#*buries hands in face* i don't need this hell but i also feel like it's been inevitable for a long time coming | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sehnsuchts-trunken · 5 months ago

Text

So Much Love in Oklahoma

Tyler Owens x fem!reader 7k words

summary: Tyler saves you from a tornado one day. The next, he shows up at your doorstep.

a/n: absolutely no clue about tornados. or oklahoma. don't come at me for inaccuracies

also!!! i'm currently working on some tyler smut too, but you are so definitely allowed to come request things (or just talk to me)! my inbox is wideeeee open, especially when it comes to mister owens <33

masterlist | twisters masterlist

What happens that particular Tuesday afternoon should have been impossible. That's what goes through your head about a bazillion times in the following days. The chances of what happens even happening are about as close to zero, you think, as the possibility of you discovering a cure for cancer.

(They're not. Of course. But it feels like that.)

Because you're not even really in Oklahoma. You're just driving through Oklahoma. You're not from a place where they give you a 'How to Deal with Tornados' manual in school. You're entirely, completely, wholly unprepared for what's brewing as you drive down almost empty highways with the radio all the way up.

So when suddenly, you're in the middle of a storm, with the wind picking up until it drowns out your music and rain and hail slashing against your windows, you're absolutely terrified.

It forms within a few minutes, goes from barely grey skies to a horrible, horrible whirl of almost black clouds, and the insecurity you'd been feeling turns into the gut-churning realisation that you're unquestionably fucked.

Some part of your brain tugs out a deeply buried memory of cars being sucked into tornados on the news, so with your heart racing a few hundred miles per hour and your hands shaking so badly you can barely hold onto the steering wheel anymore, you maneuver your car onto the side of the road, just in time for you to be climbing out of the passenger seat as another car comes to a shrieking halt next to yours.

You're getting drenched within half a second, you're honestly not that sure whether your cheeks are wet from the rain or your tears, and on top of that, you almost trip as you set your trembling feet onto the ground below. The other car's driver bangs their door shut with a resounding thud that makes you flinch so hard you think your soul leaves your body. Your head shoots up as he shouts at you, already three steps away from his truck:

"What the hell are you doing out here?"

He's drenched, too - his hair sticks to his face and his shirt clings to his skin and his pants are stained at least a shade darker. But unlike you, he's not shaking, he's steady as a fucking rock, steady and quick, already reaching out for your arm before you can even begin to think. Your brain lags behind, foggy and cloudy and scared, so fucking scared. You're so terrified you can hardly open your mouth.

"I-", you stutter, then he's wrapping his big hand around your arm and tugging you away from your car, away from the road already.

"We need to get the fuck down!", he calls, pulling you with him onto one of those many, many fields that surround you. "There's a ditch over there, see that?"

You're wide-eyed, shaking, basically being dragged along by him - one foot in front of the other, that's what your brain's concentrating on right now, which is easier said than done. You trip over your own feet every other step. But the guy just wraps his arm around your waist and hurries further.

"Do you see that?", he asks again when you don't respond. Your mind races even faster than your heart does, but you force yourself to concentrate on his voice. The panic doesn't lessen, but his question shifts your focus. Ditch. Ditch. Not the storm raging around you, no, you're looking for a ditch. You're focusing on finding a ditch.

"Yeah", you breathe, your eyes finally catching on the ditch only a bit away.

"Yeah?", the guy shouts. "We need to get there. We need to get low."

With that, he picks up his pace once more and you stumble along, bumping into his side, watching the ditch come closer and closer and closer until your feet are drowned in dirty, muddy water.

"Alright, get down!", he shouts, unwrapping his arm from around your waist to help you into the cold, cold water. "Hold onto the ground!"

You aren't thinking. You can't think. Your brain has shut off completely. Panic numbs every part of you. All you can do, all you can possibly do, is concentrate on the voice of the man who's crouching down beside you. It's like his words have replaced your own thoughts, and like a marionette, you stretch out your arms and dig your fingers into the grass. Which is way easier said than done. You're pretty sure you feel one of your nails break as you try your hardest to find something, anything to hold onto. And then the wind hits.

If you'd thought you'd experienced heavy winds before, you were wrong. So wrong. No vacation in a surfer's town could possibly compare to this.

"Fuck!", you scream, instinctively dropping your head onto the moist grass below. The wind pulls and pulls and pulls at you and you imagine yourself being dragged by it - dragged away, away into certain death. But then an arm wraps around you, and the guy next to you is not next to you anymore but half on top of you, securing you in his arms, holding you close, pressing you to the ground.

"Stay down!", he shouts as you cling to the grass. "I got you."

I got you.

You replay that in your head like a mantra - he's got you, he's got you, he's got you. You're trembling, you're shaking, you're cramping, you're trying to hold onto the ground with all your might as the wind grows and grows and grows and pulls and pulls and pulls at you.

You want to scream. You think you're screaming. But it's so loud. It's deafening, the roar of the wind and the thunder. You can't hear yourself scream.

He can, though. He can. And he tightens his arms around you and repeats "I got you, I got you, I got you". And you believe him. You have to.

You're crying now, you're sure of that. Some part of you hurts. Maybe all of you hurts. You're scared. You're not just scared, you're terrified. It's loud, it's loud and it's everywhere, all around you.

And then suddenly - there's nothing.

It disappears within seconds.

There's no sounds. None. There's silence, deafening silence. Forget the calm before the storm - this is the silence after the tornado.

You take a few shuddering breaths. You're trembling, trembling from head to toes. You're soaked. You're cold.

"Alright, it's gone", the guy says - the guy that's still got his arms wrapped around you, who's still on top of you. "You did it."

He pulls his arm away from you and rolls onto his back next to you. Water sloshes around as he goes.

You don't move an inch.

You can't move.

You're stuck, you're frozen in place. Your fingers are cramped into the dirt and the grass and you're frozen.

The guy sits back up again and reaches out for you. He smooths his hand down your back, surprisingly warm against your ice-cold skin.

"Hey", he says softly. "You're okay. You can get up."

You pry your fingers from the ground one by one, flex your trembling hands and push yourself upright. It takes a few seconds for reality to sink in - you're in a ditch. In a ditch. You're soaked, soaked with muddy ditch water. Your shoes are drenched, your legs splattered with dirt, the hem of your dress soaked in brown. And you're cold. Ice-cold and trembling. And your legs hurt, your arms hurt, your fingers hurt. Three of your nails are cracked.

You're sitting in a ditch in the middle of Oklahoma and you'd just been through a tornado. A fucking ditch in Oklahoma and a tornado.

And a guy, a guy who's brushing his hand down your arm and eyeing you up.

"Alright, let's get you out of here, you're shaking", he says and for the first time, you turn your head and look at him. Actually look at him.

He's tall and he's blonde and he's drenched, too, drenched in that same dirty, muddy water as you. His hands are big, big and pleasantly warm as he grabs softly onto you and carefully maneuvers you towards him.

You don't really remember the next minutes. Not what you're doing, at least. It's a hazy, fuzzy passing of time - you barely remember that you're moving. You're cold and scared and still in shock and somehow, your eyes have locked onto him, onto this guy who you realise probably just saved your fucking life. Because when you come back to reality, he's wrapping a blanket around you - a dry, warm blanket - and the spot where you'd parked your car is empty.

Empty.

"My car", you whisper, staring wide-eyed at absolutely nothing. The guy wraps the blanket tighter around you before he looks over his shoulder and glances around.

"Your car's not that important", he reassures, even though his voice is heavy. Heavy and raspy, you realise. He's got a certain Southern twang to it that you hadn't noticed in all the chaos before. "Much more important is that you're alive."

You nod half-heartedly (he's right, some rational part of your brain shouts, while the practical part mourns the shit ton of money you'd just lost) and settle your eyes back on him.

You don't know what it is, exactly, but something about this, something about the warmth of the blanket and the way he's rubbing your arms, something about him, about his voice and his words, slowly peels away the layers and layers of terror that are clinging to your pounding heart.

You swallow hard, reach up to tug the blanket tighter around yourself and shift your focus. Not the car or the tornado or the fact that you're drenched in dirty ditch water - him. This guy in front of you, who's looking you up and down to check if you're hurt. It's easier that way. It's easier to calm down when you're not thinking about any of it. It's easier when you're staring at him, counting to ten, slowly regaining your sanity. And what's suddenly also easier is realising that this guy in front of you is very much easy to look at. Even though his hair sticks to his head, even though his jeans are stained brown. He's what you'd expect as a reference picture next to the word "handsome" in a dictionary.

All of a sudden, you're not as cold anymore. All of a sudden, you're rather flushed. Because if he's drenched and dirty, you must look about the same. And you don't think you want him to see you like that. You'd much rather meet him in a bar or something, when you're dressed up and clean and preferably not terrified.

"Thanks", you get out, a little too quickly as you tighten the blanket further around yourself. "For, uh, for saving my life."

The guy's lips quirk up and he grins, a lopsided, half-cocky grin that makes your heart leap.

"Anytime, sweetheart", he drawls, then reaches up as though he wants to tip his hat - just that he's not wearing one, so instead, he settles for brushing his hand through his hair, just a second too late to seem intentional from the start. "Why were you out here anyway? Half a mile back is a gas station with a basement."

"I didn't-", you start, hesitant to admit just how unprepared you'd been for what had happened. "I didn't know it was a tornado. I thought it was just a bad storm or something, I'm... I'm not from around here."

He nods at you, his lips already parting when you suddenly twitch away from him and sneeze - once, then twice. His grin has dropped by the time you look up at him again and excuse yourself. God, is this embarrassing.

"You need dry clothes before you catch a cold", he says, his eyes travelling down your soaked dress and your bare legs. "I've got a shirt in the trunk, give me a minute."

He walks towards the back of his car and opens up his trunk and you're hit with two thoughts at the same time. The first is more along the lines of goddamn, are his shoulders broad, but the second - arguably the one that should be more important - is why the fuck his car is still standing in the very same spot he'd parked it before the tornado had hit.

Especially when your car is absolutely nowhere to be seen. Your car and all your things inside it. Oh, god-

"Here you go", he says, holding out a dry copy of the shirt he's wearing, red checkered cotton. He's about to go on when you blurt out:

"Sorry, why's your car still... you know, there?"

His lips pull into that impossibly charming grin once more and he points at the underside of the truck.

"Tornado-proof", he explains, just the slightest bit cocky. You follow the invisible line he's drawing to two... what looks like giant screws? twisted into the ground below.

"Oh", you let out, not too intelligently - but really, what are you supposed to say?

He just chuckles and holds the shirt out for you again. You take it carefully, your fingers grazing his. He's so warm, so fucking warm. Meanwhile you're shaking even underneath the blanket he'd given you. Though that's also starting to get soaked.

"You can change in the car if you want", he offers, already pulling open the door to the passenger seat. You don't really have to think hard about it. You're drenched in the middle of nowhere, with no way to get home, and this guy has just saved your life. So you unwrap the blanket and give it back to him with a smile and a thanks.

It's tight and cramped inside the car, even as you roll the seat all the way back. You pry the drenched dress off of your body and only then remember to turn around and check if the guy is watching you (as handsome as he is, he's still a guy). But no, he's turned away, has his hands rested against his hips and is staring intently at the slowly clearing sky.

You turn back with a smile and get rid of your soaked bra, too, before you pull his shirt on over your head.

Damn, it smells good. He smells good. And it's very comfortable, you have to admit. Plus, it's dry, which is most definitely an improvement.

You take a few seconds to consider whether or not to pull off your shorts... but they're drenched, too, and the guy seems respectful enough to not risk a bladder infection for. So you take your shoes off, and your socks, and your shorts. And then you crack open the car door again and knock softly against the window.

"I'm done", you call out, loud enough that he can hear. He turns back and his eyes drag down your body - or what of it he can see through the open door - and even though he looks right back up at your face, you can't help but feel flustered. You ball your wet clothes up in your hands nervously.

"Alright then", he says, takes a step closer and reaches for the door handle. "You said you're not from around here, where were you driving?"

Ah, right, that part.

Honestly, with so much happening in so few minutes, you'd about blocked out everything else. Everything normal.

"My parents, uh-", you start, trailing off when you realise that's not much help for him. "About three, four hours from here."

"That's quite a drive", he chuckles. "I live maybe half an hour from here, how about I take you with me so you can eat and drink something? Maybe you can borrow a pair of Lilly's pants. And you could phone your parents."

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and you narrow your eyes at him, taking a second too long to even understand all of what he's saying before taking another second too long to sort how you'll respond. Then you start with what you find most important.

"I've got my phone", you tell him, pulling it out from where you'd just deposited it in the centre console. "I had it in my pocket."

You'd taken it with you more reflexively than consciously when you'd stumbled out of your car - but truly, what self-respecting adult didn't take their phone with them when they left anywhere?

The guy just raises his eyebrows and glances at your phone.

"And it still works?", he asks, a little incredulously.

"Yep", you smile - for the first time, you realise, since the tornado. "It's waterproof."

More because you'd been scared you'd drop the love of your life into the pool or the ocean on vacation, but a tornado in the middle of Oklahoma worked as well. At least you now knew you'd spent your money wisely.

"Smart", he grins. You can't help but grin right back.

He's charming and he's respectful and he looks so goddamn good.

"Who's Lilly?", you ask then, because that had been the second thing you'd wanted to say. He hesitates for a half a moment.

"A friend", he says. You squint at him. He doesn't look like he's lying, but he does look like there's something you don't know about. God, if he turns out to be a cheater- "I'll introduce you if you'd like."

You raise your eyebrows. Alright, so not a cheater. And, if you're interpreting correctly, another invitation to come with him. Not that you'd been about to refuse the first one.

"Sure", you say, as casually as you can. "I didn't really feel like standing around half-naked on the street anyway."

...

A few minutes later, he's driving his weird car/truck with the screws on the bottom down the empty highway. Though 'empty' is the wrong description, really - here and there, trees, road signs and utility poles are scattered on the pavement.

You're driving in silence. Well, silence as in neither of you talks, not as in actual silence. Alongside the motor, the radio had turned on, playing one country song after the other.

"You never told me your name", the guy says suddenly. The very much stranger, who's very much right - you'd never told him your name.

"You never told me yours", you counter, because that's also the truth. He'd never told you his name. You knew his friend's name, but not his.

"Didn't think I'd have to", he mutters under his breath, so quietly you barely catch it. "It's Tyler. Tyler Owens?"

He says it like it's a question. You don't know why. So instead you just answer with your own name and Tyler, as you'd come to know, repeats it with a smile on his lips.

God, you don't think it's ever sounded that good.

"Pretty name", he says, all casual like that doesn't get your heart racing again. Pretty. He'd called you pretty. Almost unconsciously, you brush your hands through your hair.

"Thank you", you mutter. As if to distract yourself, you add: "So, Tyler, what do you do?"

...

Exactly half an hour later, Tyler takes your hand in his and helps you out of his car. His house - the one he's sharing with Lilly, you'd found out, with Lilly and the rest of his Tornado Wranglers - is big and inviting. It's a little way off from any other houses, which you personally think is quite nice. Not that you say that, though.

Tyler walks you inside without having to unlock the door. He takes two steps, then he calls out "Guys, we've got a guest", which immediately results in a surprised shout of "whoops" and the sound of a set of feet scurrying up the stairs. Tyler has barely pulled off his shoes (after politely asking you to wait just a second) when a head pops through the doorframe at the end of the hallway.

"Boone was naked", the woman grins before settling her eyes on you and throwing you a wave. "Hey there, I'm Lilly."

She glances down at your bare legs.

"A little cold there?", she asks and even though her words are sarcastic, her voice is anything but.

"A little", you answer truthfully, smiling at her as she steps out into the hallway.

"You want a pair of pants?", she asks, seemingly without giving a single thought to who you are or why you're standing half-naked in her hallway.

You glance at Tyler, but he's grinning and only shrugs at you, so you turn back to Lilly and nod at her. She seems sweet, really sweet, and very kind. She takes you with her to her room (up two sets of stairs, the fucking house has three floors and a basement) and shows you her closet, the very definition of unbothered even as you nervously rummage through her clothes.

"Hey, you can take a shirt too, if you want", she says, flopping down onto her bed and rolling onto her side to look at you.

"Oh", you let out and glance down at the shirt you're wearing - Tyler's shirt, that very country, checkered shirt that's way too big for you. "I'm fine, thanks."

Honestly, if it were up to you, you would never wear anything else ever again. Tyler's shirt is soft and comfortable and - most importantly - it smells like him. You really just want to tug the hem up to your nose and breathe in his scent (but that would be weird, so you don't).

"Alright", Lilly drawls. "Your choice."

...

Lilly shows you the bathroom, gives you the wifi password and tells you to come down whenever you feel like it. You realise half a second too late that you haven't told her your name yet and crack open the bathroom door to call out for her.

Honestly, you like her. You really like her. And you really like Tyler, too. He's handsome and he smells good and he's respectful and he's nice and he saved your fucking life today. You don't even want to think about what would have happened to you if he hadn't driven by.

In the bathroom is the first time you can really breathe. You throw some water at your face and blowdry your hair. Ten minutes later, you're walking down the stairs into the hallway again - this time, when you stroll through there, you're wearing comfortable pants, fuzzy socks and take your time to look around.

You'd already called your parents back in the car with Tyler. They'd been about as shocked as you'd expected, had needed a few minutes to even understand just what you were telling them, but then they'd offered to come pick you up immediately. Tyler had provided them his address and now here you are - knocking at the open door to the kitchen, where all of the Tornado Wranglers sit around the table. All of them, except for Tyler, who's leaning against the countertop and looks up at you with a grin when you step in.

"Hey there", he drawls, his eyes raking down your body once more today - you've tucked his shirt into Lilly's pants and you could swear his eyes linger on your waist. "Warm and dry?"

"Very", you grin back, then nod at Lilly. "Thanks again."

She shakes her head and waves you off.

"Hey, no big deal. Do you want some pasta?"

...

It's comfortable there, in the kitchen of these strangers who are feeding you pasta and lending you clothes. You've settled onto the countertop next to Tyler and now and then, when you're dangling your feet or he's taking a bite, your legs graze his arm. He's changed into dry clothes too, you realise as you brush against him for the first time, and he's even warmer now than before.

"Tyler's told us all about you", Boone says after a few minutes of easy conversation. You raise your eyebrows and turn your head, staring at Tyler from the side.

"Has he?", you ask, because you hadn't even told him enough about yourself to warrant any use of the word 'all'. Sure, you'd talked on the ride here - but mostly about him, because - as it had turned out - what Tyler Owens did wasn't a normal job like doctor or lawyer, but instead professional Tornado Wrangler. Which, of course, had then dominated the conversation for the rest of the drive.

"Yeah, like how you were driving to you parents and didn't know what to do in a tornado so you just kept on driving", Boone grins, scraping the rest of his pasta off his plate. "And how he made you go in that ditch and-"

"Alright, shut up, Boone", Tyler interrupts, even though there's no real malice behind his words. "She knows the story. She's in it."

"I'm just saying", Boone goes on, entirely undeterred as he puts his now empty plate down on the kitchen table. "If you'd filmed that, it would go viral for sure."

You have to snort at that.

"Yeah, because of all the indecent exposure."

...

When your mother rings the doorbell three hours later, you're in the middle of the second round of a boardgame Dexter had pulled from a drawer. You'd been paired with Tyler for the first round and - somehow not surprisingly - that had worked quite well. You'd won just so against Dexter and Dani (Lilly and Boone hadn't been too much competition) and Dani's "We never get to play this right 'cuz we're always five people" after Tyler had high-fived you with a victorious cheer had warmed your heart. At least they'd enjoyed themselves - at least you hadn't been a burden.

"I call dibs on her", Lilly had declared when the second round had begun, so Tyler had teamed up with Boone instead.

"Oh, oh, botany!", you call out, just as the doorbell finally rings. Lilly jumps up and high-fives you.

"How in the hell did you guess that?", Dani asks, sounding all but exasperated at this point as Tyler pushes out of his seat and walks towards the front door. You shrug.

"Pure talent", you joke, then you climb off the couch as well. "Alright, it was so nice meeting you all, but I think my taxi's out front."

They all hug you goodbye and tell you to come around again anytime - Boone even hands you one of those t-shirts Tyler had told you about in the car. You can hardly hold back a snort. Though Tyler had told you about the shirts existing, yes, he must have accidentally forgotten to mention that his goddamn face is printed on them, paired with the very... comedic phrase "Not My First Tornadeo".

You thread through the hallway with the shirt and your phone in your hands, only to be hit with the sight of Tyler hugging your mother on the doorstep. Or your mother hugging Tyler, more like. Either way, you're suddenly frozen in place.

But then your mother opens her eyes and sees you standing there and she lets go of Tyler with a sharp cry to come running at you instead. She throws her arms around you with so much vigor you're almost knocked off your feet. You meet Tyler's eyes over her shoulder - crinkled with lines of laughter as he smiles at you. Your eyes dart away again just as quickly.

"It's fine, mom, I'm okay", you reassure.

"Yeah, thanks to Tyler", she mutters into your hair. "I already told him we'll pay him whatever he wants for saving our daughter."

"And I already said I don't want any money", Tyler clarifies.

...

The next morning, you wake up comfortably late in a warm bed. You walk down the stairs in fuzzy socks and start the day with a simple cup of tea.

A simple cup of tea and Tyler Owens' YouTube channel.

You'd looked him and his Tornado Wranglers up the very second you'd sat down in your mother's car. Then you'd subscribed to every channel you could find. And then... you'd kind of got obsessed. You'd watched so many of their videos that by one am, you'd simply fallen asleep to one of them.

"Aunt May's gonna be here in half an hour", your mother informs you casually, a stack of plates in her hands as she rummages around in the kitchen. You're still sitting at the table in your pajamas, a spoonful of cereal in your mouth, your phone propped up against a water bottle in front of you, playing a Tornado Wranglers video from a year ago.

"Seriously?", you get out, chewing on your cereal before you can swallow it down. "Mom, I still have to shower and get ready and all."

She throws you one of those eyebrows-raised glances that immediately let you know she's judging you for something.

"We only let you sleep this long because you almost died yesterday", she says matter-of-factly, then she eyes your phone. "And if you weren't watching Tyler's videos so obsessively, you would be done by now."

"Really, mom?"

You let out a resigned sigh. She only shrugs and grins at you. She's a little bit right, anyway.

"He's good-looking, I get it", she says, then she strolls out of the kitchen, chuckling to herself while you curse at her. He is good-looking, fuck this. You need to get it together before the rest of your extended family arrives.

...

The doorbell rings for the umpteenth time that day, just as you step out of the bathroom and smooth down the front of the red-checkered shirt you're wearing. You call some version of "I got it", down the hallway, not too sure if anyone even hears - they're all in the backyard anyway. Then you open the door with a smile on your face, a smile that instantly pulls into a wide grin when you see just who's standing there.

Because it's not another aunt or uncle or cousin. It's no one in your family, not even close.

It's Tyler.

Tyler Owens.

"Hi", he says. Just that. Hi.

You lean against the open door and cross your arms. Your grin only grows.

"Hi", you echo.

His eyes rake down your body and it seems like whatever he'd wanted to say gets stuck in his throat as he realises that the shirt you're wearing isn't your shirt, really. You can't help but bite down on your lip.

Look, you hadn't expected this. You hadn't expected him. None of this was a scheme or a plan or anything even close. You'd just seen it lying there this morning, right next to Lilly's pants on your desk, and you hadn't been able to help yourself. It smelled so fucking good.

"Nice shirt", he grins, eyes snapping back up to yours.

"Thanks", you grin back. "I got it from this guy after he saved me from dying in a tornado yesterday."

Tyler chuckles.

"Seems like a great guy."

"So great", you agree. "Even though he prints his face on t-shirts."

Tyler is just about to retort something - all toothy grins and laughter lines - when your mother calls out his name, very obviously pleasantly surprised as she comes down the hallway. She smiles at him, big and wide.

"What are you doing here?", she asks, stopping next to you to ask the very question that had been on the tip of your tongue too when you'd opened up the door.

"Oh, I'm just bringing these back", he says and holds up his hand to show a stack of neatly folded clothes with your bra right on top. You have to bite down on your cheeks to stop from outright grinning.

Okay, so even if wearing his shirt hadn't been a scheme, and even if you hadn't expected to see him... You might just have done something to ensure you would see him again. But hey, he's about the most handsome man you've ever laid your eyes on, you'd be damned if you'd have to watch him on the screen of your phone for the rest of your life. So yeah, you may have accidentally 'forgotten' your wet clothes in his bathroom after you'd hung them over the heater to dry. You just hadn't thought he'd find them so quickly.

"And you drove four hours for that?", your mother asks, more baffled than you are. Tyler only shrugs. Your mother reaches out for your clothes, grabs them from him and puts them on the cupboard in the hallway. Then she looks at him.

"You're coming in, yes? We're having barbecue now and cake in a bit. I'm not letting you drive four hours here just to deliver her clothes."

...

Twenty minutes later is when you get Tyler alone for the first time. Your mother has schlepped him with you through the whole garden and introduced him to every single person there - "He's the guy who saved her yesterday!" (because, obviously, your story had been about the only topic anyone had talked about so far) - your father first and foremost, who hugs Tyler so tightly that for a moment you're afraid he'll break him.

You catch up with Tyler just as he finishes loading his plate with food, finally on his own after your mother has excused herself to go cut up more bread.

"How'd you find me?", you ask, sipping at your ice-cold coke and eyeing him up. It's the one question that had been burning in your mind for the past twenty minutes. How in the hell had he managed to find you? It's not like you'd left a note with your address next to your clothes (though in hindsight, you don't remember how you'd meant for him to bring them back to you).

He looks almost bashful for a second.

"Boone noticed you'd followed our account", he explains then. "He figured out your last name from your handle and searched the phone book of the city on your mom's license plate. And then he read out all the names until I recognised your mom's because she'd introduced herself to me yesterday."

Your eyebrows raise, further and further the more he speaks. You swallow. Silence falls for a second, then two.

"You know, some people would call that creepy", you say, but your lips tug up into an involuntary grin that gives away more quickly than you'd wanted that you aren't one of those people. Tyler grins right back at you.

"Personally I think it would've been more creepy if I'd kept your bra."

...

It's 9:20 when your mother comes over. You've long since switched from barbecue to cake, then to snacks. Your feet are tucked underneath Tyler's legs, propped up against the side of his garden chair and he's running his fingers up and down your calves.

You'd spent the afternoon chatting away and laughing, barely talking to anyone but him. Your 'family get-together' had turned into more of a date. You certainly aren't about to complain, though.

"Tyler, you're staying the night, right?", your mother asks, a fresh plate of chips in her hands that she puts next to the almost empty one on the table in front of you.

"I don't want to overstay my welcome", he says, all gentlemanly even as your mother rests her hands against her hips and stares him down.

"Young man, you're welcome in this house any time, for however long. I'm not letting you drive home four hours. You're staying the night." Then she points at you. "She's still got a couch in her room that you can sleep on. I'd offer you a guest room, but half the family's staying here and we're already out of air mattresses."

So an hour later, you're rummaging about your room, picking up clothes off the couch and stuffing them in your closet to make room for Tyler. He's leaning against your doorway, looking around, taking in the mess that is your childhood bedroom.

"Nice posters", he says, and you throw him a look over your shoulder that could be deadly. He's grinning all sarcastic, only chuckling as his eyes meet yours. "You could put up one of my shirts here."

You have to snort at that and before you can even really think about it, you've pulled the shirt Boone had given you yesterday from where you'd put it down on your desk. You throw it at him carelessly and he catches it with no effort at all, which - paired with that fucking grin - shouldn't be as attractive as it turns out to be.

"Knock yourself out", you say, then you turn back around to your closet and tug out bedsheets for him. "My old poster glue should be in one of the desk drawers."

You don't think he'll seriously do it, but you seem to have misjudged him. Badly. Because he gets to work immediately.

You watch him for a few stunned seconds before you decide to just leave him to it. So while you turn the couch into a makeshift bed for him, he glues that goddamn "Not My First Tornadeo" shirt to your wall.

"Fits perfectly if you ask me", he declares eventually, barely concealing the amusement dripping from his words. You smooth down his sheets before you look up at your wall. He's put the shirt up in one of the few empty spots, right between your Maroon 5 and Destiny's Child posters.

"Yeah", you snort. "Perfectly."

You give him a toothbrush and let him use your bathroom. While he's gone, you change into your pajamas, fold his shirt carefully and put it on a pile with Lilly's pants and her socks. Honestly, a little part of you already mourns the loss of it - but another part of you already has hope for another shirt. Maybe in a different context.

"What're you doing?", Tyler asks, shutting the bathroom door behind him. You don't look up as you fold the other clothes you'd thrown onto your desk yesterday.

"I put Lilly's things and your shirt there, you can take it back tomorrow", you explain, starting a second pile of your own clothes next to his.

"Keep my shirt", he says. That finally makes you look up at him.

Which isn't a good idea. Not at all. Because he's standing there in nothing but his briefs and good fucking lord-

You'd known he's handsome. You'd known he's broad. But you hadn't known he's fucking ripped. You shouldn't stare. You're very aware. You definitely shouldn't stare. It's incredibly rude to stare. It's very inappropriate to stare. But goddamn, this man is built so perfectly god himself must be jealous.

You have to forcibly blink yourself back to reality. You're definitely red in the face when you finally manage to meet his eyes again. And he's raised his eyebrows in a way that tells you he's reading your every emotion right off your face.

"Sorry, come again?", you croak out, brushing your hand through your hair and realising just a second too late that your eyes have travelled down too far again.

"I said you should keep my shirt", he repeats, a very, very obvious grin on his lips. "It looks better on you."

"Okay", you agree, a little too quickly. The heat in your cheeks comes from more than just the half-naked view of him now. He thinks his shirt looks better on you. You don't even care if that's a line. "I'll... I'll go brush my teeth real quick."

When you come out of the bathroom a few minutes later, Tyler has made himself comfortable on your couch. It's a little too small for him, you realise, but he doesn't seem bothered. He's pulled the covers up to his hips - you can still stare at his chest, to your delight. And he's put one hand under his head, flexing his bicep in a way that has you hurrying over to your own bed so you won't jump him right then and there.

"Alright, goodnight, Tyler", you breathe, adjusting your pillow and wrapping your blanket around your body as if grabbing at it will somehow ground you.

"Goodnight", he echoes, and then you turn off the light.

It's quiet. The only noise is the laughter of your family a floor below, all settling into bed themselves. It's quiet and it's dark.

And you're staring wide-eyed at absolutely nothing.

Oh, god. He's so fucking hot. He's so fucking hot you want to throw yourself out of the window. He's so fucking hot and he's on your fucking couch, barely ten feet from you. He's so fucking hot and he'd driven four hours here just to bring your clothes.

"Tyler", you say, barely two minutes after you'd turned the light off. He hums in response - still awake. You don't know what you'd expected. "Thanks again. For, you know, for everything."

"Anytime", he replies, and even though you can't see his grin, you imagine you can hear it. You nod into your pillow. Then silence falls again.

It lasts maybe another two minutes.

"Your family's nice", he says then. You can't help but smile.

"Thanks", you mutter.

"I like your mother", he says. Your smile only grows. You turn onto your back and stare at the dark ceiling.

"She likes you too."

It's the truth.

Tyler stays quiet. You don't even try to close your eyes this time - you can hear him breathe, deep and relaxed. It's calming. You're sure it could lull you to sleep. If you were anywhere near tired, that is. This way, you just blink at black nothingness.

"Were you really a Destiny's Child fan?", Tyler asks eventually, his sheets rustling.

"Yep", you say.

That's it for that conversation.

You don't know what it is, the darkness or the silence, but something pushes on your chest and weighs you down, warming your skin as it settles on your body. It's a tension, thick and heavy, one that had grown with every scrap of conversation.

"You know-", he starts again, but this time, you've got enough.

"Tyler", you interrupt, turning onto your side and pulling your covers with you. "Get up here."

You can't see him as he throws his bedsheets off himself, can't watch as he heaves himself up, can't look at him as he strides over to your bed - but you hear the rustling of his covers, you hear the couch creaking, you hear his steps on the floorboards. And you feel the mattress dipping when he finally sets his knees on your bed.

You don't wait until he's actually in there. You don't think you could possibly wait until he is. You just push yourself up, grab onto the first part of him you can get your hands on (his shoulders), cup his face in your palms and pull him into you.

Right into your kiss.

Tyler Owens kisses you for the first time in the darkness of your childhood bedroom. For the second time in the morning light in your bed. For the third time in your parent's kitchen, right as your mother walks in. For the fourth time in his truck, after your parents all but throw you out of their house and force you to go home with him. For the fifth time in front of his own house, where his crew watches through the window.

And after that, Tyler Owens loses count of just how often he kisses you. Because he kisses you every day for the rest of his life.

#x reader #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens #twisters #tyler owens twisters #twisters 2024 #twisters x reader

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curly-my-beloved · 2 months ago

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do you have any general NSFW curly headcanons/imagines to share? I imagine he’s someone who tries to be really gentle ohmy god I wanna hear this man whimper…. I love your writing for him!! I need to be fed more content of him…. pleas e…..

NSFW Curly headcanons

Pre-crash, of course.

Gentle giant. Curly is 6'5" and muscular, yet he is the gentlest, sweetest man you'll ever meet.

He's an absolute service top with his heart on his hand.

And since I've already described his cock, why don't we talk about some other aspects of his physique?

Curly's a muscly guy. This, of course, grants him excellent titties.

Although I believe they're called pecs when they're on men. I will, however, call Curly's tits what they are.

A juicy pair of nice, manly titties. Very squeezable, very biteable, I need my godsdamn mouth on his tits right this very instant.

Also, as we can see on the character model, Curly's got not just cake, but a whole ass bakery. He will, in fact, blush furiously if you slap his ass as he walks past you.

He's mostly a top, but if he's tired and you ask nicely to let you take care of him, he'll be very happy to sit back and let you ride him.

Praise this man. He will melt. Usually he's the one praising but fucking hell he's weak when he's the one praised.

This man is clingy as hell. He'll want to hold you at all times. Skin to skin is a must with him.

He just loves feeling you against him. He loves being inside you, arms wrapped around you as he buries his face in your neck, leaving small yet needy kisses.

Curly is addicted to you. To your voice, your scent your touch... He loves you. And you can see it with how gentle he always is with you.

This man treats every time like your first time. Always whispers praise in your ear, telling you how wonderful you are, how great you're doing for him, how sweet you sound, how much he loves you.

If you tear up from pleasure, he will wipe all the tears away with his thumbs, kissing your forehead, talking about how beautiful you look right now.

He hides his face in you as he cums, either in your chest or shoulder. He wants to be as close to you as possible.

King of aftercare. Absolute king of aftercare. I love him.

#ask #anon #mouthwashing #mouthwashing x reader #captain curly #captain curly mouthwashing #curly #curly mouthwashing #curly mouthwashing x reader #curly x reader

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lxvvie · 11 months ago

Text

Simps 'R Us, Between the Sheets edition: Your faves and the wholesome and funny things you two get up to in bed, part I.

Capt. John Price - When he's half asleep and about to snore loud enough to wake the dead (Price vehemently denies this), you like to have random conversations with him because you know questions you ask will do one of two things: elicit a nonsensical answer from the Cap'n or... wake him up from his sleep altogether.

Gaz - Is curling up into himself because you're the big spoon, you're running your hands over his body because he's highkey lowkey ticklish, and your face is buried in his neck because... he's highkey lowkey ticklish. "Darling, please—" Gaz manages to gasp out between... wait, are you giggling, Garrick?

Soap - Your darling golden retriever chaotic good boyfriend loves... to sleep naked. You're not complaining, though, especially because he loves it when you lay on him. You've made a home for yourself between his thighs; his stomach is your pillow, and he usually has a hand rubbing your head. Helps him to relax, y'know, bonnie? And whenever you don't lay on him, it's an affront to Johnny's... everything. His heart is broken. His soul is crushed. You're too far away from him (even though you're still right under him). How could you do this to him? He can't live like this. No other stud muffin can offer you what he can, beautiful. But no really, bonnie, he needs you on top of him like... yesterday.

Ghost - You really like his body. Like... really like his body. You blow raspberries on his stomach, you smack his ass, you talk about his eyelashes—scratch that, you love his body. To you, every scar tells a story, and you've asked him plenty of times to talk about them. And then you did the unthinkable that had Simon wanting to disappear into the fucking blankets—"Si-bear, I didn't know you had a mole on your inner thigh!" Bloody fucking hell, he'll never hear the end of this. And then you kissed it and Ghost's face had never felt so bloody hot before. Christ, you'll be the death of him, sweetheart.

Roach - Nothing but the most sickeningly saccharine stuff to ever stuff happens with Roach. A poke-fest, a kiss-fest, a tickle-fest, you name it, it happens. Roach loves to sleep with his face buried in your chest and arms wound tight around you. Always. You rubbing his head soothes him to sleep as well.

Alex - You're also the big spoon here, too. You're busy talking about conspiracy theories you believe the government is/was involved in and Alex is entertaining you ("That so, Boss?"). In actuality, his eyes are comically wide because the truth is oftentimes stranger than fiction and you may or may not be walking a little heavy there, Boss.

Alejandro - Is the big spoon to your little spoon in bed no matter what you're doing. Loves to intertwine your legs together, too. Alejo murmurs how much he loves you in your ear and kisses the top of your head before telling you good night.

Rudy - Sometimes when he's asleep, you'll whisper "Rodolfo" in his ear which causes Rudy to shoot up, eyes comically wide because the only time someone calls him by his full government name is when he gets into shit but it wasn't him this time, it was that idiot Alvarez— "Didn't get to tell you good night and I love you, Rudy, so... good night and I love you, Rudy." Oh. Oh. Ha. Real funny.

Farah - A cuddle bunny through and through. She loves laying up under you, her head resting on your shoulder or under your chin, or her face in the crook of your neck. She wants to hear you as you sleep. She wants to feel the gentle rise and fall of your chest or the resonances as you speak. Farah simply can't get enough of you.

Keegan - It's really you teasing him because Keegan isn't one to really get flustered or deviate from his infamously neutral expression. Much. Until you came along. You two are relaxing in bed and you're the one randomly calling out, "Hey, Kee-Kee," to which Keegan makes the most surprised and disgusted face in response and you're wheezing.

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sceletaflores · 7 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!!!!!!

Baby, show me where it hurts...

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.

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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crazyinlovewithbucky · 1 year ago

Text

“In the bedroom, I’ll be screaming but outside, I’ll keep it quiet.”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x avenger!Reader

Summary: You and Bucky had a sexual relationship and were hiding it from everyone in the team and the compound, making the relationship more exciting for you. Also, you discovered a secret kink Bucky had.

Warnings: smut with very little plot, overstimulation, p in v sex, RUSSIAN NICKNAMES, Soldat kink, Bucky being desperately horny, sex-tape, filming during sex, almost getting caught, praise kink, some degradation kink with name-calling, creampie, breeding kink, marking kink, hair pulling, kind of voyeurism kink??, Steve making appearance and being so sweet and gentle to reader, an odd mention of Pam and Tommy? fingering, finger sucking, fluff, aftercare, Russian praise, too many kinks, I lost track I'm sorry.

This smut was inspired by the song Low by SZA

AU/N: Hey guys, I don't know how to say this but this smut piece is literally written based on a dream I had lol. Hope you enjoy it and I'd like to remind you that English isn't my first language so excuse if I misspelled or mispronounced anything. Enjoy <3.

"Shit, get in. Get in." Your heart skipped a beat, and you got so excited and shy when you saw Bucky standing in front of your door completely naked with nothing but his bathroom robe on, and he opened it wide open as soon as you opened your bedroom door. You held his hand and pulled him in quickly before someone saw him like this. "What the hell are you doing?" You closed and locked the door, turned around to face him, and found his robe now pooling around his feet.

"I just missed you so much, baby doll. Come here." He pulled you by your arms to him and started kissing you hungrily, then he lifted you up in his arms, and you wrapped your legs around him by habit. You kissed him back deeply. "I just couldn't wait until they fell asleep. I need you so badly." He mumbled against your mouth and held you tightly as he turned towards your bed and threw you gently on it. "Clothes off now." He ordered, and you giggled as you didn't have many clothes on. Only your tank top and your panties. You took them off quickly and saw him already moving his metal hand up and down his hardened cock, and it was leaking pre-cum at the sight before his eyes: you, fully naked on your white bed sheets. All his.

He started at your feet, kissing and mumbling sweet words like miss this, miss you, love you, my doll, my perfect girl, and need you, moving all the way up to your calves, knees, and thighs, filling them with kisses and love bites. You smiled at how needy he was, as if you hadn't woken up in his arms this morning as he was fucking you awake, burying his head in your neck, and marking you there. You had to wear a turtleneck sweater all day long in the middle of August because of his marks on your neck, claiming you as his over and over again as he wanted desperately to show everyone that you are his, but unfortunately for him, you had to keep your relationship a secret because you don't want anyone snooping around or middling in that special bond you and Bucky have.

At first, you kept it a secret because you weren't sure if this relationship would work out or not, and if it didn't, you both didn't want it to be a big deal with everyone walking on eggshells around you guys. But to your surprise, it worked out, and it lasted for a whole year. You both thought the reason why it's going so well between you guys is because you're keeping it a secret, so this is why you try to hide it as best as you can, sneaking around and locking doors, making excuses to go on missions together as it feels like a gateway vacation for you both. Of course, you were working and getting your asses kicked, but you always made things up to make it last longer than it did so you could enjoy your time together and go on dates. It wasn't the best plan, but it made you both happy and got you both closer to each other. And all things aside, you both found it so thrilling and erotic to keep it hidden from everyone and sneak around, having quickies in conference rooms, on the quinjets, in Tony and Bruce's labs, in the gym, on the roof, and in a parked SUV. Because sadly, most of the time you both weren't alone; he was either with Steve or Sam, and you were always following Nat and Yelena around. So you both had to take advantage of any time you found yourselves alone in it.

"Take it easy, Soldat. Don't you remember this morning?" You smirked and rubbed his hair while he was kissing and sucking love marks on your inner thighs.

"I love it when you call me that." He chuckled, moved up your body, and kissed you passionately. He devoured your mouth with his. He pressed his body so close to yours, like you were a part of him. Wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly, afraid you might disappear if he ever let go. You wrapped your arms and legs around him, fearing the same thing. "Want to do nothing except for staying right here, like this, forever, моя любовь" he mumbled, and you moaned against his mouth when you heard your favorite Russian nickname, the one he always whispers in your ear when he tries to tease you in front of people. My love.

He moved his head down and started sucking and biting your nipples, giving each one the proper love and attention they deserve. while moving his hands, lifting your legs up, and bending you in half. You held them up and wrapped them around his torso. He sneaked his fleshy hand down to your cunt and cupped it. Rubbing and opening your lips down there and feeling your arousal soak his hand "All of this is for me, Кукла?" He rubbed your arousal all over your clit, earning some moans and whimpers from you. Then he moved his hand to his mouth and licked his digits clean of your wetness. "Tastes like heaven, as always." He pushed his tongue into your mouth and kissed you like his life depended on it. So passionately, you were slightly getting dizzy.

While getting drowned in his kiss, you felt his cock slowly poking your entrance. He pushed the head slowly inside, and you moaned against his mouth at how hot and hard it felt inside. You felt yourself gushing around him, just for the excitement of feeling his hardened cock filling you up. He moved his kisses to your neck, finding new places there to mark you. He pushed his cock inside of you slowly until he bottomed out, and both of you were moaning messes. You loved hearing him moan and whimper for you as much as he loved hearing the same sounds come out of you.

He picked up a slow and deep pace at first, while his mouth never left yours or your body. You were playing with his hair and moaning his name. "Damn, Bucky. I missed this so much. Please don't leave. I want you, like this all the time." You whimpered in his ear, and you swore you felt his cock twitching when he heard your words. You thought he was going to cum.

"Fuck, Y/N. You're killing me." He breathed hard and started an unrelenting pace, going faster and fucking his cock harder into you. His hand snaked down, and he rubbed quick circles on your clit. You cried out loud and couldn't control your screams and moans anymore. You couldn't handle it any longer, and suddenly, you heard that gushing sound coming out of you. You squirted and came all over his cock. You lost all control of your body, and you felt your walls uncontrollably clenching so hard on his cock. He moaned loudly as he emptied everything he had inside of you; that squelching sound became louder because of your mixed juices, and he couldn't stop fucking everything into you, filling you up, and marking you as always.

You were cut off from your trance by a loud banging on your door, and someone was trying to open your door. "Y/N, are you okay? Open the door." It was Steve, and from the sound of his voice, he was very concerned.

"Fuck, were we that loud?" you panicked and whispered to Bucky.

He chuckled at you and said, "You were that loud, doll, not me." He kissed your cheek while stressing the word 'you'.

Steve kept banging and trying to open the door, saying, "I'm going to break this down if you don't answer me."

"Holy shit," you whispered. "Steve, I'm fine. It's just—II was—Oh." You yelled back to Steve and were cut short because Bucky moved his semi-hard cock and kept fucking his cum into you, very slowly and deeply. "Buck, come on." You moaned quietly, but all this son of a bitch did was raise his eyebrows at you playfully and smirk.

"Looks like Steve will finally find out the slut you've been hiding under your innocent face, doll. And you know Steve loves to gossip with Nat." He smirked and bit your jaw playfully, knowing goddamn well that Steve tells everything to Nat, and Nat tells Yelena, and Yelena has a big mouth and will tell every single one in the compound that Steve saw you being fucked raw by his best friend, and that made you get more startled and out of breath.

"Y/N. What's wrong? Are you sure you're fine?" Steve yelled from the other side of the door.

"Y-Yes, Steve. I- Fuck" Bucky, being the torturous monster he is, he started sucking and kissing that sweet spot in your neck, making you forget you just squirted all over his cock and want nothing but to cum all over his cock over again.

"Don't stop those sweet sounds you make, doll. Let them know who's making you scream like a slut," Bucky whispered in your ear as he never stopped dragging his now-hardened cock in and out of you.

"Y/N?" Steve called. "I'm getting really worried here; I'm breaking down the door."

"No." You yelled loudly. "Stop, please. I'm just having period cramps." You yelled, then put your hand on your face from the embarrassment. Bucky giggled quietly at you, and you hit his shoulder.

"Period?" He smirked at you. "Have I really fucked you stupid already?" He chuckled while smirking at you as his right hand moved to your breast, and he pinched your left nipple playfully, which made you whine at him.

"Really? Do you need anything?" Steve calmed down a bit and asked with a still-concerned voice.

"No, Steve. I'm fine. I have everything I need. Thank you." You breathed out and bit Bucky's shoulder as he couldn't stop giggling and smirking at you.

"Okay. If you need anything, you can text me, I guess." Steve said, and you smiled at his sweetness.

"Will do, Cap. Thanks."

"Why don't you go fuck him instead, huh?" Bucky frowned at you after he pushed all of his length inside and stopped moving.

You rolled your eyes at him and were about to reply back, but Steve's voice stopped you. "Have you seen Bucky, by the way?" He asked from behind the door, and your eyes widened. Bucky smirked and was about to say something loudly, but you smacked your hand on his mouth quickly and flipped him over while his cock was still buried inside of you. You were straddling him now, on top of him, while your hand was still covering his mouth and shushing him.

"No, Cap. Not since dinner. Maybe he's in his room." You tried to stabilize your voice as much as you could as your eyes started to tear up from the burning that Bucky's cock was causing inside of you and your need to fuck yourself on him and cum again.

"He's not. I was in his room right before I heard you, and he wasn't there." He exclaimed. You cursed him and all the gods and everyone at this moment for disturbing your much-needed moment with Bucky like that. "Maybe he's taking a late-night ride or something."

"I was." Bucky mumbled from beneath you, your hand still covering his mouth. You rolled your eyes at him and told him to shut up.

"Anyways, thanks, Y/N. Get well soon. See ya." Steve said, and then you heard him walking away, and you sighed in relief.

Bucky kissed your hand that was covering his mouth, and you looked down at him. You admit he looks so sexy like that, with his messed-up hair, hazy half-lidded eyes, and kind of red cheeks. You removed your hand and kissed him deeply. He flipped you over again, so he was on top of you again and kissing you hungrily.

"I want to try something with you tonight." He smirked and licked his now-swollen lips. He lifted himself up slowly, opened your nightstand's drawer, and took out your vintage video camera. You're not surprised how well he knows its location; he knows every single item in your room like it's his own, as he spends most of his nights here.

The hobby you and Bucky shared and which was the topic of your first-ever conversation was photography. He really loved taking pictures of everything; it was his way of adapting to the new world, and as much as he liked how these new wireless phones had cameras in them, he was old-fashioned and had a nice collection of vintage film cameras. He takes pictures of everything he finds in his way; that was actually recommended first by his therapist, and it had good results for Bucky as he figured out he was passionate about that, so he always had his camera with him. You, on the other hand, had a passion for filming videos and making short movies and vlogs; when you were young, your dream was to be a filmmaker. You chose to be a superhero instead, but no one says you can't make videos and short movies as a hobby. So you always kept your cameras near, and Bucky knew all of their locations.

He opened it and turned it on, pointing the lens at his face and making silly faces to make sure it was recording. You laughed at him and at the silly faces he was making. "What are you doing, Barnes?" You giggled at him and sat up a little.

He smirked and kissed you. "I heard about this show that's based on this celebrity couple that made a sex tape in the 90s, and everyone was freaking out about it."

"Oh, really?" You made a shocked face at him and were playing along as if you weren't the one telling him about that show.

"Yeah. I guess it was a big deal back then." He flipped you over on your stomach as he was kneeling behind you, holding the camera in his hand while filming your naked body.

"Yeah?" You loved this idea but still looked confused and turned your head to face him, surprised he was actually into it.

He pointed the camera at your face and giggled, "Now, we're making one of our own." He raised his eyebrows at you playfully.

"Oh god, Bucky. You are crazy." You laughed and buried your head in the pillow.

"You're the reason, doll. You drive me crazy." He smirked. He grabbed one pillow and put it under your hips to give him easy access to your pussy.

He positioned the camera on the top right of the bed while making the lens focus on your body, and he saw that this was the perfect position from the flipped recording screen of the camera. You made a silly face at the camera and stuck your tongue out, making him laugh behind you. He brushed your hair with his fingers, grabbed it carefully with his hand, and kissed your shoulder. He lined his cock with his other hand at your entrance and pushed himself slowly inside, earning a gasp from you. As he pushed himself all the way inside and bottomed out, he laid on top of you while his grip on your hair tightened, and you arched your back against his chest while moaning out his name.

He started fucking faster into you right away. This position made his cock hit deeper spots inside you, and you could feel him all the way up to your lower stomach, and you knew if you touched it, you'd feel the bulge there. You couldn't wait till you hit your orgasm to see stars and white dots, as you can see them now from how deep he was and how hard he was fucking into you. You can feel his hot breath on the back of your neck, which gave you goosebumps all over, and that made you cry out louder than you already were.

He grabbed your hair harder, pulled your head up from the pillow, and pointed your face at the camera. "Look at the camera, шлюха. Look at yourself being fucked dumb." He whispered in your ear before biting your earlobe and sucking on it. You couldn't control your screams at that point, and you tried your hardest to muffle them on the pillow, but you couldn't because of how Bucky was holding your head up. You were praying silently that no one comes again and disturbs you from being fucked into another oblivion.

His other hand snaked up from your waist to your mouth as he pushed two fingers inside your mouth, and you welcomed them and sucked on them hungrily. You pushed your hips back to meet his hard thrusts, and you didn't know if it would be possible, but he somehow hit deeper, and his cockhead was poking your cervix over and over again. You screamed loudly but were muffled by his fingers in your mouth. Now you know why he let you suck on them in the first place. He doesn't want anyone to hear you either.

Somehow, while he was splitting you in half, your orgasm hit you suddenly like lightning, which made you squirm and shake vigorously underneath him as the overstimulation made you lose all control of your body. You closed your eyes and were tearing up while making all sorts of babbling and incoherent sounds. You didn't notice how hard you were clenching his cock until he was whimpering loudly and shooting his warm liquid inside of you. Filling you to the max. He couldn't handle how hard your soaked walls were clenching his bursting cock, so he pulled it all the way out and continued spurting all of his cum on your cunt and its lips. After your walls relaxed and stopped clenching so hard, he watched how your mixed cum dripped and got out of your swollen and abused hole. He almost drooled at the sight before him, but he proceeded to collect all of that mess between your legs with his fingers and fuck it back into you.

You were too overstimulated and kept squirming and trying to move your hips away unconsciously. "Stop moving, принцесса. We have to make it stick." You were moaning uncontrollably. He pulled his fingers out and licked them clean. He started kissing you all over, starting at your ass cheeks and moving up to your shoulder, neck, and eventually your lips.

You tried to kiss back but couldn't because you wanted to breathe more. He smiled and kissed your cheek, grabbed the camera, and stopped recording. He put it again in the drawer, saying, "We can watch that later. Now, let's get you all cleaned up, котенок" He flipped you over on your back again and was going to hold you up, but you stopped him.

"In a minute, please." You yawned, grabbed his hand, and pulled him next to you on the bed. "You killed me, Barnes. At least give me a moment to relax." You hugged him tightly and slept on his chest with his arms wrapped around you.

He chuckled, "If I gave you a minute, Y/L/N, you'll fall asleep, and we need to get cleaned up first." He rubbed your hair and massaged your scalp slowly, trying to ease it from how hard he was pulling your hair before.

"No." You mumbled and hugged him tighter.

"At least, let me clean and change the bed sheets. It's all wet and sticky because of you." He giggled at your childish behavior and tried to get up, but you held him so tightly.

"No." You whined and pouted your lips.

"Come on, doll. I'll make you a hot bath and let you nap a little in it." He drew circles on your arm and kissed your head. He tried to get up again, and you let him.

"Fine. Only if you put that lavender oil in it." You smiled lazily at him and let him hold you up, and you rested your head on his shoulder while he took you to your private bathroom.

"Все для моей принцессы." He kissed you deeply, then sat you on the sink and cleaned you up with a wet cloth after he turned the hot water on in the tub and put some lavender oil in it, waiting for it to be filled. He sat you in the tub gently as he cleaned himself up, wrapped a towel around his hips, and went to clean and change the bedsheets. He came back to the bathroom and saw you napping quietly in the tub. He smiled to himself at how beautiful you looked and went to the bedroom, grabbed one of your Polaroid camera, and took a picture of his sleeping beauty in the bathtub, looking so angelic. He took off the towel and joined afterwards. He sat behind you and made you rest your head on his chest and sleep on him as he kept rubbing your hips and waist from the bruises he caused earlier from grabbing you so hard and tight.

You woke up the next morning in his arms, in clean and fresh bedsheets, both of you smelling like lavender and wearing clean and soft underwear. You kissed his lips softly, and he opened his eyes slowly and smiled at you. "Good morning, Soldat." You kissed him again, and he kissed back.

"It's always a good morning when I wake up with you in my arms, моя любовь" he smiled and kissed you again. "I love you." He locked eyes with you and held your face with his hand while rubbing his thumb on your cheek.

"I love you," you said back, and you pressed your lips to his, kissing him deeply. Never in your life did you think you'd find true love and connection with someone. But here you are, absolutely head over heels for this man in front of you.

fin

===============================

моя любовь = "my love" Все для моей принцессы = "anything for my princess" котенок = "kitten" принцесса = "princess" шлюха = "slut" Кукла = "doll"

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authorhjk1 · 5 months ago

Note

https://pbs.twimg.com/media/FyWv3wdWYAg3PsL?format=jpg&name=large

The curves on this girl. Dress so tight just like her body.

Peach

(Huh Yunjin X Male Reader)

"B-Break."

Yunjin groans, her breaths heavy.

"P-Please. Need a..."

Her sentence is left unfinished. A loud sigh of ecstasy leaves her lips.

You only dig deeper at her words. Your tongue roaming her delicious pink pussy. Her legs are being forced apart by your hands, which are groping her thick, juicy thighs.

"Give me a-Ahhhh!"

Huh Yunjin orgasms. Her squirt leaves her pussy and ends up in your mouth. There is no way you can take all of it. You duck to the side as Yunjin mewls and moans. Her juices stain the already wet sheets of her bed.

How many times have you made her cum already? You can't tell. Too many to count.

Lost in your thoughts, trying to count, you don't notice how Yunjin is trying to crawl away. Her peach coloured dress is still clinging to her body. Partially because it's just so tight, but also because she keeps dragging herself through her own squirt.

You let her keep it on, just so she can completely ruin it. There is no way in hell the smell of her juices will ever leave the dress now.

Her whimper, which is forced out of her by her pussy rubbing over the sheets as she drags herself forward, makes you look at her.

"Yunjin.... Yunjin.... Yunjin."

Your sing sang tone makes a shiver run down her spine. She already lost count after three. And she doesn't know how much more she has in her.

"Where are you sneaking off to, beautiful?"

You get a hold of her ankle. Your thumb grazes the small band of her golden high heels.

"One second. Only one second."

She whines, begging you for mercy.

You love how she is a confident, driven, funny, beautiful idol. But you love her the most, when she submits to the pleasure. Submits to you, begging for your touch. Or in this case, the lack thereof.

"One more. I'm sure you can manage one more?"

You can see the back of her head shake in despair. Slowly, you pull at her ankle. Yunjin has been pushed far enough. There is just no energy left inside her. No energy to fight. No energy to resist. Barely enough to properly talk.

It must have been hours already.... Or maybe only 30 minutes? Her feeling for time has completely vanished.

"Please...."

She mumbles into the wet sheets underneath her, her face buried in them, as you drag her towards you.

"Be a good girl, Yunjin."

Once she is close enough, you place one hand on her thigh again. A moan already leaves her mouth, her body knows what comes next.

But instead of feeling your tongue on her clit once more, Yunjin hears your belt and then your pants drop to the floor.

"No, please. Just a second. Do you know-"

The second hand on her other thigh forces another moan out of her.

"D-Do you know how tight I am now? I-I need time t-to be able to take it."

"Just remember to breathe."

Your cheeky reply makes Yunjin groan in lust and fear. Her thighs rest on the edge of the bed, right where you put them. Peeling the tight dress off her ass, you marvel at how nice her ass looks. Two full cheeks, ready to be slapped.

But you do feel something similar to sympathy. Yunjin has already been through enough. You will have your way with her ass next time.

"Ngh!"

Yunjin bites into the sheets as you push inside. Her pussy is dripping wet, her glistening lips wrapping tight around your length. She is right. Yunjin is tighter than usual. Exactly what you were aiming for. She already has the tightest pussy you've ever been in. But after making her cum so many times, it's almost dangerous.

You know you won't be lasting long. Which is fine since Yunjin has had more than enough pleasure for today. Or this week for that matter.

Moments later, you harshly pound Yunjin's tight cunt, sending her mewling and moaning. Her body rocks back and forth on the mattress, her pussy rubbing against the wet fabric.

"Mmmh! Mmmmh! Mmmmh!"

Every thrust earns you a loud moan, which is barely muffled by the sheets between her teeth. Her arms are spread out, her hands limp. You've drained her tight body of her all her juices. In more ways than one.

"Oh shit, Yunjin!"

You groan loudly, your cock almost getting strangled by her walls. You rub along them with every thrust, molding her insides to the shape of your cock.

"I'm gonna cum on you, Yunjin."

You sigh, knowing you don't have much time left.

Yunjin's head sinks into the sheets again. Her moans all quiet.

Your hands on her ass squeeze her cheeks. You enjoy playing with them as you deliver your final thrusts. A teaser to what's to come next time.

"Yunjin."

You groan her name, your fingers digging into her flesh, before you pull out. You aim at her body. Ropes of cum shoot along its length. You cover her dress, her hair, some of her ass. Your white cum finally ruins her dress completely.

To your surprise, you don't hear the usual moans from her. You walk to her side and roll her over.

Yunjin's mouth hangs open, her lips smeared with spit. Her eyes shut, makeup ruined by her own squirt. Her hair is not better off. You wonder how many times she has to wash it until the she gets rid of the smell.

Yunjin is completely knocked out.

#ask #anon #kpop #kpop smut #kpop girls #kpop gg #male reader #le sserafim #le sserafim yunjin #huh yunjin #jennifer huh #yunjin #yunjin smut #le sserafim smut

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polakina · 9 months ago

Text

how they fuck you

red dead redemption headcanons #2

hc masterlist // masterlist

on my third playthrough of rdr2 and i cannot bring myself to play low honour. why do i put myself through this?

also this is ridiculously long, got a little carried away but i shall not apologise

rating: explicit

is always gentle with you at first

delicate touches, lingering kisses, gazing eyes at your every movement or ministration

"what do you want, mi amor? tell me"

loves to hear you beg for him, want him

it just turns him on even more

dirty talk through the ROOF

this man knows how to talk you through it

"fuck you feel amazing, hermosa. yeah, just like that, huh? anything for you"

will eat you out for days if he could

never really tried it before, even when he lived in Mexico, he never really gave it a go

but with you, he wanted to try everything. whatever you wanted, he was up for it

so when you first asked him, he was nervous as hell, but willing to try

he found out he loved it and does it every single fucking time he had you all to himself

buries himself between your thighs like a man starved, his arms wrapped tightly around your thighs to keep you still

his tongue worked fucking wonders on your pussy, knowing exactly where to focus his attention, loving how you always moaned a little softer when his tongue dipped inside your cunt

fucks you slow, savouring the moment when he can

loves to have you riding him. seeing you on top spurs something inside him

his hands grip your waist fiercely, guiding your hips to grind against him, pulling sweet, elicit moans from your throat

loves to cut your clothes from your body with his knife

it's so much more satisfying than just taking them off with his hands

kinda likes quickies. prefers taking his time but there's something about pulling you away for a few minutes to have his way with you behind the protection of a tree or something that he loves

usually happens out on missions, so there's risk of the gang seeing you guys, but what's life without a little risk?

you could be on watch beside your tent while everyone sleeps, and javier will come over to keep you company

but it doesn't take long for his hand to slip into your pants as he whispers all sorts of things in your ear as he sits behind you while you try and continue your watch duty

was terrible at aftercare before, never really understood the in's and out's of it

but learned eventually with you, when you explained it to him

now he's at your beck and call whenever you need it

wear this man's hat around camp and that's all he needs to pull you to a secluded tent

but wear it while you fuck him? arthur would die happy in that exact moment

likes to call you 'cowgirl' when you ride him. you always roll your eyes at how stupid it sounds, but it doesn't stop him

the two of you don't have all the time in the world. being one of dutch's most trusted members, he's needed away from camp a lot more than anyone else

so you've both learned the art of being fast

and it doesn't take long for him to make you cum

never asks for them, but loves blowjobs

he likes to draw in his tent when he's got time to himself, so when he sees you come in and sink to your knees in between his lap, he can't think of a better sight

the absolute king of praises (have you heard how he talks to his horse?? imagine him talking to a woman oml)

not a fan of degrading, he never saw the appeal, but uses other methods to 'punish' you

"what do you want, darlin?" he'd say as he's fucking you from behind, your face pressed into the pillow to stifle your moans, your ass in the air held up by his hands on your hips. "oh babygirl, you wanna cum, huh? then you can beg me for it, can't you?"

will edge you for days

especially when he knows he's going to be away for a few days afterwards

definitely grabs the headboard

mainly for his own stability to be able to thrust into you harder as you moan his name into the room

has his hands on you at all times

holding your hands above your head by your wrists, holding your face against the mattress with his hand on the back of your neck, curling his fingers in your hair and gently yanking your head back when he pounds into you

when you do get a night away from camp, he wants to make it last the whole night

takes his time with you to the point where he's practically teasing you for hours

takes his time undressing you, kissing every part of your body, touching every part of you until his fingerprints were practically imprinted into your skin

give this man some guidance or it's like walking through a maze blindfolded

learned a lot with you

figured out really quick what you liked and what you didn't like, what places he could touch you that would send your head spinning

this eventually led him to learn how to be very sneaky in public

he could touch you in such simple places, in such an innocent way that no one else would think anything of it

but you'd know, and you wouldn't stop it

you like the way he touched your neck? he was all over that shit, cupping your cheek, his fingers tickling your neck

you liked his hands in your hair? his fingers tangled at the base of your neck, pulling your hair slightly to tease you

his hand would rest on your thighs, fingers slowly creeping up your thigh while you were all sat around the campfire

you'd always give him a little glare, which he would ignore, a goofy smirk on his face

and the way he fucked you was no different

he had mastered the art of teasing your body and your limits, and put that knowledge in every time he had you alone

"come on, marston. stop teasin' me like this"

he'd always smirk, working his way down your body in a painfully slowly manner

"i'm takin' my time with you, sweetheart. you just lay back and relax. lemme take care of you"

loved to make you feel good before he even thought about himself

but when he was too pent up, he came a lot quicker than he wanted

but he made up for it when tending to you afterwards until you were practically pushing him away, too sensitive for his expert fingers

not the best at going down on you, but makes up with experience

but what he's really good with is his hands

his fingers

they know exactly what they're doing when he pushes them inside your soaked pussy

curling at that devastating spot inside you that makes you crumble to your knees

loves to be on top of you, seeing your face contort when he pushes inside you slowly, deeply

he's basic, a lover of missionary, but seeing your face and watching your body writhe under his grip is really what turns him on

#fanfiction #fluff #smut #fanfic #rdr2 smut #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 #javier escuella smut #javier escuella rdr2 #javier escuella x reader #javier escuella #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #john marston #john marston x reader

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endless-ineffabilities · 1 month ago

Text

some mildly spicy Ewan 'The Iceberg' Mitchell headcanons for your imaginative indulgence

I want 'em all to see you look good on top of me At this time at night, I need not one, not three Just your two hands on me like my life needs savin' Let 'em all know

a/n: inspired by the release of the song 2 hands. purely self-indulgent, purely fictional, and nothing more. no explicit bits, because I steer clear of those for rpfs. so on your marks, get set...

main masterlist

✨️ He would be the most gentle partner during your first time together. Not rushing in the slightest as he prepares you, making sure you feel good and comfortable every step of the way, going down on you like it's his last meal on earth. He'd want to maintain eye contact, even as you fall apart underneath him. He would clean you up afterwards, and whisper sweet nothings in your ear as you fall asleep in his arms.

✨️ He is, of course, sweet and attentive and tender in bed. But the more you get to know him, the more he reveals his rougher, dominant side. You would find out that they were all right about him—while he does keep to himself a lot, Ewan is indeed secretly naughty >:)

✨️ There will be moments when he would be unsure, his eyes would flit all over the room then back to you, and you would know that he's biting back a question.

✨️ What is it, baby? — Hmm, nothing. — C'mon, Ewan. — I was wondering if... if I can take... pictures of you? — Of course, I mean... you already take a lot of pictures of me. — No, I mean... pictures. — Okay. Pictures. What...? — (he'd bury his face in your neck, as if ashamed) I want one where I can see my baby. Every single bit of my baby. — Oh.

✨️ And so that'll be the start of Ewan's most prized album in his phone. Suddenly, the lad will have a knack for photography. He'd capture all the right angles.

✨️ The boy is needy as hell. He'd actually whine in protest when he wants to do it, when he craves you, and you'd brush him off because you're busy working or you're in a rush to go to a meeting.

✨️ Baby, c'mon, just stay. — Ewan, I have to go to work. — I'm a successful actor, I can provide for you, baby. You don't ever have to work again. — Ewan, you're so ridiculous. — Okay, fine, fiiiiiine. But... just give me 10 minutes please. — I really gotta go, babe. — Alright, 5 minutes. Promise to make you scream.

✨️ He's a sucker for neck kisses. It tickles him a little when you nibble on the underside of his jaw, the crook of his neck. He could just lie there forever with his head tilted back and his fingers threaded in your hair.

✨️ But as much as he likes receving neck kisses, he likes doling them out even more. Hickeys stir a primal instinct in him, he likes seeing you covered—branded—in them. As if they prove that you're his and only his.

✨️ His favourite sight is watching you in the throes of climax. His second favourite is when you look up at him as you're on your knees, holding his gaze as you bring him closer to the edge.

✨️ Your bits and bobs would not be in places where you left them. The childhood photo of yours that you tacked onto the board above your desk — in Ewan's wallet. Your favourite piece of lace underwear — for some reason, in the hidden inner pocket of his trusty travel backpack. Your old hairtie — snug around his wrist, because he'd want to keep something of yours on him at all times (and! also useful in case you'd be in a new city together, for example, and you need 10 minutes and your hair neatly kept away from your face).

✨️ Ewan (the true blue cinephile) likes a cheeky fumble in the screen-lit darkness of the cinema. This means that you know to wear a skirt during your movie dates, to give him easy access as his hand wanders under your folded-up coat on your lap. He'd keep his head forward, watching the film as he buries his digits, but his darkened eyes give him away.

✨️ As much as he loves seeing you in nothing but your underwear and one of his metal t-shirts, wearing his clothes for long would be a challenge — the moment he catches sight of you like that, he's instantly turned on. That Metallica shirt would meet the floor. But... there would be times when he would want to have you with nothing but that on.

✨️ He wouldn't mind if you accidentally call him Aemond in the middle of it. It even spurs him on. He would also beg you to please call him my Prince or Prince Regent.

✨️ You would help him practice his lines. One thing in particular—he would want to fully act out the steamy scenes between Aemond and Alys with you, so he could carry that memory of you in his performance.

✨️ He would drive you both around in the old Ford he got from his dad as a gift for his 22nd. You like that he still uses the same car, even as his success continues to grow. And you would become quite familiar with every inch of that newly upholstered backseat.

✨️ If you ask him, he'll tell you he's keeping that car until it's nothing but rust on wheels. Every faint stain and tiny scratch on the leather a reminder of heated moments (fogged up windows, tangled limbs, sharp commands, gear shifts, riding) too precious to part with.

✨️ Not to mention, that backseat is his favourite location to do it in. And it's yours too ;)

#ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell x reader #ewan mitchell headcanons #ewan mitchell imagine #house of the dragon #hotd #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen

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abiatackerman · 5 months ago

Text

Sweet nothings to the baby bump

The master bedroom of the "Ackerman Cottage" is clean as expected. Everything is free from dust and dirt and right now the shiny surfaces are sparkling under the moonlight. The window is open and a sweet calm wind is passing, making the curtains dance in a calm melody.

The room is silent other then the gentle voice of Levi Ackerman who is currently laying beside you and taking with the baby bump of yours. You're laying comfortably, caressing Levi's silky-straight hair as Levi keeps talking.

Levi smiles as he feels your fingers running through his hair which is his most favourite soothing sensation. His eyes are locked on your growing belly, knowing it holds his child, your child. His hand gently placed on the bump, he speaks again as he feels the kid kicking.

"Don't kick too much, brat…Your mother needs to rest as much as she can…"

Levi says softly, a look of affection in his eyes as he speaks and caresses your bump.

"The brat's got your genes.... Of course he loves to kick"

Levi chuckles softly at your comment, knowing you are right. His child definitely has his genes and is already showing that by being just as restless and energetic.

And by kicking......

"Yeah, I don't think any amount of convincing is going to stop the little shi....."

Before Levi can finish his sentence, you sudden slap lands on his head.

"No cursing in front of the baby."

He winches playfully at the slap, just to make you happy. He loves your occasional "beating". Only you and you have the right.

"Fine. I won't curse in front of the kid."

Levi says, with a hint of humor in his voice. He then leans closer to the bump, his hand remaining on your stomach as he speaks to the growing baby.

"Sorry baby…Papa says too many naughty words, huh?"

Levi continues to speak to the unborn child in a gentle voice, his hand gently rubbing your abdomen. He smiles warmly, his eyes filled with love for the child that is growing inside you.

"Your mama's very protective of you already…But don't you worry, you can kick as much as you want when it's just me."

You laugh at Levi's words and lean down to kiss his forehead making Levi's heart flutter in response. He reaches up, gently wrapping his arms around your waist and pulls you closer to him, wanting you as close as possible. He buries his face against your stomach, his eyes still fixed on your pregnant belly.

"I can't wait to meet our little brat…"

He says softly, his voice filled with excitement and anticipation.

"Same"

You say as you caress your huge baby bump as Levi keeps watching. After a while his hand joins yours, fingers intertwining over the bump. He can feel the occasional kicks and movements from the baby and it never fails to bring a smile to his face. Levi looks up at you, a mixture of love, excitement, and a hint of protectiveness in his gaze.

"You know, this might sound weird, but I kinda wish you'd stay pregnant forever…"

He says jokingly, yet with a hint of seriousness in his tone. You smile with amusement as you flick your forehead.

"You wouldn't have said that if you would have gotten pregnant. It's tough but I'm enjoying my pregnancy. Also anything for the brat."

Levi chuckles at your words, knowing you are right. There is no way in hell he'd ever be able to go through the pregnancy himself. He's a man and he'll never know that pain. Still he's so happy that you're enjoying this period. Both of you are enjoying this together.

"I'd rather not have to deal with all the mood swings, cravings, and discomfort. You're a damn warrior for dealing with all of that, and putting up with me on top of it."

He says with a genuine appreciation in his voice and you chuckle.

"Just as I said... Anything for the brat. Also I'm enjoying."

Levi smiles and kisses your baby bump and speaks again.

"Yeah, I've seen how much you're willing to endure for this brat. You've even put up with me fussing over you every five minutes like a damn mother hen."

You laugh loudly as Levi compares himself as a "Mother Hen." Suddenly you can't push away the image of Levi being a hen... It's hilarious.

"I love it when you joke and when you're protective"

Levi grins, feeling warmed by your laughter and words. He can’t deny that he relishes in your reactions to his attempts at humor.

"Well, someone around here has to keep your stubborn ass out of trouble. Can't have you getting into messes and putting yourself and the brat at risk. It's just a bonus that you apparently love when I'm a possessive, overprotective basta....."

You slap Levi's head again.

"No curse words!"

You warn, glaring.

"Alright, alright, I'll watch my language. Can't have the little brat picking up any bad words before it's even born."

He leans back a bit, and sighs.

"Although, I can't promise I won't slip up from time to time. I am Levi Ackerman after all, cursing is kind of my thing."

You nod at his words, understanding.

He's a man who grew up in the underground hearing curses, using them. It'll take time and you don't mind. You'll help him.

"Just not in front of the kid.... Please."

As you speak with a pleading tone, Levi nods, feeling a mix of amusement and affection at your pleading tone.

"Fine. I'll try my best to keep the swearing to a minimum in front of the brat. Can't promise I won't slip up occasionally, but I'll do my best to be a good example for our kid."

He reaches out to gently stroke your cheek, his gaze softening as he looks at you.

"I know you'll be a great father, love"

Levi's heart swells at your words. His face softens more when you kiss the palm of his hand which was caressing your cheek.

Levi can't help but smile at your confident belief in his ability to be a good father. He knows he has a lot to learn and that he'll make mistakes, but having your support makes him feel like he can handle anything that'll come in both of your ways.

"And I know you'll be an amazing mother. You're strong, caring, and have more patience than anyone I've ever known…even me."

You smile at his words and grin cheekily, making Levi smile too. He finally moves away from your bump and lays beside you. You yawn tiredly and hug Levi's waist and rest your head on his chest. Levi starts to caress your hair in order to lull you to sleep.

"The brat's kicking again..... "

You mumble and slowly fall into a slumber and Levi chuckles, kissing your head as he closes his eyes too, falling asleep with you.

You, his wife, the mother of his child.....

#levi ackerman #levi #levi x you #levi x reader #levi x y/n #levi x reader fluff #captain levi x reader #levi ackerman x fem! reader #levi ackerman x female reader #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x reader #captain levi x you #captain levi #levi aot #levi heichou #levi fluff #daddy levi #dad levi #dadvi ackerman

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therantsofawriterrr · 6 months ago

Note

buckys first time since the 40s? smut with reader, he cums embarrassingly fast and reader has to console him and she tells him she thought it was hot….

Ok so my first smut req. Thanks anon. Y'all know the drill, 18+ only, MDNI pls. Smut and warnings under the cut. If you don't like this stuff, just don't read it, thanks.

Warnings: Unprotected sex (Wrap it before you tap it, ya filthy animals), creampie, mentions of fingering, dirty talk and dumbification if you squint, tell me in the comments if i missed anything

A/N: First time writing smut, sorry for any tense mistakes. I get confused with those. Also, this ain't proofread, so pardon any mistakes.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Ok so, in my mind, Bucky's kinda composed about it at first. Y'all have been dating for a long time and you both are finally ready to go to the next base.

But as soon as he sees you in your underwear, your breaths getting deeper and heavier as you see him in his, he feels himself get so hard so fast, his mind finally picking up the fact that he hadn't gotten laid since the 40s.

His body already had the memo, begging for a release, making him want to just sink into you and let himself loose.

Even as he got you naked, laying down on top of you, holding himself up, he tries to keep himself in line. Even as he sinks his fingers into you, whispering praises into your ear, he feels his cock strain against the fabric of his boxers. His voice is breathy and needy, not that you noticed, your mind flooded with pleasure.

"So pretty for me, baby."

"Just like that, doll, be loud, no need to hide those noises, yeah? It's just us."

"Good God, you're heavenly. So tight and so wet. It's all for me, isn't it?"

And when he finally sinks into you, he still keeps himself composed. Inch by inch, he works through it, as his mind goes blank every time he gets deeper. When he's finally in, though, he couldn't help but rut into you. He didn't start thrusting just yet, waiting for your permission.

You'd moan and whine for him to move properly, to fuck you properly and he would. He'd be long gone as he'd pound into you, groaning into your neck and marking the pretty skin. He'd lavish your nipples with attention as he'd try to hold back, to not flood your insides with his cum.

But finally, he was a man who hadn't had a proper release for more than a hundred years. In a few thrusts, he ended up, arching his back, groaning as he came, as spurts after spurts of cum filled you up.

He'd keep his face buried in your neck as you both panted. Too embarrassed to even look at you. He couldn't even wait for you to finish.

"Bucky," you'd whisper, kissing the side of his forehead. "Baby, it's alright."

"I'm sorry, doll," he' say, his voice muffled. "I couldn't hold back. I should've but-'

"No, hey, listen to me," you'd say, urging him to look at you. "It's fine. I understand. And to be honest..."

His eyes would light up with curiosity as he'd see you blush, his hand brushing away the few strands of hair sticking to your cheek. "What, baby? Tell me."

"It was kinda hot," you'd murmur, your hand fiddling with the dog tags hanging around his neck. "Like, really hot."

Immediately, a smug grin would appear, his prior embarrassment and guilt being washed away. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," You'd whisper. "It's hot knowing that I did that to you."

"Hmm, baby," he'd say, bringing his mouth to your ear, starting to thrust into you again. "You have no idea what you do to me."

And he'd stare at your face as it twisted in pleasure, this time hell-bent on making you clench around him like a vice before he gives you another load.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #smut

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astayinwonderland · 1 year ago

Text

Whose idea was it, though?

pairing: jungkook x f.reader

genre: smut || very little plot || +18

summary: it's your ex's wedding and you're invited... however, you decided to bring your annoying neighbour as your +1. the problem is... you are a little bit (a lot) into him.

word count: 1.1k

warnings: pet names, unprotected sex (pls don't), dirty talk...

a/n: this is pure ✨fiction✨

enjoy! (;

also english is not my first language

❤︎₊ ⊹❤︎₊ ⊹❤︎₊ ⊹❤︎₊ ⊹❤︎₊ ⊹❤︎₊ ⊹❤︎₊ ⊹❤︎₊ ⊹❤︎�� ⊹❤︎₊ ⊹❤︎₊ ⊹❤︎₊ ⊹❤︎₊ ⊹❤︎₊

“I was going to say this was a bad idea, but I changed my mind. This was a terrible idea,” you whisper as you feel his hands dangerously making their down to your waist. He takes his time, making sure you shiver under his touch, and traces a slow and tempting path over your naked back while you dance.

“Whose idea was it, though?” he says leaning a little bit too close. Can the rest of the guests see this? You look at your ex at a distance, bold of him to invite you to his wedding.

“Don’t look at him, look at me. We are pretending to be the perfect happy couple, right? Happy couples dance,” with a swift move, he spins you and pulls you towards him. Your back pressed to his broad chest. His scent, a mix of top-shelf whiskey, sweat, and cologne makes you press your thighs together. This is not how this fake date was supposed to go.

“Happy couples share intimate moments like this,” he whispers into your ear. Involuntarily, your head moves to one side, giving him access to your neck. “Happy couples kiss.”

You freeze after that sentence. Jungkook was not supposed to do this to you, he is still your annoying neighbor. Dumb-ass Jungkook who never has salt, who always comes to your place uninvited, who plays music too loud at 2 am. You take a minute to look at him now, lip piercing shining as he gives you the most beautiful of smiles. His black hair slicked back, showing off his brow piercing decorating his handsome face, and those eyes. Those doe eyes look back at you waiting, he needs something. Could he need you?

Without a warning, he kisses your neck and the tiniest whimper escapes your lips. Jungkook holds your waist and you look down at his tattooed hand and at this moment you know his hands belong there. Turning his head for a brief moment, Jungkook catches a glimpse of your ex, making another tasteless toast while his friends whisper and make comments about you.

“Never liked that dude, always made you cry,” he plants another kiss. This time he opens his mouth, letting the tip of his tongue savor your skin. You let out a breathy sigh.

“Jungkook…” you say his name. Music to his ears, he wonders how pretty your voice will be moaning his name and he is buried deep inside you. Fucking you really good, the way you and only you deserve it.

Jungkook places his hands on your shoulders and spins you so fast you almost fall over him. Cupping your face in his hands he looks at you. His heavy breath on your face and needy eyes make you want to show him how wet you are. He did this, he should fix it. How to tell him you want to have him now?

His lips crash with yours. Hard, fast. You have no time to react when he pulls away.

“Come with me,” he extends his hand for you to take.

“Wh- what?”

“Come with me and you’ll cum with me,” he smiles. So cocky, has he always been this bold?

You find yourself against the bathroom wall. The door locked, the dim lights are not stopping you from admiring Jungkook’s back in the mirror that faces you. You admire his broad shoulders and the slutty tiny waist you plan to wrap your legs around. With a bite on your neck, he interrupts your thoughts as you scream.

“Do you like it when I do this?” his delicious tongue slides to the back of your ear and he sucks your skin, making it hurt so good you just know it will bruise.

“Yes,” you weakly whisper and you kiss him. He welcomes your tongue in his mouth as he pulls up your dress. Jungkook tastes like heaven and hell colliding together, he is perfect. He sucks on your bottom lip and breaks the kiss for a second, smiling at you. He wants this, he wants you. His sole focus is to make you his. Oh, how he wants to have you bent over your kitchen table, the one you care for so much. You are always bossy telling him to put a coaster under his beer can. He wants to see you make a mess on that table, he wants to be the reason for that mess. Jungkook squeezes your ass and you know it’s time. You wrap your legs around him and he pulls your panties to the side.

“Such a fucking turn on you’re this wet for me.”

One hand holds you in place, while the other works on his belt and pants. In a flash of a moment, the tip of his cock teases your soaked entrance. Slowly his cock enters you, stretching you out like never before. You moan his name, the prettiest sound he’s ever heard. He thrusts inside you, unhurried, making you feel every inch of him. Your head spins as Jungkook throws his head back, curses leaving his mouth.

“This is what you deserve, princess. Argh– You feel so good. You should be fucked senseless every day.”

“Jungkook, please…” you moan. The pleasure he is giving you is unmatched. You beg him to pick up the pace and he does. Jungkook rams into you making you want time to stop. His cock in and out of you, fucking you making you chase your high. With the top part of his body completely dressed, he couldn’t look hotter ruining you in his perfectly-tailored suit. His tattooed hand reaches your neck, squeezing so slightly, making you dizzy enough to be totally consumed by him. Your mind skyrockets and so does his as keeps fucking you. You feel how you clench around his cock begging for him to make you cum.

“Please,” is all you manage to say. For Jungkook, that was an order. He angles you higher to have better access as he goes faster. The sounds of your flesh clashing together echoed in the bathroom. Your slippery arousal welcomes him even deeper.

“Cum for me, princess. Don’t I deserve you to cum around my cock after fucking you so good?”

Your moans are cries now and your body convulses, you are so close.

“Make everyone know you are being fucked this good. Cum for me now.”

And you do. You cum hard and loud for him. Just for him. Jungkook cums right after you with a grunt that makes you wish he fucked you from the first time he knocked on your door.

As if you were made of crystals, Jungkook puts you down and kisses your forehead. Sweat falling on your face after such an intense orgasm. He helps you clean yourself up and a chuckle escapes his lips.

“Sure you don’t wanna go on an actual date with me?”

#kpop smut #kpop fanfic #bts smut #bts fanfic #jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #astayinwonderland #this was fun to write #kpop imagines #jungkook imagines #jungkook scenarios

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peachsukii · 9 months ago

Note

Hiii omg I love your writings so much!!

May i request texting katsuki while reader is drunk in a bar (maybe bc reader just broke up with her previous boyfriend or sth. It’s up to you but please make it spicy 🔥) (also 18+ please 🥹)

ohhhh the things swirling in my head about this!!! thank you for the request nonnie & hope it delivers! 💜

on the rocks

『 ♡ 』 k.bakugo x fem!reader ꒰ pro-hero au | age 24 | friends to fwb ꒱ ⇢ your week couldn’t get any worse. between a screw up at work and getting dumped out of the blue, you needed to desperately let off some steam. thank goodness the girls were more than happy to take you out for the night in the city and spoil you with a good time. everything’s fine until you receive a text that spirals into an unpredicted hookup.

꒰ tags & warnings ꒱ 18+ MDNI mentions of alcohol, mild/implied smut, suggestive texting, friends to friends with benefits, heavy flirting, sexually comfortable reader, reader went through a break-up, soft bakugo, fluffy ꒰ cross posted to ao3 | wc; ~2.6k ꒱ -`✧ katsuki bakugo masterlist

The bartender hands you the drink you ordered, nodding a thanks when you smile at her. You’re not drunk, per se, but you’re definitely buzzed - that warm and fuzzy feeling dancing through your veins, letting you relax for the first time all week. Tonight's goal was to think about absolutely nothing, to let go of all the shit weighing on your shoulders. Even if it's just for one night, anything to shake away the pain you've been carrying.

But the alcohol seems to be betraying you, forcibly shoving those thoughts to the forefront of your mind instead of burying them.

Memories of your ex begin to haunt you as your mind wanders aimlessly, the dam bursting that was keeping it all at bay. You try and shake your head to rid yourself of the feelings, but they just wouldn’t go away.

God, fuck him and every false promise he made to you.

Some people would consider three months a short amount of time, but to you, it felt like an eternity. He seemed so sweet, caring and kind when you first met, but once he forcibly ripped off your rose-colored glasses? He was nothing but a walking pile of shit.

Suddenly, your phone dings on the bar, lighting up to show a text message notification.

'Who the fuck is texting me so late?'

You blink a few times, re-reading the contact name before it registers: Katsuki Bakugo.

That's rather...odd. He's notorious for going to bed by 9pm - it’s almost midnight. You two were friends, sure, but never the 'text you in the middle of the night' type of friends. Curious to know what he wanted, you open the text to reveal nothing but a picture. When you squint through your hazy vision, you realize just what you're looking at.

It's a picture of Bakugo from the neck down, laying on his bed in nothing but grey sweats that are tugged down and nestled at the bottom of his hip bones. The pose accentuates the delicious deep V below his abs and shows the blonde trail disappearing underneath the hem of his sweatpants. The shadows trace each well-earned muscle, perfectly outlining them in the dim light of his bedroom.

Was this meant for you? Did he send it to you by accident? Your mind goes blank, stopping your previous train of thought about your stupid ex.

…did he send it to you on purpose? Your core pulses at the thought, causing you to cross your legs defensively.

Right on queue, another text pops up, your phone vibrating in your hands.

[katsuki] fuck, sorry. that was an accident

That was a bold face fucking lie, and you knew it. Bakugo's not that stupid to send the wrong text by mistake, especially a selfie. There's no way in hell he would even take a picture like that for someone unless he wanted it to be seen.

Liquid courage does you a favor when you reply, loosely teasing him about it.

[you] damn, katsuki. who's the lucky girl?

You don't notice Mina approaching you with how intently you're staring at your phone screen, startling you when she taps your shoulder.

"What are ya doing over here?! Come dance with us!" she pleads, pulling on your arm. She notices how you're clutching your phone like a lifeline and the coral tint on your cheeks. She quirks an eyebrow at you. "Who are you texting?"

Oh god, find a lie - fast! She'll see right through your facade if you don't.

"No one, just a spam text."

Mina stares at you - shit, she knows you're lying.

"You're a shit liar, babe. Who is it?"

"I got a random text from Katsuki," you admit, the flush in your cheeks deepening at his name. Are you into him, or is it the alcohol in your system? It's no secret that he's attractive, he's always been effortlessly handsome. You'd be lying if you said you hadn't checked him out a few times, but never acted on it. The two of you were friends and you’d assumed he didn't think much else of you.

Mina grabs the phone from your hands, entering in your passcode (how did she know it?!) and reading the texts. Her eyes blow open, pinching the screen to zoom in on the photo. You scramble to grab the phone back to quit her oogling as she's squealing with glee.

"Holy shit!" she yells. "Accident my ass, Blasty. Damn, that's hot."

"Mina! Keep your voice down," you beg, locking the screen to prevent anyone else from seeing.

"No one is listening over this music," she squawks, punching you lightly in the arm. "Come back to us soon you minx!"

And with that, she leaves you at the bar, returning to the dance circle with the rest of your girlfriends. Your phone vibrates a few more times in your hand and recaptures your attention.

[katsuki] thought you'd like a distraction [katsuki] shit, if this is weird, just tell me and i'll fuck off [katsuki] i should've just asked instead

So it was on purpose. You swallow hard as you shakily type out your reply, trying to keep your cool.

[you] it's not weird, what made you think of me? [katsuki] mina wouldn't shut the fuck up about you earlier. sent me pictures of you in the dress you have on, couldn't get it outta my head

When the fuck did Mina do that?! You had thought she was taking pictures of herself earlier at your apartment. That sneaky bitch!

[you] goddammit mina, i'm sorry about her. why would she send them to you?

You see the typing indicator pop up and disappear a few times before his response arrives.

[katsuki] you know how she is, playing matchmaker and shit with everybody [katsuki] honestly? i'm not mad about it [you] oh? [you] so that's why you sent it to me. hell of a pickup line kats [katsuki] fuck off [katsuki] i can't deny that you're gorgeous [you] yeah? feelings mutual

Your face is burning hot, sitting at the bar in disbelief that Bakugo's flirting with you. And it was all because he was infatuated with what you're wearing? He couldn't get it out of his head?

You're still debating on whether you want to yell at or thank Mina for igniting this fire. [katsuki] where are you right now? [you] sitting at the bar, some club in the city

Another picture is delivered to you on screen and has your jaw dropping to the floor.

The picture is closer to his face this time, cut off at his cheekbones and barely illuminated as Bakugo's fingers are parted over his mouth. His tongue is lazily hanging above his bottom lip with a string of salvia attached to one of his fingers.

Your legs twitch as you bite your lip, imagining his face slotted between your thighs.

[you] holy shit, katsuki...fuck [katsuki] find a bathroom or some dark corner [katsuki] there's more where that came from. just say the word, princess

The pet name is doing things to you that you didn't think was possible. Your overloaded with a sudden rush of arousal, heat twisting in your belly at his promise. Grabbing your bag from the chair, you bolt to the nearest bathroom and lock the door behind you. Luckily, this club's on the nicer side, the bathroom not being as scummy as you thought it would be. You set your things on the counter and grab your phone, turning the camera on and pointing it in the mirror.

If that's how he wanted to play? You could play right back.

[you] that deserves a reward

The photo attached shows your breast pushed closed together, daring to spill out of the top of your dress and wearing the poutiest lip you could muster.

Bakugo’s response is immediate.

[katsuki] goddamn, your tits look amazing in that dress [you] would you believe me if i said they look better out of it?

You turn the camera back on and click the record button, sensually slipping the top of your dress down and letting your breasts loosely lay over the bust. Your nipples are pebbled from the rousing desire flowing through you, making them standing perfectly at attention. You give the camera a wink and squeeze one of your breasts playfully. Once you're happy with the video, you send it with no hesitation and readjust your dress. [katsuki] holy fuck [katsuki] you alone? That's not the response you expected, but you roll with it. [you] yeah, one person bathroom

- Incoming Call: Katsuki Bakugo -

You stare at the contact screen for a few seconds before picking up.

"Hey Kat," you greet, nervousness wracking your body, the thrill of the situation making your heart flutter.

"I wanted 'ta hear your voice instead," Bakugo groans, heavy breaths following his words. "I never thought you'd...want to do this with me."

You can't help but laugh under your breath. "Never thought you wanted to, either."

You're thankful that your not drunk off your ass after all - you want to remember this. You're tipsy, but coherent.

And turned on to high heaven.

Bakugo breaks the silence before you cut him off. "I know you're fresh outta-"

"Katsuki, he's not worth mentioning. I'm focused on you right now."

"Yeah? Tell me more."

"I'd love to see what you're hiding under those sweats, Dynamight. I'm practically a puddle just thinking about it. How do you think my lips would look wrapped around you?"

You can hear Bakugo exhale into the phone and groan. He tries to hide it, but fails miserably.

"Cat got your tongue, huh? Too forward?"

"N-no. It's fuckin' hot. Shit," he whispers with baited breath. "God, what club are you at again?"

"The one near Shibuya station. Crystal Crown, I think. Why?"

There's a pause before you hear various clicks and a beep or two from his side before he answers.

"Changed my mind, this ain't happenin' over the phone the first time. You're 15 minutes from my place, I'm comin' to get ya."

You can feel your panties soak from your excitement, clenching at the thought of him just ravaging you in his car and not being able to make it back to his apartment before touching you like a man starved.

"Coming to sweep me off my feet or to fuck my brains out?" The words spill from your lips before you can stop them, but you don’t regret it when you hear Bakugo moan in response - loudly.

"Fuckin’ - have you been stockpilin’ this shit ‘ta say to me?" He laughs. “You’re gonna kill me before I leave the damn apartment.”

“Didn’t think you’d be so easy to play with,” you joke playfully, twirling a piece of your hair in your fingers. “Better get here before I change my mind, find some other rebound in this stupid club.”

“I’ll be your fuckin’ rebound any day of the week, sweetheart. Ain’t no guy in that building better than me.”

His confidence makes it difficult to bite back the moan in your throat.

“Guess you need to prove it. Get your ass over here, I’ll be out front. You better be wearing those sweats.”

You’re about to hang up when you hear Bakugo say something quietly, too muted for you to make out right away.

“Kats?”

He clears his throat before repeating himself, his voice soft and low. “You sure y’want this? I don’t wanna fuck anythin’ up or whatever.”

“You won’t fuck anything up, nothing wrong with friends fucking with no strings attached. I already flashed my tits at you, no turning back now.”

You subtly hear him let go of the breath he was holding and a hollow chuckle, sounding relieved at your answer.

“Good. See ya soon.”

The line ends with a click, leaving you with your thoughts while staring in the bathroom mirror. You didn’t realize how badly you’ve been shaking until you attempt to walk, unexpectedly stumbling like a baby deer on your heels. Once you gather yourself, you exit the bathroom and hurry over to the dance floor. Mina spots you, rolling her eyes and placing her hands on her hips when you approach the group.

“Where the hell have you been?!” She shouts over the music. “I was starting to think you died in there.”

“I’m heading home,” you say while waving your hand, brushing away her worries.

“Oh…oh my god. Is Bakugo coming to get you?!”

“Mina!”

Jiro and Uraraka turn in your direction, yelling in unison. “Bakugo?!?!”

You palm your face, desperately attempting to hide your flared cheeks as the girls squeal and cheer for you.

“Stop it! We’re still just friends!”

Mina clicks her tongue. “Uh-huh. That’s what I said about Kiri a year ago, and now look at us!”

“You gotta let us know how it goes,” Uraraka winks, elbowing you in the rib. "Rumor has it he lives up to his hero name in bed."

Before the interrogation continues, you back away from the group with a smile and turn for the entrance. You slide through the doors and slip out onto the sidewalk and see Bakugo parked out front, smiling as his eyes spot you on the busy street.

Has he ever smiled at you like that before?

He gets out of the car and walks around to greet you.

“Hey Katsu-”

Before you can process what’s happening, Bakugo’s got one hand on your waist and the other on the back of your neck. He gently leans you against the car as he swoops down to place a featherlight kiss to your lips. You squeak before melting into him, wrapping your arms around his neck. Sparks are flying through your whole body - a sensation you haven’t felt for a long time. When the two of you part, his eyes are half-lidded, cheeks flushed and lips parted with shallow breaths.

“Ready to go?” He asks, removing the hand from your neck and stroking your cheek with his thumb. Your heart is in your throat, strangling any words you try to say, so instead, you just nod ‘yes.’ Bakugo walks you to the passenger side and opens the door for you, just like any other time you’ve hung out. When he shuts the door and goes to walk to the drivers side, you finally notice he’s wearing the damn grey sweatpants.

The entire drive back to his place, Bakugo’s hand doesn’t leave your thigh. His fingers danced over your skin, playing with the hem of your dress and gingerly squeezing the plush surface every so often. You return the favor, walking your fingers up the inside of his thigh a few times, stopping short of the growing tent in his sweats. Pulling up to his apartment complex seems to take the breath out of both of you. He turns the car off and you sit idly in silence, it's only a minute or two, but feels like a lifetime.

Bakugo gets out first, jogging over to your side to open your door. He takes your hand as you stand, closing the door behind you and swiftly sweeping you off your feet into his arms, bridal style.

"Wow, do all the girls you bring home get this treatment?" you tease, planting a kiss on his warm cheek.

"Never had the pleasure of bringin' a princess home, so no."

That shuts you up and makes you quiver in his hold.

"I'm honored, sir Dynamight. Take me to your castle!" You swoon, dramatically leaning back with a hand over your head.

Bakugo shakes his head and grins, starting to jog through the parking lot and up the stairs with you. You hold onto his shoulders while giggling uncontrollably, ecstatic to see where the night takes you.

One things for certain - you haven't thought about your ex once. And you look forward to keeping it that way.

tags; @slayfics @maddietries

#bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n #bakugo smut #bakugo fluff #katsuki bakugo #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou #bnha bakugo #katsuki bakugou x reader #my hero academia smut #☆.rei writes #☆.from the stars

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ariascoven · 1 month ago

Text

⟡ LOST BUNNY PT.2

PAIRING : salem!agatha harkness x reader

CONTENT / WARNINGS : female reader. petnames (bunny, dear, darling). soft agatha. mentions of homophobia.

WORD COUNT : 4.3k

A/N : sorry for not posting for i-don't-know-how-long, i hate everything i write these days lmao this has been sitting on my drafts for ages until i decided to let it out of the cave. i mostly have the energy to make bots as they're waayyyy shorter than fics so i end up making a bunch, sorry

MY MASTERLIST | PART ONE | C.AI BOT

The sound of birds happily chirping filled your ears the moment you stepped outside of your small, humble little home while carrying your picnic basket. Your mother had asked you to go fetch some apples for the pie she planned on making. Somehow, she managed to get all the ingredients needed beforehand, but forgot the damned apples — for an apple pie. At least you knew where your forgetful nature came from.

As you wandered through the woods in silence, you couldn't help but remember your first and last encounter with Agatha Harkness. A hidden, secret part of you buried deep within your being hoped, perhaps even wished that you would bump into the witch again, but your dreams never became reality. During every mind clearing stroll you took at night, your eyes darted around anxiously, scanning the surroundings and trying to find the brunette with a smug grin on her face, her pretty face illuminated by the moonlight and stars above. If anyone saw you in that state, they would assume you were afraid of what lurked in the dark, when in reality you were looking for Salem’s most feared witch.

It was ridiculous, to say the least. Months had passed ever since the unexpected meeting occured, it was now summer and the snow you had stepped on in the company of the young witch had melted completely ages ago. But the feeling of her hands on your waist seemed to have burned onto your skin, making it impossible to forget the warmth of her touch. You could still feel her, hear her... hell, you could still smell her. You often tried to convince yourself that she had put a spell on you that day, and that you were not absolutely smitten. But you knew the truth, no matter how much you didn't want to admit it — you were utterly fucked. You had met her once and had a brief conversation that was infuriating, to say the least, and that was enough to make you fall. Well, she also gave you a coat.

It might be important to note that your plan to make up an excuse about the piece of clothing to tell your mother failed completely. You weren't able to come up with anything before you reached the worn out door of your house, where you were met with the familiar sight of an upset old lady that noticed her daughter was missing from the warmth of her bed hours ago and decided to wait for the rebellious creature and demand an explanation. You had no friends, so you couldn't say it was a gift from one. For obvious reasons, you couldn't say you had bought it yourself as your mother knew that in your condition, buying a great coat like the one you had on was nothing but an impossible, silly dream.

So you had no choice but tell her the truth you wished to keep hidden, all of it. You spent almost a whole hour sitting on a chair, your head downcast shamefully as your mother scolded you, her voice laced with nothing but pure disappointment and annoyance. “She's a witch, for God's sake! She killed her own mother and the rest of her coven! Why would you even look her way? And even more accept this so-called gift?” However, she allowed you to keep the coat, knowing it was warmer and better quality than your entire wardrobe combined. Filled with guilt and shame, you gave your dear old mother a kiss on the forehead and assured her you would keep your distance if you ever stumbled upon the witch again. What a lie.

Crouched down picking a few berries you had found, you hummed a random tune you had never heard before. The berries were not what your mother had asked of you, but you shrugged it off, allowed to easily fetch the apples afterwards. The basket was big enough to fit all without a problem, and extra fruit was never a problem — you were sure your mother would be excited to make something out of the berries, anyway. You let out a satisfied hum at the amount you had picked, ascending from the crouching position. When you turned around, a yelp escaped your lips the moment you saw her. “Agatha!” Your eyes were comically wide as you exclaimed, face growing warmer at the realization you weren't even able to try and hide your excitement.

“Hello, bunny. You seem pleased to see me.” God, the way you missed her voice was nothing but pathetic. You let out a huff and rolled your eyes in a failed attempt to seem unbothered, but unfortunately, you were not an actress. A smirk appeared on the brunette’s face when she took notice of the subtle pink dusting your cheeks. “Ah, there is no need to respond. Not with that adorable blush saying everything.” When you looked up at her, your bottom lip was curled up ever so slightly, forming an adorable pout that made Agatha feel unwanted things — the flutter in her stomach being one of them, for example.

She stepped closer to you until the tips of your boots were touching hers, hand reaching up to rub her thumb across your bottom lip in a gentle caress. Almost instinctively and definitely against your will, your mouth fell open at the touch. You wished you could pull away and keep your distance from her, there was nothing you wished more. But something about the young woman pulled you in like a moth to a flame — a dangerously enchanting flame that made you crave more of its touch, no matter how much it threatened to burn and swallow you whole.

“How did you find me?” Your question came out as a breathless sound and you cursed yourself mentally at the poor attempt to hide the undeniable shakiness in your voice. Your knuckles hurt from the way you were gripping the basket as you tried to mask how much you were trembling — and you weren't entirely sure why. Maybe from excitement. Maybe from anxiety. Maybe from a mix of both. You noticed the way Agatha’s gaze seemed to search for yours more and more insistently the longer you avoided eye contact. She opened her mouth to respond with what you expected to be another snarky remark of hers, but she faltered, mouth quickly closing.

However, she didn't take much time to compose herself, that wicked and familiar grin returning to her lips and sending shivers down your spine. Considering how surprisingly hot the weather was during the summer, Agatha’s fingers remained cold as she tilted your chin up — freezing, even. And exactly the way you remembered them to be. You lost count of how many times you had harshly rubbed your sponge against the places she had touched on your body during your long baths, trying everything and anything you possibly could to make the memories disappear from your mind. But you kept thinking back at it whenever the chance appeared and you were ashamed to admit, even to yourself, how much you wanted her.

Considering how hot it was during the summer, Agatha’s fingers remained surprisingly cold as she tilted your chin up — freezing, even. Exactly the way you remembered. You lost count of how many times you harshly rubbed your sponge on the places she had touched on your body during your baths, trying everything and anything you possibly could to make the memories disappear from your mind. But you kept thinking back at it whenever the chance appeared. Before bed, waking up, while taking strolls around the town but mostly, in the woods you had your first meeting at. You were ashamed to admit, even to yourself, how much you wanted her.

“What? You think I found you because I wanted to?” She replied, the mocking evident in the tone of her voice and her raised eyebrow. With the proximity between your faces, you could almost taste the sarcasm that dripped from her lips. “It was simply a funny coincidence, my dear.” Your eyes scanned her face for any signs of honesty and widened the moment she leaned closer, her nose touching yours. The only thing you were able to do was hold your breath and anticipate her next move.

There was no way she was going to kiss you, right? Although the answer was pretty much clear, you couldn't help the flicker of disappointment that flashed through your eyes when all she did was chuckle low in her throat and pull away, taking a few steps backwards to put some sort of distance between your bodies. It was funny, the way you wanted that distance so badly at first but now it brought a frown so big to your face that missing it wasn't even a possibility.

Your eyes followed her gaze as she glanced down and towards the basket your hands were clutching. Or rather, the fingers that were a deep shade of red, knuckles turning white from the sheer force you put into holding the small object out of nervousness without even realizing it. You hadn't even realized the way you could barely feel your hands due to the gesture. You let out a loud groan full of frustration, deciding it was a better idea to hang it onto your arm instead of gripping it. Agatha’s curious (or rather, nosy) eyes focused on the content inside of the basket. “Berries…” She muttered quietly, and you weren't sure if she meant for you to hear it.

“Yes, berries.” You repeated as you eyed her curiously, her gaze never faltering from the fruits. It should be illegal to say Agatha Harkness looked adorable, but she did. Her unusual demeanor and sparkling eyes made you tilt your head aside as if the simple gesture would help you solve the current mystery — why would an evil witch become so seemingly excited over some stupid berries? You clicked your tongue in thought before grabbing a few and putting your hand out. “Do you…?” You don't finish the sentence, instead looking at your palm then back at Agatha as you trailed off. There was a pause. Then, she nodded, snatching the fruits from your hands and shoving them down her mouth. Your eyes widened at her enthusiasm, but the surprise soon turned into amusement and you let out a small chuckle, shaking your head.

Agatha’s gaze moved back up towards you, and it was difficult to take her seriously with the way her eyebrows were furrowed and lips were stained red from the berries — like a child who is still learning how to eat properly. “What are you laughing at?” She almost growled. It was clear to see that the witch was trying to seem menacing and scary, as she always did. But unfortunately for her, it seems looking evil when your eyes are shining with happiness while your mouth is full is incredibly hard. You waved a dismissive hand and shook your head once more as your giggles died down, a sigh falling from your lips. She looked at you with suspicion, reaching up to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. Your face scrunched up slightly. “What?” She questioned, sounding rather annoyed.

“You just don't know how to not make a mess, huh?” You nagged with the faintest hint of a smirk dancing on your lips as you grabbed the checkered fabric your mother had given you to cover the fruit basket and that was long forgotten. You handed it to her — handed as in shoved it into her hand and gestured towards her mouth with a wave of your hand. “Clean that up, you are looking more like a toddler rather than a feared witch.” The sight of Agatha Harkness herself frowning pathetically was the most amusing thing you had ever seen in your life. You pushed away the thoughts of how cute she looked as you watched her clean her lips and cheeks grumpily. When she tried to give the piece of fabric back to you, you pushed it back against her chest. “Keep it. As a treat.” You joked, continuing your mission to find apples for your mother’s pie.

Agatha snickered and her lips curled up into an amused smirk at your comfortableness in teasing her, being ao used to people running away from her for simply being her. She stayed behind and watched as your figure continued the path, the dark shade of purple of her dress contrasting with the hint of red from the fabric you gave her, poking out of her pocket after she had folded it lazily and shoved it there. For Agatha’s immense displeasure, you were an incredibly fast walker, but she quickly caught up to you.

Her arms were behind her back and she whistled in feigned innocence, strolling just a few steps behind you. You rolled your eyes as you heard the melody, but a smile was playing on your lips. Your mother would kill you if she found out about this, about you hanging out with the woman you promised her to keep your distance from. You quickly pushed those thoughts away the moment you saw the apple trees ahead, full of life and covered in sweetness. As you stepped closer, a gasp fell from your lips at how beautifully red the fruits looked. “Ah, mother will love those!” You exclaimed happily, mostly to yourself, an arm stretching to grab the apples that were in a level where you could reach.

Harkness grabbed one of the juicy fruits as well, bringing it to her nose and inhaling the marvelous scent with an approving hum. “These look delicious. You said your mother will love them?” She raised an eyebrow with curiosity-filled eyes, leaning back against the tree nonchalantly and taking a bite out of the apple she held in her hand. You hummed and nodded in agreement, side eyeing her for just a split second as you continued to fill the basket. “Well, do you think your mother would be so kind as to spare me some apples?” She said playfully, batting her eyelashes in a dramatic manner. You scoffed.

“Well, my mother made me promise I would never talk to you again. Want to take a guess?” You didn't look at her as you spoke, but you could practically see the frown on her face with the way she let out a long, annoyed hum. “Don't take it personally, she would make me promise to stay away from any witch ever.” You tried to sugarcoat it, even though you knew she probably didn't care at all. There was a pause.

Without a word, she stared at you with suspicious interest, those icy blue orbs roaming over your figure as she studied you with narrowed eyes, seemingly trying to find the final piece of a puzzle she longed to solve. “Mind telling me why you are breaking the promise you made to your dear mother, then?” The question came out quietly, as if it was a secret that no one other than you two were allowed to hear. Your movements faltered, hand freezing just as your fingers had wrapped around the last apple that was on your reaching level. You cleared your throat, finally snatching the fruit and shoving it inside the picnic basket.

“I guess,” you began, the almost whispered words leaving your lips slowly as you contemplated what you should say. “Your company doesn't bother me. Much.” You looked her way as you put emphasis on the last part, which elicited a chuckle from her. The brunette observed as you moved next to her and leaned against the tree before sliding down until you were sitting on the grass. You placed the basket on your lap and stretched out your legs with a long and loud groan.

After a moment, Agatha repeated your movement and plopped down onto the ground while holding her skirt securely. Your gaze fell upon the fabric you had given her poking out of the pocket of her dress and then moved up back to her face. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw her already staring at you, her palm supporting her chin as her elbow rested on top of her knees, which were pulled against her chest. Your mind wandered back to your first encounter, in which she had said she wasn't an ordinary girl, nor like you. But seeing her like this, so calm and quiet, she really did look like just an ordinary 18 year old girl.

A hand dived inside the basket and grabbed a few more berries before handing them to Agatha, who gratefully accepted the offer. An unexpectedly comfortable silence washed over the two of you as the witch ate calmly — this time, taking her time to savor the sweet taste. The gentle breeze made her hair sway subtly, and you thought the sight was breathtaking. Fists clenched around the fabric of your skirt as you tried to hold back from the sudden urge to just… touch her. Make sure she was real, that she really was there with you. Since you never saw the young woman after your first encounter, your mind had became a mess of thoughts as you wondered if what happened in the woods actually did happen or was just a fever dream — a fever dream that felt a bit too real.

“Why so many apples, anyway?” The sound of her voice breaking the soothing silence forced you to come back to reality and turn to face her, confusion splattered across your features. She gestured to the basket with a nod of her head, noticing the way you looked lost in thought as she handed you the last berry she had in her hand. “So many apples. Are you baking something?” She didn't miss the way you took and ate the fruit in agonizingly slow movements, as if you were doing anything to not answer the question. She didn't blame you, she was used to it — and she didn't miss the hint of regret that flashed through your eyes when you mentioned your mother earlier. People had always warned you, saying that you should be careful when giving any information to witches, no matter how unimportant it might be. But before she could open her mouth to say you didn't need to give her an answer, you finally spoke up.

“My mother is.” You answered simply, the sound of your voice coming out as a quiet, almost shameful confession as you leaned your head back against the tree and looked up at the leaves hanging from the branches above. “I'm a disaster.” She raised a brow at your statement, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she waited for you to give more details. You looked at her and let out a small giggle. “I'm not exaggerating — I wish I was, but I'm literally banned from the kitchen at home.” The loud laughter that escaped the witch’s lips as she threw her head back forced a smile out of you, the sound making something flutter inside you.

“You— oh, goodness! Are you serious?” She panted out between giggles and laughed even more after you nodded in confirmation, her hand moving to clutch her side as she felt the threat of a cramp forming. “I'm gonna get a side cramp!”

There was only one word to describe your state as you watched the scene unfolding in front of you, and that word was fascinated. Was it weird to be obsessed with someone's laugh? Maybe it was, maybe you were weird, after all. But you simply couldn't help it, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners as the cutest sound left her lips. The so-called evil witch, Agatha Harkness, rather a monster than a woman, a girl, even, that had no feelings nor a heart, laughing so beautifully. You lost count of how many beats your heart skipped, pink lips parting in pure awe. God, you wished you could paint her at that moment, eyes scanning over her features in an attempt to memorize it. She seemed to notice your behavior, her laughter dying down as her face twisted into an intrigued expression. You felt a blush dusting your cheeks at being caught, a shy smile appearing on your face before you looked away, gaze focusing on the ground instead.

She tilted her head to the side then scooted closer to you, so close you could feel her leg resting comfortably against yours. You felt your cheeks heat up at the simple touch, and you mentally cursed yourself for being so easily affected by the woman — although a part of you knew anyone would be if they were in your shoes. Her face leaned closer to yours as she searched for your eyes, and when they met hers, she smiled. It made your heart skip several beats. It wasn't her usual smug grin or teasing smirk, no. It was a genuine and beautiful smile, and you were sure you could die happily at that moment, with the sight in front of you as the last thing you saw before the curtains closed. “You're so shy all of a sudden. Was it something I did, darling?”

Darling. God, the sweet names she called you made you crave her even more. You wondered if she only called you those things, or if she did it with everyone, ignoring the way you hated the simple thought of the second option being correct. “It's just—” you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, stopping yourself from speaking any further. More silence. Your body was set on fire when the familiar coldness of her fingers lingered against your skin as she brushed a lost strand of hair behind your ear, and you noticed the way she seemed to touch you for a bit longer than considered necessary. You cleared your throat, feeling a lump forming. “Your laugh.” You said simply, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

She let out an amused, soft chuckle. “Didn't expect to hear me laugh, hm?” She asked teasingly, her hand now resting on your shoulder.

“Didn't expect to like the sound of it this much.” Crap. Your eyes widened as soon as the unwanted words left your mouth against your will.

Agatha looked stunned, perfectly shaped eyebrows shooting up in pure surprise. It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever told her in ages — perhaps, even in her entire life. You couldn't believe your eyes as you took notice of the light, almost unnoticeable shade of pink that appeared on Agatha’s cheeks. The hand on your shoulder slid down your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps on its wake. It settled next to your own hand that rested on top of the basket laying on your lap. Your whole body tingled when her pinky brushed against yours in a teasing touch. You finally had the courage to look up at Agatha again, butterflies forming on your stomach at the way your gazes met and the small, maybe shy smile that she sent your way. Your hand was shaking with nervousness, but that wasn't enough to stop you from linking your pinky with hers.

A small gasp escaped from Agatha’s lips at the gentle gesture, gaze darting down to your entwined fingers. The moment your head came to rest on her shoulder was the moment the witch realized that you would be the death of her — but she would never complain, laying her head against yours. You stayed like that for what seemed to be an eternity, simply relishing in each other’s company and touch, the comfortable silence from earlier making an appearance once again. “To be fair with you, I didn't expect to enjoy your company as much, either.” She finally broke the silence, voice sounding so soft it was hard to believe it came from Agatha Harkness herself. Your mind was racing and heart thumping against your chest so fast you really thought you would have a heart attack for a split moment.

That's when you remembered why you had even left your house that day — apples, pie, your mother who awaited you at home. You hesitated before breaking the contact and ascending from the ground, dusting off the skirt of your dress. Agatha frowned at the lost touch and repeated the movements with a hint of annoyance. The sun was starting to set and your lips pursed into a firm line upon realization you would get a scolding when you got back home. “It's getting late, Agatha. I should really go now. Mother would be furious if I took any longer.” The pang of sadness and disappointment at the words leaving your own lips stung like hell. Realizing Agatha wasn't going to say anything in response, just staring at you with an unreadable expression on her face, you stepped closer to her and pressed a soft, lingering kiss on the soft skin of her cheek.

You turned on your heels and started walking away, fighting the urge to glance back over your shoulder, knowing that looking at her would make you turn back around. What if it took even longer to see the witch again than the first time did? What if your mother found out? Not only would you feel her anger for breaking your promise, she would be even angrier at the way you were so affectionate with another woman. You had mentioned your attraction towards women to her briefly once, but quickly learned to never do it again and pretend it was just a mistake, something your confused mind made you believe was real. But it never went away, and it never would. But you hid yourself with bitterness, being the good example of a daughter you always had been. The sound of the familiar voice snapped you away from your thoughts, body whipping around to face the young woman.

“Shall I see you again?” Her voice was uncharacteristically quiet as she questioned and took a small, hesitating step forward, which did nothing to the still significant distance between the two of you. You couldn't help the bright smile that formed on your face, nodding enthusiastically in response. She smiled back, a hint of something that looked like relief playing across her features. The realization made you feel special, worthy.

“Tomorrow, same place and time?” Agatha’s heart raced at your words and she nodded slowly, trying the best she could to hide her happiness. Never in her life did she expect to be smitten by a woman she met twice. But, oh, she was. Unbeknownst to you, during your time away, Agatha also couldn't stop thinking about you. Her mind wandered back to your first encounter more times than she could count, and knowing she would see you again filled her with an unfamiliar sense of happiness. She couldn't wait to see you again, waving goodbye even as you turned your back to her.

#written for aria’s coven ♡#agatha harkness x reader #marvel x reader #kathryn hahn x reader #marvel #agatha all along #wandavision #agatha harkness #wlw fanfic #female reader #salem agatha harkness

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