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sceletaflores · 6 months ago

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

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

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

Baby, show me where it hurts...

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

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

— or: art donaldson needs a massage therapist…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You do.

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

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

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

"What the fuck."

SIX DAYS LATER...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No question marks. Motherfucker.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who are you to deny him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Without breaking eye contact, you speak.

“You’re so good, Art.”

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

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

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need you.”

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

Fuck.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX HOURS LATER…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Art okay.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

Art loves you.

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

“He smiles more.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was never about the goddamn massages.

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

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

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

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

These people are so fucking weird.

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imauthicktic · 8 months ago

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I beg you, transformers x fem reader

I don’t care what you write or anything, i’m on my optimus and bumblebee obsession phase pookie please

For you pookie bear 😘💖💞

Bayverse!Optimus and Bayverse!Bumblebee x fem!reader

Description: How they react to your random silent treatment

A/N: Optimus' part is so freaking soft and sweet 🥺 and then Bee's is corny and cheesy fluff and this is just a short reaction to get back into the groove of writing again!!

Silence. The silence was killing them- they didn’t even know what they did wrong as they saw their precious human woman talking to Cade like it was no big deal that they hadn’t spoken to their lover in hours. They had thought maybe she just didn’t hear me or was too busy to notice. But that thought was quickly replaced when they noticed she was able to talk to everyone else just fine.

What they didn’t know was that (Y/N) was just testing their patience to see how long they could go before they got mad at her for playing such games.

Enough was enough.

Optimus:

Optimus POV

Optimus watched and waited until (Y/N) was alone to approach her so that she would be forced to talk to him. Optimus walked up to her before kneeling before her. He gently put his hand down for her to climb onto hoping that she would accept his silent invitation. When she climbed onto his hand he thanked the stars that she didn’t seem to be as mad as he thought she originally was. He then stood and walked away from the group enough to have some privacy as he spoke to her.

Once at the spot that was hidden and far away enough, he sat down on the ground and held her up so he could look at her but her head was stubbornly turned away from him. Optimus sighed softly as he gently placed his finger under her chin and carefully turned her head to look at him. Longing shined in his optics. “Sweetspark… have I done something so wrong that you no longer wish to speak to me?” Optimus asked (Y/N) with his deep voice as his head gently moved to look her in the eyes.

(Y/N)’s POV:

Your heart ached as you looked at him and heard the genuine worry in his tone. The silent treatment was over for you the moment you saw and heard the hurt he tried so hard to hide. “No no no, Optimus- I-... I was just being childish- you did nothing wrong. Believe me, you did nothing-,” you rambled before he cut you off.

“But you have stopped speaking to me. You are not one to do such things without reason,” Optimus interrupted.

You tried to think of a reason that wouldn’t make him angry at you, “Bee told me to do it.” Really? Well, at least it’s believable. You think in your head as you give a sheepish smile and gently reach forward to cup his cheeks. “I’m sorry, Optimus. I didn’t realize how upset you would get,” you say softly as you place gentle kisses on his face making him close his eyes softly in relief.

“Please don’t play such games again. My spark burns for you and you alone. It can’t accept you being so upset with me,” he says softly in an almost uncharacteristically soft way.

“I promise. Do you forgive me?” you ask.

“Of course.” He says as he gently touches his forehead to yours.

Bumblebee:

(Y/N)’s POV

You were just saying goodbye to Cade as you walked away and towards the rest of the group. Unbeknownst to you, Bee was watching with desperate eyes as he waited for you to come to him, but when he saw you walk the opposite way he became frustrated.

You were walking while looking at your phone when you heard a quiet whine and then loud footsteps that came rushing up behind you before you could even react, you were lifted up by Bee before he quickly transformed into the Camaro where you’re in the driver’s seat and buckled in before he speeds off at high speeds into the desert. You let out a yelp at the sudden and quick change as you watch the speedometer climb.

“Bee! What are you doing?! You’re going too fast!” You say slightly panicked as you hold onto the door handle and the armrest desperately.

“Shouldn’t have ignored me, babygirl,” Bee’s radio said as he changed through the stations to communicate his frustration, “now we ride!” he finished before purposefully swerving and doing donuts in the empty desert making you let out a shriek and a loud nervous laugh realizing how annoyed he was by your silent treatment.

“Ok! Ok! I’m sorry, Bee! I- I’m going to be sick!” you say between giggles as he finally stops and transforms into his humanoid form with you cupped in both of his hands as he rubs his mouthpiece against your face affectionately in a playful manner.

“My honeypie, my sugarpie, my princess, my babygirl, my hot mama!” his radio blasted as he switched through channels making you laugh out loud as you grabbed his head and kissed his mouth piece over and over in loving affection.

“You’re so annoying- you know that? You’re lucky you’re cute and I love you so much,” you say to him as you look into his eyes with a softened, fond smile.

“I’m lucky I have ya darlin’,” his radio switched to a cowboy accent that spoke so softly making the moment more loving and intimate.

Lmk what y'all think!!

#transformers x reader #transformers bayverse x reader #optimus x reader #optimus prime x reader #bumblebee x reader

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catcze · 11 months ago

Text

「 ### : 」 Modern AU ish !! Reader’s weight/size/etc. is not mentioned !! Imo Wrio is strong as fuck, so it literally doesn’t matter how much you weigh because this mf will have you sit on his back while he does push ups and will come out invigorated and wanting to do like 20 more, but this is a warning just in case it breaks your immersion !!

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

Wriothesley wraps his arms around your middle, tugging you in close so you’re pressed up against his chest. You fight back the urge to melt into his warmth and give in to his ridiculous request. The cheeky smile he wears —undoubtedly aware of the effect he has on you— makes you grit your teeth and steel yourself out of pure spite.

“Sweetheart,” he coos, honey sweet and trying to be convincing.

“Wriothesley. No.”

“Sweetheart, baby,” he tries again, leaning to murmur it in your ear— the unfair, cheating shit. You’re not sure if you want to punch him or kiss his stupid face. “Love of my life. Person I’m gonna marry. Apple of my eye. Snookums—“

“Shut your mouth.” But he does not, and you’re on the verge of strangling him.

“Honey. Pookie bear.“ He grins, holding you tighter so you’re subject to listening to all the stupid ass nicknames he can call you. “My little discord kitten—“

At the sheer cringe and secondhand embarrassment, you slap a hand over his mouth with a grimace. It works, kind of. Wriothesley’s barrage of nicknames is silenced, but you can practically feel his smirk against your palm. You’re painfully aware of the firm but gentle hold he still keeps on you— painfully aware of how you’re probably fighting a losing battle when he’s this dead set on something.

“I am not going to sit on your back while you do push ups,” you say, and that smirk melts into a pouty little frown. “I already told you it’s dangerous. You could get hurt or something.”

He pulls your hand off his mouth by the wrist, expression looking less-than-pleased. “Sweetheart, if you think that I can’t lift you, then I must be doing something terribly, terribly wrong.”

“But if you’re worried about me, then how about this—“ he presses your hand to his cheek, holding it there with his own so he can lean into your touch and peck a quick kiss to your palm. “You sit on my back while I do my routine, but if you ever think that I’m pushing myself or I’m getting tired, then you can hop off and go back to what you were doing, okay?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, but in the end you’re weak to him when he’s this sweet to you, and all you can do is sigh a small, ‘fine.’ If it makes him happy, then why the hell not—

And later, with Wriothesley in that unfairly flattering black compression shirt and you sat on his back, you absolutely eat your words. You can only sit in silent shock and hardly hidden appreciation when the man goes through more than half of the reps for his first set.

“Holy shit,” you murmur, watching in astonishment how he easily pushes up with your combined weight, not a single muscle trembling in overexertion. He’s not at all rushed, taking his time with each upwards lift so as to not jostle you. Wriothesley can hear the awe in your voice, and has the audacity to chuckle. He’s not even breathless.

“What did I say, sweetheart?” He sounds smug, proud— undoubtedly delighted to be able to show off in front of you. Like a puppy who was told he did a good job. You kind of want to kiss him. “So, want to help me out tomorrow, too?”

#astronetwrk #「 🐈‍⬛ 」 catcze.desserts #genshin impact x reader #wriothesley x reader #cw gn reader #genshin impact #wriothesley

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gay-dorito-dust · 4 months ago

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Can I request headcanons for Remy, poly! Logan, and Wade reacting to gn crush telling him that they had been told by their crushes that they're not good-looking and interesting please?

Poly! Wade and Logan

Bullshit! That is such utter bullshit! You’re so sexy don’t cry! - Wade

The idiot doesn’t know what he’s missing out on if that’s how he thinks - Logan.

Want me to kill them?’ - Wade

Logan would smack Wade on the arm ‘pack it in.’

Both of them didn’t like the prick, they never did but didn’t say anything about it for your sake.

Now? They’ll gladly drag that bastard through the mud and more for making you feel as though you weren’t shit. You are the shit when Logan and Wade are concerned.

Wade will be your hype man during this sensitive time but his affirmations were mainly things like:

You are sexy, you are fierce, you will crush that fuckers skull with your thighs the next time that fucker opens their mouth!

Dog pool likes you more than that fucking disappointment.

Emotions are neither of these men’s strong suit so they’re not going to be the best in comforting you but that doesn’t mean they don’t try to take your mind off of the whole thing.

Logan would be your shoulder to lean on for the teddy bear of a man wouldn’t bring himself to move as you openly ranted to him and Wade about the now former crush.

‘What did I do wrong?’

‘You didn’t do anything wrong and you know it, so stop trying to find a plausible way to blame yourself when the fault falls upon the fucking idiot who rejected you.’ Logan would say as Wade hums in agreement while painting his nails.

Pookie is right- Wade

Don’t call me Pookie- Logan

Pookie and I don’t want to see a cutie like you cry over yesterday’s news, if anything you should be strutting down the hallway to show that you don’t give a fuck.’ - Wade continued with a smile. ‘You don’t need someone like that who’ll abandon you upon the first sign of hardship and instead people who’ll gladly get their hands dirty regardless.’

These two may not know what they’re doing or whether they are doing it right but they’re doing their best to make you feel better and make you feel special, which they already do with Wade’s surprise cuddle piles, but that’s all that counts for you.

Out of the two Logan gives the better advice out of the two whereas Wade will want to trash your former crush’s stuff without getting caught. They both show their care in vastly different ways but you always come out of them with a smile and tad more confidence in yourself.

Remy LeBeau

‘They lie mon Cher, you are far from what they say and more.’ Remy would say while trying to bite back his own tongue.

This crush, or former crush now, must’ve been the most stupidest person to have ever lived to have called you uninteresting and not good looking.

To Remy you were by far the most beautiful souls he has ever come across and had nothing but love and respect for others you acquaint yourself with, not to mention you had anyone and everyone paying close attention on what it was you had to say.

He didn’t like seeing you become so unsure of yourself from one persons words and would do anything and everything just to prove that they were a bunch of lies made up by someone who doesn’t see you the way he does.

Remy would shower you in affection and praise that didn’t overstep any boundaries.

He’d spend all day and night with you if he must to show that you were more then some words made by someone else, he’d look at you as though you hung the stars in the sky, he’d look at you as though he could see you rather see through you.

It was beautiful to be seen and or looked at the way remy looks at you that it made you forget all about your former crush. He’d remember everything you’ve ever told him, would greet you in the morning with a tender kiss to the back of your hand while comparing you to the most beautiful rose in the garden.

How are you not meant to fall for him when he’s done nothing but sing your praises and listen intently to everything you’ve ever said.

‘Don’t let people like them get to you mon Cher, that’s what they want. They want you to be as miserable as them instead of flourishing like you should be.’ Remy said as he held your hand.

‘But I thought they-‘

‘Were the one?’ Remy asked. ‘We all think the first people we met are the ones for us, until we are proven to only have been blinded by the sweeter aspects of the relationship that we forget that the person we think we will love forever is as flawed as every other human.’ Remy adds as he lets you rest against his side, pressing a reassuring kiss to your forehead. ‘You’ll find your person.’ He smiled at you.

‘I hope they’re like you then.’ You said as you melted into his side.

‘Or you could just have me yourself.’ Remy would reply.

What’s your answer, will you have him Or wait.

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meiieiri · 10 months ago

Text

𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 [geto suguru]

synopsis: suguru geto upped and left that day without a moment’s notice and he took everything with him — your heart, your soul — but as you look at the positive pregnancy test in your hand, you realize that he did in fact leave one thing behind.

warnings: unplanned pregnancy, angst, explicit sex.

a/n: i know, i know. i should be writing WE but this concept has been in my head far longer than WE and i just need to get it out there or else, i think i’m gonna go insane. if anyone wants to know the plot of this would have been fic, feel free to let me know lmao, of course it still involves gojo bc i can’t choose between the two of them since they’re both so baby girl—! also happy birthday to the loml, my pookie-wookie, honeybunch, suguru geto!!

It’s been a year since the happy side trip to Okinawa became a living nightmare that culminated in you, Suguru Geto, and Satoru Gojo on the brink of death and with many more scars than you could have ever imagined. The three of you had very different ideas on how to cope. Satoru spends the past year perfecting his cursed technique, often at the expense of his emotional well-being and energy but then again, after what Toji Fushiguro did to him leaving him with the trauma of being slaughtered without regard, it was only natural.

You and Suguru on the other hand retreated into yourselves; it was hard to believe that just a year before the two of you were a normal teenage couple who enjoyed walking the trendy streets of Shibuya in the weekend sunshine without a care in the world, whose only real problem is to decide where the two of you were gonna have your weekly dates.

Now, things were different. Rainclouds have gathered effectively blocking out the sun. As you sat on the desk reading through your textbook on reverse cursed technique, you glance at Suguru from time to time and you aren’t the least bit surprised to see him sitting by the dorm room’s windowsill, staring at the garden with an empty gaze.

You’ve had enough of this. This eternal state of limbo was tearing you and Suguru apart.

Slowly, you stand up from the desk, softly padding across the wooden floor to where your boyfriend is. It was the middle of the night, last you checked, it’s already nine in the evening. You should be heading back to the women’s dorms now but you couldn’t, not when things were like this, not when Suguru’s losing himself day after day, you can’t help him, you know that, but you could be there for him seeing that’s all you can do.

But even then, it’s never enough.

Your relationship with Suguru is like a lit dynamite stick, you know that it’s only a matter of time before it also explodes in your faces. So, Suguru takes the lead, like he always does, he’s so much wiser and stronger than you in every way though he doesn’t care to admit it, though he pretends he doesn’t know why you’re so dependent on him.

“I think we should break up.”

He says that while holding your hand. You saw this coming but just how long did you anticipate that the love of your life would eventually up and leave you? You squeeze his hand with every ounce of the grief you are feeling hoping it would transcend the confines of your skin and it would reach his heart. “Is that what you really want?”

“No.”

He stands up to meet your gaze, the throw blanket falling to the floor as he does. He leans in closer, his hand cupping your cheek with such tenderness and heartache that you feel your heart rise to your throat. Suguru is normally so gentle like a shower of midnight rain, but he kisses you like this is the last — it probably is. Lost in him, your hands trail over his chest, and he deepens the kiss hoping that you’d also understand that he doesn’t really want to leave but he has to. He can’t bear to drag you into his mess.

He could never do that to you.

You respond with a soft moan when Suguru slowly lifts your shirt over your head. He stares at your plump breasts for a moment, covered only by a thin lace-like material, before deciding that looking at you wasn’t enough. He has to take you, ravish you, fondle you, kiss you. Anything to let you know that he’s not doing this because he’s fallen out of love with you.

“Don’t leave,” you plead in between his soft kisses to your breasts, tears slipping from your eyes as he removes your bra, letting it slip from your shoulders which he was now kissing up to the crook of your neck. How could your hearts be so full yet so empty at the same time?

None of what happened should have caused this much heartache between the two of you. In fact, it should have made you rely on each more, right? It should have strengthened you not destroy everything you had: each other, the future you planned together.

Suguru doesn’t answer as he nips at your neck, sucking on the delicate flesh, as your forms gracefully fall on the bed, he stares at you with such love, such devotion, and you wonder why this should be the last time. His gaze falls to your vulnerable form, his cock hardening at the sight of your clothed pussy getting wet just from that. He grinds against you, sighing at the way you buck your hips to meet his wanting more of him. If this was to be the last time, then, you want to make it count.

“Suguru, I’m yours.” That’s all he needs to hear and he removes your underwear, kissing down your leg as he slips it off of you. He tosses it onto his nightstand, and he leans towards it to grab a condom from his drawer. You catch his hand. “Don’t. I want to feel you.”

Suguru’s eyes widen at your request, his lips eliciting short huffs of breath. He’s never fucked you raw before. “Are you sure?”

You nod against his forehead. “Please. Please fuck me, Su.”

Slowly, his hand guiding his tip up and down your slit, smearing your wetness along the base of his cock before slowly pushing into you savoring the sensation of your cunt squeezing around him as he stretches you with his girth. A deep groan betrays him and his mouth hangs open as your tight walls envelop him as he bottoms out. He takes a moment to collect himself, not wanting to cum right then and there.

“S-shit. Ah, you’re so fucking tight.” He allows himself a small thrust, the tip of his cock already nudging your sensitive spot, having memorized you after many desperate nights of lovemaking. His fingers grip the soft skin of your hips as he pulls out momentarily before pushing back in again more forcefully this time.

“S-su! Mngh—please fuck me—I love you, I love you, I love you,” you beg.

A tear slips from Suguru’s eyes, it was becoming more real now — this final goodbye. He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he slowly builds up the pace of his thrusts, his cock bullying your cunt, driving himself in and out of your pussy, again and again. He brings your leg to his waist, holding it so he could angle himself better. “I love you too.”

You mewl as he pistons in and out of you, his balls slapping hard against your skin. “Sugu—ah! More—n-need more of you—“ You’re crying now, and he is too as he continues to ravage your pussy, his hand finds your other leg and he pushes your knees close to your chest, folding you into a deep mating press, slamming into your cunt.

“I’m yours. Always,” Suguru looks into your eyes amidst your desperate cries, your thighs trembling under his passionate gaze. He grunts when he feels the familiar tightening of your walls. “You’re close—fuck,” he takes this as an incentive to go faster, harder, and he fucks you in a way he never has before.

“So good—oh—“ you fall silent as he suddenly brings your hands to your clit, letting you touch yourself. You looked so beautiful like this, under him, your head thrown back against the pillows, your mouth primed in a silent ‘o’. He pants as he feels his balls tighten when your hips involuntarily buck into him as you climax. “Suguru!”

“Ah, baby…” He groans, the hot breath from his lips tickling your forehead as he rides out his high, spilling his seed into you not caring what the consequences may be. You did want this after all, and he did too. You feel full just from the sensation of his thick cum, he thrusts into you one last time, further smearing his release in your walls.

You sighed as he stays there, your weak and trembling arms coming up to embrace him. He strokes your hair, memorizing each lock, pulling out after a while. Suguru pulls you flush against his chest, the remnants of his and your release sliding down your thighs. “It’ll be okay,” Suguru catches his breath, kissing your temple. “Even without me. You’ll be okay.”

“I won’t…you know I won’t.”

“You will.” He says firmly. “I promise. You know me, baby, I never break my promises.” You feel tears well up in your eyes again and he tenderly wipes it away. “I love you, (Y/N).”

“I love you too.”

By the next morning, you already knew with the way the AC’s cold air nips at your skin without Suguru, your Suguru, there to embrace you that he’s already left.

Without a note, without a goodbye. Typical of Suguru who doesn’t want to stick around to see you cry.

You curl into yourself as sobs wrack your body, the promise ring Suguru gave you gleaming under the rays of morning sunlight.

A few years later, just as Suguru said, things did get better. You smiled as you arranged the last of the tempura into the bento box filled with soba noodles with nori and small containers of mentsuyu and wasabi. It’s amazing how much she takes after him. You look at the clock and your face pales. You’re running late, so, you head upstairs to speed things up a little. You creak open the door to see the little blessing of your life, the last gift Suguru ever gave you. She’s looking at the picture of you and Suguru which you placed in her room, and since you know it was highly unlikely she’ll ever meet your lover in this lifetime, you’ve decided you want her to know him if by his appearance alone and the stories you tell her.

“Riko? We’re gonna be late,” you gently reminded your four-year-old daughter. You shoot her a funny look when you see the haphazard way she placed her hair in a bun. She pouts as she tries to get it right again, looking at her father’s picture intently. “Sweetheart, are you trying to look like—?”

“Like papa,” she huffs cutely and you chuckle, moving to pick her up and sit her down on your lap. Kissing her cheek, you also gaze at the picture depicting a candid you and Suguru during your first year at Tokyo Jujutsu Technical College. He has his arm wrapped around your shoulder, winking at the camera as he kisses your cheek, a silent gleeful laugh on your face.

You look at her, a little confused, you gently smooth her hair before planting a kiss between her eyebrows. “And why do you want to look like papa?” Riko shyly looks away, her ears turning a little red as she blushes, a trait she inherited from you. You flick her nose, giggling. “Well?” Riko laughs at the playful gesture.

“…So you don’t cry anymore, mama.” Your heart seems to have stopped beating for a moment and a warm, tearful smile appears on your face, wrapping Riko in a bone-crushingly tender hug. “Love you…” she sinks into the warmth of your hug and you kiss the top of her head.

“I love you, Riko. So…so…much.”

At that, your little girl sighs in relief. “School?” she tilts her head and you suddenly remembered the reason you went upstairs. You had to get moving. Your eyes widened and you carry her downstairs, being careful not to jostle her too much. “My hair, mama!” she giggles at her still unruly hair and you grimace in embarrassment. Suddenly, the front door opens and Riko sees who it is, before you could grab the spare brush from your bag, she suddenly jumps out of your arms and makes a beeline for the door.

“Papa, papa!”

You turn around and though the sight pains you to this day, somehow, you’re starting to learn to live with the fact that things are always bound to change with time and that this is what Suguru would have wanted: a loving and complete family for his little girl. You wrap Riko’s bento and place it in her lunchbox before going to greet the visitor.

“Hi, babe.” He turns to meet your lips for a sweet kiss, balancing Riko in his strong arms.

“Good morning, Satoru.”

#geto x y/n #geto smut #geto suguru smut #geto suguru headcanons #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #geto suguru #geto suguru x y/n #geto x you smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto #geto angst #geto x you

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st4rryrain · 3 months ago

Text

Strawberry Lip Gloss

(Logan Howlett x Reader)

Tags: fem!reader, age gap, ex-dancer!reader, probably ooc, worst!logan, post-deadpool x wolverine, some fluff if you squint, wade x vanessa

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: Brought into a world so different yet so similar to his own, Logan can’t help but continue to keep himself guarded from emotional connection. That is until Wade and Vanessa introduce him to you.

A/N: First fanfic on here! First part of two and the next part is gonna be smut. Muehehe… Proofread but I probably missed stuff. Anyways, I hope I did a good job and you guys enjoy.

Logan didn’t like the idea of emotional connection. He hated knowing that one day, he would disappoint people. He hated knowing that if he got attached to someone, he could lose them and it was all for nothing. The impending doom that would wash over him whenever he had those small moments of happiness was overwhelming. Sometimes he’d wake up in a cold sweat, remembering his life before ending up in a new world. It haunted him like a restless ghost.

“If you don’t leave me alone, I’m going to cut off your legs, bub.”

Logan and Wade were at a bar downtown. Logan hadn’t actually invited Wade, but he didn’t care whether or not he tagged along as long as he let him drink without making any insane remarks.

“What? I can’t ask you things?” Wade whined.

“Not when you ask about things that shouldn’t be asked. Ever.” Logan furrowed his eyebrows.

Wade scoffed, “Oh please. Asking about someone’s dick size is not something that should never be asked!”

Logan sighed. So much for giving Wade the benefit of the doubt.

Wade looked down at his phone. “Vanessa should be here soon. She said she’s 5 minutes away.”

Logan groaned. “You invited your girlfriend?”

“Yes, actually! I did invite my girlfriend.”

“If I could kill myself, I would.” Logan mumbled before taking a sip of his whiskey.

“Hey! Vanessa is nice!”

“I’m not annoyed about that, dumbass. I’m annoyed that it means you two are probably going to get handsy in front of my whiskey and I.”

“Don’t worry, she’s bringing a friend for you to get handsy with, peanut.” Wade said while typing away on his phone.

Logan just sighed, unable to comprehend how he even puts up with Wade for a second.

After a few minutes, Vanessa and you walked into the bar. Vanessa gleamed with excitement as she embraced Wade. You simply stood behind her, awkwardly waiting for her to finish.

“Hi, Y/N!” Wade waved. “Long time no see. How’s my favorite original moody pookie bear?”

“Wade, last time I saw you, you almost got me killed. How do you think I’m doing?” You sounded incredibly annoyed and rightfully so.

“Well, nothing a few visits to a psychiatrist and a good trip to pound-town won’t fix!”

“Fuck you.”

“For a girl who looks like she sings to all the woodland creatures and picks cherries on a Sunday afternoon, you sure do have a lot of pent up violence in your body.”

Vanessa smiled as she found the interaction between her lover and you entertaining.

“Fuck, I forgot to introduce you to my new best bud here!” Wade excitedly said, “Y/N, this is Logan. Logan, this is Y/N. I think you guys would get along since you both hate me!” He was way more enthusiastic about it than he should be.

Logan and you met eyes. You gave a small smile. Logan didn’t seem very interested, only letting out a small hum.

Wade turned to Vanessa, “You wanna join me in the bathroom to make sure everything is following state laws?”

Vanessa smiled, “Of course.”

The two lovers scurried away, giddy as if they were teenagers.

You sat a seat away from Logan. “Every time…” You muttered.

Logan didn’t say anything. He faced forward and drank his whiskey. A few minutes passed, the air around you two awkward.

“I was told you’re from a different timeline.” You said, breaking the unbearable silence. “How are adjusting to this new world?”

Logan shrugged. “Fine.”

The silence returned. You sat there awkwardly, unable to think of anything else to say.

“Are you… a mutant?” You asked nervously.

“We don’t have to talk, you know? We can sit here and wait for the others to finish, bub.”

You looked down at the bar counter. “Sorry…”

Logan sighed, “Sorry, kid. I didn’t mean for it to sound mean or anything.”

“Honestly, though… I get it. I’d be mean and angry all the time if I had to live with someone like Wade. Especially Wade.”

A small smile adorned Logan’s face. You smiled, feeling a sense of relief that you had lightened the mood.

“I’m convinced that he was dropped as a baby… multiple times.”

Logan chuckled. “He must keep getting dropped everyday if he’s this fucking annoying.”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

“How come you let Vanessa drag you here? It doesn’t seem like you want to be here.”

You thought for a moment.

“I think I just wanted something to distract me since I’ve been feeling shitty.” You shifted in your seat. “I got broken up with like half a year ago.”

“You’re still hung up on someone from half a year ago?” Logan raised his eyebrows in curiosity.

“I mean, I really liked the guy. We dated for a year and a half but things started falling apart when I wanted him to get more serious. I was putting my all into the relationship but he didn’t seem to want the same thing I did.”

“You look young, kid. How old are you?”

“I’m 24.”

“Guys your age are assholes. Those shitheads are like dogs. All they do is eat, shit, sleep, and go into heat.” He grumbled.

“Oh, trust me. I know.” You sighed. “I fucking hate dating guys my age. They always end up being immature and leave me with at least 10 different traumatic experiences.”

Silence once again fell upon you two.

“Holy fuck, those bastards are taking forever.” Logan said.

“Trust me, sometimes they’re gone for hours.”

“How’d you meet Vanessa?”

You blushed. You had started being a dancer at the tender age of 19. Freshly kicked out of your house, you felt like there was no other way. Luckily, you met Vanessa. An older sister figure who took care of you and even let you live with her for some time before you got up on your own two feet. You weren’t necessarily embarrassed about having been a dancer, you were more so annoyed by the constant comments that you “didn’t seem like the type”.

“I…” You toyed with your sleeves, “I met her when we were dancers at the same place. She took care of me and was there whenever I needed her.”

Logan hummed. “Cute.”

“Every time I tell people I used to be a dancer, I get told I don’t seem like the type. I don’t even know what they mean.”

Logan watches and listened to you ramble as you continued on about different things people have said over the years.

“Someone once told me I was too pretty to be a dancer! Like what kind of backhanded compliment is that?” You crossed your arms and rested them on the counter. “Fuck, I dunno.”

“You seem like a sweet girl, bub. I know a lot of dancers don’t do it because they wanted to, but because they needed the money. Was that the case?”

You nodded.

“Did you at least enjoy being one?”

“Fuck no. I hated all those people staring at me the way a hawk circles a critter. The things they’d say, do, and who knows what they thought.”

“I think you’re too sweet to be a dancer. Not saying you don’t or do seem like the type, but more so you didn’t deserve to do something you didn’t enjoy.”

You looked at Logan. He seemed sincere and understanding. A small smile formed on your lips.

“Thanks, Logan. Congrats on being the first outside person to not blame me.”

“Did you guys kiss yet?” A familiar voice asked as it got closer.

You and Logan turned, spotting Wade and Vanessa.

“Holy shit, did you guys survive a fucking bomb or something?” Logan noted how messy Vanessa’s hair was and how disheveled their clothes were.

“Oh we survived a fucking bomb, alright.” Wade smiled. “But seriously, have you two kissed yet?”

“Wade, don’t make me curb stomp you again.” You glared.

Logan turned to you. “You’ve curb stomped him before?”

“Oh yeah. Girl’s got some insane skills.” Vanessa laughed, finding the memory funny.

“You guys ready to go or should we let you guys use the bathroom too?” Wade wiggled his brows.

“I hope the dog shits on your bed.” Logan frowned.

The group exited the bar and parted ways for the time being. Wade continued prying Logan on what he thought of you. He would go on and on about his favorite memories with you like the many times you third wheeled for Vanessa and him, the time you got a new car and crashed it the following week, and the time you curb stomped him for one of the many times he almost got you killed.

Logan and you would frequently cross paths at Wade or Vanessa’s parties or while waiting for Wade and Vanessa to finish having sex somewhere like a restaurant or even the apartment bathroom.

To Logan’s dismay, he had grown very fond of you. You were sweet, smart, pretty, and weren’t afraid to speak your mind, especially when it came to Wade’s stupidity. Sometimes, he’d catch himself staring or hoping to see you or feeling a disgustingly fuzzy feeling in his chest at the thought of you. Wade and Vanessa could tell Logan and you had feelings for each other. The way you looked at each other and enjoyed each other’s company was endearing.

“I dunno how they can go on for so long.” You groaned as you and Logan stood outside in the hallway of the apartment.

“Surprised Al hasn’t kicked Wade out for it.” Logan leaned against the wall.

“Oh she’s tried.” You held Mary Puppins in your arms, not wanting her to bear witness to the sinful behavior taking place indoors.

Logan smiled, placing a hand on the dog’s head for a quick pet.

“Are you seeing anyone, Logan?”

Logan pauses. He stares off into the distance for a moment, contemplating whether or not to avoid the question.

“No. Are you?”

“No.”

An almost deafening silence encapsulates you both.

“Do you want to love someone?” You asked as you held and lightly squished the dog’s paw.

Logan months ago would have said no. Hell, he would have said never. But Logan felt his attachment to you getting the better of him.

“Love isn’t for me, bub. I don’t think I can handle losing someone anymore.”

“Well that’s why you have to find someone who can’t handle losing you either.”

Logan and you looked to each other. You were staring up at him like you were waiting for something.

“You’re the sweetest little thing I’ve met, Y/N.” Logan leaned in a little.

“Only to people I love having around.”

“You deserve someone who will love you and take care of you. Someone who will worship the ground you walk on.”

You smiled shyly.

“A pretty little thing like you needs to be told everyday how perfect you are.”

“Are you gonna kiss me or just stroke my ego?” You joked.

“Can I, sweetheart?” Logan asked, his face inches away.

“Mhm.” You hummed as you leaned upward.

Logan pressed his lips against yours. Your lips were soft and almost addictive. Strawberry flavor peppered along them. You smelled of a delicate perfume and a pleasantly scented shampoo he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Logan cupped your cheek with a cold calloused hand, bringing you closer to his face.

“You do this with all the girls you sweet talk?” You mumbled into the kiss.

“Only the sweet ones named Y/N that I’m fond of.” Logan brushed a strand of hair out of your face. “I’ve only ever been fond of one sweet Y/N.”

You smiled as you parted lips. You’re a little winded from how eagerly he kissed you. It had been like a starving man finding a buffet.

“I’d really like to take you out, sweetheart.” Logan said. “Let me take care of you, yeah?”

You placed a quick kiss on his lips. “Of course, Lo.”

The door to Wade’s apartment opened and he peeked into the hallway.

“Did you guys kiss yet?”

“Wade, go back inside before I turn your small intestine into a jump rope.” You snapped.

Wade smiled, “Oh you guys totally did.” He went back inside and closed the door, loudly informing Vanessa of his assumption.

“Can’t believe Mary Puppins was the witness to a real life rom-com.” You joked as you cradled the dog.

“More like a horror movie with Wade’s ugly fucking face.”

You, Logan, and Mary Puppins went back inside. You were immediately greeted with Vanessa and Wade smiling like crazy.

“What?” Logan asked.

“You guys kissed.” Wade replied.

“What?” Logan didn’t understand how Wade came to the conclusion. Sure he was right but how did he know?

“Oh don’t play coy with me, peanut. I see that lip gloss on you. You have never worn lip gloss and I doubt you ever will. You’re too afraid to ever serve cunt.”

You set down the dog and turned to Logan.

“Yeah… You do have some of my lip gloss. Sorry, Lo.” You said sheepishly, realizing you left evidence at the crime scene.

Vanessa giggled. “So you admit it!”

“Fucking finally. We didn’t know if you guys would end up even liking each other in that way. This took a lot of planning and a lot of coordination. Better than cupid.” Wade sounded proud of himself.

“You planned this?” Logan asked.

“Well, both of you seemed to want to love and be loved. You also had a common enemy of that being Wade. So Wade and I thought you two might be a good match.” Vanessa explained it with a huge smile that yelled ‘proud mother’.

“Whenever we left you two alone, he hoped you guys would do something. Anything!” Wade recalled.

“You guys weren’t leaving to have sex? You just hoped we’d flirt?” You asked, a little agitated for having to wait for them all those times.

“No. Most of the time, we actually did bang in a bathroom or car.”

“You guys are lucky your little scheme worked.” You crossed your arms and huffed.

“So when’s the wedding?”

“Wade!”

Logan took you out to a quaint little restaurant somewhere on the other side of the city. He paid for the meal despite you insisting you split the bill. He would hold your hand as you entered and exited the car as well as opening and closing the door. To say Logan was infatuated was a complete understatement.

“I don’t want to go back to that apartment with that annoying prick.” Logan complained as you sat in his car in the middle of an empty parking lot.

“We could go to my place.” You gave an alternative, hoping he would say yes.

“You sure, sweetheart?”

“Yeah! Just don’t mind my cat and you’re all good.”

“You have a cat?”

“Her name is Egg. She’s round like one.”

You and Logan drove to your small apartment in a small apartment building. The walls weren’t crumbling and the stairs weren’t on the verge of falling apart. Compared to Wade’s apartment building, this was luxurious.

“I’m home, Egg!” You greeted your feline as you walked through the door.

“Lock the door behind you, please.” You said as you set your things down.

Logan felt giant in your small apartment. It wasn’t that the ceiling was low or anything. He just felt so out of place in a cozy place where there were a few plants here and there, clean counters, and comfy furniture.

“This is Egg.” You picked up a white chubby feline with blue eyes. “She loves to sleep and is currently on a diet ‘cause the vet said she should stop being an egg.”

Logan smiled at her and reached his hand out to pet the cat. The cat seemed to just stare and move her head away from his hand.

“She’s not aggressive. She’s something worse… Judgmental.” You always found Egg’s reaction to people who weren’t you amusing.

You held one of Egg’s paws and playfully waved it, pretending that the cat was waving at Logan. You set the cat down and watched as she strutted away.

“Your cat has an attitude.”

You laughed, “She invented attitude. You should see her with Wade. Even she doesn’t like him to the point she tries clawing his face off.”

If staring was a competition, Logan would hold the world record for most staring at someone with heart eyes. Literally. His eyes were practically the shape of hearts.

“What? Is something on my face? Did I say something?” You asked, worried you may have embarrassed yourself in front of Logan.

Logan leaned down and kissed your lips. “Do you always have strawberry lip gloss on your lips?”

“I dunno, how about you find out and kiss me every time you see me.”

Logan seemed to really like the strawberry lip gloss you wore and almost started to devour your face. His hands found their way to your waist and pulled you closer. He was starting to let his hands wander.

“Not in front of my child.” You protested. “She’s 3! Not even old enough to start kindergarten.”

Logan couldn’t help but laugh into the kiss. “Alright, doll.”

#logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #logan howlett #wolverine #james logan howlett #james howlett #xmen x reader #x men fanfiction

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sweeterlovers · 6 months ago

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Hello 💐🐇

Could I request a smau for ollie bearman with a famous actress and model who is the same age as him?

Sending you lots of love ♡

CHARMED / OLLIE BEARMAN

ollie bearman x actress reader / SMAU FIC

FACE CLAIM / none!

WARNINGS /

reader is in the cast of the summer i turned pretty!

INSTAGRAM

liked by lola.tung, madelyncline, and 235,752 others

yourusername a little break before we go back to the set!! 🐚🤍🪷🥥🫶🏻

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user1 season 3 👏👏👏

madisonbaileybabe cuties ❤️❤️❤️

yourusername ahhh!! i love youuu

user043 i can’t wait for the new season!!!

user555 soft launch! soft launch! soft launch!

user48 i’m curious 🧐

user213 season 3 can’t come fast enough

user666 do you have a boyfriend?? 👀👀👀

yourusername maybeeee!!!!!! hehehe

user69 you can’t just say that and walk away 😭

yourusername i’ll give you a hint! he’s an athlete

user7 we lost her to an ATHLETE 😷😷😭😭

INSTAGRAM

liked by thesummeriturnedpretty, nynarain, and 234,578 others

yourusername FIRST DAY BACK ON SET!!! and

@/gavincasalegno ate all of my gummy worms :( 🎉🎉🎉

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user65 the crew is all back together !!!!!

user2 gavin is guilty ✊✊✊

lola.tung #JUSTICEFORYN 👩‍⚖️😔

yourusername #CANCELGAVIN

gavincasalegno I PAID YOU BACK?????? stop trying to cancel me✋ haters are going to hate

chrisbriney_ are you trying to get yourself killed? you know how serious she is about her gummy worms

yourusername SEE chris gets it!! this is why i’m team conrad

user77 the drama is getting good 🍿👀

user5 team jelly girlies unite ^^^^

user66 nahh team connie baby all the way 💋💋

user1186 living for the chaos

user11 while all of y’all are on the gimmie worm fiasco i’m still wondering who yn’s boyfriend is??

user2 where are the insta stalkers when u need them🙄

user33 literally! she said he’s an athlete and they are both the same age so he is 19 years old

user8 how the hell are there 19 year old athletes

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olliebearman well needed rest ❤️

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user1 ollie what

user45 WAIT A MINUTE

user5 SHARE WITH THE CLASS

user85 ok so hear me out….. ollie is dating @/yourusername

user0 um sure yeah

user85 IM NOT CRAZY ✋✋✋✋✋ it makes sense!! she said she was dating an athlete who’s the same age as her and ollie and yn are both 19!!!!

user6 ok the dots are connecting buttttttttttt idk

user792 ollie has a gf 🧐🧐🧐

kimi.antonelli 👍👍👍

olliebearman 👌👌👌

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liked by olliebearman, madisonbaileybabe, and 236,893 others

yourusername life is better when i’m with you @/olliebearman 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻 also you guys figured it out :)

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user09 cutie pies

user7 🥰 aw

user85 I WAS SO RIGHT!!! HAHAHAH i’m a genius!

user6 yes yes you were

user85 apology letter asap plss

user0642 ok calm down now

user3 😍😍😍😍😍

olliebearman i love you baby 🤍

yourusername i love you too pookie bear 🎀🎀

olliebearman i thought we talked about this…?

yourusername about what 😅

olliebearman about calling me pookie bear

yourusername ohh yeahhhh hahahahahahaa your just so pookie bear okay ! let me be 🥰🫶🏻

olliebearman ok baby whatever you say

user723 i love themmm

TEAM RADIO / SWEETERLOVERS - this request has been in my drafts for a while 😭 sorry for being so late to respond but hope you guys like it!

#formula 1 #sweeterlovers #f1 fanfic #f1 smau #formula one #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 #ollie bearman #ollie bearman x reader #ollie bearman x you #ollie bearman smau #ollie bearman x female reader #ollie bearman x y/n

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seventhcallisto · 11 months ago

Text

Ateez 'n free use (+ somno)

Everything has been consentually talked about beforehand, in passing and seriously !! Mwuah. Lots of smut under the cut. barking. foaming at the mouth.

"Hi love bug 💗 I wanted your thoughts and opinions on ateez with somno / free use heheh" —ask @hhoneylix (my lovely pookie bear) 7.2K WC OF FILTH.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

In a free-use fantasy, partners can have sex with each other whenever they want, no holds barred. Somnophilia refers to the interest in having sex with a sleeping person.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Wooyoung. It doesn't take much convincing for him to agree, even the words would have him nodding eagerly. He doesn't even question the trust you two have cause you're both in sync like that, maybe he hands his heart out to you on a platter, despite his own head telling him he could end up with it broken (he doesn't care cause he knows he loves you to the moon and back). But if you are just as agreeing as him it'll have his heart soaring. He definitely uses you most days, happily too. He'll tease you; not letting you cum as he gets himself off. But it doesn't last for long when he's between your thighs a minute later. Over and over again and throughout the day. Teasing you so you'll find a reason to ruin him for the evening.

When you both first started, I can see his eyes flashing with everything he'll want to do or want you to do to him. When he realizes you're not saying it as a joke anymore (like you have done before), he completely folds, he's just a whole sub for the first day you guys try it out, whether a bratty one or a good one, he cries for it either way. He gets himself worked up the entire day because it caught him off guard, so whenever he thinks about anything you're doing, calling his name- specifically the nickname you use for him- god, he's throbbing. Telling him to pick up his mess that he left like some guy who can't clean up after himself with your mad tone that reminds him of how you fuck him up when he's being a brat. He'll most likely hide away during practice to try and jerk off (knowing him, he probably also sent you an audio message of it to see if you'll be the first to cave and just brutally use him) but it's just not working :( he gets so frustrated, on the edge of being mean because he's so horny. He snaps his tone, and his attitude sours into something whiny and needy.

He gets borderline bratty when he's so horny. So, at some point, when you're doing your skincare, he pushes at your lower back to bend you over the counter just the slightest, his hands sliding to your hips when he comes to grind his erection against you, a shuddered sigh falling from his lips. His head falls over your shoulder blade. "need this, please, 'm gonna make you feel good too, just want to be inside so bad" he'd mumble as he wiggled your pants down, giving you the opportunity to stop if you'd like. He wouldn't waste a second to jerk his dick out of his own pants and line up to your core. He notices you're also wet, so you've probably thought about this as much as he has all day. You truly don't know how much that drives him crazy. And knowing that you're always ready for him has him driving his cock all the way in you.

Only stilling for you to adjust to his stinging size. But he doesn't sit there for long because he's trembling with his hands placed on either side of you, his hips grinding your ass forward cause of his pelvis. It really doesn't take long for him to cum, especially if you're telling him how needy he is. How he can't even wait til you're done to fuck. "n-no, don't move, please- ill be quick- let me cum-" He whimpers and agrees with everything you say. "You're right- you're always right- fuck I'm addicted to you- I'm your whore- oh god-" lost in the way you feel around him as he drives his hips all the way to meet yours in sloppy liquidy slaps. His hands grip the counter around your stomach tightly, his fingers turning white from the grip, caging you against it. His eyes clenched close every so often, strangled gasps choked from his throat. He paints your walls with his cum, slumping over your back and shaking ever so lightly in the afterglow. You don't get to cum because he already did before you. He verbalized that when he tried to rub circles over your neglected nerve bundle. You swipe his hand away, going on to wash your own and continue your skincare, even with him still inside. He loudly whimpers, knowing he's in for a long night for every rule he's broken today. :((( he's sorry!(no he's not)

When you brutally and completely obliterate him later, tied to the bed and shaking after every edge or orgasm he has. You finish him with an unhealthy amount of kisses to his face and aftercare that has him cuddled up on your stomach, his face digging into your side. He falls asleep like that. It's really no for long when he wakes up, jolted from a pleasant and not very wholesome dream. Your hand is already stroking him over his shorts, cupping and pushing against his hard on that's imprinted and leaning against your hip from where he's halfway thrown over you. “Are you awake now? So needy woo, even when you're asleep, trying to hump me like a pillow” he whimpers when you laugh at him, pushing his thighs apart for more friction and shoving his face back into your chest. “Come on baby, you want to cum again? So early?” your hand stops for just a second, enough for his teary and tired eyes to blink up at you. Your hand slipping past his waistband and jerking his sticky tip. He's loud and definitely more affected like this. Choking on a sob when your nails scrape against his length and veins. He cums with a guttural choking gasp, jerking forward to stimulate himself the rest of the way with your palm. Staining his shorts with semen. He's definitely fucking you when he wakes up later. Even if you're still in deep sleep. Two can play that game.

Mingi. Oh. Oh! It takes a good hard minute for it to click. He loves it, though. Of course, he trusts you (a little too much), and he'll shyly ask if you trust him as much too (and you do!). It also doesn't take much convincing for him. He gets so turned on from the idea. Just imagining being able to get off whenever you're around. You might actually be fucking more often because of it. Like, every day. His libido is crazy. But what drives his will is the idea of being buried balls deep in you. And with somno??? Oh lord.

You're asleep when he comes home from practice, and he just really wanted you. Even when he tried to wake you up with a gentle pat to your shoulder, you don't even greet him. Turning over away from him. He knows you're not ignoring him on purpose, too tired to respond to the outside world in your head. He didn't think about using you in your sleep until he was choking on a cup of cold water. Remembering the conversation you had on the phone earlier. “Yknow mingi, if I'm ever asleep when you get home, I don't mind”.

He's slipping himself between your legs on the bed, carefully. Of course, he notices when the only thing you're wearing is his shirt and underwear. Watching you sleep on your stomach with a pillow propped under your chest comfortably and your arm shoved under the pillow where your head lays. Missing the way his body would be next to yours even in your unconscious state. He'd coo internally, pushing your thigh up so it's leaning up on the bed some more, your core and ass sticking out from the angle through the tight fabric of your underwear. He'd slip his fingers into you, pushing the thin fabric aside, working you open with quick and gentle scissoring motions. He'd praise you with his own tiny breaths when you clenched around the digits. Watching your face scrunch up from the feeling. Your head digging into the pillow some more and pushing back against his hand that's rubbing against your cunt. He knows your cue and clumsily pulls his fingers out before you can cum, whimpering in your sleep.

“Shh, im putting it in now princess, don't worry” he'd kiss your neck, leaning over you. Ready to please with something bigger and more fulfilling. His knees placed on eitherside of your hips just as he pulls his pants down. He lines his tip, holding your panties aside so he can slip in comfortably. It's so easy when you're relaxed. So pliable around his big cock when he sinks in, his hands gripping your lower hips. And holy fuck. Mingi is definitely doing this again. His eyes cloud as you swallow him in, every inch being lubed up easily. He sets a slow pace, pushing you further up the mattress with his bigger body that cages over your own soft and completely willful one. His hips rock forward, every so often to pull all the way back until his tip is around your ring and just slide in. He groans under his breath, quiet in the night. Your own sounds are whimpered and small due to the pillow in your face. Your face scrunches, and mingi feels you stirring, moving in your sleep as you begin to wake up. “Hey sleeping beauty” he shushes, leaning over you to prop his hands on either side of your head instead, making sure he doesn’t slip out. “‘m just using you like you told me to” he would sigh into his words, stuttering every so often when he bottoms out again and again, his hips dig and prod so good, burying to the hilt and pushing his tip into your cervix. “Perfect pussy, was made for me..” he groans, fingers digging hard into the sheets. “mingi..” You finally whisper, driving his heart rate higher, he hums to answer you, thrusting his hips down quicker.

Groaning at your walls fluttering. You're cumming with a shudder, pushing your ass back against his thrusts. “mingi-” you heave, shoving your face into the pillow. With a few extra sloppy thrusts, mingi stills with himself buried to the hilt inside you. It pools deep inside you, leaving you warm and sticky and oh so full. “Taking it soooo good, just like that..” he praises, soft breaths fanning against your face. He slips himself out to lay beside you, just to lay down for a bit. Your eye peaks open, meeting his sweaty face. “Hi, I missed you,” he chuckles.

San. He's so excited and so ready for it whenever, just nodding along and mutually agreeing on the topic. He'll want to know you're fully in it, even going out of his way for consent first at the start of the day. Like, always asking for consent even if you tell him to just use you already. Trust is easy when it's always consented beforehand. He loves you a lot, wouldn't even debate with you on the subject of who loves who more. And it isn't even a question when he trusts you blindly all the time.

He wants you to initiate that first time, so when you pull him out of the room as soon as he's off stage, he knows the way your feet stomp, n the way you grip his wrist in your hands. He bows his head at everyone who passes, all of them seemingly put off by your behavior. But it doesn't matter cause san is about to get high off of you. His face in shoved into your core the minute his knees hit the floor of the bathroom, his pants creasing, he's still sweaty from performing on stage, but who gives a fuck when your leg is thrown over his shoulder. Pussy drinker !!! He swallows so hard and his tongue licks everything up, throat vibrating when he moans over your clit. You're tugging his hair and his scalp burns in the best way. You cum shortly after, and he devours it all. Pushing him into leaning against the wall so you can slot to your own knees and drop his pants, his buckle cluttering against the floor. His head gets thrown against the wall when you take him in your mouth, he palms your head but doesn't dare to grip it. The pace you set on his cock is yours to control and yours alone. He moans airily, thrusting his cock down your throat, I can see san preferring head to be messy, especially when you go down on him. So make those nasty gargling sounds and slurp him like you're thirsty. “Y-ah- you couldn't wait?” He asks through a moan, hands wrapping around to pull your hair out of your face. Ever the gentleman as he plunges his pulsing tip down your sloppy mouth. You hum around him, as if that's an answer. He cries, “oh- just like that- ugh” you hum again, he thrusts hard, cumming just as harshly. You swallow everything and more, overstimulating him when your cheeks hollow as you pull off him with a pop. He's pulling you up to sloppily make out. You stop him, finger over his lips when he chases you. “We have to get back baby, I can't be late.”

n somno? He's the one to initiate it. He's coming back to your shared hotel room after doing a live. Exhausted and just wanting to cuddle. The first thing he hears when he moves into the bed next to you is you calling his name, hand reaching around for him. “San?” You whisper. He heeds your call with a kiss on your cheek. Intertwining your wandering hand with his. “I'm here baby” You turn over your side, humming with content when you fall back to dreamland. Something about you calling him, just needing to feel his hand over you, god, it's ridiculous, but he's hard. He tries to breathe, to ward the boner away. But you look so pretty in those shorts, and your top is so silky falling off your shoulder like that.

And soon enough he's giving into his desires and working his cock with his hand that isn't in yours. Tugging himself off and hiding his noises, it's not enough, of course not, cause it's not your pussy, he's just not in it, even when he spits in his hand and uses his precum. He can't even focus, turning you over to lay flat on your back, his hand slipping from yours. You stir, just slightly, eye peaking open to look down at him over your waist, he holds himself just above you, pecking the skin where the shirt rid up on your tummy. He kisses your hip that's free of the cloth on it, trailing kisses everywhere. “Can I pretty? Can I please have you right now?” he whispers so sweetly. You nod, despite still being groggy. “let me sleep still okay?”. You don't have to tell him twice, he kisses just under the swell of your stomach, appreciatively, dipping his hands into your shorts and undies to pull them off in one go. “Just let me do it all, don't worry your pretty head about anything” Pussy drinker !!!! His face is buried inside you, grinding his cock against the white sheets, you hum and moan quietly, urging him on.

He brushes his nose against your clit and indulges himself on working you with his tongue and his fingers, praising you through breaths when you come to the edge, he lets you cum with a gaspy call of his name, encouraging your thighs to almost suffocate him when he laps up your juices. He crawls up to you with one more appreciative kiss against your clit, pushing his cock in with ease, neglected and so red :( he practically falls apart above you. Snapping his hips a couple of times to be as close to you, pushing himself to cum from all the strain he's been putting his poor cock through. He pants when he cums, your name falling off his tongue like a sinatry, all the while you hardly stir, eyebrows scrunching at the warmth of his load gathering in your cunt. You're so warm, he falls atop you with a sigh, stilling inside. You're both definitely going for a second round, cause he woke you up and now he's the sleepy one.

Seonghwa. Oh! Okay! Oh god. He loves the idea, although a little nervous at first, all mutual agreements might end up with you both already going through a list of things that is completely fine. Would want to know everything you don't like and do like beforehand. He's so happy to know you trust him, although it took a hard time for him to open up to you, he's completely and wholeheartedly in it as soon as he knows, communication is the first thing with him and then trust. It's very sweet for a while until you guys actually get to doing it.

Uhm, I also see him as a pussy drinker, sorry not sorry. He wants to be buried in you all the time. But it isn't until you're propped up on the couch, the tv playing in the distance, he's been needy for affection lately and maybe you haven't noticed it as much, he shifts against your hip, head leaning over your shoulder, watching your eyes slump close and flutter from his breath on your cheek. For a second you think he's getting up when he slips down the couch, but the next he's throwing your legs over his shoulder and tossing your pants. When did that happen? “Go on love, keep sleeping, don't mind me” you do mind. A lot. He kisses your inner thigh. Even as he pushes his hair behind his ears softly and sticks his tongue out to lick along your entirety. You buck as he swirls your little bud, sucking on it. His eyes are closed in bliss, hands gripping your thighs so tightly.

He eats you out like a man enjoying a five course meal, knowing every sweet spot that has you seeing stars, even without his fingers you cum with his name on your lips, but he keeps going, nosing your thigh before he's diving back in. He has you there in mere minutes again, you can't even focus on the dream you were just in. I can see seonghwa with his head buried in your thighs for hours with a few breaks in between that has you thinking he's done(he is not) trying out every little thing he thinks of, how quickly he can get you there and how easily you come undone if he just puts even his fingertips in. He teases you with his words and edges you on. Every so often if you're just doing something casual, he'll stick his hands down your pants and make you cum on his fingers. “That was a good one love, you sounded so pretty” you hate him. But it's no different when you straddle his waist when he's laying on the bed, his own phone in his hands.

He greets you gently, it's really innocent at first cause you're touchy and seonghwa loves it when you're touchy. When he notices your hips are wiggling back and forth over his lap, he places his phone to the side to watch you, you're just,,, just there. Hovering above him, he can feel the heat of your body over his own, your head on his chest as you pretend to relax with him. He knows what you're doing, and he lets you, his cock stirring in his silky pants at the thought of being inside you. Your finger scraps against the hem of his pants, he moans quietly. You pull him out of his slacks and pump him the rest of the way to make him fully erect, his hand lulled to the side as his phone continues to play the video he was once watching. You pump him slowly, watching his tip pebble with sticky white drops. He watches you come up to hover your hips above him, lifting your oversized shirt to the side. It's then he realizes you're not in anything other than the shirt. His lip perked up into a smirk, it's quickly wiped away when you sink down on him. His mouth falling agape. Screw his phone, it's already gone, across the bed. His hands guide your hips in lazy swirls, pretty moans falling from his mouth. His eyebrows furrow and he's just so pretty as you lifts your hips and drill them down on him, cutting off his moans every time you do so. His fingertips dig into your waist, pleading for you to keep going and helping you out when you slow down. Taking it at your own pace until he swings you forward and thrusts up into you.

It's you using him, but he needs to be buried to the hilt the entire time. “Keep going- mm” His cock throbbing against your insides and hitting so deep cause he's so long. He can get loud but it's mostly breathy moans. When he cums- and it's inevitable- he's crying from the overstimulation of you continuing to hug his cock in your cunt. He watches you swirl your hips forward to chase your own orgasm, pleading for you. “S’too much please please- cum on my cock- need it so bad” Not to stop, but to get there with him as he sputters with tears down his cheeks from how good he feels. You cum quietly, falling over his chest and leaving yourself buried in his neck, he whimpers. Your hips continuing to swirl. He grips them, stopping them so he can get some relief. When he's softening inside you, he kisses your head gently. Picking up his phone to continue scrolling.

Hongjoong. Again! He loves the idea. It doesn't take any convincing. He might be the one to bring it up first. It'll start off with free use and gradually get to talking about the somno part. He'll tell you he wants to know your thoughts before he voices his own, just so he isn't pressuring you into it. He buzzes with excitement and also just so much love. He's always wanted you both to feel comfortable enough to get to this part of your relationship. And when it finally comes up, he just uses and abuses it after the initial agreement. God. He loves knowing you trust him to do it to you whenever, and he vocally tells you he loves the idea of you using him when you feel like it. Despite being shy with how he says it. It doesn't take much time for him to fall completely for you and trust you with his entire being.

I see him using you all the time. Whenever he can get his sneaky fingers around your hips and dig his boner into you. Casually talking about his day when you're standing at the kitchen counter, well- he's already pulling your dress up and slotting your underwear down in a swoop. His nimble fingers slotting into you quickly. “What was that? Go on angel” he'll want you to talk through it, telling him about your day through whimpers and stuttering. “n then she- oh god joong just like that-” you’d end up a mess, and he hums, encouraging your words. Pulls out just as you're about to cum. And then he kisses your cheek and pulls your underwear back up. he's the worse. Ugh. You'll have to be the first to fuck him up. He's talking as he drives, a quiet tone to his voice in the peace and quiet, completely oblivious to the heat in your eyes. He stares at the road and practically jumps when you lean over into his lap, his hand goes to hold your head, on instinct.

“Bab-” you're pulling his zipper down. oh! Oh!!! OHOHO. He quirks in your grasp, cock springing to life the quicker you jerk him off. When you spit on his length that's when he moans lowly, you slap his thigh. And he jolts. “Pay attention to the road.” Fuck him up!!! Despite reaching that edge with only a few short tugs and your painted lips swirling over his tip lightly, he doesn't cum at all cause you're already at the destined location. He hates it, he drove as slow as he could and yet he still didn't cum in your pretty mouth :( Grumbled whines under his breath as he shoves himself back into his jeans. The fabric hurts. And you're smirking at him like the devil. You're playing a dangerous game. And when he gets you alone in a house full of people you know, he's got you crying, pretty mascara running down your face and throating his length until your nose brushes against him.

“hngh- You did this to yourself angel” He clicks his tongue, head thrown back against the door. It's lewd and it's definitely free use for him when he uses your head to jerk himself off on your tongue. He takes a good solid time getting there, shoving his load down your throat and pulling out enough to watch the rest spurt over your lips. Swipes it off with his thumb and puts it back in your mouth. “suck,” if by chance he's sleeping or resting, which is rare. You won't be the one to do it to him often, on the other hand he'll want you to. But he definitely won't make you. So one day when you've had it rough, just tug his sweats down with his back resting against the bed, a soft edge to his face when he sleeps. pillow slotted under his grasp and head thrown to the side. Oops, he's already hard. Morning wood. Or was he just having a nice dream? You're already on him in seconds, bottoming him inside til your pelvis meets his. His eyebrows furrow and his breathing picks up. Gasps falling out of his parted mouth, his hands twitch every so often when you call his name quietly. As if he can hear you in his dreams. Your name is the only thing he says every so often, jumbled and under his breath when he moans prettily.

Whenever he twitches too much inside you, and his face scrunches you stop so he can't cum just yet. He'll whimper and whine, throwing his head back and around. His hand comes to rub his face and then fall back to his side, right next to your knees. You swirl your hips against and practically write your name on his dick. He'll stir the second time you edge him, waking him up to one of the best sights. “Ah. m- fuck- cumming” he whimpers, pistoning his hips up to meet yours, he continues to do so even when he cums, load splattering against the sheets when it pools out of you, he tells you to keep going, encourages it too. Sloppy the whole time, overstimulating himself so he's hard again, throbbing and moaning loudly, his cheat shuddering with every breath he takes. When you cum he's pulling you down to shove his tongue down your throat, catching every sound and vocal cue with his fingers rubbing against your clit. He overstimulates you in the process too.

Yunho. Might genuinely take a couple of times to talk about it more than once. He just wants to know you're the one completely fine with it. (cause he is!) He'll work his way up to it, sleepy sex and telling you he'll handle it the whole time. And when he feels the need to be buried in you, he'll always ask beforehand, tell him he doesn't even need to ask, cause he always will. He trusts you with his heart, so of course, he trusts you completely when it comes to sex. You both are completely in tune.

It's mostly casual when it happens. It usually starts because you're in a position he likes, letting his imagination go on for a bit, you're on your tummy on the couch, feet kicking behind you and typing away at your phone. He could feel like a perv for the way he's looking at you, oblivious to his growing hard-on. But he can't help it when he crawls over you to lay on your back, his dick pressing into you through his sweats. You go to question him. He smiles shyly. “Nothing baby, just want to be close to you” yeah uh huh sure bud. It's fine for a couple of seconds until his hips move, and he's sighing in your ear. You just let him get himself off, typing away. Ignorant to the way it's just not working for him, he slips your shorts down, and you only slightly help with lifting your hips. He'll immediately go at it, kissing your shoulder and neck, appreciation on his tongue when he tells you he'll be quick. He slips himself out and bottoms inside with ease. The stretch is perfect.

Yunho has a big cock but you take it like a champ, he always has you prepped for him too. It's just so easy to slip into you. His hand snakes under your waist to pinch your clit, you jolt away from the sensation, dropping your phone. It slides too far from your reach. It's not long of yunho's soft pace before you moan at him to go faster. Through a gaspy groan he laughs, his large palm holding him up on the arm of the couch and the other spreading your thigh farther open for him to watch you suck him inside. His pace quickens, it's enough for you to feel satisfied, throwing your hips back to meet him. The slapping noises are lewd, consuming the entire living room with just you two. Yunho is just big in general, so the tiny couch(that needs to be replaced) hardly holds his size. He's using his foot to push himself harder into you, his knee bending the couch harshly. Soft grunts and heavy pants coming from his chest, it reverbs off your back, although he's leaning over you he's still close.

His other hand circling your clit and swirling the bundle. You cum with a guttural whimper, his name quiet on your tongue. “gonna fill you up real good baby,” he smirks through his words. “You're gonna keep it in, yeah?” You nod your head, whining from the sensitivity. Yunho cums with your name chanting off his lips, hips stuttering above you. If you do use him while he's sleeping he's more likely to move with you, meeting your hips as he ruts in his sleep. Eyebrows pulled taunt and mouth agape. He lets out the prettiest groans. He cums with one final loud moan, fisting the sheets, and completely and wholeheartedly falls back into sleep. It's like he didn't wake up at all, and he didn't! Make sure you clean him up tho. Carefully. I see him using you more than you using him, only on occasion though. When he's sleepy and just wants to feel you around his cock. So hard he can't take the strain anymore, he throws your thighs over his lap, already pantsless both of you. Your sleepy body leaning into his warmth.

He kisses your calve, propping both of your legs over his shoulder before he's sliding in. He's already prepped you with his fingers. He's a bit more quiet then, focus on just having his way with you(because you let him) but also to see you unravel with him with no filter or anything blocking you from letting it all show on your face? He really likes it, like. Really. Likes it. His sloppy hips are more likely to make you wake up, or the stretch in your legs as you're bent over him, sandwiched between him and the bed, his thumb drawing figure eights on your clit to reach you there faster. Your whine is scratchy, signaling you're close. He'll coax you with words even if you can't hear him “go on baby, cream around me” He groans right in your ear when you tip, hands reaching out to hold him close because you've suddenly woken up to your legs shaking and an orgasm wracking your body. Yunho often cums with you and this time is no different, he's stilling with his chest shaking from his breathing. Curling his hips forward so he's all the way in. Keeping you full with his essence.

Yeosang. It takes sooo many words of affirmation for him to even think about it. He's just a bit too scared of the idea of you not being in the mood or enjoying it. He puts your pleasure before his all the time and when you tell him to just use you to his heart's content he just really can't :((( baby just wants you to be in it as much as he is. He wants to know his pretty baby is feeling as good as he is, and eventually, he'll tell you that himself when you bring it up again. You're free to use him whenever !!! He'll always be prepared and ready for you. He gets turned on by you, even mentioning you want him in that way. (He loves being the one you want even if the situation isn't sexual), so when you tell him to imagine, you're always wanting him (and you do). His thoughts on it will shift.

Once again, he doesn't act it out much when it comes to free use. On the other hand, I could see him turning over in his sleep, waking up from a sweaty dream. He can't get the thoughts of dream-you out of his head, so he does what you've recommended you both do before, kissing your shoulder to see if you'll wake. You don't, and so he goes on, trailing them down your collar before he's at the hem of your shirt. He's slipping himself under it. Sucks on your boobs while he jerks himself off :( I don't really see yeosang using your cunt as you sleep; he prefers to see his pretty baby up close to see your eyes flutter. But maybe on a special occasion if he really really REALLY wants you, he'll push you to your side so your back is pressed against his chest, pulling your shorts and undies down enough to push his cockhead in. He sighs so prettily and makes sure you don't show any discomfort from the stretch, his pace is slow and sleepy, just trying to get there from a few thrusts in your warm and wet hole.

He'll use his fingers to rub soothing circles around your clit. Paying special attention to the way your body reacts cause you can't really use your words. When it comes to sex like this he's quiet. Not very vocal cause he's so focused on driving his hips in and out of you. His length soothing in its pace against your cervix. Your eyes flutter when you feel the heat of needing to cum, waking up in the movement of yeosangs thighs against your ass. “Yeo-” you cry quietly, cumming tightly, the fluttering around his length has him airily groaning, your hand reaching to hold his that's kept on your waist to hold you close. He hums, broken and short and breathy. Before he's speeding up his messy pace and cumming inside. He stills and doesn't bother moving for a good minute, even as you turn your head to pepper kisses on his temple, his face shoved into your neck. Genuinely could see him almost falling asleep like that, buried inside you and completely comfortable. But as soon as he feels you wiggling he'll get to cleaning up. Also the type to just let you use him whenever you want too, he'll gladly just sit back and let you.

He'll be on the couch with his phone in hand, probably in one of the many dressing rooms waiting for the rest of the guys to get back. You drop to your knees in front of him and he immediately fumbles, eyes dashing to the door. “I locked it, don't worry” you pull the zipper of his brand new pants down, the leather straining against his thighs. His cock throbbing in your tight grasp, pumping him to stand full. He'll throw his head back against the couch and bite his lip to hold his moans when your mouth wraps around him. Getting him there quicker than he can proudly say, he'll whimper and hold his own hips down. Noticing every sound and how loud it seems to him. He'll hold your head, gently, following you with it against the back of it. Your pace is rough and brutal, getting him off with sticky noises and humming against his tip. He might actually start whimpering through his bruised lips.

“Sl-slow down-nng” oh my god he feels a bit bad when his hips thrust up against your throat. Eyes scrunching with pleasure, his hips don't know whether or not to pull away or to keep drilling up into you. So he's squirming on the couch, little sounds escaping here and there when you swallow around him. He warns you when he's about to cum, his hips driving away from you and digging into the couch. His hand fisting against the back of your neck shakily. Your name is the last thing he says before he's seeing stars and shooting his load on your tongue, if you swallow it up greedily he will definitely start shaking from the stimulus. “Jagi- ah.” His hand curls, your lips popping off him. He completely deflates on the couch. You'll have to do the cleaning up, be gentle though he gets really sensitive.

Jongho. It really is about trust with him. It will take a lot and so long before you guys even get to that part. Trusting you completely will be the most fragile part of it, jongho doesn't necessarily wear his heart on his sleeve so when he gets into it with you, he really has to think about it on his own for a good couple of days. So when he comes around and brings it up again, you tell him he doesn't have to agree for your sake. But he genuinely is agreeing because he loves you, and he's beginning to love the idea of being used by you when you need him. He just always wants to provide in every way possible. He'll only want to use you on the most stressful of days, though.

His cock is there for you to use and abuse to your content. He won't verbally say it (ever) but you know he finds a certain love for you using him so much. He'll be resting with his head on the couch and his body completely relaxed, drifting away in his own head. He'll immediately wake up to you leaning on his lap. He's no fun for somno, he wakes too easily especially if he feels you on his lap or anywhere near his dick. He'll paw at your hips and sigh knowingly. Eyes still closed and just the hint of a grin on his lips. “Right now?” He'll tease, his sleepy voice just ugh, and the little chuckle he does. Slide down his shorts and help him shuffle them down a bit, he'll help with pumping himself a bit so you can shuffle your own clothing off. Just slow strokes to his growing cock, he shudders when you line him up and use his tip to drag through your folds. Might even get impatient with the way his hips buck. But when you sink down his eyes are slowly opening to watch your joint area. Swirling your waist back and forth on his lap.

He's not very helpful this way; you're the one who woke him from his nap and now you should be the one to get you both off. You're cumming before he is, hips stilling and falling on his chest. He clicks his tongue, a short amount of teasing coming from his chest. His hips stutter, pushing you back down with his strength. He cums shortly after. Just buzzing with domesticity, he'll just be happy to stay like that for a while, but the liquids dripping along his body just won't do for him. You're the one cleaning up cause you initiated it ! Sorry not sorry. If it's a long day and jongho is just coming home, his body is heavy and his head pulsing with a growing headache from the amount of things memorized. You'll be the first thing on his mind, being close to you always blows off steam but he will debate on whether or not he'll want to wake you up or just go on ahead.

So he takes the easier option. Cooing at you gently when you sigh softly, he's positioned right by your butt as you're turned on your side. You’ve definitely fallen asleep from waiting on him. You'll call his name softly, propping your head up to look at him. “Shh, just relax and let me do all of it for you, turn your pretty head off for me” he kisses your lips so sweetly, just a short peck and you're already turning your head back into the pillow he brought from the bedroom, body sighing and falling back. Preps you with his hands and fingers, gently swirling them inside you and working you open for him. Encourages your orgasm when he knows you like a certain thing he does, shushing your soft moans. He always preps you to take him. He likes it better that way. So he's already strained and hard to the touch in his palm when he slips himself out of his jeans. Hissing from the harsh fabric under his breath. He'll make sure to lube himself up with his own spit beforehand so you're not lubing his length up completely by yourself.

Works the head in and gently leans over you, breathing softly above you. He'll swirl his hips to get himself all the way in, stopping to pull out and ease more of his length inside. Eyeing your comfortable state the entire time. His pace will be erratic and slow, just finding what works best for the angle and what makes you squirm around him. Once he finally finds it, he'll encourage it on, pouding into your gummy spot until you're whimpering. Hips stuttering occasionally from the way you clench around him “There you go, sweet girl, just like that” he coos, watching your body shake from the orgams ripping out of you You sigh so prettily when he drills his cock back in, holding your thigh to keep you close even as you pull from the overstimulation. His breath stuttering our of his lungs when he paints your insides. Falling the rest of the way over you. He sighs heavily. Brain shortwiring. He'll definitely be doing that again.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

UHM UHM, I... I GOT CARRIED AWAY.

Thank you to my pookie for being so patient with me ;( ily bb, here's that request you've been waiting for. And my cutie patootie @uhhheather for helping me out w jongho n yeosang. U played an important role so thank uuuuu

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