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theoldsports · 28 days

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SHITHEAD.

Art Donaldson x Reader.

warnings: a lot of them. 18+, slapping, begging, major angst, brat!Art, an argument with make up sex. Art is really manipulative because… he is a bit and we all know it. [Y/N] is very ill-tempered too. it’s dirty.

can be a part ii to SPONTANEOUS, or read as a standalone. this is my favorite piece of writing i have published on this account.

The bed was empty beside [Y/N]. She stared at Art’s empty side of the bed. The soft green sheets and mix-matched pillowcases went unoccupied. Not because he wasn’t home, but because [Y/N] hated Art so he had to sleep downstairs on the couch.

It wasn’t that she really hated Art. She did hate him right now. Not in a funny way. Their drive home had been silent. Poor Art didn’t know how to facilitate conversation that wouldn’t worsen the situation. His sorrowful eyes, but honest eyes kept glancing from the road to where [Y/N] sat in the passenger seat. The real showdown had started between them something awful when the door to their house slammed shut.

See, Art cried when he got mad. Or sad. Or profoundly excited. Their wedding photos were two-thirds Art crying and trying not to show that he was crying.

Art hadn’t cried tonight yet. That pissed [Y/N] off. She was furious and he seemed to feel absolutely zero discernible feelings about that.

They argued all the time. It rarely lasted all too long.

It was different this time. When [Y/N] started to say something cruel or shout or weep, Art got a little smaller, but he alarmingly stood his ground. He averted his gaze and said “I respectfully disagree,” or “What the fuck do you know about how I feel?” in a dangerously level tone.

Fighting with Art about this wasn’t fun. He was too cool about. He knew he was right. [Y/N] wanted to yell and scream because Art was so relaxed and condescending in his tone. When the man who had spent his teenage years getting referred at competition after competition as literally Ice tonelessly said: “Jesus Christ, aren’t you bored yet? What, going to over-explain the same information to me again, or…?” Finally, that had made [Y/N] drag herself to bed and yank the door closed violently enough that she felt the metallic vibration run all the way up to her shoulder.

And she was still laying there, staring at Art’s side of the bed.

At the Zweig’s party that night, there were a few hot topics in the Donaldsons’ sphere:

1) Lots of congratulations from people that had known them grow up, but hadn’t seen them since the wedding or prior.

This was mostly very kind. It dragged that smirk up Art’s face and caused his fingers to dig tighter into [Y/N]’s waist. That look of pride and tenderness on his face was more than welcome.

2) Lots of questions about Patrick. His lack of attendance was felt.

Both Donaldsons dodged these question as much as they could. Art kept an eye on [Y/N]’s liquor consumption. He knew how embarrassed she would be if she said something she regretted in front of Patrick’s family. Patrick had hurt them both, but Art’s heart went out to [Y/N]. Her world had been built around Patrick’s from a young age. Art was trying to engineer his own world higher around her so she wouldn’t be able to see the old place and people that had burned her over the walls.

3) “You’re married. When are we going to be seeing a little Donaldson running around?”

With Art keeping an eye on [Y/N]’s drinking, she hadn’t really been keeping an eye on him. She just assumed he would keep his shit together. Art drinking in public was never really a concern. He wasn’t a big drinker anyway. At this point, his career mattered more and he was approaching his mid-twenties which made him feel surely less young than he had once. He wasn’t a casual beer guy either. It was Patrick who liked beer and Art who would have a moledo or something sometimes. Art did like white girl drinks, though. Tequila and fruity stuff. He had been able to shoot shot after shot of vodka like a pro in college at a season-end celebration.

Art was a tight-lipped man, but he was a giggly drunk who he got pretty comfortable talking out of his ass from behind a glass with an umbrella in it. Art was rarely comfortable with anything, so a drink or two at a party was welcome to him.

Another important point of context is that the largest point of tension between Art and [Y/N] was starting a family. They desperately wanted a child together, but they disagree on when. [Y/N] felt like she was fresh out of college, so she figured they had plenty of time. Art felt that he was fresh out of college, so he figured they may as well get to it.

Their arguments about this were once semi-regular. In the last four months or so, Art timidly bowed out and hoped [Y/N] would tell him when she was ready (sooner rather than later). He got tired of the low-tier shouting matches. Instead, he would pick fights about things that were decidedly lower stakes when he was bored.

Art had let [Y/N] field comments about family planning throughout the night. Unfortunately, when Art was polishing off a second drink, he ran his mouth a little bit.

Knowing he was the designated driver that night, Art did go easy. Art was also, like, five pounds. While he could hold his liquor with grace, he always got giggly. He watched with heavy eyelids as [Y/N] walked away to collect another drink following the dinner portion of the evening. The paper placecards with their shared last name emblazoned on them rested comfortably in Art’s inner jacket pocket to be kept as a memory.

Some guy who sold boat insurance and liked to rub elbows with talent was talking Art’s ear off. Art couldn’t remember his name, but [Y/N] would know it.

This was the precise moment that got Art in trouble.

Because when the guy whose name Art was sure started with an R said: “So! You’re married. When are we going to be seeing a little Donaldson running around?”

Art said:

“Any day now, I hope. Tomorrow. I’m good to go. [Y/N] thinks now’s not a great time for her.”

He had said it with a smirk and a stupid little laugh. It was basically locker room talk. Big deal. He would’ve said it to Patrick with [Y/N] present in the room. This guy wasn’t Patrick and he was technically speaking behind her back.

Art had forgotten how close they were standing to the bar. He had forgotten that the frequency of his pitchy tenor was known to carry. He had forgotten that he was well known to be an instigator of fights even though he never actually threw the first punch. He had forgotten that he hadn’t been whispering. He had forgotten that this guy… Richy? Ronnie? was pretty much a stranger who had no business knowing their business.

Now, Art was sleeping on the couch and his side of the bed was empty.

Jackass.

[Y/N] stared still at the empty bed and didn’t know how to articulate her upset to an Art who had seemingly yet to feel ashamed.

She had a headache and was tired. But sleep wasn’t going to come easy and all she had to look forward to was a hangover.

Art didn’t really snore, but he was a heavy breather when he slept. The lack of his white noise made the A/C blowing and the stairs creaking too loud. Maybe all of this was on [Y/N] for making Art uncomfortable, she dared to think.

Then she reminded herself that it was Art’s fault for talking too much and for drinking when he knew he was supposed to drive home.

[Y/N] rolled over to face away from Art’s spot. All she could think about is how his hands always sleepily pawed at her to pull her back when she got too far away from him before he fell asleep.

“So, what’d you do?” Patrick asked.

“She hates me.” Art replied. It was almost a question.

“I asked what you did, not what she feels. She already told us what she feels and it’s that she hates you.” Patrick stated. When Patrick had stopped through town for a match, he had come by for dinner with, well, his best friends. This had been right after they’d gotten engaged.

Art sniffled. He didn’t want to cry in front of Patrick. Art would sooner cry in front of his own father. Both men would have laughed in his face, but it would have stung more from Patrick. “We got into a fight yesterday. A big one. Like, the first, uh, big one. She’s worried about the f—“

“The future? Please,” Patrick said bitterly. He frowned and his jaw tightened, but he combatted it by tossing Art a smile before the other man noticed the tension. “Stupid. You’re gonna marry her. You’ll play tennis. She’ll do her… columns? Articles. I don’t get what it is that she does—“

“She writes for—“

“Sure, yeah. You’re gonna have two kids so you can each pick a favorite one. And she’s gonna be a pain in your ass forever. Don’t be a pussy.”

Art sniffled again and stared at the floor. “I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. I didn’t think I did,” Art said meekly. “I don’t get it. She gets so mad sometimes. At me.” Patrick stared at him blankly. Art had to know that he was usually at least a little bit the problem.

“Did she do the thing where she calls you a—“

“Shithead bastard?”

“Shithead bastard.” Both boys said at the same time. Art dragged his hands through his hair and looked up at Patrick. Both of them quirked a smirk at the other.

“See,” Patrick started. “You’ll be fine. Fuckin’ go after her.”

“And say what!”

“Uh… ‘I’m sorry?’ You do that kinda shit. She’ll like that.”

It was impossible to know how long [Y/N] laid there. The clock was on Art’s side and she would get spitting mad if she rolled back over.

She could just go downstairs and tell Art to come back to bed. He was probably sleeping just fine.

“Hey, hon, you don’t hate me, right?” Art’s voice whispered in the darkness.

[Y/N] was fairly certain she had imagined it. She had not heard his sweaty feet on the stairs or his fingers against the doorknob. Quickly, [Y/N] whipped over to face the door behind her.

There was Art. His sweatpants sat low on his hips and his shirt was long gone. Clothing didn’t often survive the night on Art’s back.

Really, she couldn’t help but wonder how long it had taken Art to work through coming upstairs so quietly. “Mm?” [Y/N] groaned in question.

Art rocked his right shoulder into the doorway to lean. His arms were crossed and his eyes straight ahead on her from what [Y/N] could tell in the glow of the hallway’s thermostat. “Please just tell me you don’t hate me and I’ll let you go back to sleep. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

With a sigh, [Y/N] sat up and rolled her cracking shoulders back. “I don’t hate you, Art.” Her heart melted a little bit. [Y/N] knew it was immature, but her special attack in arguments since childhood was to bandy around the word hate a lot. Not that she had said it to Art tonight, but she had no doubt said it before. More than once. More times than she could count, maybe.

She was surprised Art had never asked this before. That surprise hurt in an a way that was too complex to describe. “I could never hate you.” [Y/N] continued, voice hushed only because it was dark out.

Art’s posture relaxed slightly. “You promise you don’t?” Said Art’s evermore crippling lack of self-confidence.

“I promise.” [Y/N] replied calmly.

“Okay. Thank you.” Art said in a small voice.

“I love you, baby. I don’t hate you. You shouldn’t have to ask that. I’m sorry I made you feel like you even have to ask that.”

Art frowned sharply. “No, I’m the one that should be sorry. You told me nicely not to talk about—“

“Don’t play that. You have to know you don’t feel like you did anything wrong, so you don’t have to invent a situation where you’re some horrible person.”

Art was silent.

[Y/N] continued. “I’m pissed because you told Randy,” RANDY. His name was RANDY. That’s it. “Our business. My business, really. He’s an asshole. It’s fine. Well, not now, but eventually. But you kinda martyred yourself on it. You don’t have to do that and I don’t hate you. You know I don’t… Right?”

“I’m sorry.” Art said quickly. He was gifted at making every single minor problem his own fault. He knew he was a little bit of an awful person for that, but he would die before admitting it. Art would hide behind his martyring habit as long as his cross could hold him, though. [Y/N] hadn’t noticed before this moment, but she could see the shining of his eyes in the digital blue-green glow. Tears. This time, less than obvious waterworks. Aw.

“I’m sorry. I’m still pissed at you for running your mouth, but I’m sorry too.”

Art nodded, said nothing else and reached for the doorknob.

Here is a frustrating thing about Art.

He said he was going to leave for downstairs once [Y/N] said she didn’t hate him. He started to make good on that vow. If he says something, he’s going to do it, even though he doesn’t have to do it.

“Come on,” [Y/N] called louder than she’d been whispering. “Come here, pretty baby.”

Pretty Baby by Blondie had been their wedding song. She had been calling him that for almost as long as she had known him. Saying it, or hearing the song always made that stunning, small crooked smile stretch up beyond his sad puppy eyes all the way to his ears.

Art’s kryptonite was pretty baby. They both knew it.

He turned to look at her with a slight blush on his cheeks, almost visible in the dark. Art shifted one of his feet childishly over the other in apprehension.. “Don’t make me say it again. I don’t like to ask twice.” [Y/N] reminded him.

After a hasty nod, Art was in bed before he [Y/N] blinked. The blonde sat bolt upright beside [Y/N] with his eyes wide. Hesitant, but coyly so. He knew this pattern. The agony and shame from her brutality would only last so long. Housepets loved to cause trouble for treat.

Not to say that Art liked to start fights so he could play some low-status lapdog that got to feel his wife’s fingers comb through his hair the way he liked as a reward for an apology. The man bit his cheek to avoid a devious smirk. A part of him did like to do that sometimes, though.

He always got away with it. He was such a nice boy.

[Y/N] rolled her eyes and leaned back into the threadbare pillows. With a finger, she beckoned Art nearer. Hesitation eliminated, Art flopped slowly down beside [Y/N]; she on her back, he on his side, facing her. Delicately, Art’s fingers dragged down [Y/N]’s arm to curl in her fingers.

Not long after that, his plush mouth climbed down from her neck. Then shoulders and collarbones. Then bicep. Elbow. Forearm and wrist. Down her hand to her silver-studded ring finger. Each kiss with accompanied with an honest and dutiful I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. He was sorry. Genuinely. Sorry for the upset he brought his wife, but not the cause. Art’s beautiful duel-colored eyes glanced up at [Y/N]’s blown pupils through her own fingers.

“I didn’t mean to talk about you like that… I just… I love you so much that I want more of you. That’s all, honey,” Art laid his head on [Y/N]’s upper chest and his mouth moved against the front of her throat. “I’m just a little stupid, huh…”

Under his lips, Art could feel the rumble of a laugh rip through [Y/N]’s throat. Her fingers tangled themselves in his hair to hold him in place. “Do-don’t talk about yourself like that,” she mumbled and gave his hair a lovely tug with both hands. He whimpered. [Y/N] wanted to bottle that sound. Art would always remember what she said next and how she said it: “Only I get to talk about you like that… St-stupid.”

This was the version of [Y/N] he was going to remember when he thought of her every day for the rest of his life. That sentence, the way her hair hung from where he had pushed it away from her neck. The sting of the cold metal from her wedding ring on the back of his neck and the stone of her engagement ring pressing into where he reached his palm to place his hand over hers. There was just the wrong amount of clothes between them. Her eyes ringed smoky from the makeup smudges and the exhaustion.

“Say it again.” Art whispered, swinging a knee over [Y/N]’s thighs so he could stare down at her. His forehead pressed softly against [Y/N]’s.

[Y/N]’s mouth fell open slightly with a breathy exhalation. Holy shit. “What, pretty baby, you want me to tell you how stupid you are? You like that?” [Y/N] almost whispered into Art’s still lips. He was too shocked to kiss her back, but too turned on to pull away. Art whimpered louder than before. [Y/N] felt him nod.

So she didn’t hold back. “You think I need to punish you after you behaved like that today or something? You need to atone for what a moron you were, shithead?” [Y/N] kept her tone light enough to just about tease as her nose trailed along the side of his. Her objective was to belittle. Her nails slid down Art’s muscular, sturdy back.

They both knew Art was a masochist on his worst days. Did he get off on being degraded sometimes? Sure. But this series of events was ridiculously new and exciting for [Y/N]. And shockingly obviously for Art too.

His hips pressed into her pathetically. “What? Did you need help with something?” She asked innocently when she felt Art’s hard-on against her thigh. [Y/N] kissed him distractingly warmly for how she was treating him. Art’s head spun and he couldn’t seem to make sense of anything anymore. He had backed himself into the best kind of corner.

Across Art’s hips and side went [Y/N]’s left hand, to the front of his sweatpants. Humiliatingly, Art blinked tears out of his eyes and screwed them shut. His mouth opened and closed, but no intelligent sound came out. [Y/N] planted a kiss at the corner of his parted lips. His strong arms boxed [Y/N] protectively in from above, but she had him locked into place, really. “Baby, if you want something, you know you have to ask for it.”

“Nnh,” Art tried, eyes stuck shut. His attention was mostly spent hold himself up over his wife. His insanely gorgeous wife. [Y/N]’s other hand grabbed his jaw tenderly. He still didn’t look at her. Art was gathering his courage. “Yo-you already told me I couldn’t have what I wanted.”

With a sharp inhale, [Y/N] grip went from gentle to nonexistent. At the lack of contact, Art’s damp eyes crept open one at a time to see if his brattiness had overstepped the situation. His frightened eyes caught [Y/N]’s. She popped the side of his face sharply with an open palm. Art blinked and tipped his head to the side like a dog.

That was big trouble, huh?

“Fuck,” he said. Both of them panted in sync. “I’m sorry.” He meant it.

[Y/N] pulled Art’s face to hers and kissed him hard. “I love… you.” She said.

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson #challengers movie

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princessbrunette · 7 days

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when did you know you loved me? pt.4/4 ♡

it was rare bunny!reader and rafe got a day off like this. one where the kook princess’s boyfriend wasn’t running off on business, dragging her along or leaving her to run her own personal errands — like getting her nails done or shopping. today, the two of them relaxed on rafe’s boat in the hazy june sunshine. bunny stares off over the water, pondering..

you’re snapped from your thoughts when rafe arrives at your side, giving your ass a little swat and grab the way he always did as you looked over the ledge across the water.

“you good, kid?” he enquires casually as his hand slides up your back to grasp your shoulder, hooking his sunglasses back into his shirt.

“mhm, just thinking.” you muse, leaning into his side a little. you always went a bit brainless around rafe — it was second nature. he did the thinking, it was his job as a provider — well, that’s what he’d tell you anyway, and he’d drilled it into your head enough times for you to remember it.

“m’yeah? thinking about what?” he converses. he’d always get worried when you looked a little too pensive. rafe was an overthinker like that, the nagging voice in the back of his head telling him not to let you think too hard, because you’d uncover all his flaws and leave him. though you knew that could never be the case, rafe had some unpacked abandonment issues that often sat at the surface.

“us.” you hum simply, and his hand slides off your shoulder.

“well what — what are… why?” he struggles his word his concern, a frown forming between his brows.

“jus’ that i love you a lot, and i was thinking about how much i love you.” you shrug, not taking in the edge in his concerned tone. he relaxes a little, nodding though you weren’t looking his way as he draws in a long breath.

“right, yeah… yeah.” he plays it cool, scratching at his cheek before stepping away in the direction of the mini bar, deciding he needed a drink to take the edge off. “well, daddy loves you too, yeah?”

the casual assurance in his tone makes you bite your lip, gaze snapping over to him as he wanders away — and you speak once more, only wanting to prolong the time spent by his side.

“when did you know that you loved me rafey?” it’s a demure request, spoken hopefully through pouty lips and batting lash extensions. he spins around, blinking at you a few times before shrugging his shoulder.

“look, uh — i don’t know. i just did, alright?” he turns his mouth down like he hadn’t given it any thought and your face falls. you forget rafe wasn’t like you. he was a man of logic. fact over feelings (thats what he’d tell people, anyway.) he didn’t have time to ponder such things.

“oh.” you whisper, nodding your head. it wasn’t a big deal. you just wished he would gush over you the way you did him sometimes. he licks his lips, hesitance in his body language when he turns away once more this time, wishing he never saw that disappointment on your face at the way he brushed you off. he was still trying to get used to the whole being open with your feelings thing. his father hadn’t exactly lead by great example.

he cracks open a beer, and five minutes later he’s lounging on the white couch out on the deck, an arm strewn along the back of the seat and the other holding the bottle, reaching out towards you to gesture you over to him.

“come sit with me, dunno why you’re so far away.” he welcomes you, and you quietly pad over in your pink bikini, never once shying away from the unabashed way he watches your body move towards him. “mm. looking good.” he comments quietly before you’re climbing onto the couch and snuggling up to his side. there was no ‘thanks daddy’ or glossy kisses being pressed into him like usual, you were pensive, distant, thoughtful. he knew he’d brushed you off and you were trying so hard to seem like it hadn’t phased you, bless your little bunny heart. after a sigh, the kook begins to speak.

“it was after the whole thing with me getting arrested. you know the… the thing with the sheriff.” he relays, staring ahead over at the water even when you turned your head to gaze at him, blinking slowly in relaxed confusion as to what he was talking about.

“i…i wanted people to respect me, you know? like- like i had proven that i was willing to do anything to protect the people i care about. anything. enough to get me sent to fuckin’ jail, right?” he rambles, before shaking his head with his tongue in his cheek, thinking. you stay quiet, curious as to where this was going. you wanted to give him space to open up.

“but like…ahh, i don’t know. when i got out, people…people didn’t wanna hang with me anymore. i used to be that guy, right like — like everyone wanted to talk to the rafe cameron but after i got bailed out i… people were scared of me. thought i was some… violent, unhinged creature like… like i was some killer.” he squints, shaking his head in disagreement.

a few moments pass as he gathers his thoughts, before he speaks once more, this time glancing at you.

“so a little while after that i was down at the club, you know just… just tryna socialise again, blow off some steam. shit, i even told everyone that beers were on me, you know? free for everyone at the club. went back to go get my golf club, came back n’everyone had left. clearly they still saw me as some kinda monster.”

whilst you was unclear on why he was telling the story, you remembered clearly this time how hard it was for rafe to drag himself back up. he wouldn’t talk about how hard things were, and sure — eventually things had blown over and he was the life of every party once more, but you remembered the shift in atmosphere clearly. it was strange.

“uh…” he clears his throat. “so yeah i uh, i come back and you’re there, right? you’re just sat there by your self at the table… and shit you… you just looked so happy to see me,” he chuckles, shaking his head fondly at the memory. “like, i had left for two damn minutes and you were still happy to see me. you didn’t even — even care that everyone else had left… and that’s real ride or die shit, okay like — someone… someone who’s not gonna just up and leave you when shit gets tough like sarah did with my dad. nah, nah you stuck around. s’when i knew i wanted to put a fuckin’ rock on that little finger.” he takes your hand suddenly, holding it between the two of you like he’s envisioning the ring on your second to last finger, taking a moment to indulge in the fantasy.

you’re grinning ear to ear, understanding the significance of the story now as you flutter your eyelashes.

“rafey…” you coo softly and he shrugs, his wall fighting to come back up.

“yeah, well. you wanted your story, there’s your story.” he brushes it off casually, but even his lips curl up a little into a fulfilled smirk, catching your gaze with an unspoken awe.

“guess what, i loved you the second i saw you so i win.” you giggle and he rolls his eyes, pulling you into his chest.

“yeah? shit i didn’t know it was a competition.” he banters lightheartedly over your giggles, his cold heart thawing at the sound.

#8k celebration ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ 𐙚 ა #rafe cameron prompt #bunny!reader

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silkjade · 10 months

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alhaitham x mermaid! reader (3.5)

⤀ cw: afab!reader, first time (w. him), lots of teasing, cunnilingus, praise, fingering, unprotected sex, lil bit of size kink + overstim, creampie, fluff???, true love but they don't know it yet — mdni || ꒰ 6.2k wc ꒱ a/n: recommended to read the previous part first, but it can stand alone as well ! hope u enjoy my smut debut + reblogs & feedback are always vry much appreciated ♡ next ﾉ series masterlist ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𓇼

When you had taken him up on his half conscious, pseudo challenge to visit Sumeru City, Alhaitham never imagined you’d cause him so much trouble. It’s not in the sense that you’d drawn too much unwanted attention, or that you’d spent his mora on frivolous things. No, it was your lack of understanding for the human notions of shame and intimacy.

He’s never entirely sure of just how nuanced the unabashed things you say and do are. You’re shameless whenever you’d ask him for compliments point-blank, or when you’d waltz out of the bathroom only half-dressed in his clothes. Other times, you’d surprise him with words so naively honest, brush against him in ways that feel far too tender.

To his dismay, it’s becoming increasingly clear that your actions always come with a price—one that he pays, not with mora, but with his dignity. Much like the smooth caress of the waters you came from, it’s all seemingly harmless, but the depths of your intentions remain aggravatingly unknown. Especially when your very presence is enough to enfold all his senses in a lull of desire.

He runs a hand through his hair before turning the knob of his bedroom door, only to find you in your human form, lounging on his bed, lazily flipping through one of his books. The robe you wear is one of his; too large on your frame, with the silky material falling off your shoulders, dangerously close to revealing too much.

Not that it isn’t a welcome sight—he is a man after all. And while he prides himself on his exceptional self control, it becomes an issue when he feels himself grow hot and the loose clothes he likes to wear at home begins to feel too tight. He can’t rub one out while you’re here, so perhaps a cold shower might ease his condition…

But you’re more perceptive than he’s given you credit for.

“It’s not as magnificent as my tail, but this body is still quite impressive isn’t it?”

“I’ve never met anyone as shameless as you.”

…

“Well, I don’t think you’ve ever met anyone like me at all.” You flash him an amused smile, but the sultry look in your eyes relay a different message entirely. He can’t lie, it excites him.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he mumbles under his breath. To his chagrin, your curious hum cuts through the room and he hears the heavy thud of a book slammed shut.

Of course you heard him. With renewed interest, you swing your legs over the edge of his bed, sauntering over until you’re close enough that he can smell the faint scent of his mint shampoo in your hair.

“Oh? What could I possibly be doing to you?” Your fingers walk up his body, slowly, from his toned stomach to his chiseled chest, leaving his skin hot through the fabric of his clothes, “Won’t you enlighten me?”

You look up, that wide-eyed gaze of feigned innocence flickering into something sharp and dangerously seductive. A hand settles on his shoulder, pulling him in until you’re close enough that your lips are only a hair’s breadth away from his sensitive ears. The other reaches down and ghosts against his obviously growing bulge, before pressing down, palming him through his pants. Alhaitham bites back a groan.

“Or rather, what would you like to do to me?” Your voice rings low and smooth as silk to his ears. It leaves a wave of desire to bubble in the pit of his stomach, one that doubles down on the dull ache at his crotch.

His mind sifts through a thousand thoughts. Lascivious thoughts, sinful, perverted thoughts that only seem to make their presence known when in your company. Just one glance down at you and he can see how ridiculously easy it would be to untie the lazy knot that’s hardly holding your—no—his robe together.

“I…”

It’s hard to think when you overwhelm all his senses, poking at the urges he has so carefully suppressed up until now. His robe, his scent. He’s no fool to the way Sumeru City ogles at you—the mysterious stranger who’s able to so casually hang onto the aloof scribe’s arm. It only makes him want to stake his claim across the empty canvas of your skin as well: his mermaid. Perhaps just this once, he’ll let himself indulge in his own selfish desires.

“Come on, Scribe Alhaitham,” you emphasize,“use your words.”

A smug smile forms on your face as you calculate the risks of your next words.

“Although…if you��ve got nothing to say, why don’t you just show me,” you press close, voice deceptively soft. “I’m more of a hands-on learner anyway.”

For once, Alhaitham lets his body override all sense of rationality, flipping your positions, and pinning you against the wall as he captures your mouth in his. It’s uncharacteristically sloppy and haphazard, with none of the craftiness he displayed on that first and only night you kissed, but it’s intoxicating all the same.

His teeth graze against your bottom lip, demanding entrance, and you’re forced to grasp onto his toned bicep to keep yourself steady as you devour each other with the intensity of all your repressed thoughts. With every second his mouth remains slotted on yours, with every inhale and exhale of breath you exchange, you think that this time, you’re the one who might drown.

He finally tosses you a lifeline once he decides to leave the vicinity of your mouth, and begin his campaign across the rest of your body, starting with the little spot right along the underside of your jaw. Alhaitham takes his time trailing down your neck, catching you off guard when he stops to suck down, hard, on a particularly sensitive patch of skin.

An involuntary gasp escapes, and you can feel him smirk against you, though it quickly fades into a half strangled groan when your hips roll into his. He only continues downward from here, carving kisses into your body and leaving behind colorful little bruises that send liquid fire running through your veins. The further he goes, the more he must uncover, and the only thing standing in his way is the robe you’re hardly wearing.

“Can I…?” he asks in a hoarse whisper, fingers already toying with the sash.

“Not like you haven’t seen everything already,” you mutter, pulling his face in to kiss him again.

His free hand snakes down to squeeze your ass while the other tugs on the loose knot, the silky material now free to tumble down your body like a waterfall, hitting every curve along the way. In one fell swoop, Alhaitham takes you to his bed, picking up right where he left off: with a depraved kiss that speaks more than he ever could in relaying the underlying lust that clouds his mind.

“Beautiful.” The word slips out without a second thought. It’s the first time he's ever said it outright. Beneath the fervor, there’s a special sentiment that cushions his tone. It has you buzzing with warmth from the inside out, but whether it’s contentment or embarrassment, you don’t know. Biting your lip, you turn your head to the side, refusing to meet his gaze.

He finds it infinitely amusing that for all your openly brazen flirtations…

“You’re not getting shy on me now, are you?”

You respond by stubbornly grappling at the edge of his shirt, nails grazing against his muscled abdomen in the process. The startling sensation crackles through his nerves, sending his cockhead twitching in delight.

“It’s only fair I get to see you too,” you mumble, in what little time you have between kisses. Alhaitham pulls away, a brow quirked in mild amusement. Pausing, he takes this chance to drink in the sight of your naked figure for the second time, though tonight there’s no need to look away.

It’s exhilaratingly surreal to see your body marked by the undeniable testaments of his touch. It manifests on your skin, where you’re decorated with clusters of little bruises signed by his lips. In your chest, as it heaves for air after all the breaths he’s stolen from right out of your lungs. It persists in the way your eyes draw him in, inviting him, daring him to do more. In how your lips, though slightly swollen, wear the same coquettish grin that’s enchanted him time and again. With no other choice but to surrender to your demands, Alhaitham lifts his shirt over his head, tossing it to the side without a care.

You’ve always thought the man to be handsome, but you’re left wonderstruck as your eyes wander across his bare skin. It’s not like his usual attire leaves much to the imagination, but Alhaitham undressed, is still a sight to see. His toned chest and sculpted stomach, well defined arms… Chiseled by the gods themselves, you think as the corner of your lips quirk just the slightest bit upwards.

“Enjoying the view?” It’s funny how much his smug smile contrasts with the mottled pink that colors his shoulders and dusts across his cheeks. His skin only flushes more when you trace a finger over the gem on his chest, tantalizingly slow as you make your way down his sternum, and only stopping to lightly flick at one of his nipples. Alhaitham’s breath hitches and you can practically see his muscles as they tense.

“Very much,” you answer, hands sinking lower. “So won’t you show me more?”

He catches you by your wrist when he feels you tugging at his waistband, and it takes everything for him to ignore the wanton desperation that’s quickly clouding his mind. It’s difficult, but out of sheer will, he manages to hold back, if only by a thread.

Gently, he pulls your chin up to face him. Want hides beneath his teal gaze, but there’s a softness that truly shines through, encapsulating the delicate balance between risk and reward.

His hands shift to caress your cheek, before he moves in to steal another kiss. This time it’s sweeter, more chaste. Alhaitham kisses you slow and passionate, interwoven with a tenderness that causes your heart to swell in your chest.

“You sure you want to do this?”

Your resounding ‘yes’ breathes a renewed ardor into his actions as he lowers you onto your back. Little by little, he makes his way down your body, leaving wet kisses everywhere except where you want him most. A kiss here, a lick there—the heat that pools in your belly only grows by the second, but a harsh suck right below your hip causes your breath to hitch and your cunt to drool more in response while you whine and attempt to rub your legs together for any sort of friction.

They are, however, aptly spread back apart when he hooks his arms beneath your thighs and pulls you closer to where he kneels at the edge of the bed.

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs, “and we’ve only just begun.” Alhaitham lets out a low chuckle as he presses another kiss to your inner thigh. It’s enough to have you shivering in anticipation, the reverberating tremors of his deep voice going straight to your pulsing hole, wet with the slick of your arousal. One of his hands moves to hold you down as you jolt when his teeth graze against the delicate skin.

“Will you please just hurry up,” you’re barely able to get all your words out before your voice breaks into a breathless gasp as he takes you by surprise, dipping his head down to lick a long stripe up your glistening folds and flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue once he reaches the top.

Talented in more ways than just words, you find out firsthand exactly how good he is with his tongue. Like a man starved, he laps up all you have to give, while your gushing hole happily churns out more slick. But it isn’t nearly enough. Especially not with the way you’re grinding into his face and singing praises to his name.

Alhaitham doesn’t consider himself an arrogant man, but he’s never loved hearing the sound of his own name more. It falls through your lips in a trail of whimpers, your pretty little cries music to his ears, delicate and lyrical. His tongue prods at your entrance, occasionally dipping into your warmth, and as he closes in, his nose bumps against your puffy clit. It has you keening, and your hands come flying to tangle in his ashen hair as your voice splits into a sharp gasp.

He takes a mental note of your reaction before moving to suckle on the sensitive bundle of nerves, drawing out another beautifully broken sob. With every exhale, and every swipe of his tongue, Alhaitham breathes life into your cunt—leaving it to drip with arousal and clench around nothing. Your fingers curl in his tresses and you tug hard. The low groan he emits reverberates through your body; the rumbling vibrations of his own pleasure sends you crawling to your high.

But he soon pulls away and you’re quick to let out a pitched cry in protest. He peers up from between your parted thighs, sharp eyes hungrily taking in the sight of you squirming at the loss of contact.

“Haitham,” you whine pitifully, hips blindly stuttering in search of his touch, “don’t stop.”

Oh how the tables have turned. Before him, your tiny hole clamps around nothing and a sly grin creeps onto his face, devilishly handsome and glistening with your essence that so freely drips down his chin. You’ve teased him relentlessly during the span of your partnership, and as per your logic, it’s only fair he gets to do the same.

“Beg for it,” he purrs. His warm breath fans across your folds, sending you into a frenzied fluster from the bottom up, and you feel as if you’re going to melt.

“P-please…” It’s difficult to come up with any words, much less the right words, to say when the overwhelmingly wanton desire for him to just touch you again, has your brain enveloped in a thick haze. “Need you…Haitham please…”

His name, entangled within the sweet pleas that fall from your lips, has his cock twitching again, eager to be freed from the constraints of his pants. But if he can ignore the wet spot forming from his own precum, then he can do the same to the way his hips seem to move on their own, slowly rutting against the bed. He’s a patient man, he can wait. You on the other hand…

You’re so needy for him, so lost trying to chase your own pleasure, that it doesn’t even register when he wets two fingers in his mouth, unable to process anything until you feel the faint stretch in your cunt that has you trembling in anticipation. His fingers slide easily into your creamy insides, and he only watches in amusement at the way your hips buck, silently begging him for something more than the painfully slow, lazy way he’s pumping in and out of you.

“You’re already so tight...” He lets out a breathy chuckle as he scissors you open, resisting the way your velvety walls come down, hugging every inch of the digits inside you. “How are you even going to take me, hm?”

You open your mouth to respond but nothing ever comes out, save for the faint breath of a moan that manages to escape. If you were in the right state of mind, you would’ve been sure to fire back something smart, however, your thoughts have been reduced to fixate on Alhaitham, who’s rather keen on keeping it that way.

He moves his wrist, twisting and turning, relentlessly searching until the pads of his fingers press against a spot just right, that it has your toes curling and back arching off the bed in a loud cry. He curls his fingers, bullying the spongy spot until echoes of your melodic mewls are undeniably present amongst the lewd squelching of your wetness. It sends him reeling and growing impossibly harder—oh how he so adores the way you unravel before him.

Your body runs hotter than ever and you feel the coil in your belly tighten, ready to snap. You’re going to cum. You’re so close. Just a little more. It repeats like a mantra in your head, but your impending climax dissipates as he draws both fingers back out, leaving you dangling at the precipice with a distressed wail, frustration pathetically painted across your face.

Why did he just do that? Your eyes are large and laced with tears that quiver and threaten to spill down your face. Ignoring your futile attempt at garnering pity, Alhaitham only continues to taunt you.

“Will you look at that?” he says, toying with the messy slick that glosses over his middle and index fingers like webbing, stretching and breaking along to the movements of his hand. It’s such damning evidence of how much you need him, but it’s also somehow mesmerizing, so much so that you’re unable to look away. It doesn’t help that your sopping cunt only weeps more at the sight, absentmindedly fluttering around nothing.

He drags you out of your thoughts as he unexpectedly takes your clit back into his mouth. His hot tongue swirls around your bud, effectively setting your veins on fire, then takes the chance to throw your earlier words back at you.

“Tell me what you’d like me to do,” he says, mouth never leaving the little nub.

You want him to make you cum, is what you want to say—or rather, you want him to let you cum, considering how he so cruelly ruined your earlier orgasm. But it all only translates into a litany of unintelligible whimpers, and Alhaitham smiles, the mischief twinkling in his eyes now glaringly apparent. He can’t help how endearing it is, that you, who always has so much to say, is now struggling to answer even the simplest of questions.

“Use your words. I want to hear that pretty voice of yours.”

“I want… I need…” you’re only able to make out a few words in between your ragged breaths before you’re interrupted by your own broken sob as he sucks down hard on your abused clit.

“Hm? What was that?”

“Want to cum… ” you choke out, eyes sliding shut as you try again with your best efforts.

The latter half of your sentence warps until it rises an octave and melts into a shaky moan. Alhaitham barely gives you just enough time to finish before three lithe fingers find their way into your cunt without warning, slipping past your wet folds with ease. The dull pain of an added finger stuffed into your tiny hole, has you keening, your own knuckles turning white from your steel grip on the bed sheets.

With a sweep of his tongue, he laves over your swollen clit again, sending shivers through to your core as you feel the tension return in your abdomen, this time wound even tighter from the way he continues to fuck your already sensitive cunt.

“ ‘m so close… please,” your breath catches in your throat as you whimper and squirm. “Please Haitham, please-”

It’s beyond his own belief how he managed to wrangle you into his bed; the beautiful mermaid who had first tried to drown him, who was always so outspoken and bold— now reduced to a begging, whimpering mess on his sheets. For that, he mentally pats himself on the back and decides to take pity on you.

“Come on, mermaid. Let me hear you sing.”

Immediately, you feel his fingers curl, right up against the very spot that has you seeing stars, exactly as he had intended. He drags his teeth carefully, lightly grazing your swollen clit, effectively ripping out a loud, visceral scream as you finally tip over the edge in an earth shattering orgasm.

Waves of pleasure continue to wash over you as Alhaitham finger fucks you through your high, vigilantly hitting that sweet, spongy spot over and over again without mercy. You’re left quivering, fingers desperately grasping at the bed sheets, trying to find something, anything to hold on to. His hand, the one that isn’t three knuckles deep inside you, moves to hold your hips down as they twitch in the settling overstimulation.

A satisfied hum rumbles in the back of his throat as he finishes off with an easy kiss to your inner thigh. He finally slows down his movements as you ride out your high, though the shallow, wet noises as he rocks his fingers in and out of you, seem all the more erotic against the backdrop of your dissipating cries.

“Can’t get enough of you,” he coos. “Such a pretty thing—so gorgeous when you cum for me.” Alhaitham continues to whisper sweet flatteries that have you preening until he feels you clench weakly around his fingers once more. He raises a brow, the beginnings of a small smirk forming on his face.

“Of course you like to be praised.” Despite the lilt in his voice, he draws his soiled digits out with care, though you still shudder as he passes through your sensitive folds.

“Shut up.”

Even as you sit up to catch your breath, your eyes wander over to the man’s bare upper body, before they drift down to the impressive tent bulging from his pants. Suddenly, you’re made painfully aware of how utterly empty you are. Arousal pulses through you, once again dripping out of your cunt at the thought of being stuffed full.

Your obvious staring doesn’t go unnoticed; and neither does the way you shift as you’re rubbing your thighs together for more friction. Your shamelessly perverse act only reinforces the thrum in his already rock hard cock.

“Open up.” You do as you’re told, intuitively wrapping your lips around his long fingers, cheeks hollowing as you clean off the mess you had left. It spurs him on, the way you hold his gaze with those large doe eyes, blinking so lasciviously when he draws them back out, leaving behind a trail of saliva that snaps like gossamer on your lips.

“What, haven’t had enough of me yet?” He teases you, yet the slight waver in his voice as he struggles to mask just how much he’d like to cum right then and there, says otherwise.

“Not nearly enough.”

Your playful wit is nothing new to him. And while Alhaitham considers himself to be quite well versed in how you love to play coy, an expert in navigating around your flirtations—he’s far from immune to your coquettish displays. He’s only human after all…

So it’s no fault of his own that you drive him absolutely insane.

Pupils blown wide and dilated with lust, he dips down until you can feel his hot breath on the shell of your ear, “I hope you don’t regret that.” His smooth baritone sends a shiver down your spine until it pools between your already sticky thighs, a vague promise of what’s to come.

Before you know it, he catches you in another eager kiss, rough and hopelessly greedy, as you fall back onto the mattress without a care. It only heightens your sense of urgency that he can’t help but grind into you.

His normal attire barely hides his bulge, but even underneath these loose clothes, the outline of his cock stands tall and unmistakably erect against the fabric—which you desperately need removed now, as you fumble with the waistband. Alhaitham chuckles lightly into the kiss before pulling away. Message received.

He moves quickly, pants and underwear hastily thrown to the side and forgotten, because how could you possibly think of anything else when he stands before you, hands fisted around his magnificent cock, grunting at the little ounce of relief as he gives himself a few quick pumps. Precum dribbles from the flushed pink tip and your eyes follow as he spreads it along the impressive length. You can’t help but think that it’s… pretty. And oh how you adore pretty things.

He lines himself up at your entrance, cockhead just barely dipping inside as he hovers over you, and for the first time tonight, you realize just how incredibly vulnerable you are now, laid bare before him, ripe for the taking. But it’s okay if it’s him. Whether it’s the fuzziness mulling in your head, or your cunt that’s thinking for you, anything is fine as long as it’s Alhaitham.

Above you, he swallows harshly and you can see the slow bob of his throat as he does so. “Tell me if you need to stop,” he murmurs. The rasp in his voice makes it apparent that it’s taking every ounce of fortitude not to just slam his entire length into you.

The first hiccupped gasp that escapes your lips has him smiling smugly as he pushes in, splitting you open with ease from how wet you are. But the stretch as you struggle to accommodate his girth burns despite your previous preparation; he’s just so much bigger than his fingers. Inch by agonizing inch, he stretches you wider, whispering sweet nothings while he stuffs you full of his cock.

“You’re doing so well,” he praises, though it’s quickly drowned out by the sound of your heart beating in your ears. Every time you think he’s done, he only continues to push further inside. Your head spins at how full you already feel, unconsciously tightening around him and drawing out a choked curse that rolls tactlessly off his tongue. There’s no helping the way his self control fades when you’re squeezing him like that, your needy cunt intent on sucking him all the way in.

“Fuck,” he rasps. It’s foreign and depraved and so vulgar compared to his usually eloquent speech—not that it isn't also incredibly attractive hearing him lose his composure like that—but it’s even more so especially because you’re the one making him feel this good. Your heart flutters at the thought and the vibrations of another muffled grunt ripple against your skin when you reflexively bear down again.

Alhaitham bottoms out in one final push, sending you reeling at how the thickest end of his shaft forces your little hole to stretch even wider to accommodate the width. A hitched cry leaves your throat and your arms fly to wrap around his neck, pulling him close as he presses soothing kisses along your jaw, though it does little to quell the heat rapidly igniting throughout your body.

“Are you alright?” There isn’t an ounce of teasing in his tone when he pauses to glance down, giving you a moment to adjust while ensuring you’re okay.

Your hum of approval is all he needs to start moving in languid strokes that fill you to the brim, his shallow thrusts so lewdly squelching to the tune of your wetness. Each slow drag of his cock forces you to feel very ridge and vein as he grinds back and forth, pulling soft mewls out of you until they melt into breathless whines pleading for something more.

“Faster… f-faster please.”

Who was he to deny you, when you’ve been taking him so well? Sliding ever so slowly, Alhaitham all but pulls out, leaving only the very tip of his cock to kiss your entrance. You don’t even have time to process the jarring emptiness before he slams his entire length back in with a single thrust, powerful enough to send your entire body jostling from the impact. Your back arches in pleasure, your head thrown back in a silent scream as your mouth falls agape, the sound dying before it’s ever able to leave your throat.

Alhaitham is relentless when he starts fucking you in earnest. The gentleness from earlier is gone, replaced by the callous way he repeatedly pounds into you, burying himself to the hilt every single time. He’s hitting depths you never thought possible, with each thrust sending shockwaves that ripple through you until it scrambles your mind, shattering that last piece of lucidity stubbornly holding you together.

“That’s it. Take it, just like that,” he coos, but you're too fogged over to comprehend his words. It’s clear your mind is currently occupied by other matters; matters such as the chant of his name atop your long string of strangled cries.

He revels at how pliant you are underneath him—so stimulated and keening out in pleasure at everything he does, greedy cunt eagerly swallowing every inch he offers, pulling him in with every snap of his hips.

His mouth latches onto one of your nipples, sucking on the nub while he twirls the other between his fingers, groaning when your nails dig into his shoulders, imprinting crescents onto his skin. The added stimulation elicits another set of frantic whimpers, and the familiar tightness in your abdomen returns.

“Haitham I’m… I’m so…” Close, he deducts. He can tell by the way your walls close around him.

Half of him wants to watch you struggle with your words in between all your panting and moaning, wants to withhold your sweet release until you can speak properly while he continues to piston in and out of you. The other half, driven by his wanton throbbing, slides a hand over the curve of your ass, lifting your leg to angle himself just right before plunging deep inside you, hitting that same spot from before that had you seeing stars.

Loud, broken sobs tear through the room as his tip mercilessly drills into the spongy spot with pinpoint precision. Your nails rake down his back, and a sharp hiss manages to escape from his lips. It only fuels him more, makes his movements more erratic. Over and over, hit after hit, Alhaitham delivers an exhilarating pleasure that drives you to the edge of delirium. Warmth blooms in the pit of your stomach threatening to spill over and seep into every crevice of your being.

It’s too much. It’s so good. It’s not enough. You’re not sure how much more of this you can take.

“I can feel you falling apart around me.” The corners of his mouth lift in a smug grin, ignoring the fact that his voice comes out in ragged huffs, uneven from his labored breathing.

There’s no use denying how much you affect him as well— not when fire licks his body, coloring his pale skin flush. Nor when his expression is clearly strained, trying so desperately to hold on to his crumbling composure. You’d notice if you still had the capacity to process anything at all, but alas…

He lowers his head into the crook of your neck, nipping lightly at the tender skin before switching to your native tongue. “C’mon my beautiful mermaid… give it to me. Cum for me.”

The white hot bliss that sweeps across your body is maddening and it leaves you absolutely shattered. The vibrato in your voice cracks as you scream and sob, body going impossibly taut. You’re desperately gasping for air, drowning in the waves of euphoria that wash over you, but it pulls you in and drags you further down into delirium. You can’t think, you can’t speak. You can’t stop the trembling in your thighs and you can’t stop your cunt from spasming as he continues to fuck into you.

His pace slows but his strokes are longer and deeper, as if he’s trying to ingrain himself permanently within your walls. Your moans rise in pitch, turning to whimpers when his thrusts continue past your orgasm and into the settling overstimulation, his cock still taking from you where there’s no more to take.

You’ve never felt more like a paradox than you do now. Your head is the clouds, while your body feels heavier than ever. You’re painfully sensitive, squirming to get away as he chases his own release, yet your cunt still pulses and begs to milk his fat cock dry.

Weak arms reach up to cup his face, pulling him in for a lasting kiss, breathing him in like the air you so desperately need in your lungs. When you pull away, your eyes are so dazed and lidded, not yet recovered from the intensity of your orgasm, but already prickling with tears from the burn of overstimulation.

“Make me yours.”

Alhaitham buries his head in the crook of your neck; there’s no hope of keeping up his composure now. In fact, it’s a wonder he didn’t come from those words alone. You already are, he tells himself. There’s nobody else he could ever want; nobody else could ever compare to how perfect you are for him.

With a few final thrusts, he presses his weight into you and sinks his cock as deep as he can. He lets out a tattered moan and his hips stutter as he follows you over the edge, the warmth of his hot cum spilling into your insides.

A fleeting thought crosses your mind: Maybe you want to stay like this forever. So warm and tingly and speared open in all consuming pleasure.

His body slumps against yours, relaxed and utterly at peace. In the numbing midst of his high, Alhaitham’s mind is for once, a couple beats slower than his palpitating heart.

“I love you.”

He wasn’t thinking when it had slipped out of his mouth. The words came so naturally, rolled off his tongue so easily. It’s too late by the time he realizes just what he’s said; he hopes to god you didn’t hear him, but it’s the only thing you catch amongst all the white noise. He loves you. Alhaitham loves you.

It replays on a loop inside your head but your jumbled mess of a brain can only process so much right now. “Love… you…” you barely manage to scrape out. He quiets your empty babbles with another kiss, muffling your whines as he gently—though reluctantly—pulls out of your embrace. You shudder and whine at the loss.

“Easy now,” he soothes, distracting you with praises and soft pecks to your temples. To you, the emptiness in your cunt feels all too foreign, but he can’t help but stare at the lecherous sight of your combined fluids dripping out of your hole. He can already picture it in his head; the wet noise of your slick and his cum, all shoved back into you so that not a single drop is wasted…

Alhaitham shakes the thought from his head, forcibly tearing his eyes away before his own mind can betray him. He excuses himself before soon returning with a glass of water and a warm, wet towel in hand.

Slowly but surely, your lungs steady, and the fog dissipates, and you’re finally able to anchor yourself back to reality. A reality where your throat is dry, hoarse from all the retrospectively embarrassing sounds he had dragged out of you, and your limbs feel so heavy, as if your bones have all but dissolved into jelly.

“Gonna clean you up, okay?”

With your permission, he helps sit you up, passing you the glass of water before he begins wiping off the excess fluid between your legs. The towel is rough against the still sensitive skin of your inner thighs, making you jolt. Immediately, he utters an awkward apology, looking up to gauge your reaction.

Water, split from the sudden movement, drips down your chin. Loose pieces of hair stick to your forehead; the thin sheen of sweat that coats your skin makes sure of that. To look so disheveled yet so gorgeous at the same time… you’re absolutely enchanting in the afterglow. A flicker of pride rushes through him—he did that. The proof was in the bites and bruises littered across your skin. He smiles, sheer adoration present in his eyes.

Your soft giggle breaks his train of thought. “What are you—” A yawn. “What are you looking at?” The chirp in your tone peaks just the tiniest bit out of your sleep-laden voice, but you’re too worn out to wait for an answer, opting to fall back onto the mattress instead. It’s not long before you fully yield to the exhaustion.

You look so peaceful in your sleep, so human, that he almost forgets you’re not. Still, he wonders how it would feel to hold you in his arms as he sleeps. To wake up beside you and watch as the sunlight illuminates your features.

Would it be selfish of him to indulge just a little more?

Tossing the towel aside, he joins you under the safety of his covers. He wraps an arm around your frame, pulling you close, holding you right next to where his heart beats in his chest. Alhaitham presses a soft, last kiss to the top of your head before he too, drifts off to sleep.

When morning comes and the golden sun arises, everything will return as it was. Dreams and other such wishful delights are of the moon’s sovereignty, so tonight, let him hold on to this reverie for just a little while longer.

a/n2: This was my very first smut piece so I hope you enjoyed :’) Since this is an extra chapter, I tried not to include any details that would drive the plot too much, but ending it with just a tiny bit of angst to transition to the next part. thank u for reading ! ♡

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fyodorloveclub · 10 months

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toji x afab!reader. 18+, mdni!!! size kink (huge dick toji agenda), missionary, tummy bulge

“t-toji, it’s not gonna fit,” you cry out, groaning in pain. the ring of muscle at your opening was stretched taut and throbbing just with the tip, and you seriously doubted it would accommodate the thickest part of his length.

toji only grunts in frustration. this wasn’t the first time the two of you had attempted going all the way, but you always tapped out when the pain of his obscenely thick, long cock got too much to bear. sometimes it wasn’t even the pain, the muscles just physically were unable to stretch enough to welcome him.

at this point there was nothing toji wanted more than to fuck you stupid and was praying this would be the time it worked, but he clearly was wrong. he had spent over half an hour eating you out, fingering you, and stretching you out with toys in preparation, and yet you still were struggling.

“just relax, baby, it’s okay,” toji coos, working hard to maintain his composure and not let his primitive side take over. it would be so easy to just shove your panties in your mouth, pin you down, and use his profuse strength to force himself in anyway, but that clearly wasn’t an option. “the more you tense up, the harder it’s gonna be, right?”

toji fushiguro wasn’t quite known for his patience, grace, and kindness, but you were and forever would be his one exception. the one he never wanted to hurt.

one thick hand rubs your waist gently as he uses the other to hover over you, piercing green eyes meeting yours in silent encouragement. the scar that ran perpendicularly through his lips warped as he offers you a small smile. “you can take me, love, i know you can. let’s take some deep breaths.”

you nod against the pillows, hand finding the one on your waist to intertwine your fingers together. your gazes meet once again to inhale and exhale in tandem.

“good girl,” toji praises, taking advantage of your mellowing demeanor to spread your legs impossibly wider and allow himself even better entry.

after three big, deep breaths, you almost tense up as you felt his tip prod against your cunt again, but toji squeezes your hand.

“breathe. stay relaxed. you can do it.”

“i can do it,” you parrot, nodding once again.

toji peppers sweet kisses up your neck and on your cheeks as he cautiously slid his cock into your hole, kissing away your quiet moans of pain and encouraging you to keep breathing. you do as you’re told, despite feeling the burn double with every centimeter of his length that entered you - but suddenly, pleasure blooms.

he must’ve finally hit the spot he only ever had with his fingers before, and your eyes go wide, keening as you moan unexpectedly. toji grins and takes the opportunity to sink his cock all the way in, growling as he finally, finally bottoms out. the feeling of his cock being completely enveloped and squeezed by your tight heat was something he had resigned to only experiencing in his fantasies, but it had become reality.

you were a crying mess, overwhelmed as you felt you were being torn in two while also feeling the shocks of pleasure that came from being filled to the brim. the puff of hair at the base of his cock rubbed against your clit as he fought to keep his hips stilled, making you gasp and whimper, wanting to hump against it.

“so fucking big, toji, can’t take it,” you cried, hands fisting the sheets and legs circling his waist.

“but you’re taking it already, baby, look,” he smiles, pressing a hand against your pelvis. peering down, you see what he’s talking about - a bulge had formed in your lower tummy, growing as toji angled his hips up and thrusted in just the tiniest bit more. “you like that?”

a smile lights up your face as you nod, proud of yourself. “good girl,” he coos once again.

the burn persists despite it all, but it’s drowned out by toji’s expert thrusts that hit all the right spots as he massages your clit, and soon, nothing could ever feel more right than being filled so full of your lover’s cock you can barely breathe.

“more, toji, more!”

#toji x reader #toji smut #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader

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schrodingerscougar · 3 months

Text

Part two for this one. I'm sorry for the cliffhanger in the first part. The illustration is from the amazing @ave661 .

Four months. That’s how much time it took Simon to get out of that hazy fugue state. He didn’t really remember what he had gone through during that time, his brain switched to autopilot after the breakup. He often wondered why it affected him this much when he didn’t even love you. You were just someone he spent time with, someone he tried to play house with for a short while to feel normal.

Still, now as he lay on his bed, watching the ceiling fan rotate to stir up the hot air in the room, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. He even found himself opening a social media app to search for your name from a fake account he had set up a long time ago, and he was shocked to see the most recent photo of you. It was impossible to miss the unmistakable shape of a baby bump under your shirt, and based on its size, you got pregnant long months ago.

When he was finally allowed to go home for a short while, Simon went to see you. He knew he had hurt you, he knew you were probably still mad at him, but he had to know if it was his child. It only happened one time. One night when he tried to fix things by giving you what you wanted, hoping sex could make him see you in another light. Maybe he would finally want you the way you always wanted him to want you. But it didn’t work, and it was after that night he made the final decision to end things with you.

“What do you want?” you asked him when you opened the door.

Simon nodded as he bit the inside of his cheek. This cold welcome was fair enough, he deserved this kind of treatment. Normally, he would have left you alone. But normally, you would have told him you were pregnant.

So he silently pointed at your belly and waited for you to realize what he wanted. He knew you weren't dumb, the pieces would fall into place in a second. And sure enough, you let out a sigh then opened the door wider to let him in.

“Why didn't you tell me?” he asked you as he stood in the kitchen next to you with his arms crossed.

You were busy making him a cup of tea, but you took the time to silently shrug. When he let out a heavy sigh, you looked over at him and said, “I didn't think you'd care, Si. Simple as that.”

You were right. He didn't care. Even now that he was looking at you, his eyes occasionally moving to the bump that hid his own blood, his mind was somewhere else. He was a soldier, he knew how to take responsibility for his actions. You getting pregnant was his fault too. He couldn't just ignore the problem.

“I’ll pay child support,” he assured you.

“No need.”

Simon reached out to put a hand on the base of your neck, but you quickly pushed his hand away before he could touch your skin. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

You inhaled through your nose and held your breath in for a few seconds before finally exhaling. “So what? You’re gonna be around and help us? Take her to a doctor’s appointment or for a stroll around the block?” When you saw him looking down at his shoes, you couldn’t help but snort. “Thought so,” you said.

“I’ll better get going. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Months flew by, but Simon barely noticed. He was on a mission again far from home, risking his life as usual. You never called and he didn’t force it. He accepted that he would have to live with the guilt of making this happen. Since you didn’t want to accept child support, he opened a bank account where he stored that money, hoping that one day he could give it to you or his daughter when she became old enough.

One day he checked your social media accounts like he had done a few times before, just to see how you were. This is when he saw the post in which you announced the arrival of your baby girl. He didn’t make a big deal out of it at first. She was born and she would probably ask about her father one day. If he was still alive then, he would gladly give her a toned down explanation. If not… Well, he left everything to her in his will.

Eventually he began to save the photos of his daughter and he often found himself looking at them. She was adorable, some of her features resembling his own. Her big brown eyes were definitely his; the color and the shape were both so familiar to him.

No one from the team knew about this part of his life. He had never told anyone, because why would he? They were close, they were his brothers, but you and your daughter were carefully guarded secrets in his life. Simon knew the real reason why he never talked about you; he was afraid of the judgmental looks and words.

Two months later, when he entered his apartment again after another round of deployment, Simon didn't really know what to do with himself. He ended up looking at his daughter's photos more and more often and eventually he made up his mind to give her a visit. It had absolutely nothing to do with you. He was doing this for the little girl.

You weren't welcoming but, once again, he couldn't blame you. “I just want to see my daughter,” he said softly, hoping the two of you could avoid fighting.

For long moments you were cautiously watching him, as if you were trying to decide if he could be trusted or not. But then your eyes fell on the big teddy bear he was holding with one hand and you let out a sigh of defeat.

On the way to the nursery, you didn't talk at all. The silence didn't bother him, but still he would have appreciated some words about the little girl he was about to meet. Was he allowed to pick her up? Did she like to be held? How was she? Did she have stomach ache often? Were she teething?

“Be quick,” you warned him when you stopped by her crib.

Simon let out a sigh. “Come on, don't be like that.”

You just rolled your eyes at him before taking a step back to lean your shoulder against the doorframe, arms folded over your chest, eyes watching his every move like a hawk. He found it a little too much, he hated that you didn't trust him. Sure, he hadn't given you many reasons to trust him, but for the sake of your daughter you should have tried.

With a sigh, he rested an elbow on the side of the crib and reached out to touch the baby as gently as he could with his other hand. His own flesh and blood. It was amazing, really. Without asking for permission, he picked her up and couldn't help but smile when the baby smiled at him.

Now that he was holding her close to his body, placing soft kisses on her head every so often, Simon couldn't deny that he already loved his daughter. There was an invisible string between them, something that brought her closer to him that anyone has ever been.

The baby giggled suddenly and it brought an even wider smile to Simon’s face. He could only hope you would let him see her as often as he could visit, but something told him it wouldn't be easy to convince you.

“She likes you,” you suddenly noted.

He put down the little girl then turned to you. “The feeling's mutual.” A faint smile appeared on your lips. “Can I see her some other time?” You nodded. “Thank you. If I can help with anything, just give me a call or send a message. I'll get back to you as soon as I can,” he offered.

You been to walk out of the room and he quietly followed you, waiting for you to say something. He didn't really know what he was expecting to hear, but he had a feeling you were holding back something. And sure enough, after a few minutes of silence you began to talk, scolding him for not even bothering to send at least a text to ask about her before suddenly showing up.

“I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd read them.”

“I'm mad at you, that's true,” you agreed.

Simon leaned against the doorframe as he watched you pace in the living room like a caged animal. He remembered those nights he had spent thinking about on deployment, the moment he saw that photo of you, and he realized that maybe he was missing you.

But how could he miss someone he didn't even love? Or had he developed feelings for you, feelings he tried to hide even from himself? It was way too confusing for him, and he didn't like to be confused. It was a weakness on the field and in his civilian life.

“I should go. If you need anything–”

You came to a halt, turned to him and nodded. “I know where to find you. But can I ask you something?” Simon motioned you to go on. “Why now? Why did you become interested in her all of a sudden?”

He let out a thoughtful hum as he put his hand on the back of his neck. “I saw the photos, how much she looks like me, and… I don't know.” You took a few steps closer to him, but you still kept a comfortable distance. “I've been saving money for her. I want to give you access to that bank account.”

“I don't need your money,” you were quick to say.

“It's for her. Please, accept it.”

You became mad at him, accusing him of assuming you couldn't take care of your daughter you'd been raising on your own from day one. He knew there was no point in defending himself, you were too lost in the hate you felt for him. So he just waited there in silence, letting you finish your speech.

Then, the moment you seemingly finished, he closed the gap between the two of you. He didn't know what he was doing, he just followed his instinct when he leaned down and kissed you. This was probably the first time he truly enjoyed kissing you, and it helped a lot that you were quick to return it.

Maybe this was why he wanted to come here today. To fix things. To try to get a family he'd been craving ever since he lost his own.

(part three)

#ghost #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty #simon riley #mw2 #mw3 #modern warfare #simon riley x reader

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ma1dita · 2 months

Note

BABEEE happy birthday!! (i'm so terribly late i'm so sorry) congrats on 23💖

🐥 so i'm having thoughts right now about luke x reader and physical affection. like maybe one of them being touch starved and always craving the other person's touch and the other person noticing it and doing it more? maybe from platonic (i will go down with best friends to lovers) to romantic, i'm just on this brainrot tonight

🐥🐥🐥🐥🐥

luke castellan x reader

a/n: back from the klerb but here with a classic 4am post 🥂 but the hangxiety wont let me rest until this is out! ill edit this in the morning... or not 😗

wc: 1.1k

—

It’s hard to miss what you’ve never had.

Luke Castellan was never a touchy guy. Sure, he’ll hold a new camper’s hand during welcome tours (especially the little ones who can barely keep up with his long legs; if they’re lucky they get a piggy back ride), and he won’t shy away from a clap on the back when his strategies for capture the flag bring his team to victory (they always do, mind you), and when he feels like it, he’ll even shove Annabeth playfully to show her he adores her (but she packs a punch now that she’s older).

It never really goes past that, and he’s never had to think too hard about it—physical touch.

He’s the one who takes care of others—a part of his nature like it is for Hermes’ cabin to take in unclaimed demigods. But something changed in the months that he’s gotten closer to you. At first, he’d bite his tongue at the way you’re so open to patting his cheek when he does something funny (which he doesn’t try to make a show of, but now…), how you choose to sit so close to him during bonfires that your knees touch (the Apollo kids could be singing about the heavens falling down on them for all he cares but he zeroes in on every word that leaves your lips), and the way you’d lock your fingers with him for a pinky promise after every little thing ‘to make sure it’s real’ (Luke didn’t understand the merit of a pinky promise over whether you could have his dessert for the next week if you took over arts and crafts with the kiddie campers for him; truthfully he’d give it to you anyway). It was unusual for him to have someone comfort him, to show care without a true reason. But he didn’t realize how much more it bothered him now that you wouldn’t even look him in the eye.

Silena and some of the other Aphrodite children had asked you the very defining question of, “Do you like Luke Castellan?” and having never thought of it that way, or being able to put your feelings for him in words instead of fingers in his belt loops or in the muss of his curls—that shit was terrifying!

You spent all Saturday afternoon at the docks with them belly down under the glare of the sun’s rays as they explained to you what the five love languages are. By the end of it, sunburn wasn’t the only reason you felt hot.

“Your love language is physical touch,” one of Silena’s older half-siblings—Connelly, says like he’s explaining that the sky is blue, “And Luke’s not that type of guy! Think he’s more acts of service…”

“Ooh, or words of affirmation….” another one of them muses, but the sound of your heartbeat tunes it all out. Well shit, have you been sending him the wrong signals? Or are there even any signals you want to send him?

Nevertheless, in the matters of love or even the tiniest whisper of it—maybe there’s no one else you can trust with this stuff besides Cabin 10.

Wrong.

Absolutely wrong. Whatever the hell you’ve been convinced or whatever’s changed since last weekend—Luke just knows he hates it, and he’s angry. He’s angry at how you gasp in surprise every time you brush shoulders during archery practice when you used to let him fix your form, he’s angry at how you’ll squeeze campers’ shoulders to tell them they’re doing a good job carrying the strawberry crates—and all he gets is a mumbled ‘Thanks, Castellan’ when he stacks them up and takes your load.

Luke’s so terribly angry that Travis told him he’s been walking around like a big strawberry, face red and irritated—but not at you.

He realizes he’s also angry at the fact that he can’t protect you from the onslaught of a rain cloud—or maybe it was the fact that you’re so okay with the rain touching your skin and seeping through your orange shirt like he wishes you’d let him. He’s angry at the way the wind blows your hair into your face and your fingers brush the strands away like he wishes he can. Most of all, Luke Castellan is angry that he didn’t know how good a simple touch could be until he lost it—before he even really got to appreciate yours.

You’re sitting on the opposite end of the row in the amphitheater laughing with your friends and the furrow in his thick brow is a tell-tale sign of his discomfort. Luke doesn’t dare to remember what it’s like before you to be honest—he’d rather give up Elysium instead of having you ignore him like this. He calls your name, a tinge of both anger and desperation until you look over at him, eyelashes kissing your cheeks. The hold you have on him transcends the physical touch of your fingers but he wants, no—needs you next to him.

“C’mere! Why are you so far away?”

Luke hopes it doesn’t sound pathetic, but a crooked grin splits across his face as soon as you make your way over, sitting down and crossing your legs away from him. It’s still too far, even if he can feel your breath on his shoulder.

“Did I do something to make you angry? I…” The words escape his mouth in a jumble—quick wit from his father escaping him, though he knows not to rely on that asshole, god or not. You mutter words that almost escape him too, and he leans in, chasing your hands and putting them in his own until they’re gentle and soft in his lap.

“No, no…. I just… don’t want to push your boundaries. I know you don’t like it when I’m too touchy,” and he thinks his heart clenches a little like how you’re squeezing his hands. Luke shouldn’t feel instant gratification from a subconscious action. He wants to know you mean it with him—that’s what he can’t put into words.

“I….like it when you do.”

You notice the way his fingers tangle tighter with yours, pinkys interlocking with yours. When he lets go, Luke wraps his arm around your shoulders until you’re able to laugh in the crook of his neck. He chooses to place a kiss on the corner of your mouth when your head sways to face him at the silly tune about centaurs and then you realize that Luke loves the way you love him. You wonder if he accidentally missed meeting your lips, but then the noise in your head quiets down when he pulls you closer, lips locking tenderly, intentionally—as they were always meant to.

You both hear a giggle that sounds a lot like tinkling bells belonging to children of Aphrodite.

For once they were wrong about love.

Luke’s tongue parts through your lips and meets your own like they’re in a long awaited embrace, dancing and devouring you from the inside out but this, you— are what he can rely on. This, your touch, and how he chooses to let it consume him, never letting go.

#jo's 23rd birthday bash ⋆｡°✩#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan fanfic #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo x reader #made by ma1dita ♥︎

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ja3yun · 4 months

Text

Melting Point | P.SH | CH.2

brother's rival!sunghoon x fem!reader warnings: smut (mdni), oral (f. rec), protected sex, fingering, pussy drunk!hoon, praise kink, pleading, angst, mentions of lack of self-belief, confrontation, overthinking, anything else lmk! ch.2 synopsis: your guilty conscience takes over and you have no choice but to end the fleeting romance you had only yesterday, but as your connection gets stronger, you fight an emotional battle within yourself. wc: 12.5k+ previous | masterlist | next a/n: hi! thank you so much for all your love on the first chapter, i am overwhelmed with your kind words. this is a chapter that helps understand the connection between ynhoon. after this chapter it's kinda full throttle with plot so enjoy the smut and tiny bit of angst. feedback, likes, reblogs, comments are all welcome :)

Walking into Belmore after your Uni classes the next day felt icky. Before your conversation with Minhee last night you were on cloud 9, looking forward to seeing Sunghoon again, but now all you feel is guilt, not just to Minhee but to Sunghoon too.

You’ve essentially led him on, promised him a next time that you couldn’t give him. But why was this so hard for you? You only spent approximately 4 hours with the boy which isn’t even half a shift you do at work on a Thursday.

He pulled you in, something is magnetising about him, you just can’t shake off. If you phoned Rina right now she would tell you how stupid you sound, you can practically hear her voice in your head telling you ‘he’s just a man, Y/N.’ and you know she’s right.

But jeez, when he kissed you it was like a switch flipped from fancying him to needing him; and in more ways than just his touch.

Sunghoon probably wouldn’t be affected anyway, why would he? He could get any girl he wanted.

The sound of Coach Lee shouting bellows around the rink once you enter, he’s a lot harsher than Coach Kim, more stern and direct with his words. Just this morning when you were at Minhee’s training his coach apologised for raising his voice when he landed late so to see Sunghoon’s coach red in the face was new to you. If it was you on the ice you’d curl up into a ball and cry if he ever spoke to you that way.

It doesn’t bother Sunghoon though, listening and adapting himself per instructions. His ice skates glide across the rink in his sleek Puma training joggers and tight-fit Gymshark pullover. He’s usually wearing this or something similar when he trains but now you’re taking in how truly beautiful he looked even in something as simple as this.

“Sunghoon you’re missing a whole rotation how many times do we have to do this?” Coach Lee yells as the skater lands from his supposed to be triple axel, “Can you screw your head on and fucking focus.”

A feeling of protectiveness comes over you as your eyes fall to Sunghoon. He’s getting aggy with himself and the Coach isn’t helping. It doesn’t make sense that he can’t do a triple, he could do them in his sleep at this point.

With his hands on his hips, he glides back to his coach and mother, his demeanour heavy with a burden you can almost feel radiating from him. The slope of his shoulders and the downturn of his eyes speak volumes, signalling an impending storm of reprimands and disappointment. Though their words are lost in the distance, you can sense the tension hanging thick in the air.

Sunghoon does a lap around the ice and as he sweeps around to the side you’re sitting at he spots you taking out your study supplies as you watch him. When your gazes meet for the first time that day he smiles diminutively at you; it’s not like how he smiled yesterday, he was so vibrant, and now it's like someone sucked the joy out of him.

Now that you think about it, you usually miss his official training sessions, by the time you get to the rink it’s just him on his own, so this environment is new to you.

As time flies by, you’ve highlighted approximately 2 sentences in your textbook and written one reference - not your best work but you make do. It’s hard to focus on studying when all you’re thinking about is him and suddenly the 4 marketing P’s weren’t interesting to you anymore. Not as interesting as his lips, or his tongue, or the way he found the sweet spot on your neck almost in an instant, or how beautiful he looks flying through the air right now. Your 4 P’s all start with Park Sunghoon.

“Go cool off for a minute, Park. Come back when you’re ready to take this seriously. Nationals are 3 fucking months away and you’re skating like my fucking 2 year old.” Sunghoon grunts as his coach yells at him again, walking off and into the changing room.

He throws himself onto the bench next to his stuff and leans his head against the wall, staring at the ceiling. What the fuck is going on with him today?

You.

You are what’s wrong with him, he can’t think straight when you’re running laps in his mind like it’s a sport and you’re aiming for first place. It’s so bad he even dreamt of you last night, you were in the crowd of Nationals cheering him on, and when he won you ran onto the ice and kissed him so passionately that if his alarm hadn’t woke him up then you both probably would have given the crowd an R rated celebration that made the ice melt. He hates his alarm more than ever before.

His fingers trace his lips as he recalls the kisses you graced him with last night. Sunghoon doesn’t have an addictive personality but he’s in dire need of your lips right now.

After about 5 minutes since Sunghoon disappeared, your phone buzzed twice. Taking it from your pocket you see 2 new messages.

No.1 Ice Skater 🧊🤍:

5:26pm: come to the changing rooms

5.26pm: leave your stuff

When did he get your number? And when did he save him under that name? It doesn’t really matter because this is your chance to nip whatever this relationship is in the bud. You didn’t want to do it but for guilty conscience's sake and Minhee, you would.

As instructed you leave your study stuff behind and quickly walk to the back, hoping Mrs. Park doesn’t get suspicious. She’s scary when she wants to be and if she saw you meeting her son in an enclosed area she’ll flip the fuck out.

You hate the changing rooms, they’re dreary and off putting, couldn’t he have asked to meet you outside or literally anywhere else?

Pushing the door open cautiously, you find Sunghoon seated with his elbows propped on his knees, his head hanging low in an air of despondency. His prized black skates lie discarded on the floor nearby, a stark contrast to their usual gleam of victory.

Should you tell him you aren’t going to see him again right now? Looking at the boy like this makes it seem cruel to add another level of dismay his way. But he won’t care too much, right? It’s like you’ve been saying, or rather convincing yourself; he could get any girl in the world.

“Sunghoon?” Slowly, you close the heavy grey door behind you to minimise the noise, scared that someone will know you’re here! “You text me? When did you get my nu-”

Too busy shutting the door you don’t see Sunghoon abruptly stand up and walk over to you like he’s on a mission. He is on a mission and it’s exactly that which has your back pushed against the door.

Sunghoon’s body is pressed against yours and his mouth is attacking your lips roughly. He doesn’t answer you back, instead just moaning into your mouth. You can only kiss him back and get lost in the sensation you’ve been eagerly wanting since last night.

But you came in here to stop this from happening again, “Hoonie, we need to talk.” The level of your voice is barely above a whisper, you don’t want to stop this, not right now and not in the future.

Like a man depraved he doesn’t listen, the mix of frustration oozing off his body due to pent-up rage from training and the urgency he’s feeling just to taste you again is all too much.

“Been thinking about you all night,” Messily and sloppily his tongue licks your bottom lip and dips into your mouth when you groan out his name, exploring every bit of you that he can, “Next time couldn’t come soon enough, Sweets.”

He won’t tell you that last night he thought about you when he got home, wanking himself silly to the memory of your weight on his lap, his mind replacing the image of the machine that got your pumping actions with his cock. And then this morning he imagined you in the shower with him, how he would almost drown just to have a taste of your pussy.

Mind racing with every kiss and grinding of his hips into yours, you start to forget what you need to say to him, your legs mirroring how your brain was as they wrapped around him. All prohibitions about being with Sunghoon slowly fade into the distance.

“Fuck I need you so bad, Y/N. Let me have you.” Honestly, you would rather not do this in a sweaty changing room but right now you’ll do it in a bin lorry if it means his hands are all over you. So you nod and he takes it as the green light to unzip your jacket and push it off your shoulders, “I don’t have a lot of time, Sweets, and I'd love nothing more than to take my time and kiss you from head to toe but they’re gonna look for me soon.”

Despite knowing that this should be the moment to put an end to it all, to disentangle yourself from him and confess that you can't continue this affair? Situationship? Fun? Whatever you want to call it, you find yourself unable to resist the pull of desire and longing.

"I know, it's okay," you say softly, reflecting your own urgent need. "I'll take what I can get."

Your admission mirrors his own desperation, igniting a fire within him that he can't ignore. The knowledge that you feel the same way he does fills his heart with an inexplicable warmth, setting his body on fire.

Slithering down your body, his mouth hangs open and you can feel his warm breath even over your clothes. His nose is being pushed up by your stomach, that's how close he is to you.

His fingers grip the waistband of your leggings, pulling them down swiftly. Your pink panties with white hearts on them take him by surprise and you flush with embarrassment, “I didn’t think anyone was going to see them.” You confess. If you had known you were going to have Korea’s Ice Prince centimetres away from your vagina you probably would have opted for something more appealing.

“You’re so fucking cute, Sweets.” He smiles up at you, maintaining contact as he places a kiss on your stomach, going down in a neat line until he plants his mouth over your covered clit.

The eye contact is insane, Sunghoon is one of if not the most confident people you know. None of your other male ventures even bothered to look at you, rather settle for a quick backshot, so to have Sunghoon, even on a time limit, make sure you know how much he wants you is crazy.

He runs a finger over your underwear and feels the wet patch you’ve made. It entices him to dip his finger in to see how soaked you are, “Sweets you’re fucking melting.” He brings the finger to his lips and sucks up your essence, moaning as he does, “I can’t wait anymore.” His voice is low.

Sliding your underwear down you kick them aside and before they can even hit the cold ground a few steps away, Sunghoon grabs your calves and puts them over his broad shoulders, using his strength to boost you up. The height you’re at almost reminds you of the Zamboni, however the sight below you is much more ethereal than resurfaced ice.

Sunghoon effortlessly supports you, your legs dangling over him as he positions himself precisely to devour you. His hands hold you steady against the cold metal door, and his breath warms the gap between your thighs. The sensation drives you to instinctively raise your hips, inviting him closer.

"So fucking pretty," he whispers, sending chills down your spine. As he begins to lap at your core with his tongue, you can't help but clutch his hair, your fingers tangled in the strands as you grind into his face. Despite your peculiar position, you have an undeniable sense of trust in him, knowing he won't let you fall.

Overcome with how you taste, he doesn’t even register your fingers in his hair, pulling at it harshly when he circles your clit with his tongue. You’re so wet as he slurps you up but there’s so much it’s dripping onto his chin. It serves as motivation to keep going, to pleasure you as much as possible.

Sunghoon isn’t scared to admit it, he gets pussy drunk so fast. The way each one is different in taste, he can get lost in folds for hours. The longest he’s gone down on a girl was 30 minutes before she tapped out, he didn’t even know it had been that long, to be honest.

He wishes he could spend that amount of time on you right now, but he’ll have to deal with the time he has in these circumstances. He’s already been gone 20 minutes, 10 more minutes and Coach Lee will come looking. That means 10 minutes to get you off..

Sunghoon’s tongue runs itself along your entrance and it makes you buckle, pushing his head in further. Smiling, he continues his effort, making you a panting mess. His tongue was a gift from whoever is above and you’ll need to thank them later because you don’t think, no, you know you haven’t once felt as good as you do now.

Dipping his tongue in a few times helps him gauge how tight you are, you’re going to fit so perfectly around his cock. Even with just his tongue, he can feel you squeezing, “You’re amazing, Sweet, a goddamn dream.”

His appraisals are sending you closer to the edge. You didn’t know you liked the words of affection until now. You should have guessed you would have some sort of praise kink considering your whole life has been about making sure people can be proud of you. It’s embarrassing to admit, but maybe all those psychologists are onto something with the parental issues being linked to sexual desires.

Your clit is suddenly being simulated by his nose, it poking at it slightly the more bountiful he inserts his tongue. It feels otherworldly, “Hoonie, s’good, so so good, shit.” Your fingers harshly massage his scalp as you wiggle, close to cumming.

He knows it too, you’re dripping so much it’s leaking from his chin and onto his top. It’s so fucking hot how you’re a mess like this, just for him. Sunghoon knows that if you’re close, he can’t change his pace unless you ask him to, so he’s flicking his tongue into you, utilising his nose to prod your nub, and just a few seconds later, you’re coming undone.

“That’s it, Sweets, doing so good for me.” More praise, it’s driving you crazy.

As you cum, you bite your lips to hold back the noises that you want to scream from your chest, well aware that anyone could walk by and catch you both. The man between your legs doesn’t let up, however, his mouth still working you through your orgasm and causing you to push his head back, “Sunghoon you need to go back.” But he doesn’t listen, rather, he makes eye contact with your puffed-out clit and attaches his mouth to it.

Coach Lee or his mum could walk in right now and it still wouldn’t stop him from getting you off one more time. Hell, the world could be burning around you and he couldn’t give two shits, he needed more of you.

His legs and arms were getting tired of holding you up though and if he planned to get back out on that rink and nail his routine he would need to put you down from his shoulders. Such a shame because your thighs crushing his head like this is transcendental.

Moving slowly down he bends his legs and you get the hint and hop off. You think he’s finally giving you rest, parting ways with you, but once he finds himself on his knees, almost like he’s praying to you for more, “One more, let me do one more.” He pleads but he doesn’t wait for an answer, diving into your pussy once again. Manhandling your legs he pushes them open to give him better access to your aching clit.

Sunghoon’s biting your button softly, licking to heal it if he goes a little too hard. He loses control sometimes like that but it’s nothing you’re complaining about, even if it nipped for a second his flat tongue was making you forget. His mouth seems to always make you forget things.

His hands rub up and down your shaking legs as he stimulates you into another orgasm.

Is he really going to make you cum again? The answer is yes he is, and quickly too. It took him 4 minutes approximately after your last one to get you pouring over his face again. He’s magic.

“Holy shit, Hoonie,” Your body is starting to crumble beneath you, the weight of you suddenly too heavy to hold up. But you have no choice, you need to gather yourself because you hear a familiar aggravated voice shout down the hall.

“Park Sunghoon you better be doing some serious reflecting if you’re gonna be gone this long. Get your pretty boy ass back to this rink. NOW.”

Tapping his head urgently you try to bring him back from his drunken state, “Hoon, you need to go before he comes in here.” The panic in your voice brings him out of his daze but Sunghoon’s demeanour doesn’t mirror yours.

He places a few lingering kisses on the side of your lips, “You drive me crazy, can’t concentrate out there because of you,” Coach Lee’s footsteps are getting heavier the closer he gets to the changing room you’re both occupying, “Meet me after training? I’ll drive you home.”

His composure brings a sense of calmness, soothing your nerves despite the urgency of the situation, "You're going to be here forever though, not exactly having a good day out there," you remark, your hand reaching up to wipe his mouth clean of your essence, much to his dismay.

In an instant, you've shed the panic and meekness you displayed just moments ago, reverting back to your playful and teasing self. You’re back to being his usual Y/N.

Grabbing your chin he holds your head to look at him, “It’s because you drive me fucking delirious, Sweets. You’re all my brain can think about, I just told you that. Are you going to take some responsibility?”

Your scoff gets interrupted by banging on the door.

“Shh, stay there.” Sunghoon maneuvres you to the side so you’re behind the door and pulls the door open, coming face to face with his coach, “Sorry, I was trying to get over this mental block, let me grab my skates and I’ll be out.” All while he’s speaking, his left hand has yours in his, stroking reassurance into you with his thumb.

"You have 2 minutes, and then I want you back out there doing this routine flawlessly, do you understand?" Coach Lee's voice interrupts the intimacy of the moment and instills a sense of urgency in the air.

"Yes, sir," Sunghoon replies, making a sharp salute before closing the door behind him. Turning back to you, his expression softens: "So? "Let me take you home?" he asks his hands still tied with yours.

As he speaks, it dawns on you just how risky his actions were. You're still naked from the waist down, your pants lying in plain sight by the door where Sunghoon carelessly tossed them. Yet, despite the gravity of the situation, his touch manages to calm you down, just as it did yesterday.

“I’ll tell you what,” You retrieve your bottom half clothing, Sunghoon shamelessly biting his lip at the sight of your bare ass, his mind briefly entertaining the idea of risking the 2-minute warning. “If you do this routine perfectly—so perfectly that your coach is elated—I’ll let you drive me home,” you propose, shimmying your leggings on. Fixing your gaze on his, you add, “And if you can manage it quickly, I’ll let you have your way with me in the backseat. Deal?”

Sunghoon’s mouth hung open as he nodded, not taking his eyes off you while he bent down to grab his skates. He is so glad he kissed you yesterday.

Hurriedly, he approaches you, planting one last kiss on your lips. “Better pack up your uni stuff, Sweets,” he murmurs, his voice laced with anticipation, “I’ll be done in 10.”

You make your way back to your belongings, glad all of it is still there. Not that anyone would steal it, but you can’t ever be too careful.

Once Sunghoon dashed out of the changing room you waited a couple more minutes to make it less conspicuous, hoping people would have either not noticed you had gone at all or thought it was one long bathroom break. Your shaking legs as you walked back to your seat were an indicator of what just happened, luckily for you, you kept them tame.

Imagine if you walked into that changing room and stopped it, telling him you couldn’t because you were too loyal to your brother. Can you deny yourself this chance to explore the connection you and Sunghoon have?

“There we go, that’s the skater I trained! One more full run-through, Sunghoon.”

Sunghoon skates beautifully, hitting his jumps and landing them perfectly. Amazing what good pussy will do to a man. He’s smiling, knowing that if he does this last run perfectly, he gets to whisk you away and have you bouncing on his cock like he’s dreamed about.

Thank god athletes pop random boners when they train or else he’d have some serious problems trying to explain what's got him so excited.

As he nails his consecutive loop jumps he almost giggles as he makes eye contact with you, your smile is soft and it makes his heart beat quicker which is alarming considering it’s already hammering in his chest. Throwing you a wink and biting his lip, Sunghoon gears up for his axel, if he hits this it’s plain sailing and he can look forward to you fucked out in his car.

Like the showman he is, Sunghoon does the triple axel perfectly and wipes his forehead as if to say ‘no sweat’. His confidence is so sexy, you could feel yourself getting turned on again. Your body was aching for his touch, and it was soon to get it.

You can see Coach Lee clapping and shouting praise, opposite to how he was 40 minutes ago. But Mrs. Park doesn’t look happy; her arms are crossed and her lips are bitten thin. She’s disappointed, you know that look because it’s the exact same look your mum gives Minhee.

How could she not be at least a little elated considering her son just nailed his Naitonal level routine flawlessly?

Because he didn’t get it right the first time. That’s why.

As Sunghoon finishes his routine and faces his mother, he braces himself for her reaction. "How did I do?" he asks, hopeful for even a shred of acknowledgement.

But her response is cold and dismissive. "I'm going home, Coach Lee. Thank you for your continued hard work," she says without a glance in her son's direction, her lack of praise cutting deeper than any criticism.

Sunghoon's heart sinks as he watches her walk away without a word or a second glance. It's a familiar scene—one that stirs up the protective instinct that had surged in you earlier. Seeing his vibrant smile fade into nothingness speaks volumes. It meant this had happened more than once.

“We’re going to work on your facial expressions because you can’t be smiling like that at Nationals,” Coach Lee clapped his hand on Sunghoon’s shoulder, “You did good, Kid. Whatever the fuck you did to get out of your rut worked wonders.”

As Coach Lee's words sink in, Sunghoon nods slowly, acknowledging the feedback before skating off the ice to put on his blade protectors. "Thanks, Coach," he mumbles quietly before making his way to the back to hit the showers.

You observe his defeated posture, his shoulders slumping with each step. It's evident that he's trying to take it all in stride, but the weight of disappointment hangs heavy on him. You can't help but empathize; after all, you understand all too well the sting of not feeling enough, having experienced similar treatment from your own mother.

Remembering how Sunghoon lent you support just yesterday, you feel compelled to reciprocate. It's only fair to offer him the same kindness and understanding in return.

A text comes through as you start to pack everything away.

No.1 Ice Skater 🧊🤍:

6.32pm: Meet you at the car, sweets

6.32pm: :)

Quickly, you shove everything into your bag and walk to the parking lot, saying goodbye to Miss Barbara on the way out. You’re trying to stay as chill as possible like you weren’t about to have unabashed car sex.

The lot is empty except for 3 cars, Sunghoon’s - obviously, Coach Lee’s, and Miss Barbara’s. All of them inside so no one would see you perched atop Sunghoon’s car hood, anticipating what was to come.

10 minutes pass and the main door of Belmore swings open, Sunghoon is now dressed in wide-legged jeans, a plain white t-shirt, and his signature coat, the one that kept you warm last night. He looks so beautiful and he’s thinking the same about you.

Seeing you sitting on top of his car hood with your legs swinging lightly has his heart swelling. You look cuter than anything he has ever seen with your coat up to your ears. He wasn’t in a good mood but even just the sight of you was enough to get a smile creeping on his face.

His mum had put him in a sour state, her inability to show any praise made him feel shame and disgust in himself. He should have just got it right the first time.

You outstretch your arms and open your legs, inviting him to slot his body between yours which he gladly does. Sunghoon’s arms slink their way around your body, his forehead resting on your shoulder, the faux fur from your hood tickles his nose but he doesn’t care, and you run your fingers in his hair. No words have to be said, it’s like you know each other so well already, so interlinked with one another that you think you would have been together for years.

“You did amazing, Hoonie,” Looking into his eyes that have been drained of life once again causes you to kiss his lips softly, trying to bring back some of the Sunghoon you had the honour of witnessing yesterday, “I’m so proud of you, so so proud.”

If his mum couldn’t do the decent thing and make him feel special, you guess you will, “You looked so pretty out there, I think that was your best triple I've seen.”

“Y/N you don’t have to-”

“You’re like a dream on the rink, I’ve always thought it,” Kissing him between sentences to silence his protests seemed to work in easing him, “You’re made to be on that ice, Hoonie.”

He could cry. He won’t because that’s not who he is but as you speak he can feel his throat tightening up. Even if you were only pandering to him, he needed to hear these words. It meant more to him than you would ever know.

"Sweets," He pauses, his eyes shaking as he looks at you, "I think I'm meant to be right here." It was an unexpected confession, one that went beyond the surface level of the words shared.

It’s scary for Sunghoon to be affected like this so quickly, you feel the same, it’s like one of those far-fetched romance novels where the two main characters fall for each other instantly. No, it’s not love, not for any of you, however, there is an attraction between both of you that transcends lust and superficial attraction, it’s soulful.

He brings you closer to him, the right side of his mouth upturning slightly, “About that backseat action you promised.” You laugh and nod as his eyebrows wiggle. He didn’t want this to turn too deep, scared of opening up something inside him he wasn’t ready for you to see.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” You jump off the hood and open the front seat. It puzzles Sunghoon because he thought he was going to have your legs spread across the back of the car, “Get in, trust me.” And he does just that, settling himself into the driver's seat awaiting your next move.

With everything that has happened today, he needed a little looking after, no matter what it took. Once he is comfortable you do one last glance to make sure no one is looking before following him in, straddling his lap. Shocked by the sudden presence of you on his lap he holds you still, “Sweets, it’s easier if we go bac-”

You pull the lever beside his seat and it lounges back, his eyes widen a little as you take complete control. He isn’t used to this, he has been the one to lead in every possible outcome in his life. To see you take the lead a little is turning him on tenfold.

“You looked so ethereal out there, I couldn’t take my eyes off you,” You take off your coat and throw it over to the passenger side, “You are so mesmerising.” And you didn’t just mean when he skates. As he lays beneath you he looks like a prince, sculpted by a god.

Kissing down his neck, your lips mutter sweet praises into him and you become acutely aware of his heart beating a little harder than before. Whether it’s because you’re on his lap and pressing down on his dick, or because for one of the first times in years, he’s receiving lionise for simply being him.

"You're so kind, you'd do anything for anyone. You helped me so much yesterday, and you didn't even need to," you say, gently pushing his jacket off his shoulders as he removes it, clumsily tossing it in the back.

"I wanted to," he whispers, his confident self fading into a shy vulnerability.

"Because you're beautiful inside and out," you murmur, grazing his neck with your lips, eliciting a low groan from Sunghoon. His hands find their way to your waist, holding onto you tightly.

The air in the car crackles with electricity, each touch fueling the growing intensity between you. As your lips meet in a hungry kiss, there's no turning back. Sunghoon sits upright, pulling you closer as if trying to fuse your bodies together.

“Sweets, I need you right now.” He pleads, his hips lifting to show you how much he truly craves you, his hard on brushing through the thin material of your leggings.

His hands push down your bottom half clothing, panties and all, and you try not so gracefully kick yourself out of them, the car horn honking loudly, “Shit.” Way to ruin the mood.

Sunghoon is laughing, his thumb circling your sides to comfort you, “You okay, Sweets?” Muttering a ‘yeah’ you shuffle up a little, “So fucking cute.” It came out without a second thought and as low as a whisper but he couldn’t help it, the way you froze up and your eyes expanded at the fright you gave yourself had him clutching his heart.

A rosé tinge spread across your cheeks and neck, blushing at his compliment. To regain some sense of control, you take his hand and guide it down to your entrance. Even the slight touch to your core makes you instantly soak his fingers.

It’s as if the prints of his fingers have buds the way he can taste you in his mouth again like his tongue is still in between your folds from earlier. His middle finger runs up from your hole to your clit a few times before sliding one finger into you, testing how tight you are.

Your hole sucks his finger in as he explores your walls, looking for a reaction of any kind. Sunghoon prides himself on ensuring his partners get the ultimate pleasure, even with a quicky. That much was evident when he was devouring your pussy not even an hour ago.

As his finger presses against your soft spot, you gasp quietly, “There she is.” He presses it repeatedly and you grip the headrest behind him, “C’mon Sweets if you’re going to grab onto anything, make sure it’s me.” With his free hand, he takes your wrists one at a time and puts them on his chest. You instantly bunch up his t-shirt and cling to him.

Now he’s got you like putty in his hands, quite literally, you’re unable to think about anything other than the wave of heat coursing through your lower half, and as he adds a second one, you heave out a low ‘fuck’, you press your hips harsher into his hand, his palm rubbing your still slightly overstimulated clit.

You look so beautiful right now, Sunghoon can’t tear his eyes away. The way you feel on his fingers has his dick twitching, leaking a little into his boxers. He had to have you.

“Are you sure about this?” He wanted you to be one hundred percent positive because he knows what having sex with him means, and as much as he doesn’t want to say it, he understands if you say to stop and leave it here. Your mind is a wonderful but cruel place, the overthinking of your guilty conscience could spiral, he knows that much.

“Positive. So, so positive.” Kissing him softly seals the confirmation. Right now you don’t care about anything else but you and Sunghoon.

Withdrawing his fingers leaves you chasing the feeling of being full, your hips following his hand, “What? Are my fingers enough?”

“Fuck no,” You lean down and kiss him again, your tongue swiping into his mouth, proving how starving you are for him.

He leans forward as your hands weave in his hair, trying to open the glove compartment but he can’t reach, your body obstructing him, “I need to grab a condom, Sweets.” He barely manages to get the sentence out, your lips constantly on his, “Reach behind and get me one, yeah?” But you aren’t listening, lost in his mouth and how his tongue feels dancing with yours.

Sunghoon laughs, “Y/N the sooner you get me one the sooner I can fuck you. That’s what you want isn’t it?” Okay, now the words are registering. You couldn’t spend one more minute without knowing what he feels like inside you.

Twisting to open the glove compartment you see a bunch of little things that tell you more about Sunghoon. For one, he had 3 bags of Skittles, a lighter, his insurance and other documents, and a bunch of Durex. Like there was a lot.

The boy under you pears to see what you’re looking at, his big hands still rubbing up and down your waist, “The lighter is my friend Jay’s, he always forgets one.”

Shaking your head you pull out 2 full strips of condoms, “How lucky do you get?”

He could lie and say he’s drowning in girls, but that would benefit no one; you’d feel like another conquest and he would look like a colossal prick. Girls always throw themselves at Sunghoon, especially on campus and although he could have his pick of anyone, he doesn’t have the time. He fucks, of course he does, but he doesn’t need it, so it’s not a priority. Not until now that is.

He thought it was so strange how his roommates would come back with people nearly every night or talk about how many times they’d been laid in the week. Turns out most guys are like that in Uni, but Sunghoon’s never had a normal young adult experience has he?

“I uh, I just bought them.” He says, eyeing up the packets, “I put some in the car for…y’know, this”

You raise your brows, “Oh? You already thought I’d put out?”

“I didn’t think so.” He takes one of the strips and rips one off, tossing the others back in the compartment, “I knew it.”

This arrogant son of a bitch.

“You are so,” You scrunch your hands in front of his face, balling them up. Rather than hitting him you just go back to kissing him, he might have been infuriatingly cocky, but fuck did you want him.

Sunghoon smiled into the kiss, knowing he didn’t actually presume anything was going to happen, not right now anyway, he just loved to rile you up a little.

Pulling back from the kiss he looks you up and down, “You’re so fucking gorgeous.” And you know he means it because as you stare into his eyes they have only thoughts of you painted in them.

Unbuttoning his jeans, he fails to notice you strip off your top, leaving you practically naked in front of him bar your bra. It was strange how comfortable you felt to be so bare with him like this.

You hover over him as he shimmies his bottoms and boxers down just enough for his cock to poke out. When he looks up, his breath catches in his throat at the sight of you in all your glory. "Jesus fucking Christ," he murmurs in awe, his hands instinctively finding their way to your breasts, squeezing them firmly yet tenderly, his fingers teasing your nipples.

As you look down, you admire his length laid against his t-shirt, his cock already flushed with arousal. He's big, as you had suspected from his tall stature and lengthy limbs, but seeing him in the flesh is a delightful surprise. You can't wait to feel him buried deep inside you. "Where's the condom?" you inquire, eager to take things to the next level.

“What?” he asks, his sole focus on your tits.

He is definitely a boob guy, “Condom, where is it?” You look expectantly at him, waiting for him to hand you it but he doesn’t, looking around him.

It’s here somewhere, he literally just had it, but he’s wasted enough time and his patience has worn thin, “Just grab another one from behind you.” Laughing lightly, you do as instructed and grab another one.

While you’re bent backwards and twisted to reach behind you, one of his hands slips between your legs again, stoking your centre, the pussy before him was glistening and inviting so who was he not to please it? The sudden intrusion makes you gasp, arching your back a little when he slips his fingers back in shallowly for a minute, just to tease you, to have you more desperate than you already are.

Shakily, you rip off another condom and open it, holding the rubber tightly to ensure you don’t drop it. You need him now.

You push his hand away, ironically whining at the loss you just caused but it’s for a good reason, a very good reason. Gently, you take hold of his long shaft as it leaks some pre-cum onto your hand and slips the condom on, pumping him a few times to make sure it’s secure. The action earns you a moan from the boy under you who is just happy to have some contact.

His hands deftly pull down your bra, allowing it to rest just under your breasts. "Your tits are literally perfection," he murmurs in admiration, his words sending a shiver down your spine. A giggle escapes your lips, but it quickly morphs into a small moan as his mouth latches onto your left breast, his hand eagerly reaching for the other.

His teeth graze your nipple, drawing out a gasp from you, followed by a trail of hot, wet kisses. His tongue flicks over your sensitive flesh with precision, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You find yourself groaning louder than before, amazed at how effortlessly he's able to turn you on.

You've never experienced this level of pleasure from someone playing with your tits before, but with him, it's like they have their own set of buttons, and he's an expert who's intimately familiar with every page of the manual.

Detaching from your breasts, Sunghoon can’t wait to be inside you any longer and lifts you up as you guide his member to your entrance, collecting the wetness you’ve been dripping onto him since you took your pants off. Your knees are a little sore due to the edges of the seat digging in, but as you sink down onto him, your weight shifts to sitting on his lap creating double pleasure.

His cock buries itself fully into your hole, filling you up to the brim, Sunghoon’s head falls back onto the headrest as your walls squeeze around him. You feel amazing, like nothing he’s experienced before.

There isn’t a lot of room to bounce so you settle for shallow movements, arching your back and lifting your hips as high as you can. What you don’t know is that it’s causing Sunghoon’s tip to drag a certain way in your core that is driving him crazy, “Sweets, you’re so fucking tight, when was the last time someone fucked you?”

It wasn’t a serious question, more rhetorical, but you answered anyway, “A month ago.”

His hands grip your ass harshly and spread your cheeks apart while he starts to guide you to go a bit faster, “I’d never leave you that long,” He opens his eyes to look at you, “I’d fuck you every chance I could get.”

“Why don’t you then?” You wistfully say in the moment but it sparks something in him.

Snapping his hips up to match your rhythm sends you both reeling, “You want that? Want me to fuck you wherever and whenever?” All you can do is nod frantically, your hands splayed on his chest, pussy clenching at the thought as you both steam up the car windows, “Yeah? One word and you can have it. Say please.”

Sunghoon smirks and you open your mouth to speak but one sharp thrust has you falling forward, letting his hips piston into you as he holds you close against him. He wants to tease you, edge you a little, but he’s so close he didn’t want to wait much longer, “C’mon, say pretty please.”

"Please, Hoonie, pretty please," you plead, burying your face into his neck, feeling a flush of embarrassment at how shamelessly you're begging for his touch.

"Please what? Tell me what you want," he responds, his fingers digging into your sides as he picks up the pace, thrusting deeper into you with each movement.

Your mouth hangs open, your breaths coming out in ragged gasps as he drives his hips forward, relentlessly hitting your g-spot over and over again, "Please make me cum," you moan, unable to hold back your desperate plea.

His movements falter for a moment, taken aback by your direct request. It wasn't what he was expecting you to say because that wasn’t his question, but he doesn't mind one bit, "You want to cum?" he asks, a hint of excitement in his voice as he continues to pleasure you.

“Yes, yes, please. I need to cum so bad.” You have never in your life acted like this before, so needy and desperate. There is a high possibility that you’ll be embarrassed once you snap out of this euphoria but right now he could make you say or do anything. As long as his cock is inside you, you are at his mercy.

Sunghoon picks up the pace, legs straining under you while he grabs your ass again and lifts it, doing your side of the work for you, “Cum on my cock, Sweets. Do it.” He’s just as desperate as you for release and with your hole hugging him tighter and tighter he can’t hold back much longer either.

Burrowing your head further into him, nose squished against his neck so you can inhale his shower gel, you start convulsing around him, your breathing ragged as your cum coats the condom, dripping out past your entrance and onto his thighs. You can’t remember the last time you came this hard that wasn’t from your own doing. He was magical.

Following suit, Sunghoon spills into the rubber, stomach twitching as he holds you down forcefully onto his lap so you have no way of popping off him. The feeling of you was too good to let go, not right now. His hips relaxed back into the seat, chest falling up and down as some time passed. He feels so good like he’s just placed gold, and by the smile on your face, he guesses that you feel the same.

The car is filled with panting from both of you. You can feel his cock still pulsing inside and it matches your beating heart. Sunghoon’s hands are roaming over your sticky body as he sits up and kisses all over your chest and neck, his eyes shut to heighten all his other senses. He thrusts up a few more times before lifting you off his softening cock.

You don’t want to be empty again, he filled you up so good, so you slip back onto his cock, “Sweets, what are you doing?” He keeps kissing along your breasts.

“5 more minutes.” You say. It’s not that you want another round per se, you just couldn’t get enough of being full of him, “Just give me 5 more minutes before you get post-nut clarity or something.”

“What the fuck is post-nut clarity?” Sunghoon questions. He’d never heard of it in his life.

You wipe some of the sweat atop his thick brows and sigh, “You know when guys cum and then they think you’re ugly after it?”

To say Sunghoon is offended is a trivialisation of how he actually feels. Is this what women think after they have sex? It’s preposterous in Sunghoon’s eyes because how could any man find women, especially you, ugly after the way you looked coming undone right in front of him, the way your jaw slacks as short pants leave your mouth, and the way your hair sticks to your face so dishevelled yet exactly where it’s supposed to lay.

"That's fucking stupid," he declares, his voice barely above a whisper as he cups your face and presses a tender kiss to your nose before tucking your hair behind your ears. "Whoever came up with that just couldn't get their girl to cum."

As you lock eyes with him, your heart skips a beat, and butterflies flutter in your stomach. "You're so pretty," you confess, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

“Yeah? Did you see yourself in my eyes?” He smirks, feeling proud of himself for the terrible line he’s just cast.

You light-heartedly slap his chest and roll your eyes, “You are so cheesy, oh my days.” He just lets out a small chuckle while he pulls your bra back up to its correct position, a little disheartened that he’s covering up his new favourite obsession.

Kissing your shoulder, he works his way up your neck and along to your mouth, smothering your lips with his. Sunghoon was aware that he had to get you home, not unlike yesterday, unless…

“Does your brother have practice tomorrow morning?” If he could get you to stay with him tonight, he could fuck you till the cows came home and that sounded like a far better plan than letting you go.

Sitting back, you give a tight smile and nod. "Yeah," you reply, the disappointment evident in your voice. But Sunghoon can't help but smile at your response, knowing that despite the circumstances, it means you want to spend more time with him the same way he does, "I better get going soon actually."

The pout that forms on your face is an invitation for him to lean in and peck your lips quickly once more just to let you know he really doesn’t want you to go, but he understands. The time he’s spent with you was too short, especially considering the hours he got to be in your company yesterday, he wanted to be with you more each time he spoke with you.

Lifting yourself off his lap, his cock slips out of you and its softened state lays to the left of him, condom filled and you’re a little jealous it’s not your pussy filled with his cum. You really need to stop getting jealous over everything that gets to speak or touch Sunghoon, especially inanimate objects.

“Sit there a minute, Sweets, don’t put your stuff back on yet,” He says as you plop yourself onto the passenger seat, obediently listening to him. Sunghoon peels the condom off and places it briefly on the dashboard while he gets his bottoms on. In one swift movement, he opens the door and runs to the bin with the used condom to dispose of it and quickly comes back to his car. You’re still sitting in nothing but your bra waiting patiently for him, just like he asked.

Reaching for the compartment on your side he pulls out a pack of wet wipes and takes one to help clean you up, separating your thighs to gain access to your pussy, “I’m just going to clean you up,” Sunghoon swipes the wipes along your thighs and through your folds, clearing your of any of your juices while making sure to be gentle around your sensitive areas.

The act made your heart race. Is it the bare minimum? Probably, but how many men have genuinely treated you this decent, especially after a quickie in a car? He isn’t even being sexy about it, focusing on the job at hand as his eyes make sure he cleaned you up properly. Just like with his condom, he walks to the bin with the wipe.

You quickly put on your clothes and as you reach down for your t-shirt, Sunghoon hops back into the driver seat, looking at you mournfully, wishing you would always walk around with just your bra, or better yet, nothing at all. His wank bank is going to be filled with your tits from now on, “I wish you didn’t have to go home,” Sunghoon confesses and you feel a sting in your chest.

“Me either, Hoonie.” He doesn’t say anything after that, instead, he buckles up and starts the journey to your house.

The drive isn’t awkward, there is just a longing silence, like time has been cut too short. Unfortunately, that’s just the way it is. In your mind, you’re both lucky to even have these moments together considering your circumstances.

Minhee.

That culpable feeling you hold lurches its way up your chest and into your throat. It’s like you forgot the whole purpose of going to the changing rooms to speak with Sunghoon was to tell him you couldn’t see him anymore. But how can you still say that after the way you both just connected? Sure, it was sex, but the feeling you both had during your time spent together was unimaginable like you had waited your whole life to touch him, to be with him like that. There is no way you can just leave this here.

There is that saying about how you can’t have your cake and eat it too. Your mind is so conflicted the same as last night but now it’s even worse because you spent more time with Sunghoon. In hindsight, it would have been a clever option to stop him before he gave you the best head of your life, but the damage is done.

“Sweets?” Sunghoon’s low voice brings you back, “We’re here.” Turning to your right you see your house illuminated, meaning both your brother and mum were home, to be fair it was only just after 8pm after all.

“Thanks, Hoonie.” Just as you’re unbuckling your seatbelt he pulls you in for another kiss, his hand cupping your cheek to pull you closer. When you feel his tongue swipe past your lips and into your mouth, all your worries melt away. It's reminiscent of the intimacy you shared in the changing room, but this time, you find the strength to pull back, resisting the temptation.

Sunghoon notices the wheels turning in your mind and reaches out to you, his voice filled with earnestness. "Y/N, whatever you're thinking about, please don't," he says gently, sensing that you might be overanalyzing what just transpired between the two of you. The last thing Sunghoon wants is for this to be the end, for this to be the last time he gets to see you and touch you this way.

“I need to go.” You say softly, not paying much attention to the pleading look on his face as he studies you.

He tries to say something as you get out of the car but you don’t bother to listen because if you did, you know you would simply cave and go back to him. Dashing into your home, you take your shoes off and regretfully hear Sunghoon’s car pull away.

Sleeping should surely clear your head, right?

Wrong.

The next morning when you awake in the wee hours before your alarm, you hear Minhee scooting about to get ready like usual, he’s quiet but with the silence of the world at 5am it’s natural for every little thing to sound amplified by 10. You could probably get another hour of sleep but decide against it, you’d only be more tired.

Peeling the covers from your body, your feet hit the ground as you twist out of bed and head down to the kitchen. Minhee is pouring himself some store-brand cornflakes, his favourite since he was a kid. Smiling softly, you grab the milk for him out of the fridge and slide it over the counter, but when he looks up you aren’t met with his normal loving eyes but rather stern, fierce ones.

“You’re up early.” He states matter of fact, unscrewing the cap to pour his milk into the bowl.

“Just woke up, we’re leaving soon anyway so.” You trail off, scared to ask him what’s wrong. Hopefully, it’s a simple case of the morning grumps that happens on occasion when he had a late night of studying, “Where is mum?”

He forces the milk back over to you, pushing it so hard you nearly don’t have a second to catch it, “She’s not coming.”

Huh? But she always comes to his practices. You wait a while, waiting for him to elaborate but he doesn’t, choosing to leave it there and take a bite of his breakfast. What is going on? Something is severely off this morning. Did they fight? Nothing seemed strange when you came home last night, yet again, you weren’t really focused on your surroundings. It’s not a secret that Minhee is a little scared of your mother, the whole momager thing only seemed to work for the Kardashians.

As you go to find out more he speaks, “Mum left the car, she grabbed an Uber. I’ll drive but I got class after so I can’t take you home.” He stops mid-motion, spoon sitting stagnant in the bowl, his jaw grinding, “Maybe Sunghoon can give you a lift home. I see he does that now.”

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit. He saw you last night. How?

The realisation hits you like the wicked witch being flattened by Dorothy’s house in Wizard of Oz; Sunghoon dropped you off right outside your house rather than a few blocks away like last time.

Fuck, now you have to think about this - do you confess to what’s happened the last couple of days, or lie? But he always knew when you lied, he had that sibling radar which has been a pain in the ass for years. Like when you broke his signed Hockey stick from Kim Sangwook, he knew right away it was you that snapped it in half because you were too busy flying it around, pretending to be the pro athlete you could never be.

Minhee doesn’t look at you so he misses the panicked look on your face, maybe you could play this off as no big deal. Don’t mention the fact that he ate you out in the changing room that he uses, and certainly don’t mention the quicky in the car, “W-what do you mean?”

The question makes Minhee raise his head to look at you, face even fiercer than before, “Don’t fucking start,” He was angry, like, super angry, “I saw that cunt’s car outside last night.”

Okay, so feigning ignorance wouldn’t work. You can’t even play it as if it’s someone else’s car and just the same make because none of your friends could afford a car so lovely.

“Don’t try to lie to me, Y/N. I saw it with my own eyes. Tell me why you got out of his car last night.” His cereal has been abandoned and his posture is tense as he leans on the island.

“I went to the rink to study like I always do, he offered me a ride home, no big deal.” Although your words are dismissive, you are trying so hard to make your voice match the nonchalantness.

Minhee doesn’t even blink, “You could have said no, you have no problem walking home any other time.” He has an answer for everything and there was no getting out of this other than utter denial.

“Mini, really, it was just a lift.”

“Y/N, let me make this perfectly clear, if I find out there is something more going on, like you’re dating him or something, I will tear him limb from limb.” A little piece of your heart falls away at his words. You knew it would be like this and now the guilt you felt has been dialed up to eighty, “Date anyone but him, Y/N. I’m so serious. I’ll kill him.”

Swallowing hard you shake your head, “It’s not like that. I wouldn’t do that.”

Your brother looks down at his watch and breathes out through his nose, “C’mon, if you get dressed just now we can stop for that blueberry muffin you like from Gino’s.” he walks up to you, laying a hand on your shoulder, “I know you wouldn’t do that, Bubs. I just want to protect you.”

As he walks up the stairs to get his things together you can only stand there as still as plywood. Minhee really didn’t leave you with much choice on your dilemma but if there was a silver lining, at least he made the decision easier. Why did it leave a horrible taste in your mouth?

______

Minhee walks behind you as you enter the rink, the chaos surrounding you instantly. It seemed like everyone and their granny was here today. The chatter of excited juniors and their parents mixes with the sounds of blades slicing the ice; it’s a nice pace, one of the many perks of the merge between Albion and Belmore.

As you make your way through the crowd, your attention is pulled to a group of 8 early teens lining up at the outer edge of the rink, preparing to showcase their skills in a rehearsal for the exhibition which is held in front of Junior judges. The exhibition is a key for determining the skaters' rankings for future events and championships. It makes the absurd business of the rink make sense.

You remember Minhee’s group performance of The Nutcracker like it was yesterday, his little royal suit and white wig still sit in his wardrobe to this day. Safe to say he was always going to reach the top level.

With a smile, Minhee leads you to the edge of the rink, his enthusiasm evident as he watches the young skaters with a sense of pride, "I'm so glad we didn't miss the rehearsal," he beams, his gaze fixed on the hopeful competitors as they prepare to take the ice. Minhee had been helping them a little the past few months so he was just as excited as the parents.

“When is the actual exhibition?” you ask.

"Tomorrow," he replies, his voice hushed in anticipation, "Coach Lee and Kim have both been training them so it's a big deal." This is the first time both coaches have worked with the same group of people so you understand everyone’s fascination.

As the lights dim and the skaters take their positions, you're fully immersed in the moment, your attention captivated by the young performers; you only hope they will do well. A figure standing beside you catches your peripheral vision, though you're too engrossed in what’s going on in the rink to give it much thought.

The young skaters begin their routine, each movement executed with precision and grace. Despite a few minor hiccups along the way, including a stumble here and there, the overall performance exudes promise and potential.

They’re so light on their feet that it pits envy in your stomach suddenly. If only you could be as talented as them, or at least stand on a pair of ice skates properly.

A hand slowly snakes into your grasp, fingers intertwining with yours. Looking up, you see Sunghoon standing next to you, filling you with a flutter of surprise. His eyes never meet yours, instead trained on the rehearsal, yet, it doesn’t stop him rubbing his thumb over your knuckles absentmindedly.

You can’t lie, it makes your heart beat a little quicker but you are hyper-aware of the brother standing to your left who literally told you just over an hour ago that you can’t even look at Sunghoon, nevermind hold his hand.

The performance comes to an end and the lights go up but Sunghoon still keeps a grip on your hand, turning to face you with a genuine smile. You could melt just at the sight of him.

Minhee's booming voice startles you, and you hastily pull your hand away from Sunghoon's, wiping it on the side of your leg as if trying to erase any evidence of his touch. Panic grips your chest as you avoid facing Minhee, fearful of being caught and having to provide an explanation you're not prepared to give. Lying to him this morning was already difficult enough.

Sunghoon briefly stretches out his hand, clearly missing your touch before reluctantly tucking it back into his pocket. "What is it, Minhee? Did you forget this is my rink too?" he responds, his tone steady despite the tension crackling in the air.

You silently pray for Minhee to drop the subject, dreading the possibility of a confrontation no matter how much you protest.

With a grunt, Minhee tilts his head and looks straight through Sunghoon. "You have your time and I have mine, so why the fuck are you here?" he demands, his words laced with irritation and suspicion.

Shrugging, Sunghoon smirks and leans on the edge of the rink; he looks so hot while he does it that you almost get on your knees instantly. You think he notices you wobble a little because his smug look only increases before he speaks, “Coach asked me to come in early. Probably to see if I could give you any pointers, I know you’re struggling a bunch with that toe loop.”

As Sunghoon points out a small flaw in Minhee's routine, you can sense the simmering frustration beneath your brother's composed exterior. You ponder whether the Coaches have actually discussed some of the problems your brother is having because he has been landing late on his toe loop.

You glance at Minhee, sensing the simmering frustration beneath his composed exterior. With a sardonic grin, Minhee retorts, "Yeah, because I really want advice from the guy who can't even land a quad Salchow without wiping out."

Suppressing the urge to intervene, you remain silent, unsure of how to navigate the escalating tension between the two. Sunghoon's casual demeanour contrasts sharply with Minhee's simmering anger, creating an uneasy atmosphere that seems ready to ignite at any moment.

Sunghoon's expression remains neutral, but a glint of disgust appears in his eyes before he conceals it in his typical cool manner. "If you won’t let me help you, I’m sure there are some spots left with the kids, you can run through the basics again," he responds, his tone tinged with resentment.

Minhee's temper rises, his nostrils flaring as he struggles to contain his rage, "Fuck you, Sunghoon," he spits out, his voice laced with venom, "Like I need advice from a model pretending to be a figure skater,” He scoffs and crosses his arms.

Narrowing his eyes at the insult, Sunghoon’s jaw tenses, clenching his fists by his sides. "Watch your mouth, Minhee," he warns through gritted teeth, his patience wearing thin.

But Minhee isn't done yet. "Oh, what's the matter, Sunghoon? Can't handle the truth?" he jeers, his tone dripping with derision. "You think you're so high and mighty, but we all know you're just a fraud who's riding on past glory."

“A fraud?” The boy in front of you laughs mockingly, smiling widely in disbelief, “At least I’ll make it to the Olympics next year while you’ll barely get a job scrubbing the skate plates.”

The air crackles with tension as their verbal sparring reaches a fever pitch, each word exchanged like a dagger aimed at the other's pride. You can practically feel the heat radiating from Minhee's seething anger.

With a scowl etched on his face, Minhee refuses to back down, his words fueled by a potent mix of resentment and fury. "You're nothing but a pretentious show-off, Sunghoon," he sneers, his voice dripping with contempt. "You may think you're some kind of skating hero, but in reality, you're just riding on your fame from that pretty face of yours."

Sunghoon's eyes flash with anger, his composure slipping as Minhee's words hit their mark. "And you're just a bitter, talentless wannabe who's jealous of anyone with actual skill," he fires back, his tone harsh. "You're so desperate to tear others down because you know you'll never make it on your own merits."

That didn’t just sting Minhee, but it struck you too with a horrible taste in your mouth. It’s one thing to make jabs at your brother, but you refuse for anyone to question his abilities, especially given all the challenges he's already faced.

“Sunghoon, enough,” You almost hiss at him, coming to your brother's defence like you always have, “Don’t talk to him like that, got it?” The look in his eyes softens momentarily, a flicker of remorse crossing his features.

"Got it," he retorts, his tone sharp, however, there's a subtle glimmer of sincerity in his eyes, a silent apology meant for you alone, hidden behind the facade of bravado. His eyes glance to Minhee, "Wouldn't want to upset big brother, now would we?"

“Y/N, go sit down, don’t involve yourself in this,” Minhee pushes you to the side lightly, standing toe-to-toe with Sunghoon now, “Don’t get in my way, Park,” Minhee threatens him. You shift your eyes to see Sunghoon’s expression, but it remains stoic.

Mavouvering himself around you, his hand swipes your back before grabbing your left hand and softly caressing it before leaning down to whisper, “Sorry, Sweets,” It’s a blink and you’ll miss it moment which you’re glad for as you see Minhee show no reaction. Sunghoon is far too lax about you both around your brother.

You watch him leave and his eyes go back to yours, showing you his begrudgement towards Minhee and also his regret towards putting you in an uncomfortable situation. You want to let it slide but Minhee didn’t deserve to be talked down to like that.

Then again, neither did Sunghoon.

“You need to learn to get along with him, Mini. You’re both making this whole arena toxic.” You say quietly, still staring at Sunghoon.

“But-”

“No buts, Minhee. Just ignore him,” You interject before he can hit you with an excuse as to why he needs to stand his ground or some bullshit like that.

As the tension eases, Minhee finally nods in reluctant agreement, his shoulders sagging with resignation. "Fine," he concedes, though his tone carries a hint of defiance, “But if he starts something-”

“Yeah, yeah,” You willingly dismiss him, “I’m going to go grab something from the vending machine, do you want one of those naked bars for when you’ve finished?” You ask, diverting the conversation from Sunghoon. Your mixed feelings towards the boy and situation are sitting too close to the surface that if Minhee kept poking at it, you might reveal something you don’t want to, or defend him a little too much to the point Minhee will get suspicious and start asking questions.

Minhee’s whole manner changes, “Yes, please! The orange one though,” He pats your shoulder, “I’ll see you when I’m finished, Bubs,” Pushing your head softly in brotherly affection, Minhee darts to the changing rooms, waving you off.

As he disappears, you walk back to the foyer and head for the vending machine. It’s not got much, healthy options for everything and no fun sweet treats for you but you don’t expect anything less considering you’re in a place that hosts athletes.

Punching in the numbers, you feel arms wrap around your waist, the warmth of Sunghoon's embrace sending a shiver down your spine, "What are we eating?" his voice, velvety smooth, whispers deliciously behind your ear, momentarily distracting you from the turmoil within.

"WE are not eating anything," you reply curtly, shrugging him off as you hit your bank card on the contactless machine to pay for the snack.

"Sweets, I'm sorry I said all that, your brother just pushes my buttons," Sunghoon's voice carries a note of sincerity, tinged with lingering anger. His apology hangs in the air, mingling with the hum of the vending machine and the soft rustle of people passing by.

You exhale slowly, "I appreciate the apology," you murmur, trying not to break, "But you can't keep lashing out like that, especially at Minhee."

Nodding, he grabs the snack as it falls from its shelf, handing it to you, “Let me make it up to you, yeah? After this do you want to grab a coffee…maybe come back to mine,” He leans down so his face is level with yours, “I’ll make it a real good apology.”

Swallowing hard, you try to stuff down the urge to pull him in and kiss him right there, especially as you see his tongue swipe along his bottom lip. Your eyes are hungry for more than anything in that vending machine could give him.

But this is your chance to put things back in their natural state.

Your chance to respect Minhee’s wishes.

“Look, yesterday was a mistake,” you turn back to the machine, feigning contemplation as you pretend to choose something for yourself.

Sunghoon's gaze burns into the side of your head, his eyes boring into you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle with discomfort. His confusion is palpable, evident in the furrow of his brow and the slight downturn of his lips, “You aren’t seriously that mad because I was a tiny bit mean to Minhee?”

Ignoring the fact that Sunghoon is slightly blind to his earlier hurtful words, downplaying it by saying he was a 'tiny bit mean', you shrug, "It was just a bit of fun, Sunghoon," you offer, your voice laced with forced nonchalance as you try to downplay the gravity of yesterday's events but even to your own ears, the words sound hollow, lacking conviction.

Sunghoon scoffs, his tongue running along the inside of his cheek in a gesture of frustration, “Yeah it was fun, so why can’t we have more fun?”

His persistence was annoying you a little but only because there’s only so long you can stare at the bottles on Lucozade Sport and swallow your true feelings, “There’s really no need to continue this, Sunghoon. It’s not like we like one another,” the words sting as they escape your lips.

You don’t see it but you can feel Sunghoon’s body buckle a little, unsure how to take your words, “You don’t like me because you genuinely don’t, or you’re so far up your brother’s ass you can’t see past disappointing him?”

Sunghoon regrets his choice of words as soon as they’re spoken. He knows how much you both mean to one another and how you value your relationship with him but he’s so frustrated that your brain is overworking itself into a tizzy rather than understanding how irrational you’re being by dismissing him so easily.

Little does he know you’re only following Minhee’s orders, making his accusation hurt just a little too deeply.

You aren’t scared of disappointing Minhee, you’re scared it’ll break your sibling bond altogether. It’s complicated, only you and your brother know the loyalty you both have to one another. You’re all each other has.

“Sunghoon,” you turn around to face him, “I’m not doing this for Minhee, I’m doing this because I want to.”

Lies.

If Minhee hadn’t caught you coming out of Sunghoon’s car and warned you not to start a relationship with him, you might have reacted completely differently. But now, with your brother’s words echoing in your mind like a haunting ghost, you feel trapped in a web of conflicting desires and obligations.

Exasperation rushes across Sunghoon's face, yet beneath his hard exterior is a touch of despair. He's trying to make hide how much this is hurting him.

Swallowing his sadness, he speaks, "Suit yourself," his voice sour and sorrowful, not doing a great job at convincing you he doesn't care, "But you know deep down you're making a mistake."

With that, he strides away, leaving you standing there, grappling with his words. Despite his outward composure, you know he's wounded.

Part of you longs to call out to him, to chase after him and erase the distance that now stretches between you, and the one you created because you know he’s right.

But another part, the part that listens to Minhee's cautionary words and heeds the warning in his eyes, holds you back, anchoring you to the spot with invisible chains.

This was good. This is what you should do. This is right. Minhee told you so, he’s protecting you, that’s what he said. Trust Minhee. You chant these sentences like a mantra in your head, trying oh so hard to convince yourself you haven’t made the wrong choice.

As Sunghoon disappears from view, you can't shake the feeling that you've lost something precious, something irreplaceable.

taglist: @heelee-01 @zerasari @beomgyusonlywife @iwaplant @monstanctiny21 @chiiiiiiiiis @minniejenseo @run2gyuz @jngwnlvs @haelahoops @capri-cuntz @nctislifue @jaehoonii @weyukinluv @skzenhalove @enhypenlovre @cherriruto @bambangan @who-tf-soddhi @nxzz-skz @nshmrarki @hotsforikeu @enhastolemyheart

#enhypen smut #enha smut #enhypen x reader #enha x reader #sunghoon smut #park sunghoon smut #sunghoon x reader #melting point #aj writes #enhypen angst #enha angst

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gojonanami · 7 months

Text

GOT YOU - SATORU GOJO

☆ summary: satoru finally found you -- and he's not going to let you go this time. (in other words, feral dub gojo had me by the throat). ☆ cw: 18+ only, dead dove, do not eat, smut, yandere!gojo, non/con (at the start), dub/con, mentions of noncon masturbation w/ clothes/in bed, manipulation, gaslighting, light choking, degradation (slut, whore), fingering (f!receiving), panty sniffing, oral (f!receiving), breeding kink, cumplay (slightly), multiple orgasms. ☆ wc: 3,132

“Got you,” a familiar voice hums in your ear, and the floor was yanked from under you - mentally and physically, because now you were pinned to the floor, looking up at the same blue eyes you had prayed you would never see again, “miss me sweetheart?”

And he knew the answer from the wide eyes and trembling lips, but that only made him all the more eager. He leans down, pressing his lips to your soft cheek, “come on, baby, not even a hello? I’d even settle for a kiss or a smile,” he pouts, feeling your hands squirm under his grasp, as he straddled you, “trying to wave hello? Thought we were closer than that,” he hums, “don’t I deserve a warmer welcome, after all the effort I took to find you? To wait here all day for you,”

You swallow the bile rising in your throat, harsh and bitter, as bitter as the words you wished to scream at him - but you know that would get you nowhere, “how about you let me go, and I’ll give you the welcome you deserve?” And the quaver in your voice isn’t what gives you away, he knows you all too well, and you know he won’t let you go that easy.

“Aw baby, I'd love to believe you,” he sighs dramatically, “but after I lost you for two years, I can’t risk you slipping away again,” he noses your neck, inhaling deeply, “I had to have such patience over the last few weeks, had to make sure you hadn’t picked up on my presence, and you didn’t,” he grins, as he traces a finger down your jaw, “you know how hard it was? I spent so many mornings in your bed after you went to work, slept in it, still warm from your body, and I could smell you,” his lips curled into a smile that would have been so gorgeous, if it weren’t terrifying, “made me so needy for you baby, I had to relieve myself,” he admits with a sigh, “luckily, your hamper was full of clothes with your scent, and in your bed, it made it even easier,”

And your stomach twisted at the thought of him touching himself in your bed — and oh god, with what clothes?

His thumb brushes against the length of your cheek, “why did you run from me, baby?” and you’re silent — he knows why you ran.

Satoru Gojo was perfect when he was your best friend — the perfect shoulder to cry on when one of your crushes didn’t work out, when a job prospect didn’t pan out, or a friend had hurt your feelings. What you didn’t know was he was the reason none of these crushes ever had worked out, why a job prospect that took you too far from him didn’t hire you, and why these friends who hurt your feelings and took up too much of your time had left shortly after. But to you, he was your savior, his compassion limitless, his patience infinite — and so you fell for him, just as he knew you would. It was a drunken kiss one night when he knew you were vulnerable, when he knew that your feelings for him were so close to the surface, you couldn’t help but kiss him. And kissing lead to a confession, and then the two of you were together.

It was perfect — for a while.

Soon, you couldn’t deal with his jealousy — over coworkers, friends, even your family, and with his controlling tendencies — he wanted you to spend every waking moment with him, he even wanted you to quit your job, to let him take care of you, and you couldn’t handle his constant suspicion — the constant questions of where you were (even when you had told him) and the accusations that came along with them.

So you tried to break it off — tried. The first few times, Satoru sweet talked his way back into your heart — and your bed — with false promises and sweet kisses. But that soon wore old when his promises remained broken and his kisses left you with a bitter taste in your mouth. And when you tried to leave for good once — your bags packed — he had grabbed you, held you down, and stared at you with the same paralyzing look he gave you now, lips twisted into a smile you had never seen before, as he whispered the same two words he said when he greeted you now, “Got you,” and then he added, “and I’m never letting you go.”

“Are you going to answer?” the present Satoru snaps you back to reality with a gentle hand around your throat, his thumb running over the hollow, before he kisses it, “or should I make you?”

“Satoru, please, stop—”

“That’s what you always say, baby,” he rolls his eyes, as if he was exasperated, “and then you always end up under me, begging for more,” and he squeezes your throat lightly, “nothing but a little slut, aren’t you?” and you gasp, as he loosens his grip again, “have you whored yourself out to any of those men at work?” and he’s grazing his teeth against your jawline, “if I leave a mark, that should keep them away, right? They’ll know you have a loving boyfriend — one who’s not afraid to claim what’s his,” and he’s smiling again, “now, tell me, have you slept with anyone else?”

And you don’t want to answer — the answer’s no, you hadn’t, but you didn’t know whether that would make it worse or better. But his hand around your throat tells you, you don’t have a choice.

“No, I haven’t,” you confess — and his smug grin only serves to irritate you, as he sighs far too contently, parting your legs as he moves to settle between them, “please don't—”

“I have to check, don’t I, princess?” he murmurs, and his hand is drifting up your tight skirt, “such a slutty skirt for someone who hasn’t been sleeping around. Did you wear it just for me?” and he’s raising a brow, as his fingers roll your skirt higher, fabric straining as he did, “well, I don’t want you wearing it for anyone else, so—“ and the fabric tears apart, your legs jumping as he does, and his lips press to your knee, “there’s my perfect baby,”

Your hands are free as his hands busy themselves with spreading your leg, inhaling your scent, as his fingers trail up your inner thighs. Your hands are trying to push him away, kicking your legs helplessly, but he’s got them under his grasp. Fingers pressing into the soft flesh a little too hard, and you know he’s going to leave bruises at some point or another.

“C’mon baby, don’t be like that,” he hums when he finds a wet spot on your underwear, “look, you’re already ruining your underwear, and I’ve barely even started — you’ve been wanting this too,” and your hand finds his face, trying and failing to push him away, but he only licks the space between your fingers, “now be a good girl for me or I’ll make you,” the last words a growl, “and you don’t want me to do that,” but he feels you grow more damp with your slick as his fingers press against your clit through your underwear, “or maybe you do.”

“Satoru, please don’t do this,” you’re begging, but his crystalline gaze only grows more cold, as his lips curl as he sees hot, fat tears well in your eyes, “just let me go, I won’t run. I just don’t-“

“C’mon now, what’s wrong? How could I ever let you go?” He coos, as he watches the first tear roll down your cheek, as he leans down and tastes it, “I need you, baby, and now that I got you,” his two fingers sneak into the elastic of your underwear, snapping it against your skin, “I’ll never let you leave my sight again,”

You flinch from his touch, squirming underneath him, “Please, I-I’ll do anything, just don’t—“ and his thumb pressed against your lips, as his lidded eyes and smirk only draw nearer.

“Don’t be like that, sweetheart, don’t you remember? You asked for this — you made me promise to never leave you,” twisting the words you had muttered to him that drunken night, whispered after your first kiss with him and now he purred them as he bent down, breath warming your lips, as he tilted your chin up, “and I always keep my promises,”

“Now tell me,” he smiles that same smile that had caught your heart, “tell me you want this,” he’s nibbling at your neck, and you’re melting into his touch — and he knows you’re so close to submission, “tell me, baby,”

And you can’t stop the words from leaving your mouth, your body burning from his touch, “I want you,”

His lips curl into a wide grin, teeth flashing.

He kisses you, lips sliding against yours, and your lips shut even as his tongue tried to slip inside. And he bites your bottom lip, drawing a delicious gasp from your lips, and his tongue plunges in, as you moan, boneless and helpless.

And his hands slide down your sides, teasing the hem of your shirt, “Fuck, baby, I’m addicted to you — you taste so good,” and he’s tugging your shirt over your head, as his lips attach themselves to your jaw. You whimper as his teeth draw marks along your jaw, before trailing a path down your neck, kissing the hollow of your throat, before leaning down to the swell of your breasts right above your bra.

His fingers press against your soaked panties, the fabric doing little to prevent the full force of his touch, thick and mean fingers rubbing harsh circles against your clit, “Too fast,” you whine, back arching against the rough carpet of your living room, “too much,” your mouth falling cutely open and eyelashes fluttering, as your slick leaks through the thin material making his fingers grow sticky.

“But your pretty cunt doesn’t agree, sweetheart,” he reaches around and unclasps your bra and tosses it aside, his teeth grazing your nipple before sucking, a grunt leaving your throat, heat blooming a trail down between your legs, “it wants me to fill you — fill you like you deserve,” and he’s pulling your panties down your thighs and then pulls them to his nose, “so fucking sweet,” and he’s pocketing them for later use — your cum not going to be the only thing staining it later.

And he’s slipping down your body, kissing down your breasts, mouthing each nipple, before placing wet kisses between the valley of your chest, and down your stomach, pausing to slip his tongue into your bellybutton to make you gasp, as he hums against your skin.

“Been dreaming of tasting this sweet pussy,” he sighs dreamily, as he settles between your thighs, his large hands spreading you open for him, fingers spreading your dripping folds, making you clench around nothing, before, not one, but two fingers slip inside with ease, making you choke on air, as he steadily begins to fuck you open, “you sure you haven’t whored yourself out baby, or do you just want my cock that badly?” and he tuts, “nah, can’t be. You’re too tight, so fucking gorgeous,”

And you swallow thickly, hating the way his words make your resolve buckle — want seeping through the cracks, leaving only need behind — why were you weak for him like this? He knew you too well — knew where to touch, knew what to say to make you lose all sense, and he knew he could.

And he would do it too.

Soon enough, he’s pulling his digits from you, only the tips pressed inside as he spreads you, his mouth leaning do to press a sloppy kiss to your weeping cunt, “this pretty thing was made f’me, wasn’t it, princess?” and his hot tongue dragging your release up and down your pussy, before his fingers sink again for a hot minute, deeper than they had until they find that spot that has you seeing stars, making you moan louder, “Ah, this is where you’re weak, right, pretty baby?” And his mouth latches to your clit, sucking as his fingers bully your walls, “fuck, you’re so wet f’me, practically leaking all over your carpet, now what will your guests think?” he hums, a grin on his lips, “maybe after I fuck you, I’ll make you lick it all up f’me, clean up your mess,”

And his words drive you over the edge, making you cum all over his fingers, your slick slipping onto his palm, as he pulls his fingers from you as you moan wantonly, his tongue darting out to lick and clean his fingers clean, pressing his digits into his mouth, “Still the sweetest thing I’ve tasted, baby,” and he’s parting you again with the tips of his fingers, before his tongue slips in.

And his tongue parts your cunt, beginning to fuck you in earnest now, as his jaw aches as he does, hot and warm muscle reaching depths you didn’t know were possible. He’s licking, prodding, and sucking, and your soft grunts and moans only made him even harder, straining in his pants, “g’nna make me cum in my pants baby from your taste and sounds alone,” and you’re already so close, too close — your first orgasm making you so sensitive, but right as you give that telltale clench, he’s pulling away a moment, to watch your chest rise and fall with half lidded eyes glazed over with lust, pretty, pretty cunt quivering from the lack of sensation, and a long whine leaving your lips.

“Want you to cum on my cock this time, baby, not in my mouth,” he says, lips and chin glossy with your slick, “we have time for that later,” and now you’re growing desparate as he just watches you, cleaning up your release from his mouth, tongue darting out to lick what he could, before using the back of his hand to wipe away what he couldn’t.

And the plea leaves your mouth before you realize it, “Please,” you swallow thickly, your words weak and broken, “Satoru, please,”

“Please, what?” he teases, as he pulls his shirt cover his head, your eyes raking over his abs and lingering on the v-line as his sweatpants rode low, doing very little to hide the large bulge that your eyes were glued to, “want me to split you open with my cock?” and he wanted nothing more, as he slips his pants and boxers off with ease, his dick nearly slapping against his stomach as he did, a pearly white bead of pre-cum resting on the flushed red tip, his hand grasping it, as he pumped it slowly to spread his release, “gonna have to use your words baby, don’t care if they’ve been fucked out of that little brain of yours,”

You pout so beautifully, bottom lip quivering, all of your resistance and fear eroded away by lust and need, “I want you, need you to fuck me, please, Toru,” you squirm, thighs parting for him, “need you inside me, please,”

It doesn’t take more than a second before the tip of his dick is pressed to your folds, “Look at you now, baby — you were begging me to leave, and now you’re begging for this cock,” and you’re moaning as he feeds your insides his dick, inch by inch, “fuck, practically swallowing me up — want to be fucked that bad baby?” And finally he’s inside you, fully seated in your sweet cunt, “or maybe, you want me to fuck a baby into you? Want me to breed this pretty pussy, sweetheart? Make me a daddy?”

And he’s starts to fuck you, hips snapping against yours — and he was unrelenting in his pace, cock breaching and bullying your insides, brushing against your sweet spot again and again. Your teeth bared down on your bottom lip, trying to hold back your noises, but he can’t have that, can he?

His thumb pulls at your bottom lip, “Wanna hear every pretty sound, sweetheart, wanna hear you scream my name as I fuck you,” and he begins to fuck you even harder, hips slapping against you, the lewd sounds of your pussy squelching from his cock, your sweet moans of his names, and lust glazed over gaze was almost too much for him.

But it only made him more desperate to fuck you harder, until all you could feel was him between your legs for the next month, as he grabbed your legs and placed them over his shoulders, making himself sink even deeper, deeper, deeper.

And it was too much, too much for you, as you came around his cock for the first time in two years, and god, it was the most beautiful thing Satoru had seen. Your mouth parted in ecstasy as your release slicked up his cock, as he fucked your cum back into you, as your princess cunt clamped down on him hard, again and again.

You were moaning his name again and again, the only word you knew now, mouth parted open as he fucked you through your orgasm, “Yeah, baby, cum on my cock, pretty pussy was made just for that. Gonna make you cum again and again, until you can’t live without my cock between your legs. You’d like that, huh? Make you walk around with my cum inside you, even when I get you pregnant, I’ll fuck you again and again, until you’re leaking with me.”

And you’re just moaning, nodding and broken, lost to the pleasure, as he grits his teeth, cock twitching at the sight before him, watching his dick slip in and out of you, a white ring of your release around the base of his cock.

It wasn’t much longer, until he notched his cock as deep as he could, holding himself as he gave only shallow thrusts, his hot release pumping into you, continuing to fuck it deeper, “gotta make sure it sticks, don’t we, sweetheart” he murmurs with a smile, as he captures your lips in a kiss, cock still stuffed inside of you, “can’t let you get away from me now. It’d be much harder with a baby, won’t it?”

And he’s easing himself out, groaning as he watches your mixed releases beginning to trickle out as the tip of his cock slaps against your weeping cunt. He pools the cum on his fingers, pushing it back in, making you flinch and moan, utterly blissed out, eyes fluttering as you gazed up at him.

He only smiles the same way he always did, “Don’t worry sweetheart, I got you.”

☆ a/n: i usually don't write things like this (i.e. non/con), but the dub feral gojo lines lived rent free in my head, until i wrote this (they still do, it's fine) I also don't post fics this often, but I am writing a lot of fics.

☆ tag list: @d1rtv, @crazynocturnalkiki, @ichikanu, @dazailover1900, @sinnerstardoll, @bisexualpanicwentoutforasmoke, @dumbabie, @aureatekintsugi, @mooly-artistic, @miss-nightray

#satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #satoru gojo fanfiction #jjk smut #satoru smut #gojo smut #gojo x reader smut #gojo x female reader #gojo satoru smut #yandere!gojo #yandere satoru gojo #yandere x reader

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devilmademewriteit · 1 year

Text

Playing Dangerous

part 2 of Salvatore

pairing: javier peña x afab!fem!reader

summary: sure, the fact that he’d schemed up an entire, elaborate ruse to get between your legs was upsetting. more upsetting was the fact that he refused to fess up, insisting that you needed to be protected (or at the very least—cautious) because your life was in ‘grave danger.’ most upsetting, however? that would be the fact that through it all and above everything else, you still wanted him—badly.

warnings: rough sex/smut (fingering, fem penetration, oral [m receiving]) so 18+ only content; afab fem reader; mentions of reader having long hair; bratty!reader; brat-tamer!javi; alcohol consumption; smoking; pet names (baby, sweetheart, cariño, hermosa); some angst; dubcon (slight intoxication, power imbalance, age gap).

word count: 10.7k (sorry again)

no use of y/n in this fic

hello here is part twooooo! thank you for all the love on Salvatore I absolutely love all of you so much. you don't rly need to read p1 to enjoy this, just know that: reader is the ambassador's secretary and is an asshole, Javi is also an asshole, they fucked for the first time a few days ago b/c he took her home after someone seemed to be after her life.

don’t forget to join the taglist if you’re nasty; feedback, asks, comments, smoke signals and carrier pigeons always welcome. kisses. -em<3

—

read part 3, Dark Paradise, here.

—

Let’s get in the back of your cop car, officer! - Playing Dangerous

“I am not speaking to you.”

Murphy’s eyes come alive with exasperation, a striking shift from their usual half-asleep, perpetually vacant gawp. Not quite at the point of impatience yet, his voice is soft when he responds.

“Please.”

You lean back in your chair, crossing your arms. An impassive sneer makes its way onto your expression.

Not a fucking chance.

Not only were you not planning on ever doing Steve Murphy—and especially, his asshole partner—even the smallest of favours throughout your remaining time on this godforsaken planet, you’d come to the conclusion (quite recently, in fact) that you’d rather dance barefoot on broken glass than be in the same room as either member of the pair.

And it was a shame, really.

After that (now regrettable, once incredible) night at Peña’s place, everything had been fine.

More than fine. Not even awkward.

For a glorious moment, waking up next to him, ruined and sore and bruised and satisfied, sharing a morning coffee and then a ride to work—peace (and the planted seeds of something else, too) had finally settled across the worn-in battlegrounds between you, solid roots spreading with each passing second spent not bickering. For crying out loud, when he’d gotten called away to Bogotá that very same day, you’d put yourself to work keeping his place clean, going so far as to anticipate his return.

Everything had been fine.

Until, of course, you’d gotten the old Chevy serviced.

“Car’s running fine, señorita. Put that missing part back, s’good to go.”

“Missing part?”

“The spark plug—wasn’t in there when we looked.”

And the missing pieces fell into place.

How he’d waltzed into your car earlier on in the day, running his fingers along the hard, hot plastic of the dash—analyzing, observing, and finally commenting on your shitty engine. Then, he’d been conveniently there, waiting for you in the middle of the night, watching you wrestle your hood open in the parking lot after work. Hell, he took you to his place after he’d told you he'd seen a shady truck parked in front of yours… and you’d trusted him.

Without bothering to check for yourself, you’d trusted him.

You had to hand it to the man; it was a clever plan. Wear you down during the day only to corner you while alone, vulnerable, and at night, with no possible avenues for escape.

All to get inside your pants.

God.

Murphy huffs, bringing you back down to Earth. “Listen,” he rubs his temples, exhaustion weighing down the curves of shoulders, “We just want to make sure you’re safe. You don’t have to stay with him, either; Connie—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” you snap, narrowing your eyes in full view of his own. “I keep wondering, though... seeing as you're… thick as thieves, these days,” you lean forward over your desk, studying his swallow. “Was it you that shot off that gun? Or did he get someone else to participate in his little scheme?”

The agent tilts his head to the side, putting on the air of a wordless 'really, sweetheart?' before launching into a recitation of a sorely well-versed explanation.

But you cut him off, unforgiving in your suspicion. “Don’t bother, alright? Even if I did believe that, what, some 'cartel sicario'—” you emphasize the ridiculousness of the statement by tossing up a couple of well-timed air quotes “—was after me…?” and then you’re gesturing wildly to yourself, fingertips pointed straight to your heart. “I would rather die—really, seriously, die—than step foot into your home—or-or fucking Peña’s—Ever. Again.”

The mounting ire behind your breathless rambling finally wears him down; he surrenders his complexion to a look of genuine defeat. His arms drop to his sides, heavy and limp.

As you try to appear busy, fidgeting with the scattered papers and documents lying listlessly across your desk, Murphy turns on his heels, stooping toward the exit.

For a brief moment, he hesitates, coming to a slow halt halfway down his holy pilgrimage of freeing you from his fucking presence.

“Did you…” and he briefly trails off, anticipating your wrath with a wince. “Did you fill out that form?”

Irritation clouds your thoughts. Its manifestations in your body feel almost violent.

“What do you think, genius?”

You scare yourself with the aggression underpinning each and every word.

Inside the safety of your mind, your inner dialogue treats him even worse.

Go, motherfucker. Go, go, go, go, go or I’ll tear us both apart, I’ll explode, I’ll—

You hope that it’s Luck listening to your prayers (and not God), because as soon as your brain has time to register the nature of your wicked, near sacrilegious thoughts toward the man, Murphy’s yellow-dusted crown is drooping down in eventual resignation, leading the way as he trudges back to his corner.

A relief.

A short lived one.

Too short.

Because…

Well, because those fucking memories won’t stop replaying inside your mind, etched like crude Botticellis on the backs of your eyelids.

Overlaying the non-stop highlight reel of a vicious fight with Peña, just that morning—

“Well, I didn’t see a car. What I saw was you, whipping me over to your fuck-pad—and now? I see your whole... fucking masterplan to get me into bed.”

“You’re talking fuckin’ crazy. There’s no pussy in the world that’s worth pulling all that.”

—are flashes of his bare, glistening chest, an almost tangible haze of longing obscuring his eyes. You’d taken him in your mouth; you’d felt him all over: against you, with you, inside you.

And when you’re not seeing him, you’re forced to hear him, over and over and over again.

“You fuckin’ sing for me when you’re comin’ on my cock.”

So, you push certain memories away by calling on certain others, repeating every cruel word you’d ever exchanged with each other like a mantra, an affirmation.

They remind you of the man that Javier Peña truly was.

“You are the worst person I’ve ever had the shit-luck of meeting, Peña.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not too crazy about you, either. Got some serious growin’ up to do, sweetheart.”

A loud snap wrenches you back to your senses. You unfurl your fingers to reveal the broken remnants of a poor, innocent pencil you’d been white-knuckle-death-gripping.

What really had you ticking was that, after you’d hurled accusations and insults at him for the better part of an hour—totally monopolizing the space of the familiar, dusty old filing room—he’d had the nerve to continue on with his little act.

“You don’t have to stay with me—”

And his voice had been coated in poison, laced with the kind of fiery contempt that surely only a guilty man could achieve.

“—but do me a favour and just don’t be a fuckin’ idiot. It’s shit work, hiring new secretaries.”

He hadn’t waited around for an answer, leaving you alone with his final words and a mountain of your own unsaid ones.

So, you’d hissed a “fuck off” to the lingering ghost of his presence in the room, trying, in vain, to slow your shallow breaths.

You heave a sigh, forehead dropping to lay heavy against the desk.

If only you could take your brain out for the day. If only you could run it under cold water. Better yet, if only you could scrub it clean with bleach, put it in the dishwasher, run it with the damn laundry—anything to make it shiny and new and untainted.

Peña was lying.

He had to be lying.

What kind of shit sicario goes after secretaries who, beyond not knowing what they’re supposed to know about, don’t care enough to actually retain any of it?

Not a good sicario. Definitely not one who would still be alive in Medellìn, today.

It was all bullshit.

You weren’t the kind of person who attended work parties.

They always ran excruciatingly long. On top of that, you had to watch traumatized coworkers drink. A lot. Then, there was, of course, after-hours work-talk.

None of that had ever screamed 'best night ever!' to you.

Tonight, however, you hadn’t been given a choice: the ambassador had needed 'someone there, you know, just in case work stuff comes up’ which really meant that she was banking on you to give her a ride home at the end of the night.

Like that was happening. She hadn't been pleased when you'd made it clear to her that you were out of commission, off-the-clock, done-zo starting at fifteen to ten. You'd hoped that, at that point, she would've rescinded her original request.

She hadn't.

Still, Noonan had spent the week being remarkably kind to you—maybe her invitation was her (deeply misguided) way of trying to make up for the shit-storm she’d watched you face over past few days (whether she believed Peña’s dystopian, hitman fantasy was uncertain; either way, she’d witnessed your torment at his hands, and both realities seemed equally as emotionally taxing).

Despite all the hints you’d dropped about wanting the night off, she either hadn’t noticed, hadn’t cared, or thought you were just trying to be polite.

Come on.

She’d been your boss long enough to know there was no chance of you pussy-footing around out of politeness.

The event was meant to commemorate some big accomplishment—a narco sting gone right (or else, some big narco boss gone six-feet-under). The reason behind the festivities wasn’t of any importance to you—getting through the next few hours as quickly and as painlessly as possible took up all of the remaining (albeit limited) space in your head.

Because, afterwards? You were going out.

A good friend’s bachelorette, a shit-ton of dark tequila, and the warm lips of a total stranger.

God, you needed that. Every intimate spot on your body was in desperate need of a cleanse. Your tongue, the soft skin between your thighs, the peach-fuzz on your cheeks…

They remembered him.

They made sure you couldn’t forget him.

About half-way through serving your sentence in regulatory purgatory, someone turns on the stereo. A Queen song—the one that everyone knows. You’re looking around, trying to locate the source of the sound.

It’s mostly administrative and political bodies crowding up the office's stuffy foyer. There’s an odd clink of glass meeting glass whenever someone new walks in, or else when a deal’s finally graduated beyond the negotiation stage.

It’s too highbrow, too boring and white-collar for restless DEA agents, you remind yourself.

Slowly, slowly the hours trickle by.

The music helps—every Diaz song has the minutes moving double-time.

And after what feels like centuries of excruciating small-talk, of brushing off endless, casual condescension, of staring at the clock hanging off the wall, finally, it’s time to go.

First, a last minute change (you’re not wearing a damn button-up to the bar—it’ll be a tight dress and cute shoes or absolutely nothing at all) and a quick refresher in the bathroom. Then, you’re trailing a bee-line towards the exit with 'home-free' on the tip of your tongue.

Keep your head down. Nod. A chagrined smile to each pair of gawking eyes.

‘Cause soon? You’ll be dancing.

You’re straddling the office doors, left foot in, right foot out when an authoritative voice calls your name from behind.

Christ Almighty.

Turning slowly, you find yourself triangulated between Noonan and…

Fucking Steve Murphy.

That one looks apprehensive. The former?

A bit red in the face.

“Murphy, here,” the ambassador gestures sloppily towards the agent’s uneasy form, “Tells me he needs something. Papers, right? Think we can get that to him before you leave for your… little soirée—what do you say?”

She doesn’t catch it, but he does; your unbridled, aversive stare pierces him right between his eyes. Forcing it down (and oh, does it ever burn your throat) you etch a reluctant smile, nodding wordlessly to your boss.

God, if only money were an object. This damn job would be a short paragraph on your resume, a blip in your timeline on this Earth.

Noonan slaps Murphy on the back, harrumphing as though she’d just solved world hunger. Quickly, she finds someone new to accost (or be accosted by), swept into a different, equally-boring conversation before you can even begin to feel angry at her for putting you into such a… distasteful position.

And you whir on him.

Before the rush of accusations gets a chance to part from your lips, Murphy interrupts you, putting his hands up in mock surrender.

“I didn’t say a thing.” He sounds serious, sincere. “Swear. She came up to me and just… knew all about it.”

You narrow your eyes in suspicion. Nonetheless, your fingernails slowly retreat from their burrows in the skin of your palm.

It’s not because of his earnestness.

No.

It’s because only a serious maniac would flaunt their under-the-table bullshit so publicly, flying it right under the ambassador’s nose. Whatever those records were for (and whatever the reason why Peña and Murphy so badly needed them), it was becoming increasingly clear that they were not intended to land in either of their hands.

Murphy hadn’t been nervous because of you. He’d been nervous because of her. A little less drink, a bit more curiosity, and Noonan would've been privy to whatever it was that the pair was up to.

“Fine.”

He exhales, shoulders relaxing, dropping like stones with the release.

Without another word, you make your way down the hall, charging toward the alcove harboring your desk. Murphy trails behind, five feet back at all times like a recently-scolded school-child.

Good.

It takes a few, long minutes to get the job done.

He waits around anxiously, fiddling with your stationary (until you slap his hand away from your beloved pens and planners) and pacing around the room.

When it's done, you don’t read the form, you don’t investigate. The less you know, the better.

And frankly?

You couldn’t give less of a shit.

As the papers slide out of the printer, you warn him: “You’re gonna need a signature from their side, you know. I can only get you so far.”

He nods, taking the precious sheets in hand. “Think we got that side covered.” Then, he’s reading them over, checking to make sure everything's in order. You stand with your hand on your hip, waiting impatiently for his goddamn approval. After an eternity (really—by the end of it you’re genuinely wondering whether the man should get tested for dyslexia), Murphy hums in satisfaction, giving you an awkward, “Thanks, again.”

You scoff, crossing your arms over your half-exposed chest.

Didn’t even thank me a first time, asshole.

He spins around, aiming for the exit, when another body appears before him.

And the man stops Murphy in his tracks, deep-brown eyes trailing down to the packet of papers cradled between his partner's hands.

“Noonan came through, then.”

It’s all he says.

Your nostrils flare.

The skin on your face positively burns.

Of course it had been him. He was probably the entire reason behind the ambassador’s unusual tipsyness, too. Hell, he’d probably fed her Prosecco and half-compliments ‘til she’d been more than happy to do him a million favours.

Wasn’t that his M.O., anyways? ‘Get ‘em drunk and get my way?’

Three comfortable, familiar words find themselves sliding—easily—off your tongue.

“Fuck off, Peña.”

You surprise yourself with the cruelty of your tone, the biting emphasis of each word.

He settles his onyx eyes on you. They glaze over with hunger, with amusement, with danger.

Fuck.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, sweetheart—I will in a minute,” and he nods at his partner, effectively dismissing him.

Murphy hesitates, eyes jumping between the stand-off taking place before him. Likely, he was trying to decide which one of you was going to murder the other first.

Finally, with his beloved form tucked under his arm, Murphy heaves a sigh of resignation, and then he’s gone.

Leaving you alone with Peña.

The corners of his lips pull back into an arrogant smirk as his eyes rake over your body—done up, dressed down, and positively fuming in your little kitten heels.

“You look hot.”

It’s all he says.

Some girls would’ve killed to hear those words from him. You’d spent years watching their eyes trail his movements in the office, listening to their puling voices—'is Javi there?'—over the phone.

But it just makes you want to scream.

Fearing the actual possibility of that coming to fruition, you keep your mouth sealed shut. Tight.

Silence won’t do for Peña.

“What’d you tell me, once?” He muses softly, making his way towards your desk. “Somethin’ about this place not bein’ a… a what’d you call it? A brothel?”

Dog.

He yanks a retort from your lips as if he had full command over them. “I’m going out, asshole.”

His face twitches ever-so-slightly, just enough for you to catch the hint of emotion. Then, it’s gone.

“No, you’re not.”

Casual as ever, he does that thing: runs a finger from the corner of his bottom lip down the length of it, looks up at you through thick, dark eyebrows.

You bristle at the sheer, unwinding effect it has on you.

“Yes, I am.”

He raps his knuckles against the desk in irritation; nevertheless, his voice is soft, imploring as he persists. “C’mon, baby. I need you to listen to me, right now. It’s..." and he undresses you with a mere look, "It's not a good time for you to be goin’ to those kinds of places.”

Just like any other man.

Probably, Peña’s ego was so over-inflated that the mere thought of any of his conquests colluding with another man had him on the brink of spontaneous combustion.

Because God forbid you fuck anyone else.

God forbid you even think of touching anyone else.

And this strange, uncharacteristic possessiveness, this… need for control—it was wearing extremely thin.

The man had zero authority over you. He certainly didn’t get to preside over the choices you made during your free time.

“Don’t call me baby, Peña—I’m not your baby.” The snapped retort makes you sound so young, to the point where, for a moment, you understand why the agent had called you a brat so many times that one, fateful night.

Still, you soldier on, focussed on freeing yourself from yet another one of the evening's grueling set-backs. “And I’m not gonna ‘listen to you’ just ‘cause you think you’ve got some sort of… machismo claim over me.”

A deft muscle in his jaw tenses. He rounds the desk, moving just a half-foot closer to you; that alone is enough to jump-start your heart, and you’re almost sure he can hear it, jack-hammering away inside your chest. You both know that being the first to step away signified weakness—concession—so you stay put (even when your legs yield to a slight wobble).

And he’s almost crooning. “You can spread those legs for half the country, for all I care, baby.” A condescending look, cast down at you over the bridge of his nose. “Not what this is about.”

Yeah, right.

“Please.” You roll your eyes. “Still working that angle?”

He takes a step forward. “Is it so crazy to think that I could just be tryna look out for you?” Meeting your gaze, he speaks earnestly—pleading through his irritation.

“I don’t need you to ‘look out for me’,” Your back grazes against the ambassador’s doors—you kick yourself internally for having subconsciously conceded to a back-step. “Especially not since the last time I thought that’s what this was?” your fingers gesture wildly between the (lack of) space separating your bodies, “You totally took advantage of me.”

A pause as the agent fluctuates from bafflement to genuine offense.

“Took adv—are you being serious?” he scoffs, shaking the coarse, dark hair on his crown. “I gave you, like, one drink.”

Victory courses through your veins at the sudden, intense flood of irritation marking his tone, the vein popping in his jaw.

Anything to get to him, to make him tick, to scratch that itch.

Dig. Dig. Dig.

A shrug. “Maybe you put something in it.”

His eyebrows jump up, eyes widening with the movement.

Just. So. Close.

“And… you know, I am a lot younger than you—”

“—okay, enough.”

Peña’s growled response has your voice fizzling out into nothingness. Closing what’s left of the distance between you, muscled form looming, he flattens you against the ambassador’s office doors. As one large hand slowly splays out next to your ear, the other comes up to grasp your chin. His fingers wrap around your jawbone, all the way from one ear to the other.

You’re stuck, frozen under the weight of that dominant leer.

“Y’know,” he muses, deep and low, “It’s really fuckin’ obvious what all this is actually about, sweetheart.” Trapped in his glare, you watch his eyes grow dark, his gravelly voice falling into a register you’d never before heard it descend to. And he’s so, so close to you, close enough that you can smell him: that distinct, earthy scent of man that never failed to have your head spinning, your arms weak. “This… highschool bullshit you’ve been pullin’ since I got back… accusin’ me of all kinds of shit—"

You deny yourself the pleasure of looking at his lips when his words withdraw into an almost-whisper.

“Makes you feel real innocent, doesn’t it?

You don’t respond, concentrating on stifling the growing ache in your core, the thump-thump-thumps inside your rib cage, the lump forming in your throat.

A rarity, a miracle, Jesus turning water into wine: words fail you.

“Know what I think, cariño?” His fingernails press into your cheeks, digging soft indents. Not to bruise—

To hold you steady.

To assure himself of his command over your full, devoted attention.

When he finally continues, his smoky breath raises the hairs along your exposed skin.

God, it must be, like, nine-hundred degrees in the room.

“I think”—and he’s toying with you, near-black eyes dancing with amusement—“You’re just embarrassed.”

Leaning in, his lips brush against the ridges of your ear, slow words washing over you in big, heavy waves. “‘Bout how easy it was for me to get between these legs.” Male, calloused fingers ghost over the skin of your thighs, creeping higher and higher up the length of your body.

“Remember how wet you got for me, cariño? Beggin’ me to fuck you so rough?”

And for a brief, suspended moment—

You do.

He leans back enough for you to watch his eyes harden, uttering an “I remember it all, baby,” as his thumb leaves your jaw to trace the highest point of your cheekbone.

And his tone turns to stone.

“Especially when you’re acting like you need a fuckin’ reminder.”

Your cheeks grow red-hot. The ground feels unsteady under your feet—and the spell breaks.

Pig.

“You’re fucking vile, Peña,” you spit, wrenching his grip off your face. “And also, dead wrong.” Slamming into his shoulder, you aim to storm out.

He catches your arm, twisting you back around to face him. “If you go out tonight,” the man near-growls, lecturing down at you like a damn parent, “You’re putting your life and everyone else's on the line.”

You tear your wrist from his fingers, shrugging off his empty warning with a dramatic spin on your heels.

Strutting out, you leave him with a poison-coated, “Say ‘hi’ to the whores for me.”

And you’re gone.

It’s loud. Your feet are sore from dancing in your heels. A different, unfamiliar body is in reach in every possible direction from your own.

It’s perfect.

Five shots in and you still feel like you could take more, if only to forget the exhausting events of the day.

Less than 48 hours ago you’d been prepared—dear God, longing—to hand yourself over to a man you were now quite happy to never see again. With your hands wrapped around a stranger’s neck, you’re determined to cleanse yourself of his lingering traces.

He’s gazing down at you, male, hungry eyes gunning for the taking. Local, you guess, or at the very least South-American. After a daring look, you grab him by the collar, brushing your starved lips against his.

“Want to get out of here?”

The pronunciation isn’t great—but it does the trick. He nods enthusiastically, allowing you to take his hand in your own without hesitation. Too easy. The hard part is weaving through the agitated, bustling crowd with your nameless partner in tow.

It’s reckless. It’s stupid. But God, is it ever necessary.

Escaping your friends at the start of the night had been child’s play, and they could be counted on to be too fucked-up at this hour to notice your absence, anyway.

Good.

Your act of desperation would be remembered solely by its participants.

A gentle evening wind swirls around your tingling body, the day’s heat hanging thick in the air as you step onto the street, the syncopated thumps of Latin music fading unwillingly into the background.

Pivoting abruptly, you flatten yourself against the wall outside, pulling the stranger in close by the fabric of his blue button-up.

“Yours or mine?”

He smirks, gentle lines forming by his golden eyes. Internally, you commend yourself: the catch was quite pretty.

“Here is okay, I think.”

Then, his lips are on yours, parting you open in a sloppy, drunk kiss.

This could work.

His traveling hands already seem to be numbing some of the tension simmering under your skin.

This could work.

His rough kisses overwhelm your senses, slowly filling the hollow ache lodged at the heart of your core.

Please, God—let this work.

Just as a hand reaches up to cradle the back of your neck—

(let this work, let this work, let this work)—

Just as a pleased moan travels from your lungs into his own—

Tires screech against the pavement, slamming you back into your body, wrenching you straight into the dire moment. Tearing your lips from the stranger’s, you peer over his shoulder, eyes widening at the sight of a black Camino screaming to a stop right before you. Time stops; the windows are down, and what you know to be the barrel of a hand-gun pokes out from the backseat.

“Get down!”

Maybe it's in your head (after all, it would make sense for your psyche to summon his voice in a moment so violent); or maybe it's real. Either way, you listen to the command, hitting the ground without any reservations. And those stupid heels—you stumble, face-planting onto the pavement, scraping every exposed part of your body against hot, rough cement.

A cry of terror rips from your throat as the sound of bullets punctuates the warm, summer night—Jesus, it’s louder than anything you’d ever heard before.

Somewhere along the chaos, the pretty stranger from the bar books it down the calle.

Everything happens so fast. A familiar Cherokee veers in the way, separating you from the attackers. The surrounding air becomes rife with lead, a terrified chorus of male and female voices joining the symphony, and you really can’t tell whether the pain in your chest is from the friction of your own harmonizing screams or if it’s bullets tearing through your body. From the ground, you watch your attackers’ vehicle take off down the street, haphazardly parting crowds of cowering civilians in its wake.

When it all stops, it doesn’t really stop.

Violence persists, ringing in your ears like a doomsday clock going off, an A-bomb alarm siren. The echoes are happy to prolong your torment.

The Jeep’s passenger door swings open. You scramble back, scampering down the pavement as adrenaline claims you in never-ending rushes.

“Get inside, now.”

You nearly sob with relief at the familiar voice. It hadn't all been in your head. Jumping up on unstable legs, you lunge into his car, jerking the door shut behind you.

Without sparing a moment, his white-knuckled hands yank the wheel to the side, veering onto a road just off the main strip.

Javier Peña’s never looked so stressed.

“You’re not gonna follow them?” It comes out as a cry, a desperate plea for retribution.

He doesn’t answer.

Which doesn’t stop you.

You want to see them punished for making you feel so helpless, and for the scrapes and bruises decorating your elbows, your knees, your palms.

“Javi,” a begging king of shout, “Why aren’t we following them?”

“‘Cause you’re in the fucking car!”

In the heat of the moment, the cutting edge of his harsh tone doesn’t bother you. If anything, it’s gentle compared to the violent sensations stewing within your body and mind.

“So?”

He takes a sharp right, slamming your side against the Jeep’s hard interior.

“Been in enough…” He grits his teeth, trying to keep his irritation in check, “Compromising situations tonight, alright? Now, just shut up ‘n let me drive.”

You pipe down, not awfully interested in getting yelled at again in your fragile state.

At first, it feels like the full-body trembles wracking your entire being won’t ever cease. And yet, by the grace of God, after a few minutes, the thundering behind your ribcage slowly subsides.

It helps that you’re still a little buzzed.

It especially helps when his driving slows and the streets begin to empty—when the shops and houses become more and more recognizable, when the night grows more and more tame.

You know where he’s headed. The safety of the intended destination has you relaxing, finally level enough to take deep breaths.

Eventually, he stops the car, cutting the engine in full view of his building's front door.

The rumbling stops, and suddenly, it's very quiet. Javier groans, leaning back against his seat, bringing a hand up to his temples. He doesn’t look at you, keeping his eyes closed behind the palm of his hand.

And oh.

He’s pissed.

“Go inside, lock the door, don’t open it for anyone.” His command, though dripping with ire, is underpinned with genuine concern. When you don’t respond, he finally shifts his gaze to meet yours, fixing you with an intimidating, severe kind of stare.

“Do you understand?”

At first, your impulse is to respond with a bitchy retort, to meet his intensity head-on with your own brand of unpleasantness. You stifle that reflex, taking stock of the situation at hand: Peña had just saved you from a flurry of bullets.

Peña… had just saved you…

And the realization hits you like a punch to the gut.

He’d been telling the truth.

Someone was really after you. Twice, now, they'd tried to take your life.

And, still? Your addled brain can’t seem to wrap itself around the idea of Peña’s innocence. Your bursting question takes you both by surprise.

“So, you didn’t take my spark plug?”

He stares at you, full mouth parted in genuine bewilderment. Then, he scoffs, breathing an exhausted exhalation. “No, I didn’t take your damn spark plug, sweetheart. That’s what I’ve been saying. If you’d bothered to actually fuckin’ listen for once in your life…” he shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation, “‘Could’ve avoided all… this.”

Shame tries its best to seep into your core. You resist it, scrambling for reasons to justify your actions to him.

To yourself.

You hated being wrong. That feeling had a tendency of overwhelming everything else—of overriding rationality, itself.

So, you turn to a classic defense, an ol' reliable: deflection. “After all the shit you’ve put me through over the years, can you blame me for not, just like, blindly trusting you?”

He scowls, angling his shoulders to square off with your own.

“Never asked for you to ‘blindly trust’ shit, though, did I?” He huffs, “Jesus.”

You try not to wince as he continues on, as the truth of his words and the seriousness of his delivery render you mute. “You’re a secretary, sweetheart. This is my job—my life—okay? When I tell you to be careful, for the sake of your own damn good, you need to listen to me.”

There’s a long pause as his words tease out your final, entangled threads of resistance.

He was right. You’d been stupid in your denial, putting yourself and dozens of others in danger.

Putting Javi in danger.

It takes everything you have to fight the tears threatening to well along your lashes. But there's no sense in allowing yourself to mourn your mistakes—at least not at this very moment.

No, now was not the time to work through your shame.

Now was the time to seek forgiveness.

To make amends.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, trying to catch his downcast eyes.

And it’s true.

Javi shakes his head, resisting your apology. He says nothing, and your heart aches for him.

Whatever this man was—he hadn’t deserved a fraction of the hell you’d given him.

The hell you’d given him because…

Because he’d gotten close. Too close. Close enough to soften you, to see you in a way that not one single person had the right to. He’d been a novelty: the first man you’d trusted enough to be capable of handling the full breadth of yourself. And when that had started to feel volatile—as though he’d gained too much of you?

Well, you’d needed a reason to push him away. To wrench yourself back from him.

Because you’d been embarrassed.

Knowing that he’d been right about that, too, makes you feel so small, so young, and deeply naive.

Immature.

You lean over, crooning at his turned profile.

“I mean it, Javi.” His name is your weapon—you will it to wear him down—a reminder of what it sounds like leaving your lips. “I’m sorry.”

Again, silence.

It’s fucking unbearable.

Placing an unsteady hand on his knee, you trail it up his thigh—slowly. His chest hitches with the force of a deep, sharp inhale and yet, he still refuses to meet your gaze.

But you catch his reflection in the glass: a slight twinge of the eyebrows, a delicate parting of the lips, and a hint of longing within those furious eyes.

Wiggle room.

“Could you ever forgive me?” You ask timidly, seductively, fingers creeping towards the crease of his trousers and that big silver buckle looming right above it.

Finally, he turns, his expression meeting yours with a hungry (albeit still deeply annoyed) look.

That wanting you’d learned to recognize…

It excites you.

And as you tug at his belt, releasing it with tantalizing slowness, you keep your steady gaze on his undecided one, uttering a pleading, “I can make it up to you, baby.”

Wordlessly, he watches your fingers move to the button of his pants, then to his fly, working with dedication, with delicate care.

There’s movement as you reach your fingers underneath the fabric. He grows hard for you, burgeoning out of the fabric in a matter of seconds.

It’s all the invitation you could’ve possibly hoped for.

His skin is hot against your knuckles as they slide down his lower abdomen. Grasping the base of his cock, you use two hands to spring him free.

God, he’s even bigger than how you’d remembered him—bigger than even your guiltiest fantasies.

Javi groans softly when you pull him, releases a hot, shallow breath when you stroke him, and a low, breathy “fuuuck” when you finally, finally take him in your mouth.

He tastes like the salt of the ocean. This close, you can smell men's cologne mingling with sweat.

It’s heaven.

And you just don’t want him to be angry anymore. It’s all you can think about—lips cradled adoringly around his cock, tongue running up and down the long length of him—as he throws his head back in pleasure.

He eventually relaxes, conceding to the ecstasy you persuade him with. Almost drinking the uncertainty—the resistance—right out of him.

“Christ,” he groans, tangling his fingers in your hair, forcing you to take in every last inch of him. “Wanted to shut you up like this all fuckin’ day.”

It becomes a challenge to breathe, but air simply isn’t a priority with a man like him at your fingertips, as your responsibility. This, he knows, his heavy hand determining the slow, careful pace, the impossible depth, and the angle of your unspoken apology.

Growing wet and lightheaded at the same time, you loose a moan against his velvety skin.

Javi laughs, darkly. “Always got somethin’ to say, huh? Even with a mouth full of cock.”

You smile around him—taunts are good. Better than silence, anyways. “Mhmm.”

The sounds of his laughter rumbles soft and low throughout his middle—so different, so sweet and innocent compared to the wet, filthy ones produced by your mouth’s ministrations.

You give him everything you have, ignoring the droplets forming in the corners of your eyes and lips, the dull burning inside your lungs. When the tip of his cock lodges at the back of your throat, you keep him there.

Whatever Javi gives you, you take.

Happily.

Every last drop would find its home inside you, traveling down the length of your tongue and into all of your warmest places.

It was the least you could do for him.

But he has other plans. His hand bunches up your hair, tightening into a fist to pull you off of him. His cock pops out from between your lips; you’re guided up to face him.

He looks stern.

Dangerous.

Out of breath, tears sliding down your cheeks, lips glistening with the slick of your own spit—you’re a welcome sight to any man of his kind.

“Say it.”

He makes use of his free hand, wiping the coarse pad of his thumb over your bottom lip, clearing the string of saliva collecting there.

It’s not rocket science, figuring out what it is that the man wants to hear.

“I’m sorry, Javi.”

Neither of you had ever known how much an apology could sound like a prayer.

“Yeah?” Despite the gentleness of his tone, his eyes darken with lust to the point that you feel genuinely nervous about his intentions. “What are you so sorry for, hermosa?”

Fuck, the pet-names... the way his voice changed when reverting to its native tongue—rolling with confidence. At such an awkward angle, you’re forced to grip onto his forearms to keep balance. They feel strong and unbending beneath your fingertips.

Everything… everything about him draws you in.

He just makes you crazy.

Crazy enough to smile, to turn your profile to the side, laying a long, careful kiss to his palm. Crazy enough to answer his question in a needy, whiney whisper: “for being such a brat.”

He almost smiles, near-black eyes dancing with hunger, with approval, with a playful kind of ire.

Jerking his head to the right, he gestures to the backseat. “Wanna show me how sorry you are, cariño?”

You’re nodding before the question really even registers.

He releases his hold on you, deft fingers quickly untangling from your hair.

Victory. Victory. Victory.

Then, you’re stumbling out of the passenger side, opening the door to the backseat.

(You take a second to commend yourself for driving a man so wild, making him so impatient that he couldn’t be bothered to walk the ten feet required to fuck you inside his apartment. Or, maybe he just liked letting the neighbours watch.)

Before you can even step foot inside the car, you’re being hauled by your upper arms onto Javi’s lap. He manhandles you into his desired position, spreading your knees around his thighs until your dress is hitched up, only covering your ass half-way.

After snaking a hand between your bodies, the agent runs his thumb down the slick fabric of your underwear.

Already, you’re holding back a slew of pathetic whines.

“Next time you give me head”—God, the feeling of those fingers against your clit, the bliss of them pushing your panties to the side, assessing your readiness for him—“Wanna be able to see that pretty mouth while my dick’s inside it, sweetheart.”

His lust has him speaking a bit out of breath. It makes every crude, filthy word sound sweet, almost endearing to you.

Nodding in response, you work with him—lowering yourself onto his fingers as he pushes them between your folds.

“Jesus Christ,” he smiles, head falling back in appreciation, “You’re soaked.”

His fingers curl up, pressing to please in all the right places. Your answer arrives between gasps: “You tasted good.”

That pleases him.

“Yeah?” and he’s dragging his digits out of you, letting them trail through your folds and along your heavy, sore clit before leaving you wanting, leaving that needy cunt clenching around nothing. “I bet you taste even better.”

Then, his grip is on your jaw, pressing damp spots into your skin under his index, middle, and ring fingers. With the pad of his thumb pressed firmly to your bottom lip (and the row of teeth behind it), Javi eases your mouth open, wider and wider and wider for him.

“Show me—show me how good you taste.”

His index crawls onto your tongue. You close your lips around it, sucking him in until his fingernail scratches the back of your throat. He wants to be shown, so you show him: gazing intently into his eyes, you watch his brow furrow as he studies your every movement, as he drinks in your every moan.

“Fuckin' hell,” he groans, commending your efforts. “You’d do anything I asked right now, wouldn’t you, hermosa?”

Your bottom teeth graze the undersides of his index as you pull off—“yes, Javi.” Almost instinctively, you’re reaching your hand down, letting it coast down the hardness of his chest to rub circles around the slick tip of his cock, still peeking out from his open fly.

“Not yet,” he clicks his tongue, pushing his index, and this time, his middle and ring, too, back through the opening of your lips, “Need to clean yourself off every one of these fingers, first—thaaat’s right.” You listen, obediently sucking everything he gives you. He instructs and praises, “easy—easy, cariño, there it is,” as he watches you glide up and down him in slow, big pulls, all the way down to his knuckles.

It’s fucking filthy, and he loves it, unable to keep that arrogant smirk off of his face.

He’s practically in paradise, coming up with a mental list of creative ways to shut you up.

Still, Javi allows you to multitask: all the while, your fingers continue to explore the exposed parts of his cock. Only when he’s satisfied, when his length couldn’t possibly get any harder—only then does he free your mouth, letting his damp fingers trail down the side of your neck.

The feeling sends a shiver up your spine.

Without warning, he yanks down the straps of your dress and bra, pulling them all the way down until you’re postured on his lap, chest fully exposed; his abrupt movement has you loosing a stunned "Javi!" He runs his palms over the most sensitive peaks of your breasts, a hungry smile teasing the corners of his lips.

Then, he shrugs. “Told you last time I wanted to see them. Got the prettiest fuckin’ tits, hermosa.”

You don’t have time to roll your eyes, to laugh, or to really even register the vulgarity of his words, nor the taunting, degrading way they’re delivered to you. Javi’s already holding both you and himself up in one arm (and, oh, how you’d simply ached for the feel of his strength) pulling down the waistband of his pants. He maneuvers you into the proper position to receive him in, two pairs of downcast eyes watching his cock spring free, tip curving in, grazing against the fabric of his shirt.

He rushes, but it still feels torturously slow. You’re craving, needing, as he uses the dark head of his cock to ease your ruined underwear to the side, guiding himself towards your dripping opening.

This time, he’s far too impatient to make you beg for it.

Ecstasy forces your back into an arch as he pushes himself between your walls, as you feel him filling you up, up, and up—wordless mouth falling open, your heavy head collapses aaall the way back.

Immediately, a hand is at the back of your skull, forcing your gaze back downwards. “No, no, no, baby, you let me see—let me see you when you ride,” and his voice is a little strained, a little desire-stricken, a little bit softer as he settles his every last inch inside your cunt.

Your irises could be forest fires as you set your sights on his own, seeing nothing, absolutely nothing but Javier in that moment.

Moving your hips in tandem, you set your pace.

Mother Mary—it’s hard, so fucking hard to keep your legs steady when he stretches you open—wide fucking open—and as his head grazes that spongy spot inside.

He doesn’t help, either. In fact, while your hands dig anchors into his shoulders (sometimes his chest, his neck, his waist) just to keep yourself upright, his own are trailing up to the pocket of his shirt, pulling out a pack of smokes.

You mewl softly at the heat building inside your cunt, loosing an indignant whine as Javi neglects his responsibilities toward your climax.

“Gave me such a hard time today, baby,” he muses, placing a cigarette between his fingers and tossing the rest aside, “Wanna hear a fuckin’ ‘thank you Javi’ every time you come.”

His words dance around you like streetlights passing in the night, barely registering inside your disintegrating mind. How could they? With the feeling of his thighs grazing the undersides of your own, the buttons of his shirt nudging against your aching clit… how could anything else even exist?

All you can give him is an “Mhm.”

He pulls a lighter out, smirking. “‘Tough-talker ‘til this pussy’s all full, huh?”

“I-I’m sorry, baby, I’m s-sorry.”

And he laughs. “Don’t say it, cariño,” he takes your hand, placing the light inside your fist. “Fuckin’ show me.”

He rolls his hips. Your weight collapses against his chest.

“C’mon,” he coaxes, pushing you off, straightening you up before placing the cigarette between his lips, “Aaall you gotta do is light up the tip. You got it, sweetheart.”

His hands travel down to your ass, giving it a rough squeeze before his fingers splay out. He spreads you open over his thighs, watching the etchings of your lust corrupt your expression as he fucks himself—slow, deep, hard strokes—inside you.

“Fu—please, Javi—I can’t, s’too much, baby—please—”

A smile, full lips parting around the dart. “S’wrong, baby?” The words are low, breathy, teasing, contorting around the smoke in his mouth. “Can’t focus?”

God, just make him happy.

It’s the only thought you seem to be able to form. His request doesn’t seem to be up for debate, either.

So, summoning every last bit of control still lingering inside you, you bring a trembling hand up to the unlit end, a string of moans and ‘Javi’s rising from your throat.

And fuck, he’s beautiful, brimming with playful passion, orange filter hanging off those pretty pink lips.

Trying to still yourself, you flick the lighter on—the flame dances between you, illuminating the expansive darkness lurking inside his gaze. It takes everything, everything you have left to light it for him, to make that white tip glow red hot, to stay steady enough, to keep from burning him.

And also, to hold your pace. That grip of steel wrapped around your hip serves as a constant reminder—

Keep taking it.

In those final moments, he picks up his pace, of course. Your simmering blood bubbles to a boil, the flutters inside your cunt graduating into pulsing throbs.

As the flame finally takes, you feel every muscle inside your core tense—when Javi inhales his first drag, you straddle the precipice of your orgasm.

Your weight falls onto his shoulder. One of his arms reaches up to ash the cigarette; the other wraps tightly around you, bouncing you against him as exhales a cloud of smoke into your hair.

“Baby—Javi, I’m coming, I’m coming, I'm c—”

Heat builds between your thighs, and as that bundle of nerves grows heavy, pulsing with the rush of your orgasm, his thrusts only deepen.

He pulls you in close.

“I know, cariño,” Javi coos, condescending into the shell of your ear, basking in the feel of your cunt near-strangling him in adoration. “Can feel you, y’know? Got such a grateful lil' pussy,” he places a kiss to the side of your neck, groaning against the soft skin. “Always lets me know how much you love having my cock buried inside it.”

As he speaks, you try to catch your breath. To come down from your high.

It doesn’t work. Not while his hips continue to grind against yours, not while cradled between his arms like his holy beloved, and especially not with his tip still pressing against every available, wanting spot on your walls.

Javi takes another long drag from the dart. “What do you say when you come, baby?”

A big, laboured inhale, and the words come out in one, rushed exhalation. “Thank you, Javi.”

He responds with a downright cocky laugh. “You’re welcome, cariño. Good girl.”

The praise… it makes you melt.

Tangling his fingers in your hair, nails grazing the skin of your scalp, he pulls you off of his chest. Your heavy breaths mingle together in the stale heat of the Jeep Cherokee.

You buck up, doing your best to keep pleasing him as he studies your devoted movements, as he leans back against the seat—groaning.

His hand—often glued to your rolling hip—provides you with only a mere hint of stability.

“That guy you were with,” he takes a drag from his cigarette, using his free hand to toy with one of your peaked nipples. “At the bar. You’d’ve done this for him?”

Your lips part, but no sound crosses the threshold of your lips. You’re dazed—still coming—and building to yet another peak. His unwillingness to move starts to ground you; the long length of every hard muscle beneath his arms, the round, bulging ridges of his shoulders… they become your salvation, places to lay your weight into. Riding him becomes second nature: you’re attuned to his rhythm and the desperate, commanding desires of your body.

Suddenly, you’re a part of him; when he exhales, the smoke creeps out of his lungs and into your own.

You burn right along with it.

He drops the still-smoking cigarette onto the seat next to your entangled bodies, bringing both his hands to rest against your dampened skin. One comes down hard, delivering a quick, harsh slap to your ass.

It would leave a mark.

“Tell me. Use that pretty mouth, hermosa. ‘Know you know how—used it—ran it all fuckin’ day.” Javi grunts, angling to bend over you, pushing into your guts as he wraps you in his arms, finally taking the burden of your weight off of your scraped up, wobbling knees. He continues on, “Tonight, too—been so easy, baby, lettin’ me put anything I want in there like a good lil' slut,” drinking in your cry of pleasure. He almost says it to himself, eyebrows furrowing as he reminisces, as your cunt begins to throb around his hardening cock once more. “You'd've done that for him, cariño?”

You swallow, trying to clear the stars dancing before your eyes, and that fuzzy sound of static. It muffles the symphony of Javi’s hoarse breaths, your own, helpless cries, and the filthy sound of skin colliding with—grinding against—skin.

He quickens, now, using you like a damn toy. Every rough thrust brings you closer to heaven; every ardent, breathtaking squeeze of his arms around your middle feels like angels sighing.

“No,” you breathe, closing your eyes. Your arms cling around his neck, fingers fanning through his thick hair—everything is him, him, him. He leans forward again, ducking down to kiss the hollow of your throat; you pull him in faithfully, moaning softly at the feel of his lips, his teeth under the valley under your jaw. “Only you.” It sounds like worship, sliding up an octave as that low ache worsens, as he compells a second climax out of your already-quivering body. “Only you, Javi.”

He growls, lips dragging up to your ear as the hairs of his mustache tease your cheekbone. “Prove it,” he breathes, deep thrusts growing even more erratic— needier, sloppier. You can barely hear him over your own noises, but he continues his gravelly coos inside your ear nonetheless. “Gimme another one, baby—wanna feel you comin' on my cock when I fill you up so fuckin' full, baby—show me that you’re mine—z’this pussy mine, hermosa?”

“Yesyesyes—oh God, y-yes—m’yours, Javi, y—”

Your legs seize as yet another release tears through your body. The skin of his neck anchors you in place, and you hang off of him like a rosary, digging your fingernails into the warmth of his flesh with every ounce of strength at your disposal.

He fucks you through your second climax, headed straight for his own.

“S-such a good girl, cariño—f-fuck—” Arms, wrapped around your waist, tighten enough to snap you in two as Javi crushes you against his chest, using the momentum of your entire, shaking body to finish himself off. He comes with a grunted “s-shit”—and you pay attention, wanting to commit the divine sound to memory. Swelling between your silken walls, Javi spills everything he could possibly give inside you.

A final, abrupt thrust, married with the non-stop, involuntary clench-and-release of your cunt works to cover every square inch of you with him.

When it’s over, the man refuses to let you part from him (not that you had any real desire to do so, anyway). A big, shaking hand keeps your head cradled in the firm crook of his neck, and he slowly, slowly softens inside you. He basks in the final, weak flutters of your cunt as you lose yourself in the smell of his cologne.

His heart hammers in his chest. You can hear it with your ear pressed to his neck. Going limp, your damp forehead rolls onto the hard roundness of his shoulder.

That aching, sore opening soaks the skin of his thighs. You shiver softly, dripping onto the base of his shaft.

“Say it, cariño,” Javi murmurs, laying a rough kiss to your temple. He runs his hands up and down your bare spine, fingers dancing along your sticky skin.

You loose a breathy laugh against his golden skin. “Thank you, Javi.”

And you pull back just in time to catch his genuine smile.

It fucking melts you. Adoration, pride… spreading like tree-roots under rich, forest soil throughout your still-heaving chest.

He rubs the pads of his thumbs under your eyes, wiping clean some of the going-out makeup that had no-doubt become a total, leaking mess.

“‘Pretty when you’re nice, y'know,” he mutters, moving to cup your cheeks between his warm, hardened palms. And then he pauses, reconsidering his words. “But fuckin’ hot when you’re mean.”

A breathy giggle. “What can I say,” you whisper, trailing a few appreciative fingers up and down his forearms. “You bring out the very best in me, Peña.”

He scoffs, but smiles all the while.

Off in the distance, there’s music. Sounds of debauchery and excitement travel through the warm summer air, audible even through the closed windows. The night is alive for the rest of the city; somewhere far, far away, an engine growls, rubber tires squealing against the pull of hard pavement.

It takes him away.

Javi grasps your shoulders, pushing you up and back to effectively slide you off of his half-soft length. “I’ll wait for you to get inside,” he says, yanking his pants back up over his hips, tucking himself back into his briefs. “Make sure you lock the door, alright?”

Pause.

What?

“You’re leaving?” You mirror him, hastily rearranging yourself—skinny straps find their way back above your shoulders, your short dress finds itself yanked down to its rightful place.

It’s awkward work, given the confines of the space.

The agent slips out from underneath you. He opens the door, rising from the backseat and straightening up with a groan. “Think I know where he was going,” he responds, mostly to himself. “I’m only, what…” a flip of his wrist as he checks the time, “Thiiiiiirty? Thirty-five minutes behind him?”

Before you know it, you’re bristling with irritation.

Again.

You throw your heels down on the street, unceremoniously shoving a cramping foot in each one. “Don’t be an idiot, Peña,” and you try your hand at standing, buckling slightly on a pair of Jell-o legs.

He comes around to your side, steadying you on your feet. Reflected in his deep-brown eyes is the same annoyance flashing across your own gaze. “D’you just expect me to be there, sweetheart? Z’that it? Every time your ass needs saving?”

Shame heats the soft skin of your cheeks. Your eyes trail down to the ground, volatile, incomprehensible emotions building with every passing second.

“It won’t happen again—I won’t-I won’t be so stupid, or-or—I won’t go out, anymore.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, well, that’s nice 'n all, but it’s sure as shit not gonna change anything.”

When you don’t respond, when you don’t look up, his edges soften. “They went to your house, sweetheart.” With his hands on your shoulders, he implores you to see sense. “It’s either we get them or they… get you.”

You exhale, hard. “You’re being dramatic.”

That does it for him.

After an exasperated shake of his head, he’s grabbing your hands in his own, placing a set of keys in the cradle of your palm.

His tone is low, demanding, unbending. “Lock the doors.”

Then, he’s turning to leave, walking to the front of the Cherokee.

Before rounding the corner, he turns his hardened profile to the side. The glare of the building’s lights dance on his tanned skin, turning the whole scene into a sort of lucid dream.

“Y’know, you’re really starting to piss me off with this whole… utopian fantasy you’re livin’ in.” He barely even addresses you, mumbling the rest of his sentiment mostly to himself. “I’m fuckin’ tired of being the only one looking out for you.”

Utopian fantasy?

You try to dismiss him—to call him ridiculous, to throw yourself into the familiar task of poking holes in his arguments—but… you can’t. Over and over, his words rush you in waves: “the only one looking out for you” “utopian fantasy” “the only one looking out for you” “utopian—”

Suddenly, you’re on a different street. In the same clothes, and in the same body, but somewhere far, far away, facing a different man. It’s somewhere very loud, where tires and knees come to a screeching stop against cement, where the downbeat of every Latin measure is punctuated by the sound of a bullet, inscribed with your initials, ripping through the static summer air.

Panic hits you like a bolt of lightning.

It doesn’t go away, either.

Not even once you’re back on Javi’s street, fossilized in amber, watching him move to the driver’s side of his Jeep.

All the fear you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel…

You’d forced him to shoulder it for you, instead.

But, inevitably, what goes around comes around. And he’s dropped your burden right back onto you with a few well-timed words.

Truth bares itself to you, settling heavy atop your bones like an ancient, primal wound. The result is a pair of unsteady legs, a perennial tremor in both, white-knuckled hands, and a crackling voice, resisting use.

“Javi…”

Only when you hear the sound of your own terror echoed back to you do you permit yourself to cry.

And there you stand. Disheveled, confused, broken—clothing misplaced, ruined, broken—

And you just don’t want him to leave.

Not now.

Not when you need him.

Not when you need someone.

Not when you think you’ve finally got it figured out, and especially not when you’re so damn close to speaking it into existence.

Realization. Acknowledgement. Expression.

It’s not a customary pattern, in your experience.

Javi stops in his tracks, stunned to a halt at the sheer emotion in your plea.

It stings when you clear your throat. “I just…” and you falter, strange, unfamiliar words sticking to your throat, sickly-sweet dried honey. Each vowel reverberates back to you, amplified by the acoustics of the empty street and their novelty.

Still, you’re not quite sure how he’s able to hear you, given that you can only bring yourself to speak a handful of decibels above a damn whisper.

“I’ve just never been important, Peña.”

You wipe a self-conscious hand across your face, clearing the sea-salt from below your downcast eyes.

Before you’re able to put a stop to it—it all comes rushing out. Averting his gaze, you ramble on in agitation.

“Not beyond being a-a pair of hands to make fucking photocopies—or as the butt of some sort of “prissy receptionist” joke or even just as some—as-as a kind of fucking challenge to men—men like you, Javier—because I… well, because I’m mean, and I-I guess it’s just fun for everyone to see how far they can take it before—before I…” You give your head a fervent shake, trying to reel yourself back in, trying to close off the monologue.

But the cracks had formed, and with nowhere to go, the mounting pressure of the seven seas washes away the rest of your weakened dam.

The agent can't even get a word in.

“Anyways, that’s-that's not the point. The point is that it just… it didn’t seem possible that anyone in this whole fucking country would even think twice about me—even if it was just to… to kill me…”

A lump forms, lodging behind your larynx.

You start to rush.

“So I really am sorry that I acted like such an asshole, but none of this makes a fucking lick of sense to me—I’m-I’m a secretary, for fuck’s sakes—I’m nothing, no one, I’m not—” and then you’re frantic—

The gunshots, the tires, the music, the spark plug, a Camino—

“Just please, don’t go, don’t—I-I know you’re mad, just—please, just don’t—”

It’s impossible to catch your breath. Every heaved sob racks your lungs, shaking you all the way down to your buckling knees.

You want to turn, to run and hide, to fling yourself into oncoming traffic—anything to end the interminable humiliation you couldn’t seem to keep from putting on display in front of Javier Peña.

And shit. No man could see a woman in the same way after this. No man would care for a woman like this, destroyed and pathetic and—

“Oh, cariño—”

And he’s there.

Those arms—so used to taking—they wrap you up, pulling you into the heat of his body, protecting you from the pointed echoes of laughter and song breezing through the night air. Those hands, the ones that bruised, slapped, grabbed—they hold—the right unburdens you of your oppressive weight, pressed flat against the small of your back. His left cradles the back of your head, laying your temple to the side of his throat.

“You’ve always been important to me, sweetheart.”

His soft murmurs tumble down your spine. That smoky breath envelops you; it reminds you of those blankets in the movies—the ones that the firemen hand out after the disaster’s over, the survivors rescued. In the denouement.

“S’okay, S’okay. I’m sorry, baby, alright? I’m not mad, cariño, it’s okay.”

Running his fingers through your hair, supporting your head like a delicate, sacred object, murmuring comforts against the softest parts of your neck—Javi goes on and on. Despite the frequent shifts between Spanish and English, you manage to catch the main gist of his crooning.

“I could never be mad at you, baby.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’m not mad, cariño.”

“And I’m sorry, baby.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not mad.”

“I’ll stay.”

“I’m sorry.”

After an eternity, you feel calm enough to pull away. You’re a wreck, gazing up at him with big, silver-lined eyes.

And it’s then that you see him.

That you really see him.

The concern, the anguish, the affection… You’d punished him for doing the very thing that you were incapable of doing.

Protecting you.

Caring for you.

As tears continue to leak from your eyes, you take note of his beauty. Not just of his looks, but also in the sheer power radiating from him, towering like a knight over you. In those capable, caring hands—hands that had torn others apart, that had put you back together—there was beauty in them, too.

You wipe your face dry.

And you soften your tone, aiming to lighten the mood. “Stop trying to get in my pants, Peña." A sniffle. "I don’t sleep with cops.”

He rolls his eyes, the ghosts of a smile tugging at his lips. “Y’know,” he cups your face, drying the final, lingering remnants of your melt-down off your cheeks, “I waited outside that fuckin’ bar for hours tonight. Just in case.”

Oh.

God, you’d never even bothered to think about how he’d gotten to you so quickly.

Of course he’d been there.

That truth feels… warm.

He goes on. “Watched you… saw you with that guy.” He scoffs at himself, shaking his head. “Had to look away when you came outside. S’why it… took a minute. To get there.”

That has your gaze trailing off, eyes cast down in shame, studying the worn-in rubber on the Jeep’s tires.

It would have never worked, anyway. There wasn’t a man on Earth who could ween your mind off of this one.

With the pad of his thumb against your chin, he brings you back to him. Javi commands your full attention with the just the sincerity of his stare.

“Even when you want nothin’ to do with me... I’m there, alright? I’m here, baby.”

Those eyes… softened with affection, hardened with conviction. Javier always had a way of straddling both worlds at once.

He waits for your signal, your quick nod of acknowledgement.

Then, he’s kissing you—softly. Fingers curling around his forearms, you borrow his strength to keep yourself from swooning. He holds your face as tenderly as he caresses your lips, and with every synced inhalation, he speaks yet another unspoken word into existence.

After giving you enough to make you feel whole again, he pulls away.

With his great-big-palm to your cheek, he says everything you need to hear.

“Let’s go inside, sweetheart.”

—

part 3

—

TAGLIST: @millllenniawrites @pining-and-tired @inkedells @stardust-chords-enthusiast @mattmurdocksgirlfriend @bookofbee @liviloo12346 @anyas-stuff @readingsunshine97 @maudlinflowers @sullysflm @sexygaypalpatine @livyjh @s-unflowxr @lostsoldieronahill @chapterhappygirl @raeluvshammett @silkiers @jupitersmood @supernaturaldean67 @razrsharpwhiteteeth @peqchsoup @corrodedcherries @hawsx3 @monboudoir @theonewithacrush @pono-pura-vida @totallynotastanacc @dzaga890 @swedishscumfuck @killerrxger @niallsbunny @cilliansangel @snowyarcher @grnherbs @mswarriorbabe80 @tercabed @sweettea-and-honeybutter @julesonrecord @bbyanarchist @thisgirl-knm @pedrit0-pascalit0 @princessdjarin @isitselfishifwetalkaboutmeagain @pseudonymist @goldengrapejuice @soullumii @jazzerbelle14

—

Officer Officer Everybody knows that I'm a good girl, officer No, I wouldn't do a thing like that, that's for sure The house was already on fire, I swear I'm not a liar (Well) I'm a little shaken, but I'm fine, thanks for asking Tell me, do you always work alone so late? Gosh, I'm a little shy standing here in my night gown Do you really have to put those tight handcuffs on?

Looking at me, then suddenly

I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane

I've been bad, I've been wrong Playing a dangerous game I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane, hurricane, hurricane

Let's get in the back of your cop car, officer You can ask me anything you want Anything, anything

Do you have a girl? I don't see a ring on your finger Well, that's interesting Have you ever thought of dating a singer?

The flames are getting higher So is my desire It's kind of exciting Don't you think?

Then suddenly he's uncuffing me

I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane

I've been bad, I've been wrong Playing a dangerous game I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane, hurricane, hurricane

Love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane I can be the bad girl I'm getting you so hot You can be the good guy Tell him please stop

Love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane

You can be the good guy (Officer) I'm in love Tell him please Stop (Officer) (Officer) You can be the good good (Officer) I'm in love Love in a hurricane

—

#Javier Peña #javier peña x you #javier peña x reader #javier peña smut #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena smut #javier pena fic #javier peña fanfiction #narcos fanfiction #narcos #Pedro pascal #Pedro Pascal x reader #Pedro Pascal smut #javier peña x y/n #javier peña narcos #javier pena narcos

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stargirlfics · 2 months

Text

So Much Goddamn Talkin’

Joel Miller x Black F!Reader

Summary: Sometimes Joel has to quiet the noise in your head. Luckily he’s quite good at that.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, post outbreak—Jackson era, mutual pining, friends to lovers vibe, established relationship, some mentions of anxiety, feelings and fluff, competency kink, soft dom!joel vibes, smut: oral (both receiving), fingering, soft intense PiV, unprotected sex, praise kink, daddy kink, come marking

*reader is written and described as black but anyone is welcome and encouraged to read!

Word Count: 6k

Currently obsessed with the thought of older, domestic Joel in a relationship and couldn’t stop myself from getting carried away! Enjoy!

It wasn’t like this was the first time you’d ever spoken to Joel.

On the contrary, what had started as a timid friendship became something else entirely with one spontaneous kiss that only the stars bore witness to that night.

A silly dream of romance had landed right in your lap despite the crumbling of the old world behind you, taking everything with it and yet they took your breath away constantly, like a whirlwind, two grounding anchors were now tethered to your heart and their names were Joel and Ellie.

So why were you so nervous?

Sighing softly, you decided to blame it on the watchful glances Joel was giving you from across the yard, distracting you from the book you were reading. Eye contact with him could feel like the most searing heat, spreading like wildfire and at the same time the deepest depths of comfort.

Not always being a man of many words, the things he could express with a simple look or the weight of a hand fascinated you, made you fall so dangerously hard and with a certainty you’d never felt before.

Therefore you reasoned it simply couldn’t be your fault for being distracted and wanting him so much right now. Not when he made you feel this way without even having to try very hard.

You just needed to take a moment to soak it all in, a blooming hope carried in on the breeze now that it was the beginning of spring in Jackson, the wildflowers and planted seeds starting to sprout, and the soil and your own souls teeming with life after so long spent just surviving. Now there was space for healing.

Space for you to sit in the rocking chair Joel had worked on for months as a birthday present to you, or watch him get around to all the house projects (because once a contractor always a contractor) and strum out the prettiest chords on his guitar late in the evenings out on the porch.

This felt more like living and you never wasted a moment to covet it.

“You’re doing an awful lot of staring, Miller.” You looked up from the same page for the fifth time to catch him already looking your way.

He blinked and put another nail into the wood post he was working on.

“Hm, well damn right I am when you look the way you do. Now if I told you it’s been at least ten minutes since you’ve turned a page in that book you just might have to admit you’ve been starin’ too.”

There was that little smirk you knew so well, dancing on his lips as if he knew just how much it would drive you crazy, the confirmation that you hadn’t been subtle in the slightest either.

“Well, you’re out here giving me a show.” You make a point to turn to the next page then, looking away before he could throw you a look at the sass in your tone.

He was right of course but what he didn’t know was that reading had started all this to begin with.

The tattered novel had been a surprise find on a patrol one day and came with an unexpected eroticism, bits of dialogue and tantalizing imagery on the page you were stuck on making your mind wander and wonder.

It’s why you felt a little nervous, caught off guard, suddenly wishing you were in bed and underneath him.

He flashes his teeth at you, that smirk widening into a smile at your reply, his attention returning to the tools in his hands but your own continued to linger. Remembering.

A few nights before in particular, when he was fucking into you so deep you had to bite the sheets to keep your moans down. You could still picture the definition of his arms as they cradled you and kept the headboard from colliding into the wall at the same time.

Or how good you knew it felt when his broad palms swat across your ass, never failing to make you yield to him with such eagerness.

You wished you could have your hands on him now, petting, feeling, showing him how much he was desired and cared for, how much you wanted to be filled by him, stretched out and aching with nothing but his name in your mind and on the tip of your tongue for hours.

Those stray thoughts had you turning back a page, leaning into the slow burning fire lit underneath you.

Still unsure of how to initiate these desires, you didn’t want to distract him from something he’d been trying to get around to doing for awhile and at the same time felt a thrill at the idea of tugging him away, leading him to bed.

With some hesitation you decided to bide your time for a bit longer, getting caught up in words that made you squirm imagining Joel doing and saying them.

God, you weren’t sure how much more of this you could keep up, feeling the slick pooling of arousal between your thighs, the way you wanted to grind against nothing already.

Joel finished repairing the post in no time and moved on to patch up a hole in the wall of the old shed, unaware of your internal dilemma.

Eventually he gathered up his tools and stored them away, told you he was gonna head in and wash up but that you should keep relaxing out here for as long as you wanted and he’d get started on preparing things for dinner later.

He left you with a kiss to your temple and the lingering familiarity of his touch. Handsome and sweet, he was going to be the death of you.

Your mind felt too restless to keep sitting but you took him up on the suggestion just for awhile longer, trying to find the right way to move things in the direction you wanted. Family dinner wasn’t for another four hours and Ellie would be here a bit early but there was still time and you wanted to make the most of it.

So you finished off another chapter and finally closed the novel, ushered inside with the echo of birdsongs and the steady thumping of your heart in your ribs.

–

Joel had been so sure you hadn’t noticed his repeated stares as much as he’d noticed yours, bowing his head under the warm spray of the shower he could only think of how pretty you looked sitting there while he worked, fond of the fact that you liked to be next to him even if he was occupied.

At first he couldn’t wrap his head around it and was almost too unnerved and bewildered by the fact that you took such an interest.

Not at all used to someone touching him or looking at him like he was their entire world but that’s the only way you looked at him and as much as he had tried to be measured, tried not to get attached, he had come around to the idea of a relationship again.

Loving people was frightening, something he felt he’d lost the ability to do properly after all these years, all the blood staining his hands and his conscience.

He had lost so much, seen too much death and feared he would only bring ruin, that he would lose her too, until you came along and turned everything he thought he knew on its head.

Oh what secrets and stories of loss he had told you in the quiet of night, when old nightmares and new guilts collided and kept him from sleeping though that was much less these days now that you slept by his side every night.

It had been a long time since he’d shared his bed and now it made him smile thinking of how natural it felt to wake up next to you, how easy it was to be around you, in the quiet moments he could see how the foundations you’d both built together had been made solid and steadfast over time.

Silly to think how he fretted over ruining his friendship with you all that time ago, the way everyone was sick of him in the days leading up to when he would finally ask if you were interested because they all knew he had nothing to worry about and those worries in his head were swiftly put to rest when you tugged at his shirt to pull him closer and asked what had taken him so long.

He’d never forget that moment.

Joel thought then that this was the moment he knew but quickly learned there would actually be a collection of moments–several times a day–that would remind him just how hooked on you he really was.

Like the times he showed his age and your sweet giggles and clever retorts always followed soon after, or how much he’s come to love the summertime because your brown skin basked in the sunlight is like art to him and he relishes every chance he gets to see you exactly as you are.

You brought a fullness and meaning to life here, encouraging him to slow down, to breathe. Taking care of one another made him stronger, nourished in ways he didn’t think were possible.

“Honey.”

He grits the word out like he’s trying to call you up here, reminded of how lucky he felt to have you, to be so connected.

Watching you walk around batting your eyes acting like you don’t know that it’s the pretty, round edges of your nose, the smile lines, the plush of your hips and that glowing thing inside you beating in your chest that drives him crazy.

Simply put, he was impressed by you. Constantly. You could handle yourself, skilled in your own right, already handy with weapons long before he was in your life and even more proficient now, deadly, with the things he’d taught you since.

You were resourceful and calm in tricky situations or when quick medical training was needed and yet none of the carnage of infected and worse terrors ever changed the soft way you tended to people, almost like you couldn’t help but give a little extra love.

And you had certainly spared many an ounce of that love for him; he’d forgotten how good it felt to smile this much over someone, can’t remember the last time he felt this way and definitely can’t remember the last time he’s seen his Ellie look at someone with such admiration either.

Everything about you captured his attention and he was grateful to be able to live some sort of life again after so much heartache, after believing he could never have these kinds of things for himself.

Those hands of his could scorch the Earth but you made him understand they could build things too, could show love and give pleasure just as well and just as fiercely.

Sometimes he wasn’t sure if he was doing a good job of it.

All he knew was that he never wanted to let you go and that was enough for him.

–

When you venture into the bedroom you find him getting dressed, hair tousled from being towel dried, another wave of aching bloomed in your core as you thank yourself for having nudged him into letting it grow out a bit during the colder months.

He looked so handsome doing nothing at all in particular you were sure you’d implode if you didn’t just come out with it, you just hope he wouldn’t mind doing some undressing again.

“Hey, honey.”

His voice was low and gentle, the familiar pet name in his usual smooth rasp made you stride forward, sending you surging into his arms so that you were squished against his chest. He tilted his head at you just slightly in question before you were pressing your lips to his.

Your mouths met so tenderly at first, fingertips bursting with a nervous energy as they reached for his shirt, grasping needily as you lost yourself in the slow ease of the way he kissed you back.

But a little spark of anxiety makes you tense, overthinking the kiss, feeling a little silly for just how turned on you were, how much he could see it written all over you, dripping quite literally in desperation even if you tried to reason with yourself that you knew there wasn’t anything wrong with that.

“J-Joel…shit,” you whined and huffed through sloppy kisses, slowly finding yourself being walked backwards and held firm against the closest wall, “Oh…we don’t have to do this if-”

“The hell are you goin’ on about?” Joel grumbled against the column of your neck and all ability to articulate went out the window.

Rationally you knew it was a pretty good indication he wasn’t bothered by the spontaneity from the way those strong hands of his were already underneath your shirt, pinching almost in the haste to grip your flesh but you were already overthinking and it held persistent.

“Just…if you’re tired, I understand. We can wait till tonight. I don’t want you to feel obligated.” Your words were huffed out in nervous gasps, trying to will your knees not buckle when his scruff teased a swipe across your jaw.

Joel pulled back then so you’d have to look at him, knowing the anxious flit of your lashes well.

He knew what to watch for, patient when you needed reassurance that you were free to run wild with your desires, that he was never tired of having you bare and wrapped around him at any hour of the day but this was of no consequence, he’d make sure you knew where he stood.

Shaking his head, he doesn’t give you more than a moment to suck in a breath before his hands leave your waist to hold your face.

“So much goddamn talkin’, sweetheart,” the words are a heavy growl against your lips in between heavier kisses, “Think I need to remind you of some things and put those thoughts out of your mind, yeah?”

Your whole body felt hot, flushed with desire and aching for whatever he was going to do to remind you, nodding before your tongue could catch up with your agreeing thoughts.

“Let me show you.” Joel caged you in against the wall, broad shoulders blocking everything else out.

The steady rise and fall of his chest became your focal point and new arousal sparked at his attentiveness, so easily able to soothe, to make you unravel for him.

“Please, I want you so much.” Your softly sighed plea turned into a whine when you were crushed to his chest again and this time there were no reservations to the embrace.

He was so good at this, making you burn for him so often you wondered sometimes how you were able to get anything done.

Hungry fingers pushed the collar of his flannel back, jeans already unbuttoned for your wandering attention to latch onto and he encouraged it with a push of his hips against yours.

It’s an easy movement, dropping to your knees like you’ve done a hundred times before to see how just a simple kiss already had him stiff and straining against denim, teasing the kind of thickness you so badly wanted to fill your throat with.

Your mouth watered, fingers outstretched to wrap around hot skin the moment his cock was free, unable to stop yourself now. Joel’s rough sigh following the steady pump of your hands made you glance up, meeting the intensity of his gaze and you held it there for a moment before your tongue was tasting him.

“Look at you...already have it in your mouth like the quick learner you are,” He hissed through his teeth and you could feel where he throbs against the hollow of your cheek.

Pride swells in your chest from the praise, knowing the tone of his voice meant the restrained edge of patience from letting you tease him back was slipping.

You could feel it in the flex of muscle underneath your hands where they’re braced on his thighs and you hoped he was proud watching your lips stretch around him, head bobbing nice and easy the way you know he liked it.

You’re unconcerned with being neat about it, slicking him up with your mouth and still trying to take him deeper, trying to take all of him in fact.

You liked to flirt with dreams of your nose being pressed snug against Joel’s pelvis, wanted to feel him through your entire chest even if burned because there was sweetness in being deprived of oxygen like that. Call it an unwavering trust.

You gave in to the feeling and kept your eyes focused upwards on him, trying to relax your jaw despite all the anticipation, happy to let him take control.

“That’s it, that’s my girl. Stay just like that.”

Listening is hardly even a thought when you’ve hung onto his every word, every movement, not minding the strain in your jaw as he rocked his hips into the wet heat of your mouth. Tongue swirling over his shaft, the thick head of him, desperate to earn it, to make him curse and growl out your name.

The pressure of his fingers against your jaw and then the back of your head had you moaning, trying to speak while he fucks your mouth.

“P-please, make me take it.” Your heart lept with each languid thrust of his hips sliding deep so he could feel the softening of your throat.

He’d give you whatever you asked for when you whimpered like that.

Firm and sweet was his grip, raspy grunts and cursed out praises that flowed from his mouth even sweeter to your ears as your tongue slid over the soft, sensitive head of his cock and back down the length of him.

You’re insatiable and any anxious thoughts still rattling around in your mind were quickly fading, replaced with his touch, his smell, his taste. The salty smear on your taste buds had you pressing your thighs together, craving relief.

“Good girl, yeah that’s it. Startin’ to understand now, sweetheart?”

Your head tipped forward and the only response you could give was a heady moan, doing your best to nod knowing how much he’d like seeing that, the tears already welling along your lashes from the effort but you didn’t mind.

Knowing you made him tip his head back, a heavy palm braced against the wall above your head while he grunted out curses and filthier praise made you feel a dozen more times ravenous, encouraging him to keep going with sloppy, wet whimpers that were barely held back from your kiss swollen lips, stretched over every thick inch of him you could take.

“Love watching you choke on it, honey. Fuck that's good, show me how much you can fit.”

The sight of him is something you hoped to never forget, searching for and finding the slight snarl of his lips when the tip hits the back of your mouth and the flex of his biceps when you slide your tongue around to lick the underside of him.

Joel could barely hold himself back, the urge to bury himself in your throat almost overwhelming but he wanted more than that, he wanted to reward you for listening so well, for how much you make him feel.

It had been building all day and he knew you had to feel it too. He was loath to pull you off his cock, an ache through his chest at your desperate cries from the loss of contact but he was quick to remedy that with a searing kiss.

You melt and are grateful your knees are already on the floor when your tongue meets his. It was so messy, hungry and neither of you cared.

“Get on the bed. Go on, darlin’.” Joel’s voice sounded like warm syrup, covering you in adoring instruction, taking you and leading you where he knows is best.

And god do you love when he was in this mood, nothing but a filthy edge to his affections.

So you complied, ignoring the twinge in your tummy as you moved to the bed, sprawling out across sheets that smell like the both of you.

He watches you get comfortable, loosening a few buttons and those jeans finally discarded on the floor before the distance is closed and he’s all over you.

Every touch and caress was intentional as he undresses like he’s unwrapping a present, greedy for all of you but so passionate, so easily able to steal your breath at the same time, slowing down the tempo now that your legs have fallen open and there’s nothing left covering you.

“Prettiest fuckin’ pussy…and she’s all mine.” Joel admires you for a moment, firm hands tickling your thighs while his thumbs circled the soft, sensitive junction of your thigh so close to where you wanted him most.

The praise has you sighing breathlessly, peeking down to see the way he was looking at where you glisten, a sureness to his features that made you feel safe all while the clench of his jaw sent goosebumps across your arms.

You want to echo that he’s right but he doesn’t let you have the chance, a broad palm sliding down over the hair covering your mound, tugging at it gently before two thick fingers are swirling over your folds.

Muscles jolting, you were rocking up into a touch that is so expert and familiar you are helpless against it.

“Joel, oh! That feels so good,” You’re panting, trying to catch your breath while your body responds to the tight circles he was rubbing against your clit.

“Yeah? ‘Can tell. You’re so slick, honey. Did suckin’ me off get you this worked up?”

Your nod is pure reflex, hips grinding against his movements needing to chase the pleasure that was slowly oozing its way into your system.

It’s only something he can do and he’s so steady, so thorough with you even as you squirm, those two fingers now stroking at your entrance eliciting sounds that sparked heat in your cheeks and spread down to your chest.

You want to be as connected to him as you can, almost pleading for him to sink inside you already just desperate to feel completely surrounded by him.

And Joel can’t seem to grasp enough of you under his hands, gone for the way you cling to him as he fits his middle finger inside, marveling at the way your walls take him in.

He would never get over your strangled little cry at being stretched around his knuckles.

“I asked a question, lemme hear you.” He spoke a little more loosely, his Texan drawl slightly heavier now.

“Yes, yes,” you’re remembering yourself after a moment, “Fuck, yes I love sucking your dick.”

The words are shameless, falling from your lips as a promise, a proclamation that you know he feels the weight of when he leans in to kiss you again, muffling your sounds while he slides a second finger in alongside the first that’s filling you so perfectly.

Any concept of time or day is somewhere in the background muted, far away and suddenly you know you’re right where you should be, right where you belong, no traces of anxious thoughts lurking any longer.

You could sink into these sensations now, enjoying how his kisses had moved to your neck exploring the sensitive spots and smiling against your skin when a new one is found because he loves feeling you clench around him when he does.

It’s a gift to Joel, being able to draw out this kind of bliss in you.

He wanted you to feel good, wanted to be the one to make your world shatter and then piece it back together again when you came down to the ground.

Your eyes rolled shut when he plunged deeper, the pads of his fingers massaging at your walls in tandem with what his mouth was doing between the valley of your chest and further down to where your stomach fluttered.

Somewhere in the haze of it all you realize his mouth was at your thighs, the white hot touch of his lips closing around a stretch of supple flesh bringing another wave of heat before he’s licking gently, bruising a mark into your skin that only he will know is there later.

“I could spend hours like this, you know that? Could have you makin’ such a pretty mess all over my hands, all over our bed…and I know you love when I do this.” Joel husks before he’s finally tasting you properly.

He starts at your clit, tongue flattened against you in anticipation of the inevitable flex of your legs, determined to keep you right where he wants and you’re already so far gone for him and this moment that your head tilts back against the pillows in a gasp.

You feel almost weightless as you succumb to the pleasure and how he presses his mouth into your pussy like he wants to devour it. You’re sure you’d let him swallow you whole if it kept feeling like this.

It’s not even a question really, you know you would, until you’re between sinew and bone and part of him forever.

The plunge and curl of his fingers combined with the flick of his tongue had you panting, heat skittering across your body while your hips circled on their own accord.

“More! Please, Joel!” It’s a chant and a sob all rolled in one and you don’t care how needy it sounds.

He keeps going, lapping at your sex greedily until you’re clenching down around his fingers and your toes are curling, crying out for him not to stop as you hurtle towards the cliff’s edge.

Skin dewy and alive, you decide that you don’t want to spare anything, not when he’s watching you as hungrily as he eats.

You give him all your sounds, all your pleas, handing him your body and your heart at once.

It’s amazing how it doesn’t take long for him to have you so close, right at the precipice, forgoing his own breaths to keep pace, to give you what your body is singing out for and when you finally let go, when your orgasm is finally coaxed from you he only presses his face into you further, drawing out every bit of pleasure he could in hopes of seeing that soft sweet look in your eyes afterwards.

“Attagirl, doin so well.” The words are a tether.

He’d take care of you and that’s perhaps what made it so easy to surrender yourself to the passion of the moment knowing it would linger long after you were both spent.

“Mmm you should see yourself right now,” Joel hummed, licking his lips while you attempted to catch your breath, “I always want you, don’t forget that yeah?”

The last part catches your attention through the curtain of bliss, a serious shift in his tone telling you that he meant every word; you had no reason to second guess yourself over your desires and he was making sure of that.

You nodded and sat up to reach for him, nevermind how you still trembled, your desire to be close to him was stronger than ever now.

“I need you, Joel! Please, I’ve been so good…” Your words tug at him, you can tell they do by the way he ruts his hips against the edge of the bed.

He crushed his mouth to yours before you could finish speaking, a much welcome relief, the burning flame inside you quelled for a moment.

“Sure have been, honey and I think good girls should be rewarded.” He nipped at your ear, stealing your breath with his words.

And even further when his flannel joined his jeans on the floor, climbing back onto the bed to follow the path of your body with his own, framing your limbs and wrapping you up in his embrace like you were made to fit against his chest.

Your legs fall open again to wrap around his waist as he settles some of his weight down against your hips, just giving you a taste, calling back memories and reminding you, funnily enough, of that novel you were reading earlier.

It felt like you were suddenly amongst the pages, chest heaving, your core tender and dripping as the man of your dreams was about to show you how much you’re his in every way.

Fairytales didn’t exist in this world but you felt like you were in one right now.

A giddy and timid smile spread across your face when Joel trailed warm hands down your body, catching on the bend of your elbow, wrapping around your ribcage to settle on the crest of your ass as he puts more of his weight down and uses his shoulders to nudge your legs apart and back towards your chest.

The air felt thicker but your breathing seemed to even out, everything in your body thrumming with energy and an intensity neither of you could ignore any longer.

Reaching down between your bodies you wrap a hand around where he’s thick and throbbing, guiding him closer with a soft smile, feeling how heavy he hangs in your hand, fingers pinching his skin when he rocks against your folds, the dirty sounds of his cock gliding through your stickiness.

Joel groans against your forehead, holding himself steady as your hips buck into his touch, the tip pressing against your entrance and finally, slowly, sinking inside.

Your moans are twined together in the quiet room. The stretch makes you keen, hands fumbling and grasping at strong shoulders, grateful he lets you have a moment to adjust.

But it’s not long before you’re squirming again, whining for him to go deeper, to fill you to the hilt and he made good on his promises to do exactly that.

He keeps your hips tilted up with the press of his palm underneath you, meeting little resistance the more he splits you open and it does something to him to see how much of a mess you are and he’s barely fucked you yet.

“You can do it, know you can…there you go.” Joel pulls back to give a shallow thrust, lips brushing your temple and a hand coming up to cradle your cheek.

The drag of his cock against your walls was everything, steady thrusts building up the tension coiling in your belly, fantasies from your novel melding with reality.

You felt like you were floating, your toes pointing when he changed the angle, brushing against a spot that had you crying out, ankles trying to lock around his torso.

Pressing heavier and faster with his hips however, your legs stay spread, the beginnings of a tremble rippling through your muscles now that he’s caught on.

His pace remained measured and deep, just the way you were begging for it, and he’s content to watch your brows pinch, your jaw slacken, content to hear every gasp of air and pretty sobs mixed in with your moans driving him crazy every time they slip from clenched teeth.

“Shit, I love watching you take me like this.” He cooed.

You can feel the heavy slap of his balls colliding with your ass when he pounds into you again and soon your hands slip from sweaty skin, scratching down his chest to pull at the sheets, so overwhelmed with feeling but never wanting it to stop.

“Daddy...Please, please keep going.”

You’re so caught up in the moment you don’t realize you’ve said it out loud, glassy eyes moving up from where you were trying to peek between your bodies to meet Joel’s careful gaze, only half registering how they widen for a moment.

He’s taken aback for just a second, almost questioning whether he heard it correctly but something’s been knocked loose within him now, his cock twitching from the reverence and adoration in your tone, bestowing him with a title he suddenly wanted to earn.

Joel was a grown man and had lived through many hells to be able to have you bare and underneath him like this, he reasoned he deserved to have a little fun in the bedroom especially when he hadn’t expected to be so affected.

“Ah so that’s what you’ve been reading in that book of yours. Just wanted Daddy to fuck you all day is that it, sweetheart? Yeah, I gotcha now.” He rasped low against the crook of your neck and started to fuck you harder.

His grip on you was less gentle but still just as passionate, the force of his thrusts stealing your ability to think properly. He wanted to make you say it again.

The burning in your cheeks only subsided a little at his acceptance, more heat flooding you from head to toe at being called out, wondering how he knew it was something you read in your novel, if it had been that obvious.

It didn’t matter now, you see where his dark eyes have narrowed, ready to make you come again with this newfound discovery.

So you try and be good for him while you moan and clench down on his length, your pussy swollen and aching but tingling for everything he could give you, “Yes, daddy! Just…oh! I couldn’t help it. Thank you, daddy!”

He knows you’re close, a familiar frenzy to your breathing, the slick wet sounds between your legs, it’s everything he dreams of and more, torn between watching your face as you come or watching the way his cock shines with your release.

With a few more strokes and the soft rubbing of his thumb against your clit you shatter, face pressing against the meat of his shoulder while you ride it out, feeling weightless in his embrace.

It makes you giggle when you can’t keep your head up any longer, neck lolling back against the pillow where he cradles your head in his hands, keeping you in place as he finds his own release swiftly after yours, pulling out to cover your puffy folds in hot ropes of his come.

You would never tire of being made a mess, even if you knew you’d be sore tomorrow, nothing quite ever beat the feeling of being fucked out like the way Joel could have you.

“Baby…” you’re breathless and bursting with emotion, “Thank you for that. Think I really needed it,” You laugh against his chest and sigh.

You’re almost too nervous still to look at him after your slip of the tongue but you know deep down there’s nothing you have to be worried about.

“Of course, honey. Anytime, and I mean that.”

–

You’re not sure how much time has passed, drifting in and out of a dreamy slumber still cradled against Joel, only now you realize you’ve been cleaned up and tucked under the covers but you don’t mind, you know you can simply lay here and soak it all in, he would take care of you.

Racing thoughts no longer buzz around in your head, all you can feel and see is Joel and you smile to yourself knowing the intimacy you just shared still lingered in your body, love etched in your fingertips where they’re laced in his hand against his stomach.

His lips press against your temple and you close your eyes again letting yourself be swept away with the sweet drawl of an “I love you.” in your ears and the gentle evening sun warming you both.

—

A/N: This was actually lowkey inspired by that scene where Joel is leading Ellie, Henry and Sam down the street after they come out of the tunnels and Joel just shakes his head and goes “so much goddamn talkin’.’ while looking like an annoyed father because they’re all being too loud…got very hung up on that bit of dialogue and could not let it go so here we are!

Also hope I added the daddy kink bit here in tastefully, it’s a fave of mine and I struggled a bit to think of how to incorporate it in a way that felt real for Joel so I only just dipped my toe in with it here but I hope you liked it! 👀

Thank you for reading <3

some no pressure tags! 💫 @eupheme @ozarkthedog @moreofem @tinydramatist @black-fairy3 @federalchickensoup @fluffyprettykitty @persona-enthusiast @moonstruksandco @ghotifishreads @communism-bitches

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x black reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x woc #amalia writes

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ludwig-van-gaythoven · 1 month

Text

Cabin Fever - (Regina George x F Reader) Part 5

Fandom;

Mean Girls (2024)

Pairings:

Regina George x Reader

Summary:

The students of Northshore go on a school trip for a week in the forest. You end up getting to know the apex predator in a way you’d never seen her before.

Warnings;

Underage smoking, underage drinking, Claustrophobia, homophobia mention

Parts;

Part1// Part 2// Part 3// Part 4// Part 5// Part 6

“Why the fuck is Regina in your room? Why are you even speaking to her? Dude! Fucking answer me!”

Janis’s voice is so loud down the tiny phone speaker that it makes it buzz like an annoying little mosquito.

You scowl and resist the creeping urge to hang up, and throw your phone far far away, maybe off a cliff. You click the volume down and try and muffle the sound of Janis ranting down the speaker by shoving the receiver deep into your pocket, but it’s too late.

Regina has already left. Her bedsheets are left thrown back and crumpled, she usually fixes the blankets back to perfection so she clearly left in a hurry.

You grab your jacket with a huff and stomp outside the cabin to stand in your usual smoking spot and light a much needed cigarette before putting the phone up to you ear.

Janis is still yelling, finishing a sentence you didn’t hear the start of. Some accusation about alliances with the enemy.

“Fucking hell, Janis! It’s not that big of a deal!” You finally snap.

The phone goes silent. It’s a welcome break but you know she’ll start up again.

“Yeah sure, my best friend suddenly being pals with Regina George, not a big deal.” She snarks. “Can I just remind you, that bitch nearly ruined my life! Is that why you’re ignoring my calls? Because you’re too busy becoming plastic?”

You sigh. “It’s not like that.”

That’s true. You haven’t been morphed into some sort of Barbie doll all of a sudden just because you spent some time with Regina. To be truthful, you realise Regina isn’t really like that either. She’s a little messy, she’s flawed, but you think she’s more perfect like that. Your face softens slightly at the memory of yesterday, her mascara dripping down her cheeks with a big grin plastered on her face. She wears a fake mask to protect anyone from seeing her real personality. You get it. It’s easier to take a rejection when you haven’t really shown your true identity.

Your heart aches to defend her. To tell Janis to back off, but you can’t. She wouldn’t understand.

“Look, she got roomed with me because she got drunk with Gretchen and Karen on the first night so the teachers wanted to split them up.” You explain as calmly as you can while your blood boils beneath the surface.

“So why didn’t you think to mention this when I called last?” She snaps back. She’s caught you there.

“Because I knew you’d go all revenge-crazed and pissed off like this!” You shout back. You hear Janis scoff.

“Whatever, I don’t give a shit about Regina. She literally means nothing to me! Less than nothing, I just want to see that bitch suffer-“

“Then why can’t you stop talking about her!” As soon as the words leave your mouth you regret them.

“Fuck you, man.” She doesn’t even give you a second before hanging up.

You take a long draw of the cigarette that’s spent most of its time burning away between your fingers. You felt guilty about arguing with Janis, she’d been your best friend since the start of high school, and you could still see the pain that Regina had caused was still playing on her. You didn’t know the full details but you knew that Regina had outed her in a cruel way and made her out to be obsessed just so she could be with a boy. But that was a while ago, people can change.

So why hadn’t you been able to tell her that you liked girls when she hinted at it? You couldn’t even trust her fully.

You couldn’t help your mind wandering to where Regina might be. That seems to be all you can think about recently. Regina. You never fell for her Queen Bee attitude, high school drama was boring to you, you’d rather steer clear of it. But this new, playful, carefree side to her? You couldn’t get enough of.

She’s probably snuck off to meet Gretchen and Karen. You were surprised that she’d actually followed rules for once and not gone to meet them yet. Was it because you had been there with her instead? She said last night that she had enjoyed hanging out with you.

How much of the phone call had she heard before she left?

You light another cigarette. It’s not like you to chain smoke like this but you can’t help it when you’re stressed. The smoke whirls out in front of you, lines of wispy grey entangle and then disappear in-front of your eyes.

You head back inside the cabin when you’re done. Regina still isn’t back.

You lift your bedsheets ready to try unsuccessfully to get some sort of rest and find tiny pieces of paper, shredded on your mattress. It’s the drawing Regina took.

She clearly heard more than she was meant to.

You brush it onto the floor, not bothering to collect the tiny scraps, that felt more like little broken pieces of your soul.

When you finally close your eyes you’re back in the clearing. This time you don’t feel afraid and you automatically start scanning the shadows between the trees. A pair of blue eyes catch yours, as usual, but as soon as you take a step forward,the big cat slinks back into the shadows and disappears.

When you wake up, Regina still isn’t back. Your stomach sinks. She probably won’t want to speak to you ever again, you won’t even get a chance to explain.

You know you have to be up and ready in 20 minutes but you don’t want to get out of bed, or risk bumping into Regina.

It’s pretty hot outside and you’re not sure what the activity will be today so you put on a black tank and some loose khaki trousers. Regina must have been back when you were asleep because her bed is made and her cupboard door is left open.

When you go over to the campfire pit, she is already there. She’s standing around with the usual two girls but she’s also next to Shane Oman.

That makes you nauseous. He’s grinning and so obviously checking Regina out.

She starts running her hand up and down his bicep and over his chest, giggling and leaning into him. He’s loving it and has a hand around her waist. You turn around so you don’t have to look at whatever show they’re putting on.

It feels like she’s doing it just to spite you.

Seeing her that close to him makes your stomach knot with jealousy, it shouldn’t, it’s not like you’re together.

“Okay everyone listen up! Today and tomorrow are the last days of camp, so you will be hiking and setting up your own camp for tonight. This will combine all of the skills you have learnt this week!” There’s a dull chatter of excitement as maps are passed around and people start getting into groups.

You secretly hoped you’d be paired in cabin groups so Regina might actually hear you out and stop being so pissed off. It would get her away from Shane too.

Much to your annoyance, you’re told you have to pair up with Regina, Gretchen, Karen and Shane because apparently it’s unsafe to go alone.

You’d actually rather be eaten by a bear.

Each group is given a tent, you’re given two, the teachers tell you Shane has to stay in one separately but you know that won’t happen. You’re hoping you can just keep that tent for yourself. You’re also given other supplies like cooking utensils, scissors, a mallet, rope etc.

Shane offers to carry both tents in a pitiful attempt to seem strong and manly. Regina plays straight into it and makes a big deal out of grabbing Shane’s hand and feeling his arms.

It makes you roll your eyes. You’re sure you see the corners of Regina’s lips curve in a smirk.

You end up carrying one of the tents anyway, it’s pretty heavy but at least it gives you an excuse to stay at the back of the group, it’s not like you’ll have anything to talk to them about.

Regina walks in-front of you with Karen and Gretchen on one side, and Shane on the other. You’re pretty sure everyone has forgotten your existence, apart from Regina perhaps.

She’s wearing a black crop top and baby pink mini skirt, it makes being behind the group kind of worth it.

After about 2 hours you get to a dead end, there’s a large rock ledge with a few crude dips for you to put your hands and feet to climb up. There are thick shrubs either side to stop anyone going around. This must be what they meant by testing the skills you’d learnt.

Regina goes up first, Shane is standing almost directly underneath her and is grinning to himself. It makes your stomach turn. She climbs up easily, and stands with her arms folded impatiently when she gets to the top.

Shane goes up next, again making a big deal of being so manly, he practically jumps from one step to re other up the ledge. It makes you cringe. He looks more like an ape.

Regina catches your expression and as soon as he’s up she’s all over him again. Is this some sort of punishment? But why would she be trying to make you jealous that way?

You go up last. It’s not too high so you’re not really afraid.

“Don’t fall, loser.” Regina spits and the whole group burst out laughing.

It stings but you ignore it and carry on walking behind them once you reach the top. Whatever she’s trying to do, to get under your skin, to piss you off, you’re not going to give her the satisfaction.

You notice Shane’s hand sneak down from her waist towards her ass and Regina visibly stiffens and moves away slightly.

Soon enough you come to a small opening in the rocks, must be the second challenge. Even from behind you see Regina tense up. It’s just a narrow crawl space that likely pops out quickly on the other side. There’s a wall of rock that seems impossible to climb that looks to go on for a while either side.

Shane goes through first, followed by Gretchen and Karen.

“I’m not fucking doing that.” Regina huffs once it’s just the two of you, raising her hands. “I’ll walk around.”

“It looks like you’ll be walking for a while.” You try and reason, but she’s already started walking.

“I’ll come with you.” You’re not sure why you offer. The suns setting slightly and you don’t like the idea of Regina going alone. Even if it is just a few minutes to walk around the obstacle.

You follow behind in silence as she walks along the rock wall, thinking about all the things you wish you could say. I’m sorry about what Janis said, I don’t agree with her. I like hanging out with you, I think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, inside and out.

You want to reach out and take her hand like she was doing with Shane, especially since now you know how soft she is.

You want to gently cup her face and kiss her, feel her soft lips and be intoxicated by her warm vanilla scent. You want to ask her on a date, maybe go to the movies, take her for a nice dinner, kiss her on the front porch.

All the things she’s probably done, or will do with Shane.

It feels like you’re walking for ages, it’s quite a lot darker than when you started. Regina keeps a quick pace ahead of you. Her face fixed in a permanent scowl.

You finally turn the corner and see the entrance to the small cave.

Nobody is there, they’ve left. How long did it even take you to walk round anyway?

“What the FUCK.” She screams. It’s so loud you swear you see birds scattering off their branches. “What bitches!”

She growls and flops down, sitting on a fallen tree trunk. You can see a glimmer of hurt and confusion in her eyes.

“It’s getting dark. We have one of the tents , we should set up some kind of camp.” You say, dropping the tent bag on the floor.

“Whatever. I’m not helping though.” She huffs. You don’t bother arguing, you can tell she’s hurt and you don’t want to make things worse.

You unzip the tent bag and start pulling out poles. There are no instructions and all of the poles look identical. You start arranging them in a way that sort of resembles a tent, you bend the long metal pole and try to force it into a fabric sleeve of the tent material, you think it’s secure and let go but it pings back up with such a force that the whole structure jumps. You leap back, the metal projectile misses your face by millimetres.

Regina’s watching you with an amused expression. It makes you blush. At least she’s in a better mood.

After about an hour of wrestling with tent fabric and poles, you’ve made a structure. You’re not sure if you can call it a tent, or if it’ll stay up but it provides some cover.

As night draws close it gets significantly colder so you collect some wood and dry grass for a small fire. Luckily you always carry your lighter so it was simple enough to start. Both you and Regina sit opposite sides of the fire, on the floor, the smoke isn’t as thick as the silence between you.

You dig around in your bag, hoping that maybe you packed some supplies from the bag the teachers gave you. The others must have most of the food and cooking equipment.

You did pack one thing

Marshmallows.

You hold the bag up to Regina who giggles and finds two thin sticks for you to roast them on over the fire. Neither of you speak still as you hold the stick, turning it every now and then.

You remember one other thing you packed secretly in your bag, you rifle through again and pull out a small hip flask of vodka and take a swig. With no mixer, the liquid burns all the way down to your stomach, you offer it to Regina who grimaces but takes the flask.

You sit for a while, toasting Marshmallows and passing the hip flask back and forth before one of you is buzzed enough to speak.

��You and Shane make a good couple.” You’re not sure why you even say it, you don’t think that at all. Regina seems tense around him and you’re pretty sure he’s only after one thing.

“I know.” She responds flatly. It’s unconvincing.

You swallow another dreadful mouthful of vodka. It feels like willingly swallowing paint thinner.

“Why did you screw over Janis?”

Her brows furrow, she reaches for the flask and takes a drink. That was definitely the wrong thing to say but the vodka makes words tumble out before your brain has a chance to screen them.

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I guess you think I’m a bad person.” She doesn’t meet your gaze and her tone sounds defeated and a little ashamed.

“ I don’t.” You say quickly. “You must have had a reason.”

“Yeah… I did.” She sighs.

You decide not to push it any further.

“Are you looking forward to camp being over?” You decide to try and divert the conversation.

“Not really, there’s not as much pressure here to perform. I don’t like being a bitch you know, it’s just school, it’s survival of the fittest.” She starts “Out here I feel free. I actually miss middle school, I wish I never went to that party, or kissed Janis. I’m sick of everyone thinking I’m fake, nobody treats me like an actual person.”

She looks up at the night sky, a small tear running down her cheek, catching the moonlight which makes it look like a diamond.

“Being with you has felt free.”

Your heart skips a beat. You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol but you get the courage to go and sit next to her. You gently put your arm around her shoulders and she relaxes into you.

You fit together like a puzzle.

You look up and scan the stars with your eyes and find what you’re looking for. You point up to 3 stars in a row.

“There’s Orion’s Belt. Those 3 stars are several times bigger than the sun, and they burn tens of thousands of times brighter.”

Her gaze falls to where you’re pointing.

“It kind of reminds me of you, Karen and Gretchen.” Regina laughs at this. “You shine brighter than anyone else at the school. I know what you mean about just trying to survive, just try not to burn so bright you burn out. You’re perfect enough as you are.”

She sighs, her hand is on your lap now and you struggle to concentrate on the stars.

“And that one sort of looks like a lion” You point up again, Orion’s Belt is the only one you recognise. Luckily this makes her giggle more.

She lifts her head at the same time you turn. She’s so close you can see the stars reflecting in her eyes. In this moment you realise you have two options.

A look of hesitation crosses her face and she starts to pull away.

You make a sudden, probably stupid decision.

As soon as your lips meet you see stars explode behind your eyelids. Her lips are just as soft as you imagined, it takes a second before she’s kissing you back. Her hands reach up and tangle in your hair. It’s gentle and rough all at the same

You pull away. “ I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t-“

She cuts you off with another quick, soft kiss.

“I’m tired, I’m going to sleep.” She says, standing and walking over to the tent which is shockingly still standing.

You’re left, sitting on the ground next to the now dwindling fire, kept warm by the redness in your cheeks. You pull out a cigarette and light it on the smouldering fire.

The star lion in the sky beams down at you.

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