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writingbuckets · 4 months ago

Text

𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧-𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

paige bueckers x reader

wc: 6.8k

synopsis: Y/N and Paige Bueckers are caught in a tense moment after Paige’s jealousy and neglect come to a head. With emotions running high, both struggle to navigate their complicated feelings, forcing them to confront the future of their relationship.

warnings: angst, jealousy, explicit sexual content, slight manipulation, possessiveness, dom/sub dynamics, slight violence (physical restraint)

a/n: i present to you... jealous paige bc this is one of my favorite tropes literally ever! this was 16 pages on google docs so i apologize for that, gonna go through all my posts and add warnings to them so i shall see you later <3

You’re sprawled out on your bed, limbs heavy against the soft blanket, phone clutched in one hand. The screen casts a faint glow in the dim room, illuminating the furrow of frustration etched into your brow. Your thumb idly scrolls through your message thread with Paige—a barren wasteland of unanswered texts. Each message feels like a tiny stone dropped into the pit of your stomach, adding to the growing weight.

Monday

Hey, how’d practice go? You alive?

Wednesday

I know you’re busy, but can we talk soon? Paige?

Friday

Cool. Guess I’ll take the hint.

You sigh heavily, locking your phone and tossing it onto the bed beside you. The device bounces slightly before settling face down, but your mind refuses to let it go. A sharp buzz suddenly cuts through the silence, jolting your heart into a sprint. For a fleeting moment, hope flickers. You snatch up the phone, only for disappointment to flood in when Jasmine’s name lights up the screen instead.

You swipe to answer, switching to speaker and tossing it back on the bed. “What’s up, Jas?” you say, your tone flat and lacking its usual warmth.

“Clearly not you,” Jasmine replies, her voice teasing but tinged with concern. “You sound like someone kicked your puppy. Is this about Paige again?”

You pause, chewing on your bottom lip, the weight of your emotions threatening to spill over.

“She’s been ghosting me all week,” you finally admit, bitterness seeping into your voice like a slow drip. “I get that basketball keeps her busy, but is it really that hard to send one text? Like, ‘Hey, sorry, can’t talk right now’? That’s all I’m asking. It’s not rocket science.”

Jasmine’s incredulous tone comes through loud and clear. “Wait. She hasn’t responded at all? Not even a quick ‘Hey, I’m swamped’?”

“Not a word,” you reply, the edge in your voice sharpening. “Meanwhile, she’s out here talking about how much she likes me and how she wants to make things work. For what? So I can sit here, feeling like a damn afterthought, while she… I don’t even know what she’s doing anymore.”

“You deserve so much better,” Jasmine says firmly, her voice a grounding presence.

“Tell me about it,” you mutter, picking up your phone again despite yourself. It’s a reflex, a bad habit you can’t seem to break. You open Instagram, swiping through stories without purpose, when something stops you cold.

KK’s latest post dominates the screen. It’s a picture of the team crammed into a booth at Ted’s, smiles wide and carefree. Paige is smack in the middle, holding up Dirty Shirley, her grin so effortless it’s like she hasn’t ignored a single text in her life. She looks happy. Relaxed. Completely unbothered.

The caption reads: “Dubs only, baby! Turnt up with the squad 🏀.”

Your grip on the phone tightens as heat rises to your cheeks. Your jaw clenches involuntarily. So, she has time for this? Time to party, to hang out with her team, to go to Ted’s of all places—your spot—but can’t find two seconds to acknowledge you?

“Unbelievable,” you mutter under your breath, the words simmering with anger.

“What happened?” Jasmine’s voice snaps you back to reality.

“She’s at Ted’s,” you say through gritted teeth. “With the team. Laughing, drinking, looking like life is perfect while I’m over here wondering if she fell off the face of the Earth.”

“Oh, hell no,” Jasmine says, her indignation matching your own. “She thinks she can ignore you and get away with it? Nope. Get up, put on your hottest outfit, and remind her who the hell you are.”

You sit up, heart pounding as the idea takes root. Your glare is fixed on KK’s post, as if staring at it hard enough might erase the image entirely. Locking your phone, you toss it onto the bed before swinging your legs over the side.

“You know what?” you say, your voice steady and laced with resolve. “Maybe I will.”

The moment you’ve had enough, something shifts inside you—like a fire being reignited. The frustration that’s been simmering all evening finally boils over, and you grab your phone with newfound determination. Sitting upright on your bed, you unlock the screen, your fingers flying across the keyboard with practiced ease.

Y’all down for Ted’s tonight? Need backup.

The message is direct, no frills. This isn’t just a night out—it’s a mission.

Jasmine’s reply comes almost instantly, as if she’s been waiting for an excuse to hit the town. Say less. On my way in 20. Her energy is palpable even through a text.

Seconds later, Veronica chimes in: I’m in. Let’s cause some trouble. Her signature wink emoji follows, and you can’t help but smirk.

Finally, Serena’s response lights up your screen with a single word: Bet. Short, sweet, and packed with confidence.

With your friends locked in, you toss your phone onto the bed and head straight to your closet. It’s time to make a statement—one that’s impossible to ignore. You stand in front of your wardrobe, fingers brushing over hangers as you mentally critique each option. Too casual. Too plain. Too predictable.

After what feels like an eternity, your hand lands on the one. It’s bold, sleek, and undeniably sexy—a figure-hugging dress that accentuates all the right places and practically demands attention. You pull it off the hanger, holding it up in front of the mirror. The deep color complements your skin perfectly, and the hem does the absolute minimum in covering the bottom of your ass.

You slip into it carefully, smoothing the fabric over your body and adjusting it until it fits like a second skin. Taking a step back, you examine yourself in the mirror, tilting your head as a small smile plays on your lips. You look good. No—scratch that. You look amazing. But tonight, looking amazing isn’t enough. You want to turn heads. You want Paige to feel it.

Not done yet, you move to your vanity, flipping on the lights. Your makeup bag sits waiting, and you dive in with practiced precision. First, a flawless base, smooth and glowing, like your skin was kissed by the perfect Instagram filter. You follow with a contour that defines your features, giving you a sharp, sculpted look. Then comes the winged liner, bold and dramatic, with a flick so precise it could cut glass. Smokey eyeshadow enhances the look, making your gaze impossible to ignore, and a high-shine gloss adds the perfect finishing touch to your lips.

You lean back, giving yourself a final once-over in the mirror. Every detail is on point, down to the faint shimmer of highlighter catching the light on your cheekbones. It’s flawless, if you do say so yourself.

As you’re spritzing on your favorite perfume—a scent both intoxicating and unforgettable—your phone buzzes again. Jasmine’s text reads: Outside. Let’s do this.

You slip on your favorite pair of chunky, heeled boots, the ones that make you feel like you own every room you walk into, and grab your bag. The rhythmic click of your heels on the pavement mirrors your determination as you stride out to Jasmine’s car.

Sliding into the passenger seat, you’re met with a low whistle from Jasmine. “Damn, girl,” she says, giving you an approving once-over. “Are you trying to destroy someone tonight?”

You smirk as you buckle your seatbelt, tossing your bag onto your lap. “Not destroy. Just remind a certain someone what she’s about to lose.”

Jasmine’s laugh fills the car as she reaches over for a fist bump. “Now that is the energy I needed. She won’t know what hit her.”

The ride to Ted’s feels electric. The bass of the music pulses through the car, a perfect soundtrack to your rising confidence. Jasmine keeps hyping you up the whole way, stealing glances at you every so often.

“You look so good, you’re probably going to start a fight,” she teases with a grin.

You meet her eyes with a smirk, adjusting a strand of hair in the mirror. “Good,” you say, your voice dripping with confidence. “Let her be mad. She’s got it coming.”

Jasmine’s laughter rings out, blending with the music as the two of you pull into the crowded parking lot. The neon sign for Ted’s glows against the night sky, and the hum of voices and laughter spills out into the cool evening air.

You step out of the car with purpose, adjusting your outfit one last time as your heels click against the asphalt. One final glance in the car’s side mirror confirms what you already know: you’re a vision, and tonight, you’re a force to be reckoned with.

Ted’s won’t know what hit it. And neither will Paige.

The low buzz of voices and the faint clinking of glasses hit you the moment you step into Ted’s. The warm glow of string lights overhead bathes the packed bar in a golden hue, and the energy in the room is palpable—loud laughter, animated conversations, and the occasional cheer erupting from the direction of the pool table. Your heels click against the floor as you make your way in with Jasmine, Veronica, and Serena flanking you like a well-coordinated squad.

It doesn’t take long to spot her. Paige is exactly where you expected, seated in a large booth near the back with Azzi, KK, Ice, and Jana. She’s dressed casually, black denim shorts, a black crop top, and an unbuttoned, white shirt, but she might as well be wearing a neon sign with the way she draws attention. She’s laughing, leaning back with her arm draped casually over the seat, completely at ease. You can see the sparkle in her eyes from here, even as she remains blissfully unaware of your presence.

The sight makes your stomach twist, but you shake it off. Tonight isn’t about Paige. At least that’s what you tell yourself.

“Let’s hit the bar,” you say, keeping your voice steady as you lead your friends in the opposite direction, deliberately ignoring the booth and the person in it.

The bartender greets you with a smile, and you order a couple rounds of shots for your group, letting Jasmine and the others hype you up as you throw them back the second they’re placed in front of you. Once you feel enough of a buzz to quell your anxiety, you decide to settle for a mixed drink to sip on for the remainder of the night. It isn’t long before you notice someone approaching, a tall, athletic-looking girl with broad shoulders and an easy grin. She’s wearing a fitted T-shirt and jeans, and the confidence in her stride is unmistakable.

“Hey,” she says, leaning against the bar. Her voice is low, smooth. “You look like you’re having more fun than anyone else here.”

You flash her a smile, tilting your head slightly. “You could say that.”

Her grin widens, and she introduces herself, launching into a conversation that you quickly match. Her compliments come freely—your outfit, your laugh, even the way you carry yourself—and you don’t hold back, laughing a little louder than usual and letting your fingers brush against her arm as you talk.

Across the booth, KK nudges Paige, a look of concern flickering across her face. “Uh, hey, isn’t that Y/N?” she says, nodding toward the bar.

Paige’s head snaps toward KK, her expression darkening as she follows her teammate’s line of sight. Her brows knit together as she takes in the scene—your effortless smile, the way you lean into the girl’s space, her hand resting on the bar just a little too close to yours. She recognizes the look in your eyes, it’s the same look she was on the receiving end of the first night you met.

“Yeah,” Paige says shortly, her voice clipped. She sets her drink down with more force than necessary, her grip tightening around the glass before she looks away.

Meanwhile, you pretend not to notice the silent storm brewing across the room. You keep your focus on the girl in front of you, leaning in just enough to keep the conversation flowing, though you can feel the heat of Paige’s jealousy from where you stand. It sends a thrill through you, equal parts satisfaction and spite.

As the girl laughs at something you’ve said, you turn your head to the side slightly, trying to catch a glance at the booth where Paige sits. Out of the corner of your eye, you see her tense, her hand balling into a fist on the table as she murmurs something to Azzi.

You can feel it in the air, Paige is reaching her breaking point. And that’s exactly what you wanted.

Paige sits stiffly in the booth, her grip on her drink tightening as her knuckles blanch. Her jaw works furiously, muscles twitching as if she’s holding back an eruption. The sound of your laugh, airy and effortless, cuts through the din of the bar, and Paige’s eyes flicker with barely concealed rage. Her teammates exchange uneasy glances, sensing the storm brewing beside them.

Azzi nudges KK and leans in. “Uh, is she okay?”

KK shrugs, her voice low. “I don’t think so.”

Paige suddenly stands, her movements sharp and deliberate. The scrape of her chair against the floor draws their attention.

“Where are you going?” Azzi asks, concern softening her voice.

Paige doesn’t look at her, her gaze fixed like a laser on you across the room. “I’ll be back,” she mutters, her voice clipped.

She doesn’t wait for a response, weaving through the crowd with purpose. Her steps are quick, her shoulders tight, and her eyes never leave you. You’re at the bar, leaning casually against the counter, completely absorbed in your conversation with the tall, athletic-looking girl beside you. The girl leans in close, her hand grazing your arm as she says something that makes you throw your head back with a laugh.

Paige’s chest tightens, and the corners of her vision blur with the heat of her jealousy. Each second feels like an eternity as she closes the distance, her blood boiling at the sight of the stranger getting a little too comfortable with you.

When she reaches you, she doesn’t pause to think. Her arm snakes around your waist in one swift motion, pulling you firmly against her side. The sudden contact makes you gasp, your conversation abruptly cut off. The flirty girl takes a step back, startled and clearly intimidated by Paige’s possessive presence.

“We’re leaving,” Paige says, her tone low and commanding. Her words are sharp enough to slice through the tension in the air.

You turn your head sharply, blinking in surprise as your eyes meet hers. The fire in her gaze burns so brightly it could scorch you, but you’re too stubborn to back down. “Now you have time to talk to me?” you ask, drawing the sentence out with deliberate sarcasm. “I think I’m fine right here.”

Paige’s jaw ticks, but she doesn’t respond. Instead, her arm tightens around your waist, her fingers pressing firmly into your side. It’s a silent warning, one you choose to ignore as you plant your feet against her attempts to steer you toward the door.

“Paige, what the hell?” you protest, your voice rising with irritation.

“Not here,” she snaps, her tone cold and final. Her grip remains unrelenting as she continues to lead you away from the bar.

Your friends notice the commotion, Jasmine standing halfway out of her seat. “Y/N, are you good?” she calls, her brows furrowed with concern.

You twist in Paige’s hold just enough to look back at them, throwing a hand up in a dismissive wave. “I’ll text you!” you shout over your shoulder, your voice dripping with frustration.

Paige doesn’t slow her pace until the two of you are outside, the cool night air biting at your skin. She releases you near her car, and you immediately step back, glaring at her.

“Seriously, Paige?” you snap, your voice sharp as you cross your arms over your chest. “You think you can just show up, ruin my night, and drag me out like this?”

Paige’s nostrils flare as she turns to face you fully, her expression thunderous. “I think I just did.”

Eventually you arrive at her apartment, and she has to practically pull you out of her car by your arm. The second you step into Paige’s entryway, you rip your arm out of her grip with enough force to make her stumble slightly. You spin around to face her, your chest heaving with frustration. The door slams shut behind you, echoing through the space like a gunshot.

“What the hell is your problem, Paige?” you shout, your voice cutting through the silence like a blade. Your words are sharp, fueled by anger that’s been simmering for days.

Paige whirls around to face you, her face already twisted in fury. “My problem?” she fires back, her voice rising to match yours, letting out a humorless chuckle. “You’re out there all over some random girl, and you’re asking me what my problem is?”

You take a step closer, refusing to back down. “Yeah, I am! Because you ignore me all week, and the second I talk to someone else, you suddenly care? Make it make sense, Paige!”

She runs both hands through her hair, pacing in jerky, frustrated strides between the door and the counter. “Do you know how insane it made me to see you with her?” she snaps, her words laced with raw, unfiltered emotion. “Laughing, touching her, looking like you were having the time of your life? Like I didn’t even exist?”

You laugh bitterly, the sound sharp and humorless as you cross your arms over your chest. “That’s rich, Paige. At least she actually talked to me, which is more than I’ve gotten from you in weeks.”

The room feels charged, every word hanging heavy in the air, but Paige isn’t done. She steps forward again, her voice low and rough with frustration. “You think I don’t care? You think I don’t want to talk to you? You’re all over her, touching her like it doesn’t matter, and it’s driving me crazy—"

“Gee, sounds like you finally get it,” you fire back, your words sharp with bitterness. “But hey, don’t worry, I’ll stop talking to people if it’ll make you feel better. Maybe next time, I’ll just sit in the corner and wait for you to remember I’m here, like some sad little backup plan.”

You turn your head, preparing to walk out, but before you can take a single step, Paige’s hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist with a force that stops you in your tracks. Your heart pounds in your chest as you turn to face her, ready to throw another snarky remark her way.

But before you can speak, she’s there, bringing her hands to grab both sides of your face, her lips crashing into yours with an intensity that takes you by surprise. You freeze for a split second, then instinct kicks in. You try to pull away, pushing against her chest with as much force as you can muster.

But she doesn’t let up. Her kiss deepens, her hand sliding to the back of your neck, keeping you in place. The anger you’ve been carrying fades, replaced with confusion and something else you can’t quite name. You can feel her tension, her frustration, her need for something—maybe an answer, maybe redemption.

She slides one of her hands down to anchor around the front of your throat, her other hand drifting to grab at your hip through the thin material of your dress. She slowly starts to back you towards her kitchen, not stopping until the top of your ass is pressing against the island counter. She brings both hands to your hips, tapping the side of your ass with one hand, encouraging you to jump, and roughly squeezing your hip with the other.

A soft gasp escapes your lips as she lifts you effortlessly onto the cool marble countertop. Her hands slide possessively up your thighs, pushing the hem of your dress higher. She steps forward, wedging herself between your parted legs.

"You look so fucking good in this dress," she says, her voice low and thick with desire. One hand slips under the fabric to caress the bare skin of your hip while the other tangles in your hair, tugging your head back to expose the column of your throat.

She dips her head, warm breath ghosting over your sensitive skin before her lips press against your racing pulse. Your back arches as she nips at the delicate skin, soothing the pinch with her tongue and surely leaving a mark. A breathy moan fills the air and it takes you a moment to realize it came from you.

Her lips trail lower, peppering hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone. You shiver as her tongue flicks out to taste your skin. The hand on your hip slides inward, fingertips skimming teasingly along the inside of your thigh.

You wrap your legs around her waist, pulling her in closer, desperate for more contact. She chuckles darkly against your throat, the vibrations sending sparks of pleasure racing down your spine. "I love it when you get like this," she murmurs approvingly. "All desperate and needy."

To punctuate her point, she rolls her hips, grinding against your center. The pressure and friction draw a keening whimper from your lips. Your hands fly up to grip her strong shoulders, nails digging into taut muscle through her shirt.

Her lips glide over your skin, a delicate yet fervent touch, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. As she moves up from your jawline, each kiss ignites a spark, and her breath, hot and teasing, touches your neck, sending shivers racing down your spine. "I've been thinking about having you like this all night," she murmurs.

You whimper as her hands skim higher, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through the thin fabric. She captures your lips in a searing kiss, tongue delving deep to claim your mouth, leaving you breathless and aching for more.

She reaches up to pull your dress down, revealing your bare breasts. Her lips immediately latch onto one of your nipples, sucking and biting it gently. You arch into her touch, a moan escaping your parted lips as she places full attention on the sensitive bud. Her tongue flicks and swirls, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

Her other hand palms your neglected breast, kneading the supple flesh. She rolls the pebbled nipple between her fingers, pinching and tugging in time with the ministrations of her mouth, each pull sending another rush of heat flooding your body.

"So pretty, baby," she says, the words vibrating against your skin. She gives your nipple one last hard suck before trailing her lips across your chest to the other breast, circling her tongue around the straining peak. Her mouth is relentless, her tongue swirling and flicking over your nipple until it’s aching, her teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp. Her free hand slides down your stomach, fingers tracing the curve of your hip before slipping between your thighs. You’re already wet, your panties soaked through, and she groans against your skin as her fingers brush over the damp fabric.

Your head falls back as you cry out, hands fisting in her silky hair to hold her close. She smirks against your skin, clearly enjoying the reactions she's pulling from your trembling body. Your back arches involuntarily, pressing your body closer to hers as you desperately seek more of her touch, the sound of her soft chuckle making you shudder with pleasure.

"Patience," she whispers, the word barely audible as her fingers trace lazy circles around your clit through the lace of your underwear. The sensation is frustrating, and you can't help but whimper, your hips bucking involuntarily in search of more contact.

You can feel the wetness pooling between your legs, your body responding to her touch in ways you never thought possible. You already know she's jealous, you saw the way she looked at you earlier when you were talking to that other girl. But you can't help but feel thrilled at the way she's touching you now, as if she's trying to claim you as her own.

You lean back on your hands, your eyes locked on Paige's as she continues to tease you. Her gaze is intense, fiery, and you can see the possessiveness in her eyes. It sends a thrill down your spine, making you even more turned on.

"You're mine," Paige murmurs, her voice low and husky, filled with an undeniable possessiveness. The words send a thrill throughout your body, making your heart race with excitement. “Say it.”

"I'm yours," you whisper back, your voice barely audible as the tension builds within you. You can feel the pressure growing more and more intense, your body aching for release.

Paige's fingers finally slip under the waistband of your underwear, making contact with your sensitive skin. The feeling is electrifying, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. You cry out, your hips bucking wildly as she begins to stroke you. Her touch is firm and confident, her fingers expertly finding your most sensitive spots.

You feel yourself teetering on the edge of orgasm, your body trembling with anticipation. Paige's gaze is locked on yours, her eyes filled with a fierce intensity that makes you feel both vulnerable and powerful at the same time.

She leans in, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers, "Come for me, baby."

And with those words, you finally let go, your body convulsing with pleasure as you cry out her name. Paige holds you close, her fingers still moving rhythmically as you ride out your orgasm. As the waves of your orgasm begin to subside, Paige pulls her fingers away from your clit.

Before you can fully catch your breath, Paige is on you again. She moves with a speed and agility that takes you by surprise, pushing your back onto the counter with a force that leaves you momentarily stunned.

Your body splayed out beneath her, you feel a thrill of excitement run through you. You're completely at her mercy, and the thought is intoxicating. Paige's hand makes its way back to your throat, her grip firm and unyielding. She pins you to the counter by your throat, her body pressing against yours as she holds you in place.

You gasp at the sudden change in position, your heart racing with a combination of fear and excitement. The feeling of being completely dominated by Paige is both terrifying and exhilarating, sending a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Paige's other hand slides back between your legs, her fingers finding your entrance with ease. You can feel yourself growing wetter with each passing moment, your body responding instinctually to her touch. She finds your g-spot easily, her fingers curling and pressing against it with just the right amount of pressure. You moan softly, your hips bucking as she begins to stroke you, her movements slow and deliberate at first, before building up to a feverish pace.

But she’s not content with just bringing you to orgasm. She wants to claim you, to mark you as hers in every way possible. And as she continues to finger you, her grip on your throat tightening ever so slightly, you know that you're completely and utterly hers.

Paige's movements become more insistent, her fingers moving faster and harder as she brings you closer and closer to the edge. You can feel yourself teetering on the brink of another orgasm, your body writhing and bucking beneath her touch. Your breath comes in short, ragged gasps as she continues, her movements growing more frantic as she feels your body starting to give in to the pleasure. “Paige, I can’t… it’s too much.”

“Nah, baby, I’ve been so mean to you this week, I just wanna make it up to you.” You moan louder now, your voice echoing through the room as Paige brings you to new heights of pleasure. Your body feels like it's on fire, every nerve ending sparking with pleasure. “C’mon, I know you can take it.”

And then, with one final stroke, you reach the peak of your orgasm, your body convulsing and shaking as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you. Paige's fingers continue to move inside you, prolonging your orgasm and sending you spiraling into new heights of ecstasy. When it's all over, you collapse back onto the counter, your body spent and satisfied. Paige pulls her fingers away, a satisfied smirk on her face as she looks down at you, bringing her fingers to her mouth to suck at the remnants of your orgasm.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you snap, your voice sharper than you intended, though the heat in your cheeks betrays your embarrassment. You quickly move to fix your dress, suddenly feeling self-conscious now that the moment is over.

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” Paige replies, her voice steady but softer than usual. Still, her gaze doesn’t waver, her blue eyes fixed on you.

The silence in the apartment feels suffocating, filled with the weight of everything unspoken. The distant hum of the refrigerator is the only sound, an almost mocking contrast to the charged tension between you. Sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter, you swing your legs idly, trying to feign a casualness you don’t feel. The cool surface beneath you does little to soothe the heat creeping up your neck as Paige stands in front of you, close enough that her presence seems to fill the room.

When you finally look at her, expecting that same smug, self-satisfied smirk she’s perfected, you’re caught off guard. Her expression isn’t cocky; it’s something else entirely. The spark of amusement is gone, replaced by something heavier, something raw. Her blue eyes hold yours, steady and searching, as if she’s trying to find the words buried somewhere between you.

Paige shifts slightly, her hands resting on the counter on either side of your thighs. She takes a breath, her chest rising and falling in a way that betrays the steady confidence she usually exudes. For a split second, it feels like the world narrows down to just this moment, just the two of you.

Her voice finally breaks the silence, low and uncharacteristically serious. “You know we need to talk about everything.”

The words hang between you, heavy and undeniable. Her tone is firm but carries a vulnerability that makes your stomach twist. She’s not brushing this off or dancing around it like you half-expected. No teasing grin, no playful deflection—just a directness that makes it impossible to pretend this is something you can both walk away from unscathed.

Paige shifts her weight slightly, standing even closer now, the space between your legs shrinking until there’s barely any left. The warmth of her body radiates against you, and you suddenly feel hyper aware of every inch of space she occupies. Her eyes don’t leave yours, and you can tell she’s waiting, giving you the chance to push her away—or pull her closer.

But the way she looks at you, so open and unguarded, makes it hard to do either. It’s a stark contrast to the Paige who had been ignoring your texts all week, and yet, it feels so achingly familiar. You’re torn between wanting to stay guarded and giving in to the pull of the moment. Finally, you arch an eyebrow, your voice steady despite the swirl of emotions threatening to surface.

“Okay,” you say, your tone more challenging than you intended. “Start talking.”

Paige’s shoulders stiffen, and for a second, you think she might retreat into that wall of stoicism she hides behind so well. But then her jaw tightens, and she steps even closer, her closeness making your nervousness spike, but you don’t flinch, meeting her gaze head-on.

“I can’t stand seeing you with someone else,” she says, her words thick with frustration. “I don’t want you flirting, laughing, or even looking at anyone but me. I want you, Y/N. Only you. I want us to be exclusive. I’ll do better. Just… don’t ever do that again.”

Your breath catches, and you almost flinch at how accurately her words cut to the truth. Still, you say nothing, giving her the space to continue.

“I messed up,” she begins, her voice quiet but deliberate. “I know I’ve been distant. I know I’ve made you feel like you’re not important to me, like basketball or… anything else in my life comes before you.”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest as you try to maintain your composure, the snarky defense you’ve built up around yourself threatening to crack. You cross your arms, fighting to keep the sarcasm in your voice, even though your insides are a tangled mess of emotions.

“Exclusive, huh?” you challenge, your voice sharp, almost taunting, as you raise an eyebrow. Your arms are crossed tightly over your chest, creating a barrier between you and the vulnerability she’s suddenly laying at your feet. “And what happens when basketball gets in the way again? When I’m just another item on your to-do list?”

Paige flinches, just barely, but you catch it. The slight crack in her usually unshakable confidence stirs something in you—satisfaction, maybe, or guilt. You can’t quite tell. Her jaw tightens, the muscles working as if she’s biting back the first response that comes to mind. Instead, her gaze shifts, no longer carrying the frustration or defensiveness you’ve grown used to. Instead, there’s something softer, rawer, in the way she looks at you now. The intensity of her eyes locks you in place, her expression quietly pleading yet resolute.

“I’m not going to let that happen again,” Paige says, her voice low and steady. “I know I’ve screwed up before. I’ve made you feel like you’re not a priority, like you’re just… there, waiting for me to fit you in.” She pauses, the weight of her own admission hanging heavily between you. “But that’s not how I see you. That’s not what I want us to be.”

Her words hit you harder than you expected. There’s no rehearsed apology, no empty promises. Just a raw honesty that feels like she’s peeling back the layers she’s kept hidden from everyone else. Your heart twists, torn between holding onto your frustration and the pull of what she’s offering.

You narrow your eyes, unwilling to let her off the hook so easily. “And how do I know this isn’t just another one of your moments? That it won’t be the same cycle all over again?”

Paige exhales, her shoulders rising and falling with the weight of your skepticism. “Because I don’t want to lose you,” she says simply, her tone almost breaking. “Because when I saw you with her tonight, it felt like the ground was being ripped out from under me. I don’t want to feel that again, Y/N. I don’t want you to ever feel like you’re not enough, or that you’re not worth my time.”

You’re still sitting on the counter, and the height difference gives you a brief sense of power, though it doesn’t last long under the intensity of her gaze.

“You’re not some item on a list,” she continues, her voice softening as she tilts her head to meet your eyes. “You’re the list, Y/N. You’re the one thing that matters more than all of it. And if that means I have to rearrange my life, show up differently, or prove it to you every single day, then that’s what I’ll do.”

The vulnerability in her words catches you off guard. For a moment, all the anger and bitterness you’ve been clinging to starts to loosen its grip. Still, you’re not ready to let her win that easily. You raise an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly as if to study her, daring her to flinch under your scrutiny.

“You’re really laying it on thick, Bueckers,” you quip, though the usual sharpness in your tone is softened by the faintest hint of a smirk.

Paige’s lips twitch upward, a flicker of her usual confidence returning. “That’s because I mean it,” she counters, her voice steady. “I’m not going to let you walk away from this—not without fighting for you.”

You’re quiet for a moment, the air between you charged with unspoken feelings and the lingering tension of everything that’s gone unsaid for far too long.

“So, you’re telling me I’m the priority now?” you ask, your voice quieter this time, a little softer, though you keep your arms crossed in a weak attempt to shield yourself. There’s hesitation in your tone, an uncertainty you can’t quite hide, but the words still slip past your lips. “Not basketball, not your schedule, not the team?”

Paige doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t waver. Her blue eyes hold yours with an intensity that pins you in place, her conviction written all over her face. “Yes,” she says, her voice steady, as though the truth of it is something she’s carried for a long time. “You. Only you, Y/N.”

You look down at where her hands rest, then back up to meet her eyes—those piercing blue eyes that seem to hold nothing but honesty and a hint of fear, as if she’s bracing for your rejection. Your defenses falter. The weight of her confession, the raw emotion in her voice, the way she’s standing there, so vulnerable—it all seeps into the cracks of your resolve. Slowly, your arms drop to your sides, the tension in your shoulders easing as you exhale a shaky breath.

“Paige,” you murmur, your voice quieter now, fueled with something more forgiving. “If you screw this up—”

“I won’t,” she interrupts, her voice firm but not forceful. Her hands slide up slightly, resting on your hips now, anchoring herself to you. “I swear to you, Y/N. I won’t.”

You hold her gaze for another long moment, searching her face for any sign of doubt. But all you see is determination—determination and something deeper, something so achingly familiar it makes your heart clench.

“Okay,” you whisper, the word barely audible, but it’s enough. Enough to make Paige’s expression soften, her shoulders relax, and a spark of hope flicker in her eyes.

Her grip on your hips tightens slightly as she steps closer, standing between your legs, her face just inches from yours now. “Okay?” she repeats, as if she can’t quite believe it.

“Okay,” you say again, your voice steadier this time. You tilt your head slightly, a small, almost teasing smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “But you’d better back it up, Bueckers. I’m not making this easy for you.”

Paige chuckles softly, a sound filled with relief and affection. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Before you can respond, she leans in, her hands sliding up to cup your face gently, her thumbs brushing against your cheeks. She hesitates for the briefest moment, giving you a chance to pull away, but when you don’t, she closes the distance.

The kiss is slow at first, almost tentative, as if she’s trying to convey everything she can’t put into words. But it doesn’t take long for the intensity to build, for her to pour every ounce of her emotions into the connection. Her lips move against yours with a mix of passion and desperation, and you can feel her heartbeat pounding in sync with your own.

Your hands find their way to her shoulders, then slide up to thread through her hair, pulling her closer as you kiss her back with just as much fervor. The tension, the anger, the frustration of the past week melts away, replaced by a warmth that spreads through your chest like wildfire.

When she finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard, foreheads resting together. Paige’s eyes search yours, her lips curling into a small, almost shy smile. “I’ll make it up to you, Y/N. Every day. You’ll see.”

You can’t help but smile back, your fingers still tangled in her hair. “You’d better,” you reply, your tone soft but teasing. “Because I’m holding you to it.”

Paige grins, and for the first time in what feels like forever, it feels like everything is falling into place.

#paige buckets #paige bueckers #paige bueckers fic #uconn huskies #paige bueckers x reader #uconn wcbb #wcbb #wlw fanfic #wlw post #uconn x reader

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buckyschair · 2 months ago

Text

ILLICIT AFFAIRS

Pairing: Azriel x fem!reader

Summary: On a dreaded visit to the Hewn City, Azriel finds more than he bargained for. It’s only fitting that when your wildest fantasies come true in a land of nightmares, it's with a forbidden visitor rather than your own husband… After all, who could be a better affair partner than the master of spies?

A/N: Cheating is wrong! But aesthetically? It’s so rich! Can you tell I’ve been listening to ‘Scotty Doesn’t Know' on repeat? And thanks to other songs like ‘Ivy’ and ‘Illicit Affairs’, an illicit relationship just sounded sexy and sad! So here’s a messy little story about cheating WITH Azriel. Let me know what you think of the reader character, I tried to make her unlikeable at first but then I became sympathetic to her so idk where we ended up.

Content Warnings: 18+ only, smut, cheating, alcohol, female reader, shitty unnamed husband (not physically abusive), slight dom/bdsm overtones, casual shadow bondage, thigh riding, oral M receiving, PIV sex (no protection bc they are faeries and this is fiction, but put on your mental magic condom if you must), gross liberties taken with whatever’s going on with the Hewn City, no use of Y/N

Word Count: 7.6k

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Next part

✸✸✸

Wine. A warm bath. Silk sheets.

“Did you see her shoes? With that jewelry?”

Your sapphire hand mirror. A lobster bisque. The perfect shade of red lipstick.

“Oh, did I see them? They practically assaulted me the moment I walked into the hall!”

You took a sharp breath, and continued to block your surroundings with mental images. A massage. The look on your husband’s face when he sees you chatting with another male–

“She has no shame.”

You snorted, abruptly disguising it with a cough. The two ladies looked at you with barely concealed disdain, clearly not convinced by your weak cover up. You schooled your features into a cool mask once more as they drifted away through the throng of guests.

Well then, so much for keeping yourself entertained during this dull gala. You had a pretty pathetic collage of curios to distract yourself with. The concepts were a flimsy screen between you and the stale evening ahead; monotony at its worst.

You’d rather be anywhere but here.

A foolish thought, you realized, given that you’d never been anywhere but here, except for brief diplomatic visits with your husband. Those were always awfully dull, your every movement watched and examined out of suspicion. You couldn’t blame your hosts. After all, you were from the Night Court, spawn of the worst bastards of Prythian.

No shame! You recalled the gossiping courtiers. Now who were they to judge someone for having no shame, when they were here gossiping in front of the Mother and everyone? And in equally appalling finery, no less! One of the two females was actually trying to get away with a bright orange dress. You sighed, almost pitying her for her sorry attempt.

But this was the Hewn City, at the heart of the Court of Nightmares, as it was deemed in hushed whispers. There wasn’t enough air here to waste it on pity.

Faeries of all kinds waltzed and chattered around the ballroom before empty thrones. Gaudy gowns and coats and heels and stoles– was that fur? Mother help us– blurred together as you took in the choked crowd. The decadent buffet? Untouched. The sparkling beverages? Much indulged. Such was typical.

What was the purpose of this event? You couldn’t quite recall. They were endless, these damned things.

What an odious affair. You’d been playing a game in your mind, to keep yourself from going mad. The goal was to picture all your favorite things, everything that brought you solace, and to try and hold them all in your mind at once.

Pointless, you chided yourself. It hadn’t stopped you from being disturbed by the insidious chatter of fellow partygoers. Despite the pleasant premise of the mental game, the montage left a bad taste in your mouth.

You had pictured everything that you looked forward to, and it had all taken up so little space. The game was ended so quickly. Your lips pursed, your good mood gone sour. You blamed the two females for interrupting your train of thought. They’d ruined your concentration, that was it.

You needed a drink. Your glass had been empty for far too long, you noted with displeasure.

Where was your husband anyways? He’d gone off for refreshments a while ago. Probably mixing with the elite, making sure his face was seen. He fancied himself a real big player in the court's inner workings, but you sincerely doubted it. Unfortunately, as the one he fucked most frequently for a number of years there, you knew firsthand how his ego was built on fantasy.

How long had he left you alone here? You couldn’t say. You weren’t exactly minding his absence. Temporary bliss was still bliss, you mused, resolving to find some real entertainment. You clicked your tongue once in distaste before gliding away from the pillar where you’d been camped out for the majority of the function.

Your husband always laughed at how you admired the fabrication of the city. But you couldn’t resist it. The pillar behind you was one of your favorites. Carved of dark stone, hordes of twisting figures decorating its face. They appeared to be in agony at first glance. A closer look revealed that they were in fact artfully engaged in all kinds of fornication. If only all pain could be turned into pleasure as easily as carving ebony.

Fuck, if you weren’t in a philosophical mood this evening. Sober, too.

Your husband was nowhere to be seen, a small mercy. He always hated your moods. You couldn’t blame him, you supposed, but you did regardless.

Right as you made it to a servant with a decanter of amber liquid, the room fell into an uncharacteristic hush. Your fingers plucked a full glass before you turned to scan the room for the cause.

Your eyes fell on the figures advancing from the center of the room as if they’d just appeared there. But of course, they had.

You scolded yourself as you glimpse the High Lord and his entourage.

Of course! How could you have forgotten? After all, that was why your husband had been so insistent on your attending tonight. The High Lord had specifically requested this event be thrown to honor… shit. Something. They did so many of these meaningless parties, often without any real reason, other than to show off that they could.

Your attention turned fully to the newcomers. They cut quite a fine figure. You understood why they caused the room’s collective breath to catch.

A subtle movement to the right of the High Lord grabbed your eye. You couldn’t help your own sharp intake of breath as you noticed the shadows flickering around the imposing Illyrian. In his leathers and simmering blue siphons, there was no mistaking him. It was the shadowsinger.

A thrill escaped down your spine at the realization. You’d heard hushed whispers about the High Lord’s spymaster, but you hadn’t known that he would be here tonight. His menacing quiet was unnerving. It was no wonder that rumor spoke of a seething rage masked by his calm demeanor. He never visited the city under the mountain these days. You wondered absently what he was doing here now.

He held himself with precision, a weapon at the right hand of his Lord. His wings were folded tightly, but it did little to hide their looming presence. The horns hovering over his shoulders only added to his threatening presence. Beneath his wings, his broad shoulders were relaxed, his demeanor casual as he strolled with cool power to stand beside the throne. Once stationed, he crossed his arms, his muscles emphasized with little effort. Fuck. What you wouldn’t do to feel them over you.

Irritation simmered across your chest as your husband sidled up to you, your budding fantasy shattered.

He didn’t so much as look at you as he shoved a glass in your direction. You received it with equal affection, now awkwardly holding two glasses. His attention rested fully on the group by the throne. What an ass.

The perfume on his coat was a scent you would never choose for yourself; it was far too sweet for your tastes. Your nose curled unconsciously– not at his infidelity, but at his poor taste. You hoped he would never buy you a similar perfume. Let him enjoy it on some other tramp.

As it was now, his lust was focused on the conversation at the head of the room. The Steward, Keir, motioned to your husband, and incidentally you, as he spoke to his Lord.

You felt your husband’s excitement, and you were certain it was evident to the blind and the dead as well. You sighed, resigned to the lack of tact that sullied his political sensibilities. He’d been gifted a hunger for power, without the typical tact for courting it. Shameless, the word flashed again in your mind. Yet, you couldn’t deny that he’d secured a decent knowledge of the court’s security in his current position under Keir.

He practically skipped when the Steward gestured for him, and you followed with a more metered step after passing your now-empty drinks off to a nearby attendant with a grimace. Despite your efforts, you knew that dignity was not something you could afford to value in this court. Still, you kept your chin up as you followed your male counterpart, straining at the stifling society. You drowned out his obsequious remarks as introductions were made between the males.

You wished the female one was here, the Morrigan. She made your blood freeze, but you preferred her cool disdain to the slimy males before you. You swallowed your irritation, keeping your face neutral as meetings were arranged.

To cool your mounting headache, you entertained yourself by taking in the shadowsinger out of the corner of your eye. A scant glance rewarded you with a stunning image of the male, who was intently focused on the conversation at hand. His handsome features were darkened with swirling shadows.

He was even better up close. You’d lost count of the instances where you’d caught a pleasant figure across the room only to be disappointed upon closer inspection. But this male was a specimen, indeed.

His dark brows trailed into a strong nose, his strong jaw upheld by a sturdy throat, one that you’d love to sink your teeth into. His hands were thick and scarred. You pictured what they could do to you, how meticulously they could pick you apart, stroke by savage stroke. The tough material of his leathers was snug in all the right places, tight around his massive thighs. Your thoughts erupted with fantasy at the details of his statuesque figure.

What held your attention the most, though, were his eyes. You would expect them to be dark, shadowy. Yet they were a rich amber, and startlingly bright. You flicked your gaze away quickly, but their burn lingered in your ears as if he’d caught your stare outright.

It was a pity he was just standing there. You wondered absently how you could cause a distraction, maybe fainting or starting a fight so you could see him in action. Your fantasies were interrupted as the conversation wrapped up, your husband butchering platitudes that he surely thought charming. You avoided choking on your disdain, but only narrowly.

As you walked away, Azriel released a deep breath. Cassian cleared his throat, a shit eating grin lurking beneath his cool features.

You’d kept your face perfectly pleasant throughout the whole interaction, not so much as a twitch to betray your insidious thoughts. But far be it from you to maintain propriety in the presumed privacy of your own mind...

Little did you know how loud your thoughts were. You couldn’t have hidden them, not from the present company, even if you’d known you ought to. Your thoughts were written in your skin, in your scent, hidden to most, but obvious to the High Lord’s elite.

“Well, well, Azriel. It’s just irresponsible for you to torture our citizens like that,” Rhys teased his brother as you walked out of earshot, oblivious to the three pairs of eyes taking in your generous retreating figure.

“I thought I was going to hurl if she didn’t stop undressing you with her eyes,” Cass drawled, fluttering his lashes in a dramatic imitation.

Azriel just snorted and shook his head.

“Hey Rhys, remember when Azriel was just a fledgling and couldn’t get any?”

“You mean yesterday? Yes,” Rhys responded with equal humor. “Since when was he the most fuckable?”

“Jealous, much?” Azriel cut in before Cass could continue the vulgar jokes.

“You could do worse,” Rhys said suggestively, amusement playing underneath his carefully arranged expression.

Azriel hummed. “I think I’d better do some recon later tonight, what do you think?” The boys grinned at that, Cassian hiding his snicker from the room behind his hand.

It was easy for Azriel to take their jeering in good humor when his ego had been rubbed just right by your attention. His eyes found you again in the crowd, your figure filling out your dress in a way that was downright sinful. He couldn’t wait for this damned event to be over.

✸✸✸

Your husband, the idiot that he was, wasn’t a fool. So, he had Azriel’s room heavily guarded and warded that evening.

Which was exactly why Azriel found it so simple to steal his way into your quarters, with the guards conveniently occupied elsewhere.

The dark was especially thick as he crept down the halls of the Hewn City’s elite. He hated to spend a night here, wasted in the dank underbelly of a mountain. The event had passed without incident, if only barely. It was only a thinning scrap of discipline that kept him from lashing out at Keir. His greasy tone had Azriel’s fist curling around Truthsinger all night. If he was being honest, it was only his respect for Mor’s claim on her own father’s life that held his blade.

That blade stayed sheathed even now, as he slipped soundlessly into your dwelling. It was almost insulting how easily the wards and locks were bypassed.

Azriel found you exactly where his shadows had anticipated, curled up on a cushioned chair in front of a roaring fireplace. A needless extravagance, given the magic that heated the whole city.

You were still in your dress from the ball, edible as ever, and your hair has been let down. His eyes trailed the mussed locks around your throat as you swallowed a mouthful from a crystal cut glass. You set your drink down on the low table beside you.

His silent steps faltered as he spotted a second glass, lightly sweating in the warm air. Was your husband home after all?

As his shadows moved soundlessly to canvas the apartment, you paused with your hand still on your drink.

It took every inch of Azriel’s discipline to keep his composure as you turned to face him. He shuddered at the sparks roiling in your expression.

You'd been expecting him.

“It’s considered polite to knock, you know,” you stated. He was frozen, pinned under your unexpected gaze. Your eyes raked over his tall figure, drinking him in with barely concealed desire. His fingers twitched.

“And it’s impolite to stare,” he shot back.

You smiled at that, teeth glowing sharp in the firelight.

“Touché.”

He drifted further into the room, his shadows skirting around the perimeter, flanking you as he approached. The fire dampened at his power permeating the air. You didn’t even bother pretending to flinch.

“Have a drink with me,” you invited, unperturbed. “Or would that be improper, too?”

In reply, Azriel grabbed the spare glass, and knocked it back in one smooth motion. When he set it down, two of his digits stroked the delicate rim gratuitously, his eyes never leaving yours. He snagged your drink from under your fingers and perched above you on the arm of your chair, dauntless as ever.

He was playing a dangerous game, stealing what wasn’t his.

“We weren’t introduced,” he began casually as he stared down at you.

“Oh?”

“I saw you earlier tonight,” he said, his syllables crisp. “Typically, someone might introduce their spouse to the High Lord and his retinue.”

“Ah,” you said, understanding. “He’s had so much on his mind,” you excused your husband’s lapse in manners with a dismissive wave of your hand. He was many things, but you could never claim him to be poorly mannered. At least not outside the home.

“Is that what you are to him?” came the reply. “An afterthought?”

Your silence was answer enough.

He continued, menacingly, “I can’t understand that. I could hardly think of anything else all evening, with you there, and in this outfit.” His eyes bored into your soul, his blunt words making you blush. Not out of embarrassment, but in exhilaration.

“I can’t say I understand him, either.” You were annoyed at the topic, this was not what you’d expected to talk about with the gorgeous male towering above you. In fact, talking had little to do with your hopes for the evening…

“And where is he tonight?” Azriel pressed. The question was unexpected.

“Privacy is one of the few luxuries I have,” you whispered seductively.

The shadowsinger scoffed at that, eying the expensive interior where you sat.

“I doubt that.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” He levelled you with a look, and waited patiently for a real answer. You swallowed, deciding your pride should learn to live with the truth. “I don’t know where he is. Well, I know the answer is someone’s bed, certainly. But where? With who? I don’t ask anymore,” you admitted.

Azriel nodded. He wasn’t judging you, you realized. He was just gathering information, calculating. His eyes narrowed as his contemplation clicked.

“So what I’m hearing is that it wouldn’t be terribly untoward, all things considered, if I fucked you in his bed?”

You gasped at his ugly words, even as they sent a shudder straight to your core. His responding smile was a wicked thing, dripping with dark promise.

“I saw how you looked at me this evening.” He dipped his head to speak lowly in your ear. “You were practically begging for this.”

His lips brushed the sensitive shell of your ear as he sat back. Your breaths were dangerously uneven now, your heart was in a riot under your ribs. He looked intimidating above you, the firelight painting him in aggressive shades of crimson. Yet his eyes were like syrup, enticing amber pools oozing with arousal. Dimly, you registered him set his drink aside.

“What are you going to do about it?” you breathed, hardly trusting your voice.

His hand came to cup your jaw roughly, his thumb caressing your bottom lip.

“What would you have me do?” he countered.

“Kiss me.”

At that, he launched forward to capture your face fully, his mouth meeting yours in a furious kiss. You tasted your husband’s best whiskey on his mouth, and you moaned sinfully at the flavor. He took the opportunity to explore your mouth with his warm tongue. His heady taste ignited a hunger low in your gut. He was unraveling you with precision, your teeth scraping against him messily.

As he moaned your name, you grinned. You weren’t sure if he’d remember you, after all, but you’d certainly hoped.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he groaned against your mouth.

“How long has it been?”

“Centuries? At least,” he guessed.

Memories flooded you, unbidden, as his rough jaw worked yours, your moans mingling in the hot room.

He’d been fully grown the last time you’d seen him, of course, but somehow he seemed more mature now.

It had been a brief encounter, but pleasurable, when you’d befriended the Illyrian ages ago, in the calamity of your youth. You’d never gotten too close to him, you doubted his brothers even knew about you. You were neither of each other’s firsts, but he was certainly a highlight in your sexual history, you now realized with chagrin.

“You’ve made out well,” he said roguishly.

“What?” you muttered, confused, before you saw how he was glancing around the place, noting the plush rugs and fine ornaments. “Oh, yeah. They managed to marry me off advantageously after all. It’s cushy,” you shrugged.

“Impressive work,” he deadpanned.

“Yeah, well we can’t all be blessed with ungodly strength and good looks.”

You were shocked when he laughed at your playfulness. You couldn’t recall his grim face laughing, but as you saw it, it felt right on him. Perhaps you’d erased the image. Or maybe he was simply different now.

“Are you calling me handsome?” he flirted lowly, his lips brushing your cheek, as he grinned mischievously.

“I’m not going to be calling you anything if you keep sitting on your ass! I heard you were watching me all night, and I asked you to do something about it,” you huffed. You were floored that he’d noticed you, that he’d remembered you.

He growled and kissed you again quickly before pulling you up. You went to lead him to your bedroom, but you didn't make it very far before he had your back pressed against the wall. His kiss was bruising, like he couldn’t believe it was really you, and he needed to make sure. It was a strange sensation, to have an unrecognized dream be realized so viscerally, to be entangled with him again.

Only when your lungs were screaming for air did he pull back; he was as insatiable as you remember. Your breaths came in heavy pants as he held you firmly against the wall of your husband’s living room.

His leg pressed into your clothed center, and you whined noisily at the contact. His pupils dilated, and he pressed his leg more firmly against your core. Your hands tangled in his hair, and you tugged tightly at his scalp as you felt the pressure right where you needed it.

“If you do that, I'm going to finish right here,” he growled. His words only thickened the pulse that was building low in your abdomen.

Effortlessly, he removed your hands from his sensitive scalp and pinned them above your head with his shadows. The position pressed you close to his chest, trapped by his firm body. Your breasts brushed his front, the contact riveting.

He softened his harsh actions by placing warm open mouthed kisses down the column of your throat. It was torturous, his teeth scraping over your pulse point.

“Now,” he purred, “are you going to be a good girl and do as I say?”

At the moment, you couldn’t imagine doing anything other than his bidding, entranced as you were by his actions.

“Yes,” you promised.

“I knew you were smart. On your knees for me, angel.”

He released your hip with a gentle tap. You slid down the wall, your arms still bound above you. He caught your wrists as you kneeled, using them to press you against the wall with one hand. The position wasn’t comfortable, but you paid no mind as you made eye contact with his straining leathers.

You leaned forward to nuzzle the outline of his cock beneath his clothes, mouthing over his tip. He shuddered, his fist tightening on your wrist.

“Please,” you slurred into him. Your lips continued working along his clothed member.

“Fuck. Listen to you beg for it,” he groaned, his pelvis shifting towards your face involuntarily. He deftly undid his belt, popping it open with one hand. The action was erotic. His nimble fingers made quick work of his leathers.

When he finally uncovered himself, you moaned at the sight. Consistent with the rest of his anatomy, he was impressive.

A particularly thick vein had your mouth watering in anticipation. You parted your lips, your tongue falling open, ready for him. He was pretty, and you loved to take pretty things and make them your own.

He eased his thick head onto your waiting tongue, and groaned deeply at the contact. Your warm mouth was an instant ease to the tension in his head, replacing its pain with a delicious coil in his abdomen. His wings shivered, falling limp as you took him deeper.

His taste was intoxicating, salty and thick. You breathed through your nose, looking up at him through your lashes as you drooled around his girth. One of his hands was braced against the wall, his expression simmering with torment. As your watery eyes met, he moaned at the sight of you crouched under him in your gloriously disheveled state.

“Fuck, look at you taking me so well. Right where he could walk in and see,” Azriel sighed.

Your eyes widened at his words. Your cunt throbbed at his obscene comments and you whined.

“Do you like that? Being such a slut for me?” he laughed, the sound thick with need.

He moaned again as you began to tongue his length. You traced his thick veins generously before you began to bob your head. Your pulse felt heavy under the pressure of his grip on your hands, pinned to the wall. His hips stuttered as you found a rhythm with your mouth.

When you pulled off a bit to give special attention to his weeping tip, sucking gently, his free hand came to hold your hair. He shushed your startled noises as he pressed you further onto him. You frantically swallowed, choking as he forced himself down your throat. He held you there for a moment before he began to pump himself into your mouth.

Gagging at his size, you breathed through your nose in time with his slow thrusts. He groaned, the noise landing painfully in your soaked core. You whined, and the vibration around his girth made him hiss.

“You look fucking divine on your knees like this,” he praised haltingly. “Doing so well, angel.”

If your mouth wasn’t occupied, you would have told him how divine he looked too. Even fully dressed, with just his fly popped open, he looked like a walking vice, every inch an indulgence. His hair was tousled from where you’d raked your fingers through it, and his expression was just as unkempt. The labored look on his face was beautiful, even as the pleasure was so depraved.

He was a practical stranger, and you were sucking him off in your husband's hallway. The priceless carpets would be soaked by the time you were through.

You relaxed your jaw further, trying to take more of him down your throat. One erratic movement, and your teeth scraped his shaft lightly.

He hissed, pulling you off of him abruptly.

“Shit,” he panted. He didn’t sound mad, yet he looked fierce with a sick appetite.

You tongued his flushed head, apologetic. “Let me finish, I can do it,” you rasped.

“I know you can, baby,” he assured you, “Fuck, trust me, I know.”

You attempted to lean in for him again, and cried when he held you back. You looked up at him, tears streaking your cheeks. He ran a thumb under your eyes before pressing his thumb to your lips. You sucked him in eagerly, sighing at the slight gratification, teething brattily at his fingernail. His abdomen spasmed at the sight of you so worked up over tasting him.

“Did my cock make you stupid?” he cooed. “No need to beg, baby, I’ve got other plans for us.”

He pulled you up, kissing you languidly as you pressed against him. Your hip dug into his arousal, sending fresh pleasure through him. He licked the spit from your jaw, moaning at the pure eroticism.

“Want to show me your bed, baby? I promise I'll make it worth your while,” he touted, and his eyes shone deliciously with depravity.

You grabbed his hand and pulled him along into your lavish bedroom. When you arrived, you twirled around dramatically to gesture at the room, ever the tasteful hostess.

“As promised…” you present the intimate room. The sapphires on your favorite hand mirror winked at you from your nightstand as you led him towards the silk cushions.

He hummed in appreciation, pausing to pretend to take in the interior. You blushed, even though you had nothing to hide. Suddenly, you felt vulnerable having him here.

Finally, his eyes fell to you standing in invitation before him, next to your bed, which was perfectly built for two. His sensual stare sent a rush through you, reigniting your excitement at the delicious affair.

He brought his hand to brush your hair back, grasping at your scalp. The agonizing male pulled you towards him. His kiss was relaxed this time, his hot tongue meeting yours in a gentle caress. His other hand skimmed your side, exploring from your waist to your hip with infuriatingly gentle motions.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to enter a daydream: that this was your life. You imagined that his strong, steadying grip was a real embrace. Maybe you’d have stumbled home together after another horrible event, and the whole way you’d both have mocked the ridiculous room full of ridiculous people until they were nothing but a ridiculous memory. He would kiss away the dullness until your soul was brilliant and shining again.

Suddenly, you were horrified to feel your eyes thickening with tears.

“Don’t be gentle with me,” you urged him.

“Need me that badly?” he tried to tease, but his voice was thick with lust. When he reconnected your mouths, his grip was crushing, his teeth grazing your bottom lip in his desperation.

Despite your wet eyes, you hadn’t really been sad. You’d been empty, absent from your own life. You didn’t need his pity. You needed his fire, a living coal to stoke your own with.

Here you were in all your wealth, trapped, and embarrassed by your barren, threadbare life. Not even sheets of the highest thread count could cover the rags and shambles of your existence. You were ravenous, you realized, for something to make you feel alive.

And here Azriel was, like a vision from a different lifetime, kissing you senseless like it was his secret mission all along.

“I’ve been waiting to do this all night,” he murmured against you. Before you could question his meaning, he was slipping the straps of your dress down your shoulders, his mouth following to taste your freshly exposed skin.

As your dress pooled around your feet, his growl filled the room with pitch black energy. As his eyes darkened at your nude form, you thanked the Mother that you’d foregone undergarments.

“Did you know? Did you know that I was going to be there tonight when you put this on?” he breathed, teasing sensually.

You debated lying, but thought better of it. “No,” you confessed.

He whistled shortly, “I’m just that lucky.”

He grinned at you before attaching his mouth to your naked flash, his teeth scraping the sensitive flesh of your nipple.

“You’re perfect,” he remarked between sloppy kisses to your chest.

You flushed impossibly, floored by his attentions. His soft mouth was expertly working your tits, biting lightly and harshly licking, while his rough hands explored your backside. It felt dangerously like worship, even as he consumed you for his own satisfaction. The ecstasy was twisted; you’d had no idea he was even in your city when you’d dressed for the dreaded evening out with your husband.

“On the bed,” he commanded, spit shining on his chin when he rose finally from your chest.

You fell back against it, shamelessly watching as he unfastened the straps of his leathers in a torturous spectacle.

“You’re gorgeous,” you whispered, half to yourself. His wings twitched at that. Pride surged through him as he finally removed the last of his clothing, easy work courtesy of his hastily redone pants. His thick cock slapped to attention at his stomach. Your chest was rising rapidly from your position against the pillows. You looked so comfortable, so enticing.

“You’re one to talk,” he flirted. You reached for him, intending him to join you. Instead he sat on the edge of the cushion, tantalizingly out of reach.

“Can you keep your hands to yourself?”

No, you thought.

“Yes,” you lied aloud.

His eyes narrowed. Shadows crept from his shoulders to slither up your form. You shivered at their featherlight touch caressing your form.

When you moved your hand to play with them, you gasped, finding your limbs restrained again under their power. Your arms were above your head, and your legs spread open under you.

“That’s what you get for lying," Azriel shared sympathetically, as if he wasn’t the one controlling them. You pouted and he clucked placatingly, his hand caressing your ankle. Was he ever going to let you touch him?

“Come here,” he cooed. He pulled you roughly onto his lap, so you were straddling one of his thick thighs. He kept your hands secured behind your back while his came to grip your hips, steadying you.

You whined as he flexed his rigid muscles under you. Sweat was already forming a thin sheen across your boiling flesh.

“You didn’t listen, and then you lied,” he listed. “You’re lucky I'm feeling generous tonight, I'm going to let you get yourself off here.”

Your jaw fell open at his words. What? Did he expect you to fuck yourself on his thigh?

“Well?” he prompted.

His hand gripping your hip moved to squeeze the flesh of your ass impatiently. Yet you didn’t move, testing him. You weren’t used to this, not getting what you wanted.

A crack rang through the room as he smacked your ass. You moaned at the sudden contact, pain flaring along with a sudden sense of urgency. Your hips started to move, slowly at first, then with more vigor as you gained the confidence to seek some friction.

“That’s it, good girl,” he cooed.

He watched you through heavy eyelids, your breasts bouncing right in his line of sight. When you glanced at his crotch, you saw the evidence of his desire prominently straining against his toned abs. It only fueled your fervor to see how you affected him.

You looked so fucked out above him, circling your hips desperately on his muscular thigh. His huge hands were secure on your waist to steady you, but he wasn’t actually helping. You grew frustrated, desperate for stimulation, the pressure not nearly enough to soothe the throbbing ache between your legs.

“Az, please.”

“Hmm?”

“Please touch me,” you begged.

He obliged, but again, not as you’d hoped. His tongue traced swirling patterns over your breasts, and one hand came up to palm them. The touch was maddening, only heightening your sensitivity. Your pussy was soaking his thigh, yet only his gaze deigned to touch your undulating hips.

“Not there,” you complained in a huff. It was infuriating to be clenching around empty space.

When he finally brought his rough fingers to your clit, you cried out in relief. Your hips stuttered as he rubbed tight circles over your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Sweat dripped down your spine, muscles in your shoulders and thighs straining as you chased your bliss. Your moans crested as he pressed his textured fingers harshly against you. Right when your release was about to shatter you – his hands abruptly pulled away, forcing you to still your hips.

“Did I say you could come?”

His fingers left your form as he growled. You gasped, red faced and panting. The look on his face was predatory, lit with brazen lust.

“On the floor, on your knees.”

Dizzy with the broken orgasm, you obeyed awkwardly, his shadows still constricting your hands. The floor bit into your knees, the sting was a jarring sensation in contrast with the arousal that was dripping between your thighs. Despite your discomfort, you were determined to finish what you’d started earlier in the hallway.

When you leaned in to take his cock into your mouth, he gripped your throat roughly. Your mouth opened on reflex, but he held you there, just out of reach.

His other hand came to tug heavy strokes at his cock, right in front of your face. He moaned savagely, fixated on the sight of you slick and naked below him. Your back arched at nothing, frantically searching for some friction.

He looked like a god above you, his shadows swirling deliciously along his powerful form, his wings shaking with pleasure. His dark hair fell into his eyes, and stuck to his sweat-dampened forehead as he panted and pumped himself.

“I thought you said you were going to fuck me?” you said hoarsely, desperate.

You saw the challenge land when his molten eyes sharpened. His hand stilled.

“I don’t remember you being such a brat,” he growled, but his eyes gleamed wickedly.

He pulled you up for a kiss, his hands coming to play with your ass, massaging viciously. The dull ache between your legs throbbed at his hot touch.

“And I don’t remember you being such an ass,” you retorted, but your words lacked any real vitriol, eager as you were for his touch. He sensed it, and let your bratty words slide.

“I've missed that mouth almost as much as your tight pussy,” he purred devilishly, unfazed.

He must have meant it too, since two of his thick digits trailed between your legs while he spoke. There was a gleam in his eyes as he felt your slickness, and it wasn’t humility.

“So wet, baby,” he muttered. “All this for me?”

You whined and leaned into his shoulder, shuddering at the teasing stroke. His shadows slipped away from your wrists, leaving no discomfort save for your sore tendons.

Azriel tapped your ass once, his assured satisfaction putting him in a good humor.

“Up on the bed for me, angel,” he directed.

His command sent a shiver down your sweat chilled spine, the anticipation heating your skin. You mounted the bed, and he positioned you on your stomach. He pulled a pillow under your hips, kissing your shoulder tenderly. You shook with nerves. Your arousal was seeping down your legs. You’d been waiting for this since you’d seen his unmistakable physique striding through the crowd.

“That comfortable?” he asked, some care peaking through the haze of his lust.

“Yeah, that’s great.”

“Okay,” he said. “Let me know if I’m being too rough, yeah?”

You nodded eagerly, pressing your chest to the cushions to ease your ass back against him. The towering male ignored your spurring move, instead he pulled you up to your knees for a kiss.

You couldn’t be mad at him as he captured your lips so tenderly, even as he was unwilling to give you a moment of control. Your body was pulsing with a delicious heat, pressed against his chest, tasting spice and earth on his tongue.

The Illyrian’s soft lips were depraved, practically sucking at your teeth. His ferocity left you lightheaded, you were helpless under his power. His hard need against your lower back brought your mind to the matter at hand.

“Too scared to fuck me, huh, Az?” you taunted.

He bit your lip, snarling as you pressed your ass against his throbbing length.

“This your first time?” you mocked.

Azriel let out a humorless laugh at that.

“You’re trouble,” he hissed, grinding his cock against your lower back. You whined at the fiery contact, so close but so far from what you needed.

“You like trouble,” you grinned.

“I do,” he agreed.

With one last searing kiss, he pushed your shoulders down so that you came to rest on your forearms. He draped your legs over his thighs. The dips between your legs and pelvis burned as he brought your hips up to meet him where he kneeled.

He dragged his cock along your soaked folds, teasing you. He groaned deeply, the sound landing in your abdomen. Without warning he slammed into you. You bit the pillow deliriously to stifle your moan as he cursed.

“Shit. I forgot how perfect you were for me, baby,” he purred as you adjusted.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” you cried.

He responded with another groan, and pulled out near fully to ram into you again. You clenched around him involuntarily.

“Fuck,” he moaned, “you’re gripping me like…” he trailed off into another deep groan, the sound vibrating like a shock through your flesh.

“Faster, Az,” you gasped.

Something in him snapped when you cried his name. The male began to pound you without restraint. His hands on your hips were sure to leave bruises, but you were far beyond care. His pace was relentless, gone berserk in his lust. His shadows leapt out, suddenly larger than life. The tendrils of shadow felt acutely like an audience, even pressed into the cushions you felt the heat of their attention.

“That's it, baby,” he growled. His praise made your flesh rise, a whine pitching from your heaving throat.

“Does he make you feel this good?” The question surprised you, as did the crooked thrill it sent through your teeth.

“No,” you confessed with a sigh. His resounding gasp died in a strangled moan as you clenched around him at his perverted words. Served him right, you thought, as he destroyed your insides.

“Say my name,” he commanded suddenly.

“Azriel!” You barely managed to voice it as you moaned wildly.

“Who’s making you feel this good, huh?” he taunted. “I want the whole city to know.”

You screamed his name as he pushed into you with a particularly punishing thrust. His cock scraped your walls agonizingly. It was addicting how he filled you so perfectly.

His hand came to press up on your lower stomach, and he groaned at the feeling of his cock filling your guts. The pressure had you bucking your hips onto him, chasing the feeling.

“Look at that,” he murmured, and you weren’t even sure if he intended you to hear. “You’re taking me so well.”

Long gone was the reserved male from the event this evening. He had been replaced by an insatiable double, just as dark but deliciously unrestrained.

The pillow beneath you was a useless anchor amidst the crashing waves of pleasure. Even with your eyes squeezed shut, your senses were a riot. The room filled with your tandem grunts and moans, and the scent of your sex laced the thick air. You felt his mouth on your spine, heat unfurling down your back, and your bones went unstrung under his hot touch.

The ache in your abdomen had erupted into an ecstatic pulse. Your pleasure mounted as the shadowsinger’s moans became breathier. His hips began to stutter, yet his pace was punishing as ever. He brought two thick fingers to rub fast circles on your throbbing clit as he hurtled towards his release.

“I’m gonna come,” he warned with a salacious whine.

He pulsed inside of you as his thrusts stilled abruptly. You couldn’t help but turn your head and watch as he came undone. It was as satisfying as your own bliss to witness his.

His eyes were shut tight in ecstasy while the rest of him slackened, his back arching involuntarily as he convulsed. You’d never seen something so jaw achingly erotic in all your days.

Amidst his orgasm, his coarse fingertips never paused their assault against your heat. You arched back onto him, the feeling of his aching member sending you into oblivion. The pressure of his expert hands paired with the erotic sight of him drunk off your core had your release shattering over you.

The waves of bliss that had been cresting slowly all evening crashed over you all at once in an undeniable blow. It had your body tensing and loosening all at once, your nerves on fire. He worked you through it as you cried, trembling beneath him.

When your fists eventually unclenched from the sheets, he came to an inevitable halt. He pulled out gingerly, mindful of your present state of hyper sensitivity.

He kissed your shoulder as he turned you over. He checked you for any damage, just like you were a comrade fallen in battle. You were utterly spent, but unharmed. The exhaustion was gratifying, a welcome ache from an evening much enjoyed.

“That was bliss,” you told him.

“Top shelf, for sure,” Azriel agreed, eyes still dancing over your naked form like he was committing it to memory.

His face was pleasantly unguarded as he spoke. Something suspiciously like a smile played on his swollen lips. The spymaster’s features were surprisingly easy, decompressed as he was in the aftermath of such cataclysmic delight.

You had been the perfect diversion for him, and he for you. True to form, he didn’t idle with you as you lounged, fully drained, in your rumpled sheets.

Azriel dressed efficiently, which is to say that you weren't yet prepared for his stunning body to disappear under his clothes, not so quickly. That was the thing about indulging a vice, these things were never meant to linger.

He stood next to your bed, suddenly assuming an air of professionalism, like you hadn’t just been screaming his name.

“If I'm ever in town again…” he began, tentatively.

“I’ll be here,” you laughed. You meant it humorously, but the words rang hollow in the empty air.

“Good,” he noted with satisfaction.

His words weren’t quite a promise. Still, the meager sentiment had something almost like hope flaring in your sunken chest. Darkness was wrapping itself thickly around his form, like he was gathering his things to leave.

He kissed you once more, slowly, as if he was memorizing the feeling of your mouth on his. And then he was gone, taking his shadows with him.

The sudden light of the room hurt your eyes. You blinked away the tears, swallowing the horror that rose at their arrival, bitter as bile. You sniffed once before snapping to work.

Within a few minutes, you’d erased every trace of your charmed evening.

The shadowinger hadn't left so much as a hair as a sign of his presence, and even the bed was cold again by the time you crawled under fresh sheets. Sleep came mercifully quick, surrendering you to a world of dreams.

✸✸✸

The next night, your husband was gone again, his dinner untouched on the long table where you'd carefully laid his place at the head.

Usually, on nights like these, you would relish the freedom of the empty home and set a fire in the hearth. It was a frivolous excess, but so was most of your life.

The fire was part of a game you played, where you would picture everything you hated, everything and everyone you wanted to see burn. Some nights, it soothed you to picture it, your personal apocalypse. Other nights, the warm flame felt like an insult, its wagging tongues mocking your petty, helpless game. Nights like those were the worst, the void more humiliating than any offense. They left you feeling vapid, foolish.

Tonight however, instead of your customary game at the hearth, you found yourself sitting alone in the wide expanse of your bed. You’d lit a solitary candle; not to banish the darkness, but to invite the soft shadows it spread. Their quiet company was a cold comfort to your heart, where a fragile, unfamiliar flame was just flickering to life.

A/N: Thanks for reading :) I can't for the life of me write a one shot so this might have to become a blurb-y little series of an unpredictable and torturous affair. Who better to have as an affair partner than this sexy spy? He’s big dicked and discreet– everything you need ... Re: ‘Scotty Doesn’t Know’ – "I did her on his birthday" is the *coldest* line and I feel like Azriel is a little shit on the down low and would get off on that... If you have scenarios in mind for future episodes, please send them my way ;)

Let me know what we think! And did the last sex position make sense?? I was struggling to explain it.

Next part

#ENJOYYY #this was SO JUICY AND FUN and kinda sad to write #im high key proud of this one #lmk if you want more >:))#my writing #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel angst #azriel smut #azriel x reader #azriel spymaster #azriel fanfic #azriel x female!reader #azriel x you #acotar fanfiction #acotar #acotar smut #smut

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catboybiologist · 6 months ago

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I'm 3.5 months in progesterone. Did it make my boobs grow? Let's look at some data!

So. This data has problems, of course. I've added disclaimers at the bottom. This isn't science, this is personal curiosity.

But anyways.

My HRT progress has been in three distinct stages:

1, sublingual pills, with on and off spiro. Suppressed T, E struggling to get up. Month 0-7

2, Injections, no progesterone. E goes to appropriate levels very quickly and fluctuates within cis female ranges. Month 7-13.

3, all that plus progesterone. Month 13-16 (current).

For the purposes of simplicity, lets look at breast growth only.

Let's take a look at some of those sublingual numbers:

All in freedom units, bc I hate myself.

I mean hey, not bad! There was absolutely some growth and breast bud formation as well. I pretty clearly got to tanner 2 here. But there's an obvious, clear plateau in growth. We can see it graphically as well:

Ignore the blue line, that's different data (waist:hip)

So what broke the plateau? Well.

The blue measurements are taken when I'm on injections and good levels, and the green one is as well (it was my progesterone start date). Apologies for the data jumping around, there were gaps. Also worth noting that I was ~20 pounds lighter on that final measurement.

So after plateauing with sublingual, my E around 100, the only thing that broke through that barrier was dropping spiro, switching to injections, and keeping my E at 200-400.

It is at this point I added progesterone (data in green).

holy FUCK

I genuinely would not have believed it myself if I didn't have pictures, as well as measuring myself now, and also y'know. Lived all of this.

Lets see that graph, shall we?

You can so clearly see the three stages here. The sublingual plateau, the injection bump upwards, and the progesterone fucking moon rocket. The gap in data is when I was backpacking- on injections, no prog. I think the drop in my W:H is also because of the weight I was losing.

Also yes, linear regression is kinda stupid here. I was just curious.

Anyways. I think I might be plateauing again, just based on how my breasts have felt a little less sensitive recently, which is also what happened on my sublingual plateau. But its absolutely wild to see what progesterone (probably) did in such a short time.

So in conclusion:

Yes. Absolutely. And so did injections, and proper levels.

When I encourage people to take an active role in their transition, this is what I mean. Keep track of your levels. If you're plateauing, think about what might be happening. Make sure to coordinate closely with your doctor. Amazing things can happen because of it.

Disclaimers and admissions of data sloppiness below:

This data is sloppy, and rounded to the nearest half inch most of the time. I've also fudged it based on what I reasonably thought was error in retrospect- eg, at one point I thought my underbust had shrunk a tiny bit due to variation in fat and coastal cartilage, but it's all just flickering between 35.5 and 36", so I just put it all at 36 bc that's likely more accurate.

The measurements don't really cleanly correspond to clothing measurements- I've been doing it wrong since the beginning, and kept doing it wrong for consistency. don't infer my cup size based on this lol. This is for internal comparison and trends.

The rounding also makes it more susceptible to "jumping", and there's several instances where a rounded down data point to a rounded up data point makes a more dramatic leap than it would in practice.

And of course, I'm measuring myself, this is one data set, yadda yadda. It's gonna be sloppy.

But yeah. The trends are clear enough that I hope they can be taken as trends at least, even if they're not exact numbers.

#trans #transgender #transfemme #trans woman #mtf hrt #hrt #trans timeline #trans data

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pinkaditty · 5 months ago

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Starstruck Coral (Romeo Lucci x Reader; Tokyo Debunker)

okay so uh. i don’t really know how to explain this one. like truly i don’t. i feel like it came 2 me in a vision from a higher power or something bc this doesn’t feel like it was my own idea, much less self-indulgent, but regardless??? i actually like it!!!!

a/n: what i can say is that this was directly inspired by me buying this lip plumper tint called "Starstruck Coral" and how literally everyone around me once i put it on was like "ITS SO PRETTY!!" so yea. that's what this is. also. yea. been writing a lot of porn-free fics lately. don’t worry, im not uninspired. rather, i just wanna focus on budding feelings 4 a little while. then it’ll be back 2 porn i promise. im too insane 2 be kept from porn 4 very long i fear.

maybe part 2? maybe? idk yet i dunno. i might. i might not. we’ll see what my brain says…

summary: romeo cannot stand your visage so he styles it to his liking. why are you suddenly the belle of the ball? (leo, rui, haru, ed, and lyca make guest appearances here lol)

cw: some sexual comments. minors dni as per usual. no smut i fear!

Looking for Part 2? Click here!

“...Why are we doing this, again?”

“Shut up.” Romeo’s voice is practically seething with barely restrained anger as you interrupt his focus for the umpteenth time. He holds up one finger in the air towards you, not even turning to look at you. He slowly puts his finger down, and his hands twitch, clearly resisting the urge to ball into fists. “Just shut up. Let me handle this.”

Romeo continues perusing the available colors. Pearlescent White, Modest Matte Mauve, Cherry Pop Red, Hot Tease Pink, Starstruck Coral, and Raven’s Wing Black. He narrows his eyes and whips his head around to your face, studying your features intensely. His eyes pause on your lips, and he frowns as you roll them between your teeth nervously.

“Would you stop-! Urgh, nevermind.” He starts before abruptly stopping, turning fully towards you and grabbing your face, directing it in different angles in the light. He pays strong attention to your lips, noting the thickness, color, and shape of them. He grumbles to himself, looking back at the colors on the shelf. Only one seems to be a perfect match.

Starstruck Coral. That’s the one.

He plucks it off the shelf and places it in the basket before stalking off to the cash register. He knows you know to follow him, and you do, meekly following his steps, still unsure of the purpose of this outing. You shift idly from one foot to the other as he pays at the cash register, listening to the general ambiance of the store. People chattering, items being scanned, wheels of carts rolling along the tile floor. You’re idly reading the label of a pop culture magazine when Romeo appears at your side, sour expression etched into his face. It makes you jump, and he looks at you with an even sourer expression. “Let’s go,” is all he says, his voice loud and demanding, leaving little room for argument. He walks off again, casting a look over his shoulder to ensure you’re following him, which you are, confused expression still stuck on your face.

The two of you return to the Darkwick train station through a door labeled “Employees Only”, careful not to get caught. Once you board the train, Romeo unceremoniously tosses the bag of products towards you and sits across from you. His expression is enough to broadcast that he’s more than over this, despite having spent hours meticulously scanning the available products to find the ones that best matched your skin. He studies you again as you take your seat and the train begins to move. His eyes rove over your face again, as though picking apart your appearance in search of flaws. He hardly flinches when you look up and catch his gaze, though when you nervously turn away, he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Go on. Ask what you want to ask.” His voice comes out exactly as exasperated as he’d meant it to be. He would hope this would discourage you from asking any questions, but he knew better than that.

He watches you shift nervously before speaking up, looking down at your fingers fidgeting with the bag instead of making eye contact with him. “...What is all of this for?”

He exhales, already sick of answering your questions even though he hadn’t answered any. “That anomalous cloak does not do your makeup for you.” Part of him assumes this would be enough explanation, but at your still confused expression, he rolls his eyes and continues explaining. “I am tired of going on missions with someone as basic and unappealing as you. If you are going to be a constant, I insist you at least know how to do your makeup to fit in when we go on high-class missions.” He doesn’t bother sugarcoating anything. Instead, he leans back in his seat again, deciding this was a job well done. He hears the crinkling of the bag and pops one eye open, watching you as you study the products in the bag. You pull out the Starstruck Coral lip tint and suddenly you have his full attention. He opens both eyes and tries to discreetly lean forward, watching as you turn the box around in your hands. He was awful proud of that choice. It was the perfect ombre blend of coral and pink, not too warm and not too cool. It would match your undertone perfectly and it even had a shimmering quality to it. So long as you wore it right, he was sure it’d refine your appearance an exceptional amount.

After finishing praising himself for his genius internally, he leans his head back onto his seat, content to just get this over with. As long as you didn’t look as constantly unappealing as you usually did on missions, it would be fine. He couldn’t get why, but it irritated him. Granted, your skin was okay at best. There were some acne scars here and there, blackheads all over your nose, and slightly puffy undereye, which he suspected was from not getting enough sleep on this accursed campus. Other than those faults, your skin was okay. No visible outbreaks or dryness. He had to applaud you for at least taking his advice to heart and moisturizing a little bit. It had done noticeable wonders, at least to him.

He hears the unmistakable sound of plastic wrap being torn, and he perks up again, noticing you unwrapping the Starstruck Coral lip tint. He leans forward again, curiosity suddenly bubbling within him. “Put it on.” He says before he can think about it, his eyes focused on the small unwrapped box in your hands.

“...Huh?” You give him a puzzled look, tilting your head. His eyes flick towards you in annoyance and he gestures towards the box, his eyebrows furrowing in irritation.

“Don’t be dense, put it on!”

You nod hurriedly, and he can tell from the way your eyes glimmer that you’d wanted to try it. He has to resist the urge to smile, your subtle but affirming reaction filling him with pride. He watches as you open the box and pull out the lip tint, turning it over in your hands before unscrewing it open. Romeo can already feel himself growing impatient, idly tapping his foot as he waits for you to start. “It may be a little messy because I don’t have a mirror, but I’ll do my best.” You warn him, finally unscrewing the tint, admiring the pretty ombre color. He sits up when you speak, and unbeknownst to you, a scowl crosses his face momentarily. You hear his footsteps before you see him, crossing the short distance across the train in record speed and snatching the tint away from you before you could apply it with shaky hands.

When you look up at him questioningly, he shakes his head, holding the tint and applicator brush in his hand. “Just hold still.”

With that, he leans over you, placing the thin tube of tint in your hands and firmly holding your chin, his eyes seemingly glued to your lips. “Open.” When you do as he says, he gently applies the tint to your bottom lip, pursing his own lightly glossed lips as he focuses. He exhales, and fails to notice the way you shiver, his breath fanning over your neck. His knuckles gently press into the soft skin of your cheek and chin as he carefully follows the border of your lips, watching as the plush skin yields to the pressure before plumping up again. Somewhat caught between a haze of his intense focus applying the tint and unexpected fascination with the buoyancy of your lips, Romeo accidentally smudges some of the tint. Despite his bubbling annoyance at his own blunder, for a moment, it’s an almost charming imperfection. The lip tint glitters against your skin, smudged just off the corner of your parted lips. If he were any more brazen, he would have given in to the odd temptation unfurling in his stomach to simply kiss it away. Fortunately for him and his own reputation, he’s far more proper than that. With a pointed glare at the corner of your lips, he wipes away the smudge with his gloved thumb. He glances at the sparkling residue left on his glove before wiping it away onto your top lip. When you flinch in response, he has to suppress a shiver down his spine. This action was inexplicably intimate, yet he didn’t understand where his flusteredness was coming from. There was no reason to act nor feel like this.

He applies the tint to your top lip in a more rushed fashion, suddenly wanting to replace the earlier distance between you two. He frowns when he finishes, nitpicking any slight smudges or missed spots, before stepping away, admiring his work. “There.” He plucks the tint from your grasp, screwing the applicator back on and tossing it into the bag. “...This might be good enough,” he says, feigning confidence, but he can hear the way his voice wavers with uncertainty, a part of him itching to do more. His gaze flickers upwards to meet yours and an idea pops into his head. He could do your lashes. They were long by itself, but some of the mascara he’d bought couldn’t hurt. Despite himself, he finds himself sitting back down in front of you, reaching for and holding your chin firmly again. He turns your head every which way, determining what else he could do to refine your appearance some. Unfortunately, he’s aware this train ride ends soon, and he feels himself getting nauseous at the idea of spending more time with you than he has to, despite the anticipation crawling up his spine. He reaches for the bag again, pulling out the mascara he’d bought earlier. When you reach out your hand to apply it yourself, he gently swats your hand away. “No. Hold still.”

He doesn’t give you much choice, still holding your chin and pulling your face closer to his. He purses his lips again, telling you not to blink as he applies your mascara. He finds himself staring at your eye color, noting the color of the mascara in comparison. Perhaps next time he ought to choose something that made your eyes stand out more, or maybe that’d be easier done with some eyeshadow in the correct shade. He decides to halt his thoughts there, scowling. He had to focus, and he was damn well sure there wouldn’t be a ‘next time’. He internally recoils at the thought of having to peruse the shelves with you over his shoulder again, constantly shifting your expressions, making it harder for him to focus. The slight furrow in your brow even now was distracting, and all he could think about was how he wanted to remind you that frowning causes wrinkles, and you would be especially susceptible to them if you didn’t keep up your skincare regime. Instead, he lets go of your chin and flicks you between your brows, frowning at you himself. When you get the message and relax your expression, he nods appreciatively and continues his task, moving to your other eye.

Finally, the task was complete. His eyes flick back and forth between your eyes, watching as you blink at him dubiously. When satisfied, he pulls away, screwing the applicator back into the mascara and observing your face. Your eyes seemed wider and brighter, and the added mascara helped your lashes appear longer. Your lips were bright and shimmering, still covered in that Starstruck Coral color. Romeo smiles to himself, proud with how he managed to turn around your appearance with so little. He reaches for your face again, holding your cheeks with considerable tenderness, as though scared one wrong move would smudge and ruin the perfect portrait of you. He doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath as he gazes at you, checking your entire face for imperfections, glazing over the negligible or unnoticeable imperfections that couldn’t be immediately cleared. He exhales, feeling himself gleam with pride as a reluctant smile digs into his cheeks yet again. He sits down beside you, still holding your face. “Non c'è male…” He mutters to himself, finding his gaze lingering again on the pretty ombre mesh of pink and orange and red on your lips. Truly, Starstruck Coral had been the right choice.

He’s basking in his pride more when he hears the shutter click of a camera, and a whistle in a familiar voice. “Now this will do numbers on WickHive.” The same familiar voice cackles and Romeo already knows he hadn’t moved away quickly enough to avoid the picture. One glance up and there he is, Leo, staring down smugly at his phone, where the incriminating image is probably being held. Surprisingly, hunched over Leo’s shoulder is Rui, inspecting the picture with a crease in his brow. Romeo cannot believe his lack of luck.

Romeo catches it when Rui makes eye contact with you, and it doesn’t escape him how Rui’s eyes flicker with an emboldened interest. Stepping past Leo, Rui heads to you with an extra skip in his step, wide smile already spreading across his face. His voice is higher than usual, and Romeo wonders if mere makeup was enough to trip up the ladykiller himself. “Woooow, MC!” He stops a short distance away from you, his eyes flickering across your face as he takes in your makeup. “You look cuter than usual today. What’s brought this on, huh?” Rui’s tone is filled with mirth as he pokes your nose playfully. Romeo stiffens and has to bite back the urge to swat his hand away from your face.

Romeo carefully watches your reaction, and is almost relieved when you don’t smile immediately. “You like it? I haven’t seen how it looks yet.” You reply to Rui, a little hesitant but clearly glad for the praise.

Rui sticks his bottom lip out in a mock pout. “Awww, you should! You look so cute!” His face breaks out into a wide smile again, and it’s almost crushingly obvious that Rui’s a flirtier version of Kaito at this point. “I’m assuming we have you to thank for this, hm?” Romeo looks up to notice Rui’s gaze on him as Rui vaguely gestures in your direction.

Romeo doesn’t resist the urge to puff his chest out a bit, folding his arms indignantly. “Indeed.” His terse answer doesn’t hide his swelling pride, he’s aware, but brevity is the soul of wit, which he likes to claim to possess.

“He picked out some makeup items for me.” You chime in, holding up the bag with a relaxed smile. It seems you’ve finally taken to Rui’s compliments.

Rui shakes his head with a complicated look in his eyes, clearly picking up on the message behind the gift, but happy for you nonetheless. “Well, leave it to Romeo to pick out such a pretty color. It suits you.” Rui winks at you before finally finding a seat on the train, just across from you, taking Romeo’s former seat.

Leo, who’s clearly been either editing the picture or waiting his turn to soak up all the attention, saunters up to you, smug smile still on his face. Romeo doesn’t miss how your earlier smile seems to fade all at once. He would laugh, but it’s not that funny.

“Gotta say, I agree with Rui. Who knew…” Leo trails off, his fingers reaching for your chin and holding it with uncharacteristic tenderness, tilting your face upwards towards him. Romeo notices how you stiffen at the contact. “...That the honor student could be—” Leo suddenly snaps his lips shut, and Romeo can tell from the way his lips purse despite being in a smug smirk that he had to bite back a compliment. Leo only falters slightly, brow creasing minutely before quickly straightening again, lips quirking back up into a teasing smile, more words as demeaning as they were saccharine sweet on the tip of his tongue. “Well, it suits you. You might even be unrecognizable enough to pass as a beauty in this picture.” Leo smirks, waving his phone in his hand.

Romeo finds himself intervening before he can really think about it. He swats Leo’s hand away from your chin. “Stop that. You’ll smudge her foundation.” A blatant lie, but it would be sound enough to get him to back off, Romeo hopes. Something about this was fraying at his nerves.

Leo raises a crooked brow at Romeo, a slow, shit-eating grin spreading across his face. “I don’t know, Romeo. The blackheads on her nose account for a lack of any foundation at all. Nice try, though.” Romeo should be thankful Leo lets it go, but all he can do is turn away indignantly, feeling his face burn with embarrassment. He hears a chuckle before light footsteps padding away, and gently exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. By god, of all people to board the train at that moment…

Rui walks at a much faster pace than you and Romeo, strained expression on his face. He’d left Lyca and Ed in charge of the bar while he was off on a short mission, as he explained earlier, and could only hope that they hadn’t mistakenly set the bar on fire.

Romeo was headed to the bar for drinks, and as far as he was concerned, you were coming with him. The earlier incident with Leo convinced him he cannot let you out of his sight for today. Leo had cited some excuse for not coming to the bar, but Romeo could tell from the grin Leo flashed his way that he can expect that picture to be all over WickHive by evening. A drink to forget it, even temporarily, would be enough for Romeo.

Rui heaves a sigh of relief as he steps into the bar, glad to find nothing on fire nor destroyed, but Lyca doing the work while Ed sits perched at the bar. A red shock of hair buried in a white sleeve also denotes another guest. Romeo has to grit his teeth, remembering how Haru went on and on about you after first meeting you. He can only imagine the endless waterfall of praise he’ll surely come up with on the spot seeing you even remotely dolled up. He makes a mental note to bring painkillers for the inevitable headaches he gets when he comes here and Haru happens to arrive.

Clearly, Romeo needs to be more forthright about how he’s trying to protect his ears, because when you plop yourself down in the seat right next to Haru, all he feels is dread. He quickly slips into the seat on your other side, despite there being no remaining danger.

Rui, finally behind the bar, gently nudges Haru. He immediately raises his head, and Romeo can’t tell if he woke up that quickly or was already awake and out of it so soon. The faint blush on his face indicates the latter. As Haru reorients himself, Romeo notices Lyca peering at you oddly. He’d never so much as heard this boy speak, but something tells him he’s going to be as much as, if not more of, a headache than Haru.

“Oh, hi MC-! …Wait. Something’s different about you.” Haru’s voice had its classic drawl it always had when he’s getting close to being hammered. Romeo’s sure it’s loud enough to be heard from Obscuary’s entrance. He watches, jaw clenched tight as Haru inspects you. Boldly, and probably not realizing how drunk he is, Haru reaches out, his gloved fingers lightly tracing the skin above your eyebrows. Romeo notices you don’t recoil at this touch, but he doesn’t know if it’s because you know he’s drunk or if you happen to not dislike Haru. Both options are less than ideal.

Puzzled expression still stuck on his face, Haru traces his fingers downwards, caressing your cheek. “Yea…” He mutters to himself, his eyes tracing the path of his fingers. “Something’s…” his fingers reach the corner of your lips, “...Different…Oh!” His eyes widen like it’s finally occurred to him, and his gaze remains transfixed on your lips, shimmering coral color still bright and undisturbed on them. “You’re wearing makeup!”

“Is that what that is?” Lyca cuts in, suddenly appearing behind you, craning his neck to get a good look at your face. He narrows his eyes, scrutinizing your appearance before leaning away, satisfied. He crosses his arms, a light blush dusting his face as he tries to ignore the staring he just did. “Hmph. It’s pretty.” His compliment is short and terse, but Romeo can tell from your relieved sigh that you’re happy to receive it nonetheless. However, said compliment is quickly followed up by: “...You reek of the damn blond gigolo, though.”

Rui stiffens behind the bar, cleaning a glass. “Come on, my cologne isn’t that potent.” He looks up from his task to find all five of you avoiding his gaze.

Ignoring Rui’s distressed cry of shock, Haru turns to you again. “Lyca’s right. It is pretty. Though…” Haru leans towards you, his chin propped up in his hands, “I always thought you were quite the looker, you know.” His smile is disarmingly handsome, even to Romeo. His flushed cheeks and lovestruck gaze probably only add to it. Romeo suppresses a gag, turning away.

Rui, having partially recovered from the prior shock, also leans towards you, resting his cheek in his palm, partially hiding a cheeky smile. He hums in agreement with Haru, nodding. “Can’t disagree with that. You’re an attractive gal.”

Romeo shivers, ready to pull you away from Haru and Rui’s gazes. When Lyca cranes his neck to gaze at you again, Romeo snaps.

“Will you horny dogs keep your dicks in your pants and your lascivious gazes off of her?!” He knows he’s one to talk considering the way your lips simply shimmering was enough to disarm him on the train, but still. This was ridiculous.

“Really, now…” A soft, low, velvety voice echoes through the silence following Romeo’s outburst. Ed appears behind you, gently placing his hands over your ears. He mockingly frowns disapprovingly at Romeo. “Using such vulgar language in front of a lady…” He shakes his head and tuts a few times, a smile crawling onto his face. “Surely you know your manners?”

Rui chimes in, teasing grin all over his face. “He may need a refresher on them.”

With that, Haru, Rui, and Ed dissolve into snickers, just as Romeo bursts into a blush. Lyca, off to the side, looks a little confused.

“I don’t get it. Why not use words like that in front of her?”

Romeo’s walking you home. He insisted on it. He wasn’t about to let a repeat of him being humiliated yet again by your side, nor was he going to let some other ghoul or normal human lay his eyes on you, at that. Maybe this makeup was a bad idea. But then, he turns to sneak a quick glance at you. Your expression appears quite pleased, and your shimmering lips are curled into a small smile.

Well. Maybe it wasn’t that bad of an idea.

“Thank you.” Romeo’s surprised to hear you pipe up, and turns towards you questioningly.

“For what?”

“For the makeup.” You gaze at him kindly, giving him a small smile. He’s taken aback by it. “Can’t say you were kind about it, but I appreciate it regardless.”

Romeo hardly stiffens at the comment. He knows he wasn’t particularly kind about it, but that’s the point. How else is someone who can hardly remove their blackheads going to take proper care of their skin? He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, letting his thoughts run around his head. Part of him wondered if he had another reason for buying you makeup in the first place, and why this entire gift felt like it was only going to bite him in the ass later. Maybe it already was, what with how you’d managed to catch the attention of every single ghoul they’d encountered today. But that didn’t make sense. Why would you gaining attention bite him in the ass? He shakes his head, a blush forming on his face as though he already knows the answer.

“Shut up. Just use it on missions.” Romeo’s response is as terse as ever, quick and to the point. He watches as you roll your eyes, and something in him twinges, partially wishing he could’ve given a nicer comment.

When you arrive at the chapel, he watches you bound up the steps, sticking around despite himself. He musters up an obligatory “Good Night,” right before you close the door on him, and he watches as your shimmering Starstruck Coral lips pull into a grin.

“Goodnight, Romeo.”

He turns away as you close the door, ready to fill the rest of his walk back to Sinostra with more pondering. His phone buzzing in his pocket interrupts his peace, however, and he turns it on only to find an innumerable amount of notifications from WickHive.

“Kurosagi…” He curses his name under his breath. “When I get you…”

a/n: yippee!!!!!!! im surprised i managed to finish this. i honestly like it a lot, i think it's really cute and i like the way i wrote it. i genuinely hope you guys like it too!!!!!

shameless note that, as usual, i love likes, comments, tagged reblogs, and asks!! please feel free to let me know in any way you like just how much you loved my writing! it's what keeps me going!

until next time!!!

EDIT BC I SOMEHOW FORGOT?: a few hc's im adding 4 relevance's sake:

rui wears strong cologne and douses himself in it

haru has grey eyes

that's all yippee!!

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kdramastrix · 1 year ago

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I have. Something to talk about and its very very VERY important.

We know that last scene of TDJ where its just PEAK yearning but can we PLEASE appreciate the micro-expressions that passed over both Yohan & Gaon's faces when they faced each other DIRECTLY after a MONTH (if im not wrong) of that whole blowing up fiasco + Yohan's arrest before that??????? Because my GOD.

So we see Gaon call Yohan by his Full Government Name™ (which wasn't very wise for a declared dead enemy of the state who is ALSO wanted but we'll let it pass for romanticisms' sake) and look at his face. His face is one of a scared man. He's not hesitant but he is afraid of how Yohan views him after what transpired between them.

In turn, Yohan looks back and well.

He is also somewhat apprehensive. They're both testing each other & the waters they're in. Although Yohan doesn't have a revenge vendetta shackling him down anymore, Gaon, on the other hand, has tremendous stuff to unpack. They're carefully, if not gently, evaluating the distance between them.

And then, Yohan gives a clear sign that he holds nothing against Gaon. An open arm, an open invitation. To join him? Maybe. To decide what to do with them? Perhaps. It's vague but it's also clear that Yohan is done manipulating Gaon & that he has left the ball in Gaon's court.

Then come the positive changes. With Yohan's green signal, Gaon is somewhat relieved but also incredibly guilt-ridden. I think these frames speak for themselves.

The wet smile & the eye crinkles. He is so relieved to be in Yohan's good graces but also just looking at Yohan be his ever glowing self after serving his life's purpose.

Yohan. My dearest Yohan. Look at him. He's equally heart-broken to be seeing Gaon like this, to be leaving him behind but that little nod he does???? Like he's made a decision that he needs to stick with for the betterment of Gaon???? That's what truly gets me. It's so clear the distance between them is hurting him but he also knows that it's necessary to give Gaon space & time, to unravel & to explore things on his own. Perhaps another assumption on his part because who truly knows what Gaon wants except Gaon himself?

Then it's a brief look exchanged. As he turns, giving Gaon one last reassuring smile as he turns and leaves behind one of the most important people to him.

And gaon watches. Look at his micro-expressions here. Look at his breathing. His sagging shoulders. His eyes. His wet smile. His balled hands. His tiny nods.

He also thinks this is necessary but you can so clearly see its taking every bit of nerve & fiber in him to stay rooted to his place & not chase after Yohan. He's DELIBERATELY not taking a single step towards Yohan. He thinks he doesn't deserve to chase after him, that hes content to see Yohan: alive, well and so utterly free. That's all that matters.

I would genuinely like to appreciate both jinyoung and jisung for their acting bcs they NAILED the raw emotions needed for this absolutely stunning yet gut wrenching scene. It's so difficult to convey such complex emotions through such little means yet they did it to PERFECTION. They both gave their characters LIFE. And for that i will always be grateful bcs i dont think anyone else could've done Kang Yohan and Kim Gaon the way they did.

#The devil judge #the devil judge meta #kang yohan #tdj #kim gaon #ji sung #kdrama #gahan #lawful husbands #the devil judge #park jinyoung

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princessbrunette · 1 year ago

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reader who sometimes likes to point out really obvious stuff, but she’s always so proud of herself that the boys just don’t have the heart to bring it up. Like her & rafe could be sitting on the couch watching discovery channel, & something that is obviously a baby cheetah will come into the screen & she’ll be like “oh! that’s a cheetah, it’s only a baby though, it still needs to grow into a big cheetah.” or she could be with johnbee & there’s clearly something wrong with the boat, & she’ll go “The boats not starting up.” with all seriousness, & he’ll just smile & kiss her head. “You’re right, good job.” or jj could show up in front of her literally dripping in sweat, & she’ll say; “you’re sweating.” & jjs all like “really? shit i didn’t even notice, thanks sweetheart.” - 🍄

this kills me bc unironically this is so me, i do this all the time ! 😭

🌺⋆୨୧⋆⋆˚👙˖° 𐙚 ₊ ⊹ ♡🐚

john b n jj as a duo would get such a kick out of it, jj always coming back with something sarcastic to point out how obvious it is whilst john b simply absentmindedly strokes your head and says “yeah.” all quiet and calm, occasionally smacking jj to get him to behave.

john b especially is so used to it that he doesn’t even bat an eyelid. he’s laying back on the couch at the chateau with his eyes shut, listening to you repeatedly press the on button on one of the lamps, only for no light to come out.

“the lamp is not turning on.” you observe simply, and without opening his eyes, john b knows the resolution.

“why do you think that is, pup?” he asks gently in that low raspy voice he gets when he’s tired.

“because it’s not plugged in.” he can hear you turned to look at him to answer so he cracks an eye open, giving you a small smile and a nod as he rests a hand behind his head.

“right.”

jj often meets your obvious remarks with lighthearted teasing as mentioned before, the blonde leading you into an abandoned church with the pogues as you follow a lead.

“the lights are off because the church is very old.” you inform jj quietly, sticking to his side as you blink uncomfortably at a cluster of cobwebs in the doorway. he licks his lips, glancing as you as he’s halfway through working a torch out of his cluttered backpack.

“nothin’ gets past you, huh babydoll?” he sarks, gently moving you aside by the waist to walk infront of you for protection purposes.

with rafe he honestly pays it no mind even if he does think it’s kind of cute lowkey. you’ll have your cheek smushed tiredly to his chest as he steers his boat out on the open water and he’ll feel you wriggle an arm free to point tiredly at another boat nearby.

“theres another boat here.” the comment made sense to say in your head, rafe’s sunglass- shielded eyes flickering in its direction carelessly before returning his gaze to the open water, expression not changing.

“yeah, no shit baby.” he mutters, but a few minutes later he presses a kiss to the warm crown of your head.

🌺⋆୨୧⋆⋆˚👙˖° 𐙚 ₊ ⊹ ♡🐚

#🍄 anon #rafe cameron prompt #jj maybank prompt #john b prompt

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ourfag · 6 months ago

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stede approximately 7 hours after meeting ed (they have been talking this whole time): —especially wildflowers cuz i hardly ever saw any. my father’s house—he kept the lawn completely manicured, just this…depressingly plain…… er, plane

ed: a plain plane?

stede, moving his hand back and forth parallel to the ground (to indicate a plane): that’s right, it was—well, it was sort of a…small plain, i guess, landscape-wise, but it—a really plain plane of a plain

ed, following every word of this: sounds like a pain

stede: fuck ugly. all that grass and no bugs!

ed, now sort of seeing the appeal when you phrase it like that but not saying anything bc fuck dads and fuck the rich and also he thinks its hot when stede complains: like a golf course

stede: eerily like a golf course

ed: did y—actually, i’m afraid to ask.

stede: ooh, go on

ed: …did you ever use it at all? like, for…fancy people barbecues, or…?

stede, becoming increasingly irate about it all: not even—we mowed it, is what we did with it. and we had—my father’d got it from his father, it was—he had me using this little—one of those lawnmowers that look like egg beaters, y’know—

ed: awwwgh, the old-timey ones?

stede: like a push-along that also cuts people’s fingers off

ed: did you cut anybody’s fingers off?

stede: i came pretty damn close once

ed: physically or emotionally

stede: emotionally, mostly. i had a wishlist to santa on the line, i wasn’t gonna risk that

ed: you had—hang on, how old were you when this was happening

stede: i think i was about fifteen

ed:

stede: NOBODY TOLD ME!!!

ed: bro

stede: if anything i think my parents kept it going on purpose. so it’s him i’d get upset with

ed: oh you didn’t like santa then

stede: such a relief to learn he’s made up, i thought he hated me

ed: oh no. what??? why? what the fuck’d they do to you??

stede: nothing egregious, just….. every year i’d write to him, and i’d be explicit about what type of thing i definitely didn’t want, and every christmas that’s what he got me. bb guns, boxing gloves, g. i. joe…

ed: :(

stede: …paraphernalia from dad’s alma mater…there was one year i got to the bottom of the stairs and went, “oh god, santa’s fucked it. that’s all clearly meant for someone else.” so every year after that, santa put my name on everything. just to make sure i knew. embossed, sometimes.

ed: aw. mate, if i’m honest, that does strike me as kind of egregious

stede: well, they were nice things

ed: yeah but he knew you didn’t want em and he gave em to you anyway when they could’ve gone to, i dunno, some rough-and-tumble kid who’d be over the moon about a bb gun… what were you hoping for? what did stede want?

stede: i remember the big one i asked for was always a lawnmower

ed:

ed: OHHH yeah to liberate you from the push-along?

stede: all the time i was push-alonging i’d have daydreams about those big rideable ones

ed’s brain (separately from ed): any lawnmower’s rideable if you’re enough of a pervert

ed, internally, to his brain: i cannot fucking say that to him

ed’s mouth, without permission: any lawnmower—

ed:

stede: ?

ed, sweating: an—an-any lawnmower jokes?

stede, face lighting up because nobody’s asked him that before and he’s got half a dozen ready to go: OOH YES HERE’S ONE—

#taking advantage of these crashless moments to finish and post this one that i found in my drafts #didnt even mean for it to be seasonally relevant it just did that on its own #miss you all still 💌💌💌

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a-dauntless-daffodil · 10 months ago

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The meta text of Vaggie hating when people don't use her name or try calling her by another one THEY think she should use, bc they think her name is too vulgar or demeaning or too silly not to joke about -> and then parts of the fandom doing the same thing, is honestly really hitting home in a queer way

here's a character who we know wants people to use her chosen name.

we know she does because she corrects Adam to his face "Actually, it's pronounced Vaggie" drawing a hard line of NO between the old name he gave her with that soft G and the one her girlfriend uses for her now

her exasperation even during the battle, answering Pentious's call out of Vaggatha but still also tiredly pointing out "Not my name", and

ironically. The second miss-naming hurts me more than the first

the Adam thing makes me hate the guy on a personal level, with his stupid smug little "Hmmmmmm- no. Anyway-" saying Vaggie isn't ALLOWED to name herself something new as if he has any claim over her, as if her name has anything to do with him after he abandoned her

But the Pentious thing almost hurts worse for how well meant and casual it is. How familiar that is.

Here it's coming from a friend and the misnaming is a sign of affection from him, a show of respect. He's not calling her the purple female anymore. This is Pentious and his tick of getting polite and formal when addressing people he likes, him snapping his earnest salutes, him as we saw earlier that episode with his shy "Miss Bomb" towards Cherri.

And the way Vaggie just kinda rolls her eye and takes it from him while still clearly not liking it...

She used to wear a uniform that made her almost identical to the other Exorcists around her, she was given her old name by the man in charge of her, a name based on how useful to him she was, she's still got all that soldier stuff marching through her head making her grab for her spear and leaving her with no idea how to get people to bond other than throwing them bodily into a warzone

It just makes sense that the woman she's in a long term happy relationship with be so normal about her chosen 'vulgar' and 'inappropriate' name

Being together that long means Charlie probably knows this specific frustration her girlfriend has and cares enough about her to just say "Vaggie" like its nothing. Or maybe she just thinks, duh, of course she'll use the name Vaggie tells her to use

Maybe Charlie being that kinda person is part of what Vaggie loves about her in the first place. The amount of trust Charlie places in people, just by default

Because there could be good and bad reasons Vaggie's using a version of her old name after leaving that life behind

She could be doing it to remind herself of the shit person she was and feels she has to still make up for being, it could be tied to her self imposed new life purpose of helping make Charlie's dreams come true, it could be Vaggie keeping part of something she hates (herself) so she can feel a bit of "deserved" pain over it even when she was too scared to admit her past to anyone else- a sneaky way to always be reminded of it by the new people in her new life anyway

but that's her choice. People are allowed to make bad decisions for themselves

there's that ethos of the whole hotel and redemption plan again, Charlie's dreams and ideals swinging back into action even when Charlie maybe doesn't know it

what's the idea of redemption or personal change other than accepting that people CAN make choices for themselves? They can even make shitty ones, and that's not a reason to drop them forever or take the choice away like they don't deserve it anymore

What's the permanent extermination of souls other than saying they forever lost the right to say what happens to themselves?

a gay woman is calling herself after vag while switching out her soldier gear to wear miniskirts and giant as fuck hair bow ribbons while kissing and cuddling her girlfriend. Maybe it's cringe. Maybe it's camp. Even if Vaggie obviously isn't meant to be literally trans, it's that deliberate choice thing again, a kinda switcheroo from Adam naming her Vagina just bc it's something that he likes for how it makes him feel good, to Vaggie saying no this is MY thing now.

The Vagina to Vaggie thing is the difference between putting a name on someone else verses taking it for your own.

and Charlie affirms that choice, that right of Vaggie to be called the name she choses, no matter WHAT it sounds like or how awkward it makes some people feel

like, if someone in real life told you their name was Vaggie, would you use their name for them?

Would you accept feeling a bit weird for their sake?

Or would you do what happens so much in real life, when people who care still think they know better or feel like someone being who they are infringes too much on their own sense of comfort or even on that person's own safety, and with all the good intentions and love in the world, someone hurts someone else without understanding that they're evening doing it.

Like Pentious

Who is really and truly Vaggie's friend. The guy she got off to a rough start with but ends up rooting for, shoving her gf out of the room so he can talk to his own crush in peace. He dies to try protecting his friends, including her, and she misses him when he's gone

and he still thought he was doing a nice thing by calling her the more 'normal' sounding "Vagatha". Either because he assumed Vaggie couldn't really be her full name, or thought she deserved better

Charlie doesn't think Vaggie needs a better name

Charlie says her name all the time like it's her favorite word ever, if only because it belongs to the woman she loves

i feel a lot of things about that.

#hazbin hotel #vaggie #charlie morningstar #chaggie #sir pentious #adam hazbin hotel

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filtheopathic · 3 months ago

Text

ode to a situationship — otoya eita

PART 2 - the sixth time

WC - 4.3k

SYN - The ball is in your court now.

CW - [18+!] afab!reader mentioned to be wearing makeup and heels, alcohol mention, dubcon (bc of alcohol), oral (m receiving), unprotected piv sex, premature ejaculation, orgasm denial sort of - [terms used : babe, baby]

SERIES MASTERLIST — PREV — NEXT

the sixth time:

You and Otoya are a match made in hookup heaven, that much becomes clear rather quickly.

It’s easy, it’s fun. You’re hot and you banter with him. You laugh at his jokes despite calling them lame. And you’re kind of a freak (but Otoya is into that).

Most importantly, you don’t expect much from him besides a few mind-shattering orgasms like every other week or so. And even that expectation isn’t much of an expectation at all, seeing as you’ve never texted him first to hook up. The ball has been in his court this whole time.

Day-drinking with the girls is what changes that.

When Otoya receives a string of text messages from you in the middle of the day, his immediate reaction is something between fear and fascination. But once he sees that they start with ‘I’m 4 mimosas deep at brunch’ and end with ‘I’m so horny’, he lightens up significantly. Without a second thought he sends you his address (something Karasu has told him to not fuckin’ do anymore, since the last scorned woman who showed up seeking retribution through vandalism mistook his car for Otoya’s) and returns his attention to his video game.

You’re outside his complex within the hour, lipgloss rubbed off and legs on display.

On your way in, you realize hazily that this is your first time in his apartment. It’s spacious and well-furnished. Definitely a “man apartment” but everything is stylishly minimal and clean, the layout clearly thought-out. The walls are mostly empty except for a massive tv and a couple framed pieces of art, one of which seems to be some sort of action movie poster. Your eyes fall to a shelf where a cluster of pictures stands beside a small row of books.

All of the pictures are of men in soccer uniforms. Otoya is easy to spot amongst the group, if only because he seems so mellow compared to the imposing energy surrounding him. If their auras are loud and fiery, some even quite dark, then his is quiet and chilled, but still striking in its own way. Your attention gravitates to it immediately, just as it had when you first met. That makes you smile to yourself just a little.

One of the photos features him and a couple other teammates, all with medals hanging around their necks. Their uniforms are littered with grass-green scuffs, sweat glistening on toned skin, and you can see hints of a stadium in the background. It’s obvious that they’ve just won a match, and by the looks on the other men’s faces it was an important one. Otoya’s face is impassive as always, but you recognize the pride there only because you’ve come to know that shine in his eyes.

You knew he was a professional athlete, but the gravity of it all hadn’t really hit you. You made it a point to avoid googling his name and it simply wasn’t in your nature to fawn over the men you messed around with, especially ones with obvious egos.

(“You play soccer?”

“Yeah,” Otoya says coolly, leaning back against your kitchen counter with a post-sex sluggishness.

“Are you, like, good?”

His expression doesn’t change, but his eyes shine with a boyish sort of pride. “Yeah. They call me ‘the ninja’.”

You scowl at him, amusement barely concealed beneath. “Sure they do.”)

You settle into his couch while making idle conversation. You tell him of the day’s drunken shenanigans with your girls, and he informs you that he’s leaving the country tomorrow, traveling for a match. It’s all very casual and comfortable, even if you are buzzing with anticipation. You came here to get railed and he’s asking if you want to watch a movie (one he’d heard about from a teammate and thought you’d like) — you suspect he’s toying with you on purpose.

It’s fun for him, you think, to mess with you like this. You’re not the type to blush easy, so instead he settles for frustrating you. It’s irritating, of course, but you can’t deny that the push-and-pull is entertaining. There’s a charm to it that has kept you coming back these last couple months.

Otoya throws his arm over the back of the couch and aims the remote at the tv, but you don’t let him get very far before you’re running your hand up the side of his neck and into his hair. Forward. Suggestive without speaking a word.

His eyes cut over to you. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

Ignoring the moniker, you press on, now toying with the jewelry in his earlobe. “Thought my texts were clear.”

“I prefer face-to-face communication.”

You grip under his jaw and gently force him to look at you. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Wow. At least buy me dinner first.”

But his words have no weight like his greedy hands. They find your hips and pull you smoothly into his lap, and at the same time your mouth — impatient and still tasting of citrus — envelops his. Movie officially forgotten, you begin making out in earnest right there on his living room couch.

Kissing Otoya has become familiar in a way that sheds uncertainty. It’s no longer clumsy like the first time, and not so experimental like the next few times; there’s a comfortable ease settling in now. Still hungry, still undeniably lustful, but easy. A smooth flow, a familiar rhythm.

The heat steadily rises between you, kisses getting wetter, bolder. You bite and pull on his lower lip the way you know he likes, smiling at the groan you get out of him. And with a force he knows you like, he palms the back of your neck and deepens the kiss, his tongue pressing forward to slide against yours.

A hand searches up under your shirt, smoothing over the curve of your lower back. The skin-to-skin contact makes you even more impatient. You know he’s taking his time with you, exploiting your eagerness to bring you to desperation — and it’s working. All the light groans and chaste touches are making you throb. You need him to touch you — really touch you. In a subconscious search for that friction you bare down on his lap and roll your hips back, gasping lightly into his mouth when the hard shape of him presses into you.

“You have to take responsibility for that, you know,” he says, breathless but still smug.

You want to call him an asshole, tell him that he’s the one who should be taking responsibility, but his hands are already gripping your hips, fingers sinking into plush skin and holding you still as he grinds up into you.

Fuck.

You know you say it out loud by the way his eyes light up like a fox on a hunt. His hold on your hips tightens.

“You want it that bad?” His lips are close to your ear now, voice low and teasing. Hands guiding you to grind down on him again, and again. “What was it you said in those texts? You miss my dick and you’re so horny?”

Otoya shifts his grip, palms smoothing over your ass and squeezing hard. You’re so wet you can feel the stickiness of it when he grabs you, the slip of your panties when he guides you over his cock. You’re turning to jelly in his lap and he knows it.

“I wanna hear you say it. Don’t get shy now.”

He’s right, of course, you do want it that bad, you did say all that shit — but you don’t want to say it out loud. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction a second time — not yet, not like this.

You need to get the reins back.

Otoya gives them up easily, making no moves to resist when you untangle yourself and shift your weight. Crawling down to the floor, you hook both hands in the waistband of his sweats as you go and pull lightly in request — “Take these off.” You ignore his question, and he forgets it immediately.

In a smooth, quick motion, he pulls his sweats and boxers down and kicks them off to the side, baring himself to you with a thinly veiled excitement. Spreading his legs wide, he slides his hips down further on the seat of the couch. There’s a cool confidence ever present in his body, bordering on cocky as he settles back into the cushions and looks down at you expectantly. Like he’s waiting for you to put on a show for him. It’s as infuriating as it is arousing, and it’s exactly what you were seeking out by texting him in the first place.

His cock stands long and hard, arching back towards his abdomen, almost mocking in how pretty it is. Smooth and milky in color, not thick but more than satisfying in length. You take him in your hand, squeezing and giving a slow, experimental pump as you shift closer. He smells like men’s body wash and a light, natural musk that clings to his skin. It fills your head, makes you feel drunk all over again.

Heavy-lidded and hazy, you rub your cheek against his dick like a cat with its favorite toy. Up, down, then across to the other cheek with a firm grip on the base, disregarding the way it might sully your makeup. You’re taking your time – returning the favor. Otoya keeps himself steady, and you know by the way his gaze keeps flickering to your lips that he’s fighting the urge to take over and press himself past them.

You smack him gently against the side of your face just to feel the weight. His stomach tenses, his grip on his patience weakening by the second.

“Been thinking about this all day…” you admit, your voice a low drag of arousal, “Could barely focus at brunch. I just kept thinking about how badly I needed to suck your dick.”

You run your lips up the side of him, breath warm on his skin. “It made me so wet to think about. Almost wanted to touch myself right there under the table. If I had gotten any more drunk I might have.”

Otoya curses under his breath. You smile.

His tip is nice and flushed now, glistening with precum that’s been steadily leaking with each pulse and twitch. You wet your lips with it, still teasing, before dipping your tongue in to taste. Otoya breathes in, tense.

“Stay still,” you tell him, “Be good.”

Arousal clouds your mind after that, and you feel his hand gently push your hair out of your face as you finally suck the tip of him into your mouth. You rest there for a moment, sucking and massaging the underside of it with your tongue until you feel his body tense even further, then you let yourself drop down.

The cockiness melts away with Otoya’s head falling back between his shoulders.

The satisfaction of it is indescribable. Not just the power trip that comes with hearing him moan into the open air of his living room, but the feel of him. Maybe it’s the bit of alcohol still swirling in your system, or your own oral fixation, but the fit of him inside your mouth makes your head swim. His skin is warm, practically radiating, and firm pressed against the flat of your tongue. Thick enough to form your lips around nicely and long enough to make you strain.

You take him as far down as you can without gagging and suck all the way back up. The act pulls a pleased little mmm from your chest, like having him in your mouth is quenching some animal thirst.

Your gaze finds Otoya’s again, lashes fluttering as you take him deeper this time. He’s watching you greedily, eyes a shocking green in the bright light of daytime, even with his hair in his face and his lids heavy.

Your mouth is getting wetter now, drool gathering around his cock and leaving it shining when you pull back up. Down, up, down — a steady, rhythmic bob of your head that’s quickly getting sloppier and louder. Down again, with your throat as open as you can manage to try and take him to the base, hand coming up to cup his balls as though you may just stuff them into your mouth once you swallow the rest of him — and you gag loudly right before you make it. It’s a lewd, wet sound that leaves you looking pleased when you pull off. Otoya breathes out a curse.

“So good,” he murmurs as he gathers your hair in his hands, holding it away from your face, “You’re so fucking good.”

You’re the cocky one now, the feeling curling around your body and guiding you to… well, put on a show. But it’s not to entertain so much as it’s a compulsion. You just feel so sexy. The sensation pumps through your veins, hot and euphoric, and you continue to feed it with his reactions. You’re good at this; even without the explicit praise you could tell by the squeeze in his voice. The way he hisses through his teeth and his thigh flexes under your palm.

You know how you must look — on your knees, still fully dressed besides the kitten heels you left by his door. Your eyes sparkling with the tears that have sprung up from your gag reflex. Your cheeks hollowed, lips forming a tight wet ring around his cock, leaving the last hint of your lip gloss on his skin. If your mouth wasn’t full you might just tell him to pull out his phone and take a picture so you can admire the sight too – the way he so clearly is, with your hair in his hands and his gaze fixated on your face.

Down again, with a loose jaw and hungry determination, and when you feel him hit the back of your throat you push.

“Holy shit—”

You pull off with a dramatic intake of breath, replacing your throat with a hand and pumping his length. Pursing your lips, you push out more of the saliva that’s been flooding your mouth and watch it fall onto the head of his cock, dripping and disappearing into the mess. It wets your palm, singing out loud schlick-schlick-schlick sounds with your movements.

Otoya can’t help himself now, so it seems, as he reaches out and swipes his thumb over the shine on your lips. It slips in after a moment and you suck, missing the feeling, your hand still twisting up and down his cock.

“Pretty little mouth…” his thumb presses down, running along your tongue as you drop your jaw open and stick it out for him, spit dripping from the tip. Nasty, messy. “Fuck, come here—“

He’s kissing you before you’ve even climbed back up, leaning forward and over where you’re still resting on your knees. It’s deep and wet. Hungry. He guides you with one hand on your throat and the other on the back of your head, making you pliant as he licks and sucks and tastes himself on your tongue. So sloppy and shamelessly horny that your attention is drawn back to the sticky throb between your legs.

In a sudden rush of hands, you end up standing with your bottoms peeled from your skin and thrown off to the side. He kisses over your stomach, your hips. There’s a hunger there that you’re too impatient to feed, instead pushing him back lightly so you can straddle his lap.

You’re kissing again, getting lost in the rhythm of his mouth on yours. Otoya is a good kisser — so good that if you were anybody else and here for any other reason you’d be suspicious of him. Instead you just moan when he sucks on your tongue, and lift your chin for him when he begins to wander down to bite bruises into your neck.

It’s a practiced sort of maneuver, you think, to get down towards your chest — one he’s performed so many times that it’s become muscle memory. But you can’t bring yourself to care when he’s carefully pulling your top down under your breasts and finally fitting them into his palms. He squeezes and pushes them together, then greets your hardened nipple with his tongue before enveloping it in his mouth. Your back arches into the heat.

As if just remembering what you came here for, you sit down fully on his lap. You’ve been hovering over him, distracted by his mouth after putting your knees to the cushions, but now you let your weight settle down — and trap his cock right beneath your pussy.

Immediately, you want to feel some friction. To soothe that desperate ache that’s swelled between your legs. With an assured roll of your hips, you drag your pussy up along the underside of his cock. It slips deliciously against him, wet skin on firm wet skin, and Otoya releases your nipple with a moan, face twisting at the sensation.

Something sadistic dances on your lips.

“You’re gonna take responsibility for that,” you pull his attention up with a firm grip on his jaw, your faces so close you can feel him pant, “right?”

You grind back and forth, agonizingly slow, so warm but not warm enough – so wet but he knows it could be wetter. A breath pushes out from his chest, something between a laugh and a pained huff. “Whatever you want, babe.”

His tip catches on your entrance and his breath catches with it, but you change the angle and continue your smooth glide along his length.

You smirk. “Tell me you want it.”

Where you may have reservations about begging to be fucked, Otoya has none. He’d bark and do tricks if it meant you’d put his dick inside you faster.

“I want it.”

“How bad?”

Green eyes flutter closed at the next roll of your hips, satisfaction clear on his features despite the position he’s in – perhaps because of the position he’s in.

“Really bad.”

The pleasure is already building, desperate and swollen as you drag your clit against him.

“I’m gonna use you to cum.” You brace a hand on his knee and hook the other around the back of his neck, giving him a delicious view and pulling his head down to appreciate it. Like this, you also have better leverage to really move your hips the way you need. Getting nothing but sweet, mind-numbing friction on your clit that you chase greedily.

And like a perfect, willing toy he lets you. Watches the head of his cock appear and disappear from between your legs, all wrapped up in your slick heat without being fully satisfying. His chest is flushed and heaving, little mms and ahs pushing from it with each breath.

“Gonna use you to cum just like this,” you repeat, voice going tight with pleasure, “and then you’re going to fuck me.”

Otoya has nothing to say to that, no protest or saucy response. He just cups his hands under the fat of your breasts and enjoys the view of you unraveling.

And unravel you do — quickly. You’ve been sexually frustrated all day and it shows as your body quivers, movements becoming sloppy. His cock is throbbing, so hard it’s pushing up against you with resistance and giving your swollen clit just enough pressure to send you careening towards the edge. You gasp out a little oh and his eyes dart up to your face.

“Yeah? Already?”

Otoya’s hands are back on your hips, forcing you to keep grinding like earlier but now with no clothing to separate you — now with your bare cunt on him, slippery and hot and so, so sensitive. It’s agonizing. You can feel your body chasing and running away from the sensation in equal parts, but he holds you tightly down on him even as your nails begin to dig into his skin.

“Do it,” he tells you, leaning back into the cushions so he can watch. “Come on, baby. I’m— ah, dying to fuck you. I’ll say please, if that’s what you want.”

You don’t have the chance to take him up on the offer.

In a flash-bang of pleasure, you throw your head back and cum. Loudly, selfishly. Waves of heat overtake your senses and pour right out of you as your pussy floods itself over his cock. It coats him in fresh arousal, adding even more slip. Otoya keeps you moving, hands pushing and pulling as you ride out your orgasm to oversensitivity, but the added lubrication gives you both what you’ve been dying for — his cock finally slipping into your still-spasming cunt.

A synchronized groan fills the living room.

There’s only a split second of pause before Otoya is wrapping his arms around you and pulling you down, then burying himself up inside you to the hilt. And your cunt doesn’t resist in the slightest, so wet and ready from your orgasm that it’s practically welcoming him home. Another pause — your entrance stretched around the base of him, your insides squeezing his hard length — and then he begins to move.

His pace is immediately brutal, hips meeting yours in hard, precise smacks, teeth gritting in your ear as he holds you against him. “If you’re gonna use me, you gotta use me completely right?”

The couch creaks with the weight, both arms tight around your waist to keep you steady while his hips snap up into you. Your pussy drools down over his length as it pumps in and out, making it shine in the weakening daylight, giving him all the lube he needs to give you exactly what you came here for — to be fucked.

Spurred on by the overwhelming pleasure of finally, finally being filled, you begin to bounce on his lap to meet his thrusts. It feels so good, everything you’ve been wanting, his cock spearing you open and reaching up inside you, dragging against your walls and sending euphoria licking up your spine. He fills you up perfectly, something you’ve become accustomed to. Just enough to make your toes curl but not too much to make it hurt. The perfect size to squeeze around and cum on.

And you’re going to — oh god, you’re going to any second now. You’ve given yourself over to the chase at this point, lost to the pump of his cock inside you, shameless in your pursuit of your next orgasm — uncaring of the way he’s suddenly gone still beneath you, his hands death-gripping your waist and his eyes flying open in panic.

“Oh fuck— wait, fuck—“

He pulls you up off of him, hurriedly slipping out of you and reaching around your thigh to squeeze— but he’s too late. Hot cum splatters up onto your ass and lower back. It shoots from his dick in hard spurts, his fist wringing the rest of it out as he makes a whiny sound of defeat. His hips buck a few times, rubbing his tip against the fat of your ass like he can’t help it while the last of his load dribbles out and smears onto your skin.

Otoya slumps into the couch beneath you, eyes closed and panting. You blink, the initial shock settling, and then you can’t help but snicker. If he’s embarrassed about cumming too fast he doesn’t show it, still the picture of self-assuredness with his cock going soft against your ass. It’s better than tripping over an excuse or needing to be reassured. Plus he’s cute like this, you think, all flushed and boneless.

Feeling your gaze, he peeks up at you with one eye and you card your fingers through his hair, pushing it away from his face. Wordlessly, he pulls you down for a kiss soft enough to be mistaken for an apology.

“You wanna go again?” he asks quietly into your mouth, hands already beginning to wander.

You nip at his lower lip. “I don’t wanna break you.”

“I’m resilient.”

“I don’t wanna tire you out before your flight tomorrow.”

His tone goes faux-serious. “My training has prepared me for this.”

You giggle, and it chimes pretty in his ears. Something stirs to life in his stomach that he can’t quite put a name to. Like, if you made that same sound and pushed your tits up against him a bit more he’d very quickly get hard again. Or something like that.

“It’s ok, I still had fun,” you assure him, understanding the unsaid and appreciating the concern for your pleasure. Your cunt is still throbbing dully, deprived of it’s second orgasm but—

“I really have to go.”

The explanation stops there. No ‘I have work in the morning’ or ‘I have an appointment’ or even a lame-ass excuse like ‘I think I left the stove on.’ It’s a wide open statement that, for some shadowy reason, makes Otoya shift uneasily.

But if Otoya is good at anything, it’s shrugging off unpleasant feelings. The uneasiness is quickly replaced with an admiration for your exposed skin as you begin to make moves to leave. When you turn around and gesture to the mess of cum glistening on your backside he makes a comment about it being something to remember him by, but ultimately passes you the boxers he’d been wearing to clean it up. (“They’re just going in the laundry anyway.”)

With the cab called and your heels shimmied back onto your feet, you straighten up in his entryway and let him peck you on the lips one last time.

“Make it up to me next time,” you say with a flirtatious lilt, creating distance between you as you back out the door and turn to leave.

Otoya watches your hips switch as you make your way down the hall and you throw him a look over your shoulder, gaze lingering for a moment before the door shuts behind you.

Next time.

A pleasant feeling washes over him; relief, maybe, mixed with something else — something heavier.

NOTE - ty for getting this far!! just wanted to pop in and say i appreciate you for reading <3 and if you rb and leave me comments then we may just have to get married. ok bye ily

#ty to my 5 friends who are interested in this update hehehe. genuinely this is for u <3 #filthopedia #tw alcohol #otoya eita x reader #otoya x reader #bllk x reader

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