#little more than waitstaff

[powderpinkandsweeet]

Sevika x Reader - Sevika has a reputation as a regular at Babbette’s, you two start going out, someone from Sevika’s past shows up and makes you feel insecure. Reader bartends/waitresses at the Last Drop and is kind of a crybaby (as usual the call is coming from inside the house)

Sfw hurt/comfort but don’t go thinking that means minors are allowed, wc ~1800, feminine language and pronouns for reader, jealousy ofc, a lil crying, not beta read lmk if you see typos

You’d heard of Sevika long before you met her. It was before you’d been hired as waitstaff at the Last Drop. All you knew was that she wasn’t to be fucked with, and that she was a frequent customer at Babbette’s and the Last Drop. When you’d first seen her, her reputation obviously preceded her. Her broad frame took up ample space in her booth, metal arm disguised under her poncho in case the knives needed to come out. She was intimidating to say the least, glimpses of personality visible through jokes and smirks.

It had taken weeks of serving her to learn that there was more to her under the surface. She would flirt with you playfully when the drinks started to pour. You credited her lingering gazes and touches to her nature rather than genuine interest. Her warm, calloused fingers would graze yours when handed her drink across the table. She would push a hair aside from your face, the tip of her finger stroking your jaw as she pulled away. But you had seen the company she kept. An escort could often be found hanging off her arm, preening and fussing over her possessively. All the while they would send you piercing glares, more than aware of the meaning behind Sevika’s actions. It was clear the way her gaze would follow you around the room, and how she would sit up just a little taller when you walked by.

But with every shift that you had the pleasure of serving Sevika, the escorts came around less often. She would interact platonically with the table, obviously friends or business partners with how far apart they sat. You were still closely scrutinized by her entourage, but their gazes didn’t burn with hatred the way you felt before. It was more like curiosity, eyes shifting about the table exchanging knowing looks. When she was joined by a blue-haired woman and little girl, you noticed Sevika’s eye twitch at their suppressed giggles while she talked to you.

On any given night, you might bring 5 hard drinks Sevika’s way. She could obviously handle her liquor, but you were slightly concerned seeing how long her receipt had grown when you came to let her know it was closing time. It was a busy night so you hadn’t really considered the possibility of overserving Sevika.

The walls of her self-control were crumbling. As you walked away with her cash in hand, you were stopped in your tracks by a pull to your skirt. Your surprised visage met her hazy one, and she asked you if she could walk you home. You took the scenic route, meandering down the streets and stopping at food carts along the way. Her arm was snug around your waist as she guided you through the crowds. You kissed her on the walkup to your apartment, and she flushed from cheeks to chest. She asked if you would let her take you out again, and you agreed with enthusiasm.

Laying in bed that night, you were overcome by doubt. You had never seen Sevika drink over her limit. Would she even remember this in the morning? You were kept awake by dreams of what could be, knowing you would be rudely awakened the next night. She was hitting on the first woman available at the time.

You convinced another waitress to serve Sevika’s table that next night. You could feel the burn of her stare throughout, and she remained in her seat come closing time.

Sevika’s reputation as a regular at Babbette’s was still fresh in everyone’s minds. Especially to the women working there. They had wondered who stole Sevika’s touch and coin from them. They were competitive enough with one another, let alone an outsider.

When she had the time, Sevika would visit you at the bar. She would sink into the booth at her usual table, in the corner with the best view of the entrance. You were the only acceptable waitress for her table. Sevika said it was because you were the best at your job, but you knew it was for the big, wet kiss you’d plant on her lips. She would rub it away with the back of her hand, like your cooties would ruin her tough persona.

At a nearby table, a particularly clingy woman from Babbette’s, Candy, watched in contempt. She had found the root of her problem: you. It was clear from her sessions with Sevika that she didn’t do commitment. She was convinced that she knew Sevika better than you did or ever could, but Candy had never shared a kiss with her. Jealousy bubbled in the pit of her stomach, and she could feel it start to boil at the sound of Sevika’s laughter. She had never heard it before, let alone been the cause. It was so warm, her smile so serene in a way she never thought was possible. She wanted to take that from you, to covet it selfishly.

As much as you would have liked to linger at Sevika’s table all night, you had a job to do and rent to pay. The ring of the bell at the bar counter called, and you had to attend to the crowd gathered there. Your focus was shifted to taking orders and mixing drinks, Sevika out of sight but lingering in the back of your mind.

Candy tried to use your actions to her advantage. Sevika’s walls were down, shoulders relaxed, the usual crease between her furrowed eyebrows nowhere to be seen. So Candy stepped down from her barstool, downed the rest of her cosmopolitan, and marched up to Sevika’s table. Her confidence waned, though, when she called for Sevika and received a dead-eyed stare. The warm smile on her face had dropped like a brick. Candy’s bright grin faltered, “Sevi, it’s been so long! Where have you been?”

Sevika’s eyes were already back on her cards, grumbling out “working.”

“Always working, Sevi…” Candy cooed as she slid into the booth beside her.

“Mhm.”

A pointed nail reached for Sevika’s chin, scratching under it to meet her gaze and almost purr, “and you must be so exhausted, running back and forth for Silco all the time.”

Sevika’s expression was almost angry, but Candy didn’t relent, “I can make you feel better though, honey, why don’t you come and visit me down at Babbette’s? You’ll forget all about work, promise.”

The sound of a throat clearing made Sevika and Candy both jump. You stood stiffly above the table, a tray balanced on one hand and a jack and coke in the other. Sevika’s head turned to escape the woman’s touch. Your lips were tightly pursed and your eyes narrowed at both Sevika and the woman attempting to climb into her lap.

The woman looked and dressed like a doll. Her hair was immaculately pinned and braided. Her face was dewy, masked in foundation and ample pink blush. She smelled like sugar and vanilla. She looked you up and down, seemingly unimpressed with your plain black cocktail dress and apron.

Your tone and face was flat, “jack and coke,” and you set down the drink firmly on the table. “Something for your little friend here, ‘Sevi’?

She shakes her head, “no, she was just leaving actually.”

But Sevika’s guest didn’t seem to think so. “I’m fine right here, thank you very much. I’ll have a vodka cranberry. Sevi here is just being silly,” and she hid a giggle behind her palm. She locked her eyes with yours, “Now will you get my drink? I doubt they pay you to just sit around.”

Your cheeks were getting hot, eyes burning with angry tears, “no, I get paid to serve shit people like you. And you get paid to lay on your back. Like come on I don’t come to where you work and knock the dicks out of your mouth.”

Sevika intervened at your wobbling voice, grabbing Candy by the wrist. “Enough. You’re leaving.” She pulled the woman toward the exit, practically kicking and screaming all the way.

Sevika returned to her table with a sigh, falling like dead weight into her seat. She slumped forward, attempting to turn her attention back to the game in front of her now.

In the kitchen, you were holding back tears. You gripped the greasy counter with both hands and took deep breaths. You knew of Sevika’s reputation at the brothel, she was a well-known regular after all. You paid no mind to her past provided it stayed behind her.

Tonight, her past came to bite you in the ass. And that pain in the ass was named Candy. She made you feel beneath her and Sevika. And in that moment you were an employee present only to serve Sevika and her guests.

Sevika stayed for the remainder of her game but grew worried at your absence. Minutes crawled by and she gave into the urge to find you. She pushed the door to the kitchen open to find your shaking frame at the counter. You were hunched over, breathing unstably and sniffling.

Sevika approached you like one would a wounded animal, “hey…” and you looked up to see her frame filling the doorway. You wiped at your cheeks with your palms and attempted to regulate your breathing. Sevika was so strong, and you were embarrassed for her to see you at such a weak point.

You cleared your throat, “... what are you still doing here?”

“Checkin on you. We gotta talk about what happened back there.”

You laughed bitterly, “yeah it seemed like you were having a lot of fun back there with your little friend. Sorry to interrupt.”

Sevika scoffed, “she’s not my ‘little friend’. Just some delusional girl from the brothel.”

You looked crestfallen, gazing up at her like a sad puppy. “She was so… casual about it. Touching you like she was yours. She was so familiar with you…” you trailed off.

Sevika was hitting herself internally, “I shoulda done something when she came up, she just wasn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

You frowned bitterly, unable to hold back your outburst, “then say it louder, I don’t fucking know! She was all over you and you barely did anything!” Sevika didn’t realize how much the situation had truly upset you, scared to admit that the woman had made you feel insecure.

Sevika took hold of you by the shoulders and spoke softly, “hey, hey. It’s okay, honey. Deep breaths, yeah?” Her thumbs rubbed your shoulders in soothing motions as you took a shuddering inhale and slowly puffed it out. When you could focus on her, Sevika continued. “Listen, okay? Babbette’s hasn’t gotten a dime out of me in months. You’re all I want.”

You whimpered and sniffled, “promise?”

Sevika smiled, “I promise,” and she kissed you sweetly on the forehead, “‘sides I don’t even remember who that was.”

You let out a watery chuckle and smacked her playfully on the bicep, “you’re not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?”

She grinned wider, “never.”

This is my first Sevika fic pls be gentle

[lokischocolatefountain]

Honey, I'm Home || For The Right Man

Fandom: The Last of Us Pairing: Joel Miller x Trad Wife!Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings:  dom!Joel, sub!reader, rich!reader, master/slave dynamics, name calling (slut, cunt, whore, fucktoy, bitch-- it can't get worse folks), use of honorifics for Joel (Sir, Daddy, Master-- a hattrick!) Joel keeps reader in check, domesticity kink, mention of exhibitionism, boot humping, boot worship, collar and leash, chastity belt, mention of anal, use of buttplug, objectification, dehumanization, crawling, facefucking, kicking, cockwarming. (I think I got everything but lmk if I missed stuff) Word count: 4.8k Summary: Joel comes home to freshly baked dessert and a good little wife eager to serve in every way possible A/N: Look, don't be a trad wife irl. It's nothing like this. It's dangerous and will tire you out in the worst way possible. Remember this kind of Joel Miller is tragically not real. Heed the warnings.

You swiped a finger on the inside of the glass bowl, free to lick up the leftover brownie batter now that it was baking in the oven. You looked over at the clock, disappointed to see that it hadn’t moved even a little since the last time you looked.

You were still getting used to it, being home all the time. Being a housewife wasn’t something you thought you’d ever do. You hit the ground running after graduation, climbing the corporate ladder and making more money than you knew what to do with. After reaching the top and buying everything you could ever dream of and more, life got quite boring. Nothing brought joy or satisfaction anymore. Many a therapist and mental breakdowns later, you decided that you were done. Unable to bear the boredom of your career, quit your job and moved to one of your properties in Texas. 

That was when Joel Miller walked into your life. Or rather you called him into your life after seeing his number on a pamphlet. Miller Constructions. Tall, gruff, muscular as hell and all southern gentlemanly, he had your attention from the very first day. Miller Constructions was only a local business that he ran with his little brother. But he had good reviews online and your own neighbor’s kitchen renovation was a testimony to Miller Construction’s quality work.

With no job or entertainment, you’d set your eyes on the handsome contractor. As he stripped his shirt, arm muscles bulging in his white vest, you sat on your couch with a book open and watched to your heart’s content. But if anyone asked you the names of the characters in the book, you would draw a blank.

One thing led to another and a few years later you were in the bedroom of the house he renovated for you, wearing his ring and getting ready in front of the dressing table he built you from scratch. You stood bare in front of the mirror, wearing nothing but the steel collar with his name engraved and matching chastity belt he kept you locked in when he was away. It was a reminder of the kind of life you’d built together, of the role you’d readily accepted in your home.

You went through your extensive lingerie collection, all chosen to surprise him and make you feel beautiful. You took a sip from your glass of wine and set it down carefully on the dressing table before reaching for something you hadn’t worn in a little while. A bright red set that drove him fucking insane when you first wore it. It was from last year’s Valentine’s Day and you’d taken him to a restaurant, private booking with just you and Joel dining there for the night. It was expensive as hell but you had cash to throw away and it was worth it for his reaction. 

Once dinner had been served and the waitstaff left, you took your coat off to reveal that you’d been practically naked underneath. The lingerie set was a corset top, strapless with your tits almost falling out and the back open in a heart shape. The corset boning was covered in bright red silk, standing out against the soft sheer lace around it. 

Heat rushed to your cheeks when memories of the night flooded your mind. It hadn’t taken him long to forget the fancy food, bend you over the table and have his fill of your cunt. When he got close, he put you on your knees and came on your face, marking you as his. For the rest of dinner, you wore him on your face, eating all the courses of the meal and talking to him casually about everything under the sun like it was normal. 

A second wear of the lingerie set could only lead to another amazing night of debauchery. You grabbed the matching lace panties and slipped it on over your belt, the pair a skimpy one with too little fabric to cover up the essentials. You put the corset on next, struggling just a little to lace it up all by yourself but managing nevertheless. A pair of sheer black stockings, red lips, red bottomed Louboutins and your look was complete. 

He didn’t care much about makeup. The man couldn’t even tell you were wearing seven different products on your face the first few times. But he always noticed a red lip. Always liked having the visual of bright painted lips stretch around his impressive girth. 

Your stilettos clicked against the hardwood floor as you turned in front of the mirror, checking your appearance from every angle to make sure you looked your best. You could greet him in your old university tee and a pair of shorts with your hair up in a bun and he’d still gather you in his arms and kiss you senseless when he came home. 

But you liked going the extra mile for him every now and then. Be something soft, pretty and pliant to come home to after long days of hard labor under the sun and idiot subcontractors who got on his nerves.

Just as you’d sliced the brownies and left them on a wire rack to cool, you heard his truck pull up into the driveway. You sprinted to the door as fast as you could in your impractical shoes and took your position at the door. A wide smile plastered on your lips and your thighs rubbing against each other in a pavlovian response to his arrival. 

Joel’s eyes brightened when you opened the door and he laid his eyes on you. “Goddamn, honey… Gonna give me a heart attack one of these days,” he said, wasting no time in wrapping a muscular arm around your waist and pulling you into a kiss. You relaxed in his embrace, moaning softly when he caressed your bottom in his large hand. He threaded his fingers through your hair, keeping you flush against his chest as he tasted you. You heard him kick the door close, chills running through you as you realized you’d been on display to the entire neighborhood all this while. 

You were the first to pull away, breathless from his kiss. Yet you stayed close, his nose brushing against yours and his warm breath kissing your cheek. You sighed, taking in his heady scent of sweat, his cologne, and wood shavings. The thing that screamed Man, Man, Man. The thing that had you begging to suck his cock every evening when he was only your contractor.

He hung his truck keys on the hook by the door and picked up the leather leash that hung from the hook right next to it. He hooked the metal end of it to the ring on your collar and tugged you forward, making you giggle as you crashed into his chest. 

You unbuttoned the first button of his flannel and licked your lips when you saw his chest, tan and marked by little brown spots from the treacherous sun that couldn’t help but kiss him. You staked your claim with a kiss on his chest and licked your lips, the salty taste of his skin enticing you even more. No matter how many times you had him, you felt the same excitement that you did the first time you submitted to him. That Friday night when he stayed longer than usual to finish retiling your bathroom so it’d be ready for the party you were throwing the week after.

“I missed you so much, baby,” you confessed, looking up at him from his chest. He was handsome as hell with his soft curls, beautiful brown eyes, kissable lips, and patchy beard. Before him, you had a preference for men with full beards. But you liked Joel’s better now. Especially the little heart shaped patch where hair refused to grow. 

“Missed you too, darlin’. Get on your knees now,” he said, tugging you down by your leash. You sunk down to your knees and looked up at him, heart swelling with joy at the view you had of him. He was handsome from every angle, but fuck he looked powerful towering over you like a God. 

“House smells real good. You bake for me again?” He asked, petting your head just as gently as the tone of his voice.

“Mhmm,” you hummed as you wrapped your arms around his leg and pressed your cheek to his knee. It was all the satisfaction you never got at the job you quit. 

“Sweet little wife, working so hard for me huh?” 

“Mhmm. Heated up the leftovers from last night but I wanted to make something new too. Knew you’d need something nice to come home to, Daddy.” He never demanded anything of you despite the absolute power you handed him. He ate what you gave, whether it was good or not, whether you cooked or ordered take out. It only deepened your need to serve him. 

As you already had leftovers for dinner, you decided to bake instead. A good thing that came out of the expensive baking classes you took. You liked sending the remaining dessert with him to work where he proudly distributed them. 

He’d never tell you, but you knew he got off on it. His staff knew you, the boss’ sweet wife who cooked the most delicious things. You played it up when they were around— when they came by for signatures, when you visited his worksites with his lunch. You giggled more for him, touched his arms and smiled adoringly. You dressed provocatively- low cut tops that showed your cleavage, tight jeans that hugged your ass, skirts that were too short ro bend in. 

“Come home to you everyday, don’t I? My everythin’ nice.” 

“Shut up,” you muttered, a shy smile fighting to surface despite your best efforts. 

“That how you speak to your husband?” He asked, leading you to the dinner table you’d arranged with plates, cutlery, artfully folded napkins, and the flowers from him. You crawled beside him, enjoying the discomfort in your permanently bruised knees. He took a seat and you knelt next to him, pussy already slick as he tethered the leash to the table he made to accommodate it. 

“I don’t know, Joel. Maybe you should do something about it if you don’t like it. Can’t just leave your wife at home and expect nothing to change. You need to maintain her.” 

“Maintenance, huh?” He snorted, tugging you close by your collar and kissing you. He held you in place with a firm hand right underneath your collar, his grip on your throat reinforcing his ownership over you. 

“Turn around, let me see what’s mine,” he said, patting your cheek twice. You obeyed, turning around on your knees and bending over to have your face down and ass up. 

He pushed your panties aside and you rolled your ass in the air so the jewel lodged in your hole glinted bright. He gripped it, coaxing it out gently before pushing it right back in. You whimpered, pressing your cheek to the floor and looking back at him as he played with you. He thrust the plug in and out, his devilish eyes giving away just how much he enjoyed debauching you. He liked the contradictions in you. The good little wife who stayed home and cooked and cleaned. But also his filthy little whore that stretched her ass to take his cock. 

“Kept it in all day, baby?” he asked, pressing on the plug.

“Yeah, Daddy…” you said, looking away at the grains on the wood flooring as you smiled. 

“Good girl,” he said, patting your ass once again before letting your panties snap back in place. Your smile widened, proud that you’d done a good job.

You’d never taken a man in your ass. Not that none had asked before Joel. Some even tried to force themselves in, pretending it was accidental when you yelled at them. The thought of a cock there, where it wasn’t meant to be, where it would be at least a bit painful… It scared you. Your boyfriends and one night stands had no incentive to be good to you. But it was different with Joel. He was your Master and you trusted he wouldn’t do anything to damage his property. 

You were his in every way but you needed him to take more. To have a part of your body that wasn’t meant for fucking trained to take his cock… For every inch of your body to be transformed into a plaything for him. It was the utter, complete submission you craved. 

“So proud of you,” he said, turning you around to face him. He bent down, staying close so you could feel his warm breath as he spoke to you. He kissed behind your ear where he knew you to be sensitive, making you shudder in response. 

“Need to stretch it out good so when I take your ass one day, I won’t split ya’ open.” 

You whimpered, cunt clenching as his words morphed into images in your mind’s eye. 

He served himself dinner, heaping enough on his plate for the both of you. The gentleman that he was, he fed you first. You were his bitch at his feet, being fed and pet, but you were still a typical husband and wife sharing stories of each other’s day. 

You asked him about his day and he vented about some idiot using the wrong setting and overheating a drill bit so much it snapped. He asked about your book club and complimented the meal even though he’d already praised you for it last night.

He rinsed the dishes and set them in the racks to dry while you went upstairs to fetch his fresh boots. The nice soft ones he never wore outside and sanitized thoroughly after each use. You placed them by the coffee table, your eyes connecting with his as you did. He smiled and returned to the dishes, a knowing look in his eyes. 

You headed to the mini bar to prepare drinks. Joel’s drink never needed preparation- just a whiskey, neat. But you liked something fun every night courtesy of your newfound interest in mixology. 

⌘⌘⌘

Joel reached into his shirt and pulled out his chain. It was one of your first presents to him. It was gold and had him stuttering his words when he got it. 

He was not used to having a rich girlfriend. He’d always dated within his economic group. No surprise since not a lot of rich women liked contractors without a higher education. And as a traditional southern man, he liked to be the one to buy gifts for his woman. Liked to provide, to take care of his people. It took time to adjust to having a woman who liked just as much to buy him stuff and take care of him with meals and massages. One who took spontaneous trips to his worksites just to give him a bottle of homemade lemonade when he most needed it. 

Care was a one way street for him. But with you, he learned to accept some care for himself. It began with you cooking meals for him when he renovated your home. It wasn’t the most delicious. You had no experience cooking back then, but he was completely taken by the care you showed him. Just a man she hired. You had too many rooms in your fancy mansion to do shit like that. 

Quickly it had become routine. You spoke to each other about your lives. He told you about starting work straight outta high school after his parents’ death and he learned why you’d moved to Austin. The more days he spent renovating your house the less it felt like work. Especially since that one night you got on your knees and let him know that you would be happy to relieve his stress.

Ladies usually played it coy, or at least that was his experience. But you were unabashed. Bold. You didn’t drop hints and play games. You dropped to you fucking knees and offered him your mouth to fuck. It surprised him how attracted he was to your assertiveness. 

Like the other things he accepted from you, he accepted the gold. You liked how it dangled from his neck as he plowed into you. He liked that it was a counterpart to the collar he put around your neck. 

It now held the key to your chastity belt. He pulled your panties off, plucked the key from his chain and unlocked you. Most mornings, he locked you into your belt before kissing you goodbye at the door. In the evenings, he opened you like the best fucking Christmas present. 

He wasn’t too strict with it, finding integrity and trust a more powerful tool than fear. You knew there was a spare set of keys to the belt and collar in a drawer if you needed them. You trusted him enough to lock and collar you without disrespecting you and he trusted you to not remove it without good reason. He trusted you to not lie and you trusted that he would handle your actions with kindness.

He slipped the heavy steel belt off and placed it by his side on the rug. Knelt behind you, he bent down and kissed your pussy lips, already wet and needy though he hadn’t done anything but wiggle your plug a little. He made out with it just as he would your painted pair of lips, his tongue parting your folds to enter you, tasting your arousal. 

“Remindin’ me why I call ya honey…” he whispered into your sensitive skin, making you tremble against his lips. 

“Why you gotta bake me sweet treats when you got me my favorite between your legs?” He asked, wrapping his lips around your nub before you could answer him with snark. You buried your head in a couch cushion, muffling your sounds. But in the quiet of the living room, Joel could hear the pretty little whimpers you made for him. 

He groaned, his neck hurting from the awkwardness of the angle. He got back up from under you and slapped your ass thrice in quick succession. “Up. Put your panties on and change my boots.” 

He sat back comfortably on the couch and enjoyed the view of you as you got to work. 

Work boots off, you laced up the house boots and dropped your face to the ground, your ass pushing up. You pressed your lips to one boot and then the next. Then you licked it from the tip up, looking up at him for approval as you traveled up. He looked nothing less than absolutely pleased, his fingertips brushing his jawline and his smile soft at the sight of your devotion. 

He tipped your chin up with his boot and caressed your cheek with it. “My little slut loves my boots, huh?” 

You nodded and nuzzled into it, grateful for his attention. The warmth of his smile morphed into arrogance. From your loving husband to the man who knew he controlled your every breath and was ready to take advantage of it. 

“On your ass, slut. Spread those legs and show me your cunt.” 

You sat back, the coffee table supporting you as you spread your legs wide. When you moved the wet gusset of your panties aside, his eyes zeroed in and he tongue swept over his lips. You felt your cunt drip into the carpet, the shame of being so aroused by worshiping his boots only making the situation worse. 

He slid his boot between your legs and pressed it against your hole. “Tell me. Why do I need to keep you locked?” 

“Because I’m a slut,” you admitted, beginning to rub against it. You knew you were a lot to handle. You lived a life of restrain and shame before you found Joel. Joel freed you to chase your desires and allowed you to devolve into a slut. Since then you thought of nothing but filling your holes. He had you addicted to his cock and whining for it like a wild animal. If you didn’t have Joel to take full command of your body, you knew you would do nothing but rub your cunt raw.

“Yeah that’s right,” he said, leaning close. “But you are my slut. I know you won’t go around letting other men use your holes. So why do I keep you locked?” 

“B-because I’m so wet I can’t think, Daddy.” 

“Mhmm. That’s right. Now why does Daddy need you thinking?” He said, cupping your cheek in his callused hands. 

“C-cause I need to keep the home. I need to cook and clean.” 

He shook his head. “Don’t need your brain working to do that, baby. What d’ya need to think for?” 

“My projects. I need to think for my projects.” 

“Exactly. Good girl. You need to finish the portrait for your art class next week, don’tcha?” 

You simply nodded, happy that he kept track of your tasks. Sometimes you forgot. You got lazy and procrastinated, turned your hobbies into a source of stress. But Master guided you and held you accountable. 

“And you love your furniture so much. Your Persian rug, your designer sofas, the hardwood floor I laid down. What’ll happen if I don’t keep this hole locked?” He asked, tipping his chin up. 

Your mind began its descent into the void of lust as the sensations between your legs eclipsed all else. Yet you managed a response. “I’ll r-ruin it.”

“Mhmm. Can’t have you ruining our home. I know how much care you put into it,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “How well you take care of it everyday,” he said with a kiss on your cheek. “It’ll all be ruined if you leave a trail of slick behind you when you’re on your knees cleaning the front.” 

You nodded frantically, words slipping beyond your abilities. 

“Now tell me why I need separate house boots.” 

You opened and closed your mouth, but nothing got to you past the cruelty of his boot and your slick panties on your clit. His had slipped from your face down to grab your neck and you gasped. 

“Answer me, girl. Why do I need these boots?”

“B-because of me.” 

“Mmm. Why?”

“Bec-because I’m a shameless bitch,” you croaked out as his hand constricted around you. “I need to fuck m’self on Master’s boots,” 

“That’s right,” he said, allowing you some air. “I can’t go out with my work boots smelling like pussy. Can’t let my men take a whiff of my slut now, can I?” he taunted, giving a light kick to your pussy. You gasped, the kick electrifying your every nerve. 

“You want more?” He asked, head tilted and a mocking smile playing at his plush lips. 

You nodded frantically, your cunt thrusting into the air as you sputtered, “Yes Sir, yes please.” 

“Shameless whore, asking to be kicked in the cunt,” he snorted before he kicked you again. You shrieked and closed your legs shut, pain and pleasure alike traveling from your core to every part of your body. When your brain recovered from the shock, you opened your legs again. 

You reached between your legs and rubbed yourself, intending to soothe but distracted by the waves of pleasure from the contact. 

“Fucking slut,” he said, slapping your hand away and replacing it with his own. He alternated between slaps and rubs of your cunt. The sting of pain morphed into jolts of pleasure until the two became so indistinguishable from the other that you didn’t know what you were craving. You took what he gave, your body grateful to accept anything that came of his touch. 

The hand on your neck squeezed and let go at unpredictable intervals. Every constriction of airflow was a reminder that you were just a toy at his whim. He decided if you came, he decided which hole he’d use, he decided if you’d take your next breath. 

“Look how you’re dripping all over my hand,” he said, his hand glistening with your shame as he brought it up to you. He smeared it over your face, a sob escaping your throat as you smelled your desperation. 

You inched closer to him on your knees and rested your cunt at the tip of his boot and humped. Up, down, up, down. There was no bliss like it. 

“Like a fucking bitch in heat,” he muttered, laughing to himself when you whined. “Imagine if your former subordinates could see ya now. Wouldn’t even recognize their ballbusting boss. Maybe we should have ‘em over.” 

You shook your head in denial, but your cunt was more truthful, clenching harder at the thought of having an audience to your subjugation. 

“No?” He mocked as he worked on your corset top. The hairs on your body stood up as the air cooled your sweating torso. Your breasts bounced free, jiggling as you fucked yourself on his boot. 

He took one in his hand, fondling it before letting go with a slap. You yelped, inching closer and trapping the bootlaces under you. He took turns with them, squeezing, slapping and pinching. 

“Please!” You cried, not comprehending why you were begging. 

“I know, baby. I know…” he said, the softness of his voice contradicting the cruelty of his fingers that tugged at your nipples. 

“Need t— Hnngg!” 

“I got you. Give into it, Cunt. Just be the fuckhole you were made to be.” 

A wild sound escaped your lips and you fell back. He caught you, holding you up against the coffee table. 

Your cunt still rutted, autonomous and in control of you. Just a cunt, just Master’s fuckhole. With that reassurance, the world disappeared and you found euphoria that you could never experience without him. 

All the tension in your muscles evaporated to join the anxieties he fucked out of you, leaving behind you a carefree fucktoy. 

Brains all fucked out, you could do nothing but comply as he rearranged you on your knees. Light illuminated his face and sounds of a cheering crowd and a fast talking man echoed in your empty head. 

He squeezed your cheeks, forcing your mouth to open. A cold glass pressed against your lips and you lapped up the drink, grateful for something to quench your thirst. He pinched your nose, laughing as your hole gasped wide open for air. 

He lined his cock up with your hole and thrust in, your lips stretching tight to accommodate him. He allowed you air once again and you moaned around him, grateful for his benevolence. Though your hole was accustomed to him, the walls trembled. But you persevered, needing to show Master you were grateful for letting you breathe. You took him inch by inch, stopping only when your head was on his lap and your nose pressed against his balls. 

You breathed in his scent, masculine and overpowering. Tongue darted out every now and then to lick his balls. Cunt pulsated in the joy of submission when he moaned and whimpered. Every now and then he fucked your face up and down his cock and gave you air but mostly let you be.

Time had passed but you didn’t know how much. No world existed beyond him, no purpose other than warming his cock in your hole. Eventually, he stood up and held your head in both hands, thrusting in and out with no regard for you. Pathetic sounds escaped your burning throat and your lips lost its bright red color as your lipstick ran with your drool. Mascara and eyeliner ran down the sides of your face with your tears, turning gray when he released his spend on your face.

Face covered in his release, you crumbled at his feet, your arms going around his legs. You couldn’t bear to be alone in this state. His hand came down, caressing your sweat soaked hair as he whispered comforts.

“Did so well for me, Darling. So fucking perfect…”

“I love you,” you mumbled, looking up at him through foggy vision. 

“I love you. More than I can show. Let me take care of you now. Bath and then bed, alright?”

You nodded, cheek pressed against his knee and loath to let go of his legs. He didn’t hurry you,but allowed you stay where you were until you decided to get up. There were chores to be done, you were sure but you knew he would take care of it. It was a worry you no longer had. All that mattered was that you served him well. No stock prices and market conditions. No early mornings and hours stuck in traffic jams. 

Nothing to do but please Master, nothing to be but holes and tits. You were free. 

⌘

Masterlist

[p0orbaby]

Far Too Gone for a Tuesday

summary: maybe you like jealous leah

warnings: jealousy obvs, some steamy stuff but nothing graphic

a/n: all thanks to this request !

word count: 1.4k

-

The evening air bubbles with the hum of laughter and conversation, lights casting a warm glow across the garden where you stand, half-listening to someone drone on about their latest holiday. You’re at one of those events, the kind you attend out of obligation more than desire.

A sprawling affair hosted by someone with too much money and too little sense. The atmosphere is as bloated and gaudy as the host's ego, with silk-draped tables groaning under the weight of excessive floral arrangements and waitstaff circulating with trays of canapés so pretentious you can hardly even pronounce the ingredients.

Leah’s somewhere nearby, you know that much. You spotted her a few minutes ago, deep in conversation with a couple of her teammates. Your eyes flick over to her now and then, a subconscious tether that keeps pulling you back.

The sight of her, standing tall and confident, is a small comfort in the swirl of pretension and forced smiles. She’s laughing at something, her head tilted back slightly, the elegant line of her throat catching the light. It’s a beautiful sight, and you wish you were over there with her instead of enduring the banal chatter of your current company.

“-and the water was just so blue, you wouldn’t believe it,” the man in front of you says, leaning in closer. Too close. You can smell the faint trace of whiskey on his breath, mingling with a cologne that’s a bit too strong. His eyes are on you, intent, and there’s a smirk playing on his lips that makes your skin crawl.

He’s the type of man who thinks his wealth and status entitle him to anything, or anyone, he desires. His gaze is an inventory, cataloging parts of you as if you’re a commodity. Something he can pursue.

You laugh, a little too brightly, taking a half-step back. “Sounds amazing,” you say, hoping the conversation will fizzle out soon. But he doesn’t take the hint. His smirk widens, mistaking your politeness for interest.

“You know,” he says, lowering his voice, “I could take you there sometime. Show you the sights.” His hand hovers near your arm, fingers itching to close the gap, to claim territory he assumes is up for grabs. There’s a calculated sleaze in his tone, the kind that comes from too many years of getting what he wants.

You glance around, looking for an escape. And that’s when you see her. Leah’s eyes are on you, and there’s a hardness there that makes your breath catch. She’s seen the whole thing, and she’s not pleased. The muscles in her jaw are tight, and her posture has shifted, less casual now, coiled and ready.

Before you can react, she’s striding over, her movements purposeful and confident. The man is still talking, oblivious to the storm heading his way. Leah’s presence is practically a force field as she steps into the space between you and the man with a possessiveness that’s both protective and territorial.

“Hey,” Leah says, her voice cool but with an edge sharp enough to cut. She slides an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. Her touch is possessive, grounding. “Everything alright here?” Her eyes never leave the man’s face, daring him to challenge her claim.

The man blinks, taken aback. He looks between the two of you, a frown forming. “Yeah, we were just talking.” His bravado falters in the face of Leah’s unyielding stare.

Leah’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Were you?” she asks, her tone leaving no room for doubt about what she thinks of that. “Because it looked like you were doing more than just talking.” Her fingers press into your side, a silent reassurance and a clear signal of ownership.

There’s a moment of tense silence, and you can almost feel the heat of Leah’s anger radiating off her. The man finally seems to get the message, raising his hands in embarrassed surrender. “No harm meant,” he mutters before slinking away, his earlier confidence thoroughly deflated.

Leah’s arm stays around you, her grip firm. “Let’s get out of here,” she says, her voice softening only for you. You nod, relieved, and let her lead you through the crowd. As you walk away, you feel the weight of her possessiveness, a comforting anchor in the midst of the evening’s shallow frivolities.

The drive home is quiet, the air thick with unspoken tension. Leah’s fingers drum against the steering wheel, her jaw set. Her knuckles are white, gripping the wheel as if it’s the only thing keeping her from blowing her top. The dim glow of passing street lights illuminates her face in fleeting intervals, casting ridged shadows that highlight the building fire in her eyes.

You glance at her, a hefty combination of guilt and gratitude swirling in your chest. You didn’t ask for the attention, but you can’t deny that part of you is glad for Leah’s reaction. It’s a reminder of the intensity of her feelings for you, a silent declaration of how fiercely she cares.

Outside, the city slips by, a blur of lights and dark shapes. Inside the car, the silence is almost oppressive, filled with the things neither of you are saying. Leah’s jaw ticks, a muscle jumping in the tightness of her clenched teeth. Her eyes remain fixed on the road, but you can feel the storm brewing beneath her calm exterior. You reach out, a tentative touch on her arm, and she softens, just a fraction, a silent acknowledgment of your presence.

As soon as you’re inside, the door barely clicks shut before Leah’s on you, her hands cupping your face, her lips crashing onto yours with a desperate hunger. It’s a kiss that’s both an apology and a reminder, an outlet for the emotions she’s been holding back. You kiss back, matching her pace, your hands tangling in her hair, pulling her closer, needing to feel her against you.

“Mine,” she mutters against your lips, and it’s not a question. It’s a declaration, a statement of fact that brooks no argument. You nod, breathless, feeling the possessiveness in the way she touches you, the way she consumes you. Her kisses trail down your neck, teeth grazing your skin, marking you in a way that sends shivers down your spine. It’s primal, instinctual, a need to brand you as hers.

She pulls back, just enough to look into your eyes, her own dark with desire and something more primal. “You’re mine,” she repeats, her voice a low growl. You nod again, unable to form words, lost in the heat of her gaze. There’s a fierceness there, a raw intensity that both thrills and terrifies you.

The night becomes a blur of sensations, Leah’s hands and lips everywhere, a constant reminder of her claim on you. She’s relentless, her jealousy fueling a passion that leaves you breathless and wanting more. Every touch, every kiss is a promise, a reaffirmation of what you mean to her. Her hands are possessive, her touch demanding, and you respond in kind, giving yourself over to her completely.

She presses you against the wall, then a door, then the mattress. Her hands sliding under your shirt, fingertips skimming over your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You arch into her touch, needing more, needing her. Her lips find yours again, and it’s a clash of teeth and tongues, a desperate strife over authority that she wins effortlessly.

When it’s over, you lie tangled together, your bodies slick with sweat, your breathing heavy. Leah’s arms are around you, holding you close, as if she’s afraid to let go. You nestle into her, feeling the steady beat of her heart beneath your cheek. It’s a soothing rhythm, a reminder that she’s here, that she’s yours.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, her voice rough with emotion. “I just… I couldn’t stand seeing him all over you like that.” There’s vulnerability in her words, a raw honesty that makes your heart ache.

You lift your head to meet her eyes, your fingers tracing the line of her jaw. “Don’t be sorry,” you say softly. “I’m yours, Leah. Only yours.” You mean it, every word, and you hope she can see the truth in your eyes.

She nods, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Good,” she says, pulling you even closer. “Because I’m never letting you go.” There’s a promise in her words, a vow that you know she’ll keep.

And you believe her.

[passiveagreeable]

So the tipping is difficult to say. I think general wisdom says about 1 to 2 bucks per drink, which could be far more than 15% depending on the price of your drink, or it could be about the same. If you’re ordering really expensive or fancy things, then maybe less. So it seems to me that tipping per drink may have the bartender come out ahead. Or it may not, that completely depends on the behavior of the customer.

The transaction fee for paying with card though, that is real and a problem, and definitely one main reason for wanting one transaction.

As far as “closing out manually,” restaurants and bars and other places can have totally different register systems. Newer restaurants and especially places where you order and pay at a counter, like fast food or very casual places, tend to have vastly different systems than a typical sit down restaurant. But in my experience, all transactions were connected to one bill or one table in the computer.

When I’m in Europe, they just bring that nifty portable card reader to the table and type in whatever the quantity of the check is. The payment is not directly connected to the computer system to manages who orders what and where. Generally speaking, in my experience, that’s not possible here. So you have to close each check or table individually and independently from the rest. So that’s, to my knowledge, the meaning of “close out manually.”

I think it was mentioned before, but as far as fraud, because the standard is that they will take the card from you and bring it to the computer to charge you, the blame and responsibility for fraud are different here. If your card is stolen, well they know where it was a who probably touched it. The credit card company is going to investigate if you say there has been fraud on your account, and unless you are found to be like particularly stupid with your card or were in fact aware and/or assisting with the fraud, or you have a history of causing trouble for the credit card company, they are going to cover the fraudulent charges.

Right Americans, I need an explanation. What on Earth are these kids doing wrong? Surely this is normal?

[love-quinn]

— PARTIAL CREDIT

summary — when a new member of the waitstaff starts undermining you, you worry that your job might be in jeapordy. carmen knows you better than you think.

warnings — swearing, i think that's it

pairing — carmen berzatto x fem!waitress reader, semi (?) established relationship

pronouns — she/her

word count — 2.2k

note — i know i fully dropped off the face of the earth but unfortunately i was too busy channeling waitress reader a little too hard, i actually have to leave for work in a few hours but i really wanted to get something out. this 100% isn't inspired by true events or me projecting in any way, anyway i hope you enjoy!! <3

Being the only waitress at a successful restaurant is hard. During the dinner rush, between wiping tables, grabbing drinks and running food, you’ve slowly learned to be more adaptable to the Bear’s new clientele base. That’s not without its struggles, of course. 

Fortunately, Carmy and Natalie seem to understand that it’s a major handful to simply do your job. Which is why Richie thought it appropriate to call you in two hours early to meet the new waiter.   

Liam’s nice from what you’ve gathered. He’s been working with you at the Bear for about two months at this point, most of that has involved you and Richie training him, and he’s been very receptive to your instruction. 

Sure, sometimes he mutters under his breath when a customer asks him for something, but hey, they’re annoying sometimes. And sure, sometimes you find him in the walk-in on his phone, but you’d be lying if you said you were never on your phone at work. He’s had no complaints, and the work is always done to a standard that’s expected (he is still in training, you’re not delusional). 

You’ve worked at the Bear since they were still the Beef, right after Carmen took over. He realised Richie couldn’t keep up with the stuff at the front by himself, so he’d gone with the cheapest option available and thanked god every day that you weren’t awful at your job. You had just graduated from UofC and if you didn’t get a job when you had, you would have been pretty much out of options. You had no work experience outside of being a TA in college (which apparently didn’t have a lot of transferable skills, according to most of your potential bosses). You hadn’t been able to score an insane internship, you didn’t make super stellar grades, you’d been too busy being desperately poor and struggling to keep up.

You’d been really lucky that Carmen had taken a chance on you when he had, and you had been desperate to show him you were aware of that. Liam didn’t seem to have the same sentiment.

He was the same age as you, and he’d actually gone to UofC as well. He’d gotten a pre-med degree but wanted to take some time off before he went for his MD at Rosalind Franklin. 

He picked up on the work fairly easily, remembered when you showed him where the cleaning supplies were, showed him how to work the buttons on the till to ring in orders, and introduced him to all the staff. They were nice to him, nice enough. It took them a while to warm up to him, just like it took them a second to warm up to Carmen, to Sydney, to you. 

But now, several months in, they all got along enough that work was going well. You didn’t have to work six days a week if you didn’t want to now that Liam was there to lighten the load (you did, you made sure Natalie knew that). Now, you could actually take your lunch break without worrying they were being completely overrun. 

On the whole, things seemed to really improve. 

Until, of course, they didn’t. 

You started hearing whispers, soft remarks of “Oh, I did that for her,” to Richie about greeting table seventeen. Small “I wonder why that wasn’t done, I’ll just do it quickly.” 

“Not to be that person, but I noticed that a lot of the straws haven’t been stocked up. I feel like I have to do it every time. I just wonder what she’s doing when she’s back here…”

You do your best to not let it get to you. He’s never worked in the service industry before, he’s probably just doing his best to make sure that his efforts are being noticed. You were almost lucky, in that way, that you were the only real waitress they’d hired. 

It’s an unusually warm day as you slide in through the back entrance to work. You’re your usual twenty minutes early, lucky that there’s enough work to do that Carmen often encourages punctuality (and thus, fairly compensates for it). 

Liam is scheduled today, but he’s leaving after the lunch shift. You get your break while the kitchen does prep-work for dinner, and then you’re coming back for dinner as well. 

Marcus is in his corner, kneading bread dough with a concentrated look on his face. You brush past him with an airy hello that he returns with a half-hearted wave, not looking up from his task. 

Tina is on vegetables, and she stops you for a moment to ask about a shipment arriving. You assure her that you’ll check when you get to the other side of the kitchen, making your way to the front.

The chairs are already all down, table cloths clean and freshly washed. Sydney went down to the laundromat to get them all clean that morning; she’d texted you and asked if you wanted to come but you told her that you really, really didn’t. 

Your first job is a pre-opening sweep, then a restock, then a menu review. You have 87 minutes until service, and Liam should be here in the next fifteen minutes or so. You have just enough time to go and bug Richie into showing you more pictures of Eva’s last birthday party. 

You stick your head into the office just in time to catch the tail end of a sentence that you definitely weren’t meant to hear; “...doesn’t even stack the chairs? What is she doing here?”

Your work anxieties - the idea that every time something goes wrong it was your fault, that one missed drink or late appetiser would have you fired, that every time a customer berated you it was actually your fault - had definitely eased some in the six months you’d been working there. You’d stopped thinking that every time someone was complaining it was about you, but that meant that when they really were talking about you, you knew. 

Liam’s standing there, leaning up against a pile of papers that Carmen is staring roughly at. He looks tired - when doesn’t he? - and like he doesn’t really want to hear whatever it was that Liam was saying. 

“A lot more than you do,” Carmen grumbles. He runs a hand over his face from the bottom up, coming to a rest when it’s gripping onto his curls. 

“I’m always covering her sections,” Liam groans. “The amount of time that Rich’s given me her table’s drinks, it’s insane. We should start pooling our tips.”

Carmen wants to say a lot back to that. That his name is Richie, and calling him Rich doesn’t make him any more like the finance frat bros that Liam is so desperate to associate with. That tip pooling would be insanely unfair to you considering Carmy’s pretty sure Liam’s made less than what you make in a day. That he stacks the chairs because he likes to, and you know that. 

Instead, he settles on “you’re always covering her sections because she’s always covering up for you when you screw up.”

Liam looks like he’s unsure whether or not to go ghostly pale or beet red at the statement. “Wh- has my performance not been up to scratch, sir?”

Carmen stands. “I didn’t really notice it, at first, cause everything was going so well. She’d never tell on you, she knows what it’s like to struggle at a job.” He looks disdainfully down at Liam’s too-new dress shoes. Professional but impractical as a waiter. From what Carmen’s noticed, this is the second pair he’s ruined. “She’d never tell me that your silverware is never rolled, so she’s been staying late and rolling every single one of them. She’d never tell me that your tables are never cleared away. She’d never tell me that you had six meals comped in your first month because you couldn’t be fucked writing shit down.

So yeah, maybe you get her tables a refill when she’s too busy telling one of us one of your guests was coeliac because you forgot to, but that does not give you the right to look down your entitled fucking nose at her.” Carmen gets close, not close enough to the point where it could be uncomfortable, but much closer than he’d ever get to Liam if he could help it. 

“You don’t like picking up her slack? That’s fine, that’s fucking fine, because to be honest, it seems like you’re creating more work for her anyway. You’re done.”

He looks pointedly towards the door to the small office. 

Liam knows exactly what Carmy’s telling him. “Sir, I-”

Carmen raises a finger and points. “You’re fucking done.”

Liam scampers away so quickly he doesn’t even see you eavesdropping. 

Carmy knows, though. He seems to have a sixth sense for when you walk into a room. If you’re not planning on coming in to confront him about firing Liam then he has no intention of bringing it up with you. He sits down, putting his forehead on his fist. “Sir.”

You’re standing right in the door, it’s practically impossible for Carmen not to notice you. But he pretends, allowing you the chance to slip away and act like you hadn’t just witnessed him firing Liam for being slightly mean to you. 

He opens his eyes to see you standing there still. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” your voice is soft. The collar of your shirt is tucked underneath on one side, and Carmen has to resist the urge to reach up and smooth it out. He’s not quite sure why and he doesn’t feel like unpacking it. “He’s still learning, I don’t mind helping him out.”

Carmen doesn’t mince his words. “He’s a dick, don’t defend him.”

He swivels away from his desk and gestures for you to sit. After a second of hesitation, you perch yourself on top of the small surface. You’re not sure who moves first, Carmen to reach up and take your hands or you to reach down to let him. Neither of you have ever spoken about it, like a lot of things. How he always makes sure you get extra food and you make sure Carmen isn’t bothered while he sets up the dining room. 

You hadn’t realised how much Liam had been heightening your anxiety while he was there. “He’s not allowed to do that to you.” Carmy sounds genuinely pissed. “You do fucking everything out there, he’s not allowed to come in and treat you like some sanctimonious fuck. You… you should’ve come to talk to me about it.” He gives in. “You could’ve.”

“I didn’t want to be a problem.” You admit quietly. “You have enough without me.”

Plenty goes unsaid between you and Carmen. You don’t talk when he drives you home in the dark, in the snow. But he’d be naive to believe that the same rules applied to everyone else. The kitchen staff talks, none more than Richie. Carmy is surprised he hadn’t decked that pre-med asshole already. 

“You’re not a problem, honey,” he says gruffly. You stay silent for a moment before realising that’s probably all you’re going to get out of him. 

“I need to go prep dining for service,” you say after a moment, not wanting to speak too loudly. 

Camry’s grip on your hand tightens and for a brief second he feels panic set in. You clearly are feeling okay, so it’s not that he needs to check on you. You’re well ahead of schedule. There’s no reason for Carmen to keep his hand enclosed around yours. And yet he does. And yet you let him.

“Liam was just in here bragging about how dining room prep was already done,” he says after a short while. “You’re well ahead of time.”

“He is,” you point out airily. “I’d never want to take credit for his work.”

Carmen squeezes your hands once, eyes crinkling at the sides. You both know you need to go over everything Liam did in an attempt to make himself look better, not one hundred percent trusting him to have done it properly. There’s 56 minutes until service before Carmen finally lets you go (and only because he has prep he needs to get done).

Plenty goes unsaid between you and Carmen. You don’t say anything when he cracks his office door open for you when you need a breather. You don’t say anything when his station’s been cleaned for him miraculously while you’re waiting for him to finish paperwork.

Luckily for you, the rest of your coworkers seem to understand this time. Nobody mentions Liam or his absence. No one mentions the stars drawn on the band-aid on Carmen’s wrist. And, most surprisingly pleasant, no one mentions how Carmen has started calling you honey more than perhaps your real name.

It makes it even nicer when everyone heads out, leaving you and Carmen alone in the restaurant for the night. They seem to have miraculously developed tact over the last 24 hours, but you’re pretty sure nothing could have stopped Richie from telling everyone about the way that Carmen holds your hand the entire way to your apartment. 

[scarlettriot]

Alright. I simply cannot get the idea of getting hot and heavy in the back of some limo with Ei and a little sprinkle of sneaking around too. I don’t know where this came from or anything so here. I’m leaving it. And that’s all.

It’s sorta smutty so no minors or ageless. They’re aged up, in case that wasn’t self explanatory. Reader gets a little jealous. Other than that it’s basically just fluff with fucking.

I did not proof this what so ever. Sorry. I’m tired. I don’t even have a rough word count for you but it’s pretty short.

The two of you leaving together after some big award show after he finally breaks into the top 10. Only you’re most certainly not the woman his agencies PR team has been setting him up on dates with. The super model who’s been all over him, the face of his active wear line, the woman they want to see him with.

He’s been putting on a good show for them. Even dipped her in front of all the camera the red carpet was lined with and kissed her as a hundred flashes went off.

But, gods, she’s just not you. The cute little waitstaff always serving drinks at these events. The black skirt they make you wear hugs your curves so tightly and he can see every dip of your plush hips and he remembers what it was like the first time he got to feel you.

He was stiff in his perfectly tailored pants before the hors d’oeuvres came around. 

The first chance he got, he’d slipped away. Thankfully, his accomplishments were already recognized. He’d done his part, stood up, waved, went on stage, he didn’t give a damn about anything or anyone else. He just needed to find you again.

“I— oh fuck— I’m gonna have to get back before someone realizes I’m— I’m— right there, right there, yes please—!” It was too hard to think when his fingers were buried deep within your cunt.

He had you propped up on the back of his limo. Making you cum with your skirt all bunched up. “Don’t think you gotta go anywhere yet, pretty,” he chuckles and licks off his fingers.

“I do though, I do,” you tried forming a sentence, “I could get fired,”

He pulled your legs around him and carried you around to the door to slip inside with you. “Told you I’d get you a job at my agency, then you wouldn’t have to worry about this job.”

You sucked on his neck as he undid his belt, “don’t know how your girlfriend would feel about me working with you daily… having this happen far more often?” Because you’re not stupid, you knew if you took him up on that offer you’d be on his dick every chance the two of you had.

“She’s not my girlfriend and you know it.” He made that abundantly clear the first time he made a move on you months ago and you questioned him.

He’d just barely slipped his cock free before you were sinking down on it with a groan that would reply in his head for a lifetime. “I don’t think she knows that.”

He chuckles and it makes you clench around him. “You’re real cute when you’re jealous,” hands grip hard on your hips and he pushes you down as he grits out, “and if she does know it, that’s—not— my— problem—” rocking his hips to watch your eyes roll back.

“You’ve said it yourself though, she’s what your PR team wants. I’m nothing like her.”

He huffed before his arms wound under your legs so he could hold you up and fuck up into you as he damn well pleased. “Also told you that I don’t care what they want. You say the word and it’ll be you on my arm at these events, not her.”

You laughed before he made it into a blissed out moan.

“What? Don’t believe me?”

The windows were fogging up, anyone walking by would damn well know what was happening here. And he didn’t care at all. He’d bullied himself into you over and over again, tearing at your little outfit, unable to help himself.

Of course, you didn’t seem to mind with the way you were babbling now, tits bouncing with your head tossed back, pleasure coursing through you. “What’s the matter, pretty? Can’t do anything more than moan for me now? Should I stop and letcha think?”

His pace slowed and you cried out, “noooo!”

“Then answer me, baby, you believe me, don’t you?” Gods, for a man railing you within an inch of your life, his tone was soft and sickeningly sweet. “Promise if ya let me I’ll do this to you all night long.” Not that these quickies weren’t fun but just once he wants to see you splayed out in his bed. “I’ll make you cum over and over, as much as you want.”

He took your chin and made sure you were looking at him as he added. “I want you. For more than just a fast fuck at a party. Lemme take care of you, in every possibly way there is.”

With his cock filling you up so completely, and his eyes carrying so much hope, how could you ever deny him?

[perfectsunlight]

I BET YOU THINK ABOUT ME - JISOO

kim jisoo x reader

word count: 3.5k

warnings: implied age-gap, class disparities, isolation, belittling, emotional manipulation, mentioned breakup.

synopsis: despite being broken up, you bet your wealthy ex-girlfriend still thinks about you.

there were many things you enjoyed about dating kim jisoo. the way her laughter could light up a room, soft but knowing, like she was in on a joke no one else understood. how her touch was always delicate—calculated, even—as if everything she laid her hands on was an extension of the control she had over the world around her.

but her wealth and status? no, those were never the reasons you stayed.

even now, walking down the narrow, cobblestone streets where red and gold leaves scattered beneath your feet, you couldn’t help but be swallowed by memories of her. the crisp autumn air bit at your skin, a sharp reminder of the past, tugging at your thoughts like the wind tugged at your coat. it was in this season that jisoo had always seemed to glow brightest. her beauty matched the fall—effortless, rich, like a vintage painting come to life. she was untouchable.

however, she was just as cruel.

you just didn’t realize it at the time. how her perfectly manicured fingers—always cold to the touch, always adorned with rings that shimmered in the dying autumn light—had dug deep, not into your skin, but into your spirit. each time she mentioned your "quaint" lifestyle, your "charming" lack of understanding about the finer things in life, it had been wrapped in a velvet glove of affection, so you hardly noticed the sting at first.

it had felt like walking through the falling leaves, admiring the beauty, unaware that winter was creeping closer, ready to strip everything bare.

she had always made sure you knew she was from another world—one where silk sheets were the norm, where every meal came with a waitstaff and a glass of wine you could hardly pronounce. her apartment had been like a showroom, sterile and pristine, with floor-to-ceiling windows that stretched out over the city like a kingdom she ruled from above. and you, standing in the middle of it all, had felt small.

but now, in the aftermath, you could see how she had looked at you, like a pet project. an amusing distraction.

you remember the last dinner you shared at some restaurant you couldn’t pronounce, where the chandeliers above flickered against the dim light and the leaves outside the window swirled like some gilded snowstorm. she had ordered for you without asking, her voice as smooth and cool as the autumn breeze that crept into the cracks of your jacket.

"it’s adorable," she had said, waving her hand dismissively at your confusion when the plates arrived, "how little you know about this. really. it’s sweet."

at the time, you’d laughed it off, sipping the wine that burned your throat more than it soothed. but now you realize how sharp her words had been, each one a blade wrapped in silk.

the holiday parties were even worse.

you’d always felt out of place, like an actor in the wrong movie, wandering through rooms filled with people who looked like they belonged in some old-world painting. there were always murmurs of stocks and art auctions, people in tailored suits that hung off them like armor. you, in your off-the-rack blazer, had felt like an imposter. but jisoo, with her arm linked loosely through yours, had moved through the crowd effortlessly, her smile cold and practiced, like she knew every secret and every face in the room.

the air inside was thick with perfume and candlelight, but it never warmed you. outside, through the towering windows of the penthouse venues, you could always catch glimpses of the world you belonged to—the same city, but miles away, where people didn’t wear silk scarves that cost more than your rent or talk about vacation homes in hushed, reverent tones. the autumn leaves that still clung to the trees seemed desperate, the last few hanging on in the icy wind. much like you had been, clinging to jisoo’s side, pretending not to notice the subtle, cutting remarks she’d make about your clothes, your taste in music, your background.

"you know," she’d say in that breathy, disinterested tone of hers, eyes scanning the room like a queen surveying her subjects, "maybe next time you could wear something… a little more appropriate for the occasion?"

the words had stung, but you’d smiled, nodding like you hadn’t just been dressed down in front of people who already looked at you like you were her charity case. you’d downed your drink, hoping the burn of it would distract from the ache in your chest, while jisoo had already moved on, laughing airily at some joke from a man whose name you couldn’t remember, but whose disdainful eyes stayed with you long after the night was over.

at those parties, she’d always introduce you the same way: “this is y/n.”

nothing more, nothing less. like you were just another accessory—another piece of her perfectly arranged life. your name alone always hung in the air, stiff and formal, with no affection behind it. 

it was a title, not a connection.

but the way she spoke about herself was different. she was kim jisoo, daughter of one of the wealthiest families in seoul, a woman who everyone admired but no one truly knew. she never missed a chance to remind people of her lineage, of her success, of the places she’d been that you could only dream of. you’d stand there, smiling politely, the outsider in your own relationship, as she charmed the room with stories of her luxury trips to europe or some exclusive party she’d attended.

you used to tell yourself that maybe this was just her world—one you didn’t quite understand but could learn to navigate. after all, you thought, love was supposed to be about growing, about adapting to each other. but now, looking back, you see it differently. you hadn’t been adapting. you had been erasing yourself.

you remember the first time you’d seen her living room—everything about it had been a display of understated opulence. the couch, soft and inviting, had been custom-made in italy, a piece of furniture that cost more than you’d make in a year. the kind of thing you wouldn’t even dare to sit on without an invitation.

she’d caught you staring at it once, your fingers brushing lightly over the velvety surface, as if afraid you’d leave some permanent mark on it.

“do you like it?” she’d asked, her tone casual, almost playful, as she kicked off her shoes. organic shoes, she’d said—handcrafted by a designer who only used sustainably sourced materials, each pair worth thousands. she’d tossed them carelessly to the side, as if they were nothing more than an afterthought.

“it’s beautiful,” you’d breathlessly answered, unsure of how to respond. what else could you say? the couch was more than a place to sit. it was a symbol of everything that separated you from her.

the older woman had smiled, that knowing little smile of hers, and settled onto the couch, curling her legs beneath her. “it should be,” she’d replied, her voice laced with a subtle arrogance. “it cost a fortune. but you can’t put a price on comfort, can you?”

at the time, you’d nodded, sitting beside her, careful not to spill the coffee you’d brought from a café that seemed almost comically out of place in her world of curated luxury. but now, looking back, you realize how much weight that moment held.

the couch, the shoes, the apartment—it was all part of the same narrative. jisoo’s life was meticulously designed, every element perfectly placed to reflect her status. even her so-called love of organic, sustainable products wasn’t about caring for the earth; it was about showing the world that she could afford to care. it was another layer of the image she presented, another way to remind you that you didn’t quite belong.

the shoes—those ridiculously expensive shoes—had been one of the first things you’d noticed about her. how she would glide through the city in them, effortlessly chic, while you tried to keep up in your well-worn sneakers. how she never seemed to care about the price tag, because to her, money wasn’t something you worried about. it was something you had. something you displayed.

you remember asking her about them once, marveling at their craftsmanship, at the intricate details stitched into the leather. “they’re nice, right?” she’d said, almost bored with the conversation. “made by a small artisan. i like supporting brands that are more...conscious. but it’s not just about the shoes, you know? it’s about a lifestyle.”

at the time, you’d nodded along, impressed by her philosophy, thinking there was something admirable about her commitment to sustainability. but now, with the clarity that only distance can bring, you see it differently. it wasn’t about responsibility or caring for the environment—it was about exclusivity. 

jisoo didn’t just buy things; she bought status. and as a result, she never let you forget where you came from.

she didn’t need to say it outright; her silences were louder than any words. the way her gaze would graze over your simple gifts, a flash of disappointment quickly masked by a too-sweet smile. the way her laughter, always so soft and melodic to anyone else, would carry a sharp edge when she’d point out how "cute" your attempts to impress her were. every look, every gesture, had been a reminder: you would never be enough.

and the holidays only magnified the divide between you. her family gatherings were a spectacle—elegant, with a quiet kind of opulence, but they were colder than the snow beginning to fall outside. conversations were distant, sterile, filled with politeness and half-meant compliments. you’d watch as jisoo’s mother raised an eyebrow at you, a polite but questioning smile on her lips, while her father barely acknowledged your presence at all, too engrossed in conversations about business acquisitions and real estate.

you remember the first time you had brought her home to meet your family. the warmth in the room had been undeniable, even if the house had been modest. the table was small, the plates mismatched, and the wine was cheap, but there had been laughter. real, full-bodied laughter, the kind that left your cheeks flushed. but jisoo had sat there, stiff and out of place, a polite smile frozen on her lips as she delicately picked at her food. she had said all the right things, but you could tell—she didn’t belong in your world, just as you didn’t belong in hers.

and after that night, she’d never come back. not once.

"it’s not my kind of environment," she’d said, as if your family home was some quaint little corner of a forgotten world. but you hadn’t pushed it. you’d just smiled, hoping that love would eventually smooth out the rough edges between your lives.

but it never did.

your image of her entirely changed once she launched her own dior collaboration.

the transformation was undeniable. jisoo had always been poised, elegant, and out of reach, but when her dior collaboration was announced, it was as if she ascended to another level entirely—a world you never truly belonged to. the moment you saw her in those campaign ads, draped in luxury from head to toe, with that distant, unreadable expression in her eyes, you realized something had shifted. it wasn’t just the clothes or the brand—it was her.

the once subtle differences between you were now glaring. she’d always had a way of making you feel small, of making the simplest moments feel like they were being measured against some invisible standard. but now, with the world’s eyes on her, she no longer had to hide it. she wore her superiority like couture, and her status was no longer just an undercurrent in your relationship—it was the defining feature.

you remember scrolling through your phone that first day the campaign was released, seeing her everywhere—billboards, social media, magazines. her image was iconic, flawless, unattainable. the woman in those pictures wasn’t the same person you once loved, or perhaps she was, and you had simply refused to see it. the jisoo in dior was the one the world adored: polished, elegant, and untouchable. and the jisoo you had known—the one who laughed with you on lazy sundays, who curled up next to you in bed with soft whispers—felt like a figment of your imagination.

that night, you sat in your apartment, surrounded by the faint scent of coffee and fallen leaves, watching her face appear on the tv during yet another interview. the host praised her for her taste, her grace, and asked how it felt to be a global ambassador for such a prestigious brand. jisoo smiled that small, practiced smile, the kind that could melt an audience but had always left you feeling cold.

“it’s an honor, truly,” she said, her voice as smooth as ever. “i’ve always been drawn to the finer things in life, and working with dior is the perfect alignment of that vision.”

drawn to the finer things. those words echoed in your mind long after the interview ended. it wasn’t that she loved the finer things—anyone could—but the way she lived for them, the way they seemed to define her, made you realize just how different you were.

the last time you saw her in person, it was the tail end of last fall, the leaves almost entirely stripped from the trees, the sky a muted shade of gray. you’d met for coffee, though it felt more like a final performance than a reunion. she had walked in, dressed head-to-toe in dior, effortlessly chic in her monochromatic outfit, the click of her heels on the hardwood floor echoing like some distant reminder of all the ways she had outgrown you.

she hadn’t even taken off her sunglasses, those oversized black lenses that concealed any hint of vulnerability. the moment she sat down, you knew—this was the end.

“i’m heading to paris for fashion week,” she had said casually, as if she were talking about a trip to the grocery store. “things have been busy.”

you remember nodding, unsure of what to say, feeling the weight of the unspoken words between you. there was no warmth in her gaze, no familiarity in her voice. the woman sitting across from you was a stranger, more concerned with her schedule, her image, her empire, than with you.

when you finally found your voice, all you could manage was, “i’m happy for you.” it sounded hollow, even to your own ears.

she had smiled—an empty, fleeting gesture. “thanks. it’s good to hear you say that.” her leaving behind the scent of her designer perfume felt more symbolic than it probably should have,

that’s when you knew—there was nothing left of what you once had. 

the girl you had fallen in love with was gone, replaced by someone who only cared for power, prestige, and perception. and as the autumn wind howled outside, rattling the windows of the café, you realized you weren’t mourning the loss of her, but the version of her you had once believed in.

jisoo wasn’t just a woman anymore. she was a brand. a symbol. a masterpiece crafted by the very world she belonged to. and you? you were simply a chapter in her rise to the top, forgotten as soon as the ink dried.

you didn’t date kim jisoo for her wealth. 

you dated her for the way she seemed to know the world in a way you never could—confident, poised, above it all. you thought that maybe, by loving her, you could somehow touch that world too. but love wasn’t what had tied you together. not really.

it had been power.

she loved the way you looked at her, like you were eternally trying to catch up. the way you stumbled over the names of her favorite designers, or blinked in confusion when she mentioned some art exhibit you hadn’t even heard of. she loved the control. and you—god, you had loved her for it. back then, you thought it was awe. now you see it for what it was: submission.

but there, in the middle of the bustling autumn streets, as you watch the leaves scatter across the pavement in a dance as fleeting as your relationship, you find yourself wondering—does she think about you?

does she ever sit in that apartment of hers, surrounded by luxury and untouched by the season, and wonder what it would be like to be less than perfect? does she ever close her eyes and picture the messier parts of love, the parts she could never let herself fall into?

you smile bitterly, pulling your coat tighter around yourself. maybe she does.

maybe, even now, as you wander through the city you had once explored together, her mind drifts to you—the one person who had never fit neatly into the frame of her perfectly curated life. maybe she remembers how, despite everything, you were never quite small enough to be molded. 

and maybe, just maybe, in her moments of silence, with her designer bags and high-rise views, she thinks about how she’ll never find someone quite like you again. someone who saw her for more than just the polished surface she presented to the world. someone who, despite it all, had loved her—flaws, cruelty, and all.

the wind howls, scattering more leaves into the air, and you watch as they swirl and disappear. there’s a certain beauty to the way things fall apart, you realize. a kind of freedom in it.

jisoo might not know that, but you do. however, your mind refused to let you rest.

it was 3 am, and you were still wide awake. the cold light of your phone screen cast shadows on the walls of your tiny apartment, worlds away from the penthouse where jisoo was probably fast asleep. you imagined her there, wrapped in those luxurious silk sheets, her breath steady, undisturbed by thoughts of you. in her city. the one that always felt a little brighter, a little shinier than yours. a place you never quite belonged.

your mind wandered, picturing her with someone new. someone from her world. the kind of girl who knew all the right names to drop at fancy dinners, who could wear those thousand-dollar organic shoes without feeling like an imposter. a girl with a perfect pedigree, someone who her friends probably thought was “better” than you. you could almost hear them whispering it, their voices low but full of certainty.

it wasn’t long ago that you had tried to fit into those circles. you’d been the outsider, awkward and out of place in jisoo’s world of high-society dinners and private parties. but you tried, back when love made you brave, when you thought if you just held her hand tight enough, the rest would fall into place.

they let you sit at the table, once. out of courtesy, or maybe because you were still attached to her arm like an accessory she wasn’t ready to give up. you’d laugh when they laughed, your smile tight as they sat around talking about the meaning of life, throwing around names of philosophers and books you’d never heard of.

“the book that just saved me,” one of them had said, casually, like it was a known fact that certain books saved people. you’d smiled and nodded, even though the title flew right over your head, another reminder of how little you belonged.

jisoo had glanced at you then, her eyes softening in the way they sometimes did when she noticed you struggling. she squeezed your hand under the table, like she used to when you were still hers, when you thought her world was one you could live in.

but that was before. before the doubts crept in, before the weight of her world pressed down on you. now, it felt like she’d moved on, maybe even found someone who fit in effortlessly where you never could. someone who didn’t have to pretend.

you rolled over, the silence of your room closing in, and you couldn’t help but wonder if she was asleep now, completely at peace. and if the girl in her bed had the right name, the right look, and could keep up with her friends when they talked about art and life and all the things that always seemed just out of your reach.

the thought made your chest ache, that deep, familiar loneliness that always seemed to come with thinking about her. about them. those nights when you sat in the background, silently wishing you could be enough. but no matter how much you tried, you could never quite silence the feeling that jisoo’s friends were always comparing you to someone else, someone better.

and tonight, even though you knew it was pointless, you couldn’t stop wondering if they were telling her that the new girl was everything you never could be. or maybe jisoo was out at one of those cool indie concerts she dragged herself to every week, trying to feel young, trying to prove she was still part of the scene, even though she didn’t belong there any more than you did. it was always about feeling cooler than she actually was, pretending she wasn’t inching further from the age of the crowd around her.

but even with her friends laughing by her side, pretending to be someone else, you knew the truth. 

“i bet you think about me.”

[pbaz7]

AGAINST THE TIDE: PART 13

paige x azzi

warning: sexual content

word count: 6.9k

A/N: This chapter took me a little longer than usual for some reason😭. I’m finally giving y’all what you want so be thankful 🤨. As always let me know what you think and let me know if there’s anything you wanna see before I close out the series!!

—————————————————————————

February 2023

Paige adjusted her tie in the rearview mirror before stepping out of the car, the faint crunch of gravel under her shoes grounding her as she straightened her shirt. She takes a deep breath and walks around to the passenger side calmly, her nerves bubbling just beneath the surface.

Azzi smiles at her as Paige opens the door, her soft brown eyes lighting up in a way that always made Paige feel a little steadier.

“You’re always so sweet,” Azzi teased, taking Paige’s outstretched hand and stepping out of the car.

Paige smirked, brushing off her nerves as best she could. “Only the best for you,” she replied, her voice low and confident, though her heart wasn’t quite as composed.

The restaurant was more formal than Paige had expected, the kind of place where the lighting was dim and the waitstaff wore crisp uniforms. She suddenly felt grateful that Nika insisted on the tie. As they stepped inside, Paige adjusted it again, sneaking a glance at Azzi, who looked effortlessly stunning in her dress.

They spotted Azzi’s family seated at a table near the back. Tim, Azzi’s dad, was the first to notice them, his face breaking into a grin that he quickly masked with a mock-serious expression.

“Well, well,” he said, standing as Paige approached. “Paige, I trust you’re taking good care of my daughter?”

“Yes, sir,” Paige replied, straightening up slightly. “You know me, only the best.”

Tim kept up the act for a beat longer, then his face broke into a laugh. He pulled Paige into a warm hug, clapping her on the back. “Good to see you again, kid,” he said warmly.

“You too, sir,” Paige said, her voice more relaxed now.

Katie, Azzi’s mom, was next, pulling Paige into a hug as well. “Always a pleasure, Paige,” she said, her tone just as warm as her husband’s. “You look great tonight.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Fudd,” Paige replied, her cheeks warming slightly under the compliment.

Next came Jon and Jose, Azzi’s younger brothers, who greeted Paige with grins and easy camaraderie.

“Sup, superstar?” Jon teased as he clasped Paige’s hand before pulling her into a quick hug.

“Not much,” Paige replied with a chuckle. “What’s up with you big man?”

“Trying to keep up,” Jose chimed in, grinning.

After greeting everyone Paige felt a small sense of relief as she settled into the rhythm of their banter. Azzi tugged lightly at her sleeve, pulling her toward the table. Paige, Azzi, and Jose sat on one side, while Katie, Tim, and Jon took the other.

Once they were seated, Paige took a moment to glance around the table. She’d met Azzi’s family many times before—holidays, over the summer and casual dinners when things were still murky between her and Azzi. But tonight was different. Now everyone knew they were officially together, and for some reason, that made her chest feel a little tight.

Azzi must have noticed because she leaned over and whispered, “Relax, it’s no different than anytime before.”

Paige shot her a look, both grateful and exasperated, as she adjusted her napkin over her lap.

As the server approached with menus, Tim glanced across the table, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “You look nice Paige, someone must’ve helped you.” He teased, earning a soft laugh from Katie.

Paige laughed lightly, grateful for the lighthearted comment, even as she felt Azzi’s hand rest subtly against her knee under the table.

“You all look great, too,” Paige replied, her voice steadying as she glanced at the family, her gaze lingering just a little longer on Azzi.

…

The table had settled into a comfortable rhythm, everyone chatting easily. Unsurprisingly, the topic was basketball, which seemed to be the universal language in the Fudd family—and one Paige was fluent in.

“So, Paige,” Tim said, leaning forward slightly, “how are things shaping up for next season? You’re officially back, right?”

Paige nodded, her lips curving into a small smile. “Yeah, I’ll be good to go. It’s been a long recovery, but I’m ready. I’ve missed playing too much to sit out any longer.”

“You’ve been working hard,” Azzi chimed in, her voice soft but full of pride. “She’s already looking scary in practice.”

“Scary?” Jose teased, smirking. “You sure about that, Azzi? Or are you just hyping her up because she’s your girlfriend now?”

Paige smirked, leaning back slightly in her chair. “I don’t need hype. You already know what it’s like tryna guard me.”

The table laughed, and Jon shook his head. “Okay, okay, but for real,” he said, “what’s the vibe at UConn next year? Anything changing?”

Paige shrugged lightly, glancing at Azzi before replying. “Honestly, it’s not about changing—it’s about piecing things together. We’ve got the pieces; we just need to keep pushing.” Her tone softened slightly as she added, “If anyone’s taking us to the next level, it’s Azzi. Ms. National Player of the Year over here.”

Azzi’s cheeks flushed a little, and she nudged Paige’s leg under the table. “Stop it,” she said, though her voice carried a hint of a smile.

“She’s right,” Katie said, her voice warm with approval. “You’ve been phenomenal this season, Azzi.”

“She has,” Tim agreed, nodding firmly. “No argument there.”

Azzi ducked her head slightly, her smile growing wider despite herself. Paige grinned, savoring the moment. She loved seeing Azzi like this—happy and surrounded by people who appreciated her.

They’d ordered their food some time ago, so the conversation flowed easily as they waited. Paige found herself relaxing more with each passing minute. The light teasing between Jon and Jose, Tim’s occasional dad jokes, and Katie’s warm encouragement all created an atmosphere that always felt easy and welcoming for her.

At one point, Jose turned to Paige with a mischievous grin. “So, Paige,” he said, leaning in conspiratorially, “are you ready to deal with Azzi as a full-blown superstar? I can’t imagine what it’ll be like with two big ego’s in the house now, yours is already bad enough..”

Paige chuckled, glancing at Azzi. “Oh, if you think I’m bad you just wait. She acts like she’s better than me now, it's crazy I’m telling you.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, laughing softly. “You’re ridiculous,” she muttered, though the smile on her face made it clear she didn’t mind.

The easy banter continued, and Paige felt herself sinking into the warmth of it all. For the first time that evening, she let go of her nerves entirely, grateful to be here—with Azzi, with her family, with people who already felt like home.

As the conversation flowed around the table, Azzi found her focus wandering constantly. She tried to stay engaged, laughing at Jon’s jokes when no one else did and chiming in here and there, but her gaze kept drifting back to Paige.

Paige, sitting confidently beside her, was dressed in a crisp white shirt and a perfectly knotted tie that Azzi hadn’t seen her wear before. Her hair was slicked back into a neat bun, highlighting her jawline and the sparkle of her diamond stud earrings. A tennis bracelet caught the light every time Paige moved, drawing Azzi’s eyes to her long, graceful fingers adorned with rings on each hand.

Azzi swallowed, trying to keep her thoughts in check, but something about the combination of Paige’s polished appearance and the way she carried herself tonight tugged at something deep within her. The sight of Paige, so composed and respectful in front of her parents, made Azzi’s heart race—and warmed her core in a way she wasn’t prepared for at this very moment.

She tried to blame her eagerness on their busy schedules. Between practices, games, and traveling, they hadn’t had much time to themselves lately. It had been a little longer than either of them wanted, and Azzi figured her reaction was just pent-up energy. But that reasoning didn’t stop her from feeling a pull toward Paige that was a little too strong to ignore.

As Paige leaned forward, answering a question from Tim about next season, Azzi couldn’t stop herself. She shifted slightly, brushing her hand against Paige’s arm to get her attention.

“Paige,” Azzi said softly, her tone perfectly casual despite the way her pulse was racing. “Something in my dress is poking me. Can you come with me to the bathroom to help me fix it, please?”

Paige turned to her, her lips curving into an easy smile. “Of course,” she said, already moving to stand. “Excuse us,” she added, glancing at Azzi’s parents with her usual politeness.

Azzi stood as well, smoothing her dress as they stepped away from the table. Paige placed a light hand on the small of Azzi’s back, guiding her through the maze of tables toward the restrooms. Azzi could feel her heart pounding, her cheeks warming as she tried to calm the sudden rush of anticipation swirling in her chest.

They reached the hallway leading to the restrooms, the noise of the restaurant fading slightly as they stepped into the quieter space. Azzi cast a quick glance around the bathroom, ensuring it was empty. Once she was satisfied, she grabbed Paige by the tie, pulling her into the nearest stall.

“Azzi—” Paige began, but her words were cut off as Azzi locked the door behind them and crashed her lips against Paige’s.

The kiss was hungry, desperate, and left Paige momentarily stunned before she melted into it, her hands instinctively gripping Azzi’s waist. Azzi’s voice was a low murmur against Paige’s lips, a mix of frustration and desire spilling out.

“We can’t go this long without sex again,” Azzi whispered, her tone half-scolding, half-pleading as she tugged on Paige’s tie to pull her even closer.

Paige couldn’t help but smirk between kisses, her pulse racing at this bold side of Azzi. “Noted,” she murmured against her lips, before deepening the kiss, her hands sliding down to Azzi’s ass.

Azzi gasped softly as Paige squeezed, and Paige took the opportunity to lift the hem of Azzi’s dress slightly, her hands brushing against her thighs. “You’re something else,” Paige whispered, her voice thick as she pressed Azzi back against the wall of the stall.

Azzi pulled back slightly, her breathing uneven as she muttered, “Think you can do it in less than ten?”

Paige didn’t respond with words. She fixed Azzi with a look—almost offended by the question.

Azzi swallowed, her cheeks flushing as she nodded silently, a small smile tugging at her lips. Without another word, she grabbed Paige’s tie again and pulled her back into a searing kiss.

The stall grew warmer as their lips moved together, each kiss deeper and hungrier than the last.

Azzi’s hands wandered, finding Paige’s right hand and lifting it between them. She toyed with Paige’s fingers, as she began sliding the rings off one by one. Paige didn’t stop her, too lost in the way Azzi’s lips felt against hers, the faint press of teeth grazing her bottom lip making her shudder.

Azzi’s movements were unhurried, almost reverent, as she set the rings on the small ledge in the stall. The metallic clinks were faint, barely audible over the sound of their breaths and the occasional shuffle of fabric.

As soon as all the rings are off, Paige moves her hand in between Azzi’s legs pulling her underwear hastily to the side, slipping her fingers in with ease making Azzi gasp.

Paige’s lips moved against Azzi’s jawline, trailing kisses down her neck, her hand moving in and out of Azzi just the way she liked it. Azzi’s breath hitched everytime Paige curled her fingers, her hand tangling in Paige’s tie to keep her close, not wanting to mess up the blonde’s hair.

“I miss you so much,” Azzi panted, her voice trembling as she tilted her head back.

Paige paused, her lips hovering over Azzi’s skin as she whispered, “I’m right here, Az. You don’t gotta miss me.”

Azzi let out a soft whimper, her fingers sliding to Paige’s collar as she whispered back, “You look too good tonight. I’m sorry I couldn’t wait.”

Paige smirked against her neck, her voice low. “It’s okay, baby. You don’t gotta be sorry,” she murmured, her tone full of reassurance.

Azzi shivered at Paige’s words, her grip on Paige tightening as their lips met again, this time more fervent as Azzi felt a tightening in her stomach. Paige continued moving her fingers at a steady pace, her touch confident knowing Azzi’s body like the back of her hand.

As Paige quickened her fingers, Azzi didn't have a choice but to tip her head back against the stall, the feeling of this angle almost unbearable for her.

“Oh fuck..right there baby. That’s the spot…don’t stop.” Azzi whispered out her tone breathless but quiet.

Paige pulls Azzi’s jaw softly making her look at her, both of their pupils dilated now as Paige begins circling her thumb adding a little more pressure. Her lips brush Azzi’s ear, her voice low as she begins to praise her. “You look so fucking good like this Az. I can’t wait to have you later..take my time with you. Show you how much I miss you pretty girl.” Azzi’s breath hitches at each word, a rush of heat pooling in her stomach everytime Paige’s lips brush against her neck while she talks. “You’re so fucking perfect, baby.” Paige added quietly as she sucked on Azzi’s neck softly, careful not to leave a mark.

The combination of Paige’s words, her fingers working in and out of Azzi, her thumb pressing against her slightly is all too much for Azzi as she throws her head back against the cool stall wall, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she looks at the ceiling, her lips trembling.

She bites down on her lip hard, trying to stifle the sounds clawing at her throat, but the effort only makes her eyes sting more. A single tear threatening to slip free as she clenched her jaw. With a quick, almost desperate motion, Azz grabs Paige’s free hand and brings it to her lips, sinking her teeth into it to muffle herself as she comes undone on Paige’s hand.

Paige tightens her hold around Azzi’s waist as she feels her legs shake, letting her ride out the feeling as she steadied her body effortlessly. Azzi’s breath is uneven, her forehead resting briefly against Paige’s shoulder as she gather’s herself. Paige leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Azzi’s head. “You did so good for me, baby.” she whispers, her voice filled with warmth as she pulls her fingers out of Azzi. As soon as Azzi see’s this her lips are wrapped around them immediately, her tongue tracing every inch of them as looks at Paige. The sight alone make’s Paige’s heart race again, her chest tightening.

Before Paige could process the moment, Azzi was already straightening herself, smoothing her dress back down as she silently stepped out of the stall.

Azzi walked over to the mirror, turning on the faucet to wash her hands, her movements a little too calm for what just happened. Paige followed after a beat, stepping out of the stall and making her way to stand behind Azzi. The two didn’t exchange a word as their eyes met in the mirror. Paige adjusted her slightly askew tie, her lips twitching into a faint smirk, while Azzi calmly reapplied her lip gloss.

Just as Paige considered closing the distance between them, Katie popped into the bathroom. “Everything okay in here?” she asked, her gaze flicking between them.

Azzi didn’t miss a beat, flashing her mom a quick, reassuring smile. “Yeah, there was a piece of the tag still in there,” she replied smoothly, her voice steady and believable.

Katie nodded, satisfied. “Ah, okay. Just wanted to let you know the food’s at the table.”

“Thanks, Mom. We’ll be right out,” Azzi said, her smile unwavering as Katie disappeared back into the restaurant.

Once the door swung shut, Azzi turned toward Paige, stepping closer. She reached up to wipe a faint smudge of lip gloss from the corner of Paige’s mouth, her touch gentle but lingering. Leaning in, she gave Paige a quick peck on the lips, her voice soft as she whispered, “I love you.”

And without waiting for a response, Azzi laced their fingers together, her grip warm, before tugging Paige toward the door. Paige let herself be led, a subtle grin tugging at her lips as she squeezed Azzi’s hand in return.

When they returned to the table, they slid into their seats, now sitting noticeably closer than before, their thighs brushing under the table as they exchanged subtle, knowing smiles.

A couple of minutes later, as the family settled back into their comfortable conversation and began enjoying their food, the server approached the table. She carried a small collection of items in her hand, her gaze focused on Paige.

“I think you might’ve left these in the bathroom when you were washing your hands,” the server said with a polite smile, holding out the rings Azzi had taken off of her.

Paige looked up from her plate, her brows lifting slightly thinking about why she didn’t have them as she smiled. “Oh, thank you, I–”

Before Paige could finish or reach for the rings, the server continued, her tone becoming more conversational. “They’re really cool honestly. I only knew they were yours when someone brought them to us because I noticed them on you earlier. The designs are so unique”

The comment hung in the air for a beat too long as the table processed her words. Azzi looks up, her eyes locking on the server with a raised brow, the finest flicker of irritation crossing her face.

“Actually,” Azzi said, her voice smooth as she reached for the rings instead, “I can take those for her.”

The server blinked, her gaze shifting briefly to Azzi’s hand before hesitatingly handing the rings over. “Oh, uh—sure,” she said, her smile faltering.

Azzi accepted them with a polite but pointed “Thank you,” her tone making it clear the server’s conversation with Paige was over.

Jon and Jose exchanged knowing glances and immediately began snickering, their shoulders shaking with restrained laughter. Paige rolled her eyes at them but couldn’t quite hide the smirk tugging at her lips.

Across the table, Katie and Tim observed the interaction, clearly surprised. Katie leaned closer to Tim, murmuring something under her breath, and he chuckled softly in response.

Azzi, seemingly unbothered by the attention, turned back to Paige. Slipping the rings onto Paige’s fingers one by one with deliberate care, her touch gentle but lingering as her eyes flicked between Paige’s hand and her face.

“Thanks, baby,” Paige said softly, her voice low and intimate, meant only for Azzi.

Azzi didn’t respond immediately, but her faint smile and the glint in her dark eyes spoke for her. As she finished with the last ring, she lightly tapped Paige’s hand, her gaze holding Paige’s for a moment longer than necessary.

“You’re welcome,” Azzi finally murmured, her tone quiet.

The server, now seeming a bit flustered, quickly excused herself. Azzi watched her retreating figure for a moment before turning back to her food like nothing happened. Across the table, Jon and Jose exchanged another glance before bursting into barely contained laughter, earning an exasperated sigh from Paige.

“Y’all are obnoxious,” Paige muttered, shaking her head as she took a sip of her drink.

…

Later that evening, as the meal wound down, Paige excused herself from the table, claiming she needed to stretch her legs. Azzi’s eyes followed her, narrowing slightly at the bullshit excuse. She knew Paige was up to something, but didn’t stop her, choosing to finish the last few bites of her food instead.

When the server arrived, Tim instinctively reached in his pocket for his wallet, only to have the server inform him, “It’s already been taken care of.”

Tim blinked, surprised. “What do you mean, taken care of?”

Azzi’s gaze immediately shifted toward Paige, who was now sitting back in her chair trying to act way too casual.

“Paige,” Katie said, her tone holding a mix of amusement and exasperation.

Paige shrugged, feigning innocence. “What? It’s my treat. You guys have done plenty for me.”

“Still,” Tim started, but Azzi cut him off with a soft laugh.

“Don’t even waste your breath,” Azzi said, placing a hand on Paige’s arm and squeezing gently. “I’ve tried. Once she decides something, good luck changing her mind.”

Paige turned her grin toward Azzi. “You know me so well.”

“I do,” Azzi said, her voice warm but teasing. “Too well.”

After a few more moments they all stood to leave, Tim and Katie announcing they were heading back to their hotel for the night.

“Y’all coming back with us?” Tim asked Jon and Jose as they gathered their things.

“Nah,” Jon said, slinging an arm around Jose. “We’re gonna hang out with Paige and Azzi for a bit.”

“Yeah,” Jose added with a grin, “no games to play back at the hotel, so we’re thinking of running some Fortnite with Paige.”

Paige groaned, shaking her head. “You just want me to carry you to a win.”

“Exactly,” Jon said without shame.

Katie gave them all a playful look. “Don’t keep them up too late,” she said, directing her comment toward Paige and Azzi. “And, Azzi, make sure they don’t destroy your dorm.”

“Don’t worry, Mom,” Azzi said, rolling her eyes but smiling.

As Tim and Katie waved them off and headed to the hotel, Paige and Azzi lingered behind. Their hands brushed occasionally as they walked to the car, sharing soft smiles under the glow of the streetlights. Ahead, Jon and Jose were already bickering over who would get the first controller, their voices fading slightly as Paige and Azzi slowed their pace.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Azzi said softly, glancing at Paige.

“I wanted to,” Paige replied, her tone easy but genuine. “Your parents have been amazing. It’s the least I could do.”

Azzi smiled, her heart warming as she reached out, lacing her fingers with Paige’s. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Paige’s lips quirked into a grin, squeezing Azzi’s hand gently. “I try.”

…

They had been back at the dorms for maybe an hour and a half. Paige, Jon, and Jose were glued to the screen, deeply immersed in the game. Laughter and yelling filled the room as they argued over strategies and teased one another about their skills—or lack thereof. Azzi, however, was content to just sit back and watch.

Paige had changed into something more comfortable shortly after they got back. She’d traded her earlier outfit for just the tank top she’d been wearing under her button-up and a pair of Azzi's sweatpants that hung a little loose on her hips. The sight of her had Azzi’s mind wandering again far more than she cared to admit.

Leaning back against the couch, Azzi folded her arms and bit her lip, trying to focus on the game. But it wasn’t working. Her thoughts kept drifting to Paige. The way her arms flexed slightly as she leaned forward, controller in hand, and the way her hair fell messily around her shoulders—it was all too much. Maybe Paige was right. Maybe she was the horn-ball after all.

Azzi shifted in her seat, clearing her throat softly as if to ground herself. Suddenly, a memory resurfaced: a conversation she’d had with Paige a few weeks ago in the library. She had promised Paige something that, in the chaos of their schedules, she’d never actually followed through on.

The realization lit a spark in her. And without a word, Azzi stood and headed to her room making sure her movements were casual.

When she returned a few minutes later, Paige looked up from the couch, her smile easy and warm. It was Jon and Jose’s turn, who were now locked in an intense match, their yelling louder than ever.

“Where’d you go?” Paige asked softly, tilting her head as she met Azzi’s gaze.

Azzi ignored the question, her focus shifting to Jon and Jose. “Alright, time to go home,” she said, her tone firm.

Jon and Jose groaned in unison, their attention barely leaving the screen.

“What? Come on, Azzi!” Jon protested. “We’re just getting warmed up.”

“Yeah, we’ll crash here,” Jose added, clearly not ready to give up the game.

Paige got up from the couch, brushing past Azzi to try and mediate. “Baby, it’s fine. They can stay the night. It’s not a big deal—”

Azzi cut her off, her voice lower and softer now, but with a hint of urgency. “They can’t stay.”

The look in her eyes—and the subtle edge in her tone—was all Paige needed. Her lips twitched into a smile as she turned toward the guys.

“Alright, you heard her,” Paige said, grabbing her keys off the counter and tossing them to Jose. “You can take my car back to the hotel. I’ll pick it up in the morning. Please don’t crash.”

Jon and Jose groaned again, grumbling under their breaths as Paige ushered them toward the door.

“Man, you guys are no fun,” Jon muttered as he slipped on his shoes.

“Yeah, yeah,” Paige replied, already opening the door. “See you tomorrow.”

With a final nudge from Paige, the two reluctantly stepped out into the hall. As the door closed behind them, the dorm fell quiet, save for the faint hum of the game still running on the TV.

Paige turned back to Azzi, her smile widening as she leaned against the door. “Now, what’s this about, huh?”

Azzi didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she stepped closer as she said, “Come find out.” Without another word, she turned and disappeared into her room, leaving the door open for Paige to follow.

Paige raised a brow, curiosity piqued, before pushing off the door and following her silently. As she stepped inside, she noticed the soft glow of candles scattered throughout the room, their warm light casting flickering shadows on the walls. The scent of something faintly floral hung in the air, and the usual space now felt intimate and inviting.

Azzi stood in the center of the room, waiting. Her eyes locked onto Paige’s as she slowly approached, every step intentional. When she finally reached her, Azzi’s hands moved to the hem of Paige’s tank top. She didn’t ask for permission, didn’t need to. She pulled the shirt up and over Paige’s head, the movement slow, almost reverent. Paige didn’t protest for a second as she just watched Azzi.

Azzi’s fingers trailed lightly down Paige’s stomach, the gentle touch making her tense under the sensation. The corners of Azzi’s lips curled into a smile as she felt Paige’s muscles react. Her hands moved lower, tugging at the waistband of the sweatpants Paige had borrowed. She didn’t say a word, but the gesture was clear.

Paige obeyed, hooking her thumbs into the waistband and sliding them down her legs before stepping out of them. Now standing in just her boxers, she watched as Azzi’s gaze roamed over her.

“Go sit on the bed,” Azzi said softly.

Paige’s throat felt dry, but she nodded, doing as she was told. She crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning back on her hands as she waited, her eyes never leaving Azzi.

Azzi took a step closer, her gaze never leaving Paige, as she said softly, “You remember what you found on my phone in the library?”

Paige’s brows furrowed briefly before the memory came rushing back. The realization sent a spark through her, and her expression shifted, her eyes darkening immediately at the thought. She nodded, swallowing hard, though she tried to keep her face neutral.

Azzi tilted her head, the corner of her mouth lifting into a smile. “I never got to wear it for you when it got here.”

Paige’s lips parted, her voice coming out a little rougher than intended. “Do you have it on?”

Azzi didn’t answer right away, letting the silence build as she held Paige’s gaze. Then, she gave the faintest nod, her voice just above a whisper. “Do you want to see?”

Paige leaned back on her elbows, her calm demeanor slipping slightly as her breathing quickened. She gave another nod, her eyes raking over Azzi with unspoken anticipation. “Show me,” she murmured, her voice low and almost commanding.

Azzi didn’t rush. Her movements were slow, deliberate, her eyes locked on Paige as she reached for the hem of her shirt. She pulled it over her head in one smooth motion, revealing the soft pink lace of the lingerie top. The delicate fabric clung to her perfectly, the intricate detailing highlighting her body. Her piercing caught the dim light from the candles, dangling just above her belly button, drawing Paige’s attention like a magnet.

Paige swallowed hard, her eyes tracing every line and curve. “Fuck, baby,” she murmured, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

Azzi’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile as she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her shorts. She slid them down slowly, letting them fall to the floor, revealing the matching lace bottoms that left little to the imagination. The way the set hugged her made Paige’s breath hitch audibly, a low sound escaping her throat despite herself.

Azzi’s smile widened as she caught Paige’s reaction. “Like what you see?” she teased softly, stepping forward, her confidence radiating with every step.

Paige nodded, her jaw clenching slightly as her hands twitched against the bed, like she was barely holding herself back. “You’re... perfect,” she said, her voice filled with desire, her eyes drinking Azzi in like she couldn’t get enough.

For a long moment, Paige didn’t say anything, her gaze roaming over Azzi’s body like she was trying to memorize every stroke of a painting. Her eyes traced the lines of Azzi’s toned abs, the curve of her waist, the strength in her long legs, and the soft pink lace that framed her so perfectly. Paige’s throat worked as she swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper as she said, “C’mere, baby.”

Azzi heard her, but a playful smirk tugged at her lips. She tilted her head slightly, feigning confusion. “What was that?”

Paige’s jaw tightened at this, and she spoke a little louder this time, her voice firm but still laced with affection. “Azzi, come here.”

Azzi finally moved, her steps slow, the sway of her hips only adding to the tension in the air. When she reached Paige, she stopped, standing just a breath away. She didn’t say anything, didn’t touch Paige, her smirk softening into something more tender as she waited.

Paige sat up slowly, her hands lifting to trace over Azzi’s body. Her fingertips brushed against the ridges of Azzi’s abs, skimmed the curve of her hips, and followed the line of her thighs. Her touch was gentle, almost reverent, as if she couldn’t believe Azzi was real.

“You’re so beautiful,” Paige murmured, her voice low and full of awe. “So perfect.” Her hands moved up, her thumbs grazing Azzi’s sides as her eyes flickered up to meet hers. “Do you know how lucky I am? How lucky I feel every time I look at you?”

Azzi smiled at Paige’s words, her chest rising and falling as Paige’s hands moved to rest on her hips.

“I’d do anything for you,” Paige continued, her tone soft but steady, like a vow. “Anything, baby. You mean everything to me.”

Azzi’s confidence faltered for just a moment, her expression softening as Paige’s words settled over her. She reached out, cupping Paige’s face gently, her thumb brushing along her jaw.

Paige’s hands slid from Azzi’s hips to her waist, her grip firm yet tender as she gently pulled her closer. Azzi followed Paige’s guidance, letting herself be drawn into her lap until her legs straddled Paige’s waist. Paige adjusted them with care, leaning back against the headboard to settle them comfortably on the bed.

Azzi’s hands found their place on either side of Paige’s face, her thumbs brushing along her cheekbones as their gazes locked. There was a moment of stillness, of silent understanding, before Paige tilted her head up and met Azzi’s lips with her own.

The first kiss was achingly slow, deliberate in its tenderness, like they were savoring every second. It reminded them both of their first kiss—how careful, how exploratory it had been. Their mouths moved together in perfect rhythm, soft and unhurried, each movement an unspoken declaration of their feelings.

Paige’s hands roamed gently up Azzi’s back, fingers tracing the delicate lace of her lingerie. Azzi’s lips parted against Paige’s, and their tongues met, sliding against each other in a slow, teasing dance. The kiss deepened naturally, their breaths mingling as they lost themselves in the moment.

Everything about it was messy yet perfect, their mouths searching, finding, and claiming each other again and again. Azzi’s fingers threaded into Paige’s hair, tugging lightly, while Paige’s hands held her securely, grounding them both.

As the kiss deepened Azzi’s breathing grew heavier, and without thinking, she began to circle her hips against Paige, her movements slow desperate for more closeness. Paige’s hands instinctively shifted to Azzi’s waist, guiding her rhythm as her lips left Azzi’s, trailing down to her jaw and then lower.

Paige’s mouth found the sensitive spot on Azzi’s neck, and she sucked lightly, her tongue soothing the area as Azzi let out a quiet whimper. Paige moving further, her lips brushing over Azzi’s collarbone before finding the top of her chest, her kisses warm and teasing.

Azzi’s forehead rested against Paige’s as her hands gripped her shoulders for support. Her voice was soft, almost breathless, as she mumbled, “Paige... it feels so good.”

Paige hummed against her skin. “Yeah, baby?” she murmured between kisses, her voice thick with adoration. “You like that?”

Azzi nodded, her lips parting as a shaky sigh escaped. “So much... don’t ever want you to stop.”

Paige didn’t need to be told twice. Her kisses grew more intentional, her hands sliding lower, holding Azzi in place as they moved together. Paige whispered, her voice barely audible but full of devotion, “You’re so perfect, Azzi. I could do this forever.”

Eventually, Azzi couldn’t resist anymore and pulled Paige back into a kiss, her lips capturing Paige’s with a renewed hunger. Their movements became more urgent, their shared breaths heavier as Azzi’s hips continued their slow, deliberate circles against Paige.

Paige’s hands slid up Azzi’s thighs, gripping her gently but firmly, as though grounding herself against the growing intensity between them. Feeling the shift in their dynamic, Paige adjusted her position, leaning back further until her shoulders rested against the pillows. Azzi followed effortlessly, her knees on either side of Paige as she settled onto her stomach.

The new angle brought them impossibly closer, and Paige let out a quiet groan feeling Azzi against her stomach, the thin fabric not hiding anything as her hands steadied Azzi as she moved. Azzi’s kisses trailed from Paige’s lips to her jawline, then to the sensitive spot just below her ear, her breath hot and uneven against Paige’s skin.

“You’re driving me crazy,” Paige murmured, her voice rough, as her hands skimmed up Azzi’s sides, fingers tracing the smooth line of her back.

Azzi smiled against Paige’s neck. “Good,” she whispered, her lips brushing the shell of Paige’s ear. “That’s exactly what I wanted.”

At this Azzi starts rocking herself against Paige’s stomach speeding up her movements as she throws her head back at the feeling.

Paige let out another low groan as Azzi’s movements against her stomach grew more deliberate, the heat between them undeniable. Her hands instinctively found Azzi’s hips, fingers pressing firmly into her skin to guide her, matching the rhythm Azzi had set.

“You feel so good,” Paige murmured, her voice husky and strained as she tilted her head back, her gaze never leaving Azzi’s face.

Azzi bit her lip, her breathing unsteady as she moved with Paige’s assistance. “So do you,” she whispered, her tone trembling but sincere. Her hands slid up Paige’s chest, fingers brushing over her collarbone before they curled around the back of her neck, anchoring her.

Paige’s grip on Azzi’s hips tightened slightly, her thumbs rubbing soothing circles against her skin as their gazes locked. “You’re incredible, you know that?” Paige murmured, her voice softening just slightly as she took in Azzi’s flushed face, her tousled hair, the way her lips parted with every shaky breath.

Azzi’s laugh was quiet, almost shy, as she leaned forward, her forehead resting lightly against Paige’s. “You’re biased,” she teased, her voice barely audible over their shared breaths.

Paige’s lips curved into a lazy smile, her hands steadying Azzi as she shifted her hips again. “Maybe I am,” she murmured. “But it’s true, baby. Every single bit of you…”

Azzi’s breath hitched at Paige’s words, and she pressed her lips to Paige’s in a slow, lingering kiss, silencing her as she moved against her stomach harder, chasing her release.

Azzi break’s the kiss momentarily whining against Paige’s lips as she says “I’m so close baby.”

Hearing this Paige moves her hands lower to press Azzi further into her as she whispers, “I can feel you all over my stomach pretty girl.”

Paige’s words immediately make Azzi buck her hips into her as her breath hitches, her forehead pressed firmly against Paige as her movements become less controlled and more frantic. “I’m about to–fuck Paige,” she stammered, her voice shaky and raw as her nails lightly scrape against Paige’s shoulders.

“Shit, shit, shit…”

Paige’s grip on Azzi’s hips tightened, her thumbs stroking her skin in soothing circles as she murmured softly, “I’ve got you, baby. Let go for me.” Her voice was low and steady cutting through the haze.

Azzi’s response was barely coherent as she clung to Paige, her body tensing and trembling as she reached her peak. Paige stayed steady beneath her, holding her close, whispering words of reassurance and adoration that Azzi could barely hear over the pounding in her chest and the rush of her breaths.

When the tension finally ebbed, Azzi collapsed against Paige, her forehead still resting against her as she struggled to catch her breath. Paige let her settle, running her hands soothingly up and down Azzi’s back, her touch featherlight and grounding.

“You’re so damn perfect,” Paige murmured against Azzi’s temple, pressing a soft kiss there.

Azzi let out a breathless laugh, her voice muffled against Paige’s shoulder. “You’re not too bad yourself,” she teased weakly, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on Paige’s skin.

Before Paige could respond, Azzi sat up, her hands resting on Paige’s chest for balance for a moment. Then slowly, she shifted down, sliding herself along Paige’s body before she settled in between her legs pulling her boxes off with ease.

Azzi doesn’t bother taking her time knowing the state Paige is in from watching her so she immediately attaches her lips to her making Paige groan at the contact.

“Fuck Az.” Paige murmurs as she throws her head back against the pillows, her hands finding Azzi’s head immediately.

Azzi doesn’t say anything, just hums against Paige knowing she’ll feel it, smirking slightly when Paige pushes her head down further as she throws one arm over her face clenching her jaw at the feeling of Azzi’s tongue against her.

Azzi lifts her head slightly, a playful smile tugging at her lips knowing Paige hates when she teases her, “I love it when you’re like this, you never last long.”

Before she can say more, Paige’s hand is pressing her head back down, her voice thick with need as she murmurs, “Azzi please.”

Azzi chuckles against her, her tone teasing as she says, “Always so bossy.” before attaching her tongue back against Paige, a little firmer this time making Paige moan out “Fuck you feel incredible baby.”

As Azzi continues working her tongue against Paige it doesn’t take long before Paige is pushing her hips against Azzi, pulling at her hair as she mumbles incoherently. Azzi just watches through her eyelashes, loving the way Paige’s body reacts to her, loving the way her blue eyes flutter closed despite her trying to keep them open. At a particularly aggressive suck Paige whimpers out saying “I’m close Az. Shit, I’m so close..don’t stop baby please.”

Not even two seconds later she’s falling apart with Azzi’s name falling from her lips over and over as Azzi makes sure she cleans every inch of her up until Paige’s hips still completely and her hands fall from Azzi’s head.

Azzi kisses up Paige’s body slowly and finds herself hovering over Paige again, her eyes softening as she takes in the sight of Paige, eyes half-lidded, clouded with satisfaction, lips curling into a lazy smile. Azzi leans down, giving Paige a slow deep kiss letting her taste everything.

As they part, Azzi chuckles softly at Paige, her voice warm. “I love you Paige,” she murmurs.

Paige’s eyes are still closed, her voice just above a whisper, but it’s steady. “I love you more.”

Azzi grins, settling onto Paige’s chest, resting her cheek against her as Paige’s hand instinctively moves to her hair. With gentle, soothing strokes, Paige starts rubbing her hair, mumbling through her heavy breaths, “Just... gimme a second. We’re not done.”

Azzi laughs quietly, the sound vibrating against Paige. “I know.”

[mollywog]

If the Fates Allow

“Katniss?”

She frowns into her wine glass. She’d snuck off to linger at the edge of the party for a breather and to pounce on the next tray of hors d'oeuvres to exit the kitchen. She sighs before pivoting towards the voice, but its owner is the last person she expects.

“Katniss Everdeen? I thought that was you!”

“Peeta?”

“Hey!” He looks relieved that she remembers him. “I can’t believe you’re here; what are the odds? How are you doing?”

She and Peeta Mellark had gone to school together, back in the day, but that was eight years and 200 miles ago. They’d never really spoken, but she’d always harbored a little crush on him and seeing him now, she remembers why. She’s in a bit of a daze as she dumbly answers and asks the usual questions.

“This is wild! I was actually just thinking about you.”

“No way,” she says automatically. Sure, Twelve was small, and yeah, they were in the same class, but he’d always been in the middle of it, surrounded by friends while she’d been on the fringe, just trying to make it through. She’s sort of surprised he even remembers her, let alone thought of her unprompted.

“Way. They were just playing ‘Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas’ and I was remembering that time you sang it in the sixth grade talent show.”

She laughs, “did I?” The memory of the terror and thrill of singing on the ‘big stage’ in the high school auditorium and the gingham dress and braids she'd worn in homage to Judy Garland come rushing back. “I guess you’re right.”

“I think about it every time I hear it.”

An exaggeration, she’s sure; You couldn’t get through the holidays without hearing the song at least three dozen times, “I barely remember that. You have an incredible memory.”

“Only for the important stuff,” he says, looking bashful. He shakes his head before continuing, “anyways; what brings you here tonight? Do you work for Capital Advertising too?”

“Oh, no, not me. My roommate, Johanna… From HR? I came as her plus one.”

Peeta frowns, shaking his head.

“She promised free food and booze.” Johanna was not one for leaving work at work and Katniss had assumed she’d met half her coworkers by now, but she’d underestimated the size of this holiday client party. It was much more formal and self important than she’d expected. She was pretty sure she’d heard someone say the Governor was here.

“But I think she really invited me to make her ex jealous.” Katniss adds, scanning the room for any sign of her roommate or the terrifying woman who’d occupied their apartment before her.

She should have suspected something when Johanna picked out this clingy scooped back dress for her and insisted on the nails and lashes.

“I wouldn’t want to be them tonight.”

She snorts, “yeah me either, I wouldn’t want to be in Johanna’s crosshairs.”

He gives her an amused smile and she realizes that might not have been what he meant. She takes a sip to hide her blush, “um, but what about you?”

“Nah, I just work in the art department, I’m not here to make anyone jealous; Though you’re looking pretty covetous of my plate right now.”

She winces; caught, “Johanna oversold the food.” She couldn’t get the waitstaff’s attention and by the time she did, their trays were empty. At least the alcohol was stationary; much easier to access. That’s why she was three glasses of wine in on an empty stomach. “I’m so hungry,” she says, stealing another longing glance at his plate.

He extends it towards her, “have at it.”

The alcohol has made her bold, and she takes a stalk of celery from his plate.

“Katniss, that’s not food, that’s a garnish.”

He hands her a goat cheese and apple tartlet. She pops the whole thing in her mouth, and her knees go weak. She suppresses a moan, closing her eyes and tipping her head back in approval.

“Better?”

She covers her mouth as she finishes chewing, “who do I have to kill to get more?”

“Easy there. I think we can manage this without bloodshed.” She watches him scan the room, making a quick assessment. “Here, start with this and go sit down. I’ll be right back.”

She doesn’t argue, taking the offering to a love seat on the corner. She really hopes Peeta’s successful if only for his own sake, since she’s neglected to save him even a scrap. He returns shortly after with a substantial bounty. She could weep, “how?”

He grins, “I told them you tripped in the hall and twisted your ankle. They’ll be bending over backwards to keep you from filing a suit now.”

“You didn’t!”

“Nah, I didn’t need to.” She raises a brow in question and Peeta gestures towards a waiter who looks like he still should have a curfew. “The man has eyes, Katniss.”

She looks away, biting back a smile, “well thank you. So where should we start?”

Peeta grins. “Do you like plums?”

~~~

“There she is!”

They’d moved on from the food and gravitated towards the wall of windows to look out over the town where they’d begun exchanging stories of their adventures in the city when her roommate’s voice startles them.

Johanna snakes an arm around her waist, resting her head on Katniss’s shoulder. “Mellark! Are you moving in on my date?” She tugs her in closer.

Katniss rolls her eyes, elbowing her friend in the side.

“Jo,” Peeta says in greeting. His eyebrows shoot up, “ohh, Jo, Johanna. I lied, I do know your roommate. She’s just Jo in the company directory and for some reason,” Peeta says with a sparkle in his eye, “I thought it was short for Josie.”

Johanna cackles, throwing her head back and grasping hold of his arm for support.

Katniss frowns. Obviously there’s some kind of joke here that she’s on the outside of. She stays quiet as Peeta and Johanna converse, brushing off Peeta’s attempts to draw her into their conversation with monosyllabic responses. She was having a nice time up until Johanna’s arrival.

“I still can’t believe we ran into you here,” he says to her after announcing his intentions to head out. She suddenly feels very silly for letting Johanna’s antics get to her. “Maybe I’ll see you around?…”

“If the fates allow,” she says; their own little joke that Johanna’s on the outside of.

She's not expecting the momentarily falter in Peeta’s smile, “Well, I should get going. Good to see you both.”

She deflates as he walks away, her eyes following him as he goes.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

She spins back towards her roommate, “What?”

“He’s into you. Or at least he was before…” she waved her hand, “whatever that was.”

Her heart does a little flip. Shit.

“Listen, you look hot tonight, but with your personality, I would not be playing hard-to-get,” Johanna continues, unaware of her friend's distress. “Let’s get out of here, I’m starving.”

[fishfooddude]

Our Future

Age gaps can be difficult. Being at two different times in your life makes the idea of the future seem impossible.

The Bear MasterList

Directory

A/N: I've been workin' on this one for a couple weeks now and I finally finished omg

“I just don’t know if I want her to meet Eva.” Tiffany sighed, crossing her arms over her chest as she stood in the doorway, “Tiff, do you wanna meet her first or somethin’?” Richie asked, scratching the back of his head. “Richie, I’m sure she’s a lovely girl, but she’s like, what 23?” Richie sighed awkwardly. “Yea…” Tiffany shot him a look, “Look, Tiff, she’s really great-. I want Eva to meet her.” he looked down at her hopefully, Tiffany sighed. He’d been okay with Eva meeting her current boyfriend, so it would be hypocritical for her not to let Eva meet Richie’s girlfriend- you. Tiffany nodded. “Just promise you aren’t breakin’ up with her anytime soon. I don’t want Eva to also get her heart broken.”  

~

Over the summer, you worked as a waitress at The Bear. You thought Richie was handsome from the start. He was tall and rugged, and you couldn’t help but watch his hands as he did paperwork or signed for the liquor order. His hands were so big… you couldn’t help but imagine what they’d feel on your body. Manhandling your breasts, wrapped around your neck, pulling you over his knee to spank you… you dragged yourself out of a daydream when Carmy asked the wait staff a question. “I’m sorry my mind was elsewhere… what was the question?”

It went on like that for weeks, Richie being the focal point of your daydreams. Your friends slowly started noticing how you’d turn down guys when you’d go out. Your parents noticed you were taking your time to do your hair and makeup before work. They’d assumed you had a crush on another waitstaff member or, heaven forbid, a line cook; oh boy, did they not expect the man you’d been dolling yourself up for someone 20 years your senior. 

One night, you agreed to go out with some friends from high school. You weren’t looking for a hookup or anything, but when you saw Richie across the street from the club at some pizza place, you were glad you’d borrowed a short cheetah print dress from your friend Mandy. You snuck away from the rest of the group and ‘causually’ bumped into Richie. He’d always thought you were pretty and quick as a whip, but he was significantly older than you, and the idea of even hitting on you made him uneasy. But, when he bumped into you on that night out, he couldn’t get the idea of you out of his mind. “Yo, cousin. You good?” “Ugh yea… was just sayin' hey to y/n.” Carmy chuckled when he saw you walking away from Richie, “She’s into you.” Richie adamantly disagreed, “She’s a good kid, but I’m way too fuckin’ old for her Carm.” 

As the summer came to an end, you’d turned in your two-week notice. Leaving  Richie with a sense of urgency to at least follow you on Instagram. By your last day, he did manage to get your phone number, which, in turn, led to some late-night Instagram stalking from both of you. Richie didn’t expect anything to happen. You were three hours away from Chicago, back at school, surrounded by boys your age. There's no way a girl like you would ever want some 40-year-old divorced single Dad. At least, that was until you’d come home for your Mom’s birthday in mid-September. 

You needed a break from your family. You saw Richie was out with some of the guys from The Bear and decided to make a move. ‘Casually running into’ the group was more challenging than you thought, but when Sweeps noticed you enter the bar, he knew why you were there. “Richie, your girls here.” he laughed; Richie was confused but was happy to see you. You two spent the night talking, “So you got a little boyfriend at school or somethin’?” Richie had hoped the answer would be ‘no,’ and then he could swoop in and show you how a man should treat a woman of your caliber. “Depends on who’s askin’.” you teased, making Richie chuckle. He offered you a ride home.

As Richie pulled up to your parent’s apartment building, you said fuck it and swiftly moved to place a kiss against his lips, the tickle of his facial hair adding to the stimulation. Richie was taken aback; he’d wanted to kiss her for months but didn’t think it would be like this. He kissed you back as soon as he’d realized what was happening. What should have been the perfect first kiss was ruined when your Dad saw you get out of ‘some random old guy's car’ and told you to get your ass inside. 

Your parents scolded you, “Wasn’t he your boss!” “Y/N! We forbid this!”. You were mad at the pair and returned to school sooner than expected. You turned your phone off and stared at the ceiling for a few days; maybe they had a point. Was Richie too old for you? He disagreed; if two people like each other, what’s the big deal? It’s not like she was fresh out of high school- she was 22, and he’d just turned 42. 

A year later, you graduated college and moved back to Chicago to be with Richie and work at a tech start-up. It took a while, but your parents had warmed up to Richie. Granted, your Mom still hated him, but you took a win as a win when your Dad referred to him as an ‘okay guy.’ 

~

Tiffany was hesitant when Richie brought you around Eva at first. She liked you, but she knew Richie better than anyone and didn’t want you to get your heart broken. She didn’t bring anything up until Eva’s birthday party. You were watching the kids play in the backyard when Tiffany saw an opportunity to talk to you. “Hey, Y/N, thanks for comin’.” you smiled up at Tiffany as she sat beside you. “Of course, I couldn’t miss Eva’s Taylor Swift party.” Tiffany nodded before asking, “Can I talk to you about somethin’?” you nodded, “What’s up?” “Might be a little awkward, but um, you and Richie? How’s it goin’?”

You squinted in Tiffany’s direction, “Why do you wanna know?” “I don’t want him back, but you’re just in such a different-” you scoffed. “Tiffany, I don’t think your daughter’s birthday party is an appropriate place to bring this-” “Y/N. I know Richie better than anyone. You have so much life to live. Don’t you wanna travel or get married or have kids someday? I just want you to know what you’re getting yourself into before you’re too invested in this.” “Thanks, Tiffany.” 

Richie was talking to one of Eva’s friend’s Dads when he saw you walking toward the gate, “Sorry, I gotta check on somethin’...” he ducked out of the conversation to follow you out of the backyard. You wiped your eyes as you walked up the street. It was only a couple miles to the closest train stop, and you figured the walk would be a good way to clear your head. “Hey baby- you okay?” Richie called as he ran up behind you. You nodded, “Yeah, everything is fine… I just have to do some stuff…” “What about Eva’s party? Haven’t even had cake yet…” he noticed you’d been crying, “Did Tiff say somethin’ to you? I can-” “Richie- do you wanna get married again?” the question left him dumbfounded. “Maybe?” he shrugged, “Why are you askin about that?” 

You sighed, “Richie, I wanna get married and have kids someday.” you flexed your hand as you stared at the ground, “Okay, we can… we can talk about it later… come back to the party?” Richie said, trying to change the subject and cut the tension between you. “ Yes or no, Richie? Would you want to marry me and have a kid or two within the next three years?” “Baby,” Richie said softly as he touched your bicep, “Let’s talk about all of this later.” you shook your head. “Go back to the party. I have some thinking to do.” you calmly said as you looked up at him. “OK,” Richie nodded and kissed your forehead, “I’ll see you at home?” 

You haphazardly packed some clothes into a suitcase before grabbing your chargers and laptop from the bedside table. This wasn’t how you thought your day would end, but Richie’s answer- or lack thereof- was all you needed to know. Before leaving the apartment, you messily wrote Richie a note saying it was over and your Dad would come by to pick up the rest of your stuff later in the week. You felt your heart break as you locked the door behind you. It was over.

Part 2

[realsgwife]

Day One - My first night with Brian

I looked out the window of my hotel room in Kuala Lumpur, the city lights blinking like distant stars. My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, none of which should have involved a man with a penchant for married women. But here i was, my finger hovering over the screen of my phone, contemplating his proposition.

"Come on, Sally," he'd texted, "just two more nights. It'll be worth it, I promise."

Brian's messages were persistent, but there was something in his tone that didn't sit right with me. I felt a twinge of guilt, my marriage vows echoing in my mind. Yet, the thrill of the forbidden dance we'd been engaged in for the past few weeks was like a siren's call, tempting me with excitement that had long been missing in my routine life. With a deep breath, I decided to push the boundaries a bit further.

"Alright," I typed back, "Two more nights."

My heart raced as I sent the message. The weight of my decision settled in my chest like a lead balloon, but I couldn't ignore the flutter of excitement in my stomach. I'd always been the responsible one, the reliable wife, the devoted mother, but the thrill of this secret rendezvous had a grip on me that was hard to resist.

The evening arrived, and I found myself dressed in a simple yet alluring dress, a stark contrast to the business attire of the day. I stepped into the hotel lobby and scanned the sea of faces, looking for the one that matched the profile picture from the app. My eyes locked onto Brian, standing tall and confident, his smile hinting at the mischief behind it. He approached me, and I couldn't help but feel a tingle of anticipation. He took my hand and led me to his car, the scent of his cologne intoxicating.

As we drove through the bustling streets of Kuala Lumpur, the aroma of street food filled the air. We arrived at a small, dimly lit restaurant tucked away in a back alley, a place where only locals would know. The warm glow of lights shone through the windows, revealing steam rising from large pots of simmering broth. "This is where I always come for the best pork bone soup in the city," he said with a proud smile.

The moment we stepped inside, the rich, savory scent of the soup enveloped me, and my stomach growled in response. The restaurant was a cozy, intimate space, with the walls adorned with vintage posters and the sound of sizzling woks punctuating the low murmur of conversations. The owner, a friendly chinese man with a knowing smile, greeted Brian like an old friend and led us to a secluded booth.

As we sat down, I noticed the subtle glances from the other male patrons. It dawned on me that I had chosen to forgo a bra that evening, something I rarely did. The fabric of my dress clung to my skin, revealing more than I had intended, and the cool air from the air conditioner made my nipples stand at attention. I felt a rush of heat to my cheeks, but instead of embarrassment, a strange thrill took hold. Their gazes only served to bolster my confidence, a silent acknowledgment of my allure that I hadn't experienced in years.

Brian's ego, on the other hand, was palpable. He ordered for us both in fluent Mandarin, tossing in a few local dialects for good measure. His eyes gleamed as he caught the surprised looks from the waitstaff. It was clear he enjoyed being in control, the center of attention. He leaned back in his seat, his arms stretched out along the back of the booth, his fingers lightly grazing my shoulder.

The booth seat was tight, and my short dress left little to the imagination. I felt the fabric ride up my thighs as I slid in, my skin grazing against the cool leather. His hand hovered dangerously close to my exposed flesh, and every movement sent a jolt of anticipation through me. The warmth of his body radiated next to mine, and I found myself leaning slightly into him, my resolve wavering like a candle in the wind.

As we waited for our meal, the tension between us grew palpable. The air was thick with unspoken desires, and my every breath seemed to echo with the sound of my heart pounding in my chest. The tightness of the booth only served to amplify the intimacy, our legs brushing together with every shifting position.

Suddenly, Brian leaned in, his breath warm against my neck. "Sally," he whispered, his voice a seductive murmur in my ear, "I want you to take off your panties." The audacity of his request sent a shockwave through my body, leaving me momentarily speechless. I swallowed hard, the weight of his words heavy on my mind.

I glanced around the restaurant, the low light playing tricks on my eyes, making it feel as if we were in a secret chamber. The clinking of cutlery and the murmur of conversations around us seemed to fade into the background as my heart thudded louder in my ears. With trembling hands, I slid my panties down my legs, under the table, and handed them to him, our eyes locked in a silent challenge.

He took them with a smirk, tucking them into his pocket. The thrill of the exchange sent a shiver down my spine, and I felt a warm wetness spread between my thighs. Our food arrived, the steaming bowls of pork bone soup placed before us, the rich aroma making my stomach rumble again. Yet, I couldn't bring myself to look away from him, his gaze dark with lust as he took in the sight of me, half-exposed and fully aware of the effect I was having on him.

We ate in a tense silence, the clinking of spoons against porcelain bowls the only sound between us. Every bite was a dance of temptation, my eyes flickering down to the bulge in his pants, then back up to his smoldering gaze. The heat grew, a pressure cooker ready to blow. When we finished, he placed a gentle hand on my bare thigh, his thumb stroking slow circles against my skin. The simple touch sent sparks through me, and I bit my lower lip to keep from gasping out loud.

"Let's get some fresh air," he suggested, his voice a low rumble that sent my pulse racing.

We left the restaurant, the cool night air a welcome reprieve from the oppressive heat of the dining room. He led me to a nearby bar, the neon lights reflecting in the puddles from an earlier downpour. Inside, the atmosphere was electric, the air thick with the scent of beer and the low throb of music. We found a quiet corner and settled into the plush seats. He ordered a couple of cold Tiger beers, the local favorite, and as we sipped on them, the tension grew.

The cold glass felt good against my flushed cheeks, the bubbles tickling my nose as I took a deep swig. The beer was crisp, cutting through the heat of the evening and the even hotter anticipation simmering between us. We talked in hushed tones, our conversation a dance around the subject of what was to come. The alcohol loosened my inhibitions, the sweet, bitter taste coating my tongue and making me bold.

As the beer flowed, so did our conversation, moving from safe topics to the more intimate. He spoke of his fantasies, his desires, and I found myself sharing more than I ever had with my husband. His hand grew bolder, moving from my thigh to trace the outline of my pantyless mound, the fabric of my dress now damp from my arousal. I gasped, my eyes widening, but the thrill was too potent to resist.

Then, with a sly smile, he took a small pouch from his pocket and placed it on the table between us. "Put this on," he whispered, his eyes dark with excitement. I opened the pouch to find a slim, vibrating panty inside, and my cheeks flushed a deeper shade of crimson. The object was sleek and black, a silent declaration of his intentions. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a seductive murmur, "It's something special for the both of us."

My hands trembled as I slipped the vibrating panty on beneath the table, the cool material caressing my sensitive skin. He took out his phone, his thumbs moving deftly across the screen as he synced the device to the panty. "Just a little something to keep you on your toes," he said, his eyes gleaming with mischief. The first buzz was faint, but as he adjusted the intensity, the vibrations grew stronger, sending a jolt through my core. I couldn't help the small moan that escaped my lips, my eyes locking onto his as I felt a new level of vulnerability wash over me.

The bar's music grew louder, a pulsating beat that seemed to mimic the rhythm between my legs. Every few minutes, the vibrations would change, a surprise that had me squirming in my seat. His control over my body was absolute, and the thrill of it was undeniable. The vibrations grew stronger, and my breath hitched as I struggled to maintain my composure, my knees pressing together in a futile attempt to contain the sensations.

The night grew late, the bar's patrons slowly thinning out. The bartender cast us a knowing smile as he wiped down the counter, and I realized we had become the main attraction. The vibrations grew more intense, and I could feel the heat pooling between my legs. The tension was unbearable, and I knew we couldn't stay much longer.

"Let's go back to my place," he said, his voice thick with lust. I nodded, unable to form words, the promise of release hanging in the air like a sweet fruit ripe for the picking. As we stepped out into the cool, damp night, the vibrations stopped, leaving me panting for more. His grip on my hand was firm, his other hand sliding down to the small of my back, guiding me through the streets of Kuala Lumpur. The city was a blur of lights and sounds, my focus solely on the man leading me to his lair.

His apartment was simple, the lighting dim and inviting. He led me to the bedroom, the king-sized bed in the center looking like an oasis in the sea of desire that was threatening to drown me. The vibrations began again, a gentle hum that grew stronger with each step closer to the bed. I could feel the wetness seeping through the fabric of my dress, the anticipation making it almost unbearable.

He pushed me onto the bed, the vibrations reaching a crescendo as his hands began to roam my body. My dress was peeled away, his eyes devouring every inch of my exposed flesh. His mouth found my neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin, making me arch into his touch. His hands slid under the vibrating panty, his fingers tracing the contours of my swollen clit, making me moan in pleasure.

The room spun around me as the vibrations grew stronger, my body writhing under his expert ministrations. He watched me, his eyes hungry, his own arousal clear through his pants. With one final, powerful pulse, the vibrations stopped, leaving me gasping for air. He leaned down, whispering in my ear, "Now, it's my turn to play."

The panties were removed, and his mouth found my sex, his tongue tracing the path his fingers had just been. The sudden sensation of his warm, wet mouth was almost too much to handle after the relentless teasing of the vibrator. I moaned, my hands tangling in his hair as he licked and sucked, bringing me closer to the edge.

My climax built like a storm, my hips bucking against his face as he continued to pleasure me. When it finally hit, it was like lightning, a jagged bolt of pure ecstasy that left me trembling and gasping for air. I had lost my inhibitions, my body no longer my own as I succumbed to the raw, primal need that had been unleashed.

Brian's touch was everywhere, his fingers digging into my flesh as he pulled me closer, his mouth never leaving my sensitive core. The vibrator was forgotten, a distant memory as he worked his magic, his tongue flicking and swirling in a way that had me seeing stars. My legs were trembling, my back arched, as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me.

As I came down from my peak, he stood, his eyes never leaving mine as he began to strip, revealing a body that was toned and sculpted from hours in the gym. The sight of him, so hungry for me, made me feel powerful, a seductress in a world where I was usually the one being seduced. The vibrator was forgotten, a mere toy compared to the man standing before me.

With a wicked smile, he climbed onto the bed, his erection jutting out from his boxers. I reached out, my hand wrapping around his length, feeling the power of his desire. He groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head, and I knew I had him. The vibrations began again, a gentle reminder of the control he had ceded to me.

With newfound confidence, I straddled him, his hardness pressing against my wet folds. The vibrations grew stronger as I sank down onto him, his girth stretching me in a way that was both painful and exhilarating. He filled me completely, his hands gripping my hips as I began to move.

Our rhythm grew faster, the vibrations matching the beat of our passion. The room was a symphony of sighs and moans, the headboard knocking against the wall in a staccato rhythm. The world outside ceased to exist, the only reality the two of us tangled together in a dance as old as time.

As we neared the brink of climax, I could feel the tension coiling tight within him. His eyes were wild, his breath ragged, and I knew he was close. I leaned down, my breasts bouncing with each thrust, and whispered in his ear, "Come for me, Brian."

With a roar, he did, his body shuddering beneath me as he emptied himself. I watched him, a strange mix of satisfaction and disbelief. Who was this woman I had become? The vibrations faded away, leaving only the sound of our heavy breathing and the thundering of our hearts.

We lay there, our limbs entwined, the air thick with the scent of sex and desire. The weight of what we had done settled over me, but it was a burden I was willing to bear for the rush of adrenaline that still coursed through my veins. As we caught our breath, I realized that I was no longer the same person who had arrived in Kuala Lumpur just a few days ago. I had crossed a line, and there was no going back.

The rest of the night was a blur of passion and pleasure, our bodies exploring every inch of each other. We were insatiable, the forbidden nature of our encounter only fueling the fire that burned between us. I had never felt so alive, so alive and so… alive with sin. The guilt was there, a shadow lurking at the edge of my mind, but it was easy to push aside when faced with the intoxicating high of our illicit affair.

As the first light of dawn began to creep through the curtains, we lay in a tangled heap of limbs, our breaths slowing to match the quiet of the city outside. The weight of my actions pressed down on me, but I refused to let it ruin this moment. Instead, I basked in the glow of our shared secret, the thrill of the unknown and the excitement of what was to come in the next two nights.

[magicalbuttertarts]

33 with Damian and f!reader ... maybe it's under the table at a fancy restaurant 😈😈

Thank you so much!

WWE Masterlist

Smut Prompt List 2

This has not been proofread. Please enjoy though.

Warnings: Smut under the cut. Pussy fingering, in public.

Requested by @eringobragh420 .

WC: 609

©️ magicalbuttertarts 2025: do not repost or translate my work. This is the only place I post my work.

#33: “Think anyone will notice if I start fingering you right now?”

I was listening to Kayden talk about the latest music festival she just went to, when Damian leaned over to whisper something in my ear, as he placed his hand on my upper thigh.

I leaned into him just a bit to get even closer to him, as I felt his lips against my year.

"Love?"

"Mmm?" Was my reply, still trying to focus on Kayden.

A group of us are having dinner at Giselle Miami, as it is our last night in Florida before we have to fly out tomorrow afternoon.

I told Damian I have never been here, and he made sure to get us reservations, and we all dressed up, but like usual, I wasn't wearing anything under my dress and Damian knows that.

Usually, he can't keep his hands off of me knowing this, but this time, he is behaving himself.

I was just taking a sip of my drink when Damian finally spoke.

“Think anyone will notice if I start fingering you right now?”

I almost spit out my drink when I heard him say that, but I was able to cover it up with a cough. I turned my head to look at him to see if he was serious or not.

His eyes were looking straight into mine, and I knew he was serious.

I didn't answer him as I turned my head back to conversation at hand, but I did spread my legs just a bit to give him a hint that I wanted him to do it.

Damian moved his hand up my thigh slowly, just as I started to talk to Rhea. His fingers made contact, and I had to really breathe through my nose because if not, I was going to moan, and our little game would be done and over.

Two of his fingers he pushed in just as our food came, and I knew as we ate, he would continue to finger me as he only ordered Wagyu dumplings.

I just knew my chair was soaked as I could feel how wet I was.

Damian added a third finger, and I swear I could see stars as he was knuckles deep.

I wanted nothing more than to take him to the washroom and ride him in this fancy restaurant, but I didn't dare.

Not when he was finger fucking me with our friends around us, eating and laughing amongst themselves.

Even Damian was joining in on the conversation as he started to move his fingers a bit faster.

I am so nervous that they could hear how wet I am. I sure can, but when his thumb started to rub my clit, I am done for.

I covered my mouth, pretending to cough and sip my drink as my pussy clenched around his fingers as he slowed down his pace to let me cum.

He pulled his fingers out just as the waitstaff took our plates away, and everyone's focus was now decided if they wanted dessert or not.

"I think we would like the dessert platter." Damian said to the waiter, ordering for the both of us. As we already discussed, we would be splitting the dessert.

"Excuse me." Damian said, standing up, kissing my cheek, and muttering that he needs to use the washroom.

He was gone barely four minutes before I got a text with an image attached.

It was his gorgeous face, his mouth open and his fingers that were inside me, on his tongue.

'You are mine when we leave.' Was the caption.

My pussy clenched around nothing at the thought of what he is going to do to me later.

Tag list: @lghockey @nicoleveno14 @legit9thlunaticwarrior @hooks-martin @madhatterbri @wwenhlimagines @melissahausen @tahiri-veyla @terrortwinunicorn

[milkb0nny]

Dancing For You

... Sam loves watching you move

Pairing: Sam x fem!reader

Summary: You are an artistic pole dancer but because of your shy nature only a few people know. Sam and you were college friends but lost contact during the months he had left. After a year you two meet again, where you give a performance on a party for the rich. Little did Sam realize how ethereal you truly looked.

Note: I wanted to give Sammy some love too. Enjoy <3

Content: no use of y/n, fluff, comfort, reader being a pole dancer, shy reader

Word count: 900

The grand hall of the mansion sparkled with elegance, and chandeliers were casting golden light over the polished marble floors. Waitstaff in tidy uniforms moved through the sea of finely dressed noblemen. It was an event designed to dazzle, a charity gala for the rich and powerful.

Sam Winchester adjusted the lapels of his borrowed tuxedo, feeling slightly out of place amidst the ambiance. But he wasn’t here to mingle; he was here to investigate. Whispers of strange disappearances among the city's elite had caught the Winchester‘s attention, and this gala was aN opportunity to dig deeper.

As Sam walked the room, he heard the soft hum of music shifting. A piano playing soft and delicate muses, little melodies of comfort. The crowd began to gravitate toward the center of the room, where a stage bathed in soft, ethereal light awaited. Golden feathers on the ground, and the center of the stage held a golden pole.

The host stepped on the stairs, gazing down the people.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome tonight’s enchanting performer, known for her artistry and grace.”

Sam watched with mild curiosity as the room quieted, the lights dimming to create an intimate atmosphere. Then you appeared, stepping onto the stage in a gown that shimmered like moonlight.

White crystals covered the needed skin of your body, laced with a thin, shimmery fabric. The rest of your skin was bare, so you could actually use the pole properly. The delicate fabric caught the light as you moved.

Pole dancing wasn’t something Sam expected to see at a gala, but this was different. As the music began, your movements told a story… fluid, expressive, and beautiful. You spun and climbed with effortless grace, the strength in your movements shown by their elegance. The dress flowed with you, transforming each move into something almost otherworldly.

Pole dancing was something you have always loved doing. Since you were a little kid you climbed on everything and did tricks on the playground. Your father pursued your passion, so you grew up with a lot of support and love.

Though, people would sexualize your hobby to the fullest, making you feel uncomfortable and sad. What you did was not, in any case, an sexual act. Whenever you mentioned your passion on a date, the men would ask you to strip for them and after an agonizing dating life, you gave up.

It turned to a beautiful hobby, and the upper class loved you. Your elegant dresses, your featherlight movements, your delicate emotions were the perfect match for a rich, elegant ambiance.

Performing at restaurants, at weddings, at business meetings and at private parties were now your main source of income - and it paid well. But your usual college life didn’t know. It was a sharp contrast to the societal elite, but you didn’t mind.

Money was money, and what is more beautiful than earning it through your money?

Sam's breath caught in his throat.

“Wow,” he mumbled under his breath, unable to tear his eyes away.

You silenced the room with divine grace, leaving only the soft music and the sound of your movements. But to Sam, there was something familiar about you…your face, the way you carried yourself. Then it hit him.

He knew you form college - a shy, introverted student which sometimes followed along his study groups.

“Wait a second,” he thought to himself. “Is that...?”

The performance ended with a delicate pose, the music fading into silence. The applause was vibrant, but Sam could only stand bedazzled in place, his mind racing.

After the performance, you disappeared behind the curtains, and Sam decided to follow. He finally found you standing by a vanity, draped in a silk robe, sipping water to recover from your performance.

“Uhm… hey,” Sam’s voice was soft.

You turned, startled, but your expression softened when you saw him.

“Sam?” you replied, equally surprised. “What are you doing here? I haven’t seen you in ages!”

“I could ask you the same thing!” he said with a chuckle, stepping closer. “Since when do you - wait, that was you out there, wasn’t it?”

You smiled sheepishly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Uhm.. I… It’s… a long story.”

Sam shook his head, still processing. “You were incredible. I mean, really. That wasn’t just a performance… it was art.”

The honesty in his voice made your cheeks warm. “Thanks, Sam. It’s not always seen that way, but it means a lot coming from you.”

As you chitchatted, Sam realized how much he’d missed during college, how little he’d known about this side of you. He listened intently as you spoke about your passion. There was a light in your eyes that made the chaos of the world seem distant.

A quiet moment stretched between you, the buzz of the gala fading into a distant hum. Sam broke the silence with a smile. “So… think there’s any chance I could convince you to teach me a move or two?”

You laughed. “Sam Winchester, pole dancing? That’s a sight I’d pay to see.”

He chuckled, shrugging. “Hey, a guy can dream.”

But as you looked into his eyes, you couldn’t help but wonder if some dreams were worth chasing after all.

[meadowfics]

delicious meal

kang sae-byeok x smallbusinessowner!reader

waiter!kang dae-ho as well ;)

another part in my "small business owner" series for sae-byeok

warnings: one spicy pg-13 moment but that's it.

this is a rare moment of nerves for sae-byeok.

she keeps adjusting her jacket sleeves, shifting in her seat slightly as she takes in the lavish decor of the restaurant.

the dim lighting, the crystal chandeliers, the waitstaff in neatly pressed uniforms..it all feels foreign to her.

it is foreign to her.

you notice the way her fingers twitch on the edge of the table, and without a word, you slide your hand over hers, squeezing lightly.

"are you nervous?"

you tease softly, your voice laced with warmth.

sae-byeok scoffs, rolling her eyes, but the slight pink dusting her cheeks betrays her.

"no,"

she lies.

"why would i be nervous? i'm just… not used to places like this."

sae's eyes flicker around the restaurant, catching glimpses of other diners in elegant outfits, sipping wine with an ease she doesn’t feel.

before you can respond, your waiter approaches, placing utensils neatly in front of both of you.

he’s young, maybe around your age, with neatly styled dark hair and a welcoming smile.

"hello, my name is kang dae-ho, but please just call me dae,"

he says smoothly.

"i'll be taking care of you guys tonight. can i get you started with any drinks?"

you glance at sae-byeok, giving her the opportunity to order first, but she just nods toward you.

"good evening, dae. i’ll have a lemonade,"

you say, smiling.

"just water for me,"

sae-byeok adds quickly, her voice quieter than usual.

dae nods, scribbling on his notepad.

"great choice. i’ll be right back with those."

as soon as he walks away, you lean in slightly.

"you could’ve gotten something else, you know. you don’t have to just get water."

sae-byeok shrugs, adjusting her leather jacket sleeve again.

"it’s fine. you know i don’t really care about drinks like that."

dae-ho returns quickly, setting down your lemonade and her water.

"ready to order?"

"yes. tonight I'll just have the bibimbap,"

you say, and without missing a beat, sae-byeok says,

"same."

dae-ho grins.

"twins, huh?"

he jokes, but sae-byeok just snorts.

when he walks away, you smirk.

"so, a copycat, huh?"

sae-byeok giggles softly, shaking her head.

"excuse me? i put you onto bibimbap. remember?"

"you did,"

you admit,

"but you didn't have to copy my order."

you tease.

in fact, you love how similar you and sae are.

"why change what works?"

she shrugs, leaning back in her chair, looking a little more relaxed now.

you love moments like this..

moments when her guard is down, when she’s just sae-byeok, not the girl who’s always had to fight for everything.

you take a sip of your lemonade, watching her as she absentmindedly runs a finger along the rim of her glass.

after a beat, you ask,

"so… any updates on your mom?"

sae-byeok glances up, hesitating for only a second before nodding.

"yeah. the broker found her. she’s going to cross the chinese border soon."

you sit up a little, taking in the weight of her words.

"really? that’s good, right?"

"it is,"

she says, though there’s something in her tone that tells you she’s trying not to get her hopes up too much.

"once she gets closer to the thailand border, i’ll figure out a way to meet her and bring her over here."

you nod slowly, letting her lead the conversation.

"that’s huge, sae. i know how much this means to you."

she exhales, staring at her water for a moment before looking back at you.

"it’s been six months, you know."

"since…?"

you tilt your head, teasing.

"since we got together,"

she mutters, rolling her eyes.

you grin.

"you keeping track now?"

"shut up,"

she mumbles, but there’s no real bite behind it.

you reach for her hand again, this time letting your thumb trace over her knuckles.

"i’m really happy with you," you say simply.

she looks down at your hands, quiet for a moment before murmuring,

"i know. I am too with you."

you don’t push for anything more...you never do.

you’ve already told her you love her, and though she hasn’t said it back, you feel it in the way she looks at you.

in the way she saved up for this dinner, in the way she always makes sure you get home safe after a long shift.

the fact that she is taking you to this fancy place, and paying for it, shows that sae is someone who would rather tell you her love through her actions.

sae-byeok pulls her hand away, only to reach for her water and take a sip before clearing her throat.

"i still feel bad, you know. about… taking your money that day."

you shake your head immediately.

"you don’t have to. you were trying to help cheol. if anything, i was going to spend that money on you anyway."

you smirk, aware of your gift-giving love language.

sae-byeok gives you a flat look.

"that’s not how that works."

"it is for me,"

you argue lightly.

"you know i love buying you things."

sae-byeok sighs but can’t fight the small smile tugging at her lips.

"yeah, i know."

you smile back, squeezing her hand again before letting go when you see dae-ho approaching with your food.

he approaches your table.. carefully placing the bowls of bibimbap in front of you and sae-byeok.

the aroma immediately fills the space between you, making your stomach grumble slightly.

"everything look good?"

dae-ho asks, glancing between the two of you with an easy smile.

"yeah, it looks great,"

you say, already reaching for your chopsticks.

"it’s good,"

sae-byeok adds, inspecting her dish before nodding in approval.

dae-ho grins at the both of you before stepping back.

"perfect. enjoy your meal."

with that, he walks off to check on another table.

just as you’re about to dig in, sae-byeok suddenly lets out a quiet laugh, shaking her head slightly.

you blink, confused.

"what’s so funny?"

she smirks, leaning in just a little.

"i think someone has a crush on you."

you furrow your brows, tilting your head.

"what?"

sae-byeok subtly nods her head toward dae-ho, who is now assisting another table.

the korean's eyes gleam with mischief, watching for your reaction.

you roll your eyes playfully, shaking your head.

"sae, he's just doing his job."

"he better be,"

she replies with a smirk, her tone low and possessive, which sends a wave of warmth to your cheeks.

oh, sae-byeok can be so possessive in the best way.

"sae-byeok,"

you say, a teasing lilt in your voice as you smirk at her.

"you know i am only yours."

sae's expression shifts slightly, something deeper, something smug yet sincere showing in her dark eyes.

"yeah?"

she murmurs, the tension in her voice sending a small shiver down your spine.

"yeah,"

you confirm, rubbing her calf with your foot under the table.

sae-byeok smirks while taking a bite of her food, clearly pleased, and it encourages you to finally start eating as well.

the conversation flows effortlessly after that.

sae-byeok is attentive, constantly checking to make sure you think the food is perfect, even though she knows you’d never complain.

all she wants is for this night to go smoothly, for it to be something you remember.

when dae-ho comes back, you’re about to shake your head and refuse dessert, but sae-byeok insists, her voice firm yet gentle.

"we're getting bingsu."

you give her a look, amused.

"oh, we are?"

"yes,"

she says simply.

dae-ho watches as you gently grab sae-byeok’s hand across the table, rubbing her knuckles in a way that speaks volumes.

you don’t even notice his expression shift slightly as realization settles in

he now understands that you and sae-byeok are together.

he doesn’t mind, not at all. he never had a crush on you...he was just doing his job.

however he’s accepting in a society who could look at your relationship as taboo.

he offers a small, genuine smile before nodding.

"i’ll be right back with that,"

dae-ho says before walking away.

when he returns, he sets down one dish with two spoons, the shaved ice dessert looking absolutely perfect.

"enjoy,"

dae-ho says with a polite nod.

"thanks,"

sae-byeok replies, grabbing her spoon first.

you both try the bingsu, the cold, sweet flavor hitting your tongue in the best way possible.

you widen your eyes, looking at sae-byeok, who already has a similar reaction.

"oh my god,"

you say.

"this is the best bingsu i’ve ever had."

sae-byeok nods, already taking another bite.

"yeah. this was a good choice."

after finishing, sae-byeok reaches for the check before you can even think about grabbing it.

"wait, are you sure?"

you ask, watching her carefully.

"yes,"

she insists, her voice leaving no room for argument.

the bill is a little high for her standards, but she saved for this.

she planned for this.

she wants to do this for you.

after she pays, the two of you step outside into the cool night air.

the breeze feels nice against your skin, and as you walk, sae-byeok stays close beside you.

she glances at you, taking in the sight of your dark olive green sweater, your brown maxi-length skirt.

oh, she is so in love with you.

before you can take another step, she gently grabs your waist, pulling you into a soft embrace.

you instinctively wrap your arms around her shoulders, inhaling the familiar scent of her vanilla perfume.

she looks into your eyes, and for once, there is no hesitation.

"do you know how much i love you?"

sae-byeok asks, her voice quiet but firm, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

your lips curl into a small smile before you tease,

"how much do you love me?"

sae-byeok doesn’t answer with words.

instead, she leans in, pressing her lips against yours in a slow, lingering kiss.

when she finally pulls away, she breathes,

"i love you so much, y/n."

your heart swells at the words you've waited to hear, but deep down, you've known it all along.

more of the small business owner series coming soon

full masterlist here

[weebsinstash]

I hate when I start having an idea for one character and it turns into having that idea for multiple characters, but, basically, i started thinking of Bruce Wayne and then Lex Luthor creeped into my mind

One of my favorite yandere tropes is "helping you for your own good, even if it's against your will and you hate me for it", and, I was actually thinking about the whole red strings of fate soulmate trope again, and I started thinking of Reader almost immediately rejecting Bruce or Lex for, multiple reasons, but they won't take no for an answer, and then I ALSO started thinking, what if I throw ABO into the mix?

You're an adult Unpresented and basically a second class citizen in society and you've gone your entire life not knowing who to love or trust, growing up in an unstable if not outright abusive home, poor, not being able to be close and affectionate with people the way everyone around you is with their scenting and purring, and you eventually grow resentful of everyone else. You're constantly mistreated and called slurs and working shitty jobs, doing a catering gig at a high class party when your red string of fate appears and you think, "oh great, it must be another member of the waitstaff, if I cause a scene I'll lose this job and be even more in debt, maybe i should sneak off"

Cue you turning around and your soulmate is one of the richest men in the entire world and he even has a supermodel on his arm. Like you're either turning around and seeing unfathomably rich infamous man whore, 'is kind of a brat in his public persona' Bruce Wayne OR the guy who is equally as rich and is constantly beefing with Superman and does things like secretly cures cancer but waters it down to make more money as a treatment rather than a one-time cure

You're just instantly expecting rejection, not wanting any sort of confrontation, and also feeling more than a little humiliated. You finally meet your fated mate and you're working a service gig holding a tray of finger sandwiches while he's a billionaire in black tie attire eating caviar and sipping champagne. Not only is there this ENORMOUS class divide between you, absolutely daunting differences in how you live your life and the expenditures of wealth and flagrant flaunting of it, but he's also an Alpha, and you're... nothing. And you're not sure if you even want a mate anyways. You don't really believe in it. You don't want to give someone that opportunity to hurt you

You're just instantly wanting to run away, meanwhile Lex/Bruce is peeling the model off their arm and bee-lining for you IMMEDIATELY to introduce himself, not giving you any opportunity to slip away. Bruce would take the tray out of your hands himself whereas Lex would snap his fingers and have someone else do it, both of them expecting you to, essentially, immediately drop everything you're doing to get to know them, talk to them--

and your voice cracks as you reject them. Sorry, this clearly isn't going to work out. You need to get back to work, and the differences between the two of you and the worlds you live in are far too different--

But he won't take no for an answer. The arrogant Alpha is vaguely dismissive as he laughs off your concerns. The two of you just need to get to know each other! You're soulmates, how could you two not be meant to be?

But you refuse. You don't really want to talk to him at all. In fact, maybe you even dislike him. Bruce Wayne is publicly a playboy and Lex Luthor is infamously callous and outspoken about his hatred and distrust of Superman; you have genuine reasons to immediately dislike either man

But they know you're their mate now and you're in their sights. You could run away from the party and be back at your home, thinking you've bought yourself some time, and they're in their penthouse/basement respectively, using their supercomputers and superhuman knowledge to research every single scrap of information about you. No stone is left unturned. They'll hire a PI and private security to secretly follow you around while still researching the best way to approach you, concocting the perfect scheme to lure you in. All it takes is some hacking and some bribes and they'll know your rental history, your employment, your hospital records, old report cards from grade school, files from your last psychiatrist, EVERYTHING. They basically know your entire life story within 24 hours of meeting you, but they still want to speak to you, hear your own words, your own thoughts

Bruce is convening with the entire Batfamily, telling them about his new Unpresented mate, how you've had a harsh life and he wants them to have nothing but patience and love for you, with them fully intending to forcibly assimilate you into their pack while telling themselves you're just a little wild because you don't know your place in society, who you are as a person, and have never had your own proper pack to "socialize you", NOT that you're reasonably upset for being forced. Meanwhile Lex is over here making arrangements for a new luxury penthouse apartment in Metropolis for you to stay far away from the riffraff in the slums who harass you and threaten to burn your old beaten down house in the 'burbs down (and maybe even bribes someone to actually do it just to chase you into his arms), and begins legitimately actually genuinely researching how to "cure you"

and of course you guys know my cookies and creme is "whoops, now that you're obsessed with me and think I'm dumb and helpless and just a little uwu bean who needs to be rescued, turns out I'm an Omega! Sure hope you don't have any infantilizing if not outright misogynistic thoughts on how I need to be taken care of by other people and protected because I'm just SO delicate :)", so then you have Lex wanting to keep his oh so rare and elegant and pampered mate away from the rabble he thinks you're way too good for, and at the Wayne home you have like half the home thinking of you like their sibling if not ANOTHER PARENT and the other half convinced there's way too many psycho criminals out there for you to be allowed to be by yourself ever again

And I guess my final note is the juiciness of like, for Bruce specifically. Batman has to rescue you from being mugged or murdered or harmed in some way and you just start pouring all your stressed out feelings to him, about the mate you don't think you deserve, how scared you are, how you don't know how to love and he's so put together and successful, and suddenly here's the red string outting Batman as Bruce Wayne as you just sit there "Oh SHIT" realizing 1. You just told him like literally everything in your head including how you think he's an untrustworthy capitalist whore and 2. Oh God he's fucking Batman

Like... just imagine the excuse it gives him... criminals or let alone the Joker himself sees that red string between you and the Caped Crusader and soon every criminal in the city knows the face of Batman's mate and its never safe to show your face ever again. sure, he COULD potentially hide you away under a fake name on some island somewhere, but why do that when he can forcibly mark you and keep you as his house spouse? What, are you gonna break poor little Damian's heart that you AREN'T gonna be his new parent? But the pack is already so attached to you...

[bigtreefest]

Chapter 1: The President’s Son

From: Guardian Angel Series

Pairing: (future) Mafia! Stucky x Bodyguard! Reader

Summary: A longtime client snubs you, causing you to leave the life you know

Word Count: 3,629

Content/Warnings: swears, patriarchy, weaponized incompetence, borderline mansplaining, yelling, fighting, mentions of nose picking, misogyny, secrets, explosions, mentions of weapons, strong female characters, no Steve or Bucky yet

A/N: Okay, here’s the start of something long-anticipated by me. I hope you enjoy! Your feedback is greatly appreciated, can’t wait to hear what you guys think!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Next >

You stood in the back of the banquet hall, eyes surveying the room like they did any other, as you tried to appear as nonchalant waitstaff for the function. That was your specialty: blending in to the background, and you were damn good at it. Tonight’s job was to do so as your were protecting the most important individuals entrusted to you: the First Lady and her son.

You moved with ease throughout the evening, keeping mobile with your head on a swivel, eyes never leaving your two clients for more than a couple seconds. After a cocktail hour, everyone had sat down for dinner and a round of awards and speeches, leaving you here for a relatively easy period.

You didn’t work alone, no. You were here as part of a group. Part of a company, actually, and it belonged to your father. He ran a security conglomerate which focused heavily on government contracting, ranging from secret service duties, to vehicle brigades, to protection and procurement of goods, virtual and physical, and you knew every single part of it. You loved your job, and you loved working with your dad. For as long as you could remember, you would spend all of your free time in his office with him as he went through schedules, and escape plans, and all sorts of strategies to keep his patrons and their assets safe. You were always flitting around, learning new things, earning you the nickname ‘tweety bird’ from him, which correlated to your codename Redwing.

You’d picked it all up so easily, you were a natural, which earned you your first presidential-adjacent gig much younger than anyone else around. Sure, it started as you going to school and posing as another student to protect the president’s son, even thought you were a few years out already, which wasn’t necessarily glamorous, since you were meant to fly under the radar, but it was an independent job. One that was coming to a close, though, as this was your eighth year of doing the same. Soon, the president would be out of office, and the security detail on his family would be greatly reduced, likely no longer requiring your services.

Even as you let your mind wander, blocking out the droning speeches and rich people backstories, you remained on high alert. If anything bad was going to happen, you had a feeling it would be at an event like this one. An event where everyone had their guard down because it was for a universally agreeable good cause. But for some reason, heading into it tonight, something was churning in your gut.

After not being able to ignore the way your stomach twisted and turned, you had gone to speak to your father about tonight, requesting backup in addition to your other two friends, Natasha and Daisy, who often accompanied you to guard shifts associated with larger crowds.

Usually he was on the same page as you, but lately, your requests had been met with more protest, likely due to your little brother’s input buzzing in your father’s ear.

Your brother, Dylan, had just freshly turned eighteen, and with it came more responsibility in the agency. For being so much younger than you, your father was giving him mountains of control, including this event of your two most important clients. With your request of a team came the the caveat that your brother would be leading it.

Dylan was, to put it nicely, an oaf? Incapable of performing a task without crashing and burning, which made your blood boil. Probably from the fires he created and you subsequently had to put out. You had no room to complain, though, as your father dismissed you from his office.

So Dylan ‘led’ your team this evening, packed with his twerp friends who were more capable, but just as reckless as him. They’d listen to some of your orders, but not without the confirmation of your brother, who knew better enough sometimes to listen to your input.

You let him think he was in the lead tonight, executing a plan you had essentially spoon fed to him in your meetings leading up to the event. There were several backup plans and exit strategies that had their own code names, made by you, of course. All Dylan, or ‘The Chief,’ as he liked to go as over coms, had to do was keep an eye out on the cameras for any suspicious activity around the venue, and be prepared to drive away if he called for extraction due to suspicious activity. That was it. You and your two trusty companions would take control of everything inside the banquet, while two of Dylan’s friends surveilled the outside. Should be easy, right?

Dylan had been instructed to give an update through your earpiece every three minutes, on any action seen in the camera footage. Every time he did, though, it was accompanied by music blasting in the car, and the increments kept getting further and further apart. Almost like he was forgetting about his responsibilities and the importance of this event on your shoulders, should something go wrong. You rolled your eyes and kept a watch of the room. If you had such little backup, it was on you now to do this job, without the team you had specifically requested.

Dylan’s friends seemed to go quiet, too, which you were hoping wasn’t due to capture or something worse, but when you heard conversation about a fantasy football draft in your ear, you knew they were at least alive, although not helpful at all.

You were sick of running blind, though, so you casually made it look like your were scratching your ear and turned away from the crowd.

“Chief, status report.” Nothing. You waited thirty seconds. Silence.

You turned back to the room, the gnawing feeling in your stomach growing as you looked out at the crowd. Natasha, code name Widow, was making her way around with a tray of champagne flutes. Daisy, codename Blossom, sat in a vent somewhere, watching from above and monitoring everyone’s trackers. The three of you sighed and continued on, hoping this night wouldn’t be every eventful, but that’s never how life goes, is it?

“Blossom, report on coms. Is everything working?”

You waited a second for the response.

“All is good, Redwing. It’s a human, not technology error.”

You rolled your eyes for the thousandth time that night, but were pulled out of your annoyance by a searing sound. In the next moment, just as you were about to ask for any other possible news from Daisy, a crackling took over your ear.

You fought the urge to wince and draw attention to yourself. It was probably Dylan finally getting back to you, but the voice that came through was one you’d never heard before. It was low and urgent.

“Get them out of there.”

You couldn’t help the way your eyes went wide and you whisper yelled, turning into the fake plant you found yourself nearby.

“Who is this? This is a secure line! What’s going on?”

You were surprised by the warning firmness of the speaker, it was menacing, who did this person think they were? Was that a threat?

“This is Bootleg. Your clients are in danger. What’s about to happen isn’t meant for them. Find a way to get them to leave.”

You sighed and nodded, although the disembodied voice named ‘Bootleg’ wasn’t reassuring. You knew to never turn down a tip, though. You weren’t going to risk it with clients like this. So you let out a sigh and made eye contact with Nat across the room.

“Execute plan beta sixteen alpha.”

She gave you a curt nod and increased her pace in a way only someone with your type of training could pick up. She was circling to make her movements seem undetectable, but she was ultimately going towards the First Lady and her son. Nat tripped, spilling the tray of champagne on their laps, causing them to gasp and look down. You could tell they were ready to yell, but they looked to your face and you nodded, signaling them to get up, brushing away anyone with apologies or offers for help, saying they were just going to clean up. The rest of the rich party goers didn’t pay it a second thought besides whispers of clumsy waitstaff. It’s not like they would bother to remember the face of one of them, though, and were too busy watching a fumbling Nat to see your approach to take your clients out of the venue. You did your best to move slowly to the same exit as them, and as soon as your bodies were behind the closed ballroom door, you were rushing them towards the back service door to get in Dylan’s getaway vehicle.

You ducked their heads under your arms as you rushed them out, and shoved them into the back of the town car, only giving a quick, breathless word to your clients and your brother.

“Take them home, Dyl. Fast. Don’t let yourself get tracked. I’ll take the decoy car. Go, now!”

He nodded like a bobble head, shifting the car in gear and peeling out of the lot as you jogged over to the other vehicle where Daisy and Nat were already waiting in the front seat for you. They moved fast.

You hopped in, Daisy expertly backing out until she hit the street. Just as she put it in drive, you flinched at a sudden noise and looked out the back window to where an explosion happened in front of the venue and soldiers dressed in all black rushed in through the cloud of smoke. This would definitely hit the news tomorrow, but you were sure your father would commend you for the safe delivery of two of his most important packages.

Daisy and Nat had been by your side for as long a you could remember. When you were in elementary school, you remembered a brooding girl sitting at the end of the lunch table, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed, with the angriest pout you’d ever seen. You walked over and plopped down with your tray.

“Hi.”

She looked up from her meal and to your smile and simply gave a blink of acknowledgment, face unchanging.

“Are you okay? Something wrong with your lunch?”

She shook her head and took a deep breath, sitting up to eat a tater tot.

“No. Something’s wrong with my shirt.”

You tilted your head to the side. “What about it? I think it’s beautiful. I love Daisies.”

She shrugged and continued to pick through her food. “Yeah, I guess they’re alright. But my mom forced me to wear this. I had a plain black shirt picked out and she gave me this. I don’t wanna wear daisies.”

You giggled and looked down at the plain black shirt on your body. “Trade?”

For the first time, you watched the corner of her lip reach a smile, your new friend who would soon earn the shirt flower as a nickname. That little grin was huge compared to the tight line her lip previously held. That was the start of a bunch of mini smirks and teamwork.

Nat had been around since you were in diapers. Her parents had worked for your father’s organization their entire lives, so when they passed as she was in her teens, your family took her in.

She was always incredibly smart, her wit challenging you and Daisy, but the two of you would hit her right back. The timeline of her moving in with you, too, was a few years before the presidential gig started, but she rose through the ranks with you, through every single job, the two of you bringing Daisy on board who caught on quickly. Your grouping was nearly unrivaled. Nearly.

Daisy and Nat physically stood by your sides as the three of you looked on to your father talking on a podium. Your best suits were pressed and tailored perfectly for the special occasion. It was his retirement party in your family’s backyard garden where he was noting the successes of the company under him, including the recent incident from which the two important clients had been saved.

The three of you lightly nudged each other’s arms in commendation for the quick act despite your lack of backup, a small smile on your face, a smirk on Nat’s, with Daisy looking as composed and stoic as ever. You father continued in his speech, noting the valiant effort that needs to be maintained in a generational business like this, one that should be rewarded and carried on for the generations to come. You stood straight, chin up with pride at your hard work and dedication finally paying off.

“I was a young pup, only in my early twenties when I took this business over from my father. He deemed me most fit for the job, so it is my pleasure to do the same, keeping this line of work led by my family. I’d like to name my replacement, someone who valiantly saved the president’s son and wife. Someone who the son has raved about for returning them home to the White House safely. My wonderful child…”

You were ready for the culmination of years being under his wing. He gestured his arm out to the side and you braced yourself for the good news, except the arm wasn’t outstretched towards you. It was directed towards the other side of the stage and everyone’s eyes followed. “Dylan.”

Dylan was jerkily shoved forward by one of his friends, having been zoned out for the entirety of your father’s speech, but at the sound of cheering and clapping, a smile grew on his face. He waved at the crowd, walking over to the podium to shake your father’s hand and give a word of his own.

Meanwhile, your face fell. It was dragged downward in defeat. You quickly pulled yourself together, though, at a squeeze to your arm. You couldn’t even tell which side it came from. Your body was going numb. Shifting to plant your feet and fighting the burn in your eyes, you looked straight forward, no longer at the podium, although you had no way to shut off your ears.

“Wow, wow. Thank you. This is such an honor. At eighteen years old, I will be the youngest to ever run this organization.”

It seemed like he’s was at least doing well and presenting a strong face. That was rare.

“Haha, I beat ya, gramps! Okay, let’s party!”

You outwardly cringed, but your legs were paralyzed as his friends let out a whooping cheer and the party erupted in confetti. It was getting caught in your hair as Nat and Daisy dragged you away and inside, up the stairs to your childhood bedroom, jostling you like a rag doll. You felt almost catatonic.

As soon as you flopped down on your bed, though, you turned over and screamed into your pillow before sitting up, realizing this act of melodrama was going to wrinkle your suit.

You sat up and sniffled, rubbing your eyes and taking a deep breath to give yourself just a moment to think. You looked between your best friends and started pointing.

“Daise, can you pack up anything you think I might need from here? Whatever I can’t live without.”

You then looked to the redhead who was peeking out the window, watching your father enter the outdoor entrance of his home office.

“Nat, can you gather some home essentials? Food, first aid, some of the hidden and spare weapons. Only the ones they won’t sense are missing, okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah. We better do it quick. Your pops just came in.”

You bit your lip and your nostrils flared in anger and thought, rubbing your hands over your face. “Okay. That’s fine, I need to talk to him anyway. That should give you enough time to grab everything. Then we’re heading back to the apartment to get some essentials.”

The three of you were roommates in the city, renting out a place Daisy’s distant uncle owned, which allowed you some freedoms, as well as independence from the possible tracing of your location on government records. Even under a security conglomerate, you could sense things were going downhill, so it was a good choice to move out and detach yourself. At this point, you were barely traceable. Only one thing tethered you here on a paper trail: the company.

You stormed out of your room and down the stairs to the hall that held your father’s office. You were furious. You had no patience left for formality or kindness, this was all rage. You kicked in the strong oak door, splintering the wooden frame, and were met with the view of your father and brother clinking whiskey glasses, an old celebratory reserve poured in them.

You stomped over to the filing cabinets where your file, thick as a novel, was stored. Next to it, you pulled out two more, no less impressive. Your dad, even though he possessed several methods for tech security, still kept employee information on paper in case he accidentally hired a mole. Everything was under lock and key and 24 hour surveillance.

You dug around in the left side drawer of his desk until you found the cigar lighter, hitting the edge of the folders until they caught and throwing them into his metal trash can. It was only then that he and your brother let words come out of their dropped jaws and awestruck faces.

“Tweety Bird, what’s the issue, kiddo? Didn’t wanna celebrate with your old man and little brother?”

You scoffed as you put your hands on your hips.

“Celebrate!? Celebrate what!? Being snubbed? Overlooked for something I’ve dedicated my life towards!?”

Your father’s bushy brows furrowed in confusion, your brother’s face mirroring it in a mini version. “What do you mean? You haven’t been snubbed. Dylan and I agree you’re meant to run teams and operations. You wouldn’t want to be in charge. Plus, it’s tradition that the first son takes over.”

You threw your hands up in exasperation. Smoke was filling the room, but partially getting swept out the cracked windows that pointed toward the back yard. “You didn’t think to ask me, the one keeping your business afloat, to run it!? No one knows it better than me, but it’s so ridiculous. Just because I’m an older sister like Aunt Kay, doesn’t mean I don’t wanna be in charge! She wanted to leave this life, but I don’t!”

You heard a chuckle rise behind you. “What, Dylan?”

He shrugged with a smug smile on his face. “Aunt Kay didn’t want to leave this life. She wanted the company, too. But Gramps gave it to dad. That’s why she fucked off to who knows where and started that bank vault company.”

You gasped in shock and looked to your father but he seemed unaffected. You turned to him now, disgusted with the sight of your little brother. “What!? Do you hear yourself right now!? Just because we aren’t men!? That’s insane!! I’m the one who saved the president’s family. Not Dylan, me! He was too busy sitting on his ass and picking his nose to be of any help. Maybe we would’ve seen the team coming to attack the venue sooner if he would’ve done his job!”

Your chest was heaving and your face was warm from the yelling. Your father still calmly continued. “Dylan returned the family safe and sound. You were nowhere to be seen. He deserves this step of responsibility, but I have no doubt you can guide him like an invisible hand.”

You shook your head, moving back towards the door between the leather couches of the sitting area, pacing on the Persian rug. “No, no. Absolutely not. I refuse to keep performing thankless service. You’ve made a mistake. I no longer want to work for you and I no longer want to be a part of this family. This whole thing is fucked. I’m out.”

Your father sighed, about to speak up. “Bird, we-“

He was cut off by the arm of your brother, though. “No, dad. If she wants to leave, I think she should. I don’t want anyone here questioning my leadership. The president’s son will back me on that. He’s upset the extraction ruined a designer suit and thinks that I’m the best fit, too. I can run this without her.”

Your dad gave a hmph of affirmation, which sent you over the edge. After all those years of service, both your father and the president’s son still didn’t credit your work. You couldn’t stand this anymore, especially not when Dylan was fabricating lies in his own head about the greatness you performed.

“You know what, Dyl? Yeah, let’s have it your way. You guys will never need to see me again. Good luck not running this thing into the ground.”

You turned on your heel and marched out the door. When you turned the corner, you saw both Nat and Daisy waiting for you, double fisting duffel bags. You motioned for both of them to head to Nat’s car, walking quickly, but they were more than capable of keeping up. You heard Daisy speak from over your left shoulder.

“Bird, where are we going?”

As you barged through the glass front door and put on your sunglasses, you took a breath in of the air that marked your new life, outside the stuffy patriarchy of what you thought would be your legacy.

“Somewhere far. And don’t ever call me that again.”

Next >

Bonus A/N: Bruh, could you imagine being betrayed by your own father like that? Also, we’ll be seeing more of Daisy as the reader for Jake’s storyline in the future.

Taglist: @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly