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crushpunky · 1 month ago

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rafe picks up kook!reader from a party

masterlist | kook!reader masterlist

sister read to kook!reader picks up rafe from a party, but you don’t have to have read it <3

Rafe had stayed in that night, but not by his own choice. Ward and Rose had insisted on a “nice, big family dinner and movie night”... which quickly descended into chaos when Rose yelled at Wheezie, Sarah yelled at Ward, and Ward yelled at Rafe, ending the night with each of the Cameron’s secluded to their rooms. Rafe had been scrolling his phone aimlessly, fighting the urge to drive to Barry’s when he got a call from Kelce.

“Yo?” Rafe answered the phone, sitting up in bed. Topper and Kelce had gone with y/n to some party that night at some friend of Topper’s (Alex, was it?) that Rafe couldn’t stand.

“Hey, can you come pick up y/n? She’s like… wasted.” Kelce said, his words barely audible over the booming of music in the background. Rafe jumped to his feet, wedging his phone between his shoulder and ear as he found a pair of sweatpants and glanced at his watch.

“Jesus, it’s 10:30. Were you guys not fucking watching her?” Rafe gritted his teeth as he went down the stairs. Y/n had a habit of overestimating her alcohol tolerance, thinking she could keep up with guys nearly a foot taller than her, and ultimately getting hammered. And when she got hammered she got… emotional, being overly sentimental and weepy.

“She was with Alex—”

“Alex? You left her with that dipshit? Are you fucking kidding me, Kels? I swear to god when I—” Rafe seethed as he put the keys into the ignition, nearly flooring it into reverse as he exited Tanneyhill onto the main road.

“Dude, are you coming or not?” Kelce groaned.

“I’m already fucking half way there. Don’t take your eyes off of her, Kels, y’know how she gets.” Rafe sighed, turning into the neighborhood Alex lived in.

“A’ight, see ya.” Kelce said before hanging up. Rafe tossed his phone into the passenger’s seat angrily, his eyes scanning for Alex’s shitty, blue house that was probably crawling with tourons. Once he finally found it, he quickly pulled onto the grass before running into the house. As he entered, a few of the locals cheered, pushing cups towards him.

“Where’s y/n?” Rafe shouted over the music, looking around the sea of people. A couple girls pointed him down the hall towards the bathroom. Once he reached the door, he immediately pounded his fists on the door.

“Y/n?” He shouted, pressing his ear to the door. The door swung open revealing Alex, a furrow on his brow. Rafe grabbed his shirt, pushing him up against the bathroom wall, his eyes seething with rage as he looked around the bathroom for y/n.

“Where the fuck is she?” Rafe said through gritted teeth, resisting the urge to punch this asshole in the mouth.

“Dude calm the fuck down—” Alex said, grabbing at Rafe’s forearms.

“Rafe?” A whisper came from behind Rafe. He turned around to find y/n huddled in the doorway of the bedroom opposite the bathroom, her mascara smeared and the strap of her top slipping down her arm. Rafe’s grip on Alex loosened, the boy sliding down the wall as Rafe stepped away from him. He crouched down, getting a closer look at y/n’s face, scanning her body for any bruises or scrapes.

“Are you alright? Kelce called me and said I—” Rafe rambled, his hand soothing down y/n’s arm.

“I-I’m… just drunk and— Alex let me sit in his room until you got here.” Y/n said, her voice slightly slurred and body swaying gently as Rafe’s finger’s traced along her shoulder, pushing the strap of her top back into place.

“He didn’t touch you, did he? Y/n, you have to tell me or I—” Rafe said sternly.

“No, no, no, Rafey. He didn’t.” Y/n said, her hand shooting out to grasp onto his arm and steady herself. Rafe felt his heart clench at the nickname, one y/n had mostly reserved for when they were younger or she was exceedingly drunk.

“What’s up then? You’re alright?” Rafe said, his eyes staring deeply into her own. Her lashes fluttered as she nodded her head before crashing into him, her face smashing into his shoulder and arms flinging around his shoulders. He caught her, his arms holding her against his chest.

“You’re my best friend, Rafey.” Y/n muttered into his shirt. Rafe straightened, gulping harshly as he tried to get y/n’s feet to rest on the ground. She gripped onto him harshly, her hands curling into his t-shirt as her feet continued to lay beneath her loosely, her entire weight on Rafe.

“You’re my best friend, too, girl. Do you think you could stand for—” Rafe tried again to get her to stand, y/n’s grip on him only growing stronger.

“I saw that girl you have a crush on earlier.” Y/n rambled, causing Rafe’s eyes to widen. The girl he had a crush on? Who was she talking about? The only girl he had a crush on was… well, it was her. Sure, he had hooked up with girls in the past, but they always left him feeling like shit, a hollowness in his chest. But y/n, she was different. She wasn’t just some “girl”, and certainly not one he could just hook up with and get over, she was… y/n.

“What is her name? Sofia?” Y/n continued, finally taking her face out of Rafe’s shirt to peer at him. He looked down at her, swallowing harshly at the sheen of sweat that coated her forehead and glassiness in her gaze.

“Y/n, c’mon let’s get out to the car—” Rafe tried to get her to follow him down the hallway, her feet still dragging along the floor.

“She’s so pretty and funny and smart she’s—” y/n cut herself off, her bottom lip beginning to tremble as she felt a sob rise in her throat. Sofia was so perfect, so beautiful, no wonder Rafe had a crush on her.

“Y/n please let’s—” Rafe was cut off as tears began to streak down y/n’s cheeks. Rafe swore, quickly scooping y/n into his arms. She buried her face into his chest, hoping to avoid the glares from the sea of party goers as Rafe rushed out to the car. He went around the car, putting her trembling body into the passenger seat before rounding back and climbing into the driver’s seat.

“What am I doing wrong?” Y/n whispered. Rafe stared back at her, the only light in the car the soft glow off the dash and the bits of light streaming from the party. Her makeup was long gone, as evidenced by the streaks of mascara along her cheeks, and her hair was ruffled.

“W-what do you mean?” Rafe stammered, his eyes furrowed in confusion. What the hell was she talking about? “What am I doing wrong”? As if she could do anything wrong…

“Why don’t… why can’t I be like her? She’s so… perfect and pretty and funny and I’m just… not.” Y/n sniffled. Rafe grabbed her face, forcing her to turn to look at him. He felt as if he was going to throw up at her words, the very sound of her talking about herself like that making him want to vomit.

“Don’t. Don’t fucking say that shit, a’ight?” Rafe said, his tone sharp. Y/n’s eyes widened, her lip still trembling as she looked back at Rafe’s stern gaze.

“Just because you're my friend doesn’t mean—” Y/n began, but was cut off with a shake of Rafe’s face, his hands dropping to cup her jaw.

“Y/n, please just listen to me, okay? You’re the most fucking perfect girl in the whole entire world, a’ight? And I’m not ‘just saying’ that shit.” Rafe said. Y/n felt her heart skip a beat, her head spinning from the alcohol combined with the intoxication of Rafe’s touch.

“You’re… so fucking smart, first of all. It kinda pisses me off sometimes.” Rafe chuckled to himself causing a small grin to tug at the corners of y/n’s mouth.

“And you’re so funny and… you’re so, so beautiful, y/n. It’s… it’s insane how perfect you are. Really.” Rafe whispered, his eyes scanning over y/n’s face. Y/n wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, her cheeks warming at Rafe’s words.

“Certainly can’t say that now. I’m a fucking hot mess.” Y/n laughed nervously, looking back at Rafe hesitantly.

“I think you look beautiful.” Rafe said gently, his thumb tracing along her face softly.

“Even with my makeup smeared and hair a mess?” Y/n cracked a grin.

“I think you look beautiful all the time, y/n.” Rafe whispered, his hand lowering to grab hers, squeezing it lightly. This all felt so easy, so nice, and all he could think about was how badly he wished he could do this when she wasn’t drunk, when she could really hear him. But he knew he couldn’t. He couldn’t put their relationship or her at risk over his feelings, no matter how much they consumed his every waking moment.

“Thank you, Rafe. For picking me up and… yeah.” Y/n said, squeezing Rafe’s hand back. He looked back at her, a soft smile on his face.

“Anytime, girl. Anytime.” Rafe said, and with a nod, he started the car.

#obx #obx au #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x kook!reader #kook!reader

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defectivehero · 26 days ago

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The hero is taking their nephew trick-or-treating tonight for the first time, and they’re a bit nervous. Their nephew, Danny, is a great kid and well-behaved. The hero just isn’t used to acting as a guardian.

But as the afternoon begins, they start to relax as they see how much fun Danny is having. They watch as he runs up to a rather nice house, returning moments later with candy.

Then the hero sees the homeowner motion for them to come closer. They see that familiar form—almost seeming misplaced in civilian clothing—and their heart drops. Out of all the people they could’ve encountered… they just had to find the villain.

Gritting their teeth, the hero tells their nephew to run to the next house and stay within eyesight… before they walk up to the doorstep of the villain’s house.

“I didn’t realize you had a child,” the villain hums casually.

“Don’t,” the hero warns them.

“What?” The villain asks, having the audacity to look offended. “It was just an observation.” They blink innocently.

“He’s my nephew.” The hero spits out. They must be doing a bad job of hiding their distrust, because the villain sighs theatrically.

“Trust me, if I were up to something, you’d know,” the villain huffs. “Besides, I have… other priorities tonight.” They glance to the side and, in a few seconds, a child heads towards the doorway. The hero blinks. This must be the villain’s child.

“Um. Hi.” The hero says awkwardly, still reeling from the realization that the villain has a child.

The kid has the same eyes and nose as their parent. The resemblance is startling. “That’s a bad hero costume,” they remark helpfully. “You’re missing the amulet.”

They are missing their amulet, ironically. The hero self-consciously puts a hand to their collarbone before sighing. The villain looks endlessly amused, and also a bit wary of them—as if worried about their behavior in front of their child. The hero resists an eye roll at that, before glancing down the sidewalk. Their nephew is running back to them, bouncing on his heels impatiently as he evidently wonders what’s taking them so long.

“Hi,” the hero greets their nephew, placing a hand on his shoulder. He settles down a little, but still looks eager to go to the next house.

“Hi.” He answers. Then he looks curiously at the other child and smiles at them. The villain’s child smiles ever so slightly in response. The hero studies them for a moment, taking in those familiar hazel eyes on someone far more innocent and pure hearted than their enemy. Then they notice the kid’s costume and the slight frown on their lips and wonder if the villain has taken them trick or treating yet. It doesn’t look like it, actually—and that would explain the envious glances the kid is shooting at Danny.

“You know,” the hero says, crossing their arms over their chest. They’re already making the offer before they can think about it. “I was going to take Danny here trick-or-treating anyways… I’d be happy to take your child too.”

The villain studies them for a long, long time. The tense silence is only broken by a movement from the child at their side, who hesitates for a moment before crossing the threshold of the doorway and standing next to Danny.

“Do you want to go with them, Kel?” The villain asks; their child nods brightly in response. The villain lets out a long-suffering sigh, turning their attention to the hero. “Very well. I’m trusting you to ensure their safety.”

“Of course,” the hero responds sincerely. “I’ll have them back by curfew at 7.”

“6:30,” the villain argues.

The hero squints at them skeptically, before glancing down at their watch. It’s only 4:45 p.m. That’s plenty of time. “Fine.” They agree.

“If anything happens to them-” The villain starts.

“I know,” the hero interjects, before they can utter any threats in front of the children.

“I’m trusting you,” their enemy repeats gravely. “Don’t make me regret it.”

The hero nods, understanding just how much faith the villain is placing in them. Then an idea comes to mind. “Get your phone out.” The villain stares at them for a moment, before doing as requested. From there, the hero gives them their phone number. Then they reach into their own pocket and turn their phone’s ringer on. “Okay?” They ask, looking at them pointedly. The message is clear: Call me if you need anything.

The villain is staring at them with a complex expression on their face. “Okay.” They respond. Then they look to their child. “Have fun, alright?”

With that, the hero turns their back on the villain and watches as their nephew and their enemy’s child excitedly race ahead to the next house. They can feel the villain’s gaze watching them, even as they turn the corner and head out of sight.

thanks for reading! happy halloween!!! 🦇🧛🏻

tag list: @lateuplight @wit-is-wisdom @greengableswriting @whump-me-all-night-long @noawhite @rekhyt-of-arcadia @the-blind-one-speaks @sufferfictionalcharacters @basically-psyduck @alexkolax @subval01 @emerald-blade @felicia609 @surplus-of-sarcasm @ilickedanenvelopeandilikedit @a-chaotic-gremlin @unknownogre @prompt-fills-and-writing-spills @whatwhumpcomments @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @agayprince @starsick1979 @a-lonely-little-ghost @plum-tello @miashico @pleaseenterbloghere @c4xcocoa @crotchgoblin69 @unicornbeck

#heehee #defectivehero #hero x villain #hero and villain #heroes and villains #writing #writeblr #short fic #snippet #halloween

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pedgito · 11 months ago

Note

Hi Ali!! I love your writing and I was wondering if I can request dom Joel punishing you by riding his boot??

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐒 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆

summary | joel doesn't like gifts, you gift him new boots. [3k]

pairing | joel miller x fem!reader

content warning | 18+ content, as always: no use of y/n, soft dom/sub dynamic, boot-riding, degradation kink, unprotected piv, one (1) face slap, porn with absolutely no plot.

author’s note | original working title for this was new boot goofin' because i can't take myself seriously, idk what this is but enjoy. kel (@beskarandblasters) suggested the actual title for this so thank you babe ♡

↝ other fics | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic recs

Three things about Joel you were intensely sure of—he was a strong lover. He loved hard and he cared even harder, always willing to put your needs before his own, even to an unhealthy degree in some cases. Two, he liked to be in charge. With his willingness to put you before him, it also lended him to enjoy the role of being dominant in the right situations. He kept a lot of himself locked up around everyone but you. Through the few years you two have become close and started this relationship—if you could call it that—there’s a solid understanding of each other’s needs. He provides the domineering nature you crave and you subdued yourself to him willingly when he puts the facade on.

At first, it never left the bedroom. You both enjoyed the disguise of the dynamics to make things flow easier, not allow things to stall out so quickly and you had all the proper safety precautions in place to allow you both the happiness you seeked out. But, as most things in your life, they seeped through the cracks and bled out, intermingling with the rest of your daily life.

Sometimes it was just a look when you’d say something in public that was indecent or a comment that made Joel’s face go hot, knowing that despite his openness in public, he was still a very private man. He reserved that side for you and only you. And he did so much for you—not just around Jackson, but in your own home. With him being the lead guy for patrols and having such a…special relationship with him, it lended for more leniency when you weren’t feeling great or needed a break from the hectic energy that patrolling liked to suffocate people with, always on the brink of danger. And Joel was always too handy for his own good—always finding a reason to fix up a broken something in your own small house on the outskirts of Jackson.

Broken pipe? Fixed. Chair broken? Joel could shape you out a new one in a couple weeks.

Last week he had repainted then entirety of your kitchen cabinets because he thought they were looking a little dull—as if they weren’t run down from years of abandonment and like this wasn’t the fucking apocalypse. Despite that, you felt the urge to thank Joel. And not just thank him.

Properly. With a gift.

But—oh. Third thing, Joel hated gifts.

Despised them.

But, you weren’t always the best listener or rule follower.

A patrol with Tommy had you both scheming up an idea when you bring up the option of gifting something to Joel as a proper offering of appreciation, his hand resting loosely on the rifle slung around his chest, fingers tapping against the butt.

“Well—you know, there’s a clothing store a few miles east,” Tommy tells you, “Ellie and I found it when we cleared out that hoard a few months back—lotsa clothes and shoes, mostly untouched. We could check that out? I need to grab a few things myself anyways.”

You nod easily, “Yeah—that pair he has is falling apart. It drives me insane.”

“Joel doesn’t like to let go of things easily,” Tommy comments broadly, “He’ll make do with what he’s got until it falls apart.”

“Well, he doesn’t take no for an answer when I tell him to stop helpin’ me so he’s gonna have to suck it up just this once.” You smile slightly, earning a soft chuckle from Tommy.

You hoped it would go over well—because Joel did need new boots and there was little harm in an innocent gift…right?

–

Joel is brimming with an energy that only accompanied him after long patrols, the ones that lasted a few days and kept him away. Away from his home, away from you. He doesn’t even attempt the trek toward his own house, rather taking the first right and beelining for your small house at the end of the neighborhood, squeezing his leather covered hands into fists.

He’s anxious, pent up—not with anger or rage, but just a need to release some built up stress. Fortunately, he knew the perfect way to do that. His boots squeak against the hardwood of your front deck, the tattered rubber around the toe of his boot hanging on by a thread as he kicks it gently into the base of the door softly, idle as he busies his mind and prays that you’re still awake.

You’ve been waiting for him all day, his gift hidden away safely as you yank the door open excitedly, nearly tripping over your own pair of haphazardly thrown shoes on the floor.

Joel lets out a soft oof as he catches you, chuckling at your bright and beaming smile.

“Someone’s excited,” Joel chides playfully, though his voice is gruff. He sounds tired, looks it too, “been missin’ me, baby?”

You nod immediately, “So much,” You press a gentle kiss to his lips as he kicks the front door closed with his foot, slowly removing his layers—thick coat falling first, then his thinner jacket he wore underneath to leave him in a thick thermal, his skin still prickling with the winter chill but quickly warming underneath your touch, “everything go okay?”

“Yeah—just a bad storm comin’ in,” Joel explains, ignoring how distracted you were, allowing the soft pecks to his skin as you pulled away, slowly inserting yourself into his line of sight, mischievous grin plastered across your face, “—what are you up to, darlin’?

“Got a surprise for you,” You tease playfully, feeling his thick, calloused fingers slip under the thin material of your shirt, subconsciously seeking some contact with you, “can you go sit on the couch and close your eyes?”

Joel didn’t take too well to surprises, but he trusts you. So, he nods quietly, though there’s a slight hesitance to him as he takes a seat on the couch, slowly unlacing his boots in your absence to relieve some pressure but not taking them off completely, the tongue of the boot hanging lifelessly over his even more pathetic looking laces.

He can hear your soft footsteps as they approach, bare feet against the wood flooring as the couch dips slightly and he feels something hard and solid pressed into his hands.

“Okay, open ‘em,” You tell him gently, watching as he blinks his eyes open, expression mostly unchanging—it wasn’t unlike him to have little reaction, but it did worry you slightly, “—surprise?”

Okay, terrible idea. Got it.

“Darlin’,” God, you’ve heard that tone before, body tensing slightly, “I thought I told you I don’t need nothin’ in return from you.”

“Joel—you’re constantly helping me,” You argue softly, “it’s the least I could do. Plus, you need a new pair.”

“That’s not the point,” Joel tells you, “I do that stuff ‘cause I like knowin’ you’re comfortable, that you don’t have anything to worry about while I’m away.”

“And I worry about you too,” You interject quickly, “Joel—it’s just a gift, it’s okay.”

Joel places them on the table in front of him silently, contemplating thoughtfully.

He’s made it clear on several occasions that he doesn’t like things in return. That he does these things without the expectation of anything in return, but he appreciates the gesture. Joel isn’t used to people caring for him and it feels odd to allow it. And he sees the nervous energy inside of you brimming, like you’ve made a bad choice and you deserve the punishment.

Almost begged for it.

Your fists curl nervously in your lap, waiting for any sign that Joel had to offer.

And when he doesn’t respond, you find yourself curling into him out of instinct. Thighs spreading out over his lap as his hands follow the trail from your knees, up your thighs, until his thumbs are settling in the crease of your pelvis. You attempt a gentle kiss, but he’s reluctant to return it.

“Did I do something wrong?” You ask quietly, a genuine curiosity in your voice.

Joel shakes his head slightly, but the hand guiding its way around your neck tells a different story, his fingertips rubbing against the softness of your jawline, forcing you to look at him properly.

“Nothin’ wrong, but I do think I need to remind you of somethin’,” Joel explains in a soft, but demeaning tone, “that when I tell you I can provide for you and don’t need anything in return—that I mean that.”

You wait with baited breath, blinking rapidly at how hot his breath feels against your skin, feeling your cunt throb with need, with an insatiable want for him.

“And since you wanna buy me a new pair of boots—well,” Joel chuckles darkly, feeling your fingers tighten into the thick fabric of his thermal, “you’re gonna have to help me break ‘em in.”

You look at him, perplexed. But, his pupils dilate under your gaze, the subtle shifting as he kicks off his old, tattered boots as nods subtly to the new pair behind you.

You sigh breathily, “Huh—Oh, you want me to—”

“Ride my boot, baby,” He tells you clearly, “Seein’ as it is my gift and all.”

There wasn’t even a moment of hesitation as you slipped from his lap, table skidding back deftly in the process—you grab for the new pair of work boots but Joel is quickly grabbing your face again, squeezing your cheeks sharply.

“Undress first.” Joel says, waiting for your nod of acknowledgement before he lets you go.

So, you do—layer by layer until you reach your bra, unhooking it with nimble fingers as he slips on his new boots. If this were anyone else, you would feel ridiculous. But, with Joel, there was something there, brewing on the surface. He respected you, but he also needed you to understand.

It was a little humiliating, but it wasn’t the worst thing.

Your fingers edge along the hem of your underwear when Joel stops your hands, “Keep those on.” He utters, his fingers dragging softly against the front of the cotton material until he’s cupping your pussy in his palm, soft wet spot growing in the fabric where his fingertips drag across—you’re enjoying this, clearly.

You lower yourself slowly, straddling his left leg with your knees tucked against the bottom of the couch he sat on, pressing your cunt against the cold leather of his steel-toed boot.

Joel relaxes then, arms spread wide over the back of the couch, fingers gripping loosely into the cushion. “Don’t be shy, sweetheart.” Joel comforts, sensing your brimming nervousness as your fingers trailed along his calf, the hard press of his boot right against your core and if you tried hard enough, it wouldn’t take long at all—knowing that even just a little bit of encouragement from Joel and friction could have you coming undone. But, he wants you to work for it.

You start slow, a subtle grind of your hips that shouldn’t feel as good as it does. You sigh softly at the relief, noticing the slowly growing smirk on Joel’s face that you’re trying to avoid, eyes falling shut slowly as you tip your head back, allowing a slow rhythm to start.

“Feels good?” Joel wonders, “Like the idea of me carryin’ somethin’ of you around with me?”

In more ways than one—by a simple gift from the kindness of your heart, but also the desperation of the slick that damped your underwear and painted a perfect mess over his boot.

You nod quietly, moaning softly as you angle your hips to allow the drag of your clit over the solidness of the boot, friction sending your eyes rolling back in your head, hands fisting into the thick denim and selfishly using it for leverage as you quickened your pace.

“That’s right, baby—want you to think about coming all over my boot for me,” Joel encourages, “can you do that?”

Truthfully, you were holding back. Seeing just how much you could get out of him.

But, Joel catches onto your game.

“You need a little encouragement?” Joel asks curiously, chin cupped in his strong grip, nodding obediently. “Think you deserve that, baby?”

“Please—please, Joel.” You beg, “Fuck—please, I’ll do—”

“Don’t say anything, darlin’.” He warns, “Not when you don’t know what that means for you.”

He keeps your eyes locked on his, squeezing your cheeks gently when you start to fade, the slowly building tingle in your core that wasn’t as easily ignorable now, coiled in your belly and ready to explode. You lose yourself for a brief second, hand fisting into the slack bunch of denim atop his thigh, earning a dull but stern slap to your cheek to bring your attention back to him.

“Eyes on me, baby,” Joel coos, fisting the hard line of his cock under the strained denim with his free hand, looking slightly pained at how much he was holding back himself, “look at you—always eager to please, huh?”

You roll your eyes slightly—and Joel really doesn’t like that. His hand cradling the base of your neck as he holds you still, body pulled just centimeters away from his boot, leaving your pussy throbbing with a lack of contact that your body craved.

“Now you just look a little pathetic, don’t you?” Joel asks, “All needy for my fuckin’ boot—got her beggin’ for it, don’t I?” And you know he’s not addressing you directly, rather the pool of your own slick, shiny wetness on the toe of his boot that gives you away.

He nudges it against your clit gently, earning a soft whine as you hips instinctively seek for friction—Joel takes a slightly more firmer stance, head cradling both of his hands as he holds you prisoner in his gaze, two thick fingers slipping into your open mouth and grinning at how pathetically and greedily you suck on the digits without having to be told, removing them with a loud pop and a thin string of spit that connects you to him.

And if he was a stronger man, he could hold off. But, he’s so weak around you he can’t even hide it. He lets go in an instant, reaching for the front of his own jeans as he shoves them down his hips until he can manage to slip his cock out over his underwear, fisting himself in an instant.

Staving himself on patrols was torture when all he could think about was you—so he knows it won’t take much. Hell, he’s surprised with how long he’s been able to hold off now.

You admire with a haughty gaze, slowly resting back against the base of his boot, watching his free hand slip under his heavy sack, massaging as he jerks his fist without much rhythm, blinded by his own selfish need for release.

“Keep goin’,” He encourages through a tight breath, “but don’t fuckin’ come, darlin’.”

Your hole clenches and flutters around nothing, wishing that it was his cock stuffed inside of you rather than the plane of his boot pressed against your pussy, the thickness of his fingers alongside the girthiness of his cock a blatant reminder of how deeply you felt him in the mornings and even days after, always fucked so throughly it had you reeling and constantly crawling back for more.

He jerks himself selfishly, eyes falling shut as he feels himself dragging too close to the edge, your moans gaining in intensity, knowing how pathetic you would both look to anyone else. But, there was no one to judge you here—and Joel was beyond feeling the need to be assertive, rather just needing you, to be inside you and have you snug around him and crying on his cock.

Joel pulls you out of your daze hastily, manhandling you until you’re back is flat against the couch, quickly shoving his jeans down far enough that they don’t become a hindrance as he pulls your underwear aside and slips inside of you with a solid push of his hips, the slickness of your cunt allowing no resistance as you both groan at how good it feels, eyes connecting for a brief moment before everything goes black…or white.

Joel isn’t sure what he sees, but it only takes a few minutes of some hurried and desperate pumps of his hips as his cock nudges that particular spot deep inside of you that has you clawing at the bare skin you could reach, leaving red marks on his neck as he snaps his hips with a finality, coming with a low groan that has your legs shaking, bent nearly in half as he still manages to see through his own haze and drag his fingers over your clit—it doesn’t take more than a couple seconds before you're there, spasming around his cock with a sob, gasping at his overstimulating touch as he continues to press and circle your clit until you’re begging him to stop, his hips slowly pumping his cum inside of you.

Joel finds himself laying slack against you, pants down at his ankles as he allows your fingers to thread through his grown out curls from where his head rests against your chest, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart.

“I appreciate the boots,” He says after a while, “if that wasn’t already obvious.”

“Oh, I’m aware.” You giggle softly.

“Seriously, no more gifts, though.” Joel says sternly, “I mean it.”

You pout slightly and Joel catches it, his eyes flicking up to look at you.

“I’m makin’ no promises to that.” You tell him truthfully.

Joel chuckles softly, “Can’t say I expected you to, either.”

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x fem!reader #my writing #pedrostories

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nezz-cringe-crib · 6 days ago

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maybe i'm not looking in the right places but god i need more daisuke content why do i rarely see daisuke content and why is all the content of him either him being silly and dumb or him just dying. he's such a deep character just like everybody else why does nobody draw him with that same tragic air it's giving me kel from omori flashbacks </////3

daisuke has gone almost his entire life being told how much of a useless dumb wreck he is, that the only thing good about him is his physicality and even then he's still worthless because he can't put that physicality to good use. then he gets sent to this job that he barely knows anything about but he swears to do his best in order to make his parents proud and to prove that he can be a good son for them. AND THEN HIS RELATIONSHIP WITH SWANSEA MAKES IT ALL FEEL EVEN WORSE????

daisuke probably became really attached to swansea because even though swansea would constantly remind him of how useless he was, swansea was still taking a chance on him and teaching him the basics of the job. even if daisuke knew it was just because swansea was forced to, and even if he knew all the jobs swansea gave him were easy jobs swansea knew he couldn't mess up, he was still probably really happy about it anyways because of how much it seems like he's never been given a chance on life???? AND THEN FOR DAISUKE TO DIE BY HIS HANDS???

I ALWAYS SEE DAISUKE'S DEATH FROM THE POV OF SWANSEA. LIKE HELLO???? HE WAS PROBABLY TERRIFIED??? TERRIFIED THAT THE ONE PERSON WHO HAS EVER GIVEN HIM A CHANCE, EVEN OUT OF PITY, WAS NOW PRACTICALLY PUTTING HIM DOWN OVER THAT SAME PITY TOO?????? THAT HE DIED BEING A FAILURE TO EVERYONE HE'S EVER KNOWN???????

WHY DOES NOBODY TALK ABOUT THIS DO NOT LET MY BOY DOOWWNNNN

#nezz brainz #analysis #character analysis #daisuke #mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing #swansea mouthwashing #swansea #I CANNOT STAND TO SEE ANOTHER “haha funny character” BE DISREGARDED FOR THEIR DEEP ASPECTS ENTIRELY #HES A DAMN GOOD CHRARACTER #DO NOT FANON HIM LIKE THEY FANON'D KEL PPLLEAAAAASSEEE NOT AGAAIIINNNNN

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putting-kel-in-places · 1 year ago

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PUT HER IN STILL DANCING!

Kel is in Still Dancing!

#clover or3o #clover2020 #clover kel #kel clover #putting-kel-in-places #still dancing #how do I get rid of youtube borders

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callsign-dexter · 4 months ago

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Sweet Treats and Teasing

Request: Hi can i request a kelly severide x reader where kelly Severide introduces yn as his his girlfriend she brings cookies/ brownies to firehouse 51 and his co works they tease her a bit

Pairings: Kelly Severide x Reader

Warnings: fluff

Masterlist

A/N: thank you @maximeseveridecasey for requesting and I'm so sorry it took forever to get out!

Your life was great. You had an amazing boyfriend who was a firefighter and looked great in uniform. He would drop anything for you and you for him. You couldn't ask for anything better and you didn't want anything better. You were happy with your hunk of handsome firefighter. His name is Kelly Severide.

You run a pretty big bakery/deli/cafe, Station Sweets Cafe and Deli, close to the firehouse and it was sometimes a blessing and a curse. Big as in three stories tall upstairs for lounging and eating, main floor for food, kitchen, lounging and eating, and a basement for storage, inventory, appliances, and maintenance equipment. You get a lot of college kids studying for exams or just need a place to hang out. You also get a lot of your customers who are first responders and medical care personnel. You knew almost everyone, though you hadn't met Kelly's crew or not that you know of. They may have come in when you weren't there.

It was a blessing because you weren't too far from your boyfriend and a curse because each time, they got called out they drove past your bakery and it made you a nervous wreck. Even though you were the boss you also worked at the bakery/deli and loved it, you have the best staff you could ask for and it was perfect.

You and Kelly met when he walked into your bakery needing something for a last-minute pick up for a first responders get together. When you both laid eyes on each other the both of you melted and fell in love. Now it's been 4 years of nothing but bliss. You could see a future with him and what you didn't know was that Kelly was thinking the same thing. Sure, he has had his fair share of flings and girlfriends but when he met you, he didn't want anybody else, he just wanted you. Some people could say you changed him for the better.

Currently you are snuggled up with Kelly and enjoying his heat that he always puts off on the chilly Chicago morning. If it were up to you and him you both wouldn't leave but sadly reality came rearing its head, well at least for Kelly it was your day off, by the sound of his alarm going off. You groaned and he did too and was quick to turn off. “Do you have to go?” You asked as you rolled over to look at him and he chuckled while smiling and kissing your forehead.

“Yes. You know how much I would love to stay in bed with you all morning but people need saving.” He said, you sighed frowning just a little.

“Can't they take a break from doing anything idiotic for one day?” You asked and he chuckled.

“I so wish, Baby. Now come on, I have to take a shower.” He said

“Can I join?” You asked and smiled.

“Always, you know I would never say no to you joining me in the shower.” He said as he started to get out of bed and you followed him.

After your nice hot steamy shower, you both were now in the kitchen. He had one his uniform and you had your hair up in a wet bun and just a shirt hanging on your body. He admired you from the doorway of the kitchen as you moved around easily getting things out for the day. He moved to where he was behind you and took you in his arms making you squeal. “KELS!” You shrieked out and he chuckled as he kissed your neck, you leaned your head giving him better access. “You're gonna be late.” You said as you turned in his arms and threw your arms around his neck.

“Hmmmm they'll understand.” He said and you smiled and shook your head.

“No, you need to get going. You have lives to save, remember?” You asked

“Yea I remember.” He said and you kissed him.

“I'll see you in three days.” You said and groaned and pulled a face.

“Three days is too long.” He replied and you nodded in agreement.

“But it's what you signed up for and you love it.” You reminded him.

“Yes, I know. I do love it but I love you more.” He said and you chuckled and pushed his chest.

“Get going you big sap. I may or may not bring some treats down to you later.” You said

“If you do, the entire firehouse will love you for it.” He said and you smiled.

“Oh, don't I know.” You replied, you had sent some goodies down to them via one of your workers but they never knew you were the one to make them. Most of your workers knew how to make the food and that's because you had the recipes in a book and they were very simple and easy to follow.

“You know you should stop by and I can introduce you to the team. Let them know you're the one making the treats that they can't seem to get enough of.” He said as he got ready to leave. Half of the time when you were off you sent Kelly with some goodies that you had left over from baking at home for the bakery or just in general and he always comes back with requests for more. Now Kelly can cook and bake but his baking doesn't live up to yours and you can cook really good, some say even better than Kelly and you take pride in that and sometimes tease him about it.

“I just might have to do that. Can't have you taking all the credit for the sweets I bring and send.” You said and he laughed a very continuous laugh.

“Hey, I can bake.” He said and you smiled and nodded.

“That you can but I'm just a little bit better at it.” You said and he nodded and cocked an eyebrow.

“You got that right.” He said and then looked down at his watch “I gotta go. I love you.” He said as he planted another kiss on your forehead.

“I love you too.” You said and he started to walk out “Be safe!” You yelled out to him and he turned around, body out the door and hand on the door knob.

“Always.” He said and then winked and he was off leaving you smiling and shaking your head. Now you were left to sort out what you wanted to make. You thought about making some s'mores treats for them and to be honest you wanted some too. So that's what you set out on doing. First you needed to go to the grocery for in general food and supplies for home and the bakery, yes you had a truck coming but one of your workers texted you that they needed something before the truck got there tomorrow morning and you being the best boss told them you would be there soon. You figured you would get those supplies and then go back to finish shopping for home supplies.

As you arrived at the grocery store you checked your phone one more time for what you needed for your store and quickly went to that section. “Alright, let’s see where is it?” You asked yourself and began to look through the shelves.

“What can I help you with?” Someone asked but you knew that voice and smiled and turned around and saw your boyfriend.

“Hi there, handsome. I’m looking for some ground cinnamon.” You said and he smiled.

“Don’t you have a truck coming in with those supplies?” Kelly asked and you smiled and nodded.

“I do but they won’t be in until tomorrow morning and we are out out.” You explained

“I see. I see.” He said and then you turned back around and started to look for it once again. “Here it is.” He said and grabbed it and gave it to you.

“You’re a lifesaver.” You said and turned around and kissed him and he gladly kissed back.

“That’s my job, Babe.” He said and you laughed. “Still coming to the station?” He asked.

“Yup! Just have to deliver this to the shop and then go back here to grab supplies and groceries for home.” You said and he hummed.

“You be careful out there.” He said

“Always.” You said and winked using the move he used on you that morning and he laughed as you began to walk away. You were checking out and heading to your shop. It wasn’t that far of a drive and you arrived pretty quickly. You parked and grabbed your bag and walked into the building.

“Good morning, Y/N/N.” Will Halstead, one of your regulars and best friends, said and you smiled at him.

“Hey, Will.” You said

“Isn’t it supposed to be your day off?” He asked and you chuckled and nodded.

“Yes, but we ran out of ground cinnamon.” You said and he chuckled.

“I see. I will let you get to it. Have a nice day!” He said and you smiled.

“You too.” You said and then quickly walked to the back where Leslie, the one who texted you, was there. “Here is your ground cinnamon.” You said and she looked relieved.

“Thank you so much! I’m so sorry you had to be here on your day off but I couldn’t wait until the morning to make these. We have a large order for a party tonight.” She said and you smiled at her.

“Not a problem. I was on my way to the grocery store so it was not a problem.” You said and she smiled.

“Is there a way I can make it up to you?” She asked and you shook your head.

“No, you do enough around here.” You said

“Thank you again.” She said and you smiled and then got back to work and then you were heading back to the store to grab supplies for the s’mores treats and supplies for home. It was a very quick trip and the next thing you knew you were back at home bringing in the groceries and started on the treats.

You put on music and began your baking. You enjoyed backing anything that you could, some you have recipes for and others you didn’t. Occasionally you would get a text from Kelly and in response you would send him a picture of what you were doing and he always responded that you were teasing him but you reminded him that he was going to get some and he had full access to the sweets when he was at home.

After 4 fours of baking, you had enough for the entire station for the three days that they would be on shift. You packed them up and then put them in a bag and headed off to the station. It wasn’t a very far drive and you were thankful for that. When you parked next to Kelly’s truck you got out and grabbed the sweets and walked into the station all vehicles were there which meant that they were all still there. As you walked in you spotted Kelly. “Hey, Kels.” You said and he was quick to turn around and a smile appeared on his face.

“Hey, Baby.” He said and walked over to you. “Wasn’t expecting you so soon.” He said and you huffed.

“Bull shit yes you were.” You said and he chuckled.

“Ok, yes, I was. So, what did you bring us?” He asked

“Oh, just some s’mores cookies and brownies.” You said

“I heard s’mores.” A woman’s voice came through and you looked around Kelly and smiled.

“You heard correctly.” You said as she came closer and then everyone was coming out.

“Guy’s this is Y/n, my girlfriend.” Kelly said “Y/N this is Christopher Herrmann, Stella Kidd, Harold Capp, Joe Cruz, Gabriela Dawson, Sylvie Brett, Wallace Boden, Matthew Casey, Blake Gallo, and Brian Zvonecek aka Otis.” He said and introduced each and every one of them.

“It’s nice to finally meet all of you.” You said a little bit nervously.

“We finally get to meet the girl that made Kelly actually settle down.” Otis said and you chuckled.

“It wasn’t easy but hey I like a challenge.” You said “Please feel free to eat the sweets, they're s’more cookies and brownies.” You said and everyone.

“Let’s get these inside and where it is warmer.” Kelly said

“Oh man our man Kelly is down bad.” Casey said “You know ever since you had become a couple he has changed for the good. It must be the food.” He said as he picked up a container and started to walk into the station and into the kitchen/ break room.

“Oh my gosh. These are so good!” Gabriela said “Wait… do you own Station Sweets Cafe and Deli?” She asked and you smiled and nodded.

“Yes, I do.” You said

“I knew you looked so familiar. I love that place.” She said and you smiled.

“Thank you.” You said

“I knew Kelly couldn’t have cooked all those delicious sweets.” Joe said

“Hey! I can bake.” He said

“That is very true. He can.” You said

“You keep feeding us these treats and we’ll have to start working out more.” Blake said and you laughed.

“I think you all will be just fine considering your jobs are a work out. I could never.” You said. The longer you stayed the more you got comfortable around them and the more the teasing you got but you gave it back to them.

“So, Y/N, how did Kelly convince you to give him your number?” Stella asked

“She made me work for it.” Kelly said and you nodded.

“He kept coming into the store but I was never there or I was busy but I noticed him. He finally got to talk to me when he needed something for the first responder’s cookout and the rest was history. So, there really was no convincing.” You said. More questions were fired at you but you answered them with ease and Kelly just sat back as you handled his team with ease. He knew you were the right one for him and he couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with you.

You could’ve stayed all day but the bell rang and they had to go to work. Kelly turned to you as everyone ran out to get their gear on. “I’m sorry for all the teasing.” He said and you shook your head and waved him off.

“Nonsense. They are great. I’m just glad I was the one to settle you down.” You said

“I’m glad it was you too.” He said

“You need to go.” You said and started to push him out.

“Alright, I love you.” He said and kissed you and you kissed him back.

“I love you too. Be safe.” You said

“Always.” He said and winked at you and smirked and then he was pulling on his gear and they were speeding off. As you watched them go off you smiled to yourself, you were so glad you were the one he decided to settle down with. You couldn’t imagine your life without him and you didn’t want to. Everything was perfect.

Tag list:

@kmc1989

@els-marvelvsp

@atarmychick007

@nyx2021

@grandstrangerphantom

@angenu01-blog

@talesofreading

@callsign-revenge

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gamergirl929 · 10 months ago

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No Matter How Far You Run (I'll Always Be Right Behind You) (Alex Morgan x Reader)

You were always told that your wedding day was supposed to be a momentous, and joyful occassion, if that were true, why were you feeling the way you were feeling? Why did you feel like you would never be good enough for Alex Morgan?

You’d gotten into the room over an hour ago, and for nearly the entirety of that hour, you’d been pacing, your palms sweaty and your heart racing, the bow tie around your neck growing tighter and tighter.

“What about the flowers Em, did we get the right flowers???” You ask, your heart nearly beating out of your chest.

“We got the right flowers Y/N, I promise.”

“And the cake?” You ask, screeching to a halt, your hands running down your face. “What about the cake Em?”

“We got the right cake, Y/N, you gotta calm down, okay?” Emily says, her own hands beginning to shake, your anxiety transferring to her in some form of mass hysteria.

“What if I screw up my vows?” You ask, giving Emily no time to answer before you’re asking another question.

“What if Alex decides I’m not worth it?” You gulp, your pacing increasing in speed.

You continue to mutter unintelligibly under your breath words that Emily can’t quite make out, your anxiety only increasing her own.

The door slowly creaks open, Kelley O’Hara poking her head through the crack.

“Has she calmed down yet?” She asks, her brown orbs widening when she realizes Emily is nearly shaking just as much as you are.

“I’ll take that as a no.” She says, slipping through the crack, the door clicking shut behind her.

“Y/N, tell me what you’re thinking...” Kelley whispers gently, giving your shoulder a comforting squeeze.

You sigh deeply, running your fingers through your hair, your mouth opening and closing as you search for words to describe the emotions you’re feeling.

“She’s too good for me Kel.” You whisper, the shorter woman shaking her head as you turn to her, tears in your eyes.

“You’re perfect for one another.” She whispers, tucking a loose strand of hair dangling in your face behind your ear.

You shake your head, sniffling.

“What if she regrets marrying me?” You mumble, your words so soft Kelley has to lean in to hear them.

“She would never regret marrying you.” She smiles softly, her hands settling on your shoulders before she gives them a squeeze.

You swallow hard, your Y/E/C orbs darting around Kelley’s face considering you’re unable to look her in the eye.

You shake your head, your mouth opening and closing as you try to find your words the sound of Emily’s chair scooting across the floor making you stiffen.

“She loves you Y/N.” Emily whispers as she places a comforting hand on your tuxedo covered back.

“It’ll all be okay, alright?” Kelley whispers, cupping your cheek with one hand, running her thumb along your cheek in comfort.

You nod, taking a deep breath as you try to calm yourself down, but it’s to no avail your inner turmoil again rearing its ugly head.

Kelley and Emily’s shoulders sag, the pair feeling ease, despite the fact that you were beginning to tremble again.

The room, though large enough to comfortably house a group of people feels claustrophobic, the room closing in on you as your heart again begins to race.

“I can’t do this.” You mutter, causing both Emily and Kelley to jump as you turn on your heels and sprint out of the room, dashing in a random direction, putting as much distance between the pair as you possibly can.

************************************************************************

You weren’t at all sure where you ended up in the venue, your sense of location completely off as you sprinted in random directions until you found a random room to camp out in.

You cover your face with your trembling hands; your entire body beginning to shake.

You knew you shouldn’t feel this way, you knew that this was supposed to be the happiest day of your life, but still, you couldn’t escape your own head, one thought followed by another, then another, each thought worse than the last.

A part of you wanted to remain hidden, to curl up on the other side of the door until the wedding was over, but you knew you couldn’t do that, not to her.

No matter how much you thought she deserved better, you couldn't break her heart like that. Despite that thought, you remain still, unable to force yourself to your feet.

You go ridged at the sound of approaching heels, your chest tightening as you hold your breath, hoping that whoever it was would pass by, unaware of your presence.

Unfortunately for you, the clicking heels stop just behind the door you’re currently leaning against.

“Y/N?” You hear Alex’s soft whisper, and your eyes widen, the door slowly creaking open.

“W-Wait, we’re not supposed to see each other.” You stammer, the woman on the other side of the door chuckling.

“You’re more important than a silly tradition right now.”

You shake your head, grabbing the edge of the door, holding it closed.

“I know how important it is to you Alex.” You mutter, your throat bobbing.

Alex falls silent before the door creaks open a bit wider, her hand slipping between the crack, her palm facing upwards, her fingers wiggling in a silent invitation.

You take her hand with no sense of hesitation, the tightness in your chest ebbing away slightly.

The two of you sit in silence, Alex’ fingers delicately playing with your own, the rapid racing of your heart decreasing with each passing second.

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong? Emily and Kelley said you might be having second thoughts...?” She asks and you take a breath, your throat bobbing as your hands grow clammy.

You remain silent for a beat, the woman on the opposite side of the door squeezing your hand.

“Do you...” You stiffen at the sound of the crack in Alex’s voice as she speaks words you know she wished she never would have to speak.

“Do you not want to get married?” She asks, her voice quivering, your heart sinking in your chest at the soft utterance.

You remain silent, your mouth opening and closing as you try to put your feelings into words.

“Alex, there’s nothing I want more than to marry you, but...” You close your eyes, your breath catching in your throat.

“What if you regret it?” You whisper, the woman on the other side of the door remaining silent as you put your thoughts into words.

“I’m just going to screw it up, I’ve already screwed it up by running away and hiding like a coward.” You say, knocking your head against the wooden door behind you.

“I’m not good enough for you, you deserve so much better, you deserve someone who isn’t going to run and hide on what’s supposed to be the best day of your life, and that’s not me.”

Your heart clenches in your chest when Alex’s hand leaves your own, a lump forming in your throat.

“Close your eyes.” She whispers, your brows furrowing as your eyes flutter shut.

The door creaks open softly, your breath hitching as Alex’s hands settle on your chest before finding your shoulders, leading you to believe that she too has her eyes shut, following the tradition she holds dear.

“You’re more than good enough for me.” She whispers, her fingers tangling in the fine hairs at the base of your neck.

Her forehead rests gently against yours, her lips ghosting your own as she whispers.

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted. I couldn’t and never would regret marrying you.” She says, bumping the tip of her nose against yours.

“You didn’t screw anything up, and no matter how many times you run away, I’ll always be right behind you, because I love you, Y/N, and you’re worth chasing after.” She whispers, a tear streaming down your cheek, one that Alex quickly swipes away with the tip of her thumb.

You sniffle, covering her hands with your own as you kiss her lips softly, her manicured nails scrapping the nape of your neck gently.

Reluctantly you part, neither going far as your noses brush, a small smile stretching across your face.

“So, should we go get married now?” You whisper a grin stretching across your face as the woman giggles, pecking your lips.

“I think we should... As long as you still want to...?” She whispers and you smile, leaning your head back to kiss the tip of her nose.

“There’s nothing I’d want more.”

#uswnt x reader #uswnt imagine #alex morgan x reader #alex morgan imagine #please let me know what you think

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freelancearsonist · 8 months ago

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in shades of gray and candlelight

➔ Marcus Pike x fem!Reader - 7.2k

➔ Nothing good starts in a getaway car, but you sure do have fun delaying the inevitable.

➔ Rated MA for artist!reader my beloved (reader is able-bodied, basic female anatomy and feminine pronouns used, reader is described as having hair that is long enough to be put up but otherwise she’s a blank slate), unprotected p in v sex, cum swallowing, creampie, semi-public sex acts, oral (r + m receiving), handjobs, fingering, very light switchy dom/sub dynamics, a couple spanks, pet names (sweetheart, pretty girl, baby, honey), heavy praise kink, light size kink, consent king!marcus, just like the song it does not end happily [please let me know if i missed any at all :)]

➔ this is my (first 😈) submission to @beskarandblasters Taylor Swift Drabble Challenge! i really did mean for this to be a drabble especially since i didn't know anything about marcus before receiving this prompt but he has my whole fucking heart and mind now 😩 thank you so much for the challenge lovely kel, and special thank u to my baby @fhatbhabie for betaing and screaming with me ily <3 (dividers by the amazing and talented @saradika-graphics)

You meet Marcus Pike on a Friday night and it’s obvious from the start that he’s going to change your life forever.

He looks a little disheveled when he enters the gallery–brown hair ruffled and standing up in places, tie loose, top shirt button undone. There’s an alluring five o’clock shadow burgeoning across his jaw and cheeks. He looks like he’s had a long day, and it’s only going to get longer. It’s all part of the plan, of course. He’s supposed to look like a standard blue collar worker, and he pulls it off with ease.

It’s the exhibition’s opening night, so it’s a little more packed than the gallery normally would be. It works in his favor–he’s able to collect a plastic cup of champagne from the refreshment table and blend seamlessly into the crowd.

His eyes are diligent as they scan the faces that come and go. He tries to commit them all to memory–the tall woman with the slight limp, the short guy wearing the Hawaiian patterned shirt. There’s dozens of people that pass by, and so many of them are forgettable. It’s exhibitions like these that make him dread undercover work.

The art on the walls isn’t exceptional, but it’s not bad. Nothing that seems worth stealing, that’s for sure. But his source is good, and his source said that this place was getting hit tonight. So he keeps his watchful eyes vigilant and pretends to sip the champagne in his hand.

Until he finds your exhibit.

There’s a depth to your art that he’s come to be familiar with–something he sees often in work of high value. Anyone can make abstract art, it’s as simple as flicking paint at a canvas. But few can charge it as emotionally as you have. To convey feeling and passion and heart through abstraction is a separate art form all its own, and it’s one you’ve mastered.

He’s seen original Rothko’s, Van Gogh’s, Kandinsky’s; he’s held their frames in his own two hands. But nothing’s ever made his breath hitch in his throat quite the way yours does.

He stands in front of a canvas simply labeled “Waves In Motion” with your name printed neatly underneath, brow creased with a concentration that seems a little unnecessary given the subject matter of the painting. It’s all shades of blue and violet, swirling together in a way that seems partly sensuous, partly violent. It makes the hair on the back of his neck prickle, and he takes a step closer. That’s when he notices it: a single dot of red paint right in the middle, a focal point of all the swirling cobalts. So small that he wouldn’t notice it if he wasn’t close; so small it could almost be interpreted as a mistake.

But he knows without having to ask that it’s not an answer. He wonders who that dot represents: you, the artist? Most likely.

Without meaning to, he smiles. It’s been a long time, years really, since a piece of art provoked such thought.

“Hi.”

The voice Marcus hears next to him is soft, dulcet. He doesn’t turn to the noise quickly–from the tone in that word alone he senses a hesitance, as if you’re a fawn that’s lost its mother and you’re bound to run if he makes any sudden movements.

And, truth be told, part of him thinks he might not be able to look away even if he tried right now. There’s something so beautiful about this painting–and underneath, something so ominous. There’s an air about the work that says he might unlock the secrets of the universe if he just keeps looking.

“Hi there.” He keeps his eyes trained on “Waves In Motion” as he responds–playing the game. He’s here to brush shoulders, after all; to be the right amount of forgettable yet memorable.

“This is my best, I think,” you murmur while taking a step closer. “It took the least time of all of them, surprisingly. But… I think when you know exactly what you’re trying to convey, it just comes to you easily.”

“These are yours?” There’s admiration in his eyes and an air of something akin to disbelief in his voice as he takes in the group of canvases proudly displayed on the plain white gallery walls.

And then he turns and lets himself take you in. More specifically the curling strand of hair that falls out of your updo to frame your face, the deeply plunging neckline of your dress, the way your calf muscles work even standing still in your high-heeled shoes. You’re a work of art in your own right; the most beautiful piece he’s seen in a long time.

“Yeah.” You duck your head–shyly, modestly–and he’s hooked. There’s one thing in this building that deserves awe and reverence more than your painting, and it’s you. “You know, you’re only the second person who’s come over tonight.”

“No way. They’re all just working their way back here,” he whispers before he can calculate a more articulate response.

But it works in his favor–your giggle is gorgeous, if a sound can be described that way. Sweet and syrupy, it seeps over him as if he’s standing under a cracked honeycomb. He hasn’t actually taken a drink of his champagne, and yet he can feel his nervous system tingling. You’re just that intoxicating.

“The gallery closes in half an hour,” you tell him–a little wistfully at that. “In my defense, I don’t have any family or friends in the area. I wasn’t really expecting anyone to show, not with so many other talented artists here.”

It seems so indignantly unfair to Marcus. That you’re shoved into the far back corner of the gallery, that people haven’t come in droves from all over the country to see your work.

“Where are you from?” He asks as his mind finally starts to clear from the haze it’s been in the past few minutes. With only half an hour left on the job, he allows himself a small sip of the drink that he’s been cradling all night.

“New York. This is actually only my second exhibition,” you explain, and you almost sound shy about it; as if you need to be embarrassed about being young and fresh-faced in the art industry, as if you aren’t the most talented artist Marcus has ever met in person.

He hums in response, eyes unconsciously dragging over you once more. “You came a long way for this.”

You smile so prettily up at him, and in that moment he sees something in your eyes. He can’t describe it–maybe it’s something akin to longing. Something incomplete, unexplored. It’s familiar; it’s the red dot from your painting. Solitary amidst the swirling, lost yet not hopeless.

And just like your painting, he finds himself wanting to get lost in your eyes.

“Well, it’s not every day a gallery wants to host you,” you say after another sip of your drink. “Plus, I’ve never been to Texas before, and I needed a change of scenery.”

There’s something so charming, so boyishly intoxicating about the smile he graces you with. “How are you liking it so far?”

“It’s hotter than I’m used to,” you say with a chuckle that he echoes. “And I haven’t been able to do any exploring yet, my flight only got in a couple hours before I had to be here.”

“That’s a shame,” he hums in a tone that reveals deeper meaning. “How long are you here for? Do you have any plans?”

“A week,” you murmur. Subconsciously he leans in closer, on the edge of his proverbial seat. To seal the deal, you lean in too. “And not a damned one.”

There’s no air between you and Marcus. You exist in a vacuum for this moment–unable to breathe, choking on anticipation. He’s so close, yet way too far away. You want to be consumed by him–for him to be swirling blue; and you, a single speck of red in his midst.

The moment shatters with an audible sound–a deep, penetrating voice. “He’s still not here, huh? I don’t think your boyfriend’s coming. If he even exists.” There’s something strange in the raspy voice that drawls these words–something strange enough to immediately put Marcus on the alert.

You flinch at the sudden intrusion into your vacuum, but you recover quickly. You have to, because this intrusive stranger is standing way too close and has way too much alcohol on his breath.

And then something strange happens–you worm your arm around Marcus’s waist and press yourself firmly into his side.

“Actually, he’s right here,” you say. There’s a quality to your voice that wasn’t there before when you were just talking to Marcus–it’s firm, clipped, bordering on hostile. “He just got held up at work. Isn’t that right, babe?”

Thankfully, Marcus has always been one to think quickly on his feet. He wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer, unconsciously moving an inch or two in front of you. Protecting without really meaning to. “I’m sorry, honey. I got here as soon as I could.”

The man–burly and balding, probably a good twenty years older than you–scoffs. “Unbelievable.”

“Is there a problem here?” Marcus draws up to his full height–towering a good few inches over this strange intruder.

Whoever this guy is, he’s not completely stupid. He senses this isn’t going to be a fight he’ll win, so he backs off. “Not at all, man. Just didn’t want little miss standing here all alone the whole night.”

“Thanks,” you say with bitter reprehension. You wind even closer to Marcus–closer than this sudden farce demands. “But we’re fine now.”

He nods once–curt and unhappy, but seemingly satisfied that he’s not going to get what he wants. “Have a good night, ma’am. Sir.”

Marcus takes a mental inventory of the man as he storms off, committing his physical description and his outfit to memory. He doesn’t look like a casual art viewer, and he doesn’t look like a collector. He’s exactly the type that Marcus came here to look out for.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper as you step out of Marcus’s personal space. “He’s been hovering all night, asking me who I’m going home with and shit.”

“That’s the other guy who came over to talk to you?” It brings a deep frown to his face, a crease forming between his brows. It certainly raises a red flag–if the guy has any eye for value, of course he would be drawn to your exhibit. And if he has an eye for value, he could be the guy Marcus came for.

“Yeah.” You rub the back of your neck awkwardly and avert your gaze, as if you should be embarrassed for drawing that guy’s attention. “It’s not been the greatest night.”

Marcus hates that. He hates that you came all this way to be let down, that this is only your second exhibition and you’ve had such a bad experience with it. More than anything, he hates that he can still see the spark in your eyes when you look up at him, and he can tell that it’s dimmed.

“Gimme just a minute.”

He doesn’t mean to be so abrupt, but he wants to make it quick. He hustles to the single-stall men’s room and tugs the radio out of his inside jacket pocket to call in the man’s description. Then he turns it off, tucks it back into its concealed pocket, and goes over to the sink.

He thought he looked perfect for the part he had to play when he left his house to come here. Now, he’s too disheveled. He wets his fingertips and tries to tame the mess on top of his head; he re-buttons his shirt and tightens his tie. He looks flustered, and he’s not even surprised by it. You’ve got his heart pounding with anticipation in a way he doesn’t think it ever has before.

Butterflies fluttering on in his stomach, he emerges from the restroom to resume his position by your side.

Except you’re not by your exhibit anymore, and the crowd has thinned considerably. He checks his watch and realizes there’s only five minutes before the gallery closes for the night. Maybe you’ve decided to cut your losses and leave early.

He hates the way his gut twists with disappointment, but then he reminds himself that he didn’t come here for you. He’s working, and he needs to stay vigilant. No distractions, no complications.

“You’re still here.”

There’s a wave of relief that washes over him as he hears your voice, and this time he’s not too timid to turn towards you. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Thought I might’ve scared you off.” There’s a fresh cup of champagne in your hand and a hint of vulnerability in your voice, and it makes his heart pick up pace just the slightest bit. You duck your head–that shy, modest gesture again. “I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just done that without permission.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he tells you, more earnestly than he’s ever said anything in his life. “I didn’t mind at all, I swear. Just had to hit the head.”

You look so deeply into his eyes he almost wonders if you aren’t looking through him. But whatever you find, you must like it.

He clears his throat and tries to not show how thoroughly unraveled he is by your gaze. “I’m Marcus, by the way.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Marcus.” You pause for a moment, and he can tell that there’s something else lingering on the tip of your tongue–so he remains silent in hopes of drawing it out.

“Do you have someone to go home to?”

There it is–the invitation he was both dreading and hoping for. He should really lie. He’s here on a job, after all–he’s supposed to avoid complications, and some instinct tells him you’re going to be much more than a simple distraction. But he’s told you the truth so far, and he doesn’t want to stop now.

“No. No, I don’t.”

This is everything that Marcus has never even considered doing. It’s late, it’s dark, it’s a little chilly for spring in Austin. The alley is grimey and drafty–your hair blows in the breeze even as you kneel down before him.

All he can do is stand there, dumbstruck with his back up against the rough brick wall, and stare down at you.

He’s still breathless from the way you’ve been kissing him–all heat and passion, fire and brimstone. Your hands ran through his hair and undid the effort he put in while in the bathroom, and his hands clutched your waist in a futile attempt to ground himself. Your lips are so soft; he thinks he could kiss you forever and never get tired of it. He was certainly planning on finding out, until you dropped to your knees in front of him.

“You… you don’t have to–”

But the way you look up at him through your lashes makes his throat close up around whatever protest he was going to try.

“I want to,” you assure him–more of a purr than a spoken statement.

And this really isn’t the place. He shouldn’t let you do this here. But he’d be lying if he said the thought didn’t make him harden in his boring gray work slacks.

Marcus has never been about excitement. He’s always strayed to the comfortable and familiar–he falls into the sweet, caring companion role with grace and ease.

And tonight doesn’t have to be that different. If you’re going to suck his dick in a dark, dingey alley, he’ll let you. But he’s going to lay his jacket down on the ground so you don’t scrape up your knees first.

You keen at the thoughtful gesture and grace him with a grateful smile as your adept fingers work his belt open. He’s straining against the seam of his pants now, begging for the attention that your gaze promises him.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think you’re every bit as eager to get his trousers and boxers down as he is.

And Lord help him, he delights in the gasp you emit when his cock springs free from its confines.

“Fuck, Marcus.” Your lips actually part as you freeze for a moment, just taking him in. He’s thick, maybe an inch longer than average, swollen head peeking through uncut skin as if begging for your waiting mouth. He curves to the left just a little bit, and you can almost see his pulse thrumming through the prominent vein that runs along the length of him.

“S’not that impressive,” he mumbles, and you know that he knows that he’s full of shit.

Your fingers almost don’t wrap all the way around him, and suddenly you’re second-guessing this back alley stint, too. You want him in bed. You want him deep inside you, kissing your face as he fucks you, hands all over your body, thrusts hard yet slow. You want it languid, you want it desperate, you want it any way he’ll give it to you. You don’t want to blow him and say goodbye.

He calculates your hesitation as something other than pure unadulterated lust, and he lifts your chin gently with his index and middle fingers.

“Hey, we don’t have to–”

Again, you cut him off–this time, by dragging your tongue from the seam of his balls all the way along his length to swirl messily around his tip. You taste every heady inch of him and then moan at the salty foreshadowing on your tongue when you catch a droplet of precum leaking from his slit.

Your hand springs into action with a long, slow stroke along his cock, and then you sink your mouth around him and he moans. Without caution or pretense, like you’re not in an alley that anyone could walk down at any moment. It’s a little more high-pitched than he’d like for it to be and his head thumps back against the brick wall hard enough to hurt, and even still he’s never felt so overwhelmed with pleasure before in his life.

Your nose meets the neat patch of hair at his base and your free hand comes up to his hip, effectively pinning him against the wall when he tries to buck greedily even further into your mouth.

No one’s ever taken him so relentlessly before. You’re insistent, pressing onward even as you gag on his length, and it makes his balls tighten in a way he’s never felt before. It’s like you’re hungry for him; like you’re doing this more for your own pleasure than for his.

Marcus Pike has been a giver his whole life. Tonight, with you, he finally decides to take.

He’d be embarrassed about how fast he comes if you weren’t so eager for it. You moan around him and push yourself as deep as you can, throat working around him desperately not to choke on the size of him. Before he can warn you he’s spilling into your mouth, maybe more than he’s ever come before, thick and salty but undeniably sweet too. You allow yourself a moment to savor him as he pulses in your mouth, tongue swirling around the sensitive head of him in a way that makes him shiver and whine.

He’s panting, nearly light-headed, when you finally pull off of him and press one last gentle kiss over his slit.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs, because there’s nothing else to say.

You giggle, and he realizes with a strange wistfulness that he would do anything to keep this girl–a girl he’s just met, a girl who’s leaving to go back to her home on the other side of the country in just a week–smiling and laughing the way she is now.

“My hotel is only a couple blocks away,” you tell him as he helps you to your feet. “Would you like a nightcap?”

You pick up his jacket and dust the grime off it–it makes him chuckle. Everything about this encounter has flown in the face of what he’s used to.

He’s never felt so alive.

“I would love a nightcap.”

Your senses wake up slower than normal.

First it’s your eyes–they tune in on the bright mid-sunrise light streaming through the open balcony blinds on the far wall. It falls in slivers and shards over the rumpled white hotel-standard bedding–the second thing your senses tune into. Everything is so soft and light, but it’s a little cold too. Especially the other side of the bed; there’s no heat remaining there at all.

You push yourself up with a grunt and let the sheets fall away from your bare torso, tired eyes scanning around the room. You notice clothes scattered all over the floor while your ears wake up enough to hear water running in the bathroom, and you can’t help the involuntary smile that spreads over your face. He’s still here.

Marcus lets the too-hot water wash over him in scalding waves, muscles still a little sore after a long night tangled together with you.

He checked his phone first thing this morning, and the gallery was quiet all night. They think the suspect he radioed in was the guy they were looking for, but they weren’t able to apprehend him. The running theory is that he might’ve recognized Marcus and decided low-value art wasn’t worth the hassle, but one guess is as good as the next until they can bait and catch the guy.

It’s the weekend now, and Marcus is thanking his lucky stars. Not only does he have a successful mission to celebrate, but he has the most beautiful woman in the world to celebrate it with.

He emerges after a few minutes, wet hair messily scattered over his forehead and wide hips straining against a low-slung hotel towel. He’s a languid Saturday morning wet dream on two legs.

“G’morning,” he hums with a smile–he doesn’t even try to hide the way his eyes dip down to hungrily take in your naked torso.

“Good morning, Marcus.”

He stalks towards you slowly, eyes darkening with each advancing step. It doesn’t take more than a second to realize he didn’t get his fill of your body last night, but you’re certainly not complaining.

He’s already starting to harden as he drops his towel and crawls over the foot of the bed, surging forward to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. If last night was desperation and passion, this morning is syrupy and sweet. He explores your mouth slowly, tongue sweeping between your lips and tracing every curve and ridge he can–almost like he’s trying to commit you to memory.

There are universes in the depths of his dark eyes. He may not say exactly what he’s thinking, but you can see it playing out in those baby browns of his. There’s something simmering underneath the surface–something more than just lust or desire.

Something dangerous.

You tug him closer and cup his face in your hands, enjoying the gentle scratch of morning stubble underneath your palms. He surges forward and presses you into the pillows as he settles himself comfortably between your spread legs.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs through kisses scattered along the length of your jaw.

You know you probably look like you got run over by a bus–you toss and turn in your sleep, and it always leaves your hair a matted mess. And that’s not even mentioning the slight tremble in your thighs, left over from Marcus’s enthusiastic attention last night. But there’s so much sincerity in his voice; you don’t think he would waste his breath saying it if he didn’t mean it, and that fact alone makes your heart pound with desire.

There’s a syrupy slowness to the way he moves down your body, lips leaving behind heavy wet kisses as he works down your chest and over your stomach.

And it’s almost like he senses the protest working its way up your throat when you feel his hot breath on your thighs, because he looks up at you and there’s sternness in his gaze. You got your fill last night, and now it’s his turn.

“May I?” He looks up at you from the apex of your thighs with big, round puppy eyes that are impossible to refuse–so you nod eagerly and don’t even try.

If you were eager to have him in your mouth last night, he’s desperate.

There’s no hesitation, no build-up. It’s almost aggressive, the way he buries his face in your heat. He laps like a dog at a bowl, hips canting into the mattress involuntarily as your taste floods his mouth.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he growls into your sopping cunt. “You taste incredible.”

You keen at the praise and card your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly at the damp, spiky strands when his tongue laves heavily over your sensitive clit.

Marcus’s greedy hands grip underneath your thighs and push them as far as you can comfortably spread them. You’re still so sensitive after at least three orgasms last night–you lost count after a point–and it serves to wind your nerves tighter than they’ve ever been wound before.

One hand slides to the junction of your thigh and his thumb comes to take over the pressure on your clit as his tongue plunges between your soaked folds. It’s even more overwhelming like this, and there’s not a thing in the world that you want to do more than let him have his fun. Especially when that hand and his tongue switch spots–his lips seal and suck around your clit while he presses two achingly thick fingers into your waiting entrance.

It actually makes your muscles tighten and your back rise off the bed as he curls his fingers just right to find that spot that makes you fall apart for him.

He can tell you’re getting close–he’s already so intune with the way your muscles twitch, the change of pitch in your moans. You whine and cry for him the tighter he winds the rubberband, and he’s eager to make it snap.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he says over the overwhelming flutter of his fingers scissoring and curling inside you. “Let me have it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut so tightly as pleasure wracks through your body that you can see constellations. Large hands come to pin your thighs open as his tongue keeps working, lapping and gliding against your cunt with ease as a wave of arousal gushes from your entrance.

You’ve never been so wet in your life, and he’s just getting started.

He trails open-mouthed kisses up your body as you catch your breath–his slick-soaked lips coat your skin with your own arousal as he works his way up to allow you a taste of yourself.

The first wet lick of his tongue into your mouth makes you moan. It’s not the first time you’ve tasted your own slick–you’ve had a moment or two of curiosity–but it’s never been quite as enjoyable as it is on his tongue. It pairs so perfectly with the minty tang of toothpaste left on his breath and makes you hungry for more.

He moves fluidly under your direction as you push him onto his back and roll to straddle his lap all in one graceful movement. It’s perfect like this–he doesn’t have to support his weight so he can run his big meaty hands all over every inch of you, and you can kiss him as deep as you want while you grind down on his aching length.

“Shit, baby,” he pants against your lips. Those aforementioned beefy palms grasp hard at your asscheeks to guide your hips, pulling you into a slow, long grind that bumps the head of his cock against your clit deliciously.

Your pulse thrums with desperation until you’re seeing white–no more teasing, no more preamble. You take his girth in your hand and give him a firm stroke; if you had a little more presence of mind, you might be embarrassed at how wet his dick is simply from grinding against you for a few seconds.

“Go ahead, baby, take it when you’re ready.”

He gasps at the first press of his cockhead against your entrance, head flopping back against the pillows as his hands squeeze your asscheeks with bruising force.

“Shit, you’re tight,” he murmurs, throat working around a thick gulp. “You can take it baby, I know you can. Did so good for me last night.”

You think you would honestly do anything he asks of you so long as he just keeps talking like this.

It takes a moment for you to work your way down his length–he’s so mouth-wateringly thick and the curve of his cock hits the most delicious spot inside you that you didn’t even know existed.

“Atta girl,” he praises breathlessly as your hips settle flush against his. “Just sit there for a minute. So pretty on my dick.”

God, he makes your entire body flush with heat. He turns your blood to molten lava with his words, lighting every inch of skin on fire. You’ve never felt a sensation like this–so overwhelming yet so intoxicating.

You start with slow movements as his hands trace up and down your sides sweetly–it’s more like you’re grinding on him than anything else. His thumbs rub abstract little patterns into your skin as his hands work up to your tits; when he finally takes them in the palms of his hands and squeezes all pretense of soft, sweet morning-after sex flies out the window.

You drop down hard on his cock and it nearly punches the wind out of him.

“Yes!” He growls darkly. His eyes flash with something dangerous–it’s the only warning you get before his hand slaps the meat of your ass and grabs a greedy handful. “Just like that baby, use my fuckin’ dick.”

And maybe, if he was someone else, you wouldn’t be nearly as eager to follow instructions. But with Marcus, you’re nothing if not obedient.

Last night was exploration and discovery–hours into the early morning spent learning each other’s bodies, finding what makes the other squirm and whine and beg. This morning is in perfect juxtaposition to that sweet, soft, probing sex–you know what drives each other crazy now, and you each use it to your advantage. Aggressively.

He surges up to suck a pert nipple into his mouth as you set a hard pace on him, long fingers pressing into your skin hard enough to leave marks. He lands another sharp smack to your ass when your thighs start to shake–a reward for using his cock exactly how he asked.

”M-Marcus—”

”I know, sweetheart,” he purrs through a guttural moan. He cants his hips up to meet your thrusts at just the right moment—he hits something so devastatingly pleasurable that your vision prickles white around the edges. “I know, it’s so much, isn’t it? It’s okay, you can let go. Come for me.”

There’s a condescending note to his voice that only makes you squeeze harder around his cock, and within seconds you’re hurtling uncontrollably into ecstasy.

He fucks you through the telltale fluttering of your cunt even when your hips stop moving; strong hands hold you in place and work you through the ebbing waves of pleasure that wrack through your entire body.

”M’so close, honey,” he grunts with a particularly sharp thrust upward. One hand comes up to cradle your jaw in his hand, forcing your eyes to meet his. “Where do you want me?”

”I-inside,” you gasp. “Come inside me, Marcus.”

He fills you as soon as he has your instruction—hard thrusts punctuated by breathy moans as he pumps you full of his release.

There’s a long, silent moment where Marcus pulls your bare chest tightly against his own and you pant into the crook of his neck while trying desperately to even-out your breathing. His fingertips dance across your skin-feather-light, soothing.

The sun is higher in the sky now and meets your eyes with blinding rays through the balcony shutters when they finally open again.

”That was amazing, honey,” he murmurs into the crown of your head. He’s caught his own breath now, but he doesn’t make any attempt to let you go. “How’re you so perfect?”

”M’not perfect,” you mumble into his shoulder; but even to your own ears, it sounds half-hearted. The truth is, he’s so earnestly honest that you believe him.

He hums his dissent with a kiss pressed to your hairline. ”You are to me.”

And you so desperately want to believe him that you don’t even try to argue.

You bask in this warm, lovely afterglow for a few moments longer before Marcus gently taps your hip. ”Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get cleaned up and I’ll buy you breakfast.”

You pull off of his softened cock with a whine and try not to get worked up all over again at the feeling of his cum leaking down your thighs. ”Th-there’s a free continental breakfast downstairs.”

”Oh, then I’ll definitely pick up the tab,” he jokes with a smirk—all you want to do is kiss his goofy, stupidly handsome face.

He pulls you into the bathroom and starts the water running to fill the tub—he’s never really been a bath guy, but your legs are a little too shaky to endure a shower. He’s so attentive—from running a damp cloth between your legs to helping lower you into the water. He doesn’t complain in the slightest when you catch his hand and ask him to join you; he just shuffles you forward and slides in behind you like it’s a casual act that he performs with every hookup.

It’s intimate. That’s really the only way to describe it. You sit between his spread legs, back to his chest, head rested back against his shoulder while his fingers ghost idle paths over your skin. You don’t talk; you don’t really need to. Somehow, you fit together like souls who have known each other for years. Like all you’ve been missing is each other.

You drift off in his arms as he traces soap over all the curves and ridge of your body, the steady beat of his heart thumping in your ear.

It breaks his heart a little bit to wake you—the fact that you’re so comfortable with him, that you trust him with such vulnerability, makes his head spin a little bit. But the water’s turning cold, and the last thing he wants is for you to come down sick or something.

He rouses you with gentle, feathery kisses scattered over your rosy-scented shoulders and neck.

”Mmm… what time is it?” You grumble, pressing your sleep-addled face further into the crook of his neck.

”Just after noon,” he whispers into your hair after glancing up at the clock on the wall.

He can feel the way your mouth shifts into a pout. “Shit. We missed breakfast.”

The adorable downward tilt of your frown as you lift your dad to look at him makes his heart flutter. “Let’s go out, then. The first farmer’s market of the season is going on downtown. I’m sure we can find something good for brunch.”

”Kinda sounds like you’re asking me on a date,” you hum with a slight smirk dancing at your lips.

”Maybe I am.” His tone is light, his meaning clear—he knows this goes beyond a one-night stand, and there’s no harm done if you’re not wanting to cross this boundary. He’d understand not wanting to get too serious about someone who lives thousands of miles away from your home, of course. He’d never blame you.

You give him your best appraising look, staring deep into those constellation-filled brown eyes. ”You’re not sick of me yet?”

”I have a feeling I couldn’t get sick of you if I tried.” There’s nothing but sincerity in his tone, in his eyes. He genuinely wants to spend time with you, even if there’s nowhere for this to really go.

You hum thoughtfully. “I do love farmer’s markets.”

You’re with Marcus more often than not over the course of the next week.

He takes you sightseeing to some of his favorite spots around Austin, brings you to his favorite restaurants, shows you his favorite movies. But he multitasks—while teaching you about himself, he learns as much as he can about you and picks activities he knows you’ll love, too.

He’s a pragmatist; he knows your time together is short, and he wants to make himself unforgettable. If he never sees you again, he wants you to think about him every once in a while and look back on this time fondly.

You spend your days while Marcus is at work painting or drawing or lingering around the gallery, and you fall asleep in his arms every night. With shades of gray moonlight and candlelight cast over your hotel room, it almost feels like this could go on forever.

He tells you to wear something nice before he picks you up on the last night–he wants to celebrate in style, which starts with reservations at an up-scale restaurant.

He’s so achingly handsome. He’s in a matching gray suit over a white button-up, top two buttons undone and no tie to be seen. His face bears the slightest five o’clock shadow and your eyes gravitate to the curve of his lips–the instant smile that takes over his face when those gorgeous brown eyes of his land on you.

If you never see him again, this is exactly how you want to remember him.

“Wow,” he whispers reverently. “You look amazing.”

It’s not the most impressive dress you own, but he looks at you like you’re wearing something worth millions–like you’re worth millions.

You lean up and kiss him, and everything feels right. His hands rest on your waist and it’s so easy to pretend that you won’t be on the other side of the country twenty-four hours from now.

The restaurant is beautiful. Dimly lit and romantic, tables spaced enough to give you some privacy. He takes your hand on top of the table and holds it the entire meal. The conversation is light and airy–you’re both stubbornly dancing around what really needs to be said.

Dessert is cleared and the wine bottle is empty by the time Marcus finally works up the courage to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

“I don’t want you to go.”

You knew this would be coming, but it doesn’t make it any easier. You avert your gaze, instead focusing on his large hand wrapped around yours and the windshield wiper motion of his thumb tracing back and forth over your palm. No one’s touch has ever sent such electric tingles through your nervous system the way his does.

You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing at all.

“Look, I…” He takes a deep breath and straightens his spine a little bit, hand leaving yours to gently cup your chin. He forces you to look him in the eyes as he breaks your heart. “I think this could really be something, if we gave it a shot.”

You haven’t lied to him yet, and you don’t plan to start now. “I… I think it could, too. If I didn’t have to go back.”

“Don’t go back then.” There’s a firmness to his voice, but it couldn’t be any more obvious that he’s begging if he actually got down on his knees. “Stay here with me. We’ll figure this out. Just… don’t go.”

And here–with his earnest eyes on yours and his gentle, loving touch on your skin–it’s easy to pretend that it’s that simple.

He takes you back to your hotel room and sheds you easily out of your dress. As cliche as it sounds, it’s not just sex this time. Things that it’s too early to say are buried deep within every kiss, every thrust. He hooks your legs over his shoulders and looks deeply into your eyes while he fills you and you’ve never felt so overwhelmingly connected.

The thud of his heartbeat is insistent in your ear as you come down from your high–so calming, so heartbreaking. You lay on his chest while his breathing evens out and soak up these last few moments of bliss. And then, once you’re sure he’s sound asleep, you carefully worm out of his grip. There’s one more thing you have to do before you go back to New York.

Loud, insistent ringing pulls Marcus from the depths of sleep. He tries to ignore it and go back to sleep, but now that his senses are alert, the sound in combination with bright Saturday morning sunlight won’t allow him the luxury. He presses his face deeper into the pillow that he’s somehow wound himself around in his sleep, but that damned ringing won’t stop.

He sits up slowly and tries to rub the sleep from his eyes–and that’s when he notices the empty sheets next to him. Your side of the bed is long cold, and he knows. Before he even sees the note on the dresser and your room key next to it, he knows you’re gone.

He finds his trousers discarded halfway between the bed and the door and pulls his blaring phone out of the pocket.

“The gallery got hit sometime early this morning. They took everything. Every goddamn piece. You need to get here now.”

His body moves on autopilot as he pulls yesterday’s clothes back on, fingers numb to all sensation as they work to button his shirt. This can’t be happening. It can’t be you.

He notices the note on the dresser as he’s threading his belt through the loops of his trousers, and his gut twists with a sickening sense of foreboding.

I really did fall for you, Marcus. But nothing good starts in a getaway car.

He’s not sure if you knew who he was the whole time and this whole thing was calculated, or if you just got lucky. He doesn’t want to believe you’re that cunning and cruel. He wants to believe that this is just a misunderstanding, that you’re out for ice or something and you’ll walk back through the door at any moment.

But you don’t.

The note is enough of a confession for him. He’ll have the power of the FBI on his side to find you–and he will find you. What he’ll do when he does, he’s not sure. He guesses he’ll know when he sees you.

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