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plutotheplum · 8 months ago

Text

The First Fall of Snow

emperor!zayne x concubine!reader - read part 2!

summary: the emperor isn't interested in his concubines, but an encounter with you is enough to change his mind.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, p in v, oral sex, praise kink, breast play, masturbation, thigh riding, mentions of exhibitionism, virginity loss

wc: 7.7k

a/n: i did imagine long-haired zayne for this (like his master of fate card!) and he just gives off emperor vibes soooo

also on ao3!

The Emperor was a peculiar man.

He was not a man who fancied company. When the years for marriage had passed, his royal advisors had grown increasingly anxious. All potential candidates were refused, princesses from far lands given profuse apologies and lavish gifts in hopes of quelling their anger after they had traveled such vast distances, only for the Emperor to turn them away.

In an effort to try and draw out the Emperor’s romantic and sexual nature, several concubines were gathered. The Emperor had never overseen this, the affair carried out in veiled whispers as his advisors had sought to dispel their desperation by pooling their efforts into securing an heir for the dynasty.

That was what you were told when you arrived in the palace anyways. It had been a year since you were hand-picked as a concubine, along with a few other girls who had been eager to accept when the opportunity had been provided to them.

You had only met the Emperor a handful of times, when you first been brought to the palace and during private meetings that had been scheduled. He had never touched you or any of the other girls, had never sought after pleasure or secured an heir, much to the chagrin of Imperial staff. Like any other person, you thought it was odd.

Part of you felt as though you were wasting away in this palace, days spent outside by the pretty gardens and overlooking the fish in the ponds, entertaining stray cats or inside, like you were now.

You stare down at the steaming water in the teapot, watching as the tea leaves stain the water. The blurry reflection of your face looks back up at you and there’s a soft sigh escaping you, wondering what might’ve been if you hadn’t been chosen.

Such thoughts are lost when a short, stout man comes hobbling in. He grabs at your arm, teacup filled with hot tea tipping to the side. You wince when the hot liquid lands against your skin, burning you.

“The Emperor needs tea,” the eunuch hisses, pulling another set of teaware from the shelves as he tugs you closer.

“Why does that involve me?,” you ask, trying to free yourself so you can soothe your irritated skin under cool water.

“You will deliver it to him,” he says, fiddling with your robes and straightening out the fabric to make you look more presentable.

“Have another one of the girls-” you begin to complain, shrinking away when he sends you a glare.

You huff out a breath, making sure the pin in your hair is in place. There’s no time to tend to the burn on your forearm, the reddened skin hidden by the sleeves of your robes as the eunuch passes you the tray.

Sending him a glare of your own, you don’t stay behind to be chastised. Feet padding against the floor, you pass through the courtyard and hallway. Imperial guards stand outside the Emperor’s quarters and you bow your head, stating your business.

One of the guards opens the doors and you suck in a sharp breath, gathering your confidence as you step inside the Emperor’s quarters.

It’s a familiar place. The room is large, scrolls stacked upon shelves tucked against the walls, decorative screens partitioning the entrance to where his bed was placed. You swallow nervously, eyes blinking about. You can’t seem to find the Emperor. Deciding to step forward, you’re pushing your luck, sticking your head outside the open doors at the other end of his quarters. It opens into a private courtyard, greenery pruned to perfection.

There’s a frown pulling at your lips when you can’t see him. Perhaps he had left? Just as you’re about to give up, a man clears his throat. You jolt in place, tea sloshing as you struggle to keep a hold on the tray. Whirling around, you find the Emperor standing there, his arms crossed over his chest. There’s a curse entering your mind, placing the tea tray down on a table nearby before your knees are bending, meeting the floor as you bow in a seated position.

“Please forgive me, your majesty” you breathe out, eyes squeezing shut.

You would rather not feel the wrath of the Emperor.

“I did not ask for tea,” he says bluntly.

“The- the eunuch insisted,” you supply lamely.

The Emperor only sighs and your eyes are peeking open, head tilting slightly as you try to get a glimpse of his expression.

“You may stand,” he murmurs, waving his hand. You do as he says, stumbling to your feet, teeth gritting together when the cloth of your robes rubs against the still fresh burn on your forearm.

He takes a seat on a cushioned mat and you’re standing awkwardly, trying to taper down your fidgeting as the pain flares up again.

“Is something the matter?” the Emperor asks when he sees your inability to stand still.

You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek. The Emperor only stares at you, unimpressed. His gaze drags over you and your cheeks are flushing in embarrassment.

“Sit,” he says suddenly, pointing to the space across from him.

“I-” you begin to refuse, restless to get out of this stifling place and tend to the burn that was currently beginning to sting.

“Sit, or will you refuse an Imperial command?”

To refuse an Imperial command is to forfeit one’s life. It’s why you’re sitting down in a flurry and looking everywhere at everything except him.

“Arm,” he murmurs, holding his hand out.

You extend your arm towards his hand without question. He hums when he brushes the sleeves away, moving your arm closer to his eyes so he can examine the burn. The Emperor’s lithe fingers prod at the edges of your reddened skin, and a whimper slips out of you, the tender skin sensitive.

He pulls away from you and your eyes are darting towards the doors, wondering whether it would be worth it to make a break for it. The Emperor returns soon after, a small pot in his hand, containing some sort of salve.

“Your majesty, it is beneath you to tend to such a matter,” you remind him, feeling his cool fingers wrap around your arm again.

“Perhaps so, but I happen to take interest in the ailments of the body,” he replies, spreading the salve against your skin.

So the rumors were true then. Many spoke of the Emperor’s affinity for the study of medicine. You had assumed he would’ve taken more interest in other pursuits such as hunting, but it appeared the Emperor valued intellect above all else.

As the salve soothes your skin, you find your gaze slipping over him. Pale skin, intelligent eyes framed by dark eyelashes, a strong nose and long hair tied back neatly, there was no doubt that the Emperor was a handsome man.

His eyes flick up to meet yours, his own gaze dipping over you once again. You feel as though you’re being scrutinized, so you’re sitting up straighter, trying to not present yourself as a mess.

“He sent you here to entice me,” the Emperor explains, beginning to wrap your wound using a thin, silken cloth.

“Oh. Is- is it working?” you ask tentatively.

“If you consider making a fool of yourself enticing, then maybe so,” he says, the side of his mouth curling up as amusement flashes through his eyes.

There’s a sharp scoff leaving you, arm tugging free from his grasp. The bandages are tight around your arm and you send him a frown, placing your hands in your lap.

“You take liberties that others do not,” he sighs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I apologize, your majesty,” you whisper, head hanging low. He was right, you were taking liberties.

“Zayne,” he says, opening a scroll.

“Your- your majesty?” you reply, confusion flitting across your face.

“Zayne,” he repeats, not bothering to even spare you a glance “you may address me by my name.”

You hold your tongue in return, eyes narrowing as you stare at the Emperor. It must be a trick of some sort, you think, a ploy to make you slip up, and just like the traitors of the Empire, your head would be severed from your neck.

“You would distrust my own command?” he asks, sensing your hesitation. “I never said such a thing!” you protest, exasperation spreading across your face.

Sitting in place, you pout to yourself, tracing random shapes onto the cushioned mat. Zayne ignores your presence and it has you fidgeting even more, a huff of air leaving you.

The Emperor only continues to read the scroll in his hands. Pouring out some tea, you decide to indulge yourself. Your face contorts when you taste the now lukewarm liquid. It’s hardly enjoyable. Letting out another deep sigh, your body sags. There’s nothing for you to do here, the Emperor won’t carry a conversation and you only find that you’re making a fool of yourself even more.

“Shall I leave?” you ask him, feeling hopeful that you might be able to escape.

Zayne shakes his head.

“Stay a little while. It would do good for my advisors to think they have succeeded.”

“Succeeded?” you echo, brows furrowing.

“They expect an heir,” he sighs, setting down the scroll to give you his full attention, “surely you are aware of my… aversion to the entire matter.”

“I cannot say I understand,” you murmur, “you need an heir, and an illegitimate heir is an heir nonetheless.”

“The duty will be fulfilled when I am ready,” he says firmly.

Your head tilts at that, eyes narrowing. When he was ready? There would be no reason for the Emperor to not be ready.

“Other noblemen take pleasure in using women’s bodies,” you mutter, peering over at him, “it is strange that you have not yet touched any one of us.”

“You wish for me to use you?” Zayne asks, raising his brows.

“N- no! I just meant, it is odd that an Emperor whose rule has granted him anything he may possibly desire chooses not to engage in anything,” the words come out of you in a rush, your cheeks flushing.

“And have you engaged in anything?” he shoots back, his eyes sharp.

Admitting your own virginity wasn’t on your plan of things to do today. Your cheeks are hot with embarrassment, eyes averted to the side. Your silence is answer enough, and Zayne sighs, his fingers rubbing at his temples.

“I did not ask for concubines,” he says quietly, “and so, I do not expect you to serve me in such a fashion.”

“You may leave,” he says after a few moments, standing up with you.

Your head tilts, teeth worrying into your lower lip as he stares down at you.

“It appears you care for me,” he murmurs, his hand lifting to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

Your heart flutters at the unexpected action, eyes widening when he touches you.

“Only for the dynasty,” you breathe out.

Zayne lets out a low laugh at that. He gives you a faint smile and your heart stutters in your chest. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a man look so ethereal, but such is the favor of the gods.

It’s probably why you’re leaning forward, hands reaching to fix the crumpled collar of his silk robes. He stiffens under your touch and you pretend as though you don’t notice. Your fingers graze his skin and his hand curls around your wrist, stopping your movements.

“I shall expect you here in a week’s time,” he says.

“A week’s time,” you nod, feeling his fingers touch the cloth wrapped around your burn.

The Emperor lowers his head, his fingers gripping your chin gently so he can stare into your eyes more intently. He seems lost in thought as he swipes his thumb over your chin, his head nearing until you can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin.

It’s almost too much for your racing heart. Your already half-lidded eyes are slipping shut, lips parting as you lean in closer, waiting for him to kiss you. But it never comes and your eyes flutter open to see Zayne staring down at you with a hint of mirth in his eyes. He was making a fool of you yet again.

To preserve whatever dignity you have left, you’re pulling away, freeing yourself from his suffocating grasp. Bowing in deference, you don’t look back to see his expression, pushing past the doors as you leave his quarters.

Almost immediately, you’re met with the eunuch from earlier.

“Well?” he asks, his cheeks puffed with exertion as he tries to keep up with the pace you’ve set in an attempt to escape questioning.

“Nothing happened,” you reply curtly, looking back to see the short man totter after you.

“Nothing?” he repeats, voice laced with irritation, “not even-“ his voice lowers, mindful of the other staff working in the palace, “he did not even touch you?”

You shake your head. He doesn’t need to know that the Emperor had indeed touched you; tended to your burn even, that you were hoping the Emperor would hold you close and kiss you, and he most certainly didn’t need to know about your little displays of insolence.

The eunuch soon loses interest in you, grumbling curses under his breath as you retire to your own chambers shared with the other girls. It’s no secret that many of them have become bored with the Emperor’s apathetic outlook, some turning their charms to try and garner the affections of noblemen at court.

It’s raining the day you’re meant to meet the Emperor.

You step inside his chambers when the guards permit you, your hands clasped in front of you.

“Your majesty” you bend at the waist, bowing.

Zayne hums in response, striding closer to you. His fingers lift your arm, undoing the gauze to uncover your injury. The salve he had applied to your skin had soothed the burn, and it had begun to heal nicely.

“I told you to address me by my name,” he reminds you, his brows furrowed in concentration as he examines your skin, “must I remind you again, or will phrasing it as an Imperial command suffice?”

Your mouth opens automatically to retort sharply. He looks at you, brows raised. Spending more time in his presence has only vexed you, irritation making you almost forget who you were with. Mouth clamping shut, you send him a tight-lipped smile.

“Forgive me,” you say begrudgingly, “Zayne.”

“Better,” he murmurs.

You don’t know whether he’s referring to your obedience or the state of your wound.

“It will scar,” Zayne continues, turning your arm so that he can see your skin in better light.

“Badly?” you ask, a frown tugging at your lips.

“More salve will lessen the effect,” he says, finally letting go of your arm.

You release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The Emperor stares at you, his gaze unwavering. It has you wishing that you hadn’t listened to his request at all. The palace physician would have more than likely provided you with the necessary treatment, and yet here you were, being tended to by the Emperor of all people.

“Do you wish for me to repay you?” the words are out of your mouth before you can stop yourself.

“Did we not already have this conversation?” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I had assumed-”

“Do not assume anything.”

Zayne’s voice has hardened, the slight softness in his eyes no longer present. You’ve overstepped. He pulls away from you, turning his back to you as he walks towards the open doors of his quarters. Rain wets the inside, the mats on the floor darkening but the Emperor doesn’t seem to care.

Feeling like a scolded child, you trail after him.

“Forgive me,” you whisper, keeping your gaze trained on the floor.

It seems to be all that you’re doing now. Apology after apology after apology. It’s a miracle you haven’t yet been executed for your impertinence.

He turns to face you, his hand lifting. For a moment you think he’s about to slap you, a grimace settling on your face as you await the stinging punishment. Instead, all you feel is his hand on your head, petting you like you were some sort of unruly cat.

Zayne’s fingers begin to slip and you can feel the soft tips of his fingers graze the side of your face, traveling lower as he traces your jawline. You hold still, eyes wide with anticipation. He doesn’t stop, his fingers dragging down the length of your neck, parting your robes until you feel his fingers swipe across your collarbone.

“You are stubborn,” he says softly, “steadfast and oddly endearing. Perhaps I should keep you by my side.”

You stare up at him, jaw slackening, baffled.

“I thought you would appreciate it,” he murmurs, the sharpness in his eyes returning, “just moments ago you were offering yourself to me.”

It’s a struggle to bite back the whimper that so eagerly wants to escape when his fingers drag lower, skimming across the soft skin of the tops of your breasts. His other hand plays with the knot tied at the side, nimble fingers untying the only thing keeping your robes together. The soft fabric slips from your shoulders and you find yourself in front of the Emperor, breasts bared.

He lets out a low hum, both of his hands coming to cup your breasts. Your teeth have been biting into your lip so hard that you can taste the tang of blood on your tongue. Zayne swipes his thumbs over your nipples and you find yourself unable to rip free from his wandering touch.

“Should you not tell me to stop?” the Emperor asks, his face nearing yours.

There’s no will left in you to answer, a sharp gasp escaping you when he pinches your nipples to punctuate his question. The sensation only adds to the wetness pooling between your thighs.

“Please,” you whimper, the desperation clear in your eyes, “please, Zayne.”

“I may have the favor of the gods, but I cannot foresee your desires,” he whispers, the tip of his nose brushing yours, “tell me. What is it you want?”

“Kiss,” you manage out, “kiss me, please.”

The Emperor’s hands haven’t stopped their exploration, squeezing and groping at your breasts. Zayne lowers his head, forehead pressing against yours as you mewl and whimper under the onslaught of his caressing touches. The ache between your thighs has become unbearable with the way he plays with your nipples. He tugs and pinches, thumbs swiping over your areolas to grant you reprieve before rolling your nipples between his fingers again.

“Wantonness has made you far more polite,” he whispers, lips brushing against yours.

It’s not a kiss, and you’re squirming in frustration with the way the Emperor is stringing you along, driving you to the edge of pleasure and yet refusing to grant you what you desire the most.

“I- I can be even more polite,” you mumble pathetically, hands curling into his robes.

You chase after his lips, brows furrowing when he draws up to his full height, smiling down at you. Lips jutting out into a pout, you stand on the tips of your toes, trying to tug him back down so you can kiss him. It’s a futile endeavor, the Emperor only manages to evade all of your attempts to draw him into a kiss.

“I shall look forward to it,” Zayne murmurs, his lips pressing against your forehead gently.

There’s no way to discern what exactly is going through the Emperor’s mind. He no longer continues with his lustful touches, pulling away with a final caress of your breasts as he pulls your loosened robes over your shoulders again. You can only watch with dazed eyes, frozen in place as he helps redo the knot holding your robes together, covering you up properly so that unnecessary slivers of skin aren’t showing anymore.

“Do you do this with the others?” you ask, eyes finding his.

“Does the thought make you jealous?”

You frown at his retort, sending him a glare, “the Emperor may do as he wishes,” you grumble.

It’s hard to hide the jealousy that underlies your words. You want to be the only person he touches, to be the object of his affections. It’s a selfish desire to want the Emperor to need you only, but you can’t help yourself, envy flaring up inside of you at the thought of him touching another woman the way he touches you.

“You are the first to elicit such a reaction from me,” Zayne says, his fingers tilting your head so he can stare into your eyes more directly.

Letting out an irritated huff, you feel irked by his subtle way of trying to please you. He doesn’t reply to your display of irritation, nudging his forehead against yours as though trying to convey his affection.

“Go now,” he whispers, petting your hair again before he’s moving away, turning his back to you as he returns to peer out at the rain that falls outside.

You have half the mind to call him out on his behavior, but the reminder of your position is the stifling reality in which you live in. Despite his gaze elsewhere, you bow to him, turning on your heel to leave.

Thankfully, there are no lurking eunuchs to question your brief stay in the Emperor’s quarters. The palace staff don’t pay you any mind as you return to your chambers, and you explain to the other girls that you feel sick.

The whimpers that spill from your mouth are muffled by the pillow that you’ve pressed your face into, the fingers of one hand rubbing at your clit and the other hand pinching at your nipples as you try to mimic the way the Emperor had touched you. With the image of Zayne’s face ingrained into your mind, it doesn’t take long, a soft moan escaping into the quiet of your chambers as you come apart on your fingers.

You’re spying on the Emperor.

The past year had been plenty of time to explore the palace and figure out the little passageways that weren’t well known. Perhaps you were just as bad as his advisors that were intent on prying into Zayne’s private life, but you just couldn’t help yourself.

It’s why you’re here now, hovering outside his quarters, pretending to take great interest in the portraits that line the halls. Every now and then, your eyes flick over to where the guards stand, trying to discern whether anyone was entering or leaving his chambers.

You almost feel pathetic for acting in such a way, but he was the only thing you could think about. Visiting the gardens had grown dull, despite the leaves turning into pretty shades of orange and red in the autumn air, thoughts of the Emperor taking root in the crevices of your mind instead.

“My grandfather,” a deep voice breaks through your thoughts. You don’t have to look to know who it is.

“Handsome,” you mutter, taking a step closer to examine the portrait genuinely this time.

“My guards have complained about a woman hiding in the hallways,” Zayne says, his hand falling onto your shoulder. “I did not realize it was an offense to admire fine art,” you shoot back.

“There are far finer things in this palace,” he murmurs, stepping forward until you’ve been backed up against the wall.

It’s becoming more and more apparent to you that the Emperor must be suffering some sort of illness to the mind. You struggle to come up with a reason as to why his arm curls around your waist, whilst he presses himself closer.

You try and push at his firm chest, but he doesn’t budge.

“People will see,” you whisper heatedly, eyes darting to the sides despite Zayne being so close that you can hardly see anything but him.

“So let them.”

Zayne reaches out, his hand cupping your cheek. You stiffen under the sudden touch, eyes widening when his thumb brushes over your skin.

“Why are you doing this?” you whisper, frowning.

“Is my mind not allowed to change?” he asks in return, head lowering until his forehead is pressed against yours.

“I am far more concerned that you have lost your mind.”

The Emperor lets out a deep chuckle and you think the air around you both has somehow grown thicker with how lightheaded you’re feeling.

“I assure you, I am still of sound mind.”

His nose brushes against yours, and you rise to meet the challenge, nose nudging against his gently. The heat of his body is intoxicating, his arm tightening around your waist as he exhales. Your eyes flutter shut, anticipating the feeling of his lips against yours.

It’s not to be, not when an Imperial guard insists on interrupting your moment with the Emperor.

“Is this woman bothering you?” the guard asks, his gaze dragging over you with obvious disregard.

The utter nerve. Eye twitching, you ready yourself to snap back but Zayne’s squeeze to your waist has you staying silent.

“She was feeling ill,” Zayne lies steadily.

The Emperor’s mask of cool indifference slips over him easily, his lips pulled thin as he speaks to the guard.

“I shall escort her to the physician,” the guard offers, his hand reaching for you.

Zayne pulls you out of reach before the guard can touch you, tucking you against his side.

“No need,” Zayne says, “I shall take her myself.”

You can almost hear the nervous gulp that the guard takes, his face paling at the Emperor’s stony disposition. Unfortunately, you don’t get long to revel in the satisfaction that spreads through your body when Zayne reprimands the guard. Zayne tugs you along, his hand wrapped around your wrist. It appears the Emperor knows of the passages as well, and a few twists and turns later you find yourself back in the Emperor’s quarters, having bypassed the Imperial guards.

“Did you see his face?” you snicker, looking over at Zayne.

Your smile fades when he doesn’t reply, the grip on your wrist almost painful without how firmly his hand is still holding onto you.

“Zayne? Are you-”

You nearly trip over your own feet when he suddenly pulls you closer. Zayne’s lips are slotting over yours, his large hands cupping your cheeks as he kisses you. There’s a small noise of surprise coming from you, eyes widening before they flutter shut, your body lulled into submission with the feverish kisses Zayne gives you.

He groans into your mouth and you cling to his robes, rising up on the tips of your toes to meet his kisses better. The Emperor might’ve been starved with the way he’s kissing you, his lips firm and insistent against yours whilst he holds you in place.

Zayne pulls away after a while, and you’re completely and utterly dazed, chest heaving as soft pants fill the space between you both.

“Will you have me?” he whispers, his fingers tracing the curve of your cheek.

No man has ever spoken such words to you. Your breath catches in your throat, heart clenching uncomfortably in your chest. As the Emperor, he shouldn’t say such a thing.

“It is beneath you to ask,” you murmur, averting your gaze.

“And yet, I am asking,” Zayne replies, his hands maneuvering your head until you have no choice but to look into his eyes.

Letting out an irritated huff, as though he had somehow inconvenienced you, you lean forward and press a chaste kiss against his lips. You can’t bring yourself to say the words out loud, feeling uncharacteristically shy as you shift on the spot.

“I see.”

Zayne’s surging towards you again, lips crashing onto yours. You whimper, hands scrabbling at his shoulders as you press yourself closer. His arms are wrapping around your waist, keeping you flush against him as he ravages your mouth. His tongue is teasing your lower lip, coaxing it open. You have no choice but to obey, letting out a muffled moan when his tongue slides deeper into your mouth, his hand pulling at the pin holding your hair together.

You squeak when he picks you up, his lips trailing burning kisses down your neck as he nudges the partition blocking his way to his bed. Zayne undoes the knot holding your robes together before long, your thighs straddling his hips as you sit perched on his lap once he sits down on his bed.

“Have you really never given yourself to anyone?” Zayne asks quietly, his fingers tracing across the soft skin of your shoulders.

You nod, body leaning forward to chase after his touch as his fingers find their way back down to your nipples, rolling the pebbled buds between the pads of his fingers.

“H- have you?” you ask, biting your lip as he presses heated kisses against your collarbone.

He shakes his head, lips drifting lower and lower, until your body twitches as his lips enclose around your nipple. A whimper leaves you, and Zayne grows bolder with his movements, sucking harshly as his tongue swirls around your nipple, flicking the little bud in his mouth.

Your hands have drifted into his hair, pulling free the band that holds his long locks together. His dark hair runs past his shoulders, the strands soft under your touch as you pull at his hair, moaning as he continues his exploration across your chest.

Zayne looks up at you with half-lidded eyes, spit-slick lips dragging across your chest to pepper kisses against your other breast, his mouth enveloping your nipple yet again. He lets out a low groan and you whine, pulling at his robes desperately to pull them off.

“Oh,” you breathe out when he lets you, biting your lip at the sight of his bare chest and abdomen. Your fingers spread across his chest eagerly, mapping out the expanse of his skin. There’s a sly smile spreading across your face when you see his cheeks flush pink as your fingers drag lower, past his navel.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks hoarsely, his head tipping back.

“Should I not?” you whisper, fingers delving lower until you can feel his hardness through his robes.

You rub your hand against the bulge experimentally, eyes lighting up when he lets out a grunt. Face tucking into the crook of his neck, your breasts squished against his chest, you place hungry kisses against his neck, palming at his bulge.

The Emperor tugs at your hair, pulling your head back. You stare up at him, meeting him in the middle when he leans forward, sharing a sloppy kiss. His hands squeeze at your waist and you shift in his lap, letting him undress you completely.

Nervousness flits across your face as he stares at your bare body, hands leaving him to cover yourself up. He grabs your hands before you can, placing a soft kiss to your jaw.

“You are beautiful,” he whispers, lips drifting to kiss the shell of your ear.

A shy smile pulls at your lips and he squeezes your waist again. Your brows furrow when he jostles you, making you straddle his thigh instead.

“I want to watch,” Zayne says, his fingers dimpling into the fat of your thighs.

“Watch?” you echo, head tilting in question.

“I want to watch you come undone,” he clarifies, gripping your hips as he guides you into grinding against his thigh.

A strangled noise leaves you and he pats your hip, satisfied. You’re so aroused that your slick has begun to wet his silken robes, the fabric darkening as you roll your hips, dragging your pussy against his thigh.

“I- I want to watch you too,” you gasp out.

Zayne obliges and you watch as he pulls his cock free. The sight is almost enough to have you coming on his covered thigh. His fingers wrap around his cock and you whine, hips rolling faster. “Is it to your satisfaction?” he murmurs.

You nod rapidly. It is. You’ve never seen one before, but you just know Zayne’s is pretty compared to the others. His cock is thick, flushed prettily at the tip to match the blush on his cheeks and you lick your lips, wondering what it might feel like in your mouth.

“Another time,” Zayne says, smiling when he sees the expression on your face.

It’s entrancing to watch the way his hand drags up and down his cock, his long fingers wrapped around himself. Globs of pre-cum bead at the tip, wetting his hands and his cock, creating a sinful sound. Unable to help yourself, you tilt your head, tongue lolling out as you let your own spit drip down onto his cock. You hum in delight when his thighs twitch, your eyes peering into his as you drag your cunt against his thigh, clit catching on the fabric of his robes just right.

“I did not know my concubine was so depraved,” he murmurs, his hand kneading the flesh at your hip roughly.

You give him a dopey smile, eyes slipping back down to watch his hand move around his cock whilst you rock your hips. Head falling against his shoulder, your lips drag across his chest, landing soft kisses against his skin before nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, nipping his skin lightly.

Airy sounds fill the air, his quiet moans and your soft whimpers emanating in his quarters.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you press yourself closer, guiding his head into another kiss. It’s messy, his tongue licking into your mouth with no hesitation. Zayne’s pulling apart suddenly, his previous desire of watching you come undone on your thigh forgotten as he manhandles your body, making you lay down against his bed.

The Emperor kisses you over and over, and your head is swirling, trying to keep up whilst his fingers have found their way down to your pussy, rubbing your wetness across the sensitive flesh before he finds your clit. All it takes is one firm press of his thumb, your thighs twitching violently as you grasp at the sheets, moaning loudly as you come. He smiles against your lips, granting you one last kiss before he directs his attention elsewhere, his face disappearing between your thighs.

“Z-Zayne!” you squeal, pushing at his head, trying to get him to stop as the overstimulation becomes too much.

The Emperor ignores you in favor of thumbing apart your folds, his eyes trained on your clit.

“Pretty” he whispers, the pads of his fingers stroking over your clit gently, “and so, so swollen.”

It has your eyes rolling to the back of your head, and he kisses the inside of your thighs, edging closer to your pussy, letting out a low breath, the air hitting your exposed pussy.

He groans when you tug at his hair, and you writhe, trying to somehow free yourself from the onslaught of his tongue as he laves over your pussy, pressing sloppy kisses against your skin, his lips latching onto your swollen clit. Zayne’s tongue flicks against the sensitive bud, teasing you.

Something between a moan and a scream climbs its way out your throat, the sound ringing in through his chambers as you come again, thighs firmly squeezing his head. Your eyes widen when you realize the guards are still outside the doors, panic flaring through your body as you scramble to sit up.

Zayne’s hand slides over your mouth before you can get anything out, the stern look in his eyes making you go still. The rapping of the guard’s knuckles against the door has you rigid, eyes widening in alarm as he begins to move his tongue yet again.

You glare at Zayne, tugging at his hair roughly to make it hurt as you attempt to get his mouth off of you. Zayne only gives you a hazy look, looking utterly gone as he presses his face deeper into your cunt. It’s a struggle to keep the noises in, your body shaking as his nose rubs into your clit and his tongue fucks in and out of your aching hole.

“Your majesty?” An urgent voice calls out from behind the door, and you can hear the faint scuffling noises of the guards’ boots.

“Someone get this door open!” another voice hisses, the sliding doors rattling soon after.

The Emperor grunts into your cunt, raising up finally. The sight of him is nearly enough to make you come for a third time. Zayne is utterly disheveled, his cheeks pink and the lower half of his face glistening with your slick.

You watch as he runs his hand through his hair, biting your lip as you let your gaze wander, catching on his cock once again. He looks painfully hard, cum smeared across his skin and drool is pooling in your mouth. Getting onto your knees, you crawl forward eager to envelop it in your mouth.

The tip makes its way into your mouth for a brief moment and you can barely suck when Zayne is yanking you off of his cock, his hand curled into your hair.

“Everything is fine,” the Emperor snaps, narrowing his eyes when you pout.

“We heard-”

“I said,” Zayne’s voice grows louder, “everything is fine.”

You think he might take out his wrath on you with the way he grips your cheeks roughly, planting another kiss to your lips. He’s manhandling you yet again, pushing at your shoulders to make you lie down as he settles his hips between your thighs.

Zayne’s cum smears against your skin and you whimper when the fat tip of his cock nudges against your clit. He lands a gentler kiss to your cheek, his hand cupping your cheek as you squirm under him, whimpering as he grinds his cock against your cunt.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his face pressing into the crook of your neck as he lets his cock slide up and down against your folds, “my good girl.”

“Yours,” you agree, cheek squishing against the pillow, “all yours.”

“I want to see you like this all the time,” Zayne confesses, his hand grasping his cock to press it firmly against your cunt, coating it with your arousal, “all flustered and needy… perhaps I am losing my sanity.”

You need him inside of you. The emptiness in your pussy has made you all too aware, hips bucking with every drag of his heavy cock.

“More,” you whisper, voice slurring, “Zayne, I want more.”

Zayne draws back slightly and you watch as he squeezes his cock, pre-cum dripping steadily onto your thigh. He reaches for your hand, fingers lacing with yours.

“Ready?” he murmurs.

You nod, swallowing down your nervousness. He presses his cock into your hole and the stretch is uncomfortable, a pained whimper leaving you as Zayne guides his cock into you.

“A little more,” he coaxes, kissing your forehead to try and distract you from the initial stretch.

He finally pushes his entire cock in, and you feel as though the air has been punched out of your lungs. Zayne fills you up so perfectly, his cock snug inside your cunt, the emptiness from earlier disappearing almost immediately.

It appears you have affected him just as much, his eyes squeezed shut as he pants into the crook of your neck, trying to get used to the wet heat of your cunt.

“Perfect,” he mutters mindlessly, and you can feel the twitch of his cock from inside of you, “so- so perfect and warm and tight.”

A hazy smile drifts across your face, legs locking tighter around his hips as your pussy clenches around him.

Zayne lets out a ragged gasp, and you know he can feel it. His eyes bore into yours, brows pulled together in annoyance at your little tease.

“Little minx,” he hisses.

It’s you that gasping this time when he draws his hips back, nails clawing at his back as he thrusts into you. His cock is stretching you out, over and over, as he tries to press it in deeper, trying to carve a path from your pussy to your heart.

“Too- too much!” you wail, arms wrapping around his neck to cling onto him.

“Do you want the guards to hear?” Zayne murmurs against your ear, his hips slowing slightly.

Through the haze of it all, your head turns, eyes finding his. The truth is, you wouldn’t exactly be opposed to the idea. Zayne can see the flash of interest in your eyes and he lets out a hoarse laugh, shaking his head.

“I should have taken you sooner,” he mutters, his fingers squeezing at your hips, “kept you close to me from the beginning.”

You preen at the thought, pressing sloppy kisses against his jaw, feeling his cock drag in and out of you.

“Next time, I shall take you on my throne.”

Your movements pause, eyes widening as he whispers those words, his lips brushing across yours.

“Not like that-” you begin to say, cheeks flushing deeper as you imagine him taking you on his throne, his hips rutting into yours like they were now.

“Why not?” he asks, “Shall I command it? Have-” Zayne lets out a shuddering breath “have my entire court watch as my pretty, little concubine loses her mind, drunk on my cock as I claim her atop my throne?”

You moan unabashedly, cunt clenching around him tightly. Zayne grunts, his hips stuttering when at the feeling of your walls tightening before he’s gripping your thigh, his chest flush against yours as he picks up the pace. It’s no secret that the guards must have heard what was happening inside, your loud moans most likely drifting through the wood of the doors. Both you and the Emperor don’t seem to care, lost in the blur of lust that swirls between you both.

“Deeper,” you mumble, pouting up at him, “need- need you closer, Zayne.”

“You are going to be the death of me,” Zayne mutters, dropping his weight on top of you.

You mewl in delight, the feeling of his body against yours deliciously warm. He hikes your thighs up a little higher, hips pressing deeper until you gasp. You can feel his balls pressed snugly against your ass, his cock as deep inside of you as it could go.

“Take it,” he whispers, his hand beginning to stroke your hair as he moves his hips. Short, sharp thrusts that serve to bury his cock into your cunt the way you want, “take it, my love.”

My love. Skin against skin. His hand stroking your hair gently. Girthy cock filling you up perfectly.

The sensations mixed with his affection are too much, pulling at your heart uncomfortably until you let out a sniffle, staring up at him with glassy eyes.

Concern passes through his eyes when he hears you sniffle, his hand cupping your cheek as his thumb swipes away a stray tear that beads at the corner of your eye.

“Am I hurting you?” Zayne asks softly.

You shake your head, lips trembling even more at his display of concern.

“I just like you a lot is all,” you whisper, sniffling quietly.

“I like you too,” Zayne replies in kind, his lips pressing soft kisses against your cheek, “and I take care of what’s mine.”

He leans down, lips pressing against yours in a tender kiss. Your tears wet his cheeks as he keeps you there, kissing you gently whilst his hips roll into you.

“Let go for me, my love” he murmurs, and you’re clenching around him again, feeling his hand sneak its way between your bodies as his thumb rubs against your clit.

You whimper, head pressing back as you arch your back, the sensation of his cock and his fingers driving you further and further to the edge until he latches his mouth onto your breast, catching your nipple between his teeth. He bites down and a broken moan fills the air, body shuddering as you come on his cock.

“Oh fuck,” Zayne grits out when he feels the harsh clench of your cunt around his cock.

You can feel him bury his face into your chest and you reach up weakly, running your fingers through his hair. It’s enough to have him letting out a guttural noise against your chest, his fat cock twitching as his thick cum floods your pussy.

The Emperor lays on top of you, both of your bodies loosened completely. You whimper when he pulls out of you, his cum beginning to leak out from your cunt. Zayne stares at the sight for a moment, entranced, before pulling you closer, letting you press your face into his chest as he kisses your forehead.

“Everyone will know by now,” you whisper.

“They will,” he agrees, his fingers prying your face away from where it hides.

Zayne peers down into your eyes, a faint smile playing across his lips as he swipes his thumbs against your skin.

“Stay here with me,” he says quietly, “by my side.”

You laugh softly at his proposition.

“I am your concubine,” you murmur, reaching up to curl your hand around his wrist, “nothing more.”

“You will be more,” Zayne insists, his voice hardening, “I will have you.”

“Your advisors would not allow it!” you protest, eyes turning glassy again.

“Desperation will make them vulnerable to acceptance,” he retorts, his body pressing closer as though to keep you tethered to him, hands tightening around your cheeks.

“I am the Emperor,” he continues, forehead pressing against yours as his eyes bore into yours, “you said it yourself. I may do as I wish, and what I wish for is for you to be by my side.”

You swallow harshly, blinking up at him when you hear the sternness of his voice. He doesn’t give you a chance to reply, kissing you desperately.

“Stay with me, my love” he whispers again, stealing kiss after kiss from you.

“Okay,” you relent, sinking into his embrace and returning his kisses just as desperately, “okay.”

The Emperor holds you close to his chest, his arms wrapped around you tightly. The heat of his body has your eyes drooping shut, his lips brushing over your forehead as he whispers sweet promises of his love.

Outside, far away from the warmth of love’s embrace, the first fall of snow has begun to drift from the sky.

#zayne smut #zayne #zayne x reader #love and deepspace zayne #love and deepspace #lnd smut #lnd zayne #lnd #zayne x you

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moonlightwritingf1 · 1 month ago

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The Night She Finally Gave In | LN4

🎀 summary ━━━━━━━ For eight months, Y/N teased, denied, and kept Lando chasing—but he never gave up. Until one night she finally gives in.

🎀 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

🎀 word count ━━━━━━━ 7.9k

🎀 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex (f receiving), dirty talk, teasing

Based on this request.

The persistent hum of the city pulsed against Y/N’s ears as she stepped off the crowded London sidewalk and into a cozy Shoreditch lounge. Music throbbed under low lighting, and the place was already bustling with familiar chatter. Tonight, she was meeting Pietra and Max for casual drinks, but she knew one other person would be there—someone who’d been on her mind more than she cared to admit. Lando Norris.

She spotted Pietra first, her friend waving her over from a corner booth. Max, Pietra’s boyfriend and Lando’s best friend, grinned in greeting. Y/N slid into the booth and unwrapped her scarf, letting the warmth of the lounge soak into her. Before she could even settle, an electric awareness sparked at the base of her spine. She sensed him near before she actually saw him. And sure enough, there he was—leaning against the bar, exchanging an easy laugh with the bartender, but already casting sideways glances in her direction.

For over half a year, Lando had chased after her with single-minded obsession. The moment they’d been introduced—eight months ago at a friend’s barbecue—he’d made his interest painfully obvious. Texts at odd hours, random calls whenever he was in London, spontaneous outings with their mutual friends that always ended with him trying to corner her for a private moment.

She found it thrilling at first. She teased him mercilessly, indulging in the attention of someone so persistent and quite obviously smitten. She’d let him buy her drinks, whisper silly compliments that made her cheeks warm, and flirt back just enough to get his heart pounding. But any time he tried to escalate—from a lean-in kiss to a direct request for a date—she’d reject him. Gently, but firmly. Over and over.

Why did she do it? Maybe she wanted to protect herself from the potential heartbreak of dating a man adored by millions. Or maybe she reveled in the power of knowing that someone as high-profile as Lando Norris was practically wrapped around her finger. Whatever the reason, the game had dragged on for months, and he never gave up. If anything, each rejection only seemed to strengthen his resolve.

And how he persevered. In those eight months, she had watched him run himself ragged trying to impress her. No matter what she threw at him—a dismissive laugh, a pointed change of subject, a half-hearted excuse—he always came back stronger. She’d catch glimpses of his frustration sometimes, in the tight line of his mouth or the way he’d fist his hands at his sides, but he never unleashed that frustration on her. Instead, he teased, he flirted, he praised. And every time she knocked him down, he got up again, more determined than ever.

Lando was desperate. His affection for her had morphed into an all-consuming fascination. When he was away in Monaco, racing or fulfilling sponsor obligations, he’d tell Max how he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He’d message Pietra, trying to get any new details about Y/N’s day. He was head over heels, losing sleep, replaying every interaction they’d ever had—each brush of the fingers, each clever remark that made him laugh, each time she chewed her lip and pretended not to look at him, even though he felt her gaze.

She, meanwhile, was enjoying the slow burn. It was cruel in a way, but exhilarating. She loved the sense of power over a man who had the entire world at his feet yet seemed willing to crawl if it meant she’d say yes. She wasn’t intentionally cruel—she did like him. In fact, she liked him a lot. But the thrill of him chasing and her evading was addicting. She made sure to flirt just enough to keep him on the hook—an extra lingering stare, a subtle graze of her hand across his chest whenever she passed by him at a party, a playful text that ended with a winking emoji—only to turn cold if he tried to corner her for anything more.

And it worked. She reeled him in, then pushed him away, over and over. Each time, he fell deeper under her spell, thoroughly bewitched by the side-smiles, the confident tilt of her chin, the way she’d arch an eyebrow whenever he tried to inch closer. Lando found himself wanting her with a fierceness he’d never felt before. Some nights he’d lie awake in Monaco, scrolling through photos of them at group events—her bright eyes, her maddening half-smiles—and wonder what he had to do to make her his.

So here she was again, sliding into a lounge booth with Pietra and Max, fully aware of Lando’s presence across the room. She greeted her friends with a sweet smile, but her pulse fluttered. Lando soon made his way over, wearing a casual denim jacket and a grin that betrayed a hint of nerves. He paused by the table, his gaze locking onto Y/N’s.

“Evening,” he said softly, eyes gleaming.

She cocked her head, forcing a pleasant smile. “Hey there, Norris. In London again?”

He shrugged with forced nonchalance. “Yeah, had some meetings earlier. Thought I’d stick around for the weekend.” It was a lie. He’d finished his obligations days ago, but no one doubted he’d stayed in town solely for her.

Pietra nudged Y/N with a playful smirk. “Glad you two can finally catch up. We’ve barely seen you in the same place these last few weeks.”

Lando lowered himself next to Y/N on the booth’s bench, the cushion sinking beneath his weight. She could practically feel the heat radiating from him. He smelled fresh and warm, a subtle cologne mixed with something distinctly him. “I’m starving,” he announced to no one in particular, though his attention stayed fixed on Y/N. “Hungry?”

She had eaten earlier, but she smiled coyly. “Might nibble on something if it’s good enough,” she teased.

His gaze flickered over her lips as she said the words. “I’ll make sure it’s good,” he murmured, voice dropping lower.

Goosebumps prickled her skin. She had to look away, heart drumming. If there was one thing Lando excelled at, it was firing her up with a single line of flirtation. She tensed her jaw, determined not to let him see just how much she liked that.

As the night wore on, Max and Pietra chatted about their upcoming travel plans. Lando and Y/N lingered at the edge of the conversation, occasionally joining in, but mostly locked in a subtle battle of words and glances.

At one point, Y/N excused herself to go to the bar, deliberately leaving him behind, half-hoping he’d follow. Sure enough, a moment later, a figure slid in beside her, resting an elbow on the wooden counter.

“You’re really not going to sit next to me all night?” Lando asked, feigning a pout.

She shrugged with a lazy grin. “You seemed too eager. Didn’t want to get your hopes up.”

He let out a soft groan, rubbing the back of his neck. “You drive me insane, you know that?”

“Yeah,” she teased. “I’m counting on it.”

He placed a hand on her lower back. Not too low, but enough to make her heart jump. “You’re doing this on purpose,” he accused, though the corners of his mouth lifted in admiration.

She pursed her lips. “I might be.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Why do you keep saying no?”

“Because…” She trailed off, letting the unspoken tension fill the gap. She could have easily told him she was afraid or uncertain, but that wasn’t the game she was playing tonight. Instead, she flashed a small, almost innocent smile. “Maybe I just like watching you try.”

His expression tightened, eyes flashing with frustration and something hotter. “Then watch me,” he said. “I’m not quitting.”

She gulped, momentarily stunned by the heated timbre in his voice. A flicker of genuine nerves fluttered inside her because she sensed his patience was wearing thin, replaced by a more urgent desire. For all her playful torment, she couldn’t deny a thrill ran through her at the thought of him finally snapping—that the slow burn might become an inferno that neither of them could control.

They returned to the booth, but an hour later, the small party started to disperse. Max and Pietra had an early morning. With warm hugs and goodbyes, they headed out, leaving Y/N and Lando alone amidst the lounge’s dwindling crowd.

He slid closer, draping one arm along the back of the booth. “So… are you gonna run away now?”

She pretended to check her phone. “It’s getting late. I might call it a night soon.”

He exhaled a barely concealed groan. “You always do this. We hang out with friends, you tease me, and then you leave me high and dry.”

“You’re still here, aren’t you?” She batted her eyelashes, an expression of false innocence.

“Barely,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. Then he steeled himself. “What if I said I’m done taking no for an answer?”

Her pulse skittered. She arched an eyebrow. “That sounds dangerously close to an ultimatum, Norris.”

He looked straight into her eyes, unwavering. “I want you. You know it. You’ve known it for months. I’m tired of playing the same game where I lose every time.”

Her stomach twisted with both excitement and the faintest tremor of guilt for having strung him along so long. But her desire to keep him on the edge remained strong. “You sound desperate,” she murmured, leaning forward.

His cheeks flared with color, but he didn’t back down. “I am desperate. Do you have any idea how you’ve been driving me crazy?”

She placed a hand delicately on his chest, feeling his heartbeat thunder beneath her palm. “You’re cute when you’re frustrated,” she quipped, pressing just enough to keep him leaning toward her.

He caught her wrist lightly. “And you’re unbelievably gorgeous when you’re tormenting me.” His gaze darkened as he whispered, “Come home with me. Or let me come home with you. Either way, let’s stop pretending we don’t want this.”

For a moment, she was silent. The tension between them was near stifling. Every inch of her body buzzed with anticipation, and she had to swallow hard to steady her voice.

She trailed her fingers up his neck, pausing to toy with the hairs at his nape. “My place,” she whispered. Her heart pounded at the stunned look that crossed his face. “You coming or not?”

He didn’t need to be asked twice.

They left the lounge together, the cool air of the London streets a sharp contrast to the heat that had built between them. Neither spoke much on the walk to her flat—a short distance that felt endless in the taut silence. Lando’s hand found hers, and she didn’t pull away this time. In fact, she threaded her fingers through his, sending a jolt of excitement right through them both.

He followed her inside the building, up two flights of stairs to her door. She fumbled with her keys, her nerves betraying her calm façade. Once inside, she discarded her coat, setting it on a rack by the door.

Lando shut the door behind them. No small talk. No polite questions about whether he wanted a drink. The second they were alone, he crossed the space in two strides, cradling her face with both hands and pressing his lips to hers in a long-awaited, bruising kiss.

A whimper escaped her as she leaned into him, arms sliding around his shoulders. Their mouths moved in a frenzy of pent-up hunger. She could feel his desperation in every breath, every gasp. He’d waited so long for even a taste, and now he devoured her lips, tongue stroking against hers as though trying to claim every inch.

She broke away momentarily, panting. “Hungry?” she teased, voice uneven.

“Starving,” he growled, eyes flickering with a mixture of relief and raw need.

Without warning, he scooped her up around the waist, drawing a startled laugh from her. She hooked her legs around his hips as he backed her up against the wall, ignoring her protest that she could walk just fine. His lips returned to hers, trailing hot kisses along her jaw, down her neck.

“Do you know how many times I’ve imagined this?” he breathed against her throat. “You, in my arms, not running away?”

She shivered, tugging at the collar of his jacket. “And do you know how many times I’ve thought about you losing your composure like this?” She let out a shaky exhale as his teeth grazed her skin. “I love seeing you barely holding it together.”

He groaned. “You really do get off on tormenting me, don’t you?”

She only smiled, unrepentant. “Maybe.”

With an exasperated laugh, he carried her deeper into the flat, pushing open a door until they tumbled into her bedroom. He set her down carefully, but kept her pinned against him, lips still fused.

Clothes became an unwanted barrier. They stripped each other down in hurried, desperate movements, fabric hitting the floor carelessly as they pressed closer. His palms roamed her curves, mapping them with reverence and urgency all at once. She marveled at the firm lines of his shoulders, the warmth radiating from his skin.

He nudged her gently onto the bed, following her down in a tangle of limbs. She let out a soft moan when his lips trailed over her collarbone, pressing open-mouthed kisses that made her toes curl. It was overwhelming, this culmination of half a year’s worth of tease and denial.

His breath hitched as she slipped her fingers through his hair, guiding him up to meet her eyes. “You like to lead me on, but trust me,” he said, voice husky. “Tonight, I’m the one in control.”

She smirked at the newfound edge in his tone. “Prove it.”

That challenge was all he needed. With a low growl, he leaned in, pressing a series of heated, possessive kisses along her throat. “I’m going to make you beg,” he rasped into her ear. “And you won’t be rejecting me this time.”

Her heart stuttered. She’d never seen him this way—intense, almost predatory in the best sense. It ignited a fire in her she hadn’t known existed. “Show me,” she whispered, arching against him.

His hands slid lower, and she gasped at the sensation of his touch, every nerve in her body singing with tension. She tangled her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, fueling the friction that built with every heated breath. The months of frustration erupted into a raw, almost desperate passion, making them both reckless.

Lando’s hands were firm on her hips, his lips trailing down her neck with a slow, deliberate intensity that made her breath hitch. Y/N’s back arched instinctively, her fingers gripping the sheets as he hovered above her, his weight pressing her into the mattress. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with desire, but there was a new edge to him—a sharpness that hadn’t been there before.

“You’ve had your fun,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down her spine. “But now it’s my turn.”

Before she could respond, he captured her lips in a searing kiss, cutting off any protest. His tongue swiped against hers, demanding, claiming, and she felt herself melting into him, her body betraying the control she’d so carefully maintained for months. His hands moved to her wrists, pinning them above her head with ease. She let out a soft whimper, the sound swallowed by his mouth as he deepened the kiss.

When he finally pulled away, she was breathless, her chest rising and falling rapidly. He smirked down at her, his expression a mix of satisfaction and something far more dangerous. “You’ve been teasing me for months, love,” he said, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. “Do you have any idea what that’s done to me?”

She opened her mouth to respond, but he silenced her with another kiss, this one brief but no less intense. “No,” he said, his voice firm. “You don’t get to talk right now. You don’t get to control this. I’m in charge now.”

Her stomach flipped at the command in his tone, a wave of heat pooling low in her core. She nodded, her eyes wide, and he smiled, a predatory glint in his eyes. “Good girl,” he purred, the words sending a jolt of electricity through her.

His grip on her wrists tightened as he leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. "You’ve driven me wild for months,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down her spine. “Now it’s my turn to make you lose control.” His free hand trailed teasingly down her body, fingers skimming over her ribs, her waist, her hips, making her squirm beneath him. “Stay still,” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Or I’ll stop.”

She whimpered, her body trembling with restraint as he continued his slow, deliberate exploration. His hand moved back up her side, fingers brushing the underside of her bra. “So beautiful,” he whispered, his gaze locked on hers as his fingers found the clasp. God, he’s doing this with one hand, she thought, her breath hitching as she watched him. How is this so fucking hot?

With practiced ease, he undid the clasp, the material loosening against her skin. He slid the straps down her arms, his eyes never leaving hers, a smirk playing on his lips as the bra fell away, exposing her breasts. “Fuck,” he groaned, his voice thick with desire. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to get my hands on these.” His palm cupped her breast, his fingers fitting perfectly around the soft curve. He squeezed gently at first, then more possessively, his grip firm as his thumb brushed over her nipple, drawing a sharp gasp from her.

He unpinned her wrists, but she didn’t move, as if waiting for permission. He didn’t give her any, too focused on her breasts, his hands now free to explore every inch. He cupped them both, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he squeezed them together, his eyes filled with hunger. “Fuck, baby, they fit perfectly in my hands,” he said, his voice rough. “Like they were made for me to touch.”

He leaned down, his lips hovering just above her skin. “They’re even better than I imagined,” he murmured, his breath hot against her as he took one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently before flicking his tongue over the sensitive peak. She gasped, her hands finally finding his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as he lavished attention on her breasts, alternating between them with a slow, deliberate rhythm.

His mouth was relentless, kissing, licking, and sucking as if he couldn’t get enough. “God, baby, they’re so soft,” he groaned against her skin, his voice trembling with need. “So fucking perfect. I could spend hours right here.” He buried his face between them, his hands still kneading her breasts, squeezing them together as he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to her skin.

She arched into his touch, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps as he worshipped her body. Every flick of his tongue, every squeeze of his hands sent shockwaves of pleasure through her, and she couldn’t help but moan his name. “Lando…”

He looked up at her, his lips swollen, his eyes burning with desire. “You’re mine now,” he said, his voice low and possessive. “And I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

She nodded, her body trembling with anticipation as he returned to her breasts, his hands and mouth working in perfect harmony to drive her wild. She’d never felt so wanted, so completely claimed, and she loved every second of it.

Lando’s lips left her breasts with one last, lingering kiss, and she whimpered at the loss of contact. But he wasn’t done—not even close. His mouth trailed down her body, leaving a scorching path of kisses along her skin. He kissed the curve of her ribs, the dip of her stomach, each press of his lips deliberate, maddeningly slow. Every inch of her felt like it was on fire, and she could barely keep herself still as he moved lower, his lips brushing the top of her hip bone.

Her breath hitched as he reached the hem of her underwear, his hands skimming over the fabric as if he were memorizing every curve. “So soft,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, sending shivers through her. He kissed just above the waistband, his breath hot against her skin, and she let out a desperate whimper. “Patience, sweetheart,” he said, smirking up at her. “You made me wait for months. You can wait a little longer.”

She groaned, her hips lifting off the bed as if begging for him to touch her where she needed it most. But he didn’t. Instead, his lips moved to her inner thighs, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there. His hands gripped her thighs, spreading her legs wider, and she felt exposed, utterly at his mercy. “Look at you,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “So desperate already. What happened to all that teasing confidence, love?”

She could feel the dampness pooling between her legs, her underwear clinging to her in the most embarrassing way. The fabric was soaked, a dark patch spreading across the front, and she knew he could see it, could smell how turned on she was. He kissed her thigh again, his lips brushing so close to where she needed him that she thought she might scream. “Every time you told me no,” he whispered, his breath hot against her skin, “I pictured this exact moment—how I’d have you writhing, begging for me.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she couldn’t deny the truth. She was writhing, her hips moving restlessly as he continued his torment. “Lando, please,” she gasped, her voice trembling with need.

He chuckled darkly, his fingers hooking under the waistband of her underwear. “You’re so wet for me,” he said, his voice thick with desire. “And I’ve barely even touched you properly. How bad do you need it?” She whimpered in response, and he smirked, slowly sliding the soaked fabric down her legs and tossing it aside.

He spread her thighs wide, his hands firm on her hips as he leaned in to inspect her. “Fuck, baby,” he groaned, his voice trembling with awe. “You’re fucking gorgeous.” The evidence of her arousal was impossible to ignore, her pussy glistening, her folds swollen and needy. He kissed her inner thigh again, his lips brushing so close to her clit that she nearly came undone. She gasped, her hips lifting off the bed, but he held her down firmly. “Keep still,” he warned, his voice low and commanding. “Or I’ll stop completely. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

She shook her head frantically, her hands gripping the sheets as he leaned in, his tongue finally dragging through her folds in one long, slow lick. She moaned, the sound desperate and broken, and he groaned against her. “You’re clenching around nothing,” he murmured, his voice rough. “You poor thing. Maybe I should just leave you like this.”

“No!” she cried, her voice trembling with desperation. “Please, Lando, I need you.”

He smirked, his breath hot against her sensitive skin. “Fuck, you sound so pretty when you beg,” he said, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “Go on, let me hear you.”

She whined, her hips lifting off the bed again, but he pressed her down firmly. “Don’t even think about it,” he said, his grip on her thighs unyielding. “You’re gonna let me see how much you need this.”

And then he dove in, his tongue lapping at her pussy with relentless precision. She cried out, her fingers tangling in his hair as he swirled his tongue around her clit, sucking lightly before pulling back, leaving her trembling on the edge. “Oh, you want to come?” he teased, his voice smug. “After making me wait all this time? Not yet, sweetheart.”

He pinned her hips to the bed, his tongue working her over with slow, maddening strokes. Every time she felt herself close to the edge, he pulled away, leaving her gasping and desperate. “Lando, please,” she begged, her voice breaking.

He chuckled darkly, his breath hot against her skin. “Shh, love. No whining. You teased me for eight months—this is only fair.”

And then he returned to her pussy, his tongue flicking over her clit with just the right amount of pressure to drive her wild. She was close, so close, but he pulled away again, leaving her trembling and desperate, utterly at his mercy.

Lando pulled away from her pussy, leaving her trembling and desperate, her body arched off the bed in search of more. “You’re close, aren’t you?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “But you’re not getting off that easy.” He stood, stripping off his boxers in one fluid motion, and her breath caught at the sight of him. His cock was thick, fully erect, and glistening with precum, a testament to how badly he wanted her. She couldn’t help but salivate at the sight, her pussy clenching around nothing, aching for him to fill her.

He climbed back onto the bed, positioning himself between her legs. She instinctively tried to close them, her body trembling with a mix of nerves and anticipation, but he grabbed her thighs, pinning them apart with a firm grip. “No, baby,” he said, his voice dark and commanding. “You don’t get to hide from me anymore. You wanted this. Now take it.”

He aligned himself with her entrance, the tip of his cock pressing against her slick folds, and she whimpered, her hips lifting in a silent plea. But Lando wasn’t rushing. He was going to make this last. He pushed into her slowly, inch by torturous inch, his eyes locked on hers as he stretched her open. She gasped, her back arching off the bed as he filled her, the sensation overwhelming and euphoric all at once. “Fuck, baby, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his voice rough with desire. “Feel that? That’s me, stretching you open, making you mine.”

He bottomed out, his hips flush against hers, and paused, letting her adjust to the sheer size of him. Her pussy fluttered around his cock, gripping him like a vice, and he groaned, his head falling back in ecstasy. “You feel that?” he whispered, his voice trembling. “How you’re wrapped around me? This is where you belong now—taking every fucking inch of me.”

Y/N was already a mess, her hands gripping the sheets as she struggled to stay still. Her body was on fire, every nerve alight with sensation, and she could feel every ridge, every vein of his cock as he moved inside her. It was too much and not enough all at once. “Lando, please—please move faster,” she begged, her voice breaking.

But he just smirked, his grip on her thighs tightening. “Oh, no, love. I decide how you take me,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He pulled out almost completely, then pushed back in with the same slow, deliberate pace, drawing a desperate whimper from her. “You’re doing this to punish me, aren’t you?” she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders.

He laughed, a low rumble in his chest. “Maybe I am,” he admitted, his eyes filled with satisfaction. “You made me wait for months, love. Now it’s your turn to suffer.” He thrust into her again, deep and slow, his hips rolling in a way that had her toes curling. Her pussy throbbed around him, each movement sending shockwaves of pleasure through her, but it wasn’t enough. She needed more. She needed him to go harder, faster, to give her the release she was hovering on the edge of. “Lando, I swear to god, if you don’t move faster—” she started, but her words were cut off by a moan as he slammed into her again, hitting a spot that made her see stars.

Her pussy was soaking wet, the slickness making every thrust smoother, every movement more intense. For Lando, the sensation was indescribable. Her walls clenched around him like a fist, hot and tight, and every time he pushed into her, he felt like he was losing his mind. She was perfect, perfect, and the way she moaned his name only drove him wild. “You love the way I fill you up, don’t you?” he growled, his voice low and possessive. “Look at you—already so fucking wrecked.”

She nodded frantically, her hips lifting to meet his, but he stopped her, his hands gripping her waist to keep her still. “No, love,” he said, his tone firm. “You stay right there and take it. Don’t move.” She whined, her body trembling beneath him, but she obeyed, her hands gripping the sheets as he continued to fuck her with the same slow, maddening pace. “Stop holding back,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “You’ve wanted this for months, so take me.”

He chuckled, leaning down to capture her lips in a searing kiss. “Oh, I’m taking you, sweetheart,” he murmured against her mouth. “Every. Single. Inch.” Each word was punctuated by a deep, controlled thrust, and she moaned, her body writhing beneath him. But he kept her still, his hands firm on her hips, his pace unrelenting. “Fuck, Lando,” she whimpered, her voice breaking. “I’m begging—please, just give it to me.”

He smirked, his eyes filled with satisfaction. “Maybe I will,” he said, his voice teasing. “But not until I’m done with you.” He shifted slightly, angling his hips so that each thrust brushed against her clit, and she cried out, her body trembling on the edge. “That’s it, love,” he whispered, his voice rough. “Let me ruin you properly.”

His cock felt like heaven inside her, stretching her open in the most delicious way, and she could feel every inch of him as he moved, slow and deep, his pace maddeningly controlled. For him, the sensation was almost too much. Her pussy was so tight, so wet, and every time she clenched around him, he felt like he was going to lose it. But he wasn’t going to give in—not yet. He was going to make her suffer, just like she’d made him. “You’re mine now,” he growled, his voice low and possessive. “And I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

She moaned, her body trembling beneath him, her pussy gripping him tighter with each thrust. She was close, so close, but he wasn’t going to let her come—not yet. He was going to draw this out, make her beg for it, make her feel every second of the torment she’d put him through. “Say it,” he demanded, his voice dark. “Say you love the way I fuck you.”

She hesitated, her eyes fluttering shut as another wave of pleasure crashed over her, but he tightened his grip on her jaw, forcing her to look at him. “Say it properly,” he growled, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Or I stop right now.” She whimpered, her body trembling beneath him, and finally, she said it, her voice trembling with need. “I… I love the way you fuck me.”

He smirked, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. “Good girl,” he purred, leaning down to capture her lips in a searing kiss. “Now let me show you how much I’ve wanted this.” And with that, he finally picked up the pace, his thrusts deep and relentless, driving her closer and closer to the edge. She was a mess, her body writhing beneath him, her moans filling the room as he fucked her exactly how he’d promised—deep, slow, and completely in control.

And she loved every second of it.

Lando’s hands moved to her hips, his grip firm and unyielding as he lifted her effortlessly, flipping her in one fluid motion. Her breath caught in her throat as she found herself straddling him, his cock still buried deep inside her. Her tits bounced with the sudden movement, and he didn’t miss the opportunity, his hands immediately reaching up to cup them, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he squeezed possessively. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he growled, his voice thick with desire. “Now let me see you ride me, but don’t you dare move faster than I let you.”

His hands were like iron, gripping her hips and holding her steady as he thrust up into her, his cock sliding in and out of her slick pussy with maddening precision. She tried to lift herself, to take control of the rhythm, but he held her down firmly, making her take every inch of him at his pace. “No, love,” he said, his voice dark and commanding. “You don’t get to set the pace. I do. And I want to take my time with you.”

His fingers dug into her flesh, holding her in place as he fucked up into her, his hips driving with a steady, relentless rhythm. Every thrust made her pussy clench around him, her body trembling with the effort of staying still. “Lando, please,” she begged, her voice trembling. “Let me move.” She could feel every inch of his cock inside her, stretching her open, filling her in the most delicious way. The sheer size of him was overwhelming, and she could feel every ridge, every vein as he slid in and out of her. “Fuck, baby, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his hands holding her down as he thrust into her again, deeper this time, hitting a spot that made her see stars.

“God, you feel so good,” she moaned, her head falling back as he continued to fuck her, his hands gripping her hips, controlling every movement. “Fuckin’ perfect around me,” he growled, his voice rough. “You take me so well, like you were made for me.” She could feel his cock twitching inside her, his control slipping just slightly, the hot, hard length of him pressing against her walls, stretching her in the most exquisite way. Every thrust sent waves of pleasure crashing through her, her pussy clinging to him like a vice, greedy for more. But Lando wasn’t rushing. He was going to make this last. Every movement was deliberate, controlled, and it was driving her mad.

“Look at you,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “Trying to squirm away. You’re not going anywhere, love.” His hands gripped her tighter, holding her down as his cock plunged deeper into her, every thrust hitting that perfect spot that made her moan his name. Fuck, he’s so big, she thought, her body trembling on top of him. She could feel every inch of him inside her, stretching her, filling her, and she loved it. His cock was thick, hot, and hard, and every time he thrust into her, she felt like she was losing her mind. Her pussy was so wet, so slick, and every movement felt like pure bliss. She could feel the way her walls clenched around him, gripping him tight, and she knew he could feel it too.

“Stay still,” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. “You’re going to let me use you exactly how I want.” His hands were like iron, gripping her hips and holding her steady as he thrust up into her, his cock sliding in and out of her slick pussy with maddening precision. She tried to lift herself, to take control of the rhythm, but he held her down firmly, making her take every inch of him at his pace. “No running, no hiding,” he growled, his voice dark and possessive. “You wanted to tease me for months? Now you’re going to feel what that did to me.”

Her pussy was on fire, every nerve in her body alight with sensation as he continued to fuck her, his hands gripping her hips, controlling every movement. She could feel his cock twitching inside her, his control slipping just slightly, the hot, hard length of him pressing against her walls, stretching her in the most exquisite way. Every thrust sent waves of pleasure crashing through her, her pussy clinging to him like a fist, greedy for more. But Lando wasn’t rushing. He was going to make this last. Every movement was deliberate, controlled, and it was driving her mad.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered, his voice low and possessive. “And I’m going to make sure you never forget it.” His hands gripped her tighter, holding her down as his cock plunged deeper into her, every thrust hitting that perfect spot that made her moan his name. She could feel every inch of him inside her, stretching her, filling her, and she loved it. Her pussy was so wet, so slick, and every movement felt like pure bliss. She could feel the way her walls clenched around him, gripping him tight, and she knew he could feel it too.

“You like this, don’t you?” he teased, his voice smug, the satisfaction evident in his tone. “You like me holding you down, making you take every inch.” He kept his pace steady, his hands holding her in place, not letting her move as he fucked her exactly how he wanted. She was a moaning mess, her hips lifting slightly, trying to meet his thrusts, but he wasn’t giving her an inch. His hands tightened on her hips, holding her down, making her take everything he gave her. “Fuck, baby, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his voice rough. “You’re going to take everything I give you, and you’re going to love every fucking second of it.”

“Lando, please,” she begged, her voice trembling with need. “I need more. Please.” His hands gripped her tighter, his fingers digging into her flesh as he thrust into her again, deeper, harder, hitting that perfect spot that made her cry out. “Beg me properly,” he said, his voice dark. “Show me how much you need it.” She bit her lip, her body trembling beneath him, and finally, she said it, her voice trembling with need. “Please, Lando. Please fuck me harder. I need it. Please.”

"Good girl," he purred, his fingers threading into her hair as he guided her head down, tilting her face down to meet his. Then, he captured her lips in a searing kiss, possessive and deep.

“Now let me show you how much I’ve wanted this.” With a growl, Lando flipped her onto her back again in one fluid motion, his cock still buried deep inside her. His hands gripped her thighs, spreading her legs wide as he loomed over her, his eyes blazing with hunger. He didn’t give her a moment to adjust before he started fucking her again—hard, fast, and without mercy. His hips driving into her with a savage rhythm, his cock slamming into her pussy with such force that the bed shook beneath them.

His cock was thick, rigid, and unyielding, every vein pulsing with the sheer intensity of his arousal. It was hot, almost searing, as it stretched her open, the girth of it filling her to the brim. Every thrust sent a jolt of pleasure through her, the friction of his cock sliding in and out of her slick walls making her toes curl. Her pussy was so tight, so wet, and every time he pushed into her, she could feel every inch of him—the way he stretched her, the way he filled her completely, the way he hit that spot deep inside that made her see stars.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his voice rough with desire. “Feel that? That’s me, fucking you just the way I’ve wanted to for months.” His hands moved to her hips, gripping her hard enough to leave marks as he pulled her down onto his cock with every thrust. “You take me so fucking well, love. Like you were made for me.” His words were low and possessive, dripping with a primal need that sent shivers down her spine.

She could feel his cock twitching inside her, the hot, hard length of him pressing against her walls, stretching her in the most exquisite way. Every time he thrust into her, she felt a wave of pleasure crash over her, her pussy clenching around him, desperate for more. “Lando, please,” she gasped, her voice trembling with need. “I need you. Don’t stop.”

He smirked, his eyes filled with satisfaction. “You think I’d stop now?” he growled, his hips slamming into her with even more force. “Not a fucking chance, love.” His cock was relentless, pumping into her with a rhythm that was both punishing and euphoric. She could feel the way her walls clung to him, gripping him tight, as if begging him never to leave. “You’re mine now,” he whispered, his voice low and possessive. “And I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

Her body was on fire, every nerve alight with sensation as he continued to fuck her with a ferocity that left her breathless. She could feel the tension building inside her, coiling tighter and tighter with every thrust. “Lando, I’m close,” she whimpered, her voice breaking. “Please, let me come.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear. “Go ahead, baby,” he whispered, his voice dark and teasing. “Come for me. Let me feel you.” His hands moved to her breasts, squeezing them roughly as he continued to thrust into her, his cock hitting that spot deep inside her that made her see stars.

She couldn’t hold back any longer. Her body convulsed as the orgasm ripped through her, her pussy clamping down on his cock as waves of pleasure crashed over her. She cried out, her voice trembling with ecstasy as she came apart beneath him.

Lando groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic as he felt her walls clench around him, milking his cock for every drop. “Fuck, baby, you’re so fucking tight,” he growled, his voice rough with need. “I can’t hold back anymore.” With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside her, his cock pulsing as he came, filling her with his release. The sensation was overwhelming, the heat of his cum spilling deep inside her, marking her as his.

They came together, their bodies trembling with the force of their orgasms. She could feel every pulse of his cock inside her, the way his cum filled her, the way his body shuddered with pleasure. It was intoxicating, the way they fit together, the way they moved as one. “Fuck, baby,” he murmured, his voice trembling. “That was… fucking incredible.”

She could barely speak, her body still trembling with the aftershocks of her orgasm. Her pussy felt so full, so satisfied, and she could still feel the way his cock twitched inside her, as if he wasn’t ready to pull away just yet. “Lando,” she whispered, her voice soft and trembling. “That was… I’ve never felt anything like that.”

He smiled, leaning down to kiss her softly. “I told you I’d make you mine,” he murmured, his voice low and possessive. “And I meant it.” He stayed inside her, their bodies still connected, as they caught their breath together. The room was quiet except for the sound of their breathing, the air thick with the scent of their passion. And in that moment, she knew she was his—completely and utterly his.

They lay entangled in the aftermath, the sheets tangled around sweat-slick skin. The room was quiet save for their ragged breathing. After a moment, Lando turned to gaze at her, still looking slightly astonished. “You’re real,” he murmured. “I’ve waited so long to have you here, like this.”

She let out a shaky laugh, her hand resting on his chest. “Didn’t think I’d give in, did you?”

He brushed a thumb over her lower lip. “I hoped you would. No matter how much you pushed me away, I couldn’t imagine stopping.”

She met his eyes. “Why?”

“Because you’re everything.” His voice was soft, laced with sincerity. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my head for months. I can’t even remember what it was like not wanting you.”

Her cheeks warmed, and she allowed herself a rare moment of honesty. “You made it hard for me, you know,” she admitted quietly. “Staying away when you’re so… persistent.”

He exhaled a quiet chuckle, clearly remembering every time she’d laughed off his attempts or walked away. “You’re a damn expert at playing hard to get, though. You had me by the throat. I was basically begging.”

She smirked, eyes gleaming in the low light. “Still are,” she teased gently. “You’ll keep begging for more, right?”

His laugh turned into a low, contented hum. “Oh, definitely. But don’t worry.” He shifted, rolling partly on top of her again, the warmth of his body reminding her just how good it felt. “I’m not letting you slip away this time.”

She didn’t resist as he captured her lips once more. The tension was different now—still electric, but edged with relief. They no longer had to pretend or play a cat-and-mouse game. The slow burn had finally exploded into a full-blown blaze, and there was no going back to careful distance.

Eventually, they drifted into a comfortable silence, bodies exhausted from the release of so many months of pent-up desire. She nestled into the crook of his arm, listening to the steady thump of his heart. Lando, seemingly unable to stop touching her, lazily traced patterns on her arm with his fingertips. Each brush of his skin still sent a small thrill through her, a reminder of what had finally happened between them.

In a half-drowsy state, she heard him murmur, “I can’t believe this is real.”

She let out a soft laugh, pressing her face into his shoulder. “I guess I teased you long enough.”

He sighed contentedly. “Too long,” he teased back, though his tone was affectionate. “But it’s worth it. You’re worth it.”

Warmth spread through her at his words. She pressed a kiss to his collarbone, ignoring the tiny voice inside her that warned of complexities and future uncertainties. For now, all that mattered was that the months of dancing around each other had led them here, to a tangled bed in a London flat, hearts still racing from the aftershock of passion.

The game they’d played was over, the final move sealing a mutual surrender. But as she looked up and met his eyes, she realized something else: a new chapter had begun. One where neither of them had to hide their attraction or maintain a careful distance. One where he didn’t have to pine and she didn’t have to tease—unless, of course, they both wanted to for the fun of it.

She gave him a sly smile. “I’m guessing you don’t regret staying in London this weekend.”

His quiet laugh rumbled in his chest. “Not even a little bit.” Then he leaned in, brushing his lips to her ear. “But don’t think I’m done yet. After all these months? We’ve only just started.”

Her breath caught, a new wave of heat coursing through her. “So show me,” she whispered.

He didn’t hesitate. With a wicked grin, he drew her closer, tangling their limbs again under the dim glow of early morning light. Their laughter faded into soft groans and murmured confessions, and everything else—every worry, every reason she’d ever had to say no—melted away.

In that moment, the only thing that mattered was the closeness they’d finally earned, and the thrilling promise that this was just the beginning.

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sv3t1ana · 1 month ago

Text

SYNOPSIS ᯓ Choso Kamo is a waste of your time. A temp intern with no real skills, constantly fumbling through tasks he barely understood. You've tried to get rid of him, but the agency won't take him back until his contract is done. You've been treating him like the extra he is, deciding that if he's going to waste your time, he might as well make himself useful.

PAIRING ᯓ Intern! Choso x Executive fem! Reader

WARNINGS ᯓ dubcon, office AU, degrading (really not that bad tho), he calls reader "ma'am," reader is mean to him (lmao sorry), reader is a workaholic, choso sucks at his job, power dynamics, choso has tattoos, obedience, use of "good boy," oral (m and f receiving), size kink, fingering (f receiving), punishment, unprotected p i v sex, begging, sub choso x dom reader?

WORD COUNT ᯓ 3.6k

SERIES ᯓ GOJO ⋮ GETO ⋮ CHOSO

Choso Kamo.

A lowly intern hired into this company, not based on merit, just placed here through a temp agency you signed a contract with a few years ago.

It’s gotten to the point where you tried to get rid of him, calling the agency yourself. That’s right, you took precious time out of your day to get rid of him.

“So, you’re telling me he still has a month here?”

“If you don’t have reasonable grounds to fire him, then yes, he will stay for an additional four weeks.”

You sighed, throwing your head back and tossing your feet up on your mahogany desk.

This intern was going to be the death of you. Seriously. Last week you tasked him with some very simple data visualizations, and he returned a pie chart.

A pie chart.

A single pie chart.

“Kamo, what the fuck is this?”

Choso was completely serious, sitting in the chair across from your desk in your private, sleek office. “It’s a visualization of last quarter’s trends.”

You glanced down, almost jaw-slack in disbelief. There was a big rainbow pie chart, indicating… last quarter’s trends? “Kamo,” you said, voice flat, “this is an abomination.”

You didn’t hold back tearing it apart in front of his face, tossing it on the ground at his feet while you silently pointed toward the door, motioning him to leave. It was sad actually, just a small part of your heart aching at the clueless loser here only because he could pass a drug test. It’s clear he tried, but somehow the dataset became absolutely vile, even after you provided a cleaned one.

It was so fucked up, seriously. As an executive you had meetings on meetings, you barely had time to eat let alone find ways to get Choso fired. Most of your days began and ended sipping caffeine, you even worked on the weekends. And to have this inferior being who can barely copy a few papers ruin your day was just the icing on the cake.

He’d already been here for a month, a temporary contract-to-hire position, (he clearly wasn’t getting hired) and you’ve just been having him run your errands for you.

“I need you to get this dry cleaned.”

“Go to my car and bring me the box of files.”

“Put my mug in the kitchen.”

He was almost like a pet, barely good enough to be named slave as you just ran out the rest of his time here with trivial duties.

It was a hell of a Thursday afternoon, pausing your busy schedule and setting your Microsoft Teams to offline as you waited in your office, blinds closed while you rested your head in your hand, slowly drifting off to sleep until-

BANG!

“Ma’am, I have your lunch,” Choso stood at the doorway dripping wet as he panted out of breath.

The sound of the door slamming open jolted you awake, your heart lurching against your ribs. He stood there, shoulders rising and falling, his shirt soaked through, clinging to his skin like it was painted on.

You blinked, trying to focus on something, anything other than the way his pecs pressed against the damp fabric, the slow drip of rainwater from his hair rolling down the side of his neck.

Absolutely not.

You forced your gaze to his face. He wasn’t even looking at you, too busy trying to catch his breath, lips parted, chest rising and falling with every inhale.

“...Apologies for the late time,” he finally muttered, stepping forward to set the bag of food on your desk.

You stared at him, but truly it wasn’t purposeful, your brain was just lagging, refusing to process anything except fuck, he’s actually kind of-

No. Not happening.

You cleared your throat, reaching for the food like it was going to save you. “You look disgusting,” you muttered, barely glancing up.

He huffed a small laugh, shaking out his sleeves in your pristine office before stepping away, rainwater leaving faint specks on your office floor. He didn’t say anything else. Just turned and walked out.

And yet, you didn’t stop staring until the door clicked shut behind him.

God, at least he’s pretty, too bad he’s useless.

That weekend you didn’t think about him once. Really, you didn’t.

But still, you were restless.

That weekend, you caught yourself checking your phone too often, feeling agitated over things that had nothing to do with work. You opened your email just to have something to do, only to find a message from Choso.

RE: Revised Visualizations

Attached are the updated charts per your feedback. Let me know if further revisions are needed.

Oh.

You clicked the attachment, expecting the same disaster as before.

And, well, of course it still sucked, but it was less awful. He was improving.

You set your laptop aside and rubbed your temples. Maybe you just needed a distraction.

It has been years since you last had one.

Work truly consumed the entirety of you, it was the only thing on your mind. Your laundry constantly piled up, dishes overflowing your sink often because you worked too damn hard.

It’s been so long since you had a boyfriend, not that you were keeping track but it’s been about 2 years, 6 months, and 24 days since you broke up with him. He was too bland, too safe, not exciting enough for you, but at least he was a distraction.

Hm, maybe you found yourself bored again, wanting to feel the adrenaline course your veins with a new love interest, but you just sat alone in your office the following week, sighing as you poked your food with a fork. You had no time for a relationship.

That next week you found your office a complete mess, last week the stakeholders visited, and you had endless meetings, constantly having to prove yourself in your position as a woman to these disgusting old men who only wanted money, it was draining.

Piles of paper scattered your floor, you had no idea which filing cabinet they belonged to. Your desk a mess, too, crowded with too many coffee mugs and random office supplies, where did this shit even originate from?

So, you invited Choso to clean your mess for you. Tasking him to organize the scattered papers covering almost your entire office floor. You watched as he sat on his knees, sleeves rolled up revealing toned forearms littered with tattoos.

“All of these papers are titled about the first quarter’s finances.”

Choso’s voice was steady as he handed you the file, but you barely registered the words.

Because his hands.

Shit.

You didn’t mean to look, didn’t mean to notice how thick and long his fingers were, the way the veins ran up his arms, disappearing beneath the rolled-up sleeves.

You swallowed. Taking the file a little too quickly, clicking your pen aggressively.

He sat on his knees, sorting through the mess you’d left him with, hair falling loose from his buns. Sharp jawline. The slow bob of his throat when he swallowed. The slight furrow in his brow as he focused.

You had to mentally will yourself to tear your eyes away, flipping through the file like your life depended on it. “You probably gave me the wrong one,” you muttered.

He exhaled, running a hand through his bangs and pushing them back for just a second, just long enough for you to notice his dark eyes, furrowed brows, the light sheen of sweat clinging to his temples.

You clicked your pen again, harder this time.

This was just nothing, nothing at all.

You were beginning to get frustrated, really frustrated. Because what the hell is wrong with you?

It’s not just some passing thought or fleeting distraction that can be shaken off with a splash of cold water. It lingered in your mind, the parts of your mind that should be occupied with financial reports and quarterly projections. Every time you saw him, some unwelcome thought wormed its way into your brain, like the way he had a ridiculous devotion to completing the most mundane tasks you assigned him. It’s infuriating, really, because how could you, as an executive, someone that clawed your way to the top of this company, be distracted by the likes of him?

Choso Kamo. A temp. A lowly intern who struggled inputting a SUM function in Excel. There’s about three million YouTube tutorials for that, by the way. This was supposed to be his last week here.

It’s not like you’ve never dealt with useless men before, your job is filled with them. Old, crusty men in ill-fitted suits who pretended you weren’t their intellectual superior. But at least they didn’t invade your mind like this.

And worse? He was so obedient, like some helpless thing always awaiting your instructions. He always called you ma’am, whether out of genuine respect or blind adherence to authority, you didn’t know.

Maybe that’s why, as you sat in your office, hands clenched into fists against your desk, you decide.

If you’re going to suffer through the remaining time of his employment, you might as well make it worth your while.

You inhaled sharply through your nose, rolling your shoulders as you stood from your chair, exiting your office.

“Kamo, my office. Now.”

No explanation. No context. Just a simple demand.

You waited, hearing a hesitant knock at first, light and unsure. It’s the same way he approaches everything, carefully like he’s afraid of stepping out of line.

“Come in.”

Choso enters, standing awkwardly just past the doorway, his hands clasped in front of him. “You wanted to see me, ma’am?”

“Close the door.”

He does, albeit clumsily, his fingers fumbling with the handle for a second too long. You watch in silence as he turns his back toward you, shoulders stiff and posture straight as if he’s bracing for reprimand.

Instead of speaking immediately you stood again, walking toward your large office windows that overlooks the rest of the department floor. The blinds are drawn halfway up, letting just enough visibility in for others to see. That won’t do.

One by one, you lowered them, the only noise in the room being the mechanical whir of the blinds. Choso shifted nervously on his feet.

“You’ve been here for almost two months now,” you mused, tone even as you turn to face him fully. “Longer than I would’ve liked, but still.”

Choso nods, saying nothing.

You step closer, crossing the room slow and deliberately. “And despite your many, many failures, you’ve somehow managed to be useful in one way.”

His brows knit together slightly, but he remains silent, waiting.

You tilted your head as if to observe him. His hands are still clasped in front of him, his stance rigid, like he didn’t know whether to be nervous or grateful.

Good.

That mean’s he’ll listen.

You extend a hand, fingers wrapping around the nape of his neck as your thumb traced his jawline.

“You want to be useful, don’t you, Kamo?” Your voice was smooth, measured.

He nods immediately. “Yes, ma’am.”

You dropped your head slightly, “you have…” you sigh, feigning disappointment, “such a bad habit of wasting my time.”

He flinches, subtly, but you saw it.

“I-I’m sorry, ma’am, I-”

You tut, cutting him off. “But I’ve decided something.”

He falls silent again, waiting.

“If you insist on wasting my time, then I’ll run out the rest of yours however I see fit.”

“I don’t understand…” his voice was quiet, more careful.

You laughed softly, reaching behind him to flick the lock on the door. The click is soft but heavy, something final, “you don’t need to.”

You see the way his breath catches. How his fingers tighten into his palm like he’s resisting the urge to fidget. How his pupils dilate just slightly as you eye his figure up and down, like you were a predator sizing up prey.

And he is prey, nervous, uncertain, and pliant.

“You always listen so well,” you muse, talking slow steps to sit back at your desk. “Always so eager to do exactly as I say.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he breathes.

You smile.

“Then be a good boy, Kamo.”

He shudders.

You motion him to your side of the desk. “Take a seat.”

He did so nervously, not expecting you to snap at the ground petitioning him to kneel before you.

“This is your first task, make me cum in 3 minutes or you’re fired.”

Though, this was an objectively easy task for him, you were aroused last night even thinking about it, no idea the state of your cunt currently.

You watched as he sat on his knees before you, inching yourself closer to the edge of your chair while you spread your legs, showcasing your naked center under your skirt.

You could almost hear the thumps of his heart, “aww, don’t be shy, Kamo. You’re running out the clock!” You say playfully.

He nervously looked around him, swallowing hard before licking his lips. His hands traveled up your legs, gripping your thighs to spread you even wider.

You leaned back in your chair, and it was almost as if he attacked you with his tongue like his job depended on it. Because, well, it did.

Inhaling through his nose, he used the flat of his tongue to draw a long, slow stroke along your folds while you exhaled loudly. Quickly, he lapped at you, dipping in your entrance with his tongue before he drew circles with the tip of it on your clit.

You couldn’t help but grip his hair as he worked you, inserting two dept fingers and curling them ever-so-slightly while the lower half of his face was buried in you. And you pulled him closer, tighter to you as you felt him begin to sweat profusely.

It was so cute, really, was he doing this because he wanted to? Or that he didn’t want to lose his job? Surely, he knew he wouldn’t get hired after his contract ran out, right?

“Mmm, one minute, Kamo,” you were breathless, having gone so long without the touch of the opposite sex, either that or Choso finally found something he was good at.

You reached your climax fast, crying out when he quickened his pace, your slick slit gushing out in the palm of his hand while he fucked you through it, gripping the back of his head and practically suffocating him between your thighs.

You gripped his forehead and forcefully shoved him out of you on the edge of overstimulation, leaving him on his hands and knees catching his breath.

You looked over at the digital clock on your computer, “congratulations, you passed!”

He looked up at you, a glossy film of sweat covering his face, or rather, a mix of his sweat and your arousal.

“Stand up.”

He obeyed.

“Look at you,” you tilted your head, eyeing the huge bulge that tented his slacks. “You’re all excited just from eating me out, hm?”

You groped his clothed cock, feeling how big it was under your hands. “Are you ready for your second task?”

You didn’t even give him time to respond before you undid his belt, unzipping his pants and pulling them down boxers included, his thick length popping out.

“If you cum, I’ll punish you.” You began stroking his length, using two hands to jerk him as you spit, using your thumb to spread his pre around his sensitive, engorged tip.

He nearly buckled at the knees, breath quickening and sweat dripping from his temples as he held back. “F-fuck…”

And you gave him no mercy, wetting your lips and pressing light kisses at his tip, squeezing his base with one hand as the other massaged his balls.

He was hunched over, using your desk as purchase while he watched from above as you took only the tip in your warm mouth, spitting on it to use as more lubricant for your hand that tugged him.

You let him out of your mouth slowly, “you look so pathetic,” you mused. “All fucked-out when all I did was lick your tip.”

You watched as his mouth dropped open, using both hands squeezing him tight, jerking him and letting his tip rest on your tongue.

It didn’t take long for him to cum, body convulsing as he struggled to maintain balance, painting your face and tongue with white, ruining your makeup and your tastebuds.

You sat still as he came down from his high, still fully erect in your hands. “You failed.” You said flatly.

He looked at you almost in shock, still out of breath.

“You can leave now,” you started rummaging through your drawers for tissues, wipes, anything to get rid of the horrible artwork left on your face. “Oh, see me in my office first thing tomorrow, for your punishment, of course.”

He didn’t say a word as he took a tissue from you, cleaning himself up before stuffing his still-hard length back in his pants and returning to his desk for the rest of the day.

It was the next day when he entered your office, you noticed the slight bulge in his pants already.

Oh, how faithful he was for you.

You sat on your desk, legs crossed and a bored expression across your face.

Choso averted his gaze, “ma’am, I’m ready to face my punishment.”

It looked like you just fired the man, as if he had a wife and kids at home and you just fired him before the Christmas bonus came in.

“Today you’re going to fuck me.” You said it so blatantly, just putting it out there in the air.

It simmered for a minute, Choso nervously looking around the room to see the blinds barely open. If someone wanted to peak in and see, they would.

“I-I don’t have any condoms,” he checked his pockets like a maniac.

“Just do your best,” you waved your hand, beckoning him to come closer.

His hands traveled your figure, squeezing your breasts over your tight top, pressing kisses to your neck when you throw your head back, his hands landing on your hips.

“Tell me how you want it,” he said, breathless and polite, yet seemingly more eager than yesterday.

All you did was spread your legs, revealing your bare center to him once again.

He began deftly unzipping his pants, bringing his solid length out at the sight of your glistening cunt. He put a hand on your lower back, face too close to yours as he leaned you back, positioning his tip at your entrance.

That’s when you locked your ankles behind his back, immediately stuffing yourself with him. You tried not to cry out too loudly, not even all of him could fit. It sure has been a couple years since you last hooked up with someone, the effects of it having a toll on your body.

You were so tight around him, walls struggling to even pulse around his length, struggling to adjust to his size.

He grunted as he began thrusting, brows pinched tightly as you seemed to clench around him, pulling him back in every time he tried to pull out.

Your pussy dripping for him, the sounds of it squishing, squelching in attempt to take him all as a slow, languid pace began.

All you did in return was grip his shoulders, squeeze your legs tighter to keep him close.

“You feel… so good,” he breathed out between thrusts, “fuck, I-I’m at my limit,” his voice was breaking, stuttering as he was engulfed in your warmth, squeezing him so tight that he was about to cum not even five minutes in.

“Mmh, Kamo, if you… get me pregnant,” you said between breaths. “You’re fired,” voice frail as he only fucked deeper and deeper with each rut of his hips, the only sounds in the room being breathless gasps for air and slapping skin, desk shaking beneath you.

You just squeezed your legs tighter, not giving him the chance to pull out as his hands fumbled in desperate attempt to unlock your legs behind him.

“G-god, I’m cumming,” he grunted, voice low as his grip on your waist sure to leave a few marks by tomorrow.

You felt yourself being filled up with him, so hot and sticky inside in the entrance to your womb, it brought on your own climax.

You lay almost lifeless on your desk as his body collapsed on yours, a pitiful look on his face as he stood fully, about to take himself out your entrance when you grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, bringing your lips to his in a heated kiss.

You two sharing whiny moans as he kissed back with the same passion, the world around you stopping as you tasted his morning coffee, humming into each others mouths.

He broke away only to apologize, plead for one more try. “Please,” he was still out of breath, voice hoarse. “I’ll be good next time, I swear.”

You stifled a laugh at the sight of him looking so unprofessional, hair a mess and clothes all loose, your hand coming up to hide the smirk tugging at your lips. The letter sat on your desk, taunting him. You could practically feel the anxiety radiating off him as he stared at it.

Without saying a word, you motioned toward the paper. The offer a permanent position as your personal assistant.

“Do you want it?” you asked, your voice low but laced with amusement.

He just smiled like a kid in a candy aisle, smashing his lips to yours.

1K notes · View notes

celiababy · 2 months ago

Note

already in love w ur page! i would love to see dads bestfriend joel from you!!

hi! thank u sm!! and ofc coming right up on a very hot and steamy platter 😛

Not Your Daddy

Pairing: Pre-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You're back from your first year at college. You've changed and Joel is quick to notice.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, age gap (36/19), swearing, p in v, size kink, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (fem!recieving) no Sarah, alcohol

Celia's note: Heres jus a lil something :) (not proofread sorry) also part 3 of ain't right is coming so so soon I promise!!

Joel Miller and your father were good friends.

When you and your dad moved in next door a little over three years ago, they hit it off quickly. Their tendency to take on random jobs for cash is what bonded them. Also sports.

You were shy then, never able to hold eye contact and always avoiding him whenever he was around.

But thankfully, you've grown into a woman. Your first year at college changed you.

Now, you were back for the summer, eager to sleep in your own bed and spend time with your home-town friends.

But honestly, you were most excited to see Joel.

You wanted him to see how much you've grown. See how mature you've become, how confident.

You always had a little crush on him—mostly because he was the kindest out of all your dad's friends.

You also wanted him to be the one to pop your cherry.

You were a virgin, and kinda always fantasized about Joel being the one to take it from you.

Sure, you’ve done some stuff with guys, but never gone all the way. You were saving that for him.

You knew it wouldn't take long until he made an appearance.

Your dad had offered to host a small get-together to celebrate you being back. He would barbecue in the backyard and hold bets for the basketball game.

It was really just an excuse for him to break out the grill and gamble, but you didn't care. Only because you knew Joel would be there.

You even put on your shortest white sundress and blew out your hair for the occasion.

Your body was buzzing with the idea of seeing him again.

You wondered if he had changed at all.

Your mind started spiraling at the thought.

What if he had changed? What if he was dating someone now? What if he was engaged?

You glanced in the mirror at your nearly perfect reflection and suddenly felt so silly. What if this was all for nothing?

You didn't have long to ponder that thought because the doorbell rings.

You peak out your window and see Joel's truck in the driveway.

Your dad answers the door downstairs, the faint murmur of voices distracting your ears.

The anticipation was gnawing at you like a hungry dog.

After collecting your nerves, you slowly descend the stairs to meet them in the kitchen.

The loud cussing gave away their location. "You've lost your damn mind if you think there's a chance in hell the Privateers of all fucking teams are gonna beat—oh, hey darlin'," Your dad greets you, clearing his throat like he wasn't just cussing out Joel.

His back is to you, but when he turns around, your heart fucking ignites.

He's just as handsome as the day you left. He looks momentarily stunned by you, his eyes flickering all over your figure. God—how was it possible for someone to change so much? You looked more than amazing.

He immediately feels ashamed for basically checking you out in front of your dad, his eyes snapping back up to your face.

"Christ kid, they feedin' you up there at A&M?" He teases before stepping in for a hug.

He even smells the same as he did all those months ago, pine and smoke. You feel relieved.

It seems like the only thing thats different about him is a few gray hairs.

"Hey Joel," you greet with a giddy smile, hugging him back and relishing in his warmth. "How are you?"

Joel is very surprised. He almost doesn't recognize you. You're so much more...more.

"M'alright, aside from the fact that your dad's gonna give me a fuckin' aneurysm one of these days."

You laugh and shake your head. "Fighting about the game tonight?"

"Yeah, this fuckin' asshat thinks the longhorns might lose tonight—messin' up the whole fuckin' mojo," Your dad rambles, his voice beginning to raise before the doorbell rings again. "I'll get that, need to get away from this traitor." He snorts before heading to the door and leaving you both alone.

Joel rolls his eyes before landing his gaze back onto you and your cute little sundress. He crosses his arms over his chest and turns to face you with his body.

"You behavin' up there at school?" He asks light-heartedly, though you find it excruciatingly hard not to reply in some suggestive way.

"Mhm," You hum unconvincingly with a charmingly guilty smile, holding back a laugh.

Joel cocks a brow, pretending to look at you judgmentally. "Lyin’ is a sin, y’know." He huffs, a smile creeping on his lips.

“I’ve been good, just a lotta temptations s’all..” You murmur softly, your body naturally drifting closer to Joel by swaying on your feet.

The tension in the room is palpable.

“Oh yeah?” He tilts his head the tiniest bit to the side, his voice dropping what seemed like several octaves.

In fear of your voice cracking when giving a verbal response, you opt for a nod of your head, but then shrug just to tease him.

He glares at you but then scoffs, shaking his head.

"When'd you become such a little shit-stirrer, huh?" He chides, reaching over to ruffle the top of your hair.

You laugh before pushing his hand away, your fingers lingering on his wrist for longer than it needed to.

His skin is warm, he's almost hot to the touch. You're having a very hard time tearing your eyes away from his face.

All the sudden, your father calls you into the other room.

"Get in here! Max and Ruby wanna hear about your classes." Max and Ruby being your neighbors who had undoubtedly stopped by for the party.

You peer up at Joel, your eyes almost begging him to ask you to stay. But instead, he gestures with his head for you to listen to your dad.

"Go on now," He husks out, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

Reluctantly you leave him behind in the kitchen, your body still whirring with the adrenaline high you got from just talking to him.

***

It was nice seeing everyone that stopped by for the party. You hadn't realized how much you missed your people.

But Joel was making it hard to concentrate on conversation when you guys were playing eye-tag the entire night.

He really couldn't help himself. There was just something so magnetic about you now—it was impossible to tear his eyes away.

He watched you talk to some of your high school friends, then get up to fetch something from the kitchen.

He couldn’t stop his gaze from falling to your ass once you turned around, his cock twitching in his pants because of the way your dress taunts him with its length.

He clears his throat.

Fuck was he thinking.

This was you he was ogling for christ sake. His best friends daughter.

These thoughts were not allowed. He needed to shut this down.

But the night goes on anyway, people getting more drunk and rowdy with each passing second.

Especially your father, who was currently in a screaming match with his work buddy about the game. They're all crowded around the small box tv in the kitchen, intently watching the tiny screen.

You're watching them from afar, amused by your father and the absurdity of it all.

"Ah fuck, we're outta ice," your dad groans, lifting up the empty bowl in annoyance. "Alright, one of you sons of bitches needs'ta make an ice run, m'not missing this game."

Joel groans out, dragging his hand down his jaw. "We're obviously gonna win—the team's up 46. Make the damn run yourself." He berates your father, who in turn just shakes his head and waves a dismissive hand at Joel.

"Every time I don't watch the game to completion, we fuckin' lose. M'staying riiiight here."

"Fuckin' superstitious bastard." Joel groans from under his breath, picking up his truck keys from the counter. "You want some more beer while I'm out? Maybe my liver too? God knows you need a new one, goddamn alcoholic."

You're laughing at them in the corner, finding their banter extremely amusing.

Then, you suddenly realize this might be your chance to spend more alone time with Joel.

You lurch forward, quickly blocking his path. "Can I come with?"

He looks down at you, a barely noticeable smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He's just about to reply to you before your drunk father cuts in.

"Ya, go with him, he can't carry the ice by himself or else his back’ll give out."

Joel turns his head to yell at your dad. "Shut your damn mouth," he barks, then turns back around to face you, placing his hand on your lower back. "'Course sweetheart, c'mon."

The drastic change in his voice when he talks to you versus your father makes your heart flutter.

He guides you outside to his truck, only dropping his arm from your back when he opens the passenger door for you.

Hopping inside, you settle yourself into the worn down bench seat. Your eyes follow him as he rounds the front of the vehicle, swinging open the driver side door and cranking the engine.

His old country music starts blaring from the speakers of the car, accompanied by the loud drum of his engine.

He’s quick to whip out of the driveway, steering with one muscular arm on the wheel.

You want to drool at the sight—you know your other lips most certainly are.

"So, you got a boyfriend up there at school?" He asks after clearing his throat.

He wants to subtly test the waters, whether he knows it now or not.

You smile, the thought of dating any guy besides Joel was laughable.

"Nope. They're all kinda gross."

"Gross? Yeah, well, most guys your age are." He mumbles, thinking back to his late teens, early twenties—Yikes.

"What about you? Got a woman yet?" You ask, following his line of questioning.

Joel scoffs, keeping his eyes trained on the road. “Does it look like I got a woman in my life?”

He looks down at himself for a second to get his point across, making you follow his gaze.

His wrinkly navy shirt had paint stains on it, his jeans were so old, they looked one wash away from disintegrating, and his beard needed a trim.

You try to stifle your giggle by turning your head away. “Yeah, guess not.”

Your mind starts wandering off, imagining what being Joel's woman would look like...having dinner together...sharing a bed...showering together...

God you wanted to be his girl so bad.

You hear yourself speaking before you even know what you’re saying. “Maybe I can help you—y'know, find a woman n’all.”

Joel casts you an assessing glance, cocking his eyebrow.

“Oh yeah? N’how would you do that?”

He doesn’t even mean to sound sexy but the way he talks makes you wanna melt.

“Well, for starters, a haircut might do you some good.” You tease, scooting closer to him on the bench seat to fiddle with the overgrown hair by his neck.

The way your body is turned to face him gives Joel a clear view down the front of your dress, the skin of your breasts making his cock twitch.

“What’re you talkin’ about? My hair looks great.” Joel knows he’s lying, but he just wants to see you laugh.

Which you do. “Yea, maybe to a blind chick.”

“Oh, you got jokes, huh?” Joel chides, using his free hand to come up and playfully tug at your hair.

You erupt in giggles, swatting his hand away while simultaneously trying to tug his hair back.

Eventually, you two stop messing with each other, but you reiterate that you're serious.

"I mean it—it’d be super fun giving you a make-over."

Joel pulls into the gas station and shifts his truck into park.

"You've lost your damn mind if you think I'm gonna let you get anywhere near my head with clippers."

You roll your eyes and giggle, following him out of the vehicle.

"C'monnn, it'll be fun!" You squeal, trailing behind him as he walks into the store, the bell chiming as you both enter.

He pretends to ignore you, walking along the isles to the freezer section.

"I'll be super careful," You muse, snagging a bag of skittles from off one of the shelves before he can notice.

“I promise I won’t fuck up your cut.” You joke, laughing at yourself.

“Hey—watch it.” Joel warns when hearing your profanity, snapping back to look at you, only half-joking.

You roll your eyes—it's ironic coming from him who cusses like a sailor. You brush past him as he opens the freezer, letting your back lean against one of the glass doors, facing him.

"You're not my daddy, y'know. Can't tell me what to do." You purr, a shit-eating grin beginning to form on your perfect face.

Joel feels his blood pressure spike.

You're making this impossible for him and you know it.

His body moves for him before he can stop himself.

After he grabs two ice bags, he closes the freezer and subsequently steps closer to you, popping your personal space bubble.

"You're right. M'not your daddy." He husks, looking down at you and your parted lips. Your chests are centimeters away from each other, and you find yourself holding your breath. “Consider yourself lucky.”

The way he’s looking down at you like prey yet speaking so nonchalantly has your brain spinning. There was definitely an underlying threat in his words.

Before you can respond, he’s turned around and walking up to the register, throwing down a 10 dollar bill and telling the cashier to keep the change.

Science can’t explain the drastic acceleration your heart rate just experienced—but you can.

Joel fucking Miller.

He had to be insinuating something, right?

Your face is hot and so is the rest of your body, stumbling to catch up with him as he walks out the store.

He lugs the ice into his trunk like nothing happened, the tension in his muscles catching your eyes.

Yet, he still comes around to the passenger side, opening the door for you.

Now was your chance to get him back.

You lift yourself up in the truck, purposefully climbing into the bench seat in a way that gave Joel a clear view of your ass—as well as your thong that wasn't really covering much.

His hand clamps down so hard on the car handle that it nearly crumbles under his grip.

You hear him clear his throat before the door slams shut next to you, making you jump a bit.

When he passes in the front windshield, he's shaking his head and dragging a hand down his scruffy jaw. You can't help but giggle at his exasperated expression.

His takes longer to get into the car and start things up this time, trying real hard not to meet your instense gaze.

When he refuses to make eye contact, you huff out a breath and rip open your skittles bag.

This catches Joel's attention.

"You pay for that?"

"...sure." You murmur unconvincingly with a shrug, trying not to smile. "Want some?"

He watches as you pop a few in your mouth, holding out the bag for him.

Begrungingly, he grumbles out a 'yeah' and holds out his palm.

***

The party had fizzled out when you guys returned. There were a few stranglers sitting around and chatting, but for the most part, things seemed to be dying down.

So much for the ice.

Your dad and his friends had migrated to the living room and once Joel put the bags away, he joined them.

He sat on the couch with a grunt, his legs immediately settling into the manspreading position.

You tried not to drool but your mouth was definitely salivating. To avoid moaning just at the sight of him, you head upstairs, the old wood boards creaking beneath your feet.

You don't see it, but Joel's got his eyes on you, following you with his gaze till you're out of sight.

He feels guilty thinking about how much he wants to fuck you when he's literally sitting right next to your father, but he can't help himself.

It's a while before you come back down, when you do, theres a razor in one hand, clippers in the other.

"No." Joel instantly says, shaking his head.

"Yes." You squeal, beaming down at him.

"Awh, go on Joel, you been needin' a clean up." Your dad chimes in, smacking his shoulder. His other buddies encourage it until he has no choice than to give in just so everyone would shut up.

"Fine—fine. Y'all gon' get yours, thats for damn sure." Joel grumbles, stomping up the stairs.

You're laughing all the way up, bubbling with excitement.

"Come down and give us the reveal when you're done!" Your dad screams to which you giggle.

You basically shove Joel into your bathroom, pulling in a stool for him to sit on.

"You better know what yer doin'." He grunts, sitting down on the stool and looking at you with weary eyes.

"Anything I do to you would look better than what you have now."

Joel promptly stands back up when hearing your words, trying to walk away, but you grab onto his arm. "I'm kidding, I’m kidding! I promise I'll do a good job."

You press on his shoulders to sit him down again, your throat running dry when you see the way he’s glaring up at you.

He’s not actually angry—just a bit peeved that he doesn’t have enough self control to stop thinking about fucking you against the bathroom sink.

You start working, none the wiser, bringing the electric razor to his jaw.

Your bodies are close, Joel can smell your delicious perfume and it makes him wanna eat you up.

You start to notice how sometimes his eyes will flicker to your chest, before abrupdtly looking away and clearing his throat.

Your boobs did look great in this dress, maybe you should give him a better view...

The devilish thought pops in your brain and you're acting it out before you know it.

You set the razor down and grab the clippers, stepping around to the front of his body. "May I?" You murmur, not even waiting for his answer before straddling his lap.

You sit on his thighs and Joel feels himself straighten like a board.

“Kid—what do you think yer doin’?” He immediately sputters out, his expression stern.

He’s trying so hard not to look down at where your dress had ridden up from straddling him. He can almost see your cunt, for christ sake.

“Nothin’.” You murmur, bringing your shaking hand up to trim the hair on his jaw. You curse at yourself for not even having the wits to keep calm, you just know your flushed fave is giving you away.

“Nothin’, huh?” Joel reiterates, completely unbelieving as his eyes drag down your body slowly.

Then, everything shifts.

There’s something more assertive in Joel’s demeanor that you can’t quite put your finger on, but you know it’s there.

You feel his calloused hand on your thigh, your body erupting in goosebumps when he travels it up dangerously high. Using his other hand, he grips your wrist, pulling it down and away from his face.

“Doesn’t look like nothin’ to me.” His voice is a low murmur.

You’re both locked in eye contact now, hearts beating in sync.

He hears your breath hitch and sees how your eyes are flashing between his gaze and lips. He knows what you’re after—he’s just not sure if he wants to give in yet.

You, on the other hand, are dying of anticipation. He’s not budging, so you’re left to drag your hips up his lap and press down on the bulge in his pants.

"Girl—" He growls out before his hands come up to stop your waist from moving any further. "You don't know what your doin'."

"Do I have to fucking spell it out for you, Joel?" You rush out, dropping the scissors and latching onto his shoulders. You're panting and your face is pink, a needy/irritated expression woven into your features.

He feels your nails digging into his shoulder blades and sees that desperate look in your eyes—he's done for.

"No, I won't make ya do that f'me, sweet heart." He murmurs before abruptly picking you up from under your thighs.

A squeak of surprise leaves your lips at his effortless display of strength. You swallow your nerves after he sets you down on the counter, lodging himself between your legs.

"But I am gon make you say it."

Is he teasing you?

No, his face looks too serious for him to be teasing.

Oh, maybe he just wants clear clarification.

Your heart swells at his consideration.

Sucking in a deep breath, "I want your dick in my vagina." You giggle out, knowing he was probably expecting sexier wording. Joel smirks, crashing his forehead against yours.

"Yeah? S'that what you want?"

You're nodding against him, smiling wide because you just admitted something that you never thought you would.

"N'have you done that before? Y'know, dick in vagina." He copies your candance, but you stop smiling.

Out of all the fucking questions, that was the one that you didn't want to be asked the most.

You had hoped if you came on strong and flirted like you had done it a million times, he would've just assumed you weren't a virgin.

But the bastard always had to be so careful.

You didn't want him to know because you figured it would turn him off—then all you'd become is his best friend’s daughter all over again.

You knew if you lied he would just sniff it out anyway, but you tried nonetheless.

"...Yea. Couple times."

You watch as Joel's face forms into a 'yea right' kind of expression before he sighs out.

"Why'a lyin' to me, kid?"

You groan, throwing your head back and hitting the mirror with the back of your skull.

"Thats why—I don't want you thinking I'm a kid anymore. M'not. I'm grown. I'm grown and I want..your dick in my vagina."

He scoffs, dragging a hand down in jaw in disbelief. "Lyin' ain’t a good way to show me your grown."

He was right. You hated that he was right.

Your face crumbles because you think you just ruined this whole thing. Yet, Joel's hands come up to cup your face, holding them there a moment before they drift down to rest on your neck.

"S'alright, you're alright. M'not mad at'cha." He reassures, making sure you're looking in his eyes before he continues. "M'flattered sweetheart, I really am but-"

"Please don't say some bullshit like you don't think you're the man for this job because trust me when I say this Joel, you're the only guy I've ever wanted to be with."

You gush out, your mouth a leaky faucet. But Joel still looks conflicted.

You figured now would be a good time to bring out the big guns.

"If you won't do it cus I'm a virgin, I'll just have sex with the first guy I see, how about that?"

Joel's eyes darken and his jaw clenches. Now you've just pissed him off. "Don't manipulate me like that." He says sternly, to which you immediately falter in your confidence.

"I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that. I didn't mean it." You shake your head at yourself, biting down on your bottom lip. Joel sighs, leaning back but still keeping himself between your legs.

"Look," you start up again, bringing your hand down to hold his muscular bicep. "I've wanted to do this with you for so long. I really want it to be with you. Even if it's just one time, that's okay. Just need you in some way—Joel."

Your voice tapers off into a whisper because his stare intimidates you.

He exhales through his nose before running a hand through his hair and fixing his back to stand up straighter.

"Alright." He huffs, his face looking like he just surrendered in war.

"Alright?" You repeat, hopes high.

"I'll do it," He removes himself from between your legs and slides his grip down to your thighs. "But not right now."

Your heart drops.

"Why not?" You whine like a kicked puppy.

He brings one hand up to pinch your cheek. "Cus your daddy's down stairs, m'not a fuckin' monster." He grumbles before letting go and starting to walk out, but you grab him.

"Fine, but can we at least.." You hop down off the counter and pull him back, kissing him abruptly.

It starts slowly at first, you're both scoping out the scene, but then you get eager.

A tongue slips into his mouth and he returns the favor, his hands finding themselfs back on your hips.

In no time, he has your back up against the wall while he devours your mouth like a man starved. And just as his hand starts sliding up your dress and he's about to go back on his word, a voice comes from downstairs.

"C'mon down Joel, we wanna see the new cut!"

You groan as Joel slips from you, walking back downstairs while wiping his jaw and adjusting the boner in his pants. *** Now it was a waiting game.

Everyone but your dad's friends had left the party; they were just sitting around, watching TV and drinking beers.

You and Joel can't stop making eye contact from the opposite ends of the room. It was like torture not being able to fuck him immediately.

You're quick to conjure up a plan, though.

"Hey dad," you start, twirling a loose thread from your dress around your finger.

"Ya?"

"Didn't they reopen Chambers, like, two weeks ago?" You ask, trying to keep your voice as inconspicuous as possible.

Chambers was the local bar that your dad and his buddies loved to go to. You were just trying to plant a seed.

"Mm, yea, I reckon they did." He sighs out, eyes glued to the TV.

"S'been awhile since we've been there." One of his friends chime in.

"We should go grab a few drinks—I've missed picking up broads from there.." Another friend says, to which your dad promptly hits his arm because he doesn't like that kind of talk when you're present.

Nevertheless, he casts you a questioning glance. "You gon' be alright if we go?"

You try so hard to mask your instant glee. "Oh yeah, I'll be fine! Y'all go n' have fun."

"Alright punkin," They all stand, gathering up their wallets and keys—everyone except Joel. "You comin'?" Your dad asks him.

You glare at him to make sure he understands what you're trying to do.

Joel inhales through his nose before sighing out with a smile. "M'gonna call it a night, boys."

Thank god.

They all grunt and groan in protest, but eventually everyone filters out of the house.

You stand in the door jam and watch as your dad and his buddies file into the car, Joel standing on the porch to wave them off. Words are exchanged between everyone, mostly cussing, as they make their depature.

You both watch as they leave the culdesac, even waiting until you couldn't hear the car engine in the distance before looking at Joel.

Your breath catches in your throat when he turns around to look at you, folding his arms over his chest.

"Sly work." He murmurs, walking forward and forcing you to walk back into the house.

You're not sure why you're so nervous all the sudden.

Because you were pretending to be bold and experienced before, you had no choice but to mask your nerves. Now, that Joel knows the truth, you feel...vulnerable. But in the best way possible.

He backs you into the house before closing the door behind him, his head hanging to look at the ground.

"I had to get you alone somehow." You murmur with a shrug of your shoulders.

It was the truth.

You hear Joel chuckle and watch as he brings his head up to look at you. He's assessing you.

A beat of silence washes over you both.

"You said you would, Joel." You try to say sternly, although your voice wavers because you're scared he might've changed his mind.

"I know what I said." He steps closer, your torso's centimeters apart.

The eye contact is heavy—it feels like an avail against you. But you love it—love him. You're holding back from jumping his bones right by the front door.

"Good." You practically whisper, slowly taking his large hand in yours. You wait until he interwines your fingers before turning around and guiding him up the stairs.

Every creak under his and your feet sounds deafening in the silence between you both.

His hand is sweating, but so is yours.

When you make it to your bedroom, you walk inside and sit on the edge of your bed, gazing up at him.

"How many women have you slept with?" You hear yourself blurt before you can stop yourself.

His lips tighten into a line before he sits down next to you. Your sides are touching, his hands are resting on his knees.

"A few." He grunts, turning to face you. "Lot of 'em forgettable. But this," he gestures between the two of you. "ain't no comin' back from this, you hear me?"

You nod, your hand slipping over his knee. You're trying to trail it higher up his thigh, but he stops you with his hand.

"Need to make sure you know that before we do this. Don't want you regrettin' it later-"

"I won't." You say curtly, only because you know with complete certaintly that there was no way you'd ever regret this.

Everything is still for a moment, the only sound in the room is the both of your breathing. He's staring at you so hard, just waiting for even a hint of hesitation.

But it never comes.

In one swift movement, Joel's lips are on yours, pushing you back into the mattress and settling on top of you.

It makes you dizzy how effortlessly he's making out with you now.

He slots himself between your thighs and you moan at the feeling.

It's embarrassing how little he had to do in order to get you off.

But it's Joel, for christsake—he could just stand there and you'd probably find a way to orgasm at least twice.

It feels like he's engulfing you entirely; his musuclar arms wrapped around you, tongue down your throat, chests pressed together—pure bliss.

Suddenly and devastatingly, he breaks away for just a moment. "Sit up." He husks, to which you immediately oblige.

He lifts your dress up and off, momentairly stunned by the sight of your bare breasts.

"Christ, you're unreal." He groans before latching his mouth onto one of your nipples, using his hand to grope the other one.

You're a mess of moans, but you manage to speak in between. "Take your clothes off too," you whine, pawing at his shirt.

Joel grumbles, taking his time. He strips his shirt off and your hands are quick to latch onto his belt, fumbling with the leather strap but eventually yanking it out of the loops.

His hands come out to steady yours. "Slow down, no rush." He purrs in his texan drawl, making you shiver.

You groan out in frustration, letting your back fall down against the bed again. "You gonna make me wait all summer?"

"If you keep bein' a brat, then maybe." Joel huffs, yanking you back by the legs so he can pull your thong off. He dangles the stringy piece of fabric by his finger, looking at it assessingly.

"Joel!" You squeal, embarrassed. He effortessly holds you down with one hand against your stomach, not letting you swat it away from him.

"This what you go 'round wearin'?" He teases, grinning sharply.

You shrug, all squrimy, prodding him with your legs. "Would it turn you on if I said I wore them for you?"

You almost don't notice when Joel stuffs your underwear into his back pocket because of how drawn you are to his eyes. He's looking at you like a man starved—you love it.

"You been plottin' on me, is that it?" His voice makes your wet hole clench around nothing. He's teasing, but you also feel like you've just been caught.

You definitely weren't as suave as you thought you were.

"Stop makin' fun of me. " You huff with a flustered face, narrowing your eyes at him.

Joel smirks, finally prying apart your legs and taking a good, long look at your dripping cunt. "Christ almightly..." He groans at the sight of you, his cock straining hard against his jeans. "Pretty lil thing."

Your back arches off the bed when you feel Joel's thumb brush against your folds, tantilizingly slow. "Nice n' wet, atta girl." He muses, spreading your lips apart with his fingers.

You wanted to make a joke about him inspecting you like some doctor, but the words died quickly on your tongue when you felt him stroke your clit.

"Joel," You moan, hips squirming impatiently. "Fuck, I need you,"

"You got me, babygirl," Joel murmurs before lowering his head and devouring your cunt completely.

His tongue laps at you with fever, primarily focusing on your aching clit. The sensation nearly makes you pass out, especially when he pushes a finger inside of your hole.

"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod," You whine, fisting the sheets so hard that your knuckles turn white.

Having someone eat you out and it being actually enjoyable is one thing, but having Joel Miller eat you out and it being amazing, was blowing your mind.

He didn't even take breathers.

Joel was consuming you like he didn't need air. Soon, you feel another finger stretch you open, then another, until Joel has three fingers smoothly pumping in and out of you.

It quickly becomes all too much for your little brain. "Hmph..fuck Joel m'gonna come," You whine, your hips staggering against his mouth.

He doesn't answer you, in fact, Joel just wraps his musclar arms tightly under your thighs, securing you in place. In this position, you were rendered completely immoveable.

He kept you right where he wanted you.

"Waitwait, shit, Joel," His tongue is relentless, drinking you up like he was dying of thirst in the desert. Tears are forming in the lining of your eyes, the stimulation overloading you.

"Fuck!" You cry, coming completely undone beneath him. Your entire body shakes with pleasure as you finish, thighs squeezing the sides of his head.

Joel laps you all the way through it, humming contentedly against your soaked cunt.

When your body goes limp against the bed, thats finally when Joel lifts his lips off you. His entire face down past his nose is drenched in your juices; the sight makes your stomach flutter.

"Holy fucking shit Joel," You whimper, out of breath, chest heaving up and down. "That was amazing."

Joel lands a couple soft warning pats against your cunt, making you flinch and squirm from overstimulation.

"You cuss like a sailor, y'know that?"

"S'hard not to when you're makin' me feel so good." You're mumbling, wiping at the tear streaks on your face with the back of your hand.

"Mm, I know," He hums in that caring tone, crawling on top of you and placing a few chaste kisses on your lips.

It doesn't take long for your libido to rise again, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and eagerly kissing him back.

You bring a hand down to palm at his boner, giggling into the kiss. He groans at the feeling, rutting his hips into your hand. "Fuck me now please," You say breathlessly into his ear, nipping and licking at his neck.

He scoffs at your enthusiasm.

Finally, Joel pulls his pants off, letting his cock spring free and slap against his stomach.

You're enamoured by the sight of it. Long in length, even bigger in girth. You practically start drooling.

"You got a starin' problem too." Joel grumbles, grabbing you by the jaw and tilting your head up so he can kiss you again.

You chuckle into his lips, breaking away for a moment to speak. "I can't help it. It's handsome..you're handsome." You muse, getting a fist around his cock, managing to stroke it a few times before Joel stops you.

You don't have time to think or argue before he turns you over onto your side, situating himself behind you.

He's spooning you, except his left arm is hooked around your chest and his right has your leg lifted up, allowing his cock to slip between your folds.

Once again, he's got you right where he wants you.

"Joel," You bring your hands up to hold onto his forearm, pushing your ass back into him. "Put it in." You all but demand, trying to desperately grind your cunt on him.

He tightens his grasp on your collarbone, pulling you tighter against his chest. "Keep your leg up baby," Joel mutters lowly in your ear, letting go of your leg to guide his cock to your entrance.

His fat tip prods against your willing hole, making you dizzy with need. He runs his fingers along your folds one last time, gathering up your slick and using it to lubricate his cock.

Your heart is beating a million miles per hour. The moment you had been dreaming of for so long was finally here.

Joel, taking your virginity—your prayers were answered.

Slowly, Joel starts inching his way inside, the stretch making you gasp.

It feels fine at first, just a dull ache, but then it hurts—bad.

You squeeze your eyes shut and grit your teeth, trying to push through the pain. However, your body clenches down on the intrusive appendage, causing Joel to groan out.

It feels good for him, but he's been around the block a few times to know what's happening.

"You okay? I need'a stop?" He asks in that raspy voice of his, to which you immediately shake your head.

"Nonono, god no, don't stop. Just—just ram it in." You say foolishly, making Joel scoff.

"No, sweetheart, as much as I want to—bad idea." He brings his hand back down between your legs, rubbing a few slow circles into your clit. "Just relax and open up for me, thaaaats it," He encourages in that tone that lights fires in your core.

The perfect stimulation on the bundle of nerves made you forget all about the pain, letting your hole ease up a bit.

He takes the oppurtunity to keep breaching you deeper, peppering kisses to your neck and back in the process. His fingers stay glued to your clit, and before you know it, he's half way inside.

Your holding onto him so hard that your nails are leaving imprints on his forearm.

But you're so full of him and it's perfect. You can feel every twitch, every notch, every vein; or maybe you're just convincing yourself you can. Either way, mewls and moans are slipping from your lips and feeding Joel's growing ego.

"You feelin' good sweetheart?" He rasps in your ear, thrusting back and forth till he reaches that half way mark. You nod frantically, craning your neck to face him, desperate for a kiss.

He satisfies your wishes, kissing you slowly and passionately, like everything you've ever wanted.

His dick in you, his tongue down your throat, his arms pinning you to him. Fuck.

But you still want more.

In a shocking move, you slam your hips back against him, burying him all the way inside.

Moans fill your little bedroom, both his and yours, and for a moment, a flash of regret hits you like a truck.

He's big, and it fucking hurts.

But once the initial pain subsides, it’s like ecstasy.

"Fuck—girl, what'd ya do that for?" Joel hisses, tensing up because he's trying not to come fast.

"Couldn't wait," you pant, tears spilling out the corners of your eyes. "Please move." You're pleading because being stationary is somehow even more painful. You squirm in Joel's strong grasp, trying to stop the ache between your legs.

He's no match for you.

In a gentle but swift motion, Joel situates himself on top of you, closing your thighs together and putting them on one side of his body—all while still inside of you.

He cages you in with his big strong arms, looking down at your needy expression as he gradually starts rocking his hips into you. You're twisting your torso to remain looking at him, clawing at his biceps with your nails.

"This how you like it?" He huffs out, the sweat evident on his brow. "Deep n' slow?"

You want to respond to him, but it's hard to because every other sound you make is a moan.

He's so deep and never fails to hit the one spot that just makes you melt.

Opting for a non-verbal response, you nod with fever, gyrating your hips to meet his thrusts.

He chuckles, the sound alone makes you wanna come.

His name slips from your lips like a prayer—Joel finds it so cute because when he hits deep, your voice raises in pitch.

But he's no better, he'd been groaning in your ear since the start of it. He really cant help it, your cunt is like a silky, wet vice molded perfectly for his cock.

Joel lifts one of your legs up to his chest, securing his muscular arm around your thigh to keep it there. He continues he's deep thrusts, only this time picking up rhythm. He also brings his other hand down to lazily rub circles in your clit.

Christ.

Your head lolls back and your eyes roll into the back of your head. The stimulation was insanely perfect and all too much at the same time.

Your body wracks with jolts and spasms—your body trying to cope with everything it's feeling. Joel takes notice, a proud and lopsided smile spreading across his face.

"M'gonna cum," You whine, your body writhing against him with each thrust.

Your pussy is clenching down on him with each piston of his hips, Joel is not far behind you.

He rubs your clit in a way that makes you come undone, your back arching up off the bed and your toes curling from pleasure.

At the same time, Joel picks up his pace, only to pull his cock from inside you and pump it a few times before unloading his seed onto your naked torso.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the heavy breathing coming from the both of you. Joel's staring down at your pussy, entraced with the way your hole is constricting around nothing.

Then, he looks at your face. Your eyes are closed, your lips are parted, your chest is heaving up and down. He's admiring you and all your fucked-out glory.

He brings a hand up to your face, wiping off the tear stains with his thumb. "You alright?" He husks out, looking down at you assessingly.

"M'perfect." You coo, slowly opening your eyes and leaning up to kiss him. Joel returns it, loving the way your mouth opens so readily for him.

He'd have to try it out with his dick next time.

"Can we go again?" You murmur into his mouth, your arms wrapping around his shoulders.

Joel scoffs because he thinks you're kidding. You're not. When he realizes this, he shakes his head in disbelief, pushing you down onto the bed by your shoulders.

"Don't worry, we got all summer."

#anon ask #first request yay #dbf!joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #tlou fanfiction #the last of us hbo #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel miller #tlou fic #one shot #drabble

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motorsportbarbie13 · 3 months ago

Text

A Package Deal - Part 4

In which the real world threatens to ruin your happiness.

Warnings: angsttttttttt :) fluff at the end tho!! Pairing: Lando x SingleMom!Reader Word Count: 3.6k words

- A Package Deal - A Package Deal - Part 2 - A Package Deal - Part 3 - Master List

yourusername (private) posted:

yourusername life lately ❤️ BFFSarah omg, someone who loves pizza just as much as Stelly Belly??? >>>yourusername they polished off a large pizza between the two of them. It was a sight to see. >>>land-ho WE WERE HUNGRY. >>>yourusername you bet my six year old she couldn't eat 4 pieces of pizza, sir. >>>land-ho AND SHE PUT DOWN FIVE! Proudest moment of my LIFE. >>>yourusername 🙄

land-ho (private) posted

land-ho party of three? smoooooth_operator it was good to see you two last night! >>>yourusername dinner was delicious, C!! tell R thank you for all the shopping reccos in Barcelona 🤭 >>>landonorris oh god, my wallet already hurts >>>yourusername well now i'm never going to beat the sugar baby allegations. >>>honeybadger y'all are a walking PR nightmare waiting to happen. kelly_pickme i must meet your two favorite girls soon! bring them to Monaco soon! >>>yourusername 😘 did L give M the lion plushie and princess dress for baby and P? can't wait to meet you all soon!! >>>kelly_pickme yes! P hasn't taken it off and the lion is a hit as well. >>>yourusername ❤️❤️❤️

Miami May, 2025

"Okay, anything else you guys want to talk about before we start filming?" Victor, the team's head of communications, asks on Thursday afternoon.

Victor sits in one of the several conference rooms located in McLaren's hospitality suite surrounded by the rest of the communications team as well as Lando and Oscar. The weekend debrief is wrapping up as he asks one last question.

"Actually, kind of." Lando clears his throat, rubbing his palms on his jeans.

The entire team turns to him then and he feels his face go a bit red. He hadn't really planned on making a big deal of this in front of the team but after his meeting with Zak earlier, he thought he should at least let the comms team in on what he was going to do tonight.

"What's up?" Victor prompts, tucking his iPad under his arm.

"Well, it's more of a 'heads up' kind of thing but Zak thought I should let you guys know that I'm planning on going public with my girlfriend tonight."

Out of the corner of his eye, Lando sees Oscar smirk. He can almost hear the 'well it's about time' teasing he's about to get when they wrap up this meeting.

Victor blinks, casting a sideways glance at Melanie, Lando's main press officer for the weekend. He could tell Victor was reluctant to agree but in all honesty, this wasn't his call and Lando was ready to make that known. "What were you planning on doing?"

Melanie pulls out a notepad to take notes, just in case she's asked about the relationship this weekend.

You were also in Miami this weekend for your second race of the season and the subject had come up last night as you were cuddled up in bed after Lando had posted about you and Stella on his private account for the first time. You had been hesitant at first, not wanting to bring the team or Lando any drama during the race weekend but he had been insistent. While you hadn't been together officially for very long, you spent nearly every spare moment together and Stella had become a huge part of Lando's life too. He was tired of being linked to endless Instagram models and having to hide you away from the public.

Lando shrugs. "Nothing big or anything, just a post of my feed with her, some kind of witty caption."

"She's the one who works in the accounting department?" Melanie asks.

Lando can't help but glare at the woman. She's in her mid-30s with mousey brown hair and wire rimmed glasses. Melanie was kind enough but sometimes Lando wondered if she had any of the media training that was forced on him and Oscar with the kinds of questions she asked him.

"No, she's on the product development team, and she's right over there." Lando tips his chin towards the large glass windows that looks out onto the rest of the hospitality suite where you sit at one of the tables typing away at your laptop.

"Isn't she a single mom?"

Again, Lando glares at Melanie as the rest of the team shifts uncomfortably in their seat. Sure, it was their job to handle any press inquiries that came into the office and sometimes there were personal questions that got asked, but that one was toeing the line of appropriate.

"I don't see why that makes any sort of difference." Oscar surprises everyone by speaking up, his tone a bit colder than usual. "I've worked with her a lot lately, she's a lovely person and wicked smart. Lando's a lucky guy."

"Thanks, mate." Lando murmurs before turning back to Victor. "HR is aware of our relationship and, not that it should matter," Lando looks pointedly at Melanie once again, and is pleased to see her look a bit sheepish as if she's just realized how inappropriate her questions had been. "But Zak is also aware that we're together and has given us his blessing too."

That had been an awkward conversation but Lando admired the McLaren CEO too much to leave him in the dark about something that involved his two employees. He'd scoured the McLaren employee handbook (thankfully there was nothing in it against fraternization of employees, so HR hadn't been a problem either) before approaching Zak first to tell him about the relationship. If there was anyone that Zak Brown loved more than Lando, it was you so of course he had been ecstatic at the news and had immediately given the relationship his full support.

Without waiting for further comment from anyone, Lando gets up and strides out the door, furious at how the ending of the meeting had gone. There were far more problematic WAGs in the paddock and you were a McLaren employee after all, shouldn't you expect the same support from the team as he did? He didn't really understand why it was such a big deal that you were a single mom or technically a coworker.

From your spot in the middle of the hospitality suite you can see when Lando walks out of the conference room, hyper aware of the way his shoulders are hitched up towards his ears, something that only happens when he's upset or stressed.

"Momma!" Your attention is drawn back to your phone where Stella sits on FaceTime before her bath for the evening. You'd been distracted by Lando's sudden shift in mood and had stopped listening to her mid-story.

"Sorry, baby. I'm listening. You and Cora had a good playdate today, yeah?"

Stella prattles on, seemingly satisfied with the half-attention you're now paying her again. But your focus is pulled elsewhere for a moment as you watch a girl you know is on the comms team follow Lando out of the conference room and into his drivers room. You couldn't remember her name but knew that she was working with Lando this weekend as his press officer so it didn't impress you as unusual that she was following him. Maybe something had been said in the meeting and she was going to try to calm him down.

"Momma, can I talk to Lando now?" Stella sighs and you grin. You were beginning to think that your daughter loved Lando a bit more than you the way she constantly asked about him and wanted to see him.

"I think he just walked into a meeting, S but how about we do this. Why don't you go take a bath and by the time you're done, Lando should be finished with his meeting and you can talk to him then."

Stella nods, seemingly happy about the arrangement. You say a quick goodbye before packing up your laptop to go check in on Lando. You were essentially done for the day so you had planned on hanging out with a few of the engineers during their meetings this afternoon before going to dinner with Lando later that night. And then you fully planned on spending the rest of the evening underneath your boyfriend.

You can see the door to Lando's driver's room ajar and you can hear raised voices floating out. Hesitating, you pause with your hand on the door handle. The conversation sounded heated and you didn't want to interrupt. You swear you didn't want to eavesdrop but Lando's shouting didn't leave you much choice.

"What the fuck do you mean the team doesn't want a 'Kelly Piquet 2.0 situation?"

Oh. Oh dear.

You had known Lando was going to tell the team of his plan to hard launch you on his socials tonight and by the sounds of it, it hadn't gone well.

"Lando," The woman, you think her name is Melanie or something, tries to sooth him. "All we're saying is maybe you should think of how this could impact her daughter. When Max and Kelly went public, it was a shit show."

"Yeah, because her father is a racist piece of shit." He spits.

"And she was accused of being a predator!" Melanie fires back. "All I'm saying is that maybe right now isn't the best time to launch a potentially controversial girlfriend."

Your blood goes cold. Controversial? There was nothing in your past that you were ashamed about. No racist relatives. No sex tape scandals or even potentially embarassing photos somewhere out on the internet. You had, all things considered, a pretty wholesome reputation. Everyone at McLaren loved you, as far as you were aware. With the apparent exception of Melanie.

"Controversial? Please, elaborate." Lando's voice goes deadly calm, as if he knows exactly what she's going to say but wants her to say it out loud.

"Lando." Melanie sighs and you take a step back, unsure if you want to hear what she has to say. "She's a young, single mom who got knocked up at nineteen years old." Melanie practically laughs, as if Lando is a complete idiot for not understanding. "There's no way she won't be seen as a gold digger or worse! She's going to be eaten alive on socials. I'm only looking out for her daughter's reputation. Don't be so naive, Norris."

Your fists clench up so tightly, the bite of your nails in your palms pulls you out of a near rage. It takes every ounce of control not to go straight into Lando's room and give that bitch a piece of your mind.

On the other side of the door, Lando swears he sees red and has to take a step away. "This is about your workload, isn't it? You don't want to deal with the awkward questions and the drama? Listen very closely to me, Melanie okay? Because I'm not going to repeat myself." The venom in Lando's voice startles you. "The three of us are a package deal now, do you understand? I am madly in love with that woman out there and her little girl? Her little girl is the center of my world too. I don't give a flying fuck if me being with her means more work for you, that's too fucking bad. If you can't handle it, I'm positive Zak will be happy to replace you. She's here to stay, you are replaceable. Understood?"

Hearing Lando say he loves you and Stella has your world tilting underneath your feet. He'd never said that to you before even though you'd been confident for a while now that he did feel that way. And that you felt the same way.

Melanie's reply is so soft, you don't hear it but moments later, the door flies open so fast you're forced to jump back bit. Melanie's flushed face looks horrified when she sees you standing in the hall. She can't hold eye contact with you for longer than a flicker of a moment before she's dashing down the hall.

Lando stands in the doorway looking horrified that you're standing there. "How much of that did you hear?"

Tears burn at the back of your eyes, your anger at Melanie now replaced with sheer embarrassment. Even if she had been the one to voice it, you were certain Melanie wasn't the only one who was thinking the same thing.

"Everything." You whisper as you look away, brushing at a tear that rolls hotly down your face.

"Goddamnit." Lando swears, shoving a hand through his curls. He hadn't even noticed his door was open after Melanie had followed after him. "Baby..." He reaches for you and you let him pull you to him, his steady warmth a comforting feeling as the panic rises in your chest.

"She's right, you know." You whisper into his chest so softly Lando nearly misses it.

Lando pulls back and the look of desperation on his face nearly breaks your heart. "What are you talking about?"

"The hate we're going to get. I'm going to get. She had a point, you have to admit. I'm a young, single mom dating a millionaire? People are going to think all I'm interested in is your money, just like they did with Kelly."

"Who cares what people think? Who cares what they say about us? The people in our lives that really matter know that's not why you're with me. Isn't that all that matters?"

"Until they start in on Stella. Have you seen some of the things they say about P?"

You were pretty confident you could handle any hate that you got but you knew that the moment you saw any hate towards your little girl, you'd be devastated. It had been something you'd been thinking about since Lando had brought up going public last night but you had been able to brush it aside. It hadn't seemed possible, the worry seeming far away and a little over dramatic but now? Now Melanie's words had anxiety twisting in your stomach.

"That's not going to happen." Lando pulls you deeper into his chest and nuzzles into your neck. He can practically feel you pulling away from him and terror shoots through him.

"You don't know that. Even if it doesn't, do you really want to spend the rest of this relationship constantly defending me? Defending us? That's no way to live, Lando. Melanie was right. I'm controversial and maybe we need to rethink this."

Lando's entire world stops spinning, his breath catching in his throat. "Wh...What? No, baby, no. Please don't do this. Don't pull away. Melanie is being hysterical. Nothing like that is going to happen."

If he had to get on his knees and beg you not to leave him, Lando would do it in a heartbeat.

"I'm not doing anything, I just need a minute to think okay?" You step out of his grasp, instantly missing his touch. You can't even look him in the eye, knowing that if you do you'll crumble. But you can't think of Lando or even yourself right now. "I have to consider what's best for Stella, okay?"

"Don't do this." Lando begs.

"I think I'm going to stay in my own room tonight." You whisper, voice straining with emotion as you barely contain the heartache in your tone.

"Is this the end?" Lando chokes out as he shoves his hands deep in his pockets. He's sure you'd step away if he tried to touch you right now and he knew he wouldn't be able to handle that kind of rejection from you. It felt like his entire world was crumbling around him and the only thing that could right this was you.

Tears stream down your face as you struggle for an answer. "No." You tell him after a moment and the relief that floods Lando's face nearly breaks your heart. "I just need some space to think is all, I promise."

"Can we still have dinner tonight?"

"I think it'd be best if I just spend the evening alone." It hurts, saying those words because you rarely get this much alone time with Lando but you need space so badly your skin begins to itch. You're desperate to get some distance from the paddock and the team and even Lando himself, to right yourself back to the proper head space. You had to consider Stella above your own heart.

If it was possible to die from a broken heart, Lando knew he was about to find out. He lets you go though, watching miserably from the spot he's rooted to on his floor as you back away slowly, almost like you're retreating from a dangerous animal or something.

"I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?"

All he can do is nod as he watches you walk out the door for what he hopes isn't the last time.

You're just finishing the last bits of your makeup when there's a knock on your door Friday morning. You were a bit surprised because you knew full well that Lando had a key but the fact that he was nervous to use it after what had happened yesterday tugs at something in your chest.

You had been in the shower when he texted you that morning and the string of texts nearly broke your heart. You hadn't wanted to put him through that kind of pain but you had needed to take a moment to think through what had happened with Melanie and the comms team yesterday.

Slipping the robe Lando had gotten you in Japan a few weeks ago, you pad towards the door to open it. You're stopped completely in your tracks when you swing it open and get a glimpse of Lando in the hallway. He looks absolutely ravaged, like he didn't sleep a single second the night before, eyes red rimmed and puffy.

"Lan..." You whisper, tears instantly flooding your eyes. You reach for him, utterly perplexed suddenly as to why you had felt you needed distance from him.

When he folds you into his arms, the damn finally breaks and you sob into him, the entire previous day's emotions coming to a head. The way you finally feel complete when he's got you in his arms is unlike anything you've ever felt and for a brief moment yesterday, you had forgotten that fact.

When he kisses you, cradling your head in his hands, everything else quiets. The doubts, the fear, the anxiety. It all fades into the background with his lips on yours and you sigh into his mouth. For the first time on 24 hours you feel relieved, like you can actually tackle this issue instead of feeling like you're going to drown in your own thoughts.

Lando tugs you over to the bed, pulling you into his lap as he sits against the headboard. You tuck into his body as close as you can, head folded into that space between his neck and shoulder, drinking in the smell of him: fresh from the shower and slightly spicy from his cologne.

For several minutes, you both just sit there. Lando struggles to contain the relief that is flooding his body. He'd been absolutely miserable last night, eventually working himself into a panic attack at the thought of losing you and Stella. There was such a gaping hole in his soul when he thought about the prospect of you walking away, it scared him to death. He had never planned on falling for you, had resisted it for a bit, trying to convince himself that it was too quick to be feeling the way he did. Last night though? Last night had showed him he was further gone than he had ever expected.

"Did you mean what you said to Melanie yesterday?" You mumble into his neck after a few moments.

"Every word." Lando says without a moment of hesitation. "But is there a specific part you want me to confirm?"

You chuckle, pulling away so you can look him in the face. "The part where you said we're a package deal? That you love love us both?"

Lando brings his hands up to face your frame and you can't help but lean into him. "Of course I meant it. I'd do anything for either of you. I thought we'd established that, baby."

You drop your gaze from his then, somewhat knocked off center by the intensity of his gaze. "I'm sorry I got spooked. I'm just so used to doing this all on my own, no one ever wants to stay."

"Do you remember what I told you the first night we spent together in Bahrain?"

You blink, a small smile playing on your lips for the first time that morning. "You said a lot that night."

Lando rolls his eyes and kisses your temple. "It was after you had fallen asleep and I got up to get a drink of water. When I came back to bed, you curled right into me and said you thought I'd left you. You asked me to never leave you and and I told you I'd never leave you. I didn't mean it for just that night though."

Your heart thunders in your chest. You didn't remember that at all but the fact that he had said those words to you all those months ago. He'd been as far gone for you back then as you had.

"I love you more than words can say." He whispers and all you can do is nod back, emotion choking out your ability to speak for a few moments.

Lando reaches under your chin after a beat, lifting your face so he can see you. "Nobody said this was going to be easy but if we do this together, it'll be okay. You've got to trust me on this, baby. The team is fully supportive, I swear to you. Zak, Andrea, Oscar. Everyone that matters is on our side. I know you're scared and you want to protect Stella but you can't give up on our happiness because of some stupid people on the internet that don't matter."

Pain shoots through you, bright and quick as a lightning bolt as realization hits you like a ton of bricks. Something becomes crystal clear in that moment and you find yourself nodding.

"You're right. I know you are. I want Stella to see me choose myself instead of sacrificing my happiness for some stupid what ifs." It isn't until Lando says what he does that you're able to finally put into words what you've slowly been coming to realize over the last few hours. You'd been scared to admit it, scared that choosing yourself in this meant you were putting Stella second but when Lando tells you that you can't give up your own happiness to protect her, everything clicks into place.

"I want her to know that she can do hard things and choose her own path and if i listen to Melanie all I show her is that the bullies win."

"That's my girl." Lando praises, pulling you into another soul shattering kiss. "I love you." He whispers against your lips.

"Lan..." You pull away suddenly, eyes going wide. "The reason I was outside your driver's room yesterday was because Stella demanded to talk to you before bed and then..." You drop the sentence, the memory of yesterday slicing through you once again. "Do we have time to call her now? She was so mad at me last night when I said you were too busy to talk."

"Don't you ever tell my Stelly Belly I'm too busy to talk to her again." He teases before grabbing his phone. "Is she with Sarah today? They had a half day, didn't they. She was all about going to the cinema with Sarah today last time I talked to her."

The smile that settles on your face is nothing short of brilliant. For the first time in nearly 24 hours, you finally feel settled, like everything had righted itself after being so very briefly run off course. "Lets see if she can talk now before the get to the show."

landonorris posted

789,039 likes liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, BFFSarah, and others landonorris did someone say 'hard launch'? user029 oh she's PRETTY PRETTY yourusername <3 >>>user029 ugh, profile's private but SHE HAS A CHILD??? >>>user2992 if this means we're going to get dad lando content the same yaer we get dad max content, the internet may not survive BFFSarah can i like this more than once!?! <3 user0299 OMG WAIT I saw her in the background of tv shots this weekend except she was in a McLaren team kit. LANDO NOT DATING AN INFLUENCER??? >>>user3422 didn't know he had it in him >>>user000 god, i am such a sucker for a workplace romance trope

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gojonanami · 1 year ago

Text

❝ 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 ❞

❝ PROF GETO BROKE YOUR HEART & NOW YUTA IS HOT ?? ❞

✧ pairing: prof!suguru geto x f!reader (& grad student! yuta x f!reader)

✧ summary: after suguru leaves you broken hearted, yuta's there for you when you're putting your heart back together, and he's not sure when or if he even wants you to tell you how you feel. but what happens when you start to realize your feelings?

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut , fluff, angst, depictions of student/teacher relationship (only ok in fiction not irl!!!), reader and yuta are grad students, but age is vague, dealing with a breakup, fingering (f! receiving), handjob (m! receiving), oral (f! + m! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, amateur's take on moral philsophy and ethics, art by @ / polariae (who is incredible and everyone should go follow them now!!)

✧ wc: 12,464

Yuta felt as if he was always running late — for everything.

He had transferred into this university a year into his schooling, he was always running late to meetings, and he was too late when he fell for you.

But he seemed to have good timing in this moment — as he ran into you, as why was it he could always find you effortlessly without trying, but there was no smile on your lips when you met his gaze, but only tears — if only so he could comfort you.

He says your name, as he stops you gently, fingers brushing against your shoulders, as your gaze falls to the ground, “What happened? Are you—”

“Yuta, I’m sorry, I have to go—” but he stops you for a moment.

“If you don’t want to talk to me, that’s completely fine, but can I call someone?” he says gently, he could see the tears slipping off your cheeks, even as you attempted to wipe them away, “I don’t think you should be alone—”

And then you’re hugging him, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I shouldn’t—but I—”

His arms go around you gently, “It’s okay, don’t apologize, I’m here for you,” and he doesn’t know what else to do but stand there with you, as curious gazes of passersby watched the two of you, “come on, let’s go somewhere more private.”

~~~

When had he fallen for you? It was hard to say, but apparently easy to see.

“So did you tell her you like her?” And Yuta nearly spits his drink out when Maki asks him that after one of the student government meetings. She sipped at the can of black coffee, nonchalantly, her eyebrows raised at his sputtering. He wipes his mouth, a slight glare in his gaze, “based on that reaction, I would say no,”

“What are you talking—“ and your name leaves Maki’s lips, and his cheeks flush, ears burning, as he presses his knuckles to his lips, unable to meet her gaze, “was it that obvious?”

“To a person with eyes,” and his gaze snaps to her, a question on his lips, “no, she doesn’t know,”

Yuta slumps back in the chair he was sitting in, as he sets his drink down on the round table, “how can I tell her? She has a boyfriend,”

“One that she doesn’t even see that often,” Maki leans back in her chair, “I’ll give you some unsolicited advice, Yuta — if you keep having these feelings and don’t do anything about it, you’ll regret it,”

But how could he do anything when he already knew you were struggling? It wasn’t enough that your boyfriend was far away, but he didn’t seem to make time to come see you — even on your birthday — but to push his feelings on you on top of that. It wasn’t fair.

So he had to settle on being your friend, just your friend.

“What happened?” He asks again when the two of you get to a secluded corner of campus, a bench far enough away, as you sniffled, wiping your tears and murmuring apologies, “you don’t have to talk about it—“

And you shake your head, “My boyfriend, he, uh, broke up with me,” and he stares at you — your voice wavering as you speak, “I just, didn’t expect that to, you know—“

Yuta tilts his head, speaking softly, “Why don’t I take you back to your apartment?”

So he does, taking the quick metro ride there, as your fingers brush his as the two of you walk beside each other. The silence hangs as comfortably as it can, your eyes straight ahead, as he sneaks glances at you. He wants nothing more than to take your hand, to tell you it would be okay, but he couldn’t — he didn’t want to overstep. It had already been hard enough to contain his feelings when you were with someone — and now that you weren’t — he wanted nothing more than to love you as you deserved to be loved.

But it wasn’t his love you wanted — and it wasn’t what you needed either.

You needed a friend, not a lover, more than ever.

“Thank you for bringing me home, Yuta,” you mumble, shaking your head, “I’m sorry, I’m such a mess — I’m not being—“

“You don’t have to be anything, you’re fine,” he says softly, as you fumble with your keys, “do you want company?”

You give a terse chuckle, as you unlock the door, “I’m not the best company right now, Yuta,”

And he could have told you that you were the company he always wanted, the company he never would say no to — good or bad — but he couldn’t. So he said something else.

“Then I guess I’ll have to make up for it by being very good company,” and you give a watery laugh, shaking your head, as you hesitate, glancing over your shoulder.

“Are you sure?” And he only steps past you into your apartment, as he smiles.

“Come on, I’ll order us dinner and you can put on an…interesting movie again,” and your lips quirk up as you step past him into the apartment.

He couldn’t be more than a friend — not now — but maybe at some point. But he would be happy to just be in your life.

That was enough.

~~~

He wasn’t enough, Suguru sat in the train, the sun long set on Tokyo as he watched the city fade into the distance — as he leaned his face against the glass of the window. He had taken a late train back to Kyoto — one of the last — he could have taken an earlier one, but he had lost track of time.

How long did he stand there?

It felt like hours — minutes had ticked by as such, but he knew it was long enough for him to miss several trains by the time he had left for the station. It was long enough that he saw you disappear in the distance, Yuta assumedly in tow.

It was right — it was what was necessary. That’s what he told himself as he watched the scenery move past him in seconds, but it felt as if time had stood still. He could hear the soft snores and quiet murmuring of the sparse passengers among the train, the footsteps of others as they walked up and down the aisle, and the steady shudder of the train as it ran along to its destination. But still, it felt as if he was still trapped behind glass in that moment, he watched himself drop your heart, watched it shatter beneath his feet, and he didn’t go after you.

Why didn’t go after you?

He asked himself again and again — but the only answer amongst the buzzing white noise that had only served to numb his mind to the pain was that it was necessary.

He had always known you had a bright future — you could anywhere, lecture overseas, do fellowships or a Phd program, or even become a professor elsewhere. But when he had spoke to Yaga, it had solidified in his mind even more so — he wasn’t giving you what you needed and he was holding you back while he was at it.

And the worse part was he knew you would never blame him — not for a minute. You would try to make it work. Long distance, giving opportunities up, or even choosing him over yourself. And he couldn’t abide letting you give up what you wanted for him — even if it wasn’t what you would have chosen. Because he knew you would always choose him.

So he had to be the one to choose you.

He needed to leave you behind, just as he had left Tokyo. He had made his choice, and now he had to live with it — and live without you.

It was necessary. It was right — he shut his eyes, leaning against the window beside his seat, tears burning at the corners, as a tear rolled past hidden behind his hand — so why did it feel so wrong to be without you?

~~~

You didn’t want to wake up.

You pulled the comforter over your head, finding refuge underneath the plush duvet, and wondering if it was possible to stay under here long enough for your problems to disappear. But you knew the pain would remain, but even so, you sought the sweet escape of sleep — if only for a few hours, you didn’t have to feel this heartache, you didn’t have to remember this.

You didn’t have to remember him.

And then there’s a knock on your door, a persistent knock that draws you from the arms of your only oasis under your sheets, and you drag yourself from bed, your eyes aching from your tears from last night.

Fuck, you rubbed at your eyes. You glanced at the couch, finding no one there — when did Yuta leave last night? You couldn’t remember — and you’re dead on your feet as you find your way to the door, opening it without a thought.

And your breath caught.

“Suguru?” you stared, as he stood in front of you, bouquet of flowers in hand. You stumbled over your words as gracefully as you had gotten out of bed, as his arms wrapped around you. You stood motionless for a moment before melting into his touch, tears burning at your eyes yet again, “what are you doing here? Why—“

“What do you mean?” he murmurs, running his fingers through his hair, “you know I can’t stand to spend more than a few hours away from you,” and you’re burying your face in his chest, biting back the urge to sob then and there.

You kept your tone as even as you can manage as you pull away, “Suguru, you said—“

“I know I’m early, but we can just spend some time together before we head out—“

And you’re shaking your head, “Head out where?”

He furrows his brow in confusion, a chuckle escaping his lips, “Did you forget? You’re the one who insisted that we should be early — you kept saying we couldn’t be late,”

“To what?”

“Our engagement party,” he takes your hand gently intertwining your fingers to show you the ring you wore — and you’re staring at it, as he presses sweet kisses to each of your knuckles, “now shouldn’t you get ready? Or are you the one who’ll make us late?”

“Suguru—“ and his lips find yours in a gentle kiss, warmth blooming from his touch alone, your fingers finding purchase on his shoulder. For a second, it’s real and it’s right — Suguru has found his way back to you.

Right?

And his lips part from yours, his fingers brushing your cheek, “I love you,” he murmurs, saying your name again and again and—

A hand brushes your shoulder and you jolt awake, your hand slapping whatever had touched you away, as your fingers grasped at your comforter. You blinked, as your breath slowed, and you had found yourself in bed—

Again.

And another mutter of your name snaps your gaze up to find Yuta standing a foot from your bedside now, his brow wrinkled, holding his hand in the other—

Fuck.

“Oh my god, Yuta, I’m sorry — I was having a—“ you cut off a moment, you didn’t know whether to call it a dream or a nightmare, “just, I’m sorry,” you cover your face with your hands, “I barely remember getting into bed last night,”

He waves you off, “It’s ok, I know you had a rough night,” he offers a small smile, “I had to help you into bed — you were a little out of it, so I just stayed on the couch,”

You groan, wishing you could burrow into the Earth and never emerge, “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again—I’m sorry I made you stay—“

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says softly, “I’m your friend — I’m here for you,” and you swallow, tears burning at your eyes again, “s-sorry, did I?”

And you shake your head before slipping out of bed and hugging him, “Thank you, Yuta, really,” and he wrapped his arms around you tentatively, “I think you’re my best friend,”

You were so lucky to have him — especially when you needed someone the most.

“Of course,” he murmured, and you didn’t not know his heart was aching ever so slightly, “you’re mine too.”

~~~

“Do you want to talk about what happened with…your boyfriend?” Yuta knew the only way you would be able to heal is by talking about it — and that’s the one thing you had avoided doing all weekend. Sure you talked — but about the movies you were watching, about classes, about anything — then what had happened.

You hadn’t brought it up since that morning, you had washed up and it was as if he had imagined what had happened. You made breakfast, you put on a movie, and you joked about his allegedly questionable restaurant choices. But not a word about your dream or about your breakup.

But he knew he had to ask.

You were just coming off laughing at something that had happened in the rom-com you had switched on, and your lips fell into a seamless frown, as if the facade of happiness melted off with his words.

Your gaze falls, arms tightening around the cushion in your lap, a bitter chuckle falling from your lips, “does anyone ever want to talk about their breakup?”

He furrows his brow, “Bottling it up won’t help you heal from it — the only way is to let it out, and I can’t tell you what to do but—“ he bites his bottom lip, your eyes never lifting to meet his, “I know you need to let it out, one way or another,”

You pause a moment, as you press your face against the cushion, “It hurts too much, Yu, I don’t know if I can,”

“It doesn’t have to be now, I just want you to—“

“We were long distance,” and he’s opening his mouth to cut you off, but you shake your head, “you’re right — if I don’t talk about it now, I never will,”

So you told him. Told him how you both had gotten together right before your boyfriend had received a job offer that required him to move, how the two of you decided to date regardless, and how you continued to be long distance even after he started.

“It just got harder to see each other, and he ran late on my birthday but I didn’t care—“ and Yuta tilts his head, “I mean, I did care — but I knew it was temporary. I was going to graduate and move to be with him—“ and your nails dig into the soft fabric of the cushion, “but it didn’t matter. He thought it was for the best — for my best interest — that we break up,”

He furrows his brow. This, the crying and heartache, was for your best interest? “Why—“

“Because he thought I was limiting my options, that he wasn’t a good enough boyfriend — one that I deserved,” you shake your head, tossing the cushion aside on the couch, “but he didn’t understand — I just wanted him—I knew it would be different when we were together—“ your voice breaks, “but he didn’t want to wait.”

Yuta lets you talk and lets you rant and cry — until you’re asleep after lunch, taking a nap on the couch beside him. And he wonders if this is helping, but at least you’re sleeping now — he spotted the bags under your eyes when he saw you wake in the morning — as if you had spent the entire night tossing and turning.

Was this okay for him? He wasn’t expecting anything — aside from your friendship. He didn’t think you were going to wake up and fall in love only because he did what a friend should do. But was it okay for him to be here?

Because he couldn’t quash the little bit of hope that inched its way into the crevice of his heart that maybe you’d heal from this — maybe you would be able to get over this and you’d see him, as more than a friend or a best friend. He wanted to think he would do this even if he didn’t have feelings for you — it would probably be easier if he didn’t.

But the facts stand that his motivation was corrupt — he chuckled, fuck, even the philosophy you had dosed him with, during your meals and student government meetings, was infecting his mind. Motivation mattered — because if you know or expect a reward from doing something, no matter how hard you try, your motivation will always be just that,

And his eyes slide to you — fast asleep as he grabs the throw blanket on your couch and gently places it over you — but he wouldn’t mind being corrupt, if it meant he could stay with you.

~~~

“She broke up with her boyfriend?” Maki raises an eyebrow, placing her drink down, “and you still haven’t told her?” Maki’s judgment pierced through Yuta, even as he couldn’t quite meet her gaze, biting his lip, “what are you waiting for? For her to get back together with him?”

“Maki, I can’t make a move so soon—she’s vulnerable—“

She sighs, leaning back, as she crosses her arms, “Well, you’re a good guy for that, but you need to do something, even if it’s not confessing. You should try spending more time with her, encourage her to open up more—“

“I don’t know — I don’t want to overstep—“

“Yuta,” Maki cuts him off, “you’re a good guy and you deserve to be happy — you spend a lot of time worrying about other people, and not enough time thinking about yourself. If she’s not ready right now that’s fine, but she might not realize she’s ready until someone helps her to,” she tilts her head, her fingers beginning to toy with the straw of her drink, “I just don’t want to see you regret hesitating,”

Yuta’s phone went off — your name flashing on the screen, hey, are you free to hang out and watch a movie tonight? Finally finished working on my thesis proposal for the night!

Maki glances at his phone, raising an eyebrow, “just don’t wait too long, “or you may end up alone, either way.”

~~~

“I told you we should have gotten dumplings tonight,” you grumble, as the two of you take your takeout back to your apartment, the sun beginning to dip below the horizon, “I can’t believe the sushi place was closed,” you pout.

And Yuta bites back a smile — his cheeks burn — god, you’re so cute. It wasn’t fair. He knew you were just mostly teasing — only so you could have the pick of the movie tonight — which you knew he’d give you anyway.

The two of you had settled into these weekly movie nights on Fridays, which had a 70% chance of devolving into a weekend of hangouts amidst work for your programs. It had been weeks since your breakup — and your sadness seemed to ebb with each passing day, normalcy seemingly returning.

“We could have gone there—“ and you give a long, over dramatic sigh, shaking your head.

“It’s fine, but if this food sucks, I will be holding this over your head,” you bump him with your shoulder, a smile on Yuta’s lips, and right then someone calls out Yuta’s name. The two of you glance back, and Yuta blinks as he spots his friends.

“Toge, Panda,” Yuta greets them, Toge’s hands raise as he begins to sign—

Hey, who’s your friend?

Yuta replies, before gesturing to you, introducing you by name, “we’re just headed back to watch a movie—“ and he points from the shorter one to the taller one, “this is Toge and Panda,” Panda flashes a knowing smile, adjusting his leather jacket, head tilting as he gives you a small once over. Toge’s lips are covered with his face mask, his dyed silver hair brushing against his forehead —

Panda grins between the two of you, “Ah it’s good to meet you — I heard about you from Yuta, and Maki," he adds, while Yuta shoots him a look that he hopes that you don’t notice, “how’s the work in student government? I hope Maki isn’t working you too hard,” but you seem oblivious to it, only smiling between the two of them.

“No it hasn’t been bad, and Yuta has made it really easy. He’s been a really big help—“ and Panda before leaning over to whisper in Yuta’s ear.

“You have a chance with her, don’t mess it up,” Panda’s elbowing him, before clapping him on the back, his arm slinking around his shoulders, while Yuta tries to will his blush to leave his cheeks, “well we should let them get going, right, Toge?” and Toge nods, and Yuta only knows Toge has a smile hidden under his mask as well, flashing a thumbs up out of your line of sight, while you glance between Yuta and Panda, “you two love birds have fun!”

And Yuta stammered, “We’re not together like that,” he’s shooting a glare at Panda’s back as the two of them walk off, waving. And his eyes snuck a glance at you, but you seemed unfazed, only tilting your head — and shit, his head was spinning, heart doing its best to exit via his chest by banging against his ribs. Did you know? Was it obvious? Was this it?

“I didn’t know you knew sign language,”

And apparently it wasn’t.

“Uh, yeah, yeah, I learned when I met Toge in high school,” he offers a forced smile — but relief isn’t the only thing that floods his system, disappointment comes in waves — because again, here he was, right back at the start.

The two of you continued to chat on the walk back to your apartment, his fingers curled tightly around the handles of the takeout bag as you pulled out your keys, wondering how many more times would he do this — how many more times would he think you realized his feelings only for it to remain unspoken? He was more than okay to stay your friend, but — he watched you open the door to your apartment — would he regret not taking a shot at being something more?

And as you glanced back at him, a smile on your lips, he knew he would.

~~~

You didn’t think it would — but it had gotten easier, easier to be without Suguru.

There were days you still had woken up crying, there were other days you had almost forgotten.

Almost.

But now in hindsight, adjusting to life without Suguru hadn’t been much different than being with him the last few months. Not when the two of you had barely seen each other. You had put away his things, tucked away the memories, and picked up the scattered parts of your life —even though you couldn’t find the piece he had taken with him.

But even so, you had finally felt as if you boarded up the love the two of you had built, one that he had set on fire and burnt the insides to nothing but ash and smoke — the same fire that had you coughing up the broken pieces of your heart — throat burning with his name on the tip of your tongue.

Even so — your fingers found the dragon pendant under your shirt, some things were harder to let go than others.

But it shouldn’t be hard, right? Love shouldn’t present so many obstacles — it should be simple, easy — not difficult and tenuous. And that’s all your relationship had been — only due to circumstance, but sometimes that was enough.

And in your case, it had been too much.

But you knew you couldn’t have made it through without Yuta. Your eyes slide to him, his face illuminated only by the glow of the TV — lights turned off for the best movie night experience. Or at least not as quickly as you did. He was leaning back against the couch, his head leaning towards your side.

You bite your lip. Your mind wanders to what Panda had said — love birds — it hadn’t been the first time someone had commented on the two of you together. How many of your friends had made some comments about Yuta, even the ones in student government (Maki in particular had been dropping not so subtle hints)? How many of them had you brushed off without a second thought?

But now — ever so conscious of his weight beside you on the couch, of every twitch of his fingers, shift of his limbs — you had second thoughts.

You had tried your best to play off Panda’s comment, and Yuta did the same, the two of you had grown used to dancing around this topic. And before you hadn’t thought of Yuta that way in the slightest— not with everything going on — not with your mind still full of Suguru.

But now…His eyes softly lit by the bouncing lights of the movie, until they found yours, and somehow growing even softer, as his lips curled.

“Need something?” When was it that Yuta could make your heart flutter with only a smile? He was a friend — right? Just a friend, but now—

He leans over, your heart squeezing as he does — your eyes nearly fluttering shut, his hand brushing your cheek, only for the barest of touches. And your cheeks burned in the dim light of the TV.

“You had something on your cheek,” he explains, and you nod, biting your lip — as you snap your gaze away, and a small chuckle on his lips, “What is it?”

What was it about him now? His smile was just a smile, his eyes were just eyes, and his presence was only comfort. And now — his smile made your stomach bloom with butterflies, his eyes were depths you wished to swim in, and his presence gave you comfort but in the loneliest of ways — the gap between you both a cliff you stared down, unable to jump.

So you shake your head instead, “It’s nothing,” you smile as you press your knuckles to your lips.

Maybe your head was full of someone else for once.

~~~

“Do you want to grab dinner tonight?” You ask Yuta — a routine for most other weeknights, as you grabbed your bag, as you wait for him outside the conference room as the student government meeting ended for another week, “I heard this new restaurant opened up near my apartment, and we could hang out at my place after—“

“I—“

“Yuta?” A cute girl comes up to Yuta, and he smiles as he greets her, she pulls Yuta aside, as he chats with her just out of earshot, her hand grazing his shoulder.

And your stomach turns, a twinge in your heart as you watch the two — you don’t remember Yuta mentioning her, but then again, Yuta rarely talked about himself, even when you asked. It was like pulling teeth — and now here he was. Now, he was smiling at a girl you knew nothing about.

What was this feeling? You shifted from foot to foot, restlessness settling over your body as you purse your lips as if to prevent unnecessary words from spilling from your lips. Why did you feel so...helpless? Your arms crossed over your chest as if that would hold you together — keep your heart from falling back into the pieces you had meticulously put back together.

Oh.

You watched them talk, as the girl finally seemingly said her goodbye and flashed a small smile your way before disappearing down the hallway.

“Sorry,” Yuta walks back over, a smile on his lips, but you knew that smile wasn’t for you. Not like before, “yeah let’s grab dinner,”

And you weren’t the same either—

“You have nothing to apologize for,” you force your lips to curl, as you walk past him, “let’s go,”

—because you were jealous.

~~~

“Yuta, have you thought about dating?'' Your question comes seemingly out of nowhere one night, right after midterms, and Yuta has to stop himself from spitting out the sip of his tea he had taken, forcing himself to swallow. It doesn’t go unnoticed by you, your eyebrow raising, “you good?”

“Y-yeah sorry,” he clears his throat, hoping his cheeks weren’t flushed red from that, “why do you ask?”

“I was just curious because we’ve talked a lot about my dating life, but nothing about yours,” it was late, or rather early—nearly 3 AM on a Saturday night, the two of you were half asleep on the couch, stuck in a stubborn battle of not wanting to sleep quite yet, “you don’t talk a lot about yourself,”

“There’s not much to say,” he shrugs, and your raised brow tells him you’re not satisfied with his reply, he relents with a sigh, “there was a girl I liked when I was a kid — Rika, we met when I was in the hospital,” and your lips twist into a frown, “I was sick a lot when I was little, and that’s when I met Rika. She lived with her grandparents — her parents both had passed when she was even younger. We were inseparable—“ he gives a soft chuckle, “but then she…” his voice wavers.

“You don’t have to—“ and he’s shaking his head.

“We were playing and she went into the street to cross when a car sped by—“ and he shakes his head, “she didn’t make it,” your fingers knit together, before one of your hands finds his.

“You didn’t have to share that if you weren’t ready,” and he’s offering a weak smile, squeezing your hand.

“I wanted to,” he sighs, as he rubs at his eye, “there’s not much I wouldn’t tell you,” and you supposed that was the difference between him and Suguru — communication that wasn’t limited, a conversation that wasn’t one sided, and honesty — without a price.

“So there’s been no one else since Rika?” you tilt your head, and you swear you see a twinge of red across his cheeks, dusting his features even in the dim light.

“Why are you asking?” he says slowly, it feels as if he’s caught you, as your gaze snaps away, a pout on your lips, as you press your knuckles to your lips — and it’s as if he got a hold of your thoughts, “is it because of Kirara earlier?”

“Oh, that’s her name?” Yuta has to bite back a small smile at your narrowed eyes, unable to meet his gaze, “how do you—”

“She’s a friend from high school — and she’s dating another old friend from high school,” he adds, and your eyes snap to his, “I don’t like her like that anyway — she’s just a good friend, and likes to give me unsolicited advice on my fashion sense,”

Your lips curl, “Well you are a little basic in your—” and he cuts you off with a look, and you’re shifting your body to face him fully, “so if it’s not Kirara, you don’t have anyone in mind? Not even a crush?”

Your question feels like an answer in and of itself — along with the look you’re giving him — the same one he had always given you, when you weren’t looking — longing. But what if he was wrong? What if he was projecting? But he could spend his whole time wondering, and never knowing — or he could take the leap.

He chews on his bottom lip, and he steels himself, his gaze turning back to you, “and if I said there was?”

Were you ready for this? Would you ever be ready for this? Suguru still lingered in the back of your mind collecting cobwebs, on the tip of your tongue like a curse unspoken — and yet your forefront was filled with nothing but Yuta — his kindness, his honesty, his straightforward nature — all things you hadn’t gotten from Suguru when it mattered, when it counted. And it would be easy — there would be no complications — other than the complications that always came with relationships and emotions.

But that was far simpler than what you and Suguru had to deal with.

“Then I’d ask you,” your fingers reaching across a line that was meant to be crossed, but one that perhaps you shouldn’t anyway, “what are you waiting for?” and your hand finds his — his hand smaller than the one you’re used to, but warmer and softer.

“I don’t want to rush—” and you’re shaking your head, as your squeeze his hand, fingers laced together, as your thumb runs over his palm.

“We don’t have to,” you murmur, your gaze finding his, and he’s leaning closer to you, as if with a magnetic pull — and you find yourself attracted and not repelled to his pull, “we can take our time, can’t we?”

And his lips curl into a small smile, his dark eyes nearly consumed by the shadows underneath them, but somehow as soft as they always were — “Is this a dream?” he murmurs, whisper like, as if his words would ripple across the surface of reality until it disappeared within its depths, “I wanted to tell you for so long — but I didn’t know it if was too soon or if—”

“I know,” it had been three months, three months since you had your heart broken, but you were tired of wallowing, of trying to put your heart back together by yourself — you may have filled in the cracks, but maybe you needed someone to cement the parts back into one — and maybe Yuta was the one, “and maybe it is, but I want to try,” you admit, “is that wrong?”

And how could he say it was — when it was all he wanted?”

“No,” his fingertips brush against your cheek, “maybe it’s just right.”

~~~

He shifted in his sleep, a warm body pressed against him, his arms slinking around your own, your face buried in his neck in the best way he could imagine. Your fingers raked through his jet black locks, you pressed a sweet kiss to his neck, and a soft groan left his lips.

“Baby, finally awake?” your lips press a smile against his skin, your finger drawing a circle against his chest, “we have to get up soon, we’ll be late,” you murmur, “and I know how you feel about being late,” your nose brushes against his jumping pulse, “Sugu?”

Suguru groans softly, burying his face in your hair, “Five more minutes,” and you chuckle against him, his favorite sound that graces his ears, his eyes fluttering shut again, as he surrounds himself in your scent — the notes of lavender and rosemary from your shampoo, “just want to spend a few more minutes with you, sweetheart — I need you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You hum, rubbing his head softly, fingers curling around one of the locks of his hair, “I don’t recall you gracing me with five minutes when I was late on that first day,”

He groans, shifting only to bury himself in your chest, pressing soft kisses to the valley between your breasts, nose pressed against the hollow of your throat, the cold metal of the dragon pendant against his cheek, “I wasn’t your boyfriend then,” he’s leaning back only to press a sweet kiss to your lips, again and again — it always felt so right being with you.

“But you’re not my boyfriend now,” and he pauses, before glancing up at you, your eyes glassy with tears, “remember?” your fingers ghosted over his cheek.

RING. RING. RING.

His eyes don’t bother to open as he reaches for his phone, turning off the ringer, before his hand reaches for you, only to find an empty space beside him. He flutters his eyes open, glancing over, and finds your absence beside him.

It had been months, but you still haunted him—and he would spend the rest of his life running from the ghost of what could have been—and pretending it doesn’t hurt.

He turns on his side to look away from your side of the bed — even though it still did.

~~~

You stared at the outfits laid out on the bed — practically your entire closet threw up your complete wardrobe, and even so, you couldn’t find a single thing you wanted to wear. Or rather—

You tossed another blouse onto the pile— you couldn’t find a single thing that didn’t remind you of Suguru. One of these he had said brought out your eyes, the other he had picked out for you, and the other he had taken you out on your one month anniversary for a surprise date.

There were too many memories — and too many that you didn’t care to relive. Especially today, as your phone goes off — I’ll be on my way over soon. Are you almost ready?

Fuck. Yuta was on his way almost and you hadn’t even finished picking an outfit.

By almost ready, do you mean not ready at all? You bite your lip, I know it’s silly but I can’t decide what to wear.

You dig two outfits out of the bottom of the pile — and stare at them — you didn’t like to wear new outfits on a first date, but maybe this would be a fresh start for you. One where you could leave behind some of the memories tied around your ankles like anchors, dragging you down the depths of waters you didn’t want to explore any longer.

Your phone goes off again — You’d look amazing in anything — I’ll be there soon.

Your lips curl at the sight of his text — you choose a dress, tugging your shirt over your head and your shorts down, before pulling the dress down. And you adjust your hair in the mirror, before looking closely at yourself — a glint catching your eyes.

Your fingers ghost over the dragon pendant — you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to take it off. But maybe it was time — and your hands reach around unclasping the chain before placing it in the palm of your hand.

Your fingertip traces over the rainbow colored gems — and he wondered if he even still thought of you like you thought of him. It was so easy for him to leave — so did he put you out of his mind while he was at it? You held the necklace over the trash bin next to your vanity — your fingers squeezing at the chain and pendant, as it dug into your skin — should you toss it away like he had with you?

No —you pulled your hand back — no, you couldn’t. You placed the necklace in the box it came in, tucking it away behind some things.

You heard your phone go off again, as you spared one last glance at the vanity, where the box was hidden away—

Because it still meant something to you. Even if it didn’t to him.

~~~

“You complain about my movies, but the one you chose was much worse,” you say as you unlock your apartment, “that plot line made little to no sense,”

“If you suspend your disbelief—“

You stop, your key hanging from your door, as you stare at him, “I can believe that supernatural powers exist in that universe, but why would the universe entrust these powers to the stupidest people alive?” He snorts, as you continue unlocking the door, as you spare a glance at Yuta who is still fidgeting near your doorway, “you gonna come in?”

“I-well, I thought since this our first date, maybe I shouldn’t since you wouldn’t do that one a first date,” and you blink, your lips curling, as you watch him trip over his words, cheeks tinged pink, “not that anything would happen if I did come in—but—“

You step closer, silencing his words, seemingly stuck in his throat, “You really thought a lot about this, haven’t you?” and your fingers brush his, slowly intertwining with his as you bridge the gap, “I really appreciate it,”

He bites his lip, eyes sliding sideways, as he does, before he’s tilting his head again, “I just don’t want you rush into anything, and I don’t want us to still feel like—”

“Just friends I know,” you smile, “well then why don’t we leave it here for tonight, but call me when you get home?” He slowly nods, but he still isn’t leaving, “Yuta?”

And he steps a little closer, your breath catches, stuck in your lungs, as your chest squeezes when his fingers find your cheek, “Can I kiss you?” And your answer comes before you know it as you nod wordlessly.

His lips curl into a smile, as he leans closer and your noses bump, a small chuckle escaping your lips before his lips find yours.

It’s chaste, at first, until his lips find yours in a firmer kiss. He tastes faintly of the salt and butter of the popcorn he just had, and you can feel him smile against your lips, before you both part.

Your lips curl, “Well that is definitely something I never do with a friend,”

“You sure?” He murmurs and you hum, as your foreheads press against the other’s, as your fingers intertwine and you tug him inside your apartment.

“Maybe just the ones I really like.”

~~~

“You look happy,” Maki notes, as Yuta shows up early to work on a project for student government — it had been a few days since their first date, and Yuta had just gotten a text from you asking if he was coming over tonight. His lips quirked upwards as he told you he’d be there after he finished his work, as his eyes flitted up to find Maki’s, “don’t tell me you actually got the balls to ask her—“ and his eyes won’t quite meet her own, a smile on his lips, “fuck, don’t tell me—”

“We had our third date last night—” and he earns himself a hard punch to his shoulder, as he jolts, staring at Maki, “ow! Why—”

“Three dates and you tell me now?” and Yuta’s rubbing his shoulder, as he frowns, “what’s with the face? My punch didn’t hurt that bad,” she takes a seat, and leans back in her chair, as she rifles through the paperwork,

He shakes his head, “I wasn’t sure if I should be going around telling people — it’s new—”

“Wouldn’t you be happy to talk about your relationship?” And he’s hesitating, and Maki’s chair legs clack against the floor as she leans forward again, “what are you so scared of still?”

What was it that he was scared of? That it wouldn’t work out? That he’d lose you before he had even truly had you? That he’d hurt you? And it was true, he was scared of all of those things, but it wasn’t those things holding him back—

“I saw the way she talked about her ex, the smile she had when she would come off talking about him,” he leans against his hand, elbow propped up on the table, “she always had this smile on her face — just this look that I don’t think I’ve ever seen her have with me—“

“A look doesn’t make or break a relationship, Okkotsu,” Maki says with a sigh, “and she was already in that relationship for who knows how long at that point?”

“I know, but—“

“I can’t tell you how to run your relationship but you have to decide whether you’re in this or not — because if you keep comparing yourself, you’ll never be happy,” and Yuta nods, before glancing at her, “what?”

“How do you know so much about this?” Maki crosses her arms, a slight blush on her cheeks.

“You’re not the only one with a social life—“ but she cuts him off before he can ask more questions, “but this is about you, not me,” she leans forward, “you need to focus on your relationship now, not her old one,”

And he nods — he needed to trust you, otherwise this would never work with his head stuck in the past or looking into the future. Otherwise, this insecurity would seep like poison into his present — and he would lose you anyway.

“You’re right, thanks Maki,” and his phone goes off again, another text from you — I miss you — come soon.

Maybe he just needed to trust you — and himself. But even so, as he typed his reply to you — I’ll pick up dinner on the way. I’ll be back soon. Promise — but why was it so difficult?

~~~

“Ah, Yu,” you murmured against his lips before swallowing your words completely, you were even prettier breathless than he had imagined. Well, more like than he had dreamt. He had resisted the urge to fantasize about you, thinking it would be disrespectful, crossing a line that wasn’t meant to be crossed. But that didn’t mean he could control his subconscious when he would slip into the embrace of sleep.

He’d see you beside him on the couch, and you’d lean over and simply find his lips as if you’d done it a million times before. And he’d melt into your touch with such practiced ease, his fingers skimming over your sides, and he was desperate for more, more, more. He would only slide his hands up your thighs, fingertips brushing against the fabric of your panties before he’d wake in sweat soaked sheets and his cock straining against his boxers.

This was so much better.

It had started on the couch just like his dream, the two of you lying together, cuddling on the couch as the two of you half watched a movie.

“Are you sleepy?” He asked softly, tucking a strand behind your ear, and you shake your head, as you shift closer to him, half of your body pressed against him. He did his best not to shift much, as you move even closer to him, nearly lying on top of him, “what—“

His breath catches as you lean closer, “can I—“ and he’s nodded without a second thought, as your lips found his, and his fingers found your hips. His tongue grazed the seam of your lips before slipping inside, and he eagerly steals your breath from your very lungs. And you’re moving, now lying squarely on top of him, your hips pressed against his, as his already hard cock throbs against your cunt.

He bites back a moan when he feels just how wet you already are, soaking through your shorts and drenching his sweatpants, “Fuck,” he murmurs, as your lips both part for a breath, as he cups your chin, only to press hot kisses to your burning skin, “baby, you taste so good,”

And that’s where he found himself now.

Your tiny gasps and murmurs of his name, as his lips explored what skin he could reach, while his hands slid up and down your body, now warm palms resting above your hips, toying with the hem of your shirt.

“Yuta, please,” the whine in your throat makes the heat grow thicker been you two, the movie fading into but white noise, as he cards his fingers through your hair, “don’t tease me,”

And he’s swallowing thickly, his dick twitching at the thought of taking this further — the two of you had done everything but this step, your hands had grazed under the other’s clothes, grinded against each other as you made out, but one of you would end up stopping it for one reason or another. It was a game of chicken, one or the other seemingly daring the other to take that step — but neither of you had.

But now — as his thumb dragged over your puffy, kiss ruined lips, “Do you want to?” he asks an unspoken question, his resistance weakening to your touches, your fingers ghosting up his chest before one of your hands finds his cheek.

“I do,” you answer, but bite your lip, “I’m just…a little nervous,” and his lips press a sweet kiss to your forehead.

“We can always wait — I never want to make you feel uncomfortable, baby,” he’s featherlight in his touches now, “it’s up to you,” and it was — he would wait for you, as long as you wanted him.

You smile at him, finding his lips in another kiss — he didn’t know it was possible for someone to be this soft, or feel this good — he could taste the sweetness of ice cream you had ate earlier on your lips, but you were so much better than any dessert.

Your fingers rake gently through his hair, “Let’s move to the bedroom?”

~~~

You wanted Yuta — you did. You had for the weeks the two of you had dated. It had been almost two months, and the two of you hadn’t had sex yet. There wasn’t a reason to rush, but there wasn’t a reason not to. The line had been edged to the brink of insanity — for the both of you. There was always seemingly a reason to stop — an early class, a late night, stomach upset — and it always felt like timing was just off. But it wasn’t always just the timing.

It was also you.

Every time you and Yuta got close, each time you felt even an ounce of pleasure, the guilt of Suguru would claw up your throat, again and again. And you were sure Yuta had noticed. But even if he had, you didn’t know a way to explain without making him think you were still in love with Suguru — which you weren’t.

You didn’t think you were. The guilt lingered, like blood dried from a still open wound, scabbed over but not healed, easily reopened with even a scratch or a step. And it felt like with each step you took away from Suguru, you bled more and more — but you didn’t know how to stop the bleeding. You couldn’t stem the bleeding at its source, not when the person you had cut it open didn’t even give you a chance to speak.

And you couldn’t talk to Yuta about it — not when you still hadn’t explained who Suguru is — and what exactly he does for work. Or much of anything else and you didn’t even know how to begin that conversation or why it would be necessary. Does he need to know all of that when you would be graduating soon enough and Suguru would be only a distant memory.

But you hoped Yuta wouldn’t be.

Your fingers laced with his as you led him to your bedroom — as you pull him inside, shutting the door behind you. You gently guide him onto your bed and have him sit while you stand, your fingers cupping his face, as his breath hitches at your proximity. His lips parted ever so slightly, as a pretty pink settled over his cheeks.

“Baby, are you sure?” His lips are half twisting in a frown, eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips and back again, “I don’t want—“

And your lips find his in a soft kiss, pressing yourself between his legs, as your hands find purchase on his shoulders, “I want you, Yuta,” you murmur, you were tired of letting the past dictate your present — you wanted to move forward, “don’t you want me too?” And your lips ghost over his jaw up to his ear, as you whisper in it, while leaving kisses that make his body shiver, wondering if you’ve turned his blood to ice or made it turn to steam with how his skin burned.

“You’re not playing fair” he mumbles, as he buries your face in the crook of your neck, and you laugh, your fingers skimming the back of his neck.

“I’m here to win, we never said anything about fair,” you twirl the black locks resting against his neck, your lips press another kiss to his cheekbone, “you still haven’t answered my question—“

“Of course I want you,” he looks up at you, his need like a spark catching fire on your body, “I always have,”

“Well I’m right here,” you murmur, you tilt his chin up, fingers threaded in his black locks, “what are you going to do about it?”

~~~

Yuta was going to lose his mind — but it’s just as well, you already had his heart.

At your words, he’s tugging you even closer as he moves back on the bed, gaze hot as he watches you move, sitting on his lap — knees on either side of his waist. Fuck, you felt so good against him, plush thighs pressing into his hands already sliding down your lower back and grazing your ass to press you impossibly closer.

“Good boy,” you murmur, and his blood flees his cheeks to his cock, twitching against your clothed cunt, and you smirk, a giggle escaping your lips, “you like that, huh?” you breath against his ear, “my good boy,”

And in an instant, you’re pinned under him, and you’re blinking up at him, smile exchanged for parted lips, as his hands slide up your sides, and he’s leaning down to kiss you. His mouth burns against yours, tongue teasing the seam of your lips, before they part for him.

“Now who’s being good for who?” he murmurs, as he pulls back with your teeth catching his bottom lip between your teeth. He groans, grinding against you, the length of his cock grinding against your clothed slit, “you won't let me have a moment, can you?” He murmurs, a red flush on his cheeks that makes you grin.

“Not as long as you’re with me, Yu,” and god, that nickname for him makes his head spin— it’s already so much — the picture of you spread so prettily for him, your thighs parted under him, shirt riding up, just asking for him to slide underneath, and your bodies pressed together in all of the right places, as if neither of you could get close enough.

And apparently you couldn’t, as you guide his hands to the hem of your shirt, and you’re helping him pull it over your head before tossing it onto the floor. And he sees nothing underneath, your nipples pebbled and hard under his gaze, so pretty for him.

When his fingers twitch, you chuckle, “touch me,” and your words melt away his reservations, as his hands find your breasts, warm palms squeezing and teasing the soft flesh. He leans down and presses a kiss to one of your pert nipples, his tongue flicking the pert bud, drawing a small gasp from your lips, a pretty noise he wants to make fall from your lips again and again. Your head falls back into your pillow, as he switches sides, teasing the one with his lips, while he rolls the other between his index and thumb.

“Fuck, Yuta,” he smiles against you, as his lips begin to kiss down your body, starting with the valley of your breasts before trailing wet kisses down your stomach, until he reaches the waistband of your shorts. And his eyes are flicking up to meet yours to ask silently, and your nod is all it takes for his fingers to dip in and tug the thin fabric down your legs, fingers dragging along the dips and curves of your legs as he does. He bends down to steal kisses to your swell of your hips and the crown of your knee.

“S’pretty,” he’s mumbling, as his eyes find the wet patch on your underwear, fabric messy and soaked through as it cling helplessly to your hard clit, “how are you this pretty, baby?”

“All for you, sweet boy,” you’re murmuring, as you hiss when he’s teasing your clit through your panties, “Yu, fuck—“ he could cum just listening to you — he doesn’t know what he’ll do once he’s inside you—

But one step at a time.

He’s leaning down to press a kiss to it, before he’s slipping two fingers into the elastic to tug it down, with a nod from you. He’s pressing kisses and nips to your inner thigh, relishing in the marks he leaves on you — ones that he and you would only see. And finally you’ve kicked your underwear off, fully bare for him.

“How do you smell so sweet?” he’s whispering, as his eyes drag over your exposed folds, and a whimper escapes your lips, he can’t wait to make you moan. And he’s bending down to drag his tongue over your dripping cunt, a thick stripe that has you gasping, fingers winding their way into his black locks, nails digging deliciously into his scalp.

And you taste even better than he imagined — so good that he's already lapping at your folds, tip of his tongue flicking over your clit — and he hears the wrinkle of the sheets as your toes curl into them. He’s rutting into your mattress, ready to cum in his boxers at how good your pussy feels — dick nearly bursting at the thought of having your cunt around him.

“Fuck, baby,” you’re swearing under your breath, as your body tenses under his tongue, he begins to slurp at your juices. His hands find their way under the soft flesh of your thighs to tug you flush to his lips, “Yu, so good,” and all he can hear are the lewd sounds of his tongue buried in your pussy, working your walls open, pretty walls fluttering around him, “feel so good, ngh, ah—” your eyes find his, and it’s enough for him to blow his load then and there — eyes blown out with lust as they meet his own, your lips parted in lovely pants and moans.

And he knows you’re close, can feel it in the way your walls shudder, and he’s burying himself in your cunt, fucking you open with his tongue while he rubs your clit in quick circles.

“Yu, I’m cum—“ and you cut yourself off with a moan, back arching as you cum hard, his name on your lips, and he’s eating you out through your orgasm, greedily drinking every bit of release you give him. And it’s only when it’s too much, your body slightly shaking, as you gently pull at his hair, that he eases off.

You watch him with half lidded eyes as he pulls away, still between your thighs — lips and chin glossy and drenched in your release. He licks his lips and chin clean, watching you come down from your high, fuck, the way your walls clench around nothing makes him want to bury his face back in your folds.

“So good, Yu, s’good for me,” you’re panting, sweat slicked against your skin, as you’re gently tugging at him, and he obliges, keening at the praise as he slips up your body until your lips find his. You moan, tasting yourself on his lips, a sloppy, messy kiss that leaves him breathless.

And you’re flipping you both over, his eyes dilating at the sight of you, eyes raking over his body, eager hands thumbing at the hem of his shirt.

Your lips in a smirk that leaves his dick throbbing, “my turn, Yu, let me make you feel good,”your hands make quick work of his shirt, tugging it up and over, tossing it in the growing pile of clothes in the corner of your bedroom.

Your lips press sweet kisses all over his chest, fingers teasing his chest, but you have bigger intentions in mind, as your fingers quickly find their way to the waistband of his sweatpants. And with a nod given, you’re deftly tugging it down with a raise of his hips to pull the fabric off and kicked away, leaving him only in his boxers.

You bite your lip when you see the large wet patch from his pre, your fingers teasing his slit through the fabric, drawing a hiss from his lips. He swallows, watching your pretty lips bend down to press a kiss to his cock through the fabric. And it’s enough for him to lose his mind completely, “please,” he whimpers, and you smile down at him, dragging your thumb down his lips.

“Please what?” you ask innocently, for someone whose fingers were grazing his erection the way they were, he swallows as he watches your finger trace up and down his clothes cock, “what do you want me to use? My hand? My mouth?”

And he’s shaking his head, “Anything, just please I need—“ and your fingers dip into the elastic of his boxers, snapping it against his skin, a yelp escaping his lips that makes you giggle, “that’s not nice—“ and he’s gasping when your lips press a hot kiss to his hip, your eyes lidded with desire.

“Who said I was nice?”

~~~

You were going to be the death of him, and with the way your fingers tug down his boxers — finally freeing his cock, slapping against his stomach as it does — it would be a sweet death.

“Didn’t know your cock was so pretty like the rest of you, Yu,” and it was, so long and thick, pearly precum dripping down his flushed length, veins that ran up and down the length that you were far too eager to trace, “can’t wait to taste you,” you’re murmuring, as your tongue flicks down against his slit.

“B-baby, please,” his hand is covering his face, but you reach up to pry it away, seeing the lovely red that settled over his cheeks, lips parted in need as he painted, “please—“

And your fingers wrap around his dick, thumbing the slit and working the precum up and down his length. And he’s moaning your name on his lips again and again, as you kiss his tip sliding your fingers down to his base and squeezing. And when your lips part for him, sliding his length in your mouth, his head falls back against the pillows, eyes squeezed shut as he can’t help but roll his hips into your mouth. And when his tip brushes the back of your throat, it’s enough for him to cum right then and there, but he doesn’t want to — not yet, not until he’s inside you.

He’s easing you off, watching strings of pre and your spit connect you to his aching cock, as you look up at him, and he’s pulling you into a messy kiss, tasting his own pre on your lips.

“I need you,” he’s murmuring, fingers finding your hips, “baby, please,”

You smile, parting from him, “how do you need me?” And he’s swallowing, cock twitching, and he knows he’s one stroke too fast from bursting — so he needs control.

“Lie on the bed, baby,” and you do, easing from between his legs, and onto your back, head against the plush pillows. He parts your legs for you, warm palms squeezing your flesh teasingly, drawing a whine from you, he presses your thighs up, letting them hook around his back, as his skin meets yours. And god, you’re perfect, “how did I get so lucky? You’re so perfect, so pretty,” and he’s slotting himself between your thighs, fingers lining up his cock with your dripping slit, his curiosity getting the better of him as he drags the head up your messy folds still slick with your release, and groans as he watches your walls flutter around nothing, “so good for me, are you ready, baby?”

You’re nodding, “please Yu, I need—” and his tip is sliding into you, his length stretching your walls far too well, and it’s enough for him to cum right there — as your cunt adjusts to his size, dragging against you as he pushes past your entrance. It’s enough for him to cum right there, but he wants it to be good for you both — wants you to hear you praise him again, wants to hear you say his name again and again until you fall apart on his cock.

And finally he’s bottoming out, a moan from both of your lips, your walls fluttered around his length, your head lolls back a moment, before your eyes flutter open and meet his, “S’good, Yu, please, move,” and he’s cupping your cheek, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, before he begins to fuck you slowly.

The echoes of your skin meeting his rings in hie ears, needy walls pulling you back in even as he tried to pull out, sinking deeper and deeper each time he fucked you.

He’s burning, ready to melt at your very touch, putty in your hands to bend and shape at your will, even as you swallow him whole, he’s ready for you to consume every inch of him with your being.

“Feels s’good, Yuta,” you’re moaning, legs around his hips pulling him impossibly closer, “such a good boy,” and his cock twitches, your mixed releases forming a ring around the base of his length, “s’good, need more,”

And he’s groaning, as your wet squelches fill the silence between both of your moans and pants — and you’re close, as he gives a particularly deep thrust that finds the spot that has you seeing stars. Your head falls back, lips parted in his name, “Yu, I’m close — ngh, please—“ and he’s smiling, his cheeks surely flushed blood red, panting, as he reaches between your bodies to find your clit.

“Cum f’me, baby,” he’s murmuring, and you’re nodding, as you fall apart for him, toes curling as you cum hard around him, making him groan your name as he spills his warm seed inside you, pumping slowly as he does. His body slows as you both come down from your highs, and he slowly rolls off of you, running fingers through your hair and pressing sweet kisses, “are you okay?” he murmurs, eyes soft with affection, but laced with concern.

You smile, “I’m more than okay,” you press your face into his chest, and he’s shivering at your touch, pulling you even closer, “I’m with you,” and his fingers run up and down your cheek, before leaning down to meet your lips in a soft kiss.

That’s right, he smiles as he kisses your forehead — he was with you. And the past didn’t matter — when he was in your present.

“I’ll always be with you,” he mutters against your lips.

And hopefully in your future.

~~~

“What are you doing, I thought you were almost done,” Yuta mumbles against the soft skin of your neck, pressing sweet kisses that did nothing but sap the need for productivity from your very veins — leaving only behind thoughts of his touch behind, “baby,”

“Yu, I promise I’m almost done, I just have to send this email about my thesis and you’ll have my undivided attention,” you both had been stuck in the end of the semester rush, trying to find time for each other — leaving you stressed out and Yuta a little needy. That’s what this night was supposed to be for — a chance to reconnect, and yet here you were working. But you had to send this thesis out or you knew Yaga would have your head for delaying your work on your outline for so long — something you would be spending next semester fleshing out into a full thesis you’d be presenting.

He nods, but continues to pepper you with kisses, your skin nearly molten under his touch as his arms wrap around your waist to pull you further into his lap instead of beside him on the couch, “After all the work I did to snag Professor Yaga as my thesis advisor, I cannot let the department head down with my draft,”

He hums, vibrations making you nearly shiver, “I know, I’m really proud of you. I know you’re going to have something really special by the end of the year,” and you shake your head.

“I just hope I make it past the defense — it’s the most nerve wracking part,” you sigh, “a room of my peers and professors staring me down while I discuss the work I’ve done,” you proof read the email for the millionth time — scanning for any errors and make sure the attachment is the correct attachment — and finally click send, and sigh before relaxing into his arms.

“Can I come to your defense?” Yuta asks, perking up, and you smile, leaning back against him.

“Are you sure you’d want to come? It’s going to be just me rambling about my thesis and answering a bunch of questions,” you kiss his jaw softly, nosing the small hickey you left blooming on his pale skin last night, “might not be the most exciting thing,”

“I want to support you, as long as you want me there,” and you can’t help but wonder — would Suguru show up to your defense? The thought makes your stomach churn at the thought of them watching you present, eyes flitting from one to the other. You had doubts he would show himself there — but the only catch was if Yaga would twist his arm. And then what? You had nearly blown your relationship wide open once before when you had ran into Suguru in front of Yuta—

You couldn’t risk it again.

“Let me think about it, ok?” You nuzzle your nose against his cheek, as he frowns, “I just think if I have you there, I might get too nervous—“

He shakes his head, “Whatever makes you comfortable, either way, we’re going to celebrate right after,” and you tilt your head.

“What if I don’t pass?” And he shakes his head.

“If hell freezes over, I think we’ll have bigger problems,” and you snort, “but on the very off chance you don’t, you still accomplished something incredible—“ and your lips find his, and he melts into your kiss after a moment.

“Thank you,” you whisper, “I’m so lucky to have you,” and he curls his lips into a sweet smile.

“I’m the lucky one,” and his lips press against yours this time, meeting yours again and again, until you’re placing your laptop aside, and turning to sit in his lap, “baby,” heat rolls off his body in waves, as your fingers trace down his chest.

“I heard someone wanted my undivided attention tonight,” you smile, before taking your phone and placing it on ‘do not disturb,’ “well now what are you going to do with it?”

He smiles, “Don’t know if we’ll have enough time for everything, but,” he presses a kiss to your jaw, “we can try,” and the two of you are making your way to the bedroom soon enough, unaware that you had gotten an important email that night—

From: Suguru Geto

Subject Line: Regarding Your Thesis Advisor

~~~

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you’re adjusting your hair as you sprint your way to Professor Yaga’s office. This is what you get for staying up far too late with your far too tempting boyfriend. And now you woke up thirty minutes before the meeting, with barely enough time to make it on time, much less breath. Yuta gave you a kiss goodbye, but that’s all he had time for — before you were out the door.

But you finally reached Yaga’s door, catching your breath when you took a second to regain your composure before knocking. You blinked — weird, his door was usually open. And the door opens, but it isn’t Yaga—

It’s Suguru?

It’s Suguru.

You stare at him, wondering if this is another twisted nightmare you had ensnared yourself in, but no — it isn’t. Because even your subconscious couldn’t make a scenario this twisted. His lips parted to say something, but you beat him to it.

“If you’re meeting with Professor Yaga, I can come back at a different time, Professor,” the title slips from your lips without barely a thought, but it carries far too much weight. A flicker of emotion catches on the corner of his lips and in the glint of his eyes, but it’s gone as quickly as it came.

“You’re on time, but I still you did not have the time to check your email before this meeting,” he tilts his head, as you blink slowly, “please come in and have a seat,”

And you do, taking a seat across from him as he sits on the other side of the desk, you shift in your seat, as you take him in for the first time in months — his hair was still long, black tresses brushing against his shoulders, hair half up in a neat bun near the crown of his head; his eyes tucked behind his glasses for once, but you could see the burgeoning beginnings of dark bags under his eyes; and his clothes were meticulous as always — and you spot the tie pin he has — it’s the one you had gifted him near the beginning of your relationship — a joke that you had made about pinning him down in class turned into a gift.

And that makes your neck feel all the more bare.

“Is Professor Yaga ok?” and Suguru sighs, running his fingers through his hair.

“He’s fine, he is sick at the moment — and receiving treatment,” you sigh in slight relief, “so he’s decided to take the rest of this semester off, as well as next semester,” and you sigh, leaning back as you cover your lips with your hand.

“Is he going to be—”

“He has a good prognosis, and his son’s with him, looking after him, so it should be fine,” he says softly, and his lips curl in a small smile, as he flips through the papers on Yaga’s desk.

“What’s with the smile?” and he shakes his head, as he rifles through the stacks of paperwork, until he seemingly finds what he’s looking for.

“Nothing, just noticing that your habit of worrying about others before yourself hasn’t changed,” and you glare slightly at him, pursing your lips, as he slides a stapled stack of papers to you.

“And what’s this—”

“Your thesis proposal,” and you take it, flipping through and grimacing at the red pen, “and my thoughts on it,” you scoff, as you see the familiar picture of his scribbles and notes in the margins of your work.

“It looks like old habits die hard for the both of us,” as you finish flipping through, but your brow knits together as the pieces of news start to fit together like a puzzle — with a very mortifying picture, and your eyes meet his, slowly — the news going as well over as a lead balloon, and crashing down on your head like one, “so does this mean—”

His lips curl in a small smile, “I’ll be taking over as your thesis advisor — for the rest of the year.”

✧ a/n: it was supposed to be the last part and now! we have. one more part since i decided i wanted to flesh out the final arc a little more! one more part of this and it will be all done...:)

✧ taglist: @hatsunemitskislobotomy , @difficultdomains , @diogodxlot , @that-goth-bisexual , @dazailover1900 0, @aliyalala , @ashhlsstuff , @blue041803 , @mwtsxri i , @bblgumfairy , @sukunasleftkneecap , @xo-evangeline , @fiannee , @teatreeoilll , @chalametet , @ryukaver , @d1gitalbathh , @saga3ious , @seventhcinema , @satosugucide , @your-l0nely-star , @sokkasmoon , @deegausserr , @hyookka , @oggsyy , @littlebitb , @higuchislut , @ti-mame , @itoshisins , @cerene-dipity , @onionsoop , @sinlillith , @izzythenaive , @lalacute03 , @rxndou , @c-themoon , @xxrag-d0llxx , @hqtoge , @sugarxlumps , @hopeluna , @actualdeemon , @enchantedpendant , @serendididy , @soulstealercat , @neuviloved , @simply-a-s1mp , @satorusmochis , @maddietries

#sab [mlist]#sab series [prof suguru]#suguru geto x reader #suguru geto smut #suguru geto x you #geto x reader #suguru geto fanfiction #yuta okkotsu x reader #yuta okkotsu x you #yuta okkotsu fanfiction #geto suguru x reader #yuta okkotsu smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction

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lupinqs · 5 months ago

Note

paige x reader request!! okay so reader has never dated before (she’s always focused on school and boys around her never seem to “meet up” to her standards….right lol) when she gets to college she meets p and they become really close. they end up falling for each other but reader is conflicted bc she has thought she’s been straight but looking back all the signs were there. she’s never wanted to have sex before (men are scary) but she wants to with p, she trusts her. this could be p talking reader through this realization and/or smut (p being really sweet w her bc it’s her first time yk)!! thank you!!

FIRST TIME ━━ paige bueckers x reader

☆ ━ summary: your first time is with paige

☆ ━ word count: 5.3K

☆ ━ warnings: smut with plot (honestly just p eating r out)

☆ ━ links: my masterlist

☆ ━ author’s note: my gift to everyone after that hellish lottery… fuck dallas bro 😐😐 also this is not my best work this month has been fucking terrible so my bad

FOR YOU, it’s always been school. School, school, school. By seventh grade, you already knew you wanted to go into medicine. Your parents both work in the field—your mom at the hospital, your dad in his private practice. You grew up hearing their stories over dinner, listening to the ups and downs of their days, feeling that pull towards something important, something that could make a difference. The way they talked about their work, you couldn’t help but imagine yourself there, following in their footsteps.

So, you worked. Hard. From the moment you set your sights on medicine, there was no looking back. High school flew by in a steady cycle of textbooks, flashcards, volunteer shifts, and internships, each one a piece of the puzzle you were putting together. You spent weekends shadowing doctors, hours in study groups, a summer interning at the local hospital where you first learned what a real emergency room felt like. Even then, nothing could shake you from the goal you’d carved out for yourself. You’d known from the start where you wanted to end up: Yale. As a Connecticut native, it felt like a given. You saw yourself there so clearly that the idea of not getting in didn’t even occur to you.

Until it did. And when the rejection letter came, it was like the ground had fallen out beneath you. There was shock, disappointment, embarrassment. You’d done everything right—how had that not been enough? But still, UConn is a good college, and the goal is med school anyway. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter where you get your undergraduate degree, that you’ll just work even harder this time. When it comes to med school applications, there won’t be any mistakes, no missed chances. You won’t let it happen again—you will be going to Yale.

The thing is, school’s been your everything for so long that you don’t have much of a life outside of it. You had a first kiss once, an awkward moment with a boy who you never talked to again. But after that, there hasn’t been anything more. You’ve always been busy, and to be honest, there’s never been anyone who made you want to carve out time. Every relationship around you seemed like a distraction, a place for people to get hurt or get sidetracked, neither of which were part of your plan. Your friends like to tease you about it, saying your standards are too high, that no one will ever live up to the expectations you’ve set. And maybe that was true. Maybe that’s what it is. The boys just don’t meet your standards. You accept that, not caring to pay any mind to them (though they certainly paid mind to you), continuing to stay focused.

But at UConn, things start to feel different. College is strange that way—there’s structure, but there’s also space, a little more breathing room. It’s not like high school, where everyone knew what you were doing all the time, where your schedule was mapped out. Here, people let loose, go out, drink, stay up until all hours for no reason at all. You do it, too, and you realize it’s fun. But you never let it go further, never bother to get any sort of romance or even hook-ups involved in your life—because you’re still who you are. Your studies come first, always. You continuously remind yourself of that. Med school is the goal, and you work towards it every day.

Besides, you’re not even really interested in dating or anything of the sort.

That is, until you meet a certain blonde-haired basketball player.

It happens during the second semester of your freshman year, in a class you’re only taking for the credit. You barely even remember signing up for it—some easy elective with minimal workload to round out your schedule. You don’t care about the subject, don’t even plan on giving it much effort beyond the occasional assignment because you know it’ll be easy anyways. But then she walks in.

Paige Bueckers. You’ve heard the name before, of course. Everyone has. She’s the sophomore basketball phenom, the face of UConn athletics, practically a celebrity on campus. You’ve never paid her much attention—basketball isn’t really your thing—but the buzz around her is impossible to ignore. Still, when she strolls into the classroom, disheveled and running a little late, it takes you a moment to connect the dots. Her hair’s thrown into a low bun, messy strands framing her face. She’s in a gray UConn sweatsuit, the hem of her hoodie slightly frayed, her glasses sitting casually on the bridge of her nose. She scans the room, sees that the only open seat is next to you, and slides into it without hesitation.

“Hey,” she says, flashing you a quick smile before dropping her bag on the floor.

And that’s it. Nothing monumental. Just a simple greeting. But there’s something about her—her presence, the casual ease with which she takes up space—that immediately hooks your attention.

At first, you try to keep your head down. She’s just another classmate, someone you’ll probably never see again once the semester’s over. But Paige doesn’t make it easy to ignore her. She leans over to you during class, whispering comments about the lecture or the professor’s awkward hand gestures. She’s funny—unexpectedly so—and you catch yourself smiling at her jokes even when you try not to.

You notice other things, too. Like the sharp line of her jaw, the way her broad shoulders stretch the fabric of her sweatshirt, the subtle curve of muscle beneath her long sleeves. She’s not the type of traditional feminine pretty that you’d expect, not delicate or polished. No makeup, no carefully curated outfits. But there’s something about her—an almost sculptural beauty, like she’s been chiseled from marble by a particularly ambitious artist. It’s distracting. And you don’t get distracted easily.

When your friends convince you to go to your first basketball game of the season, you tell yourself it’s just for the experience. A chance to break out of your usual routine. But then you see her on the court. And suddenly, everything makes sense. Paige doesn’t just play basketball; she owns it. She’s gorgeous out there, all fire and intensity, her movements fluid and commanding. You find yourself watching her more than the game, mesmerized by the way she moves, just her presence in general.

After that, you start looking forward to class in a way you never have before. It’s not the subject, obviously. It’s Paige. The way she smiles at you when she walks in, the way she leans over to whisper something ridiculous during a particularly boring lecture. She’s the best part of your day, and you don’t even try to deny it.

When the two of you get paired up for a group project, it feels like fate. You go to her apartment to work on it, expecting the same easy banter from class, but it’s more than that. The two of you get off track almost immediately, laughing over something stupid, and before you know it, hours have passed and you’ve barely made any progress. You end up staying way later than planned, both of you scrambling to get back on task before you have to call it a night. By the time you leave, you’ve swapped numbers, and from then on, the texts come easily.

It starts with class updates, but soon it’s more. Late night conversations that have nothing to do with school, Facetimes, too. Hanging out becomes natural: grabbing frozen yogurt, wandering around campus, studying together even when you don’t need to. You talk and talk and talk, and somehow, it’s never boring. Paige has this way of making everything feel lighter, like the weight you usually carry around doesn’t exist when you’re with her.

One night, after one of your froyo runs, you’re sitting in her car. The frozen yogurt is long gone, but neither of you seems ready to say goodbye. The conversation slows, dipping into a comfortable silence. You glance at her, and she’s already looking at you. There’s a shift in the air, something unspoken passing between you. And then, suddenly, she’s kissing you.

You freeze. Not because you don’t want it, but because it’s so unexpected. Your brain can’t catch up with what’s happening, and for a moment, you’re completely still. Paige pulls back almost immediately, her face flushing as she stumbles through an apology. “I’m sorry—I thought—God, I must’ve read that wrong. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” you interrupt, shaking your head as you finally find your voice. “I didn’t mind.”

Her eyes search yours, uncertain, and then the silence settles again. Before you can second-guess yourself, you lean back in. This time, the kiss is slower, more deliberate. Her hand cups your jaw, warm and steady, while your fingers find their way to her arm, brushing over the solid muscle of her bicep. The center console is a nuisance, forcing you both into awkward angles, but you don’t care. It’s all soft lips and quiet breaths, a perfect mix of hunger and gentleness.

When she finally pulls away, she drives you back to your dorm, her voice soft as she says, “I had a good time tonight.”

You manage a quiet “Me too,” before slipping out of the car.

Back in your dorm, your roommate is asleep, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, your heart still racing. You just kissed Paige Bueckers. A girl. And you liked it. More than liked it—you want to do it again.

The realization hits you like a freight train. You’ve never thought about girls like that before, never let your mind wander there. You always assumed you were straight, just too busy or too picky to find the right guy. But now, as you think about Paige, about her hands on your face, her lips against yours, it all starts to make sense. You never wanted boys. Not really. That kiss in high school with that random guy had felt wrong, awkward. The idea of being with a man had never appealed to you—except for maybe Drew Starkey, but even that felt more like a joke than anything real.

But this? The thought of Paige, of her smile, her laugh, the way she made you feel like you were the only person in the room—that feels real. And it’s terrifying.

Because now you know two things for sure:

You’re gay.

And you really, really like Paige Bueckers.

And it turns out that she really likes you, too.

Because that first kiss turns into another kiss. And another. And now, every time you’re alone together, it happens like clockwork.

The two of you have started hanging out in your rooms more often, the need for privacy overtaking any desire to sit in common areas or go out. Paige’s teammates joke that the two of you have become “homebodies,” but they don’t know the half of it. They don’t know how, as soon as the door closes, her lips find yours, soft and insistent, her hands framing your face as if you’re the most delicate thing she’s ever touched.

You’re not dating—at least, not officially. You haven’t talked about it, haven’t dared to address what’s happening between you. It’s easier this way, or so you tell yourself. But a part of you wonders why Paige doesn’t bring it up. Why she hasn’t said anything about what this is or what it could be. And that bothers you, even if you try to push it to the back of your mind. Then again, you’ve never done relationships, so maybe this in between is for the better—at least, for now.

Tonight, her teammates have gone to Ted’s. Paige had asked if you wanted to go, but when you wrinkled your nose and said, “Not really,” she grinned and said, “Me neither.” So, here you are, alone in her dorm room, a movie playing on the small TV mounted to the wall. Neither of you are watching it.

You’re lying on her bed, her weight hovering above you, and there’s no space, no breath between the two of you. Her lips are on yours, insistent and hungry, her body pressing against yours as if she can’t get close enough. There’s an urgency in her kiss tonight, a need that you can feel deep in your chest. You kiss her back with equal fervor, your hands tangling in her hair, pulling her closer, trying to anchor yourself to her.

Her hands are on your hips, her fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp against her mouth. You feel her smile against your lips at the sound and it makes you smile, too.

And, for the first time, you find yourself wanting more. Your skin feels like it’s on fire, your nerves alight with a buzzing energy that you don’t fully understand but don’t want to lose. Paige seems to sense it too because her hands slide up your sides, her thumbs tracing slow, deliberate lines against your skin.

Her lips leave yours, trailing along your jaw, down to your neck. The kisses are messy and open-mouthed, her breath hot and ragged against your skin. When her hands slip under your shirt, tracing over your stomach, you shiver.

“Can I take it off?” she asks, her voice soft but tinged with want.

You hesitate for a moment before nodding, lifting your arms to help her pull the shirt over your head. It’s gone in an instant, and you’re left in just your bra. The cool air against your skin makes you shiver again, but it’s nothing compared to the way Paige looks at you.

Her eyes roam over you, but not in a way that makes you feel objectified. It’s more like she’s in awe, like she can’t believe you’re here with her, like she can’t believe she gets to see you like this. It’s overwhelming.

You look away, suddenly self-conscious. It’s nerve-wracking, you’ve never done this before, and you know that Paige has. But Paige also knows that you haven’t, which you suppose makes things easier. You feel her fingers catch your chin, gently turning your head back to face her. Her touch is so tender it nearly makes you cry.

“If you wanna stop, tell me,” she says, her blue eyes locked onto yours, her voice steady and sincere.

You shake your head, your heart pounding. “I don’t wanna stop,” you say quickly, and then, after a pause, you add, your face flushing slightly with embarrassment, “I’m just a little nervous.”

She smiles softly, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Her hands move to your ribs, tracing slow, soothing lines along your skin. “It’s okay,” she murmurs. “You don’t gotta be. I’m right here.”

Her words settle something inside you, easing the tension in your chest. You nod, and she kisses you again, her lips slow and deliberate against yours. The urgency from earlier is still there, but now it’s tempered by something softer, something deeper. You want her closer, impossibly closer.

Her hands slide up your sides once more, stopping just below your chest, and the anticipation alone makes your breath catch. When her palms finally cup your breasts through your bra, her touch is firm yet reverent, and the sensation makes you gasp against her mouth. Your breathing deepens, your chest rising and falling under her hands.

It’s instinctual, the way your hands move to her waist, your fingers slipping underneath the hem of her long-sleeve shirt. Her skin is warm beneath your touch, and you can feel the subtle definition of her abs as your hands explore, your palms smoothing over her sides.

Paige groans softly into your mouth, her body pressing harder against yours as if she’s trying to fuse you together. Then she pulls away just enough to tug her long-sleeve shirt over her head in one fluid motion, tossing it carelessly across the room. The moment it’s gone, she’s back, her lips finding yours again, more insistent than ever.

She’s in just her sports bra now, and you can’t help but let your fingers trail along the edges of it, brushing against the smooth fabric and the warm skin beneath. Paige shivers under your touch, and the knowledge that you’re affecting her this much makes your heart race even faster.

Then you feel her hands move behind your back, her fingers toying with the clasp of your bra. She hesitates, her lips hovering over yours as if she’s waiting for your permission.

You pull back just slightly, your lips still brushing hers as you murmur, “Take it off.”

Her eyes flicker with something intense, something almost vulnerable, as she nods. She unclasps your bra with practiced ease, sliding the straps down your shoulders before pulling it away completely. For a moment, she doesn’t move, her gaze dropping to your bare chest. Her throat bobs as she swallows hard, and when she finally speaks, her voice is low and husky.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” she mutters, her eyes locking with yours for a heartbeat before her lips are on yours again, desperate and consuming.

Her hands return to your breasts, cupping and kneading them in a way that makes your head fall back against the pillows. A quiet whimper escapes your throat, and Paige groans in response, the sound vibrating against your lips.

Her mouth begins to wander, leaving your lips to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jawline, then lower to your neck. She lingers there, her teeth grazing your skin before she soothes the slight sting with her tongue. Each kiss feels deliberate, like she’s trying to memorize the way you taste, the way you react to her touch.

She moves lower, her lips brushing along your collarbone, her breath warm and uneven against your skin. Her hands continue their slow, deliberate exploration of your chest, her thumbs brushing over your nipples in a way that makes your breath hitch.

Her lips trace the edges of your breasts, teasing and deliberate, and it’s almost too much. Your fingers tighten their hold on her sides, your nails digging slightly into her skin as you try to ground yourself.

Paige’s lips move with an unrelenting intensity, open-mouthed kisses peppered across your chest as though she’s determined to worship every inch of you. When her mouth closes over one of your nipples, the heat and pressure of her tongue send a jolt through your body, and you swallow hard, trying to keep yourself steady. The sensation is new, overwhelming in the best way, and you feel a steady, growing thrum between your legs that you can’t ignore.

She doesn’t rush, her lips and tongue moving with precision, her hands anchoring you to the bed as if she doesn’t want you to float away. Her mouth trails from one breast to the other, lavishing attention in a way that makes your breath hitch and your fingers curl into the sheets.

“Paige,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper, your chest rising and falling heavily as her lips continue their descent.

She hums softly against your skin, a sound that vibrates through you as her mouth moves lower. She lingers over your stomach, her lips and tongue leaving a warm, wet trail across your skin. When she sucks on a spot just below your navel, you know she’s leaving a mark, but you don’t care. The sensation is intoxicating, her gentle pressure grounding you as your thoughts scatter into nothing but her touch, her presence.

Then, her hands move to the waistband of your sweatpants, pausing just above your hips. Her fingers don’t tug or pull, just hover there, her thumbs brushing lightly against your skin. You glance down at her, heart pounding in your chest, only to find her already looking up at you.

Her eyes are soft, full of a question she hasn’t yet asked, though there’s no mistaking the want clouding her gaze. When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet, careful, “Do you want me to?”

You swallow thickly, your throat dry. Do you want her to? God, yes. It’s not even a question. You don’t just want her—you think you might need her in this moment, need her to fix that ache that’s been building between your legs since she first kissed you tonight.

But it’s scary. Already, you’ve never been this exposed with anyone before, and this—this is something else entirely. A deeper kind of intimacy, one you thought you’d be ready for but now realize the weight of. Whenever you pictured what your first time might be like, you never really thought it would be too important, but now, here, with Paige above you, it feels monumental.

But who else would it be, if not her? Paige, who makes you feel safe, wanted, adored. You trust her in a way you’ve never trusted anyone. She’s kind, patient, and you like her so much it almost hurts. It only makes sense for it to be her. Even if it’s scary. Even if the thought creeps in—what if you’re not enough for her? What if you’re different from the others she’s been with, and she’s disappointed?

Your thoughts are interrupted as Paige reaches for your hand, her fingers threading through yours in a gentle, grounding gesture. Her eyes stay on yours, searching, concerned. She says your name, softly, once, then again. And then, “Baby…” Her voice cracks just slightly, and it tugs at something deep inside you. “Please don’t feel pressured. It’s okay. We don’t gotta do anything else.”

The way she says it, so sincere and unselfish, almost undoes you. You shake your head quickly, squeezing her hand in reassurance. “I don’t feel pressured,” you say, and though your voice wavers, it’s honest. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself before you continue. “Just… just keep going, please.”

She hesitates, her eyes locked on yours for a long moment, as if she’s searching for any sign of hesitation, any flicker of doubt. When she seems to find nothing but your own need and trust, she nods, her expression softening into something almost reverent.

“Okay,” she murmurs, her lips pressing a kiss to your stomach, this one gentler than the ones before, less insistent but no less meaningful. She kisses you again, and again, her hands moving slowly as her fingers hook around the waistband of your sweatpants.

She pulls them down your legs with care, her eyes flicking back to yours to make sure it’s still okay. You nod, your heart racing but your body completely at ease with her. And as Paige tosses the sweatpants aside, her hands return to your hips, her lips never far from your skin, and you feel nothing but trust, nothing but her.

She places feather-light kisses along your inner thighs, moving slowly, her lips brushing over the sensitive skin in a way that makes your breath hitch. Her hands rest on your hips, thumbs tracing lazy circles that feel both soothing and electrifying. When her lips press against the edge of your underwear, your heart races so fast it’s all you can hear.

And then, without breaking her rhythm, she tilts her head slightly and presses a soft, lingering kiss right over your clothed clit. The sensation is light, almost teasing, but it sends a shiver coursing through you. You take a shaky breath through your nose, swallowing hard, because she’s barely touched you, and already your body feels like it’s on fire.

When her fingers slide to the waistband of your underwear, she pauses, her eyes flicking up to meet yours. The unspoken question is there again, and this time, you don’t even need to think about it. “Mm-hmm,” you hum softly, nodding as your chest rises and falls a little faster.

Paige nods back, her expression soft but full of intent, and she hooks her fingers around the elastic, sliding your underwear down slowly, carefully, as if she’s unwrapping something fragile. The cool air against your skin makes you shiver, and when her gaze lowers, taking you in fully for the first time, you feel your face heat up, a mixture of anticipation and self-consciousness twisting in your chest.

Instinctively, your legs start to close, but Paige catches them gently, her hands warm and steady as she presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Don’t hide,” she murmurs, her voice low and soothing. When you don’t immediately relax, she looks up at you, sincerity written all over her face. “You’re so pretty, baby,” she says, her words soft but firm, like a promise.

Her reassurance eases some of the tension, and when she presses another kiss to your thigh—this one closer to where you want her—you let your legs fall open again, trusting her. Paige doesn’t rush. She kisses along your thigh again, then again, each one inching closer to where your body feels like it’s burning.

And then she’s there, her breath warm against your clit as she places the softest kiss there. The contact has you gasping quietly, your hips shifting involuntarily. She pauses, letting her lips linger, as if testing your response. When you let out a quiet, broken sound, she pulls back just slightly, her eyes lifting to yours as if checking one last time.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” she whispers, her hands smoothing up and down your thighs. You nod quickly, a whispered, “Okay,” tumbling out, though it feels like an understatement.

And then, without wasting any more time, Paige’s tongue slides along your core. That alone is enough to make your whole body flex, your stomach shuddering. Before you even get to process that foreign feeling of her tongue running up your slit, Paige presses her mouth against your clit completely, rolling her tongue right to the collection of nerves.

Her tongue alternates between soft, sweeping strokes and precise flicks that have you gasping for breath. It’s almost too much, and yet, not enough all at once. You bite your lip, trying to stay quiet, but a moan finally escapes when her tongue moves a certain way, hitting a spot that has your whole body tightening. The sound you make is desperate, unrestrained, and your face flushes in embarrassment. But Paige doesn’t seem to mind—if anything, she doubles down, a soft moan escaping her lips, vibrating against you that sends a fresh wave of pleasure rolling through your body.

Jesus Christ, she’s good at this. Somewhere in the back of your mind, it makes you wonder how many people she’s been with, how much practice she’s had to make you feel like this. But then her tongue slips inside you, making you forget any and all of your thoughts, before it slides back out and smoothes back along your clit.

“Mmm, P,” you manage to gasp, your voice shaky and uneven. She glances up at you, her gaze meeting yours, and the sight of her—eyes dark with want, lips glistening—sends heat flooding through you. When she holds your gaze and tilts her head just slightly, her tongue hitting that same perfect spot again, your head falls back against the pillow, a breathless cry slipping out.

“Right there?” she murmurs, her voice low and muffled against you. The vibrations of her words are enough to make you tremble, and all you can do is nod, your fingers tightening in her hair as you whisper a choked, “Yeah—yes, shit.”

Paige doesn’t let up for a second, her lips and tongue working in seamless harmony to drive you closer and closer to the edge. It’s overwhelming, how good she is at this. Every flick of her tongue, every deliberate motion feels impossibly intentional, like she knows exactly what to do to unravel you piece by piece. Your thighs tense around her, hands tangling into her blonde hair as you press her closer, hips shifting instinctively to meet her movements.

Her hands grip your thighs firmly, keeping you steady as she focuses all of her attention on you. You can feel the intensity in every motion she makes—each swirl of her tongue, every press of her lips against you is filled with purpose. She’s completely locked in, as if nothing else in the world exists but you. The tension in your stomach coils tighter and tighter, your breaths coming in short, shallow gasps.

The noises slipping from your lips are no longer something you can control. You’ve never felt anything like this before, never imagined something could feel this good. Your hips move against her instinctively, searching for more, for everything she can give you. And Paige? Paige meets you exactly where you are, matching your every movement with a rhythm that drives you absolutely wild. As your legs begin to shake, she seems to sense your need for something more, and she slides her hands beneath your thighs, lifting your legs and placing them over her shoulders to get ever closer to your wet, dripping cunt.

“Fuck,” you breathe, your voice trembling as the pressure builds higher and higher. You’re teetering on the edge, every nerve in your body alight with sensation. Paige doesn’t stop, her brows furrowing slightly in concentration as her her mouth becomes more precise and focused, tongue swiping so quickly against your wetness that you can tell she’s determined to push you over. “Paige, I think I’m gonna—”

You feel her nod against you, her tongue chasing the movement, and, between her kitten-licks and sucks, she gasps, breathless herself, “I know, I know. I gotchu, ma.”

And when she dives back in, taking your clit into her mouth and sucking it, her teeth scraping against you, her head shaking with the effort, that seems to do it. Your body tenses, toes curling as you gasp her name again, louder this time. The dam finally breaks, a wave of ecstasy crashing over you so intensely that it leaves you trembling. You cry out, your back arching off the bed as your hand grips Paige’s hair tightly, holding her to you as your orgasm overtakes you, your pussy dripping.

Fuck.

Paige doesn’t pull away, her hands steady on your thighs as she guides you through it, her tongue slowing its movements but not stopping, easing you gently down from your peak. Your body shudders with aftershocks, and you’re left breathless, your heart pounding wildly in your chest.

When Paige finally pulls back, her lips are swollen and glistening, a soft, almost smug smile on her face. She crawls up your body, pressing a kiss to your hip, then your stomach, before finally reaching your lips again. Her kiss is soft, tender, a stark contrast to the intensity of what just happened.

“Hey,” she murmurs against your lips, her voice gentle as she brushes a strand of hair from your face. “You good?”

You nod, still catching your breath, and manage to whisper, “That was… fuck, P.”

Paige grins, her fingers lightly tracing circles along your side. “Did so good for me,” she murmurs, her voice warm and affectionate. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

Her words make your heart flutter, and you bury your face in her neck, a shy smile spreading across your lips. Paige wraps her arms around you, pulling you close as you both settle into the bed. The steady rhythm of her breathing against you is soothing, grounding you after all of… that.

“I’m really glad it was you,” you murmur softly, your fingers idly tracing patterns on her shoulder.

Paige presses a kiss to the top of your head, her voice low and full of sincerity as she replies, “Me too.”

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #paige bueckers fic #uconn huskies #wbb #uconn #wcbb #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers fluff #wcbb x reader #wlw post #wlw #lgbtq

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jjkbambi · 3 months ago

Text

frat flu luigi mangione x virgin!reader 18+

summary!!! (smut inspired by this request) you’re set to interview frat president luigi mangione for the penn newsletter!

note: fratboy!luigi but not reallyyyy associated to that cheating demon storyline. written as a standalone but could be seen as a prequel if you squint. unedited but happy new years

warnings: long fic cuz we need a reason to be fuckin, sad bc luigi’s sad, comfort, an attempt at fluff, and of course smut, dubcon (he grinds on you while you’re sleeping), so dry humping, p in dis v (VIRGINNN)

luigi mangione, as described by his fraternity brothers: “cool,” “mega smart,” and “totally chill.” all phrases you could blindly draw from a hat to describe a stranger walking down the street.

surely, this couldn’t be your debut in penn today. a spotlight on the brightest mind on campus, phi kappa psi fraternity president luigi mangione. top of his class at a mysterious luxury private high school, started a hash brown business at sixteen, and, according to his linkedin, volunteers at local libraries, elderly homes, and animal shelters during breaks back home. he’s got a first aid/cpr certification, a bartending license, and a squeaky clean record.

“he doesn’t even complain on yelp,” you groan.

your friend, lacy, sits in the drivers seat, shaking her head. “maybe he’s just nice.”

you shoot a glare at her.

she raises her hands, defensive. “i’ve only heard good things!”

“oh, well, if he was really so nice, he wouldn’t have canceled on me a hundred and one times.” as if he’d heard you, your phone pings—his name flashing on the screen.

from luigi Hey pretty! Something came up today. So sorry. Can I see you another time?

“one hundred and two,” you declare, showing her your phone screen. at this point, it felt less like inconvenience and more like cruelty. his constant rejections, delayed responses, and last-minute reschedules were a relentless reminder of your looming failure to finish the piece on the phi kappa psi house. journalism club was going to fucking kill you.

“y/n, he literally could not have been nicer.” she finally puts the car into park. the both of you look outside.

frustration had been simmering for weeks, growing with every missed promise. almost two months ago, he’d smiled big and earnest, assuring you he’d meet for the interview—yet here you were, still waiting. the distance between you two seemed to stretch with every passing day, and you couldn’t summon the energy to pretend you still cared for niceties.

you’re outside his fraternity house, calling him, he surprises you by answering almost immediately, his voice low and hoarse, like he’s just woken up. “hello?”

“hi, it’s y/n.”

“oh,” he says, tone dipping as he cleared his throat. “hey, how are you?”

“yeah, i’m fine,” you say, unbuckling your seatbelt. “i just wanted to talk—”

“yeah, i know ‘m sorry,” he tells you, sincerity to be debated. “i’ve just been a bit all over the place these past few weeks.”

lacy mouths, “im staying in the car.”

nodding, you hop out, a familiar sense of anticipation lingering. it’s not your first time at the fraternity house, but each visit feels different. the mansion, though grand, has a worn charm—earth-toned walls and overgrown grass, with boys constantly darting across the yard. trash cans overflow with aluminum cans, remnants of the never-ending chaos.

“no, i get it, i do. i, you know, am busy all the time.”

“oh, i’m sure,” he says. “are you free next weekend?”

you didn’t even have to check your schedule to know you were free. but you were already here. “well, actually, i just, um…” you feel a bit of your confidence deflating as you trespass their yard. your face flushes and you suddenly feel the eyes of the other brothers staring at your silhouette like curious dogs, unsure of whether to bark or bite. “i was just passing by the neighborhood, i was wondering if i could come over now?”

he yawns. “what? you mean right now?”

“is that alright?”

“how far away are you?”

“yeah, uh, i’m outside your front door.”

“oh?” he says, clearly taken off-guard. the embarrassment finally settles in. what the hell were you doing?

“you know what, never mind. i’m so sorry,” you flush, spinning on your heel and rushing down the steps, avoiding eye contact with the other guys.

you’re not sure if it’s your heart stopping or the phone call ending, but it’s in that moment that the blackwood door opens. you turn around, and the brown-haired boy steps through, looking disheveled, with dark bags under his eyes as if he hasn’t slept. though, despite that, he’s in gray sweatpants and a long sleeved black compression shirt.

“y/n, come on in,” luigi says, his voice booming, almost too loud for the quiet pennsylvania street. he glances toward the team of players in the front yard, bringing attention to you all over again. “this is the journalist for the penn.”

you shuffle up the steps again. “it’s called penn daily.”

“right,” he nods, eyes searching your body up and down. “you want a jacket?”

you’re in leggings and a tank top. you’re shivering. “no, no, i like the cold.”

the brown-haired boy shakes his head, grabbing one off the coat rack anyway and tossing it over to you.

“you’ll like the jacket even better.”

as he guides you through the house, the weight of the silence surrounds you. you’ve only ever seen the place during parties—neon LED lights casting strange shadows, tables covered in empty Solo cups and suspicious piles of random powders. it always felt like a place of unrecognizable chaos, where everyone was too busy to think about much else but the next round of shots or whatever game they were playing. but today, in the quiet of the late morning, the house feels different. the lights aren’t flashing, the music isn’t blasting, and there’s no throng of people rushing around. it feels oddly intimate, even though it’s still just as cluttered as always.

“is this what it looks like clean?” you ask, only half-joking.

“be nice,” luigi barks, tone plain as he rolled his eyes in faux annoyance. “we had a long night yesterday,” he gestures to the crowds of twentysomethings outside, one group cleaning off the mountain of soda and beer cans off the plastic gray tables, the other playing ping pong. “another long night ahead. you should come.”

the invitation doesn’t sway you, you’re distracted by his face. though his curly hair is neatly cut, and his chocolate brown eyes hold a quiet, dark intensity. his tall frame fills up the room, the way he stands commanding attention without trying. his features are sharp, framed by thick eyebrows, and his smile is small, barely there, and it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. he offers it to you as if it’s expected. there’s an underlying feeling you can’t shake. it’s like you can tell it’s forced. you’ve seen enough of him in passing (and in stalking) to know this isn’t the usual “luigi” you’re used to seeing at parties or around campus.

you bite the inside of your cheek. “you know, if today’s a bad day, you don’t have to—”

“no, babe, it’s fine,” he says, the term rolling off his tongue like it’s second nature.

in the short time you’ve known him, you’ve picked up on his knack for nicknames and gathered you probably shouldn’t be flattered—all the boys in this frat were entirely too flirty.

he pushes the door to his bedroom open, stepping aside to let you in. “shouldn’t take too long, right?”

“sure,” you lie as you slip past him, fingers brushing over the notepad tucked in your back pocket, your mind racing with questions you’re suddenly too aware of.

“well then, it’s no rush,” he says.

quickly, you notice the collection of allergy medication at his desk. a heinous amount of nyquil, half-empty bottles scattered among crumpled tissues and unopened water bottles. it’s almost comical, the way his organized chaos betrays the “untouchable golden boy” image you’d pieced together. his desk, once probably neat and deliberate, now looks like the scene of a losing battle against the flu. curious, you ask, “bad fever?”

luigi laughs dryly. “something bad, that’s for sure.”

you feel yourself sink at the admission. instinctively, you reach up to feel his forehead, your fingers hovering just shy of his skin. it’s a simple gesture, something you wouldn’t think twice about doing for one of your roommates, but as soon as your hand makes contact, he stiffens, his body recoiling ever so slightly. the movement is subtle but enough to make you hesitate, pulling your hand back as his lashes flicker up to meet yours.

“jesus christ,” you gasp. “you’re burning up.”

luigi doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze lingering on you just a moment too long, his eyes a little softer than usual.

“think i’ll be fine,” he says, but there’s an edge to his voice, like he’s trying to brush it off. it feels more like he’s saying it for both of you than for himself.

a pang of guilt hits you hard—a reminder of how you’d pushed for this interview while he was clearly feeling terrible. all those ridiculous, relentless messages, the nagging about deadlines while he was probably just trying to get through the day. god, you feel like an idiot.

you cup his cheeks, serious. “you should really get to bed.”

“what, and miss the privilege of being interrogated by the penn’s finest?” he teases, leaning into you. you’re struck at how warm he was, how utterly unprofessional you were coming off as, how awful it would be to pull away.

the article, you remind yourself, inching away. “if you pass out mid-question, it’s not going to make for a great article.”

“least i’ll be a shoo-in for the sympathy vote next semester,” luigi says with a wry chuckle, his tone light but laced with something deeper as he glances back up at you, almost as if testing your reaction.

“come on,” he reaches for your hand when you frown, interlocking your fingers and swaying you. he doesn’t pull you too close, something about the way he’s looking at you has you sure he’ll never give you the satisfaction, but your fingers interlock and there’s a hint of a smirk playing at the edge of his lips, smugness plain. “i couldn’t let you walk out here so fast. you know what they would say about me if they thought i let down a pretty girl like you?”

you feel your face go pink but your ego won’t let his flirting power last. his forehead was burning hotter than sauna, he probably didn’t know what was even happening. “you look like you haven’t even slept,” you say, matter-of-factly. “would you just sit down?”

“trust me, this headache’ll be gone before you can even say sto meglio con te,” he says, his voice a little softer than usual.

he grins as your brow furrows. “you could put that in your article. successful, speaks italian, looks like shit.”

“i didn’t mean that. i’m just worried.” ignoring the fluttering in your stomach and his persistent gaze, you turn your phone over. “i could order you some soup. there’s a really nice pho place down the road—”

“what’re you, my girlfriend?”

“mangione,” you sigh. “you’re being impossible.”

“baby,” he says, the word slipping from his lips with a teasing familiarity that catches you off guard. it pierces straight through your ego, sharp and unexpected. “i promise, ive got way more interesting things to talk about than allergies. come on, ask me.”

before you can react, another voice calls from outside, and you hear hurried footsteps approaching the door. luigi hesitates for a second, glancing at you. a younger group of fraternity brothers peeks in, looking urgent.

“hey, we’ve got a problem with the fundraising paperwork—someone made a mistake with the donations, and it needs to be fixed or we’re going to miss the deadline,” one of them explains, his voice tight with stress.

“who was in charge of that?” luigi asks, a lilt of accusation in his tone.

the younger twentysomethings look around, feigning innocence, avoiding eye contact. “whatever, it doesn’t matter,” he mutters, rubbing his eyes. “i’ll take care of it.”

he squeezes your hand before he leaves the room, saying, “stay put for me.”

so you sit on his navy blue bed, stiff and idle, your mind wandering as you wait. you text lacy and tell her you’ll catch up with her later as the constant sound of chaos fills your ears. you hear the house scrambling through the halls and luigi’s answering calls and questions, directing people, moving them out the way. the speakers for the party this weekend just got delivered, the delta 3 girls are inviting them to volunteer at their annual car wash, and there’s a leak in the basement that needs immediate attention. after what feels like hours, you can’t keep your eyes open anymore. exhaustion pulls at you, and without even realizing it, you fall asleep on his bed, the rhythmic noise of his busy life buzzing around you.

“y/n,” luigi exhales as he finally re-enters the room, his exhaustion evident in every step.

he’s greeted at the sight of your body sprawled across his bed, eyes fluttered shut with his jacket blanketed over your silhouette. he’s not so sure what comes over him, but he locks the door. your peaceful slumber is a stark change from the drunk mayhem on the other side of the door, and he’s intent on keeping the peace. the bed dips under his weight as he sinks down beside you, too tired for niceties. without a word or a second’s hesitation, he pulls the jacket off you and brings your tired body closer to his.

it starts off innocent. his arms are wrapped around your stomach, your body limp against his. he cradles into the nape of your neck—and you’re so soft and you smell so good, he can’t help himself. he tells himself he won’t take it too far. starting with small, sweet kisses against the side of your neck, almost tickling you out of your unconsciousness. you sleepily squirm under his hold and he’s straining in his sweatpants before he can make sense of it.

“you’re so pretty,” luigi whispers. it would be a waste, really, to have you this close without touching you. using you.

he grinds his hips against your plump ass. he’s so fucking hard, he really can’t help it. he has to have you, but he can’t bring himself to wake you—you’d been so sweet to him earlier, doe eyes wide with concern—he figures he has to return the favor somehow, right? letting you nap in his bed feels like the least he can do.

“you’ve got no idea how often i lose my mind thinkin’ about this, about you,” he confesses. the noise outside is loud, chaotic—a world away from the quiet intensity between you. it’s too loud for anyone else to know of the secret unfolding here, in the space of his touch and the weight of his gaze.

he’s rougher now, tightening his grip on your hips as he jerks himself into you. you were so worried about him earlier. you’d want this, wouldn’t you? to help him out, make him feel better?

his defense of plausible deniability falls apart piece by piece. one of his hands stray from your hip to your clothed core, rubbing you, desperate for friction. he groans into your back. you were wet, he was sure of it, he had to make sure of it. he slips his hands down your leggings and rushes to palms your wetness. he has to make sure you’re feeling just as good as he was.

you shudder at the touch, slowly bringing yourself from rem to reality. the room is hotter than you remembered, and you almost shriek as you realize luigi’s hands had been all over you. he’s quick to put his hand over your mouth, talking in your ear, “‘m sorry baby, couldn’t resist.”

his sloppy wet kisses are hot against your neck, so frantic, so desperate, so needy, his stubble unnerving you as you squirm under his hold. you can hardly make sense of what’s happening. “luigi.” you mewl as he grinds his clothed cock into you. “what’re you doing?”

he moans at the perfect blend of innocence and surprise twined through your voice. its undeniable now — he can’t spend another second not experiencing you.

“you said you wanted to make me feel better, yeah?” luigi grunts. before you can respond, he’s slipping a finger into your wet pussy. you jolt at the wild unfamiliar storm that grasps you, trying to turn your head over to him, to look at him, to ask him what the hell had gotten into him. he kisses you when your head tilts, his free hand wrapping around your throat.

“that’s so much fuckin’ better,” he tells you, stretching your core out with another two fingers. he’s so eager—so intent on making a mess of you, you’re almost humiliated at how easily you fall apart underneath.

you quiver and shake, and try to twist out of his groping hands, but he doesn’t budge, pressing harder into you. “you’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me, sweetheart,” he swears.

“luigi,” you cry, helpless. the friction felt so hot it made you light-headed. the pleasures storms out any logical part of you. “i don’t—i don’t know what to do.”

of course you don’t. you were entirely too sweet, too well-meaning, too fuckin’ stupid to realize how badly he wanted you. running up to him after his gym workout, bright-eyed as you asked him to hang out. not on a date, not even as friends, but for a stupid fucking college paper. he should’ve taken you right there, in the parking lot, let you scream on it so loud the entire campus knew you were his, saved all this goddamn time.

“you’re a fuckin’ virgin?” luigi asks. he needs to hear you say it.

he rips his hand from your aching cunt and you cry out at the loss of friction.

“yes,” you pout.

“any good journalist knows to use specifics.” you see a cocky grin etch onto his lips before he flips you over and brings you in for a proper kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck as he sinks into you. you kiss him back. you wanted this, whatever it was. “tell me again.”

“i’m a virgin,” you admit, reddening.

he smiles against your cheek before kissing you again—“been waiting for me, yeah? you want me to take you?”

“luigi, please.”

“what’s that?” he says, cruel.

you pout again and try to please him, rushing into another kiss. he captures your lips gladly, but refuses to bring you to the satisfaction of salvation.

all too mean, he points out, “you don’t even know what you’re begging for.”

at this point you were sure you could get drunk off the warmth of him. if you bucked up into the air, you could feel his bulge raging against his sweatpants.

“i want you,” you whine. “i mean—i just—i thought you wanted me too..?”

“of course i do. look at you.” luigi grunts before he strips off his shirt, ripping down your leggings with a force that pulls your body down the bed with him. his dark gaze drifts down.

you flush at the sight of the wet mess all over your legs. “you did all that just for me?” luigi mocks. “you want me that fuckin’ bad?”

“yes,” you have no idea why but you do. you can’t imagine a world where you walk away now and never experience him.

luigi never had any intention of being nice about this. his morals and his plans for the night unraveled the moment his eyes found you sprawled across his bed. harshly, he grips your hips—sure to leave marks, hoping for it—before pounding the entirety of his length into your purity.

the stretch scorches, searing into you. you see white, red, and hell all at once. “luigi—!” you cry out.

“you’re so good,” luigi assures. he tries to pace himself as you fall apart underneath him. he tries he tries he tries—but your inexperienced pussy molds around him, so perfect and wet, he can’t help himself.

you feel everything but perfect. unnerved and wild and overwhelmed, whimpering underneath him like a sick puppy. he fucks into you like he’s itching to see if you’ll break.

“it hurts,” you whine.

“you look so fuckin’ pretty with your legs spread,” luigi says. “can’t get enough of this perfect pussy.”

you paw at him, desperate for sacred ground, grip landing on his arms, hard and toned underneath your fingertips. he smirks. “feelin’ me up, sweetheart? you like my arms?”

the sound of skin slapping overtakes your corner of the world. you’d seen him before, but never like this. you’ve never had anything like this.

“luigi.” you whimper. “i can’t, you’re so big—”

“i know, pretty, i know,” he murmurs, kissing the running wet tears down your cheeks. “d’you remember the night you went up to me after the gym? d’you remember what you were wearing?”

you can’t help but claw your fingers deep into his arm muscles, desperate to find a vice for the pain. “oh my god,” you gasp. he pounds into you relentlessly and before you realize, you’re rolling into waves of foreign pleasure.

“stupid fuckin’ tank top,” luigi groans. pleasure storms you as he gets more brazen. he pulls down your camisole, lapping at your tits, biting you, marking you. “wind blew over and i got to see your perfect fuckin’ nipples. wanted to tear you apart right there.”

“what? really?”

“had to jack off in my fuckin’ car thinking about you, about this,” he murmurs before smashing his mouth back onto yours—and this time, you feel more prepared to bear it, melting into his warmth, lips perfectly reunited. you’re shivering under the heat. he fucks you hard into the mattress, hellbent on breaking you in. you’re sure he’s accomplished it already. you’re dizzy and light and on top of the goddamn world.

he sees through you. “fuckin’ close?”

“i-i think so—”

“so fuckin’ stupid,” he muses. “stupid fuckin’ virgin, doesn’t even know when she’s gonna cum.”

“you’re so mean,” you whine.

“yeah, you think so?” he growls, his voice low and dangerous as his hand strikes your cheek. the sting blooms like fire, another cruel signature of his dominance, a mark left behind in his endless quest to tarnish the golden purity you wear so effortlessly. his wicked touch moves down to your delicate clit and the sparks of pleasure turn into storms. you’re done for, waves of white gushing around him as you cry out his name.

“oh god,” luigi groans. “such a good girl, creamin’ on it like that. so perfect.”

the jolt of pleasure within you only makes you more sensitive. this time, when his hands return to your body, they’re clamped around your neck. he’s pulling into you, punishing your delicate cunt. as you quiver and froth, his thrusts grow sloppy and he rasps again—this time more guttural, more intense—and soon enough you feel his huge cock twitch inside of you, sending streams of his seed into your stomach.

he joins your silhouette on the bed, his warmth melting into yours as he pulls you close. his arms wrap around you, steady and secure, and his lips press softly to your forehead.

“‘m sorry,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice low and soothing. “didn’t mean to get so rough.”

you struggle to find the breath, then the words, “no, i—i think it was fine.”

he looks at you, his smile fading into something more thoughtful, his gaze deepening with quiet admiration. “just fine?” he asks, his voice laced with a hint of playful disbelief.

you meet his gaze, your heart fluttering, and with a mischievous glint in your eye, you hum,

“penn’s finest.”

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rowdydevs · 2 months ago

Text

𝓕𝓮𝓫𝓻𝓾𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂

🇹🇭🇪 🇱🇴🇻🇪 🇨🇴🇦🇨🇭

𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚄𝚐𝚕𝚢 𝚃𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚑

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡!𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐱 𝐂𝐄𝐎!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

+18 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻 𝓓𝓝𝓘

𝙲𝙴𝙾!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚏𝚞𝚕. 𝚂𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚋𝚞𝚒𝚕𝚝 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚗𝚎𝚐𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜—𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝙲𝚘𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝙲𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚕𝚎𝚜, 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚌𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚑 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚔 𝚕𝚊𝚠𝚢𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚕, 𝙿𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝙷𝚎𝚢𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛, 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚕𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖.

cw | smut, swearing, older!rafe, pet names, jealousy, possessiveness, unprotected p in v, choking, oral female receiving, squirting.

Reader’s POV:

You look out the window of your glass-walled office, adjusting and smoothing the fabric of your blazer nervously, watching as the city bustles below you—people rushing around with somewhere to be and someone to see. Expect you…

You would be lying if you said you were proud of how fast you climbed the ladder, but rightfully so; that ascent didn’t come without a cost. Your life was full of staff meetings, high-stress phone calls, and negotiations. On paper, you had it all: money, power, and influence, except for one thing: someone to share it all with. Romance. What the hell is that, anyway?

Walking over to your desk, you crash down in your chair, blowing out the breath you didn’t know you were holding in, letting your shoulders fall for a beat. You take in the silence around you momentarily, your thoughts robbing you of that peace fast.

You were focused so much on your career that everything else seemed to fall by the wayside. Until recently…

Pope Heyward.

The handsome lawyer across the hall in your highrise. He was everything you found attractive: handsome, intelligent, kind… You first noticed him when you shared an elevator ride. He greeted you with a polite smile and a warm and rich ‘Good morning.’ You tripped and tumbled over your words, avoiding eye contact entirely. Each morning since has been a compilation of the world's most basic gestures: finger waves and nods in passing.

It was maddening. You could hold a boardroom at your command and negotiate multi-million dollar deals without breaking a sweat, but a simple smile from that handsome lawyer had you tongue-tied and flustered. You felt ridiculous. Even worse, you felt helpless.

One particularly lonely night, you poured yourself a glass of wine and grabbed your phone, pulling up every magazine article and self-help blog you could. It wasn’t long before you stumbled upon a man promising you precisely what you were looking for. Romance. All achievable with the help of Matchmaker and Love Coach Rafe Cameron…

His website was professional–Its pages filled with testimonials from executives, lawyers, doctors, and other high-powered professionals who had forgotten about their love lives along the way.

You were hesitant, fingers hovering over the contact button, digits drumming on the arm of your couch, holding yourself back until you broke. Hiring Rafe to fix all the problems with your love life felt absurd, but it was broken… You would do the same to any other thing or aspect of your life that needed fixing. Why not this too?

The next day, you sat in a private booth, looking out onto the cafe you were waiting at. Your lips trembled as you took a few sips of coffee. You looked down at your watch, clocking the time–two minutes until your planned meeting time. Your heart started to pound in your chest, your body felt like it needed to flee—

“Miss?”

You looked up from your seat, startled and wide-eyed. Rafe was younger than you expected: light hair and striking blue eyes that twinkled in the warm cafe lights. He smiled, making your heart skip a beat.

“Rafe Cameron,” he said, extending a hand. Your cheeks warmed at how clammy your grip was. He had been in your presence for no more than 10 seconds, and he could already tell you were a mess when it came to this. He reached for the button of his tailored navy blazer, unfastening it before sitting across from you.

“Thank you for meeting me,” you said, trying to steady your voice.

“Of course. Of course. So, what can I help you with?” He asks as he tilts his head slightly, the sight of the beautiful man before you sending you into a tailspin.

“Umm… I – I don’t have time for dating.”

“Of course, you don’t; you’re very successful,” he praises. “You didn’t get to the position you’re in by accident.”

You shake your head and smile softly, taking in his compliment. You glance down at your coffee, finding yourself slightly overwhelmed with his full focus as you come to terms with the fact that this is the longest conversation you’ve had with a man in years that had something to do with anything other than business.

“Well, when I meet someone, I tend to overthink it and freeze up… It’s frustrating.”

“And you’re not used to that in your career, so why is your private life so different?” He asks earnestly, voicing all your concerns like he’s reading your mind. “It’s not uncommon... You’re so used to excelling in every aspect of your work life–you’re so used to being in control–that dating feels like that one thing you just can’t seem to get right.”

“Exactly,” you sigh.

“We just have to get you out of your head, yeah?” He asks.

“And how exactly do you plan to do that?” You whisper against the lip of your coffee cup before taking a sip.

Your heart starts to race as Rafe smile stretches along his pretty lips. He leans forward, lessening the space between the two of you. “The basics first: confidence, connection, clarity.”

“Sounds easier said than done,” you chuckle weakly.

Rafe grins and nods in agreement. “Once you get that little bit of confidence and find something you really want, everything will fall into place, I promise. Is there someone you want?” You bite your lip, stifling a smile. “Great,” Rafe said, his grin widening.

“He’s a lawyer across the hall from my office,” you gossip; your voice is soft and meek.

“Really? That’s perfect. Tell me about him.”

⊹ 💌 ⁺ ˳ ✿ . ♥️ ࿐ 𝒶 𝒻𝑒𝓌 𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓀�� 𝓁𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓇…

“You’re quiet,” Rafe hums during your afternoon session as his beautiful blue eyes continue to study your movements. “What’s on your mind?”

You take a deep breath, rolling out the tension in your neck. “Nothing… You know how I am.”

“Talk to me,” he answers simply, leaning into the arm of the oversized office chair.

“Just work,” you answer. “It’s nothing really–boring “me” stuff.”

“Bullshit,” he laughs and shakes his head. “Lay it on me. You know you can talk to me–” And that’s the problem. You could talk to him for hours, without hesitation–without stress. Talking to Rafe was the opposite of speaking to the Pope, his presence making you crumble before him. Still…

“It’s discouraging,” you whisper, the words barely escaping your lips. “With you, I feel like I can do it–”

“It?”

“Be me. I don’t know why it’s so hard with him.”

“Do you think you’re trying to be the kind of woman you think he wants instead of showing him who you are?”

Your lips draw to the side as you take in his words. “Maybe…”

“Well, there’s no need for that… You’re more than enough,” he praises.

Rafe crosses his arms over his broad chest, reading you like a book. The material of his linen shirt strains as his muscles flex unintentionally; a playful smile plays on his lips as he looks back at you.

Your lashes flutter as you feel butterflies swirl in your stomach. You break eye contact, feeling the weight of his stare.

It’s nothing…. Rafe is good at what he does—reading people and making them feel seen. That’s why it was so easy to talk to him. That’s all it was.

It wasn’t just the praise that lingered… It was the way he said it and looked into your eyes that had your heart racing. You bite your lips, hanging your head momentarily, pulling yourself back to reality.

He’s the man trying to help you… Stop.

“Let’s run through a scenario, hmm?” Rafe asks, breaking the silence. Your eyes lift to his in annoyance, making Rafe snorts out a laugh. “C’mon. It’s your favorite,” he teases as he pushes himself out of the chair, rolling up the sleeves of his button-down shirt. “Elevator.”

You poke out your bottom lip as you look back at him, stepping out from behind your desk before walking toward him. “Elevator again?” You sigh.

“Mhmm…” He breathes as he looks down at you, taking a step closer. “What are you gonna do?”

“I’d ask him about his day… Maybe ask if he had plans for the weekend.”

“Good,” he smiles. “And what else?” The corner of his lips curl into a smirk

Your breath catches in your chest as his rich cologne fills your nose. “I–I…” You swallow hard, trying to gain the confidence you lost in a moment.

“I?” He asks as his brows lift, urging you to speak and recall anything he taught you.

“I–” You swallow the lump that formed in your throat. “I’d probably panic and say something stupid about work,” you breathe, letting your shoulders fall as you look up at him with hopeless eyes.

Rafe laughs deeply, sending a warmth straight through you.

“You’re overthinking it… You’re not trying to impress him, remember? You’re just talking. You’re not trying to change yourself. It does not have to be him, aight? If he’s not a good fit for you, someone else will be. Pope Heyward is not the end all to be all… But, if he is, he’s a lucky man, okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper.

"You've idealized him in your mind, and now you are worried you’ll fall short of this ideal. You don't have to prove anything— not to him, not to anyone. He should be so lucky. So just speak to him like you’d speak to me.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“That’s because it is,” Rafe hums, his voice softening. “You’re incredible. You just need to believe it and let him in.”

Ring. Ring.

Your phone buzzes, breaking the tension between the two of you. You walk over, looking down at the notification for the three o’clock meeting. “Can we finish this conversation on the road? I have a meeting.”

Rafe follows you to the elevator, stepping inside with you. Your heart skips a beat, and your body freezes as you notice the two other people in there as well: Pope and Alexis Johnson, his partner at the firm.

“Are you going up?” Pope’s baritone voice fills the lift. You look up at him and smile, nodding your head as you feel your anxiety rise. He lets out a breathy chuckle, giving you a sweet smile. “Floor?” He mouths the words inaudible.

“Oh, umm, twenty-five,” you smile as you lean forward simultaneously, bumping hands before letting him select it for you.

You look out of the corner of your eye, catching Rafe’s half-focus as he looks down at his phone, trying to act nonchalant. Your eyes shift in the other direction, Pope’s eyes greeting yours.

“How’s everything going across the hall?” Pope asks as he turns toward you slightly.

“Oh, uh–um… It’s great,” you say brightly. You feel Rafe’s fingers push against your lower back, urging you to say something else. “How’s it going for you?” You ask, surprising yourself as it comes out, your voice more level than before.

“Keepin’ busy. We’re on our way to a meeting… I can’t even tell you how many I’ve had today,” he sighs.

“Same.”

Silence fills the elevator as the two of you stare at each other, smiling and nodding–not quite sure where to take the conversation next, considering you were two floors away from his stop, and honestly, you didn’t think you’d get much farther than this.

“I… Uh–” Ding. The elevator cuts you off.

“Were you gonna say something?” Pope asks as he leans in a little closer. His partner steps out of the elevator, accepting a phone call. Before you can respond, the elevator door starts to shut, adding to the awkwardness and making you feel like you could die from embarrassment right then and there as Pope catches it.

“No. No, it’s fine,” you assure as he looks over his shoulder at you.

“Okay. Have a great night.”

“You too,” you smile. Your eyes stay locked on the hallway ahead, avoiding eye contact with Rafe, just knowing what he would say next. The door skates closed, your eyes pinching shut with it.

“Rafe, I’m sorry. I–”

Beep.

“Hey,” Pope's voice makes your eyes open, your heart falling into your stomach as he catches the elevator door. “M’sorry if this is too forward, but are you free tonight?”

Your brain freezes again, unable to process his words.

Did Pope Heyward just ask me out after that?

“Tonight?” You repeat shakily.

Pope chuckles lightly. “Mhmm… It’s been on my mind for a while. Figured I might as well ask. I think we could both use a night out.”

You blink fast as you feel your heart hammer in your chest. “Yeah… Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Great,” Pope answers as his smile widens on his lips. He reaches into the breast pocket of his suit, grabbing his card. “Text me? Just tell me where you want to go. Anywhere you’d like.”

You take the card off him, clutching it in your clammy hand as he gives you a nod. “See you tonight.”

“Can’t wait,” you answer as the elevator doors close. You bite your lips, holding back an all-to-wide smile, your eyes wide like saucers, processing what just happened. You turn towards Rafe, meeting his eyes, a mixture of surprise and disbelief painted all over your face. “Did that just happen?” You ask excitedly. Your hand slaps over your mouth, unable to fight it any longer.

“It did,” Rafe answers, his tone light, lacking his usual warmth.

“I mean, he just—out of nowhere—asked me out,” you continue, half-talking to yourself. “I didn’t think he even noticed me like that.”

Rafe adjusts the collar of his shirt, his movements a little more clipped than before. His lips turn upward as he gives you a forced smile. “Why wouldn’t he? You’re brilliant, successful; it would be hard not to notice you.”

You tilt your head, studying him this time.

“Are you okay?”

Your words seem to snap him out of his daze. His eyes and smile get a little brighter, recovering in an instant. “Of course. This is what you’ve been workin’ for. This is what you want. I’m… I am happy for you.”

The two of you exit the elevator and walk toward the meeting rooms. Rafe keeps his eyes locked on the path ahead, his silence unheard of up to this point. His quick wit and notes always seem to be at the ready. You couldn’t help but think that maybe that didn’t go as well as you thought it did…

Rafe looks over at you, trying to keep himself composed.

He’d told himself from the beginning that this was just a job like he had done with so many other people before you without any issue…. His role was to guide you, not feel anything for you.

For weeks, he had helped you build your confidence— to pursue someone else… But there he stood, hearing your excitement over your date, feeling nothing but jealousy, realizing how deeply he miscalculated it all.

He hated the way Pope looked at you… He hated how his chest tightened whenever you mentioned his name or smiled at the thought of another man. But, what he hated the most was the realization that he had already lost you before he ever had the chance to tell you how he felt.

He was dishing out relationship advice and not taking a word of it for himself.

“I’ll see you at our next session,” Rafe smiles, his tone polite but distant.

“Thanks again, Rafe. I’ll let you know how it goes,” you answer as he walks away. He lifts his fist, giving you a thumbs up, his body still turned, unable to even look back at you now.

⊹ 💌 ⁺ ˳ ✿ . ♥️ ࿐ 𝓁𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉…

Knock. Knock.

Your heart flutters as you hear Rafe on the other side of your apartment door. You stand up, smoothing out your dress, feeling your excitement rise.

He had said, ‘he’d see you at your next session.’ but a few hours after he left the office, he called, letting you know he would stop by to send you off. ‘One last pep talk before your big date.’

You open the door with a smile, your breath hitching as you see Rafe—his muscular body hugged in an all-black tailored suit. His black button-down is opened slightly, showing off the gold chain glimmering on his tanned chest.

He looks equally as surprised to see you, his eyes falling down your body as your heart pounds in your chest, your black dress practically painted over your curves. Rafe takes a shallow breath and smiles before looking back at you. “You look… Fuck. You look stunning.”

“Thank you,” you answer bashfully as you step to the side, letting him in, your eyes following the sleek lines of his suit as well. You bite your lip, trying to hold back everything you were holding in. “You look great,” you smile. “Very handsome.”

Rafe grins as he leans back into the counter, a rosy blush washed across his cheeks. He looks down momentarily, collecting himself before returning his attention to you.

“How are you feelin’?” He asks as he relaxes a little more—his eyes still drinking you in.

“A little nervous,” you giggle as you step forward in your sky-high heels, feeling your ankles wobble slightly from your nerves.

“Got no reason to be. But, I get it–” He sighs. “I get that way too sometimes.”

“Really?” You ask.

“Mhmm…” He hums. “I brought you somethin’.” You glance down, noticing the little red bag in his hand.

“You got me a gift?” You gasp.

“A few… Yeah,” he says as he beckons you closer. You take the bag off his hands, pulling out the paper. “You can put this in your ear if you’d like. I think it would be good for me to hear what’s goin’ on. I’m sure it will go just fine, but I think I can give you the best guidance for our next session if I hear it all.”

“Oh?” You ask as you look up at him, pressing the little piece in your ear before covering it with your hair. “Are you coming?”

“That okay? Besides bein’ in your ear, you won’t even know I'm there. Scouts honor.”

Rafe reaches up, rechecking it, letting his rough hand fall slightly to cup your soft cheek. Your heart swells at the contact between the two of you.

“Do you do this for everyone?” You whisper through a slight smile.

He doesn’t answer quite yet, fighting back a smirk as he gives you a little shrug, letting his silence answer your question for the moment.

You lean into him a little, making his heart melt.

“Every client is different…” he mumbles as he pulls out another gift. “Some perfume–Baccarat Rouge–my personal favorite. Romantic, sexy, decadent… everything you are, okay? I want you to feel good.” You feel your cheeks pool with heat, hearing those words fall so easily from his lips.

Rafe reaches out, holding your hand to spray the elixir on your wrist before drawing it to his nose, taking in your scents paired so beautifully together.

“Beautiful.”

You smell it as well, taking in all the rich notes as Rafe reaches into the bag, pulling out one last gift with a smile. A blood-red box with Cartier embossed in gold.

“Rafe-” You start, but he clicks his tongue, stopping you fast.

“Every client’s different…” His voice falls a little more. Rafe steps closer, resting his hands on your hips before turning you around. “Hold your hair for me.”

The warmth of his breath fans along your neck as he wraps the jewelry around your throat before clasping it shut.

“You ready, sweetheart?”

⊹ 💌 ⁺ ˳ ✿ . ♥️ ࿐

You glance around the elegant downtown restaurant, your heart pounding beneath the fitted bodice of your dress. The table is set with fine china and sparkling glasses; candlelights dance softly between them.

This was your chance… This was the moment you’d been working toward for weeks, but all you could think about was earlier. The gifts… Rafe’s sweet words and the moment you shared at your place.

“Relax,” Rafe’s voice comes through softly, calm and reassuring. “You’ve got this. Just be yourself.” You look up at Pope and smile before shifting your attention just over his shoulder, catching Rafe’s sparkling blue eyes as he sips his martini.

You won't even know I'm there…

“So,” Pope says, leaning forward slightly.

“So,” you smile and giggle, feeding off his excitement.

“What’s a normal day like for you?” He asks curiously before taking a sip of wine.

You hesitate momentarily before Rafe’s voice quickly cuts through your nerves. “Keep it light,” he hums.

“Ugh,” you groan, releasing an exhausted laugh that Pope quickly mirrors, lightening the mood even more as you say so much without a single utterance.

“Same,” he jokes.

“—Meetings, calls, and trying to keep up with my team’s endless stream of ideas.”

“Sounds like chaos,” he adds.

“Controlled chaos,” you reply with a smile as your confidence grows.

“Perfect,” Rafe praises softly in your ear. “You’re doing great. Don’t stop.”

The conversation continues to flow effortlessly, ebbing and flowing between you and Pope, sharing stories. You feel lighter, more comfortable than you’ve ever felt in his presence.

Rafe adjusts in his seat nervously as he watches you from afar.

This should have been a win for him–yet another happy client, yet another glowing testimonial he could add to his portfolio.

The knife to the heart was the date he helped you achieve. It’s twist was every laugh… Every beautiful smile stolen from him and gifted to Pope.

“You’re doing amazing,” Rafe says, keeping his voice steady. “Ask him about somethin’ outside of work—maybe a hobby or something he’s passionate about.”

You smile, giving the man on the other side of the earpiece a subtle nod as your eyes stay set on Pope’s. “So, what do you do when you’re not winning cases? Any hobbies?” Pope’s face lights up, the man launching quickly into a story about the language he’s learning and his upcoming trip to Paris.”

“No way,” you smile. “Tell me more.”

“Keepin’ the conversation going… Perfect,” Rafe praises, his words barely passing his lips, cracking with all the emotion he felt.

His heart aches. His jealousy weighed heavily on his heart. Every layer revealed to Pope just pulled you further and further away.

Rafe clenches his jaw, his blunt nails driving into the thigh of his dress pants. He tosses his head back for the moment, willing himself to stay focused–to stay rational when all he wants to do is storm across the restaurant and have you for himself.

“Do you date often?” Pope asks curiously. “Have you tried any of the apps or anything?”

“No,” you shake your head and smile. “Have you?”

Pope’s lip pulls, nose flaring slightly in disgust with his past experiences. “The apps are a mess. If I’m being honest, Raya, on the very, very rare occasion… For the obvious–”

Rafe perks up in his seat, his figure shifting to pull your attention to where he sits, projecting his sheer disgust like that was some out-of-pocket thing for an adult to say.

Umm…” You hum through a little nervous laugh at Rafe’s reaction, turning your focus back to Pope. “I get that,” you smile.

You listen as Rafe chuckles annoyedly in the earpiece, making the hair on the back of your neck stand straight.

Pope's smile widens at your response; a slight bite of his bottom lip gives you a pretty good idea of where his thoughts are drifting to.

“You travel?” He asks, throwing his voice a little lower than before.

“I haven’t had the chance to,” you sigh.

“Neither have I,” Pope smiles, “but I’m tryin’ to take better care of myself.”

“Are you going with anyone?” You ask curiously. “To Paris?”

“No one yet,” he smiles. “I’m hopeful though. I’m stayin’ at this beautiful boutique hotel by the Eiffel Tower, sightseeing, amazing food, great wine. It’d be a shame if I had to do that alone. Wouldn’t mind sharin’ that trip with someone… Someone who makes me laugh, smart, and hardworking who could finally relax with me.”

“Someone hardworking that could relax…” Rafe hums, his voice dripping with intimacy—filling your ear—making it feel like he’s surrounding you. “Think I could take care of her myself.”

Your eyes widen as you look back at Pope, hearing Rafe’s words. You try to keep your composure as both men shoot their shot; Rafe’s so unexpected that you question if you even heard him right in the first place.

“You’d like that, wouldn't you?” Rafe asks, making you flutter your lashes as your words get stuck on your lips. Pope shifts uneasily, making your embarrassment rise, knowing just how long you let his words hang in the air as you processed Rafe’s “Sorry,” Pope fumbles. “M’sorry if that was too forward. I-”

“Oh my god, no—no, you’re fine,” you assure.

“He’s not…” Rafe adds. “I agree with him. That was too forward,” Rafe taunts. “That’s date two talk, princess. He needs to stay in his lane.”

“And what lane are you in?”

“Pardon me?” Pope asks as you challenge Rafe, your stomach instantly falling at the realization you replied to Rafe's injection.

“Sorry,” you huff, trying your best to recover. “I worded that oddly. Uh… umm. What street is the hotel on? I meant street, not lane,” you ramble. “I’m still a little nervous.”

“No, please… Don’t be,” Pope softens his tone. The waitress walks over, setting a dessert down in the middle. You grab your fork, quickly taking a bite to avoid speaking and more. “I’m actually not sure of the street, but it’s in the Champs-Élysées neighborhood.”

“That sounds amazing.”

“Well, again, I’m hopeful,” Pope smiles. “How’s your dessert, sweetheart?”

“No,” Rafe warns as the first pet name leaves Pope’s lips. “Fuck no.”

“It’s delicious,” you answer

“Delicious, huh?” Rafe asks. “Careful, you. You’re makin’ me jealous.”

Your heart starts to race in your chest; the banging battling with Rafe’s secret conversation and Pope’s desperate attempt to compete with the man you wished you were sitting across from.

This should be a simple conversation with Pope, but at this moment, it feels nothing but. Your breathing tightens, body aching with want for Rafe.

“I feel bad, princess… he has no clue you’re mine.”

“Stop,” you whisper sharply to Rafe, though the corners of your lips twitch in spite of yourself.

“Stop what?” Pope asks, looking even more confused.

“Stop, I think I know them,” you nod to the entrance as an unknown couple walks in. Pope looks over his shoulder, and you take the opportunity to reach in your ear, digging out the earpiece before dramatically dropping it into your after-dinner coffee. It falls into the brew with a plop, the angle giving Rafe a clear view, catching your defiance. Your eyes drift from his back to your date as Pope turns back.

“Just can’t escape the office, can you?” He laughs. “Neither can I,” he sighs as you look back toward the door, seeing his partner from the firm standing next to her husband, waiting to be seated.

“It’s crazy, right,” you gossip as you lean in. The second you do, your phone vibrates in your purse. No question who it is. “I apologize,” you whisper, Pope quickly gesturing it’s okay.

Rafe: Now why did you do that?

You: You were distracting me.

Rafe: Maybe I’m meant to distract you sweetheart

Your fingers tightened around her phone, a small thrill shooting through you.

Maybe I’m meant to distract you?

You stuff your phone in your purse, determined to finish the date without Rafe wiping out every thought in your head until you’re done, but it’s useless.

Your mind was long gone. It wasn’t on Pope or the beautiful dinner, and at that moment, even without Rafe’s lust-laced words in your ear, everything started to blur. Your mind’s consumed with thoughts of only Rafe, Rafe, Rafe…

But most importantly, the realization that he wanted you just as much as you wanted him.

Your phone buzzes again. Then again. Then again. Five messages, back to back. “I’m so sorry…” You sigh.

“It’s fine. Truly,” Pope assures once more. You swallow hard before finally caving and pulling your phone out of your purse again.

Rafe: I just need to say this.

Rafe: I like you

Rafe: I can’t do this.

Rafe: I can’t sit here and listen to you flirt with him.

Rafe: Tell me you feel it too. Tell me this isn’t just in my head.

You: I don’t know what to do.

Rafe: Yes you do. You just have to choose it.

Rafe: Choose me.

Rafe: I’m going to call you in ten seconds. Take it, and I’ll get you out of here.

Rafe: I’ll take care of you.

You watch your phone tremble in your hand as he promised, your adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Rafe Cameron.

You stare at the screen for a second longer. Then, before you can think about it anymore—you answer. Rafe’s voice is all business, but you could hear the smirk behind it.

“Hey, baby,” he greets you smoothly, “we have a problem. I need you now.”

You exhale shakily and nod, forcing yourself to look apologetic and worried as you glance up at Pope. “I—I’m so sorry. I have to go. There’s something I need to handle.”

Pope looks back at you, surprised but concerned. “Is everything alright? I-”

“I hope so,” you whisper, quickly grabbing your purse. You reach into your bag, pulling out your wallet.

“Please, I insist,” Pope stops you, resting his hand on your arm, and you can’t help but feel a slight tinge of guilt, quickly overshadowed by the thoughts of the man waiting for you just a few feet away.

You walk toward the door, floating through the thick crowd, until you hit open air, and before you can take another step, you're pulled in, Rafe’s lips pressing against yours, taking your breath away.

This kiss isn’t soft… It isn’t hesitant, either. Deep, commanding, hungry, possessive, desperate, anything and everything you could have wanted, shattering the pressure built between the two of you with a single exchange.

You gasp into his mouth as he pulls you in closer, pressing his muscular body against yours, pushing you against the chilled brick wall.

Rafe groans softly, his grip tightening on your hip, his other hand cradling the back of your neck, needing you close. You melt into him, your hands gripping his Gucci suit jacket, barely aware of the city bustling around you—your thoughts still revolving around the man you had hoped for weeks would see you as more than just a client whose sweet words weren’t just there to raise your confidence, and prepare you for someone else, but because he genuinely felt those things… and wanted you for himself.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathless. Rafe lets out a low chuckle, his forehead resting against yours. “I knew you’d take the call,” he whispers. You hear the purr of Rafe’s BMW roll up to the curb. “Let’s get you outta here, huh?” He asks, his voice hoarse and deep as his lips brush gently against yours.

“You said you were gonna take care of me. Is that a promise?” You whisper, feeling him smile against your lips.

“I swear.”

⊹ 💌 ⁺ ˳ ✿ . ♥️ ࿐

“You’re so perfect. You know that?” Rafe asks as he kisses your neck, making your pussy throb.

“Fuck, Rafe,” you whimper.

He chuckles against your hot skin, that same laugh that filled your ears during your date—driving you crazy then—doing nothing but make your need for him worse now.

“Goddamn, baby…” He mumbles as his big hand roams your curves. “I don’t know how I lasted this long,” he squeezes your breast in his large hand as he sucks off your bottom lip nice and slow. “I don’t know how I went this long without hearing you say my name like that either… Say it again,” he taunts as his hand cups your sex, making you moan for him.

“Rafe, please…” You whine.

“So fuckin’ needy for me, huh… No one else gets to see you like this. No one.”

“No one else,” you whisper breathily through a smile as he glides two thick fingers up your soaked slit. “Shit,” you whimper as he traces his fingers around your entrance. “I need you…”

“I can feel how much you need me, sweetheart. You’re shit at hiding it,” he smirks as he moves his hand higher, teasing your clit with the pads of his rough fingers.

Rafe hisses out a breath as you reach between the two of you, wrapping your fingers around the base of his thick dick, making him hiss out a breath. You stroke your hand up, pull to his fat tip, watching precum glisten and leak out of his slit onto your body.

“Am I the only one that needs something?” You whisper, feeling his hard cock twitch in your hand. You drop the other, running your finger through the little puddle before bringing it to your lips, sucking it clean, watching Rafe as he watches you.

“I need you so bad,” he whispers. “I can’t tell you how many nights I thought about this.”

You grab his neck, pulling him down to your lips, bringing him in closer. “I’ve thought about you every night, Rafe.”

“Every night, huh?” He asks.

“Every. Night-” Your words get lost in a moan as Rafe plunges two fingers into your soaked core, making you throw your head deep into the pillow.

He kisses your chest as he starts to fuck his fingers into you, wrapping his lips around your nipple, sucking harshly, making your back arch off the mattress.

He curls his long fingers inside you, pulling out moan after moan from his hand alone.

Rafe kisses down your body, making your heart pound in your chest as he gets lower and lower. Your legs draw in, but he grabs your thighs, pushing them into the mattress, holding you open to look down at your glossy cunt.

Rafe leans down on the mattress, biceps, and shoulders flexing from the angle of his body, his eyes set on yours from between your thighs as he gives you a few teasing licks.

“Holy shit,” you squeal, and just as you do, he wraps his big arms around your thighs, pulling your warmth toward his face.

Rafe kisses your clit before sucking down, making your lace your fingers into his hair, pulling at the root, guiding him closer. He drops one arm, making you gasp as he pushes his fingers inside your pussy— his mouth works on you as well.

Your head starts to spin—lightheaded from the sensation of his skilled tongue and digits.

“I’m close,” you whimper, making him moan into your heat.

The vibrations make you fall apart in an instant.

Rafe sucks down harshly as you flutter around his fingers, your vision blurry as stars dance in your eyes. “Rafe, fuck!” You cry, fighting against him slightly, but he only holds you closer, finger and tongue fucking you through your orgasm, straight into overstimulation ‘til tears start to cloud your eyes.

“That was beautiful, baby,” he mumbles against your heat, pressing teasing kisses on your clit, watching your body jump in response.

“Rafe…” You whimper as you look down at him. He looks up at you and smiles, lips glistening with your slick.

“Yeah, pretty?” He asks teasingly as he kisses your inner thigh.

“Fuck my pussy.”

Rafe’s eyes roll back at your demands and your taste lingering on his tongue. He grabs your body, guiding you without effort to your hands and knees, lifting your ass into the air.

He spanks you, the loud crack of his palm against your supple flesh filling the room. You arch your back, making him release a desperate groan as he looks down at you, eyeing your slick, watching your wetness leak down your inner thighs.

Rafe grips his thick dick in his hand, slapping it against your ass before running his velvety head up your thighs, sopping up the mess.

You gasp as he presses his tip in, feeling him stretch you out already. Your thighs trembles, your breathing shaky as you do the math, realizing how long it has been since you’ve had sex, let alone with anyone Rafe’s size.

Rafe pushes in, inch by inch, making your mouth fall open as your body stretches around him.

“Pussy’s just made for my cock, baby,” he mumbles as he presses his body flush with your ass when you’ve finally taken all of him.

You circle your hips, adjusting to his size, feeling his thick dick hit all the right spots. “Feels so damn good—”

“Can’t believe he almost got this…” He pulls his hips back, drawing out nice and slow, letting you feel every ridge and vein as his big hands find your hips. “All fuckin’ mine-”

“Fuck!” You scream as he snaps his hips forward, the two of you moaning in unison as your pussy sucks him in.

Rafe starts to work him cock in your cunt at the perfect pace—his skin clapping against yours with every thrust, the sounds of your wet pussy squelching.

“Mmpfh…” You whine as your head falls forward. “Right there, baby.” Rafe picks up the pace, hitting your sweet spot again and again.

”Yeah, sweetheart? Right there?” He asks through a smirk. “What else does my girl want, huh?”

“Harder,” you whimper.

“Shit, baby,” he laughs breathlessly as he starts to drill into you. Your fingers claw at the sheets as you feel yourself just seconds away from your climax.

You feel an unfamiliar heat in your belly, and before you can think, your pussy releases, squirting all over the mattress and Rafe’s cock.

“Fuckkk,” he moans, dragging out the words as his body sloshes through the wet mess. “So good for me… Tell me, princess. Tell me no one else has ever fucked you like this. Tell me no one else will.”

“No one, Rafe,” you whimper. “Only—Oh god. Only you.”

Rafe pulls out fast, making you gasp as he tosses you to your back, thrusting himself back in before you can even come down from your high. “I wanna watch your face when you take my cum, baby,” he whispers against your lips.

You gasp as his fingers press against your clit, too, rubbing little circles on top as he throws his hips into you; your nails digging into his muscular back as he pounds your wet cunt.

Rafe pulls back slightly, looking down at you underneath him, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as you both get closer and closer to the edge.

Rafe presses his palm against your chest, feeling your heart hammer against it, the beat echoing his own. His hand slides higher, wrapping around your neck, squeezing tightly.

“Rafe-” You gasp, letting out a choked moan. You grab your knees, pulling them up to your chest, making him stroke impossibly deep. “Please, Rafe. Fuck. Make me cum.”

“Say my name like that again, and I swear, I’ll never let you leave this fuckin’ bed again…” He groans through gritted teeth. “Cum for me.”

Your eyes roll back in your head, and your pussy pulses around his big cock. Rafe moans your name; his muscles strained as he cums deep inside.

Rafe rocks to a stop, his grip softening on your neck as his soft lips find yours. Rafe catches your whimpered breaths in his mouth, smiling softly against your lips before letting his tongue slip inside.

His tongue swirls with yours, making you feel like you could float away. You gasp again, his kiss as he rolls you quickly, pulling you onto his broad chest, his cock still throbbing inside.

“Holy shit,” he sighs breathlessly.

“Mmm… You're fired,” you giggle airily between soft kisses, making him chuckle.

“You’re firing me, princess?” He asks playfully as his hands smack and squeeze your ass. “How about this. I’ll work for free…”

“Oh yeah? You gonna make office visits?”

“Dirty fuckin’ girl,” he mumbles as he cups your cheeks in his hands, pulling you in for a passionate kiss. “‘Course I will.”

“Mmm… You can stay,” you whisper.

“I can stay? You found the one, huh?” He asks sweetly as he looks up at you with love in his eyes.

“I found everything I needed, Rafe…”

“So did I.”

⊹ 💌 ⁺ ˳ ✿ . ♥️ ࿐

dividers | @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

#februrafey event .𖥔 ݁ ˖💌˚. ᵎᵎ #older!rafe ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ #rafe cameron x reader #rafe #Rafe smut #my library ᝰ.ᐟ #rafe one shot 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹#lovecoach!rafe ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ

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stylesonfilms · 1 month ago

Text

drippin' down your body like gold [h.s]

word count: 7.1k

when harry performs in lisbon, he gets an idea to chug a beer on stage. what he doesn't know, is that the sight of his chest dripping makes you feral.

or the one that is based off a post long ago made by @hesbunnies!

warnings: smut, unprotected p in v, blowjobs, fingering, daddy kink, slight possessiveness, dressing room smut, concert smut! 18+ only.

Your fingers glided over the sequins of his suit, the fabric shifting beneath your touch like liquid light, catching and reflecting the warm glow of the dressing room bulbs. Each stroke sent a mesmerizing ripple across the dark material, a shimmer of silver and blue dancing under your fingertips. Your gaze trailed downward, drinking in the expanse of his exposed chest, where inked stories curled over golden skin, each tattoo etched into him like constellations against a dusky sky. The faint scent of his cologne—rich, woodsy, laced with something subtly sweet—mingled with the lingering notes of hairspray and fresh linen from his suit.

“Good luck,” you exhaled, the words floating between you like a prayer, your voice tinged with adoration as you tilted your head to meet his gaze. Your heart pounded against your ribs, swelling with something indescribable, eyes glossy with admiration. His responding chuckle was low, honeyed, and melted into the grin that spread across his face—dimples deep, eyes twinkling. His large, calloused hands rose to cup your jaw, warm and steady, thumbs brushing tenderly over your skin. Though he towered over you, nearly a foot taller, he always lowered himself to meet you, his lips finding yours with effortless devotion.

One kiss. Another. Then a longer one, deep and unhurried, the soft pressure igniting a heat in your chest. His lips were plush, intoxicating, leaving behind a warmth that lingered long after he pulled away. His hands dropped, curling around yours, anchoring you against the rapid heartbeat beneath his chest.

“Styles, two minutes! Let’s go, let’s go!”

Beyond the dressing room walls, the world pulsed with electric anticipation. The steady thrum of stomping feet vibrated through the floors, a bassline of excitement shaking the very air around you. Cheers and whistles spiraled through the venue, blending into a symphony of pure, unfiltered devotion. The scent of fog machines and stage lights filtered in, mingling with the adrenaline buzzing through your veins.

“Thank you, love,” he murmured, his voice dipped in fondness as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, then brought your bundled hands to his lips, the heat of his breath spreading across your skin. A shiver ran down your spine—not from cold, but from the quiet intensity in his touch.

“See you out there?”

You beamed up at him, eyes glimmering. “You know it. Now go, go!”

With a parting squeeze of your hands, he turned, broad shoulders disappearing through the door. His jog down the long corridor was brisk, purposeful, the last glimpse of his silhouette swallowed by the glowing stage lights as he vanished beneath the arena.

The moment Harry disappeared down the hallway, you released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your heart still fluttering from the warmth of his lips on your skin. But there was no time to linger in the feeling—he was about to step onto the stage, and you needed to get to your spot.

Slipping out of the dressing room, you navigated through the backstage halls, passing crew members who moved with practiced efficiency. The faint hum of in-ear monitors crackled through radio headsets, and the distant strumming of the band tuning up leaked through the heavy walls. With familiar ease, you found the staircase leading up to the private balcony, a space reserved for family and special guests—a safe haven away from the packed, pulsating crowd below.

As you stepped onto the balcony, the stadium came into full view, and the sheer magnitude of it stole your breath. Lisbon’s fans were nothing short of electric. The entire arena was alive—thousands of bodies swayed, neon signs flickered, and confetti cannons stood at the ready. The stomping of feet vibrated through the air, the deafening roar of the crowd swelling in waves as anticipation thickened.

And then, the lights dropped.

A collective scream pierced the air, shaking the ground beneath your feet as the screen flashed his silhouette. The opening beat of his first song thundered through the speakers, and in an instant, Harry was launched onto the stage, his presence igniting the entire stadium like a bolt of lightning.

He moved effortlessly, energy radiating off him in golden bursts. His sequined suit glittered beneath the beams of colored lights, reflecting off his skin as he jumped, spun, and threw his arms up to hype the crowd. He belted out the first lines of the song, and the audience erupted, their voices merging with his in a harmony of pure devotion.

From your balcony, you watched, utterly mesmerized.

His voice was strong, unwavering, carrying through the vast space as if each note was stitched directly into the hearts of every person in attendance. He laughed between verses, flashing that devastatingly charming grin, occasionally reaching down to clasp the hands of fans pressed against the barricades.

Midway through a song, his eyes scanned the crowd, catching sight of a brightly colored sign that bounced excitedly in the air. Squinting, he leaned forward, trying to make out the words. Then, in between lyrics, he burst into laughter.

“Oh, hold on—what does that say?” he asked, pointing toward the sign, signaling for the camera to zoom in so the whole stadium could see.

The screen flickered, and suddenly, there it was: a massive sign scrawled in bold, glittery letters—

“HARRY, MY BOYFRIEND SAYS HE’LL PROPOSE IF YOU GIVE ME A THUMBS UP!!”

Harry’s mouth dropped open in mock shock, his hand flying to his chest as he stumbled back dramatically. The band kept playing, but he milked the moment, shaking his head as if in disbelief.

“Oh, this is serious,” he said, eyebrows raised. “I mean… the pressure is on, innit?”

The crowd erupted in laughter and cheers.

“Alright, alright. We need to do this properly,” he continued, pacing theatrically across the stage. “What’s his name?”

The girl in the crowd shouted something, but it was lost in the chaos.

Harry cupped his ear. “Sorry, love, I can’t hear a thing—are we calling him Tom? He looks like a Tom, yeah?”

The camera quickly panned to the guy standing beside her, his face burning red as he hid behind his hands.

“Oh, it is Tom!” Harry cackled. “Tom, mate, you’re in deep now. You’ve got about… five thousand witnesses expecting a ring soon.”

The crowd went wild, chanting “TOM! TOM! TOM!” as Harry finally lifted his hand and gave the biggest, most exaggerated thumbs-up imaginable.

“There you go, Tom. It’s out of my hands now, mate. Best of luck!”

He winked at the camera before launching back into the chorus, the moment immortalized in the hearts of everyone watching.

From the balcony, you shook your head, laughing to yourself. He had always had that magic—the ability to make a stadium feel like a living room, to make each person feel like they were the only one in the crowd.

And as you watched him move, effortless and free, you couldn’t help but feel it all over again.

That warm, unshakable feeling that he was yours.

From the balcony, you swayed to the music, singing along, your voice drowned out by the thousands of others filling the stadium. The energy in the air was intoxicating, a tangible force that pulsed through the crowd, through you. Every time Harry twirled across the stage, every playful grin he threw into the audience, every time he leaned into the mic and let his voice soar, pride swelled so fiercely in your chest that it almost hurt.

He was magic.

Your eyes followed him as he bounced from one side of the stage to the other, engaging with the fans, twirling his microphone, pointing to signs, blowing kisses. He was in his element—electric, untouchable, radiating nothing but joy.

Then, the song faded into a bridge, and he took the brief moment to jog over to the back of the stage, grabbing his black bottle for a quick sip of water. He tilted his head back, throat bobbing as he swallowed, before lowering the bottle and wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

But just as he turned back to the crowd, a security guard approached the edge of the stage, holding out two plastic cups of beer.

You sat up straighter, watching as Harry’s eyes lit up with mischief. A slow smirk curled his lips before he took a knee near the stage’s edge, reaching out to accept one of the cups. The crowd erupted, their cheers shaking the foundation of the stadium as he stood, beer in hand.

Bringing the cup to his lips, he took two large gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow. The excess liquid spilled over, streaming down the corners of his mouth, tracing a slow, golden path down his chin and onto his bare chest. The sight did something to you—your stomach clenched, heat coiling low in your body as you watched, mesmerized. His skin glistened under the stage lights, damp with sweat and now streaked with droplets of beer, a sinful sheen against the inked canvas of his body.

Then, with a final gulp, he pulled the cup away, grinning devilishly before tilting his head back slightly. You knew what was coming before it even happened.

With perfect precision, he pursed his lips and spat the remaining beer into the air, misting it above him in a sparkling, golden arc—his signature ‘whale.’

The audience lost it. The screams were deafening, fists pumping, cameras flashing, the entire stadium roaring in approval.

And you? You could barely breathe.

Your grip tightened on the balcony railing, pulse hammering, unable to tear your gaze away from the sheer presence of him. He was completely in his element—wild, unrestrained, effortlessly captivating. The neon stage lights flickered in shifting hues of gold and blue, catching on the dampness of his skin, highlighting the defined planes of his chest where the beer had trickled down moments before.

Your breath hitched as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning through the remnants of the stunt. His dimples popped, eyes alight with something wicked, something playful. He licked his lips, whether to rid himself of the lingering taste or just to tease the crowd, you didn’t know—but either way, it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Didn’t expect that one, did ya?” he laughed into the mic, voice slightly hoarse from singing, but no less charming. The crowd’s response was deafening, a sea of voices screaming in admiration, chanting his name, some in thick Portuguese accents that made his smile widen.

You found yourself laughing softly, shaking your head in both amusement and sheer disbelief. God, you loved him.

As he turned to move back across the stage, his gaze flickered toward the balcony—the private guest area you were in.

His eyes found yours instantly. And for a split second, despite the thousands of people around him, despite the chaos, the music, the flashing lights, it felt like the two of you were the only ones in the room.

His smirk deepened, something knowing and burning behind his gaze, and he lifted the beer cup in your direction, sending you a subtle wink before tossing it carelessly to the side and diving straight into the next song.

Your heart plummeted. Plummeted so far you could feel a heartbeat between your thighs as your panties remained soaked just from watching the scene unfold.

Gripping the railing even tighter, you bit your lip, feeling everything all at once—love, pride, amusement, and an undeniable heat curling deep within you. Oh, you were so in trouble.

The moment the final notes rang out and Harry took his last bow, you were already on the move. The stadium lights dimmed as the crowd's roaring applause echoed behind you, but your sole focus was on getting back to him—on being the first person he saw after stepping off that stage.

Your heart pounded against your ribcage as you hurried through the dimly lit backstage corridors, your heels clicking against the polished floor. The distant cheers from fans still pulsed through the walls, mixing with the hurried chatter of crew members and the occasional bursts of laughter from passing bandmates. But none of it mattered.

Because the only thing on your mind was him.

The ache between your thighs had been building all night, your body tense with anticipation, wound tight from watching him move the way he did. The way his body swayed and pulsed to the rhythm, how he played with the audience, how he laughed and winked and commanded the entire stadium like it was his playground. The sweat glistening on his golden skin, the way his shirt clung to his damp chest, the audacity of him drinking that beer with such effortless sensuality—it had all set your body ablaze.

By the time you pushed through the door to his dressing room, your breathing was shallow, and your fingers trembled with the need to touch. The space was dimly lit, the air still carrying remnants of his cologne, the warmth from the performance lingering as if the very walls had absorbed the night’s electricity. You paced the floor, your boots barely making a sound over the plush carpet, each passing second stretching unbearably.

Then—footsteps. Heavy, hurried.

The door swung open, and before you could even think, you were moving.

You launched yourself at him with a squeal, and he caught you effortlessly, strong arms locking around your waist like it was second nature. Your legs wrapped around his torso, the firm press of his hands digging into your thighs as he held you up, and you wasted no time—your lips immediately peppering kisses all over his flushed face. His jaw, his cheek, the tip of his nose—anywhere you could reach.

"You were incredible!" you gasped between kisses, feeling the warmth of his laughter vibrate against your lips. "You owned that stage, Harry—God!"

His chuckle was breathless, deep, still high on adrenaline. "That good, huh?"

"That good," you confirmed, pulling back just enough to look at him, to take him in—the damp curls sticking to his forehead, the glow of his skin, the way his eyes burned with something dark, something wanting.

Then, you kissed him.

Hard.

The kind of kiss that left no room for teasing, no room for patience. You pressed yourself into him, your fingers tangling into his damp curls, tugging him closer as his mouth opened beneath yours, eager and hungry. His grip on your thighs tightened, fingers digging into your flesh in a way that made your head spin, the heat between your bodies dizzying.

The sticky remnants of beer and sweat clung between you, his chest still damp, hot beneath your palms as they roamed, exploring, claiming. Your sequined top shimmered under the dressing room light, catching against the heat of his skin, the contrast of rough and soft making him groan into your mouth.

"Fuck," he exhaled, the sound barely audible between fevered kisses, his hands shifting to your ass, kneading, gripping. "This what had you running back here so fast?"

You whimpered against his lips, rolling your hips instinctively, needing more, needing him.

"You have no idea what you did to me out there," you admitted, voice breathless, lips grazing along the corner of his mouth, down to his jaw. "The beer—the sweat—Harry..."

He let out a deep, raspy chuckle, head tipping back slightly as your lips trailed down his throat. "Mm. So you liked that, then?"

"Liked it?" You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers dragging down his chest, feeling the hammering of his heartbeat beneath your touch. "It ruined me."

His eyes darkened, a slow smirk curling at the edges of his mouth. "That so?"

Before you could answer, he was moving. Turning with you in his arms, his pace quick and determined as he pressed you up against the nearest wall. Your breath hitched as your back met the cool surface, your thighs tightening around his waist, your skirt riding up even further.

Harry’s lips ghosted over yours, teasing, taunting, his breath warm against your mouth. "Tell me, love," he murmured, voice dripping with amusement but laced with hunger. "What exactly did I do that got you so worked up?"

You let out a soft whine from the back of your throat, the tone of his voice shooting straight to your core. “You know what you did,” you huffed.

The man had only chuckled in amusement as his fingers readjusted their hold on your thighs, squeezing into the plush flesh. “I believe I told you to tell me, Y/N.”

Your hands found the sweaty curls at the nape of his neck, threading your fingers through as you puffed out another breath. God, he smelled so good. His cologne still lingered, mixed with the tart scent of beer and sweat. You drew in a deep breath, feeling your back press firm against the wall as he shifted.

“The beer…,” you murmured, eyes scanning over the features of his face. Deep green eyes, perfect red lips.

“What about the beer, hm?”

You swallowed. “The… the way you drank it. How it spilt down your chin, your chest..” Your words trailed off as a hand left your boyfriend’s shoulder to slide over the firm curve of his chest, your thumb brushing down his sternum.

You rolled your hips down to meet him and whined softly. The black mini skirt you wore hitched up over your thighs, bunching up just below your hips. Harry’s lips found yours in a flash. The groan he let out was quickly swallowed in your mouth and you couldn’t help but feel content. Feeling his bulge pressed up against you sent a thrill up your spine to know he felt this way, right now, too. That he needed you as much as you needed him.

Harry's kiss was all-consuming, his lips pressing firmly against yours, demanding more as his hands kneaded the flesh of your thighs. The heat between you two was palpable, thickening the air in the dressing room, mingling with the remnants of his cologne, sweat, and beer. Your fingers tangled in his damp curls, pulling just enough to elicit a low growl from his throat, the vibration traveling straight through your body.

His grip tightened on your thighs as he pressed you harder against the wall, your chest molding against his as his vest gaped open, the sequins glimmering under the dim dressing room lights. The slight stickiness of his skin from the sweat and beer sent a shiver down your spine, adding to the intoxicating mixture of sensations.

His mouth left yours just long enough to ghost down the side of your jaw, lips brushing featherlight over your pulse before he licked a slow, deliberate path along the sensitive skin. The wet heat of his tongue, contrasted by the scrape of his stubble, sent a warm ache pooling in your lower stomach.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured, his voice husky, words fanning against your skin. His fingers slipped under the hem of your mini skirt, palms gliding over the bare expanse of your thighs before they gripped your ass, pulling you flush against him.

You gasped at the contact, your hips instinctively rolling against his, chasing the friction that sent sparks dancing along your nerve endings. He groaned at the movement, his forehead dropping to your shoulder for a moment as his fingers flexed into your skin, grounding himself.

"You drive me mad, darling," he rasped, before tilting his head back up, his darkened green eyes locking onto yours. The hunger in them made your breath hitch.

"Standing there in the balcony, looking like that. Wearing this—" his fingers tugged teasingly at the hem of your sparkly top, his knuckles grazing your stomach "—knowing I couldn’t touch you. And then you look at me like that when I’m on stage?"

You bit your lip, a playful glint in your eyes as your hands smoothed down his chest, nails trailing lightly over his heated skin. "Couldn't help myself," you whispered.

"You looked so good, so in your element. The way you moved, how you drank that beer…" Your words trailed off as you slid your palms lower, fingers grazing over the faint definition of his abs.

Harry’s chest rose and fell heavily, his breathing uneven. He let out a shaky chuckle, his lips quirking up in a smirk even as his jaw clenched with restraint. “That did something to you, huh?”

Instead of answering, you leaned forward, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against his collarbone. His skin tasted of salt and something uniquely him, a flavor you could never tire of.

Your lips traveled downward, slow and deliberate, as your hands splayed over his stomach, fingertips pressing just enough to feel the taut muscles beneath.

A deep groan rumbled from his chest as you let your tongue flick out against his sternum, tasting the remnants of the beer that had trickled down earlier. Your eyes flickered up to meet his, your expression coy as you dragged a slow, flat tongue down the center of his chest, savoring the way his muscles tensed under your touch.

His breath hitched, his fingers twitching against your thighs before they slid further under your skirt, his grip possessive. “Fuck, love,” he exhaled, watching you through heavy-lidded eyes, the green almost swallowed by blown-out pupils.

His hand came up to cup the back of your head, not to stop you, but to feel you, to remind himself that this was real.

As you slowly sank to your knees before him, his grip tightened in your hair, his chest rising and falling in anticipation. Your fingers smoothed over the front of his sequined vest, pushing it further apart, exposing more of the golden skin that shimmered under the dressing room lights.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Harry murmured, his voice thick with desire, his thumb tracing over your cheek before resting against your bottom lip. His eyes darkened as you let out a soft hum, hands sliding up his sparkly trousers to slip your fingers inside the band of his pants.

Your fingers slid inward under they worked the clasp undone, the sound of Harry’s zipper filling the air. Harry pressed his hands flat against the wall that held you between him and the surface while his green eyes pierced a look of need through you.

You let out a small, innocent giggle before tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, fingers curling around the inside of his briefs and the outside of his slacks as she tugged both the materials down his toned legs.

The tattoos he had on his thighs were canvassed beautifully on his toned, tan legs. The tiger taunted her from its hold on his skin, a reminder from all the times she spent with her pussy attached to it. Your eyes, doe and tainted with something teasing, looked up at him as his cock sprang to life and slapped onto his lower abdomen. You giggled once more to yourself at the blissful sight.

Harry’s cock was big. Thick and wonderfully above the average that it took four sessions to fully get him inside of you. And the sex you two had that day? The bedroom was wrecked. You couldn’t stop begging for his ‘big, thick cock’ to rip you open, eyes rolling back at the feeling (finally) of his balls slapping against your clit with each giving thrust as you were bent over for him.

His tip was a roaring red, deep in color and a thick swole at the base of his tip. A cooler tone of that same color painted the rest of his dick. Your fingers fluttered down his toned thighs, your eyes too busy being wrapped around his beautiful cock to notice his stare. But you felt it.

After a few mutters of complaint from Harry from your featherlight teases, your dainty hand finally wrapped around the base of your cock. He was warm. Heavy in your hand as your thumb slipped along the underside of his cock to raise it to your lips. Your lips puckered and gave kitten-like kisses and licks from his fierce burnt tip down to his tightening balls.

“Baby, c’mon…” Harry spoke. His voice was tainted with rough edges, holding off using anything above a whisper since he had last spoken. The hand that remained in your hair carded through the soft locks, his nails slightly dragging along your scalp so he could get a soft hum from you when you tilted your head back.

You were under his control, the palms of his very hands. Anything he gave to you, you took like his good girl. “Good girl,” Harry then muttered as if on cue, fond but lust-filled eyes circling your face of content. His touch was always so welcoming, so soothing and it hit every right spot.

When you felt Harry’s hand tighten in your hair to form a proper grip, that's when your tongue gave a flat lick up the underside of his cock. You held his shaft upright, your eyes locked on his heavy green ones as your wet tongue glided over the vein and swirled around his tip.

When it came to sucking your boyfriend off, you got to work. It was pure bliss for you. You shifted on your knees and felt the wet squelch between your thighs. You were a soaking mess for him and had been since he got on that stage.

Lips engulfed around his cock, your jaw slacked as you pushed him further down. Once about halfway, you pulled up to wrap your hand around him, delivering strokes to his dick as your eyes scanned his face. Harry never really cared for head before. It was pish-posh to him, it wasn’t something he needed or wanted deeply with a woman.

But when you came along? When you took his cock so far down your throat that you both couldn’t breathe? Harry was whipped. He always voiced how lucky he was to have you on your knees for him, and you thrived on it. You thrived on being the only one he needed.

Your tongue found its place back over his tip, cradling the head of his shaft as your tongue swirled gracefully around. Harry’s brows were furrowed in pleasure, his plump lips wet with his spit from all the times he had licked over them.

“Y/n—”.

Your mouth fully engulfed him before another word left his lips. His dick was heavy on your tongue as it slid further back, hitting the back of your throat. His cock curved to slip down your throat and you moaned, the tip of your nose hitting the patch of hair Harry had kept.

With a deep inhale through your nose, your eyes fluttered shut. His musk mixed with his cologne made you let out a moan around him. He smelled so damn good.

“Fuck!” Harry groaned, pinching his brows together as he felt the way your throat molded to his cock with tight ease.

You continued to bob your head, tongue pressing along the vein on the underside of his cock while your hand worked the half that you didn’t take. Your eyes fluttered back up to him.

“Shit, baby,” The man moaned, shaking his head as his eyes shut in pleasure. His jaw was slack, you could tell by the way he tried to clench his teeth. His curls fell across his forehead and the hand at the back of your head encouraged you.

Removing your hand, your throat opened back up for Harry’s cock as he pushed your head further down. His hips stuttered slightly as a gasping moan left his mouth, jaw now completely slack as the tip of his cock felt your warm, fluttering throat.

Harry’s grip on your hair was firm as he yanked you off, pulling his hips back with a gasp. You let out a whine as your lips formed a pout.

“Fucking hell, Y/n,” The man licked his lips with a shaky breath. His chest rose and fell unevenly. Harry’s hand left your hair to card through his and push curls back, hissing slightly as you kissed and licked along his tip.

He was so wrong to deprive you of his cock in your mouth. You just loved it so much. Who wouldn't? Especially when it came to Harry.

“You… fuck,” He hummed low, eyes closing and head tipping back as your hand cradled his balls and began slow massaging motions. Your tongue slipped between the slit at his tip and under the crown of his dick along with your motions. And just when you think you had him again…

Harry had to pull himself together, snapping his eyes open as he straightened back up. “No,” He hissed, yanking your head back by your hair until you were looking up at him. Your lips were glossed with spit, eyes the same from the pressure in your throat, though a huff passed your lips.

“If you keep doing that, ‘M going to cum. And the only place I want to cum right now,” He grunted, a hand wrapping around your arm to lightly pull you up. As you rose to your feet, you kept your doe eyes on check.

His green eyes scanned your features for a moment before he cursed under his breath, continuing what he was saying. “Is inside ‘f you. Understood?”

You nodded and bit back a smile as your thighs clenched. Fuck, please? “Yes sir.”

With that, Harry turned you around in a sharp motion, turning you both. Harry walked you both towards the leather sofa in the middle of the dressing room, his hand landing flat on your back as he gave you an encouraging push.

Your knees hit the leather seat before your hands hit the back, fingers curling around the ledge as you felt your boyfriend press up behind you.

You loved it when he was like this. The manhandling, the telling you what to do. It drove you crazy. Your pussy pulsed between your clenched thighs. You needed him, his thick cock pounding you, bad.

Harry’s large hands landed on the globes of your ass, pulling your cheeks apart as he pressed his cock up against you over the material of your skirt. “Tell me, sugar,” his hands danced their way to your skirt’s hem around your hips and yanked them down to your thighs in one, swift motion. “You’re so wet.”

“Why?” You could feel Harry’s long fingers graze the inside of your thighs, feathering over where you needed them the most.

You swallowed, arching your back down against the sofa as you turned back to look at him. “You.”

Harry ‘tsk’ed, his green eyes looking up to meet yours as his pointer and middle finger slid between your folds. Thick and silky, wet and warm. You coated his fingers like your life depended on it. “Give me better than that, Peach.”

Peach. He tossed that nickname one random summer when you two went down to help your grandparents on their farm in Georgia. He held you on his shoulders almost the whole way until he collapsed (he says from the sun, you say it was from the two buckets of peaches in his hands) under a shady tree. You two spent the rest of the evening out there soaking in Georgia heat and feeding each other fruit until the sun went down. He carried you all the way back.

“Your cock,” you whimpered at the feeling of his fingers. “I love having your cock in my mouth and—.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, cutting you off as he dipped a finger slowly into you. “You do love having m’cock in your mouth, huh?”

You nodded between a split moan, pussy swallowing his finger with greed. “I do. I do. I do. I love the way it feels, I love the way it tastes, oh—!”

Another finger inside now, pumping at a teasing pace and curling as they stuffed inside of you. It was your turn to moan filth now. You could hear Harry’s fingers inside of you, pumping and curling. That’s how wet you had been for him.

“You’re so wet,” Harry cursed under his breath as he scissored his fingers, his eyes flickering between your blissed look and his fingers that worked between your wetness.

He always loved how wet you got. Not needing to buy lube was fantastic, but the way you tasted and smelled is what got Harry going. He loved watching your thighs string with slick substance, and he loved diving tongue first into your pussy to swallow down as much as he could.

“Is this what you needed? My attention? You’ve been wanting it, hm?”

You nodded with a whine. “Mhm, mhm. Please,” you whimpered, wiggling your ass against him as his fingers curled inside of you once more.

“Been such a good girl during m’show. Waited for me, and then surprised me with a soaked pussy,” Harry grinned, shaking his head to his own amusement as he slipped his long, thick digits out of you.

That same hand of Harry’s returned to your cunt, his fingers collecting the pool of arousal before he wrapped a slick hand around his cock. “Need t’be fucked? I think you do, don’t you? My sweet little girl,” he sighed dramatically, slicking his cock with your wet in careful strokes.

“Yes, yes, please, Harry, just please.” You whimpered in need, wiggling your ass back. You could almost cry at the emptiness inside of you, just wanted to be full of Harry.

You gasped high when a hand came down to smack against your ass. It jiggled from the collision and Harry’s rings left a burn in their place.

“Try again.” Harry’s green eyes looked up through his lashes. “Not my name, doll.”

You huffed softly, shifting on your knees to spread your legs as you felt Harry’s tip graze along your pussylips. “Please give me your cock, Daddy. Please. I need it.” You begged, soft whimpers in your words as you batted doe eyes at him.

With one swift thrust, Harry’s tip broke past your tight entrance and paved way for his cock to fill you up. You both let out simultaneous gasps as he bottomed out, your ass pressed flush against his hips.

“So fuckin’ tight,” Harry gritted through clenched cheeks while his large hands worked over your hips to get a firm grip.

He drew his hips back slowly, sinking back into you quickly. Your lips broke out in a moan as the burn of his cock melted into you. It took him three thrusts to balance out, pulling nearly all the way out of you before pounding back into you.

He was slow at first. Careful and deep. Your eyes couldn't help but flutter shut as your lips parted, his cock shooting thrills of pleasure to your body. Your clit ached with need under his grasp and cock.

Then his pace quickened. His head spun with thoughts of you, how tight you were and how perfect your pussy engulfed him. “Shit,” Harry groaned as he grinded his hips into you, allowing his cock to shift inside before he went back to his quick, even, and hard thrusts.

“That’s it, baby. Take this fucking cock, jus’ like you were made for.”

You were over the moon. Behind your shut eyes were visions of Harry and that beer spilling down his chest over and over and over again.

“Oh,” you whined, your toes curling in your heels as his fingers connected with your clit. “Oh my god, fuck, please, please.”

His two fingers worked your clit at a fast matched pace to his thrusts. Your stomach coiled as each rub and thrust brought you closer and closer to the edge.

Harry’s thrusts turned relentless. The moment he got you up and pressed against his chest, his other hand was reaching down to hook around the back of your knee and pull your leg up.

“Oh my fuck!,” you cried out in a moan, the new angle allowing his cock to reach deeper.

“Yeah? Jesus,” Harry grunted as he shifted his hips and replanted his feet. “So damn tight, so wet. Taking my cock like it was made for you.”

“It was,” you whined and nodded quickly, your hands placed over his arm that had you pulled flush against his chest. “Was made just for you,” you slurred, eyes drooping in pleasure as you broke into another whiny moan.

“That's right,” the man panted, his lips grazing the side of your neck. “Perfect fucking cunt, takes my cock so well— fuck!”

Harry’s jaw fell slack against your shoulder, curls brushing along the side of your neck when he felt your pussy contract around him. Harry’s fingers circled around your clit, pinching and rubbing in all of your wetness.

The both of you couldn’t stop the rush of moans. You weren’t even sure if the door was locked, but all you could think about right now was Harry.

His eyes broke open, staring down at your chest as your breasts spilled from your loose top. Harry’s hand slid from your waist to the bottom of your tit, cupping the fleshy mound in his hand. “The most perfect fucking body,” he groaned, squeezing your breast as he dug his fingers into your leg from the open hold.

Harry continued to pound your pussy until you were a screaming, soaked mess. Your chest rose and fell in quick and uneven breaths in between moans and begs. “Please let me cum, please, please, fuck. Please, Daddy,” you whimpered, swallowing thick as his fingers brushed along your nipple.

Harry groaned into your neck, biting down on the flesh as he continued his deep thrusts inside of you. You could tell he was getting close with the way his thrusts went uneven.

“Yeah? Need t’cum?” Harry taunted, squeezing at your nipple once again before his fingers mound your clit to rub at a quick pace. “Cum f’me, pretty girl.”

His permission was all you needed before your orgasm hit you. You cried out his name, nails digging into his forearm as your pussy clenched and spasmed around his cock. You squirted into the open air, the filthy sounds of your liquid splattering onto the brown leather beneath you two.

Harry choked out a moan at the sight, jaw falling slack and eyes pinching shut. His own orgasm hit him like a train three thrusts after, pumping you full of thick, hot ropes of his cum. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!,” the man gasped, whimpering as his cock twitched inside of you as he pumped the final spurts of his release inside of you.

Your body trembled as aftershocks rippled through you, every nerve alight with pleasure and exhaustion. Harry's hands were slow and reverent as they traced over your skin, smoothing over your thighs before sliding up to your waist, fingertips pressing gently into your overheated flesh. His touch grounded you, brought you back from the blissful haze that had left you weak-limbed and breathless.

"Good girl," he murmured again, voice deep and rough with the remnants of pleasure, lips grazing the damp skin of your shoulder as he let his forehead rest against your back for a fleeting moment.

The warmth of his breath fanned across your spine, making you shiver despite the heat still radiating between you.

With a soft groan, Harry straightened, slipping away just long enough to grab a few tissues from the nearby table. He moved with that signature confidence, even in his post-high daze, but there was a new tenderness in his actions as he carefully cleaned you both up. His hands, so capable of bringing you to ruin, were equally skilled in their gentleness now—warm, patient, and familiar.

Once satisfied, he tossed the used tissues aside and reached for his duffel bag near the couch, unzipping it to pull out a pair of his soft, worn-in sweats and a shirt for you. The fabric was well-loved, carrying his scent—fresh cedarwood and the faintest trace of lingering cologne, something comforting and inherently him.

He passed them to you before grabbing his own spare clothes, rummaging until he found a plain black T-shirt and another pair of joggers.

Rolling his shoulders, he started removing the sequin suit still clinging to his skin, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “God, I’m sweaty as hell now,” he groaned, shaking his head with a dramatic grimace. “S’like I ran a bloody marathon.” (wink wink.)

You snorted, tugging his T-shirt over your head and shimmying into his sweatpants. They hung loose on your frame, but that only made them all the more comforting. “You were putting in some serious work there, Styles,” you teased, watching as he peeled off the glitzy fabric and tossed it onto the couch.

Harry scoffed but shot you a smug grin. “’Course I was. Can’t have my girl unsatisfied, now can I?”

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, but you rolled your eyes to play off the effect he still had on you. “Yeah, yeah. Get dressed, loverboy.”

He huffed a small laugh but did as told, slipping into his fresh set of clothes before collapsing onto the couch with a content sigh. His curls were a mess, damp at the edges where sweat had gathered, and there was still a faint flush to his cheeks. He looked comfortable, utterly relaxed—and, as always, completely unfair in how effortlessly beautiful he was.

You stepped closer, nudging his thigh with your knee. “Scoot over.”

Harry cracked one eye open and grinned. “That’s not how you ask nicely.”

You shot him a pointed look. “Harry.”

Chuckling, he lifted his arm in invitation. “C’mere, then.”

That was all you needed. You climbed into his lap, tucking yourself against his chest as he pulled you in securely, arms looping around your waist with ease. The steady thump-thump of his heartbeat filled your ears, a soothing rhythm beneath your cheek. His fingers traced absent-minded patterns along your back, the heat of his palm seeping through the cotton of his shirt.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence was comfortable, wrapped in the afterglow of shared intimacy and the quiet understanding that neither of you wanted to move just yet. Outside the dressing room, the distant hum of activity from the crew still breaking down the concert setup could be heard, but it felt like another world entirely.

After a moment, Harry pressed a lazy kiss to the top of your head. “Y’good?” he murmured, voice thick with lingering exhaustion.

You hummed, nuzzling further into his chest. “Mhm. Perfect.”

He smiled against your hair, holding you a little tighter. “Good.”

“Harry?” You spoke.

“Mhm?”

“When we get back to the hotel,” you started, your finger tracing little circles into his shirt, “I want to be the next thing dripping down your chest.”

“Fucking hell, babe.”

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