#but oh it is there. lurking. waiting to strike | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jimxnslight · 8 days ago

Text

All This Time? || JJK

Summary: Another day, another boyfriend caught cheating. You’re hardly surprised, but before you can even process another one of many betrayals, your best friend Jungkook offers a solution: a blind date. The twist? The guy Jungkook has in mind might not be a stranger at all.

Pairing: Jungkook x reader

Genre: f2l, fluff, a bit of angst

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: I dare you to take a shot everytime Jungkook manhandles Y/N 💀 but anyways, when I tell you these two are so cute, had me giggling and kicking my feet while I was writing them lowkey 😭 I will be writing the “blind” date, so this will have a second part!

Part 1 || Part 2

“I’m going to kill him.”

“Jungkook wait-! Oh my god, put those keys down right now!”

“No.”

“Jungkook!”

“No.”

You groaned, eyes rolling so far back into your head you might all well have passed out right then and there. Currently, your arms were wrapped around Jungkook’s inked bicep, trying to pry the car keys from his fingers with all the strength you possessed, but you might as well have picked a fight with Godzilla himself. In fact, with how easily Jungkook was putting his shoes on while fending you off, you might as well have not been there at all.

That realisation made you let go of his arm with a huff, the glare you sent him also doing nothing to stop the man from tightening the laces of his shoes. The moment he stood, you scrambled to place yourself in front of his main door, crossing your arms as Jungkook walked over to you with an unimpressed look - as if you were being the immature one here.

“Y/N, move.”

“No,” you countered, happy to throw the word back in his face.

“Y/N-”

“No! You’ll go to jail and then I’ll have to take Bam in and he’ll crap on everything I own!”

Jungkook’s jaw instantly dropped in offense, “it was one time.”

“Oh please, I saw the way he was looking at my tulips the last time he was at my place,” you threw a critical eye towards the hallway, knowing very well that Bam was probably lurking somewhere behind those cream-coloured walls, “that dog is just waiting to strike, I know it.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” your hands dropped to your hips as you shifted your gaze back to the black-haired man before you, already clad in a navy and beige tracksuit, “you’re just going to- what? Beat the hell out of a man and expect to get away scot-free?”

“That sorry excuse of a man needs to be taught a lesson on loyalty, and I have no problem giving him one. Now move.”

“No.”

A frustrated breath escaped Jungkook’s lips as he stared down at your stubborn form, a muscle in his jaw flexing in the process. He looked annoyed, clearly irritated by the fact that you were preventing him from making good on his earlier threat. You knew you shouldn’t have found it amusing - maybe even a little attractive - but still, his furrowed brows and displeased lips did nothing to stifle your triumphant smile.

Jungkook’s gaze narrowed at your smug grin, something shifting in his eyes as he scanned you. For a moment, you genuinely believed he was going to let it go and return to the video game the two of were playing before all hell broke loose. You almost began to celebrate preventing a life full of Bam's poop in your apartment.

But you should have known you weren’t the only stubborn person in this room.

Jungkook stepped forward, earning him a suspicious look, but before you could ask what he was doing, he suddenly wrapped an arm around your legs and pulled.

“Oh my god-!” You gasped, lurching forward as you were abruptly hoisted onto his shoulder, as though you were nothing but a sack of potatoes. Your hands instantly grabbed onto the back of his jacket, not realising just how tall Jungkook really was until that moment.

“Are you insane-?! Put me down!”

“No,” he said, and you could practically see the smug look that must’ve been gracing his lips then.

“Jeon Jungkook, put me down right now!” You practically screeched, your grip on his jacket tightening desperately when he began walking towards his living room - with you still on his shoulder. If you weren’t so scared of falling on your face you might've died of embarrassment.

“Bad, Jungkook! Stay! Or sit, or whatever- just put me down!”

He snorted, “I’m not a dog.”.

You groaned, letting your forehead smack against his back. You had to ignore the feel of his muscles flexing after each step, “you’re right, Bam would’ve actually listened.”

As if summoned by his name, Bam suddenly bounded into the living room with a happy bark, his dark and light brown fur gleaming underneath the light of Jungkook’s lamps. He was jumping up and down excitedly, as if the sight of you thrown over Jungkook’s shoulder was the most marvelous thing to witness.

That made you huff. “Just look at him. I bet he’s excited because he thinks you’ll finally let him eat me.”

“Leave him alone, you’ve hated that dog since day one.”

Bam’s bark reverberated around the room, causing your gaze to snap to him, but it narrowed when you noticed him now sitting patiently on his hind legs, head tilted in your direction. His gaze was laser focused, boring into you so much that your lips parted to ask Jungkook why he was acting so weird.

But before you could, Bam suddenly lunged towards you, making you shriek.

“Bam, sit,” Jungkook ordered instantly, his voice straining as he fought the laugh threatening to escape his throat. You shot daggers at the dog now obediently sitting back, face innocent as ever.

Stupid dog. And his even stupider dad.

Another shriek almost escaped your lips when Jungkook suddenly dropped you from his shoulder, your back landing on the soft cushion of his couch. With how tightly you’d been clutching his jacket, it was a miracle you hadn’t ripped it off him as you fell.

Jungkook crossed his arms over his chest as he towered over your seated form.

“Alright, I’ve humoured you for long enough, but no more. What is going on with you, Y/N?”

“Me?” You scoffed incredulously, “your dog just tried to kill me and you’re-”

“Not that,” he cut you off with a shake of his head, “you just found out your boyfriend cheated on you and you don’t seem to care at all.”

You froze, the sudden change in topic catching you off guard. You didn’t expect him to bring it up so bluntly - or rather bring it up at all. Jungkook had made it clear that he hated your boyfriend since day one, so you had honestly expected him to breeze past this development in relief.

You pursed your lips, racking your brain for a reasonable excuse that would satisfy him.

“We were only together for like half a year, it’s not like I’m going to fall apart over a guy I barely even dated.”

“I don’t want you falling apart over any guy, especially that trash bag,” he said instantly, “it’s just… when you found out Saejin cheated on you all those years ago I had to practically beg you not to key his car.”

“Funny how the tables have turned…” You muttered, but Jungkook just gave you an unimpressed look.

Your gaze dropped to your lap, unsure of how to change the subject to something a bit more lighthearted, and a bit less embarrassing. But the logical part of you knew that once Jungkook was stuck on something, it was nearly impossible to deter him. And he seemed very stuck on this topic right now.

Your hesitance caused the silence to stretch until Jungkook’s doe eyes suddenly widened, the realisation dawning on him.

“Oh my god, you already knew didn’t you?”

“I didn’t know know,” you countered immediately, “I just… had a feeling.”

Jungkook raised a brow. “How long?”

“You know, I think it’s getting late maybe I should-”

“How long?”

You squirmed under his sharp gaze, “a month or two? Or… four.”

“Four months?” Jungkook repeated incredulously.

“Like I said it was just a feeling,” you opposed, feeling the need to defend yourself, “I didn’t actually find out until yesterday when I found the girl’s bra in his car.”

“I don’t understand, if you suspected that Jaehyun was cheating on you then why didn’t you confront him? Or even just figure it out on your own? You know I would’ve helped you out.”

The Y/N Jungkook knew would’ve confronted him the second you had any inkling of a doubt; the fact that you hadn’t was making him nervous. He prayed that the guess he had in his mind was wrong, because the thought of you going through something like that all these months alone was a nightmare come to life.

“I just thought I was being paranoid.”

“You’ve never been an unreasonable person, if you suspected something it had to be for a reason. So, why would you think that?”

Your fingers began to fidget with each other as your gaze continued to stay fixed on your lap, the embarrassment of it all making you feel small. But the moment Jungkook noticed the shift in your demeanor, he sank into the cushion next to you, an arm ghosting over your back as it found purchase on the sofa behind you.

And then, as though also detecting the change in mood, Bam suddenly jumped up from his stationary position and scurried over to you both. A melancholy noise sounded from the back of his throat before he plopped his head onto your lap, big puppy eyes staring up at you curiously.

“Come on, you know you can tell me anything,” he assured, the softness in his voice making your head spin, “there’s nothing you could say that would stop me from being here for you, I promise.”

“Cringe,” you mumbled mindlessly, masking the sound of your suddenly rapid heartbeat.

“Y/N…”

“I know, I know,” you said, your voice unintentionally matching his softness. Your hand moved to brush over Bam’s sleek fur in defeat, earning you a pleased woof, “I wanted to prove a point.”

Jungkook’s head tilted in question, eyes following the movement of your hand.

“Do you remember that Christmas dinner my mom held last year, the one where Hyunjin dumped me during dessert?”

“Bit difficult to forget. It took everything in me not to break his nose.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Well, after everyone went home my mom and I were cleaning up, and she started joking around about how I couldn’t keep a boyfriend for longer than a year. I know she was just trying to cheer me up, and she probably didn’t mean it that way, but it got me wondering… why is it that I just can’t seem to stay in a long term relationship?”

You swallowed hesitantly, the words that had been plaguing your mind for months finally finding an outlet, “I wondered if maybe I was the problem, that maybe my expectations were too high or I was too paranoid as a girlfriend or something. So when I got with Jaehyun I decided to be a bit more… laid back, you know? Like letting a few things go and all.”

Jungkook’s brows furrowed as he absorbed your words, his jaw tightening in frustration. “Let a few things go?” he repeated, voice laced with disbelief, “Y/N, you let him cheat on you for four months.”

“Okay, obviously when you put it like that, it sounds bad-”

“Because it is bad. Letting things go doesn’t mean ignoring red flags the size of Bam. What were you thinking?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair, “I was thinking maybe I was too demanding before. That if I just relaxed, maybe I could finally have something that lasted.”

Jungkook shook his head, unimpressed, but his voice was still soft when he spoke, “lasted? Y/N, do you want a relationship that lasts, or one that actually makes you happy? Because those aren’t always the same thing.”

“Then what is it, Jungkook?” You threw your hands up, catching the way your voice cracked in frustration, unintentionally revealing just how heavy this topic had been weighing down on you recently, “what is it about me that’s so hard to love?”

“Loving you is the easiest thing in the world,” he shot back, making something in your chest flutter, but then he seemed to catch himself and cleared his throat quickly, “I mean, there’s no way you’re blaming yourself for how those relationships went down. Come on, Y/N, every one of those guys was a moron and a half.”

Your laugh lacked any humour, “yeah? Then what does that say about me? I’m the one who keeps picking them.”

A look passed through his eyes, something firm but tender. There was something else too, a look you couldn’t quite decipher.

“It says that you see the best in people, even when they don’t deserve it,” he said, gaze unwavering, as though he wanted to make sure you understood every word that dropped from his lips. “It says you give chances when others wouldn’t. That’s not a bad thing, Y/N.”

“It sure as hell feels like it,” you scoffed, looking down at your hands. Bam’s nose nudged against your fingers.

Jungkook’s gaze softened. He shifted closer to you, his knee brushing against yours in the process, “look, I get it. You wanted to prove you could make something work. But settling for less than you deserve just to keep a relationship going? That’s not proving anything. That’s just punishing yourself.”

You hated how easily he cut through your defenses, how he always seemed to see right through you no matter how well you thought you were hiding it. But then again, you’ve been best friends for years, it shouldn't have surprised you at this point.

You swallowed, your throat feeling dry, “yeah, well… it’s not like it matters anymore anyway.”

Jungkook studied you for a long moment, the close proximity making the action stand out way more than it should have, but just when you were about to find an excuse to put some much-needed distance between you, he suddenly stood.

You blinked, “where are you going?”

“To beat the hell out of Jaehyun.”

“Oh my god,” you rolled your eyes, grabbing his wrist, “Jungkook, no!”

“Jungkook, yes.”

You groaned, your hold on his wrist tightening. Truth be told, you actually had no clue just how serious he was being. On one hand, there was a possibility that he was joking, but, considering how much he’s held back all these years despite hating every single one of your boyfriends, there may be some real pent up frustration he was finally ready to let go of.

“Please sit back down,” you whined, tugging at his arm uselessly. He barely budged, the hours he spent in the gym clearly trumping the couple minutes you spent on the treadmill three months ago. Instead, the edge of his lips twitched in amusement as he watched your sad attempts at getting him back on the couch.

But then, without a warning, he tugged against your grip, pulling you off the couch with ease.

You stumbled forward, colliding right into his chest, and before you knew it Jungkook’s arms had circled around your form. Your breath stalled for a second, the action catching you completely by surprise, but then you found yourself slowly easing into it, your own arms hesitantly wrapping around his torso.

“Please don’t ever doubt yourself like that again, okay?” He murmured against your hair as his hand raised to caress your back soothingly, “your confidence is the best thing about you, and no one should be able to take that away, especially that loser.“

There was something so intimate about this moment that you couldn’t help but nod shyly into his chest, your voice failing you.

Ironic.

With your cheek pressed against his chest, you could hear his heart beating rapidly against his ribs. Though the logical part of you knew you were probably just mistaking your own heartbeat for his. You’ve known Jungkook for years, but being this close to him seemed to be making your body malfunction in ways you thought it never could.

Jungkook wrapped a strand of your hair around his finger absentmindedly as he spoke.

“Things are going to be better next time, I promise.”

“There’s no need,” you snorted, inwardly finding his promise kind of sweet, “I’m swearing off dating for the rest of my life. I’m starting to think it’s just not for me-”

“No!”

You paused, pulling back to look up at him with wide eyes. His expression was a reflection of your own, as though he himself was surprised by his reaction. There was a silent pause, long enough for Bam to tilt his head in question at the suddenly odd atmosphere, before you spoke slowly.

“No?”

He cleared his throat with a nervous chuckle, black strands of hair falling against his forehead as his gaze strayed from your own, “I- um… I meant that you shouldn’t just give up, you know? I’m sure there’s someone out there and all.”

“What’s the point? It’s not like I’ve got anyone in mind, and I don’t believe in dating apps.”

“What if…” Jungkook hesitated, mind racing as he grasped at some reason, any reason, for you not to give up just yet. There was an idea already forming in the back of his mind, one he couldn’t believe he was actually considering, but he couldn’t stop the words when they suddenly began to tumble from his lips.

“What if I set you up with someone?”

“You?” This time you pulled away from him entirely, eyes wide as you searched his hesitant face. You would have thought he was joking if it weren’t for how serious his tone seemed. But it was so ridiculous. Jungkook setting you up with someone? You’ve only met a few of his friends: Namjoon, Taehyung, and you think Jin…? Did Jungkook have any of them in mind?

“Yeah,” he replied, scratching the back of his neck, “I might know someone that would be a good fit…”

“Oh? You been holding out on me, Jeon?”

He shrugged, gaze still traveling everywhere but in your direction, “something like that.”

“Do I at least get a name?”

“No.”

Your brows furrowed, “Jungkook, I swear if it’s some weirdo you play games with online-”

Jungkook laughed softly, his bunny-like grin gleaming, “no one online, I know him very well actually.”

“Then who?” You pushed, “is it an old friend or-”

“Are you in or not?” He interrupted with a raised brow. On the inside he was nervous out of his mind, the opportunity he’d been waiting forever for finally presenting itself. But then he noticed your hesitance and his voice softened.

“Just trust me, okay? I wouldn’t set you up with just anyone.”

Well… you did trust Jungkook… with your life actually. And besides, there was no way you were going to pass up on a chance to see who Jungkook thought would be a good fit for you. Was it someone studious and quiet? Extroverted and wild?

“Okay fine,” you finally gave in, curiosity getting the best of you, “but only on one condition.”

Jungkook straightened up, his nervousness multiplying tenfold.

“No, killing Jaehyun.”

He groaned, flopping back onto the sofa dramatically.

“You’re too mean.”

“And you’re dramatic.”

“I’m the dramatic one?” Jungkook��s brow raised, “you stayed with a cheater for 6 months because of some stupid Christmas party comment. That’s dramatic.”

“You’re a dead man, Jeon Jungkook.”

You grabbed a pillow from the sofa and threw it at his head, an action he of course blocked easily with a laugh. You tried to throw another at him, but he grabbed your wrist and tugged, causing the pillow to drop from your hand and accidentally land on Bam. The doberman barked in annoyance, shaking his head as if he were disappointed by the childish theatrics before him.

“Okay okay, I’m sorry,” Jungkook laughed, fending off your pillows until he grabbed your other wrist, causing both your hands to stall momentarily. Your own laugh escaped your lips as you pushed forward, shoving both pillows into his face.

“God, aren’t you feisty today?” He managed to say between the pillows before sitting forward and wrapping an arm around your waist. You yelped when he pulled you back onto the couch beside him, the distraction causing you to drop the pillows onto the floor. Jungkook grinned at your defeated form.

“You done?”

You turned to shoot back a reply, but paused when you caught sight of him. His practically black hair was ruffled into a mess, framing the dips of his face, while his chest rose and fell slightly quicker than earlier. You watched as he pushed himself forward a bit as he began to unzip his navy and beige jacket, shrugging it off only a moment later. Underneath was a short sleeve black t-shirt that revealed his toned figure and biceps.

Just like that the comeback died on the tip of your tongue.

“You’re the last person to talk. You’re dating history is a nightmare,” you muttered instead, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I’ve only had one girlfriend in the past few years.”

You snorted, watching as Bam made his way next to Jungkook’s seated form, “yeah, and that girlfriend was worse than all my boyfriends combined.”

Jungkook scrunched his nose in a grimace as the bitter memories resurfaced, “okay, I admit that choice wasn’t my best. But there’s no way she was worse than your boyfriends.”

“Jungkook, come on… She put strawberries in my food during the summer party last year so that I would leave early - and I don’t even know what I did for her to do that. She was insane.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenched as he recalled that scary moment, remembering how she’d dropped small bits of strawberry into your food when you weren’t looking, knowing you were allergic to them. Thankfully, your allergy wasn’t so severe, so the most you’d gotten were hives and a bad cough, but Jungkook had been terrified. He’d driven you to the hospital immediately, even though you’d insisted you would be fine. And then when everything had come to light a few days later, he’d been furious, breaking up with her on the spot.

“My bad, I tend to repress most memories of her,” he muttered, “you’re right, she was a nightmare.”

He sighed, trying to rid his mind of that woman. It automatically fell back on your condition, which made him groan.

“Fine, I won’t kill Jaehyun.”

You smiled in satisfaction, “thank yo-”

“Although, I’m not responsible if he accidentally trips and falls onto my fist.”

“Jungkook!”

“Fine, fine,” he grumbled, trying to stifle his amusement, “no violence.”

You narrowed your eyes in his direction, making him raise his hand in surrender.

With Jungkook finally subdued, the atmosphere was allowed to settle into a comfortable silence, nothing but the sounds of nightlife - you hadn’t even realised it had gotten so late - bustling four floors below. The two of you watched Bam make his way between you before jumping onto the couch. You remembered when he was just a small puppy, so small that you could’ve scooped him up with one hand. Now he was much bigger, his body barely fitting in the space between you and Jungkook as he settled into the cushion, this time resting his head on Jungkook’s lap. Jungkook’s hand scratched softly behind his ears, the action so warm you felt it in your chest.

“So, where exactly will this mystery date take place?” You asked, eyes still trained on the adorable moment before you.

Jungkook shrugged, the grin on his face answer enough, “you’ll find out then.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“You’re so impatient.”

You rolled your eyes, shifting to the side as you brought your legs to your chest. You rested your head against the back of the sofa, watching Bam - and maybe his dad too - fondly. The exhaustion from your day was slowly starting to get to you.

“You know, for how much of a devil Bam usually is, he’s actually being such a good boy right now.”

Jungkook made a noise of mock offense. “Wow. So he’s a good boy, but I’m the annoying one?”

“You literally tried to commit a felony like ten minutes ago.”

He scoffed, tilting his head as if considering. “Felony is a strong word.”

“You were going to break a man’s jaw.”

Jungkook shrugged. “Okay, misdemeanor, then.”

You reached over to smack his arm lightly, and he chuckled, rubbing the spot dramatically as if you’d actually hurt him. The moment stretched between you, laughter fading once again into something quieter, something warmer. You didn’t know why your heart suddenly felt heavier in your chest, why the way Jungkook was looking at you made your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with something you couldn’t name.

Jungkook cleared his throat, shifting slightly. “Anyway, don’t worry about the setup. I promise, he’s a great guy.”

You nodded, but the uneasy feeling in your stomach didn’t fade. There was something about this whole thing that felt…off. You just couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“Alright,” you said, shaking off the feeling. “But if this goes horribly wrong, I get to pick your next date.”

Jungkook’s smirk faltered for just a second before he recovered. “Yeah, sure. We’ll see.”

You raised an eyebrow at his sudden hesitance but let it slide. For now.

Something told you this was going to be interesting.

#jeon jungkook #jungkook #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #bts #bangtan #bts x reader #jungkook ff #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #bts jungkook #jungkook drabble #jungkook oneshot #jungkook x y/n #jungkook bts #bts angst #bts fanfic #Jungkook fluff

1K notes · View notes

carnalcrows · 1 month ago

Text

TEACHER'S PET - SANGWOO

pairing: professor! sangwoo x student! bottom male reader

synopsis: A struggling college athlete strikes a risky deal with his professor, unaware of the secrets lurking beneath the surface.

content warnings: 18+, age gap (reader is 21 and sang-woo is in his 40's), teacher x student, cheating, blood, unprotected sex, breeding, creampie, reader is a himbo and is slightly muscular.

word count: 2.5k

The classroom was quiet, save for the rhythmic tapping of Professor Cho Sangwoo’s fingers against his desk. You were only half-paying attention, your gaze drifting to the window as he continued his lecture on financial markets—whatever that meant. Numbers weren’t exactly your thing, and honestly, you were just waiting for class to be over so you could hit the gym.

“Since you all love talking so much, let’s see if you actually understand today’s lesson,” Sangwoo announced, his voice smooth yet carrying an edge of boredom. He scanned the room, eyes narrowing slightly before landing on you. “You.”

Your head snapped up. “Huh?”

A few chuckles echoed in the lecture hall, but Sangwoo ignored them. He leaned casually against his desk, adjusting his tie. “I asked what the three main types of financial markets are.”

You blinked, your brain scrambling for anything resembling an answer. “Uh… stocks?”

Sangwoo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s one.”

“Um… crypto?”

Someone in the back actually snorted. You gave them a glare before looking back at Sangwoo, who only smiled, but not in a nice way. “Stay after class,” he said simply before moving on to another student.

You slumped in your seat. Great.

When the lecture finally ended, your classmates trickled out in pairs and groups, leaving you alone with your professor. You adjusted the strap of your sports bag and walked up to his desk, scratching the back of your head.

“Sir?” you said hesitantly. “Uh, about earlier—”

“You’re failing my class.”

That was the first thing he said, cutting straight to the point. His voice was calm, but there was something in his gaze that made you shift uncomfortably.

“Yeah, I figured,” you admitted with a nervous chuckle. “Numbers aren’t really my thing.”

Sangwoo just stared at you, his lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “You do realize that if you fail my class, your scholarship could be revoked, correct?”

You blinked. That… wasn’t good. You needed that scholarship. It was the only reason you were here in the first place.

“But—”

“I could help you,” Sangwoo interrupted smoothly, stepping closer. “Private tutoring, after hours. One-on-one.”

“Oh, sweet! That’d be great,” you said, completely missing the shift in the air. “Man, I knew you weren’t as scary as people say.”

Sangwoo’s eyes gleamed. “Right,” he said. “Not scary at all.”

You waited in the empty lecture hall, tapping your fingers against your desk. Most of the students had already gone home, the hallways eerily quiet as the late afternoon sun cast golden streaks through the high windows. You shifted in your seat, rolling your shoulders. This felt… weird. One-on-one tutoring? You barely studied in regular classes—what were the odds this would actually help?

The door creaked open.

You turned, watching as Sangwoo stepped inside. He wasn’t wearing his usual suit jacket, just his dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms. He carried his leather briefcase in one hand, and in the other, a slim stack of papers.

“You actually showed up,” he mused, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

“You told me to.” You leaned back, grinning lazily. “Not really one to disobey orders, sir.”

He set his briefcase down, eyeing you for a beat too long before moving to the desk at the front of the class. “We’ll see about that,” he muttered. Then, louder: “Let’s start.”

For the next twenty minutes, he actually taught. Well, sort of. He wrote on the board, explained concepts you didn’t understand, and made you do problems from his worksheet. Your brain, slow as it sometimes was, genuinely tried to keep up. You weren’t failing because you didn’t care—you just weren’t good at this stuff.

At some point, Sangwoo moved behind you, leaning over to check your work. The weight of his presence sent a strange shiver down your spine. His voice was low, smooth, almost teasing as he pointed out your mistakes.

“Not quite,” he murmured. “Try again.”

You exhaled sharply. “God, I suck at this.”

“You suck at a lot of things,” he said, tone unreadable. “But you’re good at listening.”

Your brow furrowed at his choice of words. Before you could question it, he reached over, guiding your hand as you wrote out an equation. His fingers were steady, firm over yours. Too close.

You swallowed. The air in the room changed, thickened with something unsaid. You turned your head slightly, only to find that Sangwoo was already looking at you. His dark eyes lingered, searching, waiting.

The moment stretched.

Then, he moved.

His hand slid from yours, trailing up your wrist, your forearm. You should’ve said something, maybe pulled away, but the way he looked at you—the quiet intensity in his eyes—made your brain short-circuit.

His fingers brushed your jaw. Your breath hitched.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t gentle. It was hungry, practiced, like he had been waiting for this—like he already knew you wouldn’t resist.

Your back hit the desk, Sangwoo pressing forward, one hand bracing against the wood while the other curled around the nape of your neck. His lips moved against yours with a kind of certainty that made your stomach tighten, that made your fingers fist into the fabric of his shirt.

A quiet, broken sound left your throat as his teeth scraped against your bottom lip, as his hands roamed lower, as his body slotted perfectly against yours.

His hands went to the curve of your ass– gripping on the supple flesh as he pulled you closer into him. They trailed to the front, tugging your sweatpants off with a firm tug– making you gasp in surprise.

You looked at him with wide eyes, which only seemed to turn him on even more. He pressed his lips back onto yours before sliding one hand down your boxers, pulling your hard cock out of its confinements– the cool air making you shudder.

He turned you around so that your stomach was on the desk, and lifted your ass up– groaning at the sight of your hole puckering around nothing. He pulled out a packet of lube from his front pocket, did he come prepared for this?, before he ripped it open and spilled its contents onto your hole.

Before you could say anything, he slid the head of his cock in– eyes clenching shut at how you hole pulled him in. You gripped at the desk– having never been stretched out like this before.

“God– so tight f’me aren’t you love, “ he groans in your ear before sliding all the way in– making your back arch. “Only for you sir–” you manage to say before he pulls out and slams back in, making you scream.

He fucked into you at a relentless pace, the uncomfortable positon of your pelvis getting bruised by the edge of the table did nothing to you know. He was making you see stars.

He held you by the waist as you clenched around him– almost making it unable for him to move. You were practically milking the older man dry.

“Getting fucked by your professor for a few extra marks– what a filthy little slut you are, hm?”he mocked, getting riled up at the way you merely moaned, not being able to make sense of what he was saying. Your head was filled with the thought of his cock pistoning in you.

It wasn’t like your head had much in it anyway.

Soon, he felt himself on the verge of a release, and came in you without warning– painting your insides a pearly white.

You came untouched, practically screaming as your cock spurted out ropes of cum onto the desk. He stayed nestled in you for a while, before slowly pulling out, his cum leaking out of your hole.

He felt himself getting hard again.

It was going to be a long session.

The next time you tried to do the homework he assigned, you realized you had learned absolutely nothing in that tutoring session.

Not about commerce, at least.

Giving up on that, you were sitting outside on the campus lawn with a few of your teammates, lazily picking at your food while the others chatted around you. It was the usual mix of locker-room banter and weekend plans, but you weren’t really paying attention. Your focus had shifted to the faculty building in the distance, where a familiar figure stood near the entrance.

Sangwoo.

Your professor looked different outside of the classroom. Less stiff, more relaxed. And, most importantly, not alone. A woman stood next to him, pretty and well-dressed, holding a little girl in her arms. Sangwoo’s hand rested on the small of her back as they talked, his head tilted slightly as he smiled at something she said. The woman laughed, leaning into him with a kind of familiarity that made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

Your appetite vanished instantly. Your fingers tightened around your fork, and you barely noticed your friend nudging you.

"Yo, you good?"

"Yeah," you mumbled, already standing. "Gotta go. Be right back."

You didn’t wait for a response. Your feet moved on instinct, carrying you toward the nearest building. The second you were inside, you made a beeline for the restroom, locking yourself in an empty stall before bracing your hands against the walls, trying to steady your breathing.

Sangwoo had a wife. And a kid. A whole family.

The realization sat heavy in your gut, a sharp, sickening weight pressing against your ribs. How had you not known? Shouldn’t someone have mentioned it? Shouldn’t he have mentioned it? And why the hell did it feel like you’d been punched in the stomach?

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to swallow the rising bile in your throat. The image of him—smiling, touching her, looking like a man who had never done a single wrong thing in his life—burned behind your eyelids.

You had been in his office just last night. Had sat at his desk, let him touch you, let him pull you in like you were something he wanted. And the whole time—

The whole time, he had this? A wife? A daughter?

You turned abruptly, punching the stall door hard enough that the impact sent a dull ache up your wrist. Then, without looking at yourself in the mirror, you forced yourself back outside.

You weren’t going to think about this now. You just needed to get through the rest of the day.

Your legs still felt unsteady as you walked back across the campus lawn, but then—

You slowed down. Two professors were chatting near one of the shaded benches. You wouldn’t have normally paid them any mind, but your name caught your attention.

“—been doing surprisingly well in my class,” one of them said. “I thought he’d barely scrape by, but it looks like he’s putting in real effort.”

“Not surprising,” the other replied. “Athletic scholarships come with pressure. He needs to keep his grades up if he wants to stay on the team.”

“True, but honestly, he’d have to bomb every class for that to even be a concern. You know how it is—sports scholarships are basically untouchable. No single professor can take those away, even if they wanted to.”

A beat of silence passed. Then the first one chuckled. “Good thing, too. Can you imagine the scandal?”

You nearly tripped over your own feet.

Wait.

Your scholarship was secure? No single professor could take it away?

Then… What the hell had Sangwoo been threatening you with?

Your stomach twisted again, but this time, it wasn’t nausea. It was anger. Cold, creeping, slow-burning rage.

He had lied to you. Manipulated you. Used you.

And you had fallen for it, like an absolute idiot.

You sat through class that day feeling like you were going to be sick. Every word out of Sangwoo’s mouth blurred together into meaningless noise, his voice grating against your ears. When he announced the usual after-hours “coaching session,” you barely registered it. The other students filed out, and you stayed seated, arms crossed tightly over your chest, muscles coiled with anger you hadn’t fully processed yet.

Sangwoo closed the door, the sound echoing through the empty room. He turned, gaze sharp as ever, and for the first time, you hated the way he looked at you—like he had already figured out exactly what you were about to say.

“Something wrong?”

You stood up so fast your chair scraped against the floor. “You’re married.”

Sangwoo’s expression didn’t even flicker. “And?”

You let out a sharp laugh, shaking your head. “And? And?! You’ve been—You lied to me. About everything.”

“Careful,” Sangwoo murmured, stepping closer. “You’re getting all worked up.”

“Yeah, because I just found out the guy I’ve been—” You cut yourself off, pressing your fingers to your temple as if that would stop the storm in your head. “Not only are you a cheating bastard, but you lied about my scholarship.”

Silence.

A beat passed. Then another.

You scoffed, the sound bitter, disbelieving. “Yeah. I figured it out. You don’t have the power to take my scholarship away, do you?”

Sangwoo sighed, tilting his head like you were a particularly slow student who had finally caught up. “It got you to comply, didn’t it?”

Something inside you cracked open.

Your fists clenched at your sides. “You used me.”

He took another step forward, his presence suffocating, the air thick between you. “And yet, you’re still here.”

He was right there, close enough that you could see the way his lips curved, the glint in his eye that told you he still thought he had the upper hand. And maybe he did—because the moment he grabbed your face and kissed you, you let him.

It was hard, possessive, like he was staking his claim all over again. Your body reacted before your brain did, mouth opening under his, heat flaring up your spine. His hands dragged over your jaw, fingers pressing just hard enough to make your pulse stutter.

But then—

No. No, not this time.

Your eyes snapped open. The haze shattered.

Without thinking, your hand darted toward the desk beside you, fingers curling around the sharp metal of a compass. You gripped it so tightly your knuckles ached.

Sangwoo didn’t even notice until it was too late.

The compass plunged into the side of his neck, and for the first time since you’d met him, he was the one caught off guard.

He staggered back, hand flying to his throat. Blood—so much blood—spilled between his fingers, staining his crisp white dress shirt. His mouth opened, a garbled, wet sound escaping as he stared at you in pure disbelief.

You exhaled, heart pounding as you looked down at him. “Guess I am failing this class.”

The room smelled like iron. Sangwoo collapsed to the floor, the blood pooling around him in a slow, creeping tide.

You stood there, breath shaky but eyes steady.

And then, finally, you turned and walked away.

803 notes · View notes

misotsukiiyeooo · 4 months ago

Text

No Kisses?

Pairing: Choi Seungcheol xF! Reader

A/N: Honestly, I just need Seuncheol...

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 4.3k

Synopsis: Seungcheol attempts to deny your kisses, but not for too long.

You were on your period, and feeling emotional, which led to some unnecessary bickering with Seungcheol. He didn't appreciate the attitude you were giving him, and as the days passed, you brushed the entire incident aside as if it had never occurred.

Your constant mood swings during that week pushed Seungcheol to his limit, prompting him to declare a "kissing strike." You simply assumed he was being dramatic. However, now that your period has ended, you’re looking for Seungcheol to cuddle with you.

You find him sitting on the couch in the living room. Before you can step closer, he lifts a finger, stopping you in your tracks. "Don't come here, Y/n. I told you, no kisses and cuddles for a whole week!" His tone is firm, yet there’s a hint of playful frustration lurking beneath.

You take a step closer to him, testing the waters to see if he’s genuinely serious about this rule. "Oh, come on… a week is too long!" you pout at him.

Seungcheol crosses his arms tightly over his chest and turns his head away from you, still upset. "A week is not enough for the way you acted last week."

Realizing that he is indeed serious, you plop down next to him on the couch. He scoots away from you just a bit, arms still crossed. "Stop sitting next to me; I'm still upset."

"My baby, Cheollie, I'm sorry, okay?" you say, softening your tone and patiently waiting for a reaction. He tries to hide his smile after hearing his nickname.

"I get that you're sorry," he replies, still trying to maintain his serious demeanor, "but I still have to teach you a lesson."

Feeling bold, you respond, "You can’t stay mad at me for too long… you love me too much for that." You give him a playful, teasing smile, knowing deep down that he can’t resist for long.

He rolls his eyes dramatically but finally turns to look at you. "That's not the point. I'm still going to be mad at you for a week," he insists, though you can see the corners of his mouth twitching up.

You gently cup his cheeks in your hands, maintaining eye contact as you say, "I am sorry, you know." Your sincerity hangs in the air between you.

He lets out a heavy sigh, still avoiding your gaze. "I know, but I still need some time to forgive you," he admits, his tone softening just a fraction.

With a playful grin, you propose, "Fine, how about we make it a day? Not a whole week, hmm?" You keep your hands on his face. He pretends to think for a moment before sighing in defeat once more.

"A day… but only because you look so cute right now," he concedes, fighting to keep the smile off his face.

Seizing the moment, you lean in and peck his lips, completely forgetting the "rules" he just laid out. "A day it is!" you declare triumphantly.

But as soon as you back away, he sulks cutely, shaking his head. "I said no kisses for a day…"

You pause, realization dawning on you. "Oh right, oops," you reply, grinning widely.

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" Seungcheol says, arching an eyebrow at you, a teasing glint in his eyes.

"Doing what?" You grin, pretending to be oblivious to your actions.

He scoffs, "Acting all cute so I won't stay mad at you…"

Your eyes widen in mock shock. "Me, acting cute?" The corners of your lips twitch as you bite back a smile. He rolls his eyes dramatically before reaching for your waist and effortlessly pulling you onto his lap. "Yes, you; and you know it," he replies.

You tease him, "I thought you said no cuddles?"

In response, Seungcheol wraps his strong arms around you, pulling you tightly against his chest. He burrows his face into the crook of your neck. "I changed my mind."

"That fast?" You giggle, earning a nod against your neck. His grip on you tightens. "I can't resist you when you're being cute like this," he murmurs.

You wrap your arms around his neck. "I knew you couldn't," you reply, teasing evident in your voice.

He pouts, pulling away slightly to face you. "Yeah, yeah. But next time you’re on your…" He trails off. "You know, can you try your absolute best not to start arguments with me?"

You smile at his cuteness. "Yes, of course. I’ll try my absolute best!" You echo his words with a small laugh.

"Good…" he says, and with that, he kisses your lips before leaning back in, nuzzling his face into your neck once more, enveloping you in warmth and comfort as he holds you close.

Taglist!!

@jjunie-0 @minminghao @black-swan-blog27 @cherrylvrr @honglynights @allieyaaa @bath1lda @hanniehae-yoon

#svt x reader #kpop #svt fluff #kpopidol #fanfic #cottagecore #svtcreations #kpop fanfic #seventeen #kpop bg #seungcheol #choi seungcheol #seungcheol x reader #seventeen seungcheol #seungcheol fluff #scoups #svt #svt scoups #I need seungcheol

795 notes · View notes

cece693 · 7 months ago

Text

Not Interested (Jasper Whitlock x M! Reader)

Summary: You never understood the hype over the Cullen family. Sure, they were beautiful, but didn’t anyone at school have enough common sense to notice something was off? Too bad a certain empath is smitten with you and merely finds your open disdain entertaining.

tags: perceptive reader, Jasper is smitten, isn't character canon nor resembles his original description, human reader, reader is a hothead and unfiltered, creative liberties with Jasper

You never understood the hype over the Cullen family. Sure, they were beautiful, but didn’t anyone at school have enough common sense to notice something was off? They looked like marble statues—flawlessly sculpted but lifeless, almost artificial. And then there were their mannerisms, too controlled to be teenagers. It was all a bit too uncanny for your liking.

Jasper Hale was no exception. Out of all of them, he seemed like the biggest walking red flag. He wasn’t an asshole, exactly, but his whole demeanor screamed danger. Every time you glanced his way, he was as stiff as a board, eyes unblinking and hands clenched into fists beneath the table, like he was holding himself back from doing something. There was a reason people said he was the second most unapproachable Cullen, with Rosalie taking the number one spot. Yet, despite his apparent hatred for people, he seemed determined to catch your attention.

He'd linger by your locker, his eyes burning a hole in your back. When you snapped at him to get lost, he didn’t flinch. He smiled. HE FUCKING SMILED LIKE YOU WERE A KITTEN THROWING A TANTRUM. In class, he'd try to strike up a conversation, blatantly ignoring your clipped and cold responses with a patience only a saint could have. Not only did you notice this, but the whole school did, too. Jasper’s odd behavior had quickly become a hot topic.

Jessica, damn her soul, was at the head of the rumor mill, spinning far-fetched stories about you and Jasper being secret lovers. If punching someone—much less a girl—wouldn’t get you expelled or possibly arrested, Jessica would have been target number one. You tried to keep your anger in check, especially when the whole school (students and staff alike) kept staring at you and Jasper like you were part of some soap opera. But one rumor, in particular, pushed you over the edge.

“I’m not a sugar baby!” you hissed at Jessica when she tried to strike up a conversation about the nonexistent gifts Jasper was supposedly giving you. “What bullshit gave you that idea?”

“He gave you a pencil—”

“Oh, fuck off and shove that pencil—” You couldn’t finish that thought as the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch and the beginning of fourth period. Jessica just waved goodbye and scurried off, knowing your temper wouldn’t be stopped by a bell. Huffing, you made your way to history class, where, lo and behold, Jasper was already seated, a grin on his face.

As the class dragged on, you couldn’t keep ignoring Jasper or the hushed whispers of the other students. His grin never faltered, and neither did the feeling of his gaze burning into you.

Screw it.

Without waiting for the teacher to finish his lecture on some historical battle you couldn’t care less about, you stood up abruptly.

“Out,” you muttered, grabbing Jasper by the arm with a grip that brooked no argument. Jasper, taken aback, allowed you to drag him to his feet. A low murmur rippled through the class, but you didn’t care. You were done playing around.

You hauled him out of the classroom, ignoring the teacher’s confused calls after you, and pulled him down the hallway to the nearest janitor's closet. You shoved the door open, pushed him inside, and slammed it shut behind you. The tiny space was dimly lit and filled with the scent of cleaning supplies, but you didn’t let the cramped quarters intimidate you. Instead, you crowded Jasper back against a shelf, glaring up at him.

“Alright, Hale,” you snapped, eyes blazing. “I’m sick of the staring, the lurking, and the creepy smiles. What's your deal? Are you trying to get under my skin, or are you just that bored?”

For a moment, Jasper didn’t respond. Then, slowly, that infuriatingly calm smile spread across his lips. “You know,” he drawled, his voice like honey dripping off a knife, “for someone who claims not to care, you seem awfully worked up about it.”

“Cut the crap,” you growled, slamming your palm against the shelf beside his head. “You’ve been following me around like some kind of deranged puppy, and I want to know why. And don’t you dare feed me some bullshit line about coincidence.”

Jasper’s smile faded, and for a moment, his eyes flickered with something darker, something almost… amused. “Maybe some of the rumors are true,” he admitted, his voice low but steady. “Maybe I do want to get to know you better.”

The words hung in the air, surprising you. You’d expected deflection, but this was something else. You narrowed your eyes. “Get to know me?” you echoed. “And what exactly does that mean?”

“It means,” Jasper continued, his gaze meeting yours head-on, “that you’re different from the others. You don’t fawn over us like we’re gods, and you’re not afraid to speak your mind. It’s… refreshing.”

You snorted. “So, what? You think acting like a creep is the way to get my attention? Newsflash, Hale: it’s not working.”

His lips twitched, almost like he was holding back a laugh. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “It got you to drag me in here, didn’t it?”

That did it. You reached out, grabbed the front of his shirt, and pulled him closer, your faces mere inches apart. “Listen to me,” you said, your voice a low, dangerous whisper. “If you want to know me, try acting like a normal person instead of some stalker freak. Got it?”

Jasper didn't reply immediately, just stared at you before his gaze briefly flicked to your lips. “Got it,” he murmured, a reverent expression crossing his face that confused the hell out of you. You let go of him, expecting him to step back, but he didn’t. He stayed right where he was, not seeming at all bothered by the confined space or your proximity. “Just so we’re clear,” he added softly, “I’m not giving up. I’m still going to try to get to know you, whether you like it or not.”

Feeling a mix of frustration and something you didn’t want to name, you turned around and opened the door. “Fine, but try anything like this again, and I won’t be so nice.”

Jasper chuckled, that damn smile creeping back onto his face. “Deal, but somehow, I think you like a little chaos.”

You rolled your eyes. “Let’s get back to class, Hale.” you grumbled, stepping out into the hallway. But as you walked away, you couldn’t shake the feeling of his gaze on your back—a challenge silently hanging in the air between you.

852 notes · View notes

chlmtsdoll · 9 months ago

Text

SHOPPING WITH ART

౨ৎ Summary: it’s in the title ! Ballerina!reader x Art on a shopping date 🤍

౨ৎ Word count: 2k

౨ৎ Warnings: sugar baby! reader, mentions & talk of sex (duh !), semi public sexual acts, age gap (reader early 20’s) dilf age Art, fluff, needy reader, horny Art, mentions of Tashi in between, mutual pinning, petite!reader (sorry tall ppl), reader and Art are all over each other constantly

A/N: don’t know if I should classify this as a blurb or a fic but I’m gonna go with blurb since it’s short and sweet !!

“Dogs ?”

You had scrunched up your nose and shook your head terribly at Arts attempts to guess your favorite animal. He tilted his head as he looked down at you with a grin.

“Cats ?” He probed. You nodded pleased, with a giggle.

“Do I strike you as a dog person at all ?”

“No.” Art had laughed out and it sounded of wealth and pure adoration of you.

You two had been walking down Rodeo Drive in the mist of perfect weather on a bright day, Art had offered to take you shopping while Tashi took care of tennis business for the two of you. She requested some space and quietness for an hour or two — so of course you’d never pass up your expectation of basically trying on dresses for Art Donaldson as a living.

It still hadn’t hit you on the full one-eighty your life has taken from going from a lost ballerina to Art and Tashi’s young, beautiful, tennis protégé.

Or shared girlfriend. Whatever you had been.

You loved it. Especially days like this, you’d spend as much time as you could with Art when he wasn’t touring because he made you feel like it had only been the two of you on earth when you were together. You never stopped laughing, blushing, kissing… and a spawn of other things.

But when he’d been actually playing tennis, or doing things for his career like press or photoshoots. You missed him dearly. Even when he’d spend time with his daughter Lily.

It made your mood dim, and you’d find yourself dissociating from conversations or tennis to think about him or ponder when he’d be back to steal you away again. Tashi always caught you in the drift of it, but you’d snap right back to reality when you’d hear her say. “Okay. Art’s gonna take you out.” Your mood and demeanor would shift entirely.

“I feel like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.”

“Isn’t that movie controversial ?” Art questioned.

“Aren’t you much older than me ?” You replied as you glanced up at him, giving him every glitter of your wide Bambi eyes. He chucked.

“Oh. So should I walk on the other side of the sidewalk.. if that’s too much for you ?” He looked down at you as he moved from where you walked to the other side of the not so spacious side walk to prove his sarcasm.

“No!” You pleaded with a girlish laugh as you followed him anyways, bumping your shoulder into his arm on purpose not to be separated for another second.

You’d want to hold his hand so badly when you two would be out together, but with his public image being Tashi Duncan’s star husband, it wasn’t exactly the best decision when it came to the press — so even with as much as he wanted to, Tashi always told him to lay low when it came to physical contact with you in the open. Especially somewhere as public as Beverly Hills.

You’d never known where paparazzi had been hiding, lurking and waiting. And it wouldn’t be so easy for them to try and idealize it as Art Donaldson and his exceptionally younger “friend” that he takes shopping and on dates.

Tashi couldn’t control when you had been at home and essentially couldn’t keep your hands off each other entirely. Always hugging, cuddling, fucking. It didn’t matter. You were on him or vise versa, but when you’d go out Tashi would specifically insist “don’t touch each other.” before you’d leave.

But hiding didn’t transpire to you so much when you just completely couldn’t help yourself when it came to the man that made your heart flutter, you’d fought the limitations anyways.

Walking side by side you brushed your pinky against Arts much bigger hand. You saw him look down and a soft grin took upon his lips at the sight of your manicured pink tips grabbing at his hand. He could never resist you. locking pinky’s with yours, your smile had turned bashful but pleased as you’d walk together. Just praying no paps had caught the moment and you’d have to go through Tashi’s wrath later on.

♡

It was dress after dress you’d pick off of the rack, skirts, tops, and more shoes than you’d ever seen at once in person. But you absolutely adored this. Trying not to make another painfully high pitched sound when you’d find another pair that made your eyes go wide in awe.

Art was right there behind you as he chuckled at all of your darling reactions, finding it utterly too cute. You were like a doll and he’d spoil you till you’d probably pass out from exhaustion the moment you both got home from all the perks of shopping till you dropped. Literally.

“I don’t know. I love the waistline, but a deep v neck ? I just don’t see it.” You stepped out of the dressing rooms to where Art had been lounging on a chair since he wasn’t allowed in the actual dressing room area.

Art couldn’t say he didn’t know a thing or two when it came to a sense in fashion. Tennis was a sport based around the most expensive and luxury brands displaying their most fashionable and articulately put together pieces on star athletes like himself. But mainly living with the total of four ladies including the maid, had done his knowledge of the craft wonders.

“I think you look amazing in it, baby.” He implied, crystal blues tracing your perfect body cinched into the tight dress.

It made your breast sit in such a way that Art had to adjust the way he sat in his seat. You looked at yourself in the mirror while your hand ran down your curves. Your heels made you stand taller and your legs showcased eloquently.

One of the workers brought you a glass of champagne and you thanked her kindly before taking a sip, then turning to Art with a suggestive unsure look on your face.

“But do I look amazing though ?” You asked puzzled, with mostly sarcasm and art had shook his head, he chuckled as you glided back into the dressing rooms.

He even brought you things to try on as he just couldn’t pull back from his own suggestions of what he thought you looked to die for in.

“Art,” You turned to him opening up the curtain of the small space as you’d been in the mist of changing, just in your bra and panties.

“Put this on.” He passed you a dress and you were taken back by his desperation and need to see you in his choice of clothing. You stood and took it from him, but you couldn’t deny the slight pass of dominance from him turned you on a bit. You smiled at the curtain when he closed it quickly to leave so he wouldn’t get caught.

When you came out in what he had gave you, Art unfolded his leg and sat straighter in his chair as he examined the sight. And was it a sight to see.

The dress was white, a sixties kind of cut as it made your waist look otherworldly. The corset top made your torso extend and it was short enough that if you moved a little too much it would have been quite a show.

“So, what do you think of your outfit choice on me, Mr. Donaldson ?” You asked with your hands on your hips and the look on his face as his eyes graced over you had you blushing terribly.

Art had to take in a breath with an embarrassing place being lost for words, he stood up to walk towards you. His hand touched the delicate straps.

“Turn around.” he instructed.

“Okay. Bossy.” You joked, meanwhile he bit his lip to hold back nearly letting out an audible noise as he took in the way it cupped your ass just right. You were perfection in his eyes, all dolled up just for him. He licked his lips,

“You’re gorgeous, angel. Do you like it ? Because I love it, and I think you need it in your wardrobe. Well, not need, but it would be a nice touch.” He went on and you laughed at his high regard, your face heating up quite quickly now.

“I think it’s really pretty.” Your hand ran across the top that was embroidered with jewels, your smile enchanting as Art watched you.“next one coming up.”

You had walked by to go change again, but as you did you felt a smack on your ass and you turned around quickly to see Art grinning to himself when you gasped.

The responsible side of you would of protested as you remembered Tashi’s words, but you were anything but responsible when it came to your favorite blonde. You shook your head as your sly smile matched his and you went back into your dressing room.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t that long before Art had snuck in again and opened up the curtain, this time inserting himself into the room with you.

“Art!” You could hardly stop him before he had moved your hair out of the way and started attacking your neck with kisses, sucking in your sent as hands ran over your body,

“Fuck, you look good.” He breathed out as he kissed you and you’d fallen weak to his trap. Hands running to grab his hair as he groped your tits through the dress and kissed you sloppily. He towered over your dainty figure as he treated your body like clay for him to mold, you let out a whine from the back of your throat as he ran his tongue over yours.

His hands were flighting to unzip your dress while hiking it up your hips at the same time.

“Careful, it’s not mine,” you breathed out as Art peppered kisses anywhere he could.

“Oh, it will be yours. I’m buying it as soon as I’m done with you.” his tone was low and full of arousal as he pushed your front against the wall of the dressing room.

As much as you wanted him to fuck you right there, feel every inch of his need to have you take his cock while he treated you to an entire wardrobe that any girl your age would die for, was enough to make you shed your panties right then. But you had slipped from under his grasp.

“We can’t, we’re in public.” You uttered and Art had backed away from you with a groan as he ran his hands down his face and you grinned at the state you had gotten him in, uncomfortably hard and dick nearly ready to come through his fly at just the sight of you.

“Fine,” he sighed out and got ahold of himself before leaving again, you tried not to give him a mischievous smirk as you adjusted yourself and the dress. “Don’t think I don’t know how much you want it, you little minx, be ready for later because we’re not done here.”

You batted your eyelashes and acted all innocent as he shut the curtain and then you giggled to yourself. You had all the shoes and dresses you wanted ready by the time you exited again, and now with lips shimmering with gloss, you made eye contact with Art as he paid for all your new attire with pleasure. Licking his own lips every time he scanned over you, he carried all of your bags and he walked out with you happily.

Completely forgetting about the paparazzi, Art took your hand in his with ease. leading you down the walkway and you had bitten your lip under a satisfied little smile.

A/N: ugh ! I need that !

#art donaldson x female reader #art donaldson smut #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #ballerina!reader #x reader #challengers #challengers smut #challengers movie #tashi duncan #artashi #challngers x reader #chlmtsdoll writes

702 notes · View notes

cheezb6llz · 4 days ago

Note

Yan! Shadow and Sonic jealous of readers friendship with another guy

YANDERE SONIC AND SHADOW JEALOUS OF READERS GUY FRIEND

seperately!

tysm for requesting guys ehehehehehheeeee

SONIC

Sonic isn’t the type to let things get to him. At least, thats what everyone thinks. He’s carefree, fun, the good guy! But when he sees you getting too close to someone else, when your focus isn’t on him, his stomach twists with something dark.

He plays along at first, flashing his signature grin as his eyes track your every move.

“Oh yeah? He’s a cool dude, huh?” he asks.

There was something off about his voice, something too tight in his posture..

After that was when the subtle sabotage against your little friend began.

Sonic always interrupted the two of you. The moment Sonic sees you two together, suddenly he’s there, an arm slung around your shoulder cracking jokes to force you to focus on him, to acknowledge his presence.

Sonic will isolate you through guilt.

“Y’know, Y/N.. We used to spend so much time together. Guess I’m just not as fun anymore, huh?”

He says while leaning on a tree, ears drooping. His voice was just sad enough to make you feel bad.

He’ll even approach your friend himself, always challenging him to things to try and prove himself better than him. Such as challenging him to a race. If he doesn’t accept, he’ll just flash a cocky smile and remind your friend just how much cooler he is. however if he does accept, Sonic won’t run at his full speed, (unless your friend can run near the speed of sound..!) He’ll run just fast enough to make him collapse in exhaustion. He’ll grin as he stands over his breathless, defeated form.

“Heh, guess you’re just not cut out for keeping up, huh?”

But what if all that doesn’t bring his desired results of keeping him away from you?

No matter where your friend went, he felt watched. Flashing blue in the distance, the feeling of something moving too fast just outside of his vision.

One night, he finds Sonic waiting for him.

Close, still, his usual cocky grin wiped from his face.

“Listen, buddy.” Sonic murmured, his voice as sharp as a blade.

“You’re messing with something that doesn’t belong to you. I don’t like that.”

Then a quick gust of wind whipped past your friend’s ear, a flash of blue too quick to focus on. Suddenly, whatever form of communication the guy had disappeared from his person. Phone? Smartwatch? Gone.

Sonic reappears in front of him, twirling the device in his fingers. Sonic’s smile returned to his face.

“Oops.. It’d be a shame if something happened to you, huh?”

—

The next day, your friend was gone. He won’t return your calls, won’t answer the door.. After a while of not seeing him, Sonic questions it.

“Hey, Y/N, what ever happened to your little friend?”

“I’m not sure.. I haven’t seen him in a while.” you said, avoiding eye contact.

He tilted his head, moving his gloved hand from his side to under your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“Heh, told you I was the only one who’d stick around.”

and then he’d probably invite you out for pizza lolololol

—

SHADOW

Shadow didn’t like to share. He kept his things to himself. and he CERTAINLY wasn’t fond of the idea of sharing you.

The first time he sees you, laughing and smiling with this other guy, something inside him snaps.

What do you think you’re doing? You’re his, after all.

At first, he watches, lurking. His crimson eyes tracking your every interaction, every small gesture of kindness, every flash of a smile towards him.. His body tense, hardly restraining himself from ending it between you two right then and there.

Then, the warnings.

Your friend starts to notice some subtle, terrifying things. His belongings, keys, wallet, phone, would disappear without a trace, only to be returned later.. Ripped to pieces.

On walks, his footsteps echo. Not because of empty surroundings, but because Shadow follows behind, calculating the perfect time to strike.

When you two have conversations, he’ll stand closely behind you, sending a piercing stare into your friend’s eyes, hinting at him to back off.

And when he doesn’t listen, when he keeps on coming back to you, Shadow begins to escalate things.

One night, your friend is walking home after a late night out. The streets are empty. The air is still. Then something moves in the corner of his eye, a rush of wind, a flicker of red in the dark.

And suddenly, there stands Shadow, menacingly in front of him.

“You don’t listen very well.”

He steps forward as the guy instinctively steps back.

“That’s a problem.”

Your friend tries to run, but he doesn’t get far. Shadow’s gloved hand wrapped around his mouth, quickly teleporting them both into an abandoned, desolate place. A place where nobody could hear him scream.

Before he could even react, Shadow sent a hard blow to his ribs, enough to make him understand. He gasped trying to get up, but Shadow’s air shoe pressed down on his chest, keeping him in place.

“I don’t like repeating myself.”

—

About a week later, you started to get worried. You hadn’t heard from your friend at all, all calls going to voicemail and all texts being left on delivered.

And Shadow?

He’s right there by your side.

“He won’t answer you at all? Tch.. Looks like he isn’t that great of a friend after all.”

His eyes were soft as he watched your expression of confusion turn into one of sadness, loneliness.

Perfect.

Because now, there’s no one else left but him.

—-

yall are suckers for yandere shadow but its okay CAUSE I AM TOO SLURP SLURP SLURP

#shadow the hedgehog x reader #sonic the hedgehog x reader #yandere sonic the hedgehog #yandere sonic the hedgehog x reader #yandere shadow the hedgehog x reader #yandere shadow the hedgehog #yandere sonic #yandere shadow #yandere sonic x reader #yandere shadow x reader #shadow the hedgehog #shadow x reader #sonic the hedgehog #sonic x reader

168 notes · View notes

vigilxntesht · 2 months ago

Text

“𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶.” — kang no-eul x reader

ִ𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ 𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 — kang no-eul x f!reader

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚 — this is my first fanfic ever and english isn’t my first language so please forgive me if isn’t perfect!

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 — 2k

𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙚

she’s been watching you—observing you. she’s intrigued by you, drawn to you. and now, she’s ready to make you hers.

you sit on your bunk bed silently. the soft, warm glow of the lights only makes the harsh reality of what you just witnessed feel more surreal. the deadly game of ‘red light, green light’ still echoes through your mind—the brutal violence of each person caught moving, shot right on the spot. you are alive only because a man called gi-hun had guided you, giving you instructions that helped you stay still. apparently, he has played these games before. despite the help, you’re deeply shocked. you have no idea what to do. how on earth had you ended up here?

you stare at the dry, hard sandwich in front of you, the nausea twisting your stomach so tightly that taking a bite feels impossible. your tracksuit was covered in a few spatters of blood here and there, each drop a cruel reminder of everything that just happened.

you close your eyes, hoping for a moment of peace, but instead, the faces of countless innocent lives lost only hours ago invade your mind. after a while, you give up, settling on the edge of the bed, the silence heavy and suffocating. you wait for the night to crawl by and for the next brutal game to begin.

the other players around you begin to quiet down, drifting into an uneasy sleep. some, like you, remain awake. your gaze catches the man from earlier. what was his name again? oh, right—gi-hun. he meets your eyes and offers a smile, but the smile is hollow, full of terror. you give a slight smile in return, then quickly redirect your attention, focusing on the cold, hard floor instead. you can’t afford to get attached in here. not with the dangers lurking around you.

two hours of heavy silence strike by. most of the others, including gi-hun, have drifted off into a restless sleep, but not you. you’re exhausted, sure, but sleep refuses to come. that’s when you suddenly feel it—someone’s watching you. you turn around instinctively, but there’s no one there. a cold shiver runs down your spine, an eerie feeling begins to settle in your chest. what if someone’s sizing you up, thinking you’re an easy target? you frown and shake off the thought. it’s nothing. probably.

still, that feeling lingers, creeping under your skin. it’s as if someone’s eyes are boring into you, watching your every move. you turn around, but—again—there’s no one in sight. just as you’re about to brush it off, a deep, cold voice cuts through the silence.

“eat. you need the strength.”

your heart stops. the words hang in the air, making your breath catch in your throat.

immediately, you turn around, scrambling to the far side of the bed when you spot the pink guard standing at the foot of it. what the hell?

“who the fuck are you?” you snap, voice thick with defiance. “what do you want from me?”

the guard seems unbothered. she doesn’t even flinch. doesn’t react at all, actually. she just stands there, cold and silent. her silence feels heavier than any threat you’ve felt in here.

you frown, frustration bubbling up, before you remember the question she asked before.

“….im not hungry.” you mutter, your voice tight.

“too bad,” she replies, her tone sharp and demanding. “i wasn’t asking.”

you don’t know why she came up to you, but given the fact she’s the one holding a gun, you reluctantly take a bite of the sandwich and swallow it. you look at the guard, your lips twitching slightly as you feel your stomach already starting to reject the food.

“happy now?”

she doesn’t answer, walking away without a word, returning to her position by the door. but your impulsive thoughts take over, and you call out, stopping her.

“hey, wait!”

her fast pace slows to a stop, but she doesn’t turn to face you.

“the guards are not allowed to talk to the players.” she says flatly.

you frown, the words sparking up more curiousity in you.

“then why did you come up to me?”

there’s a flicker— a barely noticeable flinch— and for a moment, she’s silent, the weight of her hesitation hanging in the air. finally, she speaks, her voice cool and neutral.

“…because you seemed lost.”

the words catch you off guard. she doesn’t say anything else as she turns away and walks back to her position, leaving you with a knot in your chest and a dozen questions you’re not sure you want the answers to. you’re left in the silence, trying to make sense of it, but she doesn’t seem like she’s about to come back and explain.

with a sigh, you follow her advice and finish the sandwich. you finally manage to close your eyes, drifting into an anxious, uneasy sleep.

the next morning, as soon as you wake up, you’re eyes dart around the room, searching for the mysterious guard from last night—but she’s nowhere to be found. before you can dwell on it, a sudden need to pee takes over. you head to the women’s bathroom, knowing the guards don’t let anyone in outside of bathroom hours. so when your knocks go unanswered, you’re not surprised.

just as turn your head back to your bunk, a soft click breaks the silence. the door behind you unlocks.

“player 241. come in.”

as you turn around, the strange sensation from last night washes over you again. you can’t see her face, but somehow, you just know—it’s her. the guard.

without a word, you step inside the bathroom, offering a subtle nod as a thanks. she says nothing. the silence affects you more than it should.

after finishing your business, you walk over to the sink to wash your hands, but the moment the door clicks shut and locks, your body freezes. slowly, you glance to the side. she’s standing by the door, watching you.

your pulse quickens. a lump forms in your throat.

“what do you want from me?” your voice wavers. “please… don’t kill me.”

she scoffs, a quiet, almost amused sound, before taking a step closer.

“kill you?” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. “now, why would i want to do that?”

confusion swirls you. who is she? why won’t she leave you alone?

the woman steps closer, backing you into a corner. you search for an escape, but there’s nowhere to go—and nothing to say. she extends her hand, offering yet another dry, unappetizing sandwich. you sigh out in frustration.

“i don’t want this! i’m not hungry and they’re disgusting—”

“there’s a clue for the next game inside.” she interrupts dryly.

you fall silent and your breath catches.

“eat it,” she continues, unwavering. “you’ll find a slip of paper hidden inside. you can thank me later.”

you stare at the sandwich, your mind racing. a clue? the guard turns to leave again, but this time, you’re faster. you step in front of her, blocking her way.

“no, wait! you don’t just get to walk away. i want answers.”

your voice is firm, but there’s a tremble beneath it—partly from irritation, partly from the submachine gun slung across her chest.

she stops, tilting her head slightly. “answers, about what?” her tone is flat, unreadable.

“about… this. about why you’re helping me. about who you are.”

silence stretches between you. for a moment, you think she won’t answer. then, without warning, her hand moves to her mask.

she pulls it off.

deep brown eyes meet yours—sharp, intense. pale skin, dusted with freckles, is flawed by a fresh cut along her cheek. her lips are cracked and swollen, as if she’s been biting them too much. despite everything, she’s… beautiful. breathtaking, even. she exhales, running a hand through her damp, sweat-matted hair. then, locking eyes with you, she speaks.

“kang no-eul.” she says boldly.

“what?” you’re still struggling to process everything happening right now.

she sighs in slight irritation. “my name. you asked for my name. it’s kang no-eul.”

to your embarrassment, the sound of her low, steady voice sends a warm blush creeping up your cheeks.

“oh. um, my name is—”

“i know.” she cuts you off smoothly, a small smirk playing on her lips. “i know who you are. i’ve been observing you.”

you take a hesitant step back. “…observing me?”

her expression doesn’t change. “the way you shut yourself off from others. the way you always seem to be lost in thoughts. the way you‘re constantly one step ahead of the other players. you’re intelligent, aren’t you?”

there’s something unnerving about her tone—half admiration, half something else. something colder.

“but.. you’re a guard.”

you meet her gaze, and instantly regret it when you feel your cheeks flaming up again. god, get it together!

a barely-there chuckle escapes her lips. “good observation.” she doesn’t look away. her eyes, dark and mysterious, shimmer with something you can’t quite place.

you lean against the cold bathroom wall, burying your face in your hands.

“what the hell is going on..” you whisper to yourself.

the guard—kang no-eul—takes a step closer, resting a hand on your shoulder. her expression remains neutral, but there’s something in her eyes. a glimmer of something almost… affectionate?

“hey. don’t be like that. you’re underestimating yourself.”

you lift your head, shooting her a glare. “you don’t even know me.”

she laughs. it’s not the reaction you expect, and the sound sends a chill down your spine. it’s confident. unbothered. she’s not intimidated by you in the slightest.

“maybe,” she says, smirking. “but i do know this—you should stop whining and get it together. because no matter how smart you are, crying won’t get you anywhere.” her words sting more than they should. you slap her hand off your shoulder, your anger taking over.

“leave me alone.”

within seconds, she grabs your wrists again, tighter this time. not just firmly, but demanding.

“listen to me,” she hisses, her voice sharp and low. “i’m risking my life to help you. so you better do as i say before i end up scraping your corpse off the game room floor.”

you freeze. her grip is solid, her words slicing through the air like a blade. for the first time, real fear creeps in.

she notices. the tension in her hands shifts, and just as suddenly as she grabbed you, she releases your wrists. slowly, her fingers trail up to your face, brushing against your cheek. it’s a stark contrast—gentle, almost.. tender.

you don’t understand what’s happening. you don’t understand her. but the second her touch meets your skin, something stirs deep inside your stomach. butterflies.

your gaze flickers to hers. your eyes linger on the fresh cut along her cheek. how did she get that?

“do you think you can do that?” she asks, voice softer now. “listen to me?”

you hesitate, unsure. her hand moves again, this time gripping your chin, tilting your head until your eyes lock onto hers. her hold is firm.

“i’m talking to you.”

you swallow hard and nod.

“use your words.”

you don’t know why you’re listening to her, why you’re obeying so easily— but you do. something about her presence, her voice, leaves no room for resistance.

after a brief pause, you whisper: “yes. i’ll listen to you, kang no-eul.”

she smiles, slow and satisfied. “good girl.”

you shiver as she speaks those words. you barely know her, yet something about her pulls you in, an invisible force you can’t resist. it’s dangerous. it’s intoxicating.

but she doesn’t give you time to process it.

before you can react, she leans in, pressing her lips to yours— soft at first, almost teasing. but then the kiss deepens, growing more urgent, more possessive with each passing second. at first, you’re too stunned to move, frozen under her touch. but then, instinct takes over. you melt into her, kissing her back passionately, your hands finding their way to her arms, her shoulders.

she hums softly against your lips, her slim fingers threading through your hair as if she’s known you forever. as if you already belong to her.

“just like that, darling.” she murmurs, her voice a breathy promise.

“let me take care of you.”

#squid game #kang no eul #guard 011 #wlw #kang no eul x reader #squid game season 2 #squid game s2 #noeul x reader #squid game fanfic

315 notes · View notes

bodyhopper-files · 1 month ago

Text

After Hours at the Stadium

Mitchell stood in the dim glow of the stadium lights, his phone raised, his proud fatherly face beaming as he snapped photos. Jackson stood before him, his singlet stretched tight over thick, powerful muscles, flexing under his father’s proud gaze. His broad shoulders gleamed under the artificial lighting, the tight fabric emphasizing every inch of his defined frame.

The big college championship wrestling meet had ended hours ago. The crowd had cheered, the mats had been rolled up, and the other wrestlers had long since left. But to all outside appearances, Jackson, a 19-year-old stud jock at the peak of his athletic prime, was still here, basking in his father’s admiration.

"Now flex a little harder for me, son," Mitchell said, voice dripping with admiration.

Jackson grinned, sweat still glistening from the meet. "Gee, Dad, I don't know if I can flex any harder! My muscles are already SO big in this LITTLE singlet!"

Mitchell chuckled. "That's because you're my big, strong GROWING boy!"

Jackson swelled his chest with pride, striking pose after pose. The empty arena was theirs alone now, the crowds long gone, and Mitchell was drinking in every moment with a glimmer in his eyes, snapping shot after shot.

"Gosh, son, I am so PROUD of you."

Jackson laughed, feeding off the energy, his flexes becoming more exaggerated. "Oh, Dad, you know JUST what to say!"

And then... the illusion cracked.

Mitchell lowered the phone slightly, exchanging a look with Jackson. A knowing look. A dark look.

They weren’t Mitchell and Jackson at all.

Their names were actually Gary and Lou, two lowly stadium crew members who had been lurking in the shadows long enough to develop a deep, gnawing jealousy. The real Mitchell and Jackson had been their chosen targets this time. A father-son pair they had studied, watched, envied. And now, they were them—at least for the night.

Gary, now appearing as Mitchell, grinned as he admired his supposed “son.” Lou, now Jackson, flexed his borrowed muscles with a smug, indulgent glee. The fabric of the singlet hugged his body like a second skin, a perfect replication of the physique he had admired from afar only hours ago that same evening. It felt real—because for now, it was real.

It had all started when Gary found the device. An ancient, alien relic buried beneath the stadium grounds during routine maintenance. A simple, unremarkable stone… until he touched it. The symbols carved into its surface pulsed, their meaning seeping into his mind, a whisper from the cosmos beyond:

"Only within the boundary of its finding does the change hold. Only those who have walked its grounds may claim another’s shape. Beyond this place, the truth will reclaim its own. The transformation cannot follow where the power does not reach."

Gary had understood immediately. The transformation would only work within the stadium’s radius. They could only take the form of those who had set foot inside. And once they stepped beyond its unseen boundary, their true selves would be restored.

That last rule was their only limitation, but within these walls, they were gods.

And they had gotten good at it.

"Well, son," Gary said, the smirk of a man who knew he was getting away with something spreading across his face. "Why don't we go get some photos of you in the locker room?"

Lou—Jackson—grinned back, his borrowed, handsome jock face flushed with excitement. "I LOVE that idea, 'Dad.' I'll show you what else of mine has been growing..."

The two chuckled darkly as they made their way through the vacant hallways, reveling in the power they held. The stadium was their playground. The stolen lives their entertainment. And when the night ended, they’d slip back into their ordinary, unremarkable bodies, waiting for the next event… and their next victims.

Because jealousy wasn't enough. They wanted to be them, if only for a little while. And from the shadows and dark corners of the stadium, they always found their next prey.

Original AI illustration by @bodyhopper-files

#male transformation #shapeshifting #identity theft #father and son #wrestling

231 notes · View notes

wandamaximoffsbadgirl · 5 months ago

Text

Scream For Me.

Serial Killer!Kate Bishop x fem!reader

Word count: 2.6K

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, knife play, Overstim, Possesive, dark behaviors, blood/blood play, violence, toxic relationship dynamics, mentions of murder and death, non-con

Authors notes: HAPPY HALLOWEEN! We made it through kinktober everyone! Now I'm going to take a break for a bit unless inspo strikes!

“Are you excited for Tony's yearly Halloween bash?” Wanda asks excitedly, sitting next to you in the common area at your college.

You smile at your best friend, “Of course I'm excited Wands! I've got a great outfit this year. Maybe I'll finally win his costume contest.”

Wanda chuckles and leans against the table, “Are you going to tell me what your costume is or…?”

“Oh no you'll have to wait and see sweetheart.” You tell her as you start getting your things ready to leave for your next class.

“Will Kate be there?” she asks, looking up at you.

“Of course she will be.” You smiled at the thought of your girlfriend. You loved her with all of your heart. Kate was a few years younger than Wanda and yourself. A freshman while the two of you were Juniors.

The moment you met Kate you knew she was your other half. The two of you spent all the time you could together.

“I'll see you there Wands, okay? I gotta get to this class. If I'm late one more time he's docking me a letter grade.” Wanda shakes her head at you.

“Go on, I'll see you and Kate there.” She says with a sly smile.

At the Halloween party, the atmosphere is vibrant but eerie, with everyone in costumes ranging from creepy to ridiculous to sexy. You and Kate arrive hand-in-hand, your partner’s dark, intense stare never leaving your side, though she occasionally lets it drift over the crowd with a curious gleam.

While you catch up with Wanda, a loud scream rips through the party, sending a chill down your spine. People scramble, and the panic sets in as whispers spread: someone’s been murdered. From that moment, guests start disappearing, the once-packed house thinning out as one by one, people meet their doom. You feel Kate’s grip on your hand tighten as fear begins to gnaw at you.

Finally, when only a few remain, you glimpse a figure in a Ghostface mask lurking in the shadows. As the masked killer advances, you step back—until you realize that Kate is no longer at your side. The realization clicks in slowly, a thrill of horror and intrigue mingling as you begin to piece it together.

Your breath catches as the figure in the Ghostface mask steps forward, the dim lights casting an ominous shadow over the already blood-splattered floors. The killer moves with a confidence that’s disturbingly familiar—slow, calculated steps that feel chillingly precise, almost practiced.

“Kate?” you whisper under your breath, though your voice betrays the suspicion you’ve had for the past few minutes. She can’t hear you, but you feel the weight of her gaze behind the mask, and something within you tells you that this was always part of the plan.

The figure pauses, just feet away from you, and tilts their head as if to say, You figured it out. With trembling hands, you reach for the mask, barely daring to breathe as you lift it.

Beneath the mask is Kate’s face, her eyes glinting with a mischievous spark and a satisfied grin spreading across her lips. “Took you long enough,” she murmurs, her voice low and teasing.

“What… What did you do?” you manage to ask, your voice wavering between terror and fascination. She steps closer, her hands finding their way around your waist, pulling you against her.

“Just made sure it was a party we’d never forget,” she replies nonchalantly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. You feel the wet warm blood on her fingers against your skin. Her eyes gleam as she leans in, whispering, “Now lets have some fun babe.”

Despite everything, your pulse quickens—not just from fear but from the dangerous allure of Kate's touch and the promise in her gaze.

Kate’s lips crash against yours in a heated, possessive kiss, her hands tangling in your hair as if you’re the only thing grounding her. When she finally pulls back, there's a wild glint in her eyes as she slips the Ghostface mask back on, her voice dropping to a dark, teasing tone.

“Now it’s time for me to have some real fun,” she purrs. Her fingers trace your jawline, sending a shiver down your spine. “Run,” she commands, her voice dripping with anticipation. “And if I catch you… I’ll have my way with you.”

The thrill shoots through you like lightning. You don’t waste another second, spinning on your heel and darting into the maze of halls in Tony Stark’s sprawling mansion. The house looms around you, full of twists and dead ends. Your heart pounds as you slip through shadowed corridors and dimly lit rooms, the pounding of your footsteps echoing through the halls.

You think you hear her behind you—those calm, measured steps almost mocking you, growing louder. You stumble up the stairs, gasping for air as you push through the nearest door, finding yourself in one of the empty guest rooms. You press your back against the wall, holding your breath, ears straining for the sound of her approach.

A slow, taunting voice filters in through the door. “I can hear your heartbeat, you know,” Kate calls. Her words wrap around you, each syllable drenched with dark amusement. “Did you really think you could hide from me?”

Your heart skips a beat as you realize she’s right outside, just beyond the thin barrier of the door. The doorknob turns slowly, and you brace yourself as she steps inside, the mask tilted just enough that her eyes pierce through the dim light, locked solely on you.

The chase is over, and she knows it.

As soon as she steps inside, you dart for the door, hoping to slip past her and make it just a little farther. But Kate’s reflexes are sharp, her hand snapping out to grab your wrist with an iron grip. In one swift motion, she spins you around and presses you firmly against the wall, her body caging you in place.

You’re caught between the cold wall and the heat of her presence, her fingers digging into your wrists as she pins them above your head. Her breathing is steady, almost calm, while yours comes in ragged gasps. She tilts her head, her eyes visible through the mask, smoldering with an intensity that sends shivers through you.

“Thought you could get away from me?” she murmurs, her voice a soft taunt as she leans in, her lips barely brushing against the shell of your ear. “I told you, if I caught you…” She pauses, letting her words hang between you, heavy with promise. “You’re all mine now.”

A flush of adrenaline and thrill rushes through you as her lips graze along your jaw, leaving a trail of heated kisses down your neck. Her hands slowly drift down, finally releasing your wrists but keeping you firmly pressed against the wall with her body.

“You ran well,” she whispers against your skin. “But it's over.”

Kate’s hands trail down your body, lingering just enough to leave you breathless and wanting more. Her touch is possessive, claiming you in a way that should send shivers of fear through you—but instead, every nerve in your body lights up in pure anticipation. You want to resist, to hate her for this dark side that she’s unleashed, but as her lips capture yours again, any resolve you have dissolves completely.

You lean into her, your body betraying any illusion of resistance, craving the warmth of her touch and the intensity she brings. Her fingers trace your curves, igniting a fire that surges through you, leaving you clinging to her as though she’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

She notices the change in you, a smug smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she pulls back just enough to look into your eyes. “You love this, don’t you?” she whispers, her voice a low murmur that sends a thrill straight through you. “You love me.”

And as much as you want to deny it, you can’t. Kate has you wrapped around her finger, heart racing and head spinning. Every twisted, thrilling second of this only makes you fall harder, and you know there’s no escaping—not from her, and not from the way you feel.

Kate’s fingers disappear momentarily, and when she returns, you catch a glimpse of silver gleaming in her hand. Your breath hitches as you realize she’s holding a knife—small and sharp, its blade glinting under the dim lights.

She brings the blade close to your skin, her eyes never leaving yours as she lets it hover near your collarbone. “Don’t move,” she whispers, her voice both a warning and a promise. Slowly, she presses the flat side of the knife against your skin, letting the cold metal glide along your collarbone and down the curve of your shoulder, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

Your heartbeat pounds as her hand moves with expert precision, the blade tracing patterns over your skin, never breaking it but skimming just enough to keep you on edge. She’s in complete control, and there’s a dark satisfaction in her gaze as she watches every shiver that her touch elicits from you.

The knife drifts lower, following the line of your arm, before moving back up to rest just over your racing pulse. “Still with me?” she murmurs, her lips ghosting over your cheek as she leans in close.

You manage a nod, voice caught in your throat, and her grin widens, a hint of pride mingling with something far darker. The blade continues its slow, tortuous path, tracing the line of your neck and collarbone, reminding you with every pass that she has you completely, utterly at her mercy.

The sharp prick of the knife against your skin sends a hiss escaping your lips, a mix of pain and thrill that rushes through you as tiny bubbles of red rise to the surface. Kate’s gaze locks onto the crimson beads, her breath hitching as if she’s savoring every second of your reaction. There’s a hunger in her eyes that goes beyond words, a craving that runs deep, and you can tell she wants more.

Her fingers linger on the knife just a moment longer before her eyes flick back to yours, dark with desire. Slowly, she guides you from the wall toward the bed, her movements calm but unmistakably possessive. The anticipation hangs heavy in the air as she settles you onto the edge, her hands steady as she tilts your chin up to keep your gaze fixed on her.

Kate’s fingers glide over the small mark she’s left on your skin, smearing the faint traces of red as if claiming you in a way that’s both gentle and deeply, darkly intimate. She leans in, her lips barely brushing against your ear as she whispers, “You’re mine… every part of you.”

Her words send a shiver down your spine, and as she pulls back, you feel her hand press you down onto the bed, her fingers trailing possessively along your body. There’s a fire in her eyes, one that promises you’re in for a night that will leave its mark on both your skin and your memory. And as much as you should resist, you can’t help but melt beneath her touch, surrendering entirely to her intoxicating presence.

Kate’s hips press firmly against yours, and the friction of the silicone she’s packing against you makes your eyes flutter, a whimper escaping as she grinds deeper, savoring every reaction. Her hands grip your thighs, holding you steady as she positions herself, the mask barely concealing her wicked grin.

Without hesitation, she sinks into you, and you gasp, feeling her stretch you with ease. She fills you perfectly, her movements slow and purposeful, drawing out every delicious inch. A low groan slips from her lips, muffled beneath the mask as she starts to move, each thrust more intense than the last.

“Fuck, babe,” she pants, her voice heavy with satisfaction as she watches you writhe beneath her. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt you this wet.” Her tone is thick with pride, taunting and possessive, each word making your pulse race faster.

With every thrust, she presses deeper, her rhythm unrelenting as she wraps her hand around your thigh, pulling you closer, her breath quickening as she watches the way you fall apart beneath her. Each moan, each gasp, only seems to spur her on, and you know from the look in her eyes that she’s nowhere near finished with you.

Your release crashes over you, and for a fleeting moment, you think she might give you a second to recover. But Kate’s thrusts don’t relent, and her grip on your thigh only tightens. A dark, determined look settles in her eyes as she grins beneath the mask, her voice a low, possessive growl.

“I’m not done with you, babe. We’re going to keep going,” she promises, her words drenched in intent. She leans in closer, pressing you deeper into the bed, her thrusts driving you into a haze of overstimulation that leaves your head spinning, every nerve alive with a mix of pleasure and intensity.

The blade makes sporadic appearances, gliding across your skin with expert care, just enough to keep your senses heightened. Each pass sends sparks through you, leaving faint red lines that she traces with her fingers, her gaze fixed on your every reaction, almost mesmerized by the effect she has on you.

Your body trembles beneath her, every sensation amplified as the line between pain and pleasure blurs into a dizzying euphoria. She picks up her pace, grinding deeper, watching as you unravel all over again beneath her. The overstimulation is relentless, and as the world spins around you, you can only cling to her, completely at her mercy.

The sun’s first rays spill across the horizon, casting a soft, almost surreal glow over the world as you and Kate finally stumble out of the mansion. You make it to her car, exhausted and exhilarated, bodies aching from the night’s intensity. Kate’s Ghostface costume lies discarded in the backseat, and she’s back to her usual self, though her eyes still hold that dangerous, satisfied gleam as she starts the engine, focused on the road.

You take a deep breath and check your phone, seeing a string of worried messages from Wanda. Your heart clenches as you read them:

Did you make it out?

Please, Y/N, answer me…

If I don’t hear from you soon, I’m calling the cops.

A pang of guilt flickers as you glance over at Kate, who doesn’t seem the least bit concerned as she drives, one hand resting casually on the wheel, fingers tapping to some rhythm only she can hear. You quickly type out a message to reassure Wanda.

I’m fine. I got home with Kate, and we took our minds off things.

A few moments later, your phone buzzes with her reply: Thank god… Just text me later, okay? I was scared. You feel a strange blend of guilt and thrill, thinking back on everything that happened, knowing that the night’s secrets are locked safely between you and Kate.

You slip your phone into your lap, stealing a glance at her, your heart racing all over again as she smirks, catching your gaze. “What?” she teases, a satisfied glint in her eye.

“Nothing,” you reply softly, the thrill from last night lingering as you reach over, your fingers brushing hers. Whatever’s next, you know that with Kate, you’re in for one hell of a ride.

#ley writes #ley writes one shots #kinktober 2024 #leys kinktober writing #kate bishop #kate bishop x female reader #kate bishop x y/n #kate bishop x fem!reader #kate bishop x reader #dom!kate bishop #domme!kate bishop #subby!reader #serial killer!kate bishop

179 notes · View notes

hisfavegirl · 12 days ago

Text

Not So Innocent - Tom Glynn-Carney x Reader

Summary : You were always the sweet one. The quiet one. The one with wide, innocent eyes and a voice like honey. To everyone else, you were untouchable—a perfect little doll wrapped in lace and silk. But Tom Glynn-Carney saw through it. From the moment he met you, he knew there was more lurking beneath that carefully crafted image. He saw it in the way you bit your lip when you were nervous, the way your fingers trembled when he stood too close. And the first time he caught you in his trailer, cheeks burning, thighs pressed together, he knew you weren’t so innocent after all.

Warning : Smut +18 (MDNI), Dry humping, Oral Sex (M receiving), Tits Sucking, Smacking, Use of pet name, Dom!Tom.

Tom Glynn-Carney Masterlist.

House Of The Dragon Masterlist.

Aegon Targaryen Masterlist.

The cast tent buzzed with quiet activity, the occasional burst of laughter from crew members filling the space. You sat comfortably on the couch, your legs tucked slightly together, the fabric of your sundress draping over your thighs. It was warm today, and the soft material clung to your curves, emphasizing the fullness of your breasts and the delicate dip of your waist. You had clipped your thick hair up, but a few loose strands framed your face, giving you an almost angelic glow under the soft lighting of the tent.

In your lap rested the lunch you had brought for Tom, just like you did every day. It had become your little routine, your excuse to see him between takes, to catch the flicker of happiness in his striking blue eyes when he spotted you waiting.

And then, as if summoned by your thoughts, he appeared.

Tom walked toward the tent, still clad in his Aegon II costume, making his broad shoulders look impossibly strong. The cape billowed slightly behind him as he moved, and the silver wig cascaded over his forehead, a stark contrast against the deep blue of his eyes. His jaw was sharp, his expression relaxed, but there was something in the way he looked at you—like he had been waiting for this moment all day.

Your thighs pressed together involuntarily.

God, he looked good. Too good.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips when he caught sight of you, his eyes flickering to the sundress that hugged your body so perfectly. You could see it—the way his gaze darkened just a little, the way his steps slowed as if savoring the moment of approaching you. But before he could say anything, Ewan and Phia, who had been walking beside him, immediately caught on to the shift in his demeanor.

“Oh, here we go again,” Ewan teased, crossing his arms. “Tom’s favorite little visitor.”

Fabien grinned, nudging Tom’s shoulder. “At this point, she’s practically part of the cast.”

You felt warmth creep up your neck, but Tom only rolled his eyes, though the amused smile never left his face.

“Shut up,” he muttered, though he didn’t deny it. Instead, he turned his attention fully to you, his voice softer. “You didn’t have to bring me lunch again.”

You smiled, holding the bag up. “I wanted to.”

Ewan let out a dramatic sigh. “God, it’s disgusting how in love you two are. Just get together already.”

Tom shot him a glare, but you swore you saw the tip of his ears turn pink.

Phia leaned in toward you, lowering her voice just enough to make it clear she was up to no good. “You do realize he’s unbearable when you’re not here, right? It’s like a lovesick puppy situation. Pathetic, really.”

Tom groaned, raking a hand through his wig. “You lot are the worst.”

You giggled, and the sound made something flicker in Tom’s expression—something almost hungry. But before you could dwell on it, he sighed dramatically and grabbed the lunch from your hands, his fingers brushing against yours in a way that felt more intentional than accidental.

“C’mon,” he murmured, his voice just low enough for only you to hear. “Let’s go eat somewhere quieter.”

And just like that, you were alone with him, tucked away in the farthest corner of the tent, watching as he peeled off his leather gloves with slow, careful movements.

“So,” he said, his tone casual but his eyes anything but. “Are you gonna keep staring at me like that, or are you gonna tell me what’s on your mind?”

Your breath caught. You hadn’t realized you were still looking at him like that. Like you wanted him and Tom? He had definitely noticed.

You swallowed hard, shaking your head quickly in an attempt to compose yourself. “Nothing,” you said, forcing a small, innocent smile. “I was just—uh—wondering how filming went.”

Tom didn’t respond right away. He just tilted his head slightly, blue eyes scanning your face with amusement, his smirk deepening. He knew.

He always knew.

The way your gaze had flickered to his hands before he peeled off the gloves, lingering just a second too long. The way your thighs subtly pressed together when he looked at you like that. The way you chewed your plump lower lip whenever he got too close, as if you were trying to stop yourself from saying—or doing—something you shouldn’t.

Tom exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Liar.”

Your breath hitched.

Before you could even think of a response, he reached out, his fingers ghosting over the soft skin of your thigh. The touch was light, barely there, but it sent a shiver up your spine. Your body went rigid, your heart pounding so loud you swore he could hear it.

“Tom—” You barely managed to get his name out, voice soft and unsure.

His fingers stroked gently, moving just slightly over the fabric of your sundress, teasing, testing. His touch wasn’t demanding, wasn’t rough—it was patient. Playful. Like he was seeing how far he could push you before you broke.

And the worst part? He was enjoying it.

You cursed yourself in your mind.

You had always been so careful. Always made sure to show him—and everyone else—that you were the sweet, innocent girl. The best friend who brought him lunch, who blushed when he teased you, who played dumb when his castmates joked about how obvious it was that you two were completely gone for each other.

But inside?

Inside, all you wanted to do was climb into his lap, press your lips against his, let him ruin you the way you’d dreamed about too many times to count.

And Tom?

Tom knew.

His fingers traced small, slow patterns on your thigh, his gaze never leaving yours. He was studying you, waiting, watching for that moment when you would crack.

“You sure nothing’s on your mind?” His voice was lower now, rougher. His smirk deepened when you let out a shaky breath, your fingers gripping the couch cushion so tightly your knuckles turned white.

“I—I just—” You hated how weak your voice sounded. How breathy. You needed to change the subject, fast. “So, um—how was filming?.”

Tom huffed a soft laugh, his fingers still lazily trailing over your thigh. “It was fine. Same as always.”

You nodded quickly, hoping he’d drop it, but he didn’t.

Instead, he leaned in slightly, just enough for you to catch the faint scent of sweat and leather from his costume. Just enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“Though,” he continued, “it was a little hard to focus today.”

You swallowed. “Oh?”

Tom hummed, his eyes flickering down to your lips before meeting your gaze again. “Kept thinking about you.”

Your stomach flipped.

“I—” You started, but he wasn’t finished.

“This dress.” His fingers slid just slightly up your thigh, the fabric of your sundress shifting. “It’s nice. Pretty.”

You forced a nervous laugh, shifting slightly. “T-Thanks.”

Tom smiled, slow and lazy. “Hugs you just right.”

Your breath caught.

He noticed. Of course he did.

He always noticed.

The way the dress clung to your curves. The way your full breasts strained against the soft material. The way his castmates teased him whenever you showed up because they knew.

Everyone knew.

You sucked in a shaky breath, trying to force yourself to snap out of it. This was dangerous territory.

But Tom wasn’t done playing with you.

His hand, warm and slightly calloused, moved just a little higher, his fingertips grazing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The touch was feather-light, teasing, but it sent a sharp jolt of heat straight through you.

Your thighs pressed together instinctively.

And Tom saw.

His smirk turned smug, his eyes darkening as he let out another low chuckle.

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement.

You wanted to slap him. You wanted to kiss him.

You wanted—

“Y-You’re messing with me,” you breathed, trying to sound annoyed, but it came out shaky.

Tom grinned. “Yeah?” His fingers ghosted against your skin again, the movement slow and deliberate. “Doesn’t seem like you mind.”

You sucked in a breath, your body betraying you as a small shudder ran through you. Your thighs squeezed together just a little tighter, and you knew, without even looking, that Tom was watching every little reaction.

And he was enjoying it.

A beat of silence stretched between you.

You needed to stop this. Needed to say something. But your mind was blank, lost in the feel of his touch, the heat of his body so close to yours, the deep blue of his eyes staring at you like he already knew exactly how ruined you were for him.

And then—

He pulled away.

Just like that.

He leaned back against the couch, stretching lazily, acting like he hadn’t just been touching you like that. Like he hadn’t just been watching you fall apart under his fingertips.

You blinked, stunned.

Tom grabbed the lunch bag from beside you, casually opening it. “I’m starving,” he said, like nothing had happened. Like you weren’t still sitting there, heart racing, thighs pressed together, heat pooling in your stomach.

You stared at him, still trying to process what the hell just happened.

And then he glanced at you again, flashing that boyish grin.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked innocently, taking a bite of his sandwich.

You wanted to kill him or kiss him. Maybe both.

You nodded quickly, maybe a little too quickly, as if that would somehow erase the lingering heat that pulsed between your thighs. The ache was maddening, a reminder of just how easily Tom had unraveled you with nothing but his touch and a few teasing words.

You tried to ignore it.

Tried to focus on anything else.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you unlocked your phone, pretending to scroll mindlessly, your eyes glued to the screen as if it held the answer to the sudden fire coursing through your veins.

But it didn’t.

And neither did your pathetic attempt at distraction, because you could still feel him watching you.

Tom never looked away.

From the corner of your eye, you could see the way he lounged back against the couch, his body relaxed, his expression unreadable except for the small, knowing smirk playing at his lips. Like he was waiting for something.

You tried not to fidget under his gaze.

Tried not to think about the way his fingers had ghosted over your thigh, the way his voice had dipped just low enough to make your breath hitch, the way he had smirked when he caught you pressing your thighs together.

God, he knew exactly what he was doing.

And then—

You felt it.

His fingers, warm and gentle, reached for the clip in your hair, his movements slow and deliberate. You barely had time to react before he undid it, letting the thick strands spill freely over your shoulders.

Your breath caught.

“Much better,” Tom murmured, his voice laced with amusement.

Your fingers clenched around your phone, but before you could protest, he did something you weren’t prepared for.

He scratched your lower scalp.

A soft, lazy stroke of his fingers against your skin, right at the base of your skull. The sensation sent a shiver through your body, heat blooming under your skin.

And then— A sound slipped from your lips before you could stop it. A soft, breathy moan.

You froze.

Tom did, too.

For a moment, the air between you was thick with tension, charged and crackling like a live wire. Your lips parted slightly, your breath shallow, heat creeping up your neck in mortification.

And then— He chuckled.

Low. Deep. Amused.

You squeezed your eyes shut in sheer embarrassment.

“I—”

“Did you just moan?” His voice was a mix of teasing and something darker, something almost dangerous.

Your face burned. “N-No!”

Tom exhaled another quiet laugh, his fingers still buried in your hair, still lazily scratching against your scalp.

“You sure?” he mused, tilting his head. “Because that definitely sounded like a moan.”

You swallowed hard, trying to will the heat away from your body, but it was impossible with the way he was touching you.

Slow. Gentle. Torturous.

It wasn’t fair.

He already knew how sensitive you were, how easily affected you got by the smallest touches.

And now he was using it against you.

Your body betrayed you again as another shiver ran through you, your thighs clenching on instinct. You knew he noticed.

Of course he did.

Tom leaned in just slightly, his breath warm against your temple.

“You’re really bad at hiding things, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement.

You sucked in a sharp breath, your fingers tightening around your phone as you desperately tried to focus on anything but the way his fingers still stroked through your hair, the way his voice sent a rush of heat straight between your legs.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you muttered, but your voice was shaky, weak.

Tom smirked. “Liar.”

You wanted to scream.

Or kiss him.

Maybe both.

Your pulse pounded in your ears as his fingers finally—finally—slipped away from your scalp, the absence of his touch leaving you feeling empty and wanting.

Too wanting.

You clenched your jaw, refusing to look at him, but you could feel the smirk still lingering on his lips. Like he had already won and maybe—just maybe—he had.

The second the director called Tom back onto the set, you exhaled a breath of relief, your body still thrumming from his touch.

“Be good while I’m gone, sweetheart.”

His words were teasing as he ruffled your hair before jogging off, his armor-clad form disappearing behind the set.

You sat there, frozen, your heart pounding against your ribcage.

Be good.

If only he knew.

The ache between your thighs had only gotten worse, and no matter how much you tried to ignore it, to pretend like you weren’t completely drenched from his teasing, it was useless.

You needed relief.

Desperately.

Glancing around, you saw that everyone was busy—crew members adjusting the lighting, actors chatting between takes, extras waiting for their cues.

No one was paying attention to you.

And that’s when you saw it.

Tom’s trailer.

Your body moved before your mind could catch up, your legs carrying you towards the familiar door, your fingers shaking slightly as you pushed it open and slipped inside, shutting it behind you.

The second you were enveloped in the scent of him—clean, masculine, with a hint of his cologne—you felt your knees almost buckle.

It was perfect.

It was intoxicating.

The trailer was dimly lit, the small couch inviting, and you wasted no time sinking into the cushions, your body already humming with need.

Your breathing was shallow, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you let your fingers slowly trail down your body, over the curves that Tom had been teasing all day.

Your sundress did little to hide your arousal, the fabric already damp between your thighs, the heat pooling in your core unbearable.

Your fingers trembled as they dipped beneath the hem, grazing over your bare skin, teasing yourself the way you wished Tom would.

A soft whimper escaped your lips as you parted your thighs, your body begging for relief.

Slowly, you pressed your fingers against your aching clit, the first slow, circular motion making you jolt, your lips parting in a breathy moan.

God.

It wasn’t enough.

Your mind was filled with him—the way he looked at you, the way he touched you, the way he smirked when he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

You imagined his fingers instead of your own, his breath against your skin, his voice murmuring in your ear.

“Look at you, sweetheart. So needy.”

Your fingers moved faster, rubbing tight, desperate circles, your hips lifting slightly off the couch, chasing the pleasure that was building with every passing second.

The thought of him watching you, of him catching you like this, only made it worse.

Would he smirk?

Would he tease you, make you beg for it? Or would he pin you down and give you exactly what you needed? A strangled moan left your lips at the thought, your back arching, pleasure coiling in your stomach like a tightly wound spring.

You were close.

So close.

Your breath hitched, your thighs shaking as your fingers moved faster, chasing the release that was just within reach—

Then— A knock.

A firm, sharp knock at the trailer door.

Your eyes snapped open, your breath caught in your throat, panic seizing your chest.

Shit.

“Sweetheart?”

Your heart nearly stopped.

Tom.

His voice was muffled but clear, his tone laced with amusement.

“Are you in there?”

You clamped a hand over your mouth, your body still trembling from the edge of release, your fingers frozen against your soaked core.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He couldn’t know, he couldn’t see you like this. But you couldn’t stop now.

God, you were desperate.

Your body was trembling, thighs quivering as your fingers moved frantically against your aching clit, the pleasure building higher and higher, an unbearable, consuming heat that had taken over your senses.

The knock at the door should have stopped you.

Tom’s voice should have made you snap out of it.

But it only made it worse.

It only pushed you closer.

“Sweetheart?” His voice was right outside, firm but laced with amusement. “Hey are you in there?”

Your heart pounded against your ribs. You had to say something. Anything.

“I-I’m just—” you gasped, barely managing to form words, “fixing my dress.” A blatant lie and you knew he didn’t buy it.

Not with how shaky your voice was, how breathless you sounded.

There was silence.

Then—

“Are you okay?”

His concern should have made you stop. But instead, your fingers pressed down harder, the friction sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through your body, and before you could stop it, you were coming undone.

Your lips parted in a silent cry, your entire body going rigid as the orgasm washed over you, white-hot and blinding. You bit down on your bottom lip, hard, trying to muffle the moan that threatened to spill out.

But it wasn’t enough.

Your breath hitched, your chest rising and falling rapidly as your body shuddered in the aftermath. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.

And that’s when it happened. The door opened, Tom stepped inside, his movements casual—until he saw you.

He froze.

His blue eyes widened slightly, his expression unreadable as he took in the sight before him— You.

Sitting on his couch, your sundress bunched up around your hips, your fingers still buried between your thighs, your body trembling from the aftershocks of pleasure.

The air was thick.

Charged.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Neither of you moved.

You could barely breathe.

Tom’s jaw clenched, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard, his gaze darkening as it flickered over your flushed skin, your heaving chest, the dampness between your thighs.

You felt exposed.

Caught.

And yet— You didn’t look away.

You couldn’t.

A slow smirk curled at the corner of his lips, but there was something else in his expression, something almost predatory.

“You lied to me, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitched.

“I—”

He took a slow, measured step closer, his gaze never leaving yours.

“You said you were fixing your dress.” His voice was lower now, deeper, sending a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed hard, your lips parting as if to speak, but nothing came out.

Tom tilted his head, his smirk growing.

“But that’s not what you were doing, was it?” Heat rushed to your cheeks, shame and desire twisting together in a dizzying mix.

You tried to move—tried to close your legs, tried to pull down your dress, tried to regain some semblance of control.

But Tom was faster.

Before you could react, he was kneeling in front of you, his large hands settling on your trembling thighs, holding you in place.

You gasped.

His touch burned.

His grip was firm but gentle, his thumbs stroking your heated skin, his blue eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

You felt dizzy.

Overwhelmed.

“Tell me something, sweetheart.” His voice was a quiet drawl, laced with amusement, with something darker. “Were you thinking about me?”

Your lips parted, a soft, shaky breath escaping, but you still couldn’t find your voice.

Tom’s fingers flexed slightly against your thighs, his smirk never fading.

“Because if you were…” He leaned in just slightly, his breath warm against your cheek. “You should’ve just asked for my help.”

You tried to avoid his gaze, your entire body burning with embarrassment, but Tom wasn’t having it. A low chuckle rumbled from his chest as he reached for your chin, tilting your head up until your eyes met his.

And God—

Your breath hitched.

His blue eyes were darker now, laced with something dangerous, something tempting. Something you knew you wouldn’t be able to resist.

You should say something.

You should push him away, laugh it off, pretend like this never happened.

But you couldn’t.

Your lips parted, but no words came out, only shallow, uneven breaths that betrayed just how shaken you were.

Tom’s gaze flickered downward, his smirk faltering just slightly when he saw the state of your soaked panties, the evidence of your need glistening against your trembling thighs.

His jaw clenched.

“Fuck.”

His voice was low, almost a whisper, but the sheer weight of it sent a shiver down your spine.

His fingers twitched against your chin before trailing down, stroking your cheek in a way that felt both comforting and possessive.

And then, he leaned in.

His lips brushed against your ear, his breath warm as he whispered—

“You’re so filthy.”

You whimpered.

A quiet, helpless sound that made Tom chuckle, his thumb dragging slowly across your bottom lip.

“And here I thought you were my sweet, innocent best friend.” His voice was teasing, but there was something else there—something darker. “Guess I was wrong.”

Your fingers gripped the couch beneath you, your thighs pressing together as another wave of heat pooled low in your stomach.

Tom noticed.

Of course, he noticed.

His smirk returned, slow and deliberate, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw as he tilted his head slightly.

“Tell me,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Were you thinking about me?”

Your breath hitched.

You should lie.

You should shake your head, laugh, change the subject—anything to escape the intensity of his gaze.

But you couldn’t.

You didn’t.

Instead, your lips trembled, your body betraying you as your eyes flickered to his lips, to his strong jaw, to the way his chest was still rising and falling a little too fast, like he was holding himself back.

Tom noticed that, too.

His smirk grew.

“That’s what I thought.”

He exhaled sharply, his fingers moving to your thigh, brushing against the hem of your dress, toying with the soft fabric.

“You were in here,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement, “all by yourself, with my scent all over this place, touching yourself to the thought of me.”

Your lashes fluttered.

Your stomach clenched.

His words alone had your thighs clenching again, and Tom caught it immediately, his smirk turning into something almost triumphant.

“You really are filthy, sweetheart.” His fingers traced slow, lazy circles against your skin, his touch featherlight. “But I think I like you this way.”

Your entire body burned at his words, at the way he was looking at you now—not just as his best friend. Not just as the sweet, innocent girl he’d always known.

But as something else.

Something he wanted.

Something he was willing to take and God— You were willing to let him.

That making something inside you snapped. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.

All you knew was him—his voice, his touch, the way his blue eyes burned into yours like he wanted to devour you.

And you needed him.

Now.

A desperate sound left your lips as you grabbed the front of his tunic, pulling him down, crashing your lips against his in a kiss so hungry, so reckless, it sent sparks down your spine.

Tom groaned into your mouth, his grip tightening on you as if he’d been waiting—aching—for this moment just as much as you had.

The sound of it, deep and raw, made you whimper, and that was all it took.

He lost control.

His fingers tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make you gasp, just enough to tilt your head back so he could kiss you deeper, harder. His tongue brushed against yours, teasing, tasting, taking.

And you let him.

You melted against him, your body pressing flush to his as his hands slid down, gripping your waist, shifting you effortlessly.

Then—

He pulled you into his lap.

A surprised gasp escaped your lips, but Tom swallowed it, his hands squeezing your waist, pulling you down onto him, making you feel just how hard he already was beneath the layers of his costume.

A choked whimper caught in your throat.

He was big.

Bigger than you’d imagined, bigger than anything you’d read about in the smutty novels you loved.

And he knew it.

Tom smirked against your lips, his fingers flexing against your hips as he guided your body against his, pressing you down, making you feel every inch of him.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice rough, strained. “Look at you, sweetheart. Grinding against me like a needy little thing.”

Your cheeks burned, but you couldn’t stop.

Didn’t want to stop.

The ache between your thighs had turned unbearable, and the friction, the heat of him beneath you, was driving you insane.

“Tom—” You gasped, your fingers gripping his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his tunic.

He hummed, his hands sliding up your body, fingers grazing the curve of your waist before stopping just below your breasts.

His thumbs brushed against the underside of them, teasing, testing, watching your reaction.

You arched into his touch.

He grinned.

“So sensitive,” he murmured, dipping his head to press an open-mouthed kiss against your jaw, your throat. His lips were hot, his breath uneven as he whispered against your skin, “You’ve been hiding this side of you from me, sweetheart.”

You bit your lip, your head falling back as his lips trailed lower, his tongue flicking against your collarbone.

“All this time,” he continued, his hands sliding down to grip your ass, squeezing, “I thought you were my sweet, innocent best friend.”

You whimpered, your nails raking down his chest.

“But here you are,” Tom groaned, grinding you against him, “so fucking desperate for me.”

Your breath hitched.

Your mind was spinning, drowning in the heat of his touch, the filth of his words, the way he was completely unraveling you with nothing but his hands, his mouth, his body beneath you.

“Tell me,” he rasped, his lips brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “Is this what you wanted, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you breathed, your fingers twisting in his hair, tugging him closer. “God, yes.”

Tom groaned, his grip tightening, his lips crashing back against yours in a kiss so deep, so intoxicating, it left you breathless.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice dark with promise. “Because I’m not stopping now.”

You couldn’t stop.

Didn’t want to stop.

Your body moved on its own, chasing the pleasure that was building agein deep inside you, the friction of your soaked panties against the rough fabric of his costume making you dizzy.

Every roll of your hips sent a shockwave of heat through you, and you threw your head back, moaning as your clit pressed against him just right.

Tom cursed beneath you.

His hands gripped your waist tightly, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he watched you—watched the way you lost yourself in the pleasure, the way your lips parted in breathless whimpers, the way your brows furrowed as you chased that sweet, aching high.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasped, his voice thick with desire. “Look at you.”

His words sent another wave of heat crashing through you, making your movements more desperate, more frantic.

Tom chuckled—low, dark, teasing.

“So needy,” he murmured, his hands sliding up your sides, tracing the curve of your ribs. “And all for me.”

You whimpered, your fingers gripping his shoulders, your nails raking against the fabric of his tunic as you ground yourself harder against him.

The pressure was unbearable.

The ache between your thighs had turned into something almost painful, something you needed him to soothe.

Tom must have seen it in your eyes, must have felt the way you trembled against him, because his smirk faltered, his breathing turning ragged as he watched you fall apart in his lap.

Then— He tugged down the front of your dress.

A gasp left your lips as the fabric slipped from your shoulders, falling away, baring your soft, full breasts to the cool air.

Tom groaned.

“Fuck.”

His eyes darkened, his pupils blown wide with hunger as he took in the sight of you, his grip tightening on your waist like he was barely holding himself back.

“God, you’re perfect.”

His voice was hoarse, reverent.

Then, before you could even process his words, he leaned forward, his lips capturing one of your aching peaks, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud before sucking it into his mouth.

A cry tore from your throat, your back arching, your fingers flying to his hair, tangling in the blonde strands, tugging him closer.

Tom groaned against your skin, the vibration sending sparks straight to your core, making you grind down against him again, desperate for more, for anything, for everything.

“You taste so fucking sweet,” he murmured, his lips trailing from one breast to the other, his tongue laving over your heated skin, his teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp.

Your body was burning, melting under his touch, his mouth, the way his hands moved back to your hips, guiding your movements, helping you grind against him with slow, deliberate rolls.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. “Just like that, sweetheart.”

Your moans filled the small space of his trailer, mixing with the sound of his heavy breathing, his quiet curses, the soft rustle of fabric as you rocked together.

You were close. So close.

Your thighs trembled, your grip on his hair tightening, your breaths coming faster, sharper.

And Tom knew.

He felt it.

Saw it.

And he wanted to see you shatter.

“Come on, baby,” he whispered, his voice coaxing, his hands steady as they guided you faster, harder. “Let go for me.”

With a strangled cry, your body tensed, pleasure crashing over you in hot, dizzying waves.

Tom groaned, holding you close as you trembled in his arms, pressing soothing kisses to your heated skin, whispering quiet praises as you came undone against him.

And even as you tried to catch your breath, as the aftershocks rippled through you, you knew— This wasn’t over.

Not even close.

Your breath was still uneven, your body still trembling from the pleasure Tom had just given you, but you weren’t blind to the way he was still hard beneath you—aching, throbbing, restrained by the fabric of his costume.

You bit your lip, hesitating for only a moment.

You had read about this a hundred times, imagined it more times than you’d ever admit, but doing it? Actually doing it?

Your stomach fluttered with nerves, but at the same time, there was something thrilling about the idea of being the one to unravel him, to see Tom—your best friend—fall apart because of you.

You glanced up at him.

His blue eyes were dark, hooded, his jaw tense as he watched you, waiting, breathless.

You shifted, moving down from his lap despite the way your thighs still trembled, kneeling between his legs. Your fingers hesitated for only a second before reaching for his belt, unbuckling it slowly, deliberately, teasing him.

Tom inhaled sharply.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice thick with warning, with restraint.

But he didn’t stop you.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

When you finally freed him, your breath hitched, your fingers wrapping around his length, stroking slowly, experimentally, watching the way his body tensed beneath your touch.

Tom groaned, his head falling back against the couch, his hands gripping the armrests so tightly his knuckles turned white.

You swallowed thickly, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

You wanted to do this right.

And then you remembered something—one of the novels you had read late at night, blushing beneath your covers, the scene burned into your mind.

Your lips parted slightly as you shifted higher, pressing yourself closer, letting his length rest between the soft curves of your breasts.

Tom sucked in a sharp breath.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice almost a growl, his hands twitching at his sides, like he was barely holding himself back from grabbing you.

A slow, teasing smile curled at your lips as you tilted your head up to meet his eyes, wanting to see the way they darkened, wanting to see the effect you had on him.

Then—

You lowered your head, letting a slow, warm breath ghost over his skin before spitting lightly, letting the warmth coat him before pressing your soft curves around him, trapping him between them.

Tom’s groan was almost a growl.

His fingers threaded through your thick hair, tugging lightly, not forcing, just gripping, holding on.

“Christ,” he breathed, his voice shaking, his chest rising and falling unevenly as he looked down at you, at the sight of you kneeling before him, looking up at him with big, innocent eyes while doing something so utterly sinful.

“You’re going to ruin me,” he murmured and you? You wanted nothing more than to do just that.

Your hands trembled slightly as you pressed your soft curves around him, letting the heat of his skin pulse against you.

Tom let out a ragged breath, his head falling back, a string of curses slipping from his lips. His hands twitched at his sides, like he was fighting the urge to grab you, to guide you, to take control.

But he didn’t.

He let you explore, let you set the pace, let you tease him the way you wanted.

And that?

That made you bolder.

You moved slowly at first, pressing your soft, supple flesh around him, shifting, stroking him between them. You could feel the heat radiating off him, feel the way his muscles tensed with each movement, feel the way he was falling apart beneath your touch.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice low, wrecked.

His blue eyes were dark, hooded, locked onto you, watching, unraveling.

The sight of him like this—his body tense, his breath uneven, his lips parted slightly as he tried to hold himself together—made a thrill rush through you.

Made you want to see more.

So, slowly, you let go of him, shifting slightly as you leaned in, parting your lips.

Tom inhaled sharply.

His hand found your hair, threading through the thick strands, not pulling, not forcing—just holding.

“Sweetheart,” he warned, his voice shaking.

But you ignored him.

Instead, you wrapped your lips around his cock, letting the warmth of your mouth take him in.

Tom let out a deep, guttural groan, his fingers tightening slightly, his hips jerking just the slightest bit before he forced himself still.

“Jesus—” he choked out, his head falling back against the couch, his breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.

You moved slowly, testing, teasing, taking him in deeper, feeling the way he tensed beneath you, the way his body trembled.

He was losing control.

And you loved it.

“Fuck, baby, you don’t—” Tom gritted his teeth, his grip in your hair tightening slightly as he tried to pull you away. “You don’t have to—”

But you did.

You wanted to.

You wanted to see him completely undone, wanted to feel the power of making him fall apart because of you.

So you pushed forward, taking him deeper, ignoring the slight ache in your jaw, the way your throat tightened, the way tears pricked your eyes from the stretch.

Tom cursed loudly, his hips bucking before he forced himself to still.

“Christ,” he groaned, his breath ragged, his fingers stroking through your hair, his voice shaking with restraint. “You’re—fuck, you’re too good at this.”

The praise sent a thrill down your spine, making you bolder, making you move a little faster, a little deeper, letting him feel the warmth of your mouth, the pressure of your lips.

“Shit—” His voice broke.

You could feel him tensing, could feel the way his breath stuttered, the way his muscles locked, the way his grip in your hair tightened—not to pull you away, but to hold on, to ground himself.

“Baby, you—I’m gonna—” His voice was desperate now, wrecked, broken. “You need to stop, I—fuck, I can’t—”

But you didn’t stop.

You wanted this.

You wanted to push him over the edge.

So you kept going, kept working him, kept feeling him tremble beneath you—until, finally, he let out a deep, guttural groan, his body tensing as he fell apart completely.

His breath came in ragged, uneven gasps, his fingers still tangled in your hair, his blue eyes dark, hazy, dazed as he looked down at you.

For a long moment, he just stared.

Then—

“Christ,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, filled with something you couldn’t quite place. You swallowed all his release and shifting slightly, suddenly feeling shy, nervous.

But then Tom reached for you, cupping your jaw, tilting your face up toward him, his thumb brushing across your swollen lips.

“You,” he murmured, his voice thick, intense. “Are the sweetest, filthiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

And the way he looked at you then? Like he had never wanted anything more in his life? It made your heart race. Made you crave more.

Your body barely had time to recover before Tom’s hands were on you again.

With one swift movement, he yanked you onto his lap, his strong arms wrapping around your waist, holding you there—right against him.

“You,” he breathed, his blue eyes dark and filled with something dangerous, something intoxicating. “Need to tell me where the hell you learned to do that.”

Your breath hitched at the way he was looking at you, his fingers pressing into your waist, his chest rising and falling beneath you.

You bit your lip, suddenly feeling shy, your confidence from moments ago slipping as you avoided his gaze.

“I just… read about it,” you mumbled.

Tom huffed out a laugh, tilting his head. “Read about it?” he echoed, amusement lacing his voice. “Sweetheart, that wasn’t just ‘reading’—that was knowing.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you squirmed slightly on his lap, your thighs still trembling from earlier.

Tom smirked. “Oh, you’re not getting out of this that easy,” he said, his hand sliding up to your jaw, tilting your face toward him. “Tell me.”

You hesitated, chewing on your lip.

Tom narrowed his eyes playfully, his fingers squeezing your waist. “Tell me, or I’ll make you tell me.”

That sent a shiver down your spine.

You sighed, your voice barely above a whisper. “Do you remember that time I asked you to go to the bookstore with me?”

Tom blinked, thrown off for a moment before he nodded slowly. “Yeah…”

You swallowed, feeling his stare burning into you. “That book I bought,” you confessed, “was a smut novel.”

Silence.

Then— Tom burst into laughter.

“Are you serious?” he chuckled, shaking his head. “That sweet little bookshop you dragged me to? That cute little romance section?” He looked at you with pure amusement. “And you walked out of there with something like that?”

Your face was burning now. “I didn’t know at first!” you defended quickly. “I thought it was just a regular romance novel! But then I got to… that chapter.”

Tom smirked. “That chapter,” he repeated, his fingers tracing slow circles against your hip. “And what? You just… studied it?”

You squirmed again, your hands gripping his shoulders. “I just—” You exhaled shakily. “I just wanted to know how it worked.”

Tom hummed, his lips ghosting over your jaw. “And was it everything you imagined?”

You swallowed thickly, your breath catching as his lips brushed your neck, his voice low, teasing.

“It was better,” you admitted.

Tom groaned, his hands tightening around you. “Fuck, you’re killing me, sweetheart.”

His fingers slipped into your hair, pulling your head back just enough for him to press his lips to your throat, his breath warm against your skin.

“And you—” He nipped at your pulse, making you gasp. “Are never allowed to act innocent around me again.”

Your stomach flipped, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “But I am innocent,” you whispered.

Tom pulled back, his blue eyes locking onto yours, dark and intense.

“Not anymore,” he murmured.

Tom tilted his head, his fingers still tracing lazy circles along your waist, his grip possessive yet teasing. His blue eyes, sharp and full of mischief, flickered with something unreadable.

“How many of these books do you even have?” he asked, his voice low and amused.

You hesitated, heat creeping up your neck as you avoided his gaze. “I… I lost count,” you admitted softly.

Tom’s smirk deepened, his fingers tightening slightly on your hips. “Lost count,” he repeated, chuckling. “Of course, you did.”

You chewed on your lip, feeling his stare burning into you. “It’s not just physical books,” you confessed quietly. “I have a lot saved on my iPad… and my phone.”

Tom groaned, tilting his head back against the couch. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, his hands flexing against your body. “So, all this time, my sweet, innocent best friend has been filling her head with filthy stories?”

You squirmed on his lap, embarrassment mixing with something darker, something thrilling.

Tom’s fingers found your chin, tilting your head up so you had no choice but to look at him. “And tell me, sweetheart,” he murmured, his lips just barely grazing yours, “what kind of stories are they?”

Your heart pounded.

You swallowed thickly. “Just… romance.”

Tom raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Just romance?” he echoed, his tone skeptical. His thumb brushed over your lower lip, teasing, testing. “Sweetheart, the way you just got on your knees for me tells me it’s a little more than just romance.”

Your breath hitched as you felt his other hand glide down your spine, slow and deliberate.

You tried to look away, but he didn’t let you. “Tell me,” he whispered.

You exhaled shakily. “They’re… darker,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Tom’s lips quirked, his fingers still tracing your lips. “Darker,” he repeated, his voice dripping with something dangerous. “How dark, sweetheart?,”

Your pulse pounded in your throat.

You had read so many—stories of possessive, relentless men, of stolen moments in the dark, of whispered threats that sent shivers down your spine, of lips that tasted like sin. Stories where the heroine was utterly claimed, ruined, cherished in the most wicked ways.

And now, the way Tom was looking at you…

You felt as though you had just stepped into one of those stories.

Tom leaned in, his breath fanning over your lips. “Maybe one day,” he murmured, “you and I should recreate one of those chapters.”

Your stomach flipped violently, a sharp inhale escaping you as your fingers clutched his tunic.

Tom chuckled, low and deep. “Oh,” he said, watching your reaction with pure satisfaction, “that got your attention, didn’t it?”

You couldn’t speak.

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

Tom’s smirk was slow, knowing. His fingers brushed down your neck, his touch featherlight. “I wonder,” he mused, “which one we should start with?”

Your breath stuttered.

You shook your head quickly. “I—”

He tilted his head, studying you. “Too much?”

You weren’t sure if it was too much or not enough.

Tom’s smirk softened into something more wicked. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he whispered, his lips ghosting over your cheek. “I’ll be gentle.”

A pause.

Then— His lips brushed your ear.

“At first.”

Tom chuckled at the sound of your whimper, his fingers lingering as he adjusted your dress, smoothing the fabric over your curves with slow, deliberate care. His touch, though gentle, was filled with unspoken promise, the warmth of his palm searing through the thin material. He took his time, eyes flickering over your face, watching the way your breath came uneven, your lips still swollen from his kisses.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement, “you’re making it really hard for me to leave right now.”

You swallowed, your hands gripping his tunic, not trusting yourself to say anything without betraying just how much you wanted him to stay.

Tom exhaled sharply, as if trying to steady himself. Then, with a mischievous smirk, he leaned in, his lips grazing your ear. “Tonight,” he whispered, “I’m going out with the cast to a club.”

You blinked, still dazed from everything that just happened. “A club?”

He pulled back slightly, tilting his head to study you. “Yeah,” he said, watching your reaction closely. “And I want you to come.”

Your lips parted slightly in surprise. You never really went clubbing—not because you didn’t want to, but because it wasn’t exactly your scene. The loud music, the flashing lights, the press of bodies—it all seemed a little overwhelming.

Tom must’ve sensed your hesitation because his fingers brushed down your arm in a soothing touch. “Come on,” he coaxed, his voice low, persuasive. “It’s been a while since we’ve done something together outside of set visits and late-night movie marathons.”

You chewed your lip. “I don’t know, Tom…”

His smirk deepened, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he teased. “Afraid you won’t be able to keep your hands off me?”

Your breath hitched, heat rushing to your cheeks. “That’s not—”

Tom’s laughter was warm, rich, his fingers tilting your chin up so you couldn’t look away. “I’ll be at your place at nine,” he said confidently, as if your answer was already decided. “Wear something pretty for me.”

You swallowed, staring into those piercing blue eyes, the weight of his gaze making your knees feel weak. And despite every ounce of common sense telling you that going out with him, after everything that just happened, might be a terrible idea—you found yourself nodding.

Tom’s smirk softened. “That’s my girl.”

Before you could process the way your stomach flipped at those words, he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours once more.

This kiss was different.

It wasn’t the rushed, desperate collision from before, nor was it teasing and taunting like his words. This was slow—soft. Like he was savoring the moment, memorizing the feel of you, the warmth of your mouth against his.

His hands cradled your face gently, his thumbs stroking your cheeks as he kissed you deeply, tenderly, like he had all the time in the world.

You melted into him, fingers curling into his tunic, your heart hammering in your chest.

And when he finally pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours, he whispered, “I’ll see you tonight.”

Then, with one last lingering touch, he stepped back, leaving you sitting there—breathless, dazed, aching for more.

You sat in front of your vanity, running your fingers over the cool metal of your belly button piercing, a small smirk tugging at your lips. Tonight was different. Tonight, you weren’t the sweet, innocent girl who showed up on set in sundresses, bringing Tom his lunch like a doting best friend.

Tonight, you were going to drive him insane.

Your sparkly, backless top clung to you like a second skin, though it didn’t do much in terms of coverage. The fabric dipped scandalously low, barely containing the fullness of your breasts, and your black mini skirt hugged every curve, leaving little to the imagination. Your thick hair was lazily clipped up, allowing a few strands to frame your face in an effortlessly seductive way.

You took one last glance at yourself in the mirror, eyes flickering to the tiny dermal piercings on your lower back, the ones you had gotten a few months ago. Tom had never seen them. You had always worn dresses, always covered up—always played the part of his innocent best friend.

Not tonight.

The sound of a car pulling into your driveway made your heart race, anticipation crackling in the air. You stood, smoothing your skirt, and strode towards the front door, heels clicking against the floor.

When you pulled it open, Tom was standing there, one hand still gripping his car keys, his mouth slightly open, his blue eyes locked onto you like he had forgotten how to breathe.

You leaned against the doorframe, tilting your head, letting the warm glow from inside your apartment highlight every curve. “Hey,” you said, voice sweet, teasing.

Tom didn’t respond right away. His gaze traveled slowly, hungrily—from the delicate curve of your collarbone down to the swell of your breasts, lingering on the teasing dip of your top. His jaw clenched, lips parting like he wanted to say something, but no words came out.

You bit back a smirk. You had him.

“You’re staring,” you teased, stepping closer.

Tom blinked, inhaling sharply like he was snapping out of a trance. “What the fuck are you wearing?” His voice was rough, strained.

You feigned innocence, tilting your head. “A top?”

His gaze darkened. “That’s not a top, sweetheart.” His eyes flickered lower, to the exposed sliver of skin where your skirt sat low on your hips. And then—he saw it.

Your bellybutton piercing.

His reaction was immediate. His fingers twitched at his side, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. “Since when—?”

“A few months ago,” you answered casually, twirling a strand of hair around your finger. “And…” You turned slightly, just enough for the dim porch light to catch the subtle glint of the dermal piercings on your lower back. “These too.”

Tom cursed under his breath.

You bit your lip to hide your amusement, watching the way his hands clenched into fists, the tension in his body like a coiled spring ready to snap.

Then, suddenly, he stepped forward, his frame towering over yours, the scent of his cologne mixed with something unmistakably him making your head spin. He reached out, his fingertips grazing over the metal at your navel, barely touching, yet setting your skin ablaze.

“You’ve been hiding these from me,” he murmured, his voice dangerously low.

You shivered. “I wasn’t hiding them.”

Tom let out a humorless chuckle, his fingers sliding higher, ghosting along the exposed skin of your waist. “You really expect me to believe that?” His other hand came up, tracing along your spine where the dermal piercings sat. His touch was slow, torturous. “You walk around in those sweet little dresses, acting all innocent, and the whole time you had these?”

You swallowed, your breath catching in your throat. “I—”

His fingers pressed just a little harder, his gaze lifting to yours, intense and unyielding. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”

Your lips parted, heat curling low in your stomach at the way he was looking at you.

“I should make you change,” Tom muttered, his voice rough with something you couldn’t quite name. “Make you put on one of those pretty little dresses I’m used to seeing you in.” His fingers trailed lower, dangerously close to the curve of your ass. “Because if you walk into that club looking like this…” He exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. “I might just lose my fucking mind.”

A slow smile spread across your lips. “Maybe I want you to.”

Tom’s breath hitched, his grip tightening for the briefest moment before he let out a low, shaky chuckle.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning in, his lips barely an inch from yours. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

Oh, but you did.

And you weren’t done tempting him yet.

The moment you stepped into the club, you felt the weight of countless eyes on you. The low hum of music vibrated through your chest, neon lights casting seductive shadows over the dance floor.

You weren’t oblivious to the attention—you welcomed it. Every passing man let his gaze linger, some bolder than others, offering flirtatious smiles, appreciative glances, and murmured compliments as they passed by.

And every single one made Tom tense beside you.

You could feel the heat radiating off him, his hand firm on your lower back as he guided you toward the VIP section. His grip was possessive, almost warning, as if silently telling every man in the club to stay the hell away from you.

“Fucking hell,” Tom muttered under his breath as yet another man turned his head to stare.

You only smiled sweetly, tilting your head up at him. “What was that?”

Tom didn’t respond, but his fingers twitched against your skin, gripping you just a little tighter as he all but dragged you through the club. You couldn’t help but giggle, biting your lip at his obvious frustration.

By the time you reached the roped-off VIP section, Tom’s castmates had already spotted you. And their reactions were priceless.

Ewan nearly choked on his drink, his eyes going wide. “Bloody hell.”

Fabien let out a low whistle, dragging his gaze down your body. “Didn’t know you had this in you.”

Emma blinked in disbelief before breaking into a grin. “Damn, girl.”

You giggled, doing a little twirl, the sparkly fabric of your top catching the light, the movement causing your barely-contained breasts to bounce slightly. You heard someone—probably Fabien—mutter something under his breath, and Tom groaned beside you.

“Alright, that��s enough,” he grumbled, pulling you down onto the leather couch beside him.

You pouted, tilting your head. “What’s wrong?”

Tom shot you a look, eyes dark with something unreadable. “You know exactly what’s wrong.”

You feigned innocence, leaning in just a little closer. “Do I?”

His jaw tightened, and you could see the way his fingers flexed against his thigh, his restraint hanging by a thread. The others were watching, amused at the obvious tension crackling between you two.

Fabien smirked, taking a sip of his drink. “You sure you two are just best friends?”

Tom’s gaze snapped to him, sharp. “Shut up.”

Emma snickered, leaning over. “You know, if you’re not careful, Tom might just snap and take you right here.”

Heat pooled in your stomach at the idea, but you only laughed softly, nudging Tom playfully. “You wouldn’t do that, would you?”

Tom’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, his gaze dropping for a split second to the dangerous dip of your top before flickering back to your face. His voice was low, rough.

“Don’t test me, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitched.

Oh, but you would.

The chilled glass was smooth beneath your fingers as you took another sip of your drink, your lips tingling from the alcohol. You sat comfortably between Emma and Olivia, laughing softly at their conversation, pretending as if you couldn’t feel the weight of Tom’s stare burning into you from across the booth.

But you felt it. God, you felt it.

Every time you shifted, every time you adjusted your top, every time you ran your fingers along the rim of your glass—his gaze followed. Hot. Possessive.

You bit down a smirk, relishing in it.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, a bartender approached your table, setting down a fresh drink in front of you. You blinked in surprise, glancing up at him.

“This is from the gentleman at the bar,” he said, nodding over his shoulder.

Your gaze followed, landing on a tall man leaning against the counter, watching you with an easy smile. He lifted his own glass in acknowledgment.

Perfect.

You could practically hear Tom’s breath hitch.

Emma and Olivia exchanged a look, barely suppressing their grins, while Ewan and Fabien let out low whistles.

“Oh, he’s bold,” Olivia mused, arching a brow.

“Very bold,” Emma agreed.

But you? You only smiled sweetly, plucking a napkin from the table. You could feel Tom tense beside you, but you didn’t stop. Instead, you brought the napkin to your lips, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss against the soft fabric. A faint stain of your lipstick remained.

Then, without a word, you handed it back to the bartender.

“Give this to him,” you said, voice smooth, saccharine. The bartender chuckled, nodding before walking off, leaving the table in stunned silence.

And then—

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Tom’s voice was low, dark.

Emma and Olivia nudged each other, grinning like they were watching a live-action soap opera.

“Mate, I think she just signed your death warrant,” Fabien muttered, nudging Ewan, who was barely holding in his laughter.

Tom didn’t laugh.

No, he looked ready to explode.

His hand curled into a fist on the table, his jaw tight, his blue eyes locked onto you with something dangerous, something thrilling.

“You think that’s funny, sweetheart?” he murmured, voice deceptively soft.

You turned to him, batting your lashes innocently. “What?”

Tom leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “You know exactly what.”

Your stomach fluttered, but you kept your composure, tilting your head. “Oh? I was just being polite.”

Tom’s fingers suddenly brushed against your thigh beneath the table, tracing up the exposed skin before gripping it, hard. You gasped softly, but before you could react, he was leaning closer, his lips just shy of yours.

“I don’t like sharing,” he murmured.

Your breath hitched. “Who said you were?”

Tom smirked, his grip tightening. “Then you better start acting like it.”

The moment the man from the bar started walking toward your table, you knew things were about to get interesting.

You set your drink down, glancing at Tom from the corner of your eye. His entire body had tensed, fingers still gripping your thigh possessively beneath the table. You could feel the heat of his touch, the barely restrained anger simmering in his veins.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

The man—tall, confident, with an easy smirk—stopped in front of you. “Hey,” he greeted smoothly, his eyes flicking over you appreciatively before holding out his phone. “Can I get your number?”

Silence.

You blinked at him, barely processing his words because of the way Tom’s grip tightened around your waist. His fingers dug into the exposed skin above your skirt, firm and commanding, making your breath catch.

And then—

“Fuck off.”

The deep, rough command sent a shiver down your spine. Tom didn’t even look at the man. His focus was solely on you, his jaw locked, his expression dark with irritation.

The entire table went still. Emma coughed to hide their smirk, while Olivia outright grinned, nudging Fabien and Ewan.

“Damn,” Ewan muttered under his breath.

Your lips parted slightly, your breath hitching at the sheer possessiveness in Tom’s voice.

The man scoffed, shifting uncomfortably. “Mate, I wasn’t talking to you—”

“I don’t give a shit,” Tom cut him off, his voice like a blade. “She’s not interested. Now. Fuck. Off.” Your thighs pressed together at the sheer dominance in his tone.

God.

Just the way you liked it.

Just the way you imagined it.

Just like the dark romance novels you devoured, where the man never let anyone touch what was his.

The stranger huffed, clearly sensing the tension, and gave you one last glance before walking away. The second he was gone, Tom exhaled sharply, rubbing his thumb in slow, dangerous circles over your hip.

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” he murmured, voice low enough that only you could hear.

Your cheeks burned, but you refused to answer.

Tom chuckled darkly, his fingers trailing down, barely skimming the edge of your thigh. “You like it when I get possessive,” he mused, leaning closer until his lips nearly brushed your ear. “You’re turned on right now, aren’t you?”

You bit your lip, shifting slightly, and his grip tightened. The table erupted into conversation again, Emma and Olivia chatting animatedly, but you barely registered any of it.

Because Tom wasn’t done.

“Pressing your thighs together isn’t gonna help, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice dripping with amusement. “You know that, right?”

Your breath hitched.

He smirked, leaning back like nothing had happened, lifting his drink to his lips as if he hadn’t just completely unraveled you in a matter of seconds.

And you were absolutely, utterly doomed.

You barely made it past the cast’s sight before a strong hand grabbed your wrist, yanking you into the dimly lit corridor.

Your breath hitched, and before you could react, Tom had you pressed against the wall, his body flush against yours. The air left your lungs in a sharp gasp, but you didn’t get the chance to speak—because his lips crashed onto yours, hungry and almost angry.

A whimper escaped your throat.

God.

His kiss was possessive, raw, and desperate, all at once. His fingers tangled in your hair, pulling slightly, while his other hand gripped your waist like he was staking a claim. The rough fabric of his jacket brushed against your exposed skin, making you shiver.

You kissed him back just as desperately, your hands clutching his shoulders, pressing yourself against him.

He groaned at that.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips before biting down on your lower one, making you gasp.

His hand shot up, fingers wrapping gently—yet firmly—around your throat, tilting your head back. Your breath came in quick, shallow pants, and you felt his thumb brush over your racing pulse.

You were completely at his mercy.

“You like this?” His voice was deep, rough, almost taunting. His lips ghosted over your jaw, down to your ear. “You like me like this?”

You swallowed thickly, your body betraying you with a soft whimper.

He smirked.

“Possessive?” He bit at your earlobe before dragging his lips down your neck, sucking lightly, making you arch into him. “Jealous?” His grip on your waist tightened. “Dominant?”

You exhaled shakily, your nails digging into his shirt.

“Answer me,” he murmured, voice dark and commanding.

Your lips parted, but your voice was barely above a whisper. “Yes.”

That was all he needed.

His mouth was on yours again in a heartbeat, devouring you. His hands roamed your body, squeezing, teasing, claiming. You felt dizzy, completely consumed by him.

Somewhere in the haze, you heard laughter and music from the club, the bass vibrating through the walls—but in this moment, in this dimly lit corridor, there was only Tom.

And you never wanted it to end.

You had imagined this moment a thousand times.

Every time you curled up with one of your dark romance novels, every time you read about a man who was possessive, jealous, claiming what was his—you had imagined him.

Tom.

And now, god, now he was fulfilling your darkest fantasies.

His grip on your chin was firm, his thumb brushing over your parted lips before pressing inside. You didn’t even hesitate—you wrapped your lips around it, sucking lightly, keeping your eyes locked on his.

His pupils dilated, his jaw tensed.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice dropping lower, rougher. “You love this, don’t you?”

You whimpered around his thumb, nodding slightly.

He smirked, slow and dangerous.

“Of course you do,” he murmured, dragging his thumb out from your mouth, trailing the wet pad down your chin, your throat, between the valley of your breasts. “My sweet little best friend isn’t as innocent as she pretends to be, huh?”

You felt heat coil low in your stomach, your thighs clenching together at his words.

Tom noticed.

His eyes darkened, and he pressed his thigh between yours, making you gasp. “Don’t think I didn’t see you pressing your thighs together every time I looked at you tonight.” His fingers traced the edge of your barely-there top. “You wanted me like this.” You swallowed hard, nodding.

His lips curled into a smirk before he leaned down, his breath warm against your ear. “Say it.”

Your breath hitched.

“I wanted you like this,” you admitted in a whisper. Tom groaned, his grip on your waist tightening.

You weren’t sure which one of you moved first, but suddenly his mouth was on yours again, hungrier this time, more desperate. His hands roamed your body, exploring, teasing. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling slightly, making him grunt against your lips.

The hallway was empty, but you barely cared if someone walked in on you now.

All that mattered was him.

His possessiveness. His jealousy. His claim on you.

Tom’s fingers traced down your arm, slow and teasing, before finally settling at your wrist. His grip was firm but not forceful, just enough to make your breath hitch.

His smirk deepened. “Tell me, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice like silk laced with heat. “Have you ever touched yourself?”

Your cheeks burned. He already knew the answer—Tom could read you too well. But still, you hesitated, gnawing at your bottom lip before giving a small nod.

His eyes darkened. “And?”

You swallowed hard, your breath uneven. “Just… just my clit.”

The second the words left your lips, Tom let out a deep chuckle, his hand skimming along your waist, sending shivers down your spine.

“Of course,” he murmured, amused. “My innocent little doll, never even pushed her fingers inside.”

You gasped when he suddenly tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His thumb brushed over your lips, pressing against them lightly.

“Tonight,” he whispered, his voice a low promise, “I’m going to show you how it’s done.”

Your thighs clenched involuntarily, heat pooling in your stomach at his words. You could already imagine it—your wrists bound to his bed, his fingers deep inside you, coaxing sounds out of you that you didn’t even know you could make.

Tom chuckled, as if he could hear your thoughts.

“Already thinking about it, aren’t you?” he teased, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “You’re going to be so sweet for me. Letting me ruin you the way you’ve imagined.”

Your breath hitched.

You were still catching your breath, your body thrumming with lingering heat as you adjusted your outfit. The moment you stepped forward, ready to return to the VIP section. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as Tom’s palm landed on your ass, making you jolt in place. Your head snapped back toward him, eyes wide, but he only grinned, completely unbothered by his actions.

“Get back out there, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice dripping with amusement. “Before they start wondering what we’ve been up to.”

Your breath caught in your throat, face burning as he turned and sauntered toward the bar like nothing had happened. He was so damn frustrating.

You swallowed hard, smoothing your skirt as you forced yourself to walk back to your table. You could still feel his touch, the heat of his hand seared into your skin, making your thighs press together with each step.

The moment you sat down, all eyes were on you. Emma raised a brow, Olivia smirked behind her glass, and Ewan coughed to cover up a laugh.

“You were gone for a while,” Emma mused, stirring her drink.

You rolled your eyes, reaching for your glass. “I was in the bathroom,” you said smoothly.

The cast exchanged looks before bursting into laughter.

“And Tom?” Olivia asked, taking a slow sip of her drink, eyes twinkling with mischief.

You shrugged, feigning innocence. “Went to the bar.”

More laughter. Ewan shook his head. “Yeah, sure. You both just happened to disappear at the same time.” You shot him a glare, but the heat in your cheeks gave you away. Olivia leaned closer, voice low but teasing.

“Didn’t seem like you went to the bathroom when you walked in just now,” she smirked. “Looked more like a girl who just got thoroughly manhandled.”

Your stomach flipped at the words, at the memory of Tom’s hands—his possessiveness, his dominance, the way he whispered all those dark promises in your ear.

You quickly downed your drink, ignoring the way their laughter only grew.

The night had turned electric, the air thick with sweat, alcohol, and the bass thumping through the club. You were already tipsy, warmth buzzing through your veins, your body loose and carefree as Olivia tugged you toward the dance floor.

Laughter bubbled from your lips as Olivia spun you playfully, her hair whipping around as she swayed to the music. You followed her lead, rolling your hips, feeling the rhythm pulse through your body. You knew you had an audience.

Knew he was watching.

Your skin prickled under the weight of Tom’s gaze from the VIP section, his eyes never straying, never blinking. Even through the dim lighting and flashing strobes, you could see the way his jaw tightened, the grip on his glass turning white-knuckled as you moved.

You smirked to yourself, feeling bold, feeling dangerous. And then— A firm hand slid onto your waist.

You stiffened for only a second before turning, your drunken haze making you slow to react. It was him. The same man who had sent you the drink earlier, the one who had received your teasing napkin-kiss in return. He was closer now, much closer, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned in.

“You look like a dream,” he murmured, pressing in. You felt it—the undeniable hardness pressing against your lower back. Your stomach twisted, but not in discomfort. No, it was something else entirely.

Tom was watching.

You could feel his fury, taste the possessiveness bleeding through the air. You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or the thrill, but you giggled—just to push him further.

Tom’s reaction was immediate. The sharp sound of a glass slamming down. The scrape of a chair. A shadow moved through the crowd like a storm, dark and unstoppable.

Before you could blink, the warmth at your back was ripped away. A choked grunt, a stumble, then silence as the man was shoved hard, nearly toppling backward. Your breath hitched as you turned.

Tom was livid.

His chest was rising and falling, his nostrils flaring, his pupils blown wide with something primal, something unhinged. The flashing club lights cast sharp shadows across his face, making his clenched jaw look even sharper, his presence even more dangerous.

His fingers flexed at his sides, itching to do more damage. The man scowled, straightening. “What the fuck, mate—”

“Touch her again, and you won’t have hands left to fucking use,” Tom bit out, voice low, venomous.

A shiver danced down your spine. The man scoffed, his ego bruised, but the warning in Tom’s tone was enough to make him hesitate. With a final glare, he turned and disappeared into the crowd. You barely had time to react before Tom grabbed your wrist, dragging you through the sea of bodies.

“Tom—”

“You think this is funny?” he snapped, shoving you into a darkened corner of the club. The music still pounded around you, but here, it was just the two of you, lost in the shadows. Your breath was shaky, your heart pounding against your ribs.

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” Tom hissed, stepping closer, caging you in.

Your lips parted, but nothing came out. His fingers found your jaw, tilting your face up, his thumb pressing lightly against your lips.

“You like making me jealous, sweetheart?” he murmured, voice dropping to something even darker. “Like making me lose my fucking mind?”

Your stomach flipped, heat pooling low in your belly. His gaze dropped to your lips, then lower—to the way your chest rose and fell, the way your body reacted to him, completely at his mercy.

Then, slowly, he leaned in.

“You think you can tease me like that,” he whispered against your mouth, his breath hot, dangerous, “and walk away unpunished?”

Your pulse skyrocketed when Tom’s fingers dug into your waist, his grip firm—possessive. A warning and a promise all in one.

His lips barely brushed your ear as he leaned in, his breath warm, intoxicating. “I know exactly what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

“You love this, don’t you?” His voice was low, almost amused, but laced with something darker. He squeezed your waist harder, making you gasp. “You love pushing me, making me jealous, watching me lose control.”

Your breath hitched.

Tom’s smirk deepened as his other hand slid up, ghosting over the exposed skin of your back, fingers tracing the tiny dermal piercings that he’d only just discovered tonight. His thumb brushed over them, slow, teasing.

“Had these all along, huh?” He hummed, his voice dripping with something unreadable. “Hiding from me?”

You couldn’t find your voice, so you just bit your lip and nodded.

Tom exhaled sharply, his grip on your waist tightening as he pressed you further into the wall. “You know what I’ve learned from all those filthy little books you read?” he murmured, tilting his head as if deep in thought. “The girl—” He smirked, lips grazing your jaw, sending heat straight to your core. “She always—always—gets punished.”

Your pulse pounded in your throat.

He chuckled darkly. “And you,” his fingers slid lower, teasing the hem of your skirt, “you love being punished, don’t you, sweetheart?”

Your thighs clenched involuntarily.

Tom noticed.

His smirk turned predatory, his hands now gripping your hips with bruising force. “Spanking? A vibrator? Maybe even both?” he mused, his lips trailing down your neck, making you whimper.

Your head spun, body reacting before your mind could catch up.

Tom pulled back just enough to look at you, tilting your chin up so you met his gaze. His blue eyes were dark, filled with heat, with control.

“You want it, don’t you?” he murmured, thumb brushing over your lower lip. Your breath trembled as you nodded.

“Say it,” he demanded softly, but there was no mistaking the command in his voice.

You swallowed. “I—I want it.”

Tom hummed approvingly, his lips quirking into a smirk. “Good girl.”

And just like that, he stepped back, leaving you breathless, flustered, aching.

He grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers together. “Come on,” he murmured, eyes still dark with promise. “Let’s get out of here.”

Tonight, you were finally getting exactly what you craved.

The drive home was silent. But the air between you and Tom crackled with something heavy, something dark. You stole a glance at him—his grip on the steering wheel was tight, knuckles white, jaw clenched. He hadn’t said a word since leaving the club, but he didn’t need to. You could feel his fury. The possessiveness rolling off him in waves.

Your stomach twisted in anticipation. The second the car rolled to a stop in your driveway, Tom was out, slamming his door shut. Before you could even gather your thoughts, he was at your side, tugging your wrist firmly.

You gasped as he pulled you toward the house, unlocking the door in one swift motion before yanking you inside.

And then— You barely had time to breathe before he had you pinned against the wall, his body flush against yours, his lips crashing into yours with a force that stole your breath.

The kiss was angry, punishing, filled with all the frustration he’d been holding in all night. You whimpered, knees going weak, hands flying to grip his shoulders as he devoured you.

His hands roamed—possessive, demanding—fingers digging into your waist before sliding down to grip your ass, pulling you closer, forcing you to feel just how hard he was.

“You love pushing me, don’t you?” he growled against your lips, nipping at your lower one, making you gasp. “Letting some other man touch you, just to get a reaction out of me?”

His hand flew to your throat, gripping—not tight, just firm enough to remind you who was in control here. Your breath hitched.

Tom chuckled darkly. “Look at you,” he murmured, tilting your chin up with his thumb, forcing you to meet his gaze. His blue eyes burned into you, filled with something dangerous, something delicious. “Already so desperate for me.”

You swallowed hard, body betraying you as you arched into him, seeking more.

His smirk deepened.

“You need to be taught a lesson, sweetheart.” His voice was low, rough. “Need to learn what happens when you act like a little tease.” You bit your lip, nodding, breathless.

“Words.”

“I—I need it,” you whispered. Tom exhaled sharply, like he’d been holding back all night.

“That’s my girl.” And then—he lifted you, one arm hooking under your thighs as he carried you to the bedroom. Tonight, he was going to make sure you never dared to tease him again.

Tag List : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow @hayleythecannibal @ceoofglytchell @ashblooddragons @laedeviour @venusbyline

127 notes · View notes