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animelucky · 8 days ago

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𝘉𝘌𝘚𝘛 𝘍𝘙𝘐𝘌𝘕𝘋𝘚 𝘛𝘖 𝘓𝘖𝘝𝘌𝘙𝘚

(��𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘯 𝘈𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘈𝘜) 𝘗𝘈𝘙𝘛 𝟦

𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝟣 | 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝟤 | 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝟥

𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒: 𝐻𝑒𝑦! 𝐼'𝑚 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘! 𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑖𝑡 𝑡𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑘𝑠. 𝐻𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑖𝑡. 𝐴𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛, 𝐼 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛 𝐷𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑛𝑜 ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑚, 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑎 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘 𝑜𝑓 𝑓𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛.

𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒

𝐿𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑗𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑠

𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑡𝑜 𝑇𝑒𝑥𝑎𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑡

𝑉𝑖𝑒𝑤 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠

𝑗𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑡 ℎ𝑜𝑡 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑟 𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢?

𝑗𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑝𝑎𝑑𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑐𝑘𝑖 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑠𝑜 𝑙𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝐼 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 ℎ𝑒'𝑠 𝑐𝑢𝑡𝑒

𝑝𝑎𝑑𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑓𝑎𝑛 𝐽𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑒𝑛'𝑠 𝑎𝑠𝑠 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠

❤️ 𝑏𝑦 𝑎𝑢𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑟

𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑝𝑎𝑑𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑐𝑘𝑖 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙𝑠 𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡

𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢

𝑠𝑝𝑛𝑓𝑎𝑛𝟷𝟸𝟹 𝑠ℎ𝑒'𝑠 𝑠𝑜 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑖𝑓𝑢𝑙

𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑓𝑎𝑛 𝑙𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑦 𝐽𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑒𝑛 𝑗𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑓𝑎𝑛𝟸𝟽 𝑖𝑑𝑘 𝑤ℎ𝑜𝑠 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑙𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑦

𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙 ℎ𝑜𝑡 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑟

❤️ 𝑏𝑦 𝑎𝑢𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑟

𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑜𝑜𝑡𝑠 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚?

𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑔𝑖𝑓𝑡, 𝐽𝑒𝑛 𝑡𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑚𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑜𝑜𝑡𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎 ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑓 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑇𝑒𝑥𝑎𝑠 ℎ𝑎ℎ𝑎ℎ𝑎

𝑗𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑙𝑒𝑠

𝐿𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑗𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑝𝑎𝑑𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑐𝑘𝑖 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑠

𝑗𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑡𝑜 𝑇𝑒𝑥𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑦 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠

𝑉𝑖𝑒𝑤 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠

𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑓𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑡𝑜 𝑦/𝑛

𝑠𝑝𝑛𝑓𝑎𝑛 𝑜ℎ 𝑛𝑜, 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑦 𝑡𝑜𝑔𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑘𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑇𝑜𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑜

𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙 ℎ𝑒'𝑠 𝑠𝑜 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒

𝑗𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑓𝑎𝑛 ℎ𝑒'𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑒

𝑗𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑝𝑎𝑑𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑐𝑘𝑖 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑏𝑢𝑑𝑑𝑦

❤️ 𝑏𝑦 𝑎𝑢𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑟

𝑠𝑢𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑎𝑙𝑓𝑎𝑛 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑜𝑜

𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑑𝑎𝑦𝑠 ❤️

❤️ 𝑏𝑦 𝑎𝑢𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑟

𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒

𝐿𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑝𝑎𝑑𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑐𝑘𝑖 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑠

𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒 ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑠 𝑚𝑦 𝑑𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟

𝑉𝑖𝑒𝑤 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠

𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑝𝑎𝑑𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑐𝑘𝑖 𝐹𝐼𝑁𝐴𝐿𝐿𝑌

❤️𝑏𝑦 𝑎𝑢𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑟

𝑗𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑠𝑓𝑎𝑛 𝑜ℎ 𝑚𝑦 𝑔𝑜𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑔𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙

𝑠𝑝𝑛𝑓𝑎𝑛𝟷𝟸𝟹 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔???

𝑗𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑝𝑎𝑑𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑐𝑘𝑖 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑤𝑜

❤️ 𝑏𝑦 𝑎𝑢𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑟

𝑠𝑢𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑎𝑙𝑓𝑎𝑛 𝑠𝑜 ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚

𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙 𝑖𝑠𝑛'𝑡 ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑑?

𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑦

𝑗𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑚𝑦 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙

❤️ 𝑏𝑦 𝑎𝑢𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑟

𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙𝑑𝑎𝑖𝑙𝑦 𝑠𝑜 𝑐𝑢𝑡𝑒

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑜𝑜𝑛, ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑖𝑡. 𝐴𝑙𝑠𝑜, 𝐼'𝑚 𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑛 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑠: 𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑡𝑠, 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑜𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠… 𝐼'𝑙𝑙 𝑡𝑟𝑦 𝑚𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦.

𝐽𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑠𝑘 𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑎 𝑏𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡.

𝑇𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡: @deans-baby-momma @magic-sprinkled-daydreams @n0t-vzin1s @smoothdogsgirl

𝐿𝑖𝑘𝑒 & 𝑟𝑒𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔 :) ♥

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animelucky · 8 days ago

Text

cw: smut.ᐟ intoxicated!ben [benzos] x intoxicated reader [alcohol].ᐟ drug use [ben].ᐟ liquor play.ᐟ praise.ᐟ degradation.ᐟ sloppy sex [p in v].ᐟ overstimulation.ᐟ manipulation.ᐟ pet names [sweetheart, baby, princess, my girl].ᐟ 18+

#notes: this is a work of fiction and not meant to glamorize or condone substance abuse !! this is a little more twisted than my usual, so if you’re not into it, simply don’t read ᢉ𐭩

wc: 1300

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

you never touched drugs. not on your own, anyway. sure you had smoked weed a few times with your friends, never the 'bad' stuff. but ben had a way of making anything feel holy—even the sick ritual he turned you into.

he’d crush benzos with the butt of his shiny 'soldier boy' knife, the same one he used to gut men open. you’d lie there quiet, pliant, as he tapped out the powder onto your skin— hip bone, belly, the curve of your ass— wherever he wanted it.

he’d tilt the blade, just enough to guide the white mess into perfect lines, admiring how the metal curved along your soft skin. you weren’t allowed to try it— he never let you. said you were too sweet for that.

“not my precious girl,” he’d mutter, right before pouring liquor down your throat instead, palm cupping your jaw to keep you from spilling it.

and you’d take it. because you loved him. and he loved you— just in a way that left you intoxicated, marked, and whining on motel sheets that smelled like smoke and sweat.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

the current motel room stinks of cheap cleaner. paint chipping off the doorframe, carpets with stains older than you’d been alive. tv was on mute, looping static behind the sound of a bottle clinking against a table.

ben’s already halfway gone when you straddle him. pupils blown, the benzos still burning his throat, whiskey half-drunk in his grip.

“lay down f’me, sweetheart, you know the drill” his tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth as he motions the knife around. “ass up.”

you follow his orders, trembling a little, not from fear— never fear— more from the way his eyes track every movement you make. like clockwork you can hear him behind you, ripping open the little plastic baggie.

“hold still,” he mutters. you don’t even have time to ask what for— he’s already parting your thighs, snorting the next line right off the curve of your ass.

"fuck—" he groans, head rocking back, sniffing hard. “best fuckin’ tray i ever had.” his hands are on you right after— ripping your panties down, tongue dragging over the skin he just snorted off.

he spreads your folds with two fingers and spits, watching it drip down your cunt before thumbing it in slow circles.

“my baby’s so fuckin’ wet for me, even after that?” his voice is a low rasp, high off powder and liquor. “gonna let me fuck you, even when i’m all messed up, huh?”

you hear the bottle whiskey clink again. he grips your jaw, forces your mouth open. coaxing you on your back, to part your lips for him.

“open up. drink,” he tells you, tipping the bottle rim to your lips. “that’s my girl.” you try to protest— murmuring how you’d much rather something less potent. a nice shot of something sweet would make your head feel all better.

“don’t gimme that look,” he breathes. “it’s just a sip, princess.”

his palm rests flat against your throat, tilting your chin up. the bottle— a cheap whiskey, presses to your bottom lip. he tips it slowly, watching the amber spill into your mouth, some of it leaking out the corners.

“attagirl,” he growls, licking the spill from your chin, eyes glazed over. “you look so fuckin’ cute right now.”

he sets the bottle down just long enough to palm your tit, thumb dragging rough over your nipple. and when you’re coughing from the burn of the liquor, he’s laughing softly, whispering it against your mouth.

“gonna loosen you up real good. don’t need pills for you. just a little liquor in that pretty belly, and you’re doin’ fine.”

then he’s pouring again— less careful this time. your back arched over his lap, tits out, as your throat works down the next load.

ben watches the way you blink up at him— teary, a little dizzy— when the liquor finally starts to haze your eyes over. he pushes your hair back from your face, kisses you rough. nose brushed with powder, beard sticky from the liquor.

“you feelin’ it now, baby?” he asks, watching you lick around the bottle’s rim.

you giggle, coughing a little as the liquor bites its way down your throat, dribbling past the corners of your smile. “yea e’r i mean,” you hiccup, blinking up at him. “i don’t even like whiskey, benny.”

ben laughs low in his chest—something dangerous. “no, but you do like me.”

he shifts, guiding you back onto the stained motel sheets. his hands are everywhere— groping your tits, spreading your thighs open with a force that makes the mattress creak. your soaked, slick clinging to your pussy lips, and he spreads you open just to stare at you.

“shit,” he mutters. “look how wet she’s gettin’ from jus’ a couple sips ‘n me talkin’ nasty.”

and then— cause he never knew when to stop— his body leans over you, finding the pill baggie once more. between his fingers with that half-crazed glint in his eye. crushes one of the bennies right there on your bare stomach, white powder dusting the soft skin of your belly.

“one more, c’mon now, hold still,” he murmurs, nose brushing your bellybutton. “gonna take this last one real nice for me.”

you squirm a little, body warm, giggly, pliant. and ben fucking snorts the line right off your belly, moaning against your skin. his beard scrapes rough against your hip, hands already pushing your thighs wider.

you whimper, already clenching around nothing. the residue of powder still lingers across your stomach, the scent of crushed pills and liquor heavy in the air. ben noses along your ribs, mouthing sloppy kisses up your side.

pulling back with spit strings trailing from his mouth to your belly. he looks properly wrecked now— pupils blown wide, chest heaving. he reaches down to fist his cock— hard, leaking pre-cum down the crown— and drags the swollen tip through your folds. your pussy sucks at him, desperate to feel something. and he growls when he pushes in. just the head, and you’re already a mess.

seeing the outline of his thick cock appear and disappear in your stomach, he fucking gawks at it. and he knows it’s just so big, but you take it so fucking perfect.

“that’s me, huh?” he smiles, drool spilling warm against your cheek. “deep in this tight body— fuck don't ever change, princess.” his thumb pressing into the outline of his cock where it carves through your guts.

“i know, sweetheart, i know.” his voice dips damn near reverent. “hurts so good, doesn’t it? ‘course it does. you’ll take it again, won’t you? 'til your legs give out, 'til there’s nothin’ left of my pretty princess.”

and then he starts fucking into you harder and sloppier, full weight behind it. one hand gripping your throat and the other smeared in your slick. the room reeks of sweat and liquor and cheap drugs. but you love it. crying, drooling, saying thank you even while you can barely get a breath.

he chokes on his own spit when he comes— rutting deep and holding you there, buried to the hilt while his cock spills inside you. hand still cupped over your throat, head dropped to your shoulder.

ben kisses your temple. once. twice. three times, like he can’t stop. it's a fucking mess of spit, cum, empty bottles and dusted powder. but he keeps you buried beneath him, safe from everyone and everything.

and you'd take it, again and again, as harsh as he wanted to give. because you knew that as soon as you were done, he'd always pepper soft kisses along your neck, praising you for how good you'd been for him.

his pretty princess.

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animelucky · 8 days ago

Text

cw: smut.ᐟ undercover tension.ᐟ fake married trope [mrs & mr castle].ᐟ frustrated!mark.ᐟ hotel sex [p in v].ᐟ possessive undertones.ᐟ pet names [sweetheart, baby, sweet girl, good girl].ᐟ 18+

#notes: ˗ˏˋ spoilers ˎˊ˗ for the show if you haven’t watched it yet, esp. episode 5.ᐟ this is only partially edited bc i got lazy.

wc: 4140

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mark’s head was splitting.

it wasn't the dull, manageable kind of pain he’s learned to ignore— this was different. sharp, radiating from the back of his skull, making his vision blur at the edges. he had both hands on the bathroom counter, eyes locked on his reflection.

his tie’s was still loose, tux jacket slung over the towel rack behind him, and the pills he took twenty minutes ago haven’t done a damn thing.

and you both had a mission tonight. high-level gala, intel grab, in and out. no crazy event where there's lives at stake, simply roles to play and masks to wear.

he swiped a hand down his face. “get it the fuck together,” he muttered to himself.

and before he knew it, you’re standing there, knocking on his front door. adorned in black silk, the dress clinging in all the right places, dipping low in the back, catching the light when you shift on your heels. your hair styled neatly, lips glossed and so fucking biteable.

he almost stares in a bit of stocked state before your voice cuts him out of it.

“mark, we’re late,” you say quietly.

he still didn't even blink. “you’re—” but stops himself, swallows, and adjusts the cuff of his sleeve to keep his hands from twitching. “you’re certainly in costume, huh?”

“we both are,” you remind him, stepping past him into his hallway. “mr. and mrs. castle, married three years. you work in tech security. i’m your investment advisor. now lets go.”

mark’s hands sat heavy at ten and two on the steering wheel, knuckles flexing every so often. the black watch on his wrist ticks in rhythm, the only real sound besides the low hum of tires on asphalt. he’s focused on the road. at least, that’s what he's trying to think of.

you smooth your dress down your thigh, just to have something to do. how could two people that work day-to-day together, be so awkward like tonight had been going?

“you’re awfully quiet for a man about to pose as my husband for three hours.”

his eyes flick your way, fast and razor-sharp— that dark green narrowed just a second longer than necessary before flicking back to the road. “just thinkin',” he mutters.

“about tonight, about the mission?”

he exhales through his nose, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. “somethin’ like that.”

you bite back a smirk. “you sure you can pull off pretending to be in love with me?”

that makes his signature smirk appear— just barely— but it’s the first real crack in his armour since you arrived. “listen, if i kiss you too convincingly,” he says, hand gestures flying around “don’t let it go to your head.”

you hum under your breath, leaning just slightly toward him, watching his grip tighten around the wheel like he’s trying not to react. “so you want me to keep my hands off you tonight?”

“you can try.” his eyes dip low to the cleavage your dress exposed. “but it might not look very 'married' of you, to do so.”

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an hour's drive later and the place you pull up to reeked of luxury and champagne, the kind of event where people wear watches worth more than your monthly salary and smile with their teeth but not their eyes.

the intel was buried somewhere in the sea of silk ties and forced laughter— a name drop, a conversation, a slip of information that gets your team one step closer.

but that’s not what mark could focus on. he had one hand wrapped loosely around the stem of a drink he hadn’t touched. the other rested at the small of your back, the contact light but believable— fingers splayed wide, thumb grazing back and forth.

you shift slightly, and his hand follows. higher. “you’re not exactly being subtle,” you murmur, your mouth close to his ear like a secret.

“it’s called being committed to the role.” he replied, not even bothered to shift his gaze from the crowd.

“oh, is that what we’re doing?” you tease, stealing a sip of champagne. “should i sit in your lap next? make it real believable?”

his grip on your back twitches— a flex of his fingers. you’re too good at this. too pretty and too fucking close. he’s already half-hard from the goddamn tension of it all.

a moment later, you’re drifting toward the target— some business shark you’ve been briefed on. you play the part well— a doting wife, hands on mark’s chest, soft little laughs that make it look like you adore him. when your hand curls around his bicep and your fingers brush along the inside of his wrist, his cock kicks again behind the zipper of his dress pants.

mark barely looks at the man speaking. his attention stays on you. the curve of your shoulder, the slope of your neckline, the flash of your thigh when you lean into him. he shifts his stance, adjusting subtly— not for comfort, but to try and hide the obvious bulge forming between his legs.

you’re half-listening to the man in front of you— some investment broker with teeth too white and stories too long. mark’s hand slides lower on your back. it settles just above the swell of your ass, his thumb dragging slow, deliberate circles.

“so, what’s your secret mr.castle?” the man grins, swirling bourbon in his glass. “she’s stunning— how did you lock such a pretty thing like her down?”

mark doesn’t even blink. “just lucky, i guess.”

the man laughs, offers a wink to you. “well, whatever you’re doing, keep doing it. you two look good together.”

you could've laughed it off. could've said a 'thank you' and pivoted the conversation. but the way mark looked at you, head slightly cocked, like he's daring you to run with it. like you were his only focus.

you lean in. “don’t say a word,” you whisper against his mouth before pressing your lips to his.

it’s was gentle at first— the kind of thing that could pass for affection. but the second you start to pull away, his hand tightens on your hip, and he deepens it. mouth opens over yours, slow and smooth and full of hunger. a beat too long to be innocent. pulling you into a trap just to see how far he could take it, because he had a fake persona to do so.

“don't look at me like that, i didn’t hear you complainin’, baby.” you roll your eyes and turn back toward the ballroom, heart still kicking, caught in your throat.

mark’s hand drops to his side. he mutters something about the restroom and slips away down a side hall— not toward the actual bathrooms, but somewhere quiet, somewhere unoccupied. he leans forward, bracing one hand against the wall. his other hand curls into a loose fist at his temple, slow circles pressed into the side of his head. his vision pulses at the edges, pressure building, making it harder to breathe.

just a little longer, he told himself.

he returns to your side ten minutes later. you catch the slight flush in his cheeks, the way his jaw’s a bit too locked now.

“you good, baby?” you murmur, brushing your fingers briefly down his forearm.

“mhm, m'fine.” he clipped, but his hand still finds its way back to your waist.

a few minutes later, you feel the vibration of your ear piece— one short buzz against your side, the pre-agreed signal.

“got what we needed,” you murmur under your breath, leaning close to mark’s shoulder. “they have the footage. target gave it up with his mouth full of bourbon and an ego twice that.”

mark hums like he’s not surprised. his hand stays warm on your hip. “good. then let’s get the hell outta here.”

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it was nearly 2 a.m. by the time the team packed out of the gala, intel secured and mission deemed a success. too late to make the hour drive back to base— easier to crash at a hotel. checked-in, government card on file. the entire unit booked on the same floor.

everyone had double beds, shared rooms. you and mark got paired off without a second thought. “room 412,” a front desk worker muttered, tossing you a keycard. “you two get some sleep.”

mark didn’t argue. he hadn’t said much since you left the gala— not since that kiss, or when your hand slid up his chest like you’d done it a thousand times. and now, in the harsh overhead light of the elevator, you could see the tight pull of his jaw, shadows under his eyes. how his fingers twitched at his side, holding something in.

he licked his lips like he could still taste the way yours molded against his earlier, so fucking effortlessly.

when the elevator dings open, he walks half a step behind you, silently. except for the way his eyes drop— again— to the low scoop of your backless dress, to the black silk clinging like a second skin.

you hear the door shut behind you. hear him exhale sharp through his nose. dropping your clutch onto the dresser and turn— only to see it at the same time he does.

one king-sized bed. plush pillows stacked two deep. no second bed in sight.

mark tenses, barely noticeable, except for the way his shoulders stiffen under the collar of his dress shirt. his hand scrubs over his mouth.

“i'll just go back down,” he grumbles, already turning for the door. “they must’ve—”

“oh come on,” you cut in, amused. “don’t be dramatic, it’s a bed,” you shrug, already unzipping the back of your dress. “we’re adults here, we work together. not like you haven’t shared worse with worse.”

he doesn’t turn around until your silhouette disappears behind the bathroom door. and even then, he just stands there— hand still on the doorknob, fighting the ache behind his temple and the one pulsing thick behind his zipper.

he hadn’t meant to look. hadn’t meant to let it get this far. but his whole body feels hot and raw, nerves strung tight from the mission and the kiss and your fucking voice in his ear.

a hand drags down down his face, then lower— pressing over the swollen tent in his pants, just to ground himself, to remind himself to get it together. but the ache doesn’t settle. it pulses harder under his palm. through gritted teeth, thumb dragging against the line of his waistband like that’ll ease it.

trying to think about anything else— gear inventory, case files, the list of reports waiting back home— but all he can hear is your voice humming from the bathroom. you’re brushing your teeth, combing your hair, talking to yourself in that sleepy tone. and mark could punch a wall.

“fuck, sweetheart” he mutters under his breath, dragging his hand away, fingers flexing useless at his side. he shifts his weight, adjusting himself into his waistband.

he tells himself that it's fine. that he’ll get through one goddamn night. but when the bathroom door clicks open, and he hears your bare feet padding out toward the bed— he already knows he’s in trouble.

mark mutters something low and foul under his breath before shrugging off his jacket, slinging it over the chair. fingers working at the buttons of his shirt. he rubs the heel of his palm against his eye, hard. just a flash of white pain blooming behind the socket. it's still there, not gone, it never really is.

you glance toward him when his back hits against the headboard, pillows stacked behind him. no shirt, just dark sweatpants riding low on his hips. forearms tense behind his head.

you nod toward the bedside table. “you need the bathroom?”

he shakes his head. “nah, i’m good.”

you climb in beside him— a careful shuffle under the covers. the mattress dips, barely, but it’s enough to close the space between your arms. your knees bump. and for a moment neither of you moves. stewing in your own thoughts.

“so.” your voice is softer now, the gala replaying in your mind. “tonight was successful.”

he huffs out a low sound. “somehow.” his head turns. “thanks to you.”

“oh, so now I'm the mvp of the team?”

“you always are.”

the compliment lands heavier than it should. silence folds in again, you adjust your legs— accidentally brush against his calf.

your gaze flickers down to the veins already lining his hand. “you're still wearing the ring.”

mark blinks, confused. then peers down at his hand. the fake wedding band still glints dully under the lamplight.

“shit,” he mutters. “i forgot.”

you smile, half-hidden in the pillow. “so technically,” you say, dragging the words out slow, “what you're saying is that we’re still undercover, right?” his brow twitches. he watches you for a beat. the corners of his mouth pull tight— something between a smirk and a warning.

“and you had that hand on my ass for at least half the gala, mister castle.”

“yea well, figured it was better than holdin’ your stupid purse,” he mutters.

you grin. “and the kiss?”

mark’s jaw tenses for half a second. “what about it?”

you lift yourself on one elbow now, half turned toward him, watching his expression closely. slowly, you reach for his hand. your fingers trace along the back of it— along the thick veins, worn knuckles, band of fake gold still looped around his ring finger. you let your nails drag ever so lightly, and his hand flexes like it wants to close around yours.

“i mean— you were real believable tonight, y’know?" his eyes drop to your mouth when your tongue flicks out to wet your lips. “what did you call it?” you whisper, leaning in just enough to blur the line between challenge and invitation. “being committed to the role?”

then he shifts closer, deliberate. “you got a problem with how i handled the assignment?”

you shake your head, fingers still toying with his. “no, i just think that maybe you got a little—” you pause “attached.”

he exhales through his nose—not quite a laugh, more like release. in one solid pull, mark drags you into his lap. doesn’t give you time to hesitate before he settles you on top of the covers.

his thumbs press into your thighs, just under the hem of your sleep shorts. a shift under you— a subtle buck of his hips, enough to make you aware of the thick weight pressed against your middle.

“you’re real smug for someone sittin’ on my fuckin’ lap.”

your lips twitch. “i didn’t exactly climb up here on my own, castle.”

his grip tightens— just slightly. dragging you forward with just enough pressure that your breath stutters. his cock— hard and straining under the thin sheet— ruts slow and deliberate against the curve of you.

his gaze drops. first to your mouth, then lower. and when he speaks again, it’s controlled, but barely.

“don’t act shy, like we ain’t been down this road before.” he murmurs. “you been messin’ with me all night,” he says. “touchin’ me, kissin’ me like you meant it. you really wanna sit there and pretend you don’t feel this?” he rocks your hips forwards again— not to tease, but to prove a point.

you breathe a little harder now. teeth sinking into your bottom lip, heart hammering. he watches the way you fight it. the way your fingers twitch trying not to touch him back. the slow drag of his thumbs find the hem of your sleep shirt, rubbing circles into the small of your back.

"you gonna keep pretending you weren’t grippin’ my arm tighter every time i touched you?" your voice was quiet, half a breath above a whimper. "or when you kissed me and then didn't pull back?"

his lips twitch into something half-wild. hands trail up higher, roughly up your spine, you can’t hide the way your breath catches when his fingers spread wide across your back, leaving heat everywhere he touches.

"you got no idea," mark rasps. "been tryin’ to focus on the job all night, and you—" his eyes flick down to the soaked front of your panties, where the thin cotton clings to your cunt. his voice dips quiet, "you're sittin' on me like this, drippin' like you want it bad."

your pussy lips stick to the soaked cotton, leaving nothing to his imagination now “you’re gonna fucking kill me tonight,” he grumbles, voice thick.

then his hand is on your throat— not tight, but firm enough to catch your breath in your chest. he guides you down with it, gaze locked to yours until your mouths crash together.

the kiss is filthy from the start. the kind of kiss that’s been festering under the surface since the moment you seen each other tonight. your knees tighten around his waist as he groans into your mouth, rutting up again— this time harder, needier.

your hips rock in response, your soaked cunt dragging over the tent of him under the sheet, and he nearly bucks up right through it.

mark's hands drop to your ass, both of them this time. he palms the flesh beneath your shorts, thumbs digging in and pulling you flush to him. your clit drags perfectly against the thick ridge of him.

"this all for me, sweetheart?" he pants, nose nudging against your jaw. "you get this fuckin’ wet just from pretendin’ to be mine for a night?”

you moan—soft, breathy, head tipping back to expose your neck. and mark takes full advantage of that. his mouth trails lower, biting down the column of your throat before smoothing over the sting with his tongue.

he shifts underneath you— knees bending slightly, spreading your thighs open wider with the bracket of his hips until you’re straddling the full press of his cock through the sheet.

you don’t even get the chance to answer before mark’s hand snakes down, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties, yanks them to the side nearly ripping the fabric. your cunt’s bare now, sticky and glistening in your own arousal— soft little puffy lips split open just enough to make him groan.

his cock was beat red— hard, and angry. rubbing right through your slit. nothing but that slick glide between your bodies now, the drag of his length against your swollen clit making your knees tremble.

“you feel that?” mark grits out, watching the way your juices smear across the flushed head. “this what you wanted? sittin’ pretty all night, just waitin’ to get used like this?”

you gasp when his hand comes down to your ass again, spreading your cheeks wider, keeping your hips tilted just right. the full length of him slipping through your slick folds, smearing pre-cum all over your pussy.

“mark please—” your voice catches, ditzed-out already.

“yeah, that’s it,” he grunts, the tip of his cock catching on your entrance now. not pushing in— yet— just testing the give of your body. “so goddamn wet for me, baby."

his thumb dips down between you, pressing against your clit—just enough pressure to make your thighs twitch. “gonna take it so fuckin’ good,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “need it after the fucking week i had."

“turn around.”

you blink. his hands are already on you— gripping your hips, shifting his weight behind you on the mattress, knees digging into the sheets.

one hand grabs your shoulder, the other slides down your spine—guiding you forward until you’re on your hands and knees. the moment your elbows start to bend, he presses between your shoulder blades with a flat palm, pinning you down with your ass arched just how he likes it.

“fuck, look at that,” he mutters behind you, voice fraying. his fingers hook into your panties, yanking them aside— stretching the soaked cotton across your inner thigh.

“i been dyin’ to fuck this pussy since the second we got back here.”

you feel him gather your slick into his palm behind you. feel the drag of it coat his cock before he fists it twice. he drags the tip through your folds one more time. “last chance,” he mutters. “is this what you want?”

you swallow hard, wiggling your ass back against him. “yes, i want it.”

he pushes in slow, thick and unrelenting. the stretch burns beautifully— his cock splitting you open, inch by inch, until his hips are flush to your ass.

“jesus fuck” he mutters under his breath. both palms planted firm on your hips now, holding you still as he just stays there for a second, buried to the hilt, eyes pressed shut to mute out the dull ache between his temples.

you whimper into the sheets, trying not to moan too loud. the thought of a team member next door— another agent from your team hearing— only makes your pulse thump harder.

mark starts to move, slow and deep, like he’s carving the shape of himself back into you. “fuck you feel so good,” he huffs, dragging his cock nearly all the way out before thrusting back in with enough force, your body jolts forward from the impact.

his hand slips around your front— finding your throat just enough to hold you steady—pull you back against him. the headboard creaks in rhythm now. the sound of skin on skin barely muffled by the thin hotel walls.

you bite your knuckles, trying to stay quiet— trying not to let anyone hear the filthy squelch of your pussy with every deep, dragging thrust.

mark leans forward, chest heavy against your back, one hand still braced around your throat, the other gripping your hip like a handle. “gotta be a big girl 'n stay quiet f'me now, yeah?” he murmurs, voice hot at your ear. “don’t wanna give the whole team a fuckin’ show.”

his hips slam into yours relentlessly, rougher— chasing something that's not just pleasure, but relief.

“this fuckin’ headache won’t quit,” he mutters, jaw clenched as your ass slaps back against him. “hurts so bad i can barely think all fuckin night. only thing that makes it better” another thrust, harder. “is this perfect pussy.”

your moan slips out too loud. his hand snaps up over your mouth, muffling the sound.

“shhh.” his breath is hot against your ear, the scratch of his beard against your cheek. “don’t wanna get us caught” he pulls almost all the way out “or is that what you want?”

his cock glides back in, slow and punishing, enough to keep you right on the cusp of an orgasm. “want one of them fuckers next door hearing how wet you are for me is that it, sweet girl? wanna let ‘em know you’re gettin’ ruined by me?”

his palm shifts from your mouth to your throat again “keep takin’ it, like a good girl 'n let me fuck this pain away.”

he grits his teeth, hips pounding harder now, dragging raw noises from both of you. you’re gasping against the sheets, the wet clap of skin on skin echoing at the otherwise late hour.

mark's fingers slide down your front, knuckles bumping where your thighs threaten to clamp shut. when his thumb finds your clit again, it’s the best pressure— rubbing tight, wet circles.

“come on,” he mutters, almost desperate now. “i can feel it— don’t fight it. let go for me.”

your whole body locks up— your climax barrels through you, mouth open in a silent cry, rutting back trying to pull him impossibly deeper.

“fuck— there we go,” he groans, voice cracking. “so good for me.”

it takes three more shallow thrusts before he falls over the edge— buried inside you. warmth spilling out in long, shuddering spurts. his forehead drops between your shoulder blades, breath ragged against your skin.

for a moment, the room is just sweat and breathing. the hum of the air conditioner. the wet pulse between your thighs still echoing the shape of him.

mark finally pulls back, one hand smoothing over your hip like he’s apologizing for how hard he gave it to you.

“we should get cleaned up,” he says after a beat, voice rough but quieter now. but he makes no attempt to move. he stays there, staring at your back, at the way your body still twitches, and the way his finger prints mold into the plush of your hips.

his fingers drag one last time down the curve of your spine. “you alright?” he mutters. not just out of guilt, not just dumb protocol.

and for the first time in months, the pain in his skull is gone— and you’re the reason for it.

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