#i want to turn my art room also to a play room

[passengerprincessblog]

“Breaking Point” ~ Pt 4 Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Warning: SMUT, NSFW, angst, arguments, sleepy oral? Idk.

Summary: When Lewis shows up unannounced at Y/N’s filming location and follows her back to her LA home, unresolved tensions boil over, sparking an intense argument that exposes the growing rift between them. As they clash over misunderstandings and unspoken resentments, Y/N struggles to hold her ground, refusing to melt under Lewis’s charm, even as he tries to bridge the distance in his own stubborn, unrelenting way.

The silence in the car is suffocating, thick with all the words left unsaid between us. We’re heading back to my house in LA, and the tension stretches like an invisible line, taut and fraying. Every time I glance his way, I catch Lewis staring, his gaze heavy, filled with something that feels like disappointment or maybe just frustration.

It’s strange having him here, in my city, in my space. He’s never part of this life—my world where I’m more than his girlfriend, more than a footnote in his racing saga. Today, he got a glimpse of me with my crew, laughing, bantering, a side of myself he barely knows. A side that doesn’t revolve around him. And maybe that’s why this hurts so much. He’s so supportive of everything about me… except this. My career. The one thing that pulls me away from him.

I feel his hand settle on my thigh, his fingers warm against my skin. Instinctively, irritation flares up. I want to shove him off, to shake his hand away, but I don’t. I know it’ll only set him off, and I’m too tired for another argument. Instead, I focus on the passing streets, letting the city lights blur together, pretending not to notice his fingers tracing idle circles. He reaches over, grabbing my hand, playing with the rings on my fingers like I’m his personal stress toy. The sensation is grounding, sure, but also infuriating. Does he even realize how invasive this feels? How much he takes from me without even realizing it?

When we finally arrive at my house, I pull away the second the car stops, sliding out and thanking James, my driver, with a quick “Goodnight.” Lewis lingers, watching me with that unreadable gaze, like he’s studying me. I feel exposed, as if I’m a stranger he’s trying to understand, trying to fit into some mold that doesn’t really exist. It’s clear he’s not used to seeing me here, in LA, in the life that belongs to me.

I walk up the steps to my front door, feeling his presence right behind me. My house is beautiful—sprawling, a mix of modern LA glamour and Spanish-style architecture, spacious and luxurious. It’s mine, yet not entirely mine. After all, it’s Lewis who pays for it. I hadn’t wanted his money in the beginning, fought him on it, but he insisted, saying that rejecting his help felt like rejecting him. So here I am, living in this house he gifted me, a reminder of his presence even when he’s not here.

I unlock the door and step inside, throwing my keys on the table in the foyer. The house is decorated to my taste—soft hues, eclectic art pieces, warm textures that make it feel like home, my sanctuary. I walk into the living room, hearing his footsteps close behind me. He glances around, taking in the space, a look of faint surprise on his face.

“Wow… did you change it?” he asks, looking genuinely intrigued.

I shrug, not bothering to hide my irritation. “Not really… well, kind of.” I don’t give him much more. He hasn’t been here in nearly a year. Of course he wouldn’t remember.

He huffs, following me up the stairs, his footsteps deliberate, like he’s pushing through the tension hanging between us. I can feel the irritation rolling off him, the way he’s holding himself back, and it makes me want to push even harder.

“Are you gonna be like this all night? Y/N?” he says, his tone laced with barely restrained frustration.

I reach the top of the stairs and turn to face him, crossing my arms. “Yes.”

His jaw clenches, and he lets out a frustrated sigh. “Why can’t you have a normal conversation with me? Why is that so hard?”

I roll my eyes, throwing my hands up. “It’s not a ‘normal’ conversation, Lewis.” I can’t hold back anymore. “I can’t believe you just showed up like that,” I blurt out, the annoyance bubbling over.

His eyes narrow as I open the door to my bedroom, stepping into the softly lit space. My room is intimate, filled with small decorations and touches that feel so personal, so me. It’s like a slap in the face to him, a reminder that he doesn’t see my life like this enough, that he doesn’t really know this part of me.

“Because I love you? Because I wanted to surprise you? And support you?” he scoffs, almost as if my irritation is absurd.

I throw my bag at the end of my bed, barely glancing at him. “Okay… well, thanks. You can go now… I’m so surprised and supported. Mission accomplished.” My tone is dripping with sarcasm. “You can go back to your life.”

He stares at me, his eyes flashing with anger, a dangerous edge simmering beneath the surface. “Don’t talk to me like that. I’m trying.”

“Cool. I’m so impressed… you’re so impressive. Mr. champion, millionaire, stupid playboy. Is that what you want? Me to praise you for your attempt? You’re so fucking amazing, Lewis!” My voice rises, my irritation finally spilling out in sharp, pointed words.

He takes a step toward me, his gaze dark and intense. “You’re really pushing it. You know what I mean… I’m trying to make you feel loved. What’s wrong with you?”

“You’re what’s wrong.” I snap back, feeling the weight of my resentment boiling over. “Just leave now. I know you’re gonna leave in the morning anyway… with your stupid race on Sunday.”

He sighs, exasperated but unwilling to give up. “I don’t have to leave until Wednesday night,” he says, his tone hardening as he steps closer. “I’m staying.”

I roll my eyes, brushing past him into my bathroom. “No. Just leave.”

He follows me, his voice low and demanding as he steps into the room behind me. “I said…” he grabs my arm, pulling me toward him, his hand firm on my chin as he tilts my face to look at him. “I’m staying.”

My stomach flips, a mix of nerves and something else swirling inside me as I meet his intense gaze. His eyes are smoldering, his jaw tight, and I can feel the determination radiating off him, daring me to challenge him.

“Fine,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper, trying to sound annoyed.

He lets go of my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek in a gentle, almost tender gesture that makes my heart ache. I can tell he wants more, that he’s craving some kind of reassurance, something from me, but I can’t bring myself to give in. Not yet.

He starts to step back, but I turn to the mirror, trying to compose myself, pretending his presence doesn’t affect me as much as it does. But he doesn’t move far; instead, he leans against the counter, his gaze fixed on me.

“Give me a kiss,” he says softly, his tone almost pleading.

I glare at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“Give me a kiss…” he repeats, his voice coaxing, insistent.

I continue to glare, refusing to budge, letting the silence stretch.

“Y/N…” he murmurs, his tone dipping, a hint of something darker beneath it. “I’ll be getting a lot more than a kiss when we get to bed, so you better just give me one now.”

I furrow my brow, stubbornly refusing to indulge him. “You’re not forgiven. You don’t get a kiss… and you don’t get to stay in my room.”

He groans, rubbing his eyebrows in frustration. “Oh my god. You’re such a brat. Why are you like this? I’m trying to fix things.”

“They aren’t fixed. Leave me alone,” I mutter, turning back to the mirror, focusing on brushing my hair, anything to avoid the pull of his gaze.

He steps closer, his expression softening, and he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to my cheek. “I love you, baby girl. Please… stop being like this.”

I narrow my eyes, knowing exactly what he’s doing. He’s trying to be all soft and sweet, pulling at my heartstrings, hoping I’ll melt and give in. But it’s not going to work. Not this time.

“Goodnight. The guest bedroom is perfect for you,” I say, flashing him a sarcastic smile.

He glares at me, his expression hardening in irritation. With a heavy sigh, he finally turns and leaves, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the hall, leaving me alone with the hollow ache that always seems to linger when he’s gone.

It’s late—sometime in the early hours, I’m sure—and I’ve barely settled into sleep when the faint sound of my bedroom door clicking shut pulls me out of my dreams. I stay still, eyes closed, hoping it’s just my imagination. But then I feel the bed shift, the mattress sinking slightly as a familiar warmth slips in beside me.

A heavy arm drapes over my waist, and I instinctively make a soft, annoyed sound, shifting away, but he just tightens his grip, pulling me back. His presence is warm, enveloping, and for a moment, I consider giving in, letting his touch soothe the tension between us. But I can’t quite shake my irritation, even through the haze of sleep.

“Baby… baby girl… shh…” His voice is soft, a gentle murmur as he leans in, pressing feather-light kisses along my neck and cheek. Each kiss is an apology, a quiet plea, and I can feel his regret seeping into each touch.

I hum in response, somewhere between annoyance and surrender, too drowsy to put up much of a fight. His hand slips under my shirt, his fingers gliding over my skin in slow, soothing circles, as if he’s trying to coax the tension out of me, to ease the edges of my frustration.

“I’m so sorry, baby girl…” he whispers, his breath warm against my skin. “I love you so much… please don’t be mad at me.”

The sincerity in his voice tugs at something deep within me, a part of me that’s been holding onto my anger, but now feels it starting to crumble. I want to hold onto it, to let him know how much he’s hurt me, but his gentle touch, the warmth of his apology, makes it hard to keep the walls up.

I sigh, barely able to form a coherent response, the words slipping out in a quiet murmur. “Lewis…”

His fingers trail lower, caressing the curve of my hip before slipping beneath the waistband of my panties. I squirm at the intimate touch, a shiver running through me despite my lingering irritation. His hand settles between my thighs, and I can't help but part them slightly, allowing him access.

"Let me make it up to you, baby girl," he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. "Let me show you how much I love you."

I'm too sleepy to protest, the warmth of his touch lulling me back towards unconsciousness. My body responds to him, a soft moan escaping my lips as his fingers begin to move, stroking me gently, coaxing me towards arousal.

"That's it, baby," he whispers encouragingly. "Just relax for me. Let me take care of you."

His words wash over me, soothing and seductive, and I feel myself melting into his touch. My hips begin to move of their own accord, squirming against his hand as he works me closer and closer to the edge.

I'm lost in a haze of pleasure, the earlier argument fading away as his skillful fingers bring me to the brink of climax. Just as I'm about to fall over the edge, he withdraws his hand, leaving me frustrated and wanting more.

"Lewis..." I whine, my voice thick with need.

He chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through his chest as he shifts position. "Not yet, baby girl. I'm not done apologizing."

With that, he moves down the bed, settling between my legs. I feel his breath ghosting over my sensitive flesh, and I can't suppress the moan that escapes my lips. He looks up at me, his eyes dark with desire, before he leans in, his tongue sliding over me in one long, slow lick.

I gasp, my fingers tangling in his hair as he begins to work me with his mouth, his tongue delving deep, stroking me in all the right places.

He continues his ministrations, his tongue swirling around my clit, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through my body. I can feel myself getting wetter.

"Fuck, Lewis," I moan, my hips squirming against his face. "Don't stop."

He obliges, doubling down on his efforts, his tongue delving deeper, his lips sucking harder. My fingers tighten in his hair, holding him in place as I grind against his mouth, chasing my release.

"You taste so fucking good, baby girl," he groans, the vibrations of his voice sending shockwaves of pleasure through me. "I could eat this pretty little pussy all night."

His words are filthy, but they only serve to turn me on more, spurring me towards my impending climax. I can feel it building, a coil of tension in my lower belly, winding tighter and tighter with each flick of his tongue.

"Lewis, I'm gonna... I'm gonna," I pant, my body tensing, my thighs quivering around his head.

He doesn't relent, his mouth working me feverishly, his tongue flicking rapidly over my clit, pushing me over the edge. I come with a cry, my back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crash over me.

He laps it me up eagerly, prolonging my orgasm until I'm a trembling, boneless mess beneath him. Only then does he pull away, crawling back up my body to claim my lips in a deep, passionate kiss, sharing the taste of my own arousal with me.

"I love you, baby girl," he murmurs against my lips, his eyes shining with adoration.

I whimper slightly, the fleeing still lingers. I look at him as I become fully awake. Is he serious? Only Lewis would try this…

“‘Mmm…” I hum in response, not giving him the satisfaction of saying it back. He’s not forgiven, not matter how good he makes me feel.

His eyebrows furrow at me as he looks down at me. He sighs heavily, looking and sounding annoyed. He lays down next to me, cuddling close. I close my eyes… I’ll let him stay the here.

————————————-

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Let me know what you think should happen next?!

[bloominheresy]

After being inspired by Kj's Band AU months back, I have decided to also throw my hat into the rink! (👉ﾟヮﾟ)👉

I only have Narinder and Leshy's streetwear designed so far, but anyways!! Lore drop time YYYYEAAAAH

An Eternal Vessel for a Voice AU ( Bishops ):

Legally recognized foster family, all used to live in one house until a few years prior to the current timeline

Shamura the eldest sibling, estimated 35 yrs old, is the founder of their own rapidly growing tech company. They used to be a super popular anonymous producer online but retired to pursue the challenge of technological innovations + support their siblings as the main breadwinner of the family

Kallamar (30-ish) used to work at a private clinic as a doctor and also supported the household, but has since parted from the household to watch over Heket

Heket at her early twenties is currently touring the lands and is a well-renowned vocalist known for her deep and powerful growls and control (think Ado!); doesn't want to return home just yet in order to heal from the rift caused by a certain event

Leshy (18) is still a high schooler on his last year; one of those 'stupidly smart without studying' type of kids who has too much free time on his hands and uses it to indulge himself in art and anime weeb stuff HAHAHA he got gifted a drawing tablet by Kallamar for his birthday and has been obsessed in exploring the art medium

Narinder (24) finished college a few years back, but a certain event made him a social shut-in for a while, taking care of the house now instead and being the only sibling Leshy loves to constantly annoy since Shamura often comes home late and barely has time to stay for the weekends. He has a great passion for music producing thanks to Shamura's influence growing up and has been using his spare time at home to hone his craft and post his work online

They all have social media accs Twitter Narinder and Leshy's mascots / pfps uses their crowns; Leshy is actually the artist for many of Narinder's album covers and music videos and is often seen bantering online on the TL even if they're literally in the same house most of the time 💀

This one is just self-indulgent and projecting but Narinder loathes the idea of socializing in order to collab with other online musicians so he forced himself to learn how to play the piano so that he could just use VSTs (virtual instruments) instead to cover all other parts his songs would need BWAHAHAHA ( I wish I knew how to play piano for the same reason :') )

Adding onto here some more Nari and Leshy-specific hcs:

Magic doesn't exist in this Modern AU, so Narinder's eyes are an olive green, and his third eye has been replaced with an oddly symmetrical scar he got from an accident years back

Leshy's social media handle (@chervx888_) is based on the romanized spelling of worm in Russian, while all the 8's are meant to represent a lot of eyes

Leshy has once bursted into Narinder's room, phone in hand, to proclaim with his volume turned up to eleven: "BRO, BABY GRONK JUST CALLED OUT THE RIZZLER TO FIGHT HIM IN THE BOXING RING"

Leshy is really REALLY nearsighted but refuses to wear the prescription glasses he was given since it looks "uncool" to his classmate friend group consisting of the Darkwood mini bosses

—

Be warned that I need to add another set of woody horns on Leshy to match his sprite... but. BUT- what if... the third set starts growing out or something later down the line.... (no clie, just add the third set instead doubling down)

Anyways, this AU is meant to reference popular JP entertainment media online! NicoDouga, Vtubers, Vocaloid, Utaites, JPop, and much more!

[jazzzzzzhands]

I drew a Phoebe sticker!

I'm dedicating a page to her!

I also drew a Wander sticker so I can dedicate a page for him!

[shimmershy]

Frisk Month Day 1: Good Morning!

I don't care that I'm late because I GOT IT DONE, I'm so proud of myself.

[sysig]

maybe you should doodle however many or few starcon/helix/damned characters as you like (in human or alien form) in cute halloween costumes! imagine... ZEX dressed up as Ariel thelittlemermaid...

Day 26 - "I hadn't realized humans also had aquatic subcultures!" "Oh, well, uhm..."

[widowshill]

— Are you sure Burke wants to buy Collinwood? — Yes, he said so. I'm just afraid it's only the beginning of what he wants.

[lawlietscaramels]

I get really chatty at this time for some reason. it's like the very end of the day for me and very few people are active

[sunsburns]

good luck, babe!

pairing: tashi duncan x fem!reader x patrick zweig x art donaldson

summary: patrick zwieg invites tashi duncan and art donaldson to join him at your engagement party. you think they came to celebrate you and your new chapter and put the past behind you, rebuilding lost friendships, but tashi hopes to stop you from marrying a man you never wanted.

—or: the trio crashes your engagement party

word count: 10k+ (i have a serious problem)

contains: SMUT 18+, smut with a lot of plot, post-challengers movie, fluff & comfort, angst, tashi’s pov but lowkey get's mixed up around the end, foursome, oral (fem receiving), oral (m receiving), p in v, unprotected sed (wrap it before yall tap it), homewrecking, cheating but also not cheating but also a worse third thing, three-way make out, four-way make out, dom!tashi, patrick being nasty, art being a loser, no use of y/n, situationship that lasts 13 years.

author’s note: this fic is based on this request with inspo from the greatest song on earth: good luck, babe! it was supposed to be a quick smut blurb but at this point, you all know i can’t write smut without some kind of angsty plot. everyone is super messy and there is some of the dirtiest smut i’ve written so far (it’s only going to get worse from here). this one is a roller coaster.

It didn't make sense to any of them, how you could've possibly ended up with him. 

Tashi remembered him from Stanford vividly. He came from a white-collared family, with daddy's money that bought him everything he could've ever asked for, yet he still wanted more. He played golf and polo and even dabbled with tennis but never had enough guts or skill to take it seriously. But his dad funded most of the programs and events at the school, so everyone had known him, his charm, his family, and his inability to stick to one thing even outside of sports. He clung onto a new girl every other week, a new girl wrapped around his finger only to be ultimately tossed aside like the rest of them.

"What a dick," Tashi remembered you saying once, stabbing your fork into your salad while glaring daggers at him from across the cafeteria as he bragged loudly to his fan club about how he beat you in a game of tennis. 

Which he didn't. 

You let him win. 

His parents had been paying you to coach him, paid you extra every time you let him win a set or two against you, even if it was off the record. God knows you needed the money.

"I think I'm gonna quit." You said, turning back to glance at Tashi.

"About damn time," she snickered, shaking her head. "I told you you're wasting your time with him when you could be doing something better. Like training with me."

You had rolled your eyes and poked her arm with your fork, "If I'm still trailing after him this time next week, shoot me in the head and put me out of my misery."

Almost thirteen years later, you're walking around with his ring on your finger at your engagement party. A party where your fiancé announced your upcoming retirement after a tennis career run that Tashi would’ve killed for: a six-time US Open winner; two-time gold medalist at the Olympics; and brand deals that would ensure you and the next four generations of your family lived happily under your trust fund.

Clearly, you weren't marrying him for his money.

It made Tashi anxious, because, in some way, she could see that the marriage you will have with your fiancé is far too similar to how Tashi's would have been if she and Patrick stayed together. 

Okay, maybe that was a reach.

Or maybe it's how it would've been if neither of you had gone up to Art and Patrick's hotel room that night. Or maybe it would've been Tashi's ring on your finger instead.

She couldn't shake the bitter taste in her mouth as she watched you laugh with him, your eyes lighting up in the way they always did when you were truly happy. It used to be her who made you smile like that. She remembered the late-night practices, the shared victories, and the quiet moments shared in the comfort of her dorm room. She remembered the promises you both made and dreams of dominating the tennis world together.

But she shouldn't dwell on the past, she shouldn't think about what-ifs. At least that's what Art tells her with a hand on her shoulder. Tashi glances at his hand, noting the wedding band that rests on his finger. The squeeze he gives is meant to be reassuring, but instead, it feels suffocating.

"I'll never know how he bagged her," Patrick tuts from her other side, a drink already in his hand. He holds it close to his mouth, biting the rim of the glass before taking a swig, his eyes never leaving you. His gaze is shameless, tracing the way your dress hugs your curves, how your hair shines under the chandelier lights, and the way your lips move as you speak.

"Lucky, lucky man..." Patrick shakes his head, a bitter edge to his voice.

A waiter passes by, offering hors d'oeuvres, and Patrick takes enough for the three of them for himself, setting his empty glass on the platter. As he stuffs an appetizer in his mouth, he begins to walk away, his eyes fixed on you.

"Where do you think you're going?" Art asks, his hand slipping from Tashi's shoulder.

Patrick spins around, mouth full, and shrugs. "To congratulate the future bride."

Art and Tashi stand there, watching, almost dumbfounded when they see Patrick sneak up behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle and lifting you into the air. You shriek, champagne spilling from your glass, but once you see who it is, a wide smile breaks across your face.

"Patrick!" Tashi can hear you from across the hall. Patrick lifts you again, hoisting you into the air. You wrap your arms around his shoulders as he spins you around, your laughter ringing out—a sweet melody that draws the attention of everyone nearby. "You made it!"

Tashi feels a pang of surprise. 

You and Patrick had been in closer contact than she imagined. It stings, a reminder of the distance that had grown between you after her injury, much like the distance that had grown between Art and Patrick. She never knew you had turned to Patrick for comfort. Though it made sense—Patrick was the one you invited, not her, not Art. Patrick was the one who had to ask if he could bring two guests instead of the traditional plus-one. 

But surely, you must have known that if you invited Patrick, Tashi and Art would come too, right? 

Right? 

The question churns a pit of dread in her stomach as Art starts to lead her closer to you out of courtesy.

Patrick's arms are wrapped tightly around your torso, his hand resting too low to be innocent, but you seem happy nonetheless. Happier in Patrick's arms than in the arms of your future husband. You embrace him close, the ring on your finger glimmering under the chandelier lights as you hold onto the back of his neck, your laughter finally subsiding as the spinning stops.

As Tashi and Art approach, the reality of the situation hits her harder. She's watching from the outside, a spectator to your happiness, feeling the sting of what could have been. She forces a smile; your engagement to the worst person in the world can't possibly be the thing that makes her break. Not after everything she's built since she started coaching.

Art tries to catch your eye, offering a polite smile once you let go of Patrick. "Hey."

"Hi," you say breathlessly, a bright smile across your face while Patrick swings his arm over your shoulder. You seem happy, almost relieved that Tashi and Art were here as if you doubted their attendance. "Wow, it's been so long. You guys look great."

"Thanks," Tashi finally says, the words weighing on her tongue like lead.

"You look beautiful," Art tells you, and it's rushed as if he's been trying to keep it to himself but couldn't help it once he was close enough to you.

Before you can get a word out, another arm wraps around your waist, discreetly pushing Patrick away from you to slide into your side. Patrick lets out an annoyed groan, stepping aside as your fiancé squeezes you tightly and says, "She does, doesn't she? Hey, killer."

You turn to him, about to say something, maybe greet him back, maybe introduce him to everyone. But he doesn't let you, he's leaning closer until his lips lock with yours. It takes you by surprise—you flinch at first before finally letting him kiss you properly, his hand cupping the back of your neck, pushing you as close to him as humanly possible.

Art lets out a low, awkward sigh while watching it happen before him, and Patrick rolls his eyes, stepping back in search of a waiter for another drink.

He holds onto you like you're a prize he's won. Almost as if he's been competing with everyone in the world to finally hold you and show you off. As if that's all you had to offer.

You blink, clearly embarrassed, as you clear your throat to disperse the awkward tension in the air. "These are some, uh," you stumble over your words before nodding towards Art, Tashi, and Patrick, "some old friends from college. I'm sure you remember—"

He's interrupting you again, reaching out with the hand that's not on you to shake Tashi's hand. He holds it tightly, his thumb pressing against her wedding ring. "Tashi Duncan, how could I ever forget? Still beautiful as ever."

She has to force herself to smile, for your sake. "Good to see you too—"

"You know," your fiancé starts, cutting her off, "I still remember the time you told me to suck a bag of dicks 'cause I took up your court time. Best day of my life."

"Yeah," Patrick laughs. He's found another glass of champagne to sip on, and it's by his lips when he says, "who doesn't love getting cussed out by Tashi."

You wince. "Patrick—"

"No, no. He's right. It's one out of a million. I took it as a compliement," your fiancé says, glancing at Tashi again, his eyes darting up and down, lingering on her wedding ring once more before she finally pulls her hand out of his grasp. He spots the arm Tashi has been clinging to. "Art Donaldson, I'm a big fan."

Art stiffens as if taken by surprise. "Really?"

Your fiancé is nodding, and when Art glances your way for a split second, he tugs you closer. "You're incredible. Watching you play, it's like, woah! He's killin' it out there. Too bad you've retired though, would've loved to see you play longer."

There's a faint redness to Art's face when he nods. "Oh, thank you."

"I've always wondered if I'd turn out the way you did if I stuck to tennis." Then he laughs, nudging your side. "If only this one put me to work like Tashi did to you, maybe we would've competed in the US Open a few times."

You snort and shake your head, the idea of watching the two of them even standing on the court together amusing you. "You couldn't beat Art if you tried."

Your fiancé shrugs. "Maybe Patrick."

"Stop kidding yourself. You can't even beat your nephew and he's twelve."

He hums, turning so that he'll face you. He holds your waist with both hands, caressing you gently. "You sure know your way into a man's heart, baby," he says lowly before kissing you again. It's rough and messy, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth. You shriek and press your hands against his chest. He doesn't let go immediately, peeking a glance towards the trio while kissing you.

Tashi feels a knot of disgust tightening in her stomach. The audacity of him to touch you like that in front of them, as if he’s marking his territory, sets her blood boiling just a little bit. God, did no one teach this guy any kind of etiquette?

She catches Art's expression out of the corner of her eye—his jaw is clenched as he turns to look away. Patrick's lips curl in a sneer, the glass in his hand trembling slightly. He fights the urge to throw it.

Your fiancé reaches down and gropes your ass over your silky white dress before finally separating from you.

You stand there, looking flushed and embarrassed, letting him whisper something in your ear before he walks off, joining a group of men who whistle and catcall at him as he nears them. Each jeer and hoot feels like a slap to the face.

"Uh, sorry," you apologize, unable to meet their eyes as you blindly wipe at your chin to fix your lipstick. "That was... I don't know what's gotten into him. He's not usually like this. He's, uh... he's great."

Patrick scoffs, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah, real great."

Tashi can’t help but frown, her heart aching as she watches you fumble. "You can't possibly want to marry him," she wants to say, but the words get stuck in her throat. She can't bear to hear the answer, especially if it's the one she fears.

Art steps forward, his face a careful mask of neutrality. "If you’re happy," he says, but there's an edge to his tone, a challenge. The unspoken words hang heavily in the air: "Are you?"

You nod quickly, too quickly, as if trying to convince yourself as much as them. "Sure, sure. I mean, what’s not to be happy about? His family loves me. I'm retiring this year, and gonna spend more time with my family. Hopefully more time with some old friends?"

"Old friends?" Tashi repeats, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. The casual way you say it, as if years of distance and silence can be bridged with a few meetings, stings more than she cares to admit.

"Yeah, before I get busy with the baby."

"Baby?" Patrick's voice is sharp, almost disbelieving. "You’re pregnant?"

"What? No!" You quickly sputter, shaking your head. Then you pause, a thought crossing your mind and you lighten up a little bit, a hopeful smile gracing your face, "But I do want kids one day. I want three."

"Does he want kids?"

"We've talked about it, but he shuts it down all the time."

"You poor thing." Patrick puffs out, pinching your arm before reaching for your hand and leading you toward the bar. "Let's bring this conversation outside, ladies. I need a smoke. And you all need a drink stronger than his champagne."

The idea of fresh air and a strong drink is appealing. After grabbing a bottle of finely aged wine, the four of you make your way to the garden outside the grand hall. The shift from the stuffy indoor atmosphere to the cool night air is a relief. 

The moonlight casts a silvery glow over the meticulously maintained garden, illuminating the path with a soft, ethereal light. You glow in your pretty white dress, the fabric shimmering as you take a seat on a patch of grass near the rose bushes. The scent of roses mingles with the crisp night air, creating a tranquil yet poignant backdrop. You glance up at the three of them who stand there, watching you.

Tashi raises a brow as you take a long swig of the wine. She didn't remember you to be much of a drinker. 

"It's not that big of a deal," you say, passing her the bottle when she finally sits next to you. 

It's as if her movement had woken the two guys and then Art takes a seat on your other side while Patrick lies down on the grass a few feet away to light a cigarette. 

You pout, "If he doesn't want kids, then we won't have kids."

"But you want kids," Tashi reminds you, but it's more of a question as if she's wondering if that's truly what you want. Don't get her wrong, Tashi loves being a mother, she would kill anyone for Lily, but you wanting kids barely before confirming your retirement threw her off a little bit.

"Of course I do." You hiccup, reaching for the bottle again. "I'm not getting any younger. It's just... he'll come around."

"And if he doesn't?" Art asks, his voice gentle but probing.

"Can we not talk about that right now? I just want to get shitfaced and party."

"Now we're talkin'!" Patrick interjects, his grin wide as he takes a drag from his cigarette. The embers glow briefly in the dark.

"Come on, everybody gather." Patrick flicks his cigarette off to the rocky pathway and snags the bottle from Art's hands. He raises it, nodding at you with that same smirk he's had for years. Snarky, cocky, and yet endearing. "To celebrate new beginnings. Even if your future husband's a dick and can't make you cum nearly half as hard as I can. Good luck, babe."

The rest of you all make a noise of annoyance, rolling your eyes. "Seriously?"

"Shut the fuck up, Patrick," Art scoffs, though there's a faint smile tugging at his lips as you let a giggle slip out past your fake annoyance.

Patrick's smile only widens at the sound of his friends' protests. It reminds him of the good old years when his biggest worry was which shorts he'd wear to his next game. "Cheers!"

As the bottle is passed around, Tashi can't help but feel a pang of nostalgia mixed with bitterness. The comradery of the past clashes painfully with the reality of the present. Is this how things are going to be like now? Is this night a call for a truce, waving the white flag so that all of you could be friends again, now as adults, making plans for brunch and getting the kids together for birthday parties?

You take another sip from the bottle, your gaze drifting towards the moonlit sky. "To new beginnings," you repeat softly, though the hope in your voice is tinged with uncertainty.

Tashi leans back, her eyes lingering on you, a mix of longing and regret pooling in her heart. Art sits quietly beside her, lost in his thoughts, while Patrick’s laughter rings out, masking deeper sentiments beneath his forced cheerfulness. The chatter and music from the hall spill into the garden, the warm lights casting a golden glow over the scene. Patrick talks animatedly about the seasons he thinks he has left in him, and to Tashi's annoyance, you encourage him.

She shakes her head at the way Patrick's eyes light up, glancing at her with a knowing look. Despite her irritation, she can't deny the comfort of slipping back into their old dynamic.

Suddenly, Art hums thoughtfully. He has been mostly quiet, listening to the conversation with occasional quiet laughs. Now, as he puts down the empty bottle of wine, he looks at you, his eyes more alive than they have been in a long time. "I had a burger for the first time in years," he announces, a smile spreading across his face as if he is proud of it.

You gasp, perking up as you reach over to hold his hands. "How was it?"

"Amazing," Art says fondly, "like heaven inside a bun."

"You should've seen him," Tashi smirks, shoulder to shoulder with Patrick, playfully kicking Art. "He was drooling just looking at the menu."

He rolls his eyes, "I wasn't drooling." When you fall silent, he looks at you again, frowning. "You haven't had one in a while, have you?"

You shake your head, "No, I think the last time I had one was when we graduated."

Patrick scoffs, "Bullshit."

You laugh, "It's true! I've been very strict with my diet. And now that I've retired... I don't know..." You shrug, suddenly getting shy as Art starts tracing stars against the back of your hand. "There are so many options, I wouldn't know where to start."

"It doesn't have to be anything fancy," Tashi says.

"Pretty sure I saw an old diner on the way here," Patrick suggests. He stands, stretching and groaning before bending over to take Tashi's hand and help her up.

You sputter, watching them all start to stand before you. "Shut up, we're not driving, you're drunk."

"But sober enough to see how badly you want this," Patrick teases, waving a finger near your face and smirking. "You're drooling."

"No, I'm not!"

"Sure you are," Art joins in, pulling you up to your feet. He swipes a thumb at your chin, "Look right there, by your lip."

"Oh," Tashi grins, "I see it."

"Shut up, Tash, no you don't." The words fall from your lips before you can stop them. The old nickname fits too smoothly as if it hasn't been years since you've called her that. Tashi smiles, feeling like a teenager again, messing around with you. She starts to walk off, Art and Patrick following her while you stand there, dumbfounded and a little breathless from their teasing.

"Where are you going?"

"To get a burger?" Tashi shrugs, and she smirks at you, a mischievous smile that makes you wonder if any of you have ever grown up at all. "You coming or what?"

You try to be reasonable, "I can't just leave."

"We'll bring you back before anyone notices," Patrick bargains, jogging back to your side and taking your arm to lead you to the exit. "Lighten up, when was the last time you had some fun?"

You don't even look back.

You find yourself laughing, nodding as the four of you make your way out of the garden. The moonlight guides your steps, casting long shadows on the path.

The walk is a blur of laughter and shared stories, the kind of carefree joy that you haven't felt in years. Before long, you arrive at the diner. The neon lights buzz softly, casting a nostalgic glow over the parking lot. You can smell the greasy, comforting aroma of burgers and fries even before you step inside.

The few people in the diner stare, watching as what seems to be a runaway bride and three wedding guests stumble and giggle over each other, lips a little purple from the wine you've all had and ordering burgers to go.

Once you have your food, you all find yourselves sitting on the curb of the diner's parking lot, the warm night air wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. Patrick hands out the burgers, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous light as he makes a show of presenting yours to you. "First bite in... how many years?"

"Too many," You take the burger with a chuckle, unwrapping it and taking a bite. "Oh my God," you mumble around your mouthful, "this is amazing."

Tashi watches you, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Told you."

Art takes a bite of his own burger, nodding in agreement. "There's nothing like it."

You shake your head, going in for more, "This is the greatest thing I've put in my mouth."

Patrick, already halfway through his, lets out a loud laugh, "Yeah, I bet."

The parking lot felt like a little bubble of the past, untouched by the years that had separated you. It was strange how easy it was to fall back into the rhythm of your old friendships, how natural it felt to banter and laugh as if no time had passed at all.

Tashi rolls her eyes, though you don't even seem phased by Patrick's joke. "I can't even get mad," you say, swallowing, "I feel like I'm eighteen again."

"Tell me about it," Art agrees. Then he pauses for a beat, chewing on her burger a little slower before turning to you. "You know, this reminds me of that time... when, you know."

"Oh," You snort and nod, scrunching up your face at the memory. "Yeah. It kinda does."

"What?" Patrick looks between the two of you, raising his brow in interest. "What time?"

"It was a long time ago," you tell him.

"Like back in Stanford," Art explains, and then he points between Tashi and Patrick with his burger, "when you two were still a thing."

Tashi sits up straight now, her full attention on you and Art. "Oh, really?"

"It was that time Patrick came for a surprise visit in the middle of our girls' night," you say, nodding your head at her, hoping she'd catch up with the memory. "And you kicked me out of your dorm so you and Patrick could... you know."

Tashi nods. "Have some alone time." She finishes for you.

She remembers that night well: you were both nestled in the haven of her dorm room, the soft glow of the television casting gentle shadows on the walls as the movie played on. You were curled up under her covers, your bodies intertwined, legs tangled together in a comforting knot. The world outside ceased to exist in those moments, leaving just the two of you in your little cocoon of comfort.

Tashi can still feel the sensation of your fingers running through her hair, the tender, rhythmic motion soothing her in a way nothing else could. The warmth of your touch lingered on her scalp, your fingers traced lazy patterns, and she remembered the way her body instinctively relaxed into yours.

But then came the knock on the door, and she felt her heart jump at her throat as she swung her legs out from under the covers and padded softly to the door.

When she opened the door, there stood Patrick, his presence almost surreal. He was holding a bouquet of carefully picked-out flowers, their vibrant colours contrasting sharply with the dim light of the hallway. His smirk was both nervous and charming

"You kicked her out?" Patrick gasps, and Tashi gives him a blank stare. He's acting as if he wasn't even there, as if he didn't stand by her desk while watching her scramble to clean up the mess the two of you made in her dorm and shove you out the door before locking it.

Patrick shrugs, that stupid smirk painted on his lips again before he finishes his burger. "Would've let you stay if it were up to me," he tells you, "The more, the merrier."

"No way," you poke your tongue at the inside of your cheek. "She wanted you all for herself."

"Please, I would've been too distracted with you to even give him my time of day," Tashi admits. "I did you a favor, Patrick. Saved you from blue balls."

He holds a hand to his heart. "I'm so honored."

"But anyway," you start, "while I was walking back to my dorm I bumped into Art, who got stood up on a date."

Patrick blinks, turning to Art. "You got stood up?"

"Was it that girl from marketing?" Tashi asks.

Art's cheeks start to turn red, the flush growing from his neck and up to his ears at the attention. "Yeah, she, uh, she bailed on me last minute."

"I remember you telling me the date went well," Patrick says. "That you guys went out late, bought takeout... you made out in your car," Then, to fuck with him, he adds, "You came in your pants 'cause she kissed your neck. Remember?"

"And that did happen," Art confesses begrudgingly, glaring at Patrick while Tashi laughs. "It’s just... it wasn't with her..."

"It... it was me," you admit.

Tashi wishes she could say she's surprised, but it's nearly impossible because anyone who knew you back in college knew very well about the big crush you harboured for a certain blonde. She knew the way you swooned after him, even if you never tried to admit it because it was too embarrassing.

"Wait, so," Tashi starts, poking at your side and drawing a nervous giggle from you. It makes her smile. "Is Art that guy you told me about, with the puppy eyes and pretty smile?"

"Okay," you puff out, blushing, "I did not say puppy eyes."

"You think I have puppy eyes?" Art asks you, his gaze softening.

When you take a few seconds too long to answer, Patrick claps his hands together and swings his arm over yours and Art's shoulders, pulling the two of you closer to him. "Aw," he teasingly coos at the two of you getting all flustered, "you think he has puppy eyes."

"It was so long ago," you say, running your hands over the soft fabric of your dress. "I don't even remember."

"I'm so sure you don't," Patrick hums, a knowing look in his eyes before he presses a sloppy kiss against your cheek.

You groan, shoving your hand in his face to push him off before you stumble to stand on your feet again, wiping your cheek from his spit. "You're disgusting," you huff, but there's no real bite in your words because there's a faint smile threatening to appear at the corners of your lips. 

You stand there for a beat or two, brushing off your dress and feeling the weight of the night settling in. You stare down at the three of them sitting on the curb, the neon lights of the diner buzzing behind you. You can see the hall where your engagement party is from where you stand; you almost don't want to go back.

"Okay," you tuck your lower lip between your teeth as you hesitate, "this... this has been fun."

"Don't leave yet," Tashi says while Art's smile drops, his face falling in disappointment.

"Yeah," Patrick rushes to stand, reaching for you, "the party was just getting started."

"I really have to get back," you step away. "If anyone finds out I left, I'll hear about it for days. This has been great. Like, seriously, I don't think I've ever laughed this hard since before..." You trail off, your tongue getting tied as you glance at Tashi, then at her knee, covered by the length of her dark purple dress. You clear your throat. "Well, uh, I better go. But thank you again, for the beer and the burgers and the memories. I hope you guys can make it to the wedding."

You start to walk away before they can say anything. Like, on purpose, as if you know that if they tried to make you stay and ditch your party, you would. You would cave to their defences.

The sound of your heels is deafening. Tashi watches you go, she watches how you wrap your arms around yourself, and it all feels too similar to how she watched you go all those years ago and never chased after you. 

"Don’t marry him," Tashi stands from the curb. She's shaky on her feet, taking long strides to walk past Patrick and hoping to catch up to you. She sees you freeze in your steps, barely out of the parking lot. You turn to look at her quickly, face falling in shock at her demand.

"What?" Your voice is quiet, hoping that your ears are betraying you.

Tashi slows down once she is close enough, the distance between you is almost nothing but the gap feels like miles. The red and blue lights from the neon sign blend into a deep purple against your skin, casting an ethereal glow that makes this moment feel suspended in time. She watches your face, sees the way your brows knit together, the flicker of anger and confusion in your eyes.

Her heart is pounding, the blood rushing in her ears almost drowning out her voice. But she forces herself to speak, her voice low and urgent. "Don’t marry him," she says again, each word feeling like it's being ripped from her chest. Her resolve, which had held firm all these years, finally crumbles.

Getting Patrick back into her life had been one of the most complicated, tangled pains she had ever undertaken. The late-night calls, the awkward meetings, the painstakingly slow rebuilding of trust between herself and Art. 

None of it had been easy.

Yet, even with Patrick back, there had always been something missing—a void that only you could fill.

She looks into your eyes, her gaze unwavering, despite the tears welling up. "Please," she pleads, her voice breaking. "Please, don't marry him." The words hang heavy in the air, a desperate plea that carries years of longing and regret. She knows that having you back won't make up for the lost time, and won't magically fix all the mistakes and missed opportunities. But she can at least try, can at least fight for the chance to make things right.

"Tashi, you can't possibly be asking me to—"

"It’s not worth it," she tells you anyway, her voice trembling with the weight of unspoken truths. She knows it’s a risk, a gamble she's taking by laying her heart bare, but she can’t hold back any longer. The years of resentment, of silent longing, bubble to the surface, fueled by the sight of you with someone else's ring on your finger. It's a bitter pill to swallow, the realization that she resented you not for leaving, but for never coming back. 

Why didn't you come back?

Tashi's words hang heavy in the air, a desperate plea born from years of unspoken desires and regrets. "Both of you want different things anyway. You don't love him," she continues, her voice raw with emotion, "it's not gonna last. One day you're gonna wake up in the middle of the night and realize I'm right. You'd hate to admit it, but I will be right. I am right. He doesn't deserve you. He's no good for you."

You scoff, "And you are?"

"You said it yourself," she presses on, her voice barely above a whisper, "You've never laughed the way you do with us. And you kept in touch with Patrick, so that's gotta mean something." It's a feeble attempt to grasp at straws. "Marrying him will just be another excuse, another stupid reason. I thought you were better than that."

Then she remembers that night before you left for London, back in 2012. It's like a distant memory now, a flicker of what could have been. The air was thick with anticipation, the tension palpable as you stood on the precipice of something new. She remembers the way your eyes met hers after your exchange with Art at the hotel bar, a brief greeting with an old friend, both of you at the peaks of your careers. It is a silent exchange of longing and regret. For a moment, it felt like time stood still, like the world was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

She remembers the smell of your perfume, the bitterness of the drink you were having and how she could taste it when she kissed you; tongue running over your teeth, nails clawing at skin, hair tangled between fingers, hot breaths and unkept promises and false apologies and a night of regret.

And then the morning came, and with it, you had to leave. And she never stopped you.

"Tashi… I can't just throw this all away for you. For any of you. You were the one who told me to leave."

"I know."

"Because you know everything, right? Because you know he's not good for me, you know it all."

"I know you."

"No, you don’t," you say, your voice tinged with hurt. "Not anymore.”

Tashi huffs, shaking her head before she reaches out, cupping your cheeks gently in her hands. Her lips hover over yours for a moment, a silent plea hanging in the air between you. She waits, her heart pounding in her chest, for you to make a move—to kiss her, to push her away, anything.

You gaze into her eyes, tears glistening in the dim light, before finally closing the distance between you. The kiss is tender, and bittersweet, a culmination of years of unspoken longing and regret. It's a brief moment of solace amid chaos.

Your hands dig into the nape of her neck, where the short ends of her dyed hair tickle the skin of your wrist. The heat of your engagement ring nearly burns her, the edge of the diamond scraping against her skin.

When you pull away, breathless, Tashi fears this will be the last time she will see you. 

"Tashi, this doesn’t change anything," you say, your voice trembling.

"It changes everything," she whispers, her fingers tracing the line of your jaw. "You know it does."

But you step back, breaking the contact, the distance between you growing with each passing moment. "I have to go," you murmur, the weight of the decision heavy on your shoulders. "I need to think."

As you walk away, Tashi watches you go, her heart heavy with uncertainty. She clings to the memory of that fleeting moment, a glimmer of hope in the darkness. 

Back in the hotel room, an uneasy silence settles among the trio. Tashi steps out of the shower, her mind a whirlpool of conflicting emotions. The press of your lips still lingers on her own, a persistent buzz that crawls under her skin. 

As she rubs lotion into her arms, she takes her time, methodically moving over each inch of her skin as if she could somehow rub away the confusion and yearning. She finishes her skincare routine, staring at herself in the mirror, almost meeting the eyes of the eighteen-year-old girl who had her whole life ahead of her. It's a constant chant in her head not to dwell in the past. 

She has to focus—she needs to find a way to pull Patrick Zweig out of the top 200 ranks and get him qualified for the US Open by the time the next season starts.

Speaking of the devil, when Tashi steps out of the bathroom, she finds Patrick lounging on the loveseat by the open window. Naturally, his shirt has found itself a home on the floor, and a cigarette dangles from his lips.

He perks up when she walks out, sitting up to greet her, "Don't beat yourself up."

Tashi rolls her eyes and climbs into the bed, letting herself sink into the soft comforter. "Shut the fuck up, Patrick. And put that shit out."

"I'm just saying," he shrugs, taking one last drag before flicking the cigarette out the window, grinning when he hears Tashi scoff. "She's a stubborn little shit," he says as the hotel door clicks open and Art walks in. Patrick hums, "Probably only marrying him to piss us off anyway. Been trying to talk her out of it for months. Never listens."

"She might listen to Tashi," Art says, turning to his wife with a hint of optimism in his voice. "Lily's asleep, by the way."

"Right, because my word is stronger than both of yours," Tashi retorts, pulling the blanket over her legs.

Art and Patrick glance at each other before nodding, "Yes."

"Well, yeah."

They all sit in silence for a while, each lost in their own little bubble. The hotel room is quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioner and the occasional rustle of the bedspread. 

Art joins Tashi on the bed, absently flipping through the channels on the television, the remote clicking softly in his hand. Beside him, Tashi pretends to read a book, her eyes scanning the same sentence over and over again without really absorbing the words. Meanwhile, Patrick rummages through the mini fridge, the sound of bottles clinking and wrappers crinkling breaking the stillness.

A quiet knock on the door makes the three of them freeze, their heads snapping up in unison. They exchange hesitant glances, each wondering if they imagined it. Then three raps against the wood sound again, more insistent this time. Patrick scrambles to the door, Art and Tashi close behind him, their curiosity piqued and their hearts pounding.

Patrick swings the door open, and there you are, a sight for sore eyes. You're still in the same dress, though one of the straps has fallen off your shoulder, and your makeup is smudged around your eyes. You hold your phone close, dropping it from your ear.

"I tried calling," you say, turning your phone so they can see Patrick's contact, a simple 'pat' with a cute tennis ball emoji next to his nickname. "You never answered."

"My phone died." He shrugs.

You let your hand fall to your front, where your fingers pull on each other nervously. Tashi can't help but notice the lack of a ring on your finger all of a sudden. She raises her brows at you, a knowing look flashing across her face before she tells you, "Something's changed."

You roll your eyes and step into the room, sliding between Art and Patrick easily. "A lot has changed." You walk until you reach the middle of the room. 

It's a big hotel room, not nearly as big as the ones Art and Tashi are used to staying in, but big and luxurious nonetheless. You fit in perfectly with your white gown and styled hair, a vision of elegance even in your dishevelled state.

You turn, facing the three of them again. "I hope whatever offer you guys were hinting at earlier still stands... I don't exactly have anywhere else to stay, unless I want to hear my mother telling me how she was right the entire night."

Tashi smirks. "You know I'm about to tell you the same thing too, right?" She closes the space between the two of you, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind your ear. Her nails brush against your jaw in a feather-light touch until her fingers pause below your lips.

"Yeah, I know."

You don't seem too upset about it. Instead, you're grinning, letting Tashi push her thumb between your lips. The gesture is intimate, charged with unspoken emotion. You're standing face-to-face when she says, "I told you so."

She leads you to sit on the bed, and you let her, nearly tripping over your heels before you land on the soft duvets. Tashi leans down, her nose brushing against yours, and you swallow your heart racing.

"You were right," you murmur. It's hard to maintain eye contact when your skin is buzzing with heat and when there's so much going on in the depths of her eyes that it dizzies you. "I hate it, though."

Her nose is cold against yours, a sharp contrast to the warmth of her breath. You let your eyes fall shut as she slowly traces patterns under your chin, pressing her thumb harder into your mouth before pulling it out. She catches the side of your face with it, making a mess with your spit.

She smiles, "I know you do."

Instinctively, and embarrassingly, there's a shiver rolling down your spine.

Tashi releases a small chuckle, and then, after a final moment, her lips fill in the small gap between you both. You sink into it immediately, heart rejoicing as her lips, warm and smooth, explore your own.

It's a little fumbly, nervous and making you tremble under her hands. Tashi loves every second of it. Her fingers grip your face tighter, mouth pressing to yours with more hunger as you wind your fingers into her hair and sigh. Between gasped breaths and soft sounds of enjoyment, she slips her tongue along your lower lip, and so you open your mouth a little wider.

Tashi ends up straddling you, making out like you're both teenagers again, putting on a show for Art and Patrick. The exhilarating butterflies twirling in your stomach match the memories, too. 

You moan softly as she pulls away from your mouth, her attention shifting to your neck. As you watch Patrick and Art make their way to sit next to you on the bed, the bed dipping, you tilt your head to the side and open up your throat to Tashi. You whimper as you feel her lips drag over your exposed skin. She nibbles and sucks until she finds the sensitive part that makes you cry out.

"Fuck," you whimper. You tug on her air-dried curls, coaxing her back up to your lips so you can enjoy the feeling of her mouth on yours. Tashi sighs, and you can feel her smiling into it while beckoning Art and Patrick to join in.

Their lips are on you in a split second, with Art pressing soft, ticklish kisses against your collarbone, and Patrick sliding his tongue from your shoulder to the back of your ear. He's moaning at the taste of you, sucking a bruise under your jaw while digging his hand into the back of your hair. 

He slowly starts to bring his sloppy kisses to your mouth, lips brushing against Tashi's and your own before she draws back. You whine, pouting as you watch her take a few steps away before making herself comfortable in the cushioned seats by a small dining table. You can't pout for too long, because now Patrick is kissing you, tugging softly at your hair until your back arches.

His tongue presses against yours, pressing as far back as he can reach, swallowing your every moan and whimper. You bring your hand up to scratch at his beard, then run your nails over his scalp. This is when Art starts to get a little bolder by running his hands up and down your thighs, pulling and pulling the long skirt of your dress until he reaches the end of it and he can touch your skin and take off your heels, tossing them aside somewhere.

Patrick traps your lower lip between his teeth, watching it bounce back into its place as he leans back just the slightest bit. You break apart with a whimper. Your half-lidded eyes meet his, then flick down to the trail of spit strung between your glistening lips. He stares at you, cheeks a little red as he smirks, "I've missed this. Missed you."

You smile, breathless as Art's hand makes its way up higher and higher and closer to your heat, his mouth is relentless with its attack at your neck. He grinds his crotch against the side of your leg and you cradle the back of his head with your other hand.

"You saw me last week, Patrick."

"Last week?" Art pulls away. His lips are parted, eyes a little dazed but focused enough to stare between you and Patrick in confusion. Tashi smirks from where she sits and shifts in her place.

"We're not all perfect, Art." You groan, rolling your eyes as Patrick laughs, reaching over you to start pulling down Art's pants who shifts in his place to let him. Once they're off, he looks at you, and it's embarrassing how fast you tangle together, melding together into a pathetic heap on the bed for Tashi and Patrick to see. 

Your lips move in tandem, his soft, pouty lips slitting against yours with ease as you lead his hands to your chest and shove them under your dress.

Art squeezes and fondles your breasts over your bra, his hips jerking against your leg again, almost desperate as his boner presses against the fabric of your dress as it has fallen down again.

Tashi startles you as she settles behind, one knee on the bed while her other long leg steadies her on the carpeted floor below. You let her tilt you backward, parting you from Art and she draws you into an upside-down kiss. The salacious kiss leaves your legs parting for the two men beside you. 

Patrick makes quick work of taking that damn dress off of you and you sputter out a pathetic moan when Art's soft hands tease your hardening nipples once Patrick gets half of it off.

Your dress eventually falls into a heap on the floor in front of the bed, you’d matched with it a white paired set underneath. 

"No fucking way," You peek one eye open slightly to see Patrick scowling while Art runs his hands everywhere he can reach, across your stomach, your thighs, under your boobs, down your back. 

Patrick tilts his head and groans, "I can't believe you wore this shit for him."

Your hand cups Tashi's jaw to deepen the kiss as you both ignore Patrick, only Art snorting out a laugh as he tugs his shirt over his head. 

Patrick slots himself between your open legs, stopping just a breath short of your aching cunt to nip teasingly at your soft inner thigh before dragging his mouth up to your neck again. He revels in the moans he's able to draw from you as he finally comes to caress your face. 

You pull away from Tashi and gasp in a breath. "Kiss me, Pat," You bite your lip, feeling your heart race as he eyes you up so openly. 

"Beg me," He counters with a quirked brow, challenging you. 

Your nose crinkles, "I'm not doing that."

"I'm not kissing you, then."

"Shut up and kiss her, Patrick," Tashi groans, attached to Art. She holds his face the same way she did with you, pulling him closer and letting the man crawl to her. But she's glaring at Patrick with venom behind it you know she can’t mean when she's trembling under Art's gentle touch as he slips off her silky nightgown.

"Come here," You beckon Patrick closer with a fiendish look in your half-lidded eyes.

"Yes, ma'am." Patrick nods, dazed as he obliges. "Anything you want, beautiful," His voice slightly slurs as the space between you diminishes once again. "I'll do anything for you," His husky voice drapes around your name like velvet as it's whispered against your plush lips.

Your hands easily find themselves tangled in Patrick's curly hair and tug him to your lips with aching want. You dive in immediately, lips meshing against and, eventually, catching against his chapped lips. 

A moan escapes from your throat and he uses it as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. From there, it's another flurry of saliva, tongue and entirely too much white-hot pressure building below. 

When you break for a breath, a string of saliva stretches between each of your red, puffy lips. Patrick groans at the sight and pulls you in for a slower, raw kiss that leaves you slick and trembling for more. When you pull apart again, Patrick plants a sweet kiss on Art's mouth before focusing back solely on you, his hand slowly approaching your white thong.

When he starts to rub, you moan into his mouth and start trailing your hand to his crotch, palming his dick. Patrick reciprocates easily and tugs at your lower lip with an impish look in his eyes. 

Lips attack your neck again, pulling you higher up on the bed. You hear pants and clothes being shed from every angle around you before you're surrounded again, hands everywhere.

While Art pulls Patrick into a kiss, Tashi cups your face again and draws you into a gentle one as you settle between her legs, your back to her chest. You rest your head on Tashi's shoulder as you heave out another breath, her hands travelling from your navel to tracing shapes on your clit, over your wet panties, spreading your legs apart with her own. 

"Please, Tash," you whimper as her fingers curl around the edge of the fabric and tug so it strains against your leaking cunt perfectly. She then decides to skim a whisper of her touch against your pulsing ache. 

You gape as Patrick wraps his hand around Art's dick, stoking it, and he lets out the prettiest little whine. Patrick slowly works his way down Art's body, running his tongue between each curve of his muscles, collecting the sweat that's been building on his skin before wrapping his mouth around him, taking all of it in one insatiable bob of his head.

Tashi's nails tickle lightly up your stomach, then in the valley between your breasts and then back down again. It has you spiralling, arching your back as she presses a kiss at your neck.

"You're being so good," she coos into your ear. Your name is only a breath out of her mouth, and she's edging your clit with a gentle roughness that could only come from a woman of her calibre. Tashi pulls your panties aside and flicks and flits about your dripping cunt like she already knows how to make you come undone.

It makes you tremble. You'd sworn up and down earlier about how Tashi didn't know you anymore, and here she is, proving to you that she still does, that she knows every curve and divot of your body, that she still knows what makes you whimper and twitch.

Your hand quickly reaches behind you, between the heat of your back and her body and finds her clit and you try to emulate how she's making you weak. Each quiet gasp you earn from her has you moaning back tenfold under her saccharine trance and she quickly starts pumping two fingers into you.

One particular flick of Tashi's thumb on your clit coupled with her lips gliding against and sucking your own in a wanton kiss sends you over the edge. You moan and cum, back arching as you relentlessly force Tashi's hand against your cunt, searching for more delicious friction. 

She takes you all, and lets you ride it all out on her fingers while swallowing every moan you let out in a lewd, wet kiss. Art and Patrick moan appreciatively at the two of you, then focus back on each other.

Before you're able to come down from your high, Art's shoving his come down Patrick's greedy throat. He swallows it all, pulling off Art's red-tipped cock with a vulgar pop that creates a trail of saliva in its wake. 

Patrick smiles down at you and leans closer, and you think he's about to kiss you but then he swerves and kisses Tashi instead, who removes her hand from your cunt and slowly works it up his thigh until she cups his balls and gives them a gentle squeeze. He moans into her mouth, winking at you amid his impromptu make-out session you were tempted to join.

You shimmy back and turn on your stomach, positioning yourself between Tashi's long tanned legs. "Can I eat you out?" You ask while kissing up her leg, and you want to hear how much she needs you. You bite at your bottom lip as you nuzzle into her juicy cunt. "Tashi?" You look up at her from where your face is pressed against her. Her sweet smell makes you sigh as you tease your tongue with her hip bone. "Please, Tash, let me taste you." 

"Yeah, go for it," Comes her breathless plea.

You finally pull her lips apart, revelling in how she squirms against your hold on her hips. 

You're on your knees, trapped arching between Tashi's long legs when you hear Art clear his throat. You give one long lick up Tashi's twitching cunt before turning around with her slick dribbling down onto your chin to where Art has sidled up behind you.

Art crawls closer to you, "Can I touch you, beautiful?" He tilts your chin up as he awaits your answer. 

When you nod, he easily descends upon your lips, placing a sure hand behind your head as he deepens the kiss into something absolutely filthy. As soon as you break apart, he kisses your shoulder, then down your spine.

Tashi guides you back to her. You allow her nails to tangle in your locks as she forces your head back down against her arching hips.

"Shit," Patrick huffs, rough hands reaching for the globes of your ass while Art's smoother ones trail up your spread, inner thighs. Tashi tugs at his dick a little harder, which has him panting against her lips.

Tashi gasps as you flick at her clit then quickly move to tease her entrance with the tip of your tongue. You flatten your tongue, dragging it across her length and repeat the motion until she whines for you to stop. 

You slurp the combination of drool and slick as you pull away with a pussy-drunk smile. She meets it with a panting, dazed one and removes her hand from your hair to push her own out of her eyes while Patrick sucks at her neck.

"Ah!" You startle forward into Tashi's tits as Art finally breeches your entrance with his index finger. 

"Eat our girl out, Art," Tashi motions for Art to lie down under your spread form to get a better angle. You can't deny that the new nickname drives you a little crazy. "Show her she's ours."

Art's soft hands draw another moan out of you as they assuredly grip your hips to keep you in place while he unleashes teasing licks against your pussy.

Tashi draws you back to her. You'd know that look anywhere—she's ready to cum.

"I want you," Her breath hitches around your name while your tongue steals the rest of her coherent words until she's a withering mess under your touch. 

Her pornstar-worthy moans ring out across the room like a beautiful symphony. Tashi's wanton noises coupled with the wet whines you're unleashing against her folds until the two of you create the lewdest duet this hotel's ever heard. 

She arches against the bedframe as she tells you her near release, tugging at your hair as she draws closer and closer to the edge.

Panting, she draws you against her lips for a sloppy, uncoordinated kiss. 

"Fuck, Tashi," You groan against her plump lips, feeling your own impending orgasm drawing near. "You're so fucking hot, I-"

She cuts off your rambling with another wet kiss. Her tongue flicks out to tease yours before sucking it into her mouth with a lewd slurp. Your hand works alongside hers to leave her shaking and whimpering against your lips as she comes undone by your hand. You smack her cunt lightly, eating the groan she feeds into your open mouth as she rides it out.

Tashi eats your moans as they echo against your messy tangling of lips and tongues.

Art's fingers start to pick up a pace as Patrick, feeling left out, starts thrusting his throbbing cock in the middle of your sapphic kiss with Tashi. You eye the two with half-lidded eyes as you share Patrick's cock with her. After only a few moments in your mouth, Patrick pulls out and releases across Tashi's and your expectant tongues.

"So fucking good to me," Patrick pants as he splatters the last of his come across your faces with a shaky groan. "Best fucking orgasm ever, swear it," He says as he encases his lips around yours, swapping his cum between your mouths before moving to Tashi to do the same.

Art moves out from under you, offering your knees relief as he lays you back against Tashi's stomach to fuck into you.

It's a slow and cruel pace, only made crueller by how Patrick and Tashi touch you like they already know where you want to be touched. Each brunette takes a side, Patrick sucking your tit into his mouth while Tashi's mouth draws you in for a kiss. Her nails tickle at your other erect nipples until you're arching off of her and into Art's thrusts, making him whimper.

"Just like that," Art whines your name. "You're so fucking tight."

It's when Patrick and Tashi move their attention down to your clit that you know you're fucked. Patrick spreads your folds with two fingers, watching as intensely as Art does as his cock disappears in and out of your hole.

"He could've never made you feel like this, right?" Tashi rasps. "He has no strategy, no real game. Just a fucking waste of space. Could never make you feel this good, this loved."

You don't need her to say his name, you know what she means. You're panting, shaking your head against her shoulder. "Never."

"Told ya," Patrick laughs into your skin. "Make her cum, Art. C'mon, man." 

"Fuck- please," You whimper, nodding. "I need to come, baby-" Without warning, you arch off of Tashi. Neither she nor Patrick stops their jerks against your clit as you gasp, eyes rolling back in your head with the thrum of a second wave creeping up on you with a steady building heat. Waves of pleasure roll over you as the tantalizing sensations become too much. You come loudly, arching pathetically off the bed as you desperately reach for Art, to hold him.

You're wriggling in Tashi and Patrick's arms as Art pulls out and releases across your expanding and retracting stomach as you pant out the remnants of your orgasm. 

"Shit," He moans, and his voice sends waves of aftershock across your body while his steady hands draw you against his naked chest for a toe-curling kiss.

You'd never been happier to have invited Patrick Zweig to your engagement party.

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[navybrat817]

Why isn't Bucky waking me up to have his way with me?

I wish I had the answer, nonnie!

Slip Inside

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky can't resist having you when he comes home.

Word Count: Over 1.5k

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex, somnophilia (at first), established relationship, pet names, possessive behavior, slight feels (it's me, okay?), lovesick and needy Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: I can't send Bucky, but here you lovelies go! ❤️Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky wasn't meant to be home until tomorrow. He almost called to let you know he’d be back a day early, but it was late and he didn't want to disturb your slumber. Imagining the happy look in your eyes when you woke up beside him brought a smile to his face. Being loved by you was something he still couldn't believe was real some days, but he knew in the depths of his soul that you would always be his girl.

“Welcome home,” he whispered to himself when he saw you in bed, a sight for sore eyes.

He kept his gaze on you as he undressed, careful not to make any noise. You had an arm draped over the pillow next to you, the one he usually rested his head on. His heart raced as he took a step closer and gently pulled the blanket away, your body barely covered by the shirt he recently bought for you. Shivering slightly, you tried to curl in on yourself, but stilled quickly.

Like you knew he was watching you.

“I love you,” he breathed into the room.

You replied with a moan and rubbed your hand against the pillow.

You were beautiful when you slept. If you asked him, you were gorgeous all the time. A breathless kind of vision that he grew to appreciate more and more each day. But you weren't like a piece of art for him to just admire. You were the type of beauty meant to be appreciated.

And he gladly did so with his hands, mouth, and cock.

Oh, he loved you. Fuck, he needed you, too. It was an ache. A hunger. Awake, asleep, it didn't matter as long as he had you. And you were understanding enough to let him take what he needed.

“Mine,” he whispered.

Bucky quickly took the opportunity to slip into the bed and spoon you from behind. Your steady breathing grounded him in a sense while awakening the beast he kept at bay. The one that wanted to come out and play. One that needed to bury himself deep and keep you full.

If you were awake, he would've turned your head to kiss you nice and slow, unrushed even with the mounting desperation. Instead he rubbed his nose and scruffy chin at the juncture between your neck and shoulder, breathing in the distinctly sweet scent of you while wanting to leave his claim. That no one else could touch or have you. That you were his.

“You're mine,” he growled lowly.

Rubbing the inside of your thigh once he pushed your shirt up enough, he heard your breathing hitch. He wasn't ready for you to wake up just yet, but it didn't keep him moving his hand higher and grasping the elastic of your underwear. He debated tearing the offending fabric off, but he couldn't fault you for wearing them.

You didn't know he'd come home tonight.

He also thought about touching you through your panties to feel you squirm under his touch. Your whines and whimpers always made his cock twitch, especially when you soaked the fabric. Sometimes he liked to shove them in your mouth so you could taste yourself and know he was the one who did that to you.

Only him.

He brushed his lips along your skin as he pulled it down, almost wishing he was in front of you so he could look down and see your exposed pussy. “Mine,” he whispered again as his fingers parted your folds and skimmed over your clit.

You moved back against him with a sigh, enticing him without even trying. Alternating between teasing the bundle of nerves and your slit, he felt his own breathing get heavier and harsh with each passing second. By the time he brought his fingers to his mouth to lick your juices away, his cock was hard and heavy with the need to sink into your dripping cunt. He grunted as your flavor exploded on his tongue. He was done with foreplay.

And with how you panted and writhed, you were ready for him.

He hooked your leg over his thick thigh to open you up, hoping it wouldn't hurt when you stretched around him. “I love you,” he said once more as he brushed the tip of his cock against your hole, sighing as he slowly filled you up.

He had to close his eyes and hide his face in your neck to keep from losing it. He could go for hours when he wanted to, but the feel of your warm wetness gripping him like a vice was almost too much. Finishing quickly or not didn't matter. You’d take it as a compliment if your sweet cunt made him empty himself inside you so fast.

But he had to make it last and make you come first.

With a deep breath, he got himself under control. You let out the sweetest whine when he almost pulled out completely and shoved himself back in. Curled around you, all you could do was take his deep thrusts. He could've breathed through his nose and tried to stay quiet. He could’ve gone slow and steady. But he moaned and nipped at your skin, not wanting to hide his desire for you.

He couldn't see your face, but he felt you roll your hips back as you began to stir and heard another whine escape. You weren't completely awake, but your body craved what he was doing to you. It was enough for him to roll you on your stomach and quicken his pace.

“Bucky?” You mumbled.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I couldn't resist. Your pussy’s too good,” he groaned, putting a hand to the back of your neck to hold you still. “I need you. Need to feel you come on my cock.”

You fluttered around him as he stretched over your back, forcing you to take every inch of him. Your body went pliant as you let out a tired and needy moan. If you wanted him to stop, you would’ve told him to do so. “Please,” you whined as he practically rutted into you.

“I got you,” he grunted, driving harder into you as your fingers twisted in the sheets. “Missed you. Missed you so fucking much. Might need to keep my cock in you all night.”

You trembled, both of you knowing you’d lay there and let him fuck you all night if he asked. You were so good for him. And greedy. It would be wrong of him not to give you what you longed for.

“And you'll let me fill you up, won't you? Of course, you will,” he panted against your ear. You tried to arch your back, but his massive frame overpowered you. “It’s okay. Just take it. Let me have you.”

Fucking you raw was a gift he’d selfishly continue to ask for and take. But how could he not? You always let out the prettiest sounds when he flooded your holes.

He couldn't stop himself from shoving his hand between the mattress and your body, seeking out your clit to tip you over the edge. Moans poured from you as he lightly pinched it, giving you the push you needed. “That’s it. Come on my cock. My cock. My good girl,” he encouraged as you clamped around him hard enough for him to lose his breath.

You nearly cried as he took you apart. “Bu… Bucky…”

“Trembling around my cock. Greedy girl,” he moaned, his hips snapping faster as he brought his mouth back to your ear. “My turn.”

He let out a deep groan as he stilled, filling you. His release hit him so hard his head spun, muttering his love for and possession of you as his eyes fluttered. You let out a broken moan as you clenched around him again and he had to keep from collapsing against you, both of you fighting for air.

“Love you,” he mumbled, wanting you to hear it now that you were awake.

He only pulled out so he could move you to your back and desperately kiss your lips the way he needed to, pushing himself back inside your leaking hole with a hum. Your eyes were half-lidded when he broke the kiss. Your gaze made him want to ruin you all over again.

“Love you, too,” you croaked, your back bowing when he groped your breast through the shirt. “Welcome home.”

Bucky’s heart pounded as he leaned down to kiss you again. It was a dance of tongue and teeth, dizzying and passionate. Some days you were the fire and others you were the fuel. You accepted the entirety of him and he welcomed everything you selflessly gave him in return.

“Good to be home, baby,” he smirked, brushing his thumb along your covered nipple. “Now stay awake. I need to fill you up at least two more times before the sun comes up.”

Even after that, he wasn't close to being done with you. But he was whole because he was home with you. And that would always be enough.

We deserve this, okay? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[gghostwriter]

Out of Sunshine

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Having forgotten your dinner date, Spencer comforts his usually sunshine girlfriend Trope:Fluff & Comfort w.c: 1.2k a/n: been very overwhelmed with responsibilities and wants lately that I just needed to write a self-indulgent fic. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

Spencer’s knock on your apartment door was met with silence. It was a starry Friday night and he had arranged a dinner reservation with you, his girlfriend for a year and a half, to the newly opened French restaurant along the main street. With a certain spring in his step, he settled with Hotch, and by extension the team, that he couldn’t be disturbed unless an emergency case comes in—something he silently wished not to happen. He had also picked up a bouquet of your favorites from the local florist. An array of whites that reminded him of the dress he first saw you wearing at the park.

He knocked again, ears straining to hear anything behind the dark wooden door. There was nothing. He balanced the bouquet on one hand and reached for the phone inside his satchel. It was quite unlike you to not answer the door.

The number you dialed is either unattended—

“Strange,” he muttered under his breath. During his morning phone call with you, a much needed routine to tide him through the macabre of his job, you sounded so excited about the dinner he’d planned and had even promised to wear the same white dress that had plagued his eidetic memory. He chuckled in reply before asking any plans for the day. There was a slight pause on your end, no doubt thinking of ways to pass time before night winds down, and you answer—

The studio, he remembered. You mentioned passing by your art studio to occupy time. He sighed in relief as he enters his vintage blue car parked on the the sidewalk, bouquet placed securely on the passenger seat. The clock on the dashboard tells him there’s still time to make it to the reservation, granted he wasn’t sure if you were ready to go.

A non-descriptive tune played from the radio as he turned left to enter the designated parking space of your studio building. It was a mixture of soft piano keys that sounded like spring and sunshine, both adjectives he loved to use to describe you.

When he finally found the courage to fumble his way in asking for your number, the smile that flashed on your face was blinding. It was as if he stared directly into the sun with little to no protection for his vision.

Over the course of multiple dates, he found himself waxing prose about you in his head. The pinking of your cheeks reminded him of strawberries ripening, so tempting to touch with his own pair of lips. The twinkle in your eyes, full of adoration and trust, made him feel strong and protective—like he was some kind of crow guarding his loot of sparkling treasure. And the bounce in your step wherever you’d go had him envisioning a sprig of wildflowers growing from each footprint, the nymph of his very own Spring.

He let himself in the studio, grateful you’ve trusted him with a spare key. “Sunshine,” he called out.

The light inside the four cornered room was on, windows all open for the paint fumes to escape, and there you were, hunched over an easel, furiously painting without any care of your surroundings.

He called your name, softer this time, as if to slowly ease you out of the artistic trance. The timber of his voice and his sudden presence led you to squeak in surprise, paintbrush dropping on the wooden streaked floor.

“It’s me, sunshine,” he raised his hands in front of him in surrender. “It’s me.”

Your nose scrunched up in question, a streak of blue dried paint on your cheek, adorable. How adorable you were in his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” you bent down to grab the brush before resuming your old position.

“It’s 7:50, love.”

You swiveled to face him, eyes wide in distress. Hands promptly reaching to turn over the faced down phone. “No, no—oh my god, I am so sorry!”

“It’s alright,” he tries to placate you but his words of comfort seem to fall on deaf ears. “Really, it’s alright. It happens to everyone.”

Tears were starting to build up in your eyes. Your hands were wrangling with the apron tied around your waist as you mutter a series of apologies again and again. “I’m sorry. So sorry—we can’t make it to our reservation now, can’t we? Spence, I’m so so sorry. I—I forgot,” a sob escaped from your throat. “I don’t know what to do.”

He puts down the flowers on the nearest available space, your stool, and steps into your space. Filling it with his perfume and warmth meant to comfort you. He could see how distressed you were—rocking on your heels, hands unable to stay put, and lower lip sandwiched in between your pearly teeth.

“Breathe. It’s completely fine, love. No harm done. Really, it’s alright.”

The tears come rushing down, staining your flushed cheeks with its tracks. “It’s not—how could I forget?”

“Sunshine, it’s okay. It happens to all of us and I know you’re quite busy, it’s understandable.”

You burrow into his chest some more, afraid of separating from him and the haven he brings.

He continued on. “I also know you’re overwhelmed, the exhibit is just around the corner and I know how important it is to you, I understand.”

Laying your cheek near his beating heart, you mutter a reply. “It’s really not—I don’t want you to think you’re not important to me too.”

His hands cupped your face to stare into your saddened eyes. Spencer couldn’t see the warmth and brightness that was always present in his sunshine. There was a cloud of rain and doubt covering its’ greatness. He understood no one could always be happy all the time but it bothered him to see you breaking down from stress.

“Shouldn’t I be the one worried about that?” he lightly joked. “I’ve cancelled on dates so many times and did those ever make you feel less important to me?”

“No. Never,” you sniffled.

“Then what makes you say I’d think that, sunshine? I would never, I promise.”

The corners of your lips lifted up to a small smile. There it was, the rays of sun peeking behind the clouds, bringing warmth back to the dark crevices of his being.

“I’m sorry about your shirt,” your lower lip jutting out in a pout. The air of anxiety slowly dissipating around you.

Spencer laughed, noting the tear stained marks littered on his purple button down. “That’s alright. Why don’t we order from your favorite Indian place down the block? We can get your favorites and have our dinner date here instead?”

“You’d be okay with that?”

He leaned in to kiss your temples, taking in the twinkle back in your eyes framed by your wet long lashes and the flush on your cheeks from emotion—good and bad.

For Spencer, you had never looked more beautiful. The reason behind of your breakdown was raw, intimate, and it made him see you in a new light. Heat bloomed in his chest, like a series of red roses, filled with love for you.

“Anywhere with you is good for me, sunshine.”

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[ahundredtimesover]

I Want You to Stay (01) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: boss!JK x assistant!reader; idiot strangers to lovers; slow slow burn; k-drama feels; angst, drama, fluff, smut

Chapter (Series) Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption & passing out, unhealthy coping mechanisms; family drama; minor injuries; power dynamics (JK starts off as a jerk); work-related anxiety, feelings of helplessness, insecurities; childhood traumatic experiences, nightmares; sexual harassment, prior incidence of domestic violence (PLS PLS BE CAREFUL WHEN READING); arts and business/property devt talk that’s probably inaccurate; commitment issues & emotionally constipated characters; cold and detached JK; explicit sexual content (specific warnings stated per chapter) (18+)

Chapter Word count: 12k

Series Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

Series summary: Working for Jungkook isn’t the same as working for Hoseok. For starters, Jungkook doesn’t smile, he doesn’t appreciate you, and he gives you too much work. It doesn’t help that he’s incredibly handsome and has women at his beck and call. But as the tension grows, it becomes impossible to resist him. You’ve dedicated yourself to your job for 8 years so when you finally decide to put yourself first, he asks you to reconsider. And while you know that leaving is difficult, you learn that when it comes to Jungkook, staying is always so much harder.

Playlist 🎶: on the way home

A/N: Happy 2024, everyone! 🎉 Dropping this tonight as a welcome to the new year and the start of the wild journey that is this story. It's a different JK that I'm used to writing. It's also a different arrangement for me as the story is still being written, so just a heads up that updates won't be as regular compared to before, but they'll definitely come (pls don't come at me hehe 😁)! This is also a painfully slow build-up with lots of details and office talk so please be patient! I don’t know how this will turn out and be revived but I hope you enjoy! 💕

Also my biggest thanks to @wonwoonlight as always 🥰

Jung Hoseok’s smile is like a ray of sunshine - warm on cool mornings, radiant on sunny afternoons. It’s light and infectious, but more than anything, it’s genuine. There’s comfort in the way his entire face beams and how the rest of his body follows; there’s this sense of openness that makes it easy to be around him, that makes it easy to work for him.

It was 10 years ago when you first encountered that smile - bright and encouraging as he welcomed you and the rest of the interns to his family’s company. It slowly dissolved the anxiety you were feeling over being 1 of 12 chosen students to work for one of the leading real estate and property development corporations in the country. You’d see it again two years later as an employee, and you recall how he perked up at the sight of you, having remembered those eight weeks you spent preparing the conference room for their meetings and serving the executives their coffee. 

You wouldn’t have expected that five years after that, you’d be seeing that smile everyday as his executive assistant, and it was one of the things that made the job bearable. Despite the long hours and the amount of work you had to do and events you had to accompany him to, working for Hoseok always felt worth it. Despite the insane amount of pressure he was put under and the stress he had to endure, Hoseok somehow always managed to smile. 

He was serious when he had to be, but there was joy in how he did things. He allowed himself moments of calm, of time to check in on his support team for a few laughs. He’d spare himself a few minutes a day to sway to the soft music he plays in his office, he’d preside over meetings with vigor, and he’d start and end every interaction with anyone with that smile - the same smile that assures you that all your hard work is appreciated and which encourages you to keep learning.

It’s that same smile that he has on right now, as he hands you a custom-made cake with ‘you worked hard’ written on it. He says the words as your eyes turn to him in surprise. 

“Thank you for all that you’ve done,” Hoseok says. “I know you were new to the role just like I was but you made everything so easy for me. I’m gonna have to get used to being without your brilliance, Ms. Cho. I hope you never doubt yourself ever again.”

Your astonished face turns into a pout, as it dawns on you that it’s Friday, the first unofficial day of you no longer being Hoseok’s executive assistant, given his appointment as President not long ago. Yet despite the big change he’ll be experiencing starting next week, he’s the one affirming and comforting you, something that’s rare for someone of his stature and something you’ll definitely miss. 

“You know I don’t cry, but I just might,” you respond, earning you a chuckle. “But really, I… I can’t thank you enough for taking a chance on me. I know my credentials weren’t like the others but—”

“Ms. Cho,” he interjects. “The only credentials those other applicants had were the universities they went to, but none of them matched your level of skill and dedication to the role. I can assure you that none of them would’ve managed the past three years like you did. I should be thanking you for dealing with all the craziness with me.”

“You’re a good boss, it’s that simple,” you return the compliment now. “You were patient with me and challenged me to be better without putting me down. That does a lot for a person’s confidence, you know?”

“I know that now,” he smiles again. “But really, I don’t think I could’ve asked for a more competent right-hand woman. Jungkook’s lucky he’s taking my position with the most capable assistant to help him out.”

At the mention of the man’s name, your face sours, something that Hoseok picks up, earning you another laugh. 

“Not a fan of him, I see,” he eyes you curiously.

“I don’t mean any disrespect, Mr. Jung, but your cousin is not you,” you explain. “I may have only seen him a handful of times but those are enough to let me know that he does not smile.”

“Yes, I do confirm that,” Hoseok chuckles. “Jungkook’s quite the perfectionist and very much a workaholic. But he’s brilliant and creative and you’ll learn a lot from him, too. He’s being primed to co-lead the company with me and he needs a strong support for that and I think that’s you. His father thinks that’s you, and for the CEO to think so means a lot, ___. Uncle has seen how you work and was adamant that you remain in this role, especially with his son assuming the Vice President position.”

You know that Hoseok means to reassure you, but you suppose your insecurities over having this role and even being in this company won’t ever really go away. You didn’t graduate from a prestigious university in Seoul like most employees here did, and in this society, that usually means everything. You’re thankful for the trust that you’ve been given and you agree that you worked hard for it, too, but it will always be overwhelming; even then, it sometimes still feels undeserved. 

At your silence, Hoseok speaks again. “___, as your former boss and as your friend, I’m here to back you up. Jungkook’s family but if he, for some reason, acts like a hard-headed jerk, you let me know, okay?”

He turns serious now, as he silently asks for you to promise him that you’ll speak out if you need to. Hoseok knows what you went through under Mrs. Byun, the former manager who abused her power over you until her own slip-up caused her downfall years later, and he doesn’t want you to go through that again. 

“Okay. But I didn’t mean to imply that he’s a jerk just because he doesn’t smile,” you clarify. “I guess I meant to say that… I’ll miss working for you. That’s all. We somehow always got a laugh in, no matter how stressful things were. I’ll miss being with A-yeong, too.”

“I know you also meant to say that I’m the best boss you’ve ever had,” Hoseok chuckles, though you don’t miss the sadness in his eyes, too. “But I’ll just be two floors above you. You’ll still see me everywhere. And A-yeong’s gonna miss you, too, that’s why she can’t let you go without having dinner out, that I’m apparently not invited to.”

“We’re just gonna gossip about you, don’t worry,” you tease, appreciative of the fact that his wife has been kind to you all these years, apologizing to you on his behalf during the rare times he’s cranky, and gifting you little things from their trips abroad. “But thank you again, Hoseok,” you continue, dropping the formalities when you mean to speak to him as a friend, because that’s what he is, and it’s a rarity in this industry where those in power tend to take advantage of those below them. “You’ve treated me well, and I’ll never forget that.” 

“Thank you, ___,” he smiles once more. “I’ll finish setting up my new office now. I’ll see you there in 30 minutes, okay? I know Jungkook officially starts on Monday but he wanted to get all the administrative stuff out of the way as soon as possible and since my old room is being sanitized, he’ll be staying at mine the whole morning. HR has everything he needs to sign so please get those documents from them before heading to my office.”

“Oh, so he’s coming today?” You ask, unable to hide the mix of surprise and disappointment in your voice. You’re clearly uninformed about this. “Didn’t he just arrive last night?”

“Yes, he did. I thought he’d at least spend today resting but no, he called me an hour ago to say he’ll drop by this morning so he can get straight to business on his first day,” Hoseok explains, shaking his head at the thought of his cousin wanting to get straight to work. “I know it’s short notice so you don’t need to brief him or anything yet. You’ve been buried in organizing all my files this past week after all.” 

“Okay, but I’ve got everything organized for him already anyway in case he wants to start,” you say, having prepared all the documents he’d need to ease into his role more smoothly, knowing it’s your job to help him with that. 

“Of course you have,” Hoseok chuckles, impressed as always with how on top you are of everything. “I’ll see you in half an hour.”

You sulk in your seat once he’s out of view, whining internally because much as your files are ready for your new boss, you’re the one who isn’t. You’d held off on mentally preparing yourself for meeting the Jeon Jungkook, second son of the current CEO of Jeon Corporation and the new Vice President, thinking you’d have the entire weekend for that, so you’re caught off guard at having to face him today. It’s one thing to move on from no longer having Jung Hoseok as your boss - that itself took you months to process and accept; it’s another to have to get used to assisting someone else, someone you know is completely different in attitude and approach to his work.

Jungkook used to be an executive in the Singapore office, the Southeast Asian headquarters of the company. In your three years as Hoseok’s assistant, you’d only seen Jungkook a few times, such as when he’d fly to Seoul for an official visit or a family gathering but you never interacted, as you didn’t really have a reason to, especially since you were always busy with making sure the event was running smoothly. 

But you’d definitely noticed him, partly because the female staff always talked about him when he was around, and partly because next to his parents and his cousins, who are all personable in their own ways, Jungkook sticks out like a sore thumb. You’re not exaggerating when you say that you’ve never seen him smile - not for the pictures and not when he’s talking to the other executives and employees, a contrast to his father’s infectious charm and his mother’s youthful energy.

You’ve gotten used to Hoseok’s passion balanced with his thoughtfulness and joy - you always enjoyed the videos that A-yeong would show you of their weekends doing ballroom dancing because it’s what he loved to do with her. You’re unsure how you’ll manage assisting someone who’s the complete opposite. You’ve heard of Jungkook’s abilities though; his father always spoke of them with pride. Creative and innovative, he’d say of his son, but he always lived in his head, too, and perhaps that’s why even if he can socialize with others, he prefers not to, given that you’d always seen him at the bar after said events, drinking on his own.

You didn’t think those times that you’d one day be having him as your boss. You didn’t expect the appointments to come this soon, nor did you expect to still be in the company by the time they happened. But here you are, about to meet him and hoping to the heavens that whatever preconceived notions you have of him based on what very little you know would be proven wrong. 

Wanting to calm yourself down before meeting him, you head to the management support team’s office for a cup of tea in the pantry, but you’re stopped by Do-hyun, one of the project assistants. 

She hugs you like she always does, even if you rarely ever return it, and she whines like you expect her to, given her unusually pouty face. 

“It’s only been an hour but I already miss Mr. Jung,” she laments. “Why did they appoint him as President so soon? They could’ve waited for another year or so, or at least let him take us with him!”

You find yourself being the reasonable one this time, as you pull her away from you so you could talk to her properly. 

“We always knew he was going to be President, Do-hyun. But then the Board decided to make Ji-woo head of the Singapore office after their uncle stepped down, and that meant Hoseok had to take his sister’s place,” you explain, knowing how generational corporations like this work, with family members rotating in the executive positions. “And much as he’d like to take us with him, the position already comes with its own team. He’s just two floors above us, though. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if we popped in every once in a while to say hi.”

“No, I’m bitter,” she pouts again, earning her a laugh from you.

“Well, at least the new Vice President isn’t a stranger,” Manager Lee chimes in. 

“I heard the CEO’s son doesn’t smile,” Do-hyun counters. “How do we go from assisting someone who literally gives all of us the energy to work each day, to someone who doesn’t think there’s anything worth being happy about? I also heard he’s a workaholic, so what if he demands that we can’t leave the office until he does? And that he’s kind of a fuck boy, so what if he has a scandal that we have to—” 

“Yah! Those are just hearsay, and we don’t listen to those,” you warn her, not wanting the team to start on a bad note because of some rumors about your new boss that may or may not be true. 

And if those are, it’s your job to make sure that those are handled properly and that there’s no friction between the management support team and the Vice President. The thought suddenly hits you and you feel nauseous. You’ve never had these worries with Hoseok because he always prioritized the team - he made sure that tasks were properly delegated, that you all took your well-deserved break, that you weren’t burnt out, that you all knew he got your back the way you all got his. 

But then again, it’s natural to be anxious about change, especially when what you had was already the best it could’ve been. And much as you were the one worrying about this earlier, you’re now the one who has to reassure the team, especially the younger members, that things are going to be okay. 

“You’ll meet him soon, and I’ll make sure he’s properly oriented with everything before he sits down with you all,” you say. “Let’s just be optimistic about this, okay? Manager Lee has been here a while and he can guide all of us when it comes to adapting to changes like this.”

The rest of the team nods, voicing their agreement about being open and welcoming to your new boss. 

“Okay, good. Now let me get my tea before I combust,” you chuckle, heading towards the adjacent room. 

You’re busy taking breaths in between sips of your hot drink when you see a familiar face in the room through the glass window, prompting you to head back outside.

“Mr. Ri,” you greet, causing the man before you to turn towards you. “What are you doing here? Does Mr. Jeon need anything?” 

Knowing you’re referring to the elder Jeon, Mr. Ri shakes his head. 

“I’m here as Jungkook’s chauffeur and bodyguard, actually. His father appointed me, wanting people he trusts to help his son,” he clarifies. “I’ve just driven him from his penthouse.”

“Oh,” you say, unable to control the way your face falls a little. “So, he’s here.”

“He is. He said he wanted to get things done today so he doesn’t waste his time when he starts next week. He’s at Hoseok’s office right now. I believe he’s supposed to sign some documents?”

“Oh shit,” you blurt out, immediately setting down your half-finished tea and rushing out the door to speed-walk to your desk, ignoring Mr. Ri’s demand for you to slow down. 

With what little you know of your new boss, he seems like the type to not excuse tardiness, so you take your files, head to HR to retrieve some documents, and then proceed to Hoseok’s office. You try to catch your breath as you head towards the door, which opens before you get to knock, revealing Bitna, the President’s assistant, who greets you with a sweet smile. 

“Hi, ___. I was just about to call you,” she says. “CEO Jeon is inside as well. Just walk in, they’re waiting for you.”

You cross the small hallway as the door gently closes, and you stop in your tracks the moment you hear Jungkook’s voice.

“I still prefer my old assistant,” he says, obviously displeased. “He was very organized, highly educated, and well-traveled. While this Ms. Cho didn’t even study in a top university in Seoul. And Hoseok says she doesn’t know any other foreign languages when that’s one of my requirements.”

“Son, you’re being too harsh,” CEO Jeon chides. “Ms. Cho is a top performing employee, very hardworking and dedicated. She’s worked here for eight years and she imbibes all our values; she knows the company culture and knows the ins and outs of things with how she’s been exposed to them. Ask your cousin; Hoseok speaks highly of her.”

“___ is great, Kook. She’s incredibly organized and highly analytical and observant. She doesn’t need a Seoul education to be good at what we need her to be good at,” Hoseok argues. 

“I still want my old assistant. It’s more convenient that way. Lucas already knows how I work and what I require of him,” Jungkook insists. “I’m just saying that I need things to be efficient and she and I can’t be adjusting to each other when there are multiple projects that I’d much rather give my attention to.”

“And I’m saying that Ms. Cho probably knows more than you do when it comes to these projects,” the elder Jeon counters. “Plus, your old assistant would have to adjust to life in Seoul and that’s harder. It’s just not practical, especially since you’re due to start in a few days. You have other things to worry about. ___ is there to make your life easier. Give her that chance to do her job.”

“But I—”

“Good morning, gentlemen,” you greet, not wanting to hear whatever unfounded things that Jungkook has to say, even if you have your own preconceived notions about him which, you remind yourself, are partly founded. Barely five minutes in and you already can’t stand his judgmental and entitled ass. 

You walk towards the middle of the room where they’re congregated on the couches, with the elder Mr. Jeon and Hoseok smiling at you while Jungkook merely glances at you, his jaw clenched, perhaps irritated at the fact that you’d overheard him completely misjudge and undermine your abilities without even knowing who you are.

“Good morning, Ms. Cho,” CEO Jeon says. “I know you’ve seen him a few times but I’d like you to officially meet my son and the new Vice President, Jungkook.”

Jungkook turns to you with a disinterested look but he doesn’t meet your eyes. You bow as a sign of respect, even if it’s the last thing you think he deserves.  

“My pleasure, Mr. Jeon,” you respond. “I was told that you’d like to proceed with administrative matters this morning. I have all the documents with me and I can explain each one to you before you sign them. I’ve also consolidated all the things you need to know prior to your meetings next week,” you add, handing him an iPad. “This has the resumes of each member of your management support team, including their professional and development goals. Mine are there as well, so you can read about my credentials and achievements in this company the past eight years, which I think have tremendously helped me in performing my duties satisfactorily. There’s also a folder of team profiles of each of the departments you’re overseeing. You’ll also find closure reports of completed projects from the past five years, progress reports of ongoing projects, and approved and working proposals of upcoming ones. I’ve included summaries and key figures for each of them. You may read them prior to your meetings, and if there’s anything missing that you’d like me to include, I can have them ready by the end of the day.”

“Hmm,” Jungkook hums, as he scrolls through all the folders you’ve prepared for him.

In your periphery, you can see the other two men holding in smiles as you seemingly render the younger man speechless, but while he assesses all that you’ve provided to him, you’re given time to observe the man seated before you. Other than his slightly longer hair, not much has changed from when you saw Jungkook in last year’s gala. 

As he drags his tongue across the inside of his cheek with his scrunched eyebrows in judgment, you’re reminded that this is the first time you’ve seen him up close. And even from his angle, you can tell. 

He’s unfairly handsome. 

He’s got dark expressive eyes, soft-looking pink lips, and a sharp jawline that complement his lean figure. You understand why the staff are enamored by him even from afar and - if the rumors about him are true - why women would shoot their shot with him at clubs, in hopes they’d be the lucky one he’d choose to be with for the night.

The illusion breaks, though, as he turns to you with a hardened gaze. 

“I’m sure I’ll find something that’s missing,” he states.

“If they’re relevant and necessary, I can have the files ready by today,” you respond, knowing full well that you’ve included every possible document that would be of use to him. 

“I’ll be the judge of what’s relevant and necessary, Ms. Cho,” he counters. 

“Of course, Mr. Jeon,” you say, conceding. “Whatever it is, then I’ll make sure to have them ready for you as soon as possible.”

Jungkook hums in response, turning his attention to the HR documents this time, breezing through the text and ignoring your brief explanations of the contents before signing at the bottom of the pages. You inform him of sections he’s missed, and he groans at having been corrected but you don’t mind. He’s the one who chose to do all this now and in here, in front of his father and his cousin.

Once he’s done, he hands you the signed files and holds your gaze. “Is there anything else, Ms. Cho?”

“I suppose that is all, Mr. Jeon. Unless there are other things you want to assess, or people you want to ensure are qualified to assist you with your functions,” you say. 

Jungkook huffs in displeasure. You can sense the tension build, as irritation paints his face. It’s at that moment that his father chimes in, suggesting that you introduce him to his team.

“You can maybe also orient him on the current projects and partnerships,” the older man says. 

“That can wait. I’ve had enough of engaging for today,” Jungkook responds, his voice cold, detached. 

“In that case, let me lead you to your floor, Mr. Jeon.”

You step back and wait for him to walk ahead, before you excuse yourself from the older men. You don’t miss the sorry looks on their faces, and you give them a smile as if to say that it’s fine, that Jungkook’s someone you can handle, and his obvious displeasure towards having you as his assistant doesn’t faze you. It doesn’t change the fact that you wish he wasn’t your boss though, or at least, that he wasn’t such a jerk like what he’s being right now.

Walking behind him as you both head towards the elevator, you see the way he carries himself - hands in the pockets of his sleek black trousers, his eyes focused straight ahead, nothing like Hoseok who was always gesticulating as he spoke to you every time you walked side-by-side from one place to another.    

Jungkook stands in front of the doors, seemingly waiting for you to press the buttons and you do it before he could even express his annoyance. You stand in front this time, then make sure you hold the doors open for him to exit, and you resume your spot behind him as you walk down the hallway. 

“On the left are two small meeting rooms and one conference room,” you start, thankful that there’s not much to tour him around on this floor, given that everything is exclusive to the Vice President. “On the right is a seating room, and up ahead is an archive room. Down the—”

“I’ve been here before, Ms. Cho,” Jungkook interjects as he looks at you blankly. “This is my family’s building; I’m very much aware of how the floors look like.”

Not rattled by his disruption, you nod and smile, wanting to show him that whatever intimidation or humiliation he’s trying to make you feel isn’t gonna work on you. You know if you show any sign of frustration, that will just give him a reason to have you replaced and despite your clear dislike for the man, you need this job, especially this position that allows you to pay your rent in a safe part of town and send money to your family every month. At this point, that’s the only thing that will keep you going.

Approaching the management support office, you walk faster and make sure to enter the room before he does, signaling the team with your eyes that their new boss is coming, your silently frantic gaze telling them to be on their best behavior because their usual antics won’t work on Jungkook the way they did with Hoseok. 

Once Jungkook appears, everyone bows and greets him, and you can sense them holding their breaths as they look up, taking him all in. You see him eye each person, and you can tell he’s already assessing them individually. You take it upon yourself to introduce each one, stating their name, where they studied and what course they took, describing their primary role in the team and their specific strengths. You see him follow your words, nodding and humming as you go, and you think he’s processing the information and making sure he remembers them. 

There are no pleasantries; Jungkook just goes straight to the point. 

“I’m sure you have concerns about having a new boss and the changes that come along with it. But I’m here to tell you now that you should get over whatever those are, as I’d like the adjustment period to be as short as possible,” he starts. “My cousin is brilliant at his job and so am I, but we work very differently, so whatever you got used to doing with and for him, don’t expect the same with me. I demand excellence and efficiency from each one of you because that’s what I commit myself to and that’s the only way that this team will be able to do its job. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir,” the team answers in unison. 

“We commit to those as well, Mr. Jeon,” Manager Lee says. “As the head of your support team, I will make sure that all our deliverables are of high quality and that things will run smoothly so that we may properly do our job of assisting you.”

“That’s good, and that’s what I expect,” Jungkook says, nodding at everyone before walking out the door to head to his office, with you trailing him from behind. 

“Is my room still being sanitized?” He turns to you. 

“Yes, sir.”

“Why did it need to be sanitized? And why today?”

“It’s protocol, sir. We also had a sendoff for Mr. Jung yesterday so the room smelled of food. And he instructed for this to be done today so that I don’t need to come here tomorrow, as he doesn’t like any of his staff working during the weekend,” you reply. “This should be finished this afternoon. I’ve also purchased the oil for your diffusers. The room will be ready for you by Monday.”

Jungkook merely hums and looks around, specifically at your designated area with your desk and shelves at the back, then takes a call before turning to you again to say that he’s heading out to meet his friends.

“Is there anything else you need, Mr. Jeon?” You ask, thankful that you don’t have to deal with him for the rest of the day.

“No.”

“Okay then, sir. I’ll meet you at your apartment at 6:30 AM on Monday. Is that time alright?”

“Sure,” he responds, then turns around and starts walking out. “Just keep your phone on. I work during the weekend.”

He’s gone before you can even respond, and you rush to the support office once you’ve heard the elevator ding that indicates that he’s gone. When you get there, you’re greeted with everyone’s frowns, with Do-hyun close to tears.

“I don’t like him, ___. He looks so unapproachable and too serious!” She complains. “I miss Mr. Jung. Is there an opening in his team? Should I just resign?”

“Aish!” You reprimand her. “Don’t speak like that. And don’t let those few minutes determine everything for you.”

“Well, those few minutes are enough to tell me that I don’t like him. No matter how good-looking he is,” Chin-sun says.

“He is, right!” Do-hyun chirps now, a complete 180 from seconds ago. “I’ve seen him around but I didn’t think he’d be even more handsome up close! It just sucks that he’s a grinch and that makes all the difference. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t have a girlfriend! He’s probably too snobby and—”

“Yah! You really need to stop it with those rumors,” you scold her this time. “That’s your boss. His personal life is none of our business. Where do you even hear these things?”

“Every washroom in this building, basically. Staff are always gossiping there, you know?” Do-hyun responds. 

“And since when do we listen to gossip,” you scowl at her. “Sure, he’s not our favorite person right now but we don’t have the right to make claims about aspects of his life. And where are people even getting those ideas!”

“People talk, I guess,” she shrugs. “And he’s often spotted in clubs with those Kim brothers so maybe they see things. I’m not saying they’re all accurate… just that rumors often have some truth to them, you know?”

“No, I don’t, and we shouldn’t be sticking our noses in places where they shouldn’t be,” you say.

“Fine, but it’s just a heads up,” Do-hyun says, turning serious now. “You’re his executive assistant, and you have no choice but to stick your nose in places because personal and professional lines are often blurred in your situation, and that’s just how our world’s set up.”

“She’s right,” Chin-sun chimes in. “I mean, you need to know his personal schedule, go to his apartment, do errands if you need to, maybe buy a box of condoms if he runs out… You just got lucky that Mr. Jung’s pretty chill and has a wife who’s even nicer than he is. Your only problem was that he was damn scared of everything that moved and wasn't human.”

You’d laugh at the last statement if you could, but you know they’re both right. Hoseok wasn’t perfect, and neither was his marriage, but it never reached a point where you had to be put in a compromising position because you were his assistant who, by nature of your work, had to be privy to some of his personal matters. The most involved you were was when he and A-yeong had an argument and they used you as their messenger, but even that was more of a miscommunication issue than anything serious. They apologized to you after and promised to never put you in that kind of situation again.

But with Jungkook as a single man, you’re unsure what personal business you’d end up being involved in. You just wish it wasn’t something that would test your principles and cause you to lose your job. Regardless, whatever that would be isn’t something you can even really talk about with others.

“Well, I don’t wanna think about any of that right now,” you sigh, knowing you’ve got enough to worry about, such as how you’re going to start surviving everyday assisting a man who clearly doesn’t want you around. 

But if he’s gonna be a hard-head about it, then you’re just going to have to match him. You got to where you are because you’re determined to prove yourself constantly, and you’ll just show him that he needs you, and he doesn’t really have a choice unless he wants to argue with his father. 

You try to encourage your team once more and give Do-hyun that rare hug in comfort before going back to your desk, intent on finishing all the presentations for your briefing with Jungkook next week. You begin setting up his room by mid-afternoon, using a photo of his Singapore office as a basis since you were told that he prefers a certain style for his furniture and decor. You’re no stylist but over an hour after you finish, you think you did pretty good. You were so into designing the space that you didn’t notice the time fly by; before you know it, it’s 6PM, because you can hear A-yeong right outside calling for you.

“Hi,” she chirps, hugging you in greeting. “Are you ready?”

“I’ll just pack my things,” you say, walking to your desk. 

A-yeong takes a peek at the room and praises your efforts. “This looks so different from how it used to be. And that’s good because those cousins have such different tastes. But I think Jungkook will like this. He’s into the masculine and moody vibe, so good job, ___.”

You know that despite her kindness, she wouldn’t lie, and you could only hope that she’s right. You think it looks nice, but it’s what he thinks that matters; you’ll just have to wait until Monday to find out. 

As you’re about to leave, Hoseok appears in the hallway and asks how you are. Your scowl pretty much gives you away.

“I’m sorry about Jungkook, ___. He’s stubborn and a hot-head sometimes but he isn’t always like that, and this isn’t me making excuses for him,” your former boss says. 

“Why, what did he do?” A-yeong asks worriedly. 

“Basically implied that I’m not qualified for this role, among other things,” you respond. “But it’s okay. Not like I haven’t heard that before.”

“And you know that’s not true,” Hoseok comforts you. “He’s not good with change, that’s all, and you know how these appointments were all pretty short notice and he’s just been frustrated ever since. But whatever it is he said, don’t take them to heart. He’ll get a word from me, and he’ll definitely get one from his father.”

You want to say that it’s not easy to just disregard what Jungkook said; he’s your boss after all, and all that matters is what he thinks about you. But you’re not one to air out these feelings to Hoseok now that you’ve experienced a bit of what it’s like, so you just shake your head and ask the older man to let it go.

“He’s probably just tired,” you make an excuse this time, not wanting to discuss further with Hoseok. “And he had that assistant for over five years. I can understand wanting that familiarity and convenience. I’m just gonna have to adjust; there are a lot of things going on right now and he’ll need to focus on the projects, not his compatibility with his assistant.”

“But that matters though,” Hoseok insists. “I got things done because we worked well together. He’s gonna have to meet you in the middle with this one. And I’ll make sure that he does.”

“I know you said you want to look out for me but I don’t think it’s a good idea if you intervene this time, Mr. Jung,” you say, letting him know you’re serious and you mean business. “I’ll be okay, don’t worry about me.”

You give him a comforting smile, and you hope it’s enough to quell Hoseok’s own worries and it works this time. He returns it before letting you and his wife go, and it’s the Thai dinner and incredible desserts that somehow make up for your not-so-great day. 

You think the weekend will give you the peace you need to face your dreaded week - you do your errands and chores on Saturday and go to the market and watch a movie by yourself in the cinema the next day. 

All it took was a text from Jungkook that Sunday evening, asking for copies of certain policies and disapproved proposals from the last five years, that just had to ruin it, as you spend the entire evening consolidating the files, making you already wish it was Friday.

Jungkook’s apartment building is one of the Jeon properties that you haven’t been to yet, as it’s one of the newer massive residential structures that they built three years ago. You enter the sleek-looking lobby then submit your documents at the reception in exchange for your own access, and you internally marvel at how luxurious everything looks. 

You get to the 42nd floor, and it seems that there are only two units here. You walk towards the one on the right, choosing to be on the safe side by ringing the doorbell. It’s Monday, after all, and it’s your first time here; you don’t want to just enter without him permitting you to do so. 

You’re about to press the button again after a minute of no response, when the door opens and you take a moment to process the sight before you. 

There, standing just a few feet away, is Jungkook with nothing but a pair of black gym shorts on, his taut chest glistening in sweat, and his entire right arm covered in black and colored ink. His hair is damp and ruffled, and it’s probably due to the boxing he’d just done, as evidenced by the wraps on his knuckles and the way he’s panting heavily. 

You get your senses back and look away, not wanting to look affected by his half-naked form, even if you’re the one who has to catch her breath this time because much as you dislike the man, you can’t deny that his body is something that definitely deserves to be praised. 

“You’re here,” he speaks first, surprise laced in his voice as he takes in your obviously flustered form.

“I asked if 6:30 AM was a good time to come, Mr. Jeon,” you answer, glancing at him before looking at whatever you could behind him. “Perhaps I misheard your confirmation. I can wait downstairs if you’re not yet done with your exercise. My apologies for coming in early.”

You don’t actually have anything to be sorry for; he did confirm the time, and he’s the one who decided that working out at this hour was a good idea, knowing that his assistant’s scheduled to come. You would’ve appreciated it if he says you don’t need to apologize, but he doesn’t.

“It’s fine, I just finished,” he huffs. 

He leaves the door open for you to enter then heads straight to the large room on the right, which looks to be an indoor gym. You allow yourself a few seconds to look at his retreating form, quietly gasping as his broad shoulders and slender waist blind you a little, then scolding yourself for doing so. You stay rooted by the kitchen and look around the spacious penthouse as you wait for him to return. He exits the gym wearing a loose white shirt now, combing his hair with his fingers as he drinks a bottle of water.

“So, Mr. Jeon, uh, I would prepare Mr. Jung’s outfits for the week and then help his house staff make his breakfast. I run down his schedule as he eats. Are you okay with the same arrangement?” 

“Sure. I just don’t have any staff with me so you’re on your own. I’m fine with anything though. I’m not usually hungry in the morning,” he says before walking to the other side of the apartment.

You follow him, careful not to enter spaces you’re not given permission to, which is why you stand by his bedroom door before asking to come in. 

“How will you prepare my clothes from there?” He huffs. “Of course you can enter. Just be done before I finish taking a shower.”

You nod shyly and then head to the walk-in closet that thankfully has a separate door from the bathroom. He’s already unpacked his clothes, although not everything has been organized. You spot a few suits that are ready to wear, and you fix those first, taking note of asking him if there are things he wants dry cleaned or pressed. 

You leave his bedroom in time, hearing him slide open the door as you make it out, and proceed to make his breakfast. There’s really not much you can create with what little he has, so you make do with eggs and toast and whatever spread you find in his cupboard.

Jungkook walks into the kitchen not long after, the dark gray suit looking immaculate on him as you expected. Spotting his crooked necktie, you immediately walk up to him to fix it, unaware of how he holds his breath with how close you are. Noticing his body stiffen, you step back right away, apologizing for not asking permission first. 

He looks away and says it’s fine, then sits on the spot at the dining table where you’ve set up his meal. He stares at it for a good few seconds, prompting you to explain yourself.

“That’s… that’s all I could make with what you have, Mr. Jeon,” you say. “I can arrange for online groceries for you, as well as dry clean and pressing for your clothes and—”

“I’m having someone come in to clean my place and do all of that,” he says, as he takes a bite of his food. “So, what’s my week like?”

You start to enumerate the conference and lunch meetings he’ll be having this week, including who they’ll be with and their purpose. They’re mostly with the department leads to discuss updates on processes and current projects, and you’re thankful that Hoseok involved you as much as he did, given that Jungkook’s questions are more specific than you expected. 

Sure, he’s a Jeon and obviously works in the same company, but the Southeast Asian projects are different from the ones being implemented in South Korea, and while he used to oversee overall compliance to design standards, he’ll now be in-charge of setting those very standards this time. As Vice President, he’ll be involved in crafting policies; he’s also free to manage his own construction projects, and that’s what the support team is for. Given his much more expansive role this time, there are more departments and projects to oversee, and definitely more executive decisions to make. 

You suppose it’s why his questions don’t stop, even after he’s cleaned up and you both find yourselves in the backseat of the car and on the way to the office. He looks through the iPad with all the files you gave him, and you see the notes he’s made on them as you turn to him to answer his queries. Even if you know that he’s also still assessing you - perhaps on your knowledge and attention to detail - you can’t help but admire his thoroughness. You may have also cursed him in frustration for making you work on a Sunday, but he seems to have done way more than you, given that he went through all the documents over the weekend. You suddenly don’t feel too annoyed. 

But of course, he has to ruin it again.

“I need these annotated versions of the project and departmental documents ready before my meetings with the respective teams,” Jungkook says, his voice low and stern. “And I expect progress reports to be as detailed as possible, so make sure to check them first before they get to me. The ones you gave need revisions. I believe you’re trained enough to know immediately that these are lacking.”

“Yes, sir,” you respond, noting his instructions on your notebook while internally yelling, given that you’re unsure of the need for them before the meetings. 

Surely, he could give you some time to work on them, but with a meeting with one team in the afternoon and seven more the rest of the week, and on top of the other things you need to do for him, you already know you’ll be cramming to get everything done. 

You try to manage your breathing. Somehow, your habit of pressing your nails against your palm when you're stressed has miraculously come back today. It was something you developed while working under Mrs. Byun, which you eventually got over after working for Hoseok. You feel the anxiety build up, especially as you look at the half crescent marks on your skin, and it’s times like this that you wish your best friends were based in Seoul instead of Busan, so you’d at least have people to comfort you when things are a little tough. 

It’s not to say that work wasn’t overwhelming before. It definitely was, but Hoseok always found a way to make everything bearable and he was always reasonable with what he demanded of you. Now you’re stuck with a man who already makes you feel like your hard work isn’t enough. 

You make it to the office with no other words said and a thick tension in the air. It follows you to the elevator and into Jungkook’s room, where he dismisses you so he can prepare for the first meeting of the day. You rush to your desk and get on with your tasks, making sure to work on the annotated project file that he needs by the afternoon. 

It’s an hour later when you find yourself in the conference room for the meeting with the management support team. You prepped them just 10 minutes earlier, and while you tried to hide your frustration, your unusual lack of energy told them enough that it wasn’t exactly a good start of the day. 

They come in one by one, and you take the time to prepare Jungkook’s coffee, remembering from his former assistant’s notes how he wants it. He’d put it off earlier, given that he prefers to drink his protein shake after his workout, so this is the first time you’re doing it for him.

His eyes flit from the coffee in front of him to you as you place it on the table.

“Two espresso shots and half teaspoon each of milk and sugar,” you state, wanting to confirm that you got it right.

He merely takes a sip, places it down again, and then starts the meeting. 

How bold of you to assume that he’d thank you or even acknowledge it, as if he’d shown you even the tiniest amount of gratitude for anything you've done for him since Friday. Which he hasn’t. 

You let it go and proceed to sit next to him, your eyes and ears ready for what you already predict is gonna be a long meeting. 

It ends over three hours later. As you expected, he had a lot of questions. He made sure that each member had time to explain their current tasks and how they will monitor the projects assigned to them. You didn’t miss the way he’d acknowledged them with “good” and “well done,” and thanked them after they finished. He only nodded at you after your turn, with his eyes barely meeting yours, and for all the confidence you built over the past three years, you can’t process how it’s his non-acknowledgment that’s just going to undo all that. And quite frankly, you’re unsure if that’s on him or if that’s on you. 

Half of the meeting was spent discussing the big project that he wants to take on as Vice President. There’s a property they recently acquired - a non-operational arts center that he wants to revive by adding a performance hall, small theaters, a grand library, function rooms, and a permanent exhibition presenting the buildings that his family had developed over the years to showcase their architectural designs. 

You saw the excitement in your team members’ faces. Hoseok took over with several unfinished projects so you all had to focus on those. Aside from Manager Lee, this is the first time that you’re all handling something new and different. Even you felt the excitement creep in, a welcome emotion given how your day’s been going, but that shattered once he said that he wants it done by June of next year in time for an International Media Festival happening in August. The 12-month period he’s giving is too short with everything he wants to do, and you saw that the team felt the same. 

You go to them after Jungkook leaves for a lunch meeting, and their sighs and pouty faces tell you enough. Mr. Lee does his job of encouraging the team, and you add that you’re all gonna be supporting each other through it all. Sure, you’d have to match Jungkook’s ambition and thoroughness, but you should all take it as a challenge. 

You’re clearly not convinced yourself as the words come out of your mouth, but you don’t have time to debrief with them, as you still have that meeting with the design department that you have to prepare for. You take two biscuits and a cup of tea, and you decide that this is enough to last you throughout lunch, given that you’ll be spending the entirety of it working on the files. 

You don’t realize that an hour and a half have passed until you hear footsteps and see Jungkook’s form appear in the hallway. You stand to greet him, with him asking if you’re done with the annotated documents. 

“I’ll send it in five minutes, sir,” you say, hoping he’ll at least give you that. 

“Okay,” he responds. “Come to my office after you’ve sent it.”

“Yes, sir,” you say, quickly finishing the last two pages once he closes the door. 

You rush to get everything done and click send, then you head to his office and prepare yourself for more questions. It’s quiet inside as you watch him behind the desk, with his legs crossed and his eyebrows furrowed as he reads the document. You answer one of his questions and it’s at that moment when your very empty stomach decides to make itself known.

You freeze on your spot, as the grumbling sound starts low, getting louder for a few beats before it temporarily stops. Your eyes widen in embarrassment, and you press your belly so hard with your fingers in hopes that that would do anything, even if you’re too far gone at this point. Your only hope is that it was all in your head, but Jungkook’s eyes flitting to you tells you otherwise. The only other sound in his room is the air purifier, but it’s not remotely loud enough to drown out your intense hunger. 

It goes again, and all you can do is look away; humiliating yourself was definitely not the plan for your first day as Jeon Jungkook’s assistant.

“Do you need to step away, Ms. Cho?” He asks, not meeting your eyes. 

“Oh, it’s not… uh,” a bowel emergency or something, you want to say. “I just had a busy lunch break.” 

You settle for that, a hint that you’d spent its entirety doing something in such a short notice. Hoseok would always be apologetic whenever he had you do something during your break; he always made up for it with a nice meal as thanks. You doubt you’d get anything close to that from this man.

Jungkook hums and surprisingly doesn’t ask for anything else. He dismisses you and orders you to go ahead and prepare the conference room for the next meeting, and you do just that, dropping by the pantry for a muffin that you eat in four bites, in hopes that it would be enough to shut your stomach for the next three hours. 

Right as you exit, Jungkook picks up his phone to make a call. And then another one.

“Mr. Ri, please pick up the pastries that Ms. Cho ordered at the food hall,” he instructs his chauffeur. “She’s too busy right now.”

“Will do, Mr. Jeon.”

Taking minutes of a meeting when you’re starving is not a good thing. You know this because you’ve done this so many times, like during monthly executive meetings and the quarterly board meetings that have you spread out thin. It’s also not rare to miss out on lunch because there’s a report to finish or a site to visit; during events, you go on a day with having barely eaten anything. 

But just because you’re used to it, it doesn’t mean that your body has fully adapted, because here you are, eyeing the croissants in front of you, your mouth watering at the gloss and softness of the pastry. They’re so tempting and also out of reach, given that you need to be entirely focused on the discussion that you’re documenting, and munching on something is out of the question. You don’t even know where this is from and you think maybe the design department called for snacks but it’s really not helping your concentration.

You hope the way you’re nibbling your lips doesn’t give you away, but Yoongi from across the table picks it up, as you get a notification of his message.

[From: Min Yoongi] you didn’t have lunch, did you? 

You ignore the prompt on your laptop and respond to him with a look instead. You know your pouty lips will give him his answer, and he merely shakes his head at the confirmation. 

You do your best to shut out the sight and scent of the food before you, absorbing instead the discussion so you can note this down properly with just minimal edits needed. You have a lot of documents to work on for the next few days after all, and that’s on top of the file reorganization that Jungkook asked you to do. 

It works after you hang on by a thread for two and a half hours, a little earlier than you expected to finish. All you want is to sneak out that croissant and maybe some tarts, too, but your heart breaks when you look up and find the boxes empty. 

You let out a sigh, relieved that your boss didn’t hear you because he’s already on the phone and heading out the door. But it’s that same time that a plate of food appears in front of you, and it feels like the gates of heaven have opened. You’re not surprised anymore to find out who it’s from.

“Eat,” Yoongi says from next to you. “I could see your hands shaking from across the table.”

“What about you?” You ask, your lips in a pout once more. 

“You know I don’t eat these things,” he shrugs.

He doesn’t, and you know this, too. You also know he called dibs on these earlier, seeing as his staff were quick to get them, and he’d saved these so he could give them to you. 

“Ten years later and you’re still trying to make sure I eat, huh?” You say, nudging him with your hips to tease.

“If I don’t, who would?” He responds, walking out of the conference room with you. “You have a bad habit of not doing that.”

“Well, duty calls. What can I do?” 

“Take care of yourself even if it’s hard,” he replies. 

“Says the man who rarely does it himself,” you chuckle. 

“You know, the best advice I give are the ones I don’t actually follow, so disregard the fact that I don’t even do what I say because they apparently work,” he says. “But I mean it, ___. Eat this now.”

“Thanks, Yoongi,” you smile, taking a piece of pastry and eating it in two bites. 

Your puffed out cheeks cause him to laugh, and despite still being hungry after this, you suppose it’s enough to not make you faint at this moment. 

“And eat a proper dinner, okay?” He follows up.

“I’ll be off late, so I’ll just grab something from the convenience store,” you say. “That’s as proper as I can afford tonight.”

“Aish, fine,” he shakes his head. “But let me get you coffee at least. Those tarts won’t taste as good without one.”

“That would be life-saving,” you dramatically say. “What did I do to deserve a friend like you?”

“Don’t know. I mean, I’m not that great,” he shrugs. 

You playfully roll your eyes. “I’ll save the compliments once I have the coffee.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he feigns annoyance, gesturing for you to get back to your desk then walking the other direction. 

You take your seat and clean up the document, deciding that you’ll just review the meeting minutes tomorrow so you can get on with other pressing matters. It’s 20 minutes later when Yoongi returns, a tall cup of coffee on one hand and a banana loaf on the other.

“This is all they have left,” he says. “I hope it can last you until tonight.”

“It will,” you smile. “Thank you again. No one looks out for me here as much as you do. And that means a lot, more than you know. I don’t think I would’ve survived all these years without you.”

“Wow, all because of coffee and snacks,” he laughs, teasing. 

“It’s a fair trade. You feed me during my greatest need, I boost your ego,” you tease back. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Yoongi huffs in submission, but you know he enjoys it. 

You’re thankful that after everything that’s happened, you’re still able to maintain the friendship that you created when you were a mere intern and he was just starting out his career. 

“Anyway, I’m quickly meeting Jungkook and I need the portfolio of the contemporary arts institution joint project from 2019. It was VP-led so I assume it’s still here? Unless it’s in the archive room,” he continues.

“It’s within five years so it should be here,” you say, turning to the shelf behind you to confirm. 

You spot what you need and make the attempt to pull it out but your fingers barely even touch the rack.

“Need help?” Yoongi asks.

“And what help could you give, huh?” You tease again, earning you a playful groan.

“You brat.”

You laugh and pull out the small stool you keep for times like this. 

“Just make sure I don’t fall and embarrass myself further today,” you say, climbing up the steps then pulling out the heavy folder. 

You feel Yoongi’s arm move from where it was near your waist to over your head, as he lightens the load. You both try to balance it and laugh at your distorted faces in the process, and it’s moments of relief like this one that you’re glad you’re afforded after a long day like today. 

From inside the room, Jungkook sees you through the window, your eyes crinkling as you laugh along with Yoongi, head of the design department and one of his very few friends in the company. It catches him off guard, as he realizes that since meeting you last Friday, he’s never seen you laugh, much less smile or even have an expression that isn’t agitated or serious.

He knows that that’s probably on him. He’d spoken ill of you after all, something he regretted once he saw the frustration on your face when you made it known that you were in the room with them and had definitely heard everything he said. But he’d been tired and HR confirmed that he could bring Lucas over as his assistant; CEO Jeon was the one who vetoed that decision. 

Jungkook had already mentally prepared himself for the ease of his transition, knowing that he’d be assisted by someone who knows how he works and the quality of outputs he expects, only to come here and be told by his father that the current staff will stay, and that you - someone he’d only heard of as Hoseok’s assistant - will be the one assisting him from now on. Your resume didn’t even impress him.

Jungkook doesn’t like change and when he has to undergo it, he needs as much of what was familiar and convenient to remain; that’s the only bit of control he can have and he hates not being in control of things. You just happened to unluckily be at the receiving end of his anger.

But unlike what he expected, you stood up to him in the subtle ways you could. He’s been so used to people just following him, partly because his way is always the best but also because he commands that respect, and he knows his capabilities enough to know that he deserves it as well. So when you answered back, he felt rattled and just a little bit uneasy. He was unable to backtrack after, but he didn’t really plan to.

That doesn’t mean that he didn’t plan on being a bit of a jerk today, too. He’d been exhausted working over the weekend after going through all the files you gave him that he snoozed his alarm so many times and ended up doing his workout later than he intended. When you rang the doorbell and stood by his door with your skirt and satin top, he suddenly felt lightheaded.

He mentally smacked himself once the thought that your pastel colored outfit brought out your eyes more than the monochrome ensemble from last week floated in his head. He just hated that not only are you thorough with your work, you have to be beautiful, too. He’d never admit to anyone that both of those things make him nervous, and it’s the only reason why he thinks he needs to establish his authority so that he doesn’t get rattled the next time you counter him.

That’s why he demanded more work, which he didn’t intend to take up so much of your time, like your lunch break. He’d seen how your hands shook while you were taking notes during the meeting, prompting him to end the meeting early so you can have something to eat of what he’d bought but he’d left before he could find out if there was anything left for you. 

Maybe there wasn’t enough, as he also witnessed Yoongi hand you what seemed like food with coffee that the man also got for you just minutes ago. The smile you gave him was bright and sincere. Jungkook doesn’t think he’d ever see that directed at him, considering how he’d been to you on his first day, but maybe that’s also good; that could be his defense. Maybe it’d help quell that initial attraction that he doesn’t want and cannot allow at all to grow.

It doesn’t mean it doesn’t agitate him to see you a bit too close with his friend, because with the way you seem so comfortable and with the way that Yoongi sports that rare smile, it almost feels like there’s something there.

Jungkook is the son of the CEO, and having personal relationships within the company isn’t exactly advisable, but he’d gone to university with Yoongi and their introverted personalities instantly clicked. The older man is perhaps the only non-relative company employee that Jungkook kept in touch with when he was in Singapore, not that he even really talked much to his family outside of work anyway.

But in all the years of their friendship, his friend never mentioned any relationship - nor the makings of one - with another staff member. Jungkook hates how his curiosity is slowly getting to him. Maybe a few more moments would tell him more, but something about the scene happening outside his room is making him nervous and uneasy, so he decides to step in.

“Hey, Yoon,” he says as he opens the door. “Can we discuss now? I have to meet my parents for dinner in an hour.”

Your bubble with Yoongi bursts at the sound of Jungkook’s voice, and you immediately return to your seat. Your friend nods at you then enters the room, leaving you the peace and quiet you need to plop down on the floor for a quick snack of your loaf before going back to work, glancing inside every once in a while to see how the two are going, and perhaps confirm the friendship that you didn’t expect the two would have.

“This building is a good starting point,” Yoongi agrees with Jungkook. “If this is the general feel you want for the Arts Center, I can look into other projects and designs and come up with ideas. I’ll just ask ___ for the files I need.”

“You two seem close,” Jungkook says too quickly. 

Leaning back against the chair, Yoongi processes the question that he didn’t expect he’d hear. More than that, he tries to read what’s underneath it, knowing that his friend’s tone of voice and feigned stoic expression mean something more.

“You could say that,” Yoongi replies. “She did say that no one’s looked out for her here as much as I have. And that she wouldn’t have survived all these years without me.”

“So you’re actually friends?”

“Yes.”

“Were you more?”

Yoongi chuckles, the question giving him the answer he’s looking for. Jungkook may often be too serious but he can be transparent sometimes, too.

“Does it matter?” The older man asks.

“Just don’t want to be surprised, that’s all,” Jungkook shrugs. “If there’s an employee relationship happening under my nose, I should at least know.”

“It happens here a lot,” Yoongi responds. “I mean, it gives people something to gossip about but it’s how things are - work sucks sometimes and we want someone to hold at the end of a terrible day.”

Feeling like he won’t get an answer to a question that Jungkook doesn’t know why he felt the need to ask in the first place, he just shakes his head to concede. 

But it’s what prompts Yoongi to reply. 

“We met when she was just an intern,” he says. “We used to take the same bus then found out we both came from Daegu. Then she was employed and we were both on the logistics team before I was reassigned and she got the EA role.”

Jungkook merely hums, taking in the information.

“I also asked her out before,” Yoongi continues, earning him a surprised look from the younger man. “You just can’t help what you feel sometimes, you know?  But she turned me down, said she didn’t want to lead me on because she didn’t feel anything more. She also doesn’t like being involved with a co-worker, so yeah.”

“How are you still friends?”

“Asks the guy who’s still friends with his ex,” Yoongi laughs.

“Chaerin and I are civil, there’s a difference. And we haven’t spoken in years.”

“You loved her, though,” Yoongi counters. “I never got to that point.”

“This isn’t about me,” Jungkook huffs. 

Knowing it’s a topic that his friend doesn’t like talking about, Yoongi relents. “I moved on. That was years ago,” he says. “And it seemed like she needed someone. I mean, she’s not from here and her friends aren’t here, either. She appreciated the friendship even if she said she didn’t think she deserved it. I guess that made me really get over her, you know? That’s all she wanted and needed from me; it was better than not having her around.”

“How brave,” Jungkook remarks. 

“You mean mature?” Yoongi corrects. “Yes, that’s what I am, and it’s the best I could be for her. Especially since she’s got a boss who makes her miss lunch because somehow, there’s just so much to do for your first day on the job.”

“Don’t remind me,” Jungkook groans. 

“I will. Only so you could feel bad.”

“I already do. That’s why I…”

“Bought the pastries,” Yoongi finishes. “I mean, I didn’t order them.”

“Was any even left for her?” Jungkook sighs, remembering how he was internally screaming for you to just get from the box and he’d been the jerk to not offer you some even if it was technically for you.

“Sort of. I put some aside for myself so I could give them to her.”

“You sure you don’t like her anymore?” Jungkook cocks an eyebrow, an attempt to hide his uneasiness over something he doesn’t understand. He finds you attractive, that’s it. He doesn’t know why his mind searches for more answers.

“You don’t have to like someone romantically to be nice to them, you know?” Yoongi responds. “And she needed it. Heavens know the support she’d need now that she has to deal with your rude ass.”

Jungkook sighs, but the remark is a welcome one because he did tell Yoongi not to treat him differently just because he’s the Vice President now. He also partly agrees. But he sees the effort; his friend wouldn’t call him out for how he does things, so the most he would do is offer help to you. And Jungkook could maybe take advantage of that, as Yoongi stands up to leave.

“Hey, could you, uh, grab dinner for her at the food hall? And not say it’s from me?”

“The food hall’s closed,” Yoongi says.

“The cafe down the street, then?”

“You can’t be fucking serious,” the older man groans. 

But Yoongi knows his friend, knows the distance he creates from the people around him, knows his need to have control over everything, including his feelings, and knows the walls he builds because it’s easier to keep others out rather than do the hard task of letting them into a space that’s become comfortable because he’s been the only one inside for so long.

So Yoongi does as he’s asked. He takes the money then heads to the cafe to order pork cutlets and curry. He returns and sets them on your desk to your surprise, and you ask what it’s for.

“Just thought you deserve more than just convenience store instant noodles and gimbap given the day you’ve had,” he says. 

“Hey, those are delicious,” you pout, but wanting to melt at how good the rice bowl smells. “But thank you, again. I owe you a lot, Yoongi. I mean it.”

“Just make sure to eat on time so I don’t have to buy your dinner again,” he teases. “I mean it. You have to stay healthy, okay?”

“Okay,” you smile brightly. “Get home safe tonight.”

Jungkook glances out the window and holds back a smile himself at how innocent and genuinely happy you look. There’s this joy that you seem to enjoy to yourself and he sees that, he understands that. And somehow that’s enough to lessen the guilt for now. 

He still doesn’t know if he’ll ever see that smile directed at him or if he’d ever want that because of how disarming it is. But seeing it from afar is enough; it’s trivial and short enough to let him bask in it without having to climb out of his walls. He’ll watch you from behind, he thinks. He just wishes he doesn’t push you away in the process.

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[heartshapedmisery]

𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 | art donaldson

summary ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖ in which you and art can't seem to keep your hands to yourself after your first victorious win in weeks.

warnings ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖  MINORS DNI ! ( 18+ ) | language, graphic smut, unprotected sex (please stay safe y'all), art references to being turned on by watching reader play tennis, power dynamics?, switch!reader, switch!art, semi-public!sex, praise kink, hair pulling, oral (fem!receiving), obsessive!art (he is literally obsessed with the reader omg), p in v sex, art and reader almost get caught lmao, lmk if i missed anything!

word count ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖ 3.1k +

pairing ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖ standford!art donaldson x fem!stanford!reader

PART 2 OF LOOSEN UP!

author’s note ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖  if you haven't read part one, please do so before reading this! also i am a firm believer in art giving you aftercare after sex, no matter where it is in case you couldn't tell ;) i kinda rushed the ending sorry i just wanted to get it out in time :/ hope you enjoy!

publishing date ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖  may 17th, 2024 | © HEARTSHAPEDMISERY

A breathy groan escaped your lips as your racket smacked the tennis ball across the net, your final attempt at winning points in the match. You intensively watched your opponent—some hot-shot blonde from North Carolina—as she darted to hit the ball back to you. Your breath hitched as you saw her ankle roll from the impact, making her legs give out beneath her and ultimately miss the ball.

The air was knocked out of your lungs as the ball bounced out of the court. The game was yours.

"Game, (L/N)," the announcer sounds over the PA system, cheers erupting from the stands. Your eyes searched for Art, before seeing him standing on the sideline clapping his hands proudly with a smile.

Ever since his visit to your apartment, the two of you had been inseparable. Your preceding professional relationship had blossomed into a personal one within the blink of an eye, and your once light-hearted repartee had become rather flirty and intense.

He couldn't seem to keep his hands off of you, and you couldn't seem to ignore how much you loved it. Whether it be at his place, in the locker rooms, or even on the fucking tennis court (it was late at night and dark, and of course, art had been adamant to make sure everyone had gone home before he proposed the idea.)

You were addicted to each other. Drunk on each other's touch, and you never wanted to get sober.

"You did great out there. Congratulations," his lush voice cuts into the sporadic ringing in your ears when you finally make your way over to him, your chest still buzzing after your win as the two of you walk off the court.

Your heart was beating out of your chest, and not just because Art's hand didn't leave the small of your back until you were out of everyone's view and walked down the somewhat empty hallway of the athletic center.

"You think so?" you pondered lightly, still trying to catch your breath as you caught his eye. You recognized the look on his face; it was one you had grown to know all too well. The way his lips parted slightly, and his eyes seemed to darken as they drank in your elated state.

It was a look of lust.

"Oh, I know so," he corrected you, his voice low. His arm snaked around your waist as the two of you came to a stop outside the women's bathroom, your chest flush against his as he pulled you into him.

"I couldn't take my eyes off of you," he admitted. "The way you lose yourself when you're out on that court, it's mesmerizing."

His gaze trailed from your face to your chest to your ass, drinking in your appearance. He had always loved the skirt you had decided to wear for today's match; just a simple, white tennis skirt that seemed to be just a little bit shorter than the rest and hugged you in all the right places.

"Oh yeah?" you tested, a small smirk tugging at your lips. A giggle escaped your lips as his hand ran down your hip before settling on your ass, giving it a good squeeze as he leaned into you.

"Yeah," he whispered against your lips, before pulling you in for a hungry kiss by the back of your neck with his free hand. You let out an excited moan from the back of your throat the second you felt his tongue slip into your mouth, completely enveloping himself in you.

"Fuck, you're killing me, sweetheart," he muttered to you once he finally pulled away, grasping your arm and pulling you into the women's bathroom behind him. Thankfully, there was nobody in there, or else it would've made for a very awkward conversation.

"You wanna do this now? Here?" you ask unsteadily as the two of you stumble over to the sink, looking around at the highly impractical place he had chosen to hook up with you.

"You did so well today," he told you sweetly. "You deserve a reward, baby."

The spot between your legs dampened at his words, your thighs rubbing together as he pushed you up against the sink with his hips, searching for any sort of relief.

"Yeah?" your worries washed away. You decided to have a little fun with this.

"You wanna be my trophy, baby?" you played lightly, running your hands through his hair. A slight gasp escaped your throat as you felt his erection press against your thigh, a dazed grin on his face.

"Always," he growled in your ear, his nose nuzzling the soft skin of your neck as he left sloppy open-mouthed kisses along the side of your jaw.

Carefully, his hands ran up and under the hem of your skirt, caressing the softness of your thighs before he hooked his fingers on your panties and tugged them down in one swift movement. A smirk cracked across his face as he tucked them into the back pocket of his shorts, the pale lace hanging out messily.

A surge of excitement ran through your veins as your eyes fell on the unlocked bathroom door. Anyone could walk in on the two of you and see just how well your tennis coach really treats you.

The mere thought itself drove you wild.

Quickly, he set you up on the sink and nudged your knees apart, giving him the perfect view of your soaked core as he sunk to his knees to be level with your lower half.

His eyes poured into yours as he pulled your legs over his shoulders, grasping your thighs firmly to keep them in place. The mere sight of him before you made a shaky whimper blow past your lips, your fingers moving to brush the stray strands of hair that hung over his light eyes.

"So, so pretty," you whispered, his eyes fluttering shut as his lips met your soft skin.

He pressed wet kisses along the inside of your thighs, slowly making his way to where he wanted you most. You shuddered deeply when you felt his tongue finally lay flat against your wet core, his nose budding against your clit as he delved into you as if you were his last meal.

"Oh my g-god," you whined, digging your heel into the muscle of his back, his grip on your thigh tight enough to leave a mark. He held you in place as you squirmed around at his touch. You simply couldn't keep still as his lips sucked at your wetness, his tongue lapping at you mercilessly.

A groan reverberated in his chest when your legs tightened around his head, your ankles interlocking and pulling him closer to you.

"Please," you whimpered, the vibrations of his low moans stimulating your core. Your eyes peered down as his hand moved to the crotch of his shorts, palming the erection he had gotten from the sweet taste of you.

It no doubt sent you over the edge, a moan falling from your lips as you watched him pleasure himself. You couldn't take it anymore; you needed to feel him.

"Art," you breathed, pulling him away from your core. His head lulled back lazily, his pretty eyes meeting yours as a dazed smirk bloomed across his lips. His chin was glistening with your slick. "Please fuck me."

He didn't hesitate to stand to his feet, his lips smashing against yours exasperatingly. Despite how much he loved pleasuring you with his tongue, you didn't need to tell him twice.

You could taste yourself on his tongue as he slipped it into your mouth, moaning against your lips. His behavior was obsessive, grabbing you by your waist and pulling you as close to him as possible as his clothed hard-on rutted against your bare core.

"See you what you do to me?" he whispered to you with a sigh, bringing your hand to the front of his shorts to feel him. You couldn't help but moan, taking it upon yourself to dip your fingers into his waistband and grasping him.

"It's a good thing I know how to control myself when you're the court," he laughed lightly. "Otherwise we'd have a real problem."

You nodded as you gently pumped him, excited at the thought of Art getting a boner while he watched you play. "Yeah? Do you like watching me play, Coach?"

He groaned into your neck at the nickname as you continued to jack him off, his balls stiff and his tip reddened. You were being such a tease and he hated it.

"I like watching you win," he suddenly pulled you off the counter and spun you around, bending your body over the sink.

"And you're a winner, right baby?" lips brushed against your ear as he caged you between his body and the counter. You could feel his dick pressed against your ass, eager to feel you.

"Yes," you whined, white-knuckling the counter as you could feel him moving around behind you, running his tip along your wet slit.

"Yes, what?" he was having fun with you now.

"Yes, Coach," you groaned, meeting his gaze in the mirror. His eyes were dark, and you could've sworn you saw a mischievous smirk flash across his face before he pushed himself into you swiftly.

His hips stuttered at the sound of the moan that fell from your lips, his grip on your hips tightening mercilessly.

You whimpered pathetically as he bottomed out inside of you, his pelvis bone flushed with the round of your ass. You stretched around him sweetly, watching his face contort in the mirror with pleasure.

"God, you're so tight," he breathed out, but his tone was almost desperate. His hips slowly began to move, which you were thankful for. The sweet burn of his cock sliding in and out of you was something you had only dreamed of, especially after the night at your apartment.

His free hand moved from its spot on your hip and reached around you to squeeze your right breast, his large and veiny hand cupping it perfectly. You couldn't help but moan at the dense feeling as it heightened your pleasure, your core clenching around him subconsciously.

"Feels so good," you mumbled as his hand moved from your chest to your hair, his slender fingers combing through it before giving it a harsh tug, the force pulling your back to his chest roughly.

"That's it, baby," he groaned in your ear, not letting up on his rhythmic thrusts up into you. "You can take it."

He watched you through the mirror as your eyes rolled back, his grip on your hair still tight enough to hold you in place against his chest. He took the opportunity to attack your neck with kisses, trailing from the spot right beneath your jaw down to your exposed collarbone.

His lips sent you into a frenzy, the sensation making the familiar coil in your stomach tighten as it mixed with the pleasure between your legs. You wouldn't last much longer at this rate, and Art could feel you coming undone with each thrust.

"Gonna come for me, baby?" he cooed gently to you as he met your gaze, holding it intensely as you nodded lazily. He wasn't far off either, so he quickened his pace to bring the both of you to your climaxes.

"So good," was all you were able to say, the words tumbling out of your mouth in a chant as he panted behind you from his relentless momentum.

Before you knew it, warmth spread throughout your lower belly as he pulled your orgasm out of you with a helpless cry, your head lulling back against his chest as your muscles tensed. An unsteady groan ripped from his chest as he sighed into your hair, his eye screwing shut as his release washed over him as well.

A string of incoherent pleas fell from your mouths simultaneously, the both of you in utter awe of one another. It took a moment for both of you to come back down from your highs, speechless from what had just unexpectedly unfolded in the women's bathroom.

Art helped you look presentable again after he tucked himself away, moving the stray hairs from your face and slipping your underwear back up your smooth legs for you. You watched him with a smile, elated at the way his hands lingered on your hips as he flattened your skirt down.

"Good as new, sweetheart," he placed a kiss to your temple as the two of you moved to walk out the door until it swung open.

You were met with a disgruntled old lady as the two of you stood awkwardly in the middle of the bathroom, unsure of what to say.

Oh shit, you thought. You would guess Art was thinking the same thing based on the deer-in-headlights look that he had on his face.

"Excuse me," she brushed past the both of you with a confused look, before disappearing into one of the stalls. She wanted no business with whatever she had just walked in on.

You looked at Art, finding it hard to hold back the laugh that bubbled up from your chest.

"Let's get out of here before we traumatize more little old ladies..."

[imsilay]

I love your stalker König, have you considered writing about him kidnapping the reader?

Kidnapping them, locking them in his home so that when he comes back from his missions he can play “house” and “make love to his little wife”. Age gap is also always so good 🩷

IT WAS ON MY MIND BUT WHEN YOU REQUESTED IT I HAD TO WRITE ilysm <3

SOAR

NSFW! mdni +18, cw: kidnapping, obsessive behavior, fem!reader, König is a fucking delusional, riding, fingering.

word count: 2k

summary: Your sweet captor König fucking you after coming back to home from a long mission.

next part here

art cr: yashk_pucyet on twt

An ominous whistle echoed through the hall as he made his way to the front door of his apartment. The way he walked, his hands on his pockets and long steps, told how delighted he was to finally be back home. Other soldiers were already at the bar, celebrating their victory. But for him it was different. He didn’t wanted alcohol and woman. He wanted you. That was why he was rushing to home. He couldn’t wait to see his sweet wife, to worship his prize, to use his pet. He was aching to have you in his arms, your legs wrapped around his waist as he did basically everything in the house. He was clingy yes. He knew it but didn’t care. You were his already. So that meant he could do anything he wanted with you.

He already had his keys when he arrived at the door. Impatiently unlocking the door and kicking his shoes off. He closed and locked the door. A wont. “I’m back meine Königin.” he said not too loudly. He wouldn’t want to startle you because it was midnight and he knew you didn’t like loud noises. He walked through living room, it was designed simple; a couch and a tv unit with some plants, he could buy better but it was safe if it was small and basic. The door of your shared bedroom opened as he decided to stay silent in case you were sleeping. His heart hammer his chest when he saw your sleeping form in his bed. the sheets covered some of your body but the way your pajama pants was slid up exposing your soft thigh made his head spin.

See? He didn’t need any alcohol, you were intoxicating enough for him. “Meine Königin.” he purred as he quickly took of his gear and other clothes until he was just in his boxers. His mask was thrown away for him to find tomorrow. He climbed on the bed next to you. His massive body took the majority of the space but he wasn’t complaining. This way you were more close with him.

He gently turned your body towards him and took a sharp breath when he saw you wasn’t wearing any bra. “Nein, i should let you sleep. I don’t want my wife to be mad at me.” he mumbled as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you onto his chest. “I missed you so much, meine Königin.” he whispered and kissed your cheek. You clinged to his body unconsciously for more warmth. The way your body pressed against his -especially the feeling of your breasts underneath your t-shirt- made him want to take you there but he has to be patient. Until you wake up and notice his presence.

Well… He wasn’t a patient man. Not after witnessing how easily can people die. If he wanted something, he had to have it right then. That was why he kidnapped you. You, his innocent little girl, so young and naive. It wasn’t hard to gain your trust, you loved everyone. He just waited until you were independent from your family and had your own life. New friends, new neighbors, new job… It all made you feel like you were in a dream. Everything was too perfect. Until one day you heard a loud noise in your house then everything went black. That was when he took you for himself. The first year was like hell. You were constantly trying to escape, breaking everything in the house and throwing fits. But could you really do anything to harm him? That mountain of a man? He could kill everyone who was in his way. And unfortunately the destination was you. It was almost pitiful that how desperate he was for you. He didn’t really hurt or hit you. Even when you tried to escape he just found you and brought you back to his house. In his words “Our home.”

“Maus.” he purred as his hand slide underneath your t-shirt caressing your waist. His lips inches away from yours aching to capture them. Your eyes opened slowly when you felt and heard him. “I’m home.” he mumbled as he brushed his lips against your cheek. When you finally processed what was going on you tried to move away immediately. “Let go of me!” you scowled and pushed him by his chest. He chuckled lightly and pulled you back to your position on his chest. “The harder you push me, the harder i will pull you back.” he whispered and kissed your cheek. “As much as i love your spirit, i’m tired, Maus.” his voice was giving away how tired he was. Yet there was more. You knew it. “What do you want from me?” you mumbled as you stopped squirming. Your heart was beating like crazy, you knew you had no chance against him. “I want you to love me. But i know it’s too much to ask. I don’t deserve you, meine Königin.” your heart ache for a moment. But then you remembered that he was your captor. Your heart filled with rage again. He smiled softly and caressed your waist. “But you know the other thing i want.” his hand squeezed your waist and his lips brushed against your chin. His lips kissing you wherever he could reach, but your lips.

He still haven’t kissed you since he kidnapped you. He would fuck you until you can’t remember your name but that was it. He told you the reason why he didn’t kissed you during a vulnerable moment of his. He was listening to your heartbeat after a nightmare and speaking to you even if you just caressed his hair and didn’t answered him. “I want to kiss you so bad, Maus. I really do. But i don’t want to ruin you. I’m just a pathetic man who is trying to make you love me. So, i want you to kiss me when you love me.” that was his sweet words before he eat you out. Ironic, isn’t it?

A soft sigh escaped from your lips when he kissed your neck and his hand down your body. “I want you to ride me. I want you to sit on my cock like it’s your throne, meine Königin.” he whispered as he grounded his hard on against your clothed cunt. You whimpered when you felt his hard cock against your stomach. He was away from home for a month and you haven’t since done anything for yourself. So you were already wet for him. “You should take care of your husband~” he purred. “You’re not my husband. You’re just a psycho.” you moaned as he kissed the sensitive skin of your neck. “I suggest you to choose your words wisely, Maus.” he mumbled and bit your shoulder as a warning. “And how could you deny me when you’re this wet f’me, hm?” he chuckled lightly after pushing his fingers into your panties making you shudder and moan. His fingers found your clit and started rubbing it slowly. Making you wetter and ready for him. Your head dropped to his shoulder and small moans escaped from your lips. He groaned when your hot breath hit his neck. His neck was the most sensitive spot on his body. Were you doing it on purpose? Knowing how he cum in his pants when you kissed him on the neck first time?

“Maus stop- i want to cum inside you.” he mumbled and with a quick maneuver you were sitting on top of his crotch. He groaned and his hips buck upwards to meet yours. The thin fabric of your underwears did nothing. He still felt how wet and warm you were. You also whined and rock your hips. You were so desperate for a release and he was the only thing in hand. Your attempts to satisfy yourself was failed because he made you addicted to his big and thick cock, your small fingers weren’t enough. One of your hands rested on his chest as you tugged down your underwear with other. “Scheiße, Maus.” his cock twitched in his boxers at the sight. He knew you wanted him as much as he do. And it made him go feral. But he managed to stay still and watched you. You were aching for his cock but it wouldn’t fit if you weren’t opened enough. Your gaze dropped to his hands on your waist. You took one of his hands and he raised an eyebrow with curiosity but he let you lead it whenever you wanted. You took his middle and ring finger inside your mouth and moaned. Your head spun from just thinking about having it inside your tight cunt. He felt like he was having a heart attack when you sucked and covered his thick and lengthy fingers with your salvia. He let you do all the work as you grounded against his clad cock and wet his fingers. When you took his fingers out of your mouth and gave him a desperate look, he knew what you wanted. So he stuck his fingers into your dripping hole making you whimper and buck your hips. “Just like that, Maus. Ride my fingers.” he fingered your little hole as his free hand supported you by your waist. “So verdammt süß.” he hissed and picked up the pace. His fingers effortlessly finding all the spots in your tight cunt. “You’re so tight, Maus. Did you wait for me like a good wife, hm?” he mumbled as he felt you were close and added another finger. You whined and your walls clenched around his thick fingers. You cum unannounced and he groaned when you cum with just his fingers. “König.” you whimpered and your hands grabbed his forearms when he pulled his fingers out. “I know it’s not enough meine Königin.” he cooed and lifted you up a little to free his precum leaking cock. He didn’t even had the patience to take off his boxers fully. He positioned you on his cock and let you take it in slowly, giving you time to adjust his size. He groaned when your walls sucked him in greedily. “Guess someone missed me.” he mumbled and caressed your hips while you sit on his cock. “Here. Right here is where you belong, Maus.” he grabbed you by hips and made you bounce on his cock. His head tipped back and he let out a low groan. He was living for this moment. When he’s on a mission he would count the days until he meet you again. His beautiful wife.

This position allowed him to be deep inside you and it made you even more desperate. Your moans and whines filled the room as he mercilessly bounced you up and down on his cock. The tip of his cock hit your cervix and you whimpered. “König it’s too deep.” you dug your nails into his forearms. He groaned and picked up the pace. It wasn’t like you were riding him anymore. He was slamming you down on his cock with his giant strength. “Slow down!” you whimpered when he hit your cervix again. “Admit that i’m your husband. Then i will consider.” he growled as he fucked you mercilessly. “Fuck-“ you cried when he didn’t even slow down a bit. “You’re my husband, König. Please.” you managed to say. “Braves Mädchen.” he purred and slowed down just a bit. “Say it again.” he slapped your hips and smirked delightfully. His big hand covered your hips as he slammed his hips into yours rapidly. You slurred that he was your husband over and over until he finally cum deep inside you. He rubbed your clit so you cum along with him.

You collapsed on his chest as he pulled out his cock. His semen dripped from your hole and you buried your head into his neck. You hated him so much for ruining your life but you were also desperate to have his love and affection. “Meine Königin.” he cooed and rubbed your back in small circles. “We’re not finished.” he kissed your forehead when you protested with a whine.

a/n: please support me by reblogging, if you liked the content ofc <3 your comments also makes my day :* and i try to reply all of them :>

also i post everyday -sometimes 2 posts in a day- so if you follow me i won’t disappoint ;)

i promise i will write the stalker x stalker after this lol

if you liked this story you’ll love this

[punkshort]

Swept Away | Chapter 7: Making Waves

Pairing: sugardaddy!Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Joel receives some exciting news, meanwhile you're having one of the worst nights of your life.

Chapter Warnings: language, sugar daddy/baby dynamics, alcohol and food consumption, jealousy, sexual tension, flirting, physical violence against reader (not Joel), verbal abuse towards reader, blood/bruising related to an injury, feral Joel came to play, anxiety, insecurities, possessive behavior, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex

WC: 10K (yikes)

Series Masterlist

Everything was the same it always was, but somehow also different.

Admittedly, the morning following the art gallery you awoke terrified Joel would ice you out again. You stayed in bed as long as you could, texting Celine just to avoid the inevitable heartbreak, but much to your surprise you heard a knock on your door around ten in the morning.

"Hey," Joel peeked his head into your room and you dropped your phone to your mattress. "You okay? You don't usually sleep this late."

"Yeah," you replied, voice still thick with sleep so you cleared your throat. "Just, uh, taking it easy and..." you trailed off and dropped your gaze to the floor.

"Avoidin' me?"

Your eyes snapped up just to find him leaning against your doorframe with his arms crossed and a teasing smirk on his face.

"Maybe," you whispered, plucking nervously at your comforter. He pushed off the wall and walked over to your side of the bed, then reached out to tame some of the hair around your ear.

"Gonna give me a taste and take it away, that it?"

Your cheeks felt hot and the butterflies in your stomach stirred to life, but you managed to shake your head and hold his gaze. "N-no. I just thought you might've regretted it again."

He sighed and he stopped playing with your hair so he could cup your cheek. "I never regretted it," he told you softly, then leaned down to press a tender kiss against your lips. "Not then and not now," he added before pulling away, leaving you breathless. "Now c'mon, your breakfast is gettin' cold," he said when he turned to walk out of your room.

And that was all that was ever said on the subject.

Now, a handful of days later, everything was business as usual. You still slept in your separate rooms and you went to restaurants together but the air around you was different. It felt charged whenever you were together. A lingering glance here, a gentle touch there reminded you something had definitely changed. Something that went unlabeled and unspoken and you didn't dare try. As much as you wished to take things further and try to get Joel to open up more, you refrained because you could sense he was growing impatient with Glenn and you didn't want to sour his mood even more.

He was running out of time and Joel told you he needed to step things up. So far, Glenn had avoided talking much business and spent most of the time just getting to know everyone better. Joel never pushed him. He saw how Glenn reacted when Zachary or Harry tried to bring up business and it wasn't good, so he bided his time and waited. But now he was feeling the pressure.

"Can't just spend an entire fuckin' month here for nothin'," he grumbled one afternoon as he paced around the hotel. You watched him from your spot on the sofa, still clad in your bikini from spending time by the pool that morning.

You chewed your lip nervously, his anxious energy transferring to you. "How important is it that you win?"

His eyes flickered over to yours and scoffed. "Real fuckin' important. If I get this spot, The Parador would become a household name. The revenue stream from this spot alone would be higher than all my other hotels combined. It would open up a whole new world of opportunities for my business."

Joel rolled his shoulder like he was trying to work out a tight muscle and you pursed your lips. Maybe you just hadn't given it much thought, but it sounded like a much bigger deal than you originally imagined.

"It's about exclusivity," Joel continued, "there's only so much space on this island. Only the best of the best build here, and the world fuckin' knows it. It's why they want to travel to this particular island - they want to experience a level of comfort and luxury they've never known before in the most beautiful place in the world."

"Well, did he say when he was going to make a decision?"

"Said by the end of the trip but no one's even had a chance to give 'em their sales pitch yet," he said, raking his fingers through his hair.

"Maybe he doesn't need the sales pitch," you said, picking up your phone. He stopped pacing and eyed you up.

"What'dya mean?"

You let your phone hang limply in your hand and you looked back up at him.

"Well, he knows what you're all about. He knows what kind of hotels all of you run and how successful you are. He doesn't care what your vision is or what will make your hotel different. But what he does care about is this island."

Joel frowned and slowly sunk into the couch opposite you.

"What else?"

Your lips turned downward and shrugged. "He cares about this island and its people. He wants to make sure the person he picks for this land will respect it and the people who live here. I mean, think about it. Guy could live anywhere but he built a huge mansion right here. His kids live here. His daughter is dedicating her career to helping local artists find success. He loves it here, Joel. He just wants someone who will love it back."

He stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable until he abruptly stood and in two long strides, closed the distance between you. He grabbed the sides of your head and pulled you up for a deep kiss, the suddenness of it stopping you from responding right away. Just when your brain caught up and your lips began to massage his, he pulled away with a huge smile.

"You're so fuckin' smart, y'know that? Jesus Christ, why didn't I see that?"

You grinned, trying to hide the pleased look on your face by shaking your head and turning away.

"What can I say? I have my moments," you shrugged when you sat back down on the couch. "Guess you got more than you bargained for with me," you added with a laugh.

"Oh, I knew that already," Joel said with a wink. Your cheeks warmed and you looked down at your phone with a stupid smile stretched across your face. It was moments like those when you heard the voice inside your head scream at you to ask the obvious question: what did you mean to him?

He kissed you like you were his girlfriend, but he never invited you into his bedroom. He had said he wanted more, but had yet to try. Was he waiting for you to make a move? You had been practically throwing yourself at him for the past week, there was no way you were going to do that again.

Joel had dialed someone who worked for him, completely oblivious to the confusion swirling around in your head. Instead, he was excitedly conveying the breakthrough you had about Glenn to the man on the other end and began to talk strategy. Already feeling bored, you decided to get up and go take a shower so you were ready for dinner, but as you were walking back towards your bedroom, you heard Joel say quietly into his phone, "No, I didn't even think of it. My girl did."

My girl.

Oh, you could get used to that.

"Aren't you bored as hell when Joel runs off to hang with the guys?" Zoe asked over dinner. Ironically, you had picked the same restaurant as Lynne and Tammy, who also invited Ian, for dinner. You didn't know Ian very well but from the look of it, he seemed to be caught in the middle. He tossed a few glances your way and gave you each friendly smiles, but Lynne and Tammy ignored you completely. However, based on their body language, you had a strong feeling they were most definitely talking about the two of you.

"Sometimes," you admitted. You shot the waiter a smile when he placed two drinks on the table. You each quickly grabbed them, clinking your glasses together before taking a long sip.

"Well, only one more week and then you'll have him all to yourself again, lucky girl," she said with a flirty wink. You thought you responded but you couldn't be sure because she had unexpectedly knocked you sideways. One more week? Christ, where did the time go? And what would happen between you and Joel when you got back home? Would he really just pay you and disappear from your life forever? The thought made you sick to your stomach and you had to put your drink down.

"You okay?" Zoe asked, furrowing her brows. "You look a little queasy."

"No, I'm fine," you said quickly, waving her off. "Just hungry."

"Sure you're not pregnant?" she teased. You laughed and pointed to your drink.

"Would be a little irresponsible of me, wouldn't it?"

You were so grateful for Zoe. She was a safe place when you were feeling lonely or insecure and it made you sad you wouldn't be able to keep in touch once the trip was over. How could you? If you did, she would eventually figure out you were hired, just like she was, to accompany Joel to the island.

Maybe it was the two devastating reality checks in a row but you had a hard time snapping out of your funk. You tried, you really did, but you couldn't stop thinking about losing Joel and Zoe so soon. It didn't help matters when she got a text from Zachary telling her the night with Glenn on his boat was going long and not to bother staying up.

She sighed with relief and flicked her hair over her shoulder before glancing around the dining room, murmuring to you about how she could use a night off while you just stared down at your phone, waiting for a similar text from Joel.

Nothing.

My girl.

You took a deep breath, trying to tamp down the insecurity, but it was hard. It was so fucking hard. Why was it always so difficult with Joel? Why did it always feel like whenever you took one step forward, you take two steps back? Did he even like you? You thought he did, but maybe you were wrong. Maybe he was just treating you like a sugar baby this whole time and you stupidly thought -

Your phone buzzed on the table and when you saw Joel's name pop up, relief instantly swept through you and all your nagging self-doubt faded away.

Going to be late, sweetheart. I'm sorry but I got a good feeling - finally getting somewhere with Glenn

You smiled, despite not being able to see him the rest of the night, he thought enough to text you and he called you sweetheart.

Right when you were about to reply, he texted you again.

I'll make it up to you ;)

You must have looked flustered because Zoe cleared her throat and quirked an eyebrow at you when you finally tore your eyes away from your phone.

"Do you have something to share with the class?"

You shook your head and tried to hide your smile behind your hand but failed. Still, Zoe peered curiously across the table and read Joel's last text upside down. She gave you a jealous pout and sat back in her chair.

"Not fair. You're so lucky," she sighed. "I think once Zachary and I are done, I'm going to quit."

"What?!" you quietly exclaimed. She nodded and shrugged.

"I'm done with it. It was fun, I got to travel a lot, have nice things and meet cool people but I need to think about my future, you know? And there's, like, a zero percent fucking chance I'll meet the love of my life being a sugar baby."

You nodded, struggling to figure out what to do with a sharp pang in your chest. Was it so impossible to think anything serious could come from a relationship with a sugar daddy? Luckily, Zoe continued.

"I look at you guys and I'm just reminded of what I could have, y'know? All I want is a guy who looks at me the way Joel looks at you."

Jesus Christ, Zoe was shaking you up and she didn't even know it.

"H-how does he look at me?"

Zoe rolled her eyes at you before saying, "C'mon, you know. He can't keep his eyes off you. He's so fucking into you, it's sick."

You laughed at that, a sharp little bark of disbelief, but then quickly corrected yourself. You had to change the subject, your emotions were splintering and you were desperate to talk about something lighter, but before you did, you sent Joel a text.

Can't wait ;)

Shoving your phone back into your purse, you turned your attention back to Zoe, frowning when you saw the sour look on her face as she finished her drink.

"What?"

She leaned across the table and lowered her voice. "Don't turn around but Trevor and Brooks are at the bar."

Your stomach twisted into knots and you took another drink, grateful to see your food arriving if just for the distraction alone.

"Wonder why they aren't on the boat with everyone else," you mumbled before stabbing a piece of pasta with your fork.

"I heard Brooks didn't want to go and Glenn sent Trevor to keep an eye on him," Zoe told you mischievously.

"How the hell do you hear all this gossip?" you asked after you wiped the shocked look off your face. Zoe giggled and swallowed a bite of her salmon.

"I get bored, I eavesdrop."

"Damn, either Joel doesn't hear this stuff or he doesn't care because the only phone calls I hear from him are work calls," you said before offering her a bite of your dish. She eagerly accepted and gave you some salmon in return. "Wonder why Glenn thought Brooks needed a babysitter," you said after another moment.

Zoe put her fork down and gave you a look that told you she knew way more than she should, so you mimicked her and set your fork down as well to give her your full attention.

"I don't think Glenn and Mary trust Brooks to carry on the business once he retires," Zoe said, glancing once over your shoulder at the bar. "I don't know why but that night at Glenn's house, I went to the bathroom and overheard Mary telling Brooks this is your last chance, or something like that."

You raised your eyebrows in surprise and slowly leaned back in your seat. So it wasn't just you who thought something was off about him. Then Joel's comment about drug use slipped back into your brain and you were about to tell her but you decided to bite your tongue at the last minute. You trusted Zoe, but you didn't want to betray Joel. So instead, you kept your mouth shut and played dumb.

"That's... crazy," you said, fumbling for words. It didn't seem to bother Zoe because she just nodded and picked up her fork.

"I know, right? Kind of humbling to know Glenn and Mary don't have the perfect little family we all thought."

When the waiter approached, you assumed he was coming to check on your food, but instead he held in his hand a bottle of champagne. "From Mr. Miller with his sincerest apologies," the waiter had said, making you blush when Zoe gave you an incredulous look. As sweet as it was, you really hoped that's not what he meant by 'making it up to you'. After the champagne was poured and the waiter left, placing the bottle on ice first, she pretended to stab your arm with her fork.

"What the hell, girl? Maybe I need to get a front desk job for some billionaire so I can find my own Joel."

You giggled and took a sip from your glass, the bubbles popping on your tongue. It could have been a three hundred dollar bottle of champagne or a ten dollar bottle, it didn't matter to you. The mere fact Joel figured out where you went for dinner and sent something over was astounding to you and you prayed you were reading the signals right.

"I should thank him," you said, pulling your phone back out to send him a quick text.

You didn't need to do that, but thank you :)

In less than a minute, you got your reply.

No need to thank me, baby - enjoy and I'll see you tomorrow

"Looks like your man's little gift caught someone's eye," Zoe said with a grin. You followed her gaze to Tammy and Lynne's table, catching the nasty look they were sending your way before they turned around and you giggled into your palm.

"She's still pissed with me because I almost pulled all her hair out at the art gallery the other night."

Zoe's eyes went wide and her jaw dropped. "Excuse me?!"

You laughed and stood up from the table, dropping your napkin on your chair before grabbing your purse. "I'll tell you all about it after I use the restroom."

She made a pained squeak, disgruntled you were leaving her hanging, but you just grinned and stepped away.

"You better be quick!" she shouted after you. Fuck, you were really going to miss hanging out with her.

Despite the looming conclusion to your trip, you were feeling pretty good. At least, in that moment, things felt like they were going well with Joel and you were having a nice time at dinner, even though Tammy had just been staring daggers at you.

The one thing you somehow managed to forget about was Brooks, who unfortunately exited the men's bathroom just as you were searching for the women's room.

"Well, look who it is," Brooks said when he spotted you. You tried to give him a polite smile but you weren't sure you succeeded.

"Oh, hi," was all you said when you tried to squeeze past him. Right as you passed, his hand shot out to grab your arm and you swiveled around.

"You ladies having a nice time?" he asked with a toothy smile. His dark eyes bored into you and if you looked close enough, you could see his pupils were like pinpricks. Then his hand casually swiped against his nostrils and you figured out what he had just been doing in the bathroom.

"Yeah, thanks. This place is nice," you said, taking a subtle step backwards before hooking your thumb over your shoulder. "Excuse me," you added, and before he could say anything else you turned on your heel and headed for the women's room a few feet away, relaxing once you heard the door swing closed behind you.

After you used the bathroom and washed your hands, you were fixing your hair and makeup in the mirror, your thoughts back on Joel, mind wandering to what exactly he meant by I'll make it up to you later when the door flung open. You hardly had a chance to process what was happening until Brooks locked the door and turned on you, sending a hot jolt of fear through your entire body.

"Listen, I'm gonna be straight up with you," he said, pinching the tip of his nose. His eyes looked a little red in the bright lighting of the bathroom and you could see beads of sweat collecting at his temples. You tried to create more room but your back was already pressed against the sink: you had nowhere to go.

"I know what your deal is," he told you, his hands fidgeting at his sides. "I know you're only into that old fuck for his money but I can promise you, I'm about to have double what he's got."

You blinked slowly, struggling to keep your breathing even. Your entire body was rigid, muscles tense and straining under your skin, and your heart was pounding so loudly, you could feel it in your ears. How could he possibly know?

"W-what?" you stammered. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Brooks's arm darted up from his side to grip the back of your hair too roughly, making you cry out in surprise and grab onto his forearm.

"C'mon, don't play games with me. I know a gold digger when I see one. And that's perfectly fucking fine. I don't care! Mad respect. What I'm trying to tell you is I could give you so much more than him," Brooks told you, taking a step closer so his hips pinned you against the sink. You whimpered and tugged at his wrist but he wouldn't budge. "I got more money and live in fucking paradise, baby," he said, trying to sound seductive as he leaned forward and tugged your earlobe between his teeth, making you recoil in disgust.

"Get off me!" you shouted, shoving him backwards as hard as you could. It worked. He let go of the back of your head when he stumbled away, but unfortunately it only served to piss him off.

"Are you fucking serious?" he seethed, expression turning stormy as he closed the distance between you and grabbed the back of your neck so suddenly, you were too stunned to react. "Do you even realize what I'm offering you, here?"

"I don't care," you said, scratching frantically at the back of his hand, body writhing as you tried to escape. Your engagement ring caught on his skin, tearing it and making him hiss. "I don't want anything to do with you! Get the fuck away from me!" You tried to push him again but he was ready for it that time. He grabbed your wrists with one big hand and yanked your head backwards so your back was arched over the sink. Your eyes filled with tears as you squirmed and tried to wiggle out of his grasp to no avail.

"Dumb bitch," he snarled. "You could have someone younger with more money. Thousands of women would jump at this chance but you're too fucking stupid, huh?"

Amidst the tears, anger ripped through you and without even thinking twice, you twisted around in his grasp to sink your teeth into his hand. Brooks inhaled sharply and cursed under his breath, dropping your wrists but keeping a firm hold on the back of your neck. You shoved at him again, over and over, trying your hardest to loosen his grip so you could make a run for it, but you just weren't strong enough. And maybe it was the drugs coursing through his veins or his ego took too big of a hit, but you didn't anticipate what happened next:

He let you go.

At first, you thought someone had stepped in, but when your panicked eyes darted around the room, you found you were still alone. The sudden freedom made you hesitate and it probably wouldn't have made a difference anyway, but later you would wonder if maybe you had reacted faster, it would have saved you alot of hurt and pain.

"Stop fucking shoving me, I'm trying to change your miserable little life," he growled, lunging forward to push your chest with all his might. His strength sent you flying backwards but you managed to catch yourself before you hit the back of your head on the porcelain of the sink. As a result, you twisted around and smacked your mouth on the edge of the vanity. Pain instantly bloomed under your lips and you feebly cupped your mouth, whimpering in agony as blood began to trickle through your fingers.

"Look what you did!" Brooks roared, and by now you could hear Trevor's voice in the hallway. Tears streamed down your cheeks, mixing with the blood and dripping onto the white tile floor. You sobbed into your hands and tried to hide under the sink because at that point, you had no idea what he was capable of doing.

You had squeezed your eyes shut and braced for the impact of a fist or a foot but thankfully, none came. Had you the courage to open your eyes, you would have seen him come to the sobering realization of what he just did when he saw your blood on the floor. He swiped his hand anxiously over his mouth, eyes darting around the room while you cowered in fear, and slowly backed away towards the door.

"Brooks! Open the goddamn door!" Trevor's voice came from the hallway, his tone quiet to avoid any attention but still laced with anger. He did as his brother asked, shakily undoing the lock and brushing past him, and Trevor glanced into the room before the door shut. His eyes widened and his jaw fell open when he saw the state you were in and rushed inside.

"Oh, fuck, I'm so sorry," he murmured, crouching down next to you. "What can I do? T-tell me what to do!"

"Get ... Zoe," you choked out between sobs. He nodded and backed away slowly, still unable to believe what he was seeing before he rushed down the hallway.

Zoe sprung into action the moment she saw you in the bathroom and you had never felt so grateful for anyone in your life. She got you out of there before anyone could see and ushered you quickly into the waiting car by the curb. It wouldn't be until later that you discovered it was Trevor who ordered the car on standby while Zoe was doing her best to clean you up before getting you out of there. She must have been rattled because her hands were shaking but you never would have known it by the way she spoke and took control.

By the time you got back to the hotel, the sun had set and the lobby was relatively empty. You kept your tear soaked face tilted towards the floor with a napkin pressed against your mouth to stem the bleeding as Zoe led you to the elevators. Once you were in the safety and privacy of your room, you released a haggard sob that was a mix of relief and frustration.

"Let's get you to the bathroom," she said, taking you by the shoulders after kicking both your shoes off in the foyer.

While you were having a decidedly terrible fucking evening, Joel had been having the exact opposite experience on Glenn's boat. Somewhere tucked inside your purse, which was abandoned on the dining room table next to a handful of bloody tissues, your phone lit up with a text from Joel:

Heading back now - hope you're still up bc Glenn pulled me aside 10 min ago and told me he's giving me the fucking land! We gotta celebrate baby

It was late. You never answered his text so he assumed you were in bed, but fuck... maybe he should wake you up.

He got the fucking land.

Glenn didn't announce it yet, but he planned to soon. Joel finally felt like he could relax and maybe enjoy what little time you had left together. He tried not to think too hard about that last part and just focused on the present, like following through with his promise to you.

As he swiped his card through the reader, he smirked to himself, thinking of all the ways he could make things up to you, then froze when he walked into the foyer and saw an unfamiliar pair of high heels by the door. His gaze traveled up and saw all the lights were still on.

That was unusual.

He took a few tentative steps inside, expecting to maybe see you and Zoe by the pool or in the living room, but he was wrong. And it was way too quiet.

He called out your name as he ventured further into the room and then two things happened at once: right as Zoe emerged from the bathroom with a shaken look on her face, Joel saw the pile of bloody tissues next to your purse on the table.

Something was wrong.

His eyes darted up to Zoe's and she held up her hands, palms out, before shakily saying, "There was an accident-"

"Where is she?" he asked. He could feel his throat closing up and his chest beginning to squeeze tight. Fuck, it was hard to breathe.

"She's okay, but she's got a busted lip and -"

Joel tore past Zoe in the blink of an eye, noticing the light on underneath your closed bathroom door. He knocked urgently, saying, "It's me, open up," but you didn't answer. He could feel the anxiety taking hold and flooding his veins with adrenaline. His hands trembled when he knocked again.

"She's a little shook up," Zoe explained from behind him. He dragged his palms nervously over his face and turned to her.

"What happened?"

Zoe opened and closed her mouth, unsure how to answer. "I only got a little bit out of her, but she was attacked in the women's room at the restaurant."

"Attacked?" Joel repeated incredulously. It was so much worse than he thought.

Zoe nodded right when the bathroom door clicked unlocked. You opened it a crack and went back to curl up in the empty spa bath with the pillow and blanket Zoe had brought for you from the living room.

"I can't get her to go lay down in your bedroom," Zoe explained before Joel nodded and pushed the door open. The first thing he saw was the counter filled with bloodied white washcloths and tissues, the sight more than a little horrifying but when he saw your reflection in the mirror, he swiveled around with a jolt.

"Jesus Christ," he whispered, then rushed to the edge of the tub and fell to his knees. He reached out to cup your face; your puffy, swollen, bruised up face.

His eyes never stopped moving. They darted everywhere, taking in every single detail, but mostly lingering on your split lower lip and the bright purple bruise blooming below your eye. His thumb traced gently over your cheek and he felt a sharp twist in his chest when you winced.

"What happened?" he asked you softly.

You sniffled and shook your head but he pinched your chin and made you look him directly in the eye.

"Baby, what happened?" he asked again, "Someone attacked you? Did you call the cops?"

Again, you shook your head then glanced at Zoe over his shoulder.

"Just tell him, babe," she said encouragingly. You sighed and pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders.

"Promise me you won't get mad," you began, voice thick and gravelly from crying. Joel pinched his eyebrows together and dropped his hand from your chin.

"I ain't gonna be mad at you, sweetheart," he whispered. You watched him swallow and you took a deep breath.

"Brooks cornered me," you finally admitted, tears stinging your tired eyes. "He followed me into the bathroom and locked the door. He - he said some nasty fucking shit and got mad when I told him to leave."

Joel's nostrils flared, his eyes scorching with rage.

"But I pushed him, Joel. I pushed him and so he pushed me back and then I fell into the sink and -"

"Why'd you push him, honey?" he asked, trying to sound calm but you could hear the anger simmering below the surface.

"Because... he kept grabbing me and wouldn't let go. Like, around my neck and hair. He wanted-"

"I know what he wanted," Joel said darkly, pushing himself up to stand then turned to acknowledge Zoe. "Can you stay with her for an hour?"

Zoe nodded and your eyes went wide.

"Joel-"

"It's alright, sweetheart. I'm gonna take care of it."

He stormed out of the bathroom, fists clenched at his sides, trying desperately to contain his anger but his face felt hot and his jaw already ached from how hard he was grinding his teeth.

You scrambled out of the tub, knocking your knee painfully against the porcelain, and raced after him. "Joel! You can't!"

"I'll be back in an hour," was all he said before snatching his wallet from the table and disappearing out into the hall.

"It'll be okay," Zoe said, appearing at your side to rub your back. "Why don't we try to put ice on your lip again?"

You wiped at your nose with the back of your hand and nodded, allowing her to refresh the washcloth with ice and getting you settled on the couch before stepping away to call Zachary to let him know where she was. She had clicked the button on the fireplace remote before she stepped outside to make her call so you stared blankly into the flames while praying Joel didn't do something incredibly stupid.

Joel was gone more than an hour. Zoe sat with you underneath a shared blanket while you watched some mindless television show and iced your face. The bleeding stopped long ago but the pain was beginning to set in, so she got you some ibuprofen and forced you to drink extra water, assuring you it would help.

By the time Joel finally returned, your eyes were beginning to droop but when you heard the door click open, you got a sudden burst of energy.

Sitting up straight and tugging the blanket around your knees, you craned your neck around, waiting for him to appear. He stepped in from the foyer a little disheveled but otherwise seemed fine, but when he locked eyes with you, you knew something happened.

"Thanks, Zoe. I'm sure Zach's worried 'bout you."

His voice was deep and commanding, eyes never leaving yours. She immediately stood, giving you one more hug and whispering in your ear to call if you needed anything, then gathered her things to leave.

You remained planted on the couch, unable to tear your eyes away from the look on Joel's face. When the front door clicked shut, signifying you were finally alone, his shoulders visibly sagged then he marched over to the couch.

Without a word, he scooped you up in his arms, blanket and all, and took you down the hall towards your bedroom. Now that you were closer, you could see some red marks on his cheek and neck, but you didn't have much time to dwell on it because to your surprise, Joel turned left instead of right, taking you into his room.

You hardly were ever in his room. The door was always closed when you walked by and your memory was hazy but you remembered it was bigger and he had his own bathroom attached. He carefully set you down on his bed, the side that remained untouched, before disappearing into his bathroom. You took a second to look around the now well lived in room. All around you were pieces of Joel: reading glasses, crumpled pieces of paper and a chapstick on his nightstand, a phone charger dangling from the wall next to his bed, a few articles of clothing were scattered around along with discarded shoes. If it didn't hurt to smile, you would have because you finally learned something new about Joel Miller: he was messy.

"Did you disinfect it?" Joel asked when he stepped back into the room with a wet towel. You slowly shook your head. You and Zoe had been more concerned about stopping the bleeding and then worried about damage to your teeth to really think about disinfectant.

He nodded and sat down on the edge of the bed, then beckoned you to come forward. You scooted closer and stretched out your neck, giving him better access to your face. He dabbed carefully at your lip, his eyes stormy while he still fought with the remnants of his adrenaline. When your eyes met, his gaze softened and he slowly dropped his hand to his lap.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, the emotion in his voice bewildering you.

"It's not your fault," you countered, but he shook his head and dropped his chin to his chest.

"Shoulda been there. Been leavin' you alone too much -"

"That's okay, Joel. That's why we're here, right? You need to do whatever it takes to get that land."

His heart sank and he closed his eyes. You obviously still hadn't checked your phone but he didn't bother telling you the news, anyway, because after what he just did to Brooks, he was certain that land was no longer his.

"You oughta get some rest, darlin'," he said softly while standing to head back into his bathroom. He dropped the washcloth into the tub, glancing briefly at his knuckles now that he had stepped out of the darkness of his bedroom. He did a piss poor job cleaning them up but he didn't care. He was exhausted and just wanted to go to bed.

When he came back into the bedroom, he frowned when he saw you with your hand on the doorknob.

"What're you doin'?"

You turned back to him and when he saw your face again, it felt like all the air got knocked out of him.

It's a miracle Joel didn't kill him.

"I'm... going back to my room," you replied, your voice so small and weak that it broke his heart. He shook his head and pointed back to the bed, right where you were sitting.

"Stay," he said, then softened his voice and added, "please."

Your hand dropped to your side immediately and you looked around. "My pajamas-"

"I'll get 'em," he said, pointing to the bed again. "Rest," he told you when he walked across the room, taking you gently by the shoulders and guiding you towards his bed. You did as you were told while he hurried across the hall for your clothes, then stopped at your bathroom for your toothbrush before returning and shutting the door.

You thanked him softly and disappeared into his bathroom to wash up. Joel nervously paced around his room, tossing his dirty clothes into an ever growing pile near the closet before tugging on a white tshirt and slipping into bed.

Shyly, you stepped out of the bathroom wearing a loose fitting cotton tank top and matching shorts. You looked at him and he ushered you forward in the darkness, so you flicked off the bathroom light and scurried into bed.

He couldn't stop himself. He immediately rolled onto his side and wrapped his arms around your middle, pulling you close, breathing in deep the scent of your shampoo and mint from his toothpaste.

You hummed happily and turned onto your side so his chest pressed against your back. The warmth of his arms surrounding you made you finally feel safe and at peace. But then your hand fell to rest on top of his and you froze, your eyes flying open in the pitch black room.

"Joel?"

"Hm?"

Your thumb gently brushed over the broken skin on his knuckles, then you sought out his other hand to do the same and your heart stopped.

"What did you do?" you whispered with a tremor to your voice.

He swallowed thickly and buried his face in the back of your neck before responding.

"What I had to."

You had a fitful night's sleep. If you weren't dreaming about a dark pair of eyes screaming horrible things at you in a bathroom, then you were dreaming about the aftermath of whatever Joel did to Brooks. Best case scenario, Glenn doesn't choose Joel to purchase the land. Worst case scenario, he gets arrested in the morning.

Both options fucking sucked.

If you were lucky, you got three hours of sleep. You laid in Joel's arms, listening to him softly snore behind you while the sky turned from pitch black to a deep, angry blue through the glass French doors that lead out to the pool.

Everything hurt, but the thing that hurt the most was your heart. You tried, you really did, but Brooks's words got to you. They festered under your skin, burrowed deep down and gnawed away at you until they found a permeant spot in your chest.

Nothing helped. A day ago you would have been thrilled to find yourself in Joel's bed, but as you laid there, all you could hear was gold digger, dumb bitch, look what you did!

Your mind had a vice grip on those words and it made you sick.

You wiggled in Joel's grasp, deciding there was no use in lying there if all you were going to do was work yourself up, but his grip tightened around you protectively and pulled you into his chest. You sighed and shifted around a bit more when his sleep filled voice startled you.

"Quit squirmin'."

You stilled and lifted your chin up. "I can't sleep, I was trying to get up without waking you."

"You ain't goin' anywhere," he grumbled, and for the first time since dinner, you felt the corner of your mouth tug into a careful smile. "Why can't you sleep? You hurtin'?"

You swallowed and dropped your gaze to his hands, which were pressed firm against your stomach. Now that the room was lighter, you could see the extent of the damage and it made you cringe.

"No," you whispered, only partially lying before closing your eyes so you wouldn't look at his knuckles any longer. "Can't stop thinking about -"

You cut yourself off but Joel knew what you were going to say. He sighed and pressed a kiss against your shoulder, surprising you despite the intimate position you had found yourself in all night.

He could feel how tense your muscles were so he gave your shoulder another kiss, but that time he let his lips linger a bit longer than was necessary. He smirked a little when he saw goosebumps flare across your skin, so he did it again.

"My poor girl," he whispered, his voice dropping to sound more seductive. "I'm so sorry you went through all this, baby. You don't deserve it," he added sweetly before brushing his lips over your shoulder and up the back of your neck. His exhale tickled you behind the ear and you felt yourself melt into his hold.

You boldly took one of his hands and dragged it up from where it rested against your stomach to lay flat between your breasts, letting him feel the way your heart raced, all for him.

His breath hitched in his throat, unable to resist brushing his palm experimentally over your hardening nipple, your thin top not providing much of a barrier. Instinctively, your back arched ever so slightly. Your ass pressed into his hips, causing him to groan, so you did it again.

"Christ," he murmured, tightening his grip, fingertips dimpling the soft flesh above your breast. "What're you doin', sweetheart?"

You only whimpered a little when you rolled your hips into him again to feel his erection pressing firmly against your ass. His responding growl sent a shiver down your spine and had your head tilting back so his mouth could suck on a spot behind your ear.

"Joel, please," you breathed. He made a little noise of disapproval in the back of his throat but that didn't stop him from biting gently at your neck.

"Don't think it's a good idea," he murmured into your hair, but the throb of his cock pressed against you said otherwise. "You've been through so much, you need your rest. You gotta heal, honey."

You whined impatiently and twisted around in his arms so you could finally see him. His hair was a mess but his eyes were bright and his skin had a pink tint, giving away his aroused state, as if you didn't already know.

"Please," you begged softly, brushing your lips carefully against his. Your hand slid up to rake through the matted hair on the back of his head while you nipped eagerly at his lower lip. "Please make it feel better, Joel."

His eyelids fluttered for a moment as he felt himself losing the battle. With a deep groan, he rolled over to pin you underneath him. He made a mistake when his instincts took over and he pressed his lips firmly against yours and you whimpered painfully. He immediately drew back and inspected your wounded lip for further injury, guilt flashing in his eyes.

"It's okay, I'm okay," you whispered, pulling him back down but tilting your chin up so he could kiss your neck, instead. You felt his muscles relax, his movements slowing and growing more tender, but kept his hips pressed against your core as a reminder of how hard you made him. "I'm okay," you whispered again, sliding your eyes closed with a soft moan while his mouth dragged up and down the column of your throat and his hand roamed freely underneath the hem of your shirt.

With hardly any effort at all, he lifted your tank above your head and tossed it onto the floor. His mouth immediately latched onto one breast while his hand played with the other. Between his tongue and fingers working steadily over your nipples, it took no time at all before you were a puddle underneath him.

"So beautiful," he murmured into your skin. His hand trailed down your side to play with the drawstring of your shorts, giving you another chance to ask him to stop, but instead you followed his lead and dipped your fingers past the waistband of his boxers. He inhaled sharply against your chest when you wrapped your fist around his cock for the first time and had to remind himself to be gentle when he heard you gasp at his size.

"Y'sure, baby?" he rasped, unable to stop his hips from thrusting lightly into your hand while you stroked him up and down.

"Mhmm," you mumbled, voice getting lost somewhere in your throat. You had never wanted someone as badly as you wanted him. It felt like he was everywhere. His scent, his hands, the pressure of his weight on top of you... you had never been more sure about anything in your life.

You hoped he didn't notice the nervous tremble in your hands when you pushed his boxers down his legs but after he tore off his shirt, he shakily fumbled with your own shorts and you had to hold back the smile that threatened to stretch across your broken lip. Was he nervous, too?

He sat back to drink you all in when you were finally bare before him, his eyes hungrily roaming over your soft curves, making you forget about every little imperfection you ever obsessed over. You only had a moment to admire his broad, tanned chest and thick biceps before he fell back onto his elbows to cage you in.

Your pulse thrummed fast under his gaze, the skin at your jugular twitching with each nervous beat of your heart.

"Wish I could kiss you," he admitted, eyes darting down to your lip.

"Me, too," you murmured before reaching down between your bodies. Your fingers wrapped around his thick length and you spread your legs wider to accommodate him. You guided him to your center, eyes never leaving his, before releasing his cock to wrap your arms around his ribs instead.

"Keep your eyes on me, okay?" he asked, voice a little broken at the request. You nodded and held your breath when you felt his tip breach your entrance. Of course, when his hips shifted to slide halfway inside, your eyes fluttered closed and your arms fell to grab at the sheets, the stretch taking your breath away.

"Baby, c'mon," he begged, nipping at your jaw. With a gasp, your eyes flew open to find his and nodded, wordlessly telling him to continue. One of his hands reached for your wrist and pinned it into the bedding next to your head. His fingers spread wide and found yours, lacing your hands together when he pushed in the rest of the way with a soft grunt.

"O-oh, fuck," you panted, struggling for air as you wiggled your hips, your cunt feeling like it was stretched to the limit. Joel watched you squirm underneath him and he couldn't help the way his chest swelled with pride.

"Yeah, you like that, baby? That feel good?" he muttered, cock throbbing inside you. You nodded, lips parted and eyes glassy, fingers flexing around his. Your fingertips brushed over his now scabbed over knuckles and a wave of your slick soaked his cock, turned on by the physical evidence of what he did to defend you.

And he noticed.

He noticed the way your eyelids drooped and your jaw went slack when you felt his knuckles again. Joel drew his hips back before slowly pushing his way back in, giving you his cock nice and slow.

"Could've killed him," he told you. Your eyes snapped open wide, looking up at him all soft and doe eyed. "Could've killed him for touching you, y'know that?"

You whimpered and wrapped your legs around his waist. Then your bruised, swollen lower lip trembled and his gaze darted down. Very carefully, he grazed his lips over your wound, both of you breathing in deeply as his hips pulled back and rocked into you once again. The stretch was intense, the feeling of him filling you up so perfectly overwhelming your senses.

You murmured his name and nuzzled your nose against his face, growing frustrated you couldn't kiss him. Once he set a slow, yet steady, rhythm, he pulled your hand up above your head, pushing it deep into the pillows, fingers tightening around yours as he plunged inside of you over and over. You could sense his frustration, too, by the way your jaws hung open, hovering over the other, breathing sharp gasps and pants into each other's mouths each time his hips snapped into you, knocking the air from your lungs.

"Wish I could taste you," you whispered against his open mouth. His brows pinched together, your confession rattling him for a second. "Want to know how your cock feels on my tongue. Wonder how much I can take," you continued, enjoying the way he was reacting way too much. Unconsciously, his hips picked up the pace, fucking into you a little harder and pushing you up into the pillows. His face contorted as if he were in pain and he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Can't say shit like that," he groaned, letting his forehead fall to rest on your shoulder. "Gonna make me come. You feel too good, fuck," he whimpered. "Shoulda been fuckin' you since we got here."

You smirked, as much as your lips would allow, anyway, before replying.

"Better make up for lost time, then."

His teeth sunk into the skin stretching across your collarbone and you moaned, slipping your fingers through his curls with your free hand. You held him there against your neck and shoulder, sighing at the trail of licks and kisses he left on your skin while his cock continued to mold a path inside you, your cunt squeezing around him with every sharp thrust.

"Shit, that's my girl," he rasped, tongue flicking out lazily to lick at your sweaty skin. "Takin' everythin' I give you. This pretty pussy just needed my cock, hm? Needed me to make it all better?"

My girl.

Stars exploded behind your eyes when you squeezed them shut, his filth hitting you like a goddamn freight train.

"Yes!" you cried out, tipping your head back into the pillow and tightening your hold on his hand. "Yes, Joel, fuck - feels so good. S-so deep. It's so much," you whined while he sucked another mark into the soft flesh above your left breast.

He soothed you with a reassuring hum before unlocking one of your legs from his waist and hooking it over his shoulder. You gasped, the sharp angle making it feel far more intense than before, dragging you closer and closer to your climax.

"Oh, my god!" you cried out when the tip of his cock nudged against a spot inside you that had your legs shaking and your vision blurring. Joel reared back, your hand falling limply from his hair, so he could fuck you harder. He huffed and panted for air, staring down at you with his jaw clenched tight and sweat trailing down the sides of his face.

The noises you were making should have embarrassed you but you didn't care, especially since Joel appeared to enjoy them so much. You gazed up at him, gasping for air every time his hips slammed into yours. You probably looked like a mess but he didn't seem to mind at all.

"Good?" was all he managed to grunt, entirely fixated on making you come.

"Yes," you whined, "please don't stop. Christ, Joel, I -"

You cut yourself off with a low moan, the relentless pace he set bringing you to the brink of an orgasm so intense, tears were already filling your eyes. He felt your muscles tensing when your breath started to come in jagged little gasps and he quickly cupped your face to tilt it up towards him, eager to watch you fall apart again, but this time promised to be much more satisfying.

With a deep growl, he ground his hips into you, rubbing the coarse hairs that curled at the base of his cock against your clit, soaking up your arousal with each pass.

Your mouth fell open and your face crumpled when you came, a litany of curses spilling from your lips while Joel continued to drag against your clit, drawing out your orgasm as long as possible while he actively fought back his own.

"Fuck, that's pretty," he grunted, still holding your face in his massive hand while the last waves washed over you. You nuzzled blindly into his palm, his other hand still holding yours so tightly, his knuckles began to slowly trickle fresh blood. "So goddamn pretty f'me, baby," he added, voice growing strained. His gaze dropped to where you were connected, watching how your slick had spread all over his cock and stomach, then flicked his eyes back up to you.

"I'm gonna come," he whimpered, cheeks puffing, sweat soaked hair sticking to his forehead, and brown eyes fixed on the now relaxed expression on your face. "Are you - can I -"

"Yes," you said quickly, "yes, Joel. God, yes, please come inside me, please," you pleaded. His eyes rolled to the back of his head when he came, your begging being the last push he needed to fall over the edge with a loud groan.

You watched in a trance, memorizing the look of ecstasy on his face, the little ungh followed by a low hiss each time he thrusted forward, shooting his spend deep inside your used cunt until his arms shook and he finally let go of your hand, leg falling from his shoulder.

"Fuck," he gasped, each of you fighting for air while you waited for your hearts to stop racing. His hands gently braced your hips before he slipped out of your wet clutch, his cock still half hard and covered with your combined release. You made a little noise at the loss, at the sudden feeling of emptiness, but he quickly fell to your side and pulled your back against his chest, soothing you with soft strokes against your hip as you worked through the aftershocks of your orgasm.

"Think you can go to sleep now?" he asked, his voice hoarse and muffled from his face burrowing into your back.

"Yeah," you sighed, wiggling in his hold until you were comfortable. His seed was still dripping out of you but the last thing you wanted to do was clean it up. You wanted to feel him there for as long as possible, even though you knew the ache in your hips would serve as a constant reminder for the next day or two, at least.

"Good," he grumbled as if he were annoyed, but you could feel his lips curving into a smile against your skin.

The last thing you remembered before falling asleep were the little bright red dots that stained his knuckles on the hand that was connected to the arm wedged underneath you, holding you safe and sound.

"French fries for breakfast?" you asked him, shooting Joel a look of surprise. He shrugged and popped another one in his mouth before patting the bed next to him.

"They're my weakness."

You giggled and practically jumped back into bed, your hair dripping from your shower and the soft, white robe caressing your still highly sensitive skin.

"Do you share?" you asked him with a suggestive tone in your voice. He quirked an eyebrow at you before feeding you a fry.

"Food? Yes."

You chewed and hummed as you leaned into his shoulder, eyes drifting to the television. You furrowed your brow as you tried to figure out the movie, but his hand around your shoulder distracted you when he tugged on the soft cotton.

"Women? No," he added before dipping his other hand past the collar, cupping your breast still concealed by the robe. You inhaled sharply, your spine automatically twisting to cater to him, to give him easier access to your body like it was its only function. You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck as he pushed you down into the mattress, movie long forgotten. When he began to suck on your neck, your lips still off limits, you groaned and gave his shoulder a playful shove.

"Look at how many marks you already left on me," you pouted, tugging open your robe with one hand so he could see.

He pulled back so he could admire his handiwork before giving you a sly grin.

"Good," he said before resuming his work on your throat. And if you didn't fucking love it so much, you might have protested a bit more but instead, you craned your neck to give him better access. You sighed and felt your body relax under him, cunt already softening and preparing to take him again when your gaze fell on the clock beside his bed.

"Oh, shit! Joel! It's almost ten!" you exclaimed, tapping on his shoulder to snap him out of his lust filled haze.

"So?"

"So?" you repeated incredulously. "What about work?"

"What 'bout it?" he mumbled, hips digging into the apex of your thighs.

"Don't you have a company to run?"

Joel scoffed against your neck and finally pulled away. He pressed his weight into his forearms, which bracketed your head, and kissed the tip of your nose.

"I'm the boss. Think I can do what I want."

He was skipping work for you? Your heart practically leapt out of your chest and into the palm of his hand. You had to fight back the huge smile that pulled at your face for fear of reopening the cut on your lip, but the way your face went hot and your eyes shyly dropped from his was enough to show how happy you were.

He grinned and leaned back down to graze his teeth along your jaw. As far as either of you were concerned, nothing could touch you in the safety of his room. In your minds, the repercussions of the day before were a problem for another time.

"Well, what do you want to do, then?" you teased, gasping when you felt his already hard cock nudge against the inside of your thigh.

"You," he answered gruffly, then as fast as lightening, his hand flicked open your robe to expose yourself to him.

"Christ, you're perfect," he groaned before descending on your nipple, his teeth pinching at the sensitive bud ever so slightly while you whimpered and writhed under him.

His phone vibrated in the sheets next to you, but he ignored it.

"Joel," you breathed, blinking fast to clear your hazy vision. "Joel, your phone."

He groaned and begrudgingly released your breast but remained on top of you as he fished around for his phone.

"Gotta tell Jeff to fuck off, then -"

He paused as he stared at the screen, the blood draining from his face.

Fear shot through you and you scrambled to sit up.

"What is it?"

He swallowed the lump in his throat as he reread whatever popped up on his screen before dragging his eyes away to look at you.

"It's Glenn. He's in the lobby."

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[polakina]

how they fuck you

red dead redemption headcanons #2

hc masterlist // masterlist

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

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

rating: explicit

-

is always gentle with you at first

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

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

loves to hear you beg for him, want him

it just turns him on even more

dirty talk through the ROOF

this man knows how to talk you through it

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

will eat you out for days if he could

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

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

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

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

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

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

fucks you slow, savouring the moment when he can

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

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

loves to cut your clothes from your body with his knife

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

so you've both learned the art of being fast

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

never asks for them, but loves blowjobs

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

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

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

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

will edge you for days

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

definitely grabs the headboard

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

has his hands on you at all times

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

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

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

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

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

learned a lot with you

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and the way he fucked you was no different

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

but what he's really good with is his hands

his fingers

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

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

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

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

[fayes-fics]

An Artful Arrangement

Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (threesome)

Summary: A private art lesson with Benedict becomes something else when a Viscount is your subject...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, MMF threesome, no incest. Very mild restraint with hands, sensation play, smidge of breast play, vaginal object insertion, vaginal fingering, oral sex (M to F), masturbation, vaginal sex, voyeurism/exhibitionism.

Word Count: 7.7k

Authors Note: Request fill for Anon, who wanted Anthony as a life model for one of Benedict's private art lessons. This request is from last year and I started writing it before the whole Benedict gives up art thing of s3. I hope artist Benedict returns in s4. Anyway, thank you to @colettebronte for beta-reading this monster. Enjoy! <3

“I’m not sure about this, brother,” Anthony frowns, surveying the jumbled art studio at Benedict’s London townhouse. 

Sunlight is streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the rear of the property, but Anthony is grateful for the translucent voiles that drape over them; at least there will be some privacy from the surrounding buildings for this embarrassment.

“Too bad,” Benedict shoots back, bemused, fiddling through a pile of paintbrushes.  “A bet is a bet, and you lost.”

“You do not need to revel in my misfortune quite this much, though,” Anthony pouts.

“What can I say? The mallet of death does not always ensure victory at Pall Mall,” Benedict chuckles, readjusting one of the two easels in the room. “And I can assure you, this student will be worth your efforts,” he adds enigmatically as his trusty valet appears in the doorway.

“Ms y/l/n is here, Mr Bridgerton,” Mr Smith announces. “Should I see her in?”

“Certainly,” Benedict nods brightly, observing in the periphery of his gaze how Anthony’s interest is piqued at that announcement.

“A Ms?” Anthony echoes quietly as Smith slips away. “I did not think you offered private art tuition to the unmarried lady,” his voice filled with concern, patently preoccupied with the Bridgerton family reputation should Benedict be inviting innocent young women to his bachelor lodgings unchaperoned.

“Do not concern yourself,” Benedict sighs, knowing exactly where the Viscount's thoughts have gone. “I indeed do not do that. I would not wish for that reputation. Widows who have reverted to their unmarried name, however….” Benedict trails off.

“Oh… right….” Anthony nods in understanding. 

That, indeed, is an entirely different prospect.

—

You enter the room and suspect you may have interrupted a private moment between the two men before you. Both turning towards you, Benedict looks happy to see you once more; the other man - you would recognise his older brother, the Viscount, anywhere - seems taken aback, but you don't miss the tiny uptick in the corner of his mouth, hopefully also pleased to meet you.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” you nod courteously and move towards Benedict, allowing him to take your hand and kiss the back of your glove in greeting.

“Ms y/l/n,” he rumbles, “it is so wonderful to see you again.”

“Likewise, Mr Bridgerton,” you answer, enjoying the warmth of his lips through the silk, that trademark flare of exhilaration in your ribcage when your flirtation with him rears. 

This is your fifth private lesson with Mr Bridgerton, and while art has been a wonderful new pastime, you do wonder how much of your enthusiasm correlates to your tutor’s attractiveness. He has been nothing but a gentleman in his actions, almost to your chagrin, although sometimes his glances have felt heated and laden with something that makes your insides glow.

You turn towards Anthony. “Viscount Bridgerton, it is a pleasure to meet you finally. I have seen you from afar at many an event.”

You take a few paces and offer your other hand for him to kiss, but it takes him a moment before he returns to himself and amends his frozen look of surprise.

“Miss y/l/n, the pleasure is all mine,” he replies, and there is something just as velvet in his tone as his brother's, his lips also warm and plush as he kisses your other hand.

Oh, my goodness. They are both entirely too charming and handsome.

“I apologise. When my brother informed me I would be modelling for a widow, I did not assume such a person as yourself,” he explains, his cheeks sporting a delightful dot of colour.

“I was widowed at age 24, my lord,” you explain, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “My late husband, 10th Earl of Pembroke, was a great deal older than me.” 

“Should we not address you as Dowager Countess?” Anthony checks, concerned at any potential faux pas.

“Please do not,” you instantly respond. “It is why I reverted to my unmarried name. I have no wish to be addressed as such. The title lives on in his eldest son, the current Earl, and his wife. Who are indeed older than me. I was my husband's second wife. A companion for his senior years after his first wife died.”

Anthony nods in understanding. “It must have been an interesting union,” he offers politely.

“I was seventeen, and the man was nearly sixty,” you sigh. “My parents saw an opportunity to climb the social ladder and took it. I did not dislike the man completely, but I cannot say I was particularly distraught at his passing,” you explain plainly. “I am, of course, grateful his estate provides for me now.”

Having explained your situation as thoroughly as you wish, you turn back towards Benedict, who appears thoroughly entertained by your bluntness.

“Is this my easel?” you enthuse, pointing to the one nearest the windows.

“Indeed it is,” he returns with a smile as he strides past you and clicks the door closed.

“Now the question is, would you prefer your model be clothed or unclothed? You have not done a piece yet on the naked human form,” he points out.

You look over to see Anthony’s face morph into a thousand reactions.

“That was not part of the deal, brother,” he warns lowly through gritted teeth.

“Maybe not, but I think the lady should get to decide, do you not, brother?” Benedict challenges in a tone laced with amusement, his eyes sparkling.

You can see the war on Anthony’s face and decide to offer an olive branch. “I would not wish to make the Viscount uncomfortable in any way…”

“It would not,” Anthony cuts in very quickly. “I was just pointing out it was not my expectation to do so,” his gaze softening as it slips from his brother to you. “However, if you wish it, Ms, I shall remove my clothing.” something in the way he says it causes a frisson down your spine.

You have only seen one naked man in your life. And that is your dead husband—a portly man of advanced years. Something about the look of the Viscount’s tailored clothing suggests his naked form would be very different. More akin to the rugged gardener you have occasionally seen topless at your country home and, yes, touched yourself while thinking of. You are not sure you could keep your wits about you to paint such a fine specimen of a man.

“Let us just remove our jackets for now, brother,” Benedict suggests. ”The lady may then decide if we shall proceed further,” his tone conciliatory as he removes his.

You smile at his gentlemanly offer. 

“Now,” he continues, rolling up his white shirt sleeves distractingly. “You may choose to pose your model as you see fit.” 

Anthony is doing the same with his shirt, and you find yourself staring at him as well, at the play of muscles in his forearms as he rolls the material. Behind him is an emerald green velvet chaise, and you ask him to sit upon it. He does so and then looks at you expectantly for further instruction.

“Perhaps place one forearm on your thigh,” you suggest, but the pose he adopts isn't quite what you had in mind.

“You can place him in the position you wish,” Benedict chuckles, seeing the knit in your brow, gesturing for you to go to Anthony.

Your heart skips a little as you approach the Viscount, his eyes almost trepidacious as you place your hands tentatively on his shoulders. They are so broad and warm through the thin white cotton of his shirt. You position his arms, noting the latent power in his biceps, fingertips lingering on the material, eager to trail your hands down onto the dark hair dusting his forearms. 

“Would you mind raising your chin, my lord?” you ask quietly, and when he tilts his head up, you almost gasp at the intensity of his gaze boring into yours.

“Like this?” he murmurs.

“Yes, please,” you whisper back, “the light catches your face perfectly.”

“Much as it does yours,” he returns softly and something warm spreads under your ribs as you drink in his handsome facial features, almost glowing in the sunlight—a want to run your fingertips over his cheeks, trace the lines of his strong jaw dusted with a trace of afternoon stubble.

“Are you happy with your placement?” Benedict’s voice rings out, cutting into your reverie.

“Yes, Mr Bridgerton,” you reply but do not move, seemingly rooted to the spot.

“Then please return to your easel,” he tutors, with a hint of sharpness you have not heard before. 

Part of you is tempted to spin around and ask if he is jealous, but instead, you shoot Anthony a tiny smile that he returns before withdrawing. 

You round behind your easel and pick up your charcoal, sketching an outline, as Benedict does the same. A few minutes pass pleasantly as you draw, glancing at Anthony around the edge of the easel to ensure accuracy. You could swear every time you do so; his lip twitches in amusement, almost as if he is trying to distract you.

“Benedict,” you call softly when you think your rough outline is done, “please could you check my sketch?”

It's a flimsy excuse you have used more than once now—a wish to have your teacher move closer. He doesn't disappoint. He takes a few strides and then stops close to your back, assessing your canvas.

“I would say that is an excellent start,” he assesses, his exhaled air wafting through tendrils of hair near your ear. “Except maybe here…” His arm curls close around your side, ghosting your dress, and taps the canvas where you have sketched Anthony’s left arm. “I think you flatter my brother with a shoulder that broad.”

“Perhaps…” you concede, and then your tongue runs away with itself. “It may indeed be easier to ascertain the correct proportions for the Viscount were he in less clothing.”

They both chuckle at your bold assertion, so obviously a flimsy excuse. But there is a vault behind your ribs as Anthony rises to that challenge—a glint in his eye as he stands up and plucks open his waistcoat, shucking it quickly from his shoulders, staring you down. 

You swear you can feel the heat radiating from Benedict behind you as Anthony unwinds his white cravat and then, with a smirk, tosses it towards you. It lands draped over your easel; you reach out unthinking, grabbing an end, caressing the fine silk absent-mindedly as you stare covetously now.

Anthony is indeed built like your gardener, possibly even more sculpted. A dark thatch over his chest tapers to a line of hair over his abdominals and trails temptingly into his trousers. You want to see where it leads to. You suspect something much better than you have ever encountered before. With a hint of swagger, he retakes his seat in the pose you had put him in, the stance making his bicep bulge out.

“I do not think I was very incorrect in my proportions, Mr Bridgerton,” you opine tacitly, turning your head a fraction so your temple is brushing Benedict’s jaw, knowing you are goading him.

“Then draw what you believe you see,” he returns, his voice a low whisper, his lips so close to the shell of your ear that your heart pounds in your chest.

Your eyes hold Anthony’s as you daringly glide your fingertips over the back of Benedict’s hand, lingering on the raised tendons before you push the charcoal between his knuckles.

“Perhaps you can guide my hand?”

“With pleasure,” he hums.

The charcoal glides over the canvas in guided unison for a few laden minutes as you draw under Benedict’s tutelage. Anthony’s chest rises and falls steadily as you glance at him every few seconds—a tension in the air that is portentous, crackling. Your traitorous mind wanders—a jumble of images of you laying with both of these men, bringing you untold pleasures with their mouths and hands.

“Are you even paying attention to the artwork?” Benedict's rich voice lilts in your ear as you realise your hand is almost limp under his.

“I… I must confess, my thoughts may be elsewhere, Mr Bridgerton.”

“Tell us. It could be something we would be most pleased to hear,” he posits duskily, his breath hot on your cheek, letting slip that he likely suspects.

“I am thinking… of other artful arrangements of human bodies,” you offer somewhat opaquely.

“Whose bodies?” Benedict presses, this time his lips grazing your earlobe, as you spy a vein throbbing in Anthony’s temple, looking like he wants to stalk over and claim you.

“The three of us,” you confess breathily.

There is a noise from both men that is a beeline straight into your core, and there is a mouth on your skin. You gasp, eyes closing as you sway backwards into Benedict, his lips travelling the column of your neck as your back collides with his solid chest. The gentle suction and warm wetness set your skin afire, tingles running down your arm. Your lashes flutter open, and your blood runs hot to behold Anthony’s face like thunder until you bite your lip and, feeling emboldened, you mouth to him…

‘Your turn’

Instantly, his mien morphs into one of desire, jumping to his feet as you slide a hand into Benedict's thick hair and grab a handful, making him groan into your skin. 

“You are entirely too clothed compared to your brother, Mr Bridgerton,” you coquette, untangling yourself from his arms and spinning to look back at him with a raised brow, backing away without looking, knowing you will soon collide with Anthony.

Sure enough, you inhale sharply as toned arms haul you into a firm embrace, the hair on his chest tickling the skin above the scooped back of your dress.

“The lady is not wrong, brother,” Anthony provokes, his tone smug now that you are in his arms instead.

Teeth nip lightly on your earlobe while you watch Benedict fight with his waistcoat, almost wrenching it from his torso. Anthony is more taciturn than Benedict, communicating with his fingertips instead, raking over your dress, silently telegraphing his desire through the gauzy layers. Benedict’s stare is heavy upon you as he unfurls his cravat, you melting into Anthony’s lips skimming down your throat. Benedict makes quick work of removing his shirt, throwing it aside, his smooth chest heaving slightly as he advances upon you. Then his lips descend and claim yours in a breathtaking kiss. 

If this is the Bridgerton boys competing for your affection, then you would do anything to keep provoking them. Sandwiched between their bare torsos, Benedict's tongue opening your lips, lathing yours, as Anthony’s mouth skates your shoulder. The taste and feel of them both has you suddenly impatient. To do things you never thought you would even moments ago. A forbidden fruit too tempting to resist. It makes you desirous, unbounded, a keening want to be reckless.

“Take off my dress, gentlemen,” you implore urgently as you and Benedict break apart, twisting to capture Anthony’s mouth now. 

His kiss is just as demanding, equally fervent, your heart racing as four hands trace the contours of your figure. You are not sure of who undoes the buttons down your back or who pushes the loosened fabric from your shoulders. Both unlace your stays, tugging almost impatiently until the garment relents and are certain both of them pull your gathered chemise loose, it falling from your shoulders to form a circle around your light summer shoes. Both make a noise as they realise you are now naked. It was supposed to be a little illicit thrill for yourself, foregoing stockings and underwear in Mr Bridgerton’s presence—little did you know how provocative that choice would be. 

As you toe off your shoes, the atmosphere seems as heated, the sun’s rays upon your back through the translucent window covering. There is a moment where you exchange laden looks with them, their eyes slipping down your naked body before Anthony leans in and retakes your lips.

“Touch me…” you implore, twisting briefly to address his brother before returning inexorably to Anthony’s hypnotic kiss.

Benedict's fingertips ladder up your ribs from the dip of your waist, his lips dragging hot over your bare shoulder blades. And then you gasp into Anthony’s searching mouth as those large hands seize both of your breasts, covering them entirely, your nipples snagging between his elegant knuckles.

“Here perhaps…” Benedict rumbles as you tear away from Anthony to meet his captivating gaze.

“Yessss,” you hiss hungrily, your breath catching as he plucks gently, tweaks that send a zinging bolt between your legs. You cling to the back of his sturdy neck and crash your lips into his. 

“Have you ever laid with two men before?” Anthony’s voice is like velvet in your ear as his warm hands grasp the flare of your hips, his teeth nipping at your neck.

“I have only laid with one man,” you admit as you pull back from Benedict's kiss. “And he looked nothing like either of you.” Your hands rake greedily down both of their honed outlines, a yen to see and touch more.

They puff with pride at your words as Benedict's fingers loop behind your left knee. He roughly pulls your legs up around his hip, surging into you so the rigid mass of his cock, straining in his trousers, presses your mound, making you gasp. Anthony pushes into you, too, his equally sizeable cock passing over the cleft of your bottom, so hot through the fine wool. 

“Did he worship you like you truly deserve?” Benedict queries, his cadence achingly seductive.

“I am not sure what that might entail…” your intentional evasive provocation makes him smile crookedly and lean in closer, his eyes glinting enticingly. 

“Did he feast on the bounty between your legs with his tongue until you screamed for mercy?” his words dripping from his lips like dangerous weapons, heat pooling rapidly right at that very spot.

“H-he did not…”you stutter over a slightly laboured breath.

“Oh, my poor lady,” Anthony tuts sympathetically. “You deserve to know true pleasure,” he adds, surging his hips again but also taking your hand and kissing your knuckles tenderly. 

“Lay down here,” Benedict smiles as he leads you back to the plush chaise. 

Both offer their hand to assist you in reclining, the velvet a plush tickle under your spine as you settle down, looking up at them towering over you, your hands itching to tug open their trousers and find what lies beneath, the fabric straining temptingly.

“What do you have in mind, brother?” Anthony asks, his eyes following Benedict as he turns away and appears to grab something from the bench at the side of the room, the sunlight dancing across the freckles across his back. When he spins back around, he is holding three clean paintbrushes.

“I think a sensual experience…” he replies, looking down to gauge your reaction.

“I thought our art lesson abandoned, Mr Bridgerton,” your gaze fixated upon the brushes of various sizes and bristle lengths.

“With my brother as the subject, I concede maybe so,” he remarks casually. “But I believe you to be a much more interesting prospect anyway….” his voice smoky as he looms over you, his eyes raking over you in a way that you can feel fizzling on your skin.

“Agreed”, Anthony chimes in, taking a proffered brush from his brother as they kneel on either side of the chaise, a silent exchange between them.

You want to ask what they will do, but the words die in your throat as Benedict's tongue darts out and wettens the end of a fine-tipped brush. Then, the damp bristles are upon your clavicle, tracing the arc of bone, leaving a thin, wet streak cooling rapidly, goosebumps erupting over your sternum, nipples pebbling. Without needing prompting, Anthony drags a dry, fanned brush over your ribs, tracing each contour. The sensation is different, ticklish, to the point your abdomen ripples, and you instinctively curl up a fraction, biting your lip to tamp down a giggle. Anthony smirks casually as a large hand wraps around your shoulder and pushes you back flat.

“No, no.” Your clit pulses at the warning tone Benedict employs, his hold secure but not painful, staring you down as Anthony repeats the same move upon the other side of your ribs. Your body rolls yet more, rebelling and pushing against his grip. “Stay still. Or he may desist.”

You bite your lip and exhale shakily as Anthony continues teasing brushstrokes over your stomach, each one a flick that makes your skin shimmer. Benedict releases his hold to paint his wet brush across your other collarbone, leaving a trail of his saliva along its ridge and then continuing down over your breastbone. Your breath catches as he trails under the curve of your left breast, just as Anthony’s brush sinks lower. Your instinct is to clamp your legs shut, a sudden wave of timidity, but both men grab your knees and pull your thighs wide apart. Air swirls around your slit as Anthony leans over and captures your lips in an enticing kiss.

“Do not be shy now….” is Benedict’s hot whisper in your ear, his teeth capturing your earlobe as Anthony’s tongue rolls with yours, swallowing your moans as his brush caresses the patch of hair at the apex of your thighs before he glides it between your legs, passing over your clit. 

Just that featherlight touch is enough to make you arc upwards off the chaise until again Benedict holds you down, brush stored expertly between his knuckles as warm fingertips press upon your diaphragm, and he hushes you. You have to bite the inside of your cheek as Anthony flicks a few strokes, his warm eyes blazing right above yours. The motions have you throbbing, desperate for more, and you can only gasp as he slips lower, pushing just a fraction of the brush into your soaked pussy. When you do not protest, he grins and pushes a fraction deeper as you bite your lip, wanting so much more for it to be his cock. You whimper as instead the paintbrush withdraws, and Anthony makes a show of bringing it to his mouth, sucking its dripping tip covetously.

“Delicious,” Anthony offers silkily, his face inches from yours, a thronging need low in your pelvis, aching for relief, something you never felt with your late husband. His lips are on yours, lust burning in your belly as you taste yourself in his mouth. 

Benedict chooses this moment to swirl his wetten brush tip around your areola, and that has you moaning into Anthony’s kiss, your fingers raking into his lush hair as your other hand shoots out to grab Benedict’s bicep, a need to touch them both at once.

“Please…” your voice cracking, greedy for them both.

“Please, what?” Benedict chuckles darkly, his lips brushing your hairline, again holding you down to Anthony’s sensual onslaught.

“More…”

It's all you can say, tilting to look into his hazy eyes, clouded with lust, enjoying watching you squirm and pant and blossom under their attentions.

“Greedy…” Benedict volleys light-heartedly before kissing you, both of them dropping the paintbrushes, clattering to the floor.

Anthony’s fingers slither back down your centre line, tracing over the sensitive skin beneath your belly button but not stopping until they rest tauntingly over your weeping slit. You gasp into Benedict’s mouth as Anthony pushes a finger into you, his approving groan into your shoulder as you leak down his knuckles has you clenching around his invading digit. He adds another and begins to pump slowly, rocking his fingers rhythmically as your tongue parries with Benedict’s. 

Benedict breaks the kiss to brush his lips down your throat, hot kisses over your collarbone, lower still until his mouth is on the swell of your breast. Anthony adds a third finger, wet, filthy sounds from between your legs as your pussy clings to him, feeling so filled. His thumb hooks under your clitoral hood and starts to flick your sensitive nub in time with his finger thrusts just as Benedict's tongue swirls around your nipple, making your back curve up from the chaise, pushing your breast into his open mouth.

“I could watch this for hours…” Anthony asserts with a wicked little quirk of his eyebrow.

You squirm under them, so achingly aroused you feel on the edge of reason. One of them would be more than you have ever experienced before; both at once is almost lethal.

“Me too…” mirth laces Benedict’s response as he trails the point of his nose over your nipple. 

They glance at each other, telegraphing ideas silently. Benedict swaps to your other breast as Anthony moves, the angle of his fingers changing inside you, twisting as he rearranges between your splayed legs, pushing your thighs wide open, draping them on either side of the chaise.

The muscular swipe of Anthony's tongue through your slit has you crying out his name, a spike of pleasure so rough it catches you unawares, this act entirely new to you, something so intimate about his whole face buried into the wet heat between your legs.

Benedict kisses his way back up your neck as Anthony’s strong arms wrap around your hips, the solid mass of biceps curled into you as he drives you relentlessly, his tongue a spear lashing your swollen clit. Benedict swings around from kneeling at the side of the chaise to leaning over the curved back, fingers spidering down your skin from your shoulders towards your breasts.

“Is this the artful arrangement of bodies you envisaged?” His words are whispered hotly into your ear, your eyes fluttering closed at the decadent, smokey cadence.

You mumble something incoherent, the rush washing through your system stealing your thoughts, just as Anthony’s fingers start to move inside you again as he feasts upon you, closing his mouth around your sensitive nub and sucking hard with his lips.

“What was that?” Benedict chuckles, a teasing lilt that has you nuzzling your cheek into his lips, his fingertips dragging agonisingly slowly lower, over the round of your breasts, your nipples, still damp with his saliva, pebbled painfully even in the warm room, tingling for his firm touch.

“Yessss…” your reply is a sibilant rasp; he must know this is even better than what you had imagined, but he seems to enjoy hearing your affirmation regardless. Such investment in your pleasure amplifies your need.

Your hand shoots down to tug Anthony’s luscious hair, pushing your pelvis up into his face as he groans his approval of your wanton actions, chasing pleasure covetously. His fingers are buried deep inside you, curling and dragging over a spot that has you climbing so fast. Then Benedict roughly pinches your nipples, throbbing in sync with your clit under Anthony’s tongue, and you are sent stratospheric dizzyingly fast, a touch of rough treatment just what you need to push you over the edge you have been skating.

Benedict swallows your screams as you ride Anthony’s face in a wave of pleasure, clenching hard around his fingers, trying to expel them as he fights to stay inside you. Benedict's mouth is hot, possessive over yours, not letting you up for air in a way that only heightens your pleasure, a tingle zipping over your scalp as you burst and fracture under them.

For a few seconds, everything is blotted out, just a rush of blood in your ears and white-hot pleasure coursing through you. Their touch turns softer as you float down, Anthony’s fingers withdrawing from you with a wet noise as you lay dazed, utterly overwhelmed by the sudden intensity.

“Now that was a work of art…” the filthy poet opines velvety, a handsome, lopsided grin claiming his face as you stare up at him hovering over you, your view upside down. 

You are still too stunned even to form words, a stuttering noise that sounds more like a whimper, the only thing escaping your trembling lips.

“I think we may have stolen her power of speech,” Anthony observes wryly, crawling up, dropping pecked kisses onto random spots of your dewy skin.

He settles his muscular body over yours, his chest hair tickling your nipples, his face glazed with your arousal, and his sizeable cock brands your thigh through the material of his trousers. He moves in to steal a kiss that tastes tart, rolling your flavour onto your tongue, seemingly wanting you to savour it as much as he does.

“I've never enjoyed losing a bet more…” he rumbles enigmatically as you break apart, your brow knitting in confusion.

“He would not have been your art model today if he had not lost a bet,” Benedict supplies, his fingers massaging your scalp soothingly, dropping a kiss onto your forehead.

You smile blissfully, head swinging to look at them both, knowing it will broadcast your response, as well as anything spoken could.

“You might be right about the power of speech, brother,” Benedict jests gently as they rearrange on either side of you.

Hands running lightly over your arms and torso. You just assumed, as with your previous husband, that they would immediately move on to pursuing their pleasure, so when they do not, you are slightly confused, especially as their unhurried, sensual caresses reignite that flame deep in your core. After a few minutes of gentle intimacy you are unable to censor your curiosity any longer.

“Will neither of you take me?!”

You don't mean it to sound quite as indignant as it does, even though a large part of you enjoys their shocked expressions, neither expecting such boldness. But then both of their faces morph into a dangerous, smouldering look so similar you can see their shared genetics. It has you biting your lip on instinct.

“We both will if you employ that sort of tone with us…” Benedict threatens sonorously, leaning in so his lips graze your cheek, giving away that is precisely what they want too, a shiver running down your spine at all the possibilities, your soaked clit throbbing anew.

“Is that a promise or a threat, Mr Bridgerton?” You volley back, raising an eyebrow, this new play far too beguiling to resist.

“Insolent little thing…” Anthony growls.

Hands clutch you tightly, blunt fingernails digging into your soft flesh, both of them demanding a kiss, pulling you in each direction to plunder your mouth in turn. A thrill zips all the way from your head to your toes with this sudden change of pace—the gauntlet of challenge you have thrown down, unleashing something primal in them both. 

Before you know it, Benedict is standing up, and the sound of buttons popping open makes you inhale sharply around Anthony’s tongue, wanting so much to crane to see him stripping off, but your entire field of vision filled with the powerful Viscount, his hand seizing your jaw.

“Look at me,” Anthony demands, perhaps a tinge of jealousy that you may even dare glance elsewhere when he is kissing the life out of you. Your eyes meet, all blown pupils and damp lips, and it's blazingly intense like he is peering into your very thoughts. “Oh good girl…” he drips praisingly, and something hot and molten unfurls behind your ribs. The smirk that engulfs his face tells you he knows precisely what those two little words have done to you, lust roaring back to life in your veins. “Such a live wire…” he breathes, and you can see it is nothing but admiration. “I will be back…” his promise trailing off as he withdraws, your eyes tracking his movements away from you, taking a seat in a nearby wingback chair, that handsome smirk still there. It makes you want to reach out your hands and beckon him back, a slight pout that he has left you so soon.

But you inhale sharply as warm, ropey thighs part yours, and your attention is pulled back to Benedict, prowling over you on all fours, naked now. The glimpse of his rigid cock bobbing between his legs catches your breath before he claims your mouth and lowers himself upon you. So much heat and lithe, supple musculature. He doesn't even ask; your knees spreading wide is the open invitation that he takes, angling his hips and slipping into your waiting weeping pussy with one decisive thrust that has you grasping his shoulders and calling out. The blistering stretch is unlike anything your previous husband could achieve, and you are grateful for just how aroused you are, the feeling just the right side of painful. He holds still buried to the root, his handsome face rightfully smug as you adjust to this novel feeling of utter fullness.

“Is that what you needed?” He leans down and whispers those words in your ear, your breasts crushed under his smooth, hard chest. The tone is doused with brazen provocation that you can't help but rise to, one of your hands sliding covetously down his back.

“I think you know the answer you seek. Impress me, Benedict...” you incite as you grab his shapely rear, his responding groan vibrating your entire being. He withdraws and surges back in, your toes curling into the light fuzz on the back of his calves, what you have fantasised about for many weeks now, better than anything you have idly thought during each art lesson with him.

Benedict nuzzles into your neck and starts to set a rhythm that has you panting with each stroke, your back chafing the rich velvet fabric of the chaise, engulfed in his heat and woodsy scent, caged around you, his hands hooked under your shoulders, pulling you down onto his invading cock, his lips murmuring encouraging words onto your throat. 

Movement out the corner of your eye distracts you, and you twist your head a fraction to see Anthony naked now, too. That dusting of dark hair on his chest tapers over his toned stomach, a thin trail leading all the way down to the patch around the base of his cock. He has taken himself in hand and is watching you intently, eyes trained on you as his brother fucks into you over and over, rolling with him.

‘I want you…’

You mouth to Anthony, a need to have him desperate and wanting. His nostrils flare, and he bears his teeth, his grip on his cock vice-like, speeding up, a glistening bead of moisture squeezing from his tip at your very words. 

“Call her a good girl,” Anthony snarls, an instruction as much as a suggestion.

“Why would I when she is looking at you while I fuck her?” Benedict scolds satirically, and that has you swinging your attention back to the man inside you, a little flare of guilt in your gut that you are unable to divide your attention between them, wanting them both. “There she is,” he teases gravelly as his lips ghost the shell of your ear. “There’s my good girl….” he adds for good measure, the lowest register you have ever heard from him, and you cannot help your body’s response.

You clench around him, and he groans long and low, his grip on you harsher, snapping his hips so forcefully his hip bones dig deep into your splayed thighs, your eyes rolling, his tip grazing your hilt.

“So fucking perfect…” he curses, his mouth opening yours, raiding you, setting a pace so punishing now you can only cling to him, moaning loudly, him nudging your swollen clit with each stroke. The chaise squeaks under the onslaught now, feet scraping hard on the polished wood floor.

Still, you cannot stop your stolen glances at Anthony as Benedict huffs into your neck. He looks so majestic, knees splayed, eyes trained on you. You want to climb into his lap and ride him until your teeth are rattling. You can feel yourself climbing higher, each jolt to your clit another step closer, a gentle flutter in your pussy you know Benedict can feel, him emitting little groans with each involuntary constriction.

“You are so close. Come for me again; I need to feel it,” Benedict pleads breathily, pulling up to meet your gaze, a sheen across his forehead as he ploughs into you, never faltering in his athletic pace. 

One of his hands sweeps down your flank, long fingers squirrel between your bodies, unerringly finding their target, a scream ripping from your lungs at the extra stimulation. A few flicks from him, and you are gone for a second time, hurtling towards the stars, bowing upwards, tensing hard, each muscle snapping taught as body and mind are flooded with ecstasy. 

Distantly, you hear Benedict growl, more animal than man, a litany of filthy praise you can barely decipher tumbling from his lips as he pulls out abruptly, you whimpering at the sudden loss, your pussy bereft, rippling around nothing now as his hot seed spills onto your belly.

He collapses onto you for a few beats; his weight is heavy and cloying, his lips meeting yours in an artless kiss. Then you feel him climb off of you slowly, a soft rag dragging over your skin as he cleans you of his seed and mingled juices. He kisses your cheek chastely, but his words are interrupted by Anthony calling out across the room. 

“Are you ready for more?”

Your attention immediately snaps across to the Viscount. Without thought, you are springing to your feet, gait uncertain, like a newborn fawn finding its legs as you take a few shaky steps towards him, an exquisite ache between your thighs from all that has transpired.

“Are you coming to me?” Anthony coos impressed, his hands shooting out to steady you, gripping your waist.

You nod enthusiastically, utterly drunk on the tide of pleasure coursing through you, which greatly entertains him. You climb into his waiting lap and draw him immediately into a filthy, wet kiss. Your tongues tangle as you shuffle forward into the wide, comfortable chair, his hips sliding forward to meet you, and without preamble, you rise fractionally and sink onto him, your puffy, swollen channel suctioning onto his thick veiny cock with a filthy sound. He groans beautifully as you sink, taking him into your pussy, the stretch of him just as mindblowing, perhaps even a shade thicker, like his physique. You stutter a curse, eyes to the ceiling, wrapping your arms tight around his neck, your nipples pressed into the fur of his chest, his balls pressed between your bottom cheeks as you sit speared upon him. 

“Are you going to ride me?” His question is rich like chocolate, buzzing against your chin where his mouth is now hooked open, his teeth grazing the bone there.

“Yes,” you slur, tilting your gaze down to look down at him, already knowing you would do it until your body gives out, so desperate again to feel that high only they can provide.

“Good girl.”

They know it's a weapon now and deploy it with gleeful abandon. Reflexively you contract around Anthony’s cock, both of you calling out, his muscular thighs tensing under your weight, his toes lifting from the floor. He utters a curse, too, a hand wrapping around the nape of your neck, then cupping the back of your head, tugging the hair at your scalp between his knuckles.

“Ride,” he commands, low and slow, a menacing tone that has you stuttering with restoked arousal. A burning need to please him, to do precisely what he tells you to. And so you push up until his head is just inside your pussy, then drop back down, shuffling your stance wider to get a better range of motion. He watches you with a hooded, scorching gaze; a devastating quirk of his eyebrow has you moving steadily. Pressing all of yourself into him, with each pass, his hard abdomen scuffs your distended clit, your pussy lips so puffy now with so much arousal and repeated blows.

He nudges your face aside so he can teeth your earlobe. “You feel exquisite. All swollen with lust,” he croons, his breath gusting hot, his choice of words making you flare hotter, driving onwards with renewed vigour, a slight burn in your thighs as you rise and fall upon him, feeling yourself dripping down onto him, needing to cling onto him to keep seated.

“Could we do this on the floor?” you murmur into his stubbled cheek, realising your range of motion is slightly restricted by the shape of the chair.

His response is immediate; without leaving your body, he effortlessly takes your weight, wraps an arm around you and somehow manoeuvres smoothly onto the floor, his spine now resting on the front of the chair cushion—so much vigour and athleticism from both of these men. 

“Turn around, sweet girl,” you startle and whip your head over your shoulder.

There sat on the chase, lower half now wrapped in a drape of crisp white fabric, looking like a Grecian statue made flesh, is Benedict—a sketchpad and charcoal in hand. 

“Turn around so that I may draw you in the throes of passion,” he clarifies, that dangerous crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You look back to Anthony, suspecting from the twitch of his lip he is more than happy about this development. Silently he spins you both around and lays prone on the polished floor underneath you, still rock hard and buried deep in your pussy. Placing your hands on his chest, you lean forward slightly, take a deep breath and then start to ride again, slowly, the slight discomfort of the hardwood under your kneecaps heightening your pleasure somehow. The range of motion possible now allows you to experiment, to test the delicious drag of his cock by tilting your pelvis in each direction, then in a circular motion, hitting a spot inside that has you hissing and your nails scraping through the thick thatch of hair there.

“Take what you need…” Anthony advocates through gritted teeth, reading your every signal. 

Your eyes ping up from his imploring expression to Benedict, his gaze holding yours daringly as you start to fuck his brother again. Wantonly, luxuriating in the rapt audience you have. A liquid cascade of heat deluges you, the scrape of charcoal on the page spurring you on—to be more daring, leaning back to grab Anthony’s knees as leverage for your movements, your breast pushed high into the air, more performative knowing this carnal moment is being committed to paper.

Benedict mouths words of encouragement as you glance down to see Anthony’s eyes now screwed shut, his biceps bulging in stark relief as his hands clamp your waist, and his hips rock upwards with each downstroke you take, chasing his peak with the same vigour you are, each press of his cock better than the last. Your muscles scream from all the effort, but you do not stop, a bead of sweat sliding down your spine as you ride roughly, with abandon. Anthony’s eyes are open again now, his hands cupping your breasts and pinching your nipples so hard you stutter. Greedily you mash his thick cock right against that same spot that has your mouth slack, head tilted up, and fingers curling into his flesh, shocked at how close you are yet again in such rapid succession.

“Say it,” you grit out, staring up to the ceiling, not looking at either, not sure even you know who you are even asking. 

“Good girl..” it's in perfect unison, and that is what pushes you into oblivion.

You grind to a halt, pussy contracting in waves around his cock as he writhes under you, him gasping loudly as you again float far away, that blissful cloud almost making you miss his urgent call, him eventually hauling you off of him, just in time for him to paint your belly with a thick arc of seed, his whole body jerking with the almost violence of release.

He collapses under you, quivering, utterly spent, and you do the same. Faceplant into his chest, rubbing your nose into the musky dampness of his chest hair as you huff breaths, bone-deep but sated exhaustion from the exertion.

Pliantly, you allow Anthony to slip out from under you and you feel him pick you up bridal style as you curl into him, fatigue lapping your edges. He places you onto the chaise, and then both men are flanking you, limbs tangling and gentle kisses as they entwine around you. It’s a few quiet, tender moments before curiosity again gets the better of you.

“May I see it?” you query quietly, abashed, pressing your nose into Benedict’s shoulder, not willing to meet his gaze.

His laugh is rich and resonant, reaching around to grab his pad and show you. There, in elegant charcoal lines, is a scandalous but beautiful rendition of you, naked, your peaked nipples standing proud, head thrown back. The detail is perfect, even down to the patch of downy hair at the apex of your thighs. There is no rendition of Anthony, but at one glance, you can tell it is a depiction of an erotic capture of a woman riding a man. The very picture of passion, just as he promised.

“It is stunning,” you gasp.

“It is yours,” he rushes out.

“I… I want it to be yours,” you confess ardently, your hands sliding to grasp Anthony’s arm draped over your belly. “Both of yours..” you confirm.

Warm lips kiss your cheek on either side. 

“We will treasure it.” Anthony asserts as Benedict nods sagely.

You stifle a yawn and nuzzle into their warmth as Benedict suggests you all retire to his bedroom upstairs. 

“Tis only 3pm...” your protest is nominal at best, and you allow him to pick you up, wrapping you in another sheet as Anthony does the same, trailing behind you as Benedict ascends the stairs.

“When is your next art lesson?” Anthony queries as the door to an opulent bedroom swings open.

“Tomorrow?” you riposte cheekily, and they both chuckle as you add: “If you will have me…”

“I do believe that can be arranged,” Benedict confirms fondly as he approaches a handsome four-poster bed.

“Artfully…” Anthony adds wryly as you share a laugh with them both, falling into their welcoming joint embrace.

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