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greengoblinswifey · 6 months ago

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The Offer—Salesman x Fem!Reader

summary— After an encounter with the mysterious and dangerously charming salesman, you find yourself drawn to him and what begins as a simple game quickly escalates when he offers you a deal outside the Squid Game. based on this request.

warnings— sugar baby undertones, praise kink, fingering, oral(f!receiving), body worship, ass slapping, choking, unprotected sex, creampie.

The subway station felt like a dull hum in the background as you sat on a hard bench, looking at your phone. The notification from your bank app stared back at you, a harsh reminder of your poor spending choices. Shopping sprees, credit card bills, and an insurmountable amount of student loan debt weighed on you. You sighed, barely noticing the man who had taken a seat next to you until he cleared his throat.

“Rough day?” a deep, smooth voice said.

You glanced up, and your breath caught in your throat. The man was striking, his tailored suit fit perfectly, his features sharp and symmetrical, with a mischievous glint in his eyes that sent a spark of unease and intrigue down your spine.

“Uh, yeah, you could say that,” you muttered, looking away as you grew flustered.

He chuckled softly. “Well, I can help,” he said, pulling out a neat red envelope from his briefcase. “How about a game?”

“A game?” You frowned, wary but unable to deny the curiosity bubbling inside you.

He opened the envelope, revealing a stack of blue and red tiles. “Ddakji,” he explained, holding up one of the tiles. “We take turns throwing the tile to flip the other. You win, you get 100,000 won each time. You lose,” his smile widened. “I get to slap you.”

Your stomach churned at the proposal, but the thought of cash was too enticing to ignore. “Whatever,” you said, your voice shaky but firm.

The first few rounds were a blur. He was calm, composed, and terrifyingly skilled. You, on the other hand, had no idea what you were doing, your tile landing uselessly each time.

“Not your game, is it?” he teased after you failed again.

“Nah,” you replied.

He leaned closer, and you smelled his cologne, subtle but intoxicating. Instead of raising his hand to deliver the promised slap, he surprised you by tucking the envelope into your hands.

“Here,” he said, his voice low and warm. “Take my card instead.”

You blinked, staring at the card he offered. It was embossed with a phone number and a strange symbol. “What’s this?”

“For something bigger than a subway game,” he replied. His hand lingered for a moment on yours as he added, “How about I come over, and we talk a bit more? About the game, the prize, and— possibilities.”

Your heart raced as you nodded.

You led him to your apartment, your nerves heightened by his presence. He seemed so calm and confident, while you felt like a mess. Inside, he leaned against your kitchen counter, his jacket now draped over the back of a chair.

“You’re nervous,” he said, his lips curving into a small smile.

“Not nervous,” you lied, but your trembling hands gave you away.

He chuckled, taking a step closer. “You’re interesting. Most people I approach don’t look at me the way you do.”

“And how’s that?” you asked, swallowing hard.

“Like you’re trying to figure me out,” he said, his voice sending a shiver through you.

“Maybe I am,” you admitted, clutching the card tightly.

“Good,” he murmured. “Keep that curiosity. It might take you further than you think.”

You weren’t sure if it was a warning or what, but you couldn’t deny the way his presence filled the room, leaving you breathless and wanting to know more.

“You’ve got a fire in you. I like that.” His voice softened as he added, “But you don’t need to play any games to fix your problems.”

Your brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I could take care of you,” he said simply. He stepped even closer, the space between you closing to almost nothing. “You wouldn’t have to worry about loans, bills—anything. We could come to an arrangement.”

You blinked up at him, your heart racing. “An arrangement?”

“You’d be surprised what I’m capable of.” He reached out, brushing a stray hair from your face, his fingers lingering near your jaw. “I can take care of you in more ways than one.”

The way he said it sent heat through you. His gaze dipped to your lips again, and you found yourself leaning into his presence without even realizing it. “I’m down for that,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower. He tilted his head, his face now inches from yours. “Because I think you’ve needed someone to take care of you for a long time.”

Before you could respond, his lips captured yours, unhurried, testing the waters. The kiss deepened quickly, fueled by what had been building between you since he first approached you.

His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as his tongue teased yours, earning a soft gasp. He took the opportunity to lift you effortlessly onto the kitchen counter, his hands warm and steady against your ass.

“You’re something else,” he said against your lips, his breath hot as he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. His thumb brushed over your cheek, and for a moment, the intensity softened into something almost tender.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He chuckled, his forehead resting against yours. “This could be the start of something very interesting.”

And boy, you couldn’t help but agree. The kiss reignited, deeper and hotter than before. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him on the counter. The faint scent of his cologne mixed with the faint aroma of something warm and spicy made your head swim.

“You smell incredible,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and rough. He pressed his nose to the curve of your neck, inhaling deeply as his lips ghosted over your skin. “Too good, really. Makes me wonder if you’re even real.”

Heat spread through your cheeks, but his words lit something inside you. “I think you’re the one who’s too good to be real,” you teased back.

“Flattery, huh? I like that. But don’t think for a second I don’t see through you.” His hand slid up your thigh, his touch warm. “You’ve been wanting this, haven’t you?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he silenced you with another kiss, his teeth gently tugging at your bottom lip before pulling back to study your reaction. “No need to lie, sweetheart. I know.”

His hand ventured lower, fingers brushing over the fabric of your skirt, and he hesitated, his eyes meeting yours. “Is this okay?” he asked softly, his tone serious, despite the fire burning in his gaze.

Instead of answering, you bucked your hips into his touch instinctively, a soft gasp escaping your lips. The corner of his mouth lifted in approval. “That’s what I thought,” he muttered.

His fingers worked, finding your dripping pussy and working their magic, skilled and precise. You couldn’t help but arch into him, your head falling back against the cabinet. “Look at me,” he commanded gently, one hand cupping your jaw to bring your gaze back to his. “I want to see those pretty eyes.”

You obeyed, locking eyes with him as his fingers thrusting inside you intensified, his thumb brushing over your cheek when you whimpered softly. “That’s it,” he said, “You’re such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

You couldn’t form words, only nodding as waves of pleasure rolled through you. His digits curled expertly inside you, thrusting against that spongy spot that made your breath catch and your pussy throb. You thrashed and moaned, feeling practically possessed by pleasure. God, you really did need this. He probably thought you were a desperate slut. His thumb tilted your chin up slightly. “Say it,” he murmured, his tone coaxing. “Tell me.”

“Yes,” you managed, your voice shaky. “Yes, I’m—I’m your good girl.”

His grin widened. “That’s my girl.”

Your hand gripped his muscular bicep as he stared down at you, the moment so intimate. Eyes locked on yours, two finger buried inside your pussy and a thumb rubbing your clit, giving you more pleasure your little fingers could ever manage to. Saving money had prevented you from even thinking of buying a vibrator. Soft moans left your lips as he rubbed rough circles on your bundle of nerves, your pussy clenching around nothing before he plunged his fingers back inside you. He thrusted roughly and you couldn’t help but clamp around him.

When the tension inside you reached its peak, he leaned closer, his lips grazing your ear. “Cum for me. Right here, right now. I want to see you fucking cum.”

And you did, trembling against him as his fingers pushed you over the edge, your breaths coming out in stuttering gasps. His praises washed over you as he held you steady, his grip comforting.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Absolutely beautiful.”

You stayed like that for a moment, letting the quiet hum of the room wrap around you as you caught your breath.

The heat between you both heightened as his lips trailed down your neck softly. His hands gripped your waist firmly, pulling you closer on the counter. He paused, meeting your gaze with a smirk that sent a shiver down your spine.

“You’re addictive,” he murmured, voice rich and low. “I want to taste every part of you.”

Your breath hitched as he dropped to his knees, his hands steady on your thighs. “Can I taste you?” he asked, his tone sincere despite the hunger in his eyes.

You nodded, words escaping you entirely. His smirk deepened as he guided your legs apart, his lips brushing your inner thigh. “You’re so perfect,” he whispered, his voice soft. “And all mine.”

His tongue explored every inch of you, licking from your pelvis, then down to your clit. His focus on your clit, slurping and flicking it made your toes curl and your legs clamp around his head. He chuckled deeply, the sound sending vibrations through your body and he pried your legs open, continuing his feast.

“I’ve never seen anyone as stunning as you,” he said. “Let me take care of you.”

Each kiss on your clit and touch over your thighs sent sparks through you, and you couldn’t help the soft moans escaping your lips. He looked up, his eyes dark. “I want to hear you,” he murmured, his voice almost a growl. “Don’t hold back. Let me hear how good it feels.”

You moaned loudly, your voice trembling with emotion. “That’s my good girl,” he said. “So beautiful, my perfect girl.”

As he continued to worship you, every lick and word worked together, unraveling you completely. When you finally came, trembling with his mouth on your pussy, he held your gaze, his expression softening as he spoke.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your clit. “Don’t forget that.”

When you came down from your high, he stood, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’re everything I need,” he said softly, his forehead resting against yours.

His hands gripped your hips as he lifted you slightly, settling you more securely on the counter. The warmth of his hard cock pressed against your pussy sent shivers down your spine, but his lips found yours again, slow and tender.

“Relax,” he murmured, “I’ve got you, baby.”

You exhaled shakily as he freed his hard cock moving closer. He dragged the thick, leaking tip along your folds before slowly inching inside your tight pussy. His forehead rested against yours for a brief moment, giving you time to adjust to his size. His hands were steady on your waist, his thrusts careful and slow. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft, his eyes searching yours.

“Yes,” you whispered, and he smiled.

“Good,” he said, his lips capturing yours again, deeper this time. “I’ll take care of you, always.”

The praise flowed from him effortlessly as he began pounding into you. “You’re so perfect,” he murmured against your neck, his lips trailing kisses along your skin. “So good for me. Taking my cock so well.”

Your hands tangled in his dark hair as you tilted your head back. His pace shifted, repeatedly slamming against the sweet spot inside you and his lips found yours once more. “Cum on my cock,” he said, his forehead pressed to yours. “I’ve got you. Just cum for me.”

You gripped his bicep, your pussy responding to his words as your juices soaked his cock inside you. He held you steady, his praises unrelenting. “That’s it,” he whispered, brushing a kiss to your temple. “You’re incredible, such a good girl for me.”

The moment lingered, but you didn’t let it fade completely. Instead, your shaky hands found his, as he helped you off the counter and his lips captured yours again. You guided him toward your bedroom, the two of you stumbling slightly as you moved.

“You’re mine,” he murmured between kisses, his words muffled but filled with conviction. “No one else gets you like this.”

The bedroom door swung open, and he didn’t hesitate, his hands finding your waist again as he backed you toward the bed. “You’re so fucking sexy,” he muttered in awe.

You moved onto your hands and knees, adjusting until your back arched perfectly, drawing a low hum of approval from him.

“There we go,” he said, his hand smoothing over the curve of your spine before resting on your hip. “Just like that, absolutely perfect.”

A sharp, playful slap landed on your ass, making you jolt slightly, and he chuckled. “Couldn’t resist,” he teased, his hand soothing over the spot. “You look too good like this.”

He held onto your waist as his cock rested against your pussy. “You’ve got such a gorgeous body,” he murmured, his voice dropping as his hands roamed gently over your ass. “You don’t even realize how stunning you are, do you?”

You felt his gaze on you lingering, as you wiggled onto his cock, “That’s it, bring that ass back just like that for me. You’re so perfect.”

You met his thrusts as he rolled his hips, his cock disappearing inside your pussy. Each time he bottomed out, his cock was covered in your cream.

“Fuck, you’re really enjoying this baby,” he hummed, staring at how wet you got his shaft.

He held you steady, his hands molding to your curves, his cock brushing against your cervix with each thrust, his voice warm as he leaned closer. “You’re incredible,” he said, his breath brushing against your ear. “Every single part of you fucking especially this.” He squeezed your ass gently, his admiration clear.

He placed a soft kiss on the back of your shoulder before wrapping his hand around your neck to bring you closer so you were arching off him. His pace quickened, each thrust deep, as he held you by your neck securely in place. You arched deeper instinctively, your back pressing against his chest, and his breath warmed your ear.

“Let me hear you,” he murmured, his voice low and commanding. “Cum for me.”

Your breaths quickened, and you couldn't help the loud moan that escaped you just as he requested. His grip was firm and his words spilled effortlessly, “That’s my good girl. You’re incredible.”

As everything built to a crescendo, you felt yourself shudder. His hand on your throat tightened slightly, steadying you through the moment. The world around you faded, leaving only his cock moving inside you, anchoring you. You were still squirting as he pounded into you and soon, you felt his sticky cum coat your walls.

When it was over, he pulled you close, his lips brushing against your temple. “You’re breathtaking,” he said softly before retreating, leaving you to catch your breath.

Moments later, he appeared with a damp cloth, cleaning you up with a care that seemed to contradict his character. He set it aside, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk that was entirely too charming.

“So,” he said casually, folding his arms, “about those bank account details.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden shift in tone. He grinned, the shine in his eyes unmistakable.

“Relax,” he added with a soft chuckle, leaning down to brush a lock of hair from your face. “I said I’d take care of you, didn’t I?”

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hyuneflix · 4 months ago

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THE CURE • Bang Chan

sex therapist!chan x client!reader after years of unhappy endings, your friend suggests a trip to sydney's most up and coming sex therapist. you hadn't expected much, least of all to discover the cure you'd been looking for all this time was your therapist himself.

word count: 11k << back to dash // next episode >>

CONTENT WARNINGS

𐙚 - female masturbation, mutual masturbation, vibrator use, phone sex, guided masturbation, dirty talk, use of "slut" and similar terms, chan is called sir, lowkey orgasm denial, sub!reader, soft dom!chan slightly possessive chan, some mentions of a corruption kink.

! - inappropriate relationship dynamic (chan is her sex therapist), reader is written to be neurodivergent though it isn't explicitly stated, mention of dissociation and depersonalisation, brief descriptions of a dissociative episode, non-descript mentions of trauma around sex, therapy talk/setting. everything is intentionally vague but be careful nonetheless.

episode one - a cure for unhappy endings

Never in a million years had you ever expected you’d be sat in the plush, sleek office of one of Sydney’s most esteemed sex therapists.

You weren’t quite sure how your close friend had managed to convince you to make an appointment, her perky voice insisting it would magic away all of your problems while sliding an equally polished business card toward you. Perhaps it had been the conviction and openness with which she told you it saved her marriage that had you contemplating it in earnest. Alternatively it could’ve been her manner of being–the cheery disposition which led her to float into every room with a wide smile–one that made you sure she was doing something right. Whatever the reason you were here.

The waiting room looked akin to a modern showroom, the walls a crisp white save for a wide strip of matte black that accented one side of the room. Lounge chairs dotted the sizable space, the light grey of the velvety fabric contrasting against the one black wall. The greyscale of the room’s aesthetic was broken up by pops of green and gold, present in the flourishing of tall house plants that scattered the room beside towering, pale yellow-lit lamps. The floor looked to be a marbled stone material, perhaps a dark porcelain sleet or purbeck, partially hidden beneath a single rug that housed the centre of the room. Atop the geometric carpet a glass coffee table sat littered with pamphlets and magazines, a bouquet of white lilies placed in the very middle. The dreary silence of the near-empty space was compromised by the whirl of the air conditioning accompanied only by the occasional taps of keys echoing from behind the receptionist's desk.

You tapped your foot soundlessly as you awaited your appointment, fingers curled tightly around a paper cup. The cardboard was hot beneath your already too-warm palms, the container half-filled with a surprisingly expensive tasting coffee. Perhaps you shouldn’t be surprised that Sydney’s most up and coming sex therapist spared no expense when it came to their guests, though knowing so little about the person you were due to meet, your expectations were caught in a chaotic flurry of uncertainty and nervousness. You tried to still your restless limbs, planting your foot firmly against the solid ground as if the feeling of the floor beneath your shoes would heighten your senses, stilling your mind. Attempting, instead, to focus solely on the white noise that exhaled from the AC vent. You couldn’t, though. You never could. That was why you were here after all. You were so entirely unable to relax–to calm your nerves and quiet your mind–that even a climax was too far from reach. Your leg bounced anxiously at this, a huff of air from your parted lips sending strands of hair catching in the soft breeze it created.

Your eyes lifted to the clock above the reception, brows scrunching as the hand ticked slowly passed 3:15pm. Fifteen minutes behind schedule. It wasn’t the lateness that had your eyebrows furrowing in slight annoyance, it was the minutes more you’d have to spend in the presence of your own nervous thoughts. Swallowing down some more of your coffee you placed the paper cup on the small side table beside you, freeing up your hands as you dug around the contents of your tote for your phone. The aged white fabric, its front decorated with a bright sun and array of technicoloured pastel flowers, rarely left your side. It was a comforting piece of familiarity in the otherwise chaotic and ever-changing ambience of Australia’s once largest city. The external screen of your mobile lit up the moment it was freed from the shadowed confines of the multi-coloured canvas, revealing a few messages from the very friend who had placed you here on this day.

[ from: Matilda ♥️]

2:32pm: don’t forget ur apt ik what ur like 😉

2:55pm: istg if ur still asleep ?? i juss knew going out last night was a mistake smh

3:01pm: k i see how it is ,, enjoy being pent up for the rest of ur life cunt ❤️

You snickered at her quick descent into petty remarks, fingers tugging at the folded screen until it opened. Tapping in your passcode you responded, letting her know you hadn’t missed your appointment despite the simmering of an ache in your temple. She wasn’t wrong, going out last night wasn’t the smartest idea but you’d insisted it would help you get out some of that nervous energy that threatened to spill over in instances like this one. You theorised that with a pounding head and an undercurrent of nausea your racing thoughts would have something else to fixate on. Imagine your surprise when you awoke in near good health. It was only natural that the one time you didn’t mind feeling a little worse for wear you felt on cloud nine. You were cursed, that was the only explanation; one that felt even more true given your current occupancy in the waiting room of a sex therapist.

The creek of a door drew your attention away from your phone, a deep voice calling your name despite the absence of other customers situated in the expanse he’d entered. Your gaze fixed on the figure half-hidden by the door frame, eyes widening when you took in the details of the person a few feet from you. It suddenly became abundantly clear why the man before you was so successful in his attempts to fix his clients sex lives; he was exceptionally handsome. Attractive in a quiet and unconventional way but undeniably so all the same. His dark gaze was soft despite the all-consuming black holes his deep brown eyes became. They sucked you in without warning, swallowing you whole the longer you held his stare. It wasn’t just his enthralling pair of aphotic orbs that had the breath catching in your throat, everything about him seemed crafted by an artist so proficient in their technique you failed to scrutinise a single flaw.

You managed a smile as you grabbed for your coffee, swallowing down the last of the cooling liquid to discard in the metallic bin on your journey toward the magnetic man; the muted thud when it hit the bottom going unacknowledged as you passed. Your tote hung from your shoulder lazily as you followed him into his office, watching the way his upper back and arms flexed beneath his too-tight charcoal dress shirt. The silk-cotton sleeves, despite the slightly ill fit, remained rolled up mid-way; veiny arms on full display as he directed you toward another set of lounge chairs. You’d hoped to feel better once your appointment began–you usually did–but having laid eyes upon the man you were expected to speak openly with regarding such intimate details, you only felt worse. His pink, plump lips widened in a large smile as he motioned you toward one of the chairs. You complied, bag slipping from your shoulder as you lowered yourself into the comfortable leather.

“Sorry for the late start; had a meeting overrun.” He spoke with emphatic sincerity, dimples pressing indentations against his pale cheeks. You could only nod, mind preoccupied by the tufts of dark curls caught in the artificial breeze that pulsed throughout the space. The office was a little larger than the last room, the aesthetics similar save the large windows on one side of it; their transparency enveloping the area in a warm glow of natural light. The beating sun against the crystal clear glass contradicted the chill of the aircon, balancing the room’s temperature to near perfection. Yet, despite this, you felt far too hot with your flushed cheeks and sweaty palms. A symptom, no doubt, of the man sat across from you.

“That’s okay, I get it.” You murmured back, fingers toying with the hem of your checkered summer dress, the soft cotton providing your anxious energy with some relief. The man in front of you seemed to take note of your nervous fussing, eyes falling to your bare thighs momentarily to fix on the opening and closing of your fists around the hem. His tongue darted across his bottom lip adding a glossy sheen to his already enticing smile; deep brown pools still drinking in your itching fingers with an unreadable expression.

“I know you must be feeling nervous–that’s normal–but you don’t have to worry about diverging anything until you’re ready.” His smile widened, reaching beside him to grab a large ipad from a short table, action in tandem with the raising of his gaze. “Why don’t we start with introductions and then we can go over some basics; try and set a baseline for what you’re comfortable discussing?” You nodded at this, words failing you for a moment.

“That works for me.” Your mouth caught up with your brain, offering him a smile of your own.

“Good, well I’m Chan; Bang Chan. My friends call me Chris though, so you’re welcome to call me that.” His disarming nature was impossible to ignore, the tone of his voice paired with his approachable expression relaxing your shoulders. It had been hard to imagine that a man with such stature and poise could be so easy-going, but the moment a smile tugged at his lips it was as if his entire being beamed with it.

“I’ve never heard the name Chan before, I like it.” You thought aloud, earning a wide-eyed grin from the man in front of you. It was hard not to allow yourself to stray when a sparkle lit up his gaze; the soft glimmer of something unknown swimming in its brown depths. Its mere presence making it near impossible to cling to your inhibitions, to remain anything but comfortable beneath his stare.

“Thank you, umm, that’s the first time anyone’s ever told me that.” He practically radiated with warmth–giving the sun beyond the glass a run for its money–now shy gaze lowering to the device in his lap. Your confidence grew at this, the power balance between you shifting in your favour for just a moment.

“Well, most people are dumb I've learned.” Chan stifled a laugh at this, looking up at you through his lashes in brief acknowledgment before the dull tap of his purposeful actions against his ipad screen stole his attention near instantaneously.

“Hopefully I can be an exception to that rule.” He quipped back, earning a soft chuckle from you. “So your name is y/f/n, right?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, that’s me.” You exhaled a soft breath. Your newfound comfort was enough to simmer your busy brain, but your body had other ideas, hands fiddling with the decorative string of your pastel summer dress while the conversation flowed between you.

“No, that’s okay. Always better to make sure in case another y/n somehow wandered in.” It was his turn to offer a laugh, the contagious noise a chortle cut off by the push of air from his lungs. Breathy and short-lived, but genuine nonetheless.

“Now that would be a crazy twist of fate.” You humoured him, smile widening with every moment spent in his company. It was inexplicable the manner with which the air around you had changed–as if something magnetic and charged hung within its formless presence. You couldn’t see it, just as you couldn’t see the crisp air expelled from the AC, nor the humid warmth that radiated from the sun, but you could feel it.

“Truly, stranger things have happened though.” Chan looked up from his ipad, seemingly finished with whatever had occupied his attention. You figured it had been the documents you’d been asked to fill out before your session, pages upon pages of personal information and sexual history now ingrained in the confines of his mind. That was an odd thought to say the least.

“Ain’t that a fact–did you ever hear about that dude Mike Madman Marcum?” You distracted yourself from the rising discomfort, brain making leaps and bounds toward a vaguely relevant subject in its attempt to retreat.

“Mike Madman Marcum?” Another exhaled laugh from his nose followed his words, lips parted in a grin that showed his pearly teeth and a glimpse of pink gum. Again the craters grew in the soft dough of his cheeks, expression transformed from unreadable–nearly disinterested–to warm and inviting.

“Yeah, bro literally invented some sort of black hole, time travel portal shit and then mysteriously disappeared, like what?” You kept talking, brows raised in disbelief as if you hadn’t heard the story spilling from your lips until now.

“That sounds fake.” He shook his head, tipping it to the side afterward in interest.

“You’d think so but it's true.” You shrugged, ghost of a smile still present. It felt impossible not to have even a slight upturn of your lips around him; about as implausible as a rainy day during an Aus summer.

“How can you know that?” His laugh grew beyond the point of breathy displays of amusement to a noticeable chuckle.

“It’s a long story but there’s a police report about him and his time machine, bro got run out of his hometown and everything ‘cause of his antics. Then he makes the machine again somewhere else and ends up missing. It’s crazy, truly insane.” You filled him in, fingers still picking at the hem of your dress, out of habit more than nerves now.

“... You gotta send me that article ‘cause I’m curious not gonna lie.” His response had you tipping your head back in silent laughter, not expecting his genuine interest.

“Yeah? I’ll email you the podcast I listened to.” You nodded.

“You better ‘cause I'll lose sleep wondering about Mike Madman Marcum otherwise.” Sharing a laugh at his words, you couldn’t help but notice how melodic the different tones sounded together. Almost as if you were harmonising one another’s merriment. It charged the air with a new kind of unseen feeling, almost as if giving what had once been there more fuel.

“Oh, I will. First thing I’ll do when I get back home.” You promised, bottom lip enclosed by your teeth while you fought back your widest grin yet. Was it too much to call that sensibility between you chemistry? Were you the only one aware of the electric buzz that emanated through the air, feeling most active in the space that kept you from one another.

“Thanks, much appreciated. We should probably get back on track though, don’t wanna waste your money talking about time travel.” He maintained a smile, eyes leaving yours to trail across the brightly lit screen once more.

“Yeah, sorry, that’s my bad.” You apologised, fingers intertwining with one another to refrain from picking at the stray threads of your dress any longer.

“Don’t even mention it. Are wandering thoughts something that you get often?” He voiced aloud his observation, your shoulders rising slightly as the atmosphere around you changed again. Only, instead of the impalpable gravity that drew you to him, you felt something indiscernible push you backward.

“All the time.” You admitted, answer short.

“Do you feel that it encroaches on your sex life too?” He cut straight to the chase, your eyes blinking wide as your shoulders grew tense.

“Probably.” You retorted, shifting in your seat.

“Well, let me ask you this then–have you orgasmed before? Either from sex or masturbation?” He sounded so calm despite the words that left his plump lips, meanwhile your heart hammered in your chest, a contrast that felt improper, misplaced even.

“Oh boy, straight to the big questions… I don’t know. I’m not sure. I don’t think so.” You countered. You’d already given him a list of answers to these questions, and you’d hoped at the time you’d forgo the awkwardness of the current topic as a result. It was clear you weren’t that fortunate, but when had you ever been?

“What makes you uncertain?” The soft brevardo of his voice kissed the shells of your ears, so gentle and genuine in its delivery that it had you melting all over again.

“I wish I knew. I guess, when I’m having sex, at least, I don’t think I ever have. It’s like I automatically check out and leave my body. When it comes to… myself, I don’t know, that’s more of an unknown. It’s like I feel something but then right as the build comes I just can’t reach the end.” You said, as honest as you could be given the circumstances. Your cheeks were ablaze, heart nearly deafening in its antiphon.

“Okay, well there’s a couple of things to unpack there.” Chan nodded half heartedly, the thin apple pen pressed against the pout of his mouth in thought; eyes trained on the screen where a set of scribbles that made up his short-hand observations lay.

“Probably above your pay grade.” You joked, though a hint of sincerity simmered beneath the chime of your tone.

“Nothing is above my pay grade, don't you worry about that.” He offered you a reassuring smile, tongue darting out to wet his lips once more. It distracted you again, forcing you to once more confront the attractiveness of the man supposedly holding all the answers to your problems. “Let’s start with this, have you been to any form of therapy before?”

“Only when I was younger.” You blinked, willing your brain to focus on his words rather than the formation of his mouth as he spoke them.

“What was that for?” He queried, thick accent pulling at the syllables as they left his parted lips.

“My mental health among other things.” You retorted ambiguously, not wanting to ignite that storm within your consciousness.

“Okay, we don’t have to get into the specifics, that's fine; did you find it helpful?” Chan seemed to pick up on this, you weren’t surprised, of course he would.

“No, I’m not great with talking about my feelings–I don’t feel like it helps.” You admitted, shoulders slouching and rising in slight discomfort. You felt your foot shift restlessly, suddenly hyper-aware of every movement you made in the leather confines of your prison.

“So what was your motivation for coming here?” The curious man inquired, no amount of austerity present in his tone.

“My friend said I should try it, apparently you saved her marriage. She’s the most stubborn person I know so if she can do it I’m guessing I can too.” You were back to making light of the situation, hoping to pull another bright smile from the seriousness that clouded his expression.

“Glad to hear she found it so beneficial.” You’d been unsuccessful, managing only to ignite a momentary spark within his dark gaze before he was back to scrutinising you, gently still, but profoundly all the same. “So what I’m getting from this is that talking to you about the root cause of things isn’t going to be the most helpful approach for you?”

“Maybe, I don’t know.” Your voice came out sheepish, body almost crumpling in on itself. You wished you had the answers, wanted nothing more than to be the perfect patient just as he had been the perfect therapist thus far.

“Well we can always try and go from there? We take a holistic approach to therapy so if one thing isn’t working we’ll switch it up, okay?” The man kept his eyes trained on you, flickering from corner to corner, taking in every nook and cranny of your features until they settled back on your uncertain eyes.

“Sounds good.” You forced a smile, the room around you shrinking in size in anticipation of what was to come. You could feel your mind failing you, the interior of the room transforming into a twisted, swirling haze of unfamiliarity. Of course, you didn’t know the place well, but all at once it didn’t feel as if you knew it at all. Like you’d never been here, like you didn’t remember coming here. As if you weren’t really here at all.

“The other reason I asked about your history with therapy is that you mentioned leaving your body when you’re engaging in sex with someone–did you ever discuss dissociation or depersonalisation with a therapist in the past?” His voice felt foreign all of a sudden, as if he’d been replaced by someone who looked like him, felt like him, should be him, but wasn’t.

“I did not.” You murmured, blinking in the hopes you’d return to your prior state of being.

“This is a little more of a personal question: have you experienced a traumatic event associated with sex or intimacy?” His voice rang in your mind, sounding almost like a bell as it echoed within the confines of your skull. You’d heard what he’d said, but it hadn’t settled enough to register. Instead it kept repeating, your brain trying to make sense of the words strung together, just enough to elicit a response from your parted lips, but not enough to make you remember.

“Uhh.” You felt like you’d been gawking for an hour, mouth opening and closing as you felt yourself move further and further from you body.

“Are you okay?” His voice pulled your gaze from the floor to his own pointed stare, those all-consuming pools of dark brown just enough to settle your momentarily.

“Yeah sorry, this- this is why I don’t find talking very helpful. It's like my brain just shuts down when shit gets real.” You stumbled over your words, fingers pressing against your temple in an attempt to coax your soul–or whatever it was that was retreating in haste–back to your body.

“Don’t apologise for that, you’re okay to react whichever way you need to.” He assured you, your heart dancing to the melodic tune his soft affirmations took on. “It sounds like what you’re experiencing are episodes of dissociation, and, while I can’t diagnose anything, or say for certain that’s what it is, it certainly appears that way. It’s common for people who have difficulties in this area to have a dissociative disorder or experience episodes of dissociation when they’re faced with a trigger.”

“So my trigger is sex?” You queried, words coming a little easier now. It was as if this feeling, the one he’d named dissociation, came over you in waves. You’d felt choked up, near to the point of drowning, mere moments ago. Now it felt like ripples more than strong currents.

“Maybe, that’s what we’re going to get to the bottom of. It could also be intimacy, your attachment to others or your own body. There are so many reasons why people feel they can’t cope with a situation, and their brain instinctually shuts itself down.”

“Okay, I guess it's reassuring knowing my body isn’t broken.” You muttered back, feeling rather deflated by now. The air felt sucked from your lungs, replaced by the salt water of your apparently dissociative episode. It made it hard to breathe, only managing laboured, reluctant breaths as if expecting another wave.

“Absolutely not, nothing about you is broken, not your body or your brain. Dissociation is a fear, stress or anxiety response; the same as fight or flight. It’s perfectly normal, your brain is just trying to protect itself as it's designed to do.” His smile was back, eyes forming crescents that threatened to conceal his caliginous orbs all together.

“So, like self-preservation?” You attempted to piece together the sentiments that fell from his lips so easily. Perhaps he really did hold all the answers, and that gave you a sense of belief, or attachment, that suddenly wanted him nearer to you.

“Exactly!” He beamed, fingers tapping mindlessly atop his meaty thigh. “What I want to start out doing over the next few sessions, however, is to focus on you and your relationship with your body. You should be able to pleasure yourself and know your body well before you trust someone else with that task, right?”

“That seems okay.” You nodded.

“Right, well we won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, but we’ll start you right from the beginning and we can skip ahead if needs be.” He continued, shifting easily back into the pensive professionalism that hid away his affectionate smiles.

“Alrighty.” Your foot bounced.

“Do you know where the pleasure points are on your body?” His eyes flickered from the ipad in his lap toward your furrowed features.

“I think so.” Your leg joined in the restless dance.

“Go ahead.” He urged, eyes tracing your figure in what you could only assume was acknowledgement of your nervous mannerisms.

“Oh you want me to- okay- there’s the clit, umm, there’s the nipples and somewhere there’s a g-spot.” You tried to act like the mature, confident adult you surely should be when discussing this topic at your age.

“Yeah, those are the main one’s sure. There’s also your inner thighs, your neck, your lips; some people find the bottom of their feet to be pleasurable, their ears, lower back, armpits–”

“Armpits? That’s a new one.” You cut him off with a surprised laugh, hand coming to cover your mouth as if to emphasise your bewilderment.

“Yeah there’s a lot.” He chuckled, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek “I noticed you said ‘somewhere’ when mentioning your g-spot. Have you ever found it yourself?” Chan asked, eyes darkening as he did so, an outcome you didn’t think possible until now.

“No, umm, my fingers aren’t very good at all that.” You shifted in your seat, pulling the hem of your dress further down your bare thighs, nails grazing your clammy flesh.

“Okay, have you used toys?” His voice had dropped an octave, a sound that had the air instantaneously charged again. It was as if the pull was back, but not without the push; both worlds colliding in one disorientating, magnetic combustion.

“I don’t even know where to start with all that.” You shrugged dismissively.

“So how do you usually masturbate?” Your mouth grew dry at his words, the hypnotic buzz that seemed to exude from him almost impossible to ignore now. How were you supposed to take his words so lightly? So entirely void of all subtexts and implications when he was staring at you with such heated scrutiny.

“I just… you know… my clit.” It was a miracle he had heard you, you were almost sure you’d been whispering. In the back of your mind you could hear a white noise that sounded like the crashing of waves, almost as if threatening another trip beneath the surface of reality.

“Okay, and does that make you climax?” You focused carefully on his words, using the image of his mouth as it curled around each syllable to guide you from the deep end. That tongue of his, a threat in itself, traced the seam of his bottom lip once more, lingering for a moment too long.

“I get close but err, I don’t know, I can never get all the way my mind wanders.” Distracting yourself from his plump mouth, you moved your own until a riposte drew from it.

“Okay, have you tried watching porn to focus your mind?” His response was near immediate, chin balanced on an open palm now as he leaned back in his chair, legs parting, elbow pressing deeper into the armrest.

“No actually, I haven’t.” You retorted, watching him nod gently as if contemplating his next words, long, pretty fingers clutching the pen as it moved across the screen. His hand moved from his chin to his throat, the back and forth motion as his reflexive state persisted an image that would surely haunt you. You’d never noticed that a person’s hands held their own beauty until now, each digit perfect in length and adorned with ridged veins.

“Alright, well then I think you have your first piece of homework.” He concluded, snapping you out of your day dream and forcing you to draw your eyes away from the sight. You managed a smile, waiting for him to continue. “I’m going to give you a starter toy, then I want you to go home. If you get in the mood, open up a porn site and type in solo female. Find a video that you think is going to be the most relevant to you and then, using your fingers or the toy, follow what the actress is doing in the video.”

“Right, okay.” You nodded along, thankful that your first session was drawing to an end. However, the prospect of an at-home-assignment was one that brought a new wave of uncertainty.

“Don’t be nervous, it’s just you and the video. If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work and that’s okay.” His smile was back, stature adjusting as he placed the ipad aside, both palms planting themselves atop his thighs.

“Uh huh.” You were distracted, but you’d heard him, contemplating his words with a degree of skepticism.

“What’s making you anxious?” He asked, and on one hand you wanted to blurt out ‘you’. It truly was a challenge all in itself to hear him speak about such a personal topic while he unconsciously made every action attractive and impassioned. From the flicker of his brow, to the rise and fall of his chest, you’d gone from hyper-aware of yourself to hopelessly unable to pull your eyes from his motions.

“I don’t know, guess I’m just not good at trying new things when it comes to this–I feel like I’m setting myself up for failure.” You admitted, the rise of his brows enough to have you wishing you’d kept it to yourself. That thought didn’t last though, not when the words that followed lulled your anxiety in a way never knew it could be.

“Failure doesn’t exist in this sphere, you cannot fail, only try and then if you want to, try again.” He leaned forward in his chair, less relaxed in his posture as he grinned at you encouragingly.

“Right, yeah. I don’t know. I feel like your positivity is so infectious but the moment I get home I’ll just be stuck overthinking again.” You chuckled, an undercurrent of nervousness pulling the whimsy from your tone.

“Well, why don’t I give you my work number and if you get nervous and need me to talk you down you can call me, yeah?” His assurances continued, palm reaching into the pocket of his cropped suit trousers.

“Are you sure?” You blinked at him, leaning down to pry at the strap of your trusty tote bag.

“Of course, whatever you need–I’m here.” He gleamed, and with the way he was looking at you so intently, you could tell he meant it.

The moment you’d gotten home you’d done as promised, sending the podcast via email before opening pornhub preemptively to get ahead of your ‘homework’. It was intimidating to say the least, even more so when the toy Chan had given you sat beside your laptop caught your gaze. The box called it a G-Spot Vibrator, at one time concealing the long, slightly curved pink device from view. Now the vibrator led there, taunting you with its unfamiliarity as your gaze shifted to and from the screen of the laptop. Eventually you chucked in your desk drawer defiantly, fixing your attention on the brightly lit screen to begin scrolling through the wealth of videos. You couldn’t decide on one, none of them seemed to match your skill level; their wrists expertly shiting fancy looking toys in a thrusting motion while their bodies shook and convulsed with over exaggerated pleasure. It was off putting, almost taunting the manner with which they played up every action and sound.

It didn’t take long for you to lose interest, opting to go about your evening as normal instead. Easily the events of the day became background noise as you took care of the needs you struggled with far less than. By the time you’d finished your skincare you were crashing down in front of the couch, mind wandering back to the soft spoken man who’d assigned you such vexatious and troublesome homework. A drama played on low volume in the backdrop of your thoughts, your mind's eye picturing the way your therapist's tongue had travelled across his plump bottom lip. It was miraculous how you’d so easily managed to commit every part of him to memory. You could see him as clearly as the ceiling above you, his veiny hands tightening around his thighs while his dark eyes both provoked and lulled your anxiety. You didn’t realise the extent of his intoxicating stare until you were without it, nor the heat with which it took in every detail of your face as you did his.

Before you knew what you were doing your fingers had begun shifting toward your already hard nipples, one hand covering your t-shirt clad breast. You squeezed softly, head falling further back against the sofa with your eyes now tightly shut. Your free hand skimmed lower, tugging the hem of your oversized shirt to cup your bare flesh. The action of your open palm squeezing against your clit and dampening hole was enough to have your thrusting gently upwards. What a dilemma that the very person who was supposed to be helping you pleasure yourself had become the object of it. The mere thought had you huffing in disbelief–just your luck.

Deciding to distract yourself you seized the opportunity to do the homework you’d been assigned. Getting up, you trudged the short distance to your desk, grabbing your laptop and the vibrator before returning to the sofa in haste. Your fingers continued tugging at your nipple, electric sparks travelling straight to your core. You kept the drone of the tv on as you clicked play on one of the videos, muting the sound to focus on the girl's actions. That earlier worked up feeling died down somewhat as you mimicked her movements. Taking the vibrator in your mouth you sucked on it stiffly, allowing your tongue to press against the base of it as you wet the velvet soft device. You should’ve known better though, then to think your mind could focus just because you willed it to. Instead, you began to wonder, deliberating whether Chan’s hard cock would feel this heavy between your lips; the thought drawing a hum from your stuffed mouth as you tried to concentrate on the video.

You felt yourself grow soaked at the image of your sex therapist pushing his member further past your lips, the tip of it entering your throat while he exhaled grunts. You thanked the heavens when the actress removed the toy from her mouth, switching the vibration on to press it against her clit. You did the same, body jolting at the unfamiliar feeling. You tried to keep up with her motions, alternating between teasing your soaked entrance with the toy and rubbing it against your clit. Your pleasure came and went as you did so, your clumsy movements trying to keep up with her own. You felt yourself grow frustrated as you did so, mind aching to return to the image of Chan using your mouth.

Your head lulled back at the thought of his hand clutching your hair with those big, veiny fingers, pushing your head down against his cock until your nose met his muscular flesh. Your eyes glazed over, the video no longer in focus as you fixated on the memory of his slender digits. They were so long and shaped in such a way that you were certain, in your imagination at least, they’d have no problem fucking you open. Neither an issue finding your g-spot; bringing you to a satisfying climax again and again until your body begged him to give you a moment to recover. You could picture it now: his large body hovering above you, one hand pushing you against the mattress to keep you still while the other pistoned his skilled fingers in and out of your gushing pussy. You knew you’d surely be convulsing like the girls in porn did, hips unable to keep still despite his heavy palm.

The movie playing behind your closed lids was enough to have you more worked up than you’d ever been before. You pressed the vibrator into your entrance letting it linger before you thrust it past your walls, leaving yourself no time to prep like the man in your imagination refused to. He touched you with an air of impatience, desperation even, as if he’d deprived himself of you for too long; torturing himself with the thought of how you’d feel constricting around his rock hard length. You marvelled at the way his cock would feel spreading you open deliciously. You imagined his member to be as veiny as his arms, the ridges pushing against your spongy walls sending a new type of wave throughout your body. No disconnection, no retreating. Just the crashing of ecstasy that was building up with every desperate push of the vibrator. Moans fell from your lips as you thrust the toy in and out, the length of it brushing blissfully against your clit every few motions. You pictured the push of his hips against yours, the feeling of his breath against your clammy skin and the melodic muse of his groans. You just knew your moans would sound perfect together; as harmonious as your chorused laughter.

It felt so fucking sinful fucking yourself with the toy he’d given you, imagining him in place of it. The revelation had your high approaching and your walls tightening as you tried to push yourself over the finish line. It felt like a knot, or a rubber band, constricting and pulling until it threatened to snap. You tried to imagine him circling your clit with his soaked fingers, his teeth latching at your throat as he painted plum coloured hues against your skin. You kept your frenzied motions up–thrusting and rubbing in desperation to cum–but the band never snapped. The knot coming undone as your stamina reached its limit. You felt overstimulated, but without the post-orgasm floods of pleasure that should surely be wracking your body. Instead, you just felt tired, defeated even.

You’d usually give up, the magic of the moment gone with the disappointment that overtook it. This time around, though, you were still endlessly frustrated. You wanted release so badly. Your hand pushed the toy back into your needy pussy as you let your mind wander back to the therapist clouding your mind with lust. This time, he coaxed you through it sweetly, whispering reassuring words in your ear as he took his time thrusting his fingers in and out of your hole. That dark gaze captivated you again. You imagined the way it would scrutinise you once more, peering up at your spent form as he trailed kisses down the valley of your plump breasts; close to where his busy fingers worked you open. Your imagination had you near sweet release again, the image of his plump lips latching at your clit was enough to have your back arching as you tried desperately to cum.

Cruelly, despite your best efforts, the blissful feeling died out like the embers of a long forgotten fire. The feeling becoming duller and duller till the pleasurable light flickered out for the last time. You let out a whine of defeat, chest heaving as you caught your breath before trying again. You tried, and you tried, but no matter how many times you thrust the vibrating device in and out of your puffy cunt you ended up exhausted and disappointed. Realising it wasn’t going to happen, you got up with glossy eyes, tears lining their brim as you wobbled over to the desk. You found your phone discarded by the vibrators packaging, the sudden igniting of the screen reminding you of its presence. Reminding you of your plan b.

You didn’t expect him to pick up, thumb between your lips as you chewed anxiously at your nail. By the third ring he did, though, your eyes widening not only at his quick response, but how real the situation suddenly felt. What were you doing? Had you actually called him? You had. That became abundantly clear the moment his voice filled the silence the call tone had left behind. “Hello?” The octave sounded a little rougher than it had during your appointment, leaving you suddenly panicked that you might’ve woken him up. Your eyes darted towards the time on your laptop’s screensaver 8:12pm visible in big letters.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, did I wake you up?” You quickly blurted out, back straightening in anticipation of his response.

“Oh hey, no you didn’t don’t worry. I was just listening to that podcast actually.” The strain in his voice dissipated, replaced instead by an enthusiastic tone.

“Really?” Your hesitance was gone, the swirling of something close to affection beginning to churn in the pit of your stomach. It reminded you of that prior unseen tension between you, the kind that felt like a perfect storm; a destiny playing out in a beautiful collision.

“Yeah, shit’s insane…” He trailed off, the muted clattering of background noise leaving you no clues as to what he could be up to. You wondered briefly how he spent his time when he wasn’t cooped up in his office. Did he frequent a bar? Maybe the gym? Did he have a favourite takeout spot? Or did he have a book of recipes he flicked through every night? Maybe he spent his time much the same way you did, curled up on the sofa with a show you only half-paid attention to.

“I know right, it’s wild.” You agreed, pushing the far-too-domestic thoughts out of your mind.

“Right? He just disappeared off the face of the earth.” Chan exclaimed, the distant, indistinguishable noises fading to a settled silence. “So, are you okay? Did your homework go okay?”

“Actually, that’s why I’m calling.” You admitted, growing a little sheepish at the turn in conversation. You couldn’t tell if you were flustered because of the subject matter, or because your cunt still throbbed and ached in desperate anticipation of something that would seemingly never come.

“Sure, what’s the matter?” He spoke, voice level as always.

“I tried to do the porn thing but I don’t know, I just felt way too uncoordinated and ended up getting distracted. But, like, this time it was a good kind of distraction and I got close so many times but I just couldn’t cum.” The recollection of your disappointing evening had you shuffling in your seat, the friction of your bare clit against the couch setting your over-sensitive body alight. You got a bit more comfortable, squeezing your legs together in the hopes the pressure would lull the ache. It didn’t, it seemed nothing would. Nothing except an outcome that you couldn’t attain.

“Okay, well that’s a positive development, right? You tried something new, it didn’t work but you gave it a really good go, yeah? You should feel proud.” His positive disposition had once filled you with so much assurance, but right now, it did nothing but taunt you. No shit it didn’t work, you were practically throbbing with desire, desperate for release.

“Right, yeah, I guess so.” You muttered.

“Did you try the toy?” At the mention of the vibrator–still close to you on the sofa–you felt a knot form in the pit of your stomach. You weren’t sure how, in your frantic mind, you’d figured that having a sexually-charged conversation with your very attractive sex therapist was going to help your situation. Right now, it only worsened it tenfold.

“I did.” You retorted shortly.

“Did it feel good?” You felt like your ears were playing tricks on you. Could’ve sworn his usually balanced voice wavered with something unknown. You wanted to call it restraint, but you knew that was surely your desires playing out in your mind; your current disposition plaguing all reason. He was good at that–consuming every part of you–and you were starting to think that was exactly what you needed. To be consumed. To not be able to have a single sense focused on anything but him.

“Uh, umm, yeah.” You felt your situation growing exponentially worse, body shifting again in a fruitless attempt at distracting yourself from the heavy throb between your thighs. You hadn’t even realised you’d managed a response, not until he was talking again, offering that same assurance that still held little weight.

“That’s another positive step, maybe we can give you more toys to try out to see if there’s one that can help you finish.”

“Uh huh.” You hummed, head pressing against the sofa, free hand skimming your bare thighs. You knew you couldn’t do anything about your situation, not with Chan on the phone, but frustratingly, you knew you couldn’t do anything about it without him either. It was a cruel catch 22; sit here and squirm beneath the mundane distraction his sentiments provided, or try and get yourself off again and again to the image of him in your head.

“Are you okay?” He seemed to pick up on your absentminded demeanour, pitch raising in slight concern.

“Just… frustrated. I’m open to trying more things but, like, I’m just… what about now?” You admitted, perhaps if you were honest about his situation he’d know the right thing to say. The perfect affirmation that would finally have you climaxing after years of pent up frustration.

“Oh… right. So when you say frustrated…?” He attempted to connect the dots, your eyes squeezing shut as you released a huff.

“I’m really fucking desperate to cum.” You spoke bluntly, the hand that sat at your thigh itching to circle your clit. The thought alone had your hips rising in ecstasy, eyes rolling back as you imagined your fingers strumming your sensitive nub in a frenzied attempt to cum. You’d have to keep quiet, you wouldn’t want your sex therapist to know you were trying to orgasm to the sound of his perfectly innocent intimate questions “Chan?” You questioned, when silence followed.

“Yeah, sorry, umm, just thinking.” He seemed distant now, and you suddenly regretted being so honest. Had you crossed a line? Well of course you had, many in fact. You hated that justifications followed suit; so surely you can cross one more, right? To give your clit that attention it so desperately wanted.

“Am I hopeless? Is there nothing I can do right now?” You asked in defeat, the ache almost painful beneath your continued resistance.

“You’re not hopeless, no– okay…” He started to speak, still sounding much different than he had moments ago. “I don’t usually do this, I’m not supposed to do this, but, if you want I can, umm, I can help you?” There was hesitance in his tone, uncertainty wrapped up in every syllable; leaking through each word the same way your cunt gushed at the prospect of his statement.

“Help me?” You uttered, not daring to believe he could mean what you thought he did.

“Like guide you.” Oh, you thought. So he meant exactly that. The man of your prior fantasies wanted to talk you through your masturbation. If you thought your desperation had reached maximum capacity before, then you were certain you were at the breaking point now. Your pussy clenched around nothing, whole body suddenly heavy with thick hot lust as you managed a response.

“O-Okay.”

“Yeah, you want that?” He was back to sounding level again, and how he could be in this situation you didn’t know. You didn’t care, though, not when your deprived cunt was about to get abused once again.

“Yeah, so bad.” Your voice no longer hid your frantic state, hips rising from the sofa, hand reaching between your thighs to ghost over your sensitive clit in an attempt to feel any relief.

“Mm fuck, okay.” Whatever professionalism he’d mustered up had quickly faltered, something close to a groan falling from his lips. “We can stop whenever you want to, I only wanna help you with this if you’re comfortable with it.” Before you could register his new state, however, the collected therapist was back. You questioned your sanity, were you hearing things now? Your mind conjuring mirages of your hot therapist moaning in your ear as he got you off. Fuck you wanted to touch yourself so bad.

“I want your help, Chan.” You confirmed, gnawing at your bottom lip as you ran a finger through your soaked folds, digit quickly growing sticky, body jolting from the small amount of contact.

“You sound so strained, gonna help you okay?” His voice held promise, and your eyes practically rolled into the back of your head at the prospect of finally cumming.

“Please.” You begged, restraint completely vanished along with any shame you might’ve felt about sounding so unbelievably desperate.

“You still wearing that pretty little dress?” His voice dropped an octave, his ability to stay unphased broken up by bouts of what you could only surmise was his body betraying him.

“No, just a t-shirt” You responded, mewls falling from your lips at the prospect of him being affected by your insatiable lust.

“Nothing else?” Chan questioned.

“Just the shirt.” You confirmed, finger circling your gushing hole as you awaited your sign to begin pleasuring yourself properly.

“Take it off for me, drag the fabric against your skin nice and slow. You doing that for me?” To your dismay, he had other plans, his request to take your time sending every one of your nerves into overdrive. You did as you were told, though, too turned on by the current events playing out to rush through it.

“Yeah.”

“Good, give your breasts special attention; squeeze them together, let the rough part of the fabric stimulate your nipples.” You followed his commands, putting your phone on loud speaker by your head to squeeze your breasts together; the fabric against your sensitive nipples sending waves of pleasure straight to your desperate pussy.

“When your shirt is off, bring your fingers to your mouth and get them nice and wet. You doing it baby?” Behind closed lids your senses were heightened, the sound of his voice from the speaker–so close to your ear–jolting your forward. Leaving your breasts alone for the moment, you removed the thin clothing, the air of your cool apartment stimulating your bare skin in a way that had your head spinning.

“Mhm.” You moaned loudly at the nickname, mouth stuffed with your fingers as you sucked on them. You were reminded of your earlier imaginings, the thought of his cock between your lips instead of your fingers pulling another pitchy groan from you.

“You like it when I call you that?” He asked, not waiting for a response before he continued. “Good, such a good girl, so responsive. Suck on your fingers till they’re nice and coated then I want you to play with your nipples okay?” You were frustrated at the pace he’d set, brows furrowed as you let strings of spit coat your fingers, hips continuously jolting as if trying to beg for your attention.

You couldn’t help the moans that spilled from your lips at the state you were in, cool air stimulating your already needy clit as you rubbed your soaked digits over your nipples. You played with them harshly, almost annoyed at the pent up feeling that grew and grew. With each pinch your pussy clenched around nothing, the emptiness reminding you of what you wanted there most; his cock.

“You sound so good, fuck, doing so well.” His resolve crumbled again, a huff of air the only release he could manage. “Take your time with yourself, okay?” Chan sounded strained now, the level part of him gone, replaced only by a man pushing his patience to unseen limits.

“It’s too much, wanna touch myself properly.” You whined, wetting your fingers some more to continue playing with your breasts.

“You’ll get there baby, don’t worry, not gonna leave your pretty pussy neglected.” Another desperate moan fell from your lips, noises carelessly flowing from you with complete disregard for your neighbours let alone the man on the other end of the phone. “You like that? Like me calling your pussy pretty? Mmm, I bet it is. I know it is.”

“Hmpf, Chan, please.”

“Ohmygod.” His ability to maintain level-headedness was slipping with every sound that fell from your lips. You sounded incredible, mind racing with vivid images of your legs spread, pretty fingers prying feverishly at your swollen nipples. “How does it feel baby?” He questioned, feeding his own thoughts more than yours with this request.

“Good but not enough, want more.” Your hips rose and fell, so unable to continue just playing with your plump tits when your aching, needy cunt was pleading with you to touch it.

“Okay baby, go slow, leave one hand playing with your nipples and let the other one start trailing down your body. Make sure you give every part of yourself attention, squeeze at your thighs, graze your tummy with your nails; do whatever feels best.” You released a sigh of relief, glad to finally be moving on from your top half.

“I’m doing it.” You murmured, trying to follow his direction as best you could. However, your hand skimmed your flesh clumsily, hurriedly, squeezing at your thighs to keep them pressed against the couch.

“Good girl, brush over your clit when you get there, okay? use your finger to push through your folds and spread your juices over your clit.” You did exactly that, digits instantly drenched in the sticky, wet mess soaking the sofa beneath you. Your entire body moved in haste, pushing your fingers between your pussy lips and up to your clit over and over, hips thrusting with them.

“Ah, fuck, that feels so good Chan!” You couldn’t control yourself anymore, moan after moan spilling from your gaping mouth as you repeated the motion.

“Yeah? fucking hell– sound so pretty, darling. Start circling your clit when you’re nice and soaked and make sure to give your entrance some attention too, okay?”

“Yeah, okay, god so good.” You mewled when the tips of your fingers prodded teasingly at your clenching hole. With every tightening of your pussy a new stream of sticky cum would gush onto your fingers, coating them deliciously for your sensitive clit’s unquenchable thirst for more.

“You doing that?”

“I think so.” You whined, near sobbing by now.

“Describe it for me.” He insisted, tone low with a growing impatience.

“I’m rubbing my clit with two fingers, now I’m moving them down and pushing the tips in.” You recited your motions, repeating each step with a thrust of your hips and a squirm of your limbs.

“Good, that’s good. Keep doing that for me until you’re ready and then I want you to get the toy I gave you.” His commands continued, the only thing keeping you grounded in this moment of uncontrollable, desperation for release.

“Alright. I already f-feel close.” You moaned, that tight feeling growing expanding, filling the empty place you wanted Chan to most.

“Drag it out baby, take your time.” His words drew a frustrated sob from you, eyes screwing even tighter shut as you circled your clit furiously.

“I wanna cum so bad though.” You cried, tears streaking your cheeks as your hips moved at their own accord.

“You’re gonna cum, baby, i’m gonna make you cum– fuck.” At his promise, you reluctantly pulled your hand away, blindly reaching for the vibrator. The moan that punctuated his sentence had a wave of arousal washing over you again.

“Are you touching yourself too?” You asked, the mere thought causing your cunt to clench in a way it never had. You bet he looked incredible with his fist wrapped around his cock, fucking his closed hand with the same amount of disregard you showed your sensitive nub.

“No. This is about you.” He broke your illusion, a whine falling from you lips.

“I’m getting the toy, what should I do with it, sir?” You clutched the vibrator, pressing it against your clit in anticipation of his next request. “Chan?” You spoke after a beat in time.

“Uh huh, yeah, fuck, sorry I’m still here.” Whatever thread of resolve he’d been clinging onto desperately was audibly gone. He sounded like a man starved. As if he himself was beginning to understand the torture you must be feeling to be deprived of sweet release the way he currently was.

“You sound good when you moan, can you do it again?” You pleaded, using the toy to circle your clit as you waited for him to comply.

“Mhm, yeah like this baby?” Chan didn’t disappoint, the sounds spilling from his lips sending jolt after jolt of mind-numbing pleasure straight to your core. “You like that, huh?”

“Yeah so much.” You moaned, rubbing the toy up and down your soaked folds; punishing your neglected hole with the velvety tip.

“God, so fucking hot, bet you look so good right now.” Chan seemed on a not-so-slow descent into madness, his palms no doubt twitching in place as yours had earlier, wanting nothing more than to palm his hard cock through his clothes. “Turn the vibrator on and do the same as earlier; give your clit and your hole special attention.”

“I’m so close, sir” You moaned, fingers fumbling with the button until the default vibration setting turned on. “Please can I fuck myself with it? Feel so empty clenching around nothing.”

“Fucking hell, your tight little pussy wants to get fucked so bad, yeah?” He moaned, so loudly that it almost felt like he was right there in the room with you.

“More than anything, please.” You pleaded, hips back to moving at their own accord as you circled your entrance with the vibrating toy.

“You sound fucking incredible begging for me like this baby–such a good little slut–so obedient.” his growls filled the air around you, cunt clenching at the image of his gritted teeth and clenched jaw. Gone was the pretty smile and the dimpled cheeks, no doubt replaced by a solemn expression and distant stare as his own mind busied itself with visuals of your submissive form.

“If I keep being good will you touch yourself with me?” You pleaded, tone wavering beneath the chorus of moans that flew from your lips with every exhale of breath.

“A-are you sure?” He stuttered, caught off guard by your comment. If you’d asked him to do this at the start of your call, he’d give you a categorical no. Now, though, beneath the heavy haze of lust, and battling with the feeling of painfully stiff cock confined beneath his work clothes, he could only comply eagerly.

“Yeah, please, wanna hear you moan some more.” Your voice was starting to break now, tip of the vibrator pushing further and further past your walls with every flick of your hand. You pictured how he must look, strong hand clasping desperately at his poor neglected cock; not even bothering to remove his clothes entirely before he was circling the base with his first.

“Fuck this is so wrong. God if only you could see what you’re doing to me.” Chan sounded like heaven, puffs of air exhaling from his lips as small grunts filled the room. He was no longer moaning for your entertainment alone, no, instead the noises were accompanied by the wet sounds of his fist stroking his length feverishly.

“Mmm I wish, wish it was you fucking me right now.” Not a lie, either. Your head couldn’t settle on one script to stick to: him jerking off uncontrollably or you bouncing on his cock. The latter would be quite the scene, pussy gushing around his pulsing member as you rode him with haste. His hands planted firmly at your hips to spur you on. You imagined it must feel blissful to feel his palms clasping at your body, keeping you grounded, reminding you the best things weren’t hiding in the corners of your mind but right here in reality.

“Baby, fuck, don’t say that.” Chan grunted again, sounds broken up by moans and curse words. “You fucking yourself nice and slow, yeah?”

“Yeah, not enough.” You sobbed, drying tear tracks repainted with fresh salty tears.

“So greedy, such a spoiled little pussy, does it wanna be fucked hard and rough?” His voice couldn’t find an octave, one moment it was deep, controlling almost in its approach to commanding your every move. The next it reached new heights, pitchy moans interjecting each breathless word. You liked this, felt like you were adding new polaroid pictures to a scrapbook keep-sake. Finding new things to add to a growing collection of moments you’d replay over and over again in your mind. You were good at that, fixating on one situation good or bad, thinking about it from every angle until the edges of it became frayed and aged. Until it lost all meaning; all feeling.

“Want you to ruin it.” You could barely form words by now, you wanted nothing more than to quicken your pace. You wouldn’t though, not without his word. There was something so hot about doing what your therapist told you to, even if he couldn’t see you, nor hold you accountable if you misbehaved. You wanted to be his good girl, his favourite patient; the only one who could corrupt him into breaking every rule he swore he’d keep. Maybe it was the power in an otherwise powerless dynamic that had you so hot on bothered, but really, truly, that didn’t feel like the perfect fit.

There was something about him, you couldn’t describe it. You could only remember how electric the air around you had felt, how badly you wanted to let yourself be pulled into his orbit, to centre him in every aspect of your life until he was the only thing that remained. All consumed, entirely taken up by him. Every crack in your broken mind filled with him, and his voice, and his promises to fix you. It was so undeniably unethical, let alone wishful thinking. You knew you were latching onto him, your next fixation, your special interest.

“Shit, you know I can’t do that, gonna have to learn to do it yourself.” His words reminded you just how hopeless your new infatuation was. Lust and affection were two different things, not mutually exclusive, in fact rarely hand-in-hand. Chan was trying to help, he took pity on you, right? Sure, somewhere along the way his cock had ended up in his fist, moans spilling from him like a pot left to boil too far too long. But that was a happy accident, an inevitability when you were moaning like a pornstar in his ear.

You were losing focus again. God, who knew your distraction would become a distraction from himself. But just as you’d begun to run out of momentum, mind conjuring up anxious thoughts and momentary bouts of shame intermingled with embarrassment, his voice sliced through the noise. “Pick up the pace for me, keep going, keep fucking yourself like a slut if that’s what baby girl wants.”

“So close. I-I’m fuck, fuck, so close.” You clenched around the vibrating device, the loud groans emanating from your phone’s speaker pushing you closer and closer to the edge. An edge… now that was new. Usually you felt a tightening in the pit of your stomach, an indescribable pressure that wanted to be released. But this felt more like a building of something that was destined to end in you reaching an undiscovered depth; the deepest darkest part of an ocean you’d yet to explore.

“Yeah? You sound so fucking hot baby, you gonna cum for me? gonna cum for sir like an obedient little whore?” The filth that was spewing from his lips so easily had your mind racing in an entirely new way. You couldn’t keep up with your body anymore, vibrator plunging in and out of your abused hole as if running on a motor. The space around you smelled like sweat paired with the sweet scent of your cum; the sounds of your wet pussy battling to be heard above your shrill moans.

“Want you to cum with me, you gonna cum with me sir?” You spoke between pants.

“I’ll cum with you, yeah, that’s so hot– I can hear how soaked you are, bet you’re making such a mess baby.” His groans did indeed sound perfect in harmony with your own, you’d been right about that.

“Would feel so good creaming your cock with my cum.” you murmured, biting down on your bottom lip to keep yourself from screaming.

“Ahhh, fuck, fucking hell I’m gonna cum.” He stammered and you could hear so clearly the sounds of skin slapping against skin. You could tell, even through the phone that his release was already leaking from the top of his angry head, every thrust of his fist wet. You could practically taste the salt of his cum on your tongue, the image of him dumping its entirety in your wide, eager mouth enough to have your hips spasming uncontrollably.

“Yeah? Me too, please, please.” You felt your body teeter so close to the edge you almost lost the ability to thrust the vibrator in and out of your desperate hole.

“That’s it, good girl– fuck– fuck yourself so good like you know I would.” It would appear that in his near-climax haze Chan had given up on the idea of not buying into your fantasy of fucking him. You liked to think he’d reached the point of complete inhibition, no longer able to keep up the facade. That perhaps he wanted your cunt just as badly as you wanted to feel his cock rammed deep inside you, tip prodding against your cervix with every well-timed thrust. “Would treat that pussy so well, yeah, would fuck you so well baby, fuck.” He was babbling now, barely indistinguishable beneath the sounds of wet fist fucking.

“Please, please.” Was all the words you could muster, so close now that you felt yourself being pushed from the edge you’d been almost afraid to fall from, vibrator hitting your spongy walls at just the right angle to have your toes curling and your body heaving.

“Keep going baby, keep going. Imagine it's me, yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you?” Chan kept talking, seemingly unable to keep his desires pent up any longer as he too reached the edge. “Bet you’d love it, fuck such a good girl, taking my cock so well–you’d feel so good, tight cunt wrapped around me.” He was relentless now, words sending jolts of hot pleasure straight to your already overstimulated pussy.

“Be the only man to make you cum, you know I can.” He continued, barely able to get the words out between broken moans, each one louder than the next. “Gonna make your cunt mine baby, yeah, you want that don’t you? I’ll treat you so good don’t worry; i’ll take good care of your desperate little pussy.” The possessive growl he let out, paired with the absolutely sinful rambles he couldn’t seem to stop from spilling out of him, was more than enough to send you tumbling from the edge. You were rendered near immobile, white light breaking through the darkness behind your closed lids. Your hips shook, every limb twitching and seizing until all feeling returned.

You hadn’t even noticed you’d been moaning his name, over and over until your voice was hoarse and your throat felt raw. You could feel every part of you grow stiff, chest heaving as you tried to make sense of what had just happened. One second you were pushing the toy in and out of your clenching hole, the next you lost all control of your body. It was easy to see why they called it little death, that feeling of going into a place filled with light, a place that threatened no return. No way to flee back to the safety of normalcy. It was a contrast to his dark gaze, the one that consumed you in the same way. It was like fire and ice, light and dark, yin and yang. So entirely wrong but right.

“Ah, you came, fuck, yeah, you’re so– god, I’m cumming too, fuck.” You realised then, as you caught your breath, listening to the sounds of his own release play through the speaker, that you didn’t want to return to normalcy at all. You wanted the light, you wanted the dark, you wanted both of them at once. No, not want; need.

You needed the dark to find the light. You needed him.

<< back to dash // next episode >>

taglist: @mangojellyyy • @diekleinesuesse

A/N: this was made to celebrate the 100 followers milestone so thank you so much to everyone who has been a part of that. this one's for yous <3

hope you enjoyed my first written fic! this was semi-unedited so if there are any major errors let me know. haven't done smut in a long time so fingers crossed it was okay lmao. there will be another episode but not any time soon, please see "genre" for more details.

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nasa · 4 months ago

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Love Letters from Space

Love is in the air, and it’s out in space too! The universe is full of amazing chemistry, cosmic couples held together by gravitational attraction, and stars pulsing like beating hearts.

Celestial objects send out messages we can detect if we know how to listen for them. Our upcoming Nancy Grace Roman Space Telescope will help us scour the skies for all kinds of star-crossed signals.

Celestial Conversation Hearts

Communication is key for any relationship – including our relationship with space. Different telescopes are tuned to pick up different messages from across the universe, and combining them helps us learn even more. Roman is designed to see some visible light – the type of light our eyes can see, featured in the photo above from a ground-based telescope – in addition to longer wavelengths, called infrared. That will help us peer through clouds of dust and across immense stretches of space.

Other telescopes can see different types of light, and some detectors can even help us study cosmic rays, ghostly neutrinos, and ripples in space called gravitational waves.

Intergalactic Hugs

This visible and near-infrared image from the Hubble Space Telescope captures two hearts locked in a cosmic embrace. Known as the Antennae Galaxies, this pair’s love burns bright. The two spiral galaxies are merging together, igniting the birth of brand new baby stars.

Stellar nurseries are often very dusty places, which can make it hard to tell what’s going on. But since Roman can peer through dust, it will help us see stars in their infancy. And Roman’s large view of space coupled with its sharp, deep imaging will help us study how galaxy mergers have evolved since the early universe.

Cosmic Chemistry

Those stars are destined to create new chemistry, forging elements and scattering them into space as they live, die, and merge together. Roman will help us understand the cosmic era when stars first began forming. The mission will help scientists learn more about how elements were created and distributed throughout galaxies.

Did you know that U and I (uranium and iodine) were both made from merging neutron stars? Speaking of which…

Fatal Attraction

When two neutron stars come together in a marriage of sorts, it creates some spectacular fireworks! While they start out as stellar sweethearts, these and some other types of cosmic couples are fated for devastating breakups.

When a white dwarf – the leftover core from a Sun-like star that ran out of fuel – steals material from its companion, it can throw everything off balance and lead to a cataclysmic explosion. Studying these outbursts, called type Ia supernovae, led to the discovery that the expansion of the universe is speeding up. Roman will scan the skies for these exploding stars to help us figure out what’s causing the expansion to accelerate – a mystery known as dark energy.

Going Solo

Plenty of things in our galaxy are single, including hundreds of millions of stellar-mass black holes and trillions of “rogue” planets. These objects are effectively invisible – dark objects lost in the inky void of space – but Roman will see them thanks to wrinkles in space-time.

Anything with mass warps the fabric of space-time. So when an intervening object nearly aligns with a background star from our vantage point, light from the star curves as it travels through the warped space-time around the nearer object. The object acts like a natural lens, focusing and amplifying the background star’s light.

Thanks to this observational effect, which makes stars appear to temporarily pulse brighter, Roman will reveal all kinds of things we’d never be able to see otherwise.

Roman is nearly ready to set its sights on so many celestial spectacles. Follow along with the mission’s build progress in this interactive virtual tour of the observatory, and check out these space-themed Valentine’s Day cards.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

#NASA #astronomy #telescope #Roman Space Telescope #Valentine’s Day #space #science #STEM #nebula #chemistry #galaxies #black holes #rogue planets #exoplanets #Hubble Space Telescope #tech

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fastandcarlos · 8 months ago

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All Your Little Things : ̗̀➛ Max Verstappen

summary: imagine being able to date the perfect gentleman, well that's exactly what you get being the one in a relationship with max

To say he was protective of you was an understatement, there was no greater job for Max than the job of taking care of you, with all of the little things he did for you.

It was the things that you never paid attention to, the little habits that he had picked up over the years that came naturally to him, without even having to think Max’s body guided him to those spots where he could look after you.

As you walked out of your apartment onto the streets of Monaco, hands landed on your shoulders and moved you from one side of the pavement to the other. Max smiled back at you as he slipped his hand in with yours, much more comfortable on the side by the cars instead.

“They’ll hit me first,” he simply smiled as you looked at him questionably.

“Hopefully that doesn’t happen.”

“Well, if it does, I’m here to make sure you’re safe,” Max responded, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

Once you got to the restaurant that you were eating at, Max led you to one side, taking a step forwards so that he could be the one to open up the door for you too.

“I got it,” Max grinned as you looked back at him, sending him a glance as if to remind him that you were more than capable of opening up a door for yourself.

The pride in his expression though brought a smile to your own face too, allowing Max to hold onto your hand and lead you to the table that you always sat at.

“For you,” he spoke, pulling your chair out from underneath the table for you.

“Such a gentleman,” you teased, taking your seat as Max tucked you in.

“Only for you,” he sung, kissing the top of your head once again before moving around the table and taking a seat opposite you.

“I don’t think Lando would like to hear you say that,” you chuckled, taking the menu that Max held out for you to read.

“Trust me, Lando doesn’t compare to you.”

As you sat to your meal, Max listened intently to every single word that you had to say. Admittedly, you were talking a little bit of nonsense, but Max still listened, nodding to show you he was there, interrupting every so often when he wanted to add a little nugget of advice.

It was something of nothing for him, after all he loved listening to your voice and the passion that you had as you spoke. But for you, it was nice to feel as if you were heard, having spent so many years feeling as if you were talking to yourself, now every word was held onto by Max.

You couldn’t have wished for more for your evening, even as the cheque came, a hand grabbed it before you could take a look.

“Don’t you dare,” you warned, watching Max pull out his card from his wallet, “you know what I’m going to tell you Verstappen.”

“And you know what I’m going to tell you,” he smugly replied, swatting your hand when you went to reach for your bag from under the table, refusing to let you get your purse and pay towards your meal.

Max’s head shook, “this is my treat, I want to pay for this tonight,” he told you, handing his card across as the waitress came back over to your table.

If he had it his way, Max would pay for you every night, he loved spoiling you and treating you whenever he could. Of course, you always tried to protest but Max would never listen, he didn’t care about the cost or what you’d been up to, he wanted it to be on him.

“Thank you,” you told him as the waitress walked away, offering him a wide smile.

“You don’t need to thank me,” Max assured you, placing his card away safely into his wallet.

“I do, you didn’t have to do that,” you noted, standing up from your chair, heading out of the restaurant.

Your body tensed up as soon as you walked out into the cold air, but before you could even say anything, a jacket was draped over your shoulders. Out of the corner of his eye, Max saw you shiver, immediately taking his jacket off deciding it was better use around you instead. His hand helped onto yours tightly, trying to keep you as warm as possible as you walked.

As you got to the corner, where your apartments split, you came to a stop, leaving Max slightly ahead of you. “Where are you going?” You asked him, brows knitting together.

“I’m walking you home, where do you think I’m going?” Max responded, staring back at you as if the answer was obvious. The stars were out and there was a bitterness in the air, there was no way that Max was ever going to let you walk home by yourself.

Before you could reply, he took your hand and carried on walking beside you, listening to your ramblings next to him. He knew the way to your apartment like the back of his hand, once again keeping you away from the traffic as he made sure you got home safe.

Max came with you all the way into your apartment block, up the elevator and to the front door. You knew he wasn’t expecting to come in, all he wanted was to see for himself you going through that front door so that he could go home and make sure nothing could hurt you.

When you opened the door, you spun on your heels to face him, unable to hide the smile that was on your face. “Thank you for being such a gent tonight,” you told him.

The corners of Max’s smile turned up, “I wasn’t doing anything, just being a good boyfriend,” he mused, unaware of all those little things that you’d spotted throughout the night.

You knew that Max was never going to take the credit, even if he was aware of how well he treated you. He didn’t need appreciation for it because it was just him, it was what he did, it was because of how strongly he felt about you that made it all come naturally to him.

“You have to call me when you get home,” you told Max, passing his coat back to him to keep him warm on his journey home.

He raised an eyebrow back at him, “that’s the sort of thing that I say to you, you can’t start stealing my lines.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s what I say to look after you,” he chuckled, watching as your head shook back in reply to him.

You leant your head against the door frame, “I’m allowed to look after you too. A world-famous driver walking the busy streets of Monaco, who knows what might happen.”

“I reckon I might be alright,” Max grinned, leaning forwards and pressing a kiss to your forehead before stepping further away from your door. He could feel your eyes narrowing on him, unable to hide his smile.

“Call me,” you shouted as he walked around the corner, out of sight and heading for home.

You could hear him scoff as he disappeared, knowing exactly what Max was like. However, for all the little things he did for you, you wanted to do the exact same thing for him too.

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

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lystopianne · 3 months ago

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Business & Retail themed cc list

with the highly anticipated release of businesses & hobbies, I gotta say: opportunity taken to make a cc masterlist, yay! I love making those!

small (family) businesses is a huge add-on to our gameplay and with custom content, the fun will never go away. 🥰 everything from essential mods, shopping decor & specific-themed businesses items are to be found here.

feel free to send any suggestions for the list, I'll be happy to add them!

*NEW UPDATES WILL BE MADE ON THIS PAGE*

ESSENTIALS

miunachan's ultimate list of business ideas 🧡

mods

cheat retail & restaurant prices

club & business activity expanded

club & business expanded interactions

functional registers

higher business activity limit

more selectable icons

more small business employees

more small business logos

more small business visitors

no autonomous dancing

sell stuff from any surfaces

small business do not close

tend stalls activity expanded

decor & display

business essentials x @soloriya

industrial inventory shelves x @brazenlotus

retail therapy set x @syboubou

shopping bags & box x @aroundthesims

simoleons decor set x @simdertalia

tip jars x @simdertalia

signs & stickers

backlit wall signs x @gfvsims

business sign decals x @cryptiam

credit card stickers x @ccbybudgie

convenience store ads x @cryptiam

fire department stickers x @ccbybudgie

gift shop neons x @simdertalia

lit up ads on wheels x @ccbybudgie

lit wall advertisements x @brazenlotus

open led sign decals x @cryptiam

sale & ad posters x @simdertalia

security sign decals x @cryptiam

shop ads x @ccbybudgie

THEMED SPECIFICS

animals & pets

aquarium retail display fridge x @brazenlotus

besties: part 1 & part 2 x @sixamcc

pet pack wall frames x @brazenlotus

art & crafts

art studio x @sixamcc

flower arrangement display x @brazenlotus

hobby knit x @helenmay

piano cc set x @syboubou

tattoo wall art x @ccbybudgie

daycare & kids

boho baby x @sixamcc

dream teen sleepover x @sixamcc

dreamy nursery x @sixamcc

kids bedroom x @sixamcc

little critters x @syboubou

modern teen bedroom x @sixamcc

princess & vampire kids x @sixamcc

private school x @sixamcc

tiny playrooms x @sixamcc

entertainment

dance studio signs x @simdertalia

functional quarter coin vending machine x @aroundthesims

old school record store x @ccbybudgie

fantasy & spooky

magic books x @simdertalia

witchy crystal shop ad posters x @simdertalia

witchy crystal shop signs x @simdertalia

witchy shop decor set x @simdertalia

witchy shop window stickers x @simdertalia

fashion & salon

anybody's dress bridal shop x @ravasheencc

chic cosmetics: part 1 - part 2 x @bostyny

fashion store x nando

jewelry set x @aroundthesims

keratin salon set x @bbygyal123

passion by judith ward x @someone-elsa

perfume set x @simdertalia

shoe store & shelving mirror set x @simdertalia

food

appliance collection x @bbygyal123

candy bags x @ccbybudgie

cozy bistro add-on x @aroundthesims

felt letter board x @ccbybudgie

fish chalkboard + fishy wall decor x @brazenlotus

food store ads x @ccbybudgie

fusion pantry set x @bostyny

greasy goods x @littledica

honey, I cooked set x @mylittleponyoh

kitchen clutter x @charlypancakes

martini mixology decor x @bbygyal123

small spaces: pantry x @sixamcc

restaurant kitchen dishwashing x @aroundthesims

rise & grind coffee house x @littledica

sweet treats x @littledica

laundry

laundromat corner x @sixamcc

laundry day clutter x @brazenlotus

laundry room x @sixamcc

library & learning center

books & stuff set x @brazenlotus

business stationery x @aroundthesims

work from home x @sixamcc

working mode set x abbypigg

outdoors

beach shop x @aroundthesims

camping & pétanque x @aroundthesims

stuff for national parks x @aroundthesims

trekking x @aroundthesims

build mode

arold's shop x @pierisim

candyfloss: part 1 & part 2 x abbypigg

love for modern windows x @sixamcc

upscale window & door addon x @brazenlotus

#ts4 #the sims 4 #cc recs #cc finds #ts4 businesses & hobbies #ts4 custom content

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y2kstarr · 24 days ago

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— ᥫ᭡ cyber sex . . . matt sturniolo

where . . . matt just cant help needing you even when he's away, but he's got a way to work it out

contains . . . pure smut, phone sex (facetime), masturbation (handjob, fingering), dirty talk, switch!matt.

credits to @delilahsturniolo for the marathon concept

HOT PINK WRITING MARATHON . . . fic #1

You giggled at your phone as you stepped into your room, scrolling through the multiple borderline sexting texts you and Matt had been sending each other throughout the whole day, leading up to now, where you were finally alone to actually indulge.

You plopped down onto your soft, cushioned bed, your room dimly lit from the purple LED lights that were strung along where your walls met your ceiling, your pillows holding the weight of your head as you lie down.

Just then, you saw a new text from him come through:

𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚢𝚎𝚝, 𝚖𝚊?

You hardly even waste a second before texting back a simple "yes", watching at the receipt turned from delivered to read, a moment of nothing filling you with anticipation before your phone started ringing, Matt's contact card now on your screen along with the options to accept or decline.

Excited chills went through your body before you collected yourself, the pad of your thumb pressing against the accept button and watching as his face came onto your screen. You felt your body practically melt as his lips curled into a warm smile at the sight of you.

"Hi baby," He cooed through the phone, making you already giggle as you greeted him back. "Been missin' you like crazy over here, I swear, it's like I'm addicted to you." He chuckled low, but you heard as he let a soft groan slip from his lips, his teeth subtly bitting at his bottom lip.

"Matt," You spoke his name in that soft, warm tone that always had his skin prickling with goosebumps, his teeth biting a bit harder into his lip now as he withheld a moan.

You giggled as you rolled your eyes. "Can't believe you've already been touching yourself. Thought you promised to wait till we got on call," You teased him, hearing as he let out a huffed chuckle in response.

"I know, ma, I just– fuck, just thinkin' about you gets me all worked up, I couldn't help myself," He admitted, your eyes noticing through the camera that his arm was trying to discreetly move, a smirk coming to your lips.

"C'mon, baby. Show me," You cooed, loving the way he huffed out a soft scoff before moving his phone back a bit, tilting it down to reveal his fingers wrapped around his gorgeous cock. His tip was a deep, flushed pink, pre-cum already starting to leak from his slit as he was clearly rock hard.

"That's how you me got me these past few days, ma," He groaned softly, though his grip on his phone unsteady, a muttered curse leaving his lips before he lifted his phone and brought it back, propping it up on something and checking what was all in view before he sat back.

You bit your lip as you watched his hand slowly stroke his cock, his head lolling back against whatever was behind his head as his chest rose and fell in deep breaths.

Your eyes stayed glued onto him through the screen a bit more before he let out a small noise that nearly sounded like a whimper or a whine, your eyes flicking his face as he glanced away from the camera, blush tinting his cheeks with his free hand covering his mouth.

"I.. wanna see you too, baby... please?"

You practically threw all inhibitions out the window the moment you heard him practically beg, your head nodding quick with a smile on your lips. You heard him chuckle softly through the phone as you took a moment to prop your phone up just right on your bed, a pillow backing it, before it finally worked.

You moved back a little, your knees up as you tugged off your sleep shorts and panties, looking back to see Matt watching you with desire filled eyes that sent a shiver through your spine. You sat up comfortably on your knees and feet, legs closed together before you slowly spread them for Matt, revealing your already glistening pussy to him.

"Fuck, baby..." Matt breathed out, your eyes noticing just how his dick twitched at the sight, a smirk on your lips even as you blushed, still a little embarrassed on being like this on call with him. "Can you touch yourself too..? Please, you got me lookin' pathetic here.." He huffed out a chuckle as you giggled.

You reached your hand down to grasp the hem of your shirt, tugging it up before you bit into the fabric, holding it up to show off your tits and give yourself better access to your drooling cunt. The moment your fingers brushed through your soaked folds, you let out a soft moan, albeit muffled by your shirt.

"Jesus, ma– you're a goddamn wet dream, right now—" Matt groaned out, your eyes back on your phone as you watched him start stroking himself again, a bead of pre-cum visible through the camera, nearly making your mouth water.

As you circled your clit, your eyes stayed locked on him on screen, his shallow breaths, his flushed cock, his half-lidded eyes. You let your fingers slide down before slowly slipping into your needy cunt, your eyes fluttering at the feeling as you pumped your fingers slow, matching his strokes in time.

"Wish I was there with you, touchin' you. God, I need you so fuckin' bad right now—" He groaned out, breathlessly chuckling at how needy he was getting for you, his hand starting to move faster on his cock as he watched you match his speed, a thill going through him as it let his imagination run wild, pretending like he was there, fucking you so good.

Soft squelches emitted from your sopping cunt as you fingered yourself to match his pace, whimpers and moans leaving you as your free hand lifted to grip your shirt from your mouth, a gasped breath leaving you. "Matt– fuck– need you here—" You breathlessly babbled out, whining as you rocked against your palm, stimulating your clit.

"Yeah baby? You thinkin' about me being there with you?" You nodded your head at his words, eyes fluttered shut as you bit your lip, just letting the pleasure wash over your greedy body. "Thinkin' about how much you want my dick in that sweet pussy, huh? Mmm– fillin' you up so nice— fuck— just like you deserve?"

"Matt—" You gasped out, feeling a warmth burn within your tummy, growing hotter and hotter by the second as your fingers worked your pussy perfectly, your mind trying to pretend like it was his fingers instead, or even his cock, just like he'd said. "You're gonna make me cum—" You whined, your hand gripping tighter at your held up shirt.

"You close, ma?" He cooed, groaning as he could hear the sloppy mess that was you fingering yourself, the sound so melodic to his ears as his hand stroked his throbbing cock, his hips twitching up to practically fuck into his fist. "S-Shit.. c'mon ma, cum f'me. Cum all over this dick–" He panted out, making your imagination build at the thought of getting to gush all over his thick cock.

Pants built up between the both of you, whimpered grunts leaving Matt's mouth as sweet whined moans fell from yours, your thighs starting to shake as you felt that tingly feeling grow and grow, your panting quick and skipping. "'M gonna– g-gonna—!"

You gasped before could hardly get your words out as your eyes rolled back and your thighs trembled nearly close, your pussy spasming and gushing all over your fingers, hips rocking to ride out your high against your palm, a sweet, loud moan of Matt's name leaving your soft, bitten lips, ecstasy washing over you in glorious waves.

Matt watched in awe with his lips parted, fucking up into his fist almost desperately as he felt his own orgasm finally hit him like a tidal wave, a gasp leaving him as white spurts of cum shot from his cock. His hand quickly lifted his shirt in time, his hips stuttering as his hand quickly stroked himself through his orgasm, his eyes lidded with pure pleasure.

"Fffuckkk–" He moaned out, his voice a little whiny from his breaths before his eyes rolled back, his hand slowing a bit as he slowly descended from his high. "Oh my— fucking god, baby..." He huffed out, a weak chuckle leaving him at the mess he'd made all over his abdomen, just like how you'd gotten your sheets all messy too.

You panted out in bliss as you took your fingers out with a weak whimper leaving you, cleaning as much as you could up before grabbing your phone and lying back down, your blissed out expression visible through the camera as you watched Matt clean himself up.

"I love you so much, Matt." You murmured, and he couldn't help but grin, all lovestruck and equally blissed out as he blew you a little kiss.

"Love you too, ma."

☆ : ok, a bit much, but i feel like i actually popped off with the first fic of the marathon EEEE!! hope you all enjoy!! <33

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f4ggydog · 2 months ago

Text

lottie x reader: point of no return🔞

warnings: noncon, smut, force/coercion, dead dove, dark lottie, omegaverse dynamics, alpha lottie, breeding, deflowering, blood, lottie has a cock, reader has a pussy

Out of the entire Yellowjackets crowd, only two of them were alphas. Those roles belonged to Shauna and Lottie. And Shauna was the only one who obtained a breeder, which was the unfortunate Melissa who definitely didn’t consent to being picked. But in a way, despite Shauna’s undeniable brutality, Lottie still led them all.

She had the closest connection to the wilderness. She was the first to don the antler queen crown. Lottie led the ritual during Coach Ben’s feast and Lottie pushed them deeper into the wilderness’ belief system. She never wanted to return home back to her lavish penthouse. Lottie found a purpose inside of the forest that her parents nor her riches could supply. For the first time in ages, Lottie felt complete. She felt like she had a reason to continue living and her service to ‘it’ was a priority she couldn’t ignore.

It called for Lottie to have a mate. Of course you understood the possible implications of that, but you thought there was no way in hell you would get chosen. If anything, you saw the role going to either Akilah or Travis. But, your anxiety grew when you saw Travis wasn’t a part of the draw. That’s okay, though. Literally anyone else could’ve gotten selected. It was going to be alright…until it wasn’t.

You are adamant in your belief that you weren’t supposed to be picked. The cards must’ve been rigged. Van must’ve fucked up the shuffling. What were the odds that you drew the queen? God, you really wish you could’ve gotten yourself into AP Stats.

You were doing so good, evading the howling girls and managing to slip past obstacles in the snow. Your only fault was cutting your foot on a tree branch. But you recovered swiftly from your injury and ignored the blood trickling into the fluffy white. However, the chase couldn’t go in your favor for too long.

You turned one corner and found yourself getting tackled to the floor. You fell face first in the ground, the snow coating your white dress. You quickly crawl backwards until your back hits the tree. Lottie inches closer, a perverted and ominous glint in her eyeballs. She pants, her mouth watering at the thought of conquering your untouched body.

“Get back!” You cry out, shooing Lottie away like she’s a cat sitting on the counter. “I-I reject you.”

“An omega can’t reject their partner,” Lottie chuckles. “Only an alpha gets to decide if they will reject you or not. And, well, I’m definitely not saying no to you.”

“Get away, Lottie!” You shout. “I’m warning you! Leave me alone! Go hunt someone else. I’m not yours!”

“Would you rather wait until we get back to camp?” Lottie smirks. “Would you rather me breed you in front of everyone else? That would send a message, wouldn’t it?”

“No! No, what the fuck? Lottie, I’m not yours! I’m not your mate! I was chosen by chance, not by destiny.”

“This is your role,” Lottie explains. “We all have a job here. The wilderness wanted you to be my perfect little mate. You picked the queen card because it knew you would be fantastic for the job. I could sense it too.”

“What are you talking about? What is it, Lottie?”

Lottie’s smirk only widens.

“It doesn’t have to explain itself. It’s just there, guiding us through every decision and sacrifice it desires. It called on you to be mine. Shauna already had her mate chosen. I can’t be an alpha without my own personal breeder.”

“And I’m sure Melissa’s fucking ecstatic about that decision!” You say sarcastically. “Shauna wouldn’t even let that girl break up with her! Melissa tried to leave and this wolf psychology bullshit wouldn’t let her!”

“Because you can’t just leave. It’s not as simple as that, Y/N. We’re bound by a red string of fate. Once you’re tied to me, you’re connected to me forever. And I will always find you, no matter if we’re miles apart.”

Lottie makes it sound so romantic, as if you aren’t hesitant to be used like an incubator.

“It’s your choice,” Lottie states. “We can have our own private moment here, just the two of us. You become mine without anyone having to witness you at what you would perceive is your… ‘lowest.’ Or I can bring you back and let the others watch.”

Lottie pulls you from your spot under the tree and forces you onto your back. She can feel her cock throbbing in her pants, aching to breach through your pussy and put a baby inside. She squeezes her bulge to provide herself temporary relief and sighs at your mortified figure. It excited her further to see you in distress, to see you ripe for the taking and in terror.

But, you gotta admit that you’d rather have Lottie ravish you here. You can’t imagine the embarrassment of being violated in front of a crowd, them being forced to watch while your innocence is ripped away from you. Of course, if neither was an option, that would be your preference.

“You look so good,” Lottie rasps. “The way your dress gives me easy access, every quiver from your thighs, your breath catching in your throat. It’s too good to ignore.”

Lottie pins your hands together so that your crawling is worthless. Your legs aim to kick at her face, but they miss every time. You’re caught as prey in winter’s harshest hour, yet you don’t feel as frigid as you should.

You’re concerned that frostbite is out of the question. There’s a pool of heat between your legs that spreads its warmth throughout the rest of your body. You feel it soak up in your arms and legs and even your chest. Though, the heat doesn’t seem abnormal or manufactured. It’s legitimate and natural. Not understanding the source only serves to scare you more.

“Look at that.” Lottie presses her hand down on your core, which makes you yelp. Again, your attempts to kick her back are unsuccessful. Frankly, they make you look like a child wrestling with their mother over bedtime. “It knows you were the chosen one. You’re already getting so hot for me.”

You frown, shaking your head like blatant refusal will do you any justice. Lottie’s not discouraged. Your pussy’s a special place to plant her cum inside. She won’t have your fear distract her from fulfilling the wilderness’ orders. Your virginity’s a sacrifice for the satisfaction for the pack. Lottie demands your purity. And in exchange, the pack sleeps another night without death creeping closer. Your virginity’s a present to the gods who aren’t easily pleased, whether you’re an eager donor or otherwise.

“Why is my body doing this?” You whimper.

“Your body wants me just as bad as I want you,” Lottie affirms. “It wants you out of that old dress and naked before me. This isn’t a means of hurting you or punishment. It’s dedication, it’s nourishment, it’s liberation.”

Liberation? To be kept by an alpha’s chains? You almost laughed at that hypothesis. But, that confident gaze in Lottie’s eye was no giggling matter.

She removes the clothing resting on the lower half of her body. You recoil instantly at the size of Lottie’s shaft. She’s thick and fully erect, her tanned flesh twitching at the prospect of slipping inside your moist walls.

“It’s better if you stay still,” Lottie advises. “Makes the process smoother. For both of us, of course.”

You wriggle under Lottie’s grip. Her hand finds its way to the bottom half of your dirty white dress and rips it open. Momentarily, you forget that you were in such a rush to get dressed for the hunt that you didn’t even toss on underwear. Not that a scenario with you wearing undergarments would matter much. Lottie would get to your soft cunt one way or another.

“Exquisite,” Lottie comments, frothing at the mouth. “I don’t even think you need a warm up. That pussy’s ready to be used.”

“Lottie please don’t.” You know begging won’t get you proper solutions. But you’re unsure of what course of action will get Lottie’s erection to simmer down. You’ll try every option you’ve got at your disposal. However, Lottie wields determination like you’ve never observed before.

She pumps her cock in her hand, groaning at the gooey precum that oozes out. Your pussy involuntarily pulses at the sight of such a strong member. Your body’s reactions don’t mean you want this to happen. But even the most headstrong omega can’t ignore their biology.

“It’s not even gonna fit,” you remark. “Y-You’re too big.”

“A good alpha knows how to make it fit for their mate,” Lottie reassures.

Lottie teases the head of her cock against your quivering pussy. She rubs her tip against your slit, mixing it with your juices. Lottie gasps at the sensation, the intense heat overpowering any chill the winter could provide.

“Don’t do this.” Your eyes widen and you stare at Lottie with bated breath. “L-Lottie, I’m not ready. I’m not ready for this.”

“If you weren’t ready, the wilderness wouldn’t have chosen you. You selecting the queen card is sheer proof that this is the time.”

“I-I didn’t know I would get the queen card. I didn’t plan to get it. Lottie, I didn’t want to get it.”

Your pleas are useless chitchat. Lottie wants to get the show on the road. Without further questioning or attempts at distraction, Lottie sinks balls deep into your heat. Despite the warmth, she pierces through like a knife cutting through someone’s skin.

You’ve never been more uncomfortable in your life. You sob, watching as blood trickles down your inner thigh. Lottie chuckles at her work, not bothering to pull back. It hurts so fucking bad. You feel like you’re being split open by Lottie’s penis. You’re in a panicked state, wondering if Lottie’s going to tear you to shreds.

“Your blood makes ideal lube,” Lottie purrs in your ear, her thrusts slow but buried.

“N-No more,” you sniffle. “Lottie, it hurts. Please, pull out. Please, it hurts.”

“Shhhh,” Lottie coos, her cock forcing its entry. “It always hurts for a first timer. I’m sure Melissa was in pain too. You’re being very strong right now, my little breeder.”

Lottie’s told to stop, over and over again. That smile of malice and ownership covers her lips. She’s no longer wilderness grandma who goes around convincing the Yellowjackets to consume shrooms. Lottie’s a fucking queen, a future leader. She’s the child of the forest. She was offered the guiding hand in exchange for authority. Lottie’s a blessing to it and your curse simultaneously.

“Feels so good,” Lottie moans, nibbling on your neck as she rocks your body with her thrusts. “Agh fuck, you feel so fucking good. So tight and wet, shit.”

“Lottie,” you whine your alpha’s name, your pussy still leaking crimson around Lottie’s huge cock.

“That’s it,” Lottie encourages, her hot breath on your collarbone. “Say my name just like that. I know you can take my cock. I know you can handle it.”

The sound of Lottie’s hips bumping against yours makes your skin crawl. Your pussy tightens more around Lottie’s shaft, squeezing it so hard that Lottie might cum too fast. Then she pounds you harder, skin hitting skin like a depraved symphony.

Lottie’s cock caresses you deep, your pussy swallowing her flesh whole. Your head tilts back, sobs and gasps of pain leaving your throat. In return, you get grunts out of Lottie’s mouth. Her hand no longer pins your hands together. She holds you down fully, her body tangled with yours while your face is smothered with rough kisses.

“Yes,” Lottie chants. “God, yes. Fuck, fuck. Take all of me. Take all of me inside of you.”

“Lottie, fuck! I-I can’t-“

“Just let it happen,” Lottie coos. “Let it happen. Let me have you. You were made for this. You were made to be my sweet little cum dump. Your body’s been craving me and my seed.”

Lottie’s ruts grow rapidly in pace. You feel like all the air’s been sucked out of your lungs. Your toes curl as a response to the pricking. The other parts of your body lay stiff, allowing Lottie to consume you until there’s no innocence left.

“I’m gonna cum so hard.” Lottie’s eyes roll back. “Fuck, when I cum inside of that tight little pussy, I’m gonna fill you up for days. You’ll never go without my cum for too long. It’s always gonna be inside of you. Fuck, always!”

“Please, d-don’t cum. Lottie, I can’t get pregnant. P-Please, we’re out here in the middle of freaking nowhere! I-I can’t raise a kid out here.”

“You won’t be alone,” Lottie says. “It’s my child too. I’m gonna be the rightful father. And our child’s going to grow up with such a happy family.”

Lottie leans down to nip you on the nose.

“You’re gonna be such a good parent. Fuck, you’re gonna look so good pumped full of my cum. And when you’ve given birth to our delightful offspring, I’ll fuck you full of cum again. Over and over.”

You can sense that Lottie’s close to spilling. There’s nothing you can do to deter her. You can only lay down and take her cock. You can only hope that the pregnancy will go smoothly. You can only hope that this won’t be enough to create a new life form. Though you know Lottie will try again if no baby is produced this time.

“Such a good little breeder,” Lottie rasps, her cock spasming. “Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum. Shit, shit. Fuck, I’m gonna cum inside of you baby. Fuck, take it. Take my cum inside of that pretty hole. Shit, shit!”

Before you can protest, a torrent of semen splashes into your womb. Hot ropes of cum shoot inside, stuffing you like a damn turkey. You can barely move. Your world’s been turned upside down. You swear there’s stars floating above you, even though it’s the daytime.

Worst of all, Lottie doesn’t pull out. She ensures that every bit of her cum has been drained before slowly pumping into you again.

“You feel too good,” Lottie pants. “Fuck, I wanna cum in you again. I’m not ready to take you back to the others yet. I just want to fuck you so full. Baby, h-hah….”

You don’t have the energy to argue.

“So good. So fucking good.”

Lottie’s still very much trapped in the heat of the moment. And you are her victim who can’t snap her out of this.

“C-Can’t stop. Need to make sure I give you a baby. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

It isn’t long before Lottie empties herself again. She growls. More of her semen floods your pussy. She falls on top of you, her thrusts lazy and languid. Her kisses are drooly and Lottie’s saliva covers your face.

Even when Lottie’s had two orgasms, her hips won’t stop moving. Her rhythm isn’t as firm as before, but she never wants to pull out of you. Your pussy’s too snug for her. At this rate, the other will have to drag Lottie away from you.

“Good little breeder,” Lottie says dreamily. “Fuck, I knew you’d be just perfect.”

Tears stream down your cheeks. How many more rounds could Lottie possibly go?

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cherryite · 23 days ago

Text

seven minutes

summary. you've been a constant in mark's life for as long as he can remember, and he can't wait to spend the rest of it with you too. (word count. 2.2k)

content. mark grayson x reader, fem!reader, childhood friends to lovers, established relationship, angst, hurt no comfort

warnings. major character death, blood/gore, suggestive themes, sinister mark because that guys a freak

author's note. yeah um.... im so sorry for the emotional damage this could cause (was listening to all i need by radio head while writing so.... prepare yourselves)

Mark has never experienced life without you.

He first met you on his fifth birthday. It’s one of his earliest memories, and he can always recall with a startling level of clarity.

Your mom and his mom were college roommates and your family had just moved back to the neighborhood, so of course you had to attend Mark’s birthday party. Your mother had swept you into the backyard like a whirlwind, chatting up Debbie with the kind of excitement that Mark could only compare to opening the Seance Dog figurine his parents had got him earlier that day. You clung to your mother like a barnacle stuck to the side of a ship. Your eyes were wide, curious but cautious as you observed him.

Debbie crouched down in front of you, tugging his hand gently to bring him closer to you.

“This is Mark, sweetheart,” she said softly. “He’s your new friend.”

You hid shyly behind your mother’s legs, peering out at him with the biggest eyes he’d ever seen. Sweet and innocent as you stared at him— remnants of chocolate cake smudged on the corner of his mouth and grass stains on his knees. Eventually your mom nudged you out from behind her, landing you right in front of him.

“Hi!” Mark chirped, offering a little wave and a gap toothed smile.

You just blinked at him owlishly.

“... Do you like chocolate cake?” Mark tried again, his head tilted to the side. After a long pause, you nodded as a soft ‘yes’ fell from your lips. He grinned, grabbed your hand, and led you to the table, handing you the last slice of his birthday cake.

You’d smiled at him so sweetly that day, both of you giggling happily with your matching chocolate covered smiles.

That was the moment — though he didn’t know it then — when something rooted itself in his little heart. Something permanent. Something that would never let go.

One of Mark’s favorite memories was when you’d said ‘I love you’ for the first time. Right after the moment when he finally got the nerve to ask you out, of course. That memory, too, lived in his chest, beating like a second heartbeat. He’d always remember the way your cheeks had flushed such a pretty color when the words finally tumbled out of his mouth— how you threw your arms around his neck in delight, how you’d kissed him like he was air and you were drowning.

But somehow, it still didn’t hold a candle to the other memory.

It was just like any ordinary night, nothing special about it at first glance. Officially, you’d been dating for three months, after years of friendship, years of loving you quietly. He hadn’t known this level of contentment before, like every cell in his body was sagging with comfort.

You both lay, limbs tangled in his bed sheets, your face tucked in his neck. Your breath warmed his skin with soft puffs, sending a tingling through him. He ran his hands idly through your hair, carding through gently as he released any tangles. Your body was so warm against his, soft and sleepy as you curled into his embrace.

“Did you know your brain plays seven minutes of your happiest memories when you die? It tries to comfort you because it can’t save you,” you mumble quietly, placing sweet kisses along the curve of his jaw, “fun fact.”

Mark frowned and looked down at you. “How is that… fun?”

“I think it’s very interesting, thank you very much,” you reply with a puff of your cheeks as you tilt your head back to meet his eyes. Your palm rested gently over his heart, feeling the steady rhythm against his ribs.

“You’re so weird,” Mark responds back, though all that can be detected in his voice is affection. Your eyes are warm as he stares into them, a tired giggle leaving your throat.

“Says you!” You exclaim, pretending to pout, shoving him away from you a bit. He caught you immediately, dragging you back and peppering kisses along your jawline.

“We’re both weird,” he mumbled against your skin, brushing his teeth against the spot below your ear, where your jaw hinged. “That’s why we work, baby.”

You squirmed in his hold, your arms wrapped lazily around the nape of his neck.

“You’re so cheesy, ugh. Remind me why I love you again?”

Mark froze, his lips pause as he pulls his head out of the crook of your neck. You’d said it plenty of times, but that was before you started dating. Before you spent any and all free time kissing, and holding him like he was the most precious thing you’d ever had.

“You mean that?” He asked. He barely recognized his own voice. Soft and uncertain, he just knows his face is bright red too. You just nod.

“Yeah. I love you. A lot actually. If you’d believe it.”

And then he kissed you, passionate, sweet, real. Mark mumbled ‘I love you’s’ in between kisses, pressing you into the blankets of his bed as his hands cradled your face.

That’s when he knew he’d always love you.

No matter what happens in the future.

Because you were his future, his past, and his present.

You had been so happy, so in love.

Even after he got his powers. Even after the late nights, the bruises, the guilt he carried when he came home and you’d already fallen asleep in your shared bed waiting. You never made him feel like a failure. You never made him feel like he had to choose. Your lives together had been planned out, he knew he wanted to marry you — he had for a long time if he was honest— but he wanted to wait, make it perfect. Because you deserved perfection.

If he missed a date or a movie night, you didn’t make a fuss. You would just smile, a bit sadly, and press a kiss to his jaw, murmuring against his skin.

“You have the rest of our lives to make it up to me. Go save the world.”

Mark clung to those words, because that felt like a promise to him. A promise of forever. A promise to love him always.

And then the variants showed up.

You had been stowed away somewhere safe while Mark fought. You were supposed to be safe. Hidden.

Mark was never very lucky.

He feels like all the air has left his lungs when he looks up, his vision partially obstructed by the swelling of his left eye. Mark gasps as he props himself up from the crater of earth he’s found himself in, his vision swimming with pain as he focuses his gaze on the sight before him.

Above him, hovering with a smile on his lips, is himself. A variant of him, donning yellow and black, a cape billowing behind him just as he remembers his father’s doing. But that's not what scares him. What scares him is how, within his grasp, is you. The variant's hand grips at your face, his palm obscuring your features as you struggle against his hold, like he’s holding a toy. Mark knows that you know you can’t escape, but his heart twinges as you claw at the man who wears his face. Your legs kick, your body quivers.

He rises shakily to his feet, his goggles almost entirely shattered from his earlier encounter with a different variant. Smoke and copper sting his nose as he calls your name, a broken sound crawling from his throat. He holds his hands out in front of him, trying to find a way to get out of this situation. Mark can hear you call his name back— your voice trembles, your hands coming up to grip at the variant's forearm, trying to ease the strain on your neck.

“You’re pathetic, you know that?” The variant all but coos, cocking his head to the side, a sickening grin on his face. “You cling to humanity, cling to her.” The variant shakes you a bit in his grasp, and you can’t contain the shriek that erupts from your throat.

“Stop—,” Mark says, his voice cracks as he lurches forward, his chest tight and his heart burns in his chest. “She has nothing to do with this. You want me. Just— Just put her down.”

“She has everything to do with this,” the variant croons. “She is your weakness. You will be stronger without her. I was. She only held me back from my true potential.”

The variant hoists you higher, tightening his grip, his fingers dimple your soft flesh.

“DON’T–” Mark can’t help the scream that shreds from his throat. He dashes forward, narrowly missing a devastating blow to your captor. He stumbles, his eyes wide and his heart in his throat.

Your voice pierces through the smokey air, shaking. “Mark–!”

He can see the panic well in your eyes, the way your chest rises and falls as quickly as a frightened rabbit. You’re prey, and the predator has you in his jaws. Mark can see the way your eyes fixate on him, wide and frightened. The variant giggles, a sickening sound that makes Mark’s spine straighten.

“I’m doing you a favor,” the variant replies.

“And I’m warning you,” he rasps, blood in his mouth, blood that stains his teeth and dribbles out of the corners of his lips. “Put her down. And fucking fight me!”

The variant's fist tightens and your eyes flit around in fear. Your voice is so raw when you speak. Mark doesn’t want to listen. He doesn’t want to hear you like this. He wants to hear your laugh as he snakes his arms around your waist. He wants to hear the sweet way you say his name when you're tired. He wants to hear the way you sigh when he kisses your neck. Not this— not laced with fear and desperation.

You’re shaking. “Mark. Mark, please look at me,” you call.

Your voice is raspy and raw, it shakes in a way he’s never heard from you before. Not when his father beat him half to death. Not when he cried in your arms about how this is all too much.

“I love you. I love you so much and I always have,” you manage out. Mark tenses because this seems like a goodbye, but he can see the defeat in your face. “You’re my seven minutes, Mark. It’s all you. Every second will be you. I’m so sorry, you’re so strong. I lov—”

The variant’s hand closes and Mark freezes as a burst of blood splatters across his face. He stares as your body drops to the ground, limp, like if a kid threw a ragdoll. Discarded like you meant nothing. Mark can’t tear his eyes away from you, still amongst the flames and smoke, as the variant scoffs.

“She always says that. That's all she said when she tried to convince me not to kill her in my world.” The variant flicks a piece of your skull off his shoulder, like you’re trash. Mark isn’t listening though, because all he can think is that the person that took you away from him took your final comfort too. No seven minutes — your brain can’t comfort you as you die if it’s splattered all over.

It all happens so fast, because one second Mark has the man who wears his face pinned to the ground— blood and gore gushing as he pound his fists into his face until nothing is left but a few pearly white teeth— and then the next he’s delicately lifting the remnants of his heart in his hands. Part of your jaw still clings to your form, the necklace he got you for your four year anniversary rests against your blood stained collar bone. Mark presses his cheek to your chest, right above where your heart should still be beating. He stays like that for who knows how long, holding you in his arms until Cecil has to tear him away from you.

The days and months that follow go by in a blur.

Your funeral happens. The flowers are your favorites. The faces that come are people who don’t know you like he did.

You haunt him. He sees you everywhere. The bed in your apartment— Mark can’t bring himself to wash the pillow you used, because it still faintly smells like you after all this time. His hero suit— the one he couldn’t save you in. His childhood home— he swears he can still hear your laughter echoing down the halls. The giggle of children— a reminder of the ones he’ll never be able to have with you.

Mark knows he’ll live a long life, a life riddled by loss. He can’t bring himself to move any of your things, because you were a part of him, sewn into the very fabric of his being. You were the largest part of his heart, so intertwined into his life that he can’t do anything without seeing your face, thinking about your sweet touches.

Mark prays you were right. That when his time comes, his final seven minutes will be filled with you.

So he can finally see you again. Just one last time.

#my writing!!#invincible #mark grayson #invincible show #invincible fanfic #invincible x reader #invincible mark grayson #invincible x you #invincible x y/n #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson x you #mark grayson x y/n #invincible angst #angst

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eagerled · 2 years ago

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#LED Video Screen Module #LED Display Video Controller #Outdoor LED Module Price #LED Display Module #LED Sending Card #Flexible LED module

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chaotic-for-good · 4 months ago

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games

Luigi Mangione x Reader

NSFW 18+

summary: reader plays games with Luigi after missing him while he’s gone on a work trip. He reminds her who she belongs to.

cw: soft dom brat tamer lulu, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, fingering, dirty talk, orgasm control, edging, use of toys, established relationship, choking, he has a lot to say, you can bet he’s throwing reader around while he says it

author’s note: my first ever post on tumblr be nice to me I’m soft. longtime smut reader first time writer 🤗

When you finally caught his eye as your gaze slid down the dimly lit bar, you knew you were playing with fire. Seeing precisely the reaction you’d hoped for flash across his face ignited all your pent-up longing with a spark of glee: the sharp line of his jaw, shadowed lightly with second day stubble, twitched as he subtly lifted a brow and poked his tongue in his cheek. Nothing the baby-faced intern, still scratching his sparse mustache as they spoke, would ever notice. But for you, the message was unmistakeable: that’s enough.

Under normal circumstances, that would have been enough. You would have stopped brushing your coworker’s arm, found a polite way to bow out of whatever mindless small talk you were engaged in, and slinked back down the bar to his side, proving just how well-behaved you could be for him.

But the days spent apart and untended while he traveled to and from a work conference had made the throbbing between your legs unbearable. Desperate for a sliver of his attention, you knew you’d have to push him further to make him focus on you the way you’d been aching for all week.

You swept your long hair off your shoulder just how you knew he loved, pretending not to clock his reaction. Giggling sweetly at whatever comment your colleague made, you bit your lip lightly and smiled through your lashes over the rim of your martini. You weren’t even listening to what was being said anymore. The only thing that mattered was the game you’d just set in motion—and you knew if you showed your cards too soon, it’d be over before it had even begun.

You were still calculating how best to sneak another glance at him when suddenly, his broad frame loomed behind you, his large hand grazing the crepe fabric of your dress.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted lightly, his voice smooth, expression controlled—but the dark flash in his eyes betrayed him. He swept over to your coworker, offering a warm smile. “I don’t think we’ve met, have we?” Extending a hand, he continued, “I’m Luigi, y/n’s boyfriend.”

He punctuated boyfriend with a casual but deliberate dig of his knuckle into the small of your back, making you straighten on instinct, covering your sharp intake of breath by clearing your throat.

“Oh yeah, she’s mentioned you!” Mark—or was it Mike?—responded enthusiastically. “I’m Mike,” (oops). He reached out to grasp Luigi’s extended hand. “You’re an engineer, too, right?”

“I am,” Luigi smiled wide, his straight, white teeth and dimples on full display. “And I’d love to talk shop, Mike, but unfortunately traffic is picking up and y/n and I are now running a little late for our next engagement. Will you forgive me if I steal her?” He cast Mike an apologetic grimace.

“Hey man, no worries, yeah!” Mike responded, clearly confused by Luigi’s abrupt call to exit. He was already helping you into your coat as Mike trickled off, “Well, good talking to you, y/n.”

You threw back the last swig of your perfectly bruised martini, setting the glass on the bar and sending a questioning look toward him as you looped your purse onto your shoulder. But he didn’t acknowledge it, didn’t even look your way—just grabbed your hand, squeezing authoritatively as he angled for the door.

“We’ll catch up soon, yeah?” Luigi called over his shoulder, not bothering to wait for a response or look at you at all as he led you into the cool night air. The moment you reached the back of his black SUV, he was on you.

His long fingers clamped over the curve where your neck met your shoulder, steering you roughly toward the passenger side.

“Hope you understand what you’ve started, brat.” He murmured, a restrained smile flickering over his lips as he opened the door—no trace of that earlier warmth to be found.

“What do you mean, Lu?” You asked innocently, ignoring the dig. You hesitated, resting a hand on the dashboard. “I didn’t know we had other plans.”

His jaw flexed. “You and I both knew what was going to happen next when you went acting up like that in there.”

Before you could respond, he gripped your ass, hoisting you into the car as he held the door open. Now seated, he locked his hand around your neck, tilting your chin up until your forehead was almost pressed against his. Your breath hitched.

“You wanted my attention, yeah, y/n?” His voice was low, teasing—dangerous. “Let’s see how much you like it.”

With that, he pulled the seatbelt over you, clicked it into place, and slammed the door shut.

The second he was out of sight, you exhaled shakily, your chest heaving with the effort to appear composed. Squeezing your thighs together, you fought for relief against the building ache between your legs. As he slid into the driver’s seat, you forced your hands into your lap, smoothing your floral dress, schooling your expression into something demure.

You knew all too well—if he saw how much his reaction was affecting you, he’d make you suffer for it.

One hand on the steering wheel, he tugged at his collar with the other, his patterned button-down slightly wrinkled from the tension in his shoulders. He didn’t speak as he pulled onto the narrow one-way street toward his house.

The longer the silence stretched, the more your nerves prickled. His dark brows were drawn, jaw set.

Had you overshot?

You only wanted to tease him—just enough to get him to remind you who you belonged to. It was just a game. Right?

The car jerked to a stop outside his house. He threw it into park, finally turning to look at you.

His eyes burned with something almost feral.

“We’re both going inside.” His voice was calm, brutal. “You will go directly to the bedroom. Undress. On your back. Legs open. Keep still—or else.”

The words sent molten heat pooling between your thighs. You scrambled out of the car, practically tripping over yourself as you hurried into the house to make your way to his bed.

As soon as you were in his room, you hastily started stripping off your dress. Your fingers trembled, pulling at the fabric as anticipation thrummed through you. By the time you were on the bed, legs spread just as he’d ordered, you were soaked.

And then—nothing.

Minutes passed. You clenched your fists in his sheets, fighting the urge to touch yourself, your chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

You didn’t even realize he’d been watching.

“That desperate already, huh, pretty girl?”

His voice made you jolt.

He was leaning against the doorframe, a wicked smirk playing on his lips, taking his time drinking in the sight of you.

“Y-yes,” you stuttered, any attempt at appearing unaffected crumbling under the weight of his stare.

Pushing off the wall, he approached the bed slowly, methodically. The way his muscles flexed beneath his button-down as he tugged it loose from his slacks was almost obscene. You barely caught yourself propping up on your elbows for a better look—

A mistake.

In an instant, he was over you, yanking your wrists into one hand, delivering a smack to your throbbing cunt. You moaned, hips twitching, desperate for more.

“What did I say about moving?”

Your lip quivered. His hands slid under your hips, yanking you down the bed, trapping you between his strong thighs.

“Seems like you need a reminder about who’s in charge, yeah, baby?” His voice was dark amusement as he continued to unbutton his shirt, inspecting you through hooded brown eyes.

His smirk turned predatory. “Well, all you had to do was ask.”

You barely had time to gasp before his fingers were between your legs, taunting—taking his time. The game wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

He slides one inside, crooking it just right, pressing it against that perfect spot as if to say, good luck.

You thrash beneath him, moaning, “yes, Luigi,” and just as quickly, he withdraws, leaving you clenching around nothing, the sudden loss making you keen with frustration.

“So fucking needy, aren’t you?” He taunts, licking his lips as he watches you squirm.

Locking you between his legs once again, Luigi takes his time, pulling off his shirt agonizingly slowly before moving lower, unbuckling his brown leather belt. His movements are deliberate, meant to draw your attention—and it works. Your breath stutters as the belt slides free from its loops, your eyes fixated on the thick outline of his cock, hard and straining beneath his slacks.

When he finally pulls the belt free, he wraps it firmly around your wrists, securing it with a satisfied smirk. He chuckles mildly at your whining response.

Digging through his bedside drawer, he extracts a bottle of lube and the navy blue vibrator—your favorite, usually. Tonight, it feels like a threat.

He pushes your bound wrists above your head, pinning them in place. A moment later, he drips the slick fluid onto your swollen clit, cool against your overheated skin. Your hips jerk instinctively, but his hand on your low belly holds you still.

Then—click, click, click, click. He brings the vibrator immediately to full intensity, its buzz unrelenting.

You gasp sharply, arching your back, but he’s not done. With two fingers, he spreads your hood up, exposing your delicate bud completely before pressing the vibrator directly against you as he crouches between your legs.

The shockwaves radiate through your entire body. You can’t hold still. It’s too much, and yet, not nearly enough.

The tension, the torment, the denial—it’s been building all night, and now you’re hurtling toward your climax at record speed.

And then—he yanks the vibrator away from your core, just as you’re about to unravel.

You all but wail in response, wrists jerking against the belt, hips rolling uselessly toward nothing.

“Look at you, baby,” he coos at you. “Thought I’d let you get off that easy?”

He strokes the soft skin of your trembling thighs with contrary sweetness to his biting remark.

“After toying with me like that at the bar, you’re going to have to prove to me you can behave if you want to come tonight.”

“Please,” you bear out through gritted teeth.

His eyes flash, predatory amusement flickering across his face. “Tell me how bad you need it.”

His taunts are relentless, but softened by the tender touch he continuously peppers you with: pressing kisses along your twitching thighs, fingertips caressing your cheeks as you gasp and shudder beneath him.

“More than anything,” you huff out, gritting your teeth.

Satisfied with your answer, the vibrator’s unforgiving buzz returns, rumbling against your overstimulated clit, a merciless, throbbing pulse. You’re so close again, so fucking close—

Just when he removes it from your heat once again.

You scream, almost sobbing, cursing and writhing against him.

“Shhh, I know, I know,” he murmurs, tracing soothing circles along your hips, but his grin is nothing short of smug.

“You’re so fucking dramatic, baby,” he shakes his head. “Shaking and falling apart. I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

You whimper, chest heaving, body trembling uncontrollably. Your skin is burning with frustration.

“Think you can behave now?” He taunts, running his knuckles over your soaked folds, teasing along your entrance but refusing to give you what you really need.

Your hips buck uselessly after his hand, chasing any kind of friction. “Yes, yes, please, I swear. I swear,” you sob.

“Mmm, I don’t know.” He glides his fingers between your sensitive folds, keeping you on the ledge. “You look so pretty like this—" he dips in, just the tips of his index and middle finger, before pulling away again. “Maybe I should keep you here a little longer.”

“Luigi, please,” you beg, gripping his forearm like a vice.

“Fuck, y/n,” he groans. His resistance begins to crack as he watches you tremble, the grit in his response showing you just how worked up he is for you. Then, with one smooth motion, he plunges two fingers into your desperate, dripping heat.

Your head snaps back, mouth falling open in a soundless cry as your entire body melts beneath him. The relief is so immediate, so overwhelming, you barely register the sharp curl of his fingers, dragging against that perfect spot inside you.

He keeps them there, pressing, stroking, working you open, watching with blown pupils as your thighs quiver and shake.

“There you go, baby,” he murmurs, leaning down to press an open-mouthed kiss to your stomach, dragging his teeth against your skin. “Taking what I give you, just like you should.”

He rolls your peaked nipple with one hand as his fingers keep moving inside you—deep, slow, deliberate—but you both know it’s not enough. You’re too strung out from all the denial, and even as your walls flutter around him, you know you need more.

Your hands jerk uselessly against the belt around your wrists, the leather biting into your skin as you try to grab him, pull him closer. “Need you,” you whimper. “Please, Luigi—please.”

His dark eyes flick up to yours, hot and unreadable for an instant before he smirks.

“Oh, now you need me?” He curls his fingers sharply, wrenching a sob from your throat. “Could’ve sworn you were doing just fine teasing me all night.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you rush out, the words spilling from your lips, messy, frantic. “I swear, I’ll be good, I just—fuck, I need you.”

His smirk deepens. “Mmm,” he sighs. “That’s better.”

He withdraws his fingers slowly, deliberately, watching your wrecked expression with admiration as he spreads your slick with his fingertips. “So fucking wet for me, amore.” He brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean, groaning softly at your taste. “Jesus. Should’ve made you wait even longer.”

You whimper, squirming, arching up toward him helplessly. “No, no, please—”

“Shhh, shhh—I’ve got you.”

He grabs your chin, tilting your face up, catching your mouth in a deep, filthy kiss that leaves you panting. He’s done teasing now—you can taste it in the way his tongue claims you, the way his grip tightens around your jaw.

Then, finally, finally, he sits back on his knees, pushing his slacks and fitted briefs down in one fell swoop. His cock springs free: thick, heavy, his tip dripping precum.

The sight of him alone makes you whimper, legs spreading wider on instinct.

He strokes himself lazily, teasing you with the sight, but you’re so far gone, your body writhing, begging, aching—you can’t handle another second.

“Please,” you sob. “Need to feel you. Please, Luigi—”

His gaze softens—just a flicker, just for a second, before he gives in.

“Yeah, baby?” He knits his dark brows together, mischief and lust playing behind his eyes. “Need me to take care of you?”

You nod furiously as he lines himself up, running the thick head of his cock against your clit before dipping into your dripping folds, pressing just the tip inside before stopping.

Your breath catches, every nerve on fire.

He leans down, forehead to yours, voice a low, dark whisper.

“Then take it,” he whispers, forcing his entire length into you in one fell stroke.

Your eyes flutter shut as you cry out, body instinctively clenching as he stretches you, slow and deliberate.

Now edging back toward sweetness after making you endure his punishment, he thrusts into you with measured control, making sure you feel every inch. His fingers thread through your hair, gently but firmly tilting your face toward him.

“Eyes on me,” he murmurs, voice dark with intent. “Look at me when I give you what you’ve been begging for.”

He starts slow, rolling his hips with each stroke, pressing deep, hitting that perfect spot over and over. The coil inside you tightens, heat pooling and spreading through every nerve.

“You want to come on this big cock, pretty girl?” he taunts, his breath hot against your skin. “Show me.”

You meet him halfway, rolling your hips up, urging him deeper. When your hands grip the back of his neck, he stills for just a second—then shifts, lifting your hips and sliding a pillow beneath you as he throws your legs over his shoulders, angling for more.

“That’s it,” he grunts, palm landing on your ass before his pace quickens, matching your urgency. When your thighs start twitching, his fingers find your clit, tracing tight, focused circles between you.

“Oh, baby—I know you’re close.” His voice is deep, reverent, his eyes locked on yours as he drives you closer to the edge. His movements grow frenzied, determined, his own restraint unraveling as he works to push you over.

“Let go for me,” he gasps, his rhythm breaking as he fights against his own release. “I need all of it.”

His name spills from your lips as you shatter beneath him, the pleasure hitting like a tidal wave. Your hands clutch at his arms, nails leaving half moons in his skin as your body clenches around him, lost to the euphoria he’s dragged you toward all night.

“There she is,” he praises, looking down at you with a mix of awe and need. “That’s my good fucking girl. So good for me.”

But he’s still not done with you yet, milking every bit of your orgasm out of you as he chases his own high. You spasm around him as his thrusts turn rougher, more urgent—grip tightening, breath ragged against your skin. His voice is raw, fraying as he loses control.

“Fuck, baby—squeezing me so tight—” A groan rumbles through his chest as he pounds into you, chasing that final push as you jolt underneath him, still reverberating from your own drawn-out high.

“You’re mine,” he grits out, forehead pressed against yours. “I need to show you how much, baby—need to fill you up—”

He has you nearly has you folded in half from the way he’s drilling into you. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you still as he thrusts deeper, sharper, his restraint slipping completely. “Take it—fuck, baby, I’m—“

His voice breaks, a strangled moan escaping as he shudders against you, buried deep, pulsating inside you as he gasps your name like a prayer.

He slumps against your legs, breath ragged, chest heaving. His weight presses into you, pinning you beneath him, and when he catches the strain flickering across your face, he shifts—easing out, rolling to the side, and turning toward you.

A lazy smirk tugs at his lips as he runs his thumb along yours. “You look especially beautiful when you’re wrecked like this.”

You roll your eyes at him lovingly, smiling slightly in your fucked out haze.

His fingers trace your face, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple before rising from the bed. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

With effortless strength, he lifts you, carrying you bridal style before setting you on unsteady feet near the bathroom door. A hand glides down your back, and with a soft pat on your butt, he gently nudges you forward. “I’ll be right back,” he murmurs, swiping your water bottle on his way out.

Still breathless, you glance at the mirror and stifle a giggle at your reflection—mascara smudged, hair a wild mess.

“You laughing, pretty girl?” His voice rumbles as he steps back in, ice rattling against the sides of your bottle. He’s stripped down to just his black briefs, gaze warm, inviting. “C’mere,” he pats his thigh. “Tell me what’s so funny.”

Your legs tremble as you shuffle his way, and the moment you reach him, he pulls you into his lap, tucking you against his chest like you belong there.

He strokes your hair as his own laughter rumbles underneath you. “Your little stunt was cute, baby. Was all that attitude at the bar worth it?”

#luigi mangione #luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione imagine #luigi mangione smut #luigi mangione fanfiction #luigi mangione x yn

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bitchesuntitled · 1 year ago

Text

Wrong Delivery

Summary: Sleepin' with the hot construction guy doing the remodel at your work, he winds up buying flowers for someone else...

Warnings/Tags: 18+ MDNI go on get! No outbreak/pre outbreak(you decide), fluff, smut, miscommunication, cussing, oral f!receiving, unprotected piv(don't do that, make smart choices), cream pie, Joel being a dork.

A/N: First time I've ever actually finished a Joel story I started working on! Many thanks to @strang3lov3 for the encouragement and taking a look at this, @jay-zzle as always for giving me ideas and making moodboards for me because I hate doing them myself! ❤️❤️❤️

🌹This is for @morallyinept’s flora & fauna challenge! 🌹

Divider provided by @saradika-graphics

Masterlist||AO3 Link

As you rush into the building, trying to avoid the construction team surrounding the place, a timid smile crosses your face when you spot Joel, the man responsible for why you’re running late this morning. Instead of getting ready for work like you were supposed to, Joel Miller decided he wanted to spend his morning coaxing another orgasm out of you, as if the three last night weren’t enough. It’s been a couple of months of this.

It had never been your intention to start sleeping with the hot contractor who had been doing construction at your place of work, you both just happened to be at the same bar one night. One thing led to another and now it’s been this, whatever this is.

“Mornin’ guys,” you say passing the crew, each giving their own sort of greeting back, be it a grunt of acknowledgment or repeating the greeting.

“Mornin’ ma’am,” Joel says with a cheeky smile, “Runnin’ a little late?”

“Yeah, woke up late,” you shrugged, feeling your face heat up.

“There you are!” Becky shouts, making her way towards you, “Angie is up my ass right now about where you are with those reports you said you’d get done yesterday.”

“On it,” you sigh, “Nice talking to you Joel.”

“Oh!” Becky said with a smile, grabbing his bicep, “Hi Joel! You guys sure have been working hard on all of this.”

You try to keep your eyes from rolling at Becky’s consistent attempt at flirting with Joel. She has definitely tried her hardest to get his attention, made cookies “for the crew” but only handed some of them to Joel, tries to talk to him every chance she can, wearing lower cut tops so her cleavage is on full display, batting eyelashes and laughing at any dumb thing he says. It’s starting to get on your nerves, if you’re being honest. Making your way to your desk you open the drawer, shoving your purse inside before closing it and turning on your computer. You open the teams app, sending Angie a quick message to let her know you’ll put the file with the reports in the folder outside her door, grabbing the file and making your way to her office.

Becky is still talking Joel’s ear off and you have to stifle your laugh, watching his eyebrows scrunch together and his polite nod before excusing himself. She catches you as you're on your way back to your cubicle to start the work day.

“That Joel Miller is a man,” Becky sighs, walking beside you, “The things I would let him do to me.”

“Oh jeez,” you laugh awkwardly, sitting down at your desk.

“I wonder what his dick is like,” she continues, “I bet it’s big.”

You turn to your computer hoping she can’t see the look on your face because then the jig would be up.

“Uhm,” you say, clearing your throat, “You better be careful. Don’t wanna get turned into HR.”

—

“Hello,” a frazzled delivery guy announces himself at the entrance to your cubicle. “I have a delivery for you, miss.”

“For me?!” Becky asks excitedly, seeing the bouquet of flowers. The delivery guy nodded, handing her the flowers. “Who are they from?!”

“Uh… Joel Miller?” The guy says, looking at his sheet. Your jaw drops upon hearing his words. Why on earth would Joel send Becky flowers?

“Oh my god!” Becky squeals with delight, grabbing the card, “Aw! Look! It says darlin’ on the envelope!”

Becky opens the card, reading it aloud:

“Figured a pretty lady like you should have some flowers to look at. Been havin’ the time of my life gettin’ to know ya and would love to take you out. He signed it off with a heart and J. Miller! How sweet is that?!”

Beside yourself on handling this, the only thing you could think of was finding the man himself. If this entire thing between you two was just for fun so be it, but you needed answers.

“Real sweet,” you mutter standing up, “I’m… uh… I’ll be back.”

“Okay.” Becky hums dreamily, staring at the flowers on her desk.

You make your way to the front of the building, spotting Gus, one of the construction guys.

“Can you tell Joel I need to talk to him?”

“Sorry ma’am, he had to leave earlier, something about Tommy.” Gus shrugs.

“Uhm… okay.” You nod, deciding to make your way to the breakroom, sitting at one of the tables trying to collect your thoughts. Maybe it’s for the best that he left. That way the entire building wouldn’t see you blow up. Are you even still supposed to see each other tonight? That had been the plan when he left this morning. What the actual fuck, you think to yourself, give annoying ass Becky flowers to ask her out, and then fuck you? That two-timing son of a bitch!

“So fucking stupid,” you mutter to yourself.

—

You make it through the workday, as best as you can, trying not to think of Joel and how mad you are all while Becky continues to talk about him all day. What should she wear, wondering where he’d take her, what they would do, should she sleep with him on the first date. Hopefully, the Excedrin will kick in soon to help with the teeth grinding headache you’ve had all day. Walking to your car Becky’s shrill voice rings out wishing you a good evening.

“Yeah, you too,” you grumble, pulling your car door open and throwing your purse inside. You’re still so mad, fuming, seeing red as you drive towards your place. Once getting home, you quickly change into comfy clothes, and see you have a text from Joel.

JMiller: Can’t wait to see you beautiful ;) Leavin’ Tommy’s

You scowl looking at the text. How do you even respond to that? Petty, that’s how.

You: K.

You see the text bubbles pop up, disappear then pop up again before his face shows on your screen with an incoming call.

“Hello,” you snap.

“Hey,” Joel says hesitatingly, “Bad day at work?”

“Well, Becky got some lovely flowers delivered at work.”

“Oh?”

“Yep,” you say with a harsh pop at the end.

“And?” Joel asks, “Is that it?”

“Delivery guy and card said they were from you.”

“Fuck me,” Joel groans “Those were not for goddamn Becky!”

“Sure about that?”

“I got them for you.” Joel argues.

“Yeah, okay.” You huff into the receiver, rolling your eyes. “Look, I get it. It’s fine if you didn’t want this going anywhere but you could’ve been honest with me about it.”

“Fuck, darlin’,” Joel groans, “I do want this going somewhere! Like I said, the flowers were for you!”

“Sure,” you say, shaking your head, “Just be honest, Joel. This has just been fun, that’s it. You’re getting your dick wet, stringing me al—“

“God damn it! I am telling the truth!” Joel growls, cutting you off. “I even have proof!”

“What proof?!” You spit back, “The proof of the flowers you sent Becky? Yeah, I saw them, and the card too. Sweet touch signing it off with a heart and then your name.”

Suddenly there is a knock on your door. You cock your head to the side, hearing the knock sound through the phone as well. Of fucking course, Tommy’s is a five minute drive to your place, making your way to the door you swing it open to see Joel standing there. His nostrils flared, phone held up to his ear, dropping it and angrily stuffing it back into his pocket.

“Just give me five minutes, I swear, they were meant for you and I have fuckin’ proof,” Joel says, holding up a piece of paper.

“What the fuck, Joel?” You groan, smacking your phone onto the entry table. “Why are you here?”

“I was on my way home from Tommy’s. Figure I’d come here first,” Joel says, holding the paper out to you, “Go on, look at it.”

You grab it, glancing it over. Farrah’s Flowers printed at the top, with your name listed as the order’s recipient, eyes bulging out of your head as you look at him.

“Told you.”

“Wait, then how the fuck did they get to Becky then?”

“Somebody fucked up, that’s all I know but that is my copy of the receipt for buyin’ them in the first place, and that is your name on it,” Joel smirks in triumph, crossing his arms across his broad chest.

Your shoulders relax as you open the door wider, motioning your head for him to come in. He gives a subtle nod, making his way into your home, you slump against the door once it’s closed.

“Joel,” you start, “What the fuck are we?”

He cages you against the door, pushing his lower half into you. You sigh, looping your arms around his neck, looking at those dark chocolate eyes.

“Well,” Joel says, kissing your cheek, “I want you,” placing a soft kiss against your lips, “More than just for sex,” he whispers, against your lips breathing in each other's air causing you to feel a dizzying arousal. Lips collide with him in a hungry kiss, tongues rolling against one another, gasping when his hands creep down to hook around your thighs lifting you, grabbing onto your ass before pulling you away from the door and carrying you to your bedroom.

Joel lays you down on your bed hovering over you, never breaking away from your lips, licking into your mouth with desperation like this might be his last chance. Arousal begins pool in your underwear. Hands gliding down his back, feeling the warmth radiating from him, lifting the bottom of his shirt until he finally lifts to fling it off.

“Don’t want anyone else,” Joel husks, lightly biting your neck, causing you to moan at the sensation of his teeth against your skin, “Just you.”

“Joel,” you whimper as his hand travels down the length of your shirt, pushing it up to expose your tits, ducking his head down. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the stiffened peak before switching to give the other equal attention, kissing a trail down the soft flesh of your stomach until he reaches the top of your leggings.

“Can I?” He asks, looking at you, fingers hooking into your waistband. You give a firm nod and he pulls them off along with your underwear. He sighs once they are off, using his shoulders to spread your legs further apart, “So fucking pretty,” he hums, nipping and kissing along your inner thighs, slowly making his way to your center.

You can feel his breath against your folds, trembling with anticipation for his tongue and lips to make contact, letting out a soft moan Joel begins lapping at your folds, sucking your bundle of nerves into his mouth. Tongue massaging circles against your clit.

“Fuck,” you moan, raking your fingers through his hair and lightly tugging.

Joel’s hum reverberated into your core. His mouth opened and he began to fuck you with his tongue while firmly holding your gaze. You’re back arched at the sensation, letting out a gasp. You roll your hips against his face, his nose pressing deliciously against your clit. He grunts, moving his thumbs to spread your lips, licking a stripe up to your clit and sucking it into his mouth. Your legs begin to shake at the sensation.

“Oh my god, Joel!” You whine, arching your back, feeling the band tightening within your core, begging for release. Joel sinks two of his thick fingers into you causing you to cry out, moving them to massage that sweet spot against your walls, “Yes! Oh my god, fuck!” You could feel the smug smirk on his face, knowing you’re about to come.

“Come on,” he coos, firmly licking your bundle of nerves “Let me have it baby.”

You cry his name out over and over as you feel the waves of pleasure crashing through you. He continues lapping at your folds, wanting to make sure he gets every last drop before you push his head away. He crawls up the length of your body, the denim of his jeans scratching against your skin.

“Good?” He asks, you nod giggling and he smirks, grabbing the nape of his neck you pull him closer to your face, looking into your eyes he whispers a hi. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face, surging forward to kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue. He groans into your mouth, grinding his bulge against your center, the rough denim providing friction against your core. His hand moves to his belt, swiftly unhooking it and unbuttoning his jeans. Hands sliding down to help him push the denim off his hips, boxers following suit. You grip his hard length, stroking it from tip to base. Palm spreading the precome over his long thick length. Joel lets out a soft moan at the touch.

“Want you inside me,” you whimper, rubbing his cock against your slick heat. “Please.”

He bats your hand away, grabbing his cock to tease your folds more, rubbing his tip up and down your slit. You let out a moan when his tip catches against your entrance. Only for him to slide back up to your clit, rubbing agonizingly slow circles against you.

“Joel,” you begged, titling your pelvis, “Please, please fuck me.”

Joel smirks, sliding his cock back down to your entrance, feeding you his bulbous head. You writhe, feeling the stretch. He sinks into you slowly, filling you up until his tip kisses your cervix. Fingers gripping his back, each of you letting out a satisfied moan.

“Fuck, darlin’,” Joel murmurs into your neck, nipping and sucking on your pulse point, letting you adjust to his size, “Best pussy ever,” placing gentle kisses along your jaw.

“Joel, move,” you plead, hitching your legs up on his waist, “Need you to move.”

He pulls out slowly before snapping his length into you again, letting out a shaky breath at the harshness of his thrust. Your grip on his back tightens, sinking your nails into his skin. He lets out a hiss as he rocks his hips into you, trying to find that spot that makes you see stars.

“Fuck,” he grunted, “Don’t want anyone else, darlin’.”

Breathy moans shared between kisses, sweat slicked skin gliding against each other. He pushes your thighs back further into a mating press, finding that sweet spot inside your walls.

“Oh my god,” you whine, back beginning to arch, “Right there!”

His cock massages that spot with every stroke, causing your muscles to tighten. You can feel the coil in your belly tightening, walls beginning to flutter around his shaft as he drills into that spot over and over.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel growls, feeling the heat of his skin slapping against yours, “I need you to come, baby. Ain’t gonna last much longer.”

You moan wantonly as you feel his dick twitch inside of you. Joel holding out to make sure you come first. The coil in your belly finally snaps, sending you over the edge, white hot electricity flowing through every limb. He thrusts into you harshly half a dozen more times before his hips stutter.

“Only you, darlin’, only want you,” he grunts, as he empties himself inside you, painting your walls with his sticky release, “only want you.”

Joel collapses, holding himself up by his elbows on either side of your head, nuzzling his nose against yours, placing soft kisses against your lips.

“Only want you,” he sighs.

—

You spent the next hour, in each other's arms, talking, snuggling and kissing.

“I can’t believe you would think I’d want Becky,” Joel booms with laughter, eyes crinkling around the edges. You smirk playfully, slapping his arm.

“Look,” you giggle, “I didn’t know if her flirting finally wore you down!”

“Hi Joel!” He says in an exaggerated high pitch, batting his eyelashes, “My, you sure have been working hard!” he adds with a girly giggle, lifting his pecs to create some sort of cleavage.

“Oh shut up!”

“Did you see the flowers though? Like actually look at ‘em?”

“Not really,” you sigh, playing with a loose thread on your blanket.

“Purple tulips for new beginnings and love,” Joel says, planting a kiss on your cheek, “Jasmine for devotion,” he continues, kissing your other cheek, “and pink roses for appreciation,” he smiles before kissing the tip of your nose.

“Really?”

“Yep, the florist helped me pick them out,” Joel says, grabbing the back of your neck pulling you into a kiss, “Told ya they were for you.”

#jettsflora&faunachallenge #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel x reader #joel miller tlou #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you

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bueckets · 7 months ago

Text

Going UP?

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Description: From missed alarms to broken elevators, your Tuesday couldn't get worse, well, until it gets better. When a late-running grad student's desperate dash to save her thesis turns into an unexpected elevator encounter with UConn basketball sensation Paige Bueckers, she learns that sometimes the best assists come from broken machinery.

Armed with nothing but coffee-fueled anxiety and an encyclopedic knowledge of basketball analytics, you find yourself trading quips with college basketball's golden girl in a stalled elevator. What starts as a disaster turns into something else entirely when basketball theory meets practice, terrible jokes meet dangerous grins, and hot chocolate meets, well, everywhere except the mug.

They say love is a game of chances. But when you're trapped between floors with a girl who can bend physics on the court and make your heart run suicides off it, maybe it's worth taking the shot. Sometimes cupid doesn't use arrows. Sometimes he just breaks the elevator.

Featuring: One (1) very broken elevator Several questionably colored cocktails A security guard who's seen it all Basketball plays drawn in spilled Shirley Temples Analytics-based flirting And a whipped cream fight that definitely isn't regulation play

Coming soon to wherever meet-cutes happen in college sports. (Rated R for excessive basketball puns and gay panic)

WC: 8.1k (roughly)

Genre/Notes: uh, i tried to be funny, floofy, rom-com-ish? (i tried), smut at the end, someone gets their kitty ATE, proof read like 50%

Your sneakers pound against the cracked, patchy sidewalk of North Campus, dodging the construction zone that's been "two weeks from completion" since freshman year. The November air bites at your cheeks, sharp as broken glass, and your laptop bag repeatedly slams into your hip with each stride, probably turning your thesis notes into digital confetti. A gust of wind lashes at you, tugging at your jacket, your hair, your sanity, and sending a rogue candy wrapper tumbling like a lonely tumbleweed across the quad like some 50’s Old West showdown.

You'd woken up to three missed calls from your advisor and an email that made your soul leave your body.

Meeting moved to 9:15 AM. Please bring updated analytics models.

It's 9:12.

The universe is really testing you today. First, your roommate's cat knocked your phone off the nightstand, somehow managing to turn off all five of your alarms. Then, the dining hall’s card reader had the audacity to look at your student ID like it was written in crayon, leaving you to scavenge through your bag for exact change like a Victorian orphan. And now this.

You weave through the crowd of freshmen congregating outside the Student Union like they've never seen stairs before, your thermos of room-temperature coffee sloshing dangerously close to the lid. The wind whips a forgotten syllabus past your feet as you cut across the grass (sorry, campus maintenance), taking the "shortcut" that everyone pretends they don't use. You can practically hear the landscaping team groaning somewhere, shaking their heads at the worn-down dirt trail you and a thousand other students have carved into their perfect lawn.

Gampel Pavilion looms ahead, all glass and steel and architectural hubris. The morning sun hits it at an angle that makes it look like it's on fire, which feels appropriate given your current state of mild panic. You've spent so many hours in this building that the security guard, Mike, doesn't even look up from his crossword puzzle anymore when you scan your ID.

"Running late?" he calls out as you blast past his desk.

"What gave it away?" you shout back, already halfway to the elevators. Your sneakers squeak against the polished floors, leaving behind a faint trail of panic and shame— but most importantly, dirt.

The ancient LED display above the elevator shows it's on the third floor. You slam the up button approximately forty-seven times, as if that's ever made an elevator move faster in the history of vertical transportation.

"Come on, come on," you mutter, shifting your weight between feet like you're doing some demented speed-skating warm-up. Your laptop bag keeps sliding off your shoulder, and you're pretty sure your hair looks like you styled it in a wind tunnel. A strand falls into your eyes, and you blow it away with a frustrated huff. Everything about you screams disaster, and yet the elevator couldn’t care less.

The elevator dings. The doors slide open with all the urgency of a DMV employee on a Friday afternoon.

And there she is.

Paige Bueckers is leaning against the back wall of the elevator, one foot propped up behind her, looking like she just stepped out of a Nike ad. Her practice uniform is pristine, her blonde hair pulled back in a perfect ponytail that somehow hasn't gotten the memo about today's wind situation. She's got AirPods in, absently spinning a basketball between her hands like it's an extension of her body.

Your brain short-circuits.

Time seems to slow down as you stand there, probably looking like a deer caught in very attractive headlights. The elevator dings again, threatening to close its doors on your moment of crisis.

Fuck it.

You lunge forward just as the doors start to close, practically diving into the elevator like you're trying to save a ball going out of bounds. Your coffee sloshes, your bag swings, and you nearly face-plant into the corner.

Paige pulls out one AirPod, her eyebrows raised so high they might achieve orbit. "Nice entrance."

You straighten up, trying to salvage whatever dignity might be hiding in the corners of this elevator. "Thanks, I've been practicing."

The elevator starts its ascent with a concerning rattle that definitely wasn't part of the original design. You adjust your bag for the hundredth time, very aware that you probably look like you just lost a fight with a leaf blower. Meanwhile, Paige keeps spinning that damn basketball, the soft thump-thump of it between her hands matching rhythm with your still-racing heart.

Nine floors to go. Eight if your advisor hasn't moved offices again after the Great Coffee Incident of last semester.

You can handle this. You're an adult. A slightly disheveled, possibly caffeine-deprived adult, but still. Just because you're sharing an elevator with the university's basketball goddess doesn't mean you need to—

The lights flicker once. Twice.

The elevator shudders like it's having an existential crisis.

Then everything stops.

The emergency lights kick in, bathing everything in a red glow that makes Paige look like she's starring in a very stylish apocalypse movie. The basketball stops spinning.

"Well," she says, tucking the ball under her arm and giving you a smile that definitely doesn't make your stomach flip. "Looks like the universe has other plans for us this morning."

You look at your phone: 9:14 AM.

Your advisor is going to kill you.

"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck," you mutter, jabbing at the emergency call button like it personally offended you. "This isn't happening. This can't be happening."

The little red light blinks back at you, mocking your entire existence, as if to say, yeah, good luck with that, idiot. You hit the button again, harder this time, because maybe the elevator just needs some aggressive encouragement.

"I don't think that's helping," Paige says, watching you with a mix of amusement and concern. She's still spinning that goddamn basketball, the rhythmic thump-thump now feeling less like a heartbeat and more like a countdown to your academic doom.

"Yeah? Well, neither are you," you snap, immediately regretting it. Great. Now you're trapped in an elevator AND you've just been rude to Paige fucking Bueckers. "Shit, sorry, I just—" You run both hands through your already catastrophic hair. "My advisor is going to crucify me. Like, actually crucify me. She's probably got a cross picked out and everything."

Paige catches the ball mid-spin. "Dr. Martinez?"

"How did you—"

"The only professor I know who actually might own a cross for student crucifixions." She tucks the ball under her arm. "She made one of our freshmen cry last week just by looking at her."

"That tracks." You slide down the wall opposite her, your legs finally giving up on the whole standing thing. "God, I can't believe this. I've got my entire thesis presentation on this laptop, three months of analytics data that I haven't backed up because I'm an idiot, and now I'm going to die in an elevator with—" You wave vaguely in her direction.

"With?" She raises an eyebrow, and you swear there's a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth.

"With UConn's basketball savior who's probably missing practice right now because the universe decided today was a great day for some cosmic practical joke." You let your head thunk back against the wall. "Coach Auriemma's probably already got a hit out on me."

Paige laughs, and the sound does something weird to your chest. "Nah, Coach is more of a 'make you run suicides until you puke' kind of guy. Much less paperwork than murder."

"Fantastic. So I'll die from academic execution AND athletic retribution. Perfect way to start a Tuesday."

"You always this dramatic before 9:30?" She's definitely smirking now.

"Only when I'm trapped in elevators with pretty girls who should be at practice."

The words are out before your brain can catch up with your mouth. Your eyes go wide, and you seriously consider trying to pry open the doors and jump down the shaft.

But Paige just grins, wide and dangerous. "Oh, so you think I'm pretty?"

"I think you're deflecting from the fact that we're stuck in a metal box that's older than both of us combined," you say, proud of how steady your voice comes out despite the internal screaming.

"And I think you're deflecting from the fact that you just called me pretty."

You pull out your phone again, desperate for a distraction. "No signal. Perfect. This is fine. Everything is fine."

"Could be worse," Paige says, stretching her legs out in front of her. Her feet almost reach where you're sitting, and you absolutely do not notice how long her legs are. "Could be stuck in here with Dr. Martinez."

That startles a laugh out of you. "Jesus, don't even joke about that. She'd probably make me defend my thesis right here."

"Yeah? What's it about?"

You look up from your phone to find her watching you with what appears to be genuine interest. "You really want to know?"

"Well," she gestures around the elevator, "it's not like I've got anywhere else to be."

You narrow your eyes. "If this is some kind of pity conversation—"

"It's not." She cuts you off, her voice surprisingly firm. "I'm actually curious. Plus, you look like you might spontaneously combust if you don't talk about something other than being stuck in here."

She's not wrong. Your leg has been bouncing non-stop since you sat down, and you're pretty sure you're about to wear a hole in your bottom lip from biting it.

"Fine," you say, setting your phone aside. "But remember, you asked for this. And if you fall asleep, I'm using that basketball as a pillow."

Paige's eyes light up with something that makes your stomach flip. "Deal."

"Okay, so you know how current basketball analytics are basically just glorified box scores?" You shift to face her properly, your earlier panic morphing into the kind of enthusiasm that usually makes people's eyes glaze over. "Like, sure, we can track points and assists and whatever, but that's just the obvious stuff."

"And there's more than the obvious stuff?" Paige asks, settling in like she's actually planning to follow your inevitably chaotic explanation.

"So much more." You pull your laptop out, balancing it on your crossed legs. "Like, imagine being able to track not just who made the shot, but all the little things that made that shot possible. The way players move without the ball, how defensive shifts create spaces that don't show up in any stat sheet.”

Your hands start moving as you talk, painting invisible patterns in the air. Paige has stopped spinning her basketball, her eyes following your gestures with an intensity that makes you warm all over.

"It's like..." You pause, trying to find the right words. "You know how in chess, sometimes the most important move isn't the one that takes the piece, but the three moves before that made it possible?"

She nods, leaning forward slightly. "Like a setup play."

"Exactly!" You're fully animated now, previous elevator crisis temporarily forgotten. "But current systems don't track that. They don't see how Player A moving left makes Player B's defender shift just enough that Player C can—"

The emergency speaker crackles to life, making you both jump.

"Hello? Anyone in there?" The voice sounds bored, like stuck elevators are just another Tuesday morning inconvenience.

Paige reaches over and hits the call button. "Yeah, we're here. Two people."

"Alright, we've got maintenance heading up. Should have you out in about fifteen minutes. Sit tight."

The speaker clicks off, leaving you both in that red-tinted silence again.

"Fifteen minutes," you groan, letting your head fall back against the wall. "Dr. Martinez is definitely going to have that cross ready."

"Hey," Paige says, and something in her voice makes you look at her. "Tell me more about your system. How do you track all those micro-movements?"

You blink at her. "You actually want to hear more?"

"Would I ask if I didn't?" She's got this soft half-smile that does dangerous things to your ability to think straight. "Plus, you get all..." she waves her hand vaguely, "sparkly when you talk about it."

"Sparkly?"

"Yeah, like you're lit up from the inside." She says it so casually, like she hasn't just made your heart do a full court press against your ribs.

You clear your throat, trying to remember how words work. "Right. Well, um, I've been working with the computer vision lab to develop these tracking algorithms..."

The next fifteen minutes dissolve into a blur of technical explanations and basketball theory. Paige asks surprisingly specific questions, and you try not to look too pleased every time she leans in closer to see something on your laptop screen.

When maintenance finally gets the elevator moving again, it feels too soon.

The doors open on the fourth floor – your floor – and you scramble to pack up your laptop, suddenly aware that you've spent the last twenty minutes word-vomiting about analytics to one of the best basketball players in the country.

"Thanks for, uh, keeping me from completely losing it," you say, standing awkwardly in the doorway. "And sorry about the whole..." you gesture vaguely at yourself, "chaos."

Paige stands too, and even in the normal lighting, she's unfairly pretty. "Chaos looks good on you."

Your brain short-circuits. "Can I get your number?"

The words tumble out before you can stop them, and you immediately want to crawl into the nearest trash can. But Paige just grins, that dangerous one that makes her look like she knows exactly what she's doing to you.

"Tell you what," she says, spinning the basketball on one finger because apparently she's physically incapable of not showing off. "Come to Friday's game. If you can spot one of those micro-interactions you were talking about..." She lets the ball roll down her arm and catches it smoothly. "Maybe you'll find out if I give my number to random girls I meet in elevators."

She backs into the elevator, maintaining eye contact until the doors close between you.

You stand there for a solid thirty seconds, staring at the brushed metal doors like they might reveal the secrets of the universe. Or at least explain how you went from having a mental breakdown about your advisor to what definitely felt like flirting with Paige Bueckers.

Your phone buzzes: another email from Dr. Martinez.

Meeting rescheduled to 2PM. Bring coffee. The good kind.

You look back at the elevator doors, then at your phone, then at the ceiling.

Looks like you're going to a basketball game on Friday.

The security guard at Gampel's student entrance looks at your ticket, then at you, then back at the ticket with the kind of suspicion usually reserved for people trying to use expired coupons at Target.

"This is— courtside," he says slowly, like maybe you don't understand what those words mean.

"Yeah, I, uh,” You shift your weight between feet, very aware of the growing line behind you. "I got it in an email?"

It comes out like a question because honestly, you're still not entirely sure this isn't some elaborate fever dream. The past three days have felt surreal, starting with Dr. Martinez actually smiling during your rescheduled meeting (turns out that fancy coffee shop downtown does make a difference) and ending with an email from [email protected] that made you choke on your morning cereal.

The security guard squints at his scanner like it's personally offending him. "These are usually reserved for—"

"Is there a problem?" A familiar voice cuts through the growing awkwardness, and you turn to find Mike, your elevator-lobby guardian angel, approaching with his signature "I've seen too much student nonsense" expression.

"Got a courtside ticket here, but—"

"Oh, yeah," Mike says, shooting you a look that's somewhere between amused and knowing. "This one's good. Let 'em through."

You mouth a 'thank you' as you pass, and he just shakes his head, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like "kids these days" under his breath.

The student section is already packed, a sea of navy and white that ripples with pre-game energy. But your ticket directs you past all that, down, down, down the steps until you're so close to the court you can smell the fresh polish on the hardwood.

"This isn't happening," you mutter to yourself, dropping into your assigned seat—which is literally close enough to high-five players coming off the court. "This is fine. Everything is fine. You're just casually sitting courtside at a sold-out game because you got trapped in an elevator and word-vomited about basketball analytics for twenty minutes. Totally normal Friday night."

The woman next to you, wearing what looks like several hundred dollars worth of UConn gear, gives you a concerned side-eye.

"Sorry," you say, slinking lower in your seat. "I talk to myself when I'm having an existential crisis."

She just nods and shifts slightly away, which, fair.

The arena fills up quickly, the ambient noise growing from a buzz to a roar. You try to look casual, like you totally belong here and didn't spend forty-five minutes earlier having a breakdown about what to wear to a basketball game when you're sitting close enough to be on TV. (You'd finally settled on jeans and a UConn hoodie, figuring if you're going to have a gay panic on national television, you might as well be comfortable.)

The teams come out for warm-ups, and your heart definitely doesn't skip when you spot number 5 leading the layup line. Paige moves like she's got some sort of cheat code for gravity, each motion fluid and precise. She's got her game face on, all focused intensity and practiced routine, but then—

She catches your eye as she circles back to the line, and her serious expression cracks just enough to let through a hint of that dangerous grin from the elevator.

"Oh, I am so screwed," you breathe, and the woman next to you shifts another inch away.

The game itself is a blur of motion and noise. You try to focus on analyzing plays like you promised, looking for those micro-interactions you'd rambled about, but it's hard to think strategically when Paige keeps making passes that shouldn't be physically possible. Your laptop's probably having a stroke trying to track all these movements.

By halftime, UConn's up by twelve, and you've filled three pages of your Notes app with what started as technical observations but has devolved into increasingly incoherent capslock about various impressive plays. The latest note just says "HOW DID SHE EVEN SEE THAT CUTTING GUARD??? PHYSICS???? HELP????"

"Nice analysis."

You nearly drop your phone. Paige is right there, pretending to adjust her shoes by the bench but clearly smirking in your direction.

"I'm being professionally thorough," you whisper-hiss back, trying to ignore how your pulse is doing full-court sprints.

"Uh huh." She stands up, heading back to the huddle, but not before adding, "You look good in UConn blue, by the way."

You spend the entire third quarter trying to remember how to breathe normally.

The fourth quarter is when you see it—one of those perfect setup plays you'd theorized about. Paige moves left, drawing her defender, while simultaneously nodding almost imperceptibly to her teammate. The slight movement causes a chain reaction: the defense shifts, creating a gap that shouldn't exist, and suddenly there's a perfect passing lane that materializes out of seemingly nowhere. The ball flows through it like water finding the path of least resistance, resulting in an easy layup that looks simple but was actually three moves in the making.

You're on your feet before you realize it, pointing and probably looking deranged. "That! That's exactly what I was talking about! The head fake was the trigger but it wasn't even about the—" You cut yourself off, becoming aware that several people are staring at you, including the woman next to you who's now practically in the next seat over.

As the final buzzer sounds (UConn by 18), your phone buzzes with a new email.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Nice catch

Body: 617-555-0147

PS - Your "professional analysis" face is reaaaaallly cute. Even from ten feet away.

You stare at your phone long enough that the arena starts to empty around you, afraid that if you look away the numbers might disappear like some basketball Cinderella story. The woman next to you finally gets up, edging past with the kind of caution usually reserved for wild animals.

"Sorry about all the,” you gesture vaguely at yourself.

She just pats your shoulder with grandmotherly sympathy. "Honey, I've been watching basketball for forty years, and I've never seen someone have a gay awakening quite that enthusiastically. Good luck with number five."

You're still sputtering when she disappears up the stairs, leaving you alone with a phone number and the distinct feeling that the universe is either laughing at you or playing matchmaker.

Possibly both.

Nah— Definitely both.

After what feels like an eternity of staring at your phone like it holds the secrets of the universe, your bladder kindly reminds you that you stress-drank an entire large iced coffee before the game. Fucking wonderful. You glance at the concourse—and immediately regret every life choice that led to this moment.

The bathroom line snakes around the corner like some kind of hydra-headed monster, full of people who clearly had the same brilliant beverage ideas you did. You briefly consider just holding it and dealing with the consequences later, but your body has other plans.

"This is karma," you mutter, taking your place at the end of the line. "This is definitely karma for all those times I made fun of people waiting in long bathroom lines."

The girl in front of you snorts. "If it helps, I'm pretty sure we're all suffering from the same coffee-based poor judgment."

Twenty minutes. Twenty. Entire. Minutes.

You've gone through every social media app twice, responded to three emails you've been avoiding, and played enough Candy Crush to rot your remaining brain cells by the time you finally emerge from the bathroom. The arena is practically empty now, just cleaning crew and a few lingering fans.

Your phone feels heavy in your pocket, that number burning a hole in your mind. You pull it out, staring at the digits like they might rearrange themselves into instructions on how to text your elevator-meet-cute crush without sounding like a complete disaster.

To: 617-555-0147

Hey, this is your favorite elevator analytics nerd. Great game tonight. That fourth-quarter setup play was chef's kiss

You hit send before you can overthink it, then immediately regret every word choice. Chef's kiss? Really? Maybe if you run fast enough, you can catch up to your dignity before it leaves the building entirely.

Your phone buzzes before you can fully commit to your shame spiral.

From: Paige 🏀

some of us are heading to murphy's for dirty shirleys if you want to continue your "professional analysis" in person? promise there won't be any elevators involved

You nearly trip over your own feet.

Will there be a formal presentation required? Should I prepare slides?

just your sparkling personality and maybe an explanation of how you knew that play was coming before I did 😉

Bold of you to assume I wasn't just gesturing wildly at a mosquito

we both know you're too much of a basketball nerd for that. meet you there in 20?

You pause at the arena exit, looking down at your very casual, very not-prepared-to-go-out outfit. But then again, when has anything about this situation been normal?

Your eyes shoot back to your phone and your frantic typing begins once again.

Only if you promise to explain how that behind-the-back pass in the third quarter didn't break several laws of physics

deal. and hey?

Yeah?

the hoodie really does look good on you

Your stomach shoots to your ass and you stand there grinning at your phone like an idiot until Mike, doing his final security rounds, walks by and shakes his head.

"Don't stay out too late, kid," he calls over his shoulder. "These love stories always get complicated when they start in elevators."

"That was literally ONE MOVIE," you shout after him, but he just waves without turning around.

You look down at your phone one more time, then up at the now-empty arena, and can't help but laugh. Somehow, a broken elevator, an understanding security guard, and a basketball player with a dangerous grin have turned your disaster of a week into whatever this is.

Time to find out if Dirty Shirleys taste better when you're sharing them with a girl who can bend physics on a basketball court.

Murphy's is exactly what would happen if a sports bar had a baby with a college town dive and raised it on a strict diet of neon signs and questionable decor choices. The walls are plastered with enough UConn memorabilia to fill a museum, if museums were into collecting signed napkins and mysteriously stained jerseys.

Your stomach is doing Olympic-level gymnastics as you push open the door, immediately hit by the smell of mozzarella sticks and what you really hope is just decades of spilled beer. The place is packed with post-game energy, and you're pretty sure your heart stops completely when you spot Paige at a corner booth, still in her game-day warmups because apparently she just casually walks around looking like a Nike ad.

"Analytics nerd!" she calls out, waving you over with that stupid grin that makes your brain cells commit mass suicide. "We saved you a seat!"

The 'we' turns out to be a collection of players who could probably stack on top of each other and touch the moon. You slide into the only open spot—right next to Paige, because the universe is clearly not done testing your ability to form coherent sentences today.

"Everyone, this is the elevator girl who knows more about our plays than we do," Paige announces, and your face goes hot enough to fry an egg. "Elevator girl, this is everyone."

"I have a name, you know," you manage, trying to ignore how her shoulder is pressed against yours in the crowded booth.

"Yeah, but 'elevator girl' has a better ring to it," she says, sliding a violently pink drink your way. "Plus, it's technically accurate."

"So is 'basketball menace' but you don't see me—" Your mouth snaps shut as her teammates start cackling.

"Oh, I like this one," says a girl you recognize as KK Arnold, grinning like she just got early Christmas. "She's got bite."

"She's got analytics," Paige corrects, but she's looking at you with something that makes your stomach relocate to somewhere in the general vicinity of Jupiter. "Speaking of which, you never did tell me how you caught that play coming."

You take a long sip of your Dirty Shirley to buy time, immediately regretting it when the sugar content threatens to give you instant cavities. "Holy shit, what's in this? Pure pixie stick powder?"

"Don't deflect," Paige says, poking your side. "We've got a whole team of analysts and none of them caught it. So spill."

"Fine, but only because you bought me diabetes in a glass." You shift to face her, accidentally-on-purpose letting your knee rest against hers under the table. "It was your head."

Her eyebrows shoot up. "My head?"

"You've got this tell," you say, getting into it now because apparently basketball analysis is your ideal flirting language. "This tiny little head tilt you do when you're setting up something sneaky. Like a cat about to knock something off a table, but make it basketball."

The entire table goes quiet, then erupts in laughter.

"She's got you there, P," Ice wheezes. "You do look like a menacing cat sometimes!"

Paige is staring at you with a mix of indignation and something else that makes your chest feel too small for your heart. "I do not have a cat tell."

"You absolutely do," you say, emboldened by sugar and the way her eyes keep dropping to your lips. "It's actually kind of cu—"

"SHOTS!" someone yells, and suddenly there's a tray of something alarmingly blue being passed around.

"Oh god," you mutter, watching the liquid slosh ominously. "Is this what happens when a Smurf dies?"

Paige nearly chokes on her drink. "That's terrible!"

"Just like these shots are about to be?"

She leans in close—too close, definitely too close for your remaining brain cells to function—and whispers, "Good thing I like terrible jokes."

Your stomach shoots to your ass (and possibly into another dimension) as she pulls back with a wink that should be illegal in at least forty-eight states.

"I hate you," you inform her, grabbing one of the Smurf funeral shots because if you're going to have a gay crisis in a college bar, you might as well commit fully.

"No you don't," she says with absolute certainty, and the worst part is she's right.

You really, really don't.

The night dissolves into a blur of increasingly ridiculous drinks (who knew they made something called a "Husky Howl"?), basketball stories that get more elaborate with each round, and Paige's thigh pressed warm against yours under the table. You learn that she stress-bakes before big games, that she once tried to teach her dog to play basketball, and that when she really laughs—like, really laughs—she snorts a little and it's possibly the cutest thing you've ever seen.

At some point, Azzi starts drawing up plays on napkins with increasingly chaotic drink-fueled creativity. Aaliyah Edwards keeps stealing her pen to "fix" the defensive rotations, while Nika Mühl throws wadded-up straw wrappers at both of them, critiquing their "absolutely trash spacing."

"No, no, look," KK follows imaginary lines with her finger across the napkin, accidentally dragging it through a puddle of spilled Shirley Temple. "If we run this here, and then—" she grabs your arm— "you're the defense, okay? Stand up."

"I absolutely am not," you protest, but Paige is already pulling you up with that stupid grin that makes your knees forget how joints work.

"Come on, elevator girl," she teases, positioning you near the booth. "Show us those analytics skills in action."

"I hate all of you," you mutter, but you're laughing as KK tries to demonstrate some elaborate defensive scheme that mostly involves her spinning in circles while Aaliyah provides unhelpful commentary.

"Your footwork is trash, bestie," Aaliyah calls out, now using maraschino cherries to build what appears to be a scale model of the paint.

"YOUR footwork is trash," KK shoots back, then promptly trips over nothing.

"Ladies, ladies," Paige steps in, all faux seriousness undermined by the way she can't stop grinning. "Let a professional show you how it's done."

She moves behind you, hands settling lightly on your hips, and your brain immediately flatlines. "See, proper defensive stance is all about—"

"Get a fuckin' room!" Nika yells, launching another straw wrapper that hits Paige square in the forehead.

"Actually," Paige says close to your ear, and your stomach does approximately seventeen backflips, "I've got that new analytics setup at my apartment if you want to see it. You know, for research purposes."

You turn to face her, very aware that her hands haven't moved from your hips. "Research purposes?"

"Mhmm." That dangerous grin is back. "Purely academic, of course."

"Of course," you manage, trying to ignore the way your pulse is doing a full drumline routine.

"Oh my god," KK groans from the booth. "This is worse than when Aaliyah tried to flirt with that barista using coffee puns."

"Hey!" Aaliyah protests. "That was smooth!"

"You asked if she wanted to 'espresso' her feelings!"

"And now we're dating, so who's the real winner here?"

Paige rolls her eyes at their antics, but her thumbs are drawing small circles on your hips that are making it very hard to focus on anything else. "So? Want to help me with some late-night analysis?"

Your stomach shoots to your ass as you meet her eyes, finding them sparkling with something that definitely isn't just about basketball statistics. "I mean, it would be unprofessional to turn down a research opportunity..."

"GET OUT OF HERE," Azzi throws a cherry that sails completely wide of both of you. "Your gay panic is ruining my plays."

"Your plays were already ruined," Nika points out, helpfully redrawing the vodka-smudged X's and O's with what appears to be lip gloss.

Paige grabs her jacket with one hand and your hand with the other, tugging you toward the door. "Don't wait up, nerds!"

"USE PROTECTION!" Aubrey shouts after you, causing several nearby tables to choke on their drinks.

"I mean, analytics can be very dangerous," you say with mock seriousness as you step into the cool night air, very aware that Paige hasn't let go of your hand. "All those numbers flying around."

"Absolutely hazardous," she agrees, pulling you closer as you walk. "Better stick together. For safety."

"For safety," you repeat, hoping she can't feel your pulse racing where your fingers are intertwined. "And research."

"And research," she echoes, giving you that sidelong grin that makes your heart forget how to beat properly. "Though I should warn you..."

"Yeah?"

She stops under a streetlight, turning to face you with eyes that sparkle with mischief. "My elevator works perfectly fine."

Your laugh echoes off the empty street. "Damn. There goes my backup plan."

"I'm sure we can find other ways to get stuck together," she says, and your stomach relocates somewhere in the general vicinity of Mars.

As you follow her down the quiet streets of Storrs, your joined hands swinging between you, you make a mental note to buy Mike the biggest coffee gift card you can afford.

Broken elevators might just be your new favorite thing.

Paige's apartment is exactly what you'd expect from someone who's somehow both a basketball prodigy and a complete dork—there's a literal trophy shelf right next to a collection of Star Wars Funko Pops, and her UConn jersey hangs framed above what appears to be a very elaborate gaming setup.

"Nice lightsaber," you say, nodding to the collector's edition propped in the corner.

"Nice deflection from how your hands are shaking," she shoots back, shrugging off her jacket.

"It's cold outside!"

"Uh huh." She disappears into the kitchen, and you hear cabinets opening. "Want some hot chocolate? I promise it's better than those nuclear waste shots Aubrey kept ordering."

Your stomach does a weird flip at how domestic this feels. "Only if you have—"

"Mini marshmallows and whipped cream? What kind of monster do you think I am?"

You follow her voice to find her already pulling out mugs, one of which has "Ball is Life" written in what appears to be glitter pen. "The kind that owns a bedazzled basketball mug?"

"First of all, Nika made this for my birthday and it's a masterpiece," she says, grabbing milk from the fridge. "Second of all, you're just jealous of my sophisticated taste."

"Oh, absolutely. Nothing says sophistication like..." you pick up a container from the counter, "unicorn hot chocolate mix?"

She snatches it back, fighting a grin. "It's limited edition!"

"Of course, my mistake. Clearly I'm in the presence of a fine dining connoisseur."

The kitchen fills with the smell of chocolate as she heats the milk, and you try not to stare at how she's rolled up her sleeves, forearms on full display as she stirs. You fail miserably.

"See something you like?" she asks without turning around, because apparently she has eyes in the back of her head.

"Just admiring your hot chocolate technique."

"My technique is excellent, thank you very much." She turns, holding up a can of whipped cream with a dangerous glint in her eye. "Want to see?"

Your throat goes dry. "I feel like this is a trap."

"Maybe." She takes a step closer, and your back hits the counter. "But you've been analyzing my moves all night. Shouldn't I get a turn?"

You're about to say something witty—really, you are—but then she's shaking the whipped cream can and all your brain cells collectively abandon ship.

"Don't you dare—"

The words are barely out before she's spraying whipped cream directly at your face. You squeal (not your proudest moment) and grab for the can, resulting in a brief wrestling match that ends with cream basically everywhere except in the actual mugs.

"You're such a menace!" you gasp, trying to wipe cream off your nose while she cackles.

"Says the girl who called me out on my head tilt in front of my whole team!"

"That's different! That was professional analysis!"

"Oh yeah?" She steps closer, effectively pinning you against the counter. "Analyze this."

Your heart stops as she reaches up, thumb gently wiping whipped cream from the corner of your mouth. Time seems to freeze, your entire world narrowing to that point of contact and the way her eyes drop to your lips.

"Your technique could use some work," you manage to whisper, and she laughs—that real laugh, with the little snort that makes your chest feel too small for your heart.

"Maybe you should show me how it's done then."

Your stomach shoots through the floor as you reach up, threading your fingers through her hair (definitely getting whipped cream in it but whatever), and pull her down to meet you.

She tastes like chocolate and whipped cream and something uniquely her, and you can feel her smile against your lips as she wraps her arms around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

"How's that for technique?" you murmur when you finally break apart, both breathing a bit harder.

"Hmm." She pretends to consider it, but her eyes are sparkling and her hands are still firmly on your waist. "Might need more data to make a proper analysis."

"Oh my god, you're actually worse than me with the nerd references."

"You like it," she says with absolute certainty, leaning in again.

"Maybe," you concede against her lips. "But only because you're cute when you're being smug."

She pulls back just enough to give you that dangerous grin that started this whole thing. "Just cute?"

"And modest, clearly."

"I'll show you modest," she growls, and then she's kissing you again, deeper this time, backing you further against the counter until you're pretty sure your soul leaves your body entirely.

The hot chocolate goes cold on the counter,

The hot chocolate goes cold on the counter, forgotten in the haze of warm laughter and sticky fingers. At some point, her lips found their way back to yours, sweet and a little messy, and now you’re on her couch, knees bumping against hers as you both settle into an almost tentative rhythm. She pulls back just slightly, her forehead resting against yours, and her breath fans across your lips in short, uneven bursts.

“You’re trouble,” she whispers, her voice low and a little breathless, her hands sliding up your arms to rest on your shoulders, thumbs brushing the curve of your collarbone.

“You like trouble,” you fire back, and there’s just enough of a spark in your tone to make her grin.

“I really do,” she admits, and before you can respond, her lips are on yours again, slower this time, deliberate. It’s not the playful teasing from before—it’s something heavier, something that makes your heart stutter in your chest and your hands curl into the soft fabric of her sweatshirt.

Her fingers tangle in your hair as she shifts, nudging you gently until your back hits the cushions. She hovers above you, her knees bracketing your thighs, her ponytail spilling over one shoulder as she leans down to kiss you again. This time, it’s a little rougher, her teeth catching on your bottom lip just enough to make you gasp, and the sound seems to light something in her eyes.

“You’re killing me,” you murmur against her mouth, and she pulls back just enough to look at you, her grin sharper now.

“Good,” she says simply, and her hands are on the hem of your hoodie, tugging it up. “This okay?”

You nod, swallowing hard, and she doesn’t wait for a second invitation. The hoodie’s off in a flash, tossed somewhere behind the couch, and her eyes sweep over you like she’s committing every inch to memory. Her hands are warm as they skim over your sides, fingertips brushing against bare skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

“You’re gorgeous,” she says softly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and the way she says it makes you believe her, even with your heart trying to beat its way out of your chest.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you manage, trying to sound casual even as she leans back down, her lips finding the curve of your jaw and then lower, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses to your neck. Your hands find her waist, and you can feel the strength of her beneath the soft cotton of her sweatshirt, her muscles flexing slightly as she shifts against you.

“Should we,” she starts, her voice trailing off as she pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. There’s a question there, unspoken but clear, and you answer it by pulling her back down, your lips crashing into hers with more urgency than before.

“Definitely,” you say between kisses, and that’s all the encouragement she needs.

Her sweatshirt joins your hoodie somewhere on the floor, and her hands are everywhere—your waist, your thighs, the curve of your hip. It’s all a blur of heat and soft laughter and the kind of clumsy, sweet desperation that only comes with two people trying to figure out how they fit together.

The couch is too small, the angles all wrong, and at some point, she pulls back just enough to breathe, “Bed?”

You nod, and then she’s pulling you to your feet, her hand sliding down to lace her fingers with yours as she leads you toward her room. There’s something about the way she looks back at you, her grin soft and a little nervous, that makes your heart ache in the best way.

The moment you’re through the door, she’s on you again, her hands sliding up your back as she kisses you like she’s trying to memorize every curve, every shiver. The bed is soft beneath you, and her weight is solid and warm as she follows you down, her knee nudging between yours as she leans over you.

“You’re really good at this whole ‘research’ thing,” you tease, and she laughs against your collarbone, the sound low and husky and so incredibly her.

“Don’t distract me,” she murmurs, and her hands are on you again, her touch firm and sure and just a little shaky in a way that makes your chest swell with affection.

And when she kisses you again, slow and deep, you think, for the first time all week, that maybe the universe actually got something right.

The mattress dips under her weight as Paige pulls back just enough to take you in, her hair falling loose from her ponytail, framing her face in a way that feels criminally unfair. There’s a glint in her eye now, something teasing but focused, like she’s about to run the most calculated play of her life.

“You look nervous,” she says, her lips curling into that sharp grin that’s been undoing you all night.

“I’m not nervous,” you lie, though your voice cracks on the last syllable like your body’s calling you out.

She chuckles, low and throaty, and leans down, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Good. Because I’m about to ruin you, and I don’t need you overthinking it.”

Before you can process what she said, she’s sliding down your body with deliberate slowness, her hands dragging over your sides, down your hips, and hooking around the waistband of your leggings. She raises an eyebrow, silently asking permission, and the second you nod, she pulls them down in one fluid motion, leaving you feeling bare and achingly vulnerable.

“Holy shit,” Paige mutters under her breath, her eyes locked on you like she’s just stumbled on a masterpiece at an art museum. Her hands settle on your thighs, thumbs tracing small circles that send shivers racing up your spine. “You’re so—” She stops, shakes her head, and looks up at you with that cocky grin. “Nah, I’m gonna show you instead of telling you.”

Her lips press to the inside of your knee, soft at first, but as she moves higher, her kisses grow hungrier, her teeth grazing your skin just enough to leave you squirming.

“Paige,” you breathe, your voice barely more than a whisper, but she just hums against your thigh like she’s savoring her favorite meal.

“Patience,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your skin as she shifts lower. “You’re not going anywhere, are you?”

Your response gets caught in your throat as her mouth finally finds you, and every coherent thought you’ve ever had promptly evaporates. Her tongue moves with the same precision she has on the court, all calculated angles and devastating accuracy, and it’s like she’s figured out exactly how to dismantle you.

“Fuck—Paige—” Your hips jerk involuntarily, but her hands hold you steady, her grip firm enough to keep you grounded while her mouth does the opposite.

She pulls back just enough to look up at you, her lips glistening, and there’s a wicked glint in her eye that makes your stomach drop in the best way. “Hang tight,” she says, reaching toward the nightstand.

“What are you—oh my God,” you gasp as she pulls out a vibrator, the sleek little device gleaming like it was made for moments like this.

Paige winks, all confidence and mischief, as she turns it on, the low hum filling the room. “You trust me, right?”

You nod, because at this point, you’d probably trust her to lead you into a cult if it meant feeling like this.

“Good.” She leans back down, her mouth finding you again just as the vibrator presses against you, and the combination is so overwhelming it almost knocks the breath out of you.

Your hands fly to her hair, tugging as the vibrations send shocks of pleasure racing through your body, and her tongue works in tandem, teasing and relentless. It’s too much and not enough all at once, and you can feel yourself unraveling, piece by piece, with every calculated movement.

“Paige, I—” Your words dissolve into a moan that would make your ancestors weep, your thighs trembling as she doubles down, her grip on you tightening.

“That’s it,” she murmurs against you, her voice low and full of something that sounds dangerously like pride. “Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”

And just like that, you do. The orgasm rips through you like a tidal wave, leaving you gasping and clutching at the sheets as your vision whites out. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you swear you hear yourself speaking in tongues.

Paige doesn’t stop until your legs are twitching, and even then, she presses one last kiss to your inner thigh before sitting back with the most self-satisfied grin you’ve ever seen.

“Did I just—” You pause, catching your breath, your voice hoarse. “Did I just have an exorcism?”

Paige laughs, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “If you did, I think I’m gonna need to start charging for holy services.”

“Fuck you,” you say weakly, though the way you’re still grinning probably ruins the effect.

She crawls back up to you, her body warm and solid as she settles next to you, her arm slinging over your waist. “Oh, you’re definitely going to want to do that next,” she teases, pressing a kiss to your temple.

And just like that, you’re laughing, still breathless and a little wrecked, but somehow more at ease than you’ve felt in ages. Paige grins down at you, smug but soft, and you think, maybe, that this is exactly where you’re supposed to be.

Sometimes the best love stories start with a malfunction.

Just don't tell Mike. He's smug enough already.

The End

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