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untitlzd · 3 months ago

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silence doesn’t stop rich boys

top!sim jaeyun x btm!male reader smut

Jake Sim's party invite arrives—thick cardstock, old-money cursive. You go because that's what people like you do. The champagne flows, his gaze lingers, and no one notices when you disappear into the penthouse's private wing.

continued in “rich boys don’t get dirty.”

warnings: noncon/dubcon, power dynamics, possessiveness, semi-public sex, oral sex, rough sex, breeding kink (implied), aftercare as manipulation, lowkey inspired by gossip girl

Old money has a scent. A blend of expensive leather, French perfume, and promises sealed generations ago. In this closed circle, luxury isn't ostentation—it's routine. Watches worth more than cars, dinners in penthouses that don't appear on Google Maps, and last names that function as keys. And among them stands Y/n.

He was never exactly one of them, but he learned fast. The son of an influential attorney—the kind who turns crises into lucrative settlements—he grew up between silent meetings and champagne toasts before even understanding what was being celebrated. He didn't inherit a centuries-old fortune, but carried something nearly as valuable: influence. And in this game, knowing how to use it is what truly matters.

To others, Y/n belongs. He wears the right brands, speaks with the confidence of someone who knows the backstage dealings, and maintains that discreet smile of someone who never falters. But behind the shine lies a fragile structure. Exclusive parties hide unstable alliances, and anonymous messages circulate more frequently than truths.

Because in this world, what sustains you isn't having the most—it's knowing how to remain silent when everyone is watching.

Despite not carrying a surname forged by generations, Y/n was always there—at the most private parties, at invitation-only gatherings, at the center of the group where few truly belong. His mere presence was enough to calm any tension: when your father commands one of the country's most feared law firms, scandals tend to disappear before they even take shape. Having Y/n around wasn't just prestige—it was protection.

So it came as no surprise when Jake's name appeared linked to the next big party. Jake belonged to a nearly extinct type of social royalty: his family synonymous with political tradition, silent influence, and inherited power. Even among the most well-connected, Jake stood out. The typical good guy—or at least, he knew how to play one. Always smiling, always impeccable, always untouchable. No one dared confront him. And at the same time, no one seemed to care enough to try.

Y/n wasn't the type to decline a party, but the invitation from Jake caused some unease. Reserved, careful, molded by the image his parents insisted he maintain, Jake rarely exposed himself beyond what was necessary. Still, the news spread fast. A single anonymous post on the city's most venomous blog turned the night into an event:

"Party at the politicians' house? Seems the new generation decided to play at freedom. Closed list, open bottles..."

The warning had been issued, and as always, everyone would pretend not to care.

Y/n dressed in silence as he read the post. No surprise—just the sensation that everything was following its course. He and Jake weren't friends. Never had been. But there was a silent pact between them: a strategic coexistence, without excess, without intimacy. Both knew where they stood, and more importantly, where they wanted to remain.

At the top.

It was as if they respected, without ever saying it aloud, each other's places in that hierarchy. Neither wanted to take the other's space—it wasn't necessary. But somehow, there was a strange companionship between them. An implicit recognition that even amidst so many masks, you could trust someone who didn't try to be you.

Jake's penthouse occupied one of the oldest—and most discreetly luxurious—buildings on the Upper East Side. The pale stone facade, wrought-iron balconies, and silent corridors covered by time-worn red carpets all seemed part of a New York that refused to die. A place where power needed no ostentation—just permanence.

When the elevator opened directly into the main hall, Y/n was met with an expected scene: warm lighting, music perfectly chosen to seem spontaneous, uniformed waiters circulating with crystal trays, and a group of people who knew exactly the value of being seen—and even more, the value of pretending not to care.

Jake appeared immediately, with that classic, trained, millimeter-perfect smile.

"So glad you came," he said, extending a glass to Y/n. His voice was low, his gaze a bit too intense for the casual tone. He was impeccable, as always. Light linen shirt, sleeves rolled to the forearm, cologne expensive enough not to be obvious. And there was something more there—a touch on the shoulder that lasted a second too long, a look that took too long to look away.

Y/n smiled back, with that kind of calculated lightness he used when he didn't want to seem surprised. The environment enveloped him easily: flowing conversations, muffled laughter, soundtrack alternating between sophistication and faux nonchalance. The penthouse view framed the city lights, as if the world outside were just a backdrop for what really mattered—what was happening here inside.

The hours passed almost fluidly, dissolved in sips of expensive drinks and conversations that said little. Y/n drank slowly, as he always did. But at some point, he lost count. Maybe because he was too relaxed, maybe because the drinks were stronger than they seemed. Or maybe because Jake made sure his glass was never empty.

The music had shifted to something more sensual, and the spaces between bodies grew smaller. Y/n leaned against the frame of one of the wide windows, feeling the night air against his skin. The alcohol's effects were showing: the edges of the room softened, voices blurred, thoughts slightly tangled.

And then he noticed.

Jake was still nearby. Too nearby.

All night, he seemed to be watching Y/n. Never directly—but from time to time, a quick glance, a directed comment, a constant presence in the same spaces. It wasn't aggressive, nor was it clear. But there was something there. An excessive care, a proximity that bordered on intimacy, even if wrapped in the same facade as always.

The strange thing was that this intimacy had never existed. They'd never been close. Not like that. And yet, Jake acted as if there were something between them that only he remembered. As if he were just resuming a familiarity that had never truly been built.

Y/n looked away, as if trying to regain control of his own space. But even without meeting his gaze directly, he knew Jake was still there, firm, smiling as if everything were perfectly in order.

And maybe it was. Or maybe not.

But in that world, that was the rule: you could never be certain of anything.

The night wore on, and gradually the number of guests began to dwindle. Those who knew the right time to leave—before the shine turned to weariness—began saying goodbye with soft hugs and empty promises of "see you soon." Y/n took the opportunity to circulate a bit more, exchange some basic pleasantries here and there, maintain the social posture he knew by heart.

But as the room emptied, other presences took up the space—more intense, more distracted. Certain substances began appearing naturally, passing between familiar hands, hidden behind loose laughter and wandering gazes. And suddenly, it all felt like too much.

Y/n needed air.

He wasn't the type to make a scene, much less allow himself vulnerabilities in public. So without anyone noticing, he slipped down one of the hallways until he found a slightly ajar door. He entered silently. It was one of the bedrooms—well-decorated, immaculate, almost impersonal, like the rest of the penthouse. He closed the door behind him and sat on the bed. A few seconds later, he lay down.

He wasn't exactly unwell. But he wasn't fine either. Everything felt stifling, as if the air had grown thicker. Jake's insistent gaze all night, the never-empty glass, the conversations that always demanded a response, a reaction, a version of himself. It was too much.

His head throbbed silently. The ceiling seemed farther away than it should. For a few minutes, Y/n let his mind go blank, float, trying to organize what he felt—or perhaps just distance himself from what he didn't want to think about.

And then, the door opened.

At first, Y/n didn't even register it. He was somewhere outside himself, numb, as if the world beyond had slowed to a crawl. He only realized he wasn't alone anymore when he heard the voice—low and sweet, almost too careful.

"Hey, Y/n?"

Jake.

He was there, beside the bed, his gaze too gentle for someone who—as far as anyone knew—never got this close. His presence, unexpectedly near, cut through the silence like a whisper loaded with something Y/n couldn't yet name.

And even as his body sank deeper into the mattress, motionless, his mind was now alert.

Because in that world, nothing happened by accident. Not even sincere concern. If that's what this was.

"Are you okay?"

Y/n nodded almost reflexively, his voice stuck in his throat.

"Just... not feeling too well," he murmured, quiet, as if speaking louder would upset what little stability remained. It wasn't a lie. His body felt too heavy, his head spun at an odd rhythm, and everything around him seemed slightly out of focus.

Jake didn't answer right away. He sat on the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on Y/n with an intensity that seemed kind but was something more. There was something hidden there—a concern that wasn't just concern.

"You drank too much," he said, almost accusatory. Then, softer: "Should've told me you weren't feeling well."

Y/n frowned slightly, trying to understand why, exactly, that would be Jake's responsibility. But he said nothing. Couldn't.

Jake continued:

"Enjoying the party?"

The question was simple, but loaded with expectation. Y/n blinked slowly, fighting to keep his eyes open. Before he could answer, Jake spoke again, his voice still low, sweet... but now a little tighter.

"Saw you talking a lot with that guy..." He tilted his head slightly. "You hook up with someone?"

Y/n took too long to process. The question felt misplaced, invasive. As if they were having a different conversation in a different context. He tried to sit up a little, but his body still weighed him down. And then he felt it.

That initial concern—so delicate—now sounded like something else. Control disguised as care. A subtle demand hidden in a sweet tone. As if every word had been chosen to seem harmless but carried something heavier underneath.

Jake kept his fingers there, lightly stroking Y/n's cheek. As if marking his presence. As if reminding Y/n—without saying it aloud—who was here, who had always been watching.

"Just wanna know if you had fun... with me around," he said, still wearing that contained smile.

It wasn't just curiosity. It was something between a warning and a reminder.

Y/n's stomach turned. His head was still foggy, his body still heavy, and now Jake was too close, too demanding. He was smiling, but it wasn't the same smile as before.

And in that moment, it became clear: this wasn't concern. It was surveillance.

And worst of all—Jake didn't seem at all inclined to leave.

Y/n shifted, restless. The discomfort wasn't just emotional anymore—it was physical. Jake's presence seemed to fill more space than the room allowed. What had been a quiet bedroom now felt claustrophobic. The air was thin. With a silent effort, Y/n tried to sit up, to push away the weight of the situation.

But the moment his elbows left the mattress, Jake acted.

One hand shoved him back down against the bed. Not a subtle gesture—direct, firm, making it clear this wasn't about care. It was control.

"Stay down."

The words were still polite, but the tone betrayed the tension beneath the facade. Jake's face remained aligned with the image of the perfect heir, the composed scion of old politics. But his eyes said something else: impatience, dominance. Something that wanted more than answers—it wanted certainty that Y/n knew his place.

Y/n stared up at him, surprised, his body still hesitant. His mind, muddled by alcohol and the night's atmosphere, struggled to process this clearly, but the alarm bells were ringing now. This was far from a normal conversation.

Jake leaned in, bracing one arm beside Y/n's head, closing even more of the space between them. His posture was carefully relaxed. But the proximity was invasive.

"You didn't answer my question." The words came sharp, with the coldness of someone who wouldn't tolerate being ignored. Not a request. A demand. "Did you hook up with anyone tonight?"

Y/n's silence was taken as provocation.

Jake didn't back off. If anything, he pressed closer.

"Because..." He murmured, that tense smile still on his lips, "honestly, I don't get what you're still looking for out there."

Then came the gesture that sealed it. Jake's hand went straight to Y/n's hair. His fingers moved slowly, almost as if fixing something out of place. But nothing was out of place—it was just an excuse to touch. An intimacy too familiar for the superficial relationship they had. Almost possessive. Almost a warning.

"You know there's no one here like me."

His voice stayed quiet, but weighted. There was a tension there, masked by the same veneer of good manners as always. Not an offhand comment. This was territorial.

Y/n swallowed hard.

The music, the laughter, the voices from the party seemed to have vanished. Everything now revolved around that presence—suffocating, constant. Jake was here. Too close. Too firm. And still smiling.

But there was nothing harmless in that smile anymore.

Suddenly, the hand that had been stroking Y/n's hair slid down to his face—fingers firm, pressing into the sides of his jaw, forcing him to maintain eye contact.

"Cat got your fucking tongue?"

The question cut through the air like a slap. No more polish, no more well-bred heir persona. Jake's mask had slipped, and what remained was pure, aggressive, direct control. The entire room seemed to shrink under the weight of those words.

Y/n looked away, his pulse racing, body rigid under a touch that was no longer ambiguous.

"Jake... you're drunk," he said, voice low, hesitant.

But it was obvious Jake was completely sober where it counted. His gaze was steady, his speech firm, his movements coldly calculated. No confusion or clumsiness in his actions—just intent.

Jake didn't respond.

Instead, his fingers trailed down, slow and deliberate, to the first button of Y/n's white shirt. He began undoing them, one by one, without hurry, as if exploring territory he already considered his.

The silence between them grew heavy, suffocating. The room remained isolated from the rest of the world, time seeming to slow. The tension was palpable—and above all, dangerous.

Because Jake knew exactly what he was doing. And he made sure Y/n knew that here, he set the pace.

The air in the bedroom grew thick, charged with the scent of expensive whiskey and Jake's woody cologne. His fingers—always so careful in public—now worked with brutal efficiency on Y/n's buttons, like a merchant unwrapping a package he already owned.

"Bet sluts like you love attention, don't you?" Jake murmured, his voice dripping like poisoned honey. His breath was hot against Y/n's face as he leaned closer. "Show up and suddenly everything has to be about you, huh?"

The second button came undone with an almost inaudible snap. Jake smiled, his dark amber eyes glinting with a light that didn't belong to the room.

"Think a little toy can go around denying what its owner decides?" The word "owner" came out like a whip, just as his fingers found the waistband of Y/n's pants.

Y/n tried to move, but his body wouldn't respond—whether from the alcohol, the shock, or something deeper he refused to name. Jake chuckled low, the sound vibrating against Y/n's neck.

"Look at you," he whispered, the zipper sliding down with an obscene noise in the quiet room. "Don't even need help. Already know your place."

His hand slipped beneath the fabric, finding heated skin. Jake exhaled, as if rediscovering something long lost.

"All this time pretending you didn't want it..." His grip tightened possessively, making Y/n arch. "But your body always knew the truth, didn't it?"

The touch was both intimate and cruel, as if Jake weren't exploring but verifying what he already owned. His eyes never left Y/n's face, watching every microexpression like a scientist observing an experiment.

"Should've seen your face when I invited you," he continued, fingers now toying with Y/n's waistband, pushing it down in slow, deliberate motions. "Everyone watching. Everyone knowing." A calculated pause. "You liked it, didn't you? Knowing I wanted you here."

Y/n tried to speak, but only a rough sound escaped. Jake smiled, satisfied.

"Don't answer." His free hand gripped Y/n's chin, forcing their eyes to meet. "We've got all night for you to learn to say 'thank you.'"

Y/n froze, his body tense yet strangely pliant, as if some deep part of him already understood resistance was futile. His lips were slightly parted, his breathing uneven, his gaze locked on Jake's face—half desire, half dominion.

Jake didn't waste time.

With one rough motion, he yanked Y/n's pants down, exposing him to the cool air of the bedroom. He was already hard, precum glistening at the tip, and Jake didn't hesitate—he gripped the back of Y/n's neck and shoved his cock down that warm throat in one thrust.

"Open wider, whore," Jake snarled, fingers tangling in Y/n's hair as he pushed deeper, making him gag. Spit spilled from the corners of his mouth, tears springing to his eyes, but Jake gave no quarter.

"That's it, take it all, you fucking slut," Jake groaned, hips snapping forward, burying himself to the hilt, his coarse pubes grinding against Y/n's nose. "This what you wanted? All that attention?"

Y/n could barely breathe, his hands fisting the sheets, his body trembling between shock and submission. But for some reason, he didn't fight. Didn't try to shove Jake away. Just accepted it, as if some part of him had always known this was inevitable.

Jake grinned, triumphant, yanking Y/n's head back to stare into his eyes while fucking his mouth without mercy.

"Gonna swallow every drop, pretty boy. Every last one."

Y/n didn't realize when he started sucking in earnest. It was instinctive, like his body knew what to do even as his mind scrambled to process. His lips sealed around Jake's cock, tongue lapping at the salty precum as his head began to move, trying to please.

Jake let out a ragged moan, his grip tightening in Y/n's hair.

"Fuck, you learn fast," he growled, pulling Y/n's head back just to slam forward again, dragging his cock over that willing tongue. "Already sucking like a trained little cockslut."

Y/n could barely think, his body hot and pliant, but when Jake thrust deep again, forcing his throat to open, he choked, tears spilling over. Drool dripped down his chin, making an even bigger mess, but Jake didn't stop.

"Swallow it, bitch," he ordered, pounding into Y/n's mouth with brutal strokes. "Take it."

When Jake finally pulled out, leaving Y/n gasping and dripping, he grabbed his chin, forcing their eyes to meet.

"Now that you've got the mouth down," Jake murmured, rubbing the head of his cock over Y/n's swollen lips, "time you learned how to take a cock in that tight little ass."

Y/n's eyes widened, but Jake was already hauling him up by the hips, flipping him onto his stomach like a doll.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," he whispered, spitting into his palm and slicking himself up. "I'll make it fit."

And Y/n, somehow, already knew there was no choice left.

When Y/n blinked, he was on his stomach, fingers clawing at the obscenely expensive silk sheets of Jake's bed. His tailored slacks—the ones that cost more than a waiter's monthly salary—were bunched around his knees, trapping him like fabric handcuffs, leaving only his ass exposed to the dim bedroom light. His skin prickled with awareness as Jake positioned himself behind him, a predator moving in for the final strike.

Jake took his time. Spitting into his own hand with a crudeness that would've been vulgar anywhere else but here, in this locked penthouse bedroom, felt as natural as pouring an 18-year-old whiskey. His wet fingers rubbed over Y/n's tight hole, making him shiver.

"Gonna hurt less if you relax," Jake murmured, his voice equal parts threat and promise, as the thick head of his cock pressed against resistant muscle. "Still gonna hurt, though."

When he pushed in, it was like a banker closing a hostile deal—slow enough to be deliberate, hard enough to brook no negotiation. Y/n bit back a scream, his fingers destroying the expensive sheets, his teeth sinking into his own bottom lip until he tasted blood.

Jake gave him a cruelly short moment to adjust, his hands gripping Y/n's hips like handles. When he started moving, every thrust was a lesson, a territorial claim.

"Look at you," Jake rasped, watching Y/n's body give way beneath him, molding to his. "All prim and proper at the party, and now?" A sharp snap of his hips. "Just a ruined little slut on my cock."

Y/n tried to muffle his moans in the pillow, but Jake yanked his head back by the hair, forcing out a broken sound.

Jake wasn't gentle.

Every movement was a declaration, a brand made with his entire body—as if he needed to carve the truth into Y/n's skin: he was owned now.

And against all reason, Y/n stopped resisting.

The sounds spilling from his lips weren't protests anymore, but surrender, need. Broken, shameless, desperate—as if every noise was another piece of his defiance being ripped away.

This wasn't the Jake he knew. This was someone darker, more possessive, more real. And no matter how much Y/n tried not to think about it, his body responded like it had always belonged to him.

"Such a pretty little thing," Jake growled, crushing their mouths together in a wet, sloppy kiss. Spit smeared across Y/n's lips, mixing them together. "Finally admitting you're just a whore, huh?"

The pace turned punishing, each thrust deeper, harder, more claiming. Jake dug his fingers into Y/n's jaw, marking the bone beneath.

"Gonna come together, yeah?" His voice was rough, wrecked with lust. "Know you're close. Be a good toy for me."

Y/n could feel his own orgasm building, his body tightening in response to Jake’s relentless rhythm. He was so close—so close—and Jake knew it, his thrusts growing sharper, more erratic.

"Come on, baby," Jake panted against his ear, his voice breaking. "Come with me."

And then it hit them both at once—Y/n’s body arched, his release crashing over him like a wave, his moan muffled against the sheets. Jake followed instantly, burying himself deep as he came, his groan raw and unfiltered against Y/n’s skin.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of their ragged breathing, the heat between them, the weight of Jake’s body pressing Y/n into the mattress.

Then, as if flipping a switch, Jake moved.

"Should go say goodbye to everyone," he said, his voice already smoothing back into the perfect host's cadence, like the last hour never happened. He stood, his cock still glistening where it brushed Y/n's thigh, and cleaned up with a casual swipe, like an artist wiping his hands after a painting. "Can't just disappear."

Y/n didn't answer. Couldn't. Just closed his eyes, his body heavy, his mind hazy.

Jake smiled, adjusting his shirt, his hair, everything back into place.

"Get some rest, okay?" Soft, almost tender. "I'll be back soon." A pause. "You were such a good boy. Did so well."

Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

From outside, Jake's voice carried, bright and animated, mixing with the remaining guests' laughter, the clink of champagne flutes, the soft music. As if nothing had changed. As if he were still just the perfect Jake everyone knew.

And Y/n, as sleep pulled him under, couldn't tell which version was real anymore.

Or if, in the end, they both were.

note: hey! that's my first time writing something like this, so please be nice :) english is not my first language, so im sorry if something sounds off or weird! bye

#enhypen x male reader #kpop x male reader #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #sim jaeyun x male reader #jake x male reader #kpop smut #jake x reader #jake sim #sim jaeyun #luke fics :)#enhypen smut #jake x yn

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mosaickiwi · 3 months ago

Note

Hey hey !!! Just wanted to say I really appreciate your writing, reading a fic of yours always brings me comfort :D

I was wondering if you’d be okay doing a body swap! AU between Angel and Ren/Redacted. You’re welcome to take whatever approach you deem fit, I’m curious as to what you come up with

thank you !!!

Thank you very much <33 Taking this as a warm up so I can remember wtf i'm doing!! So it's a HC list with a little blurb :3c most of my writing the past four months has been for my own projects/personal use lmao

Also happy day 5 yayyy yippee 🎉

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

Body Swap!!

[REDACTED] in your body?? Thriving

Fascinated and loving it. Since they've been studying you for years he knows all the little physical quirks you have, but now he gets to experience them himself and it's weirdly exciting.

Additionally, NO ONE would realize anything was wrong. Acting like you would be even easier than getting into character for Haruko. Except he might not be able to help himself and do a little friendship sabotaging.

He's being extremely weird in private if you give him permission lmao

A little unsure of physical affection at first because of the self loathing. Of course he still wants it, but being on the other side of things has his thoughts all "that's how my scars feel to you? my hands are really this cold?" Notes for himself to keep plenty of hand warmers in his pockets.

Puts the collar of their shirt over his mouth like he's cold… but it's really just a quick excuse to sniff your clothes outright in public I'm so sorry.

You in his body?? Suffering

You bump your head on door frames, constantly hit your hip on counters, trip in your platform shoes if you're not used to them.

You're tired all the time??? You knew they hardly slept but it was THIS bad? The constant coffee and energy drinks are the only reason you don't fall asleep in the middle of conversations.

Piercings feel weird too if your angel doesn't have them. Constantly touching your tongue to the roof of your mouth, fiddling with your ears, etc.

Unaware of your new strength. Picking up furniture is surprisingly easy. You probably broke a door lock when turning the key with a little too much force.

Your friends are dismissive and standoffish with you. Can you blame them? At best he ignores them, and at worst you have to be physically between them (but closer to [REDACTED]) to keep both parties happy.

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

"Watch your head," you heard from in front of you.

You carefully ducked into the doorway to your apartment. It was hard to get used to your new height — and almost as hard to get used to hearing someone else use your voice.

The same couldn't be said of your partner. Not even thirty minutes had passed since the unfortunate incident, but [REDACTED] already seemed at home in your body. As if it was natural to him.

While you panicked about suddenly swapping bodies in the middle of a hangout with your friends, he calmly made a plan. All you could do was follow along.

You'd observed them, dumbfounded as they perfectly mimicked your personality and mannerisms. He'd excused you both from the carnival early, and gotten you home without a hint of suspicion from anyone. It was unexpected and illogical, but his obsession with you clearly paid off.

No one seemed to notice — or care, since they weren't friends with him — that the pissed off emo their friend dragged around looked crazier than usual as you both left.

The door shut as you stumbled into the living room like a newborn fawn, your now shorter partner hovering at your side. How did he manage to wear three-inch platform boots while this tall? You tripped your way over to the couch with a sigh.

"I'm calling in sick tomorrow," you groaned into the armrest. The couch felt even more uncomfortable in his body. Inviting him over just to let him sleep on the couch one too many times probably warranted an apology.

"We should be back t'normal in a few hours."

"Is that what WebDR said?" There was no response, but you threw out another question. "I guess we could kill time and watch a movie, what do you think?"

Again, he didn't answer. You heard the faintest sound of your phone vibrating and searched every inch of your outfit. When you found his phone instead, you sat up to look for him.

The temporary owner of your body was standing just beside the couch, your phone still ringing in their hand, but his thumb hovering dangerously close to the screen. There was an annoyed frown on his face… your face?

"Leon's calling," he finally said.

"Oh my god." You jumped up to snatch the phone away and hurriedly declined the call.

Your partner's frown quickly turned to amusement at the situation. "Y'don't trust me t'play nice with him?"

"When you're using my voice? Fuck no." You texted an apology to Leon for leaving early, lied about your throat hurting so he wouldn't call back, then hid the device in one of your many pockets. "Oh wow."

"What's wrong?"

"... Nothing, I guess."

Staring down at your own face this closely was… off. You reached forward and grabbed their chin, turning it every which way as if something about it would change.

"You really get to look at me from all the worst angles when you're this tall, huh?" you hummed to yourself.

"And y'look perfect at every single one, love."

God, he was awful. "Ignoring you."

#14 days with you #14dwy redacted #14dwy #momo reqs #it's short-ish?#if i made it longer it'd just completely morph into my angel lmao #if anyone's played day 5... hehehehehehehe #<- this is not a hehe that would imply there's day 5 spoilers in the fic /gen #BUT IF YOU PLAYED DAY 5...... i will happily take requests on any ideas it gave :3c #prommy it won't take me 6 months to post #also go do this quiz i made with a friend hang on how do i link in tags #it's in my pinnedddd

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andy-15-07 · 5 months ago

Text

Under the Mexican Sun

request sent by @lloydmustache:Pedro x reader, dating for almost a year. They're spending their first Christmas in Mexico with their friends, keeping their relationship as private as possible; yet they get spotted by a few fans once one of their friends posted on Instagram how cheesey Pedro is around her.

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 964 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

A/N:Hi, I know this fic is a bit late and I apologize but the request was sent recently, I hope you like it

The warm, salty breeze of the Mexican coastline greeted you as you stepped off the plane, your hand instinctively finding Pedro’s. Almost a year of dating, and this was your first Christmas together—a milestone you both cherished, even if you were trying to keep it under wraps.

“You sure they won’t post anything?” you teased, glancing at Pedro as he pulled his cap lower over his eyes, trying to stay incognito.

“I’ll bribe them with tequila if I have to,” he chuckled, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “But seriously, they know the drill.”

Your friends had been sworn to secrecy. The plan was simple: a low-key holiday with close friends, no paparazzi, no public declarations. But you both knew that secrecy and Pedro didn’t always mix well.

The rented beach house was everything you could have hoped for—spacious, with large windows that let in the golden light of the setting sun. The sound of waves crashing nearby became the perfect soundtrack to your holiday escape.

“This place is perfect,” you sighed, dropping your bags and stretching out on the couch.

Pedro flopped down beside you, pulling you into his arms. “Almost as perfect as you,” he murmured against your hair, making you laugh.

The days blended into a beautiful, sun-soaked rhythm. Mornings were spent lounging in hammocks, afternoons exploring local markets, and evenings filled with laughter, music, and just the right amount of tequila. Pedro was effortlessly charming, his usual wit and warmth amplified by the relaxed atmosphere.

But it was the little things that gave him away. The way his eyes followed you when you weren’t looking, the soft touches that lingered longer than they should have if you were "just friends." Your friends noticed, of course—how could they not?

One evening, as you sat around a bonfire on the beach, your friend Maria snapped a candid photo. You were leaning into Pedro, both of you laughing at something he’d whispered in your ear. It was innocent enough, or so you thought.

“Don’t post that,” Pedro warned, pointing a playful finger at Maria.

“Relax, it’s just for us,” she grinned, but the mischievous glint in her eyes said otherwise.

The next morning, you woke to your phone buzzing incessantly. Groggy, you reached over Pedro to grab it, your heart sinking as you saw the flood of notifications.

“Babe,” you whispered, nudging him awake. “I think we’ve been outed.”

Pedro groaned, rolling over to squint at your screen. There it was—Maria’s Instagram story. A quick, blurry video of Pedro wrapping his arms around you, nuzzling into your neck as you laughed. The caption read: When Pedro Pascal turns into a total cheeseball around her.

“Maria,” Pedro muttered, sitting up and raking a hand through his hair. “She’s buying all the drinks tonight.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even as the anxiety bubbled in your chest. “It’s kind of cute, though. Look at all these comments… they love us.”

“They love you,” he corrected, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Guess there’s no hiding now.”

Later that day, as you strolled through a local market, you felt the first pair of eyes on you. Then another. Whispers followed, and soon enough, a brave fan approached.

“Pedro? Oh my God, can we get a picture?”

Pedro glanced at you, his expression softening. “Only if she’s in it too,” he said, pulling you closer.

The floodgates opened after that. Photos, autographs, and well-wishes from fans who were more excited about your relationship than you could have imagined. And while it wasn’t the private holiday you’d planned, it was perfect in its own way.

That night, back at the beach house, Pedro pulled you onto the balcony, the ocean shimmering under the moonlight.

“I know this isn’t how we planned it,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours, “but I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“Me neither,” you smiled, your heart full.

And as he kissed you, the world faded away—just you, Pedro, and the love that no amount of secrecy could hide.

The next morning, you and Pedro decided to embrace the newfound attention with humor. Over breakfast, Maria sheepishly slid into her seat, avoiding Pedro’s mock stern gaze.

“So,” he began, dramatically clearing his throat, “about that Instagram story...”

Maria raised her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay! I’ll admit it—I couldn’t resist. You two were just too cute.”

“You’re lucky we love you,” you teased, nudging her playfully.

“Drinks are on me tonight,” she promised, grinning. “Consider it an early Christmas gift.”

That evening, your group ventured out to a local beachfront bar. The atmosphere was lively, filled with music, laughter, and the rhythmic crashing of waves. Pedro kept his arm around you, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your shoulder, a silent declaration of his affection.

As the night wore on, more fans approached—each interaction was met with Pedro’s signature charm and warmth. He introduced you with pride, never shying away from showing how much you meant to him.

“You know,” he whispered in your ear as you danced under the stars, “I think I like being your public boyfriend.”

You laughed, resting your head against his chest. “Good, because I’m not letting you go.”

The final night of your trip arrived too quickly. As you packed, Pedro pulled you aside, his eyes serious but filled with love.

“This year with you has been the best of my life,” he said softly, cupping your face in his hands. “I can’t wait to see what’s next for us.”

“Me neither,” you whispered, your heart swelling with emotion.

As you boarded the plane back home, hand in hand, you knew that no matter where life took you—whether in the spotlight or in quiet, stolen moments—you and Pedro were in it together, for all the Christmases to come.

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bellsyeager · 2 months ago

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Beg for It

eren x reader, frat boy eren ofc, toxic eren, he low key obsessed

summary: Eren Yeager might be a player to everyone else, but when it comes to you, he’s on his knees—desperate, begging, and completely ruined by your touch. What starts as teasing foreplay quickly unravels into raw, messy sex, where he can’t stop moaning your name or swearing he’ll do anything just to keep feeling you. Cocky in public, wrecked in private—he’s yours, and he loves every second of it.

Warnings: Contains NSFW content (18+), explicit sexual content, teasing foreplay, begging, light power play, dominant reader, submissive Eren, and rough but consensual sex.

⋆༺𓆩🗝️⚔🪽𓆪༻⋆ ⋆༺𓆩🗝️⚔🪽

Everyone knew Eren Yeager was a flirt.

He had charm, swagger, and a body he knew how to use — and he used it recklessly. But all that arrogance? That smooth-talking, cocky bastard everyone else saw?

It shattered the second he was alone with you.

Right now, he was beneath you on the bed, arms spread, shirt halfway off, lips parted in soft little gasps as you dragged your tongue slowly down his chest.

“F-Fuck—baby, please,” he whined, hips twitching upward, aching for more contact. His cock strained against his boxers, twitching at even the lightest brush of your hand. “You’re teasing me on purpose.”

You hummed, lips curling as you kissed just below his navel.

“Of course I am,” you whispered. “You always act like you’re in control. Thought I’d remind you who really is.”

He moaned when your fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his boxers, teasing the base of his cock without giving him the release he craved. You watched him fall apart in real time — all that confidence crumbling under your slow, deliberate touch.

“You always this needy?” you asked, voice low and wicked as your hand slowly, finally, wrapped around him.

Eren’s head fell back against the pillows. His thighs trembled.

“Only with you,” he groaned. “Fuck—nobody else does this to me. Nobody makes me beg like this.”

You stroked him slowly, thumb circling the tip, watching his whole body react — shivering, twitching, helpless.

“Then beg.”

He whimpered.

“Please,” he gasped, hips jerking into your hand. “Please let me touch you. Please ride me. I need you so fucking bad. I can’t take it anymore, baby, please—”

You pulled his boxers down the rest of the way, letting his cock slap up against his stomach, thick and aching and already leaking. Then you stood up, stripped out of your own clothes slowly — and his hungry eyes never left your body for a second.

The second you climbed back on top of him and sank down onto him, Eren let out a broken moan so loud it echoed off the walls.

“Shit—!” he gasped, hands flying to your hips, nails digging in as he tried to ground himself. “You feel like heaven. You always do. You fuckin’ ruin me.”

You started to move — slow at first, grinding down, making him feel every inch. He was already wrecked, eyes glazed, mouth open, begging without words.

“You gonna fall apart just from this?” you teased. “Didn’t even last a full minute yet.”

“Don’t stop,” he pleaded, voice shaking. “You feel too good. I’ll do anything you want. Just don’t stop.”

You sped up, fucking him hard, deep — the slap of skin, the filthy sounds of wet heat, and his desperate moans filling the air.

“Say it again,” you whispered.

“Please—fuck—I need you, I need you, I need you—”

He came hard, crying out your name like it was the only thing he knew, and you kept going, milking every twitch, every gasp, until he was left trembling, shaking beneath you.

When you finally let him rest, his face was buried in your chest, breath hot and uneven.

“You win,” he whispered. “You fucking win. I’m yours.”

And he meant every word.

⋆༺𓆩🗝️⚔🪽𓆪༻⋆ ⋆༺𓆩🗝️⚔🪽

#eren yeager #eren jaeger #aot fanfiction #attack on titan #aot smut #anime #eren smut #jean smut #jean kirstein #armin smut #frat boy #eren jeager x reader #x reader #smut reader #university #levi ackerman #aot x reader

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itsmarsss · 1 year ago

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Vulgar Display of Power [Miguel Diaz x fem!Reader] (Cobra Kai)

You can never fucking beat him in a fight and it's getting frustrating.

Request: omg more miguel please!!! smutty if u can xx already dating if you want? Fic title comes from my (second) favorite Pantera album. Word count: 4,350 Warnings: SMUT. established relationship, theres plot but it only serves to justify the sex lol, i use present tense in this, degrading, first time sub!miguel kind of, handjob, fingering, oral sex, penetration (p in v), semi-public sex (i guess? no one's around but the location isn't exactly private), a lot of use of pet names (baby, babe, love, mi amor), so much swearing. obviously no one is a minor here I don't mention much context but can be read as hs senior year or later, doesn't really matter. if you're a minor kindly keep away from my blog and this fic please

“Fuck!” You yell out as Sensei Lawrence announces Miguel’s win. In turn of your frustration, Miguel sports a grin that playfully mocked you.

Now don’t get it twisted, you’re not a bad fighter. You’re not even a good one- you’re great. The best, except for…

“Diaz! Good one.” Sensei Lawrence praises.

“Nice, dude!” Hawk comes to fist bump him.

Tory comes to you. “Girl get it together! You’re better than that!”

“I’m fucking trying.”

Miguel hears the two of you talking and decides to insert himself into the conversation. “Come on, it’s not a big deal.”

“I say this with love but it is a big deal and I’m gonna find a way to beat you.”

“Okay. Whatever you say.”

[. . .]

“Hey,” you hear Miguel call from behind you, turning around for a split second to look at him before getting back to packing your stuff to leave the dojo.

“Hey.”

“So, are we still on for tonight?”

“Yeah. I just wanna go home first and take a shower.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “Hey are you okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“Something seems… weird.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, babe,” you tell him, bringing a hand to his face and lightly tapping his cheek.

“You sure?”

“Yes! I just said it is!” You realize you blew up at him for no reason, immediately feeling bad for it and apologizing, not managing to look at him. “Sorry.”

“See? That’s what I mean!”

“I really am sorry.”

“Okay, but something’s clearly wrong.”

You stay silent, and he walks up to you, cornering you so you’d face him.

“What’s going on?”

Honestly, you don’t want to tell him. Because it would sound stupid. Because it is stupid. You don’t even exactly know why it had gotten so under your skin this time.

“It’s fine. I’m just a bit off today.”

“You don’t have to talk about it, but you don't have to lie either.”

“Fine. You wanna know what’s wrong? I’m frustrated because you keep beating me.”

“What?”

“Every single time we’re picked to fight I just can’t fucking beat you. And yes, I’m glad you don’t go easy on me, cause that would be like a million times worse, but I'm frustrated with myself. You’re the only one I've never fully beat in a match. The closest I’ve ever gotten to that was a tie.”

“Well most of the time it ends up in a tie.”

“Yeah but none of the time did it end with me winning.”

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset about this.”

“Of course you don’t. I just feel like if I still can’t beat you then have I really been getting better?”

“What? That’s nonsense, babe. You know that, right? Of course you’ve been getting better. We all have.”

“See I told you it would be stupid. I don't even know why I'm feeling this way.”

“That’s okay. We can just sort that out.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll ask sensei for the keys.”

“What?”

“We’re gonna stay here and fight and we’re not gonna leave until you win.”

“That’s really not what I was trying to get from this-”

“What, are you scared?” He knew just how to tug on your strings.

“Oh fuck no.”

“Then we’re doing this.”

“But what about the date?”

“We can go tomorrow. If you need my help today, I'll help you today.”

“Okay.”

[. . .]

“Alright, ready?”

You only nod your head yes, too focused to even speak.

“Okay. Round one.”

You get a couple punches in, but he’s faster than most of your hits. He wins..

You huff, annoyed. “Again.”

“Again.”

“Okay that’s it. Again.”

This time, determination runs through your veins, as tired as you were. Every single moment of feeling weak or inferior or as though you were seen by others as basically the female equivalent of Miguel, and not yourself, not someone capable of being better than him in any way, channeled into this round.

And you won. This time, you fucking won.

“Wait that’s three,” you realize.

“Yeah! You won!” Miguel celebrates.

“What?”

“You won, babe!”

“Oh my God. Holy fucking shit. I won?!”

He laughs, coming up to you. “You did.” He places a quick kiss on your lips, but you’re taken over by the adrenaline, pulling him back to you by the collar of his shirt when he went to pull away, tangling him into another kiss, deeper and more passionate this time around. “That was hot,” he comments, as you finally did let him part ways with you to breathe, your bodies still flushed together.

You feel your cheeks burn at his comment. “I just kicked your ass,” you joke.

He doesn’t even seem fazed by the comment. “Yeah you did,” he grins.

“I did not expect that to unlock some sort of loser kink in you.”

“Hey! That’s not what this is!”

You lift an eyebrow, amused.

“What, you’re telling me it’s a crime if my insanely hot girlfriend looks insanely hot while kicking my ass?”

“Should I kick your ass more often then?”

“You’re welcome to.”

“You’re so weird.”

“Shut up,” he retorts, finally having enough of the playful bantering, unable to wait a second longer to have your lips on his again.

Miguel pulls you even closer to him- if that were even possible- by pulling on your waist, not wasting a second more before diving in again, pulling you into a kiss that is much more feral this time around. His actions scream that he wants you, and the high from having reached your goal and beat him in the last round mixed with the lust forming in you from seeing him so affected, so attracted to this, it feels good.

You suppose some people would maybe come into an issue if they found themselves in your place. Men aren’t exactly known for being great at dealing with women being better than them in… well, anything. But Miguel acted genuinely proud of you. Hell, he’d canceled your date night to help you with this because he realized it was important to you. And more than being supportive, he was turned on by your display of power.

His kisses start trailing out of your lips, to your jaw, to the space below your ear. “You did so well, love. You should get something in turn, huh?”

Your mind was getting a bit foggy. Still, you join in playing his game. “I suppose I should. What are you gonna do?”

“Whatever you want me to,” he breathes out. Oh. That was definitely new.

“Whatever I want?” He only nods, looking up at you, waiting to be told what to do. Holy shit, that was hot. “That sounds good.”

“Just tell me, please, I’ll make you feel so good, I promise,” he pleads. It was almost pathetic. You decide you’d never get enough of hearing him plead like that. You loved the times in which he was more dominant, but you could definitely get behind this too, no issues whatsoever.

You pretend to think. “I don’t think I will.”

“What? Why not?”

“I want you to guess.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I- Uh- Ih-” he takes a deep breath. He liked that. You smiled. “I can do that.”

“Good boy,” you try, hoping he didn’t find it weird.

Apparently, he didn’t. “Fuck. Fuck,” he lets out in almost strangled sounds, wordlessly dropping himself to the floor. He looks up at you with doe eyes, as if pleading for permission. You smile at him, signaling everything was okay. You cage his jaw with both your hands, and he closes his eyes for a moment, letting you play with his hair.

“You look so pretty like this,” you coo, and he feels it down his spine, his eyes fluttering open.

“Sit.”

“What?”

“Sit,” he repeats himself, but it isn’t demanding. Not this time.

“I heard you.”

“Sit, please, baby.”

You grin. You didn’t know you’d like this this much. “Of course, baby.” You sit down on the bench, legs closed. He parts them confidently, eyes not leaving yours as he does so slowly, positioning his body between them. With his face mere inches from yours, he looks up at you again.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” He guesses. His cheeks red, he clearly looks embarrassed. It turned him on and it turned you on too.

You nod eagerly, signaling he’d guessed right. He smiles and closes the distance between you, pulling you down and attaching his lips to yours. It starts out slow, tender, experimental- testing the waters. He grows eager pretty fast, though, kissing you harder, his hands traveling to either of your thighs and planting themselves there firmly, squeezing in a way that makes you gasp slightly in surprise.

He pulls away just to tease you about it. That’s the kind of little shit he is.

“What was that for?”

“Nothing.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Not this then?”

He squeezes your thigh again and you try to act unbothered.” He notices though, pleased with himself.

“Oh shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He pulls you into a kiss again with no warning, more feral than before, his hand traveling upwards, inside the legs of the shorts you were wearing.

“Take it off,” you pant out, a stern tone overtaking your words, and he complies without questioning. You smile, pleased with that. You lift your hips slightly for him and he throws the shorts somewhere on the floor behind you.

He stares at your underwear for a few moments, as if lost in a trance. You laugh. “Hello? You here?”

“Yeah. Sorry. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.”

“Used to what?” You move a hand to caress his face.

“The fact that I’m the only one who gets to see you like this.”

“Aw, do you like that, baby? Does it turn you on?” You ask, your tone almost mocking him.

He only nods his head yes, looking embarrassed.

“That’s good.” You make a show to slowly take off your shirt, a sudden surge of confidence running through your veins at his words, discarding it along with the shorts behind you. His eyes widen and he mumbles a few words, the volume of his words so low you couldn’t make it out for the life of you, before he just surges forward again, not aiming for your lips this time, but for your jaw.

“What was that?” You manage to breathe out as he continues his trail of kisses along your jaw.

“What?”

“If you’re gonna talk you’re gonna let me hear it. Got it?”

“Oh-okay.” He continues to place quick, slight pecks along your jawline, but you know exactly what he’s doing.

“You’re not distracting me from that. I wanna know what you said, baby. Wanna hear you.”

“I said- I said uh-“ he gulps. “It’s dumb.”

“That’s okay.”

“I just said ‘fuck me’.”

You let out a small laugh. “Oh. It was dumb,” you mock him again, and you can see he didn’t expect that.

“What?”

“I though you wanted to fuck me,” you joke.

He doesn’t take it as a joke. “I do. I do I just meant- it was just-“ oh. This was for real.

“I know, love. I was just teasing you. Okay? You’re being so good to me.”

His eyes almost sparkle at the praise.

“You know I think I changed my mind.”

“What?”

“Maybe I should fuck you.”

“What do you mean?”

You look down on him and smile, a genuine sweet smile. “Get up.”

“But-“

“I thought you said you’d do whatever i wanted you to,” you fake-pout.

He doesn’t say a word before standing back up. You do the same, keeping your body flushed to his. You slowly turn the two of you around, cornering him until the back of his knees hit the bench and pushing him to sit down on it.

Standing in front of him, you tilt your head to the side as you take in the view. He looked disheveled as ever. You loved it. “I think you’re wearing too many clothes.

“I- I can take it off.”

“Yeah I think you should.”

“What… what do you want me to take off?”

“Let’s go with the shirt first, baby. How about that?”

He nods furiously. “Yeah I can do that,” he takes his shirt off in a millisecond, throwing it with your clothes on the floor.

“Oh, you look so pretty,” you coo, stepping closer to him and lifting his chin up to look at you. You make your way around the bench to be behind him, and you can see him gulp in anticipation. Fuck, you were loving this a little too much. You trace his biceps with your finger. “Your arms, I love your arms, you know that? So big and strong,” you exaggerate, and he quirks an eyebrow at the suspicious comment. This doesn’t sound like it was getting to a nice praising place. “And your body, I mean your abs. Your thighs, your thighs are so pretty, baby,” you crouch a bit, still behind him, wrapping yourself around his back so you could snake your arms to his thighs, still only tracing them with a single finger. “So how come you lost to me like a bitch?”

That seems to remind him very well of what was happening.

“It- it was one time.”

“One time you lost to me. But you’ve barely ever won, have you?”

He stays quiet.

“Come on, baby, talk to me…” you pout, snaking your arms around his torso and kissing his neck.

“N-no.”

“Did you like that you lost to me baby?”

Quiet again.

“Did it turn you on?” You whisper in his ear and you can feel him take in big a breath. .

He couldn’t even look at you .

“Oh, pretty boy, I wanna hear your voice!”

He gulps again. “It- it turned me on,” he confesses.

“I never knew you were into this sort of thing.”

“Me- me neither.”

“Do you like it when I’m stronger than you? When I tell you what to do?”

You remove yourself from his body entirely, and he whips his head at record speed to look at you, desperate for your touch again. You circle the bench once again, standing in front of him. You grab his jaw and lifts his head up to look at you, your other hand messing with his hair. “So pathetic. I’ve barely done anything to you and you’re this hard.”

You finally sit yourself down on his thighs, legs on either side of his torso, and he immediately and instinctively grabs your ass ‘for support’ as he’s always insisted with a grin.

“You’re so fucking pathetic you’ll do anything I tell you to. Won’t you?” You pout, tilting your head.

“I’ll- I’ll do anything you want.”

“That’s a good boy,” you mess with and pet his hair again. You loved it when it was just long enough for his curls to appear.

He shivers. “Can you say it again?”

“Oh, no can do, baby. You’ll have to keep being a good boy to earn it.”

“I’ll- I’ll be a good boy, okay?”

You nod silently, your arms draped around his neck, and you pull yourself closer to get access to his face. You kiss along his jawline slowly, paying extra attention to the spots just under his ears, which made him shiver like crazy. When you find it sufficient, you move down to his neck, and he lets you, tilting his head to the side. You kiss down his neck, trying your best to not leave any marks. He’s still shivering now, and you know him well enough to know he’s okay, but can’t resist teasing him a bit more.

“Oh no, baby, you’re trembling! Is everything okay?” You feign ignorance. He doesn’t reply. “Aw are you too horny to speak to me? Is that the issue?” You mock.

He lifts his hips for some friction, an involuntary tell that he was enjoying this too. “Aw, do you like it when I’m mean to you? Huh?” You lift his chin again. He begrudgingly nods his head yes. You smile and move your hand from his chin to his cheeks, squeezing both off them. “Does my baby like it when I’m in control? When I handle you like this? When I call you names?”

He tries to reply, but can’t really with you squeezing his face like that.

“Oh I can’t hear you baby!” You let go of his face. “You’re gonna have to say it again.”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I- I like it when you’re mean to me.”

“I know, baby boy. I can feel it.” With no other warning, you palm him through his shorts. He was impossibly hard. Knowing he was liking this was for sure improving your confidence. The moment your hand meets his crotch his breathing becomes unsteady and he thrusts his hips up again, wanting more. You start kissing along his neck as you keep feeling him up through the shorts, and then he is gone. He lets himself let out delicious moans you would play on repeat if you could, tilting his head back to grant you better access to his neck. He wants more, and you know he does. But you want to hear him say it.

After a few minutes, he does.

“Please take it off.”

You press a gentle kiss to his neck, containing a grin. “What are you talking about, babe?”

“My shorts, take them off, please. Please, take them off.”

You press a quick peck on his lips this time. “You beg so pretty, baby. I think I’ll need more of that.”

He looks confused.

“Anything I tell you, right?”

He nods.

“Good. Eat me out.”

His eyes widen at the bluntness of it all. And then he realizes what you meant by needing more of his begging: you weren’t going to solve his little problem all that soon.

“I- yes. Yeah.”

You pull yourself off of him and he stands up as quickly as humanly possible, grabbing your hand and yanking you to Sensei’s office, rushing to move everything that was on his desk. You catch his drift and pull yourself up to sit on it. You’re so enthralled you don’t even really have the time to rethink what you’re doing and where you are. Miguel gets himself on his knees, and the sight of it from above is breathtaking.

“Are you sure you wanna be on your knees? They’re gonna hurt.” You ask him, seriously this time.

“I don’t care,” is all he says, dismissing the thought. He pulls you closer to the edge of the desk, and you let yourself lean back on your elbows. He brings a hand up your thigh and takes off your underwear, you lift your hips up to help.

He brings both his hands to your thighs, slowly pulling them apart, opening your legs.

He wastes no time before diving in, startling you when, in a second, his head is between your thighs while his hands squeeze them hard and his mouth is suddenly on you.

He moves his tongue up and down your clit, occasionally circling around it. Now and then he takes a long lick, from your hole to your clit, letting out a moan from time to time as he tastes you, and he picks up on the shaky breaths and loud moans you let out at that (and the way your hands fly to his hair, slightly pulling it.)

He moves his tongue to your hole, licking and kissing around it before getting it inside.

It makes you almost want to scream out his name.

“Oh my god. You’re being so good to me, baby. Please don’t stop-”

You can feel his smile.

He takes one of his hands off of your thigh and moves it to thumb at your clit as he keeps fucking you with his tongue. The feeling is heavenly, but you can’t help but want more.

“Your fingers.” Is all you say, and he gets it.

Normally in a situation like this he’d be teasing you in some way, but right now just the thought of upsetting you with that and having you leaving him to finish himself off, or something down that lane, got him quiet.

He changes what he’s doing, going back to flicking your clit with his tongue, and slowly inserting one of his fingers. You decide you want to tease a bit more. “That all you got?” You challenge him, knowing exactly what you’re doing. He inserts another finger, not taking the care to do it slowly this time, and he pushes them deep inside you, curling them upwards to make sure you felt it.

You let out a moan that’s so pornographic you’re almost embarrassed at it, but you can feel him grin at it, pleased with the reaction. He keeps on, but at a slow pace. In other instances, you didn’t mind some slow, passionate sex. You loved it, even. But right now you wanted to be fucked.

“Harder.”

He pulls his head up to kiss you. You let him. As you make out, your taste still on his tongue, his fingers thrust harder, deeper inside you, making you moan into his mouth, which Miguel seemed to enjoy a little too much.

You can feel yourself brimming an orgasm, and your words become nonsense as he keeps on, your noises becoming so higher-pitched you can barely register you’re the one making them.

“Fuck I’m gonna cum. Baby, I’m gonna cum. Holy fucking-“

It hits you suddenly, killing your train of thought. Your body trembles as he keeps thrusting his fingers into you, letting you ride out your high. He laps it all up gladly, but you pull him away, your clit oversensitive.

That doesn’t mean you didn’t want more.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes, baby. You were such a good boy. But I want you to fuck me now.”

Miguel was still not used to you being this blunt. And honestly neither were you, for the matter. The words just kept coming out.

“What- what do you want me to do?”

You get close to his ear and whisper. “Whatever you want, baby.”

His eyes widen. Whatever he wants.

He pulls you off the desk and wordlessly takes you back to the locker room. He leaves you for a second to retrieve a condom from his bag. A prepared man, you’d say.

You manage to take a better look at him and laugh. He furrows his eyebrows together. “What?”

“You look so fucked out right now.”

He rolls his eyes at you and takes off his shorts, kicking them away. He goes to pull his boxers down but you stop him, stroking him in an agonizingly slow pace. He lets out a groan. “Please stop, I’m not gonna last.”

“Oh poor you.” You yank his boxers down. His dick is so hard it must be painful. And all from losing a fight and being called mean names. He walks the two of you backwards until your back is against a wall. He puts the condom on and looks at you for a green light.

“Go on, baby.”

He nods, pressing his cock into your hole slowly, letting you adjust to the intrusion.

“Fuck.” You breathe out.

“Was that a good fuck or a bad fuck? Does it hurt?”

“I’m alright. It was a good fuck.”

“Okay.” He hikes up one of your legs to his waist, and you think he’ll be content with that position, but he hikes up your other leg too, pressing your back even more firmly to the wall and supporting your weight by holding firmly onto the back of your thighs.

“Woah what are you doing?”

He doesn’t bother responding, thrusting into you experimentally.

“Holy shit.”

That is enough for him. His thrusts become harder, deeper, faster. He hadn’t realized just how desperate he was until now.

Hitting the spot inside you that made you see stars with every thrust, it doesn’t take long for his breath to quicken and his thrusts to become sloppier. “I’m gonna- can I-“

Was he trying to ask for permission to cum? Holy fucking shit, that was hot.

“Shh, it’s okay baby. You’ve been so good. You can cum.”

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou,” he chanted.

You laugh as his desperation, but it quickly turns into a moan, with Miguel eager to cum and fucking you so hard now you can’t even understand how he could still hold up your weight while doing that. Bless you universe for giving you a strong, strong boyfriend. But all of that didn’t matter now, because he was fucking you so good you could feel the familiar sensation of an orgasm building again.

“Please don’t stop.” That was the first time you begged him for something the whole time.

“I won’t, mi amor.” Oh, that broke you. That one pet name didn’t come out all that frequently, so when it did, you felt giddy on the inside.

With a few more thrusts, both of you reach your high, and at that point Miguel did have to pull you down, although your legs currently trembled so hard it was a little difficult to stand, but he helps you out after tying the condom up and throwing it away.

“Holy shit,” you finally let out.

“Holy shit,” he agrees.

“What were you saying about your loser kink again?”

“Will you shut up about that?” He smiles.

“Was I too mean to you? I might’ve gotten a little carried away."

He looks down to the floor in embarrassment as if he hadn’t just fucked you into oblivion. “I liked it.”

“That’s good baby. So, shower?”

“Yeah you stink,” he makes a disgusted face, plugging his nose and everything just to irritate you.

You roll your eyes at him.

A/N: pls be kind to me and cut me some slack i've never posted smut before 😭 i promise ive had sex before 😭 fighting for my life lmao

#cobra kai #cobra kai imagine #miguel diaz #miguel diaz x reader #miguel diaz imagine #miguel diaz x you #cobra kai x reader #johnny lawrence #eli moskowitz #hawk #tori nichols #mars writes #miguel diaz smut #miguel diaz x reader smut

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clairewritesfanfics · 1 month ago

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A-Z Fluff Alphabet: Omni Mark Grayson

author’s note: The alphabet here is an amalgamation of fluff templates from the following writers: @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy, @snk-warrior, @queervibesmydude and @imagineimagineimagine, and my own personal additions.

Adoration: What does he can’t help but gush about you?

Your eyes that see his most pathetic sides and still shine with pure affection. Eyes that trust and love him wholeheartedly.

Baby: Does he want a family?

Maybe. His dad screwed him up so badly he couldn’t even picture himself with a romantic partner, let alone raising children. But having you in his life means he’s doing better.

Comfort: How does he help you when you’re down or stressed?

He knows you’ll talk when you’re ready, so he will simply brew your favorite beverage and set up a nest for you in front of the TV. All your favorite shows and movies and podcasts are already queued in.

Dates: What are his ideal dates?

Quiet, classy and low-key. His favorite is an evening meal at a fancy restaurant, no fuss, there is just you and him enjoying each other’s company.

Everything: You are his __________.

You are his peace, his quiet in the storm. When the whole world is falling apart and the noise is too much, he finds solace just by being in the same room as you.

Fight: How often do you argue? How does he handle the fight itself and its aftermath?

Not a lot, not even jokingly. He tends to give way to your desires, simply because your happiness is his happiness. The only times he gets angry is when you do something reckless, like not sleeping enough or overeating junk food. He loves you, he wants you to live a long life, so please take care of yourself.

Gifts: Does he spoil you?

Yes. He has a lot of money and barely has any use for it. He’s not the type to buy you random trinkets though, his gifts are more in line with giant bouquets from Japan and wine from France.

Honesty: Does he keep a lot of secrets from you? Are they white lies or do they hide world-shattering truths?

He likes to keep his professional and private lives separate, so there is information that he won’t share with you. He’s also the type of person who prefers to keep his problems to himself, because that’s what “men do,” but after discussing it with you he’s trying to open up more.

Injury: What’s his reaction when he finds you physically hurt?

He keeps his composure long enough to get you the medical attention you need while his mind pieces together what happens. If it was a genuine accident, and you beg him to let it go, then fine, he will. But if it was intentional? No hesitation, no monologuing–that person is dead.

Jealousy: Is he a green-eyed monster?

He’s mature in many ways, but not when it comes to this. He gets moody when you start talking about anyone for too long.

Kiss: Describe the way he kisses you.

Cradles your face between his palms while he steals your breath away.

Longing: Who fell first? How did you two get together?

He’s tall, dark, handsome; has that brooding and mysterious vibe down pat–of course, you fell first. But he fell harder.

Marriage: Does he want to be your husband?

Naturally. Some people think that marriage is just a piece of paper, but for him, it’s another way to bind you to his side.

Nightmare: What is his greatest fear?

Your inevitable death. His kind can live eternities, yet cursed with a heart that can love transient things.

On Cloud Nine: Is it obvious to tell when he is happy?

For outsiders? No. Not even a little bit. The man has the poker face. Everyone is baffled when you tell them that “of course, he’s happy, can’t you tell from his smile?” while gesturing at his hard expression.

PDA: Yes or no? If yes, to what degree?

No. He won’t be opposed to a quick peck on the cheek or lips, but he isn’t a hand holder and definitely not the type to wrap himself around you while in public.

Quirk: What is a habit, skill or interest of his that surprises people?

He has a sweet tooth and his favorite dessert is sakura mochi, a Japanese rice cake with a red bean paste filling. He doesn’t like black coffee. He has no problem with matcha though, maybe because it tastes great with the mochi.

Rhythm: What’s his favorite song or genre of music?

It’s rock music or nothing else.

Spa: What helps him relax?

When he is off work, he is off work. The only reason he would fight a supervillain or mediate a natural disaster is because it's actively terrorizing the area surrounding you.

Thrill: Do you two try out new things to give spice to the relationship? Or do you stick to your routine?

You’re predictable to each other, which he adores. You buy him a second bottle of hair gel without him even asking and at restaurants, he orders for you because you trust that he knows what you like. His work gives him a lot of surprises already, he doesn’t need any more excitement than that.

Upset: What is he like when he is in a bad mood?

Even more reserved than usual. He answers in grunts and has a hard time keeping eye contact. When he’s in a really bad mood then he will leave to cool down, not for too long, because then you’ll get sad.

Value: How important is the relationship to him?

So much that he cannot picture a life without you in it.

Wild Card: Random fluff headcanon

He will not leave for work unless you kiss him.

XOXO: How affectionate is he?

A lot, just not in a physical or verbal sense. He never forgets anniversaries and other special dates, he never misses appointments with you, and he cleans up around the house when he notices that you’re tired.

Yearning: How does he cope when you two are apart?

He despises overtime. He’s no early bird either–he’s one of those control freaks who arrives exactly as agreed upon; if you tell him that a meeting starts at 8:00, he will arrive at 8:00, not 7:59, not 8:01, but 8:00 sharp. He wasn’t always this strict with his schedule, after all, for someone like him, time was endless. But he has you now, and it feels like he has so little time.

Zebra: If he wanted a pet, what would he get?

When he was younger–as in, half his current height younger–he found a bird in the front yard. It was a release dove, so it wasn’t afraid of him, it trusted Mark enough to let him pet its head. It was Mark’s first and only friend. But one day, after school, it was gone from its clumsily made birdhouse. That evening, his parents had beef, Mark had poultry. Nolan forced him to finish everything. To this day, Mark can’t even stand the smell of fried chicken.

MASTERLIST | request rules | ask box

Other Fluff Alphabet for Mark Grayson Variants:

Mohawk Prisoner

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mostlysignssomeportents · 5 months ago

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It's pretty easy to cut $2 trillion from the federal budget, actually

Picks and Shovels is a new, standalone technothriller starring Marty Hench, my two-fisted, hard-fighting, tech-scam-busting forensic accountant. THIS IS THE LAST DAY to pre-order it on my latest Kickstarter, which features a brilliant audiobook read by Wil Wheaton.

If Elon Musk wants to cut $2t from the US federal budget, there's a pretty straightforward way to get there – just eliminate all the beltway bandits who overcharge Uncle Sucker for everything from pharmaceuticals to roadworks to (of course) rockets, and then make the rich pay their taxes.

There is a ton of federal bloat, but it's not coming from useless programs or overpaid federal employees. As David Dayen writes in a long, fact-filled feature in The American Prospect, the bloat comes from the private sector's greedy suckling at the government teat:

https://prospect.org/economy/2025-01-27-we-found-the-2-trillion-elon-musk-doge/

The federal workforce used to be huge. In 1960, federal employees were 4.3% of all US workers; today, it's 1.4%. Zeroing out the entire federal payroll would save $271b/year (while beaching the US economy!), a mere 4% of the federal budget.

On the other hand, zeroing out the budget for federal contractors would save over a trillion dollars – the US spends 4 times more on private sector contractors than it does on its own workers, and while some of those contractors are honest folks giving good value for money, the norm is for federal contractors to pick the public's pocket and then use the proceeds to lobby for more fat contracts.

One key job we ask our federal employees to do is root out private sector fraud in federal contracting. We should hire more of these people! Private contractors steal $274b/year from the public purse – nearly enough to pay for all the employees in the federal government:

https://www.gao.gov/assets/gao-23-106285.pdf

Musk doesn't know any of these, and he doesn't care to know. As Dayen writes, he's doing "policy by anecdote." Take Ashley Thomas, the director of climate diversification for the US International Development Finance Corporation. Musk sicced a mob on her, decrying her for doing a "fake job" that was somehow related to "DEI." But Thomas's job isn't employment diversification – it's crop diversification.

If Musk wanted to run DOGE as a force for waste-elimination, he wouldn't be attacking the Corporation for Public Broadcasting and PBS (whose budget accounts for 0.012% of federal spending). He wouldn't be attacking federal fiber subsidies (he's mad that he can't get more subsidies for his dead-end satellite service that caps out at one ten-millionth of the speed of fiber). He wouldn't be attacking high-speed rail (which competes with his Tesla swasticars). He wouldn't be fighting with the SEC (which defends the public from costly stock swindles, which is why they've been investigating Musk for seven years).

He could, instead, go after private sector Medicare waste. 33 million seniors have been suckered into switching from federally provided Medicare to privately provided Medicare Advantage. Overbilling from Medicare Advantage (whose doctors are ordered to "upcode" patients to generate additional bills) costs the public $83b/year:

https://www.medpac.gov/wp-content/uploads/2024/03/Mar24_ExecutiveSummary_MedPAC_Report_To_Congress_SEC.pdf

Medicare Advantage patients are, on average, healthier than Medicare patients (Medicare Advantage giants like Unitedhealtcare cream off the cheapest-to-service patients). Yet, this healthy cohort costs more to treat than their sicker cousins on the public plan – the fraud costs us about 11-14% of the total Medicare bill, and we could save $140b/year by zeroing that out:

https://pnhp.org/system/assets/uploads/2023/09/MAOverpaymentReport_Final.pdf

Zeroing out Medicare Advantage overbilling would pay for "an out-of-pocket spending cap, a public drug benefit, and dental, hearing, and vision benefits" for every Medicare patient with tens of billions to spare.

Of course, as Dayen points out, the guy in charge of Medicare is Dr Oz, who has spent years shilling for Medicare Advantage, while holding massive amounts of stock in Unitedhealthcare, the nation's largest Medicare Advantage provider, and the worst offender for Medicare Advantage overbilling.

Then there's Medicare itself. Rates for Medicare doctor reimbursement are set by committees of specialists, who award themselves sky-high rates while paying rock-bottom wages to the frontline general practitioners who do the heavy lifting. Lowering specialists rates to match the rates paid in Canada and Germany would save the federal government $100b/year:

https://cepr.net/rfk-jr-physicians-pay-schedules-and-the-elites-big-lie/

Then there's Big Pharma. For years, Congress legally forbade Medicare and Medicaid from negotiating drug prices, which is why the US government pays the highest rates in the world for drugs developed in the US, with US federal subsidies. US drug prices are 178% more than other wealthy countries, and many drugs are sold at 20-30x the cost of production:

https://aspe.hhs.gov/reports/comparing-prescription-drugs

A few of these drug prices are going to come down in the coming years, thanks to timid, but long overdue action from the Biden administration. To really tackle a source of government waste, the US government could use its "march in rights" to federalize production of the most expensive drugs:

https://prospect.org/day-one-agenda/force-drug-companies-to-lower-prices/

One possibility floated by economist Dean Baker is for the US government to invest $100b/year in clinical trials, keeping the patents for itself and licensing multiple manufacturers to compete to produce these publicly owned drugs, which would save an estimated $500b/year:

https://cepr.net/financing-drug-development-what-the-pandemic-has-taught-us/

Then there's price-gouging, useless middlemen like Group Purchasing Organizations who soak the public purse for $20b/year – a "moderate" enforcement action could cut that to $10b. Speaking of eliminating middlemen, community health centers are a way cheaper source of care than big hospitals – $2371/year cheaper per patient, per year. By subsidizing these, the US government could save another $20b/year:

https://www.ohiochc.org/news/310956/Landmark-Study-Confirms-Medicaid-Cost-Savings-at-Health-Centers.htm

Next, Dayen moves onto the Pentagon, which pulled in $841b last year but has failed seven consecutive audits:

https://thehill.com/policy/defense/4992913-pentagon-fails-7th-audit-in-a-row-but-says-progress-made/

The DoD firehoses money over private sector contractors, like the $3.6b it hands over to Musk's Spacex every year – a number Musk hopes to grow through Spacex's participation in a new consortium:

https://www.ft.com/content/6cfdfe2b-6872-4963-bde8-dc6c43be5093

Military contractor wastage is the stuff of legend, like the $2t F-35 Joint Strike Fighter, a lemon that has over 800 outstanding defects and was just greenlit for another year's worth of full funding:

https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2021-07-13/lockheed-f-35-s-tally-of-flaws-tops-800-as-new-issues-surface

This kind of wasteage isn't merely shameful, it's illegal. The Nunn-McCurdy Act requires that these large-scale boondoggles be reviewed with an eye to shutting them down. But when beltway bandits like Northrop Grumman’s produce expensive lemons like Sentinel, the DoD continues to hand public money to them, citing "national security":

https://www.defense.gov/News/Releases/Release/Article/3829985/department-of-defense-announces-results-of-sentinel-nunn-mccurdy-review/

The DoD contracts out so much of its essential functions that it literally doesn't know what it has. It pays contractors and subcontractors to produce parts for its systems, but has no way to know if those parts have actually been produced. Meanwhile, private equity rollups like Transdigm have merged every single-source aerospace supplier and jacked up the price of spare parts for existing military systems, pulling down 4,500%+ markups:

https://theintercept.com/2019/05/28/ro-khanna-transdigm-refund-pentagon/

To estimate the easy military savings – the ones that won't require shutting down jobs programs scattered in every key Congressional district – Dayen takes the CBO's estimate and cuts it in half, to get an annual savings of $150b/year.

Then there's general prodcurement, where the GAO estimates the US loses $150b/year to bid-rigging and another $521b/year to fraud (the USG also spends $70b/year on management consultants who do no discernible useful work). Dayen estimates the annual savings from "stringently enforcing fraud and abuse, insourcing operations, and no longer paying for bad advice" at $150b/year.

Then there's tax cheating. The IRS estimates that it undercollects about $606b/year in taxes. The top 1% account for $163b/year of that (Elon Musk's own effective tax rate is just 3.27% as of the five years preceding 2021, the year for which we have his leaked tax return; he paid no taxes in 2018). Every dollar the IRS spends on auditing brings in $2.17 in tax, and every dollar the IRS spends auditing the wealthy generates $6.29 in tax. A dollar spent auditing the top 10% brings in $10:

https://www.timesfreepress.com/news/2024/dec/01/opinion-the-irs-shows-what-government-efficiency/

Audits are durable sources of tax. People who've been burned by an audit are far more honest in the decade after that audit.

The GOP has zeroed out Biden's IRS increases. The CBO estimates that a fully funded IRS could easily increase the taxes it collected by a net figure of $200b/year.

There's also new sources of tax. Dayen likes Dean Baker's proposal for taxes on stock returns: just add dividends and stock appreciation at the end of the year, then multiply by the tax rate. Baker says this is a loophole-free way to bring the effective corporate tax rate up from 20% to 25%, generating $65b/year:

https://cepr.net/winning-the-tax-game-tax-stock-returns/

This would be especially hard on heavily financialized companies with "impossibly high stock price/earnings ratios" – e.g. Tesla.

Dayen also proposes rejigging the tax rate on retirement and health insurance plans, where nearly all the tax breaks are scooped by the highest earners. The Tax Policy Center has $1.12-$1.38t/year worth of other tax reforms that would shift the tax burden from working people to the idle rich:

https://taxpolicycenter.org/briefing-book/what-are-largest-tax-expenditures

Dayen says, "let's ask for about 20% of that" and ballparks the tax income at $200b/year.

How about subsidy cuts? $10b/year in fossil fuel subsidies. Eliminating the notorious sources of fraud in crop insurance would save $5b/year:

https://www.gao.gov/assets/gao-06-878t.pdf

There's $7b/year in subsidies to the Home Bank Loan system and $5b/year lost to pass-through entity loopholes.

Add it all up and you're saving $1.4215t/year without even breaking a sweat, just by tacking (some of) the country's worst looting and tax evasion. Dayen points out US expenditures will fall even more than this, because it won't be paying as much T-bill interest if it doesn't spend this money. We could also just make the Fed stop using the blunt, expensive tool of interest rate hikes to manage inflation. There's plenty of scenarios where interest payments result in the remaining $580b/year in savings, bringing the total up to $2t.

Now, sucking $2t/year out of the US economy all at once – even $2t in waste and fraud – would not be good for America! That kind of economic shock would bring the US economy to its knees, for years to come. All that money still fuels the demand side of the economy. But a slow rampup, and more public spending on useful programs (say, climate resiliency and retrofitting), would strengthen the economy while still bankrupting the fraud sector.

DOGE is wildly unpopular with the American electorate – even large pluralities of Republicans think its stupid. Campaigning on cutting fraud and profiteering would be a wildly popular way for Democrats to separate themselves from Republicans. Few Democrats are rising to the occasion, though.

Check out my Kickstarter to pre-order copies of my next novel, Picks and Shovels!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/01/27/beltway-bandits/#henhouse-foxes

Image: Steve Jurvetson (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/jurvetson/52005460639/

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

#pluralistic #doge #elon musk #Vivek Ramaswamy #beltway bandits #procurement #government efficiency #public sector capacity #gao #government accountability office #david dayen #the american prospect

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itneverendshere · 16 days ago

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little miss perfect - r.c (+18) - pool day for us

pairing: siren!reader x rafe warnigns: suggestive; sexual act;

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

It’s been a rare, quiet day.

Rafe didn’t get that very often anymore, not with Ward breathing down his neck and his phone vibrating every two seconds with some bullshit from Barry, from Kelce, from the universe in general.

Today, the gods showed mercy.

The house is still, the sun is brutal, and the pool is cold and deep and only his. No voices, no drama.

For once, no one is clinging to him, especially not you.

He recalls dinner last week.

How you sat next to him, even though there were four other chairs available. How your hand happened to land on his thigh when you reached for the salt. How you didn’t acknowledge it, kept talking like your palm wasn’t resting half an inch from the tent he had to will into silence.

That night, he dreamed about you, not romantically or some repressed fantasy wrapped in guilt. It was disgusting.

In that dream, you were under the table, with your hand right where it had been before—but instead of resting, it slid higher. He’d jolted awake, hard as fuck and pissed about it.

Ashamed and angry, mostly at himself, but also at you.

You crawled into his head as if you lived there; his brain was your summer vacation home. You ruined everything with a fucking look, including the pool and the dinners.

Then he hears it: the click of the side gate. He freezes.

No one enters through that gate. No one except—

“Oh my God, is the pool bigger now?” Your voice calls out, completely unwelcome.

No. No, no, no.

He doesn’t open his eyes at first, because if he doesn’t see you, maybe you aren’t real. Perhaps it’s a demon summoned by chlorine fumes and the last vestige of his patience.

But then your feet pad across the concrete.

He opens his eyes, and there you are, looking like you just came up from hell on a string of lies and sunscreen. Hair up, bikini... barely a bikini, meant for a private beach in Ibiza rather than his backyard.

“Seriously, no one told me,” you go on, acting like you haven’t broken into his quiet moment on purpose. “I would’ve been here every day.”

You place your towel on a chair and extend your arms overhead, your body arching.

Rafe blinks in sheer disbelief.

“What are you doing here?” he asks finally.

He keeps the sunglasses on because he can't trust his face.

“I’m staying here, remember silly?” You chirp, standing up and approaching the pool's edge. "Ward said I could use the pool at any time.”

Rafe clamps his jaw.

Of course, Ward said that, of course, you have permission. Of course, the universe handed you the keys to every door he wants locked.

You step in without hesitation, one toe, then the entire leg, water lapping up your thigh, delighted to see you. You let out a fake gasp of surprise.

"Oh my god—it is cold," you chuckle, as if the pool hasn’t been the same temperature for the past three days. “That’s so crazy.”

Rafe watches you sink slow, putting on fucking show. Your shoulders dip beneath the surface, and the straps of your bikini barely hold on.

You wipe the water away from your face and beam at him.

You say "Hi," as if it’s cute.

Rafe scoffs, "I was here first.”

You swim closer. “Oh, I won’t bother you.”

That’s a big fat lie, and you both know it.

You stop at the shallow end, folding your arms over the ledge and resting your chin there, eyes dragging over him, bored and amused all at once.

“You’re really tan,” you comment. “It looks good.”

Rafe doesn’t respond, instead lifting his beer and taking a long sip, hoping it will drown his thoughts.

You then tip your head.

“Are you still upset with me?”

“For what?”

“I don’t know. Whatever I did.” You shrug coyly. “Looking too pretty, sitting close.”

You’re quoting him—mocking him. That thing he said last week, when he lost his cool at Topper's and told you to "stop acting like a fucking succubus every time we are in public." You’d said “wow, Rafe, big words,” and then called him a virgin under your breath.

Rafe had lasted about ten minutes at that get together. Ten minutes of Topper and Kelce laughing too loudly, leaning in too close, and brushing your arm as if they didn’t expect Rafe to shove their faces-first into the table.

And you—god, you—allowed it to happen. Twirled your hair. Bit your straw. Allowed Topper to talk about jet skis and the surf season.

Now here you are, in his pool, half-naked, glistening.

“You’re like a mosquito,” he mutters.

You grin. “I missed you, too.”

Then you push off the ledge and float toward him, serpentine, arms drifting lazily through the water. When you stop in front of him, far enough to not technically be in his space, Rafe feels his whole spine tense.

You lift one hand and flick a drop of water at him. He doesn’t react.

“C’mon,” you urge, pouting slightly. “Are you gonna be boring? On a day like this?”

He turns his head slightly. “I'm relaxing.”

“You can still relax. I’m very easy to ignore.”

You’re not, you’re like a fire alarm in a church.

You swim a slow circle around him, and he still doesn’t move, only tracking you like a shark. Then you come up behind him and splash water onto his shoulder.

“Oops,” You’re not sorry at all. “That was an accident.”

He turns around, sunglasses still on, and your reflection in them creates a perfect, smiling siren. You climb onto the pool ledge beside him, glowing, sitting down with a contented sigh, ankles still in the water, leaning back on your palms.

“I forgot how nice it is here,” you say dreamily. “So peaceful.”

Rafe’s hands are fists underwater. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do first—drown himself or you.

He isn’t going to look.

He wasn’t.

But you’re talking again—about what, he has no idea, something pointless and annoying like how your tan lines aren't even because someone made you sit in the shade at the beach yesterday. You do a stupid thing where your head falls back and leans too far into your hips, knowing your bikini doesn’t leave room for accidents.

Just like that, his resolve dies.

He looks. One second, okay, maybe two, sue him, he’s a man.

Your tits are ridiculous. All soft and high and plump, framed perfectly by that microscopic top you have no business wearing around other people. They bounce when you shift your weight, enough to punch the breath out of him. He looks away fast, his sunglasses his only defense now—maybe they can hide how his brain has short-circuited.

Worst case scenario: you noticed everything.

You reach your arms up to fix your hair mindlessly, the curve of your chest tightening against the strings of your bikini top, and he almost chokes.

“Fuck me,” Rafe hisses under his breath.

“Hm?” You prompt, all feign innocence.

"Nothing," he says abruptly.

But he’s sweating and not from the sun.

“You look warm. Want me to get you some ice?”

Rafe stares at you, deadpan.

“I think you’ve done enough, thanks.”

You shrug, sweet as sin, and flounce off toward the chairs, giving him a perfect view of your ass.

Five minutes.

Five fucking minutes of peace after you finally wandered off, probably to ruin some other piece of his afternoon. Rafe just started to feel his shoulders un-knot, face warming to the sun, letting the chlorine and silence rinse the memory of you from his system—

“Rafe?”

He doesn’t move, praying that if he doesn’t answer, you’ll combust like a vampire left out in daylight.

"Rafe," you call again, singing now. “Can you come here for a sec?”

He groans under his breath, eyes opening to glare at the sky. He turns, dragging his gaze toward the lounge chairs, and promptly forgets how to breathe.

You’re on your stomach, lying on a towel, sunglasses on, legs crossed casually in the air behind you. Your bikini top rests untied, hanging loose over your sides, bare skin stretched down your back, glinting with the sun.

“Are you serious?” He rolls his eyes, already fed up.

"I need sunscreen," you complain. "On my back. Obviously.”

“Get someone else do it.”

You smirk without moving your head. “No one’s home.”

“Too bad.”

You sigh dramatically. “Rafey. Come on. I’ll burn.”

“Good.”

“Rafe!"

“Hopefully.”

That earns a laugh from you—his least favorite sound in the world, because it means you're winning. Again.

“If I burn,” you warn lightly, “everyone’s gonna notice. They’ll ask who let me lay out like this. Shirtless. Unprotected.” You turn your head enough to aim a lethal grin at him. “They’ll blame the host.”

He can hear Ward's voice in his head right now.

Rafe, how could you let her get a burn like that? For Christ’s sake.

You’d play it up, too. Show up to dinner the next night in some backless sundress, wincing dramatically, telling his stepmom how bad the sting was. Flashing your sunburn at every cousin and in-law like a badge of neglect.

Oh, Rafe? No, he said he was too busy…

You’ll get him crucified.

You adjust your hips on the towel, giving him a new angle of suffering.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re delaying my protection. Tick-tock, sunshine.”

He swears one more time under his breath, standing like the act physically pains him, and it does. Every second closer to you feels like walking into a trap he knows is rigged, but his pride won’t let you think he’s backing down.

He grabs the sunscreen bottle from the deck with a snarl, twisting the cap open as if it had insulted him personally.

“You’re lucky I don’t drown you with this shit.”

The scent hits him instantly—coconut and vanilla and whatever sickly-sweet stuff you always wear that makes his brain turn sideways.

“Ooh. Romantic.”

“Shut up.”

You’re still grinning when he kneels beside you, squeezing the lotion into his palm, trying not to look. Failing. Because your back is soft, and the second his hand makes contact, you shiver.

Once his palm slides over your shoulder blades, you sigh. Not a normal sigh nor a human sound, something fucking suggestive, a whispery hum that goes straight to his swimming trucks.

“Can you get a little lower?”

He moves his hand accordingly, smearing sunscreen down your spine with clinical efficiency. He needs to think straight and act like he’s performing surgery — a surgery that requires him to fight the urge to look at your ass every two seconds.

You let out another noise; that one sounds like a proper moan.

Rafe’s hand stops its ministrations.

"Swear to God," he pinches your skin. “I’ll drop you in the pool.”

“Why? ‘Cause I’m enjoying the service?”

He presses his fingers harder, not enough to hurt, but to shut you up for half a second. You wiggle a little in response, and the towel moves along; your top slips further to the sides.

“Stop it,” he snaps, yanking his hands away. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

You peek up at him from over your sunglasses. “Doing what?”

“That noise. Those noises. What's wrong with you?”

“I’m being appreciative.”

“You sound like you’re faking an orgasm.”

“Aw,” you coo, tilting your head to look at him from over your shoulder, lashes low, mouth curved into something cruel and pretty. “You’d know what that sounds like?”

For a moment, the only thing he can do is stare at you, sprawled out, top loose, glistening with lotion and sin, the human equivalent of a nightmare in a hot pink bikini.

Rafe’s blue eyes are flat, mouth parted in stunned offense. You might as well have kicked him in the balls and then asked if he likes it.

“I wasn’t moaning,” You continue to bait him, blinking innocently. “Do you think I sound like that when I moan?”

He makes a sound as if he bit his tongue through.

“Shut up.”

He’s crouched there like an idiot, caught in the blast radius of your bullshit, hands useless at his sides while you wink at him like you haven’t just hit him with the most backhanded insult of the decade.

“Well?”

You giggle again — that laugh — and Rafe wants to throw something.

Preferably you. Into the pool. Off the roof.

But instead, he paces a few feet away, arms rigid at his sides. His heart is jackhammering, not that he’ll admit it. Not that he can do anything except replay the words in his head like a personal torture loop.

Here you are, lying in his backyard like a trap designed by Satan and Victoria’s Secret, tits barely contained, lethal, and acting like he’s the one being inappropriate.

“Next time,” he grinds out, voice sharp with the effort of restraint, “Use a spray bottle.”

He came out here with good intentions — sunbathe, maybe a swim, no yelling — and now he’s dangerously close to snapping a pool chair in half.

You act scandalized, “But that’s so impersonal.”

“Exactly.”

“You’re being so dramatic right now.”

Rafe whips around to glare at you, aiming a threatening, sunscreen-coated finger at you.

“I hope you get sun poisoning someday.”

“I’ll send you pictures.”

You sit up then, spine arching, towel falling with a whisper of fabric, bikini top falling off. One hand clutches the middle, while the other flutters to your chest like a prim southern belle, as if that makes things better.

It makes it worse.

“Thanks, Rafey,” you say sweetly, after you spent the last five straight minutes emotionally waterboarding him. Then you lean in and kiss his cheek as usual —sugary lips just shy of the corner of his mouth — while your fingers fumble to keep your top from slipping.

Rafe goes still, actually, stiller than still.

It’s like he’s been shot between the eyes and is waiting to drop.

“Stop kissing me."

You pull back. “Just saying thank you.”

His eyes drop to your chest and snap back up, the glance burning him more than the high IV.

“I should be institutionalized for putting up with you.”

You flash teeth, delighted.

“You say that, but you still rubbed sunscreen all over my back like a good boy.”

He glares, half-crazed.

“You’re lucky I didn’t write ‘Satan was here’ with it.”

“Why? Something’s wrong?”

Your legs stretch and your sunglasses slip down your nose, and that smile keeps reappearing like a loaded weapon. You're the embodiment of a fever dream, or a head injury.

Rafe scrubs both hands through his hair, borderline manic.

You’re a wide-eyed Bambi. “What is it? I didn’t even flash you.”

“Yeah, yet.”

“Would that be so bad?”

He makes a strangled noise, somewhere between a groan and a scream. His hands curling into fists at his sides.

“I need you to stand up,” he says through gritted teeth. “Right now.”

“Why?” You giggle again. That sound. That fucking sound.

He steps back like you’re radioactive.

“You’re done,” he declares. “You’re getting a t-shirt. You’re banned from the sun.”

“Rafe!”

“Sunscreen privilege revoked. You can burn.”

“But—”

“I hope you burn,” he snaps, already storming toward the house. “Blister. Peel. Suffer.”

You call after him, “You missed a spot on my lower back!”

He doesn’t turn around. If he does, he’ll kill you.

Rafe — poor, pissed-off, and painfully hard Rafe — is already halfway inside, planning how many cold showers it’s going to take to forget the way your bikini barely stayed up. He’s one step away from putting his own head through the drywall to knock the memory of your voice out of his skull.

He slams the sliding glass door shut behind him, muttering, genuinely unwell.

“Fucking bitch.”

You are the worst thing that’s ever happened to him.

That night, after dinner, he’s in the shower, water pelting down his back, and he’s braced against the tile wall, head bowed, chest heaving. His other hand is busy, and he hates that, too.

He squeezes harder, hissing in the process.

All he sees is the smirk on your face when you kissed his cheek, still clutching your top, pretending to be the picture of perfect modesty after flashing him. He pictures the exact slope of your back, the way the sunscreen made you shine, how you fucking moaned to drive him insane.

His head hits the tile with a dull thud.

“Fuck. Fuck you.”

Not even an insult, a desperate wish.

Because in his mind, you're there with him, dainty hands on his shoulders, body against his, voice in his ear whispering all those cruel, perfect things.

He strokes faster.

It's pathetic, shameful. And still, he can’t stop. He’s jerking off in the fucking shower like a teenager, hand furious, because you batted your lashes and said “Thank you.”

His breath stutters.

He imagines your legs wrapped around him, head thrown back, that look in your eyes —inviting. The way you’d giggle right after to ruin it. The way you’d whisper something so mean he'd want to muzzle you with his mouth.

He’s close.

Hand pumping, every muscle tense with it. The water’s freezing now, and he doesn't feel it. His eyes are shut tight, but in his head, you’re there—smiling that evil smile, licking the taste of him off your lips.

He comes with a ragged groan, forehead still pressed to the wall.

Water runs down his face, and he drags a hand through his hair, already mad at himself for every second of it.

He hates you. He hates you. But he’d do it again.

And he did so, for the next hour.

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starryhyuck · 6 months ago

Text

craving you. (m) — PATREON EXCLUSIVE

pairing: husband!jaehyun x afab!reader

words: 5.1k+

summary: are pregnancy cravings supposed to make you crazy for your husband’s dick?

genre: smut

warnings: jaehyun and reader are children of politicians, mentions of conservative views, pregnancy, public sex, bigdick!jaehyun, fingering, pussy eating, creampies

this fic is exclusive to the $5 tier on my patreon, which you can access here! below is a tumblr preview

Once you’re on the road, he intertwines his hand with yours over the console. He raises the back of your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles softly. “Missed you today,” he murmurs, squeezing your palm. “Dad’s been wanting to see you too. Said you should come by the office and hang out. He’d love your input on the new traffic law they’re trying to pass.”

You hum noncommittally, staring out the window with a longing expression. He swallows at your choice to remain non-verbal, worry filling the bottom of his gut.

“Pasta night tonight, hm? I already called ahead and they set aside our favorite table,” he continues, trying to draw a reaction out of you. You chew on your lower lip, but your eyes focus on the passing streetlights. The question leaves his lips before he can stop it. “Have I done something wrong, my love?”

Your head darts over to him for the first time, gaze filled with confusion. “Of course you haven’t.”

“You’ve just been so distant from me,” he sighs. “I’m wondering if you’re upset over something I did.”

“No, no, of course not,” you shake your head, squirming in your seat. “It’s just that- T-The baby- I’m just having a lot of emotions right now.”

“You can talk to me about them, you know? I’d love to understand how you’re feeling.”

A few moments pass in silence, and he peeks over to see you battling internally before you say, “It’s not really appropriate, Jae.”

His brow furrows. “Appropriate? I’m your husband, my love. You can tell me anything.”

The rest of the ride is speechless and when Jaehyun pulls up to the valet of the restaurant, he tells the worker to give you both a moment.

“I don’t want to go in there until you feel comfortable enough sitting across from me and looking me in the eye,” he says sternly, not allowing you to run away from confrontation this time. “If you’re mad at me, tell me now and we can put a pin in it to discuss later.”

“I-I’m not mad!” You exclaim, flustered by the various people standing outside and waiting for you. “Please, Jae. Let’s just enjoy our dinner.”

“I can’t enjoy it if I know my wife is upset.”

“I’m not upset,” you hiss, groaning and running your hands down your face. “It’s not appropriate for me to say! Especially here!”

“What is it? Morning sickness? Swelling? Using the bathroom too often?”

“I want to have sex with you! Does that make you happy? I think about jumping your bones every five seconds and it’s driving me insane. I can’t even look you in the eye because all I’ll think about is riding you until I’m out of breath,” you confess, folding your arms across your chest and pouting like a child. “Now you know your wife is a degenerate who can’t think straight.”

You could cut the tension in the air with a knife. Jaehyun doesn’t utter a single word, opening up the car door and signaling for the valet to take the keys. One of the workers helps you step out as Jaehyun walks over, outstretching his arm to you without sparing you a single glance.

You walk into the restaurant with your hand wrapped around his forearm tightly. When the hostess greets you, Jaehyun says, “We’ll take the private room in the back if it’s available. I’ll pay extra if needed.”

The hostess blinks in surprise. “Oh, I apologize, Mr. Jeong. I thought you called in and requested the table by the window.”

He flashes her his signature smile. “I did, but my wife is feeling under the weather and we’d prefer if we had more privacy. I’m sure the restaurant can make a few accommodations.”

“Of course, Mr. Jeong.”

She leads you to the back, opening a sliding door that reveals a dimly lit room for two. Jaehyun nods and takes the menu from her hands. “I’ll call for service when we’re ready,” he instructs. “I ask that those doors remain closed until I say otherwise.”

“No problem, Mr. Jeong. I’ll inform the rest of the staff.”

When she exits, Jaehyun finds his way to his seat. He watches your confused expression, knowing he usually pulls out your seat for you like a proper gentleman. Just as you’re about to take your own spot at the table, he stops you with a gruff “What do you think you’re doing?”

You glance between him and the chair, and on any other occasion, he would coo at how cute you are.

“Um, sitting?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Your seat’s over here, my love,” he murmurs, patting his thigh. “Have you forgotten how to use your eyes?”

You blink twice. “Uh-”

“Come on. I can’t wait all day.”

want to read the rest? access the $5 tier on my patreon here!

#nct smut #nct x reader #jaehyun smut #jaehyun

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skzophreniic · 2 months ago

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⍣ ೋ cw: explicit sexual content., semi-public sex, dom!changbin, spanking, gagging (panties), rough sex, degradation, manhandling, dirty talk, creampie, overstimulation, valet kink (??)

⍣ ೋ notes: shoutout to that one ask i got asking when i was gonna write for han and changbin and they ended up being the next two

🧾 FORMAL INVESTIGATION REPORT

Filed by: Concierge Aeryn Subject: Mustang Inspection Staff Member Under Review: Changbin Seo Guest Involved: Room 101

You weren’t expecting to be summoned like a misbehaving schoolgirl.

The envelope was slipped under your suite door sometime mid-afternoon—gold-trimmed, obnoxiously elegant, as if a wax seal would’ve been too gauche. The message inside was short:

To our valued guest, Concierge Aeryn requests a private audience regarding your submitted complaint. Please meet in the Executive Lounge on Level 3 at your earliest convenience.

Right. Because when you file a totally reasonable complaint about a gremlin in a sleeveless shirt launching himself across your Mustang like he’s in The Fast and the Furious: Valet Drift, you clearly need to be summoned.

You’re already bracing for nonsense by the time you step into the lounge.

But even you didn’t expect this level of bullshit.

Because there he is—Changbin, the human embodiment of “I bet I could fix it with a wrench and three flexes”—sprawled in a leather armchair like he owns the place. One leg thrown over the other, glass of whiskey in hand, smug little smirk already in place like it was professionally installed.

“Of course you’re here,” you mutter.

He raises his glass in a lazy salute. “Wouldn’t miss it. I love a formal meeting. Really brings out my diplomatic side.”

Before you can strangle him with the decorative throw pillow, Concierge Aeryn stands.

She’s terrifyingly elegant—adorable pink blazer and skirt but sharp dark eyes, clipboard in hand, expression politely unreadable.

“Thank you for joining us,” she says smoothly. “This is a voluntary resolution session in response to your recent concern about one of our valet attendants. For transparency, the staff member has been informed and is present for discussion.”

You blink. “Discussion? I didn’t ask for a conversation. I asked for a reprimand. Or a refund. Or a ceremonial beheading. I’m flexible.”

Changbin coughs into his drink.

Aeryn doesn’t flinch. “We believe some conflicts are best resolved through direct communication.”

“Through… conversation,” you echo flatly. “About how this man violated my Mustang’s personal space and then revved the engine like he was about to take it to prom.”

Changbin shrugs, all fake innocence. “You left the keys in it. I assumed she was into me.”

“Oh, I bet you say that to all the girls with 5.0L V8s and ceramic coatings.”

His eyes glitter. “Only the ones with leather interiors.”

You cross your arms, leaning back in your chair just enough to seem unimpressed. “I don’t even know why you’re here. Is this what the hotel does? Hosts dramatic little interventions instead of just, I don’t know, issuing formal warnings like a normal HR department?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Changbin drawls, “you’re looking at HR.”

You blink.

He grins wider and gestures vaguely at his upper lip, where the faint remnants of adhesive still cling.

“You were the guy in the fake mustache earlier?” you say, absolutely not meaning to sound that incredulous or amused.

“Technically still am.” He pulls a tiny plastic mustache from his back pocket like it’s evidence in a murder trial. “I moonlight as ‘Brian from Human Resources.’ He’s got three kids, a mortgage, and a deep passion for employee accountability.”

You stare at him. He gives you a solemn nod, like this is completely normal. Like he’s not sitting here with the fakest mustache known to mankind and a whiskey glass he definitely wasn’t authorized to have.

Aeryn makes a note on her clipboard. Possibly “burn everything.”

“I want Brian to be fired,” you announce, deadpan.

“Brian’s unionized,” Changbin says gravely. “You’ll have to go through corporate.”

“They’ll definitely hear about this,” you shoot back.

“Shit,” he says, and sips his drink like this is suddenly a high-stakes legal drama and not the most unprofessional mediation session in hotel history.

Aeryn looks up with the calm of a woman mentally browsing job listings. “If we’re finished with theatrics, perhaps we can proceed to the next steps. Our records show the Mustang was returned in excellent condition. However, as a courtesy to you, we’re offering a full inspection—car wash included—free of charge.”

You blink. “Wait. That’s it?”

“That, and a voucher for one complimentary spa treatment,” Aeryn adds. “Redeemable at any time during your stay. Though I suggest sooner rather than later. For stress relief.”

Changbin perks up. “We could do a couples massage.”

You don’t even dignify that with a response. You just turn to Aeryn.

“Is he going to be the one inspecting the car?”

“Only if you consent,” she says, already expecting the answer.

“I don’t.”

Changbin leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, voice dropping just a notch. “I’m very… thorough. When I inspect things. Very… hands-on.”

Your stomach does something wildly inconvenient. You chalk it up to caffeine withdrawal and the fact that he’s objectively hot in that smug bastard who probably has his own protein line kind of way.

“Tell me,” you say slowly, “do you flirt with every guest whose car you manhandle, or was I just lucky?”

“You were lucky,” he says without missing a beat. “That car was sexy, but you—”

“Stop.”

“—you made her look tame.”

You blink slowly. “Are you actively trying to get fired?”

“Depends. If it gets me alone with you in a parking garage… maybe.”

Aeryn closes her folder with a snap. “This concludes the resolution session. Miss, if you’d like to supervise the vehicle inspection, please meet Mr. Seo in the parking garage in thirty minutes. If not, he’ll be supervised by a senior valet.”

You nod stiffly and rise. “Fine.”

Changbin’s already on his feet, stretching in that obnoxious, broad-shouldered way like he’s warming up for something more intense than a paint check. He winks at you as you turn to go.

“Don’t worry,” he calls after you. “I’ll be gentle with her this time.”

You don’t turn around, but your voice drifts back cool and clipped: “Can’t say the same for me.”

And just like that, you leave them both stunned—Aeryn in amused disbelief and Changbin with his jaw halfway to the marble floor, clearly unprepared for a guest who plays the game better than he does.

_____________________________________________________________

The parking garage is dim and humming—low lights buzzing overhead, the distant sound of tires squealing somewhere in the bowels of the building. It smells like concrete, polish, and testosterone. Probably imported.

You’re not sure what you expected when you agreed to this little charade of an “inspection,” but it wasn’t a fully detailed, sparkling version of your Mustang parked dead center in the valet bay like it’s on display at a car show.

And definitely not Changbin leaning against the hood like he’s auditioning for a gritty magazine spread titled Torque and Temptation.

He’s swapped the sleeveless shirt for a black fitted polo that’s somehow worse. Tighter. Smugger. The sleeves cling to his biceps in a way that should be illegal in most countries.

“I figured she deserved a little TLC,” he says, pushing off the hood with that maddeningly lazy swagger. “Did the wash myself. Waxed her, too.”

Your gaze darts to the faint water trails drying along the edge of the fender. You narrow your eyes.

“She doesn’t need waxing,” you deadpan.

He smirks. “Thought she liked it smooth.”

You don’t blink. “You’re impossible.”

“Not impossible,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “Just inconveniently available.”

You square your shoulders. “You’re here to inspect for damage, not flirt like a used car salesman.”

He grins like he is the six-pack. “Multitasking is a skill, sweetheart.”

God, he’s infuriating.

But then he crouches beside the front wheel, fingers gliding along the curve of the rim with surprising delicacy. The shift from cocky to focused is disorienting.

He looks up at you from beneath his lashes, voice lower now. “You see this?” He taps lightly against the edge. “No scratches. No dents. And trust me, I’d notice. I’ve got… very sensitive hands.”

You fold your arms, because the way he’s crouched—thick thighs straining, lips just parted, that teasing glint never quite gone—is more than a little distracting.

“I’m sure you do,” you say tightly.

He stands again, slow and deliberate, brushing his palms off on the seat of his pants. “Want to see how good they are?”

You blink. “What, are you offering a back massage now?”

He grins wickedly. “Only if you’re parked face-down.”

You choke on your own inhale.

He steps closer, close enough that you have to tilt your chin to meet his gaze. “You don’t scare easy, do you?”

“I drive a Mustang,” you say coolly. “I scare other people.”

He whistles low. “So that’s what this is. You’re trying to out-alpha the valet.”

“No,” you say, stepping into his space. “I’m trying to keep the valet from jizzing on my engine block.”

That actually stuns him for a second. His jaw drops. Then—laughter, full-bodied and infuriatingly attractive.

“Goddamn,” he mutters.

And then he’s moving—no more teasing, no more playful quips—just pure, deliberate intention. He crowds you against the car with all the subtlety of a freight train, body heat pouring off him like a goddamn furnace. One hand plants beside your head on the roof, the other slides around your waist, dragging you flush to him.

“You think I won’t?” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “Think I won’t bend you over this car right now and fuck you like I’m marking territory?”

Your breath stutters. You don’t answer. Can’t.

That’s when he glances up, eyes flicking to the discreet little security camera nestled in the corner of the ceiling. Red light blinking. Recording.

You expect him to flinch. Maybe ease off. Instead, he smirks. Reaches into his back pocket. Pulls out a microfiber towel—the same one he probably used to lovingly polish your hood—and with one casual flick, he tosses it over the camera lens.

No words. No hesitation. Just the silent, arrogant kind of dominance that says: watch time is over. Now it’s for me.

Your heart lurches. Your thighs clench.

And then he moves.

No smirk, no warning. Just heat and mass and intent, crowding you back against your own car like he’s staking a claim. One thick thigh forces between yours. His palm finds your waist and drags you into his chest, hard enough to make your breath hitch. His hand slams beside your head on the roof, and suddenly you’re caged—nothing but steel and heat and him.

“You think I won’t?” His breath ghosts over your ear, deep and dangerous. “Think I won’t bend you over this fucking Mustang and ruin you?”

And you should say something. Should push back, throw that cocky tone right back at him like you always do. But your brain short-circuits the second his thigh flexes between yours, pressing up just right, like he already knows how to cut you off at the source.

“You’re full of shit,” you mutter, breathless, but it’s weak. A pathetic swing when you’re already spiraling.

Changbin huffs a laugh against your skin, and it’s so smug. You feel it in your bones. “Yeah? Keep running your mouth, baby. See how fast I shut it.”

Then he’s spinning you—just grabbing you and turning you like it’s nothing. Your chest hits the hood of your car with a dull thunk, the cool metal shocking against your flushed skin. You’re spread out like a meal, and he doesn’t even pause to admire. Just acts.

His hand plants between your shoulder blades, pinning you. His other hand shoves your skirt up without ceremony. You hear him groan behind you—raw and low—when your lace panties are revealed, the dark patch of wetness front and center.

“Oh, fuck me,” he mutters, hand sliding down to cup between your thighs. His fingers press right into the soaked fabric, rubbing a slow, dirty circle over your clit. “This from just me talking, baby?”

You bite back a moan, but your hips roll into his touch, helpless and aching.

He tsks. “You’re filthy. Fucking soaking. You want me to wreck you out here, huh?”

“Like you’d know what to do with it,” you snap, still clinging to whatever dignity you’ve got left.

The air shifts.

You feel the tension coil in him before he moves, and then he grabs your panties—fistful at your hip—and rips them down in one rough pull. They get caught at your knees, tangled in your thighs, and before you can protest, he snatches them up and shoves them into your mouth.

“You don’t get to talk anymore,” he growls, voice like gravel as he looms over you. “You get to take it.”

And you whimper. Because god, yes. That mouth of his, the size of him behind you, the weight of his cock already pressing to your soaked folds—it’s too much.

His cock drags over your entrance, heavy and hot, and so thick you twitch just from the feel of it against your slit. He’s not even in yet, just teasing, sliding the head through your slick—smearing it, soaking himself in the mess between your thighs like he’s painting you in it.

And fuck, he loves how wet you are. You can hear it in the way he grunts—like the sound alone punches the air from his lungs.

“Shit,” he breathes, almost reverent. “You’re dripping for it. Didn’t even get my cock inside and you’re already desperate.”

He grips your hips tighter, thumbs digging into your skin, spreading you open with no finesse—just a filthy kind of urgency like he needs to see you split for him. Like he’s starved for it.

“You ready for this, baby?” he mutters, voice rough as gravel. “Gonna fuck you so stupid, you forget your own name.”

And then he pushes in.

The stretch is immediate. Relentless. You cry out into the panties stuffed in your mouth, back arching as your cunt fights to take the girth of him. He’s thick—not overly long, but the kind of cock that makes you feel full right from the start. That kind of stretch that burns and thrills and tears your breath from your lungs all at once.

“Fuck—fuck,” he hisses through clenched teeth, hips trembling as he sinks in slow. “You’re tight. Holy shit, baby, you’re gonna make me cum before I even start.”

You clench, and he whines.

It’s broken and breathy—boyish and wrecked. The sound of someone already spiraling, trying to hold back and failing miserably.

His fingers dig harder into your hips like he’s anchoring himself to reality, like if he doesn't hold on right now, he’s going to lose it completely. He’s inside—barely—but it already feels like too much. Too hot. Too tight. Too fucking good.

“You’re squeezing me like a fist,” he gasps, forehead dropping to your shoulder for a second, sweat slicking his skin. “You want me to blow already, huh? Want me to cum like a fuckin’ virgin just from putting it in?”

He groans as he pulls back, just a few inches, then slams back in.

You choke on the scream behind your gag, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from the force of it. Your body jerks forward from the impact, tits dragging over the hood of your car, and the friction only makes it worse—better. You don’t even know the difference anymore.

“Yeah,” he pants, breath stuttering against your neck, “that’s it. Take it. Take all of it, fuck—look at this little cunt stretching so fuckin’ wide for me.”

He sets a rhythm that’s brutal and hungry—driving into you like he’s got something to prove. Like he needs to make you feel every last inch of him. The slap of skin on skin echoes around the garage, mixing with his ragged breathing, the squelch of your soaked pussy, and your muffled moans.

“Fuckin’ made for me,” he groans. “Like this pussy was built to take my cock. You feel that, baby? Feel how good you’re takin’ it?”

You nod helplessly, drool starting to leak around the edges of the panties stuffed in your mouth. It’s messy, degrading, and you don’t care—don’t want to care. Not when he’s fucking you like this.

“You’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you?” he growls, thrusts getting harder, deeper. “Say the word and I’ll flip you over and fuck you through the windshield. Make you sit on my cock while I drive you home, legs spread, dripping all over my seat.”

You whine, hips jerking back into his, and he laughs—low, breathless, filthy.

“God, you’re such a fuckin’ mess. Look at you. Cryin’, droolin’, gagged on your own panties, and still grinding back on me like you want more.”

He grabs a fistful of your hair, yanks your head back, makes your back arch like a bow.

“Still got attitude left in you, huh?” he taunts, voice right in your ear. “Still think I don’t know what to do with it?”

Then he pulls all the way out—slow, deliberate, dragging the full thickness of him against your raw walls—and slaps the head of his cock against your clit. Once. Twice. You jolt with each hit, body twitching like it’s trying to run from the pleasure and the pain and the fucking overstimulation.

But there’s nowhere to go.

Because he won’t let you.

One hand fists in your hair, the other pins your hips down, and he’s not gentle. He doesn’t want you squirming. He wants you still, wants your legs open and your cunt dripping and your body exactly where he put it—used and needy and begging for more.

“Look at you,” he grits out. “So fuckin’ pretty like this. All wrecked and spread out for me.”

Then he does it again—slaps your clit with the flushed head of his cock, and this time your whole body jerks, a strangled moan escaping around the gag. You’re already trembling, nerve endings fried, and he’s not even back inside you yet.

He hums like he’s delighted by it, like he’s admiring the effect. “That sensitive already? Poor baby.”

He slides back in with one smooth, slow thrust, and the way your body clenches around him—wet, twitchy, desperate—pulls a broken fuck from deep in his chest.

He doesn’t move right away. Just stays there, buried to the hilt, grinding his hips slow and filthy, like he’s making you feel every single inch, like he’s daring you to fall apart on him again.

“I could do this all night,” he breathes, nose dragging up your spine. “Just stay right here, keep you full, keep you dumb. Ruin you over and over until you can’t think of anything but my cock.”

Your body throbs around him, a pulse of heat so intense it makes you whimper, makes your knees buckle under the weight of it. His arm snakes around your waist, hauling you up just enough to keep you upright, to keep fucking you through it.

“You gonna cum again for me?” he murmurs, mouth at your jaw, breath hot and mean. “Gonna soak my cock like a good little toy?”

And you do—can’t not. Your whole body seizes, spasming around him in a sudden, violent wave of pleasure that makes you scream around your gag, makes you claw at the hood of the car, makes your vision go white.

He groans—low, choked, nearly broken—and the sound of you falling apart seems to shatter whatever restraint he had left.

“That’s it. That’s fucking it.”

He slams into you again, faster now, harder, a man possessed. His thrusts are erratic, savage, and he’s panting curses against your neck.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he growls. “Gonna fill this little cunt so full, it leaks all the way down your thighs. Gonna mark you—ruin you—until everyone who looks at you knows who you belong to.”

He thrusts in deep—so deep it knocks the air from your lungs—and stays there, hips twitching as he cums with a guttural moan, body trembling against yours. You feel it—hot and thick—spilling inside you in pulsing waves, flooding you, claiming you.

Neither of you move for a long moment.

Just the sounds of panting, sweat-dripping silence. Your thighs shaking. His breath against your back. The weight of him still buried inside.

Then—finally—he pulls out with a filthy, slick drag, and you whimper, overstimulated and ruined. Cum leaks out of you immediately, sliding down your thighs in warm rivulets.

He leans in, lips brushing your ear, voice smug and low.

“Still think I don’t know what to do with it?”

______________________________________________________________

[TRANSCRIPT – INTERNAL SECURITY SYSTEM, 21:03]

Jisung is in the control room. It’s quiet. Late. He’s alone, legs kicked up on the console, one hand in a snack bag, the other toggling through camera feeds with minimal enthusiasm.

Han (deadpan): “Another thrilling night at the SKZotel. Let’s see which part of the building needs Jesus today.”

Camera 19 loads: P3 Valet Bay. Changbin is visible, leaning against a black Mustang. He’s not in uniform. Technically not even supposed to be down there.

Han (frowning): “…Why is he always shirtless-adjacent? Who approved that fit?”

He watches. Changbin steps closer to a guest. Close-close. Hand on the roof. Whispering something. The guest presses back against the car.

Han (snorting): “He’s about to fuck that guest or buff the car again, and honestly, I don’t know which one he’s thirstier for.”

21:08 — Guest is visibly flustered. Changbin crouches. Jisung zooms in, bumps the desk with his knee, curses, and knocks over chips.

Han (frantic whisper): “No no no—get back in frame—oh god he’s crouching—oh god he’s got thighs. This is a hate crime.”

21:09 — Changbin looks directly into the camera. Smirks.

Han (gasping): “He knows. He knows. That smug bastard—”

21:09:06 — Changbin reaches into his back pocket, flicks a microfiber towel over the camera lens with the flair of a man who’s definitely committing at least three HR violations.

Han (screaming): “NOOOOOOOOOO—

cut to static

[ADDITIONAL NOTES:]

Officer Han has submitted a formal request to install thermal imaging in the garage.

Request has been immediately denied.

Counseling has been suggested. Han has declined.

series taglist: @nightmarenyxx @miyaluvvsyou @jisuperboard @fackeraccount @silly250 @lov3rachan @lze325 @angel-writes-here @jesuisstay @lov3rachan @lze325 @scribblesnsketches05 @jesuisstay @slut4junho @wickedbutlovely @woozarts @pixie-felix

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lav-bee · 3 months ago

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Dr. Stone x Reader

PDA in public VS private

Character/s: Hyoga

❤️- read as romantic

(A/N- I may like Hyoga more than I thought. Half of this is totally self indulgent o-o)

Hyoga

- He’s not very touchy in public. In fact he discourages it.

- The first time you tried hugging him in front of your peers he moved away from you and tried to subtly pry you off :/

- Which is rude, Hyoga understands that. He made it up to you later on in private.

- Since that day he’s been vocal about how much he doesn’t like it. Hyoga communicates very well and knows what he doesn’t like. Being honest is key and he’d rather not hurt your feelings again.

- He also won’t kiss you in public. Any show of weakness is a no- go :| Hyogas got a few enemies stacked up and wouldn’t want them to use you as leverage if they find out how much he cares.

- After some time you might be able to convince him to hold hands ^-^ but that’s as far as he’s willing to go.

- In private he’s softer. Will let you hug and kiss as much as you please, especially refusing you the whole day.

- Sometimes he’ll come up behind you and rest his chin on your head. He’ll listen to you yap on about your day.

- His favourite thing is to lay on top of you

- Hyoga will have just gotten back from a tough day of training and see you- chilling out, minding your own business laying on your shared bed.

- You don’t look up from what you’re doing, too engrossed in your project.

-“I made sure to take some extra food for you. Francois made pizza and brownies, it should still be warm.” You say, gesturing to said food on the side table.

- Ever since Francois has been revived the food has been amazing. Of course you couldn’t help yourself from stealing a little extra for your boyfriend after his training.

- Hyoga doesn’t pay any mind to the food and instead pulls off his feathery cloak and joins you on the bed. At first you think he’ll simply pull you into his arms and spoon you but no, he lays on top of you.

- He pushes the blanket off that’s separating you and lays his head on your stomach. He craves skin to skin contact.

- “What are-“

- “I don’t need food.” Hyoga mumbles. His arms come up to wrap around your waist and pull you closer, if it’s physically possible. “I need you.”

#headcannons #x reader #dr stone x reader #dr.stone x reader #dr. stone anime #hyoga akatsuki x reader #hyoga akatsuki #dr stone hyoga #hyoga x reader #Hyoga x reader fluff

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v3lvieraven · 4 months ago

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Big squeeze pt.2

Note: I’m so sorry it took so long but I’m back!

Characters- Ace, Deuce, Cater, Jade, Jamil

Warnings- deuce pushing you away, deuce summoning a cauldron onto his head, deuce crushing ace with a cauldron, Jamil giving you the silent treatment

Ace-

• at first I think he wouldn’t like it that much, mainly because it would catch him off guard and he didn’t want to seem vulnerable

• honestly ace would be one of those guys who would squeal then cover it up by yelling because they don’t wanna seem girly

• Ace’s face would be red but yes he likes it (loves it)

• He’d tease you for it a lot, but the moment you revoke his squeezing privileges he’d be a whiny mess

• like a five year old who was told they couldn’t have ice cream type of whiny

• Ace would try, key word is try, to discreetly follow you around until he got what he wanted

• but everyone can tell by the way he’s trailing after you that he’s probably wanting affection

• he’s not very good at hiding his feelings, his face says everything before he can even speak!

• Ace isn’t very used to being the one chasing after someone’s attention, he used to be a playboy after all.

• so it’s strange for him to be feeling this way.

• Once he gets what he wants he’s in pure bliss though, he likes the feeling of being secure in your arms.

• After a long day of dealing with failed potions and deuce summoning a cauldron that ends up falling on him, he’s just happy to recharge in your embrace.

Deuce-

• he’s a lot more of a sweet heart about it

• Deuce definitely likes the squeezing but sometimes it can be a bit much

• so you need to make sure to read his mood before giving him one because it reminds him of his fights he used to get in

• on those days where he needs affection he will ask for one, maybe in his dorm room (he doesn’t want Grimm or Ace to be there) it’s a lot quieter compared to ramshackle

• he will usually lay next to you awkwardly for a while until you get fed up and pull him on top of you, his favorite position

• it’s the easiest way for you to squeeze him, but eventually your arms will get tired

• when that happens he likes to switch positions so you can still give him that sense of pressure and security

• don’t take it to heart if he randomly yells when you do it though, he isn’t mad, just startled

• he accidentally pushed you away a few times, each of those times he summoned a cauldron to drop on himself

• be surprised he doesn’t have brain damage

Cater-

• as long as you don’t do it in public he loves them!

• even though he’s a very social person and seems to not care too much about what others think of him, he does.

• he likes to keep this wall up, only allowing others to see a part of him that isn’t entirely truthful

• but when your alone he feels he can be himself, affectionate and calm

• he doesn’t feel like he needs to hide himself away from you

• he likes when he can just experience something without sharing it with others

• of course he will sometimes post you squeezing him, but those types of posts are rare because even though he loves to show you off, he likes to keep some aspects of your “relationship” (crush, or relationship) private

• he’s the type that likes it every once a while (maybe twice a week?) but overall doesn’t mind it if you do it all the time

• he just thinks it’s nice to be surprised, it feels more special this way, and less suffocating

• when you do squeeze him he always gets flustered, burying his face into your neck

•These are the times you see him smile, and not one he put on just for show, a real smile…

Jade-

• Im not even gonna put it any other way- he will bite you.

• he’s like his brother, mischievous and sneaky, except he doesn’t have so much mood swings as Floyd

• he’d shake his arms around your waist, and before you can continue to squeeze him harder he beats you to it

• he doesn’t do it as hard as Floyd usually does but it still takes your breath away.

• that just makes you love squeezing him even more.

• but be aware you will be getting harassed by Floyd because now he’s jealous and that just will not do!

• Jade likes to be a tease and kiss the place on your neck where pulse can be felt against his lips

• he enjoys how it’s quicker do to the restrained breathing

• “Jade I cant breathe!” You’d say between giggles

• “should’ve thought of that before you squeezed me…” he’d mumble, voice muffled with his lips against your neck

Jamil-

• at first he’s NOT having it

• that’s his personal space man like what the hell do you think your doing?

• once you get in a relationship he’ll be more accepting of if (he loves it)

• he’s never really felt like he could have something to himself so he’s happy that you aren’t doing it with anyone else-

• what’s this? You gave kalim one of your squeezes because he did you a favor?

• que temper tantrum

• I’m talking silent treatment, side eyes, huffs of air, avoiding you like the plague.

• you will literally have to trap him for him to acknowledge you

• of course he misses you but his jealousy is strong, he’s had to give up so many opportunities to serve Kalim and now that he thought he had something for himself, it wasn’t just for him?

• you quickly pick him up bridal style, causing a loud yelp to leave his lips

• he feels you bury your face into the crook of his neck as a hand goes through his hair with a certain care

• “I’m sorry for whatever I did to make you mad… please stop ignoring me..” You said, sounding genuinely confused and hurt.

• damn now he feels like a dick! Especially with how you sound like your abt to cry (srry if your not that type of person)

• “I…don’t worry about it…” he’d grumble

• obviously you don’t take it as that, squeezing him tighter as you change positions so that his legs are now wrapped around your waist, giving you more access to hugging him.

• “I am worried about it though…”

• he sighs hiding his face away with a small groan “I was jealous

•You park up “Hm?”

• “I was jealous of when you squeezed Kalim, I don’t want you doing that with anyone else…but me.” He’d whisper

• that’s when you cup his cheeks and press a kiss to his lips.

•you learned quickly that it was worth it to just share this with him, you’d show your appreciation some other way because this was reserved for Jamil.

#twisted wonderland fluff #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #cater x reader #cater diamond #ace trappola twst #ace trapolla x reader #deuce spade x reader #deuce spade #ace trappola #jade leech x reader #jade leech #twst jamil #jamil viper x reader #jamil viper #fanfic

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madridfangirl · 2 months ago

Text

Three is a crowd!

Jude bellingham blurb.

Jude gets jealous to see his girlfriend with her admirer at a party. And he makes his feelings known.

...............................................................

Jude took one final look at himself in the mirror. Satisfied, he quickly picked up the gift bag and headed out for the party. He was late, but he could still make it for some time.

It was Roma’s birthday. Her boyfriend was in town for the week so she had decided to throw a small pool party at one of their colleague’s places. Of course, with Roma, nothing was small, not really. A cozy gathering meant for close friends & colleagues had turned into a guest list of 50+, as Ananya had huffed exasperatingly.

But hey, it was her day, and she quite liked to be treated as a princess on her day, so everyone just played along. Even Chris, who was a lot like Ananya in terms of keeping things small & private, had agreed wholeheartedly that it was a great plan. Roma sometimes joked that Chris should be with Ananya and she should be with Jude, given how similar their personalities were.

Jude was also looking forward to see his girlfriend, who he hadn’t seen much of in the last few days because she was busy planning the party for her best friend. And with Roma, it was more of a birthday week than just one day so a lot was going on in their apartment.

He had recently gone public with Ananya, just over two weeks ago, in early August, shortly post the Euros. After a lot of deliberation, they figured it was the right time. Ananya had gotten into Stanford and was leaving for the US mid-September, where the scrutiny would be much lesser than Madrid. And she was already on notice period in her office, so the impact on her work situation would be subdued too. Big tournaments were over, it was the beginning of a new season, so no expectation per se of being seen together in big matches. And Jude really really wanted to do this before she left for 2 long years. He had managed to convince her it was the right time, and she couldn’t deny the logic.

The act of going public was via a photo Jude had posted on his story, of the two of them. Jobe had clicked it at their family home in Birmingham a few months ago - a simple shot of them sitting together outdoors for barbecue, Jude’s arm around her shoulders and her head resting slightly on his shoulder, a happy smile on their faces, eyes sparkling with contentment. Ananya had diligently gone through all their photos to pick the absolute appropriate one, and Jude agreed with the choice.

Along with the photo was a caption of Jude announcing that he was seeing her, but no tag was made to her private account. And there was an explicit request for privacy, stating she is a private person. The expected backlash came, but not as much as she was anticipating. There was obviously a lot of immediate interest in knowing more about her but there wasn’t anything on the internet since her insta was private & she wasn’t on other socials. So the fan pages & gossip sites didn’t have much to go on after a week and the trending went down. Gradually, most fans turned quite vociferous that the couple should get the privacy that they were requesting for, after they realised this was not some stunt & the pair genuinely wanted to keep it low key. In fact, people respected the fact that he was announcing his commitment & not playing any games with them or the media. And they respected it even more that the girl wanted no part of this limelight, that she was actually a normal girl. Well, most people did. There was of course the lot who called her too simple & basic and thoroughly undeserving of their prince.

Jude had offered to get her security for the time she was in Madrid but she wanted to just stay normal. They had agreed to revisit it if things got crazy, but thankfully it didn’t, since Jude & his team were super tight-lipped about her & the house stance was there will be no further comment on this. So even the tabloids didn’t have much to go on beyond the speculative pieces. She had conceded to let Agnes be her dedicated chauffeur though, out of concern for people recognising her on the streets or in the metro.

Her office had been another story. It was right in the heart of Madrid and people were simply stunned with this development. On the first day back at work, a random woman who Ananya had never seen before sat next to her in the cafeteria and straight up asked how Jude was in bed. Ananya was tongue-tied. Then, Roma stood up to give a cutting speech for people to drop their creepiness and get a life. Post that, the murmurs at the back continued but folks didn’t bother asking her this stuff directly.

Some girls were red with jealousy, in sheer disbelief of how someone ‘plain’ like Ananya could land Jude or where they would have even met. It initially bothered Ananya, but with Roma’s help she eventually started finding it amusing. Of course with her close girl gang she still had to answer a lot of questions, with their giggling faces staring at her, but that was something she didn’t think she could ever get out of.

Jude was super present during that first week, calling / texting her every few hours, to the point of annoying her. But she appreciated the nagging; she knew he was doing it to distract her and it worked. Overall, the going public thing had gone as smoothly as was realistically possible in their situation.

And tonight would be the first time they would be out together, outside of their closest friends or his family. Jude was quite looking forward to it. She didn’t know he was going to be there, since he had an overlapping shoot, but it got done quickly & he wanted to surprise her. Well, Roma too, but mostly her.

‘Hey man, wassup?’

Chris greeted him warmly when he entered. Chris was an American & not a football fan, so was quite chill with Jude.

‘Hey, where’s the birthday girl?’

‘Oh she’s everywhere. Just saw her like 2 mins ago.’

‘And you’re on gate duty?’

‘Pretty much.’

‘Figures.��

‘Oh my god YOU MADE IT.’

Roma dashed from across the room and hugged Jude tightly, making him smile.

‘What a welcome. And Happy Birthdayyy!’

‘Thank you. And what do we have here?’

She looked at the bag curiously, spotting the RM logo on it. Jude handed it to her, and fully expected the resulting shriek when she saw the signed Zidane jersey inside.

‘I LOVE YOU. OH MY GOD. Best day of my life.’

Jude & Chris smiled at her antics as she spun around with joy while hugging the jersey. Shortly after, Jude excused himself to find his girl, making his way to the pool where Roma had last seen her.

But he froze in the doorway. Because she was there, with HIM.

The last person Jude ever wanted to see in this world, was standing next to his girlfriend, immersed in a deep conversation. Her full attention was on him, nodding along, as if he had just discovered all the unknown secrets of the universe & was sharing his findings. What a fucking leech!

Jude had done a fantastic job of just zoning this guy out from their lives. They never talked about him since that Christmas cabin visit. Even though he knew they saw each other at work every day. The understanding was that she would tell him if anything major ever happens with that guy or anyone else. She hadn’t said anything, so Jude knew nothing of note had happened. But unfortunately, that didn’t mean that he stopped existing. Around her. Coz he was still very much there. And this moment just made it too fucking real.

If it were up to Jude, that guy won’t ever be in the 10km radius of her. Obviously, at work, he couldn’t control that. But there was no fucking way he was going to let this little scene continue here. Hell no. It was time to show that irritating insect his place.

Ananya felt Jude’s presence, a shift in the air, a whiff of his cologne, before she felt his hand on her waist, turning her slightly towards him, into his side.

‘Hey baby.’

He said in an audible sing-song voice. Their eyes met. And in that split second, her eyes urged him to appreciate the situation & be the bigger person but Jude was having none of that.

His other hand cupped her jaw, and she shut her eyes when Jude tilted her face up & leaned in for a kiss, letting his lips linger for two seconds more than a casual greeting kiss. His hand on her jaw firmly covering the meeting of their lips, shielding her & their moment from that guy’s gaze, somehow managing to make his point yet keeping it private.

Ananya knew fully well what he was doing. But there was nothing she could do. He would never admit his little ploy and would throw something like ‘what I can’t kiss my girlfriend?’ or ‘what’s your excuse now?’

And she had no logical reason. Because the argument to be sensitive to Arjun’s feelings would be a non-starter for Jude.

Also, even after 10 months together, she still got a little lightheaded when he held her & kissed her like this. Her hand automatically clutched his shirt lightly as he kept her steady with his hold on her waist. She sighed a little when he broke the kiss, still leaning into him, holding on to him, needing a moment to recover while Jude dropped his hand from her face and turned to look at the immobile guy standing in front of them.

Arjun felt bile rise in his throat in real time. He wanted to run, but felt like his feet had been plastered into the ground.

Jude fucking Bellingham was standing in front of him. Kissing the girl who had stolen his heart so badly that he was still trying to put the pieces back together.

His favourite player of the season, from his lifelong favourite club, was dating the girl of his dreams. The girl who was simply perfect for him in every which way. But had chosen to go with the guy who already had so much. Way too much, yet he took her too.

How was it fair? It was like some super-natural forces of the universe aligned to make her pick him. She wasn’t like that, not her. In fact she hated such intrusive attention. The connection had to be that deep for her to be willing to deal with all that came with it, and even go public with him.

The last thought made him sick. But Arjun recovered quickly when Jude turned to look at him.

An awkward staring contest ensued. Neither men breaking it. Jude didn’t want to and Arjun didn’t know how to.

It just hit Arjun what his current favourite player must have thought of him all these months, & none of those would have been remotely pleasant thoughts. It also soured the Clasico experience for him. Watching it live at the Bernabeu was one of his most treasured memories, but now he understood how they were in the VIP box and who she was with that night when Arjun & others were out partying after the match. It made him look at it in a very different light. That was the night he had lost her.

Not that he ever had her, or even tried to. For weeks before that night, he had thought of asking her out. His best friend had nudged him multiple times. But Arjun believed that rushing things with her won’t go well. She needed time & space to first get to know him, only after that he could make a move.

But lo & behold, rules of the game didn’t apply to this privileged golden boy. He came out of nowhere & swept her off her feet. What were the odds? But clearly his luck defied all odds. What a surprise! A cruel joke!

It also wasn’t lost on him where Jude’s hand was firmly planted - below her waist but right above her butt. Like only a boyfriend could. He looked away, he just had to.

Ananya had recovered by then & tugged on Jude’s shirt lightly to break the deafening silence. He complied with a curt nod to Arjun.

‘Jude.’

No handshake, no warm side-hug. A very un-like Jude kinda greeting.

Arjun almost wanted to scoff. Like he didn’t know who Jude was. Actually, he wished he didn’t know him. Watching him on his screen every match would be painful now.

‘Arjun.’

He nodded back. Ananya was secretly glad that Arjun didn’t lose his bearing in front of Jude. Most guys would have in this situation, especially when Jude was being kinda brattish.

The two men couldn’t have been more different. Jude was dressed head to toe in a chic designer ensemble, oozing natural ease & confidence, while Arjun was in a sharp formal shirt & trousers, measured & classy.

She tried to come up with something smart to say, anything to cut the tension here, but her brain betrayed her at the worst possible moment. So she took an easy way out.

‘Umm let’s get a drink Jude?’

The said man turned towards her, and his gaze softened immediately as he nodded.

She grabbed his arm & started leading him towards the bar, away from the scene.

‘See you tomorrow!’

Ananya bid her goodbye politely to Arjun.

‘Yeah let’s continue where we left off.’

That irked Jude. A lot. He almost wanted to turn around & say something, but Ananya was diligently dragging him away. Well, she was trying. So he swallowed his irritation & played along. A drink won’t hurt at this time.

Thankfully, they found a fairly tipsy Roma at the bar, and her overjoyed mood rubbed off on the rest. Ananya felt the tension in Jude’s posture ease gradually, and his arm wrapped around her shoulders from behind. She leaned back into him, and allowed herself to drown in the merriment around her. Later, Roma dragged the group to the makeshift dance floor as the DJ blared one hit after the other.

After dancing & drinking their hearts out, Roma & Ananya somehow found themselves hugging each other, swaying to the music. Jude & Chris let them be, enjoying their drinks, and were on catching duty in case one of them trips, which looked very likely to them.

‘What a great party!’

‘It really is, isn’t it?’

‘I’m so glad you’re having the best birthday.’

‘Well, I’m with my fav people, so…’

‘Awww.’

‘How’s the ‘I love Ananya’ club going?’

Ananya rolled her eyes loudly & lightly smacked her arm, but Roma just shrugged & laughed.

‘Not too bad I guess.’

‘Has Jude tried to hit him?’

‘NO.’

‘Curse him?’

‘NO.’

‘Has he tried to drag you to the washroom to take you then & there?’

‘Oh god no.’

‘So it’s going pretty good then.’

‘I guess so.’

Jude decided to intervene in that moment, wrapping an arm each around both of them.

‘Heard my name. Missing me much?’

‘Think of the devil…..’

Roma said dramatically.

‘Pls, you love me. And a bit more after today.’

When Ananya enquired what they were referring to, Roma mentioned the signed jersey, and Ananya immediately turned to look at Jude, crossing her arms.

‘There’s one waiting for you at home. Did you really think I’d forget about you?’

She smiled, untangled herself from Roma & went to give Jude a big hug, which he reciprocated immediately. And Roma left the lovebirds alone to attend other guests.

It was that time of the night when the people were high and music had mellowed down to match the vibe. Ananya’s face was buried in his chest, tucked under his chin, as he held her & swayed her lightly to the tune.

‘Are people looking?’

‘Doesn’t matter.’

‘But….’

‘Doesn’t matter babe. And no, not too much actually.’

‘Hmmm.’

Jude slowly caressed her back, which relaxed her & she sighed into his chest, losing herself in the moment again. She could do that, drink freely & not worry about a thing, coz Jude was here now.

Arjun had tried very hard to keep the happy couple out of his sight, since that puke inducing moment. He even tried to respond to the advances of a hot blonde girl he had never seen before, who was talking like a 7 yr old for some reason, but Arjun tried to focus more on the hotness piece for now. And how she was half falling over him, rubbing his arm repeatedly.

Despite his best efforts, his eyes flicked at times towards her. What hit him more was not so much the kiss (it was painful, no question) but the deep emotional intimacy & connection she seemed to share with the other guy.

The way she smiled at him; it was the same smile Arjun had seen many times in the office when she looked at a text on her phone or went to take a quick call in one of the empty conference rooms.

The way her skin flushed at his suggestive touches, or when he leaned over to whisper something teasing in her ear. (Arjun had to fight to not imagine how flushed she would get in other situations.)

The way she melted into his arms, fully in sync, moving when he moved, sharing an unspoken language with him, talking through their eyes. So fucking palpably in love.

But she looked happy. At peace. How could he ever be mad at that? How could he ever wish for that to go away? He couldn’t.

Arjun did wonder though what Jude did to deserve such unconditional bond with her. DID HE DESERVE it at all? He was a footballer after all - a young, rich, popular, handsome one whose fame had just skyrocketed. Their history with women was no secret, nor was their lifestyle. Even in the last year, there were multiple articles about him speculating his relationships. Was he cheating on her & manipulating her to believe otherwise? Coz she won’t tolerate cheating, Arjun knew she would walk away. So why then did she choose to stick with him? When it was quite obvious how this would end. One day, he’d hurt her. Bad. And she, of all people, didn’t deserve it. Arjun just wished she sees that soon, before she gets too attached. But it looked like that ship had already sailed.

The blonde girl was making heart eyes at him by now, after blabbering something about wanting to take a drive, and that was his cue to get the fuck out of this party. Away from the sight of them.

Ananya swayed in Jude’s arms for god knows how long. She was relieved at how he had calmed down, and was quite proud of how maturely he had handled the situation after the initial hiccup. But later that night, when they were in the car with Roma & Chris, on their way back from the party, she felt something shift in his mood from the way his hand gripped her thigh, firmly & possessively.

Roma suggested an afterparty at their apartment but Jude intervened decisively to say Ananya & him would head to his place, which was on the way to the girls’ apartment. When they reached, Jude opened the door, extended a hand to help Ananya out & bid goodbye to the other couple. Ananya felt his turmoil from the way he held her hand tightly, and the short walk from their driveway to the main door made her nervous.

Once inside, when Jude was locking the door & putting the alarm on, Ananya had to think quickly on her feet. When he turned around, she extended her arms towards him, cocking her head to the side, smiling lazily, something she knew he found adorable. Indicating that she wanted to be carried.

Jude looked at her face, then her arms, then back at those pouty lips. His eyes softened & he exhaled sharply, giving in.

When he picked her up, she thought she would be carried upstairs to the comfort of their bed but Jude brought her to the garden, to the edge of the pool.

‘What are we doing here?’

‘Well, you said you had never been thrown in the pool at a pool party.’

But he didn’t throw her in. The pool was only 5 feet & he didn’t wanna risk a bad fall. So he set her down, took off everything he was wearing (barring his briefs) and swiftly slipped inside the pool.

‘Come on in.’

She was wearing a deep blue summer dress, thin straps at the top, fitted till the waist and widely flowing from waist-down till below her knees.

‘The dress?’

‘Take it off.’

‘We are outside.’

‘It’s dark. Only the porch light is on.’

It was dark. Only moonlight twinkling on the water. Plus the yard had high trees & fences. But it was still outside & it made her nervous. Especially now, when so much attention was on them. She’d be damned if someone saw them half-naked in the pool.

Jude ducked his head in & emerged back, fully wet, water dripping from his sharp jaw-line & hair. Eyes only on her. Straight out of a wet obscene dream. Impossible to say no to.

Slowly, she took off the dress, & his hungry gaze landed on her matching deep blue lingerie, escorting her as she stepped inside the pool. He stayed still, letting her come to him.

Ananya wanted to talk about what he was feeling, but Jude had other plans. Wildly different plans. When she scooted close & cupped his cheeks, staring into his turbulent eyes, Jude caught her wrists, pinning them behind her back firmly, and crashed their lips together in a kiss that made her hot all over in the cool water.

He let her wrists go, moving his hands to her boobs, squeezing them hard, taking off the wretched garment covering the sweet mounds, tearing his mouth away from her lips to suck the hardening nubs. She gasped at the sudden intensity, trying to hold on to his shoulders to anchor herself, but his actions were rapid, not letting her settle.

‘Jude…honey….pls look at me….’

She tried to cup his cheeks again, but Jude lifted her by her waist & placed her on the steps, spreading her legs wide apart. Her panties were ripped off in seconds and she grabbed the railing on the steps when Jude moved his mouth between her lags, lapping at her with a pace that made her want to scream. And she did scream when he ate her out relentlessly, making her wet for more than one reason.

The intensity of his mouth made her clutch the back of his head, trying to slow him down but Jude grabbed her hips harshly and used the angle to double down, not coming up till he completely shattered her, making her scream his name in agony mixed with ecstasy, forcing her to peak over & over with the force of his will. Only stopping when she fell forward, catching her before she slipped, letting her rest against his torso as she panted into his chest. Sweaty wet bodies squished together.

He let her catch her breath, threading his fingers through her hair absentmindedly, before backing her against the wall of the pool, lifting her by the butt to wrap her legs around his waist, and lowering himself inside her with a few quick, precise strokes.

They were face to face now, her arms around his neck, as he briskly moved inside her, manoeuvring her lower body to constantly hit different angles, making her gasp with almost each stroke.

Her nails dug into his shoulders as she weakly pressed her lips against his, breathing into his mouth.

‘I love you.’

She whispered. And he just thrusted harder, sending shockwaves through her body.

‘Jude….I love you.’

He tensed, following it up with another frenzied thrust.

‘And HE loves you. STILL.’

Ananya shut her eyes, feeling his hurt, while her body thrummed with pleasure. She didn’t want their private moments to be infiltrated by someone else’s thoughts, this should just be about the two of them.

‘Not denying it then?’

She pulled herself apart a bit to look into his stormy eyes - rougher than a tsunami, more intense than the depths of an ocean.

‘You’re….not…letting me…speak..’

He groaned animatedly, only half satisfied with the response, and went back to ravishing her. Usually, when Jude had a task that he set his mind to, he executed it flawlessly. This was no different. His mission to drown his frustration under her breathless moans was playing out to the T. Momentarily, he forgot the pang he felt in his heart when he saw the two of them together. And the realisation that this happened every fucking day. That creature saw her, lurked around her every fucking day. And there was nothing Jude could do about it.

She came again, screaming his name, her walls squeezing him deliciously, wrangling his high out of him too. Coating her insides fully, not separating till he was convinced she won’t drip.

Jude helped her out of the pool, on to the lounger on the side, and slowly tapped at her soaked form with a towel. She took over a few moments later, and he went to fetch a towel for himself.

When her senses recovered, she wrapped the towel around herself & quickly looked around to find any sign of anyone possibly watching them, but as Jude had meticulously explained so many times, it wasn’t possible. Someone could have heard her though, she was convinced she sounded like a cat that ran under a car.

Her boyfriend was drying himself a few steps away, his back to her. His words were still playing at the back of her mind. She stood up gently, her legs a bit wobbly still, and hugged him from behind, resting her face on his broad back.

He sighed, covering her hand with his.

‘You okay?’

‘More than ok. Coz I’m with you.’

When he didn’t say anything, she walked around him to look at his pretty (& still wet) face, finally cupping his cheeks softly and pulling him down for a lingering kiss.

‘Take me to bed now?’

‘Yeah.’

She was lifted bridal style again, and she smiled this time, loving the princess treatment. Walking away, she could vaguely see their undergarments just floating in the pool, & made a mental note of fixing that later. She’d absolutely die if the housekeeper finds them like that.

When they passed the kitchen on their way up, Jude asked if she wanted to have something, given she had a fair bit to drink. But she just wanted to hold him & kiss him & tell him how much she loved him. Why it didn’t matter what a third person might feel. This was just about the two of them.

He laid her on the bed, and she pulled him down next to her, curling into his side, placing soft kisses on his chest.

‘My baby.’

She cooed to him, reaching up to caress his face, showering him with affection before broaching the sensitive topic.

Jude’s head was still all over the place. And her soft, inviting body rubbing against his made his blood rush south. Fast & hard. He was nowhere close to being done with her, not tonight.

When Jude pulled her towel off, flipped her to get on top, pinning her hands over her head (all in a few seconds), she squirmed & wriggled underneath him, breaking away from his kiss. That offended him, deeply.

‘What?’

‘Wait…pls wait.’

‘We should talk first.’

‘About what?’

‘You know what.’

‘I don’t want to. Not now. Later.’

He dove in again and she evaded his mouth again.

‘SERIOUSLY? You’re saying no to me now?’

Jude wasn’t used to that. She had never refused him when he was in such a mood and needed her badly. His mind obviously linked it to an unpleasant reason, & she saw the hurt instantly on his face.

Agitated, he rolled away from her, sitting up on the bed. She sat up too, pulling the sheet around herself, and shifted next to him, speaking softly.

‘I’m not saying no. Just saying we should talk first.’

‘And I’m saying I don’t wanna talk right now. That counts for nothing?’

‘It’s not good to bottle things between us, baby. It’s not healthy.’

‘I will just fucking end up saying something that would get you mad. Can’t you see that?’

‘I won’t get mad. Wanna hear what’s in your heart.’

She moved to caress his back but he stood up abruptly to pace around the bed.

‘I HATE HIM.’

‘I know.’

‘I HATE that he’s with you every fucking day. Looking at you. Fantasising about you. Fucking son of a…’

‘Jude. I hear you. And I get it. But pls believe me when I say this - I’ve never felt uncomfortable around him. A girl knows, she just knows. He’s not like that.’

He stopped pacing & crossed his arms, staring straight at her.

‘Oh he’s not, yeah?’

‘Yes, he’s not. If I would have felt uncomfortable even once, I would have done something about it. Remember our deal? I said I’d come to you if there ever was anything - but it’s just not true. Not when he was….when he had….feelings. And not now, when he has moved on.’

Jude looked at her like a detective investigating a criminal.

‘How do know he has moved on?’

Ananya took a deep breath to calm herself. Did he think she was keeping tabs or something?

‘Roma told me he’s been on a few dates. Even with women in our office.’

‘How do you know those are dates & not hook-ups?’

‘How does that even matter?’

Jude scoffed like she asked him something silly, which irked her.

‘Hook-ups are for sex. Doesn’t mean he’s over you.’

She looked at him with irritation, looking for something to beat his logic.

‘He’s not the hookups type. At least….I don’t think so.’

This time, Jude simply laughed in her face.

‘Sure, so he’ll just say no to sex yeah? You’re so cute sometimes. I’ve NEVER met a man like that.’

His tone & presumptuousness was starting to get on her nerves now. What was the poor guy supposed to do? Die? Leave the city? His job? Because Jude didn’t like him? It had been 10 months for crying out loud. The world does not revolve around one person.

‘Not everyone is like….’

She checked herself at the last second, horrified, but Jude pounced on it.

‘Like what? Like me? That’s it, isn’t it? You think he’s better than me, don’t you? Morally superior, high Indian values and all that? Someone you can take to your parents easily? Where you don’t have to set the ground for MONTHS and even then want to wait for the right time for an in-person meeting, like in our case? SAY IT ANANYA.’

She flinched at his words and the hurt in his voice. Shaken, she rushed to him, throwing her arms around him desperately, whispering sorry into his chest. He didn’t say anything, but his posture eased, deflated. She dragged him to the edge of the bed, making him sit down & then climbed into his lap, kissing all over his face.

‘I’m sorry honey. Didn’t mean it like that. I’m so sorry.’

She kissed his face again, and he loosely wrapped his arms around her.

Ananya cupped his cheeks and made him look into her eyes.

‘Listen to me. No third person can come between us, not anymore. No one can sway us, unless our intent is to cheat. Do you think I want to?’

‘No.’

‘Then that’s it. Whatever he or anyone else might feel is irrelevant. You can hate him & you’re justified, I won’t stop you.’

‘But you don’t hate him.’

‘I don’t have a reason to.’

‘And you have a soft corner for him, you always defend him. Don’t deny that.’

She wasn’t going to insult his intelligence by denying that.

‘Maybe.’

‘Why? What has it always been there?’

‘Initially, coz he was kind, respectful & not chauvinistic. It’s rare in my field, believe me. And then later…..’

She had to pick her words carefully, especially when Jude was watching her like a hawk.

‘Maybe I feel guilty….for hurting him unknowingly. And I am thankful that he respected my choice & never made me uncomfortable. That’s also rare in my field, and for men in general.’

‘What if he’s using that to wait in the wings, waiting for me to fuck this up so he can be the knight in shining armour?’

‘He’ll have to keep waiting then.’

‘Can you promise me that?’

‘Promise you what?’

‘That you’ll never be with him. No matter what.’

She looked at his face curiously, thinking over this strange ask. Unfair ask. The feminist in her was screaming inside that it was wildly inappropriate for him to ask her this. He had no right to. What she did if they didn’t end up together was really none of his business. How could he try to dictate her life like that?

But the girlfriend in her could see that her man was hurting. The way his eyes were twitching, waiting for her response, the way his hands were fidgeting on her back, the nervous gulps, the way his voice broke when he said that last line - Jude was in pain and if it was in her power to soothe him, she was absolutely going to.

‘Ok.’

This caught him off guard. He was 90% sure this would be one of the things that would make her mad. But he knew he wanted this promise from the moment he saw the two of them together.

‘Happy now?’

He shook his head & rested his forehead against hers.

‘Scared.’

‘Why, my love? You have me, all of me.’

‘Feels like you’ll slip away, no matter how hard I try to keep you mine. If it’s not this asshole, it might be some other prick from this super elite school you are going to, a million miles away.’

‘Your fear is growing, coz your love for me is growing. That’s how love works.’

‘It’s wretched.’

‘Sure is.’

‘Do you feel it too, the fear?’

‘All the time. Like at least a million women would kill to be in my place, I know that.’

‘But no one can be you.’

‘And no one can be you.’

‘Man I love you.’

‘Finally. Kept me waiting all day.’

They moved at the same time for a kiss, sighing into each others’ mouth.

‘Need one more promise.’

‘What now?’

‘You’ll let me fly you down whenever you can spare any time. None of this ‘I can’t splurge on you’ nonsense anymore. It’s not splurging. I NEED you. I fucking need you with me.’

‘Ok.’

‘Don’t go back on this later.’

‘I won’t.’

‘God I’m gonna miss you. How is it just a month? You’ll be gone, and I won’t get to hold you every night, see this face every morning.’

She was trying very hard to hold herself together but this did her in. Her choked voice came in a whisper.

‘And…you think I won’t miss you too?’

A tear rolled down her cheek, jolting him instantly.

‘Hey, hey….shhhhh.’

‘When I’m the one going away, when I’m the one putting us through this, don’t you think I feel guilty?’

‘Oh baby, no, not this. It’s ok.’

He wiped her tears, patting her back slowly.

‘How is it ok, when I wake up in the middle of the night & stare at your sleeping face, and it makes me NOT WANT TO GO?’

With that, all the pent up emotions of last few months came out, along with the waterworks. Jude held her through it, letting her soak his shoulder with her emotions, cooing softly into her ear.

Minutes later, when she calmed down & clung to his chest, an idea struck him.

‘I have the perfect thing to make you feel better.’

She thought he was talking about sleeping. She couldn’t be more wrong.

He wrestled the sheets off from around her, with her still in his lap, and lifted her by her butt to carry her to the large French window in his bedroom.

‘Let’s make new memories together. You get what I mean by ‘new’ yeah?’

‘I always get what you mean. You’re never subtle.’

‘That’s your department. I just take what I want.’

With that, he flipped her naked body & pressed her front to the window, the cold glass making her shudder.

This was not like the pool. It looked into the street. Ananya could see cars passing by and some people too. There were still lights outside.

‘Jude people can….’

‘Dark inside. Lights outside. They can’t see us. Basic science.’

‘But…’

Before she could finish the sentence, he lifted one of her legs to get the right angle & pressed his tip against her entrance, his other hand coming to her front, sliding down to rub circles on her clit. Shutting her up. For words at least.

For the next half hour, she was pushed & thrusted against the window, her body & laboured breaths painting the glass with marks. As he moved her like he owned her. And maybe he did. And maybe she liked that.

Later that night, Jude woke her up with kisses down her back, starting from that spot right at the back of her neck which immediately made her gooey. Her sleepy eyes, groggy voice & messy hair spread across the pillow turning him on even more. Telling her that since they only had a month left before she leaves, they had to make their time extra efficient. Basic logic. She quipped that it was ‘basic Jude logic’ but shifted readily on her back to invite him in & even helped him to get ‘ready’ quickly. Like he knew she would. Like they were perfectly in sync, as Arjun had so righty observed.

.....................................

There you go. 6.4k words.

I came back after a long time & enjoyed writing this.

Jude took one final look at himself in the mirror. Satisfied, he quickly picked up the gift bag and headed out for the party. He was late, but he could still make it for some time.

‘Hey man, wassup?’

Chris greeted him warmly when he entered. Chris was an American & not a football fan, so was quite chill with Jude.

‘Hey, where’s the birthday girl?’

‘Oh she’s everywhere. Just saw her like 2 mins ago.’

‘And you’re on gate duty?’

‘Pretty much.’

‘Figures.’