#when it was almost always more of an observation of events | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

koyagifs · 3 hours ago

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𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓲 𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓭

pairing: wooyoung x reader au: idol | friends to lovers | genre: fluff | slight angst word count: 2 k synopsis: she fell first, he fell harder warning(s): angst in the beginning but fluff afterwards, sweet tooth rotting - literally will get cavities.

It was no secret—your feelings for Wooyoung had always been written across your face, obvious to anyone who cared to notice. Growing up side by side through the whirlwind of high school, your bond had been strong, almost unbreakable. He was the sunshine in your life, lighting up every room with his infectious energy and mischievous smile. Everyone teased you about it, but you never confirmed it—until the day you decided to confess.

It was the day he announced that he'd been accepted as a trainee. The two of you were sitting on the school rooftop, the sun setting behind him as he excitedly talked about his dreams and ambitions. Your heart raced, your palms clammy as you mustered the courage to speak.

"I like you," you had blurted out, interrupting his flow. "I’ve liked you for a long time, Woo."

The silence that followed felt deafening. His eyes widened in surprise before softening into a kind, almost apologetic gaze.

"I… I’m sorry, Ynie," he said gently, using the nickname he’d given you years ago. "You’re my best friend, and I care about you so much, but I don’t feel the same way. And with this trainee thing… I don’t think I could handle anything more right now."

Your world shattered in that moment. Every ounce of bravery you’d summoned felt wasted. You forced a smile, brushing it off like it was nothing, but the ache in your chest lingered long after.

For months, you avoided him. You couldn’t bear to see his face, hear his voice, or pretend like everything was fine. It hurt too much. Wooyoung tried to reach out—calling, texting, even showing up at your house—but you shut him out completely.

Wooyoung had tried to bury the guilt, the regret that gnawed at him for losing you. Even as his dream of becoming an idol came to life, there was always a part of him that wondered what things would be like if you were still by his side. Every practice session, every performance, every achievement—there was always a lingering shadow of your absence. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d lost someone irreplaceable, even if he had told himself it was for the best.

What he didn’t know was that you never really left—not entirely. Despite the heartbreak and the distance, you couldn’t bring yourself to let him go completely. You followed his career from afar, quietly cheering him on as he rose through the ranks to become the star you always knew he could be.

At every fan meeting, showcase, or concert you could attend, you were there, tucked away in the crowd where he couldn’t see you. Over time, some of his more observant fans began to recognize your familiar face, often whispering among themselves about who you might be. They thought you were just another dedicated fan, but they couldn’t have known the history you shared with him—the countless memories, the inside jokes, the confessions and heartbreak.

And it wasn’t just the events. You’d kept in touch with his family, too. His mom still greeted you warmly when you visited, treating you like the old friend she remembered. She never questioned why you came around, as if she understood there were things you couldn’t say to Wooyoung directly.

But you did, you've been at every event you could for Wooyoung to the point where some fans recognized you. Wooyoung had no idea that you still follow him, even talking to his family.

“It means a lot to him, you know,” she had said during one of your visits, her hands busy folding laundry. “Having someone believe in him like you do. Even if he doesn’t know.”

Her words stayed with you, but they also left a bittersweet ache in your chest. You’d convinced yourself you were fine with the distance, fine with supporting him from the shadows. But the truth was, every time you saw him on stage, every time his smile lit up a room, you felt the sharp pang of what you’d lost.

Every time you watched him on stage, your heart swelled with pride. He was living his dream, shining in the spotlight in a way that only Wooyoung could. But there was also a pang of sadness, knowing that you were watching from a distance, unable to share in his success the way you once had.

One day, at a fan sign event, a girl next to you nudged your arm, her eyes wide with recognition. "Hey," she whispered, leaning in. "Aren't you that girl? The one who's always at Wooyoung's events? Some of us have noticed you before."

You froze, your fingers tightening around the album you were holding. You hadn’t expected to be recognized, let alone confronted about it. "Uh, yeah," you said awkwardly, trying to downplay it. "I’m just a fan like everyone else."

The girl gave you a knowing smile, as if she didn’t quite believe your casual response. “Right,” she said, her eyes drifting back toward Wooyoung as he greeted the next fan. “Well, whoever you are, you must really care about him. We’ve seen you around for years now.”

Your chest tightened at her words. You did care, more than anyone knew. But Wooyoung still had no idea that you were following his every step, silently supporting him from the background.

You told yourself you weren’t ready to face him again, not after how things ended. But deep down, you knew the real reason you stayed away—it wasn’t just about the pain. It was about the fear. Fear of rejection. Fear of what he might say if he realized you’d been there all along.

And now, standing in his dorm hallway with flowers in hand, his piercing gaze locked onto yours, you realized there was no running anymore. His band mates shuffling pass, heading into their dorm as Wooyoung stood there in shocked.

His jaw tightened, his expression a mixture of disbelief and something deeper—something he couldn’t quite hide. He stared at you for a moment longer before shaking his head, almost as if trying to snap himself out of a dream.

“How?” he asked, his voice quieter, laced with confusion and a hint of frustration. “How are you here, Yn?”

You shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant even though your heart was pounding. “ I’m on the guest list,” you said, your tone light but your grip on the bouquet betraying your nerves. “Surprised me too. I didn’t think you wanted to see me again.”

He frowned, stepping closer, his eyes scanning your face as if searching for answers. “Why would you even want to? After everything… after what I—” His voice cracked, and he stopped, swallowing hard. “Why?”

You hesitated, the weight of his question pressing down on you. For a moment, you thought about brushing it off, making some excuse, but you knew you owed him more than that. After all this time, the truth deserved to come out.

“Because I never stopped caring about you, Woo,” you admitted softly, your voice steady despite the lump in your throat. “Even after you broke my heart, even after I told myself I couldn’t face you again… I couldn’t let go. So I kept following your journey, cheering you on from the sidelines. I didn’t plan to show up here, but your mom called and said i should visit…” You trailed off, looking down at the flowers in your hands. “I guess I couldn’t stay away anymore.”

Wooyoung’s eyes softened, the tension in his stance slowly easing as your words sank in. His expression was a mix of surprise and guilt, his brows furrowing as he tried to process everything you had just said.

“My mom called you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, letting out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. She said it was time I stopped hiding and finally talked to you. Said you’d been… missing me, even if you wouldn’t admit it.”

He looked away for a moment, running a hand through his hair as he let out a quiet sigh. “She’s right,” he murmured, almost to himself. When his gaze returned to you, it was heavy with emotion. “Ynie, I—God, I don’t even know where to start. I thought I lost you. After what I said, I didn’t think you’d ever want to see me again.”

“I didn’t,” you admitted honestly, though your tone was gentle. “Not for a long time. It hurt too much, Woo. But your mom was right. I couldn’t keep pretending like you weren’t still a part of my life—even if it was from a distance.”

He took a step closer, the bouquet still clutched tightly in his hand. “You didn’t have to do that. I don’t deserve it, not after how I hurt you. You were my best friend, Ynie, and I let you go. I’ve regretted it every single day.”

Your heart ached at the raw sincerity in his voice, but you managed a small smile. “You didn’t let me go, Woo. I chose to walk away. I didn’t know how to be around you after… everything.”

“I got scared yn..” he admitted, his voice cracking slightly. “I love you too, but - i was so terrified that both of my dreams are clashing at the same time.”

His words hit you like a tidal wave, leaving you momentarily breathless. You stared at him, wide-eyed, as his confession hung in the air between you. The weight of it, the raw honesty, was something you had dreamed of hearing for so long that it didn’t feel real.

“Wooyoung…” you whispered, your voice barely audible, your grip tightening around the flowers in your hand.

He ran a shaky hand through his hair, his gaze dropping to the floor as if he couldn’t bear to look at you. “I was scared, Ynie. Scared that if I let myself love you the way I wanted to, I’d lose everything—my dream, my career, and you. And the thought of losing you in any way… it was too much.”

Your heart twisted painfully at the vulnerability in his voice. The boy you had known for years, so full of confidence and fire, now stood before you with his walls down, his emotions laid bare.

“I thought pushing you away would protect us both,” he continued, his voice trembling. “I thought I was doing the right thing, but all I did was hurt you—and myself. I love you, Ynie. I’ve always loved you. I just didn’t know how to handle it.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you blinked them away quickly, trying to steady yourself. You wanted to be angry, to tell him how much his fear had hurt you, but all you could feel was the overwhelming warmth of finally hearing the words you had waited so long to hear.

“You should have told me,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. “You didn’t have to go through it alone, Woo. I would have been there for you, no matter what. That’s what I’ve always wanted—to be by your side.”

He finally looked up, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I know that now,” he said, his voice breaking. “I was stupid, and I let my fear get in the way. But if you’ll let me… I want to make it up to you. I want to try again. I want to do this right.”

The sincerity in his words left no room for doubt, and for the first time in years, the pain you had carried began to melt away. You took a deep breath, stepping closer to him until there was barely any space between you.

“I’m scared too,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I’ve been scared for so long that I don’t want to let it hold me back anymore. If you’re willing to try, then so am I.”

His eyes searched yours, as if making sure he had heard you right. When he saw the determination in your gaze, a small, hopeful smile broke across his face.

“Really?” he asked, his voice soft, almost disbelieving.

You nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek as you smiled. “Really.”

In the next moment, his arms were around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. The flowers tumbled from your hands as you melted into him, feeling the weight of years of pain and longing finally lift.

“I won’t let you down this time, Ynie,” he murmured into your hair, his voice steady with conviction. “I promise.”

And for the first time in a long time, you believed him.

#wooyoung x reader #wooyoung fluff #ateez wooyoung x reader #wooyoung x reader fluff #ateez wooyoung #ateez x reader #ateez oneshot #ateez imagines #ateez #ateez scenarios #jung wooyoung #wooyoung

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discoblocks · 1 year ago

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I don’t wanna touch too hard on the egg conflict rn but I will say that as a time-tested practice, you have got to stop assuming other people are hating on characters when they are merely pointing out flaws and actions as part of their analysis. It’s not villainizing to discuss how specific character actions affect the characters around them, even if the effect is negative. Sometimes they are just speaking from a pov that you don’t really have an understanding of, and that’s fine. Sometimes YOU post from a pov they don’t understand either, which is also fine, bc not everyone is going to have the same opinions on everything.

We can relax and remember that this is a narrative, and a story being told to us, and our fighting about it is going to have no bearing on how it will continue to get told. If you can’t agree with people about it, block and let it go, and don’t bother going around making posts about how you found toxic takes, bc that only adds fuel to the unnecessary fire.

#discotalks #sorry I got too annoyed with how many people insisted on twisting each others words on twt #but the main thing I noticed was tons and tons of people assuming their fave was getting hate from fans #when it was almost always more of an observation of events #and discussing how those events affected characters #too many people are one pov only I fear #and it ultimately means people are going to have wildly different opinions on conflicts #better to relax and accept that and curate your space than to start fights about it

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luv-lock · 3 months ago

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⸻ ɪ ɴ ᴛ ʜ ᴇ ᴅ ᴀ ʀ ᴋ ⸻

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Fem Reader

Headcanon: how would he be when he's obsessed?

Note: English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Bruce Wayne is a man shaped by tragedy, a billionaire with an iron will and an unrelenting sense of justice. But beneath the stoic façade lies a broken soul. When Bruce becomes obsessed, it isn’t violent outbursts or chaotic behavior—it’s cold, calculated, and methodical. He doesn’t lose himself to obsession; he leans into it, weaponizing his resources and intelligence to keep you close. After all, what is Batman if not a man who cannot let go?

Maybe you’re someone he met at a gala—a rare individual who caught his attention without trying. Maybe you’re an employee at Wayne Enterprises, someone who treated him like a person rather than the playboy billionaire. Or maybe you stumbled into Gotham’s darker corners, and he saved you as Batman. Whatever the case, Bruce finds himself drawn to you in a way he hasn’t been to anyone else in years.

At first, he tells himself it’s curiosity. You’re intriguing, sure, but nothing more. Yet he can’t stop thinking about you. Every word you said, every look you gave him, replays in his mind like a song stuck on repeat. And Bruce, has to understand why.

Bruce doesn’t approach you immediately; instead, he observes. He justifies it as caution. After all, he’s Batman—he needs to know everything about you to protect you.

He learns everything there is to know: your name, your routines, your friends, your secrets. He watches you through security cameras, listens to your conversations through bugs he discreetly plants, and even monitors your online activity.

But to Bruce, this isn’t invasive—it’s necessary. How else can he ensure your safety in a city as dangerous as Gotham?

As Bruce Wayne, he’s charming, attentive, and subtly magnetic. He uses his wealth and influence to insert himself into your life. Invitations to exclusive events? Job offers at Wayne Enterprises? He makes it impossible for you to say no without coming across as ungrateful.

As Batman, he’s your silent protector, always one step ahead. If you’re ever in trouble, he’s there—appearing out of the shadows to save you. He doesn’t speak much when he’s Batman, but the way his gaze lingers on you feels almost suffocating.

You’d never suspect that the billionaire who’s so eager to help you and the vigilante who seems to always be around are one and the same.

Bruce’s obsession manifests in his need for control. He doesn’t see himself as possessive—he sees himself as protective. You don’t need to worry about toxic friends, late-night walks, or bad decisions because Bruce will take care of everything.

If someone gets too close to you, Bruce doesn’t lose his temper. Instead, he uses his resources to quietly remove them from your life. A coworker who flirts too much? Suddenly transferred. A friend who badmouths Bruce? Their secrets mysteriously come to light.

“It’s for your own good,” he tells himself. After all, Bruce believes he knows what’s best for you better than you do.

Bruce is painfully self-aware. He knows his feelings for you aren’t healthy, and he hates himself for it. But his guilt doesn’t stop him; it fuels him. He rationalizes his actions by convincing himself that you’re safer with him watching over you.

“I’ve already lost so much,” he whispers to himself late at night in the Batcave, your face flickering on the monitor in front of him. “I can’t lose her too.”

In his mind, his obsession is just another sacrifice he makes for the people he loves. He can bear the weight of being a monster as long as it means keeping you safe.

Bruce rarely shows his jealousy outright—it’s subtle, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface. If you mention another man, his jaw tightens imperceptibly. If someone touches you, his eyes darken, and his hand lingers a little too long on your shoulder as he pulls you away.

Behind the scenes, though, he’s ruthless. The man who asked for your number? He’ll find himself the target of a police investigation. That friend who keeps trying to set you up on dates? Suddenly, they’re avoiding you without explanation.

“I’m just looking out for you,” he says when you start to notice how people in your life seem to vanish. “Gotham is dangerous. You can never be too careful.”

Bruce’s obsession remains controlled until you try to distance yourself. Maybe you’ve started to feel smothered, or maybe you’ve realized that the people disappearing from your life aren’t coincidences. When you confront him—whether as Bruce or Batman—he’s calm, almost unnervingly so.

“I only want what’s best for you,” he says, his voice steady. “Do you have any idea how much danger you’re in without me?”

If you try to leave, that calm facade shatters. He won’t hurt you—never you—but he’ll do everything in his power to make sure you stay. He’ll cut off your options, isolate you, and remind you that no one else can protect you the way he can.

“You think you’re safer without me?” he says, his voice laced with desperation and anger. “You’re wrong. Gotham will chew you up and spit you out. I’m the only thing standing between you and harm.”

Despite his obsession, Bruce’s love for you is genuine in its own twisted way. He wants you to be happy, even if he doesn’t understand that his actions are suffocating you.

There are moments when the mask slips—when Bruce is just a broken man trying to hold onto the one good thing in his life. Late at night, he’ll hold you close, his voice trembling as he whispers, “You’re everything to me. I can’t lose you. Not after everything I’ve already lost.”

In those moments, it’s hard to tell where Bruce Wayne ends and Batman begins. To him, they’re both the same—a man who would do anything to protect the one person he can’t live without.

𝒍𝒖𝒗-𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌 ☆ 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

#🕊️. dc comics #ㅤㅤ⠀ㅤ 𓇼ㅤ ㅤ𓂂ㅤㅤ ˚ㅤㅤ ◌ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏#bruce wayne #yandere bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #dark bruce wayne #bruce wayne x you #yandere batman #yandere batman x reader #batman x reader #batman #batman x you #yandere dc #yandere dc x reader #dc x reader #batman x fem!reader #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x fem!reader

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jupiterpilgrim · 3 months ago

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The Secret Folders - Or Surprisingly Exposed

Seulgi x Male Reader

word count: 4.5K

The horror movie flickers across the TV screen, casting dancing shadows around Seulgi's dimly lit living room. But you can barely focus on the generic slasher plot - not with her sitting so close beside you on the plush leather couch. Your best friend since college is wearing those damn gray pajama pants again, the ones that hug every curve of her toned legs and petite frame. Combined with a loose t-shirt that's always sliding off her shoulder, giving a glimpse of her collarbone; she's the perfect mix of casual comfort and unintentional sexiness that's been driving you insane lately.

"Earth to spacehead," Seulgi says with a playful nudge, breaking you from your wandering thoughts. "That's like the third time you've jumped at absolutely nothing. The movie's not even at a scary part yet."

You force what you hope is a casual laugh, hyper-aware of how her half-bare shoulder brushes against yours as she shifts position. "Just tired I guess. Long week at work and all that."

"Bullshit," she counters with that knowing half-smirk that makes your stomach do backflips. "I've seen you marathon horror movies until 4 AM after double shifts. Try again."

"Maybe I'm just getting old and jumpy?" You attempt deflection, but your voice comes out higher than intended.

Seulgi pauses the movie mid-scene, turning to face you fully with her legs tucked under her.

"Or maybe," she draws out the words slowly, dark eyes studying your expression, "you're distracted by something else entirely. Or should I say... someone?"

Your heart rate kicks up several notches. There's a glint in her eye that you've never seen before - something predatory and knowing that makes your mouth go dry. "W-what do you mean?"

"Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean." She leans in slightly, her vanilla-scented shampoo filling your senses. "See, the other day when I borrowed your laptop to print those work documents? I may have accidentally stumbled across some... interesting folders."

The blood drains from your face as realization hits.

Fuck.

Those folders.

The ones you thought were safely buried in obscure subfolders with innocuous names. The ones filled with carefully edited split-screen videos - porn on one side, usually featuring petite Asian women who looked just like...

"Your face is doing that thing it does when you're panicking," Seulgi observes, seeming almost amused by your deer-in-headlights expression. "The same look you had that time we almost got caught sneaking into the campus pool senior year."

You open your mouth to speak but no words come out. How do you explain away folders full of porn videos meticulously edited to display alongside photos of your best friend? There's no platonic explanation for that level of obsession.

"I have to say," she continues casually, as if discussing the movie rather than your darkest secret, "I'm a little hurt you didn't just tell me you were into me. We've been friends for what, six years now? That's a long time to keep those kinds of feelings bottled up."

"Seulgi, I..." you start, then falter. "I never wanted to mess up our friendship. You mean too much to me to risk that. And I know those folders were fucked up. I promise I'll delete everything! I'm so sorry you had to see that-"

"Shh." She presses a finger to your lips, effectively silencing your rambling apology. "I'm not finished. Because while I was surprised to find those folders... What surprised me more was realizing how much they turned me on. Damn, I didn't know you were such a dirty boy."

Your brain short-circuits at her words, unable to process this turn of events. Seulgi takes advantage of your stunned silence to slide closer.

"Want to know a secret?" she whispers, her lips barely an inch from your ear. "I've thought about you too. All those times we've had sleepovers, sharing my bed... I'd lie awake wondering what would happen if I just rolled over and kissed you. If I told you how wet I get when you look at me with those hungry eyes you think I don't notice."

"Fuck," you breathe out shakily as her hand lands on your thigh, fingertips tracing idle patterns through your sweatpants. "Is this really happening?"

"That depends," she replies with mock thoughtfulness. "Do you want it to be happening? Because I saw those videos you like... all those pretty Asian girls taking it up the ass... is that what you want to do to me? Do you want me to be your anal princess?"

Your grip on the couch cushion tightens as arousal shoots through you at her blunt words. Hearing your best friend talk like this is driving you crazy.

"Don't worry, I always wanted this too," she continues, voice dropping to a husky whisper. "Do you remember all those times I'd sit in your lap for no reason? When I'd 'accidentally' grind against you while reaching for something?" She grins wickedly. "That wasn't accidental at all. I've been trying to make you hard for months."

Your mind races back through countless moments - Seulgi plopping down on your lap during movie nights, wiggling her tight little ass against your crotch as she "got comfortable." How many times had you gone home afterward to jerk off thinking about it?

"I could feel it, you know," she continues, her voice dropping lower. "How hard you'd get. Sometimes I could even feel your cock twitch through your pants. It made me so wet knowing I was affecting you like that."

You groan, unable to help yourself. "Fuck, Seulgi..."

"And you know what really got me hot?" She leans in close, her lips brushing your ear. "Sometimes I could feel your cock right against my asshole through our clothes. The way it would press right there... god, it made me want to just pull my pants down and let you fuck my ass right then and there."

Your cock is straining painfully against your jeans now as Seulgi's dirty confession pours out. She notices, of course, and presses her palm firmly against your bulge.

"You still haven't answered me: all those videos you picked - they were all anal scenes. Is that what you think about? Fucking my tight little ass?"

Unable to form words, you just nod. Seulgi's hand squeezes your cock through your pants.

"Tell me," she demands. "I want to hear you say it."

Swallowing hard, you force yourself to meet her intense gaze. "Yes. Fuck yes! I think about your ass all the time. Every time you wear that fucking leggings, I can see every curve, how tight and perfect it is. I go home and jerk off thinking about spreading those cheeks and burying my cock in your ass."

Seulgi moans, grinding the heel of her hand against your erection. "Keep going. Tell me more."

The dam breaks and all your pent-up fantasies come pouring out. "I think about eating your ass first, getting it nice and wet with my tongue. Spreading you open and licking you until you're begging for my cock. Then sliding into that tight hole inch by inch while you take it all..."

"Fuck," Seulgi gasps, her free hand sliding between her own legs. "I knew we had a connection. Want to know a secret?"

You nod eagerly, hypnotized by the way she's rubbing herself through her pants.

"I have toys," she confesses. "Butt plugs, dildos... I use them in my ass almost every night thinking about you. Imagining it's your thick cock stretching me open instead."

That confession breaks the last of your restraint. With a growl, you grab Seulgi and pull her into your lap, crushing your lips together in a desperate kiss. She responds immediately, grinding her ass against your cock as her tongue invades your mouth.

You grab her firm ass with both hands, squeezing and spreading the cheeks through the fabric. Seulgi moans into your mouth, rolling her hips to create more friction.

"Bedroom," she pants, breaking the kiss. "Now. I need you to fuck my ass properly."

You don't need to be told twice. Standing up with Seulgi still wrapped around you, you carry her down the hall to her room, hands firmly gripping her ass the whole way. She attacks your neck with kisses and little bites that make your cock throb.

Once in her bedroom, you toss her onto the bed and she bounces with a giggle that quickly turns into a moan as you grab the waistband of her pajama pants and yank them down. Her tiny black thong comes with them, leaving her lower half completely exposed.

"Fuck, look at that ass," you breathe, taking in the sight of her small, perfectly round cheeks. You've imagined this view countless times, but reality is so much better.

Seulgi wiggles her hips teasingly. "Touch it. I've been waiting so long to feel your hands on me."

You don't hesitate, climbing onto the bed and running your palms over the smooth globes of her ass. Her skin is incredibly soft and warm under your touch. You squeeze and knead the firm flesh, spreading her cheeks to reveal her tight pink hole.

"God, it's perfect," you groan, rubbing your thumb over her puckered entrance. Seulgi pushes back against the touch with a whimper.

"Taste it," she demands, arching her back to present herself better. "I want to feel your tongue in my ass."

You dive in eagerly, spreading her cheeks wide and dragging your tongue from her dripping pussy up to her asshole. Seulgi cries out, pushing back against your face as you circle her rim with firm licks.

"Yes, fuck, just like that," she moans. "Get my ass nice and wet for your cock."

You alternate between broad licks and pointed jabs with your tongue, gradually working the tip past her tight ring of muscle. Seulgi's whole body shudders as you tongue-fuck her ass, her pussy dripping onto the sheets below.

"More," she begs. "Stick your tongue in deeper. Get me ready for that thick cock."

You redouble your efforts, gripping her ass cheeks hard enough to leave marks as you bury your face between them. Your tongue pushes deeper into her hot channel while your nose presses against her taint. The musky, intimate taste of her ass only makes you harder.

Seulgi reaches back and spreads herself even wider for you. "That's it, eat my fucking ass. God, I've dreamed about this so many times."

You pull back just enough to spit directly onto her hole, watching it clench and relax. "Me too. Every time you sat on my lap, I wanted to bend you over and tongue-fuck this perfect little ass."

"I knew it," she pants. "I could feel how hard you'd get. Sometimes I'd grind back extra hard just to feel your cock pressing against my asshole through our clothes."

You press your thumb against her spit-slicked entrance, watching it slowly sink in to the first knuckle. Seulgi moans and pushes back, taking it deeper.

"Look how eager your ass is," you tease, working your thumb in and out. "Such a greedy little hole."

"Only for you," she gasps. "I've been saving my ass for your cock. Now stop teasing and fuck me already."

But you're not done exploring yet. You've fantasized about this too long to rush it. Pulling your thumb out, you replace it with two fingers, slowly working them into her tight channel.

"Fuck yes," Seulgi hisses. "Stretch me open. Get me ready for that big dick."

You pump your fingers steadily in and out of her ass, watching in fascination as her hole grips and releases them. Your other hand slides around to find her clit, rubbing the swollen nub in time with your thrusts.

"Oh god," she moans, rocking between your fingers. "That feels so fucking good. Add another finger, please. I want to be nice and loose for you."

You comply, working a third digit into her stretched hole. Seulgi's back arches beautifully as she takes it, a long moan escaping her lips.

"Such a good girl, taking it so well," you praise, scissoring your fingers to open her up more. "I can't wait to feel this tight ass wrapped around my cock."

"Please," she whimpers. "I need it. Need your cock in my ass so bad."

You continue finger-fucking her ass while your other hand works her clit, building her up slowly. Seulgi's moans get higher and more desperate as she approaches orgasm.

"That's it," you encourage. "Cum for me. Cum with my fingers in your ass."

Seulgi's whole body tenses as she crashes over the edge, her ass clenching rhythmically around your fingers as she cums. You work her through it, only stopping when she collapses bonelessly onto the bed.

"Holy fuck," she pants, looking back at you with glazed eyes. "That was so good."

You slowly withdraw your fingers, admiring how her hole stays slightly open. "Just wait until you feel my cock in there."

"Yes please," she purrs, rolling onto her back. "But first, get naked. I want to see what I've been missing."

You quickly strip off your clothes, your cock springing free rock hard and leaking. Seulgi's eyes go wide as she takes in your size.

"Fuck, you're bigger than my toys," she says appreciatively. "No wonder I could feel you so well through your pants."

She sits up and pulls her t-shirt off, revealing small, perky breasts with hard nipples. Your mouth waters at the sight of her toned body, tight abs leading down to her bare pussy.

"Come here," she beckons, reaching for your cock. "Let me get you nice and wet first."

You move closer and Seulgi wraps her small hand around your shaft, stroking slowly. Pre-cum leaks from the tip and she uses it to lubricate her movements.

"I've wanted to touch your cock for so long," she admits, leaning in to lick a stripe up the underside. "Every time I felt it getting hard under me, I wanted to pull it out and suck it."

Her tongue swirls around the head before she takes you into her mouth. You groan as she sucks you deeper, her hand working what doesn't fit.

"Fuck, your mouth feels amazing," you pant, threading your fingers through her hair.

Seulgi hums around your cock, the vibrations making your legs shake. She works you expertly, alternating between deep throat attempts and focusing on the sensitive head.

After a few minutes of this heavenly torture, you have to stop her. "Wait, I don't want to cum yet. I want to save it for your ass."

She releases you after a long suck on the tip. "Mmm, yes please. I want you to cum deep in my ass."

Seulgi rolls over onto her hands and knees, presenting her ass to you once again. "I need your cock in my ass so bad, babe. The lube is on the nightstand."

You grab the bottle and drizzle it generously over her hole and your cock. Using your fingers, you work it into her ass, making sure she's well-prepared.

"Ready?" you ask, lining yourself up with her entrance.

"God yes," she moans. "Fill my ass with that big cock."

You press forward slowly, watching the head of your cock stretch her tight ring of muscle. Seulgi whimpers as you breach her, her hands fisting in the sheets.

"You okay?" you check, pausing to let her adjust.

"Yes, don't stop," she pants. "Keep going. I want all of it."

You continue pushing forward inch by inch, groaning at the incredible tightness of her ass. Seulgi rocks back slightly, helping to work you deeper.

"Fuck, you're so big," she gasps. "My ass feels so full."

Finally, you bottom out, your hips pressed flush against her ass cheeks. You both moan at the sensation of being completely joined.

"How does it feel?" you ask, running your hands over her back.

"Amazing," she breathes. "Better than I ever imagined. Start moving, please. I need you to fuck my ass."

You pull back slowly until just the head remains inside, then push back in at the same pace. Seulgi's ass grips you like a vice, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

"God, your ass is perfect," you groan, establishing a steady rhythm. "So fucking tight around my cock."

"Yes, fuck my ass," she moans. "Use my tight little hole. I've been saving it just for you."

You gradually increase your pace, watching in fascination as her ass swallows your cock over and over. The sight of your shaft disappearing into her stretched hole is hypnotic.

Seulgi reaches between her legs to play with her clit as you fuck her ass. "Harder," she demands. "I can take it. I want you to really fuck me."

You grip her hips tighter and start pounding into her ass with more force. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixed with both of your moans and gasps.

"Yes, just like that," she cries. "Fuck my ass hard. Make me your anal whore."

Her dirty talk spurs you on and you slam into her even harder, watching her small body jolt with each thrust. Your balls slap against her pussy, adding to the obscene symphony of sounds.

"You like that?" you growl, spanking her ass cheek. "Like having your tight little ass stretched around my cock?"

"God yes," she pants. "I love it. Love feeling you so deep in my ass. Don't stop, please don't stop!"

You can feel her getting close again, her ass clenching rhythmically around your cock as she works her clit faster. The extra tightness is bringing you closer to the edge too.

"Gonna cum soon," you warn, your thrusts becoming more erratic.

"Inside," she begs. "Cum in my ass! Fill me up with your hot load."

The combination of her words and her tight ass proves too much. With a final deep thrust, you explode inside her, painting her walls with rope after rope of cum. The feeling of being filled triggers Seulgi's own orgasm and she screams your name as she cums hard around your cock.

You continue pumping slowly, working both of you through your climaxes until you're completely spent. It's when you collapse forward, careful not to crush her smaller frame. Both of you pant heavily as you come down from your respective highs.

"Stay inside me," she murmurs when you start to pull out. "I want to feel your cum in my ass as long as possible."

You comply, remaining buried in her stretched hole as it continues to pulse around your softening cock.

"Fuck, that's hot," you groan, bringing your face closer to kiss her neck. Her tight hole squeezes you and you can feel your cum starting to leak out around your shaft.

"I can't believe we finally did this," Seulgi says softly, turning her head to look at you with those beautiful eyes that always drive you crazy. "I've wanted you for so long..."

"Really?" you ask, genuinely surprised. "I had no idea. I mean, I've always been attracted to you too but I figured I wasn't your type."

She lets out a little laugh. "Are you kidding? You're exactly my type. I've been fantasizing about you fucking me like this for years." She rolls her hips slightly, making you both moan as your semi-hard cock shifts inside her cum-filled ass.

"Why didn't you ever say anything?" you ask, running your hands up and down her smooth back.

"Same reason as you probably - didn't want to risk ruining our friendship," she admits. "Plus I wasn't sure if you saw me that way. I mean, you were always so shy, never showing any obvious interest, despite your glances at me... It was hard to decipher what you really wanted."

"Well, now you know what I really want. Do you know how many times I've jerked off thinking about that perfect little ass of yours?" You give her ass cheeks a squeeze for emphasis. "Or those cute little tits? Or those fucking gorgeous lips wrapped around my cock?"

Seulgi moans softly at your words, her ass clenching around you again. "Mmm tell me more... What else did you think about doing to me?"

You can feel your dick starting to harden again inside her as you continue: "Fuck, everything. Bending you over every surface in my apartment. Watching you bounce on my cock. Filling all your tight little holes with cum. The way you'd look with my dick stretching out that pretty mouth..."

"God yes," she whimpers, beginning to slowly grind against you. Your cock is definitely getting hard again now, making her gasp as it swells inside her ass. "I used to imagine you just grabbing me one day and taking what you wanted. Pushing me up against a wall and shoving your big cock inside me..."

"Yeah? You wanted me to just use you like a little fucktoy?"

"Yes! Fuck yes," she confesses. "I wanted you to treat me like your personal cumslut. Make me take that fat cock however you wanted..."

Your dick is fully hard again now, throbbing inside her cum-filled ass. You can feel your previous load still leaking out around your shaft as she continues grinding against you.

"Well now we can make up for lost time," you tell Seulgi as you pull out of her slowly, laying on your back on the bed as you pull her on top of you. "I'm going to fuck this tight little ass whenever I want now. Fill you up with load after load of cum..."

"Promise?" she asks breathlessly, grabbing your cock in her hand as she slowly reinserts it into her ass, sitting on top of you. The new angle lets you fully appreciate her perfect petite body - those perky tits, flat stomach, and that incredible ass currently impaled on your shaft.

"Fuck yes I promise. But now I want to see your perfect little body riding my cock..." You grab her hips and thrust up into her, making her cry out in pleasure.

"Oh god! Yes! Let me ride you," Seulgi purrs. She starts rolling her hips experimentally, getting used to the feeling of controlling the penetration. Your previous load of cum makes obscene wet sounds as she moves, some of it leaking out around your cock and dripping onto your balls. The sight of your thick shaft disappearing into her tight little hole is fucking mesmerizing.

"Fuck, you look so hot like this," you groan, gripping her slim hips. Her ass clenches around you at the compliment, making you both moan.

"Yeah? You like watching me bounce on your big cock?" she asks breathlessly, starting to lift herself up and down properly now. The way she moves is absolutely perfect - she clearly knows exactly what she wants and how to get it.

"God yes, love watching this tight little ass take my cock," you tell her, giving her ass cheeks a squeeze. "Such a perfect little slut, riding me like you were made for it..."

Seulgi throws her head back and really starts going for it, bouncing enthusiastically on your dick. Her small tits bounce with the movement and you reach up to pinch her hard nipples, making her cry out in pleasure. The wet sounds of your cum squelching around your shaft get even louder as she picks up speed.

"Fuck! Your cock feels so good in my ass," she pants, grinding down hard against you. "Love feeling it stretch me open... Love having your cum inside me..."

You thrust up to meet her movements, driving your cock deeper into her tight hole. The way she's riding you is absolutely incredible - her ass is still gripping your shaft like a vice even after taking your first load. Every time she drops down, taking you balls deep, she lets out these perfect little whimpers that drive you crazy.

"That's it baby, ride that cock," you encourage her, running your hands up her sides to cup her tits. "Show me how badly you've wanted this..."

"Wanted it so bad," she moans, bouncing faster. "Dreamed about riding your big cock like this... Feeling you stretch my tight little ass..."

Her dirty talk spurs you on and you start thrusting up harder, making her cry out with each deep stroke. The sight of your shaft disappearing into her perfect ass over and over, still slick with your previous load, is absolutely incredible. Some of your cum is leaking out around your cock, running down onto your balls in thick white streams.

"Such a perfect little anal slut," you growl, squeezing her tits roughly. "Taking my cock so well, begging for more... Were you always this much of a cumslut or is it just for me?"

"Just for you," she gasps, grinding down hard. "Never wanted anyone else like this... Never begged for anyone else's cum..."

Her words make your cock throb inside her and you start really pounding up into her tight hole. The way she's moving her hips is absolutely perfect, grinding down to take you as deep as possible before lifting up until just the tip remains inside her. Her ass clenches around you each time she rises up, like she doesn't want to let your cock go.

"Fuck yes, ride that dick," you encourage her, gripping her hips tightly. "Show me how badly you want another load in this tight little ass..."

"Want it so bad," she moans, bouncing frantically now. "Want you to fill me up again... Want even more of your hot cum deep inside me..."

The sight of her riding you like this is absolutely incredible. Her perfect little body bouncing on your cock, her tight ass gripping and milking your shaft, the way your previous load is leaking out around your cock - it's all driving you crazy with lust.

"Gonna fill this tight hole up again," you grunt, squeezing her ass roughly. "Paint your insides white with another huge load..."

"Yes! Please cum in my ass again," she begs, grinding down hard. "Want to feel you pump me full... Want your hot cum deep inside me..."

You can feel your orgasm building as she continues riding you frantically, her tight hole milking your cock perfectly.

"Fuck, I'm close," you warn her, gripping her hips tightly. "Gonna fill this perfect little ass up again..."

"Do it! Cum inside me," she moans, grinding down hard. "Fill me up, mark me as yours..."

A few more bounces and you're there, groaning loudly as you start pumping another huge load deep in her ass. Seulgi cries out and clenches around you, her own orgasm hitting as she feels your hot cum flooding her insides.

"Oh god, yes! I can feel it," she gasps, grinding against you as you continue spurting inside her. "So much cum... Filling me up so good..."

You thrust up a few more times, making sure to deposit every drop of cum as deep as possible in her tight hole. When you're finally spent, she collapses forward onto your chest, her sweat-slick skin sliding against yours, both of you breathing heavily as your softening cock remains buried in her thoroughly fucked and cum-filled ass.

"That was fucking incredible," you pant, running your hands up and down her back.

"Mmm it really was," she agrees, nuzzling against your neck. "Best night ever. We definitely need to do this again. Like, a lot."

"Oh we will," you assure her with a grin. "I meant what I said - I'm going to use this perfect little ass whenever I want now. You’re mine. Officially. No take-backs.”

Her grin softens into something more genuine, and she cups your face, her thumb brushing over your cheek. “So we’re doing this? Like, actually doing this?”

“Hell yes, we are,” you reply without hesitation. “We’ve wasted enough time pretending we didn’t want this. And now that I know how good we are together, you really think I’m letting you go?”

She pulls you into a kiss, slow and deep. “Good. Because I don’t want to go anywhere. I'm stuck with you now.”

“Stuck with me?” you repeat, smirking. “Babe, I'm the one who'll have to deal with your insane ass from now on. If anyone’s ‘stuck,’ it’s me.”

“Oh, please,” she fires back, rolling her eyes. “You love my insane ass.”

“Damn right, I do,” you say, sliding a hand down to squeeze it for emphasis. “And I plan on showing you just how much, every chance I get.”

She laughs, wrapping her arms around your neck. “God, we’re so screwed up. Who the hell starts a relationship like this?”

You shrug, leaning down to kiss her again. “Us, apparently. And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The two of you stay tangled up in each other, talking and teasing until the conversation drifts back to the years of near-misses and unspoken feelings. It’s all out in the open now, and for the first time, it feels like everything’s exactly where it’s supposed to be.

—

You slowly open your eyes, still groggy from last night's intense activities. The morning sunlight filters through the curtains of Seulgi's bedroom, casting a warm glow across the messy sheets. Your naked body feels pleasantly sore as memories from yesterday flood back - how your petite best friend discovered those edited porn videos you made of her, and instead of getting pissed off, she got turned on. Who would've thought sweet little Seulgi was such a dirty girl?

The bed beside you is empty but still warm. You stretch lazily, enjoying the lingering scent of sex in the air mixed with her perfume. Your morning wood is already throbbing as you replay highlights from last night - Seulgi's tight little ass bouncing on your cock, her moans when you ate her holes, the way she begged for more...

The bedroom door opens and there she is - your best friend in all her sweaty glory. She's wearing a sports bra that shows off her perky tits and skin-tight leggings that hug every curve. Her skin glistens with perspiration, loose strands of hair sticking to her flushed face. Your cock instantly gets even harder.

"Good morning, sleepyhead!" Seulgi chirps, grabbing a towel to wipe her face. "Hope you don't mind, I always do my morning workout. Gotta keep this body tight, you know?" She strikes a playful pose.

"Fuck, you look incredible all sweaty like that," you growl, drinking in her athletic form. The way those leggings cling to her ass should be illegal. "Your body is fucking perfect."

She bites her lip, clearly pleased by the compliment. "Mmm, someone slept well I see," she says, eyeing your obvious erection beneath the sheets. "Still naked under there?"

"Want to come find out for yourself?"

"Actually..." Seulgi's eyes gleam with mischief. "I could use some extra cardio. Work up even more of a sweat..."

You throw back the sheets, exposing your rock-hard cock. "Get that sexy ass over here then."

Seulgi saunters toward the bed, her hips swaying. The musky scent of her post-workout sweat hits your nostrils and makes your mouth water. When she gets close enough, you grab her wrist and pull her down on top of you.

"Mmm, someone's eager," she giggles, grinding against your erection through her leggings.

You bury your face in her neck, inhaling deeply. The salty tang of her sweat mixed with her natural scent is intoxicating. Your tongue darts out to taste her glistening skin, trailing up to her ear.

"Fuck, you taste so good all sweaty," you growl. "I want to lick every inch of you."

Seulgi moans as you suck and nibble at her neck, leaving marks. Your hands roam over her toned body, squeezing her ass through those sinfully tight leggings. You've fantasized about her in workout clothes so many times, and now you finally get to live it out.

Your mouths crash together in a heated kiss. She tastes like mint - must have brushed her teeth before working out. Your tongues battle for dominance as you grind against each other. One hand slides up under her sports bra to pinch a hard nipple.

"These fucking leggings," you groan between kisses. "Do you know how many times I've jerked off thinking about ripping them open and fucking you in them?"

"Show me," she purrs. "Make those dirty fantasies real."

You don't need to be told twice. Gripping the fabric between her legs, you tear a hole right over her pussy and ass. The sound of ripping material fills the room as Seulgi gasps.

"Fuck yes, ruin them," she moans. "I love how fucking nasty you are."

You run your fingers over her exposed holes. Her pussy is already dripping wet, her asshole still slightly gaped from last night's pounding.

"I gotta admit, I'm gonna miss these leggings," Seulgi whines, but her pussy visibly clenches at the dominant display.

"I'll buy you new ones," you reply, tearing the hole wider until it extends from her lower back to her upper thighs. The torn edges frame her holes perfectly. "Now get to work on my cock while I eat this pretty pussy.”

She straddles your face in reverse, giving you a perfect view of her holes as she wraps her lips around your throbbing shaft. You groan at the wet heat enveloping your cock, the vibrations making her moan around you.

You spread her ass cheeks wide, admiring how her holes glisten with arousal. Her pussy is swollen and pink, cream already gathering at her entrance. Her tight asshole clenches invitingly.

"Such a pretty view," you murmur before diving in, dragging your tongue from her clit all the way up to her asshole. She shudders and moans around your cock, taking you deeper.

You alternate between broad licks through her folds and targeted flicks against her clit, gathering her tangy juices on your tongue. Her thighs start trembling as you suck her sensitive nub, her own oral efforts becoming sloppier as pleasure overtakes her.

"Mmmph!" she gags slightly as you thrust up into her throat, your hands gripping her ass to hold her in place. Tears gather in her eyes but she doesn't pull away, relaxing her throat to take you deeper.

You release her clit with a wet pop. "Good girl, taking my cock so deep while I eat this pussy." You punctuate your words by spearing your tongue into her dripping hole, tasting her deepest parts.

Her hips start grinding against your face as you tongue-fuck her, smearing her juices all over your chin. The torn leggings frame the erotic sight perfectly, the ripped edges emphasizing how thoroughly you're debauching her.

You pull back slightly to admire your work - her pussy is even more swollen now, her inner lips puffy and glistening. Her clit stands out prominently, begging for more attention. Above, her asshole clenches rhythmically, practically begging to be played with.

You drag your tongue up to circle her puckered entrance. Seulgi's whole body jerks at the contact, a muffled moan vibrating around your cock.

"Your ass is perfect," you murmur against her skin before diving back in, circling her rim with firm pressure. Her resistance melts away as you continue the rimming, replaced by breathy moans and hip rolls against your face.

You alternate between her holes - tongue-fucking her pussy until she's dripping, then moving up to tease her ass until it's quivering. Her own oral efforts match your intensity, her throat muscles massaging your cock as she deep throats you.

"Such a dirty girl," you growl between licks. "Getting your ass eaten while deepthroating cock... I bet you were planning this when you invited me to watch a fucking horror movie yesterday.”

She pulls off your cock with a gasp. "And it worked so we- Oh fuck, don't stop... feels so good..." She immediately swallows you back down, sucking with renewed vigor.

You focus your attention on her asshole, pointing your tongue to breach the tight ring of muscle. She practically squeals around your cock as you tongue-fuck her ass, her thighs shaking uncontrollably.

Her pussy is dripping steadily now, cream coating your chin and neck. You reach up to gather some on your fingers, using it to lubricate her asshole as you continue eating it. One finger slides in easily alongside your tongue, making her whole body jerk.

"Gonna make you cum just from eating your ass," you promise, working a second finger into her tight hole while your tongue continues circling the rim. Your other hand moves to her clit, rubbing quick circles on the swollen nub.

She's barely sucking your cock anymore, just holding it in her mouth as she pants and moans. Her hips rock desperately between your fingers and tongue, chasing her release.

"That's it baby, ride my face," you encourage, curling your fingers inside her ass while flicking her clit rapidly. "Want to feel you cum all over my chin..."

Her inner muscles start fluttering around your fingers as her orgasm approaches. You double down on your efforts, tongue and fingers working in harmony to push her over the edge.

She pulls off your cock with a cry as she starts cumming, her whole body convulsing. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuuuuck!" Her pussy gushes, coating your chin and neck with cream as her ass clenches rhythmically around your fingers.

You work her through it until she's whimpering from oversensitivity, then slowly withdraw your fingers. Her holes clench around empty air, still quivering from the intense orgasm.

"I-I n-need your cock in my pussy," she pants. "You didn't even fuck it last night because you were so focused on my ass. Time to make up for that."

You give her holes one last long lick before letting her climb off your face. Seulgi turns around and straddles your hips, rubbing her dripping pussy along your shaft.

"Watch how easily your big cock stretches my little hole," she purrs, positioning you at her entrance.

You groan as she sinks down, taking you balls deep in one smooth motion. Her pussy grips you like a vice, so hot and wet around your throbbing member.

"Fuck, you're so tight," you growl, gripping her hips. "Ride that cock, baby. Show me how bad you want it."

Seulgi starts bouncing on your shaft, her perky tits bouncing in the sports bra. Sweat drips down her toned stomach as she works herself on your cock. You reach up to pinch her nipples through the fabric, making her clench around you.

"Your pussy feels amazing," you moan. "So fucking wet for me."

She speeds up her movements, slamming down to take you as deep as possible. Her pussy makes obscene squelching sounds as your cock pistons in and out of her soaking hole.

You thrust up to meet her bounces, making her cry out each time you bottom out. Her pussy cream coats your shaft and balls, making everything deliciously slick. You can feel her inner walls fluttering as she gets close to cumming again.

"Play with your clit," you command. "I want to feel you cum all over my cock."

Seulgi reaches down to rub her swollen nub while continuing to ride you. Her movements become more erratic as pleasure builds. You grab her ass cheeks, spreading them wide and teasing her rim with your thumb.

"Fuck! I'm gonna cum on your cock!" she screams. Her pussy clamps down on your shaft as her orgasm hits. You keep thrusting through her climax, prolonging the waves of pleasure.

When her spasms subside, you pull out of her drenched hole. Your cock is coated in her cream, making it perfect for what comes next.

"Get on your hands and knees," you growl. "Time to stuff that tight little ass again."

Seulgi quickly assumes the position, arching her back to present her ass, the torn leggings frame her still-twitching holes perfectly. Her pussy is still pulsing from her orgasm, cream dripping down her thighs. Her asshole winks invitingly, already loosened from your fingers and last night's fucking.

You kneel behind her and rub your slick cock between her cheeks, teasing both holes. "You want my cock in your ass, don't you? Such a dirty girl, getting off on having both holes used."

"Please," she moans, pushing back against you. "Fuck my ass! I need it so bad!"

You press your cockhead against her tight rim, watching it slowly stretch around you. Despite being fucked there just hours ago, she's still deliciously tight. You grab her hips and steadily push forward until you're balls deep in her ass.

"Fuck yes," Seulgi pants. "Your cock feels so good stretching my ass!"

You start with slow, deep strokes, watching your shaft disappear into her hungry hole. Her ass grips you perfectly, sending waves of pleasure up your spine. You reach around to rub her clit, making her moan louder.

"Such a good little anal slut," you growl, speeding up your thrusts. "Taking my cock so deep in your ass while I play with your pussy."

Seulgi pushes back to meet each thrust, clearly loving the double stimulation. Her pussy drips steadily as you pound her ass, adding to the lewd sounds filling the room. You give her ass a hard smack, watching it jiggle.

"Harder!" she begs. "Wreck my fucking ass!"

You grab her hips tight and really start hammering into her. Your balls slap against her pussy with each thrust as you drill her asshole. Sweat drips down your chest, mixing with hers where your bodies meet.

The sight of your cock stretching her tight rim combined with her wanton moans has you getting close. You increase the pressure on her clit, wanting her to cum again before you finish.

"Gonna cum again," Seulgi gasps. "Keep fucking my ass just like that!"

Her whole body shakes as another orgasm rips through her. You feel her asshole spasm around your cock as she screams in pleasure.

“Fuck, I'm almost there,” you moan. “This time I'm gonna cover your little body with my cum.”

You pump into her stretched asshole a few more times, savoring the tight grip before withdrawing with a wet pop. Her gaping hole clenches around empty air as she quickly flips onto her back, her abs glistening with fresh workout sweat. The torn leggings frame her lower half perfectly, her pussy still dripping from her previous orgasms.

"Fuck, look at you," you growl, furiously stroking your cock as you kneel between her spread legs. Your shaft is slick with her ass juices, making obscene squelching sounds as you jerk it. "So fucking hot all sweaty and messy for me..."

Seulgi runs her hands over her damp skin, pinching her hard nipples through her sports bra. "Come on baby, mark me up. Want to feel your hot load all over my abs..."

Your cock throbs harder at her words. She looks like a fucking goddess lying there, skin golden and gleaming with perspiration, hair messy from getting railed, lips swollen from sucking your cock. The contrast of her still being partially clothed in her workout gear while being completely debauched is driving you wild.

"Play with yourself," you command, stroking faster. "Want to watch you rub that clit while I cover you in cum..."

She immediately slides a hand between her legs, fingers circling her swollen clit. Her other hand pushes her sports bra up to fully expose her perky tits, rolling a nipple between her fingers.

"Please," she whimpers, hips bucking as she pleasures herself. "Need your cum so bad... want you to paint me with it..."

You can feel your orgasm building, pressure mounting in your balls. Your cock is angry red and leaking precum steadily. Seulgi notices and licks her lips.

"Are you gonna cum for me baby?" she purrs, spreading her legs wider. "Want to feel it hot and thick all over my sweaty body... want you to mark your territory..."

"Fuck... gonna cum so hard for you..." you grunt, your hand a blur on your shaft. The wet sounds of her fingering herself mixed with your jerking is obscene.

"Do it," she demands, her fingers moving faster on her clit. "Fucking cover me... want to feel it splashing on my skin..."

Your orgasm hits like a freight train. The first rope of cum shoots out with incredible force, landing in a thick stripe from her collarbone down between her tits. The second and third spurts paint her ribs and abs, hot white streaks stark against her shiny skin.

"Yes! More!" she cries out, her own orgasm hitting as she watches you mark her. "Cover me!"

You continue cumming, decorating her sweaty stomach with rope after rope of thick seed. Some lands on the torn edges of her leggings, soaking into the fabric. The final few spurts dribble onto her lower abs, mixing with the sweat pooled in the grooves of her muscles.

When you're finally spent, you sit back to admire your work. Seulgi looks absolutely debauched - covered in sweat, cum, and pussy juice, workout clothes torn and disheveled, hair a mess. Your cum is already starting to run down the sides of her torso in rivulets, mixing with her sweat.

She runs her fingers through the mess on her stomach, spreading it around like lotion. The sight of her rubbing your seed into her sweaty skin makes your spent cock twitch weakly.

"Mmm, so much cum," she purrs, gathering some on her fingers and bringing them to her mouth. She maintains eye contact as she sucks them clean, moaning at the taste. "Love how it mixes with my sweat... makes me feel so dirty..."

She continues playing with the cum on her body, alternating between spreading it around and tasting it off her fingers. Some has dripped down to her pussy, mixing with her own juices.

"Fuck, that's hot," you groan, watching her enjoy your mess. She gathers more cum on her fingers and offers them to you. You eagerly suck them clean, tasting the salty mixture of your cum and her sweat.

"Love marking you up like this," you say as she continues rubbing the cooling cum into her skin. "Looking all sweaty and used, covered in my load..."

"Mmm, me too," she sighs contentedly. "Want you to do this every time I come back from working out... mark your territory all over my sweaty body..."

The combination of the visual, her dirty talk, and the various fluids coating her skin makes your cock start to harden again despite having just cum. Seulgi notices and laughs.

"Already getting hard again? Such a horny boy..." she teases, running a cum-covered finger down your shaft. "Save that energy for the next workout... want you nice and pent up so you can cover me in an even bigger load..."

You spend the next few minutes trading lazy kisses and caresses, enjoying the afterglow. Seulgi's skin is still flushed and glowing with sweat. Her sports bra is stained with your cum, marking her as yours.

"I should probably actually shower now," she says eventually. "Want to join me? I could use help getting clean... or maybe getting dirty again."

"Lead the way," you smirk, admiring her ass as she heads to the bathroom.

—

After the shower, you throw on some clothes and head to the kitchen. While Seulgi makes coffee, you raid her fridge for breakfast ingredients. The domestic scene feels surprisingly natural after the intensity of your sexual encounters.

"I still can't believe this all started because you caught me making porn edits of you," you say, cracking eggs into a pan.

She laughs. "I mean, I was shocked at first. But then I watched them and... fuck, they were hot. Made me realize how much I wanted you."

"Could have saved us both a lot of sexual frustration if we'd admitted it sooner."

"True. But making up for lost time has been pretty fun," she winks. "Plus now I have a personal trainer who really knows how to motivate me."

Breakfast becomes less about eating and more about stolen touches. Her fingers graze yours when you pass her a plate, and your knees bump under the table like it’s on purpose. Each bite of food comes with a side of heated glances that linger too long. The energy between you is still electric, even after having sex twice just this morning, alive with the kind of hunger that never truly fades.

Seulgi reaches across the table, her thumb brushing a crumb from your lip. Her touch lingers, her gaze heavy with desire. "We’re really bad at pretending this isn’t gonna happen again in about five minutes, huh?"

You grin, pushing your plate aside.

"Who’s pretending?”

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chosocutegf · 11 months ago

Text

roommate!Suguru x f!reader

cw: voyeurism, smut

I’m always thinking about roommate!Suguru, and the fact that he would be so obsessed with you.

At first, when you just moved in, he wouldn’t spare you of even a glance and he only spent time with his friends, Shoko and Satoru. However, as time went on, Suguru started to warm to you and you two got to hang out more together. That’s how he became interested in you.

And for suguru being interested meant he was obsessed with you.

Not that you would realise of course, he made sure of never raise your suspicions, but he stopped bringing people at home and only wanted to be with you. he would want to know what you always did, who you hung out with, and where you went.

You noticed something was different with Suguru, when he started to get more touchy. Every moment was an occasion for him to touch you.

You were passing in front of him? Smack on your ass.

You were trying to reach something on a higher shelf? He pressed his body against yours from behind and took it for you, a grin on his face.

You were going out and needed to put a necklace on? He was ready to do that, and he made sure to caress the nape of your neck and hair when he was done.

You didn’t really understand what he wanted from you, until a special event happened.

Suguru caught you touching yourself while talking to another person. It was not his fault he caught you, okay??? You left the door slightly ajar, as if you were inviting him to watch you.

And so he did. He observed you from the little crack of the door, while you panted sitting on top of your sheets, unaware of his presence. Your legs were spread open and he could clearly see your little fingers rubbing your pretty pussy.

He cussed under his breath and reached down to rub his cock over of his pants. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted to taste your pussy himself. He listened patiently to your conversation at the phone, while you bit your lower lip, trying to reach that orgasm that the other person was trying to guide you to.

However, it never happened. And Suguru noticed how you faked your orgasm in order to make the call end.

So, the moment you put down the phone, your roommate stepped into your room. Your eyes widened and you close your legs to hide your wet pussy and swollen clit when you saw him, your face burning. “Suguru! Get out!,” you screamed flustered but it only made Suguru chuckle as he approached your bed.

“Who were you talking to?,” He asked teasingly as he sat at the end of the bed. You were still blushing and looked at him with a little pout. “No one,” you murmured, looking away and missing how his cock throbbed in his pants at your indifference and pretty pout.

“They sure were no one if they didn’t make you come… Now let me take care of you, mh?,” He insisted as he slid closer to you on the bed, still not touching you. When you looked back at him, you sighed… why not? You felt restless and disappointed from the person you were talking to, and the man you had in front of you was far much better than them.

Skip forward, that’s how you found yourself laying under your roommate in mating press, your ankles almost reaching your face, and him pounding inside you so hard that you could feel his fat cock inside your stomach. You pleaded him, after so many orgasm, but Suguru wasn’t buying any of that. He wanted your pussy to form around his cock, so that you would never forget that you belonged to him.

He looked down at you with that annoying sexy smirk, sweat dripping down his forehead, and his hair all around him. “Who owns this pussy, baby?,” He asked breathless, observing how your teary eyes were looking up at him, and a fucked out expression on your face.

“S-Sugu… my p-pussy is yours, please… I can’t,” you cried out, sinking your nails in his shoulders. He hissed at the delicious pain, pistoning his cock inside of you faster, almost reaching your cervix. “Fuck, yeah… all mine, princess,” he panted against your face, laughing.

And that’s how he got you full with his cum, your belly swelled from how much he came inside you. He couldn’t stop looking at his cum coming out of your abused hole, and your spent up body over your sheets. “You’re fucking mine, doll… I will stuff you full with my cum to remind you every day~” he smirked, leaning down to bite your inner thigh before getting up to get a cloth to clean you.

(m.list)

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cumironi · 4 months ago

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HUMP, HUMP, LOVELY LITTLE HUMP, choso. k

you and choso kamo are supposed to spend the night just to enjoy some wine and a calm atmosphere deep inside the forest of the school ground, but it seems like the half-curse starts feeling a little bit too human..

warning. public space, humping, grinding, pet-names.

after the chaos of the shibuya incident, you and choso found yourselves drawn together in ways that surprised you both. it was an event that left deep scars, taking away far too many friends, colleagues, and students who meant the world to you. in those dark days, as you tried to move on, choso was always there—quietly supportive, offering a steady shoulder to lean on. somehow, despite his own pain and loss, he always seemed to know exactly when you needed someone, as though he could sense your sorrow before you could even voice it.

day by day, choso’s presence became something familiar and grounding, a rare comfort amidst the lingering grief. as you spent more time together, you noticed how naturally you fell into conversation, how easy it was to share the heavy silence or laugh at some small, passing joke. with each conversation, each silent moment, you could feel the distance between you shrinking. before long, he wasn’t just a friend but someone who understood your pain and could bear the weight of it alongside you.

but then, something shifted—almost imperceptibly at first. you found yourself becoming hyper-aware of his every little detail: the way his eyes softened whenever he looked at you, the comforting warmth of his quiet presence, even the way he listened so intently, as though he wanted to absorb every word you said. his voice had a gentle timbre that seemed to settle the unease in your heart, and his hands, so steady and sure, held a tenderness you hadn’t noticed before.

you began catching yourself lingering on these small, delicate observations, wondering if he noticed your gaze lingering just a little too long. each gesture felt like it held a quiet significance. the tension between you two was subtle, simmering just beneath the surface—a spark that hadn’t quite ignited, but was there all the same. and as the days went on, it became harder to deny that something was shifting between you, a quiet spark that seemed to grow brighter with every shared look, every gentle touch, and every stolen moment in the stillness of loss.

in the quiet embrace of the woods on school grounds, you and choso sat nestled under the towering trees. the night was calm, draped in the silvery glow of the moon, casting everything in a delicate, ethereal light. beside you, choso was close enough that you could feel his warmth, your backs pressed gently against the sturdy trunk of the tree, as though it were holding you both up, anchoring you to this quiet moment.

the woods around you was alive with a soft symphony of nighttime sounds—the rustling of leaves in the breeze, the gentle hum of distant crickets, and the occasional whisper of branches swaying above. moonlight filtered down through the canopy, breaking into scattered pools of silver around you, illuminating the world in a soft glow that felt almost magical.

you glanced over at choso, noticing how the pale light softened his features, casting shadows along the curve of his cheek and highlighting the thoughtful expression in his eyes. there was something serene about his presence, a quiet strength that comforted you, grounding you in this stillness. without a word, he met your gaze, and for a moment, it felt like the entire world had faded away, leaving just the two of you, bathed in the cool light of the moon.

as the night stretched on, you found yourself lost in the details—the way the moonlight danced across his face, the quiet rhythm of his breathing, and the comforting warmth of his shoulder just a breath away. sitting there together, the weight of words seemed unnecessary. the silence was thick, not with loneliness, but with a silent understanding that you both shared.

you raise the bottle of wine to your lips, letting the cool liquid slide down your throat as your gaze drifts over to choso. tonight, he looks different—not in his usual dark, battle-worn attire, but something softer, more relaxed. he’s dressed in a pair of loose, dark baggy jeans that hang comfortably on him, and a deep navy knit button-down with a few buttons left undone, exposing a hint of skin at his collar. his long, dark hair, usually tied back with a certain restraint, now cascades freely over his shoulders, framing his face in the moonlight.

there’s something almost vulnerable in this new look, a side of him you hadn’t seen before, and you can’t help the smirk that curves on your lips as you take him in. “you look good,” you murmur, voice soft but laced with a teasing warmth. choso’s eyes flick up to yours, a faint surprise lingering in his gaze, and for a brief moment, you catch a glimmer of something softer beneath his usual stoic exterior.

in the stillness, you realize he seems more human like this—more approachable, more tangible, the hardness of his role as a curse softened by the simplicity of casual clothes. his expression shifts slightly, almost self-conscious under your gaze, yet he doesn’t look away. the moonlight plays over his face, casting gentle shadows, and for a second, it feels as if the weight of his past falls away, leaving just him—raw and real, sitting beside you in the quiet night.

as you lean back against the tree, choso’s eyes seem to soften in the dappled moonlight. there’s a subtle warmth in his usually stoic gaze that mirrors the quiet understanding woven into the night. he nods, his low, gravelly voice carrying a rare note of vulnerability as he responds to your teasing remark.

“thanks. it’s... different,” he admits, his voice quieter than usual. “i’m trying to... be more normal, i guess.” choso glances down, almost shyly, as if the simplicity of his choice— with yuuji’s help, in outfit is something he’s not used to voicing out loud.

you lean back against the rough bark, adjust your back to find a comfortable spot, letting a soft smile play on your lips as you listen to choso’s quiet admission. there’s something almost endearing about his choice of words, the faint hesitation as he glances down, as if self-conscious about this simple, casual look he’s trying on for the first time. his usual stoicism is softened, and you can feel a warmth in the air, a quiet vulnerability that seems to belong solely to this moment.

“well, you’re doing a pretty good job of it,” you say, your voice carrying a playful edge as you study him. “honestly, you look more human than a curse right now.” he looks up at you, eyes widening slightly, curiosity flickering in his gaze. you reach out, fingertips grazing his cheek in a gentle, teasing touch. “though, if you really want to blend in, maybe just a little foundation to warm up that pale skin, and you’d be all set,” you add with a smirk.

a soft blush rises beneath your fingers, barely visible in the moonlight but enough to make you notice. choso lets out a quiet chuckle, and the sound is warm, low, carrying a softness that catches you off guard. there’s a momentary flicker of surprise in choso’s eyes at the feel of your fingertips on his cheek. yet, he doesn’t pull away, his gaze fixing on yours, almost as though he’s trying to understand the unfamiliar sensation.

he simply looks at you, his gaze deepening, as though trying to understand something he’s only just now beginning to feel. he holds himself still, his body so near to yours, his proximity like a warm current in the chilled night air. for the first time, he seems relaxed, his usual stoic facade slipping away, replaced by a quiet, thoughtful expression.

“is that so?” he murmurs, voice barely more than a low rumble. he stays like this a while, just looking at you, his face cast in the soft glow of the moonlight. the forest hums with life around you, the soft hooting of an owl somewhere in the distance, the rustle of wind through the trees. but choso’s attention is focused on you, a rare intensity in his gaze. his voice, when he speaks, is a soft murmur—quieter than normal, almost as though he’s afraid of breaking the moment.

you nod slowly, letting your fingers linger for just a second longer on his cheek, the slight warmth of his skin beneath your touch almost startling. your gaze softening as you lean just a fraction closer. “it is so,” you murmur back, your voice as gentle as a breeze. your fingertips linger on his cheek longer than you intend to, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath them grounding you in the closeness of this quiet, unexpected moment. for a heartbeat, you wonder if he feels the same spark, the same undeniable warmth threading between you.

reluctantly, you pull your hand away, the night air rushing into the space between you as you reach for the bottle once more, taking a slow sip. it’s only then that you notice your leg, bare beneath the almost-too-short hem of your skirt, is brushing lightly against his. the touch is subtle, barely there, but enough to send a quiet thrill through you, a reminder of how near he is, how his warmth radiates even in the cool night air.

choso’s gaze flickers downward, catching the subtle contact, and for a brief moment, his expression softens further. his eyes trail over the gentle line of your leg resting against his, lingering just long enough to make your heart flutter. he doesn’t shift away, holding himself steady, his attention returning to your face as though savoring every detail. a subtle smile plays on his lips, almost shy, and the quiet understanding that’s passed between you grows, filling the spaces between words, settling like a secret shared only by the two of you.

as you sip from the bottle, choso’s gaze lingers on the curve of your neck, the gentle movements of your throat. the moon casts a delicate light over the contours of your face, adding a touch of softness to the shadows that cling to your features. the night, once filled with the soft symphony of the forest, seems to fall away, leaving only the two of you in this quiet, almost intimate space.

choso’s gaze drifts slowly to your lips, glistening with a faint sheen of red wine, and his eyes linger there, a barely perceptible intensity flickering in their depths. for a moment, he seems lost, captivated by the sight before him, his expression softened in a way you’ve rarely seen. his gaze trails downward, over the curve of your neck, and settles on your bare thigh, just inches away from his.

his voice, low and almost reverent, breaks the silence. “you look beautiful,” he whispers, the words slipping out like a quiet confession meant only for you. “as always.”

a warmth spreads through you, deeper than the wine, more stirring than the moonlight. his words settle in the night air, soft and genuine a little bit of flirtatious, and your heart races at the quiet vulnerability in his tone. his eyes lift back to yours, holding a tenderness that makes you feel as though time itself has paused, allowing you both to savor this moment suspended in the cool night.

you take in a breath, finding yourself inching just a little closer, captivated by the depth in his gaze and the softness of his words, feeling the spark between you both ignite into something undeniable.

you hum softly in satisfaction at his compliment, a warm flutter blooming in your chest at his genuine words. the way he looks at you, like he truly sees you, sends a delightful shiver down your spine. “thanks,” you reply, your voice laced with a hint of bashfulness as you set the wine bottle down beside you, the clink of glass breaking the lingering silence.

the night wraps around you both, heavy with unspoken feelings, and you can’t help but smile, feeling a mix of gratitude and something more profound. the compliment hangs in the air, resonating within you, and you find yourself wanting to hold onto this moment a little longer. you turn your head slightly, catching his gaze once more, feeling the spark between you intensify as you savor the warmth of his presence and undeniable desire.

as you sit there, the night seems to hold its breath around you, the forest going still as if sensing the delicate moment between you. choso’s warm breath dances across your neck, carrying the faint scent of wine and a subtle note of something more intimate. the warmth radiating from his proximity mixes with the slight chill of night, creating a heady, intoxicating tension that sets your senses ablaze.

without thinking, you shift a little closer, the heat of his body seeping into yours, and your thigh presses more firmly against his. the wine in your veins gives you courage, or perhaps it’s something more raw and real, pushing away inhibitions and doubts. the proximity is exhilarating, making your heart race and your head spin in the best possible way. the air between you seems charged with energy, heavy with unsaid words and unspoken longings. you look up, meeting choso’s gaze, and in his eyes, you see a reflection of what you both feel, the unspoken desire mirrored back at you in his steady gaze.

for a fleeting moment, time stands still, the boundaries of your world shrinking until it’s just the two of you under the vast expanse of the starlit sky.

without breaking eye contact, choso moves slowly, deliberately, as he places his hand on your thigh. his palm, cool against your bare skin, sends an unexpected thrill coursing through you, a contrast to the warm, gentle night air. the sensation is both electrifying and soothing, grounding you in the moment as his touch lingers.

you can see the thoughtfulness in his eyes, the way he’s absorbing every detail of this intimate exchange. his fingers rest lightly on your thigh, a subtle weight that feels both protective and intimate. the world around you fades into a soft blur, the sounds of the night growing distant as all your focus narrows on the connection you share in this fleeting moment.

his gaze holds yours captive, revealing the depths of his emotions, and you can sense the vulnerability in him, the way he’s opening up to you without fear. the air crackles with unspoken words, and you find yourself leaning into the touch, drawn closer by the warmth radiating from him and the electric pull between you.

choso’s hand on your thigh feels like a cool brand against your bare skin, his touch both grounding and electrifying. his eyes, focused on yours, seem to be reading your every thought, your every emotion. the moment between you feels suspended in time, as if the rest of the world has faded away and it’s just the two of you, here in the quiet of the night.

his voice, low and deep, cuts through the silence, a husky whisper that holds a world of emotions. “can i...” he pauses, his gaze flicking down to your lips before returning to your eyes, “...kiss you?”

you breath caught in your throat as choso’s words hung in the air, a whispered admission of longing that was both vulnerable and intoxicating. the gentle pressure of his hand on your thigh only heightened the moment. your heart raced with anticipation as you found yourself lost in the intimate warmth of his gaze, the words unspoken yet speaking volumes. in that moment, you were acutely aware of everything— the touch of him, the night breeze, the rhythm of your shared breath.

you answered not with words, but with a nod, a silent agreement that the space between you was no longer a division, but an invitation. the quiet acceptance in your nod seemed to ignite something in choso. his gaze darkened with a smolder that sent a shiver racing down your spine. slowly, almost hesitantly, he leaned in, his grip on your thigh tightening slightly as if in silent reassurance.

as he closed the distance between you, his breath mingled with yours, a shared heat in the cool night air. the anticipation was palpable, a tension that electrified the air between you. finally, his lips brushed against yours, a soft whisper of a touch that sent a jolt of electricity through you.

the kiss began as a gentle exploration—a soft press of lips against lips. choso’s hand on your thigh felt steadying, anchoring you to the moment. slowly, the kiss deepened, his lips moving against yours with a growing intensity. his other hand reached up to cradle your cheek, his thumb tracing the contours of your face as if trying to memorize the way your skin felt beneath his touch. there was an almost feverish hunger in his kiss, as though he’d been waiting for this moment for eternity, and now that it was here, he couldn’t get enough of it.

choso pulls away from the kiss, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours as he gently places his hands on your hips. his touch is firm yet tender, and with a quiet strength, he lifts you effortlessly, guiding you to straddle his lap. the shift leaves you breathless, a soft gasp escaping as his hands settle on your hips, grounding you in his embrace.

your skirt rises slightly with the movement, the cool night air brushing against your thighs, adding a new layer of exhilaration to the moment. his gaze locks onto yours, eyes dark and intense, searching your face as though committing every detail to memory. there’s a softness in his expression, a quiet reverence that makes your heart race, and you feel yourself melting further into his hold, wrapped in the intimacy of his touch and the silent promise lingering between you.

as you settled onto his lap, your knees framing his hips, it felt as if the world had narrowed down to this single moment. choso’s hands anchored you in place, his touch both possessive and comforting. you could feel the hard contours of his thighs beneath you, the warmth of his body seeping into your core. your hands came up to rest on his shoulders, fingers tracing the outline of his muscles, feeling his strength and his warmth.

his lips returned to yours, his kiss more insistent this time. his hands on your hips pulled you closer, making you keenly aware of every breath, every heartbeat. this time, the kiss was filled with a deeper hunger, a need that seemed to transcend the physical. choso’s tongue flicked against yours, a gentle tease that ignited a fire in your core. his hands began to explore you, tracing a trail from your hips to your back, pulling you impossibly closer against him. the heat between you was growing, becoming almost unbearable, and yet you wanted more.

choso’s lips left yours and began to move down your neck, each press of his mouth against your skin sending another shockwave of sensation through you. his breath was hot, his hands restless, and it felt like the world around you had ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you locked in an intimate dance of discovery.

your head fell back, giving choso better access to the curve of your neck, and your fingers tangled in his hair. you wanted to lose yourself in this moment, to drown in the sensation of his touch, his nearness, his every breath. choso’s lips, moving lower now, found the sensitive spot at the base of your throat, and you let out a soft moan, the sound swallowed by the night air.

“choso...” a soft, breathless whisper of his name escapes your lips, almost instinctively, as choso’s mouth trails down your throat. the sound of it, murmured in the night air, seems to urge him on, his grip on you tightening just enough to make you shiver. with your head tilted back, eyes closed, you’re completely lost in the sensation, the gentle brush of your eyelashes against your cheeks a subtle reflection of how fully immersed you are in the moment.

his lips press against your skin with a hunger that’s tempered by tenderness, each kiss sending a spark through you, igniting a warmth that spreads from your core to the very tips of of your fingers. your hands find their way into his hair once again, threading through the dark strands as you pull him closer, feeling his breath hot against your skin. every touch, every movement feels as though it’s deepening the connection between you.

choso’s response to your breathy whisper of his name was immediate. his hands tightened on your hips, grounding you against him as his lips continued their trail down your neck. he paused at your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin as he lingered there for a moment, drinking in the sensation of your hands in his hair and the sound of your soft sighs.

as his mouth continued its journey, he found the sensitive hollow at the base of your throat, and he lingered there, drawing out the sensation further. each gentle press of his lips felt like a match to a flame, sending waves of heat and pleasure coursing through you.

you could feel the taut line of his body beneath you, the way his muscles tensed and released with every movement, each movement drawing you closer into his orbit. your fingers twined in his hair, and you felt his touch moving lower, tracing the soft curve of your throat, then the exposed plane of your chest, just above the low neckline of your top. the contrast between the cool night air and the warmth of his mouth was intoxicating, and you found yourself willingly surrendering to the sensations.

as choso’s lips explored your sensitive skin, you couldn’t help but arch into him, craving more of that intoxicating touch. his hands gripped your hips firmly, holding you securely in place as if to anchor you amidst the swirling desires he was awakening within you.

you let out a soft gasp when his mouth moved lower, his warm breath fanning over your breasts before his lips made contact with the tender flesh above your top. your nipples hardened instantly, straining against the fabric as if begging for his attention.

“choso,” you breathed his name once again, your voice husky with need. your plea trailed off into a moan as he continued to lavish attention on your chest, his tongue darting out to taste the skin, leaving a tingling path in its wake. the sensation was both electrifying and soothing, sending jolts of pleasure straight to you core, unconsciously your hips began to moving on top of him.

his name on your lips, spoken so breathlessly, sent a renewed wave of desire coursing through choso. he responded to your soft moans and shivers with a gentle nip to your skin, causing your body to tremble under his touch. feeling your hips move in response to his caresses, a low growl stirred in his throat.

his hands moved to the hem of your top, his fingers sliding beneath the edge. the gentle touch against the sensitive skin of your sides made you shiver, your body responding to each sensation with a subtle arching movement, seeking more of his touch.

your body was alight with anticipation, every nerve ending attuned to choso’s touch. as his fingers slipped beneath your top, brushing against the bare skin of your waist, you couldn’t suppress the shudder that ran through you. the sensation was electric, igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume you whole.

you arched into his touch once more, silently pleading for more— it’s like a game, you arched and pulled away, and arched and pulled away. your hands roamed over his muscular arms, feeling the strength coiled within them. the heat radiating from his body enveloped you, making you feel safe and desired all at once.

“please,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. “ want... i need...” your words trailed off into a moan as his fingers traced patterns on your skin, each touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. in that moment, lost in the haze of desire, nothing else mattered. your hips began to move more bold than before the moment you feel his hardness pressed against your core.

choso’s hands on your skin, tracing patterns of fire across your body, felt like a match to a gasoline-drenched inferno. it was almost sinful, the effect he had on you, the way your body reacted to his touch as if it was the first time you were feeling anything akin to desire. your body seemed to respond instinctively, arching towards him, pressing your softness against his hardness in a desperate plea.

the sound of your pleading whimper only seemed to fuel his desire further.

choso’s grip on your hips tightened, a raw hunger in his touch as your body moved against him, seeking friction in the growing tension between you. he pulled you closer, his lips finding the sensitive skin of your neck once more, as his hands moved up your sides to the edge of your top. his thumbs brushed the underside of your breasts, setting your nerves alight with a burning need. a low breath escaped him, a sound filled with both restraint and desire, and when he spoke, his voice was low and rough.

“need...” his fingers traced the curve of your ribcage, his touch both gentle and urgent “... you,” the last word fell from his lips like a plea, a whispered admission of a need as raw and urgent as the one he’d been stoking within you.

the fire in his eyes, his hands tracing a path of heat across your skin, all of it was making it hard for you to speak, to think... to do anything but feel. with a soft whine, your head tipped back, exposing your neck to him in an unspoken affirmation. he groaned at the gesture, the sound more animal than anything else, as if he was losing the fight to hold back.

your body was aflame with desire, every inch of your skin crying out for his touch. the sound of his voice, low and rough with need, sent shivers racing down your spine. his hands on your body felt like a brand, marking you as his own. your breath came in short, sharp gasps as his fingers danced along the edge of your top, teasing you with the promise of what was to come.

when his thumbs brushed the underside of your breasts, you let out a soft cry, your body arching into his touch. the sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pain that left you dizzy with want. you could feel the heat building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter until you thought you might burst from the pressure.

your hands fisted in his hair, tugging gently as you guided his mouth back to yours, along with your hips start moving more purposefully against his clothed hardened cock, putting more pressure. the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your veins.

choso’s control snapped at the feeling of your hands in his hair, guiding his mouth to yours in a demand that left no room for argument. his lips crashed against yours in a fierce kiss, all teeth and tongue as he devoured the sweetness of your mouth. the taste of you was addictive, and he drank it in greedily, his hands roaming your body with a desperation that bordered on frantic.

he groaned into the kiss as you ground your hips against his, the pressure of your core against his hardness nearly unbearable. his own arousal throbbed in response, straining against the confines of his pants. the urge to tear away your clothes, to claim you fully, was almost overwhelming.

breaking the kiss, choso’s gaze locked onto yours, dark with lust and something deeper, more primal. “good... just like that,” he whispered.

your mind went blank at the intensity of his kiss, overwhelmed by the sheer force of his desire. his hands on your body felt possessive, claiming, and you reveled in the feeling of being owned by him in this moment. the scrape of his teeth against your lips sent a thrill through you, and you met his tongue with equal fervor, lost in the taste and scent of him.

your body was consumed by a raging fire of desire, every fiber of your being screaming for more of his touch. the heat between your legs was becoming unbearable, your core aching for relief. you needed him, needed to feel him inside you, filling you completely.

with trembling hands, you reached for the button of your top, undone few buttons. your breasts spilled free, the cool night air a stark contrast to the feverish heat of your skin. you watched as his gaze raked over your naked torso, his pupils dilating with undisguised hunger.

“touch me,” you pleaded, your voice hoarse with need. “i want to feel your hands on my skin.” your hips continued to grind against him, seeking relief from the ache building between your thighs. the pressure of his hardness against you was exquisite, and you found yourself wanting more, needing to feel him inside you.

his gaze darkened, his eyes darkening to a nearly black that mirrored the storm of raw desire that raged within him. the words that fell from your lips only added fuel to the fire, stoking the flames of his hunger until they burned with an almost feverish intensity. it was a plea he couldn’t ignore, a demand that sparked something primal and visceral within him.

choso’s hands went to your exposed breasts, cupping the soft mounds with reverence. he marveled at their weight, at the way they fit perfectly in his palms. his thumbs brushed over your nipples, coaxing them to peak under his touch. the sight of your hardened buds drew a low growl from deep within his chest.

“beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “so perfect.“

leaning in, he captured a nipple between his lips, sucking gently before grazing the sensitive bud with his teeth. the sensation shot straight to your core, making you gasp and arch into him. his other hand slid around to palm your ass, squeezing the firm flesh as he continued to lavish attention on your breast.

a high-pitched moan tore from your throat as his lips closed around your nipple, the sensation of his warm mouth and the gentle tug of his suction sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. your back arched, pushing your breast further into his mouth as you threaded your fingers through his hair, holding him close.

the combination of his hot mouth on your skin and the firm press of his erection against you was driving you wild. his hands found your hips, guiding your movements against him. the pressure, the friction, it was all so deliciously intoxicating that he knew he wouldn’t last much longer.

the scrape of his teeth against your sensitive flesh made you buck against him, craving more of that delicious friction. your hips rolled in a slow, deliberate rhythm, grinding your aching core against the hard length of his clothed bulge. the pressure was exquisite, a sweet agony that left you panting and needy.

“good,” you whimpered, your voice a ragged plea. “choso... feel so good..” his hands on your ass squeezed harder, pulling you flush against him as he nipped and sucked at your breast.

choso’s control slipped further with each passing second, his desire for you consuming him entirely. the sounds falling from your lips were music to his ears, urging him on, driving him mad with want. his hands gripped your hips tightly, fingers digging into your flesh as he held you still, rocking against you with a frenzied pace.

his mouth left your breast with a wet pop, trailing kisses up the column of your throat until he reached your ear. “just like that baby, just like that,” he growled, his voice low and rough with barely restrained passion. “mmm, good girl— ugh, good fucking girl,” he grunt, the sound rumble in his chest as he pressed your hips down harder against him.

he punctuated his words with a particularly forceful thrust, grinding his hardness against your aching center. the thin fabric separating you was the only barrier left, and it was quickly becoming too much to bear.

your head lolled back, exposing the vulnerable line of your throat to his hungry mouth. each word he spoke, each praise, each filthy promise, sent another wave of desire crashing over you, drowning you in a sea of pure, unadulterated lust. you could feel the evidence of his arousal pressing insistently against you, the heat of it searing your skin even through the layers of clothing.

“chosooo,” you gasped, the single word a desperate plea. your hands scrabbled at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you clung to him, anchoring yourself amidst the maelstrom of sensations.

your hips bucked wildly, seeking more of that delicious friction, more of the promise of satisfaction. the ache between your thighs was growing unbearable, a pulsing emptiness that demanded to be filled.

his lips found yours in a heated kiss, swallowing your whimpers and moans, his passion meeting your own with a frenzy and intensity that left you breathless. his tongue tangled with yours, the taste of him filling your senses, adding to the dizzying spiral of sensations.

his restraint was hanging by a thread, his own breathing ragged and uneven against your lips. he groaned, deep and guttural, when you whimpered his name, the sound vibrating through his body and setting your nerves ablaze. choso wasn’t just kissing you anymore.

he was claiming you.

you broke away from the kiss to trail your mouth down his neck and across the swell of his throat. your teeth scraped over the sensitive skin, making him gasp, the pain mingling with pleasure. his hands on your hips gripped you tightly, his hold firm but protective, a steady presence that kept you grounded amidst the sea of sensations. your hips start to move faster, pick up the pace on his hardness.

choso’s breath was coming in ragged bursts as your teeth scraped along his neck, pleasure and pain mixing into a heady cocktail that made his blood run hot. choso’s fingers dug deeper into your hips, holding you in place even as you rolled your hips against him more urgently, desperate with want.

“ah, fuuuuck,” he gritted out, his hands almost bruising against your skin. every part of him felt taut, wound so tight that it was like a spring about to snap. the heat between your bodies was overwhelming, and he knew he was close to the edge.

“baby, baby, baby,” he chanted, the endearment spilling from his lips almost involuntarily. he was so lost in the fog of lust that he was barely aware of the words coming out of his mouth, driven by pure instinct and desire. he needed you, craved you with a primal intensity that threatened to consume him from within. “please, please, please,” he repeated, the broken prayer mingling with the sound of your shared breaths.

the pressure between your bodies had built to almost overwhelming levels, the friction and heat stoking a fire that threatened to burn everything in its path. choso’s hands glided over your body, as if trying to memorize every curve and plane, before settling on your hips once again. his grip was fierce, as if he was afraid of letting you go even for a moment.

your body was alight with sensation, every nerve ending singing with pleasure as you moved against him. the heat between your bodies was a living thing, pulsing and throbbing with a life of its own. you could feel the evidence of his desire pressing insistently against you, the hard length of him straining towards you as if seeking entrance.

“yes,” you breathed, the single word a prayer and a promise all at once. your hands roamed over his broad shoulders, tracing the lines of his muscles beneath his shirt. you wanted to feel his bare skin against yours, to have nothing separating you but the air itself.

your hips rolled in a slow, deliberate rhythm, grinding against him with increasing urgency. the friction was exquisite, sending jolts of electricity coursing through your veins with each movement.

choso let out a guttural groan as your hips ground against him, the sensation of your heated flesh sliding against his cock through the clothes nearly undoing him. he could feel the slickness of your arousal coating his clothes length, leaving a stain on his jeans, the proof of how desperately you wanted this, and it only fueled his own hunger.

“fuck, baby, you’re killing me here,” he rasped, his hands sliding down to grasp your ass cheeks, kneading the firm flesh as he pulled you harder against him. the rough fabric of his pants rubbed against your clothed clit with each roll of your hips, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you.

his lips found yours in a bruising kiss once more, tongue delving deep to claim your mouth as his own. the taste of you was intoxicating, and he drank it in greedily, pouring all his pent-up desire into the embrace.

your mouth opened eagerly to receive his invading tongue, the kiss deep and passionate. you could taste the desperation in him, the raw need that matched your own. your hands tangled in his hair, holding him close as you kissed him back with equal fervor.

the pressure of his fingers on your ass sends shivers down your spine, and you ground your hips harder against him, seeking more of that delicious friction. the rasp of his voice in your ear, the feeling of his hardness pressing against you, it was all so intense, so overwhelming that you feared you might combust from the sheer force of your desires. “gonna— cho...” you mumble incoherently on his lips, followed by choso hands guiding your hips faster.

choso could feel you trembling against him, could hear the desperation in your voice, the way it wavered as you breathed his name like a prayer. it only served to add fuel to the fire burning within him. he wanted to consume you, to burn away everything that wasn’t you and him in this moment.

“good girl, good girl,” he murmured, his words a mix of praise and encouragement. the rhythm of your movements had become frantic, wild, each grind of your hips against his causing a fresh wave of pleasure to wash over them both.

“come on baby,” he urges, the words tumbling out of him like gravel. your moans are like music to his ears, a heady symphony that only serves to drive him wilder. his grip on your hips is relentless, holding you against him as if you were the only thing keeping him grounded in reality.

his hand slid under your shirt, palms splaying across your lower back as he pulled you impossibly closer, the heat of his skin seeping into yours.

he rocked his hips in time with yours, the friction building to a fever pitch. the sound of your impending climax was music to his ears, and he reveled in the knowledge that he was the cause of it, that he could reduce you to this state of utter abandon with just his touch.

“that’s it, give it to me,” he urged, his lips finding the shell of your ear once more.

your body was wound tighter than a bowstring, every muscle tensed in anticipation of the release that was hurtling towards you like a freight train. the heat between your legs was almost unbearable, a pulsing ache that demanded to be satisfied.

“cho, ’m gonna... ’m gonna...” you panted, your words dissolving into a moan as you felt the first flutterings of your orgasm approaching. your hips jerked erratically, no longer following any kind of rhythm but simply chasing the pleasure that was so tantalizingly close.

your hands scrabbled at his back, nails digging into his shirt as you clung to him, anchoring yourself amidst the maelstrom of sensations. “don’t stop, don’t you dare stop,” you gasped, the command slipping out unbidden as you rode the crest of the wave that was carrying you higher and higher.

choso can feel your body tensing against him, the way your muscles coil and shudder as you’re close to the edge. he can hear it in the desperate pitch of your voice, the way your words are coming out in broken fragments. he knows you’re close, and he’s not far behind.

his breath is warm against your mouth as he whispers, “don't hold back. come for me, angel. i’ve got you.” his words are a promise, a pledge to catch you as you fall. as you give in to the crescendo of your pleasure, his arms are there, holding you tight.

“fuck yes, come on my cock,” he growled, the words punctuated by the rhythmic thrusts of his hips. he could feel your pussy clenching around nothing, the slick heat of your arousal coating his jeans as you rode out the waves of your climax.

the sight of you, lost in ecstasy, was almost too much for him to bear. he wanted to consume you, to drink in every last drop of pleasure until there was nothing left but the two of you, entwined and spent.

your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, crashing over you with such intensity that it stole your breath and rendered you momentarily speechless. your vision blurred, colors dancing at the edges as pleasure coursed through your veins like liquid fire.

“cho...oh god, cho...” you managed to whimper, your voice barely audible above the thunderous beat of your heart. your inner walls spasmed wildly, milking the air for something they couldn’t possibly find.

through the haze of bliss, you could feel choso’s hardness twitching against you, the heat of his arousal palpable even through the layers of clothing. the thought of him finding his own release sent another shockwave of pleasure rippling through you, prolonging your climax.

choso was hanging on by a thread, his grip on your hips tightening almost painfully as he fought to control himself. he was close, so close he could snap any second.

and second later, choso’s control snapped as he felt your pussy convulsing around nothing more, the rhythmic clenching of your muscles driving him to the brink. the sight of you lost in the throes of ecstasy, your face contorted in rapture, was enough to push him over the edge.

“fuckkkk,” with a low, guttural moan, he came hard, his cock pulsing as it emptied itself inside his pants. “fuck, fuck, fuck.” hot spurts of semen coated his baggy jeans, leaving a damp stain, each one a testament to the intensity of his climax.

for a moment, he was frozen, caught in the aftermath of his orgasm. then, slowly, he began to move again, his hips rocking gently as he worked through the last tremors of pleasure. when he finally lifted his head, his eyes were glazed, his chest still heaving with exertion.

as the final aftershocks of your orgasm faded, you slumped bonelessly against choso, utterly spent. your limbs felt heavy, your mind hazy, and you could scarcely believe what had just transpired between you.

a small, dazed smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you gazed up at him, taking in the flush on his cheekbones, the glassy look in his eyes. he looked thoroughly debauched, and the knowledge that you’d been the one to reduce him to this state filled you with a sense of feminine satisfaction.

“look at you,” you breathed a chuckle, the word little more than an exhalation.

choso grinned at your comment, a lazy, satisfied smile that mirrored your own. he leaned in, capturing your lips in a soft, unhurried kiss that was a stark contrast to the frenzied passion of moments ago.

“you’re one to talk,” he murmured against your mouth, his lips brushing yours as he spoke, “you should see yourself. all flushed and breathless, like the prettiest thing i ever saw.” his voice was a low velvet rumble, the sound of it a soothing balm to your senses. he wrapped an arm around your waist, his touch gentle and reassuring.

a soft chuckle escapes you, a sound woven with warmth and lingering affection as you press your forehead to his, eyes meeting in the quiet intimacy between you. “we’re a mess,” you murmur with a smile, your voice light but full of meaning. your hands find the buttons of your shirt, fingers fumbling slightly as you begin to put yourself back together, still feeling the afterglow of his words and the tender intensity of his gaze.

choso’s grin widens at your comment, his hand resting gently at your waist, thumb tracing slow, reassuring circles. there’s a comfortable silence as you both catch your breath, his presence grounding you, his quiet laughter blending with yours in the stillness of the night. his eyes don’t leave your face, watching you with a softness that only makes your heart beat faster, as if savoring every little detail of this moment shared.

choso watched you as you righted yourself, his gaze warm and affectionate. his fingers reached up, idly plucking at the fabric of your shirt. he watched the way the material fell back into place, hiding your delicate curves once again.

he couldn’t help but chuckle softly. “you’re still clean, angel. i almost wish i’d made even more of a mess. almost,” his voice was teasing, his lips curving into a playful grin. the air is rife with the unspoken words dancing on the edge of the moment, the warmth and comfort wrapping around you like a cocoon.

he doesn’t press the issue though, not wanting to force anything that could shatter the fragile intimacy between you. instead, he just watches you, eyes warm and full of unspoken emotion.

“but next time,“ he adds, finally breaking the silence, “next time, i’ll have to make sure to have a change of pants.” his tone is light, a teasing lilt to it. but there’s a touch of something deeper there, a hint that he’s planning on there being a next time— that this is more than just a passing encounter.

still sitting on his lap, you snort, amused by his comment, and glance down at his jeans, your gaze catching on the unmistakable stain left by your recent intimacy. a smirk plays at the corners of your lips as you meet his eyes again, a mischievous glint in your own. “or maybe next time,” you murmur, voice dropping to a teasing lilt, “we should find somewhere a little more... private. so we can do it without the clothes.”

your words linger in the air, charged with suggestion, and you watch as his playful grin deepens, the warmth in his gaze intensifying with a glimmer of anticipation. he raises an eyebrow, clearly entertained by your boldness, his fingers tracing idle patterns along your side as he chuckles. “now that,” he says, voice low and dripping with promise, leaning closer to give you a peck on the lips before pulling away just a beat, “sounds like a plan, angel.”

there’s a shared spark between you, a silent agreement that this moment isn’t just a fleeting encounter but the start of something deeper, something you both want to explore. as the night stretches on, you feel the anticipation settling warmly in your chest, knowing there will be a “next time”— and plenty more after that.

a comfortable pause falls between you, the moment stretching as your eyes meet and hold, speaking volumes without words. the connection between you in that moment is more than just physical— it’s a quiet, wordless exchange of emotions and unspoken promises.

choso is first to break the silence, his lips curving into a playful grin. “as much as i’d love to continue this... we probably shouldn’t push our luck anymore tonight. it’s getting late.” he glances around, noting the empty woods, the deserted empty space beyond..

a soft chuckle escapes you, and with a reluctant sigh, you whisper, “yeah, probably best not to risk it.” carefully, you ease yourself off his lap, feeling the lingering warmth of his presence as you stand. straightening your skirt and adjusting your shirt, you do your best to smooth out any signs of the recent intimacy, fingers running through your hair in a quick attempt to tame it.

choso watches you with a hint of amusement, his eyes gleaming with that familiar warmth as he rises beside you, brushing himself off. “not bad,” he murmurs, a low, teasing note in his voice as he observes your subtle efforts to look composed. he reaches over, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle and lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

choso flashes you a playful smile as you try to right your appearance, his eyes dancing with amusement at your efforts to look respectable despite the rumpled state of your clothing. his warm gaze follows your every movement, drinking in the sight of you, and he takes a moment to compose himself as well, fixing his clothes and running a hand through his hair.

as you both finally look presentable, he turns towards you, his eyes softening as he watches you. “we should probably get going,”he says quietly, his voice low and soft. “it’s late, and i don’t want you to get in trouble.”

as you begin the quiet walk back from the woods to the school grounds, choso’s hand slips into yours, his fingers curling around yours with a gentle but sure grip. the warmth of his touch anchors you, his presence at your side feeling both natural and reassuring, like something that’s always been meant to be.

the path is cloaked in the soft shadows of the night, the faint glow of the moon casting a silvery hue over everything. neither of you feel the need to speak; instead, you let the comforting silence stretch between you, punctuated only by the quiet sounds of your footsteps against the earth.

every so often, choso’s thumb brushes over the back of your hand, a small but tender gesture that sends a gentle warmth through you. it’s a simple moment, yet there’s a profound intimacy in it—one that fills you with a sense of peace and connection. you glance over at him, catching the soft profile of his face in the moonlight, and he meets your gaze with a quiet smile, his eyes reflecting that same warmth and promise you felt earlier.

as you near the edge of the woods, the school grounds coming into view, you realize just how deeply this night has shifted something between you two. his hand in yours feels like an unspoken vow, a shared understanding that this connection isn’t just a fleeting spark—it’s something real, something you both want to hold on to.

as you step onto the training ground, the familiar silhouette of gojo comes into view, standing with his typical air of arrogance. his face wears that infuriatingly smug grin, and even with his glasses on, you know he’s watching. just to prove it, he lowers them slightly, giving you and choso a pointed look—specifically at your intertwined hands.

in a swift, reflexive motion, you pull your hand from choso’s, earning a puzzled glance from him. but as his gaze shifts toward gojo, realization dawns in his eyes, and he lets out a silent sigh, his expression settling into understanding.

internally, you curse. gojo’s big mouth is notorious; you know he’ll never let you live this down. as his former classmate, you’re all too familiar with how relentless and obnoxious he can be. memories of his constant teasing, his maddening habit of prying into everyone’s business, flood your mind, and the thought of dealing with his smug remarks makes you groan.

“he’s absolute menace,” you mutter under your breath, sending a half-hearted glare in gojo’s direction. beside you, choso stifles a quiet chuckle, clearly amused by your reaction.

as you approach, gojo stands there, hands buried in his pockets, his smile only widening as you near. you brace yourself, fully aware that the barrage of taunting remarks is about to begin, but also knowing that having choso by your side makes facing gojo’s antics a little more bearable.

gojo stands there, a grin plastered across his face as he takes in the sight before him. “well, well, well,” he drawls, that maddeningly smug tone in his voice that you know so well. “what do we have here? a little late night stroll through the woods, hmm?” his eyes flick between the two of you, one eyebrow raised in a mix of amusement and curiosity.

you roll your eyes, already fed up with gojo’s smug tone. “can you shut up for once, satoru?” you snap, crossing your arms as you fix him with a glare. “what do you want?”

gojo just chuckles, clearly relishing in your irritation. “oh, don’t get all snippy with me,” he teases, hands still stuffed casually in his pockets. “just happened to be wandering by, and—what do i see? a little midnight rendezvous.” he raises an eyebrow, his smirk only growing as he glances between you and choso— raising his eyebrows in silence the moment his six eyes catches a white stain on choso’s pants.

“satoru…” you warn, voice low.

he laughs, holding up his hands in a mock surrender. “alright, alright, i’ll behave.” then, his tone shifts slightly, a hint of seriousness beneath the teasing. “the higher-ups need you and me for something. probably some tedious nonsense, but they sounded… insistent.”

you glance at choso, sighing as you straighten up. “great, just what i need,” you mutter, shooting gojo one last glare. “lead the way then, satoru, since you’re so eager to interrupt a nice, peaceful evening.”

gojo only grins wider, turning and beckoning for you to follow, his playful stride a stark contrast to the sense of duty that suddenly weighs on you. choso gives your hand a reassuring squeeze before you let go, his silent understanding grounding you before you walk forward to face whatever awaits.

you glance over your shoulder at choso, finding him watching you with a soft smile, one that lingers in the quiet warmth of his expression. there’s a flicker of reassurance in his gaze, like he’s silently telling you it’ll all be okay. you give a small wave, a gentle gesture just for him, before turning back to follow gojo.

as you walk away, you feel the warmth of choso’s presence still lingering at your back, a quiet comfort that makes you smile to yourself. whatever nonsense awaits with the higher-ups, you know that, at the very least, there’s someone who has your back when you return.

as you walk away with gojo, choso watches your retreating figure, his expression soft with worry. he has a sinking feeling that this sudden summons isn’t going to bode well for you, but he knows he can’t interfere. when your hand slips from his grasp, and he can’t help but feel a tinge of loss, as if a piece of him goes with you on this mysterious mission with gojo. he pushes those worries aside for now, reminding himself that he has to trust in your strength and abilities. you can handle yourself and whatever comes your way.

gojo rolls his eyes at the obvious exchange of glances between you and choso, a look of mock disgust etched on his face. “ugh, seriously? you are like a teenage girl who just learned how to date,” he teases, his tone dripping with sarcasm. the comment makes you cringe, and you can feel your face flush with embarrassment.

without missing a beat, gojo suddenly stops in his tracks and swiftly pulls you into a headlock. you groan in annoyance, struggling to escape his grip as he chuckles at your predicament. “did choso do a good job, huh?” he asks, a playful grin on his face. “maybe next time, you should change before going public with your little romantic escapades!”

your cheeks flush deeply at gojo’s mention, heat creeping up your neck as you suddenly become hyper-aware of the earlier moments shared with choso. your thoughts begin to swirl, drawing your attention to the unmistakable stain on choso’s jeans that had caught your eye earlier.

a wave of realization crashes over you as you wonder if that same stain might have transferred to your skirt. the idea makes your heart race, and you subtly shift your position, trying to assess the damage without drawing attention.

gojo, ever observant, notices your fidgeting and raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “what’s the matter? you look like you’ve seen a ghost!” he teases, and you can’t help but curse internally.

you huff indignantly, pushing against his arm while trying to mask the smile threatening to break through. “you’re such a jerk, satoru!” you protest, though a small part of you appreciates his relentless teasing. despite the annoyance, you can’t deny the warmth that bubbles up inside you from the earlier moments with choso.

gojo’s grin widens as he sees the flush spread across your cheeks, enjoying the reaction he’s elicited. “aww, look at you, all flustered. that’s what friends are for, right? to tease you when you do something so incredibly naive.” he teases, releasing your headlock but keeping a friendly arm wrapped around your shoulder as you walk.

you huff in annoyance, nudging his chest with your elbow as you cross your arms defiantly. “you are so fucking annoying, you know that?” you retort, shooting him a playful glare. despite your irritation, you can’t help but crack a small smile, knowing that deep down, his teasing comes from a place of genuine friendship. it’s just typical gojo, always pushing your buttons, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

you look over your shoulder one last time to catch a glimpse of choso, who is standing a few steps behind you with a soft smile on his face. warmth spreads through you at the sight, the memory of your shared moment still lingering in the air. his gaze holds a hint of something deeper, an unspoken connection that makes your heart flutter.

as you and gojo turn the corner, you can’t help but feel a sense of excitement mixed with anticipation. the night air feels charged, and despite gojo’s teasing, you can’t shake the feeling that this is just the beginning of something special with choso.

gojo notices the way you glance back, and he quirks an eyebrow, “oh, is our little curse friend back there making your heart race? that’s cute." his teasing tone is laced with a hint of amusement, his eyes sparkling with mischief

“you know, i can practically see the little hearts in your eyes. someone has a crush.” his words are casual, but you catch a glimmer of something else in his expression— he’s not just teasing; he’s genuinely happy for you.

your cheeks flare with embarrassment as gojo’s words hit home. part of you wants to roll your eyes and dismiss him entirely, but there’s something in his tone that makes you pause. “okay, maybe,” you mutter softly, “but don’t you dare start making a big deal out of it, satoru. this is supposed to be a secret, remember?” you shoot him a warning glare, hoping to stave off the barrage of future teasing.

gojo grins widely, feigning innocence, “me? make a big deal out of something? nahhh, that’s not my style.” he gives a casual shrug, leaning in with a sly whisper. “but between you and me, i might just have to give choso the ‘big brother talk’ to make sure he treats you right. you know, threaten him with a little bit of my infamous gojo charm.” the playful glint in his eyes suggests this is just another layer of his teasing.

you snort, rolling your eyes but unable to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “you’re so stupid, satoru,” you say, shaking your head in mock disbelief. his antics always manage to get under your skin, but you can’t help but find his protective nature endearing, even if he goes about it in the most ridiculous way possible.

gojo lets out a hearty laugh, his grin widening. “hey, it’s my duty as your friend to make sure you’re treated right. and also my duty to annoy the living daylights out of you. two birds, one stone!” he playfully ruffles your hair, causing you to swat his hand away with a playful glare. as you both continue walking, a comfortable banter flows between you, with gojo throwing in a few more teasing remarks about choso and your newfound romance.

your mind keeps drifting back to the moments you and choso shared in the classroom, especially the memory of his lips and the lingering warmth that had engulfed you. you’re almost consumed by the image when gojo’s voice breaks into your thoughts.

“alright, lovebird, i’ve had enough of this smitten daydreaming.” he shoots you another teasing grin, his playful tone making his words less serious. “time to snap out of it. we have a meeting to attend and you need to focus. save your romantic musings for later.”

#choso smut #choso x reader #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo smut #choso x y/n #choso x you #jjk x reader smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagine #choso kamo #choso

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nyrasvoid · 6 months ago

Text

A Knight’s Prize

Gwayne Hightower x Fem!Reader

Summary: in a tourney to decide her future, Rhaenyra Targaryen’s eldest daughter must choose a husband. Ser Gwayne Hightower, a charming yet unexpected suitor, captures her attention.

Warnings: i don’t think there is any warning yet but it might contain smut if I write more parts (idk tho)

A/N: this is the first fanfic I have ever written so any criticism as long as it’s respectful will be accepted 🙃 btw english isn’t my first language so some expressions might not make any sense for you guys lol

- Word count: ≈1.1K

As the eldest daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Ser Laenor Velaryon, you carried the Velaryon name with pride. At almost ten and eight years of age, you knew your time had come to marry and strengthen your house. Though your mother felt guilty about marrying you off against your will, she decided to organize a tournament, allowing you the choice in selecting your future lord husband, just like she had wanted when she was younger.

The Red Keep buzzed with anticipation as knights and lords from all over the realm gathered to compete for your hand. Among the spectators sat King Viserys, Queen Alicent, and their children, observing the events unfold. The tension between the blacks and greens was palpable, especially since Alicent had rejected the offer of Princess Rhaenyra of marrying Jacaerys to Helaena, calling her sons ‘plain featured’.

You and your brothers had always noticed the looks and whispers of the highborn lords and ladies each time you walked around the Red Keep. You sometimes resented your mother, not for finding comfort in a lover, as you very much did not care, but for finding a lover with such strong genes.

Your mother approached you as you stood in the balcony of your chambers, overlooking the field. “Are you ready, my daughter?” she asked, her voice filled with a mixture of concern and determination.

You nodded, your eyes scanning the assembled knights and lords below. “Yes, mother. I am very excited to marry a lord I will most possibly not be fond of and bear his heirs, for it is my duty to the realm.” You said sarcastically as you looked down sadly.

“See,” Rhaenyra said, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “I know that you did not ask for any of this, but it is our duty as princesses of the realm to bear heirs for the iron throne”. You looked at her “I know it is, mother. I am just scared” you paused as you took a deep breath “What if he mistreats me?”. You mother chuckled “Then you must let me know and I shall fly to you and make Syrax devour your lord husband”. You both giggled at your mother’s words, you saw her capable of it, she had always been protective of her only daughter.

As the herald announced the beginning of the tournament, you couldn't help but feel a knot of anxiety tighten in your stomach. The knights and lords paraded before you, each hoping to catch your eye and win your favor. Your gaze lingered on Ser Gwayne Hightower, the eldest son of Otto Hightower and brother of Queen Alicent. Why was he even here if Alicent had already rejected the opportunity to unite even more your houses? Wasn’t he also defeated by your uncle Daemon in a tourney years ago? It would have been funny to see Otto’s face then, the man he hated the most in the seven kingdoms, knocking his eldest son of his horse. Perhaps his father had sent him, he had always been known as an ambitious man.

The trumpets sounded, signaling the beginning of the tournament. You glanced over at Ser Gwayne, who stood confidently with his head held high. He caught your eye for a moment, and you quickly looked away, feeling a surge of irritation.

As the day wore on, you noticed Ser Gwayne’s victories. His fierce determination and honorable conduct impressed you. He fought with courage, that was both inspiring and captivating. After winning a round against a lord from a minor house you had never heard of, he approached the gallery to ask for your favour.

“Princess, it would be the greatest honor if you would grant me your favor.” He said as he took off his helmet revealing his beautiful blue eyes and charming smile “May your blessing guide me to victory in this tournament for your hand”.

You smiled in amusement “Take this flower crown, Ser Gwayne, and wear it with pride.” You reach for the flower crown resting beside you, it blooms the vibrant colors of Houses Targaryen and Velaryon. “It bears the colors of my house and the faith I have in you”. You lean forward, gently placing the flower crown on Ser Gwayne’s lance.

Ser Gwayne bows once more, his voice filled with gratitude. “I am deeply honored, my lady. With your favor, I shall strive to be worthy of your hand”

During a brief intermission, you found yourself wandering through the gardens of the Red Keep, seeking a moment of respite from the intensity of the tournament. Thinking about how your future was about to be decided by a stupid tourney. It was there were you encountered one of the knights fighting for your hand.

"Princess," he greeted, bowing deeply. "I hope the tourney is to your satisfaction."

You studied him for a moment, noting the easy charm in his smile and the glint of mischief in his eyes. "It is, Ser Gwayne. You fight well and with honor.”

"Thank you, princess," he replied, stepping closer. “I must admit, I didn’t expect to find such beauty amidst the flowers.”

“Ser Gwayne,” you reply, feeling your cheeks heat up. “Shouldn’t you be resting for your next fight?”

“I find the gardens far more refreshing than the company of annoying knights,” - he steps closer “Besides, I couldn’t resist the chance to speak more privately with my future lady wife.” he says confidently.

There’s a playful spark in his eyes that makes your heart race. “You seem very confident, Ser Gwayne. Aren’t you worried about the competition?”

He leans in slightly, “The only competition that matters to me is winning your hand, princess”

You laugh softly, both flattered and intrigued. “Bold words for a knight who hasn’t yet proven himself.”

His gaze becomes more intense, a hint of cockiness in his smile. “Then perhaps I should start proving myself next round.”

Before you can respond, he gently takes your hand, placing a tender kiss on your knuckles. You could feel your cheeks heat up. It wasn’t the first time a knight or a lord kissed your hand, but this time was different, you actually felt something.

As the distant sounds of the tournament begin to echo through the gardens, you know it’s time to return. Ser Gwayne till holds your hand, as if he is reluctant to let go.

“I suppose we must go back,” you say softly.

He nods, as his eyes remain fixed on you. “Duty calls us both, it seems.” he said as he let go of your hand “But know this, Princess. My intentions towards you are sincere, it would be a great honor to marry you”

You give him a small smile, though you doubt his real intentions “Words are easy, Ser Gwayne. Proving them is the true challenge.”

“Then I shall accept your challenge, for you are worth every effort.”

You can’t help but wonder if his charm is genuine or simply a tactic. You recall the reputation of the Hightowers, a family known for their ambitions. Are Ser Gwayne’s intentions truly genuine, or is he merely following his father’s orders, seeking to gain influence through marriage?

You walk back to the main grounds of the tournament, his words echoing in your mind. ‘My intentions are sincere.’ Could it be true? Or is this just another scheme by his father, Otto Hightower, to strengthen their hold on power?

As you take your place, you steal a glance at Ser Gwyn. He catches your eye and offers a reassuring smile, but the seed of doubt has already been planted in your head.

The tournament continues, but your thoughts remain divided. You weigh the warmth of his touch and the sincerity in his eyes against the ruthless ambition of his family. Should you trust your heart, which yearns to believe in his genuine affection?

Pt. 2???

P.S. if you guys have any suggestions for part two, to improve my writing or anything you think, please let me know 🫨 Btw just in case you want to know, the lady in the picture at the beginning is Kosem Sultan, played by Beren Saat (there are others) she has great dress inspo if you want them for your DRs or fanfics.

#gwayne hightower #gwayne hightower x reader #hotd season 2 #hotd fanfic #hotd x reader #gwayne x reader #ser gwayne hightower #gwayne x you #gwayne hightower x you #gwayne fanfic #gwayne hightower fanfic #gwayne hightower x female reader #hotd fanfiction #fanfiction #gwayne imagine

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fireya-x · 18 days ago

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bite marks

【 AO3 Link (full tag list) || masterlist 】 ✦ John Price x Reader ✦ You show John exactly who he belongs to when other women won't take a hint. ✦ 4.4k words ✦ tags/cw: smut, dom!reader, jealousy, possessiveness, car sex, vaginal sex, creampie, light biting

Ranks and medals, gleaming on suits and uniforms, seemed to multiply with every glance, a dizzying display of military pomp and circumstance. It was that posh reception, the one that rolled around annually, the kind where inflated egos and forced pleasantries ruled the room. You almost felt sorry for John, who, by his rank and reputation, was always pulled into the middle of it all. Firm handshakes, forced smiles, and empty conversations – the price of duty, as he’d once called it, a weary sigh escaping his lips as he’d explained it to you.

You, on the other hand, absolutely loathed these events.

The music, always a little too loud, turning conversations into shouting matches and making your head ache. Small talk with people you barely even knew, and didn’t even want to know, faked politeness that turned into rolling eyes as soon as backs were turned.

The only redeeming qualities, as far as you were concerned, were the free-flowing drinks, the surprisingly decent food, and the excuse to wear your favorite dress – a sleek, black cocktail dress that hugged your curves in all the right places and made you feel powerful and confident.

But then, there were also people like her. The woman who seemed to have permanently attached herself to John’s side. She had the most beautiful smile, and it grated on your nerves. The way it crinkled the corners of her eyes, the way it lit up her whole face – it was captivating, yes, but utterly infuriating.

You really weren’t the jealous type, usually, but the way this woman was sticking to John like a leech, her hand constantly brushing against his arm, her body leaning into his, was pushing your limits.

John was trying his best to get rid of her, to give him credit, but she didn’t seem to get the message. He’d shift his weight, turn away slightly, but she’d simply adjust her position, her smile widening, her touch lingering. Even worse, she was the daughter of some important general, a fact she made sure to mention within earshot of anyone who would listen, so you knew he didn't want to be impolite. Said general, a stern-faced man whose chest was practically covered in medals, stood nearby, observing their interaction with a hawk-like gaze. Anything that’s got to do with ranks and honor, John wouldn’t turn a blind eye.

She kept smiling, and you started to wonder if it wouldn’t hurt her cheeks by the end of the night. The muscles in your own jaw ached from the effort of maintaining a polite facade. She kept laughing at every word he spoke, even every other word that left his mouth, any chance she got, and it caused your eyes to roll to the back of your head.

Earlier, you had brought John a drink, trying to save him from the misery of the woman’s relentless attention. You’d shifted closer, pressing a kiss to his cheek, a deliberate gesture of possession, a silent message to the woman – and everyone else in the room – that he was taken. But it seemed to have done little to deter her. If anything, it seemed to embolden her, her smile widening, her touch becoming more insistent. John had given you an apologetic smile, his eyes flicking towards the general standing nearby, and, as always, you understood. He was trapped between his duty to be polite and his desire to be with you, a conflict clearly reflected in the tension around his eyes. Ranks and honors mattered to him, sometimes more than they should.

“Damn,” Gaz whistled low, drawing your attention. You followed his gaze back to that same woman, now in very close proximity to your man, throwing her head back laughing and grabbing John’s arm in an almost intimate gesture. The way her fingers played with the edge of his jacket sleeve sent a wave of what felt like simmering anger through you. “She’s relentless.” He chuckled, clearly finding the situation amusing.

“I’m going to throw up,” you muttered, grabbing your glass again, downing another sip, letting the burn of the vodka on your throat sting away, if only momentarily, the sight before you. The alcohol, a potent mix of vodka and cranberry juice, was starting to take the edge off, loosening the tight coil in your stomach, but it wasn’t enough to completely extinguish the fire of your jealousy.

“What could she possibly want with Price?” Nova joined the conversation, handing Gaz a bottle of beer. While taking a sip from her own, he pulled her close to his side, an arm casually laid around her waist.

You eyed their easy affection, a pang of longing hitting you. Sometimes you wished your boyfriend wasn’t such a busy man and could enjoy a simple drink with his team and friends, even in the middle of the forced pleasantries of these receptions.

“Her daddy probably told her stories about him,” you said, your voice tight, betraying the effort it took to maintain your composure. A good-looking man like John surely had his admirers, and you’d seen it countless times before. But nobody had ever been this bold, this utterly oblivious to your presence, to the kiss you’d given him right in front of her. It was as if she couldn't – or wouldn't – see you. Nobody knew the John you knew, the man beneath the uniform, and it should have calmed your nerves, reassured you of your place in his life, a place no amount of flirting could threaten. But the woman’s audacity, her complete disregard for you, made your blood boil.

“Do I hear jealousy?” Gaz pressed, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He seemed to be deriving an inordinate amount of pleasure from your discomfort.

“Why would I be jealous?” you retorted, though the slight tremor in your voice betrayed you. You knew you were being childish, irrational even. John wasn't giving the woman any encouragement, but that didn’t stop the gnawing feeling of possessiveness from twisting your insides, the urge to mark your territory, to remind everyone – and especially her – that he was yours.

“Hm, let’s see. She’s younger, totally John’s type – ow!” Soap yelled, and in the corner of your eyes, you caught Ghost smacking him on the chest, a reprimand for his tactless comment. Soap rubbed his ribs while Ghost's eyes moved back and forth between you and John. He’d found it hilarious, the barely-concealed disgust twisting your features, the steam practically coming out of your ears from jealous fury.

“He can talk to whoever he wants,” you said, forcing a nonchalant tone. “He’s just polite because of all those old important people.” The words were a hollow attempt to convince yourself – and them – that you weren't affected by the woman's blatant flirting.

Two more women, equally polished and equally determined, had joined the throng around John. It seemed the general’s daughter had inadvertently started a competition, each woman vying for the Captain’s attention. He seemed even more annoyed now, his eyes finding yours across the room a few times – a silent plea for rescue – but he remained trapped, locked in conversation, duty-bound to be polite to the daughters and wives of high-ranking officials. He remained engaged, nodding politely, offering the occasional comment, despite their increasingly obvious attempts to distract him, their laughter and suggestive comments becoming bolder with each passing moment.

While you understood his duty and respect for rank, his prioritizing them over his own discomfort was increasingly frustrating. The way they subtly shifted their bodies, angling for his attention, trying to catch his eye, to put their cleavages on display – it was almost comical. Almost.

You’d had enough. The alcohol, the noise, the woman’s relentless pursuit – it was all too much. You needed a moment, a space to collect yourself. Taking a last sip of your now lukewarm drink, you moved towards the ladies' room. Inside, the cool air and relative quiet offered a welcome respite from the oppressive atmosphere of the party.

You leaned against the cool porcelain of the sink, taking a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest. A surge of defiance, a reckless impulse, coursed through you, a spark of an idea igniting in your mind.

Inside the stall, you slipped your panties off and scrunched them up, concealing them in your fist like a secret weapon in your arsenal.

If you had to mark your territory like a possessive kitten, you’d gladly do so.

Emerging from the restroom, you scanned the room, locating Price. He was now engaged in conversation with the generals, his back to you. It was the perfect opportunity. With a determined stride, your heels clicking softly against the floor, you approached, your heart pounding against your ribs. You attached yourself to his arm with a pretended loving gesture, a possessive touch that belied your playful smile. You offered a polite nod to the men and women opposite of him, then reached into his jacket pocket, slipping the panties inside. Your fingers brushed against the rough fabric, pretending to smooth some nonexistent wrinkles. He stiffened slightly at the unexpected contact, a flicker of surprise in his eyes, but didn't react further, too engrossed in the conversation to notice your actions or perhaps choosing to ignore them for the sake of politeness. You lingered for a moment, a small, satisfied smile playing on your lips, enjoying the thrill of the risk, before nonchalantly turning away, heading towards the bar as if nothing had happened.

You intended to grab another drink, to play it cool, but you didn’t even get the chance. John’s hand shot out, gripping your arm more roughly than he probably intended, his fingers digging into your skin. You turned to face him, surprised by the intensity of his grip and the urgency in his eyes. He leaned in, his voice low and husky, barely audible above the din of the party, “We’re leaving.”

His eyes, usually warm and playful, were now dark, almost predatory. He didn’t wait for your response, pulling you away from the party, his grip tightening on your arm, ignoring the curious glances and hushed whispers that followed your hasty exit.

The car came to a screeching halt somewhere on a field road, a dark forest swallowing it halfway. John grunted, his frustration evident in the sharp sound as he rummaged through his chest pocket. His fingers brushed against the soft lace of your panties, and he pulled them out, tossing them onto the middle console of the car with more force than necessary.

“What’s this then? What the bloody hell are you thinking?” He turned towards you, his expression unreadable in the dim light filtering through the trees.

“Oh, don’t give me that, John.” The alcohol had emboldened you, leaving you feeling reckless and exhilarated. You knew you had overstepped, crossed a line, but the jealousy, the urge to claim what was yours, had overridden all sense of propriety.

“Do you even know who that was? What if they saw –” His voice was tight, his jaw clenched, his anger palpable.

“I don’t fucking care.” The words were out before you could think, blunt and unapologetic. You knew you should have shown more restraint, but the truth was, you didn't regret anything. Not really.

“You’re one of my lieutenants. Show some respect.” His words were clipped, his jaw tight. He was trying to maintain control, to remind you of your place, of the hierarchy that existed between you, even outside the confines of the military base. But you could see the flicker of desire in his eyes, the way his gaze lingered on your lips, betraying the conflict raging within him.

“Maybe show some respect to your partner –”

He sighed, shaking his head, a mixture of frustration and amusement finally breaking through his stern façade.

“John, I don’t –” You started to speak, wanting to explain yourself, to justify your actions, but he cut you off.

His hand shot out, grabbing your shoulder and turning you to face him. The touch, firm but not unkind, sent a shiver down your spine. “Listen to me –”

“No! You listen to me.” You pushed his hand away, unbuckled your seatbelt, and turned your body fully towards him, the movement causing your dress to ride up your thighs, exposing the smooth skin beneath.

“I don’t care who you flirt with when I’m not around, John.” You watched as his eyes couldn't resist following the movement of your dress. He fought to keep his gaze steady, to maintain his composure, but you could see the subtle clench of his jaw.

“I didn’t flirt –” he protested, but you ignored it.

“I trust you,” you continued, your voice softer now, almost a whisper, “but when I am right there? Nobody fucking flirts with you, understood?”

He paused for a second, a slow smile spreading across his lips, transforming his stern features, softening the hard lines of his face. “Never guessed you were that jealous,” he murmured, the tension easing slightly. He seemed almost… intrigued by your possessiveness, by the fierce way you were staking your claim.

“Not jealous,” you corrected, “Just… territorial.”

“She’s the daughter –” he began, but you silenced him with a finger pressed against his lips.

“Of a high-ranking official. I know.” You pulled back slightly, your eyes locking with his. “Doesn’t mean I have to like her claws all over you.” You reached for his arm, your fingers tracing the spot where the woman had touched him, remembering the possessive way her hand had lingered there. You pulled the fabric of his shirt up, exposing the warm skin beneath. Before he could even ask what you were doing, you licked along the exact spot, a slow, deliberate stroke of your tongue that sent a visible shiver through him. Then, you gently nibbled at the skin, leaving a faint mark of your teeth, a brand, a silent marking of what was yours.

His eyes darkened, turning into something wild and untamed, the amusement replaced by a raw, hungry desire. A growl rumbled deep in his chest, a primal sound that vibrated through you. He wasn’t stupid; he knew exactly why you had done that, remembering the possessive glint in your eyes, the way you had watched him, the silent challenge you had issued. And he accepted it, willingly, eagerly. He didn’t try to hide his desire any longer. With a sudden movement, almost too fast for you to register, he yanked you across the seat, settling you firmly on his lap, your bodies flush against each other, the heat of his desire igniting your own.

Your dress rode up your thighs completely, baring your sex against his crotch, and his eyes were glued to the sight, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Then you realized where his anger had come from, partly; he was rock hard beneath the black fabric of his pants, pressing insistently against your core. You gasped, a soft, involuntary sound, and at the same time, a strangled noise, like a growl, escaped his throat. Having a hard-on so obviously visible in front of his colleagues, especially in such a public setting, might have been an issue for him, a breach of protocol, a lapse in his usual impeccable control. But all you felt was a surge of pride, a thrill of possessiveness – all he needed was a little reminder of you to be this way.

You were the one who could unravel him, the one who could make him forget his duties, his responsibilities, the weight of his rank – no other woman.

You leaned in, grabbing his chin, so his eyes snapped back up to meet yours. As you spoke, you made sure to grind against him, a slow, agonizing movement that made him groan. “You don’t get to be mad at me.”

Your other hand snaked down between your bodies, closing around his erection through the fabric of his trousers. His eyes almost rolled back in his head at the contact, his hands instinctively reaching out to grab the flesh of your hips, pulling your dress even higher, wanting more, needing more.

You let go of him, grabbed his arms, and shoved them away from you, a playful challenge in your eyes. “If you touch me, John,” you whispered, planting a kiss on his mouth, then trailing it up his cheek, through his beard and stubble, finally nipping gently at his earlobe, “I’ll leave you fucking frustrated. Got it?” Your hand went back to his crotch, slowly working at the zipper of his trousers.

He let out a shaky exhale, his hands gripping the headrest behind him, visibly struggling to comply. The effort of restraint was evident in the taut muscles of his arms, and the clench of his jaw. His length twitched against your hand as you finally reached the waistband of his briefs, pulling them down to release him. He sprung free, hard and throbbing, nestled between your thighs. Another exhale, sharper this time, escaped his lips, his chest heaving beneath your hands. The sight of him, so hard, so desperate, so undeniably yours, was more intoxicating than any drink could ever be.

“I asked you if you understood me, John.” Your voice was low, husky, laced with a playful dominance. Your hand moved to tighten around his cock, and he hissed in response, a sharp intake of breath, as you slowly ran a finger over the sensitive tip.

“Yes,” he whispered, his jaw clenched tight, his eyes burning into yours.

You watched him, enjoying the sight of him struggling to maintain control, his body thrumming with barely contained need. His gaze was fixed on yours, a mixture of lust and frustration swirling in their depths. His length twitched against your hand, a silent plea for you to do something, anything .

You inched closer, your lips brushing against his ear. “Good boy,” you murmured, the words a playful taunt, a reward for his obedience. You trailed kisses down his throat to the hollow at the base of his neck. You nipped at his earlobe, then his neck, sucking gently at the skin, wanting to leave a mark, a visible sign of your claim on him. You could feel the pulse throbbing beneath your lips, and the heat and salty taste of his skin flushed your senses.

With a slow, deliberate movement, you pulled the neckline of your dress down, just past your breasts, letting them spill free. If you could have, you would have captured the look on his face at that moment, a perfect blend of desperation, desire, and awe. His earlier anger had completely dissolved, replaced by raw, uncontained lust. His eyes were wild, like a tiger on the prowl, his teeth grinding against each other, the muscles in his jaw flexing. You knew just how much he wanted to reach out and touch you – to cup your breasts, to trace the curve of your hips, to pull you closer – but you wouldn’t let him. Not yet.

Instead, you shifted your weight, positioning yourself over him, the tip of his cock pressing against your slick heat. He groaned then, his body tensing in anticipation, a silent prayer for what he craved.

You reached down, your fingers quickly unbuttoning his shirt, freeing his chest.

Then, you lowered yourself onto him with a tormenting slowness, savoring the feeling of him filling you, stretching you. His breath hitched in his throat, his muscles clenching as you took him deeper, inch by agonizing inch. You held yourself still, suspended above him, letting the weight of your body settle on him, the friction building an unbearable tension.

You leaned forward, your now-bare breasts brushing against the wiry hair of his chest. You rubbed against him, and your nipples, hard and aching, dragged across his skin, earning a guttural growl from deep within his chest. You lowered your head and nipped at his shoulder hard enough to leave a mark, then soothed the sting with a slow, lingering kiss. His hands twitched, reaching out instinctively, wanting to pull you closer, to guide your rhythm, to take control. But he stopped himself, his fingers clenching into fists, finding their way to the steering wheel behind you, knuckles white against the dark leather.

You continued to torment him, grinding your hips against his, a slow, circular motion that sent shivers of pleasure – and frustration – through you both. You could feel him throbbing inside you, hard and insistent, desperate for release. You smirked, enjoying his struggle, the way his body trembled beneath you, a captive to your desires, his control hanging by a thread.

“Fuck,” he gritted out, his voice strained, his eyes squeezed shut, his body rigid with the effort of holding back.

You lifted yourself slightly, then lowered yourself again, taking him deeper, pushing him closer to the edge. He arched beneath you, a strangled moan escaping his lips as he fought for control, the pleasure building, coiling tighter and tighter within him. You watched him, your heart pounding in your chest, a mixture of lust and affection swelling within you. He was yours, completely and utterly, and in that moment, nothing else mattered. You were in control, the dominant force, and he was yours to command, to possess, to please. And you intended to savor every second of it.

You quickened your pace, the rhythm building, causing his hips to meet yours, thrust for thrust. His breathing grew ragged, his moans growing louder, filling the small space of the car. You watched him, your heart pounding in your chest, a thrill of power surging through you as you felt him nearing the edge. He was so close, his body taut with anticipation, his eyes squeezed shut, his jaw clenched.

And then, with a guttural cry, he shattered, his body convulsing beneath you. You felt the pulsing heat of his release deep inside you, each throb a searing brand against your most sensitive walls. A wave of pleasure washed over you, a delicious echo of his release, but it wasn’t enough. You were far from finished.

“Touch me,” you commanded, not letting him linger in his bliss for too long. “Make me come, John.”

His eyes flew open, his gaze locking with yours. He hesitated for a moment, before his hand moved from the steering wheel to your hip, his fingers digging into your flesh, pulling you closer, anchoring you to him. His other hand found its way between your bodies, his fingers seeking out your clit.

He began to rub, slow circles at first, then faster, more insistent, his touch sending shivers of pleasure radiating through you. You sat still, letting him work his magic, your body a canvas for his touch. He began to move his hips, slow, shallow thrusts, his softening cock dragging against your walls, the friction adding to the growing inferno within you.

You moaned, your body writhing beneath him, the pleasure building, coiling tighter and tighter, a delicious torment that you savored, knowing that the release, when it came, would be all the more powerful.

He watched you, his gaze intent, his breathing growing ragged as he witnessed your pleasure. He increased his pace, his thrusts becoming deeper, more forceful, his fingers moving and pressing against your clit, building the pressure, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You cried out, your voice raw with need, your body trembling, your legs shaking uncontrollably as the pleasure reached its peak, a crescendo of sensation that threatened to shatter you. And then, with a scream, you came, your body convulsing around him, the world exploding into a blinding white light, the feeling overwhelming, making you feel weightlessly floating in a state of euphoria.

You collapsed against him, your head resting on his chest, your breathing ragged, your heart pounding against his ribs. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, his warm body against yours. For a long moment, you simply held each other, savoring the afterglow, the quiet connection that transcended words.

“I love you,” you whispered, sighing contentedly as you moved back a little and reached out, your fingers slowly closing the buttons of his shirt, a small gesture of tenderness.

“I’m not sure if you deserve me saying it back.”

“Hey–!” you protested playfully, swatting at his hand as he struggled with the buttons near his neck, taking over for him.

“I won’t be able to love you if you’re killing me with your behavior,” he continued, his lips curving into a slow smile.

“Ha ha, very funny,” you retorted, rolling your eyes, but the smile tugging at your own lips betrayed your amusement. You loved this side of him, the playful banter, the teasing affection that he so rarely allowed himself to show, a glimpse of the man beneath the uniform, the man you knew and loved with all your heart.

He reached out, his calloused fingers gently cupping your face, his thumb brushing away a smudge of lipstick from the corner of your mouth. “I love you,” he said, spoken with a sincerity that made your heart swell.

You smiled, and he returned it, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that always made your heart skip a beat. He moved you gently back to your seat, his touch lingering on your skin, his fingers tracing the curve of your hip as if unwilling to let you go. You adjusted your dress, smoothing the fabric over your still-tingling skin, your legs still shaky.

“Let’s get back.”

“Back ?” You looked at him, your eyes wide with shock. You glanced down at your body, the sticky evidence of your little dispute warm against your inner thighs. “I can't go back like this,” you whispered, your cheeks flushing at the thought of facing your colleagues, of the questions, the knowing glances, the whispers that would undoubtedly follow.

He smirked, an evil glint in his eyes, as he reached down, grabbing the lace panties from the gear shift where they had landed before, and stuffed them back into his pocket. You were stunned speechless, not sure what to say, how to react. You had expected him to still be angry, to reprimand you for your impulsive behavior, but this… this was something else entirely. He was turning the tables, reclaiming control in his own way.

“You wanted everyone to know you’re mine, didn’t you?”

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hattiewritesalot · 9 months ago

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Awake

Azriel x fem!Reader

Summary: Azriel is undeniably furious, especially considering the fact that Y/N has yet to wake up. But, when she does, what will become of their relationship?

Warnings: Vomiting, mentions of Az wanting to kill people for his bbg, very fluffy. Bit of hurt/comfort for both Azriel and Y/N

A/N: Here is part two of Poison (which, btw, thank u for all the support I've been getting on it 😭). feel free to send in requests for acotar bc I'm bored<3

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Azriel doesn’t think he’s ever been angrier in his entire life.

He’s supposed to stay calm and collected, every inch the mysterious spymaster, but not even the strongest sedative could settle the rage brewing in his chest. His shadows curl menacingly around his limbs, the black essence seeming to share his fury.

Rhysand sighs, rubbing his temples. Feyre stands behind him, probably to offer some form of comfort. They both adore Y/N. They’ve practically adopted her with how much they coddle and coo at her, despite her loud laughter and complaints whenever they do.

Cauldron, what Azriel wouldn't do to hear that laugh right now.

It’s been three days. Y/N is not awake. His mate is not awake.

Rhysand finally looks up at Azriel. “We’ve got answers, at least.” Before Azriel can interrupt, he keeps talking. “Beron has admitted to poisoning Y/N. He figured that if he targeted her, we’d crumble. Not because she’s the strongest, but because she’s the most… beloved, daresay. He didn’t think we’d hit back, and he thought he’d be able to crush us with this crack in our defences.”

Azriel’s scarred knuckles are alabaster from how hard he’s gripping the arms of his chair. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would he just admit it?” The High Lord of Night takes a deep breath.

“He found it funny.” The noise that tears from Azriel’s throat is completely inhumane, and completely unlike him. He storms to the door, but Cassian’s strong arms hold him back, urging him to stay calm, urging him to breathe. He can’t. He’s gone past being angry, and he’s gone past blaming it on the new mating bond.

Y/N is his best friend. He’d die and kill for her, he’d steal the moon and stars if it meant she’d be happy. The Mother’s bond can go and fuck itself, because the one he’s already got with Y/N will always be stronger.

“I’ve arranged a meeting with Eris Vanserra.” Rhys’ firm voice cuts through the haze of rage. “He says he has plans, and that this event has solidified his desires. I may be unable to tell you what comes of the meeting, but I guarantee that Beron will suffer for what he did to Y/N.”

Mate. Awake. He almost doesn’t realise what his shadows are whispering to him. Awake. Eyes open. Vomit. GO. He chokes, and desperately tries to break free of Cassian's grip. He needs to see her. He needs her to be okay. “Az, Rhys just said-”

“I know what he just said!” Azriel hates the way his voice is more of a sob. “She’s awake- she’s- please, let me go to her!”

A shadowsinger shouldn’t beg. He shouldn’t grovel. He should attack.

But he doesn’t, because he knows that Y/N is far more important than any conflict he could have with Cassian right now.

And, besides, Cassian lets him go. He’s never run so fast in his life. His feet are barely on the ground, legs and shadows and wings working in tandem to get him there as soon as possible. He thinks he might be the one vomiting in a minute.

Rhys groans. “I know they’re close, but he’s going to drive me insane before I even have this meeting.”

But Feyre, ever the observant High Lady, stares at his retreating form, hand squeezing Rhys’ shoulder. “Give him time. I’m sure he’ll cool off, when he knows she’s safe.” A small smile quirks up at the corners of her lips, knowing exactly why Azriel is so worked up.

---------------------------------------------------------------

His chest heaves as he pushes the door open, but then it’s filled with warmth. Alive. She’s alive, and upright, and very visibly pissed off but it’s okay because she’s alive.

“The one time I drink something that isn’t champagne-” she croaks out. “-and it turns out to be fucking poisoned. If that’s not my luck I don’t know what is.”

Azriel can’t control the desperate sob that bursts from his lips as he clambers onto the bed, pulling her into his chest. She’s sweaty, and feverish, and she’s just puked into the bucket next to the bed, but he’ll be damned if he cares. She’s alive. He buries his face in her hair, arms and wings squeezing her so tightly it makes her squeak.

“Alright big guy, I’ve just been sick, let’s not try and go for round two.” Her tone is teasing, joking, but the moment he pulls away, her face falls. “Az…” she murmurs, moving her fingers up to wipe his tears. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” he spits, sobbing again. “What’s wrong!? You were fucking poisoned! You’ve been puking and coughing and writhing and screaming ever since you got here, and you’ve been out for three days. Three whole days- where- I didn’t know if you were dead, I didn’t know if you-”

“Az.” her tone is a bit firmer now, thumbs pressing against his lips. “I’m okay. I’m gonna be okay. I’m here, I’m breathing, and I’m going to be fine. Breathe.”

He heaves a deep breath, clutching her so tightly his fingers make indents on her skin. If she notices, she doesn’t care. “You’re… okay.”

“I’m okay.” She smiles. Her lips are cracked and slightly discoloured, but he’s missed her little smile so fucking much. “Come on, Az, you know me. Tough as nails.” She flexes her arms, and Azriel snorts.

“There’s nothing there. You should really stop skipping training.” “No! You’re always a dick to me in training!”

“Yes, because Cassian’s about as mean as a wet sponge, and it isn’t potty training, it’s battle tactics.” She scoffs. “Whatever, whatever.” And he grins, and hugs her again, trying to engrave the memory of her wrapped up in his arms into his brain, just to keep there forever. “Azriel?” He hums in response. “I- so, you know a couple days back? When... this... happened, and I was just about to fall asleep?” She swallows. “I think I felt something… snap.”

His heart pounds in his chest. “The bond? You felt it too?”

“Uh- yeah.” She looks up at him, big eyes blinking up at him like a doe, her face so sweet he wants to coo. “Are you disappointed? That it’s me?”

That makes Azriel frown. How could he be disappointed? She’s everything and more, anyone can see that. Even if he pushes aside the fact that she’s drop-dead gorgeous, she’s got a brain to match it. She’s quick and clever and sassy in a way that rivals even his own spunk. If anything, she should be the disappointed one.

“No.” he says, brows furrowing. “Y/N, sweetheart, you mean the world to me. How could I be disappointed?” He wants to catch all of the butterflies in his stomach and lock them away forever, because they're making him woozy. “Are- are you?”

“Am I?” her tone is confused, almost shocked. “Az- Az, I’ve been into you for, like, forever. I’m not disappointed. I could never be disappointed, not with you.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, blinking, suddenly coming to terms with the fact that this bond has, for lack of better wording, startled them. They’ve always prioritised everyone else over them, always considered others' needs and benefits above their own, but they’ve never had the chance to fully acknowledge themselves. Maybe that’s what made them so alike. Maybe that’s why the Mother paired them together, knowing that amidst the sarcastic comments and teasing touches, the sturdy roots of their relationship came from their unwavering trust and care for one another.

Azriel’s hand moves to Y/N’s clammy forehead, softly pushing the hair away from her face. Despite everything that’s happened in the last few days, she’s still her, and he’s still him. Nothing is ever going to change that.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispers. She rolls her eyes. “I’ve got a raging fever, I’m drenched in my own sweat, I just threw up and you’re calling me beautiful?”

He laughs, oh, by the Cauldron, he laughs. “You could be a corpse and you’d still be the most beautiful girl in the world.”

“That’s necrophilia, Az. Pretty sure that’s illegal.”

“You’re hilarious, sweetheart.”

“Is that why you fell in love with me?”

“Okay, who’s saying I’m in love with you?”

“Me.” and she grins, nudging her nose against his. “Because I am not only hilarious, but also very observant.” He lets out a little hum in response, scarred fingers still twisting in her hair. Everything’s perfect, because they’re not. Their imperfections are intertwined, just like their souls, and the knowledge the other will always be there to love them is all they've ever wanted.

Azriel’s eyes flit down to her lips, and then he’s leaning in, and she’s doing the same, and-

She pulls away, wincing. “I puked about five minutes ago. I don’t think you want to kiss me right now.”

He rolls his eyes, tipping her chin up. “Y/N L/N, I have waited at least two centuries for the opportunity to kiss you. Don’t stop me now.” And he presses his lips to hers. It’s gentle, soft, sweet. Everything he feels around this girl.

“You’re gross.” She mumbles.

“That’s what love does to you.”

“And you’re a sap.” She grins. “I suppose you’re lucky I love you, even if you are going soft for me.”

“Shut up, sweetheart.”

--------------------------------------------------------------

@topaz125 @starryhiraeth @nahminae @quiettuba @thecraziestcrayon @honeywithemoney @marvelsmylife @sunny1616 @lilah-asteria @emryb @i-am-infinite @st4r-girl-official

my loves ty for ur support! :)

#fluffy az does something to me #but angry az willing to murder for r is even better #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #acotar

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fayes-fics · 5 months ago

Text

An Artful Arrangement

Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (threesome)

Summary: A private art lesson with Benedict becomes something else when a Viscount is your subject...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, MMF threesome, no incest. Very mild restraint with hands, sensation play, smidge of breast play, vaginal object insertion, vaginal fingering, oral sex (M to F), masturbation, vaginal sex, voyeurism/exhibitionism.

Word Count: 7.7k

Authors Note: Request fill for Anon, who wanted Anthony as a life model for one of Benedict's private art lessons. This request is from last year and I started writing it before the whole Benedict gives up art thing of s3. I hope artist Benedict returns in s4. Anyway, thank you to @colettebronte for beta-reading this monster. Enjoy! <3

“I’m not sure about this, brother,” Anthony frowns, surveying the jumbled art studio at Benedict’s London townhouse.

Sunlight is streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the rear of the property, but Anthony is grateful for the translucent voiles that drape over them; at least there will be some privacy from the surrounding buildings for this embarrassment.

“Too bad,” Benedict shoots back, bemused, fiddling through a pile of paintbrushes. “A bet is a bet, and you lost.”

“You do not need to revel in my misfortune quite this much, though,” Anthony pouts.

“What can I say? The mallet of death does not always ensure victory at Pall Mall,” Benedict chuckles, readjusting one of the two easels in the room. “And I can assure you, this student will be worth your efforts,” he adds enigmatically as his trusty valet appears in the doorway.

“Ms y/l/n is here, Mr Bridgerton,” Mr Smith announces. “Should I see her in?”

“Certainly,” Benedict nods brightly, observing in the periphery of his gaze how Anthony’s interest is piqued at that announcement.

“A Ms?” Anthony echoes quietly as Smith slips away. “I did not think you offered private art tuition to the unmarried lady,” his voice filled with concern, patently preoccupied with the Bridgerton family reputation should Benedict be inviting innocent young women to his bachelor lodgings unchaperoned.

“Do not concern yourself,” Benedict sighs, knowing exactly where the Viscount's thoughts have gone. “I indeed do not do that. I would not wish for that reputation. Widows who have reverted to their unmarried name, however….” Benedict trails off.

“Oh… right….” Anthony nods in understanding.

That, indeed, is an entirely different prospect.

—

You enter the room and suspect you may have interrupted a private moment between the two men before you. Both turning towards you, Benedict looks happy to see you once more; the other man - you would recognise his older brother, the Viscount, anywhere - seems taken aback, but you don't miss the tiny uptick in the corner of his mouth, hopefully also pleased to meet you.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” you nod courteously and move towards Benedict, allowing him to take your hand and kiss the back of your glove in greeting.

“Ms y/l/n,” he rumbles, “it is so wonderful to see you again.”

“Likewise, Mr Bridgerton,” you answer, enjoying the warmth of his lips through the silk, that trademark flare of exhilaration in your ribcage when your flirtation with him rears.

This is your fifth private lesson with Mr Bridgerton, and while art has been a wonderful new pastime, you do wonder how much of your enthusiasm correlates to your tutor’s attractiveness. He has been nothing but a gentleman in his actions, almost to your chagrin, although sometimes his glances have felt heated and laden with something that makes your insides glow.

You turn towards Anthony. “Viscount Bridgerton, it is a pleasure to meet you finally. I have seen you from afar at many an event.”

You take a few paces and offer your other hand for him to kiss, but it takes him a moment before he returns to himself and amends his frozen look of surprise.

“Miss y/l/n, the pleasure is all mine,” he replies, and there is something just as velvet in his tone as his brother's, his lips also warm and plush as he kisses your other hand.

Oh, my goodness. They are both entirely too charming and handsome.

“I apologise. When my brother informed me I would be modelling for a widow, I did not assume such a person as yourself,” he explains, his cheeks sporting a delightful dot of colour.

“I was widowed at age 24, my lord,” you explain, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “My late husband, 10th Earl of Pembroke, was a great deal older than me.”

“Should we not address you as Dowager Countess?” Anthony checks, concerned at any potential faux pas.

“Please do not,” you instantly respond. “It is why I reverted to my unmarried name. I have no wish to be addressed as such. The title lives on in his eldest son, the current Earl, and his wife. Who are indeed older than me. I was my husband's second wife. A companion for his senior years after his first wife died.”

Anthony nods in understanding. “It must have been an interesting union,” he offers politely.

“I was seventeen, and the man was nearly sixty,” you sigh. “My parents saw an opportunity to climb the social ladder and took it. I did not dislike the man completely, but I cannot say I was particularly distraught at his passing,” you explain plainly. “I am, of course, grateful his estate provides for me now.”

Having explained your situation as thoroughly as you wish, you turn back towards Benedict, who appears thoroughly entertained by your bluntness.

“Is this my easel?” you enthuse, pointing to the one nearest the windows.

“Indeed it is,” he returns with a smile as he strides past you and clicks the door closed.

“Now the question is, would you prefer your model be clothed or unclothed? You have not done a piece yet on the naked human form,” he points out.

You look over to see Anthony’s face morph into a thousand reactions.

“That was not part of the deal, brother,” he warns lowly through gritted teeth.

“Maybe not, but I think the lady should get to decide, do you not, brother?” Benedict challenges in a tone laced with amusement, his eyes sparkling.

You can see the war on Anthony’s face and decide to offer an olive branch. “I would not wish to make the Viscount uncomfortable in any way…”

“It would not,” Anthony cuts in very quickly. “I was just pointing out it was not my expectation to do so,” his gaze softening as it slips from his brother to you. “However, if you wish it, Ms, I shall remove my clothing.” something in the way he says it causes a frisson down your spine.

You have only seen one naked man in your life. And that is your dead husband—a portly man of advanced years. Something about the look of the Viscount’s tailored clothing suggests his naked form would be very different. More akin to the rugged gardener you have occasionally seen topless at your country home and, yes, touched yourself while thinking of. You are not sure you could keep your wits about you to paint such a fine specimen of a man.

“Let us just remove our jackets for now, brother,” Benedict suggests. ”The lady may then decide if we shall proceed further,” his tone conciliatory as he removes his.

You smile at his gentlemanly offer.

“Now,” he continues, rolling up his white shirt sleeves distractingly. “You may choose to pose your model as you see fit.”

Anthony is doing the same with his shirt, and you find yourself staring at him as well, at the play of muscles in his forearms as he rolls the material. Behind him is an emerald green velvet chaise, and you ask him to sit upon it. He does so and then looks at you expectantly for further instruction.

“Perhaps place one forearm on your thigh,” you suggest, but the pose he adopts isn't quite what you had in mind.

“You can place him in the position you wish,” Benedict chuckles, seeing the knit in your brow, gesturing for you to go to Anthony.

Your heart skips a little as you approach the Viscount, his eyes almost trepidacious as you place your hands tentatively on his shoulders. They are so broad and warm through the thin white cotton of his shirt. You position his arms, noting the latent power in his biceps, fingertips lingering on the material, eager to trail your hands down onto the dark hair dusting his forearms.

“Would you mind raising your chin, my lord?” you ask quietly, and when he tilts his head up, you almost gasp at the intensity of his gaze boring into yours.

“Like this?” he murmurs.

“Yes, please,” you whisper back, “the light catches your face perfectly.”

“Much as it does yours,” he returns softly and something warm spreads under your ribs as you drink in his handsome facial features, almost glowing in the sunlight—a want to run your fingertips over his cheeks, trace the lines of his strong jaw dusted with a trace of afternoon stubble.

“Are you happy with your placement?” Benedict’s voice rings out, cutting into your reverie.

“Yes, Mr Bridgerton,” you reply but do not move, seemingly rooted to the spot.

“Then please return to your easel,” he tutors, with a hint of sharpness you have not heard before.

Part of you is tempted to spin around and ask if he is jealous, but instead, you shoot Anthony a tiny smile that he returns before withdrawing.

You round behind your easel and pick up your charcoal, sketching an outline, as Benedict does the same. A few minutes pass pleasantly as you draw, glancing at Anthony around the edge of the easel to ensure accuracy. You could swear every time you do so; his lip twitches in amusement, almost as if he is trying to distract you.

“Benedict,” you call softly when you think your rough outline is done, “please could you check my sketch?”

It's a flimsy excuse you have used more than once now—a wish to have your teacher move closer. He doesn't disappoint. He takes a few strides and then stops close to your back, assessing your canvas.

“I would say that is an excellent start,” he assesses, his exhaled air wafting through tendrils of hair near your ear. “Except maybe here…” His arm curls close around your side, ghosting your dress, and taps the canvas where you have sketched Anthony’s left arm. “I think you flatter my brother with a shoulder that broad.”

“Perhaps…” you concede, and then your tongue runs away with itself. “It may indeed be easier to ascertain the correct proportions for the Viscount were he in less clothing.”

They both chuckle at your bold assertion, so obviously a flimsy excuse. But there is a vault behind your ribs as Anthony rises to that challenge—a glint in his eye as he stands up and plucks open his waistcoat, shucking it quickly from his shoulders, staring you down.

You swear you can feel the heat radiating from Benedict behind you as Anthony unwinds his white cravat and then, with a smirk, tosses it towards you. It lands draped over your easel; you reach out unthinking, grabbing an end, caressing the fine silk absent-mindedly as you stare covetously now.

Anthony is indeed built like your gardener, possibly even more sculpted. A dark thatch over his chest tapers to a line of hair over his abdominals and trails temptingly into his trousers. You want to see where it leads to. You suspect something much better than you have ever encountered before. With a hint of swagger, he retakes his seat in the pose you had put him in, the stance making his bicep bulge out.

“I do not think I was very incorrect in my proportions, Mr Bridgerton,” you opine tacitly, turning your head a fraction so your temple is brushing Benedict’s jaw, knowing you are goading him.

“Then draw what you believe you see,” he returns, his voice a low whisper, his lips so close to the shell of your ear that your heart pounds in your chest.

Your eyes hold Anthony’s as you daringly glide your fingertips over the back of Benedict’s hand, lingering on the raised tendons before you push the charcoal between his knuckles.

“Perhaps you can guide my hand?”

“With pleasure,” he hums.

The charcoal glides over the canvas in guided unison for a few laden minutes as you draw under Benedict’s tutelage. Anthony’s chest rises and falls steadily as you glance at him every few seconds—a tension in the air that is portentous, crackling. Your traitorous mind wanders—a jumble of images of you laying with both of these men, bringing you untold pleasures with their mouths and hands.

“Are you even paying attention to the artwork?” Benedict's rich voice lilts in your ear as you realise your hand is almost limp under his.

“I… I must confess, my thoughts may be elsewhere, Mr Bridgerton.”

“Tell us. It could be something we would be most pleased to hear,” he posits duskily, his breath hot on your cheek, letting slip that he likely suspects.

“I am thinking… of other artful arrangements of human bodies,” you offer somewhat opaquely.

“Whose bodies?” Benedict presses, this time his lips grazing your earlobe, as you spy a vein throbbing in Anthony’s temple, looking like he wants to stalk over and claim you.

“The three of us,” you confess breathily.

There is a noise from both men that is a beeline straight into your core, and there is a mouth on your skin. You gasp, eyes closing as you sway backwards into Benedict, his lips travelling the column of your neck as your back collides with his solid chest. The gentle suction and warm wetness set your skin afire, tingles running down your arm. Your lashes flutter open, and your blood runs hot to behold Anthony’s face like thunder until you bite your lip and, feeling emboldened, you mouth to him…

‘Your turn’

Instantly, his mien morphs into one of desire, jumping to his feet as you slide a hand into Benedict's thick hair and grab a handful, making him groan into your skin.

“You are entirely too clothed compared to your brother, Mr Bridgerton,” you coquette, untangling yourself from his arms and spinning to look back at him with a raised brow, backing away without looking, knowing you will soon collide with Anthony.

Sure enough, you inhale sharply as toned arms haul you into a firm embrace, the hair on his chest tickling the skin above the scooped back of your dress.

“The lady is not wrong, brother,” Anthony provokes, his tone smug now that you are in his arms instead.

Teeth nip lightly on your earlobe while you watch Benedict fight with his waistcoat, almost wrenching it from his torso. Anthony is more taciturn than Benedict, communicating with his fingertips instead, raking over your dress, silently telegraphing his desire through the gauzy layers. Benedict’s stare is heavy upon you as he unfurls his cravat, you melting into Anthony’s lips skimming down your throat. Benedict makes quick work of removing his shirt, throwing it aside, his smooth chest heaving slightly as he advances upon you. Then his lips descend and claim yours in a breathtaking kiss.

If this is the Bridgerton boys competing for your affection, then you would do anything to keep provoking them. Sandwiched between their bare torsos, Benedict's tongue opening your lips, lathing yours, as Anthony’s mouth skates your shoulder. The taste and feel of them both has you suddenly impatient. To do things you never thought you would even moments ago. A forbidden fruit too tempting to resist. It makes you desirous, unbounded, a keening want to be reckless.

“Take off my dress, gentlemen,” you implore urgently as you and Benedict break apart, twisting to capture Anthony’s mouth now.

His kiss is just as demanding, equally fervent, your heart racing as four hands trace the contours of your figure. You are not sure of who undoes the buttons down your back or who pushes the loosened fabric from your shoulders. Both unlace your stays, tugging almost impatiently until the garment relents and are certain both of them pull your gathered chemise loose, it falling from your shoulders to form a circle around your light summer shoes. Both make a noise as they realise you are now naked. It was supposed to be a little illicit thrill for yourself, foregoing stockings and underwear in Mr Bridgerton’s presence—little did you know how provocative that choice would be.

As you toe off your shoes, the atmosphere seems as heated, the sun’s rays upon your back through the translucent window covering. There is a moment where you exchange laden looks with them, their eyes slipping down your naked body before Anthony leans in and retakes your lips.

“Touch me…” you implore, twisting briefly to address his brother before returning inexorably to Anthony’s hypnotic kiss.

Benedict's fingertips ladder up your ribs from the dip of your waist, his lips dragging hot over your bare shoulder blades. And then you gasp into Anthony’s searching mouth as those large hands seize both of your breasts, covering them entirely, your nipples snagging between his elegant knuckles.

“Here perhaps…” Benedict rumbles as you tear away from Anthony to meet his captivating gaze.

“Yessss,” you hiss hungrily, your breath catching as he plucks gently, tweaks that send a zinging bolt between your legs. You cling to the back of his sturdy neck and crash your lips into his.

“Have you ever laid with two men before?” Anthony’s voice is like velvet in your ear as his warm hands grasp the flare of your hips, his teeth nipping at your neck.

“I have only laid with one man,” you admit as you pull back from Benedict's kiss. “And he looked nothing like either of you.” Your hands rake greedily down both of their honed outlines, a yen to see and touch more.

They puff with pride at your words as Benedict's fingers loop behind your left knee. He roughly pulls your legs up around his hip, surging into you so the rigid mass of his cock, straining in his trousers, presses your mound, making you gasp. Anthony pushes into you, too, his equally sizeable cock passing over the cleft of your bottom, so hot through the fine wool.

“Did he worship you like you truly deserve?” Benedict queries, his cadence achingly seductive.

“I am not sure what that might entail…” your intentional evasive provocation makes him smile crookedly and lean in closer, his eyes glinting enticingly.

“Did he feast on the bounty between your legs with his tongue until you screamed for mercy?” his words dripping from his lips like dangerous weapons, heat pooling rapidly right at that very spot.

“H-he did not…”you stutter over a slightly laboured breath.

“Oh, my poor lady,” Anthony tuts sympathetically. “You deserve to know true pleasure,” he adds, surging his hips again but also taking your hand and kissing your knuckles tenderly.

“Lay down here,” Benedict smiles as he leads you back to the plush chaise.

Both offer their hand to assist you in reclining, the velvet a plush tickle under your spine as you settle down, looking up at them towering over you, your hands itching to tug open their trousers and find what lies beneath, the fabric straining temptingly.

“What do you have in mind, brother?” Anthony asks, his eyes following Benedict as he turns away and appears to grab something from the bench at the side of the room, the sunlight dancing across the freckles across his back. When he spins back around, he is holding three clean paintbrushes.

“I think a sensual experience…” he replies, looking down to gauge your reaction.

“I thought our art lesson abandoned, Mr Bridgerton,” your gaze fixated upon the brushes of various sizes and bristle lengths.

“With my brother as the subject, I concede maybe so,” he remarks casually. “But I believe you to be a much more interesting prospect anyway….” his voice smoky as he looms over you, his eyes raking over you in a way that you can feel fizzling on your skin.

“Agreed”, Anthony chimes in, taking a proffered brush from his brother as they kneel on either side of the chaise, a silent exchange between them.

You want to ask what they will do, but the words die in your throat as Benedict's tongue darts out and wettens the end of a fine-tipped brush. Then, the damp bristles are upon your clavicle, tracing the arc of bone, leaving a thin, wet streak cooling rapidly, goosebumps erupting over your sternum, nipples pebbling. Without needing prompting, Anthony drags a dry, fanned brush over your ribs, tracing each contour. The sensation is different, ticklish, to the point your abdomen ripples, and you instinctively curl up a fraction, biting your lip to tamp down a giggle. Anthony smirks casually as a large hand wraps around your shoulder and pushes you back flat.

“No, no.” Your clit pulses at the warning tone Benedict employs, his hold secure but not painful, staring you down as Anthony repeats the same move upon the other side of your ribs. Your body rolls yet more, rebelling and pushing against his grip. “Stay still. Or he may desist.”

You bite your lip and exhale shakily as Anthony continues teasing brushstrokes over your stomach, each one a flick that makes your skin shimmer. Benedict releases his hold to paint his wet brush across your other collarbone, leaving a trail of his saliva along its ridge and then continuing down over your breastbone. Your breath catches as he trails under the curve of your left breast, just as Anthony’s brush sinks lower. Your instinct is to clamp your legs shut, a sudden wave of timidity, but both men grab your knees and pull your thighs wide apart. Air swirls around your slit as Anthony leans over and captures your lips in an enticing kiss.

“Do not be shy now….” is Benedict’s hot whisper in your ear, his teeth capturing your earlobe as Anthony’s tongue rolls with yours, swallowing your moans as his brush caresses the patch of hair at the apex of your thighs before he glides it between your legs, passing over your clit.

Just that featherlight touch is enough to make you arc upwards off the chaise until again Benedict holds you down, brush stored expertly between his knuckles as warm fingertips press upon your diaphragm, and he hushes you. You have to bite the inside of your cheek as Anthony flicks a few strokes, his warm eyes blazing right above yours. The motions have you throbbing, desperate for more, and you can only gasp as he slips lower, pushing just a fraction of the brush into your soaked pussy. When you do not protest, he grins and pushes a fraction deeper as you bite your lip, wanting so much more for it to be his cock. You whimper as instead the paintbrush withdraws, and Anthony makes a show of bringing it to his mouth, sucking its dripping tip covetously.

“Delicious,” Anthony offers silkily, his face inches from yours, a thronging need low in your pelvis, aching for relief, something you never felt with your late husband. His lips are on yours, lust burning in your belly as you taste yourself in his mouth.

Benedict chooses this moment to swirl his wetten brush tip around your areola, and that has you moaning into Anthony’s kiss, your fingers raking into his lush hair as your other hand shoots out to grab Benedict’s bicep, a need to touch them both at once.

“Please…” your voice cracking, greedy for them both.

“Please, what?” Benedict chuckles darkly, his lips brushing your hairline, again holding you down to Anthony’s sensual onslaught.

“More…”

It's all you can say, tilting to look into his hazy eyes, clouded with lust, enjoying watching you squirm and pant and blossom under their attentions.

“Greedy…” Benedict volleys light-heartedly before kissing you, both of them dropping the paintbrushes, clattering to the floor.

Anthony’s fingers slither back down your centre line, tracing over the sensitive skin beneath your belly button but not stopping until they rest tauntingly over your weeping slit. You gasp into Benedict’s mouth as Anthony pushes a finger into you, his approving groan into your shoulder as you leak down his knuckles has you clenching around his invading digit. He adds another and begins to pump slowly, rocking his fingers rhythmically as your tongue parries with Benedict’s.

Benedict breaks the kiss to brush his lips down your throat, hot kisses over your collarbone, lower still until his mouth is on the swell of your breast. Anthony adds a third finger, wet, filthy sounds from between your legs as your pussy clings to him, feeling so filled. His thumb hooks under your clitoral hood and starts to flick your sensitive nub in time with his finger thrusts just as Benedict's tongue swirls around your nipple, making your back curve up from the chaise, pushing your breast into his open mouth.

“I could watch this for hours…” Anthony asserts with a wicked little quirk of his eyebrow.

You squirm under them, so achingly aroused you feel on the edge of reason. One of them would be more than you have ever experienced before; both at once is almost lethal.

“Me too…” mirth laces Benedict’s response as he trails the point of his nose over your nipple.

They glance at each other, telegraphing ideas silently. Benedict swaps to your other breast as Anthony moves, the angle of his fingers changing inside you, twisting as he rearranges between your splayed legs, pushing your thighs wide open, draping them on either side of the chaise.

The muscular swipe of Anthony's tongue through your slit has you crying out his name, a spike of pleasure so rough it catches you unawares, this act entirely new to you, something so intimate about his whole face buried into the wet heat between your legs.

Benedict kisses his way back up your neck as Anthony’s strong arms wrap around your hips, the solid mass of biceps curled into you as he drives you relentlessly, his tongue a spear lashing your swollen clit. Benedict swings around from kneeling at the side of the chaise to leaning over the curved back, fingers spidering down your skin from your shoulders towards your breasts.

“Is this the artful arrangement of bodies you envisaged?” His words are whispered hotly into your ear, your eyes fluttering closed at the decadent, smokey cadence.

You mumble something incoherent, the rush washing through your system stealing your thoughts, just as Anthony’s fingers start to move inside you again as he feasts upon you, closing his mouth around your sensitive nub and sucking hard with his lips.

“What was that?” Benedict chuckles, a teasing lilt that has you nuzzling your cheek into his lips, his fingertips dragging agonisingly slowly lower, over the round of your breasts, your nipples, still damp with his saliva, pebbled painfully even in the warm room, tingling for his firm touch.

“Yessss…” your reply is a sibilant rasp; he must know this is even better than what you had imagined, but he seems to enjoy hearing your affirmation regardless. Such investment in your pleasure amplifies your need.

Your hand shoots down to tug Anthony’s luscious hair, pushing your pelvis up into his face as he groans his approval of your wanton actions, chasing pleasure covetously. His fingers are buried deep inside you, curling and dragging over a spot that has you climbing so fast. Then Benedict roughly pinches your nipples, throbbing in sync with your clit under Anthony’s tongue, and you are sent stratospheric dizzyingly fast, a touch of rough treatment just what you need to push you over the edge you have been skating.

Benedict swallows your screams as you ride Anthony’s face in a wave of pleasure, clenching hard around his fingers, trying to expel them as he fights to stay inside you. Benedict's mouth is hot, possessive over yours, not letting you up for air in a way that only heightens your pleasure, a tingle zipping over your scalp as you burst and fracture under them.

For a few seconds, everything is blotted out, just a rush of blood in your ears and white-hot pleasure coursing through you. Their touch turns softer as you float down, Anthony’s fingers withdrawing from you with a wet noise as you lay dazed, utterly overwhelmed by the sudden intensity.

“Now that was a work of art…” the filthy poet opines velvety, a handsome, lopsided grin claiming his face as you stare up at him hovering over you, your view upside down.

You are still too stunned even to form words, a stuttering noise that sounds more like a whimper, the only thing escaping your trembling lips.

“I think we may have stolen her power of speech,” Anthony observes wryly, crawling up, dropping pecked kisses onto random spots of your dewy skin.

He settles his muscular body over yours, his chest hair tickling your nipples, his face glazed with your arousal, and his sizeable cock brands your thigh through the material of his trousers. He moves in to steal a kiss that tastes tart, rolling your flavour onto your tongue, seemingly wanting you to savour it as much as he does.

“I've never enjoyed losing a bet more…” he rumbles enigmatically as you break apart, your brow knitting in confusion.

“He would not have been your art model today if he had not lost a bet,” Benedict supplies, his fingers massaging your scalp soothingly, dropping a kiss onto your forehead.

You smile blissfully, head swinging to look at them both, knowing it will broadcast your response, as well as anything spoken could.

“You might be right about the power of speech, brother,” Benedict jests gently as they rearrange on either side of you.

Hands running lightly over your arms and torso. You just assumed, as with your previous husband, that they would immediately move on to pursuing their pleasure, so when they do not, you are slightly confused, especially as their unhurried, sensual caresses reignite that flame deep in your core. After a few minutes of gentle intimacy you are unable to censor your curiosity any longer.

“Will neither of you take me?!”

You don't mean it to sound quite as indignant as it does, even though a large part of you enjoys their shocked expressions, neither expecting such boldness. But then both of their faces morph into a dangerous, smouldering look so similar you can see their shared genetics. It has you biting your lip on instinct.

“We both will if you employ that sort of tone with us…” Benedict threatens sonorously, leaning in so his lips graze your cheek, giving away that is precisely what they want too, a shiver running down your spine at all the possibilities, your soaked clit throbbing anew.

“Is that a promise or a threat, Mr Bridgerton?” You volley back, raising an eyebrow, this new play far too beguiling to resist.

“Insolent little thing…” Anthony growls.

Hands clutch you tightly, blunt fingernails digging into your soft flesh, both of them demanding a kiss, pulling you in each direction to plunder your mouth in turn. A thrill zips all the way from your head to your toes with this sudden change of pace—the gauntlet of challenge you have thrown down, unleashing something primal in them both.

Before you know it, Benedict is standing up, and the sound of buttons popping open makes you inhale sharply around Anthony’s tongue, wanting so much to crane to see him stripping off, but your entire field of vision filled with the powerful Viscount, his hand seizing your jaw.

“Look at me,” Anthony demands, perhaps a tinge of jealousy that you may even dare glance elsewhere when he is kissing the life out of you. Your eyes meet, all blown pupils and damp lips, and it's blazingly intense like he is peering into your very thoughts. “Oh good girl…” he drips praisingly, and something hot and molten unfurls behind your ribs. The smirk that engulfs his face tells you he knows precisely what those two little words have done to you, lust roaring back to life in your veins. “Such a live wire…” he breathes, and you can see it is nothing but admiration. “I will be back…” his promise trailing off as he withdraws, your eyes tracking his movements away from you, taking a seat in a nearby wingback chair, that handsome smirk still there. It makes you want to reach out your hands and beckon him back, a slight pout that he has left you so soon.

But you inhale sharply as warm, ropey thighs part yours, and your attention is pulled back to Benedict, prowling over you on all fours, naked now. The glimpse of his rigid cock bobbing between his legs catches your breath before he claims your mouth and lowers himself upon you. So much heat and lithe, supple musculature. He doesn't even ask; your knees spreading wide is the open invitation that he takes, angling his hips and slipping into your waiting weeping pussy with one decisive thrust that has you grasping his shoulders and calling out. The blistering stretch is unlike anything your previous husband could achieve, and you are grateful for just how aroused you are, the feeling just the right side of painful. He holds still buried to the root, his handsome face rightfully smug as you adjust to this novel feeling of utter fullness.

“Is that what you needed?” He leans down and whispers those words in your ear, your breasts crushed under his smooth, hard chest. The tone is doused with brazen provocation that you can't help but rise to, one of your hands sliding covetously down his back.

“I think you know the answer you seek. Impress me, Benedict...” you incite as you grab his shapely rear, his responding groan vibrating your entire being. He withdraws and surges back in, your toes curling into the light fuzz on the back of his calves, what you have fantasised about for many weeks now, better than anything you have idly thought during each art lesson with him.

Benedict nuzzles into your neck and starts to set a rhythm that has you panting with each stroke, your back chafing the rich velvet fabric of the chaise, engulfed in his heat and woodsy scent, caged around you, his hands hooked under your shoulders, pulling you down onto his invading cock, his lips murmuring encouraging words onto your throat.

Movement out the corner of your eye distracts you, and you twist your head a fraction to see Anthony naked now, too. That dusting of dark hair on his chest tapers over his toned stomach, a thin trail leading all the way down to the patch around the base of his cock. He has taken himself in hand and is watching you intently, eyes trained on you as his brother fucks into you over and over, rolling with him.

‘I want you…’

You mouth to Anthony, a need to have him desperate and wanting. His nostrils flare, and he bears his teeth, his grip on his cock vice-like, speeding up, a glistening bead of moisture squeezing from his tip at your very words.

“Call her a good girl,” Anthony snarls, an instruction as much as a suggestion.

“Why would I when she is looking at you while I fuck her?” Benedict scolds satirically, and that has you swinging your attention back to the man inside you, a little flare of guilt in your gut that you are unable to divide your attention between them, wanting them both. “There she is,” he teases gravelly as his lips ghost the shell of your ear. “There’s my good girl….” he adds for good measure, the lowest register you have ever heard from him, and you cannot help your body’s response.

You clench around him, and he groans long and low, his grip on you harsher, snapping his hips so forcefully his hip bones dig deep into your splayed thighs, your eyes rolling, his tip grazing your hilt.

“So fucking perfect…” he curses, his mouth opening yours, raiding you, setting a pace so punishing now you can only cling to him, moaning loudly, him nudging your swollen clit with each stroke. The chaise squeaks under the onslaught now, feet scraping hard on the polished wood floor.

Still, you cannot stop your stolen glances at Anthony as Benedict huffs into your neck. He looks so majestic, knees splayed, eyes trained on you. You want to climb into his lap and ride him until your teeth are rattling. You can feel yourself climbing higher, each jolt to your clit another step closer, a gentle flutter in your pussy you know Benedict can feel, him emitting little groans with each involuntary constriction.

“You are so close. Come for me again; I need to feel it,” Benedict pleads breathily, pulling up to meet your gaze, a sheen across his forehead as he ploughs into you, never faltering in his athletic pace.

One of his hands sweeps down your flank, long fingers squirrel between your bodies, unerringly finding their target, a scream ripping from your lungs at the extra stimulation. A few flicks from him, and you are gone for a second time, hurtling towards the stars, bowing upwards, tensing hard, each muscle snapping taught as body and mind are flooded with ecstasy.

Distantly, you hear Benedict growl, more animal than man, a litany of filthy praise you can barely decipher tumbling from his lips as he pulls out abruptly, you whimpering at the sudden loss, your pussy bereft, rippling around nothing now as his hot seed spills onto your belly.

He collapses onto you for a few beats; his weight is heavy and cloying, his lips meeting yours in an artless kiss. Then you feel him climb off of you slowly, a soft rag dragging over your skin as he cleans you of his seed and mingled juices. He kisses your cheek chastely, but his words are interrupted by Anthony calling out across the room.

“Are you ready for more?”

Your attention immediately snaps across to the Viscount. Without thought, you are springing to your feet, gait uncertain, like a newborn fawn finding its legs as you take a few shaky steps towards him, an exquisite ache between your thighs from all that has transpired.

“Are you coming to me?” Anthony coos impressed, his hands shooting out to steady you, gripping your waist.

You nod enthusiastically, utterly drunk on the tide of pleasure coursing through you, which greatly entertains him. You climb into his waiting lap and draw him immediately into a filthy, wet kiss. Your tongues tangle as you shuffle forward into the wide, comfortable chair, his hips sliding forward to meet you, and without preamble, you rise fractionally and sink onto him, your puffy, swollen channel suctioning onto his thick veiny cock with a filthy sound. He groans beautifully as you sink, taking him into your pussy, the stretch of him just as mindblowing, perhaps even a shade thicker, like his physique. You stutter a curse, eyes to the ceiling, wrapping your arms tight around his neck, your nipples pressed into the fur of his chest, his balls pressed between your bottom cheeks as you sit speared upon him.

“Are you going to ride me?” His question is rich like chocolate, buzzing against your chin where his mouth is now hooked open, his teeth grazing the bone there.

“Yes,” you slur, tilting your gaze down to look down at him, already knowing you would do it until your body gives out, so desperate again to feel that high only they can provide.

“Good girl.”

They know it's a weapon now and deploy it with gleeful abandon. Reflexively you contract around Anthony’s cock, both of you calling out, his muscular thighs tensing under your weight, his toes lifting from the floor. He utters a curse, too, a hand wrapping around the nape of your neck, then cupping the back of your head, tugging the hair at your scalp between his knuckles.

“Ride,” he commands, low and slow, a menacing tone that has you stuttering with restoked arousal. A burning need to please him, to do precisely what he tells you to. And so you push up until his head is just inside your pussy, then drop back down, shuffling your stance wider to get a better range of motion. He watches you with a hooded, scorching gaze; a devastating quirk of his eyebrow has you moving steadily. Pressing all of yourself into him, with each pass, his hard abdomen scuffs your distended clit, your pussy lips so puffy now with so much arousal and repeated blows.

He nudges your face aside so he can teeth your earlobe. “You feel exquisite. All swollen with lust,” he croons, his breath gusting hot, his choice of words making you flare hotter, driving onwards with renewed vigour, a slight burn in your thighs as you rise and fall upon him, feeling yourself dripping down onto him, needing to cling onto him to keep seated.

“Could we do this on the floor?” you murmur into his stubbled cheek, realising your range of motion is slightly restricted by the shape of the chair.

His response is immediate; without leaving your body, he effortlessly takes your weight, wraps an arm around you and somehow manoeuvres smoothly onto the floor, his spine now resting on the front of the chair cushion—so much vigour and athleticism from both of these men.

“Turn around, sweet girl,” you startle and whip your head over your shoulder.

There sat on the chase, lower half now wrapped in a drape of crisp white fabric, looking like a Grecian statue made flesh, is Benedict—a sketchpad and charcoal in hand.

“Turn around so that I may draw you in the throes of passion,” he clarifies, that dangerous crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You look back to Anthony, suspecting from the twitch of his lip he is more than happy about this development. Silently he spins you both around and lays prone on the polished floor underneath you, still rock hard and buried deep in your pussy. Placing your hands on his chest, you lean forward slightly, take a deep breath and then start to ride again, slowly, the slight discomfort of the hardwood under your kneecaps heightening your pleasure somehow. The range of motion possible now allows you to experiment, to test the delicious drag of his cock by tilting your pelvis in each direction, then in a circular motion, hitting a spot inside that has you hissing and your nails scraping through the thick thatch of hair there.

“Take what you need…” Anthony advocates through gritted teeth, reading your every signal.

Your eyes ping up from his imploring expression to Benedict, his gaze holding yours daringly as you start to fuck his brother again. Wantonly, luxuriating in the rapt audience you have. A liquid cascade of heat deluges you, the scrape of charcoal on the page spurring you on—to be more daring, leaning back to grab Anthony’s knees as leverage for your movements, your breast pushed high into the air, more performative knowing this carnal moment is being committed to paper.

Benedict mouths words of encouragement as you glance down to see Anthony’s eyes now screwed shut, his biceps bulging in stark relief as his hands clamp your waist, and his hips rock upwards with each downstroke you take, chasing his peak with the same vigour you are, each press of his cock better than the last. Your muscles scream from all the effort, but you do not stop, a bead of sweat sliding down your spine as you ride roughly, with abandon. Anthony’s eyes are open again now, his hands cupping your breasts and pinching your nipples so hard you stutter. Greedily you mash his thick cock right against that same spot that has your mouth slack, head tilted up, and fingers curling into his flesh, shocked at how close you are yet again in such rapid succession.

“Say it,” you grit out, staring up to the ceiling, not looking at either, not sure even you know who you are even asking.

“Good girl..” it's in perfect unison, and that is what pushes you into oblivion.

You grind to a halt, pussy contracting in waves around his cock as he writhes under you, him gasping loudly as you again float far away, that blissful cloud almost making you miss his urgent call, him eventually hauling you off of him, just in time for him to paint your belly with a thick arc of seed, his whole body jerking with the almost violence of release.

He collapses under you, quivering, utterly spent, and you do the same. Faceplant into his chest, rubbing your nose into the musky dampness of his chest hair as you huff breaths, bone-deep but sated exhaustion from the exertion.

Pliantly, you allow Anthony to slip out from under you and you feel him pick you up bridal style as you curl into him, fatigue lapping your edges. He places you onto the chaise, and then both men are flanking you, limbs tangling and gentle kisses as they entwine around you. It’s a few quiet, tender moments before curiosity again gets the better of you.

“May I see it?” you query quietly, abashed, pressing your nose into Benedict’s shoulder, not willing to meet his gaze.

His laugh is rich and resonant, reaching around to grab his pad and show you. There, in elegant charcoal lines, is a scandalous but beautiful rendition of you, naked, your peaked nipples standing proud, head thrown back. The detail is perfect, even down to the patch of downy hair at the apex of your thighs. There is no rendition of Anthony, but at one glance, you can tell it is a depiction of an erotic capture of a woman riding a man. The very picture of passion, just as he promised.

“It is stunning,” you gasp.

“It is yours,” he rushes out.

“I… I want it to be yours,” you confess ardently, your hands sliding to grasp Anthony’s arm draped over your belly. “Both of yours..” you confirm.

Warm lips kiss your cheek on either side.

“We will treasure it.” Anthony asserts as Benedict nods sagely.

You stifle a yawn and nuzzle into their warmth as Benedict suggests you all retire to his bedroom upstairs.

“Tis only 3pm...” your protest is nominal at best, and you allow him to pick you up, wrapping you in another sheet as Anthony does the same, trailing behind you as Benedict ascends the stairs.

“When is your next art lesson?” Anthony queries as the door to an opulent bedroom swings open.

“Tomorrow?” you riposte cheekily, and they both chuckle as you add: “If you will have me…”

“I do believe that can be arranged,” Benedict confirms fondly as he approaches a handsome four-poster bed.

“Artfully…” Anthony adds wryly as you share a laugh with them both, falling into their welcoming joint embrace.

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sugarikiz · 30 days ago

Text

XO CALL ME ✶ TELL ME I’M YOURS

𝓁’H𝑖STO𝑖RE ─── in which the ceo’s son and the accountant’s daughter spark an electric chemistry.

𝑈𝑃𝑇𝛰𝑊𝑁 𝐹𝑈𝑁𝐾 event — prompt 01. requested by @haeeeeefer (sorry for not tagging earlier)

𝓹airing CEO’s son! sunghoon x accountant’s daughter! 𝑓. reader wc 1.5k ⟢ — fluff, tension, childhood frenemies to lovers ୨ৎ 𝓵’avis lots of tension + mention of a girl in sunghoon’s room + kissing

NOT PROOFREAD + LOWERCASE INTENDED

you were never supposed to feel a spark whenever you saw park sunghoon; the most blood-boiling person you had ever met or spoken to.

the idea of still talking to someone you met a lot as a child seems nice and all, but not with him. as a young child, he was a brat; spoilt and entitled. he would want new shoes if he stepped in mud, and a new outfit too.

and you, well, you were the accountant’s daughter. you never questioned stuff or asked for new things whenever you went out to play in them. you were just raised that way, and you were happy with that.

you see, sunghoon’s dad was your dad’s boss. and being the son of the CEO of a huge company, sunghoon always had everything in arms reach.

( read more under the cut >< )

latest iPhone? check. new clothes? call the store to bring their collection to his house. need a ride and don’t have a drivers licence? call the chauffeur.

it was that easy for him.

meanwhile you, being daddy’s little girl, was forced to stay with him as a child during those hundreds of office dinners at the park family mansion.

he was absolutely insufferable; both as a child and an adult. he got his job from his father, directly jumping up to project manager from being a college student.

all while you got your job from the pain and toil of taking in your father’s footsteps; now being a chartered accountant. it wasn’t easy, and you didn’t exactly love your job, but it paid good money, and that was all you needed.

you were surely opposites of each other, and this case was definitely not an ‘opposites attract’ case. or at least, you thought so.

───── ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ ─────

today, here you are again at another Park family mansion party; champagne flowing out of glasses and causal banter gracing the giant house.

where sunghoon was, only the heavens knew. it was like he suddenly disappeared out of thin air; one moment he was in sight and the next, gone.

you, being a kind friend of his (if you could even call yourself that, especially with the relentless bickering between you both) took it upon yourself to find him in the labyrinthine depths of the house.

you found yourself on the second floor — where all the bedrooms of the home-owners were. you had only come here a few times, when you and sunghoon got bored of the party downstairs as young teenagers.

you slowly opened a door that you could only assume was the one to his room, quietly peeping inside. you then saw an unthinkable sight; sunghoon sitting on the edge of his bed, next to a girl.

sunghoon and a girl? it was absolutely unheard of to you. and for some reason unknown to you, it made you feel a bit queasy the more you saw it.

his head snapped to the door to see you standing there, his gaze unwavering — it almost made your heart race for the same unknown reason.

you felt a creeping heat rise up your neck, embarrassment making your words come out as a sort of question. “I-i was looking for the bathroom..?”

the girl sitting next to him — clad in million-inch heels and a questionably short dress — gave you a short, dirty look, as if she was planning on how she’d murder you and hide your body that very night.

sunghoon had an emotionless expression on, like he always did. yet, being the ever-observant person he was, he noticed the slight flash of disappointment in your usually sparkling eyes.

you quickly closed the door with a small squeak of an apology, walking away as fast as your four-inch-heeled feet could take you.

───── ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ ─────

after the embarrassing happening of you walking into sunghoon’s room, this was the first time you met.

his mother had kindly invited your family over for dinner, to celebrate your father’s twenty year anniversary working for the company. you were normally okay with being alone with sunghoon in his room on these events, yet tonight, it was awkward.

and that too, in a weird way. things had always been slightly blunt with the both of you, yet, this time if felt different. the tension had changed to a more subtly thick one, the quiet suffocating.

“so… how’ve you been?” you started, trying to break the ice, even if it was just a little bit. he glanced up at you, his gaze moving from the carpeted floors up to your face for a second.

he cleared his throat, trying to form a sentence in the tense moment. “it’s been alright.” his tone was cold as usual, but there was something hidden under the layers. something almost unrecognisable.

it was somewhat flustered, an emotion the man never showed. in front of you, that is.

“that’s good” you nodded slightly, feeling the unbearable silence come back into play. the way he looked at you this time, though still unreadable, was slightly different; soft.

and why? no one knew, not even sunghoon.

what would it feel like to kiss you? was the first question that occupied his mind as his eyes travelled from the ground to you. the way your lip gloss shone in the dim light only let him think of the one, stupid thought.

he didn’t even realise he was staring until you quietly waved a hand in front of his face. meanwhile, you were really confused; why was he looking at you like he wanted to eat you or something?

his eyes widened slightly, a faint, almost unintelligible flush creeping up his cheeks. he was blushing now too?

his mysterious, cold persona wavered just a little, a reminder that even the park sunghoon could get embarrassed.

“sorry, i didn’t- I was just thinking.” he muttered, refusing to meet your gaze. you were just about to say something along the lines of ‘you never fumble your words’ when a knock sounded on the door.

“come in,” his voice sounded a bit strained, but it went unnoticed by you. the maid poked her head in through a small gap she made in the door for herself. “your mother said to come down for dinner.”

he nods, getting up from the edge of his bed and gestured for you to follow. wordlessly, you made your way down to the wide, elegantly poised staircase, taking a seat at the dinner table next to your own mother.

his father sat up at the head, your own sitting to his left and his mother sitting on the right. your mother sat next to his, and both were engrossed deep in conversation with each other. you took a seat next to your father, him sitting down next to you.

he had no idea why he decided to sit next to you, abandoning his usual spot on the other end of the long table.

over dinner, the sound of soft chatter between your parents was heard, but both you and sunghoon remained quiet as ever. you started down at your drink — cranberry juice mixed with pineapple — and lost yourself in it.

sunghoon’s hand brushed against yours as you reached for the sauce next to him, and it set an odd tingle on your skin. you distracted yourself by taking a bite of the mashed potatoes sitting idly on your plate, and engaging in conversation with both yours and his mother.

as dinner continued, sunghoon’s hand accidentally touched your drink glass, spilling some of it on your light beige dress. his eyes widened as he saw the stain, and he offered to help you clean it up.

seeing no choice to say politely refuse in front of your families, you nodded, following him to the small powder room just outside the dining room.

note — it wasnt small. it was probably the size of a normal room in a middle-class home, but with the sheer number of times you’ve been in here over the years, it didn’t seem all that weird to you.

the tension thickened almost instantly as the two of you entered the powder room, just like how it was back there, up in his bedroom.

he slightly wet a tissue using some water, gently rubbing on the stain with it. you looked down at his face; concentration etched onto it. it was weird, him being so soft.

his gaze flickered up to you, and your eyes locked with his dark brown ones. his face was so close to yours, and you couldn’t control yourself anymore.

your fingers slightly raised his chin up, and he didn’t seem to protest, instead opting to lean even closer to your face.

your breath hitched, and he smirked slightly at the small sound it made in the quiet bathroom. he finally gave into his urges, pressing his lips to yours.

your lips were soft; much softer than he ever imagined how they’d feel against his. the kiss was sweet, yet filled with a longing and yearning that couldn’t be expressed in words no matter how hard you tried.

you pulled away, only because you needed air. “does this change things?” you whispered, unable to speak any louder in fear someone might hear.

“if it didn’t, I don’t think I’d live through it, princess”

───── ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ ─────

it was impossible for you to keep your hands off him during the rest of dinner, but you did your best. he kept sending you teasing glances and brushing his finger against yours under the table, trying to rile you up. dinner came to a close, and it was finally time for you to leave. he leaned in closer to your ear and softly whispers in it. “call me later, yeah?”

you were never supposed to feel the spark you felt around park sunghoon, and you knew it. but yet, somehow, he found a place for himself in your heart.

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#sugarikiz — ✦ the 𝑈𝑃𝑇𝛰𝑊𝑁 𝐹𝑈𝑁𝐾 event ✦#( 𝑚a ) 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐢𝐄 . a work of 𝑎𝑟𝑡 #enhypen #sunghoon #park sunghoon #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen au #enha imagines #enhypen x reader #enha x reader #sunghoon park #enhypen imagines #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon fluff #park sunghoon x reader #enhypen x you #sunghoon x reader #enhypen fics #enhypen drabbles

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cyber333angel · 2 months ago

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ABBY ANDERSON X HOUSEWIFE!READER <33

a day in the life of you being abby’s cute little wife that she loves to come home to everyday, seeing what a typical weekend is for the two of you.

cw- meant to be very sweet but is very smutty as per usual 😋, overstimulation, praise, abby eats you out, brief moment of it in the kitchen but that’s all enjoy!

life couldn’t get better than this, you loved the feeling of waking up and going to bed to the sight of your wife abby, loving the feeling of waking up in her arms to get up and giggling as your pulled back into bed with the same strong biceps hugging your waist and placing pliant kisses on your back.

glistening in that sweet moment with her as the sun shines through the sheer curtains and you are finally released from abbys grip, leaving the bedroom to start on breakfast which consisted of eggs and toast along with some coffee for the both of you.

in the background you can hear abby making the bed since that was her job when it was the weekend and then move to stuffing her duffel bag full for her morning workout clothes. you pay no mind to it while your shuffling around in your furnished kitchen that was paid for all by your wife of course, in your almost sheer sleep dress with your slippers on as you put the bread in the toaster. a smile creeping up on your face when you feel abbys hand reach up the sides of your body and feeling the wet of her lips tracing up your neck, “thank you for making breakfast baby.” her sweet hum relaxing any tension that you had in your body as the two of you sway back an forth against the countertop, “mm your welcome abs..” your wife had a certain way about her that could get you so hazy so easily and she didn’t even have to do much, proving so when you could feel her hands going down to your legs, lifting the light fabric of your dress to feel the inside of your thighs.

abby trailed her fingers higher and higher to the damp patch of your panties while your breath hitched and your eyes twitched at the feeling of her fingers rubbing at your puffy cunt, still sensitive from last nights events. “was so mean to you last night pretty girl..could feel how sore I made you.” hearing that sarcastic tone and it’s true, you were sore but it was inevitable with how deep and rough she was going with you. before your cunt could be put through any more abuse the toaster pops up, scaring you and pulling a laugh from your wife as she cleans her fingers of you with her mouth. you turn around to get the plates while earning a quick kiss from abby, putting them on the table while you wait for the eggs to be done.

you fix the beverages in the two mugs labeled “mrs and mrs. anderson” that were gifted to you from a friend on your wedding day, adding all the fixing you know abby likes and all the ingredients you liked to your cup. by that time abby was done making breakfast for your cat and the eggs were done, letting the two of you sit down at last. conversing about what the two of you will be doing today you remember the planned schedule, after abbys workout you would clean up the house a bit, have abby help you to get groceries, order in from your favorite restaurant and watch a movie.

the typical weekend plan that you always looked forward to even if it was repetitive.

after abby came back from the gym the two of you headed to the store, stopping by to get the essentials of what was needed and a little sweet treat that you both deserved for all the hard work. treating you like the princess you were, abby carried in all the bags while you made the phone call to the restaurant, telling them the usual order conscious to knowing what abby liked already.

the vibe in your apartment is passionate as you wait for the food to arrive, feeling the flow of cold air run through your window and the subtle jazz music that played on your record player. dancing and smiling in your wife’s embrace while you take in her scent, your cat laying by the window observing the pair. cocking your head to abbys shoulder you hear a faint knock on the door, “abs I think the foods here.” she leaves you with the loss of her embrace but gives you a kiss on the forehead “ill get it.” abby says as she walks to the door getting your dinner for the night.

with the delicious smell of food roaming through your apartment you end your day between abbys legs, tired and bored of the movie that’s been playing, you were aching to feel the hands of your wife on you.

abby was alerted quickly when she moved her hand from your shoulder to off you as you got up to position yourself to be fully sat on abbys lap with both your chests facing each other, looking down at her with her head in your hands. hearing that sweet laugh and chuckle when she says “what?” catching yourself smiling for no other reason but for the fact that you were truly in love with this woman. “s’nothing.. just looking at my pretty abby.” hiding your embarrassment while you kiss all over abbys neck and cheeks, feeling the cradle of her grin in the corner. “yeah you think im pretty baby?” nodding your head in agreement with a quiet and quick “mhm” you become more aware of abbys hand on your ass as you straddle her, squeezing the flesh of it while she goes to ask you another question. “so sweet to me.. can your pretty abby take this off?” pointing to the fabric of your pajamas, you don’t hesitate to let her rip it off you, in a flash your on your back while abbys on top of you. your back being held by her large hands as her face hovers over your stomach. “can I kiss you here?” you breathe out a shakey-“yes..” and by this point your losing your patience, you both know what you want but abby takes so much pleasure in teasing you, as per usual. “being so fucking good for me..” she says traveling down to your legs as she kisses the top of your pelvis, stopping there just to suck at the skin of your stomach. “what about here?” and your about to burst. “mm abby! please..” your pouting now, and abby is laughing at you as if your weren’t desperate for her to touch you, “what? hm? what is it, m’not going fast enough for my pretty girl huh..” she says with your legs in the air.

your legs are resting up against her chest as your wife slides your pants off and plops them beside the two of you on the floor. “yes want you here..” taking one leg from her shoulder to spread your legs and show her how much of a mess you were, “fuck, all this for me?” you nod while you watch abby work her way down in between your legs, kissing at your thighs as she makes eye contact with you and pulls those sweet whimpers from you that always makes her wet.

it’s unruly how much of mess abby made you after that, she had your back arching off the cushions with how much she was working you up with her mouth, making you push at her head and grasp at the pillows from the stimulation.

“a-abs wait..s’enough now-“you cried. you were slurring your words, you could barely form a thought from how good it felt, feeling abbys tongue circling around your sensitive bud. the full feeling of abbys thick fingers thrusting in and out of your hole. you were soaked and your wife showed no hesitation to tell you how much she loved it.

hearing muffled praises from below you, “it’s alright you know that, taking me so well already.. could stay between these legs forever.” and it felt like she was, it was embarrassing that you could hear the noises of your sopping cunt, abbys groans as she lapped at your messy hole. feeling yourself on the verge of cumming you start to squirm around, and she can sense it before you can even start crying about it. “oh I know.. pretty pussy s’about to cum huh? you gonna cum for me?” nodding furiously you don’t even register the incoherent babbles that come from your mouth, eyes squeezing shut as you try your hardest not to close your trembling legs on abbys head, knowing how stern she gets about that. “thaat’s it fuck.. did so good for me..” coming up from your legs you reach out your arms for her, a sly smile planting across abbys face. “yeah you liked that huh sweet girl.” falling on top of you as she kisses your lips and you kiss her back as if you had been starved of her taste for days.

your wife lifts her head for a moment, rising to talk to you, “let’s get cleaned up and go to bed yeah?” nodding with a smile you can’t wait to wake up in her arms once again.

#abby x reader <3 #abby smut #abby tlou #tlou part 2 #tlou #abby x fem!reader #abby x you #abby x reader #abby the last of us #abby anderson #this took long guys forgive me 😣🙏

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claramelooo · 2 months ago

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I got crazy and write 4 thousand words non-stop! So, I still haven't revised it yet! But there we go! Remember that english isn't my first language, so be gentle 🙇🏻‍♀️

Minors do not must Interact

Paring: Dom Wanda x Fem reader

Summary: Wanda has her beliefs turned upside down the moment she sets eyes on you.

Read here: Prologue | Part 2 - The Prey

Velvet Chains

Predator

Sunday's worship service was an impeccably choreographed event, and Wanda Maximoff played her role masterfully. She sat in the front pew beside Vision, with her neatly dressed children beside her. The choir sang the hymn she had personally selected, their voices echoing through the stained glass of Wylie's small church.

Her hands rested, folded neatly on her lap, her gaze fixed on the pastor as he fervently preached about grace and redemption. Wanda knew precisely when to nod in agreement, murmur a soft “Amen,” or smile at those around her as though every word touched her deeply.

But that Sunday, something was different.

As the pastor paused dramatically in his sermon, Wanda glanced toward the congregation. Her eyes scanned the rows of familiar faces—regular families, ever-present elderly members, restless children. And then she saw...

You.

A few rows back, sitting beside your parents, was a new face. Young, delicate, with eyes that seemed to absorb the surroundings with cautious curiosity. You sat slightly hunched, fingers clasped in your lap, hair falling in effortless waves over your shoulders.

Wanda tilted her head almost imperceptibly, trying to get a better look. Who are you? Why had she never seen you before?

There was something about you that made her catch her breath for a moment. Maybe it was the contrast: a radiant, almost brutal youth placed in such a rigid, conservative setting. Or maybe it was your expression—timid and curious, yet exuding an air of superiority, as if you were too evolved for this, as if you were there against your will but determined to maintain a respectful facade.

A pang of curiosity stirred in Wanda’s chest, something rare in her meticulously planned life.

When your eyes met hers, it was fleeting, like a flicker. You immediately looked away, your heart pounding against your ribcage, your palms sweating after encountering the most intense green eyes you had ever seen. However, for Wanda, something sparked within her, a small ember she hadn’t felt in years. Something that compelled her.

The pastor resumed preaching, but Wanda barely listened. Her mind was fixed on the strange sensation you had awakened. Curiosity? Perhaps. Admiration? Why? It was something so profound, so unsettling...

At the end of the service, as everyone stood to bid each other farewell, Wanda observed from a distance. She saw you accompanying your parents, keeping your head down as they animatedly conversed with other congregation members.

“Who are you?” Wanda thought, a subtle, calculated smile curving her lips.

Concluding a conversation with a fellow member, Wanda began walking slowly toward you. Your parents… What were their names again? She tried to recall but came up empty. Ah yes, she’d spoken to them during last week’s choir rehearsal. Or was it before that? It didn’t matter. They were irrelevant, like nearly everyone in that circle.

But you...

Now, you were different.

Wanda straightened her posture, resting her hands behind her back, and began her approach. Her steps were slow, measured, as if she sought nothing more than casual conversation. Yet, inside her, every movement was strategic. She needed to know more.

When she reached your group, it was your parents who noticed her first. The man—always with his tie slightly askew—greeted Wanda with a goofy smile, while the woman, nervous as usual, began speaking quickly about the sermon.

“Oh, Wanda! Wasn’t the sermon wonderful? The pastor is so inspiring, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely,” Wanda replied with the sweetest smile she could muster. But her eyes, sharp and piercing, were locked on you.

To anyone watching, it was clear you didn’t belong here—the air of discomfort around you only heightened Wanda’s interest. You weren’t like the other young women in the congregation—girls who laughed loudly and gestured wildly. No. You seemed contained, but there was a wildness in your eyes, as if something deeper simmered beneath the surface.

“And you must be…?” Wanda finally spoke, directing her attention to you.

Your eyes lifted, startled to be addressed.

“I’m Y/n.”

Your voice was unexpectedly husky, with a slight accent that gave your name an intriguing edge. Wanda tilted her head slightly, as though savoring it.

“Y/n...” Wanda repeated, letting the syllables roll off her tongue. “What a lovely name.”

She extended her hand for a handshake, and you hesitated before accepting. When your fingers touched, her grip lingered just a second too long, her hold firmer than necessary.

“I see you’re a new face around here. Where are you from, dear?” Wanda asked, her tone casual but brimming with hidden intent.

“Ah, I… I was at boarding school,” you replied, shrugging.

Boarding school. The word reverberated in Wanda’s mind. You were something. Something she couldn’t quite name yet, but it piqued her curiosity even further.

“It’s nice to have you home, sweetheart. I’m sure your parents are thrilled to have you back,” Wanda said, casting a warm glance at the couple, who nodded eagerly.

But Wanda wasn’t speaking to them.

She was speaking to you.

Directly, and only to you.

The woman in front of you was beautiful, almost untouchable, perfect. Yet, something in her gaze felt brutal, completely clashing with the image of a typical American wife. Her intense stare made you tremble.

Wanda maintained her gentle smile as she spoke to your parents, but inside, her mind was working quickly, analyzing every detail about you. The way you kept your shoulders slightly hunched, as if trying to shield yourself from the environment, yet your eyes dared anyone to look for too long. It was a fascinating dichotomy: the shy young woman and the rebellious soul, coexisting in such a disconcerting way.

You were trying to control your breathing. That handshake—firm, warm, intentional—had stirred something deep within you. Wanda was charming in a way that felt almost artificial. Her green eyes glowed with kindness, but there was something else there, something you couldn’t name. Something that made your heart race, though you weren’t sure if it was fear or excitement.

As she spoke to your parents, her gaze flicked to you now and then, too quickly for others to notice. But you felt it. You felt every single time her eyes landed on you, like a hot blade slicing through your skin.

When she finally addressed you, her words were soft, but there was something more. She wanted to know more. She wanted to hear your voice, feel your response.

"It must have been an interesting experience, boarding school," Wanda commented, tilting her head in a nearly maternal way.

You shrugged, trying to appear indifferent, but felt your cheeks heat up. She seemed fascinated by you, and that made your mind flood with uncomfortable questions. Why was she so interested? Why was this woman—beautiful, flawless, almost unattainable—speaking to you as if you were important?

"It wasn’t a big deal," you replied, trying to downplay the word, even though you knew it was a big deal. It was painful and traumatic.

Wanda let out a small smile, something that felt like a secret shared just between the two of you.

"I’d like to hear more about it," she said, her voice sweet but laden with something deeper.

You didn’t know how to respond. Your hands fidgeted, and you shoved them into your coat pockets to hide them. Wanda noticed. She noticed everything.

"My mom wanted me back. Seems like they didn’t like me much at boarding school." Your reply was casual, almost insolent, but your fingers drummed against your crossed arm, betraying a hint of nervousness.

Wanda arched an eyebrow, amused.

"They didn’t like you? Or you made them not like you?" The question came with a venomous sweetness, and her smile widened just enough to be intimidating.

You blinked, surprised. No one had ever disarmed you so quickly. "Maybe a little of both," you replied, trying to keep your composure.

"Interesting." Wanda tilted her head, evaluating every microexpression, every movement. There was something fierce in you, something that still needed direction. And Wanda knew how to shape that energy.

She stepped back, but her presence somehow felt even more imposing.

"Well, Y/n, welcome back." Her voice carried a touch of irony, but also something you couldn’t decipher. Then Wanda turned to your parents, smiling broadly as if the conversation had been purely polite. "You have a delightful daughter," she said.

The couple smiled awkwardly, but—you knew deep down those words weren’t for them. They were for you, and there was something in her tone that made your heart race.

[...]

You sat on the edge of your bed, staring at the ceiling as if it held all the answers you were looking for. It didn’t. The walls were exactly the same as before—cream-colored, impeccably boring—but everything felt different now.

Back home.

Home...

What a bullshit.

You had never wanted to be here. They sent you away because they couldn’t handle you, and now they brought you back because... why? Shame? Regret? It didn’t matter. It was all a never-ending cycle.

You ran your fingers through your hair, pulling lightly as if that would remove the persistent thoughts from your head. Closing your eyes, you let the memories flood in—flashes of that day at boarding school, muffled laughter, unexpected warmth, and the bittersweet taste that marked you more than it should have.

Was it a mistake? Of course not. But to them, everything about you was a mistake.

"Y/n!" Your mother’s voice echoed from the hallway, pulling you back to reality.

You didn’t respond immediately, instead looking out the window. The afternoon was sunny, the kind of day people used for picnics or gardening. But you? You were stuck here, surrounded by the crushing expectations of a family that wanted you to be someone you weren’t.

"Y/n, I’m talking to you!" Her voice was louder now, more impatient.

With an exaggerated sigh, you got up, dragging your feet to the door. Your mother was there, her face tense, as it always was when dealing with you.

"What?" you asked, crossing your arms.

She took a deep breath, as if she needed to remind herself to stay composed.

"I need you to be more... cooperative, you know? After everything that happened, the last thing we need is more problems."

You laughed, but not in a way that expressed humor.

"Problems? Oh, sure. Because I’m the big problem in this family."

Your mother narrowed her eyes, but before she could respond, her expression changed. Something more animated, almost euphoric, overtook her.

"Never mind. Listen to this: the Maximoffs invited us for dinner. Wanda and Vis really want to meet you. Isn’t that wonderful?"

Wonderful? You bit your lower lip to keep from laughing again. Of course, your mother was thrilled. Wanda Maximoff was practically royalty around here—perfect, beautiful, the model of everything your mother wished you could be.

You felt a wave of discomfort, but also something else, something you couldn’t name.

"Fine," you replied with disdain, though your mind was already racing with thoughts of the older woman.

The Maximoff home was immaculate, the kind of place that looked like it belonged in a design magazine. Every detail, from the arrangement of the furniture to the soft hues on the walls, screamed perfection—a direct reflection of the woman now greeting everyone at the door.

Wanda was radiant, wearing a delicate blue dress that subtly but undeniably flattered her figure. The smile she gave your family seemed genuine, almost too warm to be real.

"Welcome! It’s such a pleasure to have you here," she said, her voice brimming with enthusiasm that felt authentic.

You watched as your mother, clearly enchanted, exchanged pleasantries and compliments, while your father stood awkwardly, offering little more than a polite smile. Wanda cast a glance in your direction, and something in her gaze made you swallow hard. It was curious, almost probing, as though she were studying you.

Inside, the dining table was perfectly set, with gleaming plates and neatly folded napkins. The aroma of home-cooked food was irresistible, the entire scene resembling a margarine commercial.

"Please, take a seat," Wanda said, gesturing toward the chairs.

You chose the farthest end of the table, but Wanda didn’t seem to mind. She took a seat directly across from you, her eyes fixed on you as if there were nothing else worth looking at.

The conversation started light, filled with small talk. Wanda asked questions about the church, the neighborhood, and community events. Your parents eagerly answered, oblivious to the fact that Wanda’s questions were never truly directed at them.

"And you, Y/n?" she asked at last, leaning forward slightly over the table. "How has it been, coming back home?"

You stopped chewing, caught by her gaze, which was almost suffocating in its intensity.

"Normal," you replied with a shrug, trying to keep your tone neutral.

"Ah, but coming home is never that simple, is it?" Wanda countered, her small smile more of a challenge than anything else.

"I guess it depends on the home," you shot back, letting a hint of acidity seep into your tone.

Your mother gave you a warning look, but Wanda merely laughed softly, as if she had expected no less from you.

"Of course. Every home has its... complexities," she said, savoring the words as she spoke them.

The conversation continued, but Wanda always found a way to steer it back to you.

"Your parents mentioned you were at a boarding school. What was that like?" Vision asked this time.

You hesitated, feeling the weight of Wanda’s gaze, as though every word you spoke was being scrutinized.

"It was... an experience," you replied vaguely, hoping to end the topic quickly.

But Wanda didn’t seem like someone who settled for vague answers.

"It must have been hard to be away from home for so long. Especially at such a... young age." Her tone was sweet, but the intensity in her eyes made you feel as if she were trying to pry open your mind with sheer will.

"Hard isn’t exactly the word," you said, straightening your posture as if that would give you more control over the situation.

Wanda smiled again, that layered smile, and leaned back slightly in her chair.

"A little girl full of secrets, aren’t you? That’s interesting."

You blinked, feeling heat rise to your face. Why did she say things like that? And why did it send waves of heat straight to your core?

The evening wore on, everyone mingling—except you, of course. Now your parents were in the living room with Vision, while Wanda was in the kitchen washing dishes. You felt like a moth drawn to a flame, approaching something that could destroy you—and you didn’t care.

The kitchen felt smaller than before, the air heavy with something invisible, something that made your skin tingle. Wanda was drying her hands with a dish towel, every movement meticulous, as if she had all the time in the world. When you entered, she didn’t look up immediately, but you knew she felt your presence. Wanda always seemed to know everything happening around her.

"Can I help?" you asked, your voice hesitant but firm enough not to sound weak.

Wanda looked up, and for a moment, it felt like she was measuring you. Her lips curved into a smile so perfect it almost seemed fake. She leaned casually against the sink, resting her wrists on the counter.

"No need, darling," she said, her tone as sweet as honey but with something sharp lurking beneath it. "I always take care of everything."

There was something in the way she said "I always take care of everything" that felt like a reminder, almost a warning. Still, you stayed.

"I insist," you replied, trying to mask your discomfort. "I don’t like standing around doing nothing."

"Oh, I’ve noticed," Wanda said, her voice light but her gaze intense. "Young people like you always need to be doing something, moving, talking... acting."

She took a step toward you, slow and almost casual, but it made you hold your breath.

"You seem... restless," Wanda continued, tilting her head slightly. "I wonder why that is."

You crossed your arms, trying to create some sort of barrier.

"Maybe I’m just not used to... this."

"This?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow. "And what exactly is 'this'?"

Wanda was close now, close enough that you could smell her faint floral perfume—delicate yet overwhelming. She ran her fingers along the edge of the counter, as if tracing something invisible.

"Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter," you said defensively, avoiding her gaze and trying not to seem intimidated.

"Look at me when I’m speaking to you." Her voice was firmer this time, a command impossible to ignore.

Your eyes snapped back to hers immediately, and you hated how automatic, how natural it felt.

"Better," Wanda said, her smile softening again, though the control in her tone remained unwavering. "I like your eyes."

You swallowed hard, feeling exposed in a way you’d never experienced before. You wanted to respond—something, anything—but your throat felt tight.

She laughed softly, a sound that sent shivers down your spine.

"I like this," she said, leaning in slightly. "A sharp tongue, someone who thinks they can... challenge."

You swallowed again, her eyes catching every small movement, every hint of hesitation.

"But let me tell you something, sweetheart," Wanda whispered, her voice low and dripping with authority. "Challenges are only interesting up to a point. After that, they become... tiresome."

There was a subtle threat in her tone, something that made you feel small, as if she held all the power in that moment.

"Are you saying I’m a nuisance?" you countered, your voice a little stronger now, trying to reclaim some control.

Her smile widened, but her eyes remained dark.

"No. I’m saying you need to learn when... to find your place."

She took another step closer, now nearly brushing against you, her presence overwhelming. Your heart raced, though you couldn’t tell if it was from fear, anger, or... something else.

"And where would that place be?" you challenged, hating the slight falter in your voice at the end.

Wanda laughed again, this time low and husky, carrying something that made your entire body tingle.

"Exactly where I want you to be," she replied, her words sounding like a promise.

And then, her expression shifted, softening as she turned to call the others, offering them a slice of her apple pie.

It was then you realized that the woman before you was a predator, and you were her prey.

~*~

Should I continue?

#wanda x reader #mommy wanda #wanda maximoff #mommy issues #mommy k1nk #mommy k!nk #lgbtq #lgbtqia #wlw #wlw smut

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moongreenlight · 1 year ago

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141 gossiping about Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley for roughly 3,000 words idk titles are hard

Price was the first to notice. Priding himself on being incredibly observant, especially when it came to his boys.

He noticed that whenever they had a break from trainings or meetings, he’d somehow always find the two of you in a room together. Never close enough to give him reason to say anything. You scribbling notes on a patient report at one table, Ghost at another, his chair angled just enough so that he could watch you from the corner of his eye.

Noticed the way Ghost’s hand rested on the small of your back for a heartbeat when you entered a doorway before him. Just a brush of his massive hand on you, quick enough to be mistaken for an accidental touch.

Noticed how Ghost’s eyes seemed to always flick to you from across the mess hall. Not often, but enough for Price to casually turn his head and see that same nurse Ghost seemed to have a preference for.

At first, Price thought he could help by being a wingman of sorts. When Ghost took damage on a mission, Price would escort him to medbay and watch as he dismissed nurse after nurse until you were finally available to treat him. Price lingered as long as he could before you inevitably waved him away, cheekily reminding him you always took good care of his team and that you’d have ‘Lieutenant Riley’ back in no time. The only thing he could catch was the way Ghost’s shoulders relaxed by a hair’s breadth when you drew the curtain shut behind you.

He tried again during a meeting with his boys. Suggesting they bring a medic on a mission with them. Said something about how it would be better to have the option of a patch-up readily available. Keep his team fighting fit in real time instead of having to wait until they came back to base. Price saw the way Ghost tensed slightly in his seat, the muscles in his jaw twitching under his balaclava.

The notion was quickly vetoed. Ghost grumbling something about not wanting to babysit any more than he already does. How it’s ultimately more paperwork he doesn’t want to have to deal with.

He tried once more, going to Ghost’s office one evening. Almost turning tail once he realized how ridiculous it was to be this insistent on figuring out if his Lieutenant had some boyish crush on the sweet nurse he always seemed to be lingering around. But ultimately decided that it was good practice to know more about his team personally. Better bonding meant better interaction on the field, right?

He asked Ghost to redo some paperwork. Add a ‘next of kin’ to his file in the event that something happened and they needed to alert someone. Ghost looked a little suspicious, shrugging off the request.

“Left it off for a reason, Captain.”

He said gruffly, waving a hand. Barely looking up from his desk.

Price pursed his lips, shifting his weight slightly.

“You sure, Simon? Haven’t got anyone that’d be interested to know what happened to you?”

Ghost rubbed the bridge of his nose, like the conversation was more trouble than it was worth, before shrugging once more. Finally looking up from his desk and leaning back slightly in his chair.

“You planning on shipping me off somewhere and not picking me back up?”

A small chuckle from Price. A shake of his head.

“Can’t say I am.”

“Cheers, then. Leave it off.”

This quelled Price’s curiosity for a while, unable to dream up any other reason to try and force Ghost to indulge him. It no doubt hurt his ego a bit, thinking about how his Lieutenant and one of his closest friends was so dead set on keeping his personal life so closely guarded. He’d push the feelings aside, chalk it up to being jaded by his work. Over-involved in the lives of Soap and Gaz. It was probably good for Simon to have something sacred.

Soap wasn’t as easily deterred once he caught on. Not as immediately perceptive as the others, but he knew Ghost well enough to know his tells.

It was after a long mission. Months long. Grueling, shitty, exhausting work. They got back in the early evening, mercifully spared from a debrief until the following day. Soap somehow ended up dragging Ghost to a dive bar a few blocks from base. Trying to sound persuasive when he mentioned that it was a Friday night and they deserved a few drinks and some female attention after all this time going without.

And they did get attention. Two good looking military men sitting at the bar were bound to. Soap knew that Ghost wasn’t one to play the field, but this was a bit frigid even for him. Ignoring girls who came up and tried to strike conversation. Rolling his eyes, or huffing a sigh like it was a chore to even dismiss them, drumming his fingers on the wall of his glass like he’s bored. It was baffling.

What was even more baffling was the way that Ghost’s knee bounced slightly against the stool. An infinitesimally small movement, but the way it caught Johnny’s eye made it seem like Ghost was all but jumping up and down. He looked almost anxious. Itching to get up and leave.

“Fuck’s wrong with you?”

Ghost’s head jerked toward Johnny, cold eyes narrowing in a way that would have been terrifying years ago- before he’d gotten used to it.

“Come again?”

“Got somewhere to be, have you?”

He sounds almost indignant. Like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Ghost is stand-offish by nature, but this is a caliber he hasn’t yet encountered. Almost enough to be offensive. To make him question the quality of his company.

“Maybe I do. What’s it to you?”

Ghost grumbled, killing the contents of his glass with a final mouthful. Setting it back on the counter and moving to drum his fingers on the bar.

“Been out of the country for months and you expect me to believe you’ve got plans tonight?”

This earned a sigh, low enough to pass as a growl.

“You keeping my social calendar now, then?”

He stood, digging through his wallet for a moment before slapping some cash down on the table next to his empty glass. Not giving Johnny an opportunity to lodge any further complaints against him. Before he nodded his goodnight and slipped out of the bar. Mumbling something about needing to get back to his flat and check on some things.

Soap couldn’t get his mind around it. Ghost was elusive, sure, but again; something seemed off. He was calm, cool, and collected. Wouldn’t be caught dead manifesting his impatience physically. The fidgeting and twitching in his seat. The first place Soap’s mind went was maybe Ghost was dying? That’d be the only reasonable explanation for his behavior. But even then, it seemed a bit extreme.

The next day after the debrief, which was nearly as brutal as the deployment itself, Soap was still so in his head about Ghost’s behavior he almost didn’t notice the pretty nurse who seemed to be waiting for someone at the end of the hall. In fact, he was so stuck in his own mind, he only caught a fleeting glimpse of Ghost’s back rounding the corner with the nurse at his side. Hushed conversation disappearing with them. A softer, much more pleasant voice than Simon’s.

He debated whether or not to follow them, maybe answer the questions that’d been plaguing his mind. Ultimately, he decided in favor of it. Padding down the hall behind the duo who seemed to be headed back to Simon’s office. They weren’t walking closely enough to touch, but Soap immediately picked up on the tension between them. Like the distance was serving some sort of purpose.

Soap lingered in the hallway for a few minutes after the two disappeared into Ghost’s office, trying to sort the pieces of the puzzle he’d barely began collecting. He ultimately decided to go the route he was most comfortable with. Not one for sneaking about, he simply strode up to the office door and swung it open.

You were sat at one of the chairs in front of Simon’s desk, him standing with his arms folded over his chest next to you. Not compromising enough for Johnny’s taste, but he still put on a wide grin and nodded to you.

“Forget how to knock?”

Ghost’s voice was calm enough, but his eyes were shooting daggers straight through Johnny. You looked stiff as a board, chewing the inside of your lip through the tight smile you were giving him.

“Sorry, L.T. Needed to know if you’re still on for trainings this afternoon.”

He didn’t miss the way your eyes flicked to Ghost, communicating something that he couldn’t quite decipher wordlessly before you began studying your nails in your lap.

Ghost cleared his throat, rolling his tongue in his cheek. Growling something obscene under his breath. The agitation rolling off of him in waves.

“No. Got another assignment.”

And with that, Soap was all but thrown from the office. Querying about this ‘new assignment’ the whole way. Simon crowding him to the door until he finally snapped it shut on his nose.

He heard later that day Ghost was seen in medbay with a toolkit swearing at an X-Ray machine that had been giving you trouble for a month. After that, Soap was on the two of you like a fly on shit. Never missing an opportunity to bring you up to Ghost or vise versa. Mock-innocently saying something to Ghost in passing at dinner about you. Asking if he fancied you. When he said no, Johnny shrugged and nodded. Saying he was glad because he had plans to ask you out the next time he was injured.

That comment landed Soap in the bay sooner than expected. Escorting him to a different nurse’s exam area and standing guard the entire time his black eye was being iced. Berating him for not being able to block a few punches when they had sparred after dinner.

And Gaz, sweet boy that he is, was always more emotionally in-tune. Observant about the little things. Able to pick up on queues Soap and Price may have missed over the years. He was keen as he was quiet, keeping all his little discoveries to himself. Over the years, he’d created a small arsenal of moments he wasn’t sure were significant enough to bring up. Things he could have talked himself into imagining if he thought about them hard enough. Not wanting to jump to conclusions about anything.

But he noticed the incredibly subtle tan line on Ghost’s left hand. Noticed the way he tapped his foot impatiently when the debrief after a long deployment ran long. Noticed the way you always seemed to be around the yard when they touched down after a mission. The way your shoulders dropped when you saw all four of them had returned home. Like you had just been relieved the duty of holding up the sky.

He didn’t immediately connect the dots. Initially thinking that you’d just taken a special liking to the task force. They were some of your most frequent visitors, after all. Price had all but claimed you as their own. Specially requesting that you were the only one to patch their wounds, claiming the other nurses couldn’t hold a flame to your skill.

He didn’t mind. Came to enjoy the little chats the two of you had when the curtains around the cot were drawn. The little kikis you had where you chatted about anything and everything. Complaining about your jobs, irritating patients, botched missions, the morsels of gossip from around base.

One day, after a particularly nasty skirmish on a mission, all four of the men had gnarly wounds. You looked a bit more tired than usual. A bit more on-edge. Your answers were a bit more flat than they usually were. So the first part of the assessment was left mostly silent spare for a few soft “thank you’s” on his part.

It was only when you were bandaging a wound on his thigh did he notice the shape of a ring on your left hand under your glove. A thin band that wrapped neatly around your finger.

“Didn’t know you were married, doc.”

It was a passing comment, more just to spare him the agony of trying to hide his soft groans of pain in the thick silence.

You hummed your acknowledgment, focused more on working sutures through his skin neatly than anything else.

“Lucky bloke. Hope he’s good to you.”

It wasn’t flirty or predatory, like so many of the soldiers could be. A genuine thought. He’d always thought you were sweet. Easy to chat with, always offering him a smile and a chirped greeting when the two of you passed in the hall. Thought you deserved someone to share in your kindness.

You smiled, brow still furrowed slightly in your focus while tying off the stitches.

“He does alright.”

You chuckled softly, straightening on your stool and rolling back just slightly so you could meet his eye.

“All these years and you never mentioned. I’m hurt.”

He words came with a practiced ease, slipping back into your usual playful chatter without missing a beat. Flashing a coy grin as he carefully flexed and relaxed his leg. Getting a feel for the newly patched wound.

You rolled the gloves off your hands and tossed them into the bin. Standing from your stool to scribble a few notes on his chart.

“Not something that ever came up.”

“Now it has. He have a name? How long you been together?”

You chuckled once more, looking over your shoulder at him with an arched brow. A little skeptical of his curiosity.

“A good while.”

He noticed the way you evaded his former question, like you’d done it before. It only fueled his curiosity.

“You worried I’ll know him? Or are you embarrassed? Not much of a looker?”

This earned an amused snort from you, turning away from the chart you’d been working on.

“Nothing wrong with wanting to keep my personal life personal, is there?”

You winked at him, pushing open the curtain that divided the small exam area from the rest of the bay.

He made a small sound of protest, making no move to stand from the cot just yet.

“Alright, forget it. Didn’t even want to know anyway.”

He sounded like a child being denied a sweet. Even playing up the act with a small pout on his mouth.

You tutted softly, conjuring up the best mock-sympathetic look you could before motioning for him to stand.

“We’ll talk later. Captain’ll have my hide if I keep you away a moment longer than is necessary.”

Another sound of protest, followed by a throaty groan as he finally pushed up off the bed. Unsure if he was being dramatic or if the aftermath of the mission had truly gotten to him that bad. Always a flare for the dramatics, him.

He muttered his thanks, cupping your shoulder in his hand as he trudged out. Making you promise to have a proper chat with him later.

He lingered in the bay, allowing himself a few moments peace before getting back to work. Just as he finally turned to leave, he saw Ghost moving stiffly- like he was trying to downplay a limp- toward your little exam area. Though for some reason, the scene looked a bit strange to him. He couldn’t help but peek in.

He caught the way you watched him lumber over with big, worried eyes. The way your nails dug into your palms until he was finally within arms reach. The way you quickly glanced around to see if anyone was paying the two of you any attention before your hands flew to his neck, fingers slipping expertly under the hem of his mask and yanking it up over his nose. Not rough or angry, but with the kind of urgency that suggested you may die if you didn’t see a sliver of his skin. Make absolutely certain he was truly there with you.

The most jarring part- Ghost actually allowing you to touch the mask. Allowing your little hands to breach his personal space. Hands that would have easily been dwarfed by his own, swallowed up and twisted or shoved away like he had seen happen so many times in sparring matches with prospect soldiers. But Ghost just let it happen.

It was a flurry of movement, so fast that Gaz was certain he could have blinked and missed it. Frozen watching the two of you from just behind another exam area. Feeling like he was intruding without even meaning to.

And then he saw the way Ghost’s big arms snaked around your waist, drawing you flush to his front. You leaning up onto your toes to bring your face closer to the Lieutenant’s. A fervid kiss. You flinging your arms around his neck. The way your shoulders shook. A small, choked sob that Gaz was all but certain he imagined. Drowned out for everyone else by the sounds of the bay.

He was almost shocked that the world continued to move after that. Shocked that something that seemed so monumental could happen tucked away into your barely private exam area. Shocked that your reunion hadn’t halted time and space for everyone else like it had for the two of you.

He felt dirty. Like he should go up and apologize for lingering and seeing what he saw. But he stayed rooted to the spot, finding it impossible to move.

Truly the most damning part was when he caught the quickest glimpse of your badge just before the curtain was tugged shut. The badge you kept carefully pinned to your uniform face-down for a reason he couldn’t fathom until now. Twisted free for just a moment and finally connecting the snippets of information he’d collected over the years.

(Y/N Riley)

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eu-nicola · 3 months ago

Text

via part 1

summary: In the dazzling world of high society, you are a young woman who lives an apparently perfect relationship with the pilot Pierre Gasly. However, when you discover that your boyfriend of years Pierre was unfaithful to you with one of your best friends you decide to walk away and what better idea than a vacation in the break of Formula 1 in Italy with one of your friends, Charles.

warnings: tension, infidelity

word counter: 8718

author's note: english is not my first language, btw i'm writing the third part of Max's story

You had grown up with them, in those endless summers in the south of France, where the sun seemed brighter and the air was filled with laughter and promises that seemed eternal. Pierre and Charles were like brothers to you, always there, on days of adventure and days of calm. All of your families knew each other well, and every year the summers brought you together in the same coastal corner. Sometimes, Camille would arrive, that inseparable friend with whom you shared secrets and dreams.

Pierre was the center of calm in the group; observant, with an easy laugh and a confidence that inspired trust. He was the boy who always had a logical answer to every problem and calm advice for each of you. You got used to feeling safe when he was around, to trusting in his loyalty and relying on that serenity he conveyed. He had dreamed of being a driver since he was little, and his tenacity in reaching Formula 1 did not surprise anyone; you always knew that he had the discipline necessary to go far.

Charles, on the other hand, was a whirlwind of energy, the first to jump into any challenge, no matter how reckless or absurd it seemed. Always on the edge, he was the friend who made you laugh until your stomach hurt, but also the one who could drive you crazy with his impulses and ideas. But that intensity of his, that boundless passion, was also what made him unique. He and Pierre shared the same dream, and although their personalities were opposite, they were both united by that common goal, by that desire for speed that made them talk about races all the time.

Over the years, you witnessed their triumphs and falls. Sometimes, childhood summers seemed like a distant dream; the pressure, the training, and the anxieties of the future began to infiltrate those vacations that used to be just fun. But the friendship between you remained solid. Although life took you on different paths, the connections remained strong, and there was always a message or a call to remind you that they were there.

Pierre had been more than a friend in the last few years, and that spark that had emerged sometime in their teens had grown into something more solid and deeper. The shared laughter and knowing glances had transformed into a relationship in which both found refuge amidst the demands of their lives.

You remember how it all began, almost without realizing it, like a gentle current in the sea that slowly drags you along until you are completely immersed. For years he had been your friend, your confidant; the boy who was always there. But, at some point, something in him changed, or maybe it was you who had changed.

It had started on a spring afternoon in Monaco, when both of you attended a Formula 1 event. You clearly remember what he looked like: hair messy from the wind and an expression of excitement at seeing the drivers gathered together, his idols. That afternoon you noticed how good he looked, how much he had grown and how much he meant to you. A mix of emotions washed over you, and when Pierre looked at you, holding your gaze a little longer than usual, you felt something in the air, something you hadn't felt before. And in that moment, your relationship changed.

The days that followed were filled with small details, knowing glances, and words that seemed to contain hidden meanings. Sometimes, a simple shared laugh or a silence at his side made you feel something different. Pierre began to appear in your thoughts at all hours, and, at first, you tried to ignore him, because you didn't want to risk the friendship you had with him. But it was impossible.

The first kiss was at sunset on the coast, on a beach where you both used to go when you were younger. You hadn't planned anything, you didn't even know how you had ended up there, in front of him, feeling the breeze and the scent of salt in the air. Pierre looked at you with those warm eyes, and without saying anything, he shortened the distance between you. The kiss was soft at first, as if both of you were measuring the intensity, the newness of it, until it became deeper, more real. In that moment, you felt like a line had been crossed, and although a part of you was afraid, another part knew it was inevitable. Pierre held you with a tenderness you had never experienced before, and in that instant you felt safe, as if you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

From that day on, your relationship evolved with a naturalness that surprised you. The transition from friendship to love was so fluid that, at some point, you couldn't remember what your life was like without him. Pierre became your partner in every sense. He was that constant support in difficult times, the one who listened to you patiently when you shared your fears and your dreams, and the one who always had a smile for you, even after his hardest days on the slopes.

On one occasion, after a particularly exhausting race for him, you both sat on the terrace of your apartment, looking at the sky full of stars. Pierre was exhausted, his shoulders tense and his expression more somber than usual. Without saying anything, you approached and began to massage his shoulders. He sighed, grateful, and let his head fall back, relaxing under your hands. That night you talked for hours, about his career, about the future and about how you saw the world.

The days passed and, little by little, you realized that Pierre had become an indispensable part of your life. His way of seeing the world inspired you, his patience taught you, and, above all, his love made you feel complete. When he held your hand, looked at you, or said sweet words in your ear, the rest of the world seemed to disappear, and there were only the two of you.

It had been almost a year since your relationship with Pierre began, and things between you seemed to be going better than ever. The trust between the two of you was unbreakable, and you felt that he understood you better than anyone else. Pierre was present in every aspect of your life, and you, in his. It seemed like a solid love, a relationship based on years of friendship and respect. But there was something, a detail hidden between the corners of his life and yours, something that would soon emerge, transforming that feeling of security into a wound.

The first time Camille appeared again in your lives, it was on one of your weekend getaways. You had invited your childhood friends, as you did every year, to spend a few days in a villa near the sea. Camille joined the group near the end of the trip, saying that she had been away on a trip and hadn’t been able to make it earlier. Her presence made you happy, as always; after all, she was your lifelong friend, and sharing those moments with her made you feel like everything was in its place.

Pierre and Camille seemed to get along, and that had never worried you. They had known each other for a long time, as had Charles, and they all had a unique bond, one that you had come to value greatly. But what you didn’t know was that, months ago, during one of Pierre’s trips, something had happened between them, something that had become the darkest secret your relationship kept.

It was one night in Monaco, when Pierre was at a team dinner and Camille was visiting the city. Camille had always had a weakness for glamorous nights, clubs, and the freedom to be whoever she wanted. That evening, without thinking twice, she wrote to Pierre, and he, without thinking twice either, agreed to meet her for a drink after dinner. What started as a reunion between friends quickly turned into something more.

That night, Pierre and Camille shared not only laughter and memories, but also glances that went beyond friendship. They both knew it was wrong, that crossing that line was betraying the trust of someone they loved. But, between the intoxicating atmosphere of the place and the complicity they had shared for years, they let themselves go. Pierre felt an attraction he had forgotten, and Camille, who had always had a spark with him, encouraged him, letting herself go as well.

It was a mistake, one they both knew should stay in the past. After that night, Camille returned to her normal life, and Pierre returned to you, convinced that you would never know what had happened. They swore not to talk about it and to carry on as if nothing had happened. Camille continued to be your close friend, and Pierre, your partner.

In the following months, Pierre did everything he could to act as if nothing had happened. His attentions towards you increased, the small details with which he showed his love and the constancy of his affectionate words. With every glance he took at you, he tried to redeem the guilt he felt inside. But even though he seemed to have put it behind him, the shadow of that night still haunted him in his darkest moments. At night, in moments of silence, that guilt tormented him, and he knew that if you ever found out, his whole world would fall apart.

Camille, for her part, came back into your life without showing any trace of remorse. She was skilled at hiding her emotions, and although sometimes her glances at Pierre had a trace of complicity, she managed to remain distant, as if nothing was different. She was still the same Camille as always, with her contagious laugh and carefree attitude. When you were with her, you couldn't even imagine what she was hiding behind her smile.

A few months after that meeting at the villa, something began to change. At first, it was just an intuition, a slight feeling that crossed you from time to time, like a shadow that made you frown for no apparent reason. Pierre was still affectionate, attentive, almost as if he was trying to make up for something, although you didn't know what.

One night, while you were looking through some photos from that getaway, you noticed one in particular: Pierre and Camille, sharing a somewhat peculiar smile. It was a harmless image, but, without knowing why, it made you uncomfortable. You kept telling yourself that they were your friends, that they had known each other all their lives and that it was normal for them to get along. However, something inside you kept doubting.

The weeks that followed increased that uneasiness. You noticed how Pierre looked away when you mentioned Camille, or how Camille, in a conversation, avoided giving details about some nights in which, according to her, "everyone just had fun." You began to analyze her words, her gestures, her looks. You felt trapped in a spiral of mistrust, and you couldn't help it.

You couldn't keep those concerns to yourself; you needed to vent to someone, someone you really trusted. That's when you decided to talk to Charles. After all, he knew Pierre, Camille, and you better than anyone else. You knew he would be honest with you, without trying to sugarcoat things.

One afternoon, while Charles was back at his house, you decided to call him. He answered on the second ring, in that warm, relaxed voice that always managed to calm you down a little. It didn't take you long to convince him to meet you at a secluded café, away from the eyes of anyone who might recognize you.

Charles arrived shortly after you, and upon seeing you, he immediately noticed that something was wrong. He sat down in front of you, looking at you with a mix of concern and curiosity. You tried to smile to lighten the moment, but you barely managed to keep it. So, without further ado, you blurted out what you had in store.

“Charles, I need your help. I feel like… something is going on between Pierre and Camille. I’m not sure what, but… I have this feeling that they are hiding something from me. It’s just a suspicion, but I can’t get it out of my head,” you said, your voice a little broken, trying to control your emotions.

Charles looked at you silently, evaluating every word and every expression of yours. He knew how important Pierre was to you, and the seriousness of your words made him realize that this was not just a passing doubt. He leaned forward, getting closer, and gently took your hand, as he usually did in those moments when you felt lost.

“I don’t know what to tell you… I mean, Camille and Pierre have always been close, but I never thought that…” he paused, as if he didn’t want to feed your fears. “Look, I don’t want you to be hasty. Sometimes, the mind plays tricks on us, and it’s easy to get carried away by insecurity.”

However, your words had awakened something in him, a kind of doubt that seemed to invade his mind as well. Charles knew Pierre and Camille, and, although he had always trusted them, he had never ruled out that a spark could arise between them. After all, he knew what Camille was like, how impulsive she could be, and he also knew Pierre, and how much he hated dealing with conflict. And now, seeing you so distressed, he couldn’t help but think that maybe your suspicions had some truth.

“Do you want me to talk to Pierre?” he finally asked you, looking at you seriously. “Maybe I can get something out of him, try to see if there’s something he’s hiding from you.”

You stayed silent, considering his proposal. You didn't want this to turn into a confrontation, and you didn't want to put Charles in an awkward position either. However, the idea that he could get some truth that was hidden from you seemed tempting.

"I don't know... I don't want Pierre to feel like I'm distrusting him," you murmured, lowering your gaze. "But I can't keep this doubt in my head either."

Charles nodded.

"Look, I'm going to try to find out something, in a subtle way. And if there's something you need to know, I'll tell you. But promise me that you won't do anything until we have some proof, okay?"

You promised Charles that you would be patient, that you would wait before doing anything. At that moment, you felt a mix of relief and fear. At least you weren't alone in this anymore; now you had someone on your side, someone who was willing to help you discover the truth.

The days that followed were long and heavy. Every time Pierre took your hand or looked at you with his affectionate eyes, you felt a pang in your chest, a doubt that went beyond what he could see. Meanwhile, Charles did everything he could to find out something and, in a casual conversation, try to get some clue. You didn't reveal your suspicions to him, but you watched him, attentive to any gesture or word that could give him away.

Finally, one day, Charles called you again.

That call from Charles came when you least expected it. You were at home, in your kitchen, with a cup of tea in your hands, trying to stay calm. The sound of your phone brought you out of your thoughts, and seeing Charles' name on the screen, you felt a knot in your stomach.

You answered quickly, trying to hide the fear that was eating away at you inside.

"Charles?" you asked, your voice a little hesitant.

It took him a moment to answer, and his tone, serious and slow, gave you no reassurance.

“We need to talk. It’s about Pierre… and Camille,” he said, bluntly, and you felt as if the air was being knocked out of your lungs.

You fell silent, knowing that this was the moment your suspicions were either going to come to life or fade away completely. Charles continued, with a tense calm that only increased your anxiety.

“What I suspected about you… it’s true. Pierre and Camille were together, a couple of months ago. It was… it wasn’t something they wanted you to know, and they tried to hide it, but… the pieces don’t fit, and I found out.”

Confusion and pain hit you hard. The teacup in your hands shook and nearly fell, but your fingers tightened around it, as if that small sense of control could keep everything from falling apart.

“It can’t be…” you whispered, unable to process what you had just heard. Charles’ words echoed in your head like a distant echo, but your mind didn’t want to accept them. You couldn’t believe it, not after everything you had shared. Somehow, you hoped this was just a mix-up, a cruel joke. But the seriousness in Charles’ voice left no room for doubt.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Charles said, a mix of frustration and sadness in his tone. “I know how hard this must be for you, but what I’m telling you is the truth. Pierre… I don’t know what he thought, but he wasn’t being honest with you.”

Pain gripped you immediately. You slumped into the chair, your hand still clutching the cup, which now shook as if your entire body was trying to hold on to something that was about to break. Images piled up in your mind: Pierre, so close, so loving, and Camille, your lifelong friend. It all seemed like a cruel game, a lie that was woven with invisible threads until now.

“How did you know?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. You needed to understand how something so destructive had gone unnoticed for so long.

Charles sighed, and in his tone there was a hint of helplessness, as if it hurt him too to be the bearer of bad news.

“I knew because when I was with Pierre last week, I couldn’t help but notice that something wasn’t right. He… was behaving strangely, and when I started asking him questions, everything fell into place. It wasn’t easy for me, but… that’s what I found.” I didn't like having to do it, but I did it for you.

A lump formed in your throat, and you felt the weight of everything you had taken for granted fall on you, crushing you. Everything you had lived with Pierre, all those moments of love, of complicity, suddenly seemed unreal, as if you had been living a lie.

"I... I can't believe it, Charles," you finally said, your voice cracked, full of pain. You felt like the ground beneath you was no longer firm, that everything you had built with Pierre was crumbling into a thousand pieces.

There was a long silence on the other end of the line, and Charles, although worried, knew he couldn't say anything to ease the pain that was now overwhelming you.

"I'm so sorry..." he murmured, not knowing what else to say. He was also sad for you, for the way things had happened, and for what you knew you would have to face.

The words seemed to flee from you. All you wanted to do was scream, to run away, to run away somewhere where no one knew you, where all of this wasn’t real. How could Pierre, the man you trusted, the one you’d put all your love into, have done this? And Camille, your friend, the one who’d always been there, how could she have crossed that line, betrayed you like that?

“Thank you, Charles,” you said at last, your words cold, automatic, as if you were somehow trying to keep some control over yourself. You knew you needed to process it, but you didn’t know how. You didn’t know how to move on when what you thought was your life had been shattered in front of you.

You hung up the call, and for a moment, everything was silent. The pain washed over you like a wave, and you felt empty, as if the betrayal had ripped a piece of yourself out of you. The space Pierre had occupied in your life suddenly seemed like an impossible void to fill, and Camille, your friend, became a distant, unrecognizable shadow.

While you were sinking into your pain, your bewilderment and the whirlwind of emotions that Pierre and Camille had unleashed in your life, the two of them continued with their own secret. Far from what was happening with you, in the distance that you could not see, Camille and Pierre

were together at an event and, as on so many previous occasions, when they crossed paths in the hallway, there was an instant clash of glances. Memories of the past came back, like ghosts that had never left. Camille, like him, felt the tension between the two of them, a tension that seemed unable to dissipate, even with the passage of time.

Pierre, with his mind full of contradictions, had managed to calm down after his return to you. But now, again in front of Camille, the old emotions invaded him again. He remembered the moment when their bodies met, the touch of their lips, the sensation of something he had not been able to reject. Camille, aware of what had happened, stared at him, and although her expression seemed relaxed, her eyes betrayed the mixture of regret and desire she felt.

“I don’t know why, but… I haven’t been able to forget you,” Pierre told her, his voice lowering in tone, as if he didn’t want anyone to hear them. The confession came out without her being able to avoid it, like a truth that had been pressing against her chest for weeks.

Camille didn’t say anything at first, she just stared at him, with a slight smile on her lips. She couldn’t deny what had happened between them, even if she tried to act indifferent. After all, she had been the one who had made the first move that night, she who had accepted the kiss, who had taken him to a place where neither of them thought about the consequences.

“Don’t forget it,” she replied, her voice soft, but with a tone that Pierre recognized as dangerous. There was something in her words that caught him, something that made him feel as if he were at a crossroads. Camille hadn't let him go, and deep down, he knew she didn't want to either.

Pierre stayed silent, watching her. There was something about her, that intense, direct gaze, that completely disarmed him. He realized that, despite his relationship with you, something with Camille was still alive, something that refused to die out.

"And what do we do with that?" Pierre asked, his tone full of uncertainty, but also of an emotion that he couldn't hide. The words tasted bitter, but also necessary. He couldn't continue living with the guilt, with the weight of what had happened between them.

Camille took a deep breath, looked around to make sure no one was around, and then whispered, almost as if she were revealing a secret truth.

"I don't know what to do with us... with what happened," she admitted, and for a moment, Pierre felt time stop between them. Camille had always been direct, and though there was regret in her words, there was also something deeper, something that kept them connected beyond betrayal.

Pierre took a step closer, a movement that was driven by a need he couldn't control.

"I should never have let this happen… but I can't ignore it, Camille. I can't ignore you," he confessed, this time bluntly, as if the words were slipping from his control.

Camille didn't back down. On the contrary, she moved a little closer to him, and although remorse was present in her eyes, there was also a spark that she couldn't hide.

"I can't forget you either," she replied, with a smile that, although bitter, was sincere. There was something in her voice that, although full of contradiction, showed that, deep down, despite the betrayal, there was still something between them, something they couldn't just leave behind.

The conversation between them ended with a heavy, but not definitive silence. They both knew that what they felt, what had happened between them, wasn't going to disappear immediately. Although Pierre had returned to your side, his mind was still caught between the love he felt for you and the temptation of what he had experienced with Camille.

When Pierre returned, everything seemed to be in its place. At first, he tried to be the same as always: caring, attentive, the kind and loving boy you had been with. But something in him had changed, and you knew it.

That evening, after he arrived at your apartment, you found him in the kitchen while you were making dinner. There was something different about him, and you couldn't ignore it anymore. You knew you couldn't keep living with the doubt and the pain in silence. You had to face it, even if it meant losing him.

You approached him decisively, your heart racing, but determined that, at last, you would have answers. You couldn't keep up with that feeling of betrayal that was eating away at you inside.

"Pierre, we need to talk," you said, trying to stay calm, but knowing that your words sounded much colder than you wanted.

Pierre looked up, surprised by the tone of your voice. He tried to smile, but the smile didn't reach his eyes, and for a moment, everything seemed to collapse between you.

"What do you want to talk about?" he asked, with that typical calm of his that used to reassure you, but now only irritated you.

You knew what you had to say, you knew there was no turning back now. You had the proof, you had the truth. It was time for him to face what he had done.

“I know what happened with Camille,” you said suddenly, and the air between you both grew thick. The words came out with the force of something that had been bottled up for too long. It was as if, as you spoke them, the pain you had been carrying around with you for weeks began to release, but at the same time, it intensified.

Pierre was silent for a moment, his face expressionless. Then, you saw him tense, his jaw set. His eyes shifted for a second, as if he were looking for a way out, a way to evade the truth.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he finally answered, but his tone was no longer the same. There was something uncomfortable, something you couldn’t ignore.

“Don’t lie!” you exclaimed, feeling the rage and pain explode inside you. The truth burned you, and you needed him to accept it, to stop hiding it. You knew you couldn’t continue with someone who was lying to you so openly. “Charles told me everything, Pierre. I know what they did, I know you were with Camille.”

Pierre tried to take a deep breath, but he couldn’t help the slight trembling in his hands, the anxiety that invaded him. He knew he couldn’t continue denying the obvious, but he also knew that if he admitted it, he would lose everything he had built with you.

“It’s not what you think…” he said, his voice now lowering, trying to control the situation. But you weren’t going to let him manipulate you anymore. You knew him too well for his empty words to convince you again.

“How is it not what I think?” you asked, unable to contain the sarcasm and pain that seeped into your words. Do you think I'm so stupid that I don't realize what happened? You lied to me, Pierre. You lied to me! I can't believe you did this to me.

Instead of apologizing, Pierre tried to turn the conversation around, like he always did when things got tough. He tried to find an excuse, a justification for his behavior, as if that could make everything go back to normal.

"It was a mistake, something that happened, but it doesn't mean what you think it does. Camille… Camille has always been a close friend, and that night, it was just a moment of weakness. I love you, not her. What happened doesn't matter, what matters is that I'm here with you."

But those words had no power over you. They weren't enough to erase the betrayal you felt. He had overlooked it so many times, ignored so many signs that now they became crystal clear. And now, in front of you, Pierre was trying to downplay it, as if it was all an accident, something weightless, when what he had done had broken everything you believed in him.

You took a step back, unable to bear it any longer.

“I can’t go on like this, Pierre,” you said, your voice shaking, but firm. Each word was another nail in the coffin of what had been your relationship.

Pierre seemed surprised, as if he hadn’t expected you to get to this point. He tried to get closer, to take your hand, but you pushed him away roughly, not allowing him to touch you.

“Don’t touch me. You won’t.” You felt empty, but at the same time liberated, as if a heavy layer of pain and disappointment had suddenly been removed.

Pierre tried to speak, but the sadness in his eyes was evident. Now he saw that everything was crumbling before him, that the lie had come to light, and that nothing could save what was left of you.

“I don’t know what to tell you… I don’t want to lose you,” he said, his voice cracking, but the words no longer held the power they once had. No matter how sorry he felt, the truth was there, and there was no turning back.

“Then you should have thought about it before,” you answered, with a calm that surprised you. It was as if, finally, all the pain you had been accumulating had transformed into something more solid, something that strengthened you. “I don’t want you around. Not after all this.”

And without giving her any room to say more, you turned around and walked to your room, heartbroken, but with the feeling that at least you had done the right thing. You had reached the end, and even though it hurt, you knew that your life had to go on, away from lies, away from betrayals.

Pierre stood there, alone in the living room, watching as everything he had had with her faded away, unable to do anything but accept that he had lost what he loved most.

After the confrontation with Pierre, the weight of the situation did not fade away. On the contrary, what had started as a broken hope, was transformed into an urgent need to escape. You needed to disconnect, to get away, to find peace away from all that. And there was no better way to do it than taking a breather somewhere where no one could touch you, where you could recover a little of yourself.

That was when you thought of Charles. You knew that his impulsive personality and desire for adventure fit perfectly with what you needed right now: an escape.

The idea of traveling to Italy came to you as a perfect way to unwind. Italy had everything you were looking for: beautiful landscapes, tranquility, history, and culture. You called Charles, who was in the middle of training for the season, but you knew that if anyone could understand what you needed, it was him. At first, you took him by surprise, but upon hearing your voice, he immediately recognized the anguish you were trying to hide.

“Charles…” you said, hesitantly at first, but with the determination of someone who had already made up their mind. “I need to get away from all this. I want to go to Italy, to a villa in the mountains, away from everything. Away from Pierre, away from everything that happened.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. You knew he was processing what you had just told him, but you also knew that he would never leave you alone in something like that.

“Of course,” he finally answered, without a moment’s hesitation. “If that’s what you need, let’s go. To Italy then.”

The relief you felt upon hearing his answer was immediate. Charles never questioned your decisions. He had always been there for you, and his unconditional support gave you the strength you needed at that moment.

“Thank you, Charles,” you said, unable to stop your voice from cracking a little.

The idea of traveling to Italy began to take shape quickly. Charles took care of everything, from flights to accommodation, looking for a secluded place in the mountains, far from the hustle and bustle of tourist cities. A place where they could rest, explore, and above all, unwind.

As soon as you had everything ready, the anticipation grew.

The day of the trip arrived quickly. You packed your things with more excitement than ever, relieved to finally get away from the pain and Pierre’s constant presence in your life. It was clear that you needed this change, and, although you knew that the wound Pierre had left would not heal immediately, at least you could give yourself the space to heal, without the pressure of the media that already knew about the crisis between the two of you stalking you every day.

Arriving in Italy, the beauty of the landscape enveloped you like a warm hug. The mountains rose majestically, covered in green, the villas scattered among the vineyards gave a feeling of peace and tranquility that you had not felt for a long time. The villa in which they would stay was hidden between hills, and the rustic and cozy decoration made you feel as if you were in another world, one in which the past had no place.

You and Charles spent the first few days exploring the place, walking through the small towns nearby, tasting wines and eating fresh pasta at local restaurants. Every day was a respite, a chance to unwind, to forget about the pain for a bit and focus on the present.

Although Charles was his usual impulsive and lively self, he sometimes surprised you with his more reflective side, the one that appeared when he noticed that you were pensive, that the shadow of what you had experienced with Pierre had reached you.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he told you one day while you were walking through a small medieval town. The narrow streets, full of flowers and color, gave you a sense of calm that only Italy could offer you.

“I know,” you answered, smiling slightly, although it was evident that you still had a hard time letting go of what you had experienced. “It’s just that sometimes I think about everything that happened, and I think I should never have let it go so far.”

Charles looked at you and approached, placing a hand on your shoulder. He didn’t need to say more, because his gesture said it all. He was there for you, not just as a friend, but as someone who wanted to see you happy, free of any kind of emotional burden.

“Don’t worry about it. What matters is that you’re here now, and we’re in this together,” he said, and the sincerity of his words gave you the strength to keep going.

As the days passed in Italy, things between you and Charles began to change in subtle, but inevitable ways. The first day was just an escape, a respite from the pain Pierre had left behind, but you soon realized that being with Charles in that environment, without the shadows of everyday life, was making you feel something new, something you hadn’t anticipated.

Charles was excellent company, with his sarcastic humor and contagious energy, always ready to make you laugh even when your thoughts wandered to pain.

One afternoon, as they walked down a path between olive trees, Charles began to talk about his life, about his unfulfilled dreams of becoming a world champion, as if he was truly enjoying the company, as if the noise of the world had disappeared. When dinner time came, they sat together at a small table in the garden, with candles lighting the atmosphere and a glass of wine in their hands.

“Did you know that when I was a kid, I thought Italy was the perfect place to live?” Charles said, looking out at the landscape, as if he was reliving his childhood. There was something in his voice that made you think that, although he was always the impulsive and fun-loving boy, there was a side of him that he never fully showed.

“Really?” you asked, intrigued, and smiled at him as you took a sip of wine.

“Yes,” he replied, smiling back, but now with a softer touch on his face. “My family used to come here during the holidays. Italy has something magical, don’t you think?”

You nodded slowly. Something about the atmosphere, the tranquility that enveloped everything, was certainly special.

Every day passed so naturally. On the walks, the comfortable silences, the shared laughter, the deep conversations during dinner or at the end of the day, when you sat on the terraces to watch the sunset, everything seemed to fit together, as if you were both in the right place, at the perfect time. Charles' presence calmed you, made you feel protected and, for the first time in a long time, you felt like you could breathe without the anguish that had been drowning you.

On one of those afternoons, after a long walk in the hills, when the light of day was already beginning to fade and the fresh air was felt on your skin, Charles moved closer to you.

“You know, I’m glad we made this trip,” he said, walking close to you, with a look you couldn’t quite read. “I want you to know that even though I’m a little… unpredictable at times, you can count on me for anything.”

There was a silence between you as you walked together, as if the words had become more meaningful, heavier. At that moment, you realized something: Charles had been an unconditional friend.

The tension in the air between you was palpable, but not in an uncomfortable way. It was more of an attraction that grew little by little, unhurriedly, but inevitably.

Despite the serenity that Italy brought, there was something you couldn’t avoid, something that kept stalking you. Camille’s messages were starting to become more and more frequent. At first, you ignored them, thinking that maybe it wouldn’t be the right time to deal with what had happened between her, Pierre, and you. But, as the days went by, the messages became more persistent, more urgent.

Camille: "I need to talk to you, please. I know things aren't right, but we have to talk."

Camille: "I miss you, can we fix this? I don't know how to fix this, but I feel so bad..."

The messages were always similar, asking for a chance to explain herself, to tell her side of the story. You knew it wouldn't be easy, that nothing she said could erase what she had done, but at the same time, you couldn't help but feel guilty for not giving her the chance to explain. The problem was that, deep down, you knew you didn't want to talk to her. You had been so devastated, so broken by the betrayal, that it was impossible for you to find the right words to forgive her, or even to listen to her.

One day, while walking through a nearby villa, Charles noticed that you were staring at your phone, distracted. You didn't give it much importance, but he, as always attentive to your gestures, came a little closer.

"Everything okay?" “He asked softly, stopping beside you.

You looked at the phone in your hand, seeing Camille’s latest text. The temptation to respond, to end it all, was rife, but then you remembered what Charles had said: “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

You took a deep breath, feeling like even if you wanted to work things out, this wasn’t the right time or place to do so.

“It’s Camille,” you said, trying to sound calm. “She’s been texting me all the time. She wants to talk… but I don’t know if she should.”

Charles didn’t say anything at first, but his look said it all. He didn’t need to explain further.

“I understand,” he replied, his voice firm, but also soft. He moved a little closer, walking beside you. “Sometimes people do things they can’t undo, and even if she wants to explain herself, I don’t think that will change what happened. I don’t want you to feel pressured to do something out of responsibility or fear. You have every right to decide what’s best for you.”

You were surprised by how Charles had handled the situation. It wasn’t just a matter of being there for you; he seemed to understand you beyond words. You felt cared for, supported, and that was something you had never experienced so clearly. Camille’s words seemed to fade away in Charles’ calm presence.

‘What if I just stop responding? What if we never talk again?’ you thought to yourself.

“Sometimes when someone hurts you, it’s best to let it go,” Charles said, not looking at you, but his confident voice made a shiver run through your body. “You don’t need to solve everything. You don’t have to heal the wound right away.” Just do what makes you feel better.

His words resonated within you. For the first time in days, you began to feel like you could truly let go of Camille and Pierre without feeling the pressure of having to face it all. The relief of taking control of the situation spread like a wave of calm.

You decided you wouldn’t respond to Camille. Not right now. You were learning to set boundaries, to recognize what really mattered at this point in your life.

The next night, after dinner, Charles sat next to you on the terrace, looking up at the stars, and broke the silence with a smile.

“Have you?” he asked, knowing what he meant.

You looked at him, a little surprised by his question, but the answer came easily, as if you had been waiting for that moment to finally make a decision.

“Yes,” you said, looking at your phone one last time before putting it back in your pocket. “I’ve decided not to respond. I need to focus on myself now.”

Charles nodded, satisfied, and moved a little closer.

“That’s good,” he said, his tone making it clear that, in his eyes, you had done the right thing.

And even as Camille continued to text, your mind and heart were beginning to free itself.

The atmosphere in Italy had already changed by then. Everything felt different, more intense. Although it had all started as an escape, a simple respite from what you had left behind, now things between you and Charles were clear. There was something else in the air, something you couldn't deny, even if you tried.

That evening, the villa was particularly quiet, the fresh mountain air caressing the skin, and the dim lights on the terrace creating an almost magical atmosphere. They had spent the afternoon touring a small nearby town, exploring local shops and enjoying Italian cuisine. It had been a day full of laughter, of shared glances, of small gestures that, although not obvious to the rest, were clear as day to both of them.

After dinner, in which everything seemed to happen with overwhelming naturalness, they retired to the living room, where the fireplace was already burning softly. The villa was silent, as if the outside world had been left behind. Charles approached you, offering you a glass of wine as he sat down beside you, closer than he usually was. Your breathing quickened a little, as if a fate you couldn’t resist was drawing nearer.

The words trailed off little by little. The silence between you two was filled with a palpable tension, an energy that only the two of you could understand. You realized that, in all that time, what was between you two wasn’t just friendship, it wasn’t just support. It was something much deeper, more visceral. And, for the first time, fear didn’t invade you. There was no doubt in your mind, only an overwhelming desire to be closer to him.

“You know, sometimes I wonder how we got here,” Charles said, his voice deep and low, as he looked into your eyes. There was something in his tone that made you understand that, just like you, he already knew. You already knew that tonight wouldn’t be like the others.

Without thinking, you took a sip of wine, trying to calm the racing heartbeat in your chest, but you knew it wasn’t just the wine that was affecting you. It was Charles’ closeness, the warmth of his body beside you, the way his eyes kept scanning your face, like he was searching for something, like he was waiting for your permission, or like he had already crossed that line without either of you saying it out loud.

“Maybe…” you whispered, staring at him. “Maybe this was all meant to be.”

Charles’ response was immediate, and before you could say anything else, he moved a little closer. His breath, warm and slightly intoxicating, mingled with yours as his hands, gentle but firm, settled on your shoulders. At that moment, you knew. There was no turning back.

The contact between the two of you was subtle at first, almost like a test, a check to see if you were both willing to move forward. But the desire, that raw, unadorned desire, became unstoppable. He didn’t say anything else. His mouth moved closer to yours, and when your lips finally met, it was like all the weight of the world melted away. It was a soft kiss at first, but with each second it intensified, as if the touch of your lips was just the beginning of something much deeper.

Your hands slid to his neck, pulling him towards you, as you gave yourself over completely to that moment, to that connection that had been slowly building over those days in Italy. The barrier between the two of you was completely broken. There was no longer room for doubt or the past. There was only the now, the shared present in which Charles and you were no longer just two friends, but something more, something that could not be ignored.

The intensity of the kiss increased, and Charles gently laid you down on the couch, his body now closer to yours, almost merging. Everything you had been holding back, all the pain, doubts and uncertainties, vanished in the electricity of the moment. There were no words, only the sound of labored breathing and the beating of hearts in unison. Each touch was more urgent, more demanding, as if the world around you did not exist and only the palpable desire between you remained.

Desire took hold of both of you without reservation. The connection you shared went beyond physical attraction; There was a deep need to be together, to explore everything you had been holding back, to take that friendship to a whole new place. And, even though you knew things would never be the same again, you couldn't do anything but surrender to the intensity of the passion you shared in that instant.

When the kiss finally broke, you were both breathing heavily, but with a feeling of having crossed a line that could no longer be erased.

Charles, with a mischievous smile on his lips, looked at you and, with his voice heavy with desire, whispered:

“That… wasn't just a kiss, was it?.”

The sparkle in his eyes reflected the same thing you felt deep within your soul. You knew that what had happened between you two wasn’t just a passing desire. It was something that would change the dynamic between the two of you forever. But at that moment, in that villa, with the cold wind blowing outside and the fireplace burning softly inside, it didn’t matter what the future held for you.

All that mattered was the desire you shared and the fact that, for the first time in a long time, you felt completely alive, completely present in what was happening between you and Charles.

The night dragged on, but time seemed to have stopped, as if the universe itself had been suspended between the accelerated heartbeats of both of you. The air in the villa, permeated with the mixture of your perfume and the woody scent of the fire, seemed to envelop you, making you feel closer to Charles, more connected to everything you had just shared.

You lay back in the chair for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, still processing what had happened. The taste of his mouth was still on yours, and the warmth of his body was still there. Despite the unexpectedness of the situation, there wasn’t a hint of regret.

Charles, for his part, was also silent, his eyes fixed on you. He seemed so serene, so calm, as if everything was natural, as if you had both been waiting for this moment. Finally, he broke the silence.

“Do you regret it?” he asked, his tone soft but with a slight tension, as if he was searching for any sign of doubt in your eyes.

You turned to him, looking into his eyes, and felt a warmth run through your body. You could see in his expression that he already knew the answer. There was no need to talk about it, but something inside you needed to confirm that you were both on the same page.

“No,” you answered, the word firmly coming out of your lips. “I don’t regret it.”

Charles smiled, his expression relaxed, as if he had dropped an invisible burden that you had both been carrying for days. He leaned back, his body close to yours, as if he didn't want to separate for even a second.

"Me neither," he said in a deep voice, his hand sliding towards yours and intertwining it with yours, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Time passed without you noticing, between soft conversations, shared laughter and knowing glances. There was no need for more words, just the feeling that the moment was flowing in a way that neither of you had anticipated, but that, somehow, both of you wanted.

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