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gurugirl · 4 months ago

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Use Me Up | boyfriend's best friend!h

Originally posted on Patreon!

Summary: Harry's your boyfriend's best friend and he's very hard to resist.

Word Count: 7,072

Warning: smut, cheating, lying, alcohol consumption

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Look at him. Dark curls, soft green eyes, broad shoulders. All fit and tattooed with that dirty smirk aimed in your direction. It’d been like that all night. When no one was looking his eyes were on you.

Harry Styles. The object of desire for so many women. But the problem for you was that he was your boyfriend’s best friend. You should have been off-limits. He shouldn’t have even been taking part in your daydreams.

You rolled your eyes at him as Colin knocked his beer over.

Everyone had a couple too many drinks at that point. Your boyfriend, the worst off.

“Here,” you leaned down and righted the spilled can to halt the beer from pouring out.

Colin fell back into the couch and laughed as you got up to take the nearly empty can to the trash.

“Hey! I wasn’t done with that!”

“I actually think it’s time for a little water,” you countered.

Walking into the kitchen you took a breath and grabbed two cups for water. You needed some as well. You’d been hitting the strawberry lime seltzers kind of hard since you arrived at Ivy’s and you were feeling the alcohol.

“Need help?”

You turned to look over your shoulder as you shut off the faucet.

“I’m pretty sure I can handle this,” you laughed as you raised your hands, a cup of water in each.

Harry reached into the fridge to grab himself another beer, “All right. Was just being nice. You done drinking for the night?”

“Probably. Colin is for sure done. Gonna have to carry him home I think.”

“I’ll help you. I can tell he’s well past his limit. There’s no way you’re going to have an easy go of it with him. He’s like Gumby when he gets drunk.”

You laughed and Harry licked his lips as he watched you. You hated (but you loved it) when he licked his lips while he was looking at you. It elicited memories of the not-so-long-ago past.

. .

You arrived at Colin’s a little early but you knew Harry’d be there and he’d let you in until Colin showed up.

He got you a soda from the fridge and you both went into the living room where he showed you their new record player.

“It’s got great sound and check this out,” he pulled out an album and placed it over the turntable showing you how the tone arm lowered automatically and cycled the vinyl around to the perfect spot to begin at the first song.

“Oh, that’s cool!” You watched as he clicked a button and sound started playing through the speakers. It was an old popular 70s rock song, “The sound quality really is good.”

He snapped his fingers and began to move his hips as he grinned at you so you placed your soda down and mimicked him, swaying and laughing as you snapped your fingers.

Behind Harry’s grin, you saw something else. The way he licked his lips, his eyes traveled over your curves, and he slunk in closer as he moved to the music- it held some kind of intensity that you weren’t sure how to work out. One thing was for sure; Harry was a flirt and your boyfriend was not home.

“You’re cute,” Harry said it so flippantly as he jutted his chin up and kept his eyes on yours.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, “Yeah right…”

But he did this thing that had you feeling a slurry of scorching lava under your fingertips as he bit into his bottom lip with his eyelids drooped gently, pupils winding over your hips while you continued to move and he pulled your hand into his, redirecting your flow until you were practically dancing in his arms.

“You know you’re cute. What are you doing dating Colin anyway?”

His hand wound over your hip as he kept his eyes on yours.

“I…” you laughed and shook your head. You weren’t sure what he was doing but it had you reeling. His heavy presence and deep voice, the music lulling you into surrender, his pretty bright eyes, that evil grin… It definitely wasn’t the first time he’d flirted with you in private.

“You’re too good for him, Y/n,” he spoke smoothly, his face nearing yours and his voice dripping with lusty deception.

“I doubt that, Harry,” you spoke just above a whisper as he slithered around you until his hands were holding your hips and your back was against his chest. You knew it was wrong. You knew you should have stopped but you didn’t want to.

And when you felt his breath on the back of your ear and he pressed his hips against your bum you softly gasped but made no move to stop him. He was too close and his lips were practically brushing against the shell of your ear as he kept swaying you in step with his movements, hips glued to your backside, and then he moaned. The sound vibrating off your neck and making goosebumps rise up on your skin.

You closed your eyes and settled your hands over his when he let out another graveled moan into your ear, “You like this don’t you? Need more attention from Colin than he can give you…”

It was true. You were a bit needy while Colin was a bit cold, aloof. But it’d always been that way with you two and you’d settled and gotten used to the way he was. However, that didn’t mean you didn’t miss attention. And Harry was suddenly filling in the small gaps left behind from Colin’s apathy.

But the moment you heard the keys in the door, Harry moved away from you just as deftly as he’d pulled you against his chest and acted like nothing had happened.

. .

You forced Colin to drink his whole cup of water and by the time he’d finished he was already half asleep. It was time to go and Harry accompanied you.

“You don’t have to help,” you said as the three of you climbed into the back of a taxi together.

“Look at him, Y/n. What makes you think he’s gonna be able to walk to the door on his own? You certainly can’t carry him. Besides, I live at the same house and it was time for me to go as well. Saves us money anyway, yeah?”

You nodded. He had a point you supposed.

You were smushed between Harry and Colin in the backseat. Colin was like a limp noodle against you while Harry was warm and solid and somehow he took up so much more space than you imagined he would.

“You’re gonna stay over, right?” Harry looked down at you.

“I figured I would, yeah. It’s not a problem?”

Harry chuckled and looked out his window before putting his big palm over his thigh, knocking against your knee, “Of course it’s not a problem. I love it when you’re over.”

You couldn’t take your eyes off his pinky finger which was nudged against your jeans. You weren’t sure if he was doing it on purpose or if it was just because the space was so tight but you certainly didn’t mind it. Looking over at your boyfriend his mouth was dropped open and his eyes were closed. Out cold.

“He’s not waking up for the rest of the night,” Harry spoke quietly, his lips aimed toward your ear.

You gulped when Harry shifted the slightest, pressing his side into yours, and began moving his hand over his jeans-clad thigh, his pinky brushing over your own jeans-clad thigh.

When you arrived at the house, Harry pulled Colin out of the backseat and lifted him into his arms bridal style. You laughed at the sight and followed the men toward the door.

“Keys are in my front left pocket,” Harry said as he jutted his hips out and looked at you with a smirk.

You sighed and slid your fingers into his pocket, which was a bit tight, but you pushed in until you felt the metal and looped your finger into one of the key rings to pull at it.

Harry sucked in a breath through his teeth, “There you go, Y/n. Just like that.” Harry said it as if you were doing something naughty to him.

Unlocking the door you stepped in and held it open for Harry, who walked past you and took his best friend to his bed, laying his head on the pillow and then removed his boots. You watched from the doorway of Colin’s room as Harry took care of him, light shining into his room from the hallway.

Harry grunted when he pulled the last boot off and then got up to leave the room, closing the door behind himself.

You pointed toward the doorknob, “I’m probably just gonna call it a night actually.”

Harry pressed his lips together, hiding the grin that was trying to take over his features, “Nahh… stay up a little longer with me. Don’t go to bed yet.”

It was a terrible idea. You weren’t being forced to follow him away from Colin’s room. You weren’t being manipulated or deceived. You were curious, though. Wondered what might happen if given the chance.

You both had a bottle of water as you sat on the stool near the record player and Harry sat on the couch across from you, his legs spread apart.

“Why you all the way over there?” He licked his goddamn lips again as he looked at you with what could only be described as bedroom eyes; that half-lidded, sultry gaze.

“I don’t know. I just sat here is all,” you shrugged and capped your water bottle before placing it on the floor by your feet.

“You got work tomorrow?” He asked as he crossed an ankle over his knee before his ring-clad fingers ran up and down his thick thighs.

“No. I don’t work Sundays. What about you?” You already knew the answer.

“Nope. Means we can stay up as late as we want. Colin won’t wake up til afternoon anyway. When he gets like this he’s a log.”

You laughed and nodded, “Yeah. I’ve seen him like this a few times. You’re right.”

“Why don’t you put a record on,” he gestured toward the turn table next to you.

You squatted down to go through the records, tracing your fingers over the dust jackets until you found one that had a mix of popular 70s songs, “You guys have a lot of 70s music.”

Harry crouched down next to you to see which album you were looking at, “S’cause these are all used and plus 70s music is pretty good, yeah?” He grinned at you, taking the record from your hands and stood up, “Want this one?”

You nodded and watched him put the vinyl on the record player and then hit the button for the music to begin. The song that started to play sounded like something instrumental at first but then you heard the first line Got a black magic woman…

Harry turned to look down at you and began bobbing his head and rolling his shoulders, moving to the music. You laughed at him. He was being a little goofy with his movements but the dimpled grin on his face was evidence that he was trying to make you laugh. You swung your arms then raised them over your head and spun around with your hips swaying.

You and Harry kept moving to the song and then he was behind you, singing the words to the song when you felt him moving in step with you, “She’s tryin’ to make a devil out of me… Don’t turn your back on me baby…”

You laughed as he sang just loud enough for you to hear his raspy voice in your ear.

“Is my singing funny to you,” you felt his hand on your arm, nudging you back toward him.

You turned to look back at him over your shoulder, “You’re just funny, Harry. You’re being goofy.”

“Oh yeah? You think I’m goofy?” He held your arm as he pressed his chest into your back and continued singing, “Stop messin’ ‘round with your tricks…Don’t turn your back on me, baby… You just might pick up my magic sticks…”

You moved with the music and couldn’t help the cheesy grin on your face as he brought a hand down to your hip while his other stayed wrapped around your upper arm.

He sang his breathy words into your ear and it made your skin to heat but the way he was holding you against his body had your resolve crumbling. Not that you had much resolve to begin with.

“Yes, you got your spell on me, baby… Turnin’ my heart into stone… I need you so bad magic woman, I can’t leave you alone…”

You moaned, the top row of your teeth jammed into your bottom lips and he squeezed at your hip as his lips grazed against your ear.

You knew this would happen. When you were looking through the albums you wondered if he’d get up and dance with you. If he’d pull you into his arms and seduce you like he nearly did that time before. Or any of the other times he flirted with you or touched your skin, or whispered compliments into your ear when Colin wasn’t paying attention. There was only so much a girl could take when a man like Harry was coming on to her.

And who would ever know?

You raised your arms and drew your hands to the back of his neck as he continued swaying you in his arms, his crotch glued to your bum and you felt every bit of him pressed into you. His hot exhale on your neck was damp on your skin just before his pink lips found your flesh.

It sent a crackle of electricity through your spine as he began to kiss your soft skin slowly and when the song changed you found yourself being turned in his arms, all blurry and hot and thirsting when you felt his mouth smeared against yours.

He cradled the back of your head as his lips pressed plush kisses to your mouth and then his tongue slid over yours.

You’d stopped moving altogether and instead just stood next to the record player as the music played and you made out with Harry. If Colin walked in you didn’t know if you’d be able to even stop then. Harry’s lips and his tongue and his hands were rewiring your brain chemistry and all you wanted was him.

A cracked moan fell from your chest as Harry pulled away, his eyes locked on yours as he tugged at you, moving you toward his bedroom.

The Bill Withers song was still playing in the background as you were led to his room.

I want to spread the news… That if it feels this good getting used… Oh, you just keep on using me… Until you use me up…

He shut his door and the sound of the song was muffled but when he put his hands on your hips and his soft lips found yours you grabbed his t-shirt and pulled at him until you were both on his bed, limbs tangled and mouths wound together.

He rolled to his back and pulled you over his legs so you were straddling his thighs on top of him as you kept kissing and groaning into his mouth.

You could feel how hard he was in his jeans as you rolled your pelvis gently down and he hissed, “Keep doing that and I’m not gonna be able to stop, Y/n.”

You laughed into his mouth and pulled away to look down at him, “What are we doing, Harry?”

He let out a breathy chuckle as he kept a hold of your hips, “We’re doing something very bad is what we’re doing.”

Biting your lip you looked at his kiss-swollen mouth and back into his eyes, “We shouldn’t though, right? This is bad.”

He licked his lips, “We shouldn’t. But who’s gonna stop us?” His big hands moved down to your thighs. “What if it’s just our little secret? No one has to know.”

You dropped your lips back down over his in an unspoken agreement. No one ever had to know. It’d be your dirty little secret. A naughty indulgence to never be spoken of again.

When you felt his fingers smooth up to the bottom hem of your shirt you felt him tugging it upward. Halting the movement of your mouth against his you sat up and shucked it from your torso. His hands immediately found your tits as you unhooked the back of your bra and the moment your nipples were bare to him he sat up, one arm winding around your low back as his hand cupped your fleshy breast and he ducked to pull it into his mouth.

Wet saliva coated each of your tits as Harry wove his mouth back and forth on your skin and your nipples. You slid your fingers into his hair and moaned as he leaned you back further until your back was on his mattress and he was hovering over you, undoing your jeans button.

You looked up at him and pulled at his t-shirt. You wanted to see more of him. You’d seen his bare chest before. You’d seen him in just running shorts a few times. The man was ungodly. Tattoos, chiseled pecs, and soft abs with masculine hair scattered over his chest. Strong arms that could crush and thighs that allowed him the sort of endurance you were sure would come in handy that very night. He was broad and dense, heavy and sexy as fuck.

When his skin was on view you ran your hands over his shoulders and down to his pecs as he began to undo his own jeans. You quickly pushed your fingers into your waistband and yanked your jeans down your legs until you were just left in stretchy red boyshorts.

Harry groaned and kicked his jeans off and then crawled back over you, carefully fitting himself between your thighs and laying his hips against yours, his hard cock, hidden by the thin layer of his boxers, rested over your pussy as he slowly rocked himself down. You lifted your hips upward to feel his girth and the heat of him between your legs.

Dry humping. You hadn’t done it since your first year of college. Guys tended to go right for getting naked and getting something wet as soon as possible.

Though, technically Harry was getting something wet. Between his tongue on your lips and your pussy secreting arousal with every nudge of his dick against your clit there was nothing dry about dry humping in that moment. Even his boxers were getting wet the longer you two went at it.

He began to move himself down your body, taking more time to lavish your breasts with his tongue and his lips before he licked into your belly button triggering a giggle to bubble out of your mouth. He placed his hands on your hips and dug his fingers under the elastic band at the top of your underwear and began to pull at them, to which you lifted your hips so he could tug them off.

Smoothing his big palms up the outside of your thighs to your hips he kept his eyes on the glistening space between your legs and puffed out a breath, “This is all mine tonight?” He looked up at you and it was dripping hedonistic lust as his thumbs slid down over the soft flesh of your pelvis.

You nodded and breathed out a yes before he slowly poked his tongue out to lick his lips and lowered his mouth to the space next to his thumb, a warm kiss smushed into your skin before it sliced a damp path inward to your mons. You were spinning and blubbering under him as he gripped onto the underside of your thigh and held you apart.

Your body was trembling before he even laid his tongue over your pussy but when he finally pressed a soft, barely-there kiss to your clit you could have just perished right then. You balled up the blanket under you in your fists as he began to run his tongue up and down your wet pussy.

You sputtered out a string of curses and rolled your hips up when he slid his fingers over your entrance and prodded in.

“Mmm…” he lifted his face to look up at you, “Y/n… you’re so wet for me. Gonna need to sneak tastes of your pussy anytime Colin isn’t around.”

You couldn’t respond other than to moan his name and thread your fingers into his hair when he reattached his lips.

There was something about the way Harry did it, the way he licked at your pussy and kissed your clit, the way he drove his fingers into your cunt and moaned over you that was so sultry and hungry… it was like he needed it, like he was desperate for it. For you.

The house was quiet. It was lucky Colin slept like the dead when he got drunk like that or you’d have to worry about him hearing. But as it was, Harry’s bedroom was filled with the sound of something lewd and wet and achy. Moans coming from you and from him, your pussy getting worked by his fingers and his mouth, the shift of bodies over blankets and the subtle creaking of his bed as he dug into your pussy with more fervor.

And you really tried not thinking about the way Colin did it versus how Harry was doing it but you were amazed at what a little enthusiasm could feel like. Colin ate you out, sure, but it wasn’t like this. It wasn’t a man with a primal need to make you feel good and stake some kind of claim on you. Colin’s method was more like a means to an end. A way to get you nice and wet so he could stick his dick inside of you.

Harry’s method was an animalistic craving. He wasn’t eating you out nicely with a soft tongue and a few slurps. No. This was something else. He was devouring you. Sloppy and sopping. He dragged his tongue over you like it was his fucking job. The one arm he had wrapped around you, was anchoring you to his mouth. You couldn’t escape him if you wanted. This man wasn’t taking it easy. When he lifted you slightly, he scooted in closer and removed his fingers from your pussy and licked up the wet spots on your inner thighs and down your bum before he spread you back open with two of his fingers again and got back to ravaging your clit.

You had to release his hair and go back to gripping the blankets as you felt your body wash away into the atmosphere, floating and buzzing and melting as you lay helpless under his weight and his tongue.

You were certain it was going to be a mess when he was done with you. There wasn’t anything dry between your legs nor on his face. The heat and the moisture rose until there was nothing left for you to do but come. And come and come…

He had his fingers pressed into your front wall massaging your g-spot as he sucked and drew your clit into his mouth. You couldn’t stop shaking or crying for what felt like minutes upon minutes.

But then it was too much and you squeaked a laugh as you tried lifting and pulling away but when you pushed at his forehead he swatted you away and grunted, not letting up on the doggish way he was eating you.

“Oh my god! Fuck, Harry!” You bellowed into his room and tried closing your legs and moving to roll to your side but he had you pinned down and it seemed only to egg him on. His eyes flitted up to yours and in warning to keep still, not that you had much choice. He wasn’t budging nor letting you pull away from his mouth as he continued fucking you with those long fingers and lapping all around your hot, pulsing clit.

But then you saw the slight smirk as he lifted for air before he dove down again and slid his tongue quickly over your clit and the sensitive, too-much feeling turned into a liquid ache and then desire as you felt you second orgasm begin to prick and burst until it was forced out of you like a torture method. Come or else…

So you came again. Not against your will but not by your own accord. It was automatic. You couldn’t stop it from happening.

You were drifting into the ether when he finally, fucking finally, pulled his mouth and his fingers away. When you opened your eyes he was smirking down at you, like he was proud of the state he’d left you in.

“What?” You croaked out as your chest heaved violently.

“I’m serious. Gonna need to do that to you as often as possible. Whenever Colin’s not looking. Damn you’re hot, Y/n. Fuck…” he ran his hands over your sides and up your torso to your nipples where he circled over them with his thumbs, “Wish I’d gotten to you first.”

You pushed yourself to sit up, “You… he’s your best friend, though. I mean… I just think…” you huffed, not fully having your wits about you after what he’d just done to you, “God… I wouldn’t be able to say no, but this is bad, Harry. Don’t you think this should be a one-time thing? Like, we should never do this again, right?”

You watched him lick his lips and swallow and that’s when you noticed he had your arousal down his neck. The guy had gone in so intensely on your pussy that you dripped down his neck. You supposed he had reason to be proud.

“We’ll see, won’t we? I’m not a great friend, I’ll admit. But you’re not a great girlfriend either are you? Doing this behind his back the way we are… it’s bad, but fuck if I don’t want to steal you away from him.”

You puffed a laugh through your nose and ran a hand over your face. You couldn’t believe you were cheating in the first place. It was insane. You weren’t a cheater.

But actually… you were a cheater. You were lying in your boyfriend’s best friend’s bed completely naked and freshly zonked from two orgasms. You were absolutely a cheater.

Harry pulled at your thigh, dragging you closer to him and he cradled the back of your head with his hand and kissed you so deeply you nearly forgot Colin’s name for a moment. You could feel his erection, stiff and hot against your inner thigh and you were compelled to run your hand over his boxers to grip him and feel it in your hand.

You gasped into his mouth and parted from the kiss to look down at the monster you were holding in your palm. Looking back up at Harry with your lips parted in lust you were suddenly hyper-aware that the man you were in bed with was going to fuck you with that thing and if he was as good with his cock as he was with his mouth… you were surely doomed.

“What is it?” He asked you with hooded eyes and a syrupy, deep, lusty voice. He knew what it was. The man was more than aware of the kind of advantage he had in that area.

You squeezed around him let your palm travel up the length of it over his boxers and pressed over his tip, “Let me see it.”

He grinned at you silently as he pulled at his boxers and brought them down, his thick shaft lobbing out, heavy and stiff. You let out a moan and moved back, getting to your knees and holding him at the root against his pubic hair before tonguing over him and drawing your saliva down the length of him.

Harry hissed as he leaned back, palms flat against his mattress as he watched you suck on him for a moment, lips working over his tip and wetting him with your spit. You moaned again and pulled off of him, “God, Harry. Fuck…”

He held the back of your head as you dipped down again and took him in your mouth, wrapping your lips around him and gorging on the taste and feel of him. It was smooth and hot against your tongue. He was wide, bulbous. But you couldn’t help the way just the look and feel of his cock had your already weeping pussy flutter and clench at the thought of him driving into you with it.

“You like that, don’t you? God, you’re supposed to mine, Y/n. Oh fuck that feels good…”

Your insides were feeling too hollow, your walls straining together to feel something that would take up the empty space. You popped off of his tip, saliva dripping down your chin, “Fuck me. Please.”

Harry tilted his head to the side, “Already? You don’t need a minute to recover? You that greedy, baby?”

“I am right now,” you pulled at his boxers to get rid of them. Harry put his hands into the band of his underwear and took them off completely.

“Just right now? So tomorrow we’ll go back to normal then,” he crawled over you, making your back hit the mattress as his hand found your tit, “Pretend this never happened and never do it again, yeah?”

You panted and reached around his back to pull him down, “I don’t know…” you whined and bucked your hips up, “Just… right now is all I can think about. Please…”

“A bit cockdumb huh? You’re not thinking straight, are you?”

You scrunched your face and pouted, “What? Just fuck me, Harry!”

He grinned at you and shook his head in disbelief, “No condom then?”

You’d forgotten. You were always so good about using condoms and being the one on top of that decision with Colin. Only a few times did you ever let him fuck you without one and it was only when you were 100% sure it was not during your fertile window and he wasn’t allowed to come inside you anyway.

“Fuck…” you breathed out and whined as you raised your hips upward, pressing your wet pussy against his cock, “Just fuck me. I don’t even care right now. I’m gonna lose my mind…”

Harry grabbed your chin and his eyes pierced into you as he spoke, “Are you on birth control?”

You shook your head, “No. But… god…” you writhed under him.

Harry let out a burst of a laugh, still shaking his head, “Damn. Did I do this to you? Baby you’re gonna regret it if you let me fuck you raw. That’s asking for trouble.”

“Just… goddamnit…” you closed your eyes and groaned. You wanted him right then. You were sure you’d never acted like such a slut before but Harry’s body and his deep voice, his eyes, the way the front of his thighs were pressed into the back of yours… He could just slip right in and pound away and you’d feel all of him. Every ridge and wrinkle, hot velvet gliding through your gummy channel, drinking him in…

When you raised your hips again, your eyes on his he nudged himself down toward you, his cock sliding through your pussylips, slicking up and down and jabbing at your clit you clung to his back tight.

“You want it? Like this?” He placed his forearm down on the bed alongside your shoulder as he rocked down over you, his tip traveling over your pussy and getting drenched in your juice.

“Mmm… Harry… yes…”

He softly kissed your lips as he rutted up and slid back, “You’re gonna let me fuck you bare? In this bedroom right here, next to your boyfriend’s? You sure?”

You nodded, your nose bumping against his as you breathed out the word please.

He parted from the kiss and set his eyes on yours as he flexed his thighs and poked at your hole gently with his tip. He teased you for a bit, only gently pressing just the very tip of himself into you until suddenly and all once he forced his crown through your tight, pulsing muscle, opening you up and burying himself in until his balls were tucked against your ass.

You both let out a loud and pathetic mewl at the sensation and you could feel him shaking already. It was decadent and rude and sumptuous and unbearable. It was so wrong. So bad but so fucking delightful.

He began to slowly thrust as he kept his gaze pinned to yours, “Okay? Feel good?”

You moaned as you nodded and kept a tight grasp on his back, wrapping your legs around him so you could keep yourself grounded. So that you knew it was real. That Harry was actually fucking you with his big cock and you weren’t just dreaming it.

“Yeah? Feel all of me like this, don’t you? Needed me so bad and now you’ve got me, baby. Gonna give you my cock whenever you want it. Sneak around behind Colin’s back and keep it secret. He’ll never know. Could fuck you all night and all morning and he’ll wake up tomorrow with no idea of the filthy kind of girl you are.”

“Mmmm… fuck!” You whined as he plunged deep inside your guts. You’d never had anyone so thick and long before. And it was just a bonus that it was attached to a man like Harry. It shouldn’t have surprised you that someone with the kind of confidence he had would be so hung.

“Mmmm… fuck is right… that feels so fucking good. I had a feeling your pussy would be made for me,” he panted his words as he worked into you, thighs flexing against yours.

Your noises were uncontrollable. You had no ability to restrain yourself. You truly were intoxicated, incapacitated, obtunded. Delirious. Which Harry seemed to get a kick out of.

“You’ve never had it like this before, have you? I know what you had to deal with,” he gasped when you gripped tight around and dug your nails into his back, “Colin’s a lazy boyfriend. You need more attention and I can see that. Gonna give you all the attention you can handle if you want it, Y/n…”

Harry pulled back, making your legs fall from his back as he lowered his lips to your tits, curling himself over you as he continued fucking into you, sucking your nipples into his mouth and running his tongue over your sensitive nubs one at a time.

It was debauched gluttony. Harry was so much better in bed than Colin and it almost wasn’t fair. But you couldn’t even feel an ounce of guilt because it was the best thing you’d ever felt. Harry sucked your nipples hard as his cock wrecked your insides, running his hand along the outside of your soft breast and then to the other side, continuing the pace at which he rocked into you. His bed only creaked in time with his thrusts, slow and steady, but the sound of your sodden pussy taking his big cock was salacious and lewd.

Every stroke of his long dick through your pussy walls felt like damnation and salvation all at once. You weren’t sure you’d be the same after. Weren’t sure you wouldn’t be begging him for more every time Colin wasn’t watching. Harry had ruined you.

Harry’s gasps and pants against your tits grew more desperate and you could feel him throbbing inside of you, nudging deep into your tummy and slowly rearing back, his cock coated and sticky with you before plunging it all back inside of you again.

He steadied himself, lifting up to look down at you as he began to fuck into you a little harder, his bed bouncing a little more with the sound of skin slapping together and your punched moans filled the room.

Every time he buried himself in he ground his pelvis against your clit and it sent fireworks through your nervous system. You grabbed onto his thighs as he rutted into you, deep and desperate strokes that split you wide open and made you drool it felt so good. Harry’s chest was sweating as he held your hips down and circled his groin against you, his moans growing louder and whinier as he watched you slowly come undone.

“Give me another one, baby. Show me how good it feels when I fuck you. Better than it’s ever felt with anyone else…”

Harry had something to prove.

You could hardly think straight. The man was fucking out any logic or sense in your brain but you didn’t want to have rational thoughts that interrupted what was happening. You wanted Harry and his cock. You wanted to be fucked by him just like he was for all time. To hell with Colin and his sorry excuse for lovemaking. Harry was a real man with pleasure to give.

The breath was kicked from your lungs when the tight coil in your tummy began to unravel and the yummiest, most transcendent orgasm you’d ever experienced began to take over. The only thing you registered was Harry’s cock pounding into you and words of encouragement egging you on as the mattress squeaked violently under you. His words were unclear but you could hear the starved and whimpery moans falling from his mouth between words.

You trembled and quaked as you spasmed over him, the glide of his heavy cock through your guts squelched and ached as you gasped for air and finally began to discern what was happening when Harry frantically pulled his cock from your pussy and climbed over you, taking your face in his hand and dipped his pussy flavored dick into your lips where you felt him pumping warm, creamy come down your throat and onto your tongue. You grabbed onto his ass with both hands and pulled at him, beckoning him to stuff his whole fat cock into your esophagus.

The grunts and moans he let fall from his chest were the sexiest thing you’d ever heard from any man. Colin wasn’t vocal at all. When Colin came he’d pinch his face up like he was in pain or disgusted by the flavor of something and silently sigh with his mouth open.

But Harry… Harry wasn’t holding back. He was moaning as he thrust his cock into your mouth and slapped his hand on the headboard to steady himself, “Fuck…”

When you’d siphoned every drop from him, he gently pulled his meaty cock from your mouth and you coughed, gasping for air. Harry laid himself on the bed next to you and cupped your cheek, “You all right,” he panted.

You moaned and wiped the back of your hand over your mouth and rolled to face him, “Yeah I’m all right. Better than all right I’d say.”

Harry laughed, moving his hand from your face and fondled your breast in his palm, smushing at it and thumbing over your nipple, “You down to keep doing this with me?”

You sighed and ran your tongue along the inside of your cheek as you placed your palm on his chest, “I’m pretty sure I’ll be craving that from now on.”

He grinned, “Be craving what?”

“You. The way you do it. I…” you laughed, “I’ve never come three times in a row like that for any man.”

“So you want me to give you lots of cummies?” He snorted a laugh, “Need me to take care of you when Colin can’t.”

“When you say it like that… god it sounds so bad doesn’t it?”

“It is bad, Y/n. We are two very bad people who just did something very awful to someone. But I certainly don’t want to stop.”

“I mean… I don’t know if I can stop now. That was…”

“The best.”

You nodded. It was the best. And you knew you’d have regrets and the guilt would come at some point. But in that moment after being expertly fucked and properly taken care of you could think of nothing better than to do it again and again and again. As often as you could get away with it.

“How long do you think we can keep doing this? Like we’ll have to be lying all the time and sneaking around.”

“If we’re quiet and sneaky enough, as long as we want.”

You bit into your bottom lip and giggled, “That was a smart move. Not coming inside of me. Was gonna let you, ya know.”

Harry sat up with a smirk, “I know you were gonna. But I think fucking my best friend’s girl raw is quite enough mistakes for one night. As much as I wanted to fill you up we’ll have to save that one for a rainy day.”

You sat up with him, clothes all strewn about on the floor and at the foot of his bed, “A rainy day, huh? I’ll keep that in mind.”

Harry pinched your thigh before hopping off the bed out of your reach with a laugh, “And I think it’s only fair that you sleep in here with me tonight,” he slid his boxers up his legs, “Colin’s not gonna wake up until late so we’ll have plenty of time before he’s conscious.”

Harry tossed you his t-shirt and you pulled it over your head, “Why’s that only fair?”

Harry shrugged, “Cause I like to cuddle and Colin’s passed out so might as well let me have some since I probably won’t get to do it very often.”

You slid off his bed and pulled your arms over his shoulders, “That’s kind of sweet, Harry.”

“So you’ll stay in here with me tonight?”

“Without a doubt.”

You were both so fucked.

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sceletaflores · 5 months ago

Note

Being a professional masseur for players and taking care of our boy art.

Hes just so sad and so pretty that you just giving head to make him feel better 😔

Plot twist: he falls in love with you because duh? Hot+sex=you being promoted pookie, you are now the donaldsons elite employes!!!!!!

Baby, show me where it hurts...

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: you never intended on becoming a "celebrity" massage therapist. you just wanted to be a massage therapist, the whole celebrity thing just sort of happened, you blame cali for that. but the novelty of your job wore off long ago, you hardly blink at the clients on your table nowadays. that is until tashi duncan calls you and absolutely fucks everything up

— or: art donaldson needs a massage therapist…

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, oral (m!receiving), oral (fem!receiving), p in v, fingering (fem!receiving), angst? maybe? could this be considered angst?, slight age gap, no tashi duncan erasure because i don't stand for that, cheating but not really cause tashi knows, she always knows, she is an all seeing eye, and she kind of orchestrates it, SOOOOO much plot, like way too much i'm sorry, art being sad and tired, art also being kinda pathetic a little bit, unprofessional massages, no use of y/n.

word count: 10k+ (someone stop me....pls still read this lmao)

author's note: this ask was blessedly placed in my inbox and it was all i’ve thought about since. this is my first big fic since my mike schmidt days so hopefully i'm not rusty! i've seen this damn cursed hell movie ten times, so hopefully i do it justice. i'm also still struggling sooo much with art and tashi as characters so please bear with me if they aren't movie accurate i'm trying my best. okay. thank you. hope you love it! mwah xoxo.

You don't get starstruck often, not anymore at least. The clients that find their way onto your table are just that in your eyes, clients. You don't see them as big time "celebrities”. Just men and women who need your professional help.

That being said, you almost dropped your phone the first time the Tashi Duncan called you.

It was a normal work day for you, spent buried in paperwork and training a new secretary. You're folding the steam room towels on your lunch break when your phone rings. No caller ID, you answer it anyways.

"Hello, you've reached Lush Retreat Med Spa," you rattle off into your phone, placing it between your ear and shoulder to continue folding. "How can we help you?"

"This is Tashi Duncan calling for Art Donaldson, we've heard great things about you and were hoping to schedule an appointment."

The towel drops from your hands, your mouth falling open in shock. You reach up to tightly grip your phone, not wanting to embarrass yourself by dropping your phone with Tashi fucking Duncan on the end of the line.

Of course you know who she is, but doesn't everyone? The tennis prodigy from Stanford who was on top of the world when a tragic knee injury stole everything from her in a single second. You absolutely idolized her when you were in high school and playing tennis competitively. You watched all the recorded matches you could get your hands on, wore your DUNCANATOR shirts to practice constantly, only bought the tennis rackets she used. You had her fucking posters plastered on the walls of your old bedroom for Christ's sake.

That was until you, ironically, shattered your wrist in a car accident and had to hang up the racket and pleated skirts forever. Just like her.

Now, Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson are California royalty. An unfairly beautiful couple living what seems to be the dream. You'd never kept up much with Art's career like you did Tashi's, but you follow them both on Instagram and you see his face on billboards all over the city almost daily so you can assume it was fruitful. It may help him that he's extremely easy on the eyes, or "super fucking hot!" in your coworkers words.

"Hello?" Her voice ringing out from the tiny speaker ripped you out of your thoughts and back into reality.

"Y-yes, sorry," you cringe internally at yourself, stuttering over your words like a loser. You force yourself to sound professional when you speak again, "We'd love to help you any way we can. Do you have a certain time and date in mind already?"

"We're not home right now, we were thinking next Thursday. Around four." There's no question mark on the end of her sentence, you know that she isn't asking you, she's telling you. You don't even bother to check the schedule before you're answering.

"We will be free that day. I'll go ahead and put you in our system." you rush over to the front desk computer and open the calendar, thankfully you are actually free for Thursday. "I'm assuming you know our location?" you ask as you type in the appointment details, ignoring how your fingers shake ever so slightly as you type Tashi into the slot.

"Actually," Tashi's voice has a different tone to it when she speaks again, it’s something you can’t quite place, your fingers slow down slightly as you listen, "we wanted to make this a home visit."

You stop typing completely, brows furrowed in confusion as you stare at your computer screen. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Donaldson but we don't do at home appointments…per our policy." you reply meekly, almost surprised that you're denying her.

"Duncan, actually,” she corrects you nonchalantly, you don’t have time to unpack that before she’s speaking again. “We did read that on your website, but we'd hope you might make an exception. You wouldn't need to bring much. We have our own table." Her tone isn't harsh or impolite, just firm and certain, like she knows you'll give in to her.

You do.

"Well," you bite your lip as you wrestle internally with yourself, torn between what you want to do and what you should do. "Okay, we can do that for you."

"Great. I'll send you the address. See you then." She hangs up without saying goodbye.

You plant your phone next to you and stare at the filled out appointment slot taking up your computer screen, processing what just happened. You're going to Tashi Duncan's house. To give her hot pro-tennis player husband a massage. In their house.

"What the fuck."

SIX DAYS LATER...

The walk up to The Donaldson's huge mansion on a mountain has your stomach turning in on itself. All week you were a ball of nervous energy just floating around your office, trying to find anything to distract you from your upcoming appointment. Now that it's here, you feel you may have bitten off more than you could chew.

You hardly got any sleep last night, tossing and turning in your bed for hours before you gave up, barging into your building's gym to try and sweat your nerves out. When that didn't work you just retreated back to your apartment and got ready.

You try not to think about why it took you so long to get ready, longer than most work mornings. Taking more time in the shower, more time doing your hair, more time doing your makeup.

You even choose an outfit you'd hardly ever wear in front of regular clientele. A matching white polo set, a skirt in place of shorts. You tell yourself that you just want to look good, who wants to look like a mess in front of Tashi Duncan?

Your hands white-knuckle the steering wheel of your car on the drive over. You couldn’t even play any music, the noise in your head already too loud as it was, only cranking up the AC and silently following the crisp voice of your GPS reading off the directions Tashi sent you.

The closer you get to the door the more you want to turn and run down the insanely long driveway, get back in your car and haul ass home without ever looking back.

You don't because you're a professional, or at least that's what you keep telling yourself.

Your hand shakes as you ring their doorbell, hearing it echo back at you from the inside. You only wait a few seconds before the large door swings open and there she is.

Tashi Duncan is every bit as beautiful in person as she is splashed across the pages of magazines and blown up twenty feet on billboards. She looks so effortlessly classy in her Ralph Lauren sweater and flowy black dress pants.

Your name falls from her lips, and all the blood rushes to your ears. Her silky voice wraps around each syllable with an enticing heat that makes you weak in the knees. You feel sixteen years old all over again, standing at the woman who basically molded you into who you are today. It's a dizzying sensation, the rush of nostalgia and emotions flooding in like an avalanche. The memories you have locked away in your brain of the countless late night practices, the hundreds of hours spent on the court, the trophies and ribbons littering your moms basement collecting dust, the refusal to give up and pushing your body past its own limits because you wanted to be just like her. You wanted to be Tashi Duncan, and when you catch yourself nervously rubbing your thumb over the scar spanning your right wrist, you guess in some sick twisted way that you kind of are.

"So glad you could make it," she greets breezily, stepping to the side to let you in. “We were worried you’d get lost.”

The house is, of course, beautiful on the inside. Tall ceilings, big fireplace, a beautiful staircase leading to the second floor. There’s toys strewn messily along the living room floor, the TV mounted on the wall is paused on ESPN.

You hope you don’t look as crazy as you feel taking in the space, taking in the fact that Tashi is standing right in front of you.

“No, the directions were very helpful,” your voice only slightly wavers as you respond, you count that as a win, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Donalds–uh–Duncan.” You cringe at your fumble, but try to power through by extending Tashi your hand.

She watches you for a second, sharp eyes flicking over your body quickly like she’s inspecting you. It makes your cheeks feel warm as you struggle to not squirm underneath her gaze. Finally, she takes your hand in hers and gives it a firm shake. You ignore the way her touch makes your palm burn.

“Art should already be in the massage room, it’s in the pool house,” Tashi says, gesturing to the huge windows in the living room showing off a lavish underground pool with a smaller building situated next to it, “I have to take a phone call here in a few minutes so I trust you’ll find your way there.”

You nod slowly, adjusting the strap of your supply bag on your shoulder. Tashi doesn't even pause walking further into the house as she speaks to you, heels clicking with each step as she makes her way to the large staircase in the middle of the room. There’s still no question marks tacked on to the end of her sentences, just like over the phone.

“It’s just through that door, first room on the left. I told him to leave the door open for you.” She continues, reaching the stairs and making her way up slowly. She tosses her head over her shoulder to make eye contact with you again. “He’s been complaining about his shoulder acting up. The right one, it’s what needs the most attention. He serves with that arm, we need it at a hundred.” she fires off casually, like she’s recited this information before.

You go to speak but her phone ringing cuts you off, echoing off the house's crisp white walls. “Thank you for coming to see us, it was nice meeting you.” Tashi says politely, giving you one final once over before she’s answering her phone and disappearing up the stairs.

“It was nice meeting you too…” you trail off quietly, fully caught off guard by whatever the hell that was. Out of every single time you’d fantasized about what meeting Tashi Duncan would be like, none of them were quite like this. At least it’s over you figure, and you even managed to not make a complete fool of yourself.

You hold onto that tiny win as you walk through the living room doors and outside, making your way to the pool house like Tashi instructed. The entrance is unlocked as you step inside, thankfully you spot the cracked door a little ways in front of you.

The sound of your footsteps are loud as you make your way down the short hallway, tennis shoes making small thump sounds against the concrete floor. You pause for just a second outside the cracked door, taking a deep breath before pushing it open and stepping inside. The room is empty, the only things inside are some shelves lined with various essential oils and lotions, and an expensive looking massage table in the center. You muse over the fact that their table looks a little better than the ones in your own spa, no wonder they wanted a home visit.

The room is well lit as you walk around, dim in a way that promotes relaxation. The soft, ambient lighting bathes the room in a gentle, golden glow, complemented by the flicker of aromatic candles placed strategically around the space. You wonder who lit them, Tashi? Or maybe Art? You let out a small laugh at the idea of Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson fawning over the room before you showed up, setting up candles and mood lighting to make it feel nicer, less clinical.

You’re probably just reading too much into it. You always urge clients to ask for anything that will make them feel more comfortable, apparently Art just likes eucalyptus sage candles and mood lighting. It has nothing to do with you.

Your name being said from somewhere behind you rips you out of your own mind. You whirl around, and find yourself face to face with six time Grand Slam Champion, Tashi Duncan’s super hot husband, Art Donaldson. And he’s only wearing a fucking towel.

“Hello,” he greets with a kind smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “it’s nice to finally meet you, thank you so much for taking the time to come out here.”

Art is already worlds different from Tashi, or that’s what you’re inferring after spending less than five minutes with each of them. It’s still extremely apparent, Tashi has an almost overpowering presence to her, everything about her commands respect and she knows that. She uses that to her advantage, she likes it like that.

The man standing in front of you is nothing like that. The Art Donaldson in front of you doesn’t seem like some big shot tennis player with more impressive stats than you could wrap your head around. You’ve come to know that a few pro-sports guys like to swing their dicks around, bragging about their booming careers non-stop during a session. Yet everything about Art is unassuming as he stands in the doorway like he’s trying to make himself look smaller.

“Hi, Mr. Donaldson,” you’re not sure if it's appropriate to offer a man wearing a towel dangerously low on his hips your hand, you decide against it. “It’s no trouble really, I’m happy to help.”

“Please, call me Art.” The tone of his voice makes you want to shiver, smooth and warm like honey.

You try your best not to stare, but it’s so hard to ignore the toned expanse of Art’s body when it’s right there. He’s all broad shoulders, firm pecs, sculpted legs, with a cut Adonis belt. He’s like a marble statue, made in Michelangelo's perfect image.

Your eyes trail back up his body, lingering on his chest before rising up to his face. You’re mortified to see he’s staring right back at you, effectively catching you in the act. Your cheeks burn as you tear your gaze away, looking at anything and everything other than him. In your panic, you don’t notice the way his eyes rake over you in the same way.

“Okay, Art,” you say a little breathlessly, tightening your grip on the strap of your bag. “It’s nice to meet you. Mrs. Duncan let me know about your major problem areas, I’ll be sure to focus on them.” Involuntarily bringing up Tashi has your stomach clenching up in guilt, you just got done ogling her husband's body. You hope he takes the silent cue you're giving him to get on the damn table so you can start the massage and get the hell out of here.

Art nods silently, walking over to the table and moving to lie down on his stomach. You busy yourself with prepping your oils, taking them out of your bag and setting them on a small side table next to the massage bed uncapped for easy access. You can’t help but sneak glances at the rippling muscle of Art’s back as he shifts, his skin looks soft and is littered with freckles. You don’t miss the hiss he lets out when he lays his weight on his shoulder.

You usually don’t speak much during appointments, only engaging in conversation when your client initiates it, but you feel the need to fill the silence between you and Art. The quiet atmosphere makes everything seem far too intimate, and sure on some level it always is, but this feels different.

“How’d you hurt it? Your shoulder. If you don’t mind me asking.” you ask once he’s settled, placing your fingertips to the middle of his right shoulder, feeling around for any tension. Art tenses slightly at your touch, taking a sharp breath. You guess you should have warned him, you open your mouth to apologize but he lets out a small breath and relaxes onto the table again.

Art sighs, his voice tinged with weariness. "It was, uh, during a match. I overextended trying to return a serve. Haven't been able to move it properly since."

You nod, hands starting to move in slow, deliberate circles across the muscle. “That sounds about right. Most people don’t realize how brutal tennis is to the body, injuries are common,” you pointedly try to ignore the flashbacks of your wrist failing to swing a racket properly after you healed from your accident, flashbacks of watching as the bone pierced through your skin. “Sounds like you might need to take it easy for a while.” you continue, trying to keep the conversation light.

Art chuckled, though it was devoid of real humor. "Yeah, I’ve been playing a lot lately. Guess I pushed myself too hard." He winces slightly as you work on a particularly tight knot, shoulder tensing under your hands.

You pause, your hands stilling momentarily as you catch the underlying tension in Art's voice. "The season’s almost over, maybe it's time to give yourself a break, take some time to rest and recuperate." you remark softly, your tone gentle yet concerned.

Art's gaze flickers to yours, a flicker of vulnerability shining through. "I wish I could," he admits, his voice heavy, "But it's hard to step away, especially when it feels like it's all I have that’s still keeping everything together."

Your heart clenches at the raw honesty in his words. He’s completely silent afterwards, you wonder if he’s regretting telling you something like that, like maybe it just fell out of his mouth before he could stop it. Without a word, you continue to knead away the tension in his muscles, offering a silent gesture of support.

As you continue to work, hands skillfully moving over Art’s shoulder, you can’t help but notice the weariness in Art's demeanor. His presence feels heavy, almost broken, as if the physical pain was just a small part of what he was carrying. You feel a pang of sympathy for him. You can feel the weight of struggles pressing down on him, the way his shoulders sag slightly even under your careful touch.

“I can feel the tension here," you say gently, applying a little more pressure, "Just try to relax.”

With each knead and press, you remind yourself of your role. You’re here to help him heal, and that was all that mattered. But as your hands move over his warm skin, you can’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t what you had anticipated, something that made your heart race with both excitement and anxiety. You were so worried about meeting Tashi you completely forgot about Art. It’s a different story now as your hands explore the smooth planes of his back to the steady sound of his breathing.

"You're really good at this," Art says after a while, his voice a bit lighter.

You smile, a genuine one, the first real smile you’ve had since you got here. “Thanks. I’d hope so after all this time.”

Art lets out a small chuckle muffled by the table, it makes your stomach flutter. “How did you get into this? Massage therapy seems interesting.”

You laugh but it’s a bitter sound, moving your hands down to focus lower on Art’s shoulder. You try not to think about your tennis career, even after all this time you struggle with the memories despite all the good it brought you. “That’s a long story.” you mutter under your breath, even to your own ears you sound resentful.

“I’ve got time.” It’s a simple reply, but it’s so honest. Like Art’s genuinely interested in you, in getting to know you. It makes you feel dizzy.

“I, um,” you worry your lip between your teeth, working your hands harder over Art’s back. “I actually used to play tennis. When I was in high school.”

Art makes an interested noise, shifting under your hands as he moves his head to lay on the side of the table so he could look up at you. “No shit?” he looks more shocked than anything.

You nod, humming in confirmation as you finally move onto his other shoulder. “Yup, I was pretty serious about it back then, until I got injured.” You don’t meet Art’s gaze, but you can see how his face falls in your peripheral vision. You kind of want to laugh at how ironic this moment is, you wonder if Art’s thinking about Tashi’s knee. You know he was at the match, you’ve seen the blurry footage of Tashi Duncan’s fall from grace, watched Art vault over the net to get to her.

“That’s awful. I’m sorry.” He sounds like he means it.

“It’s okay, wasn't like it was my fault or anything,” you say, finally meeting his eyes with a rueful smile and raising your right wrist to show him your scar. “I got hit by a drunk driver coming home late from practice one night. Nasty fracture, bone went straight through.” You hope your voice is coming out as nonchalant as you’re trying to make it sound.

Art's eyes widen in disbelief as he takes in your scar, a mixture of shock and sympathy evident on his face. "Wow, that's...terrible," he murmurs, his voice tinged with compassion.

You shrug, the memories still vivid despite the passage of time. "It was tough, it was awful actually. All the physical therapy in the world couldn’t get a racket back in my hand,” you confess softly, fingers tracing the outline of the scar absentmindedly again. “But it also forced me to reevaluate things, in a way. It made me realize that life doesn't always go according to plan.” You see Tashi’s knee buckling in your mind's eye. “When I finally realized that I could take all the hate and all the anger I was feeling and channel it into something good, something like massage therapy, I never looked back."

You immediately regret over-sharing, feeling silly telling Art your sob story, but when you meet his eye again, he has an odd look on his face. His expression is soft as he looks up at you through long lashes, understanding and empathy swimming in the blue of his eyes.

"Well, silver linings, huh?" he says after a few seconds, there’s traces of a smile playing on his lips. You let out a small laugh, nodding your head slightly.

"Yeah," you agree, a small smile on your lips. "Silver linings."

As the conversation fades into a comfortable silence, you and Art find yourselves locked in a silent exchange, your eyes meeting and holding a depth of something you can’t quite pick up on. In that moment, the world around you seems to blur, leaving only the two of you suspended in a shared moment of vulnerability. There's a subtle shift in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that has formed between you, as if you've uncovered a piece of each other.

The shrill ringing of your phone’s alarm pierces through the moment, both you and Art jump at the sudden sound. It’s like a cold bucket of water pouring over your head, washing away whatever just happened between the two of you. The session’s over, you’re done.

“Okay,” you say a little too loudly, taking your hands off Art's back like his skin could burn you any second. “Looks like we’re all done.” You try to smile but it feels fake, forced, so you turn your back to Art and start capping your oils to shove them back in your bag.

Art’s voice breaks the silence as you pack up, sounding a little less confident than it did earlier. “Uh, my neck has been bothering me too, recently,” he says offhandedly as he sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the table. “I think I may have slept on it wrong.”

You stop what you’re doing, turning to face Art again, silently cursing him for not just letting you leave. “Do you want me to take a look before I go?” You pray he says no. You should know it won’t be that easy, not with your shit luck.

“If you don’t mind?” His tone is so hopeful and his eyes are so big that your feet are walking towards him before your mind can catch up.

“Not at all,” you reply, your voice steady despite the tightness in your chest. You step closer, practically between his slightly spread legs, feeling the warmth of his skin even before you touch him. Your fingers brush against his neck, and he shivers slightly, the muscles tight and knotted beneath your touch.

"Just relax," you murmur, trying to maintain any shred of professional demeanor. As you work, you can't help but notice the way his breath hitches, the tension in his body melting away under your skilled hands. The room feels smaller, the air heavier with each passing second.

He closes his eyes, a soft sigh escaping his lips. "That feels amazing," he whispers, and you swallow hard, trying to focus solely on the task at hand. As you work, the intimacy of the moment isn't lost on you, and you can't help but wonder if he feels it too.

Minutes tick by like hours as you work the tense muscle of Art’s neck. You're acutely aware of every sigh, every shift in his body, every subtle reaction to your touch. You finally pull away when you think it’s been enough time, eager to get out of this damn house before you do something you’ll regret.

You didn’t notice how close you really were to Art until you pulled back only to be met with his face mere inches away from yours. Startled by the sudden proximity, you freeze, caught off guard by the intensity of Art's gaze. His eyes, dark and searching, seem to hold a silent question, a silent invitation.

Now, Art’s body is one thing, it’s objectively perfect. He’s a professional athlete, of course it’s perfect. It has to be perfect. It’s his damn face that gets you.

He’s beautiful, beyond beautiful. He looks like he should be splayed across canvas hanging in the Louvre. The dim lighting in the room illuminates his face beautifully, his golden hair haloing around his head makes him look ethereal. Each of his features look as if they were handcrafted by a master sculptor, each contour and line a testament to perfection. His chiseled jawline speaks of strength and determination, while his lips, soft and inviting, seem to beckon you closer with every breath. His eyes are deep pools of ocean blue, though this close you can see a small splash of brown in his left eye you didn’t notice before, swirling with emotions that stir something deep within you.

Something more shocking than Art’s beauty, is how fucking tired he looks. Lines of exhaustion are etched along his face, subtle but undeniable. The weariness in his eyes speaks volumes, a silent plea for respite from the relentless demands of tennis. And yet, even amidst the exhaustion, there's a flicker of longing. He’s staring at you like he needs you, eyes wide and yearning. His chest rising and failing a little more harshly than it did before, each exhale coming out ragged and sharp.

“Art…” you whisper, heart threatening to beat out of your chest. He’s so warm, the heat emitting off of him makes you want to lean into it. You want to crawl on top of his powerful thighs and bury your face in his chest and never leave. Your hands flex where they’re draped over Art’s neck.

It happens in slow motion, Art’s hand trails up the skin of your thigh as your name falls from his lips like a prayer, and it’s like you’ve been electrocuted. You’re rearing back with a sharp breath, dropping your hands from his neck and taking a couple steps back.

“It was really nice to- uh to meet you, Art.” you say frantically, swinging your bag firmly over your shoulder and rushing to the door. Art’s still sitting on the table, silently watching you panic. He doesn’t try to stop you. “I hope your shoulder feels better,” is all you say before bursting out the door and speed walking out of the pool house.

Your heart's racing as you walk through the backyard, hands shaking even through the death grip you have on the strap of your bag. What the hell was that? What the hell was that? Did Art Donaldson just make a pass at you? You must be imagining things.

The thought rattles around in your mind, refusing to be dismissed. His words, his tone—they seemed to linger in the air, haunting you with their implications. The way he touched you, like he couldn’t help himself. But no, it couldn't be. He was married to Tashi, and besides, he was just being polite, right? You try to convince yourself of that as you make your way back to the house.

As you walk inside, still slightly shaken up, Tashi’s the first thing you see. She’s sitting in the living room, laptop open on the coffee table in front of her.

“Hey,” she says, sitting up straighter on the coach, “how was it?”

You swallow, urging yourself to calm down. “It was great, he should be seeing some improvement over the next few days.”

Tashi nods her head, seemingly pleased though it doesn’t show on her face. “Could this be a weekly thing, these appointments. He could really use them.”

No question marks. Motherfucker.

You flounder, stomach dropping. “Weekly? As in every Thursday?”

Tashi’s brow raises, eyes looking over you inquisitively. “Yes, preferably all home visits.”She stands from the couch, taking a couple steps towards you. “We read on your website you take permanent clients, is that not the case anymore.”

You shake your head, eyes wide as they follow her while she walks. “N-no, Mrs. Duncan we do. We could pencil you in if you’re willing to pay monthly for the time slot. Would you like to talk to some of my other employees to work out a rotating schedule?”

Tashi stops a few feet away from you, hands in her pockets. “Actually, we were hoping you’d be the one coming down. The only one.” You blink, her words slam over you like a ton of bricks. Just you, in a room with a half-naked Art. Every single Thursday. That can’t happen, not after what just went down between the two of you.

You can practically hear the warning bells blaring in your mind, urging you to refuse, to put an end to this before it spirals out of control. Yet, there's another voice, quieter but no less insistent, whispering seductive promises of what could be if you were to stay.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you grapple with the conflicting desires warring within you. Tashi's expectant gaze weighs heavily on you, waiting for your response, and you know that whatever decision you make will irrevocably alter the course of things between you and Art. With a shaky breath, you steel yourself, the weight of your choice settling like a stone in your stomach.

"I...I'll do it," you finally say, the words leaving your lips before you can stop them. "I'll make sure to pencil you in for weekly sessions, Mrs. Duncan."

Tashi's lips curve up slightly, satisfied, but beneath the surface you can sense the tension thrumming through the air. You've made your choice, for better or for worse, and now you can only hope that it won't lead to the downfall of everything you've worked so hard to build.

“Wonderful,” she says, gesturing for you to follow her to the front door. You trail behind her like a loyal pet, silently allowing her to drag you wherever she pleases. “Thank you again for coming out, and please,” she pauses with her hand on the doorknob, turning to meet your eye, “call me Tashi.”

"Thank you, Tashi," you murmur softly, the weight of her name feeling foreign on your tongue when you’re actually saying it to her for the first time. "I'll make sure to arrange everything at the office."

Tashi's smile widens, though there's a glint of something unreadable in her eyes. "I look forward to seeing you, then," she says, her tone laced with a hint of anticipation. "And please, if there's anything you need, don't hesitate to reach out."

With a final nod, Tashi opens the front door, the outside world beckoning beyond its threshold. You take a hesitant step forward, the weight of your decision pressing down on your shoulders like a heavy burden. As you step out into the cool evening air, you can't shake the feeling that you've just crossed a line from which there may be no turning back. But for now, all you can do is steel your nerves and hope that you haven't made a huge mistake.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

Your sessions with Art continue on. The guilt settling deep in your stomach each time you set foot in the Donaldson/Duncan house also continues. It worsens each time the two of you are alone in that damned massage room. Technically you’ve done nothing wrong, but you know deep in the back of your mind that what you’re doing isn’t normal. Each meeting is a strange mixture of tension and familiarity. When you arrive, Tashi always greets you warmly, her trust in you unwavering. It feels like a dagger each time, twisting deeper and deeper into your conscience.

Neither of you talk about it, what happened during your session, and Art doesn’t treat you any differently. He still goes out of his way to make polite conversation, asking you about your life, about your business, he even brings up old anecdotes you told him offhandedly. He doesn’t talk about tennis, and he has to know you can keep up in conversation with it since you told him about your history with it, you just assume he doesn’t want to.

That makes sense, you always think back to the first time he met you. How he brushed off any conversation about his career, how his demeanor changed when he spoke about it. How drained he looked. There was a sadness in his eyes, a weight he carried that seemed to go beyond just a few standard aches and pains. You remember how it struck you then, and it strikes you still, each time you see him.

His shoulder is getting better, you can tell. He can lay on it, or raise it above his head, without wincing. That makes your heart swell, knowing that despite how weird and kind of fucked up everything is, he’s healing.

The familiar sound of your timer ringing pulls you out of your thoughts. You’re shocked at how fast this appointment flew by, but you could tell as soon as you walked into the massage room to find Art already sitting on the table waiting for you, that something about this session feels different. It’s silly to call it “sensing a bad vibe”, but that’s exactly what you felt entering the room's threshold.

Art didn’t speak much as you worked, just laying on the table silently after saying hello and asking you about your week. The silence is definitely odd, Art’s not a chatterbox by any means, but he usually keeps some form of conversation flowing. After a while, you start to think it might be something you did, like maybe he’s mad at you. It sounds so stupid in your head, like you’re some poor high school girl getting hung up over a fucking guy giving you the silent treatment.

The only thing more stupid than that is how much it’s actually affecting you. Art has you over analyzing everything you’ve said or done over the last couple visits, you dread that maybe he just came to his senses after all this time. That he finally snapped out of whatever trance he was in and remembered he has a beautiful wife, and that he doesn’t really want you.

“Alright,” you say softly, stepping away from the table, “All done.” As you turn off the timer and gather your thoughts, you can't shake the feeling that something is off. You force yourself to bury it, Art doesn’t owe you an explanation, he doesn’t owe you anything. You aren’t his.

You glance over at him as he slowly sits up, his expression unreadable. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. You offer a small smile in return, trying to squash all the ugly feelings mixing in your stomach. You turn to busy yourself with packing up, feeling a weird sense of déjà vu.

Art’s voice cuts through the silence, sounding weary. “Are we still pretending it didn’t happen?”

It catches you off guard, making you drop the bottle in your hands back onto the table loudly. Your heart races as you turn back to face him, unsure of how to respond. The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, demanding a response you’re not sure you’re ready to give.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “I...I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I guess I was hoping we could just…forget about it.”

Art’s eyes search yours, filled with a mixture of longing and uncertainty. “I don’t think I can,” he confesses, his voice tinged with sadness.

The same feelings from that day rush back in your mind, flooding all your senses. It's as if time folds in on itself, bringing you right back to that moment where everything changed. You feel panic clawing its way up your body, fight or flight response waging a war inside of you.

You chose flight, shoving the last bottle in your bag and making a break for the door. Ready to run just like you did back then, run and come back next week with your tail between your legs desperately trying to forget that this ever happened, again. Art’s voice stops you just as you have your hand on the doorknob.

“Please…” he whispers, he sounds so broken, so vulnerable. “Please, don’t run.”

You don’t know what it is, maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, or the repressed feelings, or your shitty back bone, but whatever it is makes you pause, hand falling off the doorknob to lay limp at your side. You turn back to face him, the raw need in his eyes mirrored by your own emotions. It tugs at your heart, making it impossible to leave. You feel a surge of guilt and hesitation, but the longing in his gaze holds you captive. Slowly, you make your way towards him, taking small slow steps like you could still leave at any minute, but you know you won’t.

You walk until you’re crowding him, standing between his spread legs just like you did all those sessions ago. His eyes are wide, almost disbelieving, like he thought you’d turn around and slam the door on him instead. Which is what you should do, you should walk out that door right now and never step foot in their house again.

Art whispers your name, his voice a soft caress that sends sparks zapping down your spine. You're close enough to feel his breath fanning over your face, warm and intimate. You inhale, like you’re trying to absorb his words, his essence, his everything.

His hand takes yours, bringing it up to his chest. He presses it firmly against his pec, right on top of his heart. You can feel the rapid, uneven thumping beneath your palm. His thumb caresses your wrist gently, making goosebumps pebble over your skin.

It’s easy to get lost in Art’s eyes, so you’re shocked to notice something that very quickly grabs your attention. Art’s towel is tented obscenely, hard cock straining against the thick material. You swallow roughly at the sight, feeling the need to touch, to take, to help.

Your knees hit the floor before you fully realize the entire gravity of what you’re doing. You don’t care about any of that anyway, not right now.

Right now Art Donaldson is swiping his thumb across the scar on your wrist with his big sparkly eyes desperately looking into yours, unashamedly begging for you to touch him.

Who are you to deny him?

Your hands find the knot of his towel and yank it roughly, ripping it off Art's hips and tossing it aside. His hard cock springs out, slapping up against his stomach enticingly. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, pleased to see he’s perfect all over.

Art’s cock is long, and thick. He’s big, but in an exciting way, not in an intimidating way. He’s already steadily drooling pre-cum from his soft pink tip, already so hard and you haven’t even touched him yet. You reach up, tracing your finger along the length of him lightly. Art inhales, his eyes fluttering closed as you touch him for the first time. The anticipation in the room is palpable, a heady mix of desire and need that seems to swirl around you both.

You circle your hand around the base of his cock, stroking up and up until your hand bumps into the head, where you start to rub your thumb back and forth gently, spreading the wetness from his pre-cum before sliding your hand back down. Slowly, you lean in, placing a soft kiss on the tip of his cock before taking him into your mouth, savoring the taste of him as he groans deeply, hands gripping the massage table tightly.

“Shit,” he grits out, casting his gaze to the ceiling, chest already heaving raggedly.

You slide the warmth of your mouth down the shaft of his cock, moaning at the heady taste of him, skin soft and velvety on your tongue.

“Fuck, your mouth…” Art whispers above you, his words trailing off into a string of breathy moans. You hum in response, working his cock faster to draw out more of those noises. Hollowing your cheeks, you sink down towards the circle of your fist still holding the base of his cock with wet, slippery slurping sounds. Art’s hand lets go of the table, coming up to cup your cheek in a move way too intimate for what the two of you are doing.

You chance a look up, and your heart skips several beats at what you see. Art’s already staring down at you, his face twisted up in pleasure. His pale cheeks are flushed, brows drawn together tightly, plush bottom lip caught between his teeth. All that is enough to make you feel ten feet tall, but that’s not what makes you pause.

It’s his eyes, the way Art’s looking at you.

The look in his eyes is…worshipful. Reverent. Like you’re a celestial being, a divine grace walking among mortals. Not some girl on her knees for a married man in his house’s private fucking massage room.

Yet the longer you hold his gaze, while still working your mouth over his hard cock, you feel something strange stirring inside you. Art’s eyes holding such a longing reverence so intense, it was starting to elevate you to a pedestal of adoration. Of devotion.

Right now Art’s like the sun, burning so brightly you feel you need to look away before he consumes you, but you don’t.

“Please,” Art begs desperately, voice so soft you barely even hear it. There’s tears welling in his eyes, his red rimmed and so so tired looking eyes. It breaks your heart, how could such a wonderful man be reduced to this?

You pull off Art’s cock, hand still pumping firmly over him. He whines at the loss of your mouth, hips bucking up to chase after the warm heat. His tip bumps over your lips as he moves, trailing a thin line of pre-cum across them.

Without breaking eye contact, you speak.

“You’re so good, Art.”

It’s those four words whispered against the tip of Art's leaking cock that has him coming with a hitched breath and a soft cry. A few bursts of his warm come land over your parted lips before you take the head of his cock back in your mouth to greedily swallow down the rest.

"Thank you, fuck, thank you...!" Art grates out as his body trembles above you, hand squeezing yours so hard it borders on painful. You know you’re never coming back from this, but you still squeeze back as hard as you can all the same.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

Maybe this is just your life now, fucking the husband of the woman you worshiped like a God for years on end. It’s like you can’t stop, like you’re an addict or something. No matter how disgusting and shameful you feel every time you get home from Art’s appointments, you can’t help but give into him. It’s a twisted dance, a cycle of pleasure and regret that you can’t seem to break. One look into his sad, kicked puppy eyes and you crack. You’ve convinced yourself it's just you reveling in the feeling of being truly wanted for the first time. But deep down, you know it’s more than that. It’s the way he makes you feel alive, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in his world.

Art wants you. He needs you. He’s made that more than clear every single visit since you dropped down on your knees for him. The guilt gnaws at you, a constant reminder that you can't escape. Yet, every time you see him, every time he reaches out to you with that desperate need in his eyes, you find yourself powerless to resist.

You’ve never kissed, not on the lips. Art’s certainly tried, lips seeking yours out as your oiled up fist slips up and down his cock, as you sit on his lap and grind against him until he’s dirtying his towel. You just turn your head every time, letting him trail kisses along your jaw and neck instead somehow feels less real. Kissing Art will make it feel real, you know it will. So you don’t.

Funnily enough, you think things are going well. Maybe even as well as getting a married man off every Thursday can go. You can see a change in Art, in his behavior and the way he holds himself. He smiles more, he laughs more, it’s like he’s giving more of himself to you each time you meet with him. It’s exhilarating, the way your presence has this effect on him, almost as if you’re breathing new life into him.

Art’s newfound lightness is infectious. You find yourself looking forward to Thursdays with an anticipation that borders on impatience. The way he looks at you, the tender touches that linger just a bit longer, the conversations that flow more freely–it all feels like a dream you’re afraid to wake up from.

You should have known it was too good to be true, that this little world you created in your head was just the calm before the storm.

Everything about this session was normal to start. It’s a little less intense since Art’s shoulder is doing better, now you have free reign over the rest of his body. Greedy hands free to glide over the planes and planes of muscle you’ve become familiar with.

As you work on his lower back, your hands moving in practiced, soothing motions, you notice a subtle rigidity in his muscles. “Everything alright?” you ask, keeping your tone light.

Art hesitates before answering. “Yeah, just…a lot on my mind.”

You frown, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Art stays quiet, still laying silently on the table face down. You stare at the back of his head, like if you stare hard enough you’ll be able to tell what he’s thinking. Taking his silence as not wanting to talk, you continue on. You don’t want to pressure him to confide with you, not when he already has a wife for that.

As your hands continue to move over Art's tense shoulders, he lets out a deep sigh, breaking the silence. "I need you,” he whispers softly, his voice filled with an unexpected vulnerability. He shifts on the table, leaning up to look you in the eye; his own eyes are watery, lashes clumped together with unshed tears. “It's not just the massages. I need you in my life, no more of this half-assed bullshit. I need all of you.”

You feel your whole world turn upside down in a single second, the distinct feeling of your heart lurching out of your chest and your stomach dropping to your feet. It’s like the walls of the room start moving in on you, caging you in. It makes your chest feel tight, breath coming out in short jagged rasps. Panic grips you, and you violently rip your hands off Art’s body, stumbling back from the massage table.

"I-I'm sorry, I can't," you stammer, voice choked with emotion, as you turn to flee from the room, not even bothering to grab your stuff. But before you could escape, Art was right behind you, reaching out to catch your wrist, his grip gentle yet firm. "Please don't go, please," he begs, his eyes pleading with you to stay and talk. You wrench your hand free and run out of the room.

You think you hear Art calling out your name through all the static rushing through your ears, but you’re not sure, and you don’t look back to check. Your feet pound against the tile as you run out of the pool house feeling like you’re about to throw up, or pass out. Art’s confession is the only thing running through your mind. The only thing that’s still clear through your dizzying panic.

You finally start to breathe again when you burst into the house, leaning back against the cool glass of the door to try and relax before you start to spiral. The silence inside is almost oppressive, the only sound the rapid thudding of your heart in your ears. You close your eyes, willing yourself to calm down, to find some semblance of control.

Your name being said grabs your attention, and you open your eyes to find Tashi at the top of the stairs.

“Is everything okay? I heard the door slam.” Her expression is a mix of concern and confusion as she takes a few steps down. You push yourself off the door, you need to leave as soon as possible, before Tashi can reach you and coerce you into staying.

“Everything's fine!” Your voice sounds shaky despite your best efforts to calm yourself, you’re basically speed walking to the door. “I just, I got a phone call, and I need to leave. Right now. I’m so sorry.”

You don’t even wait for her to reply before you’re yanking the door open and rushing outside. You hope to God that she doesn’t follow you outside. She doesn’t.

You walk, arms wrapped around yourself tightly in a feeble attempt to stop shaking. There are tears burning your eyes and making everything in front of you blurry. The wind whips your hair around your face, stinging your cheeks as you walk further away from the house.

Each step feels heavier, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to make sense of the storm inside you. The chaotic weather seems to mock your turmoil, perfectly matching the chaos you feel. You struggle to piece together what just happened, the intensity of Art’s words echoing in your mind.

“I need you.”

His voice had been so raw, so vulnerable, and it scared you. You weren’t ready for that kind of emotion, that kind of responsibility, that kind of guilt. The weight of it had sent you running, and now you’re left grappling with the aftermath.

Fuck.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX HOURS LATER…

The drive home was a blur. Rain and wind beating against the windshield nearly the whole time. You’d laugh at how ironic it was, like God’s punishing you with shitty weather, but you’re too busy fighting tears to find the humor in it.

The dread didn’t set in until you got home, stumbling through the front door on shaky legs until you reached your kitchen where you promptly emptied everything in your stomach into your trash. After you force yourself into the shower to wash the rain, and guilt, off of your skin. You scrub yourself raw, skin pink and sensitive to the touch, like that will somehow erase all that you’ve done.

When you finally step out, the bathroom mirror is fogged, a ghostly reflection staring back at you through the mist. You avoid its gaze, wrapping yourself in a towel and padding through your room to collapse onto your bed. The silence of the house presses in on you, letting your thoughts consume you.

Art’s words play on a loop inside your head, the look on his face burned to the forefront of your mind. The weight of his confession hung heavy in the air, rocking you with its intensity. Running away had seemed like the only option at the time, a knee-jerk reaction to the overwhelming flood of emotions threatening to engulf you.

You know you didn’t run from Art because you don’t want him, you ran because there’s nothing you want more. In the aftermath, running felt less like a choice and more like an instinctual response to the storm of emotions threatening to consume you whole since the first day you met him. Every step away from Art was a battle against the gravitational pull of your desires, a struggle against the overwhelming urge to surrender to what you both shared.

The truth is crystal clear: you didn't run from Art because you're devoid of feelings for him. You ran precisely because your heart beats in synchrony with his, because the depth of your longing for him is as boundless as the universe itself.

Your phone pings from the dresser, you ignore it. A second later, it pings again, and again, and again. You furrow your brows, glaring at your nightstand until you reach over and pick up your phone. It’s an unknown number, but you know who it is.

UNKNOWN NUMBER I need to see you. Please, I can send a car. It's Art. Tashi isn’t home tonight.

Maybe you’re the worst person in the world, but all the fight leaves your body the second you read Art’s texts. You need to see him as much as he needs to see you. Your fingers type out a response before you can think twice.

Art okay.

You send him your address, jumping out of bed to throw on the first things you see. A black SUV was waiting for you as soon as you got downstairs, just as promised. You climbed in after getting confirmation from the driver, and sat in the backseat quietly as you went down the familiar streets.

As the house comes into view, you can see the front door’s light is still on, waiting for you. You barely wait for the car to stop before you’re opening the car door and stepping outside. The rain immediately drenches you, seeping through your thin sleep clothes. You take two steps before the front door swings open and Art comes rushing out into the rain. He’s only wearing sleep pants, his bare feet smack wetly on the concrete as he runs to you.

Art stops short of you, hesitating, like he doesn’t know whether to touch you or not. You want him to touch you so bad you’re scared it might kill you. The air between you feels charged, every drop of rain a tiny spark. Finally, Art reaches out, his hand trembling as he brushes a soaked strand of hair from your face. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you step closer, collapsing into his arms. The rain continues to fall around you, but at this moment, it’s just the two of you.

"Art," you breathe, your voice trembling. "What are we doing?"

He gazes into your eyes, the raw emotion in his expression mirroring your own. "I don't know," he admits, his hands gently sliding down to your shoulders. "But I can't let you go. Not now." His words hang between you, a fragile thread of honesty that binds you together. You can feel the weight of his words, the sincerity in his voice, and it tugs at your heartstrings.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as his words sink in. The honesty in his gaze, the desperation in his touch—it all overwhelms you, leaving you breathless. The only thing you can think of, the only thing that feels right, is kissing him. So you do.

You lean closer, your heart pounding in your chest, and gently cup his face in your hands. His eyes widen for a moment, a flicker of surprise mingling with the intensity of his emotions. Then, as if drawn together by an invisible force, your lips meet his.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative and sweet, a question and an answer all at once. His lips are cold and slightly trembling, matching the fluttering in your chest. You can taste the salt of your tears mingling with the sweetness of the moment. Time seems to stand still as you lose yourself in the sensation of his mouth on yours.

Gradually, the kiss deepens, becoming more urgent and fervent, a silent expression of everything words can’t convey. Art’s arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, his fingers threading through your hair. The heat between you intensifies, both your breath coming faster, mingling as the kiss grows hungrier.

Art’s heartbeat echoes against your chest, you can feel his grip on you getting tighter like he's scared of letting you go. Your hands slide down to his shoulders, your fingers digging into his muscles as you press closer, your bodies molding together. His tongue flicks against your lips, seeking entrance, and you part them eagerly, welcoming him in. The taste of him is intoxicating, a mix of desperation and passion that makes your head spin. A soft moan escapes your lips, and he responds with a low growl, his hands roaming down your back, pulling you impossibly closer.

“Art,” you say in between kisses, panting into his slick, open mouth. “I need you to fuck me.”

You can feel Art’s whole body shiver, groaning unabashedly into your mouth like he’s dying for it. “I’ve been waiting weeks for you to finally admit that.”

The two of you tear through the house, all tangled limbs and bumbling steps, you trail water all over the floor. Somewhere in the chaos you drop your phone and keys on the large kitchen island. Art refuses to let go of you to walk properly, blindly leading the way so he can keep kissing you breathless.

Art only stops kissing you when you finally make it to his bedroom, pulling away to wrestle the now soaked sleep pants off his legs. You follow by example and peel your shirt off, skin damp and cold but you could care less, not when Art’s pants are pooling at his ankles and he’s throwing his boxers carelessly over his shoulder.

“God,” he breathes out, shaking his head like he can’t believe you're giving him this, “You’re so beautiful.”

The raw honesty in his tone has your cheeks burning, you cast your gaze to the floor instinctually, feeling too overwhelmed by his charged gaze raking over you. You can hear his feet softly padding against the floor, making his way closer. You watch his feet come to a complete stop in front of you, he takes a hold of your chin gently forcing you to look up at him.

His eyes, intense and unwavering, lock onto yours. “You’re fucking perfect.”

With a gentle push, Art lowers you onto the bed, his weight a comforting presence above you. He tilts your head back and kisses you breathless, one big hand sliding lower and lower on your stomach till he’s got his hand down the front of your shorts, he groans when his hand makes contact with your bare skin. You’d almost forgotten you hadn’t worn any underwear. His hand so close to your aching center has your breath hitching as you kiss, hips bucking up towards his palm.

You reach for his cock, an angry shade red and leaking steadily, but he catches your wrist before you can touch. You meet his eyes confused, but he just shakes his head.

“It’s been about me the whole time, baby. Let me fix that,” he whispers.

You nod your head wordlessly. You wouldn’t dream of denying him, not right now. He smiles, pecking your lips again before he starts to kiss his way downwards. He explores your body with his mouth with such care it has you shaking under every brush his lips. He kisses all down your jaw and neck, taking extra time on your chest to map out the skin of your breasts with his tongue. He circles your right nipple with the tip of his tongue a few times over before he takes it in his mouth, rolling it between his teeth gently. It has your back arching into his mouth, hands scrambling for a purchase on the silk sheets. One long finger slides around your entrance and dips inside, shallow, then deeper, stretching you slowly, carefully, while his other hand rubs your clit with light, gentle touches. “Is this good?” Art asks quietly, voice tinged slightly with insecurity, like you’re not completely unraveling because of him.

“God yes! Yes – fuck! – Art,” you mewl loudly, hips grinding down roughly onto his finger, desperate to take in more of him. You can feel him smile against your skin, pulling off to blow cool air over your hard nipple and repeating it all over again on your left. His finger slides through the wetness collecting in your hole, spreading it to your throbbing clit. He finally sinks a single finger into the warm, tight, heat of your cunt.

Art pulls away from your chest to kiss his way down your stomach, sliding lower and lower on the huge king size mattress, he doesn’t stop the rhythm of his fingers as he peels your shorts down your legs, tossing them aside. A guttural groan leaves his lips at the sight of your slick cunt parting over his fingers, taking them so well. He pitches forward like he can’t help himself, like his lips are magnetically drawn to your cunt, and presses a small kiss to your clit.

“Fuck!” You squeal and writhe as his finger fucks in and out of you, hands tangling in his messy hair, cheeks flushing at the sound of your leaking cunt squelching against his wrist with each thrust. Art's lips tighten over your clit, sucking for a brief second before he moves back to start laving his tongue over your cunt in careful, slightly clumsy, strokes. The sounds he's making, almost filthy slurping, accompanied by little moans now and then send small vibrations through you that shock your system, making you fist his hair even tighter.

Art’s lewd noises fill the air, mixing with your own moans to fill the room. His eyes stay closed for the most part, fluttering open every couple seconds to watch you fall apart. Your thighs shake uncontrollably around his head when you make eye contact, threatening to clamp around his ears and keep him there.

A sob tears from your throat when he adds another finger, then he curls them inside you and pulls back and god, shit, shit, fuck, fuck me, god, Art, please fuck me.

“Fuck me Art please fuck me I need it so bad please-” you ramble nonsensically, pulling at Art’s hair desperately. You can feel the warmth starting to pool in your stomach, but you don’t want to come on his tongue, or on his fingers, you want to come with him inside you.

Art lets you drag him up, the bottom half of his face is slick and shiny, drenched in your wetness. He makes his way up your body quickly, hands gripping tightly to your hips, not hesitating to kiss you even as your juices decorate his lips. You kiss back desperately, tasting yourself on his tongue. The head of his cock bumping against your twitching, empty hole has you whining.

“Fuck me, Art,” you breath hotly, hips canting up needily. “No condom, I’m on the pill. I want you to come inside me. Please, I need it.”

Slowly, he starts to sink in. Feeding you inch by inch torturously slow. He kisses you the whole time, greedily swallowing the moans flowing out of your mouth as he stretches your cunt on his thick cock. You grab at his shoulders like a lifeline, kissing back with everything you have.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he says through gritted teeth, hands gripping your hips hard enough that you know you’ll be bruised in the morning. “So fucking perfect for me, such a perfect pussy for my cock.”

“Move.” Is all you can manage to squeak out, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders.

Art starts to move, thrusts slow and gentle, like he’s easing you into it. You’re grateful for it, you’ve never taken anyone as big as him. Slowly, his thrusts speed up, cut hips smacking against the fat of your ass a little rougher than before. You revel in it, pushing your ass back greedily for more more more. From this angle, the thick head of his cock drags against your g-spot perfectly every time he plunges back into your dripping cunt.

“Shit! Right there, don’t stop,” you slur breathlessly, feeling the familiar warmth swirling through your stomach as he fucks you.

“I love you.” Art confesses against your lips, his breath hot and erratic. His sweaty forehead pressed to yours as he pounds in and out of you, the motion both relentless and tender. His eyes are wide open now, so blue and so big and so honest as they bore into yours so intensely it’s suffocating.

It’s soon, it’s way too soon. You’ve barely known each other for a couple months, but you can't deny the warmth spreading through your chest, mingling with the heat of the moment, making everything feel both overwhelming and perfect.

Now that you're here, with Art’s cock fitting so perfectly in the wet heat of your cunt, you can’t believe it took you this long. You love Art. You’ve been in love with Art since the first time he spoke to you. Since the first time he touched you like you were the solution to all his problems.

Art must take your stunned silence as rejection, head falling to rest on your shoulder dejectedly, but his hips don’t slow their rhythm. If anything he speeds up, hips thrusting against you desperately.

“Please, please say it back,” he begs, voice thick with emotion, “Say it back, I need to hear you say it. Please,”

You surge up, wrapping your arms around him as tightly as you can, ankles locking together across his back. Art couldn’t pull out of you if he wanted to, judging from the long whine he lets out, he doesn’t mind.

“I love you, Art” You whisper back, barely audible over the lewd slap of his hips stinging your ass. Art groans so loudly you can feel it reverberating off the sensitive skin of your neck.

Hips speeding up even faster, Art turns his head to catch your lips in a searing kiss. This kiss is different than any of the other ones you’ve shared tonight, full of so much emotion and unspoken words. You swear you feel your heart grow three sizes, almost full and threatening to break out of your chest.

“I’m gonna come, fuck, I’m gonna fucking come,” he breathes between kisses. You can only moan in response, right on the brink of your own orgasm. His hips start to lose their rhythm as he chases it, fucking into you faster and harder.

Art’s cock gives a final twitch inside you before his hips are stilling and he’s coming with a broken moan, unloading everything he has into you. You’re right behind him, vision whiting out as you come, thighs shaking where they’re draped around his hips.

Art collapses onto you, both of you breathing heavily as you come down from the high of your orgasm’s. You lay like that for a while, heaving and sweaty wrapped up in each other's arms. You feel something slot into place, something that you’ve been missing.

Art’s soft voice pierces through the afterglow, “Will you hold me?”

“Yes,” you whisper back, circling your arms around his shoulders.

…

When you wake up hours later you’re beyond thirsty, dehydrated from all the crying, and maybe from the sex. Art’s head is laying across your bare chest, tousled hair tickling your jaw and arms snug around your waist. He looks so peaceful, eyes closed with his long lashes fanning over his cheeks. The sound of his steady breathing is almost enough to lull you right back to sleep. You smile softly, running your hands through his hair slowly. Savoring how at peace he looks, so different from the battered, broken man you met.

You slip out of his arms as carefully as possible, not wanting to wake him. Rolling out of bed to search half-assedly for your clothes in the darkness. You can’t find your shirt, only your underwear and shorts. You notice a red shirt strewn over the dresser next to the bed, illuminated by the moonlight pouring through the blinds. You pick it up without thinking, it's soft in your hands, the fabric thin and worn down. You toss it on before padding out of the bedroom.

You get a little lost in your thoughts as you make your way to the kitchen, Art loves you.

The thought has you biting back a giddy smile. Art loves you and you love him too. It sounds fucking crazy, but you know it’s true. Your life is so completely fucked, you don’t know if you care.

Art loves you.

Your smile doesn’t leave your lips as you turn the corner, arms wrapped around yourself tightly, the warmth of Art's affection lingering like a gentle caress.

“He smiles more.”

The soft voice ringing out from your left makes you stop in your tracks. You turn, and there in the kitchen illuminated by the soft glow of the ceiling light, like an angel, is Tashi Duncan.

Tashi looks at you from her spot across the room with an impassive look on her face, she’s got your keys in one hand, fiddling with them boredly. When you don't reply she speaks again, "He's playing better, won the last three tournaments he was in." She says casually, setting her half full wine glass down on the island.

You don't need to ask her who "he" is.

You're silent for a few more beats as she stares at you expectantly, silently urging you to say something. You rack your brain for a response, caught like a deer in headlights under Tashi's gaze.

"What?" you softly mutter, words cutting through the air weakly.

Tashi sighs in exasperation, like you're a child who doesn't understand the simple question she's asking. She raises her wine glass back to her lips, draining the rest of it before setting it down once more and making her way over to you.

You know you should flee, make a break for the door before she reaches you. Running away from the woman whose husband you’re fucking - whose husband you just got done fucking, and who told you he loved you - while she pays you seems like the easiest thing to do in the moment, but you don't.

You find yourself glued to the spot as Tashi's commanding presence looms over you, until she's all you can see. Until her expensive smelling perfume is all you can breathe, until she's towering over you, miles of soft skin on display in a classy black nightie.

She stares down at you, her face completely unreadable. It feels like hours as her brown eyes burn into yours, your heart must be beating a thousand beats per second.

When Tashi finally moves, it’s her hand you see rising up in your peripheral vision. At first you think she's going to hit you, get you back for sleeping with her husband, for falling in love with her husband. You tense up, bracing for the slap, it would be the least of what you deserve, but it never comes.

Instead, Tashi's hand finds its way up to the side of your face, cupping your cheek gently. You can feel the chilled metal of her wedding band make contact with your warm skin.

You feel like you might pass out staring into the eyes of Tashi Duncan. Everything you ever wanted in high school flashing rapidly right before your eyes.

If Art Donaldson is the sun, Tashi is the moon. Her light draws you in and keeps you looking at her, and never wanting to look away.

Her thumb slides across your bottom lip, the same lip that’s kissed her husband. Ever so slightly, she pushes the tip of her thumb into your parted lips, far enough to touch your bottom teeth. Your breath catches in your throat, eyes widening in shock, your pulse is fluttering wildly. You distantly wonder if she can feel it on the inside of her wrist.

“I’m his coach, I need to be hard on him or he fails. I refuse to let him fail,” she says softly, tone casual like she’s not brushing the tip of your tongue with her fingers. “But I’m not stupid, I know what he needs. Someone sweet, someone gentle, someone who looks at him and doesn’t see tennis.”

You couldn’t answer her if you wanted to, but you wouldn’t trust yourself to speak anyway. You feel far away and floaty the longer her fingers sit in your mouth, your brain feels like molasses.

“I can’t give him what he needs. I’m not that kind of person,” Tashi says, eyes roaming your face languidly, like she’s window shopping your features. Her voice is nearly a whisper the next time she speaks, “but you are. You could be that for him.”

Your heart drops, the haze surrounding your brain rips away so violently, like someone took a leaf blower to it. Her words make everything start to fall into place, the at home visits, the “exclusive deal”, the weird ass run-ins you’ve had with her over the weeks.

This was never about the goddamn massages.

For a few seconds you both stay like that. Standing inches away from each other in the half-lit kitchen of her and Art's house. For a second, you think you can see the tiniest smile playing on her lips before she drops her hand from you completely.

"There’s a car waiting for you outside,” she says, still close enough that you can feel her breath fan over your face, “See you next Thursday."

Tashi turns on her heels and leaves you alone, disappearing down the long hallway leading to her and Art's bedroom. You watch the whole time she goes, until she completely fades into the shadows. Your lip still tingling from her touch.

There’s only one thing on your mind as you incredulously stare down the now empty hall…

These people are so fucking weird.

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hcsiqs · 3 months ago

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| show a little loving

• pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

• summary: drunk paige being clingy (that one ice live iykyk)

• warnings: alcohol use

• bc drunk paige is so cute and clingy 😭

Paige was walking around the bar holding Ice’s phone that was live on TikTok. She was going around showing different people until she got to you. She wrapped her right arm around your neck and shoved the phone in your face. “We got the best player in the nation right here!” she smiled, as she shoved her way into the camera’s view too, by resting her chin on your shoulder.

“Oh hi guys!” you smiled, looking up from your phone and into the camera. You moved your face a little bit closer so you could see the comments coming in, most of them talking about Paige’s looks or saying hi back to you. “Guys we have to be up at 8 am tomorrow!” you complained, letting out a sigh as Paige wrapped her arm more your neck to pull you closer to her.

And then the song Draco by Future started playing through the speakers loudly and you could see the blondes face light up as she started singing the lyrics loudly. You let out a small laugh before joining her in on her horrible singing.

She then sat Ice’s phone down on your drink before pulling her own phone out and going to SnapChat to record the both of you singing the song. As you two sang, Paige started to nuzzle her head into your neck, seemingly forgetting that it wasn’t only her phone that was out, but also Ice’s that had a little over a hundred viewers on it.

“Ok P, that’s enough live for you,” you laughed as you grabbed Ice’s phone and handed it back over to the girl. And with that Paige took the opportunity to wrap both of her arms safety around you, pulling your back to her chest as she rested her chin on top of your head. “You’re gonna regret drinking in the morning,” you told her, shaking your head softly.

“I’ll be fine,” she brushed it off, but you knew Paige very well, that she would in-fact, not be fine in the morning.

“It’s your funeral,” you responded, sipping on your Shirley Temple.

“Ooo, let me try,” Paige stuck out her hand to grab your drink, which you quickly moved out of her reach. “Nuh-uh. You need water,” you turned around in the barstool to look up at her.

“Ion want water!” she complained, dragging out the end of her sentence, sounding like a little kid.

“Paige,” your voice was stern as you looked up at her. Her blue eyes glazed due to the alcohol in her system, her hair messy from her dancing around stupidly with KK, and the way her hands had never left your body, even though you were turned facing her.

Paige was always a touchy person, constantly giving hugs and always brushing her hand against yours, but when she was drunk it was something different.

A something different that had your heart beater faster, that it was noticeable to yourself. The way she couldn’t be away from you for more than two minutes at a time, and when she was around you she wouldn’t let you out of her sight.

And the way she had her hands resting on your thighs as she stood between your legs made it all the much harder to not just give in to her every want.

“Drink up,” you handed her your water, which she reluctantly drank. And once she was done you sat the water down on the table and then handed her the Dirty Shirley.

Her eyes instantly brightened as her lips went around the straw and she began sipping on the drink. “Ok don’t drink it all!” you laughed, pulling it away from her mouth.

“So good though,” her words slurred slightly as she looked down at you sitting.

“How bout I go order you one then? Hm? How’s that sound?” you asked, standing up from your seat, her body now only inches away. She placed her hands on your lower back, as your hand came up to wrap around her neck.

“Sounds good,” she smiled, squeezing your waist gently before you walked over to the bar and got her one of her own.

What the two of you hadn’t realized is that Ice had caught the moment on camera. And it most definitely looked a little incriminating to the both of you. With Paige’s hand naturally resting so low on your back and your arm draped around her neck, to anyone it would appear the two of you are together. But, right now the two of you were blissfully unaware of it.

“One Dirty Shirley,” you announced to the girl as you handed her the drink, her arm falling right back to where they had been planted before.

“Thank you,” she smiled, taking a sip of the drink.

allies corner.

and if i told you i made this draft in may…

also maybe a part 2 where they find out that like ice caught them on live or something who knows

#wnba #wnba basketball #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #paige bueckers #uconn lives #paige bueckers angst #paige bueckers fanfiction #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers fluff

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luvhughes43 · 5 months ago

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the boy is mine | quinn hughes

[luvhughes43 masterlist🌙]

summary: yn meets quinn hughes and is instantly captivated by him, leading to him inspiring and starring in her new single "the boy is mine"

word count: 2.8k

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📍brighter days studios

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yourusername soooooon ;)

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user01 our soon??

liked by yourusername

user02 love you !!! cannot wait to see what youre working on

user03 you guys... quinn hughes liked this...

user04 NEW MUSIC?? OHH IM UP.

user05 i'm seated. the record store employees are scared and asking me to leave because "it's not even out yet" but im simply too seated.

6 MONTHS EARLIER

how can it be? you and me

might be meant to be, can't unseen it

but i don't wanna cause no scene

im usually so unproblematic

so independent, tell me why

'cause the boy is mine, mine

it was supposed to be for album promotion. sitting in the stands at rogers arena - right behind the home bench so the camera had easy access to see your dazzling face as the game unfolded in front of you. "he's kind of cute," your best friend courtney leans in towards you, pointing out one of the players only a few feet away from you behind the glass.

HUGHES. 43.

you study his side profile for a second - not giving him any real attention. you were here strictly on business and if people started suspecting you were eyeing somebody who was rumoured to be in a relationship (you checked) you knew that your publicist would call you in distress.

"i think hes taken," you whisper back, nervously eyeing the people sitting around you.

courtney nudges you with a small chuckle, "you checked?"

you playfully nudge her back, before settling back into your seat. to tell the truth, you were on a strict "no dating" rule ever since your ex boyfriend ran his mouth to page six detailing how you "cheated" on him with someone in a relationship. it wasn't a true story of course, but everyone flocked to the headlines anyway as an excuse to call you horrid names and say i just never liked her anyway!

hughes turns around then, and you feel your breath hitch as the speakers call out your name and your flushed face is plastered across the jumbotron. "you so like him," courtney laughs and you can't help but join her.

"portia's gonna kill me,"

"oh come on! a new relationship is a publicists dream... plus, i think he likes you. he literally cannot stop staring," you look to where courtney points and you see the defensemen skating towards centre ice - his eyes flicking towards you before he grounds himself in the game.

butterflies immediately fill up your chest and you know your screwed. the boy is mine.

something about him is made for somebody like me

baby, come over, come over

and God knows i'm trying, but theres no use in denying

you don’t know how she did it, but as soon as the final buzzer rang courtney was pulling you up and out of your seat and dragging you through the various corridors of the arena. “where are we going?” you ask, letting courtney pull you along.

“i’ve got connections babes,” she replies before coming to a halt in-front of a door. she knocks twice and a nice man wearing a suit opens the door slightly.

“you all good?” he turns his head and yells into the room.

“court…” your confusion is clear but before you can ask any questions the man swings the door open and your face to face with the canucks roster. “courtney!” you hiss lowly and she squeezes your hand tightly.

“you’re welcome…” she teases as she drops your hand and steps into the room.

as if your eyes were magnets, you lock eyes with quinn. his cheeks tinge with pink, and you quickly avert your gaze.

the man from before introduces you to the room - even though it’s not really necessary. your “scandals” have been plastered all over the news since your brief hiatus from music left everyone bored and in need of gossip.

"hughes - i mean uh quinn. i'm quinn," the man from the ice stutters as he reaches a hand out towards you. you slip your hand into his and with an awkward pause you two drop your hands.

"im y/n," you reply with a small smile and courtney silently slips away to greet the other players.

the boy is mine

i can't wait to try him

let's get intertwined

the stars they aligned

the boy is mine

watch me take my time

i cant believe my mind

the boy is divine

everything happened surprisingly fast. one minute you were sharing your number with quinn - against all rational judgement - and the next the two of you were taking any gaps in your schedules to spend time together. coffee dates turned into lunches, which turned into dinners, and then there were nights wrapped in each others sheets. it was all so crazy and fast - and it turned out that quinn wasn't seeing anybody after all.

please know this aint what i planned for

probably wouldnt bet a dime or my life on

there's gotta be a reason why

my girls, they always come through in a sticky situation

say, "it's fine"

happens all the time

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liked by _quinnhughes, courtney, sukiwaterhouse, and 786 712 others

yourusername 🌞

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courtney miss youu

user06 cuties !!!!

user07 quinns liking her posts again...

user08 he saw her at his game months ago and instantly folded... i respect that in a man

_quinnhughes

liked by yourusername, lhughes_06, _eliaspettersson, and 31 409 others

_quinnhughes Summa😎🌊

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trevorzegras what the dog doin

user09 now who's damn dog...

user10 TOULOUSE???

user11 ? who tf is toulouse

user12 it's yns dog!! istg she and quinn are dating

when you don't think the rumours are true but... your attention is stuck on your phone screen as your leaked song plays in the background of a tiktok. a pretty blonde girl lip syncs your song with annoyance and you watch the video a total of three times before clicking on the caption. "guess she fantasized about my bf too much and now hes hers lol... she's sick."

"do you know this girl?" you ask quinn and he lazily looks up from the pasta he's cooking. you mute the video as chills go up your spin. there is absolutely no way that quinn was seeing someone when the two of you first got together all those months ago.

"no why, is she your friend?" quinn replies easily.

you stare back at the video and all of the interactions it has. over two-hundred-thousand likes and all the comments are bashing you for something you didn't even do. you were so beyond tired of this situation and people using your name for attention. "no, i don't know her either," you respond distantly. you forward the video to your managers and hope they can rectify the situation.

"it's nothing," you dismiss your earlier question when you realize that quinn is still lingering on you. he reluctantly nods before turning his attention back to his pan. "thanks for coming here by the way - i know your schedules insane," quinn speaks up, mentioning the break in your studio time to come visit his lake house in michigan.

"thank you for inviting me," you set your phone down - completely committing to ignore the online drama and to focus on what's in front of you.

something about him was made for somebody like me

baby, come over, come over

and God knows i'm trying, but theres no use in denying

you had never spent so much time in one place. you were only supposed to be in vancouver for a few studio sessions with a producer native to the city - but ever since meeting quinn you became enamoured with the city. but it wasn't just vancouver either - you were also splitting your time between michigan as well. which, before meeting quinn was just a single stop on an 100-show tour.

but strangely despite everything, vancouver feels like home as you begin navigating your new album cycle and the words of 'wisdom' from your publicist portia who - you swore was only discouraging you from your relationship so she wouldnt have to stave off angry people on social media.

"i was thinking... gossip girl marathon and we order-in?" quinn suggests as soon as you step foot into his apartment. your mind settles as youre welcomed into your boyfriends space.

"have you ever watched gossip girl?" you ask, tossing your bag onto the couch before sliding up next to quinns spot in the kitchen. he had various online menus pulled up on his laptop, ready to order whatever you desired.

quinn hums, "i watched it with my mom when i was younger. i'm team blair,"

"team blair?" you gasp, "ohh you were made for me," you laugh lightly as you point towards one of the menus on his screen. "i'm so down to watch gossip girl,"

"do you wanna go set up the tv while i order the food?" he asks and you kiss him on the cheek before making your way into his living room.

the boy is mine

i can't wait to try him

let's get intertwined

the stars they aligned

the boy is mine

watch me take my time

i cant believe my mind

the boy is divine

"i think we should riff off 'fantasize'," you speak to your music producer - max - finally wanting to take back the energy from your leaked song. you were tired, and with quinn away on pre-season hockey duties you were bored. "something more sophisticated," you explain as you click through various samples and instrumentals. you finally land on one half-finished record and the lyrics immediately come to you.

"the boy is mine..." you hum along to the empty track as you pull out your notes app. "i can't wait to try him-" you continue, rapidly noting lyrics in your app.

by the end of your studio session the basic structure of the song was completed and you knew you had a hit on your hands.

and i know it's simply meant to be

and i, take full accountability for all these years

promise you i'm not usually

like this, shit, its like news to me

but i can't ignore my heart, boy

"the boy is mine, i can't wait to try him..." you sing quietly to yourself as you search pinterest for music video inspiration. "let's get intertwined... the stars they aligned..." quinns smirk immediately presses against your soft shoulder. he trails light kisses across your shoulder blade and up to your neck, silently begging you to continue singing your newest song.

"the boy is mineee..." his soft lips are ticklish against your skin but you can't help but lean into his grasp.

"i love when you sing," he mumbles and you tilt your head to rest against his. halle berry's cat woman buzzes in the background but neither of you are paying the movie any attention.

you hum, "oh yeah?"

he kisses your shoulder again and you fix your gaze back onto your laptop screen before lightly closing it and setting it to the side. "i still don't know what i'm going to do about the music video,"

quinn lays back in bed and allows his gaze to fixate on the tv. "what about catwoman? i'd bet you'd look good in a cat suit" he teases. you knew he wasn't being entirely serious but halle berry easily captures your attention as she dazzles on screen in her catsuit.

"the boy is mine," you hum lightly, completely enticed with quinns idea for your music video.

i can't wait to try him

lets get intertwined

the stars, they aligned

the boy is mine

watch me take my time

i can't believe my mind

the boy is divine

boy is mine

the male lead for the boy is mine video is a no-show. multiple calls to his personal phone, calls and emails to his managers and agency, everything is left unanswered.

quinn🤍🌙: i'm out front. i got your favourite drink

you sigh with relief as you quickly excuse yourself from the upset mass of production staff and your cinematographer.

"hey, what's wrong?" your boyfriend of almost a year asks with concern etched across his features. you blink slowly and all your frustrations manifests into tears.

"the shoot is going so bad," you breathe heavily, "and we're so behind schedule,"

quinn wipes away your fallen tears with his thumb. "why what's happening?"

"the male lead hasn't shown up yet and he and agency aren't answering our calls," you lean against quinn and he easily wraps a hand around your waist. "i've filmed most of my solo shots but i know the crew is getting upset and i don't know what to do. we're trying to find a replacement but-"

"i'll do it," quinn says quietly and measuredly.

"what?" you blink and pull away from him slightly. quinn passes you your drink and you allow the coolness of the cup to soothe some of your nerves.

"i'll be in the video" he repeats. "if you want- i mean i don't want to overstep or-"

you lightly tap quinns hand with your own. "i'd love if you were in the video," you say softly, nerves completely dissipating with his comfort and the solution to your problem. "thank you," you kiss his cheek.

less than an hour later quinn was fitted in his costume and was debriefed on the scenes he would be filming.

─── ➤ 📹

you left quinn to film his presidential speech sequence so that you could get ready to film the catsuit portion of the video. your dress was tight and your brown wig made you take on your pop-girl persona that you'd been sheltering ever since the infidelity allegations ruined your reputation.

"oh you look so good," quinn wanders up to you as soon as you step onto the apartment set. he eyes your latex dress before smoothing a hand down your side gently. "i was right about the outfit," he jokes easily and you lean against his side while the crew finishes marking the next scene.

"you don't look too bad yourself," you blush under the weight of his gaze. you trail one of your hands up the front of his chest before realizing where the two of you were. not like it would be a crime to ogle your boyfriend on your music video set... but still.

"how was filming your speech?" you ask, pulling away from him slowly.

"only forgot my lines once!" quinn jokes with a laugh, to which you immediately join in on.

"that's my boy!"

"okay, y/n - quinn, we're ready for you two now," your lovely director calls out across the set.

PRESENT DAY

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yourusername "the boy is mine" is out now!!🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛ starring my boy _quinnhughes, featuring brandy & monicadenise !!!!🥹🥹🫶 and directed by the amazing christhedirector

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christhedirector the best is yet to come!🎬

_quinnhughes had the best time with you!❤️

arianagrande obsessed

jackhughes can't believe you let him on set

canucks the collab we didnt know we needed!🐈‍⬛💙

user13 QUINN???? HUGHES????

user14 the most insane hard launch wtf?

user15 the boy may be yours but i need him to be MINE!

user16 waittt this is the guy from the hockey game all those months ago??? wow

user17 mv was so good i started hallucinating

user18 loveeee you!!! this song and mv is literally so good!

_quinnhughes

liked by yourusername, lhughes_06, _eliaspettersson, and 361 043 others

_quinnhughes "the boy is mine" by the amazing yourusername is out everywhere now!❤️

tagged: yourusername

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lhughes_06 can't believe this exists

_eliaspettersson 📸📸

trevorzegras damnnnn you really weren't lying

_quinnhughes ?

bboeser looking good💯

user19 WHAT

user20 me next pls

user21 so the rumours were true this whole time👀

user22 so did she cheat or not like...

user23 plss he wasnt even following that tiktok girl it was definitely a lie for views lmao.

user24 soooo their relationship is confirmed ?

user25 hughes girlies lost

user26 OHHH I WON I LOVE U BOTH SM!!

user27 this mv has me feeling things hold on...

yourusername

liked by _quinnhughes, madisonbeer, jackhughes, and 5.7M others

yourusername last photo dump i promiseeee !!! this project has been an absolute dream and i'm so happy that it's finally yours after all these months! i can't wait for u guys to see what else we've been working on.. ;)

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_quinnhughes the most talented♥️

user28 TRUE LOVE?? oh this quinn stuff is serious huh...

user29 i get it

user30 loveee you the most

THE END <3

#quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes blurb #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #nhl blurb #nhl fic

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i-drop-level-one-loot · 1 year ago

Text

Smile❤️ (Yandere X Loser!Reader)

Micky thought that he couldn't feel love.

Ever since he could remember, Micky couldn't connect with anyone on an emotional level. Even his own family members were like aliens to him, creatures that stretched their lips into strange contortions, ETs that became unreasonable when he wouldn't do the same. As a teenager many girls flirted with him in school, hell, a few guys did as well, but none of their confessions ever stirred any emotion from him, even at the height of his puberty. The smiles of the people around him never felt warm or welcoming. Just, tight. Cheeks pulled back, revealing teeth, expecting him to mirror their action, and Micky couldn't understand why.

Nothing made him smile.

College was further isolating. Group projects seemed to no longer be a thing, (at least in the classes he took) so his interactions with humans slowly became less frequent, making his classmates look more inhuman and monstrous.

Until someone in his college was doxxed for being a creep. It was interesting, watching how quickly people turned on their friend, forcing him into an outcast because someone online revealed his private post history.

An annoying young woman in his language arts class gathered people around Micky's seat to talk about what had happened. Micky wouldn't have searched up the drama on his own time, but he didn't see the point in pushing everyone away.

"This user on Xforums, anonymousXnightmare is the one who doxxed Nathan."

AnonymousXnightmare? How fucking lame.

"That's a lame username..."

"Maybe it's a kid..?"

Micky did his best to ignore them, but the username kept popping up in conversation throughout campus. It was getting a little annoying. Some people were mocking the name, while others were praising the "internet hero". It started interfering with his ability to focus in his classes.

But the gossip cooled down after a week, and life began to run as normal, until another student had their life ruined. A football player, they didn't post anything incriminating or disturbing. It was anonymousXnightmare who posted their own collected evidence. Pictures taken from afar of the player with his highschool sweetheart, as in sweetheart who was still in highschool. Recordings of the two of them. Months of stalking all compiled by the stranger.

Again, Micky was bombarded by chatter, excitable young adults losing their minds over the situation. It was... irritating.

Back in his dorm room, Micky was scrolling through Xforums, the most popular forum used by students in his university, made by students for students, searching for the loser with the lame username. Scrolling past the photos he had heard about, he found a post stating

"Dear Allen Brackens, if you cannot stop blasting your shitty music in the halls on your shitty speakers, I WILL ruin your life!"

and Micky had to lean back, to just take in what he had read. That must have been the name of the football player. What he was doing was genuinely gross, and should have been exposed by someone. But did this poster really stalk them for what looked like months just because he listened to music they didn't like?

It was so dumb.

He scrolled down farther into the mystery poster's history, to the first man they doxxed.

"Dear Nathan McAllister, we all know you're a two faced little bitch. Either stop littering the campus with your Jesus pamphlets, or else..."

Micky, for the first time in his life, was amused. The whole situation was so stupid. They really ruined their fellow students lives, just because they annoyed them?

He made an account just to follow his mystery poster, not sure yet why he was interested to see what they would post next.

Less than two days later, and Micky's phone notified him of another post.

"Dear Samantha Rudbeckia, your obnoxious laughter is driving me insane. Can't you see how annoying you are? Knock it off."

That was it?! That was enough to set you off? Laughter? Micky paused mid step, still staring down at his phone. Something felt off about his face. It hurt.

It was pretty easy to find anonymousXnightmare in his school. Micky picked up a map of the university, and mapped out the paths of the three people targeted. They ran into a lot of different students throughout their day. But they only ran into a couple of people who openly seemed to hate them, and only one of those people was a student named (Reader). (Reader), who constantly appeared as though they would collapse at any moment, the hollows under their eyes so dark they looked sickly. (Reader), who despite being borderline anemic, was very sneaky, and very good and being unnoticeable despite their extreme appearance. Unfortunately for them, they had someone watching them as closely as they watched their victims bullies. Micky watched as they stealthily snapped photos of students from around corners, how they seemed to blend into the background and nobody noticed them hiding in waiting.

Micky felt ashamed for ever thinking you were lame. You were.. cute.

The way you crouched like a bug, hunched over like a roly poly scared of being picked up. The way you bit your dry lips in anger to the point they bled.

Micky's face hurt more and more. Every time he saw (Reader) a pain he had never felt before would strain at his cheeks, and his face would feel hot all over. It wasn't until he caught a glimpse of himself in his reflection in a window that Micky realized he was smiling. He never knew that smiling hurt. But he couldn't stop it.

Pictures and videos of Samantha and her married professor were posted online, and Micky was excited to know what (Reader's) face would look like when they reaped the fruits of their labor. But when he snuck into their classroom, zooming in on their exhausted face with his phone's camera, he felt a new emotion seeing that (Reader) was just as annoyed as they always were. A hard pit fell from his ribs into his lower stomach. He was disappointed.

Why aren't you happy? You won. You should be rejoicing right now.

He felt conflicted and confused. Like an octopus was throwing a tantrum in his abdomen, squirming uncomfortably. And it ruined his day. Micky couldn't focus on any of his classes, and the rest of his day was like a foggy dream. What was it about (Reader) that attracted him to them so much?

A cute young woman with smooth black hair approached Micky, a dark blush complimenting her picture perfect face.

"Um, excuse me? Excuse me? Excuse me?"

Micky snapped out of his thoughts, turning his gaze down towards the beautiful person. Her rosey lips were slightly upturned in a posed way.

She's smiling.

Micky internally verbalized it. The same way he did whenever he saw anyone smiling. It never looked good. Smiling was so awkward, and strange. People loved seeing others smiling, and smiled when they were happy, but it always reminded Micky of how not one of them he was.

"Hi! My name is Maggie."

I don't care.

"We have econ together?"

"Okay."

Why was seeing her smile make her look fake, inhuman, alien? Just like everyone else. Then why was Micky so let down seeing (Reader's) lukewarm reaction to their victory?

"I was wondering, I mean, (laughs), a group of us are going out for drinks later, and we, I was wondering if you wanted to come with us.."

She giggled nervously, fiddling her fingers and biting her lip. The image of (Reader) practically eating their lower lip was triggered like a trap. This woman, whose name wasn't worth remembering, made Micky feel nothing. The uncanny feeling of speaking with a living mannequin or an advanced AI. Her movements weren't natural, her smile was just a contraction of muscles. Then, like an epiphany, Micky realized all at once what made (Reader) so special.

Maybe, it wasn't that everyone else was alien, but Micky. Micky was the only one who never fit in. The only one who didn't feel emotions or connect with others like everyone else could. And there was a bug walking around in human clothes, barely staying awake in class and casually ruining peoples' lives simply because they annoyed them. (Reader) wasn't a human either, just like Micky. That's why they didn't seem happy with their victory. Why would a human bring them joy?

Micky's lips pulled tight, smiling brightly at the young woman before walking away without saying a word.

You're the first person to make me feel, because you're just like me. Right, (Reader)? If no one but you can make me feel, then no one but me should be able to make you smile!

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

(Reader) slouched over their laptop, their messy hair pulled back in a top bun just to keep their untrimmed bangs out of their eyes in the privacy of their dorm, eating another cup of noodle while reading all of their "fan mail". Samantha wasn't getting kicked out like they had hoped, but Professor what's-his-nuts did get canned, so hopefully when Samantha comes back to class she'll be too busy sobbing "woe is me" to find anything funny.

Ba-ding♪

A private message popped up from an account with an automated username.

(Reader) snorted so hard a noodle went up into their sinuses.

user01793664544001: I know who you are <3

"Ah-ow! God damn!"

anonymousXnightmare: Who the fuck is this?

user01793664544001: ur prince charming <3

anonymousXnightmare: Don't fuck with me

user01793664544001: come find me

"Watch me, bitch."

Looking up IP addresses is a lot easier than people make it seem. It doesn't take a genius hacker to doxx someone. Of course, (Reader) goes above and beyond, often following assholes for months to collect evidence of their douche baggery. (Reader) got an address in less time than it took to finish their noodles, and took down their hair, quickly setting out to start getting information on their newest "bully".

The address took them to another dorm across campus. How dumb are they? (Reader) faux chuckled, feeling superior to this newest dick. No one was quite as smart as them.

As they crept through the building, no one payed them any attention as they began taking notes on the residents. It had to be one of these losers.

They didn't have a chance to fight back, as they passed one of the rooms the door opened and pulled them inside faster than they had a chance to scream. The man who abducted (Reader) wrestled them to the floor, panting heavily.

(Reader) glared up at the handsome stranger, smiling down at them in a creepy way, his cheeks twitching like he had never smiled before, like his face hurt from the small action. His face was pink and he was sweating, panting with a feverish moisture glazing his eyes.

"Aren't you happy? You found me~"

"G-Get off of me, you pervert!" (Reader) attempted to kick the kidnapper off of them.

This wasn't the answer he was looking for. His smile fell briefly before bouncing back.

"You're just upset because you don't know me yet. Don't worry, it took me a while to realize you and I were the same species as well, so don't worry. I'll wait, I'll wait for you to realize you love me too..."

He rambled quickly, pressing harder against (Reader's) body. A strange noise squeaked out of his throat as he seemed startled, (Reader) feeling a bulge form against their upper thigh.

"Ah, I'll wait.. I'll wait for you to love me too.. but I need you to do something for me while I wait.."

Micky stuck his fingers in (Reader's) mouth, pulling their dry lips out till they bled across his skin.

"Smile for me..."

#yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere x darling #yandere #pathetic loser #loser reader #tw stalking #bully reader #yandere fanfiction #gender neutral reader #romance #not proofread

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shoyoist · 2 years ago

Note

thinking about the blue lock boys buying you a necklace with their jersey number engraved on it :( and writing your initials on their clear but specifically their dominant foot cause they just feel closer to you that way :( like you’re helping guide him to the goal :(

content: gn reader. fluff !! — competitive and possessive dynamics. pro football player! characters (they all made it out of blue lock alive alright). + i added a little bonus section at the end, hehe<3

— . ｡˚ ♡ the whole world watches, while he shows you off as his own <3

BACHIRA, REO, YUKIMIYA, AIKU, KAISER.

a necklace with his jersey number dangling on it, like a charm. he gets it custom made for you, in sterling silver or 24-carat gold, depending on your tastes. but he doesn't let you know that he has it, waits for the perfect moment in which he can surprise you with it.

which happens to be right before his team lines up for a final match, on live TV at the big arena, with all lights, cameras and eyes pointing right at you both.

he's getting in line with the rest of his teammates — the commentators and cameras paying full attention to him, the star and powerhouse of the team, going “there he is. the deity of the field!” as he walks onto the field, smile already on his face when he looks up, for the world to swoon over.

he's handsome. you think, standing at the very front row, dressed in the pretty clothes that he'd got for you just last night, matching the colours of his team. he looks the best when he's on the field, fully confident in the fact that he's going to be going home with a new medal around his neck.

what you don't know is that you're about to get something around your neck too, before he wins his game.

“excuse me,” he says smoothly, to the coach and the few staff members that surround him, glancing knowingly at the cameras recording him (and looking into the eyes of all the fans that are watching him on live TV) before he saunters off, heading to the edge of the field where you're standing behind a display board.

it's clear that he's staring at you as he walks over — gaze softening as he meets your eyes, watching how your own eyes widen with surprise and a hint of shyness, as the surrounding audience erupts into whispers.

“sweetheart,” he grins at you, stopping on the other side of the perimeter board — and you blush when the audience gasps, blush when he gives them all another glance, before smirking down at you. “got something for you.”

he holds his hand out and shows you what he has hidden in his fist — a necklace with his jersey number on it, spelled out on a charm.

the crowd continues to get louder, and you can make out some people's cries; are they dating? god he was taken this whole time? and the commentators join in, declaring into the speakers that your boyfriend seems to be taking a minute to give a gift to a little someone special—

and you blush harder as you stand there, almost frozen as he gently puts the necklace around your neck, the metal chain and charm cold but somehow blooming warmth on your skin as it touches you.

“with that outfit, you're matching the whole team, hm?” he smiles at you, so overwhelmingly charming. “so you keep this necklace on for me. let's everyone know you're here for me. yeah?”

“y—yeah.” you try to look down, so fucking shy under his bright gaze and gorgeous smile, but he grabs your chin and lifts your face back up to give your lips a little kiss.

the whole stadium erupts into cheers and screams. he kissed you on live TV. your face feels hot, you think you're dizzy — but you manage to hear him faintly over the buzz in your head and the screaming of the crowd as he pats your cheek before jogging off back to join his team in line. “cheer for me, won't you? i'll win this game 'n take you out for dinner after.”

SHIDOU, KUNIGAMI, ISAGI, RAICHI, BAROU.

has your initials written on the side of his cleats, on his dominant foot. even better actually — he got you to write it for him. he wants it done with your pretty hands and in your pretty handwriting, that's so much better than his own.

thanks you and gives you a kiss on the side of your forehead, when you finish it and hand the shoe to him. you're both knelt together on the floor of your shared place, and the look in his eyes when he kisses you is so tender. “i'll score every goal with you in mind, a'right?”

and every time he's on the field, fire in his veins and the never ending lust and hunger for a full victory in his soul, he gives you a glance as you jump up and down in your special spot in the stands, cheering for him with all you've got — and that's when he zeroes in on the ball.

the look in his eyes is anything but tender then — hyper-focused, bright and vicious is how he watches the ball as it slips from the opposing player's dribble, and it's impossible for anyone, whether from the other team or his own, to make it to the ball before he does.

he lunges forward once he gains control of the ball, a sort of heat already spreading through his dominant leg as he advances towards the goal to shoot — and with your initials on his cleats and your pretty smile on his mind, he thinks he can break the limit.

he's never scored a goal from this distance before. with the game about to close, it's crucial that he doesn't take any risks and ensures that his shot scores a proper goal.

otherwise, his team might lose. failure was not an option.

but with your presence — both physical and emotional — fueling him, he takes the chance. he takes the chance, puts all the force he has in that sculpted, trained body of his, and he shoots.

he shoots and he scores.

the commentators and crowd go wild alike, screaming in joy over the secured win, because with five minutes left on the clock there's no way the other team can catch up any more — and your boyfriend ignores the cheers of his teammates, turning in place to face you.

“he scored! god, he's undefeatable!” the commentator's voice echoes through the stadium, and he thinks yeah, that's right. he cannot be defeated — not when you're there to guide him to the goal every single time.

he turns to you, and you wave your arms in the air, calling out his name and yelling out an i love you! — and with the TV overhead showing the scorer off we he stands on the field, you can't miss the way the corners of his mouth lift in a smile.

i love you, too. he mouths back to you, with every other person watching the game in the world to see it.

NAGI, CHIGIRI, RIN, OTOYA, SAE.

he kisses you after every game that he wins. and he makes sure he scores the final goal.

it's an elaborate contest that he has with himself, and the rest of the world has joined in on it. you sit and wait in your reserved seat in the stands, the smoothie he had ordered for you sitting empty in your hands as you watch your boyfriend weave past defender after defender — the audience and every other player all focusing more and more on him as time ticks by.

the match is currently at a draw — and the other team is fighting with everything they've got to guard him, trying to prevent him from breaking through and scoring that final goal.

but your boyfriend isn't so easily countered.

even when he's playing laid-back, he's a demon on the playing field. he's fast, agile and he doesn't take any chances. and now? with only a few minutes left before the penalty round, he's set to score the winning goal.

“will he break through? will he be able to make it this time?”

he almost spins around to scoff at the camera. of course he's going to make it. he always does. the other team nearly swarms him as he closes in on his shooting range, but what they aren't aware of is that he doesn't need to be in range to make his shot count.

his play style is all about breaking limits. which is what he does, when he shoots from nearly the other side of the arena and watched the ball curve smoothly yet maintaining an impossible speed, past the goalie's reach and into the net. the timer buzzes only seconds afterwards. “and he scores the final goal yet again!”

the crowd cheers, and while the commentators remark to eachother that they all know what's about to happen next, your boyfriend walks over to where you're still seated expectantly, hopping easily over the perimeter boards to get to you.

you get up then, and he curls a hand around your waist and pulls you in, pressing a kiss into your hair as the audience coos in response to the show all around you. (he'd kiss your lips, but he's sweaty right now and he's not sure you'd appreciate a mouthful of salt).

and he sighs, unresponsive when you chide him for being arrogant, and mutters into the shell of your ear, “mhm. let's go home, baby. 'm tired.”

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commanderfoxdeservesbetter · 2 months ago

Text

Clone Wars Headcanons

Fox loves music

He discovers the natborn version of it on Coruscant (the chanting of the Vod’e doesn’t count because that was passed from the trainers to the Vod’e as morale; it was never meant to be fun. Only to hype their lack of identity in order for them to be willing to sacrifice their lives in a war not meant for their freedom)

Cody is the first to hear it curtesy of Fox sharing a holo-vid that just had the song recorded

Fox shows their other batchmates in person since the vid got corrupted by a virus and deleted (apparently. Cody doesn’t know if that’s what really happened but when he tried to find the vid, he couldn’t; he was so distraught that he didn’t tell Fox for two weeks; Fox was also distraught and tried to resend recordings but none were saved)

(It was Palps’ doing)

Cody mentioned his fav song to Kenobi once who got two tickets for him to experience the concert

It was also a bribe (or prepayment bribe) as he went undercover a week later

Cody took Fox so they didn’t have to deal with the craziness that mission was no doubt gonna bring (he almost regrets not taking Rex after hearing how Anakin responded but that’s neither here nor there)

That was Fox’ fav memory

(It got erased during an unplanned reconditioning after the Fives’ incident)

The Corrie Commanders scrapped up enough money to buy a used music player (idk what they’d be called in the SW universe but similar to a portable cassette player but … idk more technologically advanced ig) for Fox

They also snuck in used speakers (with the help of Fox’ Jedi friend Quinlan Vos) to the Corrie barracks

Fox and Vos definitely stole the SW version of a tv from a corrupt Senator to bring back to the barracks

(The Corries use it for playing video games than actual tv since it’s easier to bond with GAR Vod’e that way)

Gar Vod’e bonding nights become a thing after Dogma brought Tup to the Corrie’s barracks after seeing him on leave and wanted to catch up but not want to go to the 79s

Tup ended up inviting everyone else

The GaR and Corries are also competitive so video games were easier to bond as it grabbed attention and brought gambling into the mix

(No one was safe in gambling; Corries conspired against Corrie’s and Gar against GaR. Vod’e would partner up with a random brother if it meant it would win them a bet)

Thorn was the best at every game; he had the highest score and it become a game to try and beat it

(When he died, none of the Vod’e tried to beat it anymore if only to keep his name on the one thing they had left of him)

Feel free to add on

#star wars #tcw #the clone wars #clone wars #commander fox #commander cody #commander thorn #clone trooper dogma #quinlan vos #the clone wars headcanon

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atleastpleasetelephone · 28 days ago

Text

Kinktober Day 13 - Oral

A/N: This was inspired by recently seeing the white and gold Cadillac Limousine in Nashville and falling in love with it. Also, absolutely ages ago @peaceloveelvis was asking for a fic with Elvis in the outfit below. Strictly speaking, reader isn't going down on him in the cinema, but she kind of is...

Pairing: Elvis x reader

Word count: 2.1K

TWs: Oral, reader has a bit of a fixation with Elvis' leather gloves, public-ish sex, car sex, think that's about it.

Kinktober masterlist

When Elvis invited you for a ride in his new car, you had no idea what you were letting yourself in for. You’d been in cars before, obviously. You’d been in caddies. You’d even been in a caddy with Elvis, once. But nothing could prepare you for the gold Cadillac limousine.

He’d woken you up at 3am, the phone ringing off the hook whilst you staggered down the stairs wondering who on earth would call at this time. It took you a while to recognise his voice. You’d met him at the recording of the Timex Special, and he’d taken you on a date, in one of his other caddies in fact. But that was it. So you assumed he wasn’t that interested, and now you’re standing in your bedroom, staring into your closet, trying to work out what on earth you should wear to a date with Elvis Presley in the middle of the night.

You’re not actually clear what this date is going to entail or why it has to be at 3am, although you assume it has something to do with that big crowd of girls that’s normally outside the Graceland gates. Anyway, he said he’d come and pick you up so you try to concentrate on your outfit and doing something vaguely sensible with your hair. It’s not long before you see the beam of the headlights outside and so you rush downstairs, grabbing your coat and heading out of the door. It’s lucky you live alone, really.

Elvis is standing outside of the car, holding the passenger door open for you. It’s a warm summer night and you can’t help noticing his leather gloves and captain’s hat, placed on his head at a jaunty angle.

“Hi,” you whisper. Best to try and avoid waking the neighbours if possible.

“Hey, baby,” he replies, his leather-clad hand on your waist, pulling you in to kiss you gently.

Your head spins. It’s very the-middle-of-the-night for all this. He grins at your reaction, he can already see he’s got the upper hand. Gesturing for you to get in, then closing the door behind you and going around to get into the driver’s seat. You stare at the interior of the car, wide-eyed. There’s so much going on. It’s white and gold and the floor is carpeted. You stare at the floor for a while. It’s white sheepskin, and it looks soft. Your mind starts racing at a mile a minute, wondering why anyone would get that kind of carpet fitted in their car.

Once you get on the road Elvis flips a record player on, and gleefully informs you that it’s got a 10 LP changer. The speakers are incredible - the sound comes out crisp and clear and all around you. He carries on explaining everything he’s had fitted to the car in the way of modifications, and you sit there, slack jawed, overwhelmed by the opulence. And overwhelmed by him. He’s gorgeous, somehow even more beautiful than the last time you met him, and he knows it too. He’s smirking and winking and he can clearly tell the effect he’s having on you. You’d almost think that he came and got you in the middle of the night deliberately. Your eyes keep being drawn to his hands on the steering wheel, driving with such purpose and with those damn gloves on. Those gloves are doing something to you. You try to look away and then find your eyes trailing down his body to his pants, and you’re suddenly confronted with the fact that they are lace up. Lace up. You tear your eyes away and stare out of the window, wondering where you’re going and trying to ignore the thoughts about the gloves and the carpet and the lace up pants that are all crowding into your brain at once.

Eventually he gets to where he wants to go - a deserted parking lot, tucked out of the way in the daytime but even quieter in the middle of the night. He parks and switches the record off.

“I wanted to take you to a movie,” he says, by way of an explanation, “but I’m too famous to go to a drive-in these days. So I thought we could get in the back and watch the TV.”

You blink a few times, trying to process all of this information. No, it’s no use. Your brain is still coming up with nothing.

“The TV?”

He chuckles. “Yeah. There’s a TV in the back. Come on.”

He gets out and then opens your door for you like a gentleman. You let him lead you to the backseat and the two of you sit there together. He gestures to a small box.

“There it is, see?”

You nod dumbly. You do see. But he’s also incredibly close now, his thigh against yours, his breath on your face. You look from the TV to him and he’s so near you could count his eyelashes. He puts an arm around your shoulders and grins lazily.

“I’ll put it on.”

“Okay,” you almost whisper in response, feeling yourself get hot. You’re sure he didn’t make you feel quite like this the last time.

Elvis turns his attention briefly to the TV, switching it on and fiddling until he finds something vaguely watchable. Not that he’s intending on watching that much, but he likes the background noise. He’s about to peel his gloves off when you stop him.

“No, leave those on,” you tell him, sounding more confident than you feel.

He turns back, eyes a little wide. He can’t believe he left it so long for a second date, but he’s been a little overwhelmed with offers since coming back from the army. If he’d known you were going to react like that to his gloves he’d have done this sooner.

“You like them?” He asks, his thumb stroking your cheek.

You nod and he puts both gloved hands on either side of your face. The feeling of the leather on your skin is deliciously soft but it’s also making the hairs stand up on the back of your neck. It feels dirty somehow. You feel a tingling between your legs and you’re dying for him to kiss you. He stares down at you through hooded eyes until you feel like you might catch on fire, and then very slowly moves to close the gap between you, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

You moan in response and he takes that as encouragement to continue, kissing you again, his tongue gently parting your lips as one of his hands moves to hold the back of your head. Everything is spinning, your stomach is doing somersaults and that tingling feeling between your legs is growing. His tongue pushes in further as you feel his nose pressing into your cheek. You find your hand going to the back of his neck, pulling him in somehow even closer.

He smiles that lop-sided grin when he eventually pulls away, after making sure he’s nibbled on your lips and messed up your hair a little. You’re breathing hard and you can’t work out why he’s stopped and is just staring at you. Admiring his handiwork. Looking away, almost shyly, you find yourself looking at his groin again. Those damn pants. And the outline of something in them. Your eyes go a little wide, and then you’re back to looking at the fluffy white carpet. Fuck it, you think.

“I bet this is soft,” you say, slowly getting down off the seat onto your knees on the carpet. Nodding sagely, you continue, “I was right. Very soft on the knees.”

It’s Elvis’ turn to be wide-eyed, staring down at you as you kneel between his legs, your hands travelling up and down his thighs.

You swallow, hard. It's not like you're never given a guy head before, but this is a lot of pressure. This is Elvis. He's probably had a lot of great head. But he chose you this evening, and he wore these pants, and he’s taken you to a secluded location in the middle of the night in his caddy with a sheepskin rug for a carpet. You stare at the bulge in his pants as you gather your courage. He looks excited, anyway.

“D-doll…” he stutters, looking down at your pretty little face staring at his crotch with such concentration. “Y-you don’t have ta…”

You slide your hands up to the top of his thighs as you lean forward, starting to mouth him through his pants. His jaw clenches at the feeling and a little moan escapes through his gritted teeth. Encouraged, you move your mouth along his clothed length, feeling the size of him, your spit making his pants wet. He whimpers a little, watching you. He’d intended to be the one touching you, maybe even with the gloves since you seemed to like them so much. But he’s hard and your mouth feels good even through his clothes.

You move your mouth back along his length again and then set to work unlacing his pants with your teeth. He moans loudly when he realises what you’re doing. Obviously he had something in mind when he put them on earlier today but he never dreamed you’d be doing this. It’s easier than you thought it might be, and they fall open allowing you to carefully take his dick out with one hand.

“Ya… ya really don’t have ta d-do this…” he tries again, eyes closed, fearing for your reaction once you realise he’s not cut like probably every other guy you’ve been with. He supposes part of the reason he didn’t do anything with you the first time was when you mentioned your ex-boyfriends. He enjoys girls with no expectations, and he’s afraid you must have a lot of them.

“I want to,” you tell him, rolling his foreskin back to expose the sensitive tip.

You run your tongue around it and look up at him, enjoying his reaction. You haven’t ever seen an uncut dick before but it doesn’t take you long to work out what to do with it, licking spirals around the most sensitive parts. One of his hands comes to rest on the back of your head and you know what he wants. But you don’t want to give it to him just yet, licking him from the tip to the base and back again, and then taking his balls in your mouth as you stroke him.

“Shit, honey,” he murmurs. He’s spent a lot of his time with virgins telling them how to do this, being patient, asking them to mind their teeth and not suck so hard. Or suck harder. You remind him of some of the girls he met in Paris. You know what you’re doing.

You smile as you move away from his balls, jerking him a few times and then sliding your mouth over the tip. His hand starts to grip the back of your head a little tighter, your hand still working him as you tease him with your mouth and tongue. His dick is a little too big for you so you keep up the combination of mouth and hand, looking up at him as his head falls back against the seat, his chest rising and falling faster and faster.

You speed up your movements, knowing he must be close now.

“Doll… I’m gonna… I’m…” he murmurs, unable to say the actual words.

You know what he means though, preparing yourself for his bucking hips as his orgasm shoots through his body and he finally cums in your mouth. You stroke him one or two more times as he curses and calls out your name, then carefully lick him clean, stopping when he starts to whimper a little.

“Goddamn,” he mumbles, pulling you up onto the seat next to him again. “That was so good.”

His compliment makes you grin. “It sounded like you enjoyed it,” you tease.

He leans close and kisses you, his hand gripping your arm. You enjoyed sucking him so much you’re sure your panties must be soaked.

“My turn to make you feel good now, doll,” he tells you, dropping to his knees on the floor in front of you, those gloved hands making their way up your thighs, pushing your skirt out of the way.

Looking up at you, questioningly. “You want me to take the gloves off now?”

You shake your head. “No baby. Leave them on.”

Taglist:

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed:

@vintagepresley @arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @another-identityofmine @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @cattcb @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @ccab @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978

#elvis #elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis fic #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley fic #elvis smut #elvis fanfic #elvis presely smut #elvis imagine #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis x reader #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley x you #elvis presley x reader #kinktober #starsandskieskinktober

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coochellati · 4 days ago

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Living With Bruno - Headcanons

Hi guys. I hope you are all doing okay. These past 24 hours have been rough for those affected by American politics.

In the name of comfort and escapism, I’ve been imagining what living with Bruno would look like. For instance—What does Bruno do in his spare time? What does his house look like? Is he a neat person? (spoiler alert: he definitely is.) And what is he like behind closed doors?

I’ll be diving into these questions (and more!) under the break!

Bruno lives in his modest childhood home by the sea, and he hasn’t changed much of the furniture or decor since his parents decorated it. Almost everything is as it was when he was a kid—it gives him a sense of comfort.

During the day, he loves to let the salty sea breeze in through open windows. At night, the lighting feels warm and inviting. Bruno is mindful of energy costs; he only uses lights when needed. Candlelight often fills the home after dark, adding a cozy ambiance. Bruno Bucciarati is a neat person, so his home is impeccably kept.

Bruno spends most of his time in his living room, partly because it’s where his record player lives. It sits between two speakers on top of a waist-high bookshelf in his living room that holds his impressive record collection, including genres such as jazz, prog rock, classical, and more. (He has a whole section dedicated to Miles Davis.) He’s added a desk to the room so he can work while listening to his vinyls. On the wall hangs one of his father’s old fishing nets, a reminder of the vow he made to his father to fight against drugs.

His childhood bedroom is mostly unchanged, having the same furniture and arrangement as when he was young. A small bookshelf holds the stories his mother used to read to him, and pictures of his parents rest on his nightstand.

His parents’ bedroom remains as it was when his father passed. Besides keeping it clean, Bruno hasn’t altered a thing in there, finding something almost sacred in its preservation.

Bruno’s also got a pretty decent wine collection stashed in the cellar, with some expensive, rare bottles. Being careful with money, he rarely splurges on high-end wine, so most of these rare bottles were gifts.

(I headcanon that Bruno is passionate about wine. If you’re interested in hearing about why I believe this, here’s a link to this post.)

Bruno Bucciarati definitely uses his walls for storage.

Before moving in, Bruno will chat with you about your needs. For instance, do you have any allergies? Do you have sensitive skin and need to use special laundry detergent? Are there certain foods you won’t eat? His home is now your home—he wants to make sure you’re comfortable.

Bruno may not be a fan of PDA, but behind closed doors, he isn’t shy about showing affection. Whether it be a peck on the cheek, warm smiles, hand-holding, cuddling to Miles Davis, etc., Bruno is always happy to be close to you. (This goes without saying, but he loves when you reciprocate!)

You might often catch Bruno watching you with quiet admiration. For example, he lets you get ready for bed first so he can just observe you—it’s his way of reminding himself that he now has someone to come home to. For him, it’s like gazing at a winning lottery ticket.

However, like many people, there are moments when Bruno needs his personal space. (Especially if he’s very stressed or it’s work-related.) After all, everyone needs some alone time now and then, and he’ll do his best to let you know ahead of time. Don’t worry about upsetting him if you need to see him during this time—Bruno would never be mad about it. He’ll also reassure you there’s nothing wrong with your relationship if it’s something you need to hear.

Everyone has their flaws, and communication isn’t something Bruno is always the best about. He tends to keep stressful things to himself, to “shoulder the burden,” so to speak. In his mind, he believes he’s protecting you, but this can lead to him acting in unpredictable ways that only make sense if you have the full story.

For instance—remember when Trish asked Narancia why Bruno was such a cold person?

Bruno had a reason for his behavior, as he was close to death. But without knowing the entire story, Trish saw him as cold and uncaring. This is exactly the kind of misunderstanding I’m talking about—without context, Bruno’s actions can give the wrong impression.

Afterward, Narancia told to Trish that this was just how Bruno behaved, and she would understand if she got to know him better. While this dynamic of unexplained behavior may work in a subordinate-leader relationship, this isn’t the type of relationship you and Bruno have. Seeing you happy and safe is what matters most to him, but he doesn’t always go about it in the best way.

Communication is something the two of you may have to work through together.

As noted, Bruno is a neat person. Keeping everything clean and organized helps him stay focused and level-headed. On his days off, he keeps up with chores so his place stays in top shape—he also finds it calming.

Laundry and Ironing are two chores he doesn’t mind doing. Bruno takes great pride in the way he dresses so taking care of his clothes is very important to him. He also happens to be very good at removing stains. (Wearing white clothes regularly will force you to get good at it.) Like many Italians, Bruno doesn’t own a washer or dryer. This means everything gets washed by hand and hung outside to dry. (No need to splurge when you can do your laundry yourself.) Because clothes get stiff when air dried, Bruno irons everything, including socks, underwear, and towels. (This isn’t uncommon in Italy either.)

Bruno is quite skilled at cooking, a talent he developed while caring for his father. (He’s also picked up tips from Polpo’s unsolicited rants about food.) On the topic of cooking, Bruno tends to be big on meal prep, given that he doesn’t always have the time or energy to cook after a long day at work. Therefore, I can see him making a comical amount of food at once to store for later. You’ll walk in and the kitchen table looks like this:

If there’s one chore Bruno doesn’t enjoy, it’s taking out the trash. At first, I thought he’d have it easy because of the fact he could “zipper” it away inside the ground, but as stated to Trish inside Coco Jumbo, he has no idea where things go when he does that—probably best not to risk littering underground.

Bruno is very good about keeping clean. Every morning starts with a cold shower, which he enjoys for the mental clarity and alertness it brings. He’s happy to let you join him if he isn’t in a time constraint, and upon doing so, he’ll adjust the water temperature to something more suited to your preference. (Since he takes cold showers, he’s fine with pretty much any temperature as long as it isn’t scalding.)

If you end up showering with him, expect it to take a while. ;) (Especially if he has nothing going on that day.) His hands gently grazing your sides, he’ll likely start by asking if he can wash you. If you say yes, he’ll begin to gently and meticulously wash every part of you with an awestruck expression gracing his face. (“How did I get so lucky?” He’ll wonder.)

Araki designed Bruno with shiny, meticulously styled hair, which suggests to me that Bruno puts effort into caring for his hair. Healthy hair isn’t just good genes—Bruno goes a little further than just using shampoo and conditioner to maintain it. For instance, he definitely uses leave-in conditioner and hair oil. I can also see him using a hairdryer to blow out his hair and give it that perfect bob shape.

It’s impressive how fast Bruno can get ready for the day, considering all that goes into his daily styling. (You should see how fast he can braid his hair.) It takes him about 16-17 minutes to get ready, 10 more if he has to dry his hair.

Bruno finishes his routine with a few spritzes of cologne.

Around the house, Bruno dresses casually—no need for a fancy suit if no one’s around to see it. However, he will dress up if he’s expecting a visitor.

Sleeping next to you makes Bruno realize how fucking stressed he is all the time. His lifestyle/career has turned him into someone who is constantly hyper-vigilant, so it’s no wonder that Bruno is a very light sleeper. (That, plus the trauma from the night two intruders tried to kill Bruno’s dad while his dad was asleep. ) On his own, he tends to wake up multiple times in the middle of the night, but when he sleeps next to you, he usually stays asleep.

The best part about sleeping next to Bruno? He doesn’t really snore, possibly thanks to being a side sleeper. He also sleeps in pajamas, just in case he has to get up quickly. (Imagine being caught naked as intruders walk into your bedroom.)

I imagine Bruno uses the same bed he did as a kid. Therefore, I bet it is the Italian equivalent of a full-sized bed. This bed size has always worked for him, though he’d likely get a larger one if a partner moved in.

(You really can’t tell the size of the bed from the photo. It could very well be a twin instead of a full.)

Bruno typically starts his mornings bright and early at 6:30 am. He usually aims for about seven hours of sleep, going to bed around 11 p.m. or midnight, though it’s not unusual to see him working until 1 or 2 a.m. (So yeah… he never really gets enough sleep.)

In his downtime, Bruno likes to unwind with a book or by listening to records with a glass of wine—though these moments don’t happen as often as they should since he’s a bit of a workaholic.

Sometimes, he’ll take a walk to the shore where his dad used to dock and sit for a while. He finds it comforting—this is one way he feels he can stay connected to his dad.

Thank you for reading!!! this was super fun to write! I hope this post was able to provide you some comfort 💕

#Bruno Bucciarati #Bruno Buccellati #vento aureo #bruno bucciarati x reader #jjba x reader #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo’s bizarre adventure #jjba #jovia joestar writes #coochellati’s headcanons ♡

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orangameelectronics · 10 months ago

Video

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pearlsinmyhair · 1 year ago

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★ “love of my life…don’t hurt me.”

- or, hobie confesses to you with music.

“c’mere. i wanna show you something.” murmured hobie’s deep voice from beside you. you pulled back from the stove where you were both flipping pancakes, preparing for a sleep-over at his flat.

you went easily, following him to his room. it was…surprisingly organized today. hobie was a clean person, but his space had a tendency to reflect the deepest most integral parts of his punk-rock persona. anarchy. rebellion. non-conformity.

you sat on his bed as he pulled a record from his collection, placing it onto the player and turning up the volume.

“this reminded me of you.” he said as he laid down beside you on the bed, looking firmly at the ceiling. you pulled your knees up to your chest and listened, curious.

you expected metal, some guitar riff to burst out of the speaker and drums to beat against your ears.

so when the soft playing of a piano and harp rose into the air occupanied by the lulling voice of freddy mercury, you were more than surprised.

‘love of my life…you’ve hurt me.’

you breathed, listening to the lyrics with new ears. because hobie was your friend, your best friend. closer than most to you. your ride or die.

“this is a love song, hobes.” you whispered.

his thigh brushed against your ankle.

“ya…it is.”

oh.

‘when i grow older, i’ll be there at your side…to remind you how i still love you…’

the guitar rose as you turned to look at hobie, who was already watching you.

“i know, it’s real fuckin cheesy, but i figured that if i was gonna tell you, i might at least make it uncovention-“

he didn’t get to finish as you pressed your mouth to his, soft and tentative as you leaned down to him.

the soft sound that came from the back of his throat made you clench your hand in the front of his shirt. his hands found your waist, pulling you down on top of him and then to the side, so that you lay facing each other.

at some point the record moved on to ‘good company’, but you were far too busy focusing on the way hobie moved your leg to rest over his hip so he could pull you even closer.

“you know…” you murmured when you both finally pulled apart for air. “showing someone a song as a confession isn’t exactly unconventional.”

he rolled his eyes, nudging your chin up to press kisses to your throat, slow and soft, relishing you like you would disappear in an instant.

“i know… that song does make me think about you, though. i wasn’t lyin.”

you traced his back as he buried his face in the junction between your neck and shoulder.

you slipped your hand under his shirt, and he shivered. you knew his…work. it was dangerous, and the thought of you getting injured worried him. but you didn’t mind the danger, not when you had him beside you.

“i’m not going anywhere, hobie. especially not now.” you said as you pulled him back up to kiss him again.

he hummed against your mouth, shifting once more so that he hovered over you. wrapping his arms around your waist, he pulled you up against his body, deepening the kiss when you parted your lips for him.

‘love of my life…love of my life…’

hobie’s masterlist

#hobie my beloved #hobie x y/n #hobie x reader #hobie brown x fem!reader #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown fanfic #hobie brown #hobie brown atsv #hobie atsv #atsv x reader

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aflame4goinghome · 9 months ago

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Illicit Affairs

d.r.w x reader

chapter i

Summary: There’s no harm in having a one-night stand with a captivating musician at a jazz club the weekend before the fall semester, right? Usually that would be the case, but this time, it was very different. After finding out what he does for a living, your entire world is turned upside down, sending you head first into a relationship that even you might not be able to handle. Good luck.

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: THIS STORY CONTAINS SMUT, MINORS DNI!!! alcohol, swearing, flirting, SMUT: fingering, touching, sexually-implicit language, oral sex (m. & f. receiving), unprotected sex, hairpulling, semi-public sex, praise kink if you squint, hint of dom/sub dynamic

A/N: This story is in collaboration with my wonderful, talented friends @gretavanstink & @childinthegardenn!! Go give them a follow and give @gretavanstink’s fics some love! We’re so excited to share this journey with you all, we can’t wait for you to find out what’s next. Enjoy! Love ya!

Listen to the official playlist on Spotify here!

· · ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── · ·

“Is this it here?” you ask, looking over at Rose in your passenger seat as you slow down in front of the apartment building. She looks down at her phone to check the GPS then nods her head.

“Looks like it… I think I see a spot there in the front,” she answers. You quickly pull into the parking spot and then put the car in park. “Here we are!” you say, smiling at Rose before turning the car off, opening your door, and stepping out onto the street.

The neighborhood seemed quiet and calm, for it being so close to downtown Detroit. You feel pleasantly surprised as you take a look around. You walk around to the trunk of your car, pressing down the button and lifting the hatch. Your apartment came mostly furnished, so you and Rose luckily didn’t have to bring much besides your clothes and general necessities.

You’ve known your best friend Rose since the two of you were 11 years old, when your elementary schools merged to become one big middle school. You were placed in the same homeroom and you became fast friends, having a lot in common. You’ve been inseparable ever since, leaving your small town in northern Michigan to move to Detroit for college together.

Going into your third year at Wayne State University in midtown Detroit, you both found an apartment together off campus. The first day of class is in two days, giving you some time to get settled in at your new place before getting thrown into the busyness of the semester.

Grabbing your suitcases, you and Rose head up into your new apartment. You buzz the front door to the lobby, head inside, and gather your keys from the leasing office before taking the elevator up to the sixth floor. With an ecstatic smile on your face, you finally turn the key to open the front door and walk inside.

It’s a modest place, not too big or too small. There’s a large window in the living area, giving you a view of the rest of the neighborhood, since you were on the sixth floor. There are two bedrooms, a shared bathroom, and an in-unit washer/dryer, which you’re eternally grateful for. This was the most room you’ve ever had to yourself since you spent your first two years of university living on campus in the dorms.

The two of you take a short look around the apartment together before going back downstairs to grab the rest of your things, then branch off into your own bedrooms to begin unpacking. The room already had a full-sized bed, a desk, and a tall dresser. There was a lot of closet space as well, which is a rare find in the city.

You start by first unpacking your trusty record player, which you bring everywhere you go. Gifted to you by your grandfather for your 16th birthday, you’ve had it in your bedroom and have been adding to your collection ever since. You set it up on the top of your dresser, connect the speakers, and then plug it into the outlet below. You then uncover your record crate and pull out your favorite album of the month: The Queen Is Dead by the Smiths. You carefully remove the record from its protective sleeve, place it on the turntable, bring the needle to the edge of the record, and put it down.

As the music begins to play softly through the speakers, you turn around to open up your suitcase and start unpacking your clothes. You spend about half an hour putting your clothes away in the drawers and hanging some items up in the closet. Then, you go to make your bed, breaking out the new sheets and comforter set you just bought. After making the bed, you attach a handful of small adhesive hooks along the top of the wall behind your bed and hang a strand of lights to add some warm lighting to your space.

Finally, you pick up your box full of books and bring it to the living room. The apartment came with a large wooden bookcase along one of the side walls, across from the couch and next to the cabinet that the TV rests on. You struggle to carry the box, practically slamming it onto the coffee table when you finally reach the living room.

Admittedly, you brought way too many books with you— that box felt like it weighed at least 50 pounds. But as a philosophy major, reading is pretty much all you do. Despite that, it’s just a hobby that you particularly enjoy. You start by taking out all of your philosophy books and placing them on the middle shelf– Plato’s The Republic, Epictetus’ Discourses, Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations, and many more. Then, on the top shelf, some of your favorite reads– your Shakespeare Complete Collection, The Iliad, The Odyssey, The Great Gatsby, Little Women, Jane Eyre. You left the bottom shelf for whatever Rose might want to add, but you know that it will likely end up full of trinkets rather than books.

As you finish straightening up the living room, Rose walks out and sits down on the couch. “Ugh, moving sucks,” she laments, throwing her head back with a groan. You sit down next to her, throwing your arm around her and putting your head down on her shoulder.

“I know, right? At least we’re all finished now, though,” you say.

“I’m hungry,” she says, “Wanna go get some pizza?” Your lips quickly turn up into a smile.

“Is that even a question you have to ask?” you reply, standing up from the couch and offering her your hand to help her up. You both retreat to your separate rooms to get ready to go out before going to eat.

Detroit in the summer can sometimes be brutal in the daytime, but at night, it can get pretty cold. You decide on a black cropped v-neck top and throw on a flannel just in case you get cold, pairing it with a pair of ripped denim jeans and your Converse. You take the top half of your hair and pull it back, leaving some strands out in the front. You decide to put on a bit of base makeup, but nothing too detailed.

· · ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── · ·

The two of you agree to go to your favorite pizza place downtown to eat dinner, so you grab your car keys and head out the door. It’s only about a ten-minute drive, so you get there rather quickly. The sun is setting now since it’s a bit past 8 p.m., and the view as you drive toward the Detroit River is like no other. You finally arrive at the restaurant and sit down to eat, feeling practically starving at this point. This really was your absolute favorite restaurant in the city. To you, there was nothing quite like Detroit-style pizza. It felt like home to you, and was exactly the comfort meal you needed right now.

After a delicious and much-needed meal, you and Rose exit the pizza place, turning the corner and walking toward where you parked the car. It’s dark outside now, and as you walk to your car, you’re nearly blinded by the lights of what seems to be a neon sign. It read “Cliff Bell’s” and there was a standing sign on the ground that said “Runway Blues Combo, August 24th, 9-11:30 p.m.” You can hear the distant sound of a saxophone and other instruments from inside, filling you with a warm, fuzzy feeling. You check your watch, which reads 9:25 p.m.

“Come on, we have to go in!” you exclaim, pulling Rose by the arm to enter the bar. You show the bouncer your IDs then head over to the bar, waiting in the large crowd to order a drink. You look over at the band on the stage at the back of the bar, somewhat recognizing the song they were playing– Basie, you think. The bartender finally turns to you and asks for your order, so you order a vodka cranberry, wait for Rose to get her drink, and then you both go toward the stage to see and hear the band better without the big crowd.

As you get closer to the stage, your eyes immediately fall on the drummer. At first, it’s the audacity to wear sunglasses inside that draws your attention– rose-tinted lenses with a gold frame. Then, you admire his shoulder-length, dark curls, bouncing along to the rhythm of the song. Finally, you notice the way the muscles in his forearms contract as he plays, his veins tightening as he hits the snare drum during a particular drum fill. He was wearing a white button-down shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to sit right above his elbow, showing just enough of his arms to leave you wanting more. He has most of the buttons undone, only leaving a few buttoned at the bottom, accentuating the dark hair on his chest.

For most of the set, his eyes are often closed– he seems to be concentrated on the music, like he’s feeling it flow through him and letting his soul take control. You’d be lying if you said he didn’t intrigue you, he’s ridiculously attractive and seems to be incredibly talented. At one point during the set, though, his eyes open and seem to be drawn right to you. You convince yourself that the eye contact was just a coincidence and that he was just finding a spot in the room to lock his eyes on, but when he suddenly gives a distinct wink in your direction, you know that it wasn’t just a coincidence. He saw you.

You try your best to fight off the blush that is starting to populate your cheeks, not wanting to show how much it affected you. Luckily, the room is darkly lit and crowded, so you hope that it will go unnoticed. You can’t deny the butterflies in your stomach, and how good it felt to know that his eyes were on you.

You excuse yourself, leaving Rose up front to save your spot as you go to get yourself another drink. Rose agreed to drive home, not feeling like drinking much tonight, so you decide to allow yourself to have some more to drink. After the bartender hands you your drink, you decide to stay there to finish it, hoping to get another soon after to add to your buzz and hopefully quell the nervous feelings you had inside over this mysterious drummer.

You’ve only had about half of your next drink when you hear someone on stage say that the band is going to take a brief intermission. Soon after, you’re taking a sip of your drink and suddenly feel a tall presence to your right at the bar. You look over to see that it’s none other than the band’s drummer. When he catches your eye, he smiles at you for a moment before turning back to the bartender.

“Hey, man. Can I get an old fashioned?” he asks, then looks back over to you. He looks down at your near-empty glass, then back up to meet your eyes as he says, “And another of whatever she’s having.” He flashes you another smile as he sees the shade of pink start to cover your cheeks, sitting down on the stool next to you. The bartender hands you both your drinks and then walks off to help other customers.

“Saw you there in the front. Did you enjoy the set?” he asks as he removes his sunglasses, places them on the bar, then takes a sip of his drink.

“Oh, it was great! It’s been a while since I’ve heard live jazz, you guys are phenomenal,” you answer, smiling shyly as you take a sip of your drink, looking up at him next to you. Now that you were up close and personal with him, you couldn’t help but notice how tall he was– at least two heads taller than you were, you thought. And a little older than you had placed him when you saw him on stage. From far away you had guessed maybe his early to mid-twenties, but up close you wagered closer to thirty.

“Glad to hear that. What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asks, leaning his arm on the bar as he turns his body toward you. “Y/N,” you answer, blushing slightly at the nickname.

“Y/N. Beautiful,” he says, his lips turning upward into a small smile. “Daniel.” He takes your hand in his, bringing it up to his lips, and places a soft kiss on the back of your hand.

“It’s not often that we see gorgeous girls like you in here, Y/N…” he says, leaning down a bit to talk directly into your ear. You assume that it’s due to the volume of the room, but then he takes you by surprise. “It’s even less often that I see a gorgeous girl undress me with her eyes while I’m on stage, like you just did back there.” You gulp quietly, completely taken aback by his direct words. He wasn’t wrong, you were attracted to him and certainly made no effort to hide it.

“Oh, I-” you start, but end up trailing off before he interrupts.

“Did you think you got away with it?” Daniel asks, smirking as his right hand reaches over to trail his fingers along your forearm, which is resting on the bar. His lips are practically touching your ear now, sending a shiver down your spine. “I noticed… Been thinkin’ about you ever since.”

“I’ve been thinking about you, too,” you say, in almost a whisper, so much so that it was quite possible that he couldn’t hear it, but he did. You allow your hand to ghost softly along his wrist. Your fingers find the thin gold chain around his wrist as you look up to meet his gaze, his face is so close now that your noses are practically touching.

“Yeah?” he says. You take a deep breath, looking up at him as you watch him lick his lips. “Tell me what you were thinkin’ about…” You could already feel your arousal start to pool between your legs, the anticipation making it feel like your heart could stop at any moment. You swallow hard as you try to answer him.

“I was thinking about how strong your arms looked,” you answer, trying to feign confidence despite how intimidating his aura felt. “Watching you play the drums and seeing your muscles flexing like that through your shirt… It was really hot.” He smirks, clearly pleased by your answer, and lowers his lips to your ear once again. You can feel his breath on your ear as he continues.

“Was it?” he asks teasingly. You feel his lips finally connect with your skin as he places a soft, lingering kiss on your neck, right below your ear. “Tell me what else.” Your breath hitches as his lips descend slowly down your neck.

“I thought about what the rest of you might look like under that shirt,” you say, leaning your head back slightly as he sucks right on the sensitive part of your neck.

“All you had to do was ask, baby…” he says, kissing his way back up to your ear.

“What were you thinking about?” you ask, your confidence starting to shine through. He smiles as he whispers into your ear.

“Thought about how good your tits look in that tight shirt,” he says as he wraps his arms around your back, holding you close. “Thought about how I wanted you to only look at me and no one else…” He sucks at the skin below your ear, causing you to let out a quiet whimper only he can hear.

“I’m only looking at you, Daniel,” you say, turning to look at him. His lips turn upward into a wicked smile.

“You wanna go somewhere a bit quieter, baby?” he whispers, softly brushing his nose against yours, moving his lips even closer. Your breath feels like it’s been taken out of your chest, but you don’t have time to waste. You quickly nod and he takes your hand in his, guiding you toward the back hallway that leads backstage.

Once you round the corner of the hallway and are out of sight from the rest of the bar, Daniel stops you, pushing your back against the wall as his lips race to meet yours. He captures your lips in his as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him. His kiss is hurried and rough, something that you weren’t used to but definitely welcomed. The feeling of his body against yours was already making you lightheaded, and the alcohol in your system certainly wasn’t helping matters.

Keeping his lips on yours, he pulls your back off the wall, walking over to the one-stall bathroom only a few feet away. He removes one of his hands from you to quickly open the door, taking you both past it and letting it close behind him.

He backs you against the sink and your ass hits the hard porcelain, causing you to wince and drop your purse on the floor. He takes his lips off of you for a moment and says, “The lock on this door doesn’t work.” His lips travel along your jawline and then down your neck. He continues, “But I bet you don’t care about that, do you, sweetheart?”

“I-” you begin but are quickly cut off as he pulls your v-neck to the side, his teeth dragging against the skin over your collarbone. A gasp escapes you and you tangle your fingers in his curls, every touch of his lips to your skin sending electricity shooting through you.

“In fact, I’m sure you don’t,” he says against your skin, his breath warm and tinged with whiskey. His fingers slip under the strap of your bra, lifting the elastic up and letting it snap back against your skin. He flicks his gaze up to meet yours, finding you staring at him wide eyed, and he smirks as he tugs your bra down, lips dropping back down to suck an already deepening purple mark just below where your shirt lays.

You’re grateful for the sink behind you, holding up your body, as you feel how weak your knees are. You feel like a fawn who has found herself face to face with a hunter in the woods and every word he utters, every touch he places on you, adds to the growing arousal between your legs. You don’t find yourself speechless often, but now is one of those times.

“What’s the matter, baby?” Daniel asks, noticing how your knees wobbled just slightly, and lifts his head to look at you again, his hips pinning you firmly to the sink. You can feel him, long and hard, against your abdomen, the thought sending tingles through your body.

“Maybe you need a rest,” he smirks, stepping back from you and leaning against the wall next to the door. “On your knees.”

Your hands grip the sides of the sink as you stare at him with wide eyes, hesitating to let go for fear that your legs would give out from under you. Slowly, you lower yourself to the ground in front of him, letting your hands rest in your lap and looking up at him through your eyelashes.

Daniel looks down at you intensely, his gaze feeling like fire, and brings his hand down to your face. He drags his thumb over your cheekbone, down the side of your face, along your jaw, and finally stops at your lips. Placing his thumb on your bottom lip, he gently pulls down, tilting his chin up slightly and looking down his nose at you.

“Open,” he growls, waiting a moment for you to do as he says. You swallow thickly, your mouth suddenly dry, and let your mouth fall open, much to Daniel’s pleasure. “Good girl.”

His thumb moves from your bottom lip to your tongue and you close your lips around it, your tongue swirling around it. He hums, pleased, and pulls his thumb from your mouth with a pop.

“Eager, are we?” Daniel teases, his hands working to undo his belt. He leaves it in his belt loops, the buckle hanging undone, and unbuttons his dress slacks. You watch as he drags his zipper down, now able to see his cock straining against the fabric of his black boxer briefs, and pushes his pants and underwear down enough to free himself. Your eyes widen slightly at the sight of him as your gaze travels from the dark, well-groomed patch of hair above his base, down his length to his tip.

“Fuck,” you whisper, barely audible, as your gaze returns to meet Daniel’s. He strokes himself a few times, smirking down at you. With his free hand, he reaches down and runs his thumb across your lower lip once more.

“You seem to know what to do, sweetheart,” Daniel says as you open for him again, sticking your tongue out flat. He nods approvingly and lowers his cock, dragging his tip along your tongue before he pushes himself into your mouth. A low groan rumbles from his chest as you close your lips around him. “Just like fucking velvet.”

He gathers your hair into a ponytail and allows you to set your own pace as he watches his cock slide past your lips. You take him all the way in, widening the back of your throat so you don’t gag, and pause when your lips reach his base. Flicking your eyes up, you find Daniel staring down at you slack-jawed, his pupils blending into his irises seamlessly. You slowly start to draw your head back, the tip of your tongue following the path of the vein that runs the length of his shaft. Your tongue swirls around his tip, drawing a soft moan from his lips as he closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the wall.

“Fucking hell,” he groans as you pick up your pace, his grasp on your hair tightening as his hips buck involuntarily. You gag slightly as his tip hits the back of your throat and you flash your gaze up to him, moaning around him to entice him to keep going. Daniel’s eyes flash open and he looks down at you for confirmation, which you give to him in the form of a nod.

“You’re fucking dangerous,” he says, letting your hair fall from the makeshift ponytail he held and tangling his fingers in it instead. He starts to fuck your mouth, slowly at first to not overwhelm you. Rough, but considerate, you think as his tip knocks the back of your throat. Once he’s sure you’re adjusted he picks up his pace, his hand holding your head in place. He lets another low moan fill the room as you hum around him.

“Daniel?” you hear a man’s voice on the other side of the door ask. “Is that you? Are you good, dude?”

Daniel’s head rolls to glance at the door, still fucking your throat as he speaks up through the door. “I’m fine,” he says, attempting a voice that doesn’t sound like he’s getting his dick sucked in the bathroom.

“You sure? We’re back on stage at 10:30,” the stranger reminds him, attempting to push the door open. Daniel’s free arm darts across the door, blocking it from opening.

“I fucking know, Sam!” he yells, his fingers tightening in your hair as he drives his cock to the back of your throat harshly. You gag around him this time, tears springing to your eyes and threatening to fall down your cheeks. You hear the man scoff on the other side of the door, followed by the sound of his footsteps receding, and you look up at Daniel. He glances at his watch, seeing that it’s 10:20 pm, and then meets your gaze, winks, and says, “Let’s make this quick, sweetheart.”

He pulls your mouth off of him and offers you a hand to stand up, which you graciously take, allowing him to pull you to your feet. Your lips collide in a fervent kiss, tongues tangling and hands gripping at each others’ clothes. Daniel’s hands find the button on your jeans and swiftly pop it open, followed by your zipper. He spins you around quickly and tugs your jeans down over your ass, letting them rest around your thighs as he guides you forward to bend over the sink.

“My god, Y/N,” he murmurs, seeing the soaked state of your plum-colored panties. Daniel loops his fingers in the waistband and tugs them down, the sudden cool air mixed with unbridled anticipation making you shiver. His fingertips grip into your ass for a moment before he draws his hand back and delivers a solid smack to your outer thigh, drawing a whimper from your throat. He drops to his knees behind you and drags a finger through your center, watching as you shiver again. Placing his finger onto his tongue, he cleans your arousal off and hums.

“Sweeter than sin,” he muses, licking a stripe up your inner thigh and smirking to himself as your legs quivered in response. He grips your thighs, hard enough to leave bruises, and pushes them apart, dragging his tongue through your folds slowly. You gasp as he laps at your core, your fingers gripping the porcelain harshly, and you arch your back, pushing back against his face.

“Oh my god,” you moan, your head dropping as he moans into you, the vibration ripping right through you. Daniel pulls his face away and you whine desperately at the loss of contact, gasping a second later as he pushes two fingers into you and curls them. He sets a quick, consistent pace with his fingers, bringing you closer to the edge as you bite your lip to try to stifle your moans.

“I’m…I’m close,” you manage, his fingers working relentlessly at your sensitive spot.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he says, pressing a kiss to the back of your thigh. “Give it to me.”

He curls his fingers once more and your vision goes white, your moans filling the room as you cum on his fingers. Your legs shake as he works you through it, his motions slowing as your moans turn to ragged panting. He feels for his wallet in his pocket, but realizes he must have left it backstage, and he stands, placing a hand on your lower back.

“I don’t have a condom,” he confesses, watching you for a reaction. You lift your head and look at him through the mirror and shrug your shoulders.

“I’m clean and I have an IUD,” you say, lifting an eyebrow at him. “Are you clean?”

Daniel nods and smirks, stroking himself as his eyes traverse your body. You let your head fall again, arch your back, and say, “What are you waiting for then?”

“Careful what you wish for, darling,” he says, dragging his cock through your wetness and pushing into you until your bodies are flush. You gasp as you feel him brush your cervix and you feel yourself tighten around him. He groans and grips your waist, your pussy squeezing his cock as you adjust to his size. “Fuck, and I thought your mouth felt like heaven.”

He pulls back and snaps his hips forward, driving you into the sink as you push your ass back against him. Obscenities intertwined with the other’s name fall from both of your lips as he fucks you.

Daniel reaches up with one hand and collects your hair into a ponytail again, wrapping your tresses around his hand and tugging your head back. Your eyes meet in the mirror, a smirk touching his lips as he says, “Want you to watch me fuck you, baby.”

You brace yourself on the sink and cry out quietly, the intense arch in your back allowing him to drive his cock deeper. His hand on your waist lifts and comes down on your ass with a loud crack and you whimper, your sounds spurring him on. You can feel your second orgasm coming on as you watch yourself in the mirror, mouth agape as lewd sounds tumble out of you.

“Daniel…” you moan, looking up at him through the mirror. He looks like a god, his lips parted and his curls falling into his eyes as he snaps his hips forward again. “I’m…fuck,” you pant out, your muscles squeezing around him as you fall apart around him.

“That’s it, baby,” he praises, his fingers kneading into your ass. “Cum on my cock, just like that.”

Your muscles squeeze around him one final time as he pulls out almost all the way, groaning as he slams into you and spills his own release. You feel his cock twitch inside of you and his breath on your back as he leans over you, his orgasm wracking his body. He slides out of you after a moment and tucks himself back into his pants before he cleans you up the best he can with some toilet paper.

“Thanks,” you say, suddenly shy as if you hadn’t let a man you just met fuck you in a bathroom, and you tug your underwear and jeans back up. He smiles at your sudden bashfulness and nods, watching you pick your purse up from where it had fallen.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he says with a wink. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you into him, pressing his lips to yours in a much more tender fashion than he had earlier. “Stay for another set?”

Your face flushes as you look up at him, studying his face for a moment, your eyes focusing on the shape of his nose. As your eyes move to study his lips, you realize he’s asking you a question and you’re missing it. You shake away the fog clouding your thoughts and focus.

“Oh, um,” you say as you pull your phone out of your purse and see about 20 texts and 2 missed calls from Rose, probably in a full-on panic now that you’ve been gone and ignoring her texts. “Shit, I’m in trouble. Gotta run, see you around maybe!”

You rush out the door, leaving him by himself, and stand up on your toes to see over the crowd. You spot Rose back by the door and push through the crowd as quickly as you can, putting your arm up and waving her down.

“Oh my god, where the fuck have you been?” she scolds you as you approach her. You grab her wrist and pull her closer so you can talk in her ear.

“We have to go,” you say, pulling her behind you towards the door.

“Wait wait, what?” She asks as she resists you, pulling you to stop. “What the fuck happened?”

“Oh my god,” you say, drawing out the last word, tugging her along. “I’ll tell you while we walk.”

She relents and follows after you, telling the bouncers to have a good night. She catches up to you and links your arms as you walk back towards where the car is parked. Once you were far enough away, you burst into a giddy giggling fit and lean against a light post to catch your breath. Rose moves to the edge of the sidewalk and folds her arms over her chest, watching you with a raised eyebrow.

“Okay, spill. What did I miss,” she prods, nudging your foot with hers. Your head falls back against the light post gently and you turn your head to look at her.

“You know the drummer?” You ask, giggling again. Rose nods and tilts her head to the side, waiting for you to continue. “We just fucked in the bathroom.”

You cover your mouth dramatically after you say it and smile under your hands. Her mouth falls open and she grabs your wrist, pulling you off the post to start walking again.

“Oh my god, he was hot, Y/N,” she says, tugging you along. You catch up with her as you’re turning the corner to the car and nod.

“Mhm, I know,” you say, satisfaction dripping from your voice. You climb into the passenger seat and watch Rose walk around to the driver’s side. She climbs in and starts the car up, pulling onto the street and driving back towards your apartment. “Oh my god and he was good,” you add, tossing your head back against the headrest.

Rose shakes her head and laughs, “You’re fucking insane, you know?”

You nod dramatically and close your eyes as Rose rounds the corner to your street, pulling into the apartment lot and throwing the car into park. You climb out and start towards the building, slowing down so Rose can catch up. You walk into the building together and ride the elevator up to your floor.

“I thought the piano guy was hot,” she confesses, turning to look at you as you lean against the elevator wall. This sends you into another laughing fit.

“He almost walked in on us!” You shout, slapping Rose’s arm as you remember Danny blocking the door while you were on your knees.

“No way!” She clings to you and laughs with you. You both stumble out of the elevator and up to your door, waiting as Rose unlocks it and falling inside as the door opens.

· · ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── · ·

On Monday morning you walk out of your first class of the semester, Philosophy of Sex and Gender, and glance down at your watch. With about a half hour until your Art History class, you decide to grab a quick snack at the cafe. You tug your sweatshirt off, the late morning sun starting to warm up the day, and plop yourself into a puffy leather chair near the window to people-watch as you snack on the trail mix you bought.

As you fiddle with a loose string hanging from one of the rips in your jeans, your mind comes alive as you zone out, bringing you back to Saturday night. The whole day passes through your memory like a timelapse, slowing when you tug Rose into the bar with you. Daniel’s figure behind the drums pops into your head and you feel a blush creep onto your cheeks as you see the two of you at the bar, as if you’re watching the interaction from a different perspective. You feel your heart race as you think about the bruises on your thighs from his grip, almost able to imagine the feeling of his hands on you.

As you snap yourself out of it, not wanting to spend the rest of your day helplessly worked up, you glance at your watch. You flinch at the 10:55 am staring back at you, realizing you only had five minutes to book it across the quad. Grabbing your bag from where it rests against your chair, you race out the door to get to the building on the other side of campus.

You make it inside, out of breath and about two minutes late, and slip into the lecture hall, spotting the professor standing with his back to you as he writes on the chalkboard. Scanning the room for a decent seat, you take note of the way his dark curls are pulled back into a low ponytail and the way he had rolled the sleeves of his black dress shirt. You feel a pang of uneasiness as you realize how familiar he looks from the back.

You spot a seat on the aisle in the third row, making the decision that it’s yours now, but as you start to step forward he turns around to look at something on his desk and you freeze in your place. Not sure you’re seeing things correctly, you duck into a seat towards the back. He turns back to the chalkboard, underlining a date before setting the chalk down and turning to face the class. Fuck, you think.

“Hey guys, I’m Dr. Wagner,” Daniel says, clapping his hands together to get everyone’s attention. “We’re gonna get started here.”

Hearing his voice confirms it and you pull your phone out of your pocket, opening your chat with Rose and furiously typing. You know she’s in an acting lab so she won’t answer right away, but you need to tell someone.

To: Rose🌹

DUDE

To: Rose🌹

MY FUCKING ART HISTORY PROF IS THE DRUMMER FROM THE BAR

You’re not sure whether you want to get up and leave or just try to avoid his eyes. Suddenly you realize that Daniel is the type of professor who paces when he talks as he starts to walk up the aisle you’re sitting on. Every few steps he stops to glance up at the bullet points he had written on the board, his eyes never landing on any one person as he spoke.

“So September 18th is when your first paper is due,” Daniel says, strolling up the aisle. As he lifts his eyes from the floor to glance back at the board, his gaze passes over you and he does a subtle double take, meeting your eyes. “Um,” he pauses, clearing his throat. “Oh, right. And your first exam is uh…is the week after.”

Your cheeks flush when you see it in his eyes that he recognizes you and you break the shared moment, dropping your eyes back to your phone screen to type out another text.

To: Rose🌹

He just fucking saw me. What do I DO???

You shove your phone back into your pocket as Daniel continues rattling off dates of exams and papers, answering questions as they pop up from the class. You keep your eyes trained on the floor, almost afraid to look up and find him staring at you again.

“Okay, and last but not least, your final is on December 5th,” he says, wrapping up the hour-long lecture ten minutes early. “Anyways, welcome back guys. Go on, get outta here.”

Daniel waves his hand dismissively and picks up the eraser from the tray on the chalkboard, starting to clean the markings off of it. You practically leap out of your seat to make a beeline for the door, fearing you’d fall into a million pieces if you stayed a second longer.

“Oh, and uh,” he says as he turns to look at the class list to find your name, even though he already knows who you are, halting you just before you step into the hallway. “Y/N, can you hang back for a sec?”

Your mouth goes dry as you turn around, staring at him from the doorway. Daniel stares back at you, not turning away until you take a step back into the room. As you slowly make your way toward the front of the room, he turns back to the board, lifting a spray bottle from the floor and spraying water on a rag. You reach the front row of the class and lean your hip against the side of the aisle seat, watching his muscles shift beneath the black fabric as he wipes the board down.

“Didn’t think ‘see you around maybe’ meant like this,” he says as he drapes the rag over the bottle on the floor and turns to the desk, refusing to meet your eyes. You trade leaning against the seat for sitting down in it, fearful that your legs might give out from under you, and stare up at him, your eyes wide and your lips parted as you search your brain for something to say.

“I’m not su-” you trail off as he flashes you a stern look.

“You’re not sure what I mean?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at you and leaning on the corner of the desk before continuing, “I think you are, sweetheart.” You look over both shoulders, checking for any lingering students.

“It’s not like I knew, professor,” you challenge, your voice hushed despite being the only two people in the room, and cross your legs. Your hands rest in your lap and you turn your nervous energy to the loose string on your jeans again.

“Don’t do that,” Daniel says, his gaze boring straight through you.

A smirk finds its way to your lips and your hands fall still in your lap as you cock your head to the side, feigning innocence, “Don’t do what?”

He pushes himself off the desk and steps down off the small stage, stopping in front of you and bracing himself on the wooden armrests as he leans down over you. Your head spins as you look up at him, his cologne invading your senses and making it difficult to think.

“That innocent ‘professor’ bit,” He whispers as he leans in closer, his lips grazing the shell of your ear and sending a chill down your spine. You shiver as his lips connect with your neck, his bangs brushing your shoulder lightly. Just as soon as the contact is made it’s gone as he lifts his head to look at you, studying the shade of pink that creeps up your neck. You swallow hard and your lips part as if to say something, but Daniel strokes a thumb along your jaw, scrambling your thoughts. He clicks his tongue and blows a laugh through his nose, “What, suddenly speechless?”

He pushes himself up and smooths his hands over his slacks before stepping back up onto the stage and taking a seat behind the desk. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and shake your head.

“No,” you say simply. “Is sir better?”

A smirk forms on his lips and he nods his head, satisfied with your answer. He pushes a pile of papers together and taps them on the desk to align them before sliding them into a pocket of his leather bag.

You remain in your seat, watching as he organizes some things in his bag, and you feel your phone vibrate three times in your pocket, the buzz pattern you’d given Rose. Tugging it free, you glance at the screen and, sure enough, see a text from your best friend waiting for you.

From: Rose🌹

You’re fucking joking.

Daniel clears his throat and looks at you expectantly, silently demanding your attention back. You tuck your phone back into your pocket and return your eyes to him.

“You know you could have mentioned this,” you say, having had a moment to collect your thoughts. He scoffs and shoots you an incredulous look, folding his hands on his desk.

“Sorry, it didn’t really cross my mind to talk about my day job while I was fucking you,” he spits out, standing and collecting his things.

“I need to go meet with a colleague briefly,” he explains, leaning against the side of the desk. “I think we should talk about this privately. Go wait outside of my office.”

You sit up straight and take a breath, parting your lips to protest, but he holds up a hand to stop you. Shrinking back into your seat, you watch him step down and stop when he stands next to you. With a finger under your chin, he pulls up gently, forcing you to look up at him.

“Be a good girl,” he says, his voice low and commanding. “Room 321.”

Daniel lets go of your face, turns up the aisle, and walks into the building’s lobby, leaving you alone in the room as you’d left him at the bar. You sit silently for a few minutes, debating your next move, and finally decide to go, feeling certain he wouldn’t be letting this go. You gather your belongings and make your way toward the hall, unsure of what awaits you when he gets back.

· · ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── · ·

chapter ii

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lewinblue · 3 months ago

Text

Put It On me || Harrison Knott

A/N: I haven’t written smut in a while so please give me some grace. If you like it please let me know!

Warnings: It’s smut. It’s public but no one is around.

W.C: 2.7+

Summary: You weren’t expecting Harrison to remember your interest in this song. Especially not in this moment.

You had moved to California two months ago and only recently met Harrison through his sister a month ago. When you had first wandered into Lost & Found with your friend you knew that her brother worked there. You hadn’t expected the immediate spark that sizzled in the air when you were left alone with him as Chloe browsed through the store.

“It’s an empty cassette,” Harrison had answered when you asked what it was that he was fiddling with in between helping customers. “I’m waiting for the right songs to put on it.”

“You know you can just download Spotify or something write?” You teased him as you gently took the tape out of his hands and looked it over.

You had only ever seen cassette players in your parent's attic or at record shops. You had no idea people still made mixtapes.

You didn’t try to stop the smile of endearment at the thought of the attractive boy in front of you making a mixtape.

He snatched it back from you playfully as a new song came over the speakers in the store. It took you a second to place it. For the past hour you’ve been in here waiting around for your friend and pestering her brother, every song has been calm. Songs that you could listen to and lose yourself to as you sat on the beach.

You couldn’t name those other songs, but you did know this one. Put It On Me by Matt Maeson, is not a song that you would have expected to play in here but one that left a smirk on your lips.

“This is the first song I’ve seen you react to since you came in here,” his blue eyes on your face felt more intense than they were a second ago and you could feel your cheeks heat up a bit. “You like this song?”

You couldn’t meet his eyes. You only knew him for less than two hours and somehow his blue eyes swam with mirth and something darker and more intense.

“Of course I do. Haven’t you listened to it?” You asked, looking up from the counter and scanning the store for your friend, trying your best to not look back at Harrison. Without looking at him you said somewhat shyly, “I don’t know if it’s a song I’d play in a public store, though.”

The man hummed and when you didn’t look back at him he finally said, his voice deeper and rasper but his smile still present. “Where do you think this song should be played then?”

It took you a second but when you looked back at him, you paused. Your mouth was dry and you knew you looked flustered under all of his attention. Thankfully before the silence stretched too long, Chloe came rushing back up the front declaring that she couldn’t find what she wanted and that the two of you should stop at the new coffee shop before heading back to your shared apartment.

You only nodded and pulled your bag up higher on your shoulder. You were about to say your goodbyes to Harrison before he jumped in before you could, “actually, your friend was about to give me her phone number.”

You raised your eyebrow at him and he only smiled devilishly at you and handed you a pen from behind the cash register. When you looked for a piece of scrap paper, Harrison slid the empty cassette player over to you and tapped the front for you to put your number.

You ignored your squealing best friend as you did and only let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding when you finally returned the pen and walked out of the record store.

You couldn’t help yourself, you had to have one more look so quickly you turned back to see if you could see Harrison from where you were walking away with Chloe only to see him already looking at you. When he caught your eye, he winked playfully and waved your phone number as a reminder that he would be calling you.

That chance meeting (or set up if the mischievous twinkle in her eyes told you anything) had only happened two weeks ago and already you had spent most of your time with Harrison. If you weren’t with him physically then you were talking on the phone and if you couldn’t do either you were thinking about being with him.

It made you giggle like a child with a schoolyard crush but you couldn’t deny that you were down bad for him already.

Harrison seemed unlike most of the men and general people you had gotten to know since moving to California. He loved to surf and he loved music but it didn’t feel fake or like it was for show. You could tell by the way he talked about music that he loved it. It didn’t matter the genre, the singer, or the decade. He always had an opinion on it and if he didn’t he would listen until he did.

I’m such a short amount of time you felt like you had gotten to know him better than most people you had known for years.

Still, over the past two weeks and the handful of times the two of you went out nothing went further than a kiss. Chaste at first but this last time after he dropped you off at your apartment the way he held the back of your neck and your waist in a strong grip to hold you tighter as his tongue finally danced its way into your mouth left you hot under the collar. At that moment you wanted nothing more than to drag him upstairs to your bedroom and not let him leave until you were both spent. Tired, spent, sweaty and giddy.

So when he finally pulled away, you hadn’t thought twice before grabbing onto his blue t-shirt and trying to pull him back to you. His laugh was low and charming and if you stood there any longer you could have sworn that you would have melted right there.

Harrison grabbed your hand that was fisted in his shirt and brought it to his lips and kissed your knuckles. Never letting his baby blue eyes leave yours.

“My sister’s home. I just saw the bedroom light flicker and I don’t think it would be a good idea for me to come in tonight with her here.” He said. You could tell he was trying to calm you down but it was clear that he was just as riled up as you.

“We don’t have to do anything.” You said. You knew it was a lie and so did he. He leaned in again to nuzzle your cheek and kiss your jaw. “We could just hang out”

He kissed the beating pulse on your neck before pulling away. “I promise you, if I move one step closer to that door I won’t be able to just “hang out””

You kissed him once more and nodded. Accepting that things wouldn’t be going further tonight.

“Tomorrow,” he said, as he finally backed away. “I’ll take you to the cliffs by the ocean at sunset. Just me and you and the waves.”

You smiled happily, not thinking about how your fingers grazed where his lips touched your neck. “Tomorrow.”

Sitting on the roof of Harrison’s car overlooking the crashing waves was picturesque, to say the least. Even after settling down here you still hadn’t made the time to really take in your new surroundings.

The way that the sunset over the waves and the warm breeze that blew your hair gently felt like Heaven. It all came together when you remembered the man lounging beside you and the sounds of the song playing from inside the car.

and I fall to pieces (Bitch)

I fall to pieces when I’m with you

(Why?)

Cause I love you so much

I fall to pieces

My cherries and wine

It felt like something out of a film.

When you finally pulled your eyes away from the water to look down at Harrison who had his face angled up to the sky, showing off the scruff on his chin and neck. You bit your lip to stop yourself from leaning in to place kisses on his neck and jaw.

“You enjoying the view?” Harrison questioned quietly.

You knew that he wasn’t talking about the oceans or the rocks. He knew you were looking at him and you couldn’t deny it. He was handsome and hard to take your eyes off of. He was kind and funny and had a good taste in music. He was intoxicating and in this moment there was nothing more that you wanted than him.

You hummed I’m agreement and when a slow smile spread across his face you couldn’t stop yourself. With his eyes still closed, you leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his lips before murmuring against them, “The best view in all of California.”

When you pulled away his eyes opened and you were met with his blue eyes. Dark with what you could only define as lust.

He didn’t say anything as he looked around to make sure that the two of you were completely alone. You watched as he slid off of the roof of his car.

“Stay there for a second,” he called as he jogged to the driver’s side door and rummaged around until he found what he was looking for. Harrison was already back and grabbing your ankles, causing you to giggle, to pull you to the edge of the car roof as a different song started to play from the radio.

You didn’t have a second to process the lyrics or the song as his lips connected with yours. The kiss was hard and desperate and full of need and when he finally pulled away, you were breathless.

“We’re finally alone,” you said quietly and you were surprised that he heard you over the waves of the ocean.

His large hands slid up your thighs and under your dress slowly as he kissed your collarbone and smirked before saying, “That we are.”

You couldn’t think of anything else to say. You didn’t really want to say anything else, you just wanted to feel Harrison’s lips on yours and his hands on your body. He must have felt the same because, with a small nip to your bottom lip, he slid his tongue into your mouth.

Between the grip he had on your thighs and the way his tongue played with yours and licked into your mouth, you felt like a gourmet meal that he was tasting.

The whine that left your lips when he pulled away wasn’t something you were aware of until you saw him smile and then kiss your nose softly.

“Lay back for me,” his tone was firm and gentle at the same time. Your heart was racing and you could feel the dampness pooling in your panties as you did as he said.

Thankfully, you decided to wear a dress tonight because it made it easy for Harrison to pull your underwear down your thighs and put them in his back pocket. You would blush if you could but you were sure at this point you couldn’t turn any more red.

His eyes never left yours as he grabbed your thighs and spread them wide, putting your wet cunt on full display for him. You closed your eyes and tried to control your breathing. You knew you wanted this for a minute now and now that it was finally happening it felt overwhelming.

You bite the inside of your cheek and listen to the waves and the familiar song playing and Harrison kisses the inside of your thigh. The softness of your skin and the roughness of his stubble made you squirm in the best way.

Then, nothing.

You were certain that you might have given yourself whiplash as you whipped your head up to look at him. He chuckled at your reaction before saying softly but loud enough for you to hear him clearly, “I’m just making sure that you want to do this.”

Barely a second passed before you nodded your head enthusiastically, “God, you have no idea how much I want this Harrison.”

“That’s all I needed to hear, baby.” With those words he dragged his middle finger through your slit, collecting the wetness that was there before pushing his digit in.

You sighed in relief and dropped your head back down. Forgetting that you were on the roof of a car for a second and rubbing where you hit your head. Harrison laughed and gave you an inquisitive look before you confirmed you were fine.

Believing you he dropped his own head down and pressed kisses across your waist and your thighs as he flexed his finger inside of you. Almost as if he could read your mind he slipped another digit into you and he nipped gently at your thigh.

The feeling in your core was no longer relief. Tension was building and you needed him. Needed more of him.

You tugged on his t-shirt and whined his name. “Harrison, please fuck me.”

You felt a stuttered breath across your stomach and a falter in his strong fingers at your words.

“Baby, trust me, I want nothing more than to spread those pretty legs of yours further and make you take my cock but I didn’t bring a condom and I want to hear how you sound as you cum before I ever bury myself in you.”

His words made you groan and buck your hips. Just the thought of him fucking you was enough to bring you closer. You had to remember to buy a box of condoms tomorrow because after this Harrison was going to have to call into work for at least a week.

Just as his fingers found that sweet spongy spot in you, that was the moment that Harrison finally put his mouth on you. He licked the wetness on your folds before wrapping his lips around your clit.

He ate your cunt like he kissed. Desperately and like there was nothing else he wanted to do.

Your hands found their way into his sandy brown hair and held tightly and you ground your hips against his face. His moans and groans vibrating against your most sensitive parts were enough to make you moan louder than any wave that was crashing against the rocks below. You couldn’t hold back anymore.

The tension inside you just kept building and when Harrison wrapped his free arm around your thigh and pulled you closer to him, as if you weren’t close enough. You came with a loud moan. Twitching under him and pulling his hair until you could compose yourself enough.

At some point during your orgasm, you must have closed your eyes because when you opened them again, Harrison was standing straight again with a cocky smirk and he wiped his mouth of your juices off with his fingers only for him to stick them back in his mouth and groan.

“You taste divine,” his words were closer to a growl than anything and when he leaned in to kiss you, he flicked his tongue against yours so you could taste yourself. It was obscene and downright delectable.

It took you both a moment to collect yourselves and when you saw the time on his watch you knew that there was no more time for fun because it was late, later than you two usually stayed out and you both had work tomorrow.

When you slipped back into his car after trying and failing to get him to give you your panties back you finally put your seatbelt on and played with the radio while he started the car and pulled off.

It was only after you realized he had a cassette tape in that you thought to press eject and see which one it was. You must have looked surprised when you looked down and saw your phone number and inside the song written down ‘Put It on Me’ by Matt Maeson.

“You didn’t think I forgot the first song you introduced me to did you?” Harrison laughed, “And trust me that song that was playing before is definitely going on here too.”

You laughed lightly and put it in his center console.

“So what I’m hearing is that you plan on making a sex mixtape.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

#harrison knott x reader #harrison knott #press play #my writing #harrison Knott smut #lewis pullman

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