#based off of that one sculpture | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thalwri · 24 days ago

Text

TEACH ME, SIR!

STARRING: art professor!rafayel x art student!reader

synopsis: you've been struggling in your art classes, and your professor hadn't made it any easier for you. who would have thought he'd come looking for you when you stopped coming to the lessons?

warnings: porn with plot, all characters are aged up (and in university), fingering, body worship, cunnilingus, cockblocking, male masturbation, dirty talk, cock slapping, overstimulation, cum eating, pure filth.

wc: 7,5k

MINORS DON'T INTERACT!

you were more than prepared to throw that chunk of clay out the window. you could feel the pressure looming over you, mostly on your neck. you were just over a month away from your practical exam and you were drowning in absolute shit.

how did you end up in this unworthy predicament?

out of the kindness of your heart, and the fact that you owed them big time, you decided to take up an art course with one of your closest friends so that she wouldn’t be lonely throughout the semester.

you were registered and everything, with the needed supplies clean and fresh and ready for use. the glossy joy of it slowly disappeared when you slowly came to realise over the following days that your friend wasn’t attending classes for a reason. she dropped out. not of the class. of the university. and ran to another country with her boyfriend for a six month vacation.

perfect. now you were all on your own in an art class as someone who had no clue on how to draw, paint, or do anything art related. the only consolation – and misfortune – was your unnaturally handsome professor. despite his pretty face and alluring voice, he had a certain knack that always got on your nerves.

based off the rumours you’ve heard, professor rafayel worked as both a teacher of art and classical music, specialising in opera. apparently he had a voice so divine that half the auditorium fainted or fell ‘madly’ in love with him. his artwork was basically on par with his voice.

not only was he a renown artist globally, he often worked on pieces to send to the gallery near the university which attracted multiple art lovers from all corners of the world. he was rarely in lectures in the previous years but this year he decided to buckle down and teach full time.

and the first thing he had you do for your finals was a trial sculpture. you had started with something basic: a fish. a cute little fishie that would be surrounded by a wave. not too simplistic but it had enough detail to be easy to look at and mark.

you were almost certain your professor would compliment you for the detail you’ve meticulously added to your work. the way you’ve made something so simple so beautiful especially for your first time.

“it’s lazy.” that melodic voice quickly soured into a baneful buzz of noise. rafayel stared at your work with a hint of disdain on his face. your hopeful smile slowly fell in disbelief. you spent hours on that. hours. you could hear the giggles from the girls in the studio erupt behind you.

it wasn’t surprising that the professor had gathered a cutthroat fanbase of women who would do anything to gain his favour– and from some others, fuck him. solidarity clearly didn’t exist when it came to the illusive rafayel.

“this is something a child would do,” he scoffed, brushing his finger across the still-drying fins of your poor fish. “this may be a trial practice before the real thing, sure. but it’s no excuse to show no effort. you’ll get a 50 for this if it gets moderated.”

a pass. barely. those charming purple-blue eyes scanned your solemn face before he glided off to the next sculpture, immediately grazing the artist. but not as badly as he did with you.

you stared at your little fish, its form now scorned with the assault of his graceful, well maintained finger. for someone so effortlessly handsome, he was such a bitch. and you weren’t afraid to say it out loud. in fact, you did.

it came out as a mumble low enough not to be heard. yet he somehow did. those ethereal eyes glanced at you momentarily as if he acknowledged it, and a small grin curved on his lips.

you wouldn’t say you were accustomed to his ‘bullying’. however, it wasn’t the first time he’d pick on you. during the theory-based lectures, rafayel would turn his attention to you, poking and prodding you endlessly for the historical accounts of artists that you didn’t know existed. then he’d ask you – mind you, only you – which techniques should be used with which equipment for whichever type of painting style that came up in that stupidly pretty mind of his. that extensive mind covered and protected by a mane of purple wavy hair.

you had often wondered how soft his hair would be. and what his hands would feel like in yours. soft? calloused? he was always well dressed, adorned in expensive garb, always appearing in ways that would have any passerby fall madly in love.

he must have been some kind of siren. you were almost lucky you weren’t damned to hear his voice live.

but the picking and scolding was becoming unbearable. you were beginning to question your worth in the class. you knew you had minimal experience from the get-go, and you never dishonoured yourself by lying or trying to fake it.

with that being said, there’s only so much slander you can handle from not only your peers but your own professor before it becomes unbearable. eventually, like all straining predicaments, today was your inevitable breaking point.

you sat as you usually would, smack bang in the middle of the lecture hall, taking notes of whatever your professor said as quickly as possible. you took every word seriously, even if he repeatedly mentioned things like “you all should already know this,” or “which you should have learned from last year,”.

you had worked diligently, listening and writing and occasionally glancing at the board to keep up, in a constant flow determined to finish the course well. up until the lecture hall fell quiet, followed by multiple rings of notifications, even your phone vibrated.

and one by one, giggles erupted around you, gradually bursting into relentless chortles and laughs. the classmate seated beside you, showed you her phone revealing a devastating sight.

your trial sculpture, that was graded with a bare pass, was crushed and ruined before it could even dry. and right in front of the crime scene, stood a very familiar purple haired artist looking down on your besmirched work. his face was not fully clear in the image but you could see what you believed was a scowl.

with blurring vision, blinded by your tears scorching your eyes, you raised your gaze to rafayel and the professor’s face masked no shame, no grief, no remorse, just confusion. almost like he didn’t realise what had taken place.

but he must have. especially if he gave you such a low grade. your teeth ground and pressed against each other, forcing a tick in your jaw. you watched his face slowly contort in a slight realisation of what was happening. he stepped forward, his plump lips slowly split to speak but your things were already packed in your back and you were on your feet, ready to leave.

to make matters worse, the exposure clearly wasn’t enough to embarrass you. of course you had to sit in the middle of your row and stumble out under the sharp, scrutinising gaze of your peers. their snickers, hisses, and cruel whispers did not fall deaf to your ears. you absorbed them like a sponge, your face hardening more and more.

if it meant saving the last few threads of your dignity, you’d keep your head high. you stormed down the stairs, not sparing anyone a glance to push the doors wide open marking your escape.

and by your word, that was the last time you would ever touch that lecture theatre for the rest of the year.

“i shouldn’t have bothered with that course,” you hissed, stabbing your fork into a fresh pastry. “i should have dropped it when i had the chance.”

it had been three weeks since that embarrassing event. you kept your word to yourself and didn’t bother going to the lectures or the studio sessions. your absence initially did not go unnoticed. as expected, your more confident peers would occasionally tease you or laugh behind your back to get a kick at you. fortunately you knew better than to bite back.

like clockwork, the whispers dulled into eventual silence and you were at peace for once in the last few months. good riddance.

“you need to go back to your lectures.” zayne, a close companion of yours, muttered as he reached to have another piece of cake. that would be his third slice in the last hour. “your prac is in less than a week.”

“you’ve got a med lab tomorrow and yet you’re here for a limited cake.” you scoffed, watching his eyes light up in delight from the bursting flavour of chocolate mixing with vanilla. you wondered if he would have the same reaction with a carrot cake. mind you, he was likely going to be your future doctor.

“that handsome dickhead thinks he can almost fail my trial and then destroy it?” stab, stab, stab went your fork until it made the table shake. zayne swiftly held his plate up to protect his cake. “does he think i won’t report it to the dean?”

honestly, if you did there was a high chance you wouldn’t succeed. with rafayel’s reputation and the allegations of his donations to the university, you were more likely to be bullied into either apologising to rafayel for causing a ruckus or you’d be forced into silence. judging by the look on his face, zayne seemed to have the same idea.

“it’s only a month left of this crap. i’ve just got the prac and i can put all of it behind me. besides,” you stabbed the pastry again, visualising it as that stupid professor of yours. again and again, you stabbed until you felt it would reach your heart’s content.

and then a striking idea seeped into your mind. what better revenge than to crush him too?

“besides?” zayne repeated with a raised brow. he held out his hand, waiting for you to explain yourself.

“i have a plan.” your lips spread into a devilish grin. zayne cringed at the sight. he knew that face well. and it only meant trouble was near. “i’m going to make a sculpture of him. dying terribly.”

“isn’t that unethical?”

“i saw someone make a sculpture of their dick, i’ll be fine.”

your alarm went off abruptly, bringing your mind back to your revenge plot. you had already started creating rafayel’s annoyingly perfect head, using pictures you found of him online as a reference.

you were supposed to do it at the studio, but one of your senior art friends let you use their private room to prepare it. you would do anything if it meant you’d never have to see him more than you had to. after that stunt he pulled, he’d never get the chance to make fun of you again.

you quickly said your goodbyes to zayne – quickly swiping a bite from his cake – and rushed back to the art faculty, beelining straight to the private studios. you mind buzzed with images of you drowning rafayel in the ocean, watching him gracefully swim with fishes, of you burning him alive, of him seducing you with his looks and his tragically angelic voice as his bare form lay for you to replicate with clay–

a mere pause wasn’t enough for you to gauge what you were just thinking about. those juxtaposing thoughts had your hand on the wall to hold you upright in case you toppled over from your breath being wheezed right out of you.

since when did you find him that hot?

in all honesty, it wasn’t a lie. rafayel’s an insanely attractive man. truly, if you weren’t more reserved with your attraction to him, you’d probably tried to shoot your shot like all the other desperate people in your class.

his skin was almost pale like he had spent his entire life underwater, clear and soft and constantly emphasising his damn perfect features. not to mention the moles all over him. it was only up to your imagination what everything beneath his clothing was like. perhaps he hid his muscles well under his clothing.

you quickly shook your head, swatting away those mischievous thoughts about him. those visions of him kissing you, and painting you– fuck.

you deeply inhaled, filling your lungs with as much air as you could muster. your eyes fluttered shut, holding back the profanities brewing deep in your throat.

“that damned–“ within an instant your centre of gravity was toppled and travelled to your arm, which was bring dragged by an almost inhumane amount of strength.

you couldn’t look at who was pulling you without completely losing your balance and toppling over. you stumbled as your dragger’s pace sped up until you were yanked into complete darkness except the small ceiling lamp dimly illuminating the small space.

as your vision adjusted, you observed the room noting a second heavy breath outside of your own. you felt for whatever was close to you. soft bristles, cold metallic cylinders, the overwhelming smell of chemicals. of paint. this was the supply room.

“where were you?” a siren’s melody swam into your ears like water clearing out the impurities from your hearing. rafayel.

you swiftly turned to face him, following his voice. and fuck damn.

he was disheveled. like, roughed up like he ran all the way across campus just to find you. that dumb big chest of his rose up and down las if a child was using it as a trampoline. small beads of sweat dripped down the opening of his button-up shirt to his abdomen, hidden by silk.

he asked again. “where were you.” less of a question this time, more like a statement.

“that isn’t any of your business.” your eyes narrowed in scrutiny. why would he care?

“it is my business.” he protested, stepping towards you. instinctively, your legs took you an equivalent step back. this was reminding you too much of those cliche scenes– and they only ended in two ways.

to be frank, you wouldn’t have minded the more action-based ending. you may hate the man but that didn’t mean his face wasn’t pretty.

again and again he draws near and close, and again and again does the space between you and the cabinet full of paint grow smaller and smaller. your tongue slipped out, lubricating the small cracks forming on your dry lips.

a small groaned erupts in the room, rafayel slapped his hand over his mouth and halted in his steps. those purple-blue irises rolled back for a millisecond then returned both hazed and dilated. you tugged at the collar of your shirt, your body warming up the more you brought air into your lungs.

he was acting weirdly. was it the smell of paint?

“you haven’t been attending classes.” you couldn’t help but laugh. since when was that his concern? “it will affect your final mark.”

“i’ve checked the handbook,” you scowled. yes, you took the time to read the handbook in depth to make sure you weren’t going to get screwed for skipping lectures. “attendance is recommended but optional.”

pink slowly tinted his cheeks under the dim light, contradicting the enraged look on rafayel’s face– almost a bit too similar to the face he made when he scrutinised your sculpture. your lips twitched, almost exposing your smug satisfaction.

truly, you had no reason to be in his class anymore other than the fact that you had given too much of your time to it already. all those sleepless nights, those days of endurance, those moments of temptation– temptation to walk out the door and never turn back. you wanted it. you often felt that you desperately needed it.

but you knew better. your friends knew better. in those three weeks of your absence zayne persisted in ensuring you finished what you started, whether it was forcing you to work or giving you moral support by making his own botched version of whatever assignment you had to complete. though it did end up helping him when it came to making notes on anatomy.

you’ve had endless mounds of support in those three weeks. where you felt like absolute shit. where you wanted to just hide. where you were almost willing to drop out.

fucking rafayel wasn’t going to take that away from you. you had nothing to lose. and he wasn’t going to plague you any longer.

“so if you think dragging me into this supply room will do anything, it’ll only get you into a very dangerous meeting with the dean.” you harshly grinned, waving your phone in your hand. rafayel’s eyes slowly widened upon seeing what was displayed on the screen.

you were recording the conversation. you had been since you got tugged away.

“no donations and pretty artworks can take away the blow of harassment,” your phone rested on top of a can of paint on the floor as you glided towards him in a new air of confidence and spite. “professor.”

his response was disappointing. literally, he said and did nothing. like a marbled statue purely there to be admired. damn him, he was so unnecessarily handsome on a godly level. those disrespectful plump pink lips parted and closed as if trying to figure out what words to spout.

your smile twitched in agitation under his gaze scanning you from your hair to your skintight top pronouncing your curves, and back up to your face. your stance remained rigid, head held high and face taut with wavering spite.

rafayel’s calmness as unsettling, too calculating for your own preference. “you bite your pen when you concentrate in lectures, did you know that?” his voice dropped an octave, reaching a husky flow. a shiver rolled down your spine as it arched in response to his voice. like a siren calling a damned sailor.

“what?” your disbelief came out in a choked whisper. the moisture in your throat was wiped clean from you, leaving complete dryness almost worse than a desert.

“and you like to listen to the questions,” rafayel continued, moving closer to you in tandem with your rising pulse. his eyes were locked on yours, dragging you deeper into his abyss intending not to let you go. “you bite your lip whenever my voice deepens. and you always have questions but choose not to ask.”

he was getting too close. you were too close. the heat of his breath fanned your skin as his height forced you to raise your gaze to maintain your stare-off. something about it felt a little too hot for your liking. your skin prickled in sensitivity rubbing against the fabric of your clothing.

there was no way this was getting you aroused. no fucking way.

“do you know why you don’t ask?” his hand gripped the edge of the cabinet, just a few centimetres from your head. the distance between your lips slowly yet inevitably closed. your breath was trapped in your throat almost clawing for release but it remained trapped.

“you’re scared.”

“i’m not afraid of drawing, rafayel.” first name basis already? you were really testing your luck. you expected him to return to that unsettling silence again before telling you that your suspension was pending.

instead, rafayel broke into a chuckle, sweat-slick chest and shoulders shaking as he laughed. he quickly straightened his lips upon seeing your eye twitch, only to burst into another fit of suppressed laughs.

“who in their mind would be afraid of a bit of paint?” his voice returned to that familiar serene, light tone. the one that brought half the student body to its knees. “no, no, no. i’ve managed to reduce it to two things.”

you instantly jerked back as far as you could – which wasn’t really that far because were already at your dead end – and balled your hand into a tight fist, ready to punch him square in the jaw. the side of your neck tickled with heat as his lips hovered by your ear.

“me, or the chance that you’ll do incredibly well.”

bewildered was an understatement. you were discombobulated at the least. you couldn’t even say it was a bizarre assumption because it was true.

not the fact that you were afraid of rafayel– he’s a walking model who pouts whenever someone speaks to him with a bit more sass than him. even his relentless critique of you doesn’t illicit fear. the only thing he’s gained from that was you growing to despise him.

but your confidence in your artistic abilities were never high. remember, you only joined the course for your friend. and they ditched you last minute. you walked into the studio with the mindset of knowing that you were likely to fail even if you put your hardest work in.

clearly, he noticed.

“you walked into my class knowing nothing,” rafayel leaned back to face your gaze once more with a stern look on his face. “it’s only understandable that you’d be afraid of messing it up. i can see it in your art. i can sense the fear.”

“yeah, right.” you huffed, turning your face away to blink away the stinging sensation burning your eyes. “you prefer to call it lazy and then destroy it.”

for the first time in however long its been since you were trapped in this room with him, rafayel’s facade broke. a flicker of guilt flashed in his gaze. then confusion.

“destroy?”

“don’t act coy.” he could not just play coy. “you destroyed my trial sculpture. there are pictures of it spreading everywhere. you know what you did.”

rafayel slowly shook his head. “i found it like that,” his voice was grave, eyes almost darkened just from the memory. “i was trying to get a scope of the damage to see if i could redo it for you, but it was beyond repair.”

a grave heaviness weighed on your heart. he wanted to fix it? despite being so cruel to you he was that willing to repair your work on your behalf… but that didn’t answer the footage.

“and the picture?” what was meant to come out as a scrutinising hiss escaped as a whisper, holding back the many tears brewing in your eyes.

“i had heard giggles outside the studio, but they ran out before i could check.” his perfect brows furrowed as he observed you. it was more than just intuitive for him to comfort you, console your shock away. his hand reached to hold your arm, to transfer his remorse through his body’s warmth. “i am sorry about what happened to your sculpture. really.”

“don’t.” the involuntary pang in rafayel’s chest did not go unnoticed. his lungs filled with shaking air, unsure of how to proceed. you weren’t pushing him away nor were you hiding. it looked like you were equally as unsure.

“the mark you gave it–“ you seethed, voice cracking as the venom of your tongue delivered each words with malice. “the embarrassment. the shame it left me drowning in, all of it. it was you. and you think you can play innocent and ask why i haven’t shown up?”

rafayel’s fingers twitched, hovering over your skin hesitant to move away. perhaps he was too hard on you, too particular in his interest to monitor your growth in the arts. his face scrunched up, unsure of what you’d allow him to try without violating your space.

“you think you can use that stupidly pretty face to ask for forgiveness?” it was clearly intended to be a mumble that he wasn’t supposed to hear but he did. loud and clear. the tips of his ears instantly warmed and his brows rose.

“stupidly pretty face?”

shit.

of course he heard you. of course he fucking heard you call him pretty. you just wanted to crawl into a pint of paint and choke on it until it filled your lungs with chemical pigment. and there was no way out of this too. rafayel quite literally had you trapped with his body.

his tall, divinely sculpted, soft, gorgeous body. that artistically designed form that you’ve dreamt of touching, that you’ve touched yourself to in your quiet nights– not that you’d ever admit it to anyone let alone him.

warm, almost hot, fingers slide up your arm trailing the standing hairs on your skin. they rounded your shoulder and meeting with the fabric of your clothing, fondling it to check its quality. they reached higher, and hotter, slow and intentional feeling the curve of your throat until the pad of his thumb reached your chin, lifting it until your gaze found his. a raw, newfound level of unspoken, familiar need engulfed you— and you weren’t uncomfortable with it.

“you think i’m pretty?” that husk tone returned, tickling away your nerves replacing them with something more feral.

“everyone does.” you huffed, trying to maintain the front of rafayel’s charms not affecting you. it was almost obvious to you both that you’d fallen in deep.

and yet despite embarrassing yourself, rafayel refused to back down. his thumb’s touch on your chin roughened into a grip with his hand. a mischievous glint twinkled in his eyes.

“say it again.”

it was either the way he said it or the way he looked at you while saying it. regardless, it left your core warm and throbbing with an unprecedented level of need. this was wrong but it felt so right.

you slowly swallowed. “say what?”

the distance between your lips slowly closed, bit by bit. “that i have a stupidly pretty face.”

“no.”

his soft laugh fanned your face like a warm, mint scented breeze. “say it.”

your eyes darted between his own, noting how unnatural yet befitting the colours mixes and emphasised his almost inhumane beauty. it used to sink you yet now you could tell he was starting to drown in yours.

“make me.”

an erratic charge surged between you like lightning striking a tense, hot night. rafayel softly tutted, shaking his head– almost desperate to shake off his unspoken desire to pursue this. to pursue you. his hands did not leave you though. his grip on your face returned to your neck, securing a gentle hold on the base of your exposed flesh, both soft and pulsating with nerves.

rafayel pressed his forehead on yours, your connection anchoring him to reality and restraining his needs. “tell me you think i’m pretty.” his eyes grew heavy with heat, hazing in and out of focus as they moved from your spit-slick lips, your eyes, and every distinguishable feature on your face.

in twisted, lewd synchrony, your lower lip found itself caught seductively in the bite of your teeth. the corners of your lips twitched like they wanted to expose your snarky grin. like your body wanted to show rafayel how you’ve dreamt of that moment.

you should be pushing him away. you should minutes ago. but you didn’t. you didn’t want to. your eyes fluttered shut as rafayel’s grip on your face tightened, finally pulling you both into the passionate embrace of your lips.

the first contact was a shock, forcing you into a soft jolt. his lips were even softer than you imagined, his hands gentle yet crushing to keep you in his hold rubbing small circles on your skin with his thumb.

then the erratic hunger kicked in like a shot of vodka. your faces pushed deeper into each other almost desperate to keep yourselves deep in your embrace. your fingers tangled in his soft locks, your mind drowning in the flowing currents of his scent.

lips waltzing in a push and pull fell into an intoxicating dance of tug and bite. it drove you insane until it was just too much.

you slowly pulled your head back, still connected to him by his teeth latched onto your lower lip nibbling at your swollen flesh.

“this can’t be right.” you sighed against his lips, leaning your head back to catch some air without feeling like your face will get hotter. “we must be violating some code of conduct.”

that irritating chuckle escaped his lips again. “then push me away.”

you should have. you definitely should have. before you could even consider it you found your lips back on his, drooling tongue sweeping past the enclosure of his lips to meet his. it was hot and deliciously wet meeting in a careless fight to taste as much as your breaths could allow.

you rolled your hips against his– slight and subtle– just enough to feel a slight brush of him. to feel it. he felt so big and thick.

a sharp curse flooded your ears, his hands tugged at your waist to pull you closer and make you feel it. his fingers twitched and squeezed you, caressing your waist without abandon, rising ruthlessly higher until his hands disappeared under your shirt. he was boiling, a human inferno trapped in a body of flesh and bone restricted by restraint yet fuelled with hunger.

they reached inchingly closer to the swell of your breasts, barely contained by your bra– you needed him to rip it off at this point. they curved over the lace and enclosed on each one, pulling your perked nipples out to fondle.

his tight hold on you dragged out a sound not meant to leave your lips. it was enough to make him snap. two hot bodies pressed to each other, clothing almost completely unravelled, and the door behind you still unlocked.

the air was thick and hot with heavy pressure and mutual need.

a low grunt rumbled deep in rafayel’s throat as he pulled away from the intoxication that was your lips. “tell me to stop.” his lips ghosted over your skin, dragging a light trail of your mixed saliva down your neck until it stopped with a gentle peck. “tell me to walk away.”

“fuck no.” you panted. your hand tugged at his soft hair, pushing him deeper into your neck. “finish what you started.”

he laughed against your skin, marvelled by how much wittier you became when you weren’t tense. when you were fogged in temptation. he could only imagine how much more of you he’d experience the further down his lips went.

perhaps you tasted just as good as you smelt. his knees buckled at the thought, the mere sight of his eyes looking up to you as you lost composure was as unprofessional as it could get. his cock throbbed in his slacks, pumping so loudly he could barely hear himself breathe.

still gripping your fleshy mounds, rafayel sunk beneath your gaze never breaking contact with your beautiful eyes. one hand slowly crept down out of the warmth of your shirt to your alarmingly short skirt.

it was the third time he had seen you wear it since you joined his class. and every time his eyes were attached to you more than before. the vision of raising it above your pretty ass had always crossed his mind but he always had the mind to maintain decorum. the sea must have blessed him with this privilege today.

“need to eat you,” he whispered into your skin, spreading kisses all over you like invisible marks of his name. “taste you.”

your imagination conjured many things for you to indulge in, but this was beyond what even you could dream of. his glossy gaze, deliberate hot touch, his damned soft lips searing you with his affections… how could you say no?

your head hit the edge of the cabinet as you nodded in desperation, so needy for his mouth to explore you everywhere, so aroused that nothing could hold you back from sinking deeper and deeper. your legs slowly split apart, welcoming rafayel’s gentle hand with grace.

completely sat on the floor, the professor stared at your legs in a daze of reverence and worship. he was salivating the scent of your dripping pussy reeling him in like a fish swimming to bait. and he wouldn’t even consider himself damned if it meant being hooked by you.

his grip tightened on your thigh, fingers pressing into you to memorise your shape and how you felt by his touch. his hand slid down your leg in a great struggle to hold onto the last of his restraint while your pants and soft moans just made things so much worse.

“don’t make too much noise,” he quietly groaned, licking a line up your thigh up to the lacy panties covering your warmth. his eyes rolled back as your scent flooded his senses like a drug. in a fuss, rafayel pushed your skirt up revealing red lace.

he almost came on the spot.

his fingers slipped between the hem, feeling you up and down. he just had to go a bit further… just a little to get a taste of that sweet nectar. his eyes darted upwards to find you completely disheveled, pretty lips parted, chest heaving with your nipples pressed against your shirt, and your hands holding his head as close to your cunny as possible.

rafayel’s lips curved into a lustful smile and finally pushed his fingers further into your panties, brushing over your sensitive nub. a sharp gasp sounded in the room, his scalp ached from the harsh tug you forced on him before slowly pushing him back where he was.

you were so cute.

you didn’t feel cute. you felt like you were boiling up, throbbing to the point where it hurt, dripping like a fucking river. you were surprised your wetness wasn’t dripping down your legs already. rafayel was definitely the type to lick it up to prevent it going to waste.

his fingers crept around your clit, ghosting circles round and round in a teasing tickle almost like he wanted to pull a reaction out of you. every subtle reaction, every jolt and twitch, and every hesitant tug at his hair made his hips jut into the air with his cock roughly straining his slacks.

he tilted his head, lips enclosing around your clothed clit, swiping his tongue sloppily around you, loudly moaning at your taste. his fingers finally found your pussy, soaking before they even went inside you. you slapped your hand over your mouth. he was going to drive you insane.

loud squelches echoed around you with his fingers teasing and tapping your hole to draw out as much of your nectar as he could. your pussy lips were as swollen the lips he kissed and bit, sensitive to his finger sliding up and down before slowly plunging into you.

just as his lips parted more– a loud bang! shocked you both out of your trance of indulgence. you yelped and jerked back, pussy walls tightening around his fingers as he swiftly moved his head away from your core– a string of saliva connecting him to your clit cruelly reminding him how far he let his desire take him.

the shockwave of the noise sent the door rattling as if someone was about to walk in on you. rafayel adjusted your underwear back in place and tugged your skirt down, rearranging it so that you were somewhat presentable. your hands shakily fixed his messed hair in a sore attempt to ignore the aching need your pussy screamed to you.

your clothes stuck to your skin from the heat, your vision hazed by lust and interrupted pleasure so filthy and sinful that you couldn’t help but bite your lip.

rafayel licked his lips as he rose to his feet, knees aching even though it felt like he had only been beneath you for seconds. he straightened his clothing, mustering the courage to face your gaze. you were dangerously close. dangerously beautiful. dangerously arousing. he just had to kiss you again.

“i’ll deal with the person that damaged your sculpture.” his voice both husky and cracked still rumbled deep within you. “please forgive me and the incident.”

without another word, he stalked out of the supply room leaving you to fully dissect what just happened.

he almost ate you out.

rafayel, your professor, almost ate you out. in a supply room. and he left you in need for so much more. a single step would send your poor clit, and your pussy really, into a frenzy– both sore and soaked, vibrating with pleasure.

you were going to have to figure out how to deal with it.

but rafayel was determined to deal with it now.

he almost sprinted to his office, dizzy with lust. it was locked and dark with only candles giving him light. stacks of paper was spread out all over his desk left abandoned while he sat in front of his recent work– a completely blank canvas.

gods, his length was already leaking through his pants and aching so fucking hard that any subtle movement would have him cumming for hours.

rafayel didn’t bother removing himself with the delicacy of taking care of himself properly. his hands fumbled at the buckle of his belt, fingers slipping out of control before he could tug it off and toss it to the floor.

his vision was blurring him blind and abandoned him in the memory of your lips, your divine mixing scent, your melodic voice, and your taste. your noses had brushed and bumped into each other while his tongue ventured deep in your mouth, tasting the remains of the sweet pastry and bitter coffee you had consumed beforehand.

the office was somehow as hot as he was, the air burned with the fading remnants of your scent driving into a state of great distress. the zipper to his pants were already forced down from the sheer will of his cock raging and throbbing against its confines. he barely bothered himself with pulling them down, hurriedly gripping his girthy length both recklessly pulsating and near suffocating in dribbling precum.

his fingers rose to his lips, rubbing at the swollen effect of you attacking him with your teeth. it still stung from a light touch and that only aroused him more. his fingers were still sticky from caressing and plunging into your juicy cunny— explicitly reminding him how delicious you were.

without further thought, he pushing his digits on his salivating tongue and the flavours that were you burst into his senses like an inferno raging through a dry forest. rafayel’s eyes fluttered as they rolled back, a loud and deep moan soon to follow.

“f-fuck.” he could just curse and curse for hours. “you did this to me.”

his tongue swirled between his fingers to absorb and savour as much of you as it could. he wasn’t too sure on whether he’d get the privilege to be so close to you again. he suckled on the tips of his finger like he would with that swollen clit of yours. fuck, you just somehow got a grip on him that he couldn’t shake off.

every moment he spent observing you just made him attach more and more even when he knew he shouldn’t have. but you intrigued him. your determination despite your lack of confidence. your thick skin in the face of his - often unnecessary - critique.

not to mention of good your lips felt with his own.

a shaky sigh shuddered out his lips as his hand slowly stroked up and down reaching to his base and tickling the leaky slit of his reddened tip. his hips jerked into his hand violently sending his head lolling back over the couch.

the tandem rhythm of his hips remained constant, thrusting into the air and being squeezed tightly by his hand to simulate that jaw clenching strength your pussy walls used to grip on him. no matter how hard he’d try nothing would be able to replicate the effect you had on him.

your name bouncing on the walls in an endless prayer turned to a song of moans and grunts. rafayel’s saliva-slick hand ran down his neck to his chest and slipped through his shirt to circle his perked nipples now rendered completely sensitive to even a breath.

while feeling each vine surrounding his cock pulsate, a lewd idea slithered into his mind like his most devious desires slipping right out to control him. he was so painfully hard it hurt. his clothes were sticking to his skin, dampened by his sweat and precum mixed together.

and then he raised his palm and struck it across his cock. smack! the sound struck through the room like thunder.

a gasp, then a laugh, then another smack! followed by a husky moan.

the sting melted into rousing pleasure so instantaneously it almost gave him whiplash. he did it again.

smack!

and again.

smack!

up until the pain was enough to knock him unconscious. with each swing, his cock flew back upwards and jutted into the air shooting drops of precum up. rafayel bit his lip at the sight, greedily laughing at the pure slutty act he performed for himself.

he could only dream for you to do the same thing.

his hand did not stop once it returned to stroking. the plap! plap! rapidly sounding as his hand fisted his cock to oblivion was disrespectfully slick. but it could be so much wetter. rafayel swiftly leaned over his length and spat straight onto his sobbing cockhead, pulling his hand right up to swirl and mix it all with his palm.

the wet friction alone was debilitating. he fucked himself into his hand like a rabid animal in intense heat, rutting like a fool drunken by a mere whiff of your scent. his hips lifted right off the couch, chasing his climax and hand that wasn’t even running from him– though could imagine you would.

“so– fucking– tight–“ he squeezed harder until his entire cock was red. the pain no longer affected him. his only devotion was hitting his edge in the hopes that it would feel like a fraction of what it would be like inside you.

inside your wet mouth, stretched wide open for him, drooling down your chin right onto your tits. or even inside your sweet cunny, throbbing and fluttering as your walls squeeze him with each thrust that tickles you to multiple orgasms.

“take it– take– oh fuck.” his voice cracked into a whiny whimper as his hands rolled over his leaking slit every time his hand brushed over his tip. the other hand continued to assault his chest, abusing his sensitivity to the max.

the hand pumping his cock raised to smack it over and over, left and right in a broken tempo. his cock jumped, legs practically shivering from the pleasure and spreading wider and wider like you sat between them to take him deep in your mouth.

he couldn’t help himself. smack! the pain felt so good. smack! it was so wrong yet so stupidly right. smack! he’d do this for hours if he could. his core tightened, awaiting his incoming climax as his cock pulsed in a plea for him to stroke it to oblivion.

his grip became utterly brutal, rapidly pumping his shaft like his hand was a fucking fleshlight. he was messy, wet, and his lewd mixture of fluid was dripping down his legs onto the couch beneath him, staining and soaking the fabric. he twisted his hand right at the tip shocking his senses beyond the board.

he brought his hand to his tongue, lapping up all the precum sitting so impolitely on him, swallowing every drop like sacred water. his free hand slid down to finish what he started and rubbed and stroked with the intention to push him right to the end.

his body tensed as one more cruel squeeze snapped the tight thin rope within him. his eyes crossed, seeing only pure white. his breath hitched, and thick ropes of hot, sticky cum shot up like rockets and splattered all over him like fallen paint.

moans and whimpers shivered out of him like a broken record, your name remained mixed within his curses. his hand didn’t stop its relentless strokes. it persisted in dragging him through his high no matter how many times he’d try to stop himself.

his cock ached and weeped, leaking hot white all over his hand as it gradually slowed. it had gone right up to his chin. rafayel lowly groaned, both fucked out and ruined beyond comprehension. ruined by his own hand and the thought of what more you could have done in that supply room.

rafayel raised his shaking hand to his face, analysing the way it glistened over his flushed skin. his tongue poked out of his lips and swiped all the way up from his wrist to the tip of his finger then took it deep inside. the flavour of his own juices mixed with your own, drawing a lustful moan from him.

he slurped it all up, licking his hand completely clean in an obscene and deliberate manner. like he was putting on a show for you, even though you weren’t actually there, and swallowed it all with great satisfaction.

he slouched into the couch, breath still laboured and heavy. he was still filthy and drenched and yet he still had the greed for so much more.

that beautiful laugh replaced the echoes of his lewd noises once his high slowly dissipated.

all that from a kiss?

rafayel was fucked.

might just post a calm part ii if you guys like it

#✧.* thalwri #✧.* thalwri works #love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace x reader #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #lnds smut #lads rafayel #rafayel smut #lads smut #rafayel x you #lnds rafayel #l&ds rafayel #love and deep space rafayel #rafayel #love and deepspace

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screampied · 7 months ago

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໒꒱ cw. fem! reader, unprotected, sugar baby gojo, missionary, tīt play, praise kink, mdni.

sugar baby!gojo who lives off your praise,

you can buy him anything in the world—but hearing you call him a ‘good boy’ was the most expensive, priceless gift he could ever get.

anytime he’s buried between your thighs, it’s like pure heaven to him. satoru can’t help but shove his face between your soft breasts, humping sloppily against your body as you run your fingers down his hair. down his undercut, oh that spot . . it makes whimpers spew straight past his lips at the simple touch of your fingers. “f- fuck, miss,” he’d grunt, almost forgetting that his hardened cock was stilled inside of you. his bottom lip quivers as his body continues to sloppily thrust against you, his hips lazily trying to become in sync with your own. satoru almost purrs, feeling your thumb swipe down his undercut and the way you clench around him. “y- you feel so good.”

“eyes up here, ‘toru baby,” you coo in a sweet tone, almost angelic. pretty azul irises dilate, meeting yours whilst you cup his chin. he leans into your touch as his eyes shimmer in the light. “thaaaat’s it pretty boy, jus’ hold my hips,” and he shivers once you drag your tepid hands further down, grabbing ahold of his frigidly cold hands. satoru moans, continuing to drive his dick into your sopping cunt before he leans in for a kiss. “mmpf,” you let off a muffled squeal, tossing your arms over his tensing broad shoulders.

satoru’s soft lips crash onto yours, tasting the remnants of peachy moët & chandon on your tongue—you tasted sweet, rich. .

“no, call me a good boy again,” and with how whiny his voice is and how far apart his snowy white brows furrow, he’s not asking he’s begging. “please miss . . please.”

“mhm, satoru,” you breathe through gritted teeth, his sizzling hot body continuously rocking against yours. the queen-sized bed grows rickety and your nails claw a long slope down his tensed back.

he’s stupidly feral, rutting into you again and again with his hungry jittery hips plowing into you with such needy, greedy thrusts. and as he’s between your thighs—going back and forth, hearing the sloshing sounds of your pussy shriek in rapture, satoru’s got that look in his eyes awaiting for you to say it again.

those sweet sweet words, sweeter than honey.

satoru’s sloppily kissing down your neck as his hips thrust into you quicker. he huskily groans, the sweltering hot tip of his cock kissing up against that same spot. your toes curl in pleasure as you feel his pumping surge deeper into your loving core.

“good boy,” you whisper, letting off a soft whine once he goes back to sucking on your tits again. with a loud ‘pop’, one tit of yours jiggles out from his mouth with a silvery string of saliva swallowing. a sleazy grin spreads across his lips as he heard your words of approval. he’s nodding with your swollen nipple, his eyes telling you, ‘say it again, again. . ’

“ngh, good boy,” you repeat in broken breathy whimpers, feeling the shaky weight of his sculptured hips continuously buck into yours. satoru can’t get enough of you, your scent — oh, that expensive acqua di parma perfume you’d spritz all over yourself purposely just for him to smell - it drove him insane.

satoru’s whining, his face sitting up from between your chest and he’s staring dead at you. dewy hooded eyes lock onto yours before he’s starting to see nothing but white. as satoru’s weakly moving his hips against you—his eyes were staring to roll back, he was about to almost drool. all because of your sweet cunt—the epitome of pussy drunk.

his base was the fullest its ever been. it thwacks and thwacks against your sloshing wet cunt until you’re dizzy, until he’s dizzy. wrapping your legs around his slim waist, you grind yourself back into him. “fuck me, right there ‘torubaby, fuck.”

“ ‘m gonna cum just from your voice—shit,” he huffs, and he can feel your pussy slobbering all down his pace with your slick. your hands run down his waist and he moans from your touch. it was almost cute at how sensitive he was to something as simple at touch. to the outside world—he’s satoru gojo, the strongest. but between your legs, he’s weak—happily weak just for you and only you.

with how wet you were and how his cock’s just twitching and throbbing inside of your clingy gummy walls, it’s just so damn lewd. he sucks his teeth as his bare knuckles split, turning pale. “god, keep touchin’ me please, touch my body. keep t- touchin,”

cupping his cheeks, you have a sheepish expression. “baby, you’re rambling again,” you softly murmur, and he’s panting, rolling his hips faster into you. he leans into your touch, his plump cheek squishing against your palm. your arms go back to hauling themselves over his shoulders before you bring him into a kiss.

satoru’s shivering at how your lips crash onto him yet again—your hands feeling all over him. his hips grew so unapologetically sloppy that it was only a matter of time before his knees pathetically buckled.

as his tongue blissfully curls against yours, strands of sappy saliva tangling amongst each other, he whimpers right into your mouth. satoru’s hips pop against you as he tries to slow down, feeling himself finally let go.

it’s so good, his cock emits out lustrous ribbons of cum right into your cunt and your lips part, gasping. “oh, o- oh shit,” he grunts, feeling the warmth of your ankle run down his chiseled back. satoru’s panting heavily, cowardly tucking his head back between his favorite place — your tits.

“mmpf,” he tries to suppress his moans as he’s still cumming. it’s so much that he can’t help but shake. euphoria overtakes his body as he’s dumping satiny strands inside of you. his tongue swirls against each of your pretty tender nipples before he gives each of them a long three second suck. you whine, feeling him pour every dribbling drop inside of your pussy until it’s no more for him to spill.

a hand of yours runs through his unkempt ivory strands as he’s trying to silence his sweet noises by having his mouth stuffed full. “f- fuck, that’s it, ‘toru,” and he hums with his pretty lashes fluttering themselves shut, feeling butterflies once your fingers drag through his delicate scalp.

satoru’s entirely sloppy without zero shame either. with half-lidded droopy eyes, you watch as a bit of his own saliva runs from the corners of his pink crooked lips. “s- satoru,” you moan, his flaccid cock still plugged into you. it’s hot, his tip was barely even leaking anymore, and yet between your thighs—it was an entire mess he’d gifted you. you always showered him with praises and gifts so he decided he’d shower you with a gift of his own this time.

the gift in question was currently spilling down your thighs and staining the rich velvety sheets.

“say it again,” he whines, pretty eyes pleading at you. satoru’s got a pout displaying against his lips as his head presses on top of your breasts. but his pout suddenly turns smug once he playfully nips at the sheeny pearls that wrap around your neck.

“call me your good boy again, miss . .”

#★vegasbaby.#gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader #jjk imagines #gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #female reader #anime smut #divider: enchantings

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vibelladonna · 3 months ago

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❛ 𝒷𝓇𝓊𝓈𝒽𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓀 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝓍 𝑔𝓃!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: A super mysterious artist who kinda blends the lines between being the creator and the creation himself. His piercing eyes and his quirky style pull you into his world of raw creativity and quiet intensity.

When you're invited to his studio to complete a college art project, you’ll be sucked into his art, his silence, and that eerie feeling that he sees way more of you than you expected. The real challenge?

Keep your focus on your brushwork.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions.

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: sol x reader, fem body! reader, forced proximity, obsessive behavior, non-consensual, unwanted touching, grinding, dubious consent, predatory behavior, penetration, very rough sex, whiny submissive Sol at one point and dominant Sol at another point, same goes to you—reader as well, and somewhat long ass word count—I got carried away, took two days straight to write.

Anyway, hope you enjoy reading this one!

You stood outside the apartment door, the faint hum of the building’s creaky pipes filling the silence. A faint scent of paint and something sweet—floral, maybe—escaped through the crack at the base of the door. Your fist hovered briefly before you knocked, your knuckles rapping gently against the wood.

You'd come here to his apartment for a college project on Expressionism, drawn by his reputation as the quiet genius in your class. The space was a living embodiment of his mind—a sanctuary of creativity and controlled chaos. Canvases leaned against walls, his surfaces erupting with bold strokes and raw emotion. The air hummed faintly, tinged with the smell of oil paint, charcoal, and the faintest trace of something floral—perhaps the namesake of the mysterious Solivan Brugmansia—Sol for short.

There was a pause. The sound of footsteps approached, deliberate and unhurried, before the door clicked open.

Sol stood there, framed by his apartment’s warm, ambient light. His black hair, streaked with vibrant green, gleamed faintly, catching the dim overhead light. The half-up, half-down style gave his sharp features an ethereal quality, the long central streak of hair falling between his orange and crimson eyes while two smaller strands framed his face.

Today, he was dressed as part of the canvas he worked on. A black shirt, fitted but comfortable, paired with matching pants, both splattered with faint remnants of past creative frenzies. Over this, he wore a painting apron streaked with the vibrancy of forgotten colors—a kaleidoscope of blues, yellows, and pinks. It looked almost ceremonial, as though he were a priest of Expressionism itself.

“Hey,” Sol said, his voice soft but resonant, as if each word had been weighed and measured before leaving pierced lips. He stepped aside, gesturing you in.

You entered cautiously, suddenly hyperaware of how much space you were occupying. Sol’s apartment was an eclectic mix of chaos and artistry. The walls were lined with shelves stuffed with books, jars of brushes, and sketchpads in various stages of use. Canvases leaned haphazardly against one wall, his surfaces alive with strokes of vibrant, chaotic color.

A large easel stood in the corner by a wall, its frame splattered with years of paint, and next to it was a table strewn with tubes of oil paint, jars of water, and what looked like a half-finished sculpture.

The furniture was minimal but intentional. A worn, paint-streaked couch sat across from a low coffee table, which had been overtaken by sketchbooks and coffee mugs. The faint glow of string lights wound around the ceiling added warmth, softening the industrial feel of the concrete floors.

Sol closed the door behind you, the lock clicking faintly. “Shoes off, please,” He said, his gaze flicking briefly to your feet. He was wearing socks, his black shirt, and matching pants, giving them a striking silhouette beneath the paint-streaked apron he wore. “Do you always live like… this?” you asked, gesturing vaguely at the organized chaos.

Sol glanced around as if seeing the space through your eyes for the first time. “It’s functional,” He said simply, before pulling a stool toward the easel and sitting. “I know where everything is.” He reached for a brush, spinning it absently between his fingers. “Did you bring the sketches?” You nodded, pulling a folder from your bag. “Yeah. I mean, they’re rough. I wasn’t sure if they’d fit the theme.” You hesitated before handing them over.

Sol didn't say anything right away. Instead, he put the brush down and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he flipped through your work. His gaze was intense, those fiery eyes scanning each page with a focus that made you feel bare.

His eyes were a masterpiece in themselves, an intense study of Central Heterochromia: an inner ring of burning orange encircled by an outer hue of crimson red. When he looked at you, it felt as though he were dissecting your very soul, layer by delicate layer.

“This one,” Sol said finally, tapping one of the sketches. It was an abstract piece—a swirl of jagged lines and harsh shading. “It’s raw. Honest. Use this as your foundation.”

“Really?” You leaned closer, your shoulder brushing his accidentally. Sol didn’t pull away. “I wasn’t sure if it was too… messy.”

“That’s the point,” Sol said, his voice quiet but firm. He set the folder aside and stood, moving toward the table where his paints were arranged. “Expressionism isn’t about clean lines. It’s about emotion. About what’s inside.” He picked up a palette, his long fingers deftly squeezing out colors in no particular order. “You brought what’s inside. I’ll help you pull it out.” You couldn’t help but watch as he moved, each action deliberate and fluid.

“So… how do we start?” You asked.

Sol turned to you, the faintest trace of a smile playing at his lips. "You start by not overthinking. Paint what you feel. I'll be here if you need guidance." He handed you a brush, his fingers brushing yours for just a moment before pulling away. "The colors are ready. Paint whatever you like.”

For a moment, the only sound was the hum of the lights and the soft beat of your heart. Something in his presence was grounding, even as his piercing gaze seemed to strip you down to your essence. You took a deep breath and stepped toward the easel, the weight of Sol's quiet encouragement settling on your shoulders. "All right," you said, gripping the brush a little tighter.

"Let's do this.” You added.

Sol’s eyes followed your every movement, unblinking and intent. The way your hand gripped the brush—a touch too tight, almost desperate—and the soft inhale you took before the bristles kissed the canvas was enough to captivate him.

To Sol, it was as though he was watching the birth of a masterpiece, even if the real art hadn’t yet materialized on the canvas. He was utterly mesmerized, a silent spectator to something far beyond mere paint and pigment.

Then, in a sudden, mischievous shift, you dipped your brush into a light green on the palette and, without hesitation, swiped it across his cheek. The coolness of the paint startled him, his eyes widening as he froze in place. For a beat, Sol said nothing, stunned into stillness. Then, slowly, a small smile began to tug at the corner of his mouth, the icy veneer of his composure cracking ever so slightly.

He raised an eyebrow, amusement glimmering in his crimson-and-orange gaze. “Really?” he asked, his voice carrying the faintest undercurrent of a chuckle as he wiped at his cheek with his fingers. “Was that necessary?”

As he spoke, his hand casually reached for another brush, dipping it into a bold shade of red.

Your grin widened at his reaction, a playful spark lighting your eyes. “Necessary?” you teased, tilting your head. “Maybe not. But it was definitely worth it. Besides,” you added, twirling your brush between your fingers, “your reaction was priceless.”

Sol’s smirk deepened, his eyes narrowing as though calculating his next move. He leaned forward slightly, closing the space between you as the red-tipped brush hovered just inches from your skin. “You’re asking for it now,” he said softly, his tone playful but laced with a subtle edge. “Challenging an artist in his territory? Bold move.”

Your heart skipped at the proximity, but you held your ground. Meeting his gaze with equal intensity, you let your smirk turn sly. “Oh, I’m not just asking for it,” you quipped, your voice low and teasing. “I’m daring you to try.”

Sol’s eyes darkened, his playful expression giving way to something more intense, almost… predatory.

The brush in his hand swayed, the paint clinging to the tip as it hovered closer to your face. His voice dropped to a whisper, sending a shiver through you. “You don’t even know what you’re playing at,” he murmured, his lips curving into a slow, wicked smile.

Then, with a sudden and deliberate movement, he swiped the red paint across the bridge of your nose. The cool sensation made you blink in surprise, but the shock quickly melted into a laugh. You reached for another brush, dipping it into a rich green. “Rules, you say?” you said with mock defiance, a glint of mischief dancing your eyes. “But isn’t breaking them half fun?”

You drew the brush across the canvas instead of retaliating directly, your strokes bold and deliberate. Sol’s eyes flicked between the emerging shapes and your determined expression, his lips twitching with a mix of admiration and confusion.

A low chuckle rumbled from his throat, the sound rich and unexpected, sending a pleasant chill down your spine. “You’re not only cheeky,” he said, watching the paint flow in deliberate curves. “You’ve got the right attitude for this. Art isn’t about staying in lines—it’s about breaking through boundaries.”

His words carried a teasing edge, but beneath them was a subtle warmth, an acknowledgment of your courage and creativity. Still, as his gaze lingered on you, there was a flicker of something unreadable in his expression.

“Careful, though,” he added softly, a smirk creeping back to his lips. “You might end up inspiring me more than the canvas.” The tension hung in the air like a taut string, electric and alive, as the two of you exchanged another glance.

You noticed the way Sol cast fleeting glances, darting his eyes between the canvas and your face. His expression was perfectly schooled, calm, and unreadable, but the tiniest flicker of amusement betrayed him. You knew he was holding back, his true opinion hidden behind that enigmatic smirk. Your eyes narrowed slightly, a spark of determination flaring within you as you paused your brush mid-stroke.

You met his gaze with a sly smile, your voice dripping with playful accusation. “You’re such a liar. Just say it—I’m bad at painting.”

Sol chuckled, a soft, throaty sound that was more amused than menacing this time. The smirk on his lips grew, and he didn’t bother to hide it as he leaned slightly against the edge of the table. “All right,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “The truth? You’re terrible at painting.” Before one could object, he held up a hand, his expression mock-serious.

"Your brushwork technique is messy, your composition is unbalanced, and your color harmony… well, let's just say it's as chaotic as your personality.” He said.

Your jaw dropped, and a flicker of indignation flashed in your eyes. But you composed yourself quickly, raising your chin in defiance. "Oh, is that right?" you retorted coolly, crossing your arms. "Well then, I suppose you think you could do a lot better."

Sol’s crimson-and-orange eyes gleamed with mischief, and he raised an eyebrow as though the answer should’ve been obvious. “Of course I could.”

Without waiting for permission, he stepped closer to the canvas, grabbing a clean brush from the palette. He leaned forward, studying your piece intently, his head tilting just slightly as he took in every line and stroke. For a moment, he said nothing, and the quiet stretched between you.

Then, with a smirk, he glanced back at you. “But don’t worry,” he said, dipping his brush into a pale yellow. “I’m not going to paint over your work. That would be cruel.” His tone softened slightly, almost imperceptibly, as he added, “You’ve got potential. Under the right tutelage, of course.”

You watched as Sol began painting over the blank spaces on the canvas. His brush moved lightly, in long, deliberate strokes. Each movement was precise, controlled, and yet carried an effortless grace. His hand didn’t hesitate, the tip of the brush gliding across the fabric like it was an extension of himself.

Your eyes drifted to his hand, caught by its hypnotic rhythm. It was larger than yours, bony yet strong, the veins along the back prominent as they flexed with the motion. The way his fingers gripped the brush with such confidence… It made you wonder, for a short second, what it might feel like if those same hands brushed against your skin instead of the canvas.

You blinked, startled by the thought, and shook your head slightly. But your gaze returned to his hands almost immediately, as though they had a gravity of their own. Something was captivating about them—the way they moved with purpose and elegance, the way the bristles danced under his direction.

“What?” Sol’s voice broke your trance, and you snapped your eyes up to meet his gaze. His lips curved into a teasing smile as though he’d caught you staring. “Don’t tell me I’ve already inspired awe.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes to cover your embarrassment. “Awe? Hardly. I’m just… observing your technique.” You gestured vaguely toward the canvas, trying to sound nonchalant. “Mm-hm,” he murmured, clearly unconvinced.

He leaned back slightly, his free hand resting on the table as he continued to paint. “So, what do you think? Learning something?”

Your lips twitched into a small smile, your earlier indignation melting into something lighter. “Well,” you began, tilting your head, “I can see that you’re good with your hands. I’ll give you that.”

Sol paused, glancing at you sidelong with a raised brow. His smirk deepened, taking on an almost dangerous edge. “Careful with compliments like that,” he said, his voice soft but laced with a playful warning. “You might give me the wrong idea.”

Heat crept into your cheeks, but you held your ground, determined not to give Sol the satisfaction of flustering you. Instead, you stepped closer, the faintest hint of a challenge in your stance. “Oh, I’m sure you’re used to hearing it,” you shot back. “You’re practically begging for praise with the way you show off.”

Sol laughed, low and rich, the sound like velvet brushing against the charged air between you. Straightening, he set his brush down and leaned slightly against the table, his gaze never leaving yours. “Maybe I am,” he admitted, his smirk widening just enough to make your pulse quicken. “But it’s working, isn’t it?”

Your brow lifted, and you tilted your head, feigning disinterest even as you studied him. His piercing gaze, the subtle confidence in his posture, that maddening smirk—it was infuriating how self-assured he was. And yet, there was something magnetic about him, something that made it impossible to look away.

You rolled your eyes, breaking the moment with a scoff. “Fine,” you said, lifting your brush again and stepping toward the canvas. “But don’t expect me to call you a genius. Not yet, anyway.”

“Fair enough,” Sol replied, his voice tinged with amusement. He shifted slightly, leaning down, watching you with a quiet intensity. The air between you felt electric and playful but threaded with an undertone of something deeper, something neither of you dared to name.

You focused on the canvas, trying to tune out the way his gaze burned into your back. But as the moments stretched, your thoughts wandered again. Did he feel it too—that spark, that pull? Or was it just your imagination running wild?

“Do you want me to guide you?” Sol’s sudden question cut through your thoughts, startling you. You glanced over your shoulder at him, your brush hesitating mid-stroke. “Guide me?” His expression flickered with faint amusement as he straightened, stepping closer. “Your brushwork on our painting,” he clarified. “Are you sure you’re paying attention?”

The flush on your cheeks deepened. You’d been so wrapped up in your thoughts—most of them about him—that you’d completely zoned out. Trying to cover your embarrassment, you huffed, lifting your chin slightly. “Of course, I’m paying attention,” you retorted, though your voice betrayed you with its defensiveness. “I’ve been observing, just like you said.”

The corner of Sol’s mouth quirked, a small, knowing smirk that sent a spark of irritation and something else through you. “Is that so?” he murmured.

Before you could respond, he moved closer, standing just behind you. The air around you shifted, warmer now, charged with his presence. You felt the heat of his body at your back, the faint rustle of fabric as he leaned in, close enough that you could feel his breath against your ear.

“You’re about as good at lying as you are at painting,” Sol said softly, his voice low and teasing. “You haven’t been paying attention to anything but me for the last five minutes.” Your protest died on your lips as his hand—larger, warmer—wrapped gently around yours, guiding your grip on the brush. You froze, your heart pounding as his chin rested lightly on your shoulder, the weight and proximity making it hard to breathe.

“Okay,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. “Just follow me.”

Your hand moved under his guidance, the brush sweeping across the canvas in a smooth, deliberate arc. Together, you created a perfect swirl, the paint gliding like silk beneath the bristles. Your breath hitched, your gaze darting to his face out of the corner of your eye.

Sol’s focus was entirely on the canvas, his eyes following the line of the brush with the same intensity he’d given you earlier. A faint smile ghosted across his lips as he added another gentle stroke, the motion fluid and practiced. When his gaze finally flicked to yours, the warmth in his expression sent a jolt through you.

“Pay attention, please,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady the rush of emotions his proximity stirred. But then his eyes lingered a moment too long, and a small, knowing smirk curled at the edge of his lips again. Finding a burst of courage—or recklessness—you turned your head slightly, your faces just inches apart now. “I thought you said I wasn’t paying attention,” you said, your tone playful, though your voice was softer than you intended.

Sol’s smile deepened, his eyes flickering between yours and the canvas. “You weren’t,” he said, his breath brushing against your skin. “But maybe you’re finally getting the hang of it.” His low chuckle reverberated softly against your back, and the way his fingers guided your wrist—it was impossible not to feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

You swallowed hard, determined to keep your focus on the canvas in front of you, but Sol's presence was utterly overwhelming. "Maybe I just needed the right tutor," you managed to say, your voice wavering just enough to betray how unsteady you felt.

Sol let out a quiet laugh, warm and teasing. "Maybe you did," he replied, his tone carrying a playful edge. His hand adjusted slightly, guiding the brush into a smooth curve. “But you’ll need to focus for it to work.”

Easier said than done. He leaned in closer, his chest brushing lightly against your back, his breath warm on the side of your neck. Your heartbeat hammered, your skin prickling with the awareness of how close he was. His scent—a faint mix of paint, something floral, and the slightest hint of musk—filled your senses, making it almost impossible to concentrate.

The brush wavered slightly in your hand, the line on the canvas faltering. “Careful,” Sol murmured, his lips almost brushing your ear. “Don’t move too much. You’ll smudge our work.”

Your grip on the brush tightened as you fought to focus, but it was no use. The combination of his steady breathing, the warmth radiating from his body, and that damn smirk you knew was probably still on his lips—it was too much. Your arm shifted slightly, your elbow bumping against his.

Sol sighed, soft but pointed, his hand slipping away from yours. “All right,” he said, straightening up and stepping back. His tone was still calm, but there was a flicker of something firmer beneath it, something that sent a shiver down your spine. “If you can’t be still, maybe we need to change tactics.”

You blinked, turning to face him. “What do you mean?”

Without a word, Sol reached out, his hands firm but careful as he grasped your waist and guided you backward. Before you could process what was happening, you found yourself seated in his lap, his hands steadying you.

Your heart nearly stopped.

“Wha—Sol!” you sputtered, heat flooding your face as you tried to wriggle away. “Please stop moving,” he said, his voice quickly said, almost in a warming tone. His arms rested lightly on either side of you, effectively caging you in. “You said you needed the right tutor. This is part of the lesson.”

Your protest died in your throat as you felt his breath against your ear again, his warmth surrounding you completely now. Your pulse was racing, your cheeks burning, but there was something about his calm composure—like this was the most natural thing in the world—that left you utterly speechless.

“You’re too restless,” Sol said, his voice softer now, almost teasing. “You’re going to ruin our painting if you keep squirming.”

“I—I’m not squirming,” you managed, though your voice betrayed you. “Sure you’re not,” he replied, his smirk practically audible. His hands moved to guide yours again, steady and sure as he returned your focus to the canvas. “Now, relax. Let me show you how it’s done.”

Despite your flustered state, his voice and the firm yet gentle pressure of his hands steadied you, guiding the brush in smooth, deliberate strokes. The rhythm of his movements and the closeness of his presence made it impossible to think about anything else.

As you followed his guidance, your breaths began to sync with his, the tension in your shoulders loosening slightly. His hand stayed over yours, directing the brush with practiced ease.

“There,” he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. “See how much better that feels?”

You swallowed, glancing over your shoulder at him. His gaze was focused on the canvas, but the faintest smirk still played at the corner of his lips. His eyes flicked to meet yours briefly, and the intensity in them sent another wave of warmth rushing through you.

“I think you just like being in control,” you said, trying to sound teasing, though your voice was softer than you intended.

Sol chuckled, his breath brushing against your neck. “And I think you like making things harder than they need to be.”

Your heart raced as his words lingered in the air, the tension between you palpable. But before you could respond, Sol’s hand guided yours in another gentle stroke, pulling your focus back to the canvas. “Now,” he said, his tone a bit more playful, “are you going to let me teach you, or do I need to keep you here until you finally pay attention?”

The challenge in his voice made your cheeks burn even hotter, but you rolled your eyes, gripping the brush tighter. “Fine,” you muttered. “I’ll pay attention.”

“Good,” he said, leaning slightly closer. “Because we’re not done yet.” Your pulse raced as Sol’s hands guided yours, the rhythm of the brushstrokes steady under his control. He sat perfectly at ease, holding you on his lap like it was just another part of his creative process.

And you? You were anything but composed.

“When doing this stroke, pay close attention,” Sol murmured again, his voice low and coaxing, his breath brushing against your ear. All you needed to do was Relax. As if you could do that when every inch of you felt like it was vibrating with awareness of him. “No pressure,” he added, his hand over yours, moving the brush in a smooth arc. “Unless you want to mess up and start over.”

You scoffed, tilting your head just enough to glance back at him, a mischievous spark lighting your eyes. “I think you like having me mess up,” you said, your voice laced with defiance. Sol’s lips twitched into a smirk, but he didn’t take the bait. “Maybe,” he said, his tone calm and measured. “But it’s our project. If we waste more time because of you being difficult, that’s on you.”

Something about the calm way he said it made you bristle. You shifted slightly in his lap, testing his patience as you pressed back just enough to feel the firmness of his chest against your back.

“I’m not being difficult,” you said, your tone saccharine and falsely sweet. You turned your head more, your eyes narrowing as you added, “I just think you’re enjoying this a little too much, Sol.”

His brow arched slightly, the only indication that you’d gotten under his skin. “Am I?” he asked, his voice still maddeningly even. But as you shifted again—this time deliberately moving in a way that pressed closer to him—you felt the way his body tensed beneath you.

The faintest hint of red crept into Sol’s cheeks, and his hand on yours tightened slightly before releasing, his composure faltering just enough to make your lips curve into a triumphant smile.

“See?” you said, turning fully now so you were half-facing him, still perched on his lap. “You do enjoy it.”

His crimson-and-orange gaze flicked over you, lingering for just a moment too long before snapping back to your eyes. Something about him was... off.

Not in an unsettling way, but in a way that made your skin prickle with awareness. The piercing gaze from those luminous eyes seemed to see more of you than you intended to show. His silence spoke volumes, each glance and measured movement a language of its own.

The way he painted and the way he carried himself made it hard to distinguish where the artist ended, and the art began. Sol wasn't just quiet. He was quiet. And in that stillness, you found yourself drawn to him like a moth to a flame—a dangerous, beautiful thing you couldn't resist.

You noticed it then—the way his expression shifted, the way his pupils dilated slightly as he took in the way your outfit clung to you, a simple, black shirt with a matching pencil skirt, looking like a dress, more fitted than he’d probably realized earlier.

“You’re pushing your luck,” Sol said softly, his voice carrying a warning edge. He was stiff beneath you, his posture taut, as though holding himself together with sheer willpower.

But you weren’t backing off.

Instead, you tilted your neck and leaned in, your face stopping mere inches from his. “Am I?” you whispered, the deliberate echo of his earlier words carrying a teasing, brash confidence.

His reaction was almost immediate. The flush on his cheeks deepened, painting his pale skin with a rosy hue that crept to the tips of his ears. You shifted back slightly in his lap, letting your back brush against his chest, and the sudden contact made him jerk awkwardly on the stool.

Sol swallowed hard, his hands gripping the edges of the seat as though he was anchoring himself. “Please stop,” he said, quieter this time, his voice almost a plea. But the way his molten gaze locked onto yours betrayed him—he didn’t mean it. “Aw.. Why?” you asked, tilting your head with mock innocence. “Am I distracting a great artist from his work?”

His jaw tightened, the muscles flexing as his hands flexed on the stool. The tension radiating from him was palpable, and it only spurred you on. His composure was crumbling, piece by piece, and you were determined to break it completely.

“You’re impossible,” Sol muttered, his voice strained.

The triumph in your smile grew, and you leaned closer, just enough for your breath to tease the sensitive skin of his neck. “You could always make me stop,” you murmured, your voice soft and challenging.

For a moment, Sol didn’t move, his gaze flicking between your lips and your eyes. His breathing grew heavier, each exhales brushing against your cheek. You could almost hear the war raging inside him, every bit of his control battling the undeniable pull between you.

Then, in one swift motion, his hand slid to your waist. The firm but steady grip steadied you as he leaned forward, his lips brushing against the side of your neck in a fleeting, feather-light kiss that sent a jolt of electricity racing through you.

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you pressed back further into him, daring him to take another step.

Sol’s response was immediate. His teeth grazed your neck, the gentle nibble enough to leave you breathless and your pulse hammering in your ears. His other hand moved to your hip, holding you firmly in place as he pressed another kiss to your neck, this one lingering longer, his lips warm and insistent.

“Still think I’m enjoying this too much?” he murmured, his voice rough and ragged against your skin. Your smirk faltered as heat flushed through you, your ability to respond stolen by the heady sensations he was creating.

Sol chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your neck, sending another shiver coursing through you. “What’s the matter?” he teased, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just below your ear. “You’re quiet now.”

You swallowed hard, forcing your voice to steady. “I-I’m just giving you a chance to prove your point,” you said, though your defiance was flickering with every second.

“Oh, I’ll prove it,” Sol murmured, his lips curving into a smirk against your skin.

His fingers brushed the hem of your top, skimming the fabric aside to expose more of your collarbone. He continued his trail of kisses, his lips soft but deliberate, his teeth occasionally nipping at the sensitive skin and likely leaving faint red marks.

Your breath came in shallow gasps, your mind clouded with the sensation of his mouth, his hands, and the heat of his body enveloping you. When you shifted slightly, testing his patience, Sol growled low in his throat.

He tugged you closer with a sudden movement, turning you slightly on his lap so you faced him. His hands gripped your hips, firm but careful, making sure you wouldn’t lose your balance. His body pressed flush against yours, his thighs anchoring you in place, leaving no space between you.

The sudden awareness of your positions sent a jolt through you, the contrast between his firm frame and your softness making you hyper-aware of every point of contact. His chest brushed yours as he leaned closer, his voice low and dripping with intensity. “Was this an accident?” he asked, his gaze burning into yours. “Or was it on purpose?”

You swallowed thickly, turning your neck behind yourself to allow your eyes to drift to the hollow of his throat. Slowly, you reached out, your index finger tracing a light, teasing path along his collarbone. “Possibly… both,” you murmured.

His hand shot out, catching your wrist before you could trail your touch any lower. His grip was firm but not painful, his expression a mix of frustration and desire as he forced you to meet his gaze.

“How long,” he asked, his voice dangerously soft, “are you going to keep staring at me?”

Your lips curved into a slow, teasing smile as you tilted your head. “As long as I want to,” you said with a defiant edge. “What’s wrong? Are you going to punish me more?”

His grip on your wrist tightened slightly, and his other hand pressed against the small of your back, holding you steady as he leaned in closer. “Don’t be cocky,” he warned, his voice dropping to a rough, predatory whisper. “You don’t want to know the kind of things I’m imagining.”

You glanced down at the growing tension between you—at the unmistakable bulge pressing against your thigh. A flicker of boldness sparked in your expression as your fingers teased over his chest. “I think I already know,” you whispered.

Sol��s eyes darkened, his breath hitching as he tensed beneath you. His lips brushed your ear, his voice a strained mix of frustration and want. “You’re playing with fire,” he murmured, his tone rough, almost ragged.

Before you could form a reply, Sol leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that stole the air from your lungs. It wasn’t gentle—it was raw, demanding, and full of the hunger he’d been holding back. Your eyes widened in shock at first, the boldness of his move catching you completely off guard.

But that shock melted quickly, replaced by an undeniable pull that made you lean into him.

Sol’s hands moved to your hips, gripping firmly as he turned you fully to face him on his lap. The motion was smooth but decisive, his strength evident as he shifted you effortlessly. Your knees now rested on either side of his thighs, your bodies pressed flush against one another.

The new position heightened the intensity, your chest brushing his with each labored breath. Sol’s hands slid up your back, pulling you closer, while his lips moved against yours with a hunger that left you breathless.

You didn’t hesitate, your hands moving to the sides of his face, holding him there as you matched his fervor with your own. The kiss deepened, turning messy and desperate, your mouths moving in sync as though trying to consume each other completely.

Sol broke away for a moment, his forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath, his eyes burning into yours with a heat that made your skin tingle. “You’re relentless,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, his fingers pressing into your lower back.

You smirked, your lips brushing his as you replied, “And you’re loving it.”

Before he could respond, you leaned back in, reclaiming his mouth with a force that left him no room to argue. Your hands moved instinctively, reaching behind him to untie the apron, quickly removing it from him to have a clear view of his chest.

Slowly, your index finger drags itself down his chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt. The urgency of the moment consumed you, and your fingers found the buttons of his shirt, fumbling at first, then unfastening them one by one with increasing speed.

Sol groaned softly against your lips, the sound vibrating through you and making your pulse race. His hands moved again, one slipping up to cradle the back of your head, the other gripping your waist to keep you anchored against him.

As his shirt fell open, your hands splayed against his bare chest, your fingertips brushing over his warm skin. The contrast between the cool air and his heat sent a shiver through him, his tone muscles tensing under your touch.

You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, your eyes raking over him as you took in the sight of his now-exposed chest. His skin was pale smooth, his collarbone pronounced, and the faint sheen of sweat glistening under the low light made him look utterly irresistible.

Sol’s lips twitched into a smirk at your lingering gaze, though his eyes were heavy with want. “Like what you see?” he teased, though his voice was uneven, betraying his arousal.

Instead of answering, you leaned in again, your lips finding the hollow of his throat. You pressed open-mouthed kisses down the column of his neck, nipping at the sensitive skin as your hands continued their exploration. Sol tilted his head back slightly, giving you better access as a low growl escaped him.

“You’re insatiable,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire. You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, a wicked smile playing on your lips. “And you’re complaining?” you shot back, your tone dripping with challenge.

Sol’s hands slid up your sides, his thumbs grazing the edge of your ribs as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing yours again. “Not a chance,” he murmured against your mouth, before pulling you into another searing kiss.

The kiss deepened, growing more fervent with each passing second. Your fingers tangled in his hair, the strands silky yet wild, as his grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him. The heat of his bare chest against yours, the intoxicating rhythm of his lips moving over yours—it was overwhelming, drowning out every thought but him. Your breaths mingled, uneven and ragged, as you both surrendered to the storm of desire building between you.

With deliberate boldness, your hand began a slow descent, sliding over his toned stomach to the waistband of his pants. While he remained engrossed in the kiss, you let your fingers drift lower, brushing against the hardness beneath his pants. A sharp intake of breath escaped Sol’s lips, his body tensing against yours. His grip faltered briefly, but his response was immediate.

He broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, his heterochromatic eyes ablaze with unfiltered desire. His breath came in quick, shallow gasps as he tried to regain control. “You’re playing with fire,” he rasped, his voice a low, gravelly whisper, both warning and temptation.

Instead of pulling away, his hands found your hips once more, his fingers digging in just enough to ground you, to anchor himself. He tilted his hips slightly, pressing into your touch as a shudder ran through him. His challenge hung in the air like a gauntlet thrown at your feet, daring you to keep going.

Your lips curved into a sly smile, your voice laced with teasing defiance. “Then I’ll just have to handle the heat,” you murmured. Leaning closer, your breath ghosted over his ear as you added, “Didn’t you say I need to work on my brushwork?”

With deliberate intent, you slid your hand along the curve of his waistband, unbuttoning his pants with practiced ease. Sol groaned low in his throat, the sound reverberating through his chest and into yours. His hands gripped your hips tighter, pulling you impossibly closer as if trying to meld you into him.

“I didn’t mean… this,” he muttered, though his tone betrayed how much he wanted it. His lips found your neck, trailing heated kisses along your skin as he fought to keep his control intact. His body trembled beneath your touch, his breath hot and ragged against your throat.

Your hand ventured lower, and as his pants gave way, you were met with the proof of his desire. The sight of his cock—pale like his skin, flushed with need, and curve glistening pink tip—sent a wave of heat through you. You couldn’t help but marvel at him, at how his body responded so wholly to you.

Sol groaned again, his head falling back as he fought the urge to completely unravel. “F-Fuck this shit,” he muttered, his voice hoarse and raw.

With a sudden burst of need, he grabbed your hand, his rough fingers intertwining with yours as he guided you to his cock, wrapping your hand around it.

His eyes burned into yours, a silent plea and a command wrapped in one. “If you’re going to do this,” he growled, “then do it right. After all, I’m the tutor,”

The juxtaposition of his firm grip and your softer touch sent shivers through him, his body responding instinctively to your every movement. He bit back a curse, his jaw clenched, yet his eyes remained locked on yours, filled with both vulnerability and hunger as he helps you move his cock up and down.

The way his hand enveloped yours, guiding you with deliberate control, sent a jolt of heat through your body. His skin was hot beneath your palm, pulsing with need, the intensity of it making your breath hitch. The sensation of being so intimately connected, of having him at your mercy, was intoxicating. Your lips curved into a sly, knowing smile as you met his gaze with a sultry intensity.

"Then guide me, Sol," you murmured, voice low with a hint of teasing.

His eyes darkened, his breath catching at your words. For a moment, it seemed as though he might lose his composure entirely, but instead, he pressed closer, the heat of his body radiating into yours. His hands tightened over yours, steady and commanding, as he guided your movements with aching precision.

"Guide you?" he rasped, his voice rough with barely contained desire. "Gladly."

His fingers wrapped firmly around yours, leading you in a slow, deliberate rhythm around his cock. Each movement was an exquisite torment, a maddening mix of control and surrender that left you craving more. His voice, low and gravelly, brushed over your skin like a caress. "Like this," he whispered.

The feel of him beneath your touch was overwhelming, a mix of heat and tension that made your chest tighten and your pulse quicken. As his hand fell away, relinquishing control to you, the look in his eyes—half-lidded and burning with need—was almost too much to bear.

Taking charge, you continued the motion, your strokes deliberate and teasing. Sol's breaths grew heavier, his head falling back slightly as he tried to stifle the low groans that escaped his lips. But he couldn’t hold back the quiet whines that followed, each sound unraveling you further.

The weight of you on his lap, the way your hips shifted against him—whether intentional or not—drove him wild. His hands gripped your waist tightly as though grounding himself was the only way to keep himself from losing control—and you from falling.

His face flushed a deep red, his jaw tightening as his breaths came faster, his body trembling beneath you. His arousal was undeniable, glistening with beads of precum that caught the light as they slid down his length. The sight alone was enough to make your stomach tighten with desire, but it was the sounds he made—low, broken groans turning into quiet, breathless whimpers—that truly undid you.

Sol’s tired yet desperate eyes met yours, silently begging for more, even as his body surrendered entirely to your touch. The vulnerability in his gaze was intoxicating, and you couldn’t help but feel a wicked thrill at the power you held over him. Every gasp, every shudder, every barely audible plea only pulled you deeper into the moment, the fire between you burning hotter with each passing second.

You begin rudding the slit on his tip, dipping your finger on the pre-cum, smudging it across the tip, “A-ahh…” That alone sent a chilling feeling down his spine. Then you wonder for a second.

Just how far you could take this?

And, as if he could read her mind, Sol’s voice was broken into another gasp at the feel of her finger on his tip. You smirked, leaning in close to his ear. “Does that feel good, Sol?” You smirked, leaning in close to his ear.

Sol let out a strangled, guttural moan, his body shuddering at your touch, his breathing labored and strained. He gripped the edge of the stool as if holding on for dear life, his knuckles turning white. "Y-Yeah," he managed to gasp, his voice trembling the words out.

"Feels... so good." His head fell back, his eyes fluttering closed as you continued your ministrations, his body completely at your mercy.

As he tried his best to muffle the pathetic whimpers that were threatening to escape his lips with his free hand covering his mouth, Sol was coming undone, every touch, every gentle caress pulling him closer and closer to the edge. And he couldn’t get enough of how your delicate fingers all wrapped nicely around his cock.

Hearing his voice, broken and needy, sent a thrill coursing through you, intensifying your desire for him. This side of Sol—a man usually so composed and enigmatic—was uncharted territory, and you were quickly losing yourself in the discovery.

You leaned back slightly, just enough to drink in the sight of him, a teasing smirk playing on your lips. “Just good?” you purred, your voice dripping with mock innocence. “Or does it feel better than that?”

“Pumpkin,” he rasped, his voice deep and trembling with barely contained restraint. It took everything in him to hold back, but the way your sharp, half-lidded eyes bore into him, your smirk only widening as your hand pumped him faster—it was driving him to the edge. “I-I’m close, please… please...” He moaned,

“Oops, sorry~” you cooed, amusement dancing in your tone as if you weren’t purposefully unraveling him by slowing down.

Sol’s body jolted under your touch, another strangled moan escaping his lips as his grip on the stool tightened. He was trembling, the effort to maintain control wearing thin. His breaths came in ragged gasps, each one sharper than the last. “Come on… Please…” He whines, “Let me cum, I want to cum… Will you let me, pumpkin?” He begged.

His breathing is ragged, tiny beads of sweat rolling down his cheek, some of his hair sticking to his face as you pump his cock—dare you say, he looks hot like this.

You grin again, that same slow, cat-got-the-canary sort of smile from before. Are you enjoying this? Maybe it’s just a teeny bit too much.

“Mmh, I don’t know,” You say, tone light and mocking, considering it while pumping him faster. “Are you sure you’ve been good enough to deserve that, Sol~?”

Sol's face flushed crimson as he groaned under your touch, his body reacting with an involuntary twitch. He could barely hold himself together, the effort nearly breaking him. Your teasing, the way you toyed with him like this. It was enough to drive him insane with need. And yet... he loves it.

“Please,” he panted, his voice choked with need. “Please, pumpkin... don't tease me anymore.”

You grin, your breath catching in your throat for a brief moment at the sound of his pleading. He’s so desperate, and again—it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

Before you get to reply, you are stuck watching, listening to him. With one last stroke, he came. You feel a warm, sticky substance splatter against your face, and you gasp in surprise, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment. When you open it back up, you see your hands are covered in… his cum.

He whines, trembling under your touch. “Fuck…” He grumbles… before chuckling breathlessly, his chest rising and falling with each ragged inhale. He looked at you, his eyes darkened with desire, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"You're a tease, you know that...?" he murmured, his voice still hoarse. He reaches up, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers leaving a smudge of his cum on your skin.

You laugh softly, eyes fluttering closed at the touch of his fingers against your face. You can still taste him on your lips. “I’m aware, and I love it,” You say, your tongue darting out to lick a stray bit of his cum away, “Such a good boy.”

Sol's heart skipped a beat at the sight of your tongue running across your lips. He could hardly contain himself, his body still thrumming with a mix of need and satisfaction.

"You're... you're going to be the death of me, Pumpkin," he said, strained and thick. "I swear... you're going to drive me insane." Before you could respond, his hands shot forward, gripping your wrists roughly, halting your movements. “You know, It takes a true artist to know how to use their hands,” he muttered through clenched teeth, his frustration and desire boiling over.

“Right now, I feel inspired. With your body so close to mine—” his gaze flicked to you, sharp and burning, “—you gonna feel so good once I get through painting you.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, his grip on your wrists firm and electrifying. Yet, you didn’t back down. Instead, your smirk deepened, and you tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Aww, it’s cute when you get all frustrated like that.” you quipped, resuming your teasing pace despite his attempt to rein you in.

Sol’s jaw clenched, a growl rumbling deep in his chest as his eyes blazed with irritation and helpless desire. “Teasing me like this,” he gasped, his voice cracking under the weight of his need, “You deserve to be punished.”

“Sorry? Punished?” You repeated, arching a brow, your smirk faltering for a moment as curiosity mingled with arousal.

His hands released your wrists, moving instead to the hem of your shirt. Slowly, deliberately, he began sliding it upward, his touch igniting sparks along your skin.

He lifted your shirt, his movements were unhurried yet firm, tossing it aside without a second thought. The cool air kissed your bare skin, making you shiver, but it was nothing compared to the heat in Sol’s gaze. His eyes roamed over your body unabashedly, dark with want, his intensity sending your pulse racing.

The way he looked at you—devoured you—was intoxicating. You felt your breath hitch, your skin tingling under his gaze as if he were leaving invisible marks with every flick of his eyes. Sol leaned in slightly, his voice low and gravelly, sending shivers cascading down your spine. “Now let’s see if you’re ready for what you started.”

The lace of your black bra barely had a chance to tease him before Sol unclasped it with uncharacteristic haste. His breath caught in his throat as the fabric fell away, leaving your bare skin exposed to the cool air. The curve of your shoulders, the elegant line of your neck, and the sight of your hardened nipples sent a shiver of desire coursing through him.

You were breathtaking, more so than any image his mind could have conjured. The reality of you—your warmth, your movement, the way you bared yourself so freely—was utterly consuming.

As you slipped off the remaining layers with deliberate ease, Sol found himself captivated, unable to look away. "You're staring," you teased, your voice low and sultry, tinged with amusement. "See something you like?"

He tried to respond, but the words caught in his throat, his mind blank save for the raw need coursing through him. He swallowed hard, his gaze trailing shamelessly over your body, lingering on every curve, every delicate line of skin.

He wanted to touch, to claim, to make you his in every sense. But he hesitated, almost afraid of the depth of his desire. The way you looked, so confident and alluring, made him feel as though he was standing on the edge of a precipice, and all he wanted was to jump.

Sol's hands moved almost without thought, tracing the length of your legs, the curve of your knee, the delicate arch of your foot. His reverence for you bordered on worship, a devotion so intense it frightened him. He had tried to keep it at bay, but now that he had you like this, so open and vulnerable, he felt the weight of his restraint snapping.

He was a man who could get lost in his own obsession, and with you, it was dangerously easy. Sol didn’t just want you—he craved you, a hunger so profound it threatened to unravel him entirely.

With trembling hands, he slid your pencil skirt down your hips, the fabric pooling on the floor with a careless toss. He left the lace of your black panties on, unable to resist the way they hugged your body so perfectly. His lips found your neck, pressing kisses against the sensitive skin as he let his hands explore.

The only thing separating you now was the thin layer of fabric between you, damp with evidence of your arousal. Sol’s thumb moved instinctively, pressing gently against the damp spot, and the soft gasp you let out was like fuel to the fire burning inside him.

Your reaction sent his heart racing, his body trembling with restrained need. But when you whispered his name, your voice breathless and trembling, it pulled him back from the brink.

“Sol,” you murmured, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart. “Wait… you’re going a little too fast.”

The words hung in the air like a sudden stillness before a storm. Sol froze, his hands pausing mid-motion on your body. His breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling heavily as he pulled back, his intense gaze locking onto yours. A mix of frustration and unspoken yearning flickered in his eyes, the tension between you crackling like electricity.

“Too fast?” he echoed, his voice hoarse and tinged with disbelief. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “You’re the one who started the fire, said you can handle it, and now you’re telling me to slow down?”

He let out a soft, strained laugh, the sound laced with both amusement and restraint, as though he was trying to tether himself to reality. Still, he relented, easing the intensity of his movements.

Slowly, he reached down, unzipping his jeans and pushing them just enough to loosen their grip, his shirt discarded in the process. His gaze softened, though the heat in his eyes remained, a smoldering flame that refused to extinguish.

“This is still your punishment, Pumpkin,” he murmured, a crooked smile playing at his lips as he leaned in, brushing a featherlight kiss to your lips.

The kiss was different this time—rough, more forceful. His lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw and down to your neck, each kiss feeling like a vow unspoken. The world outside faded, leaving only the two of you suspended at this moment. He moved further, his lips exploring your collarbone and sternum with reverence, his warmth leaving a trail of fire across your skin.

His hands trembled slightly as they cupped your chest, his touch reverent but firm, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh like he was trying to memorize the feel of you. His breath hitched as he brushed his thumbs over your nipples, the gentle pressure sending a shiver down your spine.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered, more to himself than to you, his voice thick with wonder. “So damn pretty.”

Your mind swirled with the weight of his words, his touch, his presence. The heat between you was overwhelming, your body arching into his hands as he explored with care and devotion. Each kiss, each touch, sent waves of sensation rippling through you, leaving you breathless.

“Sol…” you breathed, your voice trembling with both hesitation and longing. “Please…”

But instead of heeding your plea, he pressed forward, his lips finding the sensitive peak of your chest. He kissed you there with aching tenderness, his tongue tracing slow circles as his hand mirrored his movements. A soft moan escaped your lips, and he hummed in approval, his grip steadying you as you began to unravel under his touch.

He paused only to meet your gaze, his eyes filled with something deeper than desire—an emotion too profound for words.

He quickly shifted you, his hands firm yet careful as he turned you toward the painting you and he both made. The cool air against your heated skin made you shiver, the contrast heightening your awareness of his every movement.

He moved behind you, his breath warm against your neck. For a moment, he hesitated, his fingers brushing down your skin to the fabric of your panties. He slid them down slowly, his movements deliberate, almost reverent, before throwing them on the floor.

He forced you to lean on your back against his firm chest, the back of your head resting against his shoulder as his hands stayed on your hips.

Soon his hand slid beneath your chin, tilting your face upward with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. His gaze locked onto yours, a tempest of emotions swirling in his red-orange eyes—desire, restraint, and something unspoken yet intense.

“Sorry, Pumpkin,” he murmured, his voice a low, velvet whisper, “but I need you.”

He adjusted your position, the shift sending a jolt of sensation through you as his cock settled snugly against your bare heat. A soft, broken sound escaped your lips—a breathy, high-pitched “A-Ah!”—and your half-lidded eyes met his. In his fiery gaze, the pupils seemed to ripple, almost heart-shaped, as though they reflected his overwhelming hunger for you.

Sol began to move, rubbing cock rather fast and rough against your cunt, his hips pressing forward until he found that sweet, electrifying spot. Your voice spilled out again, light and melodic, each sound like a chime caught on the breeze. His movements became more assured, each thrust purposeful as he reveled in the way your body responded to his.

He had you now—completely, utterly his.

Your bodies melded together in perfect rhythm, your breaths and sighs tangling as if they were one. Sol’s senses were flooded with you: the subtle rise and fall of your chest, the faint tension in your spine that dissolved beneath his touch. Each reaction, each sound you made, only drove him deeper into the intoxicating realization that you were exactly where he wanted you—wrapped in his embrace, utterly lost in him.

He has you in his grasp, but he wants to hold onto you tighter.

He focuses on where your lower bodies meet, tongue poked between his lips and furrow in his brow. Drives his hard cock rubbing against your bare cunt, catching the crown into your clit until you’re shaking underneath him. Sol can’t think anymore, lost in the feeling of wonderful pleasure.

If it feels so good like this, being inside you might be too much.

So close in proximity that Sol can hear each of your short pants. Erratic and almost thoughtlessly driven by one single thing: pleasing you. Feeling each other, all wrapped up together.

Drawing out those moans as he pinches your nipples at your tits, making you feel how hard he is. How pent-up, needy, and fucking horny he is all for you. Just humping your soft, sweet cunt makes Sol want to risk everything he’s got with you.

The push and pull of too much and not enough at the same time. It’s so fucking euphoric. Your cunt keeps wetter and wetter, and Sol doesn’t know if it’s you or him - his pre-cum dribbling agasint your needy cunt. He can feel your pussy pulse and tremble. Your spine goes stiff, and Sol pulls away to look at you.

You’re so pretty. You’re on edge, in complete bliss, and so fucking pretty only for his eyes to see.

“A-ah, Sol—please, wait,” you gasped, your words trembling as pleasure coursed through you. Sol froze for a moment, his eyes wide and blazing, the sound of your plea cutting through the haze of his need. Frustration flickered across his face, mingling with something softer, something more conflicted.

He didn’t want to wait—couldn’t—not with the way your body moved beneath him, flushed and trembling, your breath hitching with every touch.

Your mind was a haze of heat and sensation, your body barely keeping up with the overwhelming pleasure that had left you spiraling. And when you both reached that peak together—his cum spilling over as yours soaked on tophim in return—it was a moment that burned itself into his memory.

A first—he made you come with him. The sight of you arching against him, your cries echoing in his ears, left him undone, his breath ragged and unsteady as he trembled, listening to your pretty moans.

Sol’s hands remained firm on your hips, anchoring you as his gaze devoured you. Again, the image of you—writhing, broken, and entirely his—was seared into his mind, a memory he wanted to relive over and over again. His heart pounded as he leaned forward, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both desperate and adoring, his tongue teasing yours in a way that left you breathless.

“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, I need…” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and raw with emotion. His nose nuzzled against your cheek before he kissed the corner of your mouth, his words pouring out in a slow, deliberate cadence.

“I want to see it again,” he said, his tone steady but trembling with need. “I want you to cum again, Pumpkin.”

The vulnerability in his voice stirred something inside you, but your body was already at its limit. You pulled back slightly, your breath still uneven as your gaze met his. “Sol, I... I don’t think I can,” you admitted softly, your voice tinged with exhaustion.

His eyes darkened the fire in them dimming for a moment, replaced by something closer to concern. His hands softened their grip, and he leaned back just enough to study your face, his expression caught between worry and restraint. “Did I hurt you?” he asked gently, his voice quieter now, though the tension in his body remained.

You shook your head quickly, your words coming in a rush. “No, no, you didn’t. I just—”

“Then you can keep going,” he interrupted, his tone almost pleading, his patience unraveling at the edges. His gaze was intense and unwavering, and you felt your resolve waver under the weight of his need.

“Sol,” you tried again, shaking your head as you placed a hand on his chest. “I’m tired. You’ve... you’ve worn me out. And you’ve got to be tired too—don’t you think? What about our project?”

His brows furrowed as he let out a frustrated groan, his body taut with tension. “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. “It can wait.”

Your breath caught as his hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips again and pulling you against him yet again. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his lips grazing your skin. “You look so damn good like this,” he murmured, his voice tinged with reverence. “Messy and perfect—covered in our cum.”

A shiver ran through you as his hands explored your body, his touch deliberate and reverent. "How much more should I paint you?" He kissed a trail down your neck and shoulders, his lips soft yet possessive. The warmth of his breath against your skin sent a fresh wave of heat through you, despite your exhaustion.

“Sol, please,” you whispered, though the words lacked conviction.

He didn’t respond, his silence heavy with meaning as his hands moved lower, his touch firm but gentle, as though committing every curve and contour of your body to memory. His fingers brushed over your thighs, then between them, the featherlight touch making you tremble.

When he finally touched you—his fingers tracing over the sensitive folds of your cunt, slick and sticky from your shared cum—a sharp gasp escaped your lips. He groaned softly, the sound vibrating against your skin as he focused on you, his movements both precise and overwhelming.

“Can you feel it?” he whispered, his voice rough but laced with tenderness. “How much I want you, need you? How much I love you?”

The words struck something deep within you, and though you were overwhelmed, you couldn’t deny the magnetic pull of his touch, his voice, his very presence. He didn’t need to say it aloud; every caress, every glance, told you everything he couldn’t put into words.

Sol was an artist, and you were caught in the vision of it—a dangerous one. You’re trembling with anticipation. A sense of contentment washes over Sol as his breath fans over your neck.

Sol can feel how worked up you are. You’re quiet and tense. Some part of him wants to leave you like that, waiting, but the other part of him wants to give you everything you’ve ever asked for. He gives into the latter because that’s what he wants more.

He used his free hand that was grounded you to lap, reaching down to lift his now hard cock agasint your bare cunt with a deep sigh, and a pleased hum.

He loves the way you smell, the scent of sex and arousal mixed with the fancy soaps you keep in your bathroom.

Your pussy is as pretty as you are, a sheen of arousal all along your slit. Your clit peeks through, swelling from need. Sol uses his tip to kiss your opening without thinking. He starts slow. Lays his cock flat against the seam of your cunt before dragging it up and down once, rubbing you again however, this time, it almost slips inside of you.

You lose a little of what little control you had. Your body jerks back against him, and you bite back a moan. Sol felt that—he can’t get enough of you. Neither can you.

He moans in appreciation, repeating the gesture as he pulls your pussy closer. He gazes and looks down at you. You’re so pretty it makes him want to please. He repeats this over and over, grinding on your clit on his hard and needy cock, throbbing against the soft, smooth muscle as he gains a sort of rhythm.

He gauges your reaction when he tries something new, adding pressure until you’re squirming underneath him. When you start growing noisier, Sol knows he’s hit the right pace.

And he stays like that for a bit, your pussy soaking more of his cock. He adjusts himself slightly, rubbing his fingers between your folds. You let out a soft "A-ah" above him, making him want to laugh. He keeps at it, his fingers sliding far enough to tease your entrance. Your hole is squeezing without him having done much at all, his middle finger teasing and prodding.

“Sol stop! Don’t t-tease so much,” You pant. Sol nearly blows again, listening to you talk like that. He didn’t think you could be so cute.

Sol couldn’t help but smirk, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. "But I love teasing you," he whispered against your skin, "hearing you pant and moan, wanting more but not quite getting what you need."

His finger kept playing around your entrance, just kind of going in circles on your sensitive bits. "Besides, it's fun to watch you squirm to my touch," he said, sliding his middle finger into you like it was nothing. It's not that hard. You're so wet for him, it's crazy. Your walls feel super soft and inviting, all syrupy when he touches them.

Sol loves the way your cunt feels, taking his time to go in and out slowly enough that the tension just fades away. He really gets in there with his middle finger, and when it looks like you're not tense anymore—he goes and adds another one. He's doing both at the same time—and there's this moment where it's just a whole lot of sensation for you.

Eventually, it stops being just a sensation, and it shifts into pleasure. He presses his fingers into you hard, really massaging that soft spongy spot, he can feel you lean forward, nearly lurching forward.

Your back arches, mouth hanging open, “S-Sol!” You moaned.

Another feeling of pride spreads through his chest, his whole body. He wants you to let go again just like this. While he fingers your weepy cunt—he wants to see how far he can push. How wet you can get before he ever gets inside.

His fingers can feel the way your walls tighten up so hard and the tremors of the aftermath. Your back curves against him as you cum again closing your thighs, hard for him, and he can feel it.

He can feel you cum over his cock once more. He can see you, see the pleasure crash into you like a tidal wave. A second. Sol made you cum twice in a row, this time without him. You practically pry him off as you ride the wave of your high. You sighed deeply as you watched Sol lick his fingers. "You taste so sweet, all because of me~" He breathed out, looking down at you.

“Are you done?” You asked, tiredly wore out.

Sol's eyes darkened at your question, his body still thrumming with a unsatisfied need. He took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind.

"Done?" he echoed, his voice rough. "I'm far from done, Pumpkin.” He sits you up on his lap, fixing you to completely lay back naked and beautiful, tugging open your thighs for your cunt to rest on top of his cock once more. “Sol I can’t please.” You quickly reached onto his shaft, stopping him.

Sol's mind went blank when you touched him, the sensation sending a shiver down his spine. His breath hitched, and he looked up at you through hazy eyes, his body quivering with need. He wanted you, desperately, but he also knew he had to stop.

"Pumpkin," he panted, his voice strained. "I... I don’t think I can handle any more of your teasing.” He said with heart eyes, “Just let this happen, please.”

His tone is so needy, so desperate, and it shoots straight through you, making your body shiver. You can feel just how badly he wants you, needs you. Already itching to do it a third.

"I-I wasn't trying to tease you,” You whisper, your voice soft and shaky. “I’m just... I’m just tired, Sol. I am.”

You try to pull back, even just a little, to put some space between them, but he's holding you tight against his back, “We’re almost there. Just one more…” He breathes out, stroking his cock, guiding the tip to your cunt opening, ‘I wanna feel you…” He mumbled, slowly pushing himself inside, “A-Ah, Sol!” You pleaded, trying to close your legs, but he forced them open.

“Don’t fight it.” He warned, pushing himself in. Your cunt squeezes your opening, not letting his cock inside before he goes in frustration while biting your neck to distract you, “Ahhh!” You mown in pain.

His hands gripped you tightly, anchoring you to him as though he couldn’t bear to let you go. He was completely undone, his desire for you eclipsing everything else, his body responding to the need pulsing through him.

In the haze of his hunger, he vaguely registers the absence of protection, but it barely registers in his mind, overshadowed by the overwhelming need to have you. A fleeting moment of tension flares before it melts into pure, white-hot pleasure, every inch of being inside you sent him aflame.

You feel incredible—like nothing he’s ever known. His arms tighten around your body, pulling you closer, coaxing you down another inch on his cock. His lips find your neck again, this time with more urgency, his teeth sinking more into your skin as he fights to hold himself back.

The taste of you, the feel of you—it’s almost too much. He wants to make this last. He won’t let it slip away too quickly. Sol’s not ready to lose himself just yet; he wants to savor every second of this.

Sol lowers you steadily until all of him is inside. Your expression is slightly pinched, and your whole body trembles, uncomfortable, almost in pain as you adjust to his size. You arch your back, hands reaching to take root in his hair. “P-Pumpkin!” He moaned. The sensation of tension on his scalp makes his cock twitch inside you.

The pressure is almost too much, making you gasp in the air through your teeth. You hold on tight to his arms, “Oh god,” You moan, your head falling back. “You’re... you’re actually intense. I can feel...” Your voice trails off, replaced by a whimper. Every nerve feels like it’s on fire, overwhelmed.

Before you get a chance to adjust to the feeling, he picks your hips and slams them back down on his cock without breaking a sweat. You nearly scream, your hands immediately reach down, squeezing his wrists, trying to make him slow down. He gives you a wry grin; he almost wants you to plead for your mercy.

“Aw.. want me to go slower?” Sol asked, “You have to beg for it~” Your eyes widen, and another soft gasp slips past your lips, your body tensing against him. The pressure and the fullness are almost too much, overwhelming in the best way possible.

He feels so good, so good...

You nod slightly, your voice coming out as a whimper. “Please,” You whispered, “Just stop, please...” Your body shakes as you speak. “Too much... too much at once...”

Sol's eyes gleam with a feral look, his body trembling with the effort to control himself. He pauses for a moment, his hands stilling on your hips, his breathing ragged.

"Too much for you, huh?" he murmurs, his voice low and hoarse. "You can't handle it, can you, Pumpkin?"

There's a hint of challenge in his tone, a hint of desire to keep going, to push your limits even further.

Repeating the motion but slower showing his hint of worry. He knows he needs to be careful, rocking you steadily onto his cock. The pace is controlled and smooth, a rhythmic pass of your hips over and over.

Your insides threaten to dissolve him whole, turn him liquid from the inside out as he makes you ride him in reverse, moving his hips up and down while keeping you in place.

He watches as your breasts bounce as he leans forward, his chin coming to rest against your neck just enough for Sol to see the concentration etched upon your face. He watches you as you discover your pleasure in this moment—it makes you look utterly captivating. The feeling of him is nothing short of exquisite.

He shifts his hands to your hips to pull you closer to him, not changing the rhythm he wanted as you hug him tight.

The room resounds with the sound of skin meeting skin: a sticky smack as your body strikes Sol's thighs with enough force. Every nerve in his body is on edge, alive with sensation. His hand glides gently before your body, teasing your clit as he urges you to ride him.

Sol forces as he feels you again, a new surge of excitement drenching him. He's becoming more sensitive to the times when you approach your climax. Your wetness is so invitingly greasy for him because of him. It is so messy that it's running down his length down onto his balls, turning his pants into a wet puddle from underneath you.

He feels you stiffen in expectation—little contractions that bring you to the brink. His breathing comes in quick, shallow bursts as he watches you chase your climax, his hands gripping your hips as if to bring you even closer.

He knows he can't hold on much longer, the way you feel, the way you look riding him, your smell—god your pretty moans. It’s all too much. But he pushes down the rising tide, wanting to prolong this moment

His voice came out in a strained whisper, his grip tightening as he spoke. "I'm gonna cum soon. I want you to come right after me, yeah? Can you do that for me, Pumpkin?" He gently lifted your chin, locking eyes with you. His gaze searched your face, watching as your expression blurred with the overwhelming sensations.

Your mind felt hazy like everything was fading into a fog, too overwhelmed to form coherent thoughts. The pressure building inside you was almost unbearable—so huge, so intense, hitting you all in the right spots.

"Yes," you whispered, your voice barely audible, filled with a desperate need. "Yes, yes, I can do that... please, Sol, please..."

You could feel his desire building with you, like an unstoppable wave crashing over both of you. "Please, please, please..." You whispered it over and over, lost in the need for him, unable to say anything else.

Sol's eyes blaze with a renewed intensity, the plea in your voice driving him over the edge. His hands tighten on your hips, his body trembling with the effort of holding back.

"Pumpkin..." he pants, the words almost catching in his throat. "Pumpkin, I... I can't hold on much longer."

Your eyes are wild, and your body is trembling, every muscle tight and tense, “S-Sol, ah…” You laugh, breathy. The third time you cum is less intense than you thought. It’s a shorter wave, a softer sort of orgasm that seems to ease you more than it does anything else, more hazely and oversensitive.

But you can feel still his cock inside of you, how close he is, how close he’s been. Even still, you clench around his cock hard—getting so much wetter than you were a minute ago.

"Ah, f-fuck..." Sol growls, the sound catching in his throat. He's right on the brink now, his body straining with the effort of holding back. And then your muscles clench around him, the sensation enough to drive him over the edge.

"Looks like I have to catch up, hold on..." Sol moans, his voice a low, gutt, picking up your thighs, “Sol! Wait—what are—!!” He loses himself completely, slamming himself inside you rather rough and fast, his balls slapping against your cunt.

He wants more of you—all of you—after all, you can take more of his paint, you are his true canvas.

Finally giving into the sensation that’s been drowning him, He feels it in his entire lower body. Every atom of him finally catches up to the high of the release. It’s so intense when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out than heavy breaths. His eyes shoot open, then go back closed.

The coil in his stomach loosens more slowly at first than all at once, like a car crash. When Sol finally cums he sees nothing but white hearts in his vision. He can’t scream, can’t speak—so he holds onto you tight and finishes inside you, cock deeply buried inside of your pussy. So much cum spurts out of him, thick and hot painting your walls, so much in fact that it was leaking out of you, dripping down.

Sol tried his best to keep all of it inside of you, as it'd ruin his version. He didn’t even try to pull out, he rode out his orgasm with heart eyes, still fucking you slowly, wanting to keep all of himself—and cum, tucked deeply inside of you.

The sensation lingered long after the moment had passed. When Sol finally opened his eyes again, he found you collapsed against him—your body wrecked, spent, trembling from the overwhelming intensity.

You felt achingly sensitive, every nerve alive and raw, yet your mind remained a hazy blur, struggling to grasp onto anything, while your body felt heavy, as though you were floating just above the surface of consciousness. Everything was a gentle, blissful silence, a welcome respite from the chaos.

Just how long had it lasted? How many times had he brought you to the edge? The last time he counted, it was three, maybe more after what he pulled. He couldn’t be sure. The last clear memory he had was of you, twitching on top of him, your back pressed firmly against his chest, every part of you quaking from the intensity.

Sol took a slow, steadying breath, his own body still trembling from the exertion. He looked down at you, your limp form lying against him, completely drained. The exhaustion in your body was palpable, and in that moment, a part of him realized he’d pushed you farther than he’d intended.

“Pumpkin...” he whispered, his voice soft and concerned as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer into the warmth of his embrace.

“You did so good for me... You okay?” He waited, but you didn’t answer.

Your mind was still foggy, still trying to make sense of the world. Words felt distant, impossible to grasp and form into something coherent. Your body felt like it belonged to someone else—limp, exhausted, utterly spent.

A soft, unintelligible noise escaped your lips, a simple affirmation that you were still with him, still connected. It was enough to make him nuzzled you into his chest, his body instinctively seeking the comfort of his warmth of his wonderful creation.

Sol chuckled quietly, a playful smile tugging at his lips. He knew exactly what he’d done to you—how thoroughly he had worn you out—and he couldn’t help but feel a sense of quiet pride.

You were his, finally.

He gently played with your hair, twisting it with his fingers, his touch tender as he held you against him, giving you time to recover, knowing you needed it before you two could complete the art project that’s—he thinks that’s due tomorrow?

Oh well… if you don’t wake up in time he’ll complete it all for you.

“You’re adorable like this,” he murmured softly, his voice low and affectionate heart-shaped eyes, holding you tight against him, “All this... started from a simple brushstroke.”

#tkatb sol #the kid at the back #the kid at the back sol #solivan brugmansia #Solivan Brugmansia #sol x reader #the kid at the back x reader #sol brugmansia #the kid at the back vn #tkatb vn #tkatb #tkatb smut

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slugandthorn · 4 months ago

Text

Thinking a lot about pursuing artistic endeavors in a professional capacity but not making it your whole life and livelihood forever and ever. If you're already doing one of these things professionally, or working towards that, try to pick something else!

#.txt #Polls #If possible to give this the sample size treatment I am interested in what people like doing for funsies

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scrapplesims · 7 months ago

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U-Haul Trailer

My own story screenshots required a U-Haul trailer and I was driven to the brink trying to find a CC equivalent to no avail, so I made one! Why did this not exist already?

Sometimes our Sims aren't fancy enough to hire a full moving van, or they need something a bit more secure than an open pickup truck, or maybe they just had a really great first date with someone and they are ready to move in ASAP, who knows, anyway here you go

Original mesh: TS3 moving truck conversion by enure-style, additional U-Haul texture edit by bunnytears96, mesh and texture further edited by me

Trailer hitch (pictured) not included, it's RV There Yet Trailer Base by Ravasheen (TSR link)

3 swatches

Located in Decorations > Sculptures

Metal texture from @myshunosun's resources

DOWNLOAD (SFS) 🧡

Disclaimer: Any issues? Makes your game explode? Hate it? Don't tell me please. I'm fucking tired

Enjoy!!

EDIT: Just realized that the file I downloaded and worked off of is an additional texture edit of enure-style's mesh done by bunnytears96 so I must give credit for her base U-Haul texture as well! Thank you!

#ts4 #the sims 4 #simblr #ts4cc #sims 4 cc #scrapplesims cc

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orchidsarchives · 5 months ago

Note

i am frothing at the mouth at firefighter!Jason🤤

I’ m imagining Jason accidentally bumping into reader who so happens to be a school teacher and he can’t help but flirt just a little bit whilst the class of kids he’s educating on fire safety look at them both with wide eyes😃

I absolutely love this idea so much! I wrote something based off of this ask and low key went a little overboard with world building, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless!

Field trip mornings always created an exciting buzz amongst your students. Their gentle chatter filled the chilly parking lot of the old school and you giggled at their enthusiasm.

The moment brought a sense of nostalgia, it engulfed your heart in a warm embrace. It reminded you of your days in elementary school. The memories of bitter autumn mornings and your teacher’s frustrated attitudes played before your eyes. You smiled thinking about your past and how those small experiences inspired you to pursue a teaching career.

This field trip was a special one as it happened to fall on Halloween Day. The children complained about having to come to school on the holiday, but as soon as you mentioned that they could come costumed, the excitement was back. Your third grade class did not disappoint, they were all dressed in bright costumes for their first ever visit to the fire station.

The bus ride was fairly normal. The children were a mix of both calm and rowdy. You intervened every once in a while when their noise level got too loud, otherwise the students were well behaved.

Entering the fire station was like entering a dream. The foyer of the building was warm and inviting. The heat radiated off of the walls and it made you slip off your coat. There were Halloween decorations coating the pale walls and you watched your children ooh and ahh with excitement.

Your eyes were still scanning the room when a tall man walked over towards you. He wore his uniform around his waist with a black compression shirt that hugged his body. You could see a sleeve of tattoos on display and a thin silver chain peaking through from under his shirt. Despite not wearing your coat anymore, you still felt your body heat up.

You stared at his name tag—Jason, it read. You recalled the name from the numerous emails and phone calls you had exchanged in order to make this tour happen. You always thought his voice was sweet, but you had never imagined him looking like this.

He was attractive—breathtakingly so. His eyes radiated a bright shade of emerald and were full of life. He had heavy bags under his eyes, which, you assumed, were from working long hours at the station. His facial features were sharp. His cheekbones stood high and his hooked nose sat perfectly poised on his face. He looked like a Roman sculpture. Your eyes trailed down to his lips and you noticed a small scar on the right side of his mouth. You felt your fingers twitch, almost as if they were itching to trace the mark.

Jason cleared his throat, pulling you out of your deep trance and you felt goosebumps trailing your skin. You quickly spoke up, trying to ease the tension.

“Hello, my apologies, I completely zoned out, it’s been a long morning,” you said, desperately hoping that he believed the poor excuse you made to justify openly checking out the man.

You suddenly felt even more uncomfortable, you looked to your side only to notice all of your students staring right at you. You felt yourself getting flustered again, but quickly moved past the feeling. You extended your hand to shake Jason’s calloused ones. His eyes raked your figure and he gave you a sly smile.

“It’s okay,” he responded gently. “Shall we get started with the visit,” he changed the subject quickly and you couldn’t be happier.

Jason turned his attention towards the children and greeted them with an enthusiastic expression, his passion for his job clearly reflected in his way of speaking.

He led your tiny class towards the breakout rooms of the fire station. On the way to the rooms, Jason pointed out one of the girl’s Wonder Woman costumes and he shrieked in an endearing sort of way. He kneeled to the girl’s height and handed her a small sticker. She smiled, thanking him. Jason then locked his eyes with yours and called the girl pretty, and you knew at that moment that the comment was not only for her, but for you too. You felt a rush of heat run through your cheeks and up to your ears.

The breakout rooms were similar to the foyer of the fire station. There were little skeletons propped up against the whiteboards and small jack-o-lanterns on each desk.

Once the children had settled, Jason handed the rest of them with fun stickers and pamphlets about fire safety for them to take home. He joked with the kids, and managed to sneak in a fire pun every now and then. He was a good listener, he paid attention to everything the children had to share. You turned your head to the side and silently admired his ability to work with the kids; not everyone could handle a group of eight-year-olds first thing in the morning.

Jason quickly gave the class a presentation about the dangers of fires and the importance of protecting yourselves when dealing with hot objects. It was odd, he wasn’t even trying to hide his flirtatious comments, he’d stare right at you upon the very mention of the word “hot.”

You noticed Jason had a habit of walking around the room, maybe it was to keep the students engaged or maybe he did it for his own reasons. But it had got to the point where he’d brush past you, almost purposefully. The parts of your skin that made contact with his body were on fire.

After the presentation, Jason decided it would be best if the kids got a quick break before continuing the tour of the fire station. You happily agreed, needing a break yourself.

You sat on a chair close to the exit, when one of your students came to you on the verge of tears—the culprit being a paper cut. You cooed at the child, gently cupping their much smaller hand and guiding them to your first aid kit. Unknown to you, Jason was watching the interaction play out.

He hadn’t known you long, but he thought you were stunning. The way your eyes crinkled when you smiled, the way your features sat against your skin, and the way you spoke with such eloquence. It was everything he found attractive, but seeing you showcase such patience with the “wounded” child, made his heart race. Not only were you beautiful, but you were kind—to Jason, in the very little time he had known you, you felt like an angel.

“Do you like them,” a small voice suddenly spoke. It was the Wonder Woman from earlier and Jason smiled.

“Ah the lovely Wonder Woman is back,” he replied, ignoring the child’s question. The little girl giggled.

“I think you have a crush on my teacher,” Jason raised his eyebrow. What did this little girl know about crushes? The child laughed again and said, “I think she might like you back.”

“What makes you say that,” Jason inquired, now suddenly interested. The little girl shrugged and made a face.

“I dunno,” and with that, she ran off, leaving Jason confused.

After the break, Jason guided the students to the main hall to show them the fire trucks. The energy was high in the room, the kids were beaming with excitement. The tension between you and Jason only seemed to rise though. With every passing flirtatious comment and every lingering look, you felt yourself getting more anxious. How inappropriate would it be if you asked for his number at the end of the field trip… you caught yourself thinking.

It was as if Jason had read your mind because at the end of the tour, he pulled you aside to thank you for bringing in the children and letting him have the opportunity to teach them. You grinned and also expressed your gratitude. You began to walk towards the students, when Jason grabbed your wrist and held onto you gently. He slipped a piece of paper into your palm and sent you a quick wink before heading out.

You stared at the small paper and slowly opened it.

Inside, the words read in messy lines, “call me,” with a string of numbers. You looked into the direction that Jason left, and smiled to yourself.

You were definitely going to call him.

#gn!reader #jason todd #red hood #jason todd x reader #jason todd headcanon #red hood x reader #red hood headcanon #jason todd imagine #red hood imagine #batfam #firefighter!jason

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shinhyunjin · 25 days ago

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── .✦ little white lies.

⟢ pairing: hwang hyunjin x female!reader

⟢ genre: fluff, non-idol au, established relationship

⟢ word count: 1.9k

⟢ summary: the one where a street interviewer asks the story of how you met.

⟢ author’s note: hello, everyone! i don’t really know what this is, but i clearly got the idea from @/meetcutesnyc on tiktok. i feel like i could maybe turn this into a short series and write one for the rest of the members if you like this one enough. anyway, this is my first fic on this blog, so if you enjoy it please do show it some love<3

“Excuse me, are you two a couple?”

You stop in your tracks at the question, staring at the stranger that was now blocking your way, as he stood in front of you and your boyfriend—a small mic in his hand and cameraman behind him recording the scene before him.

Your first instinct is to look up to Hyunjin, who is already tightening the hold of his hand on yours and pulling you closer to him.

“We are” he doesn’t hesitate to answer.

You find the confused yet protective crease between his eyebrows particularly cute right then, so you smile.

“Would you mind telling us the story of how you met?”

“Oh, you’re that guy?!” You jump in excitement.

Hyunjin’s frown only deepens for a moment, feeling like he is missing a chapter—or a whole book—when the guy in front eagerly nods his head and laughs at your sudden enthusiasm.

One look at you, however, and a glimpse of the smile lighting up your face, is enough for him to go with whatever it is happening right then.

“Baby, they make videos on TikTok asking couples how they met” you explain to him nonetheless, caressing the back of his hand with your thumb to ease the small tension he felt after seeing you interact so comfortably with another guy—a stranger one at that.

“Oh,” Hyunjin lets out, suddenly feeling embarrassed over how defensive he was until then. “We met at an art gallery” he tries to redeem himself by kindly answering the question.

“It was actually kinda funny” you add with a small giggle that has all three guys smiling at you.

“If that’s your way of saying we were one second away from committing a crime, then—”

“Oh, hush” you playfully shut him up, enjoying all too much the dramatic roll of eyes he gives you in response. “It wouldn’t have been a crime. I think”.

Your last addition earns a quiet chuckle from the cameraman, and you wonder if that’s making it into the final video.

“Long story short,” you begin. “I was admiring one of the sculptures, minding my own business, when out of nowhere someone bumped into me. I was caught off guard, of course, so I inevitably lost my balance and bumped into the base that was holding the sculpture” you can’t help but give your boyfriend an accusatory look. “I saw my life flash before my eyes when it started swaying in front of me”.

“I was fast enough to hold it in its place before it fell, though” Hyunjin chimes in before the blame is fully thrown at him. “And thankfully there were only, like, two other people in the room with us and they were too busy checking out the paintings on the walls, so after exchanging panicked looks with this cutie right here, we rushed out of there before we got scolded”.

“We laughed it off as soon as we were in the next room and we couldn’t care less about the stares we got” you explain amidst a small laugh. “It was kind of odd, in a good way, because it felt like we knew each other already”.

“Yeah, it was weird in the best of ways” Hyunjin agrees with an adoring smile. “I obviously wanted to get to know her after that, and I just happened to have an extra ticket to a paid exposition within the main one that day, so I offered it to her in order to apologise for bumping into her and she luckily said yes”.

“And then after that I invited him for coffee to thank him for the ticket”.

Hyunjin chuckles. “And then I asked her out for dinner that same night”.

“So it’s fair to say it was love at first sight?” The guy asks with a grin.

“Definitely” the two of you answer in unison, locking eyes at the realisation and smiling in a way that was hard to tell whether you were aware there were other people in the world.

“We pretty much got together that same day” you admit with a shy smile.

“How long have you guys been together?”

“Four years,” Hyunjin replies.

“Four years and two months” you specify, just for the sake of teasing him.

He smiles and bites his tongue not to add ‘and eleven days’, because that would only lead to you doing the math and figuring out the amount of hours as well, and then him having to figure out the amount of minutes if he wanted to win.

It is a battle you had gone through more than once already, and he refuses to go down that road again—not when there is a camera pointing at you and your whole interaction would be posted on the internet.

“Wow, that’s a long time” the man in front interrupts Hyunjin’s train of thought, bringing the mic closer to you. “What’s your favourite thing about him?”

“Oh, I don’t think I can choose just one” you timidly let him know, looking up to Hyunjin and feeling your cheeks burn as his chocolate eyes are already focused on you, awaiting for an answer. “I really love how sweet and attentive he is. He is always there for me and helps me get through my hardships, even before I even have to ask for his help”.

“And what is your favourite thing about her?” He now asks your boyfriend, who finds himself smiling brightly over your wholesome words and struggling to take his eyes away from you.

“Everything” Hyunjin replies truthfully once he manages to divert his eyes from you—just like you, finding it hard to choose just one thing he loves the most about you. “She’s the most caring and selfless person I’ve ever met. She’s always checking up on me and my family, making sure we’re all okay. And I also need to mention her smile, because whenever she smiles my day is immediately made”.

You give his hand a gentle squeeze and lean your head on his shoulder for a brief moment, unable to hide the emotional pout forming on your lips, as his answer managed to warm your heart.

“So what is the next step in your relationship?”

“Moving in together” Hyunjin answers in a heartbeat, and you are grateful that it doesn’t come off as a surprise, for you had talked about it before—otherwise your heart wouldn’t have been able to take the news of his upcoming plans with you. “We needed to figure a few things out before doing so, but…” he looks down at you, smiling sweetly when your eyes lock and you nod your head, encouraging him to go on. “It’s about time we finally start properly making our life together”.

“And your names are?”

“Y/N” you’re the first to answer.

“I’m Hyunjin” he says.

“Well, thank you so much for your time, Hyunjin and Y/N” the interviewer wraps it up with a smile. “I’m glad you guys are going strong and didn’t end up in jail that day”.

The two of you laugh, and you lean into your boyfriend when he lets go of your hand and gently places his arm over your shoulders instead.

Exchanging goodbyes after being informed that the video would be up the next day, you resume your walk to the all too familiar café around the corner—the one you were heading to before the impromptu street interview took place.

“So those are the kind of videos you’re watching all day…”

“Some of them,” you nod. “I’ve sent you a few here and there. Good to know you don’t actually watch them”.

“I do” he fights back, almost offended you believe he would ever disregard something you showed him. “I thought they were all staged, though. Didn’t know people actually got interviewed on the streets out of nowhere”.

“Is that why you were so defensive when they first approached us?” You laugh.

He huffs, making his bottom lip slightly stick out and having you internally fighting not to kiss him right then. “I thought he was asking if we were a couple in hopes of us not being one, so he could ask you out”.

“Asking me out out of nowhere when I’m walking hand in hand with a guy that is clearly my boyfriend, all while there is a whole cameraman recording us?” You tease with a tilt of your head.

“Hey, who knows?” he defends himself. “Can’t control what kind of weirdos are out there chasing after online views”.

“You’re so cute” you laugh breathily, pressing a soft kiss on his jawline. “We look too much like a couple, if you ask me. They would look stupid to even try”.

“Yeah… I think the hand holding and matching outfits give it away too well” he nods with a teasing smile, motioning to the colour palette you chose together that day.

“Thank God they caught us on a good outfit day” your relieved remark earns a laugh from him. “I can’t wait for the video to be up now, I love the way we met”.

“I know you do,” he softly rubs your hand with his thumb. “Which is why I was surprised you didn’t tell them the whole story”.

“What do you mean?” You frown.

Hyunjin amusedly shakes his head, remaining silent as you reach the café and he holds the door open for you to go in first.

When you’re invaded by the strong yet pleasing scent of coffee and reach the—thankfully—short line to order, he adds, “You left out the part where later on I admitted I intentionally bumped into you just so I could talk to you”.

You laugh at the memory.

It wasn’t like he wanted you to lose your balance and make you almost drop a sculpture that you would be paying until the end of your days, had it actually fallen down and smashed on the ground.

He was just going for a little shove on your shoulder with his own, just enough to make you turn around and allow him to apologise right after. But you were too pretty, and he was too nervous—that alone making him miscalculate the distance between your bodies and slam into your shoulder harder than he had intended to.

He came clean one month into your relationship—the guilt of almost getting you in trouble just because he wasn’t able to earn up the courage to go up and talk to you like any other normal person would, was becoming too much for him to keep a secret for any longer.

You were already in too deep by then to even care, though. If anything, you were flattered that he wanted to get to know you so bad that he ended up coming up with the most stupid—and risky—of ideas in order to do so.

“I thought you weren’t holding back when it came to embarrassing me” he confesses.

You chuckle, shaking your head in both amusement and embarrassment, before pulling him forward in line with you as the people in front do so as well.

“Well, if I did mention that, you would’ve told them about how I already had a ticket to the private exposition and lied about not having one just so I had a reason to stick with you, so…”

Hyunjin’s lips part into a beaming smile, pulling you to him and pressing a kiss to your temple.

Little white lies could sometimes be beneficial; especially when they led you to the best relationship you ever had—the one you were sure would last for the rest of your lives.

“You’re right” he agrees with a smirk. “The internet doesn’t need to know how desperate we both were to get to know each other”.

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sungiescheotluv · 2 months ago

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mirror muscles ⭑.ᐟ na jaemin

pairing: na jaemin x gender neutral reader

word count: 2.7k

tags/warnings: fluff, established relationship, suggestive, gym talk(?)

summary: doing your new resolutions with jaemin has always worked in your favor, most goals ticked off your lists. however, when you mention going to gym, jaemin's enthusiasm reaches new heights.

notes: hiyaaaa! it feels like forever since i last posted (two days omg 🙄) but i do hope you pretty stars enjoy this very indulgent fic! as an aspiring gym girlie, i'd do anything for this kind of princess treatment (particularly from jaemin 😋) also, the title of this is based on the soft play song with the same name (emo jisung, lemme give u some music recs). ok, i think i'm done here. wishing u all the best, much loveeee! <3

Note to self: never, under any circumstances, tell Jaemin your New Year’s resolution. Because one peek at your ambitious list and Jaemin will pry you from your warm bed, at the ass crack of dawn (might you add) to go to the gym because ‘nothing beats a morning pump.’

If you weren’t stupidly in love with him, you would’ve dropped a dumbbell on his toe.

How you get to this point is a lot more wholesome. Since the start of your relationship, once snow trickles down for Christmas, you two sit at your dining table with your laptops opened on Pinterest and pin-point what goals you'd like to achieve the following year. This way, you’re not shouldering your ambitions alone, having each other every step of the year as you tick off box after box. So far, you’ve managed to complete most of your goals. Go traveling, learn a new language, cook more home-cooked meals, limit screen time (still working on that) and many more. Jaemin was also progressing well: dedicating more time in his photography, reducing his coffee intake, going to bed earlier and visiting his mother more.

For this year’s moodboard, while collecting pictures of your next set of goals, fitness content shows up in your recommendations. People in pilates studios in their pastel pink gym-sets. The aesthetic draws you in, how content people feel moving their body besides getting their 10k steps a day in. More photos start showing up, people sculpting their pride in the gym, sharing personal stories of their fitness journey and how the gym has taught them so much about themselves. What they’re capable of, what they never thought they could do and what opportunities lie await now that they’re happier in themselves. It all seems promising, even more so when you reconsider how bright your best friend’s life’s become since making the choice. She’d rarely accompany you to a game of badminton and now she’s pioneering her own run-club, amassing a social media following the size of an army.

You’d have to ask her how to get started once she’s back from her influencer trip (maybe content creating is something you needed to hop on). Then again, peering over your laptop screen to Jaemin’s glowing face, you could simply ask him. He’s been consistently going to the gym for a while now, to the point where you fake-pleaded for SM to close their gym because your boyfriend's become too buff for you to function. He’s always been gorgeous, with a face that could charm a snake, but now that he’s carved like a Renaissance sculpture, you couldn’t form a coherent sentence around him. Of course, aesthetic reasons are what lured him into the space, but he relays it’s become a lot more than that for him.

“I want to be strong, not only to build my confidence but to also protect my loved ones,” he looks directly at you, a serious hue to his eyes. “It’s another form of self-love. Showing up for myself, proving I can do hard things, even when I don’t want to. That I can step out of my comfort zone, try new things and ultimately, live a longer life. Because at the end of the day, as much as I do this for me, I also do it so I can help you carry groceries. So that I can move furniture around when we move in together, be the one that my family calls if they need something physically demanding done,”

Fondness curves his lips, a flicker of timidity dart his eyes down to the desk before they flicker back up at you, astoundingly earnest as he says, “I’d also want to keep up with our kids. Carry them when they’re tired or run after them in a park. Those are my reasons.”

Something stutters in your chest. Then, leaps. Over the course of your three year relationship, it’s only natural that topics like this are mentioned, like marriage and children. Heck, you two shared a Pinterest board of decor ideas for the shared apartment you’d been on the lookout for. So, it shouldn't phase you but it does. How far into the future he sees with you. How he shares a bit of himself so effortlessly, in a way that lacks pressure and possesses good faith. Love and promise. All prominent themes throughout your relationship, one you thank your lucky stars for.

As a consequence, you flush. Folding like the early days of your relationships. “You’re getting bold these days. We haven’t even moved in together.”

“All in good time, angel,” he grins, looking a bit lovesick. “In any case, if this is something you wanna do, I’d be more than happy to help. Go to the gym with you so you don’t feel anxious, show you how to use the machines, get you workout clothes - whatever you want.”

You could marry this man.

You extend your arm across the wooden table, hand finding his as your fingers interlace, the same song and dance you’d hope you’d spend your life doing. “Thanks, baby.”

And now? Now, divorce weighs heavily on your mind.

In an effort to avoid the New Year’s crowd, Jaemin wakes you up early in the slum of days after Christmas where time doesn’t exist, cuddling into your half-sleeping figure with a gentle voice. Coaxes you to get up, slip on the new gym clothes you’d spent on his card (his treat, he said) and somehow, here you are, stinging eyes squinting under fluorescent lights with some EDM track playing faintly in the background.

“Oh, baby. Don’t look so down, you’re in good hands,” Jaemin coos, hand squishing your cheeks under your chin before pulling you into his chest, warm and comforting. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Couldn’t this wait until,” you glance at your fitness tracker, your own treat to yourself. “Midday? No one needs to be here at 9 am.”

“Maybe, but it’s a good way to start your day. Or get it out of the way,” he chuckles, spinning you out his arms before he wiggles his eyebrows. “Plus, who doesn’t want to see my muscles first thing in the morning?”

He drives home his point by kissing his bicep, something that should make you cringe out your skin or disappear without a trace, but no. Perhaps you’re still sleepy, shielding a snicker with your hand because of how lame (said adoringly) he is.

“You said you’d usually start off with thirty minutes on the treadmill, right?” You nod your head. “Okay, I’ll go with you. I’ll run for fifteen and row until you're done. So you don’t constantly have me in your ear.”

You laugh, because as grumpy as you’d been on the way here, you could never grow tired of him. All his carefree and mischief nature, his sweet and generous manner - you couldn’t even if you tried.

Few people populate the modern gym, near to none in the cardio section as Jaemin refreshes your memory on all the buttons before you begin. Beside you, he does sporadic sprints, no heavy breaths clouding his chatter with you. You, on the other hand, keep it relatively reserved for your first time, upping the speed when you want to challenge yourself, surprising yourself with the distance and time that flies by. Soon enough, Jaemin’s squeezing your hand and moving a few rows back where the rowing machines are, leaving you with your walking playlist.

Again, in a flash, time passes by, upbeat songs blaring in your headphones that make you dance through the next fifteen minutes, a simmer of sadness coming when you’ve reached time with a whole host of songs still in the queue.

“You can listen to them next time,” Jaemin winks before leading you into a dark, LED room dotted with mirrors and yoga mats. This is one of the rooms booked for classes, but for now, it’s your stretching area where you cycle through some stretches and Jaemin jokes about folding you like a pretzel.

The one other person in the room - a woman in her thirties - coughs, before smirking your way, the heat of your embarrassment migrating to your cheeks as you swat at Jaemin. He simply laughs, stretching to reveal his happy trail and suddenly, you forget why you’re even mad.

When you’re finished, he shows you different sections - an assortment of cable machines, the weights area and then to an area with more machines. There’s a few people occupying the machines, immersed in their own world with flushed cheeks and sweat seeping into their clothes. It fills you with relief, that no one’s focused on you and your sweating figure as if you had ‘gym newbie’ written across your forehead. Jaemin shows you some of the machines he uses, depending on what he wants to work out but for the most part, lets you decide what machines you’d want to use - if any.

“Why do I need to put on muscle? You putting me in a headlock is good enough.” You fake-complain, feeding off the gentle approach Jaemin’s taken in trying to convert you to a gym rat.

“And you say I’m the dirty one,” he tsks with a matching grin. “You don’t need to do anything. All I’m doing is showing you the options you have. The more things you try, the more likely you’ll find something you lik-”

“Is that the slut machine?”

Jaemin’s head jerks back, eyebrows pinching together in confusion. “What are you talking about?’

“This one,” you approach the machine closeby, pointing to the photo attached along with its actual name - hip adduction. “Isn’t this the one where people like, open their legs like crazy?”

Jaemin shakes his head, amusement in the smile he swipes with his hand. “Yes, it is. Wanna give it a go?”

“Hell yeah,” you climb into the machine in a rush, finding the experience more exciting than scary as Jaemin makes sure everything is in order. “This is gonna be hilarious.”

“I’m setting it to a low weight. If it’s too easy, we’ll move it upwards and try and find your range,” he comments, looking at you through his silver hair. “You ready?”

“Ready,” and you go, the weight moving like nothing, so much so that when it sets back to its original position, you’re more caught off guard by how far apart your legs are spread. “This is so raunchy, ohmygod.”

“Good thing it’s facing the wall,” Jaemin laughs at you shielding in between your legs. He ups the weight, the number looking a lot scarier than anticipated. “Let’s try this then. You should be able to rep 10 of these.”

You shuffle, a bit unconvinced. Taking a breath, you engage the machine, exerting more effort than before but managing to do one rep. Then two, then three all the way up to ten. Enough to challenge you, but not strain you.

Jaemin howls, pinching your cheek as he says, “Look at you go! That was great.”

“Thank you,” you huff, the tingle in your thighs somehow the source of the happiness in your chest. “That was really fun, actually.”

“Isn’t it?” Jaemin smiles, using some paper towel to wipe after the machine for you. “Usually people do about three sets of those. Reps depend on what you want to do - build endurance, muscle strength, all that. But that was really great, I’m so proud of you.”

And you feel proud of yourself too. Having tried something new, feeling unsure but leaning into the feeling. Letting yourself see how far you can extend yourself, pleasantly surprised with the distance.

So, this was what Jaemin was on about.

You continue your morning like this, getting a personalised tutoring session in how certain machines works and what areas they work out. Jaemin runs through his leg day, since you two were on the hip adduction machine, enjoying more exercises like leg press and goblet squats. By the time you get to the hip thrust machine to try, someone’s occupying it. Jaemin suggests using the squat rack, the scary thing with a long barbell and weights attached to it. Sensing your apprehension, Jaemin lets you know he’s got you, coaching you through the exercise and any queries you may have about movement or positioning. Eventually, it’s your turn to lean against the incline bench and despite your fear, you work your way through 8 hip thrusts. You don’t nearly enjoy it as much as people online talk about it, which Jaemin says,

“That’s perfectly fine. There’s so many exercises that work the same areas. You’ll find one you prefer.”

Finished for your session, Jaemin asks for you to hold tight while he does some deadlifts. It’s maddening watching him pick up such heavy weights, concentration knitting his eyebrows together with his exposed arms flexing under the tension. Wearing a sleeveless top for the gym in theory is great, but for your mental health? Bad, so bad.

Because even if your body rings with exhaustion, the kind that’s refreshing and ensures a peaceful slumber, you’re about ready to jump his bone.

Ill with lust, as you’d joke.

Jaemin snickers, snapping his waist belt off with one hand, which shouldn’t be sexy but is. Your eyes then trail to the barbell, the memory of Jaemin’s set vivid in your mind.

“Did you wanna try it?” Jaemin asks, reading your mind. “We can start off with no weights. Just the barbell. There’s also different variations of a deadlift, let’s see which one you prefer.”

Out of the three, you pick the most conventional one to start with, teeth sinking into your bottom lip at what you’ve gotten yourself into. Particularly after Jaemin loads weights on each end when you've rehearsed with the barbell.

“Think of the barbell cutting your feet in half - not standing too close so that your shins are touching it and not too far away that you have to lean to grab it,” Jaemin coaches, your feet shuffling into the right position. “Nice. Let’s move onto the hinge movement,”

From behind you, his hands settle onto your hips, pulling them back with him. He pats them, a chuckle left in his wake as he steps to your side to demonstrate without overly being horny.

Bastard.

“Like you just did, you’ve gotta hinge your hips backwards until you can’t hinge anymore. Then, you’ll move a little into your knees, like a squat almost so you can grab the barbell,” you follow along, the barbell cold against your hands as you blow a breath.

“Great. Keep your body tense, engage your core and glutes. No arch,” his hand hovers over the arch of your back, something teasing in his smile. “Show your chest, keep your head up straight and lift the barbell up. Remember to keep it close to your body before you lower it down with the same hinge movement and movement into your knees.”

You puff out another breath, the same fear you’ve conquered throughout the session whirring in your chest.

“Don’t worry, angel,” Jaemin smiles, moving behind you again with hovered hands around your figure. “I’ve got you. You’ve got you.”

Again, his words dawn on you. All the power in your hands, a feeling your heart wants nothing more than to run towards as you lift up the barbell, strength personified as you wait at the top of your stance, smiling at the “Let’s fucking go, you’re doing it! You’re doing it, angel!” in your ear. You hinge backwards, the weight knocked down to the floor with no tension on your back as expected.

Once you’re upright again, Jaemin engulfs you in a backhug, lifting your figure off the floor and kissing your neck, drawing giggles out of you. Joy moves through your body like warm light at his excitement that exceeds your own, belief not setting in quite yet.

“I can’t believe you,” he coos, the mirror ahead of you capturing the embrace he holds you in, the elation in his eyes as he does nothing but adore you. Like he’s always done. “Actually, I can. You’ve got a laundry list of things you’re good at. Can you believe it?”

“Not originally,” you admit, the confession somewhat bittersweet. “But after this, I think I’d better have more faith in myself.”

Fondness finds itself in his lips again, a kiss against your cheek as he gently guides you out the way, lifting the barbell onto the rack with his gaze in the mirror directed to yours.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

And you fall into laughter, helping him slid off the weights before flexing in the mirror like you wanted, finding a different strength in yourself with Jaemin by your side.

#nct dream fic #jaemin x reader #nct jaemin #na jaemin #nct dream fics #na jaemin x reader #nct dream #nct dream x reader #nct dream fanfic #nct dream fluff #na jaemin fluff #na jaemin imagines #na jaemin x you #jaemin fluff #jaemin imagines #jaemin x you #nct jaemin x reader #sungiescheotluv fics ૮꒰ ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ྀི꒱

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ofbatsandballads · 3 months ago

Text

pretty little birds

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 2.2k

warnings: suggestive content, reader works at the Iceberg Lounge as a server/dancer/informant for Oz, slight objectification from Oz, reader described as having long hair but no other physical descriptions, slight implication of potential SA (nothing happens, just concern over it)

a/n: been thinking of Jason with a girl who works at the Iceberg Lounge ever since I watched The Batman and saw Selina’s gorgeous self working there. something about her and Bruce’s dynamic was very alluring and I realized how much better it would work with Jason so this was born. might make this a series, might not; who knows? not me! also if you want a nice visual aid for the club, I fully based it off the Gotham Knights version of the lounge.

divider credit: strangergraphics

Jason wasn’t a fan of the Iceberg Lounge. He’d been there plenty of times for missions, for reconnaissance, to beat the shit out of Oswald—it didn’t mean he liked it there. The club was ostentatious, loud and vulgar like everything that went on within it. He always scoffed when he saw it during patrol. An actual iceberg exterior; how corny could Cobblepot get?

He did have to admit that it was nicer inside. The marble floors, balconies, and columns lended an elegance to the place that it didn’t deserve. The neon blues and pinks of the lighting served to disorient, to intoxicate alongside the drinks that were served across the bar and the drugs that were passed behind it. The massive penguin ice sculpture in the center was tacky though. Jason could think of a million better design choices than that.

All this to say that he wasn’t thrilled to be sent to the club per Bruce’s orders of seeing if Oz was still as legit as he claimed. He wasn’t. They all knew it but B needed proof. Jason’s sure by proof Bruce meant that he wanted him to go undercover, but one of the advantages of being Red Hood is that he can go where the other Bats can’t. That distinction is how he finds himself stalking the club from his vantage point in the shadows.

It’s busy tonight. The main floor is crowded with people. Bodies push and pull to the rhythm of the music that blares from the speakers. As tightly crammed as the floor is, the servers still manage to weave through with a practiced grace. They’re all in various states of undress; short skirts, crop tops, some in straight up underwear. Jason recognizes the servers for what Cobblepot intends them to be: a distraction. They’re all young and beautiful—pretty girls and boys that are meant to draw your eye so you don’t see the money and the drugs that pass between their hands.

Jason zeroes in on the two working the floor for any indication of something illegal. Oswald’s been smarter since his last stint in Blackgate. He lets the filth of the city do their deals in his club while he himself is never caught up in it. The argument of “well I didn’t do it” usually wouldn’t hold up legally, but this is Gotham. His eyes track the man first. He’s weaving in and out, laughing with what must be the regulars. He’s charming them, plying them with more and more alcohol to stay longer, to spend more money. He’s not doing anything more than that, though, to Jason’s utmost disappointment. He turns his attention to the girl instead.

The difference between the two of you is so obvious it’s almost amusing. While the guy weaved fluidly through the throng of people like something unseen, the crowd itself seems to part for you. Recognition, some degree of respect, power—that’s what you’ve got over the drunken group of people. He immediately knows that his best bet will be with you. Everything about you echoes the pull you must have in the club. The way you walk, how you smile at the regulars, the drifting of your hands across shoulders and backs and jawlines. It’s even clear in the way you’re dressed. You look like something out of a cabaret show. Pink silk lingerie lined with black lace flowers, black fringe beads that form the idea of a skirt rather than an actual one, and those same beads hanging in alluring arcs across your arms, neck, and chest. You’re dressed up like Penguin’s favorite dream.

You’re also not doing anything illegal. Sure, he’s watched you take money from people, but all you bring back are drinks. He watches for over half an hour, eyes always trailing back to you. Nothing. It’s remarkable how much absolutely nothing he’s seen. His patience is wearing thin. It’s one in the morning and there are better things he could be doing, people he could be helping. But he can’t leave without something for Bruce. He tries to ignore the bile that rises in his throat when he thinks of why he still cares about disappointing him. His eyebrow twitches and he decides suddenly and definitively: fuck it.

So he kicks in Penguin’s office doors.

“Ah, Red Hood. If it ain’t Gotham’s least favorite vigilante,” Oswald mutters past the cigar in his mouth. “Shut the doors behind you, would ya?”

Jason kicks them shut. No one needs to see the bloody mess that Oswald’s going to be in about fifteen minutes.

“Ah ah ah. Before you get any ideas, I would advise you to consider how bad it would be for you to be caught assaulting a reformed citizen of this great city,” Oswald gloats, stubby finger pointing at the camera in the corner.

Fuck. Now Jason has to talk. He hates talking to Cobblepot. It gets you approximately nowhere fast.

“Reformed? We both know you’re full of shit, Oz,” Red Hood taunts.

“I’m on the straight and narrow. Scout’s honor,” Penguin laughs, coughing through the harsh inhale he took of his cigar.

Nowhere. Fast.

“You’re bringing in too much money for that to be true. Your parties aren’t that good, Cobblepot.”

“Eh, you haven’t seen my toys. Most of ‘em come for the pretty little things I keep around.”

“So you’re pimping them out? You see that I can work with,” Hood retorts.

It would make sense, Oz getting his servers into sex work. It’s not the worst thing he could do if they were all willing. And if they weren’t? Well, that gives Jason a nice excuse to finally put a bullet through The Penguin.

“You don’t listen too well, do you? I’m a changed man. People can look at my dolls, but they can’t touch. Everyone loves eye candy,” Oswald says.

The doors open just as Jason considers pulling a gun on Oswald, cameras recording him or not.

“And there’s my favorite. What do ya need, doll?”

Jason watches you saunter in. You move with an almost feline gracefulness. His eyes clock the sway of your hips and the way you toss your hair over your shoulder. Then he watches the way Cobblepot’s pupils dilate as his eyes lock on you. You plant your hands on the desk, bend over as you smile saccharine at the old man sitting behind it. Oh, you’re good. Very good.

“Nothing much. Just that DA wanting his usual,” you say.

Oswald’s eyes rake lecherously over your body. He looks at you like he wants to put you in one of the glass cases that decorate his office. It makes Jason’s stomach turn. Then he pulls a key out from a locked drawer and drops it into your open palm. Now that piques his interest.

“Thanks, Oz,” you say sweetly.

As you straighten up and spin around to leave, Penguin grabs your wrist and yanks you back. He leaves one kiss on the inside of your wrist and that pretty facade cracks. It’s only for a second, so quick that Oswald doesn’t see it. Jason does. Disgust. Pure disgust flashes across your face before it’s replaced by an alluring smile. Your eyes spark with something Jason can’t quite read.

“Mind if I get some too, Ozzie? You know how much I like it,” you ask as you play with the beads that dangle on your chest.

“Sure, doll. Take whatever you want,” Oswald acquiesces.

Your face lights up and you look almost victorious. Then you spin around and head towards the doors. To this point you haven’t acknowledged him, the known vigilante, at all. But just before you leave, you pause right next to him. Jason tries not to flinch as your hand runs up his arm.

“I hope you’ve enjoyed your night here. Next time, feel free to ask for anything you want. Wouldn’t want Oz’s guests to get bored,” you purr.

Your eyes lock with the white lenses of his domino mask and Jason feels the air leave his lungs. You’d seen him. You knew he was there the whole fucking time. And you hadn’t told anyone. If you had, Cobblepot would’ve sent security in guns blazing.

“Have a good night, honey,” you tell him as you waltz out the door.

“See, Hood? Eye candy,” Oz hacks.

Jason follows you. What else was he supposed to do? Oswald gave him nothing. But you? You gave him what felt suspiciously like a lead. Ask for anything you want, you’d said. What else could you think he wanted but proof of Oswald’s lingering corruption? So he follows you. He’s careful this time. Quiet, precise steps that give no indication he’s near. It’s times like these he’s grateful for all the stealth training Bruce made him do as a kid.

He trails behind as you head downstairs. You weave through the maze of corridors until you come to a mahogany door, elaborately carved with floral emblems. It’s got an old brass lock on it that you slot the key into. Jason waits one beat, two, three—then goes through the door where you disappeared.

He finds you inside, crouching in front of an open safe. A rainbow of jewels glitter within. Diamonds, rubies, emeralds—there had to be enough jewelry in there to cover the cost of a couple of Bruce’s tricked out sports cars. You pull a more modest sapphire necklace from the safe and place it into one of the grab bags that guests can take home at the end of the night. So that’s what the DA wanted. You grab a far more ostentatious diamond bracelet and slip it into your bra.

“Think it’s a good idea to steal from your boss?”

You jump. Jason doesn’t want to admit how satisfied he is by that. He was a little worried that he’d lost his touch. You twirl around, eyes locked on the vigilante leaning against the closed door.

“Hmm…when I’ve got him wrapped around my finger? Why not?” you smirk.

You’re brave. He’ll give you that.

“Must really be putting on a show for him if you’re not worried,” he presses.

Your smile drops and your eye twitches in annoyance. He’s hit a nerve. Good.

“A show. That’s all it is. If he’s stupid enough to think it’ll be more than that, that’s his problem,” you bite, tone dripping venom instead of honey.

“Not scared he’ll realize the trick? Or what he’ll do when he does?” Red Hood asks as he fiddles with a knife he keeps in his belt.

He asks with sincerity. It’s a dangerous game you’re playing. You could end up dead. Or worse. Jason’s no stranger to people taking what they want by force, and Oz clearly wants you.

“Oswald’s a coward,” you reply harshly. “He only fucks with people weaker than him. So no, I’m not scared of toying with him. He won’t do a goddamn thing to me.”

Jason cocks his head, sizing you up. A pretty girl in lingerie working in a club thinks she’s stronger than a crime lord. Well, you’re probably not wrong.

“You’re not weak?” he asks mockingly.

But it’s still fun to test your resolve. To your credit and Jason’s surprise, you just grin. A breathy laugh falls from your red lips and Jason can’t help the way his eyes flicker down to look at the curve of them.

“I got this without so much as a fight, didn’t I?” you gloat, grabbing the diamond bracelet and swinging it around your middle finger.

“He let you.”

“Precisely. What exactly are you missing here? He let me. Because he’s a fool. And to let me take this bracelet specifically? Well, he’s just about the village idiot,” you laugh.

Jason sees the bait. His stubbornness almost makes him want to not ask just to spite you. But it’s just too intriguing.

“What’s so special about that bracelet?”

You smile wryly. Jason’s reflexes are the only reason he catches the bracelet as you toss it to him from across the room.

“Oh, I think you’re smart enough to figure that one out yourself, baby,” you purr. “Now get the fuck out.”

Jason does as he’s told. He returns to the cave with no intel beyond a locked room with a safe full of jewels and a diamond bracelet. Imagine his shock when Bruce analyzes the serial markings of the bracelet and finds that it was part of a collection that got robbed from a boutique in the Diamond District. It had been months and they hadn’t found a single piece of jewelry from the robbery. There were no leads on who did it or how. And now one of the most expensive pieces is sitting on the Batcomputer. Jason can guess where the rest are.

“Who gave you this?” Bruce asks skeptically.

Always doubt with the old man.

“A friend. Maybe,” Jason ponders.

Bruce rolls his eyes and shakes his head. Jason grins at how exhausted all his kids make him. It’s a point of pride among them: who can stress out B the most?

“You should figure that out,” Bruce scolds.

“Yeah, I think I will.”

Jason’s suddenly got a very vested interest in the Iceberg Lounge, and he’s going to satiate that curiosity if it kills him again.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x reader #red hood x you #remy writes 🖋️#hellooo folks! here’s that jay meets reader at the iceberg lounge fic I mentioned #also I’m probably definitely gonna make this a series. it’s just got so much potential.#kinda feel like this is a bit messy? not my best work but I like the idea so it’ll do for now #Jay’s such a little shit here. snide motherfucker. feel like he’s a bit more comic accurate here than I usually make him.

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zweetpea · 5 months ago

Text

Mrs. “Wayne”

Content warning: Swears, Arranged Marriage, talks of having an heir, Mentions of Bruce’s Affairs, Nightwing x Starfire mentioned

Based on this since no one else has done it (or at least not that I've seen...)

BTW guys if you want to write something based off something I write I ask that you tag me in it. (Unless it's like a broad thing... like if you see my post about Bruce bringing home a girl that he met and married that day then write a fic around that idea I ask that you credit me, but if you see my Yandere Bruce x reader and decide to make a "baby fever! Bruce x reader" that's more general so I don't think it would be fair of me to ask for credit.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Honey I know you're angry with us but it's what’s best for you. He's the richest man in the country." Your mother fixed your veil.

"He's a whore. And what's worse is that he doesn't even consider how it even affects his kids. I just picks up orphans off the street like they're lucky pennies or a 20 dollar bill for him." You grimaced.

"You know what a..." She sounded appalled. "20 dollar bill is? Oh how I've failed you as a mother."

"Don't be so dramatic." You rolled your eyes.

"Are you ready to go?" Your father entered into the private room. "You look beautiful Princess."

"Thanks dad."

"Come on." He grabbed your hand as you grabbed the bouquet. You wrapped your arm around his as you two walked down the isle to your soon-to-be husband, Bruce "Brucie" Wayne.

You looked down through the entire ceremony, up until the Vows. Brucie's were short and sweet. "We may not know each other too well but I swear to be loyal, thoughtful, and truthful through our entire marriage." At which you heard a faint snort from the front row. You slightly glance over and see a young man a few years younger than you trying to hold laughter, his white streak bobbing as he shook with laughter. Brucie's glaring at him.

You turned back to your inevitable spouse and said your vows. "I promise to stand by your side in all your endeavors, even if that means adopting 10 more orphans you pick up from the streets like they were stray cats." You said in a monotonous voice.

You two finish off the ceremony with the standard ceremonial officiator speach.

"Do you Bruce Wayne take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

"I do."

He turns to me. "Do you-"

"I do." You cut him off. Surprising everyone with how forward that was. Some whispers were heard amongst the crowd, undoubtedly calling you a gold digger for being so eager to get this ceremony over with.

"Well at least she's eager! That's almost gotta ensure this marriage lasts right?" The officiator jokes to ease the tension. "If anyone objects to this marriage please speak now or forever hold your peace." The same young man who was laughing held up his hand but it was pushed down by a man about your age sitting next to him. "Then you may now kiss the bride."

You and your new husband shared a chaste kiss before you ran down the isle and out to the limo. And after a short drive you made it to the spot where you were scheduled to take your wedding photos and have the reception.

The reception was void of life, stuffy, like all those galas your parents forced you to attend. Hopefully this didn't end up like one of the incidents of Brucie flirting with milfs, sticking his tongue down a young squeezes throat, or twerking on ice sculptures.

Eventually Brucie takes you over to the loudest table in the place. "Wifey, these are my kids and co. Dick my oldest, the trouble maker who laughed during the ceremony is Jason, my oldest daughter Cass, the middles Stephanie and Tim, and Damian my youngest. Then there's Barbara Commissioner Gordons daughter, and our newest member of our family Duke."

"I'm the only blood child." Damian points out.

"Let's hope debauchery isn't hereditary."

Jason bursts out laughing at that. "I like her already."

"Really? Cause I had to hold your hand like a toddler during the ceremony to keep you from throwing a tantrum like a toddler." Dick points out.

"Can you blame me Dickie. She's your age. If anyone should be having a hissy fit it's you. Well you and maybe Babs."

"But we're not. So can't you be mature about this."

"I think Todd's lack of manners have become more acceptable considering what she said. Now it stands out less. Congrats Todd, you're now the family's second biggest embarrassment." Damian rolled his eyes.

"Haha" You laughed sarcastically. "What are you stray cats fighting over anyway that has you so rowdy? Someone throw out a can on anchovies?"

"No we're just excited to have a new Mom." Dick smiled at you.

"Oh looks like my new Father-in-law is calling me over for some business talk. I'll be back, Wifey. You just stay here and mingle." Your husband walks away and you turn back to the Brucie bunch.

"I know you guys probably don't like me or find it weird that I'm so close to your guys ages. Do me a favor and just put up with me for say five to ten years." They looked at you confused so you elaborate. "Brucie and I signed a prenup that if I asked for a divorce I'd get nothing. But give it a few years and he'll find a new fling. They'll get caught and he'll ask for a divorce to save his image. Don't worry I'll only ask for at most a million. Standard sum for a celebrity of his caliber."

Damian glares at you. "You skank."

"I'm being realistic. As a woman in high society you get to be a man's pretty young thing till you're 40. By then you've either started your own multi-million dollar business or you're the divorced crone who can't do any better. Most relationships of this caliber are shams held together by pool boys and secretaries. Or the few lucky ones that got married for love instead of PR."

"Bruce isn't like that." Tim defends.

"Oh please. I've seen him go to a date with a woman and leave with two completely different women than the woman he arrived with." You rolled your eyes

"Maybe when he was younger, but he's changed." Duke stood up to confront you.

"It's nothing personal kids, it's just business. I don't care if that's how he chooses to live his life. I won't be around much to see it anyway, I'm going to be rather busy." You shrugged, seemingly above it all.

"Busy with what?" Cass glared.

"Trading stocks and such, preparing for the inevitable divorce. Maybe I'll go sponsor some artists or a theatre production if I'm bored. I don't know, but what I can tell you is that it's coming." You turn around to walk away and see Brucie already flirting with another woman. "And from the looks of it, it's coming sooner than we could've ever guessed." You smirked, feeling vindicated. The rest of them looked on in horror.

After the reception you two left on a rather uneventful honeymoon. The private villa was garish and gaudy. It felt like a petty excuse to flaunt his wealth especially because you two spent the entire trip sleeping in different rooms. And on top of all that half way through he up and left you with his black card and flew back to the mansion to deal with an "emergency". Your best guess was a whiny sugar baby was getting pissy.

At the end of the trip you flew back and had to catch an uber home. None of them even came to pick you up from the airport. Though with how they reacted to your statements at the reception could you really blame them?

Regardless you practically snuck into the mansion with the help of Alfred who showed you to a small guest room on the first floor. It had a single queen sized bed without even a comforter, just a white duvet, and on either side of the bed were nightstands.

"Thank you Alfred." You nodded to.

"You're welcome." He bows. "If there's anything else you need please feel free to inform me immediately."

"Brucie left this with me in his vacation home, can you give this back to him and tell him I said thank you for the take out?" You handed over the black card.

"Take out?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. And for letting me use the Wayneflix account while I was there. If I may make a slight suggestion, give your regency era shows more attention. Thank you Alfred. I'll go unpack now."

"I've already taken the liberty of unpacking your clothes into the wardrobe and dresser." He revealed.

"You didn't need to do that."

"I know you requested that I not but I felt I'd rather have your room ready for you than for you to stress when you arrived." He bowed.

"That's very sweet but I have a very particular system. My outfits all fit together in a specific way." You start to rearrange your clothes in the way you see fit.

"Might I learn how you like them so I can properly sort them next time?"

"No, it's okay. I can do my own laundry." You offered.

"Have you ever done your own laundry?" He raised an eyebrow accusingly.

"Well... no." You confessed. "But you already have like 14 other people's laundry to do. I don't want to be a bother. Besides I don't want you to waste a few weeks when it won't matter in a few years."

"So Master Damian has told me you've said. Nevertheless I'm willing to learn to do this if you are willing to learn how to do your own cooking and laundry."

"Why are you helping me?"

"I've met many people whom Master Wayne has brought into his life. You are the first who's actually wanted to fend for yourself. If you are running a long con into Master Wayne's pocket it's either the smartest or the dumbest plan I've ever seen concocted. Besides, many of the Wayne's don't currently reside here full time. Master Dick lives with his wife missus Koriand'r. Master Jason lives in a renovated greenhouse studio apartment. Miss Barbara and Miss Cassandra live as roommates. And Master Wayne lives in either his WayneTech or home Office. I have more than enough time to learn."

You genuinely smiled for the first time since you heard about the engagement. The two of you spent the rest of the day organizing clothes and making cookies.

"-And that is the difference between Light Academia and Pastel Academia.”

He looked stunned. "How do you keep all this straight?"

"It's just something I got into because I wanted to disassociate from my hopeless reality. I figured fake it till you make it right? Someday I could have a different, more quiet life. And finding subtle nuances between aesthetics is honestly fun. Like a game of spot the difference."

“Oh my! Look at the time! It’s already 4 o’clock!” Alfred looks stunned at the time.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spend four hours talking about this.”

"It's quite alright Missus Wayne."

"I'll go bring these to Brucie. Might as well let him know that he's not getting any inheritance from a tragic accident that happened to me."

"Master Wayne cares for you. I hope you know that. It may not be in the most... romantic measure... but I swear that he was not lying on your wedding day when he said he'd remain faithful to you." Alfred tried to reassure.

"If you say so Alfred." You gave him a small smile.

Alfred looked at her sadly as she walked away. He wished there was more he could do to help you fit in around the manor. Someone as grounded as you would be a good addition in Brice's life, he just knew it!

Later in the Batcave, Alfred confronted Bruce

"Master Wayne I have an idea on how to keep your new wife busy."

"Why should I care about what's she's doing with her life? I have more important things to do than to worry about than some nepo-baby throwing a tantrum.

"Why should you care? How about the fact that you have never had a serious relationship and making this work is crucial for your public image? How about the fact that she has given up her entire life to cater towards your brash decision after one petty comment Mr. West made about your love life?" Alfred started listing off reasons; becoming more irate as he did. "How about the fact that if she's not kept busy during the day she'll eventually stumble upon the entrance of the Batcave?"

That peaked Bruce's interest. "I'm listening." He swivels around in his chair.

"Offer her a job as the family's social media manager." Alfred proposed.

"What? Why?" Bruce looked at him, skeptically.

"She's very knowledgeable about different aesthetics and trend. She could make this family look..." He tried to find a nice word to describe them.

"Normal?" Bruce interrupts with an almost bored look on his face.

"I was going to say civil but that works too." Alfred shrugged as Bruce groaned. "Don't take it the wrong way Master Wayne. I love this Family with all my heart but you cannot deny that they can be a bit rowdy at times."

"A bit is an understatement. It would look good for your PR... fine. Go ask her... but If it is not up to Wayne Enterprise standards you're firing her for me!"

So that's what you've been doing for the past few months.

"Jason, I'm telling you, motorcycles are out! Most girls aren't going for the bad boy vibe anymore! They're into Timothée Chalamet!" You argued over the phone with Jason, Bruce's most rebellious child, even more so than the 12 year old pain in the ass! "Fine, we'll talk later. I have an unexpected visitor anyway." You looked behind you as Bruce entered.

Bruce made a habit of being loud around the house for her. You knew he was being exceptionally weird but you didn't exactly know why. You didn't really care all that much either.

He came up behind you and started to massage your shoulders. "Jason giving you trouble again."

"...yeah." You said shrinking into yourself. The one thing you hadn't quite gotten used to was Bruce's attempts to flirt with you. You knew that he wanted to keep public image favorable, but it didn't make sense why he flirted with you behind closed doors.

He leaned down and started kissing your exposed shoulders in your off the shoulder sweater dress. You wriggled out and away from him in discomfort and he looked at you puzzled. "What's wrong?"

"I don't like you touching me." You confessed. "I don't- ...I don't see us that way... I'm sorry."

He sat on the edge of your desk. "You have nothing to apologize for. I'm the one who should apologize. It's just that... we haven't done anything yet and-"

"And what? You think I'm a slut that's just going to put out for you?" You interrupted.

"No! I just meant that you were probably wanting me to... be more romantic... I thought you'd want me to instigate something..." He stood there, not knowing what to do.

"Well you thought wrong." You left your office angrily. You stomped out of there and went to the library. You looked over all the books they had. Classics like the Iliad and Crime and Punishment to so many romance novels. But one book in particular caught your interest. The History of Taxes.

"Who wants to read about taxes?" You cringed. The book looked relatively untouched. 'Typical,' you thought. 'Rich people can't even be bothered to try and read the books they have in their house.' She went to pull it out and found the bookshelf moving.

On the other side was the answer to one of the greatest mysteries she's had since she came to Gotham, "Who is Batman and Co?"

There it was! The Batcave and All it's glory...

Oh... the bags under his eye of sleepless nights, the flirty persona, the stomping around trying to make his presence known to you.

"Bruce Wayne is Batman..." No sooner had you said those words did you feel a sharp pain in the back of your head and the world fade into darkness...

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flemingology · 6 months ago

Text

morning bliss ─ leah williamson x reader

in which: it's leah's birthday and you surprise her, in a slightly different way

warnings: smut (18+), oral (r giving), fingering (r giving), dirty talk

wc: 2.1K

a/n: based on this request. struggled to get this one over the line and not really pleased with how it turned out but hope you enjoy!

March 29th. Leah's 27th birthday. You'd mapped out this day ages ago, meticulously arranging and fitting every surprise you had for her in the plan of action for the day – making sure Leah got to soak up all the birthday love. It didn't come often that you could properly celebrate her birthday. A schedule as busy as hers wasn't very forgiving, the calendar hung on the wall in your home office always littered with Leah's appointments throughout the week. It went much further than just training sessions and games. It was media, events, shoots, and so on. To have a day off on her birthday was a wonder, and you wanted to make use of it.

The breeze of an early spring morning is what caused you to wake up today. The rising sun cast a golden glow upon your shared room, giving off some of its warmth in the process. You heard a deep exhale coming from the sleeping figure of your blonde lover, limbs entangled with yours and her back pulled flush against your chest. She was still fast asleep, remnants of a late night at the training centre because she was pulled into a few unexpected meetings.

You carded a hand through her blonde locks, pressing a soft kiss against the back of her head which caused her to stir against you, but she didn't wake up. You let your hands roam over her side, reveling in the feeling of her sculptured abdomen tensing up when your fingers roamed across them. Your fingertips ran lower down her body, brushing up and down her legs which caused goosebumps to form on her bare skin.

Spurred on by the way her warm skin felt against your fingertips, you pulled Leah's hair to the side and started pressing a couple soft, tender kisses against the nape of her neck. You could feel how tense the muscles were there, making a mental note to offer her a massage later in the day. You knew she put heaps of pressure on herself every day, not only to perform but also to be the best version of herself. You retreated your hand from her legs and pulled it back up to her upper body, sneaking it under her shirt and softly teasing one of her nipples, that hardened at the touch. A soft gasp escaped Leah's lips, her body nearing on the brink of waking up but not quite there yet.

You pulled her impossibly closer, licking a stripe from the juncture between her neck and collarbone right up to her ear, nipping on her earlobe before you pulled away. Right on cue, you heard a soft groan coming from your girlfriend who was still tightly tucked against your chest. "Good morning, baby," she groggily said. "Good morning it is," you quipped back before lowering your head. "Let me show you how much better I can make it," you whispered in Leah's ear before you carefully flipped the two of you over, not wanting to startle her too much seen as she had just woken up. She sat up against the pillows, making herself comfortable while you trailed kisses down her body.

You played with the hem of her shirt and silently asked for permission to take it off, Leah nodding and giving you a lopsided grin. You could still see the tiredness on her face but it was fading quickly, excited about what was coming her way. You immediately latched your mouth onto one of Leah's nipples and rubbed the other between your thumb and index finger, not teasing and torturing her like you normally would. It was her special day today, so you figured you should go easy on her and just give her what you knew she wanted.

Leah's hands quickly nestled themselves into your hair, tugging harshly whenever a particularly good swirl of your tongue around her nipples made a spark of arousal go down between her legs. Before long you detached your mouth from her breasts and lowered yourself, littering her stomach with kisses and leaving a mark every now and then – sucking and biting on the skin before soothing the sting with a languid lick of your tongue.

"Fuck, baby. This is surely one way to wake me," you grinned against her skin and looked up at her through your eyelashes. "Figured you'd enjoy it. Lay back and relax, Le. Today's about you," you told her before going back to the task at hand, now finally having reached the waistband of her shorts. You looked up at her in silent question and before you could even register a response, she was already lifting her hips from the bed allowing you to slip off the last two pieces of clothing that were putting a border between your bodies.

"You undress too, please," you took a look at yourself to realize you were still fully clothed, quickly getting rid of her your sleep shirt and sweatpants, leaving you in just your underwear as you turned your attention back onto your girlfriend, who was eagerly waiting to be touched. You lowered your head down between her legs which she instinctively spread, the action causing you to smile but you decided not to tease her about it.

You wet your lips and dove straight in, licking a long, slow stripe from Leah's entrance up until her sensitive bundle of nerves sitting exposed at the top, begging for attention. Your action earned you a deep groan from Leah, whose hands fisted your hair. "You taste incredible, baby," you mumbled against her. The vibrations of your voice against her core sent jolts of pleasure through her body, throwing her head back and biting her lip to conceal a near-pornographic moan.

"Eyes on me, Le. And I want to hear you, please," you said before continuing your ministrations, focusing on making her feel as good as you possibly could. You hooked your arms under her thighs and pulled her closer to you, positioning her legs over your shoulders. You took her clit in your mouth and started expertly sucking and flicking your tongue across it, while bringing your other hand up and teasing her sopping entrance with a finger. "God, you're soaked. All for me, hmm?", you teased her. She quipped back with a grunt, while rolling her hips into your hand trying to create more friction than what you were giving her.

"I need you inside me, please," Leah whimpered, and you repositioned yourself so that you could comfortably work your arm between her legs. You gathered some arousal from her entrance and spread it through her folds, making a wet mess from her core. Not wanting her to get overly sensitive from the wetness, you trailed your fingers back down and carefully started pushing one inside of her entrance.

"Oh shit," Leah cursed as her back arched off the bed. If any tiredness was still lingering, you were certain that it'd be gone now. You felt how tight her tunnel closed around your fingers and stilled them to let her adjust, not wanting to cause her any pain. Soon enough Leah began to move her hips, looking for more friction so you filled her to the hilt, knuckles brushing against her folds. You slowly pulled out, before pushing a second finger inside of her entrance.

A particularly loud moan escaping your girlfriend's lips filled you with lust, starting to slam your fingers in and out of her. You could feel the bed move beneath you with every thrust, tightening the grip you had on one of her thighs so her body didn't move away from you at the sheer force of your thrusts.

"Oh," Leah started but got interrupted by one of her own moans. "Oh God, that's good. Fuck. You fuck me so good," her words spurred you on as you tried a third finger, feeling how her walls stretched to accommodate to another finger. "Fuck, you're so wet for me, Le. You're sucking my fingers in, it's so hot."

You got lost in a trance as you watched Leah's core suck in your fingers every time you pulled them back, walls clenching around your digits to keep hold of them. You were still pistoning your fingers in and out of Leah's core as you felt her hand tap the top of your head, immediately slowing your thrusts. You looked up at her with a concern-filled gaze, immediately relaxing when you saw a satisfied, worn out look on her face. "I want you up here with me when I cum, please."

A loving smile spread across your lips upon hearing those words, basking in the softness of the moment. "Anything for you", you quipped back before moving back up her body, making sure your fingers stayed inside of her to not rid her of any pleasure. Admittedly it wasn't the most comfortable, but you angled your body around Leah's to be as close as possible to her, but not to rest any weight on her. You held yourself up on your arm as you pressed a tender kiss against her neck while you started thrusting your fingers again in a steady pace.

One of Leah's hands tangled itself in your hair again, while the other wrapped around the back of your neck keeping you close to her. Profanities fell from her lips as you could feel – by the way she was tightening around your fingers – she was growing closer to her peak. Albeit her moans growing louder, you could feel that she needed something more to finish her off, to tip her over the edge. You leaned your head down and nipped on her earlobe before you whispered. "You feel so good around my fingers, Le. I love the feeling of being inside of you," you heard how her breath hitched before she let out another high-pitched moan.

"You wanna cum for me, baby? Wanna cum around my fingers? You look so beautiful like this, all spread out for me," you whispered further before licking a stripe up from the base of Leah's neck back up to her ear. Right on cue you could feel how her core gripped your fingers tight, muscles spasming around your fingers. Her face was overcome with pure bliss, throwing her head back into the pillows and letting out a few near pornographic moans that would surely let the neighbors know about your activities this morning.

You started to slow down your thrusts, not wanting to overstimulate your girlfriend but also wanting to draw out her pleasure as long as possible. A tired, satisfied smile overcame her face when her muscles finally relaxed, sinking deeper into the mattress and against the pillows. You waited until she opened her eyes and looked at you to pull your fingers out of her still dripping wet core, before you brought your fingers up to your mouth. You teasingly bobbed your head up and down while sucking Leah's juices off your fingers, to which she groaned and bit her lip. You leaned forward and bit her bottom lip. "Happy birthday, my love."

"Fuck, you're so hot. And you make me feel so good. Thank you," you pushed a strand of hair out of her face and pressed a tender kiss against her lips, enjoying the sweet moment between the two of you before you inevitably had to get up and get started with your day. "If anyone is hot here, it's you. Honestly you should feel how wet I am right now, just from hearing you and from making you feel good," Leah chuckled at this and you could see a glint of mischief in her eyes. You could feel a hand that was starting to wander from your back towards your front and heading to the waistband of your underwear, but you stopped her ministrations before she could start anything.

"Nope," you started, popping the p. Leah retreated her hand with a pout. "Not right now. Today's about you, miss Williamson. To start you off I've made a reservation at that new brunch place a couple minutes from here," you said as a grateful smile spread across her face. You were not the one for big gestures, but you made her feel seen. She felt listened to.

"Well, I suppose we best get cleaned up," Leah started, a twinkle in her eye. "And we should save water, really," you cocked an eyebrow at her in fake confusion. She sighed and rolled herself out of bed, holding her arm out for you to get up too. "You, me, shower. Right now."

Safe to say you didn't make it to brunch in time.

#woso #woso community #woso imagine #woso x reader #leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #arsenal wfc #england wnt

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chlmtsdoll · 7 months ago

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hear me out….artashi x reader based on any song from short n sweet 🤭

YESSS OMG I was already planning a fic on this 🤭 you get it !

HOLD ME AND EXPLORE ME

18 + | smut ! threesome, p in v (unprotected sex), age gap sugar!baby reader, older Art & Tashi, petite!reader (sorry tall ppl, what did you expect?) kinda kinky (praise, bondage-ish) inspo from Juno bc yes ! I am short n sweet and yes ! I am so fucking horny 🩵

With the loads of studying and catching up on your sleep you had on your schedule being at the forefront of your week — you really should have been back home tucked away in your apartment, trying not to lose yourself to the anxiety of internships you had lined up by the clock.

No hanging out with friends, parties, or boys wasting your sweet time was enough to throw you of your high achieving attitude. With your kind nature and smaller figure, you were always shoved off as an easy pass kind of girl. But that couldn’t of been farther from the truth — you just had high standards for yourself. With a devotion to your status and a deep love for your own life and future, not one of your girlfriends would of believed that instead of disregarding another study session or wine meet up, you’d been on a plane heading across the country to visit Art and Tashi.

The only ones that could put a dent in your structured little bubble. The only two who could make a girl like you go crawling on her knees at the sound of a text sent.

The wealthy couple had you wrapped around their finger at the word and it had been the one guilty pleasure you weren’t afraid to admit — you got shit done. No matter what. So when it had been the husband and wife paying for your tuition and for you to look impeccable on any resume, meeting or simply just walking into a store to buy a new dress — of course you’d been there whenever they needed.

They’d dropped however much in an instant to have you flying out to see them right then, and you couldn’t say you weren’t deserving of a little fun after you wiped the floor with every girl in your fashion marketing courses.

You had curlers in the night before just to have your locks all full and bouncy for the couple when your arrival came. Well rested and ready for the little spark of enjoyment you had paused your lifestyle back at home for, just anything for the man and woman who treated you like their own always. You really did miss the smell of Tashi’s butter like skin, and the sight of Arts sculptured body on you like paradise. You were pushing your thighs together just at the mere thought of it in your seat — not even giving way to the public around you as your eyes were closed in bliss and you hummed to the music streaming throughout your ears.

Can’t help myself, hormones are high, give me more than just some butterflies

You were landing in New Rochelle when you could finally get a signal for your cell at last, and when the ding of your phone went off you nearly knocked all of your essentials from your lap to pick up your phone in a scurry to which you were revealed a message from Tashi.

Tashi

Hey baby, you should be landing soon.

Sending Art to pick you up from the airport.

Your little rose tinted cheeks we’re heating up just at the sight of the text as you bit your finger like a love-sick school girl and you replied to Tashi with a single ‘💗’. It was then that you were first to be off the flight after gathering your things — headphones still in tacked in your ears. It was funny to see college girls your age running to grab their luggage to haul a taxi when you knew you could take your sweet time embarking the baggage claim since you knew Art would have just gotten vip parking to come meet you with your bags. When you reached the lane you’d been given, you were waiting for your suit case to show when there was no way it could of gone unnoticed. Ever. You could of bet money that you’d been the only person there with shimmery pink luggage that had your name scribbled in sweet cursive letters on the name tag and a couple pearl key chains with your initials big enough for the whole airport to be unintentionally introduced.

When your bags did finally show up, you were reaching to grab hold of them before a pair of strong, yet pretty hands came clutching them for you instead..

“You aren’t a little afraid someone will try and mug you with those in?” Art chuckled as he peered at you with his expression prettier than ever before setting down your bags with a grin on his face, just showing his gorgeous teeth a tad and you had pulled out your ear bud as your face immediately lit up — with a small squeal you stood to your toes to wrap your arms around the tall man’s neck and he hugged you with a full laughter as your legs semi-danged from the ground. And although most of the crowd of people walking around the airport could of mistaken the two of you for being the ‘dad picks his daughter up from college’ kind of meeting, you had learned things like that wouldn’t get to your head since this was something you choose anyways.

“You found me so quick!” Your excitement bubbled from within as the blonde wrap himself into you and he pulled away, eager to look into your eyes that were astonishingly out of this world to him — he just wanted to see you. Take you in, all with a tenderness to his touch as he held your face in his hands along with a simper.

“Yeah. Wasn’t too bad though I’ll admit.. it isn’t very hard to miss you, baby girl.” Arts eyes flicked over to your luggage that was just shimmering and screamed over the top but sweet twenty something year old girl.

You giggled , “I like to travel in style.” Art took your hand up to his lips as he kissed the palm of it in adoration of your bubbly attitude and helped you walk your bags to the Mercedes parked outside just nearby. You immediately attached yourself to Arts arm and your wide eyes started up at him with complete butterflies to the feeling of him finally being right beside you again — and Art has to keep his composure not to blush to hard at the sight of your pretty face and adorable figure fawning at him right then.

♡

When you eventually made it to the Donaldson estate, you briefly freshened up in the guest bathroom, the air of the space filled up with your cinnamon and sweet sugary scents and you’d been sure you were as smooth as a baby from head to toe by the time the steam lifted from the mirror.

Not too long after your shower, there was a soft knock on the door before it opened gently with the single sight of Tashi in all her grace as she entered the room with a small cheeky smile complimenting her instinctively glowing face when she saw you. Turning from the mirror to face her, your teeth sunk into your teeth almost immediately as she hadn’t just brought herself, but attire in her hands as well.

“Sweet girl, I want you to try this on for us… it’s new. Got it just for you.” The woman came up to you and pecked your cheek before propping what turned out to be lingerie in your hands. The baby blue hue was rich, and the softest cotton like taken straight from a cloud. Ruffles edging the hem of the bra part of it and around the panties. Your lips parted as you let out a small “oh..” and your face had become warm with a kind of lust for your own fit in the piece. Tashi watched you, her honey like eyes examined the way you examined it and the corners of her mouth were partially upturned in a fine smirk before she left you to it.

And when the soft garter belt had been what you slipped up your thigh lastly before you were fit in the bits that made you feel not only sexy, but feverishly sweet as well.

You’d exited from the room to find Art and Tashi waiting in the bedroom — eyes had been automatically fixed on your perfect shape in the periwinkle shade. Their dry mouths couldn’t had caught the words quick enough before you were shyly shifting your weight on your feet, you showcased yourself for the couple with a cloying little smile on your lips just by their reactions.

“So ? What do we think ?” Your hands placed gently on your hips only moved so you could turn for the two and Tashi’s eyes ran up and down your body in a buttery sense as she chuckled to herself in profile, she adjusted how she’d been sitting on the bed so she was now on her knees - of course - not wanting to give away her obvious simmering ache for you too quickly.

Art was another story. With the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips tenderly, he couldn’t take his soft blues off of you “fuck, baby,” the blonde muttered out and you only grinned wider as you inches closer to where the man sat on the bed.

Legs being spread just enough for you to take a nice little place between them. Only five foot, you stood gracefully ahead of the man with a soft giggle leaving your lips. He followed your face even as your hands rose to brace his shoulders and his eyes locked up on you — like he’d been ready to get the perfect little lace set off of you with his teeth.

“That certainly means you like it.” You spoke like the most harmonious honey. And Arts hands had already been gliding up your flush thighs to place his groping hands on your hips. “You wanna touch me, huh ?” You knew you were playing with fire. Making your push to Art with Tashi right there and not even on to to what was going to happen next just yet. But you just couldn’t help yourself — you’d been so titillated to feel them on you. And by the looks of it, to get Arts pants off as fast as possible now. And just when he had been looking at you like this. The blonde pressed his lips to the middle of your abdomen and you sunk your teeth into your lip in giddiness already as you smiled.

“Everything about you is godlike- - mmm, we missed you so much baby.” Art’s voice had been muffled into your skin. He kissed you up and his fingers dug into the plush of your ass. Your fingertips grazed over his broad arms that were rough at the first touch but got softer as you trailed farther down.

“Not so fast..” Tashi’s voice was silken as she placed her own hand on your hip from your side. Her lean, tall body hovering over you swiftly and she held up another gesture. This time, handcuffs.

Pink and traced with fur. Your eyes go wide for a moment as they stare back at you practically — and then your eyes are on the woman again with risqué written across her face liked she’d been waiting for the right moment to spring in on you so smoothly. She pulled you off of Art with a grin. When she walked you to the side of the bed, “Ooh!” You exclaimed as you fell chest first to the mattress and Tashi was pulling your gentle writs behind your back. The naughtiest smile on your face immediately as she toyed with you, unable to remove your curls falling into your face now.

“God, she looks so pretty like that” Art groaned as he faced the scene of you and Tashi.

“Were gonna take care of her sweet cunt, isn’t that right?” the woman narrowed at her husband with airiness to her words as she flipped you on your back. And just at those words you had already felt yourself soaking your panties — and with the light blue color — it was noticeable to the eyes almost instantly, Tashi let out a chuckle. “Princess we haven’t even touched you yet.. you just want it so bad, hm? Little minx.”

Art got closer to the two of you, and his presence only made you more worked up with the way Tashi took your ankles by force, apart as your legs were on display for her view. Your already soft whines echoed throughout the room just to be touched. You couldn’t take it anymore.

“She’s been workin’ so hard back at home, little thing is touch starved, Tashi.”

“I’m just giving you a little show.” You batted your lashes innocently at the blonde and he could feel his cock grow hard right then. You were pleased by the way just your voice alone could get him yearning to fuck your brains out so quickly. It was just easy to get Art between your legs — with how painfully cute you had been to him, and Tashi’s word it was like child’s play.

“Your both gonna be me a little show.” Tashi commanded after your remark towards Art, and she took her place on the bed like it was nothing — in her satin slip with a sly smile on her face, she ran her fingertips over your dainty bottoms as she coo’d to the way you squirmed at your touch. “Art’s gonna eat this pretty pussy, he’ll surely make the ache go away.” Tashi shook out her tossed curls and caressed your face calmly as Art had already lowered himself to your hips and you whimpered softly with want at the way the blonde maneuvered your legs so they’d been over his shoulder. Your dear pink polished toes hanging off his back with ease, you watched his eyes pierce your own. He graced his lips over your soaked clothed cunt. Taking in your sent just before even removing the piece of clothing to devour you.

“Fuck, fuck, please..” You whine out, he looked too gorgeous between your legs. Perfect nose brushing over your clit briefly before he hooked a finger over your panties, pulling them to the side and when his tongue came to contact with your folds — you trembled with it.

Moans escaped your lips and your restrained hands had become an enemy as you couldn’t even touch the man below you. He licked and fucked into your core with quick but careful movements, making paintings with his tongue as you writhed on your back and his own groans vibrated throughout your body. Art squeezed from your ass up to your thighs, soft as vanilla frosting, to keep you still.

Tashi had been elegantly laid back against the pillows. She observed, her own hand trailing to meet her own cunt just at the way your angelic moans and whimpers made her feel. Like she was giving her husband the truest and sweetest treat right then. Nothing could touch the feeling of watching his jaw, sharp and pretty as a knife, dive right into your tight little hole. Dragging his mouth up and down as she ate you with hunger and your screams were like a melody.

“I wanna cum!” You squealed as your toes curled and Art watched you, deeply feeding off of the way your reactions lead the flicker of his tongue to your sweet folds.

“Be good and hold it, and you’ll get fucked in whatever position you want..” Tashi echoed back to you as she watched you fight off your orgasm. Art let his fingers trail your pulsing pussy for a moment. Like straight candy to him, he licked his slick covered lips.

“You’re always good, baby doll, aren’t you? You sure taste like it.” Art chuckled lowly as he caressed your shaking figure and leaned up from his knees, eyes not missing you for a second, even as he undid his belt buckle right there in front of you. It made butterflies spread throughout your body with his careful fawning eyes taking you up in all the ways he could have you. “I wanna feel you around me, like Tashi said… your pick.”

You would of reached out and grabbed him by the hips then, watching him remove his boxers painfully slow and the way his cock sprang out was painful as you just wanted dick in you so bad. It just has been too long.

Whining at the handcuffs keeping you from him, you turn your head to glance at his wife who’s been all too amused by your writhing. “I wanna touch him, please.”

The woman crawled over to your small figure and inclined so she was face to face with you, leaving a savory kiss on your lips, you moaned into it. And before you knew it your wrists had been free from the restraints. A smile spread across your mouth as you reached up brace her incandescent seem, deepening the kiss you both sat up as saliva has been shared between you, Tashi pulled away unannounced and eyed her husband with a grin.

“He’s all yours.”

You giggled openly before you took it upon yourself, to lay on to your side with your now free restraint — eyes meeting the other tennis player as his glorious chest had been exposed and smirk came back playfully as he climbed in bed next to you. Art’s hands go straight to your sides, he not only held you close, but explored every part of your skin with some close kisses to your neck and you breathed out in a soft moan. That made your hands reach straight for his short locks, you closed you eyes in pleasure just before whispering, “Take me just like this. I need you, Art..” your long sigh that turned into moans afterwards was all he needed before his hips were aligning with your ass as he kept your back flush to his chest, lips directly embarked your shoulder to pepper his kisses of adoration.

Arts hand went to lift up your thigh, and you sucked in your breath as you felt the tip of his cock rub against your slippery entrance. “You’re gonna make me cum so fucking hard, pretty girl. I know it.” Art huffed out as a murmur into your skin and it made you titter gently at the tickle of his face that had now grown a stubble just in his short off season. And as he took his time to feel the out the luxury of your cunt already drooling over his pre-gushing slit, Tashi crawled to be aside where you both lay, propping herself up on her palm to watch your eyebrows knit and lips go curved with how her husband teased you needy little body.

“Be gracious baby, Art missed his little play thing so much while you were away. Take all of him, okay?” Her voice was laced with sex as she caressed your cheek and observed her husband stretching your cunt wide with the push of his dick into you slow but effectively making your jaw fall agape and you let out a crisps cry-like moan as Art held your hips in place.

“Ooh- - fuck.. yeah,” you cursed as you reached to grip the pillows surrounding you quick. Art watched the way you slid right down his member and thrusting up into you from the side was so easy at this angel, he groaned with the way your pussy clenched him and his nails dig into the skin of your curves. You’d been a stuttering and moaning mess as he started to fuck into you at a faster pace. So soft from the inside, not only was he going dizzy by the way you looked —pure in the ruffle of your lingerie all while whimpering on his dick for more.

“Fuck, you let us do the dirtiest things to you, princess. So much of a naughty, dirty girl- - you can’t help wanting to act like a little whore. Shit.” the blonde grunted as he rutted into you. Surely your ass would be red by the time he was done with you — and by the noises coming between the two of you vile and pornographic, Tashi reached to stroke and fondle with your breast in contrast, as she got off just on watching you get fucked like a pathetic slut by her husband. Taking it so saccharine like she asked.

You feel your cunt throbbing the more Art pounded into you. Your mouth was unable to stay shut to keep in your loud moans, you reached for the blonde as your nails ran down the skin of his shoulder blade and you locked eyes with the beautiful man who even was towering your petite figure from this angle, “yes- - yes, mmh ! Fucking cum inside me. Give it to me, baby…” your voice breathy and high pitched. It made the man absolutely loose it.

You felt his dick twitch inside your cunt as he held your ribcage to fuck up into you before coating your walls at once. He pumped his load into your pussy. Marking his territory inside you with a deep groan, you released your head into him as you cried out till ropes of his cum filled you to the brim. “Good girl, baby.” Tashi ran a hand down your puffy hole as she rubbed at your clit before Art could even pull out of you. Fast and without mercy she worked on you straight into cumming on her husbands cock with a long whimper as you shook uncontrollably.

“Mmm, fuck !” You screamed out as fireworks escalated throughout. Your heat along with the rest of your body an absolute mess — and your dainty lingerie had been covered in the little masterpiece you and Art made. When Tashi pulled him out of you — the two of you moan in unison as more cum just gushed from your entrance.

“Fuck, I’m falling in love with your tight little body. You’re just perfect, angel.” Art panted out as she kissed you all over again and once you finally caught your breath a little bit of tender laughter was released from you. And Tashi as rare as it was, couldn’t help but smile at the way you brought her husband and her own frolicsomeness to light with how much they missed and needed your youthfulness. Not only your touch, they could have it forever. You for life even. “We fucking adore you.”

#art donaldson #tashi duncan #challengers #art donaldson x female reader #art donaldson smut #artashi x reader #art donaldson x reader #tashi duncan x fem!reader #tashi duncan smut #tashi duncan x reader #artashi #x reader #petite!reader #sabrina carpenter #short n sweet #challengers smut #tashi x reader #chlmtsdoll writes

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