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heesvnqie · 2 days ago

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Loose- Park Jongseong!Jay

pairing: Park Jongseong (Jay) x f!reader genre: smut, romance, angst, gym trainer AU, slow-burn warnings: explicit sexual content (18+, minors DNI), unprotected sex (wrap it up IRL!), oral sex (m receiving), rough sex, light bondage (wrists tied), dirty talk, teasing, begging, strong language, alcohol consumption, workplace tension, jealousy, emotional intensity word count: 6k a/n: Jay stans, this one’s for us. Thanks for the love!

Seoul’s skyline glitters like a promise, all sharp edges and neon dreams, and you’re right in the thick of it, chasing your own. You’re 22, fresh off a promotion at your marketing firm, and you’ve traded your small-town roots for a sleek apartment in Gangnam. Life’s fast here—meetings, deadlines, rooftop bars with clients who think they’re gods—but you thrive on the chaos. You’re not the type to shrink from a challenge; you meet it head-on, heels clicking, smirk sharp, always three steps ahead. Your colleagues call you a siren in a suit, and you wear it like armor. But there’s one place where your confidence wobbles, where your swagger’s a little less sure: the gym.

You’ve never been a fitness junkie. Sure, you’ve jogged a bit, done some yoga to destress, but weights? Machines? That’s a foreign language. Your new job, though, comes with expectations—image matters in Seoul’s corporate world, and you’ve noticed the way your fitter coworkers carry themselves, all sleek lines and quiet power. Plus, the stress is starting to creep in, tight in your shoulders, heavy in your chest. You need an outlet, something to ground you. So, you sign up at Iron Pulse, the trendiest gym in the city, known for its elite trainers and clientele who look like they’ve stepped out of a K-drama.

Your first session’s tonight, and you’re nervous—not that you’d admit it. You’ve spent an hour picking your outfit, settling on black leggings, a cropped tank, and sneakers that cost more than your first paycheck. Your hair’s in a high ponytail, your makeup subtle but sharp, because even if you’re about to sweat, you’re doing it with style. You’re bold, not reckless, and you’re not walking into this gym looking like a newbie.

Iron Pulse is intimidating from the jump. The lobby’s all glass and chrome, with a juice bar that looks more like a nightclub. The air hums with hip-hop beats and the clank of weights, and the people—god, the people—are sculpted, confident, moving with purpose. You check in, your heart a little faster than you’d like, and the receptionist points you toward the training area, where your trainer’s waiting.

You spot him before he sees you, and your breath catches, because fuck. Park Jongseong—Jay, your trainer, according to the email—is leaning against a rack of dumbbells, scrolling through his phone, looking like he was carved from marble. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair pushed back, a few strands falling into his eyes. His black compression shirt clings to every muscle, and his sweatpants do nothing to hide the power in his legs. He’s not just hot—he’s devastating, all sharp jawline and quiet intensity, with a presence that makes the room feel smaller.

You swallow, squaring your shoulders, because you’re not here to drool—you’re here to work. You stride over, your smirk in place, and he looks up, his eyes locking onto yours with a focus that makes your stomach flip. “You Y/N?” he asks, voice low, smooth, with a hint of a smirk that says he’s already sizing you up.

“That’s me,” you say, tilting your chin, matching his energy. “You’re Jay, I’m guessing? The guy who’s gonna make me regret signing up?”

He laughs, a soft, warm sound that catches you off guard, and pockets his phone, stepping closer. His cologne hits you—something woody, clean, like cedar and spice—and you have to remind yourself to breathe. “Only if you half-ass it,” he says, his eyes scanning you, not in a creepy way, but like he’s assessing your form, your potential. “You look like you can handle a challenge. Am I right?”

You grin, liking the bait. “I don’t just handle challenges, Jay. I eat them for breakfast.”

His smirk widens, and he nods, like he’s impressed but not surprised. “Good. Let’s see if you back that up. Follow me.” He turns, leading you through the gym, and you follow, your eyes traitorously glued to the way his shoulders move, the flex of his back. Focus, Y/N, you tell yourself, but it’s hard when he’s built like a goddamn Greek god.

He takes you to a quiet corner with a treadmill, some mats, and a rack of weights that look like they could crush you. “We’re starting simple,” he says, handing you a water bottle, his fingers brushing yours, sending a spark up your arm. “Warm-up, then we’ll test your baseline—strength, endurance, flexibility. I need to know what I’m working with.”

You nod, taking a sip, your lips where his might’ve been, and you catch the way his eyes flick to your mouth, just for a second. “Fair warning,” you say, setting the bottle down, “I’m stubborn as hell. Don’t go easy on me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, stepping onto the treadmill beside you, setting it to a brisk walk. “Keep up, and tell me about yourself. Why’re you here?”

You match his pace, your sneakers hitting the belt, and you give him the short version—new job, high stress, wanting to feel stronger, sharper. He listens, really listens, his eyes on you, not judging, just absorbing. “Sounds like you’re carrying a lot,” he says, when you finish, his voice softer now. “Gym’s good for that. You can leave all that shit at the door.”

You glance at him, surprised by the empathy, but you play it off, smirking. “What, you moonlight as a therapist too?”

He chuckles, upping the treadmill speed, and you curse under your breath but keep up. “Nah, just seen a lot of people come through here with baggage. Including me.” He doesn’t elaborate, and you don’t push, but there’s something in his tone—something real, raw—that makes you want to know more.

The warm-up’s brutal—sprints, lunges, push-ups that make your arms scream—but Jay’s there, counting reps, correcting your form with a hand on your back, your shoulder, light but firm, sending heat through you every time. He’s professional, but there’s an edge to his touch, a spark in his eyes when you nail a set, like he’s proud but also… something else. You’re dripping sweat by the end, panting, but you feel alive, electric, and he’s grinning, tossing you a towel.

“Not bad for a first day,” he says, wiping his own face, his shirt clinging even tighter now, and you have to look away before you do something stupid, like lick your lips. “You’re tougher than you look, Y/N.”

“Don’t let the heels fool you,” you say, catching your breath, your grin sharp. “I’m a lot.”

He laughs, low and warm, and steps closer, handing you your water. “I’m starting to get that,” he says, his voice dropping, his eyes holding yours a beat too long. “Let’s cool down. Stretches.”

The stretches are torture, not because they hurt, but because Jay’s hands are on you, guiding your hips, pressing your shoulders, his voice low and steady in your ear. “Breathe into it,” he says, his fingers brushing your lower back as you bend forward, and you do, but it’s not the stretch making your heart race. You’re bold, but he’s got you flustered, your usual swagger faltering under his touch, his gaze.

By the end, you’re a mess—sweaty, flushed, and embarrassingly turned on. He walks you to the locker room, his demeanor back to professional, but there’s a glint in his eyes, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. “Same time Wednesday,” he says, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed, biceps bulging. “Don’t be late, or I’ll make you do extra burpees.”

You smirk, recovering enough to fire back. “Only if you do them with me, Jay.”

He grins, shaking his head. “You’re trouble,” he says, and then he’s gone, leaving you buzzing, your body humming with want, your mind already counting down to Wednesday.

The next few weeks are a dance of sweat and tension. Jay’s your trainer three times a week, and every session’s a masterclass in restraint—his and yours. He pushes you hard, adding weights, upping reps, but he’s always there, spotting you, praising you when you crush it, calling you out when you slack. His hands are everywhere—correcting your squat, steadying your plank—and every touch lingers, every glance burns. You’re drooling over him, and you’re not subtle, but you’re not crossing that line, not yet. He’s your trainer, and you’re his client, and that boundary’s a tightrope you’re both walking.

You’re not alone in noticing him. The gym’s full of women—and some men—who eye Jay like he’s dessert, whispering about his abs, his smile, his everything. You hear it in the locker room, see it in the way they linger by his station, but Jay’s oblivious, or at least he acts like it. His focus is on you during your sessions, intense, unwavering, like you’re the only person in the room. It’s heady, addictive, and it’s driving you insane.

Your best friend, Min-ji, is your lifeline through this. She’s a graphic designer, all sass and zero filter, and she’s been screaming at you to “just jump him already” since you told her about Jay. You meet her for drinks at a rooftop bar one Friday, spilling everything—his smirk, his hands, the way he says your name like it’s a secret.

“Girl, you’re drooling,” Min-ji says, sipping her cocktail, her grin wicked. “I mean, I get it. He sounds like sex on legs. But what’s stopping you? You’re not exactly shy.”

You groan, leaning back in your chair, the city lights sparkling below. “He’s my trainer, Min-ji. It’s… complicated. Plus, what if I make a move and he’s not into it? I’d have to find a new gym, and I’m not starting over.”

She rolls her eyes, tossing her hair. “Please. The way you describe him looking at you? He’s into it. He’s just playing by the rules. You need to break them.” She leans closer, her voice dropping. “Wear something extra hot next session. Push his buttons. See how long he lasts.”

You laugh, but the idea sticks, because you’re tired of waiting, tired of the game. You want Jay, bad, and you’re not above playing dirty to get him.

Wednesday’s session is your breaking point. You take Min-ji’s advice, showing up in a new set—tiny black shorts, a sports bra that’s more fashion than function, your hair loose because you know he likes it that way. Jay’s waiting by the squat rack, and when he sees you, his jaw tightens, just for a second, before his smirk slides into place.

“New gear?” he asks, his voice neutral, but his eyes are anything but, lingering on your legs, your waist, your everything.

“Thought I’d switch it up,” you say, brushing past him, your shoulder grazing his arm, sending a spark through you. “You like?”

He clears his throat, stepping back, but you catch the heat in his gaze. “Looks… functional,” he says, but his voice is rougher, and you grin, knowing you’ve got him.

The session’s brutal—squats, deadlifts, bench presses—but the real torture’s the tension. Jay’s closer than usual, his hands firmer, his voice lower, and you’re pushing back, matching his energy, flirting with every rep, every stretch. You catch him watching you in the mirror, his eyes dark, hungry, and you know you’re both close to snapping.

During the cool-down, he’s behind you, guiding your hips into a stretch, his hands hot, his breath on your neck. “Lower,” he murmurs, and you comply, arching your back, feeling him tense behind you. You turn your head, catching his eye, and the air crackles, thick with want.

“Careful, Jay,” you whisper, your voice teasing, daring. “You’re playing with fire.”

He chuckles, but it’s strained, his hands tightening on your hips for a second before he steps back, his smirk shaky. “You’re the one lighting matches, Y/N,” he says, and then he’s walking away, leaving you panting, your body screaming for him.

That night, you’re home, pacing, your mind a mess. You text Min-ji: I’m gonna lose it. He’s too fucking hot, and I’m too weak. She replies with a string of laughing emojis and a voice note: “Babe, he’s weak for you too. Next session, make your move. Life’s too short for this slow-burn bullshit.”

You know she’s right. You’re bold, you’re fierce, and you’re done waiting. Jay’s your trainer, your tormentor, your everything right now, and you’re ready to risk it all. Wednesday’s a line in the sand—either you cross it, or you burn out trying.

You’re not the type to lose sleep over a man, but Park Jongseong—Jay, your gym trainer—is making a liar out of you. It’s been two weeks since that first session at Iron Pulse, where his hands, his voice, his everything left you rattled in ways you didn’t expect. You’re bold, always have been—your career’s built on sharp words and sharper decisions—but Jay’s got you second-guessing your game, your swagger, your sanity. Every session’s a war between your confidence and the way he makes your pulse race, and you’re starting to think you’re losing.

It’s Monday evening, and you’re back at Iron Pulse, the gym’s neon lights buzzing overhead, hip-hop pounding through the speakers. You’ve upped your game since last week, wearing a new set—crimson sports bra, matching leggings that hug every curve, your hair in a sleek braid because you caught Jay’s eyes lingering on it last time. You’re not here to play subtle; you’re here to push his buttons, to see how long he can keep that professional mask before it cracks. Min-ji’s voice echoes in your head: Push his buttons. See how long he lasts. You’re ready to test that theory.

Jay’s by the cable machines, setting up for your session, his black compression shirt doing unholy things to his biceps, his sweatpants slung low enough to make you glance twice. He’s focused, adjusting weights, but when he sees you, his eyes darken, just for a second, before his smirk slides into place. “Y/N,” he says, voice smooth, like he’s saying your name for the first time. “Looking like trouble again.”

You grin, dropping your gym bag with a thud, your chin tilted up. “Trouble’s my middle name, Jay,” you say, stepping closer, close enough to catch his cologne—cedar, spice, a hint of sweat that’s unfairly intoxicating. “You ready to keep up with me today?”

He chuckles, low and warm, crossing his arms, his biceps flexing in a way that makes your mouth dry. “Question is, can you keep up?” he says, nodding toward the machines. “We’re hitting legs and shoulders today. No slacking, or I’m adding sprints.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re buzzing, your blood already hot from his challenge. “Bring it, boss,” you say, brushing past him, your shoulder grazing his arm, sending a spark through you. He doesn’t flinch, but you feel his eyes on you, tracking your stride, and you know you’ve got his attention.

The session’s brutal—squats, shoulder presses, lunges that set your thighs on fire. Jay’s relentless, counting reps with that steady voice, his hands correcting your form, light but deliberate, leaving heat in their wake. “Hips back,” he says, his palm on your lower back during a squat, and you comply, but you arch just a little more, knowing it’ll drive him nuts. His fingers tense, just for a second, before he steps back, his jaw tight.

“Good,” he says, voice rougher now, and you smirk, catching his reflection in the mirror. He’s watching you, not just your form, but you—the sweat on your neck, the way your braid swings, the curve of your hips. You’re winning this round, and it feels fucking good.

Halfway through, he hands you a water bottle, his fingers brushing yours, lingering a beat too long. “Hydrate,” he says, but his eyes are on your lips, and you take a slow sip, letting a drop spill down your chin, wiping it with the back of your hand, never breaking eye contact.

“Thanks, Jay,” you say, voice sweet but sharp, and his smirk falters, his gaze dropping to the floor before he recovers. Got you, you think, but you’re not sure who’s got who anymore.

The session ends with stretches, and this is where he kills you. He’s behind you, guiding your arms into a tricep stretch, his chest brushing your back, his breath warm on your neck. “Hold it,” he murmurs, his hands on your shoulders, pressing gently, and you do, but you’re trembling, not from the stretch but from him—his heat, his scent, his voice. You turn your head, catching his eye, and the air shifts, heavy, electric.

“Careful, Y/N,” he says, voice low, a warning wrapped in want. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

You grin, leaning back just enough to feel him tense. “Maybe I like it hard,” you whisper, and his hands freeze, his breath hitching, before he steps back, his smirk strained, his eyes dark with something you’re dying to name.

“Session’s over,” he says, voice clipped, but he’s not moving, not looking away, and you know you’re both teetering on a line you’re desperate to cross. You grab your towel, tossing it over your shoulder, and saunter toward the locker room, feeling his gaze burn into your back. Game on, Jay.

The next few sessions are a dance of push and pull. You’re bolder every time—tighter outfits, cheekier banter, brushing against him “accidentally” during sets. Jay’s a pro, keeping his cool, but you see the cracks—his jaw clenching when you laugh at his jokes, his hands lingering when he spots you, his voice dropping when he says your name. You’re drooling over him, and you’re not hiding it, but he’s got you just as bad, and you both know it.

Min-ji’s your hype woman, meeting you for coffee between sessions, her eyes glinting with mischief as you spill every detail. “He’s gonna snap soon,” she says, stirring her latte, her grin wicked. “No man’s that disciplined. Keep pushing, babe. Wear that red set again, but, like, accidentally forget your water bottle. Make him chase you.”

You laugh, but you’re already plotting, because Min-ji’s right—Jay’s holding back, but he’s human, and you’re ready to break him. Your next session’s Wednesday, and you’re planning to up the ante, but life throws a curveball first.

Friday night, Iron Pulse hosts a “client appreciation” event—a fancy term for a gym party with free drinks, a DJ, and a chance to mingle outside the usual sweat-soaked setting. Min-ji convinces you to go, because “Jay’s gonna be there, and you need to see him in something other than a compression shirt.” You’re skeptical, but you show up, because if Jay’s there, you’re not missing it.

The gym’s transformed—lights dim, neon strobes, a bar set up where the juice counter usually is. The crowd’s a mix of trainers, clients, and fitness influencers flexing for Instagram. You’re in a black dress, tight enough to turn heads, heels that make your legs look endless, your hair loose because you know Jay’s a sucker for it. Min-ji’s beside you, in a sparkly mini, already scanning for her own target—a cute spin instructor she’s been eyeing.

You spot Jay across the room, and your heart stutters. He’s in a fitted black blazer, white shirt unbuttoned just enough to show his collarbone, dark jeans that hug his thighs. He’s laughing with a group, a drink in hand, his hair styled back, and he’s so fucking gorgeous you forget how to blink. He hasn’t seen you yet, and you take a moment to compose yourself, sipping your vodka soda, your smirk sharpening.

“Damn, he cleans up nice,” Min-ji whispers, nudging you. “Go get him, tiger.”

You’re about to, but then you see her—a leggy brunette in a red dress, all smiles and touches, leaning into Jay’s space, her hand on his arm. He’s not reciprocating, but he’s not pulling away either, and something hot and ugly twists in your chest. You’re not jealous—not exactly—but you don’t share, and you’re not about to let this slide.

“Hold my drink,” you tell Min-ji, handing her your glass, your grin dangerous. She cackles, knowing shit’s about to go down, and you stride across the room, your heels clicking, your confidence a blade.

“Jay,” you say, sliding into his group, your voice sweet but sharp, cutting through the brunette’s laugh. His eyes snap to you, and for a second, he’s speechless, his gaze raking over your dress, your legs, your everything. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Having fun?”

He recovers fast, his smirk sliding into place, but his eyes don’t leave yours. “Y/N,” he says, voice low, like it’s just you two in the room. “You look… good.” The way he says it, it’s not just a compliment—it’s a promise, and you feel it in your bones.

The brunette glances between you, her smile faltering, and you don’t bother hiding your smirk. “Thanks,” you say, stepping closer, your hand brushing his blazer, deliberate, claiming. “You’re not looking too bad yourself. New look?”

He chuckles, sipping his drink, his eyes locked on yours over the rim. “Trying something different,” he says, but there’s an edge to his voice, like he’s daring you to keep this going. The brunette clears her throat, trying to interject, but you’re already in, and Jay’s not stopping you.

“Mind if I steal him for a sec?” you say, not waiting for her answer, grabbing Jay’s wrist and tugging him toward the bar. He follows, no resistance, his laugh low and warm behind you, and you feel the brunette’s glare, but you don’t care. You’ve got his attention, and you’re keeping it.

At the bar, you let go, leaning against the counter, your smirk sharp. “She seemed nice,” you say, voice dripping with sarcasm, and Jay raises an eyebrow, leaning close, his elbow brushing yours.

“Jealous, Y/N?” he asks, his voice teasing, but his eyes are serious, searching. “Didn’t think you cared who I talked to.”

You laugh, tossing your hair, but your chest’s tight, because he’s right—you do care, and it’s pissing you off. “Please,” you say, stealing his drink, taking a sip, your lips where his were. “I just saved you from a bad decision. You’re welcome.”

He grins, stepping closer, his hand brushing your hip, light but deliberate. “Maybe I like bad decisions,” he murmurs, his voice low, and you feel it everywhere—your skin, your pulse, your core. You’re bold, but he’s got you reeling, and you hate it, love it, want it.

“Careful, Jay,” you say, your voice steady despite the heat in your veins. “You’re playing with a pro.”

He laughs, his hand lingering, his breath warm on your ear. “Oh, I’m counting on it,” he says, and then he steps back, grabbing a new drink from the bartender, leaving you buzzing, your body screaming for more.

The night’s a blur after that. You dance with Min-ji, laugh with strangers, but Jay’s always there, a shadow in your peripheral, watching, waiting. You catch him with the brunette again, her hand on his chest, and you grit your teeth, downing a shot, because fuck that. You’re not possessive—not usually—but Jay’s different, and you’re done pretending he’s not.

Min-ji pulls you aside, her eyes glinting. “You’re about to snap, aren’t you?” she says, handing you a water because she knows you’re tipsy.

“Not letting go,” you say, your grin sharp, because you’re in too deep, and you know it. You’re bold, you’re fierce, and you’re ready to burn for this.

Wednesday’s session is a fucking warzone. You show up in the red set Min-ji loved, the one that’s basically a dare—tiny shorts, a bra that’s more straps than fabric, your hair loose, wild. Jay’s waiting by the deadlift platform, and when he sees you, his jaw clenches, his eyes dark, hungry, like he’s fighting every instinct to stay professional.

“Y/N,” he says, voice clipped, but his gaze is anything but, roaming your body like he’s memorizing it. “You trying to distract me?”

You smirk, stepping close, your hand brushing his arm, deliberate. “Is it working?” you ask, voice low, and his smirk falters, his breath hitching.

“Focus,” he says, but his voice is rough, and you know you’ve got him. The session’s intense—deadlifts, pull-ups, kettlebell swings—but the real battle’s the tension. His hands are on you, correcting your grip, your stance, and every touch is electric, lingering, making you ache. You push back, flirting with every rep, every stretch, and he’s struggling, his composure cracking.

During a break, you’re both panting, sweat-slicked, and he hands you a towel, his fingers brushing yours, not pulling away. “You’re killing me,” he murmurs, so low you almost miss it, and you freeze, your heart slamming, because fuck, he just said that.

“Good,” you say, stepping closer, your voice a challenge. “Maybe you deserve it.”

He laughs, but it’s strained, his eyes locked on yours, and you’re so close you could kiss him, right here, in the middle of Iron Pulse. But then a client calls his name, and he steps back, his smirk shaky, his eyes promising later.

That night, Min-ji drags you to a group outing—a dive bar with some Iron Pulse trainers and clients, including Jay. It’s casual, all beer and laughter, but the air between you and Jay’s charged, every glance a spark. You’re in jeans and a crop top, nothing fancy, but Jay’s eyes are on you, dark and intent, like you’re the only one in the room.

You end up next to him at the bar, your thighs brushing, and he leans in, his voice low. “You’re making this real hard, Y/N,” he says, his hand on your knee, light but possessive, and you feel it everywhere.

“Hard’s my specialty,” you say, sipping your beer, your grin sharp, and he groans, low and quiet, his hand tightening.

“Fuck, you’re trouble,” he murmurs, but he’s smiling, and you know he loves it. You’re both tipsy, loose, and when he pulls you onto the dance floor, his hands on your hips, your bodies moving to the beat, it’s like foreplay, every touch a promise, every glance a dare.

You’re grinding against him, your back to his chest, his breath hot on your neck, and you feel him, hard and wanting, pressed against you. “Y/N,” he groans, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer, and you turn, your lips so close you’re sharing breath.

“Jay,” you whisper, your voice all want, and for a second, you think he’s gonna kiss you, right there, in front of everyone. But he pulls back, his forehead against yours, his breath ragged.

“Not here,” he says, voice rough, like it’s killing him to stop. “Not like this.”

You’re panting, your body screaming, but you nod, because he’s right—this isn’t a quick fuck in a bar. You want him, all of him, and you’re willing to wait, but not much longer.

The next session’s a fucking nightmare. You’re both raw, on edge, the bar night a wound you’re both picking at. You show up in black, tight and unforgiving, and Jay’s in a grey tank, his arms glistening with sweat, his focus razor-sharp but brittle. The workout’s brutal—box jumps, battle ropes, planks that make you shake—but the real torture’s the silence, the way you’re both holding back, afraid to break.

During a plank, he’s over you, checking your form, his hands on your hips, and you collapse, not from exhaustion but from him—his touch, his scent, his everything. “Y/N,” he says, voice low, worried, and you roll onto your back, panting, looking up at him, your eyes saying what your mouth won’t.

“Jay,” you say, voice cracking, and he kneels, his hand on your wrist, his thumb brushing your pulse.

“You okay?” he asks, but it’s more than the plank, and you both know it.

“No,” you say, sitting up, your face inches from his. “I’m not okay. You’re driving me fucking insane.”

He freezes, his eyes searching yours, and then he laughs, soft and broken, his forehead against yours. “You think you’re the only one?” he murmurs, his voice raw. “I’m losing it, Y/N. Every fucking session.”

You’re trembling, your hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, fast and hard, matching yours. “Then do something,” you whisper, your voice a plea, a dare, a prayer.

He groans, his hand on your jaw, tilting your face up, and then he’s kissing you, hard and desperate, like he’s been starving for this. It’s not sweet—it’s a clash, all teeth and tongue, your hands in his hair, pulling, his gripping your waist, pulling you closer. You’re on the gym floor, the world fading, just you and him, sweat and want and finally.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he gasps, pulling back, his lips swollen, his eyes wild. “We can’t—not here.” He’s right, the gym’s not empty, and you’re both crossing lines, but you don’t care, not when he’s looking at you like that.

“Then where?” you ask, voice rough, desperate, and he laughs, standing, pulling you up, his hand on your lower back.

“My place,” he says, voice low, a promise. “Friday. After the session. No more games.”

You nod, your heart slamming, because Friday’s two days away, and you’re not sure you’ll survive the wait. But you’re bold, you’re fierce, and you’re ready to burn for this.

It’s been three weeks since you walked into Iron Pulse, all confidence and sharp edges, expecting to own the gym like you own everything else. Instead, Jay’s got you drooling, flustered, your bold facade crumbling every time his hands graze your skin or his voice drops low. That kiss last week—desperate, messy, on the gym floor—was a grenade, and you’re both still reeling from the blast. Now it’s Friday, your next session, and you’re ready to burn it all down.

You’re in the locker room, prepping for battle. You’ve gone all out—black sports bra, barely there, with crisscross straps that scream look at me; leggings so tight they’re practically painted on, hugging every curve; your hair loose, because you’ve seen Jay’s eyes linger when it’s down. Underneath, a red lace set, because Min-ji’s voice is in your head: Wear the red. He’s done for. You’re not just here to lift weights; you’re here to break him, to see how long he can play professional before he’s begging for you. Your phone buzzes—Min-ji, of course: Babe, u gonna snap his neck or his dick tonight? Either way, I want the tea. You laugh, texting back: Both. Stay tuned. She sends a skull emoji, and you’re grinning, because she’s been rooting for this chaos since day one.

Iron Pulse is alive tonight—neon lights pulsing, hip-hop blaring, the air thick with sweat and ego. You stride in, your heels swapped for sneakers, but you’re still carrying yourself like you’re in stilettos, all swagger and steel. Jay’s by the squat rack, setting up, his grey tank clinging to his chest, sweat already beading on his forearms, his dark hair pushed back, a little messy. He’s a fucking sculpture—broad shoulders, narrow waist, thighs that could crush you—and when he sees you, his smirk falters, his eyes raking over you, dark and hungry, like he’s already fighting himself.

“Y/N,” he says, voice low, smoother than the whiskey you downed last night. “You’re late.”

You smirk, dropping your gym bag, stepping close enough to catch his cologne—cedar, spice, a hint of sweat that makes your head spin. “Worth the wait, though, right?” you say, tilting your chin, letting your hair fall over one shoulder, knowing it’s driving him nuts.

His eyes flick down—bra, waist, thighs—before snapping back to yours, his jaw tight. “You’re here to work, not distract,” he says, but his voice is rough, like he’s convincing himself, and you know you’ve got him on the ropes.

“Multitasking’s my specialty, Jay,” you say, brushing past him, your shoulder grazing his arm, sending a spark through you. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

He laughs, low and sharp, but it’s strained, and you’re already winning. The session’s brutal—squats, deadlifts, bench presses that make your arms scream—but the real torture’s the tension. Jay’s hands are everywhere—on your hips, correcting your squat; on your shoulders, steadying your press; brushing your waist, guiding your form. Every touch is electric, lingering, and you’re pushing back, flirting with every rep, arching just a little more, grinding just a little harder, watching his composure crack.

“Lower,” he says, his palm on your lower back during a deadlift, and you bend, slow, deliberate, your ass brushing his thigh, making him hiss under his breath. You straighten, catching his reflection in the mirror—eyes dark, jaw clenched, like he’s one second from losing it.

“Like that?” you ask, voice sweet but venomous, and he steps back, his hands flexing, like he’s restraining himself.

“Focus, Y/N,” he says, but his voice is gravel, and you know you’re under his skin. You’re both sweating, panting, and when he hands you a water bottle, your fingers brush, and you don’t pull away, letting the contact linger, your eyes locked on his.

“Thanks, Jay,” you say, taking a slow sip, letting a drop spill down your chin, wiping it with your thumb, and his gaze follows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Got you, you think, but you’re just as fucked, your body screaming for him, your pride the only thing keeping you from jumping him right here.

The session ends with stretches, and this is where he kills you. He’s behind you, guiding your hips into a lunge, his hands hot, his breath on your neck. “Breathe,” he murmurs, his fingers digging into your waist, and you do, but it’s not the stretch making you tremble—it’s him, his heat, his control. You turn your head, catching his eye, and the air crackles, thick, heavy, like you’re both daring the other to break.

“Jay,” you whisper, voice low, daring, and his hands tighten, his breath hitching, because you’re not just stretching—you’re teasing, pushing, snapping.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Y/N,” he says, voice a growl, his chest brushing your back, and you lean into it, just enough to make him groan, low and quiet.

“Good,” you say, your voice all fire. “I like danger.”

He laughs, but it’s rough, and then he’s stepping back, his smirk shaky, his eyes burning. “Session’s over,” he says, but his voice says we’re not done, and you know it’s happening—tonight, his place, no more games. “Meet me outside in ten. I’m driving you.”

You nod, your heart slamming, because this is it—the line you’ve been dancing around, ready to cross. You grab your bag, change into a tight black crop top and jeans in the locker room, keeping the red lace underneath, because you’re not just bold—you’re fucking lethal. Min-ji texts: U alive? Or did he kill u with those arms? You reply: Heading to his place. Send help tomorrow. She sends a string of screaming emojis, and you’re grinning, because you’re about to burn it all down.

Jay’s waiting outside, leaning against his car, black jacket over his tank, looking like sin on legs. He opens the passenger door, his eyes raking over you, and you slide in, feeling his gaze like a touch. The drive’s quiet, the city lights blurring past, but the tension’s a living thing, thick and pulsing, your thigh brushing his as he shifts gears, his hand grazing your knee, deliberate, electric.

“You sure about this?” he asks, voice low, glancing at you, and there’s something softer there, like he’s giving you an out, but you don’t want one.

“Never been surer,” you say, your hand on his thigh, firm, claiming, and he groans, low and quiet, his grip tightening on the wheel. “You scared, Park?”

He laughs, sharp and dark, pulling into his building’s garage. “Scared? Nah,” he says, killing the engine, turning to you, his eyes black with want. “Just hoping you can handle me, Y/N.”

You grin, leaning closer, your lips inches from his. “Handle you? I’m gonna break you, pretty boy.”

He groans, and then he’s out of the car, rounding to your side, pulling you out, his hands on your waist, pinning you against the door, kissing you hard, hungry, like he’s been starving for this. You kiss him back, just as fierce, your hands in his hair, tugging, your body pressed against his, feeling him hard through his jeans, making you moan, loud and shameless.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he gasps, pulling back, his lips swollen, his eyes wild. “Upstairs. Now.”

You follow, your pulse racing, his apartment a sleek blur of glass and city lights, but you don’t care, because he’s on you the second the door shuts, his hands on your hips, pushing you against the wall, kissing you like he’s starving. You kiss him back, just as hungry, your hands in his hair, tugging, your body arching, needing more.

“Goddamn, you’re trouble,” he murmurs, ripping your tee off, leaving you in your black lace bra, and he pauses, staring, his breath ragged. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

You grin, yanking his tank off, your hands greedy, tracing his abs, his pecs, every line of him a fucking masterpiece. “You’re one to talk,” you say, your lips on his chest, kissing, biting, making him groan, his hands on your jeans, unbuttoning, sliding them down, leaving you in your lace panties.

He steps back, eyes burning, and pulls his belt off, slow, deliberate, looping it in his hand. “Hands,” he says, voice low, commanding, and you raise an eyebrow, but you’re too turned on to argue, holding your wrists out. He ties them, loose but firm, the leather cool against your skin, and you’re trembling, not from nerves but from want, because this is new, raw, and you’re all in.

“On your knees,” he says, voice rough, and you drop, the floor hard, your eyes level with his jeans, his bulge obvious, making your mouth water. You look up, smirking, because you’re bound but not broken, and he’s about to learn it.

“Make me beg, huh?” you say, voice teasing, and he grins, unbuttoning his jeans, shoving them down with his boxers, his cock hard, thick, right there, and you lick your lips, because fuck, he’s gorgeous.

“Not yet,” he says, his hand in your hair, gentle but firm, guiding you closer. “Show me what that mouth can do first.”

You laugh, low and wicked, and lean in, licking a slow stripe up his length, making him groan, his hand tightening in your hair. You take him in, slow at first, your tongue swirling, your lips tight, and he’s cursing, low and filthy, his hips twitching, trying not to thrust. You’re in control, even on your knees, and you work him, sucking, licking, taking him deep, your bound hands behind you making it hotter, dirtier.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he gasps, his voice wrecked, his hand guiding you, faster, deeper, and you moan around him, the vibration making him shudder, his control slipping. “You’re so fucking good.”

You pull back, just enough to speak, your lips wet, your voice raw. “Untie me,” you say, because you want to touch, to take, and he grins, kneeling, undoing the belt, freeing your wrists.

“Bossy,” he murmurs, kissing you hard, tasting himself, and you’re up, pushing him toward the couch, because you’re done waiting. He sits, pulling you onto his lap, your panties still on, your hips grinding, feeling him through the lace, making you both groan.

“Ride me,” he says, voice low, a dare, and you grin, sliding your panties down, straddling him, your hands on his shoulders, his on your hips, guiding you. You sink down, slow, taking him inch by inch, the stretch perfect, making you gasp, your nails digging into his skin.

“Fuck,” he groans, his head tipping back, his hands bruising your hips, and you move, slow at first, grinding, feeling every inch, every thrust, your moans loud, shameless, the couch creaking, the city lights a blur outside.

“Jay,” you moan, your hips faster, harder, and he’s thrusting up, meeting you, his hand on your neck, pulling you down, kissing you messy, all teeth and tongue. His other hand’s between you, teasing your clit, slow, torturous, making you tremble, making you snap.

“Beg,” he murmurs, his voice rough, his fingers slowing, keeping you on the edge, and you’re shaking, your pride gone, your body his.

“Jay, please,” you sob, your voice raw, desperate, your hips bucking, chasing his touch. “Make me cum, please, I need it, need you, fuck, I’m begging.”

“Good girl,” he growls, and then he’s relentless, his fingers fast, his thrusts deep, hitting that spot that makes you see white, and you’re gone, your orgasm crashing over you, hard and blinding, your body clenching around him, screaming his name, raw, primal. He fucks you through it, his groans loud, his hips erratic, and then he’s cumming, hard, his face in your neck, his breath hot, ragged.

You’re both still, panting, tangled in sweat and lace, the air thick with sex and something heavier—something real.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he murmurs, voice wrecked, laced with awe. “You’re…so good.”

You laugh, breathless, nuzzling into his chest, his heartbeat grounding you. “Told you I’d wreck you,” you say, but it’s soft, because you’re wrecked too, and you’re okay with it.

He tilts your chin, kissing you slow, sweet, like a promise. “You’re mine,” he says, voice low, and you feel it, deep, true. "And sometimes we should let our desires loose."

@heesvnqie | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

Taglist:-

@slutofpsh

@laurenalpha123

@dreamiestay

@amortenha

@peonywon

@mitmit01

@heeevangelizesme

@gvni-eve

@yourmomni

@leov3rse

@punchbug9-blog

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luveline · 2 years ago

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jadey!! would you ever write something for spencer where reader gets tipsy/drunk and is all over him? i just think he would be so cute and flustered, especially if she isn’t usually this forward with him (either established relationship or mutual crushing!)

thanks for your request lovely♡ —you really want spencer to be your boyfriend. fem!reader, 1k

The smell of your lip balm is the very first thing Spencer acknowledges, rather than the soft press of your lips to his cheek, or your hand on his neck. When he does realise you're kissing him it's like a shock to the system; Spencer hadn't thought about what his neck might feel like to a new hand until you're cupping it sweetly, hadn't worried about the neatness of his hair before you ran a hand over it with reverence.

"Thanks for coming to pick me up," you say, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Best boyfriend ever."

Which is a great sentiment and all, but Spencer isn't your boyfriend. He holds your back in one arm, the other busy strangling his shiny car keys, his mind racing. He isn't your boyfriend. Right? You have to ask someone for it to be official (according to Derek, Penelope, and Emily) (JJ was a little more lax about it) and Spencer's been too scared to ask you.

"Are you okay?" he asks softly. You're wobbly.

"Super drunk," you say, like it's one word, a diagnosable affliction. "Sorry."

"Hey, it's okay. You don't have to be sober for me to drive you home. I'm really glad you called me."

You're drunk enough to miss his confused tones. "No, I'm sorry 'cos I knew you'd say yes even though you hate driving. I honestly didn't even think you had a car."

Spencer pulls you closer as a couple stumbles out of the same bar you'd been inside of, though when he arrived you were sitting on the cold sidewalk with your knees pulled up and your dress slipping out of place. He adjusts his grip to put an arm under yours and begins leading you toward to the parking lot.

"Next time, I'll come inside to get you, okay? I don't think I need statistics to remind you that it's not safe to be inebriated by yourself in the city, especially now." It's pitch black outside, stars like a scattering of tint salt grains visible to only the most dedicated of eyes. "It's dangerous for you. I don't mind coming in to find you."

"You're the nicest," you declare, letting your head fall onto his shoulder.

He's fitter than he used to be, but Spencer doesn't have a chance of getting you to the car if you're not conscious. "Hey, keep your eyes open. It's not far, okay? Work with me."

"Will you call me something nice if I do?" you ask.

Spencer helps you down off of the curb and across a naked stretch of asphalt shining like grease in the light from the lamppost. "I'll call you whatever you want me to."

"You called me pretty on Thursday."

Spencer feels the heat of a blush blooming at your slurred proclamation but doesn't back down. "You looked pretty on Thursday. You look pretty every single day. Watch the curb."

"What about, uh, pet names?"

"Like what?" he asks.

"Like honey, and sweetheart. Angel, doll, dove."

"Is that what you want?" he asks, trying to sneak a look at your face. You're concentrating hard on your footsteps, your tall shoes slippery on the wet ground.

"If we're together…"

"Are we together?" Spencer asks. He shouldn't ask while you're drunk, and it's not like he's going to take your word for it now over any sober discussion in the future, but he wants to know.

"You don't think we're together?" you ask, frowning. He's horrified to see the crushed tremble in your lip.

"I haven't had the chance to ask you yet," he says quickly.

You sniffle, looking at him with a wide-eyed hope. "But you're going to ask me?"

"Yeah, I'm going to ask you." He lowers his voice. He's not afraid of other people hearing him. If anything, he's afraid you will. He's afraid you'll hear him and reject him, despite every sign that says you won't. "I've wanted to ask you for a really long time, but you're– I was scared. You're beautiful, and kind, and you make me feel like I've found something I was missing, now. I guess I thought holding off would change the odds."

"I thought you got banned from all those casinos," you say, clinging to his arm.

Spencer's nose wrinkles. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"You count cards and pr… probability," —you sound it out— "right? Have you not been doing that with me?"

Spencer stops walking to help you pull your jacket back onto your bare shoulder. It's too cold to stay out here long. "It's different. You're different."

"Oh." You smile at him dreamily. Eyes squinting until your lashes kiss in the corners, you smile like your lips have been stuck together with honey. You pout at him very gently, and he thinks you might want a kiss.

Spencer pats your back. "Come on. I'll take you home. You can sleep it off."

"Can I come home with you?"

He sees his car in the distance, a beacon of hope. "Yeah, if you want. But I don't have any pyjamas or anything for you."

"Not yet," you say.

Spencer goes pink to the ears, and unfortunately for him, you notice. You refuse to walk a step further, throwing heavy arms over his shoulders to beam at him eye to eye. Your fingers tangle gently into the ends of his hair and twist in circles that have butterflies exploding in his stomach. His breath catches when you tug on a strand, clearly bemused.

"I really want to be your girlfriend."

"I–" He swallows roughly. "I really want you to be my girlfriend."

"Will you ask me?"

"Tomorrow?" he asks delicately. He might be shy with you, but he has no qualms now showing you how vehemently he returns your affections, his arms curling slowly but surely behind your back.

You fall into his arms for another hug. "Yesssss," you cheer under your breath.

He sneaks a kiss against the shell of your ear. "Wanna go get something to eat first?"

You gasp like you've been offered the world. "You really are the best boyfriend."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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mykoreanlove · 9 months ago

Text

Territory

If it were up to you, you’d probably keep your boyfriend hidden away in the basement of your apartment.

Okay, maybe not the actual basement, but definitely tucked away somewhere safe—far from the prying eyes of other women. Lucky for you, Hyunjin didn’t need much convincing to stay inside anyway.

He loved being home, spending hours drawing or dancing in his little studio, his sacred space.

You’d often find him completely immersed in his work, the crease on his forehead deepening as he painted, lost in his own world. Other times, he’d be practicing his dance moves in front of the mirror, his favorite way to stay fit.

You loved that he was such a homebody, but you knew you couldn’t keep him there forever.

“I’m so excited to go out with you tonight, baby,” Hyunjin beamed, his brown eyes sparkling with excitement.

“So am I, Hyun,” you replied, kissing him quickly, trying to hide the little white lie.

“We both look so good tonight. Everyone’s going to be watching us,” he giggled, clearly enjoying himself. “But I’ll only be watching you,” he added, his voice dropping seductively.

The club was packed, and no matter where you turned, you felt eyes on you. You spotted your friends quickly, gripping Hyunjin’s hand as you made your way over.

“Holy shit, you actually brought Hyunjin?” one of them asked, clearly surprised.

“Couldn’t exactly lock him in the house,” you joked, only half-serious.

Hyunjin wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. “Let’s have some fun tonight, babe. Okay?”

The first shots hit fast, and soon you were able to relax, your earlier worries fading into the background. You danced—alone, with your friends, with Hyunjin—letting the heavy bass guide your movements. Sultry, sexy, lost in the rhythm.

“Fuck, you move so sexy, y/n. We should go out more often,” Hyunjin murmured, licking his pink lips as he watched you.

Panic flickered inside you at the thought alone. The idea of going out with him more often wasn’t exactly appealing. Just like that, the alcohol’s effect faded, and your ugly insecurities began to creep back in.

“I’m going to get us drinks, Hyun. Wait for me,” you said, kissing him before quickly heading to the bar. One of your friends followed you, picking up on your sudden shift.

“Let me help you with the drinks,” she offered.

“Thanks,” you sighed in relief, grateful for her silent support.

“It’s going well with Hyunjin, right?” she asked.

You nodded, smiling at the thought of him. He made you so happy. As the bartender handed over your drinks, you turned to head back, only to stop in your tracks.

Hyunjin was dancing—looking incredible, confident, and happy. Unfortunately, you weren’t the only one who noticed. A stunning girl approached him, younger, fitter, and undoubtedly beautiful. Your stomach churned, and you knew it wasn’t the alcohol.

“I want to talk to you,” the girl smiled at him, her voice dripping with confidence.

Hyunjin stopped dancing, glancing at her before responding, “No, thank you.”

“Why not? I look good, don’t I?” she purred, squeezing her perky boobs and turning around, giving him a view of her curves. “We’d look so good together.”

His eyes briefly followed her movements, trailing over her body before settling back on her face.

“I’m going to kill this bitch,” your friend muttered, fuming beside you.

“No, wait,” you said, needing to see what would happen next. Was Hyunjin like the others? Was he just another guy who couldn’t resist temptation? Would he leave you like all the ones before him?

The girl touched his arm, batting her lashes and licking her lips seductively.

Out of nowhere, Hyunjin burst into laughter, a deep, genuine chuckle escaping him as he swatted her hand away.

“You’re not even worth looking at. Now get lost,” he said, his voice cold and dismissive.

The girl grabbed his face, trying to force him to look at her. “You sure about that?” she whispered.

“Hold these,” you handed the drinks to your friend, striding over to Hyunjin with purpose. You pushed the girl aside and pulled him into a deep, passionate kiss, your lips molding against his under the club’s flashing lights. You could feel him smiling against your lips, and as you pulled back, you shot the girl a glare, flipping her off.

“Is that clear enough for you, or are you just that slow?” you snapped.

Furious, the girl cursed under her breath and stormed off.

Hyunjin wrapped his arms around you, grinning from ear to ear. “Baby, were you jealous?” he teased.

“No,” you lied.

“Y/N,” he said, his tone serious.

“Okay, fine. Yes, I was jealous,” you admitted, feeling embarrassed.

“You know every other girl repels me, right? Like, they actually make me physically sick,” he said, his eyes wide as he tried to get his point across. “My soul is too entangled with yours to even think about entertaining other girls.You’re the only one for me, Y/N. I’m all yours.”

You grabbed his hand, dragging him toward the exit.

“Where are we going?” he asked, confused.

“Home, obviously,” you replied, moving quickly.

“But why?”

“Because I need to fuck you, Hyunjin. I need our bodies, our souls merge into one. I need to feel your love. Right now, please,” you confessed, breathless.

Hyunjin’s eyes widened in surprise at your boldness. “Taxi!” he shouted, running after you without ever letting go of your hand.

“Taxi!”

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peachsayshi · 11 months ago

Text

@nyxronomicon babe, your tags. I am squealing! you want more? well, then this is for you (also to share what I had in mind hehe):

ex boyfriend villain!nanami doesn't approach you at all while you are in the bar. the entire time your on the precipice of anticipation, just waiting for him to tap your shoulder or bump into you out of nowhere. but nothing happens.

nothing happens until you go outside, and find him standing outside the building all by himself. yes, you are right. he is bulkier than usual. much fitter, and clearly far stronger. you can sense it in his energy. he was already a grade one sorcerer before this, what has he been doing as of late? you wonder if it has anything to do with suguru - nanami made his choice aligning with him.

he stands there, an unlit cigarette twirling between his fingers. he looks at you with contemplation and you are frozen in place. a stand off but you're not sure what move to make.

he scans your body, all the way to your feet where he sees the lace of your heels starting to loosen. he doesn't say anything when he tucks the cigarette behind his ear, but two steps towards you prompts you to move two steps back.

"what are you doing?" you ask, panicked, not realizing that there is actual fear in your tone.

"your shoes," he points out calmly.

you shift your weight, noticing that the right heel does in fact feel slightly looser than the left. and even though you don't want him to come closer (or at least you think you don't), nanami eases his way towards you and gets down on his knees.

there's a lump in your throat when he casually picks up your foot and places it on his thigh. there's a chill that runs up your legs, feeling the hands of this killer delicately readjust the strap of your heel.

"when did you start smoking?" is all you can think of asking, out of the millions of questions and statements and comments that compile in your mind.

only then does he smile. the tiniest tick no the corner of his lip. but he doesn't answer your question. he simply ties the knot around your ankle and stands up, his body far too close to your liking.

your kento was more reserved, a little shy even. but not this kento.

you swallow the lump again, flinching when he brings his hand up thinking he might do something. his eyes widen at the reaction, but he continues to smoothly reach for the cigarette and pretends like he doesn't see it.

his gaze doesn't leave yours once.

"and when did you get this?" he asks cautiously, the depth of his voice unmistakably warm, his tone a forbidden note that no one should hear so closely.

you flinch when his fingers press against your back exposed by your dress. the digits trailing over the middle of your spine vertically and following the pattern tattooed on your skin.

it's a symbol of protection against evil. one you got five months after your break up.

you don't know how long you both stand there, taking the other in. only breaking away when a few people leave the bar. you spin on your heel, your pulse beating heavily against your neck to see who it is, thinking it might be the rest of his group.

but all you catch is a drunk couple laughing loudly as they leave the bar.

when you turn back around, kento is nowhere to be found.

and you don't like that your heart aches because of it.

#nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #nanami kento #villain nanami

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archangeldyke-all · 1 year ago

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Something with like cellmate prisoner!sevika?! 😭😭😭 idk I just think like her being all dangerous and powerful, having a shit ton of friends but like selectively, no one messing with her maybe even hating how just mean she is. And then comes in reader and yk. I’d love if the story was smutty but u can chose ofc 🫦

i love this so much

men and minors dni

living in zaun is shit. but the one thing that's always kept you and a majority of your fellow citizens in line, was the ever-looming presence of stillwater prison just a few miles away. you've watched countless people enter those prison walls. you know very few who ever came back out.

and now, through a series of unfortunate events that lead to you assaulting an undercover enforcer, you're going to find out first hand just how horrible stillwater really is.

you don't think you've ever been so nervous in your life as the enforcer guides you-- restrained and already hating the itchy fabric of your new life-long uniform--down a long, long hall of cells.

he's chewing a wad of bubblegum, casually, like you aren't about to piss yourself with nerves. "listen kid." he says, looking you up and down. "i read your file. seems like you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time." he says, shrugging. "no prior arrests, clean record-- honestly i'm surprised they sent you here, but i guess you did break marcus' nose." the enforcer chuckles here.

"you know that asshole?" you ask. the man guiding you snorts.

"'s my boss." he mumbles. beside you, a prisoner lunges at the bars of their cell, screaming at you. you jump, and the guard laughs. "as i was sayin'-- you seem like a real peach. like you'd be a good influence on some of our... rougher prisoners." he mumbles.

dread starts to curl in your stomach. you have a pretty good idea of where this conversation is headed, and you don't like the outcome. you just hope you aren't cellmates with someone real bad: like genie the counter-fitter who got caught two years ago; esmee the weapons expert who successfully set an entire square block of piltover's wealthiest neighborhood ablaze; or, god forbid, sevika.

she'd been caught just weeks ago, smuggling an entire airship's worth of shimmer into piltover's loading docks. it was big fucking news.

sevika's a big fucking deal.

and you want absolutely nothing to do with her.

which is why, of course, the guard pulls you to a stop right outside of the only cell with a light on, the low, dim glow of a reading lamp and the quick flickering light of a lighter. you feel like you're gonna barf.

sitting in the shadows of the cell, puffing on a hand-rolled cigarette, sits sevika, silco's second in command.

if he's the eye of zaun, she's the arm. he might be watching-- but she's doing. she's nothing but bad news; everything you've tried your best to avoid while living in the undercity.

well, look how well that turned out for you.

"sevika, meet your new cellmate." the enforcer calls out. a pair of silver eyes snap up from her book and lock on yours. you shiver.

"fucks' wrong with her?" she mumbles. you gulp.

"nervous, i'd assume. 's her first-offense." the guard says. he shoves you into the cell and you jump as the bars slam shut behind you. "you ladies have fun." he says, before turning and walking away, the smacks of his gum echoing behind him.

sevika inspects you from her chair.

"how'd you fuck up so bad you ended up in a cell with me from your first offense?" she asks, seemingly intrigued.

"punched an undercover enforcer." you whisper. sevika's eyebrow hitches up, a little amused.

"yeah?"

"think his name was marcus, or something." you mumble. she sputters.

"ha! really!?" she asks, a little smile growing on her face. you nod. she takes a drag off her cigarette, then points at the bunk beds. "i get bottom. don't go thinkin' 'cause we're cellmates it means you get to touch my shit. i got people outside pullin' big favors for met to get shit like this." she gestures to her cigarettes and lamp. you nod. "don't look so nervous. i won't bite unless you piss me off."

you try to stop shivering. you don't succeed. "s-sorry."

she studies you for a moment, her smile growing as she does. though she's no longer armed with shimmer, her arm's still in perfect working condition, five little daggers gently tapping on the table top as her eyes dart across you. "you from the lanes?" she asks. you nod. she snorts. "you know who i am?" she asks. you nod again. she chuckles, then stands. she approaches you, circling around you like you're prey, then chuckling and leaning back against the table, crossing her arms over her chest. "you scared'a me?" she asks.

"shouldn't i be?" you choke out.

it seems to be the right answer. sevika laughs, then sits back down at her table, picking her book back up, chuckling intermittently for minutes after.

she's not a bad roommate. she's surprisingly tidy, always quiet, her nose usually buried in a book. she smokes like a fucking chimney, and you've come to find she gets her tobacco-- and sometimes a bit of weed-- from one of the guards every tuesday night.

she's got special privileges among most of the guards. they're always sneaking her books and flasks, letting her get away without cell-searches, letting her read past lights out and have lighters and screwdrivers and other dangerous, weapon-like tools.

you, on the other hand, do not have these privileges. and, keeping in line with sevika's one and only rule, you don't touch her shit. all of this means that while sevika smokes and works on her arm and reads and works out, you spend your time just... sitting on the top bunk. watching her.

sometimes, during open cell time, she gets visitors. you're surprised that none of these visits end in shady dealings-- sevika doesn't seem to need to trade her stash of goods for anything. most of her visits are quick, and most end the same way: a small scrap of paper being shoved in sevika's hand.

she burns the scraps after she reads whatever's on them.

she's... pleasant, sometimes. it's rare, but it happens. one day, you'd forgotten to make your bed before you went to breakfast. you returned to find it neatly made, and when you thanked her for helping you avoid trouble with the guards, she had just waved it off. "don' get used to it. i won't always be here to fix your mistakes."

once, a fight broke out while you were in the showers. you were sent back to your cell soaking wet-- your hair still lathered in shampoo. she had chuckled, called you a "wet rat", and helped you rinse your hair out in the tiny sink in your cell.

and... she's kinda pretty. it occurred to you one evening while the two of you were partaking in your nightly routine: sevika reading in her chair while you study her, pretending to sleep. she'd glanced up at you and whispered. "why're you always lookin' at me?"

you shrugged, then nearly choked on your tongue when 'you're pretty' almost slipped out of your mouth. "uh... i got nothing else to look at." you'd ended up saying. she seemed to accept this.

"you don't have any prison girlfriends?" you ask. sevika's in a particularly jovial mood today: the note she'd been delivered earlier in the afternoon must've had great news. she's decided to share her joint with you. the question slipped out the second you took your first puff-- your tolerance astronomically low from being without for so long.

sevika laughs. "nah."

"but..." you cut yourself off before you get yourself in trouble, biting your lip. sevika chuckles, then nudges your leg.

"y' can say it." she says. you smile at her, then speak.

"it's just... i had a few friends who work at babette's." you say. "i figured you'd have as much of a reputation here as you do there."

she takes a second, tilting her neck side to side as it cracks, then sighing. "i got shit to do in here." she says simply. you raise an eyebrow at her, biting your lip again, and she chuckles. "say it." she demands again.

"you just read all day." you laugh. sevika nods.

"i'm... working." she says. you just nod along, pretending you understand what she's alluding to.

it happens in the strangest way but you and sevika start to become... friends.

she sits alone at lunch, and you sit alone too, on the oppisite side of the cafeteria. but you're so used to looking at sevika, that you find yourself watching her even when there are much more entertaining things to look at, like the handful of fights that break out every meal.

you notice she loves the jello cups you guys get once a week. so you pocket yours and toss it at her later that night. the way she smiles lights up the room even brighter than her tiny lamp. you make it a habit.

she starts loaning you her books, finds you a crate to sit on by her table while you guys read together at night.

and when sevika gets jumped in the middle of the night-- you don't even question it before you jump out of your bunk, grab sevika's screwdriver where she left it on the table, and start swinging in the dark, blindly.

"what the fuck?" someone squawks when you manage to stab something in the dark.

"what?" sevika whispers in the dark.

"sevika, your bunkmate fucking stabbed me!" her attacker's voice rings out.

a light flicks on. you cringe at the sudden brightness, then blink in confusion as sevika and a guard with a screwdriver sticking out of their shoulder stare at you.

sevika's grinning. the guard is scowling. you hold your hands up in shaky fists, preparing for a fight. sevika chuckles.

"relax, sweetheart." she says, swinging her arm around you and tugging you into her side. "ran's a friend." she whispers into your ear. you blink at the bleeding guard, then back at sevika.

"so, what, we're taking your girlfriend with us now?" the guard-- ran-- asks. sevika looks at her friend, then looks at you, a calculating look in her eye. she smirks, shrugs, then looks back at the guard.

"she threw herself between me and a uniform-- can't just throw that kinda loyalty out, now can i?" she asks, smiling.

you don't know what's happening. you're about to ask-- when suddenly you black out.

the first thing that comes back to you is your sense of hearing.

voices.

"sevika, fuck, you can't just throw a wrench in the plan like this--"

"i can do whatever the fuck i want--"

"on the night of the breakout?! no heads up!?"

"do i need to remind you which one of us is second in command, here?!"

"...fuck. c'mon, help me load her in the van."

the next thing is your sense of touch. you're laying on the rumbling cold steel of a van floor-- currently in motion.

you're shivering, but then something warm and wool and smelling like cigars is draped over you.

you're head keeps bumping uncomfortably with every crack in the road. someone gently picks your head up and puts it in their warm nap, a hand coming down to scratch your scalp.

your voice comes next. "mmmh?"

"it's okay." sevika's voice comes. you groan, cracking your eyes open, only for her face to be grinning down at you. "fuckin' maniac." she giggles.

"wha?" you groan. you're seeing double, your head is pounding.

"ran knocked you out. 's what you get for stabbin' 'em." sevika chuckles. "but, you're lucky, 'cause they don't hold a grudge. they helped me lug your ass outta stillwater."

"wha?!" you ask again, snapping up. sevika laughs as you look out the front window of the van-- the depths of piltover surrounding you as you head, presumebly, to the last drop.

you recognize the man driving-- a tall, muscular, tattooed man who'd recently been added to your cell block's guard rotation. in the passengers' seat sits the guard you'd stabbed-- bandaged and watching you with amusement.

"wha's happenin'?" you mumble, looking back at your cellmate as you clutch a hand to your throbbing head. you've been shrouded in a red cloak-- sevika's already out of her prison uniform and back in her 'second in command' look. she smirks at you.

"y' really think i was jus' sittin' around, servin' my time?" she asks. you shrug.

"figured somethin' was goin' on. y' kept gettin' those notes. didn't wanna ask." you groan. sevika chuckles.

"well, you shoulda. or i shoulda warned you, so you didn't try killing my crew." she chuckles. you blink over to the person in the passengers' seat, cringing.

"s-sorry." you mumble. they wave it off.

"'s cool. knocked you right the fuck out, didn't i?" they chuckle. "we're even."

you turn back to sevika. "you broke me out of prison?" you ask. she shrugs.

"'re you mad about it?" she asks. you gawk at her.

"uh... just... a little surprised?"

sevika cackles. you smile at the sound, despite your headache. "i wasn't plannin' on it! then you started givin' me your jello, 'n readin' all my books, 'n..."

"she's got a crush on you." ran fills in from the front.

"i didn't say that!" she shouts.

"she's not denying it though--" the man driving teases.

you choke on your spit. sevika huffs, rolls her eyes, and speaks. "i... i kinda got a crush on you, yeah." she mumbles. "and i swear i'm not sayin' this jus' 'cause i think you're cute but: you should really stay with us at the last drop until things calm back down, since, y'know... you're kinda wanted now..." she says, rubbing the back of her neck.

you blink... shocked.

you don't really know what to think. you tried your whole life to stay out of trouble, and it managed to find you anyways in the form of a drunken under-cover enforcer deciding to smack your ass when you'd had too many drinks to hold your punches. you tried to stay out of trouble in stillwater until you were saddled with sevika. you tried to stay out of trouble with her until she dragged you-- literally, you were unconscious!-- out of prison along with her. it seems like trouble's meant for you.

but if there's one thing you're certain of, it's sevika.

you smile at her, then reach up to cup her cheek. she looks more nervous than you've seen her in all your months in stillwater together.

"you gotta crush on me?" you ask. she gulps.

"i'd say it's a little more than a crush seeing she broke you outta stillwater as your first date--"

"ran!" sevika hollers. you chuckle.

"is this our first date?" you ask, raising your eyebrow at her. she shrugs.

"it's... jus' don't expect the next dates to be this exciting." she chuckles, rolling her eyes. you grin, then dart forward and press a kiss to her lips. when you pull away, she's wearing that same nervous look again.

"you okay?" you whisper. she licks her lips, nuzzles a bit against your hand on her face, and nods.

"'m just kickin' myself for not puttin' the moves on you sooner. coulda been fuckin' you to pass the time in prison instead of readin' all those boring books." she mumbles. you burst into laughter, and she grins.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @vikasub

#sevika #sevika imagine #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika

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batteriescastlehill · 1 year ago

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What Are The Benefits Of Using A Re-gas AC System For Your Car?

Whether it’s chilling winter or scorching summer, you need to ensure that the AC of your vehicle functions well. To ensure full comfort, you need to make sure that you maintain your car's air conditioning system regularly. Also it’s essential that re gas Ac is appropriately done. This process is vital to keep the refrigerant well replenished. Thus, it will confirm the car's excellent efficiency and optimal performance. So, let’s get deeper to understand why it’s important to re-gas AC of the vehcile.

An adequate level of refrigerant is a must for excellent cooling

The well-ac of your car must maintain its refrigerant level. It is the spine of the AC, which helps absorb heat from the cabin and release it outside. With time, the refrigerant level depletes, and that is due to minor leakage. This leads to decreased heating or cooling. But yes, with the re-gas Ac system, you can ensure that the refrigerant system is at its peak.

Regarding prevents unwanted strain on AC

It’s true that once the AC gas starts to deplete, it puts unwanted pressure on the AC of your vehicle. The compressor, the central part of the AC, fails to work seamlessly. It becomes difficult for it to reach that desired temperature level. Thus that causes the wear and tear of the AC. It also questions the durability of the AC. But with re-gassing you can ensure that the expensive repairs can be avoided.

Efficiency of the fuel is highly Maintained to the tee

With a re-gas AC system, you can ensure that car fuel's efficiency is maintained at its best. An AC system with overworking features will consume more fuel. It will make the vehicle operate smoothly. This will save both your money and fuel in the long run.

Final talk

Thus, the above lines tell the importance of re-gas ac of your vehicle. Besides these, you can call for the Bar Fitter or Engine light Diagnosis for a comprehensive car check-up.

#Engine light Diagnosis #Re-gas A/C #Air Conditioning Repairs #Regas auto air con #Bar Fitter

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storiesbytroy · 2 months ago

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My College Bully | Part 1: "He Was My Bully. Now I’m At His Hotel Door"

I should’ve skipped the reunion.

Would’ve been easier. Would’ve saved me the headache, the old wounds, the ugly memories that kept crawling back whenever I thought about him.

Wes Carter.

My college bully.

He didn’t just tease me like it was some harmless joke — he made it a public sport. Humiliating me wasn’t a side quest for him; it was the main event. Day after day, week after week, until the idea of showing up to campus felt like stepping onto a firing line.

I still remember that day in lecture. How he laughed — loud enough for the whole room to hear — and said, "Noah’s just mad ‘cause he wants to suck me off."

And the thing was — it stuck. The laughter did too. It wrapped itself around me like a second skin.Echoed down every hallway, filled every locker room, every shitty dining hall with whispers and smirks that never seemed to die.

And yeah, if I’m being honest — he was fucking hot. Maybe that was the cruelest part. I was into him, I still am.

Wes had that stupid golden-boy thing going. Tan skin, perfect careless hair, a jawline that looked like it belonged in a goddamn magazine. His arms were thick. His smile was easy. And no matter how much I hated him — some fucked-up part of me hated how much I still noticed.

I hadn’t seen him since graduation.

Not until tonight.

The hotel bar was packed. Noise and fake smiles. Classmates pretending the years hadn’t hit them as hard as they had.

I stayed close to the edge, drink untouched, scanning the crowd for a way out.

And then — there he was.

Wes.

Sitting at the bar like he owned it. Like the years hadn’t touched him at all.

He was fitter now, broader across the chest and shoulders. His olive-green t-shirt stretched tight against him like it barely survived the trip over his body. His face had gotten sharper, rougher somehow — but the tan skin, the careless hair, the gravity he carried when he smiled — that was all still there.

And when he saw me — he smiled.

Like none of it had ever happened. Like we were just two old mates bumping into each other after all these years.

My stomach twisted.

I should’ve turned around. Should’ve slipped out while I still could. Instead, I walked straight toward him.

“Didn’t think you’d show,” he said, raising his drink in some half-assed salute. “Didn’t think you’d talk to me,” I said, leveling my voice so it wouldn’t shake.

He grinned. “Why not?”

I tilted my head. “You made it your hobby to humiliate me in college. Ring any bells?”

His smile faltered — just for a second.

“C’mon, man. That was just stupid college shit. It wasn’t that deep.”

“Wasn’t deep?” I said, my laugh low and cold. “You called me out in lecture. You made me a joke.”

He dropped his gaze. Thumb running along the rim of his glass like he was trying to find an excuse not to look at me.

“Okay. Yeah. That one was bad.”

“You weren’t just another guy laughing,” I said. “You were the ringleader. Everyone followed your lead.”

He finally looked at me then.

And something cracked open between us — something old and bitter and too big to hide anymore.

“I didn’t think it stuck with you,” he said, voice quieter now.

“You don’t get to say that.”

The air between us tightened — like a rubber band stretched too far. For the first time, maybe ever, Wes Carter looked sorry. Really, truly sorry.

He looked at me — something behind his eyes shifting.

“I’m sorry, Noah. I was a dick. A dumbass kid trying to look cool. Doesn’t make it okay. But I mean it.”

I didn’t say anything.Just watched him.

He shifted a little. “I didn’t even realize you were... you know..”

“I wasn’t out, back then” I cut in.

His head snapped up. “So, you seriously are gay?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Posted about it a few month ago. Got a lot of love. People messaged and showed their support.”

I let it sit there for a second. Then added, “You didn’t, though.”

He looked at me like I’d slapped him.

“I didn’t know what to say.”

“That never stopped you before.”

There was a pause.

Then he exhaled, soft and shaky. “I deserved that.”

I crossed my arms. “So what now? You offer me a drink and hope I forget?”

“No,” he said. “But a few of us are hanging in my room later. Just chill stuff. Music. Beers. Room 1406. You should come by.”

I blinked. Raised a brow. “You think a party will make up for what you did?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “But maybe I can start with not being an asshole anymore. Just… come by. Let me apologize without a hundred people around.”

I didn’t answer. He just nodded once — almost like he knew it could go either way — and turned.

And just like that, Wes Carter walked away.

An hour later, I was standing outside Room 1406.

I should’ve left. Should’ve gone back to my overpriced Airbnb and pretended none of this happened. I didn’t even get the chance to wonder if it was a mistake.

Because the door opened.

And there he was.

Wes.

No music. No voices. No crowd.

Just Wes.

Hair damp. Towel around his neck. No shirt. Chest still glistening from the shower. That same stupid smirk — only this time, it was quieter. Lower. Something behind it I couldn’t place.

Not cocky. Not cruel. Just...dark.

Like he’d been waiting for me.

He simply looked at me — lips curling into a different kind of smile. Not the arrogant grin from our college days.

Something heavier. Something worse.

“Do you wanna come in?” he asked.

And I didn’t answer.

I just stepped inside. My College Bully | Part 2 : He Opened the Door In Just a Towel

#gay #gay couple #gay love #gay man #gay men #gay pride #gay handsome #gay guy #gay stories #gay art

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kendyzzlewp · 1 year ago

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Creatures in Heaven||ART DONALDSON

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: you run into your old college sweetheart, art, in a hotel bar. old wounds resurface as you tried to make sense of it all.

tags: college sweethearts, angst, non graphic smut?, reconnecting, pain, sad!art, divorced!reader, tears

“I don’t think I realize just how much I miss you sometimes. We were young and so in love. We were just creatures in heaven.”

You’ve always loved hotel bars.

The dimly lit space, the chatter of the guests around you, the overpriced drinks. Sitting down on a stool at the hotel you frequent after a particularly hard day at work, you can’t help but let your mind drift off. The TV above you plays a recap of the latest tennis match. Your old friend shows up on the screen, brown head stuck to his forehead, a huge goofy victorious smile on his face.

You quickly pull up your phone, sending a congratulatory text to Patrick. Making plans to meet before he leaves town.

A glass of wine gets placed in front of you, the maroon liquid swirling slightly.

“Y/N?”

You could recognize that voice anywhere. Turning slightly in your stool, your eyes met surprised blue ones. The pounding of your heart could be heard from miles away. He looked older, fitter. His blonde hair was now shorter, a stark difference to his Stanford days.

“Art,” you whispered, placing your drink down with trembling hands. “Wow, it’s been so long.”

As your gaze meets Art's, memories flood back, and you're reminded of the countless conversations and shared moments in your college dorm. You could lie and say you haven’t been following his career but you weren’t kidding anyone but yourself. You watched every tournament, every match, cheered silently from your apartment as took the tennis world by storm.

As he sits down beside you, you can't help but feel a rush of emotions—nostalgia mixed with a tinge of sadness. The memories of your last encounter weigh heavily on your mind, the pain and heartache still fresh despite the passing years.

"I can't believe it's really you," Art says, breaking the silence. "I've thought about you so often, wondered how you were doing. You look great.”

You look into his eyes, seeing a mix of emotions mirrored back at you. There's regret, longing, and a hint of hope.

"I've thought about you too," you admit, a sad smile playing on your lips. "I watched your matches, saw your rise to the top. I'm so proud of you, Art.

"Thank you, Y/N. That means a lot to me." Art's expression softens, a bittersweet smile crossing his face. “Wouldn’t be where I am without your support.”

The air between you is heavy with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. You both know there's much to discuss, but the weight of the past sits between you like a barrier.

“How’s Tashi?”

You had to ask. Patrick talked about them all the time. Even drunkenly confessing he had slept with Tashi in Atlanta when they bumped into each other for a tournament. You wonder if Art knew, you wonder if he hurt the way he hurt you.

“She’s Tashi,” he whispers, motioning the bartender for a drink. “Same as always.”

Art's response is cryptic, and you can sense the tension in his voice. You remember the pain of hearing about his relationship with Tashi, and it stirs up a mix of emotions within you.

"I heard about your marriage," you say softly, searching his eyes for any reaction. "I hope she makes you happy."

Art looks down at his drink, swirling the liquid around in his glass. His silver wedding band caught the bar’s overhead yellow light.

"It's complicated. Things are... not what they seem."

You nod silently, understanding how complicated a marriage like that could be. You think about your own failed relationship, how it was necessary for you to let your husband go because he couldn’t compare. He could never compare to the man sitting next to you.

“Are you married?” He asked, taking a sip of his whisky.

You hesitate for a moment, the weight of Art's question sinking in. It's a question that holds so much significance, one that forces you to confront your own feelings and past decisions.

"Divorced," you reply softly, meeting his gaze steadily.

There's a flicker of something in Art's eyes, a mix of surprise and curiosity. You wonder if he can sense the unspoken truth behind your words, the lingering emotions that still tie you to him despite the passage of time.

"I've had my share of relationships," you continue, your eyes fixed on the drink in front of you. "But they just… didn’t compare."

Art's gaze intensifies, his eyes searching yours for any hint of what you're feeling. The air between you crackles with tension, the weight of your words hanging heavily in the dimly lit space of the hotel bar.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he says softly, his voice tinged with regret. "But I'm glad you're here now."

You feel a rush of emotions at his words, the familiar warmth of his presence washing over you like a comforting embrace. Despite the years apart and the pain of the past, there's still a connection between you that refuses to fade. You were only really yourself around Art. The rest just got this fucked up, fake version of you.

“I heard you have a daughter,” you said, changing the subject. “How is she?”

A pang of sadness hits you as you see the light in his eyes at the mention of his daughter. You wished you were the one to give him a child, just like you planned together all those years ago. Laid up together in your small dorm bed, hand intertwined, whispering promises and dreams at three in the morning.

“Lily,” Art's expression softens even more at the mention of his daughter, a warm smile spreading across his face. "She's the light of my life."

You can't help but smile at the genuine love and pride in his voice. Despite the complexities of his marriage and the challenges he may face, it's clear that his daughter brings him immense joy and fulfillment.

"I'm so glad to hear that," you say sincerely, feeling a bittersweet tug at your heartstrings. "She's lucky to have a father like you."

Art's eyes meet yours, and for a moment, it feels as though the weight of the past and the uncertainties of the future fade away, leaving only the warmth of the connection between you.

"Thank you," he murmurs, his voice filled with emotion.

As you continue to talk about Lily, you can't help but feel a sense of warmth and nostalgia enveloping you. Despite the complexities of your past and the uncertainties of the future, there's a comfort in the shared memories and the genuine connection between you and Art.

As the conversation flows, you find yourself opening up more than you ever expected, sharing stories and laughter in the dimly lit space of the hotel bar. It's as if the years apart have melted away, leaving only the familiar ease and familiarity of your college days.

You look down at your phone, eyes widening at the time. “Wow,” you exclaimed. “It’s three am.”

Art chuckles softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Time really flies when you're lost in conversation, doesn't it?"

You nod, feeling a mixture of surprise and contentment at how quickly the hours have passed. Despite the late hour, you find yourself reluctant to leave the comfort of Art's company and the warm ambiance of the hotel bar.

"It's been so wonderful catching up with you," you say, a genuine smile tugging at your lips. "I've missed this."

Art's smile mirrors yours, his expression filled with warmth and sincerity. "Me too, Y/N. It's been far too long."

As you gather your things and prepare to leave, you can't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the unexpected reunion and the chance to reconnect with Art after so many years apart. Despite the complexities of your past and the uncertainties of the future, you know that this moment will always hold a special place in your heart.

As you bid Art farewell and step out into the cool night air, you feel a sense of renewal and hope stirring within you. You start walking down the street, your heart bleeding from reopening old wounds you swore to never touch again.

“Wait!”

You turn around to see Art jogging to catch up to you. He slows down as he approaches you, panting slightly.

“Is everything okay?" you ask, a hint of concern in your voice.

Art looks at you, tears pooling in his eyes. "I know it’s too late, but I just don’t think you realize just how much I miss you sometimes.”

His voice trembles, and you can see the raw emotion in his eyes. He steps closer, his hands trembling slightly as he reaches out to take your hand.

“Y/N, it’s been almost ten years, and not a day goes by that I don’t think about you. I miss the way you laugh, the way you’d stay up with me all night just to help me study, the way you believed in me when no one else did. I miss us.”

Tears well up in your eyes as you listen to his heartfelt confession. His words hit you with the force of all the years you’ve spent apart, all the moments you’ve both lived without each other.

“Art…” you begin, but he shakes his head, needing to say more.

“I thought marrying Tashi was the right thing to do, but it never felt right because she wasn’t you. Every achievement, every milestone—it felt hollow because you weren’t there to share it with me. I’ve tried to move on, to live my life, but no one ever came close to making me feel the way you did. I still love you, Y/N. I never stopped. And seeing you tonight, it’s like all those feelings just came rushing back.”

You’re overwhelmed, your heart pounding in your chest as you try to process his words. You feel a mix of hope, fear, and an undeniable longing.

“Art,” you whisper, tears streaming down your cheeks. “We can’t.”

He takes a step closer, gently cupping your face in his hands. “I don’t know what the future holds, and I know we both have a lot of shit to deal with, but I can’t let you walk away again. I refuse.”

You look into his eyes, seeing the sincerity and desperation in his gaze. Despite the years apart and the complications of your pasts, the connection between you is undeniable.

“I don’t know what the future holds either,” you admit, your voice shaking. “But I do know that I’ve never stopped loving you.”

Without another word, he leans forward and presses his lips against yours, the taste of whiskey and longing lingering in the air. In that fleeting moment, everything else fades away—the pain of the past, the uncertainties of the future—leaving only the warmth of the connection between you and Art.

You both pull back, foreheads pressed together, heavy panting as you both try to catch your breath. Your heartbeat resonating in your ears as you find his hand, interlocking your fingers.

“Take me home?” You asked, silently hoping he understood the underlying tone of your invitation.

Art nods, a soft smile playing on his lips. "I'd love to."

Together, you walk through the quiet streets, the only sound being the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. The world feels hushed and intimate, as if it's just the two of you in your own little bubble of time.

As you reach your apartment building, you turn to face Art, your heart pounding in your chest. The moment feels charged with emotion, a mix of longing and uncertainty swirling between you.

"Do you want to come in?," you say softly, searching his eyes for any hint of what he's feeling. "I think I have some wine…”

He leans in and kisses you again, his lips soft and warm against yours. In that moment, all doubts and fears melt away, leaving only the certainty of your feelings for each other. You opened the door to your apartment, still locked in the passionate kiss.

Art kicks the door closed, walking you further into the room. His hands getting reacquainted with your body, muscle memory kicking in as he lifts you.

“That way,” you mumble against his lips, motioning to a door in the back.

With a soft chuckle, Art carries you towards the direction you indicated, his lips never leaving yours. The heat of the moment ignites a fire within you both as you stumble towards the bedroom.

You want to savor each moment. You need to remember it in case it’s the last time. There’s no rush as your hands lift his shirt over his head, his pale skin glowing with the moonlight that streams from your window. You press a kiss to the scar on his shoulder, feeling goosebumps appear on his skin.

Art does the same, tenderly lifting your dress over your head. His fingers tracing stroking every inch of your skin as he lays you down on your bed.

The room is filled with the sound of your breath mingling with the soft hum of the city outside. In this intimate space, you find solace and connection in each other's arms, lost in a whirlwind of passion and longing.

As the night stretches on, you lose yourself in each other, exploring every inch of each other's bodies as if trying to memorize every detail. Time seems to stand still as you become lost in the moment, consumed by the intensity of your shared desire.

—

Hours later, as the first light of dawn filters through the curtains, you find yourselves tangled together in the sheets, your bodies still humming with the echoes of your passion. Clothes strewn around the floor of your bedroom. With a contented sigh, you bury your face in Art's chest, feeling a sense of peace and fulfillment wash over you.

As you lie there in the quiet stillness of the morning, you realize that this is where you belong—wrapped in Art's arms. He holds you as if you were made just for him, so tightly and close. Trying to bound the pieces of you he broke, together.

And as you drift off to sleep, you know that no matter what the future may hold, you will always belong to Art Donaldson.

#Spotify #married art donaldson #art donaldson angst #challengers fanfiction #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig #tashi duncan #mike faist x reader #creatures in heaven #glass animals #songfic kind of #art donaldson #art donaldson oneshot #fem!reader

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allofmytoxicity · 2 months ago

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Lauren

a/n: less depressing this time! I promise I'm not completely insane. I also know I've messed around with the timeline slightly, but hey, I don't care, people mess around with timelines a whole lot. I'm proud I've done this.

bradley bradshaw x childhood best friend!fem!reader

Summary: For years, Bradley Bradshaw had been your best friend; a safe space. So when Seresin makes you have a slip of the tongue, how do you repair your friendship?

Word Count: 2.4k

TW: SET BEFORE TOP GUN: MAVERICK!!!!! Jake being a dick, lots of crying, drinking (if that can even be counted as a tw?), some fluffy moments mixed in with loads of sad.

My god had you fucked up.

You hadn't even realised it until you'd let the words slip, but you'd said it. You had admitted that you loved Bradley Bradshaw; best friend and the whole reason you were still living in San Diego.

Originally, when you both left high school, you thought about just going straight to college somewhere else across the US with Bradley, maybe even venturing across the pond somewhere. You two had always planned on going to college together and with Carole dying not long before, you were jet set on making the plan happen.

That was though, until Bradley got accepted in the University of Virginia, allowing him to still be enlisted as well as get through college.

You, throughout all of that, had gotten an acceptance letter to UC San Diego - right where you and Bradley had both wanted to end up anyway in the end. You desperately didn't want to give the opportunity up to go do your dream course at a university that you wanted to go to and Bradley didn't dispute that.

So, the plan was set; keep the friendship long distance, meet up during holidays and then meet up there once you'd both finished your uni courses. It was perfect.

The plan was working perfectly until Bradley's papers got pulled.

You still remember it clear as day in your head. Just getting off your shift from the newly opened bar called 'The Hard Deck' that all the locals at the navy base went to, you'd gotten a call from Bradley.

Thinking it was just a normal catch up call from whatever he was doing on the east coast. you accepted the call, thinking nothing of it. You were proved wrong seconds into the call though, with Bradley eerily quiet down the phone.

When you asked him about his day, that was when a switch flipped in him. He wasn't just mad, but he also wasn't just sad as he ranted down the phone at you about how Maverick pulled his papers from applying to Top Gun.

Top Gun.

The institution every naval pilot wanted to get into, a handful of candidates picked every year to complete the training.

Maverick had pulled Bradley's papers from being able to get into Top Gun and you couldn't him. Maverick had always been lovely to you when you saw him come into the bar and was Bradley's surrogate father.

You couldn't see why on earth he had done what he had. He had no reason nor business to pull Bradley's papers, so why had he done it?

That you never really did find out, but it was definitely a deal he didn't deserve.

Ignoring that, over the next two years, you put your own career on hold and helped Bradley rebuild his. From talking to other pilots to using those same pilots to help get Bradley promotions and finally a way into Top Gun.

That was when the feelings started.

When Bradley arrived in San Diego he was different. Yes, you knew he had changed over the last few years because of navy work, but you didn't realise just how much.

He'd gotten fitter, faster and managed to grow some facial hair. It was almost as if he was a different man - which, when compared to the boy you knew in high school, he was very different.

You didn't realise how much you loved him until Penny confronted you about it during your shift when you'd blushed at yet another stupid pun he had made.

And that was when you'd realised; you were in fucking love with him.

You'd pushed it down for years, hiding laughs in coughs and moving your hair to hide any warmth that spread across your face when he made that goofy smile at you. The hardest part of that thought, was seeing him on dates with other girls. Whether it be at the bar or at home (you two had decided to move in together to make it easier on the both of you for paying bills), you couldn't miss it when Bradley brought a date home. Yet you still moved on with your life.

So after all those years, you'd realised Bradley Bradshaw was the best thing you never knew you had and you'd possibly fucked it all up in one move.

And it was all because of fucking Jake Seresin.

Tonight, all the naval pilots at Top Gun had decided to come to the hard deck, for yet another darts tournament that both you and Penny had bets on Seresin to win.

Everything was going to plan; the pilots got there, got their drinks and started the tournament as you and Penny served the other customers. It was fine, but that was until the man himself, Jake Seresin came up to the bar just as you were staring at Bradley making his shot at the darts board.

It took you a moment to notice Jake to even begin with, taking his beer bottle back from where it was placed on the bar, grabbing another one.

"Tell me this y/n, why do you keep staring at Bradshaw?" Jake asks, placing his forearms on the bar as you passed him the now uncapped beer.

Flicking your head to stare straight at him, your eyes widened. How could you have been so stupid? Of course, yes, you'd passed glances at Bradley throughout the number of evenings the pilots stopped by the bar, but you didn't realised how bad it was. You'd been staring for Christ's sake!

"Because I'm watching him throw darts." You retort back at the pilot standing in front of you as you tried to busy yourself doing other things around the bar.

"That doesn't exactly seem right though, does it sweetheart?" Jake says, moving with you around the bar as you kept yourself busy.

Glaring at him, it took everything in you not to slap Jake silly at him calling out your actions, but you refused to say anything, trying to keep your dignity. You had a masters degree for fucks sake! You shouldn't be here trying to not slap a pilot while you worked on cleaning down a bar.

"Well it's the truth, Seresin." You grumble, glare still holding strong.

"You're in love with him aren't you?" Jake says, smirking, clearly catching onto your lies.

"No I'm not." You state, closing your eyes for a moment, trying to shove every opposing thought to that to the back of your mind.

"Yes you are, and I know it." Jake says, smirk more prominent now as he managed to rile you up more with each word.

"No, I'm not Seresin, now get over it and go back to your friends." You say, slapping the cloth down onto the bar, getting sick of his bullshit.

"Oh come on y/n! Just admit you love him!" Jake says and that was the last straw for you. You were sick and tired of Jake Seresin bullshitting you, so you blew up just to get him to leave you alone.

"Fine! I love him! I love Bradley Bradshaw! Is that good enough for you Seresin!" You yell, silencing the whole bar and scaring Jake in to complete and utter silence; even scaring his as so then he shrinks back into himself slightly.

You look around at the silenced bar, no one daring to move or utter a single syllable to get The Hard Deck's buzz back again.

"What?" You hear from your left and when you look around, you see Bradley standing there, beer in one hand, dart in the other.

Looking up at the decorated ceiling for a moment, you squeeze your eyes shut, internally hating yourself for what you'd just let slip.

When you open your eyes again, you see Penny at your side, giving Jake a withering look before ringing the bell, clearly seeing the what he had done as disrespecting a lady.

Cheers erupt from around the bar as people realise the Jake was buying them all a round and it was the perfect distraction that allowed you to escape the now overwhelming bar.

So, here you were, slipping into the women's bathroom, thinking over just how badly you had fucked up by yelling that across the bar.

Looking yourself over in the mirror, you start by wiping your eyes, drying them of any tears that threatened to let slip how long you'd held that secret before smoothing down your clothes.

Taking a deep breath as you do so, it hitches part way through it's escape from your mouth as you see and hear the bathroom door open.

You begin to tell the person to go away but it's only when you notice Bradley walk through the door, locking it behind him do you really see the immensity of what you'd said.

Bradley still had a stunned look on his face from moments ago, and from the look of the slightly bruised knuckle, he'd probably punched Jake as well before he'd gotten there.

"Bradley..." You whisper, tears starting to sting your eyes as you spoke.

"Why... what..." Bradley says, stumbling over his words as he tries to think of what to say.

"I didn't think it would come out like that - I, I didn't want it to!" You argue, but with no fire from the other side to fight.

"I guessed so." Bradley says, nodding his head as he scratches the back of your neck.

"I was thinking this over the other day, I used to drive you home Bradley. We were kids when we first knew each other. I put my career on hold to-" You ramble, trying to look anywhere but the man standing in front of you, only to be cut off by him part way through.

"You did what?" Bradley says, making you look at him once again from where you were leaning against the sinks.

"I didn't get my teaching degree. I nearly did, but I dropped out when you called me about your papers. I know... I dropped the ball." You whisper in the silent bathroom.

"Y/n you wanted to become a teacher, why did you do that?" Bradley asks, taking a step forward towards you.

"You were a flight risk. I knew if I didn't do anything you'd've gone and done something stupid. You needed my attention more." You admit, shrugging your shoulders during your explanation. "You drove me crazy thought Bradley and I didn't realise I loved you till I was head over heels in it."

That was when the tears managed to overpower your willpower, rolling down your cheeks as you tried to contain your sobs.

Bradley had no idea what to do; seeing his childhood best friend cry after so many years of staying strong for him. He moved though, moving to do the one thing he knew that you would appreciate in that moment.

Bradley's bear hugs over the years had always been the one thing you could rely on that would comfort you, so that was what he did. Hug you.

The weight of his strong arms wrapping around young as you cried into his chest comforted you, easing some of the worries that you'd completely fucked up the relationship.

"I don't deserve you." You tearily say after a few minutes, head still pressed against Bradley's torso.

"You do y/n/n. You so do. Do you remember the time you walked into the house crying from your period cramps and I was sat on the couch, candles lit and drinking." Bradley whispered to you, stroking your hair down.

Leaning back and nodding at the statement, Bradley continued with his story. "Well... I'd set that out for you. I was going to ask you out that night, but you came home crying and in pain so I scratched the plan and helped you."

This time, it was Bradley's turn to look everywhere but at you, his eyes flitting around the room as yours softened, remembering the day very clearly.

You'd had a shit day at The Hard Deck, getting verbal abuse from a couple of customers and you'd gotten your period the day before. So, not only were you working, you were also in pain as well from cramps you'd forgotten to take painkillers for.

"Bradley. Why...?" You ask in utter disbelief as your roommate and friend of roughly 20 years now was telling you he loved you back.

"Because I love you y/n, and I need you to understand I'm not just gonna leave you. Just say the word and I'll call or come running back to you." Bradley says, finally taking a breath and properly looking at you.

So, in a split second, you make a decision to kiss him, and clearly he'd made the same by the way your bodies moved in sync as you two locked lips.

Breaking apart a few moments later for air, you move your hands to dry your eyes and hear the door open from behind you, making both you and Bradley turn.

"Hey, y/n. If you just want to-" Penny says, walking into the bathroom, not properly looking until she faced both you and Bradley with your arms wrapped around each other. She smiles, nodding, saying nothing more before walking over, placing a box of tissues down by the sinks and then leaving you and Bradley in the bathroom.

It takes you both a moment to realise what had just happened before you dissolve into laughter, taking a few minutes before the bathroom was fully quiet once again.

"Well... Penny knows." You say, grabbing a tissue from the box Penny had placed in between the sinks.

Bradley laughed again, nodding at the bluntness of your statement and moves with you, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"Yeah. She might not kill me for punching Jake now." Bradley then says, kissing the top of your head as he holds you close.

"I should probably be telling you off for doing that, but thank you." You say, looking back up at Bradley before taking his other hand and leading him to the door of the bathroom. Dropping the used tissues in the bin by the door as you walked through it, you looked at each other, ready to face the rest of the naval pilots waiting for you both.

a/n: I'm less than a week away from uploading the masterlist for this series (when writing) so I'm getting excited!!!

Read this to find out who else I write for, and requests are open!

#top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradsaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader

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cuubism · 5 months ago

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WIP Word Train

Rules: tagger gives a word, then for each letter of that word you share a sentence/excerpt from your wips that start with that letter.

Tagged by @kydrogendragon :)

Fun!!! The word was STAB

-- for S --

[ from equestrian au pt. 5 ]

So on day three Hob got Dream situated in the hotel room, then hauled Ruby five hours back to the farm—begrudgingly taking Alex with him, though fortunately not Roderick who’d presumably gotten himself a limousine or something—and then drove five hours back to the hotel where he’d left Dream. It was a long day. He found Dream pretty much where he’d left him that morning, asleep in bed with the curtains pulled shut and all the lights off so the room was in complete darkness. Poor thing.

-- for T --

[ from 3rd Stormlight Archive fic ]

The city’s growing on him as they walk. Then again, Adolin’s rarely met a city he didn’t like. He’d even fallen a little bit in love with Azimir, siege and all. “Have you ever been somewhere you don’t like?” Kaladin asks, as if reading his mind. “Wasn’t a huge fan of Lasting Integrity. They put me in jail there. Two out of ten stars.” Kaladin laughs, actually laughs out loud, a quick, helpless burst of it, and Adolin can’t help his grin. “Azimir was nice,” Adolin continues. “Strong sense of architectural style. Loses points for the mortal injury, but you can’t have everything.” “I’m not sure we fully healed that head injury after all,” Kaladin says, but he’s smiling to himself. “Fine. If nothing’s gone wrong by nightfall, maybe we can find some place out of the way and get you the bar experience you desperately crave.” “Wow, you’d really do anything for me,” says Adolin, meaning it as a joke, but Kaladin just sort of nods, and Adolin feels himself blush. Hopefully the sun will obscure it.

-- for A --

[ from "Good Horses" ]

And he took off down the path, dragging Dream along behind him. Hob was much faster than him, and certainly fitter too, and Dream nearly tripped and fell several times trying to keep up, but didn't let go of Hob's hand. His nice school loafers skidded on the wet leaves. His tie flapped along over his shoulder. Dream could not remember the last time he had been so out of breath, the last time his heart had beaten in his chest like so. "Shit!" Hob yelled, and skidded to a stop. Dream was not so fast, and quickly learned what had brought such an abrupt end to Hob's run. The path veered off sharply to the right above a steep embankment, and Dream's momentum carried him right over the edge, dragging Hob with him. The next few moments were a tumble of dirt and leaves and flashes of sky, Hob's laughter, Dream's very unbecoming shriek. Then a splash, as they landed in the shallow brook at the bottom of the embankment. Hob was still laughing as Dream pushed himself upright, took stock of himself. His trousers and the back of his blazer were drenched and mud-soaked, certainly ruined; his socks sloshed in his shoes; his tie was twisted and mangled around his neck. Hob looked no better, wet and muddy and with leaves stuck in his hair. Only on Hob, there was a natural ease to it, a sense that he would pick himself up with a grin and go on like that. Dream was certain he himself looked merely disheveled and ridiculous.

-- for B --

[ from In Waking Dreams ]

But Dream was still looking at him with his hollowed-out eyes and his hair an even more chaotic wreck than usual, and his body that hadn’t touched something soft in seven decades, seeming more uncertain the longer Hob left stillness between them. And Hob was going to have to take the first step here, he knew he was. He reached out a hand. Can I? he asked without asking, and Dream, knowing him, inclined his head. Still so regal, even after all of that. Hob fit his hand to his jaw, and yes, they still fit together as they did in dreams, what a marvel.

---

tagging @five-and-dimes, @meadowziplines, @tharkuun

the word is GLOW

#tag games #my writing #wind and truth spoilers

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houseofhugo · 1 year ago

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ONE AFTER ANOTHER: THE BONUS CHAPTER

[ SYNOPSIS ] fast forward, your mom is at the gathering; it was only for the ladies in their batch which means only one thing: both of you are at it again.

[ PAIRING ] lee sangyeon x f!reader

[ CONTENTS AND WARNINGS ] 18+ read (smut), mdni (minors, do not interact), stepcest, stepfather!sangyeon, age gap (both are legal), pet names, shower sex, p in v sex, protected sex (reader is on a pill), mirror sex, edging (reader gives), creampie, wet sangyeon (another "yes, that's a warning")

[ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] who knows we'll get a bonus part? 😏

[ NAVIGATION ] PART ONE, PART TWO

The house was nature-quiet as you make your way down the stairs only in a huge towel wrapping you up from chest to knees with one arm secured at your bust. The kitchen was the first thing you would see from there. It was just like a mini-bar but without the liquor bottles. At the center of the marble-top kitchen island, there were two paper bags—one is large, one is small. You reached for the small one and ripped the paper tape-secured mouth open. You knew it was your shampoo that was inside since it's the only non-food product you asked your mom to buy before she left for their gathering today.

As you turn your whole body, you hear a door open somewhere around the corner. You didn't know which was it since the sound bounced across the place until your stepdad came walking in the frame of your sight holding a wrench in his gloved hands with hints of black grease smeared on his sweat-glossed arms. His white fit tank top, also stained with the grease, became fitter due to his sweat causing the fabric to cling onto his perspiring skin. Your eyes didn't even fail to notice his abs, pectorals, and nipples—to your surprise, they are out and erect—protruding to the white wet fabric, and the fact it's just all thin fabric makes the golden color of his skin make his top darker. There was nothing to see on his cargo pants... unfortunately.

"I thought mom drove the car." Your voice broke the silence in the room.

"Yeah, to the grocery."

"How did she get to their gathering, then?"

"Her friend came here. She gave her a ride."

You panned your eyes from his head down to his toe once again.

"So it's still not fixed? The car?"

"Yeah. I did it yesterday but it's still quite noisy when she drove it to the grocery this morning." The man inspected you from head to toe with blind reaction as if your look isn't the most obvious thing. He walked past you to go to the fridge which was at the other side of the kitchen island. He was met with the cold mist as he takes the cold pitch of water out. At the corner of his eye, he noticed that you're still looking at him like a surveillance camera. He thought of giving you a show, so instead of taking a glass from the counter, he just put the pitcher up to his nose level and tilted the beak at his open mouth. The water landed like a waterfall past his lips until it pools there, overflows, and makes its way down his chin, neck, and through the cleavage of his man tits which caused the fabric to stick more onto his skin like hell. He tilted his head back before taking a huge gulp on the cold water making sure the movement of his Adam's apple is put to show. He felt the mild negative temperature glide through his guts. He looks down at what he just did to himself before bringing his eyes up to you. Putting the pitcher down on the kitchen island, he leans over the island top with his triceps landing on the marble; he, then, inspects you from your messy tied hair to your bare feet on the wood-patterned floor.

"Taking a bath?" he casually questioned the obvious thing.

"Yeah." You swallowed your own spit. "I was... about to go upstairs."

Sangyeon straightened his posture before taking a few steps until your bodies are just an inch closer to each other. Your nose caught the reeking, bitter, and stinging scent of the mixed chemicals and such but he made it smell so perfect with his daddy face card.

"I'm done doing the car, by the way." He inspects you from your messy tied hair down to your bare feet on the varnished wooden floor. "I'm free doing you now, if you're wondering."

That was the most straightforward thing he have let out of his mouth; perhaps because getting his cock in you made him way more comfortable than he ideally should be.

You took a minute to admire his sexy mechanic look. It's impressive how he could pull this off without looking like a garbage. In fact, you couldn't even think about it because all you see is a god who is actually willing to grant all your fantasies.

"Shower?" you offered.

He took a sniff on both of his pits. "Mmh." He was displeased by his own smell but it then made him think of one thing and look at you with his lips tilted in satisfaction. "Reading the room well, pretty girl."

His low toned praise tickled your tummy and made your knees twitch.

You almost forgot about the wrench until it produced a clang on the marble top of the island as he put it there. "You can go ahead. I'll catch up. Let me just grab a condom from the store," he suggests.

"Uhm... I'm still taking the pill, actually."

You witness how his eyes thinned into a squint as his lips tilted into a smirk.

The shower stall in your personal bathroom has a built-in bathtub as the ground, so you have to hop in. The bathtub is surrounded by marbles as extensions to the rims directly connected to the walls and they are wide enough to sit on. The whole entire section is like a sauna rather than a normal bath by now because you can just turn the tub faucet warm, close the translucent glass door, rest your ass on the rim, and you have an instant relaxation zone to take out sweat; then here comes you two deciding to layer the heat with another railing session now in this limited space.

Both of you are standing naked on a thin layer of water in the tub that is slowly getting filled by the lukewarm water that is moderately rushing out of the open faucet. Your hands are rested at the rim where you are face to face with the shower valves fixed on the wall. Meanwhile, Sangyeon was standing right behind you with his knees bent and his hands pulling up the muscle under your belly to keep your ass up as he swayed his hips back and forth in a solid moderate pace which caused his massive cock with the prominent veins decorating his shaft to travel warm and raw through your walls in wet glides.

"Daddy's getting your pussy full of his cock again, baby girl. Come on, tell me you love it."

The translucent glass door was shut locked which caused the vapor to fill the stall in just a matter of seconds. The heat brought both of you to the peak of your perspiration which naturally glossed both of of your bodies as if you two were taking a bath in gallons of lube.

"I love your cock so much, daddy! Mmhhh! Please fuck me harder!" Your voice came out in whimpered waves due to repeatedly being nudged by the force of his hips.

The repeated brushing and pounding force between your folds were sent to you solid and strong that his hips are threatening to shove your face to the wall in front of you. You even almost hit your head on one of the valves, so you brought up one hand on the wall to fight his strength.

"Like this, sweetie? Is daddy doing great for my little munchkin?" His hips came clashing and snapping with your ass cheeks more often. It's like your tummy is getting blended from the insides just like how your brain feels like right now. Add his heavy testicles slapping up your clit through his pacing. Everything's starting to get magical.

You were about to attempt a word but one of his hits turned into combos on your spot and you're certain he just repositioned it somewhere inside you. Instead of letting out a simple yes, it just turned into a warm air that easily. Along with that, your legs trembled due to the electrifying force that ripples throughout your body caused by that one simple thrust. Turns out, your whole system is coming down to a wonderful mess.

"Hah, gosh, baby!" Sangyeon's hips stuttered as you sucked his whole manhood inside of you like a vacuum cleaner. Meanwhile, your hand that was rested on the wall came falling down and accidentally hit the loose shower valve in front of you causing the tilted shower head above your head to make it rain directly where his cock meets your cunt. Good thing you managed to keep your other hand on the rim so that you won't fall and hit your head on the marble.

"Ngh! Hah!" Your exclamation came out of your mouth like you were in labor and the baby inside of you was his cock but, of course, it's never the thing you want to push out;.

It's as if both of you had reached your climaxes because no one is moving at all. He was locked inside your cunt with your tensed walls, but that didn't last long as soon as the warmth relaxed your muscles which made your pussy loosen along. Both of you took the time to catch huge breaths wherein the warm mist that comes around confined in the locked stall invades both of your organs; though it brought great ease for the both of you, feeling a little bit more hot can't be filtered out by the hairs of your nostrils.

"Ready to go again, munchkin?"

You just nodded your yes with a hum for a solid confirmation.

"Want me to go slow?" he reassures.

"No."

As soon as Sangyeon picked up where he left, the strings of water that directly hit your ass made the skin slaps louder and crunchier. Though the water tickled his shaft whenever it gets exposed by pulling out, it didn't stop him to maintain composure and just fuck you with his consistent, solid, and rapid jabbing on your walls like the fucking sexual spectacle of a sexy man he is. Looking over your shoulder, you get a view of him with his hands flat on your lower back with his elbows facing outwards. His eyes were down there where his fat meat meets your throbbing heat; his big hot bun pecs are shredded by contraction which creates a temporary muscle indent at both parts of his man tits close to his underarms; a his strands had grown long making them hang over in locks as it sways along with his moves.

He actually looks hotter with longer hair. You can actually use it as a stable grip.

The skin-slapping that was immensely crisped by the falling waters has become music to your ears. You thought of turning it off since you accidentally turned it on but it just turns out to be a good accident. You then felt the surface of the water in the tub waving above your knees. The water from the faucet has filled the whole tub almost at the rim, so you lazily slapped your hand on the valve to turn it off.

"Come here," he grunts as he pulls you up from your 90-degree position making you up on your feet with your back facing him. His huge hands pulled you in where you came pressed hard onto his wet chest and six-pack only for your upper half to be pushed away so that he can get a good angle of his cock into you. The only things that kept you stable were his two hands that are wrapped around your wrists pulling your arms backwards. Looking from his view, he sees the back of a perfect girl getting her head all wet and straightened down under the falling waters from the shower. You appeared to look more delicate in his eyes from how your strands followed the shape of your head.

"Fuck, baby!" The bouncing of your ass in his sight accompanied by your back view started an orgasm build-up on his hips making him throw his head back.

"Daddy, I wanna cum."

"We can't cum in here, sweetie. We should get you out of here first."

The fast pull out of his cock out of you caused a growled yelp to escape your mouth. The sudden emptiness was such a mental and emotional pain causing you to let a solid whine that scratched your chest and throat, but Sangyeon was there to twist the shower valve off and unlock the translucent glass door before hooking an arm under your knees and under your upper back to carry you out of the shower in a bridal style. In just a matter of seconds, you could feel the warmth being replaced by the cold of the outside of the stall. Sangyeon runs a hand on your head to soothe you because he thought that sudden pull before putting you down on your weak feet in front of a vertically rectangular mirror fixed to the wall. Watching the reflection, he positions himself right behind you where he talks right at your ear. "Look in the mirror, sweetheart." He snuck a hand on one of your breasts to cup it with your nipple in between two of his fingers. "I'm sure you wanna see how daddy would use his whole body to make you feel good."

Those words were directed to your ear canals and it successfully made your little aching heart go back to greatness again. You shook your head up and down before taking a sniff.

Before your patience could even make you cry, Sangyeon interrupted it by sheathing his manhood all the way back into your cunt with just one push and it made you jump in happiness again. He bent his knees to get a good angle to push and pull his hips into you; you were just standing there watching him through the reflection working hard for your satisfaction. You can see how he is biting his lips as his eyes were darted at your ass; on the other hand, you were there subconsciously mirroring his facial expression as you harmonize with his deep moans with your high-pitched whines.

Aaaah, music.

Sangyeon's eyes came back at the mirror where he started talking to your reflections. "Fuck, munchkin! Look at that sexy body behind you."

You took the time to eye him in admiration through the mirror. He couldn't be anymore fuckable in this view. It's not just adjectival pornographic but you're like literally watching porn right now and he's the main attraction, and when he moved your ass a bit so you can have a view of his cock fucking your pussy at the reflection, there was like a camera that is taking a close-up shot right there. With your breasts still seen in the frame, he snuck his other hand on your other breast so that you now have both of him squishing and kneading your mounds as they were caged in his fingers. Your hands are on top of his as he was doing that.

"Fuck, Sangyeon!" It immediately registered to you what you just did and now, you have on hand pressed on your mouth as you kept groaning to his continuous thrusts.

You earned a mild laugh from the man that came from his chest. "Did you hear yourself, baby girl? Did you hear how beautiful my name came out of your mouth? You might wanna say it again for me."

You're already biting your lower lip behind your hand as you squeezed your eyes shut in both embarrassment and lust. That felt natural on your lips but it's still something you couldn't be used to say.

"Come on. Call me by my name, darling. Be casual to me like I'm your... what? Husband too? I'm letting myself be owned by this family now, anyway." He grabbed your leg that was facing the mirror by the thigh and carried it up to give you more view of how he is ramming his way into you. "So that means this cock is totally all yours now too. Can you believe that?"

The pressure inside your lungs due to the lack of oxygen had you enough to release all the breath you have been keeping behind that hand.

"Fuck," you whimpered.

"Fuck what?" he emphasized.

A few seconds have gone by and he didn't get any response. His sudden let go of your leg made you grab onto his forearms as he fisted his hands on the skin of your hips to solidify a couple of thrusts into you making sure it punches your walls good before abruptly stopping with his hips pressed on your ass cheeks. You are suddenly so full of cock.

"Come on. Speak up, munchkin. That's what daddy is all asking for from you," he encourages. "Let me tell you: this is a week-old load. I can reward you a fresh and overflowing creampie now if you start calling me like that. Just not in your mom's presence; we might get suspicions."

To you mom, 'dad' is the only thing pleasing and acceptable to her ears when you call Sangyeon.

Building your eagerness, you started to grind your hips against his manhood to stimulate yourself. It's like you just vaccuumed all the air in the bathroom into your nostrils before blowing it all out through your mouth with shaking whimpers from how you are hitting your own buttons yourself with a man hose twitching inside you.

"Oh, I see." He squeezed you tight in his arms before snapping his hips up to kiss and jab your cervix with his cock head.

"Shit!" You exclaimed.

"I thought you love the idea of me cumming inside you? You don't wanna get disappointed again, sweetheart." The man didn't hesitate to transform into a living jackhammer and bream your walls down with his unforgiving rapid pace. It's already making you scream with a hint of growls.

"Oh, Sangyeon! Yes! Fuuuck!"

The elder was so rewarded as he wears the smile of a winner. "Yes, munchkin! That's my name!" His thrusts eventually brought back the build up of your orgasm like a sunrise because his cock was in for the combos again on your g-spot. "GONNA. FUCK. YOU. LIKE. A. FUCKING. ANIMAL!"

"YEEESSS! Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me! Oh my gosh!"

FLOP!

"Faster, Sangyeon! Faster!"

SNAP!

He bundled your arms and waist by wrapping his strong muscles around them causing your back to make direct contact with his abs and tits; the mixture of warm water and sweat across his skin made you stick to him. Your forearms are the only things that can move because his arms are secured at your biceps. The position made him bury deeper and closer to you which caused all of his thrusts to not fully withdraw his cock from your walls as if you are on a plug which technically, you are. Sangyeon is now grinding on you; the motion of his cock inside you starts to get tender and tender sending you zaps of chills throughout your arching back. It's taking you to the clouds that you couldn't help but grapple your hands on the frontal muscles of his thighs which are bent on both sides of yours; you can feel them flex every time he moves. He then laid his chin on your shoulder that faces the mirror so that you can still see his handsome face while he grinds your insides with his whole length buried balls deep.

"Shit!" You screeched at the top of your lungs. "I'm gonna cum!"

You've been waiting for this; your pussy in pain of patience mixed with the pleasing delicious drag of his manhood through your walls.

"Cum, sweetie. Tickle that cock well with your release and I'll shoot straight into your pussy in no time."

Your fleshy wet walls began to contract around him as if you're gonna close for good; one factor is, of course, how he dropped those words. You then squeezed your eyes shut and chewed on your lower lip when his hands covered your whole breasts in an instant; he could be your secret bra now.

"Fuck! Fuck! Sangyeon!" you let his name scracth your throat in screams. The tension ripples throughout your body as you use your full strength to push all your juices out. Sangyeon immediately emptied you by abruptly popping his cock out with a lewd squelch and directly positioned it under your folds so that your release could hit him first before it forms puddles on the floor. He just didn't expect you would turn into a human pressure washer in an instant.

"Lay on the floor." With your hurried command, you didn't think twice to push Sangyeon down by his shoulders which he didn't hesitate to do so. The cold floor met the contrasting warmth of his back; his legs are parted and his feet are on both sides of the mirror which makes the only reflection he has is his parted big thighs with his cock centered at the frame standing proud.

"Hooo! Hah!" Despite getting fed with the temptation of shooting his cum, he tried his best to keep his cock there and catch all the tingling sensation of your release soaking his cock into a glistening and dripping hot slab of meat. He gave your tits a couple of kneads to fuel you up before one of his hands leaves to give his base a tight squeeze to prevent him from doing it as he maintained his cock under the pressure of your gushing release. For him, this is a whole new level of edging he didn't know he would survive... at least for just a moment.

"Holy shit!" His exclamation was accompanied by a few twitches of his cock. He is so huge, so it really doesn't feel like twitches. It's like he's pushing your uterus somewhere from its original displacement. You tried to play along by constricting your walls. "Ngh! No! Fuck!" Firm words came out prematurely of his mouth as they scratched their way out of his throat but he wasn't doing anything to stop you. His fingers were just having their good diggings into your skin; however, with a single effortless lift of your hips, his cock was unsheathed from your cunt leaving the hard and luscious male genitalia glistening like a crystal.

You have put your stepdad in a great position because you would then straddle him on your feet facing the mirror so you could see how you would fuck yourself on his cock for the first time. As you hold his cock to point it up right above your heat, you brush his tip across your folds which drives him more to his suppressed peak. Hearing his low groans and oh's without getting to watch his face made the situation more intriguing, and by the time you pushed yourself down on his shaft with a painfully slow pace, you could hear him getting louder behind you as you felt his fingers dig on the flesh of your hips.

"HOOO! Yes—OH, FUCK!" He sounded gutteral because he is really that close; he's just preventing himself to bust since he's not fully in you yet, but by the time you are fully sat on him with his whole cock sheathed inside you, the uncontrolled throbbing of your walls around him made his manhood tremble inside of you; however, you were too focused in earning the familiar bulge on your usually flat tummy.

You then leaned back and laid your hands on the floor at the sides of his waist level before making waves out of your hips to grind yourself on his aching cock. It hurts so much on his end that it's getting his insides grounded by the unseen force. The combination of his masculine voice, and delicate and yearning whimpers came from his own thought of his stepdaughter enjoying sexually torturing him with just two words. You just wanna tease him more.

Actually, the bathroom was quite soundproof in and out that is why you've been hearing nothing but the waters from the shower and your pleasured moans harmonizing with his. Sangyeon was fortunate to be safe from the neighboring houses when he didn't get to think through what you have told him to do and just went with whatever he thought would please you.

"NGAAAHH! HAH! FUCK! BABY!" His hands are now causing your skin to turn red by his fingers digging more into you. You just keep on grinding your hips back and forth as you turn his loudness into music.

"O-HO, YESSSS! DADDY'S GONNA CUM FOR YOU, BABY GIRL! GONNA LET YOU HAVE MY CUM ALL FOR YOURSELF!"

As you grounded your hips down on his cock while watching yourself in the mirror, his whimpers burst into screams as he grows within the confinement of your walls until he strikes your insides non-stop with his white and hot creaminess into your tight heat in consistent chunky ropes.

"Baby—FUHUUUCK!!!"

SQUELCH!

SQUISH!

SLOSH!

Sangyeon can feel his orgasm beyond his body with the floor vibrating and rumbling under his skin and the air he breathes getting warmer and warmer as he squirts his creamy cum into you. Meanwhile, you tried to tease him by slowly bringing yourself up from his cock.

"No! No! Sweetie, don't!" His hands reacted faster than light as he pressed you back down by your thighs because he suddenly felt his cum trickling down his shaft; and he was still shooting his baby batter inside you which made the trickling faster. "Daddy's still—mmh... cumming." However, there is a chunk that managed to escape and slide down his balls. As soon as you scooped it from the bottom of his testicles with your index finger, his hips twitched to the swipe of your touch making you jiggle along. You didn't hesitate to bring the finger inside your mouth where you tasted the slight sweetness on your tongue.

"Mmh." Your eyebrows rose as if you didn't taste this yummy man a gallon before.

It didn't take long until you heard his heavy breathing indicating that he has finished inside, but you have your freaky little mind activated, so you thought of grinding your hips again as you watch yourself in the mirror.

"Oh, gosh—" His voice got caught up in his throat; he just let it all out through his hips by planting his feet on the bathroom floor to fuck his cum inside of you with his upward thrusts. Either squirming himself through the sensitivity or just staying there enduring it like a solid soldier, the same thing would still happen for him: he would still be overstimulated inside you; and you're still enjoying yourself, so the man had no choice but just play along despite having that immense tickle in his sex organ.

On the other hand, that didn't stop your unforgiving walls from hugging his cock as you attempted to glide your walls up and down his length which earned Sangyeon a more defined drag of your flesh on him... and the most sensitivity-triggering one.

"Sweetheart! Too much, too much!" Sangyeon squeezed his one eye shut as he kept his other one focused on his cock reappearing and disappearing between your ass cheeks. "Fuck! You're getting daddy so sensitive now, sweetie."

For one last time while keeping yourself seated on him, you carefully turned around with the right amount of constriction applied around his cock so that he can feel your walls twist around his length as you position yourself in a cowgirl position. It didn't fail you to get shocked when you saw how coated he is of sweat right now that it maintained his locks and made his skin slippery again.

"O-ho—hmmm—gosh!" He suppressed his endeavor between gritted teeth as he threw his head back and breathed through his nose in a trembling and unstable manner. It's turning him from a stiff, hot, muscle body into a dead meat; he couldn't even get a tight grip on your ass to stop the overstimulation you're giving him.

Laying your palms on the hard mounds of his pecs for support, you then gave your cervix a couple of hard and grounded jabs before you abruptly brought your hips up with your dripping folds hovering over his cock tip. From your view, you can see his abs rise and sink to his heavy breathing as you witness his cum—now foamy and bubbly—fall in solid whipped cream textures from your cunt onto the skin within his v-line with some serving as decorations on his softening cock making the best mess out of it.

You brought your eyes up to his hooded ones. "Clean up?" you offered.

"But no sex," he conditioned.

"No sex," you repeated.

But both of you are naked; and being in the same small space, it was inevitable for Sangyeon to prevent his bare cock from hitting and brushing everywhere.

He felt like Sisyphus but without the bad punishment.

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