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rafessweetgirl · 3 months ago

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ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ i've been missing you ~ joaquín torres

➷ featuring: joaquín torres!!

➷ synopsis: joaquín's finally come home from what felt like the longest week of your lives. he needs to show you how much he's sorry for being gone for so long. how much he appreciates you. how much he loves you. even if it means waking you up in the middle of the night.

➷ warnings: 18+, mdni!!!!, smut, oral sex (f! receiving), fingering, porn w/ plot???, swearing, fluff, soft sweet cutesy joaquín, semi-somno (leaving this here just incase), reader acts like joaquín hung the stars and the moon for her...he would've if he wasn't beat to it by like thousands of years.

➷ word count: 1.2k

➷ notes: new character unlocked!! lots of firsts here; first joaquin fic, first marvel fic (odd considering i fuckin love marvel), first time writing a full smut fic, first fic that's not based on a song whattttt?? i wasnt sure if i should go full on somno, but that's alr bc we love consent. i love joaquín and this is what i imagine he would act like when he feels guilty. enjoy!! <3 (gif by @monikanarnia)

you look so pretty like this. smooth, soft skin, covered only by the soft linen sheets in which your legs are tangled. your sleeping form, barely visible in the dark room. you’re lying on your back, your hands resting on the mattress near both sides of your head. it’s a scene joaquín wants a picture of. if only he could freeze time, step out of his body and capture not just an image, but a feeling too.

joaquín's restless. he’d spent all week without you. he still wonders how he withstood such a long period away and if you felt the same. after the first day, he felt like he was experiencing withdrawal, everyday without you his own personal hell. you’re his drug. he could just never have enough of you. really, he could never have too much.

his back is also to the bed, chest to the ceiling. his head is turned towards you, eyes roaming your relaxed form. the room is dark, illuminated only by the moon. it’s mostly silent. he’s hyper aware of the subtle sounds, though. the clashing of waves outside. the creaking of the open balcony doors, opening a bit more with the breeze. his breathing. your breathing. even something as simple as your soft slow breaths entrances joaquín.

you were sleep when he arrived home, but it was evident that you tried to stay up. the living room was set up for a movie night with snacks set on the coffee table, fluffy throw blankets lying on the couch, and the tv already set to the movie you’d picked out for the two of you. always so sweet and considerate, joaquín thought. he felt bad about keeping you waiting for so long. you’d awaken only long enough to realize he was home, greeting him lazily before falling back into your slumber.

he turns his body to face yours. you deserve some kind of loving from him. a gift for being his gift. it's the least he could do.

he sits up and moves himself, landing in between your thighs. he reaches for your hand, threading his fingers through your limp ones. he doesn’t want to take advantage of you. he just wants to make you feel good. reward you for being so sweet to him. apologize for being away for so long.

“baby?” he tests. “you awake?”

your eyes flutter open. “mmm.”

he lets out a quiet chuckle. “i don’t know what ‘mmm’ means sweetheart.”

“im awake,” you reply groggily.

"good," he brings his face close to your mound. “can i make you feel good?”

you nod tiredly. how could you say no to him? he was irresistible. even when the two of you fought, you couldn't harbor any negative feelings towards him for long.

he shifts upward, gently pressing his lips to your stomach, not quite kissing you. he moves back down, and puckers his lips, delivering sweet kisses to your clit. “is this okay?”

you squeeze his hand as you nod. “mhm.”

“uh uh, needa hear you say yes.”

“yes baby,” you whine.

joaquín groans, the nickname making the blood rush to his dick. he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your cunt, letting his tongue graze over your core. he darts his tongue out and licks a long stripe upwards. you moan and squeeze his hand again. he decides to repeat the action, this time putting more pressure on. he knows how to work your body. knows when to suck and when to lick. when to speed up and when to take it slow.

“i’m so sorry, baby,” he mumbles against you.

“sorry for what?” you question breathlessly.

“for keeping you waiting-“ another kiss. “for taking so long to come home.” his tongue dives in between your folds, as if he’s searching for something. maybe, it’s forgiveness. “you don’t know how much i missed you.”

his other hand finds its way to your thigh. he rubs his thumb back and forth over it. he wants to do anything he can to show you how much he appreciates you.

“joaquín,” you moan, as he brings two fingers to rub your clit. you let your eyes flutter shut, reveling in his softness. “it’s okay, you don’t- fuck.” he speeds up. “you don’t need to apologize. jus glad you’re home safe. missed you more.”

he continues his movements on your cunt, pulling you closer and closer to the edge. he pleasures you the way he loves you, soft but purposeful. “yeah? missed me like i missed you?”

“uh huh,” you pant. "missed you so bad joaquín." you repeat his name again, this time in a moan. you're almost there, teetering closer to your release. you unravel your hand from his, moving both your hands to grip onto his dark hair, squeezing, pulling, grabbing. you rock your hips in tune with the strokes from his tongue. you use joaquín to chase your orgasm and he doesn't mind one bit. he lives for every little reaction your body gives to him. the gasps, the moans, the way your body locks up when you're about to cum - all of it.

joaquín gives you one last long lick, finally gifting you what you've been needing all along.

your back arches off the bed as you throw your head back into the fluffy pillows. your hips freeze and your lips form into an o, letting out a gasp and then a silent moan. pleasure rushes through every vein in your body. it's a lot to handle, but you love this, you love him. you love how he knows your body so well, as if it was his own. joaquín never fails to worship you how you deserve.

he reels back to admire his precious view. your bare chest rises up and down, your arms back where they stared with your luscious hair splayed out on the pillow. you give him a warm smile. "you look so pretty when you cum, sweetheart." he drags his two fingers from your clit and pushes them inside of you. he fingers you gently, helping you ride out your high.

you giggle. "thanks." your exhaustion and post-orgasm bliss combined mimics the feeling of being drunk. you're on cloud nine now and you don't plan on coming down anytime soon. everything is perfect now that you have your lover back home. your other half. your twin flame.

he continues to finger you, slightly curling his fingers. he's still gentle with it and careful not to overstimulate you. he wants to make sure you can fall back asleep easily.

you sit up slowly, making sure not to remove his fingers from inside you. you reach your hands out and joaquín leans forward, placing his head in your hands. you lean in and kiss him softly and it feels right. it’s like taking a deep refreshing breath after being suffocated for what felt like forever.

“i love you torres. missed you so much.” something about you calling him by his surname gets him. you always use it as if it was really his first.

"i love you too baby, and i missed you more.”

you slip your hand in between your bodies, reaching for his cock. “i feel selfish, let me help you feel good.”

he stops you. “you already did, princess. we can worry about that tomorrow. let’s get you back to sleep.”

you sigh dramatically, prompting a laugh from him. “fiiine..” you lay back, already imagining all the ways you could properly welcome him home tomorrow.

for now though, he lies down behind you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into him. you snuggle into him. your limbs tangle together similar to how tree roots do in a rainforest. your bodies take their time reconnecting after all this time apart, your hearts never disconnecting, not even for a second.

➷ notes: sooo half of the original work got deleted.....idek how to explain it. js know i don't recommend having the same draft opened on mobile and laptop at the same time while in separate stages of a fic on each device....but im so goated (jp) that i remembered pretty much exactly what i wrote, only after having a meltdown over losing it. and almost crying. can u tell this is important to me? anyways feedback is welcome, nd reqs are always open <3 love ya

➷ tags: @sweetstrawberrianne @littlesoulshine (lmk if you want added!)

1K notes · View notes

clare-875 · 6 months ago

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Why Are You Crying? (Ace x Reader)

_____ Pairing: Ace x Female Reader Summary: Ace accidentally timeslips to the future, Post-Marinford. Warnings: SPOILERS for Marineford, grief, angst, comfort/fluff Notes: The above image does NOT belong to me. [One Piece Masterlist] _____

"What did you do this time Marco?"

Ace groans as he pulls himself to his feet, wiping the sand from himself. "Me? It was you who touched the damned thing-yoi! I told you to be careful!" Marco wretches free of the ground but as the two members of the Whitebeard crew look up, they find themselves in a place completely different to the one they were in just a minute ago.

They and their respective divisions had just been deep in terrestrial rainforests looking for supposed treasures but they now found themselves on a beach; a completely different Island. "How did we get here?" Ace mutters looking to the tropical island that surrounds him.

"It must've been that."

Marco points to the strange sphere object that emits weird waves of light, buried in the sand below them. "Do you think if we touch it again, it will take us back?" Marco asks the raven-haired man who frowns inquisitively at the mess they have found themselves in.

"Beats me."

"Well what are you waiting for, it's the only option we've got."

Ace sighs as he leans forward towards the spherical object with Marco, not looking forward to the twisting feeling he had felt earlier when the sphere had transported him. However, just as the two are about to touch the mystical object, a voice catches them off guard making them flinch away suddenly.

The voice was familiar, and Ace could recognise it from miles away. Instantly a smile widens on his face but when he looks up, he is met with shock.

"... Ace?"

.....

[Several Moments Earlier]

It was now one year after the Marineford incident, and you are in the midst of your training. Luffy had given the crew two years and you have used your time well. Kuma had transported you to a quaint, tropical Island where your mentor taught you skills and tactics you had never even thought of using before. You were strong already, but thanks to them you had grown stronger.

However, despite your progress, you had to admit that your training had faltered along with the shocking news that had travelled the world. You didn't know if you could believe the words in the newspaper in your hands that day, but maybe it was because the truth was too much to endure.

Portgas D. Ace, your love, dead.

Ace.

The grief from the loss was unbearable.

You had grown up with Ace alongside Luffy, but your relationship with the freckle-faced boy had grown into something far deeper than friendship. You had loved him; he had loved you. Despite joining the straw hat crew in the end, it didn't stop that connection.

Though you tried to hide your pain, his death impacted you far worse than others, and even your mentor could see your distracted mind while training, or your irises dark with sadness. His death weighed you down, it tore through your heart and wouldn't leave you in peace. You would find yourself shedding tears often and the clench your despair had around your heart just couldn't seem to loosen.

You weren't there. You weren't there for him.

You couldn't say goodbye.

That was what haunted you the most.

Everyday sleep would taunt you as your raging mind refused to let you rest. You only knew of what had happened days after you had been swept away by Kuma to your island. It was secluded and news rarely carried, but once it had, and once you saw the emboldened title on the paper in your hands, it felt like your world had been stripped from you.

Your Captain had been there, had scraped himself through hell it looked like, and had witnessed the death of his beloved brother. You could only imagine the agony he was in or the grief that had plagued his mind as it did to you now. He was the only one who could understand what it felt like, to lose him.

Ace.

As children, the two of you were almost inseparable and even as Sabo and Luffy joined your group, it did nothing but strengthen the bond between you. The adventures you went on, his unyielding kindness to you, the way he would protect you from harm's way, the way his little face would glow bright red whenever you got too close. The two of you didn't even know what the bubbling feeling inside of you was, but as long as you had the other close, it would never cease to go away.

As you grew older, your crush on the man had only grown. Then, a year before he had embarked on his journey, he had confessed to you. The both of you were young and with young love came the raging emotions of untamed attachment. That year had been bliss to you: training, laughing, holding hands, blushing and kissing. You adored his embrace on cooler nights and adored the way his grin would gleam under the persistent sun.

He was all you could ever need.

Even when you chose to join Luffy's crew, he respected your wishes and his love did not falter. As the three of you embarked on your journeys at different times, he never ceased to come to visit you or write to you letters of his adventures. He was utterly enamoured by you and thought about you each day you were apart and clung to you each day you were in his arms once more; much like you did. Your vivre card was one of his most prized possessions and one he held close to him at all times.

"I'll always find my way to you this way, love."

And his vivre card had been entrusted to your Captain; his brother. If only you had asked for another you could keep. Perhaps then you would've known of the threat to his life so much sooner. Maybe then, you could've done something. Now, you could only imagine what his death must've been like. Luffy had not made contact with you, you knew he probably hadn't made contact with any of the crew apart from the message left in a newspaper a few days after the one on Ace's death.

To meet two years rather than three days later at Sabody.

But despite knowing it was all made with good intention - so that he and the crew could get stronger in that time - you would do anything for a glimmer of an indication that he was okay. You would do anything to know what Ace's last words had been, if his death had been as brutal as the newspapers claim, if he had been happy in his last moments or scared. If he had forgiven you for your absence and understood, or if he held that against you till his dying breath.

Because you did.

You despised that you weren't there. You despise Admiral Akainu for what he has stripped from you. You despise the life you have to go on living without Ace and without your goodbye.

Because that was what you had to do.

Never again would his warm hands caress your skin. Never again would his words ignite in you such adoration you couldn't believe. Never again would his lips touch yours or would you share nights engulfed in the other's presence. All your dreams of a future with him, all his whispers that he would marry you someday, all his promises and your laughs of adoration as he pledged to you were torn to nothingness.

Your tears slip fast past your lashline and your teeth are gritted against each other. How many times had you cried for the man that you loved? You couldn't stop, you don't think you ever could. You felt so alone. God, you felt alone. You didn't even have the simple liberty of looking forward to the next time you see your beloved. Because the next time you do would be decades in the future when you lost your own life to time and age.

"Please..."

You muttered your hopes desperately to the sky, as though looking for any sort of sign that something was out there and that someone would return your beloved Ace to you.

"Please... let me see him one more time..."

"... let me at least say goodbye."

For a long moment, you simply look up to the sky, trying to keep your tears at bay. Silence is all you can hear, and you feel your heart wither at your reality. But then, you hear it.

A familiar voice in the distance, too good to be true.

.....

[Back to the present]

"...Ace?"

Your voice is breathless like the wind was what spoke and not you. 'Ace? It is Ace, right?' You pinch yourself harder than necessary to convince yourself it wasn't another dream. That he was tangible and there and real. But when you look at his warm smile, and delightful surprise at your presence you couldn't stop yourself. You run to him like your life depended on it. Your tears start slipping down your cheeks.

"Ace!"

Your voice breaks, but you don't care because you can feel the warmth he emits as you get closer. You can see the way his arms move wide and welcoming to you, and when you embrace him his scent and heat engulf you. Instantly, you press your ear to his chest and relish the thrumming sound emitting from within him. You relish the way his arms envelop you tight in his embrace, his rumbling laughter against you.

"Damn [y/n], I know it's been a while, but I didn't think you'd miss me that much."

Ace's words are light and teasing as you remember them, but you barely hear them too lost in your shock. Your form trembles under the weight of your tears and sobs suddenly tear through your body. You cling to him tightly, as though he would disappear if you let go for even a second. Your mind is ablaze with only one thought, over and over.

He's alive. He's alive. He's alive.

Ace can feel his lips downturn as your shaking worsens and your hold tightens further. Suddenly he realises that this reunion is nothing like your usual one. Though in his time, only a month had passed since your last meeting, for you, it had been since Alabasta. It was the longest the two of you had been apart even before his death.

Ace knew something was wrong.

"[y/n]?"

His words are shrouded in worry, and his hands anxiously caress your hair as though to soothe you. Surprisingly, it works a little as your sobs die down to gentle tremors when the familiar rhythm brings you back to the present. Ace meets Marco's eyes and he sees the same worry reflecting within them, along with utter confusion. Ace rarely sees you in a state of such despair.

"[y/n]," he mutters gently to you, trying to control the thrumming of his own heart as he looks at your state, worried that you had been harmed or stranded on the Island somehow. But then he thinks of his brother, Luffy, knowing that he would never allow such things to happen to you. But he needs the answers from your own lips.

"[y/n]... why are you crying? What's wrong?"

And that is when you finally look up.

It is Ace's turn to let shock shroud his features as he meets your gaze and you also feel a new surprise envelop you too.

His features were so much younger, and you remember when he looked that way. Still a teenager compared to the man you had last seen. His eyes were still enveloped in youth and nativity, his hair cut slightly shorter, his form less built without the battles he would soon have to face.

Ace looked at you the same way, and his hands trembled slightly as he caressed your hair which had grown far too much since the last time he had seen you. The way your face had become more defined as you grew despite your eyes still shining up at him as they always did. You seemed stronger, surer, and a few years older than the [y/n] he had seen just a month prior.

"[y/n]... why do you seem..."

"Older?" "Younger?"

The two of you speak your thoughts at the same time, your eyes meeting in silent shock and your heart plummeting in grim realisation. That this wasn't the Ace you last saw, Ace wasn't alive, this was a younger Ace who stood before you. But how can that be possible?

"Ace," you murmur, still allowing your gaze to linger on his face and the features you had grieved for the past year. "How long have you been on the Whitebeard crew?" You ask, knowing the answer before he even speaks. "Huh?" Ace looks down at you, shaking free of his own thoughts and answers easily. "It's only been a month? But what has that got to do with-"

"This is the future, Ace. Maybe two or three years?"

You can hear your words out of your mouth, but you can barely believe them yourself. Then your eyes go to the sphere buried in the sand and they widen. You recognised it immediately from Robin's books she used to share with you. It was a sphere that acted as a sort of key between time and space, but it would only exist for several minutes at a time.

Ace would have to return to his time very soon, and when he did, he wouldn't be able to return. 'I have to tell him-'

But when you look up, Ace's lips upturn into a wide and youthful grin. "The future?" Marco grins as well. "I guess we found what we were looking for then," he says as he nods at the sphere. "Didn't think that's what all our searching would get us though, a time-key that only exists for a few minutes? What a waste of time-yoi." They had after all been searching for what they hoped was gold, not an object that would disappear the instant they went back to their time.

"Not a total waste of time," suddenly a warm arm is wrapped around you as Ace pulls you gently into him. His smile shone brighter than the sun when you looked up at him. "Look at how hot my girlfriend is, some things don't change do they baby?" You have to fight not to roll your eyes and smile, but for a moment you forget your grief and are lost in his presence. How easily does he make your worries melt away? How easily can his smile make everything better in this world?

How could you ever let him go?

"Are you sure, you're okay love?" His words are softer, murmured in your ear just for you to hear and suddenly you're fighting your tears again. But you manage to keep them away.

'Do I tell him?'

'Do I?'

'I should tell him, right?'

You meet his kind gaze, his youthful charisma, and his love that is unchanging.

'But how could you tell this man how he dies?'

You swallow harshly, but you find yourself nodding your head in reply.

"Everything's perfect."

He glances at you hesitantly as though he contemplates your words for a moment. But then he decides to trust you. You look at his smile, wide and pushing at freckled cheeks. He seemed so full of life and what's more, he's embracing it. He's not doubting himself or his right to walk the Earth. You had heard the lighthearted banter shared between him and Marco, and you know the Whitebeard crew had granted him what he had been looking for all along: belonging.

You couldn't diminish that light.

It wasn't his time yet, you couldn't rid of his vitality so quickly by selfishly telling him his destiny. He had so much of the world yet to see. He had so much to explore, and so many more memories to make with the you that awaited him in his time. So many fights and treasures to behold. So many more moments to be spent with his bright smile and warmth.

You see the sphere flicker in the sand, a signal that it will soon diminish, and if it did your boyfriend and Marco would be trapped in this time. In a time where he should not exist. The two men also seem to notice, as you feel Ace's hands falter on your skin, and see Marco look up nervously. "We need to go," he picks up the sphere and walks over to you both, waiting for Ace to join him and hold it too.

They only had a minute.

Ace's smile falters only for a second, but he nods; after all, he had the past you waiting for him upon his return. Your smile is sadder than his, but you allow yourself to look up at the man you fell in love with one last time. One last time you felt what it was like to be under the hold of his warm touch. One last time you see the way his eyes flicker with his kindness and wonder and love. One last time you reach out and caress his dark locks, and witness him leaning into your touch.

One last time.

You step forward and he engulfs you in his arms. He murmurs gentle words in your ear. "Tell future me to hurry up, or I'll beat his ass. He must be keeping you waiting too long for you to be crying like this." A lone tear slips past your eye but you smile and laugh softly against his chest. His heat lingers on you as you break away. "I will." You analyse his features, willing yourself to memorise him so that you remember him for the rest of your life.

"Goodbye Ace, I love you... so much."

Ace grins and he presses his lips gently to the top of your head, his hand caressing your face before he pulls away.

"I love you too."

He moves as he reaches Marco's side, both hands enveloping the sphere alongside him. The sphere flickers one more time, and you see one of his hands rise in the air, the shout of his words lingering in the air.

"See you later!"

And just as quickly as he came, he was gone.

You stand still, looking to the spot in the sand as more tears break your lash line, but on your face is a full, bright smile. You can still feel his warmth that had just touched your skin, you can still see the way he smiled as he looked at you. But most of all, your wish had somehow been granted. A miracle you knew many others who had lost someone could only beg for.

One last moment with him: an actual goodbye.

"See you later," you whisper back to the wind, hoping he might be able to hear it across the time and space between you. There is a flicker of light cast on your skin from the sun, a shift in the breeze and a sudden warmth in the air. You look to the sky and imagine his smiling face, believing that he is watching over you.

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slutzforbueckers · 2 months ago

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attitude

pairing: diana taurasi x fem!reader

warnings: smut

synopsis: having diana correct your attitude.

a/n: writing for my second wife 🫠🫠🫠 I NEED HER SO BAD!!

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

you had barely made it two steps into the bedroom before diana was on you—big hands wrapping around your waist, spinning you fast and shoving you up against the wall. she pinned you there, her front flush against your back, the heat radiating off her in waves. you could feel the strap through her pants, it made you whimper.

“you know how fucking crazy you make me?” she rasped into your ear, her voice low and dangerous, but there was an edge underneath it—like she was barely holding herself back. her hands roamed your body roughly, yanking your dress up until it bunched at your waist, pulling your panties down without finesse.

you gasped when she slapped your ass once, rough enough to sting. her other hand snaked around your throat, forcing your head back to look her dead in the eye.

“you gonna be good for me?” she asked, pressing her thigh between your legs. you reached your hand back to grab at any part of her you could, your hips grinding down against her strong thigh. “gonna take what I give you?”

“yes—yes, please, d.” you nodded quickly, your breath coming out in a desperate, choked sound.

“good,” she muttered, pressing a filthy kiss against your mouth as her fingers slid through your folds. she hummed as she felt your slick coat her fingertips. she pressed one into your cunt, thrusting in a few times just to hear you moan before pulling back. “get on your knees.”

you obeyed immediately, turning around and dropping to your knees. you reached for her pants instinctively, making work of unzipping them and pushing the down her thighs. the sight of the thick strap hanging from her hips almost made you drool, your thighs pressing together.

she gripped the base of the strap with one hand—tapping the head of it lightly against your lips— the other running through your hair. “open up, baby,” she muttered, low and filthy. “show me how bad you want it.”

you parted your lips immediately, letting her guide the tip into your mouth. the strap was heavy on your tongue and you looked up at her, eyes wide, pupils blown with lust.

“good girl,” she rasped, stroking your cheek with her thumb as you started to move, bobbing your head slowly over the strap, taking more and more of it into your mouth. diana groaned, deep in her chest, her free hand tangling into your hair, tightening just enough to sting. she didn’t force you—not yet—but she guided you, pulling you deeper, watching your lips stretch around the thickness.

“fuck, look at you,” she muttered, hips rolling forward, pushing the strap deeper into your mouth. “sucking my cock like you were fucking made for it.”

you moaned around the strap, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth as you pushed yourself deeper, your nose brushing against the base. she rewarded you with a soft, broken sound, her hand cradling the back of your head like you were something precious even as she started rocking her hips, fucking your mouth slow and deep. “taking it so fucking good,” she praised, voice tight, accent thick.

you whimpered around her, squeezing your thighs together, the wetness between your legs unbearable now. after a few more slow thrusts into your mouth, she pulled you off with a wet pop, wiping the spit from your chin with her thumb.

“get up.”

you listened, of course, standing up and letting her flip you around again. diana ran her right hand up your spine, pressing you forward as her left hand gripped your hip, pulling you back simultaneously. you pressed your hands against the door to steady herself as she nudged your legs apart.

“diana,” her name faded into a whimper as you felt the tip of the strap run through your slit, bumping into your clit. she eased into you, her head ducked to watch your pussy swallow her dick. your head fell forward, your eyes shutting as she pressed deeper, filing you to the hilt. “shit—“

she moved her hands to grab you hips as she pulled her hips back, pulling the strap out until only the tip was in and pushing back in roughly. diana grunted as she fell into a rhythm, rough and punishing. she leaned in, her lips brushing the side of your neck as she pressed you against the door harder.

her hand found its way around your hip, sliding between your thighs to rub quick, tight circles on your throbbing clit. your body stuttered, unsure if it wanted to run or push into her.

“don’t run, baby,” she spoke as she ghosted her lips over the shell of your ear, hers fingers pressing harder into your hip. “this is what you wanted, yeah? all that attitude earlier.”

you mewled, pressing your head against the door as if it was supposed to ground you. you swore you could feel her in your stomach, each thrust punching a shout from you. her body was warm pressed against you, a reminder that she was there, giving you what she wanted.

“so deep—keep going, please please—m’so close!” you squealed, thighs beginning to tremble as you felt the rapid approach of your orgasm. diana wrapped her arm around your waist, pulling you back into her chest. you were on your tiptoes at that point, leaning back into her, your head on your shoulder.

“whose pussy is this, hm?” she nipped at your shoulder, snapping her hips into you harder and harder. you could barely breathe, you choked out a sob, fingers clawing uselessly at her arm, struggling to answer through the overwhelming pressure building inside you. “come on, princess, use your words. i know you can do it.”

“yours—fuck, it’s yours,” you gasped, your voice high and wrecked.

“that’s fucking right,” she grinned against your skin, her arm tightening around you, her thrusts growing even more erratic. “mine to touch, mine to fuck, mine to ruin.”

your orgasm crashed over you without warning—violent and blinding—your entire body seizing up in her arms as you cried out, shaking hard against her chest. diana held you through it, grinding the strap into you slow and deep, wringing every last tremble from your body, every last moan from your throat.

“god, look at you,” she muttered, almost in awe, her lips brushing against your temple. “so fucking pretty when you come for me.”

you whimpered as she slowed to a stop, removing her fingers from your sensitive clit. diana let your body go as she pulled out, letting you slump forward onto the door. she bit her lip at the sound your cunt made when she pulled out, a gush of your cum following. she slapped your ass one more time with a laugh.

“glad we could fix that attitude of yours.”

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

a/n: added a paige tag just so it gets out more but dw it won’t be on ones after this!!

#m speaks #diana taurasi #diana taurasi x fem!reader #diana taurasi smut #diana taurasi x fem!reader smut #phoenix mercury #wnba basketball #paige bueckers #paige bueckers smut

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demie90s · 9 days ago

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2 Sexy

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Summary: Diana agrees to one night out with her friends at an upscale strip club—just to shut them up. Her friends pool their cash and convince the club’s owner to book his favorite girl for a private dance.

Genre: Sensual tension · Slow-burn obsession · One night changes everything

Warnings: Smut. Explicit sexual tension, pole dancing, lap dance, implied dom/sub dynamics, reader is a stripper (by choice), Diana is cocky but gagged, eye contact, mild language, mutual obsession brewing

Word Count ~ 6.1k

She didn’t want to go. That was the first thing.

Diana hated shit like this—loud music, overpriced drinks, people pretending to be something they’re not. The club scene had always felt… exhausting. She was thirty-something now. Legacy locked in. Her name rang bells in rooms she’d never stepped foot in. She’d earned the right to disappear after practice, drink something brown, and sleep for ten hours. That was peace.

But tonight?

“Come on, D, one night.”

“It’s not even trashy,” Penny said, sipping from a glass of something clear. “It’s… exclusive.”

“I don’t need ass in my face to feel alive,” Diana muttered.

“You need something in your face,” Megan shot back, laughing. “You been dry since the bubble.”

She rolled her eyes, flipping them off as the car pulled into a discreet valet entrance. Blacked-out SUVs lined the curb. No signs. No bright lights. Just a dark brass plaque on the side of the marble building—FLEUR NOIRE—scripted in cursive, like it was a perfume instead of a private strip club.

The bouncer didn’t ask for IDs. Just looked once, recognized who she was, and nodded.

Inside smelled like cash and perfume. Not the cheap kind either—the expensive, oil-based kind that clung to skin and memory. The floors were velvet black, the walls mirrored in a way that made everything look like it cost too much. It was dim, moody, low-lit like the club was trying to flirt with you before you even sat down.

It was nothing like the places from their twenties. No wrinkled bills. No sticky poles. No “Buy one, get one” Tuesday specials.

This wasn’t for broke men. This was for them.

Every woman on the floor moved like she wasn’t trying to make money—she was letting it come to her. Rich men laughed too loud in corner booths, throwing down cards that didn’t have limits. Athletes, actors, politicians, and the kind of corporate guys who paid six figures to not be touched.

“Is it bougie that I’m impressed?” Penny asked.

“No,” Megan said, grinning. “It’s bougie ‘cause you’re thinking of getting bottle service.”

Diana scanned the room slowly. Dark leather booths with gold accents. Thick curtains. Spotlights that made women glow like walking sin. There were maybe twenty people in the whole place, but every inch of it was occupied with presence. Intent. Lust.

A woman walked by in red—latex, not fabric—her body glistening under the low heat lamps, her walk slow enough to hush a whole section. Men shifted in their seats. One even adjusted himself. Diana sipped her drink.

Still not impressed. That’s what she told herself.

They took a booth, tucked away, close enough to see the main stage but with a view of the private hallway. Every few minutes, a man disappeared behind those thick black curtains. Some returned looking wrecked. Others didn’t return at all.

A man in a navy suit came over. He was handsome but not flashy—salt and pepper hair, smooth voice, and the kind of stillness that meant he wasn’t just management. He ran this place.

“You three good?” he asked. “Drinks okay?”

“They’re great,” Megan said. “We were thinking of getting a private dance for our friend here.”

Diana raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

Penny smirked. “It’s tradition. You’re new. You get a dance.”

She waved them off. “No thanks.”

“Come on,” Megan whined. “It’s a strip club! Live a little.”

“She said no,” the man said, then tilted his head thoughtfully. “But maybe she just hasn’t met the right dancer yet.”

Diana scoffed. “Y’all think I’m that easy?”

The man smiled. “Not at all. That’s why I know exactly who to send.”

He didn’t even look at a roster. Just turned toward the back, waved over a girl in black lingerie, and leaned in. Quiet instructions. A nod. The girl disappeared behind a back door, whispering the message to someone unseen.

Penny blinked. “He didn’t even ask what you like.”

“He didn’t have to,” the man replied, smirking. “I know exactly who to send for someone like her.”

Diana raised an eyebrow. “Someone like me?”

He just smiled.

Diana felt her lips curl just a little. Fine. One dance. One private room. One night out of her element.

What could possibly go wrong?

I’m 23 now. Legal. Paid. And at the top of my game. This isn’t something I had to do—it’s something I chose. And baby, I do it well.

I move like I own every man who walks in here. Most of them don’t know what to do with me. They think they’ve seen this before, but they haven’t seen me. My sets run like clockwork. Pole. Floor. Lap. Repeat. And I never break rhythm, never break character. They can look, they can beg, they can breathe heavy through a thousand-dollar suit—but they can’t touch.

Unless they’re a woman. That’s my only rule. But tonight…tonights different.

Because Papi—that’s what we all call him, even though his real name’s Mateo—comes out the back hyped. He’s calm 90% of the time, but when he gets like this? Something’s up.

“I need you in the back,” he says, smile crooked, arms crossed. “Don’t ask questions. Just know she’s famous and she’s gonna try and act like she’s not impressed.”

I cock my head. “That’s new.”

He chuckles. “You still got it?”

I grin. “Always.”

He turns to head back toward the velvet hallway, pausing just long enough to shoot a look toward one of the servers.

“…she still has to pay, right?” the server teases. “Or does she get it free ‘cause you love her?”

Papi doesn’t even blink. “You know damn well she paying. Especially for you.”

That makes me hum.

I head to the dressing area, grab the heels that bite the hardest, and adjust the outfit I specifically save for high rollers. Tiny. Sheer in places that make people clench their jaw. Straps so thin they could snap if I move wrong. And I move very wrong. On purpose.

The back room is candlelit—luxury hotel vibes. There’s a pole in the center, a curved leather couch, another chair draped in silk. No cameras. Soundproof walls. Just me and them.

I’ve done this more times than I can count. Usually men. The kind that flash money and hide their wedding rings. They talk too much. They think I’m theirs for ten minutes. They leave a little emptier than they came.

But the women? They sit back and watch. Quiet. Curious. Sharp. They don’t touch unless invited.

And she’s invited.

When I walk in, she’s already there—Diana Taurasi, in the flesh, sitting like she owns air. Head slightly tilted, arms draped loose over the couch. Her legs are long, crossed, and casual. She’s got that posture that says this is beneath me.

And I eat that shit up.

I walk to her like I walk to everyone. Controlled. Slow. No smile. Just a look that hooks you without needing words. When I reach her, I tilt my head. She doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just gives me that stubborn, amused smirk like she’s waiting for me to crack.

I hold out my hand.

“…come on… don’t tell me you’re scared, mamba.”

That makes her laugh. Low and rough. It’s not polite either.

“You really using my nickname?” she says, eyes narrowing like she’s sizing me up.

“I could call you something else,” I murmur, stepping in just close enough that my knee brushes hers. “But I like mamba. It’s Silent. Sexy.”

Her gaze flicks up my body like a warning. Like I’m supposed to back down. I don’t. I just smirk.

“You gonna sit there all night looking cute, or you want your money’s worth?” That gets her.

She leans back—lazy, like she’s got time—and spreads her legs just enough to let me step in. Not much. Just an inch. A challenge.

So I step between them. Game on. She doesn’t move. Not even a twitch. Just sits there all regal and relaxed like she’s the one doing the hiring. Like I’m the show but she’s the main event.

Cute.

So I drop my hand. No big deal. I’m used to that little ego. Used to women like her thinking they can’t be touched—mentally, physically, emotionally. She’s the type that likes to be in control. Which is why I lean in slow, press my palms right on the arms of the chair, and cage her in.

One breath apart. My skin damn near brushing hers. Her eyes track me, sharp, unreadable—but she doesn’t lean away. Doesn’t blink.

“…you prefer your dance here?” I ask, voice low, sweet with a little edge.

My head tilts just enough to let my lips ghost near her jaw.

“I can work with that.”

I keep my eyes on hers, smirking like I already know what’s underneath all that fake calm. She ain’t slick. She’s breathing just a little deeper now. Hands still on her thighs like they’re glued there. Shoulders tensed but mouth stubborn. Like she’s deciding how long she can hold out before she folds.

I drag a single finger up the armrest, close to hers. Not touching. Not yet.

“Tell me when you’re ready to stop pretending,” I murmur. “’Cause I don’t do half-dances, mama. You want the real thing… you gotta act like it.”

And then I push off slow, straightening up, walking toward the pole in the center of the room like I didn’t just read her soul with a whisper. She wants to play cool? Let’s see how long that lasts.

The song starts, and I don’t perform. I exist. That’s the difference. I don’t get on stage to prove anything. I don’t need to. The moment I step into the light, the room just… shifts.

People sit up straighter. Voices drop. Every dumbass with money suddenly remembers how to shut up and stare.

“Like you, like you… like you, ooh-oh…”

Streets by Doja. Mateo ain’t shit for this. He knows what the hell he doing. That man been running this club longer than some of these men been faithful, and right now. He just orchestrated a funeral—for everybody’s self-control.

Because the way I move, the pole don’t stand a chance.

It’s about me. The air thickens. Time drips slower. I make space bend without even touching the pole. I walk the edge of that stage like I’m choosing who gets to breathe tonight.

The men in the front. Losing it. One’s gripping his glass too tight. The other already digging for bills, like that’s gonna do anything for him. I like it. Not because I want them—God no—but because I love the power. The silence. The hunger. I like when men tell me how good I look knowing damn well they couldn’t even survive touching me.

‘Cause the thing is—they know they’ll never touch me.

They know this body ain’t theirs to want.

But I’ll take their comments. Their yes ma’ams. Their desperate little dollar-stained praises. I’ll take their cash and give ‘em a memory so vivid it’ll haunt their wives. I’ll take their minds and leave them with nothing but a ruined standard.

Her friends are losing their shit. Penny smacked Megan’s arm and muttered, “Oh, hell no—not that,” like they just witnessed God descend in stripper heels. They ain’t expect this. Didn’t expect me.

Loud. Laughing. Whispering shit and elbowing her like they can’t believe what they’re seeing. They expected someone cute. Maybe hot. Harmless.

Not the woman who walks out and owns the room without blinking. Not the one who doesn’t crack a smile because she already knows how bad you want it. And I love that.

Then there’s her.

Sitting back like she’s above it all. Arms crossed. Legs spread casual. Like the heat in her chest ain’t rising. Like I don’t already have her attention in a chokehold.

My eyes meet hers. I hold them. I let her sit in it. Feel it. And I swear to God—for a half-second—she leans in. Just a little. Almost like her body moved before she told it not to.

That’s all I need. Because now It’s over. She don’t know it yet, but she’s already mine.

After I finish, I don’t linger. I don’t wave or collect bills or blow kisses like the newer girls do. I just walk off—shoulders relaxed, head high, like I didn’t just ruin the atmosphere for every other dancer scheduled tonight.

Backstage, I wipe down. Fix my lip gloss. Adjust a single strap. It’s routine. I’ve done it a hundred times, but tonight’s different. Feels different. Because I already know what’s waiting.

And when I step out, she’s exactly where I thought she’d be—still in that same booth, pretending like she’s not waiting. That stiff posture, that leg bounce, the fake calm expression? All of it screams she doesn’t know how to feel. Which is perfect.

I lean against the doorway, arms folded, amused. Watching her. Letting her sit in it.

Then I raise one finger. Curl it once. Real slow.

A smirk spreads across my lips, because her reaction isn’t immediate—but it happens. She hesitates just long enough for her friends to jump in, bumping her shoulder and egging her on.

“You better go get that.”

“Dee, please. For the culture.”

“What culture?”

“Just go!”

She rolls her eyes but stands. And that’s all I needed.

I don’t say a word—I just walk backward, heels clicking against the dark wood floor like a countdown. She follows. Of course she does. Diana Taurasi may not chase—but she follows. That’s how I know I already got her.

We step through the velvet curtain, and she enters the private room like it’s foreign ground. Like she doesn’t usually give up control. The lights are dim, low and sultry, music humming through hidden speakers. No stage here. No crowd. Just me, her, and a space that bends to my rhythm.

She looks like she’s trying to play it cool, but her hands are shoved in her pockets, and her jaw is tight. So I push her into the seat, palms soft on her chest. Not hard. Not aggressive. Just enough pressure to remind her—you’re not in charge anymore.

I circle her slowly, letting my fingers trail across the chair, behind her neck, down the opposite armrest. She doesn’t look back, but I feel her track me with every step. Like her body’s on alert. Like she doesn’t know what to expect and hates that she’s into it.

“Why so tense, mamba…” I murmur, voice barely above the music. “You can relax.”

I step in front of her, close enough to press my knees against hers. Then I take her hands—slowly, gently, like I’m not in a rush—and guide them to my hips. She doesn’t move them. Just lets them rest there. Still stiff.

“Come on,” I whisper. “You can touch me. That’s the rule.”

Her brows twitch like she’s weighing the cost. She’s trying to act like this doesn’t faze her, like I’m just some girl dancing in a private room.

But she doesn’t pull away. The music keeps playing, low and dark and full of bass, and I sway into it, letting my hips roll into her hands as if they belong there. And maybe they do. Just for tonight.

“If you think you’ll win this…” I lean in, my lips brushing the shell of her ear, “…you’re wrong, baby.”

I press one palm against her chest, then slowly glide it down until I’m gripping her thigh. My other hand parts her knees with the same ease as someone opening a door.

She doesn’t stop me. I sink down between her legs—not in a rush, not to shock her. Just low enough that I can look up from the floor and see the shift in her eyes when she realizes this isn’t about performance anymore.

I drag both hands up the inside of her thighs, slow and deliberate, pausing just below her hips. My thumbs press into the fabric of her pants like I’m memorizing the shape of her. Then I move higher, palms smoothing up her stomach, across the line of her abs, just until I’m hovering again—half-kneeling, half-crouched, face tilted like I’m trying to figure out exactly how she’s holding it together.

Spoiler: she’s not.

“You’re breathing different,” I say softly. “You trying not to react?”

She doesn’t answer. Her jaw clenches.

“You think I haven’t seen that look before? That stiff, don’t-break composure?” I smile. “It’s cute. But it never lasts.”

I press higher, fingers trailing the bottom edge of her shirt now, just enough to make her nerves jump. And all the while, I keep looking at her. Only her.

“I’ll break you.”

I say it like a promise. Like a quiet storm. Like it’s already happening.

And then I stand. Smooth. Tall. Confident. My hands slide back to her shoulders, pressing her back into the chair as I climb up, knees bracing each side of her thighs, hips hovering just above her lap. My face inches from hers.

Still no rush. Just presence. Just heat. And she’s frozen—somewhere between fight and surrender. Exactly where I want her.

She’s loosening up now.

Breathing easier. Shoulders down. Hands not clenched in her lap like she’s scared to move. I can feel it in the way her knees shift, just slightly wider. The way her eyes follow my hands instead of the floor.

So I smile, soft and amused. “See… not so hard.”

Her voice is low. “What’s your rule?”

I don’t even turn around. I just hum.

“…You already know.”

I take a step back, let the distance stretch for half a second before I soften it with a teasing little whine—playful, cocky, like I’m daring her to miss me already. My body rolls with it. Smooth, fluid. That’s my best weapon—being sensual without effort. Being a problem without ever raising my voice.

I lean back into her, slow like molasses, turning so my back presses to her chest. My hand finds her knee—she’s already sitting wide, practically begging—and I lower myself down into her lap, full weight, deliberate.

It’s not rushed. It’s intimate. Claustrophobic in the best way.

I let my head tilt back, just enough that my hair brushes her collarbone. My thighs fit between hers, one hand resting on her knee like I’m claiming the territory she forgot was hers to give. She doesn’t stop me.

Her breath warms my ear. Slow. Hesitant. So I guide her.

I take one of her hands, soft at first, and lay it flat on my stomach. She tenses. Holds it there. But when I don’t stop her? When I don’t pull away?

She squeezes. Not rough. Not horny. Curious. Like she’s trying to learn something she thought she already knew.

And when I still don’t stop her—don’t even flinch—she does it again. This time letting her hand slide lower, to my thigh, dragging her fingers lightly like she’s trying to memorize texture. Her other hand follows, finding the opposite leg, gripping it. Palming it. Like she’s testing if I’ll let her.

I do.

I arch just enough to deepen the contact, then roll my hips slow—not grinding, not yet. Just a suggestion. My hands glide down her arms, fingertips brushing hers. And then I feel her move.

Her hands come up, hesitant but bold, sliding along my waist until she’s cupping my breasts through the thin fabric of my top. She pauses—like she can’t believe she’s doing it. Like she’s expecting me to flinch or scold.

But I chuckle. Low. Sweet. A little cruel.

“See?” I whisper, turning my head just enough for her to hear it in her ear.

“I don’t bite… mamba.”

She exhales. Real slow.

I can feel her jaw shift against my cheek, the tension melting into something else. Something needier. Hungrier. Her thumbs move, brushing over me gently, more confident now. She still doesn’t speak. Doesn’t have to. Her hands say enough.

I just smile. Because now she’s here.

I settle fully in her lap. No space left between us. No more teasing like I might stand up again. I’m here, soft and heavy and deliberate. Her hands are everywhere—waist, hips, ribs, thighs. Wandering. Not greedy, but steady. Like she can’t decide where she wants to keep them because she wants all of it.

My head tilts back slightly, brushing her shoulder as I look up at her. Her face is right there. Close enough to kiss. Close enough to bite. But I don’t—not yet. I just let her feel the weight of me. Let her feel what it’s like to be the one touched and touched back.

I grind against her slow, barely-there pressure, just enough to remind her what I’ve got. My hips roll once, lazy and calculated, the seam of my body angled exactly where I want it. Right where her center’s pressed between my thighs. I lean forward a bit, just enough that her grip shifts, slides to hold my hips again.

I know what I’m doing. I love women. I’ve studied every twitch, every breath, every slip of control. This is a language I speak fluently—and she’s starting to understand it.

“Too much?” I ask, voice soft, lips close to her jaw. A little pout on purpose. Just for the contrast.

“…not enough.” She doesn’t hesitate.

That answer hits low. Deep. Like a crack in the foundation. My smile sharpens, slow and wicked, and I roll my hips again—this time a little deeper, a little heavier. Let her feel it. My body dragging slow friction right over the spot she didn’t mean to tense for.

Her fingers flex at my hips. Hold tighter. She doesn’t pull me closer—but she doesn’t stop me either. She doesn’t have to. She’s giving it away.

“Mmm,” I hum, low in my throat, still moving. “You sure? I could stop.”

She exhales through her nose. Sharp. Annoyed. A silent don’t play with me. So I lean in again—this time my mouth barely an inch from her ear.

“Good,” I whisper. “Because I haven’t even started.”

Her hands grip my hips now—not tentative anymore, but firm. Like she’s giving in. Letting me move, letting me guide the rhythm, but needing to feel it. Needing to hold something while she falls apart slowly.

I smile to myself, eyes half-lidded, the corner of my mouth curling like I already know what’s coming. Her jaw’s tight. Clenched. Like her whole body’s working overtime just to keep from reacting too fast.

And I love it.

I keep grinding slow, just enough friction to keep her focused. Just enough pressure to make her forget where the line is. My hips roll steady into her lap, warm and soft and controlled—like sin wrapped in velvet.

She lets out a groan. Low. Right against my ear. The kind that escapes before she can trap it. Her breath is hot, and her grip on my waist tightens again, anchoring herself like she’s seconds from slipping.

I chuckle softly—breathy and smug. Not cruel. Just knowing.

One of her hands leaves my hip. Slides up my body, confident now. Over my side, across my ribs. It finds my breast again, fitting her palm there like she finally figured out what she wants to do with it. She squeezes, slow and careful, thumb brushing across me through the fabric.

My breath catches just slightly—not because I’m surprised, but because I like it. Because now I know for sure: she’s gone. I’ve got her. And she’s holding on like she needs to.

Her other hand never left my hip, though. She grips it tighter, using it to guide my rhythm, like her body’s responding before her mind can catch up. Her legs are wide under me, her thighs flexing every time I roll just right over her.

“You good?” I murmur, glancing over my shoulder, voice lazy and teasing like I’m not sitting directly on top of everything she’s trying to control.

She exhales hard. Doesn’t answer. Just keeps touching me.

So I smirk again and roll slower, deeper, my body fitting into her like we’ve done this a hundred times.

But we haven’t. She just wants it that bad.

I push off her lap and stand, slow and smug, watching the way her body reaches for me without meaning to. Her breath stutters, and if I blinked, I’d miss it—but there it is.

A little pout. Not dramatic. Just a flicker of disappointment. Hunger.

“Awww, what’s wrong, baby?” I coo, tilting my head with mock concern. “Thought you’d win something?”

I drag my finger across her shoulder as I walk around her, circling slow, eyes locked on the way her legs still won’t close. She’s hot. Bothered. Chest rising and falling just a little too fast. Trying to hold composure that doesn’t belong to her anymore.

And just as I drop low again, just as I let the silence stretch between us, her hands find my waist—bold now—and pull me right back onto her lap.

I let it happen. Let my knees slide wide, thighs snug around hers. Straddling her again, this time with her chest pressing up into mine, her hands gripping the curve of my hips like she owns them.

“Mmm… touchy now, huh?” I murmur, smiling.

“Shut up.”

“Oh?” I laugh softly, settling in. “Or what?”

She glares, jaw tight—but her grip doesn’t ease up. She ain’t got a comeback this time. No smartass reply. Just those hands flexing on my body like she’s trying to get a grip on her sanity.

Too late.

I tilt my head slowly, daring her. Then I reach up and grip her jaw—not rough, not sweet either. Just firm. Steady. I tilt her face up, force her to look at me.

This… this is new.

I don’t kiss clients. I don’t touch like this. Not for real. I dance. I tease. I push them to the edge and leave them there. Get them wet and wrecked and begging, then disappear. That’s the job. That’s the art.

She make me want to.

So I smile. Real slow. Her hands slide down to my ass, full and sure, like she’s not asking permission anymore. Just taking what I’ve already given.

I lean in, slow enough to make her wait, and kiss the corner of her mouth. Just that. Soft. Just enough heat to sting.

“…That allowed?” She’s whispers.

“You care?” I smirk.

“…Do it again.”

So I do. I kiss her again—this time lower. Her jaw. Her neck. I trail heat down to that spot right below her ear, where her pulse jumps, where her hands grip me harder and her thighs tense beneath mine.

She starts moving me. Hands on my hips again. Rocking me slow against her like she can’t help it. Like if I stop, she’ll fall apart. Her shoulders shift. I can feel the strength in her arms as she rolls my body into hers like she’s trying to memorize it.

I pull back just enough to look down at her, my hand still under her jaw, lifting her chin like she belongs there.

“Mamba…” I say with a slow, wicked smile. “You gave in.”

I lean in close, nose brushing hers. “Look at you…”

And she does. Eyes dark, lips parted, throat tight

Her hands move up my back—no hesitation now, no testing. Firm. Hot. Possessive. She pulls me closer like she needs me there. Like not having my body against hers is suddenly a problem.

Her breath brushes the shell of my ear, and I can feel it—tight, ragged, uneven. She’s holding on by threads. So I lean in, real low, lips brushing her skin but not kissing.

“Gonna beg me?” I whisper. She stiffens.

“No.”

I smirk. That denial came too fast. Too tight. That’s the pride talking—not the heat pooling in her stomach, not the grip on my waist, not the way she’s practically rocking against me now.

“Ohh come on…” I purr, sliding my hips forward, slow and deep, letting the friction hit just right between us. “You’re Diana Taurasi… you’ve worked for shit before, right?”

I let that hang in the air for a beat—just long enough to let her feel it. Then I shift like I’m about to leave. Start to push off her lap, slow, smooth, nonchalant. Like I could go.

Like I would. And that’s when she panics.

She grabs my waist. Strong. Too strong. Damn near slams me back down into her lap. My eyes widen slightly—not out of fear, just amusement.

Instant ocean. I raise an eyebrow, watching her jaw flex like she’s choking on the one thing she’s never had to say out loud.

“…Please.”

Soft. Rough. The kind of whisper you say through gritted teeth when you hate how bad you mean it. My smile spreads.

“Mm,” I hum, dragging my nails lightly up her arms. “I’ve heard better, mamba.” I rock once. Deep. Slow.

“Say it like you mean it… or I’ll walk out of here so wet for you it’ll haunt you for the rest of the season.”

And her fingers dig in like she knows I mean it.

Her grip tightens like her life depends on it. Like letting me go now would mean bleeding out. And I can feel it—the tension in her thighs, the ache in her fingertips, the shallow drag of her breath like it’s scraping up from somewhere deep.

But she still hesitates. Still clings to that last sliver of control like it matters.

I roll my hips once more, slower this time—sinking right down into her lap, giving her every inch of that friction she didn’t earn. My hands cradle the sides of her face, thumb dragging across her cheek like I’m comforting her. Like I care.

“I said say it like you mean it,” I murmur. My voice is silk, but the command in it? Cold steel.

She swallows hard. I don’t move. I just wait. Still. Straddled over her. Breathing steady while hers stutters. Then finally—finally—she looks at me.

Eyes glassy. Dark. Almost angry at herself. Like her pride is choking her on the way out. And then she says it.

“Please.”

But this time it’s real. Quiet. Raw. Like she hates how much she means it. And baby… it breaks her. My smirk softens into something else. Not pity. Not victory. Something deeper. Almost dangerous.

“There she is,” I whisper.

I lean in slow. Let my lips brush hers, not quite a kiss—just a burn. A warning. Then I drag my mouth down the line of her jaw, across the curve of her neck, until I find that spot pulsing under her ear. I kiss her there. Once. Slow. Then again. Open-mouthed.

She groans.

Her hands slide from my waist to my ass, gripping like she needs to anchor herself to survive this. Her legs flex underneath me. She starts moving me again—guiding my hips with a rhythm that’s messier now. Needier. She’s not in control anymore, she’s chasing.

I pull back, just enough to look her in the eye. My breath fans her lips.

“Look at you,” I murmur, sweet and sinful. “Begging.”

And then I kiss her. Really kiss her. Full mouth. Full pressure. Like she’s mine already and always has been. The way she kisses back. Baby—she’s gone.

She’s not asking anymore. She’s begging. And it’s not just once—it’s spilling. Low, hoarse, under her breath like it’s involuntary. Like every second she doesn’t feel me move is a punishment.

“Please…”

“Don’t stop…”

“Fuck—please…”

Each one softer, wetter, more pathetic than the last. And I just sit in her lap like a throne, hips rolling in slow, exact circles. Feeding her just enough pressure to keep her throbbing, just enough friction to feel it everywhere.

I ain’t rushing it. Why would I? She’s already mine.

I lean in, lips at her ear, letting my breath tease every time she tries to speak. Every time her voice cracks or her nails press harder into my thighs.

“You like that, mamba?” I whisper, teasing her as I grind. “You like beggin’ for it?”

She groans, hips bucking up helplessly. Her hands are all over now—gripping my ass, my waist, my back like she can’t decide what to hold onto. Like her body’s short-circuiting.

“I’ll do anything,” she mutters. That makes me smile.

I slow your hips. Real slow. Just enough to make her whine. Then I grip her jaw again, tilt her head back like before, but this time there’s no warning.

I kiss her like a reward. Full, deep, tongue in her mouth while she moans into it like she’s gone stupid. Her legs are shaking under you. She’s grinding up like her life depends on it. Like she’s so close she could fall apart right there, with just me riding her lap and whispering filth in her ear.

“That wallet real nice,” I murmur between kisses. “Might keep you just for that.”

I feel her grip tighten like she liked that too much.

“And you?” I add, lips brushing hers. “You real fine.”

She whimpers. Literally. Head falls back. Eyes fluttering. She’s chasing something. Maybe a nut. Maybe just me. Either way—she’s fuckin’ desperate.

I lean back slightly, watching her crumble, my hands on her shoulders to pin her just enough.

“Damn, mamba… you ‘bout to cum from this?”

I grind deeper once—perfectly—and she chokes on a breath.

“God—yes. Please, please, I’m—”

I hush her with your mouth. Biting her lip just enough to shut her up. Then grinding again, eyes locked on her as her back arches and her hands tighten, trying to make it last, trying not to embarrass herself—

But it’s too late. She’s trembling under me. All while I’m still fully dressed. Calm. Smiling.

Mission. Accomplished.

Her chest is rising like she just finished running suicides, lips parted, flushed all the way up to her ears.

I lean in, slow and smooth, letting her catch your scent again—your lip gloss, your heat, the faint sweat at your collarbone.

I kiss her. One more time. But it’s not needy. Not even sweet. It’s final. Soft, full, and dangerous. A kiss that says “You did good.” A kiss that says “But don’t think it meant more to me.”

I pull back, one hand grazing her cheek, eyes unreadable. I stand. Not rushed. Not dramatic. Just step off her lap, adjust my top, and walk toward the curtain like I didn’t just bring one of the most dangerous players in the game to her fuckin’ knees. I didn’t look back.

Can’t let her see that I enjoyed that more than she did. It takes a minute, but eventually she walks out too. Her friends light up, all of ’em ready to clown.

“So? How was it?”

“Dee, tell me she didn’t ruin you—”

“You good??”

But Diana was dead silent.

Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t blink. Just walks straight past them—jacket in hand, head down, face unreadable—and straight out the door like nothing happened. Like that wasn’t the best thing that’s happened to her in years. Like she didn’t almost come in a fuckin’ chair.

Back inside, Mateo comes stomping up to me, waving a receipt like it’s the winning lottery ticket.

“Yo,” he says, wide-eyed, grinning like a madman. “Yo.”

I raise a brow, unbothered.

“She left a tip so fat I thought it was a fuckin’ typo. Cash. Like cash cash.”

I smirk, biting your lip.

Mateo shakes his head, half-laughing, half-hyped. “I love basketball. God bless America. You? You just made the hall of fame, baby.”

You wink. “Told you I never miss.”

He throws his hands up and walks off still muttering, “I gotta get that jersey signed or somethin’.”

I just sit back in my seat, relaxed, untouched, legs crossed like nothing happened.

That’s enough for tonight. Until next time, mamba.

@xxsnowxx213 @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog @kaliblazin @liloandstitchstan

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kelltonic · 6 days ago

Text

Admiration☆彡

Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Drunkenness/alcohol!! Other than that all fluff. Canon-typical asshole Hangman. established relationship and mentions of introverted girlfriend - no use of y/n

Description: While drinking at the Hard Deck with his fellow daggers, Fanboy finally gets to prove the origins of his callsigns through his drunken ramblings about his (civilian) girlfriend.

WC: 1,580

A/N: My first time posting fanfiction on this account!! Glad it’s dedicated to my underrated husband <33 - on that note, I did write this instead of studying (I’m mid exams) as a form of procrastination, and honestly a de-stressing exercise type thing lmao

“Earth to Garcia?” Mickey hears as he slowly raises his head from his phone, awaiting a text from his girlfriend after the string of ‘I miss you’ and ‘you won’t believe what Reuben just said’ messages.

“Huh? Did you say something?” Fanboy responds, unsure of who grabbed his attention.

“Man, what’s even so interesting on your phone? Come on! Live in the moment!” Javy disappointedly scolded him, gaining some nods and murmurs of agreement. Majority of the squadron were sitting in a spacious booth, various alcoholic drinks accompanying them. Fanboy was squished in between Payback and Hangman while sitting across from Phoenix, Bob and Coyote while Fritz and Rooster sat at the end in seperate chairs.

“Sorry I find my girlfriend more interesting than you guys.” Fanboy scoffed sarcastically.

“Really? Doesn’t seem like she’s responding anytime soon.” Hangman joked with that bothersome southern drawl, peering over to see Fanboy’s one sided conversation. He didn’t blame you, it was late. Really late. The daggers were given a day off and decided to celebrate, not having to worry about getting up early - despite the fact majority probably would anyways.

“She’s probably just asleep, she has exams.” Fanboy defended, he didn’t want the others to get the wrong idea, that he was needy or anything. Though, it didn’t really help. But he wasn’t lying, you were mid exam week in college and were conditioning yourself to a better sleep schedule, he would probably tell you to go to sleep if you did ever respond.

“Mhm… I’m starting to think she’s been made up.” Hangman mocked, no matter how much alcohol he has - he will always find a way to push someone’s buttons. If anything, the alcohol made him more irritating. But before Fanboy could interject, he was saved by his best friend.

“Trust me, she’s real.” Payback groaned. Fanboy wasn’t surprised that he backed him up, or that he seemed so annoyed about it. Reuben had nothing against you, to be honest, he hadn’t even met you in person. But, he did have the unfortunate role of being the closest to Mickey in every outburst he had when he was away from you for too long and needed to scroll through all your shared memories. Reuben had lost count of how many times Mickey showed him his favourite photo of you two right before he got called to Top Gun.

“Really? I need proof or I’m never believing you.” Hangman emphasised, more likely bored than actually unbelieving. Mickey was attractive, both physically and personality-wise, it’s no shocker he’s dating someone. But when your foundation is being a dickhead, and you add alcohol and boredom to the equation, you need someone to annoy. Fanboy was just the easiest target for Hangman given the situation.

“Haha, no chance.” Fanboy swiftly replied. He absolutely loved showing people photos of you. Displaying you with pride, like a toddler showing off their artwork. But when it came to people in the military, specifically other men in the military, he always felt icky. After hearing too much nasty locker room talk, he really only described you and your shared experiences, keeping away from physical depictions and photos. The only exceptions were guys he really trusted, like Reuben. And it’s not even that he doesn’t trust Jake, he just doesn’t want to risk you getting involved in his constant teasing.

“Come on, you always talk about her - just one photo!” Phoenix chimed in, genuinely curious. Fanboy took a second, he was always easy to persuade when he was drunk. But, he stuck to his values and faced his phone away from Jake while scrolling through his favourites album.

“Seriously?” Hangman bluntly groaned, shaking his head in disbelief. “I swear I wont actually say anything weird.” Hangman pleaded, that signature smile spread across his slightly flushed cheeks.

“No shot.” Mickey responded, clicking on one of his favourites of you. You were in a beautiful black dress with some light makeup, it was the one time he ever successfully persuaded you to go to a big party. You were smiling widely, holding onto Mickey while both of you were laughing your asses off. It was a candid one of your mutual friends took while you were both drunk out of your minds. Your hair was slightly tucked behind your ear, revealing an earplug. You were never good with loud noises or bustling groups, so Mickey bought you earplugs to colour match your jewellery. You seemed so happy, and Mickey couldn’t have been more relieved. He was terrified that he would finally get you to go out to a big party and you would hate it, so he sought to make you as comfortable as possible in the situation.

He proudly flipped his phone towards the other side of the booth, presenting you to Phoenix, Bob and Coyote while Rooster and Fritz peeked over. Just about everyone was curious at this point, they had always gotten bits and pieces of his ranting about you but never actually seen the face that matches the admiration.

“Aww!! She’s so pretty.” Bob reacted softly, trying not to overstep but also wanting to validate Fanboy.

“The dress is stunning on her.” Phoenix raved with an approving smile to Fanboy.

“I know, everything’s stunning on her.” He sighed thoughtfully. Despite the fact you were dating, he was still acting like a schoolgirl yearning over her celebrity crush. The others could only laugh at this, while Hangman just drank from his beer. He doesn’t usually feel left out due to his very extroverted and dominating personality, but this was an exception.

“Well that explains a lot.” Rooster chuckled.

“Huh?” Fanboy was seemingly brought out of his trance, tilting his head at Rooster’s comment.

“Your callsign, always wondered what warranted it.” Rooster elaborated, gaining a group-wide laugh. It was so true, he was full on fanboying over you.

His slight embarrassment to his exposure was quickly taken to a halt when his phone buzzed while Phoenix was holding his phone, admiring the photo.

“Mickey baby, you drinking responsibly or just drinking?” You texted. You couldn’t help but laugh at the seemingly millions of messages you had gotten while locked in studying - cramming - for your next exam in… about 7 hours.

Mickey chuckled at your message the moment he snatched his phone back. But, his remaining responsibility took control as he replied.

“You should be sleeping! I love youuuuuuuuuu1!1!1!! go to sleep!” He typed out, his heart sad that he knows he can’t keep you up. But, his last remaining brain cells were aware that you needed to sleep for your big exam in the morning.

“No fair, you texted me first.” You groaned, knowing he was right.

“Yeahhh but like…. I don’t have work in the morning.” He sighed, he was so excited for your exams to be over so he could endlessly bug you without feeling guilty about taking up your time.

“What’s going on now?” Hangman interjected, finally trying to weasel his way back into the conversation.

“I’m telling her to go to sleep, I wasn’t lying - she’s got exams.” Fanboy whined, he was desperate to talk to you - he was always extra clingy when drunk.

“Ooh that reminds me of this other photo.” He quickly switched up, you stopped replying so he could tell you got the message and (hopefully) went to sleep rather than uselessly cramming.

“Oh lord not again.” Reuben moaned, falling back into the seat while he had to sit through yet another rant about you.

“I took this one after the last one when we were in bed..” Mickey was swiftly cut off by some disapproving noises.

“No, no, not like that, it’s nothing sexual - it’s cute!” Mickey reassured, not surprised that his friends’ minds immediately went there.

He pulled up a photo of him lying on your chest while you were both pressed together on your sides, lipstick marks all over his face. He had about a dozen kisses on his face printed from your lipstick, and he couldn’t have been happier. He and you were both still clearly drunk - only the bottom half of your face in frame. Your hair was dangling onto Mickey while he was tucked just below your chin, leaning into your chest. Your smile was just in frame, while his was front and centre. He loved the photo not only for its contents, but also the fact that it was one of your favourites. Mickey explained to his friends the backstory, and how you never really liked seeing or taking photos of yourself. So the fact that you were only partially in frame yet your presence was one of the most significant aspects, it was perfect.

“Okay, okay, we get it - you’re an absolute fanboy. Can we talk about something else now?” Hangman complained, still excluded from the presentation.

“This is what you get for being such an asshole and taking advantage of any personal thing we tell you, Bagman.” Phoenix responded, utilising her daily humbling moment. With a few ‘karma’ and ‘deserved’ comments flying around alongside the comfortable laughter, Mickey couldn’t help but feel so at home. He missed you more than anything, and he couldn’t wait to introduce you to his friends.

“Good night baby ❤️ ❤️” you finally texted back.

“Were you studying just then??”

“I had to finish up!!”

“Yeah? Well good night sweetheart, sleep well ❤️” he replied, shaking his head with a small chuckle.

Began: 1:00am 21st of June

Finished: 2:30am 21st of June

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deadbeatphobos · 2 months ago

Text

Bang the Doldrums

Rockstar! Jason Todd x Rockstar! gn! reader headcanons

"And I cast a spell over the west to make you think of me, the same way i think of you''

WC: 200+

Would write an album dedicated to you, and the album cover for it would be something that is symbolic for the both of you (that album would then become his best-selling one and would later win a grammy for it)

Keeps your old guitar picks and turns them into a necklace, wears it every time he has a gig/concert

He's your BIGGEST fan, whenever you have a gig, he will always be there to support you, whether it's being in the front row where you can spot him cheering you on, or bringing you and your bandmates food and drinks right after your gig

Will have your name or initials on his guitar (kinda like how Frank Iero has his ‘’pansy’ guitar/Billie Joe Armstrong having his initials on his)

Would try to keep your relationship with him a secret, but soon people eventually caught on

Secretly has a fanpage dedicated to you, where he posts so many edits of you, and started posting ship edits of you and him when people started catching on that you two were dating

Once people found out that both of you were dating, he immediately changed his handle to “Y/n l/n’s #1 and BIGGEST fan”, you also changed your handle to Jason Todd’s #1 fan’’

The day he proposed to you was the fifth anniversary of the release of the album he wrote about you.

On the day you both got married, when exchanging gifts, you both exchanged your guitars with each other.

Likes, comments and reblogs are all greatly appreciated <3

By @deadbeatphobos not copy, translate or post my fics on any platform without permission

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amesul · 4 months ago

Note

You should do diana and ready is her younger girlfriend and ready is being a brat so diana punishes her by spanking her and ready is dripping onto Diana's thigh

sorry for the delay baby, this was rushed a lot so i hope you enjoy this bc i didnt proofread. ˚⊹♡

“oh fuck you!” you shout, irritation consuming you as diana ate the last piece of cake, knowing how much you wanted it, even though it wasn’t for you.

she was immediately startled by ur sudden outburst.

sure, you had ur moments, but to get angry over a slice of cake? she knew you were stubborn, and she also knew that you weren’t on ur cycle.

“nena, calm down.” she uttered, but you didn’t listen, instead — you even rolled your eyes as a mumbled “bitch” flew out of ur mouth.

she quickly heard you and nodded her head in a maniac way, processing every single crumb of movement from you and the grating scoff you had no shame in avowing.

you urself didn’t know why you were acting so childish for a piece of cake, and being so oblivious of how diana was gonna react.

oh right. because in a blur, ur whole body was sitting on her lap, not caring an ounce about the half bitten cake, and shit — you didn’t know how u got naked under her tight grip on ur neck.

you nearly gasped, wondering how and what just occurred so swiftly to get you needy and apologetic.

“say that again, please.“ diana mumbled, a cold trail of dark matter right behind her tone as she flicked her tongue against her lips.

she wanted you to say it. just so she could make sure you never call her that again after.

you were still trying to process, but the little agony in you won.

“bitch!”

now you didn’t mean to nearly shout, but all the pent up tension was getting to you and it surely wasn’t the time to do that, only because diana had crawled her hands to ur ass.

she chuckled, lowering her head from how funny it was for her.

you were being a brat.

not only to her but certainly triggering her calm state.

u started to get fret, thinking about how dumb and foolish you have been acting, and now you knew you were gonna get ur consequences because when diana gets tense with you, you end up saying sorry.

hands running over both of ur cheeks, her light touch raising hairs and goosebumps, only exciting you for what could be possibly be coming.

"you can count, right?" she asked, voice laced with sarcasm.

"yeah," u replied, your heart beginning to race a little faster when you felt the familiar fuzzy black handcuffs click around ur wrists. you started to regret being the bitch in this situation.

"well don't just mourn now, count to fucking ten if you're so smart."

with a nod you began, easily going through the numbers you’d learned in primary school just to have diana chuckle at you. "that was great, surprisingly. good job. now, lets see if you can count while your ass is burning, shall we? what number should we go to sweets?"

"fifteen," you answered quickly, barely giving it any thought and just choosing a number u hoped she'd be satisfied with.

"good choice," she agreed, bringing a quick hand down on ur bare bottom, the loud slap filling the room, and most likely slipping under the crack of the doorway and spilling out into the neighborhood.

"one!" you yelped, surprised at the stinging rising on ur right cheek. the second came down on ur left, a bit harder than the first. "two." another on the right. "th-three." the left. "ah! f-four." right. "five!" right again. "s-i-ix."

"your voice is cracking," she pointed out, hands cupping ur red, burning bum and thumbs digging into the rounds of your flesh. "can't handle it?"

"i- i apologize," you said through gritted teeth, growling out a "se-ven," when she brought her hand down again, this one being the worst of all.

tears formed in ur eyes but u forced them away, breathing heavily into the blankets around yourself.

she ignored ur apology, watching your teared face focused on trying to let the pain be itself.

ur counts were getting louder and louder, her slaps rougher and rougher, and by the time you were at twelve u were almost screaming them out, hissing and gasping and feeling incredibly embarrassed at not only how much you were enjoying this and how horny you had become, but how loud you actually got.

anybody could hear the couple, and diana made it known that that's what she wanted.

"tch," she began, cradling ur ass in her palms and occasionally brushing her fingertips over your lower back. "you know very well i don’t tolerate ur bratty behavior, little girl. s’, i suggest you scream these lasts few, yeah?”

"but dia-“

"do you wanna go to twenty?" she warned. "twenty-five?"

“n-no."

"then scream," she growled, drawing her arm back and slapping you with a quick swing of her hand. u cried out the number thirteen, breathing heavily with half your face buried in her neck, hot breath warming her nape around. the next two were the same, harsh slaps to ur bum, counted out by the distressed sound of ur voice, the fifteenth one hurting the most but at the same time feeling so fucking good in the worst way possible.

once diana was done she left her lips trailing up from ur stomach before brushing over ur neck and connecting with your mouth in a quick, sloppy kiss.

"you didn’t get wet did ya?" she mumbled more to herself than to you, reaching under u and slipping her index finger inside ur throbbing pussy, easily slipping in at how wet you were.

"mh’ y-yea," you confirmed, whimpering as two fingers pinched ur spongy clit, feeling it wobble at the contact.

"want me to do somethin’ about it?"

"please."

"and what is that?" her fingers playing around ur soft, dripping, and who could forget — soaked entrance.

"i want your strap."

"how so, love?"

"god, fuck me like this. fuck me from behind i don't care. i need to feel you in me, please dee."

diana paused for a moment before letting a laugh slip her lips. "begging so soon?" she smirked, shaking her head as she licked her lips subtly, “no.” she deadpanned, “this cute pussy doesn’t deserve my attention, not after your ugly behavior.”

“but-“

“but nothing, i’ll leave you the rest of the slice, but for now you don’t get anything.”

an. yall know i love cliffhangers

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neohoestechnology · 1 year ago

Note

george weasley moodboard and headcanons pretty please? :3

Sorry for taking so long, I hope you like it 🤠💗

☆ George Weasley Moodboard & Headcanons ☆

golden retriver boyfriend? golden retriver boyfriend!

oh man, he's head over heels for you

kinda feel like everyone knew he had a crush on you because of the way he stared at you and smiled like an idiot (but he's your idiot so it's okay)

he needs physical touch to function properly, always touching you in some way

holding hands while walking down the corridors, elbows brushing against each other during a lesson, fingers moving delicately to move a strand of hair out of your face... I could go on

please go watch his quiddich practice, he'd be so proud :)

sweaty hugs after a match (not that you dislike)

like I said before, gossip trio

and man, he's so ruthless too 😭

sassy queen

calls you beautiful out of the blue just to see you blush

casually pats your head

you spend every holiday at weasley's and he LOVES IT

doesn't like how close you're getting with his sister though

he put up a tent one night and watched the stars with you 🥹💗

I feel like your first time together would be on one of those occasions

kinda the playful type, but also really sweet

his family loves you (actually doesn't understand how someone like Mr. Goofiness pulled someone as good as you)

asks you to study together, tackles you onto the bed after ten minutes " 'cause he's not built for long-term concentration" 🤠

"put that bloody book down, we're making a fort"

certified "I know you can do it yourself but let me do it for you" type of boyfriend

he'd lose his mind if you cooked for him (I mean, he already knew he was gonna marry you, but now he's more whipped than before)

always makes sure you don't get too stressed during exams season

casually bumps his head on yours while sitting

if you have bangs, he would 100% run his hand through them knowing that it infuriates you :)

please watch a horror movie together and enjoy him being scared to death

plays it cool, actually dying inside

I guess that's it

Love you, B. 💖

I do not possess any of these photos, all credits go to the owners.

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slightly-knot-insane · 8 months ago

Text

Burning (for) You

Monstertober 2024 - day 19 [ Wings ] by @ozzgin

[ m!phoenix x fem!reader ]

content: light porn, shibari

Ouch was not an uncommon sound in your household. Being in a relationship with a phoenix had its perks and downsides.

First of all, it's never cold during winter (except when your boyfriend leaves just before combusting and returns about a week later, reborn and fresh. It was not so convenient in the summer, so you decided to live in the northern parts of the continent.

Unfortunately, even when his skin wasn't scorching hot, you weren't' able to touch each other for a long time. Even with oven mittens. The fire in him always burned, especially under strong emotions.

Which meant sex was next to impossible. There was one thing that mitigated the difficulty of copulation between you two: his genitals were far less hot than the rest of his body. It had something to do with fertility of the sperm. In any case, after many trial and error, the easiest way for you two to have sex was with ropes.

You learned the art of shibari, and while you would hang from the ceiling, conveniently wrapped, your boyfriend would use his bird heritage, wings and claws to easily balance on the (fire resistant) ropes. Without touching you, he would enter your holes and fuck you in incredible poses. His ingenuity had no limits, and he knew how to make you cum within minutes just by carefully hitting your g spot in a perfect rhythm and under surprising angles.

You both had to learn how to finish quickly or something in the room would catch fire. For your relationship sake, your boyfriend learned how to keep his emotions under control and cool himself down (quite literally) so that he could make love to you a few seconds longer.

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halfblooddprincess · 1 month ago

Text

⋆˙⟡ in the room of requirement

harry potter x fem reader fluff

synopsis: harry catches you decorating the room of requirement for christmas before a da meeting and the two of you get to talking

notes: i know this isn’t seasonal, i just couldn’t stop thinking about this idea !! this is just mutual crushing, nothing special, but i was in the mood for something wholesome

“You could have just asked Dobby to do that, you know.”

You’d just begun attaching the last of your handmade paper chains to one of the many book- strewn shelves of the room of requirement, when you hear a familiar voice behind you. The sound of it causes you to start, losing concentration on the levitating charm you’d been in the midst of casting, and dropping the red and gold chain of interlocked paper to the floor at your feet.

“Oh! Harry!” You flush, suddenly, turning around to face him. “It’s all Hermione’s S.P.E.W stuff, I’ve started to feel bad for the house elves. I’d hate to ask them to do anything else.” You laugh, as Harry reaches to pick up the paper chain his interruption had caused to fall.

Harry smiles back at you, the first smile you’d seen him crack in weeks. It’d begun to seem like the only time he wasn’t walking around, crushed beneath the weight of all else that had happened the year before was during the DA meetings. He’s looking down at the decoration he’s picked up, expression faintly amused, as he goes to hand it back over. Reaching to retrieve it from him, you suddenly notice the white glint from Umbridge’s scar, shiny and fresh on the back of his hand, the words I must not tell lies branded into his skin like it had been carved by a knife.

He notices you looking, “Oh. It’s getting better now.” He says, quickly, dropping his (now free) hand, awkwardly, into one of his robe pockets, glancing away with a determined effort not to meet your eyes. You can’t help but feel some sense of deep rage over the injustice of it all, the terrible grievance that is Umbridge’s new form of barbaric punishment.

“She’s a miserable old bat.” You spit, immediately in response, summoning another small smile from Harry, who’s now pretending to be deeply absorbed in the multitude of decorations you’ve put up around the room. To avoid the silence deepening into complete awkwardness, you continue, with much less ferocity “I know the house elves could’ve done a better job… but I thought we all needed some festive cheer… and… well…”

You’re feeling rather bashful now, your attempt to instil the festive cheer you just spoke of into the tragedy- struck members of the defence group seeming rather trivial in the face of all that threatens you from outside, and all the reasons Dumbledore’s Army was even set up in the first place. “It’s silly…” You continue, but before you can continue admonishing yourself for even thinking this would be a good idea, Harry’s interrupted.

“No! It’s… nice, really thoughtful, Y\N.”

“You think?” You reply, expecting his compliment to alleviate the blush in your cheeks, result of what you assumed was your own embarrassment. Instead, it only seems to extrapolate, like your pinkness had been hit by the Gemino curse, multiplying rapidly, until your entire face feels lit by fire. You turn around in an attempt to conceal it, focussing all your conceivable attention on levitating the paper chain back to where you’d been intending on hanging it. A muttered incantation later, and you’ve managed to sling it perfectly above a series of books titled: An Intermediate Guide To Defensive Jinxes. Doing that, though, has removed your final port of distraction, and you’re forced to acknowledge Harry’s presence once again, and confront the burning in your cheeks.

You attempt to fill the silence with speech once again.

“I was-” You start, just to realise, at just the same moment, Harry has begun to speak in turn, voices clashing rather calamitously.

“Oh, um, sorry,” Harry says, “What were you going to say?”

“Nothing important,” You reply, “You go first.”

You notice, as you turn to face him, that Harry’s own cheeks are a rather similar shade of slight pink.

“I was just saying, seeing as it’s the end of term, there’s no point starting anything new.” You nod along, silently, though his words feel as if they’re sliding through one ear and right out the other, distracted as you are by the way in which Harry’s typically messy hair has ruffled up rather charmingly at the back, and is falling over his forest-y green eyes in a effortlessly charming manner. “I was thinking of practicing patronuses, again.”

You smile, in an agreeable sort of way, though you care very little what you practice, as long as it's Harry that’s teaching you it.

“Yours was great, last time, though,” He continues, and you feel the unmistakable feeling of colour returning to your cheeks, before it had even had time to leave.

“Well, I have a great teacher, what can I say?” You reply, busying yourself by readjusting a paper crown you’d tossed upon the head of one of the dummies. This one has a rather humorous caricature of the school’s caretaker, Filch, spell-o-taped to the front, courtesy of one of the twins, no doubt.

You hear Harry’s footsteps as he approaches from behind you, once again, and your shoulders instantly tense. He examines the hat (you’d cut it from a snowflake- patterned piece of card, and it had ended up the slightest bit misshapen and wonky) as you can hear his sweet-as-pumpkin juice laugh. He’d hardly smiled, let alone laughed for weeks. It strikes you, really, as slightly odd that you’d noticed. Just as you’d noticed, from across the great hall, when he’d caught your own eyes, how green his were, or how patient he’d been with one of the shy second years who’d found it nearly impossible to disarm his fourth year partner when they’d been on their third week of practicing expelliarmus.

You wonder, vaguely, if he’d ever noticed you in such a way.

“Y/N,” He says, and you can’t help but notice the flip your stomach does, “You’re a really great student, I mean, your impediment jinx was nearly flawless, and you’ve really gotten excellent at disarming.”

The compliments unleash what feels like a swarm of manic Cornish Pixies in your chest, fluttering feverishly around in circles inside your ribcage.

“Oh… it’s just… practice.” You say, trying to maintain modesty as you walk over to adjust the holly wreath you’ve tied to the back of the door, heart fluttering extraordinarily at the praise. You notice, once again, Harry’s following you. Is he doing this on purpose? You try, surprised at your success, to keep your composure as he continues his slue of praise.

“And… I saw you in charms, the other day.” He says, and you realise, with a lurch of wild excitement, that he’s apparently noticed you, just as you’ve noticed him across the course of the last few weeks. “Your cheering charm was… really good.”

“Oh, um, thanks,” you reply, now adjusting another of the paper chains with your wand, moving it from the top shelf of the nearest bookshelf to the one below, allowing it to rest beneath a collection of books on dangerous and dark creatures. This chain is an emerald green, covered in tiny silver stars. “Yours was… great, too.” You know that’s a lie, you’d seen his disastrous attempt yourself, and you’d later overheard Hermione laughing with Ginny about how Ron (on whom Harry had performed the charm) had ended up in the hospital wing, having laughed his way into a nosebleed, courtesy of Harry’s overenthusiastic wand waving.

He laughs again, reaching for a bauble that had fallen from a nearby shelf, and replacing it, as he says, “It was terrible. But thanks.”

“Okay. It was. But nobody’s better than you at Defence Against The Dark Arts. I’ve never been able to produce a patronus as clear as yours.” You pause, momentarily, wondering if continuing with what you plan to say next would be overstepping, “It’s a stag, right?”

“Yeah. It is.” He says, seemingly surprised you remember, before continuing, “It’s not as hard as it looks, though, not really. It’s all about the memory, the happier, the better.” His speech has an endearing similarity to that of his teaching style. He sounds almost as if he’s about to launch into a new lesson.

“Oh yeah?” You say, searching about the room for another decoration to fix or adjust, simply so you can avoid looking at Harry. “What do you think about, then?”

There’s a momentary pause, and when you look up, Harry’s paused mid step, looking suddenly shy. You raise your eyebrows, instinctively.

“Oh… um… Quidditch!” He replies, quickly, a little too quickly, you think. “Yeah, um, winning the quidditch cup at the end of Third Year.”

“Ah.” You say, “Well, I’ve never exactly won the Quidditch cup… maybe that’s the key to a perfect patronus. I’ll try to get around to that sometime soon.”

Harry laughs, slightly reticently, at your joke, slipping quickly into another topic, keen, for some unknown reason, to change the subject. “Are you going to visit Hogsmeade tomorrow? Last trip of term, and all.”

You shrug, in a carefree way, wondering why he’s even bothering to ask. He’d be going with Ron and Hermione, surely? You’d seen the three of them enjoying a butterbeer in The Three Broomsticks together on enough occasions to assume they made a routine of it. “I was thinking I might. I was going to pick up a few sweets from Honeydukes, Christmas presents for the family and stuff.”

“Sounds like fun.” He replies, casually, and you feel almost as if there’s something more he’s looking to say.

“Why? Are you not going?” You ask, realising you’ve been standing still in place, a mere foot away from Harry for the better part of two minutes as your conversation unfolded. You suddenly become very aware of yourself, and of Harry, far too close for comfort.

“Well… maybe. I mean, Ron’s got quidditch practice… and I’m… you know.” Banned, you remember. Another reason to despise Umbridge. “And Hermione’s saying she needs to stay here and study… so…”

“So you’ve got nobody to go with?”

“No! Well… I don’t know. I’m sure I could convince Hermione to come-”

All at once, with alarming clarity, a fully fledged, fully formed idea flashes into your mind. A perfect, dreamy, completely blush inducing idea.

“You can go with me, if you’d like.” The offer slips past your lips before you have time to stop it. You almost instantly regret it. Despite how dreamy the idea feels, you’re not exactly close with Harry, and besides sharing classes over the years, had barely interacted externally to the DA. Why would he ever want to go with you? He has his own friends, his own things to do, things that were probably far more important than a trip into Hogsmeade.

Harry, though, you notice, is fighting back a smile. He’s blushing, too, as he says, “Well… um. Yeah! That’d be nice. Only if it’s not too much trouble for you.”

“No! No trouble at all, it’ll be-”

But before you can finish your sentence, the room of requirement’s door opens, and a group of DA members scurry excitedly inside. Interruption aside, you’re grinning from ear to ear, mood instantly skyrocketing to a happiness beyond comprehension. Busy with his teaching, you and Harry don’t get a chance to revisit the delightful conversation. You notice, though, as the lesson progresses, glittering blue patronuses are hovering all around, dancing through the air like material daydreams, Harry Potter does not stop smiling.

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thepinkdreamganjaqueen · 9 months ago

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Subway Obsessions Arthur's POV ch.1

Arthur Fleck POV x Fem!Reader

Masterlist 🩷

Summary: From Arthurs POV. It's just another night on the subway. A typical ride on the Gotham train on his way home from a long day of running errands and away from his tedious depressive thoughts. Perhaps he would catch a glimpse of the woman he could only seem to catch in passing, the woman he’d been secretly watching, following, fantasizing about nightly. Perhaps the unending misery that is the city above had him thinking of change, of something new to obsess about. Something to draw his mind away from the blistering and the mundane. Would he finally get the courage to talk to her?

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, public exhibitionism, subway cruising, swearing, stalking, obsession, mentions of violence, fem!reader, romantic smut, fluff

A/N: Beginning to a series? Who knows. May add things later. First fic, btw! I'm hyper fixated now, so expect more. This is something I've been mulling around with for a while. I've done this story from both the readers' POV and from Arthur's because I can't get enough!! So, make sure to read both! I loved writing from this perspective so much, btw! Literally! Send ideas, edits, etc. my way!! And be nice please. The first chapter is mostly fluff/ descriptive plot/character building. Cheers! Enjoyyy!

Word Count: 3.9k

SERIES: Subway Obsessions

CHAPTER 1: Chance Meeting

Today was another mundane day. Arthur had been out earlier in the evening running errands for his mother. Picking up T.V. dinners at the grocer and medications for him and her at the local pharmacy. Still, getting around the city was a chore in of itself. He figured the subway would be the easiest and quickest way home. It was nearing 10 o'clock pm. His mother would be worried, and it was getting late. He knew the dangers of roaming Gotham city at these hours. His mother used to say, "That's when the colorful people come out." A way to make something serious, completely unserious. Still, he knew the dangers and tried as hard as he might to keep his wits about him. Easier said than done when you're a man with a neurological disorder, apparently so many people hate you for. He wished they’d understood or tried at least.

He always pondered why the people of Gotham were so... well so mean! Everyone he encountered save for the very, very few were just assholes to him. Perhaps it was the political climate? With Thomas Wayne running for government placement, it probably didn't help. Make the rich richer and the poor poorer he thought. Perhaps it was the state of the city itself, the infrastructure, the lack of resources. He sure has been on the wrong end of that stick one too many times. "Good people suffer Happy," his mother would say. But he never understood why it had to be that way. Life was circumstantial. He didn't ask to have what little he did. He didn't even ask to be born and thought life was the real joke.

It doesn't have to make sense to be funny! He jested internally. Because its fucked! And there lies the comedy for those broken enough to see, yet perhaps healed enough to laugh at the pain. Because, what else can you do?

His mind wandered through these endless fields of thought when a train car stopped in front of him. He had been standing on the platform disassociating for some time. Perhaps he even forgot where he was for a moment, ruminating over the wrongs of life and playing them out differently in his head. The things he didn't say or do, what he could have done differently...

The brisk hiss and click of the air brakes as they screeched to a halt brought him back to reality. He blinked a couple of times, waiting for the doors to open. As he did, a disheveled looking figure pushed past him while exiting. He burst out in a cry of compulsory laughter and stepped on the train. He was in the last car and immediately noticed it was bearable, as bearable as riding the subway can be he postulated.

In his search for a seat towards the end of the train car, he noticed a large putrid looking spill in the back. It melted off the seats and slid across the aisle. It looked sticky. Best to avoid that then, he thought. He opted for a bench seat away from the offending area and sat down, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back, arm outstretched on the head of the seat next to him. No one was in this car except for him. He found a moment of solace and drank it in, filling himself with the noiseless satisfaction of silence and peace when a warbled voice broke over the loud speaker. He couldn't really understand it, but the semblance of words spoke what sounded like “platform 19”. It was all he could understand through the robot whine. He felt anticipation rising within him.

At approximately 10:15 p.m., the doors of the subway train broke open with a gush of cold night air. At the other end of the subway, he watched as a woman stepped onto the train like a fawn. Scared and unsure of where to go or sit. She was bright and colorful; she immediately caught his eye. Was this what his mother meant by colorful people? He thought to himself. He quickly realized it was her! The girl he had fantasized about daily and nightly, hoping to catch her on the train but only seeming to in his thoughts and dreams, remembering her face, her scent that penetrated her surroundings. He had tirelessly followed her the first time he saw her. She was the only person to smile at him that day. He had to know more and had to know why. But she wasn't always on the same train. He always hoped to run into her and had almost given up, thinking she must have been some sort of hallucination he created for himself to lessen his own pain. But there she was.

She looked different tonight. She looked like a predator, displaying colors brightly in the face of possible danger. She was a force; he felt the atmosphere change as soon as she stepped in through the steel doors, a thickness lifted in the air and he could feel himself tense in his seat. His clothes were suddenly uncomfortable, his collar too tight, his hands, sweaty. She always looked beautiful when he saw her, she always looked content and comfortable. Hair in a messy bun with strands falling about her face swayed by the wind that surged through the train car. Sweats he could still make out her figure through, leaving him wanting more every time, it drove him crazy! But today she looked like she was straight out of the films on the TV! He thought to himself. She made him think of glamour, it's the only word that truly fit, like the old films he would watch with his mom. Wow! Was she a sight to see, a cool pristine liquid flowing over his burning eyes. A soothing image of pure proclivity. An unknown sense of calm swept over him.

He watched, frozen, as she cautiously observed the train car searching for a seat. He looked at her from top to bottom. She was significantly smaller than him, petite, probably around five feet three he gauged. Fuzzy black boots, blue jeans tightly hugging her figure, full thick thighs, his mouth began to water - he thirsted for her, wanted to drink in her every essence. He felt a lump in his throat as he tried to choke it down. A tight black shirt under a small cropped pink sweater with red hearts all over. It perfectly displayed her large soft breasts. Brown curls bounced about her shoulders as she walked, strands of them fell daintily on her face and cheeks. As she walked, she would flick it away with a quick movement of her head. The way she did that, moving her hair out of her face without using her hands. It made him tingle in all the right places. His mind raced. What else can she do without using her hands? he thought.

There was something pink in her hair too, he saw as she walked past. She didn't notice him at first. Most people don't he thought to himself. Although this thought disappointed him, he didn't fault her for it. He had the urge to make her notice him. To be a presence and to be objectified by her, he only wished he could hold that kind of power.

As she passed, the scent he had come to know as her- wafted past him, he sucked in through his teeth sharply. It was heaven on earth. Stimulating. He would follow that scent hoping to find her, mercilessly searching. It was like a drug, an aphrodisiac, and he felt his cock spasm. She was eyeing the seats towards the back where that odd spill was. A butterfly he thought. It's a pink butterfly in her hair. He immediately felt like a school boy again, fawning over and wanting to get the attention of the pretty girl and for her to return it.

"This one's fine!" He blurted out, not really knowing what he was saying. She turned around, her beauty, dark, striking, and he found it hard to speak again. He stammered and was able to get the lump out of his throat to follow up with; "I don't know what that is back there but these are not so bad" his voice felt cracked but he tried to contain his composure, he didn't want to scare her off. He was the only other person on the train, and it must have jolted her since she didn't see him at first. Plus, she probably thinks I'm some kind of creep or weirdo, he thought to himself. There was some truth behind those thoughts, but that didn't make him a bad person, he thought. All day, he spends trying to have a nice day to make himself and others happy, trying to think good thoughts, trying not to let the bad influence the good he can salvage.

"Oh, thank you!" A sweet voice broke the monotony of thought, and immediately he was flung back into the present. She made her way to the seats laid out in front of him. A row of sideways seating. He watched her sit gracefully, slowly, like a calculated ballet dancer, he thought. Every move fluid, every move perfect. When she sat, she arranged her things on the seat next to her and settled in. He wondered to himself where she was going. Why she had so many bags, why she was riding the subway so late, as a woman, she should be terrified. This city is not safe, especially for someone as strikingly beautiful as her. She was like a beacon of light, too bright to stare at, but he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame and simply couldn't resist the allure.

She actually sat next to me! He thought. Only one seat away, actually next to me. But that wasn't all. She saw him, noticed him, heard him, and listened to him. The weight of these simple gestures made his hands sweaty, and he tried his best to remain aloof. The doors of the train opened on the other side of her, and a breeze blew her hair behind her and over her face. He couldn't help but see her, every aspect of her. He studied her every move, every inch of her body. He wanted this to last, for this image to never leave his mind.

The wind that blew past her carried on it her scent. He was suddenly overwhelmed by the sweet alluring scent of peach? No. Some kind of berry? No. When the doors shut and the pressure created another breeze, the scent wafted to him again. Taking it all in, he identified the smell as watermelon. Some kind of fruity smell filled his senses with the feeling of euphoria. It was intoxicating. He wondered what it would be like to be pressed up against her, inhaling her deeply. He looked down with a deep sigh when he looked back over. She was moving a strand of hair out of her face and caught a glimpse of her looking at him as well. Her cheeks flushed instantly, and she broke her gaze. She was fire, burning too hot near him, and he wanted so badly to play, to burn himself, engulf himself in her flames breathlessly.

He tried to come up with something to say, anything. How do I talk to her? What would I even say without sounding stupid? He thought. He watched on as the florescent lights above her flickered. It lit up parts of her he hadn't seen upon first observation. Glitter decorated her collar bones and cheeks. Her sweater was slightly unzipped. He could see the peeking out of her cleavage. Sparkling with glitter, so pretty, she reminded him of the stars of the night sky. Unmistakably beautiful, yet so. Far. Away. He had been working up the courage to say something to her, to hear her voice again, he didn't want to forget it. A symphony replayed in his mind. He needed more.

He stumbled over his words, "Sorry, I-it's hard for me to talk, I meant to introduce myself. I'm Arthur, " he said in the kindest, most unassuming voice he could muster. She looked up and locked eyes. They burned his insides like hot coals. He anticipated her reply, not knowing if she would even engage in conversation with him. "No worries!" She spoke in a reassuring way that made his heart flutter. "I know how it can be, trust me!" She sounded genuine. Kind. There was something underneath her voice, though he couldn't quite conceptualize. Fear? Doubt, maybe? He wanted to take it away.

"I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you, Arthur!" Again, her voice beaming so light and so lifting. She reached out to shake his hand that he had offered. Her hand was small and was practically swallowed by his. Her fingers were warm, sweeping softly over his palm as she grasped his hand in hers. It's a simple thing, he thought. It was a small touch, but it was enough to make him crumble inside. She felt so nice! "Y/N," he said. "I like that." He lamented. Such a beautiful name. But everything about her was beautiful. Her presence was wholesome and welcoming. Is this real? he pondered. Thoughts took over again, and not knowing how to continue the conversation, they sat in silence for a moment as he worked up the courage to speak again.

Moments passed that felt like a lifetime, but he was content in her presence, soaking up her aura. As he went to ask her a question, she moved to speak as well. Catching each other off guard, Arthur profusely apologized "No it's okay, go ahead," he said, not wanting to interrupt her. "No, no, that's okay, what were you going to say?" She insisted back. Her voice was small and mousey, she seemed so shy. Why would she be? She screams confidence and power. Even in her apprehensive movements, she seems calculated, he thought to himself. He stole another glance at her. Her eyes sparkled reminiscent of a smokey quartz gem in a bracelet he once saw in a shop window. A thought of her adorned in nothing but gems crossed his mind. He tried to hold onto the image before it left his mind's eye. He felt a flush in his cheeks again, and his eyes darted. He couldn't look her in the eyes for too long. It made him nervous. He was working up the urge to speak again, to say something, anything.

He broke the silence and asked, "So what brings you to ride the subway so late at night? Aren't you scared?" He uttered jokingly. After saying it, he felt immediate stupidity. Why would I say that? He thought and started an inner spiral. As if seeing his reaction to his own question and wanting to ease the tension building within him, Y/N said, " Well, I work at the Gotham shelter overnight. So, having to ride the train every night, I guess, I've gotten used to it for the most part. But, yeah, I do get scared sometimes. The city can be super sketchy, and I've been attacked twice already, so I had to buy mace and stuff to try and protect myself."

The words spilled out of her mouth like a wave of glass, he couldn't fathom her ever saying this of all things, it was jolting for him and triggered something within him he had tried so long to hide. His mind raced. He felt anger and rage well up inside of him it hardened his sternum and burned in his throat. He became stiff but was unaware. The spiraling began to start again. This city was ruining people, hurting people, good people! He thought. She helps people, and then people hurt her?! Pieces of shit! He screamed internally. The emotions he felt were at war within himself. He felt rage for her pain and suffering at the hands of this city's denizens, he felt fear for her life knowing she rides the train every night, he felt regret, why couldn't he have been there to help, to do something? He all but took the pain on as his own, it soaked through to his core. He too had been at the mercy of some of the worst people he has ever had the displeasure of encountering in this god forsaken city, he too had been attacked, hurt, mercilessly tortured by these fucking terrible people.

Lost in his train of thought and looking straight ahead he couldn't help but sternly say in sympathy "These people are just fucking terrible!" She must have noticed his change in demeanor at this declaration. He suddenly felt a warmth cross his leg, and lightly squeeze. It was smooth and comforting. His concentration broke completely. Pulled out of a trance by her as if the thoughts were just zapped out of his brain. His eyes quickly darted back to her where they followed the length of her shoulder, to her arm, and from her arm to her hand that rested upon his thigh. He felt the muscles in his face relax, his shoulders dropped, jaw unclenched. The sheer power she had over him he thought. The warmth emanating off of her palm was like security, a blanket of nostalgia. He couldn't remember the last time he felt what felt like love, like connection, or attachment. He couldn't help but see flashes of images in his mind, her moving her hand closer to his cock which had began to throb. He tried to brush away those thoughts but they plagued him. She was touching him. Something that never happens to him. He immediately craved her touch, he wanted more, he wondered how that would be possible. He thought this couldn't be real. Not this time.

Once again, breaking his thought pattern she spoke, and he gave her his full attention. "Yeah, but I'm ok now!" She said in a reassuring tone. Her voice, like petals on velvet. Soft, gentle. "You're here now! And so, I feel safe." Safe? He thought, with me? Like she trusts me? He could feel the negative thoughts start to brim to the surface of his mind but quelled them by responding instead. He needed clarification. The words she spoke just didn't make sense to him. He couldn't see why she would or should trust him, although he so badly wanted her to, for this to be true, he needed it to be. He suddenly felt the urge to never leave her, to always be by her side. He would watch, he would follow, and he would do anything for her.

He only imagined what it would be like to know her both romantically and intimately. "You feel safe? W-with me?" He spoke haphazardly, unsure of the answer he wanted to hear, hoped to hear. "I do." She looked into his eyes sincerely. His heart leapt into his throat; he couldn't breathe. She was so fucking beautiful. He wanted to grab her, to feel her against him. He shifted his legs at the thought. Looking up at him like that weakened him in so many ways. Most noticeably, in his pants, where he tried to conceal the results of his dirty thoughts. "Then I will protect you Y/N" he proclaimed proudly. A shy smile touched her lips and she continued to gaze into his eyes. He smiled back. I make her feel safe, he thought. She is comfortable in my presence. No one even bothers talking to me, no one ever wants to talk to me. He had the urge to speak once more but couldn't find the words.

Before either of them could speak, the subway speaker rang out once again in that barely audible robotic toned voice announcing the next stop as the harsh brakes squeaked heavily to a stop. As if anticipating her to leave, he just as quickly stood up and offered out his hand. "Thank you," her voice sang. She turned to face him, her small stature looking up at him once more. He held his composure but felt the heat well up inside him. "It was so nice having someone to ride the train with tonight for a change!" She cheerfully exclaimed with a smile.

She had grabbed her things and had let go of his hand. What sweet bliss it was for the few seconds he had held it. Her fingers, so dainty and soft. The train screeched to a halt, and he instinctively grabbed her hand again and put his other hand at the small of her back to steady her. He could feel the soft curve of her spine. He slowly moved a pinky closer, hoping she wouldn't notice, tracing the line of her jeans as he did, feeling the line of her panty through the fabric. He quickly pulled away as she exited the train. He had held back. He wanted to do so much more. He wanted to turn her around, grab her face and kiss her, shove her onto the subway seats, and have his way with her, make her cry out. He wanted her to miss work. He wanted her to quit! He wanted her all to himself.

This moment was too perfect. It felt like a dream. As she stepped off the platform and began to walk away, he stood as the doors shut, helplessly watching her as she slowly walked. Unable to stop time. As the train brakes hissed and cranked, he saw her stop and turn around. She had stepped to the doors, but it was too late. He watched on as her figure shrunk into the distance as the train traveled once again into the dark tunnel. He waved. He would see her again. He would make sure of that. Platform 19. He thought, I'll remember this time.

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demie90s · 20 days ago

Text

Youngin

Kahleah Cooper x Rookie!Reader

MASTERLIST | MORE | Part 2

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You’re 20, cocky, and convinced you can handle a woman like Kahleah.

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Slow-burn smut, tension, age-gap energy

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Language, age gap (20+), dom!Kahleah, bratty!reader, explicit content (eventually)

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~ 6k

(gotta make a part two. I’m outta town.)

ᴠɪʙᴇ: “You grown? Prove it.”

I was a rookie. No shit. Born knowing I’d be great. Not humble about it either—why would I be? Valedictorian in high school. Top recruit coming out of Cali. Ran USC like I paid rent there, then bounced early, just to get drafted and drop jaws in the W. Rookie of the Year runner-up. And fine. Like real fine. God took her time on me.

So yeah, I’m cocky. Loud with it. Post up in the common area like it’s my living room. Walk through the facility like it’s mine. Cameras love me, fans scream for me, and half the league want my number—on or off the court. But I only got eyes for one. And she don’t give a damn.

Kahleah Copper.

She’s the one. Smooth, seasoned, and unbothered. She been in the league, stacked rings, stacked respect. I grew up watching her highlight reels like they were gospel, and now I sit three chairs from her like that don’t mean something.

Except it do.

I flirt every chance I get. In post-practice interviews? I shout her out. At lunch? I sit a little too close. When she walks into a room? I don’t just look—I stare. She notices. Of course she does. But every time I get a little bold, every time I drop a line she should be biting on, she shuts it down.

“You just a baby.”

“Ain’t nobody studying you.”

“You ain’t got no clue what to do with me.”

And that would humble most people. But me? I just grin. That’s the problem with women like her. She thinks just because she’s older, wiser, that I’m not built for her. She don’t get it. I’m not chasing her for fun—I’m chasing her like I already know what I’d do if she let me catch her.

Today, I’m lounged across the arm of the couch in the facility lounge, legs stretched out, hoodie rolled up, sports bra peeking just enough to start shit. She’s sitting across from me with her AirPods in, scrolling her phone like I don’t exist.

I know she can hear me.

“I got practice footage,” I say, loud enough to carry. “Dropped thirty-four last week. Y’all seen it?”

A couple teammates nod, laugh. Kahleah? Don’t even flinch. So I push.

“She prolly got it saved. Watch it before bed like a highlight mixtape.”

That gets her. She looks up slow, eyes like heat. Not a smile—just a twitch of her lips, like she wants to laugh but won’t give me that.

“You talk too much,” she says.

“And you listen,” I shoot back.

Silence. Then her head tilts, lazy and amused.

“You really think you grown, huh?”

I smirk, tongue in cheek, and nod. “Grown enough to know you want me.”

She leans back, one brow arched, lips parted like she’s trying not to laugh. Her eyes drag over me once—real slow, real subtle. And for a second, I swear she looks where she shouldn’t.

But then she scoffs. Sharp.

“Girl, please. Give up.”

Just like that. No smile. No wink. Just straight disrespect with a shoulder check as she walks past, brushing me like I’m in the way.

I let her go, eyes still locked on her back, the way her hair swing when she moves. And right when she’s almost out of earshot, I mutter just loud enough:

“You gon’ be mad when I stop trying.” She doesn’t turn around.

Just lifts her hand, waves me off without looking back—like I’m the problem and she knows it.

I smile. She ain’t ready.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

I was mid-bite, walking into the team kitchen with a protein bar in my mouth and the devil in my smile. Real casual. Oversized tee, shorts low on my hips, socks dragging like I owned the whole damn building. It wasn’t even about being seen—I just knew if she was in there, I’d make a moment of it.

And there she was.

Kahleah, leaned back at the table, arms crossed, scrolling through her phone like she ain’t the baddest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. Her skin glowing, lips pressed, eyes focused—but not too focused. She saw me. I know she did.

I dropped into the chair next to her like I’d been invited. One leg wide, elbow propped, still chewing slow. Real smug.

“Wassup, baby?” I said, mouth half full, all confidence. “Miss me?”

She didn’t look up at first. Just kept scrolling. Then finally, finally, her eyes flicked up, heavy-lidded and unreadable.

“You bored?” she asked.

“Nah,” I said, licking my thumb and wiping a crumb from my lip like I was trying to piss her off. “Just wanted to see what you was doing. You stay ignoring me, I was starting to feel neglected.”

“You need attention that bad?”

“From you? Hell yeah.”

That made her pause. She set her phone down slow, turned her full body toward me, and gave me a look that felt like fire on bare skin. She leaned in, elbows on the table, real close.

“You talk like you ready for something you can’t handle,” she said, voice low and smooth like a dare.

I blinked once. Kept my mouth shut. Couldn’t let her know how fast my heart was thumping or how my throat got tight just from her being this close. I never broke eye contact, but I didn’t move either.

She smiled like she saw everything.

Then—quick as hell—her hand slid up my thigh, slow enough to make my breath catch but firm enough to say she wasn’t playing. She leaned even closer, her mouth damn near at my ear.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” she whispered. “You just a kid. Act like it.”

Then she pulled back. Calm. Cool. Collected. Got up. Grabbed her water bottle.

And walked out like she ain’t just shake my entire world with one touch and a sentence. I sat there frozen, bar half-eaten, ego bruised, thighs still tingling. But I kept my mouth shut. This time.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

It was late. Gym mostly cleared out except for me, some janitor pushing a mop, and Kahleah on the court stretching like she didn’t just run the whole team ragged. She had her headphones in, sweating under those low lights, and the music from her phone bled faintly through.

She looked good. Like too good. Sports bra clinging to her back, shorts hanging low on her hips, and that focus? Lethal. I was leaned against the wall, pretending to scroll, but my eyes weren’t moving from her. I don’t think they ever did when she was in the room.

She finally caught me. Pulled her headphones out, sweat glinting on her collarbone. “You good?”

I shrugged, slow. “You tell me.”

She let out a little breath, like a laugh, but it didn’t reach her lips. Then she walked toward me—calm, unbothered, like I wasn’t already standing at attention. She stopped right in front of me, bent down to fix her sneaker, and glanced up like she knew I’d been staring this whole time.

“You always watching,” she said, voice low, like a secret. “You gon’ keep frontin’, or you finally ready to admit what you want?”

I didn’t say shit. Just stared back at her, jaw locked but my eyes… man, they probably said too much. Because truth was? If she told me to get on my knees, I would’ve. No hesitation. Not out of weakness—out of worship.

She stood up slow, brushing the sweat off her neck with her towel. Real close now, like I could feel the heat off her skin.

“You’d do anything I told you to right now, wouldn’t you?”

I swallowed. Smirk gone. “If you asked,” I said, voice rough, “I’d do it.”

She leaned in, lips brushing close enough to make my chest hitch. Her breath hit my jaw, and just when I thought she was gonna kiss me, she tilted her head and whispered—

“Not yet.”

Then she was gone. Just walked out, towel slung over her shoulder like she ain’t just ruin my whole world in five seconds.

I stayed standing there. Breath caught. Hands shaking.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Next morning, I’m on a mission. Still buzzing off that gym moment. Not that she kissed me—but that she almost did. That’s worse somehow. She knew exactly what she was doing, walking off like she didn’t just get in my head and live there rent-free.

So I slide into the kitchen of the facility like i built it, jersey sleeves rolled, protein bar in one hand, eyes set on the only woman who ever made me shut the hell up without even raising her voice. She’s standing at the counter, arms folded, scrolling her phone like she ain’t the main character in my brain.

I drop down in the chair next to her, lean back real casual. “Wassup, baby,” I say, licking a crumb off my thumb just to be stupid. She side-eyes me. Not amused.

“You start every conversation like that,” she says, sipping her water. “But never finish ‘em.”

I grin. “That’s ’cause you never let me.”

She cuts her eyes at me. That slow, dangerous drag from my shoes to my mouth. Then she leans in, elbows on the table like we about to play poker with hearts. “You think this some game?”

I blink, smile falters for half a second. “You tell me.”

And she does. She stands up slow, walks around behind my chair, leans over until I can feel her voice press against my neck. Her breath is warm, but her tone? Icy smooth.

“You keep pushin’, baby girl,” she whispers, “and I’ma show you exactly why you not ready. You hear me?”

I swallow. Nod once.

She doesn’t stop. “I don’t care how cute you think you are. How many little one-liners you got tucked in that smart-ass mouth. You not grown just ‘cause you say you are.”

She grabs my chin—not gentle. Turns my face toward hers. “You wanna act bold? Back it the fuck up. Otherwise—” she lets go and walks away like nothing happened—“act your age.”

I sit there, still. Chest tight. Mouth open like I had a comeback but she snatched it from my lungs. I watch her leave.

Damn. She got me again. I’m not giving up. But she’s making me rethink the rules of the game.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

I had on a plain black tee, gray sweats sitting low on my hips, and beat-up Jordans that told the truth—I wasn’t tryna impress nobody. Locs pulled back into a bun, I looked regular. Not raggedy, just chill. Still, that didn’t stop the attention.

It was some open fan event for the Mercury. A couple vendors, some PR tables, and media drifting through like flies to honey. Players were mingling. Signing things. Smiling for photos. I was posted at the edge of the crowd, finishing the last bite of my acai bowl, when the first girl came up.

She was cute. Same age as me. Maybe a little older. She had the lashes, the nails, the high ponytail that swung when she walked. She leaned in like we knew each other. “Aren’t you—? You play for Phoenix, right?”

“Mmhm,” I mumbled around my spoon, giving a half-smile. Friendly enough. But I didn’t mean it.

Then her friend slid in, looping her arm around mine like we was besties. “Oh my God, you’re actually so fine in person. Like, wow.”

A third one laughed too loud. “You single? Or just mysterious?” I blinked once. Then twice. And didn’t say a damn thing.

Because across the event space—just past the media tent, between two folding tables and a crowd of distracted interns—stood Kahleah.

Hair laid. Edges sleek. Lips glossy. Skin deep and glowing like she soaked in the sun itself. Her fit was simple but sharp—tight long-sleeve, sleeves pushed to the elbow, black pants hugging all the right angles. She wasn’t even trying. And that’s what made it worse.

She looked calm. Tall. Quietly dangerous. And she was watching me.

She hadn’t moved. She hadn’t smiled. But those dark eyes were locked on mine, like she could see through the fake laugh I gave when one of the girls touched my arm. Like she knew damn well I hadn’t heard a single word they said.

I glanced back at the girl still hanging off me. She said something about going out after the event. I just nodded absently, licking the edge of my spoon, still looking right over her shoulder at Kahleah.

It wasn’t even a game. I wasn’t doing it to be cold or cool or mysterious. It was just that none of them were her.

They were pretty, sure. Bold. Flirty. But they didn’t make my chest tighten. They didn’t make me sit straighter. They didn’t carry that kind of weight.

Kahleah did. She raised one brow like she was asking, “You done yet?” Not with them. With the act.

I dropped my spoon into the empty bowl, handed it off to whoever was closest, and excused myself without looking back. No apology. No explanation.

I wasn’t rude. But I wasn’t interested either. Because when a woman like Kahleah’s watching you like that, it don’t matter how many girls say your name.

You already answered to hers.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

I made my way toward her like I had no other choice. Not rushed, not cocky—just quiet, locked in, my hands shoved into my hoodie pocket like they’d betray me if I let them out.

Kahleah didn’t say anything when I stopped in front of her. She just tilted her head, looking me up and down with that same unreadable expression.

“You busy?” I asked, voice low.

She scoffed, barely audible. “Now you wanna act right?”

“I always act right,for you” I muttered.

Kahleah folded her arms, long sleeves hugging her toned arms just tight enough for me to get distracted. “You looked real comfortable with all your lil’ friends back there.”

I smirked, leaning in. “I wasn’t even listening to them.”

“I know,” she said flat. “You were lookin’ at me.”

I paused. Swallowed. Then nodded once, real slow. “You’re hard not to look at.”

That earned me a shift in her jaw, like she was fighting a grin but wouldn’t give me the satisfaction.

“Girl, you still a baby.”

“You keep saying that.”

“‘Cause you keep proving me right,” she snapped, stepping closer. “Always starin’. Always followin’. Always talkin’ shit you not ready to back up.”

Her perfume hit me then—something clean and warm, like skin and sunshine and the backseat of a black truck after dark.

“I’m ready.” I said it soft, sure. I didn’t even blink.

Kahleah stepped in again, close enough to smell my lip gloss now. “You sure?” she murmured. “’Cause if I put my hands on you, you gon’ fold.”

Maybe I would. I didn’t say a word. Just looked up at her lips, heart somewhere in my throat.

She studied my face for too long, then came close—not to kiss me, not even to touch. Just close enough to press her mouth next to my ear and whisper:

“Not yet.”

Then she walked past me, hand grazing my arm like she didn’t even mean to. But she did.

And I stood there—chest tight, palms sweating, the whole damn world blurring around me.

Because I swore I would’ve dropped everything right there if she asked. And she knew it.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

The Phoenix Mercury locker room was buzzing—music low, team stretched out across couches and floor mats. I was lounged sideways on a bench, picking at trail mix, half-listening to two of the vets argue about some old mixtape battle. I was dressed down today: baggy sweats, tank top, and a fitted cap tugged low. Basic. But it worked for me.

Then Kahleah walked in.

I ain’t gotta describe her again. You already know. Tall, smooth, skin lit up like she swallowed the sun. Hair done, laid perfect, like she woke up late just to make people stare. And of course, everybody did. Even me. But I played it cool—eyes flicking up for half a second before dropping back down to my snack like she wasn’t already carved into the back of my skull.

She glanced around, clocked the open space next to me, and took the long way around to avoid it. Petty. I smirked and kicked my legs out across the bench. “You scared to sit by me now?”

She paused. Just for a beat. Then raised an eyebrow.

“If you really bout that,” she said, real calm, real slow, “come sit between my legs then.”

Everything went quiet in my head.

And before I could cover it, my body betrayed me—a small shift, a twitch like I was gonna move. She noticed. Of course she noticed. That mouth tilted into a smirk that wasn’t really a smile.

“Mmhm,” she said. “Exactly.”

I let out a little laugh and shook my head, scoffing like girl, please, but the heat behind my ears was giving me away. I stayed right where I was. Not frozen—just…calculating.

“You just love makin’ people sweat,” I muttered.

She leaned down slightly, looking me dead in the eyes. “Only the ones who talk too much.” And then she walked off.

The rest of the day, I was thrown. Couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t focus in the gym. I kept messing with my water bottle, stretching when I didn’t need to stretch, tying and untying my laces. And it didn’t help that the whole damn team had picked up on the vibe.

“She really got you in a chokehold,” Sophie teased, throwing a towel at me after practice. I grinned, biting my lip. “What if I like it there?”

A couple of the girls howled, one clutched her chest like I broke her heart. But Kahleah? She was posted in the corner, shooting free throws, acting like I ain’t exist. Until the teasing kept going.

“You always on somebody. She flirt with everybody like that?” one rookie laughed. That made Kahleah stop. Turn.

“She don’t,” she said—flat, unreadable.

Everyone got quiet again. I just stood there like a deer in headlights, mouth parted, caught mid-sip of Gatorade. And she walked straight over. Slow. Steps sharp.

“You flirt with everybody like that?” she asked me, one brow raised.

I opened my mouth, but she cut me off with a whisper only I could hear.

“Or just the ones you want to fuck you?”

I choked on my drink. Caught myself. Tried to play it off with a cough. She didn’t laugh. Didn’t blink. Just gave me a long, knowing look. Then turned and left again. Always leaving.

Later that week, during a post-practice cooldown, I cracked some dumb joke—something about me being the team’s morale booster—and she laughed. Like really laughed. The sound was warm and sudden, and a few girls looked over like they’d never even heard her laugh before.

I took that win, started walking past, but then—Her hand caught my wrist.

“Keep playin’ with me,” she said, low and sharp. “You gon’ end up somewhere you not ready for.”

I stopped cold. Looked back. She didn’t smile this time. Just let my wrist go and walked off again, leaving heat blooming under my skin.

That’s when I knew she had me. She’d had me. I was just cocky enough to think I had a chance, and just soft enough inside to know I’d crumble the second she snapped her fingers.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

I don’t know what it was today. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was that red hair she had slicked into a low bun like she knew what it did to me. Maybe it was the fitted tee that hugged her back just right, or the gold chain around her neck catching every inch of light like it belonged there. Like she belonged on a damn pedestal. Either way—whatever it was—I couldn’t fake it today.

We were out with the team, walking through the open-air plaza after some community event. I’d been good. I’d been so good. Just talking shit, keeping my space, doing my little rookie smile. But then a few girls my age slid up, trying to flirt, fake-laughing at shit I didn’t even say. One touched my wrist and I didn’t even blink. My eyes were locked on Kahleah across the way, biting into some fruit cup like sin had a face.

“Damn, you ignoring me already?” one of the girls said with a pout. I didn’t even answer.

Kahleah turned slightly, just enough to catch me staring. Her eyes narrowed, slow and knowing, like she could already hear what was about to leave my mouth. That was all it took. My chest felt hot. My throat dry. And the next second, I was walking. Not thinking. Just moving. Fast.

She looked surprised when I stepped in front of her, but not shocked. Not Kahleah. She just stood there, looking down at me like she’d already won whatever game I thought I was playing.

“What?” she asked, brows lifted, voice low.

I didn’t sit. I didn’t smile. I didn’t pretend. I looked up at her with the softest, rawest, realest face I’d ever worn and said, “Baby, please.”

Her tongue ran over her teeth.

“Please what?” she asked.

I shook my head. “You win. You been won. I’m tired of pretending like I’m not ready to do anything you ask. Just show me something. Please.”

She raised a brow. “Ain’t even sit down yet and you begging?”

“I can kneel if that helps.”

Her face twitched—barely. Just a hint of a grin, some smug curl in the corner of her mouth. Her fingers flexed against the drink in her hand. She was thinking. Dangerous thoughts. The kind that turned heat into fire.

“You sure you ready for me?” she asked, stepping in close, voice in my ear now.

“No,” I breathed. “But I want it anyway.”

And that’s when she chuckled—deep, slow, mean. Like she knew. Like she’d been waiting for this moment since the first time I called her baby with no business doing so.

“Good,” she whispered, pulling back with that look. “Then act like it.”

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

She didn’t touch me. Not yet. She just stepped back, slow, like a warning. Like she wanted to see if I’d really follow. I did. I followed her like a dog on a leash made of pure lust and pride I was too far gone to care about. Kahleah didn’t say a word as she led me through the side door of the venue and into the hallway—cool, dim, empty except for the sound of our sneakers and the wild heartbeat thudding in my ears.

She stopped near a supply closet. Leaned against the wall. Looked me over.

“You shaking.”

I wasn’t. I didn’t think I was. But maybe I was breathing too fast. Maybe my hands were trembling, just a little, like they knew what I wanted before my body could admit it.

She tilted her head, slow. “You really gon’ let me teach you somethin’ tonight?”

I nodded, too fast. She clicked her tongue, stepped forward, and grabbed my face with one hand—firm. Her thumb dragged over my bottom lip. Her eyes? Heavy. Studying me like I was her favorite sin.

“Say it.”

“I want you,” I whispered. “I want you to make me shut up for once.”

That smirk. That dangerous, deep, grown woman smirk that said I’d asked for it.

“You don’t even know what you want.”

“I want you,” I said again, chest rising. “Every version. The soft one. The mean one. The one that makes me cry ‘cause she knows I’ll still beg for more.”

That did it. She kissed me—finally. And not soft.

Teeth. Tongue. Hunger. She kissed me like she was claiming something. Like she’d waited long enough and was ready to collect. My back hit the wall. My head spun. I moaned into her mouth and she ate that sound up, pressing her body against mine, her knee slipping between my legs like she already knew every spot that made me weak.

“You still think you grown?” she murmured against my jaw, licking up to my ear.

“N-no—fuck. No, baby. You got it. You got me.”

“Damn right I do.”

Her hand slipped under my shirt, up my spine. I arched into it like a prayer, like a promise, already gone.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

I swear to God, I could taste her already. Her breath against my ear, that hand still dragging slow under my shirt like she was memorizing me fingertip by fingertip, and I almost dropped right there. My knees? Jelly. My brain? Gone. I was clinging to her like I was about to pass out and she was the only thing tethering me to the planet.

She leaned in closer, lips brushing mine again but not kissing me this time. Just breathing the same air, letting it sit heavy between us. “You wanna faint, huh?” she whispered, low and smug. “That desperate for me already?”

I nodded. Couldn’t even pretend to be cool anymore. My voice was hoarse, wrecked. “Yes, baby… please. I need you. Like right now.”

She laughed, soft and mean, and grabbed my chin again. “Look at you,” she murmured. “Acting like you ain’t just beggin’ to be told what to do.”

“I am,” I breathed. “Tell me, I’ll do it. Anything. I swear.”

“Mhm.” Her thumb dragged slow over my bottom lip, then tapped it twice like she was thinking. “Then be a good girl… and wait.”

I froze. “Wait?”

Her mouth brushed mine again—just a breath, no pressure. “Yeah,” she purred. “We in public. You think I’m finna show out for a bunch of strangers when I can ruin you in private?” She looked me dead in the eye. “You want me that bad? You sit with that feeling. You let it build. And if you’re real good… real good… I’ll give you a taste. Maybe.”

And then she stepped back. Just like that. Left me there. Shaking. Throbbing. Gripping the wall like I’d just run ten miles and saw God at the finish line.

I watched her walk away, slow and smug, like she didn’t just bring me to my knees with words.

My hands trembled. My jaw clenched. But I waited. Because if waiting meant I got her? I’d sit in that heat all day.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

It’s been hours.

I’ve showered. Twice. I’ve watched two movies, laid out on my stomach in nothing but a towel, legs kicking behind me like I wasn’t going through hell, and she still ain’t show. Not a text. Not a call. Just that smirk she gave me earlier like, you’ll wait, won’t you baby?

I did. I am. But barely.

I paced. I sat. I read the same page of a book five times and still couldn’t tell you what it was about. My phone buzzed once—it wasn’t her. I almost threw it across the room.

And then I heard it.

I didn’t move, but my body snapped to attention. Eyes on the door. Breathing slow. Still draped in my towel, skin soft and still warm from my shower, lotion barely soaked in.

She walked in like she lived here. Calm. Bag slung over her shoulder, locs up, skin glowing, lips shiny like she’d been out somewhere good. Her eyes flicked to me and she paused. One brow raised.

“You still waitin’, huh?”

I just stared. Didn’t blink. Didn’t say a word.

Her mouth twitched into that dangerous little grin as she set her stuff down, slow and deliberate. “You ain’t touch yourself, did you?” I shook my head.

“Good.” She stepped closer. One step. Then another. Like she was checking the temperature, easing her way in. “You know I’m not here to reward disobedience.”

“I’ve been good,” I whispered. “So good. Please.”

She stopped in front of me. Ran a hand up my thigh, over the towel. “Mhm. You smell clean,” she murmured. “Soft too. You read your little book?”

I nodded. “Tried.”

Her grin widened. “Music?”

“‘Say Yes’ came on.”

She laughed. Low and deep and mean. “Oh baby. That’s cruel.”

“You did this,” I mumbled, jaw tight. “You made me wait.”

“And you did.” She leaned in, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Now let’s see if it was worth it.”

And baby—she ain’t even touched me yet. But I was already trembling.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

She doesn’t kiss me. Not at first.

She makes me stand. Taking my clothes off herself, slow like she’s unwrapping a gift. Looks at me like I’m something delicate and sinful all at once, but her grip on my waist says she owns it. Owns me.

“Hands behind your back.”

I do it. No hesitation. Bare, breathing hard, skin buzzing from nothing but her voice. She walks around me like she’s inspecting her work. Like she’s not just about to fuck me—she’s about to teach me.

“You talk a lot of shit,” she says, fingertips grazing the back of my thigh, “but when I tell you to wait, you wait. When I say no, it’s no. And when I finally let you have it…” She moves closer, pressing her mouth to my neck, just under my ear. “You say thank you, baby.”

I nod, lips parted, body arching toward her even though she hasn’t told me to move.

“You really think you’re grown, huh?”

“Yes—yes ma’am.”

“Mmm.” Her nails trail down my stomach. “Don’t ‘ma’am’ me now. You wasn’t that polite when you were smirkin’ in my face and tryna act bold.”

I won’t lie. She hasn’t even touched me right and I’m losing it. She grabs my chin, forces me to look at her. “Get on the bed. Hands on the headboard. Don’t you dare move them.”

I obey so fast it’s embarrassing. Kahleah stands at the edge of the bed, arms crossed, letting me squirm. Her eyes are hungry, patient, cruel in the way only a grown woman can be.

“Now,” she says, pulling her shirt off slow, revealing skin like bronze under honey-light, locs brushing her back, lips parted just slightly. “You want me?”

I breathe, “Yes—please—”

“Then take it.” She crawls up the bed like a storm about to hit. “But only what I give you.”

She’s on top of me but not giving me anything. Just a smile. That same one from practice, from the gym, from every time she caught me staring and said, “Eyes up here, youngin.”

Now?

My eyes are up, wide, pleading. My thighs shaking and I haven’t even been touched right yet. My back’s arched, head pressed into the pillow, fists gripping the headboard so tight my knuckles burn. But I don’t let go. I don’t move. She said don’t move, so I don’t.

Because I want her that bad.

“You look like you might cry,” she whispers, tracing a finger down the center of my chest. Her nail drags light. “All that mouth. Now you quiet, huh?”

I can barely breathe. I nod. Bite my lip so I don’t moan just from that. From nothing.

“Kahleah, please…”

“Please what?” She’s so calm. Like this isn’t torture. Like she doesn’t see me aching. She brushes her lips near mine, never touching, and I almost flinch forward—but I catch myself. She sees it. Smirks wider.

“You gon’ behave? You gon’ be a good girl?”

“I—I been good,” I stammer, eyes fluttering. “I waited. I listened. I didn’t even—fuck, I need you.”

She hums. Her hand comes to my jaw, turns me slow, tilts my head like she’s studying something rare. “Say it.”

“I need you. I need you so bad I can’t—” I suck in a breath as she presses her body against mine, full length, skin to skin. “I can’t think when you look at me like that.”

“Good,” she murmurs. “You’re not supposed to.”

Then she kisses me. Deep. Rough. Her tongue in my mouth, her thigh sliding between mine, her hand in my hair—finally taking. And it hits me like a wave: I’d do anything. Anything to keep her here. Anything to stay under her hands. Anything to make her proud.

She’s not even touching me now. Just standing there. Watching. That slow drag of her eyes down my back got me hotter than the damn desert. My thighs are trembling. My breath? Gone. Like she snatched it right out my lungs the second she stepped back in the room.

I waited. I showered. I stretched. I paced the damn floor like a dog in heat and she—she—walked in like she ain’t left me aching for hours. Red hair tied up. Nails done. Lip gloss poppin’. Sports bra on. Loose sweats sittin’ just low enough to be disrespectful.

I reach for her and she grabs my wrist mid-air.

“Did I say you could touch me?”

I freeze. Swallow. Nod. Wrong move.

She pulls me forward by the wrist, spins me, pushes me right back against the mirror.

“You don’t run nothin’ here,” she whispers, breath hot against my ear. “Not tonight. You asked for grown? I’m giving you grown. So stay. Still.”

And I do.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Chest to glass, knees weak, arms braced against the mirror like I’m about to confess my sins to it. Her hand travels down my spine—slow, dragging, claiming me like she owns every inch.

“You waited,” she says. Her voice almost sweet now. Mocking. “I like that. You learning.”

I whisper, “I’ll learn anything you want, just—please.”

Her hand slips between my legs, and I cry out.

“Damn,” she murmurs. “So wet for me and I ain’t even touched you right.”

“Kahleah…” She grabs my chin from behind, forces me to look at myself in the mirror.

“Look at you. That’s what I do to you. That’s why you not out there with them other girls.”

And she’s right. I couldn’t even fake it. Couldn’t look at anybody but her. Couldn’t want anybody else. She got me locked in, strung out on her voice, her body, the control in her hands.

When she finally slides two fingers in—deep, slow. Finally sinking her fingers into me making sure it was slow and pleasurable as it could be.

Staring to kiss and lick right up to the top of her inner thighs teasing her now very wet pussy with gentle kisses.

“You better not fall.”

I hold on to her arm. Breathe through the ache.

“You gonna come for me, already baby?”

“Please. Just—don’t stop.”

She curls her fingers again, harder, and my whole body bows.

“You ask me. Don’t tell me.” I whine making her pause.

“Ask me, and maybe”

I meet her eyes in the mirror. Red hair messy now. Sweat glistening. Her lips parted like she wanna taste me for real.

And I whisper like it’s holy, “Please. Please, Kahleah. I need- please.”

She kisses my shoulder. Smirks against my skin.

“…no”

I whimper. Genuinely. My legs are clenched so tight I could break steel. My hands curl into the damn sheets.

She leans in close, lips brushing my jaw but never kissing it. “You wanted this. Right?”

“Yes.”

She backs away completely.

And that? That almost broke me. I turn fast, eyes wide, “You can’t be serious—”

“I am serious,” she cuts me off. “You think I waited all day just to give you what you want? Nah, baby. You gon’ learn patience.”

“Kahleah, please—”

“You not even begging right. You still loud, still bratty. Still think just ‘cause you fine and wet and moaning my name, I’ma fold.”

I’m frozen in place. Burning. Trembling. She tilts her head, looking amused. “You wanna come?”

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure—”

“Then wait.”

She walks out. Just like that. Leaves me on the edge, soaked, aching, legs shaking. The door shuts behind her like judgment. I bury my face into the pillow. Whimper. And I wait. Just like she said.

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desideriumwriter · 2 years ago

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Blindsided | G.W.

Summary: As the Gryffindor Quidditch team celebrates their win on the field, Malfoy begins to openly throw insults in front of George and Fred towards them, their parents, Harry, and you. George isn’t able to ignore and shrug off his mockery. It only ends in a shocking altercation between the Redheaded Gryffindor and sneering Slytherin.

Pairing: George Weasley x Fem!Reader

Category: hurt/comfort, fluff

WC: 2.9k

CWs: physical fighting, depictions of violence/fighting, blood, yelling, injuries

A/N: this fic is based off that one part in OOTP (chapter eleven), i’m still so upset they didn’t include it in the movie </3

The Gryffindor section of the stadium roared with applause and hollered once Harry caught the Golden Snitch, getting the team 30 points ahead of Slytherin, causing Gryffindor to win and finally end the game.

Harry flew to the middle of the stadium, flying high up, smiling as he held up the snitch in his hand with two fingers wrapped tightly around it, presenting it to the entire stadium. He flew down and landed carefully on the field, Fred and George went down after him, then the rest of the Gryffindor team did as well.

Fred and George abandoned their brooms and ran over to Harry, Fred was giving him aggressive pats on the back while George ruffled his hair as they praised him. You grinned at their brotherly behavior towards Harry. The proud athletes began to grin and cheer loudly while punching their fists in the air in victory, hugging each other tightly, giving each other high-fives and handshakes all in celebration.

But of course, Draco landed by, ready to ruin this happy moment, and started to sneer about something towards the Gryffindor team, it seemed that Harry was the only one to notice, he turned around to look at Draco, then turned back towards his team when he stopped talking, he was trying his best to ignore him and not bark back at the Slytherin boy.

You smiled and applauded along with everyone else, you decided to leave your spot and excitedly walk down the stairs to go and congratulate Harry and the rest of the team on the field, also because you mostly wanted to see George. You were too impatient and too excited to wait an hour or so because George had to clean up.

You completely forgot that Draco was spitting something at the other team and constantly pointing at Harry, George, and Fred.

While Fred was squeezing Harry's shoulder and George was in the midst of a handshake with Harry, you watched the twins' heads snap up at Draco and their bodies stiffen, the big grins they previously had on their faces disappeared immediately. Yours did as well.

At this point you were running onto the field because you knew something was off, something was about to happen, and whatever it was going to be, it definitely won't be good.

You got there in time to hear most of what Draco was mocking about.

"We wanted to write another couple of verses!" Malfoy called out towards them, “But we couldn't find rhymes for fat and ugly and we wanted to sing about his mother, but we couldn't fit in useless loser either for his father!” He laughed, you looked at George, a scowl covered his face which was red with anger, there was practically steam coming out his ears. You grabbed onto his hand, squeezing it, to try and get his attention.

George looked down at you, his face softened slightly at the sight of you, but it was still covered with rage, you shook your head slowly at him, mouthing ‘no’, as an attempt to get him to calm down, knowing he was seconds away from doing something stupid, he sighed and looked back at Malfoy.

“Oh! I see your little girlfriend has come to your defense, hasn’t she Georgie?” Malfoy mocked, George’s fists balled up, hands shaking, his fingers were squeezed tightly around yours to the point where it was uncomfortable, yet you still kept your hand in his.

"You like the Weasley's, don't you, Harry? Especially you too, Y/L/N. You spend the holidays there and everything, I see you take any advantage you could get to be around George. You definitely have a liking for him, huh?” It seemed Malfoy had forgotten about Harry at this point, his attention drifted from Harry to you, you were now his target.

“In my opinion, I can't see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you've been raised in a dirty-blooded household even the Weasley's hovel smells okay." Malfoy smirked.

You turned around to figure out where Fred went, only to see a panicked Angelina trying to calm down him as well.

"Leave it, Fred, let him yell, he's just a sore loser.” Angelina stood in front of him, placing her hands flat gently on his chest. Alicia and Katie eventually joined in on trying to hold him back and calm him down too.

Harry stood on the other side of George, grabbing his upper arm, muttering to George that Malfoy was just trying to rile him up, attempting to get him to walk away as he looked around for Hooch, who was still lecturing Crabbe about his illegal Bludger attack. George didn’t budge.

"Or perhaps," Malfoy continued, leering as he slowly walked towards you, getting more in your face with every step, "it makes you think about your dirty muggle life, Weasley's pigsty reminds you of it, doesn’t it, you filthy mudblood?" He let out a small laugh and then walked away. Those last few words were all it took for George to snap. Fred and Harry as well. However, Fred was stuck, still being held back by the others.

It only was a few seconds before you felt George's hand slip from your grip, you saw him and Harry sprint towards Malfoy.

All of it, everything happened so quickly.

Harry shoved Malfoy back around, he held back his fist that was still holding the Snitch, then sunk his fist into Malfoys stomach, he nearly fell over from the force of the hit as he groaned and held his stomach in pain. But, they weren’t done there. Malfoy attempted to stand up straight and throw his fist at Harry, only to be headbutted and slammed on the ground by George.

Once they were both on the ground, Harry stood on one of his arms while George hovered over him, delivering strong blows to Malfoys face and bellowing out in rage. Repeatedly punching him left and right, letting out all his fury into Malfoy's face.

You gasped and covered your mouth with two hands in shock, you were frozen. You didn’t know what to do or how to stop him, if you could even be able to stop him. It was scary, George was scary. This was a whole new side of him you’ve never seen before.

“Fuck you, Malfoy! Don’t you ever talk about my family! Don’t you ever fucking call Y/N that! Stupid piece of shit!” George screamed at him as he continued to beat him. You couldn’t hear everything he said due to his screaming eventually blending in with the crowds, several voices pleading for him to stop, some were encouraging the altercation.

“Harry! Get him off!” “Stay back, Fred!” “I’ve been waiting for this to happen!” “Get a picture of this Colin!” “Why’s nobody helping him?” “Do something!” “Fight! Fight! Fight!” “Why isn’t she doing anything?” “He’s gonna kill him!” “Someone get Madam Hooch!”

Voices screamed and overlapped from all around the stadium.

Kids were leaning over the wooden rails, standing on their seats, some were even using the binoculars they brought to get a closer look at the altercation.

George only paused for a second to warn Malfoy. He grabbed him by the collar, partially lifting him up from the grass.

“If you ever, ever say anything like that about my family or my friends again. I will leave you with more than a broken nose. Do you understand?” George had the look of a madman covering his face, Malfoy only nodded and whined. Yet, George let go and let him fall back on the ground, and went back to delivering hits.

There was so much noise. The crowd screaming, Fred screaming to be let go of, the girls trying to quieten him down, the repeated sound of bone hitting bone, George continuing to swear, Malfoy crying out in pain, the impact of the punches.

A whistle blew, but George didn’t care, he ignored the strong, high pitched sound, his hearing was only focused on the sound of the impact from his fists swinging into Malfoy's face instead.

“Impedimenta!” A woman's voice hollered. George, along with Harry, was knocked over backward, the force of the spell flinging them away from Malfoy, who was curled up on the grass, clutching his stomach, groaning and whimpering with blood from his nose covering the bottom center half of his face and staining his Quidditch uniform.

George hit the ground right next to you, only sporting a small nosebleed with a swollen and split open lip, he attempted to leap back up on his feet, but you grabbed onto him to keep him down, you noticed that Fred was still being restrained by the others, eventually giving up on trying to launch at Malfoy, knowing the fight was over and there was no chance he’d be able to get to him without getting launched back too.

"What on Earth do you think you're doing?" screamed Madam Hooch as she walked closer, stopping once she was standing next to Malfoy.

"I have never seen behavior like this! Both of you, back up to the castle and straight to your Head of House's office! You too Frederick Weasley! Go! Now!” Hooch pointed and drifted her finger between each of the three boys. Harry began to storm out, George getting up exhaustedly, still taking heavy breaths while walking off. He didn’t say a word as he passed by you, only making eye contact for a second.

You weren’t able to read what the exact look on his face was, it was a mixture of anger, sadness, and maybe even some disappointment.

“The rest of you, return to your common rooms right this moment!” The crowd filled with groans and whispers as they began to exit out the stadium.

You sat on the sofa in the common room, the book you were trying to read sitting open and abandoned next to you. You had one leg perched up, your chin sat on your knee, as you watched the flames dance in the fireplace. Fred, George, and Harry stormed in the room, they were all stripped from their Quidditch uniforms and had large scowls on their faces.

You weren’t even able to get a word out before they had all gone up to their dorm.

You sighed to yourself, laying down on the sofa, watching and listening to the fire crackle and glow. You couldn’t stop thinking of what happened earlier, it was taking over your mind.

You’ve never seen George so serious, so angry, so full of rage.

You felt guilty, maybe even a little gross, because a part of you liked watching it go down. Seeing that side of George was scary, but you liked it.

Of course you liked seeing Draco get what he finally deserves. But, you liked seeing George during it. You liked how concentrated he was, how he screamed and swore at him, you liked seeing his strength being put to use for something other than Quidditch, you liked how you got to see him let his anger out, you liked how he defended the people he cared about.

The weight of exhaustion had finally hit you, the events of today had worn you out completely. You soon fell asleep on the sofa after accepting the fact that you enjoyed watching George during the altercation, that you enjoyed it maybe a bit too much.

Your eyes fluttered and slowly rose open, you inhaled while taking a look at your surroundings, you couldn’t have been asleep for too long, as it was still night, the common room was quiet, but one thing had changed. George was sitting on one of the chairs across from you.

“Hi.” He gave you a weak and forced smile, the cut on his lip was scabbed up now.

“Hey. Um, how are you doing?” You propped yourself up on your elbow.

“Um….” His leg repeatedly bounced up and down quickly, he bit his cheek, his eyes wandered around the room, he was planning on what he was about to say next.

He took a large breath in through his nose.

“Umbridge permanently banned us from the Quidditch team.” He ignored answering your question, going straight to the bad news. Maybe his response could be his answer though, it’s obvious with an aftermath like that, he wasn’t doing good.

“What?” You exclaimed, launching yourself up and completely out of your seat.

“We’re banned from the team, we’re banned from the game. We can’t play. At all.” George shook his head with a frown on his face.

“Are you serious? But- What about Malfoy?” You paced around, it was weird talking to him in such a serious and gloomy manner.

“Nothing happened to him. Except…you know?” George gave an awkwardly tight lipped smile as he brought his bruised hands up, flipping each side to you.

“Yeah, but…shit.” You sighed, flopping back on the sofa, disappointed about the outcome of what happened to all of them. George only let out a hum of agreement.

“Fred’s taking it worse than I am. I think he’s still upset he didn’t get to join in on the beating.” He attempted to joke, you let out a small laugh, then you bit your cheek and looked at his hands, his knuckles were covered in shades of red and purple, small scabs on the tip of some. George caught on and noticed your staring.

“Oh Godric, I didn’t mean to scare you. You’re not scared of me, right? Please don’t tell me you are.” His voice filled with panic, he must’ve thought you were scared he was going to be seen as an impulsive and violent person by you.

“I’m not scared, I’m…worried. I guess I'm just still thinking about everything.” You gave a forced smile as you reassured him.

“Oh, okay.” He breathed out as he looked down at his hands, fidgeting with his fingers.

“Are your hands okay? Are they broken? Did you see Madam Pompfrey for it?”

“I didn’t want to bother her this late, she’s already taking care of Malfoy so. But, yeah they’re fine. They should be.” He shrugged.

“Alright. Well, are you okay?” You tried your best to get a look at his face.

“I think I should be the one asking you that.” He let out a weak laugh, you did the same. You soon noticed that you hadn’t thought one bit about what Malfoy said when he was ridiculing you. The intensity of the fight overtook your thoughts.

After that, it was silent. Neither of you knew what to say next, you were both going over all the things Draco had said to you before George had him on the ground in your heads.

“You didn’t deserve that, for him to say all those things about you.” He moved from his spot in the chair to next to you on the sofa, crouched over, his elbows on his knees with his fists stuck together clumsily.

“Your family didn’t deserve to be talked about like that either.” You added in, trying to push the focus on them and not you.

“Of course, I should’ve scrapped him once he mentioned my mum. At least she wasn’t there to hear him say all that rubbish.” He scoffed, “It’s not fair that you were however…I just don’t want you to be his next target because of me.” He whispered the last part, your heart broke at it. He thought those insults towards you were his fault?

You opened your mouth, trying to think of something to say in response. You couldn’t think of anything. A million thoughts were going through your head yet you were still speechless.

“‘Cause, I care for you. You know? I really do.” He added, his voice filled with sweetness and gloom.

“I do too, George. You mean a lot to me.” You unclenched his fists from each other, taking one of his hands and intertwining your fingers with his.

“Really? I do?” He sat up and looked at you, there was genuine surprise on his face.

“Of course, you absolutely do.” You smiled with your eyebrows raised. Was he really questioning how much he meant to you? Does he not know how much you care for him?

There was another silence, but this time it wasn’t sad or awkward or embarrassing or guilt ridden, it was something else. A much stronger feeling. A tension. A positive tension.

You only looked at each other, admiring each other's features, you took in every freckle scattered around his face, his dark umber colored eyes, his smooth skin, his long red eyelashes, his soft lips.

Then something inside you snapped, but not like how George snapped earlier on the field. You leaned in, pressing your lips to his, you felt him push into the kiss. His hands gently cupping around your face. It felt as if both of your lips were magnets, pulling into each other.

You pulled away to catch your breath. George stared at you, face covered in shock and passion. You weren’t able to form a sentence, he took all the words out of your mouth once he connected his to yours.

“I was hoping you would do that.” Was all he said as he grinned and you giggled, blushing and attempting to turn your head away only for it to be pulled back by George's hands holding your face and pulling you back in for more.

tell me what you thought! <3

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley x fem!reader #george weasley fanfic #george weasley fic #weasley twins #weasley twins fic #george weasley smut #george weasley fluff #george weasley angst #hogwarts #wizarding world #the order of the phoenix #harry potter and the order of the phoenix #ootp

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