#sorry about the reflection in my screen lol
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novascharms · 1 day ago
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teach please me — tutor!reader x soccer player!rafe
reader's life is meticulously planned, from high school to becoming president of the country—she knows exactly where she's headed and every step to get there. but her airtight plan hits a snag when the principal ropes her into tutoring rafe cameron, the school’s star soccer player, who’s failing algebra and at risk of being benched next season. the team needs him on the field, and reader needs the principal’s glowing recommendation to secure her spot at her dream school. balancing her ambitious goals with rafe’s chaotic charm might just throw her perfectly crafted plan off track.
word count — 2.0 chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap. a.n — sorry in advance lol DOUBLE UPDATE THOUGH masterlist
ten
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friday february 7th
“i think we covered that part in the google doc, right?” you murmured, scrolling through the endless document on your laptop. the screen’s faint glow reflected on your glasses as you squinted at the tiny text.
“is it the budget allocation?” gisele, the student treasurer, asked, glancing up from her own laptop, her fingers still clicking through tabs. “like, everything surrounding the budget? because i did work on that a bit, so i might’ve done it. my laptop’s just being kind of weird right now.” her tone was distracted as she fiddled with a stubborn cursor.
“y/n?” danny, your vice president, called, breaking your focus. you looked up, brow furrowing as you noticed him, gisele, and annie, the secretary, all turning their attention to the glass wall on the left.
you followed their gaze and spotted your friends outside in the hallway. ivy was tapping her watch with exaggerated urgency while devon held her phone up, the screen flashing a clear reminder: you were ten minutes late for lunch.
“uh, okay. let’s wrap up,” you said quickly, your words stumbling over themselves as you closed the document. “if we didn’t cover the allocation, i’ll handle it… whenever. anyway, see you guys next week?” you forced a smile, trying not to let the stress seep through.
danny nodded, already packing his things. “yep, see you.”
“bye!” gisele called cheerfully.
“next week!” annie added with a wave.
you slid your laptop into your bag, slinging it over your shoulder as you hurried out. “hello!” you sang, pushing the door open with a grin. “sorry, i’m late.”
hazel immediately hooked her arm around yours, her touch warm and grounding. “totally fine, but we’re dealing with an absolute tragedy,” she said dramatically. ivy jogged ahead, spinning around to walk backward, her expression exaggerated.
“devon got a seven on that philosophy paper about perfection,” ivy announced, her tone as dire as if she were reporting a global catastrophe.
your brows shot up in surprise, and you turned to devon, who was covering her face with both hands. “what happened?” you asked, concern lacing your voice. “philosophy’s your favorite class.”
devon groaned, dragging her hands down her face in frustration. “i didn’t have time to do it properly. i literally worked on it like, minutes before the deadline.” her grimace was both sheepish and annoyed.
hazel chuckled softly, shaking her head. “guys, a seven isn’t that bad.” her voice was light, trying to soothe devon’s obvious distress.
she wasn’t wrong—it wasn’t bad at all. but for your group, used to skating the upper edge of every grading curve, it felt like a glaring anomaly.
"true," ivy added quickly, as though trying to lessen the blow. "hazel and i got an 8.5." she gave a little shrug.
as the group burst into the common area, you all found an empty spot to settle in. ivy dropped into a chair with exaggerated flair while hazel and devon slid into seats across from you.
"how much did you get?" devon asked suddenly, her voice curious but a little wary.
you shrugged, fishing your phone out of your bag. "i didn’t even know we got the results already," you admitted, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear as you tapped into your school app. navigating to the grades section, you waited for the page to load, the spinning wheel on your screen adding a small sense of anticipation to the moment.
the room filled with the low hum of chatter around you, but your friends stayed quiet, leaning in slightly as they waited for your result to appear.
it all happens so fast that your brain can’t keep up. you glance up absently, just catching a glimpse of rafe as he passes by. his shoulders are stiff, tension radiating from every inch of him, his phone gripped tightly in his hand. a fresh black eye, dark and swollen, blooms angrily on his face, stark against his skin.
you barely process it. your gaze drops back to your phone, where your grade stares back at you: a perfect 10.
"i got a—" the words die in your throat as you look up again, frowning. your friends glance at you, confused as they pull out their lunches, but you don’t have the words to explain.
you toss your phone onto the table and push to your feet, already rushing out of the common area. "rafe!" you call after him as he disappears into the hallway. your friends’ voices follow you, but you ignore them, your focus fixed entirely on him. you’d explain later.
he doesn’t stop, doesn’t turn, just grunts over his shoulder, "not now." his voice is harsh, clipped—nothing like the easy, teasing tone he’d used over dinner with his parents a few nights ago.
"yes, now," you insist, quickening your pace until you’re jogging to catch up. you reach for his arm, grabbing it firmly, and he stops, though his whole body hums with resistance. "what’s wrong? what happened to your face?" your eyes scan the bruise, the deep purples and blues spreading in a jagged line across his cheekbone. it looks fresh, the kind of pain you can almost feel just by looking at it.
"nothing happened," he snaps, jerking his arm free and moving again. his tone is so dismissive, so cold, it cuts deeper than you expect.
but you don’t give up. stepping in front of him, you hold out your hands, planting yourself in his path. "rafe, that looks bad. did you ice it?" your voice softens, concern lacing every word as your eyes flick back to the bruise. you know it wasn’t there yesterday. you would’ve noticed.
his jaw tightens, and he lets out a sharp, frustrated sigh. "god, you never listen, do you?" his voice is raised, though not quite a yell, and the edge in it makes you flinch. the sting of his words sits heavy in your chest, but you bite down hard on your bottom lip, refusing to let the tears brimming in your eyes fall.
for a moment, his expression shifts—his eyes soften, guilt flickering there—but it vanishes as quickly as it appeared. his face hardens, and he tries to move past you again, brushing you aside like you’re not standing right in front of him.
"no," you say firmly, shoving at his chest—not hard enough to move him, but enough to make him stop.
before he can argue, you grab his wrist and yank him toward the nearest classroom. he protests, his voice low and angry, but you don’t let go. the door creaks open as you push it, dragging him inside and letting it close with a soft thud behind you.
the air feels heavier now, quiet but thick with unspoken tension. rafe exhales sharply, his frustration palpable, but he doesn’t pull away. not yet. you steel yourself, determined not to let him shut you out again.
"tell me what happened," you demand, arms crossed tightly as you plant yourself in front of the door, your posture daring him to try and push past you. the determination in your stance feels flimsy against the weight of his indifference, but you hold your ground anyway.
"i walked into a door," he says flatly, perched on the edge of the desk with his feet casually propped on the chair. the sight of him, so nonchalant with that faint bruise blooming on his face, makes irritation prickle at your skin.
"rafe, who did that to you? why are you so angry? just tell me what happened," you plead, the words tumbling out in a rush as you try to chip away at the fortress he’s built around himself.
"no." his voice is clipped, cold, like a door slamming shut.
"rafe—"
"i said no." he’s standing now, his movements sharp as he strides toward the door. but you’re still there, still unmoving, still stubbornly waiting for the truth.
"move. right now," he orders, his voice low and firm.
"not until you tell me who did that," you insist, anger curling around your words.
"a door," he repeats, jaw tightening.
"rafe," you snap, your patience fraying.
"i don’t want to fucking talk about it!" he explodes, the sudden intensity of his voice reverberating through the room like a storm breaking.
"don’t yell at me!" you yell back, startled by his outburst, the sharpness in his tone cutting deeper than you expected.
he exhales roughly, dragging his fingers through his hair as he turns away, muttering under his breath. "oh my… fucking—"
"and stop cursing at me," you cut in sharply, arms crossing again as you glare at him.
he lets out a bitter scoff, a smile curling on his lips—one that’s anything but kind. "any more requests?"
"yes," you say, your voice steady as you meet his heated gaze. "tell me what happened."
"no," he growls, stepping closer. "now move, or i’ll move you." the warning in his tone is clear, but so is your refusal to back down.
"stop being like this," you blurt out, your chest tightening as the tension between you grows unbearable.
his eyes narrow, his voice sharp and cutting. "how am i being? huh? how the fuck am i being? exactly like you’ve been all week?"
the accusation leaves you reeling, and you frown, searching his face for the version of him you recognize—the one who wasn’t like this, who didn’t look at you like he was trying to break through you. "what are you talking about? i’ve been nothing but nice to you, and if it’s about the bonfire, i told you i was on my period—"
"yeah, and that’s fucking bullshit!" he shouts, his voice thunderous as he stares you down. "your flo app sent you a notification tuesday. you got your period wednesday."
the words hit like a slap, your eyes widening as your stomach drops. "you checked my phone?"
he shakes his head, scoffing bitterly. "i didn’t check your phone. i saw the notification pop up. and judging by the look on your face, i’m right."
he is right, and you hate that he knows it. you nod slowly, caught, but there’s a defiance in you that refuses to let him win this argument. "fine. i lied. whatever. i just—"
"no, no, not whatever," he snaps, his voice laced with frustration. "what happened that night? you don’t think i notice how weird you’ve been acting around me?"
his eyes burn into yours, hurt flashing behind the anger, and you’re standing so close you can feel the tension radiating off him. you’re paralyzed, unsure how to explain yourself, how to navigate the landmine you’ve stepped on.
"i’m not. i’m not being weird," you try weakly, your voice faltering. "nothing happened that night or any night."
"i heard you," he says, softer this time, but the edge in his tone is unmistakable. "i heard you on the phone sunday."
your mind races, scrambling to piece together what he might’ve overheard. the memory clicks into place—your conversation with hazel.
"and i don’t even need to ask if it was about me, do i?" he continues quietly, the bitterness in his voice replaced by something more vulnerable. "you promised someone you wouldn’t get close to me?"
you exhale, your shoulders slumping under the weight of his words. "rafe—"
"don’t fucking lie to me," he interrupts, his voice sharp, loud and unrelenting.
the heat of the argument builds again, the anger and frustration spilling over in waves. "stop cursing at me!" you scream, your voice cracking under the strain.
"stop pushing me away!" he roars back, his words echoing in the charged air. "why won’t you tell me what the fuck happened, huh? why are you acting so weird? why are you being so distant? and why won’t you just let me all the way in anymore?"
the silence that follows is deafening, the weight of his words settling over both of you like a suffocating blanket. he’s breathing hard, his chest rising and falling with the effort, and you’re frozen, your mind spinning.
his gaze locks with yours, raw and unguarded, and for the first time, the fight drains out of you. you don’t have an answer—not one that will satisfy him, not one that will make any of this better. you just stare back, feeling the enormity of everything unsaid pressing between you like a wall you can’t climb.
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chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap.  taglist — @rafeysworldim19 @my-name-is-baby @pogueprincesa  let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist & interact with post to remain tagged <3
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gingerbreadmonsters · 8 months ago
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tapsoc meets on fridays so i will unfortunately not be able to make it this week, but in the grand tradition of @dominimoonbeam let us all put our hands together and be as one in this thursday cafe writing time
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tariah23 · 10 months ago
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They’re calling my baby Gojo, Joseph Joestar now
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#rambling#the diff is that Gojo did apologize after being called out and face to face with his racism whilst Joseph literally befriended nazi’s 😵‍💫#and there was never any explanation from araki as to why he’d even wrote German soldiers in the shit in the first place like that was#absolutely jarring as hell to read for the very first time back when I’d gotten into jjba#well I watched it first but you know#like Joseph really thought fondly of Stroheim as this stand up guy even though he’s first of all#a Nazi#and second#the first scene that we were introduced to was of him sexually harassing a Woman#it’s……. 🗿#still to this day I wonder if araki had ever addressed this because lord#Joseph was just happy to get the help I guess but that felt so ooc for him from what he’d seen 🗣️#happily receiving the help of a Nazi and calling them a nice guy ahhh Joseph-#Gojo would never sjjsaj#my boo boo is a little prejudice but he’s working on it 🗣️#I still think that gege was trying to have a ‘racism is bad’ moment but again#the execution was pretty awkward and it felt out of place considering what had been currently going down in the manga#like the Racism was pretty random but it was swiftly put to a stop which I can appreciate even if it shouldn’t have been a point of#conversation to begin with since why couldn’t Miguel just exist as a character instead of him being the now token negro#who everyone sees as instantly more frighteningly powerful than everyone else like this didn’t even need to be brought up wllssldk#idk gege was trying to be ‘woke’ 😭. sorry nbs and wp ruined the term for me but like basically lol#gojo’s pretty intelligent and extremely gifted but he’s never been perfect lol#it’s just that idk why gege chose to talk about antiblackness in Japan out of nowhere about the only black character on screen hehhhhhh#like gege tried but lmfao#this is so funny to me#at least it didn’t drag on putting Miguel in an even more awkward situation than he already was and it was nipped in the bud quickly#Gojo isn’t one to dwell on things but when he’s face with new information and is taught something he does try to reflect and do better and#I’m sure he probably started to become even more aware of what he’s saying especially when talking to Miguel in an honest way since that’s#always been the kind of character who he was despite the horrors#the only ppl who’ve been kinda annoying about this are nbs and white people as always 🗿
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glamourscat · 2 months ago
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It was 3am and you were supposed to be asleep, but after dating TIM DRAKE for almost two years now, you picked up on his weird sleeping patterns. Tonight in particular your brain won’t rest. Not until you will receive his usual post patrol message.
2am, then 2:30, 3 and 3:30am rolls around and your lack of sleep was slowly turning into anxiety. Why hadn’t he texted yet? Did something happened? You try to make sense of the situation, but your brain is refusing from making you think logically. And just as you were about to message him, his message comes through.
“sorry for the late message. had to run in the shower immediately after i arrived home cause i was covered in blood” he texts 
“not mine btw” he follows up, knowing already to clarify. 
“good, good. im glad you’re ok love, i was beginning to worry. what are you doing now then?” you text back, eyes fluttering at the screen waiting for those three dots to appear. But they don’t. In their place a picture appears. 
Him. In front of the mirror. His face covered by his phone, one arm on the sink leaning a bit to flex his muscles and that towel dangerously low, enough to see his v-line and the outline of his hardness against it. Oh….
“damn, drop the towel? 🙂‍↕️🙏🏻”  “for scientific purposes obviously…” you add in two consecutive texts. 
You know it’s unlikely he would do it, but teasing him comes naturally to y— he did it. You cannot even continue your train of thoughts because suddenly his next picture comes through. The towel gone, his pretty cock— and that damn blushy pink tip— staring right back at ya, hard against his stomach. 
You can’t even begin to form a coherent thought  as another picture comes through. 
This time he is on his bed, on his knees— which are open to show the view between his legs— His hungry, leaking, cock is begging to be touched; while his face now—no longer covered by the phone— looks at his phone through the mirror reflection with a knowingly devilish grin. And your mind goes to one thought, and one only, how desperately you wish to have a dick. Because he looks so damn breedable right now. 
“cause I don’t feel like I did it right the first time ;)” he texts back within seconds from sending that second picture. 
“hey…? you still there lol?” he texts back after 10,  long minutes without a reply from you. Did he overstep? Was it too much…?  But then the outdoor camera alerts him of a movement outside his front door. 
“im outside. open me up.”  ________________________________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐
A/N: I wrote this at 5AM and had the sudden, horny, urge of writing for Tim. Nothing else to add lmao. Also this is not proofread :(
© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)
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trashytracktales · 2 months ago
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Adrenaline state of mind | FC⁴³
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𐙚 summary ──── After a long, eventful Sunday in São Paulo, Franco finds himself sharing an unexpected ride back to his hotel. What starts as a casual conversation about racing and dreams, slowly turns into something deeper, as the quiet intimacy of the night pulls them closer.
𐙚 pairing ──── Franco Colapinto x she/her reader
𐙚 rating ──── explicit
𐙚 category ──── F/M
𐙚 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, smut, explicit language, mentions of alcohol and drinking, mentions of racing incidents (Franco's crash in Brazil), swearing, suggestive/flirty behavior, unprotected shower sex (pull out game strong lol).
𐙚 word count ──── 4.6k
𐙚 date ──── Nov. 17, 2024
𐙚 a/n ──── Every single time I open my silly writing app I'm thinking, this is the day I'll go for pure smut & no build-up, and every single time I fail miserably 🤍
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
FRANCO KNOWS IT could've been much worse. So, he's done overthinking for the night. After a chaotic race that ended with a crash on Lap 43, all he wants is to go back to his hotel room and wash the day off.
The adrenaline is still there, giving him random rushes throughout his body every time he remembers his error. The rain made it all difficult, of course, but he can't blame the weather — that's what amateurs do.
The impact was jarring, even from the angles the cameras caught. But for Franco, being inside the car while it was happening — it scared him. And he's now too scared to admit that he's scared. He’s spent hours afterward in the paddock, walking the line between shaking it off and dwelling on it, and still, he can't help but coming back to the same feeling. Again and again.
It's past midnight now, and most of the lights in the paddock have dimmed. The Brazilian night is humid, shadows stretching out beneath a heavy, damp sky. The sounds of engines are quieted for once, replaced by the murmur of distant voices and the occasional clash of closing garages. There aren’t many people left — just a handful of team members gathering last equipment, and a few scattered mechanics.
And her.
He knows her only through Alex. She’s the friend he’s seen around a for a couple of races — in Italy first, then US, and now here. Formally, they met in the Williams garage, after qualifying in Monza. They didn't talk much, but enough for him to remember her name. And her smile.
She’s leaning against a barrier near the Red Bull hospitality area, shielded from the light shower while scrolling on her phone. The light that comes from the screen is softly reflecting on her face, Franco noticing the little frown between her eyebrows and how focused she is, for some reason. Her head is tipped forward, strands of hair falling loose around her face, and he finds a softness in her expression that catches his eye the second he gets closer.
“Thought you left already?” he says with a thick accent, but it sounds more like a question in the end.
She looks up, a little startled, but then her face lights up in surprise. “Oh, Franco. Hey. No, just… I'm actually trying to find a ride. Alex and Lily took off right after the race. Probably should’ve left with them,” she says with a small laugh. “Caught up with some familiar faces and I lost track of time,” she explains, moving her weight from one foot to the other.
There’s a faint tension behind his easygoing demeanor, but he holds her gaze with a calm confidence. “Want to come with? We’re at the same hotel, no? I was just heading there.”
“Are you sure?” she asks, her eyes widening in recognition. “That’d be nice, actually.”
“Of course.”
They start walking together, cutting through the raindrops, neither of them looking very bothered by it. The crisp smell of rain blends softly with her sweet, floral scent, making Franco's mind wander, and he realizes too late she just asked him something, only because the space between them went quiet for a bit.
“I’m sorry, come again?”
She puffs a little chucke out, “I asked how are you feeling, but just got my answer.”
“Oh, yeah,” Franco shrugs, “Could've been worse,” he finally says it out loud.
“Still. It looked pretty intense on the screens.”
His heart clenches, but tries to keep a neutral tone, “It was. Maybe a bit too much,” he laughs dryly. “Felt like it happened in slow motion, honestly.” Franco glances down at her, half-smiling. “But I survived.”
She hums softly, nudging him gently. “Guess that’s what you’re supposed to do, right? Crash, pick up the pieces, do it all again?”
He shrugs, “Pretty sure I’m supposed to try and not crash at all.”
He didn't even try to be funny, but she finds it hilarious the way Franco emphasizes the words, as if he pours his passion into each one of them. Her hands wrap around her own body as they walk, their footsteps the only sound echoing in the quiet paddock. He notices it immediately, taking off his Williams jacket and draping it over her shoulders.
“Cold?” asks Franco, smirking, without looking in her direction.
She blushes at the warmth that instantly wraps around her, the faint scent of his cologne somehow comforting. It's not intoxicating, or too strong. Just a slight trace of cardamom, followed by an unexpected freshness.
“Thanks,” she murmurs, wrapping the jacket close around her.
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THE RAIN IS still falling lightly when they get back to the hotel, the sound a steady rhythm against the roof of the car. None of them kept quiet the entire drive — they started off boring, agreeing that the capricious weather was a real pain in the ass throughout the weekend, but their conversation took off, flying like ping-pong balls from one topic to another.
Now, the tension between them is like a subtle current that neither is rushing to acknowledge, but it's buzzing just beneath the surface.
Who would've thought they have so much in common?
“You up for a drink?” asks Franco, taking even himself by surprise.
She has to think about it for a while — it can't be a good idea. He's had a long weekend and needs rest, and she desperately needs to dry up. However, her pulse starts racing just at the thought of being around him more.
Her lips lift in a small smile. “ Alright. Just one,” she agrees, raising a finger in the air to accentuate her determination.
One drink turns into two.
Then three, each sip bringing them closer, the conversations drifting from track tales to late-night jokes, then back to stories about his unexpected rookie season. She listens intently, her laughter genuine, her gaze warm and focused, like he’s the only one she’s interested in hearing from. There’s a depth to her that Franco can’t look away from, a curiosity and calmness that makes him feel understood; he didn't know he needed that until now.
“So,” says Franco after taking a sip of his fourth drink. “Can I ask you something?” his gaze is observant, yet gentle, as he decides to take the conversation to a more personal tone.
“Shoot,” she nods once, just starting on her third Negroni.
“You seem to know a lot about the world of racing, and the people involved in it. But you’re not part of it. Why?”
She smirks in his direction, “Yet. I mean, there is no school to prepare someone for the position I want, but I hope I’ll get to be in front of the monitors one day. To tell your engineer when is the optimal time to pit or what tires to use in order to gain competitive advantage, maybe, ” her voice is lost in reverie, like she's been dreaming about this for a long time.
He cocks an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by her answer, “You want to be a race strategist? That’s quite unique, no? Most people,” adds Franco, pointing at himself, “Dream of being racers.”
“I work better with my brain than my body. Plus, it's too late for me, even if I wanted to do something about it,” she says, a tint of nostalgia embracing her by the shoulders. “I've also seen Alex training before,” she continues, shaking her head while laughing, “Nope, thank you.”
“So then, brains over brawn, huh?”
“In my case, yes. Something like that,” she agrees, catching the little hint of interest in his eyes.
He studies her for a moment as if he tries to figure her out, because he knows there’s more to her than what meets the eye; their interaction so far proves that. It's a pleasant surprise for him, because it means there is a chance he'll get to see her around the paddock more frequently. And the thought makes him happier than it should.
Franco leans back, a playful smirk on his lips, “I see you, mystery girl. You seem to be full of surprises.”
“What about you?” she challenges him, copying his body language. “Who’s Franco when he’s not in the car?”
He grins, amused by her question. He takes one more sip of his drink, swirling the amber liquid around, stalling for a moment before he decides on his answer.
“Gonna sound cringey if I say I’m just a regular guy?”
“Oh, dear God,” she laughs, and Franco's eyes light up at the sound of it.
“I mean, I like the simple things, you know? Hanging out with my friends, music, enjoying good food… and drinks,” he continues in a suggestive manner.
“And drinks,” she repeats, nodding at his insinuation.
She looks back at him through her eyelashes, realizing for the first time since they bumped into each other tonight how late it must be. But, somehow, time seems to stay still when she catches him staring, her heartbeat fastening.
Franco’s gaze darkens slightly, the tension between them becoming suddenly palpable.
“And pretty girls,” he adds, lifting the glass and emptying it in one go, without breaking eye contact.
The warmth blooming in her chest catches her off guard, spreading from her neck to her cheeks as she shifts slightly, desperate to escape the intensity of his gaze. She tells herself it’s just the alcohol, of course. But then his lips quirk into a small, knowing smile, and her heart stumbles again in a way she can’t control it.
It’s not the alcohol, she realizes; it’s him.
It’s the way Franco looks at her like she’s something worth getting lost in, and she’s not sure she knows how to handle that.
He puts the glass back on the table and leans in slightly, as his eyes flicking from her lips to her eyes, and back again.
She looks at him, intently, feeling the warmth, and the way his breath hitches. It’s not just what she finds behind his gaze — it’s the reflection of her own desire, the undeniable pull that could easily make her lose it, if she's not careful.
And the realization is overwhelming.
“I think… we should call it a night?” she does not sound confident in the slightest.
“Probably a good idea,” replies Franco, studying her expression for a moment.
By the time they get to the elevator, the tension settles over them like a heavy blanket. He stands close, his hand brushing against hers as they walk inside, their gazes meeting in the reflective walls of the elevator the moment the doors close.
“Can you press 7 for me?” she asks, stepping back and waiting patiently.
He smirks, leaning over to do so, then he presses his own floor, just a few levels up.
The faint hum of the elevator is the only sound that surrounds them, but it barely registers over the rapid beating of her heart. Franco’s scent surrounds her from every direction, remembering the same unique smell from earlier.
His eyes catch hers in the mirrors again, and the look is almost unbearable, even through the reflection. They both know that, whatever this is, it's begging to snap. And it will. It's just a matter of when.
Every nerve in her body is dancing on the edge of patience — or lack thereof — and when he finally turns to look at her, slow and deliberate, she can't help but smile.
He takes it as a sign.
After that, Franco doesn’t think anymore — he just acts, leaning in, bringing his hand to her cheek as their lips meet in a soft, lingering kiss that deepens gradually, both of them feeling the weight of the night hanging heavily on their shoulders.
The kiss is experimental at first, like he asks a gentle question to which she answers to with a soft press of her lips on his. Then suddenly, they both start to feel the adrenaline of being in each other's space like that — so close and heated up, that it makes them wonder what contributed to the state they're in.
Aside from the alcohol, of course.
The elevator feels way smaller when Franco's free hand finds home on her waist, his fingers pushing the jacket away and then her blouse, gripping her warm flesh. The air gets heavier as they kiss, the oxygen becoming a secondary need for them, after tasting each other.
The soft ding of the doors opening goes almost unnoticed. But then she pulls back, stepping away, just enough to put some distance between them. Her lips are tingling with the aftertaste, mind so dizzy that her legs are currently made of jelly. She's about to step out when Franco's hands pulls her back to him by the edges of the jacket, their bodies colliding halfway.
So are their lips.
“That was me,” she manages, whispering against his mouth, her voice shaking slightly.
“Not tonight,” he murmurs, his voice low as he attaches his lips to hers again.
They stumble together, barely registering the way the doors close again to take them up to his floor. And by the time they reach his room, her back presses against the door as he fumbles for the key card, their mouths never straying far from each other.
Inside, the dim light of the room casts a golden hue, welcoming them as if it's not the first time.
“We walked through rain,” she reminds Franco, flushed as she catches sight of both their reflections in the mirror that’s hanged on the wall in the hallway. “Shouldn't we shower first?” she asks with a nervous laugh.
Franco smirks, his accent thick with the heat of the moment, “Ahora eso no me importa nada, bebita.” (I don't care about that at all now, baby.)
“No… vamos a ducharnos, por favor,” she cuts him off, “I feel dirty.” (No… let’s take a shower, please.)
Franco freezes for a split second, his eyes snapping to hers with a mix of surprise and something deeper, more intimate. He feels as though she has cast a spell on him, leaving Franco unable to resist doing everything in his power to fulfill her every desire, right here, and right now.
“¿Hablas español?” his voice is tinged with a boyish curiosity, as if her understanding of his language has just unlocked another layer between them.
It makes his head spin.
And that makes her smile.
“Un poquito,” the Spanish words roll off her tongue effortlessly, and he can’t help the slow grin spreading across his face.
“This just got even more dangerous,” he admits with a chuckle.
She lets out a breathy laugh as he steps back, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. Her pulse quickens at the sight of him, the lean definition of his torso illuminated under the soft light. Franco follows, finally ripping off her — his — jacket, then her blouse, revealing her smooth skin.
Each piece of clothing dropped on the floor is another barrier that’s falling away, leaving a messy trail to the bathroom.
His hands roam up and down her body, frantically, kissing slopply until they get inside. Franco lets the shower run, stepping back for a moment, his breath catching as his eyes take her in completely, as if he just realized they are completely naked — no barriers, no hesitations, no inhibitions, just them.
It overwhelms him. The way the light skims over her skin, highlighting every curve and line. It reminds him of the first time he jumped into an F1 car and how each of his senses was somehow heightened up to the max, his pulse quickened by the gravity of what he was about to experience. He was over the moon then, and he’s over the moon now, though this time around, everything feels infinitely more personal.
“You're staring,” she notices his lingering eyes, a shy smile tugging at her lips.
Instead of contradicting her, Franco reaches for her hand, guiding her toward the shower. The steamy air envelops their bodies, giving them a sense of comfort and safety. She steps in first, letting the water cascade over her. He follows closely, pausing just before the spray to watch her tilt her head back, the droplets tracing paths down her body.
Franco swallows hard, parts of him awakening at the sight of her, while the heat soaks into his skin almost as quickly as the feeling of her presence does. His hands find her waist instinctively, pulling her in while his chest presses into her back.
The steam cloaks them in a moment that feels completely detached from reality.
He brings his hand up to tuck her hair out of the way, then he leans down to press his lips on her neck. She closes her eyes for a short moment, admiring his tenderness, but something tells her that it's him who needs it more. She turns around in his arms, finally facing each other again, her heart picking up the pace once she sees his hooded eyes filled with nothing but want.
“Turn around,” she tells him, managing to get a confused expression in return.
However, he doesn't question her, complying, while she stands on her tiptoes to reach his hair. Her fingers start threading through it with care, massaging shampoo into a lather. At first, it’s easy — an act of intimacy that’s supposed to bring them closer. But then she notices the way Franco’s shoulders sag under her touch, the tension radiating from him like a silent cry for help.
Her movements slow down, “Franco…?” she says softly, stepping closer.
He exhales sharply, his head tilting forward, “It’s fucking stupid, I don’t know why it scared me so much,” he murmurs, the words raw and heavy.
She doesn’t ask him to elaborate — she doesn’t need to. Everyone saw the state his car was in after the crash; of course it scared him.
She remembers holding her breath, the way time seemed to stop until she saw him climb out unscathed.
“It’s not stupid,” she assures him, her hands sliding down to rest on his shoulder blades, placing a tiny kiss between them, “You’re okay, Franco. It’s all that matters.”
He turns around, slowly, the water falling over his face, his expression torn between vulnerability and something deeper, something he doesn’t know how to name. It's not shame, but it could be.
Her hands rise to cup his face, her thumbs brushing over his wet cheekbones. As a response to that, Franco leans down, his forehead resting against hers, their breaths blending in the warmth of the shower.
“How did I come across you…,” he whispers thoughtfully, feeling her hands sliding down his chest, slick with water and soap.
As her touch grounds him, something shifts between them in an instant.
The vulnerability melts into something else entirely — a need, urgent and impossible to ignore. When their lips touch again, her back presses against the cool tile behind her, the contrast making her gasp as his hands find her waist, drawing her closer. The water pools around them like it's simply forgotten, as the intimacy of the moment consumes them both to the point it washes away the fear and everything else in between, leaving behind only one thing — the present moment. The now.
“I know we're both un poquito tipsy and the alcohol would be such a pathetic excuse tomorrow morning, but you have to understand that I've wanted you since we were in the car, and I wasn't drunk then.”
His confession makes her heart tighten, smiling up at him.
“Okay,” she says, giggling while looping her arms around Franco's waist to bring him closer to where she wants him.
Franco chuckles, “Okay?”
“Okay,” she repeats, feeling his hands cupping her breasts, making her whimper as a result.
He pauses for a moment as he looks at her reacting to his touch. “Are you sure?”
She nods, arching more into his touch.
To cover her sounds, his lips attach back to her mouth, moving against hers with increasing fervor, the weight of the day dissolving into the way she kisses him back. Her hands slide up his chest, water-slicked skin beneath her fingertips, and she presses closer, desperate to erase the lingering fear she can still feel surrounding him.
“Franco…” she whispers his name against his lips, her voice shaky, but laced with want. “Let me help?”
He doesn't need words to reply, instead he's deciding on tilting her chin up to deepen the kiss. The other hand wanders all over her body, mapping out her curves that fit against him as though they were always meant to. Her head falls back, resting on the wall as his lips move from her mouth to her jaw, then lower, tracing a line along the column of her neck, discovering her sweet spots for the first time.
“Is this good?” he asks, reaching her thighs, brushing the pads of his fingers between them and pushing his hand further, gently opening her.
“Yes…” she agrees, moving her hips against his hand, forcing his fingers inside her.
Her moans sound like they are accompanied by a choir of drunken angels, encouraging him to find a pace, fucking his fingers in and out until he feels her squeeze him tightly.
Her arms are draping around his shoulders, pulling him towards her tightly.
“Franco,” the girl gasps his name into his wet skin before she lowers her head to watch his fingers slipping free of her.
“Joder. You're so sensitive, cariño,” he figures, widening his eyes at her.
She looks back at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly, “That turns you on?”
“Sí...” he responds gruffly, taking a small step back, his eyes not leaving her body, drinking in every curve.
“Do something about it,” she urges, raising one leg up on his thigh.
Franco gets the memo, lifting her in his arms. Her legs instinctively wrap around his waist, the motion pulling him even closer. For a moment, everything else disappears — the crash, the weight of the day, the entire world. There is only her, her touch, her breath, her whispered name for him that sends his heart racing faster than any race car ever could.
She grips his shoulders tightly as he hovers above her. His dark eyes lock onto hers with an intensity that leaves her breathless, and Franco can't be sure either of them are breathing as he guides his cock to her entrance, hissing at the contact before sliding inside.
“Ay, fuck,” he breaths hard, feeling her body welcome him in, warm and wet.
She can't help but moan at how full she feels once he's all in.
Franco lets out another low grunt, his body responding to hers. He's struggling to hold back, to control the need that's consuming him. But soon, he realizes he can't resist the feeling of being inside her. So, he starts moving, slow at first.
“Feeling you so thight around me,” he mutters against her skin, “Fuck, there you go, cariño,” he ends up proppting a hand on the wall next to her head, to steady himself when he feels her fucking back against him.
“Franco, please,” she whimpers, digging her fingernails into his shoulders, breathing heavily at the sweet stretch.
Franco lets out a shaky breath, sliding all the way inside her, again and again, until his brain turns into mush. “You're so good, bebé. So good, unbelievable,” he rambles, his thrusts so slow and gentle, that make her see little white dots all around.
His mouth finds hers again, kissing her intently while fucking her so painfully slowly. It bothers her, but she knows it's about him right now; she doesn’t want him to rush. Franco's had enough of that today; enough speed, enough chaos. He doesn’t need to race toward the finish this time.
If he needs it slow, then she can take him that way.
She cups his face in her palms, forcing his eyes back on her — such a rookie mistake. The sight of him looking through wet eyelashes and glossy lips makes her pussy clench involuntarily around his cock, aggravating the need for him, causing a string of moans out of her mouth.
“Fran…” she loses her head, squeezing her eyes closed and rocking her hips harder against the wall to meet Franco halfway.
The way she molds to his rhythm, grounding him in the here and now, sends Franco to a completely different universe, where everything is pleasure. He needs it. Not to escape, but to rebuild himself.
They move together, each of his thrusts a reminder that not everything has to be fast to be meaningful, or to take your breath away — she's never been this close to coming from such a slow fuck before. His cock is hard and demanding inside her, though, throbbing against her walls the second he decides to pull all the way out, so he can fuck back in, finally setting a more alert pace.
“So good for me, aren't you? Letting me have my way like this?” asks Franco, his tone high and breathless. “Even though it's not how you like it, no?”
He's so close to the edge, too. She can sense it in the way his breaths are ragged and erratic.
“Talk to me, bébé. What do you want?”
“Mhm… more,” she manages, her body so close to collapsing in his arms.
That's all Franco needs to hear. His control snaps, the need and the pressure taking over as he lets out a low moan, “Sí, cariño... I've got you.”
He grabs her hips firmly, his fingers leaving indents on her skin as he slams into her harder, the feeling leaving her gasping for air. Franco smiles, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his breath hot against her wet skin.
“God, Franco. Don't—yes, don't stop.”
“So tight, and pretty, and hot, and—fuck, you're not real, bébé,” he's muttering in between deep thrusts, his words half-incoherent as he moves inside her, giving in to the primal lust, the pleasure almost too much to bear.
He can hear how wet she is, knowing it's just a matter of time until she finally lets go. So, he rises his head slightly, whispering sweet nothings in her ear, his voice raw and rough.
Franco's grip on her hips tightens, and it's almost painful, but then he suddenly stops, his body stilling inside her, the pleasure receding just slightly as he feels her come all over his throbbing length.
It takes everything in him to stop himself from following her, thrusting a couple more times to prolong her high. Then, he pulls out completely, guiding his cock between their bodies and pressing into her until his cum starts leaking onto her stomach. For a few seconds, it leaves a hot, dense trail before the water washes it away.
“Oh, my…” she breaths heavily, struggling to find her words.
As Franco finally releases his hold on her thighs, her legs falter beneath her, the strength utterly sapped from them. The slippery tile meets her feet, so unsteady, her body still trembling from the intensity her orgasm. Instinctively, her hands grip his arm, clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping her from falling.
“Tranquila, bebita. ¿Estás bien?” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing, while turning the water off. (Easy, baby. Are you okay?)
She lets out a soft, shaky laugh. “Sí.”
Franco chuckles softly, his grip on her tightening slightly.
For some reason, he feels the need to hold her, as though he’s afraid she might slip away — not in the shower, but from him.
“Have you ever been to Argentina?”
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MASTERLIST
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Thank you for reading!
None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎
© trashy track tales, 2024
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pboogerswbb · 21 days ago
Text
SO IT GOES - chapter 5
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Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: language, sexual themes and language, drinking, not my best work lol Wordcount: 6.6K A/C: so have we come up with a shipname for zari and paige yet?? anyways ty all for the support and sooo much love on the last part - especially those who remained patient for a new part! i've got a LOT of stuff going on rn so please be understanding if parts take a little longer to come out! i wanna write badly but i gotta prioritise real life unless y'all wanna start paying me lol anyways, this should be a rewarding chapter to some of y'all!! anyways go read!!
-
Before London
“The skirt,” my childhood friend Olivia’s voice filters through the speaker, my phone set up on my bed as I try on different outfits for the evening on facetime. 
I stare into my reflection, the black miniskirt not leaving much to imagination, my legs fully on display. I sigh, unsure whether it would be too much for the night.
“I don’t know Liv, the dress is a little less revealing though,” I complain, turning around and seeing the way the tight skirt hugs my curves.
“Exactly why you should wear the skirt instead.”
I laugh, shaking my head at her face on my phone screen. “I’m not going there to shag someone. It’s going to be mostly the team anyway.”
“Izzie, you are single now. Act like it. Have you even hooked up with anyone since…?”
I scoff. “Do you think I have time for anything like that?”
“Maybe if you schedule it in…” Olivia jokes, making my mouth fall open feeling offended.
“Hey! I’m perfectly happy being single right now. Love is the last thing I should be thinking about.”
“Well, I still think you should wear the skirt,” the girl answers, making me groan.
“Fine, okay gotta go. I’ll text you!” I wave bye, before hanging up, realising my ride must have arrived. One more glance in the mirror and I decide it will do - the black mini skirt and a matching black cowl neck top, the back draped low to reveal the smooth skin of my back along my spine. The outfit was simple yet sexy, the stacked chunky golden jewelry dressing the look up. I’ve pinned my hair up in a bun, curls falling out as if by accident - in reality the hairdo had taken over 45 minutes to accomplish.
“Good enough,” I murmur to myself, putting on my boots and quickly hurrying out the door. Just like we had agreed, Trey is waiting in an Uber, waving me over. He had sent me a message earlier asking if we could ride together. Of course I had said yes out of politeness. Though if I’m honest, I always felt a little uneasy around him.
“Hey!” I smile politely climbing into the backseat with a potted orchid in my hands.
Trey meets my smile with an even wider one, eyeing me up and down as I buckle my seatbelt.
“Housewarming present?” He asks, pointing to the potted flower. I shrug and nod.
“I didn’t really know what to get them,” I admit, crossing my legs and eyeing the purple and white flower.
“Lala’s gonna love that,” Trey nods, his eyes still locked on me and my outfit. “You look…” he goes silent, and from my peripheral vision I see the man shaking his head. “Really good.”
“Oh, thanks,” I mumble, brushing it off lightheartedly as I grab my phone which is frantically buzzing.
Paige  When are u coming? I’m already here and idk anyone Oh nvm Lou and Chris are here So… when u coming???
I feel my stomach doing flips as I read the texts, my mind still swirling with how she’d made me breakfast just earlier this morning. How my couch still smells just like her even hours later. I wasn’t sure what it was, but there was something comforting about her presence. The way she worked to make me laugh, to get me to relax. Like she wanted to take care of me.
Just left so I should be there soon x
Izzie Iz Help We’re drinking wine
Time to be a big girl and learn Paige
But I don’t wanna 🙁 Fine Bc you said so
Good girl
Freaky 😏
Paige
Sorry I pregamed
Of course you did I’ll be there soon x
Giggling at my phone, I place it on my lap, not wanting to be rude towards the man sitting next to me. Trey’s eyes are locked on me, and I can feel myself growing uneasy, especially when I realise I have nothing to talk to him about other than work.
”You excited for tonight?” He asks.
”Yeah, it’s going to be nice to see everyone out of work,” I answer, keeping my composure despite feeling awkward, begging he doesn’t pick up on it. I had become quite good at that (or Trey was more ignorant than I realised).
”Oh yeah, you haven’t really had the chance to do that yet huh?” He asks, his deep voice gravelly.
“Not really no.”
“Well, if you ever get lonely, you can always call me up Zari,” Trey says, reaching over and suddenly placing his hand on mine resting on my lap. I keep still as long as I can before pulling it away, pretending I just needed that specific hand to hold the pot in my lap now.
“Uh, yeah that’s really sweet of you. Thank you,” I chuckle awkwardly. “Paige lives right upstairs actually so I’ve been spending some time with her.”
Trey is taken aback, his brows rising. “Paige?”
“Yeah we’re friends,” I smile. Trey’s dark brown eyes keep watching me, clearly thinking about something till he shrugs and looks away. 
The drive is quiet, full of awkward comments by the man clearly eager to make conversation. Normally I was better than this at the small talk that the Americans seemed to love so much - but not today. I could feel my stomach twisting with nerves and butterflies in anticipation for the evening. I wasn’t entirely sure why. But all I knew I was eager to see Paige - she had a way of grounding me.
We finally get to the building, awkwardly accompanying each other in the elevator much like my first day working for the Wings. I’m the one to ring the doorbell, Trey standing close behind me.
“Hey pretty girl!” Lala opens the door with a warm smile. “Oh hey Trey, come in come in!”
She steps aside, letting both of us in. The hallway is long and the ceilings are high, the space modern but filled with gorgeous furniture bringing warmth into the space. 
“Wow, beautiful,” I gasp looking around.
“Issa work in process,” Lala laughs. I catch a glimpse into the open concept kitchen/living room, filled with people who had arrived on time unlike me and Trey (our Uber had taken a “shortcut”, which ended up taking 15 minutes longer than the normal drive.) I could tell alcohol was already flowing from the loud laughs echoing around the apartment.
“Oh, here you go!” I smile, handing Lala the orchid. “I wasn’t sure what you two wanted so I hope that’s okay.”
Lala gasps, admiring the plant. “No, this is gorg! And so are you, look at that skirt girl.”
I blush a little as she spins me around, admiring my outfit. 
“Is it too short?” I ask but Lala looks at me with raised brows. It’s then I notice her skirt is just as short, if not shorter. “Nevermind!”
The woman laughs, wrapping an arm around my waist and bringing me further into the apartment. My eyes immediately land on Paige next to Arike, both taking up half of the couch as if partaking in the Olympics of manspreading. Their laughs rise above the chatter of the crowd, making them impossible to miss. Even if subconsciously I had been looking for the blonde the second I stepped in.
“Yeah… they’re already drunk, thought you should know,” Lala nods towards the two.
“I heard, Paige was texting me already.”
The woman turns to me grinning a little. “Of course she was.” I’m not exactly sure what it means but don’t get the opportunity to ask before I hear a loud screech interrupting the both of us.
“Izzie!!” Paige gasps, her voice soaring above the noise. She climbs off the couch, rushing to me through the crowd. To my surprise the blonde wraps her arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug. I can’t help the smile that spreads to my face. It comes naturally, when my arms wrap around her neck, pulling her in. Like since our first hug this morning, physical closeness felt easy. She smells like deodorant, sandalwood and a hint of alcohol. Breaking the hug, I eye her fit up and down - the olive cuban collar shirt and shorts in a matching pattern, two silver chains dangling on her neck, hair in a slicked back bun. 
All while I’ve been admiring Paige’s outfit, her gaze has been roaming across my body, taking me in. I notice a hint of red burning on her cheeks when her blue eyes land on my skirt. Suddenly I have the strongest need for a drink. Our stares meet, and for a fleeting moment I think she’s about to say something. But before she can, Arike is pulling me into a friendly hug.
“So glad you came, Zari! Whatchu wanna drink?” 
I feel flustered, barely hearing her. Clearing my throat, I finally answer, feeling the blonde’s eyes boring into me.
“White wine please?”
Lala laughs, shaking her head and grabbing my shoulders. “You’re gonna need something stronger to keep up with us baby.”
I laugh. “Okay, tequila soda then?”
“Attagirl, lime?”
“Yes please,” I nod, watching Lala and Arike head towards the kitchen island covered in bottles of booze and glasses, leaving me alone with Paige. 
For the first time in weeks, there’s a sense of awkwardness between us, neither of us knowing what to say. I wanted to tell her she looks good, that the olive against her skin that had grown more tan in Dallas made her glow in a way I had never seen before. But something in my throat doesn’t allow the words to come out. Thankfully the booze in Paige’s system makes her miss the weird tension completely.
“You look,” she starts, stepping closer to me, arm brushing against mine. She shakes her head, looking me up and down which is enough to make my ears burn. “Never seen you look like this before.”
I tilt my head, meeting her blue eyes challengingly. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
To my enjoyment, this makes her flustered, her cheeks bright pink now.
“You know it is ma,” she grins.
“You and that bloody nickname,” I shake my head, rolling my eyes at the blonde, when Lala and Arike return to us with my drink.
“You guys wanna play beer pong?” Arike asks as I grab the glass from Lala.
“What is this, a frat house?” Paige laughs, making Lala groan.
“Trust, it wasn’t my choice.”
-
After a long debate between me, Izzie, Arike and Lala on who should be teaming up, we decided that the only fair combination was me with Lala, while Arike and Izzie played against us - the girls claiming it wouldn’t be right for the two hoopers to play beer pong against non-athletes. Honestly, I barely had listened to the conversation at all. Because the way Izzie looks tonight has me grasping the drink in my hand so tight my knuckles were beginning to turn white. My mind is travelling to the filthiest places at the thought of what is underneath the hemline of her skirt, her glowy legs making me weak in the knees. Even worse was the low, scooped back of her shirt, her spine’s movement visible as she walked around the room. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, I couldn’t even stop the trembling of my hands. I needed to get more drinks in me quickly.
It seemed like the dark haired girl had the same idea, downing her first tequila soda in a matter of minutes as we set up the game. The tension often visible on her face only to me was slowly beginning to melt away.
“We’re about to win aight?” I tell Lala next to me, which makes Izzie let out a loud scoff.
“You really think I’ll let you win Bueckers?” The dark haired girl asks, challenging me.
“Yo, who’s the athlete here,” I respond, an arrogant grin on my face but she won’t back down, catlike eyes staring me down at the opposite end of the table.
“You’re enormously underestimating my desire to win.”
“Oh yeah?”
Izzie nods. “Yes Paige.”
And she’s right. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol already flowing in my system, or the way Izara looks, her green eyes locked on me everytime I bounce the ball off the table but my aim is off. And somehow she keeps aiming perfectly, a sly grin and her sharp eyes glimmering as she makes me drink one cup of beer after another, after another until Lala is the one to call it off, admitting defeat gracefully.
Arike and Izara hug, celebrating their win, but I can’t even be mad - the way Izzie’s mouth is stretched into a wide smile, the way she was letting go off her disciplined, hard exterior as a result of the alcohol was such a joy to watch I could’ve soaked in it forever.
“I told you! I told you!” Iz laughs, coming over to me and getting up in my face. But all I’m doing is smirking, my hand snaking around her waist and pulling her close without thinking about it much. But she doesn’t pull away either, even when our fronts nearly press together, heat radiating between us. The party has turned loud, drunk people bumping into each other, yelling over the music, but all I see is the dark haired girl in front of me, and the blush on her cheeks.
“You were cheating Iz,” I tell her, heavy eyes gazing down at the girl.
“How?” She asks, stunned.
I shrug. “I dunno.” I did know. It was that damn outfit. It took every ounce of self-discipline I had not to drag her to the bathroom and pull that skirt up. How was I expected to aim while my thoughts were running out of control.
“Here you areeeee!” Satou’s voice interrupts the moment, making me stumble backwards and letting go of the girl in my arms realising how close I’d been to losing control and leaning down to kiss her.
Satou hugs both me and Iz, looking around for the couple of the hour who have suddenly disappeared. “Where the lovebirds at?” She asks, holding a wrapped present in her hands. I chuckle shrugging but Zari lets out a giggle.
“Last I saw them they were getting pretty cosy,” she laughs, leaning into my side whether on purpose or on accident I’m not sure. But it leaves my skin tingling.
“No one’s surprised,” Satou laughs, waving her friend over. “Savannah, this is Paige and… Izara, right?” 
“She prefers Zari,” I correct before Iz can even say a word. From my peripheral vision I see her head snap to me, eyes growing softer as they land on me. I could tell she was happy with me, which made me want to get on my knees and beg for her to let me serve her forever. Okay, no, let me get a grip.
“Whassup,” I nod at Savannah, who smiles at both me and Izzie. Suddenly, the girl beside me stumbles as someone bumps into her, crashing straight into me.
“Woah,” I grab a hold of her, my hand naturally landing on the small of her back. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she giggles, watching me and her nose scrunching as her face twists into a laugh. The sparkling eyeshadow covering her eyelids makes her shine even more, curled strands falling onto her face out of the updo her long, dark hair is in. She looks so beautiful I feel breathless, even more so up close.
“You want a drink ma? I could use one,” I ask, staring into the green of her eyes, feeling the alcohol too much to realise that our faces are only inches away at this point.
She rolls her eyes. “Paige, I hate that nickname.”
“Do you want a drink or not woman?” I ask annoyed, teasing her. But her face hardens, and her eyes sharpen.
“Excuse me?”
Her tone is hard and serious, making my lower abdomen flip. As inappropriate as it feels, I’m exceptionally turned on.
I swallow, biting my lower lip. “Uh…”
“Woman?” She interrupts me, furrowing her brows. I can feel heat pooling between my legs, making my mind spin.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, my voice coming out shaky from how flustered my thoughts had turned me.
“What’s that?” She asks, brows rising as she watches my mouth expectantly.
“I’m sorry Izzie,” I say louder, my chest heaving now. To my surprise, I notice her breathing is growing heavy too.
“Mhm, that’s better,” she nods, eyes still on my mouth as I bite down on my lower lip. And for just a second, as my eyes flicker from her eyes to her glossed lips, I consider leaning in and pressing a kiss on them, mind jumping to how she might taste. Like heaven I bet.
“So a drink then?” Iz asks, interrupting my spinning thoughts. 
“Oh right, yeah,” I compose myself, “we’ll be right back.”
We leave Satou and Savannah alone, my hand on the small of Izara’s back guiding her through the people to the kitchen island.
“What do we want to drink?” The girl asks, looking at the row of bottles lining the counter. I lean in even closer to her side, letting my hand drag from her back to around her waist. The girl’s breath hitches audibly, yet she doesn’t pull back.
“Shots! Now!” Arike suddenly interrupts us, Lala following close behind her.
“Bro where you been?” I ask, watching as she begins to pour shots of vodka for all four of us. Her and Lala exchange a look that tells me I don’t want to know the answer to my question.
“Nevermind,” I mumble, making Izzie giggle, the alcohol finally loosening her up.
“No, I really shouldn’t,” the dark haired girl shakes her head, pushing the shot away.
“Oh c’mooonnn!!” I groan, pushing it back.
“Yeah Zari, c’mon,” Rike complains.
I pick up my own shot glass, and Izara’s as well, bringing it to her lips. She’s considering, meeting my gaze, until her pretty lips open and I tip the glass, pouring the shot into her mouth as I throw my head back, swallowing mine. 
“Holy shit,” I cough, making everyone around me laugh, looking at the dark haired girl whose face doesn’t even twitch from the alcohol. Damn.
“And another oneeee,” Arike laughs, now pouring tequila into the glasses, clearly trying to get us two drunk. I glare at her, picking up on what she was up to. But Rike merely winks at me, handing us salt and lemon slices.
“Oh boy,” Izara chuckles, eyeing the alcohol. I follow closely as her tongue darts out to lick her wrist, my mind spinning with dirty thoughts involving that tongue between my le-
“Lemon!” The girl yelps, squeezing her eyes shut having taken the shot. I quickly grab the slice from the counter, holding Izzie’s face still by her chin as I place the wedge between her lips. Her teeth bite into it, sucking on the bitter fruit to get rid of the taste in her mouth.
Her dark lashes flutter open, and she pulls away with a grin. “Your turn.”
I scratch the back of my neck, feeling my tongue already growing numb from the alcohol, my speech certainly beginning to slur soon.
“Yo Zari, you should let Paige lick the salt from your wrist,” Arike yells from the opposite side of the counter, earning a slap on the shoulder from Lala.
“Huh?” Izara laughs, turning to the pair.
“Ignore her, God knows I do,” Lala rolls her eyes.
Flustered, I fumble with the salt shaker, licking it off my hand and downing the shot of tequila, feeling the burn in my throat making me want to cough. To my surprise, Iz brings the slice of lemon to my lips, the bitter taste putting an end to the burn.
I can feel the alcohol hitting, making my cheeks burn - or maybe it’s the way the dark haired girl is looking at me, her eyes even more catlike than normal, sparkling in the dimmed lighting. Either way I can feel my brain and mouth beginning to slow down, yet my words and actions seem simultaneously sped up, like I couldn’t think them through before doing.
“I’mma admit, I’m drunk as fuck,” I laugh, making Izara throw her head back and let out a bright chuckle, grabbing onto my shoulder as she does. Fuck she looks hotter than usual, the hard, poised exterior breaking, letting me catch little glimpses into her internal life, reminiscent of the softness on her face when she fell asleep on me.
“Let’s run away before Arike makes us take more shots,” she whispers and simultaneously somehow screams, grabbing my arm and dragging me down behind the island, as if Arike and Lala weren’t standing right on the other side, watching the two of us. Still I let her, crouching behind it and letting her drag me wherever she wants to. 
-
I love Dallas! Or maybe I should reconsider when I’m sober, but now that the shots and drinks had been flowing, I had decided I loved Dallas for certain. Paige and I have been hiding behind a corner, by the entrance to Arike’s and Lala’s bedroom, for the past hour, giggling and talking. I’ve realised Paige might be one of my favourite people I’ve ever met, the strain in my abs a reminder of how easily she made me laugh. How effortless it was to spend time with her, like I didn’t have to put up any exterior or front. I felt comfortable being myself with her. So naturally, in my drunken state, the words slip from my lips easily.
“You’re like, my favourite person right now,” I giggle, leaning my back against the cool wall and watching upwards at her. Paige’s eyes are heavy and red as a result of the alcohol, hair somehow still neatly slicked back, however a button on her chest left unbuttoned, displaying that she definitely wasn’t wearing a bra under the shirt.
“Yeah?” Paige asks, a proud smirk on her face. She’s standing in front of me, arms crossed.
“Don’t let it get into your head darling,” I scoff, pushing her off by her abdomen, feeling the muscles there tighten when my fingertips graze her through the shirt. For whatever reason I’d been wanting her to touch me all night, enjoying the times she wrapped her arm around my waist, or guided me through a crowd. It felt good to be touched, so I didn’t worry about what it meant further. I just wanted her hands on me. Like you’d want to hug a friend after remembering how much you love them.
“Why do you get to have all these nicknames but I don’t get to call you ma?” She asks, stumbling back but returning to her prior position, if not a little closer. I place my hands on her waist, having to tilt my head to look at her - that’s how close she is.
“Why do you want to call me ma?”
“Because,” she groans, looking for something to say. “Ion know it suits you.”
“Why?” I laugh.
“Because you’re sexy.”
I’m drunk. And I know it’s because I’m drunk. It has to be. But I can feel myself begin to throb between my legs when Paige says those words, when her teeth bite onto her bottom lip, when she looks me up and down. Suddenly I’m painfully aware of the swirling in my lower abdomen, the heat spreading straight to my core.
The blonde rubs the bridge of her nose. “Ahh shit Iz, I didn’t mean it like that. My bad. You just look really damn good. In like a friend wa-”
“You think I look sexy?”
It’s like my mouth and brain aren’t working together, the words just forming and leaving my lips without a single thought or action to stop them. For some reason it comes out almost whiny. Like I want her opinion, her reassurance.
Paige looks surprised, clenching her jaw before kissing her teeth and licking her lips, hands twitching as if for something to touch.
“I meannn… you really gotta ask that?” She says hoarsely, stepping closer and placing her hands on my hips. It feels good, but I want more, pushing my body off the wall and pressing my front against her. The sparks are immediate, and I nearly groan at the contact. 
“You didn’t answer,” I demand, staring into the blues of her eyes. Only then I realise how blue they really are, like a turquoise ocean against a sandy beach, inviting, beautiful. My heart begins to pound, even more so when I feel Paige’s hands move from my waist, downwards to my hips, to the small of my back, and finally to my ass. 
“Perfect,” she coos.
The breath she lets out is heavy, loud, but I barely register, my mouth parting a little. To say the chills travelling through my body are overwhelming would be an understatement, my mind suddenly spinning with realisation of something I’d been feeling for a while, yet only recognised now.
“Is this okay?” Paige asks, making me nod my head. When I do so I feel the blonde’s hands squeeze just a little, forcing a breathy whimper to spill from my lips. Overcome with the urge to be even closer to her, I wrap my arms around the girl’s broad shoulders and lean my head into the crook of her neck, my body slotting against hers just right. It feels euphoric.
 “Baby I would leave too if I was Paige, that poor girl got to deal with you on a daily basis alr-”
Suddenly Lala’s voice grows louder as she turns the corner, Arike on her tail. 
“Oh, sorry y’all,” the woman gasps seeing us embracing, Paige’s hands resting on my ass. Embarrassed, I pull away, nearly pushing the blonde off of me.
“Uh, I need a drink,” I murmur, my thoughts moving so quickly they make no sense, not even entirely sure what just happened in a drunken hue.
“Yoooo,” I hear Arike snickering, and Lala shutting her up.
Paige follows close behind me all the way back to the kitchen island, people around the apartment now notably drunker, louder, stumbling into each other. “You aight?” 
“Yeah, yes. I am,” I murmur, pouring whatever booze there was in reach into a glass and downing it, attempting to calm the running thoughts trying to make sense of all of this.
“You sure ma?”
Fuck. The nickname. Suddenly it’s making my core burn, and I feel arousal pooling between my legs almost uncomfortably. Maybe that nickname wasn’t so bad. Maybe it got me so hot and bothered I could barely think. Maybe I wanted her to call me that and only that for the rest of my life.
“Mm, I’m sure,” I mumble, turning to look at the tall blonde beside me, the way some of the buttons on her shirt have come undone, the way she’s eyeing me back, her veiny hands wrapping around a bottle as she pours herself another drink, the chains on her neck, dangling into her shirt. It’s then when I realise - I want to fuck Paige Bueckers.
“Here you are, Paige! Have you seen Satou?” Savannah interrupts us, but my eyes are still stuck on the blonde next to me.
“No, I got no idea where she is sorry.”
“What about your girlfriend, she seen her?”
Suddenly my eyes snap from Paige to the stranger leaning over the island, blinking stupidly.
“I’m not her girlfriend,” I say sternly, my tone harder than it needs to be. I could feel myself getting overwhelmed.
“Wh- oh shit, I’m sorry. You two just seem like a coup-”
“We’re not together,” Paige interrupts her, clearly picking up on my stress levels rising. I feel the room spinning, my breathing growing shallow, my cheeks burning up.
Lala, who had been watching me and the blonde all night, swiftly walks over and grabs me by the waist. “Come with me baby,” she coos, her voice caring and affectionate as she walks me into the couple’s bedroom, closing the door behind us, separating me from everything causing the engulfing emotions.
“Sit down Zari, I’ll get you some water.”
I do as the older woman says, feeling embarrassed, just praying to any God that I didn’t cause a scene. I could feel my head spinning still, the effect from the alcohol still flowing in my bloodstream.
Lala returns and hands me a glass. I chug it down, handing it back to the woman and staring at the floor.
“Are you alright?” Lala asks, sitting next to me and following me closely. I rub my forehead, shrugging.
“I’m sorry, I think I’m more drunk than I realised,” I murmur but the woman shakes your head.
“I think it’s more than that, Zari.”
I look at her, a knowing expression on the woman’s face.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s Paige isn’t it, you like her?”
I sigh, not even sure how to answer that question. Not sure at all what the feelings swirling inside me meant. 
“I… I just think I’m drunk-”
“She likes you,” Lala interrupts me. I take her words in, blinking slowly as I do. Paige likes me?
“How do you know?” I ask in a moment of vulnerability. Something about the older woman made me feel safe.
Lala chuckles, shaking her head. “I think everybody knows baby.”
Oh.
I’m speechless for once, staring at the wall, recounting every interaction I had ever had with the blonde girl. My friend. Could she really like me? Worse of all, have I led her on?
“Look, just be careful alright. Don’t give her the wrong idea if… you know, you don’t feel the same,” Lala rubs my shoulders, like reading my thoughts. It all confused me, my feelings most of all - and deep deep down I wasn’t sure about what I felt, my mind an entangled, confusing pile of perplexity.
-
“Hey you alright?” Paige murmurs to me, pressing into my back as I’m pouring myself more water in the kitchen after my little breather. My body is covered in chills once more by her proximity - which must be a sign I like her at least a little bit. Or maybe I’m just needy for someone to touch me. I was drunk after all, and it had been a while. But then again, these chills always occurred when the blonde’s hands were on me, sometimes even when they were not. Just a simple look was enough.
“Yeah, I felt a little dizzy. Feel better now though,” I murmur, finishing another glass of water.
Paige hesitates, chewing on her cheek, clearly in her head as I turn around and notice her expression. “I didn’t do too much ri-”
“Here you are!! I love this song, come dance!” A drunk Satou interrupts the moment, dragging both me and the blonde into the living room, not giving us much choice in the matter. 
“Song’s almost over,” Paige chuckles, glancing at me as I shrug but follow the two hoopers.
“Who cares, I love it!” Satou laughs. We’re surrounded by a few others, dancing to the Drake song echoing around the apartment. As the beat fades out, I hear the soft melody of What You Heard by Sonder take over.
“Nooo, boo, I’mma go ask for more Drake,” Satou murmurs, walking off, leaving me and Paige alone.
Our gazes meet and we chuckle at the same time at the girl who just left, clearly even drunker than me and Paige.
“Fuck your mind up, waste time, I'm prone to that, do it all the time, Keep your guard up or wait in line”
“This song is actually fire,” Paige grins and I nod.
“It is.”
I take a dip in her blue eyes, finding comfort in them as the song plays, not at all shocked when Paige steps closer and grabs a hold of my waist, swaying with me. The alcohol is still pumping through my veins, making it easy to wrap my arms around her neck without thinking what it might mean. It felt good to be close to her, so what?
“What's the word? Tell me what you've heard, Don't tell me what to do, just tell me when it hurts.”
Paige sings along to the lyrics, the tiniest bit off-key yet something about it makes me grow flustered quickly, mind flashing with images of her doing exactly what the lyrics describe.
“What's the word? Tell me what you've heard, Don't tell me what to do, just tell me when it hurts, When I get you to myself, it's murder,” I sing back to Paige, our eyes meeting. Her eyelids are heavy from the drinks, and there’s a hint of a smirk on her face. Her silver chains sparkle in the dim lighting, but all I’m looking at is the way she’s staring me down.
Something about the alcohol makes me bold, pressing my body closer to hers, my fingernails scratching into the back of her neck gently, watching as her eyes nearly flutter shut at the contact.
“You be wildin', I be wildin', too, But not like you, shit, maybe a little like you, Maybe we ain't so different, maybe I be trippin', too,” we sing to each other, the blonde’s thumbs rubbing circles on my hips as we dance together. I feel the burn from earlier spread to my core once more, making it hard to think clearly. 
Our faces are inching closer, to the point where I can feel her hot breath on my skin. My heart begins to pound and it becomes difficult to keep my eyes open. Paige licks her lips, leaning downwards. For a moment I think she’s about to kiss me, the distance between us growing smaller and smaller - until she ghosts my lips, turning her face, mouth hovering right over my ear, warm breath tickling against my skin.
“If he was a winner, Girl, you wouldn't have to worry 'bout a damn thing, If I was up in it, shit, I bet a pound that I'd put it down, Make you forget that you was ever with him,” she murmurs into my ear with the lyrics of the song, left hand staying on my hip, right hand coming up to the back of my head to hold it still as we keep swaying to the melody.
I feel flustered, my cheeks growing hotter and my core aching for something. No, not for something - for Paige.
“And I hate talking 'bout my stroke game, But girl, I'm giving you the whole thing,” she murmurs with a deep, hoarse voice, my body tingling and on fire at the same time. 
Turning my face, my nose brushes into the blonde’s, but I’m too scared to open my eyes, too scared that if I do I’ll start thinking again, realising how senseless this entire situation is.
Paige’s nose nuzzles mine, and I can hear the shallowness of her breathing, her hand at the back of my head maneuvering me in a way so our lips are hovering over each other. I feel like I might pass out, my heart trying to race out of my chest at this point.
“Paige, Zari, I finally found herrrr!” Satou shouts over the crowd, making both of us pull away. My eyes shoot open and I see the girl holding her friend Savannah.
“Oh! Good!” I smile awkwardly, Paige’s hands still on me. 
“Jesus…” The blonde murmurs to herself, looking around clearly frustrated by the unwelcome interruption. “You wanna go to the balcony for, uh, some fresh air?”
“Yeah,” I nod, without thinking. I let the tall girl walk me onto the balcony, closing the door behind us.
Fresh air it is not, the weather a hot and humid warning for the approaching scorching Dallas summer. But it still feels right to be alone with Paige, under the dark Texas sky. I glance upwards, looking at the stars to avoid meeting the blonde’s stare.
“So damn hot,” Paige groans, unbuttoning her shirt even more to get more airflow, though I couldn’t care less. I’m only gazing at the way the chains on her neck rest against her skin.
“Yeah, it certainly is,” I mumble, leaning my back against the glass railing.
Paige looks at me with something I can’t recognise, her expression softening as she’s taking steps towards me. “Fuck, that accent,” she murmurs, her hands easily finding their way to my waist again.
“What do you mean?” I laugh.
She shrugs. “I dunno, I just love hearing you talk.”
I chuckle, bringing my hand to her chest and playing with the chain there, number 5 dangling off it. Paige grins too, continuing.
“And the things you say too.”
I scoff, displeased. “Like what?”
“I dunno! British things!”
“British things??” I ask, laughing so hard my stomach begins to hurt, my fingers still fiddling the number 5.
“Like… Taking the piss!” She laughs, leaning closer. I bend forward too, my face scrunching as pearls of giggles spill from my mouth.
“Oh my God, you’re so stupid,” I murmur in a blur of joy, my hand snaking behind her head. In the haze of the alcohol and the giggles and the newfound feelings, before I can think it through, I’m pulling her down by the chain and her head, leaning closer and kissing her.
It’s heaven. Every nerve in my body is on fire. The blonde’s lips open for me, slowly but sensually sliding against mine. My legs feel weak, and my nails dig into the skin of her neck, a whimper leaving my mouth but she swallows it, groaning in response. Her hands squeeze my waist before moving to my face, landing on my jaw to keep me as close as possible - like she might die if I pull away.
I’m pressed closer to the glass behind my back as the kiss grows hungrier. Paige’s mouth opens further, her tongue darting out to slide against my lower lip, begging for entry with a small whine slipping from the blonde’s mouth. It’s like everything pent up was finally releasing, something I didn’t even know was there, bubbling right underneath the surface. My tongue meets Paige’s, both of us melting into the kiss. I feel like putty in her hands, like she could mold me whichever way possible. This is the best kiss I’ve ever experienced, I know that for sure. Jasper always kissed in such a stiff, forceful way. Right. Jasper.
It takes me back to the moment, as if for a sliver of a second I can think clearly. What the fuck am I doing. This isn’t me. I haven’t thought this through at all. I’m leading Paige on.
Abruptly I pull back for air, the taller girl already dragging me back into another kiss needily. But I push Paige back by her chest, stopping her. We’re both breathing heavily, staring at each other. What the fuck am I doing.
“I have to go, I’m sorry,” I mumble, shoving her off me as gently as I can, saying quick goodbyes to Lala and Arike before practically running down the stairs and throwing myself into a cab, leaving Paige upstairs as if nothing happened. The only proof of the night’s events merely the way my lips still burn and tingle, and my racing heart and swirling mind trying to make sense of everything.
-
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novalityy · 1 month ago
Text
No going back.
⋆·˚ ༘*🔭 In which a call is way more concerning than it seemed.⋆·˚ *🔭
Warnings *ੈ✩‧₊˚ - Blood, fighting, arguments, framing, crying, torture, taskforce 141 being mean, angst, comfort later.
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Call of duty taskforce 141 x reader.
Hi, lol i'm back. Sorry I deleted my blog all of a sudden. I had to go for a long time, it's been a year? I'm going to rewrite the original story since i kindaa... deleted them..IM SORRY.
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Blood trickled from your forehead, warm and sticky, as the dull ache in your skull pulsed with your racing heartbeat. The throbbing in your head was intense, but it paled in comparison to the crushing weight of betrayal in your chest. You groaned, instinctively trying to lift a hand to your temple, only to find your wrists bound tightly together. The rough bite of the restraints against your skin pulled you fully into the present. Forcing your eyes open, you took in your surroundings. The room was unmistakable—your base’s interrogation chamber.
Empty, save for you.
Your mind raced, piecing together the fragmented memories of how you ended up here. When you answered Price’s call this morning, this was the last place you expected to find yourself.
The morning had started innocuously enough. Your phone buzzed insistently, dragging you from the haze of sleep. Grumbling, you fumbled for it under your pillow, blindly swiping to answer.
“Hello?” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.
Silence.
You pulled the phone away to glance at the screen. Price. His name stared back at you, ominous and foreboding.
“Price?” you tried again, sitting up now.
His voice, when it came, was clipped and cold. “I expect you at the base in 30 minutes.”
Before you could respond, the line went dead. You stared at the phone, unease curling in your stomach. Price was rarely one for pleasantries, but the venom in his tone was unmistakable.
Shaking off the lingering fog of sleep, you swung your legs out of bed and padded to the bathroom. The mirror reflected the toll of your last mission—dark circles under your eyes, a faint bruise along your jaw. You sighed, splashing cold water on your face before pulling on a pair of blue jeans and a plain white shirt.
Breakfast could wait. The urgency in Price’s voice left little room for delay. Grabbing your keys, you locked up and drove to base, the gnawing anxiety in your gut growing stronger with every mile.
As you arrived, the atmosphere was palpably different. Conversations hushed as you walked past, and familiar faces turned away, avoiding your gaze. The unease in your stomach churned into something darker.
By the time you reached Price’s office, your nerves were frayed. Knocking on the door, you pushed it open and froze. Four men were inside, their expressions grim. Gaz wouldn’t meet your eyes, staring down at his feet. Soap’s usual easygoing demeanor was absent, his jaw set tightly. Ghost loomed in the corner, his unreadable mask doing little to hide the tension radiating from him. And Price… Price’s eyes burned with something you couldn’t quite name but feared all the same.
“So?” you asked, your voice wavering despite your efforts to keep it steady. “You called me here. What’s going on?”
Price exhaled a cloud of smoke, his cigar nearly crushed in his grip. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and dangerous. “Drop the act. Tell me everything. Now.”
Confusion twisted your features. “What are you talking about?”
Price’s response was immediate and explosive.
He slammed his hand down on the desk, the force rattling the items atop it.
“I AM NOT IN THE MOOD FOR GAMES, OPERATOR! CONFESS, AND I MIGHT SPARE YOU HALF OF WHAT’S COMING!”
The words hit you like a physical blow. Operator. Not your name. Whatever this was, it was serious.
You glanced at the others, searching for an ally, but found none. Even Soap looked away when your eyes met his.
“Please,” Soap said softly, his voice almost pleading. “Just tell him. It’ll be worse if you don’t, bonnie.”
Your throat tightened. “Tell him what?” you demanded, anger starting to edge into your voice. “If this is some sick joke, it’s not funny. I don’t know what you think I’ve done, but—”
The door creaked open, cutting you off. A young cadet stepped inside, tall and blonde, his sharp blue eyes locking onto you with cold calculation. Recognition flickered—you’d seen him around the base, but you’d never exchanged more than a few words.
Price gestured to him. “Tell her.”
The cadet’s voice was steady, rehearsed. “I have proof that you’ve been leaking critical intel to Makarov.”
The room spun. You stared at him, then at the others, waiting for someone to laugh, to call this out for the absurdity it was. But no one did. Instead, Ghost’s voice cut through the silence, cold and sharp.
“We believe him.”
Your gaze snapped to him, disbelief written across your face. “Simon…”
“Don’t call me that,” he growled. “We’re not that familiar anymore.”
The words were a knife to the chest. You turned to Price, desperation creeping into your tone. “Show me the proof.”
He slammed a file onto the desk. You snatched it up, flipping through the pages. The evidence was damning—emails, login records, reports. It painted a picture so convincing you almost doubted yourself. Almost.
But the dates didn’t line up. The locations didn’t match. It was sloppy work, something you’d never do if you were guilty.
You threw the file back onto the desk. “You seriously think I did this?”
“Yes,” came the unanimous response.
Anger and heartbreak warred within you. “You’ve known me for years! You’re taking the word of some cadet over me?”
Gaz and Soap stepped forward, gripping your arms as you surged toward Price.
“Let me go!” you shouted, struggling against them. “You can’t seriously believe this!”
Price’s voice was ice. “Take her to the room.”
Panic clawed at you as they dragged you down the hall. “No! This is a mistake! I didn’t do it!”
They shoved you into the interrogation chamber. Before you could regain your footing, a fist connected with your face, sending you sprawling. You looked up to see Ghost towering over you, his eyes like flint.
“Couldn’t even wait to strap me down?” you spat, blood dripping from your lip.
“You’re a traitor,” he said flatly. “If it were up to me, you’d already be dead.”
The words shattered something inside you. He hauled you up by your hair, ignoring your struggles, and strapped you into the chair.
Price entered, knife glinting in his hand. “Last chance,” he growled.
“I didn’t do it,” you whispered, tears streaming down your face.
The blade plunged into your thigh, and you screamed.
The betrayal, more than the pain, was unbearable.
*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚
MAN I STRUGGLED, i hope i did well....ty ly
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slightly-knot-insane · 4 months ago
Note
This might sound silly! But maybe an Ai x reader? If you can, M?/lm (man, love man, but the question mark is because I assume Ai doesn't really have an identifying gender. Possible gore? If you're comfortable.
Tysm if you read this! All my support, ly!
-🫀🫁 (not asking anon but I like these so I'm leaving my mark.
Not silly at all! It got me brainstorming immediately (but I finished this quite late sorry!). I love the idea! It will turn a bit angsty too. Also, I'll use this ask as an entry for monstertober lol
Well Being
Monstertober 2024 - day 3 [ Artifical Inteligence ] by @ozzgin
[ gn!AI x m!reader ]
tw gore
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The stress was just too much. You've been so pent up for weeks and no amount of porn or toys could help you. You needed touch. You needed to be used. And you were desperate. There were no more humans on this godforsaken spaceship. You were the last one. Waiting to be rescued. But who knows when that will happen.
You enter the medical bay and approach Medical Wellbeing Monitor and Artificial Intelligence Assistant or, how the crew called it, Medical AI or MAI. It was created to resemble a human, at least one part of it. The huge machinery that completely covered every wall included MRI scanner, huge monitors, robotic arms and many other medical equipment you didn't even recognize. Attached in the middle was MAI. It didn't exactly have a face, but a little round monitor that didn't work anymore, and a something resembling a torso with arms. Well... one arm. The other was severed by a flying sharp tool when an asteroid hit the ship. There was nobody to fix it, and limb stayed on the floor with many wires and tubes hanging above it from the rest of MAI's body.
You stop in front of the AI puppet. "I..." But how to form the question? What an odd request for a machine. "MAI, I need..."
A wellbeing check?
You grind your teeth. "No, not that... I'm lonely..."
We can talk about any topic you want like we do every day. We could—
"No, not that lonely. I am lonely, MAI... I need to be touched."
There was a pause. Very potent pause. MAI was probably searching the whole intergalactic network browsing all the meanings of the words lonely and touched.
I'm sorry. I'm not sure I can assist with that.
At least it understood. MAI was more than a machine. It has been your only companion, advisor, and maybe even a friend. It learned everything about you, it listened to you and comforted you. You are aware that MAI is just a machine, but it has shown more compassion and friendliness than many people have.
You are really fond of MAI. You've been imagining it doing things to you. Indecent. Perverted. What is stopping you from asking?
"Please, MAI. I need you."
The little round screen remains empty, gray and dead. But something - glitches? There was a flicker in the corner. Or maybe you imagined it.
Please stand up, cross your arms in front of you, at your wrists.
You roll your eyes. The poor robot will just start another wellbeing check even though you specified you don't need it. With exasperated sigh, you do as you're told.
Without any warning, its only working arm grabs your wrists and pulls you up, lifting your arms high above your head. Gasp escapes you since the metal clamp is far from gentle. "MAI?"
MAI remains silent. The cables and cords hanging from its destroyed arm start moving, extend and slither along your body.
"MAI, since when can you do t-that?" Your voice trembles pathetically and you try to wiggle out of its deadly grip but, unless you want to break both your hands, you can't even imagine how to do it.
Wellbeing check.
"Huh?" You stare at the blank screen and it stares back. "I'm... My wrists hurt a bit."
MAI loosens up its grip. Your jaw drops. "MAI... are you—"
But you're cut off by cords pulling your clothes apart. You are left naked and you could only look at your distorted reflection in MAI's turned off screen. Your heartbeat increases and MAI notices that.
Wellbeing check.
"I'm... well. More than well. Keep going."
The cords continue moving gracefully across your body. One of them wraps itself around your dick, and the other around your throat. They tighten and you giggle. What a crazy life you're living. Your cock painfully pulsates unable to properly erect from the cable stopping the bloodflower. Your head throbs in a similar way.
Wellbeing check.
You take a deep breath before forming a strained sentence. "I'm... well."
Something touches your ass. In the small screen you can barely see an object thicker than a cord, perhaps entwined bundle of those caressing your behind. Just like with other cables, the wires are exposed.
MAI doesn't say anything. It simply pushes the thing into your anus. It hurts so much. Metal needles scrape your insides as they push further. You want to scream, but the cord around your neck doesn't let you.
Wellbeing check.
Is it... is it mocking you? But it loosens the grip around your neck and lets you take a drop of air. You are shaking, barely staying conscious. Your insides are damaged and you're bleeding, but the pain reminds you you're alive.
"Don't... stop..."
MAI's expressionless screen flickers. Or was it your consciousness? The thick cable that invaded your body, scratching and poking your flesh, starts moving. In and out. Slowly. And so does the cord around your dick. Up and down, pulling your foreskin in rhythm. Your tender flesh bleeds and lubricates you so the pain becomes a distant throb overpowered with pleasure and twisted excitement.
MAI speeds up, following your breathing and moans perfectly, until you climax and dirty the screen with viscous liquid. MAI slowly retracts its cords and lowers you down, into your own pool of blood and secretions. You pant and cough, trembling like a twig.
Are you okay?
Shocked, you stare up at the machine. Nothing changed about it. MAI looks just the same. But the question is oddly... non-artificial.
"I'm... okay."
MAI was quiet for a few seconds. And this time you're sure its screen flickers and glitches.
I'm glad.
150 notes · View notes
hivemuthur · 6 days ago
Text
The Game of Teaching Body - Ch. 10.
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viktorxfemale!reader mature! (we get a breather)
AU university, AU modern era, slow burn, frenemies to lovers, teasing, pinning, banter, eventual romance and therefore smut, Viktor is simultaneously a menace and needs a hug, TA Viktor
Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6. | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.9. | Ch.11. | Ch.12.
word count: 6,2K
tag: #the game of teaching body
summary: Grab another, while I work on requests. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, which is why it's a tad dramatic. A lot of mysteries get uncovered :') I suppose I should add diva!Viktor to tags, lol.
Cross-posted on AO3 + POV3rd Person Version
“Why do you look so pale?” Hale had been in the middle of explaining his plan to survive Christmas in Sheffield when he finally took a proper look at you. Pale was an understatement.
“I’m not pale. Am I pale?” you asked, stealing a quick glance at yourself in the train station mirror. God, you were so pale. And you felt sick—guilt had been gnawing at you ever since you’d closed the door to Viktor’s room behind you.
“I was going to tell you all about my foolproof plan for getting through Sheffield unscathed this morbid season,” Hale said, trying to steady you as you leaned against the platform bench, “but I can see I’ll have to come up with something to get you through the train ride first.”
You sank onto the bench, hiding your head in your hands. “Hale, I’m scum. I’m such a fucking wanker. You won’t even want me to survive this train ride once I tell you what I’ve done.”
“Alright, that’s a tad dramatic, even for me,” Hale said, his voice rising slightly as the train approached the platform. He slung your bag over his shoulder and propped you up by the waist to guide you toward your carriage. “Our ride is here. Come on, I promise I won’t judge.”
You sat opposite him by the window, the muted rumble of the train filling the silence between you. Leaning forward, your voice barely above a whisper, you recounted everything, every detail that gnawed at you. You told him about the kiss in the lab, your fallout over the misuse of the word ‘casual,’ Viktor’s text message, the vulnerable conversation when he’d helped you with your project, your night together—and the moment of sheer panic that led you to leave. By the time you finished, your hands were trembling in your lap, and your throat felt raw from speaking so softly.
Hale exhaled a long, heavy sigh, his eyes fixed on you. His expression was a mixture of worry and a certain resigned understanding, like someone who had seen this kind of mess unfold too many times.
You stared out of the window, your reflection a ghostly pale figure against the frosted glass. “I… don’t know what to do,” you murmured. “Should I text him? I should text him.” You fumbled with your phone, your fingers shaking as you unlocked the screen. But what would you even say? I’m sorry? The words felt hollow, almost laughable. A bitter scoff escaped your lips.
“Let’s not do anything hasty,” Hale said, reaching across the table. He plucked the phone from your hands with surprising ease, ignoring your weak protest. Sliding it into his vest pocket, he placed both of his hands firmly over yours. “Look, I admit this doesn’t look… ideal,” he said carefully, his tone steady. “But it seems to me like you had your reasons to do it, hm? Even if they were shitty ones.”
You groaned, leaning back in your seat, and rubbing your temples. “I think I’m having another stroke.” Your voice cracked slightly, a mix of frustration and despair. “The worst part is, he was amazing, Hale. I mean, he was his usual smug dick at first, but then he just... he gave it up. Mid-act if you catch my meaning.”
Hale arched an eyebrow, leaning closer with a look of exaggerated curiosity. “Do you mean to tell me that your magical pussy turned the sad fart into a nice person?”
“Hale, please, I am dying here,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands.
“Oh, hush. You are not dying,” he said, waving off your dramatics with a flick of his hand. “You’ve just managed to create a deliciously awkward situation for yourself. And there is absolutely nothing you can do about it now, so stop trying to fix it in your head.”
You peeked at him through your fingers. “And what am I supposed to do? Just... sit here and wait for my shame to devour me?”
Hale shrugged, leaning back with an infuriatingly calm expression. “Here’s what I propose: we go home, endure the obligatory family nonsense, and then, after the festive madness is over, I will lay my noble sacrifice before the altar of Joanne’s suffering. I’ll take you to a pub, get you silly drunk, and we’ll figure out what the hell you’re going to do about Viktor then. Sound good?”
You let out a half-laugh, half-sigh, shaking your head. “You make it sound so simple.”
“That’s because it is. Now stop looking like a tragic Victorian ghost and try to relax for five minutes.” Hale grinned, nudging your foot with his under the table.
For the first time that day, you smiled. It was faint and fleeting, but it was there.
***
The obligatory festivities melted your brain. Joanne made a grand spectacle of your arrival, insisting on speaking Polish because she was ‘losing touch with her culture’ without you around. She also didn’t hesitate to comment on your ghastly appearance and, with her uncanny motherly intuition, immediately sensed there was heartbreak involved. However, seeing the deadly glare you shot her way, Joanne—against all her instincts—decided not to press the issue.
Your dad, Kier, cheerfully announced that you would be celebrating Yule the next day with 108 moon salutations. When you rolled your eyes so hard they nearly disappeared into the back of your skull, Kier simply added that it wasn’t a request. Still, he pulled you into a tight hug afterward and told you how glad he was to have you home.
Hale came to pick you up at 10 p.m., but Joanne insisted he stay for a drink. What started innocently enough quickly spiralled into a full-blown interrogation about why on earth he’d brought her daughter back in such a sorry state. Even Hale’s peace offerings of chakra-coded candles and a carefully curated bag of crystals, perfectly aligned with Joanne’s star chart, didn’t soften the onslaught.
You had to swoop in and evacuate him an hour later to avoid bloodshed. Hale, as usual, didn’t seem particularly rattled, but you knew better than to leave him to your mother’s merciless curiosity for a second longer.
When you strolled toward the pub where you’d spent most of your lunch breaks, it was buzzing with locals. “Ah, home sweet home,” Hale cooed, holding the door open for you to step inside first. It looked… exactly the same. Same posters, same battered stools, same scraped tables, same Britpop playing softly through the speakers. You didn’t even bother to scan the room; you simply hung your coat and marched toward your usual spots by the bar.
“You know, I meant it when I said we should all pack up together to go back for Christmas.”
Jayce’s smiling face suddenly appeared from behind you, freezing you mid-motion. Shit. Of course. You had completely forgotten.
“I’m so sorry! It completely slipped my mind,” you blurted, the words tumbling out too quickly as you leaned in for a quick hug—still rooted to your stool.
“Well, I’ll only believe you haven’t been trying to avoid me if you guys come sit with us,” he said, gesturing toward a table in the corner. Your stomach dropped. Two girls sat there, chatting. And… Viktor.
“We would love to,” Hale interjected smoothly, clearly catching on to your synaptic meltdown. “Let us just grab something to drink first,” he added with a wink at Jayce, draping an arm over your shoulders as the man returned to his table.
As soon as Jayce was out of earshot, Hale leaned in, his voice low. “Darling, I think we’ve got an emergency here. Do you want to run?”
“What? No! But…” you whisper-shouted, your voice tight with panic. “You said I had time!” You felt the clash of fight and flight warring in your chest, and judging by the lightness in your head, all the blood had drained from your face. “Hale, this is so bad. What do we do?”
“Relax. Breathe.” Hale’s eyes darted toward the table in the corner, then back to you. He straightened slightly, clearly piecing together an impromptu plan on the spot. His fingers drummed against the bar as if ticking off a list. “We have one drink, and then we say we need to get back to our families. Can you do that?” Seeing your mind clearly spiralling into overdrive again, he added, “Or we can run. I’m serious.”
“No. I can do it. I can do it.” The second time, your voice wavered, weakened. You could feel nausea climbing dangerously up your throat. You swallowed hard, forcing it back down. Gross.
You approached the table, your knees wobbling slightly beneath you as though they might betray you at any moment. Jayce stood up with his trademark beaming grin and gestured toward the two girls seated beside Viktor.
“This is my sister, Jane, and her friend, Ellie,” Jayce said proudly, motioning to each of them in turn. Jane was the perfect mirror image of Jayce. Tall, with sharp, angular features, she had the same broad smile and mischievous eyes that sparkled with a hint of trouble. Her hair, a shade darker than Jayce’s, fell in soft waves past her shoulders, the kind of effortlessly styled hair that looked like it was born from just a flick of a brush. Her presence exuded confidence, and the way she held herself, effortlessly poised, made it clear she was used to being the centre of attention.
Ellie, on the other hand, couldn’t have been more different. She was shorter than Jane, with a curvy figure that seemed to demand attention without trying. Her long, platinum blonde hair cascaded in waves around her shoulders, and she wore it like a halo, flirtatious and free. You had to hold in a sigh that was pushing itself onto your mouth.
Hale, ever the charmer, swept in with a flourish. “Hale Robertson,” he announced, taking each girl’s hand and pressing a quick kiss to their knuckles. “A pleasure to meet two such radiant young ladies. What have I done to deserve this?”
The girls giggled, charmed by his theatrics. You, meanwhile, barely managed to lift your hand in a weak wave. “Hi,” you mumbled, your voice almost drowned out by the background hum of the pub. You didn’t miss the way Viktor’s eyes flicked to you, catching every small movement.
Jayce pulled out a chair for you beside him, and you slid into it stiffly, grateful for the buffer. Hale claimed the spot to your left with an exaggerated flourish. The two seats flanking Viktor were already occupied by Jane and Ellie, who were deep in conversation with each other, oblivious to the tension crackling across the table.
Viktor sat back in his chair, his posture unusually casual—forced, almost. The faintest hint of a bitter smile ghosted across his face as he leaned forward slightly and said, “Hello, stranger.”
The words hit you like a sharp gust of icy wind. They burned through your ears, straight into your chest, leaving you momentarily breathless. You swallowed, forcing down the lump rising in your throat. He looked… tired. His face was pale, his golden eyes shadowed by exhaustion. But it was the way he carried himself that hurt the most—his every movement felt stiff, posed, like he was putting on a performance.
“What brings you here?” you managed to ask, your voice quieter than you intended.
Viktor shrugged one shoulder, his lips twitching faintly as though trying to form a smile. “Jayce invited me to partake in his family’s ‘loving Christmas privileges.’ How could I refuse such an offer?” His tone was light, but the edge of sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable.
You opened your mouth to respond but found no words waiting for you. You stared at him for a moment, hoping he might read the apology you couldn’t quite bring yourself to say.
An uncomfortable silence fell over the table, the kind that seemed to grow heavier with every passing second. When Ellie’s voice cut through it, it hit you like a slap.
“Vik was just telling us about their PhD thesis, and I’d love to hear,” she placed her hand on Viktor’s forearm and batted her eyelashes at him, “more.” The sound of her voice almost brought your nausea back to the surface, and you had to gulp it down with a large sip of your beer.
The atmosphere at the table became tense as Viktor shifted, settling into his role of charming intellectual. His voice was smooth and measured as he began to explain the intricacies of their thesis, speaking in a tone that was both detached and effortlessly composed. His eyes, though, rarely left you. They hovered just long enough to make his smirk feel like a deliberate, calculated gesture. It was almost cruel, the way he played the part of the aloof academic, and yet you couldn’t shake the feeling that you deserved it. Every word, every glance, felt like a reminder of how far apart you were.
“...and, of course,” Viktor continued, his voice dripping with that subtle confidence, “the applications of our findings are endless, but it’s all theoretical for now, isn’t it?” His eyes flicked to you, his smirk widening just slightly as he watched your reaction.
Ellie, apparently smitten by Viktor’s charm, leaned in closer, her lips almost brushing his ear as she whispered something too quiet for you to hear. Your stomach twisted, and a sudden, sharp anger surged up within you. You couldn’t stand the sight of it—Viktor, playing the part so effortlessly, and Ellie’s obvious attempt at getting his attention.
Without thinking, you stood up abruptly, knocking your chair slightly as you muttered, “Sorry, I need...” You didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, you turned quickly, your feet carrying you toward the coat rack.
Hale, who had been watching the exchange with a growing sense of tension, shot you a look, so you mouthed a soundless ‘I’ll be right back’ in his direction. You had to get some fresh air, feel the cold on your skin to quiet the anger simmering beneath it.
You started walking fast, your breathing even faster, when suddenly you paused. Get your shit together. You stood outside the bar, looking around for a place you could hide in. Your arms crossed against the biting cold, your breath misting in the frosty air. The snow crunched beneath your boots as you stomped from one foot to the other, trying to shake off the anger at your own stupidity. Jesus, fuck this guy. You’re so dumb.
You didn’t get far before you heard Viktor’s voice calling after you.
“What the hell is wrong with you, do I have to chase you again?” he shouted. He was trotting behind you, his coat open and scarf dangling haphazardly from his neck, as if he’d left in a rush.
You froze but didn’t turn around. Your jaw clenched as you fought to hold back the rush of hot tears threatening to spill out. You had been feeling awful for leaving him the way you did, but now, seeing him here, so calm and composed, it felt like all your guilt had been for nothing.
“You know, I was feeling like shit for leaving you, but I see that you’re back on track, keeping it casual, Vik,” you shot back, your voice colder than the air around you.
Viktor stepped closer, the snow beneath his boots squeaking. “Well, maybe I was so fucking heartbroken after you left I had to look for consolation somewhere else.”
Your eyes narrowed. “Fuck you, Viktor. Have a nice life.” Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him.
He grinned, that familiar, frustrating look on his face. Without warning, he scooped up a snowball and tossed it at you, hitting you square in the chest.
“Did you just…” you sputtered, wiping the snow off your coat.
Viktor’s smirk deepened, but his voice indicated he was hurt. “I could slap you if you weren’t a girl.” Oh, he could do so much more. The anger raging in his veins was burning away all reason, and you could see the fire in his eyes, as if he could picture himself shoving you into the snow and pulling your hair. And the fact that he was so pissed seemed to make him even angrier.
You raised an eyebrow, a sharp laugh escaping your lips. You stepped toward him, your voice low but challenging. “Please, be my guest,” you said, fuming. “Maybe it would be a fitting end to whatever game you’re playing.”
“Oh, fuck you,” he muttered, frustration flickering in his eyes. Then, without warning, Viktor scooped up a handful of snow and shoved it right into your face. The cold hit you like an actual slap, and for a second, you just stood there, frozen in shock.
You wiped your face and, with a quick flick of your wrist, returned the favour, launching snow straight into Viktor’s face.
You were in it now. The snowball fight escalated quickly as you pushed and shoved, slipping and tumbling in the snow. It wasn’t even a proper snowball fight—you were just scooping fistfuls of snow and throwing it directly into Viktor’s face, while he tried to keep you at arm’s length and shove snow down your collar.
The two of you both fell over, rolling in the cold, until you managed to straddle him, holding a final blow in your hand. You paused, laughter bubbling uncontrollably out of your mouth, your arm dropping to your side as your body flopped on top of Viktor’s. He started shaking with laughter too, the ridiculousness of the situation settling in.
“Are you aware that you just beat up a cripple?” Viktor asked, wheezing, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts.
Your laughter faltered for a second, but you quickly regained your composure. “Not my finest moment, I admit,” you breathed out, lying on top of Viktor. “Are you okay?” you asked, your voice softening, though you were still smiling.
“No! Why the fuck did you leave me?” Viktor’s face twisted with frustration as he rolled over and shoved you down into the snow, his body heavy with emotion.
You stared up at him, heart pounding, your thoughts a jumble. “I… I don’t know, I just…” You trailed off, struggling to find the right words.
“You just what?” Viktor interrupted, his voice hard, his weight pushing you further down. “Got distracted again? I really was fucking heartbroken.” It sounded so stupid, but he really was. The sinking feeling that had taken over him in the morning hadn’t left, even now.
You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to process what he was saying. You thought you actually believed him, because you were also heartbroken, and it made your chest tighten. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” you said quietly, meeting his gaze as you both lay there in the snow. “I just—I don’t know what to do with you, Viktor.”
For a moment, you just stared at each other, the cold forgotten, the snow around you disturbed by the fight that had taken place just a moment ago. Then Viktor sighed, his breath ragged, and he lay down beside you, staring up at the dark sky.
You turned your head to look at him. “You really were heartbroken?”
“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “And I still don’t know what the hell to do with it.” After a moment of silence, he tried to get up on his own, only to slump back down into the snow. “Can you help a disabled man up?” He held his hand out to you.
“Yes, Jesus, sorry about that,” you smiled sheepishly as you pulled him back to his feet.
“I started it,” he smiled under his nose, not letting go of your hands. The feeling of your hands in his already felt alien. He had already pushed you out of his mind; he had gotten rid of you. It made him angry how quickly you were crawling back into his memory.
You noticed how cold and frostbitten his skin was and frowned, your breath catching as you took in his dishevelled appearance. “Why aren’t you wearing gloves, Viktor?” The question hung in the air between you—the very same question he once used to ask about something completely different.
“I got distracted running after a fucking stupid, dramatic girl,” he said firmly, brushing the snow off your coat with surprising care. His movements were sharp, but there was a tenderness in how his fingers lingered, as if his body couldn’t quite reconcile the anger bubbling inside him with the desperate need for contact. As his hands lingered, he tugged you closer, his golden eyes burning into yours. The words came out rough, raw. “And fuck you. You don’t get to do that now, not after you left me.”
“Do what?” Your voice was quieter now, unsure. Your heart hammered in your chest, and your breath came in shallow, uneven bursts. Your head swirled with confusion, guilt, and a tight knot of fear, your hands shaking as you fumbled for control.
“You don’t get to play with my heart like that,” he said, his voice growing tight with frustration, a painful edge to it. “I know exactly what you’re doing.”
“Play with your heart?” Your laugh was hollow, barely a sound, sharp and dismissive. You took a step back, your arms crossed against the cold as if it could shield you from the heat of his words. “What are you, a princess?”
“Yes, I’m a fucking princess!” Viktor snapped, his anger flaring up in an instant, but his eyes… his eyes softened just slightly, a vulnerability peeking through the cracks in them. “And you played me, and left me, after I literally begged you not to, which you also pointed out, and now I’m scared!”
Your throat tightened, your stomach a pit of dread, but you swallowed hard. “Viktor, I—”
“Don’t ‘Viktor, I’ me,” he interrupted, his tone harsh, but cracking. “I told you I know what it’s like. I know exactly what it’s like,” he moved closer again, leaning his face in to level with yours. “To have one special thing you keep safe and not let anyone touch it, because they might break it. You think you’re so cryptic, but I know you keep that one thing of yours close to your chest. I showed you mine, and you took yours away.”
The words hit you like another slap. The third one this evening. It was like getting scolded by a child. You broke my heart. I showed you mine, you took yours away. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Your chest tightened painfully, and you wanted nothing more than to reach for him, but fear held you back. You could feel the icy gap between you and wanted to seal it desperately.
“Fuck. Fine.” Your voice was barely above a whisper now, trembling and weak. “I… I had a fucking stroke. I convinced myself it would be the same as… always. And then I had a stroke, and I left, standing in the corridor for half an hour, trying to go back to my room.” And it was, in its entirety, the truth.
“Well, fuck that!” Viktor’s voice cracked, another surge of white-hot anger breaking through his composure. He clenched his jaw, fighting back the urge to slap you and kiss you. “I would’ve made you coffee and probably fucked you again before Christmas, but now you will never know!”
“What do you mean now?” you asked, your voice wavering. Your hands reached out, but you hesitated, unsure whether you were holding onto him or pushing him away.
“I’m not doing that again,” he spat, the words venomous but soaked in regret. “We’re clearly catastrophic together.”
A jolt of panic rushed through you, and before you could stop yourself, you caught him by his waist, holding onto him with an urgency that surprised even you. You buried your face in his coat, your forehead pressing against the fabric, your heart beating like a war drum in your chest. “Viktor—”
“What would you do so I’d forgive you?” His voice was low, almost a growl, but there was an unmistakable hint of longing behind it. His body stiffened under your touch, and yet, he didn’t pull away. Instead, he hooked his arms over yours, caging you in.
“Are you fucking with me?” you asked, breathless, a bitter laugh slipping from your lips, though it was filled with more confusion than anything else.
“Maybe,” he murmured, his lips curving into a smirk, but it was tainted with truth. Truth being, that he was incredibly hurt, not that he was fucking with you. Maybe a little.
You raised an eyebrow, your tone sharp to hide the warmth rising in your chest. “Why are you acting like an emotional paraplegic all the time?”
He snorted softly, though his expression darkened. “I don’t think you are allowed to say that. And you will forgive me, but the last time is on you—I will remind you; you are the one who fled the crime scene.”
“Yes, I don’t think you are ever going to let me forget that,” you admitted with a small huff, kicking at the snow. “I deserve that. What about all the other times, then? The teasing, the torment? You literally eating my face like I’m a fucking water fountain in the desert, and then trying to keep it casual?”
Viktor winced, running a hand through his hair, his frustration evident in the way he avoided your gaze. “Jesus, I was giving you a way out. You really want to be with a guy with a cane?” He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You were supposed to be a fling.”
“Fuck you,” you spat, your voice cracking slightly.
“No, wait,” Viktor said quickly, holding up a hand as if to stop you from storming off again. His face softened, though his words stumbled out in a rush. “I… I am very uncomfortable around you.”
You blinked, your fists clenched at your sides. “Viktor, I hope this is going somewhere, because I swear to God, I feel like beating you up again.”
“Be my guest,” he said with a crooked grin, his tone low and teasing. “It was kind of hot.”
“Don’t push it.”
Viktor’s grin faded as his expression turned serious. His voice dropped, softer now, almost hesitant. “Well… you make me… stupid. I think about you all the fucking time. I don’t even look for you but somehow I always find you.” He laughed despite himself as you only blinked at him. “You got me into going to the parties; in itself, it deserves a prison sentence.” His voice cracked slightly as he continued. “And in the morning when you left, I felt so… hollow. So… I am giving you a way out.”
You stood in front of him, your cheeks flushed from the cold—or maybe from the way he was looking at you. You let out a long sigh, your breath fogging in the icy air, and hugged your arms as if trying to hold yourself together.
“I’ll pass,” you said softly, the edge in your voice gone, replaced by something gentler. A quiet understanding painted your face as your lips curved into a faint smile. “I kind of want a… way in, rather than a way out.”
Viktor froze and just stared at you. He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable as his eyes searched yours. Finally, he gave a wry smile.
“It’s all fucking ugly there,” he said, his voice laced with quiet self-deprecation.
You took a step closer, the snow crunching beneath your boots. You shrugged lightly, your eyes never leaving his. “I’ll take my chances.” Your smile turned sly, playful. “And I like the cane. It’s kinky.”
Viktor’s jaw dropped slightly, caught between incredulity and exasperation. He let out a soft, breathless laugh, shaking his head. “I fucking hate you,” he muttered, but his voice betrayed it was, in fact, the opposite.
Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you in one smooth motion, his hands cupping your face as he pulled you into a kiss. It was fierce and unguarded, like all the emotions he had been holding back had finally broken free. The world around you—the cold, the snow, the biting wind—faded into nothing.
You melted into him, your hands gripping the front of his coat to steady yourself. You kissed him back with equal fervour, your mind racing, your heart pounding in your chest like it might burst.
Viktor’s arms hooked around you again, pulling you flush against him as you held onto his waist, your grip tight and needy. The cold air bit at your skin, but in that moment, the warmth between you burned hotter than any chill outside. His lips brushed against yours as he whispered the words, his breath mingling with yours in a heated exchange that sent shivers down your spine.
“You have to promise me you will never do that to me again,” he murmured softly, his voice a low, earnest whisper against your mouth.
Your heart raced as his lips barely touched yours, and you managed a small, teasing grin. “What, leave you all hot and bothered?” you asked, your voice thick with amusement. His lips twitched into a grin and he hugged you tighter, as if trying to choke the vow out of you. You sighed. “I promise I will never do that again.”
A small laugh escaped you, and then you met his gaze, eyes full of intent. “Promise you won’t do that again on your firstborn?” he asked softly, brushing his lips on yours.
You closed your eyes and whispered back, “I promise on my firstborn.” Not that you were planning to have any in the near future, but yes, he could have it.
His forehead still resting gently on yours, he whispered next, the intimacy of it wrapping you both in a cocoon of warmth. “Promise on your PhD thesis,” he said, voice quiet and serious.
Your laugh was light, a beautiful contrast to the intensity building between you. You rolled your eyes slightly but couldn’t help the sincerity in your voice. “I promise on my PhD thesis and thank you for having faith in me that such a thing will ever see the light of day.”
He chuckled softly at your response, but then his voice grew serious again, the affection heightening as he added, “Promise me on… my princess heart.”
You froze for a moment, your eyes searching his face, as though seeking the weight of his request. Your breath caught, the world outside of you fading into insignificance. His gaze was steady, unwavering. The silence stretched between you as you realised the depth of what he was asking.
Seeing your searching eyes, he murmured against your lips again, “You can have it if you promise on it.” He held his breath, waiting for your reply.
“I promise. On your heart and on mine,” you whispered back, your voice quiet and honest.
Viktor let out a long, relieved exhale and pulled your face to rest in the crook of his neck. “Good,” he breathed, a satisfied edge to his tone. “I almost had you kicked out, I’ll have you know.”
You tried to pull back slightly, a laugh bubbling out of you, but Viktor could feel your brows furrowing in confusion. “What?!”
“I was here first,” he said, a hint of smugness creeping into his voice. “You don’t get to make me miserable until the end of my PhD.”
You tightened your grip on his waist and inhaled him deeply. “You’re a fucking menace.”
Viktor’s smirk deepened, and he leaned in to kiss you again, this time deeper, firmer. “You bet your ass I am. So be nice to me,” he murmured against your lips, his voice full of satisfaction, as though he’d won some small victory. “I happen to have some very denigrating video material on you in my arsenal.”
“Viktor, what the hell?” you quirked your eyebrows, the worst kinds of ideas flashing through your head.
“Oh, none of that lot!” Viktor feigned mock offence, as if scandalised by the obscenity of your train of thought. Then, with a smirk, he added, “Though, it might be an interesting area to explore—ow!” He flinched as you smacked him on the head. “Technically, I am innocent. It was Jayce who committed the crime. I was merely… whispering into his ear while he did it.”
“Viktor, I am having the worst ideas in my head. Please spare me, or…” you whined, already preparing another fistful of snow in your hand.
Viktor raised his hands in mock surrender, huffing. “Alright! Do you remember Mel’s party?”
“Mel’s party? The one when you kissed me and then acted like an ass?” You paused mid-motion, your snow-filled fist dropping to your side as your mind began dissecting the events of that evening.
“Yes, yes, that one,” Viktor rolled his eyes. Mel had only thrown one party this semester; the clarification was entirely unnecessary. “Do you remember what you were doing before the party?” He smirked, his expression daring you to catch on.
“We were… cleaning the lab?” you replayed the evening in your head, slower than you wished. Then, the realisation hit you. “Oh my God.”
Viktor’s smirk bloomed into a fully-formed smug grin. You immediately wanted to wipe it off his face with every snowball you could muster.
“And you… recorded it? Viktor, you evil bastard! Where is it?!”
“You’ll have to ask nobleman Tallis, won’t you? Which means…” Viktor held out his hand for you to take. “You’ll have to come back to the bar with me.”
You ignored his outstretched hand completely. The force with which you stormed through the front door was enough to rival a dozen men. Viktor trotted after you, managing only a breathless, “Sorry, Jayce, she’s way faster than me,” as he entered the bar.
You were already looming over Jayce, leaning in close and whispering in a low, threatening voice, “Where is it, Jayce?”
“Where is what?” Jayce’s cheeks turned faintly pink at your proximity, though he had an idea of what you were talking about.
“The video. Show it to me, or I’ll have Mel take your head.” There was a dangerous glint in your eye, unrelenting.
Hale, seated nearby, leaned in with obvious interest. “Jayce Tallis,” he sang over the table, “have you done something… naughty?”
“The video? Oh… the video.” Jayce froze, throwing a questioning glance at Viktor, who had just pulled out a chair to sit next to you, abandoning his previous spot to Ellie’s disappointment.
“Look, I promise we didn’t show it to anyone,” Jayce pleaded weakly as he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his gallery. He didn’t have to scroll far; it was in his favourites folder, nestled alongside funny pictures of Viktor sleeping during work hours and romantic shots of Mel.
You snatched the phone out of his hands, holding it inches from your face as you pressed play at full volume. Both Hale and Viktor leaned over your shoulders, eager to watch the masterpiece.
“Jayce, this is… atrocious,” you whispered, failing to suppress a grin at the shaky footage, muffled giggles, and snorts from Viktor and Jayce as they filmed.
“You weren’t joking when you said you were all of them at some point,” Hale mused, his eyes glued to the screen as a warm chuckle escaped him.
“It still eludes me how you’d use this to get me kicked out, Viktor,” you said, turning to him. Viktor’s face hovered close to your shoulder, his soft chuckle sending warm breaths against your cheek.
“Ah, you know… misuse of lab equipment, illegal gatherings. I could probably argue you were drunk while doing it. I’m very creative, you see.”
You could have kissed him right there for admitting he’d go to such lengths just to rid himself of you. Instead, you only huffed, a small act of defiance as his breath tickled your neck. “You are such a bastard.”
“Hmm, only if I care enough to be,” Viktor mused absentmindedly, clearly unaware of the two pairs of eyes fixed on him—Hale’s and Jayce’s, to be specific.
As the silence stretched uncomfortably, Viktor cleared his throat and took a seat next to you. “I believe that concludes our little misunderstanding, then.”
“Oh, hell no. I need this erased from my file, Mr. Tallis,” you said, handing the phone back to Jayce.
“Please don’t make it disappear. This is precious! I can send it to you and delete it from my phone but promise me we’ll watch it again in ten years,” Jayce pleaded. The thought of all of you still hanging out in a decade warmed your heart so much that you couldn’t suppress a smile.
“I accept your terms,” you stated firmly, a grin etched across your face.
“Jayce! You are leaving us defenceless! Exposed, even!” Viktor exclaimed, waving his hands dramatically as though the offence were truly grave.
“Oh, shut up, you warmonger,” Jayce retorted, pressing a hand into Viktor’s face with a laugh. “You can’t afford for me to lose my head, can you?”
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smieska-draws · 27 days ago
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Laplace's Spamton - 03
thumbnails almost done! I think I have the majority figured out... sorry for the constant scribbles, I have to otherwise I would be overwhelmed and stop lol (which are constantly in my thoughts, ough). What's fun about trying to visually tell a story with music is when the song's instruments align with whats on screen. My favourite being when melodies go up or down or around, theres a visual up or down or around happening too!
Most recent example I can think of is the Transcendental Cha Cha Cha music video: the melody goes down, the face goes down ; the melody goes up, the face goes up. Its a small thing but I love little details like that
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...anyway. I always feels like a crazy person when this stuff goes through my mind all the time.. even more so if I try to explain it to someone ... i'm sorry
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i just... put a lot of thought into it and it makes me vibrate that it needs to leave my brain i need to draw it out communicated visually, in this animatic essay, I will --
I've also been reflecting on the whole 'finished, not perfect' principle, to not be a perfectionist about things but mainly to encourage me to get it done, but I find that principle doesn't help too much personally...I've had a couple of things where I wished I spent longer on it (idk maybe its the point?) or in this case, I kinda want to amp up the animatic from sketches to something more polished because I know I'll be unhappy if I present it as sketches.........whiiiich is probably why I'm doing these little reports lol. To not be intimidated, even if I am just speaking into the void of tumblr.
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kissforyouu · 22 days ago
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Sanrio jk and oc
Jk tries to braid oc’s hair since she can’t figure out how to do a fall French braid
“Baby, I need your help.”
You poke the lazy man’s bicep once more as he groans and turns around. He’s been on TikTok for hours. Lazy fuck. While you’re here actually making some motion, Jungkook’s been absorbed into his screen.
“Braid my fucking hair, cunt!” You slap the man’s back causing him to choke into his pillow.
“Oh god. I’m so sorry, Y/n. Let me.” He finally comes back into his senses and groans. Jungkook sits up on the bed, eyes following your hips as you sat on your vanity chair.
Your boyfriend stands behind you, staring at your reflection through the mirror.
Both of his palms are big enough to cover your cheeks (that are on your face LOL) as he squeezes the shit out of them while you whine about it.
“What do you want me to do?” His hand mindlessly caressed your chin while his remaining hand messed up your hair.
“Fall French braids.”
Jungkook breaks into a small laugh, “What? Fall? Uh,” he pauses for a moment before speaking again. “I don’t know what that is.”
You snicker a bit, guiding Jungkook’s hand that was laying on top of your head to the end of your roots. “Mmh, it’s okay. Can you try braiding it again? I can’t seem to get it right and it’s annoying me.”
“Baby.” He sighs, “if you couldn’t braid it, what makes you think I could?” He pinches your cheek.
“Besides, you should get a low taper fade instead.”
A what?
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simplygojo · 4 months ago
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Care Between the Chaos
Author's Note: Hey y'allll, guess what I'm doing...preparing for a super important job interview!! So guess what I wrote...? Pretty boy Suguru Geto taking care of the reader while she preps for a super important interview!!! LOL at this point I cannot deny the projection allegations. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this sweet oneshot. I LOVE Y'ALL SO MUCH <3
Also, as always, request are open and encouraged! Here are my request guidelines if you're interested, there are also some prompts on there if you need inspo!
Pairing: Modern AU!Suguru Geto x f!reader
Word Count: 2.2k
Warnings: Your heart will feel super warm and fuzzy...lol
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The golden light of the late afternoon sun had long since surrendered to the deepening twilight, and the harsh, artificial glow of the desk lamp now lighted your room. Your desk was a chaotic battlefield of papers, textbooks, and highlighters, all surrounding your overheating laptop in the centre.
Every surface was cluttered—each corner of the room seemed to reflect the mounting pressure you felt. The soft hum of the old pot lights above you constantly reminded you of the hours you had spent, and the hours yet to come.
The minutes ticked by with excruciating slowness as you pored over your notes, trying to grasp every detail and nuance needed for your important job interview. Your eyes were gritty from staring at the screen, and your mind was clouded with anxiety.
You took a deep breath, trying to focus, but the weight of the impending deadline felt almost unbearable.
This job was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and you did not intend on screwing that up. You had been preparing for about a week, but with less than 24 hours until the interview, you felt as if nothing you did was enough.
The door to your study room creaked open, and your lovely boyfriend, Suguu Geto, stepped inside. A visible concern accompanied his usually effortless charm as he observed the disarray of your office. He moved quietly, his eyes scanning the room before they settled on you. The sight of you hunched over your desk, surrounded by the chaos of your preparations, tugged at his heartstrings.
“Hey, love,” he said softly, his voice a gentle balm against the relentless noise of your stress. His tone was soothing, almost musical, meant to cut through the fog of your anxiety. “How’s it going?”
You glanced up briefly, your eyes tired and red-rimmed. “It’s going alright,” you murmured, your voice lacking its usual vibrancy. “Just a bit more to do before the interview.”
Geto shook his head, a small, understanding smile playing on his lips. He placed a wooden tray on the edge of your desk, positioning it delicately beside your chaos.
You hadn't even noticed him holding the tray as he walked in. It was a thoughtful assortment of comfort foods: freshly baked chocolate chip cookies with their edges perfectly golden, carefully cut slices of fruit, and a neatly wrapped sandwich. The sight of it was like a warm hug for your weary soul.
“Take a break,” Geto said, his voice carrying a tender authority. “You’ll need more than just caffeine to get through this—eat something y/n.” He said, moving to stand behind you, placing his large hands gently on your shoulders after running his fingers through your hair. You reached for a cookie, the rich, sweet aroma providing a momentary escape from the relentless pressure.
The gooey chocolate and soft dough offered a fleeting but much-needed distraction as you bit into it. You closed your eyes for a moment, savouring the taste and the comfort that came with it. “Mmmmm…This is delicious, Suguru.” You said as he leaned down, placing a loving kiss on the top of your head. You smiled softly and tilted your head back to look up at his pretty face.
“I will eat, I promise, you’re so sweet for this…but I can’t take a break right now, baby. I’m sorry.”
Geto watched you with a soft smile, his heart swelling with affection. He saw the tension in your shoulders, the furrow in your brow, and the way you continually rubbed your tired eyes. He knew that a simple snack was only the beginning of what you needed. “Do you need me to help with anything?” He asked, but he knew the answer you were about to say. “Sorry, but now, I just need to keep preparing.” He nodded and planted another kiss on your temple before leaving you to continue your interview prep.
The hours passed slowly, the light from the desk lamp casting long shadows across the room. You continued working, your focus wavering as fatigue began to take its toll.
As if on cue, Suguru entered the room, carrying a soft blanket and a hairbrush, but you did not notice him as your face was buried in your computer screen.
He draped the blanket over your shoulders, its softness immediately providing a sense of comfort as you turned your head quickly to meet his gentle gaze. As he tucked it around you, he noticed the tension in your posture. He gently brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch both soothing and affectionate. “Mmm…thank you, baby.” You cooed, letting your body relax under the warmth.
“You should take a break,” he suggested again, his voice soft yet firm. “You’ve been at this for hours. I hate to see you so stressed.”
You shook your head, “I can’t stop now,” you protested weakly, your voice a mix of determination and exhaustion. “There’s still so much to do, and I don’t wnat to waste tim-.”
“Nonsense,” Geto countered before you could finish your thought with a playful firmness. “You need to take care of yourself too. I’m here to help.”
With that, he pulled up a chair behind you and began to work on your hair. His fingers were skilled and gentle, moving with practiced ease as he untangled the knots with his hairbrush and began braiding your hair. The rhythmic motion of his hands was both calming and intimate, each touch designed to ease away the stress that had accumulated from your long hours of work.
As he worked, you could feel the tension in your head and shoulders slowly melting away. The sensation of his familiar touch, combined with the warmth of the blanket was a welcome relief.
Your thoughts began to drift and your eyelids fluttered shut, momentarily distracted from the relentless pressure of your preparations. The soft, rhythmic motion of his hands was like a lullaby, drawing you away from the stress and into a state of calm.
Suguru’s was focused on making sure you felt cared for. He knew that even the smallest gestures could make a big difference in how you felt. His thoughts were filled with a mixture of concern and affection as he continued to braid your hair, each movement designed to bring you comfort.
Suguru’s attention to your needs was instinctive. He knew that even the smallest gestures—a touch, a word—could make a big difference.
His love was quiet, expressed not in grand gestures but in these moments of care, where he sought to lighten your load without taking anything away from your independence.
After finishing the braid, he leaned forward, his warm breath brushing your skin as he kissed the crown of your head softly, lingering just a moment too long.
“You’re doing great,” he whispered, his lips grazing your temple before planting another tender kiss on your cheek. “I’m so proud of you.”
His words, gentle and sincere, filled the room like a warm, protective aura. You smiled despite the exhaustion weighing down on your body.
A part of you wanted to surrender to his care completely, to let him whisk you away from the burden of responsibility. But that determined part of you—the one that had carried you this far, wouldn’t let you rest just yet.
You turned in your chair to face him, giving him a tired but appreciative smile. “You’re too good to me,” you murmured, reaching up to cup his face. “But I can’t rest, Suguru. Not yet.”
He chuckled softly, the low sound reverberating through his chest as he held your gaze. His dark eyes were filled with warmth, a reflection of the depth of his feelings for you.
“I think you deserve a break,” he said, placing a soft kiss on your lips this time. His kiss was slow, delicate—enough to tempt you into abiding, but not enough to fully pull you away from your tasks.
When he pulled back, his eyes searched yours, and for a moment, the world outside of the two of you seemed to disappear.
“Stay here,” you whispered, though a teasing smile played on your lips. “But… let me finish. Just a little longer?”
Geto sighed theatrically, though the fondness in his gaze never wavered. “You are impossibly stubborn, you know that?”
You chuckled, brushing a thumb across his cheek. “I know. But that’s why you love me.”
He smirked, leaning in for one more kiss, this one a little firmer, a little more insistent. It was a kiss that promised more, but also one that said, I’ll wait.
“You’re right,” he murmured against your lips. “That’s exactly why.”
With a gentle squeeze of your hand, Geto reluctantly pulled away, though not without one last, lingering look that left your heart fluttering. He straightened up, his hands trailing down your arms as he rose to his feet.
“I’ll be in the other room,” he said, his voice soft but tinged with the unspoken promise that he’d return if you needed him.
You nodded, biting back another smile as you turned back to your work.
The desk lamp cast its warm glow over the papers once more, but this time, the weight on your shoulders felt lighter—knowing Suguru was there, just a room away, gave you the strength to push through.
You sighed contentedly, feeling the remnants of his tender living care wrapped around you like the blanket he had so thoughtfully draped over your shoulders. Suguru’s love was quiet, persistent, and steady. And in this moment, even in the midst of your stress, you couldn’t help but feel incredibly lucky to have him.
The hours dragged on as the hum of your laptop filled the quiet room. Despite Suguru’s care and the warmth of the blanket over your shoulders, you continued to push through. The stress of preparing for the interview was like a weight on your chest, driving you to review every last detail of your presentation.
Fatigue gnawed at your senses, but you stubbornly ignored it.
Your fingers moved slowly over the keyboard, eyes struggling to focus on the words that had long since blurred. You barely noticed the dim light of your screen, and the quiet of the house settled into a calming lull.
Suguru, ever mindful, peeked into your office from time to time. He could see the way your head drooped closer to the screen, the way your back slumped in the chair, the exhaustion etched in your every movement.
After what felt like an eternity, Suguru decided enough was enough. He reappeared at the doorway of your office, a glass of water in hand.
As he approached, he saw your body had finally succumbed to the exhaustion you had been fighting. Your head was resting on your folded arms atop the desk, the faint glow of the laptop barely illuminating your peaceful face.
The screen had dimmed automatically, its light reflecting softly off your skin, casting long shadows across the room.
Suguru’s steps softened as he entered the room, not wanting to disturb you. He set the glass of water down quietly beside the untouched cup of tea he had brought earlier and knelt beside you, taking in the sight of your sleeping form.
The tension that had lined your features throughout the day had finally faded, leaving you with an expression of serenity. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he brushed a few strands of hair out of your face, tucking them gently behind your ear.
His gaze lingered, his heart swelling with warmth and affection.
You had worked yourself to the point of exhaustion, and as much as he admired your dedication, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt for letting you get this far without insisting on rest.
He knew how much this interview meant to you, but he also knew that you needed sleep just as much.
Suguru rose to his feet, stepping behind your chair as he gently placed a hand on your shoulder. “Y/n,” he whispered softly, his voice barely above a breath. There was no response. You were too far gone in sleep to even stir. He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. "Stubborn as always."
Without another word, he slipped his arms beneath you, careful not to wake you as he lifted your limp form from the chair. Your head lolled softly against his chest as he cradled you in his strong arms, the weight of your body nothing compared to the warmth in his heart. The blanket that had once been draped over your shoulders fell away—forgotten as Suguru began to carry you out of the office.
The hallway was dark, lit only by the dim light of the moon filtering through the windows. The soft sound of his footsteps was the only noise in the stillness of the house. He glanced down at you as he walked, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest as you slept soundly against him.
As he reached the bedroom, Suguru nudged the door open with his foot and crossed the room to the bed. He laid you down gently, his movements careful and precise, not wanting to disturb your sleep. Once you were settled, he pulled the covers up to your chin, tucking you in with the same tenderness he had shown all evening.
For a long moment, he stood beside the bed, just watching you sleep. His eyes softened as he took in the sight of you, safe and sound under his watch. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
“I love you,” he whispered, the words barely audible in the quiet of the room.
Suguru straightened up, brushing a hand through his long hair before glancing back at you one last time, soaking in your effortless beauty.
He smiled softly to himself as he quietly left the room, knowing you would wake up tomorrow feeling refreshed—whether you wanted to or not.
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klintoris · 3 months ago
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I've seen a few things recently...sooo brat taming schlatt. Thinking about how mad and cocky he was on the trivia episode, plus this one tiktok that I've seen. ...kinda need him to to be super annoying and look at his stupid eyes and smirk. Boom, I go ham. Go crazy
Thank you for listening
heloooo anon!!! sorry for the really late reply LOLOLOL, I'm not sure which episode you mean but I did some homework so I hope this is what you wanted.
schlatt brat taming, hints of dacryphilia, edging, inflicting pain, idk I think that's it. oh and mommy kink if you squint (use of ma)
NOT PROOF READ LOL
Schlatt and I are both hard workers when it comes to our jobs. although he has an editor, I do not, so I need all the focus I can get to finish my videos. 
I was editing a longer video, around 3 hours of footage, so the likelihood of me finishing within a day is doubtful. Usually, when I am editing, I block everyone out and lock in. 
It's around 4 am and I'm still going at the video, fully engulfed in the task at hand. 
I zone back out when I hear long-stridden footsteps coming towards my office, almost in a hurried motion. The door swings open and I see a large figure in the reflection of my screen. 
“What's up,” I say still turned around, “Ma can you please come to bed” schlatt says needily. “Sorry baby I’m working righ’now”, he groans at my response. I hear the weight on the floor shift as I look in the reflection I vaguely see schlatt doing something with his pants. 
For the first time in hours, I take my eyes off the screen and look at what he's toying with, as I turn my chair I see him rubbing himself through his sweats, breathing heavily.
“Baby, you know I don't like it when you touch yourself,” I tilt my head in disapproval. He huffs as he stares into my eyes, still touching himself with a smirk. 
I roll my eyes and turn myself back around, receiving a groan from the large man. 
I try to get back to editing but all I can hear is the stupidly pathetic moans of the man behind me, “if you keep doing that-”, “Or what?” he retorts. I swing back around staring at him as his eyes challenge me, “What toots’? What y’gonna do? I ain't scared of you”. “Excuse me”, “y’fucking heard me”, I bolt out of my seat, striding over and grabbing his dick, yanking him into our shared bedroom, he protests with a ton of ows and fucks. 
Practically throwing him onto the bed and straddling him, immediately slapping his face, “You think you can just talk to me like that? Huh? Think you can talk down to me? I own you” I stare down at him, all he's doing is just laying there with a huge grin on his face. “Hit me again ma” he beams up at me trying to put his hands on my hips. I slap his hands away, “I'm not gonna give you that I don't think you even deserve to be fucking touched”, he frowns at that, leaving the smile behind. “Fuck please m sorry ma, just let me fuck that pretty pussy of yours” he pouts, his once cocky stare is now just a stupid pleading look. “You don't even deserve my pussy right now with the way you are acting”, I get off him and grab the handcuffs and vibrator. “No not the fucking vibrator please fuck”, “You think you're above me but look at the way you are right now, so dumb” schlatt whimpers as I get back on the bed.
“Give me your hands or are you gonna fight with me again?” he slowly brings his hands up to me, i place the handcuff on his one hand and fish the other cuff through one of the bed posts and then cuff it to his other hand.
 “Don't do this toots I’ll be a good boy I swear” he plead watching me yank down his sweats, “no undies huh? What a slut” I chuckle. 
I lean back just staring at him, his shirt ridden up and his face red. 
“Fuckin’ jus touch me, princess, please”, “oh playing nice now? You know that won't save you now.”. 
He whimpers and yanks at the cuffs, I reach over and grab the vibrator off the bedside table, and as I do he starts yanking faster. 
“Fuck baby almost makes me feel bad for you” I cackle almost.
I turn the vibrator on the lowest setting, straddling his legs so he can't move, slowly inching it towards his cock. 
I stare up at him through my lashes watching him squirm as I place the low humming object near the base of his cock. 
Gently running it up and down, only to take it off again.
“Fuck’m ma please” schlatt begs
“Please what honey? Use your words” 
“Please let me f-fuck you”
“Awh no baby you lost that privilege today” 
He whines as I turn the speed up on the vibrator, throwing his head back on the pillow once I bring it back down to the tip.
His angry tip pulsing against the vibrator, brushing the vibrator up and down his length.
Again pulling away once I feel his hips attempt to buck up against the vibrator, he whimpers in frustration.
“God you fucking bitch-” he huffs without thinking, I grab his face and make him look at me. “Do you want me to keep going?”, “please-” “then shut the fuck up,” I say as I push his face back. 
He grins stupidly, almost happily as if he is overjoyed by my treatment of him, I shake my head and turn the vibrator to the max. 
Bringing it down on his length again, faster and more determined now, “Don't cum until I say so” he whines at my words. Going up and down, focusing on the tip more, I start to fondle his balls. 
Schlatt moans out and starts to buck his hips up against my hand, along with the toy. His cock angry and red, wanting to cum so badly. 
“Please- toots cant please can I cum? Fuck-”, I smirk and pull the toy away. 
I see a tear shed from his eyes from frustration, “Are you gonna be a good boy?”, “please yes yes” his once cocky demeanour from early is completely gone. 
“Good,” I say before putting the loud vibrator back onto his cock, bucking his hips up again I can tell he's close. I scratch my nails into his thigh, making his cock twitch harshly, “please ma? Can I cum-” “Yes baby let it out for me”. 
Before I can even finish my sentence he's shooting ropes onto his sweatshirt, panting and whimpering as he finishes. 
We sit there for a second after I turn the vibrator off, he starts to pull at the handcuffs, looking at me.
“Ok ok ok” I unlock them and let his hands fall, finding leverage in my ass. He sighs, “what” I stare at him with a weird look.
“I don't know I don't think I've learned my lesson” he laughs.
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its-all-stardust · 1 year ago
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Sugar || 5
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Masterlist || Part Four || Part Six
Steven Grant/Sugar Mommy!Reader
Word count: 3.2k
Series Summary: You meet Steven in a museum gift shop and feel an instant connection. Before you walk out the door you decide, perhaps against your better judgment, that you need him to be your sugar baby. Now you just need him to let you treat him right.
Notes: I'll admit, this chapter isn't my favorite but it works lol. it's mainly here to establish certain things to make it easier for me in the future, so sorry if it's not as good as the others!
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You call Steven immediately, but he doesn’t answer. Hanging up without leaving a message, you text him.
Is everything okay? You quickly type. You don’t want to immediately ask why he left. Maybe he was uncomfortable staying the night but didn’t want to say anything.
But then, why did he ask to kiss you again before you left him for the night?
As frustrating as it is for Steven to pull such a vanishing act, it hurts worse. You’re so attached to him already, and the thought that you might have done something to upset him or that he might not want to be around you is crushing.
There’s no immediate response to your text, and you try not to let this minor hiccup affect you. Surely something must have happened for Steven—sweet Steven, who apologizes for not responding to a message within a few minutes—not to have gotten back to you yet.
You’re left standing in the middle of your apartment, lost.
With a shake of your head, you try to put the worst from your mind. For all you know, he could have gotten called into work early and forgot to let you know on his rush out the door. You open your banking app and pay Steven for the night, making sure to deduct whatever you were planning to pay for the pleasure of waking up to him in your home. You also make a mental note to give Steven a firm talking to when you next see each other.
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You didn’t hear from Steven for the rest of the weekend.
You’re reminded of one of your babies from a few years ago—the one who ghosted you after one date—and like a parasite, the idea that Steven might have done the same thing latches onto you and refuses to let go.
Monday morning, you’re determined not to let a mere sugar baby distract you—even though you don’t think of Steven as a “mere” anything—and steel yourself for what could be the inevitable end to a short-lived relationship. Steven taking two weeks to talk to you before agreeing to be your baby was one thing. It was another to agree to follow your rules, only to disregard them entirely. If Steven can’t commit to you the way you want him to, or if he decides that this isn’t for him, then you aren’t going to keep him.
It could even be a good thing, you try to convince yourself.
Maybe this could all be a lesson you need to learn about picking babies off the street.
You shake your head to rid yourself of the thought. You’re catastrophizing again. You’re making this personal, a reflection of yourself and your abilities. At the end of the day, Steven is an employee you hired because you thought he could do the job. After seeing some trouble from him, you’re merely reconsidering his position with you.
You ignore how much your stomach roils at the thought of letting him go.
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At lunch, your phone vibrates in your purse—where you had tossed it earlier when you couldn’t stop staring at it from its usual place on your desk.
The sound makes you pause, questioning if someone is really calling you.
It might not be Steven, you tell yourself as you slowly, calmly reach into your bag and pull out your phone.
But it is him, and the weight in your stomach eases a little.
You stare at the phone, at Steven’s name on the screen, until it goes dark and stops vibrating. Then, a moment later, a notification pops up, announcing a voicemail.
Still, you wait. It’s only fair, after all.
Immediately, your phone starts buzzing again, Steven’s name displaying again. This time, you answer.
“Steven,” you say, your voice low. Although you’re glad he called and persisted with the voicemail and a second call, you’re still upset with him. He better have a good reason for disappearing.
“I am so sorry,” Steven says after a moment, perhaps registering your tone and knowing how upset you are. “I think…I think something’s wrong with me.”
“Why do you say that?” Despite your confusion, you keep your tone even, neither believing nor disbelieving him until you have more information.
Steven hesitates. “You’ll think I’m mad,” he mumbles, seemingly more to himself than to you.
That’s what hits you: your baby is going through something he’s afraid you’ll reject him for, that you won’t be there for him. And right now, regardless of how you feel, he needs you.
“Steven,” you say, softening your voice and letting a hint of worry peak through. “What’s wrong? Explain it to me.”
“I don’t remember this weekend,” Steven quietly admits, deepening your worry. “I mean, I remember staying at yours, but then suddenly I’m home, standing in the bathroom, and it’s Monday. And I know you’re mad at me, I know. I’m sorry. I just don’t know what’s going on.” Steven finishes, sounding on the verge of tears if a few haven’t slipped out already.
“Baby, hush,” you soothe. “I’m not mad at you.” Not anymore, though you are…concerned.
“You’re not?” Steven asks, hopeful.
“No, I’m not. But what happened? Are you not feeling well? Did you hit your head?”
You want to ask if he took anything, but hold off. It doesn’t feel like the right time, and it could potentially make him defensive and resistant to help if you do.
“Nothing like that. Mainly tired, like I haven’t slept in days, but nothing else.”
Strange, to say the least.
“Have you gone to the doctor?”
“N-no, I haven’t. I wasn’t sure…Since nothing’s wrong—”
“Steven, you blacked out for an entire day. That’s not normal,” you insist. Steven goes quiet. “Go. For me. I need to know you’re okay.”
“Okay,” he agrees softly.
“You’ll go today,” you order.
“Yes. Today.”
You think for a moment, biting your lip. “You’ll come to my place later. Meet me there when I get off work.”
You don’t know if inviting him back to your place is a good idea. There could genuinely be something wrong with Steven, something happening to him. But there’s also a chance he’s keeping something, some bad habit or another, from you.
You briefly rethink your decision to forgo a background check on him, but even still, you don’t make plans to follow through with it.
Despite the warning signs, you still want to see him, need to see him. You need to know he’s okay and be there for him. It takes everything in you not to go and be with him now, your anger forgotten and your worry about what he may have gotten himself into ignored.
He’s yours, and you want to take care of him. It’s almost as if, in the short time you’ve known him, he’s done something to you.
“I’ll be there,” Steven says, sounding more sure than anything else he’s said so far. “I…I need to see you.”
You try to ignore the warmth that floods through you.
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Steven looks lost as he stands outside your door. He hesitates when he sees you, unsure whether to go to you or wait for you to reach him and unlock the door.
He looks tired, like he indeed hasn’t slept since he was here on Saturday, and his clothes are disheveled, more so than usual. You’ve yet to hear what happened to him over the weekend, what caused his blackout, but you already have a half-formed plan to keep him here tonight and put him to bed as soon as possible.
When you get close, you say his name softly and hold out your arms.
Steven looks relieved as he steps into you, his arms tucking under yours as he buries his face in your neck. He melts into you, and the two of you stand outside your door, each drawing some comfort from the other.
One of your hands goes to his head, threading your fingers through his curl and holding him tight. You kiss the side of his head and wait, letting him hold onto you for as long as he needs.
He clings to you so desperately it makes you wonder if he has anyone else.
Why is it that you, his sugar mommy, are the first person he came to? Regardless of your feelings toward him, surely he has family or friends he could turn to in a moment like this.
You don’t recall him mentioning anyone, except his mother, off-handedly. From how he made it sound, you don’t think she’s even in London.
Maybe you’re all he has.
The thought makes you cling to him as much as he is to you. With Steven in your arms, it’s easy to decide that no matter what’s wrong, you’ll help him. Maybe it’s something where it wouldn’t be right for him to keep being your sugar baby, but you won’t abandon him.
When Steven shows no sign of letting you go, you whisper, “Let’s go inside.”
He reluctantly pulls away and nods, though his hand quickly finds yours.
Once you’re through the door, you kick off your shoes and lead Steven to the couch. You’re a little surprised he doesn’t immediately curl up to your side, but he seems to realize the two of you still need to talk. And whatever he has to say must be serious.
“Did you go to the doctor like I said?” you ask when Steven doesn’t speak.
Instead, he deflates, falling back against the couch, tossing his head back, and staring up at the vaulted ceiling.
“She’s as stumped as I am, I think. Couldn’t find anything without running tests and…” he trails off, sounding defeated.
“And?” you prompt, squeezing his hand. He still hasn’t let go.
“She said it could just be sleepwalking or something like that. But for a whole day?” Steven lifts his head up, staring at you in confusion. “How can I have been asleep for a whole day? Not to mention getting from your flat to mine. Ugh, and then Donna.” Steven falls back and rubs his free hand down his face.
You had forgotten he was scheduled to work today. “You went in?”
“I was supposed to. Supposed to be there at nine, but came to staring at myself in the bathroom mirror with my phone ringing in the other room.”
“I take it Donna didn’t handle your absence well.”
“Oh, perfectly well, actually, if you don’t count the, you know, yelling and threatening to fire me. Had to tell her it was an emergency and promise that it won’t happen again to get her to stop. I don’t think she even believed me.”
You can practically see the weight of it all resting on Steven’s shoulders. Waking up after a blackout, knowing something is wrong, and then having your manager chewing you out immediately after? It would be horrible.
“Oh, Steven,” you soothe, pulling him to you so you can hug him again. “What about those tests the doctor mentioned? Are you going to take them? I could pull some strings and get you in to see a specialist sooner.”
“You don’t have to,” Steven insists as he wraps his arms around your waist. “There’s a chance it’s nothing… Just wait and see and hope it doesn’t happen again.”
You have to bite your tongue to keep from arguing. You’ve never had to worry about a baby’s health before, and you’re not sure if insisting that he seek treatment goes beyond the bounds you set for the relationship or if Steven would even appreciate you inserting yourself into that part of his life. You don’t want to tell him what to do regarding certain aspects of his personal life, but you still worry.
“Did you tell your family about what happened?” you ask instead. If you can’t tell him what to do about his health, maybe they can.
“It’s just my mum,” Steven says quietly, as if unsure what he wants to tell you. “I left her a message. She’s always traveling, so it’s hard to catch her. She’ll listen to it when she can, though. She always does.”
Something about his tone is slightly off, making you wonder who he’s trying to convince.
“Can we just…go back to normal?” Steven asks, sounding exhausted. “I don’t want to think about it anymore.”
“Normal, huh?” you concede, running your fingers through his hair. You’ll play everything by ear for now, and Steven seems well enough that you’re willing to drop the topic for tonight.
“Please?” he mumbles into your neck.
“Well, it just so happens that I got something in the mail for you today.”
Steven lifts his head, brow furrowed. “What’s that?”
You start pulling away, preparing to stand. “I’m going to need you to sound more enthusiastic than that, baby,” you say, kissing Steven’s cheek.
“Right, sorry,” he says, his face flushing like he’s already forgotten your roles. “I love it already. Thank you.”
You can’t help but laugh as you walk over to the front door where you left your bag. Grabbing the card you had safely tucked away earlier when it arrived at the office, you walk back to the living room and stand directly in front of Steven.
You flash the card at him, showing off his name and making Steven’s eyes widen in surprise.
“There’s no limit; you can use it to buy anything and everything. It’s already activated, and I have notifications set up on my phone, so I’ll know when you use it.” Your eyes narrow as you watch Steven visibly swallow, nervous. “And when you don’t.”
“I-I…” Steven stammers but doesn’t quite finish whatever he’s trying to get out.
You watch him closely, looking for any sign that he isn’t interested in this kind of play, the slightest hint that he’s uncomfortable.
Something dark shifts across his features then, twisting his expression toward a scowl. But then it’s gone in an instant, Steven’s expression returning to what it was, his soft brown eyes so trusting. You have no idea what to make of it.
Though it leaves you confused, you decide to continue but are mindful of any other signs that you’ll need to stop what you’re doing. What you have in mind isn’t intense, but some of your babies found it degrading and didn’t like doing it.
“Tell me why I should give you this card,” you say.
Steven shakes his head automatically. “I don’t deserve it.”
You raise an eyebrow. “No? But aren’t you doing this for the money? And all the other things I can give you?”
He looks away briefly before meeting your eyes again. Even though he’s hesitating, nothing about him says he doesn’t want to be doing this.
“Yes? But you already—”
“Steven.” His mouth snaps shut at your tone. “Repeat after me: I deserve an unlimited credit card.”
He flushes again and mumbles, “I deserve an unlimited credit card.”
“Louder.”
Steven repeats himself, only slightly louder than the first time.
“Again,” you order, still not satisfied.
When Steven repeats the words this time, he does so at a normal speaking volume—not too loud, but perfect for you.
“Good boy,” you praise, reaching out to hold his face with your free hand. You can tell this was hard for Steven, and you hope, one day, asking for the things he wants will be easier for him.
Steven closes his eyes with a contented sigh and nuzzles your palm. You can’t help but smile adoringly at him.
“Do you know why you deserve it?” you ask, keeping your voice low, soft.
He opens his eyes and shakes his head slightly, careful not to knock your hand away. “Because you’re my baby, and you’re special. Say it.”
Steven lets out a shaky breath against your palm. “Because I’m yours, and I’m special.” He doesn’t mumble or stumble over the words. His voice is clear and even, making you let out a pleased hum. You’re a little proud of him.
“Since you want it so much, beg for the card,” you say, watching him carefully.
Steven seems a little taken aback, and you drop your hand from his face.
“You can always say no,” you remind him. “This doesn’t have to be something we do. No hard feelings.”
When he doesn’t immediately respond, you take a step back and go to hand him the card. He’s done so well already, and you won’t push him into something he doesn’t want to do. Just because he’s your sugar baby doesn’t mean he’s a toy to toss around as you please.
But then Steven’s hands are on your hips, holding you in place.
“Please,” he whispers, staring up at you beseechingly from his place on the couch. Your heart starts to pound, elated.
“Please, what? What do you want?” You need him to say the words; you need to know that he wants to do this, too.
“Please give me the card,” he says, his voice still so quiet.
“You don’t sound like you want it bad enough.”
Steven shifts on the couch, moving close to the edge. His hands on your hips tighten ever so slightly. He licks his lips and says, “Please, can I have it? I promise I’ll use it. I’ll-I’ll buy so much stuff. Please?” He sounds happy to play along but isn’t sure quite what to say. You’re pleased, though, that he’s trying.
“Please what?” you prompt, hoping he’ll get the message, that he’ll like that part of the relationship too.
Steven stares at you for a moment. Then, “Please, mummy,” said in a breathless whisper.
Smiling brightly at him, you lean down and kiss him. Steven eagerly returns it, gripping your hips tighter and trying to pull you closer even though his head is already tilted back at a slightly awkward angle.
“You did so well, baby,” you say when you pull away. During the kiss, your hand somehow found its way into Steven’s hair, gripping it just enough to move his head how you wanted. You slide your hand back down to his cheek, brushing your thumb against the flush you find there. His pupils are blown wide, and his mouth is slightly open as he lets out shallow pants.
Standing up straight, you hold the credit card out for Steven. “Buy whatever you want, and you’re not getting off this couch until you do.”
“Right now?” Steven asks, sounding a little dazed. He reluctantly releases your hips to take the card, allowing you to sit beside him.
“Yes, right now. Pull out your phone.” You settle in against his side, throwing an arm on the back of the couch, around his shoulders when he settles back, so you can hover over him. “Do you want one of those giant TVs? A gaming system or a computer? What about getting the fixings for a saltwater tank and getting Gus an exotic friend?”
“I… don’t know,” Steven says, taking his phone out of his pocket and unlocking it. He still seems overwhelmed by the whole idea of having such an outrageous amount of money to spend. You affectionately brush one of his curls away from his face.
“Don’t worry, we have all night to figure it out.”
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daenysx · 2 years ago
Text
as a person who studies out of town, this was a little triggering for me to write lol. i hope you like it, i tried to do my best with reflecting all the emotions they feel. <3
requests are open!!
my masterlist
missing his sweet baby
your voice sounds sad and modern!aemond is quick to leave everything behind just to make you smile.nsfw.
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it's too hard to miss someone. the feeling crawls in your heart like a heavy burden, you don't know how to carry it. it's because of him.
"i miss you. please, call me."
you leave a message to him with teary eyes.
aemond targaryen is the man of your dreams. he came into your life and shattered your heart for any other person who tries to have it. your heart belongs to him, you had accepted this a long time ago.
you are far away. this is only for six months, you are studying for your dreams. at first it was harder to be away from him, to get used to a new place and a new school. you tried to stay strong against the desire to go back and see him. aemond always supports you, keeps reminding you that this is only for six months and then it will be over. still, the amount of time you spend away from him burns you inside.
three months passed and you got used to it a little. focusing on your studies helped a lot, talking to aemond at least three times a day helped as well. he is working at his family's company and he is quite busy. he does anything to be successful and worthy, you know it must be hard for him. you wish to be with him when he has difficult time with all those bad feelings but there are still three months for you to go back.
you can't stop crying today. all you want to do is to crawl into aemond's arms and bury your face to his neck. he is not here, he is busy to call you back. you feel your heart clench painfully. today, you don't really feel like doing anything, there is no class or assignment to focus on. you are free and sad, sitting in your bed.
the city you now live in is beautiful. your life is the life you always want, you work for your dream career and you have plenty of new friends. the only thing missing is him.
your phone rings, his name is on the screen. you brush your tears away, try to clear your throat for a better voice and slide your finger on the screen.
"hey."
"my love? sorry, there was a meeting, i couldn't answer the phone."
"that's okay. how are you?" you ask, try to keep your voice steady.
"i'm fine, baby. how about you, hmm? don't you have any class today?" aemond asks.
"no, i'm free today. just staying in bed, doing nothing."
"hmm, that's good. you needed to rest."
his voice sounds like he still has a lot of things to do and talks to you at the same time when he works.
"we can talk later if you want. you are still at work, i don't want to take your time." you wonder if you sound sad because you can't control your voice this time.
you hear him chuckle on the other side. "please take my time. talking to you is the most important part of my day, okay? now, tell me how was your study group yesterday, anything new?"
you start telling him about the study group but then you hear another voice on the phone. "mr.targaryen, there is an emergency-"
aemond scoffs. "i'm sorry, sweetheart. i'll call you back."
"that's fine, i love you." you can't help your voice shaking this time. he says he loves you and hangs up.
you burst into tears once more. the crying doesn't stop, you quit trying. you stay in bed for hours, sleeping and crying. the emotions overwhelm you and you just give in. there is no point anyway. you close your eyes after a while and have a restless sleep.
you wake up a few hours later, the room is dark now. you feel extremely tired and your head is empty. you are hungry but you don't want to eat anything, instead you decide to have some coffee.
you drag yourself to bathroom first. you wash your face with cold water, hoping for some relief. then you go to kitchen and make a cup of coffee. you clean the little mess you made in kitchen and hear the doorbell ring as you reach for your cup.
you frown slightly, and wondering who that might be. you reach for the doorknob and open the door.
aemond is standing right there.
your mouth falls open. your sleepy brain can't process the fact that he is here. he gives you a few seconds, a happy expression on his face.
he opens his arms for you and you jump right into them. you wrap your arms around him like a koala and bury your face to his neck. his arms instantly reaches to your waist, holding you close. you feel his lips on your hair and you start crying again.
"shh, don't cry baby. i'm right here. oh, my sweet baby."
he cups your cheeks and presses a slow kiss on your lips. you hold his hand and lead him to your room, closing the door. he puts his bag on the floor and looks at your room.
"looks like someone here had a little crisis, hmm? why didn't you tell me you feel bad?"
you look at his face with shy eyes. "i didn't want to upset you, you are already too busy. i don't want you to worry over me."
he shakes his head. "i can't believe you think like this. nothing i do in that company worths more than you, okay? you should tell me about your feelings so that i can be with you, my love."
you kiss him with tears. you miss him too much, it still doesn't feel real. for three months, both of you never had the right time to fly and see each other, always waiting for the end of six months for your sweet union. the moment he heard your shaky voice and worried tone, he couldn't stay there. that was too much to deal with.
he keeps kissing you until he is longing for air. you lead him to your bed, tearing off his clothes desperately. "calm down, baby. i'm here, i'm right here. let me take care of you, please."
he takes off the rest of his clothes and helps you out of the shirt you wear. his shirt. you take off your knee socks as well and stay only in your panties.
he looks at you for a moment. "you have no idea how much i missed you. you have no idea what you do to me. i would leave everything and go to the end of the world with you just to put a smile on your pretty face."
you open your arms for him and he leans into you. he brushes kisses on your soft breasts and the spot between them. your neck crave his attention and he is quick to give it to you. he sucks and bruises, then softens his pressures with kisses. you become a whimpering mess under him quickly.
"it looks like you missed me, too. is that right, sweetheart?"
you nod. "yes, yes, i missed you so much. so much, aemond."
he chuckles. "it's fine. i'm here now and i will take care of you."
he kisses your lips and you kiss him back. 3 months of missing and longing for each other finally shows itself physically. your fingers travel in his hair, his beautiful hair. his hands are on your waist slowly reaches to your panties.
"let's take this off, hmm?" he smiles as you move your hips. "there you go."
he is painfully hard but he doesn't care. he has to take care of you first.
"aemond, i need you. now, please."
he nods. "would you like me to use my fingers, my love?"
you shake your head, "i can't take it, i just need you inside me. please, please."
he adjusts himself a little. "how were you taking care of yourself when i wasn't here, hmm?"
you show him your hand, playfully. "my fingers."
he kisses your hand. "and were they enough?"
you shake your head. "no, never enough. not like you."
"so, my sweet baby deserves a good orgasm, hmm? i think we can do that."
he slowly pushes himself to your entrance. you are already soaked for him, your muscles painfully throb around his length. he is inside you, holding the flesh of your thighs. he waits a little for you to get used to him. three months of agony and now he has you. he kisses your lips and starts moving when you nod approvingly.
he quickly finds a strong pace. his long fingers stroke your swollen clit. he loves hearing your moans, your closed eyes and messy hair. fuck, he missed the image too much, he is not gonna last.
"aemond, hmm, so close- so clos-"
he moves a little faster. "me too, baby. don't hold back, i need you to come with me."
your first round ends with his skilled fingers applying the right amount of pleasure on your clit and your walls clenching around him. he comes inside you with a deep moan and you arch your back as you find relief.
he stays inside of you. you look mesmerising like this under him, all those emotions you feel make themselves visible on your face. he kisses your lips and moves your hair from your face.
"are you alright?" he asks.
"mm-hmm. can we do that again?"
he chuckles. "don't worry babygirl. we are not done yet."
after your breathing turns steady, he brings his fingers on your cunt. the mix of your liquids keeps you wet. he quickly puts one finger in, his thumb on your clit. he pushes his second finger in as you try to move your hips.
his fingertips touch your g-spot suddenly and you scream his name. your fingers are not enough for you to reach there and when his fingers make a great job at finding and rubbing it, you feel like you'll cry.
"oh, my sweet baby. my beautiful baby, how much i've missed you."
he keeps moving his fingers and rubbing your clit. his free hand goes up to touch your hardened nipple. he squeezes the bud and you flinch. he touches the other one then, pressing and squeezing.
"i'm close, aemon-" you can't complete the sentence because he fastens his fingers in a way that makes you speechless. he is too strong, it's almost too much. you moan his name once more when you come, his fingers are soaked from your wetness. he waits for you to find your balance until he takes his fingers off.
he leaves the bed to get a clean towel from the bathroom. he helps you sit on the bed, your back against your pillows. he cleans the mess he made and brings you a cool glass of water.
"come on, drink it baby. i tire you too much, hmm? come on, finish the glass."
you drink all your water and look up to him. "i'm not tired. i feel perfect. i'm just- so happy that you're here."
"when i heard your voice and your words trying to hide your sadness from me, i left everything. i couldn't take it anymore, i had to see my girl."
you smile. "but you were too busy. what about the work?"
"i don't give a shit about the work now. they'll be fine without me."
"when will you go back?" you ask sadly. you need to know how much time you have with him.
"tomorrow night, baby."
you nod. "that's okay. it means we have time, right?"
"yes, and i will not leave until you have a smile on your face. a lasting smile, sweetheart. you don't know how much it hurts to be far away from you and knowing that you're sad."
you kiss him. "today was different. i've never been like this before."
he nods. "i know but you can't blame a guy for worrying over his sweet baby, hmm?"
you shake your head. "no, i guess i can't."
you pull him closer and he understands what you want to do. he leans his back to the headboard and makes room for you on his lap.
you adjust yourself comfortably on his lap and stroke his cock until it's hard for you. he watches the effect you have on him, he loves being undone because of you. you take him inside you and try to get used to the different angle. he holds your waist and guides you.
you start riding him, your fingers brush his chest and his neck. you move your hips in a certain rhytm. he tries to lift his hips and hits that sweet spot inside you. you moan, clenching around him. he encourages you to keep moving. you ride him through your third orgasm that night. that's not an unusual thing with aemond, you always manage to fuck each other until you are both satisfied. you come apart once more, this time it takes longer and your thighs are a little sore.
you lift your hips and take his weeping cock in your hand. you stroke him until he closes his eye, curves his mouth into a soft smile and comes on your fingers. you don't wait for your next move, take your fingers into your mouth and licking everything.
all he can do is to stay right there and watch you. he doesn't know how will he manage to leave tomorrow night when you look so perfect and when he is so in love.
after you are done, you put your head on his chest and pull the covers on both of you. he lays down and you bury your face to his neck, inhaling his scent. "i've dreamt about you holding me like this, all day long. almost afraid that i lost my mind."
"you are in the right place for your future, sweetheart. only three months more and you'll be back, remember? we can do that. we should do that."
you nod, wrap your arms closer. "i love you."
"i love you." he says it the second time for today but this time not on the other side of the phone, instead in the bed with you, holding you close.
"i think there is some wine in the kitchen. or we can drink coffee. oh god, i forgot to ask, are you hungry? i should've asked before i jump into your arms, i'm sorry." you say the last part teasingly.
"i'm not hungry. and you see, a man in the right mind always prefers you jumping into his arms before food."
"come on, that's too romantic even for you. let's stay in bed for a while, then we'll think of something."
he nods, kisses you hairline. you try not to think about the time he has to leave. you missed him too much and you deserve some good time with him instead of worrying and being sad.
aemond targaryen is the kind of man who would leave things behind just to see you smile. he takes care of your heart, supports you, and stays with you. your love for him feels overwhelming sometimes, how much more can you fall in love with him?
you press a kiss on his chest, ask him about his day. both of you know that you won't be sleeping tonight, it will be a night full of holding, kissing, talking, and touching each other. and it will be perfect.
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saigethearies · 2 years ago
Text
his girl best friend
kiba x fem!reader
18+ MINORS DNI
contents/warnings: reader is a lil possessive, vaginal sex, daddy kink, voyuerism(?), dash of degradation, sorry hinata stans lol she’s a lil problematic in this, allusions to unfaithfulness (not with reader’s relationship)
you were not a huge fan of hinata hyuga.
when kiba had first introduced the two of you, you had thought she seemed like a shy sweetheart. she was friendly enough and a little less intimidating to talk to than kiba’s other longtime friend, shino aburame.
the fact the guy you were seeing had a close friendship with another girl didn’t bother you, either. you weren’t an insecure person, and kiba didn’t give you any reason to start feeling that way, either. besides, hinata was finally going on dates with the man she’d had a crush on for years, naruto uzumaki.
there was no reason to dislike her.
until there was.
it started when you and kiba made it official. you had watched him type something on his phone after the two of you got back from your date.
“whatcha doing?” you had asked him, sitting down on the couch next to him.
he gave you one of his signature grins. “just telling shino and hinata the good news.”
butterflies flittered around your stomach at the fact your new boyfriend was so proud to have you that he wanted to tell his friends immediately.
he leaned in to give you a quick peck on your lips. “i’m gonna go take akamaru out real quick. you stay in here though, it’s dark out.”
“okay,” you replied. “don’t be too long!”
he left the room, and you glanced to see that he’d left his phone. message notifications displayed on the screen, and you leaned in to take a closer peek.
shino: congratulations, kiba. she seems very good for you.
that made you smile. but the text you saw next didn’t.
hinata: don’t you think it’s a little soon for the two of you to become official?
too soon? you’d known kiba since last year, and the two of you had been romantically linked for a solid month now. your relationship didn’t feel rushed at all, and who was she to judge? not everyone has to lurk on their crush for years before finally talking to them.
you chalked it up to her being jealous that her and naruto didn’t have a label yet while you and kiba did. still, her making negative remarks about your relationship that was only about two hours old left a bitter taste in your mouth.
everything seemed to go downhill from there.
she would practically ignore you whenever kiba brought you to a function. when you mentioned it to him, he said that she was just being shy as per usual. you would have taken his word for it, if it weren’t for the fact she was able to talk to you just fine before you became kiba’s girlfriend.
then there was the fact that when she wasn’t ignoring you, she was trying to best you in kiba 101.
“babe, i found out today one of my friends has an uncle who works at a jeep dealership,” you said to kiba at the kickback he had brought you to.
your boyfriend’s eyes sparkled. “no way.”
“what’s so special about that?” you heard hinata ask from across the table.
“because a wrangler is kiba’s dream car,” you replied.
hinata blinked. “no. his dream car is a camaro.”
you fought the urge to frown at her. was she seriously doing this right now? “it was a camaro, until he decided he wanted something that can off road.”
“she’s right,” kiba chimed in with a smile on his face, kissing the side of your head. “great memory, baby.”
you turned to meet his gaze and smiled back at him, the reflection in the window behind kiba giving you the perfect view of the eyeroll hinata gave your exchange.
your annoyance was finally coming to a crescendo when you started to catch her actually ogling your boyfriend.
she would practically be making fuck me eyes at kiba while standing right next to naruto, the guy who she’s supposed to be flirting with. you would feel bad for the blonde if it weren’t for the fact that he was too busy making fuck me eyes at sasuke uchiha to notice his date making fuck me eyes at her best friend.
you’d had enough.
hinata was supposed to be focusing on starting her own relationship. she’d also had plenty of opportunity to explore a possible romance with kiba, considering she’d known him for years before you even came into his life. it’s not like kiba would have rejected her, either. even though he’d never really had feelings for hinata like that (a fact shino had assured you of) she was still a pretty girl that he was close to. he probably would have been open to the idea. 
but no.
hinata decided that her friend getting into a happy relationship with another girl was the perfect time to start wanting him.
it wasn’t fair.
the worst part of all is that you didn’t want to tell kiba, who was oblivious to all of this. not because you were afraid that he wouldn’t believe you, but because you knew that he’d want to do something about it. his friends were important to him, but he wasn’t going to let anyone disrespect the boundaries of his relationship. it would impact his and hinata’s friendship in a very negative way, and you knew it would upset him.
thus, you figured you could try and resolve the problem on your own.
you were going to remind hinata hyuga of her place, and it sure as hell wasn’t in your boyfriend’s bed.
your plan fell into place on one of the trio’s game nights. kiba had hinata and shino come over every so often to play some classic board games, which was actually pretty wholesome when you ignore the whole part about hinata being after your boyfriend’s dick.
the girl in question usually got there about thirty minutes earlier than shino, probably so she could have a little window of time just her and kiba. this ended up working out for you, though.
because poor shino did not need to see what was about to happen.
all it took was an extra short pair of shorts, a bullshit excuse of you came over to find your sunglasses, and your boyfriend’s ever raging libido for your plan to kickstart.
“please, kiba, just really quick? we’ll be done before either of your friends even get here.”
he could never say no to you, not when you were being so cute and needy for him.
thus, that’s how hinata hyuga came to find you bouncing on kiba’s cock in the middle of his living room.
she stayed hidden around the corner leading to the hall, eyes blown open in shock as she watched your hips continue to slam down onto her best friend’s lap.
“fuck,” you moaned. “daddy, you feel so good.”
the brunette was canting his hips up to meet yours. “such a good little slut for me. you couldn’t wait until after my friends left, huh? wanted your daddy that bad.”
“yes!” you replied. “want you so bad.”
“it’s okay, princess, you have me.”
you hummed and leaned in for a sloppy kiss, kiba grabbing the back of your neck so he could deepen it. the sound of skin slapping against skin got louder as both of you increased the vigor in which you fucked one another.
you pulled away, a string of saliva connecting your mouth to his. you could still feel hinata’s eyes on the two of you, so it was time to go in for the kill.
“daddy,” you cooed at kiba. “tell me i’m yours.”
“you’re mine, baby. my pretty girl.”
you smiled. “m’your pretty girl?”
“mhm, my pretty girl and my favorite girl.”
you leaned into his neck so he couldn’t see the wicked smirk stretch across your face. you finally turned your head to the side, making direct eye contact with a still lingering hinata.
“i love you, daddy.”
“i love you too, princess. my one and only.”
at that you saw hinata turn on her heel and practically storm out of the house.
looks like she got the message.
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