#some people are just so miserable I swear

[auroras-void]

*I'm* one of those feminine women who's attracted to this sorta blue collar work.

Have recently been seriously considering making a 180 from CS to working to become a General Contractor. I'm good at desk work, sometimes very good, but the thing is, long term any variation of it just makes me miserable in a way that working with my hands just doesn't. I fucking love working all day on my family's project house.

But the main thing that's stopping me from stepping on up from there and turning it into a career is sexism.

Like CS has it's own problems with it, and there's some crazy shit there, but it's at least getting better. But like, with construction, I haven't even needed to so much as dip my toes in to experience it. 80% men sucks ass, but it's a hell of a lot better than 95%.

My family has a couple of contractors they work with, most of them are friends, but I still see it right away. Like, I'm by no means an expert, I only really know what my dad taught me and what I've taught myself. But I've had them immediately assume I have no experience and try to teach me like I've never held a saw in my life before despite knowing who I am, or I had an electrician ask about the existing wiring and he instantly assumed that my brother knows more than me*.

And those are just these small little things but they piss me off so fucking much, and I can tell how indicative they are of so much more. It's like people see a woman and their eyes just glaze over me. Which on the one hand is very gender affirming but in the other makes my blood fucking boil.

So like if it's that bad just from the briefest of encounters. Being fully immersed in that kinda culture regularly, experiencing the *real* shit out there there, that just sounds like fucking hell.

Particularly given that I'm trans. I would sooner die than tone down my feminity for someone else. And I can pass stealth, even on a worksite, but I *know* there's still gonna be fuckers out there who will just see me as a man who needs to be bullied into conformity, or who think that working in construction somehow invalidates my transition. And, just I swear to god I'ma fucking murder someone if I have to work in that environment.

So... like ... ig... rotting at a desk it is then.

Like, I think I might still take some classes for my own sake and chip away at it. But I don't think I'm going to be looking at any apprenticeships or anything.. I'm.. not ready for that yet...

---

** (I literally got into this shit and got good at it *after* I transitioned ffs, I didn't enjoy it until I realized I could do it for it's own sake, until I didn't feel pressured into liking it to "toughen up" or "act more manly". I am a woman above all else, and no one has the power to overrule me on that.)

*(he's fucking clueless here, he's a poli sci dude who shows up maybe once a month in a fuckin dress shirt, he's your guy for election coverage and statistics, not construction. Meanwhile, I'm literally wearing my toolbelt and a roofing helmet with knee pads and my work outfit. I was literally the person who *did* the little bit of functional wiring repairs in that house).

There was a time when women did these jobs.

Some of them really liked the work and were keen to continue doing it. But society basically told them to collectively "get back in the kitchen" when the men returned home from war.

The tradition of conditioning women, from birth, to have a distaste for these jobs continued. Young girls are discouraged from even taking an interest in the toys representing these occupations. God forbid they put Barbie in the firetruck.

The truth is, most men do not want women doing these jobs. They complain about how dangerous this work is and use that as a metaphorical bludgeon in debates about equality. But when women actually try to be firefighters and combat infantry, they are told they *can't* do these jobs. They are inferior. Those who are hired have to work twice as hard to get half the respect. They are inundated with sexism and misogyny. And many end up quitting, not because they aren't qualified or they don't like the work, but because their male coworkers make the jobs intolerable.

And instead of fighting to make these occupations safer and valued properly, these men just complain that feminists don't know how hard it is and how they don't understand what it's like to risk their lives for no money or benefits. And then rich assholes like Elon stoke these flames because he doesn't want these men to realize this is a class struggle rather than a culture war. And that feminists and "woke activists" would actually be wonderful allies in helping them get better conditions.

Lastly, there are feminists talking about this. There are plenty of non-men interested in these jobs. But I doubt Elon keeps up with very much feminist discourse other than what he invents in his imagination.

Beyond that, feminists can't seem to prioritize stuff like this in the mainstream because they are too busy trying to regain control of their uteruses.

Did I miss anything?

Oh yeah, fuck Elon and fuck "End Wokeness".

[11luckyst4r]

☆3 MONTHS☆

- you decided to swear off sex for 3 months to prove your friend wrong. How hard can it be, right? You wouldn't ever dream of sleeping with your new roommate, satoru gojo, yet she thinks you can't do it.

content: dirty talk, petnames (sweets, princess etc) ,degradation (slut etc),unprotected sex ,creampie, uhhh what else, reader is kind of a slut.(real shit) smut with sprinkles of a plot. Reader is stubborn (me) idk what else

first fic kinda nervous

You wondered how you ended up in this predicament. You didn't plan on swearing off sex for 3 months. But your best friend joked you'd end up fucking your roommate Satoru Gojo. He wasn't even your type. " Gojo is a cocky know-it all and I wouldn't sleep with him" Your friend cackled " Babes i love you but you tend to think with your dick when you're horny."

You were utterly shocked at that. While 7 did tend to sleep with guys and girls often, you wouldn't sleep with your roommate. Especially Gojo of all people, his friend Geto, though was another thing.

"University is the place for fun, besides I have to have fun now. When I go to med school it's books and studying and I won't have time for fun." You said matter of factly. That's when you made the personal promise to be celibate for 3 months to prove your best friend wrong. What you didn't count on , was how pent up you'd become.

3 weeks in you felt fine, but you noticed gojo staring at your chest all too often. That was after he walked in on you in the bathroom. Without a top on. Shaving your armpits in the sink. You thought that gave him the ick.

4 weeks in you were in denial that you were fine. And you noticed Gojo brushing your arm here and there. Sometimes he'd come up behind you to help you get your favourite mug from the top shelf. You swore that you left it on the bottom shelf.

6 weeks in , your toys became your best friends. " It's just as good as the real thing" You told your best friend while she shook her head. You aslo noticed Gojo walking around shirtless more often too. He was the definition of a sleeper build. And sometimes you'd have to stop yourself staring.

Week 8 you lost feeling in your 4th eye, you couldn't taste in your ear anymore and your eyed could feel colour's.

You lost count around week 9. Now you were beginning to lose it. You couldn't focus in class anymore, your mind would go to the most dirty scenarios regarding some of your fine professors. You also became noticeably irritable.

"fuck" You muttered to yourself, you gave yourself another miserable orgasm. Which was weird since normally you were quite good at it. You left your room to go make yourself some tea. "stupid celibacy pledge." You grumbled to yourself while making tea. Gojo sat on the couch watching some stupid movie with a stupid plot. "You okay, you seem irritated lately?" He asked.

" I'm fine" , you sighed " just stressed out with schoolwork"

"Oh?" You could feel him staring into your back so you turned to face him. His eyes immediately went down.

" You know Gojo this staring at my boobs thing is getting really old"

"I'm not staring" he said while not breaking boob eye contact.

You scoffed and turned your focus back on your tea. You heard his foot steps come up behind you. " You know if you're stressed with schoolwork I could uh... help you with that." You turned to face him. Except you had to look up at him.

" Stop being coy"

He leaned down to whisper in your ear and placed his hand on your waist. You swore your pussy started throbbing." You're looking at me like you're begging me to bend you over the kitchen counter and I'm the only one being coy?"

You so badly wanted him to continue speaking to you like that, but you were stubborn. So you turned your back to him, brushing your ass against his dick unnecessarily. That just egged him on, and he continued whispering downright dirty things in your ear. "See, now I have an idea of what you're like," he whispered while tracing circles on your waist. You tried to distract yourself by stiring your tea. "Oh? You think about me im so touched. " " Touched is what you'll be if you keep grinding your ass on my dick sweets"

You stopped, and his hands dropped lower to your hips. You hadn't even realised what you were doing. You felt yourself getting hotter and wetter. " Anyways, princess there are a long list of things I'd like to do to you". You were getting weak , you were only a girl and you had needs.

"Like what" You replied breathlessly

" You pressed up against the wall, leg on my shoulder and thighs squeezing my head."

He kept his one hand on your hip keeping you steady while the other trailed up to your boob. He began playing with your nipple and you thanked God you didn't wear a bra that day.

You couldn't keep your head on straight anymore and you moaned softly.

"You like that you slut" You could feel him smiling against your neck and you could only moan in response. Gojo began kissing your neck softly while you started grinding against his hardening dick.

"Gojo" You moaned softly

"No, use my name, else I won't touch you," He said playfully. However, you were too horny to be defiant, so you used his name.

"That's my girl"

His hand moved down to your shorts, went under and he started playing with your pussy over your underwear. The sensations were too much, but not enough at the same. You needed proper stimulation. You were getting so wet yet were so deprived.

"Satoru, please touch me properly"

"Where? Be specific, princess. "

You were desperate at this point, and the games weren't fun anymore. "Oh my God, you're not stupid. Put your long ass fingers to good use and finger me."

" Well, if you speak to me like that, you can finger yourself then." That's when you grabbed his hand and shoved it in your underwear. Satoru was shocked he didn't think you'd take control even if it was a tiny bit , but he liked it. His fingers were long, and he knew how to use them. He curled them in all the right spots. "Fuckk," you moaned. " You're a loud one, I wonder what sounds will come out of you when my dicks inside you" You could only grind against his fingers in response. His free hand roamed over your body. He played with your boob and squeezed your thighs all the while he nibbled your neck. You could feel how hard he was against your ass . You took his hand out of your shorts and turned around, pushing him towards the couch. Satoru only smirked in response. " Wowww you like taking control, huh? " He laid back against the couch. " Well, yeah, since you seem to be going to slow. Take off your pants." You first removed your shorts, shirt and then climbed into his lap after he took off his sweats. "Seriously blue, the same colour as your eyes?" You muttered while climbing into his lap. You didn't give him a chance to respond because he started kissing him and grinding on him. This time, you made him moan. You placed his hands on your hips and then held his face. "You know Satoru you're gonna need to be more dominant if i decide to fuck you again" You whispered into his ear. You heard him mutter shut up before grabbing your face to make out with you. You didn't expect him to be such a sloppy kisser. But he was. You tangled your hands in his hair while moaning into the kiss. You felt his hand squeeze your ass then move to your hips. You silently thanked God once again that you wore your cute lacy thong instead of grandma panties. Then you silently cursed when you felt him rip them off. " You ass those were my favourites." You wanted me to be more dominant." he smiled while moving you under him. He took off his own underwear and stroked himself. You looked at his dick. He was long like his fingers.

You wished that you were about to have your world rocked, and boy, that wish come true. Judging a book by its cover you assumed Satoru Gojo didn't know how to fuck. You thought he'd be a lot like those guys who said they knew how to please a woman but learned everything they knew from porn stars and their clueless guy friends. You were wrong. Satoru gojo knew how to fuck.

He had your legs over his hips and pinned your hands above your head. He left bruising kisses all over your chest and neck. He paid careful attention to your boobs, sucking each nipple with care. And his thrust? His stamina was insane for such a skinny guy. You were sure the neighbours would know his name from how loud you were moaning his name. "Ahhh, right there, yes there." You moaned. " Fuck you feel so fucking good." " Fuckk I swear this pussy was made for me you're such a good slut" He babbled on and on. You felt that familiar feeling building up inside. And he felt it too with how your walls began to clench him. " Cum for me , cum on my dick like a good slut" he moaned. He left more bruising kisses on your tits before shoving his tongue in your mouth once more. His hand trailed down to your clit where he rubbed circles on them. That sent you over the edge. You felt your walls clench down and moaned so loudly it was closer to a scream. Satoru began thrusting faster, chasing his own high. "Where must I cum?" He asked " Inside" and that made him finish. He kissed you once again. "Well, we'll have to do that again" he said while moving to sit up on the couch. " So much for 3 months of celibacy ." you said aloud. He looked at you utterly confused. You sat up quickly. " You know, gojo, I thought I gave you the ick when you walked in on me shaving my armpit hair." He cocked his head and looked at you, "why the fuck would i be paying attention to your hair armpits when your boobs were right there" You laughed and swatted at him. Maybe living with him wouldn't be so bad.

a/n That took so fucking long. Endings kinda rushed. I'm sorry. I'm so tired. Idk how to end these appropriately anyways FIRST FIC DONE WOOHOO 🎉🎊 uhm please don't steal or copy thanks MWAH MWAH HOPE YOU ENJOYED MY SNOOKUMS.

[plushie-lovey]

Just ignore the haters - my brothers have huge collections of stuff like video game related and nobody says anything. They're having to sell some of it because of space but someone commented they thought the bedroom in the photo background was a shop because that's what it looks like lol. I have a bookcase of dolls and miniatures and my mom is like that's too much, it's weird, you're an adult etc so annoying

That sounds sooo cool. Your brothers are lucky they can get away with collecting so much and not get judged for it

It really is annoying when parents and other people make comments about how strange a toy collecting hobby is though, huh? For the most part I do try to ignore the haters. But I have crappy self esteem, so when somebody makes comments about my plushie collection sometimes it makes me uncomfortable and self conscious. But plushies make me happy, and there's so few things in this world that can bring me only pure joy. So I try to focus on how I feel about stuffed animals and not what others think or feel about them. They can go be miserable somewhere else, I'm gonna sit here and have fun with my toys. Nobody should say anything about what makes others happy, as long as its not smth harmful (which this definitely isn't).

[dirt-str1der]

Yaoi has poisoned all of your fucking brains !!

[trashlie]

Hello, I'm the anon from earlier. I'm not a business person by any means either, but I guess I was thrown off by the fact that a seemingly family-owned corporation like Hirahara Corp apparently had an outsider as CEO? Rand inheriting instead of Yui makes sense since there were no male heirs and this is probably a patriarchal set-up; but why didn't Koutaro, or any other Hirahara, become CEO rather than Young-chul?

I 100% think the partnership with the Kims continuing even after the past SA allegations is a "sleazy business world" thing. I doubt shareholders have any problems with it so long as it generates profit. Most likely the allegations didn't amount to anything, which is unfortunately realistic.

I can't WAIT for Yujing's article, it will no doubt send shockwaves throughout the system even if it doesn't manage to topple it just yet.

Oh absolutely, SAME! I've always felt that Yui herself resents that the company is passing down not through her, but technically through Rand, that his illegitimate child could possibly even stand an opportunity simply by being Rand's son (and thus why she has torn him down at every opportunity, so he never gets the chance to ever catch attention). Part of her whole deal with having Kousuke fast-track his way to CEO seems to be to bring the company fully back into the hands of the Hiraharas, so yes, I was DEFINITELY taken aback that someone OTHER than a Hirahara could have been a CEO.

Like... right. For what reason did it work out that way, that not even Koutarao was CEO? And if Yui doesn't want Hirahara falling into the hands of anyone else, it feels like a Choice to partner with them - although I guess it's because a partnership doesn't hold as much power?

A really half-baked thought I haven't been able to work through prior is that maybe Yui is playing some kind of long game - that by partnering with the Kims they could somehow let them fall back on their own sword (when you think about it, the Kims and Hiraharas are really poised to bring each other down, right?) but.... that seems messy and why would she do that? Then again... she likes a good hunt and chase. Tangentially a theory I have that goes dark is, perhaps, a member of the Kim family may have assaulted Yui when she was younger, but that's a topic for another post (I keep meaning to work on) but it loops back to "why would Yui partner with someone if she loathes them"? What does she seek to gain from that? She tends to see a few steps ahead of anyone else, so if she had had a plan, I wouldn't be shocked. After all.... wouldn't it be so easy to spin the story as "sob sob as it turns out, Gun Kim pressured us to make poor Nol take the fall for Sangchul; he was going around trying to drug girls at the Kim formal but he forced us to stay quiet~ you know how that family is~" which is, honestly, scary, but is it beyond the realm of the things Yui does? If anything, it feels like child's play, right?

On the one hand I'm like that's so convoluted, Yui would never, but only the other hand, this woman gets off on peoples' misery and loves to torture, so if she went through a long con to get back at the man/family who possibly did something to her when she was younger, if she played nice with them with the eventual intention to castigate them? Making them business partners gives enough reason to believe that they could "coerce" Yui and co to do anything, by trying to use the "lesser" of the Hirahara boys (barf) to take the fall. And how easy would it be to actually trace the drugs back to Yui? Oh, the accused perp is claiming she gave them to him? When there's a whole history of this happening at his school, in his family? When you look at Gun Kim and his rep? What other allegations have come from those Kim formals that never went anywhere? She could SO easily twist any of that!

But idk lmao it feels almost cartoon villain and I'm probably grasping at straws, but I let the thought live at the back of my mind, to see if it will grow into anything else and to see if we get anything else to change how I feel. Something definitely happened in Yui's past, of that I'm certain, but everything else is very loose conjecture.

But whether that has to do with the Kim Hirahara family history we're yet to see. There's so many questions I have and I really hope everything will be answered LMAOOOOO I also look forward to Yujing's expose, but ever since reading the theory that she's working on two separate pieces, I can't help but feel the real bomb will drop in s2. But even seeing what she's writing for Nol's case sounds promising, because it feels like the prelude of the much bigger piece, right?

GOD I get really excited just thinking of it, even though I feel like learning the eventual truth is gonna make me feel real nauseous. The seediness of the Kims and Hiraharas runs deep and twisted and UUGGGHHH. The angle of "the less fortunate" taking the fall for the affluent, privileged elite is suuuuch a good angle to work and I can't WAIT to see the ripples of it!!!!!

[atalantasfatgock]

So I read hdg

[deadallover]

I'm so miserable. I hate my life. Whenever I hear about people having fun I sink even lower knowing I'm alone here. I'm going to be alone forever on this stupid fucking island.

[kedreeva]

Watching a post on FB about chickens not eating a food their owners got them, and people telling this person "just don't give them more until they eat it" and "they'll eat it if they're hungry enough" and thinking about how if someone asks about a toxic plant in their yard these same people will swear chickens "know what's good for them" and "they won't eat stuff that's bad for them." And somehow these two things live together in their heads with no conflict. Well which is it? Does your chicken know the feed is bad or can they not tell when things are good or bad for them?

I went through several feeds looking for one my birds actually liked that I also liked. The one they're on now is sound but they also seem to really enjoy it. They don't anymore, but they used to dig/sort through chows, spill a bunch, only eat it when they really had to. That's miserable, I think. What a miserable existence, to be expected to eat food you dislike every day with no control over it, no ability to change it. And it's deemed okay, because you're not willing to die over it so you're just being picky.

If your fowl are avoiding eating a feed, maybe it's not a good feed or maybe they don't like it. Maybe try a different one and see if you can find one that's decent but also tastes good. Try pellets vs crumble vs mash. This person was feeding mash (a powdery food meant to be served wet) dry and it had whole grains in it the birds were picking out. Of course they're going to pick out the whole grains and leave the dry powder behind. I would, too. It's not hard to give them some water with their chow. I do it near daily with crumble and the birds lose it, they love that stuff. It's so easy. It's such a little thing. Sometimes I just wish I could shake someone through a computer screen until their teeth rattle.

[supercutszns]

rotten to the touch; luke castellan

series masterlist

wc: 3.2k

pairing: pre-tlt luke castellan x f! reader

synopsis: you’re pretty sure you’re an awful person. you’re pretty sure luke castellan is too. and you’re pretty sure you want to make out with him.

warnings: reader is flawed & not the greatest, luke is ... a little dark🫣, small mention of blood, swearing, lots of making out but no explicit nsfw, a bit toxic, & no more more ‘i can fix him’ or ‘i can make him worse’ it’s ‘he can make ME worse’

notes: this is… sluttier than my usual stuff so it’s not as good but i’m trying, feedback is appreciated! also i wonder what cabin we think this reader would be in, let me know where you’d place her im curious :) maybe i’ll write more of her in the future she’s interesting!! and thank you for 100 followers i am so grateful<3 designated song for this fic is crush by ethel cain

You are a miserable, wicked, asshole of a person, and everybody knows it. Including you.

It’s unclear to you why you turned out this way—every reason to blame never satiates the fury searing your insides. All the campers hate you. The counsellors, too. Even Chiron looks down on the viciousness inside you. You are Camp Half-Blood’s black sheep; a mean, bitter person with no love for the people around you. And it’s not just for show. You know you’re rotten. You know the anger will never go away.

It’s evident in the things you think about other people—the way you pick them apart in your head, toss them aside, because they just don’t see it. This miserable, unforgiving world, with children sleeping on wooden floors because the people who created you think you disposable. Because they can just make more of you. More, more, more, until one of you comes out rotten, born of all the ugliness they have inside them. You are the worst parts of Godly blood. The wrathful parts.

Everyone hates you. Everyone hates a person with an unquenchable anger.

But everyone loves Luke Castellan.

He’s a saint at Camp Half-Blood if there ever was one. Handsome, generous, kind. Goes out of his way to help out the new kids and gives them homes in his cabin. He’s the best swordsman in camp by a mile. Shit, you’d even love Luke Castellan if you didn’t know any better.

But you do, and you don’t, and it’s complicated, okay?

Because there’s something you know about Luke Castellan that nobody else does: he’s miserable and wicked, too.

You see it in his eyes sometimes. The way they look at you at dinner, when you’re picking at your food away from anyone else at your table. Something familiar rises in them, and your stomach twists. His body tenses whenever someone mentions his father, but the smiles he flashes are so charismatic nobody notices. But you do. It’s exciting.

During sword practice, he quips back and forth with the kids and laughs whenever they take a jab at him. He’s light, easy, carefree. But you see how he holds back, the tension in his shoulder, the way the arc of his sword never fully finishes. So you wait until everybody leaves and he’s alone, with the training dummies and the setting sun. And you. Hiding.

He slashes through them and spears through their heads. You see it, the gnashing of his teeth, the sweat curling down his cheeks. There’s something there. A chasm he’s hopeless to fill.

Before you know it, you’re going out of your way to catch him training alone. It’s creepy, you know, and awful, you know, but the more you watch him the more you see a sort of violence scabbed under his skin.

Whenever you see him now, the feeling you get is entirely foreign to you. It’s almost . . . longing.

Wherever she is, you’re pretty sure Aphrodite’s having a cosmic fucking laugh. And you’re sure she’s laughing double tonight.

The Aphrodite cabin is hosting some secret party for the older counsellors. You’re definitely of age to be a counsellor, but you’ve never been made one because that would probably make half the campers drop out. Chiron and Mr. D don’t know what to do with you. You’re sure you’ll be kicked out of camp soon for good.

But you’re here anyways, for a reason you don’t want to admit, and you stay tucked in a corner as the world around you mingles. Luke is on the other side of the room, lovely as always, laughing with a few other counsellors. He brings a drink up to his lips, and you have a startling thought of what it would be like to kiss him. And you’re fucked. You’re so fucked. Because for the first time in your life you want something tangible, something real. You want to hear him and feel him and pry him apart, and a part of you wants him to actually see you, see all the awful things that might make you the same. You feel like a teenage girl with a crush, and it is infuriating.

An Aphrodite girl comes up to you with a foolish smile. “Hey, sorry, you want a drink?”

“Fuck off, you idiot,” you snarl.

You wait for her to leave. She doesn’t. “You know, you don’t have to be so mean all the time,” she says evenly. “If you’re here, you might as well enjoy it. So yes, I want to give you a drink.”

“Have you ever thought that I’m not being mean? Maybe I just am.”

You glare at her. She looks you up and down. “Sure,” she shrugs, walking away. There’s a vivid picture in your mind of her falling through a hole in the cabin floor. It doesn’t soothe you, but at least the fantasy is there.

The night drones on. You’re sick of the smells and the laughs and the heat. And you’re sick of yourself. You can’t believe, underneath all your sourness, you came here to stare at a boy you barely know, and you don’t even know why. He’s fascinating, and you resent him, and he’s also beautiful. But he’s looked back at you all of three times tonight and you’re sick of the way your skin crawls when he does.

Leaving the cabin brings the relief of the cool night air, and the singularity of your body. You are the only one who feels this rage. You are the only one who hates.

To stave off your discomfort you walk around to the back of the cabin, to the crest of the hill facing the water. The stars above twinkle at you in spite. There’s a bitterness in your throat you want to wash down with something worse (maybe you should have taken that drink), but you know it won’t matter. Nothing matters. Those stars and whatever they hide are apparently the only important things in the universe, so why should anyone care about anything?

They stars only get brighter. It’s probably their goal to piss you off. You grunt, “Oh, fuck you,” to them. It’s not enough, never nearly enough to expel the rotten part of you. “Fuck you. Fuck off!” You groan at the sky. Nothing happens. Until:

“I’m guessing you’re not having a fun night.”

You whirl around. It’s hard to see in the dark, but whatever light is left catches a long scar on a cheek. Your stomach knots.

“Yeah, me neither,” Luke Castellan says, hands in his pockets as he meanders towards you.

Even when he’s close enough, you don’t say anything. If you do, you’re afraid it’ll be something ugly. Like I kind of want to make out with you. Are you awful too? I need a lobotomy.

The thoughts almost make you laugh. Been a long time since you’ve been funny.

He nods at the sky. “Those things don’t talk. You do know that, right?” He’s still so captivating, so self-assured, even when there’s no one around but you.

“Gods, you’re the worst,” you scoff. You really mean it, so you can’t look him in the eye.

“Then why have you been staring at me all night?”

It catches you so off-guard that you whip back to face him. He has an eyebrow raised and the itch of a smile that makes you burn with shame. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He shrugs, leaning against the cabin wall. “I’m not stupid. You’ve been brooding in the corner watching me the second you came in.” He cocks his head to the side, adding, “Actually, you stare at me all the time. At meals and stuff. I really hope you don’t think you’re being subtle.”

You huff. “Okay, if we’re really being honest here, you started that! You do it too! All the time!”

His hands shot up like he was being arrested. “Hey, I never said I minded it. A guy’s . . . just gotta wonder. What’s up with you spying on me when I’m training alone, anyways?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You watch me when there’s nobody else around. I’m not blind. It’s weird. If you want tips you can just ask me. Or if you like what you’re looking at, at least be upfront about it.”

You speak before you can take in that last sentence, or the way his smile took pride in itself when he said it, or how embarrassed you should probably feel. “You didn’t answer my question about why you started staring at me first.”

The anger (shame) blinding you made you forget how close you are to him right now. Close enough to touch, but not enough to see. But almost there. Almost.

“People think you’re mean,” Luke says after a moment, his dark eyes probing you. The words curl out of his mouth slowly, like he’s choosing them all with care. “You’re rude. You never listen to anyone. You judge everything. They all think you’re awful.” Again, he looks you over. “I’m not so sure.”

“If I’m awful, then you’re awful,” you spit before he can say anything else.

He just shrugs. “Well, I guess that’s why I’m not sure.”

It’s irritating, his calmness. He has the same anger you do. How come he can just . . . shove it down? You try to unearth any fury in his eyes, but it’s too far back. Simmering. “Jesus,” you mutter, “You’re worse than me.”

He looks genuinely taken aback by this. His scar deepens when his brows wrinkle. “What?”

“You’re a pretender—that’s what you are.” It’s your turn now, to step closer, to make his skin crawl. “Look at you. Everyone loves you. You’re this perfect golden boy and you’re sweet and attentive and whatever the fuck but you know it’s one giant lie. At least I’m honest, but you just sit pretty and act like you don’t have that . . . thing that I have. Resentment. Insanity. Whatever you want to call it. We’re the same, but I’m the only one getting shit for it.”

Now, you are close enough to really see him. The patterns on the wood behind him frame the vision of his ever-shifting face. You realize that this, like most things are to Luke Castellan, is a challenge. You also can’t remember the last time you saw him lose one.

But when you play, you play to win.

“You don’t know that,” he dares.

“Oh, I do. You’re rotten, Castellan,” you sneer, index finger jabbed into his chest. You can feel his heartbeat if you concentrate. “And you’re not owning up to it, so you’re also a coward.”

However scathing you look, it isn’t enough. If anything it only makes Luke’s manner more playful. Nothing feels playful anymore. Everything, inside and outside of your mind, feels like constant, exhausting war. Maybe that’s why you don’t slap his hand off you when it wraps around your wrist, keeping it pressed to the middle of his chest. His heartbeat thrums through you.

He tilts his face towards you, grinning, “Then why do you want to kiss me?”

All right. What the fuck. It feels like you’ve been electrocuted.

“What the—what are you talking about?” You blunder, but he knows, of course he knows, because there’s something between the two of you that has been formed and understood by eye contact alone. He can probably read your mind. As much as you don’t want to admit it, you’d like to read his just as much.

He cocks his head. “I mean, you did call me pretty,” he teases, and it’s almost endearing. “You’re pretty like this too.” His other hand comes up to your face, and you’re surprised you don’t flinch when his thumb gently smooths the crease in your eyebrows. “Don’t call me a coward, heathen. Then we’ll both be embarrassed.”

The nickname makes you want to fight, but the touch makes you dizzy. “You don’t want to kiss me, Luke,” you say with all the control you have, which, right now, is increasingly sparse.

“You’ve gotta stop telling people what they want,” he muses. The hand on your wrist traces further down your forearm. The one on your face snakes around your hips. “One of your more disagreeable qualities.”

His words fan over you. That fire simmering in his eyes has finally come to the surface.

“One of?” You challenge.

“You let me make out with you and I’ll give you a whole list.”

You snort, hoping it hides the shortness in your breath. “What a charmer you are.”

His lips brush yours. “Well, that’s what makes me so rotten, isn’t it?”

There’s hardly time to unravel if that’s a question or a statement because you grab a fistful of his shirt and he kisses you. Your heart detonates. It is not rotten in the slightest.

His body is warm and firm. You smell the cabin wood and the drink on his breath. It all matters, and none of it does. You’re warm everywhere as he wraps both arms around your back, and the way he kisses is, unfortunately, exactly how you thought he would. Your hands are tentative in his hair. So is your mouth on his. But Luke is so deliberate in the way he kisses that you know he’s thought about this, too. It makes you all the warmer.

His hand takes your jaw and tilts it up. You know your neck is shaky with breath, and you’re pretty sure he’s admiring it. You don’t complain when he presses a kiss to your jaw, then another one, like he’s testing the waters. “You’re so nice like this,” he mutters almost to himself, thumb running across your neck. “If only people could see you.”

“Then they’d see how mean you are too, no?” You huff. “You don’t want that.”

Another kiss to your jaw. “Not yet, sweetheart.”

Whatever feeling is harbouring in your body right now, it’s so fulfilling it almost makes you uncomfortable. You want to reject it. You’re not supposed to want things. Worse, you’re not supposed to get things. Luke starts marking a path down your neck and you are so determined to enjoy this that you’d kiss a fucking baby if someone asked you to. You might as well be a saint.

He bites the pulse point on your neck, sure to leave a mark, and a shudder rips through you. You’re pretty sure the bastard starts laughing. You hit his shoulder in retaliation.

“Easy, heathen,” he reprimands in your ear, and you know he’s still smiling.

“Don’t—don’t call me that.” You hate that you start to smile, too, and that your stomach burgeons with butterflies when he pulls back to look at you.

He touches the corner of your upturned mouth, kiss-bitten and red. His expression is boyish. “Hard to when it makes your face do that,” he goads. “I thought it was impossible for you to smile.”

“Be quiet.” You thread a hand through his camp necklace and bring him closer. You can almost taste his mouth on yours, but he sweeps past you at the last minute.

He gently tugs your earlobe with his teeth and whispers, “Yes ma’am.”

Fuck him. Seriously. You might have to.

It’s a tangle of teeth and hands and smiles kept hidden, as you slip your fingertips beneath his shirt and he does the same, and you’re both angry and greedy and incredibly destructive, but it doesn’t matter yet. Now you’re just teenagers fooling around at the back of a party, and it’s the first good thing either of you have had in a long time. Luke leaves you gasping whenever his mouth hits certain places, maybe too many places, and he teases you accordingly. “So sensitive,” he taunts, pressing his knee between your legs so he can see you squirm. You rake your nails through his scalp and he tilts his head back to groan. It shuts him up for a while.

He bites your neck until you say his name. You trace lines on his stomach till he takes your hand in his own. You’ve been hungry for something your whole life, and you finally have something to sink your teeth into. For better or for worse.

After Hades knows how long, laughter floats out from the front of the cabin. Sounds of feet tripping over each other and muffled goodbyes. You pull away from Luke, chests heaving together. His hair is wild, his shirt crumpled, and he looks entirely satisfied with it. Smug little shit. “Party’s letting out,” you mutter.

“What a damn shame.” His hand rubs your jaw, and it’s too tender a gesture so you angle your head away to peek over the side of the cabin. You barely pay attention to the kids straggling back to their bunks.

“Is now the time you tell me all my horrible qualities?” You ask once you’re ready to look at him again.

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Actually, I came up with more since I said that so I’m pretty sure it’ll take more than one night.” He fakes a wince, “Might have to spread it out for a few days.”

You roll your eyes, “Oh, you ass.”

“I’ll give you one for starters.” You feel like a tornado when he kisses the juncture between your jaw and your neck. “Your hands are too cold.” They’re tucked underneath his shirt right now, pressed against his back. You don’t move them. “And,” he adds, “you’re incredibly crass.”

“Thanks, dipshit.”

“Thank you for proving my point, heathen.”

The commotion at the front gets louder, and you know your time to go undiscovered runs short. “You meet me again tomorrow, and I start telling you the rest?” He raises his brows.

The prospect both repulses and excites you, although perhaps they’re hand-in-hand. You tentatively reach up to trace the scar on his face. A faint, jagged line that holds scripture within it. His eyes flutter shut for a moment. “Even though I’m rotten?” You ask, and there’s an echo of mischief in your voice, too.

He’s got a strange expression when he looks at you. “That’s not true.”

He leans down, angles his head to kiss you. It’s slow, but bitter, and he bites down on your lip until you’re pretty sure there’s blood. “Luke,” you murmur, and he kisses you softer. You lean into him like a hapless, lovesick fool.

After you part, he loosens his grip on you. The bumbling campers have gotten louder. He stares at you, and you see the chasm in his eyes again, brimming with fire. Same as yours. You know you’ll see him tomorrow.

He says, “You’re not rotten. You’re right.”

And damn it, you really do believe him.

[trashytracktales]

Adrenaline state of mind | FC⁴³

𐙚 summary ──── After a long, eventful Sunday in São Paulo, Franco finds himself sharing an unexpected ride back to his hotel. What starts as a casual conversation about racing and dreams, slowly turns into something deeper, as the quiet intimacy of the night pulls them closer.

𐙚 pairing ──── Franco Colapinto x she/her reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, smut, explicit language, mentions of alcohol and drinking, mentions of racing incidents (Franco's crash in Brazil), swearing, suggestive/flirty behavior, unprotected shower sex (pull out game strong lol).

𐙚 word count ──── 4.6k

𐙚 date ──── Nov. 17, 2024

𐙚 a/n ──── Every single time I open my silly writing app I'm thinking, this is the day I'll go for pure smut & no build-up, and every single time I fail miserably 🤍

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FRANCO KNOWS IT could've been much worse. So, he's done overthinking for the night. After a chaotic race that ended with a crash on Lap 43, all he wants is to go back to his hotel room and wash the day off.

The adrenaline is still there, giving him random rushes throughout his body every time he remembers his error. The rain made it all difficult, of course, but he can't blame the weather — that's what amateurs do.

The impact was jarring, even from the angles the cameras caught. But for Franco, being inside the car while it was happening — it scared him. And he's now too scared to admit that he's scared. He’s spent hours afterward in the paddock, walking the line between shaking it off and dwelling on it, and still, he can't help but coming back to the same feeling. Again and again.

It's past midnight now, and most of the lights in the paddock have dimmed. The Brazilian night is humid, shadows stretching out beneath a heavy, damp sky. The sounds of engines are quieted for once, replaced by the murmur of distant voices and the occasional clash of closing garages. There aren’t many people left — just a handful of team members gathering last equipment, and a few scattered mechanics.

And her.

He knows her only through Alex. She’s the friend he’s seen around a for a couple of races — in Italy first, then US, and now here. Formally, they met in the Williams garage, after qualifying in Monza. They didn't talk much, but enough for him to remember her name. And her smile.

She’s leaning against a barrier near the Red Bull hospitality area, shielded from the light shower while scrolling on her phone. The light that comes from the screen is softly reflecting on her face, Franco noticing the little frown between her eyebrows and how focused she is, for some reason. Her head is tipped forward, strands of hair falling loose around her face, and he finds a softness in her expression that catches his eye the second he gets closer.

“Thought you left already?” he says with a thick accent, but it sounds more like a question in the end.

She looks up, a little startled, but then her face lights up in surprise. “Oh, Franco. Hey. No, just… I'm actually trying to find a ride. Alex and Lily took off right after the race. Probably should’ve left with them,” she says with a small laugh. “Caught up with some familiar faces and I lost track of time,” she explains, moving her weight from one foot to the other.

There’s a faint tension behind his easygoing demeanor, but he holds her gaze with a calm confidence. “Want to come with? We’re at the same hotel, no? I was just heading there.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, her eyes widening in recognition. “That’d be nice, actually.”

“Of course.”

They start walking together, cutting through the raindrops, neither of them looking very bothered by it. The crisp smell of rain blends softly with her sweet, floral scent, making Franco's mind wander, and he realizes too late she just asked him something, only because the space between them went quiet for a bit.

“I’m sorry, come again?”

She puffs a little chucke out, “I asked how are you feeling, but just got my answer.”

“Oh, yeah,” Franco shrugs, “Could've been worse,” he finally says it out loud.

“Still. It looked pretty intense on the screens.”

His heart clenches, but tries to keep a neutral tone, “It was. Maybe a bit too much,” he laughs dryly. “Felt like it happened in slow motion, honestly.” Franco glances down at her, half-smiling. “But I survived.”

She hums softly, nudging him gently. “Guess that’s what you’re supposed to do, right? Crash, pick up the pieces, do it all again?”

He shrugs, “Pretty sure I’m supposed to try and not crash at all.”

He didn't even try to be funny, but she finds it hilarious the way Franco emphasizes the words, as if he pours his passion into each one of them. Her hands wrap around her own body as they walk, their footsteps the only sound echoing in the quiet paddock. He notices it immediately, taking off his Williams jacket and draping it over her shoulders.

“Cold?” asks Franco, smirking, without looking in her direction.

She blushes at the warmth that instantly wraps around her, the faint scent of his cologne somehow comforting. It's not intoxicating, or too strong. Just a slight trace of cardamom, followed by an unexpected freshness.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, wrapping the jacket close around her.

THE RAIN IS still falling lightly when they get back to the hotel, the sound a steady rhythm against the roof of the car. None of them kept quiet the entire drive — they started off boring, agreeing that the capricious weather was a real pain in the ass throughout the weekend, but their conversation took off, flying like ping-pong balls from one topic to another.

Now, the tension between them is like a subtle current that neither is rushing to acknowledge, but it's buzzing just beneath the surface.

Who would've thought they have so much in common?

“You up for a drink?” asks Franco, taking even himself by surprise.

She has to think about it for a while — it can't be a good idea. He's had a long weekend and needs rest, and she desperately needs to dry up. However, her pulse starts racing just at the thought of being around him more.

Her lips lift in a small smile. “ Alright. Just one,” she agrees, raising a finger in the air to accentuate her determination.

One drink turns into two.

Then three, each sip bringing them closer, the conversations drifting from track tales to late-night jokes, then back to stories about his unexpected rookie season. She listens intently, her laughter genuine, her gaze warm and focused, like he’s the only one she’s interested in hearing from. There’s a depth to her that Franco can’t look away from, a curiosity and calmness that makes him feel understood; he didn't know he needed that until now.

“So,” says Franco after taking a sip of his fourth drink. “Can I ask you something?” his gaze is observant, yet gentle, as he decides to take the conversation to a more personal tone.

“Shoot,” she nods once, just starting on her third Negroni.

“You seem to know a lot about the world of racing, and the people involved in it. But you’re not part of it. Why?”

She smirks in his direction, “Yet. I mean, there is no school to prepare someone for the position I want, but I hope I’ll get to be in front of the monitors one day. To tell your engineer when is the optimal time to pit or what tires to use in order to gain competitive advantage, maybe, ” her voice is lost in reverie, like she's been dreaming about this for a long time.

He cocks an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by her answer, “You want to be a race strategist? That’s quite unique, no? Most people,” adds Franco, pointing at himself, “Dream of being racers.”

“I work better with my brain than my body. Plus, it's too late for me, even if I wanted to do something about it,” she says, a tint of nostalgia embracing her by the shoulders. “I've also seen Alex training before,” she continues, shaking her head while laughing, “Nope, thank you.”

“So then, brains over brawn, huh?”

“In my case, yes. Something like that,” she agrees, catching the little hint of interest in his eyes.

He studies her for a moment as if he tries to figure her out, because he knows there’s more to her than what meets the eye; their interaction so far proves that. It's a pleasant surprise for him, because it means there is a chance he'll get to see her around the paddock more frequently. And the thought makes him happier than it should.

Franco leans back, a playful smirk on his lips, “I see you, mystery girl. You seem to be full of surprises.”

“What about you?” she challenges him, copying his body language. “Who’s Franco when he’s not in the car?”

He grins, amused by her question. He takes one more sip of his drink, swirling the amber liquid around, stalling for a moment before he decides on his answer.

“Gonna sound cringey if I say I’m just a regular guy?”

“Oh, dear God,” she laughs, and Franco's eyes light up at the sound of it.

“I mean, I like the simple things, you know? Hanging out with my friends, music, enjoying good food… and drinks,” he continues in a suggestive manner.

“And drinks,” she repeats, nodding at his insinuation.

She looks back at him through her eyelashes, realizing for the first time since they bumped into each other tonight how late it must be. But, somehow, time seems to stay still when she catches him staring, her heartbeat fastening.

Franco’s gaze darkens slightly, the tension between them becoming suddenly palpable.

“And pretty girls,” he adds, lifting the glass and emptying it in one go, without breaking eye contact.

The warmth blooming in her chest catches her off guard, spreading from her neck to her cheeks as she shifts slightly, desperate to escape the intensity of his gaze. She tells herself it’s just the alcohol, of course. But then his lips quirk into a small, knowing smile, and her heart stumbles again in a way she can’t control it.

It’s not the alcohol, she realizes; it’s him.

It’s the way Franco looks at her like she’s something worth getting lost in, and she’s not sure she knows how to handle that.

He puts the glass back on the table and leans in slightly, as his eyes flicking from her lips to her eyes, and back again.

She looks at him, intently, feeling the warmth, and the way his breath hitches. It’s not just what she finds behind his gaze — it’s the reflection of her own desire, the undeniable pull that could easily make her lose it, if she's not careful.

And the realization is overwhelming.

“I think… we should call it a night?” she does not sound confident in the slightest.

“Probably a good idea,” replies Franco, studying her expression for a moment.

By the time they get to the elevator, the tension settles over them like a heavy blanket. He stands close, his hand brushing against hers as they walk inside, their gazes meeting in the reflective walls of the elevator the moment the doors close.

“Can you press 7 for me?” she asks, stepping back and waiting patiently.

He smirks, leaning over to do so, then he presses his own floor, just a few levels up.

The faint hum of the elevator is the only sound that surrounds them, but it barely registers over the rapid beating of her heart. Franco’s scent surrounds her from every direction, remembering the same unique smell from earlier.

His eyes catch hers in the mirrors again, and the look is almost unbearable, even through the reflection. They both know that, whatever this is, it's begging to snap. And it will. It's just a matter of when.

Every nerve in her body is dancing on the edge of patience — or lack thereof — and when he finally turns to look at her, slow and deliberate, she can't help but smile.

He takes it as a sign.

After that, Franco doesn’t think anymore — he just acts, leaning in, bringing his hand to her cheek as their lips meet in a soft, lingering kiss that deepens gradually, both of them feeling the weight of the night hanging heavily on their shoulders.

The kiss is experimental at first, like he asks a gentle question to which she answers to with a soft press of her lips on his. Then suddenly, they both start to feel the adrenaline of being in each other's space like that — so close and heated up, that it makes them wonder what contributed to the state they're in.

Aside from the alcohol, of course.

The elevator feels way smaller when Franco's free hand finds home on her waist, his fingers pushing the jacket away and then her blouse, gripping her warm flesh. The air gets heavier as they kiss, the oxygen becoming a secondary need for them, after tasting each other.

The soft ding of the doors opening goes almost unnoticed. But then she pulls back, stepping away, just enough to put some distance between them. Her lips are tingling with the aftertaste, mind so dizzy that her legs are currently made of jelly. She's about to step out when Franco's hands pulls her back to him by the edges of the jacket, their bodies colliding halfway.

So are their lips.

“That was me,” she manages, whispering against his mouth, her voice shaking slightly.

“Not tonight,” he murmurs, his voice low as he attaches his lips to hers again.

They stumble together, barely registering the way the doors close again to take them up to his floor. And by the time they reach his room, her back presses against the door as he fumbles for the key card, their mouths never straying far from each other.

Inside, the dim light of the room casts a golden hue, welcoming them as if it's not the first time.

“We walked through rain,” she reminds Franco, flushed as she catches sight of both their reflections in the mirror that’s hanged on the wall in the hallway. “Shouldn't we shower first?” she asks with a nervous laugh.

Franco smirks, his accent thick with the heat of the moment, “Ahora eso no me importa nada, bebita.” (I don't care about that at all now, baby.)

“No… vamos a ducharnos, por favor,” she cuts him off, “I feel dirty.” (No… let’s take a shower, please.)

Franco freezes for a split second, his eyes snapping to hers with a mix of surprise and something deeper, more intimate. He feels as though she has cast a spell on him, leaving Franco unable to resist doing everything in his power to fulfill her every desire, right here, and right now.

“¿Hablas español?” his voice is tinged with a boyish curiosity, as if her understanding of his language has just unlocked another layer between them.

It makes his head spin.

And that makes her smile.

“Un poquito,” the Spanish words roll off her tongue effortlessly, and he can’t help the slow grin spreading across his face.

“This just got even more dangerous,” he admits with a chuckle.

She lets out a breathy laugh as he steps back, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. Her pulse quickens at the sight of him, the lean definition of his torso illuminated under the soft light. Franco follows, finally ripping off her — his — jacket, then her blouse, revealing her smooth skin.

Each piece of clothing dropped on the floor is another barrier that’s falling away, leaving a messy trail to the bathroom.

His hands roam up and down her body, frantically, kissing slopply until they get inside. Franco lets the shower run, stepping back for a moment, his breath catching as his eyes take her in completely, as if he just realized they are completely naked — no barriers, no hesitations, no inhibitions, just them.

It overwhelms him. The way the light skims over her skin, highlighting every curve and line. It reminds him of the first time he jumped into an F1 car and how each of his senses was somehow heightened up to the max, his pulse quickened by the gravity of what he was about to experience. He was over the moon then, and he’s over the moon now, though this time around, everything feels infinitely more personal.

“You're staring,” she notices his lingering eyes, a shy smile tugging at her lips.

Instead of contradicting her, Franco reaches for her hand, guiding her toward the shower. The steamy air envelops their bodies, giving them a sense of comfort and safety. She steps in first, letting the water cascade over her. He follows closely, pausing just before the spray to watch her tilt her head back, the droplets tracing paths down her body.

Franco swallows hard, parts of him awakening at the sight of her, while the heat soaks into his skin almost as quickly as the feeling of her presence does. His hands find her waist instinctively, pulling her in while his chest presses into her back.

The steam cloaks them in a moment that feels completely detached from reality.

He brings his hand up to tuck her hair out of the way, then he leans down to press his lips on her neck. She closes her eyes for a short moment, admiring his tenderness, but something tells her that it's him who needs it more. She turns around in his arms, finally facing each other again, her heart picking up the pace once she sees his hooded eyes filled with nothing but want.

“Turn around,” she tells him, managing to get a confused expression in return.

However, he doesn't question her, complying, while she stands on her tiptoes to reach his hair. Her fingers start threading through it with care, massaging shampoo into a lather. At first, it’s easy — an act of intimacy that’s supposed to bring them closer. But then she notices the way Franco’s shoulders sag under her touch, the tension radiating from him like a silent cry for help.

Her movements slow down, “Franco…?” she says softly, stepping closer.

He exhales sharply, his head tilting forward, “It’s fucking stupid, I don’t know why it scared me so much,” he murmurs, the words raw and heavy.

She doesn’t ask him to elaborate — she doesn’t need to. Everyone saw the state his car was in after the crash; of course it scared him.

She remembers holding her breath, the way time seemed to stop until she saw him climb out unscathed.

“It’s not stupid,” she assures him, her hands sliding down to rest on his shoulder blades, placing a tiny kiss between them, “You’re okay, Franco. It’s all that matters.”

He turns around, slowly, the water falling over his face, his expression torn between vulnerability and something deeper, something he doesn’t know how to name. It's not shame, but it could be.

Her hands rise to cup his face, her thumbs brushing over his wet cheekbones. As a response to that, Franco leans down, his forehead resting against hers, their breaths blending in the warmth of the shower.

“How did I come across you…,” he whispers thoughtfully, feeling her hands sliding down his chest, slick with water and soap.

As her touch grounds him, something shifts between them in an instant.

The vulnerability melts into something else entirely — a need, urgent and impossible to ignore. When their lips touch again, her back presses against the cool tile behind her, the contrast making her gasp as his hands find her waist, drawing her closer. The water pools around them like it's simply forgotten, as the intimacy of the moment consumes them both to the point it washes away the fear and everything else in between, leaving behind only one thing — the present moment. The now.

“I know we're both un poquito tipsy and the alcohol would be such a pathetic excuse tomorrow morning, but you have to understand that I've wanted you since we were in the car, and I wasn't drunk then.”

His confession makes her heart tighten, smiling up at him.

“Okay,” she says, giggling while looping her arms around Franco's waist to bring him closer to where she wants him.

Franco chuckles, “Okay?”

“Okay,” she repeats, feeling his hands cupping her breasts, making her whimper as a result.

He pauses for a moment as he looks at her reacting to his touch. “Are you sure?”

She nods, arching more into his touch.

To cover her sounds, his lips attach back to her mouth, moving against hers with increasing fervor, the weight of the day dissolving into the way she kisses him back. Her hands slide up his chest, water-slicked skin beneath her fingertips, and she presses closer, desperate to erase the lingering fear she can still feel surrounding him.

“Franco…” she whispers his name against his lips, her voice shaky, but laced with want. “Let me help?”

He doesn't need words to reply, instead he's deciding on tilting her chin up to deepen the kiss. The other hand wanders all over her body, mapping out her curves that fit against him as though they were always meant to. Her head falls back, resting on the wall as his lips move from her mouth to her jaw, then lower, tracing a line along the column of her neck, discovering her sweet spots for the first time.

“Is this good?” he asks, reaching her thighs, brushing the pads of his fingers between them and pushing his hand further, gently opening her.

“Yes…” she agrees, moving her hips against his hand, forcing his fingers inside her.

Her moans sound like they are accompanied by a choir of drunken angels, encouraging him to find a pace, fucking his fingers in and out until he feels her squeeze him tightly.

Her arms are draping around his shoulders, pulling him towards her tightly.

“Franco,” the girl gasps his name into his wet skin before she lowers her head to watch his fingers slipping free of her.

“Joder. You're so sensitive, cariño,” he figures, widening his eyes at her.

She looks back at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly, “That turns you on?”

“Sí...” he responds gruffly, taking a small step back, his eyes not leaving her body, drinking in every curve.

“Do something about it,” she urges, raising one leg up on his thigh.

Franco gets the memo, lifting her in his arms. Her legs instinctively wrap around his waist, the motion pulling him even closer. For a moment, everything else disappears — the crash, the weight of the day, the entire world. There is only her, her touch, her breath, her whispered name for him that sends his heart racing faster than any race car ever could.

She grips his shoulders tightly as he hovers above her. His dark eyes lock onto hers with an intensity that leaves her breathless, and Franco can't be sure either of them are breathing as he guides his cock to her entrance, hissing at the contact before sliding inside.

“Ay, fuck,” he breaths hard, feeling her body welcome him in, warm and wet.

She can't help but moan at how full she feels once he's all in.

Franco lets out another low grunt, his body responding to hers. He's struggling to hold back, to control the need that's consuming him. But soon, he realizes he can't resist the feeling of being inside her. So, he starts moving, slow at first.

“Feeling you so thight around me,” he mutters against her skin, “Fuck, there you go, cariño,” he ends up proppting a hand on the wall next to her head, to steady himself when he feels her fucking back against him.

“Franco, please,” she whimpers, digging her fingernails into his shoulders, breathing heavily at the sweet stretch.

Franco lets out a shaky breath, sliding all the way inside her, again and again, until his brain turns into mush. “You're so good, bebé. So good, unbelievable,” he rambles, his thrusts so slow and gentle, that make her see little white dots all around.

His mouth finds hers again, kissing her intently while fucking her so painfully slowly. It bothers her, but she knows it's about him right now; she doesn’t want him to rush. Franco's had enough of that today; enough speed, enough chaos. He doesn’t need to race toward the finish this time.

If he needs it slow, then she can take him that way.

She cups his face in her palms, forcing his eyes back on her — such a rookie mistake. The sight of him looking through wet eyelashes and glossy lips makes her pussy clench involuntarily around his cock, aggravating the need for him, causing a string of moans out of her mouth.

“Fran…” she loses her head, squeezing her eyes closed and rocking her hips harder against the wall to meet Franco halfway.

The way she molds to his rhythm, grounding him in the here and now, sends Franco to a completely different universe, where everything is pleasure. He needs it. Not to escape, but to rebuild himself.

They move together, each of his thrusts a reminder that not everything has to be fast to be meaningful, or to take your breath away — she's never been this close to coming from such a slow fuck before. His cock is hard and demanding inside her, though, throbbing against her walls the second he decides to pull all the way out, so he can fuck back in, finally setting a more alert pace.

“So good for me, aren't you? Letting me have my way like this?” asks Franco, his tone high and breathless. “Even though it's not how you like it, no?”

He's so close to the edge, too. She can sense it in the way his breaths are ragged and erratic.

“Talk to me, bébé. What do you want?”

“Mhm… more,” she manages, her body so close to collapsing in his arms.

That's all Franco needs to hear. His control snaps, the need and the pressure taking over as he lets out a low moan, “Sí, cariño... I've got you.”

He grabs her hips firmly, his fingers leaving indents on her skin as he slams into her harder, the feeling leaving her gasping for air. Franco smiles, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his breath hot against her wet skin.

“God, Franco. Don't—yes, don't stop.”

“So tight, and pretty, and hot, and—fuck, you're not real, bébé,” he's muttering in between deep thrusts, his words half-incoherent as he moves inside her, giving in to the primal lust, the pleasure almost too much to bear.

He can hear how wet she is, knowing it's just a matter of time until she finally lets go. So, he rises his head slightly, whispering sweet nothings in her ear, his voice raw and rough.

Franco's grip on her hips tightens, and it's almost painful, but then he suddenly stops, his body stilling inside her, the pleasure receding just slightly as he feels her come all over his throbbing length.

It takes everything in him to stop himself from following her, thrusting a couple more times to prolong her high. Then, he pulls out completely, guiding his cock between their bodies and pressing into her until his cum starts leaking onto her stomach. For a few seconds, it leaves a hot, dense trail before the water washes it away.

“Oh, my…” she breaths heavily, struggling to find her words.

As Franco finally releases his hold on her thighs, her legs falter beneath her, the strength utterly sapped from them. The slippery tile meets her feet, so unsteady, her body still trembling from the intensity her orgasm. Instinctively, her hands grip his arm, clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping her from falling.

“Tranquila, bebita. ¿Estás bien?” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing, while turning the water off. (Easy, baby. Are you okay?)

She lets out a soft, shaky laugh. “Sí.”

Franco chuckles softly, his grip on her tightening slightly.

For some reason, he feels the need to hold her, as though he’s afraid she might slip away — not in the shower, but from him.

“Have you ever been to Argentina?”

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2024

[babyleostuff]

svt without their goodnight kiss | ot13

𐙚🧸ྀི choi seungcheol

this baby (29 year old man) would not be having it. he swears he needs his goodnight kiss to fall asleep, so not getting one is a big no no. at first he’d try to be all „okay, whatever, if they don’t want to give me my goodnight kiss then so be it” (stumps his feet). yeah, gives up on that after ten seconds. cheol would then try to pull you even closer to his body (as if that was possible), to gently remind you that „baby, what about my kiss?”

𐙚🧸ྀི yoon jeonghan

i think it depends on the day for hannie. if he’s having more of a „yoon menace jeonghan” day, he’s going to wake you up, and stare at you with a blank expression and pursed lips, waiting for his kiss. if he’s having more of a „hannie” day, there’s NO way he’s waking you up. the only think he does is tucks you in even better, wrapping you up in the blankets, thus making you look like a lil burrito.

𐙚🧸ྀི joshua hong

not going to lie - he’d be a bit upset about not getting his goodnight kiss. he may not be the most outwardly affectionate person out there, but he still loves getting his kisses, especially before bed. if he saw you already asleep there’s no way he’d wake you up, but if you were still kind of awake, shua would try to find a way to get his kiss after all (would probably take way to long to come up with a plan, and you’d end up falling asleep).

𐙚🧸ྀི wen junhui

please don’t forget about jun’s goodnight kiss, he turns into a sad pookie without one :(((( he cherishes your affection SO much (even though he’s not the one to actually initiate it, trust me: he loves it). and so not getting his lil kisses before sleep is a big deal for jun, because how is he supposed to fall asleep without them? in conclusion - you forgetting goodnight kisses = sad jun (and that would be a sad jun for the whole night because there is no way he’d remind you about the kisses).

𐙚🧸ྀི kwon soonyoung

worry not - soonyoung is going to smother you in kisses if you forget. sleeping or not, he will give you a kiss (ten of them) (though if you’re actually asleep, he’s much more gentle). whether he’s the one to get kissed or if he’s the one to give the kiss, hoshi has to share some of his affection before bed. he just wants you to know that he loves you (there’s a small chance he’d be a bit sulky in the morning because of the lack of his goodnight kiss)

𐙚🧸ྀི jeon wonwoo

it’s funny because whenever he forgets about giving you your goodnight kiss, and you complain about it in the morning he’s all like 🙄 BUT when it’s you not giving him his kiss he turns into a pouty babie (in sad font). wonwoo is too shy to ask you for the kiss, so if you forget he’s doomed to a sleepless night (not actually, but he likes being dramatic like that) (his goodnight kiss is really important for him).

𐙚🧸ྀི lee jihoon

our jihoon, leader of the „i hate love affection” squad. whenever people asks him how he feels about stereotypical relationship stuff, he’s kind of like :/// okay, sure - then why are you all pouty if you don’t get your goodnight kiss, woozi? thank god you’re already sleep so you can’t see his adorable pout (he wouldn’t be able to bare your teasing), but really? you forgot about the kiss? (👉🏼👈🏼). to make himself even more miserable he doesn’t wake you up (that comes more from the fact that he wants you to actually sleep, he knows that there’s no point in waking you up).

𐙚🧸ྀི lee seokmin

what do you mean no kiss??? but how is he supposed to fall asleep now??? hello??? why do you want him to suffer??? he clings to you extra tightly, so even if you are already sleep, his extra tight hug wakes you up (after that it’s not hard to figure out the reason for his extra clinginess) (as if the pout didn’t tell you everything you needed to know). seokmin feels kind of bad for waking you up, but after you kiss him (and he kisses you back), you’re able to quickly fall asleep together this time.

𐙚🧸ྀི kim mingyu

has no shame (and he really needs his goodnight kiss), so he just manhandles you so he can properly see your face, and stares at you (gyu makes those comically big eyes since it’s dark, and there is a 99% chance you can’t see them anyway), and waits till you get what he wants. if you don’t (because you’re probably too tired to understand his antics), he just plainly says „goodnight kiss”, and taps his lips.

𐙚🧸ྀི xu minghao

wouldn’t be overly dramatic about not getting the kiss, because that would just mean he’d be the one to give you one :))) (or two) (or many more). of course he adores getting his goodnight kisses from you, but i honestly think he loves it even more when he’s the one to shower you in affection. hao is not the biggest on physical touch, but something about the nighttime, and you both being in bed that makes him more expressive with his affection.

𐙚🧸ྀི boo seungkwan

huh, the audacity you have to forget about his goodnight kiss. for the first five minutes boo just lays in bed slightly angry at you that you dared to forget about it (because come on - he has to have his kiss kiss), but then a bigger problem arises. how the hell is he supposed to fall asleep without it? and so he spends the next few minutes looking up at the ceiling, and wondering how he was able to fall asleep before he met you (he came to the conclusion that it was impossible, sleep didn’t exist before you) (he managed to fall asleep anyway) (and obviously he asked you the next morning why you didn’t kiss him) (turns out you were so tired you simply forgot)

𐙚🧸ྀི vernon chwe

actually quite happy about it because it means he can give you a goodnight kiss. maybe you were too tired, maybe you just didn’t feel like kissing him that night - it didn’t matter, it was the perfect moment for vernon to be a bit clingier for once. yes, he loves your pre bedtime kisses, but being the one giving you those feels so good as well (and usually he’s just too shy to be the one to give the goodnight kiss) (he also knows how happy it makes you to kiss him goodnight so he usually doesn’t have the heart to be the one to initiate them).

𐙚🧸ྀི lee chan

very sad, very heartbroken, very much unable to sleep. chan is a lil romantic, and he loves your little routine of giving and receiving goodnight kisses, so he’s not really surprised about feeling so upset. yes, he understands that you’re tired, and probably just fell asleep before you were able to give him one, but… at least one kiss, please? but chan wouldn’t do anything about it. as much as he’s heartbroken about a kiss-less night, he would never wake you up or disturb your sleep just for a kiss (would make sure to ask for extra good morning kisses) (and would hold you extra tight that night to make up for the lack of kisses)

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[shellshocklove]

i wanna be your lover | joel miller

pairing/AU: 70s!pornstar!joel miller x inexperienced!female reader

summary: miserable after losing your job, your friend drags you out to a club to dance away your sadness. on the dancefloor you meet a handsome stranger, who then whisks you away into his fantasy world as his assistant for his porn career. what happens when the lines get blurred?

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! reader is 23, joel is in his early 30s, swearing, misogyny (bc of the times™), accuracies and inaccuracies about the 70s, drinking of alcohol, smoking of cigarettes (it’s the 70s alright), mentions of a bad previous sexual encounter and losing your virginity, use of pet names, porn (obviously lmao), sextoys, only one bed, oral (f receiving), fingering, praise kink, unprotected sex (don’t do it!!), no use of y/n

a/n: i had fun with this one, but it turned out to be longer than i first intended. i hope people will like it still! also big thank you to @dustydaddyyy​, for proofreading this

main masterlist / ao3

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 this account stands with palestine. the creator of tlou is a zionist, and the second game is largly based on israel/palestine. please, everyone who interacts, educate yourself about the genocide happening right now, and support/donate.

Under a pink and orange Los Angeles sky, your platforms clicked against the sidewalk. Day left an hour ago, dipping behind the green hills of Laurel Canyon. Walking down The Strip, arms linked with your friend Deborah, the street bustled in the awakening night. Music spilled from clubs and bars, seducing the dressed-up crowd passing by this Friday night.

“Do a little dance, make a little love,”

“This,” Deborah emphasized, coming to a stop outside a club, “is exactly what you need tonight to get your mind off everything.”

She clutched your arm tighter to her body, almost like she was afraid you’d run off, and maybe she had good reason to think you would. You weren’t exactly in the right mood to party. Only a few hours ago, you’d gotten fired from your job. Three years as Mr. Cooper’s personal assistant down the drain.

Mr. Cooper was the creative director, and one of the partners at the advertisement agency where you’d worked. He was an important man, and he’d dealt with all kinds of clients on a daily basis. For you, it had been a learning curve of a job. You had no prior experience as a personal assistant, and it had been intimidating.

You’d only just moved to the City of Angels when you’d gotten the job. With next to no money, having left behind your family and your small town, you were desperate for a job. When you’d seen the ad in the newspaper, left behind on the table of a café near your apartment, you’d stepped out on the sidewalk immediately to find a payphone. During the interview Mr. Cooper had looked you up and down and scowled as he’d read your resume. You’d shrank in your seat under his gaze, but even with your lacking resume, Mr. Cooper had hired you on the spot.

Later, during your first full week at your new job, you’d come to discover why Mr. Cooper had hired you so quickly ­– he’d been desperate for a new assistant. Overhearing some of the other ladies whispering to each other during lunch, you’d been able to piece together exactly why. Apparently, Mr. Cooper and his former personal assistant had been having an affair. He’d gotten her pregnant and wanted nothing to do with her or the baby – he was a married man after all. This was where the story had gotten hazy, and the grape vine sang different songs. One version of the story said he’d forced her to get an abortion and riddled with grief over the dead baby and their failing relationship, she’d quit her job and moved back to her parents in Maine. While the other version of the story said that, rightfully angry at Mr. Cooper for not taking any responsibility over their situation, she’d gone to visit his wife at home to tell her about what’s been going on. Which story was the truth, you don’t know. What you did know, was that Mr. Cooper was still married, and his previous assistant was no longer working for him.

Even if the job had been intimidating at first, you’d quickly gotten used to it. You stayed on top of everything: Mr. Copper’s clients, his calls, his schedule. Ordered flowers for his wife, and even sent boxes of chocolates to his various paramours. You’d made sure the bar in his office was always stacked with his favorite bourbon, and most importantly: you’d made sure to be seen and not heard. It’s what he told you, in the job interview, that he wanted.

You had thought you were doing a good job, but clearly, Mr. Cooper had been laboring under a different impression…

Your day had started like every other day – normal. You’d arrived at work fifteen minutes before Mr. Cooper, like always. Dutifully greeting him with a sweet “Good morning, sir!” at your desk, and served him his morning coffee minutes later. The day continued like normal, occupied with calls and speaking to clients, you had no idea what shocking message you’d receive at the end of your day.

Outside the club, you gave Deborah a meek smile which faded when you saw the line snaking its way down the street, “Sure, but… we’ll never get in.”

“Get down tonight, get down tonight,”

The words of KC And The Sunshine Band traveled through the open club door, the music filled the warm summer air.

“Don’t worry, babes!” she beamed, “I know the owner.” With an overdramatic wink and a giggle, she pulled you towards the bouncer.

“Baby, baby, I'll meet you, same place, same time,”

“How exactly do you know the owner of this place?” you queried, as you passed through the door of the club while the music got louder and louder.

“Where we can get together, and ease up our mind,”

“Let’s just say we had a weekend together…,” she giggled, “and I got to know him very… intimately.”

Your eyes widened at her implications, and Deborah giggled even louder.

“Don’t look so surprised!” she laughed, “I’m all about free love,” she joked, putting up a peace sign.

A heat burned your cheeks. Still, after three years in LA you needed to constantly remind yourself that you weren’t in your small rural hometown anymore. No one was going to arrest you for talking about sex. Nevertheless, the habit was hard to shake, and the roots of the rules you’d grown up with – the ones that had taught you to be the perfect student and the perfect daughter – stayed embedded in your mind.

“So…” Deborah started, her back against the bar while she took her first sip of her Apple Martini. She’d ordered you some fruity cocktail you’d never had before that she swore you’d like. “What exactly did that sad excuse of a man say to you when he fired you?”

With a scrunch of your nose, you turned your attention to your drink, taking a sip. It tasted sugary, but fresh, one of those dangerous drinks where you couldn’t taste the alcohol.

“Let’s not talk about it?” you sighed, shooting Deborah another meek smile.

She returned your smile, but it was full of pity. “You’re right! Let’s not– Let’s forget that fucker,” she said, taking a generous sip of her drink, “you’ll easily get a new job! I know it!” she smiled.

Not soon after Deborah had finished her first drink, a man interrupted your conversation. The man was tall, with black wild hair, pork chops and a matching mustache. He was wearing a flower-patterned shirt tucked into a pair of brown bell-bottoms. The top buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, revealing dark chest hair and a gold chain. He wasn’t bad looking.

His hand on Deborah’s back didn’t seem to bother her, quite the opposite, she jumped excitedly, throwing her hands around his neck in greeting. You couldn’t hear what he whispered in her ear over the music, but it made her laugh.

“This is Tommy! He owns the club,” Deborah introduced you.

With a friendly smile, you shook Tommy’s hand and introduced yourself. His grip was firm, not like those people that made shaking their hand feel like gripping a dead fish. You decided that it was a good sign.

“So– are ya enjoyin’ yourselves, ladies?” he asked with a charming smile.

“Oh, yes!” Deborah smiled, her painted nails landing on his bicep, “But I think we’d enjoy ourselves even more after another drink.”

With a knowing smile and an easy laugh, Tommy ushered the bartender closer. “’nother round for these two beautiful ladies,” he ordered, “and… they’re drinkin’ on the house for the rest of the night,” he added, sending Deborah a wink.

The bartender served you your second drink just as Tommy convinced Deborah to dance with him. Quickly, she downed her Apple Martini before she turned to you, guilt written all over her face.

“You okay by yourself for a little bit?”

“Yeah– sure!” you nodded, “Go have fun!”

With a sorry smile and a promise to be right back, Deborah left you at the bar, dragged out on the dancefloor by Tommy.

Left to your own devices, you still felt a little awkward. This was supposed to be a girls night. Pushing off the bar, you turned to lean your back against it. You bopped your head to the music, trying to not look so out of place. In your hands, your drink was slippery from the condensation around the glass. Out on the dancefloor, the crowd looked like it moved in slow motion through the blinking lights, bodies twisting their hips and grooving to the beat. You took another sip.

It’s a strange feeling, feeling so alone, while surrounded by a crowd of people. To your, a couple gazed lovingly into each other’s eyes as they passed a cigarette back and forth, a ribbon of smoky white, clouded them in a love fog. They leaned closer, sharing a kiss. You quickly averted your eyes, desperate for something else to rest your eyes on.

Instead, they fell on a man.

You locked eyes with him from across the room. Clad in tight denim he sat casually in a booth in the corner, legs spread slightly. His hand was wrapped around a whisky glass, with a cigarette pinched between his fingers. With a shy smile, you quickly looked away again, eyes back to watching the bodies on the dancefloor. You took another sip of your drink, trying to act casual.

He wasn’t watching you, was he? Why would he? No one usually looked at you twice.

You were no good at this. Flirting. You were painfully awful at it to be completely honest. Too shy to be sexy, and never interesting enough, or pretty enough for a second date.

Your experience with dating didn’t really go further than the few dates you’d gone on with John, from accounting. He’d acted so sweet: opened doors for you, held out your chair, kissed you at your doorstep at the end of the night. He had been a dream. Then on your third date, he’d invited you back to his place for a nightcap. One thing led to another, and soon you were laying under him as he thrusted inside you. It was your first time – and he hadn’t known. It had hurt so much; you’d turned your face away so he wouldn’t see your tears. After, he’d called you a cab, not bothering to even kiss you goodbye. In the office the next day, he’d pretended like you’d never even existed: no more tender kisses, no more door opening, no more smiles. Your dream had turned into a nightmare.

He’d pulled you aside during lunch and told you it wouldn’t work out between the two of you. You were just such different people. You’d deflated like a balloon at his words, sinking into your chair as you watched him walk down the corridor back to his cubicle. To make matters worse you’d overheard him say, to some of his colleges by the watercooler, how awful in bed you’d been. It had been humiliating. And now, every time you as much as attempted to flirt with someone, a bell of shame rang in your ears.

The man couldn’t have looked at you. He’d for sure only looked in the direction of the bar. But something burned your cheek, and you couldn’t fight your eyes from trailing back in his direction.

Dark hair and a tidy mustache. Lips pulled up into a cheeky smile as you locked eyes with him again. He took a drag of his cigarette, and the fire lit up his handsome face. You felt something pool in your stomach. His gaze still on you as he exhaled, challenging you with a raised eyebrow. Again, your cheeks burned, and you had to look away. Suddenly, your own platform shoes looked extremely interesting.

“I remember when rock was young, me and Susie had so much fun,”

The sound of Elton John was the perfect distraction from the alluring stranger. You were sure that if you looked back at him again, you’d only embarrass yourself. You always did. Slurping up the rest of your drink, you pushed off the bar, and headed towards the dancefloor.

“Holding hands and skimming stones. Had an old gold Chevy, and a place of my own,”

Moving your hips to the beat you vanished in the bodies. And soon you were “hopping and bopping” to the Crocodile Rock, singing loudly along with the crowd to “Laa, la-la-la-la-laa”.

The air was clammy and stuffy, and sweat clung to your skin, but you couldn’t find it in your heart to care. You were here to leave your shitty day behind. To dance it away. You moved through the crowd; a smile bright on your face while your feet couldn’t stay still. The handsome stranger in the booth, already forgotten.

As the song faded out, a new song faded in. It was slower. A slightly erotic, but melodic guitar filled the room, accompanied by a luring salsa rhythm. You slowed down your dancing. It felt like you were threading through water.

“Ain't got nobody that I can depend on. Ain't got nobody that I can depend on,”

A pair of hands landed on your hips, making you jump. Behind you, you heard the deep chuckle of a man.

“Relax, darlin’,” he whispered in your ear, moving your hips in time with his.

You leaned back against his body; head tipped back against his broad chest to get a look at the man. Your stranger from the booth. He wore a cocky smirk, but he didn’t come across as full of himself. He was confident. Confident in the way he held your body – big hands splayed over your hips. Confident in the way he danced, like he knew exactly what he was doing, and he did.

“Ain't got no one (no tengo a nadie). That I know of (no tengo a nadie). That I can depend on (no tengo a nadie),”

You let him move your body, turning you around to take your hand in his, pulling you closer to his chest. He smelled like cigarettes and cologne. He’d been watching you, you realized, not the bar. Interested enough in you to follow you out on the dancefloor. It intimidated you, but under the intimidation it also excited you.

He led your movements. You were no dancer, but he made it so easy, spinning you around with ease before pulling you back towards his body. The eye contact was intense, like he was searching for your soul. Santana’s wailing guitar and the stranger’s hand at your waist was the only thing grounding you to the moment.

“I ain't got nobody, that I can depend on (no tengo a nadie),”

The song reached its climactic end. The man spun you one last time before he pulled you tight against his chest. It was like the song’s ending had broken a spell over the two of you, the air of sensuality was gone, and replaced by his genuine smile and breathy laugh.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked you over the funky bassline of Eagles’ One of These Nights.

Wide-eyed, “Please,” was the only thing you could utter.

With a hand resting at the small of your back he led you through the crowd towards the bar, where he got the bartender’s attention immediately. 

“An Old Fashioned for me Doug, and…” he looked towards you with a smile.

“Um… a Tequila Sunrise?” you said with a shy smile.

“A Tequila Sunrise, for this beautiful lady,” he told the bartender.

Grabbing one of the bar stools he sat down and gestured for you to do the same. You’d just about sat down before he leaned forward, grabbed a hold of your stool, and pulled you closer to him. A squeal escaped you before it turned into a giddy laugh.

“Thank you, Doug!” he told the bartender when he returned with your drinks.

“On a first name basis with the bartender– you here often?” you asked him, taking a sip of your drink.

“Not as often as I’d liked– it’s my lil’ brother’s club,” he told you, taking a sip of his own drink.

“You’re Tommy’s brother?” you wondered with a frown, a little shocked.

“You know Tommy?” he asked, equally shocked.

You shrugged, “Yes– well… not really.”

He took another sip of his drink, eyes urging you to go on.

“I met him earlier– he’s… well,” you didn’t know how to explain it, “I’m here with my friend Deborah, and I guess her and Tommy are…” you trailed off.

“Fuckin’?” he finished for you, grin wide on his face.

You only nodded, swallowing down another sip of your drink.

“Yeah, I’ve heard all about Deborah…” he trailed off with a look on his face like he knew a secret, “… but nothing about her beautiful friend.”

You huffed out a laugh and turned your head, heat traveling up your neck to your cheeks, “I’m not sure there’s much to know.”

“How about your name?” he suggested.

You turned back to look at him, really look at him.

Had Deborah set him up for this?

You wouldn’t put it past her if she had. She was always urging you to go out with her. To clubs, to parties in The Hills, on double dates. You wanted to go, you really did, but a voice in the back of your head always held you back. You’d thought moving to LA would be the remedy. All alone in a big city would surely help you come out of your shell, right? The harsh reality had been that LA hadn’t magically fixed you. You’d thought you’d be a completely different person here, but you’d packed your insecurities in your baggage. The only person who was gonna help you out of your shell, you’d started to realize… was you.

Putting on a brave face, disguised as a friendly smile, you gave him your name. The man was silent for a moment, nodding as he brought his lips to the rim of his glass again, taking another sip of his drink. It made you hold your breath.

“Pretty name for a pretty girl,” he said eventually with an easy grin. His compliment sent a warmth to your cheeks, while you fought an urge to squinch your face with embarrassment.

After a second of silence, you raised a brave eyebrow at him, “What about your name? Or shall I just call you Tommy’s brother?”

He chuckled lightly, eyes glinting, before he cleared his throat, “Name’s Joel.”

“Joel,” you repeated with a nod, making his cocky smile wider. Tasting his name on your tongue, you decided it sounded pleasant on your lips.

“So– you’re Deb’s friend?” Joel started, to which you confirmed with a nod. “How come she’s never brought you ‘round before?” he wondered with a sip of his drink.

You gave him a relaxed shrug, “I’m not much of a drinker– if I’m honest.”

He leaned forward, like he was about to whisper a secret to you, “You are aware of the fact that you’re in a club, aren’t you?” he teased.

Your mouth dropped open before you playfully rolled your eyes at him, “Shut up,” you said, “I’m not usually much of a drinker… at least not without good reason.”

“So, what’s the good reason?” Joel asked, raising a single eyebrow, “Boyfriend dumped ya?”

“Boss dumped me, actually…” you corrected, “I got fired.”

Joel sucked some air between his teeth, “Ouch… you better get another drink, then.” He turned his body towards the bar to casually raise a hand, getting the attention of Doug.

You let out a scoffing laugh, shaking your head at his teasing tone, “Maybe I will.”

As you finish your Tequila Sunrise, Joel ordered you another one, and one for himself. You felt hot to the touch. The alcohol coursed through your body like liquid courage, it traveled through your bloodstream, greasing the part of yourself where your confidence laid dormant.

“What did you work as?” he asked, sipping his own Tequila Sunrise.

“I am–was…” you corrected, “a personal assistant.”

“A good one?” Joel wondered.

Taking a large sip of your drink, you tried to swallow down your failure.

“You’d have to ask my boss,” you breathed out.

“The one that fired ya?” he returned with a cocky smile, and you fought an urge to roll your eyes.

Sitting up a little straighter you narrowed your eyes at him, “What do you do, then? If you’re so good at your job?”

“Never said I was good at it,” he shrugged, cocky grin not going anywhere.

“You gonna make me ask you again?” you deadpanned, your shyness shedding with every sip of your drink.

Joel looked amused, like he was in on a secret only he knew. You continued to stare at him, raising a challenging eyebrow at his continued silence.

“I’m an actor,” he confessed.

You couldn’t hide the impressed look that crossed your face. Sure, you’d been in LA for three years, he wasn’t the first actor you’d met, and he for sure wouldn’t be the last, but it was something about the way he said it.

“A good one?” you used his own words against him, making him chuckle.

He took another sip of his drink, “I’d like to think so,” he smiled, looking at you over the rim of his glass.

“Anything I’d know?” you wondered, watching him put his glass down.

The corners of his mouth twitched into what looked like an ironic smirk, “God, I kinda of hope not,” he said, eyes trailing the scratches and dents in the dark wood of the bar.

You both went quiet, as you sipped your drinks. You’d started to wonder if you’d maybe said something wrong, when Joel cleared his throat.

“Not to mix business with pleasure–” he started, turning towards you, mouth twitching again at the innuendo, “but I happen to be looking for an assistant.”

“Oh, really?” you deadpanned, convinced he was pulling your leg.

“You don’t believe me?” he breathed out a chuckle.

“Let’s see: a strange man dances with me in a club,” you held up a finger, “then buys me a drink, then offers me a job? I may not be from around here, but I’m not stupid enough to believe that one.” You laughed with a shake of your head.

As you laughed, it hit you how easily you found it to jest with Joel. Usually, you were the quiet one. The one observing or just listening, always too shy to joke freely, especially with people you didn’t know, but somehow, in this moment you felt free. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was getting fired. Or maybe… it was Joel.

“Well, believe it or not, I ain’t fibbin’… it really depends on how much you need a job,” he took another sip of his drink.

“I just got fired,” you said matter of factly.

Joel gave you an infuriatingly innocent shrug, “Then you better start believing me when I say I’m looking for an assistant.”

You couldn’t do anything other than scoff in disbelief. “So what?” you asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow, “You’re just gonna offer me a job after knowing me for barely an hour? No interview or nothing?”

“Do I need to be interviewin’ ya?” he wondered innocently.

“It’s a job!” you spluttered, “You always interview people before you give them a job!”

He gave you a nonchalant shrug. “Then I guess I will… so what can you tell me about yourself? What makes you a good assistant?” he asked, tone genuine as he placed an elbow on the bar counter and rested his head in his hand.

“I don’t mean now!” you let out in a nervous squeak, and Joel seemed to enjoy the way you shifted nervously in your seat.

He shrugged, “Alright then… you got time for coffee? Say… tomorrow mornin’?”

Ten to ten the next morning you met Joel for coffee.

Wanting to give him a good and professional impression – he could be your new employer after all ­­– you’d worn your brown three pieced suit with a purple paisley shirt under your suit vest. It made you feel strong– well usually, right now you couldn’t seem to shake the pre-interview nerves… Anyway, you were hoping your outfit would make Joel think you had your shit together – at least put together enough for him to hire you.

With eyes scanning the café, you found him at a table by the window, smoking a cigarette. When you approached him, heels clicking against the hardwood floor, he checked his watch.

“Ten minutes early!” he remarked with a grin.

“Reliability and punctuality are good qualities in a new employee, I��ve heard.” You shot him a shy smile before you placed your bag on the floor by your chair.

He hummed, watching you with an easy smile as you sat down opposite him while shedding your jacket. The white smoke danced in front of his face like coiling ribbons. Clad in a striped polo with a Johnny collar he’d tucked into a pair of Levi’s jeans, he relaxed in his chair, shifting slightly, and spreading his legs wider. The movement, like a reflex, drew your eyes to his lower half. His Levi’s were tight, held in place by a big western belt buckle, but it wasn’t his belt buckle that caught your attention.

“So…” he started. His voice startled you, and you flicked your eyes back to his face. His playful smile told you he’s caught you checking him out. Embarrassed, you looked past him, not daring to make eye contact as you fought the urge to cringe.

“How are ya?” he took another drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out the side of his mouth.

“I’m–I’m good thank you,” you gave him a nervous smile, the confidence from last night gone with the rise of the sun, “how are you?”

“I’m good too, sweetheart,” he nodded, “wanna have this interview…? Or should I just tell you now you’re hired?”

Perplexed, your eyebrows met in a furrow, “What do you mean?”

“Honey, I already decided last night I’d hire you,” he grinned with another drag of his cigarette.

“I–… I mean are you sure?” you stuttered, “I brought my resume and references and everything– don’t you want to take a look at them?” you wondered, a hand dropping to your bag to fish out your newly typed resume and references. You tapped the papers against the table before placing them neatly in front of him.

Retracting your hands, you rested them in your lap, while you watched him. He placed his cigarette in his mouth before he picked up your resume. His eyes scanned the paper, his head nodding slightly.

“Graduated high school in 1970… A year as a cashier at Piggly Wiggly…” he started listing, his cigarette dipping with each word, “A year at Greasy Motors?”.

“Um– yes!” you peeped, “It’s my uncle’s garage shop– I worked as their secretary,” you told him, picking at the skin around your nails.

“You any good with cars?” he asked, one eyebrow raised as he took one last drag of his cigarette.

“No–No not really… I just spoke to the customers, answered the phone and stuff like that.”

You’d wanted to learn some of the basics, but you’d quickly given up. None of the guys had taken you seriously, and they had made sure to let you know where your place was – it was not with your hands deep in an engine.

Joel hummed at your answer and stubbed out his cigarette. “And Mr. Cooper’s the one that fired ya?” he asked.

You gave him a short nod. Your pointer finger burned with pain as you pulled at a piece of skin you’d picked loose around your nail.

“Why?”,

“The honest answer?” you sighed, and he nodded.

“I don’t know,” you told him, “he just called me into his office at the end of the day and told me he was gonna have to let me go– I was honestly too shocked to ask him why.”

“Oof,” Joel frowned.

“Yeah,” you sighed, you didn’t know what else to say.

“Well… you’ve given me a great impression, both last night and right now, so you’ve got the job, sweetheart– if you want it.” He leaned back in his chair, letting your resume fall from his hands.

“It can’t be that easy, can it?” the words fell from your lips before you had time to think. Joel raised a curious eyebrow at you. “I mean what’s the catch?”

“There’s no catch.”

He seemed to think about it for a beat, “Unless there is…” Joel’s lips tugged at the corners as he leaned over the table, “Remember I said I was an actor?” he asked, eyes boring into yours.

You gave him a skeptical nod.

“I’m an adult actor…” he lowered his voice, “You understand?” he asked before he leaned back in his seat again.

An adult actor. Your eyes widened with realization.

“Wait… you mean,” you looked around you before you leaned forward over the table like he’d just done, “you’re a pornstar?” you whispered, feeling your cheeks start to burn with embarrassment.

“Is that a problem for you?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Was it? Was it a problem for you?

The question tugged at the back of your neck. Tugged on your childhood, on your upbringing. You’d escaped; had your own apartment now, made your own money. You were trying to come into your own, to finally be your own person.

With teeth digging into your bottom lip, you looked at Joel. He watched you expectantly, head tipping slightly to the right as he studied you. There was no malice in his eyes, and nothing about him seemed grimy or obscene… Nothing about him screamed pornstar. If someone like him could do something so… unusual, for a job, maybe wasn’t so bad.

“No,” you decided, “it’s not a problem.”

“Groovy!” he grinned, “I’ll have my manager draw up a contract for you.”

And just like that you were officially Joel Miller’s, aka the infamous Joel Packer, personal assistant.

Joel sat on the tiled steps outside his house, smoking a cigarette, when you pulled up to the curb. He perked up when he saw you, grabbing his worn leather duffel bag before he waltzed down his driveway.

“Cab for Miller?” you joked through the rolled down window, ducking your head to peek up at him.

He chuckled at your joke, pinching his cigarette between two fingers for one last drag, before putting it out with a twist of his shoe. The smog laid low over LA this morning, like a blanket. It was gonna be a long day, and a long drive.

Letting out a small grunt, Joel got in your car. The smell of cigarettes and cologne – the smell of him – filled the space between you. He twisted around tossing his duffel bag into the backseat, and your eyes couldn’t help but land on his bicep, watching the way his muscles flexed under the weight. You felt a sudden urge to roll down the window a little further.

When he turned back around, the smooth wood of your steering wheel looked extremely interesting.

“Thanks for drivin’, sweetheart. My car’s still in the shop for ‘nother few days.”

The corner of your mouth twisted into a small smile, “No problem, Joel.”

“Are we all set?” he breathed out his question before his hands landed on his thighs with a dull smack!

“Um, yes, it’s just…” you turned to look at him. He was dressed casually in jeans and a Steely Dan concert tee – All-American Tour ’74 – with his yellow tinted pilot sunglasses tucked into his neckline.

“Just what, sweetheart?”,

“I picked up a package for you– it’s in the backseat,” you cocked your head in the direction.

“What is it?” he twisted back around, one hand searching for the cardboard box behind his seat.

Even in the smoldering LA heat, you couldn’t help but feel your cheeks heat up. “Um… it’s your package.”

“Yeah, I got that, honey– but what is it?” he asked again, twisting his hand back and placing the cardboard box in his lap.

You let out a small whine, “Don’t make me say it Joel– it’s your package.” You gestured a hand over your nether region.

Joel looked at you with a mischievous smile spreading across his face, “Oh, now I really wanna hear you say it,” he teased, hooking his finger under the tape.

“It’syourdick,” you said quickly, “–the dildo.”

In another step towards furthering Joel Packer’s success, he’d been asked to model for a sextoy. It’s no surprise he’d been asked. With the women’s liberation movement gaining more and more followers every day, more women had been exploring their own sexuality. Joel was popular with both men and women. He was like a chameleon when it came to porn. He knew just what to give, whether that would be hardcore porn, tossing his scene partners around and making them come until they couldn’t anymore; or doing full frontal nudity for a centerfold for Playgirl. 

With a drag of the tape, Joel laughed, his shoulders shaking. “I can’t believe you’re still shy about that stuff, sweetheart. You’ve been workin’ for me for how long now, huh? And you still can’t say dick to my face– what do you say to my business partners? Wiener?”

“I’m not shy,” you denied rather unconvincingly, making him shoot you an unimpressed look making you flutter. “I don’t know… it’s just different saying it to you!”

“Why?” he asked, pulling out the box with the dildo he’d modeled for.

Your eyes followed his hands, running over the pink packaging, the handsome photo they’d used of him on the front.

“I-I don’t know… it just is.”

A smile tugged on the corners of his mouth as he hummed – not convinced. Instead, he opened the box, pulling out the sextoy. The company had sent him one before they’d hit the shelves at the end of the month. They were being advertised in Playgirl first – to build up the hype. The sextoy looked exactly like him, and at the same time, nothing like him. The size and shape were true to life (8 inches like they’d advertised on the box), but the color was wrong.

“This is so fuckin’ weird,” he laughed, turning it in his hand, “’s this what I look like?”

“The color looks wrong,” you pointed out. He looked over at you for a beat and then back to the sextoy.

“’s a little… plastic-y,” he commented, “and weird lookin’ without the balls…”

He put the dildo back in the box before he handed it to you. You shook your head and turned the car key, “Just put it back in the backseat.”

“No, ‘s not what I meant,” he nudged your arm with the box, “you have it.”

You were glad the car stood still because the shock of his words would’ve made you get in a car accident.

“Why?” you said, a little flustered.

“Exactly what do women do with a dildo, I wonder?” he teased, nudging your arm again.

“No, Joel, that’s just weird– you’re my boss.” You nudged him back before you put the car in drive.

“You prefer the real thing, then?” a teasing lilt still wrapped around his words.

“Shut up,” you huffed, focusing on driving instead.

“I’m just messin’, sweetheart!” he laughed and threw the box messily behind him.

Leaning forward, Joel pushed the play button on your car radio. The cassette deck whirled before a twangy sound of piano filled your car as you started cruising down the road. A few seconds later Joni Mitchell sang the opening lines of the title track ‘Court and Spark’.

“I need you in charge of the map,” you broke the silence between you after a few minutes, “I don’t know where the house is.”

He opened your glove compartment, pulling out your map of California. You focused on the road while he studied the map.

“Looks like we need to get on the 101– it should take about three hours, Ronald said.”

You hummed. Ronald was Joel’s manager. He’d represented Joel for as long as Joel’s been in porn. Ronald was sleazy, and gross, and you tried to only be in his presence when it was absolutely necessary. Unfortunately, for you, Ronald was a good manager, and the reason why Joel Packer was as popular a pornstar as he was.

“When we get to Pismo Beach we’ll just stop and ask around for the address.” Joel said, folding the map.

Usually, Ronald was the one who came along to set with Joel. His reasoning being that there was business to attend to, and that he was supportive of his client, but you knew the real (pervy) reason. You on the other hand had only come along to set a few times. Quick to embarrassment, you’d quickly hid yourself away in Joel’s dressing room, claiming you had work you’d neglected to do.

This time, Ronald couldn’t make it because of scheduling conflicts. Joel was gonna go alone, but then his car had broken down on the 405. He needed a ride, and who else to ask other than the person he paid to help him out. The shoot was taking place at a beach house somewhere in Pismo Beach. You’d never been to Pismo Beach before, and neither had Joel. The booking agent had told you it was nice enough and secluded. Perfect for shooting a porno without bringing too much attention. 

Three hours later, you and Joel arrived at the shoot. The beach house was busy and filled with people working like ants to get the film set ready. The shoot was scheduled to last for one day, and as the time flew past 10am, you were starting to get short on time.

As soon as you stepped inside, they ushered Joel straight to make-up and wardrobe. Careful not to be in anybody’s way, you took a look around the house. It was beautiful. Newly built, not more than ten years old you guessed, and right on the beach. Warm wood tones lined the walls and floors, and on the ceilings, sturdy beams met in the middle. A leather couch with matching chairs was turned towards the big floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the beach, and a cowhide rug decorated the floor. They’d set up a step ladder by the windows, all ready for the first scene.

You found Joel a moment later in one of the bedrooms sitting, in a chair as he got his make-up done. You noticed he’d already changed into his costume. A pair of overalls with nothing underneath, and a toolbelt hanging from his hips.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he greeted, his eyes trailing your body.

“Hi,” you smiled, “How you feeling? Can I get you anything?”

He looked at you, a pregnant pause passing between the two of you, “No, not right now.”

“Oh, okay!” you nodded, teeth catching your bottom lip, “Just let me know if there’s anything.”

You moved over to the bed where his clothes were spewed across the bedding. Trying to make yourself useful, you picked them up to fold them.

“D’you know if Tess is ready?” you heard him ask.

Tess was Joel’s scene partner for the day, and also his most frequent scene partner. They’d been in more films together over the past years than you could count, their chemistry always electric. Everything they did was just hot, and this time would be no exception. Tess was playing a neglected housewife all alone in her big beach house until carpenter Joel arrived to help her feel less alone with his tool(s).

“Um, no… I haven’t seen her at all– but I can go find out if you want?” you said, placing his folded t-shirt neatly on the bed.

“No, bless your heart, it’s okay,” he spoke slowly, watching the make-up artist pack up her things before telling him he’s all set.

Left alone with Joel he spoke again, “You gonna watch today?”

His question kicked your heart into gear, stuttering along like a teenager who can’t drive stick. “I-I don’t know yet,” you folded his jeans, “… do you want me to?”

You felt him move closer, but he didn’t answer you. Gathering your courage, you met his eyes. He was watching you with a soft look in his eye, a look he’d sent you more and more often lately.

Grabbing your wrist, his calloused fingers like a warm bracelet, he took his jeans from your hand and placed them down next to his t-shirt.

“I’d like that.”

He said it with a smile, and you couldn’t do anything other than nod.

Joel had started to make you feel lots of things lately. Warm fuzzy feelings bubbled under your skin, just like the warmth from his hand on your wrist right now. Joel was a flirt, cocky and confident. Your complete opposite. You weren’t as shy as you’d been at the start of your job, but you couldn’t help but still be shy around Joel sometimes. Especially when he smiled at you the way he was right now, or when you felt his touch on your body.

The first scene they shot was the intro. A cheesy scene where Joel got invited into Tess the housewife’s home. One too many innuendos about ‘tools’ later, you’d slipped away before lunch time to find the catering table, fixing up a plate for Joel and one for yourself. After lunch, the fun began as the director had said. 

“Hey, sweetheart?” Joel’s fingers brushed over the back of your arm, getting your attention. You were about to go sit in his director’s chair, to watch as you’d promised.

“Yeah, Joel?” you looked at him through your lashes, your face curious. You tried very hard to keep them on his face, and not to let them wander to the outline of his hard cock through his overalls.

“Could you go get me some lube?” he asked you, eyes pleading.

“Oh! Um–” you nervously perked up, “Yes, of course,” you nodded, turning around yourself on the spot like you were already on the lookout.

“Thanks!” His hand landed on your shoulder, turning you to focus back on him, fingers rubbed over the material of your shirt. He was smiling at you, a small glint in his eye as he took you in. It made something inside you flutter, your eyes eclipsing over.

“OK guys! Quiet on set!” the director called, pulling you and Joel from your moment. His hand fell from your shoulder, a sorry smile draped across his face.

Slipping away, you went on a hunt for lube. When you came back you were met with the deep grunts of Joel as he got his cock sucked. He was fully naked, standing at the edge of the bed with Tess naked and dutifully on her knees for him – pleasuring him to heaven by the looks of it.

“There you go, baby,” he praised Tess, his big hand entangled in her hair as he pushed himself deeper down her throat. “You like sucking cock, don’t you? Like cheating on your husband like the dirty fuckin’ whore you are, huh?”

You knew he was just reading off his lines, but he said them like he hadn’t practiced at all, it was all so natural. Stumbling backwards towards his director’s chair, you sat down. You felt drawn to the scene before you, caught up in the moment, in the sounds of Joel’s moans and Tess’ spluttering around his cock. Never had you allowed yourself to watch him this openly before – it sent an electric pulse to your core.

Tess gave him head for a few minutes more, filth and praises fell from Joel’s mouth as the cameraman dutifully got every angle. Mesmerized by the scene playing out before you, a small pit started to form in your stomach – a mixture of pleasure and… jealousy. You shifted in the chair at the thought of you on your knees for him instead, pleasuring him and pulling those moans from his lips. Wondering if the praising words he told Tess, would sound different if it was you he told them to instead. You didn’t realize how caught up in the sight in front of you until you heard someone call your name.

It was Joel.

Shaking yourself from your fantasy daydreaming, you pulled yourself together. They’d changed positions while the cameraman changed the film. Joel was now sat on his knees on the bed with his cock standing to attention. On her back, he had Tess’ legs parted and splayed open in front of him.

Why was he talking to you?

He called your name again, figuring you hadn’t heard him over the humming of conversation now filling up the set. You hopped off the chair and nervously scurried over to him.

“What’s up?” you whispered. Your eyes were glued to his face, not daring to glide them even an inch downwards.

He hooked his fingers around your thumb. On his face he was wearing the widest grin, “Could you grab me some water?”

His touch sent your brain into overdrive, your eyes blinking around his question, “Y-yes– I’ll be right back.” His touch fell, and you scurried away to find him some water before they started filming again.

Back, and with a bottle of water in your hand you allowed yourself one quick look at his naked body. His broad chest, the way his muscles moved underneath his tan skin. Your eyes raked over his body, down his stomach, trailing the happy trial down to his impressive cock.

“Okay, everybody– we’re all set!” The loud voice of the director made you jump. Joel handed back the bottled water, a rough hand wiping the corner of his mouth.

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

If he’d clocked you checking him out, he didn’t show it. Instead, he got ready while you made your way back to his director’s chair. Tess said something you couldn’t quite catch, but it got his attention. He grinned from ear to ear, a quick look in your direction, before he playfully shook his head at her.

The next scene had you squirming in your seat.

With his head between her legs, Joel used both his mouth and fingers to pleasure her – and Tess was clearly enjoying herself. Her hands were digging into his hair, pushing him greedily down onto her pussy. High pitched, pornographic moans and whimpers escaped her. Joel was clearly enjoying himself too, moaning and groaning into her pussy as he ate her out greedily, making sure to pull every ounce of pleasure from her.

Tess came with a cry, withering breathlessly as she squirmed in Joel’s hold. He held her shaking legs in a tight grip, not letting up his licking and sucking until he’d pulled another orgasm from her. With a breathless laugh she pushed him away, big wide smile spreading as he peppered kisses to the inside of her thigh. You shifted slightly in your seat. An unmistakable wetness had gathered in your panties. You crossed your leg over the other, subtly.

With a tap to her thigh Joel encouraged Tess to turn over. He sat up, resting back on his heels as he stroked his cock languidly. Tess moved onto all fours, arching her back and putting herself on display for him. The camera moved in closer, a watchful eye, as Joel ran a finger through her folds.

“So wet for me, baby,” he said, replacing his fingers with the head of his cock. “This pussy’s been neglected, hasn’t it? ‘s just dying to be fucked.”

He thrusted inside her, burying himself in her pussy, moans and groans falling from both their lips. You felt the air stand still for a beat, before he pulled back and thrusted back inside. They quickly built up a rhythm, skin slap slap slapping, as their moans held the tune. They moved in sync. Joel kept up the pace, hands holding her waist firmly, while Tess met them with a breathy moan. When she gripped the sheets in pleasure, you wondered if it really felt as good as she let on, or if it was all just part of the show.

“Face the camera,” the director interrupted suddenly. He wanted a close up of Tess getting fucked.

Joel slipped out of her, the bright lights catching on his glistening cock. The sight of Tess’ arousal reminded you, and the bottle of lube in your lap, about your insignificancy. Joel quickly slipped back inside Tess, a hand gripping her shoulder as he picked up the pace again.

“Just like that, baby, you feel so fuckin’ good around my cock.”

You felt silly, the reality of what you’d just done settling in. Why on earth would you agree to watch Joel? Pornstar or not, he’s still your boss. Your longing for him to be something else, would never erase that fact.

Disappointment was a heavy rope tying you down. You needed to get out of there before you hurt your own feelings. Sliding out of the chair, you left the bottle of lube. Straightening out your suede skirt, let out a quiet sigh. You didn’t want to look at him, but something drew you to him either way.

You locked eyes immediately, his eyes were dark and intense. He picked up the pace, Tess almost screaming with pleasure underneath him, but his eyes still didn’t leave yours. You couldn’t look away. The world narrowed until the only thing you could see was him.

With a grunt and a firm thrust, Joel came inside her, mouth parted in pleasure and eyes never leaving yours.

Squeezed into a flimsy plastic chair, feet planted steadily in front of him, Joel sat smoking a cigarette by the pool. Ripples of blue swam across his face, before giving way to the soft warmth of the burning cigarette. He looked deep in thought as you got out of your car, a plastic bag of take-out swinging from your hand. You slammed the door shut, jolting Joel from his thoughts. The evening wind softly kissed your bare arms as you walked across the parking lot to the fenced in pool area.

The shoot had run long and by the time it was over, it was late. Joel was tired, and when he’d suggested you stay at a motel for the night, you’d been quick to agree. Watching the darkening sky, you’d started to dread the three-hour drive back to LA – you’d rather wait for daylight.

Situated right off the main road Joel had spotted a Motel 6 with the neon ‘Vacancy’ light humming. With tired steps you’d walked together towards the lobby, and the lady at the desk didn’t look up from her magazine when you and Joel approached. Behind her, coming through the door to the back office, you heard a laugh track.

Joel turned on his southern charm, “’Scuse me, ma’am.”

The receptionist still didn’t look up from her magazine.

“Do y’all have two rooms vacant?”

With a sigh, the woman looked up at him, peering over her glasses. “We only have one Queen left.” She smacked her lips together obnoxiously as she spoke, a piece of gum visible in her teeth.

Joel looked over at you, one eyebrow raised. Crossing your arms over your chest, you didn’t know what to say. If they only had one room, they only had one room. You tapped your foot restlessly, made a face like you were thinking it over before you gave Joel a short but affirmative nod. He watched you for another beat, before he turned back around to say, “We’ll take it.”

The room was nothing much; a queen-sized bed in the middle of the room, two chairs and a table tucked into one corner, and a door leading to a small bathroom. First thing Joel did was find a place to put his bag. You didn’t have a bag, only your handbag, you hadn’t planned on not sleeping in your own bed tonight. Joel, on the other hand, always brought a change of clothes to set. He’d told you once he didn’t like to leave in the same clothes he’d arrived in.

As you closed in on Joel by the pool you realized he was still wearing his clothes from this morning. He’d told you he wanted to shower, so you’d gone out to get you both some dinner to give him some privacy. Now you wondered if he’d even had his shower.

“Hungry?” you asked, putting the plastic bag down on the round table beside him.

He took a deep drag of his cigarette, watching you through a cheeky smile, “Starvin’.”

“The only thing open was the roadside diner, so I’m afraid it’s greasy burgers.” 

Joel gave you a shrug as you sat down, “Works for me.”

You ate in silence – sloshing coming from the pool and the cicadas hiding in the bushes, filled the air instead. When Joel finished his burger, and started on his fries, he looked up at you.

“So, what’d you think?” he asked you. You were silent for a second, before you looked down at the burger in your hand.

“Er...” you hesitated, not sure what he wanted you to say, “It’s not bad... meat’s a little dry, but–”

Joel interrupted your train of thought with a deep chuckle.

“I meant the porno, darlin’,” he said, using one of the napkins to wipe the corners of his mouth, “not the burger.” A smile pulled at his lips.

“Oh,” you said, and felt your cheeks fire up in embarrassment. You swallowed, buying yourself some time before you gave him a shrug.

“Was good,” you said, clearing your throat awkwardly, “I’m sure your fans will love it!”

“I wasn’t askin’ about them,” Joel said. His gaze felt like it was piercing through you, “Was askin’ you, wasn’t I? Did you like it?”

Despite the desperate embarrassment firing through your veins, you raised an eyebrow. “You’re asking me about porn over dinner?”

“Fair point,” he said with a nod, “You’re deflecting, though.”

A small chuckle escaped you, a smile tugging on the corner of your mouth as you shook your head and looked away for a second.

“What do you want me to say?” you asked him, looking back at him, “It’s porn, I’m human... of course I liked it.”

Bingo.

You can see from the corners of Joel’s smile that he’s happy with that answer, and he lets out an agreeing hum.

“See?” he said, his tone teasing, “Was that so hard to admit?”

“You’re unbelievable,” you said through a small scoff, pushing your styrofoam container away from you as you fell back in your chair.

“I am–… what was your favorite part?”

He was grinning hard now. He dug a hand in his back pocket, fishing out his packet of cigarettes and his lighter. You watched him with your head tilted, waiting for him to let you off the hook like he usually did. Instead, he grinned even wider, small splutters of breathy giggles making the cigarette dip as he tried to light it.

“Gimmie that!” you commanded, reaching out your hand for his cigarette. With a surprised eyebrow he took a quick drag before he handed it over. He watched you quietly as you took a breath. Savoring the first tar-y breath filling up your lungs.

“I liked the way you…” you took another drag and exhaled through your nose, “I don’t know…” you handed him the cigarette.

“I’m waitin’,” he teased, making you playfully roll your eyes at him.

“Well,” you sighed, “I liked the way you’re so attentive and made sure she’s feeling good even though it’s acting and everything… Even when you’re like throwing her around, all in charge and stuff.” You waved away the words.

“Yeah, well, that is the most important part of sex,” he gave you a look. Suddenly, he was a little serious. “It’s not fun if she’s not havin’ fun.”

“Not every guy thinks like that, you know,” you spoke, “it’s really nice that you do.”

Joel hummed at your words before a comfortable silence fell over you. You listened to the buzzing cicadas and the burning of Joel’s cigarette every time he took a drag.

“And… the dirty talk was hot too– you’re good at that,” you mused after a moment, breaking the silence, feeling comfortable enough with Joel to tell him the truth. He doesn’t judge you about what you think was sexy, and you realized it felt nice to open up to somebody, to let your suffocating shame die.

“Now, darlin’,” you could hear the smile in his voice, “now you’re just strokin’ my ego.”

“I can stroke more than your ego.”

Joel choked on his cigarette, coughing around the smoke before he looked over at you with wide eyes. “Am I goin’ crazy, or did you just tell a dirty joke?”

Your giggle filled the air between you before you leaned forward for his cigarette again. You brought it to your mouth as you impishly shrugged. Inside, you buzzed with a fluttery feeling. 

You smiled at him. “I don’t know– you tell me.”

He playfully narrowed his eyes at you, leaning over the table to get a good look at you, “I’m not sure I’m likin’ this… where’s my sweet girl, huh?”

My sweet girl.

Your heart skipped like stones over water, and you had to look away. A smile blooming across your face. You heard him let out a sweet chuckle before he stood from his chair. The plastic feet scraping ever so slightly against the concrete. You watched him as he stepped before you, squatting down to be at eye level with you, his big hand landing on your exposed knee to steady himself.

“She’s still here,” you whispered after a moment. The cigarette between your fingers was burning out, but your whole body felt like it was on fire, a burning spreading from under his touch.

“I know she is, sweetheart,” he whispered back, his fingers rubbing gently over your skin. Joel looked at you with attentive eyes, “I love how shy you get for me.”

Before you had time to process his words, he pinched the cigarette from your fingers and stood to his feet. “Let’s call it a night?” he asked you, offering up his hand for you to take.

Feeling brave, you took his hand. It dwarfed your own, but it was strong, and warm in your hold. You watched as Joel finished off the cigarette, and stumped it out in the ashtray on the table, before gathering up your trash. You walked back to your room, hands intertwined and swinging between you. You couldn’t shake the thought of how you wished he’d kissed you.

Back inside your room he let you use the bathroom first. It was small, and the air was damp. You could see droplets of water clinging to the shower curtain. Joel did shower after all, he’d rinsed the day off into the drain. With no toiletries, you made do with what the motel offered. A bar of soap was sufficient enough to remove your make-up, but you knew your skin would punish you for it later. After brushing your teeth, you stepped back out where Joel waited for you on the bed.

“I’ve got a spare shirt if you wanna borrow it.” He held up his hand, handing you the clean cotton shirt he’d packed.

“Thanks,” you smiled shyly.

He watched you for a beat, his eyes soft, but tired. “And I’ll sleep in one of the chairs– don’t want ya worryin’ about nothin’.”

Shaking your head, you protested, “No, Joel, you’ve had a long day! I’ll sleep in the chair!”

This time he shook his head, a small chuckle escaping his mouth, “No, darlin’, you’re drivin’ tomorrow, remember? You’ll need your rest.”

Your eyebrows met in a furrow. He was right; you couldn’t do the drive back to LA tomorrow on no sleep, but you couldn’t live with yourself if he didn’t get any sleep either.

“Let’s just…” you trailed off, “You’re tired, I’m tired– let’s both sleep in the bed?” you suggested.

Crawling under the sheets clad in only your underwear and Joel’s t-shirt, you wondered if you were being unprofessional. This was technically a work trip. Joel was still your boss. You looked over at him where he sat on the edge with his back turned, fiddling with the alarm clock. Your eyes trailed over his bare back, tan and strong. You knew you could stare at him all night.

It was official: you’d left professional at the door.

Finally, the alarm clock set for tomorrow morning, Joel put it back on the nightstand. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he caught your eyes on his body. It made him smile.

“Joel? Can I ask you something?”

He got under the sheets, his foot grazing against yours as he got comfortable. “Yeah, sweetheart.”

“Can you turn off the light?”

“You needn’t ask me if you can ask me, to turn off the light,” he laughed, “you can just say ‘Joel, turn off the light’.”

You scrunched your face together. This was coming out all wrong. “No, I mean… I don’t think I can ask you my question with the lights still on.”

He looked you over with a warm smile before he leaned over and turned off the light on his nightstand. “There… what you want to ask me?”

Even bathed in darkness, you hesitated to speak. “Um… I guess…” you started, not knowing how to ask what you wanted to ask. You turned over on your back and stared at the ceiling, cursing the return of your shyness.

Joel waited for you patiently to gather your courage.

“How much… of porn, is fake?” you finally uttered.

Joel turned to his side, facing you, “What do you mean?”

“Like… when– when the girls…” You couldn’t say it.

“Come?”, he helped.

“Yeah,” you breathed out, “is that real or… like– do they actually like it?”

“Right…”

Joel thought about your question, “’s hard to say… I mean mostly it’s real– at least in my experience– like I can feel it around my cock or fingers… but everybody has off days, and not everybody can come from penetration.”

Mostly it’s real. You went quiet, silently thinking about his answer as you stared a hole in the ceiling. Not everybody can come from penetration.

“Why you askin’ me this, sweetheart?” He shifted a little closer.

You pulled your hands from under the sheets, resting them over your chest. Your thumb on your right hand found your thumb on the left where it picked at the skin.

“Huh?”

“I­– I don’t know… it’s silly.”

“No, ‘s not– you’re not silly, sweetheart.” He shifted a little closer, a reassuring hand falling over your own and stopping you from picking at your fingers.

You didn’t say anything, and you didn’t look at him either. You felt silly. You’d just complimented him earlier about how attentive he comes across in bed, and now you’re asking him if any of it was even real. 

“Can I ask you somethin’?” Joel asked, breaking the silence between you.

Nodding your head, you hummed.

“Are you a virgin?”

His question almost made you jump. Suddenly, his previously calming hands over yours felt heavy. A fire started in your cheeks. You were mortified, and it felt crazy. If you were back home right now, you’d be mortified to tell anyone you weren’t a virgin seeing as you were unmarried. Now, with Joel, you felt mortified he thought you were one.

“No,” you peeped. It would’ve sounded like a lie if it wasn’t the truth. “W-what makes you say that?” You finally looked at him, your eyes wide as saucers.

Unconvinced, he gave you a lopsided smile, “How many have you slept with?”

“How many have you slept with?” you mumbled.

“Honey, we both know that I’ve slept with way too many to count.” He said it with a teasing lilt to his voice, and a comforting rub of his thumb over the back of your hand. His small touch was enough to relax you, to bring you back from the ledge of mortification. This was Joel for god’s sake. He would never judge you; you knew that.

“One…” you whispered, “Only one person.”

With a hum, Joel shifted over to lay on his back, but his thumb still rubbed circles over your skin. “So– you’re asking me this ‘cause it was bad?” he mused.

“I don’t know… maybe,” you whispered.

“You don’t know if it was bad– or you don’t know why you’re askin’ me if women enjoy sex?”

“The latter,”

“So, it was bad,” he concluded, before he whispered, mostly to himself.

The silence was back, speaking loudly between the two of you as you both processed what the other had just said. After a beat Joel turned back on his side to face you again.

“Tell me– how bad was it?” He said it softly, a tenderness in his voice you hadn’t heard before.

“It just… it hurt.”

You sighed, and for the first time since the light went out you turned your head to look at him. “John–” your face scrunched up in a grimace as you spoke his name, like you couldn’t believe you were telling him this story. “He worked in accounting, and we were going around, you know? Went on a few dates. He was a sweet guy. After the third date we went back to his place, for a drink. He kissed me– and then we were making out, and during everything I just thought ‘This might as well happen’. I thought I wanted to lose my virginity… and I liked John– so why not. But then he just… pulled off my underwear, didn’t even touch me and… went to town.”

Joel sucked a breath through his teeth, his hand gripping yours a little tighter. “Did you– have you ever had an orgasm?”

You shifted uncomfortably under his question and turned your head back towards the ceiling again. “Yes,” you whispered.

Joel moved a little closer, and you felt your body dip towards him from his weight against the mattress. His hand resting over yours traveled down your arm, and under the sheet.

“By your own hand then,” he said it more like a statement than a question.

You felt your heart beat out of your chest, as something in the air between you shifted. Underneath the covers your body burned. Sucking in a breath, you held it for a moment before you nodded.

“Show me.”

His hand grazed over your waist, fingers dancing over the exposed skin between the hem of his t-shirt and the waistband of your panties. You reveled in it, his touch, his proximity, his gentle kiss to your shoulder. You looked at him, searched his face for any indication that he was just messing with you.

“No? Ain’t feelin’ it?” He’d watched you too, you realized.

He withdrew his hand from your waist, and you panicked, “No!”

He stopped, instead hovering his hand over your body. “No, you ain’t feelin’ it, or no, don’t stop?” he asked you.

You panicked again. “Yes!” you said before your eyebrows met in a furrow, “I-I’m sorry, this isn’t very sexy.”

Joel withdrew his hand from your body, and your disappointment sank like a rock in water, but then he cupped your jaw and you forgot to breathe.

“Forget about sexy, sweetheart,” he told you, a calloused thumb rubbing against your skin, “not that you ain’t sexy– you are, but I need you to relax, okay?”

You nodded, and a smile spread wide across his face,

“Good girl.”

You almost mewled at the praise, and he noticed, a wicked smile spreading across his face.

“You liked that, huh?” he teased, rubbing his thumb softly over your lower lip, “Y’like being a good girl for me?”

You found it hard to think with him so close, breathless when he touched you like this. You nodded slowly; moony eyes fixated on him. Like a reflex, your legs rubbed together under the sheets, aching to relieve the pressure building.

“You’re so sweet, baby­– and shy,” his voice was low, like he was afraid someone would hear him. Slowly he leaned closer, pressing the softest kiss to your neck. A quiet whimper fell from your lips.

You felt Joel’s smile against your skin, teeth nipping as he pressed kiss after kiss to your sensitive skin. “You make my cock so fuckin’ hard.”

“Joel,” you finally choked out, a wet patch already soiling your panties.

“Yes?” he took your earlobe in his mouth, gently biting down on it before letting it go. You couldn’t think – at least not about something that wasn’t Joel and his touch.

“P-please kiss me?” you tried, your hand landing on his shoulder.

His breath puffed against your skin in a small chuckle, before he lifted his face from his new home in the crook of your neck. He found your blown out face, watching you with a tenderness in his eye. A beat passed and then he leaned closer, brushing his lips over yours. Your hand on his shoulder followed his neck to cup his face, keeping him close to you. His hand pushed gently at the sheets, revealing your upper body to him. The kiss was tender and slow, your noses pressed together. He pulled you apart and then put you together again. One of his hands trailed along the hem of your – his – t-shirt where he pushed at the fabric, bunching it just below your breasts. You broke apart.

“Was that all you wanted, sweet girl? Just a kiss?” His forehead touched your own, words low and taunting. You slowly shook your head, eyes still locked with Joel’s. His hand moved methodically, trailing down your stomach until it reached…

Your breath hitched in your throat.

“No?” he asked with a teasing grin, “What do you want then, sweetheart?”.

He already knew. His open palm cupped you over your soaked panties, the breadth of it pressing firmly down on your clit. You mewled under him, hips bucking up to meet his hand.

“Nah-ah,” he lifted his head from your forehead, dark eyes boring into yours. “You need to show me.”

Joel had started a dangerous fire inside of you. It lapped at your insides, burned away your insecurities, and replaced them with lust. With a shaky hand, your hand found Joel’s. His eyes were still locked on you ­– his gaze burning your cheek and branding you his.

“There you go,” he praised, letting you guide his hand up and down your clothed cunt, feeling your arousal seep through the fabric, “good girl.”

You guided him to your clit, pressing the pads of his finger down on it in tight circles. You were so sensitive – on edge since you watched him filming earlier – a small moan fell from your lips.

“Feels good doesn’t it, baby, getting your clit rubbed.”

“Yes…” Joel drew another moan from you.

Your grip around his hand loosened, and Joel took over. With a practiced hand he circled his fingers just right. He started with a steady pace and tight circles, before he put more pressure on your aching bud. He was bringing you closer and closer to the edge, coaxing small whimpers and breathy moans from your lips as you got more and more lost in the pleasure he was giving you.

“Have you ever fingered yourself, sweetheart?” he asked you, dipping his hand beneath your panties. A bold finger ran through your folds, a finger teasing at your entrance.

Your front teeth caught your lower lip, and you had to bite down to suppress a moan. It was hard to concentrate on what he was asking you when he was touching you like that.

“Y-yes, but…” you trailed off, feeling his finger, now coated in your arousal, back on your clit. It made your brain go blank.

“But what, sweet girl?” he pulled his hand from your panties, and you whined.

A wet trail followed him up your stomach. When you made no move to answer, a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. Leaning closer he pressed a short but tender kiss to your lips; his mustache tickled your cupid’s bow.

“It’s too messy,” you said when he pulled back, shaking your head.

“Yeah? You’ve got a messy pussy, sweetheart?”

Joel leaned down again, pressing soft fluttering kisses down your throat. When he reached the collar of your shirt, he pulled at the fabric, exposing your collarbone to his kisses. Your hands found his hair, tethering you to the moment.

“Yes,” you whispered, heat burning your cheeks at the confession he pulled from you.

With a wide grin, Joel sat up. His fingers found the hem of your shirt. He helped you pull it over your head, exposing your naked chest to him. Not even a second later he was back to kissing his way down your body, worshiping you with every press. You burned under him, every kiss like a small death.

Shifting on the bed, he settled between your legs. His mustache tickled the skin on your tummy, making you giggle. You felt Joel’s smile against your skin, at the sound of your fluttering laugh. He let his lips brush over your skin, trailing downwards to the top of your panties where he pressed a kiss, teeth pulling at the small bow like you were a present to be unwrapped, before his fingers hooked around the elastic. With a lift of your hips, you let him pull off your panties. The wet spot in the center clung to your cunt, as he peeled them off.

“Fuck,” he cursed, “wanna taste you, baby, wanna taste that messy pussy.”

With his fingers back on your cunt, you jumped a little under his touch. The air filled with a slick sound of your arousal as he ran them through your folds, a finger teasing your entrance.

“Relax for me baby,” he soothed, gently pressing kisses to the soft skin of your inner thigh, “I’ll take care of you.”

Looking down at him between your legs, you let yourself go. His eyes bored into yours. Warmth and lust, and nothing but affection behind them.

You nodded, “Please.”

A wide grin blossomed across Joel’s face as he leaned down, hovering just above your clit. He ducked forward, pressing the softest kiss to your clit, taking it slow and easing you into it with slow licks. You couldn’t help the whimpers escaping you, a needy sound desperate for more – more Joel. He pinned you down with his arm splayed over your tummy, keeping you right where he wanted you, turning you into a withering moaning mess under him.

Joel continued exploring you with his tongue. Changing between flicking and lapping at your clit, circling it just right, and wrapping his lips around it, giving it gentle sucks. He lapped at your folds, the hook of his nose catching on your clit as he tasted you properly. You felt yourself pushed closer and closer towards the edge, coxed by Joel.

Two careful fingers spread you apart, gliding up and down, coated in your arousal. He easily found your entrance to push a finger carefully inside. You felt yourself clench down on him; you couldn’t help it. You were so sensitive and so close. Dropping your mouth open, a breathy moan escaped.

“Oh, fuck,”

Joel hummed against your pussy, the vibrations traveling straight to the coil tightening in your tummy. Slowly, he started thrusting his finger inside, rewarded by a slick sound, telling him just how wet and desperate you were for him. With a moan your head rolled back into the pillow – you were so close.

“Joel,” you panted.

His tongue continued his assault on your clit, and you lost yourself in him. You clamped down on his finger with every thrust. You didn’t know how much longer you could take it. Joel was so focused on you, so attentive, so responsive. Between your legs he drank in every twist of pleasure and whimpering moan.

“Joel,” you panted again.

“You’re gonna come for me aren’t you, sweetheart? Be a good girl and make a mess on my face.” he coaxed.

Joel quickly withdrew his finger to slip in another, and the new stretch had your legs shaking. His tongue circled your clit, sucking it with just the right amount of pressure. Underneath him you squirmed, breathy moans hitching in your throat.

“Oh, god,”

You couldn’t answer him. Couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t take it anymore.

With a silent cry, you came. His strong arm over your tummy held you down, as you twitched against the mattress, legs shaking. You’d never felt anything like this before. A pleasure so all-consuming you couldn’t remember your name, or where you were – only Joel. He helped you through it. His fingers kept up their pace, pads brushing right up against that spot of bliss, as you clenched down hard around them. You gripped the sheets, desperate for a lifeline as you came down.

Joel slowed down his fingers, pressing soft kisses to your clit. Your pleasure turning to overstimulation – now you definitely couldn’t take it anymore. Fragile and sensitive, you pushed him away with a shaky hand.

He let you push him around, his lips finding the inside of your thighs instead, where his mustache teased the sensitive skin. With one last kiss, Joel pulled away. You almost didn’t register the dip in the mattress as he laid down beside you. You were somewhere else entirely, floating away on a post-orgasm-cloud.

“Joel, shit, I…” you tried to speak, your voice hoarse with exhaustion.

“I know, sweetheart,” Joel answered. He pulled you closer, wrapping a hand around you. Slowly, you turned to your side, engulfed in Joel’s embrace.

“D-did you want to–”

You could feel the presence of his hard clothed cock pressed against your ass, but his big safe arms around you told you a different story. He nosed at the back of your neck, pressing fluttering kisses to the skin, making goosebumps erupt.

“No, darlin’, not tonight,” his voice was just above a whisper, the bass vibrating against your ear.

“Are you sure­? I-I mean– we can if you want to,” you spluttered. He’d just given you the best orgasm in your life, he shouldn’t have to go to bed without one for himself.

“Not tonight,” he said, pressing a kiss behind your ear, “It’s been a long day– I’m tired, you’re tired­… let’s just sleep, my sweet girl.”

“S-should we talk about this?” you asked, your hand slipping into his, pressing it against your naked chest.

“In the mornin’,” he hummed, voice coated in sleep.

With heavy eyelids, you fell asleep in Joel’s arms. The safety of being wrapped up in him, lulled you into a peaceful slumber. The motel bed was hard and uncomfortable, and the pillow thin and flimsy, but it didn’t matter in Joel’s arms.

Morning came too quickly, and with a screeching sound of an alarm clock that pulled you from heaven. Jolting awake behind you, Joel groaned. His hands slipped from your body; the warmth exchanged with prickling goosebumps. You shifted over on your back, watching as Joel turned off the alarm. The beeping stopped, and with a tired grunt Joel laid down back beside you. When he looked at you – his tired eyes glinting – a sleepy smile pulled at his lips.

“Mornin’,”

“Good morning, Joel” you smiled back.

“It is a good mornin’, isn’t it?” he hummed, turning on his side.

You mirrored him, shifting closer and resting your head on his pillow. He snaked a hand over the dip in your waist, big hand splaying over your naked back.

“It is,” you agreed, locking eyes with him.

Rubbing in slow circles, his hand on your back was soothing. You reveled in it, reveled in Joel, in the bliss of being so close to him. You shifted even closer, resting your forehead to his chest.

“You should probably fire me,” you mumbled into his skin, “I’ve been extremely unprofessional.”

A chuckle came from deep inside Joel, it vibrated through his skin, where you felt it under your fingertips.

“I ain’t firin’ my best employee,” he laughed, placing a dry kiss to the top of your head.

You pulled away with a frown, head back on your own pillow. “This is like the cliché of clichés, Joel– sleeping with your assistant…”

In the bright light of the day, you cursed yourself for your late-night moment of weakness. You’ve never done anything like this before. What if this will be all that Joel wants from you from now on? You don’t think your heart could take it if it was.

Joel’s laugh died in his throat, his eyebrows meeting in a frown. “Who said anything about sleepin’ with my assistant?”

Your eyes widened with mortification. Shit. A hand came up to rub at your face, as you sat up, pulling the sheets around you.

“Hey, no, sweetheart,” Joel grabbed at your hand, stopping you in your tracks.

You couldn’t look at him – afraid tears would push behind your eyes. He’s a pornstar, what were you thinking? You were just a girl. A girl to warm his bed for a night. How could you put your job on the line for something like this?

The sheets rustled as he shifted closer, “Please, lay down, I need to talk to you.”

“Joel, I-I’m sorry– w-we can just forget about it– I’ll quit, don’t worry about it– me, don’t worry about me,” you stuttered out, your back still turned.

“I ain’t forgettin’ about nothin’, sweetheart– shit, d’you think I do this often?”

His question made you turn around. He was propped up on his elbow, carefully watching you.

You nodded, and he sighed.

“It’s been years since I’ve slept with someone outside of work,” he confessed, “Shit, I don’t even seek it out, I ain’t interested in it.”

“I-I’m sorry Joel, I­–” you started, but he cut you off,

 “You’re not listenin’,” he shook his head, “what I’m sayin’ is: I wanna sleep with you.”

Your face scrunched up in a confused frown, “Because I’m someone from work?”

Joel let out a breathless chuckle, “No, sweetheart, ‘s because I think you’re beautiful.”

His words almost didn’t register.

“What?”

This time his laugh is loud and golden, coated in happiness. He pulled at your hand, and you fell, your back hitting the sheets.

“You are…” he emphasized, cupping your cheek, and guiding you back in his embrace. “And you’re a shy little thing, aren’t you? But so smart, and kind, and caring­– someone you can’t help but fall in love with.”

“Fall in love with?” you repeated, you couldn’t believe what he was telling you.

“Yeah, sweet girl,” he smiled at you, all teeth, and crinkles around his eyes in the morning light.

“Oh,”

“Yeah,” he laughed, guiding your face closer to his, his lips brushing over yours, “wanna make you mine, sweetheart.”

His kiss stole your breath and twisted you up inside. He licked at the seam, and you opened yourself to him. He licked into your mouth, one arm snaked around your body, drawing you closer, pulling whine after desperate whine from you and stealing your breath.

Landing on your hip, his hand traveled downwards – over the thick of your thigh, and down the inside in smooth motions. He tugged on your leg, pulling it to rest over his hip, his hard cock rutting into your bare heat. His kiss got more desperate; his tongue melded with yours. It was hot, and dizzying and all-consuming all at the same time.

You grinded against him, feeling his hard cock against you. The fabric of his underwear caught on your clit, rubbing it just right, your arousal darkening the fabric. You moaned into his mouth, a desperate need for Joel building deep in your stomach.

With a rut of his hips, he broke away from your kiss. “You want me to fill up this perfect little pussy, don’t you baby?” His hand on your cheek disappeared between your bodies.

“Yes,” you tried to say, but the words got stuck in your throat when you felt the head of Joel’s cock rub up and down your folds. Your heavy breathing, the slick sound of your arousal the only sound in the room.

“Listen’ baby, y’hear how wet you are for me?” he whispered in awe, the head of his cock caught on your clit. You braced yourself with a hand to his shoulder, breathy pants the only sounds leaving your lips.

“You’re desperate for it, aren’t you?” he chuckled. He let go of the grip around his cock, the sound of it slapping against his stomach obscene. A beat later he swiped his fingers through your folds, coating them in your arousal before drawing tight circles to your clit.

Your face squeezed shut in pleasure, your fingers dug into his shoulder. He eased a finger inside, before he quickly pulled out and added another. The stretch of his fingers was easy, your arousal dripping over his knuckles as he thrusted them inside with ease.

You grinded down on his hand, meeting his thrusts, forcing his fingers deeper inside. Always so attentive, Joel curled his fingers where they hit your spot perfectly, just like he’d done last night. A breathy squeal fell from your lips.

“That’s it, sweetheart, let me hear you,” he egged you on.

“Joel, please,” you panted. Sparks traveled through your body, collecting in a pit in your stomach where it coiled in on itself, aching for release.

He curled his fingers again, and hit your spot – his palm snug against your throbbing clit, “Fuckin’ perfect you are, darlin’, so tight and wet around my fingers.”

“Shit,”

He pushed you straight for the edge, your walls fluttered around his fingers. Your panting got heavier, your eyes squeezed shut, you’re so close. Joel chuckled, his breath puffing your face and he… pulled away.

You whined at the emptiness, opening your eyes to see him staring at you with a mischievous glint in his eye.

He cupped your jaw, “Poor baby,” he pouted before he pulled you in for a kiss. You sighed into him, desperate to feel him anyway he wanted.

“Turn around,” he ordered against your lips, his hand letting go of your jaw to tap at the top of your hip.

You did as he told you, turning around in his hold to press your ass against him, feeling his hard cock pressed against you. Behind you, you heard him let out a deep and guttural groan. His hand hooked under your thigh, lifting it to your chest and exposing your wet and desperate cunt for him. You let him manhandle you into the position he wants, trusting him to know what’ll feel the best.

He guided the tip of his cock through your soaked folds coating it in your arousal before grazing it over your throbbing clit.

“You ready, sweetheart?” he whispered in your ear, like a hiss. He lined himself up with your entrance, teasing you, and himself.

“I-I need it, Joel, please,” you begged, a hand clinging to the sheets.

“Yeah? You need it, sweetheart? Need this big cock to fill you up?” he asked, pushing just the tip inside.

“Joel, please, please,” you whimpered, almost a squeak. In one fluid motion he pushed inside, burying himself to the hilt inside you. The stretch of him was overwhelming, but the angle had you seeing stars.

“Ah– fuck,” you cried, your eyes immediately squeezing shut. Your hand searched for his where it held your leg to your chest. You needed to anchor yourself to him, afraid you’d fall apart right there and then.

“You alright sweetheart?” you heard him whisper in your ear, and you nodded slightly, “Feel good?”

“Yes, Joel,” you whimpered, mouth dipping open in pleasure. 

Behind you he groaned into your ear, cursing in hushed whispers. “That’s it, good fuckin’ girl, takin’ all that cock inside,” he pulled out nearly all the way, taking his time with it, moving with practiced motions.

“Shit,” you mewled as he bottomed out inside for the second time. Grinding against your ass, he pushed himself as deep as he possible could – you felt him in your fucking stomach, he was so deep.

“You can take it, sweetheart,” he told you, pulling out and thrusting back inside.

Picking up the pace, Joel started fucking into you deep and hard. With each grind of his hips against your ass, with every thrust, he made sure to bury his thick cock as deep inside as he could, angling his cock expertly so the head rubbed up against your spot. Behind you he grunted and moaned in your ear. It was sweaty and hot, and sticky between your legs.

He let go of your leg, ordering you to press it to your chest, as his hand traveled downwards to brush his fingers over your throbbing clit.

“Joel,” you mewled. He pulled a symphony of whimpers and moans from you with every thrust.

“This pussy’s so fuckin’ tight– shit,” he panted in your ear, “You’re so good for me baby, takin’ that cock so well.”

His fingers pressed down on your clit, drawing tight circles, pushing you towards the edge of bliss. You squirmed against him, hips meeting his with every thrust as you start to chase your fast approaching orgasm.

“Need you to come for me, sweetheart– squeeze that cock like a good girl.”

“Joel,” you cried and let go. Your walls fluttered around his cock as you came, back arching off his chest, as your body squirmed and shook in his arms. Breathy gasps and pathetic whimpers left your lips as he kept up his unrelenting pace, fucking you through it, and prolonging your high.

You were far away. Blissed and fucked out as you came down from your moment of ecstasy. Behind you Joel’s grunts bordered on desperate, as his thrusts started to become sloppy.

“Shit, sweetheart– m’close, so fuckin’ close.”

“Come for me Joel,” you pleaded.

“Fuck,” he grunted as he pulled out.

His hand was on you in an instance, pushing you to your stomach as he turned you around. He knelt over you, fisting his cock desperately. Turning your head, you pushed off the bed to look over your shoulder where you found his eyes, locking them with his. Joel came with a guttural moan, the muscles in his stomach tightening and loosening as he coated your ass in his cum. It was hot and sticky on your back, feeling it drip slowly down the side of your waist.  

“God damn,” he breathed out through a chuckle. His breath was heavy, like he’d just climbed ten stories.

You turned to your side to look up at him properly. He looked beautiful; his hair messy from sleep, broad chest heaving, a content smile pulling at his lips as you gave him a smile.

“Took the words straight out of my mouth.”

i hope you liked this! part two -> here

© shellshocklove, 2023 i do not give any permission to repost, translate, feed to AI or redistribute any of my writing, with or without credit!

[myladybelle]

𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍? | chapter thirteen

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: art donaldson x female!reader x patrick zweig 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’ve always been content being second place to your best friend tashi duncan, waiting for the day you can quit tennis. your world is upended when you meet art and patrick, and you’re forced to embrace a life in the sport you’ve been too afraid to claim for yourself. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.7k 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): challengers content warnings, descriptions of anxiety, swearing, use of y/n 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: hi my loves i’m back!! thank you all for your patience while i was sick and preparing for the new semester, i appreciate all your kind messages so much x 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

𝐖𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐒’ 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 – 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟑, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎 

“Newcomer on the professional tennis scene, Y/N Y/L/N surprised virtually everyone when she won the Ladies’ Semi Final two days ago,” an English-accented sports journalist said on TV as you waited for your cue to step onto the court for the finals. “She’s not only the most technically excellent player of her age, but she has the fastest serve on the WTA tour.”

“She’s a remarkable player,” the other journalist agreed. You watched them play back a clip from your most recent match, highlighting one of your aces. “But if she wants to win on Centre Court here at Wimbledon for the very first time, she’s going to have to start embracing her volleys. Maybe she should take a leaf out of her boyfriend’s book.”

“Patrick Zweig? He only made it to the second round!”

“Yes, but he played some very entertaining tennis this week. It was a joy to watch and very well suited to a grass court!” 

“It’s true, Zweig plays a sneaky game of tennis. He keeps his opponent on his feet.” 

“In any case, the whole world is sure to be watching Y/N Y/L/N tonight, eager to see her take on Anna Mueller.”

“Now, this isn’t the first time Y/L/N and Mueller have played. They faced off numerous times in junior tournaments, and Y/L/N already beat her at Indian Wells, Milan, Roland-Garros, and the US Open last year. They have yet to play each other in a final, though, and Y/L/N has no grand slam titles to Mueller’s two.”

“Will it be experience and longevity that give Mueller the win, or will new talent Y/L/N take the match with precision and speed?”

“We will soon see.”

You had never been this nervous before a match until your second time at Wimbledon. 

For the first time in your professional career, just a year and a half after entering the tennis world, you made it to the final round of a grand slam tournament. The other tournaments you had won within the last year put your name on the map, allowing you to garner attention and recognition from your peers and spectators.

But a grand slam title meant you would be a part of history.

It was everything you wanted, everything you worked and struggled for. Your heart pounded so quickly that you thought it might leap out of your skin, and your quickening breath made spots appear in your vision. The pressure mounted, not just because your life goal was an arm’s length away, but from all the people who had their eyes on you. Some scrutinising, some rooting for you. 

Bracing your hands on your thighs, you closed your eyes and tried to breathe deeply. It felt like you were losing control. Everything you did to maintain your anxiety felt like it was slipping through your fingers, just like your dream of becoming a grand slam winner. 

Tashi’s voice rang in your ears. You’re going to be fucking miserable, and you’re going to hate your life just as much as your mother hates the fact that she had you. Art’s voice joined Tashi. Everyone knows that tennis is more of a mental game than a physical game. You have a lot of anxiety, and…

The sound of your phone getting a text message interrupted your tornado of negative thoughts. 

PAT 💞: Don’t listen to any of those assholes, they don’t matter. I love you so much and I’m proud of you no matter what happens today. Hold your head up high and do your best, nothing else matters. Don’t forget to breathe, pretty girl. P x

As you stepped onto the court, the cheers of the crowd were deafening. You could feel the vibrations of their applause through the soles of your shoes; the energy was electric, and the buzzing of quiet chatter set you on edge. Remembering Patrick’s advice, you breathed deeply and waved to the crowd, smiling as you headed for your bench. Everyone on your team was sitting in the player’s box with Patrick and your dad, and it was a relief to see them there supporting you. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this final round match. This match will be played as the best of three sets,” the umpire said. “To the left of the chair, from Switzerland, Anna Mueller. To the right of the chair, from the United States, Y/N Y/L/N. Y/L/N won the toss and elected to serve.”

From his seat in your box, Patrick chuckled. “I bet Anna Mueller’s terrified right now,” he commented. “Going into a match against Y/N and having her serve first would push me over the edge if I was playing her.” 

Next to Patrick, your father happily declared, “If Mueller wasn’t nervous to play Y/N before, she will be once she realises how many aces she has up her sleeve.”

Mueller crouched behind the baseline, nervously twirling her racket between her hands. Her poker face wasn’t nearly as good as yours, betraying her fear as you bounced the ball and prepared to serve. Knowing that you had this effect on your opponent, even before the game had started, made you feel powerful. 

With a mixture of nerves and excitement coursing through your veins, you tossed the ball in the air and served it over the tennis net. Mueller ran in the wrong direction, expecting you to serve to her backhand, and cursed when she couldn’t change courses fast enough to return the ball.

Your first ace of the game. 15-love.

Mueller played nervously. She knew your baseline game was strong, but her mistake was assuming that you could only play from the baseline. You decided to play closer to the net, consistently hitting gently when Mueller expected you to go hard and fast, making it impossible for her to generate the power needed to return well.

When you took the first set 6-0, Mueller cursed and turned to her box to yell something at her coach. During the changeover, you could hear her muttering to herself, failing to compose her posture and expression. She looked panicked and angry. From experience, you knew that the right amount of anxiety could help you focus on the match, but anger would destroy a player’s self-control and concentration.

When you served an ace at the beginning of the next set, Mueller stomped her foot angrily and challenged the call. The call held up, declaring your serve was in and awarding you the point. You watched in shock as Mueller’s face twisted with fury, her eyes blazing as she smashed her racket against the ground. Over and over again, the crowd gasped and booed as the frame cracked and the strings bent out of shape. 

“Code violation, racket abuse. Warning, Mueller.” 

From his seat, Patrick smirked, applauding the action while you maintained professionalism. He was the type of player who occasionally broke his racket or committed other code violations, so Patrick admired your ability to hold back. There was something rewarding about watching your opponent fall apart as you waited for her to get it together so you could keep playing. 

The atmosphere of the game changed after Mueller’s outburst. Releasing her anger had done Mueller well, and one of her backhands shot forth like a lightning bolt, making it impossible for you to return. She got a few points in, making you run for it. Sweat glistened on your brows, and your heart pounded, a steady drum beat that echoed the rhythm of your feet as you struggled to return some of Mueller’s balls. The crowd watched in awe as she started finding her rhythm, pushing through the fatigue with a newfound unwavering focus. 

Mueller looked incredibly smug to have caught up with you. So, you let her win a little bit. 

Your father frowned when you served into the net twice, giving Mueller the point. “What’s she doing?” he muttered quietly. “Are the nerves getting to her?”

Patrick shook his head, chuckling as he realised, “She’s throwing the set on purpose.” A smirk graced his lips when he remembered how you used to do the same thing when you played Tashi. “She wants Mueller to think she’s beating her.”

You let yourself enjoy it, toying with Mueller and never letting her know what you planned next. When you volleyed the ball back to her, she sprinted to the net. Just when she got used to playing close to the net, you hit a flat groundstroke past her. Once Mueller realised your pattern, she stayed closer to the baseline, and you hit her with your drop shots, far too close to the net for her to return.

Quickly, you caught up, 7-7. You needed one last game to win the match, and it was your turn to serve. 

Two aces in a row. Mueller yelled in frustration and anger when she missed both serves, once to her forehand and once to her backhand. Your focus sharpened with each passing moment. Serving was your area of expertise. You had the match exactly where you wanted it. 

With each point you won, your confidence grew. Your movements were fluid and instinctive; your racket felt like an extension of your arm, sending powerful, precise shots that left Mueller scrambling to return them. Like always, your serves were lightning fast, unerring and spectacular, kissing the line every time without fail. 

Mueller chased down every ball, but exhaustion was setting in, and her anger had returned. She was irritated that you had let her win, annoyed that it had boosted her ego so much, and furious that she couldn’t get in your head the way you got in hers. 

You were playing the best tennis of your life, each moment a testament to your skill and resilience over the years. The beauty of your game captivated the spectators, leaving the crowd in awe of your mesmerising strokes and masterful returns. The more points you won, the closer you got to winning the tournament. Tension and excitement were palpable, mounting in a crescendo of enthusiastic applause and standing ovations.

“Match point.” 

The cacophony of cheers faded into the background as you bounced the ball in your hand. You were good at keeping the pressure of winning off your shoulders, but the enormity of this point pressed down on you heavily. With your stomach in knots, you adjusted your grip on your tennis racket. Amid all the stress, anxiety, and fear, you felt a spark of determination. 

You didn’t just want to win; you deserved it. 

You served her backhand, which Mueller anticipated and hit back with equal intensity. The ball hit the ground awkwardly on your side of the net, creating minimal bounce with little power. Regardless, you hit it hard. As the two of you rallied back and forth, you followed the sports journalist from earlier’s advice and used a trick shot Patrick had taught you. When Mueller hit your forehand, you pretended to miss the ball. She celebrated, prematurely stopping while you hit the ball back between your legs, surprising Mueller and making her trip as she tried to return the ball. 

As Mueller landed on the floor, the ball bounced on her side of the net for a second time, earning you the point and the Wimbledon Ladies’ Singles title. 

An overwhelming surge of triumph and disbelief hit you all at once. Your ears rang, drowning out the cacophony of the crowd’s ecstatic roars as you collapsed to your knees, dropping your racket. The weight of victory crashed upon you, and tears streamed down your face as you sobbed. Each teardrop released the intense pressure and emotion you had carried through the gruelling tournament. 

You cried for your mother, who you no longer needed to please; for Tashi, your former best friend who would not be here to celebrate this moment with you; and you cried for yourself, the person who got through it all and made it to the other side. 

When you wiped the tears from your cheeks and stood to shake your opponent’s hand, the world around you blurred back into focus. The cheers and applause of the crowd went from being a distant echo to a deafening roar. Mueller barely touched your hand before going to shake the umpire’s and—for a brief, solitary moment—you were enveloped by a profound sense of accomplishment. 

You did it.

After waving to the crowd and thanking the umpire, you turned to your player’s box. There, Patrick stood applauding your victory. His heart swelled with immeasurable pride and love for you, feeling an overwhelming admiration for your strength and dedication. You laughed, running across the court towards the box and excusing yourself as you squeezed past ball boys and line judges. Stepping up on one of the nearby benches, you lifted yourself closer to your boyfriend, who leaned over the railing, giggling.

Up close, Patrick’s eyes were misty, and a broad, genuine smile spread across his face. Every sacrifice you made, every early morning and late night, came rushing back to him in a flood of memories. He could hardly contain his excitement. 

“You just fucking won Wimbledon!” Patrick yelled. “You were incredible!”

“I love you,” you replied, equally breathless and giddy. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Pat.” 

Pushing up on your toes, you hooked your arms around Patrick’s shoulders and kissed him. The crowd cheered even louder around you, but you didn’t care. Nothing and nobody else mattered at that moment. All you knew was that you had just achieved something incredible and Patrick was the only person you wanted to celebrate it with. He held your head carefully and kissed you hard, expressing his passionate pride with every press of his lips.

“Thank you. For reminding me to breathe,” you acknowledged when you parted, gazing up at your boyfriend with sparkling eyes. “And for teaching me your favourite trick shot.”

Patrick chuckled, taking one of your hands and pressing several kisses to the back of it. “That was all you, gorgeous. I had nothing to do with it. This win belongs to you,” he said sincerely. “Fuck, I love you, pretty girl.”

Art Donaldson stood in the crowd, his heart heavy with pride and melancholy as he watched you give Patrick a final kiss before returning to the court for your interview. It was a privilege to watch every powerful swing of your racket and every point you earned. Art was reminded of the countless hours you had poured into your practice, the determination that had always driven you while you were at Stanford. He had once been the one to share in those moments of victory with you, celebrating every win with the joy you now showed on the court. 

But now, as Art saw the happiness in your eyes and heard the crowd’s cheers, a wave of sadness washed over him. He was no longer part of your triumphs. He was just another face in the sea of supporters, knowing your victory wouldn’t be shared with him.

Art’s gaze flickered between you standing on the court and Patrick sitting with your father in the player’s box. His former best friend looked happier than Art had ever seen him, and knowing that your memory of this day would always be intertwined with your relationship with Patrick filled Art with an ugly jealousy. 

He knew he had no right to your life and joy, but Art wanted to celebrate with you. He wanted to tell you that he was proud of you and always knew you had the talent and perseverance to succeed. In fact, there were a lot of things Art wanted to say, including a sincere apology for what he said the night you broke up. But you had moved on, and you were happy, and the last thing Art wanted to do was ruin any of that for you. 

So instead, Art got up and pushed through the crowd, making his way to the exit as he heard your voice thanking Patrick for his love and support over the loudspeakers.

𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 – 𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝟏𝟑, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎

It felt good. 

Sitting in the booth with Tashi was almost like when Art used to sit in the dining hall with her at Stanford, back when you, Art, and Tashi were all attached at the hip.

A month ago, Art and Tashi graduated and began working in the professional tennis world, but it meant nothing to either of them without their best friends by their sides. Neither of them could have guessed that you and Patrick would leave behind such a huge hole when you stopped being friends with them.

“Maybe you wanna jump ship?” Art said, half-joking as he signed the bill and paid for their meal. “Come be my assistant coach?” When Tashi stared dumbfoundedly at him, he grinned. “Oh, I get it. You want to work with someone who has a little bit more potential.” 

“No!” Tashi protested. “No. No, it’s not that. I mean, you have plenty of potential. It’s just–” she cut herself off, nervously observing the blond sitting in front of her. It had been years since you and Art broke up, but it felt like yesterday. “You think that would be a good idea?” 

“Why not?” Art retorted. Tashi gestured vaguely, referencing their complex shared past. “That was a long time ago–” 

“–It was not that long ago,” she disagreed, interrupting Art’s attempt at nonchalance. 

“Well, it feels like a long time ago,” Art mumbled. 

“So, you’re saying you’re not in love with her anymore?” Tashi argued, raising a questioning eyebrow at her old friend. 

Art schooled his expression, not wanting to give his lingering emotions away. But Tashi saw through it, recognising the familiar signs that indicated his love for you still ran deep. His features softened at the mention of you, and there was a faraway look in his icy blue eyes.

Back when you were dating Art—and Tashi and Patrick were casually seeing each other—Patrick used to describe the look on his best friend’s face when he first laid eyes on you. That look of pure, absolute adoration and love never once faded from Art’s face at the mention or sight of you. Tashi knew with certainty that it would never fade.

“Well, I’m not holding my breath waiting for her,” Art retorted. “That ship has clearly sailed.”

“Doesn’t mean you aren’t clutching the hull for dear life,” Tashi remarked, using Art’s ship analogy against him. “Did you see her at Wimbledon?”

“Of course I did,” Art replied, fiddling anxiously with the napkin on the table. 

“She was incredible, wasn’t she? I mean, I always knew she had it in her, but watching her win that final…” Tashi sighed.

If she was as good a friend to you as she always thought, she would have noticed that you used to hold back to help Tashi pursue her dreams of being the best tennis player in the world. Upon reflection, Tashi realised she would never be as good a friend to you as you were to her, and she should never have considered you to be less talented, hard-working, or capable than herself.

“It was like nothing I’ve ever seen before,” Tashi said proudly.

Art agreed, “She’s officially a grand slam winner, the whole world was watching her that day.”

Tashi nodded. “It’s weird, isn’t it?” Her lips curved in a disappointed frown, recalling all the times you and Tashi promised you would always be there to celebrate each others’ accomplishments when you were teenagers. “All of a sudden, the whole world feels entitled to a part of her. Instead of going through this journey with her, we’re on the outside looking in, just like everybody else.”

“It was pretty surreal,” Art affirmed. “I mean, I always knew what she was capable of. I remember all those late nights, talking about what she would do if she ever won a grand slam. And now that she has, I can’t help but feel a little lost.”

“Like you should be there with her,” Tashi guessed. She gave Art a sympathetic smile, her eyes soft with understanding. “I know exactly what you mean.”

Art sighed, leaning back in his booth. “We used to be the people who knew her best in the world,” he recalled. “And now, we aren’t a part of her life anymore. It’s not just about tennis or success, it’s about her. She didn’t just hold us all together, she was seeped into the essence of everything I did and everything I dreamed.” The vulnerable honesty in Art’s voice made Tashi swallow harshly. “What am I supposed to do without her now? None of my plans ever accounted for me reaching this point in my life without her in it.”

Art’s words rendered them both silent.

You used to take up so much space in their lives, filling a void neither of them knew existed until you left them. Thinking about you and reflecting on your absence was always bittersweet. There was so much warmth and joy in their memories of you, but they were constantly paired with painful reminders of how much they hurt you. You, who only ever wanted to love and be loved. 

“Maybe this is what we deserve for hurting her in the first place,” Tashi offered. “The things I said to her that day–” she inhaled sharply, pain filling her chest as she recalled the argument that ended your friendship– “I don’t blame her for wanting nothing to do with me.”

“The look on her face when I told her I went to see you the night you fought…” Art shook his head in disappointment, his jaw clenched tightly as the frustration simmered beneath the surface. “I should have told her I went to confront you for hurting her. I should have told her I was desperate to figure out why she was inconsolable, but I let her believe I went to you because I was on your side. I was so angry and frustrated during the break up that I told her things just because I knew they would hurt her. Who does that to someone they love?”

“Us, apparently,” Tashi said, grumbling like she couldn’t believe what they did to you. Reaching across the table, Tashi covered Art’s hand with hers, offering a small, bittersweet smile. “My mom says that Y/N was my life lesson,” she explained. “That losing her was supposed to teach me something.”

“Yeah?” Art met her eyes and frowned. “What did it teach you?”

“To hold on,” Tashi declared. “When you meet someone like her, someone who’s warm and loving and far kinder to you than you deserve, you hold on to her. Because going through life without her is unimaginably worse than when she’s by your side.” 

It hurt to reflect on how much worse life was without you. You had been everything to Art for so long, and his eyes stung with tears every time he thought of you. The emptiness you left behind felt insurmountable, a constant ache he couldn’t escape. Every moment without you reminded him of what he’d lost, of how your presence had once filled his world with light and purpose.

Now, that light was gone, leaving him to navigate the shadows of what used to be; the pain of your absence was a relentless companion.

Art pulled his hand away and cleared his throat, staring at his lap. “This is really stupid, but, uh… After your injury… I couldn’t help but just think about what would have happened if I had beaten Patrick,” he confessed. 

Tashi froze at the mention of how you met Art and Patrick. 

She knew Art well enough to understand that everything he did led back to you and how he lost you. No matter how badly Art wanted to change the past, Tashi knew you would always love him and Patrick throughout your life. 

In a way, Tashi, Art, and Patrick were the three great loves of your life.

One for a friendship that was supposed to last a lifetime, one for the boy who made you realise what it was like to be loved, and one for the man who would wait a lifetime just for a minute of happiness with you.

No matter how much you once loved Art, Tashi knew you would love Patrick in every life, too. It didn’t matter what order you met them in; you were the catalyst that changed each of their lives. 

Tashi thought she was the only objective spectator to your relationships with Art and Patrick. She was your best friend at Stanford when you dated Art, and she was practically a stranger now that you were with Patrick. Watching your romantic relationship unfold on TV and in newspapers and magazines was entirely different from having a front-row seat back in college, but Tashi knew you well enough to see how deeply and genuinely you loved Patrick, just as you had loved Art.

“So you want me to join your team because you couldn’t win Y/N’s number that day?”

Art lifted his head to meet Tashi’s gaze. “No,” he denied. “I want you to join my team because I want to win.”

Tashi suppressed a grin. She should have known that if it wasn’t about you, it was about Patrick. “I think you’d beat him now if you guys played,” she commented, sipping her coffee. “Don’t you think?” 

It was a challenge that Tashi knew Art would easily see through. 

Perhaps Art could beat Patrick if their history wasn’t complicated by you entering their lives. If the two of them were just best friends trying to make it in the tennis world, Art had the skills, practice, and tenacity to win now. After all, he had dedicated himself to the sport at Stanford and had an excellent team supporting him, while Patrick continued to rely on raw talent. As Art steadily climbed the ranks with every game, Patrick floundered somewhere in the lower 200s. 

But all of this was negated by one simple fact. Patrick had the one thing that Art truly wanted: you. 

If Art and Patrick played a match tomorrow, you would be in Patrick’s player box, cheering his name and applauding his wins. Your presence at the match—and in Patrick’s life—would be more than enough for Art to lose every time he faced his former best friend, just as he lost you. The only thing that could give Art a chance to beat Patrick would be having you on his side. 

“Don’t know,” Art replied cryptically. “We, uh… haven’t played professionally, and don’t keep in touch.” Tashi laughed, nearly choking on her coffee. “What?” 

She cleared her throat. “Just… She never saw it,” Tashi explained. “The rivalry between you and Patrick. Ever since that night we first met, she always assumed the two of you were after me.” She shook her head, visibly entertained. “She used to say that I was the sun and she was the moon. But, God, wasn’t she just everything? The moon and the stars and everything in between, that was her.” Tashi and Art shared a soft, sentimental expression. “I never understood why she couldn’t see it. Everything was over the moment you and Patrick met her, and I knew none of us would ever be the same.”

A small smile stretched across Art’s lips. “Yeah…” 

Tashi was right—you had been everything to him. 

Art felt it the moment his eyes first met yours, an instant connection that went beyond mere attraction. It was as if something within him recognised you, a deep and undeniable pull that resonated in both his body and heart. It wasn’t just about your smile or how you moved; it was how your presence seemed to complete something in him, filling a void he hadn’t even known existed.

You became his anchor, the one person who made everything else make sense, and from that moment on, he knew his life would never be the same without you.

“We joked that we weren’t homewreckers the night we met you, but…” Tashi trailed off, sighing as she set her mug on the table and crossed her arms. “I never thought it would come between me and her. I always thought I was a better friend than that. And I hate it, but running into you today is the closest I’ve felt to her in years,” she confessed.

Sitting there opposite your former best friend, Art couldn’t help but agree. So many parts of you lived on in Tashi, remnants of your lifelong friendship that had shaped both of you in ways he could now see clearly. The way she tilted her head when deep in thought mirrored your own, a habit you’d both picked up during your countless late-night conversations. That amused, all-knowing expression on Tashi’s face when Art tried to lie to her was uncannily similar to yours. 

Even her choice of words, the little phrases and inside jokes that only you two shared, brought you vividly to life at that moment, making it feel like a part of you was still there, sitting right across from Art.

“Yeah, me too,” Art agreed, trying to keep the sudden gust of sadness out of his tone. 

To make matters worse, seeing Tashi was the closest Art had felt to you and Patrick in a very long time. 

It brought back memories of his former best friend, who had once been his world. There was a time when the four of you felt inseparable, and now, sitting there, Art could almost hear the echoes of those days. The way Tashi absentmindedly rubbed her forearm was like Patrick used to, a nervous habit that always surfaced during serious conversations. Tashi’s honest recount of how much she missed you felt like a mirror image of how much Art missed Patrick. Being with Tashi now, it was impossible not to feel the empty space left by the absence of the friendships that had once defined them both.

That night, as Tashi stepped into Art’s hotel room, the invisible string that still bound them both to you seemed to tighten, pulling them a little closer to where you slept just a few floors away.

𝟐 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐒 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 – 𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝟐𝟖, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎

“I just got off the phone with Elora,” you declared, stepping into your shared hotel room with Patrick and finding your boyfriend lounging on the bed with the TV on. “I’ve been asked to play an exhibition match tomorrow. Just something quick and fun before the first round to boost ticket sales for the qualifiers. A bunch of American players from the tour will be there.”

You dropped onto the bed beside Patrick, kicking off your shoes and curling up in his awaiting arms. The two of you had been travelling together for over a year, sharing rooms while on tour and cohabitating in every aspect of your lives. It was like a reward after enduring a long-distance relationship during your final year at Stanford. Instead of just talking on the phone and occasionally getting surprise visits from Patrick, you went everywhere together and supported each other at every match and tournament you attended.

The two of you had slipped into an easy routine. Having the same profession meant that you were constantly going to the same places, and it made travelling and sightseeing so much more special. After working hard for over two weeks at each tournament, exploring new cities with Patrick was the ideal way to wind down and relax. There was something incredibly special and romantic about doing every day of your life with him.

Your relationship had been grabbing headlines ever since the press caught on to the fact that you were together over a year ago, but the attention ramped up exponentially after you won Wimbledon.

What used to be short articles about an up-and-coming, attractive couple in the tennis world had snowballed into detailed timelines of your dates and public appearances with Patrick. Luckily, the public adored you, and there was very little criticism or negativity surrounding your relationship. Other players on the WTA and ATP tour often teased you about being real celebrities, pointing out how rare it was to win public favour as much as you and Patrick did.

Even though this shift was odd, and you had yet to get used to the constant eyes on you, there were perks to having your picture taken professionally every time you went on a date with your boyfriend. You had framed your favourite newspaper clipping, a beautiful picture of you kissing Patrick after winning Wimbledon, with the heading The Darlings of the Tennis World written above it in a large, bold font.

“Great,” Patrick drawled, blinking lazily as he wrapped his arms around you. His hands gravitated under your shirt to draw circles on the bare skin of your midriff, immediately sending butterflies to your stomach. “Which unlucky girl’s getting her ass handed to her while you beat her in straight sets?” he joked, knowing any match you played would end in a crushing defeat for the other player. 

“Actually…” you trailed off, sending him your best smile as Patrick drew his head back to meet your gaze. 

He observed your innocent expression with quizzical, unsure eyes. Even though you were giving him your sweetest look, there was something mischievous about the glint in your eyes. When realisation hit him, Patrick sighed and said, “I’m the unlucky girl, aren’t I?” His distraught tone made laughter bubble from your lips.

“Smart and handsome? I really hit the jackpot,” you teased, buttering him up with compliments so that he would agree more readily. “Come on, Pat, it’ll be fun!” 

“Oh yeah, really fun!” Patrick agreed sarcastically, matching your energetic tone. “Like how a lion treats a lamb during slaughter!”

You rolled your eyes, stifling your laughter at your boyfriend’s dramatics. “Don’t worry, pretty girl, I’ll go easy on you,” you said, imitating his voice and tone. He had never used those exact words about playing tennis, but Patrick’s tone was always thick with the same arrogant confidence. “Think about it! If you play against me, you’ll get to see that winning serve of mine up close and personal.”

“Excuse me, I’ve been on the opposing end of your winning serve plenty of times during practice,” Patrick defended. “I always knew you were better than me, gorgeous, but I don’t remember agreeing to public humiliation when we started dating!”

“Drama queen,” you accused. “It really will be fun! We’ll be mic’d up and we can talk and joke the entire time. It’s the best of three sets and it’ll be just like practising together. Come on, what do you say?” At Patrick’s uncertain expression, you sat up in bed and swung a leg over his lap to straddle him. The fire that instantaneously burned in his gaze made you smirk triumphantly. “I’ll be really grateful if you do it,” you said suggestively, placing your hands on his chest and grinning. “Pretty please?”

“Well, since you said pretty please,” Patrick joked, unable to keep the wide smile off his face when you tilted your head at him. “Sure. What’s one more event where everyone thinks you’re out of my league?”

Happily, you exclaimed, “That’s the spirit!” 

“Wait–” Patrick frowned when you got up from his lap and began scurrying around the room looking for your phone– “I thought you were going to show me how grateful you are?”

You snorted. “Nice try. You can have your reward after the exhibition match,” you declared, chuckling quietly.

“You drive a hard bargain,” Patrick complained.

“Don’t act like you don’t love the chase,” you retorted, winking as you texted Elora that you and Patrick were happy to participate in the exhibition match. 

From his place on your shared bed, Patrick rolled onto his stomach and observed you. It was hard to imagine that he had only known you for four years. Your participation in his life felt so insurmountably important that it was like he had known you his entire life. You had seamlessly woven yourself into the fabric of Patrick’s daily existence, shaping his world with a depth and significance that defied the brevity of time. 

Unlike Tashi and Art, Patrick realised early on that you were someone he should hold on to. His life before you had been filled with disappointment from his family, and Patrick recognised what a rarity you were. Having already lost you before when his relationships with Tashi and Art ended, Patrick knew losing you meant losing something irreplaceable. Your presence filled gaps he hadn’t noticed before he met you, making it obvious that you were someone worth cherishing. 

As you picked up a phone call from your coach, Patrick went on his laptop and checked how much money was in his savings account. He won enough matches to pay for plane tickets, tennis equipment, and other daily necessities, saving an immense amount of money because the fat cheque you got from Nike every month more than covered your shared accommodations. Over the last year, in particular, Patrick had started saving for something very special. 

An engagement ring.

As much as Patrick wanted you to have the very best, an engagement ring from Harry Winston or Bulgari just wasn’t within his budget. He was entitled to a family heirloom ring, but Patrick didn’t want to give you something from his family. Any engagement ring he chose had to represent you and your relationship with him, rather than the generations of unhappy, reluctant marriages his family seemed destined to repeat.

After carefully perusing different stores and comparing the cost and quality of various rings, Patrick found the perfect one at Cartier. It was simple and classic, exactly the style you had mentioned you preferred offhandedly on several occasions. To his surprise, it didn’t cost an arm and a leg, and he had almost saved enough to get you the exact ring he wanted you to have.

After Wimbledon, you noticed and commented on the fact that Patrick was training harder than ever. To you, it seemed like he was finally starting to take himself more seriously. Instead of coasting on his natural talent, Patrick began seeing your physical trainer with you and even quit smoking to improve his stamina. What you didn’t know was that he was doing all of this to increase his chances of winning more matches at the US Open, where a significant amount of prize money was on the line.

In Patrick’s mind, the more matches he won, the more money he could take home, and the nicer your engagement ring could be. 

“Hey, do you know what ring size you are?” Patrick asked as casually as he could when your phone call was over. “Jess got a bunch of rings that don’t fit her and she was wondering if you want them instead?”

“That’s so sweet, I can’t believe she thought of me,” you acknowledged, grinning. Ever since you met Patrick and his extended family last year, you were constantly invited to spend time with his cousins Jess and Alex. While Patrick wasn’t best friends with them, they were the closest family he had, so you had accepted several invitations over the past year. “I would love that, Jess has amazing taste in jewellery! Tell her I’m an eight in ring size, but I’ll squeeze into anything she wants to give me,” you joked, not thinking much of Patrick’s question. 

With shaking hands, Patrick sent a text with your ring size to the sales associate at the Cartier store in New York, who had been keeping him updated on when the exact ring he wanted was available. Once the US Open was over, all Patrick had to do was head to Manhattan and pick up the ring. It had taken him almost four months to find the perfect one for you, and then it was just a matter of winning enough prize money to afford it. As long as Patrick won two rounds at the US Open next week, he’d have enough to buy your engagement ring.

Then he would have to decide how and when to propose to you.

[gyusrose]

OMGG yk that one trend on tik tok where the girl shows her nails the caption being “look at my new nails” and she’s rubbing it on the bfs bulge can u do that with enhypen legal line?? Sorry if this doesn’t make sense😭

love this req !!!!! i tried my best though hope you like it !

⚠︎ very suggestive ;) semi- smut?

✎ what the req. says

(enhypen legal line x fem. reader)

Heeseung -> you were seeing this trend going on in TikTok and you couldn’t help but want to try it out on your boyfriend. you just had your nails done yesterday as well so it was the perfect timing. you explained to heeseung what you wanted to do earning a howl from him.

“ you’re so horny i swear. “

you smacked your lips pushing his shoulder lightly.

“not true! i just want to try this trend !”

“mhm yea sure, as if you don’t know that this will end up in fucking. “

nevertheless he agreed to it.

he laid down on his back while you positioned your hand on top of his clothed dick before pressing play.

as your other hand was filming you slightly squeezed him through his sweatpants. heeseung groaned and hissed as you kept on rubbing slightly on him while you pretended to show your nails. he was an impatient man, the video that was barely 15 seconds long felt like 15 minutes, all he wanted was to bend you over the bed and fuck you like the tease you are.

“shit are you almost done?” he desperately asked.

“wait, just like 5 more seconds..” heeseung threw his head back, annoyed. he knew you were deleting some clips and redoing them.

“alrighty it’s done.” as soon as the video ended he pulled your waist towards him and grabbed your jaw.

“you’re gonna learn to not tease me like that ever again.”

Sunghoon -> “look babe i just got my nails done.” you said showing him your pink and white flower designs on them.

to be completely honest, you only did it to do that funny trend you saw a few days ago. it’s just something dumb and humorous you wanted to do sunghoon wouldn’t mind it.

sunghoon thought about it for a minute. he wanted to act as if nothing but holy fuck, he was already getting hard at the thought of it. the whole idea of being recorded turns him on too much for his liking. eventually he agreed to it and laid down in bed.

you on the other hand had no idea how turned on he is, even though you’re touching him sexually, it was just a joke to you, just a TikTok. that would explain how surprised you were when you rubbed his visible bulge and felt him hard as a rock. 

“holy shit..” you whispered to yourself, you tried to keep your composure as you were filming but how could you when your man was literally yearning for your touch.

sunghoon tried to hold back his moans but failed miserably. he wanted your mouth so bad. your soft touches that come and go did so much to him.

“fuck stop the video.” he said giving up, grabbing his pants and pulling them down along with his boxers.

“suck it like you know how to.”

Jay -> “so you just want to touch my dick is basically what you’re saying?” jay had such a way with words. of course that’s what you meant but you can’t just agree like that.

“i see so many people doing it and i’m bored.” jay raised an eyebrow at your response. he knew you like the back of his hand. you were horny duh.

“sure go ahead and do your ‘tiktok’ “ he chuckled as he laid in bed, waiting for you to start the video.

he smirked down at you as you innocently rubbed on his dick while you stroked up and down on it. showing your red nails to the camera yet the last thing on both of y’all’s minds was the nails.

jay wanted to also tease you. he lifted up his shirt slightly, showing his v-line. your panties were damp. in less than 30 seconds, jay has managed to almost make you cum on yourself.

jay kept calm throughout the whole video ( even though he was dying to fuck your mouth ) and just chuckled at how the simple outline of his cock made you go crazy.

“fuck it.”

you threw your phone somewhere and unbuckled his belt pulling his jeans down. left in his boxers he grabbed you chin, forcing you to look at him.

“i fucking knew it.”

Jake -> you were just sitting down in your living room at peace, when all of a sudden you hear footsteps coming from upstairs, jake came up to you while showing his phone screen with a huge grin on his face. oh god, you knew that look.

“look at this trend going on right now, it’s so hot.” he was always up to date with all the trends and stuff so you weren’t surprised, but when you saw the video, your eyes almost popped out. you were expecting a silly little dance he wanted to do with you but no. this man wanted you to grope him for a TikTok video. you couldn’t help but laugh at his request, you weren’t complaining though.

“jake seriously?”

“yes seriously, come on it’ll be fun, plus my face won’t be showing, just my dick. also you just got your nails done as well, don’t you want to show them off?” in other words, he was horny.

so there you were, rubbing on him as you squeezed his already aroused cock. you tried to go at it softly (since that was the whole point of the TikTok ) but jake didn’t want that as he bucked his hips cowards wanting to feel more, moaning from the lack of movement.

“i thought this was just got a TikTok, why are you getting so worked up jakey?” you teased. fuck how much he loved that.

from his white shirt which was almost transparent, you could see his glistening abs tighten from his heavy breaths. now you were the one getting worked up.

“just save the video and come here.” he said pulling you into a kiss.

Sunoo -> “you want to r-record it?” you nodded eagerly. you adored seeing sunoo hot and bothered, so what a great idea was this ? plus the nails you had on were actually expensive so what better way to show them off than next to your boyfriend’s dick?

sunoo blushed at your words. the action itself turned him on so bad but now that you want to make a video with it did something to him. he was nervous for sure but excited as well? there was nothing in the world he loved more than your hands, especially since they look so cute right now, so why not?

sunoo was already breathing heavily before you even pressed start. your hand simply being on top of his crotch already drove him crazy.

as you started rubbing him and squeezing him through his pants, he became a whiny mess. he stopped himself from moving his hips too much for the video but at that moment he wanted to fuck into your hand like he always does.

“aww is my precious little baby frustrated ? be patient i’m almost done.” the video was clearly longer than it should’ve been but you just loved seeing him trying to hold back seeing his dick twitch.

“please just- just touch me please ..”

Jungwon -> he was waiting for you to come up to him and ask him if you could do the infamous trend going around. obviously just as an excuse to have you on your knees.

“can we try it? pretty please? look my nails are even cute.” clearly you were very eager.

jungwon pretended to think for a moment as if he wasn’t dying to do it as well. “whatever you want princess.”

you took that literally. groping him from his base to the tip slowly then rubbing him while showing the camera your pretty nails .

“fuck those hands of yours.” he breathed out. you smirked loving how much power you have right now.

he was a quietly moaning into the pillow, on top of that, he was wearing grey sweatpants making it the scene even more sensual.

“ keep it together, just a few more seconds.” jungwon couldn’t even hide his desperation at this point. the way your small hands take him so good even soft touches and strokes like these drove him insane.

the sound of the video ending brought him back to reality. “and..done.”

“good, now finish what you’ve started.”



[scarletemeterio]

Hello! Can I ask for ekko with an reader who confessed to him thrice (and thrice rejected) and then he finally falls hard for them? With a happy ending, thank you!

(kind of like she fell first he fell harder trope)

Let Me Love You (Ekko x Reader)

Warnings: some cursing Genre: angst, hurt/comfort Word count: 2.3k Reader has no set pronouns!

The first time was the hardest of them all. You’d muster up the courage to confess your feelings for him, knowing very well that it could go south.

“I have something to tell you,” you uttered. He gave you a worried look, noticing that there was a hint of desperation in your voice. You were in his so-called office, working on something that didn’t really matter anymore.

“Is everything okay?” He simply asked.

“I’m not sure,” you began, “but I really need to say this.” He gave you his full attention, making you feel a bit intimidated by him and extremely self-conscious. “I’m in love with you,” you blurted out.

Silence quickly filled the room, and the tension could easily be cut by a knife. The moment you saw his face, you knew it: he didn’t feel the same way.

“I, uh, I don’t know what to say,” he mumbled more to himself than to you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make things awkward at all. You can just forget I said anything.”

“I really don’t want to hurt you but I just don’t feel the same way.” You were trying to hold back your tears as his words left his mouth. “You’re an amazing person and anyone would be lucky to be with you, but that person isn’t me.”

You simply looked at him and slowly nodded. “It’s okay, you can’t force yourself to feel something you don’t.” It was hard to speak at this point. He knew you were hurt, but you’d never show it; it would just make things harder for the both of you. “Is this gonna change things between us?”

“I would hate that, honestly.” You nodded again, finally being on the same page about something. He came closer and put a reassuring hand on your shoulder to try and alleviate the tension. If only it were that easy.

•••

Some time passed and you still tried to hide your feelings for him. For a while, it worked, you’d suppressed them every time you spent time with the boy but deep down, you missed the way you were before. It had always been hard for you to open up to people, but you’d never been this miserable before. You were just a shadow of your usual self, and it was evident to everyone in the base.

Ekko himself tried to talk to you about it, clearly oblivious to the fact that he was the reason for your attitude. Finally, after a particularly hard day for you, you just lost it.

“You wanna know what’s wrong with me, Ekko? It’s you!” You truly didn’t mean to scream at him but you also couldn’t help it. Lately, you lived on edge, always frustrated about something; it was like you were a bomb simply waiting to explode. “I swear I tried to play dumb, to ignore everything but I just can’t.”

“Is this about-?”

“Yes, Ekko, of course it is.” You interrupted him. “I know you went on with your life and pretended I never said anything so we could go back to the way things were, but it’s not that easy for me. Nothing about this has been easy.”

“I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“Bullshit,” you spat. “You know exactly how I feel about you. We’ve known each other for years, you can’t tell me you never realized why I’ve been acting so strange.”

There was a pause between you. You were agitated, heart beating so fast that you could feel it in your throat. “I guess I wanted to pretend nothing ever happened,” he confessed after some time. “Acknowledging it made it real and I just- I just want my friend back, without any messiness and complications between us.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Ekko. I’m sorry my feelings are such an inconvenience to you. Trust me, I wish I could change them and forget about you for good but I just can’t.”

Something twitched inside of him when you said that and he looked at you with hurt eyes. “You really mean that? That you’d like to forget me?”

“I meant forgetting about my feelings for you, ‘cause you’re not making things easy for me,” you explained. “When you come over and put your arm around me or stand so close to me that I can feel you breathing it kills me, Ekko. And the worst part is that you know it.” You took a deep breath, anger slowly leaving you, feeling nothing but sadness. “Sometimes I feel like you enjoy testing me like that because you know that no matter what I’ll always come back to you. But I’m tired of this dance between us, it’s too much.”

“I just don’t know how to feel! This is hard for me too!” Neither of you cared if someone heard you at this point, you’d simply have to put up with the weird looks from everyone. “I don’t know what you want me to do and I’m confused.”

“Honestly,” you began, “I want you to give me some space.”

“Wait, I- uh, I don’t want that, please,” he took a step closer to you, trying to grab ahold of your hand but you avoided his touch, as you avoided his sad eyes.

“Do you have feelings for me, Ekko?”

“I said I’m confused.”

“It’s a simple question, do you?”

You finally looked at him and he realized that you were crying. He could count with one hand the number of times he’d seen you cry, and he never thought he’d be the reason why. “I don’t know,” he finally whispered.

“Then I don’t have anything else to say. I don’t want to wait for you to figure out how you feel and keep getting hurt in the process, I don’t think I deserve it.”

“Wait, please-.”

“Ekko,” you cut him, “I need some space, don’t make this even harder, please.” And with that, you left, leaving him even more confused than before, and with a pain in his chest he couldn’t really explain.

You should’ve known this was coming. Still, it hurt like the first time. You couldn’t blame him; if anything, you were glad he was honest with you. But after today, you realized that you needed to keep some distance from him, or this would end up destroying you for good.

•••

Days quickly turned into weeks, and you realized you hadn’t said a word to the Firelight’s leader in almost a month. Your heart still flipped inside whenever you inevitably ran into him or locked eyes with him within the first few days since the fight, and soon you started avoiding him all along.

In no time, the boy started feeling an emptiness inside him, something he couldn’t explain. He was truthful with you in that last conversation, he truly wasn’t sure how he felt, but with every passing day that you were nowhere to be seen, he realized that maybe he’d been a complete fool.

He missed you, there was no denying that. Now the question was if his feelings for you were simply platonic or if deep down he yearned for you, maybe even more than you for him. Ekko wasn’t the best with his emotions, not because he actively repressed them, but because all of this was extremely new to him, and he just felt so overwhelmed. However, there was one thing he was extremely sure of: he wanted you in his life.

It had been days since he last saw you, evident now that you’d been avoiding him for a while, so when he finally caught a glimpse of you around the base, it was like seeing an angel. Soon, his pleasant feelings were replaced by envy. You were talking with one of the new members from the Firelights, nothing out of the ordinary, but there was nothing he wanted more than to be the one you had your attention on. He didn’t recognize himself, filled with jealousy and bitterness.

The boy was pulled out of his thoughts when someone asked him a question, engaging in conversation with him, but that strange sensation still clung to him like glue. He hated himself and blamed his stupid ass for being such an idiot, these were merely the consequences of his own actions.

When he was lying in bed that night trying to fall asleep, you were the only thing on his mind. Your smile that shined like the stars, your lips that he so wanted to feel against his own while your arms wrapped around his body. He wanted to bang his head against the wall, he was such an idiot. If only he’d realized this before then maybe now you wouldn’t hate him. It all seemed so obvious to him now. You were there for him, by his side from the very beginning. He could always count on and lean on you, he trusted you even more than he trusted himself. Oftentimes he’d become mesmerized by how pretty you looked when you spent time together, the sun hitting your face in just the perfect way or your hair effortlessly framing your face in such a flawless way. Of course, he thought nothing of all this at the time, brushing it off as objective thinking. But now, it suddenly hit him, everything was different now because he wasn’t unsure anymore, he knew exactly how he felt about you. He loved you.

He sat on his bed, passing his hands through his face in an attempt to clear his mind. He wanted- no, needed to talk to you. Maybe you didn’t even feel the same way anymore, but he had to get it off his chest, he had to at least try. But right now, he also had to calm his nerves because if he didn’t, he’d go and knock on your door this very moment, and he was certain you didn’t wanna see him at all. So instead, he got up and went to take a walk, thinking it would be nice to sit by the tree to help him organize his thoughts. What he wasn’t expecting was seeing you there.

As soon as you saw his figure making its way to you, you got up, ready to leave but were interrupted by his voice. “Wait, please, don’t go.” You knew you should pay him no attention and leave anyway, but it had been so long since you’d last heard his voice that you were taken aback for a moment, standing in place. “Can we talk?” His voice was soft, nothing compared to what it was in your last conversation together; you could even hear a hint of desperation, which was what ultimately made you turn around and stay.

“What do you want, Ekko?” As soon as he heard you he let out a small smile, confirming that yours was the voice he wanted to hear every day when he woke up and every night before going to sleep.

He motioned for you to sit down again, doing the same right after you. “I’m sorry for everything,” he began saying, “I never meant for things to end up like this between us.” His chest accompanied his breathing, moving just a little too fast, earning him a concerned look from you. “I know that you probably hate me now, I know I would if I were you, and you’ll probably hate me even more after what I have to say since I acted like a complete idiot and took so long to figure out something that was right in front of me this whole time but I- uh, I do have feelings for you. Lots of feelings actually, I’m in love with you.”

You snapped your neck to look at him, trying to read his expression in search of a playful tone, but it wasn’t there. He was serious, he was finally saying what you wanted to hear for so long now. So long that you couldn’t fully believe him.

“Ekko, I don’t want any games, please.”

“I’m being serious. These weeks without you have been absolute torture, I can’t do this without you, I need you.” He rubbed his face, stopping at the bridge of his nose to pinch it. When he looked back at you, he had tears forming in his eyes, a sight you hadn’t seen in a very long time. “I’m being honest. I’m so sorry it took me so long to finally realize it. I made it my personal vow to always protect you and keep you safe and I’m the one that caused you pain and for that, I’m so sorry.”

You didn’t really know what to say, nothing seemed good enough. Your mind was racing and quickly you were lost in your thoughts and were brought back to reality by the sound of Ekko getting up, ready to leave. “These last weeks have been hell for me, too.” Your eyes met his and you stoop up, getting closer to him. “I don’t hate you, Ekko. I could never hate you.”

“But you don’t love me anymore?”

“I didn’t say that, I’m just a bit taken aback that’s all.” He got closer to you, trying to grab your hand and this time, you let him do it. He brought it to his face and planted a kiss on it, never breaking eye contact with you.

“I’m so in love with you that just thinking about spending a second away from you makes me suffer. I don’t want to feel that way anymore, I want to be with you, share my life with you, and love you every day.” One of his hands went to cup your face and you leaned against it. “Please let me love you.”

You looked at his lips and then back at his eyes, and in just a second the air was knocked out of your lungs when you felt his lips against yours. The kiss was sweet but desperate and filled with emotions. “Please let me love you, too,” you said when you separated.

“Nothing would make me happier.”

hey! i loved this request, i'm a sucker for angst :)

i changed it just a little bit but i still hope you like it anon, thanks for requesting! really enjoyed writing this one and i LOVE writing for ekko

[yourgothiccqueen]

LN4 - “Formula One Sucks”

Summary: A grumpy reader meets her match.

Parings : Lando Norris x Female Reader

Warnings: none except swearing - fluff and silliness!

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3

Masterlist

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

“I think just don’t give a shit about it!”

“That’s because you’re a boring cow!”

Y/N sat crossed legged on the grass outside her tent, sun beating down on her face as she half heartedly sipped on a capri sun. Spending the night lying on the floor had left her aching and exhausted, and she feared spending the day watching ‘cars go round in circles’ would truly tip her over the edge.

“I just don’t get why I had to come.” Y/N groaned. “You know loads of other people.”

“None of whom were free at short notice on a Sunday!” Y/N’s friend Annie exclaimed.

Y/N groaned dramatically. She was already hating the fact that she was going to be spending the day trying to shelter from the heat whilst pushing her way through crowds of obsessive fans.

“It’s the three things I hate the most - cars, people and outside.”

“Oh shush, you had to come because you’re such a joyous, positive influence in my life who I knew would jump at the opportunity!” Annie said, sarcastically. “Now stop being so bloody miserable.”

Y/N scowled and playfully swatted Annie on the leg.

“You’re a bitch, you know that?”

“I know. Now drink your capri sun and cheer the fuck up.”

—————————————————————-

By 12pm Y/N had not, in fact, cheered the fuck up. She was truly finished with the world of formula one. So far she had queued for the loo, listened to some very loud music and spent an extortionate amount of money on a relatively small (and cold) hot dog.

Annie had long disappeared, claiming to have spotted some guy called ‘Fernando’ before rushing off into the crowd with a squeal, promising to meet Y/N at their seats later on.

It was beginning to get all too much for little Y/N L/N (😉) as she made her way throughout the bustle of people, eager to finally find someplace quiet to eat.

Eventually she found herself going through a set of doors (which definitely did not say staff only) as she found herself a quiet corner.

“Perfect.”

Before she could even take a bite, she heard a cough from behind her.

“Ermmm, what are you doing?”

Turning around, Y/N found herself faced with a relatively young man, wearing an orange cap with curls of brown peeking out the bottom. He looked strangely familiar, but Y/N couldn’t put her finger on it, and quite frankly she was too hangry to care.

“I’m eating my hot dog.”

The man smirked and let out a small laugh.

“Yeah, I can see that.”

Y/N shrugged and said “ask stupid questions, get stupid answers” before taking a bite.

The man raised an eyebrow slightly, intrigued by the passive aggressive woman in front of him, who seemingly didn’t know who he was.

“Are you here for the race? Or do you work here?” He questioned.

“I’m here for the race. Are you?”

The curly haired man smirked slightly, letting out a little laugh.

“Yeah, I suppose you could say that.”

Y/N crammed another bite of hot dog into her mouth “Well, enjoy. It’s all a load of crap if you ask me though.”

A look of intrigue on his face, he asked “what makes you say that?”

“It’s just boring!” Y/N exclaimed. “Car goes zoom, someone wins, hurrah - so bloody what?! What’s the point?”

The man looked back at her, a look of mild bewilderment and irration written across his face.

“Well yeah, the car is one aspect of it, sure. But it’s the drivers that bring that passion, that excitement every week. They’re the ones who shake things up and keep things fresh. They’re the ones who make it worth watching.” The man let out a small cough. “I mean, that’s my opinion anyway.”

“Hmm. So which driver should I look out for today then?” Y/N queried.

The curly haired man shot her a questionable look.

“Don’t you know the names of any of the drivers?”

Y/N shrugged “I know Lewis Hamilton.”

He let out a laugh and another smirk again “well, that’s a start I suppose.”

Y/N was getting sick of this man smirking at her. But then again, it was a very nice smirk. And he did seem like a very nice man.

“So, what are you doing here if you hate formula one?” The man queried, arms folded against his chest.

“My friend’s a big fan, and her boyfriend who was was meant to be coming has got the flu.” Y/N sighed. “As much as I hate being here, I’d feel even shitter if she came on her own.”

The man let out a small smile “Well, that’s nice of you to do that for your friend.”

He suddenly glanced down at Y/N’s lips, and appeared to take a step closer.

Was this mysterious, attractive stranger about to kiss her?

His thumb reached up to her chin and she couldn’t help but look up into his eyes.

God he had beautiful eyes.

She felt his thumb touch her skin with the gentlest of touches, and her eyes fluttered shut.

He smelt *heavenly*. What aftershave was he wearing?

“Sorry, you had some ketchup on your chin.” He let out a soft giggle.

Y/N’s eyes snapped open, and she felt herself return to reality.

“Oh!”

The mystery man let out a giggle as his thumb brushed against her chin - “all gone.”

She laughed. “Thank you. It’s not everyday a stranger wipes ketchup off your face. Did we just get to second base?”

The man let out a laugh (it’s a very nice laugh).

“Sure. I’ll count it if you do.”

An urgent shout sounded from a door behind them.

“I’ve got to go. It was nice chatting to you though.” The man stated. “And to answer your question, look out for Lando Norris today. I’ve heard he’s one to watch!”

“Will do.” Y/N called, still slightly stunned from the interaction.

A few moments passed before a security clad gentlemen rounded the corner.

“Oi, you shouldn’t be back here! Get back out the front!”

“Relax - I’ve finished my hot dog, I’m going!”

———————————————————

The rest of the afternoon was a blur, as Y/N sat close to Annie, eyes fixated on a certain McLaren as he reached his final lap of the race.

“And Lando Norris has finished in P2!”

Cheers erupted from around Y/N and she found herself joining it. Turned out that ‘cars, and people and outside’ could be pretty exciting - who knew?!

“Fuck yeah!” Annie shouted, jumping up and down.

The McLaren driver removed his helmet before waving up to the crowds, a grin plastered on his face.

Y/N’s own grin left her face.

“Oh shit. That’s the guy I met earlier!”

“What?” Annie exclaimed. “You met Lando Norris?”

“Yes! Is he a big deal?” Y/N stated, panic rising.

Annie glanced around them, signalling to the cheering crowds - “Duh! What did you say to him?”

Y/N gulped - “I shoved a hot dog in my mouth and told him formula one is crap.”

Annie stared. No words left her mouth.

Y/N could feel her face turning red. “I then proceeded to ask him if he was going to the race.”

A quick, sharp laugh left Annie’s mouth, before she fell into floods of hysterics.

“Holy shit! What is wrong with you?!”

Y/N could feel herself cringing.

“Oh god, I don’t know! Lots apparently!”

She glanced down to Lando again, to find him smirking up at her. He winked, before turning back towards his team.

“Oh my god, I’m never going outside again.” Y/N cringed. “This is all your fault!”

“My fault?” Annie laughed. “I didn’t tell an F1 driver that his sport is crap!”

Before Y/N could respond, she felt a tap on her shoulder. A uniformed worker pressed a piece of paper into her hand.

“I’ve been asked to give this to you.” The woman smiled, before walking away.

“What is it?” Annie questioned, eyeing the paper.

Y/N unwrapped it, finding quickly scrawled words,

Hello Grumpy,

I hope the race was enough to change your mind about formula one. Here’s my number if you ever fancy a hot dog or a debate over ‘cars going zoom’.

LN xx

“What. The. Fuck.” Annie’s eyes widened.

Y/N grinned.

“Maybe I do like F1 after all!”