into me. I gasped for air. How was he switching back and forth like that? He was nice one second, then aggressive the next. This man was a fuckin’ psychopath.
His hips snapped into my ass. “If you want me to stop, stop me!” he laughed. I knew I couldn't. I had tried and tried again. “Come on! Do something!” he yelled in my face. I was done. My blood boiled and fear went out the window for a second. “Fuck you! Kiss my fat black ass!” I yelled pushing my thighs down as hard as I could. He falls back onto his hands. I used this as an opportunity to scramble away. “Arghhh, you stupid bitch! Tell me what’re you gonna do? Huh? You can't run. You can't hide. No one can hear you!” he yelled waving his arms around. Again, he was right. What the fuck could I do?
I sat there for a minute with my back turned away from him. I was on my knees crying into my hands. Each sob racked through my body. An idea jumped into my head— this would either kill me or save me. I didn't know what to do, but I did know what I had to do. ONE FINAL TRY.
I turned on my knees to face him. “So, you're saying that… if I… if I let you do it, you'll let me live?” I asked gasping for air in between sobs. “I'm a man of my word, love,” he said sweetly. I covered my body, waiting for his next move. “Fine! Just do it,” I said getting on my hands and knees and slowly crawling toward him. I was a few feet from him when he told me to stop. I looked up to see him twirling his finger. “Turn around. You're pretty and all, but I'm sick of your face,” he spat with disgust. I turned around and sat on my knees.
He climbed behind me. His presence alone swallowed my frame. I was a big girl, but that meant nothing right now. He pushed me forward. “Ass up, face down. Don't make me repeat myself!” he yelled smacking my ass. He was sitting between my knees with his hands by his side. I got on all fours in front of him. I heard him scoff and grunt. “Fix ya’ arch. If I gotta fix it, you're not gonna like it. Let's go!” he yelled.
I arched my back and pushed my ass into the air. Without realizing how close I was, my ass grazed his dick. He growled in response. I looked over my shoulder at him. “What the fuck did I say? I don't wanna see ya’ face. Turn around!” he yelled popping my ass again. I screamed out in pain.
“Oh, shut up! It didn't hurt!” he said laughing at me. I started to sit up, but he pushed me back down. “What you movin’ for? I'm just kiddin’,” he said playfully. This man was confusing the hell out of me. How did he expect me to react? There was nothing funny about this. I moved away from his hand before he could react. “Alright, damn! I'm sorry. You know what? No, I'm not. I'm sick of your shit, you disrespectful bitch! I’ve tried being nice to you, but you don't seem to give a fuck. Why should I?” he snapped while grabbing my hair. His other hand forced my ass to meet his hips. “We're gonna learn that attitudes don't work around here!” he said thrusting back inside of me. I could feel the thickness of his dick inside me. It was clear that this was turning him on.
I felt his hand slide up my back to my shoulder. He was pulling me back on him now. He was pounding into me like I was a sex doll. I could feel my pussy beginning to ache already. As if he could sense my discomfort, he paused. Letting go over my hair and shoulder, he placed both hands beside me. He was on top of me now. Fuck! I needed to get on my back.
He began to grind his hips into me slowly. What was he doing? He leaned over so that his mouth was near my ear. The mask was warm from his breath. “Better?” he asked seductively while fucking into me. It was as if his voice had changed, and lust had taken over. It wasn't raspy anymore. It was deep and soft— smooth like velvet. “Answer me. Is this better?” he asked, pulling his dick out to the tip. “Yes,” I moaned out. It was like I couldn't control it. It was starting to feel good. “Yeah, that's what I wanna hear,” he said, pushing his dick back in. He was kissing my cervix and bottoming out with every stroke. He was honestly fucking so well. I hated this. I wasn't supposed to enjoy this, but I couldn't help it. His dick felt amazing inside me. Every stroke felt like— love. How?
“That's right. Take it. You got it,” he said. My eyes started to roll in the back of my head as I could feel his dick swelling inside me. He leaned back up and grabbed my hips. The movement of his hips was slow and—. “Ahh, shit! Wait!” I said putting my arms out to the side. I flattened my body against the ground. I was yearning for something to grab. My hands dug into the dirt of the barn floor.
“Come on. I'm so close, baby. Fuck!” he said quickening his pace. His hips were snapping into me at this point. I could feel the gentle caress of his balls slapping my clit. “This pussy is mine!” he groaned, fisting the hair at the back of my head. He pressed my head into the floor.
As his hips shifted to pound down into me, he brought one leg up so that he was kneeling. My pussy began to clench around his dick. I could feel my climax approaching. The wetness of my pussy was working against me. He was sliding in and out of me with ease. My pussy was begging for a release. I needed to cum so that I could come to my senses.
His dick was throbbing inside of me. Oh, he was close, and I wanted him to c—. No, I didn't want that. I didn't want him to do that— not inside me, but it was TOO LATE! His hips snapped into my ass with force. He grabbed my hips and pulled me onto him. He held me there, releasing every ounce of his nut inside of me.
“Ahhh, fuck! That pussy was nice. Can I keep you?” he asked letting go of me. I let my body collapse onto the ground. “One more,” I said turning to face him. “What?” he asked confused. “I didn't finish. I wanna cum,” I said pouting. I needed him to trust me because I needed this plan to work. “Can't get enough, huh?” he said, pushing me on my back. I let my legs fall open so that he could see just how wet my pussy was. I needed him to lose focus.
“Oh, you nasty slut. You like this shit! Don't you?” he asked, slapping his dick on my clit. He rubbed his dick through the mixture of our cum that was spilling out of me. He sat his dick at my entrance. “Beg, bitch! You want it so bad. Beg for this dick!” he growled, holding his dick at the base. Pride was out the door at this point. There was no turning back. “Please, I need it. Make me cum. That's all I want. Just make me cum. You..,” I said but before I could finish he forced his dick inside of me. “Ahhh!” I said moaning out.
As much as I wanted to hate this, it felt so good. His dick was hitting every spot and scratching every itch. My pussy was creaming around him, and I was leaking like a faucet. He leaned over me, placing his hands on both sides of my head. I could hear our hips slamming into each other. I rubbed my hand up his chest. I grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer. I could feel every breath he took on my face.
He threw his head back in bliss. I was chasing two dragons at once— an orgasm and the key to my freedom. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him in deeper. I could feel my orgasm approaching. “I'm about to nut!” I yelled, gripping the back of his head. I placed my head on his shoulder. I could see it. IT WAS RIGHT THERE! I let my orgasm take over and began clenching and unclenching my walls to push him into his. His strokes got sloppy, and his hips stiffened. He dropped his head on my shoulder, letting his weight fall onto me. This was it— my only chance.
I slid one of my hands down his back while keeping the other pressed to the back of his head. “Stay in me, please,” I begged. I didn't need him to move. As my hand got closer to his waistband, I felt it— the knife! I gripped the handle and pulled it from his waistband. I pulled my legs under me so that they were pressed against his chest and kicked him as hard as I could. Knife in hand, I jumped on him before he could react. Pressing the knife against his throat, I began to speak. “Tell me why I shouldn't?” I yelled. “Because…,” he said, struggling to find an answer. “Take off the mask!” I demanded. “What?” he asked. “You heard me! Bitch!” I yelled back, pressing the knife deeper into his neck. I could feel his heart racing. Wasn't shit funny to him now. “Aight, damn!” he yelled while slowly removing the mask. His hands tossed the mask away from us.
What a sight?! I leaned in closer, turning the blade on its side. “Any last words?!” I snarled. He lay there quietly. “None. Fine with me!” I said, fisting the knife. “I just hope you know how special you are, Mama. Oh, and my girlfriend gone kick yo’ ass!” he screamed.
“Terry!” I said pouting. He grabbed my face and pulled me in for a kiss. “All you had to do was keep acting scared. Dammit!” I said pushing away from him. I was straddling his waist with my arms folded across my chest going into full brat mode. “I'm sorry! You said the code word for ending the scene, Mama. How was I supposed to know you wanted to keep going?” he asked grabbing my chin. “You ruined the fun,” I said dropping my arms. “Did I though?” he asked taking one of my nipples into his mouth. “You still got one more in you?” he asked, releasing my nipple from his mouth. “How the fuck am I supposed to say no?” I asked leaning in to kiss him and dropping the knife.
He placed his arm around my waist and lifted my hips. He reached his hand between us, guiding his dick inside me. “Ouu, shit!” I moaned into his mouth. “Come on, Mama. You got it. Make Daddy proud!” he said smiling. I pushed him back onto the ground. “Here comes, Big Mama!” I yelled, giggling. I hopped onto my feet and started bouncing on his dick. My hips smashed down into his. I leaned over and began kissing his neck. “Let me have it, Mama. Let's go!” he yelled, smacking my ass. Terry let out the sweetest moan as his head dropped back. His eyes rolled into the back of his head.
Fuck, I couldn't help myself. Look at him. Eyes rolling. Toes curling. Moaning to the gods. Yeah, I did that! Me!
“You like that? Huh?” I asked, placing my hand on Terry's neck. I pressed down on the front of his throat. Terry's eyes shot open and his hand reached for mine. “Don't you fuckin' dare!” I said, slowing down my hips and gripping his dick with every grind. “Fuck!” Terry said letting his hands fall. “Nah, look at me. Ain't that what you said?” I taunted while gripping his neck even tighter. “Ahh, fuck. I love you!” he screamed out. “Yeah, I wanna hear that shit. Eyes on me!” I said, mocking him. His eyes opened slowly as his breathing became ragged. I could feel his heart racing under the palm of my hand. I held the grip on his neck with the other.
The sound of my ass colliding with his hips echoed through the barn. “Give me it, Daddy!” I said, releasing his neck. I sat up straight and began to ride Terry like the stallion he is. “Ahh, that's… oh, fuck! Here it comes!” Terry said, grabbing my hips and holding me in place. His hips froze as he squeezed my waist. I felt every drop of his cum paint the inside of my walls. I giggled into my hand and said, “Oh, I'm not done!”
Terry's face was overcome with shock. “You heard me,” I said, rocking my hips. “Fuck it. It's all you, Mama,” he said, collapsing backward. “Oh, I know!” I said cockily. That's when I noticed Terry was smirking. “You just don't know when to stop, huh?” he said grabbing my hips and lifting me off of him. He pushed my body over his chest so that my pussy was directly over his mouth. His tongue immediately found my clit. I was definitely about to cum from this. His mouth covered the sensitive bud as he sucked.
I felt his hands rubbing and squeezing my ass. I fell forward and began grinding against his face. I felt Terry's lips curl into a smile. “I'm about to cum,” I announced loudly. Terry popped my ass and held me down, encouraging me. His tongue slithered along my entrance. He was missing it on purpose, teasing me. I whined like a bitch. Moans were leaving my mouth repeatedly. His tongue finally found its way into my pussy. I clenched as I felt my orgasm approaching. “Ah, fuck!” I yelled, leaning up and straddling Terry's face. He removed his tongue and began sucking on my clit again. That's what did it. I came all over Terry. “Ugh… mmm. Fuck, Daddy!” I moaned through my orgasm. I could hear him laugh from underneath me. “Damn you!” I yelled, climbing off of Terry's face. “I love you, too. Mean ass!” he said. “I guess I love you,” I said, laughing while leaning over to kiss Terry’s lips.
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𝐖𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐☆.。.:*
𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐈 - 𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞
𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: mean jock!Ari Levinson x naive!reader
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: extreme voyeurism, daddy!kink, drugs (ecstasy), smutt, dd/lg vibes, dubcon, choking, dark Ari, liar Ari, cheater Ari, mean Ari, size difference, innocence kink, naive reader, 18+ only, minors dni!
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Finally sick of Ari's lies, you're determined not to fall victim to his charms again.
𝐀/𝐍: This is part 2 of my fic, Wicked Games. Oh, I'm nervous about posting this! Please forgive any mistakes! Major warning for drug use and dubcon smut! Also, we finally find out who the second love interest it! Word count: 14.7k.
Coming to this party was a huge mistake, and you realise that the moment you enter the frat house. The music’s so loud, you can barely hear yourself think. You definitely can’t hear your friend Wanda, who’s excitedly mouthing stuff at you as she hands you a shot. You quickly down it with her before taking in your surroundings: the whole room is dark and packed, with red and black strobe lights thumping along with the music. Bodies writhing at every turn, people laughing, screaming, kissing and more.
And then you see him. Amongst the sea of what feels like a bazillion people, Ari stands heads above them all. The 6’6’’ captain of the basketball team, so handsome in a white shirt that clings snugly to his muscular biceps. Even with a snapback resting backwards on his head, you can still see tufts of his long brown hair curling at the base of his neck. God, did he have to be so goddamn hot?
Of course, he’s staring straight back at you, and you know you should look away. But you stand there, gormless and entranced like a schoolgirl. Watching him take in your body, letting his eyes trail leisurely down your form and drink everything in. He’s a fair distance away from you and half obstructed by dancing bodies, but you somehow still see his pink tongue peak out and run over his lips hungrily as he gazes at you.
Your dress is fire-engine red, daringly short and so form fitting that it barely covers your butt. The material is stretchy, hugging your body as the neckline dips lower than what you’re normally used to. You know Ari recognises the dress by the way his Adam’s apple bobs up and down. His eyes are locked in place, taking over your accentuated curves and pushed up cleavage.
He’d seen it in your closet a few weeks ago, and you remember how he’d picked it up and whistled. “What a slutty dress, baby.” He’d said, “Why don’t you put it on for daddy?” And of course, you had. You did anything he asked you to, and you’d never forget how dark his eyes had gotten, and how sombre he’d looked as he’d beckoned you over to his lap, his hands running up and down your body covered in the thin red fabric. “I don’t want you wearing this dress in public, okay baby? Slutty dresses like this are for my eyes only. Promise me you’ll never wear this for anyone else.”
And promise you had, but yet here you were. And you can practically see the smoke billowing out of Ari’s ears, and you can see his jaw clenching as he’s unable to rip his eyes off of you. And you feel almost bad for disobeying him, until you see a pink manicured hand grab Ari’s face and pull him down for a kiss. Sharon. He was here with her. But of course, he was here with her! She was his girlfriend, after all. And you were the gullible fool who he’d strung along the whole time he was with her.
It had only taken you a few days after your last hook-up with Ari in the locker-room to realise that he had not broken up with Sharon like he’d told you he had. You’d seen them together on the campus courtyard, hand-in-hand, Sharon looking happier than ever. She definitely didn’t look like someone whose uncle had just died. Ari had seen you too, and all he could muster up was a sheepish look before his girlfriend had dragged him away.
That had been last week, and since then, he’d been texting you nonstop.
Ari: Baby, it’s not what it looks like. Me and Sharon are just friends now!
Ari: Okay, fine. We got back together. But, baby, it’s only temporary ;) You know you’re my number one girl.
Ari: Send daddy a pic, baby girl ;)
Ari: Okay, I get that you’re mad but you know I don’t like it when you ignore my messages.
Ari: I miss you, baby. Let’s FaceTime soon, okay? Wear something sexy ;)
Ari: Fuck you. I’ve got plenty of other options.
You prided yourself on not answering even one of his texts, despite the fact that you could feel your resolve weakening all week. But you were determined to never speak to him again, and definitely never be his play-thing or side-chick again. And now here you were, at a frat party that you’d let your friend Wanda drag you to. Which you definitely didn’t come just so you could show Ari exactly what he was missing out on. Definitely not…
Tearing your gaze away from the beefy basketball captain, you pour yourself and Wanda another shot each, cringing as the colourless liquid sloshes down your throat. But the burn is a welcome change from the heartache you feel, knowing you’re in the same room as Ari and her. You dare to peak back at them one more time and hate yourself for doing it because now they’re dancing together, although you can see Ari still looking straight at you while his girlfriend’s back is turned.
“C’mon, let’s dance.” You drag Wanda to the dance floor determinedly.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Little Miss Side Chick.” You hear a deep voice in your ear as two heavy hands land on your hips. Wanda has already busied herself with dancing with a guy you vaguely remember from freshman orientation, so you turn around and come face to face with another basketball player. Tall and rugged, hair buzzed off and tattoos smattered all over his chest and arms. Curtis.
“What do you want?” You sneer, because Curtis is Ari’s best friend. And anyone associated with Ari is an enemy to you.
“Whoa, retract your claws, kitten. I’m not looking for a fight.” Curtis smirks, his hands firmly planted on your hips, swaying you along with him to the upbeat music. His body is practically glued to yours, and you can’t help but inhale his manly scent. It’s some type of aftershave that you don’t recognise, but boy does it smell good.
“Well, I don’t care what you’re looking for!” You raise your chin up at him defiantly, despite the fact that he’s more than a head taller than you. “And you can report that back to Ari, okay? And then you and him can both go to hell–Whoops!” You stumble forward in your high heels and cling to the beefy buzzcut-haired man in front of you to regain your balance. Curtis’ hand travels up to the small of your back as he pulls you closer, a shit-eating grin on his face.
“Careful, kitty kat.”
“Don’t call me that!”
“But you let Ari call you whatever he wants.” His lips brush against your ear as he whispers, and you can’t help but cling to him. You feel like a small fish in this gigantic pond of a party, and Curtis feels solid as you teeter in your heels. You see the glint in his eye as he flashes you a smile. “I’ve heard you getting fucked, you know.”
You pout, “That’s really pervy, Curtis.”
“Yeah? I feel like you and Levinson both love an audience. You want a drink, kitten?”
“No!”
“C’mon, you look like you need a drink. I mean, just look at you. Standing in the middle of the dancefloor looking all cute and pouty like a little baby.”
“ ‘m not a baby!”
As if on cue, you pout again. But you let Curtis drag you back to the drinks table, watching in awe as he mixes different things together in a crystal glass he seems to have conjured out of nowhere. Something compels you to look over your shoulder, and you spy Ari from across the room. Sharon’s arms are around his neck but his eyes are still boring holes into you. He’s got a can of beer that he’s currently crushing in his fist, and even in the darkness, you can see his face going red as his lips pull into a sneer.
Oh, he was jealous!
You giggle and give him a wave before pointedly turning back to Curtis and accepting whatever drink he’s just mixed for you.
“A baby drink for a baby like you.” Curtis pulls your cheek condescendingly and you scowl before eyeing the concoction in the glass. It’s a pretty pale pink colour and smells kind of fruity. You look up questioningly at Curtis, who crosses his arms over his chest as he grins like a Cheshire cat. “Go ahead, kitten, it won’t bite. I told you, it’s a baby drink – you wouldn’t even know there’s alcohol in it. Tastes like strawberries and cream.”
“Well… that does sound yummy.” You dip your pinkie finger in the drink and swirl it around, pretending to consider it. Your eyes dart sideways in Ari’s direction once more. And he’s still staring at you, despite the fact that his girlfriend’s all up against him, whispering something in his ear. God, that makes you mad, and you down the drink without a second thought. It goes down your throat easy, with a pleasantly fruity aftertaste. You look up at Curtis and beam.
“You were right! Tasted much better than shots! Could I have another, maybe?” You bat your lashes at him and he smirks. But he makes you another one, and you down it quickly, trying to flush away any thoughts of Ari and Sharon out of your mind. Screw both of them!
“Easy there, kitty kat. It’s a drink, you don’t have to down it like a shot.” Curtis grins, and it’s only when you feel his arm around your waist that you realise you’ve fallen into him again. Whatever he’d put in your drinks seems to already be hitting you, but you don’t care, don’t care, don’t care! And Curtis’ thumb rubbing circles on your hip feel kind of nice, and so you let him hold you as you sway, blinking rapidly as the alcohol mingles into your bloodstream.
“You know, kitten, there’s a bunch of empty rooms upstairs. Maybe we could find one ‘em so you can lie down for a while?” Curtis whispers beguilingly in your ear, his lips brushing against your skin and making you shiver in your tiny dress. He casually plays with the flimsy straps, pushing one down and exposing your shoulder. A second later you feel his lips press against your exposed skin, making your heart jump with thrill. There’s something hard poking against your stomach, and you giggle and bite your lip.
“Don’t think I can get up the stairs, Curtis. Can’t even… Can’t even stand up straight!” He’s supporting most of your body weight as you lean heavily into him, loving the feel of strong, beefy arms around you. It’s dark enough that you can almost imagine they belong to someone else…
“Don’t worry, kitten, I’ll carry you up there. Babies like you are meant to be carried, right? And I want to hear you scream like you did for Levinson in the locker room.”
You barely have a chance to consider his proposition before you feel a heavy hand grab your arm and pull you backwards. You stumble in your high heels before your back collides with a very solid, very sturdy chest.
“She’s off limits, Curtis. You know that.” Ari’s voice is low but firm, and you turn to see the captain of the basketball team glaring daggers at his teammate and best friend, his brows furrowed and lips set in a thin line. His fingers are curled around your upper arm, not showing any signs of letting go as he looms formidably like a giant by your side. Sharon’s nowhere to be found.
“Oh yeah? You finally ready to jump ship from one girl to the next, Ari?” Curtis grins, wholly unperturbed as he pops open a can of beer and takes a long swig.
“Very funny, asshole. Go find someone else to take advantage of.” Ari says wryly, still holding you with an iron grip while you gape at both of them. And a part of you – an admittedly pathetic part of you – is thrilled that Ari’s come over to you now. Clearly, he was affected by you talking to his best friend, and that makes you feel special.
Surprisingly, Curtis backs off easily, slinking off into the party like a panther. The crowd swallows him up, and you watch him go for a moment before the crushing grip gets even tighter. You hear a rumble from Ari’s chest as he mauls you to a dim corner of the room. It’s still packed with people, but he manages to prop you up in a dark spot, his palms slamming against the wall on either side of you, trapping you against it.
“Well, well, well. Look who showed up to the party.” Ari sneers, pressing his considerably larger frame against yours. “And you’re drunk already. Hasn’t anyone told you not to accept drinks from strangers?”
You blink up at him, feeling slower and more sluggish than usual thanks to Curtis’ magic drink in your system. But then his words hit you and you scowl, craning your neck to look up at him despite the fact that you’re in heels.
“Curtis isn’t a stranger, he’s my friend!” (You’ve conveniently forgotten the fact that you’d sworn that any friend of Ari’s was an enemy of yours).
Ari scoffs, “He’s not your friend. You’re not allowed to be friends with boys.”
You stick your chin up at him, “Oh yeah? Says who?”
The huge basketball player drives his pelvis into you with force, his clothed erection rutting against your stomach and making your eyes pop wide open and a gasp dies somewhere in your throat.
He smirks, “Says your daddy.”
Beyond Ari’s broad shoulder, you can see the party commencing in full force. The DJ’s switched to a more R&B centric playlist, and the whole room reverberates with the sounds of heavy bass and sexy crooning lyrics. Couples find each other on the dancefloor, strangers join together like magnets. Swaying and grinding and groping each other in the dark.
You blink several times before refocusing your gaze on Ari, trying not to get lost in his eyes or his smell or just how big and manly he is compared to you. No. You had to stay strong and you had to stay away from him. He was trouble with a capital T, and there was no way you were going to let him get away with cornering you at this party – not after all the lies he’d fed you about breaking up with his girlfriend. Not after he’d strung you along for weeks…
“Fuck off, Ari! You have no right to tell me who I can or can’t be friends with! Now just… Just fuck off and go back to your girlfriend an’ leave me alone!” Your palms land on his chest and you push with all your might. Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t budge an inch. In fact, he yawns pointedly, infuriating you further as you continue to push his huge, muscular body off of you.
“Please. You thrive on my attention, baby. That’s why you’re wearing this slutty dress and flirting with my best friend.” He says matter-of-factly, making your blood boil and your jaw drop open indignantly.
“Don’t want your attention!”
“Babies like you need attention.” Ari tells you, saying each word slowly as if you truly are a dumb baby who doesn’t understand anything. One of his hands meanders upwards, casually twining a piece of your hair around his finger, “Or else you’ll cry and throw a tantrum. And we don’t want the little baby to throw a tantrum, do we?”
You can’t believe his cockiness! Before you know what you’re doing, you punch him straight in the chest. Hard. But Ari just looks down at you bemusedly. In fact, he looks bored, and that infuriates you even more. And on top of everything else, now your hand hurts and you feel your eyes well with tears.
“Aww, did the little baby hurt herself?” Ari teases, patting your cheek condescendingly. You sniffle and try to swat him away but he’s too quick, too strong. You’re helpless, stuck against his big, hard body and the wall behind your back and he knows it as he smirks. “Poor little baby, don’t cry or throw a tantrum. You’ve got my attention now, haven’t you? And that’s what you wanted.”
“No, I didn’t–!”
He cuts you off with a rough kiss, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth. Even in your heels, he still has to lift you up so he can kiss you properly without you having to crane your neck too much because of his height. And so he grabs your hips and hoists you up against the wall, your bare legs dangling on either side of him as he consumes you with a kiss that seems riddled in possessiveness. Until you bang your fists on his shoulders enough times for him to pull away.
“How…How dare you kiss me! When your girlfriend’s at the same party!” You accuse, despite the fact that your heart is racing and lips are tingling and you really want him to kiss you again.
Ari shrugs, still looking bored. “She went to the bathroom with a bunch of her girlfriends to fix her makeup or something. And you know how girls are with the bathroom, they’ll stay in there for ages.” He pulls you snug against him, “Gives us a bit of time to have fun, baby.”
“You’re a man-whore, Ari.”
He snorts, “And you’re lucky you still have my attention, baby girl.”
Your jaw drops open, “You’re the one who’s been texting me nonstop since last week!”
“Just so you wouldn’t feel bad.”
You can’t believe him. Huffing, you try to push past him and storm off. Which proves to be impossible considering he’s still got you lifted up against the wall, his leg snug between your thighs. And even if you were in a position to exit the situation, he was way too big and strong and could easily stop you. Ugh. (But not really because that pathetic part of you really is enjoying the attention he’s giving you right now).
“You look so hot tonight, baby girl.” Ari mutters as he starts kissing at you again. First, he tries your lips. But you’re still stubborn, still mad at him and so you turn your head. That’s not a problem for him, his lips pressing down against your cheek, down to your jaw, then your neck. His hands come up to brazenly squeeze your breasts, making you gasp. “This is some dress. Luckily, attention-seeking baby suits you well.”
“Stop callin’ me a baby!”
He gives your ass a hard smack, smirking when you yelp. You thank your lucky stars that it’s too dark and crowded and noisy for anyone around you to notice how indecent he’s being.
“Oh, so you’re a big girl now, huh?”
“Let go of me so I can go have fun with Wanda–” You once more try to elbow him out of the way but of course, he holds you at bay easily.
“Stay put.” He growls, giving your ass another smack. “And answer my question. I asked you if you’re a big girl now.”
You stick your chin up, “Yes, I am.”
The brunet grins wolfishly. And you’re too tipsy to even notice how, but he suddenly conjures up a tiny translucent plastic baggie, waving it in front of your face. Your eyes take a few seconds to focus on the light blue pills sitting inside, shimmering enticingly as the strobe lights land on them. They’ve got designs printed on them, but you’re way too tipsy to decipher what they are.
“If you’re such a big girl, then you’ll have no problem having some of this big girl candy that daddy got specially for you.”
Your heart lurches. Sure, you’re tipsy as hell right now. But you’re certain you know what those pills are… don’t you? And maybe it isn’t the best idea for you to take your first ecstasy pill with only Ari of all people there with you. But what does it matter? When he’s slowly grinding his thigh up between your legs, one of his hands groping all over your body and pressing up your dress?
“I… uh… I dunno, Ari…”
He takes one tablet out before shoving the baggie into his pocket.
“C’mon. Prove you’re a big girl and take one.”
Every sane cell in your body is screaming at you not to, but it seems like you’re not only drunk off alcohol, but also off of his touch and attention.
Ari’s thumb trails across your lower lip, stroking it gently before tipping it open. You watch him, slack-jawed and in awe, as he slowly brings the blue tablet up to his own lips. He holds it between his teeth before he dips his head and catches your lips in a deep kiss, transferring the pill into your mouth. It rests on your tongue for a second before you gather your saliva and swallow it quickly, wanting to prove to him that you were indeed a big girl.
I’ll just let him kiss me for a while and then I’ll leave, you tell yourself, sighing as he peppers butterfly-light kisses all over your neck and shoulder. He pushes the strap of your dress down, much like how Curtis had done earlier. And all you can think about is how good it feels when Ari does it, when he touches you like how no one else could. Not that you’d ever had anyone else – since Ari was your first. And you fear that no one else would ever compare…
Suddenly, the strobe lights seem so bright, so close. The music feels like it’s coming out from inside you, like The Weeknd is literally belting out his sexy lyrics from inside you. The lights hit Ari’s face, making him look so big and bright, shiny like a diamond. And so close, so sexy. God, he’s so sexy… And you feel sexy too, like the sexiest person in this room, in your sexy red dress with this giant of a man in front of you.
“Wanna kiss you, daddy.”
He smirks against the nape of your neck before straightening up, “Kiss me, then.”
You try, but he’s too tall. Fuck, you really want to kiss him all of a sudden.
“Can’t. I’m too small.” But you don’t feel small. Just the opposite, actually. You feel like you’re on top of the world, like you’re the most beautiful, most incredible person in this universe. You wind your arms around his neck, “Lift me up. Wanna kiss you.”
He’s already got you propped up with his knee jammed between your legs, but for once he makes no smart comment. He wraps his huge hands around your waist and lifting you up. And it feels like you’re as high as the empire state building. No, the moon! Your heart’s soaring and so is your head, your body’s buzzing, the music’s switched up to something even more sexy, and that’s when you kiss him.
“Good girl,” he praises against your lips, but all you can focus on is how good it feels to have his lips on yours, how good it feels that his hands are back on your body, touching you everywhere. “You’re such a good little girl, you know that?”
“Better than Sharon?”
“Of course, baby girl. I don’t care about Sharon. Only you.”
Firmly holding you against the wall, he pushes your dress up till the tight material is practically around your waist. And who cares, who cares, who cares?! Not you, not when his hands glide up your bare thighs, spreading them before cupping your pussy through the lace of your panties.
“These are pretty, baby. Did daddy buy you these?”
“No,” you lie. Of course, he’d bought them for you. Ari loved buying you lingerie. Often, he’d have it delivered to your dorm room with a special note telling you to take pictures and send them to him. Sometimes, he’d send other things along with the lingerie. Like once, he’d sent this sex toy – a dildo which was almost as big as his dick. And there was a note too, ordering you to put on the lingerie and facetime him immediately. He’d made you fuck yourself on the dildo repeatedly that night, all while you thanked daddy over and over again for your new toy and lingerie set. All while he sat in the comfort of his own dorm room, smoking a cigarette with a smirk on his face, casually pumping his dick and getting off on your humiliation and total submission. Well, you got off on it too.
Now, it only takes a tug of his wrist and your panties are slipping down your legs. They get caught in your heels and you impatiently shake them off, watching the lace as it lays on the ground. That’s when you feel a rush of air against your bare pussy, now only concealed by the flimsy material of your dress.
“God, Levinson, she looks wasted as fuck!”
You vaguely hear someone say that, but you feel like you are lightyears away from everyone else. As if you and Ari are on your very own planet where only the two of you matter.
As if on cue, Ari presses his clothed crotch against your bare pussy, grinding the denim up and down while you pant in his arms. God, you want him so bad.
“Bad little baby, you got my jeans all wet in the middle of a party.” Ari scolds. But you pay him no heed, instead busying yourself with kissing up his collarbone and smelling his manly cologne, feeling his muscles that ripple through his shirt.
“You’re so big and strong,” you murmur, saying exactly what you’re thinking like you have no filter.
Ari puffs his chest out, “I am, aren’t I? Especially compared to a little baby girl like you.” He drives his crotch against your bare pussy once more, lewdly grinding against you till the denim is soaking wet. And oh, the rough material feels so good against your clit, so good that you don’t even care that he’s dry humping you in the middle of a party with so many people around you.
His hand slips up to grab your hair, and he yanks you up roughly so he can put his lips to your ear, “You’re my little baby princess, aren’t you?”
A shiver runs down your spine. You like the sound of that.
“Y-Yeah, I am!”
“You like how much bigger I am than you?” He licks the shell of your ear.
“Ah – yes!”
“And you’ll do anything I tell you, won’t you? Because you’re just a baby and you need daddy to guide you. Right?”
“Yes, yes, yes!” You rut against him desperately, hoping he’ll carry you up to a bedroom and fuck you hard. It’s not like you’d be able to walk by yourself. Hell, you can’t even stand by yourself right now, which was why he was holding you up like you were a ragdoll. In the midst of a sea of people, but all you can focus on is Ari. And how high you feel, like you’re as light as a feather, as free as a bird who welcomes the cage of his grip.
You watch as he undoes his fly, pulling his hard cock out of his jeans. Your eyes nearly bug out of your head at how brazenly he does it – in a room full of people, no less! But you lick your lips, feeling your pussy clench at how fat and thick his cock looks under the pulsating lights. God, he was so big everywhere!
“So if I tell you that daddy wants to fuck his little girl in front of everyone right now, you’d say yes, wouldn’t you?”
You lick your lips, lust pulsing through every vein in your body. You’re already humping against him like a wanton whore, loving the feel of his bare cock gliding against your slippery slit in a room full of people.
“M-Maybe we can we go upstairs, daddy?”
“No. Here. C’mon, baby, you know you want to.” He nibbles on your ear, “I’ll make you my girlfriend if you do this for me.”
Your heart lifts, your mind feeling euphoric at the idea of that. And you believe him, of course you believe him! How could you not, when you’re feeling so on top of the world right now? Heart beating so fast, blood pumping even faster… And he said he’d make you his girlfriend! Oh, you wanted that so badly! You’d do anything to be his girlfriend, anything at all…
“O-Okay, daddy, I guess you can– AH, FUCK!”
He pistons his dick inside you in one quick movement, holding your hips firmly in place so you don’t fall over from the sheer force of him forcing his fat dick into your tiny, leaking hole. God, he was so big. You’d never get used to it.
“Good baby,” he smirks. There are waves of people around you – an entire crowd of sweaty, writhing bodies. But all you can feel is Ari, his cock so big and imposing yet your pussy swallows him readily as he bottoms out inside you. Grabbing your face, he kisses you possessively, and you can feel his cocky smirk through the kiss, “fuck yeah, just as tight as always. God, I missed my little pussy.”
Being fucked by Ari in the middle of the dancefloor of a frat party, drunk and high off your mind while his girlfriend was somewhere in this house. It wasn’t how you’d planned your night to go at all, but you cling to Ari like a koala, allowing him to control your body and take pleasure from you. You can hear him groaning as he fucks you slowly, trying to cover your body completely with his. You can hear him grimace, mutter how fucking tight you are as he tries to hold back from tearing your pussy apart like how he usually does when the two of you are alone.
“Not such a big girl now, are you?” he mocks, biting at your bottom lip and sucking on it as his dick drives slowly in and out of you. “Getting fucked in the middle of a party because you can’t ever say no to me, huh?”
“Nngh, Ari please. F-Feel so full,” you moan, never wanting him to stop. Maybe you’d regret this later, but right now it’s like you’re in a bubble of pleasure that has you ignoring the real world around you.
“And the fact that you thought you could make me jealous by talking to Curtis,” Ari huffs, giving you a particularly hard thrust that sends you reeling, and you bite down on his shoulder to keep from screaming at the top of your lungs. “What a pathetic little game you played, baby. But I’ll never get jealous, because I already know I own you. And you know it too. I own your fucking pussy.”
“Yes, yes, yes!” You gasp, feeling him so deep inside you, it’s like he’s practically in your womb. You wrap your legs tighter around him, grinding your clit against his hairy abdomen. The sensation feels heavenly, and you’re so, so close…
“Promise me you’ll never fucking speak to Curtis again,” he demands.
“Fuck me harder, daddy–OW!”
He slaps your ass hard, and you reel into him, shocked at the blow. You’d have fallen over if he wasn’t holding you up in his muscular arms.
“Fucking say you’ll never speak to Curtis again,” Ari says through gritted teeth, and his fingers wrap around your throat. Your breath hitches, eyes widening. But your pussy squeezes around his dick at the same time his hand squeezes your throat, “Say it or I’ll choke you the fuck out.”
Fear splices through the euphoria you’re feeling, but his hand constricting around your throat, him controlling your breathing – it turns you on so fucking much at the same time. But his eyes look so dark, darker than you’ve ever seen them. Is it because he’s high too? Or is it something else entirely?
“W-Won’t talk to him,” you promise, barely getting the words out.
Ari smiles and releases your throat, and you desperately gasp for breath. But when he kisses you again, you can’t help but hungrily kiss him back.
“I own you,” he repeats, slipping his hand down to play with your clit, pushing your dress up in the process. You’re high out of your mind and yet you still try to push the hem of your dress back down, only for him to slap your hands away. “Don’t hide this baby pussy from me, sweetheart.”
“E-Everyone can see,” you moan, breath hitching when he pinches your clit harshly before rubbing circles on it.
“Let them watch, baby.”
As if on cue, you hear someone whistle:
“You’re a fucking dog, Levinson! Can’t even wait to find a room to get your dick wet, huh?”
“She looks high off her ass, bro. Classic Levinson.”
Ari only laughs, continuing to fuck you and make out with you in the middle of the party as if it’s the most normal thing in the world to be doing. And if he’s okay with it, then it must be okay, right?
“This is what happens when you come to a party trying to be an attention-seeker,” he tells you, his fingers leaving your clit as he brings them up to his mouth, sucking noisily, “fuck, you taste so good, sweetheart. Your little baby pussy’s been wet for me all night, huh?”
“Yes, daddy,” you say dutifully, meeting his thrusts now as you feel yourself getting close. You continue grinding your clit on his hairy abs as he fucks you, the sensation so heavenly as you teeter on the edge of your orgasm, blabbering out your inner thoughts: “I…I think about you all the time, want you all the time. Wish you were with me all the time….”
“Mm, it gets you all wet, doesn’t it? Fucking a man who’s got a girlfriend?”
You gasp, but your walls clench around him all the same.
“Mm, I felt that, you slutty little baby,” Ari smacks your ass again, rocking his hips hard against you as you cry from the pleasure, “It turns you on that I have a girlfriend and yet I’m here with you, fucking you in front of all these people like you’re my personal fucking whore.”
“Ari, I’m so close, I–”
“Bet you wish she was watching us, huh?” He says suddenly, “I bet that would get you off, wouldn’t it, you dirty little slut?”
“Nooo,” you moan, but you can feel thrills rippling through your body, your pleasure mounting higher and higher as the music drones on all around you.
Ari licks his lips like he’s the devil himself, “Don’t fucking lie to me, sweetheart. I bet you wish Sharon was here, watching me fuck you.” His eyes glint wickedly, “Bet you wish she was getting herself off to us, don’t you? Fingering herself while she watches her boyfriend cheat on her with a slutty little girl like you.”
“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!”
“Mm, and what would you do? Cry your little baby tears and beg for her forgiveness?” Ari chuckles lowly, and you can’t believe you’re on the brink of orgasm and about to lose it and he’s just there, calm as ever as he fucks you in this room full of people. Forcing his big, fat cock inside you with a smirk on his face as if he owns the whole room. “You’d beg for my girlfriend’s forgiveness while you take my fat fucking cock inside your sexy little pussy. And she’d watch us, watch me call you a bad fucking girl while I fuck you so hard that I’d probably knock you up. And I’ve never fucked her like that, baby. I would never fuck her like that. Only you.”
“Daddy, please,” you sob and sob, clutching at his shirt because you feel so overwhelmed.
He grabs your face roughly, making you look at him.
“And you’d watch her rub her pussy as she watches us fuck, wouldn’t you? And she’d cum all over her fingers, watching her boyfriend fuck the living daylights out of you, watching you be a helpless little slut for your daddy. And you’d love every second of it, baby. Because you’re fucking sick, just like me…”
Your orgasm is earth-shattering, breaking your body apart as you squirt all over his huge fucking dick. And he fucks you through it, coaxing your cream out of you as you cry and cry, any sound you make getting drowned out by the blaring music, any thrashing movement blurred by the dancing bodies around you. Some of them know what’s going on, you know they do. But others don’t, lost in their own world as they dance around the two of you. And waves of searing pleasure overtake your body, over and over again as you grind up against him.
“That’s right, sweetheart,” Ari grunts, “cum on my daddy dick like the good little baby you are. God, fuck, you’re squeezin’ me so good, baby, feels so tight and sexy. Gimme another one.”
You cum again, as if your body is programmed to listen to him, as if just his words can make you orgasm. And that’s when he blows his load, muttering a string of curses as he empties himself inside you. He always came inside you, no matter what. And you guessed that he wasn’t going to stop that streak now, even in the midst of a crowded party. One or two guys are ogling at the two of you, but you’re too fucked out to care, your spent body sagging against Ari’s huge frame as he fills you up with his hot cum.
Everything is blurry for a while after that. You’re on the brink of passing out – not even from the copious amounts of drugs and alcohol in your system, but from how fucked out you feel. But you jolt out of it when Ari pulls out of you, whining needily but he ignores you. Instead, he pulls your dress back down over your ass, and you can feel his hot cum trickling down your thigh.
“How was she, Levinson?” Some guy pipes up from within the crowd.
“Move along, smartass.” Ari glares daggers at the random guy, flipping him off as he shields your body with his bigger one. But there are more guys surrounding you, more people beginning to notice what exactly is going on. Ari seems to catch on to this too, shooting dirty looks all around him as he tries to tug your short dress down even further to cover you more, as if he was fuelled by horniness before but now that he’s come down from that high, he’s hyperaware of everyone around you.
“Can’t feel my legs, daddy,” you lean heavily against him.
He picks you back up, carrying you through the crowd. You can vaguely hear the voices of other boys over the loud, pounding music. Thumping Ari on the back, congratulating him. You hide your face in his chest, trying not to think about what’s just happened. He takes you up the stairs, through random corridors, into an empty bedroom, and finally, a bathroom.
“Fuck, baby, you okay?” He asks after setting you down on the sink.
“I’m good,” you grab at him, trying to wrap your legs around him and pull him into you. You can still feel the effects of the little blue pill, and you try to kiss him but he pulls away, chuckling.
“We need to clean you up.”
Funny. He never cleaned you up before. In the past, he’d always fuck you hard and good and then leave you to get yourself together while he typed away on his phone or went outside to smoke. Then, he’d either come back inside to fuck you again, or he’d give you a quick kiss and leave, telling you he was late for practice or something along those lines. But right now, it looks like he was sticking around, and that makes your heart skip a beat.
“I can’t believe I just let you fuck me in front of everyone. It almost doesn’t feel real!” You muse out loud, wondering maybe it was all just a dream, because you feel so hazy and warm. You swing your heel clad feet, accidentally catching him in the stomach. He shoots you a warning look, grabbing your calves to still you before his expression relaxes.
“It’s what you deserved for ignoring my texts.” He smirks before grabbing a wad of toilet paper. He wets some of it under the tap and swipes at your thighs, cleaning his cum off you. You bite your lip, watching his tanned biceps ripple as he gets dangerously close to your pussy. You grab his wrist, pushing it between your legs.
“I think you missed a spot, daddy,” you say in what you hope is a demure and sexy manner.
Ari groans, “Don’t tempt me, baby girl.”
He feels around your folds, licking his lips as he plays with the mess he’s left in your pussy. But you whine after a while, clearly too sensitive for round two so you push his hand away.
“Lemme feel you,” he persists.
“Nuh uh, too sensitive.”
He rolls his eyes and you giggle, reaching out to smooth his long hair, twining a few strands around your finger. You stay like that for a while, liking how he looks at you in the privacy of this bathroom, where the music from outside is still thumping softly and yet it feels like the two of you are in your own bubble. Where the dull orange light makes him look double handsome, and it’s just the two of you and you can pretend he’s your boyfriend and you’re a happy couple and it’s the best feeling in the world.
Until Ari’s hand slips down between your legs again.
“Hey!” You squeal, batting him off, but he doesn’t relent.
“Let daddy feel you one more time, baby girl,” he tries to sweet talk you, but you shake your head, pushing him away again. That’s when he gets a glint in his eye, digging his fingers into your ribs instead. You squeal as he tickles you, and you try to do it back but clearly, he isn’t as ticklish as you because he just shoots you an amused look. You laugh and laugh, till you can’t breathe and even he chuckles, his face pink.
“Ari, will I be your girlfriend now?” You ask in a small voice once you’ve stopped laughing.
A pause. And then he sighs.
“Baby, we already have a good thing going–”
“So then why can’t we go out on dates and do all the romantic things that boyfriends and girlfriends do?” Your lower lip wobbles but you will yourself to remain calm and collected.
“You know why.” Ari avoids your gaze, backing up and gathering all the toilet paper he’s just used. He stuffs it into the bin before washing his hands, and the whole time you look at him, waiting for him to elaborate except he says nothing more.
“B-But I let you fuck me in front of everyone,” you scrunch your eyes shut to keep your tears at bay, “I let you do anything to me, Ari. And you keep telling me that you’ll make me your girlfriend but it never happens. An’ I trust you more than anything even though you keep lying to me, and–”
He clears his throat, running his hands through his hair before he reaches out as if to cup your face. But at the last second he holds back, fists curled to his sides. “Don’t do this right now. Look, I’ll get you some water to sober you up, then you can call your friend Carla–”
“Her name is Wanda.”
“Call your friend Wanda, and maybe she can take you home. You’re completely wasted.” He can’t help but reach out, fixing the strap of your dress which you hadn’t even noticed had slipped down your shoulder. God, you were a mess. A complete and utter mess and he’d used you again and now he wanted nothing to do with you. His fingers linger, brushing against your bare shoulder before he snatches his hand back and clears his throat once more.
“Is it because I’m not good enough?” A lone tear drips down your cheek. And it’s crazy because not even a minute ago you were laughing your ass off.
“No–”
“Then why does it feel like you’re using me?”
No one speaks for several seconds. All you can hear is your own breathing, how you hiccup every now and then. How your head is beginning to pound and how all your emotion seem amplified. You know it’s because you’re drunk, and yet you’re hoping you may get something sincere from him in this bathroom right now…
But Ari only shakes his head, keeping his eyes trained somewhere beyond your shoulder, as if he can’t seem to look you in the eye…
“Now’s not the time to talk about this–”
“You lie to me all the time, Ari, and you always take me for granted. An’ I fall for it every time because I wanna be your girlfriend so bad…” Your voice falters, lip curling and tears welling in your eyes, “I really, really like you, Ari. Don’t you like me too? Enough to make me your girlfriend?”
“I already have a girlfriend…” He blurts out.
His words hit you like shards of glass, piercing you from the inside out. You feel like you’re falling, and even Ari looks guilty, as if he can’t believe he’s just said that so abruptly. He’s always come up with a story when it comes to his relationship; “we broke up,” or “we’re having problems,” or “she’s a bitch, I don’t care about her.” But it seems like now, he’s really just laying it all out on the table. She’s his girlfriend. And she always would be.
You bow your head, feeling like a veil’s lifted somewhere between the two of you. “I guess that just makes me the girl you keep around for easy sex.”
“You know it’s more than that, baby–”
His phone rings at that exact moment, cutting him off. But he looks relieved to be interrupted, and hastily fishes it out of his pocket. You sigh, staring down dejectedly into your lap. He keeps his voice low as he talks on the phone, but you catch a few words here and there, like “Sharon,” and “she’s looking for you.”
“Baby, I gotta go. But I want you to stay in here until you’re sober enough to go find your friend.” Ari says, shoving his phone back into his pocket.
“Y-You’re leaving?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
Another tear trickles down your cheek.
“Please stay with me. I don’t wanna be alone right now.” He’s left you after sex many times before, but this time feels different. You feel vulnerable, small, afraid. Little you in this big party where you’d only feel safe if you were with him. God, it felt so special whenever it was just you and him alone together. Like right now, in the bathroom, where he’d carried you up in his arms, cleaned you himself and laughed while he tickled you. Oh, it felt so special to you! Could he not feel that too? Why did he want to leave?
Ari inhales deeply, “Don’t, okay? You know I can’t stay. Sharon… She’s making a scene. She’s really drunk, people are starting to notice I’m not there with her–”
“I’m really drunk too.” And high.
He pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, “That’s why you’re getting so emotional, okay? Just… Just call Wanda. Or one of your other friends.”
His words sting, and you know you should just back off. Let him do whatever the fuck he wants to do since clearly all he wanted was to get away from you. But neediness and sorrow clouds your brain and covers your heart, and in a last ditch effort, you reach out to grab his hand.
“Please stay,” you beg, and you feel like you’ve swallowed your pride but you don’t even care anymore, “Please, Ari. Y-You don’t have to make me your girlfriend, okay? I’m sorry I brought it up. Please, just stay with me. Don’t leave me alone, please, please, please–”
“Stop,” he says gently, peeling your hand off of his, “don’t make this bigger than it is. We hooked up like we always do, but I need to go now, okay? I’ll text you later.”
He backs away, pausing at the door. Hope fills your heart, and you wait with bated breath. But then he leaves, walking out casually like all he’s done is use the bathroom. And you sit there, his rejection like poison in your veins. Frozen, drunk, sad, dejected. Oh God, had you really expected him to stay? To be different this time? How many more times were you going to let him lie to you, disrespect you, embarrass you, play you?
How many more times till he broke you completely?
***
“C’mon, Wanda, pick the fuck up.” You mutter, jabbing at your phone in annoyance. The screen freezes for several seconds, before your call goes to her voice message. For the fourth time in a row. You bite your lip, daring to check your battery. Five percent. Great. Just Great.
After Ari had left you in the bathroom, all you’d wanted to do was curl up in the bathtub and cry the whole night away. And that’s what you’d been doing for at least an hour, until some horny couple barged in and started having sex against the sink. You’drun out of there in a hurry, and now here you were at the front of the frat house, wanting nothing more than to go home.
“Where the hell are you, Wanda?” You murmur, calling her again and praying to God your phone battery lasts until you find her. You were still drunk and not exactly capable of combing through the crowd of people in search of your friend. When she doesn’t pick up again, you feel a helplessness take over your body, like it had back in the bathroom. All you want to do is collapse down on the grass and cry like a baby, but you will yourself to persevere before you try calling her again.
“Excuse me, sweetheart. Are you okay?”
The voice is deep and rumbling, with an undertone of amusement. You don’t even bother looking up from your phone, your eyes too busy staring down your battery percentage as it lowers down to three percent.
“I’m fine,” you say distractedly, trying to walk further away from the frat house in hopes of getting better signal. “I’m just trying to call my friend so we can go ho–”
Your heel catches against a rock on the grass, sending you flying. You brace yourself for the fall but it never comes. Instead, you feel two strong arms wrap around your waist, catching you and pulling you back till you collide against a hard chest.
“Careful, baby,” the amused voice murmurs in your ear.
“Oh, um, thank you, uh–” You straighten up and turn around to face the stranger who’d saved you, finding yourself face to face with a built looking chest wearing an off-white t-shirt and varsity jacket. You crane your neck upwards, breath catching in your throat at what you see.
The stranger is tall and blonde, his pale skin shimmering in the moonlight (probably because you’re drunk because that’s what it looked like). His muscles ripple under his shirt, and he runs his hand through his hair in a way that’s all too familiar. His blue eyes sparkle as he smiles down at you, his arms still around your waist as if to hold you steady.
“Wow,” you say dumbly. He was handsome!
He smirks down at you, “Sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t quite catch that?” He had an effortless way of speaking, like a relaxed drawl as if he was far removed from all the craziness of the party going on around him.
“I – uh – I said thanks,” you babble, “thanks for saving me.”
“You’re welcome. What’s your name?”
You tell him, trying to keep your words from slurring because of the damned alcohol still pumping in your system. You’re acutely aware of his arms still around you, and the fact that your heart is beating fast and hard as you look up at him almost in awe. In your inebriated state, his pale colouring made it look like there was a halo around him (either that or a streetlight was shining directly at him), but it made him look almost angelically handsome.
“I’m Steve.” He says, confidently reaching out to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, “What’s a cute little thing like you doing out by yourself so late at night?”
You stick your chin up indignantly, “Not by myself! I’m looking for Wanda!”
“Who’s that, sweetheart?”
“My best friend.”
“Well, she isn’t much of a best friend if she left you all alone at this party, is she?”
Steve cocks his head to the side, a crooked smile on his face that’s so attractive it makes you swoon inwardly, despite what he was implying.
“She didn’t leave me, Steve! She’s just…” you helplessly scan through the groups of people that have spilled out into the front yard of the frat house, “she’s around here somewhere…” Your eyes suddenly snap back over to the blonde, suspicion overtaking you. Who exactly was this guy, and where had he just appeared from, looking all handsome and angelic?
“Do you…uh…do you go to St. Andrews’ too?” You hardly know everyone on campus, seeing as your college is massive and there’s way too many people that go there. But you’re sure you’d remember seeing someone as handsome as him.
“Nope, I go to St. Jude’s.”
Oh. The enemy college. At least according to Ari (who was the main source of most of your information since he knew everything). Ari hated St Jude’s’ basketball team, as they were the main rivals of his own basketball team. You weren’t much into sports or any of that (you only attended Ari’s basketball games to look cute and get his attention), but you suddenly recognise St. Jude’s distinctive blue and white coloured varsity jacket that Steve has on. It resembles Ari’s varsity jacket – which is red and gold for St. Andrew’s.
“What’re you doing here, then?” You ask.
Steve shrugs, “Me and my buddies come to your parties every now and then…” he nods at two other guys in similar varsity jackets. They stand across the lawn from the two of you, talking to a bunch of girls. You look at them for a few seconds before Steve clears his throat, as if he wants you to look at him and him only.
“I think the real question is, sweetheart, what are you doing here?”
You frown, “What do you mean?”
“What’s a baby like you doing all alone at a frat house this late?” His thumb strokes your bare arm, his other hand still firm on your waist. “You’re too cute and innocent for a party like this, the frat boys will eat you alive.”
His eyes glint as he says it, but you presume that’s just you imagining things because you’re drunk.
“Well actually, I’m not a baby and I wasn’t alone,” you try not to hyper-focus on his thumb circling against your skin, “I was with Wanda, and then I was with Ari, and then–”
Steve’s grip tightens, “Ari?”
“Yeah, Ari. He’s my boyfr– Well no, actually he’s my nothing. He’s no one…” you sigh sadly, “I’m no one to him and he’s no one to me…He made that pretty clear tonight.”
The blonde whistles lowly, his hand still rubbing soothingly up and down your arm. And you kind of don’t want him to stop, because he feels so warm and he’s making you feel warm and it’s making you hurt a teensy bit less.
“A pretty little girl like you doesn’t deserve to get her heart broken like that,” Steve comments, “and you don’t deserve to be left alone to cry by yourself either.”
“W-Wasn’t crying!” you lie. God, he was making you sound so pathetic.
He weaves you through the crowd, his grip on you tight as he walks you over to a more secluded area of the front yard. With less people around, his arms catch around your waist and he yanks you closer to him, till you’re flush against his chest, your eyes wide as you look up at him and swallow hard.
“My point still stands,” he says, his voice so confident and velvety smooth. “Now, if you were my girl, you wouldn’t even be allowed to step foot inside a party like this, let alone be left unattended.”
A thrill ripples down your spine, but you barely have time to acknowledge it before you feel a rough grip on your wrist, yanking you away from Steve with heavy force.
“What the hell is this?!” Ari growls, pushing you behind his own body before he squares up to Steve. You gape over at both men, looking from one to the other. Ari was the biggest guy you knew, but Steve matched him in both height and stature. Head-to-head, the two men stare the other down, almost as if they already know each other. Side by side, you notice they look kind of similar. Both of them were tall and bulky, with vivid blue eyes. But Steve was angelically blonde and pale, and Ari was tanner, rougher, darker. Steve looked calm, unperturbed by the interruption – but Ari looked pissed off beyond belief.
“What are you doing here, Rogers?” He seethes.
Steve smirks, “I wasn’t aware that you owned this frat house, Ari.”
“Cut the bullshit. You know you’re not welcome here. Just because your own college parties are filled with ugly sluts doesn’t mean you have to come to mine.”
“Yours? And who exactly put you in charge?”
Steve steps closer as if to challenge Ari, but Ari just glowers at him before shaking his head.
“Do whatever the fuck you want, Steve. But she’s off limits. Everyone here knows she’s mine.” Ari’s still got your wrist in a death-grip, and you wince in pain when he squeezes even tighter.
“Lemme go, Ari!” You try to fight against his hold but to no avail.
The blonde snorts, “Oh yeah, it really looks like she’s yours, Levinson.”
“Fuck off.”
“I know what your girlfriend looks like, asshole. I know it’s not her.” Steve’s still got that smirk on his face, and you can see Ari’s face going redder and redder. God, he was really getting to him! And they did in fact know each other!
Ari pointedly turns his back to Steve as if to shut him out of the conversation. Instead, he looks at you. “Baby, why are you still here? It’s getting really late, let me call you an Uber.”
Baby? Was he serious? After he’d left you alone in the bathroom even after you’d begged and pleaded with him to stay with you?!
You feel a surge of anger, “No! Don’t want you to call me anything, Ari! Just leave me alone, I can get home by myself.”
He frowns, “You’re still drunk. I’m gonna call you a–”
“Where’s Sharon, Levinson?” Steve pipes up from behind in an amused tone, as if this is all an evening’s worth of entertainment to him. “That’s her name, right? Your actual girlfriend?”
Ari whips around with lightning speed. Your heart jumps to your throat as the brunet lunges forward, grabbing Steve by the collar and getting all up in his face, “If you don’t shut the fuck up–”
“Or what, huh, Levinson?”
The brunet lowers his voice, “You know damn well I can beat your ass off court just as much as I can in court.”
Steve scoffs, “You beat my team, not me.”
Oh, so Steve was a basketball player too. He and Ari had played against each other.
Ari barks out a laugh, “Oh yeah, I forgot you got benched in the last game. Can’t seem to keep that temper in check, can you?”
The blonde shrugs, “I don’t know, Levinson. Seems like you’re the one who’s getting all worked up right now.”
“Go to hell, asshole–”
“BABY, THERE YOU ARE!”
Sharon stumbles up to where the three of you are standing, her dress riding high, heels in her hand and hair a mess. She’s even drunker than you are, and yet she still looks beautiful – in a dishevelled sort of way. Like Serena Van Der Woodsen, with her blonde hair so perfectly tangled. She looks tall and somehow still graceful despite how she all but falls on top of Ari, who lets go of Steve’s collar as he holds her up.
“Thought I lost you again,” she giggles, planting her lips on his. You blanch and look away, feeling like someone’s put your heart in a shredder. You almost don’t notice Steve grabbing you around the waist and pulling you back into him. Sharon continues to kiss Ari, making out with him except he keeps turning his head – but she’s too drunk to notice. “Babe, could you please take me home? I’m tired.”
Ari grimaces, “Sure. Why don’t you go wait by the car and I’ll be over when I’m ready?”
Sharon blinks, “What car?”
“My car.”
“What does it look like?”
Ari groans. Steve laughs. Sharon looks confused. And you hope the ground would swallow you whole so you wouldn’t have to witness the happy couple together right in front of your face.
“Sharon, just go wait somewhere else while I–”
“Are you guys a couple?” Sharon cuts him off, finally acknowledging you and Steve. “You look totally cute together if you are.”
“They’re not a couple.” Ari seethes, his blue eyes narrowing at Steve’s hands on your waist. “Let go of her, asshole.” he says quietly (not that Sharon would have even noticed). Steve ignores his, pretending he didn’t hear him.
“I, uh, I have to go,” you mumble, unable to stand being in their presence even a second longer. Sharon’s gone back to sloppily kissing up Ari’s jaw, and you just can’t take it. His words from earlier keep ringing through your ears: “I already have a girlfriend,” “I already have a girlfriend,” “I already have a girlfriend.”
You take your phone out, ready to call an Uber and be done with this night. You’d go home and charge your phone and try to reach Wanda from there. But just as you’re about to type in your address on the app, your screen goes black. Dead. Great. Fucking great.
“Oh no,” you whisper softly in dismay.
Ari’s already got his own phone out, typing away and presumably calling you an Uber whilst simultaneously trying to keep Sharon upright and at bay.
“I’ll take you home.” Steve volunteers.
“The hell you will,” Ari sneers, “Back the fuck off, Rogers, I’m calling her an Uber.” He looks like he wants to say more, his gaze still locked on the way Steve is holding you. But he can’t, of course he can’t… not with her here.
“Babe, I don’t feel well,” Sharon moans suddenly. Her face looks slightly green, and she’s stopped kissing Ari now.
“Just give me a second,” He tells her distractedly.
“Maybe you should worry about getting your own girlfriend home first, Levinson.” Steve says smugly before turning to you, “C’mon, let’s go.”
Ari’s eyes fix on yours, “Don’t go with him.”
You almost do obey. Because you always obey Ari. He’s told you in the past, warned you that you always have to do what he says because he’s your daddy and he’s in charge. But… But what about how you’d begged him to stay earlier, and he hadn’t? Now was your chance to do the same thing to him, give him a taste of his own medicine. That, and you also can’t stand to be in close vicinity of him and Sharon right now, or else you’d burst into tears again.
Pointedly avoiding Ari’s gaze, you look up at Steve instead, “O-Okay. Let’s go.”
The blonde tugs you along with him, and you purposely drown Ari out as Steve leads you away. And part of you wants Ari to follow, to push Sharon away and come after you, rip you out of Steve’s grip and take you home himself. But he doesn’t, of course he doesn’t. You don’t dare look back, knowing the happy couple is probably making out again, and you’ve already been forgotten.
“He’s such an asshole!” You burst out, “I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!”
Steve chuckles, “He’s an asshole, alright.”
“He really is! Hate how he treats me, an’ how I keep giving him chances. He just hurts me again and again and again and–”
“Let’s get you home, baby,” the blonde interrupts, getting his phone out.
You wait a handful of seconds, swaying in your heels but liking how he’s got his hand firmly on your lower back to keep you steady. You look up at him expectantly, “Well, aren’t you gonna ask for my address?”
“What?”
“My address, silly! How else am I gonna get home?”
He blinks, before slowly handing you his phone. You miss the glint in his eye, however, and how his lip curls up subtly in… disappointment? “Oh yeah. How stupid of me to forget.”
You type your address in on his Uber app and click accept before beaming up at him, “Thank you so much, Steve. It really means a lot to me, I honestly don’t know how else I would’ve got home! But don’t worry, I’ll pay you back! We’ll split the cost in half, and–”
He presses his finger to your lips, effectively shushing you before he shoots you that charming lop-sided smile of his, making your insides melt. “You don’t need to pay me back, sweetheart. What kind of a guy would I be if I took money from a little baby like you?”
You blink, feeling an extreme sense of dejavu. He sounded exactly like… Ari. Ari never let you pay for anything ever. Well, Ari never really took you out anywhere in public, but the two of you would always order takeout whenever he came over to your dorm room. And he’d never skimp out either, ordering from fancy places like Nobu because he said you were his baby and he wanted the best for you. And whenever you tried to pay your share, he’d just snort and push your hand away, “What kind of a guy would I be if I took money from a helpless little baby like you?”
The reminder of Ari has a ton of different emotions washing over you all over again. Sadness, jealousy, anger…. You shake your poor drunken, muddled head, “Oh, I hate Ari so much, Steve! He’s heartless, and he–”
You’re still going on and on by the time the Uber arrives. And you’re so into your tirade, that you don’t even notice Steve’s arms going around you again, holding you tight against him as if he owns you. You don’t notice how his hands wander, how he rubs the bare skin of your arms, the small of your back, going lower and lower. His fingers playing with the short hem of your dress…
You do notice him slip cash into the driver’s hand… Probably the tip, you presume, too drunk to care.
Your mind wanders to Ari again during the ride home. You sit in the backseat with Steve, staring out the window gloomily as you think about how he broke your heart. Oh, how could you have been so stupid? So gullible? So innocent? You’d never let anyone take advantage of you like that again…
“You okay?” Steve asks, pressing his hand on your thigh.
You nod, “Yeah, I’m just thinkin’ about how much I hate Ari, and–”
“Sweetheart?”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve been listening to you complain about Ari for the past ten minutes straight. Don’t mention him again.”
He says it softly, calmly, and yet you shut your mouth and straighten up. Despite being drunk, you can detect the seriousness of his tone, and a hint of a threat too. Which you’re probably imagining because why would Steve threaten you? He was so sweet! Wasn’t he?
“I’m sorry, Steve,” you say softly, relaxing once he shoots you a smile.
The drive continues, and Steve’s hand remains on your bare thigh, squeezing every now and again. You don’t mind, his touch helping you feel grounded. You’re still so drunk and probably high too, from that damned stupid pill Ari had given you. No, no, no! You scrunch your eyes shut, willing yourself not to think about him.
“Baby, why don’t you come sit on my lap?” Steve says suddenly.
You whip your head in his direction, “Wh-What?”
“The Uber driver just told me the backseat is really dirty, and you’re in a dress, so I think you’d better sit on me.”
You glance at the driver, who looks straight ahead at the road, not batting an eye or saying a single word. You’re too drunk to argue, and so you just nod. Steve grabs you by the waist, easily lifting you up and placing you on his lap. You can’t help but welcome his warmth, shivering in your skimpy little dress as you wiggle around, trying to get comfortable. He notices, immediately shrugging off his varsity jacket and draping it over your shoulders.
“There. Nice and warm now?”
You smile up at him gratefully, “Yeah! Thanks so much, Steve!” You try not to ogle at his biceps.
“You look cute in my jacket,” Steve chucks you under the chin, “It’s huge on you.”
“That’s ‘cause you’re huge,” you blurt out, before your eyes widen.
“And you’re just tiny.” He quips, pulling you closer.
This was weird, right? You’d only just met him a mere twenty minutes ago, and now you were already in a car with him? In his lap, no less? But you could trust Steve, right? He was nice enough to give you a lift home when he didn’t even know you, and he didn’t want you to touch the dirty backseat either. And he’d given you his jacket so you’d stay warm. All of those looked like green flags to you. Unlike dumb stupid Ari, who was one red flag after another!
The car hits a snag on the road, causing you to bounce inadvertently in his lap. Steve groans as if he’s in pain, and you shoot him an apologetic look.
“Sorry, Stevie. That was an accident.”
He smirks, “Stevie?”
Heat spreads across your cheeks, unaware that you’ve said it out loud… But it’s a cute nickname nonetheless, and so you just shrug awkwardly, a sheepish smile on your face.
Steve’s hand rubs up and down your back soothingly, “It’s a long way till your house, baby. Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”
You nod, “Well, I’m a freshman at St. Andrews’ College, and…and…” your voice drifts off as you notice how close you are to him, how you can see the freckles and beauty marks on his face, how deep his blue eyes are up close. So much like Ari’s…
Steve licks his lips, “How does a little freshman like you get mixed up with an asshole like Ari Levinson?”
Oh God, where do you even begin? Instead, you shake your head, “I-I thought I wasn’t allowed to mention Ari again?”
“You’re right,” Steve’s eyes twinkle, and he brushes a piece of your hair behind your ear, “You take instructions well, sweetheart, that makes you a good girl.”
You glow at the praise, before the car hits another snag on the road – this time a much bigger one. You bounce on Steve’s lap again, biting your lip when you feel the rough material of his jeans graze against you down there. And that’s when you come to a horrific realisation.
You’re not wearing any panties.
Your mind flashes back to earlier in the night. Ari fucking you in the middle of the dancefloor. Lifting your dress up. Your panties slipping down your legs. You stepping out of them, the lacy thong lying on the floor. That was the last you’d seen it…
You gulp, looking down at Steve’s lap slowly. No, no, no. Oh no… There it is, plain as day… A wet stain on his jeans, directly beneath you. You hear a low groan, and you know he’s seen it too.
“Oh my gosh, Steve, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I–”
“It’s okay,” he breathes, his voice throaty as he grips your hips to hold you in place, “Maybe you should move…”
“Yes, of course, sorry, I’ll just…” You hastily try to get off his lap, but he holds on tight, not allowing you to budge.
“No, baby girl. I mean move like this.” With fluid confidence, he guides your hips over thick, jean-clad thigh. You gasp breathily, hands shaking as they automatically grip his shoulders. Your bare cunt grazes against the rough denim, pleasurable sensations thrumming through your body. Oh God, what were you doing? You glance fearfully at the driver, but he seems to be in his own world, carefully ignoring the two of you from the driver’s seat.
“Stevie, we shouldn’t–”
“Shhh, move again,” he orders, his thumb circling your hip through the thin material of your dress.
“B-But we just met, this isn’t right, we–” But he shushes you again by moving your hips for you. And his hands are so big, gripping you so tight as he moves you over his muscular leg, your cunt catching against the jean material again and making your whole body convulse. You automatically grab at his broad shoulders, feeling overwhelmed and confused yet horny and needy all at once.
Ari wouldn’t like this, your inner voice warns.
“I thought you took instructions well, baby doll.” Steve whispers enticingly in your ear, hands rubbing soothingly up and down your back as if to cajole you into doing what he wanted. “C’mon, move again like how I told you to.”
Your body obeys as if you’ve been wired to, and maybe it’s because you like listening to people or maybe it’s because you’re just plain horny. Either because of Ari’s damned ecstasy pill or because Steve is so handsome and hot and his body is so big and muscular and warm. Oh, you don’t know! But you do roll your hips down against his lap, eyes widening at how good it feels as you both gasp in unison.
“That’s a good girl,” Steve praises, giving you a sweet smile. And you’re so close to him, and he’s so handsome, and his lashes are so long and thick, his jaw so defined, his freckles so pretty…
“You’re so pretty!” You blurt out.
Steve snorts, “And you’re still so fucking drunk.”
“Wha–?”
“Nothing. Move again.” But this time he picks you up, repositioning you so that you’re face to face with him and straddling his crotch, and oh my! He was so hard, so, so hard! You could feel his dick poking through the denim, rubbing against your wet folds! What was even happening right now?! “Baby, this feels good huh? Moving against me like this?”
“Uh… y-yeah, I guess it does.” You answer shyly.
“Good. Then I won’t have to repeat myself after this one last time. Move. Again.” Quick as a wink, his hand leaves your hip, thick fingers curling around your throat instead. He speaks softly yet with authority and a hint of menace, blue eyes almost magically unblinking as he stares you down, “Rub your little baby cunt all over my jeans. You might as well, since you’ve already made a mess.”
SMACK.
You squeak before your jaw drops open. Had he just spanked you? Once more, you look to the driver in the front, but he seems to be determinedly ignoring whatever was going on in the backseat.
Almost as if he’d been paid to do so…
You start to move your hips, letting Steve guide you as you grind down on his clothed crotch. And fuck, it feels heavenly. Your poor clit is throbbing, so needy and desperate as you seek your pleasure, holding on to Steve’s sturdy shoulders.
“Fuck yeah, you’re such a cute little slut aren’t you?” Steve hums into your neck, his teeth grazing against your bare skin, “can’t believe a sweet little angel with a snatch as tight and sexy as yours landed right in my lap. Well, I stole you right from under Levinson’s nose, but that’s not important right now, is it?” He slaps your ass again, his other hand still wrapped around your neck. Not squeezing, just holding it, “Move harder, baby. I’m already letting you use me for your pleasure, so you better do as I say.”
“O-Okay, Stevie,” you pant, not really hearing what he’s saying because the delicious friction is too much for you to handle.
He nips at the nape of your neck, that now familiar glint in his eye, “Call me daddy, sweetheart.”
You gape at him. But you only ever called Ari daddy!
His fingers squeeze around your neck, making it exponentially harder for you to breathe. “Did you hear what I said?” He asks smoothly.
“Y-Yeah,” you barely get the word out.
“Then say it. Say it or I’ll choke you the fuck out.”
“Daddy!” You squeak as he loosens his grip, gulping for air, “D-Daddy, please!”
He smirks, leaning back against the seat as he watches you ride his crotch. You can’t stop now, it feels too good, too sexy. An yet it also almost feels like you’re doing something wrong, like you’re betraying Ari… Except you’re not, you’re not, you’re not! Because Ari already had a girlfriend and it wasn’t you!
“You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you? Dry humping your little baby pussy on a guy you’ve just met?” Steve grabs the back of your neck and yanks you forward, till his plump pink lips ghost against yours, “You this slutty for all the frat boys, sweetie?”
You shake your head desperately, “N-No, promise I’m not! I’ve only ever been with one guy, ah!” Your poor pussy feels like it’s been rubbed raw, and yet you can’t stop. Your hips are both moving off their own accord, and Steve’s still moving your body lazily on top of his, the fat outline of his dick protruding through his jeans, a wet spot of your juices on top of his crotch. “W-Well, actually, now I’ve been with two, but–oh fuck!”
You whimper pathetically as Steve suddenly bites down on your neck, sucking against the sensitive skin till it breaks. He peppers the broken skin with kisses, and it hurts yet it feels so good. You find your hand slipping up to grab at his short hair, and instinctively you’d been expecting Ari’s long tufts because that was all you were used to. But all you can think about is Steve right now, and how good his huge body feels underneath you as you grind against it.
“And does it feel good, baby? Humping up against a stranger like you’re in heat?” He licks the shell of your ear lewdly, shivers running down your spine before he suddenly thrusts upwards, catching you off-guard. Your pussy clenches, lust pumping through your veins at his words. “Innocent little baby, only ever been with two guys and yet you’re dry humping me like you’re being paid to do it.”
He laughs wickedly, and how could he still look so angelic? The moonlight shines on his face through the window of the car, and one second he’s looking down at you mockingly, before his face morphs into one of lust and want, and he lets out a soft gasp as he grinds up against you. “Fuck, you’re doing so good, baby. Making daddy feel so fuckin’ good, aren’t you?”
“Y-Yeah, daddy, oh fuck, you feel so big,” you whimper with abandon.
Steve snorts, “I’m bigger than you could handle, sweet girl. Your cute little baby pussy would probably start crying if I tried to put my dick inside you right now.”
His dirty talk makes you moan, and you can feel yourself growing more excited. That’s when he starts to fondle you, his hands everywhere on your body, squeezing and rubbing your tits through the thin material of your dress. “God, you’re just a baby, aren’t you?”
“N-No,” you pant, only to earn another smack to your ass.
“Don’t fucking disagree with me,” he hisses, blue eyes blazing before his smirk returns, “You’re a little fuckin’ baby who’s known me all of two seconds and yet you’re horny for my daddy dick, aren’t you? I said, aren’t you?”
“Yes, okay?! Yes!” You cry out, your folds so insanely sensitive from rubbing and rubbing against him, and yet you’re so close. But was it just you, or had Steve’s demeanour changed. Back at the party, he was charming, funny, helpful. And now? Oh, he was still charming, and so devastatingly handsome. But there was a darkness to his angelic quality… Either that or you were imagining things.
“What if I pushed you down and made you ride my fuckin’ shoe instead?” He asks, that devilish glint ever-present in his blue eyes which were dark with lust, “You’d do it, wouldn’t you? You’d do anything to cum.”
“Daddy, ‘m so close!” you whine like a baby, clutching his shirt hard in case he did push you to the floor. You didn’t want that at all, and you blink up at him with wide eyes, “D-Don’t push me down, daddy, please! Promise I’ll be good an’ I’ll listen to you! Wanna stay in your lap, please!”
He blinks down at you, chiselled face softening some as he cups your face, his other hand still guiding you as you ride his thigh, “Fuck, you’re cute, aren’t you?”
But then his expression darkens once more, and he reaches down, grabbing the flimsy fabric of your dress. There’s a loud tearing sound and you gasp, jaw dropping as he rips the lower part of your dress clean in half. He smiles, “Keep going, baby. Daddy just wanted to see you better. And look at your baby pussy, look how cute and puffy she is. Bet you’re sore down there, huh?”
“Y-Yeah, but don’t wanna stop! So close!”
He runs his tongue over his plump lips, “I bet you are.”
Reaching down, he makes you gasp out loud when his fingers spread your sopping folds, and fuck, his jeans feel so fucking good now, so much better, so much rougher, oh god, oh god, oh god… And that’s when he takes complete control, grabbing your hips harder and moving you on top of him like you’re a doll. Like you’re his personal fucktoy, and he’s using you for his pleasure as he moves you back and forth on his dick, dragging you up and down on his clothed crotch while he whispers dirtily in your ear.
But it’s when he squeezes your throat again, that you feel your pussy clench doubly hard.
“You like that, huh? Like when daddy gets rough?” Steve chuckles darkly, before squeezing harder. Till he’s well and truly choking you, and you can feel your airway close up, and you well and truly can’t breathe, and it’s agony but it’s so delicious, and he’s dragging you all over his crotch, rutting up against you as you scramble on top of him, and you can’t breathe and you’re about to black out and, and, and…
You come hard, squirting all over his crotch which was already wet from your juices. And your cream keeps on pouring out, your orgasm hitting you so hard. And that’s when he releases your throat, like he’s given you the ability to breathe as a reward for cumming, and he rubs your back soothingly as you sob and squeak in pleasure, his voice all sweet once more, all dripping with honey as he caressed you, “you’re such a good girl, such a good fucking girl, you did so good, baby.”
The rest of the drive home is silent, you feeling fucked out in Steve’s lap, Steve looking smug, and the Uber driver staring straight ahead as if the debauchery that just took place in the backseat of his car had never even happened. Your legs are shaking, and you can’t believe what’s just happened but you’re too exhausted to truly care. All you want is your bed. And sleep.
“Sweetheart, I think we’re here. Is this your building?”
“It is,” you say hoarsely, suddenly feeling too shy to even meet his gaze. And there’s a part of you that feels guilty now that it’s all over, a part of you that keeps thinking about Ari and what he would think about all this. Fuck. You shake your head to clear out all those thoughts until tomorrow, “Thanks for giving me a lift home, Stevie.”
His lop-sided smile returns, almost as if the whole ordeal in the Uber had never even happened, “No worries, baby.”
He helps you out of the car, and your legs feel like complete jelly, but you’re thankful that you can stand upright. You feel a weight on your shoulders, suddenly noticing his varsity jacket is still on you. Blue and white, with his initials “S.G.R.” “Oh, your jacket, Stevie. Here–”
“You keep it.” He cuts you off, his eyes glittering with the reflection of the moon and stars as his lip curls upwards, “Keep it somewhere in your dorm room, somewhere where everyone can see, alright?”
“Okay.” You really don’t have it in you to question his weird request.
He walks you all the way to your dorm room like a perfect gentleman, waits while you rummage through your purse for your keys. Chuckles as he finds them for you and unlocks your door. Pats your ass as he pushes you inside.
But not before pressing a kiss on your cheek and murmuring a quiet, “I’ll see you soon enough, baby.”
And then he’s gone, and you’re alone. You put your phone on charge before immediately flopping down on your bed. Your aching muscles hum in satisfaction, and you feel instant relief as you kick your heels off and close your eyes. Your heart is racing – how had you gone from being a virgin at the beginning of the year to hooking up with two guys in the same night?!
Speaking of one of the guys, your phone begins vibrating the moment it gains its battery back, and you see a flood of texts and missed calls from Ari. And you think back to how you’d feel a small sense of satisfaction and a burst of happiness every time he texted you or called you in the past.
Now, you don’t even have the energy to open his messages. It could wait till tomorrow.
You close your eyes to sleep. And you dreamt of Ari, of course you did. You dreamt of Ari a lot. But there was someone else alongside the brunet in your dreams tonight. A blonde with a charming smile and glittering eyes, the moonlight bathing him like a halo.
But you weren’t so sure if he was an angel.
AFHJSAFA OKAY! SO. What do we think??? AND YES omfg of course the second love interest was Steve! Y'all know i'm a whore for Steve and for me, he's the only one who can believably compete against THE Ari Levinson!!! I can't wait to delve into this story!!! I hope you guys enjoyed! Feedback would mean the world to me!
(also i'm paranoid that there are mistakes and continuity errors even tho i sorta did reread it kind of but aksdfnldaskgal idk!!! i'm sure it's all fine tho)
I actually prepared some questions for yall just in case:
Is it too soon to ask if you're team Ari or team Steve?!?! BC I WANNA KNOWWW.
Do Ari and Steve know each other?!?! DO YOU THINK THEY HAVE HISTORY?!?!
Does Ari have feelings for reader?! What is Steve's deal?!!? IDK YALL JUST PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT, ANY GENERAL THOUGHTS AND FEEDBACK SDFKLSAFN OKAY BYE
donate to my ko-fi!
#ari levinson#ari levinson x reader#chris evans fanfiction#chris evans#steve rogers#steve rogers x reader#curtis everett#curtis everett x reader#andy barber x reader
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Costume Changes - Part 2
The three girls looked utterly ridiculous once the witch had helped them into their new costumes. Lucy’s angel costume was, if anything, more revealing than her devil outfit, but somehow it didn’t make her feel sexy. The white dress ended at her mid-thighs, and her pull-ups were just about visible through the semi-transparent fabric. The outline of her breasts were obvious too, and her nipples poked tents in the silky material, leaving no doubt that the innocent little angel was actually a fully grown woman. The wings and halo were added absurdities. She was almost jealous of what Amber got to wear.
The sensible librarian outfit was no more. In its place, Amber wore a skimpy schoolgirl costume. It had a short tartan skirt and a white blouse that tied in a knot under her breasts, which, Lucy noticed for the first time, were much larger than she’d expected. The bra that had kept them contained lay discarded on the floor, along with Amber’s plain white knickers. In place of her adult underwear, the frightened young woman wore childish My Little Pony panties. The witch had also gone to the trouble of turning her practical ponytail into two adorable pigtails sticking out of either side of her head like handlebars.
Candace had it worst. Her beautiful queen’s dress, commissioned at a high price with Daddy’s money just for tonight, lay crumpled in a heap on the floor along with her crown. Her new outfit was decidedly different. It was bright pink, and much cheaper-looking. The dress had a plasticky sheen to it, sequins dotted the collar and sleeves, and the skirt sparkled with glitter. Unlike her elegant blue gown, its flouncy hem barely reached past her waist, leaving her bulky, adult-sized Pampers on full display. They bulged between her legs, pushing her thighs apart and forcing her to stand slightly bow-legged. A plastic tiara sat on her head.
“Perfect!” the witch announced, looking them over with a pleased expression. “Isn’t that better? Now you can have some sweeties!”
“We don’t want sweets!” Lucy blurted, finding her courage. “Just let us go! Look, we’re sorry about tp’ing your house, okay?” She tried to take off her halo headband and throw it to the floor, but her hands wouldn’t obey her. She stomped her foot in frustration. “It was just a joke! It’s part of Halloween!”
The witch smiled. “And so it this, little one. Just because it’s Halloween, it doesn’t mean your actions don’t have consequences. If you play a trick on a witch, it’s only fair that she plays one on you in return.”
“You’re not a witch,” said Amber firmly. She too seemed to have found her voice. She adjusted her glasses and looked at the woman with a resolute look in her eyes. “There must have been something in the garden,” she said confidently. “Pressure sensors in the grass that released some kind of chemical to make us highly susceptible. I’m sure it’s nothing the police would have difficulty finding. So how about this – you let us go, and we promise not to press charges.”
The witch chuckled. “What an imagination you have, sweetie! But I’m afraid it’s just plain old magic.”
“If it’s magic, why can’t you just snap your fingers and make all the toilet paper disappear?” Candace demanded.
“It doesn’t work like that, baby,” she cooed. “But I’ll get it tidied up somehow. Don’t you worry. I know you’re far too little to clean up your own messes.”
“I can…” Candace hesitated. “I can arrange for someone come and clean it up if you let us go,” she finished, snobbishly.
The witch sighed. “I can see just changing your costumes wasn’t enough,” she said, shaking her head. “The three of you need some help acting the part as well.” Before they could say another word, she’d walked past and tapped each of them in the middle of their foreheads.
Lucy felt a strange tingling sensation start in her head, and Amber let out a gasp.
“What are you doing to me?” Candace squealed, clutching her own head.
“Just giving you some new behaviours,” said the witch. “Helping you be your true selves.”
Candace let out a shriek. She was staring down at her diapered crotch. The front of her white nappy was darkening, turning faintly yellow. It began to sag a little between her legs. “I’m peeing!” she cried, in a mixture of shock and disgust. “I can’t control it!”
“Of course you can’t,” the witch said happily, “You’re incontinent! Sorry, that’s quite a big word for such a silly little girl, isn’t it? It means you can’t control when you do a pee-pee or a poo-poo, so you’ll go right in your nappy just like the big baby you are. And it’s totally permanent!”
“No!” Candace screamed, looking panicked. “It can’t be!”
“I can assure you it is,” said the witch. “You’re just a silly, messy little princess now.”
“Ew, ew, ewww!” Candace cried, shifting from foot to foot as if she was trying to get away from the droopy wet Pampers dangling off her hips. “They’re awful! They’re so yucky and squishy!”
The witch let out a sweet laugh, and Lucy watched on in horror.
“Don’t, like, worry, Candy,” said Amber. “It not really, like, perma… permane… for forever. It’s just, ummm, ‘cause you’ve been drugged and stuff…” She frowned, and started to panic too. “What’s, like, wrong with me? Why can’t I talk good?”
“It’s not your fault, sweetie,” said the witch gently. “You’re just not that smart anymore. I thought you’d be better off as a bit of a dumb-dumb, so I took your intelligence away. You’re more of a high-school dropout than a college smarty-pants now. That’s forever too!”
“No!” Amber squealed, her eyes wide and terrified. “I need my smarts! That’s, like, who I am!”
“Don’t worry, silly girl,” said the witch. “A pretty thing like you doesn’t need to be smart. You’ve got your body. You’ve got your big boobies.”
“No, no, no!” Amber shook her head furiously, as if she were trying to clear it. “I, like, hate my stupid boobs! I hate it when people think I’m, like, a total bimbo just ‘cause they’re big! I’m smart! I’m a smarty-pants! Lulu, help me! I don’t wanna be a stupid schoolgirl!”
Lucy clenched her fists, fighting her fear. She didn’t yet know what the witch had done to her. But even though Candace could be stuck-up, and Amber could be a know-it-all, they were still supposed to be her friends, and if anyone was in charge of their little group, she was. “You’ve got to stop this!” she shouted at the witch. “This isn’t right! I don’t care how badly we messed up your lawn, it doesn’t mean it’s fair to do this! Undo what you’ve done and let us go!”
For half a second, a smile flashed across the witch’s face, then she put her hands on her hips and looked at her so sternly that Lucy felt a tiny bit of pee dribble into her pull-ups. “Bad girl!” the witch scolded, and Lucy was filled at once with a horrible mixture of fear and guilt. “You do not shout at Mummy, little one! We use our indoor voices when we’re indoors, young lady, unless you want to go over Mummy’s knee for a red bottom!”
Lucy soaked her Huggies. She could feel the warm pee-pee streaming into her training pants, spreading around her crotch and between her legs and even up towards her bottom, and she knew her flowers must be disappearing. She burst into tears. “I’m sorry, Mummy!” she blubbered, gasping and hiccupping. What was wrong with her?! “Please don’t spank me!” she wailed. She couldn’t help it. She could see Amber and Candace looking at her, mortified. The witch must have turned her into some kind of weak-willed, pants-wetting pansy!
The witch shushed her gently, her stern expression vanishing. “There, there, darling,” she cooed, pulling her into a cuddle. She reached and pressed her hand against the seat of Lucy’s toddler pants, feeling the heavy warmth there. “It’s okay. Mummy’s not going to spank you this time. Even though you have some problems with naughtiness, you’re Mummy’s sweet angel really, aren’t you, little one? You’re a sweet, helpless, meek little angel. And you always will be.”
“Waaaaaaah!”
“Well, I think that’s quite enough excitement for one night,” said the witch, looking over the three distraught young women with satisfaction. “We’ll have to save the trick or treat candy for tomorrow. Hopefully you’ll be better behaved by then. Alright, upstairs and ready for bed, girls! The three of you ought to be in dreamland by now in any case. It’s way past your bedtimes! But don’t worry, I’ve got lots of fun planned for tomorrow.”
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amoralism | one
Summary: You and Dean Winchester are the top agents from Major Crimes. You’re also assigned as partners on the same case- a crime syndicate is running loose and buying out most of downtown New York. He hates you cause you hate him. You hate him cause you think he got in his position with his daddy’s influence. But this case is personal to one of you more than the other- and you may be getting too personal for comfort.
A/N - I said I’d post on Friday but surprise! Also, as a note, I have no intention of completely relating to realism (even though I’m pretty sure that’s a title of a chapter). This will be almost like an action/romance movie, and the format is sort of like that too.
SERIES MASTERLIST
Song Inspo: Shameless - Camila Cabello
narcissism
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Fifty-Shots Bar had never had this many patrons before.
Clinking of glasses, the bellow of random toasts, tapping of the bar for another round, the whole trifecta played on loop until all those glasses came down on the counter and all the beefy men downing those drinks like water would slap the back of the tallest in the lot, forcing that dude with the unreasonably gorgeous hair to bend to their height from the pressure.
“What’s the occasion, boys?” The lady on shift, Jenna, chuckled. She was intrigued as to why the festivities were so… robust, but then one of the guys shoved the tall one forward, clapping his shoulder in a way that knocked the latter’s breath out.
“Ah, nothing.” The taller one tried playing it off, but the shorter wouldn’t hear of it. His green eyes shone mischievously as he ruffled the tall guy’s hair. Jenna’s eyes couldn’t help but trail down the patron’s, well, everything. Short blonde hair, five o’clock shadow on the sharpest jawline she’d ever seen. Lips always in a pout, daring her to kiss it away until they bruised. Casual denim shirt nothing short of tempting, as tight as a damn straitjacket over that broad, no doubt kissable chest. Arms framed in his sleeves, probably bore enough strength to throw her around like a ragdoll and he wouldn’t break a sweat.
She bit her lip. Oh Lord, this man was either from heaven or hell and she wouldn’t complain either way.
“It’s not nothing.” He laughed, shaking his head. “My brother Sam here took down a big-time multi level marketing scheme. So damn modest.” Another clap of Sam’s shoulder. However, he seemed to have clocked Jenna and her obvious admiration of his entire being, a quirk of the corner of his mouth having her knees like jelly. “What’s your name, beautiful?”
She giggled, her finger twirling her hair around her finger as if she was a little schoolgirl with her first crush. “Jenna. What’s yours?”
“Dean Winchester.” He took her hand, kissing her knuckle and letting his lips linger, smouldering eye contact sending shivers down her spine. “Agent Dean Winchester. Say, Jenna, what time do you get off?”
“When you do.” She breathed, and the low chuckle from Dean had her snapping back into her senses but also getting a very noticeable ache between her thighs. “Um, in an hour.”
Sam had already left. He wasn’t in the mood for watching very visible eye-banging.
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Champagne. Chauvinists. The classic fancy, downtown party hosted by a family that owned half of Chicago. Flashing lights, a pair of eyes on you at all times… it was rather an overwhelming feeling, one that you couldn’t shake.
You didn’t know whether to feel confident or hunted in the red dress that you wore, satin and navy and with an open back- all things nice and very attractive to men. Your makeup and blonde (for today) hair done like a movie star and getting the attention of every man in the room, regardless of age.
“And who might you be, sweets?” A very Southern accent drawled from behind you, and you turned around, making a show of playing the innocent yet extremely attractive and mysterious lady at the most extravagant birthday party you had ever seen.
You were playing a stereotype. You hated stereotypes.
“Anna Raleigh.” You responded smoothly, and he seemed to buy it, taking your hand and kissing the knuckle, the creepy eye contact urging you to snatch your hand back and scrub it with an antiseptic wipe.
“Miss Raleigh, you are a work of art. Name’s Matthias Aldrich.” He practically purred, and that sent a cold shiver up your spine.
You put on a polite, smitten smile, though you were inwardly rolling your eyes. “Thank you, sir.”
Matthias tucked a strand of your blonde hair behind your ear. “I’ve always been fond of women who are the golden type of blonde. Hope this is natural.”
You took a crouton from a passing tray, popping it in your mouth and chewing on it, answering once you’d swallowed the bite. You’d done it quick because you could see this dude’s eyes on your lips as you chewed. “I say, these croutons are quite dry, no?”
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The door to Jenna’s apartment burst open, her and Dean stumbled in, lips locked, door closing with a well-timed click and moans echoing amid breathy sighs. Dean’s jacket fell just as Jenna’s fingers tugged on his hair, causing him to jolt and let out a growl, groaning as he bent to kiss her neck. “Just like that.” He murmured, nipping and assaulting the tanned skin. Only detaching to pull her skimpy tank over her head, revealing a hot pink, lace bra.
She’s freaky. He liked that.
“You like?” She breathed, ample chest heaving as her teeth worried her bottom lip, batting her eyelashes. Putting on a show for him.
“Mmh.” He hummed, nodding before he reached for the clasp, effortlessly undoing it. It fell to the floor, and he clicked his tongue with a grin. “Better.”
“Much.” She purred, kissing him hotly and leading them to the bedroom.
Pushing.
Pulling.
Grinding.
Jenna’s legs wrapping around his waist, courtesy of Dean putting them there. Moans. Groans. Whimpers. Cries and low mutters of each other’s name. The room heating up and pulsing with enough pressure to forge a diamond.
The bed creaking. Headboard banging. High pitched moans that belong in a porno. Groans of ‘just like that’ and whines of ‘right there’ and ‘don’t stop’.
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Not even after a minute after your comment about the dry croutons, the building was stormed. Armed personnel burst through every exit, holding up automatics and yelling for everyone to get their hands up, while you were taken by the arm by one of the people yelling ‘FBI! Hands where we can see them!’ and dragged in a way which appeared rough.
You were led kicking and screaming into a side van, and the moment the door slid shut, you snapped out of it, pulling the wig off. “About time, eh, boys?”
“At least we got your signal.” One protested, while another snorted.
“Dry croutons? Really?” He rolled his eyes, spinning on the chair, raising a pointed eyebrow at you. “With all due respect, it could be something less outlandish.”
“Then it would be too easy to miss, Velasquez.” You retorted, grabbing a makeup wipe and beginning to practically scrub it all off. Also taking an antiseptic wipe and a bottle of hand sanitizer to rid your hand of Matthias Aldrich’s lips. “And since when do I work like I’m a basic, sweater wearing, background blending Gertrude?”
“She has a point, Velasquez.” One agent quipped as he went by. You pointed after him with a smirk.
“Willis gets it.” You grinned, shrugging. “Why can’t you? Have a heart, Velasquez.”
“Yeah, have a heart.”
“Shut up!” Velasquez yelled after him, and got the middle finger from Willis in response.
“You ready to report to the CO, Agent?” Willis asked you, passing you a mug of coffee, which you gratefully sipped.
“When am I not?” You chuckled, letting the warm liquid wash over your throat. “Now, I don’t care what you two clowns do, I need these guys behind bars for two lifers at least. I’ve been hunting down these sons of bad mothers for months. I’m not having any slip ups, no buy ins nor outs. Every. Exit. Sealed.” You looked between the two with an intense glare, no nonsense and all business. “Am I clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
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Morning afters were always hard for Dean. He had a rule that he followed to the T.
Mind blowing sex? Doesn’t matter, leave before he gets attached and she gets hurt.
“Sorry, Jen, I’d stay, but I’m late for work.” He hurriedly buttoned his denim shirt, trying not to get distracted by the sight of the girl in the sheets, naked body only a thin layer of cotton away.
All he had to do was peel it.
“Aw, handsome, I thought you’d stay for round six.” Jenna giggled, looking him up and down. Inside, Dean was rolling his eyes in frustration. They always got clingy after the best night of their life. Then again, that was purely his fault.
“I would, trust me, darlin’.” He cleared his throat, walking into the living room and finding his jacket and keys, along with his belt. That was important.
Jenna stepped in as well, clad in a silk robe that made her look no short of delectable. But he had to resist. Stick to the damn code. “Y’know, I’m a sucker for a man in uniform.”
She was trying a hit. God, she was trying hard. Dean had to physically resist going back for another hit. She was clingy, sure, but there was a huge double standard there.
“Are you, now?” He smirked, running a hand through his messy hair. “Careful, sweetheart, or I might sextuple dip.”
“Maybe I want you to.” She winked, and it had him chuckling, looking down and then back at her.
“Tempting. Very tempting.”
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You stepped into the office, your heels making small taps on the floor as you went, signing in and showing your ID at the register before making your way inside. You’d been told to take a rest for a few days before you returned to your post in the HQ at DC, but who were you to listen?
And everyone knew it too, because the very moment you stepped inside, you were greeted with a show of applause and cheers from your colleagues. “Tenth drug ring of your career.” Agent Lafitte clapped your shoulder, chuckling. “You’re on a roll, sister.”
“Cool it with the flattery, Benny, I’m on a time crunch.” You snorted, shaking your head and holding a hand out for a case file, which was dropped into your hand as you continued walking.
“Hi.” There was a blonde girl beside you, hair pulled up into a ponytail, presumably the one who handed the fine to you. “Agent Jo Harvelle. I used to work narcotics, but they’re giving me a trial in Major Crimes. I was told by the CO to shadow you, so I can get a good sense of the ropes.”
While looking through the files, you glanced up at Agent Harvelle, seeing the eager look on her face. Rather like you when you started, and the eager ones made good agents. With a little tough love. “Yeah, a’ight. CO’s called me for a briefing, so it’ll be up to him whether you stay or step out.”
“About that drug ring you busted?” She grinned. “I was told. By practically everyone. How are you that skilled?”
“Ain’t my first rodeo, hon.” You smirked as you reached the boss’ office, rapping twice on the door with your knuckles and earning a polite ‘come in’.
That you did, finding your superior officer, Senior Agent Robert Singer, standing behind his desk, nose deep in a file while his ear was being talked off by… oh, boy.
Agent Winchester.
“So I quickly take my gun, aim it between his eyes,” He held up finger guns and aimed them to prove his point, completely disregarding your arrival, hideously typical, “and I said ‘hands up or I’ll reenact Rambo’. Genius, am I right?”
You cleared your throat sharply.
That got Agent Winchester’s attention, his green eyes zeroing in on you and giving you memories back that you tried to dispose of in the first place. A smirk twitched at those lips that were once too close to be professional before they stretched into a grin, pearly whites flashing. “Mornin’, Agent. Surprised to see you here.”
“I could say the same thing.” You pressed your lips together (and your thighs, but you’d never admit that), turning to Agent Singer instead. “Should I leave Harvelle outside, sir?”
“That’s ideal.” Singer nodded, so you signalled to Harvelle to stay outside as you closed and locked the soundproof door. You passed the file on the Brierson drug ring to him, which he checked over. “Impressive work, as always. This’ll land them behind bars for sure.”
“Always the perfectionist, aren’t you?” Winchester quipped, arms folded across his chest with a smug smirk. Your brow twitched; you knew exactly why he was highlighting that word in bold, italics, whatever he was intending to do. You’d just rather not think about it.
You scanned him over, adding all the facts in your head. His shirt wasn’t ironed. Belt was wonky. Hair looked like it had a comb desperately run through it but failed to tame it. Faint hint of something red you recognised as a lipstick smear on his jugular and a sliver of a purple bruise that disappeared under his collar. Which was hastily pulled up. His tie done in the simplest knot ever and still looked tragic.
He got here in quite the rush.
“Nice night?” You shot back, a full smirk tugging at your lips and making his drop. He gave you a look which blatantly said smartass, while you proudly notched that win on your belt.
Singer looked between the two of you before tapping his desk. “Entertaining, but not why you’re both here. We’ve found ourselves in a fix. Franz Brierson wasn’t at that party.”
Your blood ran cold. That guy was the big boss, the guy who started it all, got everyone on his payroll. If he was loose… but he couldn’t be loose. Unless you didn’t check?
“I’ve been looking into it for the past five hours. That’s right, I got here early.” Singer huffed out a breath. “There’s a chance that our big boss was notified beforehand. A mole that told him we were coming.”
“A mole. In the FBI.” Dean muttered, now serious as he rubbed a hand into his mouth. “We’ve been clean for years.”
“It’s the only explanation.” You piped up, shaking your head as you began to pace. Heels tapping, Dean’s eyes fixating on the sway of your hips and your ass in that getup at the wrong goddamn moment. “That operation was airtight. No room for error. Only someone on the inside could have leaked that info.”
“You two are the best Major Crimes has. Most arrests, most drug and crime busts I’ve seen on a record in all my years of being here.” Singer folded his arms, looking between the two of you. “I don’t know the whats, whens, whos, hows, whys of what happened when you two were last assigned on a case together, but I need this operation to stay in this circle right here.” He faced you. “When you’re working this case, Agent Harvelle can’t be there. It’s gonna be hard to shake, but you can handle it. As for you,” Singer shot an exasperated look at Winchester, “look presentable!”
“I look hot.” Dean pouted, now holding his jacket over his shoulder with it hooked on his index.
“Hot isn’t FBI. Go sort yourself out, or I’ll get your brother to do it. I need to oversee operations.” Singer left the room and the tense air between you and Dean, which you faced head on.
“So,” You started in a lilting voice, which he recognised instantly as your teasing tone and prompting an eye roll before the words left your lips, “was she good?”
“Shut up.” He groaned, shaking his head as he pulled his suit jacket back on. “None of your damn business. It’s an intimate exploration, not exhibitionism.” He lowered his voice so you couldn’t hear. “Though she’d probably be into that.”
“Are we calling sex an intimate exploration now?” You scoffed lightly, laughing afterwards. “You’re such a sappy romantic.”
“Asshole.” He shot back. Two can play, Winchester.
“Dumbass.”
“Smartass.”
“Jackass.”
“We gotta stop using ‘ass’ in every sentence.” He groaned, running a hand through his hair and picking up the file to busy himself. But the file was picked out of his hands, left carelessly on the desk, your lips claiming his something sinful.
Something that had him moaning, gripping your hips and his mouth soft, pliable, agreeable to your every want and need. He was all yours, and that was all it took to silence him.
Well, not really silence him, but details weren’t necessary. Not when your plush lips were pressing against his neck like that. Hot, open mouthed. Insistent. Rousing. Dizzying. Intoxicating.
He’d be damned if he ever got enough.
His shirt was soon hanging open, tie discarded as the marks of that sexy lipstick shade littered his torso, and he wasn’t complaining. He definitely wasn’t complaining when you sank to your knees, unbuckling his belt as your tongue traced his abs. Didn’t dare when his slacks pooled to the floor, boxers dropping next, his hand tangling in your hair as-
“Hey.” Your fingers snapped in front of him, taking him out of his delightful daydream, however ill-timed. He swallowed, giving himself a once over. No tie discarded, no shirt undone, no lipstick marks and definitely no you looking so sexy on your knees for him. Having him whine for you.
That was a thought worth biting his lip to.
“You with me?” You continued, and upon his shaky nod, you gave him a weird look before continuing on with your briefing. He inwardly wiped sweat off his brow, thankful to whatever god was watching for the lucky save.
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You were sipping a late-night decaf coffee as you contemplated the case again, dressed in your worst-looking pyjamas with an old tea stain on the front and fuzzy socks. Had you scoped the party properly, you could’ve clocked if big man Brierson was actually there. But he’d known, he’d known, and now everyone in Major Crimes was under investigation.
By you.
Well, and Agent Winchester, but you’d rather not think of him. You’re actually not quite sure what happened between you two, all that you broke your own rules for your heart to be broken too. You focused on your job, he had fun. Your cycle went that way.
You’d find a new case, he’d find a new girl. Both to busy yourselves so you wouldn’t have to think about each other, which worked until now.
You got a phone call, and you mindlessly picked it up, irritated as you were pulled from your contemplative thoughts. “What do you want? I’m busy.”
‘Dean, so nice to hear from you.’ You heard, his voice mimicking yours before switching back to his. ‘Wow, Agent, colour me surprised; it’s nice to hear from you too. How are you, Dean? I’m perfectly fine, sweetheart, how are you? You’re so polite.’
“Do I sound like someone to engage in small talk right now?” You deadpanned among chuckles at his own joke, putting your dinner - leftovers - in the microwave. God, you weren’t in the mood for this.
Eventually his snickers subsided, and he cleared his throat as you set the mug down. ‘Duly noted. You’re boring. Anyway, about the mole case. I think we should meet up in the office tomorrow to draw up a list of potential suspects.’
You took your warmed dinner, placing the phone between your shoulder and ear as you stabbed the spaghetti with a fork, chewing as you spoke. “And I think you’re insane. That’s the place we’re casing. Why in the hell would we start drafting up names there?”
You heard Dean clear his throat at the end of the line. ‘Right. Got it. My place?’ Truth is, Dean had been hoping you’d say anything but ‘let’s not draft at the office’. He was scared he’d lift you up on the nearest surface and do what he hadn’t the previous time, mark you, claim you and then let you claim him, mark him, wreck him. He didn’t know what you two were, or what you’d become.
Maybe strangers with very intense, deep seated sexual tension.
“What time?” You asked through yet another bite of spaghetti. You weren’t about to forgo dinner for this dude, cordiality be damned.
‘Tomorrow, straight after hours, just head to my place. Does that work for you?’
“Mm, yeah.” You nodded, setting down your plate to quickly note it in your schedule. “See you then, Agent Winchester.”
‘Call me Dean.’
“Agent Winchester.” It was the least you could do after how things got last time. Again, you’d rather not talk about it.
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You walked into the DC office after registering, briefing with Agent Singer before heading to the break room, where you found Trainee Agent Harvelle, Trainee Agent Kevin Tran, Agent Benjamin Lafitte, Agent Garth Fitzgerald and Agent Sam Winchester.
You knew Sam. He was a damn sight more respectful and less… Dean-esque than his older brother. Smarter, yet less effective on brute force raids. For that, you needed Dean Winchester. Anything research, or hacking into databases, Sam was your guy.
“Agents.” You smiled awkwardly, not knowing how else to greet them as you went straight for the coffee pot. Thank the Lord for the petition to make the standard of coffee in that jug better that got the vote from every damn person in the department.
HR and Maintenance can suck it.
“Agent.” The rest of them replied, identically sipping cups of Joe.
“Agents.” Singer walked in, holding a file. “Briefing room. Now.” He walked out, and you all followed suit, taking your coffees with you because you needed the caffeine to sustain your brains. Once you all stepped into the briefing room, where Agent Winchester and Agent Nick Garrison were waiting.
Singer grunted, pulling up a slideshow on the board. “Let’s get this over with.” He showed bodies, robbed banks, hostage situations. “Six occurrences of organised crime over the past four weeks. All hitting major municipalities. Now it’s our jurisdiction.”
“What have we got from the crime scenes?” Agent S. Winchester asked, brow furrowed in thought.
“Nothing but this snake logo, spray painted at every scene.” Up comes a logo of a rearing cobra.
You shrugged, quickly figuring something out. “Well, that solves half of the mystery. They want our attention.”
“It is possible.”
“I think it’s a temper tantrum.” You snorted, pointing to the board. “Look at where they’re hitting. Large cities, maximum damage, it’s a cry out for our beady eyes. Leaving a logo at the scene? Someone either wants to get caught or lead us on.”
“Sounds kinda like girls at a bar.” Agent D. Winchester snickered, but earned a weird look from everyone in the room. “What? I make my own style of analogies, don’t come at me for it.”
“Who’s on the team, sir?” Lafitte asked, the man all slow drawl, suave talk and suspenders.
You pointed to Agent D. Winchester, smirking. “Leave him out, his main interests are girls and booze.”
“Blow me.” He scoffed in retaliation, glaring at you. That was a mistake on Dean’s part, cause he started to imagine it. Oh, that memory’s vivid as hell.
“Beg for it.” You shot back, and despite the steady inflation of awkwardness, he really had half a mind to beg for it, honour be damned to hell.
Pin drop silence. Shared smirks. Uncomfortable eye contact between you and Dean, your minds going to places they really shouldn’t.
Agent Singer cleared his throat, then continued talking. “I want you,” he pointed to you, “and the two Agent Winchesters and Agent Lafitte on it, and the two trainees Agent Tran and Harvelle to shadow. You’re dismissed, except for you two.”
Didn’t take a genius to know who ‘you two’ were.
So everyone but you and Agent D. Winchester filtered out, and the moment the door closed, you were both less bickering, head chopping and heart ripping. More on business.
“This is a good chance for you two to scout for our mole.” Singer looked between the two of you pointedly. “As much unknown history as you two have, you idjits need to set that aside. For the sake of our damn Major Crimes unit. Narcotics will give me hell if I don’t sort this out. And the board of directors will be less pleased that we’ve been compromised.”
“We understand, sir.” You nodded, understanding how goddamn serious this was. Lives were on the line. Your jobs, the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s maintained integrity. “We can put aside our differences, can’t we, daddy’s boy?” You smirked at Dean, then pretended to realise that you’d made a mistake. “Oh, my bad. Agent Winchester.”
Dean resisted a clapback with all his might. He didn’t care if their CO was right there, he’d bend you over this desk and show you who’s really in control here.
That would wipe the smirk off those pretty lips. Replace it with his claim over you.
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“So, Dean, I wanna know.” Sam smirked, cracking open a beer and passing it to his older brother. “What’s with you and her?”
Dean scoffed, sipping the beer and shaking his head. “I’m asked this fifty times a day. There’s nothing going on here. We’re work colleagues. She’s incredibly annoying, and grating, and infuriating, and I’m extremely handsome.”
That got a wider smirk from Sam, a knowing one. “You knew who I was talking about.”
That caught Dean out, and he furrowed his brow in confusion. “Say what?”
“You have so many girls in your life that half of your contacts are women.” Sam raised an eyebrow, then chuckled. “But you knew who I was referencing first try.”
“Humour me, Sammy.” Dean grimaced, folding his arms. “How do you label intense sexual tension that was almost acted on yet it almost broke our personal set of rules? Hm? Thought so.”
“So, she’s kind of like an old flame.”
“That flame ain’t lit.”
Sam nodded slowly, giving a breathless chuckle and an inclination of his head. “Yeah. Sure.” He stepped out of the room to head upstairs, which alerted Dean of the implication. He rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up in the air.
“Hey! Sammy!”
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NEXT UP:
“Oh, honey, such a flirt!” You laughed in a posh accent, mimicking your mother’s laugh to the best of your ability while you swatted Dean’s chest. He smirked at the look in your eyes, because goddamn was it obvious that you hated this.
“Darlin’, I can’t help myself around you.” He turned to the other charity goers with a proud smirk, gesturing to all of you. “Can’t keep my hands off my gorgeous wife. Might have to have something off the menu for dessert, if you catch my drift.” He winked at some elderly ladies, who giggled and waved him off.
“Such a charming boy.” One cooed, obviously eyeing Dean up with poorly restrained envy. While you looked around for your target, you missed the way Dean’s eyes travelled down your body in that form-fitting red dress, v-neck, v-back, thigh slit where he knew you had a thigh holster strapped in, all the good stuff. And his eyes were on those scarlet heels.
He was imagining ramming into you with those sexy things on. And that dress, well, it’d be off in second if he had the chance. And that lipstick? Well, it’d be smeared and leaving prints on his neck, chest, abs and- that’s going a bit too unprofessional.
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To be added to any character’s taglist of mine, find my form on my master list.
#dean winchester#supernatural#dean winchester fanfiction#dean winchester x reader#dean x reader#spn#dean winchester x you#spn masterlist#amoralism#fbi!dean winchester x reader#spn au
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A LOVE LIKE THIS maneater reader x unsuspecting s. gojo
cw: no smut, just reader being delusional and totally in love with gojo, breaking and entering, stalking, theft. oh yeah, and she's also a serial killer
this isn't what you thought his room would look like.
the clinical grey-on-grey-on-blue color scheme of his apartment made you skeptical. it was giving business-suited misery. the unhappy, lonely bastards never put up a fight. why die fighting for a life not worth living? you'd never understand those pathetic dudes, always leaving you unsatisfied after the kill. after your first few kills, you learned how avoid the type.
anyways, the cold, sterile nature of his apartment put you off from your initial attraction to mister satoru gojo. he had seemed so alive in that coffee shop, flirting up a shameless storm with the young baristia behind the counter. lazy postured and a gleaming smile, everything about him made you dizzy. you imagined the shimmer of fear that would flash in his eyes the moment you had him underneath you.
but his room, cluttered and lived in- it made your heart skip a beat. your blood felt hot and thick, every nerve set ablaze as you breathed in his scent. you pattered around and let yourself meet your prize. the fated next victim as the newspapers call him.
careful not to touch anything- at least enough to where he wouldn't notice- you opened drawers, thumbed through mail, tutting your tongue at the "girls in bikinis: spring breakers madness" subscriber update. how simple-minded, you thought, ditching the envelopes and ripping open french-doors to a closet.
he had impeccable taste. you pursued butter smooth tailored suits, hung up in color order, admiring the craftsmanship and money put in to create his wardrobe. a gaudy pair of baby-pink alligator skin shoes screamed your name and you slipped them on, laughing as you posed in the full length mirror, installed to the wall. in the corner of your reflection, you spot an irregularity: a crumpled sweatshirt, balled on the floor. focused, you waltz over and pluck it from the ground curiously.
hmm, you hum, it's so unlike you honey, i've never seen you dress so casually. hugging it close to your chest, it doesn't take long for you to tug it over your head, adjusting the swallowing sleeves to bunch at your wrists. the smallest smile creeps onto your face and you sigh, heavily.
you spend a few hours at satoru's. he wrapped up at work a while ago, but you know he tends to workout longer on thursdays, it's his busiest day of the week. you know it's good for him to pump out the day's frustrations, plus it keeps him in a god-like shape. but, for whatever reason, he deviates from routine and you forget how to breathe when you hear the chimes of his digital door keypad unlocking.
please not now. you're kicking off the shoes and lining them up with the dozen other pairs. you hear satoru, dropping his bag to the mudroom floor. i need to learn more about him, you split the suits hanging up and dive behind them. his footsteps echo, getting closer and eventually the click of the bedroom door opening. i need more time, just a little more. please.
for once, you weren't quite ready to kill, the weight of taking a life crushing you as silver hair floats by behind the shoulderpads blocking your vision. on the other side of the wall, you hear the shower water running and exhale. waiting just a few moments, you crawl out from your hiding spot, bolting for the exit. you swiftly unlock the front door and flee from his apartment, clutching your shirt in a tight knot over your heart.
wiping the sweat from your brow, you suddenly feel clarity, reminded of why you love the fear, the chase, and thrill of killing. satoru gojo is just a body, and your schoolgirl crush is distracting you from the fact, or so you tell yourself. catching your breath, you look down and realize you're still wearing his sweatshirt.
pt 2
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Some danganronpa 2 re-designs and hcs ↓
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Pekoyama: I thought her schoolgirl outfit was kinda weird and that she would look more professional, i thought of her wearing a suit but that would make her link to fuyuhiko too obvious so I decided on a less formal outfit. I also think the pigtails don’t really suit her, but I think she would have some ribbons on her sword case and some cute keychains.
Sonia: her dress is based on traditional Norwegian dress, it’s longer and more princess-like I think. I kept her bow. she definitely has the longest hair out of everyone. her dress would have red and yellow embroidery on it I just got lazy
Teruteru: the only way I could cope with him is completely rewriting his character along with redesign, he’s just a very sheltered momma’s boy, who’s very passionate about cooking. he’d probably still have a rarity complex about his background and have accent slip ups. He might easily get lil crushes on his classmates at most, but he’s not weird about it
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Mahiru: I feel that mahiru’s original design is overlooked, and she was basically just used so they’d have a camera in the first trial, and a background murder in the second trial. I made her a masc lesbian bc I feel it suits her character a lot more for various reasons, from her relationship with hiyoko who has complex trauma, to creating more background as to why she was the target of so much aggression in the twilight murder case. I feel like it would give her a deeper background because presenting as a masc woman or trans masculine person is often responded to with hostility or ostracism. her relationship to hiyoko makes me think she’s someone who understands her trauma.
Hiyoko: I didn’t like how hiyoko is basically a l@li in the game, so she’s the same age as everyone in my version, she’s just more petite and groomed into behaving certain ways and lashes out due to that trauma and not fully understanding her upbringing. I got rid of her weird pigtails, otherwise not much changes.
Mikan: with mikan’s background, I think it’s more natural and reasonable for her to wear nurse scrubs.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/841a984705e18969eb7df726b9bc22b1/dd8d799cf8d1cff5-20/s540x810/d8344369e009abeffe34dca644a81645e1984553.jpg)
Akane: her redesign is based on a sprite edit I saw, I’ll add credits here once I find the source. akane is my favorite I think they did her horribly wrong oversexualizing and dumbing down her character, and i think being the ultimate boxer or something related to combat sports would suit her much more than gymnast, so she would be working towards gaining that title as she only became a gymnast as a means to make money. I also hc akane as maybe bi-gender or trans masculine
And I just drew fuyuhiko and nekomaru because I like them 🕴️nekomaru’s outfit is kinda toned down and he’s wearing a chain necklace instead of lugging around a giant one
#dr2#danganronpa#danganronpa 2#peko pekoyama#Sonia nevermind#teruteru hanamura#mahiru koizumi#hiyoko saionji#mikan tsumiki#akane owari#fuyuhiko kuzuryu#nekomaru nidai#dr2 spoilers
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SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN.
you develop a strange friendship with the pretty college girl who visits your library.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/f4cd4b175e444432407183eb0f1432df/6bd958f1ed58a757-0b/s540x810/4560c311598866e56db793a603db99a9b3088745.jpg)
pairing. olivia hayes (jessica alexander) × female reader
length. 12.9k words
themes. smut, uni student!olivia, librarian!reader, legal age gap, praise kink, pet names (princess, ma'am), fluff, angst
warnings. homophobic and blackmailing antagonist, age gap, smoking, get even spoilers, maybe ooc olivia but NO ONE GETS HER LIKE I DO DON'T @ ME
author's note. HAPPY PRIDE MONTH!!!! yall dont know how special this fic is to me. i started this in september, continued writing it in february (!!!) after being down bad for jess then, after watching get even, revised it to be for my baby olivia hayes :) also my first fic on this blog ! olivia hayes and get even in general are pretty niché in fics, but i hope you'll give this a chance </3 also, i will be writing for more female celebs so stay tuned !!
There was a library - a nice, wide place located in the smaller parts of the university. It’s where the students seldom went to study for their exams, perhaps find a little reprieve from all the youthful stress that curled around them. They’d lounge on the sofas with a textbook in their laps, or hide behind an aisle of novels to make out. That didn’t matter to you - what you cared about was that your second home was a safe space for them, just like it was to you, where nothing else was out to get them but the smell of new books.
That’s where it all started.
It was all supposed to go so normally, but then she came in.
Suddenly you weren’t so safe anymore.
Oh, but could she do any naught? You heard and dismissed rumors, but she was just a schoolgirl - well, the better and more guiltless term was perhaps college student. Still, you're a handful of years older than her with a degree she's using the end of her teens to fight for. She was young. Innocent too, with those bright, casual eyes that passed around the library fascinatedly. But it was far from easy to remember that when those long legs strode confidently in your vicinity, underneath that short skirt which ought to get her in trouble with the dress code. But why? It was standard uniform - it wasn’t her fault she was beautiful. Ah, and one couldn’t forget the socks, simple white ones yet looked painfully beautiful on her with how they wrapped around her thighs like a present.
When she looked at you and smiled, it was a cut straight to the bone. No remedy here. Stitches couldn’t save you.
In the second minute since she arrived here, you realized that she was familiar. That was the kind of face you never forgot - engendered into the ripples of your brain forever, a flame of memory kept alive. Because she was just a college student - many years your junior - but she was so goddamned beautiful that it ached your tongue and left it numb.
“Hi,” she said softly. From one word you could tell that curled preppy accent - something that teetered between an heiress’s and a sweet friend - was natural. From one word you were left breathless.
“Olivia Hayes.” You mentioned her name without thinking and with too much a realization, and now it sounded as if you didn’t know her, and oh, how rude that was. How dare you be rude to a girl like her, known and adored by everyone, a princess? You wanted to say you just recognized her, that you knew her already - which wasn’t false - but she’s already smiling.
Her smile, sweet with tender full lips and her eyelids reaching for their other halves, was something you could swim in forever. Oh, you’d drink from her, too - she was a saltless sea that tasted of nectar instead.
“That’s me,” said Olivia, beaming. “I’m the president of the student council. I think that’s where you remember me?”
Of course. She was the pretty face that always led a group of giggling schoolgirls to the hallway; the pretty voice that spoke at auditoriums for the school’s events; the pretty body that flexed as it twisted to send a ball that’s just as small as her head over the net. While you weren’t a professor by any means (you had tried to be, but that dream was whisked away quickly), you were a frequent presence for the student activities. The one who always, always stood out to you was her.
You suddenly found it very, very hard to gulp down another rough bout. She was beautiful in a way that was impossible to perceive without falling for her. When she had that relatively tall yet slender form all compact and tight in her uniform, with lips that became her brand - (because the other girls would always gossip and say how they wanted lips that full, and maybe you were jealous too) - and had their glossed signature, it forged a path that only led to wanting her.
“Yes, you’re right.” You collected yourself. “Anything I can help you with Ms. Hayes?”
“Do you have anything about Greek mythology?”
That was the lilt of tone she used with her close circle of friends, fondly. Were you a friend to her now? Oh, but you had just met. Not just, perhaps, but this was the first time you actually talked to her lengthily. But she knew you - she’d said your name, and she, with the allowance of you basking in her sweet voice, considered you as someone trustworthy.
But you were far from that. A trustworthy individual did not reach desperately after a kempt schoolgirl like her, or fantasize about doing away with that skirt and scheme to watch all that royal composure dissolve from the princess that she was.
It was only now that you came to the realization that you had always, after all this time, wanted Olivia Hayes.
“Ma’am?” she asked, and all you could think was, oh, it’s the end. It was the beginning of the end the moment she was a polite girl and called you a name that was as innocent as her. It was of no ill intent when she called you that - she was merely asking for your help - but your fist curled up and your throat was tight.
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
You had to act before you did anything stupid, like make her use those perfect lips on you, put them to good use; get your hand all up in that golden-brown hair. Instead of acting upon all those sinful fantasies, you placed a book she might like, the one you recommended for her only, and brushed the old crumbs of bookshelf dust from its cover. Because you’d hate to see those long, pretty fingers get stained.
As you handed her the book, which she accepted with a smile, you asked, “You read a lot I presume?”
She giggled. “I try to,” she said. “Haven’t got time for it lately. But I have to.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re excellent,” you told her, not being able to help yourself. It wasn’t like it was a lie - Olivia Hayes had a lot of potential in her. A great leader, having watched her create the rules to keep the students in line; a great actress, having seen her perform at the theater with emotions that shook you to the core; a great person in general.
“Oh.” Olivia’s cheeks filled with pink. And you found out that when she got shy, her ears flushed too. You ought to smile. “You think so?”
And this was the kind of schoolgirl sweet you pictured her as. She found everywhere but your eyes to look at, and her legs began to sway to and fro, shifting her weight from here to there to stabilize herself. Olivia Hayes - president of various important clubs, prom queen and honor student - could also be . . . adorable?
The rumor mill claimed she wasn’t such a sweetheart. A real fucking snob, a boy claimed after leaving her classroom with tears on his face. Stuck-up bitch. Too arrogant for her own pretty good.
You never believed them. You . . . .did, perhaps? But it was not a belief you held to defame her.
You actually found the roll of her eyes, the snide of her scoffs and checking of her perfect nails a little hot.
But the pink on her face was how you realized that she’s the type of girl who’d melt if called anything remotely complimenting. It’s what she was used to; what revolved her world.
“I know so.”
“Ah,” she mumbled, nodding thoughtfully as she looked down at her black Mary Jane shoes. “Thank you.”
Quietness settled into your humble library. It was what you insisted upon hearing, but there was something about Olivia - how she rolled her words, giggled when she was nervous, spoke softly but easily - that made you want to break your own rules. And several others.
“You have a library card?”
“I don’t.” You envied how she managed to recollect herself before she melted more. You could never say the same thing about yourself. Suddenly her chin was up again, and a small smile played on her lips. “Is it alright if I read here for a while Ma’am?”
What else could your answer be?
The day became night, the moon stark in the sky from behind your library windows. All the students had filed out. It was time to close.
You looked at your log book. Plenty of people came in today. You were happy about that. As a librarian (you taught too if that meant anything), you were naturally passionate about books. Having a job related to them was a dream right from the start. When you were young, you wanted to be a librarian. When you entered high school, you wanted to be a librarian. When you finished college, you became one. The pay was nothing close to meager which was enough for you. You wanted this job and not one day passed that had you upset about it.
Mostly, people came here to hang out or hide. That didn’t matter to you, but what struck you was Olivia. Ever since dismissal time, she was in that corner reading. A pile of books sat on the table with her. All of them were about mythology, whether novels or retellings or anecdotes.
You pretended not to notice her as you rearranged books and disposed of unattended belongings. It kept you busy. Sometimes nobody cared about the system you ordered your books in, or the tidiness overall of your little place. So it took a while, one you were pleased about, until you walked over to Olivia.
She was on the four-hundredth page of the novel. Her thumb pressed above the high number on the foot of the page. Didn’t she just start that? And she was still going.
“You’re a fast reader,” you remarked, fascinated.
She looked up in surprise. A sense of calm passed over her features when she realized it was you. “Y-yes I am. Other days I finish books in like a year, but I guess this isn’t one of those days.”
“Same here.” You liked how you had that in common with her. She was pretty already, but a voracious reader? That was the key to your heart.
You picked up her bag beside her chair and placed it on the table. She returned to scanning the book, the pages crisp between her manicured nails and eyes bright and thoughtful. In her lap was a notepad. Her writing was tidy and smooth. Small letters spelled details about Odysseus, gods, and fables.
“You have a quiz about Greek mythology?”
“Oh no.” She shook her head. “I’m doing research since I got the part in a play about this stuff.”
“Let me guess: Aphrodite?”
It was a basic line - so easy, actually, so obvious. But it fit so well and her ears started to color again. She covered her mouth to giggle, then sat up straighter. The form of her back was like a duchess's: composed, slant, smooth. But she wasn’t a duchess. No - perfect lips, eyes shimmering; she was something more. Something else.
Olivia pursed her lips before smiling softly. “If I were naïve Ma’am” - there was that word again, sweet and faultless but making you pent up, as she considered you with a serious gaze - “I’d think you’re trying to flirt with me.”
“Too quick for that, don’t you think?” you backtracked. You had to be appropriate. Yet you reeled forward again: “But you’re a beautiful girl, fitting for the part.”
You normally didn’t go for the model-in-the-making girls, much less ones who were younger than you. But she had this different aura about her. She was quiet, sweet, and incredibly polite while maintaining her popularity and schoolwork. She was each one of those but people still chose to put her down. You wondered how she dealt with everything. What was behind that pretty, pretty face?
“Unfortunately, being pretty doesn’t free you from my rules.” You pointed at the clock. Regret filled your heart as you informed her. “It’s 7 PM. According to school regulations, I was supposed to close twenty minutes ago.”
“Why didn’t you close then?” A smile creased the corners of her eyes and emphasized her lips. “I thought being beautiful didn’t exempt me?”
There it was. She knew how to reply, how to send back a maimed question with a bigger bullet. This was why people liked to deem her an intimidation.
She was smart, cunningly sweet. You never doubted Olivia’s intelligence but it still surprised you. She looked at you knowingly while you flustered. You searched for an answer when all you searched for was the hike of her skirt up her thighs. She knew your game, and she was not afraid to play it.
Olivia was a tactful, patient pupil. She sat with her hands folded in her lap - like a good fucking girl - and waited for your response. You mustered nothing. It felt stupid to stand there and wordlessly admit you got cornered by a nineteen-year-old.
“It . . . does now.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Fuck.
“You know you can take these books back to your dorm? All you need is a library card.”
“Oh!” Delighted, she stood up and beamed with a light that always was with her, even in the night. “When can I get one?”
“Here tomorrow. Like I said, library hours are done.”
Olivia didn’t take your sternness to heart. She picked up her bag and slung it on her shoulders. She began to leave.
She was simply following orders but you hated to see her go. You were already yearning for her. You would have wanted to like her in a purely pure way, but you weren’t a good woman. You yearned for the slip of her stockings down her knees, the prop of her neck, the flight of her hair as the wind pushed past her.
She turned to you at the doorway. Did she read your thoughts? Did she forget something?
“Well,” she said, “if here’s where you want me to be.”
Then, in a low voice and the final smile of the day, “Ma’am.”
Plenty of students came in after her. They were either the ones who didn’t have friends to eat lunch with (you didn’t enforce the no food rule for them) and the ones who were rowdy, using your sanctuary as a place to yell and make jokes (you tapped the silence rule taped to your desk.) Everyone signed their names in your log book, but the words flew past your notice. All those days gone and your eyes still remained on Olivia.
Everyday she sat on the loveseat with her legs crossed. She didn’t speak one word. Olivia simply read and read and read, occasionally pausing to rest and take notes. Her nose was buried in the book, but you could see her brilliant eyes above its edges. They disseminated, observed, analyzed. The rest of her face was covered and you still found her beautiful.
“Ma’am,” spoke a student nearing your desk, “can I get a library card?”
The background blurred. You looked at the student and realized you were staring at Olivia for too many an hour. You had to focus. Ogling at a student was inappropriate, and not what the private university paid you for.
Also, the title didn’t sound as nice as it did if it came from someone who wasn’t Olivia Hayes.
“Of course.” You rose from your chair as you took his ID.
“It’s free, right?”
“Yes, no charge.”
You typed in his name. It wasn’t long or a unique one but you had to read it several times over to ensure its correctness. Typical procedure. Ronny. Soon, his library card was laminated and printed. You placed it on your desk for him to take.
Thanking you, Ronny picked behind his ear. “I couldn’t help but notice,” he began, “you were looking at Olivia for a bit there.”
You swallowed. Were you that obvious? You hated to think so. The last thing you wanted was your ogling at the girl to be something controversial. (It was.) You were doing it for days, ever since her initial visit.
What did you say to him? What did you do?
“Oh, uh. No. I just space out a lot.”
He saw through your lie. His easy grin made you uncomfortable. Why? He was just making conversation. “I mean, I understand. She’s really pretty and popular, but she doesn’t have many friends.”
You turned to look at Olivia. She was still reading. The whole time she was quiet and preserved, not taking time to speak to others. She liked to keep to herself for a girl who was the talk of the campus.
“Doesn’t she?”
“She needs someone to talk to,” he told you. His words were overly friendly, like he was lulling you into a drunken false sense of security. “I think you’d be perfect. She’s just getting into reading.”
“I-I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”
He gave you a smirk of knowledge and left. Shit. Why did you have to be so indiscreet? You quickly collected yourself and returned to your book. You had to forget about it.
The characters in your book fought against dragons and fell in love and fell apart and passed on. Chapters became nothing like the minutes. There were rare moments when you had to look up and assist someone, but aside from that, the day was relatively uneventful.
Night arrived, slowly like it always did. You were a dedicated reader, but the story was uninteresting compared to the pretty girl lounging across you. She was the only one there now.
Before you could return your eyes to the book and stop watching at how she flicked her hair back and checked her phone, she caught you. Her attractive smile was full of awareness of your plight. You quickly looked down at the pages. It was too late.
School shoes tapped a rhythm on the floor as she approached you. She leaned down on your desk. You tried to ignore her and pretend she wasn’t there. But Olivia had a face people would never forget. She was most likely someone’s first love, who, even when along came a girl who filled their life, was not erased from memory. No, she was too precious to let go.
“You know,” stated Olivia, her tongue curved upwards at the side of her lips, “you could just talk to me. I’m not scary, am I?”
You lowered the story. She was so good to look at. Her hair was tossed over the side and she wore a carefree smile that invited you to close the book.
Was she scary? Yeah - her exclusiveness, tight-knit friendships and beautiful wit - you’d call that scary.
But the fear always turned into a yearning - please notice me when I walk past; please say my name again; please ruin me- let me ruin you-
“Sure.” You gave in. “What do you wanna talk about?”
She thought for a while. “Anything that’ll make us friends. I like you. It’s gonna be easy.”
Being friends didn’t sound dangerous. What could happen? It’s not as if the moment you bonded you would suddenly grab the small of her back and let your lips meet.
“Wanna get out of here?’’ She framed her cheek with her fingers. “I’ll put on a jacket. Nobody will know.”
You’d love nothing more. But was it alright? There were lines being crossed here: the relationship between a student and a mentor; the rules; the propriety.
She looked you up and down, taking note of everything, then cocked an eyebrow. Oh, it was a challenge. Would you give in?
You found yourself buttoning your coat and walking out with her. The library had to close early. She grinned and looped an arm through yours. You made an excuse that your sudden freezing up was due to the night air.
Well, it was chilly. The breeze puffed Olivia’s hair into the night. She always made herself look like a femme fatale from a fan favorite watch - red lips; smoky eyes; and a tendency to make anyone want her. Ah, not a tendency - she was a natural heartstealer. She broke it even if you weren’t a thing when you saw her with boys, with girls, with anyone looking to tear her uniform down in pieces when you felt the exact same thing.
The school looked more serene in the darkness. It was so grand but looked just like home. Old bricks built themselves up into pillars that resembled castles. Dim light illuminated from dorm windows.
“It’s nice to get out of that place for once,” Olivia said. She tilted her head to the school and sighed humorously. But the smoke of air that left her mouth shook a little too. “It’s kind of suffocating in there, honestly.”
The branches reached for her hair. Your shoes were torn by growing roots. But through everything, you kept walking. You wanted to know: what was more to this forest? What was more to her?
“Let me guess,” you said. “It’s the popularity contests? Friends? Math?”
She rolled her eyes, a confirmation. “Ugh, math.”
“You’ll get through it,” you assured her. It was cliché to say, but everything would eventually come to pass. You were on a planet in a galaxy in a galaxy in a galaxy, or whatever. It didn’t matter. “I mean, I did. If anyone could do it, it’s you.”
“I was gonna say you did excellent getting through it, but I don’t know you that well.”
“So get to know me.”
You talked, and Olivia was surprisingly easy to connect with. She listened with attentively creased brows and an occasional laugh. You narrated the basics: “read” was your first word. You did your classmates’ homework in exchange for candies. Reading was your foundation. If you had to go without it, you died.
You thought that she would make a joke about the cheesiness, or worse, laugh at you. But she didn’t. She kept listening. She sometimes threw you a few interesting questions that kept the drain of conversation going. The thoughtful, caring energy in her face was solid and you felt undeserving to bask in it.
“What I like to say is I’m a reader before a woman,” you told her anyway. The depths of the forest came up and for some reason you weren’t scared. It was the rumor mill for ghosts and hookups, but you were with Olivia. Why would you be scared? “That’s how I wound up here in a uni, letting them read what I have.”
Olivia nodded, hands on opposite elbows. The trees towered over you and made horrific shadows on the dust. Fear didn’t get to you. “Do they pay you well?”
“They do.”
“Must be fun.” She bit on the inside of her cheek, making the soft skin hollow. “Doing something you love.”
There was a wistfulness in her voice. Her expression was dreamy as she thoughtfully stepped over the roots and twigs.
“Well,” you began, carefully, “what do you love?”
Olivia smiled self-assuredly. “Me.”
She told her story. She was born rich, lived rich, and would die rich. Her mother was an heiress whose love was a businessman, and the wealth would go on for the next ten or more generations. She wanted to be an active and proper student, behaving well enough so as not to take advantage of her father buying her out of any situation. She participated in many clubs and, according to this year’s paper, was the school’s Actress of The Year.
You didn’t think you had too much coffee today but you thought that it wasn’t illusion she had inched closer. Olivia’s knee was beside yours, and she was speaking and chuckling like you weren’t close to being insane about how smooth her skin felt.
Was this the “bitch” who supposedly broke hearts and ruined lives? She flipped her hair and giggled like she had all the time in the world. She didn’t seem so terrifying.
“I try not to be so stuck up. I want people to leave me alone, but only when I need them to.”
You shrugged. “That explains why . . . ”
“Yeah?” She was not going to let that obvious halt pass.
You blinked. “Oh, I didn’t mean-”
“It’s fine,” she dismissed, continuing the path down the forest. Olivia studied her fingernails. “It’s not like I don’t know people think I’m a bitch.”
So she knew. She had that admirable composure steadying her, but how did she deal with the falsehood? There was everything to cope with - the pressure of her parents; school; and friends who expected a lot from her. What was her method?
“For the record, I don’t think you’re a . . . ”
“Say it.” Olivia’s eyes flicked up from her nails and shot you with a cheekiness that made you feel lightheaded. “Call me a bitch.”
She slipped her hand in yours. The textures of your skin were vastly different. Hers was as soft as a baby’s cheek. Smooth and blemishless too.
“Actually,” she added coyly, “call me whatever you want . . . Ma’am.”
You stared back at her. What did you just start? She winked at you then continued talking like she didn’t almost cause a heart attack.
The moon was stark and sent bursts of wind whipping you around. Sometimes you felt her grip tighten around the slots of your fingers to keep her balance. You hoped your palm wasn’t sweaty.
“They’re right though.” She giggled, fixing the blazer of her uniform. “I need a little redefining. So I’m doing some self-improvement, working on my habit of rolling my eyes.”
“You’re a perfect student,” you joked, but you meant it. Every word was genuine. “You’re intelligent, pretty, studious, and committed. Who do I have to fight to be you?”
As expected, she rolled her eyes with a stifled simper. You both burst out laughing and for a few seconds it was all you knew. The lines of her smile, the shrink of her eyes as she chuckled - it was all so beautiful.
“Seriously! You’re a beautiful girl. And that hair is lethally gorgeous.”
“Thank you. It’s smooth too. I guess combing like ninety times a day helps.” She scooted closer, as if close weren’t close enough, and turned her head. Golden-brown locks showed themselves to you. “See for yourself.”
Was she bold or just friendly? You gingerly ran your fingers through them. No knots blocked your way. Each thread was silky and clean. This was the kind of soft you’d feel on pillows in hotels you couldn’t afford. You were pretty sure she had well-paid, adoring women who attended to her for this.
It felt intimate. Too intimate. There was hesitance as she observed you, like she wanted to do something but had to think twice. You were getting so comfortable in the familiarity of her features that you had to remember she was a student and you were . . . you. This was like busting yourself out of the closet and getting yourself a case of being improper with a student, although she wasn’t a child by any means.
You put your hand back down. “What color is it?” you asked.
“I dunno.” She shrugged. “Brown? Blonde? Somewhere in between?”
Whatever it was, it looked good on her. Everything looked good on her. She was the only student you saw who never looked stuffy in the hot uniform. The British air was hot in the morning but not one drop of sweat stuck to her skin. Her mane of somewhere-in-between was articulately brushed and straightened.
Footprints of athletes still were visible on the ground. You stamped your foot over a mark of a rubber one. She followed suit. With that, you left a sign you were here. It might be the only sign that you ever lived.
Books and shelves faded over time, but the earth would always remember your mark. It was sort of sentimental. This would be the first and only time you live, and you were glad to spend it enjoying a night with a girl you liked and getting to know quickly. Maybe you knew her all along.
“If you really think I’m all that,” Olivia said, toying with the zipper of her jacket, “you should come to the play. I’ll prove my worth. It’s next week.”
“I’ll be there,” you instantly replied.
You’d love to see her act again. Plays weren’t your thing but it would be good to see Olivia onstage, reciting her lines with deep emotion and twirling from prop to prop. You knew she wouldn’t disappoint.
Her eyes lit up, and that response told you, without overassumption, of a mother who was too busy to come to her activities, of a father who wasn’t there. Never was. “You promise?”
She was holding you to it, you could tell. It was a promise you were willing to keep. You’d never break it if the circumstances tested you.
“If that’s where you want me to be.”
“That’s my line,” she objected. She pulled the end of her skirt down to her knees. The waistband sank and unveiled modest skin. It was so devoid of ill intention that it was just right to make you feel guilty for looking. “If you use it, you need to have a nickname for me too.”
She turned to you. The crescent moon refracted in her pupils. Olivia was dead serious. You stopped in your tracks and tried to think. But she was there - so gorgeous, so put together and so lovely - that it made your thoughts go static.
Right from the start, you yearned. You thought it began when she visited your library for the first time. But now you thought that it dated back to watching her act, watching her and her group of friends, watching her be herself in a midst of elites. You wanted her since the moment she stepped in the university and it was difficult to deal with.
Why? Because you wanted to call her a lot of things. Each would be sweet or sour, whichever she chose, as she sank between your legs and/or sat in your lap and/or just kept being the tantalizingly beautiful thing she was.
“What’s something people call you?” you offered weakly.
“Uh. Ollie and um, Hayes-Are-For-Horses” - you laughed and she had to explain it was back in primary, when she used to be bullied by the people who desired her now - “Liv, Livvie, Livia, Princess-”
“Princess?”
She looked down, a little embarrassed. “My friends call me that. It’s my code name.”
She was a princess, truly. Olivia was everything a princess should be. That’s why her peers loved her. That’s why her peers hated her. She was royalty, and people didn’t know if they wanted to lust for her or reject her just to say they had the opportunity to.
You nodded approvingly. “Very fitting.”
“That’s it then,” she said, satisfied. “You’re Ma’am, and I’m Princess.”
Saying the name felt like sinning - you realized this when you thought it over. But she was smiling again, so of course you’d do it without penance.
The play was beautiful. The props were crafted diligently and all actors quoted with diction and importance. You sat at the front as staff should and kept searching for your favorite student. She came in a white dress and hair styled in endless curls, and delivered a performance deserving of whatever Oscar there was for college plays. She was an excellent actress. All bias melted when you believed she was the best out of the whole drama club. Even her fellow actors said so.
While Olivia performed her nuances, she looked at the crowd, as if willing them to come onstage and save her. The fourth wall was broken through. You were too. She saw you at the front, went out of character with a smile, and got away with it. Her slip-up was so unnoticeable that at the end of the play, you thought you would have signed up for drama club if you were a student. She made it all look so easy.
“You came!” she said, bouncing off the stage stairs and wrapping you in an unexpected hug.
You fought back your giddiness. She was just being friendly. You returned the embrace like a good friend should. “Of course.”
The purple dress swayed around her like water, the little details and seams the seashells that fit the siren that she was, born from foam. You saw it hug her waist and flow around her legs and - despite everything: your promises to remain professional, a good senior, a good friend - you couldn’t deny she looked insanely good.
She ushered you backstage as the curtains closed. The cheers erupted for her, and you could picture her making it really big out there. She was gorgeous, talented, and excessively charming - a director would ditch screenplays to cast her. The coach was sure to die if they watched her rehearse. And anyone’s going to fall in love with her, really.
“Beautiful,” you remarked, and it could mean either way: the performance or the pretty little thing in front of you.
“You liked the yelp I did when Paris dragged me?” asked Olivia. Her eyes contained all the stars in the galaxy. She made a wish to each of them, asking for an eager attendee to her play. “I strained my voice, but I did good, right?”
Never did you ask about the black wig, or the smoky makeup, or the way she was almost in tears - almost like she never expected you to come. Or anyone for that matter.
All you said, squeezing her forearm where you could feel the beat of her excitement, was: “The Princess was more than great.”
She never got that library card. Olivia chose to stay in your library for hours at a time rather than take them back to her dorm. The play was done but she began reading for fun instead of necessity. You recommended her thrillers and romance. Your heart grew bigger. She was actually very easy to be fond of.
Now she took a seat near your desk where she occasionally asked questions - what does this word mean? what language is this? have you read this? - and left you biscuits in your lunch break. You enjoyed her company. You were insecure about a lot of things but one: she did back.
“Coffee.” Olivia brought a cup of steam to your desk. She pulled a chair to your desk and sat on it, crossing her legs. “Nobody’s here. The rules don’t exist.”
Your heart did a little offbeat thump. She was a generous girl. You forgot to thank her upon seeing that her strawberry blonde hair was tucked into a bun on her head. The strong curve of her jaw and her swan’s neck were just out there.
Olivia’s full lips closed on the straw of her iced coffee. You couldn’t stop watching her. You could help her out with her lessons - there’s her opened textbook, her reviewers - but you had eyes only for her. What a cliché. But you’re a reader. You liked your fair share of clichés. You could give this one a pass.
“Thanks Princess,” you said. You took the coffee and blew its smoke out. “You’re really kind.”
She was the kindest girl you ever met. These past few months, she did nothing but keep you company and spoil you. Olivia was a generous princess - she stepped out to meet the populace, give them food worthy of a royal, and kept them company. That was why you liked her.
You stopped there. You didn’t want things to go too far. Not yet. These feelings you had for Olivia were inappropriate and deserved hindering. But she was just so beautiful and lovable that blocking the thoughts from your head felt like torture.
“It’s no problem.”
She was smiling again. You really wondered how her peers carved her out to be an alleged pain. She was so thoughtful that you were beginning to think if anyone had chosen to befriend you this way. Were you even deserving?
“What are you studying?” you asked her. You had to make conversation before you slipped up again.
Olivia’s simper melted. “Math.”
You looked over at the formulas, fractions and calculations. It already made your head hurt. “Can’t help you with that,” you said regretfully. “It’s either I don’t know it or I forgot that thing a long time ago.”
“Can you help me with something else?”
After you nodded, she began to speak. Well, tried to. She trailed off, looking blankly at her textbook. Her face wore a blue little look that was a break of character from the serious one she always had. Olivia Hayes, as far as you knew, was not once lonesome.
“It’s been . . . really hard these days. I’m sorry, I know it’s completely out of topic but-”
“You can tell me anything.”
Hope crossed her features. She didn’t really have anyone to trust with her feelings. Her mother was too busy. Her friends would use them against her. The guidance counselor would just tell her to pray. Would you listen to her without bias?
“I don’t know if I’m hanging with the right people. I don’t know if I’m even that good. I don’t know if I-” Olivia stopped and made complicated gestures with her hands. A defeated sigh sounded from her slim throat. “-am.”
Self-doubt. It was your accurate diagnosis. You were surprised that a girl like her would experience it, but even the most confident people went through that. It would be easy to assume from the way she walked, talked, and acted that she had all the assurance for herself.
Olivia sighed at her textbook and shut it. Her shoulders were trembling. Was she sulking? Nearly crying? You couldn’t bear to see it.
“I don’t think I know myself at all.” She swallowed, then without looking at you, asked, “Do you ever feel that way Ma’am?”
She was too young and too pretty to be going through this dilemma. You couldn’t say you didn’t go through the exact same thing yourself in the younger years of your life. But seeing the look of pride and strength disappear from her face was a death to your own self-pity.
You looked at your hand close to her. The pins you gifted for her bag. The jacket you let her borrow after she lost it. Foolish to think, but maybe you finally found someone you could care about more than you did yourself.
“Every day of my life,” you said quietly.
“Oh,” she whispered, nodding. She said nothing more. Olivia’s view was focused on the cover of her textbook, which boasted happy students reading from it. It wasn’t the case for her. Revising this subject, being in this school? It didn’t make her happy.
Well, one thing did.
It hurt to see her like this. Had anyone ever considered what she felt? Or did she put up a front, being pretty and kind?
“I just feel like I’m wasting borrowed time,” Olivia muttered. Each fragment of her broken sentences grew heavier. “I want- I need-”
Before she could burst into tears, you tilted her face up. The water in her eyes remained there. What held them back besides your gentle hand was the tight frown of her lips. She was trying very, very hard not to break down.
“Hey. Chin up Princess,” you told her. You offered her an encouraging smile. “I know you. You’re a strong girl, aren’t you?”
Her eyelids were still puffy in their fight to keep her tears back. She didn’t quite believe that. But you would make her.
“Look at you. You’re smart, studious and sensitive. Nothing would make me think otherwise.”
Her gaze lingered on you, thoughtful. Did you really think that? Were you this sweet to anyone else? She chuckled and looked down shyly. “Alliteration.”
Smart girl. “That’s right,” you said. “I’m rubbing off on you.”
“I guess that makes me okay.”
“You’re doing great. I promise.”
Light coffee stained the end of her mouth. You wiped it away with your thumb. A bit of her lipstick smudged your skin. An indirect kiss?
When you retracted your touch, you thought the coffee was doing something to your head again. You could have sworn that Olivia leaned in.
And just when you thought lines couldn’t be crossed further:
People like to believe in things that they can see. Why trust in ideas that aren’t visible to the naked eye - it’s a lie for sure, right? Thus, the concept of atheism. Thus, the need for eye witnesses in court, primary sources, the like. Thus, the school not believing that the odor of cigarettes from behind the library could possibly be from you.
Well, they’d be damned.
Gray floated from your mouth like a lost dream. Vices aged along with your soul. See, you weren’t a bad kid. You stayed in school, did your homework, only tried a few prohibitions. But the smoking stuck to you - it reminded you of a more youthful time. It also made you feel a little light on your feet.
The thing was: the school couldn’t know. So you sank into the wall of the back of your library, fingers twined between a cigarette. You may not know yourself but you weren’t depressed or anything - it’s just a thing you do, like drinking coffee in the morning and writing. People often got that wrong.
The forest was just close by. Naturally you mistook the crunches of leaves for the usual PE class. Then they grew louder, and when you turned your head, there was-
“Ma’am? Oh!” Olivia stopped in her tracks and gasped sharply. It was a sound only an actress could make - sweet, tiny. “I’m sorry, am I-”
You waved your wrist. “Not at all,” you said. If there was anyone in the school you trusted with this secret, it was her. “It’s just smoking. I’m not committing a felony.”
She nodded. Her eyes remained doe-wide.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t it time for your classes?” you asked.
It was the middle of the afternoon. She should be having English at this hour. Would they be surprised to find out that the top student was absent? The reason being . . . you?
Olivia swept her hair back. Time slowed down and made permanent the flight of her mane and the pride that stayed. “I’m cutting. I know, I’m a very bad girl.”
She was skipping classes for you. You didn’t want to assume, but was your friendship really that strong? It felt like you knew everything about her. She knew you too, like a book. She read you from cover to cover and annotated your pages. Olivia was a significant part of your life now.
“Oh, what have I done to you.” You played into it as if you were an actress as good as her. What she didn’t know was that you were enjoying it.
Her nose wrinkled at the smell of your cigar. Still, she stepped closer, albeit cautiously. “Can I-”
“Leave?” You nodded. “Sure. Secondhand smoke’s cancerous.”
Yet if there’s anything you would hate, it would be for her to go.
Olivia shook her head. “I-I’d like to try, Ma’am.”
Your brows were furrowed. You took one look at your cigar then at the student. She was looking down shyly, her side fringes hanging from her face. It was obvious she was trying to prove something. But what else did she have to make worthy to you?
“I don’t think that would be appropriate.”
“Please?” she said, a pout stretching on her pretty mouth.
“Princess.”
Your sharp tone didn’t hold her back. It seemed to drill her on. Olivia slipped beside you with a look in her eyes that you didn’t know if you liked. Her lashes sat low and her smile - god help me. Like that wasn’t enough, she wore a low ponytail with a few specks of hair left untied. She was too beautiful, and you weren’t strong enough to handle it.
She let a finger twist through the smoke. “It’s just smoking,” Olivia echoed. “I’m not committing a felony.”
Her character was hard to read sometimes. She could be sweet and innocent to you then switch to being a coy serpent that told you to do all the wrong things. Her breath next to your ear didn’t help your hypocritical case. The fight in you yelled to be the bigger person, to tell her it wasn’t right. It was anything but easy when she had a face that you’d die to hold.
“I don’t have more on me,” you excused. It was the truth - your pockets were empty, this was the only one you got.
“Wouldn’t mind using yours.” Olivia was almost whining at this point. The desperate look on her face was one you chased after, and you wanted to make her beg more. She sounded pretty that way. “I’m not a child, am I?”
She had a point. It wasn’t like you were giving away and teaching vices to an impressionable little girl. It didn’t feel right.
“Please, Ma’am?”
You found yourself giving it to her - not only this, but your everything. Your future, your job, your morals.
Your main takeaway from that moment wasn’t to never do that again, or remind yourself that you could easily say no to a pretty girl (you couldn’t.) It was this:
Olivia Hayes’s lips looked gorgeous wrapped around a cigarette.
She was made for the part. Her mouth fluttered around it while her stare was distant, piecing something together. She lowered it down and blew a ring of smoke in the air, just like in the movies. Olivia was an old Hollywood actress - a blonde bombshell; the main lead.
“It feels . . . ” She struggled for a word. “Good.”
You took the cigar away from her. “Don’t get attached,” you said. It was genuine advice. “We all know how that ends.”
She was smiling. You were too.
She rested her head on the brick wall, facing you. Not quite - her gaze was fixated on your lips. “You look beautiful today Ma’am.”
You leaned forward. It was a dare for her to be audacious enough to prove it right. “Really now?”
The bump of her neck bobbed. You realized that your faces were too close to each other. Her lips were so full that it would take a small stumble to accidentally kiss her, to accidentally pin her to the rusty wall of this building. Those wide, princess eyes stared back at you in fear.
It was your signal to back up. This wasn’t right. No matter how beautiful she was or how close you were, flirting with a girl years younger than you wasn’t right.
Even in the silence that carried guilt, the universe didn’t take kindly to your offense. It brought about a punishment you would remember: the snap of a camera flash.
You jolted. Who was that?
Privy to your conversation, there was the man who asked for a library card. He was smirking. You knew and tried to avoid him because it was an open secret: he was bad news. He blackmailed, lied, used-
Ronny Kent was his name, and he was not a good person.
There was Mika, whose reputation was solidly ruined after he leaked a picture of her. The rumors were too loud to keep secret. Then the janitor who only wanted a private moment with his partner. Ronny turned everyone inside out and it wasn’t pretty.
“Chainsmoker and a slut,” he said to Olivia, lowering the camera. “You play every game, even your friends. Gotta respect you for it.”
“Shut up,” said Olivia. Her jaw was tight. She spoke very softly that the insult bore no real bullet. “Please.”
But she meant this one. You hadn’t seen her this uncomfortable. There was real fire in her eyes but a downness in them too. This was not the first time Ronny had seized her dignity and smashed it beneath his feet. You could tell from the sudden rigidness of her body, the loss of her stability.
You couldn’t speak. He was so close to her, and you were afraid you would shove him if he came closer. Maybe you should.
“I don’t think so.” Ronny’s mouth sat next to Olivia’s ear. She cringed in spite of trying to remain nonchalant. Hot odored breath huffed on her face. “Get out of my way.”
Olivia stared down at her socks. Nothing else existed to her. She felt cornered, afraid and humiliated.
“Mr. Kent.” Your authoritative voice was no match to a teenage rebel. You glared at him and crossed your arms, but he took none of the signs. “It’s not your place. I’ll kindly ask-”
“When I told you to be her friend,” he said, completely ignoring you as he stroked the camera lens, “I didn’t mean to try hooking up with her. What would her boyfriend think?”
Boyfriend?
Olivia lifted her head with a short-lived defiance. “He broke up with me, Ronny.”
“Of course, because he found out she kissed me.” He was proud of it too. “She took me on a date. Ice cream and coffee.”
Olivia had just cut things loose with Donté. She never told you why. But this couldn’t be true. That wasn’t the girl you held close to your heart. Anger was clear in her face but she didn’t move. She took each word to heart as tears welled up.
You had never seen Olivia Hayes cry before. This might be the first time.
“Everyone knows what you did to Mika,” she said, slowly and sourly. The end of her sleeve brushed at her eyelid. “You can’t hurt people anymore.”
“Oh, you don’t know that, Princess.” Ronny squeezed her shoulder. Each move he made stenched of bad luck. “I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”
Olivia was trembling so bad you had to step forward to hold her. You had to defend her and set a boundary with Ronny, who had crossed anything you could have made. To your shock, she left before you could speak up. Her shoes clicked angrily to her exit.
And there was Ronny’s cruel smile that told you nothing good was going to come out of this.
And there was her somewhere-in-between hair: soaring in the wind, like a closing curtain.
You finished several good reads and Olivia was still not visiting you. She hadn’t been for the past three days. It was beginning to concern you.
You watched the campus from outside of your library. It was full of rushing, bustling students, but you couldn’t spot Olivia. Your heart ached. She was a face you could spot in a crowd miles away but she wasn’t showing up in one or alone.
Was that her friend? A pretty girl with hooded eyes and an atmosphere around her that reminded you of Olivia. “Excuse me?” you asked. “Amber, right?”
She looked almost irritated to entertain you. She always wore that bored expression anyway. “Yes?”
“Have you seen Olivia? Olivia Hayes?”
“She’s probably here. Or there.” Amber lifted her shoulders. “I don’t know.”
“Well, if you see her, please tell-”
“I don’t want you looking for her,” interrupted Amber seriously. The little once-over she did told you that she knew something, and everyone did too. She wasn’t afraid to be upfront about it. “If what they say about you is true, you shouldn’t be allowed near her.”
She left without another word. That was the end of it.
Now you knew why less and less pupils logged in. Ronny had done the job: spread the rumor, took the reins, rendered you completely of your power.
It was your fault. If he had crossed a line, you crossed thousands with Olivia. From your thoughts to your gestures to the bond you had - none of it was supposed to happen. None of it.
You brought this upon yourself.
You didn’t want to seem suspicious by asking around. Anyone who visited your library knew you and Olivia were close. You didn’t want to ruin the girl’s reputation.
Maybe someone already did.
The days felt empty without her. No biscuits, no fun conversations, no Olivia. You missed her coquettish laugh and lean posture and thoughtful little gestures. The desk across yours was devoid of a girl who became important to you. Everytime someone entered, you hoped it was her tall and pretty self coming to check in on you. Much to your dismay, faceless pupils were the only people logging in.
It hurt. You didn’t want to make this about you. But it hurt.
You had to quit being selfish. She probably needed space. Space? She wasn’t your girlfriend. She couldn’t be.
You were finishing up for the night. The screen of your computer was bright. It reflected in your tired eyes an Excel sheet. It was a record of late fees and damage compensation. Someone had missed their return date and as much as you didn’t want to charge anything, you had to. Generosity wasn’t a skill they hired you for.
Calculus. It was exam season; you expected that.
What you didn't expect was the loud banging on your door.
“Jesus-” You flung out of your seat, clutching your chest. The clock said it was past 7 PM. Didn’t they have a watch? Elite heirs usually had watches whose prices skyrocketed past your salary. So who was it?
You ignored it, sitting back down. It wasn’t your fault they couldn’t read the rules.
The rummage of the knocks grew louder than the typing sounds. Along with the darkness and otherwise complete silence, it was beginning to terrify you. Words didn’t make sense for the first time ever. You had to tell them to cut it out.
You stood, paced to the entrance and opened the door.
“Ma’am?”
It was Olivia.
She was crying.
Tears streaked her face. Sniffling, she threw her arms around you. Her back rose and rested to the tempo of her sobs, an unwelcome rhythm. The redness in her eyes and the desperation in them - full of need to be comforted, to be held - you ached seeing it.
Something was wrong. You closed the door and hugged her. She was shaking like she had escaped a rainstorm. The only rainstorm here was the flood of sobs that stained her cheeks. Now they spotted your collar.
“Ma’am,” she murmured. Her lips were on your neck, vibrating her cries into your skin. Oh, if you could, you’d take that with her pain. “I thought I lost you. Ma’am-”
Olivia’s voice was broken. She said your nickname not only to call you, but almost like a reminder that you were here. She had nobody else.
You held her tight and let her cry it out. It was alright, you told her. You were here. Your hours were done but you had and would add more if it was for her.
“I’m here. Hi Princess.”
Your Princess.
Olivia didn’t let go. She was suffocating you with her arms knotted behind you, and a mouth that muffled her pain into your shirt. The pain that bubbled in her chest killed you. but you’d die a thousand times if it were for her.
Olivia shivered when you let go. You led her behind your desk, her safe place. She leaned against it and tried to control the tears dropping from her red eyes. But the rainstorm was inevitable. The whole day poured down on her ruthlessly.
The familiarity of everything seemed to calm her down a bit. Hands on her hips, you gently pushed her down her usual box. She didn’t sit alone. You were there for her this time.
“Hey,” you repeated.
You wanted to call her your girl, your baby, your Princess - anything that would comfort her. You wanted to take care of her. You’d wrap a blanket around her and take her out to eat. You’d kiss her and tell her you were here. You’d say: hey little dove, you don’t have to soar all the time. You could just sit here with me.
All you could do was hold her waist and try to control the shudders. “What’s wrong?”
She whined and placed her face into her hands. “I’m sorry.”
What was she apologizing for? She did nothing wrong. She couldn’t do anything wrong. She was so frail and weak as she supported herself at the end of your table that you wrapped her in an embrace again. You knew she needed it.
“Sorry for what?”
Her words trembled, regretful too. “He . . . he leaked the photos . . . ” Olivia stammered.
Your heart dropped. You didn’t need to ask to know what photos or who did it. Ronny’s visit was a revelation of the end. “Oh baby-”
It was one of a girl’s worst nightmares. There came a deceptive boy whose threats held bite to them, who deceived and lied and manipulated. Nothing could ever be given to them without the fear of the tables turning.
That was why you couldn’t find her like you always did. That was why she didn’t visit. The world was against her, and she couldn’t keep her resilience anymore.
Her breaths kept tying around her neck and choking her. You kept a hand on her back so she could at least catch them. Her shaking was knives to your chest.
“I was looking for you. I thought they . . . they took you away.” The thought got to her and she looked at you with begging written all over her face. Her frowned lips uttered the words you didn’t think would hurt you this way: “Ma’am, please don’t go away, please don’t go away-”
You pulled her close. Her hair stuck to her cheek, glued with teardrops.
“I’m not going anywhere Princess,” you told her.
She didn’t quite believe that. Sniffling, she pushed you off.
“I lied to you Ma’am,” she laughed sourly. Her thumb soothed a teardrop at the end of her mouth as she stood up. “All this time. Did you know that?”
What was she talking about? Was Ronny right? You denied it with all your heart.
Olivia looked villainous. The rage was new. She’d contained it all these years, keeping it together, keeping pretty. But this was the end of it.
“He’s spreading it around too so I think you know already. I’m not an heiress. Fuck, I’m not even rich. My dad’s been gone for years. My mom would rather die than go to my shit. But I thought that everyone would love me if I was just like them.”
“Olivia-”
“I’m sorry for lying to you!” She broke down again. She was the victim and the villain - crying, laughing; hurting, hitting. She was hysterical, hands together as she pleaded for your forgiveness. “You like me so much and I like you so much but you won’t trust me ever again. So I’m sorry-”
“Olivia.”
She beat her wrist on the counter in frustration. “What?”
Her scream deafened you. The feedback ringing was so high yet it didn’t cut out her frantic crying. It couldn’t save you from the pain of hearing her tear herself down.
You took the red trunk of her wrist and held it close. She wasn’t going to hurt herself. Not when you were around. “Olivia,” you repeated, “I don’t care if you’re rich or not. I want you anyway.”
She tossed her head back, trying to keep the water in her eyes. It pooled and overflowed. Olivia couldn’t hide anything anymore.
You squeezed her forearm. “I still wait for your gifts.”
She glanced down at your touch enveloping her. Slowly, there was a realization that sank into her.
She swallowed. “I still look if they have your favorite on the menu,” Olivia said softly.
“I still read the notes you leave.”
“I still want you to call me Princess to get through the day.”
You pulled her in. It was an unconscious decision but you didn’t regret it. Her skirt swished against your legs. You were chest to chest and stomach to stomach. No boundaries. Just her skin against your skin. Her eyes connecting with yours.
“I still pray you never get a library card,” you confessed softly, “so you can read with me everyday.”
Olivia was silent. Her glimmering eyes pierced through your soul and saw what you didn’t need to say. Actually, she would have said something herself, had she not chosen to kiss you.
She was whimpering as she devoured your lips. She held your cheek and let the passion infect you too. It was like in these little kisses, these little touches, she found a promise that it would all be okay.
(It would be - in all due time.)
You closed your eyes. Shock melted into passion, passion melted into the need to carry her to the edge of your table. Everything about her was perfect. You believed that until now.
It never stopped. Your fingers laced into her golden brown hair to lead her face closer. You would burn if she left you. Your mouth trailed hotly down her neck anyway. Even here, in the little space where her skin flexed and sweat, she was delicious.
You noticed her ragged breathing and stopped. Was it alright if you tore away the line that put you apart?
You couldn’t say anything. Were you really doing this? To a student? To a girl that you adored?
Olivia’s legs were spread open. Her chin below yours, she blinked up at you. “Ma’am?”
Your thighs squirmed together. The word eternally had this meaning, this double-edged sword that killed you. “Yes?” you asked.
“Wh-What do you think of me?” Olivia asked weakly. The vulnerability in her question was painfully sweet.
You kissed down her chest and opened her blouse. Little gasps coming from her pulsing throat sounded like heaven. Her pretty bra cupped her breasts and she was just singing these tiny moans - begging you to take it off, begging you get your hand all up under her skirt; make the lines of her mouth twist with shock and pleasure; change the color of her face to red. Oh, she needed you to do a lot of things to her - you knew you wanted to do each one of those when you saw her walk in through that door.
Your tongue played with her stiff nipple. She began to move around, afraid to moan yet afraid to leave you hanging.
“I think,” you said, before giving a final peck to the sensitive chest that came up to your mouth, “you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”
Pretty face, pretty soul. Eyes as big as the heart everyone thought was ice cold. Lashes as long as her patience, her understanding. The beat of her heart matching the loudness of her need to feel good, just for one night.
“Oh.” She sighed. A familiar pink settled over her cheeks. “I really like hearing that from you.”
“Want me to keep talking to you?” It was impossible how every scape of her flesh was appetizing. You licked behind her ear, where she could hear every word. “Want me to tell you how pretty my Princess is, what a good girl she is for me?”
Her thighs clamping around you was enough answer. She was nodding and nodding, the desperate little thing. She was just coming undone. The student, who was so confident and collected, sat on your desk with her uniform tor and lips swollen from kissing.
Her lips.
You pressed a kiss to your fingertips before tracing them to her mouth. Olivia’s lips were cushiony soft. When you slipped your digits past them, she rolled her eyes back.
Your fingers were the source where she drank and drank. Small moans fought their way out of her. She was enjoying this too much. The angry heat left in her body changed to one she enjoyed. This one made her feel giddy, made the little hairs on her skin rise. And Olivia had to voice it out in tiny sighs which provoked something in you.
It wasn’t right, but weren’t you entitled to a little sin?
You freed her mouth and instead imprisoned her chin with your hand, letting them float around her face. “You know where these are going Princess?”
Olivia shook her head. Behind that innocent look, you had a feeling she knew.
A path forged down to her skirt. It was unfair that the uniform fit her so perfectly. Under the blazer, the blouse, the curve of her body slanted beneath your touch. There came the hourglass line of her waist then the flare of her hips, full around your palms.
Olivia was getting an idea now. No sound needed to leave her mouth when it could all be read from her face. The puppy dog eyes, the quiver of her lips, the red of her cheeks.
“These are slipping right under this skirt,” you continued. You did as you said. Her slim thigh was held by a long, white stocking. It would stay on. “Right between your legs, through this pretty white underwear. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes. Oh god.” She shut her eyes. “Take it off, take it off-”
Olivia gasped sharply as you touched her. You weren’t in her - not yet. But she was already this sensitive. She squirmed around at how you cupped her core, felt how she was cleanly trimmed through the thin undershorts, how the heat was unbearable. You had to do something about it.
Not yet. You clicked your tongue, continuing to feel her. You would take your sweet time with this princess, make her feel good, make her remember this night.
“You can’t boss me around, Sweetheart.” Sweet talk never truly left your conversations despite the scolding. Punishing a poor little girl who keened and sighed to your touches was cruel enough. It was like wielding an upside-down cross to an angel. “Play nice. What do you say when you want something?”
Olivia kept shimmying her hips into your palm. Her fingers struggled on the desk to keep her stable, and her mind struggled as well to do the same.
“P-Please.”
“Yes?”
“Please . . . ” Olivia breathed, “please fuck me, Ma’am.”
Shit.
You wasted no time. She was true to being a princess - her panties were lace, frilled and white, a bow on the top. Perhaps it was simply you admiring Olivia like you always had, but it was making you so pent up: seeing her with her skirt lifted, the front of her blouse unbuttoned, her long legs embroiled in a fight not to close.
Olivia whined in response to your thumb caressing her clit over the fabric. The rhythm had her chest tightening while her breathing abruptly lost itself. She was done with the teasing.
So were you.
You hooked on the sides of the fabric and gently pulled them down. And God - if her panties were pretty, her pussy was even more so. Her wetness glistened, as if telling you it would look better coating your fingers. Filling your mouth. Sheening your thigh.
You pushed first, not pulled.
“Oh . . . oh.” Olivia lowered her head with her eyes squeezed shut. She was throbbing like crazy. She lifted her head and you could see the gratification written (no, scrawled) all over her face. “Ma’am, I- oh . . . ”
You let yourself curl inside her for a moment. The texture of her walls slid over your skin and the wetness satiated your thirst. Slowly, she took over you. And it was the same on your end - you slid yourself deeper and felt for her sensitivity. It was everywhere, taking from the whines she let out and the frown on her lips.
“Princess,” you said. ”You are so fucking tight.”
You couldn’t even start thrusting. What if you hurt her?
“Just clenching around me, yeah?” You caressed her nub in slow circles. “So damned wet too. Fuck-”
One hand on the small of her back, you buried yourself inside her. Her gasps were shorter and blunter as you fixed yourself inside her. The only thing that made it easier was her wetness, sticking to you and allowing faster movements.
You smoothed her hair as she threw her head back. Her collarbone stood out from beneath the fabric. You pressed your lips there with a nibble gentle enough to increase the sensitivity that set her skin on fire. As her jawline grazed your mouth, you felt her moans vibrate below it. You wondered if she knew how pretty she sounded.
She lost everything once you sucked on that spot. Olivia sounded prettier.
“Ma’am, Ma’am, please-” Olivia thrashed around as if she were a wild animal. What if she were? And not the royal she made herself out to be? She rode your fingers with a fury that beat the angriest of hearts, but she was whimpering - lips pursed; sweet little sounds barely escaping their soft prison. No, this girl was too angelic, too fragile to be feral - but the ferocity of her hips and the grip she had on your wrist said otherwise.
Maybe it was fate that she took you so well. All the little conversations, all that twisted yearning pinned the thread right to this moment wherein you got lost immediately upon sinking inside her cunt. She was so tight, almost too tight, but her wetness let you finger her without having to be careful. You had a feeling she didn’t want you to be careful at all.
And the thing between you and this pretty girl you had literally wrapped around your fingers? The intuition was always right.
Yes, she wanted you to nip at her beautiful shoulder so she moaned louder. Yes, she wanted you to keep a hand firm around her ass so she wouldn’t collapse against the wood. Yes, she wanted all of this - and it’s not in you to say no.
Neither was it in Olivia. The pitiable girl was tearful. Turns out it wasn’t the cigarettes that would eat away at her cleverness, the breath leaving her weak lungs - it was the pleasure. “Yes yes, oh my God, I need them, I need it, need you to ruin me-”
Her words were an invitation to add another finger, and perhaps fuck her harder on this desk. No one had to know. Not the school, not the students - it was just you and Olivia, in your own world, kissing and touching.
It was, too, an invitation you accepted.
Her chin tipped back. “M-mmm, oh!” Olivia cried. Those long lashes carried big tears that fell down her cheeks, as if she were a mystical saint, the monarch of monarchs, a girl worth worshiping. Saint Olivia Hayes, martyred by a want that blossomed in her chest for far too long. Drink from the nectar between her legs and she’d grant a miracle as good as an orgasm. “It’s just- it’s- oh-”
You thumbed at her clit fast. It was so easy to get her moaning and whining but you still felt that you had to work hard. You had to make love to her in a way that she’d forget everything. You had to drive yourself in her like you were trying to start the engine of her insanity. Oh, come on - whose approval were you trying to gain? Olivia’s?
Plausible. Because the ache of your wrist you would trade over and over for the shiver of her body and those big blue eyes staring at you with this subtext that said if you give it to her harder, she might just be yours.
“More.” You felt her twitch around you, your fingers wrapped by the heavenly feel of her pussy. “Oh fuck me now, faster. I deserve it, I’ve been so good.”
“Of course you have.” You lifted her face and looked at her with the gaze of a doting teacher, almost making this moment justifiable. You were only taking care of her. This was nothing out of the ordinary, teacher and student. “You deserve everything, Princess. Oh, you don’t even have to ask for anything. I’ll give it all to you, baby, I promise.”
And this was around the time, or perhaps exactly when, Olivia melted. Her cheeks flushed and her pout ran deeper. As queen bee and campus celebrity, she carried herself as if she didn’t need anything, not even a compliment. But the need throbbed and screamed inside her. This was the true Olivia, wanting to be petted and praised and kissed. You were the one to satiate it.
You rubbed the tips of your fingers along her weak spots while thrusting quickly. The marriage of your eyes obligating her to meet them, the curl of your fingers, the thumb at her chin - it was too much. She was pushed to the edge and she could fall at any moment.
“Don’t-” Olivia shook her head. Tears ran freely. She didn’t know what she was feeling anymore. The lust was overwhelming and there were too many things she wanted you to do to her. “Fuck… oh God, please!”
Your thumb worked on her swollen clit; meanwhile, you’d spread her legs and instantly slid your tongue through her slit. It’s fucking crazy - when her flavor pooled in your mouth and you drank her freely, she tasted like a memory. You’re already missing her. She was a habit you wouldn’t think to kill off and she’d grow within you and become part of you.
And you would lose her. Just like that.
But you would never, ever, forget her.
You lapped her up. You savored her because the repercussions would catch up and you had to save every last bit of her until you could. Oh, she was screaming, loud and raw - you heard her despite her soft thighs clamping around your head. You kept them there. You wanted to stay in her forever.
“Too much,” Olivia implored, but not for you to stop. She had a fist around your scalp and another around your heart. “Ma’am please, you’re going too fast!”
This was the first time in her life she liked being overwhelmed. Her novel plot of an expression twisted and turned - (it would end like this: beautifully, yet not the way you wanted.) She pouted, she smiled in spite of, she gaped. She did everything and showed you how good you were being to her. But nothing quite prepared her for the feel of your lips tight around her clit.
Her river flowed and flowed. She arched her back and screamed for what all of it was worth. She fell in love with you and you let her dance on the tip of your tongue. You fell in love with her and she let you quench your thirst with her taste. You - two women, from two different lives - fell in love with each other, and you weren’t quite sure how to end that.
You secured her clit in your mouth and sucked as hard as you can. She burst into tears, trying and crying and swearing that she couldn’t handle more but she’d chew off more than what she can stomach, for when the orgasm bubbled in the pit of her stomach, she knew that it was going to be difficult.
“Ma’am, please, I don’t think I can handle it.”
You were sure you were going to suffocate. The hold of her thighs around your neck was deadly.
“No, please make me cum, it’s too much!” She sobbed and rode you harder. “I can’t I can’t I can’t, Ma’am, Mommy-”
And there it ended. With the sudden drumming of your heart you didn’t know how to do it. But it finished itself with your Princess finishing on your face, static shock running through her blood and looking quite lost in her own world.
It happened. The expectation of it did not make it easier. Ronny’s photos reached the school authorities and the students. Every detail was out there in the spotlight. It included how you met, how you admired her from afar, how you were caught smoking suspiciously alone with her.
You were brought in and quietly dismissed. Nobody wanted attention brought to the school already gained by the murders happening. It was an unsafe place, for both your heart and soul. It was just right to leave.
You didn’t get to have a last conversation with Olivia. Afterwards, she simply sat there on the desk with her eyes closed and exhausted. Her head rested on your heart. You could still feel it now, as you sat at home, looking for another job. There was no use tearing up about it. It was wrong from the start and it was wrong now.
A few tears did end up on the black and white ink of the classifieds.
Not a day went by that you didn’t think of Olivia. How was she doing? Was your Princess coping? To be outed like that to what she saw as her world, to be named a slut and villain by her peers . . . it couldn’t be easy. You wanted to apologize to her in some sort of way. It would be to pay back all the good things she’d done for you. She was a good listener, a good student, a good girl. She deserved to be okay.
But how?
The answer came to you one day in the form of an email, from an unknown address but a familiar name:
We broke the rules. How about we and some good friends of mine break more to get even?
You in? ;)
Yours,
Princess
#celebrity smut#celebrity x reader#jessica alexander#the little mermaid#get even#jessica alexander smut#jessica alexander x reader#jessica alexander x female reader#jessica alexander x you#olivia hayes#olivia hayes smut#olivia hayes x reader#olivia hayes x female reader#olivia hayes x you#x reader#female reader#girls who like girls#wlw#wlw smut#wlw nsft#wlw ns/fw#lesbian#lesbian smut#lesbian nsft#sapphic#sapphic smut#sapphic nsft#gxg#gxg smut#jess alexander
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hi rook sorrgy I'm back but I've been thinking about your akeshu as girls genderfuckery tweet for 20 million years. idk if you can share anything in good faith here on the Tumblr corner of the internet (if not then by all means ignore this) but if you did I'd owe you perhaps my entire soul!! thank you very much either way :3
i would LOVE to talk about this thank you so much for asking
[under the cut in case anyone would not like to see genderfuckery stuff]
okay so first of all.
on the topic of boobs
this is important to lead with do you understand. most of the akeshu as girls stuff ive seen around has akc as flat-chested and ren as boobed. and that's valid i support that. but personally. personally to me. i think it's the opposite. tbe reason (well one reason) i think it's the opposite is because i think girlren is a little rat of a creature and akechi who is prim and feminine and perfect is so FUCKING angry about her crush on ren like she's barely surviving it and then this is the nail in the coffin. she's like why can't i stop thinking about that messy unassuming thing. she doesn't even have boobs
my other reasons for tihs are that i think joker is more androgynous charm while akechi is more feminine/masculine duality i think this makes sense to nobody else. i think ren regardless of agab is riding the rail of the gender spectrum 🛹 while akc is collecting extremes of gender presentation like they're pokemon do you understand. are we on the same page here. ren being into drag is important to me for this reason (again regardless of agab). meanwhile akechi having very clear feminine secondary sex characteristics but presenting gradually more and more masculine in terms of clothing/hair/personal style etc. is also extremely important to me. and that includes being biog of tity while her style veers more and more into masc as time goes on
ok
the detective prince
i think girl akechi (at 17-18) presents very femininely because it's what's effective for her. i would call her style................... kawaii corporate chic. does that make sense for everyone. it's like schoolgirl girlboss. she has a bow instead of a tie but it's a very classy one not a kitschy one. smart blazer, uniform pleated skirt, patent leather shoes, u know the drill BUT. people still call her the detective prince. this is VERY IMPORTANT to me. no detective princess. only detective prince. do you understand the importance of the genderfuckery of a super feminine girl being called by masculine terms. to me. we're continuing the legacy set by my hero naoto shirogane bigender queeng. bigender kin. bigender genderneutral non-monarchical ruler
i think by third sem girl akechi is starting to dress more androgynously/masculinely. more pants. i think her third sem outfit is unchanged from canon. just a smart coat, sweater, buttondown, slacks. postcanon she gets a haircut.
just trying to live an honest student life
ren is like so fundamentallyuncomfortable with the fact of his existence at the beginning of canon so to me girlren is like... she dresses like she's trying to hide in her clothes. messy hair. i have no strong feelings about whetehr her hair should be long or short, or whether it's loose or pulled into a tail, but i know it's messsy. untamed curls. and she uses it to hide her face. none of her clothes fit. she's in oversized everything. i have a very clear image in my head of a ren idle animation where she leans down to pull up her leggings because they keep falling down. she also has terrible posture. she's androgynous at this stage not on purpose but because she's too self conscious to like... exist... and present... in any notable way at all
i think as she gets more confident and as the year progresses she starts to dress more distinctively. i like the idea of her getting more comfortable prettying up. maybe working at crossroads helps her with this 🤔 i dont know how to explain this but i think she's still feminine in a gentlemanly chivalrous way rather than a girly cute way. girlren has that same steady calming vibe that guy ren does
joker & crow
crow has a magical girl skirt. i have a drawing of this but im too self conscious about my own lack of drawing skill to show it off so i cropped out the key part and put it into an ms paint void in the distance as my visual aid
there. i hope this is illustrative
i think given girl akechi's use of her feminine charms to gain popularity, her hero complex would be similarly gendered given we have confirmation that robin hood represents not (only) heroics for altruistic reasons but also the theatre of being seen doing good. there's a real drama element to the idea of a magical girl transformation that i honestly wish we got for male crow too. i always am depressed that we don't get to see much theatre for akechi's initial appearance as crow and summoning of robin hood, anyway, girlcrow has ribbons and a capelet that flap in non-existent wind.
black mask's outfit is unchanged from canon. i'd like it to look a little less stupid but that has nothing to do with gender i just want it to look a little less stupid.
joker's outfit is also unchanged from canon. listen. im back on my bullshit. in the metaverse her behaviour gets more feminine and more sly and confident than in reality. she's got that femme fatale shit going on. however, she is still a gentleman thief. she has the long coat. she has the poofy trousers. she has the waistcoat. she's still smirking and fixing her gloves and flipping her knife and doing that thing that canon ren does where he lifts his chin and does the little "come on" thing with her fingers. do you understand? do you understand me
#rookposting#if only i could draw. all i can do is word vomit about my vision.#bumper sticker that says please ask me about the akeshugirlies who live in my brain#please take care and don't peek if you're not into genderbendy type stuff! i know it's not for everyone#for me personally as a nonbinary/bigender person it's very affirming. but i understand for other nonbinary and trans people#that may not be the case and it may not be your thing so pls scroll accordingly!#much love. we all experience gender differently#i dont want to put all my wordvomit in the p5 tag but im also conscious of how many personal tags im making now#but i still need to be able to. find things on my own blog#what can a gal do...#rookthots
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Pandora Kaaki’s Stunning Swimsuit Photos: How She Captures Hearts on Social Media
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/0ade6f2fefa3b1b45e0b047dc3705227/892a4dcdc63dcc73-82/s540x810/e260f46308670469d83160299b039cd001969288.jpg)
If you’re looking for social media content that leaves you speechless, Filipino model and Instagram influencer Pandora Kaaki should be on your list.
Known for her breathtaking beauty and charismatic personality, Pandora has a way of drawing her followers in with vibrant swimsuit photos that showcase her stunning figure.
Her recent posts are no exception, with fans flooding her accounts with likes and comments the moment she shares her latest photos.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/491941e9e56d0423c8860d7e3c074d83/892a4dcdc63dcc73-bb/s640x960/146a97a8a555ce444e22d5d3e436311903a0136a.jpg)
Pandora Kaaki’s Rise as a Social Media Icon
Pandora Kaaki’s journey to becoming a social media star has been nothing short of impressive. With more than 3.7 million followers on Instagram, she’s become a major influencer at a young age.
Her fans stay eagerly tuned for her posts, whether it's a fun photoshoot, a stylish outfit, or one of her iconic swimsuit sessions.
Pandora's content strategy has set her apart, and it’s clear why she continues to captivate her audience.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/f37bf7cabd2c47f522291262074cb0db/892a4dcdc63dcc73-55/s540x810/2ca544b7d35259e314e45ba680c8c4b764ab1d72.jpg)
A Stunning Swimsuit Photo That Stole the Show
Recently, Pandora posted a vibrant, colorful swimsuit photo series that gained thousands of likes within hours. The swimsuit itself added a playful touch to her photos, making her toned physique the center of attention.
Her stunning look and effortless beauty drew endless admiration from fans, who couldn’t help but leave comments praising her.
“Pandora Kaaki is simply stunning,” says one follower, while another added, “She just keeps getting better with every post!”
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/b733dc05a5d5c0e772463170eb321eb8/892a4dcdc63dcc73-d7/s640x960/c151782fe780258849b81a6cfc3bdd158c8e3013.jpg)
Captivating Content That Keeps Followers Hooked
Beyond just swimsuit photos, Pandora Kaaki’s social media feed is filled with diverse content that showcases her style and personality.
In addition to her recent swimwear, Pandora also shared a few pictures dressed in a playful schoolgirl outfit, which received just as much attention. Her unique beauty shines in each post, keeping fans captivated and craving more.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/db3c680f20078f6cb319015289b2bbef/892a4dcdc63dcc73-9e/s540x810/3a16167d5732ec16fa6abb671480f62786d2c944.jpg)
Why Pandora Kaaki is One to Watch on Instagram
Pandora Kaaki’s journey to social media stardom isn’t just about looks—she knows how to create content that resonates with her audience.
From her glamorous photoshoots to her casual, relatable posts, Pandora’s fans feel connected to her lifestyle and inspired by her confidence.
Her consistent posting, high-quality photos, and charismatic presence have brought her impressive results, gaining her a large following and aiming for seven million Instagram followers by mid-2022.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/93dcb8030ebac74f8593ef4c5e1de911/892a4dcdc63dcc73-50/s540x810/e5dfb5f82e897ea278b707b5504a6303097807d5.jpg)
Pandora Kaaki Continues to Impress Her Followers
There’s no doubt that Pandora Kaaki has a unique ability to engage her audience. As she continues to share her vibrant content, she’s paving her way to becoming one of Instagram’s top influencers.
For fans and followers alike, Pandora’s photos are more than just visuals—they’re an invitation to join her exciting journey.
Keep an eye on Pandora’s page as she continues to inspire and captivate with each post!
Final Thoughts
From her colorful swimsuit photoshoots to her charming personal style, Pandora Kaaki has become a true social media sensation.
Follow her on Instagram to see why she’s loved by millions around the world.
Facebook Page Url: https://www.facebook.com/@pandoraloverszone/
Instagram Url: https://www.instagram.com/pandorakaaki/
#model icons#pandora kaaki#pandora hearts#style inspiration#Filipino Model#a famous filipino model#model girl#photography#beauty#actress#adult model#beautiful model#fashion model#Travel Model#instagram influencer#instagram icons#instagram inspo#so hot and sexy#love#thick babe#hot asian babe#thicc babe#the very first night#tattoed babe#thick ebony#thick hips#curvy#big tiddy committee#big bootie#beautiful
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date?
Pairing: Charles LeClerc x Hamilton!OC
Genre: Slice of Life; Fluff
Word Count: 3.3k
Warning: Mild Language.
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: PSA there will be no French hear unless it's a pet name or I love you.
A knock on her door makes Iman jump. In the process a bit of the lip gloss she was applying gets on her chin. Panic fills her and she quickly grabs a tissue and blots it away.
“One second,” she calls out.
Iman would love to say that all her nervous energy was because she needs to touch up her make-up quickly, but it was there long before that. It’d been there since she’d woken up from her nap. She’d opted out of the late lunch she’d been invited to, claiming she was tired and needed a bit to recharge. Which hadn’t been a lie, but it also wasn’t the complete truth. Iman needed alone time to pull herself together and scream into her pillow.
The giddy schoolgirl behavior was back.
There was a part of her that still hated that feeling, but she’d also started to embrace it. Most of her relationships didn’t come with it. That didn’t mean the ones that did were amicable at all, but for some reason she felt like this time it made sense. This time it was okay to fall into her emotions, even if the potential bad outcome comes true.
As soon as the thought enters, even though it’s not sending her into a spiral, she pushes it out. Going into this with only thoughts of the good, while being realistic is what she needed to do. Even if things ending badly, was a realistic possibility.
With a tap of her setting powder and then a light mist, she gets herself up from the seat in front of the vanity and grabs her purse from the bench near the door. Her gaze flits over the mirror on the other side of the door and she walks toward it. One thing she isn’t nervous about is her outfit.
The olive-green dress she chose fits her well up top and flares perfectly at the bottom, stopping just below her knee. It’s her favorite color to wear and she’s full of herself enough that she knows that others agree with her choice. However, the one area where she’s a little hesitant is the shoes. Why she packed stiletto length heels she was unsure, but they work and that’s all that mattered.
A deep breath, an adjustment on how the bottom half of her braids not in an updo, and then she opens the door.
Unconsciously she takes a sharp inhale. When Charles looks up at her he does the same. It stops some of the burning in her cheeks, but she could see the rosiness forming on his face immediately. He looks bashful and that comforts her for some reason.
“Hi,” she says.
Not enough to get her to say something better than that though.
“Hi. You look… beautiful, mon ange.” He sounds a little breathless.
However, that isn’t what she focuses on. No, her brain is fixated on the term of endearment. Fixated on him calling her his angel. Iman is sure that the burn in her cheeks is enough to be visible. But she hopes her blush is hiding it. Being this flustered is a little embarrassing.
“Thank you. You look handsome.”
The statement could easily just be a throw away compliment since he gave her one, but Iman means it. Her eyes scan him from head to toe, his combination of brown slacks and a cream ribbed button up makes her warm in a different way. Her eyes meet his again and he his lips are quirked in a smirk and there’s a fire in his eyes.
A second passes with them just staring at each other, then Charles extends his hand. Iman takes it without a second or first thought. Their fingers lace together, and Charles nods his head toward the elevators.
“We shouldn’t miss our reservation.”
Iman nods and they begin to walk.
Silence fills the space between them, but it’s comfortable. Once inside the elevator she thinks Charles will let go, but he holds her hand firmly. Not giving a single sign, he plans to release her. Even as one of her fingers taps against the back of his hand due to her mild fear of being trapped in an elevator. Something that came from getting trapped in an elevator once with Logan.
He leads her out of the elevator once the doors open, squeezing tight for a second.
The only times he’s been in front of her is to motion her forward in a lady first gesture. Something she doesn’t need for a date but feels good.
Though the usual move was to rent a house on vacation, everyone thought a new resort that had everything you could want on the property was a good idea. So, from the moment they exit the hotel to their arrival at the restaurant only five minutes will pass.
The first minute is with more silence, but then suddenly Iman is pressed against Charles’ side. Her eyes go wide, and she turns her head to look up at him, but then she feels a whoosh of air. She turns her head just in time to see a golf cart going too fast.
Shock is the word that best fits her as she watches the cart until it disappears. Then she looks to Charles again. Despite their impending danger just moments ago he seems very calm. Too calm.
“Did you set that up, Charlie?”
“What do you mean?” Confusion takes hold of his features.
“Your saving the damsel in distress moment?”
His confusion only seems to grow, and she watches as he opens his mouth to reply, then closes it. An expression that Iman would call a little arrogant replaces the confusion.
“Are you a damsel in distress, mon ange?”
Iman purses her lips in thought, then bats her lashes at him.
“Maybe.”
Charles leans in close and whispers in her ear, “Then I will save you whenever you need it.”
Involuntary shivers run down her spine and from the growing smirk she knows that Charles noticed it. Her immediate response is to fall into a shy persona, but she steels herself, this time being the one to whisper in his ear.
“I’ll hold you to it.”
There’s a mild shift in expression, but he manages to keep it off his face.
“We have to go. Don’t want to be late, remember?” she says.
Charles clears his throat and nods, leading them to the restaurant. This silence is more tension filled than before. The kind of tension that Iman enjoys.
But because she knows that he’s already flustered she doesn’t do anything to get him even more riled up. Just holds his hand until they get to the entrance of the restaurant. Her hand goes to push open the door, but Charles beats her to it. He gives her a look that she’s sure is about the audacity of her opening the door herself and then guides her in by the small of her back.
This resort has quite a few F1 fans on staff, so it doesn’t shock Iman when the host’s face lights up and he gestures for them to follow him without a word said. He leads them through the half full restaurant and to a table that isn’t completely separate from everything else but has some level of privacy.
Charles pulls the chair out for her, and she sits, her hands itching to look at the menu, but she waits until he’s seated and the host leaves. Iman’s hand reaches out to grab the menu, but it’s gone and in Charles’ hands before she can. She opens her mouth, ready to ask what he’s doing, but that’s paused by the waiter arriving with water and taking the drink orders. Before he leaves Charles promises they’ll have their orders ready for when he comes back.
So, instead of saying anything Iman looks at Charles with a raised brow. One of his hands extends across the table and takes her’s. He looks into her eyes and she almost melts.
“I know what you want,” he says.
Immediately she wants to be apprehensive, but she doesn't give into that. Yes, people could be different when a romantic relationship is on the table, but Charles sat through an hour rant about a date with someone who ordered for her and then ate half her food while she was in the bathroom.
“Go on,” Iman says.
“They have wagyu here.”
All funny feelings fled her at once and she could feel giddiness building up in her.
“And a asparagus dish similar to…”
A soft sound of joy escapes her, cutting him off. The mention of two of her favorite things is all she needs to hear. Without thinking she gets out of her seat and goes to his side. She takes his head in her hands and leans down, kissing him in a way that isn’t soft, but also not intense.
When she pulls away Charles looks breathless again. And for a moment Iman thinks about doing it again but sees their waiter out of the corner of her eye and moves back to her seat.
“What did I do to deserve that?” he asks when the waiter leaves.
“Listen.”
“That is all it takes?”
Iman knows he’s teasing her. They’ve had many conversations about the bar being in hell. Though he says it’s much deeper than that.
“I also just wanted to kiss you.”
“You are welcome to any time, mon ange.”
Embarrassment for her reaction to that or her reactions at all is nowhere to be found. Maybe it will turn up when she’s trying to sleep at night, but Iman has no regrets. Charles is a man she’s liked for longer than she’d care to admit and like she told herself in her hotel room, she’s allowing her elevated emotions to be what they are. She’ll mellow out.
Neither say anything else, taking a moment to taste their drinks. Wine isn’t her favorite thing, but she likes the red wine she chose. She hadn’t specified what kind, and the waiter didn’t ask. It worked in her favor.
Throat clearing and she’s looking at Charles again.
“Do you like it?’
“Surprisingly, yes.”
“Good.”
“Do you want to try it?”
Charles’ eyes widen. “Oh no, mon…”
The glass is already outstretched to him, he hesitates, but takes it after a few seconds. Iman watches intently as his lips press to the rim and he takes a small sip. And then another. And then for a third time.
“Hold on now, I didn’t say you could drink it all.”
Her hand beckons for him to give it back and he takes one last sip then hands it over. There’s a pout taking shape, but Iman refuses to be swayed by it.
“Put that lip away before I bite it. Order your own.”
Brows are raised at the word bite, and he doesn’t stop the pouting. In fact, he exaggerates it.
“Sharl…” she warns.
That brings a smile and she can’t help but roll her eyes, before smiling as well.
Time either moved quickly or the staff did, because two waiters approach with their meals a second later. They’re both covered until the plates are on the table and a man is now no longer what Iman is salivating over.
“Thank you,” they say as the waiters leave.
Once they’re gone Iman takes no cues from Charles, just picks up the smallest piece of her already cut steak and fights a moan. It’s nearly perfect and it’s been a while since she’d had it.
Her next step is tasting the asparagus. There’s a little surprise in the restaurant having it whole, the only time she sees them in an up-scale restaurant is usually as a barely there part of the meal.
The moment she touches her tongue her eyes go wide and she takes another bite immediately. This time something akin to a moan almost comes out, but there’s another piece in her mouth before she can release it.
“That is almost the taste exactly,” Iman says.
“I don’t believe I have asked you, why do you enjoy those so much?”
Iman puts down the cutlery and takes a sip of her wine.
“Lewis was, and still is, a terrible cook. But that didn’t stop my mother from leaving me with him for a week while she worked. I only knew the basics and that got tiring after a while. So, I begged him to make something fancier. He caved, we went to the store and grabbed anything. Then we got home and it was a disaster trying to figure things out. Burned chicken, burned chocolate lava cake, and somehow burned mashed potatoes. Asparagus is the only thing that we managed not to burn and we’d just thrown random spices on them before roasting so we were terrified. But we agreed it was the best vegetable eating experience we’d ever had. Took weeks to figure out how to recreate it.
“And then he went vegan on me. So, it became one of the few shared favorite dishes we have.”
Charles appears thoughtful. There was some eating here and there - from both of them - as Iman spoke, but she had his full attention the entire time.
“Ah. I will admit that this love you have for it is still confusing to me, but I understand. Now, how did you come to love such an expensive cut of cow?”
Soft laughter escapes Iman because of his phrasing.
“For one of my birthdays, Lewis just showed up and said we were going to Japan. I’d always wanted to, but mom refused to let him just jet me here and there because it would spoil me or something. As if he didn’t in every other way,” Iman rolls her eyes. “But anyway, we went and did all the touristy things, ate ramen in small towns, and bought way too much in all the districts of Tokyo. Then we went to a restaurant that was just the fanciest place I’d ever seen. It was a kind of place that had a set menu.
“I wasn’t all that sure about trying the wagyu when it came out redder than I liked, but he convinced me and it was the best steak I’d ever eaten. We still had a week after that and I convinced him four more times to take me to places with wagyu, but I refused to have anything but the best. That’s the first and only time he’s cut off my spending. Which is fair. I was at risk of actually putting a dent in his bank account if I got my way.”
A fondness fills Iman and she thinks back to the chaos and fun of that trip.
“So should I raise my price when I go into contract negotiations to prepare for this addiction of yours?” he asks, laughing.
“If you like me, happy.”
“Then I will do just that.”
Iman was uncertain if he was joking or not, but there was this look in his eye that made her think he might not be.
Instead of addressing that she continues to eat her meal. They speak here and there about the things they loved in life. There’s a lot of focus on Iman getting back into dancing and Charles wanting to release more music.
“Why not release a single? Get the fans excited.” Iman asks
“I have nothing ready.”
“I’ve heard your “unfinished” music before, it’s great. You’re just too in your head.”
“Perhaps.”
Two waiters arrive to take their plates and then leave quickly. As if scared to linger longer than necessary.
“Dessert?”
Lips pursed, Iman shakes her head. “Hm… I usually wouldn’t say no, but I don’t know if I can manage.”
“We could share?”
Iman thinks it over, she knows that she’ll have to satisfy the sweet treat craving later if she doesn’t now. Which is fine, but she kind of wants to know what the restaurant has to offer.
“Okay.”
Hand not even halfway up and the waiter is at their table.
“What can I help you with?” he asks.
“One of your chocolate mousses, please.”
“Only one, sir?
“Yes, we will share.”
Their waiter pulls a face. “I’m sorry sir, are you sure? The mousse is quite small.”
Charles looks at me and I turn toward the waiter.
“Two of them, please.”
The waiter nods and is gone as fast as he arrived.
They continue talking about everything under the sun and just like their food, the mousse is there before they know it. And when they see it, their understanding of what small means is very clear.
“No wonder they provide such small spoons, trying to make people think it’s more than two scoops,” Iman says.
Nothing else is said and they dig in. It takes them both three spoonfuls to be done with it, confirming that Iman will need to order something from room service anyway.
“Ready to go?” Charles asks.
“Yes.”
He leaves the table and returns a minute later with his hand outstretched.
Iman takes it and rises from her seat and allows him to lead her out of the restaurant. The sun is much lower in the sky and so the walk is much slower than it was before. Their hands lightly swing between them.
When they reach Iman’s room she thinks it’s too soon, despite turning a five-minute walk into twenty.
Stalling, she turns to face him and just stares. Charles does the same thing. Then he’s creeping closer and closer, until Iman’s back is flush against her door. One of his hands slips to her waist and the other cups her face. He angles her head up and then his lips are on her’s. They’re soft and taste of chocolate. It’s gentle to start, but Iman wraps her arms around him, trying to pull him closer and it takes a turn.
They part for a moment and then Iman puts a hand in his hair and pulls him back in. Her teeth graze his lip, he shivers. So, she does it again, but instead of a graze it’s a bite.
A haze comes over her. As they finally pull away and she doesn’t know how long they’ve been at it, but she hears voices and doesn’t want to get in trouble for indecent acts in public.
“I should probably…” she trails, hitching a thumb at her door.
Charles clears his throat and loses some of that spacy look he has going on.
“Yes, you need your rest. We have an early morning.”
“Someone really should have stopped that Florida man from booking a sunrise breakfast boat ride and then snorkeling.”
Laughter. “I am sure it will be fun.”
“I hope so.”
Seconds tick by with neither of them doing anything. Then the voices get closer and Iman rediscovers sense.
“So… good night, Sharl.”
“Good night, mon ange.”
They lean in and kiss again, but it’s more of a peck. Then he watches as she unlocks the door and goes into her room. She waves at him as she closes the door.
Inside her room Iman stands perfectly still as she counts down thirty seconds, hoping that he’s on the elevator. She reaches thirty and she grabs a pillow from the love seat in her room and screams into it.
“Hell yes,” she shouts.
###
Every second since Charles kissed Iman at her door has been like he’s floating on a cloud. His every moment is almost autopilot and when he breaks from his stupor for a second or two, he can’t remember when he changed into his pajamas or dimmed the lights.
Standing in front of the bathroom sink so he can brush his teeth, his eyes meet the reflection and he sees a dopey smile on his face. Not that he hasn’t known it was there this entire time. But seeing it is different. It confirms something for him.
He’s not going to let this slip away.
That’s not the thing he’s confirmed though, but he can’t find it in himself to address it. It feels too fast.
#charles leclerc x black reader#charles leclerc x reader#f1 x reader#f1 x black!reader#formula one x black reader#formula one x reader#formula 1 x black!reader#formula 1 x reader#charles leclerc fanfic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 imagine#formula one x oc#formula 1 x oc#charles leclerc x oc
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The origins of gyaru possibly go back to the 1980s when all-girl biker gangs ruled Tokyo’s streets. Their hardcore style, attitude and rites of passage like graduation ceremonies, very much remind us of the gyaru of today. Even more so they embodied a rebellious spirit, now referred to as gyaru maindo (gyaru mind). The magazine “Teen’s Road” that brought this biker style to small town schoolgirls. Over time, leather jackets and boiler suits with kanji lettering became a more mainstream trend and real biker girls got angry at posers! Teen’s Road eventually ended because the staff were “tired of being physically assaulted by the readers” and some biker girls were even kidnapped.
At the same time, elite university clubs were throwing parties in Shibuya with organisers known as chiimaa (teamers). These well-to-do chiimaa regularly hit the dance floor instead of hitting the books. Chiimaa’s girlfriends mimicked LA beach style and earned the nickname paragyaru or “paradise girls”. Paragyaru didn’t know yet but their dress sense would inspire what was to follow in the 1990s,
Kogyaru (“ko” meaning “little” or “kid”) appeared in the 1990s. The name is believed to have originated as bouncer slang to describe the high school paragyaru girls who tried to sneak into clubs by dressing older. Affluent high school girls with chestnut coloured dyed hair (chapatsu), short school skirts, designer uniform blazers, oversized cardigans and modest tans were the trendsetters of the time. Loose white socks and white eye makeup were the cherry on top! But why were high school girls wearing their uniform after school? It was actually a popular ploy for rich schools to entice new freshmen with the fashionable designer uniforms. Girls wanted to be seen wearing their blazer and skirt after school as a marker of style, school pride and as a symbol of youth.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/da47bafef9bd7e1c5cd8ab1c7b8838e9/9f00fc741bfa7630-98/s540x810/05627fc1cf964d17996aa661ab2b79e9ff77560e.jpg)
High schoolers eventually took over department store Shibuya109. Anything bought there was considered kogyaru style, like crop tops from Me Jane and Esperanza platform sandals. Many of the first kogyaru began to work at 109 shops becoming well-known gyaru fashionistas, dubbed “super charisma clerks” (スーパーカリスマ店員). Celebrities like singer Amuro Namie with her natural kogyaru appearance placed gyaru style into the mainstream’s consciousness. She had a natural Okinawan tan, light brown hair and wore white lipstick. Her stage outfits mimicked 109 style, and so Amuro fans thinned their eyebrows, wore chunky platform boots and colourful belly tops in admiration. That earned them the nickname Amuraa (Amuro admirers) which crossed over with gyaru style.
In 1995, Egg magazine launched as the number one source of gyaru fashion and lifestyle. After all, gyaru didn’t care what others thought about them and they took pleasure in being loud, sex-positive and even developed their own slang. Egg magazine took street snaps of kogyaru who sometimes went on to become regular models, for example Rumi Itabashi and Kaoru Watanabe. Meanwhile, purikura launched in 1995 with the idea for business professionals to take miniature portraits of themselves for their business cards. No one foresaw them becoming super popular in gyaru culture, with pages and pages dedicated to them in Egg.
Adults were worried about Japan’s declining national character in the late 1990s. Kogyaru with their gyaru mind ethos were targeted and chastised for their alleged practice of enjo kōsai (compensated dating). Growing up with new tech like pokeberu (early pagers) and terekura (telephone clubs), these women gained more independence but also new ways to wreak havoc. For example, terekura were created to connect men and women who wanted to date. But when kogyaru called in to the terekura, they set the men up on a date just to stand them up.
Teenage girls were also widely viewed as serial shopaholics. People thought that they wouldn’t think twice about selling their worn underwear to businessmen for money! Even though only a handful of kogyaru did this, the media didn’t care! Kogyaru were the face of “shameful” public morals. But the more the media covered enjo kōsai, the more schoolgirls congregated in Shibuya’s streets to make big bucks! In the end teenage prostitution became associated with kogyaru style.
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After a decade of kogyaru mania, new substyles and gyaru circles emerged. One of the most prominent gyaru circles was Angeleek. Angeleek primarily wore a style of gyaru called ganguro, which were gyaru who darkened their skin. Other substyles like mamba and yamanba evolved out of ganguro. Yamanba wore the darkest foundation they could get their hands on, wore extreme white eyeliner, harsh nose contour and decorated their cheeks with gems and flowers. They liked tropical, beachy clothes and floral accessories. It was dramatic and yamanba were impossible to ignore! But by the early 2000s there was a sudden decline in these more extreme styles. Due to the style’s unsavory reputation, girls turned to other substyles of gyaru or stopped being gyaru completely. Egg even took a break from publishing for a few months. Was this the end?
Not exactly! Egg and other gyaru magazines returned as the mid-2000s brought about an unexpected gyaru renaissance. In 2005, another magazine called Ageha was launched. It was aimed at gyaru Hostesses who called their style agejo. By 2008, gyaru was thriving and there were so many genres of gyaru and the style became more popular internationally. Styles like hime-gyaru, hime-kaji, onee-gyaru, rokku-gyaru and ame-kaji entered the scene. Tsubasa Masuwaka, a prominent gyaru figure at the time, was featured on both gyaru and non-gyaru magazine covers. She also launched a makeup and false lashes line called Dolly Wink which is still popular today!
The late 2000s to mid 2010s saw a more laid back toned-down look. Gradually, girls lost interest in the style and Egg and Ageha ceased publication. Gyaru brands followed the magazines by toning down or rebranding. In 2014, Alisa Ueno’s brand Fig&Viper was dubbed as neo-gyaru in an article by ViVi magazine which sparked some debate. Many gyaru did not view this brand as gyaru and Alisa Ueno herself admitted that she never called her brand neo-gyaru.
Not many other styles have lasted as long, or made so many comebacks. From the biker gangs of the 1980s to the yamanba of the 2000s, gyaru fashion has gone through many changes. Some even claim we are in a post-gyaru era! Will it ever become a mainstream fashion again? Who knows, but in the meantime we’ll be rehearsing our Para Para dance moves!
Ps if you don’t want to read all of that here is some YouTube links!
youtube
youtube
#Youtube#gyarustyle#yamanba gyaru#gaijin gyaru#black gyaru#gyaru aesthetic#kuro gyaru#gyaru blog#gyaru fashion#gyaru#heisei gyaru
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For those of you (like me!) who missed it, there was a Behind the Scenes video released for the first Devil May Cry Netflix Anime back in November 2023, which includes a few scenes that aren't in either the old or new trailer!
This is where we got the shots of the female character who might(?) be Lady but didn't appear in the trailers. It's also where we got shots of a fight that doesn't appear in the latest trailer...unless it's an old version that's since been changed. Putting some screenshots and thoughts below the cut!
"Lady", or the Woman in the Behind the Scenes Video
Above: 1) Dante and the woman running on a rooftop, 2) The woman falls off rooftop, Dante sprints to the ground past her, 3) The woman continues falling and Dante gets prepped to catch her (note: there's something on the right that at first I thought might be Kalina-Ann, but on re-watches looks like a broken pipe).
My thought is that this could be Lady because it mirrors their encounters in DMC3 to an extent. The first shot makes me think of running through the library during her fight. The second and third shot of her falling and Dante catching her is reminiscent of when she fell off the Temen-ni-gru and Dante caught her (by the leg).
However...I hope it's not Lady, because other than the hairstyle, she doesn't look like Lady to me. This DMC is clearly going for a more modern aesthetic than DMC3 (and most of the DMCs, with 5 having the most "modern" look in terms of the city), but this woman's outfit reads very techo-futuristic to me and I would rather not have Lady dress like that. It just doesn't feel very Lady-like to me, y'know? That and I just think it was cool when Lady decided to shoot Dante and save herself when falling in DMC3. Please don't damsel in distress her like this :(
(Related: While I know the real reason Lady dresses like she does is that it's cute/hot, I like to HC that she typically doesn't wear armor because she needs to be able to move, and she figures any demon who'll be able to hurt her will be strong enough to make it through armor anyway so she might as well something mobile and comfortable.)
Now I will say, this woman doesn’t have the Kalina-Ann on her, just two pistols(?), so one possible story-line I’m thinking of is that this is Lady, but in a point early in the story where she’s working for some mercenaries or some sort of group to establish herself while she’s hunting Arkham. Then, later on she might split from them and don something more akin to her usual outfits while she runs around with the Kalina-Ann we all know and love. Another option is that this plain isn’t Lady. That’s my ideal.
Another reason why I’d like if this isn’t Lady is that I really do enjoy the young/schoolgirl aesthetic Lady has going in the original DMC3 and DMC3 Manga, because it sells just how messed up Arkham and his actions are. The scene of a teenager being the one to end her father's life and crying over him feels so much more chilling than it would if she was, say, 25. Lady’s a teenager who’s had her mother and her life stolen from her, and that’s tragic. This woman doesn’t read like a teen to me. And while Dante also reads as a little older and anime is notorious for making 17 year olds look 30 and 30 year olds look 17, that doesn’t eliminate the fact that I think an older looking Lady would lower the impact of certain scenes, even if the show says she’s 16. I like when Lady is younger than Dante, because Dante’s this teenager who’s so irresponsible, but then in comes Lady who’s even younger but seems to have it together…until eventualy you come face to face with the idea that oh, oh boy, this is all terrible and no one should be having to deal with this, Arkham what have you done (both with essentially orphaning Lady and partnering with the teenage Vergil (and screwing over the teenage Dante) as part of his evil plan. Which Vergil agrees to and helps with, so he's far from innocent, but still).
Comparison between Behind the Scenes and the New Trailer
It's also possible that the show might've changed aesthetics a bit between the previous trailer and this one.
See these shots from the new trailer (which I will refer to as NT)? I wonder if they're updated variants of this scene from the Behind the Scenes (BtS) video below.
Now I'll admit this is kind of a stretch. Buuuuut I'm going to stretch to make it anyway. In both scenes, Dante is being attacked by a group of humans. Yes, he fights humans across different media, but if the DMC anime is mostly Dante vs a bunch of humans with human weapons, I'm going to be very bored, so that's why I'm hoping this is just storyboard vs Final version of a scene. And yes, I know that's a lot of work to redo...but maybe reception was bad and they pivoted, and that's part of why we went a year without any news.
Other big things: the arcade cabinets.
I'm pretty sure this is supposed to be Dante's shop in both shots, and again, if Dante gets jumped by a bunch of humans in his shop multiple times, I'm going to be upset/bored because really? That's such a basic thing to reuse. Please don't do that. Thus I'm banking on the BtS version being the original idea, with the NT version being what the animators/director pivoted to.
And the thing I caught onto before I noticed the arcade cabinets: the guy(s) on the floor.
Again, it's entirely possible these are different scenes. A guy getting knocked out is one of the most basic things in any show that includes any kind of fighting. But...if they were redoing a scene, why not keep a few of the elements like the guy(s) Dante has knocked out? Are we going to have multiple scenes of people jumping Dante in his shop, Dante knocking them out, and the shop being partially destroyed? Seems excessive.
Lastly, these two shots:
Now the Rebellion thing is deeeeefinitely a stretch. The other stuff I mentioned in regards to this two scenes is stuff I'm pretty sure of Rebellion nah, especially since it doesn't come right after the other scenes in the BtS video (which are all together), whereas all the shots I included of the NT are in sequence. But the reason I included it is because it feels like a very good establishing shot of Dante, where they might have initially wanted to have him fight some people and pull up Rebellion on its own, but later changed their mind to having the zoom happen mid-fight. The way the walls are messed up in the BtS video makes me think that shot's in Dante's shop, and as I've said a million times before, I think it would be boring/lazy to repeat the same events in the same place.
Closing Thoughts
If the fight scenes above ARE the older and newer versions of the same scene, this does give me some hopes that if the woman in the top shots is meant to be Lady, they might've gone back and fixed up her design to make her more Lady-like. I don't want techno-futuristic outfits. I want someone who's in more traditional combat gear or otherwise at least in more cloth. The thing I love about Lady is how she looks like a teenager whose life veered off the road into the realm of demon hunting, and I think the whole "high school uniform paired with guns and belts and so on" does a great job of visually expressing that.
I will say that the military does seem to get involved at some point due to some shots of a gatling gun, armored truck, and missile, and the guys in the BtS video look more military than the mercenary types of the NT, so they still could be two different fights... but I hope not. The modern tech stuff doesn't feel very DMC to me. I want to keep the spirit of the games, even if we go for new things. (And yes, I know the military shows up in DMC5, but they're there for all of two minutes so if they do show up in the Netflix DMC, I hope they're only there for a short while.)
If you've made it to the end, thank you for reading! If you want to see me break down the new trailer, I made a post about it here.
#erurandomness#devil may cry#dmc#devil may cry anime#dmc anime#sorry for reposting but it wasn't showing up on my dash before#dmc netflix#erubabbles#pleeease don't let Lady wear that outfit for long if it is lady. I don't like that look in any media lol#like i'm fine with them putting her in pants. she almost had them in dmc5. but don't put her in a mecha suit come on#she's supposed to be a teenager running by the skin of her teeth... mecha suit doesn't fit into that
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To: @goggles-girl From: @juricha-art
Hello there! I ended up doing three out of four prompts, because I just couldn’t pick one!
The first prompt is “Little Akane get little Junpei in the class secret Santa and stresses about what to buy for him”. I saw this, and it just clicked — since she’s thinking about the boy she loves, plus it’s a school setting… then it’s shoujo time! I tried to make this one as cute as possible while still retaining some of that Akane signature edge and uneasiness with some references to the games (as well as another — pretty blatant one — to Spike Chunsoft’s roots). I also had this little story in my mind while working on this, which I’ve included below to accompany the artwork.
The second prompt was “Diana takes Phi to get a cute new winter/Christmas outfit as an attempt at mother-daughter bonding”. I drew them as going out shopping (notice the cat sweater in Diana’s bag). Diana wants to dress Phi in something cute and Phi doesn’t mind — she secretly likes it, and likes to see Diana happy even more. And the dress brings out her eyes so well, too. Diana’s hands are soft and warm on her shoulders. Maybe she really should dress more feminine.
And the third prompt was “Some kind of cute date between Seven and Lotus, preferably in the early days of their relationship, maybe Nona and Ennea catch them at the end of the date and tease Lotus”. This is my first time drawing both Lotus and Seven, and I don’t really like it, but oh well, at least I tried. This is their Christmas date and Nona and Ennea are teasing them with the mistletoe. The couple is a bit flustered (especially Seven), but neither one is opposed to what’s about to come…
I wish you luck, happiness and health in the upcoming year and hope that my art (and writing) will make your holidays a little bit brighter! Happy Holidays! ♥
The quiet backstreets of Tokyo were calm and sleepy during the day, disturbed only by a pinch of snowflakes lazily fluttering about, not really in a hurry to cover the ground up. The only thing that disturbed the lull was a pinkish purple and gray figure the excitedly rushed through the street, long brown hair flowing behind her. Then it was quiet once again.
That figure was Alkane Kurashiki — the schoolgirl, around ten years old. To an outsider, she might appear as a cute, prim and proper, ordinary middle schooler who loves hanging out with her friends after classes. However, she doesn’t have many friends and is more of an outcast at her school. Most of her classmates consider her a weirdo. But she doesn’t really care — what do they even know about her? They don’t know anything of her past. Of her pain. Of her tragedy. So why should she care about them? The only people she cares about deeply are her older brother, Aoi, who takes care of them both since their parents’ passing, and her only friend, Junpei Tenmyouji.
Junee. He’s the only one who doesn’t think her strange. He was the only one who cared enough to sit with her when she was all alone in a class. He laughs with her. He plays with her. He hangs out with her after school. He even tries to protect her from ant bullies that sometime try and pick on her. He’s so brave. So handsome. So kind. He’s, her hero. And today, she did the unthinkable:
She asked him to participate in her class’ Secret Santa event. And he agreed.
And now the girl was at a loss. What to do? She had to get him a present. But what would he like? She’d better check out the local stores for something special.
Brimming with excitement, the pink-and-purple comet dashed through their local shops, but each visit drained her of that gleeful energy. After visiting the last store on her way home, Akane was on the brink of tears. Everything that’s remotely caught her eye was too expensive — at least with the money she had on her right now. But she couldn’t show her despair to anyone — not even to her brother. So she gulped down her tears, ran a careless hand through her disheveled hair and opened their house’ front door.
The house felt lifeless and empty. Now that they were all alone, it felt way too big for the two teens to live in. But they persevered and tried to make up for all the loneliness as best as they could with their own cheer.
Her big brother‘s already returned home. He came to greet her from the kitchen with a rather dismayed look on his face:
"Where’ve you been, Akane? It’s already past four!"
The traitorous tears welled up in the girl’s amethystine eyes.
"I… I’m sorry, Aoi! I just…"
Before she could finish the sentence and bow to hide her tears, they’ve already started to travel down her flushed cheeks. Aoi gently took his sister by the hand and sat her on the couch it ne living room, plopping down beside her.
"So what’s happened, Kanny?" — inquired the boy. "I asked Jumpy to participate in the Secret Santa together, and he agreed…" "Isn’t that a good thing?" "Yes… But I don’t know what to get for him! I went through every shop I knew of… Everything is too expensive! And I don’t wanna get him just any old capsule toy or something: I wanna get something good…" — she sobbed.
An inexplicable expression touched upon Aoi’s face: a mix of joy, sadness and anger that he felt for his younger sibling was too deep to be expressed. He sighed, then went silent for a moment. Noticing Akane’s cautious eyes glancing up on him, the boy pulled his little sister closer in a half-hug and spoke:
"Do you remember that rabbit piggy bank I gave you a few years back? Don’t you have anything saved up in there?"
The young girl’s eyes lit up for a moment, then her expression darkened once more.
"Yeah, I do… But it’s too pretty to break!" — she replied glumly, tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. "You don’t have to break it — just pry the coins out with something like a knife. And then you can think of something depending on the amount of money you have."
The girl gasped, hugged her brother, then was gone. She first rushed into the kitchen to get a knife, then ran to her room. Gently cradling the porcelain bunny with pink flower cheeks in one arm, she whispered to it: "Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you. Well, it might tickle a bit, but it wouldn’t hurt you. Promise," — then started to take out the coins with a knife she gripped tightly in the other. The blade glistened in the dusk, shining with the wielder’s thoughts and dreams. The porcelain rabbit looked as if it was a little worried, but still trusting his owner’s words. After about half an hour, the girl had a skirtful of coins which she the poured over onto her desk and started counting. After some more time, she silently rose up, then left her room.
"Aoi… I dunno what can I do with this… It’s more than I have on me, but still not enough…" — the girl did her best to hold back tears. "Well… You did say that you wanted to get him something good, didn’t you? How about you create something yourself? Maybe sew something — like that bunny keychain you made for my birthday? We can also bake cookies or make chocolate, if you want."
This time, the girl’s purple eyes shone not with sadness, but with admiration for her older brother.
"You’re a genius, Aoi! But… you know that I’m not the best at baking…" "Well, no time to learn like the present! Don’t worry, I’ll help you. Let’s go check what we have and you can go get the missing ingredients supplies with that money from your piggy bank. Deal?"
The girl nodded back and into the kitchen they went. Then, after rummaging through her supplies and carefully collecting every single coin, the comet was back in action, hurrying through the front door.
After seeing his sister off, Aoi went into the living room. There, on a small altar framed in black and white, against the center of the wall, stood two photo frames: a man and a woman. The boy kneeled in front of the altar. He stared intensely it the eyes of the two long gone, gripped his white hair — that once, before the tragedy, was darker than Akane’s — until the knuckles on his hands matched the hair. Then he clasped his face. And then he couldn’t hold back any longer.
"Why did you leave us?! — he asked the woman, Kanae Kurashiki. — Father was falsely accused, yes, but you?! Why did you even bring us here if you didn’t care about us at all?! Are you happy seeing us like this?!"
He clenched his teeth, knocking over the frame. Everything went quiet, disrupted only by the teen’s sobs. After a few minutes, conscious that his sister might return at any moment, Aoi gently picked up the frame and placed it back, his fingers lingering for a moment on the frame. Then he got up and went to wash his face as to not alert Akane to his momentary weakness. He was her guardian, after all.
On the appointed day, the usual comet blasted through her way to school, but now with a Santa’s hat on her head. She clutched a red packet close to her chest. She watched Junpei closely as he unwrapped the present he got. Inside, there was a small bag of homemade cookies and chocolates, and a plush doll that was both reminiscent of the hero from Junpei’s favorite role-playing game and of Junpei himself. The flustered boy looked up at his girl friend (who did her best to appear uninterested) and gave her a smile. She blushed and smiled back. In another classroom, Aoi smiled to himself at his little sister’s happiness and success. Everything will be alright.
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🧡 for Cobert, please <3
Yay! Thank you, sweets. This one is inspired by the recent Daily Mail photos. I hope you like it!
🧡 kissing in bed / lazy kiss / cuddling
————— 🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡 —————
She couldn’t help but to laugh, aloud, at Baxter’s flourish of her hands.
“And I believe that’s all, m’lady,” her maid smiled behind her, and Cora looked up at her in the reflection of the mirror.
“Well then,” she laughed again. “Good night, I suppose!”
They giggled together like schoolgirls before Baxter said good night, taking Cora’s evening dress and heading for the door. “Good night!” Cora called after her and looked back again at her own reflection. She grinned.
Beside her, she heard the sweep of the dividing door and she watched Robert enter, robed and slippered. Cora glanced up at her husband who bobbed his brows once in greeting at her, but otherwise moved to the bed.
Never mind, she thought with one last look at herself—-another grin. She tried her best to calm the smile she wore as she stood after him, but it couldn’t be helped. It came bubbling up again, softly, as she thought of Baxter’s gesture and shrug of her shoulders. Why it had taken Cora so long to do it, especially after Mary, Edith, and even Baxter had, now she wasn’t sure.
“You’re very cheery tonight,” Robert noted in her direction as he untied the knot of his housecoat.
“Yes,” Cora took off her dressing gown, too, and draped it at the end of the bed. “I am, a bit.” She tugged the sheets back just as Robert began to, working together. When she felt the tickle at the nape of her neck, she smiled again. “I feel rather free now that it’s done. And I can’t believe how little time it took Baxter tonight. Certainly makes less trouble for everyone.”
“Oh.” Robert’s voice dropped, and he fell into bed. “Your hair.”
She frowned at his tone and brought her fingers again to the soft ends at her jaw. “Yes.” When she tipped her head at him, a curled end brushed at her ear. “Robert?”
He hummed in response, adjusting the pillows behind him.
“You don’t like it,” she noted, but Robert avoided her gaze.
“I never said that.” He glanced at her quickly and then down again at the bunched sheets on his lap.
“But you haven’t said you like it,” she prodded, lifting her knees and climbing in bed beside him.
“You’re fishing for a compliment, then?”
“No.” She watched him do everything except look at her, now leaning to his side table for his book. “Though would it be so terrible of me? I would like you to approve.”
She didn’t know what to make of his push of air and little shake of his head, and Cora stiffened at it.
“Well, Baxter likes it.” She pushed her legs beneath the blankets and pulled them to cover her. “It certainly will get her home earlier to her husband.”
“And so then I suppose Molesley must also approve.”
Cora narrowed her eyes. “And Mary says it suits me,” she added, touching the ends again and looking at Robert. “She says it’s very chic.”
“There you are then,” beside her, Robert grunted. “If you have Mary’s approval, you certainly don’t need mine.”
Cora sighed, audibly, but shimmied herself down into the bedding. “That’s not really the same.” She stared up at the canopy of their bed as he turned the pages of his book. She studied the tassels dangling from the fabric, and she thought of hours before, when she arrived home from the coiffeur. Robert’s reaction had been silent, his mouth had gone slack for a moment before he cleared his throat. But she hadn’t realized he didn’t like it.
Eventually, Cora heard as Robert closed his book, and when she felt the warmth of his gaze upon her, she allowed herself to peer up at him, still sitting as she laid flat, the lamplight working to set a glow to his face.
“It’s not that I don’t like it, exactly—“ he began, but Cora interrupted him.
“—-you just don’t find it attractive.”
This time it was Robert who sighed, and his eyes went out to the room. “Of course I find you attractive.” He leaned and replaced his book, but continued. “But—“
“But?”
“Cora, you’ve not had short hair all your life. Aren’t I allowed some time to get used to it?”
She lifted her chin. “Rather difficult to get used to something you won’t even look at.”
But then he did. Above her, Robert turned and leaned over her, and he looked at her.
In spite of having been married for forty years, and in spite of him having seen her in ways that only husbands and wives see one another, Cora felt her face flush at his attention. And then, when he lifted a hand to brush at the short ends of her hair, she swallowed down a rush of nerves.
“You’re right.”
Cora blinked. “Am I?”
She smiled a little when Robert nodded. “Of course you are. It surprised me, is all. But it—-“
She felt the tickle of a smirk at the corner of her mouth. “It what?”
Above her, Robert rolled his eyes. “It does suit you.” He shifted slightly, and drew nearer. “It suits you very well.”
She couldn’t tease him now, the deep timbre of his voice, and Cora felt herself blush again. She lowered her gaze.
“Darling.”
As he beckoned, she looked to him, and he descended upon her. His mouth quickly found the line of her jaw, and then her cheek, and his hand traveled from the ends of her hair to her bare throat. His coarse fingertips made her soft skin come to life.
“Mm,” he hummed against her ear and she felt warm. She felt him kiss her jaw again, her bobbed hair caught between her skin and his lips. “Perhaps I do approve.”
And for the hundredth time this evening, Cora laughed.
#cobert drabbles#heart prompts#thank you so much!#cobert#da3 speculation lol#I’m assuming these prompts are a whichever option jumps out at you
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Way too long trainride ahead of me so I'm on a Black Lagoon reread.
Apart from Rei Hiroe being remarkable in story pacing, and gun action scenes, something I noticed is how he uses Ronapur/any major plot as stage. All the characters are by design but also by their own choices larger than life. They can imagine to be a more fantastic version, as how they wish to appear than rather who they really are because Ronapur is city in which everyone playcts it. Sometimes it's really funny, other times deeply sad. Hiroe sets up characters more like action figurines but beneath the surface there is a good reason why the characters are so comical.
A gun wielding maid? Looks like from a gatcha game, maid fetish anime girl. But in reality Roberta deliberately chose this profession and dress because she wants to put her identity former FARC-terrorist as far behind her as possible. Total new look, innocuous looking uniform, adapting to caring for a young boy, she chases a much kinder, quieted persona. Interestingly Fabiola working as a maid housekeeper is something Fabiola handles way better. She understands it as possibility to live a better life without denying that she comes from a favela.
Hot blonde Russian mob boss with her boys? Balalaika and her men are discarded left overs from an empire that crumbled. Disillusioned yet drilled, and mentally stuck in a war bound to fail, Balalaika's troops continue the war in their heads in civilian streets.
Rotten, the wizard? Cool guy, in cool coat, dual wielding gunslinger, hot haircut, and sunglasses. He even has cool one-liners. In every story he would be a cool action-seinen-protag who noir-narrates his own story (which he probably does, actually). But in a city full of mercenaries, and mobsters who may or may not be on varying grams of cocaine, he gets bodied every occassion possible.
Cute goth girl fighting with a chainsaw? Yeah, Sawyer is a goth girl. She's just on the way back home from her day job which includes dismembering corpses to clean up a crime scene. Her weapon is basically the first thing to grab from her toolkit.
The horror twin children? Probably the most horrifying trauma possible. The leftovers from a failed system, failed social care, and severe child abuse that left the children dissociated from themselves, reality, and any possibility to connect to other people.
A cute schoolgirl with a Yakuza tattoo? A yakuza family stumbling under the weight of their own self-dellusion. Any idea about how cool, or honourable they are gets undermined by the reality of harmful dynamic of organized crime. In the end the Russian mob crushes the Washimine family because they've no self-dellusions, and only take what they get. Also Yukio is painfully aware what it means for her being a female heir to a structure that is severely sexist, especially since she's just a highschooler.
Nuns with guns? The church is just a front for a CIA infiltration.
No surprise the Yellow Flag gets demolished all the time. Bao is the only sane person who tries to turn a new page after the Vietcong - in a town full of mobsters and mercenaries who might or might not be on varying grams of cocaine.
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