#(if you're reading this and following me you had better be 18+)
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nottivagos · 2 days ago
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Just read your last stalker! Carlos post and oh my days 😻 anyway just some more headcannons or drabbles for him pls 🙏 also I absolutely love your work!!
Welcome Notti's "Not So Innocent" Notebook where I write some filth to make your Wednesday a little bit better <3 || 18+ mdni pls and ty
an: oh nonnie... you're in for a treat with these headcanons... these are more into carlos's psyche or atleast, my interpretation of it. <3
taglist: @orangeblossomsintheair - thank u von for brainstorming these with me :)
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Stalker!Carlos - "The Golden Son"
Carlos has always gotten what he wanted when he wanted it. Basically spoon fed privileges and demands all his life by his parents, so when it comes to having you all to himself it's the same. If he wants you, he'll get you. No questions asked.
So when he eventually kidnap you and you ultimately fall for him, he obviously sees it as an opportunity to introduce you to his parents! This is a great opportunity for you to meet your forever family, right? Carlos did cut you off from your parents, it was an action of care you didn't need them when you had him. He only wanted you to be happy in this "forever ever after" he'd created. You may as well make his parents your mama and papa too, right?
Wrong! You're ecstatic, you can't wait to tell them what their son has done and get him arrested once and for all. The only problem.. Getting Carlos distracted so he's not glued to you. He knew something was up from the way your eyes lit up as you basically bolted for his parent's door. Poor bunny, so beautifully scared, running to anyone for help.
However, this all backfires when they exclaimed to you about how "privileged you are to be the girlfriend of their wonderful son". You try to reason with them to which Carlos’s eyes darken angrily in response to you nearly being a blabbermouth on your situation. When you catch eyes with him, your skin becomes pale with fear and your eyes widen in shock of their ignorance. And he just replies with a smile, wrapping a large arm around your waist before pressing a loving kiss against your temple.
How I imagine the conversation to go down afterwards when you're both in your shared bedroom for the evening:
"you puta! how dare you try and open your mouth." he hissed in your face, before slapping it with such might, expression contorted into rage. "me and you were meant to be together," he sounds so confident, so sure that you're meant to be with him. it confuses you. you love him, of course you do, your life is great! but this isn't Carlos. this is some monster, a wolf growling at your bunny as it bares its sharp molars at you, getting ready for the kill. "you're happy, aren't you?" harsh interrogatives follow as you become a trembling mess, confused by his sudden change in attitude, the sheer fright in your expression at his explosive anger. he comes to grab your jaw, silencing you as you go to speak, to plead, anything. he's offended that you have the nerve to challenge him in any way, "not another word." he warns, voice low as his nails sink into your flesh, the piercing sensation and grip of you nearly turning you to tears. "if you ruin this for us, then i'll ruin you." the comment is bold as he whispers it with such malice, such cruelty in his actions, hot breath fanning against your plush lips, as he shoves you away with an irritated huff. (should i make this an actual fic)
Stalker!Carlos - Romantic Delusions
I feel like the whole "kidnapping" ordeal for Carlos was a downward spiral into some form of psychopathy.
It started tame. These things always do. You were new to the neighbourhood and Carlos was smitten. Ever heard of the red string theory? He took that theory of being soulmates and being "destined for each other" and put the whole theory on steroids. He's built up this messed up romantic delusion in his head that as soon as you're kidnapped and in his care forever that you'll instantly fall for him.
Well. When that doesn't happen he's confused. You'd crossed paths all the time before this "new life". He purposefully switches the mail in your mailbox JUST so you'll have to speak to him. He purposefully cuts the flowers in your flowerbeds so HE can knock on your door and give you more, JUST to see that gentle face light up at the shrubs he's gifted you.
The confusion makes him angry. Maybe that's why he's so aggressive with you when you try to escape in your early days of being "his girlfriend". Maybe that's why he has to drug you senseless so you follow his every word. Maybe that's why he's a hopelessly romantic freak. He's so deluded that he's built this haven away from civilisation so he can live in his dreams. In your dreams. Together, and forever always.
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like stalker!carlos? fancy sending me an ask in my inbox so that you can be included in my notebook! - notti <3
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captain-hawks · 12 days ago
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okay okay quick little tiny micro pwp writing sprint because writer's block can kick roooooooocks.
send me a character + kink
(someone pls yell at me if these are more than a few paragraphs long)
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mickyschumacher · 5 months ago
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[MORNING CARDIO!]
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𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: after a long awaited summer break, you were expecting to have a good sleep in with carlos, but his plans for you are slightly different. or in which you convince carlos' to turn his morning cardio into something a little more fun.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ (minor dni), unprotected sex (if you're gonna slip, slop, slap, you must wrap your willy!), few untranslated spanish words, p in v, teasing, oral sex, kinda fluffy, poor humour, breastplay, dryhumping (bc i am nothing without this), fingering, cumming inside, bit of overstimulation for the reader, i love you's.
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: bf!carlos sainz x fem!reader
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2k+
𝐀/𝐍: while this wasn't what i initially was working on, i've momentarily gotten some free time amongst the chaos, you deserve some work, and carlos has been looking pretty delectable 🤭 // poorly proof-read sorry ♡︎
𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
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You weren't a fan of working out. Never had been and was never going to be.
It wasn't that you didn't see the point of it. You were well versed in the science: it was good for you. It helped your body, soothed you mentally, and overall, kept you in a pretty good mood if you kept the right balance.
Your problem lied within the methods.
Take your dear boyfriend, for example.
Carlos loved working out. You weren't sure whether it was because he was an F1 driver or whether it was just Carlos himself. But he spent almost every living moment off the tracks with some form of physical activity.
You had memorised his routine quite well: a lengthy morning run, training with his personal trainer, his beloved choices of golf or paddle, followed by the occasional swimming or God forbid, another run.
Carlos tried to get you 'hooked' on to it all, claiming it's better to workout with someone as opposed being by yourself. But his efforts were to no avail.
You had important things to do... like catching up on your beauty sleep.
"Mi amor," The rasp of Carlos' voice lingered through the early morning air, cold hands trailing over your back. He pressed his lips at the silent response, watching you not a budge even a centimetre in your sleep.
A sigh escaped his mouth as he pressed his knees onto the edge of your bed, bending down to push your hair behind your ears. "Cariño," He called softly, making you hum in response.
"Carlos," you mumbled with sleep heavy in your voice. "You better not ask–"
"Come on a run with me," Carlos pleaded.
You forced an eye open, wincing at the immediate white light surrounding you. Blinking rapidly, you honed in on the Spaniard who was already dressed for his venture, batting his brown puppy eyes towards you.
"Handsome, you know I love you very much," you cooed, pressing your head further into the warmth of your pillow, "But I'd rather watch Lewis go to Ferrari."
An abrupt slice of cold air trickled past your bare skin and thin clothes. You yelped, covering your body, immediately missing the comforting heat of your duvet. "Carlos!" You scolded, much more awake now.
Carlos gave you a sickly sweet smile. "Say unwarranted things, get unwarranted things," He shrugged nonchalantly before grabbing your ankle to drag you off the mattress.
"No, no, no, no," you groaned, squirming in his grip. Pouting your lips, you quickly reached over to grab Carlos' hand. "Please," you whined.
"My sweet girl," Carlos started, "I just want you to join me. I promise you it'll be good. It's fun morning cardio!"
You grimaced at the chirpy tone he had taken on. 'Fun morning cardio'... how insufferable.
Feeling Carlos loosen his grip, you yanked your ankle back and got on your knees, sinking down on the soft mattress. "Carlos," You murmured, hands travelling up his arms as you leaned in.
Carlos narrowed his eyes, quickly knowing you were up to something with that sweet tone of yours.
"Baby, name the better cardio. A morning run or..." You trailed off, hand travelling down his arm and past his thigh, resting dangerously close to his crotch. "... morning fun?"
Carlos let out a dramatic sigh but he couldn't keep the quirk of his lips at bay. He stretched out his thick arm, grabbing you by the waist. His skin swarmed with heat as he felt your bare waist under your shirt as he fully pulled you over him. A quick nudge to your knees left you straddling him.
"More energy burnt," you murmured in the venture of a fake persuasion even though you already had the answer. Carlos' hand reached out to push your hair behind your ears before landing on the soft pillows of your lips. Nervously you inhaled, "And a whole lot more pleasure."
You stared at Carlos. Taking in those puppy brown eyes, the warmth of his skin, those God-made eyelashes, and each little freckle mixed with the burden of racing on his face. It was the first day of summer break and even though Carlos was pulling you out of bed to work out in the morning, you couldn't help but be a little thankful. You missed him. You had both been so busy lately and it felt like you hadn't seen each other in months.
"What's on your mind, cariño?" Carlos whispered, thumb still trailing the shape of your lips as those very same brown eyes searched yours.
"Nothing. I just missed you. And your stupid morning cardio," You rolled your eyes. "Is that a crime?"
"Then I'm guilty as charged," Carlos confessed, not missing the softening of your eyes as he held you tighter against him. "All I've been thinking about since the race at home is coming back to you."
Carlos' home race in Spain was the last time you had met before long-distance had embedded it's nasty claws into you once again
"Yeah?" You whispered, pressing a brief kiss to his cheek. "Anything in particular?"
Carlos took a deep breath in, your signature fragrance engulfing him. Goodness, were you intoxicating. "Well... there was picnics, breakfast, golf, and the beach on the agenda. And... morning fun."
A gasp left your mouth as Carlos fell back first onto the mattress, bringing his lips to yours.
This kiss was different from the others you had shared. Perhaps it was the atmosphere or context that accounted for that difference but the need, the love, the softness, and the brutal passion was suddenly pouring into every fibre of your being.
Your hands fell around his neck and hair, nose gliding near his as Carlos continued to ravage your mouth. He sucked on your lips with a small nibble here and there, relishing the muffled moans escaping your lips. His own hands continued to travel the path of your body he had committed to memory. He knew as he traversed your burning skin exactly where the small freckles and bumps he had come to love were.
Your soft moans became more audible and pleasing to Carlos' ears as he moved his lips to your neck, leaving the sloppily yet controlled kisses down base of your skin.
You gasped as you felt a sudden jerk underneath you, feeding into the pooling wetness between your thighs. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, your hips automatically responded by grinding down onto Carlos' bulge.
"Ah, mierda," Carlos cursed, feeling his cock throb in his shorts. His eyes fluttered shut, hands returning to your hips to continue the stimulating pleasure.
Both of your skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat as you felt Carlos' clothed cock rut into your poorly covered pussy. You rocked your hips harder into him, feeling a slight jolt against your clit. "Oh, fuck, Carlos," you moaned his name in his ear.
God, what were you two? Sex-crazed teenagers? Dry humping on each other like rabbits in heat.
"Hermosa," Carlos panted, eyebrows strained with the urge to cum yet give you all the pleasure he could. "I need... I need..." he breathed, "I need to be in you, fuck." His entire body shuddered with a sharp arousal while his cock could feeling your thin underwear becoming useless and drenched. It was as thin as his patience was wearing.
You made a poor attempt to nod, releasing a hand from his neck. You briefly lifted your hips, pushing your panties to the side. In doing so, your breath hitches as you feel your sensitive folds glide past your fingers.
"Oh, fuck," Carlos blubbered, losing himself in seeing your bare pussy and your reaction. "Fuck yourself on those pretty little fingers for me, baby. I need you ready for me," He encouraged breathlessly, attempting to shove off his shorts with one hand.
Carlos watched in torture as you pushed your fingers into your warm walls, body jerking forward at the sheer pleasure. "That's it, baby," he continued to praise you, "Doing so well for me, hmm?" He asked, moving one hand down your hips, skimming past your burning thigh before reaching the small bundle of nerves situated near your hand.
"A little faster, baby," Carlos said, "You're already so fucking wet. Pump those fingers... let me see how much you missed me."
You were already moaning in a haze at the praises leaving his lips, pushing your fingers in faster, unable to see how your engorged folds took them in as your eyes focused on the ceiling. But the moment you felt the pad of Carlos' thumb on your clit, you had given up every ounce of respect you had for yourself.
"Oh, shit, oh shit," you cursed, hips bucking up at his action. Your eyes shut tightly. The white light of ecstasy felt close. Your hand sped up faster, your hips went against your fingers and his thump with a more brutal force, feeling his aching cock bounce under you... Christ, you were going to cum. And hard.
The light... so close...
And just like that, it was gone.
You snapped your eyes open, falling to your pussy to see Carlos' hand retreating. "Mierda... no, baby, Carlos, " you cursed without looking at his face. But the moment you did, you understood him.
His hooded eyes told you everything. The throbbing his aching cock was bringing him, his slurred state of mind, and his firm desire to make you cum on his cock.
You kept your eyes on him, savouring the hiss falling from his lips as your took his cock out of his underwear. You gave a small smile, guiding his angry member to your puffy folds. You both released hitched moans when you rubbed your pussy against his cock.
You watched as Carlos purposely lifted his hips, pushing the tip of his cock against your clit, making your body convulse for a brief second. Fucking hell. That was enough for the both of you. Cumming just by rubbing yourselves on each other was equally as worse as cumming by dry humping each other.
You pressed your lips together, pushing his cock slowly into your pussy. Christ, he was always so big. Thick and pulsing in your hands, stretching your pussy out no matter how many times you made love as if it were the first time.
Carlos groaned, both hands firmly placed on your hips, head falling back onto the bed headboard. God, it had been so long. He missed your touch everyday. But the feeling of his cock in your pussy... he thought about it every second of every day.
You pushed your hips down flat, ensuring Carlos bottomed out. You groaned at the full feeling of his cock in you, eyeing the small bulge in your stomach. "Fuck, you fill me up so well, baby," you praised.
Carlos moaned in response. "Ride me baby. You know I like when you ride me."
You managed a smile, taking off the singlet you had slept in. The self control Carlos had for your breasts was little. Especially, when they bounced in front of him like they were right now. His hands almost immediately shot out, groping the soft mounds with all his might.
Immersed in your tits, his body trembled when you rose your hips and slammed down on his cock, repeating the movement again. "Ah, shit," Carlos cussed, drunk on your pussy.
You ground your hips forward as you rode his cock, stimulating the pure pleasure of grinding on one another. Out of the corner of your eyes, you could see Carlos' hand reach towards your clit. Your eyes shut, bracing yourself for what's about to come.
Carlos intently watched you, rubbing your clit in soft circles. He could see you slowly fall apart, the fast rhythm of your hips slowing down and becoming sporadic. Your body was shaking with pleasure, your hands reaching towards his thick biceps.
He continued your work for you, lifting your hips with his one hand on your waist. He grunted, feeling you clench around his cock. "Cum... cum for me," he beckoned, increasing the speed of his cock and the pressure of his thumb on your clit.
He smiled at the complete lost look that had fallen on your face. Your body jerked and convulsed over him, your brain unable to control it any longer. Your climax hit you hard as he denied your previous one not too long ago. Your whine was high pitched and dazed. You were completely lost in pleasure.
Your pleasure only fuelled his own. Your walls were holding his cock like a vice, clamping down on him. You could feel his throbbing cock overstimulating your sensitive pussy.
Carlos groaned at the feel of his twitching cock in your walls. He panted, hips racing to chase the urge to cum. "Yes, yes, yes," he mumbled, falling victim to your praises falling from your soft lips and the clench of your pussy.
You both groaned when you felt the hot ropes of his cum spill into your walls. HIs hips stuttered, faltering against yours as you took every last drop from his cock.
Carlos buried his chin into your neck, riding out his last few moments of his climax. "Fuck," he mumbled, letting out a small exhale as he moved his head back and looked at you. He laughed softly at your tired look. He placed a few lingering kisses across your neck, coming to your lips last. "I love you," he murmured against them.
You smiled gently. "Forever?" you asked.
"Forever," Carlos confirmed, placing a kiss on your forehead. Slowly, he removed his softening cock from your pussy. You both watched his cum mixed with your spill out of you.
You looked up at Carlos, eyeing the dark look on his face. You sighed. "Morning fun or not, give me at least ten minutes. If not thirty!"
Carlos chuckled, moving out from under you and standing in front of you in an unbecoming state that would make his closest friends laugh at him. He swooped you into his arms making you yelp. "Let's take a shower. I'll clean you."
You raised a brow, hands hung around his neck. "Just cleaning? That doesn't sound like you," you retorted.
Carlos smirked, walking you to the bathroom. "You're right. I'll clean you, fuck you, and clean you again."
Oh…
© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑
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iniquitousyearning · 3 months ago
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SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER
october 25th. tom — anal sex / sexual punishment.
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KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.
summary: basically how i see a tom riddle punishment playing out. biblical tom of sorts. so self assured its impossible to piss him off so you go to lengths some may consider extreme but…eh. he knows you’re his.
warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, UNI hogwarts (obvs but just a reminder) reader and tom have an…interesting dynamic, toxic but also not toxic because it works for them, anal sex (obvs), sexual punishment, brief fingering, copious amounts of dirty talk, i once again utilize my favourite place in the school (the library).
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"Tom—"
With a hand raised, he cuts you off. "Don't."
You blink. Swallow. Blink again. He's mad—oh, yes, he's mad—more than you've ever seen him and you once watched Abraxas Malfoy knock over his potion during a heavily-weighted exam.
That, in currency to this, is pennies.
You breathe in, try again. "Look, I can explain—"
He doesn't let you. Within a second his wand is out and with a flick of his wrist the room shifts to static—the glimmer from the silencing charm he just cast settles over your corner of the library, and you feel your fingers go numb—
"Why'd you stop?" He cocks his head, brow raised. His jaw is tight, the tension there burning into the space between you. His fingers flex. You can feel how much he's holding back. "If there's an explanation, by all means. I'd love to hear it."
Right—yeah, an explanation. That should help. Certainly, the man staring at you like he has bullets for eyes and knives for fingers will understand—he'll be completely calm once you explain to him you kissed someone else in retribution—because you wanted to get back at him.
"Well, I—" you push up from the desk, desperate to feel bigger, to level with him somehow. Tom thrives in this—having the upper hand, knowing all he has to do is stare at you, all stillness and quiet fury. He knows you hate it, that you'll spiral under it until you break and present him your neck on a silver platter. Until you hand him the knife and beg him to cut. "We had that argument, and I thought—I thought, maybe—you didn't—"
He moves closer. The air thickens. You're too focused on the fire in his eyes to acknowledge the sound of his wand clattering onto the desk—
"You thought?" His voice is something almost bored, like this is a trivial exercise for him—you can barely hear him over the roar of your pulse in your throat.
"—that you didn't want me anymore!"
You force the words out in a desperate rush, and the silence that follows feels like a goddamn canyon—you're just staring at each other, scowling in the wake of what you just said because you both know how utterly foolish it sounds. The only person Tom Riddle has and will ever allow himself to be vulnerable in front of—and you thought he'd leave after a silly argument.
No. You never thought that for a second.
And so, you try to save yourself. "Tom—I-I'm sorry, okay? I'm so sorry, I know I fucked up—but, it's not just me—I mean, you could have communicated better—"
He takes another step toward you, nodding along as if he's humoring you. "Right."
You step back—you don't mean to but the depleted space between you feels dangerous and your body reacts before you can stop it.
"Maybe—maybe we can learn from this? Right? A lesson for—for us both?" You keep talking. You don't know why, but you do. "And, maybe you could, uh, learn to talk about your feelings better?"
You wince as his eyebrows shoot up, mocking you without saying a word. Tom Riddle, talking about his fucking feelings? Right.
"I mean—you're just—" you hesitate because you know you're digging your own grave, yet he's still staring, daring you to finish. "—you're just so hard to read, you know?"
Another bored nod, another step closer. "Of course."
You swallow, stumbling back—of course Tom knows he's hard to read, that's the point. Every word out of your mouth is a wasted effort, a desperate attempt to reason with someone who's beyond it. Your ass collides with the desk behind you, boxing you in—and suddenly, he's there, right in front of you, all of his typical Tom intensity pouring into the limited space between you.
His breath brushes against your cheek, close enough that his lips could meet yours. But you know they won't. He'd never make it that easy. You can't tell if it's fear or something more wicked that twists in your chest. Dread, excitement—God, maybe both—
"You tried to provoke me."
Your throat tightens around a swallow. He isn’t asking.
"Maybe."
He doesn't blink. "You tried to see if I'd care."
You open your mouth, only to close it just as quickly. What can you say that he doesn't already know? You're as transparent as glass to him, and even that is a goddamn understatement. All you offer is a slow nod, unsure but weighted—he wasn't looking for an answer, he was looking for submission.
"And you thought, maybe, that I would come to you. That I would react. That l'd be angry." His fingers brush up your cheek, slipping into your hair with the kind of intimacy that feels out of place given the circumstances. And, inevitably, when the pull comes biting at your scalp, it's a burn you enjoy more than you should. "Were you hoping I'd punish you?"
"Well—I-"
"You know, don't you," he tugs your hair again to quiet you. Every question he's asking is rhetorical. "You know that trying to provoke me is dangerous."
You nod, fast. "I know."
"You know that I don't like to be provoked."
"I know, I know, I-"
"Shh." His lips brush over your neck, just once—a soft, fleeting thing that promises everything and nothing at once. You can't help the way you lean into him. "You're just making this worse for yourself. No more talking."
You choke on your stupid ego, but force a nod. You asked for this. You won't fight him on it. Not here. Not now.
"Good." He hums, and you feel your heart dance, stomach leap at the barest flicker of approval in his tone. His breath skates over your jaw, and you try not to shake. "You want to show me how sorry you are, don't you?"
You nod again.
"Good." He tugs at your bottom lip and something curls at the corners of his own that doesn't quite qualify as a smile. "Turn around."
With your heart on the floor beneath your feet, you nod for a final time before doing as he asked. You find that turning is a difficult task, though not due to resistance—your body just won't cooperate—a mess of weak knees and shallow breaths and tingling skin. You do it, though, with his hand on your hip, guiding you, directing you, pushing you over the desk until you're bent at the waist, positioned just how he wants.
It's merely a moment before you feel him pressed against your back, feel his belt buckle digging into your ass—
"What do you think I should do to you?" His breath grazes the nape of your neck and reflexively, you arch into him—his hands slide up your thighs, hips, finding your waist and the band of your skirt—he tugs at your zipper, you remain quiet. You know he doesn't want you to answer. "I'm sure you had your hopes. Your assumptions."
Tom Riddle, you've determined, is a torturous lover—a slow hand, a tease until you're in tears from the overstimulation. A sort of devotee to fulfilling your needs while simultaneously tempering his own. He's so very restrained, in everything he does—not fervent, not right away, anyway—
"Maybe you hoped I'd degrade you. Remind you of your place." He tugs down the zipper, letting the fabric fall to the ground at your feet—you shudder and pull your lips tight, willing yourself to stay silent as the cool air hits you. Tom's hand roams over one of your asscheeks, pawing lazily before tapping his palm against it. “Maybe you wanted me to make you feel it."
—he only rushes—he's only careless when he's angry.
And god, he's angry now.
"Maybe." You force the reply through the sting he left on your skin. It's past midnight—quiet is everything but you two, and you're almost certain he locked the door behind him on the way in. You let your head bow, eyes fixed on the wood under your palms. "Maybe I do."
"Of course you do. You've never been subtle." His foot nudges yours further apart, his fingers trailing up your thigh, finding the damp ache between your legs. Your breath catches but you hold still, biting your tongue as he teases—digits gliding through your slit, swirling your clit. "I know you thought about it."
"About what?" You try, though the question barely gets out before his other hand smacks the thick of your ass again, harder this time. "Shit—"
"About what I'd do to you." The hand on your clit shifts to smooth over the sting, rubbing slow, while the other works the buckle of his belt. "Tell me what you wanted."
"I—" you pause, steadying, gathering yourself. You know you have to give him something, but it's hard to think when he's like this. "I—I wanted you to be...careless."
"Careless." He says it like he's savouring it, rolling it over his tongue like candy. It's not a word that suits him; you're not convinced he even knows how. "You want me to be rough—to be selfish. Like you were."
The moment his belt is loose you feel those slender fingers dip back into your slit, two of them pushing inside your cunt without warning, stretching you open as his trousers slip down his thighs— he grunts low, a sound that cuts into the quiet as his cock springs free and he presses it against you, unoccupied hand slipping back into your hair, pulling you up until you're flush with him.
"Yes." You're not sure who sounds more hollow for it—your voice for asking, his for granting it. "I want that. I deserve it. Please. Please—"
"Please. It's always please with you," he mocks, the words a hiss that burn your cheeks. "Yet, I don't get to be selfish like you, do I? I still have to show restraint."
"I mean—oh—fu—" you choke as his lips find your neck, muttering something against your skin before you feel the sudden cool slip of a lubing charm coating your asshole and cunt. "Tom-"
"Despite what you might believe, I've never had much in the way of patience," he breathes, a confession almost, something deeper—something that feels like it costs him. "Not when it comes to you."
"Tom—" you fucking gasp his name as he pulls his fingers from your cunt—only to drag them higher until they find your asshole. Despite his haste he's still at ease, massaging, pressing one finger against it until you let him in. He sinks slowly, curling slightly, and your thighs shake—lungs deflate. "Oh—oh, fuck, Tom—it's been—"
"A while, hasn't it?" He finishes, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, his finger sliding all the way in. "So tight for me. So—tight—"
"Tom—" a repetition of the last one, his name spilling from you like it’s the only goddamn word you know how to say. "Please, Tom. Oh god—"
"Shhh." He shushes, but it's not to quiet you; you know that. He's savouring this. He slips in a second finger, stretching you wider, working you open, and you're biting your lip to keep from crying out. "This isn't about you."
"You—" your voice breaks on another gasp, hands clutching at the desk. "—you think this is punishment."
"Partially." His muses as his fingers scissor, filling you with the most delicious ache. You're so slick, arousal running down your thighs, and that—oh no, that does not escape his notice. "Look at you, dripping for me. And yet,"
"Oh god." The realization crashes over you—it’s punishment as in orgasm denial. "That's—that's not—"
"Not fair?" There's a smirk in his voice, and though he doesn't say it, you hear the word that lingers beneath it: pathetic, pathetic, pathetic. He pulls his fingers out and you whine, feeling empty for half a second before the head of his cock glides against your slit, gathering your juices before finding its way up to the throbbing ring of muscle. "Isn't this what you wanted? For me to be selfish?"
"I just—" words scatter, useless, because you're trembling, breathing hard, and then he's pressing in, slow enough to save you pain but fevered enough to make you feel him. "Oh—oh—"
"Oh fuck." He says it breathless, as if it's an agony to fit himself inside of you. "Oh yes."
And it is an agony—for both of you, though for very different reasons. Tom is huge, and even on a good day, it's a struggle to take him. He's so deep, filling you in ways you'd forgot were possible. You struggle to hold yourself upright—legs visibly shaking, teeth gritting. He sinks all the way in, and in your mind, you can almost see the look on his face, the way his lashes flutter, the way his head tips back—
"Ah—“ he groans, a rough sound that's followed by a huff and a slight roll of his hips, like he's holding back, like he can't bring himself to move just yet. He yanks you up against him by your hair. "That's fucking tight, isn't it? This must be hell for you."
He's not wrong, it is. But it's hellish for Tom too, the type of hell the two of you inflict on eachother that is as fucking addicting as it is anything else—
"Just—" you manage to bite out breathlessly, but it's a struggle to make the words. "Move—"
"Make me," he grits, jerking your head to the side until your foreheads press together. "Convince me to use you. Tell me how badly you want it. How much of a whore you are for it."
Merlin help you, you moan at his words. It's that thing inside you—the needy, desperate part that's dying at his feet. You don't know what it is or why it's there; it just is, and it's greedy. It's not something you'd give into normally—your ego is far too big to give him the satisfaction of begging, not aloud—never in words that he could use against you later—but in these moments, you both learn to make exceptions.
"Dear god, Tom—please, just use me-" you push your hips back against him, one of his hands slide up your stomach, cupping your tits. "Please, l'm—I'm a pathetic, begging whore for you. God, I know you're pissed—I feel it—just take it out on me—l want it—"
He moans—a soft, almost gentle sound—and you know you've struck a nerve, the part of him that's equally as weak in the moment—the part of him that makes it all too easy for things to spiral like this.
"Goddamn you." Something inside him snaps, something that's been frayed, just waiting for a pull—and you've pulled it now, and oh you want, no, you need him to make you pay for it, to make it hurt. "You just—you always-"
He grunts, cutting himself off and in a way, it's almost like he's thanking you because you're giving him an outlet, something to take it out on. You test each other, push and pull and let the other break, because, at the end of the day, it always comes down to this. The two of you. Like this.
A sharp inhale, and he starts to thrust.
"Fuck!" it's all you manage, it's all you can manage, because it—just like that—feels the way you wanted it to feel but it also feels so much more intense, so intense that your brain can't keep up. "Oh god—oh fuck-"
"Fucking hell," he spits, like you're the worst thing in his world and the best thing all at once, and somehow, that makes perfect sense. He lets go of your hair, and you slump forward onto the desk, elbows barely holding you up as his hand smacks your ass, fingers spreading you apart. "So—so tight—“
You're a shuddering mess, helpless to it; all you can do is remember to breathe through it.
"That's it." Another smack to your ass, thrusts quick and deep. "Fuck. The things you drive me to do."
You know him so well—and he knows you just as damn well, and that's the point, isn't it? That's what this is all about. You're the perfect mix of wrong, a match that burns too hot it hurts but the ache makes him feel alive.
"I want to cum—" your neglected clit is begging for it, you’re fucking begging for it. "Tom please—"
At that, he laughs and it's mean and it's condescending and you love—God—how you love it and want it and can't get enough of it. His hips snap forward a little bit rougher and you lose a bit more of your sanity—
"You think you deserve to come, after what you did?" Another smack to your ass.
You don't know how to answer, and he doesn't wait for one anyway. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you—everything is so calculated and calculated and calculated. You've never once seen him falter, and you don't expect to see it now. You don't know if you'd survive it if you did.
"No." He answers for you. "You don't."
His fingers trace around your thigh, grazing your mound and finding your needy clit, your sopping slit, gliding through it—you moan louder than you should as he gathers your slick on his fingers, humming at what he finds there before retreating—bringing them up to your mouth.
"Open."
You open your mouth and he feeds you your need—the result of his selfishness. You love him for what he is and you love him for what he isn’t too. How he tries to be both, only when you ask.
"Taste that?" It's a whisper, something he's telling you.
You sob around his fingers as he fucks your ass deep—he pulls them out to let you respond. You nod. "Yes."
"Taste how much you want this?"
"Yes." A pathetic moan. The perfect response.
"Good girl." He presses the words into your hair, the back of your neck, along your spine. He sucks in a breath as he fucks like he needs it just to speak. "You're going to remember this the next time you think about doing something just to spite me, I hope you know that."
Of course you will. He knows it, you know it—there's no doubt in your mind that you'll remember this the next time you toy with his patience; the next time you give him a reason to discipline you again. And what's worse is: you'll do it anyway.
It's a battle you two will fight for eternity.
But you don't get a chance to respond, not that you'd have one anyways—because his hand is on your throat and his lips are at your ear and he's sucking in air through his teeth and then—
"I'm going to cum." He whispers and you hear the pain in it. "Fuck."
You shiver in reply; a whine of a whimper coming from the back of your throat. “Tom—“
"Shh." He shushes you with his free hand, gripping your jaw as his thrusts turn sloppy, erratic. "Fucking take it.”
God—you’ll take it. Of course you will. You asked for this, drove him to this point. You're both sick, but this is the kind that doesn't have a cure.
One of his hands moves to his own hair, tugging at the back of his head; it's the only hint you've had this whole time of how much he's affected by this, how much it's driven him mad. He's doing his best to keep control, to maintain composure and make sure you feel it—but it's the way his hand squeezes your hip when he lets go of your throat that gives him away.
It gives in to what he's been repressing.
"Ohhh—fuck—yes—" and then you feel it, feel him, hot and sticky and warm, filling your ass and holding you there until he’s finished. His body collapses against the back of yours, hips slow rolling until he's drained—until you’ve taken all of him, all of his anger and frustration and restraint along with it. He’s sweaty, exhausted, spent—forehead pressed to your hair. "You feel that?"
"You know I do." You're not allowed to sound so smug, not while you're in the position you're in, but you are. It’s why he loves you. "That's what you were looking for."
"No, that's what you were looking for." He nips your ear, and you hear the smile in his voice when he bites down on it and murmurs a, "and that's why you're my favourite," into it.
"And you mine, Tommy."
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zyafics · 11 months ago
Text
STAY THE NIGHT | Rafe Cameron
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MASTERLIST (Oneshot)
Pairing — Rafe x FWB!Female Reader
Summary — When Rafe sees you as just a fuck buddy, you embody the role and remind him what that truly means.
Word Count — 5.5K
Content — 18+, Smut, Jealousy (From Rafe), Dominance Play, Oral Receiving (F + M), Fingering, P in V Sex, Unprotected Sex, Cockwarming, Praise Kink, Fluff At The End
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Rafe Cameron doesn't get jealous.
You two aren't a couple. You are nothing more than casual fuck buddies that are conveniently located within proximity of one another when one of you need to blow off some steam or get off. The feeling is completely mutual.
However, you've been exclusive.
It's unspoken, of course. No one is willing to admit that they don't want the other to be sleeping with other people and you settled on that ambiguity.
You thought it could mean something more.
You thought wrong.
The other day, after fooling around, you laid in his bed, wearing nothing, and asked if you could stay the night. As part of your undefined relationship, you don't do sleepovers. Rafe doesn't do sleepovers. However, he was the one who was calling you after midnight. He was the one who wanted you to sneak out of your house, where your parents placed a curfew. If you go home now, you would be caught dead in the act and get into trouble. It would be easier to save yourself and stay over.
"No." Rafe declared, not letting the suggestion linger for more than a second. You lifted yourself from the bed by propping your elbows against his mattress, staring at the man who's searching for his throwaway clothes on the floor and redressed himself. "We don't do sleepovers. I don't want to be caught with a Pogue."
"Rafe." You said with a hint of annoyance. He saw you naked, but he was afraid of being seen with you in public? "It's fucking four in the morning. My parents are going to see me."
He scoffed. "Not my problem."
"So what? You don't care if I get in trouble?"
He shrugged, pulling his shirt over his chest. "You're just a fuck."
You said nothing. You just stared at him. He quickly gets dressed and finds your clothes around his floor, throwing them on the bed for you to take. With a huff, you pull yourself from the comforts and put them on.
"I'll call you." He said as you walked out of his bedroom, but you didn't answer him. All you did was flip him off and make your way out.
The next morning, you got in trouble with your parents regarding your absence. But, you said nothing, taking the lecture they gave you and headed to your room.
And you thought, if he sees me as a quick fuck, fine. I'll be just that.
The next Kook party, you were there. You always attended Kook parties, despite being a Pogue, simply because the alcohol is all free and it tasted better. No more cheap beer on The Boneyard, but you had to admit—the music was better.
Kooks can't play for shit.
This party happened to be on Tanneyhill, the mansion where Rafe lived. You haven't seen him since the last time you hooked up, and it's been the longest you've gone without seeing each other. Sure, he called you but you let it go to voicemails and all his texts were left on read. You know, without a doubt, Rafe would be looking for you and attempting to pull you to the nearest bathroom to fuck your brains out.
But you didn't care.
(Maybe just a little).
After dancing for a while, grinding against random strangers and making conversations with some friends of yours, you settled into a seat next to a Kook. He introduced himself as Ethan, and you chat with him as you drink from your cup, making small talk about what you're doing this summer.
He seemed interested enough. His eyes shamelessly glance down at your top, which practically shows off your tits, and floats back to your lips a couple of times. You knew if you wanted to, he would've follow you to a bedroom and fuck you.
But you didn't.
You laughed at his jokes. You told some of your own.
All while having an nagging feeling of a pair of eyes on the back of your head.
You didn't need to turn around to know who it was. You know exactly who.
And Rafe Cameron is fuming.
He noticed you when you first walked in, in a top that shows off too much and a skirt that covers practically nothing. You walked into Tanneyhill as if you owned the place, despite being a Pogue, and that's one of the things that irritates him about you.
But it also made him attracted to you.
Your confidence. Your demeanor. You never backed down when Rafe tries to put you in your place and you never let him gain control without a fight. He likes that you make him work for it; there's a thrill in the chase. Because he knows, at the end of the day, it's his bed that you ended up in. It's his cock that you're sucking.
But, at this moment, he isn't so sure. Instead of being in his arms, talking to him, you were talking to some random fucking guy who attended Kook Academy and is making you laugh.
You didn't even bother to tell him you were coming.
Rafe thought he could hold it in until he got you alone.
But that was before the guy put his hand on your upper thigh and you let him.
It takes mere seconds for Rafe to cross the yard, and when he comes behind you, it surprises you at how silent he was. "Get your hands off my fucking girl," he snapped at Ethan and before Ethan got the chance to back off, Rafe grabs your arm and pulls you off the chair, taking you inside of Tanneyhill.
You let him drag you for a few moments. The booze in your system is making your reaction sluggish, but when the realization dawns on you, you finally pull away when you reach in front of his bedroom, hidden in a dark hallway.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
He scoffs at your words. "What am I doing?" He repeats. You nod. He jabs an accusing finger in your direction. "What the fuck are you doing?"
You lift the cup to your lips. "I'm drinking."
His eyes are livid. "With that guy?" He gestures outside where Ethan is, jealousy pouring from his words and he sounds like he's using every inch of restraint he has to hold everything together. You shouldn't be enjoying it so much, but you are. When you don't answer him, feigning a bored expression, Rafe gets more frustrated. He doesn't like that you aren't reacting. He doesn't like it at all. "What's your fucking problem?"
You lift your shoulders in a casual shrug, pressing the red solo cup against your lips and says, "thought I was just another fuck."
He knows you were throwing his words back at him. He knows that this is some fucking test that you're doing to drive him bad. He also knows it's working, so much so that he knocks the cup out of your hands, causing the content to spill all over his marble floor. "Fuck you."
You scoff, unfazed by his aggression. "You already did." You say, and while Rafe is silently raging underneath, you decide to take it a step further. Closing in the distance until you're right in front of his face, you smirk, "and you fucking loved it."
Rafe is breathing hard, his blue eyes searching your face, his chest raising and falling in rapid beats as frustration rolls off of him, all while you tip your head to the side, raising your brow, challenging him to respond.
He does.
By slamming his lips against yours.
One of his hands catches the back of your neck as he presses a bruising and punishing kiss against your lips, eliciting a moan from the back of your throat. Instinctively, you throw your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer.
"You're mine." He breathes against your lips when you break apart, trailing kisses down the column of your neck as you tip your head back to give him more access, feeling his mouth working against your skin. "And no fucking asshole from the Academy is going to take you away from me."
Wanting to tease him further, you say. "What if I leave?"
He answers you by sucking on a sensitive spot on your neck, causing you to arch into him and let out an involuntary moan as his free hand descends down to your short skirt and roughly palms your ass. Rafe chuckles against your skin, satisfied by your body's reaction to him. "Then no one is going to make you feel like I do."
His hands move to pull down your top, causing your tits to spill out of the fabric. The cold air pricks at your exposed skin and Rafe takes a beat of a second to admire you before lifting his gaze to meet you in an easy, cocky grin.
"So ready for me," he teases, moving his hand up to play with your hardened nipples between his fingers. You let out a small sigh. "God, you're fucking gorgeous."
"Shut up," you say, not liking how his words are making your cheeks flush with heat and a flutter of butterflies to swarm your stomach. This is just a fuck, you remind yourself. He lifts his blue eyes to meet you for a brief second before descending his mouth down to cover one of your nipples.
You always like playing with yourself there. As his tongue swirls around the sensitive tip, his teeth lightly graze against the bud, causing your moan to echo across the hallway and his hand immediately slaps over your mouth, silencing them.
Rafe's eyes lock with yours. "You don't want anyone to hear what a needy girl you are, do you?"
You clench your jaw underneath his hand, at his dominance, but when you don't answer fast enough, he asks again. "Do you?"
You shake your head and he pulls himself off of you, the cold invades the absence of his heat. But, Rafe doesn't leave you for long. He grabs your hand and pulls you into his bedroom. The moment the door slams close, his lips return on yours and his hands explore over your exposed body.
Your core clenches as Rafe slams you against the back of the door, kissing you hungrily as he lowers his hand to the cutoff of your skirt and pushes the flimsy material up to your hips before cupping your pussy.
"God, you're dripping," he says with a small laugh, looking up to you. "Are you this wet for me, baby?"
You are. Rafe Cameron has a way to make your entire body responsive to him, his touch, his kisses, his everything. But, you don't want to let him know that. You don't know how much you want it, how much you need it.
Instead of answering him, you say with a roughness to your voice, "if you don't fuck me, Cameron, I'll find someone else who will."
Humor leaves his face and his expression hardens. He cups your cunt hard, causing you to involuntary jolt forward into his hand and a small whimper to escape you. "This is mine. No other fucking man is going to touch this but me."
"Big words for someone who hasn't made me come."
His eyes darken and, with your taunting and teasing getting to him, he finally pushes your panties to the side and inserts a rough finger inside of your pussy, causing you to wince at the abrupt motion. "Can you handle it?"
You nod with closed eyes, feeling as he adds a second finger, thrusting in a steady but rough pace, his other hand fondling with your tits.
You lean back against the door with heavy breaths, moaning and clenching as your orgasm builds from his rhythm. Rafe knows your body, he knows you're about to come, and as your moans get more erratic and you grind harder into his hand, he quickens his thrusts. Leaning into you, he says to your ear, "let it out, baby."
You do.
Your walls clench around his fingers tightly as you ride on your high, so much so that you hear his muttered fuck under his breath. When you're slowly coming down from your climax, Rafe removes his hand. The loss of his touch causes you to frown but before you get the chance to open your eyes and complain, he pushes the wet digits against the entrance of your lips. "Suck."
You want to argue back, about him telling you what to do, but you can't seem to help but listen. Your eyes open and find his face, watching you as you suck his fingers clean of your arousal. "Good girl."
When he withdraws his fingers, clarity dawns on you. He's wearing too much while you're practically exposed. You didn't like how uneven the playing field is, and with a gesture to his shirt and pants, you demand. "Take it off."
His smirk is smug. "Eager, aren't we?"
"If I have to be naked, so do you."
"You aren't naked." He gestures back to you and you look down at yourself. While your tits are showing and your panties are soak, he's right, you technically aren't naked. Not afraid of backing down from a challenge, you easily pull your tiny top over your shoulders and push your skirt and panties down to your ankles.
Stepping out of them, you look back to see Rafe admiring your naked body. You can see the outline of his erection straining against his pants, and for a moment, a self-consciousness creeps up on you and you blush. With a hard swallow, you point to him. "Your turn."
The corner of his lips quirks up at how demanding you are and he pulls his shirt over his body, revealing the defined and taunt muscles of his chest underneath. Your mouth waters. You watch as he goes for his belt—knowing you’re watching—that he teases it out slowly. He messes with the buckle, taking his sweet time, that you grow impatient. 
"Goddammit," you mutter under your breath, approaching him and pushing his hands out of the way, sinking to your knees as you unbuckle the belt with ease—practices from all the other times. When you pull it out of his pants, you stop, looking up to Rafe.
"Go on, princess." He gestures, a cocky grin at the sight of you on your knees for him. "Finish what you started."
You hate how much power he has over you this time, how he is telling you what to do, but because of how needy you are, how much you want him between your legs and his cock to be in you, you listen. You unzip and pull down his pants, revealing an impressed bulge underneath his briefs. With one easy tug, you freed his cock and it stood in front of you, hard and leaking with pre-cum.
On your knees, you look up to see Rafe watching you, waiting to see what you do. His eyes are hungry and his arousal is obvious. Tentatively, you wrap your hand around the thick cock, your fingers barely connecting together because of his girth.
And slowly, you rub up and down his shaft.
A hiss leaves the back of Rafe's throat and satisfaction pools in your core at the realization that you are making him feel this way, that you have this much control. "Faster." He commands, his voice thick with desire.
Instead of listening to his orders, you open your mouth and take his cock in your mouth, swallowing the salty taste as you swirl your tongue at his head. Added with the motion of your hand playing with his balls, and rubbing him up and down, Rafe can’t help but rock his hips against your face. 
“Fuck,” he swears, his hand finds your hair and pulls your closer to him, as your grip around him gets firmer and you hollow your cheeks, creating a stronger suction. Rafe groans under your touch, tugging the root of your strands, wanting you to do anything and everything to build him closer to his climax. “Fuck, baby, I’m close.” 
With that pride of information, you slow down, your fingers loosen their pace and you pop the cock out of your mouth. Rafe feels the instant loss of touch and he looks down at you, his expression hard and angry.
"What the fuck?"
"Say please."
He says your name in a command, but you don't budge.
Rafe's blue eyes are hard. He knows you do this. He knows you like to mess with him, take back control whenever you find yourself in a small position of power and remind him of his place. Irritation builds in his chest, this time worse than the others, but so does his delayed climax. He needs it more.
With a reluctant sigh, he says, "please."
You return your motion, moving in slow, torturous strokes as your hand moves up and down his slick length, creating enough pleasure for him to feel but not enough friction to ease into his climax. Your mouth has yet to return on his cock and without the added assistance, his jaw tense and his frustration and horniness builds. 
In a desperate plea, Rafe begs, "baby, please."
His voice didn't sound like his own and his words are so rough, so willing, that you can't help but alleviate him from his misery. You reconnect your lips on his tip and begin to rub his faster, firmer, sucking him harder. With the edge of delay, Rafe comes fast with a guttural groan, spilling in your mouth as you lap over the taste, swallowing all of it.
Rafe lowers himself and guides you back to your feet, pulling you towards the bed and pushing you flat against the mattress, laying on your back.
He lowers himself off the edge of the bed, sinking to his knees as he steps in front of your exposed pussy, and looks up to see the self-satisfied smirk on your face at the little stunt you pulled back there. In a low voice, he says, "you're going to regret that."
A finger drags up your slit, in a slow motion, gathering your wetness on the digit but producing enough pressure that it makes you whine. You try to grind yourself against his hand but he lays his palm on the flat of your stomach, holding you in place. 
When his eyes connect with your needy gaze, he says, “my turn.” 
Dipping his head between your legs, he kisses your inner thighs in slow, agonizing touches. It produces an aching feel to your core as he gives careful attention to both of your thighs, slowly creeping up to your throbbing cunt, but not quite giving you a release. 
Rafe lingers on a particular sensitive spot near your pussy, sucking and kissing the placement until you're writhing in pleasure and frustration, desperate to feel his tongue in you.
"Rafe," you say with a throaty beg and he grins against your skin.
"I said you're going to regret it."
"Yeah, and if you take any longer, I'm going to go downstairs to find Ethan."
Rafe hates it when you mention other men, or even think of other men, especially when he’s fucking you, but it does the trick as he moves between you and his fingers spread your folds. “You are this wet for me, baby, not Ethan,” he reminds you, before lowering himself to your pussy, flattening his tongue against your center before moving up and down in slow strokes. 
“Fuck,” you moan as he finds your sensitive clit and sucks on the nub, the sound of wetness fills the bedroom as the low volume of the music thumps from downstairs. He lets one finger enter your cunt, beginning at a slow pace. “Rafe, ohmygod.”
He moves faster, rougher, lapping out your taste as if he was dying of thirst. With his finger quickening and his tongue working a miracle on you, another orgasm builds. 
“I’m close,” you whisper and he nods. He moves with precision and god, Rafe Cameron is good at eating pussy. When his tongue enters into you and the pad of his thumb rubs circular motions around your clit, you can’t help but arch into his pleasure and come on his face. 
You fall against the mattress with a heavy breath, but Rafe doesn’t stop. He continues to suck and lap and rub, causing you to wrap your thighs tightly around his head. You’re already so exhausted, so sensitive, coming down from your high, but that does nothing to satiate the man between your legs—fingers and tongue buried inside of you, still hungry. 
Your thighs violently shake and your fingers rack through his hair, pulling, “ohmygod, ohmygod,” you moan as he works another orgasm from you, your stomach tightening and the pressure being so unbearable you feel as if you’re going to cave and explode. 
“Come for me, baby, I want another one.” He mumbles against your cunt, the low hum of his voice vibrates through your body in a pleasurable sensation. With a rougher pace and a harder suction around your clit, you come for a second time in a row. 
You’re an absolute wreck when he pulls away and, assessing the damage he caused, Rafe chuckles at the sight before him. You splay out on the mattress, breathing heavily with low lids and the prettiest pussy. He lowers himself, placing both hands on either side of your head to carry his weight, he plants a soft kiss on your lips. 
His eyes set on you, a gentle gaze, and whispers. “Can you take another, baby?” 
Though you are weak from all the orgasms you endured, you still nod, looping your arms around his neck as he descends closer to you, planting kisses against your lips, the corner of your mouth, to the edge of your jawline. You can feel his erection grazing at your entrance, waiting to enter, and the thought itself ignites another round of passion and need within you. 
Rafe pulls back just enough to line his cock against your wet folds. Before he enters, he looks up to you, waiting for a confirmation sign. When you nod, he slowly pushes the length into your aching core and you jerk forward. 
He goes in slow at first, allowing your walls to adjust to his size because, no matter how many times he’s been inside of you, it still takes a moment for your pussy to register that this is him. That this is his pussy. A hiss escapes the back of his throat. “Fuck, you’re so tight.” 
You, with what little strength you have left, push yourself up as he rocks against your hips, beginning his thrusts. You get closer to him, grabbing his shoulders, while he takes the opportunity to play with your tits. 
This new position allows him to enter deeper inside of you, hitting a new angle, causing you to let out a cry from the explosion of pleasure. In addition to the remnants of the orgasms you had a few moments prior, as Rafe pounds into your very sensitive core, you begin to feel as if you’re seeing stars. 
Rafe leans down, closer to your ear as he asks, "who's fucking you?"
You feel your stomach knot and tighten, knowing he’s getting you close. But, you also can feel his cock twitching inside your walls, alerting you that he’s also getting close. With this dynamic power, you turn your head to face Rafe, connecting your heavy-lid eyes with his. 
“Ethan.” 
Rafe stills. His eyes darken at your words, watching the way your lips curl with an innocent look and he decided he hates it. He hates this little power play you're doing to him, he hates how it's working. He knows that you two are nothing more than fuck buddies, but without the reassurance that you are his—fully, devotedly his—he doesn't know if you haven't fucked another guy before. If you haven't had Ethan's name on your lips.
His hand lowers between the two of you, lightly grazing against your sensitive clit. You jolt into his touch. "Did you fuck him?"
His voice is low, dangerously low, as you watch how serious he turned with the tease of another man's name. You tilt your head to the side, challenging him. "And if I did?"
He pinches your clit and your hips arch forward, but he uses his other hand to grab it still. Your core throbbing while he remains inside of you and does nothing. You realize, in this moment, that you might've gone too far. You feel full and have everything in your possession to make you reach your highest peak but you chose to delay it with a joke that wasn't even that funny.
Especially not now.
Rafe slowly rubs your clit with his fingers, painfully light, teasing and punishing you all in one. You gasp into his touch, but he doesn't let you move. His grip remains firm on your hips, holding you in place as you ache around his cock, as he can feel your walls clench around him, begging to be fucked.
But he needs to hear you say it.
"Rafe," you choke, and his eyes connect with yours. Your eyes are teary, your breathing is erratic, and you are trying desperately to produce some friction between your legs and give you some semblance of pleasure. "Rafe, move."
"No, princess," he says with a deadly calm, shaking his head. "You want to play mind games with me all night, fine. But tonight, I'm going to fucking hear you say my name." He repeats himself with aggression, his fingers skims across your sensitive nub. "Who. Is. Fucking. You?"
You grip his shoulders, your eyes meeting his, and your core aches painfully. You try to grind yourself against him, trying to produce some friction of your own, but he uses both hands to grab your hips, stilling you in place with a deadly grip you are sure is going to leave a mark.
He shakes his head, firm on getting the answer out of you.
With teary eyes, you beg. "Please, Rafe. Please."
He grins with that self-satisfying charm. He loves it when you finally break your dominance. He loves it more when he can break you.
His thrust begins at a slow rate, still on the edge of punishment, but at least you can feel some friction producing between your legs. You look down at his cock entering and leaving your cunt, the image gratifying, but Rafe roughly grabs your chin and forces you to look back up.
"Look at me." He commands, his voice shallow as the slow thrust is killing him, but he needed to teach you a lesson. "I want you to remember this when you're looking at anyone else. Talking to any other fucking guy. Remember how I make you feel."
You nod frantically. Desperate at this point to say anything to get Rafe to move faster, harder, providing you with your climax. He sees it in your eyes, how he finally got you, that it makes him smile. 
"God, look at you," he chuckles. "You want me to fuck you so bad."
"Yes," you beg, "yes, please. I'll do anything."
"Anything?" He asks again, the proposition is too nice to tease out.
You nod, blinking through the tears. "Anything."
He grins at this exchange of power, when he holds all of it, that he finally relents and quickens his pace. You grip harder on his shoulders as Rafe thrusts into you, rocking his hips against yours.
You claw and moan against his skin, using it as an anchor for all the pain and pleasure ripping through you, and he takes it as a mark of honor. When he lowers one hand between the two of you, using the pad of his thumb to rub small circles around your clit, you see stars float in your vision. 
"I'm coming," you pant against his skin. "God, please, I'm coming."
Rafe's hand finds the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him, and nods. "Come for me, baby."
When you feel your orgasm hit its all-time high, you slump in exhaustion against his shoulders, while he continues to move in and out of you. It takes a few seconds later before Rafe comes, feeling his hot cum leaking out of you.
He doesn’t remove his cock from your pussy and honestly, you don’t want him to. You want to stay like this for a moment, to catch your breath and come to the dawning realization that this is the best sex of your life. You didn’t want it to end. 
Rafe lays his chin on your small shoulder, pushing your wet hair to the side as he recovers. 
“Be my girl.” He whispers, so quiet, that you thought you imagined it. You weakly pull back, connecting your widened eyes with his. 
"What?"
"Be my girl," he repeats once more, his blue eyes vulnerable and tracing your features to see if there's any hint of rejection on the bay. "I can't fucking stand you with other guys. I don't even want you to say their names. I want you. All of you."
You hesitate. "Rafe..."
"You said you'll do anything." He reminds you.
"You said you don't want to be seen with a Pogue."
He growls. "Fuck what I said," he snaps with a shake of his head, raising his hand to wipe the leftover tears from your face. "I want you. I don’t care about anything else. Just say yes."
You look at him and soften your gaze. You have wanted this, you admit, you wanted him to confess to you that he wants you as much as you want him. But, for a moment, in this brief second, you’re afraid that if you agree you would submit to everything you’ve fought against. The control you tried so hard to retain. 
He sees it. He knows you’re having an internal battle. Using his hand, he cups the side of your face, the heat and comfort of his palm makes you instinctively lean into him. “Please.” He begs softly, giving you one last shred of power. 
With a small chuckle of your own, you finally nod. "Okay."
He grins, and without hesitation, presses another kiss against your lips. This time, it lacks the power and control you two have been fighting for all night but rather is sweet, sensitive and patient. He pushes you back against the mattress, using his arms to hold up his weight. 
When he pulls apart, both of you are out of breath and breathing heavily. He offers you a genuine smile, at how proud he is that you’re his, and uses the pad of his thumb to rub across your flushed cheeks. “God, you’re gorgeous.” 
You blush, waiting to pull away from his touch but Rafe knows you. He grabs a hold of your face, holding you in place so you can’t tear your gaze from him. “I’m serious. Since you’re my girlfriend now, you have to get used to that or else people are going to assume I don’t compliment you enough.” 
You scoff. “You don’t. The only times you say nice things to me is when you’re in me.” 
“Yeah?” He challenges, cocking one of his brows. You nod. “That’s going to change. Prepare for me to shower you with compliments every time I see you,” he says, as he lowers himself and plants a soft kiss on your shoulder blade. “Especially when I’m in you.” 
You roll your eyes, pushing him off as your eyes find the clock in the back of the wall. You didn’t realize how late it was. 
“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. Rafe turns to you, his brows knit together in confusion. 
"What?"
"It's almost one am. I promised my parents I was going to go home at eleven."
He glances at the clock, before returning his gaze back to you. "Stay the night."
"What?"
"You said it would save you trouble, right?" You hesitantly nod. "Just stay the night."
You can’t believe what you’re hearing. You can’t believe how much he’s willing to give in now that you’re finally his. Maybe you should’ve made him jealous a long time ago. Your first instinct is to tease him about it, but you decide that you had enough power play. The both of you deserve some rest and plus, sleeping with Rafe would be a comforting feel after the sex you just had. 
When he comes to approach you, settling between your legs as he waits for an answer, you run your hands through his messy blond locks. “Okay.” 
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4K notes · View notes
auroralwriting · 6 months ago
Note
spencer smut perhaps? he's all shy but the second your lips touch his he snaps?
guilty as sin
spencer reid x fem!bau!reader (18+)
you think spencer's too shy to do anything, until he gets a taste of you
word count: 2.7k
warnings: smut, dirty talk, p-in-v, wrap it before you tap it, sort of dom!spencer, multiple orgasms, spencer is whipped, season seven spencer is implied, soft and fluffy but also a smidgen kinky, spencer’s a gentleman, he’s still a nerd, begging, orgasm denial, he’s also a tease, light praise, it’s smut you get the gist
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"Oh, come on? You're seriously going to sit there and tell me nothing happened with Lila Archer?" Emily laughed as she sipped on her beer.
It was a chilly autumn night. Your team had just returned home from a case a few hours prior. You were still dressed in your work clothes, like the rest of our colleagues. Somehow, you were convinced to go to the bar before it got too late into the evening. A sort of celebration that you all had caught the killer so quick with only two casualties. That was rare. Emily had even convinced Hotch to join you all. Since meeting Beth, he'd began to grow out of his shell. It was nice to see him happy again.
The liquor in all of your systems was enough to allow the silly conversations to flow with ease. Seeing as Emily and you had not been on the team when the Lila Archer stalking case was worked on, you had a fair amount of questions.
"You were with Lila Archer, alone, for hours on end," Emily took a sip of her drink as she continued her mini-rant. "and you didn't bang her?"
Derek emitted a slight chuckle, "Well, she did make out with him in the pool."
"The pool? Spence, you dog!" You gasped, quickly following it up with a laugh.
Deep down, this conversation bothered you. Maybe it was due to the fact that you had the biggest crush on Spencer. Or it could have been the way JJ was staring at you, no doubt profiling you. She was the only one who knew of your feelings for the genius. Of course, she was nothing but comforting and supportive. JJ was trying to catch a read on if she should end this conversation before it really got to you.
"I- She initiated it," Spencer weakly defended. "I just, well, kissed her back." The whole table erupted in oohs and laughs.
You kept your longings locked from the man. Kept in faded color, lowercase, locked away inside some secret vault you kept in your heart. It was better this way.
"You don't have it in you to do anything more, my man." Derek slapped Spencer's back. His words, meant to be supportive, just plain were not. "A man of honor, truth, justice, pat-"
"All right, I think we've all had enough to drink tonight." Hotch cut off Derek's drunken ramble. "Let's all make sure to call cabs home."
You grabbed your belongings, just a jacket, purse, and scarf, and stood up along with the rest of your friends. Everyone bid each other goodnight, small hugs passed along. Reaching in your purse, you went to grab the twenty you'd left, just in case. Your purse, however, was seemingly empty, besides a lipstick and your wallet. "Oh, shit." You muttered, having no way to pay for a ride home.
"Hey, what's wrong?" Spencer asked, hearing your call of distress.
Shaking your head, you pursed your lips. "I don't have any cash to get home."
Spencer was quick to reply, "Oh, well why don't you just ride with me? Riding with another person is thirty to fifty percent more safe than being alone, especially while intoxicated. Uh, you can just spend the night, I know you live further away and I'm sure you're tired."
"Thanks, Spence. I'll pay you back," You offered as the two of you walked outside. You felt a chill run up your spine due to the cold, September air.
"It's no problem." Spencer nodded, reaching over to slightly tighten your scarf. The touch of his fingertips on your neck was enough to warm you up completely.
Penelope gave you one last squeeze as you hopped inside the cab with Spencer. The ride would only be fifteen minutes away from his apartment, which wasn't bad.
You stared out the window, watching as it fogged. You dragged your finger over the condensation, drawing yourself a little picture to keep occupied. Your eyes cast up on their own, deciding to focus on the reflection in the window. You were sure glad they did. Spencer was staring at you, unaware that you could see him. His stare sent another round of shivers down your spine.
Always the gentleman, Spencer helped you out of the car once you'd arrived to his apartment. It hit you that you'd actually never been to Spencer's apartment before. You wondered if it looked anything like you'd imagined.
And it was. Exactly as you'd imagined, actually. Dim, warm lights that gave a cozy feeling. He had a brown, leather couch with a green blanket over the top. Books were scattered all over the apartment, but it was done neatly. They were probably organized in a way that would only make sense to Spencer.
"Sorry it's such a mess," Spencer apologized, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.
"It's not at all," You replied. "I guess you've never seen my place."
Spencer hummed, "I haven't."
Being a good host, Spencer offered to make you some tea. You sat at his island while he poured some water in a kettle to heat up.
"So, you know you can be honest with me, right?" You decided to awkwardly start a conversation. The silence was just not doing it for you.
"Of course I know that," Spencer nodded. His back was turned to you as he prepped your mugs.
You shook off your nerves, "Did you actually not sleep with Lila Archer?"
Spencer turned around at your words. "I didn't sleep with Lila Archer." He confirmed. "If I did, you know Morgan wouldn't stop talking about it for the rest of our lives."
A small chuckle came from you. "He really wouldn't." You mused.
"Plus, she's, uh, not my type." Spencer boldly continued after a pause of silence.
"What is your type?" You asked curiously, heart increasing, a deep hope he said you were his type.
"I don't know." Spencer mumbled.
The kettle began to whistle, you could see Spencer's body physically relax at this. A distraction. He passed you the tea which you graciously thanked him for. The two of you sat in a comforting silence as you drank.
Spencer looked so gorgeous in this way. His hair was a bit disheveled, untamed from the long flight. His eyes held no signs of tiredness. Your case was in California. You'd left this morning. He must've also slept the whole way home. His brown locks mesmerized you. Oh, how you wanted to curl your fingers in them. Not to mention the ghost of stubble on his face. You imagined tracing your fingers over it softly, wishing to feel him shiver under your touch.
Maybe it was the remaining alcohol still in your system, or maybe pining after him wasn't doing it anymore. You don't know what came over you when you leaned forward, your nose nearly touching his.
Spencer didn't move, you didn't move. It was an odd standoff. "Spence," You softly mumbled his name. You could see his eyes staring down- oh. At your lips. Somehow, you knew he wouldn't do it You watched the way his adams apple bobbed as he swallowed a gulp of nerves.
It was like he couldn't speak. But you knew it the moment you locked eyes again. You'd know that look anywhere; desperation. It was probably gleaming in your eyes, too. You could definitely feel it.
A sudden wave of confidence crashed over you and you felt yourself pushing your lips against Spencer’s. It took him maybe a full second to process what was happening. His large hands came to grab your face, pressing you closer to him. The kiss felt like nothing you’d expected of Spencer. He took control over the situation quickly. He pushed against you hard, slipping his tongue between your slightly parted lips. It was messy, rough, yet filled with such genuine passion it was dizzying.
“Spence,” You pulled back breathlessly. His eyes were filled with something new, something more lustful.
He softly shushed you, hands still on your face, pulling you back in. It was slightly teeth-clashing, hot. “I’ve been waiting for this,” Spencer muttered between kisses, his voice a near whine. “Just couldn’t make the first move.”
Spencer pulled back, rushing around the counter to where you sat. He pushed apart your legs to stand in between them. His fingers grabbed your chin, thumb on it and his first finger under your chin. He gently forced your head to look up to him. His cheeks were flushed, and you assumed yours were a near identical reflection.
“Tell me what you want,” Spencer whispered. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give you anything, everything.”
“You, I just want you.”
That’s all it took for Spencer to kiss you again. your hands went around his neck to pull off his tie, your hands then moving to unbutton his dress shirt. His worked just as quickly to undo yours.
“Not here,” Spencer muttered, eyes falling to your half-bare chest. “My room’s down the hall.”
With Spencer’s hand in your own, you quickly ran to his bedroom, a soft giggle escaping your lips and how cliché this all felt. Spencer couldn’t help but smile at your amusement. You leapt onto his bed, landing on your knees as you wrapped your arms around his neck, playing with the hair that ended on the back of his head.
“Hi, boy genius.” You smiled, voice soft and warm. It reminded Spencer of a hot vanilla latte, or maybe something like a cinnamon roll. Sweet, warm, delicious.
“Hi, pretty girl.” Spencer replied, thumb rubbing sweetly over your cheek.
You both stared into each others eyes for a moment, taking in the delicacy of the intimate moment. Spencer slowly pushed his lips onto yours. It was the most gentle kiss of the evening, and it reminded you that Spencer wasn’t doing this because he felt like it. No, you were his type. Not Lila, you.
Spencer and you slowly discarded the rest of your clothing, allowing Spencer to slowly drag his fingers over your bare skin, admiring your beauty. “You’re almost as beautiful as Aphrodite,” he muttered. “I would say prettier, but the ancient Greek believed it would curse whomever was called more beautiful because Aphrodite wanted to remain the most beautiful.”
Even during moments like this, you loved Spencer’s rambles. Slowly, Spencer began to kiss all around your jaw, moving down your neck and to your chest. Your hands found his hair as you arched into him. He spent some time licking and sucking on your chest, loving the way you sounded for him, the way you pulled on his hair. He loved the smell of your skin, how soft it felt beneath his lips and tongue.
“Spencer,” you whined, pulling harder on his hair.
The man looked up to you, eyes gleaming as his mouth popped off you with a small pop. “Yeah, baby?”
“I need more,” you replied.
“Like what?” Spencer teased, slowly dragging his finger down your stomach. “Need more here?” He asked, playfully biting at your chest. “Or… here?” Spencer’s fingers trailed over your thigh, slowly moving from the inside to the out.
You groaned, “Oh, there! Please, there!”
Spencer also groaned in reply, “Didn’t take you as a begger,” he muttered. “but I love it.”
Slowly, Spencer moved his finger to your aching core. It slowly ran through your folds, causing you to moan loudly. “Spence,”
“Is this all for me?” Spencer cockily asked, referring to your wetness. You nodded quickly, pulling him down to kiss you once more. As he kissed you, he slid a finger inside, just to the first knuckle to gather some of your slick. He brought it back out and slowly began to circle your clit with it. Pulling back from the kiss, you became a mess of moans, whines, and breathy sounds. Spencer slowly kissed up and down your neck as he played with your sensitive bundle of nerves. “This enough for you, baby?”
“Inside,” you stumble out. “Please, inside me.”
Spencer couldn’t help but give you exactly what you wanted. How could he when you begged so nicely for him? He brought that same finger back inside, plunging it until it reached his final knuckle. Slowly, he began to pump it in and out of you, allowing you grace to adjust to the new object inside you.
“How’s that?” Spencer asked.
“Good, so good,” You babbled.
His finger multiplied and became two. They pumped in and out, adding slight curls to his fingers every now and again. His thumb went back to your clit, slowly rubbing it for added pleasure. “This what you wanted, sweet girl? This what you’ve imagined me doing to you?”
“Yes, yes!” You moaned.
Spencer smiled, “I’m not going to lie, I’ve imagined this moment for the last year.” In any other occasion, you would’ve became bashful at the declaration, but you were already too far gone with the alcohol and pleasure in your system.
It was then Spencer’s fingers hit your soft spot, causing your back to arch. “Oh, baby!” You cried out, grabbing onto the man above you and wrapping your legs around his waist to feel him deeper.
“There?” He asked.
“Oh, yes! There!” You answered quickly.
Spencer worked his magic, adding another finger as you stretched for him. It didn’t take long for your first orgasm to hit you like a sea of stars. Spencer softly shushed you, helping you relax.
“You okay?” Spencer smoothed your hair as he looked at you carefully.
You nodded, “Please, Spence. I want you.”
Spencer wasted no time lining himself up with you, allowing some of your slick to gather on his hard-on. He pushed in, causing you both to groan in unison.
“Oh my god,” he breathlessly said. “You’re so tight, oh my god. Baby, you feel so good.” His voice raised, slightly higher than normal as he resisted the urge to move until you said so.
“Move, move, please,” You told him. He wasted no time pushing his hips forward and backward, pulling your legs up around his hips once more.
He fit you so good, so right. Everything in that moment felt perfect, like he was made for you. You were made for him. It took Spencer less than a minute to be snapping his hips in record time. You felt like your eyes were going to roll back at the pleasure.
Spencer grabbed your chin the way he did earlier, “Look at me, baby. Wanna see your pretty eyes.”
Still reeling from your last orgasm, it took you no time to feel your climax approaching once more. “Spence, I need to come,”
“Not yet,” He groaned. “‘M almost there, baby. Hold on,” You felt a loud whine emit from your throat. The sound of it made Spencer’s dick throb, and you felt it. “Doing so good for me, honey. Oh, god, I’m almost there. So good.”
You were on the brink of orgasm. You weren’t sure if you could hold it any longer. “Spencer!”
“Where?” He asked.
“In, oh my god,” You practically were yelling at this point.
“Let go, baby,” Spencer’s words were all you needed to finally reach that sweet, sweet release again. You felt him spill inside you, the warmth making your orgasm feel even better. Spencer’s arms slowly gave out above you, and he slowly fell onto your chest. He pressed his lips to your hair, a sweet gesture.
The two of you laid there, catching your breath. You played with Spencer’s curls as he gently rubbed your cheek with his thumb. “I kind of have a crush on you,” You admitted jokingly, knowing he knew.
“Yeah?” He chuckled. “I do too.” He sat up, pulling out of you. You wished he didn’t; it felt so empty. “You gotta go pee, right?”
“Yeah,” You groaned lazily, slowly sitting up. “Hey, you’re gonna take me on a date after this, right?”
Spencer nodded with a smile, “I already have it planned. Now, go use the bathroom so we can fall asleep together.”
You mock saluted at him, “Yes, sir. I’ll be right back.”
Who knew your night out would lead to the best night of your life?
2K notes · View notes
soaps-mohawk · 1 year ago
Text
Cherry Red, Crimson Blood
Chapter 6: One Step Closer
Summary: You're all trying to adjust to the changes happening between you and the members of your pack.
Pairings: Poly 141 x reader, some Price x Gaz
Warnings: NSFW, 18+, suggestive content, handjobs, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, military inaccuracies, language
A/N: I'm not entirely happy with this one and might come back when I feel better and do some changes, but for now, it's fine. Mostly just a filler chapter more than anything. Some sweet moments, some maybe steamy...Building up for some more exciting things coming in the next parts. Also I just wanted to clear something up, pretty much everyone in this universe is at least a little bisexual. That will make sense once you read the chapter.
MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->
(Gif found on Google)
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He curses the click of the door as it opens, making sure to go slowly so it doesn’t squeak as it’s prone to when it rains. His lips turn up in a smile as he catches a glimpse at the sight on the couch, no more than half a moment before Price’s honed senses cause him to wake at the change in atmosphere. 
He blinks tired eyes at Gaz, head lifting from where it had drooped to his chest in his sleep. He adjusts his hold on you, still asleep and unaware in the safety of your alpha’s arms. 
“Sleeping in your office again, sir?” Gaz says quietly, stepping closer to the couch. 
Price grunts quietly, shifting his hold on you so he can lift a hand to rub at his eyes. His voice is thick and gravelly with sleep as he answers. “Didn’t mean to.” 
Gaz hums, running a hand through Price’s hair as the air between them changes from Captain and Sergeant to alpha and beta. “Should get you both to bed.” 
“You take her.” Price murmurs. “She’ll forgive you easier for invading her space.” 
Gaz knows he’s right. He’d already been invited in once. His scent in your space would be less jarring than Price’s. Price carefully unravels your arms from around his neck, letting Gaz slip his arms under you to lift you off his lap. You stir slightly at the movement, letting out a quiet grumble. 
“Shh pretty girl.” Gaz shushes you, letting your head rest against his shoulder. “Just taking you to bed.” 
Price follows behind him as he carries you through the halls to your room. You’re asleep by the time he reaches your door, Price opening it for him. Gaz slips in, carrying you to your bed. He makes sure you’re comfortable, tucking the blanket around you before leaning down to kiss your forehead. 
He spares one last glance at you fast asleep before he closes the door, turning to Price. “Your turn.” 
“You gonna carry me too?” Price asks, a playful glint shining in his eyes despite the obvious exhaustion. 
Gaz huffs out a laugh. “You wish.” He puts a hand on his back, guiding Price down to his door, closest to the entry to the barracks. 
He follows the alpha into his space, meticulously clean and tidy as usual. They both blink against the harsh overhead light, Gaz leaning against the door as Price begins emptying his pockets, getting settled in his space. 
“She knelt for me tonight.” Price says as he sits at his desk to unlace his boots. 
“She’s making headway.” Gaz replies, surprised that you asked to kneel so soon. He knows how meaningful kneeling is to both alpha and omega, how intense it can be, how much trust there is involved. 
Price hums, standing to remove his pants. “I fear Laswell was right. She’s turning out to be a good fit.” 
“She’s already got Simon worked up.” Gaz smiles, moving to the dresser to fish out clean sleep clothes. “I fear she may be taking a page out of Johnny’s book.” 
“Well, if it gets him to stop torturing himself, then I can’t say I’ll complain.” Price says, pulling his shirt over his head. “You know how he is.” 
“I know.” Gaz says, holding out the clean shirt and sweatpants. “Can’t say I blame him entirely. Not after what he’s been through.” 
Price slips on the clean clothes, stepping closer to Gaz. “He’ll warm up to our girl eventually.” 
“‘Our girl?’” Gaz’s eyebrows lift as Price steps in even closer, their noses brushing. “That’s quite the jump.” 
“She’s been our girl from the start. As soon as those papers were finalized, there was no sending her back.” Price says, pressing a kiss to the corner of Gaz’s lips. “I wouldn’t put her through that. Not after everything.” 
Gaz pulls back, Staring at Price’s face. “You know something.” 
“I wouldn’t say I know anything, but I have my suspicions.” He moves past Gaz, turning off the overhead light. “I know we all do.” 
“You think she’ll tell us?” 
“I think she will, with time. I don’t want to push her into too much too soon.” He pats Gaz on the ass. “Come on, in bed.” 
“Sir, yes sir.” Gaz smirks, Price giving him a look as the beta pulls down the covers, crawling into the bed. 
Price groans internally, trying to calm the twitch in his pants at the mental picture of you, those big puppy eyes shining playfully as you saluted him. The small spark of excitement every time you call him “sir.” How easily you relaxed for him while you knelt, giving over complete trust and control to him for an hour. 
He crawls under the covers, tossing an arm over Gaz, trying to block out all the mental images flashing through his head. 
“Forget something in your pocket, sir?” Gaz says, the smirk evident in his voice.
“Shut it, Garrick.” 
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You’re jarred awake by the sound of movement in the hallway. You let out a quiet noise of indignation, letting your eyes close again. It’s too early, around the time the boys leave to go workout. You’ve been graciously given a couple days off to rest and recover, likely Price’s recommendation. You knew if it were up to Ghost, he’d force you to work through the pain. You’re glad for the break, though, and you would be even if you weren’t horribly sore. 
Your head is still spinning a bit from last night. You’re not quite sure how you made it to bed, but the faint scent of clean linen and the sea gives you an idea. You bury your face in your pillow, letting out a groan. You knelt for Price last night. You opened yourself up to that vulnerability, and he had graciously guided and supported you through it. He didn’t scruff you, even though he could have, nor was there any demand for control in his grasp, he could have easily taken it. 
He’d been a good alpha, helping you relax and destress. You feel lighter for the first time in weeks, since you found out where you were going and who your new pack was going to be. You feel lighter than you have in your entire time on this base, though that could just be the endorphins still flowing a bit from kneeling for your alpha. 
It’ll be easier to come down from it once you’re bonded, you know that. Once there’s that connection between you, and you’re around him all the time. You’ll be moving into his room, or at least you’ll spend most of your time in there. You’ll sleep in his bed with him. You wonder if he’s a cuddler, or if he prefers personal space. Would Gaz join you sometimes? You can practically feel the warmth of being sandwiched between them, battle hardened hands trailing along your bare body because you’ll be naked and well bonded with both of them. 
You bury your burning face in your pillow letting out a muffled, quiet scream at the thoughts your mind is conjuring. You feel hot, warmth pooling in your stomach. There’s no going back to sleep now, you know that. 
You get up, rushing to the bathroom to splash cold water on your face and erase the thoughts in your head. It’s entirely natural, having these thoughts. You will get to that place, very soon, with Price. The others could pursue that sort of relationship with you as well, if they wanted to. It will likely happen naturally with Gaz, given his bond with Price, and after your kiss with Soap...
You’re not sure if it would happen with Ghost, or if he would allow it. You can’t help but think about yesterday, how easily he had overpowered you with just his scent. You had been scared, as it was your nature to be when an alpha was posing a direct threat to you, but the way he had looked hovering over you, the feeling of him pressed against you when he’d pinned you to the floor. How easily he got you into that position. A shiver runs down your spine at the thought of him pinning you down like that, or better, pinning you against Soap, his hand on the back of your neck. 
You splash cold water on your face, holding your breath until your lower body stops pulsing in time with your heart. You let out a quiet curse, focusing on getting ready for the day before grabbing your book and heading for the rec room to try and calm yourself. 
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“You’re up early, love.” 
You jump at the voice, lowering your book as you look up from your spot stretched out on the couch. Gaz is standing there, skin dewy with sweat. They must have just returned from their morning workout, heading in to shower and get ready for the day. Gaz must have noticed your scent and followed it. 
“Couldn’t get back to sleep.” You explain as he moves closer to the couch. “Gaz!” You shriek as he crawls over you, dropping his body on top of yours. “You’re all sweaty!” 
“You can shower later.” He says, resting his face against your chest, his elbows pressed into the cushions so he’s not completely squishing you with his weight. 
“You should be showering now.” You say, trying not to breathe in too much of his scent. It’s heavily tainted with the scent of sweat and musk. 
“Then we can shower together.” He murmurs, nuzzling his face further into your chest. 
Your face warms, your heart rate picking up at his teasing. The thought of being enclosed in the shower with him, such a small space, packed in together. Skin to skin, bare before each other. You might implode beneath him, warmth beginning to travel down your spine after your thoughts earlier. 
“Relax.” He murmurs with a grin, obviously picking up the quickening of your heart rate and the change in your scent. “I’m teasing.” 
He’s just as bad as Soap, but not quite as blatant with it. While Soap would tease at any open opportunity, Gaz tended to choose his moments wisely, slipping some teasing remark in when you least expected it. 
Gaz goes quiet as he lays there, his breathing steady. You mark your page before reaching up to set the book on the arm of the couch. You can’t help yourself as you run your fingers through his short cropped, damp curls, gently scratching at his scalp. He makes a quiet noise, his body getting heavier. 
“Gaz?” You murmur, earning a grunt in response. “Are you falling asleep?” 
“Can’t help it.” He murmurs. “So comfy.” 
Your cheeks warm as he nuzzles into your chest, letting out a content sigh. You fight the urge to release one of your own, feeling warm and content even pressed against the lumpy cushions of the couch. How easy it is to find comfort even in the most uncomfortable places. 
It doesn’t have to be uncomfortable. 
Your heart rate kicks up again, hand stilling where it had been scratching Gaz’s scalp. You’re allowed to want. You asked yesterday and nothing bad happened. 
“Gaz?” You murmur, trying to fight the nervous twisting of your stomach. “Would you...if I wanted something, would you get it for me, even if it’s stupid?” 
Gaz shifts on top of you, knees pressing into the couch as he pushes himself higher so you’re face to face. One of his legs is between yours, holding him up so he doesn’t squish you under his weight. 
He stares down at you, blinking the haze of sleep from his dark eyes. “Babygirl, I’d take over the world for you if that’s what you wanted.” 
Your lips part in surprise at his answer. You’re not entirely sure he’s allowed to say something like that, even as a joke. The sentiment of it is not lost on you, and you find tears prickling the backs of your eyes. 
His arms shift beneath you, thumbs brushing your cheeks. “Tell me what you want.” 
You stare up into those big, sweet, dark eyes. Gaz radiates a kindness and calmness like you haven’t felt in a long time. Not that the others aren’t kind, even in Ghost and his aggressiveness, you’ve felt the protective drive within him. It wasn’t based on any claim or sense of ownership, even a sense of duty couldn’t bring forward that kind of reaction. But Gaz...there’s just something so soft and gentle despite the danger he could pose. 
“Kiss me.” You blurt out, realizing you’ve been staring for far too long. 
Gaz stares down at you, a grin slowly spreading on his lips. “Just that? Here I thought you were gonna say something impossible like world domination.” 
“Well, if you’re offering...” You shrug. 
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Probably shouldn’t be making those jokes.” He leans down closer. “Though, if you asked nicely...” 
You let out a quiet sound as his lips press against yours. They’re just as soft as they look, pressing against yours so gently and softly. Your arms lift to his shoulders, curling into the fabric of his shirt. He coaxes your lips to move with his, copying his movements as he tilts his head slightly. 
Warmth blooms beneath your skin as he kisses you, your head spinning. His scent invades your nose, seeping into your very being. You want to curl up in it, let it surround you like a warm blanket. You catch the whiff of something deeper, the scent of damp earth. Price. You have a sudden urge to pull his shirt collar to the side, to stare at the mark that decorates his scent gland at the base of his throat, a mirror of the one you’ll carry in a few short weeks. 
“Ye didnae tell me ye were startin’ a cuddle pile!” 
An excited voice causes you both to separate, Gaz barely managing to lift himself up enough so that you don’t get squished when Soap practically jumps on his back. 
“Bloody hell, mate,” Gaz grunts. “Tryna squish our poor omega?” 
The weight above you shifts before Soap’s head appears over Gaz’s shoulder, a wide grin on his face. “Mornin’ hen!” 
“For someone so small, you weigh a ton.” Gaz says with a strain to his voice as sweat breaks out across his forehead from keeping his weight and Soap's off of you.
“I'm no that small.” Soap says, an offended tone to his voice as he goes limp on top of Gaz. 
You can't help but giggle at their antics, especially as Gaz pushes himself up to a kneeling position, nearly sending Soap rolling to the floor. Your face is warm from your giggling as they both stand, playfully pushing each other. 
“Alright, enough you two.” Price's voice cuts through their playful arguing, amusement shining in his eyes as he leans on the doorframe. “Almost time for breakfast.”
“Come on.” Gaz says, taking your hands and helping you up. “Let's get some pancakes in you before you turn into one.”
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“You should try courting her.” Kyle says, scrolling through his phone as he lounges on John's bed. “Like old-fashioned courting.”
“What are you on about?” John grumbles, drying his face with a towel. 
“Our little omega. You should try courting her.” Kyle repeats, looking over his phone at John. 
John tosses his towel into his hamper before approaching the bed. Kyle lets his eyes rake over his form, his strong arms and soft stomach, thick, strong thighs and the prominent bulge at the front of his briefs. 
“It would be worth a try.” Kyle continues, letting John pull the phone from his hands. “Omegas love that shit.” 
“And what prompted this thought?” John asks, laying down on his side next to Kyle, pulling the younger man closer. 
“She's getting all worked up by us now.” He says, biting back a groan as John trails a hand over his side. “She's kissed Soap and I so far. Got all worked up when I teased her about showering together this morning.” His hand trails through John's short hair as John licks at his throat. “I think she'd enjoy a little attention from her alpha.”
“What do you have in mind?” John murmurs before sinking his teeth into the soft skin of Kyle's throat. 
Kyle shrugs, letting out a gasp as John bites at his throat. “Take her out for dinner? Buy her some things for her room? Give in to those alpha cravings a bit.”
John lets out a low growl, pinning Kyle on the bed beneath him. Kyle's lips lift in a smirk, fingers lifting to run through John's beard. His thumb drags across John's lower lip, gaze soft as he stares up at the alpha. 
“You won't ruin anything by doing it. There's only so much time until her heat. If I were an alpha, I'd want her to be as comfortable as possible before then. Makes the shift into bonded pack life much easier.” Kyle says. 
John leans down until their noses brush, groaning softly as Kyle digs his fingers into his shoulders. He knows Kyle is right. He should make an effort with you, at least try to ensure you're as comfortable around him as possible before he claims you. Most alphas wouldn't have waited for the first heat, wouldn't have even waited a week before claiming, before taking their omega to bed. He doesn't want to be like those alphas. He doesn't want to force you into more than you already have been, more than you will be. 
He wants things to happen as naturally as possible, but that doesn't mean he can't try. 
Kyle leans up, closing the distance between them and kissing him. He presses his beta back into the mattress, nipping harshly at his lips. Their tongues tangle together, tasting like peppermint toothpaste and something distinctly alpha and beta. 
John presses his body closer to Kyle's groaning as his half hard cock drags against Kyle's. Kyle moans into his mouth as John begins grinding against him. Their bodies move together, a familiar dance they've both memorized the steps to. 
John groans as Kyle's fingers trail down his back, blunt nails biting into the skin. Breathy moans slip from kiss-bruised plump lips as John kisses down Kyle's throat. Calloused fingers slip under the waistband of John's briefs, teasing the soft supple skin beneath. John grinds down against him harder, dragging his leaking cock against Kyle's twitching one. 
“Fuck, Cap.” Kyle groans, bucking up against his alpha. “Lemme feel you.”
John wraps his arms around Kyle, flipping them over so he's on top. Kyle makes quick work of his boxers, tugging John's briefs down roughly. He groans, licking his lips at the sight of his alpha's leaking cock. 
“Like what you see, pup?” John asks, lips lifting in a smirk. 
“Fuck yes.” Kyle breathes, settling himself on John's thighs. 
He leans down, wrapping a hand around both his and John's cocks. John groans as Kyle begins stroking them both, his cock twitching as more precum slips from his tip. He's close, the pent up frustrations from the last couple days along with the tantalizing scent of omega driving him to near insanity. 
He feels like he might pop a knot as Kyle picks up the pace, one hand braced against his chest, his hips rocking in short thrusts. His head falls back as his orgasm slams into him, hit cum spurting across his stomach. Kyle groans loudly, frantically pumping his own cock as he reaches his peak, spurting his spend across his alpha's stomach too. 
“Made quite the mess, Sergeant.” John says, trailing his fingers through the mix of cum on his stomach. 
“Would you like me to clean it up, sir?” Kyle smirks, opening his mouth to allow John's fingers to push in. 
His tongue swirls around his thick fingers, lapping them clean. Kyle shifts on top of him, bending down and trailing his tongue across John's stomach, licking up their mess. 
“Good boy.” John hums, gently cradling the back of Kyle's neck. 
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The sky is dark as you make your way from your room. Gaz and Price are nowhere to be found, your cheeks warming at the thought of where they could be and what they could be up to. You take a breath to steady yourself, and your scent, before you head into the rec room. Soap and Ghost are there, Soap on the opposite end of the couch as usual, and Ghost in the chair next to the couch that faces the door. 
He sees you first, his shoulders squaring just a bit. Soap turns to the doorway, a typical grin splitting his face when he sees you. It’s been a while since you’ve seen anyone be happy to see you, and you can’t deny that Soap’s joy is a bit contagious. He’s like an excited puppy. You can imagine if he had a tail, it would be wagging non-stop. 
“Come tae join us, hen?” He asks, holding out a hand. 
Ghost’s eyes are sharp as they stare at you, the silent warning not lost. You’re infringing on their space, infringing on his protective circle around his beta. You’re pushing a boundary and that could be dangerous. 
It could be. 
You move forward, taking Soap’s hand, letting him tug you down next to him on the couch. You ignore the eyes burning into you, boring holes into your skin as you settle in as close to Soap as you can. You almost smile in victory as Soap drapes his arm across the back of the couch, your attention turning to whatever is playing on the TV. 
Ghost and Soap continue their conversation, Soap's fingers brushing your arm every so often. You can feel every time Ghost's burning gaze turns to you, every time he glowers at you for being so close to his beta. You can't help but wonder what's going through his mind, what he's thinking, what he's imagining. 
You'll pay for this later. 
You can only imagine how he'll punish you in your training for boldly breaching such an obvious boundary. 
Soap doesn't seem to notice, or perhaps he simply doesn't care. It's not like you're not allowed to be close to Soap. As a member of your new pack, he had every right to pursue a bond with you if he wanted, regardless of how Ghost felt. Even though they're bonded, Soap is still his own person. 
It's almost ironic. 
You're starting to feel the exhaustion of your early morning as the night drags on, your head getting heavier and heavier. Ghost's need to glower at you has lessened a bit, his eyes only on you whenever you shift or move. Your head has drooped onto Soap's shoulder, an idea forming in your mind. You're sure it's the exhaustion making you so bold, or perhaps your new belief that the only way you'll even stand a chance at getting through to Ghost is to push those boundaries and stand up to him.
You lift your head, shifting your body until you're laying on the couch, resting your head on Soap's thigh. You watch Ghost's hands curl into fists where they rest on his lap, his eyes burning through your head as you make yourself comfortable. Soap's hand sinks into your hair, massaging your scalp as you lay there, your lips curling into a content smile. 
You know it has to be eating at him just a little. A content beta and a preening omega, an image of what he could have if he simply got over whatever is keeping him from accepting you. 
“Tired, lass?” Soap's gentle voice pulls you from your thoughts. Your mind had started to doze a bit, trailing off with your thoughts. 
You make a quiet noise in agreement, nuzzling against his thigh. 
“Let's get ye tae bed.” He says, squeezing your arm. 
You're not expecting Ghost to follow as Soap leads you from the rec room, your fingers entwined with his. Even in your tired state you can feel the icy stare at your back, the looming presence of the alpha behind you as Soap walks you to your door. 
“Night, hen.” Soap murmurs softly. 
You're sure it's the exhaustion making you delirious as you stand on your toes, pressing your lips to his in a soft kiss. Soap hums against your lips, bending down to follow you as you go to pull away. You ignore the tickling at the back of your neck as he presses another kiss to your lips, your hand reaching for your doorknob and the security of your room. 
“Night, Soap.” You murmur, slipping into your room before Ghost makes a rash decision. 
You're going to regret it later, but you certainly don't at this moment. 
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The fabric isn’t as soft as it used to be. It’s been worn too much, washed too many times. You’ve stitched the ripped seam back together, a bit sloppy but you can hardly tell thanks to the luck of finding thread the same color as the sweatshirt. You hold it in your hands, staring at the frayed edges, the loose strings. Well loved, some might call it. Garbage, others might think. 
“Finally fixing the holes?” 
The voice cutting through the silence makes you jump, your head whipping around to the door. Price is standing there, leaning against the doorframe. 
“Sorry, sweetheart. Didn’t mean to startle you.” He says. 
“It’s alright, sir.” You say, calming your racing heart. You hadn’t even heard him approach. “I thought you were all at training.” 
“I had a call I had to take.” He says, entering the room now that you’ve calmed. “Was heading back out when I caught a whiff of your scent.” He lowers himself onto the couch with a quiet groan, staring softly at you. 
“I know it’s stupid, holding onto it when I could just ask for a new one.” You say, staring down at the sweatshirt in your hands. 
“But it’s more than just a sweatshirt.” He says, tone soft and understanding. 
You sink your teeth into your lip, fingers curling into the fabric in your hands. “One of the omegas at the institute gave it to me.” You say, holding the sweatshirt to your chest. “We were the same age so we were grouped together a lot and we got really close. She gave it to me when we reached selection age, since we both knew we were likely to get chosen fast and she wanted to give me something to remember her by. It’s a good thing she did too, because she did get chosen almost immediately.” You let out a quiet laugh, blinking back tears. “I’ve held on to it ever since. It doesn't even smell like her anymore. Hasn’t for a long time.” 
Price is quiet for a few moments, his eyes on your face. You can’t look at him, your gaze on the sweatshirt in your lap. “You loved her.” He finally says, his tone not accusing or even disgusted. 
It’s understanding. Knowing.
You take a shaky breath, hands closing into nervous fists around the sweatshirt. “Institutes try everything they can to prevent omegas from bonding with each other. Makes it too hard to separate us once we come of age. Alphas don’t want a distressed, unhappy omega, they’re expecting an eager, willing addition to their pack. It’s hard though, when you spend literal years together experiencing the same thing to not form bonds with each other.”
 Price huffs quietly. “My grandfather used to tell me about the traditional pack boom after World War 2. When militaries across the world began to forbid bonding and pack formation within ranks. They were spending more time and money on preventing it from happening than anything else. It didn’t take them long to realize it was easier to allow the organic bonds to form. It made soldiers stronger, gave them purpose. It’s easier to look away than to fight what nature intends sometimes.” He smiles at you, stretching his arm across the back of the couch. “We are the last people that will judge you for it.”
You know that. You've known that from the start. The way their scents mingle, their bonds. They're a bonded pack for a reason. 
“She never knew. Or, I never told her. I don't know where she ended up or where she is now.” You shrug, letting out a sardonic huff. “It's a lonely existence sometimes, being an omega.”
“I can only imagine.” Price says, giving you a sad smile. 
“I suppose I should just get rid of it.” You say, staring at the sweatshirt. “No use holding onto something that could have never been.” 
Price squeezes your shoulder gently. “Wait here.” 
He gets up, leaving you alone in the rec room. You wait patiently for him to return, growing a bit nervous. What was he doing? Was he telling someone about your confession? Was he going to send you back because of it? You know your worries are unwarranted, but you can't stop them. 
He returns a few moments later, a sweatshirt in his hands. “Here.” He says, holding it out to you. “They're standard issue, but I've never been one for sweatshirts. It's just been sitting in my closet.”
You take the sweatshirt, soft and new in your hands. It hardly smells like him, only the light residual scent from being in his room. “Thank you, sir.” You say, rubbing the fabric against your cheek. 
He nods at your old sweatshirt. “This way you can save that one, and start picking this one apart.” 
Your face warms at his cheeky comment, your head turning down bashfully. “It means a lot, sir. Really.” 
“You'll get better use of it than I did.” He glances at his watch. “I best be getting back to the boys. We'll be back before dinner.”
“Wait-” You get up before he can leave, slowly approaching him with the sweatshirt in hand. Your face is burning as he stares down at you, eyebrows raised in waiting. “Will you...scent it?” You hold the sweatshirt out to him.
He looks surprised for a moment before he takes the fabric, rubbing his face and neck against it. He coats the sweatshirt in his scent, the smell of trees and petrichor filling your nose as you watch him. The back of your neck begins to prickle, the desire to roll in his scent getting stronger. 
“Thank you, sir.” You say as he hands the sweatshirt back to you. “I'd...I'd also like to kneel again tonight, if that's alright.”
He smiles softly down at you. “Of course. I'll come and get you when I'm ready.” He leans down, pressing a kiss to your head before he takes his leave. 
You pull on Price's sweatshirt, burying your nose in his scent for a moment. A smile pulls at your lips as you grab your old sweatshirt, making for your room.
You can't wait for tonight. 
NEXT ->
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asharasasylum · 4 months ago
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♡ drabble booklet - entry 1
˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗ warnings: step-cest. corruption kink. dry humping. smut. 18+
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Step!Brother Rafe finds you irresistible as you try to make yourself comfortable on his lap. You’re wearing that sheer slip, the one that practically leaves you bare in front of him. It’s stupid, he thinks but he tries not to comment on it, knowing it’ll only make you pout at him and try to slip away from him again. 
Like the way you're softly pouting now as you look at him. “Rafe,” you fearfully whisper, staring at him with wide doe eyes. “I don’t think we should-” 
He shushes you quickly, fingers threading themselves through the strands of your hair as he pulls you forward. “Relax,” he tells you, nudging his nose against yours. “Just like I taught you,  remember?” 
You nod, leaning further into him and being the good step-sister he had taught you to be. You press your lips to his, gentle and almost unsure at first when they connect, only to grow hungrier when he reciprocates. It’s always the same, you pretend to not like it, to not be that into it, only to become desperate from his touch. You soon find yourself eagerly parting your lips when his tongue swipes against them, letting his tongue roam freely in your mouth. 
Rafe thinks he likes the little game you play, you acting coy every time he comes into your room, only seconds later for you to be whimpering into his mouth. He likes the idea that he is corrupting you. 
“I’m going to guide you, okay?” Rafe tells you, with a smug smile. His hands fall to your hips as they grip onto them, kneading his thumbs into your flesh as he prepares you for what he’s about to do. 
You nod bashfully, barely taking notice of what he’s actually doing until you feel it. Your crotch rubs against him as he rolls your hips, eliciting a gasp from your lips. 
“You okay?” He asks, cupping your cheek with one hand. You nod again, only this time your eyes are half lidded as you dazedly stare at him. “This okay?” He rolls his hips upwards, his hardened cock pushing up against you in the process and watching how your lips part to take another steady breath. 
“Yes,” you mutter, reacting to him as you follow his movements. As always you’re a quick learner, taking what you want and letting your desires guide you. 
“There you go.” 
You barely register his words, or when his hands start to roam over your body. You’re too lost in the feel of him rubbing against you, your clothed pussy becoming slick every time he nudged upwards into your clit. You can’t even think about kissing him, and you love kissing him, you’re just too focused on the feel of him underneath you and the way your stomach knots in delight. 
The clothes between you don’t lessen the friction and yet you still really want to take off your shorts. You think he can tell, reading your fucked out expresion as you stare at him through hazy eyes. If he can’t see it written over your face, he can hear it in your sharp breaths as you move your hips faster. 
“Rafe,” you whimper when he stops, pulling your hips up off of him. 
“Give me a sec,” Rafe hisses, hand slipping down to his shorts. 
You follow his hand, watching as he adjusts himself in his shorts. You’ve never seen it before, not even like this, his hardened cock a thick outline in his shorts. He’s big, you can tell even though you have no other guys to compare it to. 
He groans, when he manages to get it into a more comfortable position. His cock slaps forward, the tip peeking through the waistband of his shorts. Bright red and leaking. 
“Take it out,” the words fall from your tongue catching you both by surprise. 
“You sure?” He asks, with furrowed brows. 
“Please,” you pout at him. 
His hand slips back into the waistband of his shorts with no hesitation, and you watch with wide eyes as he pulls it free. It seems bigger for some reason and you can’t help but stare as he gives it a few strokes. 
He’s quick to yank you back down on top of him, bringing you both back to moments ago. Only it’s better now, Rafe can feel how wet you are, literally dripping through the sheer panties you call shorts. He groans at the sensation, grinding himself harder up into you and eliciting a moan from your lips. 
“You’re soaked,” he tells you, hands roaming over your body once again. 
“Your fault,” you mumble, bringing your lips down to his. You don’t kiss but your lips part as your moans slip from your tongue and into his mouth. It feels good, too good. Especially when your panties get caught, sliding to the side and your bare pussy ends up gliding over him. 
“Shit,” Rafe hisses at this, the sensation and the way you’re panting like some bitch in heat, driving him insane. 
You’re close, your toes curling as your stomach begins to stir and you begin to clench around nothing. He can tell when your hands grip onto his shoulders, and you bite back at a noise that threatens to be too loud. 
He helps you through it, using his hands to keep you sliding up and down his dick, watching how you finally crumble when your orgasm washes over you. He watches the way you fight to keep your eyes locked with him and the way your teeth sink into your lips to hold back your moans. 
But Rafe doesn’t stop there, prolonging the overstimulating feeling as he continues to grind against you, grazing over your sensitive clit repeatedly. He uses you, groaning into your lips as he chases his own high. He doesn’t even think when he starts to spill out onto his stomach, thick ropes coating his abdomen, completely forgetting that he’s still rubbing you over him, coating your pussy in his cum. 
Even as he does realise he’s too shameless to care, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing you down against him. He knows he should clean you up, but he doesn’t want to as he presses his lips to yours in a hungry kiss. And he thinks you don’t want to either. 
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punkshort · 6 months ago
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Thank you Anon for this request!
A Deeper Purpose
Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader one-shot
Summary: Living in Jackson during the apocalypse doesn't do anything to curb your desire to have a child. The problem is, most of the men in town are unavailable... except for one.
Warnings: smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, breeding kink (given the request, obv), language, friends to lovers, mentions of anxiety, infertility, pregnancy, angst, pining, alcohol
WC: 3.4K
dividers by @saradika-graphics
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When you first asked him, he thought you were crazy.
He stared at you in complete disbelief, his gaze flickering down to the drink in your hand, trying to recall how many you had to propose something so insane. But it was only one.
"Are you fuckin' serious?"
"Mhmm," you said confidently. "I've thought about it for a long time. I want a baby and the men in this town are either taken or have the mental fortitude of a child," you joked nervously. "You're neither of those things. Besides... I trust you."
His eyes softened for a moment and he dropped his gaze to the table. You had known Joel for the better part of five years, and while at first he was brash and gruff, throughout countless patrols and fights against infected where you had to have each other's backs, you had grown rather close. Neither of you ever crossed the line past friendship, and you had never even thought about it until recently when your anxiety was keeping you up late at night, wondering if you would ever find a man and settle down to start a family.
It was a luxury in this life, to be sure. The population of Jackson wasn't very large, but in five years you had come to get a good read on most of its citizens. And you kept coming back to the same conclusion: the man for you was not there.
So after much thought and self-reflection, you worked up enough courage to get a drink with Joel after your route and ask him if he would be willing to give you a baby.
You followed up by telling him you would be solely responsible, that you would do all the work and he could be as involved in the child's life as much as he wanted to be, if at all, while he sat there dumbstruck.
Now he cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck nervously as he weighed your proposal.
"Can I think 'bout it?" he finally asked.
"Oh, god, of course!" you exclaimed, eyes widening in surprise that he was considering it at all. "However much time you need."
But that was almost a month ago. Each day that passed you became more anxious, more impatient, and it was beginning to sour your mood.
On that particular day you were checking out the park rangers outpost hidden deep within the Wyoming forest. The building was up within the trees, providing the park rangers in the past a bird's eye view of the forest, and now it gives Jackson the same.
Joel was scribbling something in the log book while you strolled aimlessly around the cabin, opening and shutting drawers loudly, already knowing what was in them but just looking for something to do.
"Somethin' on your mind?" he mumbled over his shoulder, his focus still on the book.
"No," you said defensively, but when you angrily began to struggle with a window that refused to open, it became clear you were lying.
"Here, lemme help," he offered, dropping the pencil and walking to your side of the room.
"I'm fine, I don't need your help," you snapped, though you obviously did.
His hands gripped your shoulders and forcibly moved you out of the way before he took hold of the window and gave it a quick jerk, loosening the window in it's frame and finally allowing fresh air in.
He smirked at you and you rolled your eyes before breezing past him.
"This attitude 'bout the window or 'bout what you asked me?" he challenged, stopping you dead in your tracks. Slowly, you spun around, unsure what to say.
"The window," you finally answered, then shifted your weight and shrugged. "Okay, maybe a little of both."
"Mhmm," he said, advancing toward you. "Thought so."
"Well... have you thought about it or are you just trying to come up with a nice way to say no?"
He frowned and propped his hands on his hips. "Now why d'you think it's a no?"
"Because you haven't said a single word about it in a month," you told him like the answer was obvious.
"Well maybe the answer's yes but I don't know how to casually bring up into polite conversation that I'm ready to knock up my goddamn friend!" he argued.
You stared at him, jaw hanging open in disbelief.
"Wait, really?" you whispered.
He nodded and scrubbed his palms over his face. "Yeah, I mean... if you still wanna or... whatever," he grumbled.
The first time was bad, to put it mildly. Your kisses were all teeth, chins and noses bumped together awkwardly. You had hoped once you got down to it that it would have gotten better, but you were wrong. Your rhythms were all off, you hit your head on the end table, and Joel nearly fell off the couch at one point. Needless to say, you didn't come. It was a miracle he did by the end of it.
Afterwards, you both sat there, catching your breaths and wondering if you made a huge mistake.
No, it wasn't a mistake. It was always a means to an end. Ultimately, it didn't really matter if the sex was good or not, the end result would be the same.
Still...
"I'm not usually that bad," you finally said, breaking the thick silence. He groaned and tipped his head back to rest on the couch.
"Me either. I swear, I ain't lyin'. I never usually..." he trailed off, rubbing his chin, deep in thought. "We'll try again. Back home. In a bed. That's the problem. It's gotta be, right?"
"Yeah," you nodded, not fully believing him but at that point, what could it hurt?
The next time was the following day at your home. It was a little better than the first time, but not by much.
"It doesn't matter, Joel," you assured him, tugging your blanket over your chest.
"Matters to me," he said defensively. "I'm too in my head or somethin'. It's still weird, don't you think?"
"Yeah, it's weird," you agreed.
"It's too planned out. Maybe it's gotta be more natural. More... spontaneous."
"Yeah," you agreed.
A couple evenings later one of the other men on patrol was having a bonfire at his home and invited a handful of others, you and Joel included.
Ten or so people sat around a roaring fire, tossing back whiskey and playing cards or swapping war stories. The alcohol made you feel warm and relaxed, your limbs as loose as your tongue when you joked around with the others, joining in on the teasing when a seasoned patrolman admitted to shooting off a crossbow at a leaf that fell just a little too loudly in the woods.
Then you felt a hand on the small of your back and you turned, your eyes glassy and face warm from the booze and the laughs. Joel stood beside you looking just as at ease as you and he gave you a knowing look.
For once, you were on the same page. Neither of you said a word.
You made your excuses, said your goodbyes, and slipped into the night. It was quiet, the rest of the town asleep, so it was easy to hear Joel's voice carry over the wind a few minutes later when he announced his departure, your heart skipping an excited beat in your chest.
He didn't hurry to catch up with you and you were glad. It helped. The anticipation built up on the walk home, and for the first time you felt a warmth bloom between your legs. Your fingers shakily worked your front door when you heard his steps growing closer, the crunching of gravel growing louder and louder until your door swung open and the squeak of old wood under his boots as he walked up your stairs echoed in your ears.
You didn't bother to turn the lights on. His hands were on your waist instantly, kicking the door closed behind him as his mouth crashed against yours with a groan. All you could hear was your shared breath and the rustling of fabric, each of you working to strip the other of their clothes as quickly as possible.
Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the spontaneity of it. Whatever it was, it was better. Oh, so much better.
Somehow you had made it to your bed and you had never been more grateful to have a small ranch home in your life. When he first pushed inside, you moaned and arched your back off the mattress and his teeth gently grazed your collarbone, sending a wave of goosebumps over your skin. Instantly, you found a rhythm. Your hips rolled to meet his at the perfect time, his hands squeezed and pinched your breasts while his tongue invaded your mouth, only sliding down to cup your ass when he sensed it was becoming too much.
"More," you moaned into his mouth, heels digging into the backs of his thighs. He alternated between snapping and grinding his hips, the mix of sensations quickly bringing you over the edge.
You could feel the excitement in his body when he finally made you come. Like he was reenergized and focused, like he had finally accomplished what he set out to do.
"Come for me, Joel," you whispered in his ear before nipping at his earlobe. You could tell he was close by the way his muscles tensed and the deep groans emanating from his chest.
"Yeah? Want me to come in this tight little pussy?" he growled, the dirty talk sending a jolt of surprise through you. Before, he had been so quiet. This was new.
"Yeah," you whispered back, "want you to fuck a baby in me. I want everyone to see what you did to me."
He groaned so loudly you wondered if it could be heard from outside. His teeth sunk down into your shoulder when he came, muffled words being spoken into your skin as he shot thick ropes of his seed deep into your womb, only slowing when his legs began to shake and he collapsed on top of you with a huff.
"Fuck," he gasped, still trying to catch his breath on top of you. "That was..." he trailed off with a chuckle and you felt him swallow tightly. "That was much better."
"Yeah," you whispered, your eyes sliding shut as your fingers gently raked through his hair. You didn't even realize you were doing it or how intimate it seemed considering your arrangement, but he didn't seem to mind. In fact, he leaned into it a bit as he waited for his heartrate to slow.
Once he collected himself, he propped himself up on his hands and slowly eased out of you with a hiss.
"Can you hand me-"
"Yeah," he said, already knowing you were asking for the small, firm pillow you used last time to prop your hips up, and gave it to you. With a groan, he got to his feet and went to your bathroom while you tucked your knees against your chest, hoping you were getting the angle right.
When he emerged from the bathroom, he handed you a wet washcloth to use when you were done, then began to dress.
He glanced at your face, then your hips propped up in the air.
"You need anythin' else?"
"No, I think this'll do," you joked, and he chuckled before he stood.
"Alright then. See you tomorrow?"
"Yep," you said with a smile, then watched him as he left your bedroom and listened while he slid his boots back on and quietly shut the door behind him, leaving you all alone.
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"Fuck, it better work this time," you muttered as you bounced up and down on Joel's lap, your hands digging into his shoulders for support as you slid up and down on his cock. His hands held your waist, guiding you while you rode him on his couch, his eyes transfixed on where you were connected.
"Gotta relax. I told you, it ain't gonna work if you stress yourself out," he replied, eyes still glued to the way his cock emerged from your clutch even wetter than before.
"It's been six months, Joel," you whined, but he shushed you by slanting his mouth over yours. He didn't want to admit it, but he didn't mind when you came to him each month with a look of dejection when your efforts inevitably failed. He felt bad for you, don't get him wrong, but he had grown very fond of the one week every month you found yourself wrapped around his cock.
His thumb found your clit and he felt you tense and your mind went blank. Perfect.
"'S'right," he murmured, watching your face go slack, "just turn off that pretty little head of yours for a minute and lemme take care of you."
You nodded, eyes sliding shut as your hips began to work faster, rolling and grinding down on him until your nails dug into his skin and you cried out his name. Fuck, he loved hearing that. It didn't take much more for him to come, his hands gripping your sides so tight, he was afraid he might leave bruises as he thrusted up into you, giving you every last drop of his release.
"Goddamn," he whispered, head falling back onto the couch as he panted for air.
"Shit," you gasped, voice a little cracked. "Shoulda finished with me laying down. It's gonna leak out when -"
Without a word, he wrapped his arms around you and, still plugging you with his cock, twisted around so you were laying flat on the couch and he was hovering above you.
"Better?"
"Much," you giggled, playing with a stray curl over his ear. You gazed warmly at one another, neither of you saying a word as your pulse slowed and his cock softened.
"Thank you for doing this for me, Joel," you whispered, your eyes drifting all over his face, taking in every little detail.
He nodded and swallowed then forced himself to look away. If he didn't, he was worried you would see too much.
He slid out of you and grabbed a pillow, handing it to you blindly before standing and strolling to his bathroom. After he cleaned up, he leaned over his sink, hands curled around the cracked vanity, and stared at his reflection in the mirror with a pit in his stomach.
How did he let this happen?
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He should have known. The morning before you came over, he had a bad feeling. Like something had shifted in the air, something had changed without his permission and it left an empty feeling in his chest.
The overly excited knock on his door as he sipped his coffee almost made him want to pretend he wasn't home, that you weren't about to bounce into his kitchen holding two white sticks with a huge grin plastered across your face. But he didn't, and you did.
Either he really sold his reaction to your news well or you were too elated to notice his heart being ripped from his chest.
It was over. You were pregnant, and you no longer needed him. You would no longer come by every month and keep his bed warm. You would no longer share breakfast with him or talk to him about the books you were reading. He would go back to being utterly and completely alone.
It took a good month or two, but he adjusted back to his normal life. You still did patrol runs with him, which he protested, but when you finally began to show around five months, you agreed to stop and found a different job in town, instead.
That made his chest crack back open. Now he hardly ever saw you. It was bad enough he didn't get to be with you, taste you, fuck you anymore, but now he didn't even get to hear your voice. Occasionally he would see you in the dining hall or in the street and you would always talk to him, but it wasn't the same. Meanwhile, you walked around Jackson with his child growing in your belly, your shirts straining against the swell of your womb, the life he put inside you blooming before everyone's eyes. And all he wanted to do was claim you, right there in the center of town for everyone to see. For everyone to look in awe at what the two of you had created together.
One evening he was sitting alone in front of his fire, sipping whiskey and staring blankly into the flames. He had a decent life, considering the circumstances. So why couldn't he just be happy?
Then a rap came at his door. Urgent and loud. He placed his tumbler down and quickly went to open it, surprised to find you waiting on the other side.
"Hey," you said breathlessly, one hand over your round stomach. His eyes dropped down to take you in before he met your gaze again.
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah," you replied with a look on your face that told him you didn't realize he would obviously panic about your wellbeing at this point in your pregnancy. "Sorry, I just - can I come in?"
"Yeah, 'course," he said, stepping aside to open the door wider. You toed off your boots and shrugged off your jacket, allowing him to take it from you and hang it up before you wandered into his living room. Your eyes fell on his abandoned glass and you smiled.
"I miss drinking," you said longingly. He grinned and, leaving the whiskey where it was so as not to tempt you, sat on the couch.
"What're you doin' here so late? Is the baby okay?"
"Yeah," you nodded, tearing your eyes away from the glass and sitting down near him on the sofa. "Baby's good. I just was thinking about you and I wanted to see you."
He perked up at that, he couldn't help himself. "Oh, yeah?"
You grinned and bit your lip shyly before looking away. "I miss you, I guess."
A smile spread wide across his face. "Aw, how sweet."
You swatted an arm out to smack him on the shoulder and he laughed, his heart finally feeling like it was mending a bit.
"Jerk," you muttered, and he laughed again.
"I missed you, too," he finally admitted, his cheeks rosy from the fire and the whiskey as he gazed at you, the reflection from the flames making your skin glow. Maybe it was that pregnancy glow that everyone used to talk about. Or maybe you always glowed and he just never allowed himself to notice until it was too late.
He watched your throat work, swallowing dryly while your fingers fidgeted in your lap and he realized you were nervous.
"What if I told you I missed you as more than just friends?" you whispered, your eyes pinned to the floor, unwilling or unable to meet his gaze.
His breath caught in his throat. Surely, he must have misheard you. But then you finally turned to look at him, tears welling in your eyes, and his heart lurched in his chest.
"What if I told you I'm in love with you?" he bravely whispered back.
Your eyebrows pinched together and your face crumpled before you reached forward, curling your arms around his neck and pulling him close, your lips pressing together earnestly before opening your mouth and letting his tongue lick behind your teeth.
He wasn't sure how you both made it upstairs and into his bed. He couldn't remember peeling your clothes off, one by one, revealing more and more of your changing body to him for the first time. But he did remember seeing your bare, swollen belly underneath him while his hand slowly slid across your skin in wonder. And then he felt it. A little flutter. A little jolt. And he looked up at you in surprise.
"She's kicking," you explained, and his eyes fell back to your stomach.
"She?"
You nodded, placing your hand over his lovingly. "I think it's a girl."
He smiled as tears began to cloud his vision, then bent forward to press a kiss against your stomach, letting his lips linger so hopefully his unborn daughter could feel him there and feel the love he had for her.
You had to pull him away by his shoulders, the both of you laughing softly, unable to believe how much things had changed in just a year.
Because not only were you a couple months away from finally being a mother, but you also realized you were very, very wrong all those months ago.
The man for you was, in fact, right there all along.
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remember-the-fanfics · 1 year ago
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Gen-Z!Overlord!Reader
• Died at 18, been in hell for a few years.
• Came in after Alastor disappeared, just before Vaggie showed up.
• You were never one to follow what everyone else did. Killing, drugs, theft, or porn.
• Kept to yourself for a few months, getting use to being dead and in hell.
• Accidentally became an Overlord after you killed one in self defense.
"In my defense, she was like super creepy and an asshole. A big one."
• The souls were free but you kept your new territory nice so they didn't leave.
• You made jobs and kept the housing in better shape, only made deals to help souls.
• Gave them a job, house, and protection. You give them a limit of a few years of the deal and if they don't mind it, they can renew it.
"Well I don't want to force them to do something, its rude."
• In return, they keep your territory nice, clean, and less violent than most. Work the jobs you made and protect your little town.
• There's been occasions were you trade souls to other overlords, either the soul did something against them or just an asshole.
• The time on the contract would restart
• To every other overlord, you are a child with a knife and to much power.
• You demolished another overlord because they thought you were weak and tried to destroy you territory.
"You ass eatting bitch-"
• You let others fight for new open territory because you're fine with what you have.
• Panicked when you got invited to an Overlord meeting.
• Apparently you had enough power to be one, then you realized you actually were one.
• It was awkward to meet the most of the overlords. Not knowing who you were to begin with.
"This is for overlords only."
"Oh, I'm (Y/n). I got invited."
• Chatted with Rosie before and after it.
• Camilla likes how you run your territory but you seem so young.
• Did apologized afterwards, introducing you to her daughters, apparently you were around the same age.
• Zestial wanted to know how you took over you territory, interested on how you did it.
• You've only meet Velvette because you need some clothes. She recognized you as the up and coming overlord.
• Throwing the clothes you had in your hands away, saying you need to be in the best lastest trend of clothes.
• You were now stuck having a fashion show as she decided what look good on you.
• While not enjoying all the clothes she had you try on, you kept being nice having conversation when she wasn't yelling at everyone else.
• Velvette learned that you were around the same age so she decided that you were acquainted enough to have her number.
• Apparently it wasn't optional for you.
• You brought back way to much clothes for one person, atleast now you have style.
• Chaotic neutral energy
• Charlie meet you after she heard that you improved a part of hell, wasn't expecting someone so young looking.
"Dying just after I turned 18 just means I look young forever."
• Laughing at your own dark humor.
"Ha...ha.
• Charlie did not find it as funny.
• Told you about the hotel idea and you were right on board.
• Thought it was a good way to stick it to the man and help people.
• Vaggie was surprised when Charlie brought back a child.
• More surprised that you're the Overlord that Charlie wanted to meet with.
• Definitely said Vaggie's name wrong for the first time reading it.
• Meeting Angel Dust after he decided to crash at the hotel.
• Not knowing what he was known for but definitely heard his name from someone.
"You're a kind of actor?"
"Of the sorts."
• After you heard what he was famous for.
"Well, he'll do him and I'll do me but never do each other."
• There was an awkward silence of confusion from everyone.
• Having to explain every reference you make.
• Vaggie made jar for everytime you make a dark joke.
• Charlie has asked you why you were in hell. You shrugged, never living a truly bad life but probably just too chaotic for heaven to handle.
• You leave every few days to check back in your little town to make sure everything was running smoothly.
• You know when something happens, feeling the souls you own in a panic.
• Having to let everyone remember why you were in charge a couple of times.
• Either with your words or actions.
• Luckily Rosie just adores your mannerisms and how you don't completely turn away from her with what or who she eats.
"You could say the food was to die for!"
• She finds your dark humor funny.
• So she keeps an eye out for you, sending letters to you every few days.
• You vist her every other week to just chat, she tells you about easy territories that you could get. You say you would rather show up some punks than have more responsibility with more souls.
• Offers food everytime, you say no thanks everytime.
• Rosie would tell you all the tea about the other overlords or her own town.
• Yay! You have an allie with an another overlord by being friends.
• Also with offering truly worse souls sometimes. On a rare occasion.
• Rosie knowing when you offer a soul to her, she would take her time with it. Enjoying every bite.
• Anyway- Sinners would come up to asking for deal when they are completely down on their luck.
• But whats following a couple of rules for free house and job.
• You give them enough warning before you would shake hands then saying you would know if they even thought of fucking your shit up.
• Putting an add for Charlie's hotel in your territory.
• Charlie almost hugged you to death after seeing it.
• When Alastor showed up, the two of you would have a intense staring contest.
• He wasn't expecting another overlord here, oh wait, you're new.
• Alastor not actually taking the hotel serious, pissed you off but he was more powerful.
• Charlie having to keep you and Vaggie from trying to fight him.
"I didn't know there was a new overlord! Charmed to meet you. Whose territory was up for grab?"
"She was a bitch-."
"I know who exactly you speak of, that's good. She never had any manners."
• Watching him summon Husk and Niffty and was shocked.
• Tried it and summoned one of your workers.
• Excited that it worked! Apologetic for interrupting their day.
"Ah ha! It worked! Oh shit it worked! Sorry!"
• You and Niffty vibe on a similar level. Charmingly violent.
• Vaggie has to make sure either of you give the other one a bad idea to do.
• Husk question your age when you went to the bar. Making you do the math.
"Well I died at 18, it's been a few years so old enough."
• Gave you a hard drink which you spit out after tasting.
• You decide hard alcohol wasn't for you.
• Knowing how technology was when you died making you the most technical advance Sinners in the hotel.
-
That's enough for now, just a thought I had when working.
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gabriellessworldd · 6 months ago
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Never get yo bitch back!
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plug!connie x black fem reader 😛😛
wc- 1.7k!
☆ warnings ☆: mdni! mentions of weed nd alcohol, smut 18+, cheating (established relationship w eren), public-ish sex (bathroom unlocked door), pnv, oral (f receive), Connie and reader have wanted each other for a min, first time writing ever don't drag me y'all pls!! 😓 I kinda want to make this have multiple parts but idk yet. I'm very open to criticism nd I hope y'all enjoy!
"Y/nnnnn, cmon you can come outside for one night!" Your best friend Sasha whined through the screen. As much as you protested, deep down you really did want to go out. Especially because Eren wasn't at home, you really wanted to talk to him since y'all haven't been doing so well recently. Petty arguments, sleepless nights, ig posts, and to top it all off he hasn't been to your house in weeks, not giving y'all anytime to have a conversation.
You check the time and see it's 6:00pm that means you got at least 2-3 hours before you would have to leave. "Girl you right, send me the lo. What you wearin?" Sasha set her phone up to show you the outfit she picked out, "Girl that's cute asf!! Ima match you." Sasha helped you pick out an outfit (1 or 2) that resembled hers. "Okay Sash ima finish my hair nd makeup, lmk when yall otw there." "Bye N/n, i gotchu." Sasha hung up and you continued finishing your hair and makeup.
Once you were in your car you looked at the location, realizing that it was at Jean's house, meaning Connie would be there. There was something so attractive about Connie that you didn't know how to explain, he was just, mesmerizing. You knew you would never be able to approach him tho, him nd Eren had been friends forever, and that was a boundary you wouldn't cross. Nothing being crossfaded couldn't fix..
You pull in front of Jean's house and it's packed, you can hear the music from the street. You text Sasha that you pulled up and fix yourself in the car mirror. "We're waiting for you at the front N/n." You read Sasha's text and get out of your car. When you open the door Mikasa, Annie, Sasha, and some other girls greet you. You scan the crowd feeling a familiar stare, you turn to your right and see a crossfaded Connie Springer and his homeboys sitting on some sofas in the corner. Connie feels you stare back and smirks. 'This finna be interesting.' You think to yourself.
You make your way to the kitchen to take a couple shots, Sasha gets a blunt from Ony, and y'all head upstairs to light up. When the sesh is over you feel amazing, the music is blasting, you're having a great night, and you're a 10, what could be better? You and the girls head downstairs to go dance and enjoy your night. You and Sasha throw ass like there's no tomorrow and Mikasa is right there to catch it. You laugh and stand up straight when you feel the stare of those familiar hazel eyes. "Ima go grab another drink" you tell Sasha and she drukenly nods.
You walk up to the counter where all of the drinks are, "hey connie" you look at him, and smile. He leans in closer to you "wassup mami, you look good. shit, you smell good too." he smiles at you with all of his pearly white teeth and you notice his silver grillz.(#1, #2, #3) God he's so fine. The way his red eyes are hanging low, the smell of his cologne, and his pretty ass accent, triple homicide.
"Where yo man at tho? Thought he was gon come tonight." Connie's confused as to why Eren isn't at this party trailing you like a lost puppy, unless, y'all wasn't on speaking terms right now. He grinned at the thought "Oh um Ion really-" You stuttered out wondering why he would ruin a good conversation. "Nah you ain gotta answer mami, follow me." He held his hand out with a 'hm' and you quickly took it, needing to feel his touch. He lead you upstairs to the first bathroom he saw, he opened the door, "Tu vas primero hermosa" you go first beautiful. You smiled at the sentence and walked in front of him. His eyes naturally trailed down to the best view there was 'Damn.' was all he thought as he watched you walk and felt himself get harder in his sweats.
"So wassup?" You questioned him, almost like a challenge. You leaned your back against the counter and looked into his eyes. "To be honest ion wanna play no games ma, you know what I want." He leaned towards you, muscular and veiny arms on both sides of you, caging you in.
You could feel the tension grow as both of you realized just how badly you needed the other. "Can I?" Connie asks to kiss you 'and he's respectful omg add that to the list' you think, "Yes, you can." As soon as those three words came out of your mouth, Connie grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you to him, his other hand quickly found your ass and squeezed, while your hands slid their way into his scruffy buzzcut. The kiss was passionate but it also had a hint of hunger, longing almost, like both of you waited your whole lives for this. Both of your tongues fighting for dominance, and both of you wanted, no, craved more from each other. Connie's large hand found it's way to your throat and he squeezed softly earning a light moan from you, Connie pulled away, a string of saliva connecting you two.
"Ay dios mio mami" oh my god Connie whispered. Connie littered bites and hickeys down your neck and exposed cleavage, not caring who would see. He tapped on your thigh, a signal for you to stand so he could remove your pants. He then picked you up and set you back down on the counter, he kissed the insides of your thighs and left a trail of bites. He looked up at you for confirmation, and you nodded your head, he pulled your panties to the side. Connie was in a trance, the way your folds were so puffy, the way they were covered in wetness, connie almost came in his pants at the sight. "Fuck." was all he said before he began kissing and sucking on your lips. He spread them open with his middle and index finger, and could've sworn he saw heaven.
He plunged his fingers inside your wet hole, sucking on your clit while he pumped his fingers in you nice and slow. "Fuck con" you let out a soft moan, it was like music to his ears. He worked his fingers a little faster and curled them up grazing over your spot. "o-oh fuck connie mmhm, right there" He came up, bottom half of his face covered in your sweet juices "You taste so sweet, princesa" and with that he went back down and devoured you like you were his last meal. "a-ah mm con. That feels soo good" you whispered, feather light moans. You could feel the knot in your stomach tightening as he pushed his tongue in and out of your hole. "Cmon mami let me hear you." he felt you squeeze his tongue and pull his hair, that was enough to let him know. He pushed his fingers back in and started pumping at an insane speed.
"Go ahead ma, let me taste all of you" Your thighs tightened around his head as you felt your high coming. "ah connie 'm gonna cum, fuck!" you moaned out louder than before, he curled his fingers again, making you throw your head back and squeeze your eyes closed. "Joder, eres tan deliciosa." damn, you're so delicious.
Connie stood up and your hands immediately found the band of his sweats and boxers, in one tug you pulled them both down. "Eager much huh mami? Well I expect you to take it all then." Your eyes widened at the statement but your thoughts were cut short when you heard him speak again. "Turn around for me mami, and don't take your eyes off the mirror." The dominance in his voice made you even wetter. You turned around towards the mirror and he slid off your panties.
He smeared his tip on your folds, collecting your wetness. Without warning he pushed his full length in, starting off with slow strokes. "Fuck mami, you're squeezing me so tight" You arched your back a little more and relaxed. He starts moving quicker and palms the fat of your ass.
Connie props one of your legs on the counter and smacks your ass. "f-fuck connie oh!" hearing you get louder, not caring if anyone could hear you, only riled him up more. He snaked his hand around your throat pulling your head up more so you could see what a mess he made of you. Your lip liner gone, mascara smeared on your damp bottom eyelashes, and a fucked out expression. Connie thought you looked perfect.
"Y-yes mami, take all t-this dick" you hear him stutter his calm demeanor fading away as he fucks into you at an unruly pace. "Ah! Con so good. i-it's so big" He smacks your ass again and continues fucking you.
He pulls out and you pout feeling empty "Calmate princesa." calm down princess He chuckles and flips you on your back then he pulls your hips closer to him. He pushes back into you, not wasting any time. Connie pushes your legs back a little more "Keep 'em right there ma." You hold the back of your knees with your hands, feeling connie's tip hit all the right places, Connie places a heavy hand on your lower stomach and he presses down. "a-ah con please! it feels soo good." You and Connie both feel yourselves about to cum.
"Con 'm about to cum! ah please Connie!" You can feel your thighs starting to shake, "g-go ahead mami, fuck you're so perfect. m-make a mess all over me." Connie rubs on your sensitive bud and keeps fucking you deep. You can feel a wave of pleasure wash over you and your vision turns white. "Ah! Connie fuck 'm cumming!" You yell, "f-fuck me too ma." You notice his voice falter and crack at the end, he sounds so angelic. He pulls out and hot, white, ropes coat your tummy.
Connie begins wiping off your stomach and he leans in to kiss you, but he sees something in the corner of his eye, almost like a, figure. "Shit" Connie says blankly, putting his pants back on. You scramble to put your clothes back on and turn to see Eren standing there looking pissed.
"what.. what the fuck is wrong with y'all?"
Whew chileeeee. y'all did I at least nibble or what 👀 but lmk if I should make this multiple parts, also give me title ideas!! lmk if y'all want to be tagged in the next parts! love u all nd I hope y'all had as much fun reading as I had writing this! (watch nb read ts #embarrasing 😰)
- with lots of love, gabrielle <3
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pynkfairyheart · 8 months ago
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Pairings: connie x black reader
Warnings: smut 18+ Connie's a lil toxic, mentions of a gun, pretty angsty
pt.2 to birthday girl but can be read as a standalone
Miss you
Constance Springer. The man who was once the source of your happiness though recently the source of your frustration and headaches.
“I just don't get it, Con. You take me on these amazing dates, buy me anything that catches my attention, and say you wanna spend the rest of your life with me, yet when I ask to publicly announce we’re together, which I shouldn't have to, you always brush it aside.” You spoke as calmly as possible. Though considering this was the 4th time this week you were having this conversation your calm tone resembled shouting.
It had been five months since your birthday. Five months since Connie gave you the best gift you could ever think of. Himself.
The first four months felt as if you were on cloud nine. The entire duration it was as if you were conjoined at the hip. Connie had to make a couple of drops? There you were in his passenger seat watching a movie or using his card to pay for the large quantity of your cart.
You needed to go make up a missed exam? Connie was waiting in his car with a bouquet of your favorite flowers. The only time you weren't seen together was if he was doing something he didn't want you involved in or if he was out buying you secret lavish gifts such as the car he got you a week after your birthday. Life was great.
It wasn't til you were at your nail appointment with Mika where she nearly cut you with her clippers from shock the moment you brought up your relationship with Connie, that you realized no one knew about it.
At first, you were confused. How could no one know? You were always together but the more you thought about it you started to understand. Whenever you were out he wasn't as affectionate as when it was just the two of you, just a few touches that could easily be considered friendly, but you just brushed it off as him not being comfortable with PDA.
Even when you went on dates he'd buy the entire venue or restaurant out so it'd be just you two or would plan the nicest dates at the house, either way, no one saw you on dates as a couple.
You thought about it for a while before it finally ate you up and you just had to ask. His response was the reason shit went left.
“Whatchu mean let people know we’re together? Ion want people in our business. I'm yours and you're mine, that's all that matters” He brushed it off with a kiss on your forehead before running to go get some eggs around the corner. He was only gone for ten minutes yet in that time frame you went through hundreds of different reasons as to why he responded that way.
At first, you were confused. Then, you were trying to reassure yourself he's right as long as we know then we straight. But immediately after that thought came anger why the fuck doesn't he want people to know? Am I the fuckin side chick?
By the time Connie came back you were fuming. You trusted Connie, the night he asked you to be his he promised you he'd never do anything to hurt you yet you couldn't deny how suspicious this was. He barely had time to lock the door behind him before you started with your questions.
“You cheating on me Constance?”
“What?” He almost gave himself whiplash with how fast he turned, looking at you as if you had said the stupidest shit ever which in his mind you did.
“You heard me. Are you cheating?” You followed him into the kitchen of his apartment.
“No [☆] I'm not cheating. I needa take you to the ER? Cause it sounds like you hit your head while I was gone”
“Then why don't you wanna tell anyone?”
“About us?”
“Duh”
“I already told you, mami, I don't want people all up in our business”
That was two weeks ago and you guys were nowhere near in a better place. By no means were you insecure. You knew Connie loved you and only you but you wanted others to know as well. It's not like you wanted to leak one of your many sex tapes on IG. You just wanted at least your friend group to know you were together. Connie wasn't having it though.
“Mama lower your tone” He groaned. Inked hands rubbing his face from frustration.
“Just tell me, Con. Why don't you want anyone to know?”
“Is it wrong to wanna keep our relationship private? I love you princess but you buggin’ for real. Drop it”
“You know what. Fuck this, nd fuck you too. There's a big fucking difference between private and secret.” You slammed his bedroom door. This was too much. You couldn't take it anymore; it was as if he was ashamed of you. You loved Connie, you really, really loved him but this hurt, the constant drop of your heart whenever he let go of your hand the moment you stepped out of his apartment complex or whenever a girl flirted with him in front of the group but there was nothing you could do. You were done. No amount of love could make you settle for anything less than you knew you deserved.
Despite your teary eyes you managed to pull yourself together. Grabbing your bag, you packed as much as possible before finally exiting the room.
Connie was in the middle of rolling a blunt when he saw you walk out, he would have been convinced that his heart was lying on the couch when he stood up if it wasn't for the loud thumping in his ears.
“Where are you going?” He stood in your way
“Connie please move” You sniffled
“No, not until you tell me where you're going. Please [☆] lo siento, mami, por favor, no te vayas please don't go” His voice cracked as reality hit him. Dropping to his knees, his hands gripped the soft flesh of your hips.
“I promise to be better, I promise. I will call everyone on my phone and tell them about us right now, please don't go” At this point, you had to look away. His tear-stricken face and Spanish almost had you fold.
“We'll work this out ma, estaré mejor, lo prometo I'll be better, I promise”
“No, we can't Connie. Not right now” And with that, you left.
A month had passed so far. It was rough in the beginning. He blew your phone up 24/7 to the point where you had to block him. You couldn't eat, and whenever you did have the energy to stay awake you did nothing but scroll on your phone, your thumb always finding the photo album where you stored all pictures of Connie.
Sasha and Mikasa finally had enough, while Mika was the only one you told Sasha had a pretty good idea after she went to visit Connie only to find him in the same state as you, maybe even worse. Deciding you needed to leave the walls of your apartment and have fun, they finally convinced you to go out. Taking a couple of pregame shots while shaking ass in the mirror, your outfit leaving nothing to the imagination as you finally felt ready to face reality.
By the time you had arrived at the party, the drinks started to kick in and you grabbed the first sexy guy you saw and dragged him to the dance floor.
Unknown to you Connie was also at the party, standing in the corner as he made a few deals. He looked tired, and he was. The moment the door closed behind you he broke down. Ignoring all of the calls and texts he got from clients as he sat there. He was angry. Angry at you for leaving him but mostly angry at himself for fucking up.
When Connie finally caught sight of you it was as if someone had finally flipped the switch on throughout his body. His heart sped up, his posture straightened and his dick twitched at the sight of your body in the dress.
His dick wasn't the only thing twitching. When it finally registered to Connie that you were letting some random guy touch you as you whined on him, his eye twitched and his hand immediately went to his gun.
He was furious. With zero fucks he approached you, the barrel of his gun pressed against the guy who you were currently throwing it back on.
When you no longer felt the swaying of the man behind you, you turned to be met with the fear-frozen stranger and Connie whispering something in his ear. You didn't have time to ask what was going on before the guy scurried off and Connie roughly grabbed your arm, dragging you out of the house party.
Despite the fact you were no longer together and he had no right to drag you away, you stayed quiet. Connie rarely got angry but when he did you knew it was best to just stay quiet.
“Get in the fucking car [☆]” He threw open the door. You were convinced the thong you had on was completely drenched after those six words. His voice was low and threatening and you almost felt disgusting from how turned on you were. Almost. With one look into his rage-filled eyes, you got in the car, the door slamming behind you when he was sure you were safely in.
He quickly got in, tire tracks marking the ground as he sped off. It was silent for a minute before you decided to speak, once his grip on the steering wheel loosened and the color returned to his knuckles.
“Connie?” You faced him, eyes burning into the side of his head as he kept his dark stare on the road.
“Connie, come on. You can't just kidnap me and then not speak. Pull over and talk to me now” You huffed.
With a roll of his eyes, he pulled into a deserted parking lot.
“Hello? Either you get to talking or I'm getting out nd calling an Uber”
“No the fuck you're not” He groaned loudly, eyes meeting yours.
“Then talk” You borderline yelled
If Connie's hair was long enough to grip he'd have a couple bald spots from how frustrated he was. He gave you both time to cool down before he spoke.
“Look I'm sorry for dragging you away, and for threatening your lil boyfriend-”
“He's not my boyfriend”
“He's not?”
“No. Continue your apology” You rolled your eyes.
Your response had a smirk forming on his face. He missed you so much, even your attitude.
“I missed you ma. I'm sorry for dragging you away. I'm also sorry for how things ended.” He grabbed your hand.
“I now understand your feelings and your concerns and I'm sorry I ever made you feel like I was ashamed of you or if there was another woman. You're the love of my life ma, this past month has been pure hell. I need you baby. Please take me back.” His hands were shaking as they held yours securely. It was rare to see Connie cry, and the sight of his tear-streaked face made your heart ache. He really did love you.
Swallowing the lump in your throat you asked the one question that started it all.
“Be real Con. Why didn't you want anyone to know?”
With a sigh, he rubbed his facial hair.
“I was afraid you'd realize you could do better”
“What? What made you think that Con?”
“I sell drugs for a living, mami, I'm involved with a shit ton of dangerous people. I was afraid when others found out they'd start telling you things about me and you'd realize you can do so much better”
“Oh, Connie” You could no longer resist the need to be close to him. Maneuvering yourself so you sat in his lap you cupped his face as your eyes searched his.
“Papa there is no one better. I love you so much, Connie. There is nothing anyone could ever say to make me want or love you less because I know you. I know how much you care and love those around you. There is no one better, Connie.”
For some time, the two of you were wrapped in each other's arms as you faced your emotions.
When you both were calm, you finally dared to look into his eyes. The energy shift resembling the one from your birthday.
“Con” You slowly inched your face closer to his
“I'm sorry for all the hurt I put us through mami” His hand wrapped around your neck
“Déjame compensarte let me make it up to you” He closed the space between you.
It felt like the first breath taken after being underwater for a long time. You felt alive, felt loved. The once slow kiss grew into something more passionate. Both of you needy, as you fiend for dominance in the heated exchange.
Ultimately you lost the battle when his hands gripped your hips tightly as if to assure himself you weren't leaving again. It wasn't soon after that you found yourself in the back of his car with your legs resting on his shoulder as he drilled into you.
He littered kisses on your ankle as his grip on your hips tightened. His thick cock stretching you out had your eyes rolling back and moans of ecstasy coming out of your agape mouth.
“Yeah? You doing so good fa me ma. You miss this? Miss how good I fuck you?” His thumb found its way to your clit.
“Fuck, Connie” You whined. Attempting to push his hand away from the sensitive bud.
“Answer me princesa or ima stop” He warned
“Yes, Connie- mhmph I miss it so bad papi oh my god” Your velvety walls squeezed him tight.
"Fuuuck. Don't ever leave me again, you hear me? I can't take it, baby, I love you too much. T-try that shit again nd Imma make you watch while I put a bullet in between his eyes. Understand?” His pace increased.
God that shouldn't have turned you on as much as it did. You were convinced you could have come on the spot, the added pressure on your carotids when you didn't answer immediately wasn't any help.
“Y-yes Con, I promise it won't happen again” You managed to say in between the moans and whimpers that you no longer had the energy to contain.
“Keep squeezing me, mami. I'm so fuckin close” He groaned, hand no longer on your neck as it rested against the steamy windows to stable himself.
The atmosphere of the car was pure filth. Your moans bounced off the windows, the sloshing sound of your wet pussy and slapping skin that created the creamy ring around the base of cock topping it all off.
His thrusts were slowly getting sloppy, you were just squeezing him so tight.
“C-Con” You managed to gasp out, the marks he littered on your neck to suppress his whimpers, having the coil in your belly tighten.
“I know mama, let go fa me” He groaned.
That instant you came, eyes rolling to the back of your head for a quick second as your cream and small spurts of squirt leaked from your pussy.
“Shit mama” He panted, dick twitching as he painted your walls with his cum.
Connie being the lover boy he was despite repeatedly denying it whispered apologies, and sweet promises into your ear as you came down from your high.
“I'm sorry mami, I promise to be better” He kissed you softly as if you were in a fairytale before whispering in your ear.
“But don't think just cus we're good now, that I'm not gon tear that ass up when we get home for giving that loser a taste of what's mine.”
I dont know how i feel about this one buuutttt all thanks to @masterofthepp for giving me this idea. Hopefully it meets your standards babes. As always any feedback is welcome. mwah
2K notes · View notes
sceletaflores · 8 months ago
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Being a professional masseur for players and taking care of our boy art.
Hes just so sad and so pretty that you just giving head to make him feel better 😔
Plot twist: he falls in love with you because duh? Hot+sex=you being promoted pookie, you are now the donaldsons elite employes!!!!!!
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Baby, show me where it hurts...
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pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader
summary: you never intended on becoming a "celebrity" massage therapist. you just wanted to be a massage therapist, the whole celebrity thing just sort of happened, you blame cali for that. but the novelty of your job wore off long ago, you hardly blink at the clients on your table nowadays. that is until tashi duncan calls you and absolutely fucks everything up
— or: art donaldson needs a massage therapist…
contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, oral (m!receiving), oral (fem!receiving), p in v, fingering (fem!receiving), angst? maybe? could this be considered angst?, slight age gap, no tashi duncan erasure because i don't stand for that, cheating but not really cause tashi knows, she always knows, she is an all seeing eye, and she kind of orchestrates it, SOOOOO much plot, like way too much i'm sorry, art being sad and tired, art also being kinda pathetic a little bit, unprofessional massages, no use of y/n.
word count: 10k+ (someone stop me....pls still read this lmao)
author's note: this ask was blessedly placed in my inbox and it was all i’ve thought about since. this is my first big fic since my mike schmidt days so hopefully i'm not rusty! i've seen this damn cursed hell movie ten times, so hopefully i do it justice. i'm also still struggling sooo much with art and tashi as characters so please bear with me if they aren't movie accurate i'm trying my best. okay. thank you. hope you love it! mwah xoxo.
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You don't get starstruck often, not anymore at least. The clients that find their way onto your table are just that in your eyes, clients. You don't see them as big time "celebrities”. Just men and women who need your professional help.
That being said, you almost dropped your phone the first time the Tashi Duncan called you.
It was a normal work day for you, spent buried in paperwork and training a new secretary. You're folding the steam room towels on your lunch break when your phone rings. No caller ID, you answer it anyways.
"Hello, you've reached Lush Retreat Med Spa," you rattle off into your phone, placing it between your ear and shoulder to continue folding. "How can we help you?"
"This is Tashi Duncan calling for Art Donaldson, we've heard great things about you and were hoping to schedule an appointment."
The towel drops from your hands, your mouth falling open in shock. You reach up to tightly grip your phone, not wanting to embarrass yourself by dropping your phone with Tashi fucking Duncan on the end of the line.
Of course you know who she is, but doesn't everyone? The tennis prodigy from Stanford who was on top of the world when a tragic knee injury stole everything from her in a single second. You absolutely idolized her when you were in high school and playing tennis competitively. You watched all the recorded matches you could get your hands on, wore your DUNCANATOR shirts to practice constantly, only bought the tennis rackets she used. You had her fucking posters plastered on the walls of your old bedroom for Christ's sake.
That was until you, ironically, shattered your wrist in a car accident and had to hang up the racket and pleated skirts forever. Just like her.
Now, Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson are California royalty. An unfairly beautiful couple living what seems to be the dream. You'd never kept up much with Art's career like you did Tashi's, but you follow them both on Instagram and you see his face on billboards all over the city almost daily so you can assume it was fruitful. It may help him that he's extremely easy on the eyes, or "super fucking hot!" in your coworkers words.
"Hello?" Her voice ringing out from the tiny speaker ripped you out of your thoughts and back into reality.
"Y-yes, sorry," you cringe internally at yourself, stuttering over your words like a loser. You force yourself to sound professional when you speak again, "We'd love to help you any way we can. Do you have a certain time and date in mind already?"
"We're not home right now, we were thinking next Thursday. Around four." There's no question mark on the end of her sentence, you know that she isn't asking you, she's telling you. You don't even bother to check the schedule before you're answering.
"We will be free that day. I'll go ahead and put you in our system." you rush over to the front desk computer and open the calendar, thankfully you are actually free for Thursday. "I'm assuming you know our location?" you ask as you type in the appointment details, ignoring how your fingers shake ever so slightly as you type Tashi into the slot.
"Actually," Tashi's voice has a different tone to it when she speaks again, it’s something you can’t quite place, your fingers slow down slightly as you listen, "we wanted to make this a home visit."
You stop typing completely, brows furrowed in confusion as you stare at your computer screen. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Donaldson but we don't do at home appointments…per our policy." you reply meekly, almost surprised that you're denying her.
"Duncan, actually,” she corrects you nonchalantly, you don’t have time to unpack that before she’s speaking again. “We did read that on your website, but we'd hope you might make an exception. You wouldn't need to bring much. We have our own table." Her tone isn't harsh or impolite, just firm and certain, like she knows you'll give in to her.
You do.
"Well," you bite your lip as you wrestle internally with yourself, torn between what you want to do and what you should do. "Okay, we can do that for you."
"Great. I'll send you the address. See you then." She hangs up without saying goodbye.
You plant your phone next to you and stare at the filled out appointment slot taking up your computer screen, processing what just happened. You're going to Tashi Duncan's house. To give her hot pro-tennis player husband a massage. In their house.
"What the fuck."
SIX DAYS LATER...
The walk up to The Donaldson's huge mansion on a mountain has your stomach turning in on itself. All week you were a ball of nervous energy just floating around your office, trying to find anything to distract you from your upcoming appointment. Now that it's here, you feel you may have bitten off more than you could chew.
You hardly got any sleep last night, tossing and turning in your bed for hours before you gave up, barging into your building's gym to try and sweat your nerves out. When that didn't work you just retreated back to your apartment and got ready.
You try not to think about why it took you so long to get ready, longer than most work mornings. Taking more time in the shower, more time doing your hair, more time doing your makeup.
You even choose an outfit you'd hardly ever wear in front of regular clientele. A matching white polo set, a skirt in place of shorts. You tell yourself that you just want to look good, who wants to look like a mess in front of Tashi Duncan?
Your hands white-knuckle the steering wheel of your car on the drive over. You couldn’t even play any music, the noise in your head already too loud as it was, only cranking up the AC and silently following the crisp voice of your GPS reading off the directions Tashi sent you.
The closer you get to the door the more you want to turn and run down the insanely long driveway, get back in your car and haul ass home without ever looking back.
You don't because you're a professional, or at least that's what you keep telling yourself.
Your hand shakes as you ring their doorbell, hearing it echo back at you from the inside. You only wait a few seconds before the large door swings open and there she is.
Tashi Duncan is every bit as beautiful in person as she is splashed across the pages of magazines and blown up twenty feet on billboards. She looks so effortlessly classy in her Ralph Lauren sweater and flowy black dress pants.
Your name falls from her lips, and all the blood rushes to your ears. Her silky voice wraps around each syllable with an enticing heat that makes you weak in the knees. You feel sixteen years old all over again, standing at the woman who basically molded you into who you are today. It's a dizzying sensation, the rush of nostalgia and emotions flooding in like an avalanche. The memories you have locked away in your brain of the countless late night practices, the hundreds of hours spent on the court, the trophies and ribbons littering your moms basement collecting dust, the refusal to give up and pushing your body past its own limits because you wanted to be just like her. You wanted to be Tashi Duncan, and when you catch yourself nervously rubbing your thumb over the scar spanning your right wrist, you guess in some sick twisted way that you kind of are.
"So glad you could make it," she greets breezily, stepping to the side to let you in. “We were worried you’d get lost.”
The house is, of course, beautiful on the inside. Tall ceilings, big fireplace, a beautiful staircase leading to the second floor. There’s toys strewn messily along the living room floor, the TV mounted on the wall is paused on ESPN.
You hope you don’t look as crazy as you feel taking in the space, taking in the fact that Tashi is standing right in front of you. 
“No, the directions were very helpful,” your voice only slightly wavers as you respond, you count that as a win, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Donalds–uh–Duncan.” You cringe at your fumble, but try to power through by extending Tashi your hand.
She watches you for a second, sharp eyes flicking over your body quickly like she’s inspecting you. It makes your cheeks feel warm as you struggle to not squirm underneath her gaze. Finally, she takes your hand in hers and gives it a firm shake. You ignore the way her touch makes your palm burn.
“Art should already be in the massage room, it’s in the pool house,” Tashi says, gesturing to the huge windows in the living room showing off a lavish underground pool with a smaller building situated next to it, “I have to take a phone call here in a few minutes so I trust you’ll find your way there.”
You nod slowly, adjusting the strap of your supply bag on your shoulder. Tashi doesn't even pause walking further into the house as she speaks to you, heels clicking with each step as she makes her way to the large staircase in the middle of the room. There’s still no question marks tacked on to the end of her sentences, just like over the phone. 
“It’s just through that door, first room on the left. I told him to leave the door open for you.” She continues, reaching the stairs and making her way up slowly. She tosses her head over her shoulder to make eye contact with you again. “He’s been complaining about his shoulder acting up. The right one, it’s what needs the most attention. He serves with that arm, we need it at a hundred.” she fires off casually, like she’s recited this information before.
You go to speak but her phone ringing cuts you off, echoing off the house's crisp white walls. “Thank you for coming to see us, it was nice meeting you.” Tashi says politely, giving you one final once over before she’s answering her phone and disappearing up the stairs.
“It was nice meeting you too…” you trail off quietly, fully caught off guard by whatever the hell that was. Out of every single time you’d fantasized about what meeting Tashi Duncan would be like, none of them were quite like this. At least it’s over you figure, and you even managed to not make a complete fool of yourself.
You hold onto that tiny win as you walk through the living room doors and outside, making your way to the pool house like Tashi instructed. The entrance is unlocked as you step inside, thankfully you spot the cracked door a little ways in front of you. 
The sound of your footsteps are loud as you make your way down the short hallway, tennis shoes making small thump sounds against the concrete floor. You pause for just a second outside the cracked door, taking a deep breath before pushing it open and stepping inside. The room is empty, the only things inside are some shelves lined with various essential oils and lotions, and an expensive looking massage table in the center. You muse over the fact that their table looks a little better than the ones in your own spa, no wonder they wanted a home visit.
The room is well lit as you walk around, dim in a way that promotes relaxation. The soft, ambient lighting bathes the room in a gentle, golden glow, complemented by the flicker of aromatic candles placed strategically around the space. You wonder who lit them, Tashi? Or maybe Art? You let out a small laugh at the idea of Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson fawning over the room before you showed up, setting up candles and mood lighting to make it feel nicer, less clinical.
You’re probably just reading too much into it. You always urge clients to ask for anything that will make them feel more comfortable, apparently Art just likes eucalyptus sage candles and mood lighting. It has nothing to do with you. 
Your name being said from somewhere behind you rips you out of your own mind. You whirl around, and find yourself face to face with six time Grand Slam Champion, Tashi Duncan’s super hot husband, Art Donaldson. And he’s only wearing a fucking towel.
“Hello,” he greets with a kind smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “it’s nice to finally meet you, thank you so much for taking the time to come out here.” 
Art is already worlds different from Tashi, or that’s what you’re inferring after spending less than five minutes with each of them. It’s still extremely apparent, Tashi has an almost overpowering presence to her, everything about her commands respect and she knows that. She uses that to her advantage, she likes it like that.
The man standing in front of you is nothing like that. The Art Donaldson in front of you doesn’t seem like some big shot tennis player with more impressive stats than you could wrap your head around. You’ve come to know that a few pro-sports guys like to swing their dicks around, bragging about their booming careers non-stop during a session. Yet everything about Art is unassuming as he stands in the doorway like he’s trying to make himself look smaller. 
“Hi, Mr. Donaldson,” you’re not sure if it's appropriate to offer a man wearing a towel dangerously low on his hips your hand, you decide against it. “It’s no trouble really, I’m happy to help.”
“Please, call me Art.” The tone of his voice makes you want to shiver, smooth and warm like honey. 
You try your best not to stare, but it’s so hard to ignore the toned expanse of Art’s body when it’s right there. He’s all broad shoulders, firm pecs, sculpted legs, with a cut Adonis belt. He’s like a marble statue, made in Michelangelo's perfect image.
Your eyes trail back up his body, lingering on his chest before rising up to his face. You’re mortified to see he’s staring right back at you, effectively catching you in the act. Your cheeks burn as you tear your gaze away, looking at anything and everything other than him. In your panic, you don’t notice the way his eyes rake over you in the same way.
“Okay, Art,” you say a little breathlessly, tightening your grip on the strap of your bag. “It’s nice to meet you. Mrs. Duncan let me know about your major problem areas, I’ll be sure to focus on them.” Involuntarily bringing up Tashi has your stomach clenching up in guilt, you just got done ogling her husband's body. You hope he takes the silent cue you're giving him to get on the damn table so you can start the massage and get the hell out of here.
Art nods silently, walking over to the table and moving to lie down on his stomach. You busy yourself with prepping your oils, taking them out of your bag and setting them on a small side table next to the massage bed uncapped for easy access. You can’t help but sneak glances at the rippling muscle of Art’s back as he shifts, his skin looks soft and is littered with freckles. You don’t miss the hiss he lets out when he lays his weight on his shoulder.
You usually don’t speak much during appointments, only engaging in conversation when your client initiates it, but you feel the need to fill the silence between you and Art. The quiet atmosphere makes everything seem far too intimate, and sure on some level it always is, but this feels different.
“How’d you hurt it? Your shoulder. If you don’t mind me asking.” you ask once he’s settled, placing your fingertips to the middle of his right shoulder, feeling around for any tension. Art tenses slightly at your touch, taking a sharp breath. You guess you should have warned him, you open your mouth to apologize but he lets out a small breath and relaxes onto the table again.
Art sighs, his voice tinged with weariness. "It was, uh, during a match. I overextended trying to return a serve. Haven't been able to move it properly since."
You nod, hands starting to move in slow, deliberate circles across the muscle. “That sounds about right. Most people don’t realize how brutal tennis is to the body, injuries are common,” you pointedly try to ignore the flashbacks of your wrist failing to swing a racket properly after you healed from your accident, flashbacks of watching as the bone pierced through your skin. “Sounds like you might need to take it easy for a while.” you continue, trying to keep the conversation light.
Art chuckled, though it was devoid of real humor. "Yeah, I’ve been playing a lot lately. Guess I pushed myself too hard." He winces slightly as you work on a particularly tight knot, shoulder tensing under your hands. 
You pause, your hands stilling momentarily as you catch the underlying tension in Art's voice. "The season’s almost over, maybe it's time to give yourself a break, take some time to rest and recuperate." you remark softly, your tone gentle yet concerned.
Art's gaze flickers to yours, a flicker of vulnerability shining through. "I wish I could," he admits, his voice heavy, "But it's hard to step away, especially when it feels like it's all I have that’s still keeping everything together."
Your heart clenches at the raw honesty in his words. He’s completely silent afterwards, you wonder if he’s regretting telling you something like that, like maybe it just fell out of his mouth before he could stop it. Without a word, you continue to knead away the tension in his muscles, offering a silent gesture of support.
As you continue to work, hands skillfully moving over Art’s shoulder, you can’t help but notice the weariness in Art's demeanor. His presence feels heavy, almost broken, as if the physical pain was just a small part of what he was carrying. You feel a pang of sympathy for him. You can feel the weight of struggles pressing down on him, the way his shoulders sag slightly even under your careful touch.
“I can feel the tension here," you say gently, applying a little more pressure,  "Just try to relax.” 
With each knead and press, you remind yourself of your role. You’re here to help him heal, and that was all that mattered. But as your hands move over his warm skin, you can’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t what you had anticipated, something that made your heart race with both excitement and anxiety. You were so worried about meeting Tashi you completely forgot about Art. It’s a different story now as your hands explore the smooth planes of his back to the steady sound of his breathing.
"You're really good at this," Art says after a while, his voice a bit lighter. 
You smile, a genuine one, the first real smile you’ve had since you got here. “Thanks. I’d hope so after all this time.”
Art lets out a small chuckle muffled by the table, it makes your stomach flutter. “How did you get into this? Massage therapy seems interesting.”
You laugh but it’s a bitter sound, moving your hands down to focus lower on Art’s shoulder. You try not to think about your tennis career, even after all this time you struggle with the memories despite all the good it brought you. “That’s a long story.” you mutter under your breath, even to your own ears you sound resentful.
“I’ve got time.” It’s a simple reply, but it’s so honest. Like Art’s genuinely interested in you, in getting to know you. It makes you feel dizzy.
“I, um,” you worry your lip between your teeth, working your hands harder over Art’s back. “I actually used to play tennis. When I was in high school.”
Art makes an interested noise, shifting under your hands as he moves his head to lay on the side of the table so he could look up at you. “No shit?” he looks more shocked than anything. 
You nod, humming in confirmation as you finally move onto his other shoulder. “Yup, I was pretty serious about it back then, until I got injured.” You don’t meet Art’s gaze, but you can see how his face falls in your peripheral vision. You kind of want to laugh at how ironic this moment is, you wonder if Art’s thinking about Tashi’s knee. You know he was at the match, you’ve seen the blurry footage of Tashi Duncan’s fall from grace, watched Art vault over the net to get to her.
“That’s awful. I’m sorry.” He sounds like he means it.
“It’s okay, wasn't like it was my fault or anything,” you say, finally meeting his eyes with a rueful smile and raising your right wrist to show him your scar. “I got hit by a drunk driver coming home late from practice one night. Nasty fracture, bone went straight through.” You hope your voice is coming out as nonchalant as you’re trying to make it sound.
Art's eyes widen in disbelief as he takes in your scar, a mixture of shock and sympathy evident on his face. "Wow, that's...terrible," he murmurs, his voice tinged with compassion.
You shrug, the memories still vivid despite the passage of time. "It was tough, it was awful actually. All the physical therapy in the world couldn’t get a racket back in my hand,” you confess softly, fingers tracing the outline of the scar absentmindedly again. “But it also forced me to reevaluate things, in a way. It made me realize that life doesn't always go according to plan.” You see Tashi’s knee buckling in your mind's eye. “When I finally realized that I could take all the hate and all the anger I was feeling and channel it into something good, something like massage therapy, I never looked back."
You immediately regret over-sharing, feeling silly telling Art your sob story, but when you meet his eye again, he has an odd look on his face. His expression is soft as he looks up at you through long lashes, understanding and empathy swimming in the blue of his eyes.
"Well, silver linings, huh?" he says after a few seconds, there’s traces of a smile playing on his lips. You let out a small laugh, nodding your head slightly.
"Yeah," you agree, a small smile on your lips. "Silver linings." 
As the conversation fades into a comfortable silence, you and Art find yourselves locked in a silent exchange, your eyes meeting and holding a depth of something you can’t quite pick up on. In that moment, the world around you seems to blur, leaving only the two of you suspended in a shared moment of vulnerability. There's a subtle shift in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that has formed between you, as if you've uncovered a piece of each other.
The shrill ringing of your phone’s alarm pierces through the moment, both you and Art jump at the sudden sound. It’s like a cold bucket of water pouring over your head, washing away whatever just happened between the two of you. The session’s over, you’re done. 
“Okay,” you say a little too loudly, taking your hands off Art's back like his skin could burn you any second. “Looks like we’re all done.” You try to smile but it feels fake, forced, so you turn your back to Art and start capping your oils to shove them back in your bag.
Art’s voice breaks the silence as you pack up, sounding a little less confident than it did earlier. “Uh, my neck has been bothering me too, recently,” he says offhandedly as he sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the table. “I think I may have slept on it wrong.”
You stop what you’re doing, turning to face Art again, silently cursing him for not just letting you leave. “Do you want me to take a look before I go?” You pray he says no. You should know it won’t be that easy, not with your shit luck.
“If you don’t mind?” His tone is so hopeful and his eyes are so big that your feet are walking towards him before your mind can catch up. 
“Not at all,” you reply, your voice steady despite the tightness in your chest. You step closer, practically between his slightly spread legs, feeling the warmth of his skin even before you touch him. Your fingers brush against his neck, and he shivers slightly, the muscles tight and knotted beneath your touch.
"Just relax," you murmur, trying to maintain any shred of professional demeanor. As you work, you can't help but notice the way his breath hitches, the tension in his body melting away under your skilled hands. The room feels smaller, the air heavier with each passing second.
He closes his eyes, a soft sigh escaping his lips. "That feels amazing," he whispers, and you swallow hard, trying to focus solely on the task at hand. As you work, the intimacy of the moment isn't lost on you, and you can't help but wonder if he feels it too.
Minutes tick by like hours as you work the tense muscle of Art’s neck. You're acutely aware of every sigh, every shift in his body, every subtle reaction to your touch. You finally pull away when you think it’s been enough time, eager to get out of this damn house before you do something you’ll regret.
You didn’t notice how close you really were to Art until you pulled back only to be met with his face mere inches away from yours. Startled by the sudden proximity, you freeze, caught off guard by the intensity of Art's gaze. His eyes, dark and searching, seem to hold a silent question, a silent invitation.
Now, Art’s body is one thing, it’s objectively perfect. He’s a professional athlete, of course it’s perfect. It has to be perfect. It’s his damn face that gets you.
He’s beautiful, beyond beautiful. He looks like he should be splayed across canvas hanging in the Louvre. The dim lighting in the room illuminates his face beautifully, his golden hair haloing around his head makes him look ethereal. Each of his features look as if they were handcrafted by a master sculptor, each contour and line a testament to perfection. His chiseled jawline speaks of strength and determination, while his lips, soft and inviting, seem to beckon you closer with every breath. His eyes are deep pools of ocean blue, though this close you can see a small splash of brown in his left eye you didn’t notice before, swirling with emotions that stir something deep within you. 
Something more shocking than Art’s beauty, is how fucking tired he looks. Lines of exhaustion are etched along his face, subtle but undeniable. The weariness in his eyes speaks volumes, a silent plea for respite from the relentless demands of tennis. And yet, even amidst the exhaustion, there's a flicker of longing. He’s staring at you like he needs you, eyes wide and yearning. His chest rising and failing a little more harshly than it did before, each exhale coming out ragged and sharp.
“Art…” you whisper, heart threatening to beat out of your chest. He’s so warm, the heat emitting off of him makes you want to lean into it. You want to crawl on top of his powerful thighs and bury your face in his chest and never leave. Your hands flex where they’re draped over Art’s neck.
It happens in slow motion, Art’s hand trails up the skin of your thigh as your name falls from his lips like a prayer, and it’s like you’ve been electrocuted. You’re rearing back with a sharp breath, dropping your hands from his neck and taking a couple steps back. 
“It was really nice to- uh to meet you, Art.” you say frantically, swinging your bag firmly over your shoulder and rushing to the door. Art’s still sitting on the table, silently watching you panic. He doesn’t try to stop you. “I hope your shoulder feels better,” is all you say before bursting out the door and speed walking out of the pool house. 
Your heart's racing as you walk through the backyard, hands shaking even through the death grip you have on the strap of your bag. What the hell was that? What the hell was that? Did Art Donaldson just make a pass at you? You must be imagining things. 
The thought rattles around in your mind, refusing to be dismissed. His words, his tone—they seemed to linger in the air, haunting you with their implications. The way he touched you, like he couldn’t help himself. But no, it couldn't be. He was married to Tashi, and besides, he was just being polite, right? You try to convince yourself of that as you make your way back to the house.
As you walk inside, still slightly shaken up, Tashi’s the first thing you see. She’s sitting in the living room, laptop open on the coffee table in front of her. 
“Hey,” she says, sitting up straighter on the coach, “how was it?”
You swallow, urging yourself to calm down. “It was great, he should be seeing some improvement over the next few days.”
Tashi nods her head, seemingly pleased though it doesn’t show on her face. “Could this be a weekly thing, these appointments. He could really use them.” 
No question marks. Motherfucker.
You flounder, stomach dropping. “Weekly? As in every Thursday?”
Tashi’s brow raises, eyes looking over you inquisitively. “Yes, preferably all home visits.”She stands from the couch, taking a couple steps towards you. “We read on your website you take permanent clients, is that not the case anymore.”
You shake your head, eyes wide as they follow her while she walks. “N-no, Mrs. Duncan we do. We could pencil you in if you’re willing to pay monthly for the time slot. Would you like to talk to some of my other employees to work out a rotating schedule?”
Tashi stops a few feet away from you, hands in her pockets. “Actually, we were hoping you’d be the one coming down. The only one.” You blink, her words slam over you like a ton of bricks. Just you, in a room with a half-naked Art. Every single Thursday. That can’t happen, not after what just went down between the two of you.
You can practically hear the warning bells blaring in your mind, urging you to refuse, to put an end to this before it spirals out of control. Yet, there's another voice, quieter but no less insistent, whispering seductive promises of what could be if you were to stay.
Your heart pounds in your chest as you grapple with the conflicting desires warring within you. Tashi's expectant gaze weighs heavily on you, waiting for your response, and you know that whatever decision you make will irrevocably alter the course of things between you and Art. With a shaky breath, you steel yourself, the weight of your choice settling like a stone in your stomach.
"I...I'll do it," you finally say, the words leaving your lips before you can stop them. "I'll make sure to pencil you in for weekly sessions, Mrs. Duncan."
Tashi's lips curve up slightly, satisfied, but beneath the surface you can sense the tension thrumming through the air. You've made your choice, for better or for worse, and now you can only hope that it won't lead to the downfall of everything you've worked so hard to build.
“Wonderful,” she says, gesturing for you to follow her to the front door. You trail behind her like a loyal pet, silently allowing her to drag you wherever she pleases. “Thank you again for coming out, and please,” she pauses with her hand on the doorknob, turning to meet your eye, “call me Tashi.”
"Thank you, Tashi," you murmur softly, the weight of her name feeling foreign on your tongue when you’re actually saying it to her for the first time. "I'll make sure to arrange everything at the office."
Tashi's smile widens, though there's a glint of something unreadable in her eyes. "I look forward to seeing you, then," she says, her tone laced with a hint of anticipation. "And please, if there's anything you need, don't hesitate to reach out."
With a final nod, Tashi opens the front door, the outside world beckoning beyond its threshold. You take a hesitant step forward, the weight of your decision pressing down on your shoulders like a heavy burden. As you step out into the cool evening air, you can't shake the feeling that you've just crossed a line from which there may be no turning back. But for now, all you can do is steel your nerves and hope that you haven't made a huge mistake.
A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…
Your sessions with Art continue on. The guilt settling deep in your stomach each time you set foot in the Donaldson/Duncan house also continues. It worsens each time the two of you are alone in that damned massage room. Technically you’ve done nothing wrong, but you know deep in the back of your mind that what you’re doing isn’t normal. Each meeting is a strange mixture of tension and familiarity. When you arrive, Tashi always greets you warmly, her trust in you unwavering. It feels like a dagger each time, twisting deeper and deeper into your conscience. 
Neither of you talk about it, what happened during your session, and Art doesn’t treat you any differently. He still goes out of his way to make polite conversation, asking you about your life, about your business, he even brings up old anecdotes you told him offhandedly. He doesn’t talk about tennis, and he has to know you can keep up in conversation with it since you told him about your history with it, you just assume he doesn’t want to. 
That makes sense, you always think back to the first time he met you. How he brushed off any conversation about his career, how his demeanor changed when he spoke about it. How drained he looked. There was a sadness in his eyes, a weight he carried that seemed to go beyond just a few standard aches and pains. You remember how it struck you then, and it strikes you still, each time you see him.
His shoulder is getting better, you can tell. He can lay on it, or raise it above his head, without wincing. That makes your heart swell, knowing that despite how weird and kind of fucked up everything is, he’s healing. 
The familiar sound of your timer ringing pulls you out of your thoughts. You’re shocked at how fast this appointment flew by, but you could tell as soon as you walked into the massage room to find Art already sitting on the table waiting for you, that something about this session feels different. It’s silly to call it “sensing a bad vibe”, but that’s exactly what you felt entering the room's threshold. 
Art didn’t speak much as you worked, just laying on the table silently after saying hello and asking you about your week. The silence is definitely odd, Art’s not a chatterbox by any means, but he usually keeps some form of conversation flowing. After a while, you start to think it might be something you did, like maybe he’s mad at you. It sounds so stupid in your head, like you’re some poor high school girl getting hung up over a fucking guy giving you the silent treatment.
The only thing more stupid than that is how much it’s actually affecting you. Art has you over analyzing everything you’ve said or done over the last couple visits, you dread that maybe he just came to his senses after all this time. That he finally snapped out of whatever trance he was in and remembered he has a beautiful wife, and that he doesn’t really want you.
“Alright,” you say softly, stepping away from the table, “All done.” As you turn off the timer and gather your thoughts, you can't shake the feeling that something is off. You force yourself to bury it, Art doesn’t owe you an explanation, he doesn’t owe you anything. You aren’t his.
You glance over at him as he slowly sits up, his expression unreadable. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. You offer a small smile in return, trying to squash all the ugly feelings mixing in your stomach. You turn to busy yourself with packing up, feeling a weird sense of déjà vu.
Art’s voice cuts through the silence, sounding weary. “Are we still pretending it didn’t happen?”
It catches you off guard, making you drop the bottle in your hands back onto the table loudly. Your heart races as you turn back to face him, unsure of how to respond. The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, demanding a response you’re not sure you’re ready to give.
You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “I...I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I guess I was hoping we could just…forget about it.”
Art’s eyes search yours, filled with a mixture of longing and uncertainty. “I don’t think I can,” he confesses, his voice tinged with sadness.
The same feelings from that day rush back in your mind, flooding all your senses. It's as if time folds in on itself, bringing you right back to that moment where everything changed. You feel panic clawing its way up your body, fight or flight response waging a war inside of you.
You chose flight, shoving the last bottle in your bag and making a break for the door. Ready to run just like you did back then, run and come back next week with your tail between your legs desperately trying to forget that this ever happened, again. Art’s voice stops you just as you have your hand on the doorknob.
“Please…” he whispers, he sounds so broken, so vulnerable. “Please, don’t run.”
You don’t know what it is, maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, or the repressed feelings, or your shitty back bone, but whatever it is makes you pause, hand falling off the doorknob to lay limp at your side. You turn back to face him, the raw need in his eyes mirrored by your own emotions. It tugs at your heart, making it impossible to leave. You feel a surge of guilt and hesitation, but the longing in his gaze holds you captive. Slowly, you make your way towards him, taking small slow steps like you could still leave at any minute, but you know you won’t.
You walk until you’re crowding him, standing between his spread legs just like you did all those sessions ago. His eyes are wide, almost disbelieving, like he thought you’d turn around and slam the door on him instead. Which is what you should do, you should walk out that door right now and never step foot in their house again. 
Art whispers your name, his voice a soft caress that sends sparks zapping down your spine. You're close enough to feel his breath fanning over your face, warm and intimate. You inhale, like you’re trying to absorb his words, his essence, his everything. 
His hand takes yours, bringing it up to his chest. He presses it firmly against his pec, right on top of his heart. You can feel the rapid, uneven thumping beneath your palm. His thumb caresses your wrist gently, making goosebumps pebble over your skin.
It’s easy to get lost in Art’s eyes, so you’re shocked to notice something that very quickly grabs your attention. Art’s towel is tented obscenely, hard cock straining against the thick material. You swallow roughly at the sight, feeling the need to touch, to take, to help.
Your knees hit the floor before you fully realize the entire gravity of what you’re doing. You don’t care about any of that anyway, not right now. 
Right now Art Donaldson is swiping his thumb across the scar on your wrist with his big sparkly eyes desperately looking into yours, unashamedly begging for you to touch him. 
Who are you to deny him?
Your hands find the knot of his towel and yank it roughly, ripping it off Art's hips and tossing it aside. His hard cock springs out, slapping up against his stomach enticingly. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, pleased to see he’s perfect all over. 
Art’s cock is long, and thick. He’s big, but in an exciting way, not in an intimidating way. He’s already steadily drooling pre-cum from his soft pink tip, already so hard and you haven’t even touched him yet. You reach up, tracing your finger along the length of him lightly. Art inhales, his eyes fluttering closed as you touch him for the first time. The anticipation in the room is palpable, a heady mix of desire and need that seems to swirl around you both.
You circle your hand around the base of his cock, stroking up and up until your hand bumps into the head, where you start to rub your thumb back and forth gently, spreading the wetness from his pre-cum before sliding your hand back down. Slowly, you lean in, placing a soft kiss on the tip of his cock before taking him into your mouth, savoring the taste of him as he groans deeply, hands gripping the massage table tightly.
“Shit,” he grits out, casting his gaze to the ceiling, chest already heaving raggedly. 
You slide the warmth of your mouth down the shaft of his cock, moaning at the heady taste of him, skin soft and velvety on your tongue. 
“Fuck, your mouth…” Art whispers above you, his words trailing off into a string of breathy moans. You hum in response, working his cock faster to draw out more of those noises. Hollowing your cheeks, you sink down towards the circle of your fist still holding the base of his cock with wet, slippery slurping sounds. Art’s hand lets go of the table, coming up to cup your cheek in a move way too intimate for what the two of you are doing.
You chance a look up, and your heart skips several beats at what you see. Art’s already staring down at you, his face twisted up in pleasure. His pale cheeks are flushed, brows drawn together tightly, plush bottom lip caught between his teeth. All that is enough to make you feel ten feet tall, but that’s not what makes you pause.
It’s his eyes, the way Art’s looking at you.
The look in his eyes is…worshipful. Reverent. Like you’re a celestial being, a divine grace walking among mortals. Not some girl on her knees for a married man in his house’s private fucking massage room.
Yet the longer you hold his gaze, while still working your mouth over his hard cock, you feel something strange stirring inside you. Art’s eyes holding such a longing reverence so intense, it was starting to elevate you to a pedestal of adoration. Of devotion.
Right now Art’s like the sun, burning so brightly you feel you need to look away before he consumes you, but you don’t.
“Please,” Art begs desperately, voice so soft you barely even hear it. There’s tears welling in his eyes, his red rimmed and so so tired looking eyes. It breaks your heart, how could such a wonderful man be reduced to this?
You pull off Art’s cock, hand still pumping firmly over him. He whines at the loss of your mouth, hips bucking up to chase after the warm heat. His tip bumps over your lips as he moves, trailing a thin line of pre-cum across them.
Without breaking eye contact, you speak.
“You’re so good, Art.” 
It’s those four words whispered against the tip of Art's leaking cock that has him coming with a hitched breath and a soft cry. A few bursts of his warm come land over your parted lips before you take the head of his cock back in your mouth to greedily swallow down the rest. 
"Thank you, fuck, thank you...!" Art grates out as his body trembles above you, hand squeezing yours so hard it borders on painful. You know you’re never coming back from this, but you still  squeeze back as hard as you can all the same.
A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…
Maybe this is just your life now, fucking the husband of the woman you worshiped like a God for years on end. It’s like you can’t stop, like you’re an addict or something. No matter how disgusting and shameful you feel every time you get home from Art’s appointments, you can’t help but give into him. It’s a twisted dance, a cycle of pleasure and regret that you can’t seem to break. One look into his sad, kicked puppy eyes and you crack. You’ve convinced yourself it's just you reveling in the feeling of being truly wanted for the first time. But deep down, you know it’s more than that. It’s the way he makes you feel alive, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in his world.
Art wants you. He needs you. He’s made that more than clear every single visit since you dropped down on your knees for him. The guilt gnaws at you, a constant reminder that you can't escape. Yet, every time you see him, every time he reaches out to you with that desperate need in his eyes, you find yourself powerless to resist. 
You’ve never kissed, not on the lips. Art’s certainly tried, lips seeking yours out as your oiled up fist slips up and down his cock, as you sit on his lap and grind against him until he’s dirtying his towel. You just turn your head every time, letting him trail kisses along your jaw and neck instead somehow feels less real. Kissing Art will make it feel real, you know it will. So you don’t.
Funnily enough, you think things are going well. Maybe even as well as getting a married man off every Thursday can go. You can see a change in Art, in his behavior and the way he holds himself. He smiles more, he laughs more, it’s like he’s giving more of himself to you each time you meet with him. It’s exhilarating, the way your presence has this effect on him, almost as if you’re breathing new life into him.
Art’s newfound lightness is infectious. You find yourself looking forward to Thursdays with an anticipation that borders on impatience. The way he looks at you, the tender touches that linger just a bit longer, the conversations that flow more freely–it all feels like a dream you’re afraid to wake up from. 
You should have known it was too good to be true, that this little world you created in your head was just the calm before the storm.
Everything about this session was normal to start. It’s a little less intense since Art’s shoulder is doing better, now you have free reign over the rest of his body. Greedy hands free to glide over the planes and planes of muscle you’ve become familiar with.
As you work on his lower back, your hands moving in practiced, soothing motions, you notice a subtle rigidity in his muscles. “Everything alright?” you ask, keeping your tone light.
Art hesitates before answering. “Yeah, just…a lot on my mind.”
You frown, “Do you want to talk about it?”
Art stays quiet, still laying silently on the table face down. You stare at the back of his head, like if you stare hard enough you’ll be able to tell what he’s thinking. Taking his silence as not wanting to talk, you continue on. You don’t want to pressure him to confide with you, not when he already has a wife for that.
As your hands continue to move over Art's tense shoulders, he lets out a deep sigh, breaking the silence. "I need you,”  he whispers softly, his voice filled with an unexpected vulnerability. He shifts on the table, leaning up to look you in the eye; his own eyes are watery, lashes clumped together with unshed tears. “It's not just the massages. I need you in my life, no more of this half-assed bullshit. I need all of you.”
You feel your whole world turn upside down in a single second, the distinct feeling of your heart lurching out of your chest and your stomach dropping to your feet. It’s like the walls of the room start moving in on you, caging you in. It makes your chest feel tight, breath coming out in short jagged rasps. Panic grips you, and you violently rip your hands off Art’s body, stumbling back from the massage table.
 "I-I'm sorry, I can't," you stammer, voice choked with emotion, as you turn to flee from the room, not even bothering to grab your stuff. But before you could escape, Art was right behind you, reaching out to catch your wrist, his grip gentle yet firm. "Please don't go, please," he begs, his eyes pleading with you to stay and talk. You wrench your hand free and run out of the room. 
You think you hear Art calling out your name through all the static rushing through your ears, but you’re not sure, and you don’t look back to check. Your feet pound against the tile as you run out of the pool house feeling like you’re about to throw up, or pass out. Art’s confession is the only thing running through your mind. The only thing that’s still clear through your dizzying panic.
You finally start to breathe again when you burst into the house, leaning back against the cool glass of the door to try and relax before you start to spiral. The silence inside is almost oppressive, the only sound the rapid thudding of your heart in your ears. You close your eyes, willing yourself to calm down, to find some semblance of control.
Your name being said grabs your attention, and you open your eyes to find Tashi at the top of the stairs.
“Is everything okay? I heard the door slam.” Her expression is a mix of concern and confusion as she takes a few steps down. You push yourself off the door, you need to leave as soon as possible, before Tashi can reach you and coerce you into staying. 
“Everything's fine!” Your voice sounds shaky despite your best efforts to calm yourself, you’re basically speed walking to the door. “I just, I got a phone call, and I need to leave. Right now. I’m so sorry.”
You don’t even wait for her to reply before you’re yanking the door open and rushing outside. You hope to God that she doesn’t follow you outside. She doesn’t.
You walk, arms wrapped around yourself tightly in a feeble attempt to stop shaking. There are tears burning your eyes and making everything in front of you blurry. The wind whips your hair around your face, stinging your cheeks as you walk further away from the house.
Each step feels heavier, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to make sense of the storm inside you. The chaotic weather seems to mock your turmoil, perfectly matching the chaos you feel. You struggle to piece together what just happened, the intensity of Art’s words echoing in your mind.
“I need you.”
His voice had been so raw, so vulnerable, and it scared you. You weren’t ready for that kind of emotion, that kind of responsibility, that kind of guilt. The weight of it had sent you running, and now you’re left grappling with the aftermath.
Fuck.
A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX HOURS LATER…
The drive home was a blur. Rain and wind beating against the windshield nearly the whole time. You’d laugh at how ironic it was, like God’s punishing you with shitty weather, but you’re too busy fighting tears to find the humor in it. 
The dread didn’t set in until you got home, stumbling through the front door on shaky legs until you reached your kitchen where you promptly emptied everything in your stomach into your trash. After you force yourself into the shower to wash the rain, and guilt, off of your skin. You scrub yourself raw, skin pink and sensitive to the touch, like that will somehow erase all that you’ve done.
When you finally step out, the bathroom mirror is fogged, a ghostly reflection staring back at you through the mist. You avoid its gaze, wrapping yourself in a towel and padding through your room to collapse onto your bed. The silence of the house presses in on you, letting your thoughts consume you. 
Art’s words play on a loop inside your head, the look on his face burned to the forefront of your mind. The weight of his confession hung heavy in the air, rocking you with its intensity. Running away had seemed like the only option at the time, a knee-jerk reaction to the overwhelming flood of emotions threatening to engulf you. 
You know you didn’t run from Art because you don’t want him, you ran because there’s nothing you want more. In the aftermath, running felt less like a choice and more like an instinctual response to the storm of emotions threatening to consume you whole since the first day you met him. Every step away from Art was a battle against the gravitational pull of your desires, a struggle against the overwhelming urge to surrender to what you both shared.
The truth is crystal clear: you didn't run from Art because you're devoid of feelings for him. You ran precisely because your heart beats in synchrony with his, because the depth of your longing for him is as boundless as the universe itself. 
Your phone pings from the dresser, you ignore it. A second later, it pings again, and again, and again. You furrow your brows, glaring at your nightstand until you reach over and pick up your phone. It’s an unknown number, but you know who it is.
UNKNOWN NUMBER I need to see you.  Please, I can send a car. It's Art. Tashi isn’t home tonight.
Maybe you’re the worst person in the world, but all the fight leaves your body the second you read Art’s texts. You need to see him as much as he needs to see you. Your fingers type out a response before you can think twice.
Art okay.
You send him your address, jumping out of bed to throw on the first things you see. A black SUV was waiting for you as soon as you got downstairs, just as promised. You climbed in after getting confirmation from the driver, and sat in the backseat quietly as you went down the familiar streets. 
As the house comes into view, you can see the front door’s light is still on, waiting for you. You barely wait for the car to stop before you’re opening the car door and stepping outside. The rain immediately drenches you, seeping through your thin sleep clothes. You take two steps before the front door swings open and Art comes rushing out into the rain. He’s only wearing sleep pants, his bare feet smack wetly on the concrete as he runs to you.
Art stops short of you, hesitating, like he doesn’t know whether to touch you or not. You want him to touch you so bad you’re scared it might kill you. The air between you feels charged, every drop of rain a tiny spark. Finally, Art reaches out, his hand trembling as he brushes a soaked strand of hair from your face. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you step closer, collapsing into his arms. The rain continues to fall around you, but at this moment, it’s just the two of you.
"Art," you breathe, your voice trembling. "What are we doing?"
He gazes into your eyes, the raw emotion in his expression mirroring your own. "I don't know," he admits, his hands gently sliding down to your shoulders. "But I can't let you go. Not now." His words hang between you, a fragile thread of honesty that binds you together. You can feel the weight of his words, the sincerity in his voice, and it tugs at your heartstrings.
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as his words sink in. The honesty in his gaze, the desperation in his touch—it all overwhelms you, leaving you breathless. The only thing you can think of, the only thing that feels right, is kissing him. So you do.
You lean closer, your heart pounding in your chest, and gently cup his face in your hands. His eyes widen for a moment, a flicker of surprise mingling with the intensity of his emotions. Then, as if drawn together by an invisible force, your lips meet his.
The kiss is soft at first, tentative and sweet, a question and an answer all at once. His lips are cold and slightly trembling, matching the fluttering in your chest. You can taste the salt of your tears mingling with the sweetness of the moment. Time seems to stand still as you lose yourself in the sensation of his mouth on yours. 
Gradually, the kiss deepens, becoming more urgent and fervent, a silent expression of everything words can’t convey. Art’s arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, his fingers threading through your hair. The heat between you intensifies, both your breath coming faster, mingling as the kiss grows hungrier.
Art’s heartbeat echoes against your chest, you can feel his grip on you getting tighter like he's scared of letting you go. Your hands slide down to his shoulders, your fingers digging into his muscles as you press closer, your bodies molding together. His tongue flicks against your lips, seeking entrance, and you part them eagerly, welcoming him in. The taste of him is intoxicating, a mix of desperation and passion that makes your head spin. A soft moan escapes your lips, and he responds with a low growl, his hands roaming down your back, pulling you impossibly closer. 
“Art,” you say in between kisses, panting into his slick, open mouth. “I need you to fuck me.”
You can feel Art’s whole body shiver, groaning unabashedly into your mouth like he’s dying for it. “I’ve been waiting weeks for you to finally admit that.”
The two of you tear through the house, all tangled limbs and bumbling steps, you trail water all over the floor. Somewhere in the chaos you drop your phone and keys on the large kitchen island. Art refuses to let go of you to walk properly, blindly leading the way so he can keep kissing you breathless.
Art only stops kissing you when you finally make it to his bedroom, pulling away to wrestle the now soaked sleep pants off his legs. You follow by example and peel your shirt off, skin damp and cold but you could care less, not when Art’s pants are pooling at his ankles and he’s throwing his boxers carelessly over his shoulder.
“God,” he breathes out, shaking his head like he can’t believe you're giving him this, “You’re so beautiful.”
The raw honesty in his tone has your cheeks burning, you cast your gaze to the floor instinctually, feeling too overwhelmed by his charged gaze raking over you. You can hear his feet softly padding against the floor, making his way closer. You watch his feet come to a complete stop in front of you, he takes a hold of your chin gently forcing you to look up at him. 
His eyes, intense and unwavering, lock onto yours. “You’re fucking perfect.”
With a gentle push, Art lowers you onto the bed, his weight a comforting presence above you. He tilts your head back and kisses you breathless, one big hand sliding lower and lower on your stomach till he’s got his hand down the front of your shorts, he groans when his hand makes contact with your bare skin. You’d almost forgotten you hadn’t worn any underwear. His hand so close to your aching center has your breath hitching as you kiss, hips bucking up towards his palm.
You reach for his cock, an angry shade red and leaking steadily, but he catches your wrist before you can touch. You meet his eyes confused, but he just shakes his head.
“It’s been about me the whole time, baby. Let me fix that,” he whispers.
You nod your head wordlessly. You wouldn’t dream of denying him, not right now. He smiles, pecking your lips again before he starts to kiss his way downwards. He explores your body with his mouth with such care it has you shaking under every brush his lips. He kisses all down your jaw and neck, taking extra time on your chest to map out the skin of your breasts with his tongue. He circles your right nipple with the tip of his tongue a few times over before he takes it in his mouth, rolling it between his teeth gently. It has your back arching into his mouth, hands scrambling for a purchase on the silk sheets. One long finger slides around your entrance and dips inside, shallow, then deeper, stretching you slowly, carefully, while his other hand rubs your clit with light, gentle touches. “Is this good?” Art asks quietly, voice tinged slightly with insecurity, like you’re not completely unraveling because of him.
“God yes! Yes – fuck! – Art,” you mewl loudly, hips grinding down roughly onto his finger, desperate to take in more of him. You can feel him smile against your skin, pulling off to blow cool air over your hard nipple and repeating it all over again on your left. His finger slides through the wetness collecting in your hole, spreading it to your throbbing clit. He finally sinks a single finger into the warm, tight, heat of your cunt.
Art pulls away from your chest to kiss his way down your stomach, sliding lower and lower on the huge king size mattress, he doesn’t stop the rhythm of his fingers as he peels your shorts down your legs, tossing them aside. A guttural groan leaves his lips at the sight of your slick cunt parting over his fingers, taking them so well. He pitches forward like he can’t help himself, like his lips are magnetically drawn to your cunt, and presses a small kiss to your clit. 
“Fuck!” You squeal and writhe as his finger fucks in and out of you, hands tangling in his messy hair, cheeks flushing at the sound of your leaking cunt squelching against his wrist with each thrust. Art's lips tighten over your clit, sucking for a brief second before he moves back to start laving his tongue over your cunt in careful, slightly clumsy, strokes. The sounds he's making, almost filthy slurping, accompanied by little moans now and then send small vibrations through you that shock your system, making you fist his hair even tighter. 
Art’s lewd noises fill the air, mixing with your own moans to fill the room. His eyes stay closed for the most part, fluttering open every couple seconds to watch you fall apart. Your thighs shake uncontrollably around his head when you make eye contact, threatening to clamp around his ears and keep him there.
A sob tears from your throat when he adds another finger, then he curls them inside you and pulls back and god, shit, shit, fuck, fuck me, god, Art, please fuck me.
“Fuck me Art please fuck me I need it so bad please-” you ramble nonsensically, pulling at Art’s hair desperately. You can feel the warmth starting to pool in your stomach, but you don’t want to come on his tongue, or on his fingers, you want to come with him inside you.
Art lets you drag him up, the bottom half of his face is slick and shiny, drenched in your wetness. He makes his way up your body quickly, hands gripping tightly to your hips, not hesitating to kiss you even as your juices decorate his lips. You kiss back desperately, tasting yourself on his tongue. The head of his cock bumping against your twitching, empty hole has you whining. 
“Fuck me, Art,” you breath hotly, hips canting up needily. “No condom, I’m on the pill. I want you to come inside me. Please, I need it.”
Slowly, he starts to sink in. Feeding you inch by inch torturously slow. He kisses you the whole time, greedily swallowing the moans flowing out of your mouth as he stretches your cunt on his thick cock. You grab at his shoulders like a lifeline, kissing back with everything you have.
“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he says through gritted teeth, hands gripping your hips hard enough that you know you’ll be bruised in the morning. “So fucking perfect for me, such a perfect pussy for my cock.”
“Move.” Is all you can manage to squeak out, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders.
Art starts to move, thrusts slow and gentle, like he’s easing you into it. You’re grateful for it, you’ve never taken anyone as big as him. Slowly, his thrusts speed up, cut hips smacking against the fat of your ass a little rougher than before. You revel in it, pushing your ass back greedily for more more more. From this angle, the thick head of his cock drags against your g-spot perfectly every time he plunges back into your dripping cunt.
“Shit! Right there, don’t stop,” you slur breathlessly, feeling the familiar warmth swirling through your stomach as he fucks you.
“I love you.” Art confesses against your lips, his breath hot and erratic. His sweaty forehead pressed to yours as he pounds in and out of you, the motion both relentless and tender. His eyes are wide open now, so blue and so big and so honest as they bore into yours so intensely it’s suffocating.
It’s soon, it’s way too soon. You’ve barely known each other for a couple months, but you can't deny the warmth spreading through your chest, mingling with the heat of the moment, making everything feel both overwhelming and perfect.
Now that you're here, with Art’s cock fitting so perfectly in the wet heat of your cunt, you can’t believe it took you this long. You love Art. You’ve been in love with Art since the first time he spoke to you. Since the first time he touched you like you were the solution to all his problems.
Art must take your stunned silence as rejection, head falling to rest on your shoulder dejectedly, but his hips don’t slow their rhythm. If anything he speeds up, hips thrusting against you desperately.
“Please, please say it back,” he begs, voice thick with emotion, “Say it back, I need to hear you say it. Please,”
You surge up, wrapping your arms around him as tightly as you can, ankles locking together across his back. Art couldn’t pull out of you if he wanted to, judging from the long whine he lets out, he doesn’t mind.
“I love you, Art” You whisper back, barely audible over the lewd slap of his hips stinging your ass. Art groans so loudly you can feel it reverberating off the sensitive skin of your neck.
Hips speeding up even faster, Art turns his head to catch your lips in a searing kiss. This kiss is different than any of the other ones you’ve shared tonight, full of so much emotion and unspoken words. You swear you feel your heart grow three sizes, almost full and threatening to break out of your chest.
“I’m gonna come, fuck, I’m gonna fucking come,” he breathes between kisses. You can only moan in response, right on the brink of your own orgasm. His hips start to lose their rhythm as he chases it, fucking into you faster and harder.
Art’s cock gives a final twitch inside you before his hips are stilling and he’s coming with a broken moan, unloading everything he has into you. You’re right behind him, vision whiting out as you come, thighs shaking where they’re draped around his hips. 
Art collapses onto you, both of you breathing heavily as you come down from the high of your orgasm’s. You lay like that for a while, heaving and sweaty wrapped up in each other's arms. You feel something slot into place, something that you’ve been missing.
Art’s soft voice pierces through the afterglow, “Will you hold me?”
“Yes,” you whisper back, circling your arms around his shoulders.
When you wake up hours later you’re beyond thirsty, dehydrated from all the crying, and maybe from the sex. Art’s head is laying across your bare chest, tousled hair tickling your jaw and arms snug around your waist. He looks so peaceful, eyes closed with his long lashes fanning over his cheeks. The sound of his steady breathing is almost enough to lull you right back to sleep. You smile softly, running your hands through his hair slowly. Savoring how at peace he looks, so different from the battered, broken man you met.
You slip out of his arms as carefully as possible, not wanting to wake him. Rolling out of bed to search half-assedly for your clothes in the darkness. You can’t find your shirt, only your underwear and shorts. You notice a red shirt strewn over the dresser next to the bed, illuminated by the moonlight pouring through the blinds. You pick it up without thinking, it's soft in your hands, the fabric thin and worn down. You toss it on before padding out of the bedroom.
You get a little lost in your thoughts as you make your way to the kitchen, Art loves you.
The thought has you biting back a giddy smile. Art loves you and you love him too. It sounds fucking crazy, but you know it’s true. Your life is so completely fucked, you don’t know if you care.
Art loves you.
Your smile doesn’t leave your lips as you turn the corner, arms wrapped around yourself tightly, the warmth of Art's affection lingering like a gentle caress.
“He smiles more.”
The soft voice ringing out from your left makes you stop in your tracks. You turn, and there in the kitchen illuminated by the soft glow of the ceiling light, like an angel, is Tashi Duncan. 
Tashi looks at you from her spot across the room with an impassive look on her face, she’s got your keys in one hand, fiddling with them boredly. When you don't reply she speaks again, "He's playing better, won the last three tournaments he was in." She says casually, setting her half full wine glass down on the island.
You don't need to ask her who "he" is.
You're silent for a few more beats as she stares at you expectantly, silently urging you to say something. You rack your brain for a response, caught like a deer in headlights under Tashi's gaze.
"What?" you softly mutter, words cutting through the air weakly.
Tashi sighs in exasperation, like you're a child who doesn't understand the simple question she's asking. She raises her wine glass back to her lips, draining the rest of it before setting it down once more and making her way over to you.
You know you should flee, make a break for the door before she reaches you. Running away from the woman whose husband you’re fucking - whose husband you just got done fucking, and who told you he loved you - while she pays you seems like the easiest thing to do in the moment, but you don't.
You find yourself glued to the spot as Tashi's commanding presence looms over you, until she's all you can see. Until her expensive smelling perfume is all you can breathe, until she's towering over you, miles of soft skin on display in a classy black nightie.
She stares down at you, her face completely unreadable. It feels like hours as her brown eyes burn into yours, your heart must be beating a thousand beats per second.
When Tashi finally moves, it’s her hand you see rising up in your peripheral vision. At first you think she's going to hit you, get you back for sleeping with her husband, for falling in love with her husband. You tense up, bracing for the slap, it would be the least of what you deserve, but it never comes.
Instead, Tashi's hand finds its way up to the side of your face, cupping your cheek gently. You can feel the chilled metal of her wedding band make contact with your warm skin.
You feel like you might pass out staring into the eyes of Tashi Duncan. Everything you ever wanted in high school flashing rapidly right before your eyes.
If Art Donaldson is the sun, Tashi is the moon. Her light draws you in and keeps you looking at her, and never wanting to look away.
Her thumb slides across your bottom lip, the same lip that’s kissed her husband. Ever so slightly, she pushes the tip of her thumb into your parted lips, far enough to touch your bottom teeth. Your breath catches in your throat, eyes widening in shock, your pulse is fluttering wildly. You distantly wonder if she can feel it on the inside of her wrist.
“I’m his coach, I need to be hard on him or he fails. I refuse to let him fail,” she says softly, tone casual like she’s not brushing the tip of your tongue with her fingers. “But I’m not stupid, I know what he needs. Someone sweet, someone gentle, someone who looks at him and doesn’t see tennis.”
You couldn’t answer her if you wanted to, but you wouldn’t trust yourself to speak anyway. You feel far away and floaty the longer her fingers sit in your mouth, your brain feels like molasses.
“I can’t give him what he needs. I’m not that kind of person,” Tashi says, eyes roaming your face languidly, like she’s window shopping your features. Her voice is nearly a whisper the next time she speaks, “but you are. You could be that for him.”
Your heart drops, the haze surrounding your brain rips away so violently, like someone took a leaf blower to it. Her words make everything start to fall into place, the at home visits, the “exclusive deal”, the weird ass run-ins you’ve had with her over the weeks. 
This was never about the goddamn massages.
For a few seconds you both stay like that. Standing inches away from each other in the half-lit kitchen of her and Art's house. For a second, you think you can see the tiniest smile playing on her lips before she drops her hand from you completely.
"There’s a car waiting for you outside,” she says, still close enough that you can feel her breath fan over your face, “See you next Thursday."
Tashi turns on her heels and leaves you alone, disappearing down the long hallway leading to her and Art's bedroom. You watch the whole time she goes, until she completely fades into the shadows. Your lip still tingling from her touch.
There’s only one thing on your mind as you incredulously stare down the now empty hall…
These people are so fucking weird.
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bonbonly · 26 days ago
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𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙖𝙨𝙩, 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙜𝙤𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙞𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙨𝙞𝙡𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙨, 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙚𝙣𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙜𝙤𝙣𝙨 ✶ the lights, cameras and props aren't enough to hide your mistakes when you've angered a few of your associates ; this follows my hollywood!au and as always 18+, minors dni! ✶ drivers involved: carlos sainz jr., charles leclerc, max verstappen, lewis hamilton, nico rosberg, jenson button, fernando alonso, daniel ricciardo, sebastian vettel ✶ warnings: smutttt, p in v, breeding kink, slapping, cunnilingus, blowjobs, spanking hehehe
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🎥 producer!carlos sainz jr.
"famed actress (y/n) (l/n) criticizes Sainz 55's production company... i'm not here to be second..." carlos reads through the headline of the front page, before throwing the newspaper at your face. you flinch and turn your head to the side, breath shaking as you continue to bounce on his cock. your arms are tied behind you with his belt, the leather bound so tight that you swear it might be cutting off circulation. your mouth is stuffed with your panties, the lovely mascara you had bought was now running down your cheek; like delicate rivers streaming across the globe as he put it. he shifts in his seat, causing you to let out a muffled cry as the tip of his cock pushes further into you. his hands are behind his head, a grin on his face as he sees you all helpless and vulnerable like this. just like when you first came to his office asking for him to make you a star.
"after everything we've been through, cariño, this is how you'll repay me? wanting to leave?" he laughs, a coldness in his voice that cuts into your skin. goosebumps trail your body as he gently blows on your hardened nipples, begging for his attention. when you pause just a bit from riding him, he rolls the newspaper and smacks your ass, sending you forward onto his chest. he won't touch you nor help you. instead he bucks his hips forward, relishing in your cries. he can hear your muffled apologies, and he merely shakes his head, "from the top, mi vida, for an award winning actress, you sure are terrible at delivering a good performance for me to enjoy. come on, make me cum before i decide to throw you out, permanently."
you roll your hips, nodding your head as you continue, your thighs burning from exertion.
🎥 actor!daniel ricciardo
"that was my scene, you know that was my scene," daniel hisses into your ear, fingers deep inside you in your trailer. you gasp out loud, gripping onto his shoulders as he continues his relentless assault, waiting for you to cum for the third time. you moan, mouth open wide as he spits into your mouth, grabbing your chin so you can stare into his eyes, "this is my big chance to get back on the big screen. i'm not letting you ruin that for me."
perhaps wanting to outperform him in front of the cameras was a mistake. you do recall seeing the cameraman flinch a bit. you did great, you always did but they could see daniel ready to pounce on you as soon as the director yelled cut. now you're in your trailer, being shoved down onto all fours. he grabs his phone and props it on the table as he slips off his shirt. "we'll see who's better now, cunt" and he brings his head down, eating you out from behind. his tongue slips into your dripping pussy with ease, smiling as you're mewling and shaking. fuck, as much as you hated him for always trying to get in your spotlight, you couldn't let this opportunity pass. you might even help him get a few more roles if he could make you squirt all over his body.
🎥 actor!max verstappen
"ok, i made my sister win those oscars, what are you going to do about it, hm?" max scoffs, leaning against the wall during the afterparty. you snarl at him, smacking him across his face.
"i would've won. i would've won all these years had you not been busy screwing me over like this," you watch him stumble backwards, your handprint blooming on his face. his expression of shock turns into one of anger and he grabs you, dragging you off to the bathroom. once inside, he bunches your dress up and bends you over the counter, laughing as he sees your pussy gaping for him. "schatje, i didn't know your pussy was this sweet, waiting so patiently... crying for me to fill you up."
you're screaming as his cock buries to the hilt inside of you, slapping your ass hard so that every time you sat down, you'd only be reminded of him. he licked his lips, bringing your back to his chest as his pace became faster, "oh fuck, maybe if you became my personal little slut, i'll try talking to the association to give you all the awards next year."
you smile at his words, "fuck... i can get behind that."
"maybe though... it's a maybe. maybe i might change my mind, and fuck this pretty pussy of yours raw, fill you with my cum again and again until the media comes to know of our future child," and despite his words, you're clenching around his cock because you always loved a little thrill in your life.
🎥 producer!lewis hamilton
"how ungrateful of a whore do you have to be?" lewis laughs, watching you on your knees as you suck his cock. you bob your head around his throbbing member, the sinful noises you have to offer fueling him as he grabs the back of your head and shoves you deeper down. "fuck, you sound gorgeous."
he can see you smile through the deed. he looks up to see your offer to switch to his production company for a year. an interesting contract, he knows you'll renew it if you're successful with him. especially if you're worshipping his cock like this. he grabs his phone, and takes a few pictures of you. he even records his cock ramming into your swollen cunt, your tits bouncing as he fucks you raw against his desk.
"rec-recording for oh!" you arch your back, cumming once more before whining as he continued to fuck you, "recording for memories?"
"you could say that," lewis grins, his thumb hovering over carlos's contract. if you were willing to go against carlos's back to contact him again and again, despite all the times he rejected your offers, then how loyal would you even be when you signed with him? you're extremely talented, though, he'd be a fool not to sign you. your cunt was also pure heaven.
🎥 actor!charles leclerc
"how inexperienced do you think i am?" charles scoffs, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him. you're on set of a film with him, already getting off on bad terms because you couldn't stand the fact that this newbie was receiving more attention than you. it was a sex scene, one you signed up for because this was just normal for you. only difference was that in this makeshift room with no light at all spare an artificial moon outside the window, charles was fucking you for real. no fake socks, no skin color underwear. he had shoved those panties to the side a long time ago and rubbed your clit hard right before the director yelled action. method acting, that's what the assistants on set whispered before leaving.
"you think i don't know anything, isn't that right mon ange?" he whispers, low enough so that no sound system can pick up his words, it's only meant for you. you gulp, trying your best to make your moans seem fake. the bed's creaking beneath you, tears in your eyes with how good he's fucking you. you shake your head, words failing to come out because now you're arching your back, your nipples brushing against his chin and he smirks, taking the opportunity to lean closer and wrap his mouth around your areolas, flicking his tongue around as you're squirming underneath him.
"oh fuck!" you whisper, silently screaming to the side where the cameras cannot see you, "i cannot believe you..."
"meet me in my trailer after, i'll prove to you that i'm not just some stupid rookie with a pretty face," he nibbles at the shell of your ear, and you bite down onto his shoulder as you're cumming around his relentless cock. the poor set crew had a lot to clean up after this scene.
🎥 director!sebastian vettel
"no, no, no!" sebastian yelled out, rolling his eyes. you'd messed up the take for the 50th time. "schatz, what's going on? what's wrong with you?"
he hops off his chair and walks over to you with a frown on his face, "you usually get these in one take! are you not feeling well?" he places the back of his hand on your forehead, and you shrug your shoulders,
"just not feeling it today," and that makes his face harden. so in your trailer, he's sitting on a chair, your legs in the air as he contorts your body so that your face is against the ground, he lets the blood rush down to your pretty little head for a few seconds before pulling you back up onto his lap. clothes are long gone, he's mouthing the fat of your tits,
"i have a schedule, i have days to finish this film and if you're going to be a brat," he pauses, slapping your face gently so that you get the idea, "on your knees now. right now. you can't say your lines? make that fucking mouth useful then, du hure."
🎥retired scriptwriter!nico rosberg
"you keep coming back here, acting like i'm going to... oh fuck," nico groans out loud, watching you spread your legs out for him. you were always such a tease. even before he quit the industry, you always tried to coax him into a quickie before the ceremony would start. nico falls to his knees, crawling over to you on the bed. he grabs a pen and bites the cap off, spitting it to the distance before biting the insides of your thighs. you yelp in surprise, giggling as a hand comes to tangle in his hair and he glances up at you with hooded eyes and half a smile.
"i guess i could write a script for you," he murmurs, licking your clit rapidly as you buck your hips against his mouth. he wraps his lips around your puffy folds, tugging and sucking before writing all around your cunt and on your thighs. the feeling of the pen's tip alongside his tongue lapping up the gummy walls inside you makes you let out a wanton moan, body arching as you chase after your release. the pen dips further into your skin, the small dose of pain sending your mind into a dizzy mess he shoves the pen to the side and lets his fingers scissor inside your juicy cunt.
when you wake up the next morning with his cum leaking, you also finally see what he's written all over you: my pretty little dumb slut. you're already grabbing the pen to write all over his bare chest.
🎥 film critic!jenson button
"oh," jenson pouts mockingly as he sees you crying, "oh did my words hurt miss princess's feelings?" he grabs your jaw and tilts your head to look at him, "well too fucking bad. you want to insult my intelligence to the press? you want to see me replaced? darling, if it isn't me writing these film reviews, which other journalist's cock is going to have that cunt sinking down on them, hm?"
and before you can answer, his grip tightens, "if it isn't me, i will personally see to it that each review i write is worse than the one before, i have credibility sweetheart. you want to ruin my reputation? i can go one step further."
you knew fighting with him was pointless, but there was a bit of fun in it. up until now, it seems that he really was at his last straw with you. he throws you over his shoulder, shutting and locking the door to his office before throwing you onto his swivel chair. he rips your clothes off like a madman, a hand around your throat as he squeezes gently and soon his hard cock is sliding along your wet folds that yearn just for him to stretch you out. "i should take a photo of you right now and send it to the press. they'd love to see another dumb whore on the front pages."
"i...i'll have you photographed as well," you hiss, bucking your hips to see if his cock will finally slide inside you. he smacks his member a couple times against your cunt, loving the way you're begging for him to fill you up.
"go ahead, i have nothing left to lose. you do that, and there'll be permanent evidence of our affair. you don't do that, i'll still make sure there's evidence," and as you tilt your head in confusion, he lets out a laugh, "going to fill you up with my cum and see if a baby will put you in your place."
he fills you up in one thrust, watching the way your eyes widen as you moan out loud.
🎥 retired actor!fernando alonso
"what do you mean you no longer want to take acting lessons with me?" fernando roars, crossing his arms. his princess, his sweet girl was wanting to cut ties with him? seriously? he worked so hard to bring you to the actress that you are today, giving you all the skills and talent in the world! the reason you were so big now and praised for your performances was because of him! he helped you!
and now you wanted to leave him because some young actor named... what was it? charles? or was it max? or was it even daniel? who even knew anymore!?! but you were being wrapped around SOMEONE'S finger. no, no, this wouldn't do. your stubbornness had its limits, and he was for sure going to make you regret trying to leave him. he has you over his lap, smacking your ass as he makes you count.
every time you hiccupped and forgot to count through the tears, he makes you restart. by the time your ass is covered in his handprints and the tears are now loud sobs, he flips you over and lets you bury your face in his neck. "come on, mi princesa, you cannot leave me, after all i've done! i thought you liked our private lessons!"
"i do, i do! i'm sorry, no one treats me good as you do," you whine, kissing him. he caresses your cheek, using his thumb to wipe away your tears. he lets you show your forgiveness by letting him fuck you as much he wants for the night! you don't know how many times you've cummed, but the more he thrusts into you, the louder you wail. you feel like you're on heaven, his big hands groping your tits, slapping them as his hips snap faster and faster each time. you're screaming as you squirt all over his cock, laughing half-way through with how good you feel. you're unaware that as soon as he's done with you, he's going to pull a few strings to make sure his princess doesn't pull out another move like this again. he's your mentor after all, he's doing what's best for you!
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got more ideas/requests/questions for my hollywood!au? send them in!
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nikovraskol · 1 month ago
Note
this is gonna be very long winded so apologies in advance!
I’ve noticed that the readers ages of 16, 18 and 21 feel more important since they’re like a checkpoint for important parts of their lives. 18 is when they butted heads with their family more often, 21 is when they died and 16, well that’s the age that the returned to.
what would it have been say at 16 they were on autopilot so they went to breakfast and Alfred (and by extension the rest of the family ) didn’t realise something was off about them until later?
what if they returned at 18 instead of 16 when their relationships were more volatile with the bat fam?
or heck maybe at 21 a month, week, day or hour before getting shot- say if they were able to contact the police beforehand or at least call Alfred for help if they were shot but the last timeline warned them enough that they avoided lethal wounds?
(bonus: Bruce or the others - I’d expect Jason to pop up from a seedy alley- finds them after being shot and on the verge of dying, but they’re saved just in the nick of time)
(bonus bonus: they get greedy and kidnap surprise adopt multiple different versions of reader and their batfams go nuts because they “went missing”)
GRR come over here and kiss me on my hot mouth i'm feeling romantical also i will carress you for picking up on the age thing.. like damn u actually read my shi
masterlist
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at sixteen, if you were to go to breakfast and act on autopilot! then congrats! you'd be able to leave (for a month). it'd be difficult because bruce wouldn't check on you so you couldn't ask him for funds. but if you were to ask alfred maybeee he'd give it to you, so long as you don't say what it's for, of course.
so then, you're living happily, peacefully even. for two months, you live your life like a normal person! until one fateful evening when you're casually lounging about -- someone knocks on your door. weird, but okay.
you open the door, and there stands fucking batman and robin just. standing there.
"we're here to--"
you slam the door on their face. now, because you've acted on auto-pilot, they didn't interact with you in the same way they did in the og story, so you're understandably confuddled. because? why the FLIP is your estranged family at your door?
over the course of the next few days, strange events occur. you go to the diner down the road to get some food and red hood slides into your booth wordlessy. you're walking home after going to the store and nightwing literally APPEARS and offers to carry your groceries. your phone's battery is mysteriously depleting fast, flipping orphan and spoiler show up at your school, hanging around.
worst of all, no matter where you go -- there's that bat-shaped shadow following you. if you look up, you'll see the outline of his cowl, and if you lock eyes he will swoop in, to save you -- of course! so keep your head down, savour your freedom for as long as possible but don't ever get too comfortable.
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at eighteen? ooh i feel like a fly mischeviously rubbing it's hands together.
twenty-one year old you waking up eighteen, well, dare i say, it's better than waking up sixteen.
eighteen you had preemptively distanced yourself from the family for you. you're a legal adult, so you can work -- and best of all? (you can smoke ciggerattes) you have actual friends.
up until your eighteenth birthday, your every waking thought was on how to be better, to get better -- so with you becoming a legal adult -- well you understood that there isn't much for you to do anymore, you began to focus less on yourself and more on you. despite that, there was still the nagging feeling heavy in your chest that you'll never be accepted, never be apart of them -- there was a part that yearned for that acceptance, however late it maybe.
so your sudden disinterest wasn't alarming, not really. until you've finally found a good place, in a nice area. you're packing your stuff casually when bruce walks into your room for the first time in fuuck knows how long (because alfred asked him to).
"where are you going?" he is flabbergasted, but keeps a cool expression on his face as you give him the most diabolic side glare ever.
"i'm... leaving?"
lmao, no you're not! all of a sudden this calm procedure turns into a whole thing. give bruce the name of your landlord, he wants to see if they're good -- in fact, he can buy the house off of them so you don't have to pay a thing!
dick and jason are literally scanning every part of your new apartment, top to bottom, every single thing.
"this is not safe, these windows don't even have locks." jason sighs, analysing your windows with such scrutiny it makes you uncomfortable.
"this chain is broken! tut, tut, you can't live here!" dick adds on, ignoring the fact that the chain on your door is fine and that one chip on it won't get you killed.
tim begins to talk to you about finances, but he overexplains it using words you can't even begin to comprehend -- you're pretty sure he's doing it on purpose, what with the smug grin on his face.
"didn't bruce buy the building?" you ask, your eyes narrowed as you watch him scribble down numbers and whatnot.
"..no comment."
while those buffoons are doing that, you're being pressured by damian to stay.
"why must you leave? to live in a crappy old shack? just stay in the manor, it's safer for you." he's literally DOWN your neck with these types of comments. meanwhile, you're reeling 'cause what the fuck is going on?!
whether you give in or not is up to you -- just know, you will one way or another return to the manor.
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as for the last one, let's say you get transported back five minutes before getting shock. which pisses you off 'cause what're you supposed to do in five minutes!?
nonetheless, you manage to get away with being shot once instead of five times, so you have enough energy to limp away -- and then you bump into red hood.
oh damn, oh damn, wow, so he's going to shoot you to -- or that's what you think, what you don't expect is for him to pick you up and literally shoot your offenders.
wow, okay.
you get taken back to the manor and you're literally reeling as they fuss over you, "how could you be out so late!?" this or "why do you need a job!?" that.
it's a shortcut to being locked in the manor, they take care of you like you're incapable, dick spoonfeeding you despite your protests, tim sitting silently besides you which makes you stress because he's so unnerving, cass hovering around you -- bringing you everything you need, sometimes you don't even realise you need it until she brings you a glass of water because you 'looked thirsty' (???).
this isn't just restricted to when you're recovering. you nearly died because of their negligence! so they pay extra attention to you, just so you don't get any silly ideas about walking gotham alone at night. honestly? what were you thinking, it's a good thing they're here to protect you.
(also side note ; the idea of jason being NEAR (name) when they died, but not knowing is so eghsudg to me, like he'll learn about where they died after finding the crime scene and he falls into a pit of despair because if he had taken the right route, if he had followed his instincts, he could have saved you.)
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as for the last, last one. let's say you're a random variant of (name) from another universe and you've gotten transported without knowing it, you walk home morosely.
as you open the door, you are greeted with countless different versions of you -- all of them wearing the same expression of confusion. you don't know how to react when dick spots you and shouts, "we got another one"
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guys if u sent an ask or request I WILL get them done.. i'm just being a lazy bum, thank u for the kind words tho everyone <3
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armpirate · 2 months ago
Text
Unspoken || Jungkook
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pairing: Soldier!JK x fem!reader || Boyfriend's friend
w.c.: 9.3k
Warnings: smut, cheating, dirty talk, male masturbation, unprotected sex, teasing (Minors DNI! Refrain from reading if you're not +18, and ignore if you don't like this type of content)
Aprox. time of reading: 42 minutes
Summary: You thought you had a happy relationship with your boyfriend, you were convinced nothing would ever come between you two. At least until you first met Jungkook, Mingyu's friend and base partner, for a holiday break. His pull toward you was immediate, but also forbidden. Neither of you needed to express how you felt about each other, your attraction was unspoken. Although it'd only get out of control the second you both confessed how you felt about each other.
MASTERLIST
Jungkook leaned back against the passenger seat, the low hum of the car engine blending with the soft playlist his colleague, Mingyu, had playing on the stereo. It was a rare break from the structured chaos of military life, and Jungkook still wasn't quite sure how he'd ended up accepting Mingyu's invitation to spend the holidays at his place.
"You're gonna love it," Mingyu had said, grinning as he threw a duffel bag into the trunk of his car earlier that morning. "Y/n makes the best holiday food, and the vibe's just... different. You'll see."
"Thanks again for inviting me" Jungkook said now, glancing over at Mingyu, whose focus was split between the road and his casual commentary about how cold it always got in their hometown during the holidays.
"No problem. Can't have you stuck at the base during break, eating pre-packaged trash. And besides, Y/n's been wanting to meet you forever. She loves hearing my stories about how I carried your butt during training," Mingyu teased.
Jungkook snorted, rolling his eyes. "Carried me? Right. You couldn't even..."
Mingyu's laughter cut him off, the kind that made it hard not to smile along. Despite their constant banter, Jungkook had always appreciated Mingyu's warmth. It was one of the things that had made him such a good friend, both on and off duty.
The car pulled up to a modest but inviting house tucked behind a line of bare trees, its porch lit with soft golden lights. Jungkook stepped out, his boots crunching against the icy driveway as he stretched. His breath curled into the cold air, and for a moment, he let himself soak in the quiet that only winter seemed to bring.
Jungkook followed him inside, shaking off the chill. The warmth of the house hit him immediately, carrying with it the smell of cinnamon and pine. He stepped into the living room, his gaze moving over the soft, glowing decorations scattered across shelves and windows. Then his eyes landed on you.
You weren't quite sure when your boyfriend would show up, but you were dying to see him. Despite how cold it was outside, you managed to put on his favorite outfit: a pair of shorts that barely cupped your ass and a thin top that he had always managed to take off easily.
The click of the door, heard from your room, almost had you jumping in excitement in your place, biting your lip before you finally chose to walk downstairs to meet him.
You were expecting your boyfriend, but not the man who was behind him. Mingyu was quite big, but those doe-eyed man's shoulders managed to oversize your boyfriend's.
Jungkook barely registered Mingyu's playful retort because, for a second, it felt like time had slowed. You were stunning, not just in the way you carried yourself, but in the ease of your smile and the warmth in your dark eyes. You weren't what Jungkook had expected, though he wasn't sure what he had expected. It wasn't like he actually had bothered to imagine you.
"Why didn't you tell me you were coming with someone?" it was your first question as you walked downstairs, closing the gap to slap your boyfriend's arm.
"It'd be better if I leave" Jungkook got cut off by you, big eyes looking at him over Mingyu's shoulder.
"No, I didn't mean that" you sighed. "It's just... this dickhead should've told me first. I'm Y/n".
"I know" he smiled, quickly nodding. "You're everything he talks about in the base".
And now Jungkook knew why.
"Let me guess... Jungkook?" you pointed at him, looking unsure, but at the same time knowing you were about to give the right answer.
"You got it right".
Your laugh was soft, but it resonated. "It's nice to finally meet you, Jungkook," you said, extending a hand.
Jungkook shook it, his palm warm against yours, while he noticed the distance you had built. Maybe it was that he just wanted to feel you closer, while you were keeping the safety of each other's personal space.
"Nice to meet you, too," he said, his voice steady even as something in his chest stirred.
He told himself it was just nerves. Or maybe the exhaustion from months of routine, of walls and regulations. Whatever it was, he ignored it.
You were Mingyu's.
And Jungkook had no intention of complicating that.
But as the evening unfolded and conversation flowed freely between the three of you, he couldn't shake the strange pull he felt toward you. Every laugh you shared, every subtle gesture, seemed to light something within him. It was subtle, unspoken, but undeniably there.
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Jungkook had told himself, over and over, throughout the months he dragged after knowing you that it was just a fleeting crush, a strange little inconvenience brought on by proximity and circumstance. But the more time passed, the more he realized he was lying to himself.
It didn't help that you weren't the kind of woman he could ignore. Every time Mingyu mentioned you in passing, with his face lighting up with affection, it made something twist uncomfortably in Jungkook's chest. He hated the feeling. Hated that his mind lingered on stolen glances and shared laughter from the few times he had seen you.
It was getting worse, though. Much worse.
You visited the base once, just over a month after the holidays, surprising Mingyu with homemade snacks and your bright, warm presence that seemed to brighten the cold halls of their quarters. Jungkook hadn't known you were coming, but the moment your laughter echoed down the hallway, he knew.
He was mid-conversation with another soldier when you appeared, walking beside Mingyu with a radiant smile and a bag slung over your shoulder. You looked out of place in the best way, soft in a world of hard lines and camouflage.
"Jungkook!" you called out when you spotted him, your hand lifting in a small wave.
He froze for a moment, the sound of your voice cutting through everything else. Forcing a smile, he raised a hand in return, his stomach twisting into a knot as you approached. He didn't expect you there, and even less looking so bright with that short flowing dress that stopped mid-thigh.
He needed you to hug him to finally realize he wasn't going crazy with his own thoughts.
"I didn't know you'd be here today," he said, his voice steady even as he fought to keep his expression neutral, stepping back to look you in the eyes.
"Surprise!" you beamed. "I couldn't let Mingyu go too long without something sweet to snack on. And I packed extra for you, too. Thought you might appreciate it."
Your kindness was as effortless as it was genuine. That was the worst part. You weren't trying to make his heart race or send him spiraling into feelings he didn't want. You were just... you.
"Thanks," Jungkook murmured, taking the small package you handed him. Your fingers brushed briefly, and he cursed the way his pulse quickened.
Mingyu, oblivious as always, grinned at the interaction. "See? Told you she's the best. You don't know how lucky I am"
Jungkook's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah," he said quietly, his gaze flicking to you, who was already chatting with another soldier nearby. "You're really lucky."
The rest of your visit was a blur of polite small talk and stolen glances that Jungkook wished he could erase from his memory. When you finally left, Mingyu was grinning from ear to ear, talking about you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded in the chaos of military life.
And Jungkook?
Jungkook felt like he was losing a battle he couldn't even admit he was fighting.
Each passing week only made it harder to ignore. Every time he caught himself thinking about you, he'd push the thoughts away, burying them under layers of duty and loyalty. But they always came back, stronger and more insistent, until it felt like he was carrying a weight he couldn't shake.
And the worst part was knowing he couldn't do anything about it.
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If he thought it was going to be a temporary crush, he couldn't be more wrong. And what made the least sense for him was the way it kept growing bigger with the little he actually saw you. But hell, the little he saw you was enough to have a huge impact on his system and the way his brain worked to be wrapped around you.
If you wore a new gloss, it was enough for him to keep thinking about the way it'd taste on your lips if he kissed you. If you did something new to your hair, he kept coming up with ways of brushing the few strands that escaped your hairstyle and getting you to smile shyly. And the most simple thoughts turned into the most primitive when he was alone in his room, reminiscing of how your clothes always looked good on you. It only made him wonder how good what was underneath would look.
You were a nightmare and a dream at the same time. Something he couldn't reach, but something he couldn't escape either.
He needed it to get it to stop.
That was why he agreed when you came up with a blind date for him. Jungkook knew he should've said no the moment you brought it up, but his desperation to get you out of his head was bigger than his common sense.
"I have this friend," you had said, your eyes lighting up with the enthusiasm that always made his heart skip a beat. "She's sweet, funny, and gorgeous. I think you two would really hit it off!"
He'd tried to decline politely, but you had a way of being insistent without overstepping. Before he knew it, he was sitting in a crowded cinema on a Friday night with someone he barely knew while you and Mingyu sat right next to them.
His date, Hana, was nice enough, chatty and kind, exactly as you had described. But Jungkook couldn't focus. Every smile she gave him, every laugh they shared over popcorn, felt hollow. His mind was elsewhere, drifting back to the woman who had orchestrated this evening in the first place, the same woman who was sitting at his left, oblivious of how crazy you drove him.
The lights dimmed, signaling the start of the movie, and the theater fell into a hushed silence. Jungkook shifted in his seat, trying to settle his restless thoughts, but the more he tried to focus on the screen, the harder it became.
It didn't help that your voice still lingered in his head, your laugh from earlier in the night replaying over and over.
He wasn't even aware of what he was doing at first. It was an unconscious movement he didn't quite control. His hand, resting on the armrest, slipped lower, brushing against your skirt where it met your thigh. It was an innocent gesture at first, or at least, he told himself it was. But as his fingers pressed just a fraction further, he felt the warmth of your skin, the soft fabric of your dress.
His breath hitched.
You tensed beside him, turning slightly. "Jungkook?" you whispered, your tone more confused than alarmed.
Realizing what he'd done, he immediately withdrew his hand, his heart pounding. "Sorry," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the sound of the movie. "I... hmm... I didn't mean to. It was an accident."
You offered a small, uncertain smile, brushing it off with a light shrug. "It's fine," you whispered back, your focus returning to the screen.
But Jungkook couldn't move past it. His stomach churned, guilt and shame twisting inside him. He hadn't mistaken you for Hana, not in the physical sense, at least. But in the darkness of the theater, his mind had wandered, and for a fleeting, selfish moment, he'd let his emotions take over.
He spent the rest of the movie barely moving, his body rigid as he counted down the minutes until the credits rolled. When the lights came up, you seemed as sweet and nice as always, as if that moment hadn't meant anything for you.
But Jungkook couldn't shake the weight of what had happened, or the realization that he was spiraling into feelings he had no business indulging.
Your concern for his happiness, your effort to set him up with someone, had only made things worse. You saw him as a friend, nothing more. And yet, his own desires had betrayed not only his loyalty to Mingyu but the respect he'd tried to maintain for you yourself.
As you exited the theater and Mingyu teased him about the "cute couple" they made, Jungkook forced a laugh, but inside, he felt like he was crumbling.
Something had to change.
Because if he didn't find a way to stop this, he knew it would destroy him, and everything he valued most.
Those were the only thoughts in his head while he stared at the ceiling that same night, trying to know what was the best way to put a solution to everything going on. Maybe it was time for him to stop his friendship with Mingyu and free himself from the pain and the trouble.
A sound broke through the silence. It wasn't loud, it was obvious he wasn't supposed to hear it, but it was followed by another sound that was heard clearer the second time. Your moans were soft and cautious, almost as if coming from the back of your throat by how hard you tried to keep them to yourself.
But he heard. Of course he heard it.
Jungkook didn't know when he disconnected, or more like when he allowed his brain to come up with images of you. But when he realized it was way too late and he liked it too much to stop it.
His fingers were closed around himself under the blankets, his eyes closed and his lips parted as the thought of him being the one getting those sounds out of you started being more powerful. Not only powerful, it was so vivid he could almost feel his digits pressing on your flesh to keep you in place, your warm breath on his neck while your fingers played with his hair. He twitched on the spot when he replaced the emptiness of his hand with warmth inside you. He was sure you'd take him well, knowing he was meant to be pounding into you instead of rubbing against his palm. He also knew he could make those moans sound louder, making you unable to control yourself, no matter who was in the next room. You'd be loud and desperate for him to let you reach your orgasm. He could even hear your whimpers against his ear, with your thin breath coating his lobe. Your nails would drag down his spine and your legs would close tight around his waist, because he knew you probably were the type to get so blinded by pleasure that you had no control over your body.
All of his muscles tensed when he pictured you reaching the climax, his toes almost curling by pleasure while he had to gulp the groan that almost interrupted your prolonged moan when you came, not wanting to cut how good you sounded.
If you ever said his name with that same needy tone, he knew he'd cum at the first letter you pronounced.
Reality hit him again when he blinked in the darkness, realizing he fell back again into the same course he promised he wouldn't follow a few weeks back. Without making a sound, he got out of his room to clean himself up.
Right when he was just coming out of the bathroom, you were walking through the corridor, coming back from the stairs. Your cheeks were a pale read, your eyes big and still dark, your hair messy, but that same friendly smile remained.
"How was the date? Did you like Hana?" your eyebrows raised with curiosity. "She's nice, right?"
But Jungkook didn't care about how nice Hana was. He didn't care whether they'd make a cute couple or not, because the only thing in his head at that moment was the idea of you asking that because you were minimally jealous, and not because you were genuinely hoping something would come out of that blind date.
"I... I don't think so" Jungkook grimaced, avoiding your eyes.
"Aw really?" you almost pouted. "Why not?"
It was his chance, or so he thought. For once he didn't let his consciousness get in between what he wanted, he didn't allow caution to stop him from taking the chance you were offering.
He pulled you in the bathroom, closing the door right behind you before cornering you against it. You couldn't help but hear your heartbeat against your eardrums, slowly taking you away from reality, leaving you deaf to anything that wasn't Jungkook's voice.
"If I tell you 'why not', I'm afraid we'll have a big problem" he admitted, his hand slowly raising up to your head level.
Your tongue moved through your lips, but it stayed as dry while his eyes pushed you to do the craziest things that came to mind "Jungkook, I..."
"Don't say my name" he cut you off. "Don't say my name or I'll lose control of myself, and I promise you there will be no turning back".
What were you supposed to say? No words were able to come out of your lips. What was he expecting you to say?
"I didn't like Hana because I kept thinking how your lips would still taste sweet, even after the popcorn you were eating. I didn't get confused and touch you when I wanted to touch Hana. I wanted to touch you, at least know what it felt like. I'm going crazier every day for you, and I don't know how much I'll take it".
"I'm with Mingyu" you confronted.
You used those words, hoping they'd work for Jungkook the same way they worked for you. But they had no effect on him.
Your sentence seemed like a lame excuse to stop yourself. It wasn't a straight 'no' because you were sure of your decision. It was a weak excuse to get to know whether that mattered to him as little as it started to matter for you since you first met Jungkook.
"I know" he scoffed, "of course I know" his head tilted to the side, his eyes narrowing. "You have no idea how bad I wanted to be in his place tonight. Just the thought of having you around me has kept me satisfied for a while, but tonight... Fuck, tonight I realized how much I need that to stop being a thought and be a reality".
You hated the way your body reacted to his words, but you hated even more how he didn't need those words to make you feel the way you did.
"I..." you were so close to succumbing, so close to ruin it all. "No".
It was the only word you could pronounce, the only word that wouldn't hint at how indecisive you actually were and wouldn't expose your shaky and unsure tone before you pushed him away.
It would be a mistake. A big one. And you couldn't do that to Mingyu, not to yourself. You were better than all that.
Your heart stopped when he paused your steps before you could reach the door to your room, forcing you to turn around and face him, before you were back against a wall.
Jungkook was aware of the way you looked at him before you stepped out of the bathroom, and seeing you under Mingyu's t-shirt pushed him to fire the last bullet. The only thought was how possessive he felt of you when he noticed you were wearing his military t-shirt, another detail reminding him you weren't his.
He would regret it the next day but, at least, it was something he'd get out of his chest.
He kissed you.
His hands were cupping your cheeks while his lips moved slowly on yours. For a moment, that was the only thing that mattered. It wasn't the way you both knew each other, or the circumstances... you could only feel him.
Your fingers tugged on his t-shirt on his waist, too unsure to pull him closer, but too needy to let go. His lips felt different, like he was familiar with you despite not kissing you before. He treated you with such care while showing off how much he craved you, that you thought it couldn't be real.
You gasped when his tongue slid through your lips, finding yours, barely touching before you broke the kiss again after hearing your boyfriend calling you from inside the room.
You felt so guilty because of how much you liked it, and you also felt guilty because you couldn't give Jungkook what he wanted.
What had you done?
He knew, by the way you looked at him as you walked back to the room, that there was no point in trying, because Mingyu would always be your choice.
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The airport was buzzing with life, a constant ebb and flow of people coming and going. You stood just outside the arrival gate, your arms crossed tightly over your chest, as if the gesture alone could shield you from the nervousness to take a toll on your sanity.
You didn't want to be there. At least, that's what you kept telling yourself.
When Mingyu had asked you to pick Jungkook up, the instinctive response had been a hard no. But you'd hesitated, your heart betraying your mind. You hadn't seen him in weeks, not since that night, when everything got out of control between you two.
Actually, he set a whole ocean in between you when he left for a special mission in another country. Yet, that distance only made him more present in your life. Your head could only wonder whether he was alright, because whenever you asked Mingyu, he never had enough information that could help you to go on.
During those moments, you regretted only kissing him once.
The memory was still vivid, a flash of heat and regret tangled together in a kiss that should never have happened. He'd kissed you as if he'd been holding back for far too long, and the way your body had responded, the way your heart had raced, made it all more dangerous, because you couldn't remember reacting that same way with your boyfriend -not even when you started dating.
But you had returned to him that same night, guilt pressing heavy on your chest, and Jungkook had pulled away, physically, emotionally, entirely.
The distance he'd created had been suffocating. You'd told yourself it was for the best, that you two needed it. And yet, when Mingyu asked you to help out this once, your excuses had faltered.
Deep down, you wanted to see him.
And as much as you hated to admit it, you suspected Jungkook felt the same.
Your thoughts scattered when the sliding doors opened, and Jungkook emerged, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. His dark hair was tousled from the long flight, his jaw set with the faintest tension, but his eyes softened the moment they landed on you.
"Y/n," he greeted, his voice low, almost hesitant.
"Jungkook," you replied, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes.
For a moment, neither of you moved. The hum of the airport surrounded you, but it felt distant, like you were suspended in your own little bubble of awkward silence and unresolved tension.
"You didn't have to come," he finally said, shifting the bag higher on his shoulder.
"Mingyu asked me to," you said, your tone sharper than you intended.
It was an excuse that you didn't believe yourself.
Your boyfriend asked you to, but you could've said no. You could've used work as an excuse not to be there, and you knew your boyfriend would've taken it.
You sighed, your posture relaxing slightly. "But... I didn't mind."
That last part slipped out before you could stop it, and Jungkook's eyes flickered with something you couldn't quite place. Relief, hope... you didn't know, but it was positive.
"Let's go," you added quickly, turning on your heel and heading toward the exit.
The walk to the car was quiet, the tension between you palpable. You unlocked the doors, and both climbed in, the faint smell of pine from your air freshener filling the silence.
"How has it been?" you managed to ask.
He grimaced, his expression unsure while he twitched on his seat "It was... okay. Let's say the noise these few weeks have kept me distracted. Some thoughts are way louder and disturbing" he admitted, his tattooed arm resting next to the window.
It didn't take much for you to know what he was hinting at. Any hopes you had to be able to ignore what happened between you two, vanished when he confessed he felt as disturbed as you did.
As you pulled out of the parking lot, the words you'd been holding back tumbled out. "Why did you do it?"
Jungkook turned to you, his expression unreadable. "Do what?"
"You know what," you said, gripping the wheel tightly. "The kiss. Why did you kiss me?"
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Because I couldn't keep pretending," he admitted quietly. "I couldn't keep acting like I didn't feel something for you. Like I didn't..." he trailed off, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. "I don't know what happened that night, but I felt like I needed to do it. After so much time, it just felt right".
Your chest tightened. You didn't know what you'd expected, but his honesty left you breathless.
"You didn't say anything after," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
"I thought it was better that way," he replied. "You went back to Mingyu, and I knew I had no right to... to want anything more. That's why I volunteered for this new mission. It was better than staying here."
Your grip on the wheel faltered for a moment, your emotions threatening to overwhelm you. You swallowed hard, focusing on the road.
"So you don't regret it?" you managed to ask.
"Do you?" he questioned immediately after, eyes narrowing while trying to read through your body language.
A scoff introduced your reply before you spoke "I asked first".
"No".
The car fell silent again, but this time, the quiet wasn't as heavy. There was something unspoken between you, something you both knew couldn't be resolved in one drive.
The ride had grown quieter, but the tension between you buzzed like static in the air. You couldn't focus, your hands gripping the steering wheel as your thoughts ran in circles around Jungkook's answer.
It lingered in your mind, stirring emotions you weren't sure you were ready to face.
Did you actually regret that kiss?
When you reached the mall parking lot, a stop you'd insisted on under the guise of needing to grab something, you parked the car and let out a long breath.
"You don't have to come in," you said, your voice clipped.
"I don't mind," Jungkook replied casually, already unbuckling his seatbelt.
Of course he wouldn't stay in the car. He would never make things easy for you.
The two of you walked through the glass doors of the mall, the buzz of activity offering a welcome distraction. You kept your focus on the shops ahead, determined to ignore the way Jungkook's presence seemed to fill the space beside you.
"What do you need here?" he asked, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets as you strolled past storefronts.
"Just... something for Mingyu," you lied, thinking that bringing up his name would work as a stop for the two of you
"Hmm," he hummed while nodding slowly, his tone unreadable.
You stopped in front of a small boutique, pretending to be interested in the display of watches in the window. But your focus shattered when you felt Jungkook lean in, his voice low near your ear, the warmth of his chest almost hitting your back.
"Why are you avoiding looking at me?"
Your breath hitched, and you stepped back, glaring at him. "I'm not avoiding you."
His lips curved into the faintest smirk, one that sent a shiver down your spine. "You are," he said simply.
You rolled your eyes and turned toward the entrance of the store, but before you could take another step, Jungkook caught your wrist.
"Y/n," he said, his voice softer now, but no less intense.
You turned reluctantly to face him, your heart pounding. Thinking you'd look stronger, you ended up feeling smaller.
"What?" you snapped, though the bite in your voice was weak.
His dark eyes bore into yours, and for a moment, you forgot where you were. The bustling mall around you faded, leaving just the two of you in the small pocket of space they occupied.
"I'm going to make you want me," Jungkook said, his tone calm but resolute.
"W... What?"
"These days I've been away... I made the decision that I wouldn't give up on you" he confessed. "I tried, but it didn't work out, because I know you want me as much as I want you, you just need something to help you realize".
Your lips parted, a mix of shock and defiance flashing across your face. "Jungkook, stop."
"I mean it," he continued, stepping just close enough to make your breath catch. "You can keep pretending this doesn't exist, but you feel it just as much as I do."
Your pulse quickened, heat rising to your cheeks. You wanted to deny it, to push him away, but the words wouldn't come.
"Fuck, I want to kiss you so bad... But I'll let you be the one taking the lead the next time".
"I'm with Mingyu," you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper.
It didn't stop sounding like a momentary stop, instead of a determined rejection. It was an excuse that kept giving him hints on how you felt. Not by the words, but the tone and weak look in your eyes.
"And I hate that I'm saying this while you are," he admitted, his gaze softening. "But it doesn't change how I feel. And I know it doesn't change how you feel."
Your heart twisted painfully at his words. "You don't know how I feel."
"You're right, I don't" he countered, his tone firm. "But one thing for sure: you were waiting for that kiss as much as I did. You keep waiting for me to kiss you, I bet you're dying for me to do it right now" he continued. "Next time we kiss though... I doubt I'll be able to go on with just that".
You shook your head, breaking eye contact as you turned away. "Don't waste your time. Nothing is going to happen"
He didn't follow you this time, letting you walk ahead into the store. But as you browsed aimlessly, his words echoed in your mind, each one carving deeper into the walls you'd tried to build between you two.
It wasn't simple. It never could be.
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The party was alive with music and chatter, the kind of event where everyone seemed carefree, wrapped up in their own little bubbles of fun, laughs and alcohol. You, however, felt far from carefree.
You stood at the edge of the dance floor with Mingyu, his arm draped possessively over your shoulder as he laughed at something one of his friends said. You tried to smile, to play the role of the attentive girlfriend, but your mind was elsewhere, fixated on the man standing across the room.
Jungkook.
He looked effortlessly handsome in his black button-up, the top few buttons undone to reveal just enough of his tanned skin to make heads turn. He leaned casually against the bar, a drink in his hand, his gaze flicking toward you every so often. You tried not to look at him, but the pull was magnetic, impossible to resist.
It was as if having him so far from you only helped to pull you closer. And that was what happened the whole night. Jungkook didn't walk around you, even Mingyu was surprised by the distance he had settled, although he shrugged it off thinking his friend was just out to get on with someone.
If he only knew...
The tension between you two had been unbearable ever since the airport.Thinking it couldn't get any worse than the day after your first kiss, you were proved wrong. The unresolved words, the unspoken confessions... they lingered like ghosts in every glance you shared. And tonight, it felt as though the air crackled with it, threatening to ignite at any moment.
You adjusted the hem of your dress, a sleek black number that clung to your figure in all the right places. You thought it was Mingyu's gift when it arrived at your apartment, complete with a note that read, Can't wait to take it off tonight.
But when you'd mentioned it to him earlier, Mingyu had laughed. "I can't wait to take off any clothes you're wearing, to be honest. But, especially, this new dress. You have such a good taste" he'd said casually.
It was then you realized.
The handwriting on the note wasn't Mingyu's, but it wasn't like you cared enough to realize. You wanted it so bad to be your boyfriend's, that you ignored all the details.
The realization had sent a ripple of unease through you, but it wasn't enough to stop you from wearing it.
Jungkook's gaze darkened every time it landed on you, his jaw clenching as he watched you laugh at something Mingyu whispered in your ear. You weren't immune to his jealousy, but instead of feeling guilty, it fueled something in you, a twisted desire to test his limits.
So when Mingyu kissed you, you let him.
The kiss was long and slow, a public display that left no room for doubt about your relationship. Your hands trailed up Mingyu's chest, and though your mind wasn't fully in the moment, you didn't stop yourself. Even your boyfriend was surprised by how touchy you were being.
When you dared to peek through half-lidded eyes, you saw Jungkook. His knuckles whitened around his glass before he abruptly turned away.
It was petty, and you knew it. But it didn't stop you from feeling a small, vindictive thrill.
Jungkook didn't stay by the bar for long. When you glanced over again, he was on the dance floor, a striking brunette by his side. She was tall, confident, her hand sliding along his chest as she leaned in to whisper something in his ear.
Your stomach twisted, the sight of them together setting your nerves on fire. You tried to ignore it, tried to focus on Mingyu and the party, but your eyes betrayed you, following Jungkook as he danced with the woman.
He didn't look at you, not once. It was as if he'd decided to pretend you didn't exist.
And yet, every move he made felt deliberate. The way he leaned into the brunette's touch, the way he let her lips graze his ear, all of it was meant to taunt you.
It was working.
You felt a sharp pang of jealousy that you couldn't suppress, your grip tightening around your drink. Mingyu noticed, pulling your attention back to him with a soft smile.
"You okay?" he asked, brushing a strand of hair from your face.
You nodded quickly, forcing a smile. "Yeah, just a little warm in here."
Mingyu didn't seem convinced, but he let it go, turning back to his conversation.
You, however, couldn't let it go. Your gaze found Jungkook again, and this time, he was looking back. Your eyes locked, and for a moment, the rest of the room seemed to fade away.
His expression was unreadable, but his message was clear.
Two can play this game.
Your heart pounded, and you hated the way it thrilled you. The way his attention, whether born of anger or jealousy, still managed to consume you entirely.
The game was far from over, but you weren't sure who would come out the winner, or if winning even mattered anymore.
The pounding bass of the music reverberated through the walls, muffled and distant in the small confines of the bathroom. You leaned against the sink, your reflection staring back at you in the mirror. Your lipstick was still flawless, your dress clinging to you like a second skin.
You should've felt guilty for what you were about to do. You really should've.
But the fire in your chest, the jealousy that had flared every time you saw him with that brunette on the dance floor, had burned through your restraint.
The door clicked open behind you, and you didn't need to turn around to know who it was. His presence filled the room before he even said a word. You didn't let him take one step forward when you pushed him back inside the bathroom, closing the door behind you two.
"You shouldn't be in here," Jungkook said, his voice low, his tone carrying that familiar edge of frustration.
"So, do you want me to leave?" you replied, turning to face him with a small, taunting smile.
He looked at you, his dark eyes searching, confused by your calm demeanor. His hands were still stuffed in his pockets, his posture stiff as he leaned back against the closed door.
"You've been playing games all night," you said, taking a slow step toward him. "Dancing with her. Ignoring me. Acting like you don't care when we both know you do."
Jungkook's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond.
You took another step, the sound of your heels clicking against the tile floor. "You said you'd make me want you," you murmured, stopping just inches from him. "So why aren't you trying harder?"
He exhaled sharply, his gaze dropping to your lips before flicking back up. "Didn't you tell me to leave you alone?"
"Right after I told you, you said you'd make sure I wanted you" your head tilted, the tip of your fingers gently brushing against the exposed tattoos on his arm.
"You don't know what you're asking for"
"Don't I?" you asked, tilting your head. Your fingers trailed up his chest, over the smooth fabric of his shirt, until they rested just over his racing heartbeat.
His hand shot up, catching your wrist, but he didn't push you away. Instead, his grip tightened, as if he were holding on for dear life.
"You seem to be a little too much into what I'm doing" he snapped back at you, though his voice lacked the confidence.
"Don't come up with that" you countered, your lips curving into a sly smile. "Don't act like you haven't been looking at me, dying to touch me all night."
The tension snapped like a live wire.
Jungkook let go of your wrist, only to grab your waist, pulling your flush against him. "You're really pushing me, Y/n," he said through gritted teeth, his breath warm against your face.
"Maybe I want to see how far you'll go," you whispered, your fingers curling into his shirt.
His resolve crumbled in an instant.
Your lips crashed together, the kiss hungry and frenzied, months of pent-up desire pouring out in every movement. His hands roamed your body, gripping your hips, sliding down the curve of your back as if he couldn't get enough.
You matched his intensity, your hands tangling in his hair as you pressed closer, your back hitting the door when he made the both of you turn. The cool wood contrasted with the heat of his touch, sending shivers down your spine.
"You're going to regret this," Jungkook murmured against your lips, though his actions said otherwise.
"Then give me something to regret," you shot back, your voice breathless.
For a moment, time ceased to exist. There was only the sound of your breathing, the faint thrum of music beyond the door, and the way you fit together, like two pieces of a puzzle that had been waiting far too long to connect.
His smirk only disappeared when he kissed you back again, pressing his body against yours, not wanting to let a single centimeter ruin the experience of feeling you against his body. It was like his dreams were coming true whenever your fingertips brushed the back of his hair every time your tongues touched.
But reality was never far behind.
A loud knock on the door startled you both, and you pulled back, your chest heaving. Jungkook's forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed as he tried to catch his breath.
"Occupied!" he called out, his voice rough.
You laughed softly, the sound almost bitter. You straightened your dress, smoothing out the fabric cupping his cheeks again. Your tongue traced his upper lip, instantly getting him to lick it as a response before Jungkook tried to pull you for another kiss.
"You won't be taking this dress off tonight" you said, your voice steadier than you felt.
"Really?" Jungkook challenged, his gaze piercing as he looked at you.
Your resolve wavered, but you forced yourself to turn away, your hand on the door handle. "Really"
As you stepped out into the chaos of the party, your heart pounded in your chest, your body still buzzing with the memory of his touch.
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The door closed behind you, the sound reverberating through the small entryway of Jungkook's apartment. He kept looking at you concerned. When he heard you through the phone, he knew something was off, but now that he was seeing the state you were in, he knew it was worse than he could imagine.
"Y/n?" he asked,getting your attention, your face flushed and eyes blazing. "What happened? Why are you here so late?"
You didn't answer right away, your fists clenching at your sides as you struggled to find the right words. The argument with Mingyu was still fresh, your emotions raw and unfiltered.
"Why do you keep doing this?" you finally demanded, your voice trembling with equal parts anger and frustration.
Jungkook frowned, stepping back at that attack. "Doing what?"
"You," you spat, pointing at him. "You're always there, always watching, always... lingering in the back of my mind. Do you have any idea what it's doing to me?"
His confusion shifted into something more guarded, his shoulders tensing. "I think you need to calm down," he said carefully.
"Don't tell me to calm down!" you snapped, taking a step closer to him. "I just had the worst fight with Mingyu, and you know what? It wasn't even about him. It was about you."
Jungkook's eyes widened slightly, but he stayed silent, letting you continue.
"I was mad because he's leaving again, he's leaving me alone for another mission, another stretch of time where I have to sit and wait and pretend like I'm okay with it." your voice cracked, your chest heaving. "But I wasn't yelling at him because of that. Do you know what I was thinking instead of worrying because he won't be with me?" you stopped, your gaze attacking him. "I was fucking glad he is leaving. Do you even realize what this means? I'm the worst girlfriend ever. No matter how much I try, I can't get you out of my head. You're there all the damn time with any reason".
Jungkook's throat worked as he swallowed hard, his gaze searching for yours.
He knew Mingyu was leaving. They both discussed it before he finally made the decision. He even remembered the way his friend tried to find out the way to tell you, yet all he could think of was how there would be nothing on the way for him.
"I hate it," you whispered, your voice softening as the anger gave way to something more fragile. "I hate that I can't stop thinking about you. That when I'm with him, it's your face I see. That this... whatever this is between us, it's ruining me."
The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air.
"You think it's easy for me?" Jungkook said finally, his voice rough. "You think I don't feel the same way? That every time I see you with him, it doesn't tear me apart?"
You flinched at the raw emotion in his voice, the vulnerability he rarely let show.
"I didn't ask for this, Y/n," he continued, stepping closer to you. "I didn't ask to feel this way about someone I can't have. But here we are. I also hate not being able to look Mingyu in the eyes because all I can think about is his girlfriend. Or how, instead of telling him not to go, I wanted to encourage him to leave".
Your breath hitched as he closed the distance between you, his presence overwhelming. You could see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands flexed at his sides as though he were trying to hold himself back.
"Why are you here?" he asked, his voice low, almost pleading. "Why now?"
There was a brief silence, realizing with his question you had no business there. Why were you there?
"I don't know," you admitted, your eyes glistening. "I just... I needed to see you."
Jungkook let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "You're killing me, you know that?"
"I know" you whispered, your voice breaking.
And then, as though drawn by an invisible force, you both moved at the same time. Your hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him toward you as his arms wrapped around your waist. Your lips met in a clash of desperation and need, a release of all the emotions you'd been bottling up for so long.
The kiss was messy, frantic, and utterly consuming, neither of you caring about the consequences for the first time.
In a mini second his hands were everywhere they could reach, making your whole body squirm when he cupped your ass with his palms. It was fast, need hitting you two like a truck, barely giving you time to settle what was happening before you were getting rid of each other's clothes.
His tattooed fingers moved down your neck, in between your breasts, feeling your rushed heartbeat against his palm. He could sense you felt the same way he did, but you'd been too stubborn to admit it.
He kept moving down, the heat of your skin raising with every soft touch of his digits, your legs slightly parting when he attempted to slide through your folds. His groan made you throb against the tips, causing his breathing to become heavier.
"Do you like it when I touch you?" he asked with a thin voice, slowly starting to rub your clit in circles.
"I love it" you admitted. Your hand traced his packed chest, going down his marked abs until you moved past his v line "I kept thinking about being with you like this since you first kissed me".
You didn't know, but those words worked like a switch for Jungkook. Hearing from your lips how you were into him as much as he was into you was the little he needed to lose every bit of sanity.
Before your fingers could reach his dick, he pulled you for another kiss. His rough hands went straight to your ass, cupping your cheeks so he could lift your body and have your legs around his waist.
Jungkook didn't take you to the room, he didn't want to waste another second without being linked to you, he had wasted too much time already. You gasped again when your back collided against the wall.
His lips trapped you in an unknown world you didn't know could be so pleasuring. Usually, it was always just about Jungkook. But that night it was all about Jungkook, his taste, his gaze, the way his tongue worshiped your body like he wanted to know and memorize what every bit of you tasted like.
Your body arched for him when he closed his lips around your hard nipple, moving his lips and tongue like he was actually devouring you. You hadn't ever done it, but you were sure you'd be able to cum by the way he was only sucking you.
"Please, Jungkook" you muttered, your fingers getting lost in his strands of hair.
"Ask me" he demanded. "I've been imagining those words for way too long, I need to hear them".
"Fuck me" you asked, looking into his eyes. "Make me regret taking so long to do this"
"You're mine, Y/n," he growled, his eyes darkening, and you felt a shiver run through your body. You didn't respond, but the passion and hunger simmering within you made it clear that you knew a part of you belonged to him before you could admit it.
He reached out, grabbing a handful of your hair, and tugged your head back, exposing your neck. His lips found the delicate skin below your ear, and he nipped and sucked, eliciting a soft moan from your parted lips.
He leaned in, his eyes blazing with possessive desire, and his lips crushed against yours again, with a hunger that set fire to the pit of your stomach. His tongue delved deep, exploring every hidden crevice of your mouth, whilst his hands clutched at your body, gripping you tightly. That kiss only worked to drown the moan in your mouth as he slowly slid inside you, trying to memorize the feeling, to feel every millimeter in your channel get adjusted to him.
Your legs tightened around him, pulling him closer as you rocked your hips against his. It was slow at first, with the two of you wanting to get a taste of what you'd been craving, but were too stubborn to admit. But slowly, the intensity started getting the best of you, his digits denting on your skin as he angled his hips to rock them against you.
Your bodies moved in perfect harmony, your moans and sighs echoing in the room as you reached for your release. Jungkook's dirty talk fueled your desire, and you eagerly met his thrusts, your bodies slapping together in a rhythm that only intensified their pleasure.
"Oh, god, Jungkook," you moaned, your nails digging into his shoulders as he began to thrust harder.
"You like that, don't you?" Jungkook asked, his voice strained with desire. "You like feeling my cock inside you? Hmm? Fucking you like this?"
As you moved together, you found yourself lost in the moment. You had never felt this alive, this desired. Jungkook's dirty talk only added to the experience, his words making you wetter and more eager for him. Every time you thought you couldn't be more into him, he always did something that proved it was only the beginning.
"Yes, Jungkook, harder," Y/n begged, your voice filled with need.
He bent down and took one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking and nibbling gently. You arched your back again, your hands tangled in Jungkook's hair as you urged him on.
Your legs were wrapped around his waist, meeting him thrust for thrust. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, and you knew you weren't going to last much longer. Jungkook sensed it too, because he started pounding into you even harder. The loud dry claps of your bodies echoing through the silence of the room.
"Are you going to cum for me? Do it, baby" his forehead was resting against yours. "I'm going to cum inside you, Y/n. I'm going to fill you up with my cum."
With a loud cry, you came, your pussy clenching around Jungkook's cock. Jungkook followed soon after, his cock twitching inside you as he filled you with his cum, staying like that for a few moments, panting and trying to catch their breath, hoping common sense wouldn't hit you and make you regret what had just happened.
Jungkook slowly pulled out of you, moving his hips back while his hands still carried you. You looked up at him all the way through it, your eyes filled with something else that wasn't regret, yet he couldn't quite decipher what it was. You leaned in and kissed him again.
Although that kiss only meant the night wasn't ending there.
And it didn't.
You laid on top of Jungkook, your long hair cascading down your back as you moved your hips up and down, grinding your pussy against his cock. Your perky breasts bounced with each movement, and Jungkook couldn't help but stare at you, hypnotized by the way your body moved. He reached up and cupped your breasts, teasing your nipples as you moaned with pleasure.
"Oh fuck, Jungkook," you gasped, throwing your head back as you rode him harder. "Your cock feels so good"
Jungkook smirked, reaching down to spank your ass. "I love how your your tight little pussy takes me so well"
You moaned, biting your bottom lip as you nodded. "Hmm yes"
"Just like that... Show me how bad you want it" as time passed by, he sank deeper on the couch.
Just then, Jungkook's phone started ringing. You paused, looking up at him with a confused expression when he froze for a moment.
You were too drunk with pleasure to think of any possibility that wasn't distracting him from it, your lips moving quick to his neck.
"Who is it?" you asked.
Jungkook reached for his phone, but he didn't answer it. Mingyu had sent him countless messages, he had called a few times, and he knew the reason why was in front of him. He looked at you, knowing the second he mentioned your boyfriend, it all would stop.
He tossed it aside and focused on you, his hands on your hips as he thrust up into you.
"Who fucking cares" he moved forward, hiding his face on your neck. "You're so fucking hot, Y/n," he growled, his eyes locked on yours. "I could fuck you all day long."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah"
Jungkook grinned, his hands on your hips as he guided your movements. He loved how wild and uninhibited you were in bed, how you weren't afraid to take charge and ride him hard. Hell, you were the best fantasy he had ever had, and he finally had you.
"That's right, baby, ride my cock," he growled, his eyes dark with desire. "You do it so well"
You nodded, unable to speak as you focused on the delicious sensation of Jungkook's cock filling you up. You could feel yourself getting close to orgasm, your muscles clenching around him as you rode him harder and faster. The claps of your bodies turning into splashes due to your sticky skin covered in sweat and his load mixed with your juices leaking out of you.
He reached down between you, teasing your clit with his fingers as you moaned into his mouth. You started moving your hips again, grinding against him as you chased your orgasm again.
"Fuck, Jungkook," you gasped, breaking the kiss as you threw your head back. "I'm so close. Don't stop". Your nails digged on his skin, all the muscles in your body tensing "Yes, yes, fuck me harder," you begged, your voice hoarse with desire. "I'm almost there, Jungkook, I'm almost there."
Jungkook grinned, gripping your hips as he slammed up into you harder. "That's right, baby. Come for me. I want to feel you cum all over my cock."
Jungkook didn't need any more encouragement. He thrust up into you one last time, his cock pulsing deep inside you as he came hard. You followed him over the edge, your muscles clenching around him as you screamed out your own orgasm while your nails dug into his chest. Jungkook grunted, following you over the edge as he filled you with his cum.
It didn't hit you after the climax, not even after you showered and dressed yourself. It hit you when you walked to the door and he kissed you one last time, with such delicacy and care that you couldn't believe it was the same man you were begging to.
His steps were careful, pinning you against the wall again while cupping your cheeks.
You weren't quite sure what you wanted to do, but one thing for sure: you couldn't let go of Jungkook so easily after that night. 
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