#music to her eyes (rhythm that she feels)

[specialarrogance]

cressida to coleen at one point:

[ja3yun]

Stretch it Out | P.SH

instructor!sunghoon x ballerina!reader warnings: smut (mdni), unprotected sex, cream pie, fingering, mirror sex, pet names (sweatheart, good girl), bad ballet references bc idk what i'm talking about, slight mention of self doubt, not proof read, anything else lmk! wc: 7.4k REQ: ballet intructor!sunghoon helping ballerina!reader stretch and you know where the rest leads to ��� a/n: hi! i took this request and shuffled it around to make it this! hope this is okay anonnie and i am also so sorry for the late posting of it! i've been working on so much lately and with my little break i didn't do much writing. as always, comments, reblogs, and likes are all welcome!

Applause echoes through the spacious studio as one of your fellow dancers finishes receiving her critique from Mrs. Yang. Her routine was strong, though it seems she needs to work on her turnout - something you hadn't noticed. Perhaps it’s because your nerves are clouding your perception; after all, it will be your turn once she's finished.

The Annual Exhibition is less than two months away, and this will be your first time presenting your completed routine for approval in front of an audience - especially Mrs. Yang, who is more than just an instructor to you; she’s your role model, the person you’ve looked up to throughout your entire ballet journey.

Throughout your high school years, you dedicated your evenings and weekends to ballet school, working tirelessly just for the chance to apply to the National University of Arts and audition in front of Mrs. Yang. For months leading up to this moment, you poured everything into perfecting your pliés and pirouettes. Blisters marred your feet, and exhaustion settled deep in your bones, but none of that mattered. All that mattered was proving yourself worthy.

“Y/N, you’re up,” Mrs. Yang’s voice echoes through the studio like a haunting ghost. 

Following her words, you get up and shake off any nerves you have, all too aware of the impact performing badly will have; she could cut you from the exhibition or tell you to scrap the routine entirely, and both of those are not an option for you.

Now, as you step forward to take your place at the centre of the studio, the weight of the moment presses down on you. Every muscle is tense with anticipation, and your heart races as you prepare to dance.

The music begins, and you launch into your routine. At first, the nerves are overwhelming - each movement feels too stiff, too calculated. But as you glide into an arabesque and sweep through a series of pirouettes, something shifts. The familiar rhythm of the dance takes over, and your body begins to move almost on its own, flowing through each step with a grace you didn't know you possessed.

You’re hyper-aware of Mrs. Yang’s presence, of her eyes following your every move, but instead of faltering, you find yourself sinking deeper into the performance. Each développé stretches to its fullest extent, each sauté feels lighter than air. Your breathing steadies and the tension in your muscles transforms into power and control.

As you close the final sequence with a grand jeté, landing with a precise yet delicate touch, you can feel the room holding its breath. You finish in a graceful reverence, chest heaving but mind calm. In this moment, all the hours of hard work, the pain, and the sacrifices feel worth it. You've given everything you have.

But as you glance at Mrs. Yang, it doesn’t look like she’s as satisfied with your performance as you are. Her face is stoic, unreadable, but you’ve been in her class long enough to decipher even the subtlest of her expressions. The slight raise of her right eyebrow sends a wave of dread crashing through you. That’s never a good sign. Her eyes cling to you with the intensity of an unwanted gaze, leaving an uncomfortable knot twisting in your stomach.

She remains quiet for a few minutes, the silence stretching unbearably as though she’s gathering her words. When she finally speaks, her tone is clipped, measured. “It’s good, modern, and meets the criteria.”

You brace yourself, knowing that a ‘but’ is coming.

“But,” she continues, and you wince slightly, “you are not sharp enough. I mean seriously, Y/N, how many times do I need to pull you up for this? Do you not want to improve?”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You don’t want to disappoint her. You gave everything you had in that performance, even though it was just a run-through. But it’s clear that it wasn’t enough.

You bow your head, fighting to keep your voice steady. “Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Yang’s irritation sharpens. “Then for the love of God, can you listen to me this time?” She stands up, her movements precise and deliberate as she walks over to you. Her voice is firm, tinged with exasperation. “This exhibition is crucial to your future career. It’s what sets you apart from the others, and yet you seem to lack such basic skills. Even the first years are forming lines better than you.”

Her words slice through you, each one a reminder of the standards you’ve failed to meet. The sting of her tone is almost unbearable, but you know deep down that it comes from a place of faith. She nitpicks because she sees potential in you, potential she wants to help you realise. Each six-month review she’s had with you, she’s made it clear that she believes you can make it far in this world.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Yang,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“Apologise to yourself, not to me.”

A chorus of snickers drifts from the edge of the room. You glance over to see a group of girls, giggling and holding in laughter, their eyes full of condescension. The sound pierces through your already fragile self-belief, making you shrink into yourself, every snicker chipping away at whatever confidence you had left. Doubt begins to creep in, gnawing at the edges of your resolve. You start questioning whether you’re truly cut out for this, whether all the sacrifices you’ve made have been for nothing.

Before you can spiral too deeply into your own thoughts, Mrs. Yang’s fingers press firmly against your cheek, gently but insistently turning your face to meet hers. “You can’t do this on your own, so I’m assigning you a coach.”

“But you are my coach,” you reply, your voice tinged with confusion.

“Yes, but I don’t have time to give you hours of one-on-one training,” she says, rolling her eyes as if that statement should be obvious. She strides back to her seat, preparing to evaluate the next girl in line. “I have someone in mind. They’re very fluid and pointed in their gestures. They should whip you into shape. I’ll book you an out-of-hours studio for the foreseeable.”

The words hit you like a ton of bricks. You stand there, rooted to the spot, unable to fully process what she’s just said. Sure, she’ll still be your instructor during scheduled lessons, but this means that on top of your gruelling 12-hour days, your endless rehearsals, and the constant pressure to perfect every move, you’ll now have to spend extra time with a new coach.

It’s overwhelming. The thought of adding yet another layer of intensity to your already packed schedule makes your head spin. Your body, already pushed to its limits, protests at the idea of even more hours in the studio. Your heart sinks as the reality of the situation sets in. How will you manage it all? How will you balance the expectations of not one but two demanding mentors?

You want to succeed, to rise to the challenge, but a part of you is terrified that you’ll crumble under the weight of it all. The path ahead, already steep and treacherous, has just become even more daunting.

As Mrs. Yang calls out the name of the next dancer, you force yourself to step aside, the familiar sting of exhaustion settling into your bones. 

You can only hope that this new coach makes it worth your while.

_____

The long day of classes has left you drained, every muscle aching with the residue of endless rehearsals and critiques. The last thing you want to do is spend more time in the studio, yet here you are, trudging down the empty hallways of the performance centre with your gym bag slung over your shoulder. The familiar scent of rosin and sweat lingers in the air, and you can't help but feel a pang of dread at the thought of more practice. Your mind buzzes with the memory of Mrs. Yang’s words earlier this week, her disappointment, and the pressure of living up to expectations weighing heavily on your shoulders.

As you push open the door to the studio, your eyes fall on an unfamiliar figure - a boy standing with his back to you. He’s tall, strikingly so, with broad shoulders that taper down into a lean, athletic frame. His dark hair is tousled, falling just above the nape of his neck, and he’s dressed in loose joggers and a fitted white tank top that highlights the sinewy lines of his muscles.

You hesitate in the doorway, momentarily taken aback by his presence. The studio had been booked for you, and the last thing you want is a confrontation with a stranger. You clear your throat softly, hoping to catch his attention. “Um, hello?” you say timidly, your voice barely above a whisper. You hope that a gentle approach will encourage him to leave without any fuss.

The boy whips around at the sound of your voice, and your breath catches in your throat. His face is nothing short of breathtaking; sharp, elegant features softened by a small, almost shy smile. His eyes, a deep, captivating brown, seem to sparkle with quiet intensity as he takes in your appearance. For a moment, you’re struck by how impossibly beautiful he is, like a sculptor’s masterpiece brought to life. He seems too perfect, too unreal, and you feel a strange flutter in your chest as you meet his gaze.

“Hi,” he says, his voice smooth and warm, like a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. He’s still studying you, and you can’t help but take the opportunity to do the same, noting every detail of his flawless face - the way his lips curve slightly upwards, the sharpness of his jawline, the softness of his eyes.

You blink, trying to regain your composure. “I don’t mean to be rude,” you start, hoping to keep your tone polite, “but my teacher booked me this room for a few hours.”

He raises an eyebrow, his small smile never fading. “Four hours to be exact, yeah. She also booked you…me.” The confusion must be evident on your face because he adds, “I’m your coach, Sunghoon.”

“You?” The word slips out before you can stop it, and you instantly regret how incredulous you sound. The last thing you want is to offend him, but the shock of the situation has thrown you off balance.

“Yeah, me. Why?” His tone is still light, but there’s a hint of defensiveness in his voice, and that sends you into a mild panic. You quickly shake your head, trying to salvage the situation.

“No, no, I’m not trying to say anything negative,” you stammer, holding up your hands as if to ward off any misunderstanding. “It’s just… I’ve never seen you around the performance centre, let alone the ballet corridor.”

He nods, seeming to understand your confusion. “That’s because you’ll find me in the sports centre.”

You take a moment to size him up, your mind racing as you try to figure out what sport he could possibly play. He’s too lean to be a rugby player, his legs too slender to be a footballer, but he’s tall enough to be a basketball player. You consider the possibility of him being a rower or maybe a gymnast, but nothing quite fits. He’s a mystery, one that piques your curiosity.

As if reading your thoughts, he interrupts your internal questioning. “I’m a figure skater.”

The revelation surprises you, and you can’t help but blurt out, “Oh.” You pause, trying to piece together why a figure skater would be chosen to coach you in ballet. Placing your bag to the side of the room, you turn to him again. “So why are you coaching me?”

“Why can’t I?” he counters, his tone holding a subtle challenge that makes you feel slightly defensive. “Mrs. Yang said you’re having trouble looking elegant and punctuated in your movements. Skaters have the same problem.”

You nod slowly, but a part of you is still sceptical. “But you guys have ice and skates. I have a wooden floor and ballet pumps.”

A laugh escapes his lips before he quickly covers his mouth, a look of apology flashing across his face. “Sorry, it’s just…what does that have to do with anything?”

You frown, still not entirely convinced. “You guys have blades to move you. I have to coordinate my legs to move me. You guys can think about fluidity and movement.”

He crosses his arms, his expression becoming more serious as he regards you with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. “Do you know how ridiculous you sound? We have to balance on a tiny blade and have every chance to slip or crash from a jump.”

His words hang in the air, and you suddenly feel a bit foolish for your assumptions. Of course, figure skating requires immense skill and precision - maybe even more so than ballet, given the added challenge of balancing on ice. 

“Okay, fair point,” you admit, feeling a bit sheepish. You also hate it when people underestimate the skill and energy it takes to perform ballet, and yet here you are doing it to him about his own sport. 

He steps closer, his eyes never leaving yours, and you find yourself holding your breath under his gaze. “I know you were expecting some ballet genius to help you but our arts are similar. It’s about control, balance, and grace,” he explains. “On the ice, every movement needs to be both powerful and delicate. The same applies to ballet. You need to find that balance between strength and elegance. That’s where I come in.”

You nod slowly, beginning to understand his perspective. The way he speaks, the passion in his voice, makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, this might actually work. “And you think you can teach me that?”

“I know I can,” he says confidently, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “If you’re willing to put in the effort, that is.”

There’s a challenge in his words, one that you can’t resist rising to. You’ve always prided yourself on your work ethic, and you’re not about to let anyone doubt your dedication.

“I am,” you reply firmly, meeting his gaze with determination.

Sunghoon starts the session by having you go through your routine. His eyes are sharp, missing nothing as he watches you move across the floor. You’re acutely aware of his presence, the way his gaze seems to weigh on your every step, every turn, every jump. It’s unnerving at first, but you push through the discomfort, focusing on executing each movement with precision.

When you finish, he steps forward, nodding thoughtfully. “You’re good,” he says, and the praise sends a warm flush of satisfaction through you and a blush to your cheeks. “But you’re too tense. You’re overthinking every move, and it shows. Ballet is as much about feeling as it is about technique. You need to let go a little.”

You frown slightly, not entirely sure how to do that. “Let go?”

“Yeah,” he says, moving to stand beside you. “Your muscles are too tight, your movements too calculated. It’s like you’re afraid of making a mistake, so you’re holding back.”

You look down at the floor, his words hitting a little too close to home. You’ve always been afraid of making mistakes, always felt the pressure to be perfect. It’s something that’s been drilled into you since you first started dancing, and it’s hard to shake.

He must sense your hesitation because he steps closer, his voice softening. “Hey,” he says gently, and you look up to find his eyes full of understanding. “I get it. But if you keep holding back, you’re never going to reach your full potential.”

There’s something in his voice that makes you want to trust him, something that makes you feel like maybe he understands you in a way that others don’t. You nod slowly, taking a deep breath as you try to let go of the tension in your body.

“Good,” he says, a small smile playing on his lips. “Now, let’s try something different.”

_____

For two hours straight, you push your body to its limits, executing each movement with precision and determination. Sunghoon’s voice fills the studio, giving you sharp, pointed instructions that you follow without question. But as the minutes tick by, the atmosphere begins to shift. The calm, encouraging demeanour he started with fades, replaced with a growing tension that seems to coil around the two of you, tightening with each correction he makes.

“Extend more,” he snaps as you move through a series of arabesques. His tone is snappier now, the softness from before replaced with something harsher. “You’re still too stiff.”

You grit your teeth, focusing on stretching every muscle to its fullest, making sure each line is as precise as possible. But no matter how much you try, his dissatisfaction only seems to grow.

“Again,” he commands, his voice laced with frustration. You try to push your discontent down, channelling it into your movements, but the more you try, the more his critiques seem to cut through you.

“You’re losing focus. How are you going to perform on stage if you can’t even manage this in practice?”

The sting of his criticism hits you deep, and you can feel your confidence waver. Are you really that bad? You’re hitting the moves correctly, focusing intently on your lines - the very aspect of the performance Mrs. Yang had criticised you for. You’re doing everything he’s asking, so why is he still so frustrated? Shouldn’t he be pleased that his coaching is starting to take effect?

You execute a pirouette, landing with precision, but the instant your foot touches the ground, Sunghoon’s voice cuts through the air. “No,” he says sharply, shaking his head. “You’re not following through. Where’s the energy? The intention?”

“I’m trying!” The words slip out before you can stop them, frustration bubbling over. Your chest heaves with exertion, and you meet his eyes, desperate for some sign that he understands how hard you’re working, how much you’re giving.

But his expression remains hard, unreadable, and that only fuels the growing tension between you. “Trying isn’t enough,” he snaps back, stepping closer, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You need to do more than just hit the moves. You have to feel them. Right now, you’re just going through the motions. There’s no passion, no fire.”

His words cut deep, and you feel a flare of anger mixed with hurt. “I’m doing exactly what you asked,” you retort, unable to keep the edge out of your voice. “I’m focusing on the lines, on the form. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Yes,” he says, his frustration palpable, “but you’re missing the point. It’s not just about form; it’s about bringing the movements to life. Right now, you’re nothing more than a marionette, moving because you’re being told to, not because you’re actually feeling the dance.”

The comparison stings and you can feel yourself reaching boiling point. You’ve been working so hard, pushing yourself beyond what you thought you were capable of, and yet here you are, being told that it’s still not enough. A part of you wants to shout at him, to tell him that he doesn’t understand how hard this is, how much pressure you’re under. But instead, you swallow the words, letting the irritation simmer beneath the surface.

Sunghoon’s gaze softens, just a fraction, but it’s enough to make you feel the weight of his expectations even more acutely. “I know you can do better. Mrs. Yang told me you’re one of her best students,” he says, his voice gentler now with the content, though no less intense. “That’s why I’m pushing you. I need you to push yourself. You’ve got so much potential, but something’s holding you back. What is it?”

His question hangs in the air, heavy and probing. For a moment, you’re at a loss for words. Why are you holding back? Is it the fear of failing? Fear that you’ll never be good enough? Or maybe, deep down, you just don’t believe in yourself.

The silence between you stretches, thick with hostility. Sunghoon steps closer, his presence almost overwhelming, the heat radiating off him nearly suffocating. You can feel the intensity of his gaze, a challenge flickering in his eyes, daring you to shatter whatever invisible barrier is restraining you.

He’s so close now that you can see the tight set of his jaw, the way his eyes blaze with a fire that sends a shiver down your spine. The frustration is palpable, a tangible force crackling in the air, making it feel electric, charged with something both exhilarating and frightening.

With a firm but gentle touch, Sunghoon places his hands on your shoulders, turning you to face the mirror. He steps in behind you, closing the space between your bodies. “Look at yourself,” he says, his voice low and resonant. “See how tense you are?” His large hands slide down from your shoulders, tracing the line of your body. “Every muscle is knotted up. You can’t perform at your best unless you loosen up. Stop overthinking. Just…let go.”

Your eyes meet his in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, and in that instant, the world seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you, close enough to feel each other’s breath. Then, almost instinctively, his fingers press into your sides, firm and commanding, gliding up your waist and torso with deliberate slowness. The sensation sends a wave of heat through your body, and your breath catches as he lifts your arms, stretching your upper half with a fluid motion that leaves you feeling vulnerable and exposed.

“Feel this,” he murmurs, his breath warm against the nape of your neck, sending another quake over your body. He holds your wrists above your head with one hand, the other pressing into your lower back, making you hyper-aware of the heat emanating from him. “See how good that feels?”

Using his knuckles, he circles the bottom of your spine, dissolving any knots and doubts from it. You resist the urge to moan but your eyes roll to the back of your head as you push your hips into him, aching for more of his magical touch. Out of all the massages you have ever had, this tiny glimmer of one beats them all.

His breath spreads over your skin, and his fingers tighten slightly around your wrists as he holds you in place. Once you bring your eyes forward, he locks in with yours in the mirror. His piercing stare is intense and your heart quickens, the tension between you crackling like a live wire. 

“You like that?” Sunghoon asks, the smirk plastered on his face as he feels you grinding onto his growing boner. He can see you wanting to let go in the reflection of your eyes as well as the neediness in your breaths, giving him all the consent he needs to take this further.

As he releases your wrists, his hand trails down your shoulders and back to meet the other. The heat of his touch seeps through the fabric of your top, firm yet tender. His fingers glide along your spine, coaxing your body to arch into the movement, a soft sigh escaping your lips. His touch is skilled, knowing exactly where to press and where to ease, melting away the tension in your muscles, leaving you pliant under his hands.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he whispers, the edge in his voice betraying his awareness of the effect he’s having on you. The connection is almost too intense to bear. But you can’t look away, drawn to the magnetic pull between you. He slides his hands over your sides and across your lower abdomen, fingers digging slightly into your muscles, the pressure both soothing and intoxicating as he massages your belly and hips.

You instinctively begin to lower your arms, the proximity making it difficult to concentrate on anything else. But his grip tightens around your waist in warning. “No, keep your arms up, sweetheart,” he says, his tone demanding, the instructor in him resurfacing.

Resting his hand flatly on your stomach, his fingers spread as he pulls you flush against him, your back meeting the solid expanse of his chest. The contact makes you acutely aware of every point where your bodies touch, your heart hammering in your chest as your breath catches. His hands linger at the waistband of your leggings, before slowly, his hands dip down, fingers brushing against your skin, exploring with deliberate, teasing slowness. The sensation sends a jolt of electricity through you, your skin tingling under his touch.

His hands move lower, the anticipation building with every inch he covers. You can feel your muscles trembling, your arms still stretched above your head as he asked, but the effort to maintain the position becomes increasingly difficult with every passing second.

His fingers find your folds, slipping between them with an agonising slowness that leaves you gasping. The sensation is overwhelming, your body instinctively moving with his fingers, but he’s quick to remind you of his control. “Keep your arms up, be a good girl and listen,” he murmurs, his voice laced with a quiet authority that leaves no room for disobedience.

The smirk on his face is unmistakable as he watches you struggle to comply, the tension between following his instructions and giving in to the intoxicating pull of his touch almost unbearable. His fingers continue their slow exploration, teasing and tormenting you with a skill that leaves you trembling, your resolve weakening with every passing moment.

Impulse begs you to let your arms fall, to collapse into his embrace, but his gaze holds you in place, that smirk still playing on his lips as he watches you battle with your own desires. The contrast between his command and the sheer pleasure he’s coaxing from your body is dizzying, leaving you on the edge of surrender.

Yet, despite the intense need coursing through you, you force yourself to keep your arms raised, stretching above your head, the effort only adding to the thrill coursing through your veins. His fingers move with deliberate intent now, pressing deeper, his touch sending waves of pleasure through your body that make it almost impossible to think, to breathe.

Sunghoon’s fingers expertly play with your pussy, two of them circling your sensitive nub with a maddening precision that leaves you dizzy. “Do you feel how exhausted your arms are?” he asks, his voice tinged with a hint of smugness, as though expecting an answer despite your obvious distraction.

Nodding, you squeeze your eyes shut so tightly that white spots dance behind your lids, a kaleidoscope of fleeting lights against the darkness. The burn in your arms is a sharp contrast to the way your hips instinctively move, undulating in perfect sync with his skilled fingers. It's a delicious torment—the strain in your muscles somehow amplifies the pleasure coiling low in your belly, turning every sensation sharper, more intense.

Suddenly, his lips are on your neck, a gentle press of heat that sends a shiver cascading down your spine, threatening to unravel you completely. The warmth of his mouth on your skin is your undoing, and before you can stop yourself, your arms give way. You collapse forward, hands scrambling to find purchase, seeking him instinctively as if he's the only thing keeping you grounded. Your fingers dig into his arms, nails biting into his skin as you cling to him, desperate for stability in the storm he's unleashed within you.

"See how loose you feel?" His voice is a murmur against your neck, each word a hot, teasing caress. "How your body wants to move on its own, to give in? That’s how your performance should be."

As if to punctuate his point, his fingers slide inside you, the sudden, intimate invasion tearing a sharp gasp from your lips. Your hips buck against his hand, craving more, driven by the need he’s ignited in you. His other arm tightens around your waist, holding you close, anchoring you to him as his fingers continue their relentless rhythm, each stroke designed to push you further, closer to the edge.

The atmosphere around you thickens, every breath heavy with the electric tension between you. The heat radiating from his body seeps into yours, an overwhelming presence that consumes you, making it impossible to think of anything but the here and now. The scent of him - musky, intoxicating - fills your senses, making you feel lightheaded, dizzy with desire. You can feel the hardness of his arousal pressing insistently against your lower back, a solid reminder of his own need, adding fuel to the fire already burning within you.

His pace quickens, fingers plunging deeper, more urgently, more demanding. "Even your pussy is so tight," he murmurs, his tone more observation than criticism. "Do I need to open this up too?"

Your laboured breathing is your only response, mingling with the slick, rhythmic sounds of his hand moving inside you. The coil of pleasure in your core tightens with every thrust, winding tighter and tighter, the pressure building until you feel like you might shatter from the intensity of it.

Your hands clutch at his arm, desperate, seeking something solid to hold onto as your legs threaten to buckle beneath you. His fingers curl inside you, finding that perfect spot that sends your vision spinning, a raw, needy moan escaping your lips. The feeling of his hard length pressing against you, coupled with the masterful way his fingers work you, has your entire body humming with sensation, alive with the need to surrender to the pleasure he’s offering.

Sunghoon’s mouth returns to your neck, lips brushing over your sensitive skin, his teeth grazing lightly as he sucks, sending another jolt of arousal through you. "That’s it," he murmurs against your skin, his voice a low, rough command that vibrates through you. "Let go. Feel it. This is how you should be."

His words wrap around you like a spell, breaking down the last of your restraint. Your body moves with his, falling into the rhythm he’s set, lost in the heat and desire pulsing between you. Every stroke, every touch, draws you deeper into the abyss of pleasure, until all you can do is let go and let him guide you.

“Fuck, Sunghoon,” you manage to mewl, your voice trembling, breathless, as you throw your head back, letting it rest against his chest.

A low, rumbling chuckle escapes him, the sound reverberating through you, adding to the fire already blazing in your veins. His lips trail up to your ear, his tongue flicking against your earlobe, a playful, teasing nip that sends another shiver racing down your spine. “That’s it,” he whispers, his voice thick with a mix of amusement and desire. His fingers curl inside you again, hitting that spot that makes your entire body jerk in his hold, another gasp torn from your throat. “You like this, don’t you? You’re such a perfect student, so eager to please.”

All you can do is nod, biting down on your lip to stifle the moans threatening to spill over. He hums appreciatively, his hot breath brushing against your ear, the sensation sending another ripple of pleasure through you. “Good,” he purrs, his voice low and commanding, like the instructor he is. “You’re a quick learner when you want to be. You respond so well to guidance.”

Without warning, his hand shifts, thumb finding your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your hips jerk involuntarily. Your vision blurs, stars dancing before your eyes as the pleasure crashes over you in waves, each one pulling you deeper into the sensation. His fingers move with expert precision, relentless in their pursuit of your release, pushing you closer and closer to the brink.

In the mirror before you, Sunghoon’s eyes lock onto you, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as he relishes in watching the pleasure contort your face. "You’re moving perfectly, not overthinking, just feeling how you should," he murmurs, almost to himself, pride evident in his voice. 

Just as you feel yourself teetering on the brink, he slows his movements, dragging out your pleasure, keeping you suspended on the edge. You whimper with need, the desperation in your voice only making him grin wider. His lips brush against your ear, his voice a dark, seductive whisper that sends your brain into orbit. "You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you? Be a good dancer and let go, show me how well you can perform."

It’s not a question; it’s a command. And with one final, skilled stroke, he pushes you over the edge, sending you spiralling into a climax that tears through you, leaving every atom in your body shaking with intensity and your muscles instantly tensing, just to relax once again.

As the tremors subside, you feel his hands shift, fingers hooking into the waistband of your leggings. “We’re just getting started,” he murmurs, a hint of something dark and promising in his voice. Slowly, he pulls them down, the fabric dragging against your skin, heightening your sensitivity. “You’re still tight,” he observes, voice low, almost thoughtful. “We need to work on that.”

He positions himself behind you, the heat of his body a stark contrast to the cool air against your bare skin. Pushing his joggers and boxers down to his thighs, he lets his hard cock spring free, your body shielding it from the mirror in front of you, but as he drags it along your folds, you get a sense of the thick, long shaft he is about to impale you with.

His hand moves to your hips, guiding you, adjusting your stance, and your hands find home on the mirror in front of you, fingers splaying across the cool glass. “Arch your back,” he instructs, voice firm yet gentle, as if this were just another rehearsal. “Relax into it…let me in.”

With a measured, almost calculated precision, he enters you, the sensation of him filling you completely making you gasp. In the mirror, your reflection catches your eye, your mouth falling open as you watch him disappear inside you. “Oh god,” you moan, the image of your bodies coming together, the way he stretches you, only intensifying the sensation. “Sunghoon…”

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice like velvet, wrapping around you, pulling you deeper into the moment. “Look at yourself,” he commands softly, his breath hot against your ear. “See how your body opens up when you let go? When you stop fighting and just let the movement happen? That’s how you get perfect lines.”

His pace is slow at first, methodical, every thrust a deliberate stroke meant to coax your body into submission. Your eyes lock onto your reflection, the sight of his hips moving against yours, the way your skin flushes with arousal, captivating. “Fuck, your pussy is sensational,” he breathes, a hint of strain in his voice as he pulls back slightly, only to push deeper. “Almost as good as your allegro.”

You let out a broken moan, your gaze flicking between his intense expression in the mirror and the way his muscles are contracting in his arms as he firms his grip on your waist, focusing on pounding into you with fervour. “Sunghoon… more… please…”

Each movement of his hips is like a masterclass, each squeeze from his hands and twitch of his cock only making your body ache for more. “Don’t hold back,” he whispers, his grip on your hips tightening, pulling you closer. “Let your body respond to mine.”

Your eyes widen as he leans forward slightly, the angle allowing you to see more of him in the mirror, his jaw tightening with every thrust. “Feels so good,” you manage to gasp out, your voice breathy, desperate as you push back against him, trying to take him deeper. “Please, don’t stop…”

The mirror reflects the sheen of sweat forming on your skin, the way your body arches into his touch, how every line of your form matches the rhythm he’s set. Your body moves with his, every thrust pushing you closer to that edge again, every word sinking deeper into your mind. His hand slides down your stomach, fingers finding your clit once more, adding that extra layer of stimulation that has your legs shaking. “That’s it,” he coaxes, voice rich with approval. “Give in to it. Let your body move the way it wants to…the way it needs to.”

“Sunghoon… oh, god… I’m gonna-” Your words cut off in a whimper as his pace quickens, the pace he sets becoming more intense, more demanding, each thrust designed to unravel you, to push you past your limits.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmurs into your neck, his gaze flickering up to meet yours in the mirror, watching how your breath fogs up the glass in front of you and your fingers claw down the flat surface in an attempt to grip onto something tangible. The sight of you coming undone in the reflection only seems to spur him on, his hips snapping against yours with renewed vigour.

“Sunghoon, I-” you try to speak, but the words dissolve into a moan as he thrusts deeper, hitting a spot that makes your vision blur and stars dance before your eyes, the bell of his cock kissing the sensitive spot inside your walls.

“Show me,” he commands, his voice like a conductor’s baton, directing the crescendo. “Show me how beautifully you can fall apart.” 

Sunghoon’s arm wraps securely around your waist, pulling your trembling body back against his chest. The new angle allows him to thrust even deeper, the motion sending shockwaves of pleasure through you, each stroke of his cock searing itself into your memory. You feel completely filled by him, the sensation overwhelming as your reflection quakes, your body obeying every demand he silently makes. Your muscles clench around him, and as your head falls back against his shoulder, you cry out his name.

The mirror captures every detail - the flush of your skin, the arch of your back, the way your mouth opens in a silent scream as another intense climax rips through you. This one is even more powerful than the last, leaving you utterly undone, your body shaking in his arms as he holds you steady.

As the waves of pleasure begin to ebb, your eyes lock onto the mirror once more. You see yourself as Sunghoon sees you raw, vulnerable, but also strong, capable of surrendering and finding beauty in letting go. For a moment, all you can see is the perfect dancer he’s crafted, the one who’s learned to trust the rhythm and fall apart beautifully.

Chasing his own release, he begins to buck his hips in a fast, sharp manner, aware that two orgasms on your end could make you extra sensitive. Your pussy milks his cock as he cums deep inside of you, his nails scratching your hips and down your ass, as he moans out your name, chanting it like a hymn during confession. 

His chest heaves against your back and he kisses anywhere he can on your neck and shoulders to ground himself in the present, bringing himself down from his high.

As he slowly slides out of you, his arms never leave your body, keeping you close. He gently lowers you to the ground, sitting you down and holding you against him. Your body feels like jelly, completely spent, but his embrace is comforting. He presses soft kisses to the back of your head, his breath warm against your damp skin.

"You did so well, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice tender, full of pride.

You tilt your head back slightly, looking up at him with a small, exhausted smile. "I don’t think I’m supposed to be this relaxed when I perform at the exhibition," you manage to say, a breathless giggle escaping your lips.

Sunghoon chuckles along with you, the sound vibrating through your body where you're pressed against him. He shakes his head, brushing a few strands of hair away from your sweaty face. "No, you should have some feeling in your bones," he agrees, wiping the moisture from your brow with the back of his hand. "But do you see how, when you let yourself do what your body wanted, you felt a million times better?"

You nod, the memory of the intensity still fresh in your mind. "Yeah…I did. It felt different…freer."

"Exactly," he says, his eyes softening as he gazes at you. "That’s how ballet is supposed to be. You can’t bring emotions to an audience if you’re too busy concentrating on getting the next move right."

"But Mrs. Yang always talks about perfection," you counter, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "She says, ‘You need to be perfect to achieve perfection.’ She repeats it all the time."

Sunghoon sighs, a look of understanding crossing his features. "It’s the same for us," he admits, his tone tinged with a mix of disdain and resignation. "Every skate has to be better than the last, or else you’re a failure." His voice carries the weight of someone who’s heard those words too many times, who’s internalised them and yet knows there’s more to the story.

"But perfection isn’t something you learn from a textbook. It’s not something you can force." He pauses, looking down at you, his expression thoughtful. "You need to find your own colour, your own style. That’s where true perfection lies - when it comes from within, not from trying to meet someone else’s standards."

You hold his gaze, the truth in his words sinking in. For years you have tried to live up to Mrs. Yang’s expectation that you lost your real love for the art. Or maybe, not lost the love, but rather buried it under the weight of being perfect. 

"But…what if I never find it? My colour."

Sunghoon’s lips curve into a small smile, his hand cupping your cheek, thumb brushing over your flushed skin. "To be honest, you’re better than most. You’ve got the skill, the technique, but you’re holding yourself back because you’re so focused on being perfect." His eyes bore into yours, sincere and encouraging. "You need to let your posture breathe, stop worrying about being flawless, and just…dance. That’s what’s holding you back - then you’ll find it."

His words resonate deeply within you, stirring something that’s been buried under layers of self-doubt and external expectations. "So I just need to let go?"

"Exactly," he says, his voice firm but gentle. "Let go, trust yourself, and let your body move the way it’s meant to. Just like we did there."

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight on your shoulders lift just a bit. "I’ll try," you whisper, the words carrying more determination than you thought possible.

Sunghoon smiles, a warmth in his eyes that makes your heart flutter. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, a gesture so tender it nearly makes you melt. "That’s all anyone can ask for," he murmurs, his voice reassuring.

You nod, feeling a newfound resolve build within you. As you sink deeper into his embrace, the world around you seems to blur, leaving behind the certainty that you’re ready to let go, to embrace the dancer you’ve always been meant to be.

After a moment of quiet, Sunghoon pulls back slightly, his hands still resting on your hips, grounding you. "How about we get you cleaned up, and then we run through it again?" he suggests, his tone light yet purposeful.

You smile, the idea of starting fresh with this new perspective sparking a sense of excitement in you. "Yeah," you agree, your voice steady. As Sunghoon helps you to your feet and fixes your outfit for you, you feel your heart burst with determination and adoration, both for ballet and the man in front of you.  

You’re going to have to thank Mrs. Yang for this by giving the most passionate performance at the exhibition.

Maybe Sunghoon can keep coaching you until then. You do need to work on your flexibility after all…

---

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[jaylalolz]

EX!reader x JEALOUS!nicholas 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

SUMMARY, Nicholas, still grappling with the lingering emotions from his recent breakup, reluctantly agrees to a night out with his friends at a club. As the music pulses and the crowd sways, he spots his ex, across the room with another man. Jealousy ignites in his chest.

WARNINGS, smuttyyyyy

A/N, hey angels! my inbox is now open, feel free to request or ask any questions. have fun reading, muah.

The club was packed. Music thumped through the walls, vibrating through Nicholas as he stepped inside. His friends were already there, waving him over to the bar with grins that were a little too enthusiastic.

"About time!" one of them shouted over the music, clapping him on the back.

Nicholas forced a smile and ordered a drink, hoping the alcohol would loosen him up. After a couple of rounds, he was starting to relax, though his mind kept drifting back to her. It was impossible not to. Everywhere he looked, couples were dancing, bodies pressed close together, and it reminded him of how it used to be with her.

He shook off the thoughts and turned toward the dance floor, determined to distract himself. But just as he did, his heart stopped.

There she was.

She stood near the center of the dance floor, her body swaying effortlessly to the beat. Her hair was down, catching the neon lights as she moved, her hips rolling with the rhythm in a way that had always mesmerized him. But this time, it wasn’t for him. She wasn’t dancing for him.

Before Nicholas could process the flood of emotions, a guy appeared behind her. Tall, broad-shouldered, with an easy smile that Nicholas immediately hated. He stepped in close, his hands hovering near her waist as they moved together, bodies aligning in sync. She didn’t pull away. She leaned into it, her smile bright, her body molding to the stranger’s as they danced.

Jealousy hit Nicholas like a wave, sharp and suffocating. His grip tightened on his drink, knuckles white as he watched the scene unfold. That should’ve been him. It used to be him. How could she be so comfortable with someone else? So quickly?

His chest burned, every rational thought drowning in the flood of possessiveness and anger. Before he could stop himself, he set his drink down and pushed through the crowd, eyes locked on her.

When he reached her, he didn’t hesitate. His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist and pulling her away from the guy, who looked at Nicholas with a mix of confusion and annoyance. She stumbled back, surprised, her eyes widening as she realized who it was.

"Nicholas?" she gasped, but he didn’t give her time to say anything else. The music blared around them, but all he could hear was the pounding in his chest, the rush of anger that had built up over weeks of silence.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, his voice rough with emotion. "Why are you letting some random guy touch you like that?"

She pulls her arm back, her face hardening. "What are you talking about? Nicholas, you can’t just—"

"Yes, I can," he cut her off, his voice low, but the anger in it was clear. "Because you’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

Her eyes flashed with a mix of disbelief and anger. "We’re not together anymore, Nicholas. You don’t get to say that."

"I don’t care," he snapped, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a fierce whisper. "I don’t care if we broke up. You don’t let someone else touch you like that. Not when it hasn’t even been a month."

She stared at him, stunned into silence for a moment. The guy behind her stepped forward, sensing the tension, but Sarah held up a hand, stopping him.

"You don’t get to decide who I dance with," she said, her voice steady now, even though Nicholas could see the hurt in her eyes. "We ended things, remember? You ended it, Nicholas."

Her words hit him like a slap. He did end it, but now, standing there, watching her with someone else, he couldn’t understand why he had. All he knew was the pain of seeing her move on, the jealousy twisting inside him like a knife.

"You don't understand," Nicholas said, his voice demanding slightly, but full of raw emotion. "You belong with me. No one else"

He crashed his lips against hers, the kiss instantly consuming. It wasn't soft or tentative-there was nothing gentle about it. His mouth moved against hers with fiery desperation, as though he'd been starving for this, for her, ever since they parted. And she matched his intensity, her lips parting to let him in, her hands gripping his shirt, pulling him closer as if the contact wasn't close enough.

Their bodies collided, her chest pressing against his as the kiss deepened. Nicholas's hands roamed over her, sliding from her waist to her back, pulling her flush against him. His fingers tangled in her hair, tugging gently as his mouth moved down her neck, tasting the heat of her skin, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.

She let out a soft, breathless moan, her body arching into his touch, her hands gripping his shoulders as though she needed something to hold onto.

The sound only fueled him further. His mouth returned to hers, this time with a fierce, almost primal need. Their tongues danced together, the kiss growing hotter, deeper, their breaths mingling as they lost themselves in each other.

Nicholas felt like he was drowning in her, the taste of her, the feel of her. Every inch of his skin was on fire, his heartbeat racing as his hands traveled lower, gripping her hips, pressing her harder against him. The heat between them was undeniable, overwhelming, and neither of them seemed able to stop.

Her fingers slid through his hair, tugging him closer, her lips demanding more. She kissed him like she wanted to erase the time they'd spent apart, like she wanted to burn away every doubt, every regret. Her nails raked lightly down his neck, sending a shiver through him, igniting every nerve in his body.

Their kiss was wild, unrestrained, the kind that felt like it could burn the whole world down around them. And neither of them cared. Right then, in that moment, it was just them-wrapped up in each other, their bodies and minds consumed by the heat of their desire.

As Nicholas pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his breath ragged, he saw the same fire burning in her gaze. It was as if everything they'd tried to bury had resurfaced, and the pull between them was undeniable, irresistible.

“Go to the bathroom.” he says.

Her fingers loop his pants, tugging them down when they enter the bathroom. He helps her fold his dick out of his boxers by lifting his hips. He's painfully hard; it's was a sight to see. She realizes that it's been a while since she's gotten down on her knees in front of him.

She grabs his dick and strokes it. She dribbles spit down his tip, lubricating her moving hand as it glides along wonderfully. He struggles with the urge to speak; she hears it almost slip out of his mouth. She wraps her lips around his head and looks up into his, breaking him somewhat with a single swirl of her tongue.

"Just like that," he mutters. He hardly has time to register the sensation before his jaw drops.

She took him up with one hand and held him partly in her mouth. She doesn't want to push it because fixing her makeup afterwards will be difficult. Still, he'll cum if he touches the back of her throat, the way he's already going insane. "Jesus-" He moves his hips and clenches her hair, causing a sensation to run down her scalp.

Her left hand roams up his nude torso, feeling the heated skin covering his gravelly muscles as she bobs her head. He traps his hand over top so it stays there the instant her palm touches his chest. With a whine, he throws his head back as her lips slowly works on him.

"Baby-" He stifles. "I'll cum if you don't stop."

She pulls back to prevent him from finishing. He gazes down at her as though she were a creation of his fantasies. "That's for ending our relationship," she replies, disappearing from the bathroom.

[distantdarlings]

LET ME // t. nott

RATING: R / 4.8K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Fem Reader

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* Theodore Nott has been harassing you ever since he found out you had a crush on him. Now, you’ve been paired together for a project for McGonagall’s class and he has nothing good in mind.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! (P in V), unprotected, sub!reader, Dom!Theo, slightly rough!dom!Theo, marking kink, slight size kink, bulge kink, brief dumbification, brief spit kink, reader wearing a skirt, light enemies to lovers, language, one (1) slap, name-calling, praise kink, slight degradation, public sex, fem!reader, oral (fem!receiving), Theo is persistent, not proof read (lmk if I missed any)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Echo - XANU

- - -

Merlin, forgive whatever you had done to deserve the treatment you were currently receiving.

You thought back on every negative deed you’d done in the last year and still hadn’t found anything worthy of your horrendous luck.

The arrogant boy turned to stare you down, malicious intent etched into the unfortunately gorgeous features of his face.

You could feel your face contort into an expression of horror as you tore your eyes away from him and turned to Professor McGonagall.

“Professor, I— you started.”

“All partner decisions are final—no exceptions!” McGonagall finished, as if trying to answer the question you had before you could even voice.

You deflated into your seat, your mood dropping like a brick. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have guessed the entire class was staring at you. The entire student body of Hogwarts knew how you felt about your new Transfiguration project partner, Theodore Nott. The bastard…

You glanced back at up—arms crossed and lips poured—just to find the boy still staring you down, evil smirk painted on his lips. He gave you a sardonic wave, wiggling his fingers tauntingly.

“Fuck,” you sighed, pressed an exasperated fist to your forehead.

Your knee anxiously bobbed beneath the desk, the heel of your uniform shoe beating against the floor in a flurried rhythm.

Luna Lovegood, your best friend, was sitting directly next to you. Intuitive as she always was, you knew she could feel the pure panic radiating off of you. Her hand rested on your shoulder in a small motion of comfort, but nothing could calm you now. You were utterly screwed.

McGonagall finished off the rest of her speech on the instructions for her project, then dismissed the whole class. Luna helped you to gather your things together as you struggled to force yourself to move.

Maybe you’d pissed McGonagall off? Merlin, what had you done to deserve this? You asked yourself the same question over and over again.

Out of the corner of your eye, you glimpsed Theodore flouncing over to you with an unnerving glint in your eyes.

“Well, aren’t I just the luckiest man on earth?” he said snidely.

“Fuck off, Theo,” you growled, intentionally not making eye contact with him.

You made to pick up your books and slide them into your bag, when he slammed his hand down on the cover of one of them, pressing them down against the desk. He pinned your fingers beneath them against the wood—just enough to keep them sturdy, but light enough so that it didn’t hurt you.

“Stop!” You yanked your fingers out from beneath the books, the heavy leather smacking against the table with a thud. Now, you made eye contact with him.

“What are we going to do our project on, baby?” he asked.

“Don’t call me that!” You yanked your books out from underneath his strong hold and shoved them quickly into your bag. “We can discuss it in the library after class.”

“I’m looking forward to it—I’ll be sure we get a quiet corner, you know…,” he stepped closer to you, “…so I can explore every inch of…the subject.”

You sneered in disgust and pulled away from him, his voice still rattling in your ears.

“You’re disgusting,” you scoffed. “I’ll see you later for nothing more than our assignment.”

“Looking forward to it…can’t wait to put those big brains to use. Lovegood.” He nodded politely to Luna before heading off.

You glanced at Luna and acknowledged her slight smile. Everything in you was telling you to snap at her and tell her not to encourage any of the delinquent boy’s behavior, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to ever be very mad at Luna Lovegood. At least, not for long.

Instead, you rolled your eyes and took off toward the door, bag swinging between your shoulder blades.

“Wait up, friend!” Luna shouted lightly, running to catch up with you. You snorted and laughed at her, letting her sunlight hair fall into step beside you.

- - -

By the time your class of the day dismissed and the sun had begun to sink beneath the Hogwarts skyline, you were soaked through with nerves. The saturation of your anxiety had managed to breach every protective barrier you held up, and fill your hands with shudders and your stomach with nausea.

The root of your nerves when it came to Theo came from the consistent comments he insisted on making toward you. It seemed that he loved nothing more than dropping sexual hints into your ear every few days just to watch you squirm. He’d only started this after he’d heard through the grapevine you had a bit of a thing for him.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t find him attractive, and that his words had absolutely no effect on you, but you couldn’t deny that he was just as annoying as he was charming.

It had gotten to a point when he made these comments, that he loved to joke aloud about your reactions to him, effectively embarrassing you in front of all of your peers. That was your final straw. All resemblance of an attraction toward Theo had melted away and been replaced by hatred.

And yet, as your feet led you to the grand library, you couldn’t stop the rapid pattering of your heart beat. Something about the boy had always been so…irresistible to you. Whether it was the way he always knew where to place his hands when he “accidentally” brushed you, or how he knew exactly what to say when he pressed his lips against the shell of your ear. You figured you should be grossed out and tell him to get away from you, but, unfortunately, you kind of liked it when he did those things.

As you came up to one of the several library doors lining the wall before you, you decided to try and swallow your nerves and focus only on the project. That was what you were supposed to do anyway—this wasn’t a date.

You pulled one of the doors open and slipped into the warmly-lit room. It always seemed to be just a tad bit cozier here than anywhere else in the castle—whether that was from the multiple fireplaces or the sweet aroma that floated through the air. Either way, you loved it.

Your neck craned as you glanced about, trying to glimpse the cocky boy, but to no avail. Wherever he was, he surely wasn’t interested in making it easy on you to find him.

A sigh left you as you started toward the back of the library where a couple tables rested behind a few conveniently placed bookcases. Unfortunately, the feeling in your stomach told you that he surely would be sitting at one of those tables, simply because you knew how his dirty, little mind worked.

That corner of the library was…infamous for its concealed nature. Everyone in Hogwarts had heard the little rumors that fluttered about, of couples getting a bit too friendly with each other while the librarian was downstairs.

Because of those rumors, it had garnered a reputation. And if someone who had a penchant for gossip slipped past you and Theodore Nott studying back there, you’d be screwed.

Once you passed the last book case, zigzagging between the three that formed the perfect labyrinth, you came upon Theo comfortably waiting at the table in the middle. A groan of defeat left you and your head dipped back. You stared at the ceiling for a few moments while contemplating your options—you could still run away.

“Hello, beautiful,” Theo said, leaning his chin down on his propped up fists. “I’ve been waiting so impatiently for you.”

“Whatever,” you sighed. You crossed over to the table and sat across from him—the farthest away you could get. Your bag collapsed to the ground and unzipped itself on the way down. The things you needed for this assignment floated out and landed neatly on the table before you, including a few rolls of parchment, a quill and ink, and your books.

He marveled silently, seemingly trying to hide his fascination at your wandless magic. Perhaps if he studied as hard as you did, he would also be able to achieve it.

“Alright, shall we do this?” you asked, maintaining a bored expression.

“I’d love to,” he smirked. “But I’d love to showcase a bit of my magic as well, if that’s alright with you?”

“What—?” Your voice was cut off with a slight gasp as all four legs of your chair lifted off of the ground. Your fingers wrapped around the sides of your seat to keep you from slipping off.

Theo’s eyes followed your chair as it floated over the table and all the way beside him. Once your shoulders were inches from his, your chair dropped a few centimeters to the ground. A small yelp came from you as you regained your balance and glared at him. Perhaps he was a better wizard than you thought.

“What the hell, Theo?” you demanded, immediately scooting your chair away from him, putting a good few inches between you.

“I just thought we’d be able to work better closer together,” he purred, his arm dropping against the table to cage you against him and the bookshelf a bit to your left. You eased away from him so you were closer to the shelves than you were to him. His eyes never dropped from yours. “Merlin, what is that smell? You smell absolutely divine—”

“Okay, let’s just get this done,” you interrupted him, pushing his approaching body back away from you.

“Mm, alright,” he smiled. “Have you decided on a topic you’re interested in presenting on?”

“Actually, I have.” You pulled your books across the table over to where the two of you were sitting, flipping everything to the appropriate page. There were a couple pages in your notebook where you’d jotted some ideas down earlier today, and you’d figured he’d want to see the different ideas, as it was his grade, as well. “So, I threw a couple of ideas together in my fourth period. We can see what you think of them…”

As you explained the details of all of your ideas, it became increasingly obvious that Theo was not at all interested in what you had to say about the project. Though you refused to look directly at him, the corner of your eyes granted more than enough knowledge.

Theo’s eyes were ravenous as they drew down your body, curving across the most private areas of your body with no shame. You could feel your cheeks burning, but hoped the warm tones from the candles around you would conceal that.

When he scooted a bit closer to you, you kept talking. And when he laid his arm across the back of your chair, you kept talking. And when his fingers began to toy with the ends of your hair, you kept talking. But when he took your quill gently from your fingers and set it down on the table, you finally stopped. You barely made eye contact with him, constantly glancing away and down to the table. You could feel your heartbeat in your ears.

His fingers pulled away from your hair and dropped to your shoulder. They squeezed the hard muscles a few times.

“God, you seem tense,” he spoke lowly, his voice barely above a whisper. His other hand reached up and matched the opposite’s position on your other shoulder.

When he placed a gentle amount of pressure, it expressed a small sigh from your lips. He was right. You were very tense—in general, but especially around him.

“Here, let me…,” he stood and appeared behind you rather quickly.

“Theo, I don’t think this is appropriate. I’d really just—” Your voice cut off as soon as he began to roll your taut muscles beneath his nimble fingers. Your eyes fluttered shut at the sensation, pleasurable jolts of pain shocking across your neck and down your back.

“That’s okay, baby,” he whispered, dangerously close to your ear. “Finish telling me about your idea. I’ll just loosen some things up back here. Fuck, you’re so tight.”

He pressed an especially hard drive against your skin. You bit back a moan at the sensation. You don’t think you’d ever had a better massage in your life.

You wanted to tell him to stop, but it felt so fucking good. And you really were sore around your neck and shoulders.

“Theo?” you tried again.

“Read.” His voice had a commanding tone to it. One hand released your shoulder briefly to grab your books and slide them closer to you, before returning to its position against your skin.

His hands worked their way up around your jaw, cupping it gently, so he could press his thumbs against the back of your neck. You audibly sighed this time without intending to. Embarrassed, you attempted to cover it up with a clear of your throat.

You began to explain the rest of your project plan, small shudders rippling through your voice every time he’d hit an especially sore spot.

By the time he finished and pulled his hands away from you, your body was mourning the loss of him but relishing in the relief it felt. It honestly hadn’t felt far off from a professional massage.

“How’s that?” He walked around to your side, still not sitting back down.

“Er, good,” you chuckled nervously, rubbing your hand along the back of your neck, trying to spread the relief around.

“Perfect,” he smiled, gently swiping his index finger beneath your chin. He sat back down beside you.

“So, what do you think?” you asked.

“About what?”

“The project idea…”

“Oh, yeah, I think it’s wonderful,” he said, shrugging a bit. “I think we can work with it.”

“Theo, did you even listen?” you asked, rolling your eyes.

“Of course, I did,” he chuckled. “It’s just not easy to focus when you have such a gorgeous partner.”

There went your cheeks getting insanely hot again. He thought you were gorgeous? There was no way. Someone must have put him up to this, right? Or he was fucking with you because he knew you had had a bit of a crush on him.

“I—er…” you stuttered hopelessly, pulling your eyes away from his.

He placed a hand on your knee. You could feel the warmth of his skin through your tights. The heartbeat in your ears picked up wildly.

“Don’t be nervous around me.”

“What?” you laughed suddenly. “I’m not nervous, I’m just—you’re just really…friendly? I don’t know. Why are you pretending to be so interested in me? Did someone put you up to it?”

“Why would someone have put me up to flirting with you?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“Because they know I had a thing for you,” you blurted before thinking. “I mean—”

“Nope! Can’t take it back now, my love.” Theo chuckled, an evil smirk printing across his lips. “And, for the record, no one put me up to flirting with you. I just want to.”

His hand slid up to the top of your knee as he leaned a bit forward.

“Theo!” you hissed. “We’re in the library—you can’t do that.” Though you verbally protested his actions, you couldn’t deny the heat building in your stomach at his touch.

Despite the conviction you had for needing to decline him and all of his advances, you couldn’t seem to suppress the need you felt for him right now—a different kind. His eyes remained on yours and refused to look away.

The two of you were in the library, and had seemed to despise each other’s company only minutes earlier, but for some reason, you couldn’t force yourself to stop his rising hand.

Soon, his fingers were toying with the edge of your skirt and his lips were millimeters from your own. You could feel his gentle breath against your cheeks.

“Theo…,” you shuddered at his proximity. His thumb slid slowly down the side of your thigh, the contact eliciting chills along your legs.

“You’ve wanted me for months,” he murmured, lips brushing against yours. “Are you finally going to let me fuck you?”

You gasped slightly as the tip of his thumb just barely brushed your core through your panties.

“Say yes, or I’m not going to touch you anymore.”

As if on cue, his hands pulled back from you and his mouth seemed to hover a few inches away. The cold air hit the spot his hand had been occupying on your thigh and sent a row of shivers up your spine.

“I don’t understand. Is this a joke?” you shuddered.

He shook his head slowly. “Not a joke, I just want you. Say yes, baby.”

“Y—” before you were even able to get the singular syllable out, his lips were pressing against yours and devouring them like a predator.

His hand found its place against your thigh again, the other hand following suit on the other thigh. He pushed them up the expanse of your skin, inching your skirts up in the process.

You moaned against his lips in embarrassment at the sudden loss of dignity.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he sighed against your mouth. “Let me taste you.” He pressed his lips roughly back to yours.

You gasped for air and pulled away, noses brushing against the other. “Say please,” you managed to choke out.”

“What?”

“Say please,” you repeated. “What, did you think I was going to come here and just give you whatever you wanted?”

“Oh, that’s how you’re going to be?” he smirked. You stared back astutely, not yielding to any teasing he tried to give.

“Alright, baby,” he conceded. He pulled himself closer to you and worked his way up your neck and to your ear, pressing chaste kisses against your flesh. “Please let me taste this sweet cunt. ‘ve been dreaming about it for months.”

You shivered at his words before nodding. You weren’t in your right mind—you couldn’t be.

He slid out of his chair and dropped to his knees. His hands wrapped around your hips and yanked you to the edge of the seat. His fingers pushed your skirt up around your hips and angled you up toward his face, pulling your legs over each of his shoulders.

The cool air flushed against the hot wetness slathered across your thighs. But the shock of wintry air was canceled out quickly by Theo’s hot mouth placing against your clothed core.

Your head fell back against the chair as your hands flew to his honeyed curls.

He swirled his lips across you, gathering your lust on his tongue. Each time you let a little moan slip, he’d echo you with his own louder one. It wasn’t loud enough to be heard anywhere else in the library, but it was enough to vibrate against you and send your head spinning.

The second your thighs began to shake on either side of his sharp jaw, he pulled away from you, leaving you bare and wanting.

“Turn around,” he panted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Obstinately, you held your chin up and refused to obey him. You wanted to appear strong and resistant as payment for how much of a dick he’d been to you, but with your quivering lips and legs still spread wide for him, you figured you didn’t quite get the point across.

He suddenly grabbed your jaw in one hand, while undoing his belt buckle with the other. Anticipation boiled in your belly.

“Turn around,” he said before suddenly and mockingly tilting his head to the side. “Or do you not understand what’s good for you?”

When you said nothing, he pulled you out of the chair and bent you over the library table. You yelped as your chest collided with the table.

Once on your stomach, he flipped your skirt over against your back and ripped your panties and stockings down your legs until the soaked things were stuck around your ankles.

Then, without another warning, he was sliding into you and stretching you wide. You gasped aloud and gripped at the smooth table, begging to find purchase on anything.

He moaned slightly at the way you clenched around him. He pushed himself into you a little more with each slow thrust, the movement splitting you down the middle. His hands held you tightly in place by your hips, pinning you down against the table.

“Shit, you feel fucking perfect,” he moaned, fingers gripping into your flesh.

Every alarm bell was ringing in your head, telling you to separate and cover yourselves, because you were in public. But, for some reason, you found yourself loving the thrill of possibly being walked in on; of possibly being found with Theodore Nott buried deep inside of you, taking his pleasure from your body.

By the time he’d finally bottomed out inside of you, he was panting and willing himself not to come prematurely.

“I’ve never felt anything this tight,” he groaned.

You hadn’t been able to see the size of him before he started pushing into you, but you had to guess he was the biggest you’d ever felt. Just having his hips pressed to your ass felt like the tip of him was brushing your cervix.

“Ah, fuck, wait,” he said, panting heavily. He rubbed your back as he slowly pulled all the way out of you and stood you up. He turned you around to face him and laid your back against the table.

He brought your legs around him and you hooked them together behind his back. You watched him with deep admiration as his fingers stroked up and down your legs, preparing to explain what he wanted.

“I want to watch me fill you up,” he whispered, leaning down to press a slow kiss to your lips. It was sweet and thick with saliva but, despite everything else he’d so far, this set off a flurry of butterflies in your stomach.

His hands came away from your legs and wrapped around your waist. He watched addictively as his fingers wrapped entirely around your body, his large hands positively dwarfing your small frame. And you could’ve sworn you saw his eyes fill with an inky, black glint as he brought his hips to the underside of your thighs.

He placed his dick on your stomach, reveling in how far up your stomach it went. He moaned at the sight and pulled your right leg up and over his shoulder. He pressed a small kiss to the side of your calf.

“Theo,” you whined, still reeling from the loss of him inside of you. “Please, no more teasing.”

“Be patient, baby,” he whispered against your leg. “I want to remember this moment.”

“Theo,” you urged once more. But his hand came down hard against the outer side of your thigh. You yelped at the pain that radiated down the side of your leg.

“I said to be patient.” He soothed the pain gently with his fingers, still looking down at how big he looked compared to you.

One of the things he’d always had on you was height. No matter if the things he said were stupid and undermining, you couldn’t deny that his size was enough to have the high ground.

“Look, we don’t have all the time in the world,” you sighed, leaning up on your elbows to speak with him. “The librarian could walk in here at any—”

He pushed back into you, choking any other words in your throat. You gasped and fell back against the wooden table, the cold lacquer biting into your flesh.

“Fuck,” Theo all but whined. He pressed his fingers against your lower abdomen where his dick had created a perfect impression. Every time he pulled out then pushed back in, his sheer size forced the body wall up and simultaneously probed a spot inside of you that had your eyes rolling backward.

Without wasting another second, he picked up his pace while dropping his hands down to your still-tucked in uniform shirt. He ripped the material out from beneath the waistband of your skirt, and ripped the buttons apart.

The candles floating overhead illuminated the curves and dips of your stomach, highlighting The valley of your breasts.

Hips still pistoning into you, and left hand holding your waist still, his right hand reached forward again and ripped the clip of your bra apart. Luckily, you’d worn the front access one today.

At the force of the destruction, your breasts fell apart from one another, bouncing against your dampened chest.

“Fuck,” he growled. “Gonna mark this beautiful body. Gonna let everyone know you’re mine. My girl.”

His words sent shockwaves through your system. You tried to reach for him but you couldn’t reach. Your arms fell back down against the table, your lack of anything to hold on to leaving you completely at the mercy of the pace he decided to set.

“T-Theo,” you stuttered, your voice breaking beneath the weight of his abuse.

He leaned down, pushing himself all the way into you for a moment, and latched his lips around a mouthful of your left breast. He sucked roughly on the flesh, pulling the blood to the surface. You whined through the pain that mingled with the pleasure from him below.

Once he was satisfied with the bruise painted on you, he moved toward your neck, sucking and biting just as rough, hips never halting.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispered. “Tell me how it feels.” He nibbled on your earlobe.

You said nothing, your lips unable to form enough to make any words come out. Your fingers still gripped uselessly at the sides of the table. One leg was held uselessly over Theo’s shoulder while the other dangled limply over the edge of the table.

He leaned up. “Tell me how it feels, baby.”

Still, you made no sound.

“Oh, you pathetic thing,” he whispered, lips pressing to your elevated leg once again. “Am I fucking you stupid? Is that what it is? Yeah, baby? Next time, I’ll shove this dick down your throat and see how quiet you are then, you dumb slut.”

Now, within the final moments before your finish, his thumb dropped to your clit and began to rub small circles into the nerves. Your mouth fell open and your back arched to the ceiling as his hips intensified. They forced your finish closer and closer until you were spilling all over him, coating your legs and his stomach.

At the clenching of your core, his release was barreling forward, as well. He came with a long groan and a slow walk down of the brutal pace he’d set with his hips. His spend mixed with yours dripped down your legs.

Finally, with him still inside of you, he leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours. He eyed you sweetly, caressing soothing lines across your temple with his thumb.

“My sweet girl, you did so well,” he whispered against your lips. “Has anyone else ever fucked you so well?” There was that cocky Theo again.

“Maybe like one other person,” you gasped, trying to catch your breath.

“Oh, yeah? Who?” he asked, suddenly grabbing your jaw again and forcing you to look directly at him.

“Hmm, I’m not sure,” you said. “I think I forgot his name. I’ll probably just forget yours tomorrow, too.” You teased him meanly, smirk building on your lips. This was further payback for all the months of harassment you’d dealt with from him.

He pinched your cheeks together until your lips were pushed open.

“You can forget my name, sweetheart,” he whispered roughly, “but you’ll never forget what I just did to this body.”

His eyes watched yours with an intensity like no other. Then his lips pursed, and you watched as a line of spit dropped into your waiting mouth. It was the ultimate display of humiliation, but also ownership. You belonged to Theo, now.

And even if you forced yourself to forget his name or this day in the library, you’d never wipe the taste of his claim out of your mouth.

“Now, let’s get to work on that attitude, shall we?” Theo asked, voice suddenly chipper again.

He pulled out of you and zipped his pants back up, before selecting his bag off of the chair—which you’d now noticed he hadn’t even unpacked.

“Tomorrow at 6?” he asked.

Then he Disapparated, leaving you entirely exposed and alone.

That son of a bitch.

- - -

Tag List:

@lilymurphy03 , @mypolicemanharryyy , @angelfrombeneth , @clairesjointshurt , @bunbunbl0gs , @acornacreacure, @niktwazny303 , @thestarlithideout, @sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw , @yhiiil , @xxrougefangxx , @thatblackthorn , @robinyx , @starsval , @jolly4holly , @blvebanisters , @chgrch , @ilovehotmenandwoman , @smutnyrobocikwrakiecie , @synicaljah , @abaker74

[frantic-fiction]

Tease 18+

(Pic: cheekylittlepupp)

Astarion x f!reader, Astarion x Tav

Summary: The party is taking the night off. You're convinced to wear a dress, and Astarion just can't control himself.

Warnings: Smut, MDNI, Semi-public sex, caught in the act?

Word Count: 3.2k

Mastarlist

Standing in front of the mirror, you pull at the dark green fabric, tugging it down this way and that. You try again to tie the corset but give up quickly. You swing your hips, and the flowy skirt swishes, tickling the skin above your knees. Looking yourself up and down, you zone in on your hips, squirming at the fabric extenuating your curves. So much skin on display makes you want to steal someone's spare cloak to hide in. You weren't one to be self-conscious, but you're used to donning armor and leather, not this scrap of fabric Karlach had convinced you to buy. 

You should just change. Grab some leggings and one of Astarion's shirts, and call it a night. You didn't need a dress to catch his eye; you know how Astarion feels about you; wearing a dress won't change that. Backing away from the mirror, you're just about to rip the dress off when Karlach bursts into the room, Shadowheart following behind her at a much tamer pace. 

"Soldier!" Karlach squeals, stopping suddenly in the middle of the room. She slaps her hands on either side of her face. "You. Are. Gorgeous!" Your face burns as Karlach pounces on you, spinning you around to give her the best view from every angle. Heat creeps up your chest and you giggle awkwardly.

"She's right, you look stunning," Shadowheart smirked and added, "Ten gold Astarion won't be able to keep it in his pants."

"20, he won't make it to a room," Karlach shouts.

"Gods! You both are ridiculous." You squeal, swatting Karlach's hands away and stepping back from her excitement. You huff and fix your skirt. Crossing your hands over your chests, you glare at the girls before timidly looking off to the side. "So, I don't look silly?" The hesitation is evident.

"All joking aside, I assure you, soldier, you are beautiful. And I know for a fact Fangs won't be able to keep his eyes off of you."

You beam under Karlach's compliment, doing a few excited calf raises because you have no idea how else to handle her words. Shadowheart moves towards you and fixes a fallen strand of hair. She gives you a soft smile and moves to finish lacing your corset, patting your arm when she’s done.

"Now we should go. The others are waiting downstairs," Shadowheart motions everyone to the door, letting you take a moment to slip your shoes on. 

After months of endless travels and brutal battles, the party decided to take the evening to drink, relax, and enjoy each other's company. A night to forget the tadpoles and the Absolute. All except Lae'zel, who scoffed at the idea, were joining in on the fun.

Descending the stairs, you slammed with the melody of lively tunes played by a band of minstrels, competing with the animated conversations of patrons. The music, infused with the spirit of celebration, is so loud that it vibrates through the wooden beams of the tavern. The dance floor is alive with energetic movements as couples twirl and spin to the rhythm and the joyous laughter of those lost in the moment.

The bar is surrounded by a sea of drunk patrons clamoring for attention. Tankards slammed onto the worn surface as the bartender poured frothy ale and mead expertly. The dim light of flickering candles and oil lamps casts a warm glow on the diverse crowd. The unmistakable odors of stale ale, greasy food, and the tang of sweat intermingle in the air, creating a distinctive nostalgic and pungent aroma. You're lost in the crowd's movement, overwhelmed with the sounds. You grab onto Shadowheart's elbow like a lifeline.

"Karlach!" Wyll calls and you all snap your head to the side. The party had claimed a booth, and Gale and Wyll were standing up, waving their arms over their heads. They looked like they started early on the drinking; both men's faces were flush, and they each held an easy, dopey grin.

"Wyll!" Karlach linked her arms with yours and Shadowheart's and approached the table. You let her pull you, too busy searching for him. Astarion is slow to stand, but you know the moment he sets his eyes on you. You watch the subtle change in his body language. His hand tightened around the goblet; the exaggerated inhale of air as if someone had kicked him, watching the hunger grow in his eyes.

Now, you feel the confidence bloom in your chest. The dress no longer makes you squirm in discomfort; no, it gives you power and makes you feel desired and sexy. The flame ignites low in your abdomen. Suddenly, you were playing with fire and excited to get burned. A smug smile stretches your lips the closer you get. Pulling away from Karlach, you move and hook your arms around Astarion's neck. You pull him down and place a kiss on his cheek.

"Hi, handsome," you smile up at him, feeling his hand caress the small of your back. Cold fingers playing at the edge of the corset.

"Hello darling, you look breathtaking." He pushes you back gently, giving him space to take in your attire. "Turn for me, my love. Let me look upon the goddess before me."

You roll your eyes at his cheesiness but oblige his request, spinning slowly to allow Astarion to take in every angle. When you come full circle, Astarion captures your lips, and you fall against his chest. His lips meld against yours in a sensual kiss that was entirely inappropriate for the amount of people around, but neither of you seemed to care. Humming against his mouth, you cup his jaw and pull his face away. Astarion chases your lips and lets out a low groan when you deny him what he wants.  

You give Astarion a mischievous grin, patting his chest when you ask. "Do you mind getting me a drink?" 

He gives you a pointed look, visibly dissatisfied with his kiss. With one look and your hand running up his chest and over his shoulder, Astarion caves with a huff. "Yes, of course. Would you like your usual?"

"Yes, please." You say pecking his lips a final time before joining your friends in the booth. 

Wyll was regaling the table with a tale of his early days as the Blade of Frontiers when Astarion slides in beside you. He sets your drink down, and you whisper your thanks before taking a sip and focusing back on Wyll. Gale is quick to call out Wyll's bullshit, Shadowheart pointing out the exaggeration the warlock had blended into his story. It soon devolved into a bickering match as Wyll tried to defend himself. You chuckle between sips of wine, leaning into Astarion, setting your head gently against his shoulder. His hand had found your bare thigh, fingers kneading the supple flesh. 

Suddenly, your friends become background noise as your senses hone in on Astarion. The cheeky smirk that stretches his lips tells you he knows exactly what he's doing as Astarion inches his smooth hand further under your dress—never crossing the line but far enough to make you clench your legs together in need. You bite your lip, cheeks burning from more than the alcohol, and reach down to take his hand in yours. 

"I know what you're doing,"

"Oh, and what is that, my dear?" Astarion grins, bringing your hand to his lips and gently kissing your knuckles. He leans to your ear, "Do you not want me to touch you?" His breath cascades over your neck, and a shiver runs up your spine.

"Not when you're trying to tease me in public."

"My sweet girl, I'm not the one being a tease."

"Soldier! Stop making goo-goo eyes at Fangs, and come dance with me!" Karlach yells across the table, breaking whatever spell Astarion had you under. Pulling away, you look up to see Karlach jumping up and down, hand outstretched for you to take. 

"You know I won't say no to dancing." Astarion reluctantly moves to let you out of the booth. Karlach is quick to grab your hand and pull you towards the stage. 

The time is lost in the beat of the drums and the flow of your hips. Karlach twirls you around, and you can't stop giggling. Wyll joins in the fun, and suddenly, the crowd has formed a unified line dance. It's messy, and you don't know the steps, but you watch Wyll and poke fun at Karlach's improvised moves. You dance until your breath is ragged and your feet start hurting. Moving your body until the sea of people starts to drown you. Maybe it's the alcohol coursing through your veins or the excitement of the dancing. Still, the fun quickly turns to overstimulation that blankets you in thick sheets. In an instant, the room is too hot and too loud, and if you don't get out now, you just might scream.

You leave Karlach and move towards the door outside to the back alley. Pushing it open, you stumble over the threshold and inhale the cold night air. It instantly sobers, clearing your mind and easing your panic. You stare up at the starry sky, soaking in the bright moon. Goosebumps spread over your exposed arms and legs, and you shiver. It doesn't stop you from stepping further into the alleyway as you breathe and allow your heart to settle its pounding. You can still hear the muffled music and thumping feet. 

You hear the door open again but pay it no mind until Astarion speaks, "There you are, my sweet."

You turn on your heel and give him a soft smile. He glowed under the moonlight, an ethereal being standing before you, his face partially cast in shadow, staring at you with hunger. "I needed some air."

"I'm sure you did," Astarion smirks, stepping closer toward you. A predator stalks up to its prey. "All that dancing you were doing must have been exhausting."

"It was, but it was so fun." You reach out instinctually, wrapping your arms around his neck. Astarion smoothes his hands down your spine to the swell of your butt, moving to squeeze the soft, plump flesh. "You should join me next time." You squeak at his grip, pressing yourself closer to him.

Then his lips are on yours, and your back is digging into the rough brick of the alleyway. Astarion's tongue is in your mouth, and you're moaning, gripping his shoulders to find purchase. One of his fangs nipped your bottom lip, and your knees practically buckled under you. You would have fallen if Astarion hadn't pressed you against the wall. 

"I think I just might take you dancing tomorrow." His cold hands caress your thigh, pulling it up and over his hip, pushing up the fabric of your dress with it. "I'll buy you a pretty new dress to add to your growing collection, and I'll have you move your body for me like you've been doing all night." 

He rolls his hips into yours, and you cry into his neck, kissing his skin to muffle your noises. "Swaying those hips in this tight little thing. Gods darling, I've been hard all night, and it's entirely your fault, you naughty little minx."

"Astarion," You sigh, relishing the friction of his hard cock against your clothed core. 

"Such a cruel woman, dangling a feast over a starving man. I'll have to punish you for that." Astarion purrs, running his nose along the line of your jaw, stopping to bite at his favorite spot; his fangs puncture the surface just enough to have droplets of your blood trickle out.

His tongue lavishes over your skin, making sure not a drop escapes. The moan that rumbles through his chest is purely animalistic, and a rush of heat gushes between your legs. "But right now, my naughty girl, I'm going to fuck you here against this wall." 

You let out a whimper, hips bucking instinctually, heat coiling in your lower stomach. "Please.." 

Astarion takes no time to push your underwear aside and push two of his fingers into your folds with a lewd, wet sound. Astarion begins to pump his fingers in and out of your dripping cunt, with each stroke curling up just slightly. The rough pad of his thumb finds your swollen clit, and applying pressure, he circles the nub in time with his fingers. 

"You're already so drenched, always so ready for me." You pull his face in and sigh into his mouth, niping his lip playfully. Threading your hand through his soft curls, you give a soft tug, relishing in the grunt Astarion gives you. 

You're painfully aware of your surroundings and know that someone could step out and catch the two of you any moment. The thought gives you a jolt of excitement you'll have to think about later. There is no room to take your time, so you tug harder on Astarion's hair loss, pulling his lips from the flesh of your neck he was playing with.

"Star," You roll your hips against his hand impatiently. "I need you to fuck me already,"

"So impatient, but you are right. This is not the time to play." Astarion tsk before unceremoniously ripping your underwear off and stuffing them in his pocket. 

"I liked those."

"I'll buy you a new pair, maybe one to match your new dress." Astarion peppers kiss down your neck. Your hands move to pull his pants down, freeing his cock. It's red and looks painfully swollen. Astarion hisses through his teeth when you give the base of his cock a tight squeeze. 

"I want one that matches the new dress and the same ones you just ripped." You countered, giving him a few languid strokes using his precum as a lubricant. 

"Whatever you want, my love." He says mindlessly, taking you into another breathtaking kiss.

Astarion hands leave your cunt, and a whine leaves your lips. He kisses your pout and quickly grabs his cock. Astarion pumps himself a few more times before lining up at your entrance. When Astarion sheaths himself fully in your heat, the wind is knocked out of you. A collective groan of ecstasy escapes from both of your mouths. There is no build-up, no room to catch your breath. Astarion quickly pulls out and slams back into you—your back scraps against the bricks, and your foot slips on the cobblestone.

You yelp scrambling to hold on and not fall pathetically onto the dirty alley floor. Astarion, without skipping a beat, scoops you up fully in his arms. All you can do is wrap your legs around his hips and hold on as he pounds into your dripping cunt. 

"Gods, you're perfect," Astarion signs into your neck. He pulls at your dress, moving the corset just enough to expose one of your breasts. He bends his head and sucks your nipple into his mouth. You choke on a gasp; cupping the back of his head, you press him further against you. 

"Astarion," you moan, carding your fingers into his curls. Rolling your hips, you match his thrusts. Your lower stomach tightens, and you will not last much longer. Not with him pulling you apart in the way only he can. You tried to say as much, but you choke on a sob when Astarion's fingers find your clit. 

He grinds your hips into the brick wall and brutalizes your clit with tight circles. His voice is raspy in your ears. "I'm close, love…ngh - gods, you feel so good."

"A-astarion, please!" Tears bead down your cheeks, pleasure overwhelming your senses. Your muscles are tightening. Your legs quake, and you clench tightly around him. 

"That’s it, come for me, beautiful." And that is all you need to see stars, opening your mouth in a silent cry. Ecstasy courses through your veins, and you bite down on his collarbone to ground yourself in your pleasure. His hips stutter, pace faltering as he loses himself in your body, spilling his seed deep into you. 

Neither of you moves; the brick is now uncomfortably digging into your back, but you can't find the energy to care. Astarion peppers kiss up and down your neck. You scratch his scalp softly and catch your breath. It’s nice.

"I guess I should wear more dresses."

"My dear, you could wear a burlap sack, and I would have still taken you against this wall."

"Horny bastard." 

The two of you were too caught up in each other to notice the tavern door opening again. Nor did either of you notice two figures stepping out. At least not until Karlach's loud cackle echoed down the alleyway. You whip your head in her direction, Astarion following suit. Karlach is hunched over and on her knees, shoulders shaking with laughter. Shadowheart stands beside her, arms crossed with disgust and annoyance plastered on her face.

Astarion is quick to turn you away, shielding you with his body. He let’s you go and you scramble to cover yourself. He helps you fix your dress. Great. 

"What did I tell you? Fangs couldn't keep it in his pants long enough to find a room!" Karlach booms, slapping Shadowheart on the arm. "Hand it over," her palm extended in wait. You hide your face in Astarion's neck, face burning in embarrassment. 

Shadowheart mumbled something under her breath, digging in her pocket for her gold pouch. "Here," the gold is slapped into the tieflings palm. She turns to the two of you. "Find a different cleric to cure whatever disease you've contracted in this filthy alley." Shadowheart quickly turns back into the tavern, the door slamming behind her. 

"Well, thanks for the gold," The tiefling beams and skips after Shadowheart, leaving you and Astarion alone once more. 

You refuse to leave the space between Astarion's jaw and collarbone. Thoughts of packing your stuff and running to Candlekeep are crossing your mind. Karlach and Shadowheart are already telling Wyll and Gale about your exploits, and you don't want to handle the smug looks. 

Astarion's chest rumbles with silent laughter, and you're pulled from your escape plans. You emerge from your safe space and glare up at the man. "What's so funny?!" 

He laughs harder, and runs his thumb over your pout, cupping your jaw. You hold firm in your annoyance and turn your head. "Karlach is telling all of our friends that we just fucked in a dirty back alley, why would you be laughing?" You snap.

"You would think at this point Shadowheart would stop betting on our love life. Tsk, all the gold she's lost." You narrow your eyes at him. His playful smirk widens. "She and the other weirdos should know how shamelessly I want you. They were lucky I didn't fuck you on the table." 

Rolling your eyes, you shove him hard, forcing Astarion to stumble back. Moving past you storm towards the door; he's laughing and calling your name. Astarion, only get your middle finger before the tavern door closes behind you.

Astarion is a cheeky shit. I love him.... Let me know what ya thought, i love your feedback.

Taglist: heartfully10, ayselluna

[rafecameronssl4t]

Thunderstruck || NFL Player!Rafe Cameron X DCC!fem!reader

Summary: As a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader, fraternizing with the players was strictly off-limits. However, being the team’s coach’s daughter afforded you certain privileges, and you were able to pull a few strings for Rafe.

Warnings: nothing really

Word count: 1,599

A/n: if this does well, might do more nfl!rafe x dcc!reader :) send me any requests!!!

MASTERLIST (nfl!rafe x dcc!reader au masterlist)

divider by @yoonitos

As the music blared through the stadium, you stood front and center, commanding the field with every precise movement of your iconic routine to AC/DC’s Thunderstruck.

The crowd’s energy was palpable, a roar of excitement that matched the electric rhythm of the song. Dressed in the iconic blue and white uniform of a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader, you knew all eyes were on you the second you all moved into formation.

As a four-year veteran of the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders, the dance felt like second nature to you. Your smile never faltered as you executed the routine flawlessly. The first game of the year was always memorable, with the excitement in the stadium buzzing through the air.

Fans were filled with anticipation for the Cowboys’ upcoming season. As you executed each precise kick, turn, and cheer, you felt the collective heartbeat of the stadium pulsing in time with your own.

Adrenaline coursed through your veins as the spotlight followed your every move. The crowd’s roar echoed in your ears, a testament to the excitement of the first game of the season.

Rafe had just joined the Dallas Cowboys after being offered the spot, and tonight was he debut with the team. As he jogged onto the field, the energy of the stadium washed over him. Amidst the chaos, his eyes were drawn to you.

It wasn’t just your position at the front and center of the formation that caught his attention, but the confidence and skill you radiated. Intrigued, he turned to one of his teammates. “Who’s that?” Rafe asked, nodding in your direction.

Chris, his teammate, followed his gaze and smirked. “That’s Y/n. Coach Johnson’s daughter.” Rafe’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “The coach’s daughter?” Chris chuckled, giving Rafe a friendly slap on the back. “How haven’t you seen her around, dude? She’s one of the hottest girls on the cheer team.”

Rafe’s eyes remained fixed on you as you executed flawless high kicks and sharp turns. There was something about you that captivated him, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. You moved with a grace and precision that spoke of both natural talent and relentless hard work.

As the routine built to its climax, you prepared for the iconic jump-split. The crowd held its breath, and then erupted in cheers as you all landed perfectly. Chris leaned in, shouting in Rafe’s ear over the deafening applause. “Remember, you can’t be seeing any of them, right? Especially Y/n. It’s part of the contract.” Rafe chuckled, giving a resigned nod. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

But as he watched you take your final bow, the applause still ringing in his ears, he couldn’t shake the feeling that you were someone worth breaking the rules for.

~

After the game, you and your teammates strolled through the bustling hallway, still basking in the post-performance adrenaline. You and the other cheerleaders were busy toweling off the sweat from the night’s game, the familiar routine a comforting end to a high-energy evening.

Spotting your dad leading the Cowboys team towards you, you waved excitedly and jogged over to him. His face lit up with pride as he greeted you with a side hug, his voice filled with warmth. “Hey, kiddo! You were amazing out there, as always.” He leaned down to kiss your forehead, and you couldn’t suppress a delighted giggle.

“Thanks, Dad,” you replied, your smile mirroring his. As you walked alongside him, discussing the game and upcoming plans, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. A subtle sense of curiosity drew your gaze over your shoulder, where you locked eyes with an unfamiliar guy.

Your dad noticed your glance and affectionately patted your side. “That’s Rafe. You know, the really talented guy I offered the spot to from the Outer Banks?” Around him, the other players playfully slapped Rafe on the back and teased him with knowing grins.

Rafe grinned sheepishly, accepting the good-natured ribbing from his teammates. Turning back to face your dad, you hummed in response.

~

“Where is Y/N?” Kelli’s voice echoed through the pre-game excitement backstage, cutting through the chatter and preparation of the cheerleaders lined up, ready to go onto the field. Panic surged through you as you hurriedly made your way over, adjusting your hair and straightening your top.

“I’m here! I’m here,” you called out, slipping into position just in time. Kelli, raised an eyebrow, her keen eyes taking in your slightly disheveled appearance. Kelli stepped closer, her demeanor stern. “Sweetie,” her hand reaching up to gently touch your face. You looked at her in confusion as she rubbed your chin, then showed you her thumb smeared with your lipstick.

“I—” you began to explain, but she shook her head, “Not right now,” she hushed firmly as she brushed away stray strands of hair that had fallen across your face. “Have fun out there, ladies!” Kellie called out, her voice projecting over the backstage buzz.

With a deep breath, you led the charge onto the field, the exhilarating pulse of Thunderstruck fueling your every move. The routine flowed flawlessly, each kick and turn executed with precision. The cheers of the crowd blended with the music, creating an electrifying atmosphere that drove you to perform at your best.

Later that night, after another Cowboys victory, you found yourself in the locker room, wiping off your makeup. One of your teammates, Kelcey, approached you with a curious expression.

“Hey,” she greeted, smiling as you returned the gesture, glancing at her through the reflection in the mirror. “Did you hear what happened after tonight’s game?” she asked, sitting on the bench and swinging her legs.

You paused, turning to face her. “No? What happened?” you asked, intrigued. Kelcey looked around briefly before leaning closer. “Y’know that new player? Rafe Cameron. Well, he showed up late on the field and Coach Johnson was furious,” she explained.

Your mind raced. One thing your dad valued the most was punctuality. “I think Coach was even threatening his spot! What was he thinking, he’s only been on the team for a week!” Kelcey shook her head in disbelief.

~

As you stretched in the locker room, your dad walked in, his authoritative presence immediately commanding attention. “Hey, kid,” he greeted, pulling up a chair to sit facing you, his expression a mix of warmth and concern.

“Hi, Dad,” you replied with a smile, continuing your stretches, hoping to appear nonchalant. His gaze lingered on you, scrutinizing every detail, his face unreadable.

“Everything all good?” you asked, sensing his unease and hoping to dispel it. He cleared his throat, “Yeah, everything’s fine, sweetie,” he said, but the smile on his face didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Listen, Kelli mentioned you were running late before the game. You’re never late, Y/N.”

You chuckled, trying to ease the tension with a light laugh. “Dad, I scuffed up my boots, so I had to fix them,” you lied smoothly, hoping your tone was convincing enough. He nodded slowly, though skepticism lingered in his eyes. “Really? Because you know what’s funny? Rafe was late to arrive on the field too.” He chuckled, shaking his head slightly as he leaned back in the chair, studying your reaction.

You threw him a look, feigning innocence. “What are you trying to say?” “That’s just a coincidence, right? I don’t need to be worrying about my daughter and one of my best players, do I?” He raised an eyebrow, giving you a pointed look that made your heart skip a beat.

You forced yourself to maintain your composure. “No, Dad, you don’t need to worry,” you assured him, hoping he wouldn’t see through the façade you were putting up. Your dad sighed and gave you a look you knew too well, a mixture of concern and fatherly protectiveness. “Sweetheart, I’m not stupid.”

You furrowed your eyebrows at his words, feeling a pang of guilt. “Dad, I never said you were—” But he cut you off, leaning forward slightly. “Rafe is a good-looking guy, I get it. And well, of course, you’re a stunning girl who happens to be a cheerleader for his team, so naturally—”

“He’s a really nice guy, Dad. And he cares for me, I know he does,” you said quietly, your voice almost a whisper, your eyes fixed on the ground to avoid his piercing gaze. Your dad watched you in silence for a moment before sighing deeply. “Is that what you want?” he asked, his voice softening as he looked at you intently.

You looked up at him and nodded your head, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yes, it is.” Your dad stood up and walked over to you, his demeanor shifting to one of tender support. “Well, I want you to be happy, okay?” He smiled at you warmly, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. You leaned into his touch, feeling a wave of relief.

“Thank you, Dad,” you smiled gratefully at him. You pulled him into a hug, and he kissed the top of your head, his embrace comforting and familiar. “You’re looking more and more like your mother every day, y’know,” he whispered, his voice tinged with nostalgia. “Whenever I see you out there on the field in your uniform, I have to double-look because I think it’s your mom.”

You both chuckled softly, a stray tear escaping and running down your face. Your dad pulled back slightly, using his thumb to gently wipe away the tear. “Try not to be late next time, yeah? Don’t want Kelli on my back.” You chuckled and nodded, feeling a sense of peace settle over you. “Got it, Dad.”

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Aemond x brothel reader 👀

So what if instead of Aemond visiting the older woman in yesterday’s episode - he goes to the brothel and immediately regrets it and is about to leave until he sees reader and is mesmerized by her beauty. They have their little moment and she gives him comfort. Definitely feel free to add more or change anything! This is just a thought that I’d like to see created. Thank you!

Request: Aemond and a brothel girl (maybe a dancer idk) like the scene in the episode. Except they are more intimate and not weird age gap like the madam. It gave me the ick… He truly feels for her.

Warnings: mention of (past) character death, mommy issues,

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

The mysterious customer under a cloak all piqued your curiosity. You never had the chance of properly seeing him, always immediately escorted to a private bed. Some girls said he was disfigured, and that it was the reason he covered himself with a cloak. Some said it was Aegon Targaryen, but you knew the newly crowned King favored Flea Bottom’s whores. 

As you danced, your eyes would try to see through the veils he hid behind. To get a glimpse of him. But you never saw anything other than his bare feet. All you knew was that he was with Madam Sylvi and that he requested hot milk.

One late evening, you saw him leaving the veils. His cloak was on, but he saw you. He saw you dancing and moving your naked body to the rhythm of the music, entertaining the customers. 

The next time he came by, he asked for you. 

Madam Sylvi was not pleased, but he was the paying customer. 

You reminded him of his mother — physically —, but more caring and nurturing. He found your voice soothing and loved to rub himself against the fullness of your breasts, making your nipples harden to the stimulation, until he came to rest his cheek on top of it, humming in satisfaction. His mother let him do this as a child, when she was still comforting him, and he missed it. 

Every night, he would curl against you, or in your lap, and stay here for hours as you gently caressed his pale skin. Unlike the other customers, Aemond was not there for sexual satisfaction. He just wanted comfort.

‘’Daemon sent them to kill me,’’ he said, his naked body shielded by the veils circling the large bed. ‘’It was my head they wanted, not my innocent little nephew’s.’’

Your heart was heavy as the prince mentioned the murder of Jaehaerys — a child. The barbarous act had everyone in tears. 

You rubbed his arm gently, the aroma of calming lavender wrapping around you. ‘’But you were with me.’’

‘’I feel sorry for my brother and sweet sister. She is traumatized.’’ Guilt filled his stomach as he remembered the suffering and painful grief in Helaena’s eyes. ‘’I should be grateful they did not find me, but a part of me wishes they had. Unlike my little nephew, I would have been able to defend myself.’’

‘’We cannot change the past, my prince.’’ 

‘’I know,’’ Aemond whispered, his cold, princely facade completely down in your company. He sighed deeply as your gentle caresses soothed his weary soul. His body relaxed as he buried his face into your covered chest, seeking solace in your warmth and tenderness. ‘’There’s a lot I would change about the past if I could. I…I do regret that business with Luke. I lost my temper that day, and I am sorry for it.’’

You stroked his hair gently, the soft, silvery locks running through your fingers. You could feel the tension in his body slowly melting away as he rested against you.

Aemond's eye closed at your touch, and a small sigh escaped his lips. ‘’They used to tease me, you know? Because I was different. One time, in the dragonpit, they…they said they found me a dragon. It was a pig. And my brother was part of the prank.’’

’'That was cruel of them,'’ you said softly, leaning to kiss his temple. He leaned into your touch as you wrapped your arms around him in a comforting embrace. ‘’They were cruel to you, my prince. You didn't deserve their taunts and mockery.'’ 

You felt his hand reaching up and palming your breasts through your clothing. Getting the hint of what he wanted, you untied the front of your dress and freed your breasts. Immediately, Aemond’s mouth started to press kisses over them before. His hot tongue swiped over your nipple. You let him do what he desired, knowing this was his way of finding comfort. The warmth of his hand and the wetness of his tongue sent a shiver down your spine, but you focused on his needs.

As Aemond continued his sweet assault on your breasts, you noticed his cock was getting hard against his thigh, but didn’t mention it. Madam Sylvi never touched him there...or kissed him. Only you — when he asked for it. 

The music outside the curtains changed, and he shifted, letting go of your breasts to curl up with his head on your lap instead. You continued to rub his shoulder down to his back, then along his thigh and leg. 

‘’When I claimed Vhagar, I felt powerful.’’ 

His pride and confidence had swelled to an almost unmanageable extent when he returned to Driftmark. He was excited to tell Aegon, and his mother about Vhagar. But his cousins and nephews found him first. They got into a fight over the dragon…and Lucerys Velaryon took out his eyes. 

As if you read his thoughts, your finger brushed the scar going through his eyebrow. You couldn’t imagine the pain he went through. 

‘’Was it why you went after Luke that day? Because you wanted him to be afraid of you and your superior dragon?’’ 

Aemond grew still at the mention of Lucerys, the memory of that fateful day on Storm’s End, the catalyst of the brewing war, still fresh in his mind. 

After a moment's hesitation, he nodded slowly. ‘’Yes... In a way, I suppose so.’’ 

You hummed, brushing your fingertips along his cheekbone softly. 

Aemond wished he could take you to the Keep. To his chambers. It would be nice to not have to hide under a cloak at night and risk getting seen by anyone who shouldn’t. He wished you would be there, in his bed, when he would return from small council meetings, training or even just supper, to take care of him and hold him.

But that was impossible. His mother would never allow it.  

—

House of the dragon taglist: @khaleesihavilliard@domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios@lover-of-helios @shine101 @tanyaherondale@mikariell95 @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @clayzayden@memeorydotcom @tnu-ree @futuregws @blackravena @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @secretsthathauntus @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @evesolstice @dkathl @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @domoron  @weird-addiction @angeliod @xjennyx2 @adaydreamaway08  @mymultiveres  @secretsthathauntus  @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen @naty-1001 @katiepie67 @moshpot24x @hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler @saturn-sas  @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag @wondxrgurl @aerangi @strmborns @astridyoo15 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @vane1999-blog @fairyfolkloresposts @todaywasafairytale07 @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @armstrongscommentsection @withfireandbl00d @randomstory56 @JudgmentDays-Girl @darylandbethfanforever9 @darylandbethfanforever9 @aegonswife @dakotapaigelove @jays-bullshit

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[josephandrewstarkey]

beach fight - part 2

part 1 here

warnings: fingering, kind of public, cheating, mentions of ruthie, jealousy

disclaimer: making a part 3!! message me to b on the taglist <3

pairing: rafe cameron x pogue!reader

It had been a week since the showdown on the beach. Ruthie had ended up with a busted lip and bruises, and Y/N’s knuckles were still sore from that fight. Word spread fast, and now, wherever Y/N went, people whispered. She didn’t care. Ruthie got what she deserved. She wasn’t going to lose sleep over it.

Tonight, the Pogues were hitting up a huge summer party at a Kook mansion, and as expected, there were plenty of stares as soon as Y/N walked in. People threw shady looks, some even whispering to each other when they thought she wasn’t looking. But Y/N just rolled her eyes, keeping her head high.

“Let them talk,” she muttered under her breath as she entered the party, brushing it all off.

She quickly found Kie and Sarah dancing in the middle of the room, music blasting so loud you could feel the bass in your chest. With a smile, Y/N joined them, laughing as they pulled her into the rhythm. The three of them danced, their energy wild and carefree. Y/N threw back a few drinks, feeling the buzz settle in, making her forget about all the drama for a while.

Across the room, Rafe had been hanging around with Sofia, who tried to pull his attention toward her. She clung to his arm, making a big show of laughing at his jokes and trying to stay close, but his mind was somewhere else. Every time Y/N moved, Rafe’s eyes followed, unable to stop himself. He wasn’t even trying to hide it.

It pissed him off seeing her like that—dancing with her friends, completely unbothered, like he didn’t exist anymore. Especially when she hugged Pope. That nearly sent him over the edge. She wrapped her arms around him, laughing about something, and Rafe clenched his jaw, jealousy burning in his chest. He hated that she could be so close to them.

“Rafe, you’re not even listening,” Sofia said, snapping him back to the moment, tugging on his sleeve.

He blinked, tearing his eyes away from Y/N for a second. “Yeah, whatever,” he muttered, clearly distracted.

Sofia rolled her eyes, frustrated. She knew where his mind was, and it wasn’t on her. “Why are you so obsessed with her?” she finally snapped, crossing her arms.

But Rafe ignored her, his gaze back on Y/N as she laughed and danced with Sarah and Kie.

Eventually, Y/N excused herself from the group to get some air. She walked away from the crowd, heading down one of the quieter hallways. Rafe didn’t hesitate. Without a second thought, he brushed off Sofia’s protests and followed Y/N, his heart pounding as he watched her disappear around a corner. Sofia called after him, but he didn’t stop, too focused on catching up with Y/N.

Y/N had noticed him watching her all night, but she didn’t care. She had felt his eyes on her, burning holes into her, but she wasn’t going to let him ruin her night. Still, she knew him too well, and when she rounded the corner into the hallway, she leaned against the wall, waiting. When Rafe finally caught up, she raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Why are you following me, Rafe?” she asked, arms crossed as she subtly pushed her chest up, making sure he noticed. His eyes flicked down, staring at her for a second before meeting her gaze again.

Rafe hesitated, trying to come up with some excuse. “I was just heading to the basement…got some shit to sell,” he said, a weak attempt to brush it off.

Y/N scoffed. “There’s no basement in this house, Rafe. You really expect me to believe that?”

He dropped the act, knowing she wasn’t buying it. “I miss you, alright? I’ve been thinking about you ever since we broke up. It’s driving me crazy, seeing you with them.”

Y/N shook her head. “You don’t get to miss me, Rafe. You have Sofia now, remember?”

Rafe stepped closer, his voice low, desperate. “I don’t care about her. I never did. You know that.”

But Y/N wasn’t having it. “You made your choice. You chose her, Rafe. So why don’t you go back to her?”

He ignored her words, his hands already finding their way to her waist, pulling her closer. Before Y/N could push him away, he leaned down, kissing her neck softly, making her breath hitch.

“Rafe, stop,” she whispered, her hands on his chest, trying to shove him off, but her voice wasn’t as firm as it should’ve been.

“You still want me. I know you do,” he murmured against her skin, his lips trailing down her neck. “I can see it in your eyes.”

“You have a girlfriend,” Y/N said, trying to hold on to some sense of control.

“I don’t care about her,” he repeated, his voice husky, hands gripping her waist tighter as he pressed her back against the wall. “You’re the only one I want. Always have been.”

“Stop,” Y/N repeated, but it was weaker this time, her resolve slipping as he kissed her harder. Before she knew it, he was dragging her into the nearest bathroom, locking the door behind them.

The moment they were inside, Rafe didn’t waste any time. His hands slipped under her shirt, fingers tracing her skin, and Y/N gasped, feeling the familiar rush she’d tried to forget. His lips crashed against hers as he lifted her onto the bathroom counter, his hands roaming everywhere.

She tried one last time to resist. “Rafe, you can’t…you have a girlfriend.”

“She’s not you,” Rafe growled, pushing his hand into her shorts, finding her wet and ready despite her protests. Y/N’s breath hitched as he slid his fingers inside her, his mouth inches from hers as he whispered dirty things into her ear.

Y/N couldn’t think straight, the heat between them clouding everything else. Her body betrayed her, responding to his touch despite the voice in her head telling her to stop.

Meanwhile, outside the bathroom, Sofia stood in shock, watching from the hallway as Rafe dragged Y/N into the bathroom. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Her heart sank, anger and jealousy bubbling up inside her. JJ, who had been passing by, saw it too, his face twisting into a mix of confusion and frustration. Not knowing if he should tell the pogues about this.

part 3 here

taglist:

@carolina6677 @lovrsin @alayaaaahhhhhh @esquivelbianca

[theonottsbxtch]

PRIVATE | LN4

an: requested by @bhuijnbhuijn-blog this was so fun to make! it feels to good to make a smau after a few days of straight writing

fc: random girls on pintrest and isabel larosa

yourusername

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thank you london and thank you to my beloved

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appartment in monaco

You were perched on the edge of the kitchen counter, barefoot, legs dangling as you watched Lando move around the open kitchen. The soft click of cabinet doors and the muted thud of a cereal box landing on the counter are the only sounds, apart from the faint music playing from your speaker. It was your calm playlist, just background noise, a playlist you curated 100% but one Lando pretended he created to wind you up. He didn’t mind—he hummed along sometimes, absentmindedly, just like now. The late afternoon light filtered through the windows, casting a warm, golden hue over everything, making the moment feel even more private, more intimate.

Lando was shirtless wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips. It was a version of him few people ever get to see. No fireproof suit, no helmet. No world watching his every move. Here, in this quiet corner of your shared world, he was just... him. And you loved him like this, more than anything.

As he fumbled with the coffee machine, you leant back on your hands, your fingers curling against the cool granite of the counter. The smell of coffee mingled with the lazy warmth of the afternoon. You were both settled into this comfortable rhythm of being together, the kind of domesticity that felt almost foreign when you thought of your lives outside these walls—your career, his racing, the flashing lights and the fans.

But here, it was different.

You’d been thinking about it for a while now. The thought had been on the tip of your tongue for weeks, and today felt like the right time to broach it. Or maybe it was just that the stillness of this moment made you feel brave. You took a breath, voice soft as you broke the quiet.

“I’ve been thinking…” Your words drift into the space between you, casual but with a certain weight that you know will catch his attention. Lando looked over at you, coffee cup in hand, waiting for you to continue. You smiled, trying to keep it light. “Maybe it’s time we go public… on Instagram.”

He froze for a beat, his eyes locking on yours as if he was trying to read your face, gauge how serious you were. Slowly, he set the cup down on the counter, his brow furrowing in that familiar way that meant he was already thinking too much.

“Public?” he repeated, like he was testing the word, feeling it out. His voice was calm, but you could sense the undertone of concern, the hesitation that came with anything that involves exposing more of your lives to the world outside. “You sure about that?”

You nodded, even though you knew he was not just asking for the sake of it. There was more behind his question than the words. It was not just a simple post to him—it was a line you were crossing, a step into a world he was all too familiar with, and not in a good way.

“I am,” you said softly. “We’ve been so careful, keeping things private, but… I don’t want to hide us anymore. I don’t want to pretend we’re not a part of each other’s lives.” You watched him as you spoke, searching his face for any sign of agreement, but he was still quiet, arms folded across his chest, his gaze drifting somewhere just past you.

Lando shifted his weight, leaning against the counter, his fingers drumming lightly against the granite, a telltale sign that his mind was working through what you’d just said. After a moment, he sighed, running a hand through his curls, the kind of movement that let you know he was trying to choose his words carefully.

“I get it,” he said finally, his voice softer now, but there was still a trace of reluctance. “But… it’s different for you. Your fans, they’re supportive. You’re already used to the attention. My world… it’s not like that. It can get ugly fast. And once we put it out there, it’s out there. We can’t take it back.”

You slid off the counter and moved toward him, your bare feet silent on the floor. Standing in front of him, you reached for his hands, threading your fingers through his. “I know, love. I know how hard it can be for you. But I’m not asking for some big, dramatic reveal. Just something simple. A photo. Something that feels like us, something quiet.”

He looked down at your joined hands, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. You could see the conflict in his eyes—the protective instinct he’d always had when it came to the life you’d built together versus the part of him that wanted to trust in your strength, in the fact that you could handle it.

“I don’t want them coming after you,” he said quietly, almost more to himself than to you. “I don’t want you to deal with the kind of hate I get.”

Lifting one hand to his face, cupping his cheek gently, your thumb grazed over his skin. “I’ve been in the public eye for years now. I’ve had my share of negativity, too. But we’ve got each other, right? We can handle it. I can handle it.” You paused, letting your words sink in. “And I’m tired of hiding something that makes me so happy.”

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment, as if he was trying to imagine what it would be like—the backlash, the media storm. But when he opened them again, there was something softer there, a quiet surrender. He still looked hesitant, but there was an acceptance in his expression now, like maybe, just maybe, he was willing to trust you on this.

“A photo,” he repeated, his voice almost resigned but not unkind. “Something simple.”

You nodded, your smile growing. “Just one.”

He chuckled softly, pulling you into his arms, his chin resting on the top of your head. “You really want this, huh?” His voice was a little lighter now, though you could still feel the weight of the decision lingering between you.

“I do,” you murmured into his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of him—clean and warm, like home. “We don’t have to make a big deal out of it. Just something that feels like us. Something honest.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands resting on your waist. “Alright,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “But if it all blows up in our faces, you’re the one dealing with the PR disaster.”

You laughed, the sound soft and full of relief. “Deal. I’ll take full responsibility.” You leant up and kissed him, your lips brushing his with a gentleness that said more than words ever could. “Promise.”

landonorris

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enjoyed the final show of the break, time for austin

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yeah, my boyfriend's pretty cool but he's not as cool as me

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userone: NO WAY

yourusername: YES WAY

usertwo: i did not expect this one icl

userthree: i- speechless

userfour: HER BOYFRIEND IS LANDO NORRIS

yourbestfriend: cutest couple ever

yourusername: te amo

userfive: oh to be yn

landonorris: i love you

yourusername: i love you more

usersix: she's so hot

userseven: defo cooler than lando

ekat19: damn, he stole my bitch

yourusername: ethan.

twitter

appartment in monaco

It had been a few weeks since you had gone public, and the house felt the same. The kitchen still smelt like coffee in the afternoons, and Lando’s laughter still echoed through the rooms. But outside, in the world that wasn’t contained by these walls, things had shifted.

The first few days after you had posted that picture—a simple, candid shot of you two tangled on the couch, laughing at something neither of you can remember now—felt like a blur. Your Instagram blew up instantly, flooded with comments, some gushing, some not so kind. The had media picked it up, headlines spun their usual stories, and of course, his world—Formula 1, with its intense, relentless scrutiny—had its own opinions. Most of it was harmless, but some of it... wasn’t.

Lando was standing in front of the window, staring out at nothing in particular. You could tell from the way his shoulders were tense, from the way his hand kept moving to rub the back of his neck, that something had been weighing on him. He’d been quieter these last few days, not in the way that shut you out, but in the way that let you know he was overthinking, worrying about things he didn’t need to.

You were sprawled on the couch, phone in hand, pretending to scroll through Instagram, but your attention was on him. You watched as he checked his phone again, probably seeing another headline or some new wave of comments. His jaw tightened, and that was when you knew it’s time to say something.

“Lan,” you called out softly, trying to break the tension in the room. “Come over here.”

He hesitated for a second, like he was debating whether to pull you into his worry or let it be, but then he walked over, his feet dragging slightly on the wooden floor. He sank down beside you on the couch, letting out a long, tired breath. His arm came around your shoulders instinctively, pulling you closer, but his mind was clearly somewhere else.

“Talk to me,” you said gently, tilting your head to look up at him.

He didn’t meet your eyes at first, he just stared at the floor. “I’ve been seeing some of the comments,” Lando admitted, his voice low, as if he was trying to keep it casual but couldn’t quite manage it. “There’s a lot of hate. A lot of people saying… awful things. About you, about us.” He paused, running his hand through his hair. “I didn’t want this for you.”

You felt his arm tighten around you, like he was trying to protect you from something that was already out there, something he couldn’t control. It broke your heart a little, the way he carried that weight, like he was responsible for every cruel word thrown your way.

You shifted in his arms, turning to face him, one hand reaching up to touch his cheek. “I know,” you said softly. “But, darling, it’s not getting to me. Not even a little.” You smiled, trying to get him to see the truth in your eyes. “I’ve been in this business long enough to know that people are going to say whatever they want. But they don’t matter. You do.”

He finally looked up at you, his brow furrowed, still sceptical. “But some of it’s brutal,” he insisted, his voice tight. “They’re dragging you through the mud just because we went public. I didn’t want you to deal with this part of my life, the ugly part.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head, and the sound seemed to catch him off guard. “Honestly? I’ve dealt with worse. You should’ve seen the comments I got after that one music video,” you teased lightly, hoping to ease his worry. “But this? This is nothing.”

He didn’t look convinced, but you could see him trying to process what you were saying, like he wanted to believe you but couldn’t quite let go of his own guilt. So, you decided to prove it to him in a way you knew would get through that thick head of his.

With a sly smile, you grabbed your phone and opened Twitter, your fingers moved quickly over the screen as you pulled up your account. He watched you, confused, until you glanced up at him with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asked, suspicion lacing his tone.

You bit your lip, pretending to think about it, then you tilted the phone toward him so he could see the tweet you’d just typed out. In bold letters, it read:

"how i sleep knowing i get to sleep with this hunk of a man at night and you don’t "

Below the text was the picture you’d been sitting on for a while—one of him sleeping in the paddock last season.

His eyes widened as he read it, then flicked to the photo. “You’re not serious,” he said, though there’s a laugh hidden in his voice now.

“Oh, I am very serious,” you said, grinning at him as you hovered over the “Tweet” button. “If people want to hate, let them. But I’m going to remind them who I get to come home to every night.”

He stared at you for a second, then shook his head, a small, incredulous smile finally tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’re unbelievable.”

You shrugged, your finger tapping the button before he could say another word. “It’s out there now,” you said, holding up the phone in triumph. “Let them come for me.”

He leant back against the couch, running his hands over his face, but you could see the way his shoulders had finally relaxed, the tension ebbing away. He laughed, a real, genuine laugh, and it warmed you from the inside out. “You’re actually insane,” he said, pulling you into his chest, kissing the top of your head. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

You looked up at him, beaming. “Sweetheart, they can say whatever they want. It doesn’t change anything. I’ve got you, and that’s all that matters.”

For the first time in days, the worry in his eyes faded completely. He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you tightly, his breath warm against your hair. “I love you,” he murmured, the words soft but full of meaning.

“I love you more.”

twitter

yourusername

liked by landonorris, yourbestfriend, oscarpiastri and 984,942

haters gunna hate, anyway check out my new song x

*limited comments*

landonorris: te amo x

yourusername: amore

ekat19: i remember when we used to have matching shirts...

yourusername: ETHAN. BASTA.

yourbestfriend: cuties

landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri, yourusername, mclaren and 984,248 others

i have the coolest girlfriend ever 🤭

*limited comments*

yourusername: simp

landonorris: yeah and what

comment if you want to be tagged in future works x

[stressforu]

♯ itoshi rin — what he does

started making bllk fics today >:) , kinda new to the fandom since I just started reading the manga after the anime

itoshi rin x gn!reader

fluff, no warnings

home page ...

ITOSHI RIN acts cold, and he grumbles when you try to cup his cheeks when he's cold. he sighs when you eat his favorite food which he stored in the refrigerator the other day, and the way he'd roll his eyes when you'd try to show pda in public.

(hey, eating his favorite food is debatable!)

though he never meant it that way, he would get all jittery and nervous that he'd try to put up a cold facade whenever you would cup his cheeks. and he also never meant it in a bad way when he doesn't like to show pda, he's a guy who would rather keep you all to himself !! (you might not know but rin secretly boasts you to his private insta with all his dick teammates close friends.)

he would often try to put up that cold image, but his walls crumble when you're with him. he becomes soft to the point he would watch your sappy romance movies just so he can cuddle you.

you'd never notice this but, he keeps a special album solely just for you in his gallery !! he tries to listen to your music tastes, and tries to learn your interests just so he can talk about it with you !! (he'd probably listen to your gossips when you're with him, he feels like your enemy is his enemy.)

" you know that girl i was talking about last night, yeah? well she got pregnant by her ex boyfriend. "

" ...what... that's crazy... "

okay, he might be a little crazy... but he keeps your favorite keychain in his duffel bag ! imagine an all-black duffel bag and a small pinkish keychain in the strap of his bag !

he's so downbad for you he wouldn't let you sleep without cuddling with him. your head below his chest, feeling his heart beat with the rhythm of yours.

he loves loves loves you.

did i note that he loves you to the point he'd actually wear the promise ring that he gave to you on your anniversary? not in his finger but in his necklace. he'd subconsciously dangle his fingers in his necklace whenever he's stressed or he misses you >:(

does. not. forget. important. dates

occasion or not he gives you flowers. yes, he's just that kind of man !

" ... flowers ... for you .. "

" what for rinnie? our anniversary isn't till next month. "

" just because i want to..." " just take it.. "

do not forget to reward that ice king with kisses :(( !! he loves loves loves it when you kiss him, pamper him with kisses and he would immediately turn into a full make out session with him ! be careful tho ;)

rin looks at you amid the crowd. whenever he scores? he would look at your figure cheering for him loudly, he wasn't focused on the crowd their voices were a blur, and he could only hear your shouts.

you make it all so worth it.

note : did ya'll ike it?? :333 lemme know !! my man itoshi rin sbdhshshdhdb i will probably write for him next time!!!!!!!! share ur thoughts??? :3333333

[propertyofwicked]

TAKE ME DANCING - LN

based on this request! ✧ my inbox is open for requests (or if u just want a chat!) ✧

warnings - smut! MDNI!! oral (fem receiving), possessive!lando (but also kinda cute - smut is marked ✿)

masterlist the playlist

the pulsating beat of the music reverberated through the club as lando and y/n made their way inside. the flashing lights, the energy, the sheer about of people everywhere was overwhelming, and she couldn't help but feel a little out of place.

this wasn't her scene; y/n would rather be sat in a beer garden, fearing she wouldn’t enjoy the loud music and drunk people bashing into her in a club. but lando - this was his type of place, he seemed to just exude confidence, especially in clubs, and especially when he wore that white shirt, the top few buttons undone.

lando noticed her hesitance, giving her a reassuring smile.

"don't worry, you wanna leave, we leave - ok? ," he said, squeezing her hand gently.

she nodded, trying to keep an open mind as they moved further into the crowd. the dance floor was packed, bodies moving mostly in sync with the pounding rhythm. lando led her to the bar first, using his grip of her hand to pull her closely behind him as they manoeuvred through the crowds of people, smiling occasionally at people he recognised. lando’s hand dropped hers, though not before pulling her close, so he could rest his tanned hands on the bar, leaning forward to catch the attention of the server.

“….and a double malibu coke,” he called out, trying to be heard over the music, before turning to y/n, checking that was what she wanted. she nodded at him quickly.

“and two shots of tequila please!” she added quickly, watching the server nod quickly before settling on lando’s intrigued gaze, “- the quicker im drunk, the quicker i’ll feel comfortable,” she called out, moving her head closer to his so he could hear her.

lando nodded at her, not one to discourage her, though it did concern him when managed to take back both shots without so much as a flinch.

"come on, let's dance!" lando shouted over the music, pulling her towards the dance floor with his free hand, his drink sloshing around in the other as he moved. y/n followed closely, still apprehensive, and still too sober, but lando’s energy was hard to resist.

she moved tentatively at first, unsure of her own movements, her hand reaching to pull her dress down as it rode up her legs. as the drink and music flooded her veins, y/n got into her own rhythm, her hips moving in time with the beat as lando’s hand rested on her hips, his own body moving almost in sync.

lando watched her with a mix of surprise and delight. he had expected her to tolerate the experience at best, and only for his benefit, but here she was, dancing with abandon, lost in the music. he grinned at her, matching the energy and enthusiasm.

“drink?” he asked her, bending down to speak directly in her ear. her hand grabbed the side of his face, keeping it next to hers as she replied with a loud yes, before moving him back to press a sweet kiss to his lips. she was about to follow him back to the bar but a familiar face came bounding towards the two of them.

“y/n in a club? im shocked,” alex called out, “i love your dress,” she added, holding y/n hands out as she stood back to take another look.

“thank you, you look gorgeous,” y/n replied, smiling at the girl.

“is charles here?” lando asked her, not really feeling like joining the girly conversation, to which she simply responded by point at the bar, “perfect - ill be back,” he continued, pressing a kiss to y/n’s forehead before walking over to greet charles.

he kept glancing back at y/n from the bar, half-expecting her to need a break, or to be looking at him, eyes begging him to come back. but each time he looked, there she was, dancing with alex, having the time of her life. the two men decided to join the girls on the dance floor, their hands full with a drinks for their respective partner.

as the night wore on, she showed no sign of stopping. despite not drinking much, y/n found herself emersed in the music, enchanted by the way lando’s hands stayed firmly on her waist as she danced, her back pressing into his chest with every movement.

there was something about the way she moved that made everything else fade into the background. lando could barely think straight, the desire to have her all to himself surged through him, and he found himself drawn to her like a magnet. and when she turned to face him, her eyes sparkling with joy and surprise, he couldn’t help but lean down, his lips brushing against the skin of her cheek before moving to her ear.

“you drive me crazy,” he told her, his voice deep enough to send a shiver down her spine, “you wanna go soon?”

“but im having fun,” she pouted, though he couldn’t see as his face was resting in the crook of her neck, kissing at her skin.

“so am i,” he replied, moving to hold her head in his hands, pressing a kiss to her forehead softly, before leaning down again to add, “but i think id have more fun with my head between your legs.”

her breath hitched at his words, a flush spreading across her cheeks. the intensity in his voice, the possessiveness in his touch, the way he said it so casually. lando’s hands roamed over her body as she pretending to think about his offer, continuing to whisper sweet, sinful promises in her ear.

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

it only felt like a few minutes had passed by the time the two were stumbling through the front door of lando’s apartment. y/n remembers saying a quick goodbye to alex, before lando had practically dragged her from the club, though she followed him more than willingly.

lando groaned quietly as soon as his lips pressed on her inner thigh, his fingers pushing the hem of her dress up her body quickly until the fabric pooled on her stomach. his hands ran softly down the sides of her stomach, reaching the band of her underwear, tugging it down her legs, before moving to hold her thighs open for him.

it took one swipe of his tongue on her clit for his brain to grow blank. the grip on her thighs grew firmer, hard enough to leave little marks, nose bumping against her clit as his tongue travelled through her folds.

“you taste so fucking good,” he breathes, his face pulling back to take in the sight in front of him “fuck, angel, you’re so beautiful.”

then, he’s all over her again. lando’s lips wrap around her clit - he can feel himself growing hard at the whines she emitted for him. every flick of his tongue had her back lifting from the bed and her hands tugging at his curls, to which he responded with a quiet moan. the vibrations sent pleasure through her body, her brain turning to mush as she loosened her grip on his curls.

“do that again,” lando grunts, guiding her hands back into his hair, “keep doing that angel.”

his head is spinning, his tongue gliding through her folds before flattening against her clit over and over again. lando’s arm wraps around her waist, pulling her heat closer to him. his fingers to brush against her, coating them with her slick and circling her entrance before slipping his middle finger inside. only the first knuckle was enough to have her squirming beneath him, the arm around her waist fighting to keep her pushed down on the bed.

lando feels the way she tightened around him, desperate to feel him as he pushed his finger fully into her, pulling out quickly before adding a second. his tongue moved through her heat again, tasting her slick as he circled her clit, his fingers curling up into her.

“lan - fuck i-” y/n started, her grip on his curls tightening. her hips jutted up, pushing his face further into her heat as she reached her climax. his finger curl open and closed inside of her as her hips rocked against his face, the grip on his hair loosening as each second of her high passed.

“so good,” lando moaned, kissing at her clit. “taste so good. you can do one more, right, angel?”

[ja3yun]

Sweat for Me | P.JS

stranger! jay x fem!reader warnings: smut (mdni), unprotected sex, cream pie, fingering, alcohol consuption, tipsy ynjay (all consensual), strangers to lovers, creepy men in clubs, but jay saves the day, not proofread anything else lmk! w.c: 7.8k synopisis: after a stressful week you go to the club to let loose and forget your problems, and jay is there to lend the perfect helping hand

a/n: hi! this is pure self indulgence because i saw jay at the prada event and went feral so, this is for my jay girlies! also, please do not have sex w strangers in clubs !! take it to a hotel and save yourself the embarrassment of getting caught. as always, comments, reblogs, and feedback is all appreciated! i love you guys, and see you at halloween for serial killer!jake <33

Walking into the club, the heat envelopes you first, thick and heavy, clinging to your skin like a warm, damp cloak. Fog from a nearby smoke machine waves across the air, softening the strobe neon lights above, and the bass from the DJ pulses right through the building, shaking the floor under you and setting your heartbeat to a new rhythm.

Every breath you take is a cocktail of scents - alcohol, sweet perfumes, musky cologne, with faint notes of sweat and cigarettes threading through. Ahead, bodies sway and stumble, arms flung over each other’s shoulders, laughter and shouts lost and misinterpreted in the pounding music. Faces are flushed, eyes are glassy, and heads are thrown back in abandon. 

And you need to catch up.

For a lot of people, this is their place of hell and you completely understand why; it stinks, people are rude, and alcohol turns people into caricatures of themselves that are less than flattering. But for you, this is the perfect way to unwind after a stressful week. 

You feel at home here, because it’s the one place where everyone is allowed to embarrass themselves and no one will bat an eye. You can let loose and just forget who you are, even for a minute. Sure, you need to avoid the creeps who think they’re entitled to touch you just because you exist and it’s a dark club, but just escaping reality for a night? It’s worth it in your opinion.

You weave through the crowd, brushing past clusters of people lost in their own worlds, and head straight for the bar with your two best friends, Yuki and Dosie. You’re already rehearsing the orders in your head, knowing exactly what they'll go for. Tonight’s plan is simple: drink hard and fast, percentage over pallet, because if there was ever a week that called for it, it’s this one. 

Dosie’s been grinding through double shifts as a nurse, Yuki’s buried under her endless university schedule, and you…well, work’s a whole mess you’re not about to think about right now. All you need to think about is forgetting every bollocking from your boss and get fucked up.

Reaching the bar, you lean against it, the girls just behind you as you order three double vodkas and cranberry - a dash of lemonade for Yuki since she hates the tang of the cranberry. You always ask her why she orders it if she hates it, but she insists that she needs to get more fruit in her diet, that and the other reason every woman drinks cranberry.

When they arrive, you dunk the black paper straws into each glass and pass them back, clinging to yours for dear life. It takes you all your strength not to down it right there and there, but you’ll be civilised since it’s your first one. You’ll leave the chugging for your third or fourth drink.

As you weave through the crowd, following your friends to the dance floor, someone brushes against you. It’s not a hard bump - thankfully not enough to spill your drink - but it’s just enough to bring you to a halt. Your pet peeve is people who push past without so much as an “excuse me,” and you’re definitely not about to be that person. So, you look up to apologise…

And that’s when the world around you slips away.

The man is beautiful, stunning, shaggable, and every other adjective for hot that your brain can muster, which right now is not a lot because you’re stuck in a trance.  The dim light catches on his features, casting soft shadows on his face. His black hair is parted and finger-brushed out of his face in a way that seems effortless but perfect, framing his sharp jaw that you’re sure is only obtainable through the hands of Michelangelo himself. His lips, pink and oh-so-soft looking, curve into a smile, showing deep lines and crinkles at the corners of his eyes. He must smile a lot, you think, suddenly taken by this unexpected warmth, by the friendliness in his expression. If you were to bump into anyone else in this club, you’d be hit with nothing but arrogance and pissy attitude.

The flush on your cheeks deepens from mild embarrassment to a warm, undeniable craving of lust. You’re stuck, words caught in your throat as you realise you’ve been staring a bit too long. His expression shifts, his friendly smile turning slightly puzzled, as though he’s caught you mid-thought.

“Uh - sorry,” you finally manage, forcing out a small, sheepish laugh. 

“For staring or for bumping into me?” He says it so casually, his eyebrows raised and lips smirking.

You swallow hard and laugh again, shaking your head to set yourself straight and form a coherent sentence, ridding your mind of the Boggle-like state it’s in. “For both, sorry.”

His eyes flick down and then back up, trailing over you with a calm, easy confidence. It’s the same gesture you’ve seen from at least five other men in the past 10 minutes you’ve been in this club, but somehow with him, it doesn’t feel uncomfortable. There’s something about his gaze that makes your pulse quicken instead of setting off your usual alarms. 

You pray to the heavens that he isn’t a creep.

But before you have the chance to find out, you’re yanked by your arm, stumbling as Yuki pulls you toward the centre of the dance floor. Her smile is innocent, and to be fair, she’s just here to have a good time with her girls, she doesn’t know that she’s just ripped you away from the possible man of your dreams.

Yuki drags you deeper into the crowd and you look back over your shoulder, your eyes finding his one last time. He’s watching you, hands casually in his pockets, a small smile playing on his lips. With a faint nod, he raises a hand in a playful salute, a silent goodbye as he lets you slip out of sight as if you were just a passing thought to him. But that look - the way his eyes linger for an extra second - stays with you as you’re swallowed up by the pulsing lights and music, unable to shake the feeling that this won’t be the last time you see him.

_____

As the hours fly by, you lose yourself exactly the way you’d hoped. Your arms sway above your head, a massive grin stretching across your face, every bit of stress and worry vanishing with each beat of the music. Adele’s beautiful and should-not-be-remixed-voice pulses around you in an EDM beat, but honestly? You’re having the best time, the way you intended to.

Tipping your glass back, you drain the last drop of your fourth drink tonight. You’re careful with your limits, always pacing yourself just enough to feel the buzz without going overboard and even though you wanna get plastered to the point you can’t see straight, you’re lacking right now.

“I’m gonna head to the bar,” you announce, raising your voice far too loudly over the music, alcohol dulling your sense of volume along with everything else. “You guys want the same?”

Yuki and Dosie nod eagerly, eyes gleaming with the effects of the night. They’re much faster than you with their drinks, and you can tell by their happy, slightly unsteady grins that every percent is hitting them. While this will be drink number five for you, they’re well into their eighth rounds, but you all seem to be on the same page, perfectly balanced in your shared state of i don’t give a fuck vibes.

Making you’re way to the bar, you slide into an open spot, nudging your way in beside a guy to your left and a girl to your right. You’re barely settled when you feel someone lean closer, just a little too close. You glance to your left, and sure enough, the guy next to you has turned his full attention on you.

“You good?” he drawls, his voice low and dripping with a forced charm. He’s got a smirk on his face and it’s obvious he’s had one too many. “Haven’t seen you around here before. You here alone?”

You try for a polite smile, keeping things neutral as you shake your head. You hate that you developed the habit of being nice even when uncomfortable just to avoid conflict. “No, I’m here with friends.” 

“Oh, that’s too bad.” He’s unfazed, his eyes roaming over you, lingering a little too long. “You know, a girl like you shouldn’t have to stand here waiting for a drink. I could get the bartender’s attention for you,” he offers, leaning even closer. His breath smells faintly of ciggies and rum, and you have to fight the urge to lean away.

“Thanks, but I’m good,” you say, keeping your tone light but firm.

He doesn’t seem to take the hint. “Come on, don’t be shy. A girl as gorgeous as you? You must get free drinks all the time.” His hand drifts to rest on the bar near yours, his fingers brushing too close for comfort.

The interaction is setting off all kinds of alarms, but you keep your cool, just begging the bartender to come over. “I appreciate it, but I can handle it.”

Still, he persists, his eyes flicking up and down like he’s sizing you up. “You know, you should really give a nice guy a chance. Not everyone out there’s gonna treat you as well as I would.”

It takes every bit of patience to keep from rolling your eyes. Luckily, just as he opens his mouth to say something else, a man stands impossibly close behind you, dragging you away from the burden to your left.

“Why are you talking to my girl?” the boy behind you says, voice low and dangerous, clearly warning the man away. His hips are placed respectfully on your waist and you can feel him hover just slightly, a little sign to show you that he’s just trying to help you and not add another dick to your problem.

Scoffing, the man eyes your saviour up. “Yeah, like I’d believe that. You’re punching, mate.” 

Honestly, you feel a flicker of offence on behalf of your unexpected saviour, but he doesn’t flinch, no reaction whatsoever; his entire stance relaxed as he stares the other man down. “I think you’re the one out of your depth, mate,” he replies mockingly. “You look like a fucking rodent that’s been flushed down the toilet.”

You bite down on your lips, fighting to hold back a laugh. The last thing you want to do is rile this man up, but the person grabbing your waist seems to be doing a good job of that already. 

The creep’s face flushes in anger, stepping an inch closer and you instantly take one back, your backside colliding with the boy behind you. Only then do his fingers dig into your hips, that protective instinct coming in full throttle. Considering he’s someone you’ve never met before, you’re surprised at his actions; no, you don’t expect every man to turn a blind eye when a woman is uncomfortable, but you don’t expect a stranger to step in as hard as this.

“Look, mate,” the creep sneers, trying to regain some of his earlier bravado. “You think you can just play hero and get laid? That doesn’t work, ain’t that right, kitten?”

He’s directly talking to you and your skin crawls with dread. First of all, the kitten has thrown you off and made you gag internally - if you had maybe one more drink and two shots down it would have been actual vomit. Part of you wishes you did so it would get this creep away.

“Um-”

“You’re arguing with me, not my girl. Don’t speak to her.”

The creep’s eyes darken as he takes another step forward, puffing his chest out to look bigger. “You want to go, then? You think you can take me?”

“Is that what you want?” your saviour replies, not backing down an inch, his stance firm and unwavering. “Because I’d be happy to show you just how far out of your depth you really are. You clearly can’t handle rejection, buddy.”

“I’ll fight you right now.”

“Try. Me.”

The next thing you know, the boy’s arm is instinctively shielding you, pushing you back and stepping in your place. His height finally comes into focus…in fact, you recognise him. It’s the guy you bumped into earlier, the one with the stunning smile and eyes that seemed to sparkle even in the dim light of the club. The heat of the moment makes your heart race, but not from fear. It’s a mix of adrenaline and something more exciting.

The invasive man glares, but you can see uncertainty creeping into his expression as he comes to terms with the fact that he’s not dealing with an easy target. He only signed up for a little back and fourth with you, seeing you as lesser than him. “You think you can just walk around like some tough guy? You’re nothing,” he spits, his bravado faltering slightly.

The boy in front of you rolls his eyes, unimpressed. “And you’re just a pathetic loser trying to hit on girls - my girl - if I need to repeat that. Seriously, just walk away before you embarrass yourself any further.”

The creep’s fists clench at his sides, and for a moment, it looks like he’s going to throw down. But as he glances between the two of you, you can see the gears turning in his head, weighing out his options. Finally, he huffs out a frustrated breath, taking a step back. “Whatever, man. She’s not even that fucking pretty.”

With that, he turns and pushes his way through the crowd, leaving you and your unexpected knight standing there. You’re still processing what just happened when he turns to you, his expression shifting from fierce protector to something softer.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice low and genuine, the protective intensity still lingering in his gaze. 

Again, just like earlier, you’re stuck for words, that pretty face sucking out any form of capacity you have. You open your mouth, but the response you intend to deliver is swallowed by the rush of heat that floods your cheeks.

You manage to nod, your voice barely above a whisper, your answer probably being swallowed by the music. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks to you.” The words feel inadequate, a mere echo of the gratitude swelling inside you. God knows how long you would have had to endure that man’s presence if it wasn’t for… “What’s your name?”

“Jay. You?”

“Y/N.”

He nods, humming and trailing those beautiful eyes across your features. “Suits you.”

You laugh, not fully understanding what he means by that but thankful as you accept it as a compliment. 

He flashes a grin, a bit of mischief sparking in his gaze. "Do you get that often?" he asks, leaning in slightly to be heard over the pulsing music.

You shake your head, still feeling a touch flustered. "No, actually…"

"Good," he says, his smile softening. "Then I’m glad to be the first."

He is so good at catching you off guard, leaving you with a warm glow that tingles down to your fingertips and toes. For a moment, there’s only the two of you, his steady gaze holding yours as if trying to memorise every detail.

Finally, you find your voice again. “So, do you always swoop in to save strangers?” you ask, a small smile playing on your lips.

He chuckles, shrugging a little. “Only when they look like they’re in need of a rescue.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And I looked like I needed rescuing?”

“Not exactly.” His eyes flicker over you again, a hint of admiration there that he doesn’t bother hiding. “You look like you could’ve handled him just fine. But, you know...couldn’t hurt to step in.”

Something about the way he’s looking at you makes your heart beat a little faster. Before you can stop yourself, you reply, “Well, let me buy you a drink as a thank you, yeah?” you ask but you’re already back to facing the bar, waving down the bartender. “What’s your poison?”

Jay chuckles and puts his hands back in his pockets. While you find the action hot, he actually does it so he doesn’t place his hand on the small of your back and make you feel uncomfortable. Last thing he wants is you comparing him to that fucking weirdo who can’t read a room. 

“How about you dance with me instead?” he suggests, tilting his chin up to the bartender as he grabs his attention and speaks to him. “Aperol spritz and a vodka cran, please.”  

The order surprises you, causing you to tilt your head in wonder. “You know my drink?”

Shrugging casually, Jay picks the wallet from the back of his pocket and fishes out his bank card. “Not many red drinks out there,” he leans down to your ear, eyes still focused forward and not on you, “plus you smell sweet, just like it.”

Your pussy might as well be a mouth with the way it’s drooling all over your panties. It’s not what he said, but how he said it. So much control, his words barely above a murmur, each one landing with a precision that sends a shiver down your spine. He’s so close that you can feel the warmth of his breath near your ear, but he maintains just enough distance to keep things respectful. His subtle confidence makes the whole interaction feel like a slow burn, igniting something electric between you two without crossing any lines.

As he straightens up, the bartender holds out the card machine and he doesn’t even glance at it before tapping his card, his gaze finally meeting yours not caring about anything or anyone else but you. The hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips shows he knows exactly the effect he’s having on you, yet he doesn’t exude any arrogance at all. 

"So," he says, handing you the drink once it arrives, "is this good enough for a dance? Saving you and buying you a round?"

You raise the straw to your lips, letting the drink cool you as you take a sip, hoping it’ll calm the heat simmering inside you. "I’d say it’s a solid start," you reply, managing to hold his gaze even as your heart thumps in your chest.

Placing his hand out in front of you, Jay waits for you to accept his offering and guides you to the dance floor. You completely forget that you’re supposed to get your friends drinks and leave every thought of them behind, your sole focus now on the man who has your fingers locked in his. 

The music comes back into focus as he twirls you around to place you in front of him, a grin reaching from ear to ear as he watches you get into the beat of Levitating by Dua Lipa. 

Jay’s eyes glimmer with excitement as he matches your rhythm, moving in sync with you as if this moment was something you’d both been waiting for all night. He keeps his touch light but undeniably close as his free hand finds its place on your waist as the beat pulses around you. You sway together, laughter bubbling between you both as he smoothly guides you through each beat, his own moves filled with the same easy confidence that’s had you hooked from the start.

You learn one thing about each other in this moment is that while Jay can dance and hold a beat, you absolutely cannot. Whatever you want to call the poor attempt of a hip sway, causes Jay to chuckle.

With his smile stretching wide as he watches your attempt at swaying, it’s obvious he’s clearly amused, but there’s nothing mocking in it; instead, he seems genuinely charmed. Shaking his head with a playful grin, he downs the last of his drink, tipping it back in one smooth motion, his eyes rolling back and making you think the worst thoughts before he reaches for your empty glass. With a quick, appreciative nod, he hands them both off to a passing floor staff member, barely glancing away from you.

Now with all his focus back on you, he gently takes your hands in his, guiding them around his neck. “Here,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing softly over yours as he brings you closer, “maybe this will make it easier.” He settles his hands on your waist again, the warmth of his touch grounding you as he guides your movements with steady confidence.

Your arms are now wrapped around his neck and the space between you all but disappears. He’s close enough that you can feel his heartbeat, steady and strong against yours, and his gaze holds yours, unwavering. “Better?” he asks, his voice low, just loud enough for you to hear over the music.

A little breathless, you nod. “Definitely.”

He chuckles softly, his eyes flickering down to your lips for just a split second before meeting your gaze again. “Let me lead you, yeah?” he murmurs, swaying gently to the beat, guiding you with such ease that you can’t help but fall into the rhythm with him. The room around you fades once more, and all that exists is Jay’s closeness.

Jay is so fucking good looking you could almost pass out in his grip. There are so many beautiful men out there, yet you can’t rhyme off a single name that compares to him. Granted, you cannot trust club lighting with anyone - even you look like Bella Hadid in dim light - but there’s no denying that if the lights came up and blinded you from your alcohol-induced haze, you would still be awe-struck by him.

But you’ve been so busy with his face that you’ve failed to notice his outfit, the softness of his cardigan tickles your fingertips and it makes you want to explore further.

Your fingers graze over the fabric of his Prada cardigan, marvelling at its dip against his firm chest beneath. The subtle luxury of his outfit stands out even here; the cardigan, perfectly fitted, highlights the breadth of his shoulders and the line of his torso, while his straight-cut jeans hint at his natural, laid-back confidence. And then there are his shoes - a little too fancy for the club you would say, but somehow just right on him, adding a touch of elegance to his casual charm. 

Maybe that sums him up as a person. You don’t know for sure, but you suddenly want to. 

"Aren't you warm?" you ask, your hands sliding down from his neck, fingers trailing over his chest as if drawn by some magnetic pull. The cardigan might be fine for any other occasion, but under the club lights, it seems almost criminally hot. Both figuratively and literally.

Jay shakes his head, his gaze darkening just a little as he leans in, his voice dropping to a low murmur, the musk of his perfume making you dizzy. “It’s okay,” he says, his eyes holding yours with a spark of mischief. “I’ve got nothing on underneath.”

The words, paired with his subtle smirk, hit you just as Sweat by Zayn begins to blare through the speakers, almost as if the song has been queued up for this exact moment. The sultry beat wraps around you both, amplifying the tension in the air, the lyrics speaking directly to the spark between you. You let your fingers trail along the fabric at the collar, testing his words, the barest hint of skin underneath sending a thrill through you.

It’s either the alcohol or the need that pulses through you that drives you to do what you do next, but your hands slip underneath his cardigan, palms splayed over his chest as you feel around his electrifyingly warm chest.

Jay’s breath catches just slightly, his eyes darkening as he takes in the sight of your hands exploring his chest. The smirk from earlier is gone, replaced by something deeper, more intense and daring, as he watches you with hooded eyes. He doesn’t say a word, but the way he leans into your touch, his body instinctively pressing closer, speaks volumes. 

His hands grip your waist tight, taking your exploration as mutual consent to feel one another. Even if he asked, you would have given him it in a heart beat. You need this man in more ways than you care to admit right now. Call it the vodka talking or your heart, you need this man.

The intensity between you builds, the space between you shrinking until there's nothing left but expectation. You’re close enough to see the subtle tension in his jaw, the way his eyes flicker between your lips and your gaze, as though he’s searching for confirmation.

His hand moves from your waist to cradle your cheek, his thumb tracing a gentle line along your skin, sending a shiver through you. His breath mingles with yours, warm and steady, and before you realise it, you’re both leaning in, meeting in the softest, most tentative kiss - like a promise whispered against your lips. It’s gentle, exploring, with the hint of a smile on his lips as he pulls back just a fraction, eyes meeting yours as if to say, Is this okay?

You answer by closing the gap again, lips pressing against his, melting into the warmth of him. The kiss deepens, but neither of you rush; it's a slow, consuming pull that leaves you both breathless, savouring every second. His fingers slide into your hair, your hands still resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your touch as your nails dig in just enough to pinch him. Every shift between you is perfectly attuned to the other, until the world beyond the two of you fades completely, leaving only the feeling of being right here, lost in him.

The rhythm builds gradually, his lips parting slightly to fit with yours in a way that feels like a perfect match, every movement is crafted to fit yours. Your fingers curl against his chest, caught between pulling him closer and steadying yourself, and he responds by shifting his hand out of your hair and to the small of your back, tugging you flush against him. Each tilt of his head, every brush of his lips against yours, feels effortless but charged, growing warmer, more assured.

Eventually, you break away, both of you a little breathless, foreheads nearly touching as you stay close, neither willing to fully pull back. You look up into his eyes, dark and filled with a quiet intensity that mirrors the rush in your chest. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you murmur, “Do you want to go somewhere…quiet?”

Dosie and Yuki would hate you for this recklessness. But then they would also hate you for not at least trying to bag a man as fine as him so, you can’t really win, and no winner means endless roads to take -  so you’re choosing the one that gets you laid.

Jay’s lips tug into a small, understanding smirk, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, dragging it down as you see him contemplate whether to kiss you or give you a verbal answer. But obviously, he’s a gentleman - at least for now - and just simply nods.

“Yeah, let’s go,” he breathes out, letting you pull him from the middle of the dance floor.

You have no idea where ‘somewhere quiet’ could possibly be in a club in the middle of the night on a Friday, but you’re determined to find it. All these passing moments without him on your lips are torture; now that you’ve had a taste, you don’t ever want to stop.

You spot a secluded nook tucked away from the pulsating lights and eyes of the clubgoers. The dim, almost non-existent lighting creates a sense of intimacy and secretiveness that beckons you both. As you manoeuvre through the throngs of bodies, your heart races with anticipation, each beat echoing the exhilarating moment.

Once you reach the corner, you take a moment to catch your breath, your back pressed against the cool wall, a slight rush of adrenaline coursing through you. Jay stands close, his presence magnetic, and you can feel the warmth radiating off him as he leans in, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“This works,” he murmurs, a playful smile playing on his lips. His gaze flickers down to your mouth, and you can’t help but feel a rush of heat as you lean into him, closing the gap that feels impossibly charged. His lips are more of an addiction than the sweet treats you help yourself to after every lunch break.

You reach up, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, relishing the feel of his soft skin against your fingertips. His breath hitches slightly at the contact, and you can sense the tension building, a heady mix of desire and uncertainty hanging in the air. As he tilts his head, giving you an inviting look, the moment feels suspended, filled with unspoken possibilities.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice low and husky, laced with a hint of mischief. You nod, emboldened by the intoxication running through your veins and the undeniable chemistry crackling between you.

With a swift motion, he closes the distance, capturing your lips with his. The kiss ignites like a spark in the dark, deepening as he pulls you closer, the rest of the world slipping away. You lose yourself in the sensation, the taste of him simmering, sending electric thrills through your body. 

The kiss intensifies, his breath hitching as your hands grip his neck, thumbs brushing softly over his adam’s apple. The sensation of your touch there sends chills all through his body, and he lets out a deep, throaty groan that vibrates against your lips, raw and hungry, almost desperate for all of you. It spurs something inside, making your pulse race as his hands slide down, settling firmly on your hips before curving around to your lower back, guiding you even closer.

He presses his hips against yours, his mouth on yours fierce and wanting, as if he can't get close enough, as if this kiss is just the beginning. 

“Is it fucking awful for me to want to fuck you right now?” he laughs out into your mouth, the scent of his multiple Aperols brushing over your vodka-induced state. Is the question warranted? Yes, because it is silly to try and fuck a stranger in the back of a club. Will you tell him that? Of course not.

“It’s not,” you begin, pecking his lips multiple times just to keep his taste on your lips, “I think it’s actually perfectly acceptable.”

He genuinely laughs as he presses his forehead to yours. His hands wander, fingers tracing the curve of your waist, lingering at the line where your top meets your skirt. Each peck you steal from him seems to make his restraint fray, and you feel the muscles in his arms tense as he holds back, as if he's balancing on the edge of control.

"Perfectly acceptable, yeah?" he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your jaw, inching towards the hollow below your ear. He nips gently, his teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver, and then he kisses the spot softly, relishing in every second. The hand at your hip shifts, sliding over the curve of your backside, fingers splaying possessively, pulling you firmly against him. You can feel his heartbeat racing under your fingertips where they still rest at his neck, matching your own, quick and hungry.

"Good," he breathes out, his voice husky, a little breathless, "because I don’t think I could stop myself if I tried." His other hand threads into your hair, tilting your head back just enough to capture your lips in another kiss, this one deeper, more insistent. You lose yourself in it, the world spinning around you, each kiss adding fuel to the fire between you, every touch making it harder to remember that you’re standing in a club with the thrill of anyone discovering you at any moment.

Jay’s hands seem to trace their own path, gliding from your hips to your lower back, settling briefly before sliding even lower, each touch sending a thrill through you. His fingers drift to the hem of your skirt, teasing along the edge as if testing your boundaries, watching for your reaction. It’s important to him that you don’t just get caught up in the moment, each of his movements are deliberate in asking for consent.

When you don’t pull back, his fingers dip down, skimming along your bare thigh, igniting your skin. He’s barely holding back, you can tell, and it makes your pulse quicken, knowing that a man so beautiful could want you so badly. His gaze flickers up to meet yours, eyes heavy-lidded, his pupils dark with intent. He lets out a small groan, mouth parting as he presses a lingering kiss to your lips, slow and tantalising, as though savouring each second he’s got his hands on you.

“You really wanna let me fuck you in this place?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours with each word, his fingers inching a fraction higher. The grip he has on you is firm, almost possessive, and you feel him hold his breath, reining himself in, barely keeping his restraint intact until you tell him yes.

Your lips curl into a faint smile as you nip at his bottom lip, voice barely more than a murmur against his mouth. “I would let you do it in the middle of the floor if it meant I got to feel you.”

The last of his restraint crumbles. His fingers dip further beneath the hem, his hand sliding along the curve of your thigh, gripping you with enough urgency to leave no doubt about what he wants. The air between you thickens, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you, everything around you melting away as you sink deeper into this reckless, exhilarating moment.

Finally, his fingers brush against the fabric of your underwear, and the sensation is electrifying, a mixture of thrill and pleasure that has you pressing your hips instinctively into his hand. His lips curve into a smile against your neck, feeling your reaction, enjoying every moment of it as he nudges the fabric aside. His fingertips glide over your skin, exploring, teasing, before slipping between your folds, finding you already warm and wanting.

God, you are so glad you didn’t wear your M&S granny panties tonight.

A low groan escapes him, and he shifts his body closer, pressing you against the wall to shield you from the view of others, his free hand bracing beside your head so you don’t wack it against the wall behind you. He’s right there yet the careful control of his movements leaves you on the edge, craving more. His fingers trace a slow, deliberate path, flicking over your clit before moving lower, entering you with a gentle push that has you gasping. He’s watching you closely, captivated by the way your eyes flutter shut, your lips parting in a soft moan as he begins to move.

He works his fingers in slow, rhythmic circles, each stroke drawing a new wave of pleasure through you, His other hand slips from the wall, finding your waist again, pulling you closer, urging your body to mould to his as he holds you in place. The rest of the club feels a world away - there’s nothing but his touch, the tension coiling tighter with each movement of his hand, the low hum of his breathing mixed with your own.

“You feel so good,” he whispers, his lips grazing your ear, voice roughened with desire. The sound sends a pulse of heat through you, your heart quickly matching the lust, and you can’t help but roll your hips in response, pushing yourself against his fingers, craving more of that delicious friction. He shifts slightly, angling his hand, and his thumb brushes over your clit in a gentle, teasing caress that has your knees buckling.

Jay senses it, his hand tightening on your waist, supporting you as he picks up the pace, his fingers moving with more purpose now, deeper, each thrust building you closer to that edge. The rhythm he sets is perfect, each stroke drawing a new sound from your lips, each touch sparking with pure desire. His name slips from you in a breathless whisper, more like a spiritual chant, and he lets out a soft, satisfied chuckle, clearly revelling in the effect he’s having on you.

“Just like that?” he murmurs, his voice a warm rumble that makes you tremble. His thumb moves again, circling over your clit with just the right pressure, and the sensation is overwhelming, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter within you. You don’t know if it’s possible, but if some thumbs on earth are soulmates to a specific clit, but you’re pretty sure you just found yours.  

Your hands grip his shoulders, fingers digging in, clinging to him as he brings you closer to the peak, his fingers curling inside you, finding that spot that makes you gasp, your entire body tensing as waves of pleasure wash over you. You’ve had boyfriends that took years to find your perfect spot, yet this man found it in 0.02 seconds.

With your climax coming in a desperate rush, every nerve tingles and every breath is shallow as he drives you higher. But before you can hear that orchestra in your ears and feel that flutter in your chest, he withdraws his fingers.

The look in his eyes is unmistakable, dark with intent lust, and he swallows hard, his gaze flicking down to his fingers, seeing your essence covering them like a delicious glaze. “I can’t…” he starts, his voice rough, thick with desire. “I need you. Right now.”

Before you can register the rush of frustration and want building up inside, he’s lifting you, pressing your back against the wall, his hands as his hand roam every inch of you, obviously desperate. You taste his need, his hunger, in the way his lips move over yours, the way he presses into you as though he can’t get close enough.

Your heart races in excitement as you wrap your legs around his waist, his hands gripping your hips, positioning you exactly where he needs you. You have never fucked in a club before and you would scold any of your friends who did, but right now, all you care about is Jay. 

And the feeling is mutual on your tango partner’s shoulders. Every ounce of restraint he had is gone now; nothing is holding him back as he lowers his mouth to your neck, murmuring words between breaths that are nearly incoherent but fill you with a thrill.

He shifts, undoing his belt and pushing down his jeans and boxers just enough that he can still pretend he’s clothed and not raise suspicion, his hips press into yours, and the anticipation is electric, his cock throbbing. “Ready?” he breathes, his eyes locking onto yours, waiting for the slightest nod that will shatter the last of the resistance between you, bringing you both into the heat of what’s been simmering throughout the night.

Your heart thuds wildly in your chest as you nod, feeling every nerve in your body poised, waiting and he holds you steady against the wall. He adjusts his grip, his hands sliding under your thighs, lifting you a little higher, and the way his body aligns with yours makes you feel like you’re floating - that could also be the alcohol but quite honestly, you might just be drunk on the idea of his cock right now rather than the vodka. 

Then, in one fluid motion, he pushes forward, filling you completely, and a gasp slips from your lips, the sudden pleasure stealing the breath from your lungs. His jaw clenches as he feels you tighten around him, his grip on your hips firm as he holds you steady. He doesn’t move at first, just stays there, feeling every inch of you wrapped around him, as though grounding himself in the sensation. You’re easily the most perfect pussy he has ever had, he’s tempted to say that you’re made for him, and while his heart might feel that way, it’s far too soon to think it. 

A shiver runs through you, the stretch of him catching you off guard, and you can see it in his eyes too - the struggle to keep himself in check, the restraint that’s quickly slipping away. He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he lets out a low, guttural groan. “You feel…incredible,” he breathes, his voice cloaked in nothing but pure lust, with the potential for something else hidden in there. But your mind is lost in a forest of thick and long cocks, wishing you could have had a glimpse of it before he stuck it inside of you.

The first pull back and thrust is slow as he takes his time, savouring every second, while also trying not to get caught. But as he moves, each stroke becomes more intense and that careful control unravels quickly. His rhythm fastens, his body pressing into yours with a growing urgency that matches your own. You’re completely at his mercy, and he at yours, every thrust sending a wave of pleasure through you, building until you’re lost in it, your fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close, pulling him deeper.

He kisses you hard, a collision of lips and teeth, both of you too consumed to slow down and make sure no one is watching. His hands roam over your body, fingers digging into your skin with a possessive edge as he moves faster, quick to claim you. It might not be the best spot to prove it, but he wants you to think about him for the rest of your life, each time you have someone else’s cock inside of you, you should just think about how his tip kisses your cervix and bumps against your pretty walls in the most delectable way. Although, with how he’s feeling right now, he will try and make sure that you never have another person inside you again, this spot reserved for him only now.

He breaks away from the kiss, his mouth moving down your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against your skin, and you can feel him fighting to hold back, to make it last. The sounds between you - his heavy breathing, the low groans slipping from his lips, the soft moans you can’t hold back - create their own rhythm, blending with the thump of the club’s bass in the background. 

He shifts slightly, angling his hips, and suddenly, he hits that spot deep within you, sending a shockwave of pleasure that makes you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders. He tightens his hold, pressing you harder against the wall, his rhythm relentless as he focuses on that spot, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge. Your body feels electrified, every nerve on fire as he pushes you closer and closer to release.

“Jay…fuck, right there,” you moan into his ear, tongue swiping over the shell of his ear.

“You’re driving me mad,” he mutters, his voice strained, breath coming in short gasps. “I’m not gonna last much longer.” But he doesn’t slow down; if anything, his movements become even faster, his need matching yours, both of you racing toward that peak, that release that feels so close, just out of reach.

And then, finally, you can’t hold back anymore. The pleasure curves in a wave that crashes through you, leaving you gasping, clinging to him as your body shudders with the intensity of it. Your core tightens and body stills, a contrast to the people around you who are mindlessly and drunkenly swaying to the beats. You have never been more thankful for people being blottered with booze. 

Jay groans, feeling you tighten around him, and with a final thrust, he follows, his body tensing as he spills into you, his face buried in the curve of your neck, lost in his own release. The spurts of his seed fill you and it’s only then do you realise that no condom was involved. Normally, you would curse yourself out, the stupidity of the act more reckless than driving a gold buggy on the M8, yet, the hot glisten of his cum filling you up feels so right.

For a long moment, you both stay like that, pressed together, breathing hard, the world gradually coming back into focus. His grip loosens, and he leans back slightly, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he meets your gaze, a mix of satisfaction and warmth in his eyes. He presses a soft kiss to your lips, gentler this time, a quiet contrast to the urgency that had consumed you both moments ago.

With each of you staring at one another in wonder, the dawning of realisation that you just had sex in a grotty, overpacked club finally hits you both, you just laugh, and Jay follows, placing his head on your shoulder as his move up and down in amusement.

Gently, Jay helps you steady yourself as you find your feet, his arm around you as he watches you carefully, making sure you’re all right. As you both adjust, smoothing clothes and buckling belts, you scan the room to see across the dance floor, Dosie and Yuki are still dancing, blissfully unaware of your absence for what’s been at least two hours now. You snicker, nodding in their direction, and Jay follows your gaze, his smile widening as he takes in your friends, clearly oblivious to your escapades.

“Hey,” he says, pulling your attention back to him, his eyes bright with a glint of hope. “Do you, uh…wanna grab something to eat?”

You raise an eyebrow, amused, feeling that flutter in your chest at his sudden shift from club fling to something more. “Eat?”

He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “I mean, might as well get to know each other considering I owe you a Plan B, and then maybe a coffee?” He trails off, eyes dropping with a hint of boyish embarrassment and hopefulness.

A laugh bubbles up, and you give him a playful nudge. “Alright, let’s grab a bite…maybe some condoms.”

Jay’s eyes light up at the prospect of more with you, not just physically, but getting to know you, to learn everything about you, to just be with you.

“Sure, let’s go.”

_____

perm taglist: @immortalvee @sunpov @heeseungspookie @strawberrysavi @monstanctiny21

@diorsyun @heexzbae @yzzyhee @baekhyunstruly @zeeloveshee

@haechonly @berryblog @no-mannerism @jaehoonii

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@ikeuverse

[jaylalolz]

ROCKSTAR!nicholas x FAN!reader 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

SUMMARY, in the crowd, Nicholas spots a girl and can’t take his mind off of her. he invites her to the back when the show is over.

A/N, thank you all for the support, angels!! have fun reading🪽

WARNINGS, smuttyyyy

The lights were dimmed just enough to cast a seductive haze over the room, while the pulsing energy of the crowd throbbed in sync with the music. Nicholas stood at the center of the stage, his guitar slung low across his body, microphone in hand, as he belted out the final verse of the song. The sweat on his brow shimmered under the spotlights, his voice raw and electric, sending waves through the tightly packed audience.

But despite the roaring energy of the crowd, Nicholas's focus had narrowed down to one girl standing near the front, her wide eyes fixed on him. From the moment he'd stepped on stage, he’d noticed her—a striking beauty, lost in the music, swaying with the rhythm like she belonged in the heat of the moment. Their eyes met, and Nicholas couldn’t look away. He liked the way she held his gaze, unblinking, as if she were daring him to come closer.

Throughout the set, he made a point to lock eyes with her, teasing her with subtle winks as he growled the lyrics into the mic. Each time, he saw her blush slightly, a coy smile tugging at her lips as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. He could feel the magnetic pull between them, a silent promise written in the glances they exchanged. Nicholas had felt the rush of a live show a thousand times before, but tonight, the game was different. The girl had him hooked.

As the song reached its climax, Nicholas stepped back from the mic, his chest heaving, the applause deafening. With a sly grin, he grabbed a cigarette from his pocket, slid it between his lips, and flicked the lighter open. The flame danced for a moment before igniting the end of the cigarette. He took a long, slow drag, exhaling the smoke in a way that seemed designed to draw her attention even more. His eyes never left hers.

Bending forward, he hopped down from the stage in one smooth motion, the cigarette dangling from his fingers. The crowd parted slightly, curious but not interfering, as Nicholas made his way toward her, his presence commanding the room. When he reached the girl, he leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear, the scent of smoke and sweat swirling around them.

"Meet me in the back when the show’s over," he whispered, his voice low and rough, sending shivers down her spine.

He pressed the cigarette into her mouth, his fingers brushing against lips for a brief second. she then blows the smoke into his face. She could feel the heat radiating off him, her heart skipping a beat as his lips barely grazed the shell of her ear. Before she could react, he pulled away, winking at her once more with that signature smirk, before turning back toward the stage, leaving her standing there breathless, cigarette in hand, her pulse racing as she watched him walk away.

The rest of the set felt like a blur, but every time she looked up, there he was—his eyes finding her again, that same dangerous gleam in his gaze. The music hit harder, the lights flashed brighter, but the only thing she could focus on was the promise of what was waiting for her once the show was over.

Nicholas knew she’d come. He could see it in the way she held onto the cigarette like it was something sacred, her cheeks flushed, her breath uneven. The game had been set, and the night was only just beginning.

────୨ৎ────

rusning the door open, she stepped into the dimly lit hallway. The noise from the stage area grew fainter as she walked deeper into the back, the scent of sweat, smoke, and something intoxicating filling the narrow space. A few crew members passed by, giving her quick glances but saying nothing. It felt like time had slowed, the air thick with tension.

Then she saw him.

Nicholas stood leaning casually against the wall, his leather jacket hanging off his shoulders, one boot propped against the brick, a cigarette once again dangling between his lips. He looked up as soon as she appeared, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face. He looked exactly like he had on stage-dangerous, confident, and every bit the rockstar.

"You came," he said, his voice low and gravelly as he pushed off the wall and moved toward her.

Her breath caught in her throat as he approached, his eyes locked on hers like she was the only thing in the room.

When he stopped in front of her, he plucked the cigarette from her fingers, taking a slow drag before flicking it to the side. The heat from his body was close now, intoxicating, and she felt her pulse quicken as he reached up to brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"You kept it," he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he tilted his head, his lips just inches from hers.

"Good girl."

She swallowed hard, her heart hammering against her ribcage as his fingers grazed the side of her face, sending waves of warmth through her skin. The dim lighting made his features even sharper, his eyes dark with something that made her knees feel weak. She could hardly breathe.

Without another word, Nicholas leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear in a whisper. "I've been thinking about you all night."

Her body reacted before her mind could catch up. The thrill of his closeness, the heat of his breath against her skin-it was too much. She turned her head slightly, her lips just barely grazing his, and that was all the invitation he needed.

In an instant, he closed the space between them, his mouth crashing against hers in a kiss that was hungry, reckless, and full of everything they hadn't said. His hands gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him as he deepened the kiss, his body pressing hers back against the cool wall. The contrast of the hard brick and his warm, demanding touch sent her head spinning.

The kiss was wild, unrestrained.

When they finally broke apart, both breathless, Nicholas's lips curled into that signature smirk of his. He ran a thumb along her swollen bottom lip, his voice low and dangerous as he spoke.

"Let's see if you can keep up."

In a dimly lit room, she found herself on top of him in a couch.

Nicholas wasn't holding back, and neither was she. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, and when she opened her mouth for him, the taste of smoke and desire mingled, setting her senses on fire. His hands roamed her body, exploring her curves with a confidence that sent shivers down her spine.

They both pant for dear life as he unzips his pants. “Tell me you want this” he says.

“I want it”

He bunches up her clothes with one hand and grips his dick with the other. He places his tip against her, keeping his gaze fixed on the touch. Feeling him drive into her was a moment of joy, she holds the side of his neck and lowers herself slowly. She sinks as far as she can, her lungs whimpering; he clenches his teeth and takes both her hips with brutality. She throws her head back as his tongue grazes her throat and her hips begin a steady, grinding bounce. They both groan quietly. She desperately rocks her body and grabs the back of his head.

"Fuck…just like that." His hands gripping her ass and supporting her as she rocks, he pants into her jaw. Breathing near his ear, he roughly tugged at the hair at the back of her head. Ecstatic nerves tingle through her body.

With a weak jaw, she pulls away from his side and stares down at him. He grips her face to keep her staring down at him. His gaze lingers on her features, noting her growing vulnerability.

A arrogant grin slides down his mouth. "You should see how pretty you are right now..." He kisses on her cheekbones while exhaling deeply. "Desperately riding me in slutty dress,"

Her hands move down his chest, causing his gaze to flicker before focusing on his pronounced abs. He scowls, gritting his teeth, and tosses his head back in a grunt. She tightened her hold on his sides and gazed down at his well sculpted body. His appearance is surreal.

they groan and pant at one another. Despite the hurry of it all, their bodies function flawlessly together in the middle of this chaos. "Fuck, Nicholas I'm going to," she says as she grinds her hips once more and grabs his bare side and back of his neck. "Yeah?" Breathing out, he looks up at her and asks, "You're gonna cum this quick?"

As her orgasm consumes her, she almost lets out a pleasurable shout. She violently rocks her hips, feeling the thick build suffocate her until she lets out a harsh breath. She breaks eye contact and gets up from his lap, flipping her panties back and settling into the chair across from him. Refitting his boxers, he slides his hips up to button his formal pants and tucks his shirt back in.

“Here is my number, sweetheart. Call me anytime”

[unboundprompts]

hi! i wanted to ask how could i write a scene of a band performing and make it flow smoothly? Reactions to it and inner dialogue of the leader singer while performing?

I hope that makes sense!

Thank you :)

How to Write a Band Performance

Set the Atmosphere with Sound and Sensory Details

Use sensory language to capture the energy of the music, the movement on stage, and the audience’s reaction. Think about the sounds of instruments, the lights, the thrum of bass vibrating through the floor, or how the crowd looks.

Example: The drums kicked in, a thunderous heartbeat that pulsed through the packed venue. Strings followed, filling the air with an electric charge, and the lights dimmed just enough for the crowd to lean in, hungry for the next note.

Anchor the Lead Singer’s Focus

The lead singer might catch moments in the crowd, like a fan mouthing every lyric, someone laughing, or even seeing familiar faces in the sea of people. These little connections add a human touch and make the performance feel alive.

Example: He spotted a girl in the front row, eyes closed, every word leaving her lips like a prayer. She knew each lyric by heart, maybe better than he did. That look kept him grounded—kept him singing.

Use Inner Dialogue to Show Nerves, Confidence, or Distraction

Let the lead singer’s mind wander a bit, but keep it tethered to the music. They might think of something unrelated that they suppress to stay focused, or maybe they reflect on what this song means to them, especially if it’s deeply personal or symbolic.

Example: Here we go. Breathe. Just like rehearsal. But it was never just like rehearsal. Each word brought him back to the night he wrote it—a night he barely survived. He shook off the thought. No. Tonight, it’s just for them.

Describe Body Movements and How They Connect to Emotion

Physical sensations can be as telling as dialogue. The lead singer might feel the warmth of the spotlight, the stickiness of sweat on their skin, or the way their voice feels strong, raw, or strained.

Example: He gripped the mic stand, fingers tight, and leaned forward. His voice cracked on a high note, but he let it, gave it to the crowd raw. They wanted his truth, his realness. That was all he had to give.

Show the Crowd’s Reaction

Describe reactions like a wave, where energy ebbs and flows. The crowd might sway during slower parts, roar during the chorus, or go silent in the song’s more intimate moments. This back-and-forth dance adds rhythm to the scene.

Example: As the first chorus hit, the crowd became a sea of outstretched hands, fingers clawing for a piece of the music. A roar rose, then softened as they sang with him, their voices tangling with his own, something fragile and fierce all at once.

Balance Between Action and Inner Thoughts

To keep the scene flowing, alternate between what the singer does (interacting with the mic, moving on stage) and what they think. Too much inner dialogue could slow down the scene, so give action and reaction space to keep the reader engaged.

Example: He took a step back, holding the last note, letting it resonate through the space. He stole a glance at his bandmates. They were lost in the music too, faces set, eyes closed. It felt like the old days—a secret between them, shared with everyone.

End with a Climactic Moment or a Release of Tension

End the scene with a dramatic finish, like a powerful note, a burst of applause, or even silence if it’s an emotional song. The lead singer could feel relieved, drained, or exhilarated by the end.

Example: As the last chord faded, a brief silence hung over the crowd—a pause, a heartbeat—before it shattered with applause. He closed his eyes, letting it wash over him, knowing that for now, the song was enough.

[omgeto]

☆ GIMME, GIMME MORE — GETO SUGURU

summary: you were just a stripper who had no desire to fuck with any customers, but there was just one you couldn’t shake. once he laid his eyes on you, he wanted you. and with every little piece of you he got — he wanted more.

wc: 6.5k (my longest fic ever, lord help me) its a lot of plot with a nice chunk of smut

cw: afab!stripper!reader, angst to fluff, smutty smut, you fuck in his car, you fuck in a private room (i remembered condoms this time) so mdni sassy geto, if you squint.

an: listen to this song to feel the vibe, I love me some geto and I’ve yet to do a fic for him so I hope you enjoy this one.

the entrance to the high-end club exudes an air of opulence, with its glimmering lights and sophisticated clientele. geto suguru strolls in alongside his best friend, gojo satoru, the low hum of the music washing over them. the glances around, a mixture of boredom and detachment etched on his face. this isn't really his scene, but gojo had insisted on a night out.

as they find their way to a table, surrounded by plush seating and an atmosphere of indulgence, geto's attention wanders. the dancers on stage move with practised sensuality, but his gaze remains distant. until, that is, a change in the music's tempo signals a shift in the performance.

the spotlight illuminates the stage, revealing a figure that seems to command the room's attention effortlessly. you move with a fluid grace, your body swaying in time with the sultry rhythm. the way your hips move, the confidence in your eyes, it's as if you own the room. gojo's earlier detachment gives way to fascination he can't deny.

he couldn’t take his eyes off the way you were sliding down the pole, leaning forward in his seat to see more of you. the star shaped nipple covers and the gem encrusted thong you were wearing left nothing to the imagination. but still he couldn’t help but picture it all off of you, leaning forward in his seat to try and get a closer look. 

gojo nudges him playfully. "not bad, right?"

geto’s response is a low, appreciative whistle as his eyes remain locked on the captivating dancer. his heart races as he watches you command the stage, a magnetic presence that draws him in despite his earlier disinterest. he couldn’t help but feel that you were dancing for him, call him cocky but the way your eyes were locked on him as you threw your ass back against the pole — he knew that was just for him. he looked around the room and saw that everyone else was just as captivated by you as he was.

“she’s the best performer here, she doesn’t do private dances, she doesn’t even do a long set,” gojo brags to geto but he’s barely listening, his eyes too focused on you, “this is as much of her as we can get.” 

as the performance reaches its climax, geto’s lips curve into a slow smile. gojo’s grin is knowing. "looks like someone's found their muse." geto’s tears his gaze away just as you exit the stage, his interest piqued.

“you’ve got a request,” your boss announces insistent and smug, cornering you immediately after you exit the stage.

“you know i don't do requests, i come here, i do a 30 minute set and i leave remember?” you retort, stepping to walk straight past him, but he stops you, standing in front of you to block your path.

“this is a request you can’t refuse,” he adds, a smirk forming on his lips. your eyes narrow at his words, already feeling a sense of unease.

“oh i think i can,” your intention is clear as you step forward, intending to brush past him and continue on your way. but he remains unmoved, determined to stand in your path, his stance a physical barrier you can't easily circumvent.

“there’s a special guest tonight, someone who’s willing to pay handsomely for a private performance,” he explains, his tone implying much more than his words reveal.

you pause, folding your arms, sceptical. “how much are we talking about?”

he names a figure that makes your eyebrows shoot up. It’s a significant sum, the kind that could cover your bills for months, or even help you save for a future beyond the club. but still, you hesitate.

“like i said, i don't take request,” you conclude, brushing past your boss.

“i don’t think this particular patron will like that,” he tries to argue, following directly behind you.

“ask me if i care,” with those words, you step forward once more, your purpose clear as you attempt to carry on. but his presence remains a persistent shadow at your side, his attempts to sway you far from over. 

his argument falters momentarily, but he regains his composure quickly, his tone becoming insistent. "this particular patron isn't accustomed to denial. I don't think he'll take kindly to it."

a defiant smirk tugs at your lips, your patience waning as you find yourself driven further by your own principles. "well, here's a thought—perhaps he should learn."

with that final retort, you pivot on your heel, striding purposefully toward the locker room. the temptation of the significant sum and the vague promise of this special patron tug at the edges of your thoughts, but your determination remains resolute.

“if you don’t do it your fired.” he calls out after you, a desperate final attempt to get you to agree.

you knew you were going against your better judgement, but you turn back to face your boss and with a deep sigh you agree, “fine, i’ll do it. but you owe me.”

with simmering frustration bubbling beneath the surface, you push open the door to the private room, your entrance punctuated by the subtle swish of the heavy fabric. the air within was charged, a blend of anticipation and tension, as you found geto suguru lounging on the plush sofa, his presence an unwelcome sight that intensified your irritation.

your words come out abruptly, a firm reminder to both him and yourself, “i don’t fuck clients,” you state, a touch of defensiveness in your tone. you wanted to establish your boundaries, to make it clear you wouldn’t be swayed easily.

he chuckles, catching you off guard, his amusement evident. “thats nice…” he adds, with a hint of playfulness, “i just wanted to talk anyways.”

“to talk?” you question, surprised at his request, as you knew what went on in the private rooms and talking was far from that.

“yeah, just wanna get to know you,” he explains casually, his eyes studying you.

“i don’t do time wasters,” you complain, ready to leave the room, “and i don’t have time to waste.”

“even if im paying for your time?” he bargains, raising his eyebrows, “im sure your boss told you the pretty expensive bill im footing just for your time.”

crossing your arms, you met his gaze with a steady one of your own. “look, mr…?”

“just call me suguru,” he interjected with a smile that held a hint of charm.

“alright, suguru,” you continued, your tone resolute, “i'm not here to entertain idle chit-chat. i’ll dance for you for an hour and thats it. just abide by the club rules, otherwise im out.”

“why don’t you take private requests?” he inquiries, disregarding your comments.

“because i don’t have to,” you respond nonchalantly, “why are you so persistent that you pay for my time. there’s tons of other great strippers in this club.”

“because i want you.” he shrugs.

“well too bad,” you mock, “just because you have money doesn’t mean you can buy everything.”

“everyone’s got a price,” he argues, chuckling softly, a condescending tone underling his words, “ah, but isn't that the way the world works? everything has a price, even principles.”

the audacity of his statement ignited a fire within you, your voice heated with defiance and scorn. “you think im for sale? you think i’d compromise my integrity just for a fat stack of bills? you’re delusional.”

“oh but isn’t your integrity already compromised,” he teases, raising his eyebrows, “is miss, ‘i dont do private dances,’ not in a private dance with me right now?”

“you know wha–” 

“i changed my mind. i don’t want to talk anymore,” there was a shift in his tone, amusement danced in his eyes, “strip for me.”

you were pissed. but you couldn’t actually argue – he was right. he was paying for your time and he could spend it anyway he wanted to. you’d rather have him silently watching you anyways than talking to you. 

the music blared through the speakers in the room, and you immediately straddled geto, you could feel his dick harden underneath you. the only thing separating you two was the thin layer of fabric of your thong. 

you could see him smirk at you, but you ignored him, grinding your hips down on him to the beat of the music. his starts to trail down your sides, but you give him a pointed look reminding him of the rules – no touching. he surrenders his hands placing them besides his head, content in watching you dance on his lap.

you moved off of him, using the pole that was in the room, his eyes stayed fixed on you. you wanted to put on a show for him, so you move your body expressing a mix of sensuality and power, your eyes lock onto his, daring him to challenge you further, to push your boundaries even more.

the hour was eventually up, and geto didn’t say anything as he left, he just leaves a fat stack of bills on the table, and for some reason you couldn’t bite your tongue, “is that it? you’re just going to leave?”

“well the hours up, no?” he responds, checking his watch, “and, i’ve paid you for your time.” you couldn’t argue with that, so you remain silent watching as he turns his back on you to leave the room.

“suguru,” you call out, getting him to pause, “wait.”

“i thought you didn’t fuck clients,” he smirks, coming up from in between your thighs, “but i am not complaining”

“s-shut up,” you exhale, you’d like to believe that you didn’t expect this to happen, but you knew that was a lie. you didn’t get far out of the club, in fact you didn’t make it out of the parking lot. the back of geto’s car seemed to be perfect with the way he was eating you out. 

the feeling of geto sucking on your clit, had your head empty. his head being pressed between your thighs makes your back arch as you push up against his face. he laps against your folds, drowning in your wetness. 

“‘i don’t do private dances,’” he mocks your previous words, amused with himself, “oh if only you could see yourself now.” he enjoyed you like this, pinned under him, your pussy dripping all over his face, you were a writhing mess; no longer complaining to him about his actions, you were reduced down to moans and incoherent sentences, the only thing he could hear clearly was his name.

“suguru ah s-shit,” you curse, as he presses down on your clit, “do you always talk this much?” you tangle your fingers in his hair, guiding his face closer in your pussy, his nose deep in your arousal. he was practically inhaling you, swirling his tongue deep inside, trying to taste every inch of you.

“‘m close suguru,” you whine, thrust up against his face aiming to reach your peak on your own.

“calm down princess,” he teases, pulling his lips away from your pussy, “didn’t know you were this eager.” he presses his lips down on yours, making you taste yourself as his hand goes behind your neck to hold you in place. “see how sweet you can be?” 

he takes his dick out of his pants, quickly putting on a condom, not even giving you much time to think before he’s slamming into your cunt. your eyes widen as your pussy stretches, and geto can only bite his lip as he feels you clench around him.

“you feel so good, y’know that right” he murmurs, forcing himself into you deeper, “so fuckin’ tight.” 

he was merciless, gripping his hands on your tits, as he pistons out of you. he could only focus on how your cunt tightens around him with every push. you were pushing yourself down on him, fucking him right back. you didn’t care for his praise, you just wanted to cum.

“‘you’re t-too much, i-it’s too much”

“but you’re taking me so well,” he argues, with a grin. peppering kissing against your neck as he fucks you to a hilt. your hands find their way back into his hair, pulling and tugging at it as you moan out his name. 

his dick twitches inside you as you call at his name, you could feel that he was about to cum. his strokes were getting sloppier, and his mouth went from biting to sucking on your neck. you could feel yourself about to climax, clawing at his back, as he continues to hit your spot.

“suguru, i’m about to–”

“cum with me,” he demands, swiftly pulling out of and leaving his cum all over your stomach. you release onto his car seats, your cum spilling out of your pussy, pooling into his car seats.

after coming down off your high, you come to your senses. “this doesn’t change anything.” you remove yourself out of his hold, pushing him off you.

“you really gonna say that after i gave you the best time of your life?” 

"'best time of my life?'" you echo, a smirk tugging at your lips as you gather your belongings, "someone's cocky."

“i'm starting to feel you like me that way,” he teases, his words a playful challenge.

you roll your eyes, not willing to engage in his banter any longer. "goodbye, suguru," you reply, opening his car door. "don't return to the club."

“oi princess,” he calls after you, “you left your thong.”

“keep it.” you wink as you step outside of the car, “think of it as a souvenir.”

“why would i need that, when im going to see you again?” you don't respond, shutting the car door with a smile on your face as part of you hoped that he did return.

geto did see you again, practically every day after that. it became a consistent routine, he’d book a private room for a couple hours, you’d fuck, you’d talk and see each other whenever he wanted. he came when he needed you – and he always needed you.

as a stripper, you’ve always had one rule ‘don’t fuck with clients,’ but the moment that geto suguru laid his eyes on you – you were his. there was something about him that made him different from all the other patrons, although they were all snobby rich guys, the way that geto carried himself made you feel like he was worth breaking your rule. or at least that's what you told yourself. 

you didn’t just fuck each other – sometimes he just wanted to talk to you, to ask you about your day, to get to know you. and you could tell he was starting to catch feelings that you weren’t prepared to deal with. however, despite him being rich, there was something endearing in knowing that he went out of his way, every day, to pay just to see you. even when you were mean and standoffish.

you always spoke for longer than you expected – longer than he even paid for. geto surprised you, he was actually interested in talking with you. as the minutes turned into an hour, the conversations flowed in unexpected directions. you found yourselves sharing stories, discussing interests, and laughing at each other’s jokes. geto’s charming demeanour and genuine interest gradually chipped away at your initial reservations.

“did you always want to be a stripper?” he asks, you had just finished fucking and he still had an hour left of paid time with you, and he was going to use it.

“do you always pillowtalk?” you retort smartly, evading his question.

“who would’ve thought you’d still be this bitchy after being fucked so good,” he jokes, pulling you into his hold that you quickly ease into, “girl just answer the question.”

“i don’t know,” you sigh, “i needed the money, i loved to dance, so being a stripper was a no brainer to me.”

“do you like working here?” 

you shift slightly in his embrace, your fingers idly trace patterns on his chest. "liking it? well, it pays the bills, if that's what you're asking."

his fingers brush against your hair in a soothing gesture. "but is that all? just a means to an end?"

you sigh, a mixture of vulnerability and honesty in your tone. "i mean, it's not like i dreamt of becoming a stripper when I was a kid. but it's a job that's allowed me some financial stability, even if it's temporary."

geto's voice was gentle, his curiosity evident. "temporary for how long?"

you hesitate for a moment, contemplating how much to reveal. "i don’t know, i haven’t thought that far. i just wanna make money.”

"well, if you ever get tired of dancing, i can always buy the club for you." his response was unexpected, a mixture of humour and absurdity. “i think you’d make a good boss.”

“ha, if you did that i’d know that you’re truly obsessed with me,” you chuckle, his words catching you off guard. “i know you enjoy this place, but that's a little extreme, don't you think?"

"maybe, but you're worth it." he grins, his playful demeanour unwavering. "you're more than what you do here, you know."

a soft, ironic chuckle escapes your lips. "funny, coming from someone who's always here."

his grip on you tightens slightly, his voice holding a trace of seriousness. "perhaps I come here because I want to be around you. not just the dancer."

it was as if his presence had chipped away at the walls you had erected, leaving you exposed to a whirlwind of feelings you hadn't anticipated.his gaze, unwavering and intense, held yours as if searching for a sign—a spark of recognition that you too were experiencing this undeniable pull.

"suguru," you begin, your voice a whisper that barely bridged the distance between you, "this... whatever it is between us, it can't be as simple as you wanting to be around me."

he smiles softly, a gentle curve of his lips that holds both understanding and patience. "you're right, it's not simple. but isn't that what makes it worth exploring?" his words were a delicate melody, an invitation to step beyond the boundaries you had created.

you met his gaze with a mixture of uncertainty and longing. the weight of his presence was undeniable, a force that had drawn you in and left you yearning for more. but your insecurities whispered caution, reminding you of the differences that set you apart.

"suguru," you admit, your voice softer now, "i've never let anyone get this close. it's complicated, and I don't even know where this could lead."

“it doesn’t matter where it will leads,” he says, “what matters is that you like me? right?”

his words hung in the air, a direct question that pierced through the layers of uncertainty and vulnerability that surrounded you. the room seemed to hold its breath, the weight of his question settling like a delicate veil over the intimate space you shared.

your breath caught, and for a moment, time itself seemed to pause. the truth, the raw honesty that had eluded you, stood before you—bold and unyielding. you looked into his eyes, his gaze unwavering and patient, as if he was giving you the space to find your own truth within the question.

your voice, soft and tinged with a mixture of trepidation and longing, finally found its way to the surface. "i..." you pause, the words catching in your throat. but in the depth of his gaze, you found a strange sense of comfort, an assurance that you could be honest without judgement.

"maybe," you admit, your voice a whisper that carries the weight of your emotions. "maybe i do like you, suguru." the admission felt like a release, letting go of the barriers you had constructed to protect yourself.

a slow smile curved his lips, a genuine expression that lit up his features. it was as if your honesty had unlocked a door, allowing both of you to step closer to a truth that had been waiting to surface. he replies with deep content, "maybe is a good start," 

the room felt charged with an energy you couldn't quite define, a tension that simmered beneath the surface. your eyes held his, a silent conversation that spoke volumes—an acknowledgement of the unspoken connection that had grown between you.

as you lay there, cocooned in the aftermath of both physical intimacy and heartfelt conversation, an internal struggle brewed within you. your heart was stirred by the sincerity of geto's words, by the connection that seemed to grow stronger with every interaction. yet, amidst the warmth and comfort, a sense of bittersweet uncertainty gnawed at you.

the boundary you had set, the rule you had vowed to uphold, wavered under the weight of emotions you hadn't anticipated. you were drawn to geto, but a tangle of reservations held you back.

in the embrace of the night, you found yourself torn between the allure of a connection you had come to cherish and the lingering fear of what being with him might entail. 

“you’re here early,” you comment, seeing geto in his usual seat. at this point, you were practically excited to see him, happy to go to work knowing that he’d show up.

“i guess i thought i’d change things up a bit,” he mutters his tone of voice off, “we’ve got to make this quick, though” he starts to undo his belt, “i’ve only got an hour till my next meeting.”

“wow no talking today?” you ask amused. geto usually is the one that likes to take his time, he always says he prefers to stimulate your mind before anything else, but today was different.

he gives you a pointed look, not bothering to respond so you continue to say, “an hour?” smirking as you straddle his lap, freeing his dick, “i think that’s more than enough time.” 

“new outfit?” he muses, pulling at the straps of the lingerie you were wearing. you nod, focusing on stroking his dick, “red’s your colour, i like it. but i’d rather see it off you.” suddenly, he rips off your bra and forces you up to take off your panties. you bend down to take off your heels, but he pauses you, “keep those on.”                 

“get my fingers wet for me,” he commands, dragging you back onto his lap. you happily comply, taking in two fingers into your warm, pouty mouth. he caresses your jaw as you greedily nibble on his fingers. 

he pulls them out thoroughly coated with your saliva and shoves them into your pussy. you gasp at the contact, and crumble into his side but he forces your head up with his hand pressing a rough kiss to your lips. 

“w-whats with you today?” you query, as you see the look on geto’s face – something was off with him. although you couldn’t deny the pleasure you were getting from his current roughness, you were used to a gentler geto.

“nothing,” he dismisses you, slipping in another finger into your soaking pussy. his thumb rubs against your clit as his fingers easily glide in and out of you. you felt like you cum off of his fingers alone, you grind down hard against his fingers aiding yourself in reaching your climax. but just as you were nearing, he swiftly removes his fingers landing a fat smack against your clit, “i know i said i had to make it quick, but i didn’t think you’d be this excited.”

geto swiftly puts on a condom, raises you up slightly before slamming you down on his dick. he smiles as your legs wrap around his back, pleased by the sound of your heels clacking together. you shudder as he immediately fills you, your pussy stretching, taking all of him. 

he thrusts into you hard, and you try to meet his pace and fuck him back as hard as he was doing to you – but you were no match for him. you were practically a ragdoll as he hammered into you, your arms flinging around his neck to hold yourself up.

“f-fuck,” you moan, clawing at his back, “im gonna cum.”

“hold it,” he demands, continuing to give you strong, relentless strokes. your head falls into his shoulder in submission, you were already gushing all over him, but he keeps going, hard and fast. he lifts up your head, and presses a soft peck against your lips before saying, “cum.”

geto movements turn sloppy as he finishes into the condom. you release all over his dick, shuddering as you feel your peak surge through you. he presses one more kiss to your neck, before you move off of him. 

“are you good?” you finally ask him, as you put back on your outfit, “you seemed a little out of it tonight.”

he shifts on his feet, his restlessness palpable as he watches you. "yeah," he mumbles, looking around the room at everything but you, his fingers fumbling with his belt as if seeking something to anchor himself. "i'm alright."

"you sure?" you persist, a touch of concern pushing you to press further. usually, you wouldn't challenge him this way – because whatever he says goes in the time that he pays for. but the stark contrast to his usual demeanour gnaws at your thoughts. "i just want to make sure that you're okay–"

"didn't I say I was alright," he sneers, a defensive edge entering his tone, "it's like you don't listen or something."

“see, there is definitely something wrong with you,” you snap, screwing your face up at his tone, “since the usual geto that walks up in here knows that he’ll have my heel shoved up his asshole before he can talk to me like that.”

your words hang in the air, the charged tension growing thicker as you each hold your ground. he shifts his weight, his gaze flickering toward you briefly before skittering away. the air seems heavy with unspoken words, a tangible unease settling between you.

"i've actually been wondering how long we're going to be doing this for," he finally says, his voice low, almost as if he's reluctant to voice the thought.

“this?” you question, a confused look appears upon your face as you fold your arms. you knew what he was getting at – you just wanted to hear him say it, “you mean my job.”

his gaze finally lifts to meet yours, a sardonic smile tugging at his lips. "oh, I didn't know it was your job to fuck the customers here. I thought you were just a stripper… not a prostitute." 

his words hit like a jolt, a rush of emotion flooding your senses as you absorb their implications. your jaw tightens, a surge of frustration warring with a pang of hurt. "don't be condescending."

he chuckles, the sound a mix of amusement and something else you can't quite place. "why not? you seem to be a pro at it."

“fuck you.”

“y’know, i’ve figured a lot about you in these times we’ve spent together – despite the fact that you don’t talk much,” he starts to say, his grin getting wider with every word, “i’ve worked out that you liked to be chased, you like the fact that I was intrigued enough to make you break your dumb ass rule, you like the fact that even after I managed to break down your pussy walls, I still wanna take your rude ass to dinner.”

his words cut deep, the truth laced with a mocking tone. you glare at him, the mixture of attraction and anger churning within you. he was right in a way – you did like the chase, the thrill of his attention. 

"you really have it all figured out, don't you?" you retort, your voice dripping with sarcasm. his observations stung because they hit too close to the mark. but there was a small part of you that reminded yourself that he was just like the rest of the rich assholes that strolled through the club – and he was proving you right in this very moment.

“well suguru, i’ve worked some things about you.” you sneer, “you’re not the first wealthy lame that has walked into this club demanding more from me than a lap dance and some ego stroking–”

“but i’m the first to get it though aren’t i,” he interrupts, his tone teasing, “what does that say about me?”

you scoff, rolling your eyes as you cross your arms defensively. "it says that you're just like the rest of them, thinking you're different, thinking you're special."

his gaze narrows, the spark of something more intense gleaming in his eyes. "oh, I never said I was different. but I am special, darling, and you know it.” you huff defiantly, sitting back down on the couch – this was an argument you couldn’t. because although he was cocky, he was right.

geto joins you, his hand coming gripping your thigh to get your attention, “look i don't want to be doing this with you, all i want is to spend time out with you outside these four walls,” he says as you gnaw on your lip, considering it, “it would be nice to see you with some clothes on for a change.”

he holds your gaze, his fingers tightening slightly on your thigh as if trying to anchor himself in the midst of the storm of emotions you've stirred. his vulnerability is a stark contrast to the confidence he usually exudes, and it catches you off guard. for a moment, you're caught in a whirlwind of conflicting feelings – his words tugging at something deep within you that you're not quite ready to acknowledge.

but then, you remember the rules you've set for yourself, the boundaries you've fought so hard to maintain. no matter how much he may want to blur those lines, you can't afford to give in.

without giving him a direct answer, you shift slightly, his hand sliding off your thigh as you put some distance between you. your gaze flickers away from him, focusing on some distant point in the room as you compose yourself.

"well, hour's over," you finally say, your tone a touch colder than before. "leave the money where you usually do."

his face falls, the vulnerability replaced by a mixture of disappointment and frustration. he opens his mouth, as if he wants to protest or say something more, but the words seem to die on his lips. the atmosphere between you turns tense once again, the unspoken words and desires hanging heavily in the air. 

you don't meet his gaze as you move to gather your things, your actions brisk and efficient. you've mastered the art of detachment, of creating a barrier between yourself and the clients who come and go, no matter how they may affect you.

as you head toward the exit, your heart beats a little faster, a mix of regret and longing that you refuse to entertain. this is how it has to be – business, no matter how much your heart might argue otherwise.

behind you, you hear him sigh, a sound heavy with frustration and resignation. the door clicks shut behind you, the echo of the room's tension lingering in the silence.

he never returned after that. days turned into weeks, and still, geto's presence remained absent from the club. while you hadn't expected him to return, a small part of you had held onto a glimmer of hope that he might. but the weeks turned into months, and the emptiness left by his absence lingered.

life settled back into its routine – the dimly lit stage, the rhythmic music, you danced, you entertained, you put on a show. yet, there was an ache within you, a void that refused to be filled.

as time went on, you found yourself replaying memories of his presence in your mind – the teasing glint in his eyes, the genuine concern in his voice, the way his smile could light up a room. the connection you had shared, brief as it was, had left an indelible mark on your heart.

you missed the daily banter, the way he would surprise you with his insights, the simple pleasure of knowing he was there. the club felt different now, as if it had lost a part of its vibrancy. the nights were quieter, the laughter more subdued, and the glamour that once surrounded your performances felt somewhat dimmed.

despite your best efforts, you couldn't shake the longing that had settled within you. you had a taste of something more with him, a glimpse of a world beyond the club's confines. and now, as you danced under the neon lights, you couldn't help but wonder if you would ever find that connection again.

the longing in your heart grew with each passing day, a constant reminder of what had been and what might have been. yet, even as you missed him, you were grateful for the moments you had shared – moments that had shown you a different side of life, a side you had almost forgotten was possible.

as you stepped into the club again to start your shift, an unsettling feeling settled in your stomach. the club, which was typically alive with the pulsating beat of music and the murmurs of patrons, was eerily quiet. it was as if the very essence of the place had been stripped away, leaving behind an empty void.

confusion crept into your mind as you glanced around, searching for any sign of movement or life. your footsteps echoed in the emptiness, the sound feeling unusually loud against the backdrop of silence. what was going on? had something happened that you weren't aware of?

just as you were about to turn and leave, the sense of unease growing stronger, your eyes land on a figure sitting on the main stage. your heart skipps a beat, a mix of surprise and a rush of emotions flooding over you. it was him – geto. he was here, his presence filling the void that had gripped the club.

he sat there, as if he belonged on that stage, his posture relaxed but his gaze intense as he watches you. the familiar, cocky smirk was ever present on his lips, and despite the confusion that clouds your mind, a warmth spreads through your chest at the sight of him.

as you draw closer, his smirk softens into a genuine smile, a glimmer of something unspoken in his eyes. the air was thick with tension, a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty hanging between you. your heart races in your chest, the space between you charged with unspoken words and unresolved feelings.

"suguru," you finally breathe his name, your voice a mere whisper in the stillness.

he stands, his movements fluid and confident, as he closes the distance between you. "hey," he greets, his voice carrying a warmth that echoed through the empty club.

"what are you doing here?" you ask, your voice tinged with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

“let’s just say there’s new management here” 

“you bought the club.” you interrogate, “why?”

“i don’t know, im a guy with a lot of money, so i bought a business.” he shrugs blatantly lying, “that’s what guys like me do…”

"you missed me," you conclude, with a grin.

he nods, "I guess I missed you...or whatever," his facade drops immediately. "it's just after you rejected me, i was pissed. all i wanted to do was to show you that i actually cared about you, for you to give me a chance.”

“and buying the club was the most logical way for you to show me that you care?” you argue. “you didn’t have to do that,” emotions swirled within you – a mixture of surprise, hope, and a spark of something you hadn't allowed yourself to feel in a long time. before you could respond, he took a step closer, his fingers gently brushing against yours. it was a simple touch, but it held a promise, a connection that went beyond words.

"why do you always have to be so difficult?” he questions fiercely, “why can’t you just let me show you that i do care about you?”

the weight of his words hung in the air, and as you looked into his eyes, you saw the vulnerability, the sincerity that had always been there, hidden beneath the surface. “why do you care?” you retort, almost childishly. you knew that he cared, you knew why he cared – you just had an affinity for making things difficult. 

he rolls his eyes at your hard front “if it was anybody else, he would’ve given up a long time ago. but for some reason you were worth it. “because i see you for more than just the standoffish dancer who doesn’t let anyone get to her, im sure you know this by now.” he pulls you closer to him, into a strong hold. “now will you stop fronting and let me have you – all of you?”

you nod with mock reluctance, practically melting in his arms, “but what about my job? I’m not gonna stop being a stripper just because of you.”

“and i wouldn’t even ask you too,” he says quick with reassurance, “besides i find it hot that everyone gets to see you this way but they just can’t have you like i do.” he starts to work your top off your body, unhooking your bra, exposing your tits, “like just imagine, a crowd full of people watching me fuck the shit out of you — wanting you so badly, but not getting to touch.”

“we can’t do this here,” you gasp out as his fingers start to toy with your hard nipples, pinching and twisting them.

“why not?” he smirks, “you’re the boss aren’t you?”

“me, but i thought you bought the club.”

“you’re the one who said if i bought it you’d know that im truly obsessed with you,” he reasons, his lips pressing a kiss under your ear as he whispers, “do you get the picture now?”

“like I said you really d-didn’t have to do that,” you say, “i was the one that fucked things up here. you didn’t have to buy a whole business for get me to tell you that i like you.”

“oh so you do like me,” he comments sarcastically, “who would’ve thought.”

“shut up,” you grumble, swatting at his chest as he laughs, “i am sorry though. i don’t know why i pulled you into my little game, i knew i liked you a long time ago — but I just couldn't bring myself to admitting it. and I'm sorry for that .”

“it’s fine,” he reassures, “i knew dealing with you would be a challenge — granted i didn’t think it would be this hard — but i knew in the end it would be worth it.” his hands lower down your body, shimmying your pants off of you, “so now you gonna show me how sorry you truly are?”

AN: um so this was A LOT my longest fic ever, please lemme know what you thought since I am SOOOO UNSURE ABOU THIS ONE. thank you to my baessss @kazushawty @satoruhour for beta reading (I owe you two my life) also ur boss was pissed asf to find out that the club he owned was bought and given to you when he was the one that basically got you and geto together in the first place. ill make a part two where gojo comes back to the club to see the pretty little stripper who's got all of his besties attention looool jk

[aliyahwritings]

PROTECTIVE INSTINCTS.

Summary: Rafe Cameron gets into a fight, and Sassy!Kook!Reader helps him clean up his wounds.

Warnings: childhood friends, overprotective!rafe, alcohol/coke mentioned, blood, dumb ahh inlove, annoying mf.

Words Count: 3163

A/N: my first 'official' post ohmygawwddd!!!! i hope you will all like this. u can imagine this out of the obx plot bc in this universe sarah and rafe lowk get along and she's not w topp*r. i imagine rafe being 20/21 and reader is js a year younger

Getting an invite to Topper's party was supposed to be the highlight of your week—a chance to let loose, drink, dance, and maybe sneak in a smoke or two. You were determined to have fun. You and Sarah had been buzzing about it for days, thrilled at the idea of a night out after what felt like an eternity of being buried under schoolwork. It had been ages since either of you had gone to a party, and with all the stress piling up, you needed the break.

But, of course, Rafe had to go and ruin it by reminding you that he existed and was going to attend the party.

As the night of the party arrived, you spent way too much time getting ready—your reflection in the mirror repeatedly checked as you perfected your messy dark eye makeup. Black heels on, strapless mini-dress in a black fabric. The waist is drawn with a thin, satin black ribbon into a neat bow. The skirt flared out slightly, you knew you looked stunning. Sarah had already sent you a dozen texts about how she couldn’t wait to hit the party, and you were just about ready to go.

When you arrived at the party, it was even more packed than you'd expected. Music thumped through the house, bodies swayed on the makeshift dance floor, and the smell of coke, smoke, and alcohol lingered in the air. Sarah grabbed your hand, pulling you through the crowd as you both laughed. That was exactly the chaos you both needed.

"God, I've missed this!" Sarah shouted over the music as we moved to the dance floor. You smiled, matching her energy, the rhythm pulling your bodies into a sway.

For a while, it was easy to forget everything—school stress, drama, even Rafe’s looming presence at the party.

That is, until you saw him.

Rafe Cameron, leaning against a wall with his usual arrogance, a bottle of beer in his hand and his eyes scanning the room like he owned the place. It wasn't long before his eyes landed on you, and as usual, he didn’t look away. His eyes tracked you from across the room. He always watched you—like it was his job to make sure you were okay, even though you made it clear you didn’t need him playing bodyguard.

You groaned inwardly. 

“Just ignore him,” Sarah whispered in your ear, sensing your mood shift. “Come on, let’s dance.”

And you did—letting the music take over as you moved with your friend, blocking out everything else. For a moment, it felt like maybe, you could enjoy the night without thinking about him. You walked away from your friend to get both of you a drink but as you arrived at the bar, a guy who you didn’t recognize walked up to me, his breath hot and alcohol-laced as he leaned in too close, his voice low and crude.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” he said with a smirk growing on his face. “You look stunning tonight. That dress—damn, it’s doing wonders to your body.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore him as you focused on getting your drinks. “Thanks, but I’m not interested,” you replied coolly, turning slightly away from him.

“Oh, come on now,” he pressed, undeterred. “Don’t be like that. I could make your night a lot more fun. I know how to show a girl a good time. I could take you somewhere private, just you and me. I bet I could make you feel better than any of the other guys ever could.”

You felt your stomach churn, irritation rising as you glanced around for an escape. “I really don’t think so,” you said firmly, your patience wearing thin. “Just back off, alright?”

But he stepped closer, invading your personal space even more, a cocky grin plastered on his face. “Why're you playing hard to get when we both know you’re a slut. You don’t gotta pretend with me, baby—”

You rolled your eyes, about to insult him but the sound of a bottle smashing to the floor before Rafe’s fist collided with the guy's face.

“Say that again,” Rafe growled, his voice deadly calm as he grabbed the guy by the collar, pulling him close. The crowd around you froze, the music blaring in the background as Rafe’s knuckles bled from the punch he’d just thrown.

The guy stumbled, trying to mumble something that sounded like an apology, but of course, Rafe wasn’t done. His jaw was clenched, his eyes burning with a fury that sent chills down your spine.

“Rafe!” you shouted, pushing through the frozen crowd to get to him. “Let him go!”

But he barely heard you. His focus was locked on the guy, like he was two seconds ago from throwing another punch. It took Topper and Kelce rushing over to pull him off before things escalated any further.

The guy backed away, rubbing his jaw, his eyes wide with fear. “I-I didn’t know, man—”

“I don’t fucking care. Get out of here!” Rafe yelled, cutting him off, his chest still heaving with rage.

You watched as the guy walked away, his tail between his legs. Your attention shifted to Rafe, who turned on his heel and headed towards the stairs. You followed him with your eyes as he ascended until he disappeared into one of the rooms upstairs, shutting the door behind him.

You glanced around, searching for Sarah. When you spotted her you waved to catch her eye. She looked over, and you mouthed, “I’m going to check on Rafe.” Sarah gave you a quick nod.

With a deep breath, you pushed your way through the crowd and made your way upstairs, the noise from the party fading into the background as you reached the top. The hallway was quieter, the air heavier. Without hesitation, you headed straight for the door you saw Rafe disappear behind. You didn’t even think to knock; there was no need for formality between the two of you. It wasn’t in your nature to tiptoe around Rafe, not when you’d known him your entire life.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. He glanced up when you entered, surprise flashing briefly in his eyes before it was replaced with that familiar guarded expression.

He opened his mouth to say something, but you cut him off, “What the hell is your problem, Rafe?” you told him, crossing your arms on your chest. “You can’t just go around hitting people!”

He stood up, glaring at you. “He deserved it,” he shot back. He turned away from you, pacing the room like a caged animal. “Did you hear the shit he was saying to you? You think I was just gonna stand there and let him talk to you like tha?”

You sighed, frustrated but not entirely surprised. This was Rafe—impulsive, overprotective, and always ready to throw a punch when it came to you. “Yeah, I heard it, Rafe—he was talking to me. And I could’ve handled it. I don’t need you acting like my knight in shining armor.”

His head snapped up at that, and he took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “Really? You think you could’ve handled him? Because from where I was standing, he wasn’t taking no for an answer.”

You huffed, shaking your head. "That’s not the fucking point! You always do this. You’re always trying to play the hero when no one asked you to." You met his gaze with a hard stare of your own, refusing to back down.

Rafe’s eyes darkened, his jaw clenching as he stepped even closer, closing the distance between you. His voice dropped lower, almost a growl. "Maybe I’m not playing. Maybe I actually give a damn when some asshole thinks he can talk to you like that."

His proximity made the air between you feel charged, and you had to fight the urge to step back. Instead, you held your ground, your heart pounding in your chest. "And maybe you should learn to pick your battles instead of flying off the handle every time someone so much as looks at me the wrong way," you shot back, your voice just as sharp as his.

His lips twisted into a smirk, though there was no humor in it—just frustration. "Pick my battles?" He echoed, his voice low and dangerous. "Like you would ever let me. Every time I try to protect you, you act like it’s some kind of personal offense. Like I’m doing something wrong by giving a damn about what happens to you, Y/N."

You scoffed, crossing your arms tighter across your chest. "Because it’s not about me! It’s about you needing to feel like you’re in control of everything. You can’t just punch your way through life, Rafe."

"It’s not about control. It’s about not letting anyone treat you like that. I’m not gonna stand by and watch it happen. Not when it’s you."

For a moment, the room was silent, the weight of his words hanging between you. You sighed, the fight slowly leaving your body. “You’ve always been like this, you know?” you said, your tone softening just slightly. “Even when we were kids. You were always ready to defend me.”

His expression softened, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, well, some things don’t change.”

You shook your head, biting back a smile. “You’re impossible, Rafe Cameron.”

He let out a low laugh. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real bite behind it. The anger between you was fading. He infuriated you, but deep down, you knew his heart was in the right place—even if he had a habit of making things way more complicated than they needed to be.

Rafe’s eyes lingered on yours, the tension still there but different now. He stepped closer again, but this time, there was no anger in his movements, just something more... deliberate. His voice dropped, barely above a whisper. "You looked good tonight, by the way."

Your breath hitched, and before you could stop yourself, you met his gaze with a smirk of your own. "You’re just now noticing?" you teased, though your voice came out softer than you intended.

"Trust me, I noticed the second you walked in."

You cleared your throat, breaking the intense moment between you two. “Let me see your hand,” you said, trying to refocus on something else.

Rafe raised an eyebrow, his usual cocky smirk creeping back onto his face. “What? Worried about me now, princess?”

“Hardly, but you’re a mess and someone’s gotta clean you up before you bleed all over Topper’s sheets.”

He grinned, stepping back slightly and letting you grab his hand. His skin was warm under your fingers, and you tried to ignore the way your pulse quickened as you turned his hand over, inspecting the damage. His knuckles were raw, a few cuts oozing blood.

You glanced around the room, spotting a small bathroom attached to the guest room. “Sit down,” you ordered, nodding towards the bed. Rafe didn’t argue—surprisingly—but the amused smirk never left his face as he sat down, watching you with that intense, unblinking gaze of his. You walked over to the bathroom, rummaging through the cabinet until you found some bandages and antiseptic wipes.

When you returned, Rafe had leaned back against the headboard, legs spread slightly, his arms resting on his knees like he was waiting to be entertained. 

“Hold still,” you said firmly as you sat on the edge of the bed beside him, gently taking his injured hand in yours. 

"Careful," he teased, his voice low and husky. "I might start thinking you actually care."

You shot him a quick glare, your eyes narrowed. "Or maybe I just don’t want to deal with your whining if this gets infected."

He chuckled, the sound deep and almost... seductive. "Trust me, I’m not the whining type. You, on the other hand, love getting under my skin."

You ignored his comment, though the corners of your mouth twitched in amusement. “Here you go, telling lies. Unlike you, I am responsible—something you wouldn’t understand.” 

Rafe’s smirk widened, his blue eyes locked on yours as you worked. “Yeah? Is that why you spent half the night trying to avoid me?” He tilted his head. “You’re terrible at it, by the way.”

“Maybe I was avoiding you because I knew you’d do something stupid. And look, I was right.”

“So, you were watching me all night, huh? Didn’t realize I was that distracting.”

“More like I could sense the chaos coming from a mile away,” you shot back, the corner of your mouth twitching despite your best efforts not to smile.

“Admit it, you’d miss me if I didn’t cause a little chaos.”

You snorted, playfully nudging his good shoulder. “Miss you? I think my life would be way more peaceful.”

He gave a dramatic sigh, clutching his chest with his uninjured hand. “Wow. You really know how to wound a guy. If I wasn’t already bandaged, I’d need another one for my heart.”

You smirked, shaking your head. “Please, Rafe. You’ve got an ego the size of this entire house. I think your heart’s just fine.”

He chuckled, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Maybe. But you like me this way.”

“Oh, do I now?” You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “And what makes you think that?”

Rafe leaned in just a little more, that teasing grin still plastered on his face. “Because, no matter how much you complain, you’re always right here. Taking care of me. Telling me I’m an idiot. It’s kind of your thing.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, though the sass in your voice was playful. “It’s called charity work, Rafe. I should be getting paid for dealing with you.”

He laughed, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips before flicking back up. “Oh, I’ll pay you back. Trust me.”

You tilted your head, giving him a sly smile. “Yeah? And how exactly are you gonna do that?”

Rafe’s grin widened at your challenge, his eyes gleaming with mischief. He shifted a little closer, the air between you growing even more charged. “Oh, you’ll see, princess. But you’ll have to be patient. I know that’s not your strong suit.”

You rolled your eyes, scoffing as you leaned back on the bed, crossing your legs. “Patience? With you? That’s asking for a miracle, Cameron.”

He chuckled, his hand resting just beside your thigh. “Miracle? More like a blessing. I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you, and you know it.”

You shot him a look, narrowing your eyes playfully. “Best thing? Don’t flatter yourself. You’re like a stray dog that keeps following me around, begging for attention.”

Rafe smirked, leaning in so his face was closer to yours, his voice dropping low. "And you love the attention. Don’t act like you don’t.”

“Please, the only thing I love is the peace and quiet I get when you’re not around.”

He let out a mock gasp, putting a hand over his chest. “Ouch. Again.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Dramatic again. Besides, you can dish it out, but you can’t take it.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, that cocky grin never leaving his face. “Me? Can’t take it? You must be thinking of someone else, sweetheart. I can take anything you throw at me.”

You leaned in a little, matching his energy. “Anything? That sounds like a challenge.”

He tilted his head, his blue eyes locking onto yours, full of playful intensity. “It is. Go ahead, try me. What’ve you got?”

You pursed your lips, pretending to think for a moment before smirking. “Alright. How about this? For starters, you’re predictable. Every time something doesn’t go your way, you throw a tantrum or a punch, like you’re still a spoiled little boy.”

Rafe’s smirk didn’t falter, if anything, it grew. “Predictable? That’s rich, coming from someone who’s always acting like she doesn’t care when we both know she does.”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed. “I don’t care. I just know how to deal with your dramatics.”

“Right. That’s why you followed me up here, bandaged my hand, and now you’re sitting here flirting with me,” Rafe said, his tone smug.

You blinked, caught off guard for a second. “Flirting? Don’t confuse taking care of your stupidity with flirting, Cameron.”

He leaned even closer, his lips just inches from yours now, his voice a low, teasing whisper. “Oh, so this isn’t flirting?”

You bit your lip, fighting the heat rising in your cheeks. “No. This is me being nice because you’re too dumb to take care of yourself.”

“Sure it is,” he murmured, his voice dropping to that husky tone that always made your heart race. “You’re really bad at hiding it, you know.”

You raised an eyebrow, challenging him. “Hiding what?”

Rafe grinned, his gaze flickering down to your lips for a split second before meeting your eyes again. “How much you like being around me.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “You’re delusional. I’m just here so Topper doesn’t kill you for bleeding all over his stuff.”

“Uh-huh,” Rafe replied, his thumb lightly tracing circles on your thigh, the gesture casual but full of tension. “And I’m sure you’d leave the second I’m patched up, right?”

You blinked, but your voice didn’t waver as you answered, “Absolutely. As soon as I’m done here, I’m out.”

“Really?” His eyes sparkled with challenge, his breath warm on your skin. “Then why haven’t you left yet?”

You faltered, trying to keep your cool, but his proximity was intoxicating. “Because... You needed help for your hand and I couldn't let you be miserable.”

Rafe chuckled, his eyes never leaving yours. “Always gotta get the last word, huh?”

“Someone has to,” you shot back, but your voice was quieter, less sharp as the tension between you both thickened.

He watched you for a long moment, his gaze intense but soft at the same time. Then, with that infuriating smirk still on his face, he leaned back slightly. “Alright, I’ll let you win this round. But don’t think I didn’t notice how close you got just now.”

You rolled your eyes, standing up from the bed. “I was checking your hand, not getting close to you.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, princess,” he teased, watching you as you walked toward the bathroom to put away the bandages.

You turned back to him, shaking your head with a smile. “You’re annoying.”

“And yet, you keep coming back,” Rafe quipped, standing up and stretching.

And he was right…

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