#all in all a show with good messages about life and a good cast | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

joelsrose · 7 days ago

Text

Feels Right (Part 2)

warninnggssss omg stepdad!joel smut - this is not everyones cup of tea so pls pls be warned also as always 18+ for smut, otherwise to the of age freaks pls enjoyy hehhehe

Part 1 here

You woke in your childhood bed with the morning light slanting through the blinds, casting soft stripes across the room like it hadn’t witnessed sin just hours before, like everything was still innocent and untouched—but the moment your thighs shifted beneath the sheets, the truth came flooding back, thick and hot and humiliating in the most delicious way. The slickness clinging to your skin, the soaked-through panties that had dried against you uncomfortably, the faint ache between your legs—it wasn’t a dream.

Joel had been there. He’d sat at the foot of your bed, legs spread, hands clasped between them like he was just resting after a long day, but there had been nothing casual about the way he looked at you, nothing accidental in the way his voice dropped low and coaxing, rough as gravel and honeyed with want. He hadn’t stumbled into anything, hadn’t walked in by mistake or tried to back out—no, he’d stayed, eyes dark and heavy, and whispered things that made your body move before your brain could catch up. “Go on, sweetheart,” he’d said, voice all soft encouragement and something unspoken underneath, “Don’t gotta be shy. Not with me. Show me how you do it when you think no one’s listenin’.”

And God help you, you had.

Your hand had slipped between your thighs with a trembling boldness, fingers slicking through your folds as Joel watched, never blinking, never flinching, like he’d been waiting his whole life to see you like that—open, needy, and doing exactly what he told you to. And when you’d come—legs shaking, breath caught in your throat, your stepfather murmuring “that’s it, that’s my girl” like it meant something—you hadn’t even thought to be ashamed.

You wanted him to see. You wanted to be good for him. You wanted more.

And now, in the stillness of morning, wrapped in the scent of your own arousal and the ghost of his voice in your ear, you knew exactly what had happened—and worse, you knew it wasn’t the end.

You checked your phone with trembling fingers, the screen lighting up with a simple message from your mother—“Gone to the shops. Back soon x”

You padded down the stairs slowly, barefoot and quiet, every creak of the wood beneath your feet sounding deafening in the silence. You didn’t know what you were hoping for—maybe that he’d gone with her like he always did, like he should’ve, and this whole thing could stay where it belonged, suspended in the fog of last night. You could pretend he hadn’t watched you touch yourself in the bed where you used to fall asleep clutching stuffed animals, pretend he hadn’t sat there in the shadows with his big hands gripping the edge of the mattress like he was fighting off a goddamn primal urge, coaxing you through it like a man on the edge of something permanent and wrong.

But the minute you reached the bottom of the stairs, you knew.

You rounded the corner cautiously, the hem of your cotton shorts brushing against your thighs, heart thudding like a secret against your ribs, and there he was—Joel—sitting on the edge of the worn leather couch like nothing had happened, one ankle crossed over the other, newspaper draped casually across his lap, a half-drunk mug of coffee in his hand, steam curling lazily into the morning air. The television was on, low and distant, casting muted flashes of color across the lines of his face, but he wasn’t watching it—not really. He was still, thoughtful, his eyes scanning the page with that quiet, deliberate focus you’d always associated with him, like the world couldn’t rush him if it tried.

You were about to retreat, feet moving in silent panic, the urge to flee crawling up your spine like something instinctual and animal—because how the hell were you supposed to look him in the eye after what you’d done, after what he’d said, after the way your body had arched for him like it was his to command? But before you could slip away, his voice rang out, smooth and low, laced with something unreadable.

“Good mornin’,” he said, not lifting his head, just glancing up at you from over the rim of his glasses with those tired, dark eyes that always saw more than they should, always made you feel like you were stripped bare even when fully clothed. He took a slow sip of his coffee, never breaking eye contact, the corner of his mouth twitching just slightly as he swallowed and set the mug down on the side table with a soft clink, the sound delicate and final, like punctuation to a thought he hadn’t said out loud.

Your breath caught, caught hard, because there was nothing casual in the way he looked at you—not with that slow, lingering gaze that flicked down to your bare legs and then back up again, nothing rushed, nothing hidden. He didn’t smile. He didn’t smirk. He just watched, like he was waiting to see what you’d do now, standing in front of him in your little top and sleep-rumpled hair, trembling under the weight of everything that had passed between you in the dark.

And all you could do was stare back, throat dry, knees unsteady, wondering how the hell you were supposed to survive being in the same room with him—when every part of your body remembered what it felt like to come apart just from the sound of his voice.

You stood there frozen in the doorway, your fingers curling around the hem of your shirt like it might anchor you, like it could hide the fact that your entire body was thrumming with something hot and guilty and unspeakably alive. “Hi—good morning,” you managed, your voice a little too light, a little too breathy. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, cheeks warm, eyes flicking anywhere but his—until they landed on his coffee mug, the newspaper, the soft flicker of the TV, the utterly normalcy of it all, which only made the heat in your belly twist harder.

“I thought you went to the shops,” you said, quieter now, like maybe if you kept your voice soft enough, he wouldn’t hear the way your heart was pounding, wouldn’t notice the nervous tremble in your fingers or the shameful press of your thighs beneath your cotton shorts. Your words hovered in the space between you, light as dust, but the weight of them was unbearable, full of everything unspoken—you shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t want you, we shouldn’t have crossed that line, but we did, didn’t we?

Joel’s eyes never left you. He leaned back slowly against the couch, the leather groaning under his weight, one arm draping over the backrest like he had all the time in the world, like he knew exactly what you were thinking and was content to let you squirm in the silence. His glasses slid a little lower down the bridge of his nose, and he looked at you over the rim with that same unreadable gaze, calm and steady and devastatingly male.

“Didn’t feel like goin’,” he said finally, voice low and warm, rough like gravel softened by honey. “Figured your mama’d be fine on her own.”

And the way he said it—casual, easy, like it was the most natural thing in the world—only made your stomach drop, because it wasn’t natural. It wasn’t normal. Nothing about this morning was.

“Christ, darlin’,” he murmured, setting his mug aside with a quiet clink that felt far too loud in the stillness between you, his voice cutting through the room with that deep, familiar drawl that always felt like it came from somewhere lower than his chest, like it was carved out of something older, heavier, more dangerous. He tilted his head just enough to look at you fully, brows drawn slightly in concern—or maybe curiosity—his gaze sweeping over you in that slow, deliberate way of his, the kind that always made your skin heat and your breath catch even when he didn’t say a word. “You’re lookin’ at me like you’re scared of me.”

You swallowed hard, the knot in your throat tightening as you shifted in place, arms crossed like a weak shield, but your voice—though soft—held no hesitation. “I’m not scared,” you murmured, eyes flicking up to meet his, wide and steady, even if your pulse was doing somersaults under your skin. And it was true—you weren’t scared. You were wired, rattling with nerves and guilt and something molten that pooled low in your belly, but you weren’t afraid. Not of him.

Joel watched you for a moment longer, something unreadable flashing behind those tired eyes of his, and then he exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders melting just a fraction. “Good,” he said, and the word came out more like a rumble, warm and rough like it had to scrape its way out of him. He folded the newspaper in half with careful fingers, set it down beside him, and leaned back in the couch like he owned the whole room, legs spread just slightly, one hand resting across his thigh, the other reaching out—beckoning, calling, commanding—with the faintest curl of his fingers.

“C’mere.”

Simple. Low. Quiet. And yet it landed like a thunderclap in your chest.

Your breath stuttered, and for a second, you didn’t move—not because you were unsure, but because you could feel the weight of the moment shift, like the floor had tilted beneath you.

He noticed your hesitation, of course he did—he noticed everything—and like he always did, Joel leaned forward with the kind of slow, deliberate ease that made the room feel smaller, hotter, heavier with something unspoken, his elbows resting on his knees as his voice dipped into that low, husky register that always managed to melt your spine. “Come on, babygirl,” he hummed, the nickname thick with heat and affection, a gentle tease soaked in sin, his mouth curling just slightly as he let the words stretch slow and lazy in his throat, “don’t make me beg.”

And God, how did he say things like that—so casual, so sweet, so devastating—like he didn’t know what it did to you, like he didn’t already have you falling apart with just a look?

You walked toward him then, your legs stiff and uncertain, your breath shallow, like every step toward that couch was pulling you deeper into some dream you weren’t sure how to wake from. You felt like a deer stumbling through tall grass—skittish, wide-eyed, clumsy in your own skin—and it wasn’t who you were. You weren’t some blushing, nervous little thing who forgot how to speak around men, but around Joel, everything in your brain went soft and slow, turned to syrup and static, like nothing else mattered except the space between you and the heat in his eyes.

When you finally reached him and stopped, unsure and awkward with your arms crossed protectively in front of your chest, Joel looked up at you like he was taking in a sunrise—like he had all the time in the world to just sit there and look at you—and you felt your breath catch all over again. His face, weathered and beautiful, every line carved with time and experience, his deep brown eyes impossibly warm, a shade that always made your knees weak, and that beard, thick and soft and shadowing the hard line of his jaw—he was so handsome it hurt. And then his hands, those big, capable hands, reached for you like he had a right to, settling on your hips with a quiet sort of confidence, thumbs rubbing slow, absent circles through the fabric of your shorts, grounding you, claiming you, calming you—and you watched them, stared like you were hypnotized, lips parting, brain empty.

“How’d you sleep?” he murmured, and his voice wasn’t teasing now, just gentle, intimate, the words curling against your skin like a blanket fresh from the dryer.

And just like that, the girl who had mouthed off her whole life, who’d never backed down from anything, was reduced to a blushing, bashful mess beneath the weight of his gaze. You couldn’t even meet his eyes. Your cheeks burned, your lashes fluttered, and something soft and shaky caught in your throat, because somehow this man—your mother’s husband, for God’s sake—had undone you completely.

Joel tilted his head then, smiling like he knew, like he loved it, that slow, crooked smile full of patience and quiet promise, and you swore the room spun just a little.

“You’re real pretty when you’re shy,” he murmured, almost to himself, almost like it was a secret meant for no one but the space between your bodies.

“You… you can’t say that,” you murmured, the words slipping from your mouth in a whisper so soft it felt like they barely existed, your eyes still cast down, lashes lowered as if that might soften the weight of everything hanging in the space between you. Your voice was tight, caught somewhere between protest and plea, the heat in your cheeks blooming all over again as his hands stayed firm on your hips, thumbs brushing in slow, easy circles like he hadn’t just shattered the fragile line between right and wrong with a single sentence.

Joel tilted his head, one brow lifting, his smile widening just a little—amused, indulgent, unbothered. “Can’t say what?” he said, voice smooth and rich, a teasing hum that curled down your spine. “That my stepdaughter’s pretty? Huh? ’Cause it’s just the truth, sugar. Don’t think there’s a law against honesty.”

The word—stepdaughter—hit you like a jolt, echoing in your chest, reverberating somewhere low in your gut, shame and arousal tangling so tightly you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. It felt wrong, it should’ve felt wrong, but the way he said it—so casual, so easy, like it was the most natural thing in the world to call you that and still hold you like this, like he wanted to say it while his hands were on your body—made your breath stutter all over again.

You shifted on your feet, blinking hard, your voice barely steady when you asked, “Did… did mom say anything?” You still couldn’t look at him, not with the way your heart was pounding and your skin was buzzing, not with his hands still warm and heavy on your waist. “I mean—when you went back to your room. After.”

Joel let out a low chuckle, the sound rough and honeyed, and your stomach did a slow flip, because that sound was always dangerous—soft and lazy, like he knew something you didn’t. “Your mama?” he said, drawing the word out with a shake of his head, “She was out cold, sweetheart. Think she drank too much wine. Again.”

He laughed quietly to himself like it wasn’t anything unusual, like it was just another evening in a long stretch of a dull domestic life—and maybe for him it was. Maybe last night hadn’t been a life-altering moment of madness, maybe it had just been inevitable.

You nodded, slow and uncertain, your lips parting just slightly like you wanted to say more but didn’t trust your voice, didn’t trust yourself not to crack under the weight of it all—and that’s when Joel moved, gentle and deliberate, reaching for your wrist with one of those big, weathered hands that always made you feel too small, too soft, too young. He lifted your arm with a tenderness that made your breath hitch, and without breaking eye contact—not even for a second—he pressed his mouth to the inside of your wrist, right over the place where your pulse throbbed wild and frantic beneath your skin. His lips were warm, slow, deliberate, and his eyes stayed locked on yours as if he needed you to feel it everywhere, needed you to remember the way it felt to be touched there, kissed like that, seen like this.

“What I wanna know,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and molten, seeping into you like heat through the floorboards, “is if you felt good last night. Hmm?” He didn’t ask like a man seeking validation. He asked like someone already sure of the answer, just wanting to hear you say it—needing to hear you admit it, out loud, right here in the daylight.

You swallowed thickly and nodded again, barely breathing, your voice trembling on a single word. “Yeah.”

And that was all he needed.

He smiled then—slow and crooked, like it pleased him more than he wanted to admit—and he hummed, the sound a deep, contented vibration from the back of his throat that made your knees want to give. “Good,” he said, soft and approving, thumb brushing once more across the inside of your wrist before letting go, like he’d branded you there, like the ghost of his mouth would never really leave.

He leaned back just slightly, eyes dragging over you again, darker now, thoughtful. “Now…” he drawled, voice thoughtful, almost lazy, like he was working something out in real time, “I know you can make yourself feel good, babygirl. Real good. But that ain’t what I’m wonderin’ anymore.”

You blinked, heart thudding, every nerve suddenly alive.

Joel tilted his head, that half-smile still on his lips, and added, “What I’m wonderin’ now is… do you want me to make you feel even better?”

And there it was—laid out plain, low, and filthy in that Southern murmur of his, not a question but a promise, the kind that made your thighs press together instinctively, your breath falter, your whole body buzz with the thrill of being wanted by a man who shouldn’t, who knew better, and didn’t give a damn.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry as cotton, eyes wide and lips parted, voice barely more than a breath when you whispered, “How?”—a question so innocent it betrayed the wildfire already curling low in your belly. “I mean… how would you do that?” you added, stumbling through the words, not out of fear but out of need, the kind that made you dizzy and warm all over, the kind that left no room for shame.

Joel chuckled low, that gravel-and-honey sound curling around your spine, rich with amusement but soft with affection, and the way he looked at you—like you were the sweetest little thing he’d ever laid eyes on—only made the heat behind your ribs burn hotter. “You sound real sweet when you ask things like that,” he said, voice slow and fond, as if he were savoring every syllable you gave him. “But the answer’s easy, sugar… whatever you want. However you want it. However you need it.”

Your gaze dropped instinctively, almost helplessly, flicking down to where his jeans stretched tight across his thighs, to the outline pressing stubbornly against the denim, thick and heavy even in rest, and your breath caught in your chest as your mouth went dry for a whole other reason. You hadn’t meant to look—but your body was ahead of you, craving, already remembering the low rumble of his voice last night and imagining what it would feel like to have him inside you, really inside you.

He noticed, of course he did. Joel’s brows lifted, his mouth twitching in amusement like he could see every filthy thought flickering behind your eyes. “Not yet, darlin’,” he murmured, shaking his head just a little, and there was something dangerous in the way he said it—like a warning wrapped in velvet. “You ain’t ready for that. Gotta get you loosened up first. Gotta work you open nice and slow, stretch you out so you can take all of me. Otherwise…” he trailed off, letting the implication hang heavy between you, smirking slightly as he tilted his head, “well, let’s just say I don’t wanna hurt my best girl.”

And all you could do was blink, dazed, pulse fluttering wildly in your neck, not even embarrassed anymore, just overwhelmed by the sheer weight of want sitting thick in the air around you. “Oh,” you breathed, soft and stunned, your legs trembling where you stood.

Joel reached up then, one hand brushing your hip again, the other sliding lazily down your arm, fingertips ghosting along your skin as he looked up at you like he was already picturing it—already planning it. “How ‘bout my mouth, huh?” he said, almost a whisper, a question laced in promise, in filth, in reverence. “Let me get you ready with my tongue. Open you up real gentle. Make a mess of you before I even fuckin’ touch anything else.”

You bit your lip, teeth sinking into the soft flesh like it might ground you, like it could keep you from making another terrible, beautiful decision—but Joel’s hand was already sliding lower, fingers curving possessively over the swell of your ass, kneading with slow, deliberate pressure, not like a man in a hurry, but like someone savoring something earned, something he’d been waiting for. His grip wasn’t greedy—it was intimate, reverent, the pads of his fingers pressing into you like he was memorizing every curve, every soft place that belonged to him now, at least in this moment.

“But my mom,” you whispered, breath catching at the edge of panic, but not quite falling into it, not with his hand still on you like that. “She’ll be back soon.”

Joel didn’t miss a beat. He just tilted his head with that low, amused smile pulling at the corner of his mouth—like he knew better than you did, like he’d already planned this out in his mind a hundred times. And then, somehow—like it was the easiest thing in the world—he coaxed you into his lap, strong hands guiding you effortlessly until you were straddling his thighs, thighs thick and warm beneath you, denim rough against your bare legs, and his eyes didn’t leave yours for a second, dark and steady and heavy with intent.

Then his mouth was on your neck, hot and damp and devastating, lips dragging open kisses along your skin as the rough stubble of his jaw scraped you raw in the most delicious way, each slow kiss branding you like he was marking you for later, like he wanted your skin to remember his mouth long after he was gone. His tongue flicked over your pulse, and you swore he groaned low in his chest when he felt how fast it was fluttering.

“You know your mama takes forever shoppin’,” he murmured against your throat, voice rough and wicked and so sure of himself it made your stomach flip, his hands moving at the same pace as his words, guiding your hips into a slow, lazy grind over the bulge in his jeans. “I could make you cum at least three times ‘fore she even makes it outta the wine aisle.”

You gasped, not just at the filth of his words, but at the way he said them—like he wasn’t teasing, like it was just fact, like he’d already seen it in his head: you falling apart in his lap, soaked and ruined, breathless and begging, all while your mother compared pinot noir prices three suburbs away.

And you didn’t even argue—couldn’t, really—because with the way his mouth was dragging down your neck and his hands were tightening on your waist, every thought you had was unraveling too fast to hold on to.

And then his mouth was on yours—sinful, hot, wet—and just like that, the world narrowed to the searing press of lips and the slow, molten slide of his tongue against yours, and you forgot everything.

You forgot that this was Joel—your mother’s husband, the man who made coffee every morning with his sleeves rolled up and kissed her cheek with that same mouth now devouring yours like he was starving. You forgot that he wasn’t supposed to be doing this, that you weren’t supposed to want it, because when he kissed you like that, like he already knew every secret your mouth had ever held, like his tongue had been made to move with yours, slow and deep and devastatingly sure, there was no room left in your mind for guilt.

He kissed you like he’d waited years for it. Like he’d dreamed of it in silence, in secret, and now that he had you, he wasn’t going to waste a second. His hand cradled the back of your neck, fingers buried in your hair as he tilted your head the way he wanted, needed, guiding your mouth against his with a tenderness that bordered on desperation. And it was hot, not in a rushed, clumsy way, but in the kind of way that made your toes curl, your thighs clench, the kind of kiss that made your whole body ache with the slow realization that no one had ever kissed you like this—like they wanted to memorize you, ruin you, keep you.

You whimpered into him, soft and helpless, clutching at the collar of his shirt like it was the only thing tethering you to the ground, your fingers curling into the fabric, bunching it in your fists as his mouth moved against yours with maddening slowness.

Joel groaned, deep in his chest, like your little sounds physically affected him, like your pleasure was a trigger inside him. “Goddamn, I love it when you make those sounds for me,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick and reverent, honeyed and rough, that Southern lilt curling around each word like a caress. “Make me crazy, darlin’. Could kiss you forever.”

And the way he said it—kiss you forever—didn’t sound like a line or a promise or a plea. It sounded like a truth he’d just uncovered, and you believed him. God help you, you believed him.

“All right,” he murmured, finally pulling back, and the loss of his mouth on yours felt like the world shifting on its axis—sudden, dizzying, wrong. You blinked up at him, dazed and breathless, your eyes wide and glassy, lips kiss-bruised and swollen, your chest rising and falling in shallow little gasps like you’d just surfaced from somewhere deep and dangerous, and Joel looked at you like he was proud of that—like he liked seeing you like this, pliant and overwhelmed and barely hanging on.

“Gotta taste you, baby,” he said next, voice thick with hunger and something darker underneath—something that didn’t ask, didn’t beg, just declared, as if it had already been decided, already done. His eyes didn’t leave yours, didn’t flicker or waver, but they darkened right in front of you, going heavy and low like smoke curling under a locked door, like you could see the shift in him—the descent, the change from tender to possessive—as if that kiss had stripped away the last layer of patience he’d been clinging to.

And then, without loosening his grip on your hips, hands still holding you steady in his lap, he leaned in, voice dropping to a gravel-soft whisper as he said, “Want you to sit on my fuckin’ face.”

It hit you like a blow—sharp, hot, filthy—and your breath hitched so fast you nearly choked on it, your thighs tightening around his as your body tried to comprehend just how badly he meant it. His gaze dragged slowly down your body, then back up, and when he met your eyes again, there was nothing sweet left in him. Just need—that dangerous, grown-man kind, the kind that didn't plead, didn't play fair, just took.

“Need you up there, sugar,” he rasped, voice like honey poured over gravel, his thumbs stroking your skin like a pacifying gesture, though the look in his eyes was anything but soft. “Let me get my mouth on that pretty little pussy ‘til you’re cryin’ for me. Want you to look down and see me starin’ up at you while you fall apart, just like last night—but this time, with my fuckin’ tongue in you.”

“You trust me, don’t you?” he added, voice soft now, coaxing, hands slipping under your shirt, warm and sure and possessive. “Then be a good girl and let me taste what’s mine.”

You were aching—truly, undeniably aching now—soaked through and dizzy, your breath caught somewhere between embarrassment and anticipation, your body already betraying you long before you could find the words. The fresh pair of panties you'd slid on after your shower that morning, cotton-soft and meant to make you feel clean and normal again, were already damp, ruined, clinging to you in a way that made it impossible to ignore just how much you'd let him unravel you with nothing but his mouth and a few dangerous words. You shifted in his lap, thighs tightening, trying to will away the throb between your legs, but it was useless—he felt it, and he knew.

Joel’s gaze never left yours. His hands gripped your hips a little tighter, steady and anchoring, and then he cocked his head slightly, eyes soft but sharp—like he was studying you, reading every flicker across your face. “You ever sat on a man’s face before?” he asked, low and rough, but somehow tender, like the question wasn’t filthy at all, just curious, almost concerned, like he needed to know before he went further.

Your lips parted, shame blooming hot across your cheeks, and you shook your head slightly before you could stop yourself, stammering, “I—I’ve never…”

Joel’s expression didn’t shift into surprise, didn’t turn mocking. Instead, it softened, deepened—something proud flickering in his eyes as his thumb brushed across your hipbone in a slow, grounding motion. “That’s okay, baby,” he murmured, and the way he said it—low and sweet and just a little too warm—made your whole chest tighten. “Let daddy be the first.”

He said it like a promise. Like a corruption.

“You don’t gotta be shy with me, sweetheart,” he added, his voice dipping into something darker, older, coaxing, the kind of voice that wrapped around you like a warm blanket and made you forget what was right. “I’ll teach you how good it can feel. I’ll show you real slow, take my time with you, show you how much I like it when a pretty little thing like you gets all messy and shakes on my tongue.”

You gasped at that—soft and instinctive—and he smiled, soft, pleased, like he’d just unlocked something, like every part of this was unfolding exactly how he wanted. His hands slid down to cup the backs of your thighs, squeezing gently, guiding, encouraging—like it wasn’t wrong, like he was doing you a favor.

“That’s it,” he whispered, “Don’t worry about a thing. You just sit that sweet pussy on my mouth and let me take care of you.”

“Okay,” you breathed, the word tumbling from your lips before your mind had time to catch up.

“Good girl,” Joel hummed, low and satisfied, the praise curling around your spine like a hot hand as he leaned in and reached for the hem of your t-shirt, fingers swift and sure, tugging it up and over your head in one smooth motion before you could so much as blink. The cotton landed on the floor with a whisper, forgotten, and suddenly you were bare-chested in his lap, skin flushed, breath caught, and you didn’t care.

You didn’t care that your mother could be pulling into the driveway at this very second, keys jangling in one hand, a shopping bag in the other. You didn’t care that the house was rigged with security cameras that Joel himself had installed—wired into every corner, including the living room where you now straddled him half-naked, soaking through your panties and trembling beneath his gaze. You didn’t care that this man, this older, worn, married-to-your-mother man, had his big hands sliding up your sides like he owned you.

All you knew was the heat of his palms as they cupped your breasts—firm and hungry, calloused thumbs brushing your nipples until they peaked under his touch, until you arched into him with a gasp you couldn’t control.

Joel groaned, deep and filthy, the sound scraping up from his chest like he’d been holding it in for years. His fingers dug in as he kneaded your tits, not delicate or unsure but possessive, like he had every right to touch you like this, like this wasn’t something borrowed but something that had always been his.

“Jesus,” he muttered, almost to himself, dark eyes flicking between your breasts like he couldn’t decide which he loved more. And then, with a low laugh that chilled and scorched you all at once, he added, “These’re a hell of a lot prettier than your mama’s.”

Your breath caught—scandalized, wrecked—and you moaned without meaning to, thighs tightening around his hips as the line between shame and arousal blurred until it didn’t exist at all.

His mouth descended then—hot and open, hungry—and he kissed and nipped at your chest with a desperation that made your head spin, his tongue swirling around your nipple before pulling it between his teeth with a low growl. You whimpered, loud and breathless, clutching at his shoulders, and he pulled back just enough to murmur against your skin, “You moan real sweet when I suck on ‘em like that. Gonna make it my job to hear that every damn morning.”

And as wrong as it was, with your chest heaving and his mouth all over you, your stepfather’s hands gripping you like he’d never let go—you wanted that too.

“So pretty and perky for me,” Joel murmured, lips dragging over the curve of your breast as he spoke, the words half-swallowed against your skin, low and reverent and possessive, like he was speaking straight to them—not you—like your tits were something sacred that belonged to him now. His tongue flicked lazily over your nipple, then again, and the groan that rumbled from his chest was filthy, like it pained him to stop. “So soft, baby… fuckin’ perfect.” His voice dipped lower, barely a breath now, dark and gravel-thick with hunger. “Bet your mama never looked like this when she was your age. Bet she never tasted this sweet.”

You whimpered, back arching, your body moving on instinct—pushing forward into his mouth, into his teeth, like your skin was begging for him, like every inch of you had been waiting for this exact moment without ever knowing it.

But just when you thought you’d melt entirely into him, Joel pulled back with maddening calm, his hands sliding down your sides like he was taking his time, like he was admiring his own work. Then he patted your thigh once, firm and final. “Stand up, babygirl,” he said, leaning back slowly against the sofa, one arm thrown lazily over the backrest, the other trailing down to the curve of his thigh. “Take all of that off. Want you bare.” His gaze roamed over your flushed chest, the curve of your waist, the trembling of your thighs like he was etching you into memory, like you were a painting come to life—and his to strip.

You stood slowly, nerves crackling under your skin like fire, every movement shy but magnetic, compelled by the way he looked at you—not like a girl, not like his wife’s daughter, but like a woman he was about to consume. The cotton shorts slid down your legs, your ruined panties following, and you stepped out of them with shaking hands, now completely naked in the middle of the living room—the one where you’d opened Christmas presents, where your mom hosted wine nights, where Joel installed the goddamn security system that might’ve been watching you both right now—and yet… all you could feel was heat.

Joel didn’t move. Just leaned back further, legs spread, jaw tight, and eyes burning.

It was dizzying, the power imbalance—him fully clothed in denim and flannel, the scent of coffee still lingering on his skin, and you, butt-naked in the soft morning light filtering through the blinds, every inch of your skin exposed and wanting.

“You look like a fuckin’ dream,” he said, voice rough with restraint, dark with something filthy and low. “My sweet little girl. All grown up. Standin’ there like you were made for me.”

And he said it like he believed it. Like this—you, bare and blushing, in your childhood home—was always how it was meant to end.

“You think I’m pretty?” you asked, voice soft and uncertain, the question slipping out like a confession you hadn’t meant to speak aloud, a fragile thing cradled in trembling breath. You stood there—completely bare, skin warm and pink in the morning light, chest rising and falling with every shaky inhale—and for a moment, something inside you tightened, afraid of what he might say, of how quiet the room suddenly felt with those four little words hanging between you.

Joel looked up at you slowly, his gaze traveling the length of your body with something close to awe—not just lust, not just hunger, but a deep, bone-deep reverence, like you were something holy and unrepeatable, like you were a secret he’d been trusted with. .

“Baby,” he said, shaking his head slightly, that crooked, tired smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “pretty don’t even come close.”

Joel extended his hand toward you, slow and steady like he was asking for something sacred, not sinful, palm up and waiting, and without thinking—without questioning—you placed yours into it. Yours looked so much smaller cradled in his, delicate and trembling against the calloused strength of his fingers, and he gave it the gentlest squeeze before tugging you softly toward him, guiding you like he had all the time in the world.

“C’mere, babygirl,” he murmured, voice low and coaxing, that dangerous mix of comfort and command dripping from every syllable. “Let me show you how this’s done.”

You let him pull you closer, straddling his lap again—but this time, he was leaning back on the sofa, one arm braced along the cushions, the other slipping down to your hips, guiding, positioning, his touch warm and steady as he helped you move. You were awkward at first, hesitant, unsure of where your knees should go, how your legs should spread, how close you were supposed to get—but Joel didn’t laugh, didn’t tease, just murmured soft encouragements under his breath like he loved that you needed help, like he wanted to teach you, shape you.

“Just like that, honey… there you go. Ain’t gotta be nervous,” he whispered, his hand sliding from your thigh to your lower back, pressing lightly to arch you just so. “You’re doin’ perfect. Fuck, look at you—sweetest little thing I’ve ever seen.”

And then suddenly—God, somehow—you were hovering over his face, thighs shaking as they spread wider, your bare heat so close to his mouth you could feel his breath ghosting over you, warm and reverent, and your whole body lit up like a live wire. You couldn’t look down.

Joel tilted his head back, eyes locked on your pussy like it was the fucking holy grail, mouth parted slightly like he was about to start praying. His grip on your hips tightened, grounding you in place, and then he groaned—deep, guttural, like the scent of you hit him all at once and knocked the wind out of him.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, baby,” he rasped, eyes fluttering shut for a second like he needed to recover from it. “Smell so fuckin’ sweet. Like you were made to sit on my face.”

The moan that spilled from you was instant, involuntary, shameless—your whole body trembling at his words, at the way he said them, like you were a drug and he’d been starved for a fix.

“Don’t be shy now,” he whispered, voice barely a breath as he looked up at you again, dark eyes blazing with hunger and something far worse—adoration. “Go on and give it to me, sugar. Let me taste that perfect little pussy. Promise I’ll take care of you better than anyone ever has.”

“I—uh,” you stammered, a soft, breathless laugh bubbling from your lips, bashful and unsure, your voice trembling like the rest of you as you looked down at him through your lashes, your thighs trembling on either side of his broad chest. “How… how will you breathe?” you asked, the question so sweet, so innocent, it made Joel groan low in his throat like it hurt him.

Joel chuckled softly, his thumbs rubbing soothing little circles into your skin, and then he added, voice low and coaxing, “You worry too much, sugar. Just let daddy take care of it. You just sit that pretty thing right on my mouth and hold on tight. Let me show you what a real man can do with no air in his lungs and his stepdaughter drippin’ down his throat.”

And the worst part—the sickest, most shameful part—was the way your hips tilted forward, instinctively, like your body was already saying yes, even if your mind was still spinning.

“Enough talkin’,” Joel growled, his voice suddenly rougher, deeper, edged with something sharp and molten—and before you could even process the shift, his hand came down hard on your ass, a sharp smack that echoed through the living room and made you yelp, more shocked than hurt, your body jolting forward in instinct. The sting bloomed fast, heat flashing across your skin—and before you could so much as whimper, he was gripping your hips tight with both hands and yanking you down, forcing you onto his mouth like he’d lost every ounce of self-control he’d been pretending to have.

You gasped—no, choked—a sound ripped straight from your lungs, loud and broken, as your pussy met the full, hungry heat of his mouth, his tongue already working like a man possessed. He groaned the second he tasted you, that low, guttural noise vibrating directly against your core, and it was diabolical, the way he moaned like you were his favorite meal and he hadn’t eaten in weeks.

Your entire body lurched forward, instinctively bracing your hands on the back of the couch behind his head, your thighs shaking, your breath stuttering as your mouth fell open, lips parted in a silent scream. The sound—his sound, the groan he made the second you were on his face—echoed inside you, down your spine, into your chest, like it rewired your organs, like it knocked the air out of your lungs and replaced it with something molten.

And still, he didn’t let up.

Joel dragged you closer, his grip bruising now, hands spreading you open for him, his face buried so deep it was like he wanted to drown in you—and maybe he did. Maybe that was the point. Maybe he wanted to die like this, with your thighs shaking around his ears and your scent all over his lips, his stepdaughter made into something sweet and sacred between his teeth.

“You taste better than fuckin’ heaven,” he muttered into you between strokes, and you whimpered, already unraveling, already gone.

It was unreal—otherworldly, even—the way Joel ate you out, like he was a man on death row and you were his final meal, and he was determined to savor every last second of it, every twitch, every moan, every drop. From your vantage point—perched above him, thighs trembling, hands gripping the couch behind his head for dear life—you could barely breathe, let alone think.

His tongue lapped at you with slow, deliberate drags at first, warm and too good, circling your clit with the kind of finesse no boy your age had ever dreamed of having—this was a man who knew what he was doing, who enjoyed it, needed it, who moaned into you every few seconds like your pussy was the most sacred place he’d ever been. And fuck, his hands—those big, rough, hands—kept trailing up and down your body, not just holding your hips but gripping them, spreading you wider, sliding up your waist, curling over your belly like he wanted to keep you still and feel everything at once. He reached up once, palm flat against your chest, and squeezed your breast in rhythm with his tongue, and your entire spine arched like he’d struck a chord deep inside you that no one had ever dared touch.

Every time he pulled back to breathe, to talk, you thought you might fall apart from just seeing him—lips red, chin soaked, his beard shining with your slick, mouth swollen like he’d been drinking from you. His voice came out wrecked, voice low and cracked, soaked in sin. “Fuckin’ messy for me, ain’t you, babygirl?” he rasped, his breath fanning hot across your cunt as he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, biting the skin gently like he couldn’t stop tasting you. “Sittin’ on my face like a goddamn dream, makin’ a mess all over me. Look at you.”

You moaned, loud and desperate, your fingers twisting into the cushion behind you, and Joel grinned like the devil, dragging his tongue back through your folds slow, then curling it up—and your body jolted like he’d struck you.

He pulled back again, licking his lips, your slick clinging to his stubble. “You feel that?” he whispered, tone low and gleefully cruel. “That’s my tongue, baby. That ain’t a toy. That ain’t some fumblin’ college kid who don’t know what the fuck he’s doin’. That’s a man eatin’ pussy like he’s supposed to.”

And then—like he hadn’t just destroyed you with words alone—he pulled you down again, arms tightening around your thighs as he buried himself in you with a growl, groaning into your pussy like your taste was his salvation, like this—you—was what he’d waited his whole damn life for.

And all you could do was take it. Eyes shut, mouth open, body shaking—because no one had ever touched you like this. No one had ever devoured you like they were grateful just to be allowed.

You groaned, a sound ripped raw from your chest—as your whole body started to burn, your thighs quivering violently around Joel’s head, your back arching as every muscle locked tight with that wild, helpless tension only seconds before release. “I’m—I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna cu—” you stammered, the words spilling from your lips in broken pieces, high-pitched and desperate, your voice choked with sobs and need and the unbearable heat coiling tight in your belly. You were a mess, a stuttering, trembling, wrecked little thing, and he didn’t let up—not for a second.

Joel’s hands gripped your thighs harder, bruising now, controlling, holding you right where he wanted you as his tongue moved in relentless, devastating circles, flicking against your clit with that same impossible precision that had already dragged you to the edge once, twice—again. You shattered with a scream, your body convulsing above him, your hips bucking in his grip—but he didn’t stop.

He kept going.

The orgasm tore through you, brutal and all-consuming, but Joel didn’t ease off, didn’t slow down—his mouth stayed latched, his tongue deeper, filthier, like he wanted you sobbing, wanted you shaking so bad you couldn’t remember your name.

“Take it,” he growled between licks, his voice muffled and soaked, so deep into you that your vision blurred, so relentless it felt like his mouth was etched into your skin. “That’s it, baby. Be a good girl and fuckin’ take it. Daddy’s not done with you.”

You sobbed, shoulders shaking, hands clawing at the back of the couch as tears rolled freely down your cheeks—not from pain, not from fear, but from the sheer overwhelming pleasure, the shattering fullness of it all, the way he kept licking, kept sucking, even as your body tried to twist away from him. But he held you firm, grounded you with those hands, those stepdad hands that never stopped touching, like he couldn’t bear to be away from any part of you.

“Mm, look at you,” he panted, when he finally pulled back for a breath, his mouth and beard soaked, glistening with your slick. “Cryin’ on my face. You cummin’ that hard for me, sweetheart?” His eyes were wild with need, lips swollen, dripping. “You never had a man really eat this pussy before, huh?”

You couldn’t even answer—your mouth hung open, lips trembling, breath coming in ragged little gasps as your entire body trembled like a live wire, the aftershocks of your second orgasm still shuddering through your limbs when another wave crashed over you. A third—God, a third—and it stole your breath, your thoughts, your ability to do anything but sob, every nerve raw and overstimulated as Joel kept going, licking and groaning and sucking like a man starved. You wailed, high and broken, legs twitching as your hips bucked once, then stilled entirely, your strength gone.

And finally—finally—Joel eased up, his hands loosening their bruising grip on your thighs, his mouth slowing to a few soft, reverent licks before he kissed your inner thigh with something dangerously close to affection. You collapsed forward with a whimper, body slack, boneless, ruined, your limbs trembling as your chest pressed to his, your cheek finding his shoulder, hot and damp with tears and sweat. He caught you effortlessly, wrapping his arms around your waist, drawing you into his lap like you weighed nothing, like you belonged there, like you always had.

“There she is,” he murmured into your hair, his voice thick with satisfaction, fingers stroking your spine in lazy, grounding motions. “My good fuckin’ girl. Took it all, didn’t you?”

You couldn’t speak, could barely move, your fingers twitching weakly against his chest.

And then—the sound.

The sharp crunch of tires over gravel outside. The soft groan of the gate opening. The car pulling into the driveway.

Joel’s head snapped up instantly, his arms still locked around you, and then—so calmly, so dangerously collected—he licked his lips, wiped his soaked mouth with the back of his hand, and was already moving. “Shh,” he whispered as you whined, dazed and whimpering, “I got you. Let daddy take care of it.”

In seconds, he had your ruined panties tugged up your thighs, the fabric sticky and damp, your t-shirt slipped over your head like he’d done it a thousand times, smoothing it down over your trembling body. You could barely lift your arms, let alone help, but he didn’t need help—he just dressed you, quick and efficient, like this was routine, like he knew how to hide a mess. Then he lifted you into the corner of the couch, tucked a throw blanket over your bare legs, and ran his fingers gently through your hair, whispering, “You rest, sugar. You did so good.”

The front door creaked open a second later.

“Joel?” your mother’s voice called from the hallway, casual, distracted. “Can you help me with the bags?”

Joel stood, gave you one last look—soft, smug, filthy—and then turned toward the door.

“Comin’, sweetheart,” he called back, already walking toward her. “Lemme get those for you.”

You blinked slowly, barely able to lift your head as you watched him greet her in the entryway. She smiled—smiled—and leaned in to peck him on the lips like it was nothing, like she wasn’t tasting the ghost of her daughter on his mouth.

He kissed her back, warm and easy. “You get the pinot you like?” he asked, casual as sin.

“Mm,” she nodded, brushing past him, “if they haven’t jacked the price up again.”

And just like that, he turned back once, eyes flicking toward you under the guise of nothing, his lips twitching in that same crooked, knowing smile—and you knew, in that moment, he hadn’t just ruined you.

He owned you.

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

i hope yall enjoyed xxx

643 notes · View notes

harmonyrae · 3 months ago

Text

Inked

Synopsis: Somehow you won a free session from the most famous tattoo artist in Linkon. You never expected to be sucked into his world, but you’re slowly becoming even more obsessed with him. And with who you are when you’re with him. When you finally discover what he’s involved in, will he push you away or show you a whole new world?

AN: This fanfic was inspired & entirely fueled by the artwork above, done by the amazing @obligatedart - thank you for letting me use your work as the cover art! Go check them out and see the other tattooed Rafayel pieces they’ve done. I’ve written over 80 pages in a week so... comment if you want to be tagged for part 2!

Content Warnings: explicit language & sexual content, alcohol consumption, public sex, threesome, oral (m&f receiving), creampie, PiV, birth control mentioned (yay protection), mentions of needles (tattoo needles, not medical), genital piercings, vehicle accidents, injuries, blood, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 16k

“I still can’t believe you won the fucking contest!”

Tara punches you in the arm and you grunt, swatting at her with a pout. She leans away from you to protect the coffee in her hand before giggling and gently rubbing the spot she hit.

“Sorry, sorry, I just… I spent so much money buying like 50 raffle tickets and you bought ONE and beat all the odds. Did you cast a spell? Are you a witch?!”

Tara’s animated voice draws the attention of the other cafe patrons. You sip your latte silently and try to avoid their judgemental gazes. Tara sets her cup down and crosses her arms. She leans back, squinting at you.

“So it’s tomorrow, right?”

You nod and lean on the table in front of you to pick at your blueberry muffin. Tara snatches the muffin away and you look up at her with wide eyes. She’s definitely irritated with your silence. But what can you possibly say? Sorry? Sorry for winning a once in a lifetime raffle to get a free tattoo by the best tattoo artist in Linkon? Who has a 5 year waitlist? Who has tattooed the biggest celebrities? Who was a judge on the #1 reality show for 3 years running trying to find the next big artist? Who is absolutely, positively, undoubtedly the hottest man you’ve ever seen in your life? Fuck no, you are not sorry at all.

“I know you wanted to win so I don’t want to talk about it and make you upset.”

Tara rolls her eyes and plops your muffin back on its plate. You sit back and sigh, looking Tara up and down. She didn’t seem like the type to have a lot of tattoos, but she hid them well. When she wasn’t in her uniform she was showcasing the artwork on her body. The designs were gorgeous and you wished you had been more patient when getting yours. You basically ran to the tattoo shop on your 18th birthday to get a super basic bitch tattoo just because you could.

“I want to hear about it! I am going to live vicariously through you. Spill bitch.”

You chuckle and finish off your latte before pulling out your phone to show Tara the email chain you started with the artist. She grabs your phone instantly and scrolls through the messages.

“Oh my god, even his emails sound hot.”

You roll your eyes and watch Tara’s eyes light up when she sees the design.

“Holy shit. You are BRAVE! AN underboob tat?! You’re gonna show him your tits the first time you meet him?! Biiiiiitch!”

She squeals before zooming in on the design and ogling at the details.

“This is so pretty! The seashells and the little pearls and chains? Amazing. It will match your chest piece really well too!”

She was right, the seashells and pearls would tie into your mermaid chest piece perfectly. It was the first tattoo you put a lot of effort into, getting the design nailed down and taking your time finding a good artist. You wanted this next piece to compliment it and expand on the original concept. The shells would be a dusty pink to match the tails with the beading and pearls adding a little sparkle. You smiled, your pre-tattoo butterflies swirling.

“OH! You sent him a picture of your chest piece.”

She slapped your shoulder excitedly.

“In a bikini top! Are you KIDDING ME? Imagine him opening that picture and just getting to stare at your gorgeous tits and that tat? I’m horny just thinking about it.”

You grab her wrist to stop her flailing, your cheeks are burning since her voice is just a little too loud. She glares at you, her sly smile absolutely beaming.

“Jesus Tara, shh! It’s not a big deal, I’ve wanted this piece expanded for a long time and Rafayel’s specialty is literally anything ocean related. He’s going to touch up the girls too.”

She raises her brows and drops her eyes to your chest and you quickly realize your mistake.

“The mermaids, you horny bitch, the mermaids.”

She nods slowly.

“Uh huh… sure!”

You don’t argue with her, let her think what she wants. You were already anxious thinking about the appointment. She was right about one thing, you were basically showing him your tits the same day you officially met. It’s like “Hi, nice to meet you, here’s my tits” - nice.

When you get home that night you spend extra time prepping your skin and finding the right outfit. Sure you’d be taking off your top and just wearing pasties, but making sure you felt your best beyond that was important too. You drink your sleepy time tea, since the pre-tattoo butterflies had turned to pre-tattoo anxiety.

You slip on your nightgown and settle back, trying to force yourself to relax. About 30 minutes later, you’re on your phone. You just couldn’t help it, you scroll through your feed liking Tara’s selfie with her boyfriend, Jeremiah. A photo of Caleb at a bar, he must have gotten some R&R today. And what’s this? Zayne posted a meme? Doctor Zayne? Oh, Greyson won a bet - that makes more sense.

As you scroll, you start finding posts reposted by Lemuria Studios, recent clients, sketches done by artists and then a video that makes your chest tighten. Rafayel sits hunched over the arm of some buff dude in a tank top, the tattoo gun in his hand moves steadily against his skin. God, he looks hot. He’s just sitting there, doing his job, why are you freaking out? You want to put the phone down, watching him work is only going to make you more anxious for tomorrow. But you can’t seem to let it go. You’re mesmerised by the outline of the muscles of his forearm, barely visible under his own colorful tattoos, they twitch as he colors in the lines he just made. His dusty purple fringe brushes his cheeks, his earrings sway as he bobs his head to whatever music is playing. He stops and wipes the guy's arm with a towel before leaning back and looking at the camera. He smiles and… fuck… You drop your phone and stifle a moan. You’re not going to survive tomorrow.

The next morning, you wake up early to get ready. You cook a huge breakfast, as difficult as this session was going to be, you didn’t want to make it worse by passing out. You down a huge glass of water while you do your makeup. You sweep your hair over your shoulders in two long braids and slip on a beanie. Your joggers sit comfortably on your hips and you change out your fitted halter for a dark cut off t-shirt. You were committing to the comfortable vibe, especially if you were going to be mostly uncomfortable very soon.

Your phone rings and you race to the kitchen to see Tara’s picture flash on the screen. You answer and put it on speaker as you lace up your boots.

“What’s up?”

“I’m just checking in before your session. Are you nervous?”

You chuckle under your breath. She has no idea.

“Oh yeah, I always get pre-tattoo jitters. They’ll go away when I get there.”

“I doubt it! Girl, his face is going to be inches away from your tits. I’d bring a change of panties if I were you.”

“Tara, what do you think people at work would say if they heard you talk like this?”

“Oh, they’d lose their minds! Sweet, innocent Tara would never warn you about imagining him dropping his tattoo gun and climbing on top of you, ripping your pasties off and –”

“TARA!”

She giggles for a minute straight, barely able to catch her breath. You swing your backpack over your shoulder and jog down to the garage.

“Sorry! Honestly, I think you’ll have a great time. You’re gonna look hot with the new tat and I can’t wait to see it. Send me pics!”

“Of course. I’ll text you during breaks.”

After you hang up, you secure your helmet and hop on your bike. You take back roads instead of the highway since you know you’re too nervous and driving fast would be a bad idea. By the time you get to Regent Square, you can feel your heartbeat pounding against your ribcage. You find a long term parking garage and pay the outrageous fee. When you check your phone, you realize you only have 10 minutes before your appointment. You were supposed to be there at least 15 minutes early to fill out the paperwork. You jog down the street, only slowing long enough to catch your breath before heading inside the studio.

Lemuria Studios is gorgeous, the pictures posted online don’t do it justice. The floor to ceiling windows bathe the room in sunshine, the weathered brick walls covered in bright graffiti, neon signs with what you assume to be words - although you are not sure what language it is and the hardwood floors are covered with vibrant rugs with intricate patterns. A large sectional couch corners off the waiting room where a few patrons wait for their artists. There are various tattoo stations, each decorated to suit a different artist. Towards the back of the studio there is a door with an ‘R’ in what looks like ceramic tiles. Must be Rafayel’s private room.

You approach the front desk and greet the receptionist with a smile. She passes you a clipboard with release forms and leaves to walk to the door at the back. You watch her knock and crack the door open, she says something before turning back to look at you. You quickly refocus and fill in the paperwork. You place the clipboard on the counter and take a seat on the couch, fiddling with the tassels of the pillow next to you.

You’re about to stand and start pacing, your nerves getting the best of you, when you hear a door squeak open. You lift your eyes to see the man himself, emerge from the room and stroll towards the front of the studio. You clench your fists, yep, he’s even hotter in person.

He’s dressed casually, his button up is definitely not buttoned up. His neck tattoo swirls down his neck to the center of his chest, two koi fish swim in a circle around his Adam's apple, the fins extend towards his jaw and down his neck with pink lotus flowers complimenting the red scales of the fish. Cut off sleeves let you see his signature tattoos, full sleeves on both arms. Not an inch of skin untouched, the full color underwater scenes are vibrant, bright orange and purple coral, dark blue waves highlighted with teals and white, schools of yellow and blue fish swim in circles around his forearm and a dolphin soars over the waves. His fitted jeans hide the leg tattoos you’ve seen in photos, the ocean waves that look more like flames than water that spiral from his ankle to his hip. He also supposedly has more tattoos on his torso, but you avoided looking up any photos of him shirtless because, well… that would be dangerous.

His shaggy hair casts a shadow over his eyes, but his smile is on full display. He turns to you and you hold your breath to avoid giggling like an idiot. His blue eyes are so bright, the wash of pink in them shines in the morning light that streams through the windows. As he approaches, you awkwardly stand and put on a shy smile.

“Hi! I’m Rafayel, nice to officially meet you.”

He extends a hand and you nearly fall back onto the couch, finally taking a breath. You take his hand and revel in the softness of his skin. He suddenly yanks you forwards and starts pulling you toward the door at the back of the studio. You stumble along after him.

“I can’t wait to show you the final sketch, it’s everything you described but I added a little something that I think you’ll like.”

You giggle as he pulls you into the room. The bright purple walls are covered in either framed sketches, polaroids of tattoos, or random tattoo designs scribbled on a napkin or envelope. A vintage jukebox, with a modern AUX attachment, sits in the corner. A stack of canvases leans against the wall and a bucket of various spray paints sits on the floor. His drawing table has countless sketches pinned to it, including yours. The design is exactly what you imagined, but there’s an additional element. The centerpiece that directly connects to the chest piece is now slightly larger, having a net pattern woven behind it with a few fish and broken shells.

“That’s amazing, holy shit! But it’s a bit more than we originally planned on, are you sure you have time?”

He immediately starts getting the transfer paper prepared. You see him shrug.

“The whole day is yours, it was booked by the radio station that set up the raffle. It’s actually pretty nice only having one client to work on, I can take my time.”

You feel your cheeks flush. He would take his time on your piece, it was flattering and nerve wrecking. You set your bag down on a chair in the corner and stuff your hands in your pockets.

“Oh, awesome, I didn’t realize…”

“You’re nervous aren’t you?”

You huff out a laugh and put your hands on your hips.

“Not at all, I have plenty of tattoos. I know the drill. I’m totally fine, just excited.”

He turns, the transfer paper in hand, and walks over to his station. Everything was meticulously set up from the tiny cups of ink to the paper towels to his tattoo gun. He sets the transfer paper down before heading to the sink in the corner and washing his hands.

“Do you need tape?”

You watch him scrub his hands, it was almost like he was a doctor preparing for surgery. You tilt your head and hum to yourself, trying to figure out his meaning. He dries his hands and looks at you, his lips set in an amused smirk.

“For your nipples.”

You immediately drop your gaze and try to laugh to distract from the blush rising to your neck and cheeks. You clear your throat and meet his gaze.

“No, I wore pasties. Like I said, I know the drill.”

He smiles and motions towards the table. He puts on gloves and gives his bottle of transfer cream a shake. He eyes you expectantly.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

You turn away from him and face the padded table in front of you. You tug your shirt off over your head and toss it over your bag on a nearby chair. You hesitate to turn around. You’re not sure why you’re so nervous - sure you are literally half-naked in front of a guy you could only dream of, but he’s done this countless times! Your tits are not the first ones he’s tattooed under. You turn to face him and watch his eyes drop to your chest, he glances at the transfer paper and back to you, mentally lining up the art on your body.

“Yea, this will look amazing on you.”

His voice is rougher than before, you clasp your hands behind your back and rock on your heels.

“Thank you… uhm… do you want me to lie down or?”

He walks up and squeezes some transfer cream onto his gloved hand.

“Just stand right here. This might be cold.”

You brace and when his fingers touch the skin just under your breast, you gasp. Not from the cold, but rather from the jolt of electricity that sparked through your system.

“You were right, s’cold.”

He chuckles and continues to rub the cream along your upper rib cage, under your breasts and down the center of your chest. He grabs the transfer paper and lines it up.

“Can you hold 'em up for a second?”

You blink.

“Your… breasts. I want to make sure this will line up properly.”

You silently curse at yourself for how stupid you feel. You really should have chosen maybe a leg piece or maybe a cute little forearm number, but no you had to do this. You cup your breasts and lift them, staring at the ceiling to avoid eye contact. He lines up the transfer and presses it to your skin, slowly peeling it away.

“Fuck yes. That looks perfect. Take a look in the mirror and let me know what you think.”

He turns away and changes his gloves while you check his placement. Just the transfer looks insane, your previous embarrassment melts into excitement. You turn back to him with a huge smile.

“I love it! It’s gonna look so good!”

Rafayel smiles and you skip over to the table. You miss the flush that spreads across his cheeks as he watches your tits bounce on your way over. You hear him clear his throat as he leans to drag his chair over with his foot. You lay back on the table, your head sinking into the pillow and your hands resting on your stomach.

Rafayel sits and slides closer to you on his chair. He picks up his tattoo gun and dips the needles into the ink. He looks up at you, shaking his head to get his fringe out of his eyes.

“Ready?”

You relax your shoulders and sigh, looking up at the ceiling.

“Hell yeah.”

The outside of Rafayel’s palm rests against the side of your breast, holding the skin taut as he begins tattooing along the edge of your rib cage. The pain is about as bad as you expected. The vibration of the tattoo gun against your ribs makes your teeth chatter. You close your eyes and try to distract yourself while adjusting to the sting of the needles.

“So, why mermaids?”

Rafayel’s voice breaks up the monotonous buzz of the tattoo machine. You tilt your chin down and look at his god-like profile. With his attention on your tattoo, you finally let yourself examine his face. The ear you can see is littered with piercings. Double conch, helix, daith, an industrial with a little fish charm attached. His eyes have a hint of black smudged along his lash line, of course he wears eyeliner… of fucking course. And it looks so damn good too.

He has a variety of facial piercings, which look amazing and now you want one… or two. A small silver septum hoop. You notice he occasionally wiggles his nose, rubbing it across his top lip, a nervous habit perhaps? His lip piercings have you in a trance, the shark bites, the vertical labret - how would they feel against your lips? You also caught sight of a tongue ring. The things this man could probably do with his tongue…

“Still with me, cutie?”

You are glad he was refreshing the ink on the needles as you have a very physical reaction to this new little nickname he’s given you. You cough and try to steady yourself, once you are still he continues his work.

“Yeah, sorry, I was just distracted.”

“Oh yeah, by what?”

He’s teasing you now. Great. But you never back down from a fight and if he wants to poke at you with his cute little comments - and not just the needles in his tattoo gun - you’ll give it right back to him.

“By you.”

He laughs, a hint of surprise on his face.

“Oh really? What distracted you exactly?”

“I was just admiring your piercings. I haven’t gotten nearly enough.”

“What piercings do you want?”

His tattoo needle continues to buzz and the pain slowly fades to a numbness.

“Definitely more on my ears. I like the tragus. And then maybe my navel, basic, I know.”

“No way, the navel is a great piercing. There are a lot of creative jewelry options too. I love mine, I’d recommend it to anyone.”

“You have your belly button pierced?”

He chuckles and shifts his hand, his pinkie dangerously close to your pasty making your heart flutter.

“Yup. Was one of my first actually. After that it was all downhill. Now I have too many to count.”

“Really? What other piercings do you recommend then?”

He hesitates and glances up at you. His eyes flick to your breasts and back. And you swear you caught him biting his lip for a moment.

“Body piercings are fun. But if you’re not ready for that but bored with your ears, facial piercings are a good place to start. Septum made me cry like a bitch, but it’s a great one.”

“Made you cry like a bitch, huh?”

Your mocking tone makes him pause and look at you, his lips set in a pout. You giggle at his pathetic, yet adorable, expression.

“It’s because it fucks with your sinuses or some shit, not because it hurt!”

“Okay, okay!”

“I’ve gotten some piercings that make grown men weep and didn’t flinch, trust me, it was not because of the pain.”

You raise your eyebrows at the implication, but you decide to hold your tongue and not entertain the thought of what those “other” piercings might be. You settle your head back and take a deep breath.

“And what about tattoos? Which one was the most painful?”

He hums to himself, his hand once again shifting and pushing your breast slightly upward as he colors in a line.

“My neck was the worst, by far. I’m glad I didn’t pick something that went directly over my Adam’s apple cause I would not have survived.”

“That piece is really nice. Did you design it?”

“I did. Then my apprentice tattooed it. Never been prouder of the kid. Now you’ve asked a few questions, I think it’s only fair you answer one of mine.”

You sigh dramatically and chuckle when he stops working. You know he is staring at you, probably pouting again, so you stare at the ceiling.

“Alright, fair is fair.”

“Why mermaids?”

“Oh uhh…” You stutter as you try to find the right words. “Because they’re tragic yet beautiful.”

Rafayel stops again and looks at you, his brows raised.

“Art and literature depicts them as beautiful creatures, but their counterparts are much darker. Sirens lure sailors to their watery graves. They’re… underestimated? Like their beauty distracts while their voice reels them in. It’s powerful.”

“Was there something that prompted the need for a constant reminder of their power etched into your skin?”

You shift your gaze to his hands, resting on your stomach, the tattoo gun hovering over your skin.

“I spent a long time under someone’s thumb, feeling powerless. He always felt like he had to protect me. I was… lost… for a while. Then I read a book about a siren, using the form of a mermaid, who charmed the men in her life into submission while planning their downfall. I didn’t want Ca– my friend to be hurt though! I decided to put on a ‘damsel in distress’ act for him but I’m still in control, ya know?”

Rafayel nodded sharply, his gaze more intense. He shifted on his stool and the familiar hum of the tattoo gun started again. With his focus back on your body, you felt your mind start to spiral. Was your explanation dumb? You know sirens are not exactly mermaids, but mermaids looked better. Did he think you were dumb and confused them? Should you have said ‘cause they’re pretty’ instead?

“Most people don’t realize sirens and mermaids aren’t the same thing. Seems like you do.”

“I do! Yeah, I just… I guess…”

“Liked how mermaids looked better than a half bird sea creature?”

His voice was light, sarcasm had found its way back to him and you sighed in relief.

“Don’t get me wrong, I saw some good siren designs but nothing clicked. This one did. Plus I think it makes my tits stand out.”

Rafayal lets out a breathy laugh and sits up straighter in his chair. He grabs a paper towel and wipes the excess ink from your skin. He moves his chair forward and settles his arm over the top of your breast, his hand resting at the center of your chest. You can feel his breath fan across your skin and you have to bite your lip, hard, to avoid shivering.

“It does, but I have a feeling they looked perfect before too.”

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you feel slightly dizzy. Did he just? Did he? He complimented your tits. This man complimented your tits, with his face inches away from them, while stabbing you repeatedly with a needle. How are you supposed to respond to that?

“Thank… you.”

Rafayel laughs at your whispered appreciation. His hands work carefully, shifting and sliding to draw the centerpiece.

“Okay, next question.”

Over the next four hours you and Rafayel go back and forth with questions. It almost felt like you were on a first date. You talked about your favorite music, his favorite movies, your job at the Hunters Association, his secret sushi restaurant that’s opening in six months. On your break at the two hour mark, he offered you a soda and walked in circles around the room, stretching his legs, while talking animatedly about a rave happening later this month. And when you begged him for the details so you could get tickets, his smile grew tenfold.

As he was adding the final touches, he stood bent over you poking and dabbing away ink until you were nearly ready to scream. His hair would brush against your shoulder and you’d stiffen, leading to Rafayel joking about ‘staying loose or it’ll hurt more’ which made you squeeze your thighs so tightly you nearly cried. When he finished and was doing the clean up he surprised you, his cheeks were a tad rosy and his usually playful tone more serious.

“I haven’t had this much fun during a session in a while. So… Thank you. I hope you like it.”

You took his hand and sat up, hopping off the table to turn and face the mirror. You were speechless. The lines were sharp and straight, the colors bright, the shading made everything pop out as if the seashells were just sitting on the surface of your skin. Your mermaids were glowing - their scales nearly sparkled and the ocean waves surrounding them looked so real. Tiny sparks floated around the mermaid's hands, creating a shield of fire. Like they were putting on a show or putting up a forcefield. You couldn’t stop yourself from squealing with excitement before you turned around and lunged towards Rafayel, pulling him into a hug.

“Oh my god…”

As soon as your chest collided with his, your excitement faded and pure terror replaced it. You jumped back, instinctively covering your chest with your hands. His ears were bright red and he stared at you, unable to blink it seems.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think! I was so excited and… Shit… I –”

He reaches out and takes hold of your arms. You snap your mouth closed.

“It’s okay. I’m glad you love it. I do wish that you hadn’t… pulled away so quickly though…”

You blinked rapidly. He was pouting again, pouting because you pulled away from hugging him. From hugging him while… His thumbs brush against your skin and you tilt your head, scanning his face for confirmation that what he said was real.

“I was going to wait to ask you out until after I bandaged you up and you had your shirt on, but why waste a perfectly good moment?”

Your mouth hangs open and you feel your knees jerk. Rafayel’s hold on you tightens and he helps you lean back against the table.

“Shit… let me get you some juice, you’re probably crashing a bit.”

Oh, he has no idea just how badly you are crashing out right now. He jogs out of the room and returns with a small bottle of orange juice. He opens it for you and holds it to your lips. You take a sip and lift your hand to hold his wrist while he helps you drink. His eyes meet yours and you stare at him, he doesn’t look away, his gaze burns straight to your core. He sets the bottle down and grabs a paper towel, dabbing at your leaking tattoo gently.

“Yes.” You whisper.

“What?”

“Yes, I’ll go out with you.”

If you thought you’d seen him excited before… He smiles, his dazzling teeth take your breath away. You raise a brow when you realize he has gems adhered to his canines - can he get any sexier?

“Well, I’d say this session went swimmingly.”

You giggle and rest your palms on the table behind you. He gets to work cleaning your tattoo and snapping a few pictures for you before covering the fresh ink with Saniderm wrap. You pull your shirt back on and down the rest of the orange juice - you were starting to feel your endorphins fade away and your body was reeling from the experience.

“How does tomorrow night sound?”

He holds his phone out to you and you take it, seeing he already set up a contact for you. You feel your cheeks burn when you see the contact name “Tattoo Cutie.” You don’t correct it, just add your name beside it and punch in your number before handing it back to him.

“Sounds perfect.”

You wake up to a banging on your front door, it’s so loud you’re sure your neighbors will complain to you later. You don’t even bother putting on your robe and jog through your living room. You swing the door open and Tara flies through, nearly knocking you over. You close the door and follow her through the hall to your living room.

“You’re casting a spell or making one of those wish bottle things or whatever it is that you’re doing to make your life so damn perfect.”

She plops down on your sofa and crosses her arms. She stares up at you with a stern expression. You try not to giggle since Tara’s version of “stern” comes across a lot like Rafayel’s pout.

“I didn’t cast a spell. I just –”

“You just what? Became the luckiest girl in the world without even trying? That’s even worse!”

You finally let out a laugh and sit down next to her, pulling your legs to your chest.

“Listen, I have no idea what’s going on, I am just trying to enjoy it while it lasts. It feels like I’m going to wake up any moment and realize it was all a dream.”

She shifts on the sofa and turns to face you.

“I don’t want to sound like I am jealous in a mean way, I am jealous in a ‘give me some of your luck’ way. Maybe then Jeremiah will finally propose…”

You grab her hand and squeeze gently.

“Oh come one, you literally picked out your ring with him! He’ll propose, he’s obsessed with you. He’s also terrified of you, so he knows better than to half-ass a proposal. Give him more time.”

Her cheeks flush and she looks down at her hand, holding up her ring finger. She lets out a sigh and looks up at you with determination.

“I want to know everything about last night. Every dirty detail. Spill.”

She kicks off her shoes and crosses her legs under her, fully facing you. She won’t let go of your hand, so you’re trapped on the sofa with her until you tell her about your date.

“He picked me up on his bike and –”

“He rides a bike! Oh my god that’s hot - what kind?!”

“A Kawasaki. It was really nice, dark blue with bright blue headlights. He told me he collects them so –”

“He collects motorcycles? Oh my god…”

“Are you going to let me tell you about the date or not?”

Tara huffs and lets go of your hand. She lifts her fingers to her mouth and pressed her lips together, “zipping her lips” so you can continue.

“We drove around for a while and then he took me to – oh I don’t know if I can tell you…”

“BITCH IF YOU DON’T –”

You laugh and lean away from her flailing hands. You raise yours in surrender.

“Okay, okay, but you have to promise not to say anything, swear.”

She places a hand over her heart.

“I swear on Winterford the 3rd I will not speak a word.”

“Woah, swearing on your dog's life is intense Tara.”

She crosses her arms and glares at you. You roll your eyes and continue.

“He is opening a sushi restaurant in a few months, so he took me there to show me around. It’s down at the pier near Whitesand Bay.”

Tara opens her mouth to say something but instantly closes it. You nod in approval, her self-control is improving.

“He doesn’t have a name for it yet, but the interior and kitchen are done. We made sushi together and ate on the rooftop terrace looking out over the water.”

Tara lets out a closed-mouth squeal and claps her hands. She motions with her hands for you to continue.

“We walked along the pier and talked for a long time. When it got dark he offered his jacket - I know - and then we went back to his bike. He drove down this alley where graffiti artists practice and gave me a can to try it out.”

“Wait - sorry - you defaced public property?”

“Rafayel owns the building and advertises it as, and I quote ‘an artists playground’ so no I did not.”

“That’s a shame, it would have been hot.”

“Tara! I’m a public servant! I’d lose my job.”

She pokes your shoulder.

“Only if you get caught!”

You rub your temples and suppress the urge to laugh at her antics.

“What happened next?”

“He drove me home.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

She punches your shoulder and you fall back onto the couch.

“TARA!”

“YOU DIDN’T EVEN GET A KISS? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

“I DID! Just not… okay… he kissed me on the cheek when he said good night. It was cute.”

“CUTE?”

You sit up and push her, she doesn’t even move.

“I don’t want to rush things!”

“At least tell me he made plans for a second date with you?”

“He did. We are going out on Friday night.”

“Thank god. Please, I beg of you, get laid or at least make out with him!”

“Tara, I swear to god…”

“You have been insanely stressed lately and from what you’ve told me, he is super into you. Just let go babe, enjoy it! Enjoy him.”

You cross your arms and shake your head.

“It’ll happen when it feels right. I won’t lie, I hope it’s sooner rather than later, but I also am willing to wait. I –”

You stop yourself, feeling your cheeks heat up. Tara’s expression softens.

“Oh. Oh.”

You get up from the couch and head into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. Tara is right on your heels.

“You liiiiike him. Aww, babes!”

She wraps her arms around you, hugging your back as you pour coffee beans into your espresso machine.

“I just started seeing him, it’s too early to tell.”

“Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

She releases you and slides onto a bar stool, her arms leaning on the island. You start chopping up fruit and try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. The sound of your coffee machine cuts through the silence and you avoid looking at Tara, knowing she can read you like a book. Maybe it was after the tattoo session or when you were holding hands on the pier, but at some point you realized you really liked Rafayel. He made you laugh and he asked the most bizarre questions that made you think about life in a new light. You wanted more and god, you hope he does too.

By the time Friday rolls around you are definitely ready for some fun. You’ve been constantly sharing memes back and forth with Rafayel all week. It’s certainly eased the stress of work. But you want to see him and you’re eager for his call when you finally clock out and head home.

You’re barely in the front door when you hear your phone buzz. You see Rafayel’s name light up your screen and have to force yourself to count to ten before answering it. You don’t want to seem that eager.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey cutie, how was work?”

“It was okay, not too much activity today so I was stuck cataloging old reports. I almost fell asleep like three times.”

“I bet. I… shit… I have to tell you something.”

You clench your fist and lean against the door to your bedroom, dropping your bag to the floor.

“Okaaaay.”

He sighs and the knot in your stomach tightens.

“I have to reschedule.”

And there it is, your heart sinks.

“Oh… yeah okay.”

“Not because I want to, trust me. I owe someone a favor and have to be at a party.”

You bite your lip, propping your hand on your hip as you start to pace.

“I see.”

You can’t mask the edge to your voice. A party? Someone is calling in a favor for him to come to their party? He is famous, so it would make them look good, but why couldn’t he invite you? Was he embarrassed of you? Did he not want people in his life to know you were dating? Or seeing each other? Or just talking? Are you even dating?

“It’s more like work, she’s offering free tattoos to the guests. The other artist fell through so she’s calling me in so her party doesn’t ‘crash and burn’ - her words not mine.”

“Uh huh.”

“Okay, you’re pissed.”

You stop dead in your tracks and straighten up.

“I am not!”

“I can hear you pacing.”

You look down at your shoes. Of course you wore your chunky boots with the clicky heels today. The taps on your wooden floors were that loud? Damn.

“I’m not mad, I promise.”

“Then you’re irritated?”

“No…”

“What is it? Come on, tell me.”

“I guess… confused?”

“Confused about what?”

You close your eyes and sit down on your bed. Bracing yourself for the embarrassment you’re sure will wash over you after your next statement.

“Is there a reason you couldn’t bring me? I know you said it was more like work, but I guess… You know what, nevermind.”

You flop back onto your mattress and cover your eyes with your arm.

“Nope! Not ‘nevermind-ing’ - I would love to bring you, I just… I… fuck how do I explain it?”

“You don’t want anyone knowing about me?”

“No! Fuck no! That’s not what I… shit… okay, I didn’t think you’d want to come. It’s not a normal party. Not everyone is… comfortable with this sort of thing.”

You sit up immediately. Your hand tightly grips your phone.

“What kind of party is it?”

He pauses. The silence stretches for what feels like hours. He finally sighs and chuckles under his breath.

“It’s a sex party, babe.”

You audibly gasp and slap a hand over your mouth. You shake your head and ignore your throbbing clit to continue the conversation.

“Oh, I… right… I get it. Sorry. Uhm…”

“You’re more than welcome to come as my plus one, but only if you’re comfortable.”

You take a moment and consider your options. A sex party. As Rafayel’s plus one. You’ve never been very adventurous with your sexual endeavors. You didn’t even realize sex parties happened in real life. You’re practically salivating just thinking about it. You stand and face the mirror hanging next to your closet. What have you got to lose?

“What should I wear?”

Rafayel laughs, he clears his throat before continuing.

“Something sexy, but that’ll be easy for you. I’ll bring you a mask.”

You pause after opening your closet.

“A mask?”

“Yeah, everyone wears masks to add to the ‘experience’ - everyone at these parties knows each other most of the time, but the masks offer a sense of freedom. Everybody can do what they want for the night, no consequences.”

You tug at the fabric of a sleek black dress as you mull over the idea. Just for the night. No consequences. Maybe Tara is right, maybe you should just let go.

“What time?”

“It starts at 9. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

“See you then.”

After you hang up you get to work figuring out your outfit. Rafayel might have confidence in your ability to pick out a sexy outfit but you certainly didn’t. Should it be sexy and cute? Just sexy? Sexy and slutty? Sexy and fancy? You pull dress after dress from your closet and nothing feels right. You finally decide to forgo dresses completely. The first skirt you pull out is the one. You can visualize the outfit and while it’s much more revealing than you’re used to, you are pretty sure you’d be wearing more than most of the party goers regardless.

You zip up the pleather mini skirt, adjusting it so it sits high on your hips. Your legs were on full display, the skirt mostly serving to just cover your ass. You grab your favorite black bra and shrug on the mesh top. Layering gold necklaces so your torso doesn’t appear so bare. You look in the mirror and jump up and down with excitement. Your tattoos are fully visible through the mesh. You had lathered lotion onto your new tattoos so the peeling wasn’t noticeable and carefully applied perfume, avoiding the healing skin. Your red pumps sit next to the door with your red crossbody clutch. You were ready, well sort of.

Rafayel called you only a few minutes later and you carefully made your way to the first floor. You were comfortable wearing heels, opting to wear them all the time when hitting the club with Tara or going on dates. But tonight, your nerves were making your ankles a little wobbly. The elevator door opens to the front lobby of your apartment building and you spot Rafayel leaning against a car just outside. Fuck.

He had a button up, that was actually buttoned up this time, tucked into shredded jeans. His boots were laced with gold laces. He had multiple chain necklaces around his neck. As you got closer you realized his shirt was also see through, just little golden floral appliques scattered over the sheer fabric. You could see everything and god, it was a sight. The definition of his abs, the dark lines of a tattoo on his side and swirls of ink trailing from his neck piece down his chest. You spot his navel piercing, sparkling as the setting sun casts what almost felt like a spotlight on him. Something else sparkles, nipple rings. You swear under your breath. He’s going to kill you, not literally, but - well he might with how fast your heart is beating.

He finally looks up from his phone and spots you. His eyes widen and he stares, jaw slack, for at least a full minute. Your cheeks burn and you have to focus on his face so you don’t sneak a peek at his torso again.

“Fuck, you look amazing.”

His words make you stammer. You swallow hard, working up the courage to respond.

“I can say the same for you.”

He wraps an arm around your waist and kisses your cheek. You feel his body against yours and sigh, wishing you could delay him letting you go.

“Ready to go, cutie?”

You nod and he opens the passenger door for you. You slide in and finally take a good look at the car you’re in. You’ve never ridden in a Bentley before - the seats were soft under your thighs. The leather is silky rather than sticky against your skin. The car was painted a similar dark blue to his bike and had the same bright blue headlights. You already knew he liked the color blue, but this just made it more obvious.

He settles into the driver seat and the engine revs to life.

“You’re sure you’re comfortable with this?”

You lean on the center console as you face him, leaning forwards.

“I’m sure.”

“We can leave at any point, Talia will just have to deal with it. Just don’t hesitate to –”

You press your index finger to his lips, silencing him. The surprised look on his face makes your smile hurt your cheeks.

“Rafayel, I’m sure.”

He smiles and you drop your hand, but he grabs it immediately and laces his fingers with yours. He rests your hand on his thigh, rubbing your hand with his thumb as he sets off down the highway.

As the gates to the mansion open, you squeeze Rafayel’s hand trying to quell a wave of nerves. This mansion is huge, you spot two guest houses and a pool with a waterfall - a full ass waterfall - nestled in the backyard surrounded by hundreds of trees and flowers. The cobblestone driveway leads to a massive mahogany front door, where two men stand, dressed in black. Rafayel continues rubbing your hand with his thumb.

“It’s intimidating, I know. It’ll be better once we’re inside.”

You watch party goers enter, getting pat down briefly before heading inside. From what you can see, they’re dressed fairly normally. Dresses and heels, suits or blazers. Rafayel parks in the garage of one of the guest houses and rushes around the car to open your door. You give him a playful glare.

“You know I can open my own door, good sir.”

He takes your hand and helps you out, bringing your hand to his mouth, his lips pressing against your knuckles.

“I’m aware.”

You don’t argue when he wraps an arm around your waist as he leads you to the main house. He enters through a backdoor and a security guard greets him with a smile.

“Raf, good to see you. Talia is in the main room already. She told me to show you to the booth. And who is this with you?”

His voice hardens when he spots you. Rafayel leans over and kisses your temple.

“She’s with me.”

The guard nods and unlocks a door, ushering you both inside.

All the lightbulbs have been replaced with warm red bulbs, fake candles cover every surface, cushions and blankets are tucked in corners. Rooms that typically never have beds have become makeshift bedrooms. Wait staff stroll in and out of the kitchen with platters covered in hors d'oeuvres and flutes of champagne. A DJ is perched on a balcony overlooking the main floor, the music a mix of soft jazz with sultry singers.

You’ve yet to spot any party goers, so you relax a bit as you take in the lavish interior. You’re pulled behind a curtain, a small room sits behind it with a padded table, a small cabinet, a portable sink, a large medical light and a few stools. Rafayel walks up to the cabinet and crouches, examining its contents. You spot a large collection of tattoo equipment. As Rafayel sets up his station, you peek through the curtain and see people walking around. Everyone is wearing masks and at least some form of clothing. You hear Rafayel call your name and you jump back through the curtain.

“Curious, are we?”

You scoff and cross your arms. He turns to you and holds something out. You take it and realize it’s a simple black eye mask, made of simple fabric with a thick elastic band. When you look back up at Rafayel, he is already putting his on. You slip the mask on and fiddle with the elastic, unsure if you should tuck it under your hair. Rafayel touches your hand and you pause. He turns you around and collects your hair, holding it up so you can slip the elastic band underneath. He lets your hair go and smoothes it back in place.

“You’re welcome to look around, you don’t have to stay here with me.”

“I’ll stay, at least for now. I can be your assistant.”

He smiles and brushes his thumb across your cheek. He stares at you for a moment, his eyes bouncing from your eyes to your lips. You hook your fingers in the belt loops of his jeans and he leans closer. Is he going to –

“Raffie! Oh my god thank you thank you thank you!”

A woman with long purple waves bounces through the curtain. You almost let out a gasp when you see she’s naked from the waist up. Rafayel slaps a hand over his eyes and sighs.

“Talia… You might be the one person at this party I absolutely do not want to see naked.”

“Raffie, you’re so dramatic. I have pasties on!.”

If she did have pasties, they were… camouflaged. Her teasing voice only seems to irritate Rafayel more. Or maybe it’s because of her cute little nickname for him.

“Talia, please…”

Talia sighs dramatically and dives through the curtain for a moment. When she returns she has a silky purple robe on. She reaches up and yanks Rafayel’s wrist and pulls his hand from his face. His eyes remain closed.

“I put on a robe, Raffie. Chill out.”

Rafayel opens his eyes and shoves her shoulder playfully.

“Stop it with the Raffie.”

“I don’t know, I like Raffie. It’s cute.”

Rafayel stares at you and you can’t help but laugh. Talia giggles and grabs your hand, shaking it wildly.

“When Rafayel said he was bringing a plus one I was shocked. He never brings anyone around me honestly. You must be special.”

“Oh, no I’m –”

“She is.”

Rafayel cuts you off and you nearly choke on your own saliva. His hand grazes your hip, holding you close. Talia smiles and pokes his shoulder.

“I see. Well… here you go.”

She hands you and Rafayel a keyring with three cards attached. You flip the cards back and forth, not seeing anything printed on them.

“In case you decide to… participate. Feel free to tattoo as long as you like, I only promised the service until midnight.”

Rafayel nods and accepts the side hug Talia offers. She gives you a quick hug as well - taking you by surprise - before skipping out of the room.

“So that’s Talia. She’s my aunt. And she’s so great at introductions.”

He puts his keyring in the cabinet and sits down on one of the stools next to the table. He starts spreading out a wide array of flash tattoos he’s designed, making it easier for selection. You fiddle with the keyring.

“So what’s this about?”

He looks up and, even in the dim lighting you can see his ears turn red.

“It’s a… aha… a way to approach someone you want to interact with and express interest.”

You stare at him, letting your mind wander as you try to figure out how it works. You avoid Rafayel’s gaze, embarrassed that you don’t understand his implications. You hear him stand and approach you. His hand covers your own and he takes the keyring. You watch as he flips to the blue card.

“An individual will approach another individual, or a group of individuals, and hold up a card. They’ll wait until they’re chosen or refused. The card tells you what they want.”

You lift your wide eyes to meet his.

“The blue card is for the male. The red card is for the female. And the yellow card is for both.”

You blink rapidly and clear your throat.

“So if I approached you and held up this.”

He holds up the red card.

“It means I want you… In whatever way I can have you.”

You take a deep breath and feel your chest tighten. You press your thighs together and basically beg your pussy to calm down. He places the keyring back in your hand and closes your fingers around it. He lifts his hand to hold the side of your neck. He leans closer, his nose brushing against yours, his breath fanning across your face. His lips barely graze your cheek, just above your lips. Every breath you take pushes your chest against his. It takes everything you have not to grab him and devour him on the spot.

You hear the curtain behind you flip open and Rafayel lets go of your neck, looking up to see his first client. You sit on a stool and watch Rafayel tattoo client after client. Most are completely naked, which takes you a bit of time to adjust to. You help him by cleaning the table - very well - between clients.

Every time a woman enters, their breasts bouncing and pussy proudly on display, you feel a twinge of pain. And when Rafayel puts his hands on them to begin working, it feels like you’re going to throw up.

Before you know it, midnight is less than a half hour away and your nerves start to swirl. What will Rafayel want to do once his “duties” are done? Just as you’re getting ready to ask him, a perky brunette with olive skin strolls in. Golden chains draped over her perfect body. She leans against the table and points to a simple jellyfish design.

“It’s a popular one. Where’dya want it?”

He clears the table and she lays down on her back. You glance down at your phone and check the time and when you look back up, she is laying with her legs spread wide. You hold your breath and look to Rafayel, who is still focused on getting his supplies refreshed. When he turns around a look of genuine surprise graces his face. He sets his tattoo gun down and crosses the room to wash his hands.

“Are you sure about that? It’s worse than a piercing and harder to heal. You won't be able to participate anymore tonight.”

“A night of passion or a tattoo on my pussy by the famous Rafayel? I am absolutely sure.”

Rafayel doesn’t look at you as he puts on his gloves. You tense and drop your gaze. He sits on his stool and slides over, when you finally look up you see him basically staring at her pussy. You gasp silently, you didn’t think it was loud enough for anyone to hear, but when Rafayel glances over his shoulder at you you quickly get up and dash through the curtain.

You don’t look back and you don’t hear him call for you - not that you could hear anything over the music and moans. You walk through the various rooms, grabbing a glass of champagne from a waiter on your way. You finally find an empty room and sit down to catch your breath. You down your champagne in one go and fiddle with the stem of the glass.

You know you shouldn’t be upset, you weren’t in a relationship and this was technically your second date. From the sounds of it, he’s tattooed that area before. Of course he has, it’s his job. It isn’t a big deal. You feel foolish for running out like that, he probably thinks you’re dramatic and can’t handle his job or his fame. You set the glass on a table nearby and cover your face with your hands.

You finish off two more glasses of champagne before feeling brave enough to head back into the main hall. You take your time as you walk back to Rafayel’s tattoo booth, letting yourself watch the chaos around you. Clusters of people on beds, tables and even the floor. Riding, licking, sucking, moaning. You feel like you’re in another world, where shame and embarrassment don’t exist. If you weren’t so frustrated you might actually be enjoying yourself.

You stop at the staircase, your eyes locked on a couple wrapped around each other. It’s not like the others, they take their time, kissing and touching before he lifts her to ride his cock. Her moans are soft and the smile on her face - she’s experiencing pure bliss. You feel your cheeks heat and your throat tighten. You want that, not just a night of passion with a hot guy. And maybe you aren’t able to handle Rafayel’s job or fame. Is that such a bad thing? That you know what you want? Or what you don’t want?

“Cutie?”

Rafayel’s voice breaks you out of your spiral. You feel his hand on your back and you turn to face him. You know your cheeks are flushed, your eyes hazy yet vacant as your mind tries to make sense of your newfound clarity.

“I’m sorry I ran out.”

He places his hands on your shoulders and rubs your arms.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I know it’s your job and you’ve probably tattooed plenty of pussies - it’s not a big deal.”

“Really? I think it is a big deal if it upsets you.”

“I wasn’t upset. It doesn’t matter anyway, if I can’t handle it then maybe you should find someone who can.”

He stiffens, his brows knit together and his eyes darken. His voice drops and his tone becomes rigid.

“Is that what you want? For me to find someone else?”

“Maybe I am uncomfortable with the idea of you touching another girl's pussy, even if it is for your job. So yes, find someone who doesn’t care.”

He pushes you back against the wall. His hands move from your arms to tightly grip your hips.

“What if I like that about you?”

You open your mouth to respond, but he leans in, pressing his chest against yours.

“Do you want my hands on you? Only you? Only touching your pussy?”

Your chest heaves, pressing against him with every breath. His hands move up your waist, forcing your back to arch off the wall towards him.

“Cause that’s what I want. I don’t want to touch anyone else like that, not when yours is the one I can’t stop thinking about tasting.”

His nose rubs against yours.

“I told her to change the location or get out.”

His lips brush against yours, you can almost taste him.

“So don’t tell me to find someone else because you’re the one I want. So please, don’t run away.”

You let out a shaky breath and reach up to grab his neck, you capture his lips. He moans against your mouth and you bite his lip. He gasps and tries to pull back but you don’t let him. You hold him to you and slide your tongue into his mouth, which he quickly sucks in. His tongue dances with yours leaving you breathless.

He leans down to pick you up. You wrap your legs around his waist and his hands dive under your skirt. He grabs your ass and you roll your hips against his stomach. He walks over to an unoccupied sofa and sits down with you straddling his lap. You run your hands down his body, feeling the chill of his nipple rings against your palms. He pushes your hips down and you lower onto him, his bulge growing harder under you. He suddenly pulls back.

“Wait - do you want to go somewhere private?”

You grind your hips against him and he groans loudly. You can feel eyes on you and it makes you grind harder. You lean forward and press your mouth to his ear.

“I can’t wait… and I want them to watch you take what’s yours.”

Something inside of Rafayel snaps. He rips the mesh top from your body and pulls up your skirt over your hips. His hands roam across your back as he places kisses to your chest. Your relentless grinding makes him nip and lick at your skin in response. He unhooks your bra and tosses it over the sofa, his mouth moving to capture your nipple. You throw your head back and sigh, your breathing becoming more erratic by the second.

He lifts your hips and you whine, the friction of his bulge against your clothed pussy wasn’t perfect, but it was something. He picks you up and stands, dropping you onto the couch. He kneels and unzips your skirt, pulling it completely off of you. You tug the buttons on his shirt loose and run your hands over his chest. He pulls off the shirt and you reach to unbutton his pants, but his hand stops you. You look at him, confused.

“I have to show you something first, okay baby?”

You nod and lean back. He unbuttons his pants and bends to pull them down completely - along with his underwear. Your jaw drops, literally drops, at the sight of his cock. Not just because he is well-endowed - not to the point of discomfort, but you’re sure you’ll be sore tomorrow. But because the moment you saw that glint of silver your pussy throbbed so hard you nearly came.

Right at the base of his slit sat the silver ball, you reach out and wrap your hand around him. He shudders but remains still for you. You run your fingers over his slit, already leaking pre-cum, and roll the silver ball between your fingers. You feel the other end of the piercing underneath, you shift the piercing back and forth. He moans and his hips twitch. You stroke him slowly, working your way down to the silver studs at the base, sitting atop his pubic mound. You moan as your fingers rub across it, imagining how good it will feel against your clit.

“Having fun, cutie?”

His words are broken, his breathing labored as you work him. You smile up at him and push yourself to the end of the sofa. He reaches his hand out and strokes your cheek. You hold his gaze as you stick your tongue out and lick his slit. His hands grip your hair and he pulls you away from him. He towers over you, making you lean back onto the couch. He climbs over you and leans down, pressing his lips to your neck.

“How wet are you right now?”

You roll your hips up against his cock and he growls into your neck. He sits back to tug your panties down your legs. He lowers himself again, pressing his entire body against yours. You moan with how hot his skin feels against yours. You wrap your arms around him and cling to him, your legs spreading wider as he settles against you. His hands roam your body, pinching at your nipples, fingering your weeping pussy, palming your ass - every touch sending shockwaves through your system.

He dips his fingers further into your pussy and you pull your hips back. He looks at you, sweat already dripping down his forehead. You run your fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes - those beautiful fucking eyes.

“I don’t want your fingers Raf, please…”

He chuckles and slides his hand down to line himself up. You feel the chill of metal against your entrance and flinch.

“Look at me.”

You tear your eyes away from his cock and meet his gaze. He leans forward and kisses you. It’s a slow and steady kiss. Your mind swims as you feel his tongue slide in. And then you feel that delicious stretch, his cock sinking into you, the metal balls of his piercing stroking your inner walls. The kiss turns messy as your moans and his gasps harmonize and fill the air around you. Finally your hips jerk forward and you feel his pubic piercing press to your clit. You pull away from the kiss to scream his name, the pressure and chill of the metal overloading your senses.

Rafayel whines as he holds still to let you adjust to him. You claw at his back and he drops a foot to the floor beside the couch to angle his hips better. You know he’s about to pound into you and make you scream even louder. The thought of the people around you watching makes you delirious.

“Raf.. I need you– I need you to move, please…”

He doesn’t hesitate and he pulls back until just his tip is tucked inside and then he rams his hips forward, sending you backwards on the couch. You squeal and moan as he finds his rhythm. He rests his forehead against yours and gasps for air, his chest turning red from the exertion. Every snap of his hips pushes his pubic piercing against your clit making it throb and the drag of those inside of you drives you crazy. Finally you feel it, that silver ball hitting that spongy spot that makes your legs shake. You whimper and ignore the tears sliding down your cheek, the pleasure completely encompassing your being.

“Fuck… I need to come, ahh.. Shit…”

He starts to pull out, but you wrap your legs around him and lock your ankles. He looks at you, his forehead tight as he fights off his orgasm. You release his back for a moment to grab his face, pressing a kiss to his swollen lips.

“Come inside me, baby. Pill… I’m on the pill, just come for me…”

Your command is immediately obeyed, you feel his release and shudder as the warmth fills you. His pace never falters and the added slickness from his release makes his cock slide through you even faster. Your g-spot is hit every single time he thrusts and you finally feel your back arch and your body tremble, your orgasm hits and you scream.

“Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes Rafayel fuck yeeeeessss…”

As you both come down, you feel his body relax against you. You lean your head to the side and he nuzzles into your neck. His soft kisses help your breathing to steady. You open your eyes and gasp quietly. Rafayel lifts his head and follows your gaze. A small group of people are standing in a circle around the sofa where you and Rafayel are lying. Some of them are holding cards and leaning on each other, some are just smiling and whispering to each other.

“They want to join.”

Rafayel whispers in your ear. You hold onto him, suddenly very aware of how naked you are - how naked everyone is. Rafayel lifts you, his cock slipping out before he settles you on his lap. He wraps his arms around you protectively.

“We can tell them to leave, if you want?”

You hear your heart pounding in your ears. Before tonight, you never would have thought you’d be interested in experiencing certain things, but now…

“Are you uncomfortable with anything?”

He looks at you, his brows raised in surprise.

“Another man’s dick in you, for one. Or his tongue…”

“I meant, for you.”

He tilts his head.

“I thought…”

“I don’t want you anywhere near another girl’s pussy. But his… tongue…”

You look up and stare at a particularly attractive man standing on the outskirts of the small group, partially hidden in shadow. He’s tall, broad shoulders, the hard lines of his abdomen glisten with sweat. An intricate tattoo of a dragon starts at his chest, its wings spread across his shoulder and down his arm, the body trails down his side, curving over his abs before its tail spirals down his hip and coils around his thigh. Before you can stop yourself, your eyes shift and damn… you can appreciate a pretty cock when you see one. His black and red mask covers his whole face, but even from a distance, his eyes are piercing. Rafayel follows your eyes and sees him, a blue card in his hand.

“What do you want him to do to me?”

You lean into his ear and nip at his earlobe, his cock springing to life against your thigh.

“I want him to suck you off while I ride your face.”

Rafayel groans, his head pressed into your shoulder. You play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Only if you want to. I want you to be comfortable. I want you to feel good.”

He lifts his head and looks at the man, who you’re positive is smiling wickedly. Rafayel gives him a nod and he approaches. The rest of those watching move back slightly, giving your trio more room. The man pulls a large round ottoman over and kneels beside it. His voice is deep and smooth, sending shivers down your back. Watching a man like this make Rafayel writhe with pleasure sends a new slickness to your tender pussy.

“Your ass goes here pretty boy, you lay back with your head on the couch so your girl can sit comfortably.”

He pats the ottoman, now lined up against the couch. Rafayel stares at him, his mouth hangs open. You examine the man before you, you wonder if he’s wearing contacts. Crimson eyes stare directly at Rafayel. Just as Rafayel is about to speak, the man lifts a finger to where his mouth would be. He reaches around his ear and you hear a quiet click. The lower half of his mask detaches and he slides it off, his face now only partially disguised. His smirk is breathtaking, he licks his lips slowly.

“I’m a man of my word.”

You look at Rafayel and narrow your eyes. He shakes his head.

“I’ll explain later.”

You lean in and kiss him, he whines when you pull back. He stands up with you in his arms and sets you on your feet beside him. He approaches the man, who is at least 2-3 inches taller than him. The man places a finger under Rafayel’s chin and lifts his gaze.

“Your legs don’t move and your hands stay still. If you thrust, I hold you down. I’m doing the work here. Just like she –”

He points at you over Rafayel’s shoulder.

“She is riding. You lay there and take it, got it?”

You watch Rafayel tense, but with how his breathing accelerates you can tell he is turned on. He lays down, positioning himself as instructed. The man kneels and places his hands on Rafayel’s knees. Rafayel looks down and watches the man slowly glide his hands up his thighs. You crawl onto the couch, watching the man caress Rafayel. Finally the man wraps his large hands around Rafayel’s cock and strokes him until Rafayel is panting. The man nods at you and you pull on Rafayel’s shoulders until he rests his head back on the couch. You lift your leg over his head and hover over his face, but he doesn’t let you tease him. He grabs your thighs and pulls you down without warning. His lips close around your clit. You gasp and grab onto his elbows.

You feel the chill of his lip piercings, his septum ring brushes against the skin just above your clit. And you finally have your answer, how his tongue ring would feel… you’ll never be the same. The ball rolls over your clit, the sudden chill and pressure makes your vision blur. You start rolling your hips. His moans start to get louder and you look up to see the man has started licking Rafayel’s shaft, placing sloppy kisses to his tip. He sucks his tip into his mouth and suckles, the lewd slurping sound he makes pushes you to grind your hips faster. When he finally takes Rafayel fully into his mouth Rafayel’s hips jerk. The man stops and lifts his mouth off of him and you feel Rafayel shake.

“I told you, no moving.”

He presses his forearms onto Rafayel’s thighs and grip his hips. You feel Rafayel’s fingers dig into your thighs as he laps at your clit, making your core heat unbelievably fast. You watch the man take Rafayel back into his mouth, lowering himself until Rafayel’s cock is fully in his mouth. Rafayel shakes under you and whimpers loudly. Hearing him whimper like that could make you come untouched, you’re sure of it. You watch the man’s throat move as he swallows around his length. You grind faster, knowing Rafayel won’t last long if this mystery man is deepthroating him so easily. He finally thrusts his tongue inside you and you lean forward, resting your hands on his stomach.

“Tell him to finger you.”

The man’s rushed words take you by surprise. As soon as he says them he is taking Rafayel in his mouth again. You lift yourself up just enough to hear Rafayel take a deep breath and groan wildly. You shift and bring your knees closer to his head.

“Raf, fingers… in me.”

A cocky smile tugs at his lips.

“I thought you said… you didn’t want my fingers?”

He barely gets the words out before he gasps, the man has shifted and sucked one of Rafayel’s balls into his mouth, his hand stroking his shaft. You look back at Rafayel and smile.

“Do as you’re told, pretty boy.”

You sit back down before he can reply. He quickly lifts his hands and circles your pussy as he continues to work your clit with his tongue. His teeth graze the sensitive bundle and his fingers curl and scissor rapidly against your puffy walls, not giving you a moment to adjust. You lean down and run your tongue over his nipple ring, he rams his fingers into you harder in response, finding your sweet spot. You take the piercing between your teeth and give it a gentle tug and start rolling your fingers over the other side.

You watch as the man starts bobbing up and down, from tip to base he takes Rafayel’s cock over and over.. You swear you can see the outline of Rafayel’s cock in his throat. He starts groaning, the vibration sends Rafayel into a frenzy and you feel your orgasm crest.

“I’m coming fuck fuck fuck… ahhhh yes Raf yes..”

You hear the man moan and look up to see Rafayel’s release leaking out of the sides of his mouth. That sight makes your climax so intense you worry you might blackout. You feel Rafayel start tapping your thigh and you quickly lift yourself away, he gasps for air but laughs as he relaxes. You crawl off of him and are mortified to see the couch around his head completely soaked, his face and hair drenched. But you can’t find a reason to care when he looks so pussy drunk.

The man stands and wipes at his lip with his thumb, you glance down at Rafayel’s cock and see not a drop of his release is left behind. This man really sucked him dry and cleaned up… impressive. Rafayel sits up and looks up at the man.

“Debt is paid. See you next week, Rafayel.”

With that, he turns and leaves. You look at Rafayel and crawl onto his lap.

“I’m looking forward to hearing what that was about…”

You try to wipe his forehead with your wrist.

“Leave it, I like smelling like you.”

You slap his chest and he chuckles. He looks up to see there are still people waiting.

“Still in the mood to experiment?”

You don’t even glance around, you just lock your arms around his neck and kiss his cheek.

“No, I want you to myself. I need to see if my mouth can make you whimper like that again.”

He glares at you and pinches your side. You try to wiggle away from him, but he grabs you and hauls you over to lay on top of him.

“I can promise you, when it’s your mouth, I’ll be so delirious I might speak another language entirely.”

You kiss his nose.

“That’s hot.”

He laughs and kisses your nose.

“Let’s get out of here, yea?”

You’ve basically lived at Rafayel’s apartment over Lemuria Studios for the past week. It’s closer to the Association and much nicer. Plus, waking up next to him is a great way to start your day. And being fucked senseless every night is definitely helping you sleep better.

“You should go by your place after you get off work, pick up some clothes and shit.”

You put down your coffee and stare at him.

“I want you to be comfortable when you stay here.”

You stand up from the bar stool and walk around the kitchen island. He stops chopping vegetables to lean on the counter and look at you. His shirt hangs off your shoulders, the hem barely covering your ass. You run your hands down his chest, placing a kiss over his heart. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you press yourself against him. He rubs his hands over your back and rests his chin on your head.

“I like changing into your clothes when I get off work. I like using your shower gel so I can smell like you. I like sleeping naked in your bed. I am more comfortable than I’ve ever been.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I want you wearing my clothes and sleeping naked…”

You feel his hands glide down your back and pull his shirt up over your ass. The cool air against your bare skin makes you shiver. He leans down to kiss your neck, his hands feeling the curve of your ass and diving lower between your legs.

“I just think you should have some of your own things, you know?”

“I’ll pick up a few things after work.”

His fingers press against the crotch of your panties and you shiver.

“When do you have to leave for work?”

You glance over his shoulder at the clock and smile. You giggle and grab onto his neck, keeping him close.

“About an hour…”

He plants his hands under your ass and lifts you up. He continues placing messy kisses to your neck as he walks you to his bedroom.

“That should tide us over until tonight, yea?”

Work wasn’t boring, but you were itching to leave and head to your place. The more you thought about it the more excited you were to have your things at Rafayel’s place. You loved smelling like him, but your hair types are very different and his products are definitely not working for you. You planned your entire evening while working. Completing reports, canvassing Wanderer hotspots, scanning physical reports into the digital system - with every mind numbing task, you got closer and closer to the self-care date with yourself.

When you open the door to your apartment you’re greeted with the scent of extremely ripe bananas. You forgot you’d gotten them the day before the party and now… You close your front door and drop your keys on the entry table. You enter the kitchen and stare at the bananas. As you poke at them, you have an idea. It’s been ages since you’ve baked banana bread, but your grandmother's recipe is a classic. You find the recipe book on your bookshelf and gather the supplies you need. But before you bake, you need “an everything shower.” Badly.

Your shower gel is more floral than Rafayel’s, which is refreshing. And your scalp is finally able to breathe with your products gently scrubbing away the buildup. Shaving takes forever, but it’s worth it, Rafayel’s silk sheets would feel like heaven against your skin tonight. You put on a face mask while moisturizing and dance around your kitchen in your underwear while you stack the ingredients for the banana bread on the counter

Once the bread is in the oven, you grab a small suitcase and start packing up a few essentials. The travel size versions of your hair care products, underwear, an extra work uniform, a set of pajamas - just in case - two casual outfits and your go-to little black dress. You throw the uniform you wore today in the washer into the dryer and go through your fridge in case anything went bad while you were gone.

You’re setting the trash bag by the front door when you hear a muffled grunt. You press your ear to the door and hear more quiet groans and shuffling feet. You stand on your tiptoes and look through your peephole as quietly as possible. You see what looks like a white helmet and a purple jacket. They’re so close to your door you start to panic. You hear a knock at your door and you freeze.

“Cutie? Are you still here?”

Rafayel’s voice is muffled behind the door. You let out a sigh of relief and swing the door open, forgetting you’re only in your underwear. Rafayel is hunched over against the doorframe, the sleeves of his leather jacket are torn and the left leg of his cargo pants are shredded and bloody.

“Shit! Rafayel what happened?!”

He tugs at his helmet but can’t get it off. You push his hands away and unhook the straps to pull the helmet off his head. His face is pale and he’s drenched in sweat, but he still smirks when he sees you.

“Damn… what a welcome.”

“Shut the fuck up…”

You lift one of his arms and wrap it around your shoulder. You carefully help him walk into your apartment, kicking the door closed behind you.

You help him sit down on the couch and drag your coffee table closer to elevate his leg. The fabric is almost completely torn away from his skin and you can see the dirt and gravel stuck in his wounds. You help him remove his gloves and jacket, carefully inspecting his arm to see if there’s any wounds you haven’t seen. You tug his damp t-shirt off and look for any cuts. Bruises are already starting to darken over his ribcage.

You rush through your room to the bathroom to get a first aid kit and a few towels. You toss your face mask in the trash and put on your robe, haphazardly tying the belt at your waist. When you return Rafayel has his head back on the cushion with his eyes closed.

“Raf? You with me?”

He opens his eyes and smiles weakly. He tries to sit up, but clutches his side with a grimace.

“Rafayel, you need a doctor.”

He shakes his head, but keeps a hand pressed over his ribcage.

“It’s not that serious, trust me. I just need it cleaned up. I’m sorry I just showed up like this…”

“Rafayel…”

“I’ll get checked out when my doctor gets back in town. I promise.”

You rub your forehead and reach to turn on another light. You place the first aid kit on the coffee table and rush to the kitchen to grab a glass and a bowl of water. You hand Rafayel the glass, set the bowl down and sit down in front of him.

“Drink that.”

He doesn’t argue, he drinks the water slowly while he watches you work. You dip a towel in the water and gently try to clean the dirt and gravel out of his wound. He winces, but doesn’t struggle. You start putting a bit more pressure to see where the deeper cuts are and he groans. You look up at him and he has his eyes closed tightly.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

You continue cleaning the wound until it looks clear of debris. You shake a can of antiseptic spray, squinting your eyes at him as he shrugs.

“I crashed, no biggie.”

You grit your teeth and spray a more than generous amount on his leg. His leg shakes and he curses under his breath. He reaches for your hand and takes the can, chucking it across the room.

“Enough! I.. I think it’s clean…”

You flash him a smirk and grab a roll of gauze to start wrapping his leg.

“I haven’t crashed in a long time, but these things happen. I’m okay.”

You continue wrapping his leg in silence. The feeling he is hiding something ripping into you like a knife. This is a serious injury, he could have lost his leg or worse. He’s a careful driver, you know that. So what caused him to crash? You finally look at the helmet on the floor next to the couch. The white paint on the side is scraped and you can see a thin crack along the visor. But what catches your eye is the intricate red design on the front.

“Nice helmet.”

“Thank you. I don’t get to wear it often. Guess it’ll be retiring until I get it fixed up, huh?”

You nod. He leans forward and grabs your hands.

“I know it looks bad, but I’ve had worse. Come on, look at me, please?”

Just as you meet his gaze his phone rings. He grabs his jacket on the couch and digs his phone out. His gentle smile drops when he sees the caller.

“I need to take this, I’m sorry.”

He lifts his leg and tries to stand up, but you push him back.

“I’ll go, you need to keep your leg elevated.”

You walk to your room, closing the door behind you. Holding the handle, you don’t let the lock click. You wait until you hear a hushed “hello” before pulling the door open a crack. You press your ear as close to the opening as possible. Rafayel’s voice is hushed.

“I need to know their name.”

“No, I know. I know. I’d never seen them before.”

“I don’t give a fuck, they almost got Ryūō caught. Cops knew which bike to follow.”

Your eyes widen at the mention of cops. Who is Ryūō? Is that really a name?

“Yea, they caused my crash. No, Zayne’s out of town. Of course I’m not at the hospital, I’m not a fucking idiot. I’m okay, seriously, I need to focus on Ryūō.”

Zayne?! As in your childhood friend, the head of cardiology? That Zayne? Is he Rafayel’s primary physician too? Why can’t Rafayel go to the hospital?

“I want a name by the end of the night, put any expenses on my card.”

“No, don’t say anything. I’ll set up the next meeting and fill everyone in.”

“Yeah, fuck… Okay, have Ryūō call me.”

You’re tempted to swing the door open and confront him immediately, but your brain is swimming with theories.

“Cutie? You can come out now!”

You open the door slowly. Your eyes narrow and you glare at him from across the room. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes and your stomach tightens. As you approach him, he shifts uncomfortably, your gaze finally unsettling him. Just as you sit down to finish treating his leg, his phone rings again.

“Is that Ryūō?”

He looks up from his phone, his expression darkens. You don’t leave, instead you continue wrapping his leg and sit in silence while his phone continues to ring. Finally, he answers it.

“Hey.”

“No, doc’s out of town. I’m okay. It could have been worse.”

“Where’d you stash your bike?”

“No no no, I’ll send someone to get it. Keep your head down for a few days.”

“I’m looking into it.”

“He put down Onryō so I’m guessing it’s personal. Could be you, could be me, or both. I’ll have more info by the end of the night.”

Onryō? As in the Japanese yokai? You remember reading about popular yokai’s before your vacation to Japan after you graduated college. You recall they are ghosts who hyperfocus on vengeance. Their passion could be born out of jealousy or hatred. Does he think this person is trying to hurt him and this Ryūō person? Now Ryūō makes more sense. Another yokai.

“Sy, I am asking you not to look into it. It’ll get too messy if you get involved.”

Who is Sy?

“I know what you can do and I am asking you not to do anything. Please. I will call you as soon as I know anything.”

He hangs up and tosses it on the couch. He covers his face with his hands and groans, running his hands through his hair before looking up to stare at you.

“Go on, ask.”

You secure the gauze with tape. Picking up a new towel, you dip it in the water and squeeze out the excess before moving to sit next to him. You wipe his face and he relaxes, you continue down his chest.

“I’m pretty good at puzzles. So… I think I pieced most of it together.”

“Do tell.”

You feel his fingers trace your jaw. You pause and look at him.

“Bikes, cops, code names, someone is messing with you or whoever Ryūō is. My educated guess… Racing?”

He looks down at his leg, his brows furrow.

“Am I wrong?”

He sighs and looks at you again.

“Spot on.”

“So can you tell me what really happened now?”

He pulls the towel out of your hand and pulls you to him. You lean against the couch, careful not to put any pressure on his ribs. Once you settle, he takes a deep breath.

“I’ve been a part of the racing scene for a few years. Ryūō and I started around the same time. Now, we’ve become leaders… kind of? We’re used to having targets on our backs. So we’re careful about bringing new people onto the scene. Today, we held an open race to test the waters and it bit us in the ass.”

“Onryō? You mean?”

“Yeah... They signed in and before the race even started, cops rolled up. They targeted Ryūō and he pulled off the race to pull the cops away from us. That’s when the prick kicked me off my bike on a turn and I fucked up my leg.”

“So you have people looking for this Onryō person, what will happen when they find them?”

“My people will call me. And I’ll deal with it.”

You cross your arms and glare at him.

“And how will you, “deal with it” exactly?”

Rafayel tosses his head back on the couch and closes his eyes.

“I can’t tell you that, cutie, you know that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am not going to put your job on the line. You have a duty to report this kind of thing, right? The less I say the better.”

“So Ryūō and Sy, they’re the same person, right?”

Your question makes Rafayel sit up straight, he turns to you and grabs your shoulders tightly.

“Drop it. Please.”

“No. You came to my door, bleeding and bruised and you’re expecting me to just ignore whatever shit you’re into that caused all this? Really Rafayel?”

His grip tightens.

“You’re not getting hurt because of me.”

You reach up to hold his face in your hands. Your thumbs brushing under his eyes.

“I’m a hunter, I am good at taking care of myself. I’m not afraid of whatever it is you’re involved in, but what I am afraid of is you getting hurt.”

He leans into your touch, his cheeks warming and his pale skin starts to flush.

“I know you’re able to protect yourself, but these people… They’re different. They play by a different set of rules and I don’t want you to risk your job or your safety for me.”

“That’s my choice.”

He huffs out a laugh and leans his forehead against yours.

“I know, I just… fuck…”

You kiss his nose affectionately and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you to his chest. You curl up beside him, pressing your face into his neck.

“Let me choose you.”

He rubs your back and your body relaxes next to him.

“So…”

He kisses the top of your head and hums encouraging you to continue.

“What’s your name? Like your racing name?”

He chuckles and leans back, tucking you into his side. You rest your head on his shoulder.

“Kiko.”

You close your eyes, it seems all the racers pick a yokai as their code name. You try to remember the lore behind Kiko.

“That’s a type of Kitsune, right? A holy fox? No, spirit fox!”

“Yep.”

You shift so you can look up at him.

“I thought you’d pick something ocean related like… Kōjin or Tatsu?”

“A biker with an oceanic racer alias, purple hair and brightly colored Kawasaki?”

“Oh…”

“Yea, I don’t need cops breathing down my neck at the studio. So I chose something, I guess, that fit my personality?”

“You relate to a fox, huh?”

“Curious, playful, intelligent. Yea, I think so.”

“They’re also very loud if they don’t get love and affection.”

Rafayel nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, you giggle, swatting at him to sit up.

“I guess it’s an accurate description then.”

You look down at his helmet and squint. The white base and red lines around the eyes and at the center.

“Ohhh… that explains your helmet!”

“Yeah, usually I wear a white leather jacket but I was in a rush today.”

“You don’t race the blue bike you’ve been driving me around on, do you?”

“No, I have a different bike for races. Different colors and fake plates.”

You sit up, cross your legs and face him.

“Take me with you.”

His eyes widened in surprise.

“Like, on a ride?”

You smile, a wicked gleam in your eye.

“On a race.”

He stares at you, his mouth open and eyes unblinking. You stare back, your smile unwavering.

“You realize it’s illegal, right?”

You nod.

“And dangerous?”

You nod.

“And you might –”

You slap a hand over his mouth. He chuckles, the vibrations tickling your hand.

“I know the risks. I want to see more of your world. Especially when mine is so… blah…”

“Hmm mmh mmh hmm huh mhm!” He mumbles, trying to speak to you through your hand.

You move your hand away and pinch his cheek. He grabs your hand and holds it tight.

“You fight Wanderers for a living! That’s not ‘blah’!”

“Fine. I want to see more of your world because I…”

You look down at your lap, trying to hide the blush spreading across your cheeks. He grabs your chin and lifts your face to meet his gaze.

“Because what, cutie?”

“Because I hope I can be a part of it…”

He plants his hands on your waist and lifts you, plopping you down on his lap. His hands hold onto your ass and he pulls you closer. It’s at this moment you realize you’re still not wearing any pants and the rough fabric of his cargo pants rubbing against your nearly bare pussy makes you twitch. You grab onto his shoulders and try to lift yourself off his lap.

“Your leg!”

“It’s fine, stop squirming.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh and shift your knees wider to properly straddle him. He squeezes your ass and rubs his hands down your thighs. You run your hands down his chest and start to play with his nipple rings, which earns you a deep groan. He takes the hint and stops teasing you.

“I want you to be a part of my life, but it’s a complicated one. Are you sure?”

You wrap your arms around his neck and thread your fingers through his hair. You lean forward and place a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Show me a whole new world, Aladdin.”

He chuckles and bites his lip as he looks up at you.

“My dick is not a magic carpet, but I will take you for a ride.”

You slap his chest and try not to laugh.

“You’re so stupid…”

He seizes the opportunity, with your hands on his chest, to grab your face and pull you to him. He kisses you until you can barely breath, your worries fade. You’re not sure what you’re getting yourself into, but you’re sure of one thing - Rafayel has made you feel more alive in the past week than you’ve felt in years. And you’re going to chase this feeling, for as long as possible.

Rafayel finally lets you breathe and you smell something burning. He scrunches his nose and you sniff the air, trying to determine what it could be. Your eyes widen and you scramble to crawl off of Rafayel’s lap.

“My banana bread!”

Part 2

(AN Part 2: Surprise! It's also a crowfish fic. Smile.)

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @crowskitten22 @letharue @silverbrain @m00nchildwrites @plsdonttakemyname

523 notes · View notes

rex-rambles · 1 month ago

Text

➤ HOMEMAKER | LEWIS HAMILTON

summary: if your past relationships have taught you anything, you'll never be a homemaker, as hard as you try - so what do you do when lewis comes home to you? (inspired by 'homemaker' by next of kin)

pairing: lewis hamilton x celebrity!reader

wc: 1.8 k

warnings: angst with a happy ending, discussions of negative past relationships

➤ MASTERLIST

You had gotten used to silence.

It didn't matter that you had adoring fans, or paparazzi trailing you, photoshoots or interviews, when you were alone, you were silent. That's how it always seemed to be, anyway.

You don't know how many nights you'd sat like this, not saying a word as you're curled up at the end of some guy's couch. Sometimes, you had a book. Sometimes, you had a mug of tea or coffee, clothes actually put away in drawers or closets.

Other times you were just passing through.

You don't know how many nights you'd sat like this, phone left on the table in front of you, waiting for that text, that call, anything. It always started out sweet, the messages, the compliments, only to turn to silence in a few months time. If you had a dollar for every night you spent like this, you could buy an island somewhere far away to be silent in, but instead, you waste your time and your money on the rare chance that they come through in the end.

They never do.

In your fantasies, they're knights in shining armour, who come home with flowers or a surprise dinner, but even you couldn't fool yourself sometimes. You don't think any of the guys you'd seen have ever fantasized about you in that way, either, because you already did it. You showed up, you planned surprises, you played the role of the loving, doting partner.

Yet, despite it all, you weren't a homemaker at the end of the day. It wasn't even like you were trying to be some stay-at-home spouse, you just wanted a relationship that was real, that lasted, that you could call home.

But, no matter how much time, or energy, or god forbid love you put into a relationship, it didn't last. In the end, it seemed that you just housed people who liked you break your heart. Men saw a star, something to chase, but never keep. Marriage was never in the cards, something long, something stable either. There was a time you used to dream about it, of actually settling down and finding enough love somewhere to marry someone, but now, you'd seen the worst of enough men to be content with silence, with not throwing your life away for them.

It didn't stop you from curling up on strangers' couches, or watching your phone.

It just made it that much more pitiful.

"God," Lewis's voice makes you jump, mug of tea rocking forward and spilling onto his probably ridiculously expensive carpet. Penthouse guys always splashed out on whatever cost the most, even if it didn't look good. "Shit, sorry babe."

"Shit," You echo somewhat numbly, trying to rise to find something to clean it up with, and Lewis waves a hand, moving from the open front door to the kitchen, and you can't help but stare at it.

The hallway is brightly lit at all hours, casting a warm glow into the darkened apartment. It's like a little glimpse into whatever heaven Lewis had come from, and you spare a glance at your phone on the table, no message waiting for you. You'd surprised him, by being here, and he'd surprised you by showing up.

Lewis returns with a roll of paper towel, dropping to your feet to try and pat down the carpet, and he spares a glance up at you. "What are you still doing up?" He asks, before noticing the door is open. "Can you get that for me?"

"I was going to wait to see if you made it in on time." You answer as you slowly move to the door, pulling Lewis's luggage aside as you close it, casting the apartment in darkness again. For some reason, you can't bring yourself to turn any lights on, so you stand in the little front hall, staring at the shadows of Lewis as he does a fairly poor job of cleaning.

"It's so late," He says, finally rising with his hands full of soaked paper towel. "You should be in bed. You should be at home."

"I can go." Most didn't want you to stay, anyway. Some liked this little gesture, of waiting up for them, surprising them with their favourite, back home treats after long periods away, but you'd only been going out with Lewis for a month or two now. It might be overstepping, or it might just be another sign of commitment you can never have.

"No, no." Lewis says, throwing the paper towel away in the kitchen and flicking on the overhead island light. It was a soft kind of glow that made Lewis seem that much warmer, and the dark that much farther from him. "I gave you the key for a reason, but it's almost 2 AM. You're going to ruin your sleep schedule."

You move forward to stand in the shadows of the living room, wrapping your arms around his oversized shirt you'd adopted to sleep in for the past few days. "You're one to talk," You try to tease, though it doesn't quite reach your voice. "How many time zones have you gone through this week?"

"That's different." Lewis says, coming to stand before you. His hands are gentle on your waist, pulling you close to him. "You really stayed up? For me?"

"Even got those brownies you like from that bakery." You say, gesturing to the kitchen counter. Lewis glances over and a warm laugh bubbles out of him, echoing off the walls. Your hands come to smooth against his chest, as if to feel that he's actually there. It wouldn't last, history tells you. He'd be this sweet, for so long, and then he'd go.

"Great minds think alike, hm?" Lewis moves to grab one of his bags, and he fishes out a somewhat crumpled container that he hands to you, a logo embossed on the top that you'd recognize anywhere. "There was that cookie place you liked, and I had a layover. I was going to surprise you with them tomorrow, but you sort of beat me to that."

You slowly take the cookies in hand, and silence rests over you once more.

It was a regional bakery, a place you talked about loving as a kid. No one ever really cared about it, it was just a sweet story to share over desserts to make people think you had something to talk about. You spare a glance back up at Lewis, who smiles softly back down at you, and neither of you says a word.

You had gotten used to silence, but you didn't know how to break it. You didn't know how to vocalize that he'd remembered, that, cracking open the top, he'd even gotten the flavour right, that he went out of his way to get them for you. You don't know how to think about this as anything other than doomed, but all the signs keep saying otherwise.

Gently, Lewis's hand comes up to cradle your cheek, turning it so it's more in the light of the kitchen. "Are you alright?" He asks quietly, "Tired?"

"I-" All words die on your tongue. You didn't know how to be anything other than what the world wanted to see of you, of a star with their equally famous partner, of being too much or not enough, never going anywhere. Every relationship had been some kind of car wreck, wheels spinning uselessly as you tried to move forward when all they wanted to do was press on the break.

You didn't know how to love Lewis. You just knew how to pretend.

"You can tell me, you know." He says, letting his hand drop. "You've always got this look on your face, like you're so far away. Is it me?"

"You?" You manage to get out softly, "No."

"Don't say 'it's me, not you'," Lewis says, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. "Give me something real."

"You didn't text." You find yourself saying, and Lewis pulls back with a knowing look.

"Didn't want to wake you. But this isn't about that, because you told me just yesterday I don't have to check in all the time." He moves forward until you hit his couch, and easily he lifts you up to sit on the back of it, cookie box now resting in your lap, and he leans his arms on either side of your legs. "So? You making up reasons to leave?"

Maybe. You stare down at the open box of cookies, and as honestly as you can, you try to explain the strange sort of pulling feeling at your heart. "Most guys don't text. When they go out, or when they travel, it's just radio silence. They give me a time, and I stay up, and they don't show."

"Most guys?"

"You know my reputation, Lewis." It was every other headline, every other blurry photo. You were the one they called a heartbreaker, despite the fact you were the one who wanted these things to work out. "I'm not exactly a homemaker." It's not that you didn't try, that despite it all you wanted to have the perfect relationship, but that they didn't let you. "Men come into my life, and for a blissful moment, I convince myself it'll work out, and it never does. No one's getting down on one knee, no one's remembering anniversaries, they just leave. Because of me."

"That's not because of you." Lewis tries to defend, and you shake your head.

"It is." It's a gallant thought, to try and defend you like that, but at this point there is only one part of this equation that remains the same: you. "I'm too famous, or I'm not famous enough. I'm too clingy, or I don't care about their art. I'm too far away, I can't travel, I'm just not enough. And you didn't text."

Lewis moves one hand to gently graze the side of your thigh, gently rubbing his thumb in circles. "So you didn't expect me to walk through that door. That's why I scared you."

"I get their apartments all nice and ready, change the sheets, pick up a favourite of theirs, get a text about it the next day and they repay me for it with a fancy dinner to make us both feel less guilty." You admit, suddenly far too close to Lewis to stop. "And you showed up. You remembered. Why?"

"Why?" Lewis echoes, sounding rather surprised by the question. "Because it meant something to you."

"No." No, it didn't mean something to you, that's not how your partners have ever thought. It had to mean something to them, a bribe, something to ease the guilt, something to help them, not you. "It meant something to you."

"Yeah, you mean something to me." The words force the air from your lungs, and Lewis leans forward to gently press his forehead to yours. Maybe it was that he was a British gentleman, maybe that he was a different kind of a celebrity, maybe that he was older, but he was different, and you didn't know what to do with that. "I guess I've been out of the dating pool too long," He jokes softly under his breath, "Seems like the world has lost their minds."

You try your best to laugh, a small, sad thing, and Lewis pulls back to stare at you in a way you fantasized about for years. "Lewis," You finally manage to say, "I...I don't know what to do with all this."

"You don't have to. Just let me care for you." Maybe that was how love worked, after all.

You didn't have to know how to do it, or how it worked, but rather, you just tried your best to care for those who meant something to you.

Lewis's arms come under your knees as he scoops you up, carrying you bridal style toward his bedroom, and for the first time, in a long time, you think that this might last. "And to begin, that means getting us to bed."

a/n: LISTEN TO NEXT OF KIN!! Homemaker and Jekyll and Hyde are my favourites

#➤ rex works #➤ lh44 #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton fic #lewis hamilton angst #lewis hamilton fluff #f1 x reader #f1 angst #formula one x reader #f1 imagines #reader insert

377 notes · View notes

aeristudios · 5 months ago

Text

fated strut- pt. i

̗̀➛ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: greek god!Jeonghan x model!reader

̗̀➛ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: In a whirlwind fashion show, a part-time model's life takes a mystical turn when she becomes the muse for the captivating Greek God Jeonghan. Unbeknownst to her, she shares a deep connection tied to his past. As their chemistry ignites amidst secrets and rivalries, will love conquer their complicated fates?

̗̀➛ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, angst, smut, fantasy, doppleganger au, r 18+

̗̀➛ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: nocturnal emission (sex dream), unprotected sex, kissing, fingering, backshots, riding, oral, biting, hair pulling, multiple orgasms, pet names, sweet stuff, a lil bit of squirting, cream pie, oh and cursing 😂

̗̀➛ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 7.2k

̗̀➛ 𝐀𝐍: This fic has had me stressed for the last couple of months lol. I have always been into greek mythology (I even hosted a multi collab before for it) and I got the idea earlier this year to do another one but just for seventeen. Thank you Maren @wooahaeproductions for hosting the 13 Gods Of Olympus collab with me and helping it come to life. Also thank you to @hannieween and @hobeemin for beta reading this and giving me some much needed feedback. I knew what I had was good and with your help it made it better :) also thank you to @cheolism and @junkissed for letting me run some ideas with them about the greek mythology and the BC era lol. I hope you like this 🖤

Golden light filters through your curtains, casting soft shadows that dance across the room. The scent of something sweet—honey and vanilla—lingers in the air, pulling at the edges of your consciousness. Everything feels so real and vivid, so alive. There is a haze in the light that looks nostalgic.

You are sitting on a kline, handcrafted by Hephaestus himself, weaving away with a ball of twine in your hands. The clatter of sandals against the hard floor gets your attention. Looking up, Jeonghan is standing there, his blonde hair shimmering in the light, with a playful smile on his lips.

“Shouldn’t be off delivering those messages to the mortals?” You tease him playfully.

“They can wait,” he says, setting down his bag. “I have more pressing matters to attend to.”

“Oh?” You slowly set down your twine. “What is that?”

He walks over and kisses you deeply, sending ripples through your soul. You realize quickly that the “pressing matter” was that he wanted to be inside of you, and you were more than happy to oblige.

“Jeonghan, you’re going to get in trouble with Zeus,” you taunt him.

“I don’t care,” he grits, pulling you into another kiss.

You take off your gown, your nakedness exposed to him in all its glory. Jeonghan’s eyes you with adoration and lust, his hand palming the growing bulge under his toga. Sheer excitement runs through your veins, the thought of being roughly fucked on the kline making you wet with arousal. As if he read your mind, he tugs at your hair and bends you over, his fingers seductively playing with your sweet folds.

“You’re already so wet for me, my love?” He licks your essence coated on his digits. “I have to break the rules more often.”

Your laugh is light as the air, anticipating and craving him deeply. You find yourself pressing your clit, spreading your legs apart, and rubbing it so he can get a better view. Jeonghan licks his lips at the sight before him, his hand stroking his cock as he lines up to your entrance.

“Please,” your breathy moans floating in the room. “Give it to me.”

“As you wish,” he murmurs as he inserts himself in your clenching heat. Your back arches as his thrusts go deep, the clapping sound of your skin against his hard and loud enough to create thunder from the heavens. Jeonghan looks down in amusement, watching your ass bounce every time he snaps his hips. He’s turned on and seduced, and you could have him turn into puddy with just one look. That’s how much he is into you. That’s how much he loves you.

“You feel s-so g-good,” you barely sound out. “I-I love you.”

Jeonghan pulls you by your hair, his thrusts unrelenting as he kisses you hard. “I love you too.”

He raises his leg on the kline, pushing you back down, and strokes you from another angle. Your legs shake, your peak nearing as he continues to hit your pleasure points in all the right ways. “FUCK” is all you can scream out before you come undone, your essence squirting all over him and the floor. You are a whimpering mess, clutching the edge of the kline as he continues his onslaught until his release comes shortly after. He fills you up with his hot load, pumping his dick until he is spent, slowly slipping out of you. The loss is evident, and his cum starts to drip in between your folds.

“Uh, uh,” he frowns as he crouches behind you. “We can’t leave that to waste, can we?”

He swipes what’s dripping down your leg with his fingers, returning them to your mouth to suck. You suck them with earnest, your eyes closing with sexual gratification. He turns you wild, and you want more. You attempt to initiate another round, but you are interrupted by the sound of thunder just outside your window, scaring you half to death.

“Sounds like the big guy is mad,” Jeonghan reluctantly pulls away. “I have to go.”

“Yeah, I know,” you nod, kneeling down to grab your gown. “You’ll be back, right?”

He gazes at you with the softest eyes you have ever seen, letting him pull you close into another kiss. “Don’t I always come back?”

Your world shifts into a fading memory, the golden haze slowly replaced with stark brown walls and paintings. Jeonghan is gone. The thunder outside is as real as ever, followed by a bolt of lightning that feels too close to home. Reality slowly sets in, and you realize you are having a dream. This is the second one you have had this week with Jeonghan, the infamous Greek god. It feels natural, like you’re watching a memory of yourself, and you don’t understand it.

You frantically grab your journal, jotting down every moment before the details get fuzzy and lost forever. This has to mean something, right?

A few weeks later...

You feel the galvanic buzz of anticipation humming as you stand backstage at Paris Fashion Week. Models twirl past you, dripping in the latest haute couture, their expressions exuding fierceness. You? You were just happy to be there. As the last-minute addition, the unexpected wildcard about to open the show—your heart races, matching the rhythm of the music that spills into the warehouse. The scent of expensive cologne and crepitus excitement lingers around you.

You weren’t even supposed to be here at all. You model in your part-time to pay the bills, but your real love, your true passion, is classical studies—specifically, your focus on Greek mythology. Growing up, you’ve always heard the stories of the Gods who ruled the world and how slowly but surely they started disappearing because people quit believing in them. Your mom, who raised you pagan, would tell you about missionaries coming over and preaching the Bible and using it in force, and people started losing their way and adapting to this new life. There are still gods amongst us who will never go away, no matter what. People are still human and have needs, after all.

That’s what brought you here tonight—Jeonghan, the god of many things, keeps appearing in your dreams; scenes of a past life take up much of your night, and you can’t ignore it anymore. You have to see and know him, and you aren’t above using unconventional methods to get what you want. You cozied up to the right people and got yourself cast onto his fashion show. Sometimes, all it takes is a look, a touch of your hand, or very selective words to get what you want. You aren’t sure you would call it a power… let’s just say you are persuasive.

“Thank the gods you are here tonight,” the stage manager, Lea, says as she adjusts your dress. “I can’t believe she didn’t show up.”

The model that was supposed to open up the show, Penelopeia, partied a little too hard the night before. How do you know this? You were right beside her, dancing and drinking the night away. You knew her in passing, working for the same modeling agency, and talked here and there, but you two aren’t friends. But you were out with acquaintances last night, and she was there. Ultimately, she is a grown woman and can make her own choices, but you might’ve given her some extra encouragement when she complained about her being tired and “needing” a break. You told her it was “fine” to blow off some steam, which wouldn’t mean anything. The touch of your hand when you held hers and listened to her cry about how tough her life is and whispered nothings in her ear. It was perfect.

“Are you ready?”

You nod as the music changes, the lights dim, and you take your place behind the runway. Your heartbeat matched the drum's beat in your ears.

“I'm like some kind of supernova... watch out!”

On cue, you walked, every gaze drawn to you as your body moved to the beat, each step a spell cast upon the audience. Unbeknownst to you, Jeonghan stood backstage, mesmerized by the essence you exuded, a natural allure that made him curious with its intensity.

You circle the runway and walk back to where you came from, your body on autopilot as your linen dress sashes across your body. You are rushed backstage, the dress slipping off of you hurriedly, briefly exposing your breasts while you are putting on another. You feel eyes burning into the back of your neck, and you instinctively turn around, meeting Jeonghan's soft brown eyes. His warm blonde locks hang below his ears, touching his delicate neck. He smirked, raising his glass of red wine, and you meekly looked away, clearly affected by a god's presence.

Jeonghan watches you intently as you take another lap around the runway. The familiarity of your presence slowly creeps in, and curiosity is taking care of the cat. He’s been around for a long time now, and he’s seen a lot of faces, old and new. But you remind him of an old lover from his past life, someone he prefers to keep buried in the back of his mind. You were clearly a doppelganger of her, and watching you in the flesh unnerves him to his core. There is no need to bring up thousands-year-old drama now. You’re in front of him now, beautiful as ever, and despite every red flag— he will have you wrapped around his fingers by the end of the night.

You walk backstage and are dragged to the side by your dresser, who is adjusting your clothes one last time for your final walk. She fusses with your hair, a small annoyance you put up with because you know she is doing her job. You find yourself searching for Jeonghan through the slew of models, your eyes not resting until you see him talking to his stage assistant near the beginning of the runway. He is a god in every sense of the word. Butterflies flutter in the pit of your stomach when you see his soft, delicate features and how he carries himself. Very deific, very mindful.

“He’s mesmerizing, isn’t he?”

You slowly come out of your self-induced trance, meeting the eyes of your dresser, Helen, a younger woman who couldn’t be older than 21. Her doe-eyed look makes her look innocent, and you feel the need to protect her from this cruel industry.

“He’s okay,” you clear your throat.

“Oh please, he’s a divine enigma,” Helen chuckled, a playful smirk gracing her lips. “It’s perfectly natural to admire someone’s allure, especially someone so utterly enchanting as HIM.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at her outburst, knowing that deep down, she was right. Jeonghan is the sexiest man you have ever laid eyes on. It doesn’t help that he is the god of fortune, luxury, and all the other things that make him much more attractive.

“Okay, it’s time to do the final walk,” Helen announces as she finishes up. “You are going to walk out with him in front since you technically walked first in the show.”

You gaze at Jeonghan across the way, watching him wrap up his conversation with the stage assistant. “Is this custom? I thought usually the models walk out one final time, and then the designer comes out towards the end.”

“Usually, yeah,” Helen shrugs. “But that’s not how Jeonghan does things.”

She lightly pushes you towards the front, catching his attention as the strobe lights change colors. You glowed in your dress, symbolizing a halo of beauty that made it hard for Jeonghan to turn away. This catches him off guard, a strange chill running through his veins that he is unfamiliar with. Keeping himself in line, he saunters over to you, his close proximity filling your stomach with butterflies.

“Don’t be nervous, baby,” he whispers in your ear. “I don’t bite.”

The thought of his perfect mouth giving you love bites thrills you, and an intense longing starts to brew within your core. Feeling bold, you smile softly, responding in a tone only he could hear.

“Well, that’s too bad.”

Jeonghan chuckles lightly, impressed by your cheekiness. He slips his arm between yours, waiting for the curtains to open. The light touch of his arm brushing against yours gives you goosebumps, the exuberance bubbling inside you. You’ve studied him all your life, read the stories, and visited the ancient sites from many moons ago. You have never been near a Greek god, let alone touch one, and for a moment, you forget why you were really there. You were just a pretty model, attracted to the most successful man in the world, and the way he looks at you right now is setting your loins on fire.

The curtains finally open, and you walk with him arm and arm like you were his equal. The other models did as they were supposed to do, walking behind you as you two set the runway ablaze. You stood in the center while he gave his bows; the audience applauded in crescendos. Jeonghan then returns to your side, his presence intoxicating and making you almost lose your senses. You walk in unison until you reach backstage, and Helen is waiting for you to help you out of your dress. Before you parted ways, he lightly touched your hand, grabbing your attention and Helen’s, with raised eyebrows.

“I’m interested in sharing another stage with you,” he whispers, his brown eyes gleaming with desire. “Without all the light and people watching us. Beyond the runway.”

You cock an eyebrow playfully, putting on your best poker face, but inside, nervousness eats at you alive. You know you shouldn’t do this, as your sole reason was to find answers about him and why he encompasses your every dream. It took a lot of sweet talking and favors to get you in his lineup, let alone starting the show and inadvertently being his muse of the day. You knew you were going to have to mix your business with pleasure, and with the way he is gazing at you, the business is going further in the back of your mind.

“Where do I sign up?” You say coyly, rubbing your finger against the fabric of his shirt.

“Meet me in the back in fifteen minutes, and I’ll take you to my place.”

You nod, and he leaves you with a soft kiss on your cheek. “Don’t be late.”

You watched him walk away, still feeling his warm lips on your cheek. You kept it cool, casually grabbing your things, but inside, you were buzzing, excitement bursting through your chest like fireworks. You weren’t sure what the night would bring, but you would never turn down the possibility of being in the company of a Greek god.

You make your way to the back as directed, exchanging goodbyes with Helen and watching the models leave one by one. Fifteen minutes exactly, Jeonghan appears, twirling his car keys in his hands and opening the back door for you, leading you to a classic Mercedes Benz 250CE. He opens your door like the gentleman he is, making sure you are secure in your seat before coming over to the driver’s side.

“Are you ready to go, doll?”

You nod, your sparkling eyes matching your smile. “Yeah, let’s go.”

The car ride was a short one, but it felt like it was going on forever. He played smooth jazz, driving with one hand and conveniently placing his hand on your thigh. Your mind was filled with thoughts of your dreams—the intimacy you felt and the sadness that tormented you when he disappeared.

“You seem comfortable,” Jeonghan observed. “Most people would be scared to be with me.”

“Well, I have a feeling I am in good hands,” you answer honestly.

You had so many questions about him as a Greek god, as it's not often (or really at all) that you can talk to one. Despite these waves of emotions tugging at your heart, you maintained a flawless facade until you arrived at his residence, a beautiful hotel that housed penthouses only the wealthy lived in.

“Welcome in.”

The housekeeper greeted you as you walked into Jeonghan’s penthouse, located in the heart and soul of Paris. The interior was dripped in luxury, feeling more like an art gallery than a place to live. Everything has a place, and it makes you nervous about even moving around in the event you accidentally bump into something. The vinyl player played soulful jazz, a fancy concert piano was in the corner and hundreds of books lined up like his own personal library. Jeonghan guides you by your waist to the kitchen, a grand spectacle of the finest cooking ware, dishes, and appliances that were way above your budget. You sit on a stool while he pours you a glass of red, the finest from Chateauneuf du Pape.

“Nice place,” you sweet talk him. “I would say you must’ve worked hard to get all this, but I know better.”

“Do you?” He counters, handing you your glass. “Do you think you know everything?”

“I know what I know from books, archives, etcetera,” you explain casually. “It’s not like I can ring up Zeus and ask him to read me a bedtime story.”

His lips curve as he chuckles, watching you sip the rich ruby-red liquid in your glass. “You have a sense of humor. I like that.”

You smirked, leaving him to his thoughts as you walked towards the large picture window, looking at the Eiffel Tower. It’s late, but the city has so much life in it. The tall, grandeur buildings that have stood through the ages are accompanied by French lights and taxis flying back and forth at night. Between your studies, walking runways, and doing commercial shoots, it was a matter of time before you made it out of the United States and into Paris.

You aren’t this in-demand model agencies are banging the door down for. But when you come to work, you work. You know how to convince people to take a chance on you, whether it's your words of intellect or how you pose. Your mom always taught you to be observant and scope the scene before you act; that advice hasn’t stirred you wrong before.

In the window's reflection, you watch Jeonghan gently place his glass on the table, the soft clink barely breaking the serene silence. He strides to your right, his presence warm and magnetic as he stands beside you, eyes mesmerized by the sprawling cityscape before you.

“So why are you here? Aside from the obvious.”

Jeonghan’s question catches you off guard, stirring you out of your peaceful daydream.

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, baby,” Jeonghan cocks his head. “Don’t play coy.”

Your response hangs in the air as you search for the right words. How do you confess to a god that you've been dreaming of them without knowing why? You are sure they have heard it all before, and you wouldn’t be any different.

“Honestly speaking,” you start, taking another sip of your wine. “I’ve studied you all my life: the Greek Gods and the beings you used to be on Earth. Your stories fascinate me, and I want to put this master’s degree in classical studies to good use.”

“Uh huh,” Jeonghan hums. “Are you sure that’s it?”

“I mean, I may have other reasons… but I can’t tell you all my secrets.”

You finish the remnants in your glass, sauntering and setting it next to his. You glance up, your heart beating fast as you meet his gaze. He watches you intently, a spark of amusement dancing in his beautiful brown eyes as he watches you internally squirm. At that moment, it feels as though the world has narrowed down to just the two of you, and you feel yourself being sucked into his spell.

“Well, are you going to stare at me all night or show me around this place?”

You raise your hand, waiting for him to grab it and lead the way. He does just that, showing you around his massive penthouse. You don’t know if you could ever afford this place even if you had all the money in the world. Every room has its bathroom, and the balcony is beautifully decorated with a view to die for. You notice another room with more books than the collection you saw earlier, and you make a note later to ask about it… even hoping to take a peek at potentially ancient history.

Jeonghan slipped his hand on your waist as the tour went on, pulling you close like you were already his. His slender fingers held on to you kind of tight, like he was imprinting on you… You can’t say you don’t like that.

You stop in front of his bedroom, the dark forest green double-doored room paired with gold handles waiting to be opened. You gaze at Jeonghan, who leans against the door, casually putting his hands in his pockets.

“Is there a reason why we are just standing here?” You pose, playing with the hem of his shirt.

“No reason at all,” he responds, pulling you closer to him. “I just like looking at my bedroom door closed, that’s all.”

You raise an eyebrow, quite aware that he is teasing you. Being around him gives you a rush through your veins, a magnetic pull that sets your nerves and soul on fire. You know you should be doing a better job fighting this attraction between you two, but being around him makes you slowly lose all of your senses. He’s intoxicating; you feel hazy, like you are in a dream and don’t want to wake up.

“So, are you going to sweet talk me in front of this door all night, or are you going to let me in?”

He chuckles softly as he opens his doors, leading to a grand master bedroom that all of the words in the dictionary couldn’t come close to describing. You knew he was the god of luxury, but what’s in front of your eyes exceeds that. This is opulence in its purest form. His massive king-size bed was decked with the finest white blankets and pillows filled with goose feathers that looked handcrafted with care. Your toes bask in the softest fur rug you have ever touched. It felt like you were walking on clouds. Jeonghan motions for you to sit on the bed, taking your hand as he helps you climb up. Your dress rises a bit, exposing your inner thigh to your surprise and his delight.

“Don’t get any ideas,” you rib, crossing your legs slowly.

“Don’t worry, baby. You’ll give me an invitation by the end of the night.”

You roll your eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you adjust your dress. Watching him move with purpose to his shelf, he pulls out a vinyl and puts it in the player. Recognizing Billie Holiday's distinct and powerful voice, you lean back into the pillows and watch him approach the other side of the bed. With a snap of his fingers, the lights dim, opening the curtains and revealing another side of Paris, a quieter one that shows the city below. The ceiling separates slowly, revealing a twilight blue skyline with dark clouds surrounding you. It’s beautiful.

You feel the bed shift on your left, and Jeonghan climbs quietly, his movements as light as a cat. He lifts the comforter, a gentle invitation for you to come under as his feet disappear under the thick cover.

“Are you this friendly with all the women you bring over?” You smirk, raising an eyebrow.

“Nope,” his laugh is light as he rakes his fingers through his hair. “Just the ones I like.”

You nod, following his lead and slowly basking into the warm cover. You can still see him in the low light, his radiance shining through the dark room. Maybe it’s because of your extensive research of him and your knowledge, but he feels familiar. Every fiber in your body tells you to pull closer to him and confess every little thought swirling in your head. Is this what it’s like to be in front of a god?

“So, a master's in Classical Studies, huh?” Jeonghan probes, his index finger making a swirling motion on his sheets. “Let me guess, you have a focus on Greek mythology?”

Despite putting on your best poker face, you felt like something bitter went down your throat. He caught you off guard, and to be frank, it’s your fault. The god of many things and the most intelligent being to walk on this Earth would of course know who you are. He probably had your whole life story while you walked on his runway.

“Ah,” you exhale. “You must think I’m crazy.”

“Nah, I don’t,” he assures. “I’m very intrigued by you.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. You’re smart, carry yourself well, almost as witty as me, and very well-spoken. Why do you choose to model instead of working in something with your degree?”

You stare at him, his words chipping away at your exterior piece by piece. You could sit here and come up with a lie that sounds plausible and keep your secrets. But you want to know why he keeps plaguing your dreams, and maybe he has the answers you need to make sense of this. Some honesty can’t hurt, right?

“I… like the attention,” you confess. “I like the way people look at me when I walk by. I love being adored and wanted. I like that I am so educated and an effective communicator that I can talk myself into things I want to be in. That and my looks combined? I don’t get turned down often.”

Jeonghan gazes at you, wondering if he should be amazed at your self-awareness or frightened. Admittedly, your confidence turns him on, and you have the kind of intellect he likes on a deeper level. Your voice is calm and seductive without even trying, and not to mention, you have a timeless beauty that makes it hard to look away. When you walked down that runway, your stride was a beautiful masterpiece—it held him captive. It was as if you were trained by Aphrodite herself.

“Plus, I am not totally abandoning my degree,” you continue on. “I want to eventually write about the Greek gods and the legends behind them. So many stories and their lore have been forgotten as people worship other gods, and I don’t want that to be forgotten. It feels like a passion project, but I know this will benefit the world somehow.”

“How?”

“Well,” you clear your throat. “It will provide a different perspective of ancient civilization.”

You run your hands through your hair, causing the v top of your dress to shift slightly, partially revealing your cleavage. You reach down to adjust it, and Jeonghan eyes your every move as you gradually slide your dress back up. It’s your favorite dress, which you picked up at a thrift store a long time ago in New York. It’s a jade green evening dress that hugs your body the right way, with a mid-thigh split on the right.

“You’re quiet,” you observe, shifting your body closer to him. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing, just taking in what you said.” He pauses, his finger slowly sliding down to the slit of your dress. “I like the way you think.”

You nod, carefully choosing your next words. “I’m glad I made you feel that way.”

Your insides are on fire, begging for him to touch you in all the wrong right places. As if he could read your mind, he pulls you in for a kiss, his soft lips tearing down any walls you had. In a swift motion, he’s on top of you, hiking your dress up as he grinds his growing bulge against your sensitive core. A pleased hum escapes your lips, your body completely giving in to him.

“Mmm, you smell sweet,” Jeonghan utters, biting the bottom of your lip. “I’m sure you’ll taste just as good.”

His lips travel down your neck, sucking on your smooth skin until it's tender. Your hands desperately grab onto his silky blond hair as his tongue plays in circles along your collarbone, igniting a fire in you. You slowly lower the straps of your dress, tugging at the silky fabric until it lowers completely, revealing your breasts. Jeonghan marvels at the sight in front of him, his fingers brushing softly against your nipples.

“Ah, you’re a goddess,” he whispers. “I’m going to have fun with you.”

He kisses you again, his hunger for you hot and strong as he unbuttons his shirt, revealing his smooth chest and defined abs. Fire and desire burn between you two, and you thirstily tug at his pants, pushing them down so you can see his cock, threatening to break free in his boxers.

“You are an eager little thing, aren’t you?”

“I just know what I like, that’s all.”

Leaving you with one last kiss, he moves on your breasts, cupping them softly and sucking on your nipples with such tenderness as if they were prized possessions. Your perfume mix smells pleasant to him, like an aphrodisiac, and he cannot get enough. Jeonghan usually likes to play with his food a bit before he eats it, but you bring something out of him that he hasn’t felt in a long time: impulsiveness and passion. He wants you more than he cares to admit, making him act out of his cool, calm, and collected nature. He sucks on your nipples harder, earning a hard moan from you, the blend of pleasure and pain igniting waves of excitement that leaves you breathless.

His hand slips in between your legs, pushing them apart and sliding your panties to the side. His thumb rubs your clit softly, sending jolts of pleasure throughout your body. Jeonghan has you feeling like you are floating on air, unable to tell him what you want coherently.

“Mmm… fuck I can’t take this,” you mutter.

“Well, you will learn tonight, baby,” Jeonghan smirks as he lowers himself to your sweet entrance. “Tell me what you want.”

“F-fuck,” you cooed. “You know what I want.”

“Just because I am a god doesn’t mean I can read your mind,” he teases, biting softly on your thigh. “Tell me what you want.”

You feel hot and rabid, trying to chase a high you are so close to getting. Jeonghan removes his thumb from your nub, snickering as he watches you groan in protest. He is determined to make you beg for it, and watching you squirm and fall apart underneath him would be the highlight of his night. He inserts a digit inside your wet core; a sweet smile spreads across your face soon after.

“J-Jeonghan,” you sputter. “P-please just—”

“Say it, baby.”

“Fuck, just make me cum, please.”

Jeonghan slips a second finger into you, leaving small kisses on your thigh as he thrusts into your wet cunt. Your hands grip the sheets as he goes deeper, watching excitedly as your essence coats his fingers and his sheets. He planned to study you, explore what made you tick, and how your body liked to be teased. He wants to hear your perfect voice scream his name as your body shakes from being royally fucked by a god, and the way you are laid out in front of him, he is losing all composure.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs. “I think you deserve to cum now.”

Quickly removing his fingers, he dives into your wet folds with his tongue and up to your sensitive clit. His fingers intertwine with yours, eating you with such a craze, the hunger of a starved being who is eating his favorite meal for the last time. The vibrating hums of his mouth to your delicate flower sends you over the edge, your orgasm crashing down on you hard. He holds onto your thighs, holding you hostage as he takes everything you got. You proved him right—you tasted just as sweet as your perfume. He’s addicted to your aroma, a natural aphrodisiac that he will never get enough of.

“There you are, princess, ” he whispers. “Keep giving it to me.”

Your moans turn into whines and then screams, your fingers desperately clinging to the sheets as he drinks you in. Jeonghan’s appetite is insatiable, and the god’s thirst for you is getting stronger by the minute. His nails dig into your thighs as he licks up and down your folds, desperate to taste more of your sweet essence. You feel airy, your body floating on cloud nine as if you have never had this kind of pleasure before. Sure, you have had your experiences and what you thought was the best sex of your life, but those don’t even come close to this.

“Come on baby, give me another,” he goads you. “I know you have it in you.”

“J-Jeonghan,” you croak, desperation falling on your lips. “P-please. You win.”

“Win?” He chuckles softly. “ I haven’t even started.”

His fingers return to your entrance, thrusting into you while his tongue remains on your clit. His lips make lewd noises, slurping and smacking away as he bullies you into your second orgasm of the night. Your toes curl, the springs in your abdomen snapping as it ripples through you like a hard wave. Jeonghan moans into your sweet core as you surrender to him; his pupils dilate as he takes the remaining energy that you have left. His free hand furiously pulls down his boxers, liberating his cock, and he touches himself at last. He jerks himself to the thought of your mouth wrapped around his dick, tasting his cum as he shoots loads down your throat. He could easily stop and make his imagination a reality, but you just taste too damn good.

“Damn,” you curse, brushing his hair from his face. “You are so good at this.”

“Mmhmm,” is all he could say, his cruel tongue still playing circles around your clit. You lift yourself away from him, watching him pout as you take his meal. You can barely move, your legs still spasming from that earth-shattering orgasm. Your eyes travel lower to his freed cock, watching him pump himself with such eagerness, the precum oozing from his tip begging to be sucked. He was thick and girthy, his veins popping in places you liked. Your mouth salivates at the thought of tasting him in your mouth.

“Can I?”

You sit up, gently motioning for him to lay back on the pillow. Curiosity gets the better of him, and he does what he is told, relaxing his hands behind his head. Jeonghan isn’t used to his playmates wanting to take control in the bedroom; most of them just want to have a story to tell about being fucked by a god. You excite him, a confident woman who knows what they want and isn’t apologetic about it. The twinkle in your eye you have for him turns him on, and he is counting the seconds where he can finally be inside of you.

Your hand slides up his shaft, watching him shudder from your touch. You lean down, sucking on his tip and tasting his precum. You make eye contact as you take more of him, hallowing your cheeks and letting saliva drip out of the corners of your mouth. He tastes better than you imagined, and you feel gratification watching his lips part and low moans escape his pretty little mouth. You feel dirty, like his own personal whore, and you aren’t mad at that. Your very sensitive core still wants him, your clit pulsating at the thought of his very thick cock beating your walls down.

“You look so beautiful with your lips wrapped around me, princess,” he grunts, taking a handful of your hair. “Let’s see if you can handle me.”

Jeonghan fucks your mouth roughly with such a force and rhythm that was only his, tears streaking your face as you take him whole. His dick hits the back of your throat, and you are thankful that you have a mean gag reflex. It’s smooth, clean, and fits your mouth just right. It’s like it was molded and shaped just for you. Your hand sneaks in between your legs, playing with your nub and willing yourself to cum for the third time.

“Tsk, tsk, you dirty girl,” Jeonghan murmurs between grunts. “You do want me that bad? Do you want my cock inside your wet cunt?”

You nod fervently, your fingers increasing their pace. He pulls himself out of your mouth suddenly, lifting your head and kissing you with such an intense fire, his hands grasping your ass and giving it a tight smack.

“I want to ride you, baby,” you breathe between kisses. “I want to feel you inside of me. Give me that, please.”

He wants you as bad as you want him, his adrenaline pumping through his veins as he positions himself on the bed. His hands grab your hips, hovering over him as he aligns his cock to meet your entrance. The thought came to your mind about using a condom, but it went away quickly when you sunk onto him. He feels good; your walls tighten around him as you adjust to his size, rocking slowly back and forth to get a rhythm.

“That’s it,” Jeonghan groans as he cups your breasts. “Take me however you want me.”

You increase your pace while he bucks into you, biting your lip until it's crimson red. His nails dig into your hips, the pain mixed with the pleasure sending you soaring through cloud nine. You lose all inhibition, riding him harder and deeper, addicted to chasing that orgasmic high that you feel coming sooner than you’d expected. Your body is on autopilot, refusing to stop until you’ve cummed on him at least once. If you didn’t know any better, you would say you were falling in love with him. The sex you had with him in your dreams doesn’t even come close to the real thing. His cock consistently hits all the right places, and he pays great attention to your body, teasing you and pushing you to your limits until you are sent over the edge.

Jeonghan grabs you by your neck and kisses you deeply, thrusting deeper into you until you can no longer keep your composure. He loves watching you lose control, surrendering your body to him and screaming his name loud enough for the neighbors to hear. His lips are slightly parted, whispering sweet things in your ear, praising you for taking him so well and rewarding you with filling you up with his cum. You look every bit fucked out and heavenly to him, and he wishes he could stay buried inside of you forever. What he feels for you is risky, and if it were someone else, he would turn those feelings off. But with you and the way you are taking him so well, he is completely into you.

He helps you ride out your high, kissing you from your lips to your collarbone until you are overripe with sensitivity. Slowly lifting you, he lays you gently on his right, allowing you to catch your breath.

“I-I don’t think I have ever been fucked like that before,” you confess in between breaths. “Are you sure you’re not the god of love?”

Jeonghan chuckles, putting on a robe and heading towards the bathroom. Looking at himself in the mirror, he notices a few scratches you left, noticeable dig marks from your nails that dug into his skin. He shrugs them off, knowing that the next day, they will disappear, and it will be like they were never there. He’s been on this Earth for a long time and has slept his way through all the women and men he desired, but this night with you has topped all of them. He feels a connection with you mentally and spiritually, and after feeling you for the first time, he is determined to keep you by his side. By all means.

Your eyes are heavy with exhaustion, the day’s events catching up to you as your body acclimates with the sheets. You hear soft water running from the bathroom, and a few seconds later, Jeonghan appears in front of the door, his robe removed and naked. You glance at him and smirk, slowly getting out of bed and walking towards him. He is a divine enigma indeed.

“Don’t worry, darling,” he assures you. “It’ll be a nice, relaxing bath.”

His bathroom was definitely tailored to his taste. It had white and forest green marble floors, a shower stall big enough for more than three people centered in the middle, and two vanity sinks placed on opposite ends of each other. The tub was round and spacious, placed by the circular window that allowed you to see the stars at night. You slowly step into the foaming water, the sweet aroma of vanilla and bergamots filling your senses and pleasing your soul. Jeonghan comes in behind you, the water slightly splooshing around as his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you close. You relax on his chest, feeling at peace as you stare outside the window. It feels so natural, feeling this comfortable around him.

Your dreams of him show that you two had a successful relationship. You were partners in everything. He was good at communicating, and you knew how to support him and could persuade anyone if needed. You understood your roles, and you were perfect. So why do they always end with you walking away?

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Jeonghan’s voice breaks through your reverie.

He unwraps his arms around you, places his hands on your shoulders, and gives you a comforting massage. You close your eyes, letting the steam from the warm water relax your muscles.

“Heading back home,” you sigh heavily. “I have some go-sees to book and also continue my research. I have to put these looks and my big brain to use.”

“Yeah, no, you’re not,” Jeonghan declares smoothly. “I want you to stay here and work for me. Become my new muse.”

He watches you react closely, his eyes shining with mischief. “Just think about it. You would be my inspiration, my spark. Imagine the kind of magic we would create together.”

He catches you off guard but excites you nevertheless. Jeonghan wants to make you the face of his brand. You would be crazy to turn that down. Plus, it makes you so much closer to your research and figuring out your dreams. This was the universe giving you a sign.

“Yeah,” you say after thinking it over. “I would be open to that.”

You sink further into his chest, your tiredness getting the best of you, and falling into a slumber in the warm water. Jeonghan leaves light kisses on your shoulder, watching you sleep peacefully in his arms. He could go for another glass of wine, a perfect way to top off his night with you. He knows getting entangled with his ex-lover’s doppelganger is risky business, and eventually, he will have to deal with the truth of things. But tonight is not the night to open Pandora’s box and bring up the ancient feelings and heartache that he’s put behind. Instead, he will lay here with you, enjoying the sereneness while it lasts.

Thank you for reading ^_^ if you would like to join my taglist, sign up here.

#kvanity #kwritersworldnet #svthub #svt oneshot #svt scenarios #svt imagines #kpop fanfic #lapydiariesnet #svt fanfic #svt fic #svt fluff #svt angst #svt smut #jeonghan fanfic #jeonghan smut #jeonghan imagines #jeonghan one shot

575 notes · View notes

catssluvr · 7 days ago

Text

like old times, natalie scatorccio

natalie scatorccio x fem!reader (1.8k words) (request)

in which you and nat finally see each other after years of being broken up.

warnings: angsty with happy ending!!, ex lovers to lovers, crying

⭑.ᐟ ⭑.ᐟ

You stand outside the motel room, fingers playing nervously with the car keys in your hand. You can hear voices from the inside, familiar ones. There is nothing that could possibly calm the anxiety you feel.

Nothing could have prepared you to receive a message from Natalie asking you to meet up with the group, regarding the postcard you had all gotten in your mail. You're quite sure you wouldn't even be here if it hadn't been her texting you.

With one last deep sigh, you knock on the motel door. Almost immediately the door unlocks, revealing Nat on a baggy t-shirt. This is going to be a long night.

"Hi. You came." She looks surprised, as if not believing you'd actually show up. As if you've ever disappointed her. You couldn't even if you wanted to.

"Hey." You breathe, "You guys needed me." You needed me, you want to say. But you won't give her that staisfaction.

For a moment she seems to forget you're both standing in the doorway, not used to your cold treatment. You feel self conscious in her gaze, not because she would ever give you a dirty look but you really did try to make yourself look like you're living the best life.

"Are you going to let me in?" You motion inside with your hand.

"Right. Of course." She shakes her head as if avoiding to say something she'll regret.

Your eyes land on Shauna first, who's standing by the bed with a nervous face. And then Tai, who looks way too tired for someone who's supposed to be living a life with the perfect family.

"Hey guys, haven't seen you in ages." You decide on saying, trying to ignore the fact you all avoid each other at all costs.

"Literally. Ages." Shauna throws her hands in the air with an awkward smile.

"It sucks that it's not for the best reason but whatever." Tai intervenes before adding with a kind smile, "Nice seeing you're doing well."

You're not sure if she means you actually look good or somehow just knows about you and Nat with your no contact situation. It wouldn't be hard to read the room since you've barely looked her way yet.

"Thanks." An awkward silence follows. You wish for a second Misty were here. Where even is she? You chose not to ask.

"I think we should go straight to the point. There's a fucker sending postcards and blackmailing us, and we need to do something about it." Shauna starts.

"I say we pay them." Nat shrugs, though you know she's aware it's not that simple by the way she plays with her necklaces.

"Well, with what money?" Shauna questions with raised eyebrows.

As if planed, all eyes shot to Taissa, silently waiting for her to realize the plan.

"No." She says instantly, receiving drop of shoulders from Shauna. "Seriously, things aren't great at home and i can't just take that much money without explanation."

"Look, i think we might be exaggerating. This is probably just some creep who's trying to scare us into giving him money and doesn't actually know shit." You start, not getting to continue as Nat steps up.

"But what if they do know?" You know what she's doing. Trying to get you to look at her and give her the satisfaction of knowing you're annoyed at her.

"As i was saying. Which is why i think we should let them have it their way and pay. But from what we know none of us can afford it right now." You look straight at the two other girls in the room as you speak.

"So what? We just leave the bag there like it's nothing and run?" Nat presses, pacing around until she's in the middle of the room.

"Yeah well, you seem to be quite good at leaving things and running, anyway." You finally snap, casting her an attempted death glare that comes out more pained than anything.

Nat looks taken a back for a second, looking away as she straightens up.

"Hey, you two." Shauna practically scolds you both, "Whatever it is that's going on is definitely not more important than this. So focus." She exasperates.

Your silence agrees with her, but you catch Natalie rolling her eyes in the corner of your eyes.

"We could always try to find out who it is. Who says they won't try to do it again?" Tai suggests. You really are going to take ages to reach a conclusion.

"I'll deal with the money problem." Nat states.

You frown, since when is she rotten rich? You're pretty sure someone with money wouldn't be living in a motel.

Suddenly, Shauna's phone rings from inside her bag. She pulls it out, huffing at the letters displayed on her phone. "Fuck, it's Jeff. I have to take this but i'll be back, sorry."

She leaves the room, leaving behind the heavy silence from before.

"I'm just going to get some snacks from the vending machine." You quickly find an excuse to leave the room. Only for a minute, you think. The chances of sharing a room with Nat for one more second without bursting into tears, yelling at her or kissing her are slim.

As none of them say anything, you make a hasty exit, breathing in the fresh night air with long exhales.

You hear a door being slammed, followed by a call for your name that you ignore, taking long strides in the opposite direction.

"Wait!" Nat yells, this time closer and making it impossible to ignore.

"Did you want anything to eat?" You turn, facing her with a sarcastic kind smile, "Might not be not be suddenly rich like some but i can handle a bar of chocolate."

"I don't, just thought we should talk." Much to your dissatisfaction, Nat bluntly ignores the bitterness in your tone. "And i'm not rich. I'm selling my car."

You hate the way she's trying to actually have a conversation with you, as if you're some kind of old friends reuniting. Talking to you with the same gentle voice she only uses with you. Used with you.

"What?"

"It's no big deal, wanted to do it for a while anyway." Nat shrugs.

"Whatever. There's nothing to talk about." You state, striding towards the vending machine again.

"Don't be like that." She reaches to touch your arm, retracting once you give her a displeased look.

"Like what?" You snap.

"We can at least try to casually talk to each other." She says, not seeming to be sure of her own words.

"Is that what you really want?" You question, stopping as you come to face with the snacks. Silence follows.

"Thought so." You grumble lowly, pretending to look at the display on the vending machine.

"It was never my intention to make you this mad at me. I'm sorry." Nat observes softly, tilting her head so you can see her from the corner of your eyes.

"Mad? That's how you think i feel?" You answer a bit too loudly, feeling glad the place seems to be pretty empty.

"You've been... snappy." She gestures with lack of words.

"Maybe cause this is all really messed up, Natalie. You leave me and then come back when you need help." You try to stay calm as you speak, "So if you're gonna tell me i'm 'snappy', just fucking leave." You add with a wobbly voice.

"I couldn't let them make decisions on this without you." Nat tries. You close your eyes for a moment, unsure of why it feels like she isn't quite telling you the truth.

"And is it that big of a sacrifice to help me?" She huffs out.

"No! But last time i tried to help you we both know how it ended." You can't help but be sure you were right before, you are practically yelling at her and very close to tears.

Natalie whispers your name, desperate to reach out but holding herself back again, "I did it for you. I couldn't put you in that position."

"So you threw me out of your life like i was nothing, all for me?"

"You think it wasn't hard for me?" She frowns, eyes wide as she stares at you.

"I know it was. Which is why i begged you to let me stay in your life." You feel the tears well up in your eyes, gulping down a sob.

She opens her mouth to say something but closes it again just as quickly. "I don't know what to say." It sounds more chocked than it should for the choice of words.

You nod defeatedly, "I don't think i can do this, sorry. I'll just say goodbye to the girls and leave."

You move to leave once again, snacks long forgotten. Pressing your fingers to your lips, you let yourself feel regretful of agreeing to come here.

"No. Please don't." This time she actually touches you, fingers barely grazing your sweater covered arm in a pleading way.

"C'mon Nat, give me a good reason why i shouldn't go." You feel completely lost, embarrassed by the way your tears fall freely and uncontained.

Natalie wraps her fingers around your wrist, her own eyes filling with tears. "I didn't just reach out because we needed help." Her vulnerable voice feels like honey to you, her touch grounding you without much effort needed.

"Why?" You don't have to press further to know she understands your question. Close to begging her to say the things you want to hear.

"I needed to see you." She admits, eyes dancing across your face in a needy way, "Needed it so bad- so i found an excuse." Her lips wobble as she struggles to use honesty.

"You don't want me, Nat." Though you really wish she will tell you otherwise.

"Do you actually believe that? I think about you every single day." She smiles sadly.

It finally snaps, all the holding back crumbling down in seconds. You grab her by the face, kissing her fiercely. As if she might disappear at any moment.

But she doesn't seem to be eager to disappear at all, clinging to your waist with as much strength. Her lips fit perfectly in yours, just like you remember. Feel the same too, if not more desperate.

You pull back before she gets the chance to deepen the kiss, barely leaving space between you as you press a kiss to her forehead.

"You deserve this, Nat. You deserve love." You whisper genuinely.

"It's just- hard." She settles on saying, but not making move to pull away at all.

"Then let me show you." You remark.

Nat nods, letting her lips fall to your cheek and pressing feather-like kisses there as you play with the shirt that hangs low on her shoulders. "I love you so fucking much, sweetheart."

"I love you." Your lips return to her without a second thought.

“Any chance we can kick them out?” You hint with a smirk.

“Abso-fucking-lutely.” Nat mumbles into your lips, pulling you towards her room.

“Hey.” You call, making her stop for a second to look at you confused. “No more running, okay?”

Her gaze softens as she moves to hold your neck and presses a more soft kiss to your top lip, “No more running.”

#yellowjackets x you #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets #natalie scatorccio x self insert #natalie scatorccio x you #nat scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio x reader #nat scatorccio #natalie scatorccio

197 notes · View notes

kianamaiart · 4 months ago

Note

Hey OMG every cast that is in your pilot IDWTBAMG has all played my favorite characters I'm soooo excited!

Are you good friends with all the cast members?

How did you all become good friends?

Do you keep in Contact with them?

Most of them are internet friends!! I feel like voice actors and people who work in animation tend to run in the same circles haha

I knew Anairis' fiancé, AJ first! We've been mutuals ever since we both worked on Pokémon Path to the Peak (i was a storyboard artist/writer and he was the voice of Joshua). He's been so kind and encouraging about pppidwtbamg since I started posting about it and was the reason I was able to get in contact with Anairis to voice Aika! And Anairis has been lovely. Such a sweet person and super hardworking VA. I was able to meet them and AJ in person at Anime Impulse a couple months back~

Marieve's a friend of mine from Big City Greens! I'm a storyboard artist/director on the show and she voices Tilly. We first met at our S1 premiere party~ She was so helpful in regards to this pilot. I'd initially just asked if she had any voice directing tips but she told me she could just do it with me and also voice whatever characters I needed~

Shara's also a friend I know in person! I think we first met irl at party Sarah Natochenny hosted when the finale for the Pokémon Journeys dub aired~ We've hung out a few times since then! She's a delight and when I posted the bios for these character she said she wanted to voice DeVoid (before I even decided I was gonna make a pilot) and of course I was like "YES"

I've known Michele since 2020 and she started streaming. I've been a guest on her streams a few times and we still message a bunch! She's super supportive of my art (and the jessiexdelia stuff) and I've done con prints for her a few times~ She's always checking in on me and my girlfriend and making sure we're doing good heehee

Aleks has been a long time twitter mutual of mine! We've commented on each others' posts and dm'd here and there~ I did a print for him a while ago too when he announced he was the voice of Leon in Evolutions and Piers in Pokemon Masters.

I didn't know Christine personally prior to this project so I was really happy that she was down to help! We talked a lot when we had our in person recording session for the pilot and I found out we had a mutual friend! We're all planning to hang out soon~

Bennett's also someone I didn't know personally prior to this project but I've been a big fan of her voice work for a long time! We didn't get to talk a whole lot but she was so encouraging about this pilot and said that she loved the script which made my life. Super easy to work with and an INCREDIBLE comedian/improvisor. Her improv as Zira was some of my favorite and a lot of it made it into the pilot hehe

#ask mai anything

345 notes · View notes

livwritessometimes · 9 months ago

Text

I LOVE YOU!

: Part 11 (Oscar's Version)

: It's bout time Oscar comes clean about his feelings

: Prev | Next

: Series Masterlist

: Main Masterlist

: author’s note - I almost had a heart attack!!! this fic was scheduled and it did not release and it wasn’t showing in the scheduled section and I almost lost it

…

“Oscar??” Y/n said, confused, as she made her way towards the man in front of her.

“What are you doing here?” She asked as she finally got a better view of the comp science major standing under the lights that cast a soft glow on his face.

"Y/n," Oscar said, a hint of nervousness laced his voice. "I'm glad you came!" he said.

"Wait, are you the one who left that message??" Y/n asked. Not bothering to wait for a reply, she continued, "How did you even do that? Wasn't Mr. Stella working on it? So how did you even get the chance to change that? Unless you were working on it with him. Is that what you were doing? Why? First you ignore me, keep on making excuses, ditch me to hang out with another girl, and then when I get someone else to help me with this, you go behind my back and work on it?? How does that even make sense? Osc-" Her ramble was cut short with Oscar suddenly shouting, "Stop! Y/n, would you please stop for the love of God and let me explain?"

The girl instantly fell silent, waiting for the boy to continue. "Yes, I changed the form so that you could get the coordinates. I had gone to Mr. Stella and begged him if I could work on the form and finish what I had started with you," Oscar said.

"Why? Why would you do all that? Because I told you I don't need your help? Is that why you decided to call me here late at night? and for what?" Y/n said, feeling herself get teary-eyed by the sudden outburst of emotions. "Do you not want me to do well in the assignment? Is that what this is because if that is why you are doing all of this Oscar Piastri, I swear to god?"

"I did this because I LOVE YOU," Oscar blurted out; he could not take it any longer. He could not keep his mouth shut and watch the girl he loves think he did all of this out of spite.

Y/n felt her heart stop. This was not what she was expecting when she left her house today in hopes of finding the person behind the mysterious message. "What??" Y/n said, in fact, that was all she could get herself to say.

"I love you; I have for a while now. Daniel had texted me one day saying that he's happy to see me happy with you, and I freaked out. I know that this was no excuse for me ignoring you, and I'm really sorry for that. But I didn't know how else to react," Oscar said, staring down at the ground, refusing to look at Y/n.

"I've never felt like this; all my life I never felt like the need to be with someone, and so I never bothered with it. But the more time we spent together for the project, the more I realized that I did not want it to end. And so I started to make excuses just so we could spend more time working on the project. But I didn't realize that doing so would make it end sooner," he said. "Lily was just working with me on one of our assignments; I never thought you'd think that I was dating her. I never meant for things to get so complicated between us. I understood your decision to work with my professor, and I'm sorry I went behind your back to work on the project. Please don't get angry with him; he was very hesitant to let me do this in the first place. I just hope that we can still be friends." Oscar finally finished and looked up at Y/n.

Both Y/n and Oscar had taken a seat at one of the chairs kept outside, and for a good five minutes no words were exchanged between the two. Suddenly, Y/n got up and said, "I'm sorry, Oscar, but I have to go," and without waiting for him to reply, Y/n walked out of the cafe.

Leaving a confused and heartbroken Oscar behind.

…

826 notes · View notes

andorappreciation · 3 months ago

Text

There have been times where the struggle seemed impossible... Together, unrested, daunted by the lack of news or trailer, we have waited…and waited…

But the day has finally come when all these edits and drawings, these metas and fics…will help the Andor fandom countdown to the Season 2 premiere!

Sunday, April 6th to Thursday, 17th (ahead of all the Star Wars Celebration excitement) @andorappreciation will be hosting 12 Days of Andor: a fandom-wide event celebrating our resilient, creative, talented community and the long-anticipated return of our favorite rebellious show.

Prompts

April 6th, Day One: Networks Either Change or Die Dive into the interconnectedness of this complex narrative. Find the ties that bind characters, factions, and plots. Parallels, theses, and themes… obvious or unhinged, make your case! Alternate Prompts: Symbolism || Elements

April 7th, Day Two: Everyone Has Their Own Rebellion Themes, politics, messaging--there were many reasons for Andor’s success, but chief among them was what the show had to say, both about our world and the world of Star Wars. Examine Nemik’s Manifesto, or offer your own treatise on Luthen’s methodology, but whatever you do, don’t lose your nerve! Alternate Prompts: Underrated Quotes/Dialogue || Sacrifice

April 8th, Day Three: I Show You the Stone in My Hand, You'll Miss the Knife at Your Throat Mon Mothma was speaking for more than just herself here– dualities and split identities are a throughline in Andor. Whether it’s Vel Sartha playing as the spoiled rich girl or Lonnie Jung literally posing as a double agent within the ISB, explore the world of deception and the webs of lies that hold the Rebellion and the Empire together. Alternate Prompts: Underrated Scenes || Ambiguity

April 9th, Day Four: Kill Me, Or Take Me In The last words of the first season, uttered by the show’s protagonist. With this ominous bargain, we were all left to speculate wildly about the upcoming second and final season. Here’s your chance to share those theories and predictions, from the most sound hypothesis to the crackiest wish fulfillment! Alternate Prompts: Penultimate Moments || Death

April 10th, Day Five: They Don't Even Think About Us But we bet you do right? Everyone has their own rebellion, yes, but everyone also has their very own Glup Shitto. Are you a Time Grappler Stan? A Blue Noodle boy? Show your love for your Andor Shittos! Alternate Prompts: Underrated Side Characters || Nature

April 11th, Day Six: That's Just Love...Nothing You Can Do About That Just like with every good story, the relationships among the characters are what draw us in and keep us hooked. Whether it’s a fraught love story or a complex connection between mother and son, Andor is rife with intricate interpersonal relations and, ultimately, a hell of a lot of love. Share your feelings about the relationships you find most compelling! Alternate Prompts: Doomed by the Narrative || Echoes

April 12th, Day Seven: We Are Healthcare Providers Are you fascinated by the crushing bureaucracy of the ISB? The ponderous gears of the Imperial war machine? Do you simply love Dedra Meero and think she's neat? Share your thoughts about the Empire and the unique way that Andor explores the banality of evil! Alternate Prompts: Character Arcs || Morality

April 13th, Day Eight: "Pilgrim" Are you the biggest Nicolas Britell fan ever? Have you memorized every interview with Denise Gough? Have you watched everything Diego Luna is in? Show your appreciation for the incredible cast and crew that make this show come to life! Alternate Prompts: Favorite Quotes about the show || Behind the Scenes

April 14th, Day Nine: Pockets, Piping, Some Light… Tailoring From the rich costumes to the lavish sets, Andor gave us some truly sumptuous designs to sink our teeth into. Explore the details of costumes, sets or both! Alternate Prompt: Hidden Details || Colors

April 15th, Day Ten: Peezos… The Greenie Green Ones Run up to Arkie’s and pick up some shit posts! Just make sure you don’t look like ‘you’re a part of it’. Alternate Prompts: Favorites (episodes, characters, etc) || Humor

April 16th, Day Eleven: You’re My Ideal Reader Have a fic that you just love? A gifset that you stare at until your eyes water? A manifesto with not enough circulation (in your opinion)? Spread the love and recommend your favorite metas, edits, fan art, podcasts, gif sets, fics, whatever you’d like! Alternate Prompt: Alternate Universe || Time

April 17th, Day Twelve: ONE WAY OUT! You’re free! Hopefully you can swim! AKA: Dealer's choice || Free Day

How It Works

We have included multiple prompts for each day to provide optimal opportunities for fan work creators of all kinds. Pick a prompt and create to your heart’s content! When the day arrives, post your work!

Feel free to tag us @andorappreciation! We will also be tracking #12DaysofAndor2025

Do’s & Don’t’s

Have fun, be creative and follow us for all the glorious content!

Please reblog!

Pop some peezos. The greenie green ones!

DON’T

Repost work that is not yours or work without credit

Post work without proper tagging/warnings

Post offensive material including non-con or bigotry

Any questions, concerns, or clarifications can be submitted via ask.

Sincerely,

@andorappreciation

ALL CREDIT FOR THE INCREDIBLE CASSIAN BANNER AND B2 DIVIDERS GOES TO LOVELY MOD @ninsletamain

#12DaysofAndor2025 #andor #starwarsandor #star wars art #tv: andor #sw: andor

240 notes · View notes

haartemis · 5 months ago

Text

CROSS THE LINE | Jude Bellingham

pairing: jude bellingham x fem!reader, unnamed fictional RM player x fem!reader

word count: 3.1k

summary: after a fallout with your boyfriend, you find solace in a spontaneous night at the movies, where you run into his golden boy teammate. one thing leads to another and you cross the line.

A/N: first judith fic!! this was really fun to write. (very loosely) based on guilty as sin by taylor swift. let me know what yall think <3

warnings: infidelity (i don't condone it yall its just fun to write morally gray characters 🫣)

someone once told you there’s no such thing as bad thoughts – that it’s your actions that truly define you.

you wonder what they’d say if they saw you now: sitting up in bed with your boyfriend sound asleep beside you, staring at your phone with a pounding heart, silently hoping, waiting, for a message from someone else.

you wait and wait, but there’s nothing. your home screen stays empty, mocking you. you glance at your boyfriend. his shallow breathing fills the quiet room, steady and oblivious.

he has no idea you came home at 3 a.m. wearing his teammate’s jacket.

you'd stuffed it in the back of your closet as soon as you got home, a relic of a night that shouldn’t have happened. you'd scrubbed yourself thoroughly in the shower, trying to wash away the smell of jude’s cologne that clung to your skin. but it’s still there. not on your skin anymore, but in your mind, stamped into your memory to stay forever.

the way the flickering lights from the movie theater screen cast shadows on his beautiful face, the fleeting feeling of his warm hands on yours as he handed you his jacket, the full body rumble of his laugh, the feel of his soft lips on yours.

you will never forget. how could you, when that was the first time in months you’d felt seen? desired. wanted. needed. it’s an intoxicating feeling, like stepping into the sunlight after living in the shadows for the longest time.

and now, staring at your phone, you feel it all over again. the pull. the wrongness of it all.

a buzz breaks the silence. your heart jumps into your throat as the screen lights up and a single message appears.

jude: you got home safe?

it’s innocent enough. simple. harmless.

you could ignore it. pretend you didn’t see it. block his number and put an end to whatever this is before it spirals into something else.

but instead, your fingers move on their own accord.

you: yeah. thanks for checking.

you press send before you can stop yourself. you lock your phone and put it on the bedside table before closing your eyes and willing yourself to go to sleep.

to your credit, none of this was planned. it all starts earlier that night. you and your boyfriend are supposed to have a date night, a rare opportunity to spend some alone time together. you pick out a dress he once says is his favorite and make a dinner reservation at his favorite spot.

but plans change quickly.

“babe, the guys just texted,” he says, barely looking up from his phone. “they’re hopping on fifa in a bit. you don’t mind if we raincheck, right?”

you stare at him dumbfounded as he flops down onto the couch.

“raincheck?” your voice trembles, the tears obvious, yet he doesn’t even glance at you.

“yeah. just tonight, we’ll do something soon,” he says dismissively.

it’s not the first time he’s blown you off, but tonight it stings a little more. maybe it’s the fact that he’s so indifferent to you and your feelings, he doesn’t even care to notice the relationship is teetering on the edge of a cliff. he doesn’t realize that you’re making an effort to save it while he’s unknowingly contributing to its unraveling.

you realized it too late, but you know now you’re not a partner to him, not really. you’re a glorified accessory, someone he can show off for external validation, a dependable constant in his life that’s only there to cheer him on and make him look good while he gives his attention and energy to the things he actually cares about: his friends, his family, and above all, his football.

it wasn’t like this in the beginning, but things changed quickly after he made the move to real madrid and became a bigger star. with every goal, every headline, and every paparazzi photo, you sank further into the background of his life.

you linger for a moment, waiting for him to change his mind, to look up and realize what he’s doing. but he doesn’t. so you grab your bag and leave without saying another word.

the cinema isn’t your first choice. you wander the streets for a while, debating whether to call a friend or just head home. but you need a distraction, something that can dispel all the thoughts running through your head. so before you know it, you’re buying a single ticket to whatever is playing next.

the theater is almost empty. it isn’t until you sit down and glance at your ticket that you realize you’re not seeing something new, but a re-release of a classic: Goodfellas.

halfway through the movie, you see a figure slip into a seat a few rows ahead of you. a few moments pass, and you feel a pair of eyes boring into the back of your head. it’s distracting, like an itch. you can't bear to ignore it any longer so you turn your head and look straight at the person. the figure quickly shifts his gaze, pretending to be engrossed in the screen. his features are hidden thanks to the hoodie he’s wearing, but his height and broad shoulders give him away as a man.

you hold your gaze for a second longer, just to make sure he gets the message, before turning back to the screen. but your focus is broken after that.

a few more moments pass and you notice the man stand and make his way out of his row. you let out a quiet breath of relief, assuming he’s leaving. but from the corner of your eye, you see the same figure moving toward your seat. your body stiffens immediately. why is he coming your way? maybe it was a bad idea to come to a nearly empty theater alone so late at night.

you watch as he stops in front of you and slightly crouches to not block the view of the screen.

“y/n?” he asks, voice low yet familiar.

“uh, yeah?” you respond warily.

“thought it was you.” he pulls back his hood, revealing the grinning face of jude bellingham.

a wave of embarrassment immediately washes over you. it’s bad enough that your boyfriend doesn’t love you and prefers to spend time playing video games with his friends, but now you have to run into his teammate of all people while you’re publicly wallowing in your misery—his kind, handsome teammate who always makes you flush whenever you cross paths.

this time is no different. your face grows warm as you stutter, “oh! h-hi, jude.”

you brace for the questions: why are you here alone? where’s your boyfriend? why do you have tear stains on your cheeks?

they don’t come though. instead, he gestures to the seat next to you. “mind if i join you? my seat over there was right under the AC; i was freezing.”

you nod. jude flashes you a smile as he takes a seat.

and then nothing. you watch the rest of the movie silently, the only interaction between you being an elbow nudge from him to offer his pack of candy.

he’s completely engrossed. he laughs silently at certain scenes, and in the more intense ones lets out small gasps. for someone else, it might’ve been annoying, but for you, who’s used to your boyfriend’s indifference to everything, you find his enthusiasm refreshing, maybe even a little endearing.

you spend the rest of the movie mentally going through the list of things you know about him : he's the same age as you (your boyfriend begrudgingly posted a birthday wish on his instagram story once), he can't drive (you see him being picked up by a driver whenever you visit valdebebas), he's genuinely nice (he always says hi when he sees you around, and he's politely held a door open for you once or twice), his spanish isn't the best (you once ran into him hopelessly trying to change his order at the canteen, sheepishly apologizing to the annoyed barista before you helped him out), and your boyfriend quietly holds a dislike for him because he's 'attention seeking' ( you secretly think its not his fault that he's charming and easygoing, that he has everyone he meets wrapped around his finger).

when the movie ends and the lights begin to brighten, he turns to you.

"do you wanna get ice cream?"

you hesitate for a moment.

"yeah. i’d love to," you say finally.

you exit the cinema, and when the fresh outdoor air hits you, you ask the question at the tip of your tongue.

"why and how are you here?"

"could ask the same for you," he grins.

"yeah, but—" you begin, but are immediately silenced by the sight in front of you. jude reaches into the pocket of the jacket he's layered over his hoodie and pulls out a dreadlocked toupee. with the straightest face, he carefully pulls down his hood, places the wig on his head, and adjusts it before pulling the hood back up.

you blink.

"you were saying?" the corners of his mouth twitch at your facial expression. without waiting for a reply, he starts walking, leading you away from the cinema.

you walk in tandem, still giving him a confused look. when you catch sight of his (fake) locs swinging along to the rhythm of his steps, you can’t help it; you burst out laughing.

“what’s so funny?” he turns to you, a mock hurt look on his face. “i’m part jamaican, you know.”

you pause your walking, doubling over and clutching your stomach as you laugh. he stands patiently, looking slightly amused.

after you catch your breath and fully recover, you continue walking.

“so that’s how you go places unnoticed?” you ask, still giggling.

“yup,” he says. “otherwise it’s a nightmare. need a bodyguard and stuff.”

you nod sympathetically as you stroll down the quiet street, the soft glow of streetlights casting long shadows on the concrete. jude walks with an easy confidence, his hands in his pockets while you glance over at him and his toupee every so often.

“so,” he says after a moment, glancing sideways at you, “what’s your excuse? why are you at a late night showing of Goodfellas all by yourself?”

your smile falters slightly. you look straight ahead, debating how much to share.

“just needed to get out of the house,” you say with a light tone.

jude doesn’t push, though the way he hums softly in response tells you he notices your answer is only a half-truth.

"what about you?" you ask.

"I like watching movies," he says simply.

when you give him a somewhat confused look, he pulls out his phone and opens the letterboxd app, showing you the extensive list of movies he's marked as watched. you skim through it and you’re surprised by the diversity. the list is seemingly filled with movies of all genres, from classic films to indie flicks. you didn’t expect this side of him, but somehow it makes sense.

as he enthusiastically explains the list, you can't help but feel endeared by the excited look on his face. you have the overwhelming urge to reach out and smooth over his furrowed brow with your finger. but for the first and only time that night, you don't act on that impulse.

you reach a small gelato stand located on a corner of the street, its neon sign glowing softly. jude steps forward and leans against the counter.

“pick whatever you want,” he says, winking as he passes you the menu.

“don’t mind if i do,” you say, raising an eyebrow. you ignore the way his words make you feel—warm and fluttery, like this is a first date between two single people.

after a moment of deliberation, you pick pistachio and hazelnut, watching as jude leans in to order the same for himself.

“you copying me?”

“nah,” he says with a smirk, passing your cone to you from the server. “just figured you have good taste.”

you wander away from the stand, both of you savoring your ice cream. for a while, you walk in comfortable silence. at one point, he removes the ridiculous wig from his head. it isn’t until you reach a park bench that jude breaks the silence.

"you know," he starts. "i haven’t seen you at a lot of games lately. everything good between you and your boyfriend?"

“‘your boyfriend?’” you tease. “why not call him by his name? you guys have beef or something?”

he stays silent.

you gasp half-jokingly. “oh my god! tell me everything, so i can sell the story to the tabloids.”

he lets out a laugh at that.

“you’re ridiculous,” he says, shaking his head, but there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“c’mon, spill,” you tease, nudging his arm lightly. “is he, like, selfish? does he refuse to pass during games?”

jude chuckles, shaking his head again. “nah, nothing like that. he’s a good player. talented, hardworking… you just start noticing things when you’re around someone all the time, you know?”

he says it carefully, almost hesitantly. you tilt your head at him. “notice things like what?”

he shrugs, his gaze dropping to his melting cone. “like… maybe he doesn’t appreciate what he’s got.”

the words hang in the air between you. you don't know how to respond, so you just gaze down at your own ice cream.

"sorry," jude says quickly. "didn't mean to overstep. i just—forget it."

"no, it's fine," you say quietly. "you're not wrong."

you sit in silence for a few moments. you feel him lean back against the bench, and the next time he speaks, his tone is lighter.

"my dad's coming to visit tomorrow," he says casually, an excited undertone in his voice.

"yeah? that's nice. does he come often?"

"not as much as i'd like," jude admits. "he's got my little brother to worry about in sunderland."

you smile softly. “what do you guys usually do when he visits?”

"usually we grab some food..."

he speaks about his bond with his dad, and also his close relationship with both his brother and mother. soon the conversation moves to childhood memories; jude tells you stories about growing up in birmingham, the football academy there, how he met his best friends at school. in return, you share stories of your own childhood, each one met with genuine curiosity from jude. you laugh, the conversation feeling effortlessly easy and natural.

it isn’t until you pull out your phone and glance at the screen to check the time that reality crashes back in. you have a boyfriend waiting for you at home. a boyfriend who hasn’t called, hasn’t texted, hasn’t even noticed that you’ve walked out of his house.

you lick the last remnants of your ice cream and are just about to crunch into the cone when jude gestures toward your chin. “you’ve got a little…” he says, trailing off as he points.

“oh,” you mumble while jude scans your surroundings for a tissue. finding none, he leans in and gently swipes at the bit of ice cream with his thumb.

“got it,” he murmurs, his touch lingering just a second longer than required.

what happens next can only be described as a a lapse in thinking, or maybe something you've been holding back all night. before your brain can catch up with your actions, you grab his hand and bring his thumb to your lips. you lick the ice cream away, your eyes flicking up to meet his.

jude freezes, his breath catching, his deep brown eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart race.

"i—" you start, but whatever explanation you're about to give disappears when jude leans closer, his hand hovering near your face, as if waiting for your permission.

you don’t pull away. you don’t want to.

his lips brush against yours, hesitant at first, testing the waters. when you don’t push him away or move back, when, instead, you lean into him, his kiss deepens. it’s slow and deliberate, like he has all the time in the world to memorize every inch of you.

the ice cream cone in your hand is forgotten, melting onto the pavement as your fingers tangle into his hoodie, pulling him closer. the world fades, leaving just the two of you in your little bubble.

when you finally pull apart, your breaths mingle in the night air and jude’s forehead rests against yours.

“jude…” you whisper, but you don’t know how to finish the sentence.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression serious. “tell me if I’ve crossed a line. i don’t want to make things harder for you.”

your heart flutters at the genuine care in his tone. you shake your head. “no, you didn’t.”

he doesn't keep his lips off you after that.

the next morning, you wake up feeling better than you have in months. there's a lightness in your chest, a warmth that’s been missing for what feels like forever.

you glance at your boyfriend, expecting to feel guilt or remorse. but there’s nothing. no pang of regret, no twist in your stomach. you feel... nothing at all.

you watch him roll out of bed and get ready for training. not a word passes between you as you sit down together in the kitchen to eat breakfast.

“so, what does your day look like today?” you try.

he doesn’t even look up, his attention entirely on his phone, scrolling with one hand while holding his fork with the other.

“i have a meeting at work that’s pretty—“ you start, but he cuts off.

“we’re doing penalty drills,” he mutters without looking up. “need to score more than bellingham so i can wipe that smug smile off his face. did you know he gets paid more than me?”

you just stare at him. you wonder what you even saw in him all those years ago. how had you overlooked the bitterness in his eyes, the envy? how had you missed it all along, his resentment towards anyone who seemed happier, luckier, more successful? his good looking face looks distorted to you now, forever changed to you to reflect the ugliness he holds inside. its as if you’re seeing him for who he really is for the very first time.

your phone buzzes on the table. without even checking, you know who it’s from.

jude: good morning :) sleep well?

you see it for what it is: an invitation to step into dangerous territory, to cross the line once more. a lifeline offering escape from the sinking ship that is your relationship.

you decide to take it.

you type a quick response and set the phone down. your boyfriend is grinning at an instagram reel now, completely absorbed.

you don’t speak to each other for the remainder of breakfast. this time it doesn't bother you at all.

#jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham x y/n #jude bellingham fanfic #football fanfic #football imagine

298 notes · View notes

4milly · 4 months ago

Note

girl u are FREKAYYYYY. what's life like with bd!zilla? 🙄🙄🙄🙄

i really do imagine he's the type to be so nonchalant about shit tbh. like when you two decided to co-parent your 3 year old son, from that day forth zilla's always put on this act that he never cared about shit you did. you both were single.

nothing new. he did the in the relationship. act like nothing ever mattered. you'd do things to spite him to atleast see if he cared. like doing your hair a different way when you'd drop your son off, wearing a dress too short and posting it to the gram, even sending him thirst traps on "accident".

only to get a dry ass response. barely even that, sometimes he’d just heart the message and move on.

but nothing ever seemed to phase him. you'd catch glimpses sometimes - a fleeting look in his eyes when he thought you weren't paying attention, the way his jaw would tighten ever so slightly when another man's name came up. but he'd always brush it off, act like it was nothing.

one day, you decided to really push it. you showed up to drop off your son wearing that slinky red dress he always loved, the one that hugged every curve. you made sure your makeup was flawless, your hair perfectly curled. as you handed over your giggling toddler, you casually mentioned the date you had lined up for that night.

little did he know, you didn't even have one. you purposely did all this shit so his blood pressure would raise.

for a split second, you saw it - that flash of jealousy, that hint of possessiveness in his dark eyes. but just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by his usual cool indifference. "have fun, babygirl," he said with a wink before focusing on your son

"mama, look pretty?" your son said gleaming towards you

"she does, buddy. so very pretty." he simply stated giving you a once over, stopping at your cleavage.

you felt a shiver run down your spine at his words, at the way his eyes lingered on your body. for a moment, you forgot to breathe. then you caught yourself, plastering on a coy smile. "thanks," you said breezily, "i'm sure my date will think so too."

as you turned to head back to your car , you could feel zilla's eyes on you, burning into your back. you put an extra sway in your hips, knowing exactly how that dress moved when you walked. you heard your son's laughter fade as the door closed behind you.

later that night, after your mediocre date with some guy whose name you could barely remember, you found yourself scrolling through your phone in the bathroom. your thumb hovered over zilla's contact. before you could stop yourself, you fired off a text: "date was a bust. heading home early."

you stared at your phone, waiting for his reply. the minutes that went by were agonizing. just as you were about to toss your phone in your purse, it buzzed.

u wanna come over, mama?

you knew this was a bad idea. you only wanted to spite him — show him you still had it and what he lost. but...damn, you'd be lying if you said you didn't crave to feel that long, girth, samoan dick working inside you, and those hands using your hips bouncing you like a bitch in heat, just like an addict craves their next fix. nonetheless, you responded anyways: be there in 15.

the ride to his place felt endless. second-guessing your decision with every passing streetlight. but when you knocked on the door and saw him standing in the doorway, all doubts vanished. He looked good - too good. his white tank top clung to his muscular frame, and his sweatpants hung low on his hips.

"hey, mama," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "come in."

you stepped inside, the familiar scent of his cologne washing over you. the living room was dimly lit. as you stepped inside, the familiar scent of his cologne washing over you, you felt a surge of electricity in the air. the living room was dimly lit, casting long shadows across the walls. soft music played in the background - was that the playlist you used to make love to? baby making music as they say.

zilla closed the door behind you, his presence looming large. you could feel the heat radiating off his body as he moved closer, his scent suffocating you. "you want sum' to drink?" he asked, his voice husky.

you nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. as he walked to the kitchen, your eyes followed the broad expanse of his back, remembering how it felt to dig your nails into those muscles.

He returned with two glasses of red wine - your favorite. As he handed you yours, his fingers brushed against yours, lingering just a moment too long. you took a sip, the rich flavor exploding on your tongue.

you closed your eyes for a brief moment as you glanced over the room, "so where is our little guy?" desperate to break the silence.

zilla almost didn't hear the question, to occupied in looking at your ass in the dress.

"zilla?" you said more firmly to bring his attention back towards you

"my bad, mama. we watched that paw patrol shit he like and he crashed out not too long ago," he responded before taking a sip of his wine "you look good as fuck, y'know that?"

you felt a flush creep up your neck at his words. "thanks," you murmured, taking another sip of wine to steady your nerves.

zilla moved closer, his eyes roaming over you hungrily. "you r'member first time you wore it?" his voice was low, tinged with desire. "that night at the club, when I couldn't keep my hands off you. had to take yo ass home right then."

you nodded, memories flooding back. the way he'd pressed you against the wall as soon as you got through the door, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing the dress higher, pushing his hand into your panties.

before you could respond, zilla closed the distance between you, his large hand cupping your face. "lemme r'mind you," he growled, before crashing his lips against yours. the kiss was hungry, desperate, filled with years of pent-up longing.

in one fluid motion, he lifted you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. he carried you to the wall, pressing you against it as his lips trailed hot kisses down your neck. your head fell back, a soft moans escaping your lips.

"god, you so fuckin' pretty," he murmured against your skin, his hands roaming your body, reacquainting themselves with every curve. he hitched your dress up higher, his fingers tracing the edge of your lace panties. "these in the way, mama."

with a swift movement, he pushed your panties to the side exposing your wet core, "shit, i missed this pussy. she missed daddy, baby?"

zilla's fingers were replaced by his hard length, rubbing against you. you didn't remember when he got the time to take his dick out his pants, but thank the stars above. you finally were about to get what you've nearly been wishing for and more, "fuck me, zilla. i missed you so much."

he slid into you, filling you up in one long stroke. your eyes rolled back as your body stretched to accommodate him. it had been too long since you'd felt him this way, inside you, claiming you as his own. the way his dick filled you perfectly made your mind go numb. you wrapped an arm around his neck bringing his lips to your owns. you let out a strangled whine as began to stroke, your pussy still getting used to the filling of being so full again.

he started moving slowly, dragging his hips back until you were nearly empty before filling you back up letting you adjust, and repeating the process until the coarse hair at the base of his cock tickled your clit.

"zilla!" you yelped as a particular thrust made him swipe over that special spot inside of you

"shh, shh don't wake him up, mama." he replied throwing a hand over your mouth to keep you moans at bay — careful not to wake your sleeping boy down the hall. "so fuckin' pretty just taking all this dick. I should nut all up in yo pretty ass.”

your moans and screams were muffled into zilla's hand. your eyes rolling towards the back of your head. you were in complete bliss right now. zilla's hips moved with a primal rhythm, each thrust driving you higher up the wall. your dress bunched around your waist, the silky fabric sliding against your skin with every movement. your panties, pushed hastily to the side, were soaked with your arousal — same as the floor beneath you. zilla's thickness stretched and filled you completely, your walls clenching around him, trying to draw him even deeper.

"that's it, mama," he panted, his hips pounding you against the wall. "take this dick. show me how much you missed it."

you arched your back, pressing your chest against his as you sought more friction. zilla's free hand slid down to grip your ass, kneading the flesh as he lifted you slightly, changing the angle. the new position had him hitting your g-spot with every stroke, and you saw stars behind your closed eyelids. you wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, your heels digging into his lower back, urging him on. your nails raked down his muscular back, leaving small rips in his tank top. zilla dipped his head, trailing hot kisses along your collarbone and down to the swell of your breasts.

your breath hitched as your belly started to tighten around his dick. zilla let out a quiet menacing chuckle into your ear, "wassup baby? you wanna cum? keep wettin' this dick up. make that shit spit fa me."

tears pricked your eyes as you shut them tightly. the pressure built up in your stomach and cum dripped down your legs — unable to store all of it in your pussy with his dick pummeling inside of you. zilla groaned, feeling your walls clench around him. "that's it, baby," he praised, his movements becoming erratic as he chased his own release. "fuck, I'm gonna cum. want me to fill you up, mama?"

your eyes were crossed and your head was spent, only focusing on the feeling of cumming all over him and the pleasure radiating through your body.

he let out a groan as he released every drop of his cum into you without thinking twice. his hips stuttering as he followed you over the edge. he gripped your ass, his hips bucking upwards, emptying ropes of his cum deep inside of you—filling you to the brim with his seed. some of it running down his dick, to his legs, and onto the floor. It felt too good to pull out and he wasn’t going to.

as you both came down from your high, zilla slowly removed his hand from your mouth, replacing it with a tender kiss on your bottom lip as you continued to shake and twitch in his arms. the feeling of his warm cum so deep inside you, triggering another mini orgasm. your body continued to convulse as every nerve ending in your body exploded, "yo ass happy you finally got some dick?"

❦:

@caramelcleopatraa @harmshake @msbigredmachine @luvrsluxe @uceyliyahh @angiedawn02 @amandairene88 @cyberdejos2 @queeny23 @empressdede @trentybenty @heauxvibez @whatdoeseverybodywant @shes2real @romansthrone @acknowledge-reigns @southerngirl41 @prettyfilmz @jaza23

don’t forget to like and reblog! <3 drop a comment also! i love reading those. xoxo, cleo.

(think i might make this a series tbh.)

260 notes · View notes

smutoperator · 1 year ago

Text

Luck Inside Her Backdoor

Kim Yoohyeon x Male Reader

Tags: 100% anal, big ass, butt plug, casting couch, facial, gape, glasses, (a lot of) lube, sloppy blowjobs, sugar daddy

Word count: 4223.

Your daughter came with an unusual request. She wanted to attend the concert of a K-pop group. You had never heard of them. Dreamcatcher, apparently. But you decided to be a good father and give her the tickets to the concert. You knew nothing about them but wanted to make your daughter happy, especially following the recent divorce you had with her mother.

At the concert, one of the girls caught your attention. She was quite tall and moved her body perfectly while also performing great interactions with the crowd. "What's her name?" you asked your daughter. "Yoohyeon," she replied.

Indeed, Yoohyeon had hypnotized you, especially her ass. You kinda wanted to impress your daughter and see if you could find a way to meet Dreamcatcher after the concert, but more than this, you wanted to take a closer look at her.

You contacted the managers, who said it wasn't possible; they just weren't going to give you access. But you insisted, using your money and influence to bribe them and get your daughter to have an improvised fan meet with them.

Your daughter was quite happy, taking as many pictures with their idols as she could. But you were even more delighted as you managed to sneak in a message to Yoohyeon. "If you're still in town tomorrow, meet me at this place. Here's my phone number." Yoohyeon was about to throw it out, but she texted you out of curiosity, asking why you would want to meet her in private. "For sex, tell me where your place is, and I'll pick you up," you replied in the next message. "Sure," she agreed.

You left your daughter at school and guided Yoohyeon to your place. It was a cold day, meaning she was wearing a quite long jacket, but her long-sleeved top had all the buttons in place but still showed off her beautiful midriff and elongated navel, while her jeans showcased the great figure of her bottom. She also looked extremely cute with the glasses she had on. Yoohyeon sat on your couch as you approached her, asking her a question. "Are you ready for your audition?"

As soon as Yoohyeon heard those words, she already knew what to do, getting on her knees. She slowly took off her jeans and panties, showcasing her meaty pussy and the butt plug covering her asshole. You already knew her ass was amazing, but it looked even better in full display—truly a packed and stacked bubble butt.

Yoohyeon gave you a little smirk as you started playing with her anal plug using your left hand, removing it, then putting it back in a couple times. Every time her butthole got exposed, you used your tongue to lick it fully. Yoohyeon enjoyed the attention as you focused on her ass before sliding your right hand under her to massage her pussy. "Ah yes," she said in approval.

Having someone willing to be her sugar daddy was something she wasn't expecting. Things looked pretty safe for Yoohyeon as of lately. Her group avoided the seven-year curse, and she had a steady income from sales and touring, but she knew she had to ace today's performance more than any concert to be set for life. She got herself barefoot as you kept playing with the plug in her ass and making her let out some very sexy moans.

You picked up the pace and fucked her a little faster using the plug while placing your free hand at her massive cheeks. You started giving Yoojyeon some hot kisses without looking at her cute face as both of you closed your eyes to enjoy the touching of both your lips better. Between the kisses, you continued to warm up her asshole, pushing the plug in and out of it.

"Let me see that dick," Yoohyeon interrupted you with a naughty request as her eyes brightened under the glass. "You want it now?" you asked. "Yes," she said with a big smile, truly ready to impress her sugar daddy. But you decided to tease her a little, fingering her pussy while still manuvering the plug in her asshole. "Take it yourself," you told her.

Yoohyeon turned around and placed her hands in your belt, taking it off and then unzipping you as she unveiled your cock. It was still flaccid due to the weather, but it definitely had the size. Nothing like some little work couldn't fix it, as Yoohyeon grabbed it hard and inserted it in her warm mouth, prompting a rush of blood from the rest of your body towards your pole.

You started taking your shirt off as Yoohyeon coughed on your dick while taking it deep in her throat for the first time. She managed to warm your cock up so quickly that it wasn't long before your tip was springing out of the foreskin. "Oh fuck, oh shit, god damn it," you murmured as Yoohyeon started her no-hands blowjob that made her gag on it.

As more spit came out of Yoohyeon's mouth, she started to unbutton her jacket and take it off without ever leaving your cock out of her mouth, even with you making it harder on her by pushing her head against your crotch, as she closed her eyes while her forehead landed on your belly. That only made Yoohyeon try harder, as she had now taken her jacket off to the fullest and started loosening up her top's buttons one by one as soon as she gagged on your prick once again, rolling her eyes as her glasses touched the base of your cock.

Yoohyeon pulled out of your cock as soon as she managed to take her top off, with you moving her face close to yours to kiss her sloppy mouth while caressing her beautiful round boobs. You took Yoohyeon's pantyhose off, the last piece of clothing she was wearing, staring at her now fully naked body from top to bottom. It was freezing cold outside, but her body was so hot that you weren't feeling anything. Quite the contrary, as your cock was now fully erected and throbbing for more heat from Yoohyeon's filthy mouth.

As Yoohyeon dove under your cock to suck you off a little more, you placed your right hand right on top of her big ass, closing your eyes as her mouth sucked the shit out of your dick. You fucked her ass with the plug, dreaming of replacing it with your cock the more she gagged on it. You pushed your shaft a little up, reaching all the way down her throat, to make it harder for her, leading Yoohyeon to gulp and almost throw up as you hit her gag reflexes. You two started it all over again, this time with her lasting much longer with it bulging under her throat as she quickly adjusted to your length while also adding some hot massage to your ballsack.

She really knew where to hit the right spots, as Yoohyeon's massage ended up being a massive turn-on to you. And she sensed the same, increasing the speed at which her hands moved around your big balls. "Oh my God," it was all you could say once she finally finished it, moving towards fast dives into your cock and a high-paced blowjob that slowly turned her on as well, making her nipples quite hard in the process.

You pushed Yoohyeon's hair a little to the side to have a better view of her pretty face gagging all over your meat. But it didn't take long until you received a request from her. "I want you to shove this dick deep in my ass," she said. You loved hearing those words. Yoohyeon was ready to take it straight up her butthole and not waste any time in her pussy. She knew she had to go big or go home, and her begging voice clearly indicated it. Today, it was anal or bust.

"You do? Then beg me," you tease her. "Please, daddy, shove it up in my big fat ass; I want you to stretch my asshole out and gape it to the size of the moon." Yoohyeon meant business as she turned around and got on her knees on the couch, her butt now facing you as she licked her tongue. You removed the plug off her anus in one go as Yoohyeon held her left hand into the couch's arm, bracing herself for your big cock fully inside her. You added some lube as her butthole quickly started to clench shortly after the plug's removal.

You shoved your tip on Yoohyeon's backdoor, taking advantage of the lube you placed at her anal entrance, leading her to elicit a few moans. "Oh my God, yes," she approved as your shaft slowly disappeared inside her bunghole. You penetrated it slowly, making sure to take your cock deep inside her cavity from the start. Yoohyeon then starts fingering her pussy to increase the stimulation as you grab her slippery tush with just your right hand.

You give Yoohyeon very deep pumps, with the lube helping you slide all the way in with ease. Running your hands on top of her ass, you keep impaling her with your full length for a decent amount, leading her to scream. "FUCK!" she yells as every inch of your cock is already buried inside her butthole. "Want to take it deep again?" you ask. "AHHHHH YESSSS," she says in sync with your cock ripping her hole apart as you pull out of her.

Yoohyeon closes her eyes as you get ready for yet another deep anal insertion. This time, you go a little faster, making her feel much more of the heat. "Ugh, fuck, give me, give me, give me that cock," she says, her body bouncing at each thurst you give her. You pull out to check her already large gape, spitting straight inside her asshole and pounding her big ass with more speed as soon as you go back inside. "Ohhhh, so fucking deep," she says as her voice starts to crack, squealing as your balls start clapping her round cheeks, rolling her eyes at each pump you give her.

You pour some extra lube on her cheeks and your cock. Yoohyeon's ass jiggled as she felt your meat stretching her cornhole out. You kept putting more lube in her ass and using your hand to spread it out as she panted and moaned with your cock deep inside her butthole, enjoying the massage you were giving her butt. "Put it deep in my asshole; oh fuck, make me cum so much," she said as you started pounding her harder with the lube fully settled in and making her ass shine.

Yoohyeon held her hands against the couch's arm as you railed her, groaning and getting out of breath. "YEAH! YEAH!" she screamed at each pump. She put her ass up and enjoyed your balls smashing her cunt, rolling her eyes while doing so. You started spanking her fat cheeks, showing off who her owner truly was, and printing your hands all over her ass before switching to slower thursts to enjoy your shaft disappearing inside her ass to the fullest while she screamed in submission to your cock and groaned more and more.

"Let me taste that dick," Yoohyeon said as she pulled out. That imposing girl you saw the day before had turned into a submissive whore who would do everything to please her sugar daddy's huge cock. As she dove back into your shaft, you surprised her with some thrusts into her mouth. You weren't even going fast, but she was already spitting all over that dick. You grabbed her by the hair, shoving your cock harder in her mouth as you increased the pace. Yoohyeon was gagging and spitting so hard that your cock had turned into a pudding mess of saliva.

Still catching her breath, Yoohyeon sits on your massive meat and starts riding it, giving you a perfect view of her ass bouncing up and down your cock as she gets impaled. Her spit is more effective than any lube, it turns out. She goes slow, trying to adjust to your length as she puts her feet on your thighs while riding. But as soon as she does that, you pump your cock up Yoohyeon's shithole, challenging her to keep her balance as you mercilessly pound her ass.

"FUCK, IT'S SO HUGE!" Yoohyeon screams as she closes her eyes and grips her feet as hard as she can against your thighs, managing to regain control of the bounce as she finally takes it full length inside her asshole. Yoohyeon pants a lot but wants more, gyrating her hips as she takes it deeper in her anus.

Your cock hitting the whole length of Yoohyeon's butthole makes her moan much harder. You sense the opportunity and start fingering her cunt while she bounces on your manhood. Yoohyeon now spreads her legs as you massage her clit, getting even more passionate as you draw her body closer to you, kissing her while she moves up and down your cock and running your hands all over her fit belly and sexy tits.

"GOD, YES, YES," Yoohyeon felt overwhelmed: your mouth in her lips, your hands now deep in her meaty pussy, just like your cock balls deep in her ass, it was too much for her to handle as she closed her legs and her thighs started to jiggle involuntairly. You took advantage, and shortly after, you resumed pounding her hard. Yoohyeon couldn't decide between staring at the ceiling and closing her eyes or staring at your big cock manhandling her. Your high-intensity pounding had flipped a switch on her, as she started bouncing hard on your dick as if she had something to prove. Well, she kind of did, but at this pace, she had passed your test with ease; everything else was just a bonus now.

"OHHHHHH. UGGGGHHHHH," Yoohyeon lets out a massive scream as you tilt her body slightly and start hammering her. But her next reaction would be even more priceless. "Oh shit," is all she can say when you lift her legs up and lock them with your arms, placing her under a full Nelson as you hit deep in her shitter. Yoohyeon is completely imobilized and gets the perfect view of your cock working inside her bunghole.

"Ahhh, oh my fucking God," is all Yoohyeon manages to say when you free her and now tilt her entire body sideways, closing her legs as you kiss her passionately and keep stretching her out, her pussy gushing at each pounding you give her asshole. "Holy fuck, you're making me cream so hard," she says as she gets fucked with her legs fully up in the air and the perfect view for you to look at her face screaming and crying. "Ahhhh, so so good," she says in an almost muffled manner as you get close to her face to kiss her, grabbing her thighs as you give her a sort of spooning with her legs lifted.

Yoohyeon moans a lot, prompting you to tell her to hush. You spread her legs a little for deeper penetration as you increase the speed of your poundings in her butthole. Yoohyeon fingers herself as her left leg rests on your couch while her right leg is fully up in the air. You go harder and get her out of breath before slowing down to take a pair of deep pumps in her ass.

"Now taste it," you say as you pull out of Yoohyeon's dirty hole and she gets on her feet for the first time in a long while. But that doesn't even last a couple seconds. Like a puppy, Yoohyeon crawls back to your big rod on all fours to suck it dry and taste her shithole, gagging on it, slurping it, and massaging your balls as you run your hands all over her big ass.

"Ready to go back?" you ask her. Yoohyeon doesn't need any words to answer, just her eagerness to jump on that pole and ride it like a cowgirl as she lines it up against her anal entrace once more as you add more lube to her shiny cheeks. Yoohyeon sits on it as she tilts her body down and lets your cock fill her ass up to the fullest while you massage her huge tush that carries half her weight. She starts very slowly, enjoying every time your tip touches the depths of her bunghole. You spread her ass a little for easier penetration, grabbing it to push it up and get longer bounces from her.

"Shit!" Yoohyeon exclaims as you start clapping against her ass again and giving it some spanking. She rests her head on the couch, bracing herself for another round of rough pounding. You get so overconfident that your cock slips out of her hole, but you quickly make up for it, making her cheeks make a noise akin to someone's while riding a horse, as all the lube accumulated around it makes it splash at each pump. And indeed, Yoohyeon was getting mauled by a horse hung all the way deep in her ass at an increased speed.

Drops of Yoohyeon's saliva were still glued to your cock as they created a little string between your cock and her buttcheeks, resisting your hard thursts as you now spanked both her cheeks. Yoohyeon decided to take a bit of control and ride it herself, much to your approval. "Just like that," you told her as Yoohyeon smashed her fat ass against your hips and made your cock disappear between her enormous cheeks.

You pulled out and gaped Yoohyeon's asshole as some fluid came out of her asshole. It was the lube that accumulated inside her after so much pounding; although it looked so much like cum, it felt like you had creampied her when it landed on your skin. "Want another gape?" you asked. "Yeah," she answered while moaning as you slowly removed your cock and spread her cheeks. Her butthole was fully red and wide after such a long and rough fucking.

Yoohyeon put your cock back in and bounced a bit, but soon it would be stopped as you gaped her again, this time placing your middle finger at the edges of her anus and spreading it out. But Yoohyeon wanted something different. "Stop teasing me and fuck my ass," she says as you insert your cock back in her and give her a hard pounding while beating her buttcheeks like a drum.

Yoohyeon then decided to place her feet on the couch to give your meat another ride, bouncing her fat ass so hard that your impalment eventually hurt her, leading you to lift her ass up in the air and regain control of the pounding, showing no mercy for her now sore asshole. Yoohyeon tries to stay strong as you tear her ass apart, howling and screaming like a puppy. Her cheeks are fully red, she groans and moans like never before, and the couch trembles at each pounding you give her. "AHHHHHHHHHH," she screams hard as you continue to impale her nonstop.

"Yes, baby, I love that dick in my ass. I love it," Yoohyeon says. "Then show it," you tell her, pulling out for her to taste it once more as you dunk her head on your cock. "Gag on it, bitch," you demand as she also spits on it, and you impale her mouth like it's her dirty asshole. Yoohyeon can barely breathe, but you don't care and push her to the limit, giving her a congratulatory kiss shortly after.

"Get on all fours like a good puppy," you tell her. An extra lube and your cock slide inside Yoohyeon's gaped butthole with little resistance, going deep inside her in the first thrust. Her wet cunt taints your couch, but you couldn't care less; you just wanted to admire her stretched hole, taking your cock in and out of it to the fullest multiple times. "Ahhhh, stretch my asshole," Yoohyeon begs as you keep playing with it and watch her cunt drip.

In, out, in, out. You keep doing it, now a little faster, until Yoohyeon spreads her cheeks just enough for you to pound her to the fullest. "AHHHHHHH. AHHHHHH," she screams with her eyes closed as you top her and ram her like a dog. She cries a bit as you spank her ass and clap her cheeks hard. "OHHHHH FUCK FUCK," she keeps begging. Your couch now creaks at each pump you give inside Yoohyeon's used-up asshole as you take her balls deep. "Good puppy," you tell her after you slow down. She can only look at you with begging eyes as you dominate her.

"You're gonna make me fucking cum so hard," Yoohyeon says as Squirt keeps gushing out of her vagina. Her impending orgasm leads to pleasurable pain for her as her already sore anal walls get even more sensitive, and she keeps barking and howling. "Then let me see it," you tell her.

You order Yoohyeon to put her back on the couch and face you, giving her a missionary fucking. Her legs tremble as she starts cumming while you fuck her ass, enjoying an amazing orgasm that only gets better after each thrust. Even your cock now is a little bent over after such long wear and tear up her butthole. "Jeez," Yoohyeon says as she continues to orgasm and you continue to fuck her.

Yoohyeon spreads her anus and shows you her massive gape once more. She's so stretched out now that even your balls can enter her anus while barely forcing them in. She's just your slutty puppy, your begging sugar baby, and your anal gloryhole. "Stretch my ass," she says as you place your thumb in her mouth. One extra layer of lube to grant her wish, and you're back inside her worn-out pooper. You grab her legs to allow you to increase your pace. Yoohyeon feels it as just a couple of faster thrusts have already sent her over the moon. "Oh fuck," is all she can say; her tits now jiggle as you go rougher on her, putting your hands between them. The couch continues to creak, now harder than ever as she can barely say any words now with your cock hammering her like a sex toy. Now her whole body trembles just as you give her a rest and switch to a slow-paced fucking of her lube-filled shitter.

But your mercy only lasts a few seconds as you rub Yoohyeon's dripping cunt, searching for more squirt, sensing she's still aching inside her holes. "D-d-daddy," she says with her grinding teeth, in a way you can barely hear it. She keeps squealing and moaning as she feels weaker than ever and can barely feel her legs. Your dominance over her is almost complete; you just need one item to cross off your sugar baby's checklist.

Yoohyeon closes her eyes and opens her mouth. You keep pumping her deep. She seems to be waiting for something. It doesn't take you long to find out. "May I have your cum, please?" she asks. "You want it? you reply. "I want your cum. I want it so fucking bad; please, please, give me your cum," she continues. You increase the pace of fucking her asshole, getting ready to finish inside it and crown your work of art, pushing Yoohyeon's body hard against the couch's arm, but she has different plans.

"I want your cum all over my fucking face. Hit my face with your fucking cum; cover my glass. Please, please, cum on my face; I want to taste it. Please, I want your cum. Please, please, please," Yoohyeon starts to beg. You answer her as she gets on her knees, and you start jerking your cock off before she takes control and does it herself, sucking it and getting it ready to burst. "You want that cum? Work for it!" you tease her. "Yes, I want your fucking cum," she says. "Oh, keep going," you tell her as she gets you on the edge and close to finishing.

"Oh fuck, I wanna cum." It doesn't take long for you to say those words. After an extra jerkoff from Yoohyeon, you cover her nose and her glasses full of jizz, eratically shooting to a point where some of it lands on her collarbone. A very pleased Yoohyeon sucks your cock, and now your legs are the ones that tremble. Then she takes her glasses off to lick and swallow the cum that got stuck in there, later scooping what was in her face and sending it straight to her needy mouth.

Yoohyeon keeps sucking your cock, still hard, even after she drained your balls. "Can I be your sugar baby now?" she asked. "You didn't even need to ask," you tell her. As she keeps jerking you off and you guys start thinking of your future plans, she hears some noise coming out of the door.

"I think someone is entering the house," Yoohyeon says. "Let's get out of here."

It was your daughter.

#yoohyeon smut #dreamcatcher smut #female idol smut #girl group smut #kpop smut #male reader smut

852 notes · View notes

sugurugetoshairbrush · 5 months ago

Note

Stoner suguru makes me absolutely feral :3

girl me too, this one’s for you xo [prev] [next]

tl;dr rolling up for stoner!suguru getou

the past few months have been infinitely more enjoyable thanks to your special arrangement with suguru. you call it that because neither of you has dared to define whatever it is you share. all you know is suguru is fine as hell, laid back, and always pulls up to smoke without expecting anything in return. every time you link up, you bring your smallest purse, holding just a few dollars and a couple of lip glosses. sometimes, you forget to bring a purse altogether—what can you say? you’re just a girl. at least, that’s how suguru makes you feel. he never lets you lift a finger and constantly checks to ensure you’re comfortable.

it’s magnetic, really. in the smoky confines of his car, you often find yourself mesmerized by him. more often than not, you end up in lap.

it’s a welcome escape from your otherwise stressful life. you met suguru at a uni party—both part-time students. now that you’re close, you’ve learned he’s majoring in business, pursuing a degree to aid his ventures as co-owner of a cannabis greenhouse. outside of school, you work at a corporate office—a job you loathe. it pays well, but everything about it—the people, the monotony—is soul-crushing. your time with suguru is the kind of thrill you’ve been craving.

which is why you’re sick to your stomach when suguru tells you he’ll be tied up with greenhouse business for a couple weeks. he’s got back-to-back meetings lined up with shoko and their team about new prospects. of course, you tell him it’s no problem, but you’d grown used to seeing him. the last time you hung out, he made you promise to take a t-break until you see each other again.

“it’s not just about building tolerance,” he’d said, smirking. “it builds anticipation. trust me, it’ll hit so good next time.”

two slow weeks crawl by before he finally texts on a friday night. you’re in the middle of your self-care routine—sage burning, fresh out of a steamy shower, a face mask drying, and trashy reality show playing in the background—when your phone buzzes.

sugu 🔌

you giggle at his contact name, your dried face mask preventing a full smile. you unlock your phone to read:

hey, I’m free again. ik it’s been a while. wanna come over tmr? I’ll smoke u out ofc

you stare at the screen, giddy. just as you’re about to lock your phone, another message pops up:

missed u

your stomach flips. quickly, you set the phone down and rush to rinse off your mask before you send something completely unhinged. when you finally respond, you simply heart the “missed u” message and agree to come over. he tells you he’s planning to sleep in and hit the gym tomorrow, so he’ll pick you up at six. as always, you offer to pitch in for the bud, and, as always, he responds with a simple:

no need.

sure enough, suguru pulls up the next day at six on the dot. for someone who calls himself a stoner, he’s ridiculously punctual. his bass thumps outside as your phone lights up again:

sugu 🔌

I’m here. hop in

you glance in the mirror one last time. playing it safe, you’ve gone for grey leggings, a white tee, and cropped sweatshirt. your curls are extra juicy from yesterday’s wash day, and your lips glisten with an overabundance of gloss—you already know he’ll make you take it off later.

hopping into his car, you eagerly take him in. the fading sunlight casts soft shadows on his face. his dark hair is in a high, loose bun, a few strands sticking to his cheek. he’s swapped his usual silver studs for black diamonds that twinkle in the low light. he’s wearing a black adidas tracksuit, unzipped revealing a hint of the white tee beneath. and, as always, he smells incredible.

you think he greets you with a “hey,” but you’re already leaning over to press a glossy kiss to his cheek. “hi,” you say, voice soft.

a faint blush spreads across his tanned skin, and he touches his cheek, smirking as he rubs off the residue.

“eager, huh?”

feigning innocence, you tilt your head. “what? I’m just happy to see my plug. you left me high and dry.”

his smirk falters. “am I really just the plug to you? I bring so much more to the table.”

you laugh, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity. “so bring it,” you tease, gesturing at him. “I’m not stopping you.”

he chuckles, resting a hand on your thigh as he starts the car. “I’m holding you to that. you look good, by the way… as always.”

the drive to his place doesn’t take long—ten, maybe twenty minutes. unlike you, suguru lives in the heart of the city. as you near his building, the streets get busier, lined with sleek modern apartments and flashy cars.

he parks expertly, flexing his arm as he reaches over your seat. you pointedly avoid watching, focusing elsewhere as he cuts off the engine and steps out. once you’re both out of the car, he guides you by the waist toward the entrance.

on the stoop, a couple of older men sit chatting. one, is absolutely shredded, with a cigarette hanging from his lips, sporting a scar cutting through his mouth’s corner. the other, slimmer with a faint mustache, sips a beer.

“yo, nephew!” the scarred man calls out as you approach.

suguru’s arm tightens around your waist before he pulls away to dap him up. “what’s up, toji?” he nods to the other man.

“same old. baby mama’s on my ass again.” toji sighs dramatically before adding, “actually, can you text her for me? I’m blocked—again. just wanna see my kid. promise it’s the last time.”

suguru groans, kicking at the doormat. “whatever, toji. remind me later.”

with that, he steers you inside, his hand finding its place on your waist again.

you spend the elevator ride up to suguru’s apartment cracking up over his deadbeat neighbor. suguru keeps shaking his head, muttering about how he has to move out because everyone in the building is a headache. you try to rub his back soothingly, but your laughter keeps betraying you—his kid’s probably better off away from him.

once inside, you’re struck by how spacious and well-kept the apartment is. it’s a two-bedroom, two-bath, the vibe is homey yet modern. sleek black furniture contrasts with a soft gray couch, and various plants are scattered throughout, adding a touch of warmth. it’s impressively clean, especially for a guy’s place. suguru heads to a drawer, pulling out a lighter, while you settle onto the couch. he lights a stick of incense sitting on the coffee table, the scent quickly filling the air.

the two of you visibly relax as the calming aroma spreads. you ask suguru about his week, and he leans back, stretching his arms lazily across the back of the couch. he starts telling you about a new strain he’s been developing with his roommate, gojo—whom he’s mentioned before and who, apparently, is a cannabis breeder and geneticist. they’re working on a sativa strain with a thirty percent thc level, aiming to create something both calming and invigorating. suguru’s eyes light up as he explains the process, even describing how they’re infusing the strain with a sweet blueberry flavor.

in the middle of his explanation, suguru gets up, rummaging through the fridge before returning with a plate of shortcake.

“speaking of—something sweet for a sweet thing like you.”

you wrinkle up your nose, “you’re better than that suguru.”

he laughs, placing the plate on the armrest, and in one swift motion, he pulls you onto his lap. you gasp, caught off guard by the sudden move.

“don’t tell me you’re shy now,” he murmurs, amusement lacing his tone.

you playfully swat his arm but adjust yourself, leaning against the armrest while your legs drape across his lap. suguru reaches into his pocket, pulling out a zip, then grabs a matching sage-green rolling tray and grinder from the coffee table.

“I’m thinking four blunts to start off,” he says.

you place a hand over his. “suguru, let me roll. it’s the least I can do.”

he sighs, brushing his bangs back. “alright, but I’m watching closely,” he says, gesturing toward your freshly done acrylics.

confident, you start grinding an eighth. he puts on some soft r&b, the mellow tunes filling the space, and even feeds you bites of shortcake while you work. you hum in delight.

“’s really good,” you mumble between bites.

you crinkle up the black raw paper, carefully line up the bud and begin rolling, suguru clears his throat, shooting you a critical look.

“something wrong?” you ask, feigning innocence.

“it’s tight enough, but you didn’t pack nearly enough. looks malnourished.”

you groan, unraveling it. suguru leans in, guiding your hands as he sprinkles more weed into the paper. his fingers linger, wrapping around yours to ensure a perfect roll.

once finished, you run a lighter along the seam, sealing it tightly. suguru ruffles your hair, whistling in approval.

“much better—such a fast learner.”

rolling your eyes, you shove a big forkful of shortcake into his mouth. “think I like you better when you don’t talk.”

the two of you make quick work of the rest of the blunts. you light the first one, taking a long, satisfying hit before passing it to suguru. ever the showoff, he ghosts the smoke, exhaling thick clouds with practiced ease. on his third exhale, he casually pulls the tie from his bun, letting his hair cascade over his shoulders. you shift slightly on his lap, trying to play it cool.

suguru notices but doesn’t comment, smirking as he passes the blunt back. after a few more passes, you’re both sunk deep into the couch, heavy and relaxed. the conversation meanders, jumping from complaining about uptight professors to fantasizing about post-grad travel plans.

somehow, australia comes up, and before long, the topic spirals into an absurd yet passionate debate over whether suguru could take a kangaroo in a fistfight.

“I’m telling you, sugu, they’ve got hands! they’d body you.”

suguru chuckles, grabbing your hand and pressing it to his bicep as he flexes. “please—these arms could easily drop a kangaroo, I’d sneak it”

you laugh. “If you wanted me to feel you up, just say that.”

he’s about to respond when his phone vibrates. his amused expression darkens as he reads the messages.

toji (neighbor/nuisance)

wsg neph dnt forget to hit up my bm I owe ya btw I peeped tht pretty thing u brought home I’d hit it

suguru’s jaw clenches, and he tosses the phone aside with a scowl. “he’s such a dick.”

you place a hand on his thigh, trying to bring him back to the relaxed vibe. “forget him. he’d never get the chance.”

you lower your voice jutting your lips into a pout, “he’s lucky you entertain him at all… wish you’d entertain me instead.”

your fingers trail through his hair, and his mood shifts. his eyes meet yours, dark and heavy-lidded. he hums, leaning closer. his hand slides up your thigh as he presses a soft kiss to your neck. the gentle kiss quickly turns into something more intense—lips, teeth, and tongue working together to leave a mark.

you’re just starting to lose yourself in the warm sensation when the door bursts open.

“‘m back, roomieee! ya miss me?!”

you freeze as a tall figure with white hair strides into view. this must be the aforementioned gojo. he leans over the couch, blue eyes wide—grinning like he’s caught you in the act.

“having fun, aren’t we?”

suguru groans, resting his forehead on your shoulder. unsure of what else to do, you start introducing yourself, but gojo waves you off.

“no need. lover boy here talks about you all the time.”

“easy,” suguru warns.

gojo’s eyes sparkle mischievously. “shortcake good? made it myself.”

“it was amazing,” you admit, and his grin widens.

suguru cuts in. “gojo, what do you want?”

gojo pulls out a bag of bright blue nerds rope edibles, his eyes gleaming. “wanna trip?”

fuck it, let’s see where the night takes us. you nod. “I’m down. suguru?”

he shrugs, plucking the bag from gojo’s hand. “product testing.”

you each take a piece, the sugary sweetness masking any trace of weed. as suguru lights another blunt, gojo squats in front of the tv, powering on the nintendo switch. he glances over his shoulder, a lopsided grin spreading across his face.

“mario kart?” he offers, but it’s less a question and more an expectation.

you slide off suguru’s lap to grab two controllers, giggling when he swats at your ass on the way. He exhales a slow puff of smoke, smirking.

“gotta warn you,” he says lazily. “gojo gets super competitive. we’re talking bets, wagers, and he’s got a tendency to rage-quit.”

you snatch the blunt from his fingers, sticking out your tongue. “think I can match that energy.”

it doesn’t take long for the edibles to kick in. soon, you’re blissfully hazy, six races deep into the game. gojo’s antics—hoarding red shells, dropping banana peels right at the finish line, and pausing the game at the worst possible moments—have all of you shouting over each other.

somewhere around the seventh race, your high starts to pull your focus to the vivid chaos of rainbow road. neon colors blur together, mesmerizing you, and before you know it, you’re in dead last. meanwhile, gojo and suguru are locked in a heated argument over whether using bullet bill counts as cheating.

by the eighth race, suguru overtakes gojo, and without a hint of remorse, gojo slams the pause button. “fuckin’, cheating prick,” he mutters before quitting the game entirely.

suguru stares at the blank screen in disbelief. “seriously?”

without missing a beat, gojo powers off the switch and saunters toward the kitchen. “just got bored,” he calls over his shoulder, casually opening cabinet doors and leaving them ajar. “anyway, just remembered I’ve been craving those candied grapes I keep seeing on my timeline.”

you stand, stretching your legs, about to offer help when suguru grabs your wrist and tugs you toward his room, muttering something about giving you the “full tour.”

before you can say a word, gojo waves a hand without even looking up. “don’t forget to use protection!”

suguru groans, slapping a hand over your ears as he steers you away.

“god, shut up, satoru.”

suguru’s room is just as you’d expect—simple, cozy, and meticulously organized. the black bedspread and pillows match the two chairs and the sleek vanity along the wall. white walls, otherwise bare, are adorned with a single collage of photos beside the vanity. some are easy to pick out: suguru and gojo over the years.

suguru flips a switch, and the room bathes in soft purple light. you sit at the edge of his bed, watching as he stretches his arms overhead, a yawn escaping his lips. he unzips his jacket, tossing it over a chair, and settles against the headboard. you pick at your fingernails, a nervous habit, until a pillow hits your back.

“don’t do that,” he says softly. “c’mere.”

for the second time tonight, you crawl onto his lap. his hands find your thighs, gripping firmly.

“one more?” he murmurs, fishing a blunt from his pocket—another one from earlier. you toy with the hem of his shirt.

“I’m tapping out,” you reply, shaking your head. “that’s all you.”

he smirks, placing the blunt between his lips, and reaches for a lighter on the bedside table. with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he hands it to you. “light it for me?”

you flick the lighter once—twice—before the flame steadies. leaning in, you carefully burn the tip of the blunt. his hands slide up to your hips, settling on your waist as he inhales deeply, the paper crackling and glowing red. smoke billows from his lips, and he blows it over your face, making you hyperaware of the solid warmth of his body beneath you.

suguru lifts your chin with a gentle touch, his half-lidded gaze locking onto yours. “I don’t know what’s more addicting—you or this high.”

your fingers trace the curve of his lips. “yeah?” you whisper, bringing the blunt back to him.

he nods, maintaining eye contact as he exhales a lazy cloud of smoke. he takes the blunt from your hand, continuing to take slow, deliberate hits. meanwhile, your hands roam. a manicured nail glides over his brow, down his cheek, along his sharp jaw.

“you’re so handsome,” you say, almost dreamlike. “don’t know how I went two weeks without you. couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

suguru’s lips twitch into a small smile. “yeah?”

“mhm.”

the air between you feels electric. he exhales another smoky stream, and you lean in, pressing your lips to the soft skin of his neck. you bite down gently, earning a low groan, then soothe the mark with your tongue. his hands explore, slipping beneath your sweatshirt, skimming the skin under your shirt. the cloudy air thickens in the room as you trail kisses along his neck, messy and wet.

his voice is husky, laden with desire. “feels good.”

your hands wander further, brushing beneath his fitted tee. along his chest, your fingers graze something cool and smooth, he tenses.

“fuck,” he mutters.

realizing it’s a piercing, you tease it with your fingertips, watching his reaction. you giggle, bringing his hand to cup your own chest, brushing over a similar bump beneath your shirt.

“we’re matching,” you say with a smirk, he tugs gently at your piercing. the sensation sends a jolt through you, and you grind down against him instinctively.

“shit,” he breathes, gripping your hips as he meets your rhythm, slow and intoxicating. his lips, plump and slightly parted, draw your attention.

“suguru,” you whisper.

“hm?”

“kiss me.”

he doesn’t hesitate. his lips meet yours softly at first, then quickly deepen with urgency. each kiss hungrier than the last. his teeth catch your bottom lip, tugging roughly, sending a shiver down your spine. your breaths come in heavy, ragged pants, the air between you growing hotter, stickier, charged with every second that passes.

“YEEOW!”

the moment shatters with a high-pitched yelp and a loud crash from the kitchen, followed by the clatter of pots and pans.

both of you freeze, processing the interruption.

“FUCK!” gojo’s unmistakable voice echoes through the apartment.

suguru buries his face in his hands, groaning. “no. fucking. way.”

you scramble off suguru, your heart pounding for entirely different reasons now, and rush to the kitchen. gojo is sprawled on the floor, clutching his head amid an array of toppled pots and pans.

“oh my god, gojo! are you okay?” you ask, crouching beside him.

he winces, his cheeks flushed as he avoids your gaze. “yeah… sorry. slipped on a squished strawberry. decided to candy all the fruit in the fridge. way too ambitious.”

you glance at the counter: sugar everywhere, an empty box of strawberries leaking juice, and a pan of candied grapes slowly dripping onto the floor. gojo props himself up on his elbows, surveying the chaos with wide eyes.

“damn,” he mutters. “didn’t realize how messy I got.”

you help him to his feet, brushing sugar off his clothes. suguru appears in the doorway, flushed and disheveled, clutching a pillow to his front.

“wish I could help, satoru,” he deadpans. “but I’ve got a situation.” he gestures vaguely at himself.

“also, I want to strangle you.”

gojo raises his hands defensively. “spare me, please!” he turns to you, “scaary.”

he smirks, whispering “look out for suguru’s choking kink.”

suguru’s expression darkens. “I’m going to kill you.”

unable to resist, you squat back down and pop a candied grape into your mouth, savoring the sugary burst of flavor. at least something good came out of this chaos. gojo joins you, stealing a grape and offering one to you in return.

suguru sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I really need to get my own place.”

#getou suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto suguru #jjk geto #jjk #jjk au #jjk smau #jjk crack #jjk aesthetic #jjk x fem!reader #jjk x black!fem reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x geto suguru #as roomates #toji fushiguro #sorry I made him a bum #jjk smut #maybe lol #tw cannabis

314 notes · View notes