#posting this before i have second thoughts

[aurorawritestoescape]

I KNOW BETTER THAN TO CALL YOU MINE

Pre outbreak Joel Miller x f!reader || 7k

Summary: Joel lets himself have a treat. You.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, fluff, slight age gap (reader’s in her early 20s, Joel is 30), sex work, idiots in love, soft Joel, praise kink, size kink, f/m oral, cum eating, alcohol consumption, m!masturbation, sex toy usage, bondage, protected/unprotected piv, creampie, light pussy spanking, somno, aftercare, mention of degradation, pet names (baby, sweetheart, honey). Reader has hair, wears dresses. Pics are for the mood only, reader has no specific physical descriptions.

A/n: this is for @janaispunk ‘s 1500 kisses challenge. My prompt was ‘first kiss’ with Joel Miller. Congrats again, Jana, and thank you for the fun challenge!😘 The pic in the m/b is from this post by @liminaltourist. Hugs and kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing😘🫂 dividers by @saradika-graphics 💕 The title is from the lyrics of ‘Let’s fall in love for the night’ by FINNEAS. Hope you will enjoy this story! Love you all!💖

MASTERLIST

Joel met you at Tommy’s birthday party and was instantly attracted to you. You were beautiful, sweet, funny, a little shy which he found charming. You told him that you worked as a waitress, meanwhile looking for a steady job after graduating college. He spent the whole night talking to you. The whole night being a couple of hours when he had a sitter for Sarah. Joel noticed a trace of sadness in your gorgeous eyes while you two were saying your goodbyes and for a second he regretted the way his life turned out. A single father at the age of thirty, working tirelessly to give his daughter the best life he could. But all the regrets vanished into thin air the moment he returned home and saw Sarah, sleeping peacefully in her bed. He planted a gentle kiss on her temple and quietly went to his empty bedroom. She was his life and he was ok with it.

Next time when Joel went out with Tommy for a drink, he asked about you in passing. He tried to make it seem like a simple curiosity but his younger brother still gave him a knowing smirk. Joel really liked you but his life was hectic enough. Work and being a single parent took all his time and he couldn’t squeeze in a relationship. He wouldn’t be a good boyfriend, he thought, and you deserved only the best. But your image— your eyes, your smile, your body, was flashing behind his eyes again and again, reminding him that he had needs and desires.

After a few beers and tequila shots, their conversation circled back to you and Tommy blabbed out that you worked as an escort. Joel was astonished. You seemed shy and sweet. He had never been against sex work but he always imagined a different type of people in that business. He didn’t know what to make of it but he felt his cock twitch, thinking of how sexually liberated you were.

He thought about asking for your number, but Tommy would tease him to death and he decided not to.

The next time you met Joel was at another Tommy’s party. Joel agreed to come, wanting to see you again. You talked and laughed like before but the air was almost electric between you two. The glances were darker, your hand brushing his skin here and there made him want more— touch you, feel you close against his body. He could save up and do all that if you agreed. So he made a decision and offered to drive you home when the party was over.

As soon as Joel parked his car at your driveway, he cleared his throat and asked if he could see you sometime.

“Are you asking me out on a date?” Your voice was soft and a shy smile tugged at your lips.

“Ehm… fuck, I —I know what you do,” Joel admitted, turning to you slightly in the driver’s seat, “Tommy told me when he was drunk. Forgive him and me, please, ok? And— I don’t know what you call that, but— can I meet you for an appointment?”

Your face fell and you were blinking at him with a mouth agape. Joel’s heart froze- what if Tommy had been fucking with him and you didn’t sleep with people for money.

After a few longest seconds of his life, you took a deep breath and gave him a little nod. Joel asked you about the details and you explained to him what he needed to do to book a session with you and though you were talking about sex, it sounded cold and dry. You gave him a little smile before getting out of the car and he drove off with the thought that he had made a mistake.

He really didn’t plan to call you, thinking he had killed whatever spark and connection you two had, but his thoughts returned to you again and again. He was hearing your laugh everywhere and your face was behind his eyelids every time he went to sleep.

One night after a few beers he imagined you in his bed and his hand flew to his already stiffening cock. He shut his eyes and saw you next to him, naked and ready for him. Pleasuring himself, Joel imagined your hand wrapped around his length, sliding up and down, then your tongue sucking on his tip and soon he was spurting his load all over his stomach and fist. He could have you, you already agreed to it, and he deserved to feel good, to treat himself once in a while. With those thoughts on his mind he texted you and booked a session.

Joel tried to be on time for your first meeting, but everything seemed to go wrong that day and when he arrived at a hotel, you were already waiting for him at the bar. He showered you with apologies for being late but you assured him that it was ok. He felt the flames of desire, when he took you all in. Your black dress was hugging your body perfectly and he couldn’t wait to take it off you.

You had already got a room for them so Joel followed you to the elevator. He had never been that nervous in his life. You must have noticed it, so you took his hand and gave him a warm smile.

“I’m so glad we’re doing this, Joel.”

“Never done this before,” he admitted when the elevator doors opened and you walked to the room.

“It’s ok, Joel. I’m sure we’re going to have a great time,” you said, smiling to him, and opened the door.

When Joel stepped inside, he saw a typical hotel room with one big bed. You turned to him and asked,

“Before we start, do you have any questions or suggestions about what you want us to do?”

Joel swallowed loudly.

“I want —, he scratched the back of his neck and continued, “just the usual, I guess.”

“The usual?” you repeated with a little smirk.

“Yeah, just sex.”

You pouted your lips in thought, then smiled with mischief in your gaze and slowly came up to him.

His breath hitched when your behavior changed in front of his eyes, like a little kitten turned into a panther in a matter of seconds. You looked the same but there was an allure in your every move, each glance was magnetic, as if you were calling for him to touch you, fuck you. You were irresistible. Your body was inches away from him, your perfume subtle but enticing, enveloping him, and you purred,

“I don’t think we want it to be ‘just’ sex, Joel. How about we make it special.”

Your tongue caressed your lower lip and he slowly leaned down. You swiftly swerved him and instead of tasting your lips, he nuzzled your cheek.

“I’m sorry, Joel— I don’t kiss on the lips during sessions.”

“Oh fuck, sorry.” Joel felt really bad and explained, “I got carried away... I’ve read the rules you sent me… I remember no kissing part, like in “Pretty Woman”,” Joel chuckled, rubbing his scruffy cheek in a nervous gesture.

You giggled, too, probably trying to make him feel more comfortable, “Yes, just like in “Pretty Woman.”

Without noticing it, he tried to memorize the sound of your laugh, how pretty it was. You slightly pulled away from him and tilted your head.

“How about I take the lead at first and then we’ll see how it goes?”

Joel nodded. He wanted to take your dress off, carry you to the bed and fuck you till you screamed his name. But he was afraid to do something wrong, he’d never been in that type of situation. You took his hand and gently caressed it, your fingers dancing over his hardened skin. Then he watched you bring it to your red lips and kiss his palm. You glanced up at him with your big beautiful eyes, not taking his hand away and his whole body reacted to your gentle touch. He was getting hard.

You led Joel to the bed, your fingers intertwined with his, and gently pushed on his shoulders to make him sit down. You slowly took your dress off and he tried not to start drooling like a cartoon wolf, seeing you in front of him in a black lacy set.

You stood between his spread thighs and bent over to tug at the hem of his dark tee. He helped you to take it off and when you kneeled in front of him, he almost moaned. Your beautiful face was so close, he wanted to kiss you so much but he couldn’t and he’d never do anything you didn’t want.

You unbuckled his belt and softly asked him to take his jeans off.

Soon Joel was sitting there in his boxer briefs with you on your knees between his spread thighs.

"You're so hot, Joel," you whispered, as your dark gaze slid over the expense of his broad shoulders and chest, and your nails slightly scratched his muscular thighs.

He breathed out a laugh, shaking his head. He wanted to tell you how gorgeous you look, wearing your lingerie and your high heel shoes, how much he'd been thinking about you since the day you'd met but his mouth was dry and he felt himself like a teenage boy who was trying to compliment a hot girl.

You weren't aware of his inner torment. As always calm and confident, you leaned closer to his torso and kissed a spot on his chest, right over his heart. Joel took a sharp breath and shut his eyes for a second, trying to calm down. He couldn't believe what just a gentle chest kiss from you was doing to him, but he was already painfully hard.

Your lips glided lower and you started leaving open mouth kisses, tracing a path down to the bulge in his boxers, and he opened his thighs wider to give you more space. When your face was close to his clothed cock, you rested your head on his left thigh and looked up at him.

“Fuck,” Joel cursed and growled at the sight of you so close to his already throbbing manhood. You were so pretty, so obedient but even on your knees he felt that you controlled the situation.

“Joel?”

“Yes, baby?”

You smiled hearing the pet name and asked,

“Can I take you in my mouth?”

His cock visibly twitched when he heard your soft voice and the words you uttered.

“If you want.”

You bit your lower lip and asked, rubbing your cheek on his hairy thigh.

“I do but would you like me to?”

Joel nodded eagerly, maybe too eagerly but he didn’t care. He wanted you so much.

With a content smile, you sat up straight and shifted on your knees, getting comfortable. Then you pulled at the waistband of his boxers and in a second they were on the floor and his cock was bobbing in front of your face. Your breath visibly hitched and you glanced up at him.

“You have a gorgeous cock, Joel Miller,” you whispered and he wanted to kiss you again, hearing the praise. But instead he brought his hand to your face and cupped your cheek. You purred into his touch but parted from his palm in a second when you lowered your face and kitten-licked the fat tip of his cock. Joel sighed and bucked his hips already impatient for more. You didn’t make him wait long.

Your lips soon welcomed his cock between them as you started taking him deeper, covering his length with your warm saliva as your hand was firmly wrapped around his girthy base.

Joel moaned loudly at the sensation, he didn’t care what sounds he was making, completely lost in the pleasure your soft lips and skilful tongue were giving him.

Your mouth was slowly caressing his cock as your curved up lips were sliding over his sensitive skin and your tongue danced around the fat head, now and then stroking the leaking slit. There was so much precum, he saw you swallow it again and again. Your hand was gently massaging his balls and his big palm was lying on your head, not pushing, just showing you how much he needed you at that moment. Joel was in heaven.

Soon you took all of him and your throat contracting around his length was the last straw. He was dangerously close to coming and painting your mouth creamy white. But he had other plans for you.

“Shit, baby,” he cupped your cheek and gently pulled you off his ready-to-explode cock, “you’re too fucking good at it. I won’t last. And I wanna..”

He lost his words as you were looking at him with sparkling eyes, full of understanding and warmth.

“Of course, Joel.” You slowly got up on your feet and took off your high heels. Then you padded to the nightstand and opened the drawer. Joel saw a few toys lying there and his heart started to beat faster when he imagined using them on you. Maybe he could suggest it, he mused inwardly, but when you started sliding your panties and bra off your body, he lost his train of thought.

Now completely naked you came up to him and placed your hands on his broad shoulders. Then you planted your knees on each side of him and got on his lap.

“You’re beautiful,” Joel said in a low voice as his hands found your hips and he rubbed your skin with his calloused thumbs.

You thanked him, smiling, and opened the package with your teeth. You brought the condom to his hard cock, slid it on and then got up on your knees, your pussy hovering over Joel’s tip.

You searched for his eyes and as soon as your eyes locked, you started sinking on his thick length.

Joel watched pleasure twisting your face while his cock was slowly parting your insides. He moaned at the sensation of your wet warm pussy welcoming him, grasped your hips tightly and when you took all of him, your ass was flush with his balls, you both loudly sighed.

“You feel so good, baby. So warm and tight.”

“Thank you, Joel. Your cock is so fucking big.”

He took a sharp breath, hearing you curse, and at the back of his mind he wondered if you said it to every client but he drove the thought away. He needed you too much.

Your breasts were right in front of his face and he asked, looking up at you, as if you were a goddess he was praying to.

“Is it ok if I kiss your body?”

“Yes, Joel, please. You can do anything to me.”

“Just not kiss your beautiful lips?”

“Joel,” you whined and he felt you clench around his hard cock.

He scolded himself for those words as soon as they left his stupid mouth. It was the thing you kept for yourself, he understood and accepted it but his desire drove him insatiable.

“I’m sorry, baby, I know it’s a rule. I understand it. It’s jus’ my brain doesn’t work properly, all the blood is down there.”

“Oh, right,” you softly giggled, “Let me shut you up then.”

You lifted your hips, making his cock almost leave the heaven of your cunt, but when the tip was close to slipping out, you sank back down on his manhood inch by inch, gliding your hands over his broad chest.

Joel’s mouth got slack and you both moaned at the ecstatic sensation of him, filling you up again.

With a groan Joel swiftly put his mouth on your breast and you whimpered when he swirled his tongue around your perky nipple. While he was gently sucking and licking your tits, you were languidly riding him, as soft whimpers were leaving your half parted mouth. At one point you nuzzled his forehead and your hot breath on his lips let him imagine you kiss him. His fingers dug into your hips but just for a second. Afraid to hurt you he glided them over your back and arms. He raised his lips to your neck and kissed your skin there.

Joel knew that he was getting close. His hand slithered to your pussy and he slipped his thumb between your folds. He found your clit hardened and throbbing for attention. He began stroking it slowly and you reacted immediately with the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

“Joel,” you breathed out and he clenched his jaw, trying not to explode right then and there.

“Want you to come on my cock, baby.”

You stopped bouncing on his member and he saw you furrow your brows in concentration.

He made his thumb dance faster over your bud and soon your pussy was pulsating around his cock. Your contracting walls sent him over the edge and he started coming, filling up the condom inside you. Oh, how he wished to paint your walls with his creamy load but rules are rules.

As you both started descending from your highs, panting heavily, Joel held you in his big arms and you rested on his broad chest. You were breathing into the crease between his neck and shoulder and at one point he thought you’d fallen asleep.

But the next second you sat up straight on his lap with a satisfied smile. You gently kissed his scruffy cheek and he tried not to purr like a happy cat.

You cuddled a little bit more but soon his time was over.

“Can I see you again?” He asked when you got out of the bed.

“I’d love to, Joel,” you replied, putting on your underwear, “Text me when you have a day in mind.”

You looked like you wanted to say something but stopped yourself. You put on your clothes, kissed his cheek again and left.

After the first time with you Joel knew immediately it wasn’t the last. The need to have you, to be with you again squeezed his heart as soon as that hotel door closed behind you. But he wasn’t rich. He couldn’t spend all his money on you. So he started saving up here and there, anything he could, without damaging the level of life of his daughter.

He texted you as soon as he had enough to pay you and you told him that your regulars got a discount which was a nice surprise for him.

Joel invited you to his place. Sarah was at a sleepover and he had the house for himself for a night. He needed just a couple of hours, no way he could afford a whole night with you.

When you arrived at his place, wearing a pair of tight jeans and a tank top, his mouth immediately started watering. He tried to be a gentleman and a good host and gave you a tour of the house, but when you stepped into his bedroom, all his decency came crashing down. Soon your jeans were discarded on the floor while his head was between your trembling thighs. Joel was licking up your juices straight from the source, grunting into your wet cunt and fucking his tongue into your clenching hole. He was fully clothed, grinding his hard cock against the bed and staining his gray sweatpants.

You were singing for him so beautifully when he began plunging his thick fingers in and out of your heat while his mouth was gently sucking on your throbbing clit. Your back was arched and your hands were clutching his dark curls. He curled his fingers, pushing on that soft spot inside your creaming pussy once, twice and you came, crying out his name, while your walls were fluttering around his digits.

When he parted from your puffy glistening cunt, he saw tears in your hazy eyes. Joel was happy he still got it but what filled his chest with pride was that he made you cry and writhe with ecstasy.

"I'm here, baby. You did so good for me," Joel praised you, climbing up the bed and taking you in his arms. You were trying to catch your breath and he gave you a respite, manhandling you so your head would be resting on his broad shoulder.

"Thank you, Joel, you didn't have to," you mumbled.

"Have to? Sweetheart, it was my pleasure."

He heard your giggle, followed by a content sigh. His hard cock was tenting his gray sweatpants but he didn't care. He was happy to hold you, breathe in the fruity scent of your hair, and when a few minutes later he saw you peacefully sleeping in his embrace, his heart almost burst with affection. He closed his eyes for a second and drifted off too.

Joel woke up in the middle of the night when he felt you move in your sleep. He must have woken you up as you started to shuffle next to him and then sat up straight.

“Fuck! I fell asleep?” You asked, eyes widened, covering your naked thighs with a bedspread.

“Yeah, me too.”

“I’m so sorry, Joel. It’s never happened before. Oh my god, it’s so unprofessional.”

He hastily sat up next to you, taking your hands in his.

“Hey, no. It’s ok. I loved sleeping with you— next to you.”

He smiled, leaning closer to you and rubbing your hands with his thumbs, trying to reassure you and it seemed to work because you gave him an apologetic smile but he felt you relax a little.

“I won’t take any money from you today.”

“No, you spent so much time with me. I owe you even more.”

“Joel, you ate me out, made me come, and then I fell asleep. I definitely don’t deserve to get paid,” you giggled. “The way I see it I owe you now.”

“I’ll think about the career change,” Joel chuckled and at the same time he felt his cock get harder when you talked about the oral. The arousal he had felt before falling asleep came back with a renewed force and swept him away.

He wasn’t smiling anymore, his gaze slid up and down your body and the air in the room got heavier.

“What did you like the most?” he asked as his eyes darkened.

Your breath hitched and even in the dim light of the room he saw your pupils dilate. You dropped your gaze for a second and when you raised your eyes, they were filled with need and desire.

“I loved how much you enjoyed it. How good you were. It felt amazing when your mouth was on my clit. When you were sucking it,” you bit your lip almost shyly and your words went straight to his cock.

You whispered, “Should I go or…?”

“I wanna fuck you,” Joel interrupted you, palming his stiffening bulge, and you quickly nodded before throwing away the bedspread and taking off your top. Your tits bounced as you straddled him and he wrapped his big arms around your naked body.

Joel let you take off his shirt and when your lips latched onto his neck he held you closer and flipped you on the bed, covering you with his body.

You gasped at the fast shift but then moaned when Joel pulled his cock out of his sweatpants.

It was already hard as a rock and wet with precum under his fingers. He gave it a few pumps to spread it over his heated skin.

“Shit, condoms.”

He hastily reached to grab a pack from the nightstand. He opened one, while your fingers were caressing him, dancing over his torso and arms. As soon as the protection was on, you pulled him closer and he pushed his length into you without any warning. He had already stretched you with his tongue and fingers so his tip easily slipped into your crying hole.

“Oh, yeah, baby,” Joel breathed out and started rolling his hips. His lips were caressing every spot he could reach and you were kissing his shoulders and neck.

Without pausing he braced his hands on the bed, hovering over you, his dark gaze locked with yours. He wanted to memorize every lip bite, every twitch of your brows when his cock was sliding in and out your needy cunt. You were so wet for him, he felt your juices on his balls and inner thighs and he closed his eyes trying not to come too soon.

“Look at me, Joel,” you purred and he immediately did what you asked. Your gaze slid from his dark eyes to his lips and it took everything from him not to kiss you right now.

He leaned down and instead gently kissed your heated cheek, leaving a wet spot on your soft skin. With a whimper you wrapped your legs around his waist and started grinding your hips, chasing your orgasm by rubbing your little clit against his pubic bone.

“Do ya wanna come, sweetheart?

“Only if you want me to, Joel,” you breathed out and he furrowed his brows, reminded of the nature of your relationship.

“ ‘course I do.”

With that he pulled away from you and sat up on his knees between your sweaty thighs. “Let me…,” he pulled out and you whined.

“Oh, baby, so impatient.”

You bit your lip with a sly smile but Joel quickly wiped it off your face when he took the condom off and asked,

“Can I slap your pretty pussy with my cock, sweetheart?” He gripped his cock at the base, squeezing it a little to postpone his climax and when you whispered a sultry ‘yes’ he slapped your clit with the tip of his throbbing length.

“Oh my god, Joel!” you cried out with a jerk, looking up at him with your brows pulled together and eyes rolling back.

“You like it?” He asked and when you nodded he started slapping your pulsating bud with his cock again and again until he saw some slick, seeping out of your clenching hole. He rubbed his red tip against it, coating his manhood with your juices, and began grinding it between your folds. His tip was bumping into your clit rhythmically and your taut muscles told him that you were close to your climax.

“Come for me, baby, please,” he asked softly and slapped your clit one more time. A jolt of pleasure made you shut your eyes and a loud moan escaped your lips. Wanting to prolong your orgasm and chasing his, Joel pressed his tip to your clit with his hand and started thrusting his cock, rubbing your twitching clit and at the same time massaging his whole length against your soft pussy and his own palm.

The overwhelming sensation, your sweet sounds and the sight of you coming in his bed made him explode and he began spurting creamy ropes of cum on your belly and sternum. He growled when a few drops landed on your bouncing breasts.

When you both stilled and the ecstasy started dissipating he sat down on his heels and watched you for a few seconds.

Joel wanted to remember that image- you, beautiful and satisfied, eyes shut, chest and belly heaving, was splayed on his bed, body glistening with sweat and cum. The happiness soon mixed with regret and the feeling of longing for more, wishing you were really truly his tightened his chest. But the reality was cruel. You didn’t need a single father in your life, you were free and your whole life was ahead of you.

Your curious gaze interrupted his thoughts.

“What are you thinking about, Joel?” You asked with a warm smile.

“I'm thinking my bed has never looked better than now.”

Your smile turned into a grin and you started to sit up but Joel stopped you with a raised hand.

“Let me clean you up, sweetheart.”

He went to the bathroom to get a wet towel and then gently wiped away his cum off your skin.

Before you left, he hugged you, breathing in the scent of your hair one more time and you gave him a soft kiss on the cheek.

You kept seeing each other for another month. Joel preferred his place to hotels and whenever he had the house for himself and got enough spare money, he would text you. In his own home it was easier to imagine you as his girlfriend, or even wife. He knew that it wasn’t healthy and he was getting a little delusional but it made him happy to think that you were his. If only in his dreams.

Sometimes Joel would literally dream about you. He’d wake up hard, yearning for your touch, your lips on his body, your gentle fingers running through his hair. It was easy to imagine you there with him. His hand would pump his needy cock and the image of you behind his eyelids was enough to make him come, groaning into his pillow.

As time passed Joel got more confident in expressing his desires. The possibilities were endless and you always looked excited whenever he suggested trying something new.

Like the time your eyes glinted with mischief when he asked if he could edge you the next time. Just the idea of making you beg for a climax made him rock hard. So during your next session he had you tied to his bed, as you were whimpering and pleading for a release, a vibrator in his hand pressed to your puffy clit. Though he caved in quite fast and finished you off with his thick fingers massaging your core, his teasing made you squirt and Joel lapped it all up with the wildest eyes and an aching cock. You returned the favor by drinking him till the last drop after he shoved his cock down your throat keeping you in place with his hands clutching your hair.

He loved experimenting with you, loved being rougher. But more often he craved making love to you, wanted you softly purring under his big body, as his cock was buried deep inside your heat, your pussy fluttering around him. He still couldn’t kiss you but your neck, your breasts, your cheeks were enough for him. Yet he couldn’t deny it— he was down bad for you.

“What is it, baby?” Joel asked you, pulling away from your neck that he was peppering with open mouth kisses a moment ago.

You were sitting on his lap, wearing a pretty summer dress and his only thought was to tear it off you but when his hands started roaming your body, you jerked and sniffed.

“Nothing. Everything’s ok, Joel,” you replied softly and nuzzled his neck. He knew something was wrong and you were hiding your pretty face. During the time he had known you, he learnt to read your body language and even feel your mood. So Joel stopped his ministrations immediately and kissed the top of your head.

“You can tell me, sweetheart. If you want.”

For a few minutes, he was holding you in his arms, rubbing your forearm with his thumb. Finally you took a deep breath, not raising your head off his shoulder, and opened up.

“I had a session with a new client yesterday. It was horrible.”

As soon as he heard your soft voice, saying that, his insides burned.

“Who? What did he do to you?”

He took your chin between his fingers and tilted your head up to face him.

When he saw tears in your eyes, he immediately wanted to rip that asshole apart. But your expression told him that you needed him to be gentle, to be there with you and he wanted to give you that.

“He was really degrading. Clients want it sometimes but it hadn’t been discussed and the things he said— made me feel like a cheap hooker. He didn’t hurt me though,” you added hastily but Joel saw that he had. Not physically but that fucker had made you really upset.

“I should talk some sense into the asshole. Can you give me his name?”

“No, no,” you were shaking your head, “I can’t. It’s all confidential. I’ll get over it and won’t see him again of course.”

You took a deep breath before mumbling,

“I’m sorry for ruining the mood.”

Then you reached for his belt buckle but Joel’s hand stopped you and he placed your hands between his big palms.

“No, you’re not in the mood. It’s ok. Can we just cuddle?

“But— I will be in a second. I’m professional, Joel.” You shot him almost a fiery glance and pouted your lips.

“Hey, baby, your client here—,” Joel pointed a thumb at himself with raised eyebrows and a sly smile, “wants to role play a big spoon tonight. Can we do that?”

“You’re so kinky”, you said with a giggle and lay down on the bed. In a second he was holding you, his chest pressed to your back, his strong arms embracing you, giving you comfort.

He was semi hard and surely you noticed it. He felt the warmth of your skin through the thin material of your dress and it drove him insane but the way you flinched at his touch, your tears, your shaky voice told him you wanted him to just hold you. For the second time you fell asleep in his arms and he woke you up with a kiss on your soft cheek the next morning.

Another month passed. As weird as it might have sounded, you became a huge part of his life. He knew every crevice, every curve of your body, knew every hope and dream. He kissed every spot on you, except for your beautiful lips. He tasted them a million times in his imagination but with time it stopped being enough. So he decided to invite you to celebrate his birthday with his family and the closest friends and finally ask you out on a real date.

Joel was nervous when you stepped into his house that day. Tommy raised his eyebrows, surprised to see you there, but fortunately didn’t ask or say anything. You seemed anxious as well at first, but after introducing you to everyone, Joel was happy to notice you chatting with the other guests, giggling with Sarah about something and when his daughter pulled you upstairs to show you her drawings, warmth spread in his chest. He was glad and relieved that you two got along. He wasn’t looking for a mother for his child, he would never ask you to take such a responsibility, but it was important to him that you two could be friends.

Just before dessert you asked him if you could talk privately. Tommy gave Joel a wink, lips twisted in a smirk, when you two headed upstairs, and the older brother just rolled his eyes.

When you stepped into Joel’s bedroom, his cock twitched in his jeans. It was a Pavlovian reflex at this point. He was used to seeing you there naked, your gorgeous body wriggling in his bed, whimpers and moans escaping your mouth.

But Joel told himself to calm down when you came up to him with a serious expression on your pretty face.

“Joel…,” you started and dropped your eyes, fumbling with your fingers.

“Yes, baby?” His heart started pounding in his chest. Always calm and self assured you seemed really nervous and the change scared him. What if you decided to break off whatever weird relationship you two had, what if…

You interrupted his thoughts when you raised your face to him and a little shy smile tugged at your lips.

“I want to give you your birthday present.”

He opened his mouth to say that you hadn’t have to do it, seeing you there was enough but he paused when you inched closer, your big sparkling eyes staring right into his soul. Then your gaze slid down to his lips and Joel seemed to stop breathing. He felt your palms on his forearms and then you slightly pressed your lips to his. They were barely there at first, hesitant, waiting for him to react.

He had been imagining that moment, dreaming of it for so long, so his hands immediately flew to your waist and he pressed his body closer to yours, welcoming your kiss with his whole being.

Joel’s lips started moving against yours, gently and slowly as if he was afraid to scare you away, to ruin the moment. But when he heard you sigh happily against him and your body relaxed into his, Joel wrapped his arms tightly around your torso. He wished that moment to last forever, wanted to never have to let you go.

His tongue brushed your lower lip, asking for permission to breach the last divide between you two, and you graced him by opening your mouth and letting him taste you fully. His tongue was caressing yours while his hands were gliding over your back. Then Joel gently cupped your cheek and tilted his head to give you the best kiss he could. You were so sweet and soft, so warm and lovely on his tongue and he didn’t care that you could probably feel his cock swell against your belly. Your ability to make him hard in seconds was not a secret to the both of you and he bucked his hips against your body with a soft groan.

Joel felt your smile on his lips and playfully squeezed your ass cheeks.

You giggled, your mouth parting from his.

“Happy birthday, Joel,” you whispered, putting your head on his shoulder and nuzzling his neck.

“Thank you for the best birthday present, baby.”

Joel kissed your forehead and you fluttered your eyes shut with a happy smile.

“Sweetheart?” he called.

“Yes.”

“Will you have dinner with me?”

You lifted your head and your eyes locked.

“Like— on a date?”

“Yes.”

Your lips twisted into the widest grin he’d seen on you and you nodded.

“Really?” he asked, making sure that he was really that lucky, “Fuck, I know I’m not a catch. My life is chaotic and I’m a single dad and…”

“Shh,” you placed your finger on his lips and said softly, “I’d love to date you, Joel Miller.”

Joel beamed at you and embraced you in a tight hug.

“I quit escort,” you murmured against his chest and Joel furrowed his brows.

“Is it because of me? Sweetheart, I’d never ask you to quit your job. If you like it I won’t …”

“I don’t. I don’t like it anymore. After that guy I realized I wanna do something else.”

“Ok. Whatever you decide, baby,” he said and then added with a little smile, “I can still pay you though.”

You laughed at him and playfully punched his shoulder. “Shut up, Joel.”

He took your face between his big palms, marveling at your beautiful face, and whispered, “You know how to shut me up, baby.”

You smiled and pressed your lips to his.

Joel opened his eyes to see the early morning sun peeking through the blinds and your face twisted in pleasure just before his. He soon realized that your wet warm pussy was wrapped around his hard cock and you were slowly grinding against him, lying on your side, face to face, your leg thrown over his waist.

He moaned at the sudden pleasure and you noticed that he was up.

“I’m sorry for waking you up, honey. I just— I wanted you so much I couldn’t stop myself.”

You were breathing heavily and he wrapped his arms around your naked body and began rolling his hips, helping you to reach your high and chasing his.

“Never apologize for this, baby. I woke up in heaven thanks to you.”

You smiled and kissed him while his hand slithered between your slightly sweaty bodies and he slid his thumb between your folds to stroke your hardened clit. He was swallowing your moans and tried to get his own ecstatic growling under control, not wishing to wake up Sarah.

Soon you both exploded in each other’s arms and Joel flooded your pussy with his warm cum while you were writhing and trembling with euphoria against him.

When your climax subsided, you rested your head on his shoulder. He was drawing patterns on your back until you lifted your head to give him one more kiss.

“Sarah wanted pancakes for breakfast. I’m gonna go make some batter,” you said, getting out of bed and putting on your robe.

“I’ll help you. Be up in a minute.”

You smiled at him and bent over to give him a peck on the cheek but he swiftly pulled you back into his embrace, searching for your lips. You giggled and soon melted into his arms, while he was kissing you, passion and love in every stroke of his lips and tongue.

You were his, fully and completely, and all the fears evaporated when he realized that you were the final puzzle, missing from his life. He would do anything to make you happy.

“I love you,” Joel whispered against your lips.

“I love you too,” you murmured back.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic, it motivates me to write more stories for you, lovelies!❤️

Masterlist

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[zyafics]

i love love love your writing<3

rq: rafe had came up to tanneyhill's balcony for some peace at his own party. though he didn’t expect reader to be there, looking utterly lost. he knows reader is new. seen you before, too, hanging out with sarah’s crowd; under a pogue’s arm whenever they see him around, telling you rafe isn't anything worth talking, or interacting with.

first off, i am so sorry it took me so long to get this done (as with a lot of my requests) but thank you so much for enjoying my writing!! 🩷 i hope i do this prompt justice (literally shaking in my boots as i post this 😭)

masterlist

pairing s2!rafe cameron x female reader

content (3.2k words) fluff + angst, rafe spiraling (s2 canons), lowkey enemies tension, rafe growing possessive of reader <3

dedication to @mintforadollar who listened to me ranting about this plot a month ago, only to now complete the request, <3 luv u & prompt credited to this on c.ai!

lıllılı Champagne Coast by Blood Orange

Rafe wants to be alone.

His mind is caught in a tailspin, muscles singing with ache from his latest altercation. It didn't help that the fucker managed to get some good swings in, ripples of pain spread from his jawline to his left eye. When he enters the second floor of Tannyhill, all he wants is to catch a breath of fresh air away from the party. His party.

He didn't expect to see you.

"Out." Rafe commands gruffly. You flinch at his abrupt command. "Second floor is off-limits."

He adds nothing else as he marches over to the edge of the balcony, digging his scraped palms into the smooth ridges of the handrails. He didn't want anyone here to witness the brunt of his frustration and disappointment, or how his mind swims with disoriented and incoherent thoughts. He wants to be alone.

But you won't let him.

Cautiously, you take a step forward—not in the direction of the exit, as he hoped—but towards Rafe instead. Lifting his head at the sound of your faint footsteps, agitation flushing through his expression at your proximity. "Didn't I tell you to get out?"

"You got into a fight." You mumble your observation, examining his hardened profile to discover the bruise that decorates his jawline, swelling with discoloration, the darkening under his left eye, and the split of open skin right above his brow.

He scoffs. "No shit."

"And you're bleeding."

He is? He didn't know that. All consumed by the adrenaline rushing through his system—that has yet to wind down—Rafe lifts his hand to run his fingers over the most prominent aches around his face. When he presses against something wet, he withdraws, finding a fresh coat of blood over his fingertips.

Rafe grimaces at the sight—not the blood, he's used to that—but the fact that his opponent succeeded in cutting him too.

Now, he definitely doesn't want you here. Before Rafe has the chance to kick you out the third time, you offer assistance. "I can help," you say meekly, messing with the hems of your top.

He didn't catch it over the loud thumping of his heartbeat in his ears. "What?"

"I can help," you repeat, louder this time, wincing at the projection of your own voice. You don't like the strain in your tone, the desperation seeping through. You'd do anything to avoid returning to the party. "I know how to patch up wounds. I'm training to be an EMT."

"I didn't ask for a life story." He snaps, a mechanical response to any aid. The idea of someone taking care of him is unheard of; unfamiliar and uncomfortable. He doesn't know how to react other than complete and utter rejection. "Besides, I can take care of myself."

Rafe assumes his harsh words would drive you away. The bite behind each syllable has been enough to scare off everyone else but you remain firm in your position. If anything, your expression softens, eyes washing over his rigid posture with a sympathetic look. He hates it.

"I know," you start slowly, eyes cascading down his face, carefully monitoring his reaction. "But... wouldn't it be nice if you didn't have to?"

His expression breaks.

Your kindness strikes directly to his chest and his heart clutches at the way you address him. With humanity. Even when he's been nothing but a complete asshole to you, demanding your departure, you respond with a sense of warmth. Rafe clenches down his jaw.

When he doesn't answer quickly enough, a sign of his contemplation, you add. "Please."

Reluctantly, Rafe gives in. "Fine."

Rafe moves from the balcony deck to reenter Tannyhill, not bothering to check if you're following behind. He heads straight to the ensuite connected to his bedroom, checking under the sink for his first aid kit, before throwing the box over the counter.

That's when he catches a glimpse of himself through the mirror, the ugly bruising that lines his face, the dried blood that stains his temple. His jaw tightens at the sight.

You enter shortly after, seeing him with his back to the mirror, his spine pressed against the rim of the porcelain sink. Your eyes do a quick sweep of your surroundings, before landing on Rafe and his rigid form, arms crossed over his chest, and a cold look on his face. He just wants to get this over with.

You glance outside, to his room, with its openness, before meeting his gaze. "Can we go to your bed?"

His answer is immediate. "No."

You frown but ask nothing more. Rafe's trying to make this difficult for you, refusing to cooperate because it's easier than submitting to your grace. Easier than admitting he'd like the help. You work around that.

Grabbing the antiseptics from the kit, you proceed to clean his wounds, softly massaging his flesh in the process. For a moment, it feels too good and Rafe fights the urge to lean into your hand before a sharp pain rips through him from the open cut and he hisses.

You immediately pull back, mumbling a quick apology.

His eyes squeeze shut, it takes a moment for the throb to cool down, and once it does, Rafe reconnects his gaze with yours to find the remorseful look behind your stare, the softening of your features met with utmost concern. You don't make another move to try again.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine." He bites out, wanting to rid you of that look. He's not weak. Stop looking at him as if he is. Despite the reassurance, you have yet to continue. "You're not going to be a good doctor if you shy away every time your patient gets hurt."

"I feel bad." You admit, chewing on your bottom lip.

"Why? You didn't do this."

He's the one who got into the fight. The one who swung first. While he may have won in the end, having knocked out the guy in the middle of the yard, it doesn't neglect the damage done to him in the process. But, at the end of the day, it's his fault.

You don't see it that way. "Because you're hurting."

You're too soft. That's what Rafe determines. Every little moment, little sprouts of empathy, every inch of sensitivity, is going to hurt you in the end. It won't save anything.

"I don't need your pity," Rafe snaps, giving you the first taste of reality under his razor-sharp tongue. He could be considerate, and understanding, but he isn't. That's how he learned.

"It's not—" You sigh. You don't want to argue and relent against his jabs. Without further commentary, you continue forward with your duties: aiding in his treatment and biting through the humane urge to sympathize with his pain.

Rafe takes the silence to observe you while you work. He knows you grew quiet because of his rough manners, and he won't lie to himself and say he enjoys it. He doesn't. But it adds to the list of everything else he has done wrong in his life; his long string of failures that his father can't wait to remind him of.

In the quietness, Rafe recognizes something about you. It takes a moment, after all the aches and throbs, but the recognition dawns on him that you're new. You hang out with his sister, Sarah, and the rest of the filthy group of no-good Pogues on the other side of the island. There have even been occasions when he saw you under JJ's arm, slinging around red solo cups and a grim soak of southside.

"Where's your friends?" Rafe asks, surprising you with the roughness behind his voice.

You lift your gaze to his. "Hmm?"

"The Pogues. Don't you hang out with them?"

You swallow hard, feeling like a child being caught with their hand in the cookie jar. You hoped your newcomer status would be enough to shield yourself from Rafe's wraith, especially his hatred towards your selected group. "Why?"

Rafe immediately picks up on the shift in your demeanor, the rigidness in your shoulders that tells him exactly what he needs to know. "You've heard about me, haven't you?"

You hesitate to answer. Rafe presses on. "What'd they say?"

Your friends have told you many warnings about the notorious Rafe Cameron. It all comes down to one conclusion: he's dangerous. He's irrational, self-centered, and narcissistic. He isn't worth talking to because all he cares about is himself.

However, you like to find out for yourself.

Rafe leans forward, lowering himself to meet your height and his face is right in front of yours. An arrogant smirk rises to his lips, a challenge for you to answer. "Come on, princess, don't tell you came up here without doing a bit of research beforehand."

You recognize this as a facade, a way for him to hide his true feelings because it's easier to disturb others. To mess with people and not reflect on your own. You place a hand against the solid of his chest and gently push him back, forcing him to reinstate the safe distance established before. You continue back to your line of work.

Your little push surprises Rafe. It also intrigues him too.

"They said you weren't worth talking to," you say softly, avoiding eye contact as he follows your every move. "That you're dangerous."

He scoffs at the reveal, but it pinches his heart that his own sister would agree. He values her opinion more than he'd like to admit. Drawing out a noncommital shrug, pretending not to care, he declares. "They're right."

You hum. "Maybe."

He looks directly at you with a raised brow. "Maybe?"

Your eyes finally connect with his, "I'm still figuring that out." You pull back, setting the supplies back into his aid box. "Done."

You're about to take a step back when Rafe grabs your wrist, holding you in place. Your breath shortens, and you peer down at the place of your contact before raising your gaze to his.

"What do you mean by that?" He demands, his expression hardens but his eyes are pleading. That juxtaposition, between who he is and what he wants, is the exact thing you're trying to uncover.

You aren't afraid of him. Not like the others.

"I don't know," you answer truthfully, sweeping over his face, reading the conflict his features can't seem to contain. Rafe, you're slowly unraveling, is someone who puts his heart on his sleeves. He just hasn't had anyone who cares enough to look for it. "I just don't know if I truly believe that."

"Why not? The rest of the island does."

It's almost a spiral. An edge closer to it. You think it's because Rafe finally has someone who looks past his mask, his deception that the rest of the island gladly takes. They're afraid of him; he engineered that reputation by hand. But you've met your fair share of burnt souls to know they're all worth saving.

You answer him.

"Your eyes." You explain gently. "They say it's the windows to someone's soul."

"And?"

"And, Rafe Cameron, you're someone who isn't as heartless as you'd like the rest of the world to believe."

His grip loosens from your words and you take the opportunity to slip out of his grasp and settle your arms by your side. Rafe watches as you offer him a soft smile, one that reaches your eyes, and you're about to return to the balcony deck for some peace when he follows you into his bedroom.

"That's not fair." He denounces, halting your exit.

You turn around to face him. "What is?"

"You can't come in here and make those assumptions. You don't know shit about my life."

Rafe doesn't like to be read so clearly; to know that whatever he's trying to front isn't deluding you. For some reason, he needs to convince you that every rumor and gossip is true. That he is bad. The idea of it is embedded so deeply into the crevices of his self-worth, that he's having a hard time believing anything else.

Rafe expects your reaction to meet his fury, but the slope of your brows furrow together calmly. A delicate practice over years of training. "I never said I did."

"You're acting like you do."

You frown. "Now you're making assumptions about me," you refute, pointing out his hypocrisy, and a tinge of sharpness slips through. "You asked and I answered. You can't be mad because you don't like them."

"Then why?" He snaps, irritation spewing with his venom. "Who the fuck are you to make that judgment?"

"I thought you didn't want to hear my life story."

He huffs. Rafe finds himself at a crossroads. While you're standing there, with your collected composure, he feels like he's unraveling by the seams. There's something about you. The way you read through him like glass. He doesn't know if he likes it or not. If he needs it or not.

"Bitch," he mutters under his breath at your lack of compliance, and your breath hitches at the term, a flash of anger goes through you like a surge. He recognized that look; it was something he was all too familiar with.

You turn around, about to sprint for the exit once again when Rafe calls out. "Wait."

You don't want to turn around this time. Rafe had managed to make you break through your own facade, your own composure that you spent years trying to cultivate. Something about being in the same room as the eldest Cameron makes you regress into your formative years.

"Turn around."

Your jaw is slighted, but you try to hold it together. You loosen your features before you turn on your heel. You still don't think Rafe is the person he's trying to present to the world, and you doubt that he truly carries that much cruelty in one body, but that doesn't mean you have to be in the same room as him.

But something made you stay.

Rafe crosses the large space, standing just in front of you. His breath is hot against yours, his eyes sharp. You tilt your head, meeting his stare, but to contrast his intensity, your gaze is soft yet firm, your eyes unwavering. Just because you are kinder than he is doesn't mean you are weak.

"You know what it's like, don't you?" He murmurs gruffly, his voice straining at the exposure. This questioning also carries the weight of admission underneath; to bridge a kinship. "Or are you a liar?"

You're not. But no one's ever asked the questions Rafe is asking either. Not your friends back home or the new ones with the Pogues. They treasure your friendship but they don't understand your depth.

"No."

"No, what?"

"I'm not a liar," you bite out. Rafe's mouth curls into a satisfactory smile, and he gets a glimpse of your real character. The true you underneath all that dignity. It's like his own dirty secret. "I know."

You saw through Rafe because you understood him. You shared the same sentiments. You groomed the same callousness. Every act he performs, you went through first. You can't point at his reflection without looking at the mirror yourself.

But you're a bit different. You learn to control it. You discovered that all that anger was something else. Hurt, pain, injustice. You take it all and put it in a box, caged behind thick chains and hard locks. Never to be touched again. Rafe takes it out to the open, free to play. You may come from the same origin but you take two different routes.

However, Rafe sees you much clearer now. To know you can understand him, see through his perspective, and filter out his incoherent thoughts. That's something he'd never experienced before in his life.

"The voices, anger, and impulses?" His voice shrinks, eyes searching yours. You hesitate before nodding once. "You get that too?"

It comes out when you're most hurt. "I do."

He feels like can breathe for once, to not feel completely isolated from the rest of the world. Rafe always feels off, like something is wrong with him. Nothing can be explained; nothing is allowed to be explored. Even when he sought therapy, his father denied his request. He thought he‘d be forever alone in all this.

He steps forward, closing in the distance until there's only an inch of space separating you. But even that feels too big. Oxygen stuck in your throat, Rafe connects his gaze with yours to whisper. "You're like me, aren't you?"

You swallow hard. You didn't realize understanding someone could be a reflection of your own damning soul. You don't know if it's a good thing. "Yes."

His pupils are dilated and nearly pitch-black. His breathing shortens, and his gaze pools with desire. You feel it too. Your heart accelerates beneath your ribcage, your stomach knotting with want. When Rafe leans forward, about to capture your lips on his, you ready yourself to let it all in.

But you're a bit different.

You turn your head away at the last second, his contact coming to your cheek.

"I'm..." You exhale, squeezing your eyes shut. "I'm with JJ."

The world stills on its axis, and you feel the gravity of it beneath your feet. You slowly peel your eyes open, only to find Rafe having pulled back, his hand, midway through the air to hold your chin, closes into a tight fist.

You let out a shaky breath, your eyes swimming with regret.

The look on his face is heartbreaking because you know him in parallel, you know what he's feeling. You take a step back, for your sanity or his, it’s unclear. All you know is the distance was safe. Until it wasn't.

"I should go." You whisper.

Rafe says nothing as you pad your way across his room, slipping out of the door. He remains motionless in the same spot, his jaw set, his fists clenched by his side. The adrenaline pulses return through his veins.

Fuck.

It takes a minute to gather himself. Hearing nothing but the throbbing bass beneath him, pulsing through the floor. His heart is wretched, his stomach full of nausea.

Rafe returns to the balcony to pull away from his room, the place where you had been, and he steps closer to the ledge. Everything in his mind is too quiet; sterile and white-screeching. He doesn't know how to fathom this change.

His blue eyes search across the lawn and he easily picks you out of the crowd. He knows you well now. Those brief, fleeting moments attached to his soul are permanent memories.

You rejoined the party with Sarah and the rest of the Pogues, while JJ saunters over and throws his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close and whispering something in your ear. You smile and laugh, but it doesn't quite reach your eyes.

When you look up, you find Rafe already watching. His eyes are set on yours, unmoving, and the intimacy of his gaze strikes something deep. You had to turn away to preserve yourself.

Rafe slowly comes to his understanding on his own. He never had someone who understood him, much less in such a short time. You unravel him behind gentle stares and quiet observations. You knew him because you knew yourself, and he doesn't want to lose that. He doesn't want to lose you. He can’t. 

So, he decided.

You weren't his.

But he's taking you anyways.

IMPORTANT: if you want to follow my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications!

[urfavleo777]

i saw u posted “need fluff requests” and i had the idea of Joost getting a tattoo of a (fem readers ofc) kiss mark on his neck and immediately showing the tattoo to reader and she kisses him all over the face cuz of how much she loves it

warnings: none ♡ just pure fluff and basically joost being a baby.

You were pressed in between the pillows, wrapped in your favorite fluffy blanket, with eyes glued to the pages of the book you were reading, when the love of your life walked through the door.

“Hi, baby,” he mumbled, coming over to kiss you. Your arms instinctively wrapped around him, holding him close as you kissed the top of his head. Joost buried his face into the crook of your neck, a string of muffled noises and whispered ‘I missed you’ breathed into your skin. Joost was always clingy, a bit of vulnerable and eager to show tenderness whenever he came home, which you loved. “I missed you, too,” you replied softly as you stroked your fingers senselessly up and down the blonde’s spine.

“Can I lie down with you?” He had the sweetest smile you’d ever seen, it looked up his whole face and radiated warmth. He lifted his head just enough to press soft kisses along your jawline, making a quiet and needy sound in the back of his throat as he did. “Please..?” His soft plea sent a warm, fuzzy feeling flowing through your heart, and you couldn't help but smile in a mix of adoration and amusement. Gently tugging on his arm, you gestured for him to get beneath the blankets with you. "Come here, you big softie," you teased, making space for him as you continued to trace tender patterns along his back.

Joost giggled quietly, and he didn't need to be told a second time. He immediately clambered onto the bed without preamble, scrambling clumsily beneath the blankets to get as close to you as possible. The book you were holding in your hand a moment ago landed on the floor with a loud bang, and you already knew that the next day you would have to listen to your neighbor squealing as she insisted that she couldn't sleep because of the two of you.

You were about to pick it up but Joost stopped you, nuzzling his face into your chest, making a content noise as he settled against you. “Stay with me if you love me.” He wrapped his legs around yours, clinging to you like a limpet. You couldn't help but let out a giggle.

"How is it fair that you've barely been home ten minutes and you already have me wrapped around your little finger?" You leaned back into the pillows, bringing him with you, until you were both laying comfortably against the sheets.

“Dunno.” You sighed at his laconic response, staring at his almost angelic face. You lifted your finger to trace one of his cheeks with your fingertip. His eyes were closed, which was telling you that he was on the verge of sleep. Joost groaned as you brushed his hair away from his forehead, the fresh ink on his neck finally catching your attention.

“What is this, love?” You questioned, gently caressing his tattooed skin. “Is that the kiss mark of mine on your neck?” Your eyes widened as you took a closer look at the tattoo - your own kiss etched onto Joost's body in permanent ink.

He let out a dry laugh, squinting under the light on the nightstand. “I thought it would take you less time to notice. Yeah, it’s your lips.”

“But— how?” Suddenly, a situation from about five hours ago flashed before your eyes, when you pulled Joost towards you, kissing him goodbye in the exact same place, leaving a trace of your blood-red lipstick on his neck. “My lipstick.”

"Surprise," he hummed in affirmation, a lazy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I hope you like it as much as I do.”

“Oh, I love it.” Without hesitation, you pulled him close and began showering his face with kisses. A series of chuckles escaped his lips as you covered his face in gentle pecks, his arms encircling your waist to keep you close. Joost tilted his head to allow you easier access.

You kissed his temple, up to his forehead and ending it on the tip of his perfectly sculpted nose. “I can imagine the pain.”

“Honey,” he gently placed his fingers under your chin, turning you to face him. “I'd take a thousand tattoos if it means I get to have your lips on me forever.”

Your stares lingered a little longer on each other; both parties in disbelief at how lucky they were.

“I love you.” You placed your hand on his cheek, gently cupping his face in your palm. Joost let out a soft sigh, his breath mingling with yours in the intimate space between you.

“I love you, liefje.”

[azzibuckets]

Pazzi prompt

A player fouls Azzi and hurts her and Paige goes crazy and gets a technical foul as an injured player on the bench

Bonuses:

Geno meeting with Paige after “what was THAT about”

Or post game fluff of Azzi finding it cute

i love you, you know [pazzi]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: i think i deserve a round of applause for actually reading and sticking to the prompt this time 😓

word count: 1.7k

masterlist

It was all crystal clear in Azzi’s mind. She had to throw her defenders off tempo: Make a fake to the right. Let #11 jump. Go to the left. Fadeaway. 2 points.

But she only made it past the first step before she was sent reeling after a blow to the nose. She didn’t see any of it happen, her eyes fixed solely on the net and her mind focused on getting the ball where it needed to go. One second she was rearranging her hips, and the next, she was on the floor, staring up at the beams crossing the ceiling.

The noise in her ear roared, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the booing of the crowd or the now incessant ringing coming from god knows where. Trembling, she brought a hand up to her nose, and when she looked down, her fingertips were dripping with blood.

Lying there in dumb shock from the burning pain in her nose, the numbness of her left ear, and the watering of her eyes, only one thing pierced her muddled thoughts.

Paige.

When Nika’s face morphed into her vision, a blur of brown hair and worried eyes, Azzi groaned. Nika helped sit her up. Azzi could see her lips moving, but she couldn’t hear a single word or a trace of a Croatian accent. All she could hear was that same tinny sound, getting louder and louder.

There was a blur of movement in her peripheral vision, and Azzi could’ve sworn that she saw blonde hair and a snarl, but her vision went blurry again from how quickly she moved her head.

The next few minutes seemed like a fever dream. She somehow managed to stand up, her arms thrown around her teammates’ shoulders as she slowly walked off the court. When they passed the bench, she squinted, hoping to discern her girlfriend among the faces all looking at her, but to no avail. Her teammates kept on walking, and she was forced to leave the court.

••••••••••••••••••

When Azzi went down, nothing could’ve described the way Paige’s heart lurched. Panic crawled at her throat when #11 on the other team’s fist crashed smack in the middle of Azzi’s face as she came down from her attempt to block Azzi’s shot. The force of the blow sent Azzi falling, the side of her head taking the brunt of the fall as she collapsed to the ground.

Paige had scared herself in that moment. She’d never felt such a loss of self control, the way the edge of her vision almost went red from rage. Ignoring the yells from her teammates and her coaches and the throbbing ache in her left knee that intensified with every step, she’d stormed onto the court. She had one goal: knock the fuck out of #11.

Much to her dismay, Paige had only been able to give the girl a single shove (although she’d prided herself in being able to send the girl stumbling to the floor with only one push) before her teammates had come running to hold her back.

Yelling curses at #11 as Aaliyah wrapped her arms around her waist and walked her off the court, she’d only smirked at the referee when he threw his hands together in the shape of a T. But her smile quickly fell when she’d realized that #11 had only received a flagrant 1 call.

“Are you kidding me?” she yelled, ignoring Aaliyah’s begs for her to just shut up. “How was she not ejected for that?”

The ref glared at her. “You need to calm down.”

“I’ll calm down when you open your blind as fuck eyes,” Paige growled. “You might as well get on your knees if you’re gonna blow this game.”

Eyes widened, Aaliyah mustered every single ouch of strength in her body to haul Paige off the court and into the locker rooms. “I didn’t even have to turn around to know you got ejected,” Aaliyah muttered as she left to return to the game. “I would say I’m disappointed, but…” her voice trailed off as she allowed a slight grin. “That blowing joke was pretty good.”

Paige chuckled with her friend, but as soon as the door slammed shut, all her thoughts returned to Azzi.

•••••••••••••••••••

Azzi knew she wasn’t being rational, that the pain was clouding her logic. But she couldn’t help but feel an unsettling pit in her stomach from the fact that Paige hadn’t even tried to help her up or check on her after her injury. She had to keep remaining herself that it was a good thing, that Paige should minimize any movement in her knee in order to heal as fast as possible.

The team physician shut off his flashlight and scribbled something into his notes. “We still need X-Rays to confirm, but right now it’s looking like you fractured your nose. It doesn’t seem like you have a concussion, which is surprising considering how hard you hit your head.”

Azzi nodded, but all the words were tangling and jumping themselves in her head. All she could think about was how bad everything hurted, and how much she just wanted Paige. For her to show up with her stupid dorky smile, for Paige to hold her in her arms and make her laugh and forget about everything.

Even after the game ended, the team showed up to check on her but the blonde was still nowhere to be found. Azzi walked back to the locker room after she was all checked out, the hallways now empty. She felt decidedly alone in the silence of the gym, until she heard voices seeping from the film room.

“Of all people, I expect you, as the captain of this team, to remain cool under pressure.” Geno’s voice was hard.

“I’m riding the bench anyways, Coach. Why does it matter if I get a tech?” Paige’s words were fast, tumbling out one after the other, in the familiarly urgent way she spoke whenever she was really upset.

Azzi was starting to grow a headache. A tech? When did Paige get a tech?

“Never in my thirty nine seasons at UConn has one of my benched players been ejected after a single technical foul,” Geno fumed. “It’s embarrasing. It shows immaturity. That’s not the way we do it here.”

“Coach, she was bleeding.”

A pause.

“I’m starting to get the sense that your letting your personal feelings affect your focus on the game.”

“Oh my god, so I’m human.” Frustration seeped from Paige’s words, and Azzi flinched, wishing she could go in there and make Paige shut up before she said something she regretted. But she also knew that Geno gave Paige the most leeway out of everyone on the team - he respected her as a player and a person. But still - Paige was really testing his limits. “I can’t help it if I get mad that someone punched my girlfriend in the nose.”

“You’re allowed to get mad,” Geno said shortly. “You’re not allowed to storm the court and send one of the girls on the other team flying.”

A bitter taste rose in Azzi’s mouth.

Geno inhaled. “We’ll talk about this more tomorrow. Get your things and get out of here.”

“Yes, sir.”

The door swung open, and surprise flickered in Geno’s eyes when found Azzi just standing there. “You okay, kid?” he asked.

“I’m good. I just need to go to the doctor tomorrow for some X-Rays. No concussion though.”

Geno nodded. “You’re strong. It’ll take a lot more than #11 to take you down.” Azzi blushed at his words, looking down bashfully. Geno turned to leave, but hesitated before looking back. “Talk some sense into your girlfriend, will you?”

“You know I always do, Coach,” Azzi said with a wry smile before stepping into the film room.

Paige, still not having noticed her presence, was sitting in one of the swivel chairs, eyes fixed on her feet as her eyebrows furrowed, deep in thought. Azzi swallowed hard before stepping to the girl. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

Paige looked up. As soon as she saw Azzi, she shot up to her feet and cupped the younger girl’s cheeks. “Are you okay?” she breathed. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t find you earlier. Geno was giving me a hissy fit and-,”

“Paige,” Azzi interrupted. “Stop.”

“What?” The look in her girlfriend’s eyes was wounded, and Azzi had to breathe to keep her composure.

“Going on the court? Shoving a girl? What the fuck?”

Paige clenched her jaw. “Are you seriously mad at me right now?”

“You can’t be getting techs left and right. The media will come after you. You have a reputation to uphold.” Azzi broke eye contact with Paige and looked down, nursing her nose. “I don’t need you to defend my honor.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn’t have done the same thing.”

Azzi bit her lip, knowing that she couldn’t respond to that without Paige seeing right through her.

“Let me see that.” Paige gently moved Azzi’s hands away from her nose so that she could study it. She let her fingertips brush the bridge of Azzi’s nose, the coldness of her touch bringing relief to the angry red heat radiating from the fracture.

“How does it look, doc?” Azzi teased.

A small smile formed on Paige’s lips. “Like it could use a kiss to heal.”

“Then patch me up.”

Paige was grinning now, and she leaned forward to lightly graze her lips against Azzi’s nose. Azzi winced a little, but she forgot all about the pain when Paige drew back and looked at her with so much softness in her eyes.

“It looked really bad out there,” Paige murmured, her voice slightly shaky. “I thought it could’ve ended up in a really major head injury.”

Azzi laid her head on Paige’s chest, allowing the older girl’s rhythmic heartbeat to calm her own. Paige let her cheek fall on Azzi’s head, basking in the warmth of their shared body heat. “Don’t worry about me. I’m all good,” Azzi breathed, letting her eyes flutter shut as Paige tightened her arms around her waist.

“I always worry about you.” Paige traced circles on Azzi’s back.

Azzi suddenly giggled. “Not gonna lie, you standing up to Geno was kinda hot.”

Paige’s thumb caressed Azzi’s dimple, her heart thudding at how pretty the younger girl’s smile was, even with her swollen nose and red eyes. “I love you, you know.”

“I know.”

“Good.” Paige let her mouth linger on Azzi’s temple.

“But I love you more.”

“Not possible.”

“Uh huh.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Uh huh.”

Paige tickled Azzi, digging her fingers into her sides until the dark haired girl was out of breath from laughing so hard. In the dim lighting of the film room, she could only clearly make out some of Azzi’s face, but when she looked at her she still thought she saw the most beautiful woman in the world.

When Azzi’s eyelids fluttered sleepily, Paige knew it was their cue. “Home?” she suggested. As she grabbed Azzi’s hand and led them out of the room, a warmth spread across her chest. Despite all the hectic and insane things that went on that night, she still held on to one thing - that she got to go home and go to sleep in the same bed as Azzi, and wake up in the morning to her gorgeous face, and spend the rest of her life with the younger girl by her side. And that made any stupid tech worth it.

[fastandcarlos]

Stolen My Heart : ̗̀➛ Oscar Piastri

summary: sneaking around the garage was only going to last so long, especially with lando norris lying around

You wanted to say after so many years you were used to being the baby of McLaren, but truthfully, it never got easier. You loved your job, you loved snapping photos, filming content, and just being around the team…one of them in particular.

You were always promised yourself never to tied down whilst at work, you wanted to remain professional and keep things friendly. But then you met Oscar. The guy who somehow managed to change all of that for you.

What started out as friendly conversation, soon became a little bit more. He’d pull you into a corner when no one was looking and kiss you, or hold against your waist to reassure you whenever you felt that something wasn’t quite going right. You were the one that constantly made him look good, that resulted in thousands of fans losing their minds every time something Oscar-related was posted.

People were used to seeing the two of you together, but as the more time passed, the more Oscar liked to test the waters. Unlike him, you were terrified that if something got out your job would be at risk, you loved Oscar, but you loved working for McLaren too. There were moments when he’d try a little too hard, resulting in you having to be firm with him, pushing him away out of fear.

“Babe, I wouldn’t do this if anyone was around,” Oscar told you as you shot a glare in his direction. Your head shook at him, trying your best to ignore the look of desperation that Oscar stared back at you with.

With one person in particular you’d had a couple of near misses. Lando. The one person you knew would tease you like you could never believe if he found out about your relationship. If Lando ever found out, then you knew it wouldn’t be long before the rest of the garage found out too.

Lando had his suspicions though. For the past couple of months, he’d noticed how much bigger Oscar’s smile was, or how much more excitable he was for race weekends at the paddock. Every time Lando tried to push and find out what, or who, had caused his new enthusiasm, Oscar would just brush it aside as nothing. Deep down, he wanted to scream out your name, but the urge to protect you always pushed that feeling back down again. However, the more that Oscar pushed him away, the more Lando wanted to pull him right back in again.

It didn’t take long before Lando started to read between the lines more, he’d notice how Oscar would always ask for you to walk and photograph him, how he’d sit up straighter whenever you joined them for a team meeting, or how he’d always compliment your work the most when the two of them were deciding which pictures to post.

Lando opted not to tease Oscar about his findings, knowing that eventually the right time would present itself for him to finally get out of Oscar what he was hoping to here, with maximum satisfaction too. His plan was almost working too until one night Lando went out to find you for some help with a post on his social media, rushing around the paddock to try and find you before the sun set.

“Y/N?” He called out as he noticed a figure that looked like yours, picking up his pace in order to catch up to you. There was only a split second between him arriving and you moving, pushing away at something.

“Hey,” you smiled, straightening out your shirt, glancing at Oscar who stood beside you.

“Am I interrupting something?” Lando quizzed, looking between the two of you, noticing the anxious expressions that you both wore, how uptight you both were stood as you tried to calm your blushing cheeks.

“You are actually,” Oscar suddenly spoke up, leaving you stunned. “I was trying to enjoy the sunset with my girlfriend, is that too much to ask for?”

“Wait…you two are like together properly?” Lando grinned, brushing his hand through his hair. “I always thought the two of you were just crushing, like a pair of teenagers back in school.

“Lando, shut up,” you whispered, desperate for something, someone, to take you away.

“No way!” Lando giggled, pushing against Oscar’s shoulder. Neither of you quite knew what to say or do as Lando jumped around in front of you, unable to hide the wide smile that was on his face.

“Reckon you could go away now?” Oscar quizzed, turning Lando around and pushing him back in the direction that he just came from.

“Well, that’s me sacked in the morning,” you sighed, feeling an arm drape across your shoulders as Oscar pulled you in tightly against his side.

“He’s Lando, he’s only messing with us,” Oscar tried his best to reassure you, pulling you close enough to kiss against the top of your head.

“But what if-“ you began, only to find yourself cut off by Oscar pressing a kiss against your lips, cupping either side of your face to keep your eyes firmly on him.

“I won’t let it happen, there’s no chance. Plus, you’re crazy if you think Zak will ever want to get rid of anyone as talented as you,” Oscar spoke, trying his best to reassure you.

“I don’t know what to do,” you whispered, unable to clear the thought from your mind, filled with fear that this was the end of something. Your career. Or Oscar.

“I love you, it’s going to be alright,” Oscar calmly responded.

"But what if-" Before you had the chance to protest, he pressed yet another kiss against your lips, keeping you there for a few moments longer. It was a dangerous game with so many people passing by, but at this point, Oscar simply didn’t care.

“I know it might sound stupid, but trust me,” Oscar chuckled as he pulled away, “I know Lando, he might seem like a complete idiot…but he only is, partly.”

You took Oscar’s word and for quite a while it seemed to be true. Lando liked to mess with you both every now and then but he never risked properly exposing you both. He had his moments, and you had yours, hitting him or taking an unflattering photo of him any time he tried to reveal your secret. Like with him, Lando knew it was only a matter of time before you accidentally revealed yourselves to everyone else too.

As much as he tried to resist you, Oscar knew it was an impossible task. More than anything he wanted to celebrate those victories with you, but instead he had to remain professional, choosing to fist bump you in the paddock, and celebrate properly with you back at the hotel room.

One race when he was on the podium, you could barely contain your excitement, something that one person in particular picked up on in the garage.

“You could try and pretend like you’ve not just watched your boyfriend get P2,” a familiar voice whispered as they came up alongside you. “You’re not playing it very cool.”

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to act in this situation,” you admitted, looking to Lando for a little bit of help to sort yourself out.

“Just say well done to everyone,” Lando instructed, stepping back as he noticed the people in the garage part as Oscar finally returned.

“And to him?” You quizzed, but Lando was already gone, leaving you stranded as Oscar came striding towards you.

A lump ran down your throat as you admired the trophy that was in his hands, suddenly feeling the attention of the whole garage was solely on you.

“I did it,” Oscar chuckled as he showed you the trophy before closing the distance between the two of you with a kiss.

You wanted to push away, remind Oscar of where he was, but he was like an irresistible force. You stood and kissed Oscar back, hearing a few cheers when the two of you pulled away a few moments later.

“Well, well, well,” Lando teased, smiling proudly knowing that you’d finally done what he knew the two of you would do, eventually.

“I’d love to say I’m surprised, but I don’t think anyone really is,” Zak chuckled, leaving you stunned as he threw his arm around Oscar’s shoulder.

“I had no idea!” Andrea called out, leaving everyone in fits of giggles.

“You’ve hardly been subtle, have you both?” Zak grinned, nudging against your side too as he tried to encourage you to smile and relax a little.

You weren’t quite sure what happened for the next couple of hours, between explaining yourself to everyone and celebrating Oscar’s win, you found yourself in a hazy bubble. It was only when the two of you sat out on the pit wall, all alone, hands intertwined with each other, that you took a moment to calm back down again.

“I always told you there was nothing to worry about, didn’t I?” Oscar whispered across to you, noticing you staring down at the track.

You knew deep down you never had to worry, if anyone was going to have your back, it was Oscar. You had completely stolen his heart, everyone around him constantly teased how they didn’t recognise him anymore. He was a changed man, completely besotted and in love with you.

The two of you stayed in a comfortable silence for a few moments, enjoying the first time you were able to show each other any real affection and not look over your shoulders out of fear as to who was potentially watching you.

Not only had Oscar found himself winning with you, but what he had achieved on the track felt as good as a win too. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was, struggling to believe that the life that he was currently living truly belonged to him.

“I never got to say it back to you earlier,” you hummed, watching as Oscar’s confused eyes looked back at you.

You whispered those three little words across to him, the same three words he had told you earlier that day when trying to comfort him. It was a big deal for you anytime you said it aloud, but with Oscar, you truly did mean it. He made you feel special, cared for, and loved like no one had ever made you feel before. He was one of a kind, in the best possible way.

With your words, Oscar squeezed your hand a little bit tighter as if to silently tell you that he felt the same way. You shuffled closer so that you could rest your head down against his broad shoulder.

“I’d love for someone to take a picture of us right now, but no one is as good as taking photos as you,” Oscar mumbled underneath his breath.

“I could set up a self-timer, find the right angle, make sure we’ve got the right lighting,” you suggested, much to Oscar’s satisfaction.

“That’s a good idea, I always share your photos, so it would be nice to share one of yours to be able to share you with the rest of the world too.”

“You really mean that?”

Oscar nodded back at you straight away, pulling out his phone and handing it across to you. It was something that he’d wanted to do for some time, but now more than ever, he was sure that now was the moment for the two of you.

“Make sure you get my good side,” Oscar joked as you jumped off of the wall and went to set up the photograph for him.

“Babe, all your sides are your good sides!”

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[rooksunday]

i just think

that venom!fox

so jedi are symbiotes? and there’s a commander compatibility thing during the cloning process (it’s about force channelling and strict mental control and entirely destroying one’s sense of physical and mental agency uwu) so all the commanders are trained

and fox is very high in the testing, naturally! that’s how you don’t get decommissioned! and utterly terrified about the concept of losing himself. he and cody curl together in a single pod and promise to remember each other after the jedi make them forget

cody gets assigned to kenobi after alpha 17 can’t host anymore

bly to secura

ponds and neyo to mace

and so on

but fox gets the guard and his freedom and he has to pretend disappointment to the civvies and pretend joy to his siblings and the whole time he oscillates between the two and wonders desperately what is wrong with him

and then he finds jedi soup in an alley on coruscant and he and quinlan vos go eat the heads of a dozen senators

[swiftlymurmurs]

I've seen a lot of people voice disappointment over this Game Changer season finale and while I personally wasn't really bothered by a lot of the criticisms (I thought the Ratfish was an interesting added game mechanic and I never really care who wins or loses so his judgements not aligning with mine made no difference to me) I do think it's very interesting and I've spent some time thinking about why it doesn't work for so many. Some thoughts: Why is this Eric guy even here?

Tim & Eric were a popular tv comedy duo in the late aughts alt comedy scene. Sam and many of the writers at Dropout are sketch comedy nerds who, in 2007, were freshly at the start of their comedy careers, and probably see them and the larger [Adult Swim] environment they were a part of as a huge influence.

Why has it maybe aged poorly?

As far as I know, their popularity came in the early stages of about a decade of quite cynical, surreal comedy that also spawned the "lolrandom" era. While huge and fresh at the time, I think my generation (gen Z, the main viewerbase of Dropout) has grown pretty tired of this style and favours sketch comedy that's more clever, witty, and emotionally open or wholesome. At least, that's a movement Dropout has very much steered into with their roster of comedians and it's what the viewers expect.

The parasocial thing

It's no secret that Dropout actively promotes itself as a tight group of friendly comedians who you are invited to get to know, expect, and love when they show up. They don't abuse parasociality in the way you see, for example, younger audience oriented youtubers shoveling merch do it, but they absolutely make use of it. Most of the moments from this episode I've seen people gush over or post positively about are those where the cast recognize each other's styles, reference their relationships, and just generally make it known how well they know one another. When a total stranger enters the picture in an episode where the cast already have a barrier to their regular banter AND is given so much power over the game, they may look like an outsider or even an enemy to the happy little family people have gotten so attached to. Especially because his role is explicitly that of an antagonist, and the cast are never given a chance to see him and maybe out their love and respect for him as a comedian. In the minds of viewers, he just stays some guy who made mean jokes about their blorbo and then left.

Conclusion

I'm always glad to see this show making big swings, and while most of them have landed, some of them are bound to miss. It's a show that prides itself on trying things the viewers may not yet know they wanted and the second it stops trying, I think it'll be all the worse for it. It's a shame to end the season on such a note, but it's been hit after hit so far, and before we know it we'll be right back into it. I love this show, I love this cast, and I'm excited to see what's next!

[bangtanficsforyou]

Hello, Love (JJK)

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: fluff, angst, probable smut (we don't know yet lololol)

Rating: 18+

Summary: You had a plan when you returned home, seven years later. However, falling in love with your sister's fiance wasn't it.

Warning: mentions of drug addiction, familial neglect.

A/N: Based on a movie 😏📸. Also, here's a post explaining why I disappeared.

Playlist

“So you’re getting married tomorrow, huh?” the rhetorical question slips from your mouth with a smile. A smile that in every way looks, forced. 

You don’t know what you were thiniking. But a part of you, just wanted to have a conversation with your sister. Maybe you had hoped for it to be like one of those conversations. The kind that you’d see in movies, taking place between two sisters, when one is about to hit a big milestone. 

Maybe a little reminscing about the old days. A little recallation of the past times when you both got into trouble. Joking about the embarassing moments. A little laughter, a few tears and hearts filled with warmth. 

“Yes, I am,” your sister replies without bothering to look up.

You linger at the doorway for a moment and then realise how stupid you were. 

You nod, knowing very well that this is pretty much the end of the conversation–if you could even call it that. You let the door shut quietly and slip out of the room.

Tomorrow, your sister is getting married. Your elder sister, to be more specific. 

She is getting married to the man she loves, to the man she has been in a relationship with for seven years.

The man, who unfortunately happens to be the one you have fallen in love with, in the span of these last few weeks. 

Oh how did you get into this mess and expect it to result into anything other than heartbreak?

SEVEN YEARS AGO

The loud music playing through the speakers tempts you to join the ongoing celebrations. You look at the joyful faces of your family members and a smile appears on your face. Lord knows when you will be seeing them next.

“Please take care of yourselves,” you whisper, knowing very well that you should leave as quickly as possible.

However, your gaze lingers on one person in particular. Your father.  Oh, how you wish you could just hug him once before leaving. But that might not be a smart move. Your resolve might weaken on feeling his arms around you. No, you cannot afford that.

You take a deep inhale and turn away from the wedding celebrations. You march towards the exit gate with hurried steps. Your feet however, come to a halt when you spot one of your friends chatting with some guy near the gate. Shit. You turn away immediately and flee the spot before she can spot you.

Once you’re sure that there is no way for her to see you, you release a sigh of relief. You have no idea how you’d have explained the bags and luggage you’re currently carrying, had she seen you.

The thought of that makes you feel more urgency to leave this wedding venue. You look around frantically hoping that there would be some other gate. You do spot one, however, there stands your father’s uncle’s son’s son, who has seemingly found this to be the ideal smoking spot.

A few moments later, you come to the conclusion that there is indeed, only one way to escape this place. You need to climb over the wall.

You find a quiet place, away from the crowd, that has very dim lighting. You throw your bags over the wall and wait for the thud to confirm that your bags have landed on the other side. Then, you roll the sleeves of your shirt up and get ready for the difficult part; the climbing.

Thanks to your experience with tree climbing, you somehow successfully manage to climb the wall at your second attempt. However, it’s that wired fence that causes you more trouble than you would have ever imagined.

Somehow, it gets stuck to the back of your shirt in such an awkward position that you cannot even grab a hold of it properly. The only way for you to get your shirt unstuck would be to pull the piece of cloth hard enough. But then you cannot do that. It will tear your shirt and boy, where will you go and change now?

Slowly, very slowly, you move the shirt, hoping somehow, it would get freed from the wire.

Okay, so maybe a little this side–a little on the other–no, wait this is not–

“Are you leaving or are you arriving?”

A voice speaks, startling you to your very core. You look up and feel extremely relieved upon realising that this man happens to be someone who’s completely unknown to you.

“Well as of now, I’m stuck,” you trail off, hoping that the guy would catch the hint and help you.

Thankfully, he does.

He gathers a couple bricks that were laying around and tip toes on them for his hands to reach the wired fence. Despite not being able to see how the wire has gotten stuck in your shirt, his hand somehow still manages to do the job smoothly.

Once you’re free, you’re quick to get down. Dusting off your clothes, you pick your bags up. “Thank you, for helping me.”

“Considering that you got down on this side of the wall, I’m going to assume that you’re leaving.” He observes.

You look at him for a moment and then nod. “Yes, I am.”

“Do you need help with the bags?”

A smile appears on your lips at his words, as you think this guy is a little too nice for his own good. “Sure, that’d actually be helpful!”

Nodding he bends down to pick up the bags. He’s surprised when he realises how heavy your luggage actually is. “Damn, these are heavy.”

“I know,” you glance at your watch. “Let’s get going.”

It takes him a split second to process as you start walking immediately after the words are out of your mouth, without so much of a second glance at him. Your quick movements make him trail behind you, as you make your way through the playground which connects to the main road.

Having given up on catching up with you, he looks around and sees a bunch of kids playing football on one side of the ground. While the other side remains occupied with kids playing cricket. The scoreboard catches his attention as it reads “6 required from 3 balls”. That’s intense, he thinks.

His eyes remain fixed on the match as his feet continue to move. The bowler bowls and he watches with excitement as the batsman flicks it for a single. As the strike rotates, the scoreboard now changes to “5 required from 2 balls”.

The second last delivery of the match and much to his surprise, it’s a full toss. The ball connects right to the centre of the bat and goes straight in the air. His eyes follow the ball and he watches with a bated breath as he waits for it to be either a six or a four.

His jaw drops open, when the ball is caught–by you. You aim the ball straight at the stumps and before the runner can reach the crease, the ball hits the wickets, dismissing the bails.

“OUT!” 

A unanimous shout breaks out, celebrating the wicket. The tension breaks as the match is now in favour of the defending side.

Suddenly, the bags aren’t as heavy as they were moments ago and he rushes to catch up with you. “That was such a cool throw.”

“Thanks,” you shoot him a smile.

“Do you play cricket?” He queries, his eyes shining bright with excitement.

“I once used to. Nowadays, I don’t really get the time to play.” You shrug. “I love watching cricket though.”

“Did you watch yesterday’s match?” His excitement heightens.

“No I didn’t, but I did watch the highlights.”

“You missed one of the greatest matches of all times,” he shakes his head, emphasising his point with a dreamy smile on his face.

“I just don’t like watching ODIs,” you comment. “I think cricket matches should be of twenty overs. Four hours and the match is done.”

“I mean sure, T20Is are good, they are explosive in nature,” he agrees. “But nothing beats the longer formats of cricket.”

“Well, i am yet to get the hang of them,” you muse. “Maybe someday, I will get the hang of ODIs.”

“Maybe a India VS Australia match would do it for you.”

“Oh! I live for the sledging in India-Australia matches.”

“But then, the real spirit of cricket is in test matches! Five long days for one match and yet the match might be a tie. It really does test a man’s patience,” he speaks, his hands moving animatedly with each word. “Maybe that’s why they are called test matches, you know?”

“Kudos to the players playing these matches, because I do not have the patience to watch a test match. Can’t imagine playing it.”

“You should try watching a good bilateral series sometime, I bet you’ll like it.”

“Oh, I have definitely tried watching test matches before and I remember in half an hour, the scoreboard changed from 243 to 245. That was pretty much it for me.”

Your words cause him to cackle. “Maybe someday, you’ll realise the beauty of test matches, who knows?”

“Maybe. Someday.”

A brief moment of silence falls between the both of you.

“Who’s your favourite player, right now?”

“Has to be Steve Smith!” You claim proudly, without a second thought.

“Dude has got a bright future in cricket, that’s for sure.”

“I love how smoothly he hits those shots. It’s a treat watching him,” you add, your admiration for the young player visible in your eyes.

He hums and lets the conversation die as you both approach the main road, which is from where he assumes you’re about to take some vehicle to continue the rest of your journey. His assumption is proved right when you start waving at a taxi approaching towards the both of you.

“Airport?” You ask and upon receiving a nod from the driver, you start loading your luggage in the car. Once everything is settled, you get in as well. Locking in the door, you wave at him and ask the driver to get going.

He watches as the taxi sets to motion with a small lingering smile on his face. He is about to turn around and leave when the car stops and you poke your head out of the window.

“You want to tag along?” You ask loudly to be heard through the newly made distance between the both of you.

He is bewildered on hearing your words. “But the wedding---,” he points in the direction where the wedding ceremony is being performed, instead of completing his sentence.

“Are you the one who's getting married?” You answer with another question.

“No,” he shakes his head, eyes wide with confusion. How on earth are you saying this so casually?

“Then come along.”

He cannot see the whole of your body as only a portion of it remains poking out of the window and he has only known you for a very brief moment, but for some unknown reason he feels so sure that you must have shrugged as you said those words. And for some odd reason, with how casually you’re treating the situation, he feels the oddness of the situation fade.

“I cannot just leave the wedding like that,” he replies.

“Okay, then. Have fun.”

You do not sound disappointed at all. You sound just as casual, he thinks.

“Have a safe journey,” he yells, as you retreat back inside the car.

A faint, i will, thank you, greet his ears and he shakes his head to himself. You are something, he thinks with that same smile as he heads back to the wedding.

“Dude, I met a 8.5 outside!” He tells his friend the moment he’s within earshot.

His friend doesn’t look at him as his gaze remains fixed somewhere else. “Forget about an 8.5. Look there, there’s a literal 10 right in front of your eyes.”

He follows his friend’s gaze and it leads him to one of the prettiest girls he has ever seen, in his entire life. A ten indeed.

“Wow.” The breathless one word sentence escapes his lips without his permission.

His friend smirks at the reaction. “She’s the bride’s sister. She’s a model but is soon going to feature in some short films.”

The words barely register in his head as the girl locks eyes with him. Maybe he wasn’t discreet with his gawking, after all. What absolutely leaves him speechless, however, is when the girl gives him a shy smile.

The interaction isn’t missed by his friend as he whistles slowly, before murmuring, “Here’s to hoping you’re smart enough to understand what that smile means.”

[dilvei]

vei sama i have a request pwetty pls may i get yandere!monster x m reader it can be scenarios or oneshot or even a drabble i am so hungry for your writing

SERPENT'S EMBRACE... ( y! naga x m! human reader )

yandere! naga x m! human reader

warnings:

kidnapping

creepy + stalking behavior

dubcon/noncon

oh and some venom poisoning

brief mentions of corpses

first post here so idk what to add help

thank you for requesting pookie 🙏🙏 this almost went into smut territory ngl but i remember u said u only want a little bit of sexy so i'll end it right there hehe + i think its better for it to stop right there too so :)) hope you love this one since i know you like snake bois 🎀🎀

✾ | you are a hunter, a monster hunter, to be exact; stalking predators under the safety of shadows, silently prowling, avidly watching.

✾ | you have always known the dangers ever since you were but a little boy, ever since your father fell victim to the large amount of dangerous beast leeching their hide in the darkness of the woods.

✾ | but being a monster hunter has its perks—money, for one—and you are never one to deny yourself, especially when you have the perfect set of skills that would make the job much, much easier.

✾ | the request that forever alters the fate of your life comes in a murky, rainy evening, brought to you by a young survivor who lived to tell the tale.

✾ | the heaving man with haunted eyes comes to you immediately, pace frantic as he pushes through the crowded tavern to hand you a heavy bag of gold.

✾ | "this is only a quarter of it," he says as he pants, a hand shivering as he holds on to his own cloth. "i want you to kill the hideous beast hiding in the cave. i want him dead by the morrow."

✾ | by the time the clouds above has parted enough to let way for the moonlight to shine on the damp earth below, you are already in gear, striding into the forest with a rabid-like smile.

✾ | if only you had known that, this time, the monster you'd thought would be your prey, has been eagerly awaiting your presence all this time.

✾ | as you wait near the cave, searching for signs of life from a safe distance, your predator is all smiles, feasting on your figure from afar, unseen, patient.

✾ | when you think to yourself there is no monster hiding inside the cave, nothing but a mountain of corpses and bones that's putrid smell crawls under your skin, the creature lunges from the shadows, presence felt before seen.

✾ | your weapon helplessly clatters to the ground before the creature swiftly seizes both your wrists behind your back with a single, powerful hand. then, a cruel, slithering tail entwines your lower body, coils tightening around you with inescapable force, rendering you immobile in the creature's grasp.

✾ | you cannot run, so you twist your neck for a glimpse, only for both awe and horror to fill your lungs. it almost leaves you breathless.

✾ | you realize that the creature that has captured you is a naga, a serpent guardian, a half-human and half-snake, feared and revered in equal measure.

✾ | his upper body is unmistakably human, with muscular arms and a face that is both eerily beautiful and terrifyingly alien. his lower body, however, is a massive, sinuous tail, its powerful coils tightening around you with every passing second.

✾ | the naga smiles at you, and an instinctive shiver wracks your body, a distant part of your mind realizing that, somehow, the naga has been patiently waiting for this, for all of this, for you.

✾ | the naga's grip tightens, pulling you closer until you can feel the heat of his scorching breath against your skin.

✾ | slowly, almost deliberately, he laps at your trembling neck with his forked tongue. the twin tips of his tongue flicker over your pulse point, sending hot shivers down your spine.

✾ | and then, without warning, he plunges his sharp teeth into your neck, a searing pain radiating from the puncture wounds, a breathless gasp escaping your lips.

✾ | you can feel his venom coursing through your veins, a burning heat spreading from the bite as your vision blurs and your limbs grow heavy. it takes hold quickly, the venom rendering you completely powerless against him.

"You are adorable, little hunter," the naga says, sweetly. He releases his hold on your hands, now that you are unable to struggle, and cradles you against him, pressing you flush against his upper body, as if to soothe you.

His hand carefully caresses your cheek as he looks down at you, smiling gently, almost proudlike. "A human who acts like we are prey, a human who thinks himself better than us. How rare it is to find a piece of treasure like yourself."

With the last of your strength, not yet rendered useless by the venom, you turn your head away, only for his fingers to catch your chin, tilting your gaze back to him.

"I have been watching," he croons, "for quite some time now. My eyes have always followed you, whenever you stepped foot into these woods."

Your breath hitches at the confirmation, but even more so at how utterly enamored the naga sounds as he says those haunting words.

"My little hunter, my adorable treasure. Your presence has tempted me for so very long now. I could no longer ignore it, especially when I imagined how exquisite you would look under my grasp."

You feel utterly helpless, and it doesn’t help when he gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “So I made a plan.”

You close your eyes, but you can still feel the naga’s gaze piercing into you.

"The man who gave you this job—a frail, pathetic-looking man, wasn’t he? It was I who sent him.” He laughs, a cruel and chilling sound. "It was I who ordered him to find you, to send you here, so you could be all mine."

A soft kiss is pressed against your cheek, and you suppress your urge to vomit.

"I'm glad you arrived here safely, my little hunter. I am so utterly happy, so utterly famished to taste you, to taste everything of you."

His heavy breath is against your ear now, and you can feel him grin as he asks, "You would want that too, wouldn't you?"

You open your eyes, see the crazed look in his slitted eyes, and tremble once more. "There is no need for such fear in your eyes, my sweet darling. I am not your villain," he sing songs.

You swallow the lump in your throat.

"I am not your predator, and nor are you my prey."

Your jaw clenches as your mind spins and spins and spins.

The naga chuckles at your expression, wanting to forever etch it into his mind. "You and I. We will only ever be each other's. I am yours, and you are mine."

"Beast," you finally spit out, venom lacing your voice.

The naga pauses, his eyes widening, before an absolutely elated expression crosses over his face. He seems terribly sated as he, so very slowly, whispers to you his greatest and utmost desire, "I am your beast. Forever."

[itsfairly]

Saying Out Loud // Nanami Kento x gn!reader

word count: 1.5k

cw: none.

notes: HAPPY PRIDE YALL! i normally post once a month, but lets pretend last post was the make-up for may and this one is june's. either way, fits the month, right?

liked this? show it with a like, reblog, and/or comment. each is greatly appreciated and celebrated!

"I'm bisexual," you said with a small crack towards the end of your words.

your eyes were constantly shifting between his, searching for any reaction or response from Kento as your fingers fidgeted with each other in an effort to calm your nerves.

it was so uncomfortable, so tense, so terrifying. you know this stuff is told at the beginning of a relationship, not months into it, but things with Kento were going so well. you've never felt so calm around someone, so loved in the most simple yet concrete ways, that a relationship could be so easy and rewarding as this one with him. you wanted to hold on to this stage, this moment where things flowed perfectly and the world seemed to say yes, these two are meant for each other. that's why you took so long to tell him.

after all, how many people treated you differently after they learned this about you?

sorry, its just that i dont want to date someone who will make me look over my shoulder to see if they are being faithful.

what? so you're just gonna leave me when you want to date a man or something?

does that mean we can have a threesome?

its was as if there mere mention of your bisexuality was a burden to them or some sort of fetish. it was exhausting and no matter how much you tried to be fine with it, you weren't.

it wasnt like you didnt trust Kento, he had been nothing but respectful to you and such a gentleman. but god, did those relationships screw up your confidence in this area...you thought you could keep this to yourself, but then again, he deserved to know before things went any further, to walk out if this wasn't what he hoped. you would get it even if it was unfair.

with every second his eyes looked into yours, taking in your words with that stoic expression of his that you could barely read at the moment, the fear was growing in your chest. It kept expanding until it reached your lungs and had to take deep breaths to appear calm about this when you were scared shitless. what would he say? why was he taking so long? he wants to break up, doesn't he? of course, he-

"what made you want to tell me now?" Kento asked, his voice calm as ever as if he was asking where you wanted to have lunch, making you wonder if he was even understanding the severity of your words.

"we've been dating for months now, exclusively even, and you deserved to know before things got serious," you said, feeling your heart race with every word you said. hell, you wondered how you managed to speak so clearly with these many thoughts in your head.

"but are you telling me because you want to or because you felt like you have to?" Kento asked, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at you with furrowed eyebrows, his eyes showing this concern.

that made you blink a few times. this wasn't the kind of reaction you usually received. you were bracing yourself to hear any apprehension, maybe for him to reject or twist your words, but not to see him worried for you like this.

"i told you, we have been dating for a few months and it would be fair if i kept this from you-"

"but its not fair to force yourself either." Kento interrupted you, his words having this firm yet soft tone to them.

his hands reached out to one of yours, covering it completely in his hold. a steady hold opposite to the fidgeting of your fingers, but in his hands, your hand had no choice but to relax.

"you look so stiff you might break, try and take a breath," he adds, his head tilting to the side as his expression softened.

you do just that, mirroring Kento as he also took a deep breath to encourage you to do the same, and while it did help with the nerves, it didn't relieve your confusion. he wasn't saying much on your coming out, he hadn't say a single word about it yet.

"i wanted—want to tell you because i don't want you to find out later on after investing so much in me and just...you don't need to waste your time if someone like me isn't what you were looking for," you explained.

of course you wanted to tell him, but it didn't took away how scary coming out is, especially when the person you're coming out to is so special and you want them in your life regardless. you didn't want to lose him, but you also didn't want to deceive him like this. maybe you did had to push yourself to say it, not wanting to ruin things so quickly, but you couldn't wait any longer.

Kento sighs, making your heart stop for a second. Was he disappointed? Infuriated? Angry?

But when you heard his words as he squeezed your hand, you were surprised to learn how far off you were...

"i must be awful at making it clear that you're exactly who I'm looking for."

suddenly, its as if your heart gains this new energy, beating and beating as if you just ran a marathon. your mouth feels dry as youfeel your brows knitting together, feeling as if this conversation was bringing more surprises to you than to him.

"you don't care that i'm bi?" you asked quietly, your hand squeezing his back in hopes you didn't hear him wrong.

Kento shakes his head, "i do, but not in the way you think," he says, a shadow of a smile coming to the corner of his lip as he scoots closer to you. His eyes look at yours, silently asking if that was okay. You nod.

"i care, not because it annoys me—i would be an asshole if that were the case—, but because i'm learning about you. The you that you feel most authentic to. While i am happy that you are opening up to me about something so important to you, i wished you would feel more comfortable telling me about it because you were ready, not because you felt pressured to. i'm sorry if i made you feel that."

you didnt know what it was at this point, whether it was the adrenaline or sweetness of the moment, but you knew Kento was the reason with all these words he was saying. he wasn't anything like anyone you'd dated before, he was being so sweet and just a dream. you never thought your chest could swell with this feeling while coming out to someone. it felt...easy.

you quickly shake your head, your turn to scoot over to him with your knees bumping against his. "no, no! you didn't pressure me in any way, Kento. its just that i know how much of a dealbreaker this is to some and i..." you took in a deep breath, feeling your throat hitch with this lump, "god, you have no idea how relieving it is to hear that."

you didn't wait a second longer before you wrapped you arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug as you rested your forehead in his shoulder. you felt his arms wrapped around you in return, pulling you closer to his body as his hand caressed your back in soothing circles that made your heart calm down.

"someone like you is special," Kento says softly, his breath tickling your ear, "you're choosing me over anyone else, and i feel so honored that you are with me."

you laughed softly, pulling your head back from his shoulder and looking at him with a huge grin. god, he made this so, so easy.

"kento, you have no idea what this means to me. No idea how easy it is to feel lucky right now." You said quietly, taking a deep breath before resting your forehead against his, "thank you, just thank you."

Kento hums, his hand coming up to your scalp to stroke your hair gently. hearing all your words and seeing all the emotions you wore on your sleeve made him realize how big of a step this was for you, how heavy of a topic this was on you. it didn't take a genius to know that this reaction from you meant that this situation didn't went as well in the past with other people, which made his heart hurt for you. Sweet you who thought about him first before herself when this wasn't about him.

more than ever, Kento would make sure that you felt comfortable in your skin and secure in your relationship. you deserved nothing less than that and you were worth investing in as you said in your own words, though he would much rather call it loving you. it sounded more accurate to what he wanted to do.

"you know, now i have to put more effort into our relationship," Kento said softly, a hint of playfulness in his voice, "after all, I'm showing you off to double the people, aren't i?"

[heartysworld]

The Red Race Suit || Sebastian Vettel x Reader

Request: Let's say Mick actually managed to stay in F1 and is actually winning GPs (in a perfect universe) and this time he got P1 and Seb is P2 and during the press conference after the race a reporter asks Seb how he feels about someone else "stealing" P1 from him and instead of talking about that Seb says how he's proud of Mick for achieving such success and stuff like that! I'll leave the rest to you!

A/N: To whoever requested this, I hope your pillow is cold on both sides as that's the cutest thing I've ever written! The feelings were all over the place! I hope you enjoy this one and if you guys have any more requests feel free to send them in💝

You watched from the Ferrari garage as the post race conference was about to begin, your husband being there as well as he got P2 at his home race. On your lap sat your 3 year old son who excitedly bounced his arms as his big blue eyes registered his father's Ferrari red race suit.

"Dada!"

"Yes, my little love that's daddy there on the big screen." You said as you kissed his chubby rosy cheeks while the little boy in your arms let out an excited squeal.

"Following a spectacular FIA Formula 1 German Grand Prix we are joined by Max Verstappen in third place , Sebastian Vettel in second and our winner Mick Schumacher. Good job Mick, another spectacular race added to the long list of wins. How does it feel to get P1 once again, following your father's footsteps?" One of the many interviewers behind the camera asked.

"Yes, thank you. Of course it's very rewarding to see all of you hard work pay off. This was a hard race, the weather conditions were quite concerning at some point. To be able to go through with the whole race and get P1 is always an amazing feeling. I can only hope my family is proud and watching, I know my sister is somewhere here today." Mick said, a small smile gracing his lips as he thought about his big sister witnessing yet another of his wins.

"And Sebastian, what's the feeling of losing grasp of P1 during the last two laps? Surely that's something to talk about. Nobody expected such turn of events during the last few minutes of your home race!" The next question was addressed to Seb. Your husband smiled before answering.

" If it was any other situation I wouldn't be the happiest man out there. However, I couldn't be more proud of Mick here, seeing him achieve something he's worked so hard for. He's the godfather of my son, he's family at this point, probably the only one whom I don't mind being P1 instead of me." Sebastian asked, his answer making everyone in the room laugh.

There is not a person out there who's not aware of the bond between the two. Seb was to Mick was his father was for the once young an energetic Toro Rosso rookie in 2007.

When you found out you were pregnant with your first child three years ago, one of the first things your husband asked of you was to allow him to make Mick the godfather of your baby. Even though the Schumacher boy was just seventeen years old back then you didn't need to be asked twice if you agreed with your husband. You loved both Seb and Mick,and seeing them happy could only make your life better.

Your husband wasted no time finding you after all the interviews were over. By that time you and your son had moved to his motorhome as the little one had started to get cranky, demanding his naptime. The moment Seb saw his son's squished cheeks against the soft pillows a bright smile graced his face.

"Hey there, champion" you stood up from your spot on the bed beside your son, wasting no time in finding the comfort of your husband's embrace, nuzzling your face in his chest. "you need a shower, schatz, as soon as possible." You murmured against his chest. Your words were followed by a low laugh from your husband, careful not to wake up the sleeping toddler.

"Let me enjoy this moment a few more seconds, liebling. I don't get to have my wife and son at a race every other week." Sebastian said before placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"Hmm, that is correct. Our little man was so excited to see his papa in the red racing suit. The moment he recognized you he got so excited. I wouldn't change this for world of me." You said as your mind went back to an hour ago.

"Neither could I, liebling. Having you here makes me even more agitated to win." You husband answered, one of his hands coming up to your face and making you look up at him before kissing your lips softly.

" The second place today says otherwise." You laugh as you watch his eyes crinkle as he laughs at your sarcasm while his hands come to press you even tighter to his body.

" Don't be mean, my love. As long as it's Mick or our son in 1st place one day I don't mind." Seb said smiling at the thought of his son following his footsteps one day.

"You're going to make go through the same stress levels with our son as the ones I'm dealing with right now as I watch you race? How thoughtful of you, Seb." You exclaimed whole your husband laughed at you.

"Don't worry, liebling. I'm going to give you more children who will take your mind off such things." You husband leaned closed, mumbling against your lips as he smiled before giving you a deeper kiss.

"Hmm, I'll have to think about this. Win me another world champion title and we might get to work on your request."

"You know better than to test what I'm capable of, darling. When I want something I achieve it. And when I do, I don't apologize for winning. So he careful what you wish for."

Reblogs and likes are deeply appreciated! 💝

[billthedrake]

This is kind of a bisexual-content retelling of my Senior Week story, inspired by @pagespermer 's posts, as well as some hetero porn stories.

ODD MAN OUT

It was a joke at first. The guys on the team having guy talk, talking about the hottest moms in our friend circle. Apparently my mom was a MILF in the top 3 of fuckable moms in our high school. I felt like I should take umbrage, but I was already odd man out on our lacrosse team and maybe desperate to fit in.

Besides, Tate's mother was the main object of the leering jokes. Mrs. Walsh wasn't a typical MILF, she was like a hot sorority girl who refused to act her age. Big tits, bleach blonde hair, lots of make up, skin-tight jeans and skimpy tops. And, I don't know, she kind of doted on her jock son. Even though Tate was a senior, a tall strapping defender who was definitely scholarship material, Mrs. Tate doted on the poor guy. Showing up at all the games and hugging him after, planting a kiss on his cheek, that kind of thing.

Tate would blush and take the ribbing from the guys after.

It was consensus that Mrs. Walsh was hands-down number one fuckable mom. Like, not even a close contest. Even Tate stopped objecting when we started talking about how hot Mrs. Walsh was, and he'd shrug and admit that yeah, his mother was a real MILF.

Still, it caught us off guard one night we were partying at TJ Evanchick's place when his parents were out of town. He'd been busted for having a big party once before, so it was just four of us - me, TJ, Tate, and Mac Baroni, an attacker on the team and a dude who I thought was a complete douche at first but who I'd gotten to become friends with. It was Mac who brought me into the circle of these guys over senior year.

"Truth or Dare?" Mac asked. It was Tate's turn.

Walsh took a swig of hard seltzer and shrugged. "I dunno. Truth, I guess."

Mac got a naughty grin and asked. "Ok... you ever fuck your mom?"

It was our running joke of course. Maybe because Tate didn't seem put off by all the hot mom talk. It just egged us on to talk about banging Mrs. Walsh.

But even Mac was caught by surprise when the hunky defender got a naughty smirk of his own. "Truth, right?" he asked. Tate was probably the most conventionally good looking of us all, and if I even let my lust drive to the guys on the team he was the one I was most attracted to. Brown hair, soulful brown eyes, perfect smile, and just a killer bod, tall and built at 6'5". "This fucking stays between us," he warned.

"Oh shit," TJ exclaimed. He was saying what we were all thinking. There's no way that Tate and Mrs. Walsh could be...

"Yeah, I've fucked Mom."

In any other context we would assume it was a joke, but from the forced bravado on Tate's face and the darting look in his brown eyes, I could tell, we all could tell, the guy wasn't bullshitting.

"When, how?" Mac stammered. Then. "Fuck!"

That got a laugh out of Tate. "You have to wait till my next turn, fuckers." I could tell he was enjoying our stunned reaction. He turned to me. "All right, Mullins... Truth or Dare."

I thought for a second. "Dare."

Tate smirked. "Suck Evanchick's cock."

"Fuck no!" TJ interjected. His face grew red, and he shot me a contrite look before confronting Walsh. "Dude, that's way fucking out of line."

Tate held up his hands. "OK, OK, sorry, bro," he said to me. "That was a dick move..." he took a drink and thought for a second. "All right... three tequila shots. In a row."

My tolerance wasn't quite with these guys, but it was more than a high schooler maybe should have. I'd be hammered, but if I kept my wits about me I'd pace myself after. "Line em up," I said.

TJ picked up a shot glass and poured one. I tossed it back, pretty easy. The second one went OK, too. I had to pause for the third, my head feeling tipsy already. "Fuck it," I said, and drank that one too.

I was gonna be fucked-up drunk. Good think I was crashing at TJ's. "Truth or Dare," I slurred to Teej.

"Truth," he said.

"You ever fuck an older woman?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Nah. Total bucket list though."

Tate hissed. "Dude that was a fucking layup question."

Mac laughed. "Not all of us are motherfuckers like you Walsh."

Tate shot him the middle finger but laughed. I could tell he was strangely proud of his incestuous conquest and maybe relieved he'd shared it with us.

TJ turned to Mac. "Truth or Dare."

Mac leaned back in the chair. He'd been bulking up a lot lately and had some beefy genetics to work with. The result was more of a football player-like build that showed underneath his loose T-shirt. "Dare," he said with a "bring it" attitude.

TJ grinned. Even if he was a senior, the midfielder still had a young look to him: dimples, baby fat clinging to his cheeks, shorter frame. "All right... go in the other room and jack off to a picture of Mrs. Walsh."

Mac laughed, then pushed his chair back from the table. "You got it."

Tate shook his head. "Don't you need a picture first, doofus?"

TJ grinned. "Mac has a couple on his phone."

"You assholes," Tate said. "Is Luke the only guy not perving on my mom?"

"Pretty much," Mac said. Already he was walking behind Tate to make his way to another room.

Tate got a real naughty look on his face. "Dude... I have some better pictures if ya want..."

That stopped Mac in his tracks. "Shit... for real?"

Tate was blushing now, but that didn't stop the big jock from pulling out his phone and finding a hidden photo album. He swiped a couple of times and handed it to Mac. "For your eyes only, bro."

Mac's eyes went wide. "Fuck! OK, yeah... this isn't gonna take me long at all." He almost scurried out and down the hall.

TJ seemed flustered and horny now. "Dude, we gotta wait to get the fucking details? Come on!"

Tate looked over at me. "You OK with this Mullins?"

"Yeah," I said. "Doesn't faze me." It was crazy as fuck of course, but it wasn't my mom. And between porn and some exploratory times getting head from dudes, I was very much open to sexual self-discovery. Most of all, I loved how this secret was a bonding time between us.

My answer seemed to satisfy Walsh. "I won't tell you how long it's been going on, but yeah, we're having sex pretty regular now."

TJ's face grew pale and I thought he was getting freaked out, but it turned out that was him growing hornier at the idea. "Like, how regular is regular?"

Tate got a sly look on his face. "Bro, like every fucking day. I'm pretty sure Dad knows, too... it's fucking wild." He paused and looked intently at TJ, who I gather he trusted less than me. "Not a fucking word to anyone about this, right?"

"Scout's honor," Evanchick said, crossing his heart. "I'm just impressed, bro. You're living the dream."

Tate leaned back, a little calmer now. "You ever think about doing your mom, Evanchick?" Mrs. Evanchick was not on the fuckable moms list. She was, I dunno, just a normal mom.

"Yes and no," he admitted. "Sometimes when I jack off I go there. But in reality it would probably be too weird and fucked up."

Tate nodded. "It's totally weird and fucked up, dude." Then leaning back in, he said, "But damned if that doesn't make getting your dick wet in your own mother's pussy even hotter."

Just then Mac walked in, face flushed. He handed Tate his phone back. "Walsh, I owe you SO much for that just now... I mean... WOW!"

"Can I see?" TJ piped in. He saw Tate's hesitation. "Come on, Walsh... pretty please..."

Tate relented and pulled up the picture again before sliding it to TJ. "You want a look too, Mullins?" he asked. Not pointed or hostile, but genuinely curious.

"Nah, I'm good," I said with a drunken shrug.

Mac sat back down and took a drink. "I know you keep clammed up around us, Luke... but you ever make it with an older dude?"

I nodded, not sure how far I could go. "Sometimes, yeah," I admitted. "I think I prefer em older, actually."

"Yeah?" Mac asked. "What's the equivalent of a MILF?" Maybe Mac was the stereotypical dumb jock.

"Um, a DILF," I replied as diplomatically as I could.

That got a big laugh out of TJ. But instead of chiming in he got out of his chair. "I need a minute with Mrs. Walsh fellas."

Tate wasn't offended as TJ took his phone and walked into the other room like Mac just had. I think he was proud of showing off his hot mom.

"So... you're into DILFs, Mullins?" Tate asked.

I was. But I didn't want to get into my daddy issues. Still, my reply was the truth. "Yeah... they're really into young dudes like me. You can kind of have your way with them, actually." I was drunk now and that's probably why I was opening up.

"For real?" Tate responded. "Shit!" Then, "Good for you, bro."

"Yeah," Mac said. He was a macho dude, like most of the guys on the team, but the gay thing didn't phase him as much I expected. But he chimed in, "But can we set a new rule? No talking about who has the most fuckable dad, OK?"

"Bro, you're the one who brought it up," I reminded him.

"Touche," he said.

"You speak French now, Mac?" Tate teased. He could be an asshole, but I had to laugh.

***

It was inevitably going to happen, and maybe deep down I knew it. But it was early June and we were two weeks away from graduation. The guys on the team had somehow become even tighter lately, maybe because we'd all be going off to different colleges. Add a good dose of senioritis and the shorter leash our parents had on us, and we were partying several nights a week. We couldn't drink or get high around Evanchick's parents, but even my folks were OK with it as long no one drove. It was a real sign of something that none of the dudes made a crack about sleeping over in my bedroom.

Friday night was at Tate's house. The Walshes were pretty loaded and had a sweet backyard with a pool. That's where Mrs. Walsh found us when she came in. She was still dressed in a skirt and business attire blouse. Tate's mom was a realtor. Hell, maybe she was a good businesswoman, but those tits had to have sold half of the houses she put under contract. Even with a professional blouse, she was buxom as hell. It was pretty late in the evening and she'd probably stopped for wine with her friends or something, she just had that relaxed look about her.

"Tate," she said. "I don't want you boys in the pool, OK?" She was in Mom mode, and it didn't take me long to figure out why. We were pretty buzzed and White Claw cans were strewn around. And Evanchick had just done a cannonball into the deep end.

"Yeah, OK, Mom," Tate said, embarrassed some but he looked at us and shrugged.

"Where are my manners?" Mrs. Walsh said. "Hello Luke, Evan... Mac..."

"Hello Mrs. Walsh," Mac said dumbly. I didn't know how straight guys were wired, not really, but I had a good sense of what was going through his mind then. He'd seen a picture of Mrs. Walsh's tits, maybe more. It was impossible for him to get THAT out of his mind.

TJ was already hoisting himself out of the pool. The doofus was definitely trying to show off for Tate's mom, letting the water run down his toned athletic bod. He was shorter and more compactly muscled than Tate, but his real asset was that he legendarily had the biggest cock on the team. I'd just seen it soft in the locker room, but talk was that he had a real horse dick that was outsized to his smaller frame. His wet trunks clung to a thick lump.

I could see Tate's mom laugh some since she could read what TJ was doing as well as me. Turning back to Tate she added. "You can use the hot tub if you want." Then turning to the rest of us, she added, "Just keep the noise down fellas, OK?"

"Yes Mrs. Walsh," Mac chimed in. He was still beneath the water but his eyes were fixated on Tate's mom as she walked back inside.

"Fuck," he finally said.

"Easy, Baroni, that's my mom," Tate laughed. Kind of serious, but kind of joking.

"It's no fucking fair, man," Mac shook his head. But there wasn't really much else to say. Especially because none of us were sure we were completely out of earshot.

I could tell Mac was boned when he finally got out of the pool and I felt bad for the guy. Especially because he sheepishly looked over my way to see if I was checking him out. I'd done a lot of compartmentalizing over the last few years, but in the buzz I had going on, I was thinking, yeah, I'd like to see Mac's hardon. That realization made me blush I did my best to look away without seeming like I was getting caught red handed.

Tate was already firing up the hot tub, testing the temperature, since it was already a warm summer evening out and we didn't need the water too hot. The hot tub itself was pretty nice, almost a mini pool that could hold 6 easily. We'd used it a couple of times before, it was kind of nice after a game or a hard workout actually. TJ popped open another hard seltzer can and asked if I wanted one. I held off, wanting to pace myself, but Mac readily agreed. I saw his dick had gone down as he stepped into the water. He was looking extra beefy, and Tate would rib him about getting his freshman 15 a year early. I dunno, that bulk kind of looked good on him.

We talked about our college plans. I mean, we knew each other's college plans, but there was all that boring shit... orientation, move date, dorm and roommate plans. Mac and Tate were D1 scholarship players, whereas TJ planned to play on a lacrosse club in his college. I looked forward to taking a break from trying to fit in with the jocks. From being the odd man out. I had no idea what my true scene was, but I was eager to find it.

We were all relaxed sitting in that hot tub, just talking about some dumb shit, I can't even remember what. Then, Mrs. Walsh came out.

"Is it OK if I join you gentlemen?" she asked, a half-filled plastic wine glass in hand. Her tone was kind of flirty but almost in the way that a hot chick talks to all guys. It's just her normal.

That bikini wasn't normal, though. It was like sorority-slut Spring Break skimpy. Those tits made it even more obscene, as two triangular patches of fabric barely covered half of those boobs. As a gay dude, I wasn't a connoisseur of tits, but I suspected Mrs. Walsh had some augmentation done at some point. They were not only big but firm.

The guys muttered their OK in stumbling words, but already Tate's mom was stepping into the tub. She turned to Tate. "You don't mind me joining, do you, honey? Your momma's had a long day."

Tate had a shit-eating smirk on his face. For all of his mother-fucking talk, part of me didn't believe it. I believed it now. My teammate had the look of a man very much sexually obsessed with his mom and very open about that obsession. "Of course not, Mom." He scooted to the side to let his mother take the seat in the water next to him.

I could hear Evanchick gulp in horniness beside me. And from the ashen look on Mac's face, he was having a hard time figuring out how to react.

It was weird as fuck to me, but I was feeling more detached and amused. Not my circus.

"Hmmm, that water feels nice," Mrs. Walsh said, relaxing her neck back and rolling her head around a little as if to relieve the stress. The action just made her boobs jut out more.

"Tough day, Mom?" Tate asked.

"Fraid so, hon...." Mrs. Walsh said as he turned her head back to look at him and at all of us. She had a dreamy look on her face. "But don't let me stop the party."

"Thanks for letting us come over, Mrs. Walsh," Mac piped in. It was so wild to me the way a confident jock could all of a sudden act like a doofus around a hot woman.

"Anytime," she said. "As long as you boys behave."

Oh fuck, she was flirting. And I could see the smirk on Tate's phase. He knew what his mom was doing and seemed to approve.

Leave it to Evanchick to have more game than Baroni. "I don't always behave, Mrs. Walsh. But I know how to respect my elders."

Mrs. Walsh giggled. She was enjoying this. Like a hunter lioness circling her prey before pouncing. "Oh TJ, you make me sound so OLD!" she teased.

"It's not that, Mrs. Walsh," TJ stammered, trying to keep his game face on. "It's just.."

She smiled. "Oh I'm just teasing. But there's something about seeing you boys go off to college that isn't make feel any younger."

Tate put his arm around his mother's shoulder. "You know I'm going to be back to visit a lot, Mom, right?"

"You better, Tate," she mock-chided.

I gulped. It was uncomfortable, like us guys were watching something private between Tate and his mom. But I also knew that TJ and Mac were getting horned up by it, too. In my own way, I was as well.

Especially as Tate got a certain goofy grin on his face. I couldn't tell exactly where Mrs. Walsh's hand was but I had the feeling she was feeling him beneath the bubbling water.

My teammate turned to us. "Mom's a little upset I showed you those pics," he stated flatly.

Mac started to stammer an apology. Evanchick just grinned.

Mrs. Walsh let out a little giggle. "Tate's too old to ground, but I gave him a lecture about keeping secrets." She turned from a loving glance at Tate to look at us as well. "But I'm flattered you liked the photos."

Jesus.

Mac was blushing red. TJ was gonna shoot his shot. "No disrespect, Mrs. Walsh, but you're a very attractive woman. Any guy would be crazy not to notice."

Tate let out a little laugh.

Mrs. Walsh played along. "That's very sweet TJ." The surreal thing was she just seemed to be in her normal ex-sorority "nice" mode. Even as she got that relaxed look on her face and casually took off her bikini top.

I thought that swimsuit was pretty obscene and barely hid anything, but as those tits popped out, the temperature was definitely being turned up. I now knew that she and Tate had planned this.

Mrs. Walsh gently tossed the bikini top aside and leaned back, letting those big jugs stick out just an inch above the water. Definitely fake. Not that any of the guys cared.

"How does the real thing compare, gentleman?" she asked.

Baroni finally got past his shyness. "They're incredible, Mrs. Walsh. I'm gonna dream about them, actually."

Mrs. Walsh smiled. She seemed to love the attention. I was watching Tate, who was watching his mother. He was enjoying this, maybe enjoying showing off his hot mom.

But Mrs. Walsh's gaze was now directed across the hot tub. "Want to feel them, Mac?" she asked. A little more sultry but somehow Mrs. Walsh didn't make it sound slutty. Or it was slutty in a mom-next-door way. Totally fucked up.

Mac was already moving across the water. All eyes were on Mrs. Walsh's boobs, except mine. I was eyeing up Mac Baroni's football-like beef and trying to see if I could make out his hardon in the wet board shorts.

"Fuck," he hissed once his big paws cupped those hooters. Mac half massaged the fleshy globes, half just held onto them. "You're a lucky dog, Tate," he growled, then stopped himself. "Sorry..." he apologized. "I'm an idiot." I could see in Mac's face a real worry he'd fucked this up by bringing up the incest so explicitly.

Mrs. Walsh put him at ease. "Tate's very familiar with my breasts... aren't you honey?"

"Yes, Momma," he said. It was so wild to see my jock buddy use that term with his mother. Already his hand was easing over to one of his mom's breasts, nudging Mac's out of the way.

Mrs. Walsh let the guys feel her up for a minute then said softly. "Don't you boys know how to share?" she asked. "Maybe Luke and TJ want a turn."

"Luke's gay, Mrs. Walsh," Mac asserted.

"I'm sure as hell not," Evanchick kind of boasted as he stood up in the hot tub. Not just scooting over like Mac did, I realized he wanted Tate's mom to see his endowment. Indeed, that massive cock rode up high and hard in his swim trunks.

"Why don't you sit up on the edge, Mom?" Tate asked.

Those tits bounced, but barely, as she did just that. Mac was following to take one side while TJ took the other side.

I was feeling odd man out now, and I pushed myself out of the tub.

"Not gonna stay for the show, Mullins?" Tate teased. Already he was sitting in the tub and between his mom's legs, pulling the swimsuit bottom down.

"Pussy weirds him out, bro," Mac chimed in, referring to a statement I'd made while drunk one night about being turned off by straight porn.

All right, these guys were in obnoxious jock mode. I did my best to ignore them as I dried off and found my flip flops.

The air conditioning inside was cool, cold even. I wished I'd put on my T-shirt, but I didn't want to go back out there. These guys were having their dream sex fantasy handed to them on a silver platter, and part of me respected that. I wasn't gonna spoil it for them. But I just wished they didn't have to be dicks, and I wished I could stick up for myself more.

I opened the fridge and found one of the craft beers that probably was Mr. Walsh's. Tate and the guys were into hard seltzer or tasteless beer. I laughed to think they gave me shit for being into fruity mixed drinks when we first started partying. I stopped drinking those now.

I popped open the can and took a sip. The kitchen window had a pretty good view on the hot tub area. I wasn't gonna watch but figured what the hell. The guys wouldn't notice but even if they did, fuck 'em.

Tate had his face buried between his mother's thighs and was really going to town. Apparently my teammate was really into eating pussy. Mrs. Walsh was kind of going wild, kissing Mac then TJ, back and forth, while both of them mauled her tits like it was the first rack they'd ever felt up.

As fevered as those guys were in the group scene, they weren't rushing things, not pushing to the next step quickly. But eventually, TJ pulled back from his kiss and reached down to push down his trunks. Up popped that huge dong, long and fat and hard. Evanchick was hung as much as his reputation and on his compact frame it looked even more massive.

I'd been so engrossed in the show that I didn't hear the sound of someone coming into the house.

"Hey Luke... the guys out back?"

I turned back, like a kid caught with the hand in the cookie jar. There was Mr. Walsh standing in his golf attire, the dry-knit polo clinging to his meaty pecs and draping more loosely over the dad bod midsection. He had a reddish hue and tan line from his day on the links and he had that nineteenth hole buzz vibe to his expression. I always thought the man was handsome, kind of a classic "dad" masculinity to him.

But now the nervousness kicked in.

"Hey Mr. Walsh," I said, blood draining from my face. "Um, you might not want to look out back, sir."

The man stopped, and it took him just a second to figure out what I was talking about and for that affable smile to leave his face. "Oh," he said. I think he was more worried that I knew than anything, and I felt bad for the man. He let out a loud sigh. "I've probably seen worse," he said. Then nodding down at at my beer, he asked, "Mind if I join you?"

"Sure," I said. It was fucked up. Here was my buddy's dad, basically cucked by his own son, and I felt it was my job to be the guy's friend. "I think I raided your beers, sir. Sorry."

The man walked over to the fridge and got himself a cold can. "Glad you did," he said. "Make yourself at home, Luke." Mr. Walsh was very laid back about us drinking, the opposite of Evanchick's or Baroni's folks.

He popped the can open and took a long sip. Maybe it was all the sexual activity earlier, but I was definitely grooving on Mr. Walsh's thick bod. Total hot daddy, but in a real way, not in an Instagram DILF kind of way. Still, I tried not to seem weird around him.

The man took a look out the window finally. He didn't seem too bothered, but he turned to me. "Yep. That's pretty messed up," he said.

I laughed, and I hoped Mr. Walsh didn't think I was laughing at him. It was just how he acknowledged the absurdity of Tate and my teammates all doing Mrs. Walsh.

He turned to me. "I'm surprised you're not joining them Luke. You have a girlfriend?"

I shook my head. "Nah, Mr. Walsh... it's not my thing."

He misread what I was saying. "You're not going to get them in trouble are you?" he asked. For as cucked he was, it was clear that his wife and his son had his blessing.

"I mean, I'm gay, sir," I said. A year ago I would have hid this, but something about the situation and the fact I was going off to college soon had me more blunt.

Mr. Walsh nodded. "Wouldn't have guessed, buddy," he said. He took another look out the window. Then with a grin he added, "You check out your buddies' cocks?"

Fuck. Maybe Tate's dad was just messing with me, or just trying to show he was cool with the gay thing. But I was getting the vibe it was something more.

I felt my face grow hot now. "That goes against the bro code," I replied.

Mr. Walsh looked back at me with a smile. "Hell, they're not my bros," he said and turned to look back out.

OK, Tate's dad had at least a big homo streak. I laughed and walked over to stand beside him at the window. As wild as the scene was earlier, this was incredible in its own way. Standing beside Mr. Walsh's warm body, both of us playing voyeur, watching his own son and my teammates have a four-gy with his wife.

"TJ is hung like a fucking mule," the man said, taking a sip of beer. I decided I liked Mr. Walsh, a lot. "Look at that huge dick."

I did. Mrs. Walsh was doing her best to suck it, while Mac jerked his dick and waited for his turn. Tate was still munching his mom's snatch.

"I prefer Mac's," I said. Blushing as I admitted it, but it felt good to let it out.

Mr. Walsh turned to me. "Yeah, bud?" he said. I could read so much understanding in his face. He knew what it was like. "You don't have to worry about the bro code around me," he added.

"Thanks, Mr. Walsh."

"Tom," he said. I knew his first name but never used it.

"Thanks, Tom," I said. I turned my attention out back again. Tate was now bare ass naked and thrusting between his mom's legs.

I could tell Mr. Walsh was horny watching. I couldn't begin to guess the situation here. But he watched intently and asked. "What do you think of my son?" he asked, a horny edge to his voice.

Talk about fucked up. But Tom didn't judge me, and I wasn't gonna judge him. "Tate's kind of a dick, but he's hot," I admitted. Something about the situation made me feel freer to speak the truth.

Mr. Walsh chuckled. "You don't go for the cocky ones do ya, Luke?"

"No sir," I said. "Not normally my thing."

He nodded, still watching the sex scene out book. "Good for you."

We watched a little while longer and sipped our beer. It was hot but was also a strange bonding experience. Both of us odd man out.

Finally, Tom spoke again. "Sorry you're not having your fun tonight, Luke."

I was feeling buzzed now, and anyway I figured I'd channel Evanchick some. Shoot my shot. "If you gave me a chance, Tom..." I said. Throwing it out there.

I could tell Mr. Walsh was surprised. And also into the idea. He turned to me with a twinkle in his eye. "I'm afraid I've gone to seed," he said.

I stood my ground. Posture erect, my dick firming up. "You're totally hot, Tom. I'm not just saying that."

He still seemed cautious. "You, um... you know, you ever done anything?"

I wanted to make stuff up but I told him the truth. "I've gotten a couple of blowjobs. Older guys, too. It's always hot."

Tom smiled. Maybe teasing me as he replied. "So YOU like the be the cocky one?"

I chuckled, out of nervousness and horniness alike. "I don't fucking know, Tom," I complained. "I just love men, you know?" I put the emphasis on men because, the Mac Baronis of the world excepted, I knew I'd prefer someone older than me.

"I wish I'd realized earlier," he said and I felt him put his arms on my waist. I was shirtless and the contact of his warm hands felt amazing.

We kissed. For all the no-strings sex I'd had, I now realized this was missing. It didn't have to be romantic, though ultimately I'd want that too. But feeling Tom Walsh's lips against mine, our tongues slipping together, me trying to follow his lead and anticipate it, the warmth and scent and breath from a MAN pulling close to me. I fricking loved it.

His hands were now feeling me up, running up and down my bare back. I didn't have Mac's beef or even Tate or TJ's muscle but I was a fit athlete. Mr. Walsh seemed to appreciate what I had going on.

For my part I was pawing at every bit of Tom's dad bod, feeling the hard back muscle and the softer love handles and enjoying it all. I was realizing that my preferred body type really was a man with some meat on his bones. I knew it was visually, but in person too it drove me wild to feel that hard-softness of a bigger man. Greedily, my fingers were now running underneath Tom's golf shirt to make skin contact.

Mr. Walsh moaned into my mouth. We were clinging to each other like horny teenagers. Well, I was the horny teenager, Mr. Walsh was just plain horny.

We finally broke the kiss, smiles on our faces. "You are quite an attractive young man, Luke," Tom said.

"This is SO against the bro code," I joked. "My buddy's dad."

Mr. Walsh laughed. "I'm sure," he said. "But Tate's having his fun. It's my turn now." He gave me a quick peck again. "Take this to the guest room?"

We were already down the hall before I realized I'd forgotten about the hot tub orgy going on. Mr. Walsh led me into the guest room, and I felt bad as I realized this is where he slept now. But he pulled down the covers and peeled off his shirt. God, that meaty bod was incredible. He wasn't overweight, really, and the top of his torso was all firm round pecs and broad build shoulders and arms. His middle had a little beer belly. Not quite round, not quite a spare tire, but something in between. His chest hair wasn't heavy but it looked fitting for his age, sprinkled with some gray flecks.

"You don't have to be shy, Luke," he said.

I realized then I was hesitating to take off my trunks. But I did now. This felt naughtier than getting my dick sucked by some random dude. This was my friend's dad, and I was now showing off my boner to him and stripping down naked.

"Very nice," Tom smiled, now undoing his own golf shorts.

I realized I hadn't seen Tate's cock just now, so I don't know how his dad's compared. But it was a perfect dick. Average in length and fatter in girth. Whereas mine had an inch on him but was more normal in width. We stepped toward one another and embraced again. Our cocks touching and battling a little.

We didn't kiss right away but enjoyed the playful intimacy.

"I gotta warn you, Tom," I admitted. "I don't really know what I'm doing. I mean... I've watched a lot of porn, but for the real thing..."

He nodded. "You up for sucking me some?" he asked. Tone respectful but horny.

I nodded. "Um, yeah... fuck."

"Sit down on the bed," he urged.

I did. From that vantage, Tom Walsh's body seemed girthier and more muscular too. I wondered if this is what Mac would look like when he got older. It was a thrill of a thought. I leaned forward and started licking Mr. Walsh's perfect dick, which twitched against my tongue.

"Nice, buddy... feel free to explore it."

I did. Working up from his balls to his dripping cock slit and back down. It was incredible to have another man's genitals pressed against my face. Finally, I got up to the top again and opened up. My first dick to suck and I was going for it.

"God, yeah, man... easy buddy.... that's it, nice and slow... get used to me."

Walsh wasn't overly hung but for my first dick the size seemed pretty big. But I relaxed and focused on sucking in addition to bobbing. Once I got the groove, I heard grunts of approval from Mr. Walsh. Then his hands on my head, gently pulling me into his crotch with a steady pace matched to my sucking.

"Your first cock, buddy?" he hissed. "You're doing amazing."

I was glad of that, but my jaw and throat were tiring, mostly from the newness of the sensation. Thankfully, Tom pulled out, his prick looking bigger and fuller and definitely wetter with my thick spit.

The man had a big smile on his face as he leaned down and met me for a tongue heavy kiss. Already this was beating the quick BJs I'd gotten before. The man patted my shoulder as he relinquished our lip lock. "Lie back, stud," he urged.

As I did I felt Tom's lips kiss along my abs and then further down.

"Oh yeah!" I hissed once he started taking me into his mouth.

This wasn't Mr. Walsh's first dick. He swallowed about four inches of me and worked me before he began deep throating. His pace was slow, almost gentle, but his nose mashed against my pubes with each go. Felt his throat gently milk my boner and saw the way his sun-lightened brown hair was thinner on top and had some gray flecks on the side. I wondered if he wanted to suck Tate like this.

I was starting to cum. Only Tom pulled off right before I did. His hand on my spit wet cock felt great but it was going to keep me on the boil, not push me to completion.

"I take it you're not up for getting fucked," he said. More a statement in tone, but I knew he was throwing the idea out there.

My body shook in nervous energy. "I don't think I'm ready, Mr. Walsh.... sorry, sir."

He grinned. Mayne being called Mr. Walsh made him feel like a dirty old man. Maybe he liked that. He leaned in and gave my balls a quick swipe of his tongue. "If you ever change your mind, Luke, I'd love to take your cherry."

The words were horny and lewd and the intensity of his proposal turned me on. "I'd love to lose it to you, sir," I replied. "Maybe another time. OK?"

He seemed pleased with that response as he pulled back and reached over to the nightstand. I saw the lube come out. For a second I got mad, like he was still going to pressure me to do this. But then he slicked up my hardon with his lubed hand and quickly did the same with his own.

I grinned. We were gonna jack off together. The idea seemed appealing. That way Tom and I could cum at the same time, maybe even while we were kissing. I took my dick in my hand and started the familiar motion up and down.

But as the married man scooted up in bed, he knocked my hand away, off my dick. My heart pounded as I saw his dad bod position himself over my midsection, straddling me.

"Man, we gonna...?" I asked, unable to believe it.

Tom got a big grin on his suntanned face. He nodded and reached over to pump out more lube into his palm, before reaching back between his legs to slick his ass up.

"You done this Mr. Walsh?" I asked. I needed to know. I didn't know what the fuck I was doing, other than imitating porn, and I worried a real ass would take more effort to fuck.

"I got a golf buddy," he said with an impish grin. "We help each other out."

"Hot," I said. "You gonna help me out?" I teased.

Tom responded to my playful tone. "Well, your buddies left you high and dry, it's the least I can do."

The middle aged dad nestled his slick crack on my boner and let it nudge against his pucker for a second. "You OK going bare?" he asked, his blue eyes now meeting mine in a horny, almost dreamy expression.

"Fuck yeah," I hissed.

Then I felt the most amazing sensation of penetration. My first ass. My first dad hole. My buddy's father. Mr. Walsh.

"God..." I hissed.

The man was letting out some air, relaxing his body. But he was taking my dick pretty well, sinking down it. "You're a big boy, Luke," he said in his naughty bedroom voice.

"Bigger than your golf buddy?" I had to ask.

"Bigger than my golf buddy."

I almost made a crack about being bigger than his son, but held off. Tom paused at the bottom, having taken me all the way inside. His guts felt tight and hot and alive. I loved this. I'd want a LOT more fucking from here on out.

I was patient and in any case took the chance to run my hands along his body, along thos thick thighs and up over his dad bod stomach.

The man chuckled at my clear admiration. "You really like my body don't ya, Luke."

I looked up at him. At his handsome face and his raccoon eyes from the day of golf. I wanted to fuck him so bad. "Yes, sir. Fuck, is that weird?"

"Not at all, stud," he answered. "I'm glad."

He let me run my hands over his body some more then rose up. About four inches, then settled back down. And again. Mr. Walsh was fucking himself on me. I loved this, but my teen horniness kicked in. I held onto the man and started thrusting up into me.

"Yes!" he hissed. "You're hitting my fucking spot, Luke... right there, buddy!"

Indeed as I fucked into his meaty body, his cock jerked in a regular rhythm. It made me want to fuck faster. So I did.

"Yes, yes," the man urged. The fact Mr. Walsh liked this made me feel like a fucking king.

I knew I was going to have trouble holding off but the second he reached down to touch his own dick, his insides just did a crazy clench and unclench wave on my thrusting prick.

"Oh SHIT!" I gasped. Already orgasming. My hips a frantic blur, my whole lacrosse jock body tensing as I gave it up.

Maybe I was hitting Tom's spot just right. Or maybe he liked the idea I was breeding him. Because I wasn't finished with my release when I felt his hot sperm land on me in heavy blotches.

"FUCK!" he grunted, his body flush and his dick jerking as he milked out the last seed. He regained awareness and our eyes met. We laughed.

"Your first fuck?" he asked.

"Yeah," I replied.

"And...?" he prodded. I loved Tom's playful side.

"You've totally spoiled me, Mr. Walsh."

He leaned back, feeling my cock buried inside. "You're still hard as a rock," he laughed.

"Fraid so," I said.

"I need a break, OK?"

I nodded and he eased off. Our bodies were hot and sweaty as we connected for a kiss. We made out for a while, our hearts still racing. My dick wasn't going down but I was just enjoying this intimate connection.

Tom finally patted my chest. "I was not expecting THAT, Luke Mullins," he said.

"Expecting what?" I chuckled.

He shrugged. "You to be into men. You being able to fuck like THAT. First time out, too."

I smirked. "Yes, sir," I said. Now proud of my sexual performance. I didn't realize I'd done anything special. It felt like it was all Mr. Walsh.

He seemed to get a concerned look finally and he nodded his head back in the direction of the backyard. "You sticking around for the rest of the show out back?" he asked.

"Think they're done?" I asked. I was now nervous about the guys knowing about me and Tom. I didn't care for myself but I didn't want to get Tate's dad in trouble.

"Knowing Tate, probably not," the man said. Not jaded or bitter, almost impressed.

"I'm not gonna ask, Mr. Walsh," I said. "But I have SO many questions."

Thankfully the man had a sense of humor. "I bet. Maybe later, OK?" He leaned up and looked over at the clock.

"Did you drive here?" he asked.

"Nah, TJ picked me up."

"I can take you home if you like. Unless you want to crash here."

I didn't know if he meant in his room or with the guys. Either way, it seemed awkward now. "No, I'll head home, Mr. Walsh. Thanks." I sat up, feeling my energy surprisingly drained. I was going to sleep very well after that fuck. My dick had calmed down and softened and I enjoyed seeing Tom's eyes follow it as I got out of bed and slipped back into my swim trunks. "I gotta get my clothes out back."

Tom laughed. "All right. Meet you out front?"

When I got out back, the guys were out of the pool. Mrs. Walsh was on a lounger while Mac's powerhouse body fucked her. Tate was doing laps in the pool, while Evanchick sat in a chair, his huge dick hard but otherwise he was clearly resting between rounds.

He looked up as I walked over to get my shirt and flip flops nearby.

"Hey," he said. "Sorry we forgot about you Mullens," he said, leaning back in his chair. He wasn't self conscious about his nakedness around me, and I realized TJ liked showing off his big dong, even to me. "But you know..." he looked over at Mac going wild on Mrs. Walsh. "...fuck."

I looked over too. I wanted to memorize the vision of Baroni, naked and having sex. I turned back to Evanchick. "It's OK... I had my fun this evening."

TJ laughed and held up his fist in a mock jerkoff motion. But I shook my head no.

The guy's not as dumb as Mac, and he picked on what was going. "For real?" he asked. Looking back to see if Mr. Walsh was in sight.

"Yeah, for real," I boasted. I hated being an asshat, bragging about Mr. Walsh like that, but I was sick of being the odd man out. "Don't tell Tate, OK?"

TJ did a cross-his-heart gesture. I took one more look at Mac's magnificent backside and ass and then gave TJ a buddy pat on the shoulder. "See ya later, bro."

Mr. Walsh drove me home and was the total gentleman. He asked me if I was interested in a date, maybe golf on Sunday. He pulled up to my house and we exchanged phone numbers. And Tom kissed me before I got out of the car.

"Everything OK?" my mom asked when she saw me home early. She'd given me some ground rules for the summer but they were pretty lax. 11PM curfew unless I was staying at a friend's house chaperoned. She wasn't used to seeing me before 9 these days.

"Yeah, Mom," I said. "Just tired from my workout today. Mr. Walsh drove me home," I added.

I made some small talk and went to grab some water to rehydrate. Then I made my way up to my bedroom. There was a text from Mr. Walsh.

"I had a great time, young man," it read.

I smiled and typed. "Me too, Tom. Amazing." I was nervous texting a man much older than me like this, afraid I'd get him in trouble. But with all that was going on in the Walsh household maybe that was the least of anyone's worries.

"They're still going at it, by the way," Tom wrote.

"I wish I'd stayed for round two," I wrote. The man could tell me if I had to be more discreet.

"Ha, I bet. I don't think I could have handled a second round. Sorry, Luke."

"Nothing to be sorry about sir. I'm still on cloud nine."

We sent each other some more texts, but soon called it a night.

***

Tate found out the following week. He gave me the silent treatment and it was the end of our little posse. Or at least my participation in it. I hung out some with Mac still, but mostly the guys spent their summer together, without me. I was a little bummed, but it was inevitable. I was moving away in a couple of months anyway.

And, yeah, I did lose my cherry to Mr. Walsh. We didn't become boyfriends or anything. But we had a hell of a lot of fun that summer. Including a few time with his golf buddy joining.

It was an auspicious start to my college years, but that's another story.

[erindrinkstea]

🔴 Please Please Please

Poly! Dark! 141 x Reader

TW: Dark Themes, Spicy Themes, Possessive Behaviour, Obsessive Behaviour, , Non-Con, Violence, Blood, Death

Description, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Main Masterlist | CoD Masterlist

Note: Hey, I'm back to my usual postings!

For a moment, you swore that you could hear frantic voices from the back of your subconscious. You swore that those voices sounded a lot like your teammates in the 141.

But they couldn't be them. Not with the way they sounded so distraught, begging and crying for your life. You almost felt flattered.

"Lieutenant. Bullet. Birdie. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I haven't been a good sargeant to you, a good friend and fuck- I've been a horrible person overall. Please. Let me correct my wrongs and stay alive."

"You're going to be alright, Bullet. I swear on it. You're not leaving us anytime soon, that's a promise."

"Don't die on us, Bullet."

"Fuck- lovie, I'm so fucking sorry. I shouldn't have lost focus on the field. Please. Look, you can shoot me again in the throat if it'll make you feel better, just- make sure you'll make it out alive to do it, yeah?"

You laughed in the back of your mind. The last voice reminded you of your scottish sargeant, what a johnny thing to say.

"What a Bullet thing to do. Laughing even on the brink of desth."

You blinked at the new but familiar voice. "Cori?" Your old sargeant.

"I must be in hell if I'm seeing you." You joked and the sargeant, kicked at your head as you were lying on the ground.

Sitting up, you noticed that you were in a blank void. A white space with nothing but you and your sargeant, your old friend.

"Believe it or not, Cap and I made it heaven actually. Don't know how we were able to sneak in but surprise." Cori joked and you smiled softly at how easily you two eased into banter despite the long years.

"What are you doing joining us so soon by the way?" Cori crouched down, reaching out to brush a stray hair from your face. "Cap's gonna be angry if she hears about this."

You winced almost, "Can't you keep this a secret?" you pleaded. Soulmate or not- she'll find a way to kill you a second time if she finds out that you die so early. She always rained down hell whenever you were too reckless on certain missions.

"I don't know how you could keep your death a secret to another dead person, bullet. You're bound to meet sooner or later." Cori snickered.

"Ah fuck." You crossed your arms, preparing to face the wrath of your Captain. Only to find that your body was currently blinking, phasing in and out oddly. "What?"

"Oh." Cori looked surprised but pleased nonetheless. "Looks like you won't have to worry about facing Cap's wrath." He chuckles.

"They're really fighting to bring you back yknow." You didn't know who Cori was referring to. Who they are?

"Think your duty as Lieutenant is still far from over, Bullet." Cori pats your shoulder before you completely phased away from him.

The warmth on your shoulder was comforting even for a moment.

The panic was quick to run through their veins once they saw you go limp. They were assured you were not yet dead when they picked up a faint heartbeat.

A million thoughts ran through their heads as they rushed you to evac. Ghost yelling at Nik once they took their positions inside the helicopter. Price immediately contacting Laswell to prepare all the medics for your arrival. Soap holding onto one hand while Gaz held onto the other, both men pleading and talking to your unconscious form.

They usually wouldn't bother with your existence. They tolerated you as a teammate but refused to acknowledge you properly as their Lieutenant.

The 141 was a close pack, with loyalties that ran as deep as the ocean. So when they first met you, your bullet making a shot through Soap's throat. They were quick to build a resentment against you, quick to hold onto a grudge.

There were times where they felt warmth or awe at your small acts for them. With your little cooked meals, your aromatic teas, and your short notes. There were also scenarios where'd you'd stitch Ghost's balaclava when it rips or you'd patch Gaz up so gently when you're out in the field.

It was flattering to them but they always brushed off the butterflies, they'd shrug of the colorful fireworks. Refusing to acknowledge that they actually liked you because of a stupid grudge that you tried hard to make up for.

Now that stupid grudge might actually make them lose you. That drove them into a spiral- knowing that they might lose you and they haven't even done shit to make up for their mistakes.

"They're going to be fine. Bullet's strong. One of the damn best Lieutenants that I know." Gaz mumbled. He didn't know who he was trying to convince- Soap, him or maybe both of them.

"Please, Please. Make it out alive, birdie. Please."

[delopsia]

if heaven's a moment | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 16,000 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, alpha! Rhett, omega! Reader. Size kink, forbidden love (ft. a weak excuse for the forbidden part. we're here for ✨vibes✨, not logic), food, running away, biting, mating cycles/heat, ruts, mentions of breeding (but no implication of children/anything of that nature), first times together, knotting, the worst epilogue known to man. Brief Summary: At one point, you suppose that you did. Marrying rich sounded like a wonderful idea when the subject was brought up ten years ago. But you just had to run right into the Abbott family's youngest son, the one who had nothing but a black horse, a couple of flannels, and a championship rodeo buckle to his name. A new ranch hand, with his scruffy smile and the kindest hands you've ever known. 

There are too many cars in this damn driveway. 

Scratch that, too many fucking alphas. With their bright, gaudy outfits and stupid, overapplied pheromone colognes that do nothing but give you a chemical-induced migraine. If those claims about luring in potential mates are true, then you must be an outlier because you've yet to find yourself head over heels for a man based on his scent alone. 

A warmth greets your nose; something tied between leather and the embers of a roaring campfire, a hint of smokiness lurking underneath it all. Just a hint of it at first, swirling around your head like a daydream and weakening your knees, growing stronger with every step toward this old barn. 

...on second thought.

The barn door opens with a groan, cutting through the silence and echoing up toward the house. Your eyes dart toward the back porch, still flocked full of mingling bodies in their finest courting attire, chatting it up like they haven't had an intriguing conversation in years. Whether or not someone heard that is anyone's guess, but nobody is interested enough to look in your direction.

Thank god because you don't have a single explanation for why you're slipping into the storage barn at ten o'clock at night. 

It's too dark to see where you're going, but you've walked this path so many times that you can do it with your eyes closed. Drifting around the corner. Past the four-wheeler that hasn't run since last autumn. Through the clearing that will soon be cluttered with seasonal equipment once the hands finish tearing out the brush that has taken over the south pasture. They'll promise it's gone for good, but it'll be sprouting again come spring, and the cycle will repeat, just as it always has. 

Clink.

Clink.

Clink.

The room spins. A weight appears on your back, forcing you face down into a bale of hay. The straw prickles your cheek, but it's nothing compared to the sandpaper texture that scratches the back of your neck. The coarse stubble of someone's recently shaven face.  

A cold nose brushes against your nape. 

"Hey!" You squeal, foot blindly kicking at a jean-clad leg, but he just does it again, blissfully unaware of the goose bumps rushing across your skin.

Arms curl around your waist. "What's the matter, sweet thing?" Muttered into your ear, as if there's a risk of someone overhearing.

"Your nose is cold!" And you've got just enough leverage to turn your head to the side, nipping at his jaw. Softly tugging at his skin with your teeth, ticklish little motions that have Rhett laughing, shifting to stand up straight, as if that has ever helped him escape your reign of terror. 

"'m sorry," that nose bumps into your forehead, clumsy, "I only finished up a little bit ago."

Even in the dark, you can tell that he's still clad in those leather chaps, dirty from a long day in the fields and on the back of his horse. This close, they'll surely leave behind a noticeable grime on your white clothes, but you can't bring yourself to care. This is worth the stress of getting your clothes into the washer before anyone can see the stains.

It only takes the slightest nudge for him to reel back, allowing you to stand straight and twist in his embrace. Pale moonlight peeks through the holes in the roof, bathing the right side of his face. Unveiling the smile that upturns the corners of his eyes and the fading cut in his bottom lip, split open in a bar fight this past Sunday.

"They're working you that hard?" Tilting your head to the side, curious. Peak season isn't for another three weeks. What gives? 

"Only on party nights," Rhett chuckles, and he's just close enough for you to feel it rumbling in his chest like thunder. "How else are your folks supposed to tell them rich fellas that y' come from a good ranchin' family?"

Your brows furrow. "I didn't know that I came with a dowry."

It's easy. Laughing with him and falling into his big, warm chest, wrapped up in those arms that ought to have been chiseled from stone for you and you alone. The scruff of his cheek scratches your skin as he snuggles you impossibly closer. Your nose bumping into his neck, just below the scent gland lurking there.

The voice in the back of your head wonders if you'll ever get to enjoy the privilege of him scenting you. Dipping his head down to rub the barely visible glands against you, not stopping until you smell just like him. The closest one can get to saying 'mine' without tattooing it in red across someone's forehead.

"So which of them alphas ya pickin'?" There's that solemn tone again, low and heavy as if the words are too much for his tongue to lift.

And you know that you shouldn't say this; it's only going to make this harder than it needs to be, but it slips out of you, anyway. "The one that's standing in front of me."

There's a sourness in the air. Barely there, but you're so close that it's impossible not to catch the switch, chased by the falter of a smile. 

Oh, why does he have to look at you that way? Deep-set frown and lowered eyes, can hardly bring himself to meet your gaze, as if this will all fall apart the moment that he does. But you're still here, even if it's for a fixed amount of time. You can't have him forever, but you can until your heat decides to set in, whenever that may be. 

"We'd have to flee the state even for a chance of that workin'," he's talking under his breath like it's a thought he didn't intend to make it past his mouth. But you hear it loud and clear. 

 "Maybe..." Feigning playfulness, if only to ignore the sour twist of your belly. "But if you ever decide that you'd like to start running, you know where to find me." 

If only it worked like that. You'd love to live a life so simple that he could run up to your window and steal you away on a random midnight. Off to live your own happily ever after, never to be seen again. 

Rhett tilts his head forward, then off to the side, those pretty blue eyes never quite leaving yours. 

It's like knowing that you're allergic to something and biting into it anyway, but you just can't help it. There are only so many times that you'll get to do this, and the number is shrinking by the minute. Nuzzling the side of your head against his neck and lower jaw, dancing painfully close to the glands on his neck, a faint sheen the only thing to indicate their presence. Rhett's so big that you could spend all day rubbing yourself against him like a cat, always able to find a spot on him that isn't drowning in the warm scent that you call your own. 

Out of nowhere, a sharp puff of air bursts out of him. Some little animalistic noise that you only ever hear when you're doing this, his nose nuzzling your temple as he makes that noise again. The arms around you pull a little tighter as if there was any space left between your bodies to begin with. 

A truck engine roars to life. Obnoxious. 

Rhett jolts, his head spinning toward the door you came through, stiff like some kind of well-trained guard dog. In a sense, you suppose that's exactly what he is, considering all of those bar fights with unruly alphas who could only see you as an easy piece of meat. 

"Sounds like some of 'em are gettin' ready to leave," he concludes after a moment, and he doesn't need to speak for you to know what he intends to say next. He's got to take you back to the house before someone notices you're missing. 

You can't help the whine that rolls out of you, pitchy and drawn out. This whole situation is so unfair; you just got here a few minutes ago! Why do you have to go back inside and parade yourself to men and women that you couldn't give a damn about? All because you were unfortunate enough to be born as some dumb omega. 

"Naw, don't get all sad on me," Rhett mutters, and you're not entirely sure when he moved, but one of his hands has risen to curl around your cheek, coarse thumb stroking the skin there. "I'll come to your window, a'ight?"

"Rhett!" Your leg twitches, kicking against his side. Pulling hard on his hair, thighs involuntarily fluttering around his head. It's the most you can do with this pillow wedged beneath the small of your back. Open and on display for him and his hungry mouth.

"Shhh," but he can hardly deny himself the simple pleasure of pausing to drag his tongue in a loose circle just to feel you squirm. "Don't want us gettin' caught, do ya darlin'?"

Whining, your head thrashes back and forth. There's a 'no' on the tip of your tongue, but you just can't get it out—two little letters trapped in your wide open mouth. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he's forcing your legs up over his shoulders, oversized hands spanning out against the outside of your thighs, keeping you put.

"Won't be able to eat this sweet little pussy if your folks find out," Rhett just can't quit talking. Babbling as if he's completely and utterly lost himself in this, in you. "Fuck, can y' imagine the look on their faces?"

You're not sure if it's the words themselves or the vibration of his voice against your clit, but something about it has a bolt of lightning jumping up your spine. Rattling a whine out of your throat, hardly stifled by the teeth that sink into your bottom lip, your futile attempt at keeping yourself quiet. 

"Comin' in and seein' a ranch hand between your legs, runnin' my tongue up your pussy jus' like..." and he draws just far back enough for you to see the way his tongue pokes out of his mouth as he begins to lick a fat stripe up your cunt. "This."

And your back is rising up off the bed, greedily chasing the burning heat of his mouth, as if even a second of no contact might break you into two. The beat of your heart spurred on by the sloppy, wet noises that punctuate his every movement. Half of it isn't even from you; no, it's from him drooling into you like a goddamn dog. 

There's so much of it, running down your thighs and into your sheets, sure to leave a spot that you'll struggle to make an excuse for. It's a problem that you should fuss at him over, chide him for making such a mess, but he's guiding a hand between your legs, two thick fingers nudging at your entrance, and you just can't bring yourself to say anything. 

It's impossible to be upset when he's got you so wet that you don't need to pause for lube, gliding into you with dazzling ease. So, so much bigger than your own touch, such a sudden stretch that you catch the hint of an ache as they bottom out. More. You haven't even gotten used to this yet, and yet you want more. 

Abrupt, Rhett's pointed tongue dances around your clit, fingers crooking upward, seeking a special little spot. "Can't market ya as an innocent little omega if they know a man like me 's been eatin' your pussy for years."

If only he knew how often you think about that. 

The memories that flood your mind every time you've been put in a fancy restaurant to be wined and dined by some well-dressed know-it-all, intrigued by the false purity he saw in your eyes. How it's not the small talk that has you fiddling with your fork, but instead caused by the crystal clear image of a cowboy who had gotten on his knees for you earlier that morning, eating you alive, much like how he is now. 

And the perpetual, hopeless fantasy of that same cowboy barging in and taking you for his own, fed up with this sick game you've been forced to play together. All because you were born an omega, so rare that the wealthy have begun to see you as a status symbol. 

Sparkles dance in your vision, glittering like fireworks. Course fingertips spiral into a little cluster of nerves, in perfect sync with the tongue still working around your clit. The invisible flames of a wildfire ignite, heat coiling between your parted thighs and flushing up your chest. Fuck, fuck, and the room is spinning around you, hands tightening in Rhett's hair as if there's a risk of being blown away. 

"Rhett, I'm—"

"God, y' taste so fuckin' good," mindlessly babbling, but those eyes are peeling open, the corners of them wrinkling with a cocky grin. "Y' gonna cum?"

"Uhuh," frantically nodding, the best that you can without looking away from him and this. The sight of him between your shivering thighs, legs propped over his broad shoulders, fits so perfectly that your heart skips a beat. That coil is winding tighter and tighter in your lower belly, body stiffening as his tongue keeps working you over, loud and sloppy and out of sync with the fingers working inside of you. 

His chuckle has your foot kicking against his back, a barely muffled whimper slipping out of your throat. "Come on then," a third finger abruptly joins, mouth sucking harshly on your clit. Lightning jumps up your spine, arching up off the pillow. "Give it to me, sweet thing."

And that's all it takes to have you clamping a trembling hand over your mouth, cumming without further warning. Crying out into your palm as your vision goes white, heart racing in your chest, spinning out of control. Feels as if you've been thrust into the clouds, soaring among them for a few fleeting moments.

The hand remaining on your thigh is what draws you back down into reality. 

Or maybe it's the sudden discomfort of emptiness as Rhett draws his drenched fingers out of your cunt, sitting up on his haunches, obscenely shiny chin catching in the light. The pillow pulls out from beneath your hips, and it's not until you feel the rush of relief that you realize there was a strain in your lower back.

The corner of Rhett's mouth lifts, the mattress dipping as he climbs up next to you. "Reckon I wore ya out." Those jeans still unfairly cling to his hips, a little too dirty to be allowed in your bed, but you don't have the luxury or the will to complain.

Certainly not when he's settling down, an arm draping across your belly, very nearly distracting you from the scent in the air. His usual leathery scent, mixed with something a little bit sweet, a little bit warm, and entirely you. 

"For now," you croak after a moment. The simple motion of shifting to lay on your side has the room rolling again, like some kind of fucked up hamster ball. 

On its own selfish volition, your hand begins to wander. Gliding up Rhett's naked chest, feeling the groove of muscle and roaming over the old tattoo lurking just below his right collarbone. It's almost strange to think of how it was brand new when you first met him, so fresh that he'd yelped when you ran straight into each other.

You shouldn't allow it, but you can't resist wandering down his belly, exploring the soft muscles of his belly, only stopped by the elastic waistband peeking out from below his pants. It's impossible to miss the bulge tenting his jeans, such a sight that it almost makes his obnoxiously large belt buckle look averagely sized.

You wish you were as familiar with his body as he is yours.

"It ain't that I don't want ya too," Rhett must be able to read minds because he's already jumping onto your train of thought, "'m still worried I might..."

Lose control. You know. This conversation seems to arise every time you have a little fun together. The dangers of an alpha who gets too carried away and leaves behind too much evidence of your private rendezvous. 

"What if that's what I want?" You say it so firmly. Confident. 

You want him and everything that comes with him. The Abbott name, the not-so-glamourous life of being mated or even married to a man like him. Hell, you want the dirt that tracks in on his boots, the stench of sweat that clings to him after a long day at work, and the horse he's dragged to three different ranches so far. No other mare will do. Only his. 

"'s what I want, too," his hand curls around yours, delicately guiding it up to his chest, where he can crane his head down and kiss your knuckles. "Shame everyone would be able to smell me on ya. Think I'd kill to be there when they realize their special little omega got mounted by some grimy ol' cowboy."

"You're not grimy," it's only after you say it that the memories come flooding in. Dirt clinging to his jaw and neck, all the times he hasn't been able to finger you due to some crude, black substance clinging to his nails. That one time, when he came back covered in a thin layer of mud, muttering something about heifers and tagging a damn calf. "...most of the time." 

If it's not the moaning that's going to get you caught, surely it'll be the fit of giggles that squeeze out of the cracks in the door frame.

The roar of a rodeo crowd never fails to remind you of why Rhett does this. Feet stomping on the metal flooring of the bleachers. Hands clapping in a thundering applause. Unafraid to shout and jeer as the numbers on the scoreboard count up.

Four seconds. The bull's head twists to the left. Back legs kicking high into the air. A plume of dirt kicks up.

Five seconds. Rhett's right hand bobs in the air. Torn between the sheer will to keep up for the judges and the overwhelming instinct to use it to steady himself. 

Six. Your breath fogs in front of your face. Shouting Rhett's name. As if doing so could possibly help him hold on. 

Seven. The scream of the crowd is rising now. Booming voices and cowbells so loud that you can no longer hear the beat of your heart in your ears. 

Eight. The buzzer sounds. Artificial flames burst from above the chutes. 

You blink, and he's off the bull. The bullfighters are scurrying like ants. Rhett's scooping his hat up off the ground. Spinning around to face the scoreboard just as the rankings make their switch. You think the crowd may have preemptively exploded into celebration because they're cheering and hollering before you've even realized what the screen says.

1. Rhett Abbott 89.5

You've got to read it twice before you finally understand what that means. He's moving on to the finals next week.

And lord, does he know it. 

Fist pounding against his vest so hard that his hair shakes with every strike, jolted by his own strength. Mouth open. Shouting something that doesn't make it past the arena fences, his wide eyes scanning the bleachers, slowly drifting until they seem to lock with yours.

It's impossible; he's so far away that you can hardly see his features. But he's looking at you, and he's grinning, waving a big hand toward a building lurking just behind the chutes. You've only been to these particular rodeo grounds once, but you've seen that gesture enough times to know what he's asking and that you don't have to head over there right now. 

You won't see him until after he's had his five-minute shower. When he's had time to scrub the adrenaline out of his system and doesn't run the risk of knocking you off your feet by scent alone. 

Do you still regret letting him know that he almost sent you into heat once? Yes. 

A lot.

Though it can't be all that bad. Not when you and your newly acquired chili cheese fries have the pleasure of stumbling across a hell of a scene. Wet, unruly curls and a thin white t-shirt that's ever so slightly too small, clinging to every muscle and curve of his chest, biceps bulging from beneath the restrictive fabric. You can see his tattoo right through it, that bucking bull as prominent as ever.

A pair of green eyes squint back at you, attached to wavy blonde curls and glimmering lip gloss. She's not the only one batting her long lashes at Rhett and twisting her hair between her delicately manicured fingertips; there's a brunette giggling along next to her. A barrel racer done up in purple plaid to your left, another girl in glasses wearing a rodeo hoodie, and those are just the ones that you've noticed. 

All of you are so different in nature, and yet, you have the same end goal: Rhett Abbott.

He'll come when he realizes you're here; you know he will, but hell if this influx of attention doesn't make your stomach twist. Technically, Rhett isn't yours. He can pick any one of these starry-eyed onlookers and never be happier. At least they'll never hold him to the constant strain of being with an omega.

 Something plops atop your head, so big that it falls into your eyes. 

"Whatcha starin' at?" There's that familiar voice that you've become so accustomed to, rumbling from somewhere behind your right shoulder. A familiar scent greets your senses: warm, twisted with the woodsy aroma of body wash, and...something else. A faint musk that makes your nose feel funny.

With the back of your hand, you push his hat up, peering at him from beneath the rim, "I was thinking."

Rhett's head tilts to the side. "'bout?" 

Something tells you that you weren't supposed to see the swift flicker of his gaze. Down to the forgotten snack in your hands, then back up to your face as if nothing ever happened. His tongue darts out, wetting his bottom lip. 

"How I'm gonna explain where I've been all night," it's the weakest lie told this century, but you're covering up for it by lifting your container of fries. "Want some?" 

If he catches on to the waver in your voice, then he doesn't mention it, too busy fighting off the little grin working its way onto his handsome face, still clinging to that stoic alpha demeanor that you both know he doesn't have. 

One of these days, he'll figure out that his fluttering eyelashes are giving away his true emotions, almost excited to reach and take two of your fries. Cheese drips as he lifts them, so artificial that it hardly even counts as dairy, the perfect match to those greasy gas station snacks that he's been serenading you with. 

"Y' weren't out here waitin' too long, were ya?" Talking in between bites, sauce clinging to his lips like an absurd gloss. 

Your head shakes, cowboy hat jostling back and forth with the motion. "Only about a minute or two." 

A pair of sour faces twist your way, surveying the competition. If there even is one. Rhett doesn't so much as spare them a glance. Preoccupied with you lifting his beloved hat off your head and pressing his cheesy lips to your temple like this is some kind of normal thing between you two. 

"Hey!" You squeal, but Rhett's already on the move, dodging your light-hearted swat and shoving a stolen fry into his mouth. 

He'd ought to consider himself lucky that he's got those big, blue eyes to get himself out of trouble. With that big laugh that bounces around your head for far longer than it should, enough to make you a little bit dizzy.

"I thought you were worried about..." pausing to swipe at the residue with the back of your hand, wiping away his sloppy kiss, "you know, people seeing?"

Your people seeing. Or hearing. Or even catching the slightest whiff that you're entertaining the very idea of someone who wasn't at last night's party.

But Rhett just shakes his head, that stupid smile prominent as ever. "Ain't no-one to recognize us out here." 

...huh.

"So you're not worried if I..." Taking one step forward. Then another, until you're nose to nose, so close that you can almost taste the mint of his toothpaste. "Do this?"

His forehead thunks against yours. "Not one bit." 

Kissing Rhett Abbott has always been a dream, but kissing him in public is another whirlwind entirely. The rose-tinted novelty of cementing who he belongs to, whose arms you're meant to fit into, and all of those shallow things that onlookers really couldn't give a damn about. They don't care about the strong arms that wind around your waist, the palm that flattens against the curve of your spine. How difficult it is to blindly hold your fries off to the side, trying your best not to crush them between your bodies. 

As quickly as he'd leaned in, Rhett draws away, nose wrinkled. 

"What?" Is there something on your breath? Melted cheese somewhere on your face?

But he just shakes his head, leaning in for another kiss. "Nothin'."

It must have been something in the wind because he doesn't make another mention of it again. His nose doesn't even twitch when you drift past the food trucks, all lined up in the front section of the parking lot, with their fried snacks, greasy meals, and sugar-filled treats that ought to make anyone drool. 

You've only just finished your fries, but you've already caught sight of another truck, white in color, selling something that you don't know the name of but smells like heaven itself. There's no reason for your stomach to be growling, but it sings its little tune regardless of all the things you've snacked on this afternoon. Shame that you left your wallet in the truck and spent the last of your cash on those fries. 

Why are you so hungry today?

"See somethin' ya want?" Rhett's voice is damn near the only thing that can pull you out of your stupor.

"I don't need it," really, you don't. You've already had three things from here; if anything, another greasy snack is the last thing that you need. There's food at home. 

But Rhett's already taking you by the hand, drawing his wallet from his back pocket, and it's just so hard to deny his firm offer to get you anything you want. The food tastes exactly how it smells: warm and easy on the tongue. Your spare glance at the folks selling fried dessert has him bringing over two plates of it. Maybe it's something he wanted, or maybe he's eating it just to make you feel better, you're not sure, but it's gone in minutes.

In the time it takes to walk to the truck, you've acquired a bag of handmade candy, sweet and wonderful, aside from the bizarrely tart green ones that Rhett insists he likes. White lie or not, you're just happy that you won't be accidentally popping one into your mouth again.

"You're sure ya don't want anythin' else?" The squeal of the passenger door almost covers up his question. One of these days, he'll figure out a solution that'll last for longer than a week.

"I'm sure," though if he gives you an hour, you've got a feeling that the answer will be different. For now, your stomach is so full that you almost wonder how you manage to climb into the truck, the slightest bit dizzy from all that sugar and grease.

Or maybe it's from something else because it doesn't seem to be fading. If anything, it seems to be getting worse, the cars in the parking lot spinning around your head like you're in a cartoon. Even the subtle sway of the truck as Rhett gets in the driver's seat is enough to worsen it. 

You can't see it, but you can feel his eyes on you. "I don't think..." That's your voice...but you never planned on talking? What are you trying to say?

Somehow, you've gotten yourself into the middle seat. Close enough for Rhett to loop his arm around your shoulders, drawing you into his side. He's so warm that you melt like ice on a summer day, head falling against his chest, the thump of his heartbeat loud in your ear. 

"Sweetheart..." his lips brush against your temple, some little thing that sends a shiver down your spine. "You feelin' okay?" 

"Dizzy." Concluding before you've even realized what he's asked. "Why?" 

A hand curls around your cheek, urging you to nuzzle closer as if you could possibly need any more encouragement. You're already starting to wedge yourself into the crook of his neck, right where his scent is the strongest. The little gland hidden there has a thicker sheen to it than usual, glistening even in the barely there light.

"Rhett?" You try again, and this time, you might have a little more control over what your body is doing. 

His jaw scratches the top of your head, sucking in a long, audible breath. "Your heats startin'." 

No, that doesn't make sense. Why would...why would your heat be starting? This isn't your first rodeo; you would have recognized the signs if it was coming on. The mood swings, the sudden onset of clinginess, the sudden bouts of lightheadedness that leave you stumbling, the insatiable hunger right at the cusp of—

"Oh."

You don't even feel your face fall. Or maybe you do, and you're just too distracted with the sting of wateriness building in your eyes, distorting your vision, and already trying to spill over. No. No, no, no, no. This can't be your heat. You've always had them toward the middle of spring, never late autumn. That doesn't—that doesn't make sense. Why would it start now?

"Hey, hey," it's not until Rhett starts talking that you realize you've been muttering your thoughts out loud. 

Problem is, you don't care that he's heard you. How are you supposed to when there's the looming possibility that you're never going to see him again? Doesn't he remember? You've got to choose someone before your heat starts, or else your parents will choose for you! 

"I ain't goin' anywhere yet," he's pulling you in, both arms wrapped tight around you, and even the awkward angle cannot distract you from the shiver that's settling into your bones. 

"I don't want you to go anywhere at all!" You don't mean to cry out like a child, but it happens anyway, pitchy and breaking in the middle.

Rhett doesn't open his mouth again. He can't. The Abbotts may have a reputation for being able to repair anything they get their hands on, but there's nothing Rhett can say or do to fix this. All he can do is keep pulling you close until he's leaning back against the door, and you're settled up on top of him, with not an inch of space left between. 

Maybe if you don't move, time won't tick by so quickly. 

The one bad thing about time is that it does pass, regardless of what you have to say on the matter. Because eventually, that time does come when Rhett has no choice but to start his truck; there's an hour's drive ahead of you, and red flags will begin waving if you come home in a full-blown heat. 

For the first time in a while, you see Rhett's speedometer five miles below the speed limit, uncaring of the impatient vehicles blaring the horns. Doesn't get riled up when some asshole drives by flipping him off, hardly even fusses when the guy merges too early and nearly clips the front of his truck. 

All he's worried about is taking as much time as he can, keeping that arm around you for as long as he can manage. Only draws away to handle sharp turns but quickly returns soon after, and frankly, you don't even care about chiding him for his risky driving. 

There's some dumb, sad song droning on the radio when he finally puts the truck into park, and it may be dark in this truck, but you can still see the wateriness brimming his eyes. You know it because you have that same glassiness, too. 

You've got a million and one things you could say, and yet, you can't bring yourself to say a single one of them. There's no point in it; this is probably the last time you'll ever see him. Unmated, at the very least. 

The front door opens before you can utter a single word. Don't know who it is, nor do you care. 

Rhett's forehead presses against yours, mouth opening, then clamping shut just as quickly. Can't say anything either. But then he leans his head down, temple rubbing against yours, and it's the closest thing to a goodbye that either of you can manage. This short, unspoken thing; rubbing his scent on you for both the first and the last time.

Either something about him was warding off the vicious beginnings of your heat, or the very smell of him threw you off the deep end because you hardly make it into your bedroom before the dizziness takes hold again. Feet dragging across the floor, forced to guide yourself with a hand against the wall while someone else shouts their recognition to the whole goddamn world. 

By the time you get your door closed, they're already muttering about which Tillerson to choose for you. Luke or Trevor? Who is the most worthy of selling you off to, like a piece of meat? 

The dizziness takes over before you've even made it to the bed. 

If heaven can be a moment, then this must be hell.

Waking up is always the worst. A dull, incessant throbbing deep in your bones, the edges of your vision blurry enough to give you the worst tunnel vision you've ever had the displeasure of experiencing. Sleeping on the floor has done you no favors, leaving a stiffness in the left side of your body that definitely was not there before. 

It's almost enough to distract from the obscene wetness between your legs. A clear fluid that stains the crotch of your pants and has left a big spot on the floor itself. 

"Maybe sleeping on the floor was worth it..." you mutter as you push yourself to your feet. Cleaning slick out of a mattress is much harder than those YouTube tutorials cropped it out to be; you'll be able to clean that before another wave of dumbness washes over.

The wipes in your bathroom are enough to take care of it, taking it off the hardwood with ease. Leaves you with more time to figure out what to do about these pants, if you're committing to trying another heat while fully dressed, or if a nightgown, while uncomfortably exposing, will be easier to handle. 

Your instincts are itching at you to build a nest, but is it even worth it, all things considered? If everyone has their way, you'll be shipped off to some alpha's house by the end of the night. First with a weekend bag, then the rest of your things once the heat fades. 

And what's that sitting on your windowsill? 

It's an amalgamation of color: dark red, beige, navy blue, balled up inside of something gray. Hell, even when you're looking at it through the glass, you haven't the slightest clue what it is. Leaves you with no choice but to peel open the window and—

A familiar scent strikes your nose. 

Rhett.

These are his shirts. Wrinkled and warm from the sun, and oh, they smell exactly like him. You can't help but squeeze the whole bundle to your chest, shamelessly burying your face into them. He must have spent the whole night rubbing on these like one of those overly friendly cats.

It's about that time of the morning when he puts his horse up in the pen while he helps with the usual barn maintenance, but you don't see her anywhere. The other horses are there: two palominos, a paint, and a handful of chestnuts, but that sturdy little black mare is nowhere to be found. 

Must have put her around the other side. 

Something crinkles inside of these clothes, deep down in the center of them. You know what it is before you've even unraveled the mess of fabric. Snacks. Your favorite chips, a candy bar, and the hard candies that you didn't realize you left in his truck. A torn piece of paper has been tucked into the candy bar wrapper.

Don't forget to eat :) 

Such a simple message shouldn't have tears stinging at the corners of your eyes, but it does, and as much as you'd like to blame it on your heat, you know that's not the case. Funny how even the bare minimum can look like the greatest act of kindness when your heart is torn in two.

Between the impending doom that is the rest of your life and the next wave of your heat coming along, you've got no appetite. That was the whole point of your inability to feel full last night, your body's futile attempt at stocking up on calories before it devolved into a weeklong period of craving nothing but sex, and knots, and alphas, and skin contact, and everything else under that umbrella.

Still, you eat it.

It's not so bad when you manage to convince your heat brain that Rhett's little note was growled into your ear, an order that you cannot possibly disobey. Snacking on the candy bar when you climb out of the shower, taking bites in between your routine, finishing it off when you settle into bed with one of those flannels. Storm clouds are rolling in, and they're doing nothing to ward off the sleepiness your heat is bringing on.

Your impromptu nap is interrupted by the impromptu barging in of someone letting you know that Trevor Tillerson has been chosen as your alpha. He'll be here sometime around nine to pick you up and take you to some fancy resort that he's rented just for the two of you. Somewhere far, far away from Wabang and the dark clouds looming overhead. 

If you had a choice in the matter, maybe it would be romantic.

The chips get you through a bout of doom scrolling on your cellphone until your face begins to feel hot, and you're rudely reminded that you've got to pack while you still can. A righteous pain in the ass that does nothing but frustrate you to no end. 

How are you meant to shove a week's worth of clothes into so few bags? On your heat, no less, the one time when you'll be soaking through most of your garments! And your laptop, where the hell do you shove that? Between the shirts? Do you even bother with these shorts? 

"Why am I doing this?" You mutter it as if you've got a choice in the matter, idly pawing at your spinning head. 

At one point, you suppose that you did. Marrying rich sounded like a wonderful idea when the subject was brought up ten years ago. A life with everything you could ever want. Endless vacations and money to spend on anything you want because you were born an omega, and such a rare thing deserves only the best. You'd had it in your head that you'd find the person of your dreams dressed up in a suit worth more than your entire family ranch. 

But you just had to run right into the Abbott family's youngest son, the one who had nothing but a black horse, a couple of flannels, and a championship rodeo buckle to his name. A new ranch hand, with his scruffy smile and the kindest hands you've ever known. 

Now, here you are. 

Your parents have invested hundreds of hours and an insurmountable amount of money into luring in alphas. They've made friendships with the families of your suitors and formed expectations for the outcome of your life that no longer align with your desires. You're in so deep that a simple 'no' will not suffice. Especially not when Rhett comes into the deal. 

A sourness blossoms in your chest, spreading into your lower belly like a plague, gut-twisting and churning as if you're about to be sick. There's an invisible hand squeezing around your heart, so tight that it just might burst, but you don't feel nauseous. Not one bit, and maybe that's got something to do with the blurring of your vision.

"Rhett," whining. Rhett. You want Rhett. Here. Right now.

That dizziness is growing worse. A foreign heat spreads deep in your inner thighs, flushing to superheat the rest of your body, but your face feels cold, and something wet is spilling across your cheeks. Tears fall quicker than the rain pattering against your window. A never-ending stream that has you hiccuping, frantically sucking in breaths of air that never quench the ache in your throat.

It is the whim of your own frantic hand that leads you to grab your phone. Scrolling through your contacts until you land on the fuzzy shape of a name that you've seen enough times for it to be familiar. 

It rings.

And it rings.

...and it rings.

"Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice messaging system," that robotic voice drones through the speaker, already beginning to ramble off the digits of Rhett's phone number. 

Maybe he didn't get to the phone in time. Yeah, that's got to be it. You'll try again. He'll pick up this time. 

"Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice messaging system."

Thunder rumbles outside, heavy enough to shake the house, rattling the knick-knacks on the shelves and sending slick rushing down your thighs. Sticky and burning, and oh god, your head is spinning like you're on a fucking merry-go-round. 

Someone's knocking at your door, the distorted sound of your name dancing through the room. Whether or not you respond, you've got no idea, but they're responding as if you did.

"Trevor is here," her voice is oddly familiar, but a face isn't coming to mind. 

"I need..." shaking your head, rattling a coherent thought into place. "I need...a little bit longer to pack."

Silence. And then, quietly, "Okay." Footsteps echo through the hallway and then dissolve into nothing.

You can't see. The colors of your room merge together into a sea of splotches, a fire burning up in your chest, the embers reaching all the way up into your skull. White and black, and gray and a spot of green that you just know is the call button. Your thumb darts across the screen. Tapping once. Nothing. Then a little lower.

The screen color changes. 

"Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice messaging system." Whether or not you manage to press 'end call,' you have no idea. All you know is that the screen color has changed. 

He turned off his phone. It didn't even ring before sending you to voicemail this time; he doesn't want to talk to you. 

Maybe he's already found company in one of those girls from last night's rodeo. Or maybe he's entirely decided that it isn't worth entertaining you anymore, not even in the slightest. But that doesn't explain why he's left you some of his flannels, like the one that you're pulling off the bed. 

His scent has already begun to fade, but as you bury your nose into the fabric, it smells as if he's really here. A little bit of focus is all it takes for you to convince yourself that he's right next to you. A big shield, curled around you, right here on the floor. How his jaw would tickle your neck as he rests his head on your shoulder, waiting until you're ready to get up and run off into the sunset with him.

Hell, if only it were that easy. 

If you were to take off on your own, right here and right now, you wouldn't make it out of Wabang. You can't smell them, but every alpha in town will pick up on the pheromones wafting off of you, and you're in no state to defend yourself. 

Even without the heat, you wouldn't be safe. So long as your neck remains bare, you run the risk of being seen as a piece of meat to others, both alpha and beta. One little nip is all it would take for someone to bond you to them forever; so simple that someone can run up from behind and do it within a second. 

When you open your eyes again, the world around you is a little clearer. 

...strange. 

Waves of your heat should last at least an hour or more, not a few minutes. Standing, even with the uneasy sway of your body, shouldn't be this easy. Yet you've got the strength to walk yourself over to the window, still open from when you took the shirts off the ledge. The wind has carried rain into the room, scattering across the floor and nearly causing you to slip. Your only saving grace is the windowsill itself, your clammy hands gripping it tight as they can. 

Evidently, house shoes aren't meant to traverse the elements. Not even a little bit of water. 

As if to reveal its schemes to you, the wind blows once more. Cool air kisses your burning cheeks, the only indication of how much you've already adjusted to your heat. Now, if only your eyes could do something similar and adjust to the shift in lighting. 

It can't be anything past eight o'clock, but night has already fallen in its entirety, a thick blanket of black covering everything beyond the horizon. Even so, you can vaguely make out the shape of something sitting in your driveway. Blocky, but there are four bits of round metal catching in the dull light hanging outside of the barn. 

Something behind it moves. Noticeably lighter than the dirt and whatever that object is. 

Your eyes narrow. Fighting the urge to lean further out the window as the thing creeps across the drive. A growl rumbles out of your throat. Goosebumps prickle across your skin. It's growing closer. 

Clink.

Clink. 

Clink.

Wait a damn minute.

"Rhett?" 

A laugh twists through the air with all the grace and beauty of a ballerina. "Did I hear you growlin' at me?" 

"You shut off your phone when I tried calling you!" Is all your dumb, cloudy mind can come up with, pitchy and whiny like a child. 

"Shh, shh, I know," there he is. The dull porch light is the only thing illuminating his handsome face. 

His mouth opens like he's got something else to say, but it closes just as quickly, still searching for the right words. Then, trying again. "Ya remember what y' said in the barn 'bout runnin' away?"

"Yes, but..." pausing to look over your shoulder at the closed door before looking back at him. "What about your horse? And, and, your job and your things at the bunkhouse?"

"I got it all taken care of," he's a little closer now, enough for you to see the longer scruff clinging to his jaw. Soft. Not quite as wirey as when it's freshly shaved. "'m startin' on a ranch in Nebraska next Monday mornin'. Owner says he knows a guy with a house I can rent for us. It ain't all that much, but I—"

"Okay." You can't help yourself. He doesn't need to say another word. 

His eyes flutter. "Okay." Parroting you, as if to make sure the word is what he thinks it is. 

For a moment or three, it's quiet. Nothing but the crunch of dirt beneath his boots and the jingle of spurs that he's too lazy to take off. And now he's standing right in front of you, nothing but this window and a small shrub separating you. His nostrils flare, and you're certain that if it were brighter out, you'd be able to see the darkening of his pupils.

There's that smile. Sprawling across his face, wrinkling the corners of his eyes, pearly white teeth glistening like he's the star of a toothpaste commercial. Can hardly close his mouth as you lean in, lips brushing against his. 

Voices echo from down the hallway, squeezing in through the cracks. 

Shit.

Your feet are moving before you can even process what's happening. Scrambling across the piles of clothes that sit on your floor. Grabbing whatever you can. Shoving it into the still-open bags. T-shirts. Shoes. Loungewear. You don't know what else. What you have and what you're missing can all be sorted out later. All you know is that those voices are getting closer, and you can't get back to the window fast enough.

You're not even sure if Rhett hears them talking, but he's not wasting time by asking questions. Already pulling the duffel bag from your arms and turning back towards his truck. Lightning flickers as you run back to your bags. Heart hammering so loud that you hardly even notice the thunder that follows.

One of the voices says your name. A laugh rattles after it. 

A zipper fumbles between your fingers. Climbs halfway down the track. Then catches on the hem of something sticking out. You can't see what it is. 

"Fucking—" swearing under your breath. You pull it again. No give. 

It'll have to do. You're already scrambling to shove the bag into Rhett's open arms. Twisting back for the last one. Phone. Where is your phone? But the room is spiraling with your movement, and your eyes feel as if they're rolling around in your skull. Vision darting every direction except for where you want it to go.

There it is. On the floor, next to his shirt. Which part of the bag are you shoving them into? You don't know. 

The voices are closer. Three. Four. Five of them. Talking, laughing together as they edge near your room and your unlocked door. 

"Baby." Rhett's voice cuts through your thoughts like a knife. 

You don't think any time has passed, and yet, turning back to the window feels like the first time you've moved in minutes. The edges of your vision swim, merging into a haze of black as you scramble to him. 

You've gotten over this window before. He's seen you do it. But as you draw a leg up and over, his hands dart out and settle on your waist. Holding you steady, like you might fall to your death if he doesn't.

Rain pelts your face like tiny bullets, freezing on your superheated skin, and the voice in your head wonders if this is what freedom feels like. The rush buzzing through your veins. The big hand that squeezes yours, the mud that kicks up under your heels as you tear down the driveway. 

Wind squeals in your ears so loud that you nearly miss the clatter ring through the window. But it's too late for them to kick in the door. You're too far gone for them to catch. Because your feet are flying beneath you. And Rhett's right alongside you. And even the storm cannot conceal the glisten in his eye. The way he laughs, loud and triumphant and excited. 

It's the scene that's played through your head ever since you met. 

A voice calls out. Rhett splits off to slam his truck bed cover closed. You keep going.

Another one echoes through the storm. Deeper. Shouting your name.

"Stop!" 

But there's no leash to hold you back. No magical lasso that they can throw out and reel you back in with. Nothing stops you from pulling on the handle of the passenger door and leaping up into the seat, scrambling to slam it shut before someone can magically appear to wedge it open. 

Rhett's door squeals open. Vehicle swaying as he all but launches himself inside, fumbling for the gear shift. 

The truck jerks forward, engine roaring as the tires spin. The tail end jerks to the left, then the right, then back to the left again, gunning it down the driveway.  

Light pours through the front door, vaguely human blotches rushing out onto the porch. Even as you twist to look out the rear window, they're nothing more than tiny spots of color, growing smaller and smaller. The headlights of a truck flick on, but it's no use. Rhett's tires are already kissing the pavement of the main road.

You blink, and the house is gone; you might as well be a million and one mile away.

Rhett's head turns, just as yours does, eyes locking for the briefest of seconds. A little rumble of something escapes him, and it must be contagious because something a giggle is bubbling out of you, boiling into laughter.  

"That was," his mouth fumbles through his smile, "not how I planned it."

"What, were you hoping to get shot at, too?" Slow, you turn to settle back into the seat, wedged between him and the duffel bag crammed against the passenger door. 

Something sharp stabs in your lower belly. So sudden that it has your knees knocking together, eyes squeezing shut. As quickly as it happened, a wave of heat curls into its place, an uncomfortable wetness appearing between your legs.

A hand appears on your thigh. Hot. Clammy. "You okay?" 

"Heat." Is all you can say. 

That's all it is, really. Cramps. The one thing that manages to be worse than your heat itself. You can handle the overwhelming craving for an alpha between your legs, stretching you to your limit as he knots you over and over and over.

Ugh. You can't be thinking of this right now. 

Just like how you shouldn't be slouching to your left, cheek squishing Rhett's shoulder, big and warm, and right where he tends to spray his cologne. Faint from a day of wear, but there's still a peppery note lingering on him, overwhelmed by...something you can't describe. 

Something that makes the tip of your nose feel numb. 

Odd. It was there last night, too, but you don't recall it appearing any other time before that. There was certainly no trace of it in the barn or when he snuck into your bedroom afterward. Maybe your heat has warped your sense of smell again; it wouldn't be the first time. 

Rhett's foot shifts from the gas, gently pressing against the brakes for an upcoming red light, fingers audibly drumming against the steering wheel. 

Something white rolls across the floorboard, tiny somethings rattling around inside. Tumbling toward the front of the truck, then falling back to thunk against the toe of your muddy hose shoe. 

"'s just some vitamins," Rhett mutters, kicking them with his foot, sending the bottle thunking against the passenger door, cap popping open. A myriad of long, round blue pills spill out, decorating the floor. 

Huh. 

You've never seen blue vitamins before, their pastel color seeming to glow in the lights hanging overhead, Wabang's feeble attempt at keeping the darkness of night at bay. Curious, you lean down and reach out for the container. Your fingertips brush against the plastic on your first try, depth perception warped by the haze of your heat, but you get it on the second attempt.

Suppressants for Alphas only 250MG Rut Suppressants.

Your head turns to Rhett. His eyes dart from the label. To yours. Then, back to the road. 

The pieces click together so perfectly that you can hear them falling into place. Resonating through your empty skull until every fiber of your psyche echoes the same thing. 

"You started your rut," it slips out of your mouth like it's a scientific breakthrough. A discovery that will be written in the history books for millennia. 

His Adam's apple bobs, swallowing hard. A pink tongue darts out to wet his lips. "Didn't want ya thinkin' that was my reason for all this."

"I wouldn't have thought that Rhett," reaching for the hand that still rests on your thigh, fingers slotting between his, lightly squeezing it in your grasp. 

But his head just shakes, foot twitching against the gas pedal. The truck lurches, finally beginning to pull through that traffic light. "'s my fault your heat started." 

"I know." You already put that together. It explains everything: the odd timing and the sudden onset of it at the rodeo. That funny scent he's been wearing...it was from the pills. 

He looks at you again, teeth worrying his bottom lip, already swollen from the abuse. First, the licking, now the chewing. If you give it a minute, he'll start rubbing at them with his fingertips. For now, those heavy eyes dart back to the road. Guilty. "'n you're not upset 'bout that?" 

You're not entirely sure what to say to him. That the timing may be inconvenient, but you're happy to be here with him, running after a fever dream that might or might not work out? Do you admit that you wish this would have happened sooner? 

So many thoughts, and yet, not a word drifts down to your tongue. Instead, all you can think to do is this. Leaning over, left arm crammed between your bodies, as your right squirms across his belly, squeezing him. A poor attempt at a hug, but he softens under your touch all the same.

"It's not your fault," you murmur after a moment. The world around you is beginning to twist again, warping into a familiar blur, makes it hard to move your mouth. "You wouldn't hold it against me if my heat triggered your rut. Why would it be any different the other way around?"

You don't feel him move, but his lips find their way to your temple, lingering for a fleeting second. They would likely stay longer if driving didn't demand so much of his attention, hand idly working the steering wheel as you rumble through Wabang. If anyone has followed you this far, then surely they'll lose you here; too many winding streets for them to maintain a trail.

There's a part of you that wonders if you fell asleep because the next time your eyes open, the road is different. One moment, you're in town, and the next, you're on a dark, four-lane highway merely illuminated by the vivid beams of his headlights. 

Or maybe...maybe it's just two lanes because the lights on the dash seem to have doubled. Blurry and out of focus, no matter how much you try to blink your vision back into clarity. Shifting in the seat, you lift your head. 

And immediately let it thunk back onto Rhett's shoulder, vision twisting as if you've spent the past thirty minutes spinning in circles. "Ugh."

"There you are," Rhett hums. His hand drops down to squeeze your knee, giving it a little shake. "Did you know that ya snore?" 

"I do not!" Your squeal comes out as a hoarse croak. So foreign in your mouth that you hardly recognize it. 

An invisible bolt of lightning fires up your belly. 

Slick pools between your legs, staining your underwear and seeping down to your thighs. There's a shiver in your bones that wasn't there before, wavering like a leaf in high wind, without rhyme or reason. And there's this deep set ache in your lower stomach, reaching all the way to your weeping cunt, almost sore from lack of use, demanding attention that your fingers can't satisfy. 

"What's wrong?" Rhett's voice meets your ears like a ray of sunshine on a stormy day. 

Shame that it can't ward off the wave of cramps thundering through your lower belly. "Hurts," 

"Jus' a few more miles, 'kay?" His arm lifts, draping across your weary shoulders like a blanket. It's a fleeting touch that'll be forced to end at the next curve in the road, but it's nice to slouch into, head coming to rest against the side of his chest. Thin muscle flexes under your cheek, stretched so tightly that you can feel the bone lurking underneath. 

You wonder if he's just naturally built so wirey or if he'll be one of those alpha's that grow bulkier with a mating bond. It's hard to figure it out without being familiar with his family; if you knew the Abbotts personally, then maybe you'd have heard the stories of it happening with his father or brother. Maybe even a grandparent.

On its own, your hand shifts, crawling to rest on his knee. It's just as bony as the rest of him, and yet, conceals just enough muscle to cling onto the backs of those bulls. They're invisible at first glance, but if you squeeze, you can feel the softness of them, wrapped around hard bone. 

"Are you feelin' me up?" He chuckles, wiggling his leg back and forth as if to try and shake you off. 

Well, you weren't yet, but now that he's put the idea in your head...

Rhett sucks in a breath. His hips jerk, the truck lurching as his foot spontaneously presses against the pedal. You've felt him in your palm before, but fuck you don't remember him being this thick, twitching under the slightest bit of pressure. 

"Wait," he grunts. That arm is already slipping out from behind your shoulder, big hand encircling your wrist.

Maybe you should have asked first. "Did I—"

"No. God no," talking so fast that he stumbles over his words, "just...hurts." 

And yet, he makes no move to draw your hand away, letting it remain there as he focuses on keeping the truck on the road, grip so firm that you're almost certain he won't let you pull back. It's all you can do to ignore the way he throbs through his jeans, pulsing against your soft palm, testing the will of the zipper confining him.

It must take a year for him to begin turning off onto an exit, dark and poorly lit by a scattered array of frail lamp posts. The road thins, and all of a sudden, neon flickers to life—a hotel sign. Logo written in such gaudy cursive that you can hardly read its name. 

A whine rattles out of you, squirming impossibly closer. 

There's a blip in your memory. 

You don't remember when he pulled into the parking lot or when you got out of the truck. But the air is cool around your ankles, and his arm is tight around your waist, forcing you to remain upright. You can't feel your feet moving, but you're stumbling along next to him anyway, head hanging low, too heavy for the rest of your body. 

"Where...?" 

"Almost there." His voice is on your left. Damn this stupid heat, why was that such a surprise to you? 

A shrill beep sounds. Green flashes. 

A bed.

It's as if a switch has flipped. The door falls shut behind you, but your feet are glued to the floor; the edges of your vision still twist, but the world around you has become noticeably...still. Surreal, even. Any moment now, you're waiting to blink away the sight of this drab little hotel and find yourself standing in the four familiar walls of your bedroom.

But as you lift your head, gaze crawling up Rhett's chest like a hungry animal, that doesn't happen. The sight of him doesn't begin to fade, his body remaining firm against yours, even as your eyes dare to meet. 

According to the romance novels and the films you've spent so much time watching, you're supposed to be the disheveled one here. Hell, maybe you are. But those films never depicted how pretty an alpha can be when their rut has set in. Freshly bitten lips, messy hair, and rosy cheeks, gazing at you with those glistening eyes. It's as if you hold his entire world in the palm of your hand.  

Slow, you twist, careful to mind where your numb feet fall, greedy hands roaming up the thick expanse of his chest, sculpted from a lifetime of back-breaking labor. Then, wandering up his neck, slowing to feel the vein bulging there, chasing it up into the soft hair clinging to his jaw. Your thumb swipes across his bottom lip, watching how it squishes under the pressure.

His eyelashes flutter; you wonder if he was a butterfly in his past life, still clinging to old habits. It's a question you'll have to ask him later when you're not halfway into leaning in and catching those thin lips in yours. 

There goes your head again, swirling 'round and 'round, set into motion by the hum that rattles out of him. One little peck. Your hands drop back down to feel the swell of his chest. A second. His arms begin to wind around you. A third, and the heel of his palm is pressing into the small of your back, and you're crumpling.

It's like a freshly knocked-over candle. The smokey leather of his scent, haunted by the fading chemical that temporarily overrode the pheromones radiating off of him. Invisible to the nose at first, but the fire is already beginning to spread until it's roaring so bright that you reckon flames might come out of your ears. 

Your arms coil around his thin waist, cinching him in with a strength you thought you'd lost. A stray foot slots between yours, his chest pushing into you, and the room is spinning. Caught by a mattress that squeals and bounces with your combined weight, unprepared for such a landing. 

"You 'megas sure get strong when ya want somethin'," Rhett's hair tickles your forehead as he settles on top of you. Perfectly slotted between your parted legs, jeans deliciously rough against your exposed thighs, pajama shorts hardly doing anything to conceal you. 

A little too curious, your hips roll, eager to find out if you can feel the bulge of his cock. 

You can.

Worse. He felt it too, already beginning to swivel forward, a foreign pressure appearing against your weeping cunt. Something jolts up your spine. Doesn't necessarily hurt; more of a reminder of what you don't have.

"Like you're so innocent in all this," your words come out rushed, riding the coattails of a shaky breath. 

He doesn't have anything to say to that, maybe a little shy as he nuzzles his nose against your cheek. A stark contrast to the bold hips that press into you, so eager and desperate to feel you. It's like the first time you crossed that boundary, ground down on each other until neither could take it anymore. 

Except, this time, you've no reason to stop there. 

No family. No concern about high-dollar alphas or uncomfortable, fashionable outfits. These peeling walls couldn't care less about who you coil your legs around. This bed isn't going to fuss at you for spreading your legs to a scruffy ranch hand without a pedigree. 

You're the only one who cares about the way he guides himself with his nose, blindly wandering back to meet your mouth. Kisses you with all the fervor of a man who's just found everything he's ever wanted. 

His hands are everywhere, cradling your face, skirting down your sides, and wandering up under your shirt, callouses catching on the soft skin of your belly as he roams beneath. Then he's above your shirt again, dragging up the swell of your breasts, on his way to grip your jaw.

It's so hard to stay still. Your fingers find their way to his flannel, already trying to work it open. It's so much harder with your eyes closed, shivering hands struggling to remain still. Fuck, this button just doesn't want to move. Stubbornly caught in the hole, refusing to slip through, even as you pull—

It snaps off. Lands atop your heaving chest. Rhett draws back, already looking down at it. 

"I'm sorry—"

"Don't be." The corner of his lip lifts, flashing a sharp canine. Cocky, as he reaches for the shirt, buttons flying as he yanks it open. "'s kinda hot."

And just like that, he's leaning back onto his haunches, hands skimming down your sides until his fingers can comfortably hook under your shorts. Obedient, your hips lift, knees cinching up to help get them past your ankles. They're gone in an instant, underwear and all.

Is he trying to take his time? Probably.

Does that stop you from impatiently pinching his belt buckle open and yanking on the zipper? No. No, it does not. 

"Alright, alright," only Rhett Abbott can laugh this prettily, cherry red cheeks and all. "'n here I am tryin' to be a gentleman." 

You and your swirling head know that he has to pull away to get those jeans off. They need to come off, but you're already whining for him to come back. Some primal, involuntary noise that you don't recall making before, pathetic as a wounded animal.

Rhett's head jerks up. "It's okay, it's okay," he's already coming back. You knew he would, but the dumb part of your brain argues that he wouldn't have unless you made that pitiful little noise. 

But regardless of the reason, his big, warm body is slotting between your legs, his big chest flexing as he crawls up to meet your mouth. It hardly even counts as a kiss, more of a pressure that serves to remind you he's there. He's here. With you, and he's not going anywhere else. 

"I ain't goin' anywhere," he murmurs as if he's heard every silent worry racing through your dumb little mind. Can't seem to think about anything except for him and his scent and the feel of him against you and what he might be doing next.

His head dips, nuzzling you with his temple. It's the simplest damn thing, but hell, if it doesn't suck the air right out of your lungs. The innately primal drag of his scent glands against your skin, marking you like a prize he's fought tooth and nail to keep. Perfect in every sense of the term, everything you've imagined and more. 

You don't know what made your eyes drift down, but one way or another, they do, and—

"Jesus, Rhett." You've been anticipating this going a number of ways, but good lord, you didn't have this on your laundry list of ideas, what-ifs, and daydreams. 

Even when you were greedily decorating your imaginary version of him, you never quite pictured his cock to be this fucking thick. So damn heavy that it hangs between his legs, hovering just above your belly, the faintest swell of his knot already beginning to show. 

His chuckle almost sounds devilish; knows damn well what he's got and what it could do to you. "Don't think much of me is gonna fit." Understatement of the fucking century. 

No wonder he never let you touch him; he probably thought it would scare you away. In your right mind, maybe it would, but you can almost feel the hearts blossoming in your eyes, already beginning to reach for him. Your hand freezes midway—maybe you should ask first. He still might not...

He's gently taking you by the wrist, guiding you the rest of the way. This is your first ride in this particular rodeo, but your fingers wrap around his base as if you've been doing it for decades. Oh, he's so much bigger than he looked, makes your hand appear tiny as it glides up the length of him. It's enough to have your heart jumping in your chest, pitter-pattering with a newfound vigor. 

Wetness pools between your legs. So much of it that you can feel the way it runs down your thighs, and you just can't help but angle him down, dragging his fat cock head through your weeping folds. 

He groans. 

Your vision blurs. 

The world might fall apart.

A sudden shiver takes hold of you. Quaking like you're being rattled from the inside out, another wave of slick drooling out of your poor, unused cunt, delirium settling at the forefront of your mind. Saliva drips from the corner of your mouth, the edges of your vision blurring to the point of disappearing entirely.

"Shit..." One of you says it. You're not sure who.

It's as if you're the gasoline and Rhett is the lighter, setting you ablaze with the slightest hint of a flame. You don't realize you're still wearing a shirt until after it's peeled over your head, and even then, the loss of it does nothing to soothe the invisible wildfire claiming every inch of your skin.

Oh, and you think he might have it as bad as you do. Noses and chests crashing together, pinning your arm between your bellies, his cock rutting against your cunt like it's always belonged there. He whines into your mouth, jerking forward, the underside of his length massaging against your swollen clit. 

"Fuckin'..." he loses track of his words, panting against your mouth like a dog in the sun, "hell, 'm tryna go slow, but—"

Your body jerks up off the bed. Desperate. Needy. Aching for more than just a brush of him against you. The slow glide of him isn't enough. More. You need so much more. But it's hard to speak when your mouths clash, tongues tangling so sloppily that calling it a kiss would be an insult to the word. 

"Go." Panting against his lips. "Slow." One more word. One more word. "Later." 

Rhett draws back, spit-slick lips glistening in the light. The corner of his eye twitches. As if set off by it, you involuntarily clamp down around nothing, needily seeking something that isn't there yet. The emptiness is nauseating. 

"Rhett," you plea, because why in God's name is he not in you yet?

Dumb, stupid, well-meaning alpha. Always has to be taking his time and treating you like you're made of glass, ready to shatter at any given moment. But you're made of the same material as he is, fully capable of rolling over and—

Teeth sink into the scruff of your neck. Every bone, muscle, and fiber in your body goes still. You're stuck like this. Face down, trapped beneath his body, ass high in the air for him. Big arms cage your waist, his chest resting against your back like you're a pair of wild animals—no grace or sophistication about it. 

"'m tryin' to be careful with you, darlin'," his growl is muffled by your own flesh, still caught between his sharp teeth, "y' don't want me bruisin' this little pussy of yours, now do ya?" 

And as if to punctuate his sentence, his hips twitch toward, cock slipping between your slick-soaked thighs. Draws back, angle shifting just enough to have his blunt tip pressing against your weeping entrance, opening you the slightest fraction, then slipping out to slide through the folds of your cunt instead. 

The voice in your head suggests it's a threat. A reminder of what he's capable of. But your body says otherwise, already pressing back into him despite the teeth holding you pliant. Thick waves of want pulsing through your veins, thoughts aligning to echo the same damn thing. You need more. 

A cramp takes hold of your lower belly, a stabbing sort of sensation that makes you wince. Whatever primal instinct lingering in your genetics is livid.

"It hurts." You cry in a pitchy tone you've never heard yourself use before. 

"'m gonna fix it," his mouth reels away from your neck, licking over the irritated skin. "I promise."

Again, you push back. Hands digging into the bed, moving with your whole body. Sharp teeth sink back into your neck, his arms coiling around you, pulling tight until you can no longer move. 

That pressure appears again, and this time, it doesn't disappear. The unmistakable sensation of his fat cock head pressing into your pussy. He feels so much different than the silicone of your toys, warm and pulsing and so much fucking thicker; you're quite literally made to take a cock like his, loose and slick with your heat, and yet there's still an ache blooming. 

It feels impossible. There's no way...there's no way that's going to fit. 

Oh, but the feel of his tip alone has you gushing around him, an obscene amount of slick waterfalling down your thighs and onto the mattress below. He groans, low and heavy, his heated breath tickling the back of your ear.

"Rhett..." 

"I'm here," he's murmuring, and again, he's soothing the bite with his tongue. You wonder if this is what it would feel like for him to mate you. For him to sink his teeth into the scent gland on the side of your neck and let instinct take over, lick the wound clean, smother you in his scent, and then bear his pretty, pale neck for you to take for yourself. 

You can't think about it for long. Not with his cock sinking into your aching heat, filling every centimeter of you, so big that he presses against each and every little nerve without needing to try. It's as if you're being split wide open, forced to do nothing but relax and take it like a good little omega. 

A whimper escapes you, pitchy and involuntary. Set off by the drag of his tip against a particularly sensitive spot. 

"'s that where you like it?" He coos, rumbling into your ear. It's all you can do to tilt your head back, your cheek bumping into his nose. So close, not another word spoken.

It's like being broken apart and then built back up again. Fuck you can feel him up in your throat. The stretch of him is so much that it aches. Your mouth falls open at the feel of him inching deeper and deeper, pushing the air from your lungs, winding your muscles tight. Head spinning with a gentleness that wasn't there before as if your own body knows that it no longer needs to fuss about an alphas cock. 

The solid bone of his hips presses into the swell of your ass. Fully in you now. His heated breath fans out over your shoulder, heavy and carrying the faintest noises along with it. 

You'd thought that you'd let go of the breath caught in your throat, but...but...

"Fuck, look at you," the soft scruff of his jaw tickles your naked shoulder, such a foreign sensation to feel him there. So unfair. You should have known this feeling years ago. "So fuckin' pretty." 

His hands roam up your sides, callouses catching on the smooth skin, dragging��just right. A shiver ripples up your spine, body involuntarily falling forward, only to sway back into him. 

Stars sparkle. Your legs nearly come out from under you. "Shit, Rhett..." 

So much. There's so much of him. In you and around you and on top of you and crowding every single one of your senses. There's no hotel.  No concern about how terrible everyone at home may feel. No earth around you. Not a single star in the galaxy. Just Rhett, Rhett, Rhett. 

"Move," you whisper as kisses press to the length of your spine. One after the other, like he's trying to love on each and every bone there. 

You squirm forward, then back again, hardly enough to even count as a movement, but the underside of his cock drags right against a nerve that damn near takes your voice away. His hand flattens against your belly, but he doesn't hear you. 

"Move," you try again, craning your head to look at him. Dark blue eyes lift, looking back at you, still peppering your back with love. "Please, Rhett—"

His hips snap into you. Pressing hard.

Your elbows crumple, falling face first into the pillow, but he just keeps fucking pressing into you, as if you could possibly take any more. A whine sparks out of you, twisting to expose your neck to him. He chuckles at that, low and dark, tongue poking past his lips to run over the delicate scent gland hiding there. 

 Then, slowly, he begins to move. Drawing back at a snail's pace, his forearms caging your waist as if to keep you from running away when he pushes back into you. Shivers run through your thighs, already beginning to clench from the feeling of him inside you alone. 

You've dreamed of this too many times for the newness to remain for long, squirming beneath him, fighting to keep your eyes on his face. Flushed and red in the cheeks, has yet to say anything, but it's easy to tell that he's feeling it, too. 

Those careful back and forths are already beginning to find their confidence, like he's slowly realizing that his cock isn't going to break you into two, no matter how much it feels like it will. Hips hitting your ass hard enough to send you jolting, a surprised little 'uh' breaking past your lips. 

"Only goddamn omega in the state of Wyomin'," he muses aloud, nails dragging over the side of your ass, making you squirm against him, "n here ya are, gettin' mounted by a cowboy." 

Impatient, he snaps into you. Heavy balls smacking into your clit. Electricity jumps up your belly. You hardly recognize what's happening. But you're fluttering around him. Heart lurching in your chest. Slick gushing down your thighs. Crying out as you suddenly cum on his cock. Eyes rolling back into your head and all. 

"Fuck, that's...fuck,"  Rhett hisses through grit teeth, but he's not stopping. No, no, he's not even slowing down. 

Shocks fire through your nerves with every motion. The kiss of his fat head against your nerves. The drag of his length along your trembling walls. The slight swell of a knot catching on your swollen entrance. But it feels so good that you can't do anything but hold still, clenching around him like a goddamn vice.

"Can't believe I never—mmh," his head falls forward, thunking against your shoulder, hips rolling into you in languid motions. "Can't believe I went this long without breedin' this pretty lil pussy of yours." 

Air catches in your throat. Cunt sent into a spasm from his words alone. "If you keep talking, I'm...I'm..." You haven't got an ending for that sentence, left open-ended and hanging. 

Kisses lead up the side of your neck, working their way to your jaw. You tilt your head, trying your best to meet him. The angle puts a strain on your neck, unable to bend any further. Even as you push your hands into the mattress and try to force yourself backward, you can't...quite...

The room shifts. Falling forward into the pillow. Rhett's heavyweight collapses on top of you. Cool air greets your swollen cunt, suddenly empty. 

"Well, that didn't..." Rhett's laugh is a melody in your ear, his smile so big that you can feel it against your cheek, "that didn't work too well." 

Between the emptiness in your skull and the sudden change in position, figuring out where you start and where he ends is a...challenge. He starts moving at the same time that you do. His knee awkwardly slots behind your thighs. Your knuckles accidentally smack into his jaw. And he's moving toward you, but you're twisting against the mattress, and your noses are smacking into each other—

"There's your pretty face," he grins, a little too cheerful. You've barely got time for your back to settle against the cheap mattress before he leans in.

The kiss is a little too innocent for what's going on below. Soft, chaste pecks. A sharp contrast to the way he settles between your parted legs, heavy cock bumping into you. Your hand darts between your bellies, blindly guiding him toward your sex. 

It's easier the second time. The gentle glide of him, chasing away that infuriating emptiness as he sinks back into you, balls bumping into your ass. So much better. This is so much better. You're already wandering, hands roaming across the broad expanse of his shoulders, seeking the perfect spot to cling on to him.

"Look at that..." he breathes, and you don't need to guess to know what he's referring to, "gonna have y' limpin' before the nights over." 

It's the kind of thing that has you shivering. The obscene sight of his thick cock disappearing between your legs stretched to your absolute limit. Impossible to look away from, even when he draws back by an inch or two, testing the angle as he sinks back in. Almost effortless, he nudges against a bundle of nerves. Sets it ablaze like a match on gasoline.

"Fuck. I can feel ya clenchin' round me, sweetheart," his eyelashes flutter, hair falling into his red face, swinging in synchrony with the lazy rocking of his body, easing in and out of you. "'s it feel that good?"

Greedy, you reach for his biceps, squishing the girth of them, muscle flexing beneath your fingertips. "Uhuh," speaking dumbly. Not another thought crosses your mind. 

There can't possibly be a bad position with Rhett, but this is something else entirely. Feels so nice to wrap your legs around his hips, heels digging into his ass, clinging to his big, warm body. Chest to chest, so close that his scruffy jaw tickles your cheek, big blue eyes threatening to drown you if he gets any closer.

Your mouths fall open, meeting for another one of those kisses that insult the romantics attached to such a word. Nothing but lewd tongue and saliva running down your chins, panting into each other, breath so hot that it ought to fog up the room. And you just can't help it, not with the press of his cock against your nerves, so damn big that missing them is impossible.

He's too quiet. Stiffling little noises in the back of his throat, extinguishing them before they can make it past the tip of his tongue. One of your hands is slithering up his arm. Wandering across the expanse of his shoulders, fingers tangling into the loose curls at his nape and pulling. 

A whine cuts through the air. Muffled at the end, but it's there nonetheless.

Words collide in your head. Tumbling down onto your drooling tongue. "Wanna hear you." 

It should take more convincing than that, but for some reason, that's all that it takes for him to give you what you want. A little noise soars out of him with all the perfection and catchiness of the new biggest hit playing on the radio. 

You think you can cum from that sound alone. 

This is so surreal. 

The nuzzle of his nose against yours, panting against your lips. The flex of muscle in his belly, as he draws himself back and forth, rutting into you, slow, yet meeting your body hard enough to have your back jostling against the mattress. You think you catch the sound of your name, twisted into the symphony of noises rattling around the room.

"I love you," it slips out of you with crippling ease; has been sitting on your tongue for so, so long that you forgot it was there at all. 

His lips wobble up into a smile. There's a glassiness in his eye that wasn't there before. "And I love you." 

He melts. 

Falls into you, even. 

Nothing but sweaty skin and wandering hands and peppered kisses everywhere that they'll fit. Up the side of your clammy neck, atop his burning forehead. The base of his knot is starting to swell, catching on your entrance with every stroke, tugging just enough for it to rip a gasp out of you. 

"'m close," he whispers, just a little secret to be shared between you and him. Not another soul is allowed to know of this little slice of heaven situated atop this old hotel mattress. "You gotta...baby, if y' don't let me go, 'm gonna..."

"Knot." Blurting. Your eyes flutter. "Please, I want—"

He hums. Doesn't need to open his mouth for you to understand that he gets it. No fuss about the crippling lack of a condom or how you really, truly can't go back from this, instead blindly following your request with crippling loyalty. Yours. Your alpha. The one who would follow you to the ends of the earth without a word. 

Even if you wanted to, it's too late to change your mind because his knot is too swollen to slip out of you. Weary, unstable thrusts are forced into an unfamiliar shallowness, but it's forcing an angle that has him rolling directly into every little nerve. You can't stop the hand that dives between your bodies, fingertips pressing to your clit in a familiar fashion.

Just a little more. Just a little more.

An involuntary clench is all it takes to have him spilling over the edge. Face falling into the crook of your neck, cumming with a choked cry that rings through your head. Fuck nobody ever told you that you'd be able to feel his knot swelling inside of you. Stretching you beyond your limit, hot cum spilling into your pussy, not a drop of it spilling out. 

Without warning, your back twitches up off the bed, cumming without warning. Head thrown back. Heart pounding against your chest. Clenching like a vice around Rhett's twitching cock. You might be muttering his name because you can feel your mouth moving, but you're too far away to hear what's leaving your lips. Entirely lost in the thundering clouds looming in the skies. 

However long you're up there, you have no idea, but at some point, Rhett finds the strength to settle onto his forearms. Pressing kisses to your lower jaw and trailing up to your temple, shiny with your scent. No two descriptions of it have been the same, but you like to believe his description is closest to reality. A fresh strawberry pie, sitting on the windowsill after the rain has ended. 

You can't help yourself, his neck is right there. The gland exposed to you like he's trying to show it off, so sensitive that he gasps at the nip of your teeth. 

He hums, leaning back just far enough to get a look at your face. Whatever he finds looming behind your sparkling eyes is enough to have a smile contorting his lips. Then, he tilts his head to the side, properly bearing his neck to you.

You know what he's offering. Asking. The quietest proposal you've ever heard. 

Logic suggests that you wait. Give yourselves time to grow together. Adjust to the discomfort of a collar in exchange for the opportunity to take things slow. The world won't end if you step off onto the well-worn path of tradition; if it's worked for everyone else, then it should work for you.

But you've done enough waiting. Your heart made its decision a long time ago. 

The movies made this seem like some blinding moment of passion. The moment your teeth sink into the delicate scent gland, the world should explode into colors that you've never seen before. The answers to the universe ought to dance around your fingertips, hearts springing from your eyes. 

But all Rhett does is giggle. 

Gidy, like a little kid on the playground, as he cranes his head to find the matching spot on your neck. Soothing it with his tongue before his canines break the skin. 

Blood rushes to your face so quickly that you can hear it in your ears. Your heart jumps, and maybe it grows the slightest bit warmer, but...nothing changes. It's still you, Rhett, and his big, strong body shielding yours from the world. These hands that cradle your cheeks are still the ones that you've known all these years. He still nuzzles your noses together, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

Voices rattle in the hallway. Something—no, someone, bumps against the door, her giggles intertwining with the laughter of a much deeper voice. 

"Mine." 

You don't recognize...

was that you?

 "'re you growlin' again?" Rhett asks, in that playfully accusatory tone, shoulders already shaking with a laugh.

You don't realize your chest is rumbling until it stops. "No." Blinking. No, that wasn't...

"Didn't know y' were this possessive of me," there's no arguing with him; he knows what he's heard. Already beginning to cover your cheek in kisses, his body shifting between your legs. That knot is still snug, tying your bodies together for the next half-hour at minimum. 

"I'm not possessive," you try, but it's hard to be convincing when he's looking at you with those pretty blue eyes like you're his whole world and then some. Maybe that's your hopeful heart talking, or maybe it's truly what you saw. 

"Yes, you are," amusement lacing his tone, "'s cute." 

If heaven's a moment, then you must be dead. 

There are too many things in this damn kitchen.

Scratch that, too many fucking cookies. Some still rising in the oven, and others are scattered on plates across the counter, with their stupid, sweet aroma that does nothing but give you a mild migraine. This idea was better in theory than in execution. You'll be damned if you get ambitious and decide to bake treats for everyone on the ranch again. 

A warmth greets your nose. Leather and something smokey sweet, like a marshmallow roasting over an open campfire. Just a hint of it at first, carrying in through the back door and swirling around the room like a loose tornado, growing in tune with the boots thunking toward you.

Clink.

Clink.

Clink.

"Are you ever taking those spurs off?" You chirp, too focused on setting this tray on top of the stove to look in his direction. If you drop these, your life might end on the spot.

Arms coil around your waist, the thick muscle rippling as he draws you back by an inch, your back coming to rest against a sturdy chest. Lips press to your cheek. One. Two. Three kisses. Leading down to his favorite grand finale: the scar on your neck. 

A shiver ripples up your spine. 

"Gon' have to leave soon," He doesn't answer your question. Probably because you already know the answer; he was going to, but he forgot. "'s a long drive, 'member?"

"Hang on, hang on." Placing the oven mitt off to the side, you reach for a cookie. Still warm, but no longer a burn hazard. Blindly, you lift it to your shoulder until he leans forward to take it with his mouth. "You go pro, and all of a sudden, you're insufferable again."

A chuckle rumbles out of him at that, but he's temporarily muzzled, the short hair on his chin tickling your skin when he nears the end of the cookie. His lips wrap around the tips of your fingers, stealing away the final piece. 

"Like you ain't got a thing for showin' me off after a good ride," his arms tighten as he speaks, fully securing you against him now. 

...and drawing your ass right into a familiar pressure. Don't need to look to know that you're pressing yourself back into the bulge in his jeans, heavy and looking for fun that you, unfortunately, don't have time for. "Are we still talking about bull riding?" 

Twisting in his arms is easy. You've done it so many times that you ought to know that you should draw your head back, but your noses collide anyway. Breaking the habit isn't worth it. 

"Dunno," he's got chocolate on the corner of his lip, and even his smile cannot distract you from it, "you tell me." 

This is a routine you've danced a hundred times. The pre-rodeo adrenaline that has him crawling all over you like some kind of love bug, desperate to relieve the tension building in his muscles. 

Relieving it is only temporary; you should know. You rode him within an inch of his life last month, and he still jumped the fence to get to you, the camera chasing him and touting you to the world as Rhett Abbott's mate—his omega, at that. So much for organically reaching out and introducing your family to the man you left everything for. 

You still need to answer the bombardment of texts that have been rotting in your phone. 

Careful to avoid the hot pan, your hand darts back toward the counter, feeling around until you find something warm and round. Making extra of these has been your best idea yet.

"Then we're talking about both," you pull him in for a kiss. Swift. Chaste. And before he can lean in and seek out any more, you shove the cookie into his mouth. 

Your shirt is gone before you can leave the kitchen. 

By the time your back hits the bedroom door, his hands are disappearing below your waistband, and sickly sweet chocolate is the only thing you can taste on his lips. There are things to do. Places to be. Bags to load into the car and a map to figure out.

But you fear you've grown addicted to these grumbling kisses of his, crave the warmth of his body against yours and all of the other things that come with him. It's a hunger you've never been able to satisfy, and not another alpha will do. Not one with money. Or someone that your family hand-picked. Or someone with a fancy cologne crafted by a brand you can't pronounce the name of.

Just this one. 

[mj-iza-writer]

Whumpee obediently sat off to the side of Whumper's feet while Whumper flipped through the TV channels.

"Nothing on TV today", Whumper sighed and glanced at Whumpee, "pet?"

Whumpee hurried to their knees and crawled to Whumper. They then laid their head on Whumper's lap to wait for head pats or a command.

Whumper squeezed Whumpee's cheeks lovingly, "I am so bored, you got anything to entertain me, I don't care what."

Whumpee thought for a minute and had a thought. Would it be too much they questioned. 'I can test it', Whumpee thought to themself.

They crawled toward the coffee table and eyed a cup of water Whumper was sipping on. They eyed Whumper, who was watching them curiously. They raised a shaky hand towards it.

"No bad pet", Whumper stated, but still with a smile, "no making messes."

Whumpee laid their head on the coffee table and tried their best to make puppy dog eyes. They mustered a whine.

"Thanks for trying", Whumper smiled, "do you need to go outside?"

Whumpee jumped back and crawled towards the door excitedly; ready to go relieve themself. Whumper didn't pick up on their signs earlier.... they had to go bad now.

Whumper scrolled on their phone while Whumpee wandered around the yard.

"Hmm, things every pet should know how to do", Whumper spoke to themself as they started to read a post, "maybe we can work on a new trick."

"Muzzle training", Whumper snickered to themself. They had tried to do muzzle training a few months ago, but Whumpee had no interest at all. It ended in a horrible mess, and Whumper swore never again.

Whumper looked up at Whumpee for a few moments.

"I would like to have them muzzle trained, just to say they were. I would never cover their cute face", Whumper smiled.

"Use peanut butter or whip cream...", Whumper began to read.

Whumper dug through their closet until they found Whumpee's muzzle.

They tried it on themself first.

"Yep, that should still fit comfortably", Whumper smiled.

Whumpee was playing with a toy in the living room when Whumper came in carrying the muzzle, a training clicker, and a whipped cream can.

Whumpee nervously backed away until they bumped into the wall.

"Whumpee come", Whumper sat on the ground, "come on", they sounded cheerful.

Whumpee continued to stare at Whumper nervously. They tried to back even farther into the wall. There was no other exit, Whumper had trapped them. The only way out was trying to run past them or if the wall would move.

"Whumpee, come here", Whumper said a little sterner.

Whumpee shuddered at the stern voice and slowly started to crawl toward Whumper.

"You know better than to disobey", Whumper scolded, "are you a good Whumpee or not?"

"Good Whumpee", Whumpee whispered.

"Then prove it", Whumper held up the muzzle, "I would like you to be trained with this. It's not something permanent, I just want you to be able to do it."

Whumpee looked at the muzzle questioningly.

"I just washed it as well", Whumper patted Whumpee's head, "you'll be alright. I promise I won't let anything hurt you."

Whumpee whined lowly.

"Okay go ahead and give it a sniff", Whumper held it to Whumpee's face.

Whumpee sniffed over the torture device.

*Click... click*

Whumper clicked the clicker to tell Whumpee they did good.

Whumper smiled as they offered Whumpee a treat.

"And sniff again", Whumper held up the muzzle.

Whumpee did as they were told a little quicker this time.

*Click... click*

"Good job Whumpee", Whumper grinned, "I think you'll like this next part, though it's going to be a bit messy."

Whumper sprayed a dab of whipped cream into the muzzle and held it up to Whumpee.

"Clean it up", Whumper smiled.

Whumpee cautiously leaned into the muzzle and gave a small lick before they realized what it was. They lapped the rest up in seconds.

"Muzzle yourself", Whumper made a command.

Whumpee looked up with concern. 'What?', they questioned to themself.

Whumper sprayed more whipped cream into the muzzle and held it up for Whumpee, "clean."

Whumpee quickly leaned into the muzzle and lapped up the sweet cream.

"Muzzle yourself", Whumper commanded again.

Whumpee looked up with a questioning look and cocked their head to the side.

*Click... click*

Whumpee happily received another treat.

"You're doing so good", Whumper stood, "I'll be right back... stay."

Whumper reached for the whipped cream can and sprayed a tiny bit under Whumpee's nose.

They chuckled as they watched Whumpee work to lick the cream off.

Whumper came back with a cleaned muzzle.

"I thought this would be a little messier, but you are doing so good", Whumper sat down again.

"Muzzle yourself", Whumper held up the muzzle.

Without thought, Whumpee leaned into the muzzle. They were disappointed when their was no more cream.

The muzzle suddenly tightened and was locked into place.

Whumpee quickly backed away from Whumper and started to frantically shake their head and paw at the muzzle. They rolled around the floor wildly.

Whumper watched them get their angst out, completely unbothered by Whumpee.

After a few minutes Whumpee made a tired huff and gasped for air.

"You done?", Whumper sighed, "if you come here I'll spray some whipped cream into your mouth."

Whumpee pawed at the muzzle again, before finally crawling to Whumper.

"Alright open your mouth" Whumper held up the can and stuck it into a slot and sprayed the cream into Whumpee's waiting mouth.

After a few minutes Whumper removed the muzzle and let Whumpee rub their face.

"Let's try again", Whumper held up the muzzle, "muzzle yourself."

Whumpee pawed at the clicker and whined.

"No, no clicks until you perform satisfactorily", Whumper shook their head, "muzzle yourself."

Whumpee leaned into the muzzle and shuddered as they felt it tighten and lock.

It took them everything not to try and shake it off again.

Whumper grinned as they sprayed more whipped cream into the muzzle.

Whumpee happily lapped it up again.

*Click... click*

Whumpee coveted that sound.

"Very good job Whumpee", Whumper happily removed the muzzle, "you did so good. I think you will have this down after a few more training sessions."

Whumpee happily rolled on the floor.

"Such a good Whumpee... are you my good Whumpee?", Whumper cooed.

Whumpee happily trotted to Whumper.

"Come here, such a good pet", Whumper praised as they hugged Whumpee tightly, "though you are absolutely sticky from the whipped cream."

"Let's give you one more spray before we get you cleaned up", Whumper held up the can and sprayed into Whumpee's mouth.

After giving Whumpee a bath, Whumper finally settled back on the couch.

Whumpee rested on the floor right under them.

"Let's see if there is anything good on TV now", Whumper reached for the remote, "if not, we might have to find another trick to learn.

Whumpee quietly pleaded that Whumper found something interesting to watch.

"Oh good... you're in luck Whumpee. The new season is out", Whumper chuckled, "I guess you get a break for the rest of today."

Whumpee happily rested their head on a pillow Whumper had given them earlier in the day.

'Thank goodness', Whumpee sighed in relief.

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst

@generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots @whumpbump @everythingsscary @skittles-the-whumpee

@expressionless-fr @theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee @candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers @starfields08000 @a-living-canvas @lumpofsand

@watermeezer @indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains @3-2-whump @risk606

@electrons2006

[bbydoll18xx]

Pet Names and Airplanes (Part 3)

Paige Bueckers x reader

It’s Paige’s turn to call the shots.

Themes: smut!! dom!Paige, friends to lovers

Word Count: 2.5k

Part 1

Part 2

A/N: IT FINALLY LET ME POST HALLELUJAH!! You sweetie pies asked for a part 3 and here it is! And to whoever was the original anon who sent me the idea for Pet Names and Airplanes, i love u

~

Seattle had crushed Indiana, although that was pretty much a given. What you hadn’t expected, though, was Paige’s attitude after the game. The whole time, her hand was placed possessively on your thigh, fingers only leaving the soft flesh to be thrown in the air in a joyous celebration of Seattle scoring. And you certainly delighted in the way Paige kept sneaking peeks at one of the hickeys she had left at the base of your throat, threatening to expose the sheer naughtiness that had gone down yesterday. And this morning. 

The relationship between the two of you had changed dramatically in the last 48 hours, leaving you with an undeniable giddiness that bubbled in your chest. And now here you were, talking to Nika on the sidelines of the basketball court, feeling the blonde’s eyes on you, the heat of them radiating off of you in a way that had you shivering. 

Your arm was wrapped around Nika’s waist in a friendly hold; you had missed the Croatian girl, but Paige’s body language suggested that if you didn’t back away, you’d be in deep shit. Her eyes narrowed as you scooched in closer, meeting her gaze with a smug look that said ‘Whatcha going to do about it?’ 

It was not long before she was pulled away by yet another throng of young, adoring fans. She posed for pictures and signed basketballs and shirts, a fond smile adorning your face as you watched, thinking that if anyone deserved all of this, it was Paige.

You are pulled out of your thoughts by Nika who was elbowing you in the side with a shit-eating grin plastered on her face.

“When are you gonna tell her that you love her?” She questions smugly, and your mouth falls open in shock.

You splutter, not even remotely able to form a coherent sentence for a second. She was able to read you like a damn book, and you felt momentarily embarrassed to think that you were that transparent. You had always worn your heart on your sleeve, but you longed to be one of those girls that were just effortlessly cool and almost mysterious. You hated how people could see what you were feeling just by looking at your face, and while you knew your emotional disposition made you who you were, sometimes it felt like it was your personal downfall.

The blaze of your cheeks add fuel to the fire, and Nika giggles as you hide your face in your hands. You sigh defeatedly. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”

“It’s Paige,” she soothes. “You guys have always had something more than just a friendship. It’ll work out.” She pulls you into another hug, just as Paige walks back over to the two of you. She clears her throat loudly, and you and Nika separate, meeting her eye with your cheeks still flushed from Nika’s observation. 

“Ready to head back to the hotel, princess?” Paige asks you, her blue eyes staring into yours, and she wraps an arm around your waist possessively, drawing you into her and away from her old teammate. 

You smirk at her blatant jealousy, mentally high-fiving yourself that at least she also lacked subtlety when it came to you.

“I don’t know, P,” you trail. “Maybe we should hang out with Nika some more.” You wet your lips as you look up at the Croatian girl, who is looking between you and Paige with a confused look on her face.

“I want you. All to myself,” she responds bluntly, sending a wave of butterflies soaring through your belly and straight down to your pussy.

Paige sends a glare in Nika’s direction, and a flash of realization dawns on the brunette, her face morphing into a look of pure revulsion.

“Hell no, you two better not be getting me in the middle of whatever this is” Nika scolded, her accent coming out, mixing with the disgust in her voice. She was smart, and she clearly saw your attempts to make Paige jealous.

“I’ll see you two tomorrow. Just go fuck each other like I know you want to,” she says crudely, holding back a laugh. “But thanks for coming. I love you both,” Nika beams, waving and walking towards the Seattle locker rooms. 

“Finally,” Paige mutters, interlocking your fingers with hers and pulling you towards the exit.

The uber back to the hotel was eventful, and if Paige’s possessive grip on your thigh during the game didn’t have you completely dripping, the open-mouth kisses she had been pressing to your neck and jaw certainly did.

It was difficult to hold back your moans in front of the uber driver who was already eying you and Paige suspiciously, and you let out a sigh of relief as he pulled in front of your hotel. Racing through the hall and opening up the door, you rush in, Paige hot on your tail. 

“Finally got you all to myself,” Paige murmured, looking down at you through lustful, hooded eyes. Her voice was deep and husky, dripping with want, and it reignited the swarm of butterflies in your belly. 

“About damn time,” you respond flirtily, before connecting your lips with hers with a moan. Her lips taste like the cherry slushy she had drank at the game, and the smoothness of them has you pressing up into her, desperate for more. 

Paige opens her mouth for you, intertwining her tongue with yours before suddenly pulling away. You chase her lips with a pout on your own, confused as to why she was stopping. You look up at her with fake indignance, and she gazes at you with a sadistic glint in her eyes. 

“Strip and get on the bed.” 

Her tone is firm, and the dominance oozing from her words makes every nerve in your body light up, temporarily putting you in a daze. You bite your bottom lip in a bruising tug, looking up at Paige with wide eyes. 

“Now.” 

The forcefulness of it sends jolts through your most intimate area, and you pull your top over your head, throwing it onto the floor haphazardly, your jeans following shortly after. You are left standing in a black bra and matching panties, and Paige has moved to sit in the chair, legs spread wide. 

“I want you completely naked, baby. Don’t get shy with me. Want to see those pretty little marks on your tits,” she drawls, and her voice alone has you nearly panting with lust. There was something so naughty about her watching you strip, and your body erupts in goosebumps in anticipation. 

Your bra comes off first. The cool air of the hotel room hits your nipples, perking them up in a way that makes Paige run her tongue across her bottom lip, soothing it from the incessant biting. Your panties soon follow, and your body flushes as you notice the stickiness of your inner thighs from your own slick. 

You climb onto the plush bed, ass sticking up in the air, wiggling provocatively in order to get a rise out of the watchful blonde. Settling against the mountain of pillows with your legs slightly spread, you stare back at Paige, trying desperately to avoid covering yourself up. Her gaze is burning into your skin like tiny pinpricks of lustful want, and you squirm at the lack of stimulation. 

You knew you looked needy, but Paige loved it, reveling in the mild humiliation of you being spread out for her viewing pleasure.

Not wanting to back down just quite yet, you hold her eye contact until she stands, sauntering over to the end of the bed. Her gaze lowers slowly, starting at the base of your throat where the myriad of hickies begin, trailing down to your tits and across your stomach, landing on your glistening center. 

A shiver runs down your spine, tightening your nipples even more, and you lick your lips in anticipation of what’s to come. 

“You gonna be a good girl for me, princess?” She asks, arms crossed and biceps bulging. 

A slight whine leaves your throat. “Yes, always good for you,” you promise.

However, Paige looks unconvinced, a wry smile plastered on her gorgeous features. “You weren’t being very good after the game. Hanging all over Nika like a little slut.”

Your heart pounds at her degrading words, and you try to come up with a decent excuse. “I-” 

She cuts you off with a wave of the hand and a scoff. “Save it. You think you’re a good girl? Prove it.”

Before you can even ask how to prove it, Paige is stripping and laying on the bed with spread legs. You crawl over to her, wanting to do everything possible to please her, but she stops you before you can attach your mouth to her sopping center.

“If you want to taste me, you gotta beg,” she claims smugly, and you flush at her words. Just yesterday, you had the upper hand, and now here you were, about to beg to eat her out. 

“P…” you trail off, but she was devilishly unrelenting. A wide smirk adorns her face as she spreads her legs a bit more, beckoning you closer towards her slick warmth. 

Realizing that you were in fact going to have to beg, you decide to give in, losing the battle between your pride and your sanity. 

“Please, Paigey…” you whimper, lips in a prominent pout. “I’ll do anything for you. Just let me have a taste.”

Paige pretends to think about it for a second, mockingly tapping her chin. “I suppose a little taste won’t hurt,” she relents, and before she can go back on her words, you dive in like a woman starved. 

A long moan is pulled from the depths of her throat as you lick a long stripe across her pussy, and you welcome the taste. She was obviously just as turned on as you. The sheer depravity of the situation hits you, and you reach down in between your legs to take care of the burning ache. Two small circles against your clit is all you manage to make before Paige is leaning down to swat your hand away with a dissatisfied tut. 

“Nuh uh. Don’t be touching your pretty, little pussy.” 

Your cheeks burn, but she quickly grabs your hair into a makeshift ponytail and guides your head back down. And that’s all the encouragement you need. Soon enough she’s a moaning mess under you, coming undone with your name on her lips, and you’re licking your own, as if she was the most delicious meal you’ve ever had.

“Fuck, baby,” she moans. “Such a good girl for me.”

And before you can preen at her praises, she is on top of you. Hot, open mouth kisses are being pressed up and down your neck, alternating between sharp bites and soothing licks, adding to the purple marks. Paige trails her fingers up and down your sides before squeezing at your hips, melding the flesh experimentally. 

“Need more,” you pant out, and she hums against your skin, the vibrations shooting through you add to the overwhelmingness of everything. She is descending down your body now, your belly and hips peppered with kisses, all the way down to your inner thighs. She purposely ignores your aching pussy, and your hips fly up to try and meet the softness of her lips, desperate to feel some stimulation.

“Fuck, P, don’t make me beg again,” you whine, and Paige gives you another wide smirk from between your legs. 

She blows cool air across the heat of your dripping pussy, and mutters, “But it’s so sexy when you beg for me, baby.” 

“Paige, please,” you whimper, drawing out the syllables of her name, and finally she acquiesces. A long string of expletives leave your parted lips as she plunges two fingers into you and swirls her tongue around your swollen clit. Paige’s fingers were magic, pumping unabatedly into you and curling expertly against the ridges of your g-spot. 

You bring a hand up to pull roughly at your nipple, causing Paige to let out a low groan at the sight of you playing with your tits, and the vibration shoots straight through your core. If you hadn’t been so comfortable around Paige, you would almost feel embarrassed about how fast you were coming undone. 

This was some teenage boy shit. 

Your moans grow louder and louder as she adds a third finger, the stretch feeling like nothing from the amount of juices slicking the entrance of your pussy and sliding down your inner thighs. She continues to curve her fingers up to that sweet spot, causing you to see stars, and eats you out with unwavering persistence.

“G-gonna cum,” you moan, and before Paige can respond, you are gushing around her fingers with a high-pitched whine and her name on your lips. She slows down her movements, allowing you to ride out your high, before removing her fingers from you and licking them seductively. 

Fuck she was so hot. 

Paige watches your chest rise and fall while you try to catch your breath, strung out from how good she just fucked you. She thinks that you had never looked so beautiful, skin glowing from the lamp of the hotel and the sheen of your sweat adding to the radiance. You’re looking back at her in sheer adoration, wondering how you got so lucky to be in this predicament. 

“God, that just keeps getting better every time,” you giggle once you catch your breath, and Paige chuckles, nodding in agreement. She heads to the bathroom for a washcloth to clean you up, and once she does, she pulls you under the covers, and you think that life could not possibly get better. 

The two of you bask in the glow of orgasms and an overall fondness for one another, both silently musing over how much your relationship had changed in the last few days. As if Paige was reading your thoughts, you hear her whisper, “I don’t think I can go back to just being friends with you.” 

Your heart skips a beat. “I was thinkin’ the same thing,” you mumble, grateful that you could forego the awkward ‘what are we’ conversation. “I don’t think we were ever really just friends,” you add, you cheeks pink as you recall all the flirty moments that had occurred between you and the blonde.

“True,” Paige says, nuzzling her face into your neck. “Well, glad we figured that out.” She pulls you in for another kiss, this time sweet and innocent, without the fire that sex tends to follow. It was all you really needed. Paige was all you really needed. 

And when you sit down in your seat on the airplane the following day, you smile as the memories replay in your mind. Love was forged from nothing but a friendship reformed due to a silly little plane ride and a silly little pet name. 

~

woohoo! let me know what you think!! xoxo