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yieldtotemptation · 7 months ago

Text

WISH ft. Giselle

giselle x male reader smut

8k words

"It's a Christmas miracle!" —is how Giselle chooses to make her grand entrance, swinging open the door to your bar, a fresh powder of snow dusting her shoulders. She shrugs it off. "My favourite person in all of Seoul."

You deadpan, "That's very concerning."

She laughs off your quip with the same ease that she does everything else. Sways her hips, saunters over to you, fire engine-red heels clacking against wood as she rushes to take her usual stool. Not like she'd have to fight anyone for it, there's no one else here.

Besides, even if there were—it's always been hers.

You're sliding over her drink before she can even open her mouth to order, because that's what you do for her. Anticipate. Your job in a nutshell, really. Knowing what she wants.

Her thanks is in the blush colouring her cheeks, flushing them a rosy pink, matching her hair in hue.

Just so immediately pretty.

She raises the drink, grinning at you through the glass. Gets a little too dramatic with her gasp.

"Exactly what I wished for! How did you know?"

"Made a list, checked it twice."

That earns you a giggle, has Giselle leaning forward, propping an elbow on the bar, chin in her palm. Her usual routine—just sitting there, all beautiful and flirty and really, really fucking out of place amongst the dim lighting and worn-out leather.

And yeah, you’ve committed it all to memory, seen it in every light and shadow; the smoky liner ringing around her eyes, the gloss that makes her lips look shiny and sweet and oh so soft. The absolutely devastating smile that never seems to leave her—only gets wider, warmer, parting when she laughs and slaps a hand on the table, or lands it on your forearm.

Accidentally, of course.

"Does that mean I get to sit on your lap later?"

It’s a touch early for her to throw out bait so blatantly. That’s more of a three-drinks-in kind of thing.

Still, your mouth answers for you before your brain can catch up, “Depends if you've been naughty or nice.”

“I think we both know the answer to that one,” she says, far too casually for you to handle, daring you to let that thought linger. Let it rattle around your head with all the other loaded thoughts involving her in various states of undress and in all sorts of compromising positions—underneath, on-top, kneeling. Thoughts that are better kept on a tight leash.

Because you know what would happen if you were to give in to them.

How you’d reach over the bar separating the two of you, pull her onto the counter. Send all the glasses, the bottles, crashing to the floor, and just kiss that smile right off her face, right here, right now. Tear off her clothes and leave her bare and exposed to the cold December air, make her yours, fuck her absolutely senseless. Render her nothing but a victim to your fingers, your lips, your cock, to all the need that’s been boiling inside you over the past months and—fuck.

She's got you good.

There's no point in pretending like it hasn't been this way since the first time she found you—at the end of an alley that's at the end of another alley, down the stairs and into the underground proper. Waltzing her way into the hovel that is your whiskey bar; all for reasons that you’re yet to fully untangle.

Months of performing this same dance—it's late, she walks in, typically perfect and bouncy, like some half-remembered fantasy or a libido-driven hallucination. Only, she must be real, because there’s no way you could ever conjure up someone like her.

It's embarrassing, you really should be far more used to it now, built up at least a partial immunity to her brand of charm. But somehow, she still finds a way under your skin. You’re only human, after all. And she’s… she’s Giselle.

Undeniably, in-your-face gorgeous, Giselle.

Dead-set and determined to throw herself at you until you break.

"Perfect," is her evaluation when she's taken her first sip. It plays out like it’s been choreographed: she licks her lips, flashes that million-dollar smile, lets loose a sigh of pure joy. Looks at you all wide-eyed and impressed; like you're the only person in the world who's ever given her exactly what she wants. Like she doesn't already live in a reality where everyone else falls flat on their faces to ensure that the needs of Aeri Uchinaga are met. “Always perfect.”

And you have your own steps to follow. You're glued to the pulse in the curve of her neck, the gentle slope of her shoulders, the naked collarbone when she shirks off her coat to reveal tits that are much too ample for her dress to contain. All these little things that make her so fucking distracting.

She says, surreptitiously, "You know, I didn't think you'd be open today."

"And yet you came anyway."

"And yet I did."

There's the loaded insinuation stacked on top of her words like a teasing question mark:

('I came looking for you.'

'I was waiting.')

"Like I said, a Christmas miracle," Giselle repeats, softly this time. Barely audible over the Christmas tunes you’ve got on a loop, some self-inflicted torture you’re wreaking on yourself for purposes unknown. Maybe to get into the spirit of things. Maybe to keep the silence at bay. Maybe to make Giselle's efforts feel less effective.

It doesn't work.

It does, however, have you leaning in just to hear her better, and that's a mistake right there. Getting too close that you can follow the lines of the dress she's picked out for the night. A sheer black, strapless number that hugs her figure close, dipping at her chest, giving you just enough of a glimpse to send the alarm bells ringing.

Ending short of the tops of her thighs, because of course she's wearing stockings, and of course they have tiny little bows holding them up, and you're already thinking about how easy it would be to get your teeth in them and pull them apart, and the walls are starting to feel closer and closer with each passing second.

But you don't say anything. You just try to remember to breathe. You chance a look back at her face, aiming for unaffected.

Her eyes instantly undo you.

Giselle uncrosses and crosses her legs. The stockings stretch.

"Like what you see?"

Now seems like an optimal time to pour yourself a drink. Something strong to fortify the weakness in your knees, to maybe bolster the resolve that's threatening to crack like the ice frosting over the windows outside.

You grab a glass, pour a good measure of whiskey and throw it back without even bothering with the usual ritual. You need it. The burn is a good distraction.

You turn her question back on her. Shame on her for asking something so obvious. "What do you think?"

"I think," Giselle smiles, tilts her head, that curtain of bubblegum-pink cascading over her collarbone and down onto the bar, "That it appears that all the effort I put getting into this tight fucking dress was worth it."

You're unable to stop yourself from saying, "Don’t need the dress if that was the intention." It slips out of you, like an idiot, and you decide to busy yourself by pouring two more drinks, because you really don't know what the fuck else to do at this point.

“Duly noted,” she says, likely adding it to some mental file she keeps on you. Ways to get you to drop your guard. Ways to get under your skin. “But don’t you think unwrapping presents are half the fun?”

You’re rolling your eyes, it’s too much, but Giselle’s too good at this whole thing. Got the two of you sliding deep into the easy rhythm of conversation you've found yourselves in many, many times before; when it's just you and her in the waning hours of the night and you're finding excuses not to close up and she's finding excuses to stay.

And the drinks just compound on it even more. All the alcohol really seems to do is blunt her filter and dull your better instincts, bringing you both to that tipsy point where everything that comes out of your mouths can’t help but sound like shameless innuendos; all terrible ideas that you both absolutely must indulge in.

Talking and flirting and drinking until you’re finally crossing that invisible line drawn over the counter of your bar, forgetting about that ethereal wall of separation that keeps you on the straight and narrow; that would normally stop you from doing things like reaching over and brushing a strand of pink out of her face and over her ear.

You keep your hand there, your thumb padding the soft skin of her cheek. She leans into your palm.

“So,” she says, and it’s accompanied by the kind of pause that holds a whole universe of possibility. She takes a sip of her third drink of the night, her eyes fixated on you, studying the lines on your face. Trying to find the cracks.

“So.”

“Why haven’t you made a move on me?”

She might as well have gathered snow from outside your door and thrown it right at your face. You blink, the warmth of the whiskey in your cheeks fading fast. “Very confident of you to think that I would want to.”

“Don’t dodge,” she chides. “We both know you didn’t open tonight for the amazing business rush. So. Spill. Why?"

You’re about to spout off an excuse—something about a Hippocratic oath, or bartender-customer privilege, but Giselle cuts your lie short before it can even leave your throat.

“You’ve been staring at me like you want to eat me alive every night I’ve been here, and you expect me to believe you’re not interested?” Giselle leans closer, her breath warm on your hand. Her eyes piercing through, stripping away every defence you’ve ever had. “You’re barely hiding it you know? How badly you want me.”

There’s an implicit challenge underneath her words. You get the message loud and clear:

Don’t you know how badly I want you too?

"It's—" you start, before course correcting when you catch the smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. You swirl the whiskey around in your own glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light and dance. "Complicated."

"Oh really?" Giselle's eyes light up at that, and you're beginning to feel like you're falling into some trap she's set up. It just hasn’t revealed itself to you yet. "I like complicated. I live off complicated."

"I'll bet," you reply, not missing the fact that she's now taken your hand into hers, threading her fingers through yours. "Probably why you're here so often."

Giselle clicks her tongue, runs it across her lips. You'd die for a taste. "I thought I asked you to stop dodging. But, if you really want to know, I come here because I like the company," she explains, before ending her thought with, "and the attention."

"Because being an idol doesn't give you enough?"

"Not in the way I want it."

"And I do?"

"Not yet," she says, with an air of finality. "But give it time."

The silence stretches between you, thick with the weight of the unspoken. The air in the bar feels charged, like the moment before a storm hits. You're reading her, acutely aware of the things running through her mind, because you can see it in her eyes, because they're the exact same thoughts that’s never left yours.

You want her.

You need her.

She’ll give herself to you.

Giselle’s the first to break the pause. “Ask me.”

“Ask you what?”

The corners of eyes crinkle ever so slightly, and that's about where you realise your fate's been sealed from the start. She takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling. You’re aching already. "What I really want for Christmas."

You don't need a map to know where this is headed. But you still ask anyway. "And what is that?"

"You."

You set down your glass with a clink. "Look, Giselle—"

"Let me finish," she interrupts, and now her hand's sliding up your arm, leaving a trail of static wherever she touches. "For Christmas this year, all I want is for you to do whatever you want to me."

A second attempt, "Giselle—"

"I know you want to. You know I want you to. We've danced around this for too long and I'm running out of ways to subtly tell you that if I don’t get my hands on that perfect cock that I know you're hiding, I just might burn this place to the ground. So," she says carefully, intentionally. Making sure you feel each word coursing through your every nerve ending, winding their way down to your cock, until you’re throbbing in your pants.

Giselle bats her eyelashes. Bites her lip. Leans even closer. Her tits get very close to winning the war against her dress.

"Don't you want to make my Christmas wish come true?"

You never stood a chance. "I do quite like my bar in one piece."

"I do too." Giselle's smile turns devilish. “But I like the idea of having your cum inside me more.”

"Then we better get you out of your clothes."

Only, a slight amendment.

"But keep the stockings on."

—

Giselle kisses you like a woman starved. Messy, sloppy crashes that has her nose bumping into yours and her teeth finding purchase in your lip. She seems determined to leave her mark. You’re more than happy to let her.

It’s a far cry from what you’re used to—the build-up, the slow crescendo where you both pretend that you don’t immediately want to jump to the inevitable—but Giselle clearly doesn’t give a fuck about any of that.

The moment you’ve dragged her over the bar, fulfilled your fantasy and cleared the countertop so the only thing standing between you and her body is the crumpled mess of her dress, she's on you. Moaning, whining into your mouth, desperate. Tongue hunting down yours, pressing into it, trying to wrestle it into submission.

Taking your cheeks into her hands, holding firm, the only thing keeping her steady as you match her hunger, heat against heat. Her taste is everything you've ever wanted—sweet and sharp, like the whiskey burning through your veins, warming you from the inside out.

"God, I needed this," she whispers in the breaths between your kisses, as your hands get adventurous and run down the length of her spine, pulling her closer into you.

You make good on your promise, finding the zip, peeling it down, leaving the fabric to sag off her shoulders. Her skin is cold underneath your fingertips, the curve of her back breaking out in goosebumps. Your touch makes her arch, her back bow, her breasts push up against her dress until it can't hang on any longer and the whole thing pools around her waist.

“Merry Christmas to me,” comes tumbling out of your mouth when you finally get to appreciate Giselle.

The full, round tits, naked and begging for your hands. The smooth curve of her waist, the dip of her stomach. The way her hips flare out, giving way to thighs that you know, just know, will be the perfect grip. And the stockings. Holding up the suspension of your disbelief—she’s so ridiculously out of your league and yet so, so needy for you.

“Fucking gorgeous, Giselle,” you’re telling her, making her sigh, her eyes closing shut as you reach out to fill your hand with her chest. Your touch makes her nipples pebble, stiffen underneath your thumb. She leans back, pushing her chest out even more, giving you as much of herself as she can for you to touch, to tweak, to worship.

And she’s so much smaller than you, so much softer than you’ve ever allowed yourself to believe. The reality of her in your arms is far more intense than any fantasy you’ve ever concocted in the quiet of the night after she’s long gone and left you with nothing but her memory. But she’s giving herself to you now, wanting you to do it all.

Letting you push into her, kiss the skin between her neck and her clavicle, press into her a brand that will linger long after you’ve both unwinded and unraveled each other.

“Just like that,” Giselle whispers in your ear, hands finding your neck, needing you even closer still. “Don’t stop, just keep touching me. You can do whatever you want—tell me what you want, and I’ll do it. Just don’t stop.”

Nothing else to do but oblige, to give in to your baser instincts, to bring every fantasy, every lurid thought to life. Giselle’s been living in your mind rent-free. Filled it with thoughts of fucking her into oblivion again and again—so you already know exactly where to go, what to do next.

You know to trace the edge of her stocking with your thumb, pressing down on the bow, watching as the skin around it flushes from your touch.

You know to drag your hand up, higher up her thighs, push the hem of her dress to her waist, slip under the elastic of her panties and hold itself there. Leave her trembling in anticipation of your touch.

“Please,” you’ve barely started and she’s already begging, breathless. Needing for you to explore her.

But first, you need to tell her how.

“I’m going to touch you,” you say, voice gruff, and she shudders, her hands tightening around your neck. “I’m going to get my fingers into your cunt, I’m going to squeeze your tits, I’m going to make you scream my name, and you will, because you’re going to be such a good girl for me. Understood?”

Her eyes flash open, meeting yours. Not an ounce of doubt. Just pure need.

“Yes,” she says. A single word that’s more a plea than a response. “Please. Do whatever you want. Make me feel good.”

She just about collapses when you yank her panties down and push your hands between her thighs.

“God—fuck—” and she’s sobbing already.

“You’re so drenched,” you’re remarking, sliding your fingers higher, feeling the wetness that’s been gathering there for who knows how long.

“For you,” she’s gasping, repeating herself, “For you.”

It’s so easy to find the heat of her, to push in and down on the top her mound. Give just the right amount of pressure on her clit that makes her jerk. Makes the muscles in her face twitch, her mouth open wide and moan. It’s a melody in your ears, and you press down harder, swirling now, and you’re beginning to think you’ve found your true calling.

Fuck making her drinks; making her fall apart is why you were put on this planet in the first place.

Her breasts jiggle with every tremble that runs through her, flickering in reach of you, taunting you with their bounce. You can’t help but lean down. Not when they’re calling to you like that.

You lick a path from the base of her neck to her collarbone, and then lower, to one of those perfect peaks that’s been begging for your attention.

Giselle inhales sharp through her teeth, her chest heaving as you start to suck on her nipple. You work your tongue around it, roll it in your mouth until her knuckles turn white against the edge of the bar, her nails digging into surface. The sounds she’s making, these choked gasps that are so raw, so needy.

Showing how good she feels with every part of her body—pushing her breasts up and into your face, her hands tangling in your hair, legs spreading wider, thighs shaking at the effort of staying upright.

You don’t let up, keep going—tongue swirling, fingers moving at double-time over her cunt, her other tit.

Listening to her turn your name into something filthy, something that sounds like a curse.

You pull back off her, cool air kissing the wetness you leave behind, making her quiver, her high, fuck-me heels knocking against wood.

“Giselle,” you say, taking in this look of bliss on her face. The teary eyes, the trembling lip, her cheeks now so very red. “Gonna make you cum now.”

You don’t wait for permission. You already have it. You step forward, lifting her legs up and trapping her atop the bar, spreading her wide open.

Two fingers at first, all at once, no hesitation. Giselle’s pupils blow wide, shocked, teeth bite down on her bottom lip, muffling a cry that you feel in the pit of your stomach. She’s so soaked that you slide right in with ease, a slow push that makes her whine, the slickness making the sounds of your fucking echo over the din of the empty bar.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” Giselle stutters, all breathy and desperate. Hands flying to your shoulders, nails digging in. Holding on for dear life, writhing as your fingers curl upwards, pushing up against that magical spot inside that has her clenching.

“Such a good girl,” you say, the words slipping out of your mouth like they’ve always been there, just waiting for her to hear them.

The whimper that she makes—the noise alone should be illegal.

“So tight around me,” you tell her, pushing on, focusing entirely on pulling more of these noises from her, doing your best to ignore how hard you already are, how unbearable it is to not be inside her. “So good for me.”

It’s the praise that makes her keen, makes her whine. Pushes herself onto your fingers, trying to get more, trying to get all of you. Just so fucking hot for you.

You can see it playing out across her body, the way she’s losing herself to the pleasure, giving up control of her own functions to you. So helpless, so beautiful. So fucking delighted to finally have you using her in ways she’s only dreamt of.

You’ve never seen anything like it. You’re addicted before you’ve even had her.

“This cunt is going to feel so good around my cock.”

Giselle's nodding, slurring together a string of yeses and thank yous in response.

Her pussy’s pulsing around your fingers, juices soaking your hand, she’s already so close. So close that you can almost taste the orgasm on her skin.

“You want it so fucking bad, don’t you, Giselle? Want me to fuck you senseless.”

Her eyes are glazed over, barely there. Just stunningly beautiful even in the midst of her desire, and you’re not even sure she’s heard you at all until she’s panting out, “I want it. Need it. So much. Oh, God, please, fuck me with your cock. Make me cum. Make me scream.”

But you get in close, lips to her cheek, a command for only her to hear. “You’re going to cum all over my hand. You’re going to show me how badly you want it. Understand?”

“Yes—yes, please—” is the most she can manage, a harsh whisper that barely gets through. You feel it more than hear it, a shiver running through her, down her spine and up yours. “Do it. Give me more, I need it.”

She’s nothing short of incredible. Writhing under your touch, losing herself to your fingers—there’s never been anything—anyone—like this. Anyone that runs this hot, that pleads this much, that is so eager for nothing but you, as much of you as you can give.

There’s no excuse for why it's taken so long to get here, why you let every other opportunity skate by. But now’s not the time for regrets. This is all just catch-up. Getting to this moment that’s been burning a hole in your mind. Making up for all the times when you should’ve been bringing her to her knees, should've been marking her up as yours.

“Mine,” you’re claiming, taking her lips once more, feeling the tremble in her chin. “You’re going to be mine, aren’t you?”

“Yours,” her voice quavers back into your mouth.

She kisses you back like she’s drowning, like you’re the very air she needs to breathe. And it’s all you can do to finger-fuck her faster, pressing deeper into her wetness. It’s filthy, borderline disrespectful the way that you’re owning her now. But it’s all necessary, if that’s what it’s going to take to get to feel her shatter in your arms.

But just as you can feel her hips bucking up off the counter and into your wrist, as she’s about to tip over the edge, you pull back, breaking the kiss, leaving her choking for air.

“Look at me,” you tell her, forcing her glassy eyes to refocus, to snap to yours. “I’m going to make you feel so good. You’re going to cum so hard for me. You’re going to look at me when you do.”

Giselle opens her mouth answer, but all that comes out is a whiny mewl when you slide your other hand from her tits to the back of her neck, pulling her into you, hard enough that you can feel her pulse drumming against your palm.

“That’s it, such a good girl,” you say to her, adorning her with all these sweet words that absolutely wreck her. And it’s so easy to because all of them fit. Your good girl, your slut, your baby, your whore. She deserves to hear them all. “Take it, take it all for me.”

“Fuck, please, I’m almost—” She tries and fails to put the syllables together—your fingers are too good, too precise in their frenzy. Playing her body, hitting every key, every beat, rushing to that final chorus.

And then it hits her, without warning, just a sigh and then she’s—

“I'm—I'm—cumming!”

Eyes trying to stay on yours, losing focus, turning wild, until she’s barely even there anymore.

Giselle cums.

Locking her in place, rippling across her body. Every muscle tensing, cunt quivering, hips lifting off the bar as her juices paint your hand.

“Thank you, thank you, fucking thank you—"

Her voice dies out, trapped in her throat, her words becoming nonsense as your fingers have her riding waves. You’re utterly transfixed, watching the orgasm rip across her face, melting her down to a messy puddle. Barely hanging on to you, mouth lolling open, eyes screwed shut, breaths coming in sharp and fast.

She’s limbless, her body goes slack, and you debate giving her the space, or even just a second to catch her breath, to come back to reality.

But you just don’t.

You don’t stop moving, don’t stop working her, because something tells you that the last thing she’d want is for you to stop. Something tells you that she’s one of those girls—the ones who love to chase the high. Who love to be pushed, who love to be told that they’re doing so well, that they’re perfect.

And Giselle is.

“Again,” you press into her neck, and she gives you the closest approximation to a nod that she can muster. “Again and again, I’ll make you cum until you can’t walk straight. Until you forget what it was ever like to not have my cock inside you.”

The nods come faster, insistent, following a whine as your fingers slide out of her cunt, all sticky with her juices. You bring it up to her, hold it in front of her face so she can see the mess she’s made of your hand.

Her breath hitches when she opens her eyes, catching sight of your glistening digits. You don’t even need to prompt her; she takes the initiative—she’s sucking your fingers without a second thought.

Moans when she tastes herself, sucking them clean, tongue flicking across your knuckles, pulling them into her mouth, relishing her own flavour.

“So fucking needy for it, aren’t you?”

You withdraw your fingers, enjoying the cry of protest at the loss, but you’ve got better plans for her. Pressing a kiss to her temple, before backing off completely, leaving Giselle empty, her legs wobbly.

You're quick to lose your clothes, stripping yourself off without much ceremony, tossing them aside with little care for where they end up.

And yet Giselle’s eyes rake over you, following your every move—she’s seen you before, you’ve caught her staring at your arms, your biceps, making no secret of assaulting you with her gaze at any chance she can get.

But now it’s the unbuckling of your belt, the vanishing of your jeans, the reveal of your cock. Springing free, hard and heavy.

Giselle wants it. Mouth salivating, pussy leaking at the sight of it. Oh, how she wants it.

It gives her energy, has her reaching out for a touch, a stroke. But you stop her, gently taking her wrist into your hand before she can make her Christmas wish come true.

She even has the audacity to pout. “Haven’t I been good?”

“Good?” You repeat, and you’re laughing. “You’ve been downright angelic.”

The pout quirks into a smirk, and there’s that familiar mischievous spark returning. “Then don't I deserve a little reward?” Giselle’s fingers go to her folds, spreading them apart. Putting her cunt on display, proud to show off how ready she is to be filled. “Like that big, beautiful cock of yours in my perfect little pussy?”

You don’t bother with the usual finesse, there’s no need for that. This doesn’t land anywhere on the normal spectrum of casual hook-ups to making love. This is about fucking. About need, raw and unfiltered.

“So, would you please—"

You’re yanking her by the waist before she can get started, lifting her off the bar and setting her down in front of you. There’s that thrill rushing through her, at being so easily handled, so effortlessly claimed.

She’s panting, breaths fogging up the air between you, waiting for your instruction.

“Get rid of the dress.”

Her compliance is instant—she steps out of her outfit, her panties. Until she’s just standing before you; the charm, the sex appeal, the big beautiful eyes all in view, so full of hope and desperation for the special kind of bliss only you can provide her.

Just Giselle, her fucking gift of a body in a pair of tight black stockings and high stiletto heels.

“Now,” you say, tilting your hips forward, your cock jabbing into her stomach, pressing a stamp of need into her skin. Giselle preens at the contact, practically vibrating at your touch. One more thing— “Beg.”

“Fuck me,” she says. Simply, honestly. With every ounce of her soul. “Fuck me good. Take me. Please. I need it. I need to feel you inside me. I’ve been dreaming of this, of you fucking me just like this, so—please, make it real.”

“Begging’s a good look on you, Giselle,” you murmur, finishing the rest of the thought in your head. ‘You're going to be doing a lot more of it tonight.’

She yelps when you flip her over, force her to brace herself against the bar. Her lovely ass high up in the air, her pussy drooling onto the floor.

You don't bother warning her.

You stuff your cock into her.

She fucking screams.

So wet, so slippery. Sliding in and out of her, forcing her cunt to mould itself too you. So fucking tight that you have to bite back a groan, have to fight the urge to just pound into her, to fuck her into the counter.

But there's still a pace you're setting, a rhythm that’s not quite as frantic as her needy cries. You’re in no hurry, not yet. You want to savour this. The feel of her clenching around you, the way her back arches with every thrust, her palms slapping against the bar top, leaving little smudges of sweat behind.

“God, this—” Giselle tries, but finds herself lost for words, unable to properly articulate just how good it feels to have you inside her. But the noises she makes—whimpers and gasps and moans and groans—speak volumes.

You complete the thought for her— “You fucking love this, don’t you?” You’re grunting, pressing your body to hers, nipping at her ear. Slurring these dirty thoughts like they're sweet nothings, these words of pure filth into her neck. “Love being fucked like this. Been waiting for it for so long. So goddamn desperate for it that you can’t even fucking talk.”

She’s fucking amazing. Not just the feeling—hot and tight and perfect—it’s the way she moves with you. Pure pleasure ricocheting through her, the slap of her ass against your hips, the sway of her tits underneath her, her cunt desperately trying to swallow you whole.

It’s her, her body, so alive and responsive and sensitive underneath yours. Taking your cock so deliciously, her cunt fluttering around like it’s trying to hold onto it, like it’s never going to let go.

“So, so fucking hard,” she’s found her voice, clawing back some level of composure. Enough to tense her cunt, squeeze her walls around you. Needing you to know every inch of her body, every inch of her pussy, needing you to know that it’s all yours for the taking. “God, it feels so good—doesn’t it? Fucking me here. Tell me. Tell me how good I am. Tell me I’m a good girl. Tell me you’re never going to be able to spend another second here without thinking of my pussy.”

You know she’s right, she’s leaving a part of herself here, branded into the very fabric of this bar that’s been your sanctuary. It has you pushing in deeper, a violent thrust of your hips, a little punctuation to drive her point home.

She swallows as you pick up speed, chokes on a half-formed moan—so, so fucking close. But you’ve only just begun.

Grabbing her hair, winding your fist in pink, pulling her up so she's forced to listen. The details on her face are all hazy, her makeups smudged from tears, from where she’s rubbed at her face, trying to keep the pleasure at bay. But that’s not how this goes. That’s not how any of this goes.

“You want to hear how good you’re being for me?” A harsh whisper for her, and it takes so much effort for her to just nod in response. “You want me to tell you all the filthy things I’m thinking? Everything that I’ve been dying to do to you?”

“Yes,” she pleads back. “Tell me, please—I need to hear it all.”

So you do. You lay it all on her. Every unfiltered, explicit thought you’ve had—every depraved fantasy that’s on the tip of your tongue whenever she’s around. You tell her all of it, how much of a whore you’re going to turn her into; how much of a slut you want to make her.

How this isn’t the last time. No, there’s going to be hours, days, weeks of this after. Of you fucking her here, of her coming to you just to have another taste of your cock. It’s a revelation, a promise, and it fucking ruins her.

“Every single time you've walked into here, every single time you've sat across form me, I've thought about this," you're grunting now, giving in to the urgency that’s been building up in your chest, the pressure that’s been weighing on you for what feels like an eternity. “I’ve thought about bending you over this very bar. Making you beg for it, making you scream out my name when I fuck my cum into you. Making sure every single person out there knows that this cunt is mine to take whenever I fucking want.”

It’s so fucked, the effect that hearing all this has on her. The sound of your voice, your darkest desires, the harshness of your words, it’s all too much for her, it’s everything she’s ever wanted to be told.

You’re unlocking something in her, something she’s never admitted to anyone, not her closest friends, not her bandmates, not even herself. The way you speak to her, the way you’re treating her like a perfect little fuck doll—and you’re realising that maybe, just maybe, it’s because no one’s ever fucked her well enough to find out.

There’s no room here to be gentle, there’s no way in hell she’d ever want you to be. You tighten your grip in your hair, slam into her harder, skin slapping against skin, mixing with the wet sounds of her pussy taking all of you. Each cry you fuck out of her is music, each one a little higher pitched, a little more desperate than the last.

“This is what you want isn’t it?” You’re demanding of her, even when she’s blubbering, barely able to breathe let alone respond. Just trying to hold on.

But you’re not letting her.

You’re taking her to that place that’s beyond words, that’s beyond thought. The place where all she can do is feel and react. And she’s doing that so beautifully, her body shaking, her cunt quivering around your cock. It’s building and building, the things you’re doing to her, saying to her, making her choke on her own spit, making her eyes roll back and her mouth drop open, until all she can repeat, over and over again is your name.

“Again,” she shapes another word, another plea. She’s a total disaster of need. “Please, again, make me cum again.”

“You'll cum when I say you can,” you growl, forcing her to choke on another whine. The strangled noise goes straight to your cock; makes it throb harder inside her, drive deeper into her. You let go of her hair, only to palm her tit, squeezing into the flesh hard. Giselle jolts, a squeal escaping her lips. “But since you’ve been so good, I’ll let you cum before me again. Just this once. Just because it’s Christmas.”

You’re being evil, you know it, she loves it, but it's the best part. She clearly wouldn't want it any other way.

”Yes.” Giselle’s beaming, shivering with excitement. Getting fucked into utter ruins and thanking you for the privilege. “Thank you, use my pussy, do whatever you want, just let me cum.”

That sparks an idea, “Whatever I want?”

“Whatever you want,” Giselle pants, not a single idea of what she’s agreeing to. But maybe that's the whole point. “Anything.”

There’s a grin that splits your face that you can’t help, that you don’t bother suppressing. “I’m not going to ask for permission anymore, Giselle. I’m just going to fuck you the way I want. Make you addicted to my cock. Take you how I want, cum in all your holes, fill you up over and over again.”

Giselle’s eyes go wide, nearly stops breathing entirely. So close. Knowing that the next words out of your mouth are going to decimate her completely.

“Gonna make you start the New Year knocked up.”

She freezes.

“God—” Giselle’s a fucking wreck, on the verge of something explosive, something else entirely. “Oh my God.”

She just needs you to give her that push.

“You love it, don’t you? Being made nothing more than a fucking cumdump for me? That’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?”

You’re fucking her too hard, hammering into her too roughly, it’s a wonder that she can even manage a stuttered, “I—I—”

“Fucking say it, Giselle,” you say, “Spit it out.”

It’s too difficult for her to fit the words together, to form her reply, so it means all that more when she manages to tell you. “I want it.”

“Want what?”

“Your cum in me. All of it. Until I’m, until I’m—” She’s there, lost in it, in the idea of you ruining her in such a permanent, irreversible way. Or maybe completing her, making her whole, making her perfect for you and only you.

But you’re so close too. Right fucking behind her. All she has to do is say it.

“Until you breed me. Fill me with your cum, give it to me. I need it. Make me your permanent cocksleeve and never let me go. Make me yours—completely, forever yours. Make me your fucking whore.”

“Good girl.”

And with that, she’s gone.

Hits her like a fucking meteor. Leaping right off the most intense high she’s ever climbed. Bucking and quaking against your bar, your cock still impaled inside her, mercilessly undoing her. It’s nothing short of fucking pornographic, fucking depraved the way it’s destroying her.

Seizing her entire body in pleasure, her nails digging into the wood, scraping up marks that will prove to be a sweet, everlasting reminder of the exact moment she became yours. Fracturing her, breaking her apart into a million tiny pieces and then remaking her all over again as something purely sexual—something that only exists for your satisfaction.

“So fucking good, your cock, God it’s you, just you—” Giselle’s words dissolve into a keening cry that shatters the remaining silence of the bar. “Breeding me so good—”

Nothing short of a miracle that she’s still on her feet, that she can still do anything at all. One last thing she needs to do in the dying embers of her lucidity, one final goal—choke your cock with her cunt, wring you dry, make you flood her with your cum.

“Cum, cum, fill me, breed me, give me your—”

“Take it,” you exhale, “Take it all.”

And it’s Giselle in her entirety that overcomes you, overloading your senses with the pure, distilled feeling of just her. The smell of her sex, her perfume, the feel of her curves, her softness, the perfection that is her pussy, enveloping your cock, drenching it in her wetness. These things that you’ll never, ever be able to forget.

But it's her words that make you erupt.

“Breed me, Daddy!”

You cum deep into Giselle’s pussy.

Buried inside her, rushing white hot, thick and heavy. Ropes and ropes of it, spurting inside her, painting her insides, coating her walls until it’s just sheer heat and you making her whole.

Her cunt’s clenching around you, she’s begging, slurring moans and whimpers that there’s no fucking chance you have of comprehending—just basking in the knowledge that they’re desperate, needy sounds that are all for you.

She can’t keep it all in. But she needs to.

Something knocks the architecture out of her legs, but you’re quick enough to wrap your arms around her, holding her tight, keep her on her feet. Keeping her from collapsing entirely, just letting her pulse around you, clench and quiver.

You’re kissing her into the shoulder, cooing these affirmations, keeping her with you, telling her the truth of it all, “Such a good girl, Giselle. Taking my cum so well.”

Giselle can’t say anything. She sobs. Face buried in her hands. Not from pain, not even close. You’ve never seen pleasure look so much like agony. So much like release.

It’s overwhelming.

You try to make a move, take a step back. But Giselle flexes her cunt, clutching you tighter. Reaches back with her hand for your thigh to stop you.

“Wait,” she whispers. "Not yet. Don't move. Keep your cock inside me. Don't let a single drop get out."

You give her the time, because she’s just so perfect like this. So unfathomably gorgeous, all fucked up and cum-drunk. In ways no one should ever be. Like you’ve torn the wings off an angel, brought her down to Earth and made her yours.

You revel in it.

“Take your time,” you breathe; the exhaustion, the strain, the adrenaline pumping through your veins all coming to a head at once. Keeping your cock plugging up her cunt. Leaving all your cum inside.

Neither of you are moving anywhere. Not until she says so.

Giselle laughs.

“Perfect,” she sighs, voice hoarse and shaky. “I knew it would be perfect. I knew you would ruin me like this. God, I don’t ever want to go back.”

You’re laughing too, harsh, airless chuckles that feel like they’re being torn out of your chest. You twitch your cock inside her. “You think you have a say in the matter?”

“I guess I don’t,” she giggles.

You look around at the scene of the crime, the evidence you've left on her. The marks on her skin, her shoulder, her neck. The ruins of her dress, her panties. The tearing of her stockings. Her tear-filled eyes, her smeared mascara, her drooling lips.

And her cunt, so full of you, so very yours.

It’s barely believable. She may not have burned down the bar, but there’s certainly a fire that’s been set. One that’s not likely to die down anytime soon.

It has you swelling inside her all over again.

Gisele feels it.

“Say,” she starts, wriggling her hips against you, making you groan. “You didn’t have any Christmas plans, right?”

Your hands slip down to her hips, idly massaging into the small of her back. “None at all.”

A contented exhale escapes Giselle's lips. She looks up, lashes fluttering, a soft, sweet smile. Her hand reaches back, caressing the side of your face. “And the rest of the year?”

“Nothing that can’t be cancelled.”

“Good,” she says, her breath sweet against your cheek. “Cancel them all. Close up for the holidays. Shut all the doors. Stay inside with me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And do what?”

“Get to work,” Giselle answers, pulling you into a last kiss, threatening to undo you all over again. “You did promise to knock me up by New Years.”

#kpop smut #giselle smut #aespa smut #male reader

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itsoutrageouss · 2 months ago

Text

Part six of Simon seeing reader cry for the first time. This one is really just Simon’s pov of you, and he’s heading into the jealousy stage… he’s low-key growing obsessed? Enjoy.

Simon was fuming. Not with you exactly, it wasn’t your fault you were such a delicate, pretty little bird- of course you’d get attention at a scummy pub like this. And it wasn’t like you were his territory, his to claim in some way.

But if the bartender didn’t hurry up making that drink you wanted so that the handsome stranger next to you could move on, he’d get up from the cramped booth and make it him damn self.

You clearly weren’t the type to just bring someone home. Or were you? Fuck, was that a sexist prejudice he just had? He runs a hand over his face, over the surgical mask he had put back up the minute that man approached you to try and mask any reaction he might have. He’s so used to his grimaces being hidden that he was scared he couldn’t control them.

Soap nudged his arm that barely moved as he laughed heartily at his own story. Simon didn’t flinch, his eyes didn’t leave you. Aye, Soap noticed, shooting Gaz a knowing glance but none of them dared say anything because they were still having a good night.

Finally your hands grasped around a tall glass, ice rattling as you bid the man goodbye and headed for the teams designated table. Simon hadn’t been able to read your interactions; had you been flirting? Maybe politely declining? You’d be the type- Arh there he goes again giving you prejudices when you keep surprising him everyday about what ‘type’ you actually are.

You sit down with a small, flustered smile. Fuck, fuck, Simon’s hands tighten around his own pint, that otherwise sat untouched after you left. You blink up at him, looking like he’s the one that’s flustered you but he knows that isn’t true. It couldn’t be. He’s unmoving, eyes slowly dragging you over.

“What?” You ask, nervous, maybe a little defensive and he knows that you hate not being able to read him. He’s bristling, if he was a cat all hairs would be standing on end.

“Nothing.” His voice is terse, gruff as usual but it sounds like he has to force the words from his throat, willing his lips to move. You frown, and now he knows you won’t let it go- it gives a thrill through him: he knows you now. Knows what your expressions mean, what you’re feeling.

He sees your eyes drifting off, clearly in thought before your jaw tightens and your eyes fall to your drink. You look disappointed. That’s not what he expected really, and know he doesn’t know what to do. Jesus Christ why does he overthink everything when it comes to you now? It used to be simple before you bared your soul to him and now he just wants to keep you open for him.

He doesn’t know how to address this now. Why did you look like that? After that bath, where he’d asked you to touch him and gods you had touched him and he swore he died and went to heaven; after that, what was supposed to happen? Maybe you didn’t know either. You quickly schooled your expression and leaned a little over the table to join the conversation Simon had pushed into background noise. He didn’t like that one bit, putting your walls up now? Well he couldn’t have that.

“What did he want?” Simon tried asking casually as you leaned over, his mouth almost at your ear. You tensed, a micro movement but he noticed. You hadn’t expected him to adress it head on, perhaps, as you leaned back, diverting your attention to him again.

“My number” you replied and he felt his tongue sucking on his own teeth to calm down. He hummed in response.

“Did you give it?” He asked, trying to seem nonchalant, grateful for his mask as always. Your eyes twitched, expression lacing with some sort of offence or disbelief. He struggled to stay composed, heart rate elevating a little too fast.

You shook your head but it mainly looked like you were annoyed with him, more than it was an answer. Your eyes found the table, gathering yourself before looking up at him with a seriousness and intensity he hadn’t expected. “Of course I didn’t. Why would you think that?”

Shit, you seemed genuinely upset in some way. He was flustered, caught off guard. “I don’t know. Looked like you were having a good time.” He shouldn’t have said that, jealousy shining through his teeth and he knew it.

“Well I wasn’t” you said, quick but steady.

“You’re angry with me” he said it as a monotone statement because he didn’t want you to hear it for what it was.

“No- no im not-“ you sighed, running a hand through your hair that he eyed almost nervously. “I just don’t know why you would think that I would give him an ounce of my time” you mumbled, raising your brows shortly to indicate something. He swallowed thickly.

“I didn’t think it, I feared it” he admitted and it felt vulnerable enough that he had to look away, into the crowd of people. “Smiling like a schoolgirl when you came back, dove” he mumbled, a little to himself

“At you.” You corrected, trying to meet his gaze. “I found it funny that-“ he felt you lean closer so only he could hear, if anyone should happen to try and listen in. “-anyone would even try talking to me after I had my hands around your….”

He stiffened, shoulders moving a little, mask covering the blood surging to his cheeks at your next word. He had to clear his throat, make sure Soap didn’t hear. It was right, in that tub your hands had wandered a bit like he’d asked you to. Nothing more had happened than you feeling him up, leaving him on that gruesome but wonderful edge. Hearing what that meant to you, that that moment had solidified something between you the way it had to him made him wanna fucking moan. His eyes snapped to yours, a newfound confidence in them.

“Giggling at someone trying to take you home?” He said, his tone infinitely more lighter now. You merely shrugged, the offence from your face gone. Good.

He hummed, considering you for another second before huffing in dry amusement, shaking his head and finally lowering the mask again. He picked up the pint but your smaller hand gently pushed it to the table, earning his attention again.

“You don’t need to be jealous, Simon.” You said, oddly calm, brows scrunching subtly.

“Im not” he was quick, too quick and you both knew it. He swore under his breath and picked up his pint again as he saw the winning streak across your face.

But he knew that this meant. If he was jealous of someone else trying to pick you up, he’d have to do it himself or his feelings wouldnt have a valid place to settle, no value. Ugh just his luck, now he was basically forced to take you home himself…

Series masterlist

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zarnzarn · 11 months ago

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Athena shoots upright as soon as her eyes fly open, gasping. She calls on her spear and slashes in a brutal curve, provoking shouts from the enemies who'd been holding her down as they back off. Bares her teeth in a snarl as she grabs the sheets off the bed to whip at the eyes of the assailants and-

Light floods into her eyes as they step away from her attack and she freezes as she remembers a flash of brightness too fast to escape, heat and burning like never before, electricity that seeped into her very bones, thunder that deafened, lightning that hurt-

"Get back!" She hears and turns unsteadily back to- back to where Apollo is pulling Ares back by the cape against the far wall. Apollo. Ares. Aphrodite, Aephestus, Artemis.

"Wh-" She manages, before she's bowled over, coughing. She has never done it before, and she can't stop it from happening- chest rattling as her knees give out, barely holding herself up with her spear in time to reach the bed. It doesn't stop, doesn't stop, plumes of smoke escaping her mouth as she can't stop, can't breathe-

"Athena," Hera whispers, and a rough hand gently touches her on the shoulder, handing her a glass of nectar. She accepts it gratefully, tilting her head back to down it. It's soothing like it's never been before, stoping the coughing at last and it clears her headache long enough to realize that she isn't in her armour- she's in a chiton.

"Where is my armour?" She rasps as soon as she can, wiping her mouth. Looks around- Apollo's chambers.

She'd always known being the favourite wouldn't protect her forever. But repeating the words didn't seem to reduce the hurt.

Nor the shaking fear.

"-not!" Apollo is saying, indignantly setting his hands on his hips. "Do you have any idea how hard you got hit? You're lucky I could even stabilize your aspect enough to reduce some of the damage, otherwise you'd still be having a seizure back at Mount Olympus!"

"Mount Olympus," Athena mutters oddly, without much intent to it. She tries to stand again and her vision suddenly cuts out, provoking a round of screams as she loses her balance.

When the world blurrily comes back into focus- and she doesn't like this, hates this sudden weakness; she's always been able to get back up from any blow, has never visited a medical chamber in her existence, even when they had to fight the Titans- she's in Ares' arms, oddly horizontal.

"Cease this stupidity, sister," Artemis hisses at her as she grabs onto Athena's arms to bring her back to the bed. "Calm yourself. You are alive. You are safe."

"My armour," Athena says, voice cracking, head rolling oddly on her neck, unable to look upright. She catches a glimpse of Aephastus holding onto a sobbing Aphrodite, staring at her with a strange sort of sorrow.

Something twinges in Athena's chest in reply, but she stumbles before she can address it, feeling a fission of panic at the instability before Ares' grip on her tightens enough to keep her upright. They're all staring at her like that, she realizes, with that same horrified heartbreak.

"Didn't Artemis just tell you to cease stupidity?" Ares barks, though it's rather quietly said, for him. He adjusts her on the bed until she can lean back against the pillows. His hands are shaking, and Athena stares at them with curiosity. "Weren't you the one to lecture me half to death about when to remove the armour?"

"What," She says weakly, then moans as an aftershock trembles through her, residual sparks humming maliciously as they exit her skin, leaving her trembling. "I- hmmm, what? What were- what were-"

"Athena, calm down, please, you're scaring us," Hera says, bangles jangling as she sits down next to her, taking one of Athena's hands with desperation. Athena tilts her head to squint, noticing the tears for the first time, before she shudders as her skin registers the heat, the unbearable heat.

"Scaring?" She murmurs when it stops, voice coming out smaller than she intended it to.

"Her fever keeps rising and falling," Apollo reenters the room before anyone can answer, carrying a large tub of some odd liquid. "Here, help me rub this on her skin, it should extract any remaining- any remaining lightning."

They all move towards the tub at the same time, dipping the cloths provided and then taking positions in a circle surrounding her. Athena stiffens, fingers twitching for a weapon, but the first touch of Hera's drenched cloth on her forehead makes her moan in relief, the blessed coolness of it making her melt back into the sheets. She has no strength to complain or protest when her fellow gods each take a limb to rub at, a sensation both horrifically terrible and unbearably good. She has never taken her armour off in her life.

"Easy, that's it," Apollo says coaxingly, lips downturned like he's trying not to cry. She whimpers as the cloth on her left leg suddenly burns as a spark escapes, instinctively pulling it away, but Aphrodite grabs it before she can and resumes rubbing, whispering apologies. She turns her head and weakly opens her mouth for the herb Apollo lifts to her lips, desperate for relief from the splitting headache.

She can't think. She can't think.

Athena has no idea how long it goes on, how long the other gods ignore their realms to tend to her. Slowly, they strike up a conversation, something light-hearted that she can't follow- different from their never-ending arguments and insults, as they talk about the past year and humourous stories and varied anecdotes.

Athena can't help but relax into it, the soft bed at her back and gentle hands massaging her sore muscles and warmth all around her. Feels something trembling within her since she first became aware of herself settling down with a sigh.

Until she suddenly smells ozone.

Hera and Apollo both notice her tensing up immediately, and look to where she can hear slow footsteps approaching. Apollo growls and shoots out a hand, bringing up the shields of his realm.

The conversation dies down as they all look to the side, at the distinct shadow at the other side of the curtain.

Rage, Athena realises, thoughts slow and muddied. They're angry with him.

"I will handle this," Hera says coldly, with the steel undertone that Athena strives for. She moves her cloth aside and leans down to kiss Athena on the forehead, like a mother would. "You rest, my daughter."

Athena's breath hitches, eyes burning. Nobody has ever cared for her, apart from Zeu-

Nobody has ever cared for her.

... Nobody has-

Hera turns sharply at the noise that suddenly escapes Athena, half hysterical laugh and half distraught wail.

"Did I win?" Athena asks desperately, pushing herself upright, ignoring the protests of the others as she pulls her limbs from their grasp. Hera stares at her and Athena grabs the side of the bed as she tries to lever herself up like a wild animal, demanding in a broken voice, "Did I win?"

A silence that stretches for a painful moment before- "Yes," Aephastus says, putting his hand on her shoulder to guide her back from the edge. "Yes, Athena, you won."

A strangled gasp of relief leaves her, making her light-headed as she leans back against the pillows. She shivers, then sobs- humiliation running through her before she hears an answering noise of sorrow from Aphrodite next to her, pressure all around as her five younger siblings embrace her carefully, gently, like she would break at any moment.

She's not the one who's been raped by a Titan's daughter for seven years.

The thought has her breath hitching, wiping her tears away with a hand that refuses to co-operate the first few tries. "I need to-"

"No," Artemis snaps, glaring at her. "I know you think of nothing but your work, but Athena, you cannot do it this time." Outside, Hera's and Zeus' voices rise as they begin to shout and scream. "You must rest."

"N-no, that's not- aah," She groans as another aftershock rips through her, leaving her panting and soaked in sweat when it's done. "I need to- I need-"

"Hermes has gone to his grandson," Aephastus says soothingly. "Peace, Athena. Your hero is free."

For a moment, it doesn't comprehend and she stares at him blankly. "Free," She repeats, words still infuriatingly faint and lilting. "He's free? I- I need my helmet, where is-"

"No, Athena!"

"Sister, please, you cannot resume your duties, you are in no state!"

"I need my helmet, please, please- just give me my helmet!"

Her cry echoes off the walls and she hears herself when it bounces back to her, broken and pleading and so unlike her she feels nauseous. Her siblings have gone silent and still at her begging, staring at her with shock and horror and fear and sorrow alike. Even Zeus and Hera have stopped talking.

Athena shakes, wishing she could rip this awful vulnerability out of her veins, wishes she could find a stone footing to stand on once more, wishes she wasn't in this horrible chiton.

"Please," She whispers.

Quietly, Aephastus gets to his feet and walks in the direction of the nearby drawers, where she can now see her belongings stacked up haphazardly, blood-stained.

"Sister, you must calm down," Aphrodite pleads. She takes her hands and Athena dazedly looks down at her, with her wide, scared eyes. Seizure, her mind registers finally from Apollo's earlier talk. Ah. She seems to have frightened them all. "You cannot afford a relapse."

Athena squeezes her fingers in acknowledgement, but reaches for the helmet when it's held out, dented and worn.

She touches the metal and feels the full force of seven years of silenced prayers hit her at once.

She's crying before she knows she's doing it, clutching the helmet to her chest as the warmth of the worship wraps around her like a shawl, and holds it tight against her as Ares tries to pry it away.

"No, no!" Apollo intervenes, shifting forward. He touches a hand to the helmet and suddenly the hymn bursts forth around them, loud even though the prayer itself is quiet and broken. Athena inhales at the feeling of it, soothing over the cracks in her own mind with their never-ending continuity, desolate, unbroken faith even when she never came to help-

He's still singing.

She shifts her hands on the helmet to make sure but- yes. Odysseus is calling her, still, at this very moment.

Her head snaps up, but even the dizziness the motion causes doesn't take away from how much clearer the room looks. "Where is he?"

"Sister-"

"If you do not answer me, I will take to the skies myself," She says firmly. "Where is he?"

Her siblings exchange looks.

"Three days out from Ithaka," Artemis replies with a sigh. "On a raft. But listen, wait but an hour, at least absorb these prayers-"

Athena stumbles off the bed and pulls on the helmet, closing her eyes.

"Wait, the bandages-!"

"Athena, you'll hurt yourself, please!"

"Daughter, be careful!"

Athena opens her eyes and looks out at the waves, rough and choppy, but not enough to sink the raft. She looks down and looks at the way the faded clothes don't fit him, the way he has no water left to drink but he still continues to sing.

"Odysseus," She says, and he freezes.

A wave rises and falls. They stay silent, unmoving.

"Won't you look?" The words break out of her, cracked and desperate.

He inhales and exhales, tears in the sound of it. "I don't want to look if you're... if you're not really here."

She swallows against the lump in her throat, takes a step forward. "Well, I-" Her voice cracks, but the fragile grin on her face is real as it spreads, the frailest thread of laughter entering her voice. "I would hope. That if you were hallucinating of me, that the spectre would at least have wisdom enough to tell you that you were."

Odysseus sobs and her heart cracks, feels his heart cracking in turn; yet it is akin to a misaligned bone that never healed right and has to be reset- she can hear the laughter before it comes, with relief coming from the brink of madness, with joy they'd both forgotten and missed. "It is you."

"I could not reach you on Ogygia," She blurts out, desperate to make him understand. "Could not hear your call. I would have come the second time you prayed, if I had."

"It is you," He whispers, swaying. A wave rises suddenly and they both burst into movement, grabbing ropes and pulling the mast, balancing together to keep it steady.

The wave passes. They are almost touching now.

"Won't you look?" Athena asks again, raw and grieving. "Odysseus. My companion, my friend. Please."

He turns at that, a stunned expression on his face- before it turns into wide-eyed horror as he looks at her. She laughs breathlessly, slightly dizzy, but- her friend. How lovely it is to see him again.

"Athena!" He rushes forward with unexpected vitality, the parts of him that she knew suddenly rising to light in his eyes, in his movements, becoming unhidden from the defeated, beaten figure he'd been moments before. "What in Gaia's name-"

"I'm sorry," She interrupts as she slumps forward into the hands on her arms, off-balance. "I should have tried better to understand, all those years ago. I understand now and I- Odysseus, I am-"

"Athena, shut up," Odysseus snaps, clearly panicking. She laughs again, because isn't it such a novelty, to have a person who will have the audacity to tell her to? "Of course it's forgiven, I'm sorry too, I should have fucking listened back then- but listen, what in Hades happened to you? Why do you look like this- why do you have bandages- Hermes wouldn't answer when I asked if something happened to you, fuck-"

"Peace," Athena rasps, even as her vision blinks in and out, forcing her to kneel. They both grimace as another wave crashes into the raft, but they don't upturn. Odysseus kneels down with her, staring at her with such worry and concern she can feel nothing but fondness. "The disagreements of gods are often violent."

"Gods-" His eyes flicker to the side of her face, and he frowns, reaching out to push back the helmet. She bends her face down to let him, feeling an odd burning on the left side that she has a vague bad feeling about- proved right when Odysseus' expression falls into blank horror. "You got into a fight with-"

"Yes."

"But he's your-"

"I know. He did not take kindly to my petition to release you," She smiles dryly, without mirth.

"To release me?" Odysseus wheezes, face cracking into anguish and disbelief alike. "Athena, what- I- I'm not worth-"

"It was worth it," She snaps. "Consider it my penance for abandoning my own. I certainly don't regret it."

"I never felt abandoned," Odysseus whispers, taking her hands as she shifts, supporting her body with his own as they lean against the mast. She looks at him, and remembers why Penelope is still weaving, why he's still out on the waters, why Ithaka is waiting out the suitors till Telemachus takes the throne. "I always knew you would come back. I just figured it would take ten years more, perhaps."

Athena is silent for a bit, absorbing that. And then, because she can't hold it back any longer- "I am sorry about your men." His breath hitches under her and she turns to take him in her arms, knowing what's coming. "I am sorry about your friends."

He sobs, ugly and loud, and she holds him tighter. "I am sorry that Titan's whelp had you for so long, and what she did to you. I am sorry the Fates were so unkind."

"Athena," He keens, finally falling to pieces. The sobs are mere loud gasps for air at first, before it dissolves into wailing, screaming, grieving for all the men they'd kept alive through a war, only to lose them to this cruel tragedy instead. Even she hadn't known- hadn't anticipated how wrong things would go after she left. Hadn't even thought that he hadn't reached home.

"It's all my fucking fault," He shouts, shaking. "If only I had- if only-"

"It is not. No one could have known," She whispers. "The Fates are unknown to us all."

He sobs louder and she closes her eyes.

But finally, their tears dry up. She holds him still, as the night fades and the sun rises again, trying to take his hurt into herself so he can be happy again.

"I am sorry," She whispers, seaspray around them. "That my enemies became your own. That I pushed you so hard. That I chose you, and brought pain to your life so."

"Hey now," Odysseus says, pulling back to look at her, a broken smile on his face. "Hold your blasphemous tongue, before you insult the wisdom of Pallas Athena." She laughs, even as tears spill over. "Even if I had the chance to choose again right at this moment, my goddess, I would still choose you."

"That means more than you know," Athena murmurs, overcome. She gathers all her strength and reaches out to run a hand over his head, soothing his mind and driving away the last tendrils of madness that were still holding onto him. He sighs and relaxes under her, some visible weight lifting from his shoulders. "Still. I will learn from my mistakes. If you would give your old friend a chance-"

"Stop right there. Of course I-" Odysseus scoffs, reaching out to hold her left cheek for emphasis. "Athena, your left eye is half gone."

"Ah. Well, that explains the depth perception," She mutters, then bursts into giggles at the incredulous look on his face.

"Are you drugged?" Odysseus demands, but he's already trying not to laugh himself. They both move on fast. "What am I saying, of course you are- have you been drugged this whole time? Who on Earth drugged you?"

"That would be me," Apollo says, crossing his arms.

Odysseus snarls, grabbing his sword and swinging wildly in an arc, half-animal in his panic, pushing Athena behind him.

"FUCKING- whoa, hey, calm down, it's her brother, it's Apollo!" Apollo half-shrieks inelegantly, jumping back. "Honestly! Athena, call off your hero, please."

"Apollo?" Odysseus tilts his head, lowering his sword and narrowing his eyes.

Apollo stares at him. "Wow, you two- really do act the exact same, huh. Yes, Apollo, god of please let me change your fucking bandages, do you mind?"

Odysseus bows and murmurs apologies, clearly wary of getting into more trouble, but to her mild surprise walks behind Athena instead of to the other side of the raft.

"I don't need assistance," She mutters to him, even as she grimaces at the length of the chiton as she tries to pull herself upright.

"You're still dizzy," Odysseus points out, settling in behind her to hold her steady. He wipes at the tears still on his face and smiles at her. She manages a half-smile back. "Do you need to go back to Olympus?"

"Yes," Artemis crosses her hands and Odysseus' fingers tighten painfully on her shoulders.

"I'm not quite certain there's space for so many on this raft," Athena mutters.

"It's a magical raft, it'll survive- but never mind that, could you not have at least sent a message that you were okay?"

"Well, maybe you should have thought of that before running off without a word!"

"Really, daughter, you should know better!"

Odysseus grip is bruising now, and his sword is in front of Athena protectively; she can already tell what moves he's planning to use if they choose to attack. "Who..?" He asks lowly.

"Pantheon. At ease," She replies back shortly, before looking up at the others. "I thank you, my fellow go- my family, for your worry and concern. But we are only two days out from Ithaka and I would like to see this journey completed."

"You are not going to see yourself completed, if you don't rest," Apollo says, roughly at the exact same time that Athena undermines her own argument by throwing up on the raft.

"Athena, go," Odysseus says urgently when it's over, handing her helmet back to her and adjusting her cape as Hera kneels down beside her to hand her another glass of nectar, looking at him oddly. Odysseus grimaces and changes his tone. "I will be fine, patroness. I'll call for you when I reach the shores."

Movement catches her eye and she sees Ares remove his own helmet, giving her a reproving look. She remembers the speech he was talking about now- the one she'd loudly ranted at him when she was drunk a year ago, thinks about how much more at ease he is now.

"Alright," She acquiesces and everyone breathes a sigh of relief. "Two days."

Mania fills Odysseus' eyes as he smiles back, finally home from a war twenty years ago. "Two days."

Athena grins, even as she feels Hera wrap an arm around her to take her away. "Penelope is waiting."

Odysseus' eyes widen, then fill with tears, like he'd never quite truly let himself believe it; but his smile is wide and true. "Penelope is waiting. Thank you, Pallas Athena."

"You don't thank friends," She murmurs, exhaustion settling in. Odysseus laughs and the last thing she feels is a warm hand on her cheek and their foreheads pressed together, before the world goes black and she knows no more.

#athena #odysseus #god games #the aftermath at least #epic the musical #epic the wisdom saga #listen athena is the oldest sister. seeing that 'perfect' and unbroken goddess have a seizure because zeus lost his temper and attacked her #would Not have been easy on them #tw sex assault #< for Calypso #seizures are scary as all hell and no god has ever been injured enough to have one before #which is why theyre all terrified #also both of them have not processed much theyre just keeping their focus on the horizon #hera #aphrodite #ares #hephaestus #i just liked the a theme but it is him #artemis #found kt weird she wasnt there???#apollo #zeus but everyone is currently on the brink of murdering him #does it count as #odyath #if i mean for that to happen wayyy in the future #rn they r just friends that also happen to be intertwined in each other's mannerisms #odypen #my fic

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bartonomy · 5 months ago

Text

A GLIMPSE BETWEEN THE VEIL

PAIRING James Potter x Whimsical!Reader

SYNOPSIS James Potter has never put much stock in divination, but when a peculiar classmate offers to read his future, he finds himself unable to resist.

CONTENT WARNING talk about the future, James freaking out, angsty but not too bad, not exactly romantic but the reader is implied to be interested

WORD COUNT 1.2k

library.

James Potter never fancied himself the superstitious sort. Sure, he had vague notions of grandeur- winning the Quidditch Cup, making his parents proud, marrying a cute girl with a laugh as sharp as her hexes- but actual predictions? No, thanks. That sort of thing was for people who saw shapes in tea leaves and claimed the wind is responsible for every little mishap.

Which was precisely why he was sitting crisscrossed apple sauce across from you, mildly bewildered, as you shuffled an old deck of tarot cards with an almost hypnotic grace.

“You’re taking an awful long time, darling,” James teased, propping his chin on his hand. “Are you searching for a particularly good future, or just one that doesn’t end with me embarrassing myself?”

You smiled, a slow, knowing thing that made his skin prickle.

“The cards take the time they need, James.” Your voice was soft, melodic, like you were speaking from somewhere just beyond reality. “patience, or you might spook them away, the nargles have been especially fussy these days”

“Wouldn’t want that, do we” he murmured, glancing down at the cards with skepticism.

It was a quiet afternoon in the Gryffindor common room, the fire casting warm shadows across the walls. Most of the house was either out on the grounds or in Hogsmeade, but James had lingered behind, half out of laziness, half because he’d overheard Sirius mention your readings and got inexplicably curious.

Sirius, for all his bravado, had walked away from his session looking rattled. Which was interesting and absolutely hilarious.

You sighed contently, spreading the deck between your hands like a fan. The firelight flickered, casting warm shadows over the cards, their edges frayed from years of use. James had seen you doing readings before- sometimes for your friends, sometimes for curious younger students, and even once for Professor Whats-Her-Name in the Courtyard.

“Please pick three,” you instructed with the same soft tone you only used in class.

"Aye, aye grand Seer", James did as he was told, amused despite himself. “So, how does this work? You going to tell me I’m going to be rich and famous or that my soulmate, the love of my life is around here??” he snorted "please let it be the latter one"

"You are already rich" you pointed out, laying the three picked card neatly in front of you and discarding the unused deck in your satchel "and whether or not you will find love...well. That remains to be discovered, hm?"

With that he rolled his eyes playfully and you hummed, drawing the first card and laying it gently in front of you. The Fool.

James blinked.

“Oi, that’s just rude.”

You laughed, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Not at all. The Fool isn’t the fool we all know, James. He’s someone at the beginning of a great journey, standing on the edge of a cliff, about to take a leap of faith.” You tapped the card. “He’s full of potential, but also reckless. Fascinating, don’t you think?”

James grinned. “Sounds about right so far.”

You drew the next card. The Lovers.

James coughed. “Oh, well—”

You tilted your head, studying it with quiet reverence. “This isn’t always about romance, you know. It can mean a choice, a connection, a relationship that defines a person. It’s about harmony and consequence. Something you can’t escape.”

James swallowed. His mind, without permission, conjured an image of Lily Evans—her oh so fierce green eyes, the way she scrunched her nose adorably when she was annoyed, how she never hesitated to call him out.

You watched him closely, as if seeing the thought pass across his face. He didn’t like how sharp your gaze was, like you were peeling him apart with nothing but intuition.

“Shall we?” you murmured, pulling the third card.

You turned over the third and last card.

James frowned at the image—a great tower, struck by lightning, people falling from its heights. The air around you both seemed to shift, the easy playfulness from before fading into something heavier.

“The Tower,” you murmured.

James swallowed. “That’s bad, isn’t it?”

You traced the image with a careful finger. “Not bad. Just… necessary.”

James gave a dry laugh. “Destruction is necessary? On my buttocks, you are just like us, little troublemaker”

“Sometimes.” Your voice remained gentle, but the certainty in it made James shiver and his uneasy smile faded. “The Tower comes when the foundation isn’t steady. It doesn’t destroy for the sake of it—it forces change. When the dust settles, the world isn’t the same, but that doesn’t mean it’s worse.”

James stared at the card, feeling an unexpected tightness in his chest. Something about it—it felt too close, like a whisper against the back of his mind.

“What kind of change?” he asked quietly.

You studied him for a long moment, then examined the fated cards in front of of you

James stared at them. The Fool. The Lovers. The Tower. A journey, a choice, a fall.

He let out a quiet breath. “You sure you didn’t stack the deck?”

You smiled, but didn’t answer. Instead, you gathered the cards and shuffled them again, your fingers delicate against the worn edges.

James watched you, the tightness in his chest still there, lingering.

“Do you ever do readings for yourself?”

The question was simple, but it was enough to stop your fingers mid-motion. You hadn’t expected him to ask that. It was an unexpected question. You weren’t sure why, but the thought of reading for yourself felt like stepping into uncharted territory, where the gods will have full access of your being, your soul, and your mind.

“I... would rather not” you answered softly, your eyes now focused on your hands,“I mean, It is possible if I do, but it’s not something I like to do often.”

“Why not?” James asked, his curiosity piqued, though his tone was lined with the previous horror of his reading. “Scared the cards might tell you something you don’t want to hear?”

You chuckled, but it came out strained. “Something like that.”

James leaned in a bit closer, tilting his head. “Come on, you’re always so ominous with the cards for everyone else. Don’t tell me you’re scared of a few little 'whackspurts' messing up your head.”

The mention of whackspurts—those silly, fuzzy little creatures from your gardens, made you stiffen slightly, but not in the way he intended. It was funny, yes, but also something you had come to associate with the fuzziness that clouded your mind whenever you thought too much about yourself. The confusion, the uncertainty, the inability to make sense of your own feelings. You’d often joked about whackspurts being responsible for any moments of mental fog, but in truth, it was far more than that. It was a kind of fear—the uneasiness of confronting the unknown parts of yourself, the parts that were tangled and elusive.

“I don’t think it’s whackspurts,” you said quietly, finally meeting his gaze. “not entirely at least, It’s more like… what if I look too closely and find things I’m not prepared to see? What if there’s something inside me that I’m not meant to understand?”

He only shrugged, " then you are forced to confront them no matter what. I mean, with the bullock of a reading you gave me, I can't entirely avoid it can I?" he gave you his signature smile, all teeth and stirring something foreign inside of you.

“You believe in fate, don't you?” you asked after a moment.

James shook his head. “I believe in making my own future.”

Your smile was soft. “Then do.”

The words settled into him, deep and warm, and he suddenly had the strangest feeling that one day—maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow—he would look back on this moment and realize just how much the universe had been trying to warn him.

#james potter x reader #james potter angst #james potter #james potter drabble #the marauders #the marauders angst #harry potter #whimsical!reader #harry potter fanfiction #james potter x yn #james potter x you #james potter fic #hp marauders #hp fandom

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lemonpeppermintstickshift · 9 days ago

Note

if ur doing request… anything frank lol

maybe like nurse!reader x frank or something like that.. unless ur tired of writing for him ofc! <3

favorites - f. langdon x fem!reader

summary: frank knows he's not supposed to have favorites in the workplace, but there's just something about you that he can't seem to resist, for better or for worse.

warnings: SMUT (minors dni, 18+ only), (slight?) infidelity, frank is a munch, fingering, p in v, protected sex, no use of y/n, frank has no kids!! mentions of divorce, regular pitt gore, idiots in love

author's note: I'M FINALLY DONE GET THIS OUT OF MY DRAFTS!! thank you for the request anon!! i hope i did it justice. something actually took over me while writing this... i don't condone infidelity but.......

wc: 9.1k

Frank knew he wasn't supposed to have favorites.

Really, favorites—or any sort of personal bias—is unprofessional. It’s especially unprofessional in his line of work, where you’re expected to be able to operate with anyone regardless of your own personal feelings or partiality. And, for a while, Frank understood and abided by this rule. Sure, it was hard sometimes to work alongside Santos after he finished his leave from rehab, but even their strained relationship had morphed into something more respectable these days. Frank liked to believe he treated everyone the same. In Frank's eyes, he has no favorites.

Well, except you.

You’re a different story. Something a little more... complicated. You’re a difficult thing to describe, Frank thinks, and an even more difficult thing to behold. You’re impossibly smart, witty, quick on your feet, hard when you need to be and sweet when you can. All of these things draw Frank to you, and he has a hard time understanding why.

When Frank came back to the Pitt after his leave of absence, terrified out of his mind about jumping back into the environment where he once fell down a hole too deep, he was convinced maybe his return was a bad idea. Maybe, after all this time, the voices were right. He shouldn’t be allowed to be a doctor.

These whispers swirled in his head like poisonous ivy on brick walls, growing their way to the core of his brain where they planted and nursed the most horrid of self loathing thoughts. Frank was halfway through his first shift back, contemplating the validity of what the voices had been saying to him, when he saw you for the first time.

You were tucked away into a corner, medicine bottle in hand as you bit your bottom lip, listening intently as Mateo rattled off some unimportant patient details. You nodded every once in a while to prove you were paying attention, your dedication shown through your body language and intense facial expression.

It didn't take long for Frank to realize you were a nurse, and a new one at that. You still had that anxious air surrounding you—one that Frank knew all too well.

He attempted to listen to what Collins was saying to him—really, he was trying. But his eyes kept drifting to the side of your face, the curve of your hips, the small smile that escaped you when he overheard Mateo trying to soothe your nerves. He couldn’t look away.

From then on, it was difficult for him not to treat you differently.

If there was any opportunity to have a nurse on a case, whether that be administering medication, patient assessments, or monitoring vitals, your name was the first thing out of Frank's mouth. Yes, he knows there are many talented nurses in the Pitt, but none of them were quite like you. None of them worked so well with him, none of them understood and returned his playful banter the way you did, none of them could take one look at his facial expression and determine exactly what was necessary for him to succeed in the way you always did.

It was almost magical the way he felt around you. In between stolen snacks from the staff lounge, shifts that ran overtime, and shared caffeine addictions, Frank grew fond of you, against his best wishes.

But it was so hard for him to fight it. He attempted, he really did. For a while he didn’t return your morning smiles, he feigned annoyance at your weekend updates with Mohan, but it was all futile. You were intoxicating—funny, gorgeous, sarcastic, and most unfortunately for him, engaged.

That was the second thing Frank had noticed about you his first day back: the sparkling rock on your left hand. He had to admit, it was a sizable ring, which made it all the worse. It was salt in the wound. Frank, a man who had just gotten over his marriage, enthralled with you, a woman about to enter into hers. The irony was not lost on him.

He watched in the following months as you let loose a few small details about your fiancé. Things like how you met (at a coffee shop, boring if you asked Frank), what he looked like (blonde, Frank never trusted grown men with blonde hair), and his name (Chad. Don’t get Frank started).

With every mention of your wedding, with every compliment of your ring, it felt like someone was dragging nails across a chalkboard directly in Frank’s ear. Chad’s presence irked him in a way he wasn’t able to understand, or rather, in a way he didn’t want to accept.

One sided affection was growing increasingly difficult for him. He felt crazy, desperate, running his fingers through his hair at night and asking himself, why didn’t he meet you sooner? But Frank knew, deep down, there was nothing he could do to change the fate of your relationship. You were happily engaged to a man you loved, who loved you. It didn’t matter that he noticed the way your lips tugged into a smile the first time Frank caught your eye during the day, or the packet of goldfish you’d slide his way halfway through his shift, or even the quiet moments you two have had in the stairwell together after a particularly difficult case. There was no hope for him.

So, Frank took what he could get. Sure, it was blatant favoritism, but Frank couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Okay! I think you're all done.” You smile, patting your palms on the tops of your scrub clad thighs. The elderly woman in front of you, staring at her freshly dressed numb burn wound, beams back at you with a grateful expression as her frail hands clasp together in appreciation. Her young daughter that sits right by her side looks at you before saying, “Thank you, miss. For being so kind.”

“Absolutely, my pleasure.” You respond, beginning to clean up the materials around you. “And, Ma’am, do you remember your steps for after you're discharged?”

“Yes, I think I’ve got it.” The mother begins to reply. “No harsh chemicals, only soap and water before the antibacterial cream, and then change the bandage daily.”

“Yup, you got it. If there are any complications, if the pain suddenly becomes unbearable or if there's any swelling or pus, come right back here and we’ll get you sorted.” You explain.

The kind woman thanks you again as her daughter helps her up and out of the room, making sure to give you one last smile on her way out. You give a small wave back just as a familiar face approaches you.

“Feel like helping me today?” Langdon asks as you turn to look at him. His brown hair falls in front of his face as he angles his eyes down to meet yours. Something swirls in his irises, something familiar and warm, and you find yourself feeling clammy at the sight.

You roll your eyes in fake annoyance, clearing your throat. “It’s only 11 and you're already asking for my help?”

“Pretty please?” He says, his voice turning syrupy and low. His bottom lip juts out into a pout. You find your eyes trailing over his oh so soft looking mouth. “Robby and I have a patient in Trauma 1 that I need you for, like asap.”

You laugh and shake your head as you give him a silent nod. You’ve never been able to say no to Frank, and he knows it. He grins in response, flashing you his million dollar smile before turning around, motioning you to follow him.

You try not to let his words swirl around in your head as you trail behind him, but somehow they find their way to the forefront of your mind.

I need you.

For the next thirty minutes, you and Frank are glued to each other's side as you work in Trauma 1. Where Frank goes, you follow. You’re there for it all—the first time the patient codes, the blood transfusion you assist on, the frantic calls from Frank as Robby rushes into the room, it all swirls around you and him like a complex symphony.

Frank watches you in admiration, though you’re so engrossed with the task at hand that you fail to see it. His eyes follow as you skirt around the room, listening to every order Robby gives you, nodding and jumping into action. This is one of the things he admires the most about you—your dedication. The silent way you accept direction without hesitation.

The thirty minutes pass like seconds. Before you know it, the patient is stable, and you watch as Frank and Robby chat quietly. You don’t feel like interrupting their seemingly private conversation, so you take your leave and head to the staff lounge, rubbing the soreness out of your shoulders as you walk down the halls.

In the privacy of the staff lounge, you take a quiet minute to yourself. You crack open another redbull and give a sigh of relief at the taste. You need the boost this morning—you felt restless last night, tossing and turning in the comfort of your bed. A million things were running through your mind as you attempted to sleep. You tell yourself to get a grip, to shake it off. There are more important things to worry about, better things to do with your time than lament on things you shouldn't be thinking of.

When you think you’re beginning to take too much time, you force yourself back on to the floor. You walk fast towards the direction you last saw Dana, hoping to chat with your charge nurse for a few minutes before tagging along with Perlah and Princess. You’re so engrossed in your own mind—still replaying the same thoughts that kept you up last night—that you don’t see the shine of the floor below you, somehow missing the bright yellow bucket full of soapy water.

You don’t see the puddle of liquid in front of you until you’re slipping in it, falling backwards and smacking your head on the linoleum tile with a gasp. Pain blossoms at the base of your skull as your body lays on the ground. Your eyes flutter softly, vision turning blurry before, eventually, it fades to black.

Your ears are ringing.

Someone is faintly yelling words you can't quite pick up somewhere in the background. You feel a pair of hands behind your neck as someone is propping your head up, and just when you think you may have escaped this incident unharmed, just as your eyes begin to squint open and you make out the face of Dana and Robby, the back of your head throbs.

“Oh, motherfucking christ—” You sputter, attempting to sit up. “Jesus that hurts.”

“Hey hey. Take it easy, kid.” Robby orders, grabbing one of your arms to help steady you.

Dana crouches down beside him, immediately handing you an ice pack that feels freezing against your palm. You accept it gratefully as your eyes continue to adjust to the harsh fluorescent lighting of the ED.

“Quite a fall you took there,” Dana starts. “Here, let me check to see if your head's bleedin’.”

You groan as her hand ghosts against the back of your skull, hissing when the tips of her fingers barely come into contact with your pulsing skin. When she removes her fingers to examine them, they’re dry, which is a relief—at least you won’t need stitches.

“Do you know where you are?” You hear Robby ask.

“I’m in hell,” you reply. You watch as a little of the concern melts from his face, a small smile replacing the serious expression he had been sporting since he watched you slip.

“We should examine you for a concussion,” he continues, beginning to stand back up. Your ass is still firmly planted on the floor, one hand propping yourself up as the other ghosts the ice pack against your temple. Your entire head feels like it's on fire, like someone just took a wooden mallet and went crazy against the inside of your mind.

You're just about to take Robby’s helping hand up when the sound of rushing footsteps catches your attention.

“What the fuck?” You hear Langdon say, and you don’t have to turn to know the way he’s looking at you. Your head starts to pound even further. “What the hell happened?”

“I acquainted myself with the floor,” you mumble, finally taking the aid to get yourself back on two legs. You feel like a baby deer finding its footing for the first time, wobbling slightly back and forth as you try and steady yourself.

“Are you okay?” Langdon asks, his arms finding their way to yours, attempting to help stabilize you.

“I’m fine, totally good. Just embarrassed.” You laugh, immediately regretting it as you wince from the pain.

“How hard did you hit your head?” He asks, eyes scanning over your face. He turns to Robby before asking, “Has anyone assessed for a concussion?”

“No, not yet, I was just abo—”

“Someone help me!” A voice cries out.

Robby, Dana, and Frank tense immediately. Your reaction time is a little slower, and you’re still a little confused until you see Whitaker on the floor, attempting to stop the convulsions of an elderly man currently laying on the floor.

“Jesus, we got people dropping like flies!” Dana yells before running over to help the poor fourth year med student. Robby isn’t far behind her, grumbling to himself about how he can't catch a fucking break, how its always one thing or another.

“Langdon!” He booms from across the room. “Take over for me. Check her for anything, I gotta go.”

Frank gives him a wordless nod, taking no time before leading you towards an empty room not too far away. You feel like a grandma being walked across the street. Langdon’s hands are wrapped around your body, guiding you towards the seat of the bed before they remove themselves, shutting the door behind you both.

“It’s a fucking shit show out there,” he breathes as he swiftly brings up a stool, positioning himself in front of you. “We’ve got doctors cracking their skulls open, patients seizing on floors—it's not even lunch.”

“Yeah, well. I wasn’t planning on practically seeing god today.” You huff. “Holy shit my head hurts.”

“Yeah, let’s make sure you didn’t give yourself permanent brain damage.”

He wheels himself around the room in a comfortable manner, like he's done so many times before. His fingers wrap against the cool metal of a flashlight, and before you know it he's shining it in your face, making you flinch.

“Jesus! A little warning, please?” You hiss.

“Sorry, sorry.” He smiles sheepishly. “Just let me check out your pupilas and then I’ll turn it off.”

He scooches his stool closer to you, finding a respectable place that is semi in between your legs. There's still enough distance that it's professional, but it's just close enough that it makes you sweat.

“Can you tell me your name?” He finally says, clicking the flashlight off. You assume that means your pupils are fine, and he’s moving on to the cognitive aspect of his makeshift exam. You roll your eyes. You're almost positive you don’t have a concussion, just the makings of an incredibly nasty bruise and bump, yet you answer him anyway.

“And what day is it?”

“Wednesday.”

“The…?”

“The twelfth, jesus. Do you want the year too?”

“I wouldn’t say no.”

You playful wave your hand, dismissing him. The pain in your head has slowly receded, not as prominent as it originally was. It thrums slightly in the background, though, not completely over.

“Alright, can you look at my finger?” He starts again, breaking the small silence. He holds his index finger in front of your face. “I’m just gonna move this around, and I want you to follow it, okay?”

“Yes, Dr. Langdon,” you attempt to tease, but your voice comes out lower than expected. You watch as Frank swallows hard.

“Tell me what you did this morning.” He stares intensely into your eyes as he asks the question, still moving his finger around the peripheral of your vision. You follow your order, eyes never leaving his hand as you think of your answer, hoping you don't seem as frazzled as you feel. Did he get closer or are you imagining things?

“Woke up. Ate breakfast. Came to work. Helped on a couple different cases before the one with you and Robby. Went to the staff lounge to down a redbull and before I knew it I was slipping on the wet floor.”

“Good, okay.” He breathes. He stops moving his finger around which allows you to look at him once more. His stethoscope hangs loosely around his black scrub top, the white of his undershirt peeking through his collar as his chest slowly rises and falls. He looks handsome today. Yet again, he always looks handsome, and you find yourself biting the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from telling him that very same thing.

“You were great this morning. With Robby and I, I mean. You handled it like a champ.”

“Thanks,” you whisper. You never know what to do when Frank compliments you. “It’s all you guys. You’re easy to work with.”

“Yeah, but you were collected. Purposeful. Calm. Even when Mateo almost threw up.” He chuckles.

“I try.” You say, and it’s true. You always try. You always give it your best, but it's just easier with Frank. You’re not sure why.

“I’m gonna take your temp now.” He decides, rolling away from you for a second to get a thermometer.

“That feels a little unnecessary,” you say. You don’t want to be a bother—Frank’s a busy man, a coveted one at that. You know he could be helping someone else right now, and you'd hate to think that you were stealing him away from people who needed him more.

“Nope, don’t even.” He replies. “I’m checking off every box.”

He brings the electric thermometer that reads your temporal artery to your forehead. He clicks the button and watches for a few seconds as the device seems to think for a moment, giving you a small smile when a normal and acceptable number flashes on the screen.

“Thank you, again. For checking me for the concussion.”

“No problem.” He responds. “Can’t have you getting worse. Don’t know what I’d do if I had to ask Jesse to do anything instead of you.”

You try not to think too much about what he says to you. You try to pretend you don't notice the way he favors you over other nurses. You try to pretend you don't care. You try to pretend it doesn't kill you.

When Frank finishes putting away the thermometer, you think he's done with his exam. Yet, he doesn't get up to leave. Instead, he leans back, stretching his arms in the air. His shirt riles up, a sliver of his skin between the tops of his pants peeking out. Your eyes scan down the hair on his abdomen.

You clear your throat. Looking at Frank like that is wrong, for many different reasons. When you get up to move, Frank puts out a hand to stop you, wordlessly communicating that he doesn't want to leave yet—that the exam isn't over.

“What are you checking right now?” You ask as Frank sits in front of you, seemingly doing nothing.

“Your responsiveness.” So, bullshit, basically.

“And how is it?”

“Well, for starters, you're responding.”

You give him a small chuckle. You feel appreciative of the calm moment between you two—you’re only halfway through the day, yet you feel like you’ve been going one hundred miles per hour all morning, never stopping to catch your breath. Especially with your newfound head wound. The rest and ice will do you good, you’re sure.

“How have you been?” Frank asks in hopes of breaking the silence. Your eyes flicker up to meet his, and you give the normal response. I’m good, smile. Work is crazy, cheek bite. Thank god I’m off this friday, chuckle.

Through your painfully normal response, Frank watches as your eyes betray you. Your body plays the part perfectly, posture open and inviting, smile bright and cheerful, but something distant swirls in the dark parts of your irises. Frank catches it all.

He frowns. He wants you to be open with him, but he doesn't push it.

“And your—” He coughs, choking on something oddly shaped like his pride. “Your fiancé?”

Your eyes widen. Right. You have one of those.

“He’s.. fine.”

“Good. That’s good. Have you been telling him about all the amazing shit you do here?”

“Um… No. Not recently. We’re actually…” You try to think of how to phrase it. “We’re having a little bit of a disagreement right now.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. It’s stupid, nothing serious, obviously,” you lie. “I just feel bad. I feel like it’s been distracting me.”

Frank tries to act like he's not enthralled. Obviously, he's sad that you’re feeling inadequate with yourself and distracted at work, but Chad can go kick rocks.

“You’re not off your game. Not at all. You were amazing this morning.”

“Thanks.” You reply, still deflected. You toy with your slightly melted ice pack, squishing around the slushy-like gel between your fingers. Your eyes bounce around the room. You don’t want Frank to see the discouragement in them.

“I mean it. You’re a great nurse, and partly the reason why I’m a great doctor. I… I couldn’t do this without you, I hope you know that.” He whispers.

It hasn’t been the easiest thing for him, coming back. There have been so many demons he's had to face, so many challenges he's had to overcome. The cold glances he's had to brush off his shoulder and the shame of his actions all seem a little more bearable when you’re by his side.

He smiles when you look at him again. There's a slight awe in your eyes, like you can't believe what you've just heard, but it's true. Frank thinks the world of you.

“Can I ask what you're fighting about?” He says, lying to himself about his intentions. God forbid a nice doctor care about his a nice nurse. “We’re… friends, so I guess I can ask.”

You sigh. You don't want to let on too much, to make him worry about you or anything. “He’s staying with a friend right now. We’re just disagreeing on stuff about the future. Really, it’s nothing.”

He can see the way you’re downplaying your true feelings in real time as arguments replay in your mind. Harsh words being tossed around, all about how you’re too busy, you never see me anymore, we never have sex anymore.

You don’t tell Frank any of this, obviously. You would be mortified if he knew about the state of your relationship. (Or secretly enthralled, depending on how honest you want to be with yourself.)

“Well, he’d be an idiot to fuck this up with you.” He confesses.

You laugh. It’s heartfelt, Frank can tell. He’s proud of himself for pulling it out the depths of your lungs. After a second, your eyes fall back to the ice pack that's now fully jelly in your hands, feeling a similar melted sort of emotion. You start to speak, but feel like your words fail you.

“I don’t—” Want him. Love Him. “I just—” Want you instead. “It’s—” Easy. Kiss me. “—Complicated.”

“Well,” he starts again, “We don’t have to talk about it if you don't want to. And, anyways, I have to finish your exam.”

“There’s more?” You groan. This has been the longest concussion assessment of your life.

“Mobility. I’m just gonna check around your neck, see if anything hurts. That sort of stuff.”

You gulp. “Sure.”

Frank rolls his stool in front of you once more, a pair of plastic gloves now hiding his hands from the fluorescent lights of the room and the soft feeling of your skin. He inches slowly towards you, trying to find a compromise between the space he knows he should give you and the space he wants.

Quietly, he brings up his fingers to the side of your neck, lightly brushing against the area where your jaw meets your throat. You swallow thickly.

“I’m gonna press lightly on the sides of your throat, and then I’m gonna ask you to move your head around. Let me know if anything I do hurts you, okay?”

“Y-Yeah.”

You watch as his gaze leaves your face to focus on the task at hand. He’s gone from being Frank, to being Dr. Langdon. It’s sexy admirable.

You feel the light pressure of his two fingers as they make their way down your throat. You wait patiently for his instructions, trying not to gasp when his grip changes from two fingers to five, his hands practically engulfing your neck.

“Mkay,” he murmurs, cocking his head. “To the left… Good. Now the right.”

You feel yourself getting hot. Your heartbeat is spiking, you're sure of it. What a horrible time for Frank to have his hand on your carotid artery.

“You seem flushed? Are you alright? Is it hurting?”

“Jesus—No. It’s nothing. Sorry.” You cringe.

He halts his movements. You feel his hands soften around you, feeling lighter around your throat. Oh great, you think. He thinks he's hurting me.

When you finally get the courage to open your scrunched up eyes, you see that he’s back to Frank now. Frank, whose hands are around your throat, his latex clad fingertips barely brushing against the small hairs on the back of your neck. Frank, who’s the closest he’s ever been before. Frank, whose eyes are bouncing back and forth between your eyes and your lips.

It’s wrong. You know it is. It’s bad to want it. It’s bad to think about it.

It’s even worse to do it.

But it happens anyway.

You don't know who starts it. One minute you’re trying not to crawl out of your skin in embarrassment of the way your body betrays you, the next your heart turns to putty as you feel his lips brush against yours, soft and slow with hesitance.

You kiss him back. You don’t think you could pull away if you tried. He tastes like the peach-nectarine red bull he drank this morning. He smells handsome, if that's even possible. Like the ocean. Your hands itch to cradle his face, to make their way into his dark brown hair that always looks perfect, no matter how many times he runs his fingers through them.

It’s deep. It’s sweet. It’s everything you’ve wanted since the first day you saw him.

You play with your fingers to distract yourself reaching out to touch him, as if he’d turn to gold and crumble from your midas touch. Your fingertips run over something hard.

Your ring.

And suddenly it's over.

You pull back from him. You're breathless, you feel disheveled. Your lips feel swollen. Your head hurts worse than when you practically slammed it on the floor like a basketball.

“Are you—shit. I… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“We shouldn’t. I can’t, I have—”

“Yeah, yeah, obviously. Shit.”

“Yeah. Um. I should… go.”

“Yes,” he breathes, “You’re all good. No… no concussion. Or brain damage.”

“Thank you,” you say, scrambling to stand up. “For… Yeah, okay.” You find your footing faster than you did in the halls. You’re not sure what you would do if Frank tried to help stabilize you, but you imagine it can't be anything good.

You leave the room without looking back.

For the rest of his shift Frank is torn into pieces.

He feels awful. You came to him, hurt—possibly concussed—and what did he do? Kiss you. Stupid idiot. You had trusted him. Confided in him about problems you were having in your personal life, problems you were having with the man who put that rock on your finger, and Frank just couldn’t help himself, he had to ruin it.

It was clear you were avoiding him. Painfully so.

You immediately walked away in the opposite direction if he spotted you, never giving him the chance to ask you for help with a patient. Every time you caught his eye, you were deep into conversation with whoever was around you, always managing to avoid his gaze he so desperately wanted you to see.

You’re nowhere to be found when he’s roaming the halls, right as Frank is in between cherry picking cases. You’re somewhere in a room down the hall when Frank sits down to log some information, pretending to look busy as he clicks the mouse around an empty screen. He feels like a kicked puppy.

The worst part is he knows he did it to himself. He knew at the beginning of your friendship that he wasn’t capable of knowing you without loving you, and he worked with you anyway. Now it's all ruined, he thinks. You’ll never speak to him again. You’ll probably never want to be in the same room as him, especially alone. It’ll be horrible to work with him, you’ll hate every minute of it.

He’ll be a gentleman about it though, transfer to night shift. Never speak to you again. Wishing you and your future toddler twins a good life as you cradle a new baby that looks just like fucking Chad. He can see it all play out in his head. He’ll die alone. The cat he doesn’t have will eat his face.

The hours pass by quickly as Frank loses himself in his head. He goes through the motions. He’s done it all before. It’s not good to work distracted, but there's no use in trying to clear his mind. He wants to talk to you desperately, but he doubts he’ll get the chance.

And he’s right. You take off like a shot when your shift ends, leaving a trail of dust behind you. No one seems to notice but him. Frank feels so twisted inside, like he’s fucked everything up beyond repair. He pinches the bridge of his nose as he sits in the driver's seat of his car. He let himself get too comfortable, be too hopeful that anything could change between you two.

He drives home in disappointed silence.

When Frank finally makes it back to his house, to his sparsely decorated apartment that's just a little too small and a little too dark, he collapses with exhaustion. His bag is tossed somewhere haphazardly, his lanyard with his medical ID thrown loosely on his kitchen counter. He slides off his scrub top and doesn't bother to look where it lands.

A hot shower should fix everything.

He stands under his showerhead moments later, his shitty water pressure doing an even shittier job at getting the shampoo out of his hair. He tries to distract himself with miniscule things in order to prevent thinking of you. This ends pathetically, however, when Frank realizes he doesn't have much of anything else to distract himself with.

He’s not married anymore. He barely has any friends. All he does is work, and if Frank thinks of work, then Frank thinks of you.

“This is pointless,” He mutters to no one.

When he finally deems himself clean, appreciative of the small relief that the shower has given him, Frank tosses on an old pair of sweatpants that ride low on the bony parts of his hips, sliding over a black steelers t-shirt to go with it. He reheats some leftovers from the night before, going through the motions of being too eager and burning his mouth over and over with every bite.

He’s impressed with himself about how his cooking skills have grown. Now that he lives alone, all of the decisions fall to him. It wasn't like he never cooked when he was married or anything of the sort—Frank always helped out. But now, he’s on his own. He wonders briefly if you’d like the meal he’s eating. If you’d like his cooking.

He stands in the kitchen for longer than he should. His plate is clean now. The dishes are washed and dried, put away in their respective cabinets. But Frank can’t bring himself to move. From here, he can see the entirety of his home as it lies before him. His small living room with a couch and a TV he got on sale. The door to his bedroom cracked slightly askew, allowing for the tiniest bit of light to bleed in from his bathroom.

His apartment is cold. Empty. It feels lonely and like salt in the wound. It’s times like this when Frank misses you the most. He closes his eyes and selfishly imagines you in his kitchen, smiling softly at him as he cooks for the two of you. The way you’d look on his couch, watching a movie so scary you’d have to turn to look away, burying your face in his chest.

He tries not to think about you in his bed. It never ends well for him, and he feels all the more shameful the next time he sees you.

When he’s done playing pretend in his mind, he makes his way to his couch alone. He turns on some shitty reality TV show to distract him, and make his space less quiet. He rots in the same position for what feels like hours.

Frank’s eyes just begin to flutter shut when he hears the faintest knock on his door.

At first he thinks he’s imagining it. It’s late, and Frank doesn't talk to his neighbors. It must’ve been from down the hall.

But then it happens again. He pauses the show and groans as he stands, stretching out his arms and legs before he rubs his eyes. He knows he didn’t order anything, so maybe someone’s just got the wrong house?

He contemplates a few different possible scenarios until he opens the door, and it’s clear the person in front of him is at the right place. You stand anxiously, toying with your fingers like you did that morning. You look at him like a deer in headlights, almost as if you weren't expecting him to answer. Neither of you say anything.

He breaks the uncomfortable silence. “How the hell did you get my address?”

You seem relieved when he speaks, like you were afraid he might shut the door in your face. “I have my ways.”

“That's… frightening.” He admits. “Do you… do you want to come in?”.

“Yeah.”

He maneuvers his body and opens the door widely for you, allowing you to step inside. You slowly creep into his living room, looking around and taking in his scarce decor, his degrees hung on the wall. He barely has any photos in frames.

His apartment radiates the same sort of Frank-esque smell that graced your senses earlier that morning, and you find yourself inhaling deeply, as if you were running out of breath. You hope he doesn’t notice.

When Frank shuts the door behind you, he leans against the kitchen counter in order to give you some space. He thinks maybe you’re here to yell at him, to tell him you’re transferring to Presby or even moving just to get away from him.

But he can’t help himself from worrying about you, which is why he ends up asking, “Are you okay?”

You don't answer him, which only puts him on edge more. He's always been used to easy conversations between you two. He hates this switch. He hates himself for it even more. The guilt that starts to bubble in his stomach again at the sight of you suddenly feels unbearable. He thinks he may just die if he doesn’t try to make amends in some way, he can't bear the thought of losing you because he couldn't control his desire.

“I’m so sorry,” he begins to say, “For this morning—”

“No, no. That wasn’t your fault at all. Don’t apologize.” You confess. “Actually, that’s why I’m here. That’s—That’s what I want to talk to you about. If you have a second.”

“O-Of course, yeah.”

“Um… so I left work really fast. As I’m sure you saw. Partly to avoid you and partly because kissing you made me realize some things that I had been ignoring. So I went home and got into a really big fight with Chad.”

Langdon gulps at your confession. He wants to reach out and touch you, but he decides against it.

“We fought about… well about everything. He said that I wasn't in love with him. And… he's right. I’m not. And also, apparently he was sleeping with the ‘friend’ he was staying with, so. Tried to tell me it was my fault because I wasn't giving him any attention.” you whisper.

You stop yourself to catch your breath. You feel overwhelmed talking about something so fresh. You feel almost embarrassed in a way to admit this—that you had been so in love with Frank that it ruined your already crumbling relationship.

“I ended things with him. Gave him his stupid ring back and told him to get the hell out of my house. I gave him the night to pack a bag but I couldn’t be there any longer, so I just left. I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.”

Frank stays quiet as you explain the situation you find yourself currently in. He watches as your eyes dart around the room once more—you're nervous. You're worried he’ll kick you out, make you go back to your home where you have to come to the realization that the man you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with is a cheater.

“I’m so sorry.” He says. He hears the way his own voice cracks. He hates seeing you emotional, and it’s getting to him. “He didn’t deserve you at all. And fuck him for trying to say it was your fault.”

He watches as you take a shaky breath. You look up at him. You’re dressed more casually than when he last saw you, a pair of low rise jeans and some old band t-shirt covering your body. You look nice for someone who's just had their world turned upside down.

“Believe it or not… I’m actually not that torn up about it. In his defense, I don’t think I've mentally been there for the past six months. I’ve been distracted.” You admit. Your stomach does a somersault when you watch as Frank clenches his jaw. You have to admit being cheated on feels shitty, but there's a certain feeling of freedom blooming in your chest as you stand in your favorite resident’s living room.

“By what?” He asks. His voice is low. His arms are crossed, and his fingernails dig into his arms. They leave tiny crescent shapes in his skin.

You gulp. “By you. Always by you.”

Frank freezes. The hair on the back of his neck stands up straight, sending a chill down his spine. He can’t believe the words that are leaving your mouth. He feels like he must be dreaming. It just isn't possible for you to be standing in front of him after all this time, newly single, saying you’ve wanted him just as much, if not more, as he’s wanted you.

Your confession hangs heavy in the air. Frank gets flashbacks to this morning. The feeling of your neck in his hands, the shape of your lips as they slotted so perfectly against his. He starts to understand that he was so worried after the kiss had happened, so convinced that he had screwed everything up, that he forgot to see the way you’d melted against him and moved your mouth against his.

“About this morning… Did you mean it? Did you mean to kiss me?” you whisper. “Because if not, I’ll go, and we never have to talk about it again.”

Frank pushes himself off of the counter and walks towards you. He gets closer than he did this morning, yet his hands make their way to that same spot on your neck, just below your jaw. You exhale shakily as you wait for his reply.

“All I do is think about you. Every goddamn day.” He breathes out. “I’m sorry about how that fucking asshole treated you, but I’m not—I’m not sorry you’re not with him. You deserve to be with someone better than that. Who wants you.”

Something crackles between you two. Now that you both know where the other stands, it’s hard to not act on it.

“And do you want me?” You ask lowly.

“Yes.” He replies, not missing a beat.

“Then kiss me. Please.”

Frank moves you closer with one small tug at your neck, bringing your face to his as his lips lightly brush against yours. Your eyes flutter shut, and you sigh into him as you let your hands wander. As your hands move up towards his hair, his move down your torso, resting lowly on your hips. He feels the rough material of your jeans underneath his palms. He hooks his fingers around your belt loops and pulls you closer, your body coming flush with his.

“We don’t have to do anything,” he says once he breaks away from you. The last thing Frank wants to do is rush you and scare you away, so he’ll let you dictate how far you go tonight. He’ll take anything he can get, even if it's just a kiss. As long as it's with you.

“Please, Frank. Haven’t stopped thinking about you for months,” you confess against his lips.

The admission makes him rock hard. You feel like play-doh in his hands, so soft, so willing. You look at him in a way that makes him flush. You’re so perfect, he thinks. And by some miracle, you want him just as much as he wants you.

So how could he refuse you?

He slides his hands down your ass to the back of your thighs, hoisting you up around his hips as he carries you to his bedroom. You feel his erection press through his sweats, and when he lays you down gently, you bite your lip at the sight of his outline through the sweatpants.

It doesn’t take long before his hands are tugging at the hem of your shirt, signaling to you that he wants it off. You work on sliding it over your head as Frank removes his own shirt, his chest heaving up and down as his eyes rake down your body. His lips find their way to your neck as they kiss on your pressure point, causing you to squirm. You run your fingers through his hair as a way to distract yourself from the pleasure. He kisses his way down your chest until he comes to the swell of your breasts, reaching behind you to unclasp the garment. He groans as you help slide it off your body. He takes one nipple in his mouth and you gasp at the feeling of his warm tongue swirling around your areola.

He gives both of your nipples a little bit of attention, suckling slightly, watching the way they gleam with his spit in the moonlight before he keeps moving down your body. When he reaches the top of your jeans, you give a little hip lift in desperation. He gets the hint. His fingers undo the button and zipper, grabbing both your pants and underwear before sliding them down your legs. He discards them somewhere in the darkness of his room before his eyes are back on you. Your thighs are pushed together in slight embarrassment of how wet you are. A flush creeps its way down your neck as Frank slides his hands up and down your hips, trying to coax you open for him.

“You don’t have to,” you breathe out.

“But I want to. Please let me, baby. Been thinking about it forever.”

You melt at his words. You’ve never been able to say no to him, not at work and not between the sheets of his own bed. His pleas cause your legs to spread open. He moves his head down to the same level as your soaking pussy, grinning when he sees how wet you are for him. He takes a moment to admire how you practically drip onto the sheets.

You cry out when his tongue finally licks a fat stripe up your cunt. Your fingers tug at his brown curls, his name leaving your lips in small whispers as he moves his mouth against you. It’s sloppy, and the sound he makes against your pussy is obscene. He wraps his hands around the outside of your thighs, throwing your legs over his shoulders. This changes the angle of your hips, allowing his tongue to dive deeper into your core as your back arches from the sensation.

Before you can register him moving, Frank’s middle finger breaches your entrance. He pushes it in slowly, watching in awe at the way your tight walls engulf his digit whole. You groan at the intrusion. He curls it ever so slightly, a chuckle caught in his throat as your hips begin to grind down on his palm.

Frank wants to tease you, he really does. But for your first time together he can barely contain his excitement, let alone make you wait any longer than you have to, so he slides his ring finger in as well, developing a smooth rhythm that has you crying out his name.

He presses his tongue up against your clit, sucking it into his mouth as his fingers work to bring you closer and closer to your first orgasm of the night. You feel the familiar ache in your abdomen as he picks up his pace.

“Frank, fuck, fuck—” You whine. “‘M close.”

He groans against you in response. He wants nothing more to have you cumming into his mouth, your sweet slick dripping down his tongue as he licks your pussy like it was made for him.

Your thighs begin to tremble and shake around his head. You scrunch your toes in pleasure as your eyes roll into the back of your head. You see stars as Frank brings you to the edge. When you cum, it's with a gasp and an arch of your back. You throw your head back against his pillow, and Frank doesn't let up on his movements as he works you through your orgasm.

When you finally come back down from your high, you see Frank with a shit eating grin between your legs. The lower half of his face shines with your juices.

“Oh my god,” you blush, bringing your hands up to your face to hide your embarrassment.

“Fuck, that was hot.” He laughs, pressing a wet kiss to the inside of your leg.

He climbs back up your body, wiping his mouth before kissing you softly. His tongue runs over your top lip, sliding its way into your mouth. You taste yourself as he deepens the kiss. Your hands run up and down his shoulders until your palms come flush with his chest. You feel the softness of his hair over the sharp edges of his muscles, sneaking your fingers down to the drawstring of his sweatpants. You undo them as Frank suckles at your neck.

You gingerly slip a skilled hand down his pants until you feel his erection through the thin fabric of his boxers. He hisses through his teeth at the relief the pressure from your hand gives him. You bite your bottom lip before cupping him gently, then raking your nails over his lower stomach once more before slipping your warm hand into his underwear. You gently grab his cock, watching as he shudders into your body. An involuntary whimper escapes his throat as you slowly begin stroking him up and down, feeling how hard and angry he feels even in the dark.

“‘M not gonna last long if you keep doing that.” He groans.

You can't help but smile at the way his face scrunches up in pleasure as you continue to tug at his weeping member, occasionally running your thumb over his slit, gathering the precum before spreading it down his base.

“Can’t wait anymore. Need you.” He states plainly, grabbing your wrist and removing you from his pants before he stands up, removing his sweats and underwear in one motion.

His cock, now free from the restrictive fabric of Frank’s boxers, pulses red between his legs. You drop your head back onto the mattress. He’s big.

“Need you to fuck me, please,” you beg as he leans over to his bedside table, ripping open a condom. He throws his head back as he slides it over his penis, eventually lining himself up to your dripping entrance. He drags his mushroom tip up and down your soaked folds, tapping your clit lightly. Your legs twitch at the stimulation.

“You're my favorite, you know that?” He teases.

You drag him down for a kiss. Your nails scrape down his back as he slowly begins to push himself in, watching with hooded eyes at the way you take him so well. It's lewd—down right pornagraphic the way you sound. You feel yourself stretch around him, chest rising and falling as he kisses you deeply, swallowing your moans as he begins to move his hips.

He’s slow at first—calculated, like he’s thought long and hard about each stroke. His hips find a rhythm that makes your mouth fall open and leaves your mind blank, only one thing running through it—Frank, Frank, Frank.

Your hands fall from his back onto his soft sheets, scrunching them up in between your fingertips. Frank leans back and grabs your thighs, throwing them over his shoulder before pressing his torso into yours. You gasp at the change in angle. Suddenly, with each thrust he reaches deeper and deeper, grunting each time his thick head brushes against the spongy part in your walls, enthralled at the way it makes you moan.

His pace feels unrelentless and unforgiving. For a man whose admitted to liking you and respecting you so much, he sure fucks you like he doesn’t. It only brings you closer to the edge.

You watch his face in a haze. The way his lips part slightly, the small beads of sweat that have gathered on his forehead due to the physical activity, the way those piercing blue eyes that you love so much suddenly look pitch black with lust.

He reaches his thumb down to circle your aching clit, biting his lower lip as he watches your back arch, pushing your tits into his face. He wants this burned behind his eyelids forever, buried alongside him in his grave.

Your high pitched whines and hics let him know you're close again. He feels the way your walls clench around him, gushing out your arousal with each slam of his hips. You move your legs down to wrap around his hips, linking your ankles together to pull him impossibly closer to you as he continues to pistol into your pelvis. You cum unexpectedly, like a white hot blaze bubbling in your stomach, shooting down your veins before you even realize it's happening. It renders you speechless. Tears prick the sides of your eyes as Frank works you through it, his encouraging yet incredibly sexy voice whispering praise in your ear.

When you come down from your high, you feel the way his hips stutter. Their movements, once precise, now feel erratic and dangerously close to finishing. You watch in amazement as his eyes squeeze shut. He grows louder and louder, slurred words leaving his lips as he tells you how good you’re doing, how nice you feel, how he could fuck you forever. His hips slam and eventually stall, a growl making its way into your shoulder as he releases his warm load into the latex of his condom.

Your fingers find the sweaty hair at the nape of his neck as he pants above you. You two laugh gently before Frank’s arms give out, leaving him to lay on top of you. You bear the weight of his body for the light neck kisses he gives you in return. Something tugs at your heart. The moment is slow, hazy in the best way. It's yours to share and hold.

When he finally pulls out of you, you whine at the loss of contact. You could have stayed like that forever. With Frank, forever.

“I know,” he whispers. He can already read your mind.

He walks to his bathroom and is gone for a moment, discarding his condom and cleaning himself up slightly before wetting a washcloth to wipe you down as well. It’s warm and comforting as he cleans up the mess you made between your own thighs, a mixture of the condoms pre-given lube and your own arousal.

When you hear the start of his shower, you smile softly. It feels so domestic, like what you’ve always craved with Frank. Like what Chad never gave you.

He helps you up off the bed, cracking another joke about you slipping as your legs try to find some balance. All you can do is give him an annoyed look before his lips are on yours again, dragging you from his room to the shower.

You fall asleep in his arms afterwards. You're dressed in an old shirt of his, a pair of his boxers clad on your lower half. His sheets smell like you and him. You two speak softly about what this all means, how long you’ve wanted this, how much Frank has needed you. About how he’ll never let you go now that he has you, and no Chad is changing that.

You kiss him gently. A thank you, an I’ve missed you, and an I love you seemingly all said with one small peck.

Frank doesn’t fall asleep immediately. You’re slumped against his chest, softly breathing in and out as his fingers curl against your lower back. From here, Frank begins to memorize the slope of your nose from up close, the fluffiness of your eyelashes that flutter occasionally. He’s thankful for this moment of peace. He always wants this, he realizes. You, in his arms. His ring on your finger. Your toothbrush next to his. The smell of your shampoo on his scrub tops that will no doubt distract him.

He drifts off thinking of his rule that he followed dutifully for a long time. He’s still following it as far as he’s concerned. He knows he’s not supposed to have favorites, and he doesn’t.

Well, except for you.

likes, comments, reblogs, and follows are always appreciated :)

#frank langdon x reader #frank langdon #the pitt #dr langdon x reader #dr frank langdon #dr frank langdon x reader #frank langdon smut #the pitt hbo #dr frank langdon smut

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rueclfer · 8 months ago

Note

Can I get a gentle reminder smau with Shigaraki? And maybe with a little excerpt of him checking in on us 👉🏻👈🏻 love your writing, but don’t feel inclined to do this request if you don’t want to :)

ily u r sweet yes u can get some of this soft n tender shiggy

gentle reminder // tomura shigaraki

“keep track of your shit.” tomura says once more, tossing your pill bottle onto your bed, right next to your figure hidden beneath the mass of blankets.

“you see a bottle of pills that looks kinda important, that you know i left in your room since last week and you don’t think to at least notify me?” you huff, peaking your head out.

“i dunno.” he shrugs. “you leave shit in my room at the time. think i have half your closet on my floor.”

you tightly clench the fabric of the blanket up over your nose as heat spikes up to your ears.

tomura doesn’t need an invitation to make himself comfortable in your bed. you feel the shift of the mattress underneath you and hear the rattle of the pills as he shakes it in his hands.

“so this tiny ass pill” he lays on his back, one hand behind his head, the other holding up the small orange bottle to his eyes. “is the one thing that keeps you together?”

“unfortunately.” you sigh, pulling the blanket down under your chin. “can you pass me one?”

you watch him carefully shake out the small pale pill into the palm of his hand. he returns the stare as you swallow the pill dry, returning your head down onto your pillow.

“feel better?” he sets the bottle on the nightstand.

“no.” you laugh at the naivety. “gonna take a little to get used to them again.”

“what do you need then?” he blankly stares at you. “‘cause you can’t do this for another week.”

you two lock into a staring contest while you think for a moment.

what do i need?

you feel like shit. you haven’t taken a proper shower in a few days. you haven’t really eaten anything. your throat is dry. this migraine is pounding its way out of your skull. this is the most you’ve spoken to someone in a week.

“maybe just stay here.”

it takes him by surprise- you see the shock in his eyes.

sure you’ve messed around a bit (a lot), but you’ve never asked him for any sort of warmth and comfort. this is new territory for the both of you.

tomura fully turns on his side and inches a bit closer to you. he’s scared to touch you, so he just invades your bubble a little bit more than he usually would. your breaths intertwine in the stuffy air of your bedroom and you see the room slowly grow dimmer as the sun sets.

“is this helping?” he whispers.

“yeah.” you close your eyes, fingers reaching out to rest on top of the back of his hand, lighting tapping over his fingers. “thanks, tomura.”

“just don’t be stupid and forget again.” he sighs, switching your hand positions, his now firmly laying flat over yours.

“maybe it’s all a ruse to get you in my bed.” you tease.

“not that you need a ruse. it’s you. i’m always available.” he scoffs. “idiot.” he quickly adds on.

tomura’s glad the sun was almost set at this point. you wouldn’t be able to see his growing flushed face and chewed bottom lip as he continues to stare at your slight smile, and tousled hair from laying in bed all day.

he’ll make a mental note to make it a habit to stop by your room and remind you to take your meds from now on. he doesn’t realize until now that this piece of solitude in each other’s presence has been something he’s been craving, almost like an insatiable hunger.

tomura scooches closer now, letting himself in the cocoon of your blankets. you accept him in between your arms, letting him rest his head against the crook of your neck.

“thank you, tomura.” you mutter against his hairline.

“yeah.”

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blackpantherismyish · 1 month ago

Text

Smoke Signals Pt. 2 🍃

Modern!Smoke x Annie

Word count: 2.4k

Authors Note: The one thing about writing is, at first you may say you’ll only do one. And your own cliffhanger makes you want more 😅 shoutout to yall for loving it and I want to give the people what they want. (It’s me, I’m also people). Today’s song has no direct connection.. it was just what I was listening to while writing. 🤭

The light comes in soft, blush pink and silver-gray, spilling across the rumpled sheets. The world outside is still. No cars. No voices. Just birdsong in the distance and the faint creak of the ceiling fan above.

Annie stirs first.

She’s curled under the blanket, one leg twisted out, the other tangled around Smoke’s. His arm is slung low across her waist, fingers resting just above her navel like they never stopped touching her all night.

She doesn’t move yet.

Just watches him.

He’s asleep partially on his side, chest rising slow, face completely calm. That same unreadable expression he wore when he first pulled up in the Cutlass, but now it feels different.

Now it feels like hers. It’s been a short while since she’s felt this way.

She lets her eyes trail across his bare shoulder, the curve of his throat, that little scar near his collarbone. She almost touches it.

Almost.

Smoke stirs.

Eyes barely open, just a sliver. A voice similar to the rumble of thunder rattles through her chest. “You watchin’ me?”

His voice is gravel-soft. Not startled. Just aware.

Annie smirks, shifting onto her side to face him fully.

“An’ what if I was?”

Smirking is his half-dozed state he mutters a bit louder. “Then I guess I should wake up and make it worth watchin’.”

She laughs under her breath. Shakes her head and tugs the blanket up a little, covering herself even though he’s already seen it all.

He turns toward her, finally really looking at her. His fingers move slow, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. Not possessive. Not rushed. Just… gentle.

It disarms her more than last night did.

Annie looks at him as the sun peaks through the blinds and shimmers against his soft brown skin.

“You’re not gonna get weird, are you?”

Raising an eyebrow, Smoke rubs a hand down her shoulder. “What you mean?”

“Like… go quiet and vanish. Pretend it didn’t happen. Do the whole “my bad, I was high” act”

Smoke just watches her. Then reaches for her hand under the blanket and laces their fingers together.

“I was high.”

“Nigga..” Annie cuts her eyes at him, pulling away her hand from his. “See? There you go with dat shit”

Smoke shakes his head with soft smirk before speaking. “But I knew what I was doin’.”

“Still do.”

That sinks in slower than she wants to admit.

She lies there, looking at him. Trying not to let the fear crawl in, the one that always comes after soft things.

Smoke leans closer, mouth brushing the top of her shoulder this time, not her lips.

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

She closes her eyes at that. Not because she’s sleepy but because something in her chest just unclenched.

Biting her lip, Annie glides her hand down his arm, feeling the ripples of his muscles under her fingertips.

“Good.” She whispered. “I thinkin’ about makin’ breakfast. Maybe…”

Smoke stretches a little beside her, arm sliding behind his head. “I’d eat it.”

“Uh, I know dat. You can never stay away from my cookin’.. Even though ‘you ain’t been here in a while’.. Big ole broad ass nigga. ” She laughs as his face contorts.

“Well then go surprise me.. My palette may have changed”

“Don’t get smart” She side-eyes him.

“You always this sweet in the morning?” Smoke chuckles softly, watching her sit up.

“Only when I wake up next to you. Cause you have some sort of kink for this shit.”

She laughs again. This one fuller. Unafraid.

And as she rolls out of bed, shirt tugged back over her head, bare legs crossing the floor to the kitchen. Smoke watches her like he already knows she’s gonna come back.

Like he ain’t even gotta follow her immediately.

Because some things don’t need chasing.

Some things just stay where they are.

The sun slices in through the kitchen window, warm and gold. The air is filled with the sizzle of garlic, the pop of cherry tomatoes in olive oil, and the faint hum of music playing low from Annie’s Alexa. Something old and soulful.

Annie moves through the kitchen like she owns it. Barefoot, focused, confident. Her hair’s messy in a way that still looks deliberate, and she wears one of Smoke’s shirts like it was made for her.

On the stove, a cast iron skillet holds the makings of a perfect omelet, herbs, sautéed peppers, sharp cheese melting into the folds. Toast already golden, jam homemade, sitting beside a French press half-full with fresh coffee.

No half-effort here. She cooks like she loves herself.

From the hallway, the sound of soft footsteps. Then Smoke appears in the doorway, rubbing a hand down his face. Shirtless, dark grey sweatpants hanging low on his waist, and eyes still heavy from sleep. He looks at her like the sight alone is making it hard to breathe right.

Annie hasn't turned yet. She knows he’s watching.

Voice still about as low as his sweatpants on his waist, Smoke vocalizes. “Damn.”

Annie doesn’t look back. “Morning to you too.”

His voice becomes clearer as he continues to watch her.

“You cooked all this?”

“I don’t do that cereal in the morning shit. I like real food.”

Smoke steps in, slower than usual. Not because he’s tired but like he’s weighing something.

“You still cook like this?”

She flips the omelette over swiftly, shrugging. “Only when someone’s worth feeding.”

She finally turns to look at him. And he looks guilty.

Not the dramatic kind. The real kind. That slow, tight regret sitting behind his eyes.

“Annie…” He pauses. “About last time… Me goin’ ghost. I should’ve said somethin’. You didn’t deserve that.”

Her jaw tightens a little. Not from anger, just recognition. She plates the food with intention, no waste, no mess. Slides his dish across the table, sits across from him.

Scoffing softly, she glances at him. “You’re right. I didn’t.”

He nods, taking it. Doesn’t deflect.

“I had shit to handle. But I should’ve at least let you know I was alive.”

She watches him. Picks up her coffee. Drinks slow.

“I don’t need play-by-plays. I ain’t no football coach. But I’m not someone you just hit when the smoke clears.I’m not built for that kind of vanishing act foolishness”

“I know,” Smoke looks down for a second, then back at her. “That’s why I’m here. Why I came back.”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment. Just eats. Fork cutting through the omelet, revealing the melted cheese, still warm and soft.

He watches her chew. Watches the way she avoids looking at him when things get close to real.

“This is fire, by the way.” His lips smack slightly.

Smirking, she looks up. “Nigga you betta act like you know..”

He laughs. And for the first time that morning, something eases between them.

She finally looks at him straight.

“You still got some explaining to do… But I’m not gonna waste good eggs being mad.”

Quietly wiping his mouth, Smoke nods.

“I’m not goin’ ghost again. Not on you.”

She holds his eyes. And it’s like she’s measuring whether she believes him or maybe, whether she’s ready to believe anyone at all.

Then, slowly, she leans over the table. Reaches for his hand, thumb brushing across his knuckles.

“Next time, just say what’s real. I don’t need perfect. I just need present.”

Rubbing his thumb along her hand, he watches her gaze.

She lets his fingers stay tangled in hers a second longer than necessary, then pulls back and stands up, gathering dishes.

“Now if you really want to prove you’re not the vanishing type…” Annie smirks.

Eagerly, he leans forward. It’s not like her to give hints. “Yeah?”

“You’ll wash the damn dishes.”

Grinning as he rose, he strides over to her “You cook, I clean. I can do that.”

She smirks and leans in close as she passes behind him, hand dragging lightly across his bare chest, then his lap. Not an accident.

“Good…” She feels his breath hitch briefly. “‘Cause later… I’m gonna need dessert.”

She disappears into the hallway.

Smoke watches her go, eyes low, jaw tight with quiet hunger but also relief.

He’s not just back. He’s grounded now.

And Annie, she might just let him stay.

The dishes are done.

The kitchen smells faintly of lemon soap and roasted garlic. The window’s cracked open, letting in a warm breeze that flutters the curtain like breath. Alexa now playing soft R&B, the bass humming through the house.

Smoke stands at the sink, drying the last plate, shoulders relaxed now. Shirt still missing. But he had put some socks on, the tilt floor started to make his feet cold. He’s still here, that fact hanging in the room like a low hum Annie pretends not to hear too loud.

She’s across the room now, wiping down the counter, but really… watching him.

“You’re good at that.”

He smirks, tilting his head. “Doin’ dishes?”

Nodding softly, she hums. “Mmhm.”

“Might start inviting you over just for that.”

He finishes and leans back against the counter, arms crossed, watching her with that unreadable gaze; the kind that feels like he’s cataloging every piece of her and still somehow not looking away.

“What else you need me to make up for?”

Her head tilts.

She lets the rag drop into the sink. Turns fully to him. Slow, deliberate.

“Oh, you wanna have that conversation?”

He shrugs, but his grin betrays the calm.

“You the one brought it up.”

She takes a few steps toward him—bare feet quiet on the tile, the frigidness being nothing new to her. When she gets close, she reaches out, fingers lightly grazing curve of his jaw, then sliding down to rest on his chest.

“It’s not just about disappearing.” She adjusts his chain. “It’s about what we lost… Time. Nights. Things you owe me now.”

Smoke’s hands come to rest on her hips, but he doesn’t pull her in yet. He just holds her there, like a decision he’s ready to keep making.

“What you think I owe you?”

She leans in, lips ghosting his ear in a way that makes his knees almost buckle.

“You ever been kissed like you were supposed to stay forever?”

Smoke doesn’t answer.

But his fingers flex against her waist.

Annie doesn’t pull back much. Just enough to meet his eyes.

“Because I was thinking maybe you make that up to me… One room at a time.”

A pause. The air thickens. Then he moves. Deliberate. Certain.

His hand slides up her back, the other under her thigh as he lifts her in one motion, no hesitation. She laughs, breath hitching, hands gripping his shoulders.

“Okay, damn.”

“You said one room at a time, right?”

Nodding, she slides a hand to rest at the base of his neck. “Might wanna start with the bedroom.”

“Might not leave it.”

Light filters through curtains. The sheets are already messy from the night before.

Now, they’re worse.

Annie’s tangled beneath Smoke, hair splayed across her pillow, lips parted, eyes fluttering between focus and something slower, softer. She’s not trying to hide anything anymore—not want, not trust, not how long she’s needed this.

Smoke’s moving like he’s catching up for all the hours he missed. Not rushed. Not apologetic. Just here.

Fully here.

He speaks quietly against her neck, nibbling on the spot he knows drives her mad. “Ain’t goin’ ghost again.”

Annie whispers, “You better not..”

Her hand’s on his jaw, keeping him close. His is on her lower back, anchoring her in place. His hips grinding against her in the hungriest manner.

“You going to keep teasin’ me or you going to do somethin’?” Annie moans softly, his shirt riding up on her hips.

Smoke doesn’t speak but moves his body off of hers. Before she could protest, he began placing soft kisses down her body. His hands lifting his shirt to reveal her soft, chocolate skin. His eyes wandered to her legs, her thighs swallow the material of her panties making them almost invisible.

“Oh I’m going to do something, aight..” dragging her to the edge of the bed as he drops to his knees, he kisses the top of her thighs.

She lets out a soft moan, propping herself up on her elbows. “An’ what’s that?”

Spreading her legs and sliding her panties off, he was greeted by her glistening pussy. His mouth watering while he palms her flesh.

“I’m gonna make you shake, baby…” His voice dripped with seduction as he gave her clit a soft peck.

Annie bit his lip, she wouldn’t admit it out loud but seeing Smoke… Her Elijah, on his knees speaking a language to her soul that only he could also drive her up the wall.

His tongue curled and wiggled in between her folds, spreading her wetness onto her thighs and his face. It almost sounded like a primal thirst.

“Fuuck ‘Lijah..” One of her arm slips from underneath her as he latches onto her clit, sucking on it so passionately it was audible. He lets out a purr, almost like a growl but in a melodic tone.

He catches her eyes as she starts to grind her hips against his tongue.

“Papa’s here..” Speaking against her clit, he palms himself through his sweatpants as her moans drip from her lips like a love song written just for him.

Feeling his tongue slip into her entrance she squirms to slide away from the edge of the bed. Sensing this, Smoke grips her thighs and anchors her legs around his head.

The man was feasting on her like he hadn’t just had a full breakfast.

“Why you always gotta do that?” She panted desperately, watching him become flush between her chocolate thighs. She whimpers as he chuckles against her button.

“Because I love hearing you moan like that..” His voice was now a purr, his strong hands holding her steady.

“Just fuck me… Please?”

“Oh you beggin’?” She could her the slight upward inflection of his voice, like he was genuinely surprised.

“Yes.. Because you like to play..” Her hips gyrating the air for some friction as Smoke wrapped her legs around his waist.

Smirking, he slaps his dick against her aching clit. Annie whines, biting down her lip. “It is called foreplay, sweet baby..”

Reaching up, Annie grips his beard. Pulling his face level with her own, she locks her legs around his waist causing him to sink inside of her warmth. Growling through a moan, she gazes up at him. “Elijah you betta quit playin’ and fuck me.”

—-

Some tags didn’t work so please don’t fight me 😭 im tryna fix it and will retag once I get it straight. But I hope yall enjoyed. Work and school has been whooping my ass but ya girl is a certified Phlebo tech. now and on the dean’s list. 🤭🤏🏽

Taglist: @bigjh @anniensmoke3 @hdfen2474 @uzumaki-rebellion @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @killmongerdispussy @theogbadbitch @ccwpidsblog @princesskillmonger @blowmymbackout @theethighpriestess @steampunkprincess147 @diamondsinterlude @partylikemajima @mhhhhmmmmmmm @coolfoodrunworld-blog @lilchubbs @thebumblebeesworld @mastertia221b @brownskincheyenne @belleofthefloor @lb-xci

Divider : @cafekitsune

#Spotify #smoke moore #sinners #smoke x annie #sinners fanfiction #wunmi mosaku #michael b jordan

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luveline · 1 year ago

Note

Hey my lovely, could i equest a blurb where reader seeks one of spencer's hugs and he's all soft and mushy about it!! I just think he'd give really warm hugs and want one so bad!

shy!reader + post!prison Spencer have a hug

Spencer understands why you might find him intimidating. He did go to prison for a few weeks, and even if the idea of his being a potential felon didn’t scare you, there’s nothing wrong with being nervous around the unknown. You’ve had a few more weeks to get to know the others on the team. He tries not to take it personally that you’re closer with some of them than you are him.

Plus, you’re awfully shy.

Spencer’s been trying to communicate that he’s an idiot. He was shy, once, and he tends to be shy about things now, too, even if he’s taken to hiding that. He hides a lot, these days.

But things aren’t hopeless with you. You’re inarguably his best work friend now that Morgan’s not around, taking the desk next to his —through coincidence or insistence, he has no idea.

“What flavour do you have today?” he asks.

You show him your bag. The convenience store outside of work has the strangest sweets from all sorts of places. You’ve been bringing in a different bag each day, and you always share. “Today is apricot and peach ‘millions’,” you tell him, shaking the bright pink bag like a rattle.

Inside, the millions bounce against each other like miniscule polystyrene balls but with a heavier weight.

“Awesome!” he says, holding out his hand. “Please?”

You rip the corner and tip a generous helping of candies into his palm, doing the same in your own hand. “Ready?” you ask.

“Three, two, one.”

You both tip your heads back at the same time. Apricot and peach are similar flavours, and Spencer can’t tell the difference when they’re both in play. He can also taste apple juice and the sharp citric acid flavour they put in every candy.

He can’t tell if you like them. He quite enjoys it, will happily eat the leftovers if you’re not interested, but your attention isn’t on the candy when he looks up. You’re staring straight at him.

“What?” he asks, perturbed.

“Nothing, just. Had a rough morning. Thanks for trying the candy with me.”

He frowns. “I’m sorry. Let me know if there’s something I can do to make you feel better. I can make you a cup of hot chocolate?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Spencer’s sure that to an outsider, he and the team appear to travel to a hundred cities a month. In reality, cases aren’t as densely packed, especially with the government expanding their profiling teams, and the majority of Spencer’s day is spent answering emails and giving advice to agents, law enforcement, and his colleagues. He doesn’t see much of you (where you’re forced to work ViCAP calibration as newbies usually are, almost like a hazing) but he does take you that hot chocolate around lunch time. Just to make sure you have the option.

It’s sometime past four PM when you appear again.

“Hey,” he says, turning to you where you’re paused behind your desk chair, “you're finally done?”

“Not yet. So many case files to transcribe, opinions to cross check, signatures and…” You wince. “It’s a lot. You already know.”

“I don’t, actually. I only ever had to do ViCAP as punishment, and I was extremely well-behaved. For a while, anyway.”

You hesitate with something heavy on the tip of your tongue. You’re like every profiler wherein your tells are self-identified and quelled, but you’re still so new, and Spencer’s an expert. You want to ask him for something, but you don’t think you’re allowed. If he presses the issue you’ll shut down, and if he offers you another cup of hot chocolate you’ll simply drink it without letting him in on the real secret.

Spencer waits.

“Spencer, you don’t have to say yes, just… You’re the nicest friend I have, and you always know what I need to hear. Um, I know you don’t like touching people and I wouldn’t ask you to if you don’t want to, but it’s been a really long time since someone hugged me, and…” Your voice gets quieter and quieter, until you’re whispering, and then fizzling out.

“You want a hug?” he asks, surprised.

“If that’s okay.”

“I give really good hugs,” he warns, climbing from his chair immediately, arms opened, an unmissable invitation. “You’ll never get over it.”

“Really?”

He can’t believe you came to him specifically for a hug. He’s gonna lose his mind. Gentle, Spencer ushers you into his arms, head quick to duck down, his thumb on your shoulder.

You could’ve asked anybody in the office for a hug. Penelope would have hugged your brains out. Emily, Unit Chief and secret sweetheart, would’ve taken you off of ViCAP and given you a loving pat on the back. But you didn’t ask Penelope or Emily, you asked him.

“You don’t have to ask me first,” he says quietly.

“You don’t like touching.”

“That’s more to do with germs, and I’m not worried about yours,” he says. “Unless you’re about to tell me you have a headache.”

“It’s like this pounding behind my eyes,” you say with a laugh.

Spencer smiles, his mouth and nose to the side of your head. He gives you a good ten seconds of quiet, his palm warming your shoulder, before he murmurs, “Any better?”

“You’re really warm,” you murmur back.

Spencer resists the urge to squeeze you. “It's the oxytocin.”

“Or you’re just really, really warm.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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nahoney22 · 5 months ago

Text

Liar Liar (Part 1/?)

🫧 Part One - 79's

🫧 Pairings: Commander Fox X Female Reader.

🫧 word count: 5k.

🫧 Plot: When you meet a so-called clone named Whisky at 79's, you're a bit flustered with the impression he left on you. Little did you know that you were now caught in a web of Commander Fox’s lie.

🫧 Chapter Warnings: Safe for work, alcohol consumption, lying, teasing, flirting, Corrie guard antics, Fox is a little shit, grumpy. AFAB Female reader.

🫧 Authors note: Hi! So this is going to be a short story about reader and Commander Fox. Be prepared for lots of flirting, angst, crying, fun and eventual smutty goodness! Enjoy. I've also posted most parts to my AO3 account (NaHoney).

“You gonna join us tonight?”

You glance up from your work, eyebrows raised. “And that would be…?”

“79’s, of course!” Thire grins, slinging his arm around one of his brothers. “We need a break.”

“He’s right. I can’t remember the last time I had a night just to relax,” Hound chimes in, leaning casually against the wall, his helmet tucked under one arm.

They look at you expectantly as you mull it over. You rarely went out—especially not with the boys—but the idea of unwinding at 79’s didn’t sound half bad. Besides, your friend Pia was working tonight, and catching up with her had been long overdue.

“Sure,” you say, nodding as you distribute the last of the data files onto the desks for tomorrow’s shift. “I’ll be there.”

The troopers exchange approving smiles. “Should we ask Fox?” Hound wonders aloud, glancing at his brothers before shifting his gaze to you.

“Why bother?” Stone snorts from the doorway. “He always says no.”

You roll your eyes but can’t deny the truth in Stone’s words. You’d overheard Fox turn down countless invitations.

Anyway, he didn’t seem the type to let loose, especially with how rowdy the boys could get after a few rounds of Corellian ale.

“I don’t see the harm in asking him again,” you reply, shrugging. “But yeah, he’ll probably say no.”

They leave you with the task. You finish tidying up, making sure everything is prepped for tomorrow. The clock ticks closer to 1900 hours, but Fox still hasn’t returned from the Senate. Deciding you’ve waited long enough, you gather your things and head for the door.

Just as you hit the button to open it, the door hisses apart, and you nearly collide with the broad red armor of Commander Fox.

“Oh!” You step back quickly, almost tripping over your own feet. “There you are.”

Fox enters, his usual confident stride noticeably subdued. He moves to his desk, his back to you, shoulders tense beneath his armor.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” you continue, hovering uncertainly near the doorway.

A weary and almost impatient sigh filters through his modulator. “And why’s that?”

Something’s off. You’re used to his abrupt tone, but tonight there’s a heaviness to it that makes you hesitate with your answer

“Everything okay, Commander?” Your tone softens, concerned as you ignore his question.

“Fine,” he replies curtly, glancing over his shoulder. When he sees the worry etched on your face, he sighs again, this time sounding more human than soldier. “It’s just been a long day.”

You offer a small, sympathetic smile. “Yeah, I can imagine. You usually don’t finish this late at the Senate.”

He turns fully to face you, leaning back against his desk. His arms cross over his chest. “I’ve finished later,” he says dryly. “Is everything sorted for the morning?” He then asks, changing topic swiftly.

“Yes, Commander. Everyone has their files, and I put through an order for more supplies.”

“Such as?” He presses.

You hold your tongue and maintain a neutral expression. Back to his grumpy self, it seems.

“Extra medpacs, ammo, and rations. They should arrive by 0900 hours,” you list off, trying to sound efficient and competent, even though his scrutiny makes your blood simmer.

Fox nods absently, his visor fixed on you. Then he starts rattling off a checklist of additional tasks. Everything from inventory updates, personnel reports, security drills. You bite back the urge to roll your eyes, wondering why he insists on making everything harder than it needs to be.

“Like I said, Commander,” you interrupt gently but firmly when he finishes, “I’ve taken care of everything. For you.”

The ‘for you’ slips out sharper than intended, and you can’t help the flicker of satisfaction when you see his posture stiffen slightly. Turning away, you head for the door, masking your irritation with a forced calm. Just before you step out, you hesitate, glancing back.

“I stayed because the boys wanted to see if you’d join us at 79’s tonight. I’ll tell them you’re busy.”

Because ‘busy’ always sounds better than ‘tired’.

⋅⋅───⊱༺  🦊 ༻⊰───⋅⋅

“There she is!” Stone cheers the moment he spots you, raising his glass in a mock toast.

You grin as you weave through the packed club, the bass of music thudding in your chest, lights flickering in shades of blue and violet. The air is thick with the scent of sweat and alcohol. Typical 79’s.

As you reach the group, a chorus of nods and smiles greet you. Thire, Hound, and a few other Corrie Guards stand clustered together, already a few drinks in.

“Lookin’ good.” Hound nods appreciatively, earning a playful jab from you but accepting the compliment regardless. It’s not often you dress up, after all and the shirt you bought last month was too cute not to wear.

“Surprised to see you all behaving,” you tease, eyeing Thire’s drink before shifting to the man himself. “Especially you. No table dancing tonight?”

Thire groans, rubbing his head like the memory physically pains him. “I thought we all agreed not to bring that up.”

“Too hard to forget.” You smirk. “Especially the part where you fell flat on your face.”

Hound chokes on his drink, while Stone grins over the rim of his own. “I swear, the look on his face right before he went down—priceless.”

Thire mutters something about betrayal under his breath but smirks anyway.

“So, I take it the Commander isn’t coming?” Hound then asks, shifting the conversation as he leans closer.

You bite back a smart remark, still holding a minor grudge from your last interaction with Fox. Instead, you just shake your head. “Nope. He was really busy. Lots of files to go through.”

“Surprise, surprise,” Stone mutters, downing another sip.

You nod along, but despite your irritation, you can’t shake the image of Fox’s slumped posture, the exhaustion practically radiating off him. Still, you push the thought aside and excuse yourself, heading toward the bar.

Sliding onto a stool, you drum your fingers against the bartop, scanning the crowd until a familiar voice breaks through the noise.

“There’s my girl!” Pia grins, practically launching herself over the bar to pull you into a quick hug. “It’s been forever!”

“Oh, I know,” you sigh, grateful for the warmth of her presence. “Work’s been eating up my life. I haven’t had time for anything.”

“Tell me about it,” Pia groans, throwing a rag over her shoulder. “I’ve covered four extra shifts this week. Four! I basically live here.”

“That’s rough.”

“I wouldn’t mind if the pay was half-decent,” she grumbles, before quickly turning to serve an impatient trooper waving a handful of credits. She hands him his drink with a pointed look before spinning back to you. “Anyway, let’s get you a drink.”

As she sets a fruity, colorful concoction in front of you, you instinctively reach for your credits, but Pia swats your hand away with the tiny umbrella meant for your drink.

“Absolutely not.” She tuts, popping the umbrella in your glass for extra flourish.

You arch a brow. “You sure?”

“Of course.” She’s already dashing off to serve someone else before you can protest, so you just shake your head with a laugh.

“Don’t expect a tip, then,” you joke.

“Wouldn’t expect one from you anyway!” Pia calls over her shoulder, grinning.

You take a sip, humming in satisfaction. Perfect, as always. As the straw hangs lazily from your lips, you scan the bar, looking for any more familiar faces—though, ironically, in a room full of clones, everyone looks familiar.

Then you spot him.

Across the bar, a clone sits alone, elbow propped up as he rests his head in his hand. He looks… tired. Maybe bored. Maybe just hoping no one will bother him. But there’s something about him that catches your attention.

Salt-and-pepper curls frame his face, the dim light emphasising the lines along his forehead. He wears his blacks, leaving his battalion unclear. But you can’t shake the feeling that you should know who he is.

Before you can think too hard about it, Pia appears in your line of sight, snapping you back to reality.

“So, how is it?” she asks, wiggling her brows.

You blink. “How’s what?”

“The drink, duh .”

“Oh.” You flush slightly, realising you’d been too busy staring at the mystery trooper. “Yeah, it’s great. Thanks.”

Pia beams at the praise before suddenly flipping off a customer who’s been aggressively clicking his fingers for service. “ I said I’ll be with you in a minute!” she snaps, before turning back to you. “So, who’s your company tonight?”

“The Corrie Guards, of course.”

Pia gives you a skeptical look. “Uh-huh. Well, do me a favor and make sure Thire stays off the tables this time.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Already warned him.”

As Pia busies herself with another round of orders, your gaze naturally drifts back to the clone across the bar. For a split second, you swear he meets your eyes, but Pia keeps unintentionally blocking your view.

“Hey! When am I gonna get my drink?” the same customer whines, earning a spectacular eye-roll from Pia.

“When I’m done talking to my friend .” She smiles sweetly, almost menacingly.

“You’re not even serving her anymore! You’re just chatting!”

Pia glares at him. He promptly shrinks back in his seat.

You take another sip of your drink before nodding toward the lone clone. “Say, do you know who that is?”

Pia grins knowingly. “Obviously. That’s—”

“Listen, lady, I just wanna get a drink and—”

“Kriff, fine ! Fine! ” Pia throws her hands up, stomping over to the persistent patron.

You sigh as she gets pulled away, your curiosity about the mystery trooper left frustratingly unanswered.

You try not to keep stealing glances at him, but there’s just something about him. It’s distracting.

Maybe it’s the salt-and-pepper streaking through his curls, maybe it’s the way his shoulders hunch, like he’s carrying the weight of an entire day on them. He’s got that whole brooding, don’t-talk-to-me aura, which—ironically—only makes you more curious.

And, apparently, more reckless.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you grab a napkin from the dispenser and fish a pen out of your purse. You hesitate, pen hovering over the flimsy paper. What do you even write? Something casual? Flirty? Mysterious?

You roll your eyes at yourself—definitely overthinking it. Finally, you scribble down:

You look lonely. I can fix that.

As soon as you read it back, you cringe. Too forward? Too suggestive? Maybe you should—

Nope. No time for second-guessing. You fold the napkin before you can change your mind. Pia is still swamped, barely keeping up with the sea of 212th troopers ordering drinks, but thankfully, a server droid hums by.

Perfect.

“Hey,” you beckon it over, glancing toward the clone across the bar. “Can you take this to him?”

The droid gives a curt beep. “That is not my function.”

“Oh, come on,” you groan. “It’ll take two seconds.”

“Then do it yourself.”

You narrow your eyes. “I’ll tell Pia you need rewiring.”

The droid snatches the napkin without another word, wheeling off toward the clone.

Your stomach knots as you watch it place the note in front of him, then—completely unhelpfully—point directly at you. Great. You quickly avert your eyes, suddenly regretting everything.

But you still sneak a glance from the corner of your eye.

The clone straightens slightly, unfolds the napkin. Reads it. Pauses. Then, without a flicker of reaction, folds it back up and finishes his drink.

And then… he stands.

Your stomach drops. Oh. That’s it, then. He doesn’t even look your way as he walks off, disappearing into the crowd.

You exhale, a mix of relief and secondhand embarrassment washing over you. You swirl the ice in your glass and mutter to yourself, “Well. Won’t be doing that again.”

A voice speaks up behind you.

“It worked, didn’t it?”

You turn on your stool, and—oh.

The clone from across the bar is now standing right in front of you. Tall. Broad. Close.

Heat creeps up your neck. Your mouth suddenly dry.

“…Yeah,” you manage, a little breathless. “Kind of surprised, actually.”

“How come?” He gestures to the empty stool beside you, waiting for your nod before he sits.

“You looked like a man who didn’t want to be bothered.” You take a sip of your drink, hoping it steadies you.

“And yet, you were bold enough to send a note,” he muses, lips curving just slightly. “Very sweet.”

You giggle, shrugging as you set your glass down with a soft clink. “You don’t know if you don’t try.”

His amusement lingers. “Looks like it paid off.” He chuckles, then tilts his head. “Can I get you another drink?”

“I’d like that, thank you.”

He signals for another round, ordering one for himself, too.

“So,” you begin, tilting your head, “I haven’t seen you around before. What battalion are you with?”

The clone pauses just a fraction too long before answering, “Coruscant Guard.”

Your brows lift. “Oh? Me too! I feel like I would’ve noticed you… what’s your name?”

Another brief hesitation. Then: “Whisky.”

You arch a brow. “Whisky?”

“That’s right.” He nods, taking a deeper sip of his drink. There’s a flicker of nerves in his expression, but you don’t press. “Big whisky fan.”

You chuckle. “Fair enough. Cool name.”

“And yours?”

You offer your name along with your hand, flashing a bright, playful grin.

For a moment, he just looks at you. Then, he places his hand in yours. His palm is warm, his grip firm but careful.

“Lovely name,” he murmurs.

His voice is smooth, just a little too low, and it sends a surprising shiver up your spine. There’s something about the way he holds your hand—like he’s not sure if he should, but doesn’t want to let go, either. The earlier nervousness is gone, replaced by a small, amused smirk.

And you?

You’re intrigued.

Still, you release his hand before yours can get clammy. “So, the Corrie Guard?” You lean back slightly, studying him. “I still feel like I should’ve seen you around.”

He clears his throat, taking another long sip. “I’m not exactly frontline.”

That explains it. “What department?”

“Mechanic.”

That really explains it. You nod, feeling a little sheepish. “Ah, that’s probably why. I love working with my boys in red, though. They’re good to me.”

“Good,” he says, then hesitates. “So, uh… what’s the Commander like?”

You blink. “Fox?”

He nods.

You smirk, turning away slightly as you consider your answer. A hundred words come to mind—moody, buzzkill, abrasive, miserable, exhausted…

“Grumpy,” you settle on, swirling your drink. “Big grump.”

He chuckles. “Can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, but he is.” You huff, thinking back to earlier that night. “But… he works hard, so sometimes the grumpiness is excused.”

“Sure,” Whisky nods, idly swiping at the condensation on his glass. He hesitates again. “He… does he treat you okay?”

You arch a brow, amused. “Why? You planning to put in a word for me?”

The teasing is lighthearted, but Whisky seems oddly stiff about it. You wave it off before he can dwell. “He’s okay,” you say simply. “He just gets under my skin sometimes. I don’t think he means to.” You sigh, taking another sip before turning back to him. “You know him?”

He shakes his head, then drinks. “Nah. Just heard he can be a little hard on people.”

You hum. “You got that right.”

You don’t notice the way Whisky shifts in his seat, rubbing a hand through his hair, his eyes dropping into his glass. He’s quiet, thoughtful—until you break the silence again.

“Actually,” you say, warmth from the alcohol making you bolder, “I know a secret about him.”

He raises a brow. “You do?”

You giggle and scoot closer, lowering your voice. “I’ll tell you but you have to keep it between us.” You hold up your hand, pinky extended. “And all my promises have to be pinky sweared.”

Whisky stares at you for a second, caught somewhere between surprise and amusement. Then, with a small smirk, he hooks his pinky around yours. “Alright. Spill.”

“So, about a year ago, I was in the office, sorting files or whatever. I came across one of his, and being the amazing worker I am, I marched right up to him at his desk and dropped it in front of him.” You start grinning, the memory as vivid as if it happened yesterday.

“And you know what he said?”

Whisky watches you closely, his gaze flickering to your lips as you lean in, your voice dropping secretively.

Closer, closer, closer…

“No,” he murmurs.

“Nothing.”

His brows draw together. “Nothing?”

“Nothing,” you repeat, eyes alight with mischief. “Because he was snoring under his bucket.”

There’s a moment of silence followed by laughter. You tip your head back, giggling as you wipe a tear from your eye, and Whisky laughs along with you, shaking his head. It’s not even that funny, but the irony of it is too good.

“He always tells us to work harder, no time for rest,” you say, rolling your eyes. “And there he was, sleeping on the job. And it wasn’t even the first time! He sleeps upright, so it looks like he’s just watching us. But nope. Out cold.”

“So he’s a slacker?” Whisky smirks.

You shake your head. “No, not a slacker. He works hard. Really hard.”

“But you didn’t wake him?” He eyes you curiously.

“Nah. He barely gets any rest as it is, so I let him sleep.” You glance at Whisky, smirking. “Besides… it’s kinda cute.”

Whisky watches you closely, his lips twitching at your laughter, but his eyes seem to linger on you a moment longer than necessary. He swirls his drink idly, then asks, “You think he’d be mad if he knew you caught him slacking?”

You shrug, still grinning. “Maybe. But what’s he gonna do? Fire me? I know he’s my boss but those lot won’t function without me.” You laugh. “Besides, I doubt he gets much rest, so I let him sleep. Figured he needed it.”

There’s something in Whisky’s expression that shifts—just slightly. His fingers drum against his glass, his posture relaxing, but you catch a flicker of something you can’t quite place. It’s gone as soon as it appears, replaced by that same amused smirk.

“Didn’t take you for the sentimental type,” he muses.

You roll your eyes but smile.“It’s not sentimental. Just… practical.”

“You like him,” he says. It’s not quite a question, more of an observation.

You hum, tilting your head. “I admire him,” you correct, swirling your drink. “Fox works harder than anyone I know. He doesn’t just give orders—he takes the weight of everything on his shoulders. Every mission, every casualty, every prisoner, every mistake. And I don’t think anyone really sees that.”

Whisky watches you carefully, listening.

You sigh, resting your elbow on the bar. “I just wish he was… a little nicer, sometimes. He’s got a good squad. I mean, the guys look up to him. I think if he let himself relax, let himself be one of them instead of always keeping himself separate, they’d follow him even harder. But he never does.” You exhale, shaking your head. “I dunno. It’s not my business, really. Just somethin’ I think about.”

Whisky is quiet for a second, “Maybe he doesn’t know how,” he says finally.

You pause. “Yeah,” you murmur. “Maybe.”

A small smirk tugs at his lips, but it’s softer this time. “You’re a bit of a softie, huh?”

You scoff, playfully nudging him with your elbow “Shut up.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s not a bad thing.” He takes a sip of his nearly empty drink, eyes flicking over you. “You care about your squad.”

“Of course I do,” you say, as if it’s obvious. “I spend all my time with them. They’re like family.”

Whisky hums, contemplative. He watches you for a moment longer before he shifts in his seat, leaning a little closer, his arm brushing against yours.

“So,” he says, voice dipping lower, more conspiratorial, “if Fox is the grumpiest, who’s your favourite?”

You huff a laugh. “Oh, come on, I can’t answer that.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I pick one, I’ll have to deal with the rest of them whining about it for the next month.” You shake your head. “I’m not walking into that trap.”

Whisky grins. “Smart.”

You take a sip of your drink, then tilt your head at him. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You’re in the Guard, too. You’ve gotta have a favourite.”

He hesitates for a fraction of a second—so quick you almost miss it. Then, he smirks. “Can’t say I’ve thought about it.”

You narrow your eyes playfully. “Liar.”

He chuckles, but doesn’t argue. Instead, he taps the side of his glass. “Alright, fine. Who gives you the most trouble?”

You groan dramatically. “Thorn . Hands down.”

Whisky raises a brow. “That bad?”

“He’s so smug,” you complain, exasperated. “He knows he can get away with murder because he’s one of Fox’s best. And he loves rubbing it in my face. I’d also argue Stone because he’s cheeky but Thorn can be devious if he wants to be.”

Whisky chuckles. “Sounds like a menace.”

“Oh, he is ,” you confirm. “But I can’t even be mad about it, because he’s also stupidly good at his job. So I just have to suffer .”

He leans in close. “Poor thing.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Don’t patronise me.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” His voice is smooth, teasing, and— Maker , his eyes are intense when they settle on you like that.

Your breath catches slightly, but you mask it with another sip of your drink. The air between you has shifted—still playful, but heavier now, charged with something unspoken.

You clear your throat. “So, Whisky,” you say, changing the subject. “Tell me something about you .”

His smirk lingers, but there’s a flicker of something else behind it. “What do you wanna know?”

You tap your fingers against the bar, pretending to think. “Mmm… what’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever done while on duty?”

Whisky chuckles, shaking his head. “Now that’s a dangerous question.”

“Oh, come on,” you nudge him. “I won’t tell.”

He eyes you for a moment, considering. Then, he leans in slightly, voice lowering just enough to send a shiver up your spine.

“Alright,” he murmurs, “but if I tell you… you owe me another secret in return.”

You grin. “Deal.”

And just like that, the night stretches on and the hours slip away without either of you noticing.

⋅──��⊱༺ 🦊 ༻⊰───⋅

It starts with secrets, little things at first. Just small confessions that wouldn’t ruin you if they got out.

You tell him about the time you ‘accidentally’ shredded a report you were supposed to file, and how you spent half the day trying to piece it back together before finally giving up and blaming it on a faulty data pad. Or how you once snuck into the supply room after hours because Thorn had been too busy to eat, and you stole rations for both of you under the pretense of ‘inventory control.’

Whisky listens with quiet amusement, the occasional smile flickering across his lips as he watches you talk. He’s not a big sharer. His own stories are vague and kind of always deflecting back to you. But when you mention your upbringing, your life before the Republic and the war, he leans in slightly, genuinely intrigued.

“You ever think about what comes after?” you ask at one point.

His brow furrows slightly. “After?”

You nod. “Yeah. Like… what happens when the war ends? What do you want to do?”

For the first time, Whisky hesitates—not the way he had before, when he seemed like he was choosing his words carefully, but like he’s genuinely never considered it.

“You don’t have to answer,” you say quickly, suddenly feeling bad for asking as he stares into his drink.

“No, it’s not that.” His voice is quiet. “I just… don’t know.”

The admission sits heavy between you, and before you can say anything else, he shifts the conversation.

“What about you?”

You exhale, leaning back against the bar. “Dunno.” You smile a little, but it’s laced with something soft and wistful. “I’d love to travel. See what’s out there, you know? Maybe settle somewhere quiet. Own a little shop or something.”

He studies you. “You’d leave Coruscant?”

You huff a small laugh. “Wouldn’t you?”

He doesn’t answer.

The music has quieted now, the heavy bass that once thrummed beneath your feet nothing more than a distant pulse. The strobe lights have stopped their restless dance, leaving the room bathed in the softer glow of overhead fixtures. It’s only then that you realise most of the patrons have left.

You turn back to Whisky, surprised to find him watching you. There’s something unreadable in his expression, something quiet and intense.

“What?” you ask, tilting your head.

“You’re really beautiful.”

The words catch you off guard. You blink, lips parting slightly before you shake your head, laughing softly. “You don’t know me.”

“Do I have to?”

You frown slightly, not in offense but in confusion. “How can you find a person beautiful if you don’t know them?”

Whisky exhales a small laugh, looking down briefly before meeting your gaze again. “I… you look beautiful,” he says, voice steady but soft. “And the way you talk about your family, about your squad… it’s nice.”

You watch him before smirking a touch. “You’re not too bad yourself, handsome.” Your voice is teasing, but there’s warmth beneath it, something genuine that makes his grip on his glass tighten.

He smirks however, trying to play off your compliment. “That means you think all my brothers are handsome.”

You hum in mock consideration, swirling the last of your drink. “Maybe so…” You take a slow sip, then let your eyes meet his again. “But maybe I find you the most attractive.”

There’s a shift between you, a flicker of something deeper in the way he looks at you—like he’s memorising the moment, the words, the way you say them. His lips part slightly, a breath drawn in like he’s about to say something, but then—

“Kriff.” You sit up straighter, suddenly glancing at the time. “I’ve gotta get going! If I don’t sleep tonight, I’ll be late, and the last thing I need is to miss one of Fox’s drills.”

He reacts almost instantly, standing when you do, setting his drink down. “S-sure, no problem. Do you want me to walk you home?”

“I’m taking a cab, but thank you.”

Still, he follows you out, insists on making sure you get into one safely. Outside, the night air is crisp, cool enough to make you shiver. You wrap your arms around yourself, exhaling. “Knew I should’ve brought a jacket.”

Whisky chuckles, stepping a little closer. “I could warm you up.”

The words hang between you, charged, almost daring. You tilt your head at him, amused. “Bold offer.”

He grins. “It’s there if you want it.”

A cab hovers down in front of you, and he opens the door, but you hesitate. Looking up at him, you smile softly. “It was really nice meeting you, Whisky. I hope to see you again sometime.”

There’s a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze, but he nods. “I’m sure we will. Sooner than you think.”

You don’t quite understand what he means, but there’s a thrill in the mystery of it. He holds out his hand, and you roll your eyes playfully, swatting it away. “I’m not shaking your hand goodbye.”

Before he can ask what you mean, you step closer, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. You linger for just a second, enough to feel the way he tenses, the way he barely exhales.

When you pull back, you smirk. “Goodnight, handsome.”

He inhales sharply, watching as you step into the cab. His voice is quiet, soft.

“Goodnight… beautiful.”

He stays there as your cab lifts off, watching until it’s out of sight. Then, with a deep breath, he turns—only to hear someone calling his name.

His real name.

“Fox? Fox! We didn’t know you came out tonight! Where have you been?”

Thire stumbles toward him, voice slurred, movements a little too loose. Fox rubs the back of his neck, shrugging. “I’ve been busy.”

Thire squints at him, blinking blearily. “Busy, huh?” He lets out a slow, knowing grin. “Didn’t take you for the social type, Commander .”

Fox huffs, folding his arms over his chest. “I’m not.”

His brother wobbles slightly, throwing an arm around Fox’s shoulders. “Right. So where were you?”

Fox debates answering honestly for all of two seconds before shaking his head. “None of your business.”

Thire gasps dramatically, pointing at him. “ Oh. So it’s like that ? You sneak off, disappear for hours, come back looking all—” he waves his hand at him vaguely, “— not miserable… You met someone, didn’t you?”

Fox sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Go back to the barracks, Thire.”

But his brother is relentless. “ You did! ” He stumbles back a step, laughing. “Oh, I gotta know. Who is it?”

Fox shakes his head, a rare smirk tugging at his lips. “Go. Now.”

Thire groans, rubbing his face. “Fine, fine. But I swear , if I see you all giddy at work tomorrow, I will find out.”

Fox rolls his eyes. “Go sleep it off.”

As he stumbles away, still muttering about Fox meeting someone , the Commander exhales slowly. He turns back toward the sky where your cab had disappeared, rubbing his jaw where your lips had touched his skin.

He should feel guilty. He should feel stupid for going along with it, for making up a name, for listening to you talk about him without you even knowing.

But he doesn’t. Not yet, anyway.

Instead, he just wonders what he’ll do when he sees you again.

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demie90s · 2 months ago

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𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐀𝐢𝐧’𝐭 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐓𝐨 𝐌𝐞

꒰ 🍒 ꒱ Caitlin Clark x You ꒰ 🍒 ꒱ MASTERLIST MORE

1/5 Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

⭑ pairing: Caitlin Clark x cocky!UConn!player!reader

⭑ genre: sports rivalry, tension, slow-burn flirtation

⭑ summary: You’re UConn’s rising star. Caitlin’s already a legend. Too bad she has a boyfriend… not that it matters to you.

⭑ warnings: light swearing, sexual tension, implied cheating

⭑ word count: ~0.9k

———————————————————————————————

The lights in the arena are searing. The crowd’s loud enough to rattle ribs, but it doesn’t touch you. You’re calm. Locked in. This ain’t your first rodeo—it’s just your first one against her.

You roll your neck as you step onto the court, your sneakers biting into the hardwood. All around you, noise. But right in front of you, Caitlin Clark. Eyes sharp. Ponytail tight. Jersey tucked to perfection. She stands with her hands on her hips, gaze already pinned to you like you did something personal.

Which, technically? You haven’t. Yet.

Your lips curl just enough. Not a smile—more like a warning. She clocks it.

“You ready for this?” she asks, tone light but her eyes doing the heavy lifting.

“Always,” you say, voice low. “Are you, though?”

She scoffs. Classic Caitlin. But her gaze dips—for a second—to your mouth. You file that away.

Connor’s courtside, arms crossed, jaw tight. Like he’s the one checking you. You raise your brows at him. Then, without missing a beat, lean closer to Caitlin and tug gently under her chin, just enough to lift it.

“Chin up, superstar,” you whisper. “Wouldn’t want you to miss my highlight reel.”

She swats your hand away, cheeks tinged pink. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You say that like it’s not your type.”

The ref blows the whistle. Game on.

———————————————————————————————

It’s a blur of elbows, screens, and sharp footwork. You stick to Caitlin like second skin, shoulder-to-shoulder, step-for-step. She tries to break past you on a fast break—you cut her off without blinking. She shoots a fadeaway—you’re already in the air, fingers grazing the arc of the ball.

You don’t talk trash. Not loud anyway.

You just exist in her space.

Every missed bucket of hers? You tilt your head.

Every time she sprints to recover? You’re already there.

When she drops 12 in the first quarter, you drop 14. Silent. Surgical.

She notices.

———————————————————————————————

By halftime, the arena is pulsing with tension. You’re both drenched in effort but not sweat—neither of you looks tired. Just locked in.

ESPN’s courtside cam zooms in on the two of you during a timeout, faces inches apart, words exchanged with no mics picking them up.

“You’re not even sweating,” she huffs, brushing her arm against yours.

“I don’t break a sweat for regular,” you murmur. “Even when it’s wrapped in Nike and ego.”

She laughs, incredulous. “You think you’re better than me?”

“No.” You step close, dropping your voice. “I know I make you think about me more.”

Connor shuffles in his seat again. You glance over your shoulder. “He always look that uncomfortable when you’re enjoying yourself?”

Caitlin rolls her eyes but doesn’t answer. That’s answer enough.

———————————————————————————————

The third quarter starts. You come out hungrier.

Dimes. Stepbacks. Lockdown D. You’re in it.

Her? She’s fighting. She’s fired up. She’s pissed. But there’s that glint in her eye—the one that always comes back to you. That edge of frustration mixed with something else. Curiosity. Attraction. Resentment. All tangled into one unspoken confession.

You catch her again after a foul. You both stand there while the ref sorts it out. Just breathing. Close.

“Why do you look at me like that?” she finally asks.

You glance at her. “Cause you hate it. And love it.”

She bites the inside of her cheek.

Later, you hit a corner three with her draped on you. Nothing but net.

You backpedal down the court, eyes on hers the whole way. “Smile for me, Clark.”

She doesn’t. But her cheeks give her away.

———————————————————————————————

The game ends in a tight finish—UConn wins by two. The buzzer sounds, and the handshake line forms. You make your way over. She’s waiting.

“Nice game,” she says, cool and polite.

“Don’t lie. You missed me all week.”

Caitlin shakes her head but her lips twitch. “Shut up.”

You lean in, real close. “Or what, Clark?”

Before she can answer, cameras flash. Fans scream. You wink at her once—just once—and turn away, your smile unshakable.

This wasn’t just a win.

This was a warning.

You’re not going anywhere.

And she doesn’t want you to.

MASTERLIST

#caitlin clark x reader #wbb x reader #wbb #iowa wbb #caitlin clark #uconn huskies #uconn wbb #wnba #wbb imagine #wnba x reader #women’s basketball #Gxg #paige bueckers x reader

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deardaichi · 1 month ago

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013. snacks, routines, and familiarity — tendou satori.

wc: 0.7k cw: gn!reader. brother's best friend tendou. tendou is a good 'friend'. canon divergent a/n: i've always loved tendou but @oligbia has reignited my love for him. i hope you enjoy <3 requested by @rumik09

tendou's always been around, sort of like background music. mostly because of your brother.

wakatoshi’s quiet. steady. impossible to rattle. tendou is not.

he’s loud in a way that somehow doesn’t bother wakatoshi, which is a miracle in itself. and he’s always at your house. always.

middle school, high school, college — it doesn’t matter. every phase of your life has had tendou in the corner, making sarcastic comments and stealing your food.

he never comes for you. he comes for wakatoshi.

but he never forgets you’re there.

“i brought snacks,” he announces one afternoon, walking through your front door like he pays rent.

your brother barely looks up from the kitchen table. “you always bring snacks.”

“and yet you never say thank you.”

“you eat most of them,” you call from the hallway.

“they’d go to waste if i didn’t,” tendou says, grinning as he heads straight for your room instead of wakatoshi’s.

you’re on the floor assembling a lego set.

he drops a bag beside you without comment.

your favorite drink. your favorite chips.

“i thought you were here to see my brother,” you say, trying not to smile.

“i was,” he says, flopping onto your rug. “then i remembered you exist.”

you roll your eyes. “charming.”

“always.”

he’s been like this forever.

when you were twelve, he called you a menace and said you chewed too loud.

when you were sixteen, he asked you for advice on a girl he liked (and then forgot to mention she was fictional).

now you’re both in college. he still lets himself into your house without knocking. he still leaves crumbs on your bed. and he still talks too much.

but now, sometimes, he looks at you for a second too long.

like he just realized something.

you pretend not to notice.

“you ever think about the fact that we’ve basically grown up together?” he asks one night, sprawled out on your living room couch while wakatoshi’s in the shower.

you glance at him from the armchair. “i try not to.”

he throws a pillow at you.

you dodge. “i’m just saying—if you’re my childhood friend, i should’ve been allowed to punch you more often.”

he snorts. “and if you’re my childhood friend, you owe me therapy for all the times you insulted my hair.”

“you deserved it. it looked like a crime.”

he holds a hand to his chest, fake-wounded. “and yet, here i am, still bringing you snacks.”

you pause. “why do you do that?”

he blinks. “do what?”

“bring stuff for me.”

he shrugs. “you like it.”

“so?”

he shrugs again. “i like when you’re happy.”

you look at him. really look.

he doesn’t look away.

the thing is — tendou’s always been there.

not for you, at first. but not not for you either.

and somewhere along the line, he started showing up even when wakatoshi wasn’t home.

and you started letting him.

one day, you find him waiting outside your lecture hall with a drink in his hand and zero explanation.

you raise an eyebrow. “what are you doing here?”

“visiting your brother.”

“wakatoshi’s not on this side of campus.”

he sips your drink. “is he not?”

you deadpan. “you suck at lying.”

he shrugs. “worth a try.”

you take the drink. “you’re lucky i like this.”

“you’re lucky i remember.”

you try not to smile.

you fail.

you don’t talk about it.

not for weeks.

not when he sits next to you a little closer than necessary. not when he starts texting you more than wakatoshi. not even when he lets you fall asleep on his shoulder during a movie and doesn’t make a single joke about it.

but then he brings you a snack bag with your name scribbled on it.

and your heart does something weird.

you look up at him. “you’re seriously never gonna make this official?”

he blinks. “make what official?”

you stare. “you’re joking.”

he grins. “no, but please keep assuming i’m in love with you. it’s adorable.”

you throw a chip at his face.

he catches it in his mouth.

“show-off,” you mutter.

he shrugs. “still waiting for you to ask me out.”

“why would i ask you out?”

“because i bring you snacks. and i’m hot.”

you groan. “i hate you.”

he leans closer. “no you don’t.”

and you don’t.

and he knows.

taglist (open. ask to be added <3): @tangerinelovr @oligbia @megapteraurelia

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shatterinseconds · 7 months ago

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Keith is beautiful. So fucking beautiful.

The twin suns of the planet become the perfect backdrop, outlining him in shimmering gold. A concerning amount of dried blood paints the side of his face, crusted and flaking. His bottom lip is busted, his nose probably broken, his armor just as dented and bruised. Despite it all, maybe even because of it all, he’s stunning.

Enough for Lance to stop and stare as he picks himself off the ground after a Galra soldier punted him against the rocky cliff face. His teeth still rattle from the impact; his entire body is a scream of agony, but he manages to stand.

Keith flicks the blood off his bayard before it detransitions from its sword state. He steps over the body of the Galra soldier to stand directly in front of Lance. He pats Lance’s cheek, amused by Lance’s obviousness as a twitch of a smirk presses a dimple into the corner of his mouth.

“I didn’t think you hit your head that hard.”

“Shut up.” Lance grins, reaching out to hold Keith close. His free hand, gun still activated by his side, tangles with Keith’s wild hair curling near his jaw. With his helmet lost ages ago, his hair is a wild, sweaty mess, bangs plastered to his forehead. Lance gently brushes a thumb over a newly formed bruise, and Keith’s eyelids flutter at the touch.

They’ve been at war for years. Maybe Lance has gotten too desensitized to things and maybe that’s not a good thing—but that’s something he and his future therapist can discuss whenever—if ever—they return to Earth. But present Lance doesn’t have to worry about why he finds a battle-worn Keith stupidly hot; he accepts it. Because he can. Because they’re dating now. So openly admiring the Red Paladin of Voltron? Fully on the table as suitable options during any time of the day.

“Sue me for thinking my boyfriend’s attractive,” Lance mutters, breathy as if they just kissed but really he’s just tired from the battle, tired from the war. Every day weighs heavily on him but that weight is always easier to bear with two or six.

Keith cups his face with both hands. “I’m glad you survived,” he says instead of ‘I love you.’

Because they made some sort of deal with themselves, that since they started dating in the middle of an active war, they promised no ‘I love yous’ to each other, no concrete declarations of long lasting affection, nothing emotionally compromising. In reality, it means the same thing. They both know it does, but they continue to use the placeholder anyways as if the facade makes the situation less personal, less likely to destabilize them if anything were to happen to the other during battle.

Lance leans forward until his forehead rests against Keith’s. “I’m glad you survived too.”

One day he’ll say ‘I love you’ to Keith. One day he’ll say it on the shores of Varadero Beach with his family’s house only a few miles away. One day it will happen. Not if.

But until then, he wraps his arm around Keith’s waist as they hobble back to the rendezvous spot. He nuzzles his nose into the soft part of Keith’s cheek, ignoring the sweat, dirt, and blood, and smiles as Keith’s hair tickles his nose. Until then, he will whisper those words into Keith’s skin and dream about their future.

#klance #voltron #vld #voltron legendary defender #klance fic #keith x lance #my writing #just a small something to make the pain of losing vld from netflix a little easier

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cry4mina · 3 months ago

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Good Vibrations

Mina x fem!reader

Word count: 8.6k

Smut with a hint of fluff

Summary: You and Mina make a bet based on who would win a silly game of connect four. But you’ve got a trick up your sleeve and Mina will have to pay the price in a public setting.

TW: Food, making bets, sex, oral, vibrators, doing filthy things in public, drinking, regular orgasms, forced orgasm, clit slapping, extensive edging, begging. I think that’s everything? Let me know if I missed anything!

AN: hiiiiiiiiii! It’s been a while since I wrote, let alone something filthy lolol but @ddaengslove made a lil request that was tooooooo delicious to pass on.

On the 19th of March, my anniversary for tumblr came around and I still can’t believe it’s been that long. I want to say thank you to all of my followers, moots, and everyone who interacts with my works. It truly does mean a lot and I’m very grateful to have made so many great moots and friends.

I never thought that this would be something that brought me so much joy and happiness. I have so much appreciation for each and every one of you. (Also Happy Mina day, sorry it’s so lateeee) 🖤

“…and if I win this round, you take me to a fancy restaurant!” Mina chimes from across the table with a huge grin.

A pull of the lever as she releases the pieces, causing the black and red tokens to hit the coffee table you were playing on.

“And if I win…” looking down and sorting out the chips, pushing the red ones to her side of the plastic frame you were about to place them in.

“Then you have to wear a vibrator to the restaurant and I get to control it!” Giggling to yourself, knowing this wasn’t a bet she would normally agree too.

Mina ponders for a moment. You watch as her eyes shift side to side- measuring the odds, sorting on whether this was a bet that would weigh in your favor.

“Well, then let’s make it even.” Gathering the red pieces you were pushing to her and stacking them neatly into a few piles next to her.

“We will go to dinner either way…. Loser pays and has to wear a vibrator the other controls.” Confidence in her voice as she states it with a raised eyebrow and a devilish grin.

“Deal.” Organizing your pieces in a similar way to hers and a matching grin.

A plan unfolding, the trick up your sleeve…soon to be revealed.

What Mina didn’t know, is that you had been letting her win this entire time. Avoiding getting four in a row intentionally, both your competitive side always showing in games and you were waiting for that part of her to rear its head.

Building her confidence game by game, stats reading 7-0 in her favor.

You knew she’d take the bait if she thought she would win.

Hustling her wasn’t exactly the plan, but the idea popped in your head the night before when she was bragging about beating you at every game you play.

What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right? Besides, this was a fantasy she had always had but was too nervous to act on…you’ll be wining this round.

“Winner’s first, darling.” Gesturing to her to make her move.

The sugary sweet drip from your voice coats her ears causing a momentary ray of confusion, fading as quickly as it came.

Slipping the first red piece into a corner slot, the game has begun.

Gracefully and elegantly, with the biggest grin on her face, she follows your movements and watches you carefully. Studying you and how you place your pieces, noting the difference in this game.

Mina is puzzled, the confusion on her brow is funny to see. She contemplates where to put her little plastic tokens- pondering for a while before placing them in their slots.

“Oof…are you sure you want to put it there, babe?” Twirling one of your own game pieces between your fingers.

“Shut up!” rolling her eyes and scowling at you.

Oh, she is completely rattled and overthinking it very move she makes.

Usually able to keep her composure, she would never speak to you that way unless you were in the bedroom and being a complete and total brat to her…

Dropping one right where you suspected she would, you smirk as the plastic clashes together. Tossing your coin up, catching it, and slipping it into the slot to create your connect four in a dramatic display of cockiness.

“Well, Ms. Myoui, it seems you will in the palm of my hand all night tonight.” Standing up with your palms on the table all while Mina is blankly staring at 4 black pieces next to one another.

Wide eyed as a layer of pink coats her cheeks, her hands frozen out in front of her as she realizes how she had completely over thought and over looked the obvious win.

“Better luck next time, angel.” Walking over to her and kissing her on the top of her head before strolling past her.

Heading to your shared room to hop in the shower to get ready for your date that you knew you were going to enjoy.

—

Adjusting your blouse and slacks, you had made sure to wear the one outfit you knew she’d love on you to make this harder for her.

Torturous, if you will.

Gold buttons laid down the middle with the top three undone to show a little cleavage, even if the material was loose fitting it clings to your body in all the right ways. Accentuating everything and Mina was sure to take notice.

Black slacks that were fitted to you specifically to add to the accentuation, and some black dress shoes with hints of gold to bring everything together.

To keep with the theme, you opted for a gold necklace that lay perfectly around your neck with a thicker chain and a matching bracelet- both being gifts from Mina for Valentine’s Day.

Stepping out of the walk in closet where she was getting ready, Mina is wearing a short black skirt with lacy thigh highs, corset looking shirt with a bow and broach on the front and her hair done up with a matching black bow…

Looking her up and down, you swoon. She’s so stunning and the temptation was there. It was always there.

Walking over to you, she does a little twirl to show off the outfit. Spinning around slowly so you can absorb every inch of her.

She’s got you wrapped around her finger in every way and she always will.

“Sooo…what do you think?” Finishing her spin and then stepping closer to you before reaching up and putting her arms around your neck.

Twirling a strand of your hair while biting her lip softly.

Fuck.

“You look immaculate.” Leaning in to kiss her lips softly.

Her hands weave into your hair, pulling you closer into her as she tries to deepen the kiss. You allow this but only for a moment or two.

“Mmmm…” as your lips part, knowing she’s trying to seduce you so you forget about dinner.

It almost worked.

It’s easy for her to fluster you, just the bat of an eye and you’d be on your knees for her, immediately. A single look and you’re ready to give her whatever she needs at any point in time…aching to please.

A primal need to worship what is yours.

“You’re not getting out of this one, Ms. Myoui.” Whispered to her between the heavy heart beats bouncing off each of your chests.

“Who says I’m trying to get out of anything?” Tilting her head to the side and smirking at you mischievously.

“Maybe, I just want you riled up too.” Winking and walking over to sit on the bed to put her heals on.

Too stunned to speak, you are frozen for a moment…realizing that this night was only going to end one way.

Not that you were complaining.

A smile creeps up onto your mouth. Mina spies that and giggles while you walk over to your side of the bed and slide the nightstand drawer open.

“What’s got you smiling, baby?” Mina now waiting for you, knowing exactly what you’re up to.

Grabbing what you want out of the drawer, you close it and walk over to Mina who’s still sitting on the bed.

Dropping to your knees in front of her while making eye contact, she instinctively leans back on her hands with her elbows locked.

Sliding your hands up the sides of her thighs and maneuvering underneath her skirt, you push it up as your hands glide up to her hips.

Hands slithering over the tops of her thighs, you push them apart- revealing not only how ready Mina was for you, but also revealing her lack of underwear.

“Are we opting for nothing tonight?” Laying a kiss down right above her clit as you run your thumb lightly over her slit gently.

A small whimper sneaks its way out of her mouth, her hips inch forward- begging for your touch.

Allowing a moment of weakness, you lean into her and swipe your tongue up where she needed you- just a taste.

“Fuck…” lifting her hips again to entice you to give in.

It almost works, again.

You love her like this…but you wanted more of this.

“Not so fast, my love.” Standing up to meet her face with yours.

“I want to watch you writhe over dinner.” As you speak these sultry words to her, your hands are busy slipping the vibrator inside of her.

A gasp ripped from her lungs as the small vibrator is guided inside, half lidded eyes tell you everything you need to know about how she was feeling.

Some of her slick gets on your fingers, the mess she’s making for you causes the ache inside you to begin to build, but it’s too soon.

There is much to do.

Licking her off your fingers and humming at her taste, you wink and grab your phone out of your pocket. Mina rolls her eyes with her legs still wide open for you, annoyed you aren’t being easily swayed to give her what she wants.

Opening the app to make sure everything was ready to go- Blue tooth connected, battery at 100%…you decide to give it a little test run.

Tapping the screen twice, you watch as Mina’s eyes widen and her legs snap shut.

A moan blesses your ears, soft and angelic tones of yearning ripple through the room, allowing her to gain some sort of momentum before you hit the “off” button.

“Ugh…you’re going to be hellacious tonight, aren’t you?” Playful concern laces her voice, the tone catches your attention faster than most things.

“I absolutely am.” With a wink and a grin as you head to the dresser for your keys.

—

The car ride was short, about 15 minutes total, nothing to bat an eye at. However, Mina was squirming in her seat, shifting every few minutes or so with light gasps every so often.

“Is everything okay, baby?” Curiosity swirling in the cabin of the car as you pull into the parking lot.

“Y-yes…I- Uhm…” stammering as she shifts once more as you pull into an open parking spot.

“Be a good girl for me and use your words, angel.” The seductive tone of your statement causing Mina to whimper lightly and shift even more.

“Now you’re just being mean!” Pouting as she opens her car door, hoping out and slamming it behind her.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Getting out, flinging the door shut behind you and swiftly walking to the other side of the car.

“What do you mean?” Leaning up against her with her back against the cool metal of the car.

The smirk on your face tells her you know exactly what she means. Unable to help herself, she smiles that gummy smile and places her hands on your hips.

“I think you know exactly what I mean…” leaning in to kiss your neck softly.

Face flushing a very bright shade of red as she leans back against the car again. You’re frozen in place, knowing this was going to be just as hellacious for you as you were about to make it for her.

“Now who’s being mean?” Cocking your head at her as you take a step back and reach your hand out.

“But you are wearing pants…and underwear…” grabbing your hand with a cheeky giggle as you start walking towards the doors of the establishment.

“You do have a point, Ms. Myoui.” Pulling the door open and allowing her to step in first.

“Wouldn’t want someone to see you drip down your thighs for me…at least yet, anyway. The night has just begun and I’ve got plans for you, angel.” Whispered in her ear before you pull open the interior door to the restaurant.

That was where you knew you had her in a chokehold. The way she harshly swallowed, the way her body stiffened and her grip tightened on your hand.

“Hello! I’ve got a reservation for 2 under the name Y/n L/n.” Politely spoken to the hostess, hand still in Mina’s as she rested her head on your shoulder.

“Right this way Ms. L/n.” Grabbing the menus and gesturing for you to follow before walking through the dimly lit dining room to a table in the back, away from most of the other people enjoying their meals.

The hostess places the menu’s at the table, one on each side and prompts you both to sit.

Walking around the table, you pull out Mina’s chair for her and allow her to sit while you scoot the heavy chair in.

You walk around the table and sit down in your seat, smoothing out your shirt as you do.

“Your server will be right with you.” The hostess softly spoke before bowing and returning to her stand at the front.

Mina is engrossed in the menu, muttering something about the salmon looking good and then flipping the page.

You, on the other hand, pull your phone out and open it without her noticing. Quickly scrolling screens and clicking on the app that connects the vibrator to your phone so you are prepared for when you’re ready to make your move.

The server brings over the bread, placing it down in the middle of the table along with 2 glasses of water and introduces herself.

“Thank you for dining with us. Can I interest you in any appetizers?” looking between you and Mina for an answer.

Mina looks up at you, waiting for you to say something. She was always very shy and soft spoken in public - no matter how silly and loud she was when it was just the two of you.

“Yes, we would like the crab cakes and…baby, do you see anything else that looks good?” Throwing it to Mina, just to check.

“I think the crab cakes would be perfect, thank you.” Nodding her head in agreement.

The server states she’ll be back with them momentarily and shuffles off to the kitchen.

“Do you know what you’re going to have tonight, angel?” Without looking up from your menu.

“I think I’ve decided on the Salmon. What about you, darling?” Almost snarky in her question.

You raise a brow at her.

“I might just get a steak, per usual…what’s up with the attitude?” Answering and asking all in the same breath.

“What ever do you mean?” Elbows on the table, fingers interlocked and placed under her chin as she bats her eyes at you with a cheeky smirk that could only mean one thing.

An attempt to provoke you.

Keeping the eye contact that she started, you make sure she’s full focused on your face while you sneakily slip your phone from the table to your thigh.

The app connects, now it’s time to make your move.

“I think you know what I mean.” Clicking the button and adjusting the frequency of the vibration to low and pulsing.

Mina’s eyes widen, jaw tightening at the new sensation that was happening within her.

“So what were you trying to say before? When you couldn’t keep still in the car?” Tapping your screen and bumping up the strength of the toy.

A small gasp erupts from her lips, her hands fly down to her thighs as she crosses her legs- trying to contain herself.

“I- fuck…The toy just…sits in a very pleasurable spot…shit- even if it’s not on.” In attempt to not whimper.

She’s struggling to keep it together and it’s very fun for you to watch her try.

“I s-should probably let you know…I’m ovulating right n-now…” fidgeting with the table cloth as she tries to focus on anything but the welcomed pleasure she’s getting.

“That explains a lot, actually. I didn’t expect you to agree to this bet…even if I know you thought you would be the one in control tonight.” Another tap to your screen and then you watch your favorite scene unfold.

Mina is gripping the table so hard her knuckles are white, her face is completely red and glistening in sweat, and she’s unable to respond. Watching as she attempts to keep herself from grinding down on her chair, it’s fun to witness her so desperate.

The server walks up with the crab cakes, placing them between the two of you and you continue to let Mina struggle.

“Do we need another moment to look over the menu?” The server looks at Mina, then back to you and then back at Mina.

“Uhm-…you start, h-honey.” Mina gestures over to you as gracefully as she can, you know she’s fighting to keep a straight face and keep her breathing level.

“I’ll take the Filet Mignon, medium rare. And you, angel?” Folding the menu and handing it to the waitress without even looking up at her.

Way too focused on Mina and how she’s handling everything, you want to push her boundaries a little and see how much she can handle.

“I’ll take the Salmon, p-please…” folding her menu over and shakily handing it over to the waitress before sipping her water.

She’s doing well…for now…

“Thank you, I’ll put that in right away.” Taking steps towards the kitchen and then vanishing behind the double doors.

Unraveling your cloth napkin to get your fork, you place the napkin on your thigh and use the fork to cut open the crab cake.

Mina mimics your movements, but with a tremble that is noticeable - even if it’s only noticeable to you.

Taking a bite of the appetizer ordered, you hum into how lovely it is.

“Wow, that hint of lemon really makes it…don’t you agree, baby?” Sneaking another bite in while waiting for your answer.

“That’s d-delicious.” Agreeing with slight hesitation.

Right as she’s about to take another bite, you crank up the vibrator to high speed - sending a shockwave through Mina that almost makes her drop her fork from the jolt her body is experiencing.

Crossing her legs in a panic, you know that’s only going to make the feeling worse as it presses up against that sweet spot, you just watch as she takes the bite and sets her fork down to avoid it quivering too much.

“B-baby…please”

“Please, what?” Taking another bite and patiently waiting for what she wanted.

“I-if you’re going to…make me c-cum here…” stuttering in the euphoria of this situation she found herself in.

“…then f-fucking make m-me.” Eyes glossing over and dilating, a flash of the side that no one but you gets to see.

The side of her that catches an attitude when she’s too needy, desperate, and pathetically desperate to be ruined.

The side of her that would get on her knees in the middle of a restaurant and show them exactly what she’d be willing to do to get you to make her cum.

Bratty Mina, once again, exactly where you wanted her.

“…mmmm, I think I’d like for you to suffer for a moment.” Clicking your phone and turning the vibrations back down to the lowest setting.

Mina gulps loudly once more, readjusting in her seat- glaring at you as her eye reflect destain and pure lust.

“You’re infuriating.” Another bite of the crab cake on her fork, the air about her shifts and contorts further into her sub space.

Watching as it happens, you simply take the final bite of the crab cake and smirk to her across the table.

“Here we are.” The server places your entree in front of you and Mina respectively.

“Can I get you anything else?” Eye shifting between the two of you.

“I think we will both have a glass of the house Cab, please.”

The waitress nods and is off to the bar.

“Wine, hm?” Mina straightens up, finally placing her napkin down on her thigh before picking up her silverware.

“I thought it might be nice to enjoy over our lovely dinner, don’t you?” Eyeing your phone that’s sat on the table and open with the settings.

“I think you just want me to be a little drunk, Ms. L/N” with a smirk as she takes a bite of her salmon.

“I think we both know that I don’t need you a little drunk in the state you’re in…” winking and taking a bite of your own meal.

The server returns with your wine, placing it next to each of you. As soon as the waitress places Mina’s glass next to her - you spike the speed of the vibrator to its highest level, just for a second.

The shockwave sent through her entire body that was visible for not only you, but the server as well, prompting an embarrassing moment you knew she’d vilify you for later.

“Oh! So sorry, Ma’am. I didn’t mean to startle you!” The server bowing out of respect.

“No, no! It’s quite fine. No need to apologize.” dismissing the waitress gracefully before turning to you, and giving you the exact look you expected.

You pretend not to notice.

Through out the dinner, you mess with the settings for the toy on your phone while eating, sipping your wine, and carrying on an innocent conversation with Mina, with not so innocent intentions.

By the time both your plates and wine are finished, Mina is red in the face - a light sheen of sweat across her entire body and trying to regulate her breathing to a normal rhythm so she doesn’t attract any attention to herself.

The way her jaw clenches when you flick your finger up on your screen, her eyes closing and taking deep breaths tells you it’s almost time to go.

But she doesn’t need to know that you’re aware of that.

“Do you think we should get dessert, angel? I hear the tiramisu is to die for.” So calm in your delivery that it only agitated her further.

“Dessert is at home.” So stern in her tone that it makes you clench around nothing.

“Then I’ll leave this right where it is then, hm?” Knowing that it’s on the highest level it’ll go and knowing that she would need to walk to the car and be able to make the car ride home without cumming.

The server is quick to bring the bill over, Mina places her card in the little folder immediately handing it back to the server. It takes no time to bring the bill back and sign for it before you and Mina are out the door.

—

Mina walks through the parking lot with elegance and grace, arm wrapped around yours- hugging you tightly. The only give away was how she was leaving her finger indents on your bicep and the rapid breathing that seemed to be shallow, getting quicker and quicker with each step.

Walking over to the passenger door and opening it, you usher Mina into the car.

She sits in with her legs out of the car, her hand slips up your thigh and a finger slides into your belt loop, hooking the fabric and tugging lightly.

“…What are you doing?” Chuckled as you stumble closer to her.

“I w-want you. I can’t wait until we get h-home. P-please…” Biting her lip, eyes burning in passion as they burrow into yours.

“And soon…” leaning down and pressing your lips onto hers, humming into her touch.

“…You’ll have me, Angel…but as you said before, dessert is at home.” Whispered to her, with barely any distance between your mouths.

“Hmph.” pushing you back gently in protest before crossing her arms and rolling her eyes.

Giggling at her, you stand by the edge of the door- waiting for her to get fully in the car so you can close the door for her.

“Come on, darling. Let’s go home.” Trying to signal her to get in the car fully, you’re just as impatient as she is.

A smirk lingers on the lips of your lover, you swear you saw the lightbulb go off in her mind.

“F-Fine. Don’t have your way with me h-here.”

Mina lifts her left leg and only her left leg, causing that short skirt to ride up and reveal the mess you had torturously made, and were still making, between her legs.

Thighs coated in her essence, folds dripping and leaking everywhere, reflecting on the black fabric that was supposed to be shielding her from the world.

Standing there with your jaw on the ground, you watch as she places her right leg in the car, tugging the seatbelt and fastening it without tugging her skirt down to cover herself.

“W-well? Are we going h-home? Or s-should I touch myself h-here?” Shaking at the sentence, this is getting unbearable for you.

Craving her and only her.

Slamming the door, you run around the other side of the car and get in the driver’s seat. Fumbling the keys and trying to find the one for the car, thrusting it into the ignition and turning it violently.

Practically slamming on the gas and backing the car out of the parking spot, throwing it into drive and flooring it towards home.

Mina is starting to lose her composure, the vibrator still on high inside of her has slowly driven her past the point of no return. Reaching over for your hand that’s resting on the gear shift, she doesn’t hesitate to grab it and shove it between her legs, trying to get friction from you.

The amount of slick that you come into contact with, creates a mess of its own in your underwear as you start to softly toy with her clit.

“Fuck, baby…” whined as the gentle touches increase the pleasure she was already feeling.

“Please…I need you so fucking b-badly…please!” A whimper that would reverberate between your ears and down your spine, causing a mindset shift from normal teasing behavior…to something else entirely.

“I didn’t say that you could use my hand for your pleasure.” As you lift your hand and slap Mina’s clit harshly, one time.

“Fuck!” Practically screeched out into the cabin of the car for no one to hear but you.

“If you’re going to keep being impatient, I can take the long way home.” Cocking an eyebrow and waiting for her decision.

“Impatient?!” Furiously gasped back at the accusation.

“You’ve been t-toying with me all fucking n-night!” The rage she was bringing to this less than wholesome conversation only made you want her more.

The light in front of you turns red, the car comes to a smooth halt and you look over at Mina.

Wide, glossy eyes look back at you. That’s when you notice she’s rocking her hips, the vibrator must be brushing up against her g-spot.

Glaring at her, she stops in her tracks but it was too late. You already noticed.

One particular thing Mina enjoyed was how rough you could be with her. The trust was always there for this type of relationship and you knew exactly what she wanted when she started acting this way.

Hand flying up and latching onto her throat, you squeeze lightly and remind her who is in charge.

“I won.” Snarled back at her, the tone was set for the evening.

“I have been toying with you. Because you’re MY toy and I can do what I please with what belongs to me, understood?” Growled to her when the light turns green.

Turning your head, you peel off - burning rubber as you make your way down the road a little faster than you probably should.

Mina picks up on the change of headspace that you’ve had. Feeling her energy shift deeper into the sub space, you can see her in your peripherals scooting down in her seat and lifting her legs- thighs to her chest.

“Mina…what are you doing?” Scowling, almost snarled at her.

The only sound that’s heard is repressed moans, tiny groans of pleasure from the passages seat, and a whispered “fuck, so good.”

Assuming she was touching herself, you reached over between her legs and found exactly what you thought you would.

Her hand rubbing her clit.

A surprised gasp, followed by an “Oh, fuck.”

“If you aren’t going to t-touch me, I’m going to t-touch myself! I can’t fucking w-wait anymore! I’ve been edged for h-hours, please just let me feel something! Please, please, please, please!”

Begging was a weakness, it always has been.

“We are right around the corner. You know better than to touch yourself without permission.”

Pure.

Silence.

No bratty response, no complaining, nothing.

Both of you sat in silence for the last 5 minutes of the car ride with nothing but a slight buzzing sound coming from the passenger seats and a few heavy sighs from your girlfriend who was on the brink of losing her mind.

—

Opening the front door and pushing it forward, you let a pissed off Mina walk through the frame first. Stepping into the foyer, turning around and closing the door, locking it and kicking off your shoes - you place your keys in the dish by the door and take two steps into the house before something stops you.

Mina’s hand is pressed against your chest, preventing you from walking any further into the house. She’s observing your reaction to this, contemplating what her next move would be.

“What‘s your strategy, Angel?” Taunting her, just to see how far she’d be willing to push you.

Silence.

“Oh, now you want to stay clam knowing that nothing is stopping me from doing what I want with you?” amusement peaks through the stern tone that reverberates through your chest.

Silence.

“Now you want to stay quiet? Hm?” Her head tilt down as you speak, small pants escape her throat as she waits for instruction.

“You only want to be a brat when we are out and about then?…Come with me.” Grabbing her hand and leading her to the bedroom door.

Turning around once you’re a few feet into the room, you face her and start to remove her clothes for her.

Piece by piece all of the fabric is shed off her body, first her skirt, then her blouse…bra…until she’s completely bare.

Mina stands in the middle of the room, stark naked and patiently waiting for you to tell her what to do…

Stepping around her, you start to remove your own clothes, slowly.

“Tell me, Angel. Who’s in charge here?” Removing your shirt and tossing it with the other clothes removed.

“Y-you are.” Shakily as she clenches her thighs together, her eyes are dissociating…she’s fighting to stay present, despite the pleasure.

Undoing your belt, you catch her eyes unfocusing while her thighs clench and let it slide. You had be torturous enough to her this evening, she would get what she wanted either way.

“And who do you belong to?” Letting your pants hit the floor so you were only in your underwear.

“You!” Whined out to the room, for only you the shadows to hear the layer of hunger behind the shrill whimper.

“And?” Grabbing your phone, opening the app and stopping the vibrator in its tracks.

“Only -huff-You.” Sighed out as she finally has a moment to breathe.

Getting down on your knees in front of her, you look up at her and she bites her lip as her hand caresses your face before weaving into your hair.

“Tell me what you want.” As your hands work their way up the back of her legs, causing sigh to slip past her lips.

“You.” As her hand tightens in your hair, an attempt to pull you closer unfolds but you keep her waiting, even if only for a moment.

Watching as her slick trickles down her inner thigh, you catch it with your tongue - dragging it up to it’s source and swiping your tongue once, twice, three times before your hands make it to her upper thighs.

“How do you want me?” As a finger slips inside to coax the vibrator out of her.

You toss the device to the side without another glance.

“In every way that you will t-take me.” You stand up and readjust her, hands on her waist as you press your bodies together.

Mina’s hips start rocking as you lead her backwards, allowing her to fall back onto the bed into the soft sheets. She scoots back without a second thought, allowing you to crawl up between her legs.

On your way up, you can see the damp mess you’ve created as her essence leaks from her entrance, clit swollen and begging to be touched.

Kissing up her torso, she’s very reactive to your touch. Every time you brush up against her, she moans or huffs, arching her back in a plea to you like you’re bread crumbing her and denying her the pleasure she wants.

“Every way, hm?” As you meet her face to face, lips grazing against hers as you speak.

“Every. Single. Way.” Lifting her face up to meet yours, pressing her mouth gently on yours, back arching up into you once more causing you to struggle to keep your composure.

You’re about to break and she knows that.

“Take what’s yours, baby.” Moaned into your mouth as the tension you’ve built all night explodes, setting you off on a hungry tirade to devour Mina.

What was a sweet and soft moment shared between the two of you, now evolved into something more primal and aggressive.

Teeth sinking into her neck, hands grasping at her - and her at you. A clumsy display of pure lust unravels itself between the two of you.

Your thigh raises up between her legs, holding you slightly above her but giving her a place to grind and maneuver on.

Though she had told you how badly she needed you, nothing compared to feeling how soaked her perfect cunt was as she thrusted back and forth on your skin - grinding so frivolously. The act of desperation caused a fluttering inside you that pushed you even farther into the headspace she craved you in.

“M-more.” Between feverish kisses and the needy movements, Mina was thoughtless - with the exception of a few subjects.

You and cumming for you.

“You want more, Angel?” Pinning her hands above her head, biting down her neck to her chest - making sure you graze your teeth across her nipples so she’d make those pretty sounds that only fueled your fire, easing slowly down to her stomach as you let go of her wrists so you can pin her down by her hips.

“Do you deserve more from me? Hm? After you got so bratty on the way home…” laying your teeth into her upper thigh eliciting the most vulgar moan yet.

“Fuck.” Silently breathed low enough for Mina not to hear, she can’t know how riled up you get when she’s like this…at least not now.

“Pleaseee, baby I need you more than anything! I’ll do anything…just please!” On the verge of tears as she grabbed your head and pulled you closer to her.

Smacking her hand away from you, the scowl on your face sent a very clear message.

“You know better.” Stern, cold, callous as it leaves your mouth.

“Please…” the tears are falling now, but you can’t let this go unpunished.

“Count them out, like a good girl.” Lifting your hand while still between her legs, she knows what’s coming.

You push her thighs further apart and lay one slap right on her sensitive, swollen pussy.

“O-one!” Gasped as the tears trail down her cheeks and her cunt clenches around nothing.

Another loud slap, splattering slick everywhere as she weeps.

“T-two!”

“Three! Baby, please!” Sobbing at this point, you aren’t done yet.

Four and five were quick, but as you neared 10, they got harsher and harder.

Ten didn’t feel like enough but you also didn’t want to push her too far off the edge.

Sitting up, you lean forward to her and kiss the stained glass tears. Her cheeks flushed and she’s completely mindless as you continue to kiss her lovely, lips parting as your tongues danced together.

“You’re such a good girl for me, angel. Taking everything I give to you…so good.” Laying down next to her, to give her a very small break.

She curls into you, her face in your neck and her body in line with yours, not willing to let the contact go. Her hips rocking into you, she’s on the brink of a break down- having hardly any words to give.

Just whines, shallow breaths, and a tight grip around you.

Your hand slithers down between her legs, she gasps at the contact and spreads her shaking thighs slightly to give you better access to her.

“That’s right, angel. Give me what’s mine.” Lowly growled at her while you kiss your way down her body, pushing her lightly onto her back as you descend.

This time, you were fast about it. Sure, you liked edging her and making her pathetically desperate, but you were hungry for her. A need built up inside you to give her exactly what she wanted.

Her soft sounds just so delicious, it was all you ever wanted to hear. The symphony from an Angel.

Your angel.

The trembling as you reach your destination only made both of you want each other more. Impatience got the better of you, the feral greed over her cascaded through your body and the only thing you can think about is listening to her cum for you.

One long lick up her drenched cunt.

Then another.

And another.

Mina is already twitching underneath you, hands placed on her hips to hold her down while she bucks incoherently against your mouth. No words present, just the whimpers and moans that are only getting louder with each thrust into your mouth.

Fingers dancing along her entrance as you start to focus on her swollen clit. Choking on her moans and trying to scoot closer to you, she’s nodding her head yes and sinking herself down on your fingers before you could slip them deeper inside.

“Needy little sweet girl, aren’t you?” Before finally latching on to her and starting to build on top of the already rumbling orgasm that’s been threatening her for hours.

“Your -huff- f-fault!” Gripping the sheets as she manages to get the first words you’ve heard from here since this started.

Pumping your fingers slowly at first, you keep most of your attention on her clit- sucking and lapping at her folds - carefully building and curating this masterpiece of an orgasm.

All the taunting, edging and teasing finally coming to fruition.

“F-fuck! oh my g-god! I’m g-gonna…”

Before the sentence could even finished, Mina drowns you in the symphony that was the sounds of her losing herself in pleasure - a life force drained, practically sucking all the energy out of her as she tensed around your fingers and crushed you between her thighs.

The gasps and grunts as you continued to allow her to ride her orgasm out on your tongue, were a lovely ending to the astounding crescendo of notes just sung out to you.

A symphony of desperation.

Mina is reaching for you, arms out and waiting for you to come up to her and give her the cuddles she always demands. Which you are happy to supply.

“We should make bets more often…” sighed into you as she nuzzles into your chest.

“Yeah? I bet you’ll fall asleep first.” Rubbing her arms as she clings to your body, kissing her on top of her head and waiting for her to reply.

“I bet you’ll -yawn- sleep longer.” Her eyes are fluttering as she fights the tired.

“I’ll take that bet. Loser bottoms.” One more kiss, knowing that your face is absolutely coated in her slick.

Watching as she licks her lips happily and nuzzles back into you, drawing light patterns with her nails on your back as you drift off into your dreams where you’re sure to meet her.

—

The sound of clanking in the kitchen woke you up suddenly, eyes snapping open to the sounds of breakfast being made and the smell of bacon seeping into the room lulls you out of your sleepy state.

Stretching and rubbing your eyes, you get the blurred figure of Mina walking in with 2 plates in hand - a few blinks clear up her naked figure as she places them on the nightstand and crawls on top of you.

“Good morning” softly cooed to you, followed by a barrage of gentle pecks to your face, you giggle at how adorable she is.

“Good morning, angel. How are you feeling?” Reaching your arms up and wrapping them around her back without sitting up.

“I might be a little sore.” Chuckled back at you before sitting up and patiently waiting for you to do the same.

“Sit up, let’s eat and then we can talk about how you lost the bet.” Smirking at you before grabbing her plate and taking a bite of the extra crispy bacon she just prepared.

One big stretch, you hoist yourself up and rub your eyes again. Mina reaches over and hands you a plate full of pancakes, fresh fruit and bacon and you enjoy each others company over the meal.

—

Carrying the now empty plates to the kitchen, you feel her following you through the kitchen to the sink- waiting for you to put the plates down before coming up behind you and kissing your shoulders.

Sighing happily, you flip around and face her. Wrapping your arms around her neck as she lays her lips down your neck again and again.

“You made me feel so…fucking good last night, baby.” Lightly biting your shoulders before taking a step back and grabbing your hand.

“And since you lost the bet…” sultry tone cutting the air, hitting you right in the core and reigniting the feeling that was pulsating through you the entire night before.

Being so busy bringing pleasure to Mina, you weren’t even concerned about what your body was telling you it wanted.

“I will be taking my reward now.” Tugging you into the bedroom and smashing her mouth against yours in a panicked, needy manner.

Pushing you against the wall, she kisses down your neck to your chest. Suckling and gently biting your nipples as she makes her way down to your stomach until she was on her knees on the floor in front of you.

Pulling the elastic of your underwear with her teeth, she lets it snap against yours skin before she drags them down your legs, assisting by lifting the back of your knees to remove them.

Mina stands again, pressing her body against you and tempting you with how close her lips hover over yours. Her fingers trail from your collarbones down your arms in tandem, ghosting over yours skin and causing a violent pleasurable shutter to consume you.

A small devilish chuckle escapes her lips as she grabs your hands and pins you against the wall. Her lips crash against yours in another wave of passion, quickly swelling into an unstoppable wave of lust and love.

The ache deep within your stomach roars, Mina is effortlessly coaxing the fire inside you with every move she makes - the gasoline that ignites with every turn and small touch, sizzling and scorching you from within.

In a single swift move, Mina flings you onto the bed. Legs hanging off the side while you drip onto the sheets that doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Would you look at this?” Slowly sauntering over and finding her place between yours legs before taking her finger and gently swiping up from your entrance to your clit. Gathering the mess rapidly created before seductively licking your slick off her finger, all while never breaking eye contact with you.

“Fuck, you taste so good.” Getting down on her knees and spreading your thighs open for better access, she lays down a few bites and you’re already shaking, all too ready for whatever her plan was.

Her tongue laps at your folds, delicately navigating every nook and cranny, eye contact only adding to the desire as the tantalizingly hums into you.

Her eyes piercing your soul, it’s hard to look away as you watch all her emotions flicker from desperately in love to deep and aggressive lust. Passion consuming her as she falls into the position of being in charge.

Without warning, the tip of her finger slips inside you, tugging down gently and bringing her tongue to circle slowly around your clit.

“Fuck!” Whining out into the room, letting your pleasure echo in her ears and encouraging her to continue on.

Mina moans into your cunt in satisfaction, tugging down one last time before slipping two fingers inside you.

Picking up the pace of her tongue, she pumps her fingers excruciatingly slow- giving you a taste of your own medicine.

Gasping at how good it feels, you start to rock your hips back and forth with the rhythm of her digits. Even with the sluggish pace, your body language conveys how much you’re desperately trying to get her to ruin you.

“Angel, please! Fuck, pleaseee! I need yo-“ Latching onto your clit before you can finish your sentence, her mouth and tongue fuel your desires- thrusting your hips faster as her fingers continue on agonizingly slow.

“M-Mina…please!” Begging through your huffs of euphoria as the knot in your stomach builds and builds at the same speed her fingers are moving.

A smirk felt between your legs before the pressure inside of you starts to intensify, her fingers are haphazardly pushing against your G-spot and pulling the orgasm to the forefront of this moment.

“A-angel…I’m…g-gonna c-c-cum!” Groaned as your body begins to tense.

Suddenly, everything stops.

Removing her mouth and fingers from you, she watches as you writhe and try to catch your breath- your grip on the sheets could tear holes, your grip on her head is unrelenting.

The ferociousness of the build up slowly creeping out of you as you contort and huff out in frustration.

“W-why would you s-stop?!” Practically screeched into the air as you release her head from your grip and glare at her maliciously.

“Just a little pay back, baby.” A kiss to your thighs as her hand finds its way back to you.

Before you can protest, she harshly slaps your clit- one single horrifically hard time.

A shockwave of heat travels through your body, you’re absolutely brain dead, soaked, and ready to do whatever it takes to get her to give you what you desperately crave.

“Normally, I’d make this a little more excruciating…I’d tease you and make you want it more…but let’s just say I’m eager to please today…” a single lick up your pussy solidifies the stake to her claim.

“I want you…and I’m going to take what belongs to me.” Matter of factly spat out to you with a hint of hostility.

Before you can speak a single word, her lips return to your body - attaching right to your clit as her fingers slip back in and pump harder than before- humming continuously into you and not letting up at all.

The knot tightens, restricting your breathing and causing you to shake underneath her. You’re about to cum and she knows what.

Her fingers move faster and faster, ripping the orgasm right from your body and swallowing it whole.

Gasping as your mind blanks out, body constricting and convulsing as she continues to slam her fingers into you.

The orgasm dies down, but Mina keeps going. Pumping, sucking, and licking every drop of essence off you while creating more instantly, showing absolutely no signs of stopping what so ever.

“M-Mina…w-what are yo-“

“Shh, just take it. You know this is what you want.”

She knows you very well.

Following the rhythm of her, you slam down on her fingers as they push deeper and deeper into you. Her tongue unrelenting against you, you’re drowning in her.

“That’s right, baby. Let me have you.” Cooed out from between your legs as your next release builds.

More and more tension, it’s harder to keep yourself composed- the sounds coming out of you are primal and guttural, her favorite flavor of you…

Mina pulls her head back just to spit right on your pussy and slip a third finger in.

“F-fuck, fuck, fuck, oh my god baby!” Immediately, your mind goes blank again as she stretches you.

“Look at you…so ruined for me.” Latching back onto your clit and pumping her fingers.

The feeling of being so full of her and stretched out pushes you over the edge, swelling into bliss.

Vision blurred as your body gives into pleasure, clenching around Mina’s fingers and bucking your hips down onto her as you ride out your second orgasm.

“That’s right, baby. Give it all to me.” Watching as you lose it.

Gasping and gripping the sheets as your pussy pulsates, you feel the high wear off, coming down from the violently earth shattering orgasm Mina coaxed out of you.

Mina crawls up next to you, resting her head on your chest and sighing as you both relax.

“Your heart is racing.” A big cheeky smile dawned on her face as she draws little shapes on your stomach, waiting as you come back to yourself.

“Well, yeah! How could it not?” Leaning over to kiss her forehead and wrapping your arm around her.

“We should place bets more often…” followed by a yawn and a small stretch from your beloved girlfriend.

“You really want to lose again?” Knowing this would push her buttons a little.

“What?! I let you win!”

“Oh, did you?!”

Mina shoots out of bed and runs to the living room, still absolutely naked.

“Rematch! Right now!” Competitive nature of her radiating even from a few rooms over.

The clattering of the plastic pieces on the coffee table makes you smile, knowing that this would be a new little game you’d play with each other…she’s going to be devastated knowing you’ve been letting her win this entire time.

292 notes · View notes

imaginespazzi · 11 months ago

Text

Part 6: To Trying Again

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15

I don't wanna mess this thing up (I don't wanna push too far)

(In which an "evil" writer might surprise you guys just a little bit with this part)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Fluff and Angst

Words: 5.6K

TW: Swearing (I think that's it?)

A/N: Happy Monday lovelies! This is sort of a filler-ish short chapter though I do think it's important to both plot and character development. I'd like to preface this by saying I've never been to Minsk or Park Pieramohi so I'm very much going off of pictures. Editing and I remain on very, very bad terms so pretty please let me know of typos so I can fix them. As always, let me know what you liked, what you disliked and what you'd like to see going forward. Have a lovely rest of your week my loves <3

July 2018

“You’re being too loud,” Azzi whisper-screams at the blonde girl in front of her as she closes the door to her room behind her with a little too much force.

Paige turns her head back every-so-slightly with a pronounced eye roll, “will you please relax.”

“I would if you’d just be a little more careful,” Azzi glares, taking cautious steps as if the sound of her sneakers across the carpeted floor could potentially wake up any of the coaches.

“Azzi,” Paige says exasperatedly, “the coaches are all the way on the other end of the hallway. Besides, they're probably all sleeping.”

And despite her stubbornness, Azzi can concede that Paige has a point there. It’s nearly midnight and the game against Spain earlier in the day might have had a final score that made it seem like the USA U17 women's basketball team had won handily, but the game itself had been draining to say the least. The post-victory dinner had featured a bunch of worn out teenagers gobbling their food without much conversation and a cohort of coaches who seemed like they needed an hour of drinking followed by good night’s sleep. But even the exhaustion of the day hadn’t been enough to prevent Paige Bueckers and her diabolical mind from coming up with the idea to sneak out into the city of Minsk.

“No,” Azzi had said immediately even before the words had been spoken, that shimmering glint in Paige’s eyes a dead giveaway as she sidled up to Azzi at the salad bar.

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say,” Paige had pouted.

“You never say anything good.”

“That’s crazy. You’re so mean to me.”

“So mean,” Azzi had nodded in agreement, “so how about you go and bother someone else.”

“Azzi please. We haven’t had just Paige and Azzi time in ages. Don’t want someone else. Just want you.”

And after that well, there wasn’t really any chance of saying no. Azzi’s only fifteen and she doesn’t know that much about love, but sometimes when Paige looks at her with those earnest blue eyes and a smile that promises i’ll always be here, she thinks the way her heart starts to flutter erratically to a beat of and i wouldn’t want anyone else to stay, might just be the start of her finding out.

“See,” Paige grins triumphantly as the two girls find their way out of their hotel and onto the street, “told you we wouldn’t get caught. Shit’s just too damn easy.”

Azzi rolls her eyes at the attitude, “don’t tempt fate.”

“Fate’s got nothing in front of Paige Bueckers. I make my own fate,” Paige winks as she links her arms through Azzi.

It’s a mundane amount of contact, absolutely nothing special to it, but Azzi feels herself shiver in spite of the humidity that’s circling around them. She doesn’t quite know how it happened. One moment she was staring across the court, judging the skinny blonde practicing free throws and coming to the conclusion that she’d be no threat; the next moment said girl was next to her on the plane back from Argentina and Azzi, a self-admitted introvert, found herself rattling off about everything and nothing with this girl who seemed to have discovered the keys to all of Azzi’s locks. Hours of talking had bled into days and days had bled into months and despite the fact that facetime had taken the place of in-person conversations, the word friendship had seemed too cavalier a word to describe the relationship Paige and Azzi were building.

Paige had whittled away all of Azzi’s carefully constructed armor until she was buried deep underneath her skin and Azzi’s sure there’s no knife in the world sharp enough to carve the blonde out from where she lives underneath Azzi’s ribcage. Azzi doesn’t want anyone to try and dig her out. She thinks she might bleed out if they do.

“Az,” Paige whines, waving her free hand in the younger girl’s face, “are you even paying attention to me?”

“That depends,” Azzi hums, “are you saying anything interesting?”

“I’m always saying something interesting.”

“You’re always saying something. The interesting is subjective,” Azzi teases, laughing when Paige pouts.

“I sneak you out to give you an adventure and this is how you repay me? With insults?” Paige puts a dramatic hand to her heart.

“Walking boring streets is not an adventure. Virginia has streets too.”

“It’s not about the streets, it’s about where the streets lead to,” Paige says with grave seriousness.

Azzi raises an eyebrow, “are you entering your philosopher Paige era?”

“I’d make a good philosopher,” Paige waggles her own eyebrows as they two girls find themselves entering park Pieramohi.

“Virginia has parks too, you know Paige?” Azzi says skeptically.

Paige lets out a dramatic sigh, “will you just keep walking, woman. Sometimes I wonder if you even like me?”

It’s said like a joke but there’s a hint of insecurity beaded into it that buzzes in Azzi’s ears as she wraps a careful hand around Paige’s wrist, stopping the two of them where they are.

“Hey,” she whispers softly, nudging the older girl, “you don’t ever have to wonder with me. I’m always gonna like you Paige. Even if you’re a pain in my ass half the time.”

“Had to ruin it with the last part, didn't you?” Paige complains but her eyes twinkle at the reassurance, “Just so you know I’m gonna be a pain in your ass forever.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” Azzi promises as they continue strolling through the park.

The silence is peaceful and the breeze that flows around them is like a comforting hug. And Azzi thinks that she’d be okay if there wasn’t a destination for them to get to, as long as the journey came with Paige by her side.

“We’re almost there,” Paige says slowly, a slightly nervous edge to her voice.

“You sure you’re not just getting us lost-” the teasing quip dies on Azzi’s tongue as she stares at the scenery in front of her. They’re standing on the edge of a bridge overlooking a lake and it looks like something out of a disney fairytale; the picturesque image of green trees silhouetted against a magically starry night is captured perfectly on the still surface of the water that’s flowing beneath. As Azzi peers across the railing, Paige right next to her, she feels her breath hitch at the reflection that peers up at her. Because the view in front of them is beautiful but Paige’s eyes are on Azzi and she’s staring at her as if the view is nothing in comparison.

“C’mon,” the blonde says softly, lacing her fingers through Azzi’s as she tugs her along, “I have a plan.”

“There’s more?” Azzi asks in awe as Paige guides her to the gazebo in the middle of the bridge.

“Just a little bit,” Paige says and oh- that shy smile is different. Azzi doesn’t think she’s seen that one yet and she makes a mental note to herself, to memorize it and store it along with all of Paige’s other smiles that make Azzi’s insides swoop like a rollercoaster.

She watches intently as Paige begins to peruse through the purple rucksack she’d been carrying. The first thing out of it is a picnic blanket and then a horde of different snacks, all of Azzi’s favorites. Two plastic champagne glasses are next and then a sheepish grin as Paige pulls out a bottle of soda.

“Couldn’t quite risk trying to get alcohol,” Paige scratches at her neck.

“Next time maybe,” Azzi shrugs as she helps Paige set up the arrangement and she feels herself fluttering at the thought of doing this again and again and again.

“How’d you even find this place?” she asks as Paige begins to pour out the soda.

“You ever heard of googling?”

Azzi rolls her eyes at Paige’s teasing smirk, “how’d you even have time to do this?”

Paige is quiet for a second as she passes Azzi her glass, “wanted to do something special for us,” she says quietly, keeping her eyes intently on what she’s doing as she pours out a drink for herself, “wasn’t hard to find time for you.”

“You could be a poet, Paige Bueckers,” Azzi whispers and she knows it’s unfair of her but she thinks it anyway. As long as all your poems are about me.

“The poets are lucky I chose a ball instead of a pen. They’d be out of a job otherwise,” Paige says, trying to ease back into the more familiar arrogance.

“Always so humble,” Azzi says, rolling her eyes as she holds up her glass, “alright what are toasting to?”

“I came up with this whole thing. You can come up with a toast,” Paige scrunches her nose and Azzi shakes her head at it.

She thinks for a second before smiling brightly at the girl in front of her, “let’s just keep it simple and toast to us.”

“How original,” Paige teases but she clinks her glass against Azzi’s anyways, “here’s to us.”

“Here’s to us,” Azzi repeats as they both take sips of soda.

They melt into a comfortable silence, relishing in this rare moment where there isn’t a screen separating them from each other. Facetimes is a wonderful creation but a blurry screen, Azzi decides, doesn’t nearly do justice to just how damn pretty Paige is. Her hair is golden as it basks in the glow of the moon and Azzi wonders if the stars are jealous of how brilliantly the blonde’s blue eyes twinkle.

It’s Paige who speaks first, her voice hesitant, “you uh- you never asked me how my date went a couple of weeks ago.”

Azzi feels her whole body go rigid. She’d almost forgotten about Paige’s wretched date. The blonde had told her about it a couple of days before the actual event and Azzi had played the dutiful role of a best friend, teasing Paige with a light-heartedness she didn’t feel and congratulating her with an excitement that came from anywhere but from the heart. She’d purposely avoided Paige’s calls the day of the date and then two days after, coming up with some sorry excuse she no longer remembers. On the third day, when the hollow ache of i miss her voice in her chest had become too hard to ignore, Azzi had finally picked up the phone and diverted the conversation straight to a different topic. She hadn’t thought of the date since.

“Guess it slipped my mind,” she says airily, fingers gripping the edge of the picnic blanket.

“I could tell you about it now,” Paige says slowly.

I’d rather you didn’t, Azzi thinks but that’s a thought that veers a little too out of the sphere of best-friend-isms and so she simply nods her head, “y-yeah tell me about it. How was it?”

“It was nice,” Paige begins and there’s something hidden in her tone that Azzi can't quite place but she’s a little too busy sulking at the idea of Paige with anybody else to try and decipher it, “dinner was good. Took her to a movie after. That was good too.”

“That’s cool P. I’m glad- I’m glad you had fun,” Azzi says nonchalantly, gripping the glass in her hands just a little too tight.

“I didn’t.”

“What?”

“I didn’t really have that much fun,” Paige clarifies and Azzi gawks at her in confusion as the older girl fidgets with the frayed edges of the picnic blankets, “just didn’t- didn’t feel right. Don’t think she had much fun either. She never texted me after.”

“What a bitch,” Azzi bites out, suddenly irrationally angry at a girl she’d never met because how could anyone possibly not have fun with Paige, “I’m sorry P. You deserve-”

“I didn’t care that she didn’t text back-”

“Still. It’s just the decent thing to do,” Azzi rants.

“Maybe,” Paige shrugs, “but I didn’t have time to care about that. I had other things on my mind. Like the fact that you weren’t talking to me.”

Azzi flinches at the accusation, rushing out her previous defense, “I was busy.”

“Bullshit,” Paige sneers.

“Paige-”

“But I get it,” the older girl says softly as she reaches for Azzi’s hand, tugging the brunette closer to her and Azzi feels something inside her erupt at how close their faces are, “I probably wouldn’t have talked to you for two days either if you went on a date with someone else.”

“Oh,” Azzi breathes out and there’s probably something more eloquent she should say but there’s this realization of maybe you feel it too that’s beginning to creep up her spine, rendering her speechless as Paige continues to stare at her like she’s mapping out all the tiniest details of Azzi’s face.

“The whole date, I kept thinking how you wouldn’t order what she ordered off the menu or that you would probably hit my hand if I tried to steal something off your plate but then give it to me anyway. And that the movie would never have been so quiet with you and we’d probably get yelled at for giggling too much and I-” Paige pauses, dragging in a deep breath, “I definitely would’ve kissed you at the end.”

A sigh of relief escapes Azzi’s lips, “you didn’t kiss her.”

“No,” Paige confirms as she drops her forehead against Azzi’s, “but I-,” the blonde gulps nervously and Azzi can’t help the way her hand reaches up to caress the blush forming on Paige’s cheeks.

“Ask me,” she whispers.

“I really want to kiss you,” Paige confesses, voice shaking slightly, “can I kiss you?”

Azzi doesn’t say anything, choosing to reply instead by pressing her lips softly against Paige’s. They move slowly at first, testing each other’s boundaries and savoring their first taste of each other. Azzi pulls the older girl onto her lap, hands firmly on Paige’s hips as the other girl clasps her own hands around Azzi’s neck. It’s a little messy and uncoordinated and Azzi thinks they might need to practice a little more to really get it right but still, it’s everything.

And Azzi just knows

She knows it then just the way she knew Tim was meant to be her dad. The way she knew Jon and José were meant to be her brothers. The way she knew she was meant to play basketball. Azzi knows that she’s meant to fall hopelessly in love with Paige Bueckers.

March 2033

There are three things Azzi should do.

Push Paige away

Tell her this a bad idea

Run the fuck away

She does none of the above.

Instead Azzi kisses Paige back.

And it’s still everything. Like the sun and moon are colliding and creating something so insanely powerful; something that feels so eternal.

There’s nothing soft or slow about it as Paige presses every inch of herself into Azzi until she can feel Paige’s heartbeat as strongly as she can feel her own. It might be impossible but she swears their hearts are talking to each other, tapping out rhythms against each other’s chests that confess all the things their owners are too scared to say. And Azzi wants nothing more than to lose herself completely in the moment because Paige’s lips feel like a drug and Azzi thinks she might just be an addict in relapse.

Except to relapse, you need to have recovered. And Azzi doesn’t think she ever fully recovered from Paige.

It isn’t until she feels her back hit the edge of a desk and the sound of something crashing onto the floor infiltrates her ears, that Azzi finally comes to her senses. She tears her lips away from Paige as the older woman groans in protest, arms tightening their hold on Azzi’s waist so she can still have some semblance of control over the situation. And really Azzi knows she’s strong enough to escape Paige’s grip, could easily fight it if she wanted to. But well, she doesn’t want to. And Azzi’s tired of doing things she doesn’t want to do.

“Paige-”

“If the next words out of your mouth are ‘we can’t do this’, Azzi I swear to god I’m going to kill you,” Paige threatens, pressing her forehead against Azzi’s.

Azzi laughs softly and she can feel Paige’s whole body relax at the sound of it and like clockwork, she feels the tension beginning to release from her own muscles, “if you kill me then we definitely can’t do this.”

“I’ll revive you after or something,” Paige says with a half-smirk.

“Or something,” Azzi rolls her eyes, “but we can’t-”

“Azzi,” Paige groans.

“We can’t do this right now and definitely not here,” Azzi amends, alluding to the fact that they’re still in Steph’s office.

Paige raises an eyebrow, cocking her head slightly, “but we can do this later? Somewhere else?”

The question lingers between them as Azzi bites her lip. She knows what this is, knows that it’s Paige putting the ball in her court. A ‘no’ would likely be the end of things and that scares her more than she’s willing to admit but she’s not quite ready to commit to a ‘yes’ yet, even if that flame of desire inside of her, the one that can only be lit by Paige, is blazing hot through her veins.

“I don’t know,” Azzi says carefully, shivering at the way Paige’s thumb is rubbing circles against her waist, the flimsy material of her shirt doing nothing to prevent the goosebumps forming on her skin, “TBD.”

“That’s not a no,” Paige says carefully, hope blossoming freely on her face.

“That’s not a yes either,” Azzi warns half-heartedly.

“But it’s not a no,” Paige presses.

“No,” Azzi admits, playing with the neckline of Paige’s shirt, “it’s not a no.”

And Azzi’s so scared of the future, scared that if she lets herself burn, she’ll incinerate everyone around her but there’s something in the way Paige smiles at her words. Something that feels a lot like a promise of i’ll be the rain that washes out the fire before you can turn us to ashes.

“I can work with that,” Paige says softly, tilting Azzi’s chin up.

“So desperate to get back into my pants Bueckers,” Azzi teases and she expects a witty remark in return but instead she’s met with nothing but sincerity.

“So desperate to get back into your life,” Paige whispers, voice cracking on the last two words.

Tears prickle against Azzi’s waterline as she stares in awe at the girl in front of her. Sometimes she thinks Paige doesn’t even know that there’s a halo of goodness sitting above her head, doesn't even know just how beautiful her soul is. Paige is stunning on the outside; it’s something no one can deny. But it’s nothing compared to how gorgeous she is on the inside, nothing compared to how kind, how humble, how forgiving Paige is.

“Why?” Azzi asks, her tone rife with heaviness.

“Why what?”

“After everything, after all this time, why would you still want to be in my life?” the tears fall harder as Azzi struggles to breathe, “I- I broke your heart. I broke us. How could you possibly want that again. How could you possibly want me again?”

Paige's eyes soften as she cups Azzi’s cheeks, thumbs brushing away at the drops of water running down them, “because you’re Azzi. My Azzi. And I get it- I get that you’re not ready to be all in on this with me yet and if I’m being honest with myself, I’m not completely ready either. But we can work on it right? Take it slow and see where it goes and maybe we’ll- maybe we’ll be even better this time.”

“You think so?”

“I believe so.”

Azzi presses her lips delicately against Paige’s, reveling in the way it makes Paige’s breath hitch. She pulls away faster than she would like herself and Paige chases her lips, eyes still closed.

“What was that for,” the blonde asks, slightly dazed.

“For being my Paige.”

***

Azzi taps her foot impatiently against her wooden patio as she glances at her phone clock for the umpteenth time. Paige is almost twenty minutes late to pick her and Stephie up to go to dinner at her parent’s house. The invites had technically been separate but Paige had insisted that they needed to go together because Paige didn’t want to walk into the house alone. Azzi’s not sure why Paige is nervous to see her dad and brothers again, not when she’s pretty sure they’re bursting with excitement to see the blonde whose pictures still have a permanent place on the family photo wall, but if Paige wants Azzi by her side, well she’s not going to say no. Not anymore.

It’s been a week since they’d agreed to take things slow and Azzi’s still not quite sure what exactly that means, but she thinks she likes it. She likes being able to call Paige and not having to come up with a lame excuse for why. She likes that she and Paige can take Stephie out for ice cream after Curry Camp and they don’t have to pretend they’re only tolerating each other’s presence for the little girl’s sake. She likes that they can brush their pinkies while walking and instead of jolting away, they simply just link them together. There’s boundaries of course. No sleepovers at either of their houses. No doing anything more than kissing. No kissing in front of anyone else and definitely no kissing in front of Stephie. No doing anything in front of Stephie really. And there’s still so much mountain left to climb but as long as they’re pushing up it together, Azzi doesn’t think there’s any incline steep enough to stop her from continuing up this path.

“Miss Buecks,�� Stephie squeals as Paige’s car rounds the corner into Azzi’s driveway.

Paige steps out of the car, arms wide open and ready to catch Stephie as the little girl goes tumbling down the front porch, aiming straight for the blonde. Azzi’s not an artist by any means but if she was, she thinks she could paint a thousand pictures of Stephie and her Miss Buecks. It terrifies Azzi a little bit, just how perfectly Stephie fits into Paige’s side but it calms her too because there’s a part of her that’s in love with how much they love each other.

“You’re late Bueckers,” Azzi chides as she follows her daughter’s path down the patio stairs.

Paige grins, shifting Stephie on her lap as she opens the side door to her car to pull out two bouquets of flowers

“Will these make up for it?” she asks slyly as she hands the larger one, an assortment of pink flowers, to Azzi and a slightly smaller bouquet of purple hydrangeas to Stephie.

“These are so pretty Miss Buecks,” Stephie gushes before pressing a kiss to Paige’s cheek left cheek and Paige beams at the compliment, “thank you Miss Buecks.”

“You took that long to get flowers?” Azzi asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Mama,” Stephie chides immediately, “you’re supposed to thank someone when they give you a gift.”

“Yeah Azzi,” Paige’s eyes glimmer with mirth, “thank me like Stephie thanked me. Don’t you think Mama owes me a kiss on the cheek Steph?”

Azzi narrows her eyes at the scheming pair in front of her as Stephie nods animatedly at Paige’s question, “yeah Mama you owe Miss Buecks a kiss on the cheek.”

Shaking her head, Azzi walks over to Paige taking deliberately steady steps. Slowly Azzi leans in, puckering her lips. Paige closes her eyes and Azzi winks at Stephie who’s eyes widen.

“I’m waiting,” Paige sing-songs, a self-satisfied smirk taking over her features.

And instead of the promised kiss, Azzi licks a sloppy strip down Paige’s cheek and the blonde shrieks as both Azzi and Stephie burst into laughter.

“EW AZZI GROSS,” Paige whines, hurriedly rubbing her shirt against her cheek, “is this what you’re teaching your daughter?”

“I’m teaching my daughter not to let anyone manipulate her,” Azzi says, giving Paige a careful look, “now why were you late?”

Paige grins sheepishly as she opens the door to the backseat of the door. A lavender car seat is placed on the left side of the car and Azzi feels her heart lurch with no one’s ever cared like this.

“It’s pu-ple,” Stephie claps excitedly, “is it for me?”

“Of course it is,” Paige confirms, booping Stephie’s nose before looking at Azzi, “it’s just- we uh- we always have to take your car cause it has the car seat and moving it between cars is such a hassle. So I just thought- you know- I just thought it’d be cool- useful- practical- if I had one too? And this way if you ever need me to take Stephie off you then I uh- then you don’t have to worry about me driving. I don’t- I don’t really knows much about car seats but I looked it up online before and the person at the store agreed that this is definitely the best one- like I swear it’s safe-”

She’s cut off by the feel of Azzi’s lips pressed to her cheeks.

“Thank you Paige.”

***

Just as Azzi expected, Paige merges herself back into the Fudd family with the same ease she’d first had when she’d carved out a place for herself almost a decade and a half ago. It’s a little emotional at first when Tim opens the door, a smile almost as big as him decorating his face as he pulls Paige into a hug even before she can say a word.

“Welcome home kid,” he whispers into her blonde hair and Azzi doesn’t have to see Paige’s face to know that her best friend is blinking away tears.

Guilt surges in Azzi’s stomach and she tries to swallow away the lump of i took this from her that’s blocking her throat. It had been so simple at 15 to give Paige a part of her world; Azzi hadn’t thought twice about it. And then with the snap of her fingers, she’d taken that world away. She knows her parents had never cut Paige out; hell they’d been at her wedding to some other woman -and Azzi had pushed them to go knowing Paige would need it- but it was a far cry from what they’d been. A far cry from when Paige’s schedule was a key factor while planning Fudd family summers.

“Hey,” Stephie pouts, tiny hands crossed over her small body “I thought you always gave me the first hug Pops.”

“We’ll make an exception today,” Tim says with a wink before letting Paige walk into Katie’s arms and spinning his granddaughter around, “but you’re always gonna be my favorite.”

“I better be,” Stephie threatens and the adults around her laugh.

And finally it’s Azzi's turn to be pulled into one of her dad’s patent bear hugs. She goes willingly, always at her most warmest in the arms of the man whose blood might not run through her veins, but whose love had always protected her from the cruelties of the world.

“You look really happy today sweetheart,” Tim says softly.

Azzi’s eyes flitter over her father’s shoulder to where Jon and José are embroiling Paige in a group hug with Stephie in the middle of it, screaming about finally having their “white sister” back, as Katie and José’s fiancé Tallulah roll their eyes at the group of them, and she can’t help but smile into her dad’s shirt, “I feel pretty happy today.”

***

“You cheated,” Jon yells.

“Miss Buecks does not cheat,” Stephie yells back loyally.

“Don’t get into this Stephie. You don’t know her like we do,” José glares at Paige who narrows her eyes at him, “she’s been stealing from the bank.”

“Miss Buecks does not steal,” Stephie defends again, wrapping her arms around Paige’s neck from behind as the blonde presses a quick kiss against Stephie’s temple.

“It’s okay Stephie,” Paige reassures, gently swinging the little girl into her lap, “some people are just sore losers.”

“Can’t be a sore loser because I didn’t lose-” José coughs and Jon corrects himself immediately, “because we didn’t lose.”

“Y’all let it go,” Tallulah groans, leaning her head back against the sofa, “it’s literally just monopoly. Please, I'm so tired.”

“Just monopoly? JUST MONOPOLY?” José guffaws dramatically, “I can’t believe I’m marrying someone who doesn’t understand that it isn’t just monopoly Tallulah. It’s about liars and cheats and honor-”

“Miss Buecks has plenty of honor,” Stephie says stubbornly, leaning her head back against Paige’s chest.

Jon rounds on Azzi, who’s been silently watching the situation, “did you help her cheat?”

“Excuse me?” Azzi asks, glaring at her brother from where she’s been comfortable reclining on the sofa. She’d opted to be the banker instead of playing, content just handing out money to the rest of them while watching the game unfold. But really she hadn’t been paying much attention to anyone else but her daughter and Paige. Stephie didn’t quite understand the rules yet and so she was always on someone’s team. It had been a given tonight, that of course she would be with Paige. And Azzi had watched, trying not to be too obvious, with a foolish grin on her face, as her two favorite people whispered to each other, Paige listening intently to all of Stephie’s ideas whether they were good or bad.

“Oh good point,” José turns to look at Azzi too, “you’re the banker, did you help Paige cheat?”

“Mama would never cheat,” Stephie argues defiantly as Azzi pushes herself up from the sofa to send a menacing look to both of her brothers.

“I’m not going to dignify that accusation with a justification,” Azzi says, standing so she’s towering over her two brothers who are still sitting on the floor, “now clean up the game. It’s almost Stephie’s bedtime.”

They might be well into their twenties and José might be taller than her now, but they’re still not quite immune to Azzi’s wrath. Tallulah and Paige snicker as the two men, sulking at each other, obey their older sister's command without another word.

“You’ve gotta teach me how you do that,” Tallulah says, hi-fiving Azzi who smirks in response.

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie whispers, “what does dig-ni-fy mean?”

“Mean she’s not gonna entertain your uncles being dumba-”

“Paige!”

“Being dumbapples,” Paige corrects and both Azzi and Stephie give her an odd look at her ridiculous attempt at saving the bad word from leaving her lips.

“Alright Stephie-bean,” Azzi says, pulling her daughter off of Paige’s lap, “it’s late enough. Off to brush your teeth you go.”

Stephie looks hesitantly between the staircase leading up to the guest bedroom -where she and Azzi normally stayed- and Paige.

“Can Miss Buecks stay with us tonight?” she asks softly, one hand bunching in Paige’s shirt as she stares up at her mother with large doe eyes, “please Mama.”

“Stephie I don’t think-” Paige begins, ready to stick to the boundaries they’d laid out for themselves and really Azzi should let her; should follow her lead really.

Except the words are tumbling out of her mouth before she can stop them, “yeah she can- she can stay.”

“YAYY,” Stephie squeals, jumping into Azzi’s arms as Paige stares up at her in surprise, “thank you, thank you, thank you Mama. I’m so happy,” she swings from Azzi to Tallulah, “aunty Tully did you hear? Miss Buecks is gonna stay with us and you can make her your famous pancakes in the morning.”

“I can, can I?” Tallulah asks with a raised eyebrow as she lets Stephie and her excited chatter lead her towards the bathroom. With Jon and José both having already started towards their own rooms and Azzi’s parents fast asleep, it leaves just Paige and Azzi in the living room.

“You’re okay with me staying?” Paige asks softly, finally lifting herself from the floor and onto her feet.

Azzi scratches the back of her neck, “if- if you want to. You don’t have to. I can- I’ll explain to Stephie-”

“I want to,” Paige says, taking a cautious step towards Azzi, “but the rules?”

“This doesn’t count,” Azzi justifies and Paige smirks, taking another step towards the brunette.

“It doesn’t?”

“We said no sleeping over at each other’s places. This is my parent’s house. So technically it doesn’t count,” Azzi shrugs, trying to keep her face from breaking into a grin as Paige moves one more step closer.

“And where exactly am I sleeping?” Paige asks with a knowing grin as she loops an arm around Azzi’s waist, briefly checking to make sure no one’s around.

Azzi tilts her head, letting the grin break through, “I think Stephie would like it if you slept with us.”

“Ah well if that’s what Stephie would like,” Paige says, nodding commiseratingly.

“For Stephie’s sake,” Azzi repeats as she wraps her arm around Paige’s neck, pressing her forehead against the older girl’s and letting herself just breathe in the peace that comes with being all consumed by Paige.

“Azzi,” Paige’s voice is laced with uncharacteristic vulnerability as she speaks again, “you won’t- you won’t run away again tomorrow morning will you?”

“No,” Azzi promises, gently brushing her lips against Paige’s, “I won’t run away again.”

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #wcbb

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