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hivemuthur · 4 months ago

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Drugs in Our Body | Reader Version

viktorxfemale!reader AU university, AU modern era, recreational drug use, smut-adjacent (but really was aimed more at sensual)

word count: 5,4K

summary: A self-indulgent one-shot of Viktor and Reader going through a high together and ending up all tangled up, touchy, kissy, breathy, so on and so forth. I might or might not have written Viktor into my core memory from uni.

Cross-posted on AO3 + POV3rd Person Version

—

It had been going so well. You’d managed to sneak out of the third floor, enjoy a solitary elevator ride up to your dorm room, and avoid bumping into anyone. A quick stop at the only working vending machine in the building had earned you a packet of honey peanuts—your second small victory of the night. Shoving a tiny packet with white powdery leftovers into the nobody-knows-what-it’s-for pocket of your jeans, you quietly unlocked the door and slipped into the darkness of your bedroom.

Sue, your roommate, was off campus for the weekend, and the relief of having the room to yourself was palpable. All that was left was to rid yourself of the constricting clothes and underwear in favour of her freshly laundered favourite pyjamas. Mission accomplished.

You were just pulling on your shorts when a soft, methodical knock echoed through the silence.

Shit.

Your first instinct was to ignore it. There was absolutely no way anyone could have seen you—you’d made sure of it. This was a very serious mission, and you had accomplished it with meticulous care. You could definitely just pretend you weren’t there.

“I know you’re in there,” a voice with an undercurrent of amusement—and the accent—called through the door, slipping straight into the soft spot in your brain. Your current state of unfiltered contentment only magnified its effect, sending warm waves through your body.

Barefoot, your steps silent, you padded to the door and cracked it open. The fluorescent lights of the dormitory corridor immediately assaulted your eyes, and you let out an involuntary whine. Standing there, bathed in the harsh glow like some caricature of a holy figure, was Viktor.

“Need something?” you asked, squinting at him painfully.

He was dressed in sweatpants and an oversized green jumper, the hem of a white T-shirt peeking out at the collar. Leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe, his hands rested on his cane, one eyebrow raised, his lips curled into a knowing smile.

“How inconspicuous do you think you are?” he asked, smugness radiating off him.

Your heart sank. Impossible. You had been so careful. Every step had been measured, every movement ghost-like. During the elevator ride, you hadn’t so much as breathed too loudly. He was bluffing.

“What do you mean?” Your voice dripped with exaggerated innocence, enough to make Viktor snort softly.

Slowly, he leaned in, one hand propped on the doorframe as his sharp gaze zeroed in on your face. Your noses were now an inch apart. Less than an inch. You could smell the faint scent of his body wash and the wool of his jumper. Your carefully constructed composure cracked as you inhaled sharply, just once, stealing a whiff of him.

It was worth it.

“This little sneaking-about routine you just pulled,” he said, his eyes studying you, his lips curling in amusement as realization dawned.

It was over. He knew.

The blown pupils, the blush blooming across your cheeks, the smile you couldn’t suppress when he got closer—it all gave you away. But you weren’t ready to let him win without giving him some grief first.

“I… went to get a snack. See?” You reached over to a cabinet by the door, pulling out the packet of honey peanuts and holding it up like a prized exhibit. “Don’t you believe me?”

He raised an unimpressed eyebrow as he took the peanuts from your hand. “Close enough. Maybe I would… if you weren’t giggling the whole time,” he said with a teasing smile.

You froze. Giggling? Impossible. You’d been quiet as a mouse, serious as a statue, your determination unwavering as you had ghosted through the building.

“So… what’s going on?” His voice was casual, curious—almost as if he were asking you out—and it yanked you right out of your spiralling paranoia.

Before you realized it, your hand had grabbed his forearm. His jumper was so soft under your fingers, and you pulled him gently—hesitantly—through the doorway. Your eyes never left his as you inched him inside, a silent question lingering in the back of your throat: Am I busted?

After a moment of silence in the darkness, you cleared your throat. You could see the amusement on his face, etched there the entire time, and it made your blood simmer.

“Just killing time while Sue’s away. Why?” you said, your voice a picture of innocence. You turned away, plucking a book from the cabinet and settling on the bed. Because, of course, you were going to have a reading session in a pitch-black room.

Even with the only light in the room being the faint glow of the corridor bulbs seeping through the door crack, you could feel his gaze flick to your legs. It burned.

“And how, pray tell, were you killing time in complete darkness?” His voice dripped with an unthinkable suggestion, sending a shiver down your spine. Or perhaps the shiver came because the implication wasn’t as unthinkable as you wished it were.

God, get your sass back on, girl. You had to, or you were going to lose miserably.

“Excuse me? Are you accusing me of indecency, dear TA?” you shot back, your tone sharper than you intended but steady enough. It earned you an indulgent smile from him, so maybe it was the right move.

“I would never,” he replied, mock innocence smoothing over his features. Viktor stepped closer, reaching to turn on the night light beside the bed. Its orange glow was soft yet oppressive, making you squint against the sudden brightness. “Though I might take my chances accusing you of… some other indulgence,” he added with a sly smile as he sat down beside you.

“I am a victim, not a villain,” you quipped, the words leaving your mouth before you could stop them.

Viktor’s expression shifted instantly to one of concern, and you inwardly cursed. Too late to take it back now.

“You are?” he asked, his gaze sharpening as he turned to look directly at you, trying to piece together what you meant.

“Sorry,” you said quickly, your voice light and dismissive, though the apology sounded genuine. “That sounded worse than it was. Don’t get all worked up.” You offered him an apologetic smile and, without thinking, rested your hand on his forearm.

His jumper was impossibly soft under your fingers, melting into your skin. You had to gather every ounce of willpower not to let your fingers linger or caress his arm, lest you completely betray yourself.

“There’s a party on the third floor,” you admitted, “and, well… it was boring.” God, you felt like a child explaining yourself after drawing a masterpiece on the bedroom wall while the adults sipped drinks and discussed politics. This felt wrong; surely, you didn’t have to explain yourself.

“Alright,” Viktor replied, his tone reassuring and careful. His eyes flicked down to your hand on his arm, and he didn’t move. It was warm, soft—comforting—and he didn’t want to scare it away.

“And… what did you have?” he asked, his voice low and steady.

“E, I think?” you said, your tone casual but hesitant, like someone confessing to sneaking an extra cookie before dinner. You thought it was E, though it felt slightly different—softer. You felt calm and didn’t think your heart was about to explode.

“You think?” His brow arched, scepticism plain as day. So irresponsible, on full display. He could convince you to do anything now. He could whisper you into robbing a bank with him. He could make you serenade him. He could ask you to lick his neck while he groped your ass and kissed your stomach. He could... no.

“Oh, that makes me look so bad,” you groaned, dragging a hand over your face, the sound almost slapping him out of his dark fantasy. “But it’s not as bad as it looks.” Your hand returned to his arm, and he flinched slightly.

“I am sure,” he replied dryly, “as long as no one has a heart attack or falls in battle with an imaginary dragon.” His attempt at joking felt weak, too breathy to be taken seriously. Shut up, Viktor. What are you, her father?

“God, you sound like a parent, Viktor.” You threw him a look that was part annoyed, part amused. He sounded like a parent—though not like any of your parents. Your parents would have convinced you to take acid with them to deepen the family bond as you all probed through each other’s consciousness. Gross.

“Alright, alright,” he relented with a small smile. “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. So… where did you get it from?” He could at least have his eye on whoever drugged his favourite second-year student—or made you so bored you thought E was the answer.

“Snitches get stitches, you know?” you shot back, leaning into the playful deflection. The truth was, you didn’t even know the guy who handed you the tiny zip bag and asked, ‘Do you want to have some fun?’ Somehow, you were convinced admitting that would only make the situation worse.

He sighed, long and exasperated, tilting his head slightly to the side. “Are you feeling alright? Do you need someone to watch over you?”

“I’m fine,” you assured him with a dismissive wave. “I was actually just going to… stay here and enjoy it. And frankly,” you added with a cheeky grin, “if you’re going to stay here, all sober and responsible, I think that would make me self-conscious.”

But please, stay and watch over me, Viktor. Take care of me while my body is crushed with fluff was pushing violently through your mind. You had to cover your mouth with your hand to keep yourself from saying it.

“I hear you loud and clear,” he said, rising from the bed. “Text me if you need something, though?” Pity. He would have gladly combed his fingers through your hair and caressed your hands, knowing that in your current state, this simple touch would bring you more pleasure than any man ever had.

“Or…” you began, your voice slow and deliberate, “you could jump in with me?”

God, yes, roared in Viktor’s brain. Yes, I’ll jump in with you. I’ll jump anywhere after you. I’ll eat your soul, and it’ll be my last meal, and I’ll die happy.

He tried to compose himself, to come off as casual. His eyes widened, his lips parting slightly in surprise. “Are you offering drugs to your TA?”

“You make it sound like the crime of the century, Viktor,” you teased, though the words were a cover for the rising panic in your chest. What the hell had you just done? Had you really just offered your TA drugs? Were you insane? What was that expression on his face now—disbelief? Amusement? God, please don’t let it be pity. Maybe he’d be cross with you, but that might actually be easier to handle. You should’ve just asked him to stay, to bring you water periodically. That would’ve been enough. It would’ve been perfect, actually. Maybe then you could even sneak another whiff of his sweater when he wasn’t looking.

“Well,” Viktor began, his voice dry but with the faintest lilt of humour, “if we treat the university ethos as law, it is technically a crime: drug distribution, leading your classmates astray, bad influence.” He had to hold his composure. Truthfully, he was tempted to snort the entire bag in one go, just to melt into you.

“I think I missed the moment when I forced it down your throat,” you shot back, crossing your arms and meeting his gaze. His joke made you feel calmer, though. Maybe it would end there—just a funny anecdote he’d tease you with throughout the rest of your time at university. And maybe, ten years in the future at a reunion, he’d ask you, ‘Remember that one time?’

“Are you sure it’s E?” he asked, his tone neutral but inquisitive, eyes scanning your face. You were too calm for it to be E. You’d be dancing around, touching his face uncontrollably, and above all, you’d never come back to your room to enjoy solitude.

“No,” you admitted with a shrug. “But it’s really not such a big deal. No… visions. It just… feels nice.”

‘Nice’ was an understatement—it felt like being bathed in butter, like all the knots in your body had untied themselves simultaneously, while your mind retained its analytical sharpness. Or so you thought.

“I see.” His tone grew quieter, more thoughtful, and you watched him carefully as his gaze flicked to the tiny bag in your hand. “Alright, show me what you’ve got.” He silently hoped it was what he thought it was.

You hesitated but eventually held out the small zip bag with a pinch of white powder inside. His fingers brushed yours as he took it, and for a moment, you felt your breath hitch. He had such long fingers you were sure they would meet if he wrapped them around your neck. Oh, God. He tilted the bag, examining it critically, like a chemist assessing their materials.

"And how did you take it?" Viktor asked, lifting a brow. The last time, he had dissolved it in lukewarm water, as they toasted with Jayce. The taste was still unbearable, so they had to down a box of orange juice, and it still didn’t exactly help.

"I… rubbed it in my gums." You winced at the memory. "Do not recommend, though."

"Let me guess," he said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "It tastes like shit?"

"Worse." It tasted so much worse. Not that you had ever tasted shit in your life, but it tasted like some vile chemical trying to burn its way through your tissues. It tasted so wrong, yet it gave you so much artificial happiness afterward that you had already decided you’d be able to do it again sometime in the future.

"Ah," he nodded, a small huff of amusement escaping him. "I think I might know what this is." He paused, weighing the bag in his palm, before raising a brow at you. "Alright, ground rules if… I take it: no sex." He couldn’t. He really wanted to and really couldn’t. It would lock you both into a one-night stand while being high, and a potential future of all the stands you could be having depended on him being responsible. As much as he could be in that moment.

"You think rather much of yourself, mister!" you shot back, flustered and scrambling to cover it with mock indignation. You hadn’t thought of it once; you just wanted to curl into him and breathe in his jumper until you snorted it off of him.

"Oh, give it thirty minutes, and you will think much of me as well," he retorted, his smirk deepening into something almost smug. "But it’s more of a contract I’m making with myself while I’m still sober. And I need a witness." Good, Viktor. You deserve a medal. You deserve a girl.

"And your witness can be high, I presume?" You looked at him, amused. It was a shitty contract, but you could oblige. You already knew what you wanted from this night.

"I work with what I’ve got," he quipped, shrugging one shoulder, his tone breezy but precise.

"Alright," you sighed, rolling your eyes. "Consider your contract witnessed."

"Shake on it?" His smile was so wide you would shake on absolutely anything.

"Ugh, fine!" You extended your hand reluctantly, and his fingers wrapped around yours in a brief, firm shake. His hand was warmer than you expected, his grip steady.

"Here we go then," Viktor said, releasing your hand and sitting down beside you. Truly, here we go.

"Wait," you said, your eyes widening as he tipped a small amount of the powder onto the back of his hand. "Are you snorting it?" What the hell was this, Breaking Bad?

"I know how to take my medicine, thank you very much," he replied smoothly, his voice coloured with faint amusement. You would’ve thanked him for learning this way—the taste was almost undetectable.

"And when was the last time you’ve taken this so-called medicine, Viktor? 1976?" you teased, leaning slightly closer to watch him. You thought that if you were ever to do it again, you could lick it off his hand, and that would make the taste bearable.

He gave you a flat look before replying, "My third year, give or take. The thesis caught up with us soon after, and then, well… I had to become a well-respected TA." He delivered the last part with a hint of mockery, letting the words hang in the air.

"Did you lose with the dragon?" you asked, a grin tugging at your lips.

"Yes," he said, deadpan, the corners of his mouth twitching. "It disembowelled me and Jayce. Let me just say, it wasn’t pretty." He leaned forward slightly, his gaze still on the powder as if appraising his next move.

You bit your lip, watching him curiously, the buzz in your body softening your edges. Was this really happening? Watching Viktor—your TA, the notoriously unflappable one—do this was something you never thought you’d witness in a thousand lifetimes. Yet here he was, sleeves rolled up, calm and deliberate, like this was just another late-night experiment.

"Fuck, I’m sorry. Push it away from your mind – no dragon in sight, just me," he said, seeing your eyes widen and remembering how prone to suggestion your mind would be right now.

"See you on the other side," Viktor said, tipping his head back slightly as he snorted the powder. He blinked a few times, exhaling slowly, then turned to you with a faint, lopsided grin. "Hmm… we need some more light. And music. And… do you have any food?"

"Is everything a project with you?" you asked, a laugh slipping out despite yourself.

"I like to take as much as I can from the little moments of indulgence that are granted to me," he replied, his tone matter-of-fact, though there was a hint of something warmer beneath his words.

"Not the sex though," you shot back, folding your arms but unable to hide your teasing smirk.

"Don’t sulk. You’re going to like it," he said, brushing you off with a wave of his hand before pausing and glancing down. "Do you mind if I take this off?" Without waiting for a proper answer, he began unbuckling his leg brace, the metal joints clicking softly in the dim light.

"I don’t think there’s anything I mind at the moment, Viktor," you murmured, watching him. The deliberate way his fingers worked, the small sigh of relief he let out when the brace came free—it was unexpectedly intimate, and you felt something warm settle in your chest.

He placed the brace aside, flexing his leg experimentally before leaning back on the bed. "I will be asking you a lot of questions tonight, so you better brace yourself."

"Whaa…? I didn’t sign up for an exam!" you protested, widening your eyes in mock horror. You had already put on your comfort Spotify playlist with a lot of The Smiths and Dandy Warhols on it, and a couple of colourful dinky lights scattered around the room.

"It’s not an exam. Consider me… your guide," he said, his tone taking on a playful gravity that made you grin.

"Viktor, I’m not an E virgin. I don’t need to be handheld," you said, rolling your eyes but plopping down close to him all the same.

"It’s not handholding. And I wouldn’t doubt your expertise," he said, his voice low and steady, "but it’s not E you’ve taken."

Your brows knit together as you stared at him. "No? What is it? Are we going to die?" Your mock horror made Viktor chuckle slightly.

“It’s M. The joy of E without the speed. It’s… nice,” he explained, his words soft and unhurried. He tilted his head slightly, as though listening to something only he could hear. “And given how I am starting to feel, we have around… two, maybe three hours of this?”

Your stomach flipped at the easy confidence in his voice, at the way he seemed so utterly calm despite the strange circumstances. You shifted in your seat, trying to suppress the giddy flutter rising in your chest. “So… what do we do?”

“Nothing. Anything you want. See what you feel like,” he replied, his gaze meeting yours, steady and curious. For a moment, the room felt impossibly still, like the two of you had been suspended in time. The edges of everything softened—the glow of the lamps, the hum of the city beyond the window, even the faint buzz under your skin. It all blurred into a single, surreal moment as you looked at him.

“What I feel like…” you murmured, your voice trailing off as a sudden, uncontrollable grin spread across your face. “Alright, Viktor. Guide me.”

“Come closer,” his voice was soft as he patted a space on the bed in front of him, splaying himself on his side. You leaned in slowly, propping your head on your fist.

“May I?” His hands hovered over your face, asking non-verbal permission before he touched you. You nodded, closing your eyes, and it made Viktor smile this time. His fingertips ghosted over your cheeks and brows; a touch so gentle you could barely feel it yet felt it intensely at the same time. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until Viktor spoke. “Breathe.”

“Are you nervous?” he asked, seeing you give a shaky exhale.

“No,” you lied. Your heart was thumping in your chest so loudly now that you were convinced Viktor could see the tremble in your sternum if he looked closely.

“Let’s get rid of this tension,” he said, pulling you into a tight hug. You immediately wrapped your arms around him, cradling the base of his skull with the fingers of one hand, while the other hugged his waist tightly. You could feel his soft jumper under your palms and felt warmer as his scent filled your nostrils. You breathed him in—the body wash, the fresh laundry, his skin and clothes wrapping around you like a blanket.

He slid one hand around your back and shoulders, the other finding its way down to the base of your spine. For a fleeting moment, he had an internal struggle to resist the urge to squeeze your ass tightly. Your bodies slotted together as if it was meant to be—here, on your dorm bed, entangled together, forever. His hands kneaded at your flesh when he rolled over you swiftly, allowing his palms to travel to your ribcage, squeezing it affectionately as he pressed his face to your body and took a long, deep whiff of you. You weren’t wearing a bra, so he was painfully aware that only one layer of clothing—relatively easy to get rid of—stood between his lips and your skin. You arched into his movement, making him release an audible sigh of contentment.

“You smell nice,” he whispered against your neck and smiled as he rubbed his cheek on yours, his eyes closed, heat slowly spreading through his veins. Then, he hooked his good leg under one of your knees to feel more of you underneath him, propped his elbows on each side of your head, and dropped his forehead to rest on yours.

You looked up at him, expression unreadable, as if you were studying him. His blown pupils, gold rings around them barely visible, dark freckles on his pale skin travelling deep under the collar of his t-shirt, the sharp structure of his face softened by colourful lights, the tiny bud of flesh crowning his upper lip. You really wanted to kiss him.

He saw the flicker in your eyes, nearly completely black now, before he rolled you to the side. “Not yet,” he whispered hoarsely as he tangled your fingers together, raising your palm to his lips to place a soft, lingering kiss on your knuckles.

“Bear with me, please,” the plea in his voice tied you into knots. His touch burned you, even as slight as the feeling of his long fingers cradling your palm. His hands felt heavy on you, grounding you, keeping you safe on this ride.

“Why so cautious?” you asked, your voice soft but edged with curiosity.

“I need to brace myself here,” he replied, his tone steady yet laden with something deeper, something vulnerable. He had to be cautious. If this was the time you had sex for the first time, it would be the last. He was convinced of it. Even when his entire body screamed at him to shed his layers of clothing and just merge with you. Just drown in you.

“I remember the contract, just the reason for it… eludes me now,” you said, using his own phrasing that he so often threw at you. You managed a small, teasing smile, but it trembled at the edges.

He chuckled quietly, the sound warm and almost sheepish. “I will indulge you then. This... would either be the best or the worst we could have,” he paused, measuring his next words and deciding if it was the right place to bare himself in ways other than nudity. “And I’m not ready for either tonight,” he added, the words hanging between you, a delicate balance of truth and hesitation.

For a moment, there was silence, as the space between you stretched, and you could feel the tension in his every breath. You were starting to understand what he meant, not just in the words, but in the way his hands tightened around yours, the way his body was so close yet still holding back.

“Viktor,” you murmured, your voice softer than you intended, pulling your gaze from your joined hands to meet his eyes. And God, he was so beautiful.

“Don’t think about what is not happening. Focus on this,” he said, squeezing your hand and rubbing his thumb on the heel of your palm. The touch sent a jolt through your body. “I promise, it will be good. I haven’t even kissed you yet,” he smiled, and you felt your resolve falter and shift to his side.

A quiet agreement settled between you. You wouldn’t step beyond the layers of clothing. There were so many steps still to take tonight, though. Viktor took a deep breath, partly in relief, partly to brace himself for what came next. He cradled your neck, and you wondered if his long fingers would leave a palm-shaped burn mark on your skin. His exhale washed over your face, smelling faintly of toothpaste and a man. He kissed you in slow motion, allowing you to warm up to the novelty of this touch.

You took his upper lip between yours as he slowly coaxed his tongue into your mouth. His hands travelled down to prop your bare thighs under the length of your shorts, and God, he was so happy you were wearing shorts.

He kneaded at the backs of your legs, his touch strong and confident. His mouth explored yours, licking the inner side of your lips, a faint taste of lip balm on his tongue. He bit your lower lip gently, sucking on it long enough to leave a mark that would bloom in full by morning.

You tangled your fingers into his hair, pulling him closer, breathing through your nose, as your hips and chests met, melting together.

He let out a breathy laugh, surprising himself. “You taste like a girl,” he murmured, his voice soft and unguarded. You blinked at him, not quite understanding. What he meant was that you tasted like lip gloss and summer, like a sweet drink laced with heavy alcohol—and it was the only taste he wanted in his mouth until the end of time.

“Any girl?” you asked, shooting him a questioning glance.

Instead of explaining, he said simply, “My girl,” before sinking back down into you, his lips trailing along your neck, nipping lightly at your ear. His hips rolled against yours without meaning to, and you felt how hard he was, but you didn’t comment, respecting the boundaries you’d both agreed upon. Instead, you wrapped your legs around his waist, your warm hands sneaking underneath the layers of his woolen jumper and crisp t-shirt. His body was all sharp lines and firm muscle under your touch, flexing instinctively beneath your fingers—a striking contrast to your softness, yielding to the shapes he wanted you to take.

When you closed your eyes, the brightness behind your lids didn’t dim, but it sharpened your focus on the sweet sounds he made. The soft whimpers escaped him as he breathed you in, the slow, deep inhales he took every time his face buried itself in the crook of your neck. His hands slid gently under your sweatshirt, wrapping around your ribcage and squeezing softly, almost as if he were coaxing your heart to him. His thumbs brushed the line just beneath your breasts, making your body tense in response, but he didn’t push further. Instead, he pressed his face into your stomach, his lips lingering there in a kiss that sent warmth blooming through you—a kiss he’d wanted to give but thought impossible only an hour ago.

“I have no words to describe this feeling,” he said quietly, his head resting against your belly, his hands moving to caress your thighs. You tangled your fingers into his hair, tugging gently to ease the tension from his scalp, and he let out a soft groan in response.

“Better than being eaten by a dragon?” you teased, your voice low and light as your mind wandered, overwhelmed by all the goodness surrounding you.

He propped himself up quickly, his flushed cheeks and disheveled hair framing his face. His lips were swollen from kissing, his eyes bright and loving as they locked onto yours. The sight stole your breath, and you felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for listening to him, for letting this moment happen.

“You have no idea,” he replied, a smile breaking through.

Your bodies resumed their slow, unhurried dance, a rhythm built not on urgency but on the quiet comfort of simply being together. He held you close, his hands moving in soft strokes up and down your back, drawing you tighter against him. The warmth between you felt like a steady, glowing fire, soothing and constant. Your fingers found their way back into his hair, and you kissed him again, slow and tender, each lingering touch a wordless promise you both understood.

The intimacy felt endless, as if nothing outside this moment existed. His heart beat steadily beneath your palm, a rhythm that matched your own, and you let out a contented sigh as you melted into him. Viktor’s breath slowed and deepened, syncing with yours, his chest rising and falling against you. The space between your lips disappeared again, the softest whisper of air passing as you kissed, savoring the connection like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Time blurred, stretching and bending until it felt infinite, a luxury you didn’t dare question. The soft sounds of your kisses filled the quiet room, the outside world forgotten. You felt him smile against your lips, his hands cradling your face, his thumbs brushing the edges of your jaw with a tenderness that sent your heart racing.

Eventually, the kisses slowed, and he rested his forehead against yours, your faces inches apart, your eyes closed. A pleasant heaviness settled over both of you, the high of the moment fading but leaving behind a sense of peace. Your jaw ached faintly from the constant kissing, but you didn’t care. Viktor, too, seemed to feel the weight of exhaustion creeping in, though his arms stayed tight around you, unwilling to let go just yet.

As the faint strains of I Love You by The Dandy Warhols played softly in the background, the last remnants of the high dissolved into a quiet contentment. His breath evened out, his hand resting warm and steady on your back. You let yourself drift, your head nestled against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as it lulled you toward sleep.

The last thing you remembered before the world faded completely was the warmth of his arms holding you close, his presence wrapping around you like a shield. Nothing could pull you apart—not in this moment, not ever. And with that, you both surrendered to the embrace of sleep, the quiet comfort of each other’s existence the only thing that mattered.

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader smut #viktor x f!reader #arcane #viktor smut #arcane fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor x oc #viktor nation

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bucketbueckers · 5 months ago

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I'D RATHER PRETEND

CHAPTER FIVE

tags: @angryflowerwitch @avvwritesstufff @melpthatsme @rebecca-woso @bueckersg1rl @l0verl4ne @clouded-whispers @dolliest-thena @katemartinlvr @numberonepartyanth3m @glamourdaya @pbbucks @unadulteratedcyclepaper @paiges-1vur wc: 6.3k notes: masterlist ahead? uh yeah i sure hope it does! decided last minute i didn't really care about any real plot action this chapter outside of tess and paige so if you are disappointed by that, sorry but it's better this way, tess and paige are the plot now🤞 accidentally made this chapter kinda important, it lowk got away from me, but i hope you all enjoy 🫶

‘This Month in Review - The Cutest Sports Couple Since Megan and Sue’

Whether you’re a sports fanatic or a casual watcher, there is no denying that Paige Bueckers and Tess Kennedy have taken the sports scene by storm. They are a topic of conversation in every room – and for good reason. Bueckers and Kennedy were top recruiting prospects out of high school, with Bueckers leading the pack as the #1 recruit and Kennedy following close behind as the #2. They are the current leaders of two superstar programs and despite not having played their full collegiate careers, Bueckers and Kennedy have already cemented themselves as players that will go down in history as the greatest to play college basketball at their institutions.

Bueckers and Kennedy are a power couple through and through, and while neither of them have made anything official, it is clear that they have spent this entire offseason together – even several hundred miles apart. Fans have pointed out that their recent TikTok reposts make references to missing a long distance lover or are largely relationship focused. Their Instagram stories often feature each other. From Kennedy’s Instagram, a recent story showcased a short clip of Bueckers holding a LEGO rose, winking as she blew a kiss to the camera. From Bueckers’s Instagram, a recent story included a FaceTime screenshot of Kennedy, grinning as she threw a thumbs up for the photo, and it was affectionately captioned, “My duo 🎮.”

Additionally, they have been noticeably active in each other’s Instagram comment section:

[IMAGE TRANSCRIPTION: MAY 30, 2023 | BUECKERS IS PHOTOGRAPHED WEARING A LEG SLEEVE, BLUE AND WHITE PATTERNED BASKETBALL SHORTS, AND A BLACK LONG SLEEVED SHIRT ROLLED UP TO HER ELBOWS. SHE IS MID-JUMPER, LEFT ARM EXTENDED AND RIGHT WRIST BENT. USER PAIGEBUECKERS: “TUNNEL VISION ON A MISSION ⏳” | USER TESSKENNEDY25: “I AM LOOKING RESPECTFULLY 👁️” END TRANSCRIPTION.]

Their galavanting didn’t end there. They made their relationship known through TikTok live one night, featuring Bueckers, Kennedy, and some of Buecker’s UConn teammates including Aaliyah Edwards and Nika Muhl. The TikTok live was a source of endless laughter, jokes, and games. Again, nothing was officially confirmed, although many viewers posted various screen recordings the morning after, and all fans can agree on is that Bueckers and Kennedy are not slick.

Many are comparing their relationship to Sue Bird and Megan Rapinoe, and we have to admit, the similarity is there. Bueckers and Kennedy are both standout athletes and leaders on dynasty teams. Fans are eagerly awaiting the hard-launch, if only just to confirm what we all know is true.

-Penelope Lancaster, Bleacher Report

JUNE 20, 2023

“Do you have everything, piccola? Brace, heating pad, charger?”

Making a conscious effort to fix her face, Tess resists a sigh and responds, “Yes, mamma, I have everything.” She knows that her mother is just looking out for her, but she’s been through all of her belongings three times now and she knows for a fact that she has everything. If something was missing, she’s certain Paige would have an extra or she’d be able to buy a new one in Massachusetts.

She got the call from Amaya only a few days ago. To no one’s surprise at all, the media was eating up her and Paige’s fake relationship. Their brand deals were feeling secure in their investments once more and the tabloids were far more concerned about Tess & Paige than they were about Tess’s month-long crash out. With everything aligning once more, Bose actually wanted to sign a joint deal with her and Paige and get them to advertise a new product – standard NIL endorsement stuff, but the icing on the cake was Amaya’s cheerful, “You’re married now!” that nearly made Tess’s heart fall out of her ass.

Tess doesn’t make a habit of being a gullible person, but she genuinely thought Amaya was going to make her and Paige scrap the whole “soft-launch” idea and just come out at the altar with wedding rings. Amaya was quick to clarify it wasn’t actually like that (Thank God), but the Bose representatives wanted to do something corny, monopolize on their traction as a duo, and Tess and Paige would henceforth be named Mrs. and Mrs. Bose.

It was pretty stupid, but a little funny, and as soon as Tess saw her payout, she couldn’t really complain.

“And Paige is getting you from the airport? No Uber?” her father asks for the second time, mostly to clarify.

Tess can’t stop the flush from spreading across her cheeks like she’d been caught red-handed. Truthfully, her parents weren’t haters by any means. They were oddly invested in her and Paige’s ruse – which made lying to them about it so much more difficult, but the both of them seemed to genuinely like Paige despite never speaking to her. They’d been begging for weeks straight for Tess to bring her home so they could meet her since it’s “getting serious,” although they were pleased to know she’d probably be around by Christmas. She and Paige had this commercial to film, then Paige would have to return to Storrs for summer practices (Tess wouldn’t be returning until the semester officially started – she wants to work as much as she could with Terri, no hate to Craig), then Paige was set to spend early August in Europe with her teammates. Both of them would be extremely busy in the coming months, especially once the season started, so they weren’t expecting to see each other all too much outside of FaceTime.

“Yes, Paige will pick me up,” Tess confirms, zipping up her backpack one last time. “She flew in this morning.” Tess tactfully leaves out the part where Paige had completely rearranged her flight schedule for her. Paige argued that it “wasn’t safe” to put her safety in the hands of a random Uber driver given her knee and that she hated late flights anyways. Tess knows that Paige truthfully doesn’t give a fuck about flight times, but arguing with her was near impossible.

Her father gives an approving nod, and much to Tess’s well-hidden anxiety induced annoyance, the three of them do one last check of her belongings before they load up in the car to drop her off at the airport. Tess tries her best to tune into the conversation, although part of her is still nervous about flying. She’s been cleared to travel for a week or two now. Despite that, she can’t help but anticipate the worst going wrong. Amaya splurged on first class so she’d have plenty of leg room and she’s flying on a very reputable airline. She has to remind herself that realistically, she’ll be perfectly fine.

It’s a quiet morning at the airport as her father pulls into the drop off lane, putting the car in park. “Text us as soon as you land, okay, piccola?” her mother tells her.

Tess flashes the both of them a comforting smile, leaning forward to give them quick hugs. “Of course.” And with that, she grabs her suitcase and her backpack, says her goodbyes, and waits for her parents to pull off before she walks through the airport in search of her gate. She’s only stopped a few times by fans asking for photos, which she dutifully poses for, then she makes her way to the counter to check in. She only has to wait a few more moments to board the plane. Amaya set her up with a secluded seat in the back. She snags a quick photo of the tarmac and sends it to Paige, whose response comes quickly.

Tell your pilot to take a shortcut or sum I miss you

you use that line on all the girls back home?

Is it working?

maybe a little

Then no All my lines are for Tess Kennedy and Tess Kennedy only

good

🤔 Are you forgetting something?

miss you too pb 👎

I know 😁

so modest gtg we’re about to take off

I’ll be waiting 🫶

Tess simply reacts to Paige’s last message with a heart, unable to wipe the smile off her face. She shuts her phone off and settles in for the hour long flight.

When the plane touches down in Framingham, Massachusetts, Tess is full of restless energy. It’s equal parts relief and excitement; however, after spending the morning traveling, she’s ready to get back to the hotel and get a nap in before she has to be productive. She hauls her bag over her shoulder and exits the plane with the other passengers as she waits for her phone to power back on. When it does, she sees that a text from Paige is already waiting for her.

I got your suitcase I’m like right in front of the gate

Tess sends back a thumbs up, something she’s sure Paige is annoyed by, and slides her phone back into her pocket. She follows the crowd out. Her heart thrums with anticipation, even as she tries to shove down those complicated feelings. Friends are allowed to miss each other, but her longing feels different somehow. She and Paige were practically inseparable for the month they were apart. Knowing that they’re about to reunite in person leaves her giddy with anticipation.

The crowd clears. Paige stands tall and proud in the center of the boarding area, an easy smile on her face and her arms hiding something behind her back. When Paige finally spots her, her smile widens and she begins taking swift steps towards her. Tess matches her strides, falling into her embrace with a soft laugh and overwhelming relief. One of Paige’s arms loop around her waist, squeezing her gently. “Missed you,” Paige murmurs, her cheek pressed to her head, and Tess doesn’t bother fighting the flush or the enamored upward curve of her lips.

“Missed you too, P,” she confesses. Paige’s arm tightens around her waist and she can feel the smile the blonde presses to the crown of her head. She pulls back, uncaring of the way the crowd clamors or the phones pointed at them, fully focused on Paige. Her hair is pulled back into a wavy ponytail, her face bare (yet she’s still undeniably beautiful), and she’s dressed in a UConn hoodie and a pair of grey sweatpants. Simple, but Paige is good at pulling just about anything off. With a mischievous grin, Paige displays the bouquet of flowers she’d been hiding behind her back, and Tess can’t quite hide the surprise on her features. “Paige – what?”

Paige carefully pushes them into Tess’s hands. They’re roses and in shockingly good quality, as if they’d been plucked directly from a garden rather than purchased from a grocery store. “Saw ‘em and had to get ‘em for you. Figured you deserved a little better than that LEGO flower after these past two months, yeah?”

Tess is speechless, her mouth opening and closing much like a fish’s. No one has ever gotten her flowers before, high school graduation aside. Paige did this completely on her own whims, and that thought alone makes a fresh blush creep up her neck. She glances at Paige, a soft smile spreading across her face. “These are beautiful, P. Thank you.”

Paige’s grin turns tender, her face clearly pleased as she pulls Tess in by her waist once more, careful to not squash the flowers. “‘Course, ma,” she says like it’s the easiest thing in the world, which, for a girl like Paige, it probably is. That thought alone is sobering and Tess remembers where they are, adrenaline rushing into her mouth as Paige releases her. “Ready to go, Mrs. Bose?”

“So fucking corny,” Tess groans, but Paige’s joke is enough for the tension to melt away, for Tess to forget all about the sudden sadness she’d felt as Paige hugged her. “Lead the way, Mrs. Bose.” Paige cocks a wry smirk at her and does just that, her left hand reaching for the handle of Tess’s suitcase. Her free hand brushes against Tess’s, a silent question in her eyes. One glance at the crowd makes her heart race, but Paige’s eyes are soft, understanding, and all the convincing she needs. She links her fingers together with Paige’s, relishing in the squeeze Paige gives her in reassurance. Tess tries not to think too hard about how well their hands fit together – the blonde’s are just slightly larger, enveloping her own in a way that should not be as comforting as it is, and her thumb mindlessly brushes against her knuckle.

Paige leads them through the busy airport, the crowd parting for them, and Tess hardly pays it any attention as she gets lost in her racing thoughts. They’re just friends. Sure, no one in her life is as close to her in the way Paige is right now, but they just have their own thing going on right now. Pretending to be each other’s girlfriend requires a lot of commitment that neither of them have otherwise experienced. Tess was never one for romance – it wasn’t in the cards for someone like her. Growing up, she was taller than most other girls – and boys – her age. A lot of people weren’t into that. Then she realized she didn’t even like boys, which never bothered her, but she felt as though she was missing out on some crucial part of girlhood because she wasn’t desired or yearned for. She’ll be the first to admit it sounds stupid. There’s many people out there with issues far more serious than whether or not they were somebody’s crush in high school. She’s out of her element in so many ways, and she can’t help but think back to that initial burst of anxiety she felt as soon as the severity of the situation finally hit her. She’s in way over her head, she’s realizing it now, and she fears that it won’t be long until people realize she has no idea what she’s doing.

But Paige? One glance at her, at the easy expression on her face, the slight furrow of her brow as she scans the airport signs for the exit, and Tess can tell she’s not freaking the fuck out like she is. Paige is vastly more experienced in this situation than Tess is and they both know it. Paige said she could do casual. This is essentially what this was, right? All of the romance without the intimacy. Tess should have told her right then and there that she was not built for casual. It always spins out of control, and Tess is probably living proof of that.

This is all physical, she tells herself, unsure of if she even believes it. You don’t actually like her. She’s attractive – that’s all there is to it. And for now, that explanation is good enough for her. She’s going to do these commercials with Paige, hard-launch their fake relationship, and then they’re going to be far too busy to see each other until the holidays when they visit each other’s families to, again, hard-launch their fake relationship and tell the biggest lie to the people closest to them. That time apart will be enough for Tess to get her head back on straight and realize there's absolutely nothing going on between her and Paige that should be of any (reasonable) concern.

She almost believes that. At least until Paige smiles at her as she loads her suitcase into the trunk of her rental, opening the passenger door for her. Tess’s heart swells and she realizes just how unfathomably fucked she is.

JUNE 21, 2023

After a calm night spent watching Grey’s Anatomy – Paige’s request, obviously – Tess and Paige were up bright and early Wednesday morning to drive out to the Bose main office for filming. Paige entrusted her with the aux and promised to not complain about her music choices as long as Tess bought breakfast, which was a deal Tess was all too happy to make as she directed Paige to the nearest Dunkin. She made sure to snag plenty of pictures for the Instagram hard launch they planned to post before they went their separate ways. Her personal favorite was the one of Paige sitting in the driver’s seat, legs wide and pressed against the door and the center console, sunglasses perched over the bridge of her nose as she held both of their coffees. The blonde sported an easy smile with her hair in her game-day braids and her thin, black fleece jacket was unzipped, showcasing the UConn shirt she was wearing under it. Paige made sure to get one of her, too, but it was less presentable and far too candid – Paige had swiped whipped cream across her nose and photographed her mid-gasp. Tess begged her to delete it, but Paige’s infectious laughter caused all of the indignation to drain from her body.

With breakfast and coffee secured, Paige drives the rest of the way to their filming location as Tess hums along to Omar Apollo. The silence in the car is calm, both of them comfortable in simply sitting next to each other as the music plays. Paige shifts, her elbow resting on the center console as she drives with her left hand. Her fingers mindlessly twirl the straw in her cup. The movement catches Tess’s eye and she’s suddenly overcome with the urge to grab her hand.

It’s domestic, in a sense – sitting next to Paige in the car as they drive down the road with the windows down. The weather holds a gentle bite, not overbearingly cold, but chilly enough that it makes Tess feel a little more tethered, that she’s exactly where she’s supposed to be.

In her last session with Yvette, the psychologist recommended she just let go. As obvious as the advice is, and despite it being easier said than done, Tess is interested in giving it an honest shot. For years, she’s carried so much anxiety with her, worried about whether or not she’s doing something right or worried about how she’s being perceived. Sometimes, it takes a little bit of discomfort to move forward.

Before she can talk herself out of it, Tess props her arm up on the center console. Paige is close enough that she can feel her jacket sleeve brushing against her arm. She can feel Paige’s gaze on her, the gentle curiosity, but she keeps her eyes straight ahead, watching as the trees pass by in green blurs. Then she feels her move, feels her knuckles brush against her hand; and with her heart thrumming in her chest, Tess wordlessly unclenches her fist in invitation. Paige doesn’t hesitate before she’s linking their fingers together, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. Tess spots her smile from the corner of her eye, and knowing that Paige is watching her, too, she allows a smile of her own to grace her features. Nothing has ever felt as right as Paige’s hand in hers in a long time. As she continues driving, Tess can’t help herself from feeling at peace.

When the two of them finally make it back to their hotel room after spending the day filming, Tess collapses onto her bed with a dramatic groan, immediately reaching for her pillow and wrapping both arms around it, pressing her chin into the cushion. She hears Paige snort from somewhere in the room, followed by rustling as she shrugs her jacket off her shoulders and throws it haphazardly on her bed. “Tired?” Paige asks teasingly.

Tess hums in confirmation. Tired doesn’t even begin to cover it. She was up early, was on her feet for most of the day, and all of the reshoots and retakes weren’t doing her any favors. She knows she’s crashing out for no reason – this is literally her job – but she’s equal parts tired and hangry and she honestly just wants a hot shower.

“Want me to DoorDash somethin’?” Paige asks, as if reading her mind. She kicks off her shoes and falls into bed next to Tess, already pulling out her phone.

Tess cracks one eye open as the mattress dips under their shared weight, glancing at Paige, who crosses one leg over the other as she gets comfortable. “Chick-fil-A?” she requests. “Nuggets and fries? My card’s in my wallet.”

Paige wrinkles her nose. “Hell no. You got breakfast.”

Tess rolls her eyes. “Breakfast and the aux.”

“All you played was sad, break-up R&B,” Paige grumbles. “I really should make you cover dinner after that bullshit. Feels like there’s something you’re tryna tell me.”

“Pretty sure I’m not contractually allowed to break up with you,” Tess retorts. “So don’t worry.”

The blonde hums, unconvinced, before she turns off her phone and throws it in between the two of them. “Dasher’s gonna be here in 15,” she says, gazing down at her. “You good? Your knee okay?”

Figuring her current position probably isn’t the greatest for said knee, Tess rolls onto her back and stretches her leg out with a sigh. Her elbow brushes against Paige’s stomach and Tess shifts again, not realizing how little space she’d left between them after she moved. “‘M good,” she says. “Should probably get an ice pack just in case.”

Paige is rolling off the bed before Tess even registers what’s going on. She watches her pull the lid off of the ice box on the desk, scooping up a handful and depositing it in a plastic bag. She tests the seal, and once she’s satisfied, she wraps the makeshift pack in a towel, plucks a pillow off of her bed, and holds the ice pack in between her teeth as she gently lifts Tess’s leg, sliding the pillow underneath. Tess’s breath hitches at the slightest contact, and despite the chill of the ice pack, Paige’s hands are inexplicably warm on her skin.

“Is this the Dr. Bueckers the ladies told me about?” Tess asks with a coy smile, trying to ignore the flutter in her chest. The way Paige was gazing at her left too much for her to want, eyes soft and attentive, and for Tess, it was easier to hide the longing with humor.

“You play too much,” Paige says, but her words lack any real heat as she rounds the bed once more and crawls back in, reclining against the pile of pillows. She’s closer than she was before she left. Tess can smell her perfume, the shampoo she’d used the night before. Paige is magnetic, that much Tess knew to be true – she’d felt it the very moment Paige stopped her outside of the conference room to inform her that she’d be tagging along for PT. It’s only now that she realizes how strong her pull was as she unconsciously leans into Paige’s space, the blonde’s arm raising to wrap around her, fingers splayed against her shoulder.

“Do I?” she asks, if only to fill the silence. Paige’s thumb begins to trace soft patterns on her skin. It’s difficult for her to focus on anything but that, but she cranes her neck, finding that Paige is already staring at her. Tess flushes under her gaze, though she refuses to break eye contact.

Paige’s lips quirk as she responds, “Yeah. You do.” She seems as though she’s content to leave it at that, but a couple beats pass before she’s speaking again. “You want a lot of things you think you can’t have.” Tess’s brow raises at her words, but she remains quiet. “I see it in film. You’re an insane three-point shooter but you rarely take middies or layups unless it’s absolutely free. And you do this thing – it’s like you’re faking the drive, and I can tell you really want to do it, but you just…don’t. You’re not faking. You’re just scared to get out of your comfort zone and go for it. Scared to get close.”

Tess doesn’t think they’re talking about basketball anymore. Despite the sharpness of her words, Paige’s tone is gentle, and the smile on her face is both confusing and frustrating. Frustrating because Tess knows she’s right; confusing because Paige knows she’s right, but it seems like she’s not completely confident in Tess taking that leap. Honestly, part of Tess is tempted to prove her right. She knows they could drop this topic right now and Paige wouldn’t press her. The other part of her knows they’ve come this far together, that she’s come this far. Doesn’t she owe it to herself, to Paige, to be vulnerable? To take the drive into the paint, risk getting fouled, instead of hovering at the perimeter to take the same shot she’s taken thousands of times already?

She thinks she does. Tess is tired of wanting, of yearning for the things well within her reach if only she had the confidence to go after them. But perhaps there is a thin line between confidence and bravery, between knowing and trying. So she shifts, feeling a little braver, angling her body towards Paige’s, fists the collar of her UConn t-shirt, and pulls her closer and closer until their lips finally meet.

Paige gasps against her, surprised, before her good sense returns and she melts into Tess. The hand on her shoulder skims across her skin to rest on the nape of her neck, her right hand reaching up to hold her face. As Paige guides her jaw to get better access, her kiss deep and consuming, she takes full advantage of Tess’s jilted sigh. Her hands fall from Paige’s collar, finding purchase on her stomach and her waist in search of stabilization. Paige leaves her breathless and woozy, and if she didn’t feel secure in the way she was holding her, then Tess would be afraid of floating away completely.

They break away, chests heaving, flushes down to their collarbones. Tess’s eyes open with a flutter of her eyelashes. Paige is already staring at her, her eyes wide in some sort of awe, pupils dilated. Her lips are swollen, shiny, and Tess can’t help the feeling of smug satisfaction that comes with knowing she did that. Paige Bueckers looks like a mess and it’s all because of her. “Still think I’m scared?” she asks, voice hoarse, her fingers gripping the fabric of Paige’s shirt.

The smile that spreads across Paige’s face is raw, real, visibly affectionate despite her next words. “Yeah.” Tess almost rolls her eyes, but Paige’s hand drops to the base of her throat, her middle finger brushing against her pulse point. She doesn’t apply any sort of pressure, but the weight of her hand makes her head spin anyways. “But s’okay.”

Tess chuckles. “To be scared?”

Paige hums an affirmative, shifting again, and she presses her lips against Tess’s. It’s different this time; firm, lingering, and insistent, almost as though she’s trying to take everything she possibly could. The weight of Paige’s body against hers is exhilarating and it makes her heart race. She can feel Paige’s smirk against her lips. Tess is instantly reminded of the fact that Paige can feel the thrumming of her pulse. She pushes her back with a hand to her chest, smiling at the rumble of laughter that reverberates through her body. “S’okay to be scared,” Paige says seriously, her thumb wiping away the smear of gloss on Tess’s lip. “But you don’t gotta be. Not with me.”

Tess meets her gaze, studying her features, the sheer honesty in her expression. Paige releases her jaw, her hands reaching down to untangle Tess’s fingers from where they’re still clenched in her shirt, fitting their hands together. “Don’t overthink it,” Paige whispers, understanding Tess’s mannerisms by heart now.

But the peace is always short-lived. Tess frowns, her voice almost a murmur when she asks, “What are we doing?” Paige’s eyes widen slightly. Tess wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been so fine-tuned to Paige’s every move for the past month. “The rules, Paige, we agreed–”

“We haven’t broken any of the rules,” Paige states firmly. She squeezes Tess’s hands, her throat bobbing as she swallows. “We communicate. We don’t see other people. We don’t tell other people. And we…” Paige struggles to find the words. “We don’t have to label this. It’s just us.” Tess’s face softens, the furrow in her brow relaxing. “‘M just…glad it was here. You and me, no cameras. And... we can just say we practiced for the public, right?” Paige’s thumb brushes against her hand as she stares at her imploringly, almost as though she’s pleading for Tess to agree, to stop thinking and just do it.

Practice. That word fills her with simultaneous relief and dread, but she remembers Paige’s words. Don’t overthink it. Tess understands that they’re walking a very thin line right now. Why should she let her brain ruin it? They don’t have to complicate what they have right now. And for now, that’s good enough for her. “Practicing is fine,” she confirms, feeling a little more confident.

When Paige’s eyes light up, her lips quirking into a smile, Tess believes that she’s made the right decision. “Yeah?”

Tess nods, flashing a smile that’s unexpectedly genuine. “Yeah.” She pulls Paige in closer by her hands, their lips brushing again, but before she can melt into her completely, Paige’s phone rings and the two of them snap apart.

“Fuck,” Paige groans, her brows drawn tight in annoyance. She hardly looks twice at her phone as she picks it up and answers it. “Hello?” Tess can barely make out what the person on the other end is saying, but the tension leaves Paige’s body. “Okay, I’ll be down. Thank you.” Tess looks at her curiously as she hangs up the phone. “Cockblocked by the dasher,” she says solemnly, unable to hide her pout. “Gimme five minutes, I have to go meet him.”

Tess can’t wipe the smile off her face as Paige rolls off the bed again, slipping on her shoes and rummaging around in her bag for her wallet. Before she leaves, Tess catches her by her wrist, pulling her down to her level and planting a chaste kiss to her lips – a far cry from the one they’d been cheated out of. “Hurry back,” she says. “I’m hangry.”

“Two minutes,” Paige breathes out, grinning stupidly, pushing Tess’s hair out of her face. Then she’s gone, and Tess is left alone in the silence of their room. If any of this had happened a week prior, Tess would probably be spiraling, but she’s committed to turning over a new leaf. She’s not going to overthink it, she’s not going to crash out, and most of all, she’s going to accept this new development in her and Paige’s friendship for what it is without trying to second guess whatever it could mean. They can just be friends who kiss now. That’s a thing. They don’t have to label anything. They can just be them, and as far as Tess is concerned, she’s okay with that.

Paige makes it back in record time, Chick-fil-A bag and drink carrier in hand and slightly out of breath. At Tess’s brow raise, Paige shrugs cheekily, handing over a milkshake. “You said you were hangry,” she teases, sliding back into bed next to her. “I’m too young to die.”

Tess rolls her eyes as Paige begins dividing out their food, passing the sauce and napkins. “You’re such an asshole,” she says good-naturedly.

“You kissed me,” Paige reminds her, as if Tess could ever forget about that. “What does that say about you?”

“I’m a very charitable person,” Tess supplies modestly. Paige snorts like she doesn’t believe that, but Tess smiles regardless.

They continue chatting throughout dinner. Paige pretends like she doesn’t notice Tess stealing her fries, although Paige ends up using most of Tess’s sauce, so they call it even at the end. Paige throws their trash away while Tess scrolls on her phone, only glancing up when Paige returns, hooking her chin over her shoulder and throwing a casual arm over Tess’s waist. “Time to break the internet?”

“You better not post anything embarrassing,” Tess grumbles, enjoying the weight of Paige’s body on hers.

Paige hides her laugh in the fabric of her shirt. “I couldn’t if I tried.” She pulls out her phone, opening Instagram and begins drafting a new post. Tess’s eyes catch on some of Paige’s photos as she scrolls through them. There’s random screenshots of Bible quotes, a concerning amount of selfies, a lot of basketball related things, and pictures of Tess have somehow become a new trend in her gallery. From the photo of Tess with cream on her nose, FaceTime candids, to photos from their shoot today that Tess wasn’t even aware Paige had taken. Tess softens. Most of the pictures were nice. “Could get a new one,” Paige suggests, opening her camera and pointing it at the mirror on the opposite wall, displaying the two of them pressed close together. Tess rolls her eyes, chuckling, but Paige takes the photo before she can react.

“Paige Madison,” Tess sighs. She can feel Paige smile against her.

“C’mon,” she goads. “We look good.” Tess can’t really argue with that one, so she leans her head against Paige’s and begins drafting her own Instagram post. They work in silence as they select the best photos for the hard launch. It’s only been a month and a half, but Tess feels both fondness and nostalgia as she scrolls through their photos and their memories. She has a couple of photos from PT with Paige, FaceTime screenshots, the photo of Paige holding their coffees, and photos of Paige trying to style the Mrs. Bose earbuds they were promoting. She knows there was a reason why Paige came into her life, but she can’t help feeling like she showed up at the right time; it could have been anyone else – college athletics has an endless amount of controversial athletes who are in need of image repair – yet being paired with Paige feels like a stroke of fate.

Tess selects only a few photos, not wanting to go overboard. She includes their first picture at PT – Paige holding the ice pack over her knee, the FaceTime screenshot of Paige showcasing the LEGO rose, Paige and their coffees, and a mirror selfie they’d taken after stylists did their hair and makeup for the shoot. She captions it “here’s to tess kennedy’s worst kept secret. thank you for coming into my life when you did,” and while this hard launch is not real, the sentiment is.

Paige finishes at around the same time she does, a soft smile on her face as they swap phones to look at each other’s work. True to her word, Paige kept the embarrassment to a minimum, although the first photo she selected was the one with whipped cream on her nose. Tess shouldn’t have expected anything less, but it’s quickly growing on her. The rest of the photos consist of the mirror selfie Paige just took, a screenshot of Tess modeling the gold dress for her, a bible quote – 1 Corinthians 16:14 – and, shockingly enough, an older photo of them from their freshman year, shaking hands after the first game they’d played against one another. They’re both cheesing. Tess remembers that loss vividly. The media called it The Battle of the Freshmen, mostly because it was the long awaited match-up between Tess and Paige, who’d been hailed as freshmen phenoms, two top recruits. In that game, they both accounted for the majority of their team’s points. Paige was responsible for 31 of UConn’s 63 while Tess led South Carolina with 30 of their 59.

Tess couldn’t even be upset at the loss. She and Paige played their hearts out, and honestly, playing against Paige was the highlight of the game. From their expressions alone, you would have thought they both walked home with trophies that night. Tess could argue that she did. Playing with Paige makes you a better player, sure, but playing against her? Tess learned so much from her game, although she would never admit that to Paige; her ego is too overinflated and Tess will not contribute to growing it.

“Where’d you find the last one?” Tess asks curiously, handing Paige’s phone back.

Paige does the same, her face lighting up with a soft smile. “Got tagged in it a couple times,” she says. “Felt right.” Tess can’t argue against that, smiling too. “At the same time?” Tess hums in confirmation, her thumb hovering over the post button, and simultaneously, they both share the hard launch to their pages. There is a very brief period of stillness before the notifications and comments begin pouring in. Tess swipes over to Paige’s post and only then does she read the caption, “And her pink skies will keep me warm.”

“Cheesy ass Frank lyric!” Tess exclaims with a laugh.

Paige looks inexplicably smug, pleased with herself. “Full circle,” she says.

“Full circle,” Tess agrees, her smile turning tender.

It’s at that moment that everything finally clicks. The lyrics filter through her brain. And a new day will bring about the dawn. And her pink skies will keep me warm. She can hear it perfectly, Frank’s voice singing to her, “Abandon mission, you must be kiddin’, this shit feelin’ different, shit feelin’ different to me.” All of the thoughts she’d been ignoring, the uncomfortable conversation with herself she’d been avoiding. She tried to push it down, but the realization came into focus with stunning clarity. Tess liked Paige. Tess likes her.

That was the entire reason why everything has felt so different. It wasn’t because she and Paige were spending so much time together, why Paige has become nearly synonymous with Tess’s recovery. It wasn’t because their friendship was just different. It was because it wasn’t friendship at all. It was always something more, even from the start.

Tess feels as though the floor beneath her could splinter, a giant crack down the middle that would send her tumbling to the ground below. She likes Paige. She has feelings for Paige. Calling it by any other name wouldn’t do her any good. She broke their rules and it’s taken her this long to realize.

“You good?” Paige asks her, her brows drawn into a furrow, concern etched onto her face as her hand reaches for Tess’s. She hadn’t realized she was shaking.

Tess clears her throat, nodding. “Yeah,” she lies, hoping that it sounds believable. Bree’s words come back to her. You’re lying to Paige, which is why you’re fumbling the bag. She was right all along. Tess could laugh at the absurdity of it all if Paige wasn’t sitting next to her. “Just need a shower, I think.”

She decides right then and there that Paige can’t know. She can’t know that she’s close to ruining it all, close to undoing all of the work they’d done to restore their reputations. That she’d broken their rule after all. That she let this get out of hand, and if Paige knew, their friendship would be destroyed for sure, and Tess isn’t sure if she could handle not having Paige around.

Paige hums, seemingly convinced, but all Tess can think about is what she’s done.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x oc #uconn wbb #uconn #ncaa wbb

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jam3sacaster · 5 months ago

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“I pray you, do not fall in love with me.”

(Rivals) Rupert Campbell-Black x Reader

Suggestion by a sweet anon 🫶🏽 / A popular theatre actress residing in Rutshire, your world is turned upside down upon meeting RCB…

18+ FANFIC / Slight smut! Short ish? Reader character aged at 21 🩷

“Excellent work today, darling. Theatre bores the arse off me, but it helps tremendously when Rosalind is played by such an effortlessly sexy woman.” Basil Baddingham winked as you glide through the door of Bar Sinister, placing an immensely large glass of white wine at your usual table. Mounds of espresso-coloured curls were tied in a lazy knot at the top of your head, and your cheeks retained a flustered, rouge tint. Basil never failed to flirt with you, even if you felt particularly frumpy, adorned in an oversized plum woollen jumper, a pleated, emerald green skirt and a tattered black pair of Dr. Martens. “Thanks, Bas. Seeing you in the audience spurred me on.” You chime in response, and take a large gulp of wine. Your usual table was the best spot in the bar — looking out at Cotchester High Street. In the distance, you can observe the twisting spire of Cotchester Cathedral, the bewitching beauty of peony petals littering their flower beds and tan leaves effortlessly dancing from the oak tree onto the sodden pavement.

Once you appeared sufficiently settled, a chattering swarm of people crowded your table, hounding you with questions — Will you be doing more Shakespeare? Oh darling, please tell me you’ll open my charity gala next week? Will you let me take you to dinner? Shooting Bas a look that simply begged for another wine, the olive-skinned man parted the crowd and asked them to give you a moment to yourself. “Another goblet of wine, m’lady.” He quipped, and found himself gravitating to a rather gorgeous woman at table six. “Hello darling, take a seat, I’ll be over in a minute with a ginormous whiskey.” Bas yelled as the door welcomed another customer to the already heaving bar.

The seat afore you scraped against the hardwood floor, coaxing you to look up from your stemmed glass and instantaneously prepare your questions for the next gruelling interview. “Oh, hello.” You peep, straightening your plum jumper. “Hello, sweetheart. You don’t mind if I sit here, do you? Bas usually saves me a seat but he appears to be preoccupied.” The breathtaking man spoke, gesturing towards Basil, who was currently stabbing his tongue into somebody’s mouth. “N-no, that’s fine.” You respond, watching as a barmaid supplied the man with a glass, and his own bottle of whiskey, nervously mumbling ‘On the house.’

“On the house, hmm? You must be important.” You question, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow towards him. “Not particularly. It just means Bas is planning to take some tart home so he can’t be arsed to talk to me,” He chuckled to himself, “Rupert.” He informed you, pouring himself a glass of amber whiskey and lighting a cigar. You told Rupert your name with a timid smile, and lit a cigarette of your own. “So, darling, how do you waste your days?” Rupert interrogated, giving you the pleasure of his intoxicating cerulean eyes. “I’m an actress. Theatre mainly. Today, I was Rosalind in As You Like It.” You blab, hoping you were making a good first impression of yourself to the ravishing man.

“Ahh, Rosalind. I pray you, do not fall in love with me. For I am falser than vows made in wine.” Rupert recites. His statement sent a preternatural shiver across the length of your spine — perhaps an awful sense of foreboding from the mystifying man. “Very impressive. I like a man that knows his stuff.” You acknowledge, taking a sultry puff of your cigarette and keeping your gaze locked onto his. Rupert ran his tongue across his teeth, nodding his head slightly and taking a gulp of whiskey. Hook, line and sinker, he thought to himself.

The night escaped you both — a darkened autumn gloom overcasting Cotchester High Street but the overcrowded bustle of Bar Sinister and the innumerable bottles of alcohol kept you merry. “If you could be any Shakespeare character, Mr Campbell-Black, who would you be?” You slur drunkenly, reaching over the table and rubbing your hand across Rupert’s muscle-bound arm. “I will be any character that plays the love interest of yours. Or any character that you like enough to get you into bed.” The charming man purred, advancing towards you with a darkened, lustful gleam in his eye. “Trying to get me into bed? I don’t think you’ll have to try hard.” You reply, relocating your hand to his thigh, allowing it to glide dangerously close to his cock. The fuzzy, thick feeling of too much Chardonnay in your head made you devilishly aroused, and Rupert was more than happy to be the recipient of your advances. “I don’t think I’ll have to try hard either. Talking of hard…” He rasped, taking a hold of your hand and placing it over his growing bulge. “Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry, stray lower where pleasant fountains lie.” You whisper, squeezing your hand around the girth of his cock.

“Bas, we’re off. See you tomorrow.” Rupert shouts towards his otherwise preoccupied friend, before taking your hand and leading you out of the door.

#rivals #rivals disney #rivals disney+#rivals fanfic #rivals fanfiction #rupert campbell black fanfic #rupert campbell black fanfiction #rupert campbell black x reader #rupert campbell black #rupert campbell-black #alex hassell

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itsnathateasy · 4 months ago

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"a slip of the tongue"

in which these aot characters tell you that they love you on accident, early relationship includes: eren, armin, jean, ymir, hange, levi & erwin warnings: mentions of alcohol word count: 3,5k

massive thank you to @satorella for requesting this cause i was in a terrible writer's block hehe hope you like it!🧁

“You shouldn’t have done that and I did warn you, y/n! Don’t try and blame it on me now!” Eren yelled from the bedroom. He was right, he had warned you not to plug a bunch of energy intensive devices at once. This place was old and the high power demand often resulted in you literally staying in the dark for a while. “And what was I supposed to do? Stop cooking or turn the radiators off?” You said, annoyed. This house really did suck and your current situation had become a common occurrence. “The landlady said you’d better use the off-peak electricity. But do you ever listen...” He said as he rummaged in the dark, probably looking for his phone. “You’re not being fair now. I haven’t caused any trouble in weeks! It’s not my fault the system is shit!” You noticed a bright light, meaning Eren had found his phone. The light quickly illuminated the panelboard, right next to the bathroom door. Eren flicked a couple of switches, then walked towards you and wrapped an arm around your waist, leading you to the living room. “Take a seat, I’ll call the landlady again, tell her I’ll have to go check in the basement too.” “Do you really have to?” You pouted. Usually, the tech thingy he did in the panelboard was enough to get your house back to normal. Apparently, this was one of the times when it didn’t suffice. “I love you too much to have you electrocute yourself on accident, y/n.” He typed the landlady’s number and waited for her to respond. You waited and waited, but she wouldn’t pick up. Defeated, he let his weight fall next to you on the couch. “Looks like we’ll have to use an extra jumper today, y/n. Can’t go down in the basement without her permission. Not after she called the cops on me the previous time!” You both laughed as you recalled the incident. “Want me to go ring her doorbell or something?” You offered. In all honesty, you felt bad for causing this much trouble again. “Not yet. I’ll call again in a bit. In the meantime… We could cuddle for a while? It’s always better when it gets a little bit chilly, don’t you think?” You scoffed, opening your arms so he could snuggle in your embrace. “Can you also run your fingers through my hair? I like it when you do that.” He said, eyes turning towards you, a pleading look on his face. “Demanding, aren’t we?” You said as you thread your fingers through his messy hair. “Well, do you still want me to sort your electrical problems miss? Cause I could leave this very instant!” “Ah, you could? You literally begged me to cuddle you and touch your hair! And don’t think I didn’t catch that “I love you too much” you spilled earlier, mister!” You heard him gulp and he immediately stood up, trying to escape you. “Aaand that’s my cue to call your landlady again!” “Won’t you rather cuddle now that it’s getting chilly, Eren?”

Armin’s head was gently pressed against your belly, your hand rummaging through his soft, blond hair. Tangled with each other under the covers in bed, you were watching a film and attempted to calm down together after a long day. “Unbelievable how Regina manipulated everyone so successfully! Is that were you get your tricks from?” He joked as he turned his face up towards you, making sure he caught your reaction. “I’m manipulative?!? Whoa, Armin, and here I thought you loved me!” He giggled as you pushed him away from you, throwing the blanket over him, completely covering him. He was quick to uncover himself and stood on his knees in front of you as you did your best to push him away with a pillow. “I do love you! But it’s funny cause you always make me do whatever you say. I’m powerless when it comes to you. You say “I want muffins”, I’m baking them. You say “Let’s watch Mean Girls” and I’m in your arms like a baby. I’m “head empty, only y/n” when it comes to you! And don’t deny it, cause I know you love it too!” He was finally able to steal the pillow from your hands, only to throw it back on you, commencing a vicious pillow fight. You struggled to catch your breath between your fake fight and fits of laughter. When your battle was over, you plopped yourselves back on the bed, tired from all the fighting, Armin’s head in your lap again. “You know, that’s your first time saying that you love me.” “I haven’t said it yet? Though I do mean to. Just don’t want to come off real strong, you know? We’ve only been dating a few months and-” “Armin! You said you loved me but that you’re useless when it comes to me or something!” “Hey, I never said useless!” He jumped up to face you as he spoke. “Oh, so you DID say you love me?” Armin sighed, burying his face in his palms. “God, I’m such a simp!” He exclaimed before you pried his palms open to inspect his face. “Looks like someone needs a kiss!” To which he nodded yes, of course.

It was normal for Jean to call you at random times during the night, but waking up to 19 missed calls from him was a first. That’s what happens when you leave your phone on dnd while your boyfriend is out with his friends. It was only 6am and you were woken up by the howling wind. That scared you even more. What if he’d had an accident last night? He was supposed to be out, yet he didn’t text at all, only called. Trying to keep your composure and not jump to conclusions just yet, you pressed on his contact and waited as the phone beeped. It didn’t take long for him to pick up and before you knew it, you were introduced to loud voices and laughter. “Jean what the fuck? You called me like a million times!? Are you okay?” “Slow down, y/n!” He slurred and hiccuped as he spoke, taking pauses between each word. “Why didn’t you pick up – hic – the phooone?” “Jean are you still out? Who’s with you?” “Tsk, just… Just me and the guys… We’re at Connie’s – hic – place.” “Are you guys serious? You’ve been drinking since last night and it’s 6am Jean!” “Tsk Y/N! Don’t – hic- be a party pooper! I only – hic – wanted to speak to you!” You sighed, rolling your eyes. If he could see the look on your face now, he’d definitely sober up. “Ugh… Okay, Jean. What did you want to talk to me about?” You were being impatient now that the fear of him potentially being hurt had vanished. He was drunk and probably a bit more silly than usual. “I only wanted to say – hic – you mean the world to me and – hic – I want to always – hic – be with you and marry you one day – hic – because I really really really - hic – love you and if you don’t love me – hic – I’ll kidnap you out of love – hic – and then I’ll marry you myself! Why are you – hic – laughing, y/n? Don’t – hic – you love me?” Yeap, he was being extra silly. “No, Jean, I do love you. But, tell me, is anyone holding their camera towards you right now?” “Ah… Yes, Eren! Do you love Eren, y/n?” “No, Jean! Listen, I’m coming to pick you up, okay? Try and find your shoes and coat, yes?” You heard him giggle on the other side of the phone. “So you’re coming to pick me – hic – up because you love me?” “Yes, Jean. I’m coming to pick you up because I love you!” “Gaaah I can’t believe you – hic - said it first! I called you – hic – a thousand times so that – hic – I could tel you I love you first!” This wasn’t real, he couldn’t possibly be this drunk, could he? “Just find your shoes, will you? I’ll be there soon!” “Hm… Because you love me?” Obvious would be an understatement for the goofiness in his voice.

Being distant was typical Ymir behaviour. But being this distant wasn’t. She’d been ignoring your texts the entire day and when you finally built up the courage to call and confront her about it, she simply said how “work was killing her” and that she “didn’t have time to chat today”, even thought she read all of your messages on the spot. You hadn’t fought or anything, but since the night before, Ymir was shying on you all of a sudden. Eager to find out what was going on, you decided to wait for her to be done with her shift in the convenience store where she worked. She should be done in about an hour and you still needed some time to get ready and actually get there. You did as fast as you could and soon you where in front of the store. You caught a glimpse of Ymir in her uniform, apron, cap and everything. Luckily, she noticed you too and gave you a shy smile, motioning you to come inside. “Look who’s here! Ymir never tells me when you’re gonna pay us a visit, y/n!” Ymir’s boss was gross, always trying to hit on the both of you. “Yeah, I guess there’s no reason to tell you about when exactly her partner is gonna show up, right?” That was enough to make him walk backwards, hands up in defence. As you walked closer to where Ymir was preparing an order, you gave her a soft “hey” and a smile, waiting for her to make the next move. “Hey!” She responded and poured some cream on a coffee cup before firmly pressing the lid on it. “Busy, huh?” “Yeah, it has been. Sorry I’m not responding much, y/n.” “It’s just… It’s not like you to be this way, Ymir… Did I do something to piss you off?” She avoided looking at you, which wasn’t a good sign. “No, y/n, you’ve been nothing but amazing… As always...” Lidding one more coffee cup, she rang the bell notifying the customer that their order was ready. A tall man walked towards you and grabbed the two cups, thanking Ymir and leaving her a tip in the tip jar. “Then what is it, Ymir? I can tell something’s off so better tell me now cause I won’t be satisfied until I know what’s wrong!” “Can’t you wait until-” “No, Ymir! I can’t wait!” You crossed your arms and waited for her to respond. “Fine, fine… Remember how last night before we went to bed, we said goodnight?” You raised your eyebrow at her (silly?) mention of your goodnight routine. “Yeah… We literally say goodnight to each other and kiss every time we spend the night together. What about last night?” “I uh… I kinda almost told you I love you and then I didn’t, so I sounded a bit weird and then you asked me about it and I said something about owing you money, but honestly, I don’t know what I was saying because I was extremely nervous at the time and now I’m avoiding you because it’s too awkward to deal with this… Happy now?” The entire time Ymir spoke, your smile grew wider and wider as you realised nothing was wrong. Quite the contrary actually. “Well, I love you too, just so you know.” Ymir’s eyes grew wide, her lips forming and ‘o’ but no words at all. “You don’t need to say it back now. Do it when it feels right to you. And when you’re not too nervous about it. Okay?” You could tell her features relaxed at the realisation that there was no rush between the two of you. No need to fast forward. She smiled. “More than okay, y/n!”

Hange was hunched over the pot, stirring what was soon to be your soup. You’d been sick for a few days and they insisted on coming over to help however they could, even though you’d made it abundantly clear that you’d rather be alone. “It won’t boil faster if you stare at it, Hange!” “I know, I know! But I love seeing how those tiny oil spills move around. Wanna check it out too?” You scoffed. “You think it wise to have a sick person sticking their stuffy nose over a pot of soup?” Hange laughed at your comment, putting the lid on the pot, protecting it from your germs. “I guess you’re right. But hey, you shouldn’t be here anyway. Go lay back down!” You rolled your eyes, but didn’t have the energy to actually fight them. “In fact, you’re the one who isn’t supposed to be here.” Finding your spot on the couch, you turned the tv on and wrapped yourself up in your blanket. It really wasn’t a good idea to have Hange around in your state, but you were so grateful that they did come to help you. Even if they hadn’t spontaneously decided to cook for the both of you, it was comforting to have them around, hearing their insistent mumbling and chattering on their own as they cooked. “I’m just gonna clean your surfaces up a bit in here and I’ll join you shortly! Okay y/n?” You heard clutter from the kitchen as Hange – probably? - cleared the kitchen table from all the dishes and glasses you’d left there. “Whatever, just try not to get sick Hange, okay?” They shouted an “okay” back to you as the cluttering sounds continued. “Did I tell you about what Levi said to me the other day?” “Oh no, what happened this time?” You said as you rested your head on the back of the couch, trying to catch a glimpse of Hange in the kitchen. “Well, it all started when I went to pour myself some coffee and he was blocking my way. AGAIN! So I said to him he should stop playing this game every single morning and...” The more Hange spoke, the more you felt yourself drifting into sleep. What with being sick, what with their soft voice, it was easy to relax when they were around. You didn’t know how much time had passed when you heard Hange’s voice as if from far away. “I knew you weren’t listening...” You felt their hands readjust your head so that it rested on the pillow, felt the blanket being pulled over your shoulders. As if in a dream, Hange kneeled and kissed your forehead. “I love you, y/n. Get better soon.” You slit your eyes open, just a tiny bit, to find them inches away from your face. “I love you too.” You felt yourself dozing off again, unable to stay awake. “Rest now.”

You’d messed up so bad this time. It was obvious in the way Levi existed around you today. Sure, he wasn’t usually one to be too chatty or overly excited, but he also wasn’t the one to ignore you on purpose and waltz around the house as if you weren’t even there. As much as you hated this, you had brought it on yourself, you’d let your insecurity steer the wheel and what would’ve been a calm conversation, ended up into a massive fight. You couldn’t stand this tension with Levi anymore though. “Are you really going to pretend I’m not here?” Setting his cup on the living room table, Levi began to speak, weaving his fingers together. “Y/n, I woke you up, I poured you your coffee and I even lied to your mum on the phone about you still being asleep, because you didn’t feel like talking to her. How can you think I’m pretending you’re not here when I’m doing a bunch of shit for you?” You could feel your cheeks heating up the way they did last night. “Oh, so doing my chores for me is your way of not ignoring me?” Levi sighed, burying his face in his palms. “It’s called acts of service, y/n. You don’t have to tell me about those things, I just do them for you, because I love you. Not as a chore. I should say it more often, I know, but it’s not like me. And you should not push me to say it more than I want to or act blind to the acts of service I provide, which I’ve explicitly elaborated on how this is, in fact, my love language!” Your arms were crossed on your chest and you pouted, although you’d turned to the side so that Levi couldn’t tell. “It’s difficult for me when you barely say you love me. Everyone else had been verbal about their feelings for me in the past...” “Yeah, and I’m not “everyone else you’ve ever dated” or whatever, y/n. I’m Levi and this is how I express myself!” You both stayed silent for a while. It was devastating, the distance between you. Both literally and figuratively. “Listen,” he began, “I promise to try and be more vocal about how I feel, if you promise to try and see all the other ways I love you and take care of you. That sound fair?” Reluctantly, you peaked at him from where you were leaning on the kitchen counter. “You’re not breaking up with me then?” “Y/n, are you serious? We’re not breaking up because we had one fight. We’re talking through it. Do you think it’d be okay to break up due to different ways of conveying emotion?” You walked over to him, taking a seat next to him, placing your hand on his thigh. “I was a bit immature last night, wasn’t I?” You admitted shyly. “You were. But it’s okay now.” He cupped your hand with his own, running his thumb on your skin. “And that is physical touch. One more way of expressing love. Need I say more?” He smirked as he looked into your eyes. “Don’t mock me! I promised to pay more attention! Thank you for being patient with me, Levi.” “We’ll figure it out, y/n.”

You were sat with your friend Hange on the couch, their phone between the two of you on speaker. Normally, you’d listen to some music or watch some silly video together, but this time, Erwin had called them and you took the opportunity to spy on him, as you were sure he’d want to discuss about your birthday present, so you begged Hange not to mention that you were also in the room with them. “I’m thinking either you or Levi should find some excuse to drag her outside of the house. For a few hours at least. I’ve already told her I’ll be at work, so that’s done. If you manage to keep her busy for around three hours, I’ll be able to have the house cleaned decorated.” Hange giggled, their eyes fixated on the phone in their hand. “Why would you clean the house, Erwin? It’s supposed to be a surprise!” Erwin’s sigh was audible, even through the phone. “Yeah, I know, but once the fun is over and what has happened registers, she’ll be so upset that I invited a bunch of people over and didn’t even have the decency to clean.” You couldn’t help but smile sweetly at his words. He was really taking such good care of you! You looked over at Hange only to find her swooning over Erwin’s comment, ther hand on their forehead, fake fainting. “Aren’t you precious, Erwin! Y/n is so lucky to have you!” They said and winked at you, satisfied that they’d get him to talk even more about you. “In all honesty, I’m lucky to have her.” There was a pause, and neither you or Hange spoke. You simply went on staring at each other expectantly, and stole glances over at Hange’s phone. “Hange, I really love her so much. I can’t believe I got so lucky with her. She’s so understanding… About everything. It’s still difficult to grasp why she’s with me to begin with.” The moment he uttered those words, your palms moved like lighting and covered your mouth, an attempt to not speak loudly. Hange’s eyes were wide with excitement. “Hange, are you still there?” He questioned as a few more seconds passed and he didn’t receive a response from them. “You couldn’t say it to my face that you love me, but you could tell Hange?” You blurted all of a sudden, barely believing you’d just done so. “Uhm, I think it’s the appropriate time to say that y/n has been sitting across from me this whole time because we wanted to find out what her birthday gift was… Sorry, Erwin...” “I’ve been on speaker, haven’t I?” “Uh yes you have? Why aren’t you answering my question?” You demanded as Hange gave you a thumbs up for cornering him like that. “I’d rather tell you again in person, y/n. I’ll see you at home.” He hang up before either of you could speak again.

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thatacotargirl · 1 year ago

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Shadows and Surprises (6)

Part 6 of Azriel x Reader fanfic!

Summary: Azriel meets y/n at Rita's and spends a single night of passion with you before heading your separate ways. Only, the Mother had different ideas.

Warnings: none.

Tag list - @nickishadow139 @dee-writes-smut @minnieoo @st4r-girl-official

@courtofjurdan @mirandasidefics @lilah-asteria @nyxbranwenn @impossibelle

@mybestfriendmademe @hauntedstudentobservationus @julesofvolterra @acourtofbatboydreams @rogersbarnesxx

@skylarkalchemist @sidthedollface2 @aehllitas-blog @fullmoon-94

Azriel's POV

"There is nothing that needs to be done, Azriel".

Rhysand was trying to reassure the pacing Azriel that you were, indeed, safe in Velaris. He had provided you with unconditional refuge in the city in case your father or uncle tried to have you removed back to Illyria.

"She has refuge here, and they have no claim to her anyway. She is safe in Velaris, as is the child".

Azriel still felt the panic deep in his bones, and felt them shake when he was reminded of his child. It wasn't only you that needed protection now, it was his sweet unborn baby.

"Neither Darius nor Devlon can do anything about this", Cassian reassured him, but it didn't stop Azriel's pacing.

"We need to do something about this Rhys, he injured her, he cut off her wings".

"Az, believe me, if we could go and take them to the Hewn City right now I'd do it in a heartbeat - but we need to do this strategically. And we can't hurt y/n in the process".

Azriel knew Rhysand was right, but it didn't make it any easier to accept. However, fighting with his brother wasn't going to help him either, and he needed all the support he could get right now, even if he found it hard to admit that. He let his head sag in resignation that, right now, he could do nothing more.

"I need to speak with you both, actually".

Azriel raised his head to look at his High Lord, who looked paler and more withdrawn than usual.

"Feyre is in Velaris".

Y/N's POV

After another morning spent training with Cassian before he went for a meeting with Rhysand, you were exhausted. Cassian was careful to make sure you stayed within your level of comfort and kept hydrated, but there was no denying that being pregnant and trying to exercise with an Illyrian warrior was a tough feat.

You walked through the House of Wind to find it surprisingly quiet; with Azriel having joined Cassian in Rhysand's office for the meeting. It was a rare opportunity to find yourself in peace and quiet, with the three males doting on you every time you walked into a new room, so you figured you'd make the most of it and enjoy a quiet afternoon in the living room with a book.

You walked in and froze. There, sat on one of the sofas, was a female you had never seen before and who looked equally as petrified to have run into you.

"Hi, I'm y/n", you offer, keeping your distance from the female whose fear scented the air so strongly you had to hold back a gag.

"Feyre", she replied.

"Are you here with?....." you gesture behind you, trying to figure out why she was currently sat in the living room.

"Rhysand".

"Ah".

You avoid each other's eyes as you stand in awkward silence, not knowing how best to address the situation. It was at that moment that your unborn baby decided to make a move for the pair of you, and gave you a gentle kick. It didn't feel like much, maybe just a gas bubble, but one discernible enough that you knew it was the life inside you. You gasp and your hand flew to your stomach. Although your belly was hidden under the jumper you were wearing, you knew the scent of pregnancy was noticeable to everyone, and you watched as Feyre jumped into action.

"Are you ok?", she asked, reaching out towards you but not quite touching you.

"I think, I think the baby moved, maybe, or maybe it was gas, or both? I don't know I don't know what it's meant to feel like", you laugh as you hear your voice getting higher and higher with excitement and panic. Moments like this made your pregnancy feel so much more real.

You looked at Feyre, whose eyes had softened and fear had dissipated. Her hand was still outstretched in the air, so you decided to reach forward to take it and place it on your bump. At that moment, your baby decided to throw in another kick, and Feyre gasped as she too felt the very, very tiny flutter of your stomach.

"You're the first person to feel the baby kick", you smile at her. She returns with a warm smile of her own, her hand still resting on your stomach.

It is sometime later, the two of you sat engrossed in conversation, when the males walk into the room. You peer around the edge of the sofa and see Rhysand standing tall, shoulders back, face pale. He looked worried, stressed, and you can only guess it is because of Feyre. You giggle, the mighty High Lord being taken for a loop by the small female sat opposite you.

"I see you've met Feyre", he says, walking to stand in front of you both. Azriel and Cassian follow.

"I have, she's wonderful!", you exclaim, giving Feyre a beaming smile, which she gladly returns. Feyre looks at the Illyrians with apprehension, but you're pleased that the scent of her fear is nowhere to be found - if not for her, but for your own nausea.

Rhys looks pleased that you seem to have taken Feyre under your wing.

"Feyre will be staying here for the foreseeable future".

You sense a tension in the atmosphere, but you don't pry. It's not your place if they don't wish to talk about why Feyre is here and why Rhysand is standing before you both looking constipated. Cassian must notice the tension too, because he jumps into the conversation.

"Dinner, anyone?"

Mor wasn't around, so dinner was solely for the 3 males, you, and Feyre. You deliberately sat Feyre at the edge of the table with only yourself next to her, if only to comfort her. Azriel sat opposite you, Rhys opposite Feyre, and Cassian at the head of the table. Conversations were kept light, no mention of Feyre's sudden appearance in Velaris was made, nor any mentions of yours and Azriel's relationship. Feyre hadn't asked who fathered your baby, and you had no idea how to explain the situation, so you were grateful it hadn't come up.

You were talking to Feyre about a book you had both loved, when you felt a wisp of something in your hair. You reach your hand up and pull it back with surprise, as a shadow had wrapped itself around your wrist. You looked at Azriel, who looked equally as shocked.

Suddenly, a flurry of shadows entangled themselves in your hair, around your limbs, and brushing up against your stomach. You could see Azriel trying to draw them back, becoming more and more frustrated at their ignoring him, and you couldn't help the laugh that came out. Watching the notorious Spymaster of the Night Court flustered because his shadows were disobeying him was funnier than you cared to admit. You could see Rhys and Cassian trying to stifle their laughs, and Feyre watching intently as the shadows drew your hair up into different hairstyles and played with your necklace.

"They're ok, Az. Let them be", you cooed, letting the shadows dance around your fingers. Azriel gave up trying to command them back to him, and instead indulged in watching the way you interacted with them, almost like you were playing with them.

A few darted off out of the room and came back a few moments later holding onto a purple paper bag. You saw the way that Azriel paled and lunged for the bag, but the shadows dodged, dropping the bag on your lap instead. You looked up to Azriel, his eyes wide, and thanked the shadows for bringing it to you.

"Is this for me?", you asked. He nodded, but you could clearly see he was uncomfortable. You decided he'd been through enough tonight.

"Thank you, and thank you sweet shadows" you cooed at them, placing the bag on the floor. If it was a gift, Azriel clearly wasn't ready for you to have it, so you weren't going to embarrass him by opening it at the table in front of everyone.

"Dessert?" you asked, smiling at Feyre, trying to change the conversation. Azriel looked at you gratefully as Cassian pounced on the chocolate marble cake that appeared on the table.

You had subtly handed the bag back to Azriel at the end of dinner before departing for your bedroom. You were even more exhausted now, having not been able to get in an afternoon nap. You showed Feyre to her room, gave her a few of your favourite books that she hadn't read and a glass of water, and had settled in to your own bed. Just as you went to switch off your light, you heard a knock at the door.

"Come in", you called, thinking it might be Feyre. The Illyrian wings that filled the doorway told you otherwise.

"Az?" you asked, sitting up in bed. Azriel was standing in the door, clutching the bag in his hand.

"You can have this now. I didn't know when to give it to you, but I guess the shadows want you to have it today". He handed you the bag and you took it happily.

"They've never done that, you know".

"Done what?"

"Disobeyed me to go to someone else. They've never done that. They seemed enthralled by you".

You chuckle.

"Maybe because they know I'm carrying your baby?". Azriel looked away wistfully, before nodding.

"Yeah, that must be it".

You pulled the tissue paper out of the bag before your hands touched soft fabric. You pulled out a small bundle of black and unfurled it to reveal a teeny, tiny baby grow. The back had small slits to fit small wings and it adopted on a celestial pattern - with the words "Our Little Star" in silver embroidery on the front.

"I know you wanted the first piece of clothing the baby had to be special, I hope I didn't overstep".

The tears that had lined your eyes now spilled, and you opened your arms to engulf him in a hug.

"You didn't, Az. This is beautiful, thank you". You stayed like that for a few minutes, holding each other, before Azriel stepped back.

"I'll let you get some sleep".

"Ok, thank you again Az".

He smiled and left your bedroom. Your eyes fell to the beautiful baby grow and you held it to your chest, feeling more love than you had ever felt in your entire life. As if feeling it too, you felt another little flutter, and smiled to yourself.

You carefully placed the baby grow on your dresser and settled back down, your eyes heavy. As you lulled into a deep sleep, you felt the gentle caress of a shadow stroking your arm and, once you were asleep, it nuzzled itself into your open hand.

#a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #a court of silver flames #acotar #acotar x reader #acotar x y/n #a court of frost and starlight #a court of mist and fury #azriel x reader #acotar fanfiction #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #acotar azriel #azriel shadowsinger x reader #acotar fic

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brtt2pnny · 5 months ago

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https://www.futureelectronics.com/p/interconnect--connectors-pcb--shunts-jumpers/5102tr-keystone-5046274

Jumper cap, jumper wire connector Jumper wire types, coaxial cable connector

0.02 in 0.5 mm Thick Copper (Silver Plated) 0.27 in 6.85 mm Long Jumper

#Keystone #5102TR #Connectors #PCB Shunts & Jumpers #Jumper cap #jumper wire connector Jumper wire types #coaxial cable connector #terminal jumpers #cables #high voltage jumper wire #high current jumper #solder bridge jumper #jumper wire #wire connector

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wnbawag · 4 months ago

Text

Glued To You

Pairing: Breanna Stewart x reader

Summary: Stewie had always assumed that seeing men throw themselves at you would bother her more.

Warnings: Swearing, smut

Word Count: 1.4k

Note: Lil blurb I wrote way too late at night. Not proof read, lemme know if you find any mistakes!

My Masterlist

Stewie had always assumed that seeing men throw themselves at you would bother her more.

Don’t get her wrong, she didn’t like seeing man after man come up to you during her games. She swore she made it very obvious that you were her’s. From keeping you in her jerseys, giving you her old high school letterman that read “Stewart” on the back, and even having you in Stewie 1’s or your custom “Stew York” pumps.

Your fuck me pumps, as you called them.

Still, even decked out in Breanna Stewart gear and screaming for her every time she was on the court, you were still bombarded with men shooting their shots.

Breanna couldn’t really blame them.

You measured in at a measly 5 '4, and all soft curves, gentle smiles, and an adorable Georgian accent that came out every time you cheered.

Today in particular, you had shown up in a ‘southern belle’ style sundress, sporting Stewie’s high school letterman, and your favorite pair of shoes - your Mi Amor Stewie 2s.

It was a tough game; facing off against the Minnesota Lynx was always a tough game. Stewie felt like she was on fire, her mid range jumper was on point, her blocks were lethal, and every time she looked to where you were on your feet in the stands, she got the satisfaction of seeing you glued to the game - glued to her - all while men were trying to chat you up.

You lept to your feet as Sabrina shot a buzzer beater three pointer. Not that y’all needed the three pointer, you had been up by at least 6 the entire fourth quarter. Still, you screamed your head off, cheering for your girl and her teammates. You caught Stewie’s eye as she celebrated with her team, a smirk adoring her gorgeous face as she looked at you.

You knew why, as protective as Stewie was, there was nothing she loved more than to watch you ignore the throngs of men that chased you at every game.

Speaking of, you turned to the current one beside you - why was he still here?

He had been talking the entire time, explaining basketball like you were an idiot.

I mean seriously, who did he think he was?

Still, your mama didn’t raise a rude lady.

You graciously smiled at him, thanked him for the conversation with a soft hand on his arm that made him blush, and darted into the crowd. You had a pretty girl to congratulate.

Stewie was distracted. She knew that press was a part of the game, she really did, but tonight? All she wanted was to take you home. She knew she was zoned out during the post-game press conference, but all she could think of was you in her jacket, smooth legs peeking out from under your sundress, the pride on your face, wait what was the question?

Stewie looked blankly at the reporter, acutely aware of Sabrina and Sandy trying to hide their amusement at her blatant disregard for the press.

“I think Stewie’s a little tired from the game, let me take that question,” Sandy saved Stewie with that one.

Stewie had the decency to look sheepish, glancing around the room and coming to a stop on the back wall, where you were giggling against the back door.

Even through the annoyance that is the press, the sight of you made Stewie smile.

—

You barely made it through the door to Stewie’s apartment before her hand was reaching under your dress, the other hand curling around the back of your neck to pull you closer to you.

“Had to watch everyone flirt with what’s mine all game,” Her accent tugged at something deep within you.

“They didn’t get nothing Stew, I’m yours,” You replied breathlessly, letting her pull you into an intense kiss.

The much taller woman led you into her kitchen, backed you against the counter and kissed you senseless. Her hand went to your ass, groping the smooth flesh. The hand that had held your neck moved down to palm at your breasts over your dress.

The touches were making your head spin, heart pounding as you were breathless against the onslaught of kisses from your love.

“Baby,” You moaned against her lips. “Baby I need you,”

That seemed to flip a switch in the older woman’s mind as her hands left their places to find home under your thighs. She lifted you like you were nothing, practically throwing you onto her counter.

“Damnit Stew,” You breathed out. “I love it when you do that,”

This time it was you that grabbed Stewie’s face and pulled her into you, matching her intensity.

Your uptick in intensity definitely got Breanna’s motor going. Her touches went from hungry to frantic.

The hands that had been under your thighs, rubbing circles, were pulled from beneath you to dive under your dress. One gripped your thigh, long fingers trailing towards the inside, while the other went straight for your clothed pussy.

“Did you wear the thong I like?” Stewie asked against your lips, a smirk finding its way back to her face.

“You know I did, baby,”

Stewie had originally planned to tease you for a while, but your sultry voice echoed in her mind and she quite frankly lost all critical thinking skills.

So with that, Stewie hooked a finger under your panites and ripped them downwards, not even bothering to get you to lift your hips as she got them off anyway.

Stewie dropped to her knees in front of you, looking like a damn vision, and took a long lick completely up your slit. Your head fell back with a moan as she dived into your pussy.

“Uh-uh baby, eyes on me,” her muffled voice came from below you. With a grown you met her eyes, which just about made you cum on the spot.

Her piercing blue eyes stripped you down to your bare bones, she looked so in control even as she was on her knees, basically glued to you.

Her long tongue alternated between circling your clit and licking at your entrance. You could barely handle that, much less when her fingers came up to rub at your folds and tease at your entrance.

“Stewie, baby, please fuck me!” Stewie wasted no time and plunged two fingers into your soaked entrance, establishing a quick rhythm that you knew you wouldn’t be able to hold onto for long. Her tongue continued to circle and flick your clit just the way you liked it and those blue eyes never left yours, even though keeping your’s open felt like holding up the entire sky.

“F-f-fuck Stewie, fuck baby, just like that, doing so good for me baby, please fuck,” curses fell from your mouth, you had no control over them anyway, but they made Stewie quicken her pace, fingers curving just enough to make your head fall back and your eyes close, moans getting louder.

Thankfully, Stewie let the lack of eye contact slide as she turned all of her attention to getting you to your orgasm, which was fast approaching.

All it took was a hook of her fingers and the smallest nip to your clit and you were falling over the edge, hands went from holding yourself up to gripping Stewie’s curls.

The two of you usually went for hours, but you were seeing stars. Your body slumped on the counter and you felt so damn overstimulated that tears were flowing freely.

Stewie kept her fingers inside you, helping coax you through the orgasm, but took her mouth off of you when she saw the tears.

Slowly, she pulled her fingers out, slipped them into her mouth for an extra taste, then stood between your trembling legs.

“Did so good for me baby, looked so sexy like that, letting go for me,” Stewie murmured as she gathered you in her arms, carrying you bridal style away from the kitchen. Your head fell against her strong chest, the steady heartbeat bringing you back to reality.

Stewie flopped down on your couch, maneuvering you so that you laid on top of her, your head resting on her chest.

“Wait Stew, I’m not done, I’m gonna do you,” You slurred out, hands reaching to grab at Stewie’s jersey that she hadn’t taken off yet. Stewie let out a laugh, running a hand through your hair.

“Babe I came just watching you, you were a damn sight,” She deposited a kiss on your hairline as you buried your head between her tits, groaning out your embarrassment as she laughed at you.

“Take a nap baby, when you wake up, I want a backshot,”

“STEWIE!”

#wnbawag #breanna stewart #breanna stewart x reader #wnba x reader #wbb x reader

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wileys-russo · 1 year ago

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Would you ever consider doing a midnight confessions ficlet? :)

midnight confessions ficlet

"nah you can go shopping anytime come on!" mary whined, holding you firmly in her arms as you'd given up fighting her to let you go. "i'm your best friend and this is a dream of mine. you know how much i love whales and i don't want to experience this without ya!" mary whined, hitting you with her best puppy dog eyes.

"what if i get sea sick? i've got captain tooney trauma from the euros!" you groaned, stomach churning at the memory of ella renting a boat and almost sinking all of you on a day off last summer.

"already thought about that. voila!" she finally let go of you, fishing a small white packet out of her pockets with a grin. "sea sickness nausea preventative tablets." you read before looking at her with a quirked eyebrow.

"see? now go hurry up and change the vans are leaving soon!" mary pushed you toward the elevator as you sighed heavily but gave in none the less, handing her back the tablets and rushing off to change.

"she coming?" lotte asked appearing beside mary who nodded happily. "like she can ever say no to me!" the dirty blonde girl grinned, moving to take a seat in the lobby with the rest of the group who were set to go whale watching.

returning in record time you were changed out of your training gear from this mornings session, having gone for a coffee with alessia and ella afterwards meaning everyone else was already ready to head off.

a few of the girls opting to go shopping and exploring instead that activity seemed much more inside your comfort zone than the current choice, never a huge fan of the ocean or being trapped on it in a boat.

however the moment mary caught wind of that she'd spent the last hour relentlessly pestering you to change your mind, taking full advantage of the soft spot you had for her and knowing exactly how to play on it.

"think they'll ever realise they're in love?" georgia nudged ellie beside her and nodded to the two of you as mary pulled you to sit down right beside her and started to chat your ear off as you watched on with a clearly lovesick smile.

"stop that! no meddlin." keira jumped in from georgias other side as the two started to scheme ways they might be able to speed up the process of the inevitable realisation of your shared feelings.

"but-" "no, leave them be. both of you!"

after that the vans arrived to take you all to the dock where you'd catch the whale watching boat from, a few of the girls sharing knowing looks as you jumped onto marys back, your shared laughter echoing through the lobby.

"oh god." you mumbled sinking further into your seat as the captain warned the wind was going to pick up a little on your way out and you could be in for a bumpy ride.

"hey, you took two of the tablets right?" mary nudged you with a concerned frown as you nodded, your head falling to her shoulder as her arm stretched across your own, keira smacking georgia and ellie who snapped a few candid photos of the two of you with their cameras.

but within twenty minutes you'd perked up, collapsing into mary as you clutched your stomach with laughter at the girls and staffs attempts to shield themselves from the wind, spirits high within the group.

"you look like a little greek grandma!" you yelled teasingly at lotte over the howling wind who'd tied her jumper over her hat and sunglasses to stop them blowing away, the brunette only sticking her tongue out at you in response.

"maz your hat!" you threw your head back in laughter as mary screeched and her cap went flying off, one of the coaching staff thankfully having caught it as she held it down firmly on her head as the wind whipped her hair wildly around her face.

"smile you muppet." you grinned taking a video of her as she cheesed and gave you the peace sign, eyes widening as the hat slipped again and she instead yanked it off and tucked it beneath her sending you another grin.

finally arriving to the spot where the whales normally migrated everyones spirits had risen even higher, everyone taking the opportunity of the boat being moored in place to walk around and stretch their legs.

"jesus christ!" mary stumbled backwards as suddenly one of the whales breached a hundred or so metres away and everyone rushed around to that side of the boat, two more appearing as you felt arms wrap around you.

you dipped your head back to smile up at your best friend whose arms settled themselves around your neck and her front pressed into your back as her chin rested on your shoulder, pointing out the whales and rambling off fact after fact as you reveled in her excitement.

the two of you so caught up in each other you failed to miss the lingering gazes of your teammates or the hushed whispers about how cute the two of you were, photos snapped and keira doing her very best to stop georgia or ellie rushing over to point out the obvious.

"best day ever." mary beamed, her grin so wide you wouldn't be shocked if her cheeks hurt later this afternoon, eyes fixated on the whales which continued to breach and splash around now a little closer.

"and its all the better i get to share it with you." mary squeezed you a little tighter, your face softening as you kissed her cheek and turned back toward the whales, missing the way her cheeks flushed bright red and she cleared her throat.

georgia noticed though and her eyes nearly rolled back into her head, nudging ellie beside her who was watching on with an amused smile, fiddling with the digital camera in her hands.

"utterly and painfully clueless, the pair of em."

#mary earps x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso blurbs #mary earps #engwnt #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics

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emile-hides · 6 months ago

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Trying to figure out how I wanna draw the Contestant outfit from Finding Frankie, minus the mask because it's chunky and hard to draw, my current ideas are;

Flat patterned jumper with a bunny eared hood, no tie shoes, fingerless gloves, (face mask optional)

Onsee with a black body suit underneath, tiny red lace ribbon, no shoes, bunny ear headband (tiny top hat part optional)

T-Shirt with a bow stuck to it, black arm warmers and thigh high socks, red shorts (like Real Frankie), Sneakers, lucky rabbit's foot keychain, top hat (rabbit ears in brim optional)

I dunno I wanted the outfit to be cute.

Bonus my first attempt at drawing the mask before immediately abandoning it

#Emile's Arts #Finding Frankie #I think the canon is the just patterned jumper without the hoodie #But it's a little boring and I feel like not the BEST parkour fit?#Not that a patterned Playboy Bunny costume with a body suit under is is MORE parkour friendly #But you know at least it's fun to draw #I think contestants should get the choice of these three #Plus the mask for anonymity I GUESS it's just Not Cute #I'd wear the T-Shirt and Shorts personally #And also I'd die fgjdfkgjkfd I am not fast nor can I jump

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hivemuthur · 17 days ago

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To Be Known - Ch.6.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! (and I can't stress this enough, kids shoo!) Modern AU, set in London, current era but not very specific. It's just a love story.

<- previous chapter MASTERLIST next chapter ->

word count: 7,4K (sorry!)

warnings, or rather this chapter contains: attempt at bondage and then light bondage, light verbal degradation, non-permanent marking (light ownership kink), fingering, handjobs, subspace, domspace, aftercare, switch of dynamics (dom/sub Vik + dom/sub Reader), a very very light angst toward the end, YEARNING.

author’s note: This is my take on sub!Viktor. That's it, that's the note :) And as usual, playlist here, @rennethen my beta, massive thank you and artist is @petitesieste ♡

Cross-posted on AO3

—

Viktor doesn’t know when things settled into a routine, but he is very far from complaining. Even though not everything has fallen into the category of easy, the way his little arrangement with you has begun to take shape manages to keep him afloat—amongst the chaos of the Institute, trouble with investors, and all the side work he has to do with Jayce to prove greedy people wrong.

The last goes as expected—slowly, yet steadily. He and Jayce have managed to gather documentation from work they’ve done more times than it was worth, compiling it into a few neat folders. Having Mel on the back end of the plan has helped too, though not without casualties—Viktor had to not only agree to, but express enthusiasm for, a very pressing invitation to yet another social gathering orchestrated by her hand. With everything unravelling close enough to make him relatively content, he deems it a small price to pay, after all.

Another thing that keeps him afloat is the fact that, over the last couple of weeks, you’ve been coming to his apartment in various states—ranging from absolutely enflamed with anger over drama he doesn’t fully understand (mostly involving actors fighting with directors or patrons backing out), to completely deflated, which usually happens at very late hours when the wise thing to do would be going back to Hackney and getting a proper night’s rest. Viktor has to admit, his chest grows a little wider each time you choose otherwise, just to spend a couple of hours with him. And then, on rare occasions, you arrive positively docile—when your work has gone smoothly and without disturbance.

No matter the state you arrive in, though, the state you leave in is what fills him with something adjacent to pride—light, unburdened, a warm smile plastered across your face. The awkward unease of your mornings has fled, shaping itself into something more natural and bare. You are, of course, still skittish, marking your independence at every possible step, and due to that, Viktor is still very much careful. But whenever the haze of discomfort drops low enough for you to muss his hair and give him a sloppy, impatient kiss before you leave for work again, he allows it—no, he welcomes it.

Little signs of settlement are there, all over his apartment—the most obvious one, your toothbrush. The general bag of essentials, containing your sweatshirt, spare underwear (even though you usually bring a fresh pair anyway), a high-collar jumper in case he gets carried away. In the hallway, your warm socks and a pair of trainers he hasn’t seen you wear once, but they are there. There are also things you refuse to bring, like your own shampoo, but he chooses to think it’s because you prefer to smell of him the next day.

This knowledge, as well as many other little pieces, slowly etch their way into his brain like a map of you he has to build from scraps. Starting with the mundane and obvious—your preferred side of the bed, your insane joint flexibility (though here he’s still not certain whether it isn’t something you should get checked), a very firm resentment toward breakfasts, the fact that all your tights get mysterious runs the second you put them on, and the fact that what makes you blush most aren’t the filthiest remarks he gives you but the ones he himself would deem sweet.

Then, sometimes, he gets a glimpse into more serious areas—mentions of your parents and hometown, your firm position on equal chances you try to give theatre creators across the country, the way your social class impacts everything you do, little quirks of your accent when you let it slip into an unguarded tone—those are the tiniest, yet most precious, crumbs he gets given. And day by day, he puts them all together, gluing them into one, while a profound truth shapes somewhere in the periphery of the lie you both have been living in. The lie being: this is all still very casual.

There are moments when he gets to see through the cracks. All of them involve you being at least partially naked—or rather, exposed in a way that leaves the best hidden part of you bare in front of him. From those moments, Viktor has learned the most. And these are the moments when he is not afraid to ask.

Everything he’s learned, he remembers as diligently as his scientific knowledge. Both of them, he’s worked equally hard for. The things you like: cocksucking and cockwarming, thankfully, at the very top of the list—one of the things Viktor is perhaps most grateful for. Light choking, also very high. This provided him insight into the fact that you have no issues with recognising a playful threat as an invitation and a serious one as a warning. Fast learner—that Viktor appreciates as well. Your heart-melting need for handholding once all your guards are down is his utter undoing, and he takes advantage of it shamelessly. He’s also learned that praise mixed with slight mockery can work wonders for your brat-like behaviour. The list remains open and growing.

Then, the things you are not fond of: distance, which you absolutely hate, and have enough nerve to sulk about. Being made to wait also triggers the brat-point meter into dangerously high numbers. Crying, you still perceive as a weakness—you wipe the tears away as soon as they prickle your eyes, much to Viktor’s disappointment. Being told to make a decision, you treat as an absolute chore and sometimes have the audacity to openly whine about it. That, Viktor is not surprised by in the slightest, but he comes back to it occasionally, just to tease you.

At the very far, very well protected end, are the things you don’t want him to see—but he notices anyway. The way you inspect the marks he leaves on you with a lingering smile, fingers ghosting lovingly when you turn in front of the mirror and twist your spine to get a full view of your ass. This he only gets to observe through bathroom door, left ajar. The way you are equally curious about him but refuse to admit it—picking up the books he’s just put down and opening them on the bookmarked pages. The way you no longer ask what some Czech phrases he mutters to you mean—the ones that slip when he’s blissed out beyond control—because you’ve clearly managed to translate them yourself. The way your shared high wears off at similar intervals, so neither of you drops too hard.

These make his heart flutter with something entirely unfamiliar, yet not unwelcomed. As promised, Viktor takes only as much as you grant him, and it feels like enough, so he tells himself it is.

It would be greedy to think otherwise, he believes. It would be greedy to demand more, when—as soon as you see him in the doorway—you obviously force your steps to be dignified, only to let that fake dignity melt away in the first kiss. And the first one is always his dearest, the one you pour all your longing into. It’s the only moment he knows, without question, that you’ve truly missed him through those three, four, at worst five days you two haven’t seen each other. He already associates the thud of shoes being dropped to the floor with something pleasant.

It does inch toward unbearable when it’s five days, but the kiss he gets then is possibly the best. Unhinged. Absolutely greedy. Your hands become greedy as well, usually grabbing his and guiding them to your favourite places—his favourite places. And Viktor doesn’t need to be told twice to undress you.

All of this is why, right now, on another blissful Saturday, his back and forehead are sweaty and he’s growing increasingly frustrated. The entanglement of ropes becomes less and less organised the more he tries to make them form the pattern you both chose. Your sighs, drawn out and distinctly theatrical, are nothing short of unhelpful. He cannot believe that he—possibly a genius, definitely a man who understands geometrical patterns without breaking a sweat—finds the act of rigging not at all exciting. On the contrary, it reminds him of work in a way he would rather not explore during sex.

“Are you alright in there?” you throw over your shoulder, twisting your neck to glance at him from where you're sat in the middle of the bed, arms loosely bound behind your back. He’s certain you’re doing him a mercy; any minute now, you could likely untangle yourself with ease.

“I… yes, I’m just—” he pauses mid-step, rubbing the back of his neck. “Regrouping.” Then, after a beat: “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m just—” your voice cuts in again, dry and amused. “Bored?”

“Oh, thank God,” Viktor exhales, laugh escaping before he can help it, and slumps onto the bed beside you with dramatic relief. “I’m bored out of my mind,” he whines, flopping backward and stretching his arms above his head. The look on your face makes him cackle outright.

“What? It was your idea!” you say, exasperated.

“Well, it seemed like a good one,” he admits, sheepish, flashing you a small smile. “Forgive me.”

“Outrageous,” you huff, freeing your hands with one skilful tug. Viktor’s brows shoot up with incredulity as you toss the rope aside and climb into his lap with the intention of continuing your complaint uninterrupted. “You made me sit here—far from you, I will add—for nearly an hour, and I am the one who has to admit I’m not feeling it?”

“What can I say,” he shrugs, propping himself up on his elbows, “we get to kill our darlings.” His fingers trail apologetically up your thigh, touch feather-light. “At least we can cross it off the list.”

“You can toss these as well,” you mutter, lifting a discarded rope between your thumb and index finger like it stinks.

“Oh no, no, I think I’ll keep some,” Viktor hums, voice dipping low. He leans in and plucks it gently from your hand, eyes not leaving yours. “They can still be useful,” he murmurs. His hands slide behind your back, guiding your wrists together, and you feel the soft pull of rope again, this time with more purpose. He wraps it a few times and secures it with a knot that feels significantly tighter than before. “See?”

“But I can’t touch you,” you pout, twisting a little.

“Terrible, isn’t it?” he says, deadpan, clearly enjoying himself.

“Viktor.”

“All this time and you still think sulking will get you places?” he muses, almost fond. Then his mouth quirks as he adds, “But what am I expecting? You’re just a silly girl after all, aren’t you?”

“Please,” you whisper, rubbing your nose against his cheek, so fast in your surrender. Viktor’s cock already hardening in his pants below you—fully naked. “Please,” you say again, nipping at his lip.

He groans, the sound quiet but unmistakably desperate, and cups your ass with one hand, guiding your hips against his with the kind of pressure that leaves no room for misinterpretation. His other hand snakes up your spine, fingers dragging over the ropes binding your wrists, until he can bury them in your hair and tip your head just enough to claim your mouth fully.

The kiss starts deep—no teasing, no gentle edge to ease into it. It's hunger, plain and simple, drawn out of him like you’ve been waiting with your mouth open since you walked through the door. His tongue meets yours with intent, not chasing but holding, anchoring, coaxing. He breathes you in fully, starving and restless.

Your hips roll down on his, unprompted, and he’s there to meet them, dragging you forward with a firm squeeze of his hand. His cock nudges between your legs, through fabric, and he swallows the whimper you let out. You grind again—instinct, need—and Viktor shudders under you, the kiss breaking just long enough for him to whisper against your lips, “I missed you.”

His voice is hoarse, low, like gravel rubbed between fingers. Your wrists flex behind your back, useless now, and he takes your gasp as invitation to tilt your head again, kissing you harder, this time slower. He pulls your bottom lip between his teeth and sucks gently before letting it go, his mouth hovering just an inch from yours.

“And I’m going to take my time with you,” he murmurs, voice dipping into something molten, made to be obeyed.

You hum against his mouth, a spark of troublemaking sliding under your skin like it’s always been there. “Missed me?” you ask, breath audible as you grind down again, harder. “Or just missed this?”

Your wrists tug instinctively at the rope. His grip on your ass tightens.

Viktor leans back just enough to look at you properly. His hair is a mess, lips wet, eyes steady and burning through you. “You’re getting cocky,” he says, voice still warm, but laced sharper in the edge now. “Is it the rope making you bold? Or the fact I let you speak without asking?”

You smile, crooked and lazy, hips undulating in slow rhythm over him. “I’m just trying to make sure your brilliant mind stays… stimulated.”

His brow twitches up at that, and he huffs a laugh through his nose. “Is that what you think this is?” he asks, slanting his head as if observing a particularly insolent experiment. “You’ve been here,” he says pointing to his lap with a tilt of chin, “five minutes and already you’re trying to get yourself in trouble.”

“Am I succeeding?” you murmur sweetly.

“Absolutely.” Viktor’s smile is all teeth now. He lets go of your ass only to drag his hands slowly up your sides, over your ribs, watching you squirm at the drag of his knuckles. Then he taps your cheek, not hard, but enough to make your eyes snap to his. “You think you’re so clever. You think I won’t leave these ropes on and make you beg properly.”

“I am clever,” you reply, challenging, breath catching when he shifts beneath you again. “You like that about me.”

“I do,” he agrees, lips brushing yours again, cruelly soft. “But I also like when you remember where clever little things like you belong.”

His fingers curl under your chin, forcing you to hold his gaze. “Say it,” he breathes. “Tell me where you belong.”

You hesitate, just long enough for his expression to darken. He leans forward, mouth to your ear now, the heat of his breath enough to make you tremble. “Say it, or I’ll show you.”

You swallow, pulse kicking up against the rope at your back. Frightening, the first thing that comes to your mind, rotten with need. “With you,” you whisper, despite everything you believe. “I belong with you.”

Viktor hums, but doesn’t look satisfied. He leans back again, just enough to run his eyes down your body—his body, his rope, his girl, sitting there with the audacity to provoke him and the gall to think he’d let it slide.

“No,” he says softly, like he’s correcting a student and your heart sinks—both at being incorrect and the fact that now he’s the one denying something you had such a difficulty to admit. “Not with me.” His hand ghosts down your stomach, his fingers resting just above where you’re starting to ache. “To me.”

Your lips part, but he’s already shifting—pushing you gently back onto the mattress. The rope holds your arms behind you, tight enough to bite a little as you land, spine arched to keep balance. He moves slowly, dragging open the drawer of the bedside table, and pulls out a black sharpie.

Breath lodges in your throat, eyes wide. Not fear—something deeper. Heat.

“You think you get to play games with me?” Viktor murmurs, thumbing the cap off with a little pop. “You think you get to run that mouth and stay untouched?” He climbs over you, straddling your thighs, the pen poised in his hand. “You want to be marked, my girl?” His other hand cradles your face now, thumb pressing against your cheek, making you look at him.

“You’ll wear this until it fades,” he says. “And if you smudge it, I’ll do it again. Bigger. Higher. Until the whole city knows what you are.”

His hand slides over your chest, your ribs, your stomach. Slowly, precisely, he starts to write. You can’t see what it says yet—he’s crouched in concentration, tongue pressed to the corner of his mouth, focused like you’ve only seen him during catching up with work in your shared downtime.

When he’s done, he leans back slightly, his palm still resting warm on your abdomen. He shifts you just enough so that you can catch a glimpse of the dark lettering across your skin.

MOJE DĚVČE. My girl.

Below it, in smaller, slanted script:

Patříš mi. You belong to me.

“You know what it means, didn’t you?” he asks, eyes back on your face now. “You knew what I was saying every time I whispered it into your skin.”You nod, and he shakes his head.

“Now—say it.”

“Yours,” you rasp. “I’m yours.” And it’s crushingly soul-baring to you, to admit it, but it does feel right in the moment. You decide you will face the consequences of this little indulgence later, later when your brain is back in the boss state of mind, in the put-together state of mind, the I’ve-worked-too-hard-to-distract-now state of mind. Temporary ownership you can handle.

Viktor smiles then, slow and devastating. “Good girl.” He sits behind you, and the solid warmth of his chest hugs your back. You lean in and rest your head on the slope of his shoulder, your hips cradled between his spread legs. His hand comes down to smooth over your stomach, his breath is a hot whisper in your ear. “Now I get to play with what's mine.”

His hand moves lower, pushing your legs apart, and his calves come to hook over yours, locking you in place. A simple adjustment, yet it makes you feel completely restrained—anchored, tethered to him. Safe and cradled against Viktor’s stomach, his inner thighs, his feet. You exhale heavily as his palm flattens over your leg muscle, warm and slow, drawing unhurried patterns onto your skin.

The first brush of his fingers between your legs is maddeningly soft. Barely there. You tense, seeking more, but he holds you in place, a scold hanging on the tip of his tongue, but instead, he only hums behind you. Lips graze the side of your throat, and you feel the faintest curl of his smile as he begins to circle.

Bordering between gentle and cruel, above all it’s purposeful. Covering as much skin as he can, it’s three fingers flattening over your sex, dipping lower to gather your slick.

“You’ll have to speak,” Viktor murmurs, his voice low, threading its way through your spine. “You know that, yes?”

You nod, but his touch stills. His hand is there, pressed flat to where you keen for him, the tension in his thighs pinning yours in place. “Words,” he reminds, a hoarse whisper. “Your hands are no use right now.”

“Yes,” you breathe, the answer caught somewhere between need and obedience.

A pleased sound rumbles from his chest. “Good girl.”

His hand resumes, fingers finding rhythm again—slow, firm strokes that keep you just on the edge. His free hand rises, settling first at your jaw, then slipping up, thumb and forefinger curling around the sides of your throat. Your breath stumbles in anticipation, something that could be mistaken for fear, but it never is. You fear nothing with him.

It’s a loose necklace of his fingers around your neck, long enough to reach past the borders of your sterno muscles. The weight of his hand is enough to have your head tipping backward, resting on the slope of his shoulder with your throat exposed. His mouth hovers near your ear, breath warming your skin. “Say ‘stop’ at any time and I will hear it.”

You suck in a breath, your bound wrists press into his abdomen, reminding you again just how little space you have to move. But your voice, at least, is still yours. “I know,” you whisper. “Don’t stop.”

“Mm,” he exhales. “Brat, but obedient when it counts.”

Then his fingers press deeper, precise and unrelenting, drawing wet sounds from you that feel too loud in the quiet. He applies the smallest amount of pressure to your throat—just enough to still your breath, never enough to cut it off. Just enough to make you feel the sharpness of every pulse, every twitch, every sensation pooling low and fast in your belly.

You try to hold back, but he knows your tells—how your hips twitch when you’re close, how your breath hitches just before you try to outlast it. “You don’t get to hold it,” he says, low and firm into your ear. “This one is mine.”

Truly, it’s not only this one. It’s all his, singed and marked and he can’t wait to untangle you and have your arms come and drape around his shoulders, you climbing onto his lap and pushing your face into his neck. It’s the most anticipated moment for him—when you are needy and spent and exposed, and he can see the side of you that nobody gets to see. The part that doesn’t have it all as together as you made the world believe, the part that remains after you shed your burdens. The you that he gets to disassemble and put back together two—three times a week when he’s extremely lucky, pure and beautiful and soft, so you can be hardened and strong and relentless when you both say goodbye in the morning. And so he can be patient and kind without feeling weak.

It builds up so thoughtfully with Viktor’s eyes fixed on your mouth, ready for your surrender. As if he’s prepared to read the potential ‘stop’ from the movement of your lips but it never comes. Instead, your thighs flex against his and your back arches, creating a space between your loins and his stomach. Your feet curl and you push against the bindings on your wrists, the burning sensation bleeds, adding to the pleasure between your legs.

The world feels thin when it spills over into a long wave travelling in all directions across your body and has you gasping against him, thighs trembling under the weight of his. He doesn’t let you shy away. Keeps you spread, keeps his hand moving until your moans melt into whimpers, until you sag fully against his chest, spent and breathless.

His hand leaves your throat last, trailing upward into your hair. “There she is,” he says softly. “My girl.”

His girl—tugged safely under a bell jar, where all sounds are muffled, and all worries bounce off the glass surface. He slips the rope off your wrists and closes your legs, rubbing up and down your thighs. You, as on cue, turn in the cradle of his body, climb onto his lap and hug his ribs with your knees, ankles coming to cross on his lower back. Hands tingle once freed and you use that freedom to wrap yourself around him, press your torso into his and rest your nose in the hollow of his shoulder.

Viktor hums, pleased and gentle, when a flat palm travels up and down your spine and another comes to tug at your hair. He kisses your face—your nose, cheeks, jaw, eyes get spattered with soft pecks, slow and kind. He’s always kind, even when he’s mean. Even when he mocks, when he calls you silly, when he calls you a slut, it’s entirely unbelievable with all the affection seeping from his tone.

His warm hands lift the jar and slowly you come back to yourself. One last ounce of neediness, vulnerable and raw tugs at the corners of your consciousness and the words just slip. “Am I yours now?” you ask, quiet and half-submerged, the question sliding out before you can stop it.

There’s a pause. Just a breath, but it stretches.

Viktor stills in front of you. His hand in your hair, his chest against yours—all of him holds perfectly still, save for the way his heart thuds against your heart. He wants to say yes. It's there on his tongue, immediate, instinctive. Yes, of course. Yes, mine, always.

But he knows what that might mean. He knows how far and fast you'd run once you came back to your usual self.

So instead, his hand moves. Down your side, unhurried and grounding. One of his fingers finds the curve of your stomach where the black ink still marks you, and he smears it with a lazy stroke of his knuckle—pulling the words into blur, as if softening the claim itself.

“Here,” he murmurs. “For now. Temporarily.” His voice is low and measured, even as something trembles faintly beneath it.

You shift in his arms, not pulling away but not moving closer either.

Then, quieter still: “But you still belong to yourself. You know this, yes?”

The words are kind. They’re careful. They’re exactly what he thinks you need to hear. What he’s telling himself you want to hear. But they land soft and sad in your chest, blooming just beside the warmth.

You nod. You’re too good at nodding.

And Viktor makes it even worse by explaining, “It’s easier to lose something once it’s yours.” It’s quiet and shy, like a confession he hadn’t meant to make aloud. The notes he made on his copy of Baal ring in your ears—He who demands all is left with nothing.

Then, he cradles you in silence. He even dozes off at some point, head slanting against the bed’s backrest, lips parted in that barely-audible way he breathes when he's too tired to guard it. His arm stays around your waist the whole time, a loose but constant loop. Only when your body cools down enough for Viktor not being sufficient to warm you up anymore, you shift carefully next to him.

He inhales, blinking back to wakefulness. A soft smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as his thumb rubs your cheek. “All good?” he murmurs, voice still husky with sleep.

“Yes, I’m just cold,” you mutter, reaching for your sweatshirt and pulling it over your head, then stepping into a pair of soft cotton pants.

“It’s Saturday,” he hums, stretching his arms behind his head, and the rest of the meaning hangs suspended in the room. You know what he’s asking. “Stay?”

“I would like to,” you say, then glance at your bag. “I have some screenplay reading to do though, if you don’t mind.”

Viktor shakes his head. “Not at all. I have to go through documentation for Jayce.”

“Perfect,” you say, offering a timid smile, and he nods.

You both drift into the living room, quiet but oddly comfortable. You settle on opposite ends of the couch—Viktor with his legs neatly crossed, pen in one hand. You sprawl across the rest of the cushions, your feet propped against his thigh. He doesn’t complain. He just rests a hand lightly atop your ankle and returns to his pages, redlining and humming when something catches his eye.

You, as always, pop your fingers while you read. You murmur lines under your breath, eyes glazed as you stare past him, watching the imagined scenes play out in your head. Viktor never interrupts. He glances at you sometimes, faintly amused, then goes back to his work.

But it’s not enough to quiet the restlessness in your chest. Once the big emotions wear off, all that’s left is cold, meticulous analysis. Dissecting everything. Every word, every look. And Viktor, in your periphery, is too calm for how raw your nerves still feel.

So you stop pretending to look past him. You gather the courage, then ask. “What is it like?” The question leaves you soft, uncertain. Almost naïve. “To be the one in control?”

Viktor’s head tilts. His pen stills in his hand, and he regards you for a moment. Measuring something. “I have a feeling you might know,” he says, thoughtful. Then, after a beat: “But would you like to… see for yourself?”

His voice is soft, almost shy, but it betrays him—he is excited. Curious. His eyes, wide and shining, drill into you expectantly. Then, a thought strikes him. “Unless, of course, you’d rather try that with someone else.”

“No.” The word leaves you quickly, instinctively. The idea of sharing yourself like this with a third party is almost more frightening than baring yourself to him. He does, of course, see right through you but spares you the indignity and only nods. “No,” you repeat, calmer this time.

Viktor tries to smother his triumphant expression, but he’s almost sure he fails. With a smile that feigns encouragement, he shifts on the couch, bringing his foot to rest against the arch of yours. Looking down, he reaches out to hold your palms in his—warm and heavy. You can feel his pulse beneath your touch.

“You can try with me, then,” he murmurs.

Slowly, you rise, your hands still cradled in his. He follows, standing at arm’s length, the two of you facing each other. Then, he steps closer, his hands glide up to your shoulders before giving them a firm squeeze.

“What should I do?” you ask.

“Anything you want.” His forehead presses to yours as he comes closer, his breath warm against your lips. “I will do anything you want,” he whispers—and oh, he means it there and beyond, and hopes that you know.

The golden rim of his eyes is nearly entirely eaten by the black, wanting pupils. His breath trembles as he mutters, “Touch me.”

He guides your hand to his crotch, where he’s already half-hard. Your mouth falls open, eyes dropping to follow the slope of him beneath his clothes. A promise of submission lingers between you—both terrifying and thrilling.

“Tease me,” he breathes, rolling his hips subtly into your palm. “Praise me.”

He rubs his nose along your cheek, his lips brushing yours with every word. Then, in a whisper that feels like surrender—like devotion—he says, “Use me as you please.”

Finally, he takes your other hand and places it at his throat. “I trust you.”

And you are fucking smitten. Breathless, standing there—his cock in one hand, his throat in the other—offered to you freely. He looks at you with nothing but hope and willingness. Gears grind against each other in your head until they stop. Your brain shuts down. All that’s left is the overwhelming need to give him what he’s asking for.

With a steady hand, you undo his belt and tug his pants down, palming him through his underwear. He rewards you with a groan, so sweetly hoarse that it rings in your ears, making you dizzy. Then his eyes roll back as your touch meets the moist tip.

Higher up, your hand cradles the side of his neck, where every open-mouthed swallow flexes his tendons against your skin. Your thumb props his jaw, ensuring he won’t look away. You hold him so dearly he almost melts. A heart hammers in your ears, and you don’t know if it’s yours or Viktor’s.

“Please, talk to me,” he begs, making your breath hitch. His hips stay fixed in place as you tease him gently through the cotton of his underwear, growing more and more damp under your caress.

You yank your hand beneath the waistband and let him rest in your palm for a beat. He twitches and gasps, and you want to freeze this moment—to have it dipped in resin, pressed into an ammonite, carved onto a cave wall on the side of a mountain, known only to you. Possession seeps into your consciousness, wraps itself around your heart, and you wrap your fingers around his cock in tandem with it.

“My sweet thing,” you say. It feels awkward before it leaves your mouth, yet as soon as it’s out, it falls right where Viktor needs it.

“You look so pretty like this.” And he immediately looks prettier—his jaw slackens further, lids grow heavier, and you admire the row of long, dark lashes fanning slowly as he gets progressively more and more drunk on you with barely a touch. Your fingertips brush his balls, and Viktor steadies himself on your shoulders. His lovely weight grounds you, and the moan he spills into your lips tastes almost like love. You wonder briefly if your moans taste the same to him.

More of this, you think.

The temptation to look down is overwhelming, but to lose even a second of those expressions would be a sin. So you fix your eyes on his face, memorizing the arch of his scrunched brows, the wrinkle between them, his parted lips. Emboldened by his need, you move your hand, fingers encircling his head, and Viktor gives you a sound so filthy it has your insides clenching. He is obediently still, yet from the strain in his neck and the grip he has on your shoulders, you can tell how much he’s holding back from rutting into your hand.

“Don’t move. Can you do that for me?” you ask kindly. Something strangled escapes his throat, but he nods.

“You’re doing so well, Viktor,” you coo, trying to mimic everything he usually gives you. Finally, you tug his briefs down, and his cock springs free, slapping against his thigh crease heavily. Another heavenly sound you have to remember.

“Would you like to help me?” you whisper, presenting him with your palm under his chin, and you don’t even have to specify what it is that you want from him. He spits and looks up at you, waiting for praise. It’s there at the tip of your tongue. It’s there—you can hear yourself saying it—it fights to get out, and you don’t have the strength to keep it in.

“My good boy,” you say softly, thumb brushing his lip, gathering the string of drool still connecting his mouth to your palm. And oh, Viktor moans, his eyes flutter, and you have to resist resting your forehead on his.

Your hand comes down to slide across his cock, and you can feel the jolt of pleasure that travels all the way from his stomach muscles to the tip. He’s so painfully hard, so untouched, the underside vein pulsing under your fingers each time you brush it on your way up to smear the precum, mix it with his spit, and give him a teasing swipe on the sensitive spot under the head.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes when you pick up the pace and stroke him in steady, measured passes, mapping every twitch, every quiver under your fingers.

“Please,” he moans, hot and needy.

“Please what?”

“Please, talk to me more.” A whine, so sweet. So warm in your ears that you blank out and don’t notice when his face comes close and loose lips kiss you clean.

“Please,” he whispers again against your mouth.

How can you say no to him? “Look at you, such a pretty mess,” you mutter, caressing his cheek. His skin is painted pink all the way to where your eyes can reach, and you can only guess it’s the same below. A sheen of sweat covers his forehead, and he looks at you so adoringly it pumps affection into you. Fucking infectious. It swells in your chest, between your legs, spills back from you when you whisper, “So needy.”

“F-fuck,” Viktor stutters when you start to pump him harder. The slide is easier now, the rhythm sinfully smooth. He bites his lip so hard it pales. He’s trembling—shoulders taut, thighs flexing. His cock feels silky in your hand, your thumb fitting perfectly into the little pool at the base where it grows out of his groin.

“Would you like to come, Viktor?” You roll your wrist, coaxing another sharp breath out of him, this one rougher. His lashes fan. His hips jerk into your palm before he catches himself, thighs taut and hard.

“Yes, God, please,” he whimpers, and his head lulls back on his shoulders, exposing his beautiful neck to you. You need no further invitation.

Your mouth leeches to his skin, sucking and biting, making him struggle to breathe evenly. “Will you be good and fuck yourself into my hand?” you ask, licking over the mark you gave him.

“Yes.” A wrecked sound spills from his lips, strained and low, the kind of noise that coils hot inside you. “Yes,” he exhales when you still your hand. “Oh, fuck,” comes next when his hips jolt forward, his cock sliding seamlessly in and out of the circle you made for him from your fingers.

“You are doing so well,” you praise him. And truthfully, he’s so wonderful it almost slips out. The one thing you shouldn’t say—it’s there, ready to escape—when you stop yourself.

“I—I—" you start and swallow it down. He looks back at you, almost daring you to say it. Almost as if he wants you to say it. Almost as if he knows what it’s like to not be allowed. Or it’s just your drunk mind playing with you.

“I’m so proud of you,” you whisper instead. “Be good and come for me.”

Viktor’s hips stutter, losing rhythm as desperation overtakes him. His fingers come to clench around your wrist, urging you to stay steady while he fucks into your palm, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps.

“Good boy,” you murmur, tightening your fingers just a fraction. “You’re so good for me.”

A shudder wracks through him, his whole body trembling as he chases it. He comes back to brace on your shoulders, his grip almost clumsy, as though he can’t decide whether he’s holding himself up or holding onto you. The weight of him, the way his forehead presses against yours—hot, damp, pleading—makes you ache between your legs.

“Thank you,” he whispers, voice breaking, and you have to hold back a whine. You feel it again, the crushing wave of devotion, you just don’t know who it’s coming from, him, or you.

Your hand on his cheek slides lower, fingertips ghosting down the damp line of his throat. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard, breath catching when your fingers flex, wrapping firmly around the slender column of his neck. Not tight—just enough to make him feel it, to remind him of your touch, your presence, your control.

Wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of your hand fill your ears, when you hear it again. “Thank you,” he breathes, barely more than a whimper, and then he’s gone—

His body tenses, shuddering violently as he spills his hot cum over your fingers, gasping through it, his hips rocking helplessly into your grip. You stroke him through it, smearing some of the seed on his stomach, coaxing, soothing, feeling every twitch, every pulse, as he unravels against you.

“That’s it,” you whisper, brushing your thumb over his fluttering pulse. “Just like that. So good for me.”

His breath, a calour against your skin, his fingers gripping your shoulders like he needs something not to fall over. And as his body slackens, the aftershocks still trembling through him, he lets out a soft, breathless sigh—

“Thank you.”

And with this last acknowledgment, you enter the space that is familiar and alien all at once. If you were to name the feeling, it’s like knocking on the back of a mirror pane until it gives way to a water-like surface, and you can finally slide your hand through. On the other side, your fingers are dry. You step out to envelop yourself in warmth, and it’s all coming from him—trustful and pliant as he allows you to kiss him sloppily, with his eyes closed, utterly and entirely surrendered. Made yours.

On instinct, you help him step out of his trousers and drape his arm over your shoulder before guiding him to bed. Hands cling to you when you reach for the bedside table for water, and you know he won’t let you go to fetch a towel to clean him up. So you make do with a box of tissues, convinced that he doesn’t give a flying fuck if the cum on his belly will dry out and crust over the trail of hair encircling his cock. You know he doesn’t—because when you are in the space he is in right now, all you can think of is your lover’s body pressed to yours so tight you merge into one.

“Will you drink some water for me?” you ask, threading your fingers through his hair and holding a glass under his chin. He drinks without complaint, passes the glass back to you, and looks at you pleadingly, tired of waiting.

It hits Viktor so heavily, he almost wishes he could take back time and never have offered this to you in the first place. It’s frightening to feel so much at once, his chest wide open for you to peek inside, and he is so afraid you are going to see the way his heart thrashes around in there.

His only hope—even though you can surely see it, the way he can see it every time you break apart and he puts you back together, piece by piece—is that you won’t be able to recognise it. The attachment that lingers beyond this sacred space, the one that will keep him longing for you days after you leave, until your next meeting, when he will be able to pour a bucket of cold water over the fiery embers by painting your ass the nicest shade of red.

“What do you need?” Your voice reaches him on the wet side of the mirror, under the comatose, stagnant waters of compliance. He blinks slowly and shakes his head, reaching back for you. Nothing but you, Viktor imagines himself saying, but he is too wrecked.

Thankfully, you know. You slide next to him, keeping your arms open so that he can wrap around you. Viktor’s hands cling to you needily—one squeezes between you and the mattress, fisting into your sweatshirt, while the other sneaks underneath to rest on your ribs. He noses into your neck and throws a leg over yours, trapping you completely. Your fingers return to thread through his hair, and he sighs, the first long breath he’s taken since he came.

And Viktor feels the water slowly draining. It’s at his neck, where you brush your fingers over the love mark you left. Then it levels with his chest, where you rest your hand to check his heartbeat. It goes lower, beneath his waist, where you pull the covers up to shield the naked lower parts of his body from the cold, until it drains completely when he hooks his cold foot into the crease under your knee.

Silence, for a while. Filled with breathing and sighing, until Viktor shuffles his arm out from beneath your waist, rises slowly, and props his head on one hand.

“How are you?” you ask him, and he nudges your cheek with his nose. Lips come to yours in another thank-you. “What do you need?” you try again, mumbling against his mouth.

“You,” It’s so quiet you almost have to read it from his lips. “I only want you,” he says.

Your face goes blank with shock. Completely drunk on Viktor’s sacrifice, it eludes you to stick with your common sense, and you nod faster than you can think.

“You have me,” slips past your mouth. You cradle his cheeks, run your thumbs through the hollows and Viktor breathes heavily through his nose. He wraps himself back around you, exactly the same as you tend to do, catching you in his love trap.

When he rolls off to his back, blissfully fucked out, you sneak for a shower. You just stand under the hot stream, cleaning the essentials, mindful not to touch your belly. Once out, you tap it gently with a towel, trying to not smear any of the letters he’s left on you. With a certain sadness you notice that some of the writing has already faded.

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