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pitlanepeach · 23 days ago

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Radio Silence | Chapter Eleven

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, Christian Horner, Lando being a complete simp.

Notes — Had some fun with some social media graphics in this chapter! Share all of your thoughts/feelings after the chapter, I love to hear your yapping!

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

Zak’s eyes were fixed on the monitors. Lando was mid-lap, sector times glowing green across the screen. The tension was high but familiar; the usual adrenaline hum of a qualifying session.

Then, from the corner of his vision, the main feed flickered to a live shot of the Red Bull garage.

And there she was.

Amelia.

She was in what had become her usual seat in the RedBull garage, laptop balanced on her legs, surrounded by telemetry screens and noise and movement; like she belonged there. Like she’d always belonged there.

Zak felt something hitch in his chest, but he pushed it down. He hadn’t seen her in person all weekend. Probably by her design.

Then, she looked up. Not at him. At the camera.

Grimaced. Waved, awkwardly. In a way that was just so Amelia.

And then she held up a piece of paper.

“AND LANDO NORRIS’ GIRLFRIEND.”

It was on-screen for less than two seconds — just long enough to be undeniable.

Will, still tracking Lando’s data beside him, let out a low whistle. “Oh wow. Brave girl. Didn’t realise they’d made it official.”

Zak blinked at the screen.

The Sky Sports commentators were laughing. The F1 TV commentators sounded between shocked and amused.

But Zak didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Lando’s car zipped through the final corner. Purple sector. P3 provisional. The garage cheered in his ear. Will was on Lando’s radio, mentioning something about the braking point into Turn 10.

Zak was still staring at the coverage screens.

Because no one had told him.

Not his daughter.

Not Lando.

And she looked… happy. God, she looked happy. Freer than he’d seen her in years.

But there was a tightness in Zak’s jaw now, a hollowness in his chest.

—

The house was quiet, save for the gentle whir of the fan in the corner and the soft murmur of the F1 broadcast on the TV.

Tracy sat curled up on the sofa, feet tucked under her, a forgotten cup of tea cooling on the side table. She wasn’t one to watch every session, not unless Amelia was involved; which, lately, was more often than not. Still, it surprised her every time. Her little girl, in this world.

Then the camera panned to the Red Bull garage.

Tracy straightened.

There she was.

Amelia, hunched over her laptop, eyes sharp behind her glasses, entirely in her element. The graphic read “Amelia Brown, Engineering Intern.”

Tracy smiled, until she saw Amelia lift a piece of paper with bold, black writing.

“AND LANDO NORRIS’ GIRLFRIEND.”

There was a beat of silence in the room. Then Tracy let out a soft, surprised laugh, full of pride and amusement.

“She never was very good at sharing,” she murmured fondly, shaking her head.

And oh, didn’t she mean that. From toys to her spot on the sofa to the last slice of cake, if Amelia liked something, she claimed it.

Tracy smiled at the screen, at the quiet defiance in her daughter’s posture, the certainty in her eyes. “That’s my girl.”

—

iMessage — 16:07pm

Max F. BRO WHAT JUST HAPPENED 😭😭

Lando ? what are you on about

Max F. GO TO THE MEDIA PEN RIGHT NOW YOU’VE BEEN HARD LAUNCHED

Lando what what are you yapping about mate

Max F. Amelia. Garage cam. “Engineering Intern” graphic. She held up a sign that said “AND LANDO NORRIS’ GIRLFRIEND” ON. LIVE. TELEVISION.

Lando ??????????????

Max F. BRO I SPAT OUT MY DRINK YOU COULD’VE WARNED ME YOU TWO WERE ACTUALLY TOGETHER I THOUGHT IT WAS JUST FLIRTY VIBES

Lando just saw the clip fucking hell

Max F. mate you’re smiling aren’t you

Lando yeah. a little. a lot. she’s unreal

Max F. unreal is one word for it 💀

Lando she’s so fucking cute Jesus. the handwritten sign? the little smile??

Max F. you’re in it man

Lando obviously.

Max F. she’s got guts. respect. also she might’ve just made F1 history first hard launch via broadcast overlay 💀

—

Subject: Media Broadcast Conduct – Spanish GP

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: August 18, 2020, 10:24 AM

Hi Amelia,

Hope you're well.

We wanted to quickly flag your appearance during the Spanish GP broadcast a few days ago — specifically the moment where you held up a handwritten sign referring to your relationship with Lando Norris.

While we understand this was done in good humour, we'd appreciate the chance to speak with you about the optics of team affiliations, personal relationships, and privacy within the paddock. As you know, the broadcast reaches a global audience, and we have to be mindful of how moments like this can be perceived externally and internally.

Please let us know when you’re free for a quick chat during the Belgium weekend.

Best regards, Red Bull Racing Media & Communications Team

—

Subject: Re: Media Broadcast Conduct – Spanish GP

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] CC: [email protected] Date: August 18, 2020, 11:22 AM

Hello,

I’m happy to discuss this further in Belgium, but just to clarify, I do only plan on having one boyfriend, so it’s not likely to happen again.

Regards, Amelia

—

iMessage — 11:24am

Amelia The PR team are being passive aggressive I think.

Lando Norris ??? You okay baby

Amelia Yes. It’s just via email.

Lando Norris Get the social media team on your side. Maybe Instagram?

Amelia I don’t like Instagram.

Lando Norris Give it a go, baby. You’re so pretty. The fans will love it.

Amelia Fine.

—

ameliabrown just posted . . .

ameliabrown My 1st Instagram Post 👍🏻

liked by redbullracing, landonorris, maxverstappen and 176,301 others

Tagged: redbullracing, landonorris

view all comments

landonorris look at my beautiful girl😍 ❤️ by ameliabrown

user9 im going to pass tf out

user62 i am seething with jealous right now

user22 SHES LIVING MY DREAM😫😫😫

user51 YOU ARE A FCKING QUEEN FOR THAT HARD LAUNCH. I WOULD HARD LAUNCH TF OUT OF LANDO NORRIS TOO

user6 my jaw DROPPED. she was nawt willing to hide her man

user18 anyone else concerned abt what redbull had to say abt it??😭😭

user51 @user18 BABY I COULDNT CARE LESS. I LOVE THEM

user7 that’s so real. like imagine lando norris being your bf, working for redbull racing, and your dad is the team boss for mclaren like ???? girl is hooked tf up

user18 @user7 don’t forget abt how much alonso has praised her in the past!!!!

redbullracing our favourite stem girlie!🤩

user93 you are my biggest inspiration! i want to study engineering and work in motorsport and seeing another woman succeed is so inspiring

ameliabrown Thank you.

maxverstappen A very nice front wing!

ameliabrown I agree 👍🏻

user18 how have you never posted on here before?!

ameliabrown I prefer twitter. I am not very good at taking photographs.

user18 agree to disagree. this is such a cute photo dump!

ameliabrown Thank you. I spent 4 hours rearranging the photos.

user7 oh my god. she has charmed me.

—

Amelia checked Twitter for the first time since the Grand Prix.

She hadn’t meant to avoid it; at least not forever. But between debriefs, logistics, travel plans, and Lando hijacking the vast majority of her spare time, social media hadn’t felt like a priority.

Now, curled up in a quiet corner of the hotel lobby with a half-drunk iced coffee and an overheating laptop, she opened the web app.

The notifications were overwhelming. Thousands of likes. Hundreds of retweets. Clips of the broadcast moment; her sitting in the Red Bull garage, holding up that very efficient sign, looping on repeat across fan accounts, meme pages, and even official F1 news outlets.

There were edits (some cute and some... a bit strange). Screenshots. Commentary. Debate.

And, of course, the most viral of the tweets.

She scrolled slowly.

She scrolled for a few more minutes. There was already a hashtag that was being attached to everything regarding them.

Amelia blinked once. Then twice.

“Oh,” she said out loud to absolutely no one. “Guess everyone knows he’s mine now.”

And with that, she closed Twitter, pushed her headphones over her ears, and returned to the CFD simulation.

—

Lando didn’t usually mind being a passenger.

In fact, outside of a race weekend, he liked not driving. Liked leaning his seat back, feet on the dash, sunglasses on, playlist humming. It was a break. A switch-off.

Except for right now. Because right now, he was gripping the door handle like it might save his life.

Amelia, completely calm beside him, was weaving through the hills somewhere outside Montmeló like she was auditioning for WRC. One hand on the wheel, the other tapping against her thigh in time with whatever Spanish radio station she’d insisted they listen to. She was humming, even.

“Amelia,” he said, as politely as humanly possible while his soul tried to climb out of his chest. “Baby. You… do know there’s a speed limit, right?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, eyes on the road. “I’m under it.”

He glanced at the dashboard. She was; just barely. But then again, it wasn’t the speed that was making his stomach lurch. It was the corners. The absolutely unapologetic and fearless way she took them.

“You brake after the turn,” he muttered under his breath, wincing as they zipped past a startled cyclist.

“What?” She frowned, eyes flickering his way.

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “Just—Jesus, okay, that goat came out of nowhere—”

“You’re being weird,” she said, completely deadpan. She straightened the car again, after having swerved around the stray farm animal. “You’ve gone all stiff. Are you having a panic attack?”

“No,” he said through gritted teeth. He took a deep breath. “Sorry. I just don’t understand how you have a driving license.”

Amelia shrugged. “I passed the test. Same one everyone has to take.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“I used indicators. I drove under the speed limit. I checked my mirrors. Just drove normally.”

Lando gave a wild, incredulous laugh. “This is you driving normally?”

“Yes.” She said.

“Amelia,” he exhaled, clutching the door handle again. “I like you. I do. I like you a lot. But I genuinely think you’re going to kill us both.”

She made a face, eyes still locked on the road, though she wanted to glance at him. “You’re being very dramatic about this. You’re a Formula 1 driver.”

��Exactly! I know what dangerous driving looks like. And this is it!”

Amelia rolled her eyes but eased off the gas slightly; for his sake, not because she agreed with his critiques. “Fine. You can drive next time. I don’t really enjoy it anyway. I have to focus on a million different things at once.”

“Baby, from now on I’ll drive us everywhere,” he said, placing a hand over his heart like he was making a vow. “Just get me to dinner alive and I’ll buy you dessert.”

“I was getting dessert anyway,” she replied flatly. “I’ve been wanting to eat chocolate cake all day. With vanilla ice cream.”

He looked at her then, still half-terrified but entirely smitten. That warm, indulgent smile pulled at his mouth. “That sounds good, baby.”

“Yeah,” she said, eyes still forward, nodding a little. “It does.”

—

Lando drove them back to the hotel. Amelia climbed into the passenger seat with the calm satisfaction of a girl with a belly full of chocolate cake and ice cream. She had her knees pulled up to the seat, leaning into Lando’s side as much as the seatbelt would allow.

His hand drifted to her thigh at the first red light they came across, thumb brushing back and forth, the occasional tight squeeze that made her smile.

“I like you like this. Fed and sleepy,” he murmured, head tilted just slightly toward her.

She made a quiet sound in reply, somewhere between a hum and a sigh, and leaned in closer. “I much prefer when you drive,” she told him. “It’s much more efficient. You don’t flinch at your own braking.”

He laughed. “That’s because I brake like a normal person.”

“You brake like a professional driver,” she corrected. “I’m just a normal driver.”

“Sure, babe. That’s what we’ll tell the insurance company.” He teased.

She gave him a soft shove.

“…I was thinking,” she started, slightly hesitantly. “Before we fly to Belgium, I want to go see Fernando. He texted again earlier. He- uh, I told him that I told you about him coming back to the grid next year. He was okay with it. Made fun of me for being a terrible secret keeper.” She flushed slightly.

Lando glanced at her, then back to the road. “He’s in Spain?” He asked. She nodded. Without hesitation, he asked, “you want me to take you?”

She blinked at him. “You’d want to?”

He nodded. “Yeah, baby, of course. I’d like to meet him properly. Not just in the paddock, like… really meet him. He’s important to you, and I mean, he’s Fernando Alonso. I grew up watching him race.”

A pause. Her voice was small but unguarded. “He was the first person who ever took me seriously. Let me have full access to his data, made sure his engineers listened to me. It was nice.”

Lando squeezed her leg. “Then I definitely want to meet him.”

She didn’t say anything else, but she reached across the console and tangled her fingers with his, settling their joined hands on her lap. Lando glanced over, just briefly, and smiled.

“I’m glad I didn’t die on the way to dinner,” he said, teasing.

“I wouldn’t risk killing you,” she replied, all logic and deadpan. “You pay for my food.”

He laughed, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand, eyes still firmly on the road. “Unbelievably romantic. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She smiled.

—

Lando hovered just behind her, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, expression caught somewhere between polite interest and mild nerves. He was in Fernando Alonso’s house, after all. Not exactly neutral territory.

“Amelia, mi niña!” came the booming voice from across the space. Fernando appeared, all wide smile and familiar presence that made the hairs on Lando’s arms stand. “Finally! You keep me waiting too long.” The Spanish driver exclaimed.

Amelia lit up, in that subtle way she did, just the slight lift of her eyebrows and the way she tilted forward a little as he pulled her into a tight hug. “You said Wednesday. It’s Wednesday.”

“So punctual, like a human calendar,” he teased, then pulled back and looked over her shoulder. His dark eyes zeroed in on Lando. “And this must be your boyfriend.”

Lando stepped forward, extending a hand. “Hey. Yeah, I’m Lando. It’s really nice to meet you, man—”

Fernando didn’t take the hand. He just stared for a moment. Then said, “As you know, I will be driving alongside you again next year. And I have taken a year off, so I may be… rusty. I would hate to be involved in any kind of racing accident with you, Norris.”

Lando stared at him. “Right.”

Amelia frowned. “Fernando. He’s been very nice to me.”

Fernando ignored her. “Do you like espresso?”

Lando nodded hesitantly. “I—I mean, yeah.”

“Good. Come. I will show you my sim rig and my data sheets, and then we’ll see if you are worth her time.”

Amelia made a small noise. “That wasn’t part of the plan—”

“Plans are for people without passion!” Fernando called over his shoulder as he marched off toward the far side of the large house.

Lando shot Amelia a look, equal parts amused and alarmed. “Is he serious?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” she said, already walking after him. “But don’t worry. He only makes people run laps around his karting track when he really doesn’t like them.”

“That’s… not actually reassuring!” Lando exclaimed.

She glanced over her shoulder at him and shrugged. “You’ll be fine. He offered you espresso.”

—

The jet hummed. Amelia was curled sideways in one of the oversized brown leather seats, legs tucked under her, iPad balanced on her knees. Charles sat across from her, nodding along with increasing confusion as Amelia spoke at a pace that could only be described as alarming. She was scrolling through graphs like a woman possessed, pointing at coloured lines and spiking data curves with growing excitement.

“—and then, if you look at the delta between laps fourteen and twenty-two, there’s a consistent 0.04 offset in throttle trace on exit, which shouldn’t happen unless you’re compensating for aero loss, probably from floor damage, but the thing is, the slip ratio here doesn’t match the expected degradation arc, so I think your downforce coefficient might’ve been slightly off due to a micro-blister pattern. See? Look… here.”

She spun the laptop toward him, tapping the screen.

Charles blinked. He followed her finger. He saw… a line. Maybe two. Some colours. Lots of numbers.

He was usually pretty good at reading his own data, enough to hold a solid conversation with his race engineer during debriefing. But clearly, Amelia operated on an entirely different level. Her brain didn’t just read the telemetry; it devoured it, translated it, turned it into a second language he was definitely not fluent in.

“…Oui,” he said eventually, smile tight and unsure. “Yes. That’s… very interesting.”

She beamed, clearly thrilled that he understood.

He did not.

Not even a little bit.

Across the aisle, Max leaned his head back with an amused exhale. “Amelia, let Charles sleep before his brain combusts.”

She turned, brows furrowed in confusion. “He asked about his Sector 2 drop-off in FP3. I can’t tell him how to fix it, but I can explain what he did wrong.”

“A lot, apparently,” Charles muttered, rubbing his temples.

Max smirked at him, and then turned back to her. “Come talk to me instead. I know you’ve got a list of critiques to walk me through.”

Amelia perked up, snapping her laptop closed. “Oh, yes. I’ve been meaning to ask you about that late-braking overtake attempt into Turn 8 at Silverstone. You lost at least 0.2 from the correction alone. Also, your throttle mapping in low-speed corners is still slightly erratic, less so than last year, but it could be cleaner.”

Max nodded at her indulgently. “Very helpful. And from Spain?”

Amelia hopped up from her seat and moved to the one next to Max, angling her iPad toward him.

Charles turned slowly to Lando, who was sprawled out, watching the whole exchange with a cheesy grin. His eyes were warm and utterly enamoured.

“…Is she like that all of the time?” Charles asked.

Lando nodded. “Yeah. Isn’t she great? Like a walking Google search engine.”

Charles just took a deep breath. “She frightens me a little.”

Lando nodded. “Me too.”

Amelia, oblivious to their conversation, was already pulling up a new graph on her screen and gesturing wildly at something. Max was squinting at the scene and nodding.

The jet hummed steadily beneath them. Outside, clouds drifted lazily past. Inside, amid banter and baffled glances, was something warm. Familiar.

Lando leaned his head back, smiling softly, gaze remaining on her.

He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of watching her.

—

The paddock was still settling. Trucks being unloaded, media crews trailing cables, mechanics in Red Bull polos jogging back and forth with crates of components. Amelia was in the hospitality suite, sitting between Max and Jos at a back table, just going over some Spa telemetry from last year, when her phone rang.

Unknown number.

She hesitated. She hated answering the phone. She exchanged a look with Max, who gave her an encouraging nod, and then answered.

“Hello?” She cringed at the pitch of her voice.

A clipped voice responded. “Miss Brown. This is Laura Marchand with the FIA’s Competitive Integrity Division. I need to inform you that we’ve received a formal inquiry regarding your involvement with cross-team data access. We’re conducting a preliminary review. You’ve been named directly.”

Amelia’s brain blanked. “What? What are you talking about—”

“This isn’t a disciplinary action, but I’m obligated to inform you that the inquiry has been escalated internally.”

Click.

Silence.

Amelia slowly lowered the phone.

Jos didn’t speak, but Max immediately caught her expression. “Who was that?”

“Somebody named Laura… she— she works for the FIA.” Her voice came out small. “Someone filed a report about me. A— sporting integrity, data.” She was fumbling with her words. Her hands were shaking. “They said it’s been escalated.”

Max’s jaw locked. Jos leaned forward, eyes narrowed into sharp slits.

“Who would do that?” Max asked sharply. “That’s—bullshit.”

Jos didn’t ask who. He already knew.

He gave Amelia a steady, quiet look. “Did Christian try to talk to you about this kind of thing? Insinuate this being a concern of his?”

She nodded once, tight.

Max swore under his breath, hands flexing on the table.

Jos sat back for a moment, thinking. Then, without raising his voice, he said, “You need to go.”

Amelia blinked. “Go?”

“To get your father,” Jos said. “And Norris.”

Her eyes widened and panic thickened her throat. “Why? What does my dad have to do with—?”

“Amelia.” Jos’s tone was gentle, but absolute. “Listen to me, yes? Go and get them. Bring them back here.”

She hesitated. Her stomach was clenched.

“Why?” she asked again, quieter, more nervous.

Jos didn’t smile, but his voice softened. “Because we’re going to work this out. Together.”

Max stood. “I’ll stay here with my dad. Go, Amelia.”

Amelia didn’t move for a second. Then she stood, slowly, shakily, and walked out the back of the hospitality unit, her feet carrying her in an all too familiar direction.

The calm before the storm had passed.

Now the clouds were rolling in.

NEXT CHAPTER

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sirxaibs · 1 month ago

Text

Dick Grayson | Nightwing X Reader

ᨒ ོ ☼ Voice on the Line ᨒ ོ ☼

I feel hes a munch. I feel hes a woman lover. He loves women. Him when women. Also did i think about Garcia and Morgan when writing this? yeah…. and what about it?

masterlist

You’re the newest addition to the Batsquad. Cant help if you’re basically forced to talk to eye candy all night. Though what if the eye candy wants you back.

ᨒ ོ ☼ The hum of servers filled the air like a lullaby, soft and steady behind the clack of your manicured fingers dancing across the keyboard. Multiple monitors cast a warm glow against your skin as codes flickered by, surveillance cams blinked into motion, and the Gotham skyline lit up under your careful watch. You chewed on a pink pen cap thoughtfully, then leaned into the mic on your headset.

“Alright, Bat Team, eyes up. Cameras just caught movement on the east perimeter. Looks like our guy’s not late to his own robbery party.” Static.

“Copy that,” came a deep voice laced with just enough sarcasm to make your lips twitch. “And here I was hoping for a quiet night.”

The soft glow of neon lights from Gotham’s skyline bled into the Watchtower’s tech room, giving everything a purple blue hue. The glow reflected off your screens, lighting up your face as your fingers flew across the keyboard. Surveillance cams, thermal feeds, encrypted audio all of it filtered through your custom built comms system. You leaned back in your chair, twirling said pink pen through your fingers. Your voice came through sweet as sugar, laced with a barely hidden smirk.

“Watch yourself Nightwing, I hope you’re wearing something cute under all that kevlar. You’re live on all my cams tonight.”

A low chuckle filtered through your headset, rough around the edges in the way that always made your stomach flip.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite guardian angel,” Nightwing drawled, voice dipped in charm he wore like a second skin. “What would I do without your voice whispering sweet nothings into my ear?”

“You’d probably walk into a wall,” you said sweetly. “Or into that very large man standing behind the dumpster on 5th and Main.”

There was a beat of silence, then a soft thwack through the mic.

“You mean that wasn’t a trash can?” he teased, slightly breathless. “How dare you underestimate my night vision, sugar.”

You grinned, propping your cheek in your palm as you tracked his movement across the rooftops. “Sugar now, huh? Is that your new nickname for me?”

“Unless you prefer ‘Sweetheart.’ Or ‘Hot Stuff.’ I’m flexible.”

You let out a melodic laugh, not even trying to hide it. “Wow, your flirting game is tragic tonight. You okay out there, Nightwing? Hit your head on a chimney?”

“I’m just warming up,” he said, voice low and smooth. “Wait ‘til I meet you in person. Then I’m turning the charm up to eleven.”

You opened your mouth to volley back but Barbara’s voice cut in like a whip.

“Alright, you two cut it.”

You both froze.

“Lock in,” Barbara said, her voice firm and dry as dust. “This isn’t a late night radio show. We’ve got multiple armed targets on the ground and a hostage situation developing five blocks south. Thermal (your hero name), patch the thermal overlay to Nightwing’s HUD.”

You straightened in your chair, fingers flying. “Yes, ma’am. Thermal incoming.”

“Nightwing,” Barbara added with the tone of a fed up older sister, “try keeping your tongue in your mouth for five minutes. You’re on mission, not a date.”

“Harsh, Babs,” he muttered.

“I’m just saying,” she continued, “if I had a dollar for every time I had to listen to the two of you flirt in the middle of a crisis, I could afford a better coffee maker.”

You bit your lip to hold back a laugh, then cleared your throat. “Aww, c’mon, Babs. Can’t a girl multitask? I can route power to Nightwings grappling line and boost morale at the same time.”

“I don’t need morale,” Nightwing interjected. “I need a distraction. Preferably wearing those glasses you mentioned last week.”

“You remember that?” you teased.

“I remember everything you say, Sweetheart.”

Barbara groaned audibly. “I’m leaving this room before I’m forced to bleach my ears.”

“I mean,” you added sweetly, “he’s just mad he can’t picture me behind this desk, legs crossed, looking very professional while saving his butt.”

Nightwing whistled. “If I didn’t have to stop a robbery, I’d be scaling that tower right now.”

Barbara’s voice snapped back over the channel like a rubber band. “Focus, both of you.”

“Copy that,” you said, suddenly all business again as you leaned forward and zoomed in on the warehouse entrance. “Three guards posted up. One pacing, one smoking, one with a submachine gun. Interior layout uploaded to your HUD. Entry through the southeast vent is clear. You’re greenlit, Nightwing.”

“See? She flirts, but she gets it done,” he muttered fondly.

You grinned. “I always stand on business, baby.”

“Then I better bring my A game. Wouldn’t want to disappoint my favorite tech goddess.”

You laughed quietly, adjusting your headset as you pulled up the emergency response grid. “Just don’t get shot, Nightwing.”

Barbara let out one final sigh before muttering, “I swear, I should’ve let Batman take this shift.”

But despite her grumbling, you swore you saw a smile tug at the corners of her lips as she turned away.

He grunted, and you could tell it was the kind of laugh he didn’t want you to hear.

“Let’s make a deal,” he said suddenly. “You keep me alive tonight, and I’ll finally let you buy me a coffee.”

You blinked. That was new. “You mean you buy me a coffee? Bold of you to assume you’re that charming.”

“You do call me every night.”

“Because it’s my job, Nightwing.”

Your own heart beat just a little faster as Nightwing’s icon approached the rendezvous point. It was almost always like this. Take the next day where you were thrown completely out of your own loop You were sprawled comfortably in the comms chair, pink converse kicked up on the desk, a bag of sour candy at your side, and at least three drinks within reach because hydration and caffeination were essential for optimal management.

Tonight’s mission? Barely a blip on the Bat Radar. A stakeout near the docks. Zero hostiles so far. Minimal risk. Maximal boredom.

“Nightwing,” you poured into your mic, stretching dramatically, “how’s the air up there on your boring little rooftop? You see anything exciting? UFOs? Pirates? A raccoon that looks like Bruce?”

“Negative on the Bruce raccoon,” Nightwing said through the comms, voice thick with amusement. “But thanks for the nightmare fuel, Sweetheart.”

“I try,” you chirped, popping another piece of candy into your mouth. “Gotta keep you on your toes.”

“You keep me somewhere, alright,” he murmured, just low enough to think you wouldn’t catch it.

You did. You always did. Before you could respond with another flirty jab, a new voice crackled in gruffer, sharper. Dry as sandpaper and twice as moody.

“Are you always like this?” Jason Todd’s voice cut in like a knife through silk. “I’ve been listening for ten minutes and I already want to uninstall my ears.”

You beamed, leaning closer to the mic like he could see your grin. “Red Hood! My favorite grump. Took you long enough to say hi.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he deadpanned.

“Oh, please. You love it,” you teased, swiveling in your chair like it helped transmit your energy. “I’m your emotional support chatterbox. You’d cry without me.”

“Unlikely.”

“Then why are you still listening?” you asked sweetly, tapping into his drone cam and watching as he crouched in the shadows near an old shipping container. “I see you didn’t even mute me. That’s gotta mean something.”

Jason sighed. The tiniest sigh. A truce in breath form.

“…You’re ridiculous.”

“And adorable, don’t forget that part.”

“Why does she talk to you like that?” Nightwing asked suddenly, cutting in with playful suspicion. “She doesn’t call me ‘adorable.’”

“I like to flirt with people who pretend to hate it,” you replied easily. “Keeps ‘em humble.”

Jason made a quiet scoffing noise. “You think I’m humble?”

“No,” you said, smirking. “But I do think you blush when I call you sweetheart.”

There was a long pause.

“…I’m turning off my comm.”

“You won’t,” you sang.

Before Jason could craft a dry comeback or fake a signal cut out, Nightwing returned this time with a tone that could only be described as smug older brother meets possessive flirt.

“Alright, alright,” Dick said, and you could hear his smirk. “Let’s not get carried away, Sweetheart. You do have a date coming up. With me, remember?”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Oh yeah,” he continued smoothly, “you promised me coffee after our last op. Pretty sure that counts.”

“That was a tactical bribe to keep you alive,” you said quickly, cheeks burning despite your best effort. “Totally not binding.”

Jason actually chuckled at that chuckled. A small miracle.

“Well,” Dick said, clearly enjoying himself, “binding or not, I’ll be at that new café on 7th tomorrow at ten. You’re welcome to back out, but I do know where your candy stash is hidden in the Watchtower fridge.”

Your jaw dropped. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

“You absolute menace.”

“See you then, Sweetheart.”

Jason exhaled like he was regretting all of his life choices.

“God, you’re both exhausting.”

You smiled, sweet and unbothered. “Don’t be jealous, Jay. I can pencil you in for brunch on Sunday.”

He groaned but didn’t mute you. Which, in your book, meant you weren’t the loser here .

𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓

The room was quiet now.

The static from the comms had faded, the mics had all gone cold, and the buzz of conversation that had filled the Watchtower’s tech room just minutes ago had slipped into silence. You were alone, save for the hum of machines and the low, rhythmic click of a monitor blinking back to standby.

You leaned back in your chair slowly, arms folding over your chest as you stared blankly at the screens. Your bubbly persona so easy to slip into when surrounded by voices, teasing banter, and fast flying intel started to crack beneath the weight of the quiet.

It always did, when the room emptied.

He wanted coffee. Dick Grayson wanted to meet you. A date.

The thought hit you again, more real now than when he first said it in that casual, cocky tone of his. You’d brushed it off, played along, tossed flirtation back like you always did but now? Sitting alone, no distraction, no one listening?

You felt it. That creeping, slow turning anxiety curling in your stomach.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about what he looked like before. Sure, you’d heard his voice, shared late night chatter across missions, and even made him laugh more than once. But imagining him? That was easy. Everyone in the Bat Family was objectively hot. Like, annoyingly so.

And you? You swallowed hard, curling your knees up into your chair and hugging them gently.

You weren’t anything like them. Not tall or sleek or scarred from combat. Not graceful in a catsuit or strong enough to throw a punch through a wall. You weren’t stick thin, but you weren’t curvy in a dramatic way either. You existed somewhere in the middle comfortable in hoodies, always in glasses, a bit awkward when the spotlight came too close. Your brain was your strongest muscle, and it sometimes felt like that was all you had.

Would he be disappointed?

You let out a slow breath, eyes flicking to your reflection in the dark screen across from you. No makeup, hair pulled back, sweater two sizes too big. You looked like someone who blended into a crowd. Like someone no one would stop for a second glance. What if you showed up and he just… didn’t see you the way he did over comms? What if the mystery was the only thing that made you interesting?

Your hand reached out instinctively, pressing your fingers to the edge of the console like you were grounding yourself.

You wanted to meet him. Of course you did. He was charming, and kind beneath all the jokes, and smart in the ways only someone who’d been through hell could be. But a date? That felt like something other people did. People who didn’t feel the need to hide behind tech and sarcasm to feel confident.

You sat there in silence, chewing your lip, wondering if he even knew what he was asking when he said, “see you then.”

Maybe it wasn’t a real date. Maybe he didn’t think of it like that.

But deep down, you knew you wanted it to be. You wanted to be seen. And you were scared of what would happen if you really were.

𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓

Dick Grayson stood in front of the mirror of his Blüdhaven apartment, tugging at the hem of his sweatshirt like it was a tux. Casual. Chill. Low key. That was the goal.

So why the hell did he feel like he was prepping for a mission?

He ran a hand through his hair, tousling it for the third no, fourth time. Dark jeans, clean white sneakers, a navy hoodie that fit just right not too fitted, not too loose. He changed shirts three times before this one finally felt like the right one. He hadn’t been this particular about his outfit since prom.

“It’s not a date,” he told his reflection. “It’s just coffee.”

A pause.

“…With the girl who knows all your safe houses, your secret patrol routes, and who once talked you through stitching your own shoulder at 3 a.m. without flinching.”

Okay. Maybe a little more than just coffee.

He reached for his phone on the counter. One unread text waited at the top of the screen.

Comms girl <3: You sure about this?

Comms girl <3:You don’t have to meet me.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard before he typed back quickly.

bluebird: I’m very sure. You owe me that coffee, remember? I risked my life for that latte.

Your reply came within seconds.

Comms girl <3: You were five feet from the guy. I stalled him with a fake 911 ping. YOU’RE WELCOME.

He chuckled, thumbs flying across the screen.

blurbird : Still counts. Heroics were involved. You agreed to a reward. No backing out now.

Comms girl <3: Still time to change your mind. Could just keep this mystery thing going. It’s fun. Less risky.

He stared at that message a moment longer than he wanted to admit. There was a strange comfort in the way things were. The comms. The banter. The way your voice softened when his breathing grew strained after a tough fight. How you’d scold him for reckless moves and then follow up with, “But also… that flip you did? Sick as hell.”

You were part of the job no, more than that. You were part of him. But only in fragments.

He’d seen the pieces you gave: your voice, your wit, your ridiculous caffeine addiction, the hum of music sometimes playing faintly in the background when you were on shift. But he’d never seen you.

Meanwhile, you’d seen everything.

bluebird: You’ve seen my file, haven’t you?

he typed.

bluebird: I know what color your eyes are. I haven’t even seen yours.

Comms girl <3: Don’t worry. They’re not laser eyes or anything.

Comms girl <3: Still time to run. I won’t be mad.

Dick stared at the screen, thumb resting over the keyboard again. A few moments passed. Then he typed back:

bluebird: I don’t want to run. I want to meet you. For real.

Read. But no reply. He locked his phone, shoved it into the pocket of his hoodie, and grabbed his keys and helmet. Outside, the early evening had begun to spill across the Blüdhaven skyline. Fading light. Long shadows.

For once, he wasn’t slipping into the shadows himself. He was stepping into the sun.

𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓

The café on 7th was a small, tucked away place with mismatched chairs and the smell of cinnamon and roasted espresso clinging to every wooden beam. A warm corner of the city where life slowed down just a little. He arrived ten minutes early. Too early.

The bell above the door jingled, and instinct kicked in. He scanned. Two older women by the window, a guy with earbuds tapping at a laptop, a bored barista pulling espresso shots with dead eyes. No sign of you.

He ordered her drink extra sweet, extra foamy, “liquid sunshine,” you once called it and a black coffee for himself. Settled into a table by the window. Full view of the door. He texted you again.

bluebird: I’m here. No pressure. But I brought your order. It’s waiting patiently.

Nothing.

He flicked the lid of the cup. Checked the time. Tapped his knee beneath the table. Every chime of the bell had him sitting up straighter, breath held in quiet anticipation.

Not her.Not yet.

And that was the thing he didn’t even know what she looked like. No name. No face. Just a voice in his ear, a rhythm in his nights, a lifeline during the chaos. But even without a face, even without a name, he knew you.

He leaned back and watched the doorway like it held all the answers. Maybe it did.

His phone buzzed again.

Comms girl <3: I’m close. Just… taking a second.

He stared at that message. His heart did a quiet, hopeful jump.

bluebird: You nervous?l

Comms Girl: Maybe. You?

He smiled.

bluebird: I’ve fought Killer Croc, Deathstroke, and Jason with a crowbar. This is worse.

You didn’t text back right away. He waited. Sipped his coffee. Looked at your untouched drink and wondered if you’d ever actually take a sip from it. Maybe you’d just show up, apologize, and walk away. Maybe you’d turn around before even walking through the door.

You were already on the sidewalk. One breath away from stepping inside. He turned his eyes to the window, scanning every person who passed. Wondering if one of them might look in, catch his eye, smile.

Waiting. he hoped that mask off, no gadgets, no grappling hooks, no safety net that was enough. So he waited. For you.

𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓

The drink was starting to sweat on the table.

Dick’s thumb spun slow, lazy circles around the lid of the cup you still hadn’t claimed. The café wasn’t busy only a few people trickled in here and there. His eyes lifted every time the door jingled, hopeful… and then dropped just as quickly.

He wasn’t used to feeling this unsteady. With the mask on, he could take a punch. Leap off a roof. Throw himself into chaos without blinking. But right now, sitting at a table with a slowly cooling cup of coffee for someone he’d never even seen before?

He was sweating more than the damn drink. The bell above the door jingled again.

And he looked.

She stepped in like she was trying not to be noticed shoulders drawn slightly inward, a quick glance around the room before her eyes dropped to the floor. She didn’t look out of place, not really. She looked… normal.

Pink Converse. Faded denim jorts hugging her hips. A plain black tank top tucked in just right to show her figure, casual and effortless. Hair pulled back loosely like she’d tried to fix it three times before giving up.

Dick’s eyes lingered…. respectfully. He wasn’t a jerk. But he was a man. And the way she looked, with nervous energy practically rolling off her in waves, had his chest tightening just a little.

Cute. Definitely cute. Attractive, sure. She was cute. Soft around the edges. Eyes wide like she wasn’t used to being looked at too long.

Dick’s gaze flicked down, then back up not lingering too long. A polite once over. Curious. Gentle. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he looked away.

He didn’t know what to expect. For all the times he’d imagined this moment, all the late night banter and daydreams of what she might look like, he’d never settled on a face.

Still watching her from the corner of his eye, Dick slowly reached for his phone and typed out a message.

bluebird: “I’m by the window. Got your sugar bomb of a drink already. You close?”

The girl the maybe you girl jumped slightly when her phone buzzed. Fumbled it out of her pocket. She smiled. Just a little.

Her hand went to her phone. Dick’s screen lit up.

Comms girl <3: Already here. Just… not sure where to go.

His heart stopped. Slowly, his gaze lifted again this time with full awareness. He watched as she read his message, fingers still hovering near the screen.

Like she was laughing at herself and suddenly, everything clicked.

Dick’s breath caught for a beat. His lips tugged upward in a crooked smile as he texted again. Dick forgot how to breathe.

bluebird: Black tank. Pink shoes. You really do own those Converse.

You didn’t even look up from your phone. You were already typing.

Comms girl <3: Ok stalker, stop checking me out

He huffed a quiet laugh.

bluebird: Respectfully. Thoroughly. Definitely.

You lifted your head then, eyes meeting his across the room. Nervous. Hopeful. Your lips curved into something soft and self deprecating.

He stood before he could overthink it, heart thudding as he crossed the short space between your hesitant stillness and his table.

“You’re late,” he said, voice light, teasing.

“Fashionably,” you replied, walking with him as he guided you toward the window seat. “Also, very nearly didn’t come in. I walked past the window twice. You didn’t notice.”

“I noticed,” he said, pulling your chair out like the gentleman he rarely remembered to be. “I just didn’t know it was you. But then you looked at your phone like it offended you.”

You sat, cheeks flushed with something caught between embarrassment and amusement. “That was me realizing I sent three different versions of ‘I’m almost there’ and still sat in my car for ten minutes.”

Dick slid your coffee toward you. “Well i guess in a way you were.”

You took the cup, curling your fingers around it like it might steady you. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I still might run.”

“Do I need to stop you? I’ve got grappling hooks.”

That made you laugh. Really laugh. He liked that sound more than he expected. It wasn’t tinny over the comm. It was full, alive, right in front of him.

“God,” you groaned, lowering your head for a second. “This is so weird.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But good weird.”

You peeked up at him. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Better or worse?”

You grinned, shy but cheeky. “You’re taller than I thought. That’s not fair. I have no defense against tall and charming.”

“Charming, huh?” He took a sip of his coffee, raising a brow over the lid. “You haven’t even heard my best lines yet.”

You rolled your eyes, the way you always did when he flirted too hard through the mic. But now it was real. Now, he could see the way you bit back a smile, the flush that crept to your ears.

“I’m not used to being looked at,” you admitted after a quiet beat. “I’m used to watching. Behind the screens. Behind the noise. I’ve seen your face a hundred times. This is… lopsided.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, gaze steady and warm.

“Then let’s even it out.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Let me learn you,” he said, voice low, honest. “No comms. No mission. No static. Just… you.”

You looked away, biting your lip, your fingers tracing the lid of your cup now like he had earlier. “You’re a lot more intense in person.”

“I’m a lot of things in person,” he said, smiling. “Most of them good. Some of them bad. All of them me.”

A silence passed. Not awkward contemplative. Like both of you were quietly adjusting to the weight of seeing each other. Really seeing each other.

“I always see you in your outfit, this feels a little weird” you murmured eventually.

He grinned. “You’ll be happy to know I left the spandex at home.”

“Tragic.”

Another moment of quiet, then

“I’m glad you showed up,” he said.

You smiled down into your drink. “Yeah. Me too.”

Outside, the city moved in its usual rhythm cars, footsteps, noise. But here, at this little table by the window, something new was starting. Not a mission. Not an assignment. Just Dick and you.

𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓

The coffee was long gone, but neither of them had made a move to go their separate ways.

Instead, they strolled the streets of Blüdhaven, their pace slow, like time had bent around them just for a little while. The sun had started to dip behind the buildings, casting soft golden light on the sidewalks, and the breeze stirred the trees enough to make the leaves flutter like lazy applause.

You walked beside him with your now empty cup in hand, straw still between your lips despite it having been dry for the last ten minutes. Nerves still clung to your skin, thin but persistent. You had no idea where to put your hands or how to keep your voice steady. You weren’t usually like this. Over comms, you were bold, loud, sarcastic, and playful.

But out here, in the open, without a headset and with Nightwing walking beside you in casual clothes that hugged him way too well for your nerves to take? It was different. He was real. And you were suddenly aware of every flaw you’d been trying not to think about since this morning.

“You know,” you said with a light chuckle, trying to keep your voice in that easy, familiar tone, “I honestly expected you to cancel last minute. Or like, show up but wear the mask the whole time and pretend to be mysterious.”

Dick looked over at you, one brow raised, and a smile playing at his lips. “You really thought I’d ghost you after all our late night flirting?”

You shrugged, trying to play it off, but your eyes darted away. “I mean… I dunno. Maybe.”

“You ruined that for you because i would never,” he said dramatically, then bumped his shoulder gently against yours. “I told you I was coming. I meant it.”

His voice was warm, not teasing this time. Just honest. He watched you as you gave a small smile, eyes still scanning the sidewalk like you were searching for something to say. He saw the way you carried yourself. Not shy, exactly just… cautious. Though he saw you and wanted too. All of you.

Not just the confident voice in his ear or the tech genius who could break into encrypted systems like they were open windows. He saw the little things: the nervous hand fidgeting with your cup sleeve, the way you pulled at the hem of your shorts when you thought he wasn’t looking, the practiced jokes you used to deflect any compliments.

So he gave you more of them.

“I like your shoes,” he said casually, glancing down at the worn pink Converse. “its a very you thing, reflective of your personality”

You laughed an actual laugh, not a polite one. “I don’t know if footwear can tell you my life story?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he said, nodding with mock seriousness. “Pink shoes? Total power move. I love when women.”

You shook your head, trying to hide your grin. “you love when women?”

“And the shorts?” he added. “Perfect length. Shows off those legs that have been sitting behind a computer for, what? Ninety percent of your adult life?”

“Oh my God,” you groaned, covering your face with your free hand. “You’re a menace.”

“I’ve been told worse,” he said with a wink.

You both fell into a comfortable rhythm after that. Step for step, laugh for laugh. The tension slowly ebbed away the longer he stayed near you like he was peeling back the nervous layers without ever drawing attention to them.

After a few quiet moments, you nudged him lightly with your elbow. “Okay, so serious question.”

“Hit me.”

“How the hell does this team work? I started hacking stuff and suddenly im here? ”

He laughed, raising both brows. “You tell me. You’ve got this adorable, good vibe going for you, but I’ve read some of those logs. You were wrecking firewalls like they owed you money.”

“I wasn’t that bad,” you defended with a smirk. “Okay, maybe the satellite thing was a little over the line.”

He turned to face you mid step. “Wait. What satellite thing?”

You winced, cheeks flushing. “I… might’ve accidentally hacked into a WayneTech orbital system when I thought it was an old NASA server.”

He stared at you, stunned. “You hacked WayneTech?”

“Allegedly,” you said, grinning now. “And two days later, Babs showed up in my basement. No warning, no badge, just… bam, red hair and righteous fury.”

“She must’ve been so mad.”

“She told me I was wasting potential and recruited me on the spot.”

Dick laughed again, and this time, it was full bodied, the kind that lit up his whole face. “Classic Babs.”

“Honestly? She’s the first person who ever looked at me and didn’t just see a mouthy hacker. She actually saw… me.”

His smile softened. “She does that. Did the same for me once.”

You glanced at him curiously. “Oh yeah?”

He nodded, hands tucked into his hoodie pocket. “Back when I was still figuring things out after leaving Bruce. I needed distance from the Bat stuff needed to figure out who I was when I wasn’t under the cape. Babs helped me get there. Helped me want to be more than just Robin.”

“I think you’re doing alright,” you said, bumping his shoulder this time.

“I’m trying,” he said with a shrug. “Still check in on the family though. Bruce, my brothers, Grandpa.”

You blinked. “Grandpa?”

“Alfred,” he clarified with a mischievous grin. “I started calling him that just to piss him off, but I know he secretly loves it.”

You laughed again, shaking your head. “That’s so weirdly wholesome. ‘Nightwing has emotional depth and a soft spot for butlers,’ coming to theaters this fall.”

“Hey, he’s not just a butler. He’s the butler.”

“I stand corrected.”

The sky was blushing now, soft shades of purple and orange painting the horizon. The city buzzed around you, but for once, it didn’t feel overwhelming. It felt like a quiet pocket of something special.

Dick glanced sideways at you, the wind tugging gently at your hair, and felt that same flicker in his chest again. The one that started when your voice used to crackle in his earpiece during midnight stakeouts. The one that grew stronger every time you made him laugh, or saved his ass from another security lockdown, or stayed on the line with him just so he wouldn’t be alone.

“I’m really glad we did this,” he said softly.

You looked at him, caught a sincerity in his eyes that left no room for doubt.

“Yeah,” you said, voice just as soft. “Me too.”

The air had taken on that evening crispness the kind that whispered promises of something new. The two of you were still walking, slowly now, like neither wanted to reach wherever the sidewalk might end.

Dick glanced at you again, longer this time. Not just quick, playful side glances, but a longing look. One that lingered as the fading sun touched your skin. He could see the way your lashes caught the light, the slight smile tugging at your lips as you sipped from your empty straw out of habit. The way your eyes moved when you were thinking.

You caught him staring.

“What?” you asked, arching a brow.

He shrugged with an easy, boyish grin. “Nothing. Just… you’ve got a good laugh.”

You blinked. “What, like a ‘haha’ laugh or a ‘joker is getting off’ laugh?”

He chuckled. “The kind that’s been in my ear for months, but somehow sounds better in person.”

Your stomach fluttered. You covered it with a sarcastic smile. “Are you flirting with me again, Grayson?”

“Only mildly,” he teased, then glanced ahead. “I mean, I’ve gotta pace myself. You’re kind of… addictive.”

You didn’t answer for a moment. You didn’t know how. And honestly, you were worried your voice would betray how warm your chest suddenly felt.

He didn’t press it. Just kept walking with you in step. But then he said, a little more softly:

“I never really thought about it before… how different things feel when you’re not just a voice in my ear.”

You looked over at him, curious. “Better or worse?”

He gave you a look, deadpan. “What kind of question is that?”

You tried to laugh, to brush it off, but he turned toward you fully now, walking backward a few steps so he could face you as you moved.

“You have this… energy. When we’re on comms, it’s like… controlled chaos in the best way. Keeps me grounded, keeps me alert. But now? Seeing you like, actually seeing you your expressions, your body language, your weird obsession with pink…”

“I do not!”

He smirked. “You do. It’s very cute.”

You shoved his arm lightly, heat rushing to your face. But the smile was genuine now. You were relaxing, piece by piece.

“I guess I just didn’t realize how much I’d been missing until now,” he added, turning back around to walk forward again. “Hearing you’s great. But… seeing you talk? Watching your eyes move when you go on your little tech rants or when you start teasing me? It hits different.”

Your heart thudded hard.

He wasn’t saying “I want to see your face more.” But he was.

You swallowed around the growing smile and said, “Well… good thing I’m not going anywhere.”

He shot you a glance then, something soft and full of unspoken words.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “That is a good thing.”

568 notes · View notes

azzibuckets · 2 months ago

Text

letters from dallas part 1

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: in which i neglect all the other series and fics im supposed to be writing to send more angst ur way <3

lfd masterlist | main masterlist

May 1, 2025

Dear Azzi,

It fucking sucks here.

I know I’m supposed to be thankful for this opportunity. And I am, I swear. My teammates are nice. Arike’s been showing me around downtown. Nai and Lyss are funny. They’ve adopted me, called me their child. They remind me of us.

My therapist said it’s good to write down my feelings. Not sure how she’d say if it was letters, letters to you, but hey, something is better than nothing.

I saw a trailer for Frozen 3 last week and I thought of you. I hope you’re doing well. I called KK the other day. She was so excited - I felt bad. I haven’t been as good as I wanted to be with talking to our team - well, your team now - but it hurts too much knowing that they get to spend every day with you and I can’t. I asked her about you. She seemed hesitant to tell me. But I kept nagging her and she told me you’re good, spending a lot of time reading and stuff. Said they finally got you off Colleen Hoover. She wants me to move on, I can tell. It’s killing both of us, how I can’t let you go. But I guess writing these letters and stuffing them in my closet are how I’m trying to get my closure and deal with my feelings, so maybe this will help.

You’re on my fucking mind all the time, and I wish you weren’t. I miss you so bad sometimes it hurts to exist. If you saw the amount of melatonin I take every every night just to avoid you in my dreams, you’d probably yell at me.

Love,

Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

June 7, 2025

Dear Azzi,

Have I mentioned that Drew hasn’t been talking to me? He blames me for our breakup, and he misses you like hell. I do too.

I played like shit in the game yesterday. I can’t believe we lost to the Sparks. It was nice seeing Cam again though. I don’t know if you remember, but it’s our anniversary. I saw that you were at the soccer game with the girls. You looked really good, really happy. I guess it doesn’t affect you like it affects me. And I know that should make me like, mad, or jealous. But I’m glad at least one of us is healing?

Honestly? it sucks having to see your face all over social media. It sucks even more whenever I go on my Instagram page and you’re all over it too. I could be salty and delete all of it, but that would start too much drama. Besides, that would mean deleting like half my posts

I wonder how Jose and Jon are doing. Jon unfollowed me the other day. That one hurt pretty bad. I miss my little brothers, and I miss your parents.

Love,

Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

August 28, 2025

Dear Azzi,

Yesterday was a fucking shit show. Honestly, I didn’t expect you to even show up when I heard you guys were coming. It was weird, seeing you in the audience. It was everything I’d always imagined, you coming to my games, but it also made me feel sick, knowing this is what could’ve been. What should’ve been. I was nervous the last quarter thinking about what to say to you after the game, but god, Azzi, you couldn’t even look at me. I tried to talk to you after the group pic but you disappeared.

Maybe it’s a good time to tell you that Katie and Tim were at my game last week, against the Mystics. I’m gonna be honest, when I saw they were there, I avoided them, and I’m not proud of it. I ran to my car straight after the presser but somehow they found where I parked and were waiting next to it?? If this was a different circumstance I would’ve laughed.

All they told me was great game before I started crying. I don’t even know what came over me. But your mom hugged me and that made me cry even harder. They told me I was their daughter no matter what, and they loved me. I wrote it down as soon as I left because I didn’t ever wanna forget.

Azzi, we didn’t even marry each other like we promised, and I still feel like we left a broken family. I didn’t mean for this many people to get hurt, for this many relationships to shatter because ours did.

It makes forgetting you so much harder, and that’s what pisses me off. That I’ve injured my knee and gone through months of rehab and moved across the country to a brand new city, yet this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

From,

Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

October 2nd, 2025

Dear Azzi,

I was calling KK again and I didn’t ask about you this time. I think I’m making some progress.

Arike keeps trying to get me with some of her friends, but it still doesn’t feel right. I think I need a little bit more time.

From,

Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

October 20, 2025

Dear Azzi,

I turn 24 today. Damn I feel old. I’ve spent a third of my life now loving you.

From,

Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

October 22nd, 2025

Dear Azzi,

I just got your present in the mail. You didn’t have to. I love it. Thank you.

- Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

November 11, 2025

Happy birthday big head. I think you probably received my gift by now. I debated on writing a card, but you didn’t write me one, and I’ve decided to leave the cards (haha) in your hand. So I’m just following your lead. I hope you enjoy 23.

- Paige

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

December 7, 2025

Azzi,

Hell of a game yesterday. Proud of you. National player of the year performance

- P

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

April 5, 2026

Az,

LET’S FUCKING GOOOO. Shit, man. Two peat natty champs??? Unbelievable. My hands are tweaking out, I can’t even read my own handwriting. I knew you could do it, Az. Thank you for not forcing me to wear irish merch..I never look good in green like you do

- P

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

April 13, 2026

Azzi,

Drafted to the Sky????

See you so fucking soon

Nice fit at the draft btw

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

May 16, 2026

Dear Azzi,

Fuck, the way you smiled at me after that game. Maybe I’ll have the courage to finally text you. I know it’s probably not the best idea but…I still regret everything. It’s been a little bit more than a year and it still hurts as bad as it did the first day. Is this normal?

Love,

Paige

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi #uconnwbb #paige x azzi #angst #paige bueckers x azzi fudd

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gyuswhore · 10 months ago

Text

Grease (the tragedy)

“Careful, those marks on the floor aren’t just oil and paint.”

jeon wonwoo x reader

word count: 5.8k

warnings: smut [minors DNI], fluff, angst, mechanic!wonu, annoyances to lovers, blind date gone wrong but then gone right, kissing, clit stuff, oral (f. rec), thigh fucking (oop), this all happens at a desk LMAO, title is a what I thought was a funny spin on how people say "grease (the musical)"....has nothing to do with the musical though but lots to do with actual grease!!!

synopsis: In which you have to sit through one of the worst dates of your life, followed by the insistent tug of fate and compulsion that lead you straight back to where you'd sworn you'd never go.

[a/n]: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY WIFE CAMOTHY @highvern everyone go say happy birthday to cam or ill appear in your room at night 🔫 anygays HAVE FUN READING THIS I hope this is all the sexy wonu content you wanted, I cant wait for your reaction hehehhehe

and also bigbigbigbig thank you to jessifer @the-boy-meets-evil for proofing this for me!!! ily heh

and and to everyone reading this who is not cam, I hope you enjoy reading mechanic!wonu as much as I liked writing him heheh PLS REMEMBER TO REBLOG AND TELL ME UR THOTS it could be in the tags, replies, an ask literally anything!!!! id love to hear what you guys think!!!!

masterlist

[You]: do you think he died on the way [Liv]: hes still not there??? [You]: what do you think????? [Liv]: let me ask Amelia [You]: dont bother [You]: he can show up whenever he wants im leaving in 5 [Liv]: you promised you’d sit thru this!! [You]: sit thru what? an empty seat across from me???

Liv doesn’t respond immediately, and you immediately know she’s buggered off to ask her cousin why your date still wasn’t here.

It’s not like you couldn’t have asked him yourself, the sparse textbox sitting just under Liv’s contact. You open it to inspect the contents.

[liv’s cousin’s something]: Amelia gave me your number [liv’s cousin’s something]: friday night at the sage&salt at 7 [liv’s cousin’s something]: is that okay [You]: uh hey [You]: yeah that’s fine

Today 7:20 PM

[You]: im here?

The first thread of texts were enough to make you feel like this was some cold business meeting instead of a date, knowing wherever this would lead would be either the city dump or off a cliff. Liv was hearing none of it, taking the guilt tripping route, saying she’d already committed and her cousin was irritating enough even without a scuffle.

So when Friday evening came around you’d pulled on the first dress your fingers could find, took all of ten minutes fighting with your makeup to make it look like you did something and left the house with zero expectations.

Despite that, as you see a man walk into the establishment dressed like he’d gotten into a fight with a squid and a paper shredder, you feel the stone in your chest tank into the abyss. Zero expectations, and he’s somehow managed to strike out anyway.

The jacket looks like he’s put it on as a weak cover for the grime stains on his shirt and trousers, a couple jet black splatters across the outfit to really pull the whole thing together. It’s not like he looked homeless or anything, his face surprisingly handsome with his hair pushed away from his forehead. Although he remains looking like he’d been playing football in some neighbourhood parking lot before remembering he had an adult appointment too.

You’d never seen the man in your life, but your gut told you this was the shit texter who’d kept you waiting for nearly an hour. He seems to notice too, eyes locking from across the restaurant as the waitress leads him to your table.

“Wonwoo,” you greet with a difficult smile, half sure it came out as a grimace. “Right?”

“Yeah,” he huffs as he practically slams back down on the chair, and you wonder for a moment how the legs didn’t give out. He says your name and you nod. “Sorry I’m late, I got a call in the parking lot.”

He’s been in the parking lot this entire time?!

It’s like you’ve been doused in gasoline and lit on fire, yet somehow needing to give him a shaky reply anyway.

“O–oh, I see.”

The waitress saves you from spitting in his face when she asks if you were ready to order.

Dinner was off the table, as you discussed with Liv who forwarded it to her cousin to her–whoever it was that set up this god awful date–and agreed on dessert and perhaps a drink.

“I’ll have the chocolate cake,” you request in an attempt to make this somewhat better. You consider for a moment before asking for a drink as well, “And a dry gin martini, please.”

“Um,” he staggers as he barely skims the menu, ultimately flipping it closed. “I’ll have the same, I guess.”

Deep voice. You might’ve liked that if you weren’t already so peeved.

The waitress disappears with the menus, leaving you two alone for the first time.

“So,” you start with an exhale. “How do you know Amelia?”

“Her husband.”

“I see.”

Silence.

“How do you know her husband?”

He sighs like this is all inconveniencing him, and it irks you to an irrespective degree. Like you wanted to be here either.

“He brings his car to the workshop alot, became friends somewhere along the line.”

“Workshop?”

He looks a little startled, cocking his head to the side. “I’m a mechanic? Did Olivia–was it–not tell you?”

“No, she didn’t.”

It’s silent yet again as the man across from you refuses to elaborate. You curse as you ask him a follow up question. If there was anything you hated more than shouldering a dead conversation, it was sitting through an awkward silence.

One hour. You’d sit through this for one more hour and then you’d leave.

“What kind of cars do you work on?”

“Expensive ones,” he answers. You might’ve kicked yourself if he’d ended it at that, but he continues with a purse of his lips. “Ones that rich people abuse to an inch of the machine’s life and wonder why the dealership gives up on it. Vintage pieces too.”

“Have I heard of it?”

“The cars?”

“No, I mean,” you let out a breath. “Your workshop.”

“Jeon Motors, just a couple streets down actually.”

You did know what he was talking about, not expecting to recognise it through the empty question, passing by it on multiple occasions in this part of the city.

“Oh, I’ve seen it a few times.”

“Yeah, we’ve been there for a while.”

“Family business?”

“Uh–sort of.”

“Okay,” you sigh in an irritated laugh. This was going to be a very difficult hour. “Keep that to yourself too.”

“Is there a problem?”

Just as you lift your eyes to lock with his, a ready yes, there is actually a problem on your tongue, there’s an intrusion.

“Here are your chocolate cakes,” the waitress places the cakes down, and then the drinks. “And your dry gin martinis. Do you guys need anything else?” By the time the waitress is gone you’ve somewhat forced yourself to put that sudden surge of flames out, to a degree at least.

“Okay,” he sighs, grabbing his glass and downing nearly half the contents. He emerges, wiping a bit of a spill from the corner of his mouth. “Let’s get this out of the way.”

“Hm?” He’s speaking to you with a very weird surge of intensity, and it confuses you.

“Neither of us wanna be here. You’re clearly trying to be hospitable but I’d really rather you not, especially when we’re both doing this to get our respective ticks off our hides.”

There isn’t much you can do but stare at him.

“Have I misjudged your advances?” he asks over his glass, sharp eyes piercing.

“No!” you yelp, reaching for your drink yourself, taking big sips only to emerge sputtering and heaving.

Your date looks like he’s rising out of his chair when you raise a hand to stop him.

“No,” you repeat, less jumpy this time. “I guess we could’ve cleared that out from before.”

Did he…snort?

“Sorry.” Dropping his chin to his chest, he composes himself.

“What?” you ask, remaining annoyed as ever.

“Nothing.”

That does it. You slam your now empty glass down on the table, slipping your fork out of the napkin a little forcefully, the metal glinting in the light of the restaurant. You dig into a corner of the cake and shove it in your mouth.

If he was gonna be rude, you could be too.

“I don’t know about hospitable.” You swallow. “But I assumed not being an ass was kind of an unwritten rule for any situation really. Including the ones you’d rather not be in.”

Wonwoo stares at you with a blank face, his cake untouched. “I’m being an ass. My laugh couldn’t have offended you that much.”

“So you did pick that up,” you comment. “With the way this conversation’s going I would’ve thought it flew right over your engine.”

“I’d argue your laugh was the least offensive thing you’ve done tonight.” You plunge your fork into your cake again. “But clearly we’re in different realms of etiquette.”

Your eyes meet the rough stains on his attire, and then his own that bore into yours like a challenge. The cake isn’t too sweet, rich just the right amount and texturally sound. Maybe something good did come out of this fiasco.

“Okay fine,” he announces, sitting up straighter. “I apologise.”

“For laughing?”

“And for being obscenely late.”

“And?”

“And…” he genuinely looks like he’s struggling to figure it out, but catches your eyes flickering to his tattered and stained outfit. “And for my entirely inappropriate dressing sense. You’ll have to forgive me for that one, oil and grime are my spoils of war.”

“Wear it like a badge, mister mechanic, but perhaps somewhere it’s appreciated.”

Wonwoo has already finished his drink, his cake remaining untouched. “You’re quite adamant on disliking me.”

“And you’re quite adamant on being a horrid conversationalist.”

The corners of his mouth lift the slightest bit. Opening his mouth to respond, you cut him off. “Cars don’t talk? Or perhaps, machines are easier to understand?”

“More like I don’t care to be personable.”

“That can’t be good for business.”

“The cars speak for themselves.”

He’s a weird one. Even more so when he offers to pay the entire bill, promising you he wasn’t lying when he said he was good at what he does, and to “make up for lost personality points.” You manage to pay your half anyway, considering the circumstances.

“Can you at least let me drive you home?” Wonwoo asks as you both step out of the establishment soon after.

“Depends.” You fix the strap of your bag. “Will it fall apart on the highway?”

The blaring white of the restaurant's outdoor lights backlight Wonwoo to make him look like some sad angel. He turns to you, the same slight smirk that seems to be plastered on his face. “Why don’t you find out?”

“What do you mean sell it? I got this thing a year ago!”

There isn’t much you can do but sigh loudly as you listen to Olivia talk about the state of her car, the one that cost too much to justify but she seemed to use and abuse like a very replaceable toy truck.

Leaning against the hood of the darn thing, you talk to her. “The dealership is giving you a shit deal to take it off your hands, you might as well try your luck.”

The look on her face is easy to read as she silences. Not convinced in the slightest, waiting for the conversation to end just so she could figure it out on her own. Sighing loudly, you look back to the dark beauty with a crate of issues that make it spit and sputter to a stop every few weeks.

“How much did you say the repairs cost again?”

“Enough to put me on food stamps,” she whines through her frustration, tears pricking against her eyes as they glisten under the neighbourhood streetlights. “Why are you smirking like that?!”

“It’s just,” you pause as you consider your next words, pressing your lips together. “This is a little bit your fault.”

Lies, it was entirely her fault.

Liv stares like you’ve just offended her, which you’re sure you have.

“Care to share how this possible bankruptcy could be my fault?"

“Because you drive the thing like you have a secret reserve buried somewhere in Tenerife.”

“My apologies for making a habit of not being a public nuisance and going forty on a national highway.”

“Your speed-o-metre is not the issue here.”

“Yes, of course, everything’s my fault.”

“Liv, please!” You groan loudly. “Just…let’s try putting up a listing tomorrow. Consider the prospects and you can decide from there.”

Sagging her shoulders and stretching her neck, Liv decides to simply trudge back indoors in silence. You take it as a begrudging yes, and follow her inside.

That very night, when you were at the very cusp of falling into the dark space of sleep, your brain re-awakens before your eyes do. A jolt as the memory comes back to you of the many months ago, sitting in that restaurant across from a man who was too handsome for the personality he seemed to sire.

“Expensive ones,” he had said. “Ones that rich people abuse to an inch of the machine’s life and wonder why the dealership gives up on it.”

How fitting.

“Are you going to explain or should I explode instead?”

You’d mentally prepared for the bombardment of accusations from Liv, her questioning perfectly right as you yourself cringed at the thought of showing your face here of all places. The one last one that’d officially banned her from ever setting you up with an individual of her choosing ever again.

Hearing only silence as her answer, she appeals; “I thought he was the worst date of your life.”

“Nothing to do with his skills as a mechanic,” you mumble, refusing to make eye contact.

“And everything to do with this being a horrible idea anyway!” Liv stares up at the sign on top of the garage. Jeon Motors. “What makes you think this guy can fix my car?”

What did make you think he could fix Liv’s car? If you’d known you might have given her an answer, but as you stare at the giant signboard that you’ve driven past for longer than you can remember, you can’t help but feel this place has been haunting you. Just a little.

You can’t help but feel the tingle of goosebumps rise on your skin, the hairs across the expanse standing up at the thought of walking inside. There was no way you could differentiate the reaction from plain nerves or from the cringing drills that sound all the way outside the establishment. Regardless, you make an attempt to look confident as you make your strides into the pungent of the workshop.

The first thing you note is how…clean everything is. Cleaner than any other workshop you’ve walked into anyway.

The interior is bigger than it looks from the outside, the ginormous hall hosting about a dozen cars within your eyeshot alone. One side of the great hall holds an array of parked cars in different stages of dismantled and deconstructed, while the other side is lined with contraptions that look like stripped and enlarged elevators.

Once you’ve inhaled a beyond recommended amount of smoke fumes and listened past all of the clanging, banging and sparks, you register the people that are elbow deep in the hoods of the vehicle they’re working on, enough to leave you and Liv standing at the entrance of an establishment that you can barely make sense of.

“Can I help you?” A man in stained beige overalls approaches your wide eyed pair, face half covered in his baseball hat and hands occupied with a rag.

To your slightest dismay, it isn’t the man you’re looking for.

“Uh– is Wonwoo here?” you ask.

“He’s in a meeting right now. Are you a friend?”

No, just a failed love interest.

“He,” you falter. If you weren’t a friend…then what were you? “He gave me his card.”

“Do you need help with your car?”

“Mine, actually,” Liv pipes. “It’s outside if you wanna take a look first.”

With one sweeping look across the warehouse, your eyes land on one of the few doors on the left. You register the plain look of it for barely a moment before joining Liv outside.

By the time her car has been rolled and parked inside for a more thorough inspection, it’s taken you every last grain of your willpower to not stalk back out and wait in your car. For whatever reason, you can’t help but feel a very familiar spasm of irritation spark through you. Here you are, left anxiously waiting for the same man for a second time, merely feet away but remaining occupied with more important things.

At the very least, the multiple hands prodding around the car’s engine were being somewhat of use, attempting to survey the same issues that had been looked at about a dozen times before. You silently promise to be a better person if this trip wouldn’t be for vain.

“Am I late for something again?”

Your throat is suddenly clogged as you open your mouth and no sound graces your presence. The face that meets you has his eyebrows raised as he stares at you in expectation, a ghost of a smile on his face.

“W–Wonwoo, hi, um.” You clear your throat loudly, heat cursing your cheeks. “No, of course not.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure after…four months?” he asks, hands on his hips and his back straightened.

“I…my friend’s car needed to be looked at so…”

“Ah, of course!” He turns to where you’ve motioned, looking at the popped hood of the car his employees are working on. “I’ll take a look at it myself, don’t worry about it.”

He’s already walking away, towards the car and leaving you a ways away from the action. You stare at his back; the overalls tied at the waist and the stained white T-shirt that clings to his form from the humidity.

Wonwoo remains a man of a few words, and you remain at wits end about it all.

A loud honk gives you something to do as you jump at the sound so up close, scrambling to move away from the smack centre as another car pulls into the garage.

“Careful, those marks on the floor aren’t just oil and paint.” Wonwoo snickers from his place hunched over the hood as he cranes his neck to look at you.

You walk over to where he is to get out of the way. “Was that meant to sound like an innuendo?”

“I was talking about the occasional running over someone’s foot,” he answers. “Not sure what you were thinking.”

Ignoring the jab, you note that it was now only you and him crowding the car, “Where’s Olivia?”

“Went to look at spare parts.” You watch him as his gloved hands reach further into the enclave and yank at something hard.

“So you can fix it?”

“The car? It’ll take a couple days but it’s not really an issue.”

Furrowing your brows, you press on, “But the dealership—”

“Dealerships are the spawn of the devil,” he grunts as he finally wrenches out a spare nut or bolt or something that’s covered in oil. “Let me guess, they wanted her to sell it back to them?”

It’s your turn to raise your brows. “Yes. They tried fixing it, but it'd just stop again.”

“Because they’ve been fixing the symptoms.” He raises his eyes to meet yours, hands occupied with rubbing the part in his hands relatively clean with a rag. “They haven’t bothered to do anything about the actual problem.”

“Because that’s gonna cost…?”

“Couple hundred, give or take,” he announces nonchalantly, turning his focus back to the engine.

“But—” That’s it?

“Fifty extra for every question I have to answer after this.” You briefly wonder if Wonwoo’s eyes were always this piercing, boring into your soul like he didn’t need words to know what was going on with you.

“Fine,” you huff, moving to drag a chair over, mostly just so you could have reason to break eye contact, and plop down as you watch him work.

The more you think about it, the more you can find yourself unbothered by his strange behaviour. He wasn’t bleak, but nowhere near one of the more interesting people you’ve met. Taking the opportunity to really scan the man head to toe, you can’t say you find anything truly concrete to be this put off by him.

Not much of a talker, but with the times you’ve prayed for a man that knew when to shut up sometimes, you wonder how much you can actually complain about this boon in particular.

Besides, he was a looker, and you were completely content shutting your trap if it meant you got to shamelessly ogle at him from this close.

“You know, this place looks bigger than it does from the outside.”

Wonwoo stares pointedly.

You raise a shoulder in nonchalance, “Wasn’t a question!”

He simply huffs as he mumbles, “More length than breadth I suppose.”

“What are those things called?” you ask as you watch a sedan get lifted into the on some platform on the other end of the row.

Glancing back, he answers, “Post lift, car lift, whatever you wanna call it.”

“What does it do?”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Touché.”

Glancing back at him, you catch sight of his stained shirt once again. “Is that the same thing you wore to our date?”

Chin to chest, he registers what he’s wearing, hands still working on pulling bolts and boxes out of the hood. “Have about twenty of the same shirt, I can never be too sure.”

“You’re impossible.”

He smirks, “Touché.”

You questioned if this was a mistake.

Olivia could pick up her car herself, so why did you insist to be the one that did it? As you pay the taxi driver, you feel your ankles lock for a moment as you move to slip out of the cab. Frozen, you hear the driver ask you if everything was alright, to which your legs seem to work again, finally foot to gravel in front of the dreaded workshop.

The Jeon Motors sign blares the same as it always has in the afternoon light, glinting as it encourages you to walk in and do one of the stupider things you’ve done in life. Other than the ridiculous outfit you’ve put on, of course.

But alas, as you hand over your slip to one of the many mechanics in the workshop, you find yourself praying he wasn’t here after all, that perhaps you could miss him as you leave and never have to see him again.

Somebody yells out his name, and the dream drifts away like smoke.

Finding the courage, you look up to where the man shouted for him, and immediately wish you hadn’t.

Wonwoo remains in his overalls, the same ones that he had tied to his waist the last time you saw him. His undershirt however…

The tank top is revealing too much for you to pretend you don’t care, his hair remaining pushed back and away from his forehead as he walks over to you in what feels like slow motion. He takes the slip that he does not need, smiling at you as he says his hellos.

“Car’s all fixed up, just need some papers that need signing and you’re all set.”

“Oh, but Liv isn’t here today.”

“That’s alright, you can sign them too,” he reassures, motioning for you to walk with him towards the car. “The car was alright in the test drives, revving hasn’t caused any problems either.”

He halts in front of the now (supposedly) fixed black sedan and pats the hood lightly, “If anything happens tell her to bring it straight here, although it shouldn’t have any more problems.”

“What’s your rate of return on customers?” you ask, a slight smirk on your face.

He thinks for a moment, “Pretty crap. But I guess that means I’m doing something right.”

You consider yourself something of a helicopter parent when it comes to your own car, but perhaps you’d change that if it meant you’d get to come here a little more often.

Goodness, what’s gotten into you.

Wonwoo’s smiling too, and for a brief moment the silence is nearly awkward. A pause before he proposes leaving.

“Shall we go to the office then?”

Nodding eagerly, you trail behind him as he leads you towards the other end of the workshop, passing by even more cars in all their stripped or constructed glory. Glancing in front, you catch sight of Wonwoo’s back, ensnared for a moment before you snap your head away, reciting every curse word you know like a mantra.

“It’s less hot in here too, keep the air on all the time.” Wonwoo stands in front of the plain doors, hands on the handle to wrench it open. You recognise it as the same door you had noted a few days ago. “Would you like anything? Coffee, tea?”

“Um, just water is fine, thanks.”

It’s quite plain, beige and leather against cream walls and unfittingly white lights. There’s a desk on one corner that’s beyond cluttered with more papers than you can register, pens and other office supplies mixed into the disorganised chaos of the large tabletop.

“Sorry about the mess, I can never find time to sort through it.” To your surprise, the light tinge of his cheeks suggest he might actually feel a little embarrassed.

Cute.

There’s cabinets that line on one of the far walls, and you watch him take his gloves off to open it and reach for a cup. The white porcelain emerges stained with an ashy grey as his fingers betray him. He looks flustered, glancing at his hands and back up to the cabinet.

You can’t help but laugh a little, moving forward to help. “It’s alright, let me.”

“Sorry,” he apologised again, with a sheepish look on his face. “I’ll, um, wash this off.”

“Go on, I’m here,” you reassure as you move towards the water dispenser in the corner to fill your clean cup.

He returns with significantly cleaner hands and apologises one last time. “Seems all I do around you is apologise.”

You have the good humour to chuckle, “So I’ve noticed.”

He does well to clear out most of the clutter that’s on his desk, leaving enough room to set down a few pieces of paper as you take a seat on the opposite side.

As you scan through the papers, he attempts to make sober conversation. “You should…bring your car around for inspections if you want.”

“Oh? Even if I ask a million questions?”

“I can make an exception or two,” he grins.

“And if you charge me double?”

“Might not charge you at all.”

“Might?” you question as you lift the pen he’d given you to sign the first space.

“Might.”

“And what’re the conditions for that?”

He doesn’t answer as he ponders and you fill in the second blank. “I’ll have to think about that.”

You snort before you can help it, your last signature coming out a little wonky as your hands shake. Turning the papers over to him, you continue, “Well then, let me know when you figure it out.”

He stares pointedly as he accepts the papers before dropping his eyes again, “Can I?”

“Hm?”

“Can I? Let you know?”

It’s like you’ve been frozen over, the typewriter in your mind jamming as it punches out the implications of what he’s saying.

“It seems, at least to me, that we may have gotten off on the wrong foot,” he continues.

You hesitate. “I think so too.”

“I…I don’t want to put anything like pressure on you but–”

“Would you like to try the new gelato place downtown this week?” you ask finally as you save him from his misery. “If…you’d like.”

He looks stunned for a moment before he’s scrambling, “Oh–of course! Yes, anytime is fine with me.”

“Great,” you smile, lifting from your seat. “It’s a date.”

“I’ll promise to wash my hands this time…and my shirt. And I won’t be late.”

“Let’s not make promises we can’t keep,” you tease.

You’re nearing the door as he follows behind, and just as you’re about to pull down on the handle, you hear him say your name.

Turning around, almost too eagerly, you look up at him in expectation. He’s close, almost right behind you as he looks like he’s debating whether opening his mouth is a good idea.

“Are you doing anything else today?”

“Um,” you stutter for a moment. “I don’t have to drop off the car till later tonight, that’s all really.”

He swallows. “Do you wanna stay? Just a little while. We can stay in here, nobody comes in anyway.”

You aren’t entirely sure why you said yes, because you did actually have dinner plans with Liv later tonight, but the teeny tiny voice in your mind egged you on anyway. Besides, Liv wouldn’t mind, not if you were cancelling for this.

This entailed the very friendly contact of Wonwoo’s tongue in your mouth, and the extremely cordial way it seemed to caress your insides. If somebody asked you how it led to this, you don’t think you’d have an answer. Not that you care, especially when his hands are grabbing your waist and hips like that.

He’s already locked the door, reassuring you that nobody would find their boss and client in the smack dab middle of the devil’s tango. You take his word for it, relishing in the way his hot breath hits your skin below your ears, his mouth sucking under your earlobes as you whimper ever so quietly.

Your hands are on his exposed biceps, feeling him up all to your heart's content. “Do you–Do you always wear stuff like this?”

He emerges, wet lipped and eyes trained. “So I wasn’t imagining it.”

“Imagining what?” you ask as you let him unbuckle your trousers.

“Please. Like you weren’t stripping me with your eyes.”

If you were warm before you, you're boiling up now. Were you being so obvious?

“It’s alright,” he reassures as you feel his fingers make contact with the crotch of your panties, pushing in to put pressure on your clit. “Wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t picked up on it.”

You feel his fingers push the dampening fabric away as his fingers make contact with your hole, coating his fingers in the arousal that’s made itself known. It’s hard to not hiss at the way he begins to circle it, thanking the universe that the loud noises of the workshop outside were masking whatever evidence of the heinous crime you were committing inside.

Back against the couch in his office, you settle into the cushions once you feel him rub at your clit, one hand spreading your lips apart as he continues to massage your own wetness onto your throbbing cunt.

When he retreats you almost cry out, but are smothered when he plunges two fingers into your hole instead, curling them almost immediately inside you. The consistent brush of the tips of his fingers on your walls are making it difficult to keep your eyes open, and absolutely impossible to keep your moans at bay.

“Wonwoo, that’s so good, fuck.”

Through your closed eyes, you don’t note when Wonwoo gets on his knees. But you do feel him yank your trousers off entirely, and you definitely feel him place his wet mouth flush on your lower lips, sucking at your clit as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you mercilessly.

That’s all it takes for your noises to become increasingly high pitched, hands buried in his beautiful hair as he continues to pleasure you beyond imagination.

“I’m so close, keep going, please, it feels so–”

He somehow buries his face in deeper, sucking harder, licking faster, and it’s enough for you to finally feel yourself collapsing on the inside, your composure dissolving as you moan so loud you’re sure they can hear it outside, even through all the clanging and revs of cars.

There’s no way for you to know how long you lay there slumped against the couch cushions, but when you hear Wonwoo speak to you in your ear, you answer.

“Was that okay?”

“More than okay,” you say as you grab his face and pull his lips to yours, tasting the tang in his mouth from your arousal. “Do you have a condom?”

“I–fuck,” he thinks for a moment. “I don’t think I do.”

You try not to feel too disappointed, but you sigh into his mouth anyway.

“Can I fuck your thighs?” you hear him ask, and you might have just orgasmed again, untouched.

“Fuck, yes you can.”

With a yelp, you feel yourself lifted off the couch as you wrap your arms around Wonwoo’s neck, letting him guide you to his desk. “Wonwoo!”

You hear a loud crash of the desk being stripped of all its inhabitants, and your back hitting the cool of the table top.

Wonwoo unties the arms of his overalls around his waist, letting the legs pool to the floor before slipping his hard cock out of his boxers.

You don’t see it as you feel him lock your knees together and lift both your calves to rest on one of his shoulders. But you do feel it as he pushes the head into the seam of your thighs, watching the indent as the pink of his dick appears before you through the skin of your thighs.

Wonwoo’s face is contorted as he pulls back and pushes back through again, this time brushing against your still sensitive clit. You gasp at contact, and immediately feel him thrusting faster.

“Wonwoo,” you grunt. “Lower.”

He obliges, pushing his dick lower so it can rub flush against your clit as he begins to roughen up his pace.

You moan as you feel his free hand that isn’t holding your legs trail to the ends of your shirt, caressing over your stomach to pull it up and reveal your bra clad tits. He pushes his hands under the nearest cup and begins to grope you so wonderfully with his big, warm hands. Rolling the bud between his fingers, you can only grasp onto his wrists as a handheld to keep you down on earth.

The desk beneath you is rattling with noise, the full drawers making themselves known as Wonwoo pounds into your thighs like he would die if he stopped, mouth coming in contact with whatever skin of your legs he could reach, his breath fanning the side of your knees.

You’re close again, and you know he is too with the way his thrusts are beginning to grow sloppy.

“There,” he pants. “Almost.”

You orgasm for the second time, the throb your clit beyond comprehension as the rough of his dick slides across your clit mercilessly.

“Cum like this, Wonwoo please I need to see you cum.”

And he does, shooting the heft of his load to cover your already wet cunt and thighs, landing on your stomach as he continues to ride out his high between your legs.

The back of your head hits the table as you take in gulps of air through the aftermath of it all. Wonwoo is putting his weight on the back of your thighs, holding onto the table for support.

“Oh, Liv is never gonna let me live this down,” you pant, lolling your head to one side as you register him.

He peers up at you through his hair, the stupid smirk on his face, “Do you care?”

You’re smiling a little too when you answer, “Not really.”

And then your legs are off his shoulders as he nestles between them instead, diving in to lift your head and kiss you.

And you let him, although you wouldn’t really call it too much of a kiss—not when the both of you were smiling like idiots through the clash.

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saintsanddevils · 3 months ago

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Never Alone

Aaric Graycastle x Fem!Reader

Summary: After parapet, Aaric discovers his best friend followed him to Basgiath. (set during Iron Flame, no Onyx Storm spoilers)

Warnings: angst, swearing, Aaric POV

Author’s Note: onyx storm made me write fanfic & there isn’t enough Aaric fic out there

Posted on AO3

Part Two

Masterlist

————

-Conscription Day-

Oh, shit.

Aaric’s eyes widen as he watches the last person he’d ever expect to see at Basgiath storm across the courtyard.

No. Please, Zihnal, let it be anyone but her.

A prayer to the god of luck feels like a waste as he senses his imminent doom the closer she gets. Waves of rage seep off her like a tidal wave, forcing cadets to dive quickly out of her way.

Aaric tries to blink the image away, hoping this isn’t real. Maybe the exhaustion of climbing those never-ending stairs and crossing the parapet did something to his mind. This has to be a hallucination.

“You fucking idiot!” She’s suddenly before him, shoving him hard against the stone column. He barely registers the impact as he stares down at her, feeling her erratic breathing against his chest. He’s so focused on how she’s standing in front of him that he misses her hand sailing towards his face before it’s too late. The immediate, harsh slap swings his head to the side.

“I’m going to kill you,” she seethes.

Yep. This is real. And that is definitely who he thinks it is.

Working his jaw as the sting reverberates across his skin, he turns back to face her.

Y/N. She’s here. She’s actually here. By the looks of it, she made it across the parapet. Which means…

Aaric would’ve laughed if he didn’t feel the sudden weight of dread crushing him as he stares at her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

If he thought he knew what Y/N was like when she was angry, it’s nothing compared to the fury rising in her eyes.

“Are you kidding me?! What am I doing here?” She shakes her head, gripping his leathers as she crowds closer. “You’re an arrogant asshole if you thought you could disappear so easily. If you think, for one damn second, that I would let you do this alone, Cam-“

Aaric quickly slides his hand over her mouth to stop her. Noticing the crowd around them, he rushes to pull her away from prying eyes. With one hand around her mouth and the other arm around her waist, he pulls her behind the column. She begins to yell at him from beneath his hand before bucking and kicking as he makes his way down the corridor. Aaric curses as he holds her tighter against his chest. This is starting to look way worse than he hoped it would as he drags her away from the courtyard.

When he finds a secluded alcove away from everyone, teeth sink into the skin of his palm.

“Fuck!” He pulls his hand away with a hiss, stepping back as she twists out of his reach. “You bit me!”

“You were practically kidnapping me!”

Aaric rolls his eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”

She raises an offending brow. “I’m dramatic? Says the prince who just up and left in the middle of the night to fulfill some childish fantasy that he can go get himself a dragon and some fancy magic to save the kingdom. Really?”

He stiffens. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She laughs, cold and bitter. “Don’t I? I’m pretty sure I know you better than anyone. Hell, maybe even better than yourself.” She shakes her head, crossing her arms. “Your father is going try and find you. He’ll send everyone, tear this place apart-“

“No. He won’t.” His jaw flexes as he glances around, ensuring no one can hear them. “He might try, but it won’t matter. He can’t do anything. Especially after threshing.”

Her face blanches at the words. “Threshing… Oh gods, Cam.” She falls back against the wall, her earlier anger slowly dissipating. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

A wave of voices rises from around the corner, making Aaric step closer to her. Once they drift further away, he relaxes. Blowing out the breath he held, he stares into the eyes of the one person on this damn continent that he can trust. The one person he would never ask to join him. The one person he chose to lie to, to manipulate and betray in order to do what was necessary.

“I have to do this.”

The confession weighs heavily in his sternum. Solidifying his rattled nerves. The guilt he’s collected over the years still eats away at him, but now, without a shadow of a doubt, he knows this is what he’s meant to do. The second he stepped onto the stone parapet, he knew he had to be here. Cowering in the palace wouldn’t do anything. Being here, training, fighting, working to help their kingdom- it’s all he can do.

Her eyes soften from his words as if she can hear his thoughts. Understanding his worries and doubts, as she always has. The two of them grew up alongside one another. Her father is a trusted advisor to the throne, allowing him the privilege to have his family join him at the palace. Aaric has known her for as long as he can remember. And just like when they were kids running around the palace gardens, he’d do anything for her. Except for stay as far away from Basgiath as possible.

Of course she knew he’d come here. She wasn’t lying when she said she knew him better than anyone. It’s something he now wished wasn’t true. Her being here was proof of it. By the looks of her fighting leathers that outlined the dips and curves of her figure, she planned on this.

His chest warms at the thought, but he tries to push down the overwhelming need to touch her. He’s suddenly all-too-aware of how close they’re standing. How much his fingers itch to reach out and hold her. To hide her from all of this and keep her safe.

The thought of her following him down this path scares him more than his father finding him.

“Go home,” he quickly steps away. The longer he stands near her, the more she’ll convince him he’s making a mistake. He can’t let that happen.

The softening of her features is gone. The sympathy she was feeling is now replaced with that earlier anger. She clenches her jaw as she stands straight, glaring up at him.

“I’m staying. I crossed the parapet. I deserve to be here just as much as you do.”

Aaric shakes his head. “You can’t-“

“I can and I am.” She steps into his personal space again, and for a moment, he wonders if she’ll slap him again. A strange, small part of him wants her to. He shuts that thought down immediately.

“If you want to go be some sort savior of Navarre for your ridiculous hero complex, fine. You’re a grown man. You can do whatever you want. Especially as the prince,” she narrows her eyes. “But I’ll be damn sure if you’re gonna try to play the hero, I’m gonna make sure you don’t kill yourself doing it. Someone has to.”

He flinches. She must’ve caught the reaction since her face softens, as well as her tone.

“I’d never let you go through this alone, Cam. You know that.”

Flashes of whispered promises under a rose trellis as they pricked the skin of their palms come to the forefront of his mind. Their blood welled in their tiny hands as they made vows to one another. To always have each other’s back. To always be there for each other, no matter the cost.

The scar on his palm burns as he watches her storm past him, determination setting her shoulders straight. Gods, he wish he didn’t know her as well as he did.

The crowd of new cadets cheer in the distance, the hum of their voices growing louder as Conscription Day comes to a close. The shadows on the wall move in the afternoon light as he watches the one person he cares about more than anything walk away from him.

That guilt stings in his gut now, adding another person to the list of people he has to protect. If she’s here, he can’t make this all about his kingdom. He can’t even make this about himself. He has to ensure she stays alive. They both have to get through this.

There’s no turning back now.

Part Two

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theglassofmiddleearth · 3 months ago

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Imagine Reader in the 141 who just wants to get food and sleep.

Masterlist

Reader! only ended up in the military because the recruiters said that there would be free food and lodging. Her parents had decided to travel the world thanks to their early retirement. They initially wanted to keep the house for Reader! to live in but she decided instead to rent out the house. This way, she would get passive income AND didn't have to worry too much about the upkeep of the house! (Her neighbours would keep an eye on the tenants)

Reader! really just joined because she needed something to do instead of a regular 9-5 desk job. Little did she know, being in the military had a LOT more paperwork than her old job. (She sometimes bribes Soap to do it for her. Price also knows. They both have very different hand writing..)

Reader! has always been quite slippery, cunning even. (Somehow still clumsy though) Flying through her training and earning her call sign Camera Guy on her first mission, she was assigned to a special operations task force.

People who don't know the story think, 'Camera Guy' is some pervert dude or something. Reader hears a lot of people (unknowingly) chatting about her. They either think she has pictures of naked people or think she photographs models. Of course they have no idea it's a woman. (Assholes.)

Reader was sent in as a spy to scout out a target. She needed to confirm that said target was the new crime lord that was smuggling American artillery. To do this, she needed to capture some sort of illegal or suspicious activity.

Long story short, she got trapped between a gang fight between the target and the rival gang. Somehow stayed alive and, filming the whole thing behind the bar. She was the only one who came out unscathed within the bar. The rest of the task force rushed in during the confusion, giving the reader time to subdue the target and capture him. (Used an empty bottle to knock him unconscious)

Mission was such a success Laswell heard about it and had Reader transferred to the 141 because the rest of the task force keeps ‘accidently’ breaking their body cams.

141 not realising Reader is a woman until they see her.

‘Yer a lady?’ Soaps blue eyes are wide and confused.

‘Yep’ Reader shrugs, ready to be shown to her new room so she can take a damn nap.

‘But Camera Guy…..’ Gaz mumbled, blinking confusedly.

The silent muscle dude just gave a grunt, not particularly interested.

‘I never said it was a man.’ Price shrugged, ‘Welcome to the 141, you're bunking in the room next to Ghost.' Reader assumes it's the man with a ghost mask over his balaclava.

‘Yes Captain.’ Reader nods, rubbing their eyes. Not particularly intimated by the group of them. Reader stayed up late reading and needs sleep before she starts scowling at every noise made

Reader ends up snoring through the time she got to settle into her bunk. (Ghost heard her through the walls.) Thank goodness reader only snore when they're exhausted.

#141 x reader #task force 141 x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #soap mactavish x reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #john price x reader #captian price #task force 141 #cod 141 #cod x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #john mctavish x reader #john soap McTavish x reader #price x reader #captian price x reader

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vicorices · 6 days ago

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www.hotdozed.com/missdeath_cherryvi

why don’t you show me a little bit of spine you’ve been saving for her mattress? i only want sympathy in the form of you crawling into bed with me.

summary — life sucks, at least until vi finds out the girl she’s been crushing on lately it’s actually a cam girl.

cw # 18+ mdni, smut with a lot of plot and tons of fluff, modern au, drunk making-out, strap-on usage, mutual and private masturbation (yikes) my girl here is on a yearning journey, friends-to-lovers, mentions of drugs and alcohol, bit voyeurism if you blink and try to hide the sun with your finger, descriptions of blood and injuries, might write an epilogue following this pardon my french im weak. wc: 12.5k

one. missdeath_spacemoth // two. missdeath_zvika // masterlists.

violet vanderson's having the worst week of her life when powder's parking the car in front of her new apartment.

first she loses this big fight she's been killing herself for: a black eye, broken rib, humiliated to the point she don't ever want to step foot in the pit club anymore, and then, like it's already not enough, her tiny apartment floods with this nasty water and she's told she's surrounded by mold and not only a broken pipe, so she has to move before her lugs get more fucked than they already are.

misery loves her it seems, and luck was never on her side, clearly. not even when her sister seemed to have this optimistic cloud that followed her and tried to spread everywhere, cause it seems vi only carried the opposite: a dark, thunder cloud that made her grumpy as she thought about how much she loved what it used to be her apartment, the late night beers she tossed to the trash can like a personal contest, the endless mornings with a killer headache.

oh bittersweet nostalgia.

this place's different. falling apart. the chinese food smell leaks through the thick walls since there's a restaurant right next to the building and a huge stain in the ceiling right beneath her bed she don't want to inspect any further, afraid of the outcome as her sister's playful banter fill out the space.

"i think it's a really nice place, you're being dramatic since friday night" powder points out when opening the window, allowing the air to enter a room that seemed hermetically closed for too long — "cheer up cherry cake. a new place is always an awesome chance to re-start, the sunlight's much better here, and you have takeout food literally in the same block."

"easy to say when most of your clothes don't smell like a swamp" at least 70% of her belongings now hold this funny smell of humidity she despises, carrying more cardboard boxes from outside back to her new apartment — “the whole place smells like orange chicken, you know i like orange chicken right? it will make me sick in a week."

"well, i think this place will grow on you in a week" the blue-haired correct her words, "orange chicken or not. it's bigger than your last apartment and i tell you vi- seems better, you need to trust my vision."

the problem here is her powder has the attention span of a sardine, cause when she hears the door closing right next to her big sis place, she's running outside with a bright smile before vi can even try to stop her, quickly jumping across the boxes on the floor to instead, jump out in front of you, making you flinch as you seemed distracted by your phone.

"hiya, new neighbor" it takes you out of your bubble, making you pull out the earbud from your left ear as you accept her expecting hand, energetically shaking yours as she speaks again — "powder here. that's my sister vi. she's moving in today."

"hey," you greet them trying to be kind even when you're not really interested, "welcome to this shit-hole."

funny. pulls out a silent laugh from vi's lips as they curl into a smirk paying more attention to you: does she knows you from somewhere?

"seems like you two are neighbors" as far as powder's trying to see on the bright side, her plans are now failing miserably as you cement her casket calling the complex a shit-hole, and she has to awkwardly stop shaking your hand when realizing she's been doing it for too long "it's really nice to meet you- isn't it vi?"

tell her. fucking tell her it's nice to meet her you grumpy dog.

vi can almost hear her sister's words when nodding, adding some more to her pleasure only so she wont give her some unsolicited pep talk later — "yeah. nice."

it's something, makes her satisfied as your eyes dart around the apartment complex right next to your door, pretty similar to yours. the clean spaces and the boxes piling right over the other before you're taking in the sight of your new neighbor for a quick moment.

"good luck with the mess, vi" you reply, shoving your phone back in the pocket of your jacket as she can hear what you're listening to from the sound leaking out of the earbud "see you two around."

she don’t want to say she may know you out loud, cause she know powder’s going to be feral about it: where exactly did she know you from? she don't have an answer.

before her brain even starts to work, you disappear by pulling the tiny headphone back in your ear, moving your head to the rhythm of the music as you go down the stairs and vi's really thankful about pow-pow's life choices, cause she has the decency to wait for you to disappear before finally saying:

"holy shit, she's cool as fuck, did you see that?"

"yes, i did see that" she replies — maybe too grumpy, maybe too focused on her own anger of having to move out; you're pretty yes, but she has serious stuff to focus on and zero time to flirt, so vi looks at her sister, unfazed. "she's good, can we go back to you helping me organizing now? i need your help."

"boring, there's no need to take the fun out of everything you know?"

and vi might be too busy in that moment, but she has plenty of time to think about you the week after, when she's finally getting rid of the boxes and she's going back to the usual routine she keeps before the chaos, the three-hour sessions in the gym and the fights during the weekend; even when her ego's bruised.

where did she see you before? man, why is it so hard to remember?

the days go on by, and vi finds herself getting interested in you since she can't shake this feeling of knowing you from somewhere, not really catching on where exactly, but there in her stomach as she tries to have an answer to her thoughts: was it the lesbian bar? were you a bartender somewhere she has no memory of? a celebration after winning? she passes out most of the time, it would make much sense she don't fully remember you.

and it’s weird, cause by the days, she grows curious about it. starts like a breeze on a summer morning, slowly and barely there when she encounters you right in the hallway, usually listening your music with a big hoodie on. chaotic hair, you say hi just because she's saying it first, brushing off her existence as you rush somewhere else — every night.

maybe you're a dj? you have this look that goes with it.

frustrates her since she cannot wrap her finger about it, and she don't want to talk it with anyone else either, not powder, not her friends nor any neighbor from the complex even when she could ask on the most subtle way she can, not when they’re already making so many efforts in winning the new inquiline's heart.

7A baked her a bunch of chocolate cookies she's been chewing when she's suffering from muchies fever after smoking, 8B happens to have the biggest record collection in runeterra, 9D has at least three cats, and vi's already getting attached to the orange one that loves to sunbath in her window, so even as she tries to be this loner in the world — vi's sucked, inevitably into a welcoming community that does not waste time in making her feel welcomed.

by the second week she's being officially invited to this grill on her name, one scheduled for friday noon, and she cannot say no, cannot possibly think about rejecting the kindest old lady from 5C who's so lovely to give her a paper with all the information printed as she kisses her cheek with with pink lipstick since vi reminded her of her daughter: happy. people is happy she's living in the same apartment complex.

that's new.

she has no soul to reject it. in fact, makes her feel warm even to the thought of it — did you take part in this too? it says it's organized by the whole community. that includes her nonchalant girl next door.

friday. her curiosity stays on top even when it's monday, when she's fucking rotting in bed, holding her phone in her right hand as she scrolls through twitter publications; a silent like, a bookmark on important information until she comes across this video.

it takes her time to snap out of it, when she's staring at the image and she's blushing to the point she needed to lock her phone and toss it to the floor without caring if it breaks more than it already is.

and it hits her all sudden, no you aren’t a dj. the girl in the video — this, sex tape, getting absolutely railed in the mattress, censored in all the important places, blabbering mess, hair sticky to the face.

it's fucking you.

now, vi's not a big fan of porn.

tries to avoid it as much as possible since it feels distant. weird. fake.

it's not a surprise when she refuses to see the video that popped up even when the image's already plastered in her mind, hanging like a damn poster in the middle of her thoughts vi cannot avoid as much as she tries to do so — she can recognize your face, the hair, the curve of your jaw, your neck and fuck.

feels forbidden. like a fine line she wishes not to cross. it's something personal even if it's public, belongs to you and she's quick to pretend she didn't see anything even when it's all she's thinking about lately.

vi has to wrap her mind about it for a day or two: you make gay porn. she may have seen a video ages ago and that's why she's recognizing you, memories her mind must have block for now since she don't remember any of it, not knowing how she feels about it: does she want to remember?

no. it’s not right. it's downright shameful to remember your face because she saw something even if it was ages ago, makes her blush, so by friday? vi swears to herself she's fucking forgetting it all. no matter how.

so in response she's avoiding you to the point her polite salutations stops to instead, just give you a bare side-eye look whenever she encounters you getting out of your place, switching her workout routine an hour before usual since it seems you get out when she’s arriving home, and it works. works because vi don't think about it, even she wants to use twitter and she's reminded from her brain directly: do not fucking do it.

works until friday at least. friday. damn friday.

she thinks she got it all figured out by then, excited as she goes to the rooftop, freshly showered, ready to pull out this social personality vi lacks off since she wishes to fit in, be welcomed in a new place as nice as she's been greeted by now.

so the pit fighter's talking to everyone by the first hour, presented to so many people vi cannot remember anyone’s name as she drinks from a cold beer and eat hotdogs. even when most of the community are elders, she's happy to offer her help to the old lady from 5C to install her brand new tv, and officially let sunshine, the orange cat, take naps on her window with her owner’s permission.

she's pretty fine until you came into the picture, carrying this strawberry pie she looks at for a moment as you're chatting with the neighbors so tenderly vi cannot help but feel a cruel pang of jealousy in her stomach: jealous of 80-years-old since they seem worthy of this smile she catches on even from where she is seated, this warmth when she can’t even get a single hey, losing the thread of the conversation she's having already.

sundresses are made to kill. it's their only purpose in life as you're chuckling at the other side of the rooftop and vi needs to make a real effort to go back to the conversation she's submersed in before you came to ruin it all, scratching the back of her head while begging to not seem so utterly distracted.

you've always been this beautiful? is it an crush disguised as burden curiosity?

she notices when you're asking for her, leaving the pie in the table before approaching and vi's stiffening in response, in a slutty tank top she kinds of regret now, pretending to be too invested in the conversation before feeling your presence hovering, standing right next to her.

"hi," you say trying to get her attention before smiling to the rest of the group — "vi, right? i live in 3B, we've crossed in the hallways. i talked to your sister before? blue hair and space buns.”

you talk like vi would not remember you, like powder didn't make you stop out of nowhere; as if she would forget about the image of the video pushing back into her brain and she has to kick herself for it: disres-fucking-pectful.

“yes, my sister- powder” and vi tries to be casual as she drinks from the beer bottle, the strong taste being a reminder of keeping her cool alive while it lasted “she was helping me move.”

"yeah, seems really cool" she makes a mental note on saying the compliment back to her sister, and you're good on making her forget about the rest of the people, about the left conversation she gave up midway— "i'm sorry for not being very polite before" you say, and she's furrowing her brows at the words. "been a really shitty neighbor.”

"well not really," vi states, thoughtfully "you always put music too late in the night, but i'm really willing to see past through it if you're saying sorry."

so you give her this smile she got fond of suddenly and it's enough to make her eyes narrow and know, like a vision from the future, you'll mean nothing but trouble, trouble there as you there stand in her view, hair slightly messy from the wind.

"it's on low volume, you cannot possibly hear," you try to defend your case, annoying cause vi already know she’s going to let you win anyway, "i make sure of it."

"i'm just kidding, you don't need to say sorry" you're not a bad neighbor, all jokes aside she didn't expected to be welcomed in such an active community of people, the cold treatment being something she found usual; before them, she barely even talked to their own neighbors herself "you're good. your loud music is fine, i can live it it."

she's such an idiot. so lame around pretty woman.

"are you enjoying the place so far?"

"well, if you don't count the smell, it's very nice."

"i know," you chuckle, and vi’s liking this whole making-you-laugh thing so far, "most of the inquilines here don't really have sense of smell at this point, so it's useless to try and fix it, been there already."

"shit, i know. we must be the youngest people here" — "sides knuckles, clearly."

"he's twelve," you shake your head while looking at the little kid who lives in 9E with an old couple who's daughter died years ago "doesn't count, i know for a fact he loves the smell since he's always hungry."

and for once, vi's glad she's never seen any video. even when blatantly lusting over your face.

she doesn't want to be weird with you. not when you live next door. when you both share a damn wall, when you're funny; not in a way i-will-seduce-you-somehow funny, but in a sense of i-can-be-your-friend, and not a damn pervert.

"they are good people though. you'll learn to forget about the smell and you wont feel it anymore after a while," you try to stay positive as you’re stuck in the same place that she is "it would be worst if we had something like fried chicken and french fries. that sticks to everything. the food’s good anyways, have you tried it already?"

"not really, you've been here for a while?"

"a year or so," you try to recall the exact date — "they threw a party for me too, it's like a tradition. the last inquiline in 3A wasn't really nice as you are."

well shit, that was a smooth compliment, and vi’s stuck on it for a minute or two as her fingers tighten around the glass bottle she’s holding.

“damn, and i was already feeling special, think you just shattered my heart” there it is again. that laugh that fills out the space for at least three seconds “they gave you hotdogs too? they’re really clever with this, keeping the people in like a cult.”

“we were on a better budget back then an went with burgers,” you reply “don’t take it personal, if it counts, i think the hotdogs taste better.”

so shit. it feels like it would be way easier if you were an absolute bitch and not a kind girl who laughs about every corny joke she's doing, if you didn't look so beautiful as the sun comes down leaving this trace of messy colors behind, clouds submerged in an orange, purple and red color that seems surreal for a moment: did she drink too much beer? impossible.

she doesn't feel dizzy when she's talking to you for the next hours, telling you about the pit fight and her constant failure of boxing career since friday night, oversharing about the broken pipe as you seem invested in hearing what brought her there, pressing your lips in a tight line when mentioning the mold and dying by poisoning.

"you won't die for mold," you reply holding the laugh in "you may have gone a little crazy, some lung issues and such, i'd stick with the orange chicken if i were you."

"well fine, laugh all you want to."

how she's not going to want it? how does violet make herself less interested in getting to know you? by the end of the grill, going down the stairs with you by her side she knows, deep down it's there as a not-so-hidden secret: just like her, you too need a friend, and you're not going to make it easy for her.

violet vanderson knows how to behave.

she can handle a conversation on her own, the way your eyes sometimes linger on her arms as you spend more time back in her place invading her almost every day since the grill, can deal with your comfy looks when no one but her is looking, a new found confidence you share after always knocking her door in a funny pajama pants she laughs at.

vi can even deal with your subtle way of flirting, the same way she don't know if you're actually messing with her or not since it's not a fucking surprise she's developing this huge thing for you, on how her stomach revolves every time she think about the photo she saw on what feels are ages ago.

it has only happen once — twice. but it's not like she's doing it on purpose, like she can help it as her hand goes down her pants and she has to muffle the sound of her own moans with a hand pressing over her parted lips since the walls are thin and she's sure you can listen.

it's a slip anyway, guilt pours over her when she's rubbing on her clit and vi's too deep in her mind, in the constricted face of pleasure you have, your parted lips, full of damn sin. man. fuck hotdozed.

and her fingers itch in need to take her phone and see every fucking video on the page. her irrational part that pulls her on being an asshole overshadowed every single time as she won't even look at her phone in response: she don't want that image of you, that commercial side, no. violet's greedy enough to want the privacy of you, the part you don't let anyone see.

so she allows it to happen for just ten minutes, so wet the arousal coat her underwear, soaked when drool covers her hand and she's fucking herself with the thought of you, your blue sundress, the way you looked and it's enough to make a mess, to curse out loud when she noticed how she didn't put a towel beneath to the point she has to ditch her sheets to the floor, too lazy to change them as she sleeps wrapped in a wool blanket.

friends.

vi's trying hard to be friends. even when she's masturbating in silence fueled by pure imagination, trying to be good as her damn libido seems already over the top, she tries to be this friend you need when you're outside her door with takeout food smelling much better than the pasta she cooked and vi is falling again, cause just like every moment during that week, she's willingly letting you spend some time with her, get closer.

"you don't have to go out tonight?" she asks, sinking in the sofa. after smoking a joint, it seems like the cushions are engulfing her entirely as she shoves more orange chicken from the place she has slowly learned to love; turns out they have special prices for residents and they are good as fuck.

"no" you reply shaking your head "i don't have classes on wednesday."

"classes?" she cannot contain the curiosity when it slips away from her lips, weed made her bolder clearly, but since you've been hanging out with her so much, maybe vi has gained certain privilege in finally asking some questions — "you study overnight?"

"yeah, doing a physics major" you admit, reaching the shrimpy rice box you so happily eat from, like that didn't satisfied part of the hungry monster inhabiting vi's body, thirsty for any kind of information she can get.

"so you're like a huge nerd" the fighter teases, and it's annoying cause it only makes her brain completely stop for a moment like a warning she don't listen to, always too deep in her own needs "that's why you whined about watching twisters the other day?"

"please the movie is plain shit, you just wanted to see the actress."

"pretty sure that's the whole point, the movie being bad. passable bad."

behave. for the first month violet behaves — powder was right even when she don't want to admit it out loud: the place did grew out on her, the mornings when sunshine was meowing outside her apartment, scratching the lower part of the front door until she has to open, enjoying a cup of coffee while rubbing on the cat's belly; the people, the cat, her girl next door.

you spend your free nights with her without a previous need of invitation, invite her to cool places she's never been before and it's hard to not be wishing to become one with you, make you part of her skin and carry you with her. vi becomes aware now of the details and it's dangerous; knowing your favorite color, your favorite dish and the music you like when you shared your playlist and allowed her permission to add music she thought you'd like; dangerous cause she wants to keep getting closer even when knowing you have your guard up in letting people too close.

it's becoming a routine lately, like a strange and comfortable company you two keep on each other while being friends, without any pressure or need to fit in. you're too close and it's easy, easy to let you slip in her life like you were made for it, with strange movie choices and a tendency to follow recipes you find online with vi having to intervene before it's a total disaster.

paradise that come to sad endings.

"what do you mean you're moving out?" heaven has it expiratory date written in the back, must have known it when you dropped the bomb after you're there, fucking using her living room like an study spot, talking about formulas vi don't get at all since you have this huge test in a couple of days.

"been saving a lot of money from work, and i can afford something better," you admit, leaving your flash cards on the floor as you look up to the sofa where she's installed, her blue eyes already making the skin of your face burn when looking at you with the intensity she's pawning — "bigger y'know? that don't smell like food all the time."

"i'm glad for you" lies. partly anyway, cause she's glad you're doing better, but not having you close as in just a few steps away? makes her heart falter for a moment, a phantom feeling settling on her stomach, adding weight to her form as she pulls out this fake smile from her ass she don't really mean to, one you don't really catch on when your eyes light up to the comment, ruins "when are you moving? maybe i can help you out-"

"at least three more weeks, i want everything to be in order, i cant leave without a grill celebration either" you reply thoughtfully before checking on your phone calendar "we can go out to celebrate i survived my exam. i mean, if you want to."

"you want to celebrate that with me?"

it hits right on the spot, a knock out she'd be pleased to give in the arena, painted in black makeup, sweating and spitting blood to the floor, but now? it catches her off guard too, your reaction to her words, the subtle nervousness in your voice when speaking again, made her mouth dry as you try to make up excuses, something decent to say more than the fact that you want her around.

"yeah if you want it too, been bugging you this whole week with this, you deserve a night out, my treat."

"gonna be your sugar baby for the night, huh?" in reality, vi's her own very enemy when she's blushing at her own words before changing on the subject: she's flirting over and over again without any intentions to stop "can't say no when you put it out like that, m'am" — "when is it anyway? two more days?"

"two more days. in fact, thanks for adding to my stress."

well, she's knee-fucking-deep at this point.

you indulge her needs without saying anything two nights after that, just like you promised in her apartment when she convinced you to have some sleep so you could keep studying the next day. buying drink after drink, you're preventing her from getting into fights and pulling vi into the crowd to dance with her most of the damn night.

it's the contact what drives her crazy in the end, a brush of your fingers in her skin, your breathing colliding for a brief second against hers, teasing her all damn night as she has no other option to just observe.

you know you look extra good in that tight dress, that vi's a victim of insanity when your hair gets messy and you don't seem to care about it, skin glistening with sweat and this smile the boxer cannot erase from her mind, replaying it like a movie she overly-enjoyed.

you're dancing to the rhythm of the music, slightly drunk, already on cloud nine and through vi's gaze, it's enough to mesmerize her, following you around like a guard dog and preventing guys from trying their luck and get a way with you, she's not risking any chance.

"you look beautiful like this, when you have no worries stressing you out, and you're just enjoying" well fuck if that wasn't flirting, if that wasn't plain seduction fueled by the stupid amount of alcohol vi consumed, so at your smirk, it's a personal need; she needs to continue "always the hottest fucking girl around, do you have any idea of how hard is to get a grip around you?"

the song seems to pass to second place, transported to another dimension when you're pressing your back right against her chest and vi has the perfect path to just lean right against your ear, nose inhaling the scent of your skin, the cream you use that leaves a subtle shimmer down in your exposed shoulder and she's fucked: fucked, intoxicated, driven already by those guarded needs she keeps drowning deep underwater.

"quit fucking around," the whiskey burns in her throat, still in vi's tongue at the first warning, you're dancing against her, ass right against her jeans and the dress, that hell of a dress goes up with each movement and you don't seem to care enough like she does — "your dress- it's slipping up, gonna flash the whole club like this-"

"then pull it down," the way you say it's almost like a dare, and you love her attention, granting permission to vi's fingers who are quick to slip pass beneath the fabric, brushing against the skin of your sides as she's pulling it to her original state, keeping it there as it insists to fold right at your waist "can you keep it that way? help me out."

you know exactly what you're doing, rubbing yourself against her pants, breathing heavily as she keeps the fabric of your dress hooked in her fingers, a subtle way of pulling you closer against her, make you blatantly rest against her body.

the confidence comes up in this state and she just let it happen, sloppy kisses in your shoulder, vi can feel it against her lips as you make your hair to the side and you smile cause yes — you got her where you want to, hand in your thighs, fighting the urge to grab you by the waist cause it's not correct, you're friends and she values your company, the connection.

but vi's sinking in whiskey, and the way back home it's blurry by a cloud of necessity, impulses combined with a mass of lust at what it's now her worst behavior: she can't keep her hands off you, lingering on your waist, mumbling excuses about having to prevent you from falling, avoiding you from getting too far from her.

"you're not going to invite me back to your place?" you ask, resting against your door at just steps from her own, and vi's having trouble on finding the keyhole before suddenly freezing — "i'm drunk and i can fall too you know? a serious injury that could cost my life- and you won't even know."

it's a clear excuse, you both know it by then, and it makes vi laugh as she's resting her forehead against the wood, letting out an audible sigh soon after: she's doing so good so far. even when you tempted her with your worst, she didn't kissed you like she wanted to, didn't touch you any further even when you're rubbing your fucking ass against the front of her jeans, but having you alone back in her place? it's like asking to fuck with her patience.

"c'mere before i regret it" there's no sense to hide it when you stumble to her door, standing so close she can feel your chest brushing in her right arm, the soft fabric of your dress gently touching her skin as she opens the door and you're invading her once again; like you always fucking do.

you're like a force of nature, driving yourself like it's your place too. you grab her hand as she drags you to the kitchen, sitting in the counter as your legs swing in the air before vi's turning on the lights.

"you're going to kill me" you loudly say, using your hands to protect yourself from the white lights of the kitchen "turn it off- what are you doing?, we're vampires at this hour."

"vampires huh? who drink water after so much alcohol?"

"alcohol-sucking-vampires" you explain like it’s an obvious thing, tilting your head to the side as you watch her take the bottle of water she keeps in the fridge “we'd burn if you turn on the lights, and i won't burn by a kitchen lamp, not when you're near.”

so you’re hooking your finger in the carabiner vi wears in her pants, and her keychain tingles in the air as the only sound in the room, her breathing hitches back in her throat as you're pulling her between your legs, taking the water from her fingers before drinking from the bottle as you try to sober up with half the cold water.

“you okay there?” vi asks, refusing to look down to see the way your dress raises from over your upper thighs, she can already feel your naked legs closing around her waist and too afraid to act upon contained lust — “too drunk?”

“just perfect” it's enough to wash off the trails whiskey on her mouth, hands resting over the counter as all suddenly, vi's taking over your space, conquering the air you breathe as you rest against the white tiles of her kitchen wall behind your back and you seem aware now that there's no escape, nothing but the need to stay there, granting her the silent admission to keep going, wonder further in depth "are you too drunk?"

"maybe i am," it's not a lie, not when the alcohol travels down her blood and it makes vi's knee shake, when she's resting her weight in the counter, so close to you she can feel the warmth of the breathing that comes out of your parted lips "cause i feel that if you don't stop me, i'm going to start spiraling, and i don't want to fuck you here in my kitchen counter. turns me on- but it's impersonal for the first time i'm taking you."

the words roll of violet's tongue with an ease that scares, and when she realizes it, it's too late to take them back when you smile like you just won the damn lottery, this damn smirk she already knows from memory, that look you have when you get something you've been working hard for, an exam, her attention, her touch.

it's too much time being this miserable, too much time standing on her side of the room, keeping her thoughts in a glass that easily shatters with the slightest touch, so vi's allowing herself to surrender, let the guards in your body drive her to the the prisons of your soul, the maze in your heart she crosses with fire in her hands.

you're there. blending in her arms like the strangest material that sticks to her skin, making the limits go blurry cause she don't care now, they are nothing but a stone in your shoe; you're moving out and vi's already feeling a part of her missing, the need to hold you close before you disappear in her arms and never see you again.

the silk dress in her fingers is soft as it wrinkles following the form of your body, and vi wishes to be able to breathe underwater, have any sort of control over the chaos in her mind when she's sucking on your neck until her teeth marks you with a hickey she can see, like a proof she'll need to see tomorrow somehow, to believe all of it is real and not part of her dreams.

moans come out of your lips and that's what she's been missing out, the simple pleasures of life's she's been depraving herself from, her lips find a way to your jaw, working her way up in gentle touches, having you pressed against her body is simply not enough, not remotely sufficient.

"you taste so sweet," is it the whiskey on vi's voice? the soreness on her muscles after drinking so much? it does not matter at this point when her slender fingers grab your chin, angling upwards to meet her gaze "i swear, it's the greatest ambrosia from the gods."

you're not bulletproof, you can't resist the way her blue eyes search yours for a moment like she's studying any sign of regret in your eyes, dilated irises, it's you the very first who stole the kiss, the contact already clumsy, full of teeth and a constant fight, a need for control, demand and get more in response.

inebriates her to the touch, like lsd melting on her tongue to blend within her body; is it the whiskey? when your tongue pushes past her's and your chest graze against her own, vi's fingers sink in your hair to pull your head to the side and fucks sake, is it normal? how something so simple can feel so right?

it's the first kiss that gets vi on her knees already, the second, the third, the fourth: she loses count at that point, but it does not matter when your legs are wrapped around her waist impending any try of putting some space between you and her, when she can visibly notice the color of your panties she's been trying so fucking hard to guard the entire night.

"vi-" you manage to say, the sound of your voice give away so many details she's been overlooking, the raspy tone that wraps her own name — "vi. listen to me-"

"say that again" she asks, like an alcoholic ready for another drink — "violet this time, i need to hear it entirely."

"violet," you repeat, and she likes the way your tongue rolls in the syllables, didn't enjoy being called like that until that very moment when you're whispering it like it's a part of some important spell "listen to me-- i need you to tell me something."

"tell me, i'm hearing" she replies with simplicity as her hands finally raise your dress where it belonged the whole damn night, right over your waist as her hands close over the gloves of your ass and she's squeezing it tightly to prove her point "i can listen to you while i touch, tell me what's so important."

"it's about work, about what i do" she stops for a moment, looking down at you cause she couldn't care less now about the whiskey, the dizziness on her brain as she stares at your face "i should've told you sooner. i'm sorry okay? this escalated so quickly i didn't think we-."

nervous. you're nervous when you speak again and she just wishes to kiss you, make you understand that she don't really care about this whole cam-girl thing with actions more than words.

"i do, like- videos" you state, low like a secret you don't want anyone else to hear — "on my own, you know- well- cam-girl videos that's how i make so much money-- i let weirdos stare at me while i masturbate, pays good money and i get if you don't want to do anything, i needed you to know before uh-."

"you think that's going to make me not-fuck you?" she asks, genuinely interested in the answer "cause you do hot videos online?"

"have you watched them?"

"no, i haven't."

"either you're too polite to say it or a dinosaur when it comes to technology, cause i got a couple of videos blowing up in lesbian accounts on twitter and a bunch of subscribers thanks to that."

"cocky much aren't you? implying i must have seen it" — "you're that big of a deal here?"

"i'm not, i'm basing my data on actual numbers who back up what i'm saying" you try to prove your point rambling an absurd amount of words she don't really pay much attention to, pretty sure you're a top creator on that page of yours "are you even listening to me?"

"do you want me to see your videos?" she asks with new curiosity, blue eyes piercing yours and it's always a fight, a need for taking control and know who's surrendering first "is that what is all about? you want me to see your slutty masturbating sessions? what do you do hm? fuck yourself dumb enough to forget you're recording? got me curious now."

vi's nothing but impulses, kissing your cheek in a slow tender motion, fingers on your face that keeps you there, face pressed against her mouth as she feels your skin burn under her touch.

"i don't care about what you do," — "i only care if you want this too, peach. if you masturbate and record yourself, it's nothing but a huge, damn turn on."

so there it goes one more time like it wasn't enough the fist time, demanding kisses, needy touches to feed the monster inside vi's body: it does not matter, and the knowledge makes you the same it does to her, electricity coming up to your spine.

even when your lips are swollen it's not enough, not nearly proper to satisfy all her needs, but before you're even thinking about keep undressing yourself there this sound coming out from the hallway outside, and you stop before letting her kisses travel down to your collarbones, brows furrowing in curiosity.

"was that a meow?"

"damn fucking cat," vi curses out loud, rolling her eyes as she hides her face in the crook of your neck "gonna install sunshine a door at this point, she comes to sleep close to the window"

"well that's cute," you chuckle before vi's using her thumb to clean up the strings of saliva that connected you back to her mouth, swollen, red lips against her own "go on, don't leave her hanging, she comes to her safe place to rest."

it's physically difficult to remove herself from your body, cursing the way back to the front as the boxer's opening the door to find the small cat entering the apartment without even looking at her, quickly finding her way back to the window.

"is that the cat from 9D?" you ask when stepping out of the kitchen, looking at the cat already sleeping in her designated spot — "funny. i got a visitor like this too, but it's the black cat, rainbow."

"cat likes smart-asses, makes sense" vi teases to your offense before you're taking the bag you leave in the floor, looking out for your keys — "hey- i was joking, you leaving me?"

"i think, we both drink a lot tonight vi" you're right anyway, hangs heavy on her chest when realizing she still cannot feel the very tip of her fingers "and i want you to kiss me sober, touch and talk me like this when you remember me, us."

"i'm not that drunk-"

"come to my place tomorrow morning if you still think that way. i'll cure your hungover any way you want me to" the promise hangs in the air, and despite your words you kiss her again, because it's just another kiss, another one to the infinite you already gave her, lingering there and stinging in her skin like a constant reminder of the contact; quickly this time, soft unlike the needy ones dictated by alcohol "i don't want you to regret me. i need you on your four senses."

"tomorrow morning. i can do that."

she can't.

life would be awesome if violet vanderson wasn't a fucking pussy who can't knock on your door the next day since she's too embarrassed to show up out of nowhere: what if you don't remember anything? what if those kisses where nothing more than that? just kisses who are quickly forgotten?

being left alone with her own mind is dangerous, and karma's a bitch with her lately as vi's roughly pulled out of the car into the street and she's unable to hold her weight when falling into her knees, the cement scrapes her jeans as she can feel the blood already mixing up with gravel — "you owe us fucking big time, violet. we'll take it out of the prize from next week, do you understand?"

"yeah- fuck off."

she resists the urge to show them her middle fingers, the aching pain in her ribs being too intense to even raise her hand from over her shoulder as vi yawns in pain. she can endure the agonizing ache; the loneliness on the other side haunts her mind as she uses the doorknob to stand up, blood already coating her fingers as they press against her shoulder.

awful job. they did hell of fucking job on stitching her up this time: what fucking owing them big time were they talking about? she's climbing up step by step to the third floor, and vi's sure she's going to pass out any moment from now, crawling on her hands and knees — she's going to fucking puke at this point.

she deserves the treatment, this eviscerating cut to her ego, cause it's the second fight she loses now and fuck if it not affects her, not in the state she arrived to the complex; broken nose, injured shouldeer, she's almost surprised she's not bleeding internally. it's what she deserves for being this level of an asshole.

two weeks. what was she thinking when she began to avoid you? when she got scared to the point she's not acting out on her own feelings? when did she turned into this lame version of herself? this part violet don't recognize and now has to live with? not daring to see your face at any random moment of the day, avoiding you like you're the worst disease ever announced and she deserves it.

too good in learning your schedule, of course she's going to work hard in not seeing you, not cross you on the hallways by accident, not even in the morning by your running routines — and like everything before, it works. not seeing you it's medicine for the heart, a bandage of ignorance right to the eyes: what she cannot see, cannot possibly hurt her.

you moving out, leaving her behind: maybe put up some distance it's what she needs to do in order to survive, prevent her from gaining a broken heart, the embarrassment.

"don't sleep on me-" shit, when exactly did she passed out? your hand rub against her cheek as you keep talking to her, eyes open "violet. fucking wake up. don't fall asleep."

she can recognize the sound of your voice when talking to her, the way you seem to pull force out of nowhere as you're making her stand back on her feet, clumsy when you're walking back to your apartment without saying a word, physical effort as you close the door behind your back and you help her get to your bathroom.

"what happened-" you ask inspecting the bruises in her face under the accusing white light, and vi would like to say something, remark how she's fine even when she passed out thanks to the pain minutes before, but she cannot say much when a loud whine of pain escapes from her lips as your hands wonder around her figure looking for any wound "talk to me c'mon- how did you ended up like this?"

"the fight-" she manages to say before you're tossing her tank top to the floor, the black makeup only interfering with your work as you stare at the injury in her shoulder, a cut vi's sure she gained thanks to the pointy, metal brass knuckles her opponent hit her with, the bruises decorating the flesh like a damn universe of different kinds of pain; she'd be embarrassed of being so naked if not being so utterly in shambles.

"shit- you need to go to the hospital."

"no-" she's quickly to reply, too many questions she cannot answer honestly, don't want the authorities getting involved — "i checked out the most and it's already under control- 's this shitty thing in my shoulder- the stitches keep opening."

and violet's in no position to ask for anything, nothing at all when she's been so cruel to you, so distant even when you live at just footsteps, but she's looking at you with this eyes you already know, a pleading face you can't say no to as you're opening the med kit you keep in the bathroom shelf, shaky hands as you mumble something about not being a doctor, about not having any clue on what you're doing.

"look at me," the fighter asks, all that black painting only accentuating her blue gaze as you stare at her, not realizing your hands are being held down by vi's bandaged ones, keeping them steady over her chest, "i trust you. you just need to stop the bleeding. i know you got me."

works fine cause you take care of it, trembling hands, holding on your breath since you're victim of your nervousness, you seem to avoid her gaze so well vi knows, real as her current bellyache, that you're so mad at her you don't even want to look at her bruised face, tending the wound in a deadly silence as she's gaining more color now, better as your fingertips brush against her skin.

"thank you" you hate to hear it, the awkward small talk, her need to fill the silence "for helping me out."

"i don't want you dying on the floor, would be awkward if your ghost is bounded here."

it makes her laugh for a moment, the pain on her chest being a reminder of her poor state as she closes her eyes tightly trying to surpass the pain, the unexpected whine she let's out filling your bathroom walls as your digits press against the cut.

“you’ve been avoiding me,” vi cannot escape from the question now, struggling to breathe as she braces herself at the prospect of anger she deserves — "did you regret our kiss? is that why you're so ashamed of talking to me?”

"i don't-" even when her muscles are sore she's making an effort in denying your words, fingers covered in vi's blood; you're struggling just by breathing the same air "i thought you were going to forget- about me, of our kisses that night."

"do i look like i forgot?"

"let me finish," she insists, giving you a pleading look — "you taste like promises and warm words. like fire, me-- and the mouth is never mistaken. you're there, constant like the moon and the stars and it scares me a little, like i'm always in this ship and there's thick, dense fog surrounding it and sometimes you're the lighthouse guiding me back to safe land, but others you're the angry ocean and i don't know what to do about it. on the intensity of how i feel about you and your kisses, how you felt while holding you in my hands: seems like the only thing i can think lately since i last saw you drunk in my apartment are your damn moans, the face you give me when i said i wasn't going to fuck you in my kitchen counter, you."

"that's you didn't came?"

"guess i'm afraid," vi won't admit it before, won't admit it ever, the prospect of talking about her cowardice being similar to a mistake in her mind "you're leaving next week, and you'll forget about me and this place and i can't deal with that thought, not when you're on your best life and i'm stuck here losing fights, being damn miserable."

"you think i'll forgot about you?" — "that's your worrying?"

"it pisses me off, cause if affects me in a way you don't realize" vi's voice fill the bathroom walls for a moment, and you stop tending on her stitches for a minute; the color has returned to her cheeks, much better now as she barks the truth she guarded so secure — "you seem unbothered by it but i'm not okay with you leaving, with not having you at just inches from my bed- i get that you're winning more money, that this place sucks so much ass but you can't- you can't leave me behind."

"i would never do that to you," you reply in a low voice, and from the position you're in, right between her opened legs, you're kneeled in front of her to take care of injuries better, making vi aware of the way you're looking at her, much closer than you were in the kitchen as her shoulder does not matter now "this whole moving out thing- i'd never leave you behind, you're my best friend and shit- whenever i go, you do too."

"you say that now but what if-"

she cannot continue with the argument, not when you're carefully pressing your lips against hers and you're shutting her racing mind with a kiss; one that's different this time and makes her heart feel too small to endure the loud beatings it gave, sober, patient, vi notices the details that she missed out, the softness in your glossy lips, the taste of apple in your mouth, fresh breath as her hands tangle in your hair to make it impossible for you to seek any distance, any kind of air but what she can offer.

her shoulder hurts at the movements, but the pit fighter don't seem to care about any injury now when you're doing that thing you do that drives her crazy, how you steal kisses like they were yours to take since the beginning.

"stop that," you speak against her mouth "we don't live based on theories vi," — she likes the sound of your voice, that soothing way of talking to her when your eyes meet her's and your thumbs are following an invisible path in the sides of her face before talking again "it doesn't work like that, cause from the moment you threw bad jokes at the grill i can't get you out of my head and it's not that easy- i won't pull you out of my life like you're no one. i don't have much- people around me always leave and i'd never do that to you. not ever."

it's what she needed to hear, what the worms eating away her brain wanted to stop holding her hostage as you lean against her to steal another kiss: you're a thief a she'd let you steal them all without putting up a fight, all when they belonged to you.

"you're really important to me, violet" you admit, and the knot in her stomach tightens at the admission "not only as my neighbor, but as a friend, as the girl i like."

it hangs in the air for a moment, her personal fucking kryptonite to this point cause vi keeps the kisses coming even when they are similar to a fever in the middle of a flu, body tense, sick with tension she cannot get rid of when pushing you to her lap, the weight on her legs unexpectedly good, needed-

"hey- hold up you're injured and in no condition to do whatever you're trying to do here-"

"i'm okay, killjoy" she coos, even close to dying dramatically minutes before, vi's currently going through the strangest adrenaline rush, not even feeling her sore shoulder at this point — "you know i've never been here before in your apartment? it's very similar to mine, but like- the opposite version."

she stays silent for a moment, her lips move against yours but not for a kiss, instead it's a glance, a subtle and barely noticeable touch: "i thinks its a mystery how your life always seem to mirror mine so much."

"i'll make you a bath-"

"i mean it" vi continues on talking as you move around to turn on the water, sitting on the edge of the tub as you settle a warm temperature: she also needs the distance "this cat- what was his name? from 9D?"

"rainbow?"

"you get visits from rainbow, and sunshine's making my apartment her own" she reminds you, making you giggle momentarily — "you live in the apartment next door, my routines fit yours and i have to try- put up a lame show since i don't want to see you on the hallways cause i know the exact hours you leave for classes-"

"you know my routines?" shit. "what's your point with this, weirdo?"

"i mean, it's really obvious here," violet's pushing past her pain when straightening her back, still wrapped around dirty bandages that surely needs changing "i have this theory with a fair amount of proof, cause i think you were made for me, as much as i was made for you."

it's a normalized behavior she wants to keep, cause she likes this image of you when she's using her force to stole a new kiss, multiple ones she starts by giving you from the side of your face until she's touching the corner of your mouth with hers, invading your space like she's meant to do it, lips fitting so nicely against yours — you're sure she's right, that she has more than just proof to back up her words: you are made for her, she's made for you.

"the tub's ready."

"you're nervous" it's not a question but more like an observation as you move around, avoiding her gaze when you're too busy checking the temperature.

"i am," you admit in honesty, tongue travels down the inside of your cheek before adding "it's different. you're different- us."

"yeah?" vi's tone gives away her intentions by the time she's saying it — "tell me more about it, how different is this for you huh?"

"privacy, you need privacy. i'll leave you to undress and shower, is it okay if i get you some stuff to wear from your apartment?" it's so simple to make you like this, stumble over your words even when sober, cute rambles she's been missing the last weeks.

"sweetheart," vi's voice is tender, barely an audible whisper as she shakes her head in denial — "i can't shower alone. you know that."

"but i-" you try to calm yourself down as the vapor sticked to the mirror hanging on the wall, the intimacy vi’s been running from "i need to go find your clothes-"

"you don't have to" violet insists before her fingers begin to unwrap the bandages across her chest, face twitching with pain when making much effort in moving — "i want you to stay here with me. let me have this."

thing is you don't need convincing, not when she's stripping right in front of you, baring the lines of her muscles as you hold your breath for a moment: all this time being partly naked, you're fine with it until it takes a different turn, an unseen shade that got you looking to the floor for a moment when hearing the sound of the fabric falling into your vision field, the bandages that wrapped around her chest followed by a splash and the loud moan she lets out when entering the warm water.

"i won't spend more time without you," vi says from inside the tub, and it makes you malfunction for a long time, stay there for until you make sure you can hold your own weight when walking "please, sit here, stay close."

suddenly it's hard to snap out of it. the air's too hot at this point when she's panting the spot right next to her, looking up to you ready to beg and ask until you're granting her wishes. your heart beats so loud in your ear when you spot her smile only getting bigger as you sit down in the floor right next to the tub.

"tell me, do i look too fucked?" the bruised boxer asks when you're sitting close to her, back hitting the cold tiles as you're comfortably resting right on her side before turning to look, inspecting her face. there's a bruise right under her eye, creeping up to the side of her nose, slip lip, the wound in her eyebrow is closed with fake stitches but it's getting swollen now under the lights of rationality.

"no" it's a simple answer, even when violet looks like she's been paying visits to hell lately, you can't help it when your eyes follow the features of her face, the ring piercing on her nose, the freckles carefully placed over the middle section — she looks stupidly good even when she's at her worst, so your eyes roam against her naked figure in response, her bruised skin now hugged by a comforting warm, making her shiver case she can feel the weight of your gaze, the goosebumps that made her body move involuntarily "no, you don't look fucked."

"get in with me."

vi's as serious as she can be, and it's the kisses that win you over; her way of making you do stuff cause her lips are pressed against your own and it's like the greatest delight ever created.

"please get in with me" she asks again, cause vi wont forgot; she won't let go of the moment as her wet hands close around your neck and the drips of water are soaking through your shirt — "i need you so much closer, please."

even when there's a clear separation between her body and yours, her hands look past it when they're soaking through your pajama, the coldness from her hands as they touch your body like it's holy, wetting everything behind.

"the tub's too small" you try to be intelligent for a moment, a difficult task when she's placing the most gentle kisses in your neck "and your shoulder- i don't think it's a good idea."

"i swear to you if you mention my shoulder one more time-" to be fair, it's hard to think about a threat that's good enough to make you stop as you’re grabbing the sides of your shirt to toss it from over your head, close to the bandages in the floor, it got vi staring at your tits for a while, the lack of bra since you were probably sleeping before she came in like a hurricane really handy.

"you what?" you insist, wanting her to complete the sentence. little fucking tease mocking at vi's words while her hands tug on your shorts, the only thing preventing her from getting you inside — "gonna stop kissing me like you do? leave me hanging?"

"no," she would never mention it even, rolling her eyes in defeat "i have nothing to threat you with, cause all that i got is yours already- you know that well."

it's a composition, a testament as vi's hands roam against your exposed chest, fingers tugging on your nipples before your pants are falling to the floor in a disaster you want to happen, and the intimacy is there before ever undressing, in the vapor and the hot water as you make no sound in entering the water.

"too far," vi protests as you try to sit in the other side of tub, swiftly pulling you upwards just to make you glide against the water so you can rest in her chest, and she winces, a loud sound of discomfort as she moves you enough to not be resting over the bruises in her rib, that spot she knows it's sensitive — "don't move if you want me to keep living."

"fucking insane," it's impossible to try and argue as your chest is already pressed against her's and it turns very complicated to even think about enough reasons to leave the bathroom "the idea of a bath is for you to relax vi, not to have me crushing you."

"what if i want you to crush me?" she wonders as her hand travels down the line on your spine, the skin that's so soft in her fingers as she takes your hair out of the way, the strands out of your neck. vi takes her time in doing so, on treating you like you deserve when she's nibbling on your neck, holding you against her cause there's no pain enough to prevent violet from taking what she wants "do you understand? how fucked you got me? i'm already in pieces hoping you'll put my skin together with your love."

her words cut deep, deeper than any ache as they settle in your heart, you seem to be in sync with her, heartbeats that mix up like a lullaby and breathings that took turns; her chest expands when yours constricts in a silent organization, and it's good. your hair's getting wet, and vi's hand squeeze your ass with a controlled force. you belong there.

"let me touch you," she asks, her hand seems to grow curious by the seconds as vi pants your upper thigh and you seem to get the memo so you're finally straddling her, legs on each side as the water settles down to the level of your belly and she's looking at the skin already covered in drips with a tangible need — "i'll beg if you want me to- i need to have you."

she’s gentle, a need to show you how much she cares about you, how she needs you close, know more about your days. the words find their own way out of her mouth when vi’s admitting against your ear how much she missed you, the times she had imagined that very same scene in the darkness of her room, infinite fantasies that always resume around the same, this face of mischief when you're climbing up from the edge of the bed to sit down on her just like you are in that moment, tangled hair, her fingers make you shiver when they're touching so skillful.

just the same, you're in the perfect place to- worship you, and vi does so when her she's using a hand to make you bend against her mouth so your chest is exposed right to her face and that's what life must be about from now on: pleasing you. making your hair to the side, vi wonders for a moment if she fainted again, this time inside her supposedly relaxing bath.

a happy death, she wants a happy death, so violet vanderson wishes not to be awaken if so. let her die. let her experience an afterlife where she finally gets what she wants, where things go her way. it's an illusion, maybe a fantasy you're indulging like when you bought her drink after drink the night she went out with you, an abysmal difference now as your hand guides her own to you inner thighs.

vi wishes to imprint her fingerprints in your flesh, groping with enough force to make you gasp. she wishes to comply and do good cause she can do so much for you it's making her insane, hard to think in anything else when she has you like this, using a couple of fingers to rub on your clit already greedy for attention, depraved from her touch for too long.

"mmf-what the actual-fuck," the words slur together like a muffled sound when you're biting on your inner cheek — "shit that's so good."

the water moves with you when your hips do so, splashes at the movement before you're raising yourself from above it, leaking against her hand as her fingers push against your entrance, desperate to give you something to hold on to, push further.

vi's teeth pull on your hard nipple, a rough tug that it's delicious as her fingers work their way inside your cunt, wreathed by your pulsating walls who wishes to drag her further inside. knuckles deep, the pit fighter can feel the sting of pure pain when her fingers thrust inside you, the nervous endings pulling on her shoulder wound.

"ride me," she ask when your eyes dart out to her wound, caring about her even when you're drunk in a state vi wishes to see more than ever, nodding as you move against the palm of her hand — "there you go, i'm yours to use. you already know i'm yours to take."

"fuck vi-"

maybe the tub it's the least of the places that this should be happening, the space is to small, uncomfortable, induces to clumsy sex, yet when vi fucks- it's different. you’ve never been fucked like this by just two damn fingers, so devastating, overwhelming like she’s surpassing every barrier you've put out there with effortless grace until she’s there, under your skin, claiming each part of your body when it belongs to her.

“you’re gripping me so tight” vi gulps already feeling heady. a lewd sound filling the bathroom walls as her fingers move with vigorous force, slippery cunt as they curl right where you need her to be “fucking you with the strap must be hell of a ride huh? gonna have to prepare you every time.”

“m’so close-” you state, and she’s nodding at your words, brows furrowing together in understanding, a wish to get you there at any cost — “please vi- please.”

you’re begging even when you’re not sure why for, the mount of her hand hitting against your clit as your tits bounce on each movement you give on top of her, making vi absorbed by the sight, the marks she left on your skin, how you’re making the biggest effort on fucking yourself to oblivion.

“so full of my fingers, i know you’re gonna cum baby” she uses a coaxing tone to speak, only making you even more debased than you already are at her gentle words “let me feel you soaking up my hand- you’ve been doing so good already.”

you’re talking nonsense. an slobbering mess when your body stiffens at the impending release you’ve been holding before it finally coates down vi’s fingers, dripping down to the water in a nasty mix the pink-haired don’t mind as she keeps working you through it.

“make it last baby,” she says pulling you into a kiss, tongue plunging against yours in a salty kiss, swallowing your loud moans — “you have the sluttiest cum-face i’ve ever see huh? those little uh’s- i get why people pay, you’re fucking addictive.”

the comment makes you giggle even when you’re tired, sultry look when vi’s sucking on her own fingers, tasting the release that still makes them shine under the light.

“thanks for being so good to me, so kind with all of this- i know it’s not normal” you reply, big eyes staring at vi’s blue hues before leaving soft pecks in the valley of her chest “you make it hard not to fall for you.”

"there’s no need to thank me, peach” — “never saw your videos, but you are indeed, very popular on twitter. i did saw a censored photo back then.”

"and you never saw anything else?"

“no, i want you to cum because of me for the first time i’m seeing you” vi replies, simple and quick “not on a phone or laptop screen, but here against my skin, flesh and bones.”

“when did you find out?”

“before the grill? i dunno i was trying to be polite, i would hate to make you feel uncomfortable, it wasn’t my intention at all.”

“that’s months ago” you playfully hit her in her sane shoulder, earning a whine on her behalf — “and you resisted all this time?”

“i wanted to respect your privacy- i got curious about you way before twitter so again, privacy s’important.”

“privacy- i’m doing porn and you think about my privacy, sweet jesus i’m gonna eat you alive” your words makes her blush as you stay silent for a while before you’re looking up to her, the water’s already cold and wrinkling in her skin before you add with the biggest smile vi has ever seen — “i think you stay tonight, really. we have some movies to catch on, science purposes.”

you’re kissing her until vi’s lips are red and sore before standing up and her shoulder’s fine. the stitches are fine. it’s a long nite and vi will have no trouble to survive, despite her usual negative way of seeing things; she’s staying positive this time.

for science purposes.

"you can take it," vi whispers as pushes deeper inside you, the perfect view of your drenched pussy taking her in, opening for the intrusion — "it's okay- make room for me you're doing so fucking good."

the sound of your moans mixes with the sounds on her phone speaker, the image of you spread against a wood desk collapsing her brain as you're there, in her screen while you're rubbing this fuck-doll against your cunt and you're so wet as you show yourself to the camera, it makes vi moan as she spreads your ass-cheeks further apart, using the same grip to pull you against the strap.

"take your time, beautiful" she says as a hand slaps the flesh of your back rear until it's red, fingers marking on the flesh before she's moving slightly, only to tease your reaction with her nestled inside "weren't you so cocky before? saying you can take massive cock like a regular tuesday?"

you're begging in the video, crying to be stuffed and it's not a distant view from what she has already, forehead pressed against the king-sized mattress, your breathing gets shallow when vi's pulling out almost entirely just to slam it back in, making your legs shake. it hits all the right places, tingles against her cervix as you present yourself to her like a christmas-fucking-gift. ready to be discovered.

"you feeling good?" her words are so kind even when her fingers are pulling on your hair, making your head backwards with a force that makes you get high on lust, nodding at her insistence as she keeps hitting it from behind.

"yes-" you struggle to respond for a moment, voice like you've been hitting the gym with hell of a cardio routine "fuck yes- yes do your fucking worst, please."

the bed creeks, the headboard smashes against the wall but vi cannot bring herself to care at the loud sounds you two make. her hips piston in a deliberate fast pace, and the sound of your skin smacking against hers makes her head spin; the sight of you rubbing your aching cunt in a recorded video goes so well with the one of your pussy wrapped up around vi's cook, already hanging on by a thread.

"look at that pretty pussy, the camera does not make you justice enough" she praises, pounding faster, deeper as she's making you watch the video with her, eyes glued as her fingers hold your face close to the screen — "all shaped up to take my fingers, my cock, my tongue-"

and your relationship with vi's always there in the site itself, making sure of commenting on each video, appear on every livestream asking you to go faster, deeper, moan out her name louder than the rest: when someone buys a pair of your underwear? she's there to make a mess with it, take the photos in seductive lingerie she fucks you in after, your girl next door, your formal neighbor who now invades your apartment most days of the week claiming she's tired of the orange chicken smell.

it's a routine you grow fond of: dates, messages, movies, music, fun, fucking, kiss, cuddle, showers, love.

violet vanderson's having the best year of her life when powder's parking the car in front of the building— she's moving in again, but this time? it's your apartment.

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whocaresstillthelouvre · 1 year ago

Text

Fifteen Minutes

Din Djarin x Cam Girl Reader AU

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: Being a cam girl isn't as exciting as people think it is, that is until a mystery of a deep voiced man asks you what makes a woman feel good. Warnings: Smut, mutual masturbation, voyeurism, sex work, Din reveals his face, silver dildo, Din's a virgin, premature ejaculation. Banner has nothing to do with appearance of reader, reader has no physical descriptors besides being AFAB. Words: 4,360 Author Note: Happy May the 4th, tell me why I spent all tonight writing this?

Fifteen Masterlst Masterlist

— —

THEWAY would like to chat. Accept?

$150 for fifteen minutes of staring at someone’s dick, of course you’re going to take it. Usually these calls consist of you rubbing your body and complimenting men you’d never even speak to while you try to recall if you remembered to order caesar dressing with your dinner. You look around your room, you have nothing else to do, your delivery won’t be here for another twenty minutes… you hit accept.

“Hi babe, how are you tonight?” You smile into the camera, the smile your customers love, sultry bedroom eyes and a small grin.

“…Good,” he breathes out.

Oh, his voice. You only see a black shirt… nothing else, but that voice is enough for you.

“Tell me, have you done this before?”

“…No. My first time.”

“Alright, so you have fifteen minutes with me, once the timer is up we’re done and I disconnect. You’re allowed to touch yourself and I will watch you, I will do what you tell me to do within my own comfort, if I choose to end the call because I don’t feel right, then you will be billed the whole amount. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, great. Just so I know what you want before we start what are you interested in tonight?”

“I’d like to watch you and learn.”

“Learn?”

“Yes, learn, I-I,” he sighs, “I’ve never been with anybody before.”

“Oh.” With that voice? You don’t know what he looks like, but his voice has already turned you on so much you can’t imagine somebody who sounds like that is a virgin. You turn the volume all the way up. “So, you want me to show you what girls like?”

“What a girl like you likes, yes.”

“I can do that for you. I’m going to start the timer now.”

You know this feeling, the click of the mouse on the green BEGIN button, the lean back to get your body in the whole frame, the spreading of your legs to show your viewer what they really want to see.

“What do you want me to show baby?” You ask as you run your hand along your neck and down to your breasts.

“Show me what you like when someone has you.”

How are you so turned on by his voice? The way it flows through your speakers, the deep baritone of his serious voice, it does something to you… and it’s just a voice.

“I like when a guy plays with my nipples,” your hands cup your breasts, pulling and massaging them into peaks. “I like when they lick them,” you dribble spit down to your chest, swiping your fingers through it and spreading it across your chest.

His long exhale massages your body through those damn tinny speakers. Usually by now your screen is full of your client’s dick, you’ve become very good at staring at the camera, ignoring the tugging and actions on the screen in your peripheral vision. This time, that voice makes you wish you could see him.

“I like when they drag their hands all over my body,” your hand travels down your stomach to your thighs and back up.

“I like when they tell me they want to touch my body. Do you want to touch my body?”

“Y-yes.”

“What do you want to touch?”

“E-everywhere, you look like you’re so soft. I want to touch your legs, they look so smooth.”

“I’d like that,” you smile at the camera, “do you want me to touch my pussy for you?”

“Uh huh.”

You lay back, spreading your legs wide, dipping your hand down to pet yourself. You’re not surprised to find that you’re already wet, the mysterious man’s deep voice mixed with the desolate black screen and the sight of his black shirt moving as he breathes is enough for you.

You wonder how old he is, what he looks like, why he chose your room, why he’s obviously not touching himself. He’s a mystery you want to figure out. You welcome the luxury of not having to pretend you like what you see. You like knowing that this total stranger is sitting in a dark room only focusing on you.

You rub a finger against your clit, your hips rising at the feel of the pressure against your sensitive nub.

“I like when they can feel how wet they make me.” You glue your eyes to the camera letting out a moan while your finger teases your clit. “I like when they dip a finger in my cunt and bring my juices up to my clit. Feels really good as they rub me with my wet.”

Your finger dips down to your entrance, sliding it into yourself. “Ohh baby, I am so wet for you,” you moan as you begin to fuck yourself.

Your other hand begins its descent down your body until it reaches your pussy. It works over your clit as you fuck yourself slowly, your cunt already clenching around your singular finger.

You’re so turned on right now, the excitement of this black screen, the knowledge that he picked your picture and trusts you to show him what makes you feel good.

“You’re pretty quiet over there, you good?”

“Y-yes. I like watching you.”

“Why’d you choose me?” you slip another finger in with a moan. “Couldn’t you just have watched a video?”

“I wanted to see it for real. Is it for real?”

“With you, yes.”

You don’t know what it is about his voice. Why are you getting off on the mystery?

“Are you touching yourself?” You never have to, nor want to, ask, but you want to know this time.

“No,” he sighs, “I want to focus, I don’t want any distractions.”

“Okay, that’s okay baby,” you give him an understanding smile as you begin canting your hips up to pump yourself harder.

Five minute warning. The red box pops up on the screen. You’re too focused on your bliss to close the warning. You’re always so good at turning off the video vixen and going right into businesswoman mode but tonight, you just want to make this stranger feel satisfied.

“I really like it when my pussy is stuffed with a cock, I love feeling the stretch and I love when my hole is stuffed so full.”

You hear his deep groan. You can’t hide the smile on your face.

“Ohhh, you liked that didn’t you? How would you take me if you were here with me? Let me know baby, tell me.”

“I-I’d want to fuck you as I looked in your eyes, you have beautiful eyes and lips, I want to kiss you while I fuck you.”

“Oh,” a chill blooms through your body at how gentle his words are. Most men are crass and too forthcoming with their fantasies, never soft, most of their answers just turn into white noise. His answer is going to stay with you. “I like when a guy wants me to cum all over their cock, I love the feeling of my cunt pumping around a hard cock as I orgasm. I’m close, do you want me to cum for you?”

“Please, yes.”

His voice, you can’t stress this enough, his voice is so fucking hot. Your body begins to feel feverish as the loud squelch of your fingers working your cunt faster and harder gets louder. You hardly ever cum during these sessions, especially when you use just your hands, needless to say, you’re really good at pretending.

You love your job, you really do, it allows so much freedom and pays well, but some nights are so monotonous and boring. Tonight seemed like one of those nights, until you accepted this call. Tonight you’re going to cum.

Your orgasm hits you hard, back arching, limbs tightening, eyes fluttering as a rush of slick soaks your fingers. You pant for air as you come down, slipping your fingers out and resting a hand on your chest.

The countdown begins in the corner of your screen 60, 59, 58…

“Time’s about up,” you whisper as you sit up, “I hope I helped you.”

“Y-you did. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you smile. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t.”

He disconnects.

Your account shows $250 extra. He’s an excellent tipper and you actually came for him. You really love your job tonight.

——

THEWAY would like to chat. Accept?

The way, the way, the way. You’ve thought about him for the past week, wondering if he joined any other room, if he chose someone else over you. All you know about him is he owns a black shirt and has never been with anybody… and yet you’ve thought about him every single day since. Have you crossed his mind? You sure hope so because he picked you again tonight. Your heart beats faster as you try to hide the smile when you hit the accept button.

“Hi again,” you grin.

This time there’s a light on behind him, you can just make out the broadness of his shoulders, really fucking broad, he’s in a black shirt again, but thanks to the light you can see he has golden skin.

“Hi, it’s nice to see you," he shyly says.

Goodness you’re so thankful for that light, you can see the way his chest moves when he talks. There’s tiny peek of his toned neck at the top of the screen, you pray he dips lower exposing his face. His voice is just how you remembered it, low and bassy, you’re already getting wet at the anticipation of hearing more.

“I can see a little more of you now,” you wink, “I like it.”

“Heh,” he chuckles, it's the first time you’ve heard him laugh. His hand comes into frame and scratches his chest. It’s beautiful and large, his fingers are thick, you wonder what they’d feel like against your skin.

“I have to give you the same spiel even though you’re a repeat. Once again, you have fifteen minutes with me once it’s up, I disconnect. Please feel free to touch yourself for me and I’ll do what you want as long as I am okay with it. I’ll hang up if I don’t feel comfortable. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“Wonderful. Are you going to touch yourself for me tonight?”

“Uh, n-no, not yet.”

“That’s okay, I’m happy to do the work for you. You want me to use my hands, or do you want me to use a toy?”

“Do you have anything shaped like a-a—uh, a—“

“A dick?”

“Yeah.”

“I do. You want to watch me fuck myself with a cock?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I’ll grab my favorite one just for you.”

You roll over and pick up your “briefcase” of sex toys, grabbing your favorite, the silver toned dildo. It’s thick, it vibrates, and it fits your cunt just right.

“Is this what you want to watch me fuck myself with?”

“Ye—“ he clears his throat. “God, yes.”

You giggle. “Okay, I’m starting the timer now.”

You tap the button. Fifteen minutes of him.

“What do you want from me baby? You want to see how this cock looks in my mouth?”

“Yes,” he strangles out.

“You want me to pretend it’s your cock?”

“Fuck, yes.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“L-lick it.”

You smile, leaning closer to the camera as you bring the dildo up to your lips, sticking your tongue out and swirling it around the tip, your eyes focused on the screen, not the camera… the screen. You want another glimpse of his skin.

“Mm, wish I could taste you. You think you’re leaking for me right now baby?”

You lick a line down to the base and back up.

“I bet you’re so warm and soft there,” you whisper against the tip before opening your mouth and sucking it. You hollow your cheeks as you take the dildo in deeper, eyes widening and tearing as it hits the back of your throat.

“Fuuuuck,” he leans back farther in his chair his chin comes into sight, well trimmed facial hair, strong chin, you know he has to be beautiful.

You can’t stop looking at him, you don’t even know his name, where he lives, what he does, why in the hell he’s still a virgin.

Drool escapes your lips as you fuck your mouth moaning around the silver latex.

Most of the time this job isn’t the greatest, you usually find yourself going through the motions, moving on to the next client, the next responsibility. Sure, sometimes you really connect with a watcher, sometimes you look forward to the name appearing knowing you’ll actually really enjoy the session, but most of the time, you deal and move on. It’s business. Sure as hell beats sitting in a cubicle. With this stranger, this puzzle you’re slowly figuring out? You love your job.

“Want to see my pussy take this cock now baby?”

“Please.”

You nod, leaning back and spreading your legs open.

“Do you feel safe telling me your name? I want to say your name as I get fucked by your cock.”

“Ye—fuck yes. It’s Din.”

“Diiiiiiin,” you moan, as you begin to pump the silver cock in and out of you. It moves smoothly, you’re soaking wet for him, only due to his voice and whatever sights the light of the lamp wants to bless you with.

Din. Three letters. Simple. Direct. Unique. Strong.

“Oh Din, you feel so good in me baby, like how I take your cock? Tell me baby, talk to me, I want to hear you.”

“Yes. God, you’re so beautiful.”

“You’re so big, you’re stinging me so good. You like how my pussy looks stretched around you?”

“Yes, I-I do.”

“I feel desperate, so desperate for you. I love how you feel inside me. What are you looking at baby? Can’t see your eyes, what are you watching me do right now? Where are you focused?”

“On your face. I like watching the way you bite your lip as you f-fuck yourself.”

God, he still sound so nervous. So new. He can’t be too young, not with that body.

“What color eyes do you have, Din?”

“Brown, b-brown eyes.”

“Mm, I like brown eyes, I bet you’re real handsome all brown eyed and tan skin. Now, have those brown eyes watch my pussy baby, watch how I take you. You can look at my face as I cum for you, Din. Right now I want you to look at my cunt. Are you hard for me Din? Are you as hard as the cock I’m fucking myself with?’

“Yes.”

The five minute warning box shows up again, this time it’s your nemesis that you ignore.

“Do you imagine a pussy as wet as mine when you get yourself off?”

“Y-yes.”

“Did you make yourself cum after our last session?”

“Yes,” he chokes out, “right after, I-I jerked off.”

“Did you think about me?” Your voice coming out with more curiosity than you’d like.

“I did, and every time since.”

Your body shivers from his words, “That’s a good boy Din, I like that,” you smile as your hips raise off the bed to meet your quickening thrusts fucking yourself harder.

He groans, long and low.

“I’m going to cum for you, Din,” you pant. ”I’m going to cum on your cock and then I’m going to lick myself up off of you, okay?”

“Fuck, yes.”

You chant Din’s name as you pound your pussy, tingles shooting through you as you orgasm. You haven’t cum like this on camera in a long time. It’s devastating that not every one of your clients can be Din.

You stretch your limbs out as you come down from your climax.

“God damn,” you giggle, “that was really fucking good.”

You slowly take the dildo out and bring it to your lips, raising your eyebrow at him and resting the tip against your lips.

“Yes, please, yes,” he growls.

You lick yourself off the silver latex, sucking your juices from the top, smiling as your mouth forms around it.

“Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck,” Din’s voice edges you on.

“Mmm, Din, I taste so good, look how fucking shiny I made your dick.”

“Goooooood, fuck,” he pants, “you’re so pretty, fuck. Fuck, I-I-I I’m going to cum.”

The one minute countdown shows up at the worst time. You quickly lean forward and hit IGNORE, DO NOT CHARGE EXTRA.

“Cum for me Din, cum for me,” you try to disguise your prideful smile behind the silver dildo.

The groans he lets out as he cums, the way his neck stretches as he angles his head up… it’s all you get, but it’s enough to keep you thinking about him at any chance you get.

Sometimes a self esteem boost can be as simple as somebody complimenting your shoes or an attractive person giving you a friendly nod… this boost isn’t nearly as simple. Din just came in his pants just for you, without even touching himself.

“I’ve never done that, sorry,” his voice dripping with shame.

“No, Din, baby, no. I really liked it. A lot. I’m glad I could make you feel that way. Really.”

“You’re really… sweet, you know that?”

“I suppose I can be. Depends on the person,” you wink.

“I—uh, think I’m over my time.”

“You are, but I’m not going to charge you for it.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course. Don’t be a stranger, Din.”

“I won’t.”

He disconnects. You lay back on your bed and grin at your ceiling.

——

THEWAY would like to chat. Accept?

“Din,” you smile as the familiar black shirt appears on your screen. Thank god, the lamp is on. “It’s only been three days.”

“I know, I-I wanted to see you.”

“That’s good, I wanted to see you too.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you these past few days,” he pauses, “I’m sorry, i-is that okay?”

“Oh, of course it is. I’ve thought about you too baby.”

“You say that for everyone?”

“I do, but this time I mean it. Now, you know I have to give you the same base instructions. Fifteen minutes and then I disconnect. You can touch yourself, I’ll do what you want as long as I am okay with it. I’ll hang up if I don’t feel right. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“Good, so what do you want tonight?”

“Yeah, I, uh, want to um—will you watch me tonight?”

“Of course baby, I’d be happy to.”

“Okay, yeah, thanks.”

You shake your head and laugh. “No need to thank me, I’m always happy to help you. I was really happy to see your name. So you want me to watch you tonight? Do you want me to do anything else for you?”

“Just, touch yourself and talk to me like you do. I-I’ve never done something like this, nobody has ev—nobody’s seen me like this before.”

He sounds so fragile, you want to take care of him.

“You want me to use a toy or my hand?”

“Just your hand.”

“Okay baby, I’ll use my hand. I’ll start the timer.” You softly whisper the last part, trying to ignore that at the end of the day he’s is just your client.

He moves the computer farther away, new views are unlocked. His stomach, his crotch, his thick thighs all clad in black.

You click the start timer button. Fifteen minutes left of this view. Fifteen minutes left of Din.

You lean back and spread your legs to show him your already wet cunt.

“Want me to play with my pussy for you? Get you nice and hard so you can fuck yourself until you cum for me?”

“Yes,” he hisses. His hand moves down to grip his crotch.

Fuck, that sends a wave of pleasure through your body as one of your hands spreads your folds wide open.

“Do you see how fucking wet I am Din? How turned on I am by you, I don’t even know how you look, but you drive me crazy.”

He groans as he squeezes his bulge.

“I love how you groan, I wish I could feel it against my pussy while you eat me. I bet you’d lick me so well.”

“I want to taste you, fuck.”

“I want you to test me too. Now, go ahead, take your shirt and pants off. I want to see the rest of you.”

He quickly removes his shirt. God damnit, he’s perfect. Tan chest, tan stomach, the perfect amount of hair running from his chest to his stomach, down to where he’s currently unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. You can’t believe your eyes, as he lifts his hips to move the fabric down. Everything about him is big and strong. Lean, but filled out in all the right places. Strong and soft. How the fuck is he still a virgin? Your mouth waters at the sight of his erection now barely hiding behind the thin black fabric of his briefs.

“Din,” you begin to rub circles around your clit, happy for the pressure, “you look so good for me, let me see your cock. Let me stare at it, you want me to see your cock?”

“Yes.”

He’s such a man of few words, you love it. His words are simple, straightforward, efficient, just like his name. Din.

He pulls his boxers down, his cock springs up. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He’s rock hard, pulsing, golden toned, leaking from the tip, all surrounded by dark brown hair, you knew he had dark hair. He’s HUGE.

“Din, you’re fucking beautiful baby, I can’t believe it,” you gasp. “Fuck yourself for me, I can’t wait to see you cum all over your beautiful skin for me.”

His fist wraps around his shaft, you’ve seen some pretty hot things in your line of work. You’ve had some really attractive clients call in, but right now? Right now is the hottest thing you’ve ever been blessed to witness. Din stroking his cock for you, watching his stomach move with each breath he takes. You’re too focused on him to realize your finger has been paused on your clit since he first unsheathed his cock.

“Fuck, Din, you’re making me forget what I’m doing, you look so good. I can’t believe it.”

He groans, his grip tightens at the tip as he fucks himself.

“Something about seeing you like this, hearing you moan and groan for me,” your finger runs a line back and forth between your hole and your clit. “It just does something to me. It’s so fucking sexy.”

He lets out a strangled grunt raising his hips and pumping his hand faster, “I-I don’t think I’m going to last long.”

“That’s good baby, watching you is already making me want to fucking cum,” you stick two fingers in, your cunt already fluttering around them.

“Wh-what would you do if I was with you right now fu—fucking you?”

“I’d kiss you,” your other hand travels down to begin circling around your clit, “I’d kiss your strong neck, I’d lick into your mouth and taste you. Wrap my hands around your big arms and hold on as your big cock destroys my pussy.”

“Goddddd,” he whimpers, “I-I’d like that.” His hand becoming a blur on your screen as he strokes quicker.

The stupid five minute warning pop up shows up. You’re getting real good at ignoring it with him.

“You like that I’m about to cum on your cock? You really do something to me Din, I can’t believe how quick and hard you make me cum.”

His hips begin bucking into his first, the chair he’s on squeaking as he rapidly moves up and down. You love hearing the sound of him fucking himself mixed with the sound of you fucking yourself.

“I’m going to cum baby,” he grunts, he called you baby.

Your eyes widen as you watch him spurt white ropes of his cum all over his stomach and thighs. There’s so much.

Your cunt begins to spasm around your fingers as your climax crashes through you.

“Din, you feel so good. You came so good,” you gasp as you orgasm, trying to keep your shaking legs wide for him to watch. You pant for air as you get your bearings back, you’re obsessed with how this comedown feels.

“That was amazing Din,” you smile, “not to be too forward, which is a funny thing to say right now, but you look really good.”

“Wow,” he laughs, “thank you. I feel the same way about you.” Your smile widens, you bet his face is so handsome when he laughs.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how in the hell are you a virgin with a dick like that?”

“Some weird religion stuff… I’m no longer a part of. Long story, maybe one day I’ll tell you.”

“I’d like that.”

The one minute timer shows its ugly head.

“Fuck, we have a minute left,” you frown. “I, uh, would you take my number?” Now it’s your turn to feel nervous.

“Y-yes. Sure.”

You lean forward and type your number into the chat box.

“Please call me here next time you want to… talk with me.”

“I will.”

“Don’t be a stranger, Din.”

“I won’t.”

He disconnects.

——

DIN DJARIN WANTS TO FACETIME

You almost drop your phone at the name. Goosebumps break out across your skin, your heart begins to beat loudly against your chest. You click accept, and this time you really almost drop your phone.

His face, you knew it… he’s beautiful.

“Hi,” he shyly smiles.

“Hi. Y-you’re gorgeous?”

He laughs, his big brown eyes disappearing behind the crinkles of his eyes. “If you say so.”

“I do. I’m so glad you called me.”

“I am too,” his smile is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

Sometimes you love your job, especially when it brings someone like Din Djarin into your life.

___

Hi! Here's the next installment for these two. Fifteen Weeks

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studioeisa · 5 months ago