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leclerc-hs · 7 months

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ex's and oh's - CL16

pairing: ex!charles leclerc x fem!reader summary: in which you and your ex-boyfriend are in complicated territory OR your ex fucks you in the drivers seat of his car warnings: 18+, SMUT under the cut, badly translated french (pls correct me), not proofread!!!! word count: 2.4k author's note: ok I just want to sincerely apologize for my long absence on here!!! i know you’ve been waiting for me to finish this for a while now LOL but I've been insanely busy balancing life with two jobs lol. So I'm going to leave this here. I can honestly say it's not my best work and I apologize for that but I really wanted to give y'all something in the mean time. I have a bunch of drafts I plan to work on whenever I get the chance. Love you all!! pls forgive me and don't forget to leave me some comments and thoughts xoxo

THERE WAS NOTHING that could’ve prepared you for this fight. You weren’t drunk, as promised. Although you weren’t sober either.

You and Charles were...complicated. Exes but…. still, something more. You would always be something more. Your history stretched back almost forever, and that alone made it challenging to stay apart from each other.

There was a point in time when the aftermath of your breakup made it impossible for both of you to share the same space. It invariably led to bitter arguments over seemingly trivial matters. One such instance was during a movie night with your group of friends when you showed up in a sweatshirt that was far too big for your body, obvious that it wasn’t your own. Charles simmered with silent resentment in the corner until he could no longer contain it. The memory etched vividly in your mind, recalling the knots in your stomach throughout the night, feeling the intense burn of Charles’ gaze upon you. He didn’t cast a single glance at the movie that evening.

“Who’s fucking sweatshirt is that?”

“Already fucking other people, hm?”

As you slid into the familiar supple leather seats of his Ferrari, you felt the warmth of the car hug you like a blanket, providing much relief from the contrast of the cold air outside. In the process of slipping into his car, your skirt had ridden up higher than Charles would’ve preferred, your panties nearly exposed if it weren’t for the sheer tights providing more coverage. Did you really go out dressed like that? He felt his hands grip the steering wheel tighter than normal as a waft of your perfume enveloped the car.

“Did you have fun?” His tone was neutral, but his body posture was tense. He barely turned his head to check if you placed your seat belt on before peeling out from the curb at a speed much too fast.

Sober you would’ve caught onto his attitude almost immediately. But tipsy you, thought nothing of it.

“Oh Charlie!” You exasperated, the click of your seatbelt filling the car as the radio was turned on the lowest possible volume. “It was so fun!”

He dropped one of his hands from the wheel, bringing his hand to rub the scruff of his unshaven jaw, as a deep sigh falls past his lips. He was annoyed—more than annoyed. The sole fact that you left him unanswered for hours wasn’t his only issue. What had his muscles all tight and the permanent frown on his face was the images of one of your guy friends being way too close to you. Too close for Charles liking. It was the same guy that his friends had briefly mentioned weeks ago on his boat.

“Cha, l’aimes-tu toujours?” Do you still love her? His friends sat around the table; half-eaten food left on their plates. He didn’t answer the question immediately. But everyone knew, subconsciously, that he did.

“Elle et Nick été proches récemment,” Her and Nick have been close lately. The phrase alone made Charles choke on his water. In that moment, he thanked the lord for the sunglasses covering his widened eyes. The burn in his chest began simmering as the conversation continued.

“Oui, ne sont-ils pas partis ensemble l’autre soir?” Yeah, didn’t they leave together the other night?

He couldn’t blame his friends for the discussion. They didn’t know that you two were still in complicated territory. Everyone always figured you two would rekindle, but it’s been so long, no one knew if it would happen anymore.

So, although Charles felt like the air was being sucked out of his lungs, he plastered a big smile on his face while throwing his arm around the back of the chair beside him. “Nick, hm?”

He made a genuine effort to control his anger. Honestly, he really did try. However, as you persisted in discussing the night, particularly when the name ‘Nick’ slipped past your lips, he couldn’t help but lose his composure just a little bit.

His voice took on a lethal edge as he maneuvered the car to the side of the desolate road. The act of driving demanded attention, but his mind was a whirlwind of a million thoughts. He was consumed by anger, it oozed from every pore of his skin as he scoffed and turned to confront you. Your eyes were already fixated on him, and his gaze instantly met yours.

“A-t-il touché à toi?” Did he touch you? His voice rumbled like a low growl, and the green in his eyes was so deep and intense that it masked their actual color, making it nearly impossible to discern the green hue. But you memorized those eyes. His eyes. You were familiar with every nuance of shade that adorned them. His breath was slow and even as he awaited your answer.

The idea drove him insane—the notion of another man laying his hands on you. And even worse, you wanting another man’s hands on you.

For a moment, you found yourself taken aback, only to fully comprehend his tense posture and the sharpness in his tone. Suppressing any inclination to react visibly, you wrestled to maintain a neutral expression, ensuring your lips didn’t betray a hint of a smirk at his jealousy. You didn’t even need to ask who he was.

“Et est-ce que cela aurait de l’importance s’il l’avait fait?” And would it matter if he did?

The fact that you didn’t need to even address who he was talking about, only caused him to spiral further. As if you were confirming that Nick is the only other option.

The car felt increasingly smaller as the anger in Charles grew. His knee was bouncing with impatience as he clenched his jaw. Yes. Yes, it fucking mattered. He wanted to shout until his lungs gave out that it mattered. He began to lose the evenness of his breathing pattern, becoming more erratic as you didn’t answer the question.

“Dis-le-moi et nous le découvrirons,” Tell me and we’ll find out. His eyes traced your every movement as your eyes narrowed at him, a scowl forming on your lips. The lips he dreamed about almost every night.

The silence in the car heightened, and with each passing second, you could feel your heart rate quicken. His gaze remained fixated on your face, unwilling to divert elsewhere. It was as if he were a predator, and you, his prey, captivated under the unrelenting focus of his eyes.

“What? No snarky remarks for me?” C’mon play with me. Although he felt like his chest might crack in two, he needed to mask it. Needed to be nonchalant.

The tension lingered until you took a sharp swallow, the muscles in your neck twitching, that his eyes shifted, descending to the nape of your neck. They fixated on the subtle gleam of your collarbones, still glistening with a thin sheen of sweat from the night’s dancing. His gaze traced the gentle rise and fall of your breasts with each breath. He wanted to devour you whole.

You felt your thighs clench slightly from his pressuring gaze. He is so fucking hot. His hair in complete disarray from running his hands through it. He wore a pair of grey sweats and a black hoodie that made you want to cling your body around him as soon as you saw him.

“Y a-t-il quelque chose entre vous deux?” Is there something between you two? His patience was wearing thin. You still haven’t answered his question, and the silence was eating him alive.

You detected a subtle waver in his tone, prompting a softening in your gaze. Your hand gently reached for his face, and he allowed his head to lean ever so slightly against the palm of your hand. It was as if your touch alone had the power to appease the turmoil of anger and jealousy rising within him.

And as much as you loved to get under his skin like he did yours sometimes. You couldn’t find it in you to provoke him. To cause him any pain. “No.”

The corner of his lips twitched up slightly as your thumb brushed against his jawline. His hands tremble when they reach for you, pulling you out of your seat and across the center console into his lap. “Est-ce que cela aurait de l’importance?” Would it matter? You repeated the question as your legs straddled him. His hands slid around your waist, resting on your backside in a tight grip, so you couldn’t move.

His mouth formed into a hardened line, as if he forced it to show you just how serious he was when he answered. “Bien sûr que cela a de l’importance,” Of course it matters.

“Porquoi?” Why?

“Why?” He repeats your question. Scoffing at the fact that you even had to ask him. As if you didn’t already know why.

You suck in a sharp breath as soon as his warm tongue meets with the nape of your neck, trailing hot and wet kisses up until his lips meet yours for a moment before pulling away.

“Mon coeur t’appartient.” My heart is yours. There was no questioning in his words. “Il a toujours été tien.” It’s always been yours. As those words hung in the air, your breath caught. You love this man. You love this man with every fiber of your being.

His fingers gripped onto your thighs with an almost bruising intensity, as if he needed to confirm your presence by feeling you in his hands, ensuring you weren’t a figment of his imagination. His nails traced along the thin fabric at the apex of your thigh, before digging them in and tearing them open instantly. You let out an audible moan as his fingers found immediate solace to the damp spot on your underwear. Of course, you were already wet just by looking at him.

“Est-ce que tu m’aimes?” Do you love me? He questioned, adding slight pressure to your cotton covered clit.

You moaned in delight at the contact but did not answer his question. It drove him mad.

His fingers slipped past your underwear, shoving them to the side, and slipping his fingers into your heated core. His fingers curled, hitting the spot you needed him most just right. Your back arched, barely grazing the horn of the steering wheel. Your hands were frantic, reaching for the waistband of his grey sweats as Charles lifted in hips off his seat to help you.

“Oh fuck,” You moaned out loud. The pace of Charles’ fingers had you careening forward with a cry, before he pulled them out of you completely, leaving you shouting “No!”.

“Relax cherie,” He clicked his tongue before pulling your chest flush with his, raising you up an inch to slide his cock right into you. He groaned as your pussy clenched tightly around him, squeezing him so tight he could barely focus on anything else. He held you down against him, letting neither of you move.

It wasn’t until you fully sat, completely full of him, that he rips the buttons of your shirt open, revealing a lacy ensemble across your chest. He traces the tip of his finger along cup of your breast and says, “Did you wear this on purpose, hm?”

You shook your head, wiggling your hips with a groan. You needed to move, needed to feel the force of his cock into you, but he wouldn’t let you. He just held your hips down as if he was waiting for something.

"You feel so good," He groans. "Squeezing me so tight."

“Cha, please.” You begged, getting agitated at the lack of movement.

“Est-ce que tu m’aimes?” Do you love me? He repeats again. A grin stretched across his features at your obvious struggle. The fact that you needed his cock this badly, had him only growing harder.

You bit your lip as Charles’ fingers sprawled across your neck in a tight grip, pulling your face to his. Close enough that your noses were touching.

“Réponds, et je suis tout à toi.” Answer, and I’m all yours.

“Est-ce que tu m’aimes?” Do you love me?

You don’t know what held you back from answering before. Because you did. He knew you did. He just needed to hear the words from your lips. Needed the reassurance that this was more than a quick fuck to you.

“Oui!” Yes! You half-shouted, eyes blown wide with need. “I will always love you!”

His hand released your hips, giving you the immediate go-ahead. You wasted no time, working yourself over his cock, moans eliciting from the both of you almost instantly. His hands slid to cup your ass, controlling your movements as he urges you to move faster.

“Mon dieu,” Charles groaned, his fingers dipping into the cup of your lacy ensemble, rolling your nipples between his index finger and thumb. “Je t’aime,” I love you.

The mere utterance of those words had you instinctively squeezing his cock with an intensified fervor, bringing you perilously close to the brink of ecstasy. A sly smirk played on his lips, a silent acknowledgment of the effect his declaration had on you.

You moved your hips faster, the bounce of your breasts had Charles in a trance before he brought his eyes back to your face, looking you deep in the eyes. “Je t’aime,” He muttered again, bringing his lips to your mouth, swallowing your moans as if they were the oxygen he needed to breathe. “C’mon, give it to me.” He begged, thrusting his hips upward into you as much as he could, eyes rolling to the back of his head until you both reach that point of ecstasy you both needed.

His face was bright red, cheeks flushed, as you worked yourself over him in a hurried pace. His sweatshirt no doubt, making him feel like a furnace, as sweat forms near his eyebrow. His eyes were wild, unsure where to look until they met with your eyes. His cock twitching inside of you from the clench of your pussy on him, and the gaze of your eyes.

“Je t’aime!” You shouted, releasing all over him and falling forward in exhaustion onto Charles chest.

Charles groaned hotly into your ear, his release catching him completely off guard due to the words you uttered. You could hear his heart pounding in his chest as you rested against it.

“Mon Coeur est à toi.” My heart is yours. His fingers caressed the ends of your hair behind your back. The both of you made no attempts to move.

“Mon Coeur est à toi.” My heart is yours. You repeat back to him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc angst #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #charles leclerc x you #cl16 x reader

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euphorajeon · 5 months

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trippin' over, gettin' lost on you | jjk (m)

— pairing: jk x f. reader

— genre: fluff, smut | college au, slight coffee shop au (?)

— word count: 12.4k

— warnings: pov change after the first part (its kinda obvious.. i hope), sleeveless jk, jealous jk, like really jealous, side character yoongi, cameo jimin and hoseok, they work tgt in a coffee shop, boxer!jk is back to his nature (he's boxing again, at last), cocky jk (but he's hot so its ok), usual banter between jk and oc, also banter between oc and jimin, mentions of cuts and bruises from boxing, references to the movie Real Steel, uhh what else i dont rmb anything else this thing is GIANT for me, smut in the form of: kissing, marking (hickeys), making out, an attempt at dirty talk, dry humping, cumming in pants, hint at unprotected penetrative sex at the end (don't do this!). [pls lmk if i missed smth]

— summary: a visit to the coffee shop you work at rewards jeongguk not only with a cup of coffee and a plate of brownie, but also with something else simmering deep in his veins. a challenge is issued, and all hell breaks loose.

— author's note: okay first of all full disclosure i started this in sept 2022 and just finished it today ^_^ i tried to edit it as best as i could, so if you see any mistakes, pls kindly... ignore... thank you... ^_^ that aside, i also feel the need to disclose that this is only my second time attempting to write smut so pls.. be kind.. hehe. okay! i hope you enjoy this absolute giant baby of mine!!

masterlist | boxer!gguk masterlist

There’s an advantage to knowing someone for years. Jeon Jeongguk can attest to this fact from first-hand experiences he’d had with you throughout the many years you both have known each other. He’s seen you cry after you almost drowned when you were ten and you’ve seen him throw up his breakfast after drinking skimmed milk when he was twelve, where both life-threatening experiences had been deemed not serious by young-you and young-Jeongguk who used both experiences as means to roast each other. (Though growing up, your hands automatically grabbed the whole milk carton when grocery shopping with him and he’s never let you go within a five-meter radius of a swimming pool without his supervision.)

Years of friendship with you has also given him the advantage of being familiar with your likes and dislikes, from trivial ones like how you don’t drink coffee because it upsets your stomach to more serious ones like the type of boys you would date in your teen years. He’s never had a problem with the former, instead using it as another mean to annoy you (“You can’t drink coffee? What are you? A child?”), but the latter had always bugged him for reasons unknown prior to his big epiphany a little over a year ago. (Spoiler alert: it was the first time he came home with piercings on his eyebrow and lower lip, when he tempted you into kissing him stupid.)

Now he’s confident that the type of a boy you’d date would be someone who is handsome, tall, has a great smile and tattooed bulging biceps on the side. Add a lip piercing (and a fake tongue one!) as well and he’s sure you’re never going to look at other boys ever again. If you do, well, he’d just make the piercing on his tongue a permanent one, even though that means he wouldn’t be able to kiss you for weeks after. But as said earlier, he’s confident that you only have eyes for him alone.

With that same confidence, Jeongguk struts through the glass door of the coffee shop you’re working at for the summer, going up to the counter with a grin painted on his features. Said grin goes unnoticed by you, though, as you’re busy taking the order of the person in front of him. His lips stay tilted upwards as he watches you work, writing the customer’s name on the cup with your big, round, cute handwriting. Only when you’re done taking the order and the customer’s cup has been given to your coworker do you notice his presence, eyes lighting up at the sight of him.

“Hi, what can I get you today?” you greet him in your customer-service voice and smile like you do any other customer that has come before him. Jeongguk gives you an amused smile, making you chuckle as you key in his order even before he says it himself. He eyes the small screen in front of him that displays his usual choice of beverage, making a sound to stop you from ringing him up.

“Actually,” he says when you hum in question, “could you add milk to that? Make it a latte?”

“You want a latte?” you emphasize the last word, making sure you didn’t hear him wrong. “Like, with milk and foam on top?”

“Uh-huh,” Jeongguk confirms, leaning his elbows on the counter to stare at you as you change his order from an americano to a latte. “Can I also order you on the side? Look too good not to be devoured,” he adds, a sleazy smirk on his lips.

You scrunch up your face at his innuendo, his words hard to believe when you’re wearing a murky brown apron and a matching cap on your head. “I’m adding a brownie,” you deadpan. “That would be seven dollars.”

“You don’t want anything?” Jeongguk asks as he straightens up, hand reaching for his wallet to take out his credit card. “No coffee though, babe.”

“Nope, I’m good,” you answer as you accept the card Jeongguk hands you, swiping it through the card reader. “Yoongi said I can try the new menu in large for free! I’m saving calories for that so no sugar allowed for now.”

His forehead creases upon hearing the new name. “Yoongi? Who’s Yoongi?”

“Him,” you tilt your head towards a mint-haired guy who’s busy making all the drinks, hands skillfully moving from one cup to another. It’s a wonder how he doesn’t spill even a drop of liquid. “I’ll introduce you later but now you have to move, there’s a line. Shoo.”

Jeongguk gives you a playful pout as a protest but complies with your request to move, sliding down to the pick up counter as you greet the next customer in line. There are two people lined up after him, barely a line like you made it sound like, but he figures because it’s an hour before closing that you consider any amount above one person a line. He also notices that you and the mint guy (Yoongi, was it?) are the only ones manning the counter, so it’s not like you have any spare time to deal with him given the amount of work that has to be done.

“An iced latte and brownie for Jeongguk!” Mint guy shouts as he slides the drink and dessert on the counter, lingering for a second when he sees Jeongguk’s hands reaching for his order. Mint guy’s gaze trails up his arms to his face, eyes meeting Jeongguk’s confused ones. Recognition bleeds into his cat-like eyes as his mouth forms into an O shape.

“Kiddo’s boyfriend?”

The low baritone of his voice is unexpected, though that’s not the only thing throwing Jeongguk for a loop. ‘Kiddo’? He has a nickname for you??

Mint guy—Yoongi!—doesn’t take his lack of response personally, instead opting to turn around and talk to you who have just finished taking orders from the customers. Jeongguk can’t hear what words you and Yoongi are throwing around, but from the way you glance at him, it looks like the mint-haired guy is just trying to confirm the answer to his two-worded question directed at Jeongguk earlier.

Your response to Yoongi’s inquiry makes the guy give you double pats on your cap-covered head, triggering a laugh to come out of both of you. While Yoongi’s laugh looks like he’s teasing you good-naturedly, yours looks like a shy one if the pink dusting your cheeks are any indication. It prompts a scowl to appear on Jeongguk’s handsome visage, furrowed brows and clenched jaw. It is not in your nature to get shy.

As much as he wants to stay rooted to the pick-up counter to keep you and Yoongi in his close watch, he has to move his ass somewhere less crowded to avoid getting eye-fucked by the girl next to him who has been staring at his tattoos for the past five minutes. Prior to dating you, anyone who displays interest in his tattoos would make pride swell in his chest, an ego-booster guaranteed to make his day a thousand times better. He used to subtly flex whenever he caught someone looking at his sleeve tattoos, an equally subtle wink on the side if that someone is a girl he found attractive. But after dating you, he realizes that the only attention he wants (and matters) is yours. Now anyone staring at his tattoos with the intention of flirting or getting in his pants just makes him shiver in disgust.

Though, in this particular instance, Jeongguk admits it’s his own fault by showing up to the coffee shop in a sleeveless shirt. It wasn’t intentional, he just grabbed anything within reach when he packed for the gym earlier in the day, but the way he left his hoodie in the car is definitely intentional. He thought he would give you a distraction surprise by baring his sleeve when you’re working, but you seemed unaffected even when he leaned on the counter to flex his muscles. Which is weird, considering you never missed any chance to ogle his inked bicep whenever he’s boxing.

As Jeongguk plops a small piece of brownie into his mouth, he just realizes that your roles are reversed now, with you doing your thing and him doing the staring. His eyes never leave your figure as you ring up three more customers since he sat down, transferring plastic cups onto Yoongi’s never-ending queue of orders. He watches as you take the last two cups by yourself, re-reading the order before moving to grab the ingredients needed for the drink. Your hands don’t work as fast as Yoongi’s, the muscle memory not yet settling in, but Jeongguk can tell that your help is appreciated by the way the mint guy smiles at you while patting your shoulder.

When the orders are all done, you go up to the glass door to flip the sign so it shows the Sorry, we’re closed! side. A glance at the clock tells him that it is thirty minutes until closing time, meaning thirty minutes until you can get out from behind the cashier and into his waiting arms. He hasn’t seen you all day today and all he wants to do is kiss you breathless the second you get rid of that horrendous apron and cap. Jeongguk starts counting down from the thirty-minute mark, hoping time would tick by faster.

Behind the counter, Yoongi is still busy making one more drink while refusing your offer to help. It’s weird seeing your kindness being offered to someone that isn’t him, but Jeongguk supposes this time it’s strictly work-related as he knows Yoongi has been making all the drinks (except the last two that you did) ever since he sat down with his order. Though, it seems like the drink in his hand is not an order at all, because he gives the plastic cup to you instead of putting it on the counter for a customer to take. There’s an almost childish grin on your face as you sip on the drink, eyes lighting up as you shoot Yoongi a thumbs up. After you exchange some more words with Yoongi, Jeongguk watches as you skip happily to his table with your drink in hand.

You place said drink next to his cup of latte on the table before your hand reaches for his drink to steal a sip. “I just have to clean up and wait for everyone to leave, then we’re good to go.” You steal two more sips of the latte just because you can.

“Okay, babe, but I still want my latte, you can put it down now,” Jeongguk chuckles, watching you do as he says with a guilty smile on your face. But then your hand takes the little spoon that came with the brownie to cut a sizable chunk from his half-eaten treat, quickly plopping it into your mouth. “Finish your brownie so I can take the plate away to wash it.”

“Are you just here to steal all of my food?” Jeongguk jokes, no menace behind his words as he reaches up to thumb away a stray piece of brownie from the corner of your lips. “And you said you didn’t want anything when I offered earlier.”

“I didn’t,” you confirm, “stealing from you is just too hard to resist.”

Jeongguk would’ve continued the banter if not for Yoongi calling your nickname from behind the counter, signalling for you to get back to your job.

“Boss calls,” you say, sneakily stuffing some more brownie into your mouth. “Should get back. Bye!”

“He’s your boss?” Jeongguk asks incredulously, glancing at the mint-haired guy who’s still busy moving around behind the counter. “That young guy is your boss??”

“Yeah, I’ll explain later,” you wave your hand dismissively, turning to leave. “Don’t steal my drink!”

In true Jeongguk fashion, of course he steals a sip from your drink. He does it just to be petty that you won’t explain anything about Yoongi, but he’s also curious what the new menu tastes like. He doesn’t remember seeing any banner for a new menu when he entered the shop earlier, so he’s guessing it hasn’t gone on sale yet.

He scrunches up his face the moment the drink touches his taste buds, tasting the bitterness of coffee among the layers of other flavors. It’s not as strong as the americano he usually has, but he can still feel it linger even after he swallowed the drink. Definitely not the type of drink you’d order on your own, though, so why were you so excited to try this new menu?

Looking around the shop, Jeongguk’s gaze falls on Yoongi. You did say he was your boss, didn’t you? Could it be that this free drink is just a plot to use you as a guinea pig for his experimental weird recipes, knowing that you can’t refuse your boss? Was that why he refused your help earlier? So he could make the drink taste as bizarre as it is right now?

His eyes continue following your and Yoongi’s figures behind the counter, squinting them in distaste whenever he sees you laughing at something the mint-haired guy said. Your smile, your lowered gaze, your shy demeanor, all remind him of a feeling he thought he had buried a long time ago—the same feeling he got whenever you got a boyfriend in your adolescent years. Suddenly, Jeongguk feels fifteen all over again—a clueless doe-eyed boy who donned t-shirts in every color of the rainbow every day of the week and strutted like he owned the school just so you can see that he was cool, only for you to deny him of a Sunday together.

Those years have become a core memory for him that it inspired him to get one of his tattoos: Rather be dead than cool, because he realized the way to your attention was not by being cool, it was by just being himself. (Yes, the ‘him’ who showed up unannounced at your doorstep after two years and ended the day with you on his lap stealing all the breath straight from his lungs.)

Anyways, all of that doesn’t matter because currently, your eyes are not on him but on your mint-haired boss who’s busy grinning while washing some equipment. Why are you both smiling so much around each other? Do you have some kind of inside joke that’s so funny you can’t stop laughing? What is so pleasing about Yoongi’s presence that you keep beaming at him?

Jeongguk chews the straw of your drink in anger, not realizing that he has inhaled almost half of the cup’s content despite claiming that he hates the taste. Sipping on your drink has become an afterthought as he was busy analyzing how wide your smiles are while working with Yoongi and how friendly the shoulder and head pats you give each other are. It’s sickening.

Eventually, everyone else in the coffee shop left and you’re in front of him once again to get rid of the brownie plate from his table, whining when you see the half-empty cup in Jeongguk’s hand even as you’re chewing the rest of his brownie in your mouth. Fair trade, he says as you walk away with the plate and spoon in hand.

Not even five minutes has passed since you left his table, yet Jeongguk feels tired of being patient, taking your and his coffee cups in each hand before coming up to the counter. It seems like Yoongi senses his presence, because he looks up from the calculator app on the tablet in front of him to give Jeongguk a curious glance. Their eyes meet for a split second before Jeongguk moves his gaze past Yoongi’s shoulder to you, who’s still busy wiping down the counter. A knowing smile curves on Yoongi’s lips.

“Hey, Kiddo,” Yoongi turns towards you, the nickname still irritating to Jeongguk’s ears. “I’ll finish closing up, you can go. Great work today.”

“No it’s okay, I can help you mop the floor after I’m finished with the counter.” You don’t even look up as you wave him off, oblivious to Jeongguk’s presence and his increasing impatience in front of your boss. He clears his throat comically loud, making you turn around to see a frown etched on your boyfriend’s face and Yoongi tilting his head towards him with a small, almost teasing smile on his face.

“Oh.” You pull your lips into a thin line. “Okay then. Sorry about him, Yoongi.”

“No worries, Kiddo.”

Yoongi’s nonchalant response is laced with a chuckle, which for some reason, upsets Jeongguk even more than the nickname he keeps calling you by. Is Yoongi not scared of him? Of his tattoos, of his muscles? Is he not intimidating? Can’t he feel the piercing stare Jeongguk keeps giving him ever since he walked into the coffee shop?

“You.” Your stern voice tears his hot gaze away from the mint-haired guy, whose focus is back on the calculator on his tablet to count the sales they made today. “I’ll clock out first then we can go. Please don’t do anything weird in the five minutes that I don’t have my eyes on you.”

Jeongguk follows your figure with his eyes until you disappear into the backroom, leaving him alone with Yoongi. Yoongi, the guy with the mint hair, whose surname he doesn’t even know, who is your boss that strangely have an endearing nickname for you. Things that stream steady questions into his head, about your initial meeting with Yoongi to the extent of your relationship with him. It’s the nickname he can’t seem to shake off of his mind, the way it rolls easily off Yoongi’s tongue, as if he’s been calling you that for years. Has he known you for years like Jeongguk has? Been through near-death experiences with you like Jeongguk has? Has he deserved the right to call you by a nickname like Jeongguk has?

“You can stop shooting daggers at my head, you know,” Yoongi’s low drawl almost makes Jeongguk think that he’s talking to himself, but the sentence is clearly directed at him. The older guy finally looks up from his tablet to look at Jeongguk in the eyes for longer than a second, no coffee orders to complete to interrupt their interaction this time. “Kiddo’s boyfriend, Jeongguk, right?”

As Jeongguk gives a nod to confirm Yoongi’s question, a hand is extended towards him to complete the introduction. “I’m Yoongi, Kiddo’s coworker-slash-boss.”

Jeongguk grips Yoongi’s hand with more strength than necessary, unintentionally flexing his muscles too. He thought that would be enough to tell Yoongi that Jeongguk is your boyfriend and he has no business being so friendly with you, but Yoongi only glances at his tattooed arm before letting go of his hand with a comment about how strong his grip is.

“Thanks, I do boxing,” Jeongguk mutters curtly, upset at the degree of nonchalance Yoongi is showing. He starts glancing at the door to the backroom where you currently are, wishing you would emerge right this second so he can go and doesn’t need to face Yoongi’s mint hair ever again.

“Yeah, Kiddo might have mentioned that a few times, just like she won’t shut up about your sleeve tattoos,” Yoongi says, going back to his tablet. “I used to box too, by the way.”

If you asked Jeongguk what Yoongi used to do, he wouldn’t be able to answer at all as he chooses to focus on the part where Yoongi said you won’t shut up about his sleeve tattoos and tune out the rest of his sentence. “My tattoos? What about them?”

“She said you have tons. Shoulder to fingertips. That’s how I recognized you when giving your order,” Yoongi answers lightly, which piqued Jeongguk’s interest even further. Wouldn’t it be fun to use this coworker-slash-boss of yours to get information about what you’ve been saying about him at work? What else does Yoongi know about him other than he does boxing and has a sleeve tattoo?

“Really? Does she gush about how hot they are to you, too?”

It’s not a question meant to be answered, its sole purpose to show off that you indeed gush to him about how hot his tattoos are. Though, if one thinks about it, why would Jeongguk need to boast to Yoongi about the compliments you give him about the strokes of ink on his arm? What business does Yoongi have knowing about it?

Yoongi seems to be unaware of Jeongguk’s inner dilemma as his face breaks out into a grin. “I think she’d be mad at me if I told you half the things she gushes to me about you.”

So you do gush about how hot his tattoos are to Yoongi. Interesting.

The fact that Yoongi insinuates there’s more to that is both endearing and terrifying to Jeongguk, because while he’s giddy that you talk about him with other people with so much enthusiasm, too much of it could end up in you sharing something about him that you should not have. Not to mention you’re sharing it with your boss, someone you should keep at an arm’s length when it comes to sharing about your significant others. One wrong move and he could use it against you.

Jeongguk is just about to ask Yoongi to elaborate further on his statement when you step out of the backroom, now out of the murky brown cap and apron and in a white t-shirt that looks like it belongs to Jeongguk. All thoughts of Yoongi knowing all sort of things about him evaporates right away, his mind focusing on how cute you look instead. If only Jeongguk doesn’t know basic human decency, he’d pull you by the waist to taste the mouth he’s been deprived of for the whole day, not giving an ounce of care about your boss watching the whole thing.

No, he’s a good boyfriend so he opts to pull you by the shoulders instead, letting your arms go around his waist before squeezing you in his arms. The kiss he drops on your cheek is chaste yet lingering, like he wants to let you know just how much he missed you. You tighten your arms around him in return, wordlessly saying the same thing back.

“Ready to go?” Jeongguk mumbles into your hair, not yet letting go of the hug.

“Ye—oh, wait!” You pull your face away from its initial position on Jeongguk’s chest. “You haven’t met Yoongi yet.”

“We did, Kiddo,” Yoongi waves you off. “You’re free to go. Your boyfriend here has been waiting long enough.”

“No,” you say, pulling away from Jeongguk’s hold. “I mean I haven’t introduced you two properly.” You gesture to the both of them back and forth as you say their names. “Yoongi, meet my boyfriend, Jeon Jeongguk. Jeongguk, meet my boss, Min Yoongi. His family owns this coffee shop.”

“That’s what you mean by proper?” Jeongguk says to you as he takes Yoongi’s hand for the second time that day, regular grip this time because you’re watching his every move like a hawk. “I didn’t know you own the shop. Nice place,” he nods to the older guy, releasing his hand.

“Thanks. It’s my dad’s, though. I just help from time to time,” Yoongi shrugs.

“You ‘just help from time to time’ but willing to dye your hair mint in honor of the new menu.” You nudge his elbow playfully. “Speaking of the new menu, did you finish the whole cup, Jeongguk? I’ve only had a few sips.” You frown as you bring the cup to your eye level, examining just how much of it is left. It’s an exaggeration, obviously, as the cup in your hand is still half-filled. But Jeongguk plays along, saying the reason why he inhaled your drink is because he’s tired from having just gone back from boxing.

“You have your own latte,” you point out, finally taking a much-deserved sip from your free drink. It still tastes okay, so you stop grilling Jeongguk about stealing your drink (even though you kinda stole his too, in the middle of your shift nonetheless.) “Oh, and did you know Yoongi also—”

Yoongi clears his throat loudly before you can finish your sentence. You look up from your drink, alarmed, afraid you might have said something wrong. Your eyes meet Yoongi’s and he gives you a tiny shake of his head, one Jeongguk doesn’t notice because he’s busy taking sips from his own cup of latte. (And because he’s more focused on you than Yoongi.)

“He knows, I told him I used to box too,” Yoongi says.

“You did? I didn’t catch it,” Jeongguk averts his eyes from you, turning to look at Yoongi. “Wanna have a match? I could use an opponent for my session tomorrow.”

“I said I used to, Kid,” Yoongi re-emphasizes on the two words. “I have a shoulder injury. It’s healing, but I still shouldn’t do too much to it.”

“Oh come on, I’ll go easy on you.”

“Jeongguk!” A slap lands on his bicep courtesy of you.

“What? He said it’s healing!”

It’s only now that Jeongguk witnesses the exchange between you and Yoongi using only your eyes, yours looking frantic while Yoongi’s looking as cool as a cucumber. Maybe he should dye his hair a shade of green resembling a cucumber rather than a mint.

After watching you and Yoongi have a silent conversation for a minute, Jeongguk lets out a sigh as he takes the final sip from his latte. “It’s okay, babe, I was just kidding. It’s fine if Yoongi doesn’t want to have a match with me.” He throws the empty cup into a trashcan nearby. “It just means that he backs down easily from a challenge.”

You physically face-palm at his sentence, missing the way Jeongguk throws a challenging smirk Yoongi’s way. The older doesn’t seem fazed at all, instead letting a small smirk take over his features as well. “That’s not a really nice thing to say to someone you’ve just met,” he drawls.

Jeongguk shrugs. “Just stating the truth.”

“Jeongguk, please stop,” you whine from behind your hands, still facepalming because you don’t want to become a witness in case this coffee shop becomes a crime scene.

“Alright, I’ll have a match with you,” Yoongi says finally, tone resolute. You peek out from the cocoon of your hands, glancing back and forth between your coworker-slash-boss and your boyfriend who are having a staring contest, both refusing to back down. “Tomorrow after my shift works? Kiddo here can take the same shift so she can watch us too.”

“Sure,” Jeongguk agrees without a pause. “It ends at three, right?”

“Yep.”

“Cool. See you then.”

Then Jeongguk puts his arm around your shoulders, pulling you away from the counter to finally go take you home as it’s the reason he came here in the first place. You hastily give your coworker a wave goodbye over your shoulder, getting a wave back accompanied with a laugh. Jeongguk uses the opportunity to steal yet another sip from your drink.

“Stop it! You’re gonna finish it all!”

“What even is it? It tastes really weird.” Jeongguk scrunches up his face.

“It’s mint mochaccino, you ass.” You pull the cup away from him, who chases the straw with his mouth while grinning wide. “Stop or I won’t kiss you until tomorrow morning.”

“Always withdrawing kisses when I need them the most,” he pouts, retreating from your drink to let you finally finish the cup yourself. “Can I kiss you in the car or should I wait until we get home?”

(Does not matter what you answer is, because he grips the back of your neck in the car to make out with you for five minutes, and then finish what he started in the safety of his room, under the blankets.)

“Are you sure you want to fight with Yoongi later?”

You and Jeongguk are back in his car, on the way to the coffee shop for you to start your shift and for Jeongguk to get his americano to kick off the day. His nod to your question is firm.

“Yeah. My coach said it’s good to train with an opponent sometimes.”

“You could’ve fought with your coach instead, then,” you point out.

“True, but—” Jeongguk tilts his head, sucking in a breath. “He’s the one who trained me, so he knows my fighting style and pattern. It’s good indeed, but it’s missing that element of fun.” He drums his fingers against the steering wheel. “Besides, I want to know what your Yoongi is made of.” He casts a glance at you to see your reaction.

“What ‘my’ Yoongi, what are you talking about …” You heave a sigh, massaging your temple. It’s not even 9 AM yet but you can already feel a headache coming. Sometimes you wonder why you’re willing to date this childhood friend of yours, knowing all of his flaws and bad habits like this. Though it’s given you the advantage of being able to read between the lines of his actions, often you wish he’d just say things outright without you having to dig it out of him.

“You know, the Yoongi you work with? The Yoongi who gives you head pats? The Yoongi who has a nickname for you?” Jeongguk’s tone gets more annoying near the end of his sentence, almost as if he’s trying to get a certain reaction out of you.

“The Yoongi who owns the cafe I work at, which is the sole source of income I have?” you reply instead, refusing to give in to Jeongguk’s silent provocation. “Also, the Yoongi who used to box. I think you should keep that in mind when you fight him later.”

“Yeah, yeah. Bet he wasn’t even that good.”

You manage to arrive at the cafe unscathed, only losing a tiny piece of sanity because your boyfriend couldn’t keep his mouth shut about Yoongi and his non-existent boxing skills (Jeongguk’s words, not yours.) It doesn’t help that the Yoongi in question is already standing behind the register, greeting you with a smile and throwing a lopsided smirk your boyfriend’s way. You don’t like the thick tension between them at all so you quickly slip into the backroom to let Jeongguk be a big boy for once and order his own americano for the day.

Stepping out of the backroom in your mandatory work apron and cap, you’re kind of relieved when you see the shop is still intact, not thrown upside down courtesy of your boyfriend and his inability to control his strength (and emotion) in the face of a threat (read: Yoongi.) Upon seeing you, Jeongguk pushes himself off the counter he’s leaning against before reaching for your waist despite your boss standing just a few feet away. The cup of americano on the counter tells you that you took too long in the breakroom, which if anyone asks, you’d justify with adjusting your work attire. In reality, you just don’t want to face your boyfriend and the sour look he has whenever he so much as glances at your boss.

“You can always cancel the fight with Yoongi, you know,” you murmur, biting your bottom lip in worry. “You could hurt him, he could hurt you … it’s not ideal.”

“Hmm.” Jeongguk purses his lips. “What’s not ideal is your boss having a nickname for you.” There he goes again, always having something to say about Yoongi. “Aside from it being highly unprofessional, it’s also inappropriate since you have a boyfriend and that is me. Jeon Jeongguk. I am your boyfriend.”

“Jeongguk, he knows,” you groan, fed up with the back-and-forth about this whole Yoongi thing. You don’t even know why your boyfriend is so threatened by the older guy when he’s a whole lifetime ahead of him. “It’s not even a nickname. You’re just seeing what you want to see.”

Jeongguk’s reply never makes it out of his mouth as he’s interrupted by Yoongi clearing his throat, making you both look at him tapping on his wrist to signal the time. It’s a reminder that you’re here to work, not to continue the argument that sparked in the car. Your boyfriend rolls his eyes at your boss, sharing a hard stare with him before deciding to do something one should not do in front of their boss: dip down to kiss you, using your surprised gasp as a way to slide his tongue inside your mouth. In the five seconds he manages to tangle his tongue with yours, you completely missed the sound of the glass doors opening and the low whistle that came after, along with Yoongi’s chuckle and greeting to the person who just came in.

Shoving Jeongguk away by your hand on his chest, you try to cover your burning face with your other hand as an attempt to save your dignity in front of Yoongi, though you doubt it’s working at all. Jeongguk licks his lips then winks at you, squeezing your waist in his grip before stepping back to grab his cup of americano, now full of condensation sliding off the plastic cup. He takes a sip to taste test before scrunching up his nose.

“Could’ve been better,” he sneers, making you glare. “Alright, I’ll let you get to work. See you later, babe.” Then, after a second, turns to Yoongi to add: “you too.”

When Jeongguk disappears into his car, you put your head in your hands and let out the loudest groan known to man. “I’m sorry, Yoongi.”

The mint-haired guy only gives you a gummy laugh, eyes turning into crescents as he shakes his head. “Your boyfriend is really something, Kiddo,” he muses. “A really … fun early morning entertainment, you could say.”

“Entertaining it was!” You hear the voice first before you see the person, the one who must’ve come in when you were rather preoccupied with your boyfriend. Park Jimin, your other coworker, slides behind the counter in a brown apron identical to yours and Yoongi’s, just minus the cap. Good, that means he doesn’t have a bad hair day today and can take the position at the register instead of you. You could use some more time to learn to make the drinks, anyway.

“Didn’t know you and your boyfriend were such exhibitionists, Kim,” Jimin taunts you, his eyebrows wiggling suggestively. “Although, if my boyfriend were that hot, I would have wanted to exhibit him too…” He purses his lips in an exaggerated manner of faux thinking, obviously trying to rile you up. “Lucky you, Kim.”

“Shut up, Park,” you seethe through your teeth, slapping him with a dish rag while he cackles happily. “We’re not exhibitionists. You just have terrible timing.”

“Oh, it was perfect I’d say, just in time to catch sight of his tongue going into your mouth—”

“JIMIN!”

When Jimin continues making fun of you by making gross kissing sounds, you turn to Yoongi for help. As the oldest amongst you three, he must have a sound solution to get Jimin to stop making those awful sounds and put you out of your misery. Although, your trust in him is probably misplaced as Yoongi just chuckles and tells you something your own mom would tell you whenever you’re telling on Jeongguk: “Just ignore him, Kiddo.” The sacred word of ignore. “Go prepare the breakfast pastries now.”

So much for sound solution.

You go about your shift as usual, with Jimin manning the register like you planned to. Time goes by quickly when you’re busy working (and when your coworker is Park Jimin) that you didn’t realize it’s almost time for your shift to end. You glance at the line in front of Jimin and see that there are still three more people he needs to serve, while you and Yoongi still have about five tickets to finish before you can clock out and leave. Scratch that, might be eight tickets to go considering the workers who have their shift after you aren’t here yet. It’s gonna be a while before you can see your boyfriend and be a witness to an unnecessary fight between him and Yoongi.

“Hey, Kim, where’s your boyfriend? Didn’t you say he was gonna pick you up from work?” Jimin nudges your elbow when he finishes taking one customer’s order, sliding a plastic cup into the queue in front of you. “I want to see just how hot he really is,” he continues while wiggling his eyebrows.

Before you can slap the guy with your dish rag again—it’s looking more like your weapon rather than a cleaning tool at this point—Yoongi pipes up from his position in front of the sink. “Just look for someone with a tattoo sleeve. He loves brandishing it.”

“Ooh, a hot guy with tattoos,” Jimin whistles. “Add some piercings and I might steal him away from you.”

“Jimin, quit drooling over my boyfriend,” you sigh, taking the next cup in line as your coworker turns back to the register. He’s already starting to greet the next customer when you decide to give him a taste of his own medicine, sliding next to him to brew the espresso needed for the order you’re making. “He has one on his lip, but he’s mine. Note that, Park,” you whisper to him while he’s keying in an order, earning a light chuckle from the man.

“He’s just messing with you, Kiddo, don’t mind him,” Yoongi chuckles from beside you, eyeing Jimin whose focus is currently on the cup he’s scribbling a customer’s name on. “He has his eyes set on someone else already.”

“Gossiping, aren’t we?” Jimin turns to you and Yoongi with a sleazy smile. “Careful now, unless you want Hoseok to know about your hot boyfriend too, Kim.” He gestures to the glass doors, where Hoseok from the next shift just walked through. He’s a great guy, but you’ve only shared a couple shifts with him, so you think you haven’t got to the point of sharing about significant others.

With the mention of Hoseok, you and Yoongi move to finish the orders you have left before handing over the shift to the aforementioned man. When all your orders are done and you’re ready to head to the backroom, you turn to ask Jimin to go with you only to find him still rooted in front of the register. “Jimin, you’re not going?”

“Oh, I’m actually covering for Eunbi.” Jimin shrugs, sliding a cup into Hoseok’s line of orders. “Go, Kim. Have fun with your boyfriend,” he grins, sending you a teasing wink.

Hoseok, a clueless witness, looks at the both of you with a scandalous stare. “What, what, what did I miss? Why are you winking like that, Park Jimin?” he says, urging Jimin to elaborate while pouring drinks into a plastic cup.

“You should ask her, Hobi,” Jimin snickers into his hand as he turns to greet a customer. Hoseok turns to you, his expression hopeful that you will shed light on the reason behind Jimin’s wink.

“My boyfriend is about to fight with our boss and I don’t know how to talk him out of it,” you say through your teeth, giving an overly-sweet smile to a confused Hoseok. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to meet him and make sure he’s not gonna bite Yoongi’s head off.”

“Bye, Kim,” Jimin sing-songs, waving his hand to you. “Say hi to your boyfriend for me!”

You’re already walking away, turning to tell Jimin off when you bump into Yoongi who’s just came out of the backroom, void of his work apron and ready to go. He grabs your shoulders to turn you around, pushing you into the backroom to prevent anymore banter between you and Jimin. “Let it go, Kiddo.”

In the backroom, you catch a text from Jeongguk saying that he’s already in the coffee shop, ready to go when you are. You emerge from the room after clocking out, moving your feet to the dining area of the cafe while waving to Jimin and Hoseok behind the counter. Scanning the room, you search for a familiar mop of black hair that belongs to your boyfriend.

It’s easy to spot Yoongi’s mint hair amongst the sea of other natural-colored hairs. What’s not easy is believing your eyes when you see the person sitting in front of Yoongi waving wildly at you, grinning like a mad man. It’s your boyfriend, the person you’re supposed to see after work, the person you’re supposed to supervise when he fights your boss later, alright, that part you know. The part that you don’t know and have a hard time believing is:

Jeongguk’s hair is mint.

Not black, not brown, not the experimental half-half he tried in high school. Mint.

The exact same shade as Yoongi’s.

It feels like you’re on autopilot when your feet carry you to their table, jaw on the floor while your eyes are stuck on Jeongguk’s freshly-dyed strands.

“Hi, babe,” your boyfriend has the audacity to say, lips stretching impossibly wider. He reaches up to run his fingers through his mint hair, an act so deliberate even Yoongi sighs at the sight of it, but it makes your heart skip a bit nonetheless. “Do you like my new hair?”

The light green strands previously tangled with his fingers fall back to cover his forehead and frame his face perfectly, the light hue somehow blending well with Jeongguk’s skin tone. It also accentuates his jaw more, making it appear sharper when the grin on his lips morphs into a smirk once he notices that you can’t stop staring. Oh, that smirk. Usually hot with his previously black hair, it is now lethal with his mint hair, toeing the line of playful and dangerous at the same time.

You want to scream at the obvious and cheesy question.

Yoongi, the third person who’s been watching the entire interaction unfold before his eyes, clears his throat. “If you’re done eye-fucking your boyfriend, can we go now? I have somewhere else to be after this.”

“Yoongi!” you whisper-shout, half scandalized, half disbelieving that your boss can say something so crude in the middle of his own buzzing coffee shop. Maybe he’s been hanging out with Park Jimin too much. (Or maybe he’s just sick of you drooling over your boyfriend time and time again … yeah, maybe that.)

“Can’t wait to lose to me, Min?” Jeongguk snickers, taking your hand in his as he follows Yoongi—who pointedly ignores his taunting question—towards the glass door of the coffee shop.

You catch Jimin’s eyes as you’re stepping out, his eyes rounding in surprise before a sly smile takes over his features. Have fun! he mouths, giving you a wink. Ugh, you’re gonna face a lot more questions the next time you have a shift together with him.

After another futile attempt at talking Jeongguk out of fighting with Yoongi, you’re seated where you usually are, on the sidelines of Jeongguk’s gym, this time with heightened anxiety out of fear that your boyfriend and your boss could hurt each other. You’re worried less about the physical part—boxing is a very physical sport, after all—and more about the mental part.

Boys are full of pride, full of ego. They pride themselves on their ability to box, delivering punch after punch until their knuckles bruise. They pride themselves on their muscles, bulging biceps that took years to build and maintain. They pride themselves on their strength, how they are able to hold you up against the wall when you’re busy sucking air off each other’s lungs.

Oh, and in case it’s not clear, by boys you mean Jeongguk.

You have a lot of faith in your boyfriend, of course, but knowing Yoongi’s boxing skills, no matter how long ago it was, the outcome of the fight today could just be the one that would hurt Jeongguk’s pride. The possibility of it happening is so high that you’re already preparing yourself for when Jeongguk comes back to you with his ego bruised. God, you can only hope Yoongi won’t hit too hard.

You’re too busy thinking of the many possible outcomes of this fight that you don’t realize when Jeongguk is back from putting his gloves on and warming up, now standing in front of you. “Wish me luck?” he says, along with a toothy grin your way.

“Yeah, good luck, Ggukie,” you reply, lacking your usual sarcastic bite. Jeongguk seems to pay no mind to it, though, ducking down to peck your lips before turning around to face his opponent for the day.

You catch Yoongi’s eyes when Jeongguk has his back to you, quickly mouthing don’t hurt him! to your boss, which he only responds with a smirk. All the blood drains from your face. Looks like your worries about someone getting his ego bruised won’t be just worries after all.

When the fight has started (Jeongguk’s coach started it—you’re grateful he’s there because then you don’t have to worry too much about Jeongguk and Yoongi beating each other to a pulp), you can’t help but watch. You just realize, in the years you’ve known Jeongguk and watched him box, you’ve never actually seen him fight anyone else other than his coach. He’s said before that he only took boxing as a way to work out, not to actually fight, so you guess that makes sense.

You don’t watch boxing matches a lot (actually, you don’t watch them at all), your only knowledge of boxing you get from watching Real Steel, a movie about boxing matches for robots, set in the far future when human boxing is not interesting anymore due to the limited brutality. You’re not sure how much information you retained from the movie, and how accurate they are, but you’re pretty sure you don’t need much boxing knowledge to know that right now, Yoongi is playing defensive while Jeongguk is playing offensive.

Alright, you admit, you have no idea if the terms you’re using are right, but it’s the simplest ones you can use to describe the sight in front of you. Since the start of the fight, Jeongguk has been throwing punches continuously, while Yoongi has had his gloved hands covering his face the entire time. Okay, not the entire time, but he’s only thrown one punch compared to Jeongguk’s one hundred ones.

As the fight goes on, Yoongi starts throwing punches here and there while still dodging Jeongguk’s aggressive fists. You’ve never seen Yoongi move this much in the entire time you’ve known him, and it surprises you how agile he is. The way he ducks under Jeongguk’s arm and throws him off balance is admirable, sometimes a little bit funny (just a bit, you promise) because it shows just how calm he is compared to Jeongguk’s aggressive, almost-angry boxing style.

When Jeongguk’s coach declares a break, your boyfriend walks back to you with his brows furrowed, tearing off one of his gloves so he can remove his mouth guard and grab his water bottle. After chugging down half of its content, Jeongguk heaves a frustrated sigh.

“I can’t grasp his fighting style,” he grumbles to himself. His eyes are set on Yoongi, who’s on the other side of the room, drinking from his own water bottle. “Who the fuck ducks all the time while boxing?”

“Maybe it’s because you keep throwing angry punches at him, babe,” you say, initially to keep his frustration at bay, but instead it makes him raise his eyebrow at you in a duh way. You backtrack immediately. “Okay, okay. But it’s just your first time fighting him, isn’t it? Be patient, Jeongguk, and maybe let up your punches a little bit?”

“Baby, it’s boxing,” he says exasperatedly. “Someone has to throw some punches.”

“I know, but you just seem so … angry. Yoongi’s only ducking to dodge that. I’m saying maybe you can tone it down so he could stop dodging, so then you can see his fighting style better.” You’re saying this while gripping his biceps, hoping your words can go through his seemingly-clouded mind. “When you see his fighting style, won’t it be easier to figure out a way you can beat him? Isn’t that what you taunted him with at the cafe?”

You know it’s not even remotely possible to learn one’s boxing style just from a single fight, let alone “figure out a way to beat him”. Somewhere in his fogged mind, you believe Jeongguk stores this fact as well, he’s just currently too deep in frustration to place it in the front of his mind. You’re not even sure your suggestion to learn Yoongi’s fighting style is registered well in his head, considering your boyfriend is now back to eyeing your boss with fire in his gaze.

“Jeongguk?” You give his shoulder a firm grip as he puts his mouth guard back on. “Tone it down. Yoongi could just be waiting to punch back. You don’t want that.”

Jeongguk parts ways with you with an absent-minded nod and two pats to your head with his heavy gloved-hand. On the other side of the room, Yoongi looks ready to go back into his fighting stance. You sigh internally. Jeongguk is so going to punch him aggressively, again.

The next thirty minutes of the fight goes like a blur in front of your eyes. Jeongguk throws a hook that Yoongi dodges, Yoongi retaliates with a jab to Jeongguk’s side which makes you wince, rinse and repeat. Maybe you’re wrong about your boyfriend for once, you think, seeing his calmer fighting style now. With the way he left your conversation minutes prior, you really thought he was gonna continue raining punches on any part of Yoongi’s body he could reach. You’re relieved that that’s not the case.

Although, perhaps your relief came too soon because a boxing match isn’t over until it’s over.

Watching Jeongguk fight with Yoongi is like watching a cartoon character with an energy meter atop his head, except for Jeongguk, it measures his patience instead. As the minutes went on, you feel like you could see the patience meter above his head depleting until it’s all gone, and that’s the moment he went back to his initial fighting style: aggressive and angry. You almost pull your hair out in frustration because you just know that this is what Yoongi has been waiting for ever since the fight started.

The next thing that happens reminds you a lot of one fighting scene in Real Steel, where Atom was waiting for his opponent to run out of energy so he can fight back. In the movie, Atom knocked the other robot down with a final uppercut, gaining him a win and advancing him to the next round. Well, uh, in this case, just replace Atom with Yoongi and the other robot with Jeongguk.

Yoongi’s clean uppercut wiped your boyfriend out, who’s now lying on the ground clutching his face—which you’re sure is beginning to swell right now. Despite already knocking Jeongguk down, Yoongi is still in his fighting stance, never lowering his guard even as Jeongguk’s coach counts to ten. Your boyfriend remains immobile, though, and the second the count is up you’re running towards Jeongguk’s limp body.

“Gguk, are you okay? Baby, look at me,” you say hurriedly as you try to pry his arms away from his face. He doesn’t budge, and for a second, you’re scared that Yoongi has maimed your boyfriend for life. “At least let me know you’re alive,” you continue when his silence becomes concerning.

“Hmmph,” Jeongguk grunts. You heave a huge sigh of relief.

“Okay, good.” You run your fingers through his sweaty hair, trying to offer some comfort even though you know he had this coming. Gigantic ego, big talk, cocky as shit? Yeah, you understand that Yoongi would want to knock him down a few pegs. But now is not the time to launch into an ‘I told you so’ spiel, not when Jeongguk is still freshly bruised—both his body and his ego.

So instead, you lash out at your boss.

“I told you not to hurt him, Yoongi,” you snap-slash-whine, a frown on your lips. You thought, as the oldest among all of you, Yoongi could be trusted to knock some sense into Jeongguk’s mind without physically hurting him like this. As it turns out, all boys are the same.

The older guy just shrugs. “Probably wouldn’t get my point across if he weren’t knocked down.” He shakes the sweat out of his hair as he starts taking off his boxing gloves. When he sees you’re not impressed, he chuckles. “Relax, Kiddo, I didn’t even hit him that hard. He’ll be okay.”

“Really, Yoongi?” You roll your eyes. “You gave my boyfriend an uppercut just to prove a point!”

Yoongi just continues laughing as he chugs from his water bottle. His nonchalance about this is starting to piss you off. Maybe it’s your turn to put on the boxing gloves and sock him in the face, give him a taste of his own medicine. You scoff to yourself, picturing your own body lying next to Jeongguk if you really did that.

“Just tell your boyfriend here that there’s no need to be jealous of me, Kiddo,” Yoongi says, picking up his bag. Just then, Jeongguk’s coach appears with an ice pack in his hand, offering it to you so you can place it against Jeongguk’s swollen jaw. Despite your attempt to coax him out of his arm cocoon, he still refuses to move.

“Yoongi, look at him, you really broke him.” You’re flat-out whining now, kicking your feet like a child. It doesn’t even occur to your mind that you’re all still in the middle of a public boxing gym, with other people around you, being witness to this ridiculous scene.

“Oh my God,” Yoongi laughs before crouching down at Jeongguk’s legs. “Hey, Jeongguk, you hear that? Your girlfriend is worried about you,” he says, nudging Jeongguk’s leg lightly. “She only has eyes for you and your tattoos, too, you don’t need to be jealous at all.” You smack him on the shoulder for that.

Jeongguk finally removes his arms from his face at Yoongi’s words, his doe eyes menacing. “Go away,” he grits out at the older male, his scratchy voice making him sound less threatening than he intended. Despite that, Yoongi still holds his hands up in surrender.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Yoongi relents, standing up while adjusting the hold he has on his bag. “Was gonna go anyway, I have a date to get ready for,” he throws a grin your way. “Alright, I’ll be going first. Take care of your boyfriend, Kiddo.”

Yoongi retreats with a wave towards you both.

Jeongguk lets out a groan, shifting your attention away from your boss who’s already backing his car out of the parking lot. “Quit your job tomorrow,” he says. “I hate your boss.”

“Stop moving around!”

“It hurts!”

You’re both back at Jeongguk’s house now, with you sitting atop his outstretched legs on the bed, attempting to take care of his battle wounds courtesy of his fight with Yoongi. Aside from the swollen jaw, Jeongguk has a cut on his eyebrow and a split bottom lip. For a boxing match, you’d say these are minor injuries—proving Yoongi’s words right, he didn’t hit Jeongguk that hard—but your boyfriend is acting like a baby. He keeps jerking his head away every time the alcohol swab comes in contact with either of his cuts, it irritates you to no end.

“You have a goddamn full sleeve of tattoo and a lip piercing, quit acting like this hurts more,” you hiss, pressing the cotton in your hand to the cut on his lip as Jeongguk hiss back in response.

“At least when I got my tattoos and piercing, the artist didn’t do it while yapping my ear off,” he lisps through the cotton. “What happened to the caring girlfriend at the gym? Did she go away too, alongside Yoongi?”

“Oh, shut up, if I yapped back there Yoongi would’ve stomped on your ego more than he already did, do you want that, Jeongguk? Huh?” Your words are harsh, but you try hard for your hands to be the opposite, gentle as they cover the cut on his eyebrow with a band-aid. Jeongguk’s forehead is still damp from his quick shower earlier, beads of mint clinging to his skin. He might look smoking hot with his newly dyed hair, but the way the color rubs off on anything is starting to get onto your nerves. You wipe lightly at the color to make sure the band-aid sticks to his skin and does not come off the second he jumps around again.

“My ego is fine, you don’t need to protect it like this,” Jeongguk grumbles, adjusting the ice pack he’s holding to his jaw as you press a new cotton ball on his lip, discarding the one stained crimson red to his bedside table. “Maybe if you care about me as much as you care about my ego, everything would’ve been better.”

The way he’s rambling like he got his sense knocked out of his head as well makes you roll your eyes to the back of your head. “Don’t test me, Jeon. If I didn’t care about you I wouldn’t be here sitting on your thighs patching your minuscule injuries like they’re fucking wounds from a war.”

“Maybe,” Jeongguk half-agrees, a pout on his lips. “But you haven’t kissed me even once ever since the fight ended. Do I not deserve a kiss because I lost? Do you not want to kiss me ever again because I can’t beat Yoongi in boxing? Do you think Yoongi is way better than me now? Do you want him to be your boyfriend instead of me?”

With every nonsensical question, his pout deepens, and his eyes droop to stare blankly at nothing.

“Hah, ‘my ego is fine’ my ass,” you mumble, mostly to yourself as you turn the gears in your head on how to stop the bleeding on Jeongguk’s lip. It keeps gushing out blood, and you can’t exactly stick a band-aid to it like you did his eyebrow. At last, you just hold a cotton ball against it and hope it stops bleeding soon.

“Yoongi was right, you know,” you say clearly now, the tumble of Yoongi’s name out of your lips making Jeongguk glance up and focus his sight on your face. “You don’t need to be jealous of him at all. Heck, you don’t need to be jealous of anyone, Jeongguk. I’m your girlfriend and will always stay your girlfriend, no matter what. You don’t need to beat anyone in boxing or dye your hair the exact same shade as anyone for me to stay. You, Jeon Jeongguk, are enough.”

Jeongguk’s eyes, gazing into yours, are glassy with unshed tears. You don’t know if they are there because he’s touched by your words or are leftovers from crying over his bruised ego from the fight with Yoongi. Either way, it throws you off balance. Next thing you know, you’re being tugged down by the nape for a kiss.

Jeongguk’s lips are warm, like usual, but the tinge of metal you taste on your tongue is making you worry. Before you lose yourself in his kiss, you pull away to thumb at his lip lightly, seeing streaks of red on your skin. You’re about to continue pressing the cotton ball in your hand to his lips and stop all forms of kissing immediately, but your boyfriend has a mind of his own as he instead sucks your thumb into his mouth, wrapping his lips around the digit delicately as he holds eye contact with you.

Gone is the trace of any tears from his eyes, now replaced by something you can only identify as lust. As flattered as you are that Jeongguk finds you desirable in your current situation, it also makes you confused. He’s hurt and the only thing in his mind is getting his dick wet? Unbelievable.

The ice-cold feeling on your waist tears your attention away from Jeongguk’s dark eyes as you yelp, hand instinctively prying the cold thing away. The ‘thing’ turns out to be his hand, which was previously holding the ice pack to his swollen jaw. He’s sneaked his fucking cold hand under your shirt to hold your waist when he should’ve kept holding the ice pack to his jaw—his swollen jaw!

Your boyfriend has a swollen jaw, a busted lip and a cut eyebrow. This is not the time to be screwing around.

Pulling away your thumb out of Jeongguk’s mouth at the speed of light, you attempt to climb off his lap, but he’s read your mind even before they are conjured up in your own brain. His hands are back on your waist—yes, the cold one too—and they hold you firm in place. The side of Jeongguk’s lips turn up into a sickeningly sweet smile, before he tugs your body towards his, making your hips come in contact with his crotch. He’s hard. Oh, fuck.

“You know, I never really understood why you’re so bratty whenever you’re horny and I can’t tend to you right away, but I think I get it now,” he says right by your ear, making a shiver run down your spine. “I’ve been trying to will away my boner ever since you sat on my lap, but your weight on it is so damn distracting, it’s hard.”

“So,” he punctuates the word with a kiss on your neck, “I started saying anything to get my mind off it, but the way you care for me just … turns me on even more, if that was even possible.” He noses his way down your throat, coming to a stop at your collarbone. “And then all that talk about how I am enough … holy shit, I lost it. All I could think about was how I want to kiss you and fuck you into next week on this very bed.”

You can barely hear the last few words Jeongguk is saying, because he’s mumbling them into your skin as he peppers kisses and nips there. His fingers are now pressing into your back, pulling you closer and closer to him until there is no space left between you. You crane your neck so he can have more room to splash reds and purples onto your skin, sighing to the top of his mint head.

“You know, for someone claiming to be horny, you’re doing a terrible job at dirty talk,” you jab at your boyfriend, earning you a bite on your neck and a tightened grip on your body, making you close your eyes with stuttered breath.

“Easy, babe,” Jeongguk chuckles. “You talk as if you won’t be a moaning mess by the end of this,” he continues with much confidence. “But also, my lip is still kinda bleeding and my sides are still throbbing from the bruises. Kinda debating should we continue or just go to sleep.”

“Jeon Jeongguk I swear to God if you leave me high and dry—”

“Maybe you should kiss them better,” he cuts you off with a suggestion, his lips still trailing butterfly kisses on your neck and collarbone. The hands still on your back sneakily climb up and up until they’re reaching for the clasp of your bra, easily opening it to free your breasts from its confines. Your sound of protest gets stuck in your throat as a strangled moan comes out instead when Jeongguk massages your breasts tenderly with his fingers.

“Maybe I would—fuck—if you get rid of your shirt,” you say, tugging on the offending piece of fabric still covering your boyfriend’s gorgeous body. It’s not fair that he’s got you half naked already and he’s still fully clothed.

Jeongguk parts himself from your body long enough to tug his t-shirt off from the back of his neck in one smooth motion, exposing the golden expanse of his skin to your hungry eyes. If you thought his mint hair was smoking hot with his shirt on, it’s literally burning a flame of desire deep in your belly with his shirt off. You’re tongue-tied as you marvel at the sight in front of you, you almost jump when your own shirt and bra are taken off your body.

Now both bare from the waist up, Jeongguk wastes no time leaning back in for a kiss on the mouth, this time open-mouthed so he can slide his tongue inside. You keen happily, slipping a sigh in between as he slowly lowers you to the bed. Jeongguk anchors his hands on your hips, teasing at the waistband of your sweatpants as he keeps your mouth busy with his own. In contrast, your hands are everywhere, from his broad shoulder to his firm back, from his bulging biceps to his rock-hard abs. You even tease your fingers past his waistband, grabbing onto his ass and squeezing, making him groan hotly into your mouth. It’s only when your fingers brush against his sides that he winces, reminding you of his earlier request.

“Flip around,” you whisper against his lips, “so I can kiss your bruises better.”

“Hmm?” Jeongguk hums, your words a murmur in his head. “But I like having you like this. Under me, naked, panting, wet,” he says, slipping his hand beyond your sweatpants to prove his words right—you’ve soaked through your panties. He drags a finger slowly up your center. You shudder.

“Yeah? I can be naked, panting, and wet on top of you as well.”

“Ooh, tempting.” Jeongguk licks his lips. He flicks your clit with a cheeky smile dancing on his lips, before settling his hands back on your waist. “Alright, I’ll flip over.”

The next second, you’re staring at him from up top, admiring how his mint hair looks against his dark grey bed sheets. Although, his hair is the least of your concern right now, as you’re tugged back down for another bruising kiss. Now that you’re on top, Jeongguk takes the opportunity to return the favor that is slipping his hand into your pants to squeeze your ass, but his version involves pulling your hips down while his thrusts up, creating a delicious friction between your body that makes you exhale a moan into his mouth.

You move away from his lips, down to his jaw where you take care to land a kiss light as a feather, before moving to his neck and collarbone where you have your own share of bites and licks. Aside from your infatuation with his tattoos and biceps, you actually have another one with his collarbone, this one you keep secret from him lest he goes around the house shirtless more often just to brandish his clavicle. But maybe he’s already noticed from the way you always make sure to cover that body part of his in blooms of red and purple, taking care to trace each and every bite mark slowly with the tip of your tongue.

While you’re busy with his collarbone, Jeongguk keeps dragging your crotch steadily over his, like he can’t get enough of the feeling and wants to keep chasing it. The delicious pressure on your center is a bit distracting, so you smooth your palm across his chest to pinch at his nipple in warning. Jeongguk lets out a broken whine from his throat.

“Stop humping into me, do you want to cream your pants?” you chide, fingers still giving tiny pinches to his nipple to keep him on his toes.

“Was trying to get you to cream your pants,” Jeongguk grins guiltily, his hips snapping up yet again to collide with yours. Even if you roll your eyes at his antics, you still continue your journey of kissing down his body, making sure to suck and lick on his sensitive nipples. You love the moans and groans that slip out of his throat every time you do things to his nipples. He likes it so much that his hips keep chanting up, searching for friction, that you have to pin them down so you can slide down to pepper kisses on his abs and waist.

Jeongguk works really hard to maintain the body he has, clearly evident in the eight pack he’s sporting on his stomach and the tiny, minuscule waist that’s way too slutty for a man to have. Sometimes you’re jealous of how nice his body looks, how firm it is to touch. You told him this one time, along with your regret that you couldn’t give him a similar experience, but he’d only laughed and said that admiring and appreciating him was enough, before proceeding to show you how he admires and appreciates your soft body (he kept biting into your inner thigh as he was eating you out, coaxing you into four orgasms back to back that day.)

And so, you admire his body by kissing the taut muscle one by one, tracing the lines outlining them with your hot tongue, caressing his bruised waist with the pillow of your lips and the feather of your touch. You know he’s hurt, but you can’t hold yourself from nipping on his slutty waist, gifting him another bruise that’s not a result of a punch. From the choked sob that rips out of his throat and the jump of his dick somewhere on your stomach, you take it he likes the bite.

“So,” you say as you mouth at the seam of his waistband, hand massaging his hard cock through his pants. “Do you want to cum in your pants, in my hand, in my mouth, or—?”

“Fuck, in you, please,” Jeongguk begs, eyes glassy from your ministrations. “But can we go back to dry humping for a while? Kinda like the friction on my sweatpants,” he breathes.

“Like this?” You move your hand up and down his cock, dragging the material of his sweatpants with it, paying special attention to the head. With every rub of the sweatpants against his head, a bead of precum comes out, with Jeongguk throwing his head back in silent pleasure. “Yeah, fuuck, that feels good.”

“But babe, want you, on top,” he demands, making grabby hands at you. “Was serious when I said I wanted you to cum first,” he continues, sighs in content when you oblige, resuming your position on top of him and lining your clothed crotch with his. He starts dragging your hips against his, building the pleasure up the faster he goes. “Want to fuck your swollen pussy, dripping with cum. Oh, I’ll slide right in, no problem, so wet, warm … fuuuck.”

The grip Jeongguk has on your hips is bruising, you have no choice but to let your body be manhandled by him. Slowly but surely, the band inside your stomach begins to tighten as your hold on his shoulders does as well. You’re so close, just one more move to tip you over the edge. When Jeongguk sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, the band inside you snaps and you come with a jerk of your hips and a whine from your throat.

Jeongguk slows down his move, taking care not to cum before being inside you, before stopping altogether and wrapping his arms around you to bring the both of you into a sitting position. Your limbs feel like jelly, still trying to come down from your high, when Jeongguk pecks your cheek before carefully lying you back down on the bed with your face down. He then maneuvers himself behind you, lifting your hips off the bed. You’re starting to have an idea what position he wants you in when he spreads your knees and slowly peels back your pants and panties to reveal your bare ass and pussy.

He takes his time caressing the globe of your ass, inching his fingers towards your pussy lips before spreading them apart, tearing a low whine from your chest. You guess he’s admiring the way cum still drips out of your cunt, because he’s silent, immobile for almost a minute.

“Gguk…” you whisper out. “You gonna fuck me or not?”

Jeongguk scrambles to get his pants off. “Fuck, yes, of course, baby, you just look so beautiful like this, I want to stare all day long,” he breathes, lining up his dick with your entrance.

God, I’m so thankful you’re mine, is his last warning before he slides home in one thrust.

Later, when you’re both freshly showered and cuddling on Jeongguk’s bed—with blue bed sheets this time, because you forced him to change the sheets as the grey ones smelled gross after your activities—you ask him a question.

“Are you still jealous of Yoongi?”

There’s a three second pause before Jeongguk’s answer comes. “Maybe a tiny bit,” he says, nearly connecting his thumb and forefinger together in a ‘tiny’ motion. “Of his boxing skills only. Amazing how he could still move like that with an injured shoulder. I want to be like that too.”

“You want to injure your shoulder?”

He gives you a flat look. You giggle.

“His shoulder is actually healed, you know, so he’s still actively boxing until now. He trains the boxing club at my campus whenever our coach can't, that’s where I know him from and how I’d gotten the job at his cafe.”

Jeongguk purses his lips. “So he lied to me.”

“Hmm,” you agree. “I figured it was to ‘teach you a lesson’, that’s why I asked him not to hurt you before your fight. Did you, though? Learn your lesson?”

“What? To not be jealous of him?”

You pinch his waist. “To knock your ego down a peg and stop feeling insecure whenever I interact with other men?”

“Baby, the guy had a nickname for you. My insecurities were valid!”

“You mean the ‘Kiddo’ one?” you ask. Jeongguk nods. “He calls Jimin Kiddo. He calls Eunbi Kiddo. He calls you Kiddo. He calls everyone younger than him, Kiddo.”

More silence ensues.

“So … my jealousy was for nothing?”

“Yes! What I’ve been saying!”

Jeongguk giggles. Then he kisses you. Then he giggles again, while still kissing you.

“How about an apology?” he offers.

“In what form?” you challenge.

“Round three?”

“No.”

Well, at least he’s not jealous anymore.

a/n: thank you for reading!! please let me know what you think of this, i literally almost cried in the process of writing it and when i finally finished it :') and yes this started because of that one mint jeongguk in memories 2020/2021, i think? the one with him in a black sleeveless and a pair of sunglasses, hahah. wish he'd dye his hair mint again (he looks rly good in it ugh)

→ request is open for my 1k folls celebration!

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rynwritesreid · 9 months

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Take a ride| Spencer Reid

A/N: First of all, I hope that this is suitable compensation for everyone affected by my last fic. Second, my next non-requested smutty upload will be Sub! Spencer. And lastly, thank you so much for all the love guys, I am slowly working through your requests. Jag älskar dig 🫶🏼

Summary: You love to challenge authority, always knowing when to stop pushing buttons. However, you decide to see how far you can push Spencer before he gets angry enough to do something about it.

Content: Fem!Reader. Smut. Dom!Spencer Sub!Reader. Oral (both f & m receiving). Thigh humping. Fingering. Light bondage. Angry Spencer. Semi humiliation kink. Edging/overstimulation. Bratty reader. Power imbalance kink. 18+

Masterlist| requests are open| Navigation

Spencer knew what he was getting into when he started dating you. You weren’t defiant, per se, you followed the rules but only when you thought necessary. You didn’t mind getting lectured by Hotch, in fact, Spencer thought it was something you enjoyed.

Spencer knew you would not be someone who would easily submit to anyone or anything. He knew you were going to be a challenge, he just underestimated how much of a challenge you were going to be.

It wasn't just your defiance that fascinated him; it was the way you effortlessly challenged authority without ever crossing the line. You had a knack for bending the rules while still managing to stay within their boundaries. It was as if you had an innate understanding of when to push back and when to surrender.

Even though you loved pushing Hotch’s and the FBI buttons, you loved pushing Spencer’s more. Normally you wouldn’t take it too far, just far enough where you knew you were in for a treat later on. Spencer would normally overstimulate you; he loved hearing you beg for forgiveness, saying sorry over and over again until all you could do was moan.

But you wanted to see how far you could take it with Spencer, what he would do. You decided to play it safe to start off with. Every time he spoke, you would roll your eyes. At first, he didn’t seem to acknowledge what you were doing, he would simply carry on talking. Though after about a day of doing this, he would glare at you.

But instead of discouraging you, his glare only fuelled the fire within you. You craved his attention, even if it meant pushing his limits. So, you intensified your defiance, not holding back anymore.

As Spencer continued to talk, you let out an exasperated sigh and crossed your arms, openly displaying your disinterest. The room fell silent, all eyes on you and Spencer. His glare intensified, a mix of frustration and intrigue evident in his eyes.

"Is there something you want to say?" he finally asked, his voice slightly strained.

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. "Oh, I'm sorry," you replied sarcastically. "I didn't realize I had to be interested in every little thing you have to say."

Spencer's jaw clenched as he fought to maintain his composure. He wasn't used to being challenged like this, especially not by someone he cared about. He didn’t say another word to you, he just took his eyes away and talked to the rest of your peers.

Once everyone had gone back to their desks, Spencer walked over to you. His eyes never leaving yours. “Roll your eyes one more time at me, and so help me God.” You could feel the tension in the air as Spencer stood before you, his voice low and controlled.

You knew you were starting to get to him, but you knew you could still take it further. “I thought you were an atheist, Spencer. Why are you asking God for help?” Even though your question was rhetorical, you asked it with a level of sincerity.

"Enough, Y/N," he growled, his voice full of warning. "You know exactly what I meant."

You could sense the shift in his demeanour, the underlying intensity that had been simmering beneath the surface. You had pushed him to his breaking point, and yet, you couldn't help but feel a strange surge of exhilaration coursing through your veins.

Spencer took a step closer, his proximity only heightening the charged atmosphere between you. The air crackled with unspoken desire and unyielding defiance. There was a part of you that wanted to relent, to submit to his authority, but another part revelled in the power play that unfolded before you.

"And what if I don't comply?" you challenged, your voice laced with defiance. "What will you do?"

He didn’t answer straightaway, so you answered for him. “Exactly, nothing. Maybe you should go back to your desk and get some work done before Hotch complains.”

Spencer's eyes flashed with a mix of frustration and desire as he watched you, the challenge in your voice only serving to further ignite the fire within him. He could feel his control slipping, his usual calm and composed demeanour unravelling at the sheer audacity of your defiance.

With a calculated move, he took another step closer, closing the distance between you. His voice dropped to a low whisper that sent shivers down your spine. "You underestimate me, Y/N," he said, his tone laced with a dangerous edge. "But I assure you, I'm more than capable of making you comply."

He walked back to his desk, not allowing you to have the final word. You could see that you had rattled him, and that only fuelled your determination to push him further. You wanted to see how far he would go, how much control he was willing to relinquish.

For the rest of the day, you played it cool, focusing on your work and pretending as though nothing had happened between you and Spencer. You barely looked up at him, you wanted him to think he had won for now.

But as the hours ticked by, you could feel Spencer's eyes on you, his gaze burning into your skin. You knew he was silently contemplating his next move, strategizing how to regain control over the situation. And you were eager to see what he had in store.

Finally, as the workday drew to a close, Spencer stood up from his desk and walked purposefully towards you. His steps were measured, his expression unreadable. When he reached you, he took hold of your arm firmly but gently, guiding you towards the exit.

"Where are we going?" you asked, feigning innocence even though you had an inkling of what Spencer had in mind.

He didn’t answer, he didn’t even look at you. “Spencer, where are we going? I wanted to go to Rossi’s tonight, he’s teaching us to make homemade linguini, remember?” He still remained silent though.

“Are you ignoring me? How mature Spencer.” Spencer's grip tightened on your arm as he led you outside, away from the prying eyes of your colleagues. The cool night air brushed against your skin, adding a layer of suspense to the already charged atmosphere between you.

"Enough, Y/N," he finally spoke, his voice laced with both frustration and desire. “You’ve being testing me all day. And I think it’s time someone reminded you who’s in charge here.”

“No one’s meant to be in charge in a relationship, but if you want, I can go grab Hotch, I mean he is the one in charge after all.” Spencer’s eyes narrowed, annoyance and irritation flashing across his face. He had reached his breaking point, his patience worn thin by your relentless defiance. Without a word, he grabbed your waist and pulled you into him, his grip firm and possessive.

"Enough games, Y/N," he growled, his voice dripping with authority. "You push me, you challenge me, but do not mistake it for a lack of control."

He leaned in closer, his hot breath fanning across your ear as he whispered, "You want to play? Fine. But just remember, I always win."

“You don’t always win. I mean you haven’t won today. And what about Rossi’s?”

Spencer's gaze bore into yours, his intensity unwavering. "Rossi's can wait," he replied, a hint of mischief in his voice. "Right now, I'm going to remind you who's in charge."

He walked you over to his car, letting go of your arm so he could open your door, a gesture he always did, not matter how angry he was with you.

You slid into the passenger seat, still unable to hide the smirk playing on your lips. Spencer closed your door and made his way to the driver's side, taking a moment to compose himself before he started the engine.

As the car roared to life, the tension inside the vehicle matched the charged atmosphere between you. Spencer's grip on the steering wheel was tight, his knuckles turning white as he navigated the streets with a precision that mirrored his meticulous nature.

You decided to break the silence, you wanted to apologies to him, not because you were actually sorry but because you wanted him to think you were. “I’m sorry, Spencer. I was just bored today, and I thought it would be fun seeing how far I could take things. But I now realise that’s something I shouldn’t have done. So, I am truly and utterly sorry.” Your voice calm, but low, so it seemed like a real apology.

He remained silent, his eyes never leaving the road. “Spencer, please respond. I didn’t mean to anger you, I thought you would find it fun.”

“I don’t want to hear excuses, or fake apologies. You obviously need to learn a lesson.” Spencer's voice was cold, devoid of any hint of forgiveness or understanding. The atmosphere in the car became suffocating, the tension thick enough to cut through with a knife. You swallowed hard, feeling a twinge of unease crawl up your spine.

As Spencer continued to drive, the surroundings began to blur into a blur of streetlights and passing buildings. His steely gaze never wavered from the road ahead, his control unyielding and unwavering. It was as if he had transformed into someone else entirely, someone you had never seen before.

You glanced at him cautiously, trying to gauge his reaction. The anger in his eyes was still palpable, but there was something else there too—a hunger that made your breath hitch and your heart race. You could feel the heat between you intensifying, an electrifying current that left you both exhilarated and apprehensive.

"Spencer," you whispered tentatively, reaching out to touch his arm. Your fingers brushed against his skin, feeling the warmth radiating from it. But before you could say anything more, he abruptly pulled his arm away, his gaze still locked on the road ahead.

"Don't touch me," he snapped, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. The sharpness of his tone startled you, causing your hand to retract back to your side.

Once he had pulled up to his apartment, you didn’t wait for him to open your door, and simply jumped out and waited for him. As you stood outside his apartment, you could feel the tension between you and Spencer reach its peak. The air crackled with anticipation, each passing second heightening your desire for him. You knew that this was the moment you had been waiting for, the culmination of your shared lust and pent-up frustration.

Spencer finally emerged from the car, his tall figure casting a shadow over you. He eyed you intently, his gaze burning with a mix of anger and longing. Without saying a word, he walked towards you and grabbed your wrist, pulling you towards the entrance of his building.

He pulled you up the stairs, not even letting go off you to open up his door. Once inside his apartment, Spencer slammed the door shut behind you, his eyes never leaving yours. The room was dimly lit, casting long shadows that danced across the walls, amplifying the intensity of the moment.

“Spencer, I said I’m sorry. What else do you want me to do?” Spencer's silence hung heavy in the air as he continued to hold your wrist tightly, his grip unyielding. The room felt smaller, the walls closing in around you, intensifying the sense of anticipation and unease. You watched as his eyes bore into yours, searching for any hint of sincerity in your words.

His voice was low and gravelly as he finally spoke, his tone laced with a mix of frustration and desire. "Sorry isn't enough, Y/N. Words won't be sufficient to teach you the lesson you so desperately need."

He paused for a second, trying to come up with a good enough punishment. “The only way you’re getting off tonight, is my thigh.”

"Are you serious?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The intensity in his eyes was enough to confirm that this was no idle threat. He meant every word.

“I am very serious. Remember, you did this to yourself. If anything, I’m going too easy on you. Maybe I shouldn’t let you cum for the rest of the week, or make sure you struggle to walk for the next few days.”

You gasped, the gravity of his words sinking in. As much as his punishment excited you, it also stirred a deep sense of vulnerability within you.

"Spencer, please," you pleaded, your voice trembling with a mix of desire and apprehension. "I didn't mean to push you this far. I just wanted... I just wanted to feel your control."

A flicker of understanding flashed across his eyes, but he remained resolute. "Control is not something to be taken lightly, Y/N," he said sternly. "It is earned and respected. And tonight, you will learn exactly what it means to surrender."

He led you to the living room, fingers still wrapped tightly around your wrist. The atmosphere was heavy with anticipation, every second stretching out into eternity as you waited for his command.

"Undress," he ordered, his voice firm. A small part of you wanted to tell him that if he wants to see you naked, then he should undress you himself. But you knew then that would be pushing it a little too far.

He stood still, watching you as you unbuttoned your blouse, revealing a light blue lace bra. His eyes scanning your body, his tongue licking his lips. He looked at you as if you were prey. As you moved onto your trousers, his eyes followed. It was almost humiliating. He was staying fully dressed, while watching you undress yourself for him.

Your heart raced as you slid your trousers down your legs, feeling exposed under his unwavering gaze. "You look beautiful," Spencer murmured, his voice low and husky. His eyes continued to roam over your body, taking in every curve and dip, fuelling a fire deep within you. You couldn't help but feel a surge of pride at his words, even though you knew it was merely a precursor to the punishment that awaited you.

“But when I said undress, I meant fully.” His voice had gone back to being cold.

You hesitated for a moment, uncertain of whether you were ready to bare yourself completely. The room grew colder as you stood there, shivering slightly under his gaze. With a deep breath, you reached behind your back and unhooked your bra, letting it slide down your arms and dropping it to the floor.

Spencer's eyes darkened with a mix of desire and dominance as he watched you undress. The air crackled with tension, the anticipation thickening with each passing moment. You kicked off your panties, finally standing before him completely exposed and vulnerable.

You watched as he walked over to his sofa. He sat himself down and open his legs slightly. He patted his thigh, as if he were asking you to sit on it for him.

Taking a step forward, you approached him with a mixture of trepidation and longing. You felt the cool air brush against your bare skin, heightening your senses. With each fleeting moment, the anticipation grew, electrifying the atmosphere.

You positioned yourself in front of Spencer, his thigh invitingly raised and awaiting your compliance. Slowly, you straddled him, feeling the heat of his body radiating through his clothes. The contact sent a wave of electricity coursing through your veins, causing you to inhale sharply.

Spencer's hands found their way to your hips, gripping them firmly as he guided you onto his thigh. The pressure against your core was immediate, eliciting a soft moan from deep within your throat. The friction of his thigh against your sensitive flesh sent waves of pleasure crashing through your body, making it difficult to suppress the moans that threatened to escape your lips.

"Ride my thigh, Y/N," he growled, his voice laced with a raw hunger that sent shivers down your spine. "Show me how badly you want to be controlled."

Spencer's hands tightened their grip on your hips, guiding your movements with precision. Each motion sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core, building the tight coil of desire within you. The room filled with the sound of your moans, mingling with Spencer's low groans of pleasure.

As you rode his thigh, the intensity of the moment consumed you. The room fell away, leaving only the two of you entangled in a dance of desire and control. Spencer's hands tightened on your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he guided your movements with expert precision.

“Is this all it takes for you to actually listen to me? You just want to cum huh?” He chuckled.

You only seemed to be able to nod your head, the only thing leaving your mouth were moans. “Maybe I should have asked you to grind against my shoes instead, you seem to be enjoying this too much.”

Your body trembled with a mixture of pleasure and desperation as Spencer's words sank in. The thought of grinding against his shoes sent a surge of excitement through you, despite the humiliation it would bring. You were at his mercy, completely under his control, and you craved more.

Spencer's grip on your hips tightened as he felt your body tense with desire. A wicked smile tugged at the corners of his lips, reflecting the dominance that radiated from him. With a sudden surge of confidence, he released your hips and reached down to unbutton his pants. The sound of metal against metal echoed through the room as he unzipped his fly, freeing himself from the confines of his trousers.

You watched with hungry eyes as Spencer's erection sprang free, standing proudly before you. A shiver ran down your spine as desire pooled between your thighs, the ache for release growing stronger by the second. The anticipation was palpable, hanging thickly in the air like an intoxicating fog.

"Get on your knees," Spencer commanded, his voice low and commanding. You obeyed without hesitation, the need to please him overpowering any remnants of resistance. Your knees sank into the plush carpet, bringing you eye level with his throbbing length.

You could feel his gaze burning into you as you took him in your hands, stroking his length firmly. A groan escaped from Spencer's lips; his head tilted back in pleasure. The power dynamic between you had shifted completely, and you revelled in the sense of control you now held.

With every stroke, Spencer grew harder in your grasp, his desire evident in the way he gripped onto the edge of the sofa. You marvelled at the way he responded to your touch, relishing in the way his body reacted to your every movement.

You leaned in closer, flicking your tongue against the sensitive tip of his cock. Spencer's breath hitched, a low growl rumbling from deep within his chest. He tangled his fingers in your hair, guiding you as you took him further into your mouth.

Your lips wrapped around him, the taste of his desire lingering on your tongue. You reveled in the power you held over him, eager to please and satisfy his every need. Your tongue glided along his length, tracing the veins that pulsed with his desire. Spencer's grip on your hair tightened, his hips canting forward, urging you to take him deeper.

The intensity of the moment consumed you as you surrendered completely to him. Each thrust of his hips brought you closer to the edge, your own desire building with every flicker of your tongue against his sensitive flesh. Your senses heightened, the sound of his moans filling the room, mingling with your own pleasure-filled gasps.

Spencer's control wavered as he neared the precipice of release. His grip on your hair became tighter, guiding you with an urgency that matched the rhythm of his thrusts. The powerful waves of pleasure coursed through him, radiating from every inch of his being.

As Spencer's release neared, you could feel the tension in his body intensify. His breaths became ragged and irregular, and you could sense that he was on the verge of losing his grip on control. With a final, desperate thrust, he released himself into your mouth.

You swallowed eagerly, savouring the taste of him as his essence filled your senses. The primal satisfaction that filled the room was overwhelming, leaving you both breathless and intoxicated with desire.

Spencer collapsed back onto the sofa, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. You rose from your knees, licking your lips and savouring the lingering taste of him on your tongue.

Spencer knew he wasn’t done with you yet; he knew this wasn’t a proper punishment. Spencer's eyes burned with a renewed determination as he met your gaze. Despite the intense pleasure that still lingered within you, there was a hunger for more, an unquenchable longing that pulsed through your veins.

"Get on the bed," he commanded, his voice low and commanding. The room seemed to dim around you, shadows dancing against the walls, as you obeyed his command.

The bed beckoned you, its soft sheets invitingly cool against your heated skin. You climbed onto it, positioning yourself on all fours, ready and exposed for whatever Spencer had in mind.

Spencer stood up from the sofa, his eyes fixed on your vulnerable form on the bed. He moved towards you slowly, the anticipation building with each step. As he reached the edge of the bed, he trailed a finger lightly along your spine.

He reached over to the nightstand and retrieved a length of silk rope, his eyes never leaving yours. With a swift motion, he secured your wrists together, binding them tightly but not painfully. You tested the restraints instinctively, feeling the rush of helplessness mingling with arousal.

With your wrists secured, Spencer moved to the foot of the bed, his gaze darkening with a predatory hunger. He wasted no time, his hands trailing up your legs, skimming over the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs. A shiver ran through you, anticipation coiling tightly in your core.

His touch was teasing, tormenting, as he neared the apex of your thighs. His fingers danced along the edges of your arousal, but never fully delved into it. It was a maddeningly slow torture that left you trembling with need.

"Please," you whispered, unable to contain the desperation in your voice. The ache within you was unbearable, the longing for release. Spencer's lips curled into a devilish smile, relishing in the power he held over you. He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "Patience, my love. I deserve patience after the stunts you pulled today.”

His fingers continued their torturous dance along your inner thighs, inching closer to your throbbing core. Every brush of his fingertips ignited a fire within you, intensifying the ache for release. Your body quivered with need, yearning for his touch to finally grant you the satisfaction you craved.

Finally, Spencer's fingers made contact with your slick folds, teasingly skimming against your sensitive entrance. A gasp escaped your lips as he dipped a single finger inside, drawing out a slow, deliberate stroke that had you arching your back in sheer ecstasy. Each movement was precise, calculated to push you closer to the edge without granting you the climax you so desperately sought.

"More," you begged, your voice filled with a desperation that matched the wildfire burning within you. Spencer's eyes gleamed with delight at your plea, relishing in the power he held over your pleasure.

With a wicked smile, he added another finger, curling them inside you expertly, hitting that spot that made your entire body quiver with every stroke. The intensity of the pleasure built rapidly, transcending everything else in the room. Your moans filled the air, mingling with the sound of his fingers slipping in and out of you.

But just as you were on the precipice of release, Spencer pulled his fingers out, leaving you gasping and reaching for something to cling onto. The sudden emptiness made you whimper with frustration. Spencer's eyes held an intoxicating mix of dominance and satisfaction as he watched you squirm on the bed.

"You don't get to come yet," he murmured huskily. "Not until I've had my fill." Spencer's words hung in the air, teasing, and taunting you. Every fibber of your being throbbed with desire, yearning for release. The hunger in his eyes reflected your own as he positioned himself between your spread legs.

Lowering his head, Spencer's hot breath fanned across your sensitive flesh. His lips brushed against your inner thighs, peppering soft kisses along the way, deliberately avoiding the centre of your need. The anticipation was agonizing, a delicious torment that made your body ache for his touch.

Finally, his tongue flicked out and traced a slow circle around your swollen clit. A gasp escaped your lips as pleasure surged through you. He continued to tease, alternating between gentle licks and firm sucks that had you writhing beneath him.

Each flicker of his tongue against your most intimate place intensified the fire within you. Your hips rocked instinctively, seeking more friction, more pleasure. But Spencer held firm control over your pleasure, denying you the release you so desperately craved. He continued his torturous ministrations, never relenting, never granting you the satisfaction of that mind-numbing climax.

Your body trembled with every stroke of his tongue, your need escalating to a maddening frenzy. The room was filled with the symphony of your moans, your pleas mixed with the wet sounds of his mouth on your throbbing core. The tension coiled tighter and tighter within you, threatening to shatter your sanity.

Spencer's hands gripped your hips, holding you firmly in place as he devoured you with an insatiable hunger. You were at his mercy, surrendering yourself completely to his touch. The pulsating waves of pleasure radiated through every fibber of your being, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

Just when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, when the ache for release became unbearable, Spencer pulled away.

Your whole body cried out in protest at the sudden absence of his touch. You whimpered, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. Spencer's dark eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he watched you, revelling in the control he had over your pleasure.

"Please," you begged, your voice dripping with need. "I need to cum."

Spencer's lips curled into a wicked smile, knowing full well the power he held over your satisfaction. He crawled up the bed, positioning himself over you, his hard length brushing against your thigh. The hunger in his eyes was palpable as he captured your gaze.

"Oh, my love," he murmured, his voice low and seductive. "I'm not done with you yet. I want to watch you unravel completely."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, desire pooling between your legs once again. Spencer grasped your wrists, releasing them from their restraints, allowing you to wrap your arms around him.

With a swift motion, Spencer positioned himself at your entrance, teasing you with the head of his throbbing length. The anticipation was maddening, the need for him to fill you overwhelming every inch of your being. You let out a soft whimper, begging him to take you, to quell the ache that consumed you.

But Spencer relished in your desperation, leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue plundering your mouth with a hunger that matched your own. It was a battle of dominance and surrender as your tongues danced and clashed, melding together in a frenzied embrace.

When he finally pulled away, his lips trailed down your neck, peppering heated kisses along the curve of your throat. His breath was hot against your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. As his teeth grazed along the sensitive flesh, a bolt of pleasure shot through you, electrifying every nerve ending.

With agonizing slowness, Spencer entered you, his hard length filling you inch by inch. You gasped at the delicious stretch, the feeling of him stretching you to your limits. The pleasure was almost overwhelming, a mix of pain and ecstasy that had your body arching off the bed in pure bliss.

He began to move within you, his thrusts slow and deliberate. Each stroke sent waves of pleasure radiating through your body, intensifying the ache for release that had been building within you for so long. Your fingers clenched against the silk restraints, the sensation of being bound adding an extra layer of arousal.

Spencer's pace quickened, his thrusts becoming harder and faster. He knew exactly how to push your buttons, hitting that spot deep inside you with every powerful stroke. The room filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, mingling with your moans and gasps.

Your senses were completely consumed by the pleasure, nothing else existing except for the connection between you and Spencer. His gaze locked with yours, his eyes filled with an intensity that matched the blaze within you. Every movement, every thrust, carried you further and further into a state of raw ecstasy. The world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you entwined in a dance of desire.

As Spencer's rhythm became more erratic, your body responded in kind, meeting his every movement with unyielding fervour. The bed rocked beneath you, a symphony of creaks and moans echoing through the room. Sweat glistened on your skin, the scent of desire mingling with the air.

Time lost all meaning as pleasure coiled tightly within you, ready to unravel at any moment. The fire burned within your core, threatening to consume you whole. Spencer's fingers dug into your hips, his grip possessive yet exhilarating.

With one final thrust, the dam broke.

An explosion of sensation ripped through your body as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Your nails dug into his skin. He quickly followed you, releasing his seed deep in you.

He pulled out and had a look a triumph plastered across his face. “I think we should probably get ready to leave now, huh?”

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pickingupmymercedes · 9 days

Text

Happy you're home - Lewis Hamilton

request : "their son is like 2/3 y/o and reader obviously pays more attention to him, even after coming back from work, so lewis is a bit 'jealous' and very clingy, needy with his wife." - fluff anon ✌🏽(gonna call you that because you were so lovely even with the confusion)

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Wife!Reader!

wordcount: +2k

a/n: There's a bit of angst , I know the request was for something fluff, but I just had to. It's worth it though, promise😉.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

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"So, special dates?" Lewis asked casually as he leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Y/n stir the sauce simmering on the stove.

Y/n glanced over her shoulder at him, catching the hint of something beneath his tone. "Yeah, just little outings after I pick him up from nursery" she replied lightly, sensing where this conversation was headed.

"Outings?" Lewis repeated, pushing off the counter to walk closer, his eyes following her every move. "You make it sound so... exclusive."

"Well" Y/n teased, turning to face him fully "It was our thing while you were away. Just me and him. You know he's a little creature of habit."

Lewis crossed his arms, feigning nonchalance. "And what, he's not happy I'm home now?"

Y/n laughed softly, moving to grab a couple of plates. "He's thrilled you're home, Lew. But he's also two, and he's gotten used to our routine."

Lewis hummed, but there was a slight edge to his expression. "I just thought he’d be excited to see me. I mean, I picked him up, and he barely smiled."

"He's not used to you picking him up, that's all. Give him time." She set the plates down on the table and walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "He missed you. We both did."

Lewis softened at her touch, pulling her closer. "I missed you too. I just feel a bit... left out?"

Y/n tilted her head, studying him. "Left out?" She smiled, though she could see the seriousness in his eyes.

"I mean…" he admitted, a bit sheepishly. "It’s like every time I turn around, he's glued to you. And I get it, you're his mom, but..." He trailed off, his hand resting on her hip, thumb brushing absentmindedly against the skin he found just below the waistband of her jeans. "I guess I'm just a little jealous."

"Of him?" Y/n raised an eyebrow, trying to hide her amusement.

"Maybe," Lewis muttered, his voice low. "Or maybe of the fact that you two have all these moments when I'm not around."

Y/n's smile turned into a gentle laugh, and she leaned up to kiss him softly. "You know, you could join us on our little dates."

"Could I?" Lewis' eyes sparkled with the challenge. "Because it seemed like he wasn't too happy about me crashing those special times today."

Y/n chuckled. "We'll make it our thing—all three of us."

Lewis seemed to consider this, his hands tightening around her. "I don't want to just be the guy who shows up between races, Y/n. I want to be part of all of it."

"You are" she reassured him, kissing the corner of his mouth. "And trust me, he adores you. He just doesn't know how to express it."

He sighed, nodding slowly. "I know. I just hate missing out."

Y/n cupped his face, making him meet her gaze. "You're here now. And that's what matters."

As the rest of the evening went by the tension from earlier slowly dissipated. But Y/n couldn't help but notice how clingy Lewis was, not just with their son but with her too.

Every chance he got, he was touching her, keeping her close. When it was time to put their son to bed, Lewis lingered, his hands on the small of her back as she tucked the little boy in.

As they got ready for bed themselves, Y/n couldn’t contain herself anymore. She slipped into her nightwear, watching as Lewis pulled back the covers.

"So" she began, trying to sound casual, "you’re a little... possessive tonight."

"Possessive?" Lewis looked up; one eyebrow raised. "Is that what you call it?"

"Handsy would be a better word" Y/n teased, slipping into bed beside him.

Lewis smirked, leaning closer. "Maybe I missed you more than I realized."

Y/n rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t suppress the smile forming on her lips. "Or maybe you're still a bit jealous of a toddler."

Lewis didn’t deny it, instead pulling her into his arms, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Maybe I am. But can you blame me?"

Y/n laughed softly, running her fingers tips on his arm. "You’re ridiculous, you know that?"

"Um…" Lewis murmured, his lips brushing against her neck.

Before she could respond, they were interrupted by the sound of their son's cries coming through the baby monitor. Y/n sighed, moving to get up, but Lewis held her back for a moment.

"Does he really need you every time?" he grumbled, clearly frustrated.

"He's two, Lewis," Y/n reminded him gently, though there was a hint of impatience in her tone. "And yes, he needs me because that's all he’s got."

The words were out before she could stop them, and she immediately regretted them. Lewis’s expression shifted, something like hurt and understanding mixed on his features. "Y/n..."

"I’m sorry," she quickly apologized, her voice softening. "That’s not what I meant."

Lewis nodded, though the sadness lingered in his eyes. "We'll talk later, okay?"

Y/n nodded, leaning down to kiss him briefly before slipping out of bed.

She hurried to their son's room, finding him sitting up in his crib, tears streaming down his chubby cheeks.

"Dada?" he asked through sniffles, looking around as if expecting to see Lewis behind her.

Y/n’s heart melted a little, and she leaned into the crib, brushing his curls back. "Dada's asleep, sweetie. Do you want me to tuck you in?"

But their son shook his head, determined. "Dada."

Before Y/n could respond, Lewis appeared in the doorway, his expression softening as he saw their son. "Hey, buddy" he said quietly, crossing the room to pick him up.

The little boy immediately settled against his father’s chest, his tiny arms wrapping around Lewis’s biceps.

Y/n watched as Lewis sat down in the recliner, cradling their son with a tenderness as she have them some space, slipping out of the room and back into bed.

When Lewis finally returned, his footsteps were soft as he approached the bed. He slipped in beside her, pulling her close and leaving a kiss to her exposed shoulder.

"Has he been waking up like that a lot?" Lewis asked, his voice tinged with concern as he settled into bed beside Y/n.

Y/n nodded, resting her head on his chest. "For the past couple of weeks mostly. The change in routine really got to him."

Lewis sighed deeply, his hand gently tracing circles on her back. "I should’ve been here for his first days at nursery."

Y/n lifted her head slightly, about to reassure him, but Lewis's hand on her back stilled her.

"Y/n, don’t" he began, his voice thoughtful. "It’s not just about missing his first days. It’s the time you’ve had with him, but also the time he’s had with you."

She looked up at him, her brow furrowed slightly in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Lewis let out a small, self-deprecating chuckle. "I missed you, too. Not just the way I always miss you when I’m away, but I missed being a part of this routine. The bedtime, the little 'dates,' the way he clings to you... I missed seeing you with him, and I missed having you to myself after all that."

Y/n's heart softened at his words, a tender smile tugging at her lips. "Lew, you’re always part of those moments, even when you’re not physically here."

Lewis’s eyes met hers, full of emotion. "I know I was stupid earlier, but it's because I love being with you—both of you. And when I'm not, it feels like I'm missing out on so much. As his dad and as your partner."

Y/n’s smile widened as she shifted to lie more comfortably against him. "I missed you too. More than you know. And trust me, our little guy missed you like crazy, even if he didn’t show it."

Lewis chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest. "He’ll come around. I just have to remind him that I'm part of this whole 'special date' thing too."

"You will," Y/n assured him, brushing a soft kiss against his neck. "And as for us, we’ll make up for lost time."

He kissed the top of her head, his voice filled with affection. "You’re stuck with me, Mrs. Hamilton."

And as Y/n began to drift off to sleep, Lewis leaned into her hear, whispering almost to himself "I really did miss you. And I’m not going anywhere. Not for long anyway."

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choerypetal · 11 months

Text

Nap Time. / Mike Schmidt

Summary : You knew Mike ever since moving next door to his. While you were suggesting to look for a job and him in deed for a babysitter, to keep Abby during his night shifts. You accepted even at times to offer overtime, due to the nights at his work being somewhat more difficult than he had thought. Meaning having to also prepare tonight's dinner when Mike went to take a Nap. Warning : None, Just fluff!

Enjoy!

Mike had diligently prepared your paychecks for the past few months. Despite facing personal challenges, he consistently maintained his commitment to honesty. However, as he handed you your paycheck this time, there was a noticeable change in his demeanor. His gaze appeared strangely vacant, and he seemed to avoid eye contact, in line with his prior preference for avoiding meaningless, drawn-out conversations. You couldn't help but observe his bloodshot eyes and the dark circles underneath them, signaling that he hadn't enjoyed a peaceful night's sleep in quite a while.

Although you offered to stay a little longer, realizing that dinner wasn't ready and Abby was getting ready for bed, he firmly declined, shaking his head nervously, his stuttering making his anxiety apparent. "No–Noo– It’s– Abby can–" It was at this moment that you understood he had lost everything. The memories from that second night at the Pizzeria and the children were haunting him. He began to disconnect from reality, feeling his body temperature rise and sweat bead on his forehead. If Mike wasn't already in a state of torment, he had surely been gone for a long time.

"I insist." You firmly stated, believing in your words this time. Abby, who had been hesitant to peek from outside her room, came over to hug you. Seeing that you were still there, she tugged at the end of your shirt, signaling that you could stay even if her brother had chosen not to. She preferred spending more time with you, especially after all the recent events. While she deeply cared about her brother, she understood that sometimes adults needed their space, particularly when it involved taking Abby away from Mike and into the care of her aunt, who she herself had strongly objected to it.

Mike observed the two of you, momentarily captivated by how he managed to keep his composure after all he had been through. He let out a sigh, soothingly rubbed his neck, and finally agreed before Abby could voice another protest directly. "Alright, alright. It wouldn't hurt if you stayed a little longer... Maybe to also getting dinner ready too?"

A smile graced your features as you graciously accepted his request, fully aware of his fatigue. "I'll go take a nap if you... don't mind?" Without waiting for your response, he promptly headed to his room, leaving Abby and you alone in the room. "He's been rather grumpy lately." Abby remarked, her expression conveying her amusement as you playfully ruffled her hair. "Can I help?" She then offered to assist you with dinner, a proposition you welcomed with enthusiasm. "Of course. How about I handle the vegetables, and you mix everything?" Abby's face lit up with delight, and she eagerly took your arm, guiding you both to the kitchen.

The cooking process unfolded smoothly, with you patiently waiting for the spaghetti sauce to simmer according to your mother's cherished recipe, allowing it to develop its flavors over a few hours. As Abby settled in to watch her favorite nighttime comedy shows, you made the decision to rouse Mike from his nap before dinner was ready. You couldn't help but feel a tinge of guilt knowing he was in a somewhat disheveled state.

Carefully entering his room, your eyes wandered around, taking in the old drawings, family photographs, and a few posters that appeared to be recent additions, their sheen reflecting the moonlight streaming in through the window. Moving closer to his slumbering form, you gently brushed your fingers across his cheek, prompting him to emit a few soft whimpers in response to your tender touch. You couldn't help but smile, and as you continued to caress his cheek, you noticed his fingers entwining with yours. Initially, you thought it might be a sign to stop, but he murmured, "Please continue..." So softly that it nearly startled you, caught off guard by his vulnerability.

Mike unmistakably recognized your presence, discerning your perfume's scent and the tender affection you consistently bestowed upon him whenever the opportunity arose. However, tonight felt notably distinct, one of those nights when he needed your support the most. It pained him to see you openly caring for a guy burdened with numerous life problems, yet it was one of the aspects about you that he strangely admired, particularly your strong bond with Abby. As you prepared to rise and apologize for waking him so abruptly, he urged you to do the opposite. "Stay for a little while." he murmured, his words soft and slightly hoarse due to his dehydration, as he struggled to express himself.

In response, you emitted a soft hum and nodded, though you were uncertain if he truly meant it. He gently took hold of your wrist, assisting you in settling on his bed in front of him, his body shifting closer to yours. He rested his head on the crook of your neck, exhaling the familiar scent he had always been infatuated with. Though initially feeling a bit uneasy, you nervously cleared your throat and mentioned that dinner was nearly ready. However, he declined, saying, "Abby will know when to... Just stay here for a while."

You realized that declining wasn't even an option as Mike's arms were wrapped around your waist so tightly that he showed no intention of letting go any time soon. Although the sudden display of affection caught you off guard, you couldn't help but thoroughly enjoy this tranquil moment. Your soft smile graced your lips, and at just the right moment, Mike's eyes opened from his deep slumber, fixing on yours with a quizzical brow raised at the sight of your unexpected smile.

"What's the smile for?" He inquired, though he understood the meaning behind it and pretended not to, instead focusing on admiring every feature of your face. You shrugged, perhaps waiting for Mike to provide an answer, but he insisted that you share your thoughts. "I suppose it's just about sharing this moment with you." You confessed with a gentle smile.

"Is it?" He inquired, adopting a teasing tone, causing your cheeks to flush with warmth in response to the unexpected situation. Despite working as a babysitter for Mike, you had never anticipated or considered the possibility of a deeper relationship, let alone sharing his bed at this moment. As you found yourself also admiring his face, a subtle tingling sensation fluttered in your stomach—a mix of desire and affection for the man who had initially been nothing more than a neighbor.

"It is." You firmly concurred, your smile now more at ease. You couldn't help but giggle at how silly you must have sounded, only to then realize that the man who loved you, perhaps even adored you, had been right there in front of you all along. "I'm glad then..." He whispered softly, gently caressing your cheek. He showed no intention of releasing you for a while, even when he sensed your desire to do so, as the aroma of tomato sauce filled the entire house, signaling that dinner was ready.

"Nuh-Uh." He protested with a playful pout, fully aware of where your attention had swiftly shifted. "Pasta can wait just a little longer, please." He pleaded, emphasizing the word 'please.' His protest was more of a source of amusement than a genuine plea for pity. This time it was more of an theatrical performance, and you understood his intention. Even though you didn't make a strong effort to comply, you decided to stay a little longer, especially when you felt his lips against your skin. “I bet you even taste better than your mom’s spaghetti..” His journey from your neck to your collarbone brought a smile to your lips, intensifying the blush that had adorned your cheeks earlier.

In an attempt to deflect from your deepening blush, you attempted to cover it, but Mike had the time to gently lifted your chin as he turned your body to face him. "Did I ever told you that you look like an angel sent from above?" He boldly stated, making you initially think he might have lost his mind with such a bold compliment. However, you chuckled casually and replied. "I suppose so?" You decided to play along, mimicking the playful banter he had engaged in earlier, feigning innocence with a hint of sarcasm. To your surprise, this seemed to arouse him even more, making him desire you exclusively.

"You know."A familiar and youthful voice suddenly chimed in between the two of you, and Abby's figure peeked into Mike's room. You heard a sigh of annoyance, coupled with a sense of embarrassment, as you both realized where you had been all this time. Mike chuckled, "Yes, yes, Abby. We'll be right there for dinner."

"You heard her," you declared, joining Abby to help her get ready to serve dinner. Just as you were about to rise, Mike couldn't hide a pout, one that compelled you to lean in and press a soft kiss on his lips without hesitation. "Come on, grumpy old man. I'm hungry," you playfully protested, rubbing your stomach and indicating that he wouldn't receive any more kisses if he didn't comply. He sighed but abandoned the idea of keeping you both in bed, realizing his own hunger as his stomach grumbled in agreement.

As you got up and left the room, you glanced back at him with affectionate eyes before finally leaving to join Abby. It was in that moment that Mike fully comprehended the depth of what was happening—sharing his life with someone else, someone he loved and cared for deeply. It was something he hadn't expected, but here you were.

For once, Mike felt a sense of rest and inner peace.

#mike schmidt imagine #mike schmidt imagines #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #josh fnaf #josh fnaf gif #josh hutcherson x reader #josh hutcherson #fnaf movie #fnaf x reader #micheal afton x reader #william afton #mike schmidt x you #josh hutcherson imagine #fnaf movies

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idkyetxoxo · 10 days

Text

Daemon Targaryen - His and Only His

Summary - Daemon's jealousy flares as he accuses his wife of flirting with another man. His rage sparks a fierce, passionate encounter, driven by intense possessiveness. He believes the ultimate way to assert his dominance is to leave her yearning and breathless beneath him.

Pairing - Daemon Targaryen x reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!!)

Word count - 2074

Masterlist for Daemon • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

"Daemon, I find myself consistently having this conversation with you," I said wearily, my head in my hands, the room filled with an uncomfortable silence.

The night draped around us, the moon casting a ghostly glow through the window, and the candles flickered dimly as if mirroring the unease between us.

"This jealousy is unwarranted," I continued, my voice tinged with frustration. "Lord Harlan was merely being polite."

Daemon's eyes flashed with anger as he paced the room, his fists clenched at his sides. "Polite? He was practically courting you right in front of me! And you stood there, smiling!"

"He was making idle conversation," I countered, trying to keep my voice steady. "There was nothing more to it."

Daemon stopped abruptly, turning to face me, his expression dark. "Do you take me for a fool? I saw the way he looked at you. And the way you responded—"

"I was being polite, Daemon!" I snapped, rising to my feet, unable to contain my own frustration. "Must I remind you that I am not some possession to be guarded jealously?"

Daemon's eyes narrowed, anger simmering beneath the surface. "Polite? He practically leered at you, and you stood there like you enjoyed it!"

I shot back, "Enjoyed it? I was trying to keep the peace, Daemon! Not everything is a threat to you."

His frustration boiled over as he stepped closer, fists clenched. "It's not about peace! It's about respect. You're my wife, and you're letting some man shower you with attention!"

"Attention?" I laughed bitterly. "You're making a mountain out of a molehill. Do you really think I would betray you for some empty compliments?"

Daemon's voice rose, "It's not about betrayal! It's about how it looks. You're too naive to see that your actions can be misinterpreted!"

"Naive? I'm trying to navigate this treacherous court while you wallow in jealousy!" I shot back, feeling my own anger swell.

For a moment, we stood there, glaring at each other, the air thick with unspoken words. The candles flickered more violently as if they, too, were caught up in the tempest of our emotions.

"You are mine, not anyone else's," he whispered, his voice low and commanding, as he approached me with swift, purposeful movements.

The shadows cast by the flickering candlelight danced across his face, making his eyes gleam with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine.

He gripped my face in his hands, his eyes staring down at me possessively. My breath caught in my throat, my stomach twisting and turning at his sudden intensity. His fingers, firm and unyielding, pressed into my skin, holding me in place as if daring me to challenge his claim.

"Mine," he emphasized, before crushing his lips against mine with a force that took me by surprise.

I responded immediately, unable to resist the passion in his kiss. His tongue invaded my mouth, demanding and insistent as if he were branding me with his touch.

"He does not get to have the pleasure of even looking at you," he declared, his hands moving to tear the fabric of my dress from my body.

The sound of ripping cloth echoed in the room, mingling with the heavy breaths and the rapid thumping of our hearts.

His eyes roamed over my exposed skin possessively, igniting a fierce desire within me. With a defiant smirk, I swiftly removed his clothes, my hands eager and knowing. I could feel his muscles tense beneath my touch, his skin hot and inviting.

Our lips found each other again with urgency, and without hesitation, he lifted me and carried me to our bed. He placed me down roughly, hovering over me before swiftly entering me.

A gasp escaped my lips at the sudden rush of pleasure coursing through me.

The anger had now turned into a fierce need, as if he was trying to reclaim what he feared losing.

"You're so desperate for me," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "Already so wet and aching. Something he could never do."

"I bet he dreams of having you like this," he whispered hoarsely, his voice thick with desire, punctuating his words with deep, forceful thrusts.

My hands grasped his back, my nails digging into his skin in response to his forceful movements.

His fingers tangled in my hair, pulling possessively as he continued to move within me. The sting of his grip was a delicious counterpoint to the pleasure flooding my senses, each sensation amplifying the other.

"No one else is allowed to imagine you like this," he declared firmly, his words laced with possessiveness and primal need.

All I could manage in response was a fervent nod, my senses overwhelmed by the intensity of our connection, the raw passion that bound us together in that heated moment.

"You are mine," he repeated, his voice low and commanding, as he lifted my legs over his shoulders to give him better access. His thrusts grew deeper and quicker, each movement eliciting cries of ecstasy that filled the room.

"Say it," he commanded, his hands firm on my hips, steadying me as he took control.

The intensity of his movements left me breathless, the world narrowing down to the rhythm of his body against mine.

All I could manage was a whimper, overwhelmed by the intensity of our encounter, words caught in my throat. My body responded instinctively to his demands, arching towards him, seeking more.

"Say it," he demanded again, his voice tinged with desire and dominance. His eyes bore into mine, demanding surrender, craving affirmation of my submission to him.

I opened my mouth, breathless and desperate, finally whispering, "I am yours."

A satisfied smirk crossed his lips as he heard my confession, his eyes smouldering with satisfaction and possessiveness. The look in his eyes made my pulse quicken, and I felt a thrill of excitement course through me.

With a sudden, fluid motion, he effortlessly shifted our positions, flipping me beneath him with a display of strength that left me breathless.

Now on my hands and knees, his hands found their way to the small of my back, holding me firmly in place. His grip was possessive, yet reassuring, a silent promise of what was to come. His fingers pressed into my skin, anchoring me to the moment.

He realigned himself, entering me again with a controlled force that made me squirm with a mixture of pleasure and anticipation. Each movement was deliberate, his body moving with a primal rhythm that resonated through me.

The sensation was exquisite, a blend of control and wild abandon that left me gasping for more.

"So beautiful, so perfect," he murmured, his voice husky with desire, as I arched my back instinctively, inviting him deeper.

His hands explored my body with a possessive hunger, fingers slipping underneath to caress and squeeze my breasts.

His touch was skilful and knowing, each squeeze and knead sending ripples of pleasure through me. I gasped and moaned softly, lost in the intoxicating mix of sensation and emotion that he effortlessly stirred within me.

His movements became more urgent, more insistent as if he was as lost in the moment as I was. The room seemed to pulse with the energy between us, every sense heightened, every touch more intense.

"Do you feel that?" he growled, his voice thick with need. "That's what you do to me. No one else can make me feel this way."

Suddenly, he pulled out and flipped me over onto my back with a swift motion, his eyes blazing with an intense fire. Before I could catch my breath, he lifted my legs and positioned them over his shoulders again.

I cried out in a mix of surprise and pleasure, the sensation more intense than before.

"You belong to me," he growled, his voice a rough whisper against my ear. Each word was punctuated by a powerful thrust that made my body quiver with anticipation and need.

His hand moved between us, fingers finding that sensitive spot that made me see stars. The combination of his deep, forceful thrusts and the skilful touch of his fingers pushed me closer to the edge. My body responded to his every move, arching and trembling under his touch.

"Daemon, I'm close," I managed to gasp out, feeling the tension coil tighter within me.

He grunted in response, his movements becoming even more deliberate and intense. Each thrust seemed to drive deeper, each touch more insistent, pushing me to the brink of my endurance.

"Not yet," he growled, his voice rough and commanding, urging me to hold on.

His fingers increased their pressure, skillfully prolonging the sweet agony, pushing me to the brink without allowing release. The frustration mixed with pleasure was almost unbearable, leaving me desperate for the climax he withheld.

My breath came in ragged gasps as he continued to thrust deeply, each movement perfectly synchronized with the expert touch of his fingers.

The combination was maddening, every nerve ending alight with pleasure, teetering on the edge of an explosive climax. I could feel the heat building, threatening to consume me completely.

"Hold on for me," he urged, his voice a mix of demand and desire.

His eyes bore into mine, the intensity of his gaze grounding me even as my body threatened to spiral out of control. "I want to feel you fall apart for me."

His words sent a shiver down my spine, the possessiveness in his tone amplifying the sensations coursing through me. I could feel myself teetering on the edge, desperate for release but held back by his firm control.

"Please," I whimpered, my voice barely a whisper as I struggled to hold on, every fibre of my being craving the sweet release he was denying me.

"Not yet," he repeated, his voice a rough whisper against my ear. The words were a command and a promise, urging me to surrender completely to the intensity of the moment.

My body trembled, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until I thought I might shatter. The pleasure was almost too much to bear, a constant wave that left me breathless and on the verge of tears.

Finally, just as I thought I could endure no more, he growled, "Now, let go."

His fingers pressed harder, his thrusts deepening, and the combination sent me spiralling over the edge. The release was explosive, a burst of pure ecstasy that left me gasping and crying out his name. My body convulsed every muscle tightening as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me.

He held me through it, his release following closely behind, a deep groan escaping his lips as he found his own climax. The intensity of our shared release left us both trembling, our bodies entwined and slick with sweat.

In the aftermath, he pulled me close, his arms wrapping around me protectively. I nestled against him, my heart still racing, feeling a profound sense of belonging and security in his embrace.

"I'm going to fill you again and again until your stomach swells with my child," he murmured, his fingers gently stroking my hair.

The promise in his words was both a threat and a vow, each syllable tinged with the raw possessiveness that had consumed us moments before.

As our breaths began to steady, he leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear.

"Consider this a warning," he murmured, his voice still thick with dominance and passion. "If he ever mistakes your kindness for want, if he ever thinks he can have even a piece of you, I'll remind him exactly who you belong to."

His words sent a final shiver through me, the possessive edge in his tone leaving no room for doubt. I was his, completely and utterly, and there was nowhere else I would rather be.

His hands continued to caress my skin, a tender contrast to the intensity of his words. Each touch was a reminder of his claim on me, a gentle yet unyielding assertion of his control.

At that moment, I knew that our bond was unbreakable, a fierce and consuming connection that no one else could touch.

The possessive fire in his eyes, the raw passion in his touch, and the commanding presence of his voice all combined to make me feel utterly and completely claimed.

"No mistakes will be made around here," I murmured softly, my voice carrying a quiet determination. He smirked, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. The gentle kiss he placed on my forehead told me everything I needed to know.

I was his, and nothing and no one could ever change that.

A/n - when in doubt, make sure your arguments are as intense as your make-up sessions!

#house of the dragon #house targaryen #hotd #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #hotd one shot #hotd season 2 #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #team black #daemon targaryen #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #hotd daemon #prince daemon targaryen #the rouge prince #daemon targeryan

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distantdarlings · 11 days

Text

STRAY FROM ROUTINE // m. riddle

RATING: R / 4.5K WORDS

Mattheo Riddle x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* You wake up with an evil plan to ignore Mattheo Riddle until he cracks.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! (P in V), unprotected, spanking, thigh-hitting, dom!mattheo, sub!reader, mean mattheo, slight breeding kink, controlling mattheo, reader is resisting (but she's doing it on purpose), toxic relationship values, name-calling, degradation, language, not fully proofread (lmk if I missed anything!)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Ride or Die, Pt. 2 - Sevdaliza (I can't get it out of my head :'))

- - -

The inspiration that struck you as soon as you woke up was one of some kind of age-old genius. The motivation that came with it seemed to cloud your mind like some kind of drug, flooding your mind and inhibiting all other thoughts that attempted to enter your brain the rest of the day.

You had always been a bit of a shit-starter when it came to Mattheo Riddle, but today, you were feeling downright sinister.

Your eyes flicked across the room to catch the dark boy’s oaken eyes. His strong hand lifted from the counter to toy with his bottom lip teasingly. Every move was calculated, down to the way his shoulders moved when he took in a breath.

He skirted through his usual routine of tracing his eyes slowly down your body, then flicking them back up to steel his eye contact. For the first few months of your relationship with him—if that’s what you wanted to call it—that whole intimidating facade had worked on you effortlessly. But now, you knew he was more bark than he was bite. That was, as far as you could tell.

You supposed that after sleeping with him so long, he’d have lived up to his whole King Mattheo act, but he'd fallen short. You were disappointed, to say the least. The majority of the entire student body, including some teachers, were terrified of this boy that currently stared you down, but you seemed to be missing something.

Was he good in bed? Hell yes. Could he get mean? Also yes, but where was the difference? As far as you could tell, he didn’t fuck any differently than any other Slytherin boy you’d been with. They were practically all the same. Mean, dominant, and rough. They usually had some kind of ego to keep up—or a tiny dick to compensate for. Whatever it was, Mattheo didn’t seem any different.

He was mean, dominant, and rough. The only thing that had surprised you about him was how gentle he was beneath it all. With every bruising thrust, his fingers cradled your hips gently where others gripped with their nails. With every mark he sucked into your skin, he darted a tongue out to soothe where others let it simmer. He was a rough lover, but he was still a lover. The others were just rough.

That was what had kept you going back to him so many times. But you were getting impatient. It was time for Mattheo to step his game up, or you were going to get bored. You wanted him to prove to you that he was different. But you didn’t want to have to ask for it. You just wanted him to know to do it.

By the time the last of the breakfast crowd had dissipated and the campus prepared for their first periods, Mattheo hadn’t broken eye contact once. Nor had you. If there was one thing you weren’t going to do—for Mattheo or any one else—it was back down from a challenge. If he wanted to tease and stare and frustrate, you’d do the same.

Finally, he stood with the rest of his group of friends. They headed toward the door but his focus remained on you.

The tip of his wand peeked out from the edge of his uniform sleeve and, with a few mumbled words, a small slip of paper had collapsed from the tip of the wooden object. It hit the floor silently, and weaved through the swarm of feet marching through the Great Hall. Once it had reached you, it stopped just before your shoes beneath the table.

At risk of being caught by your friends, you refused to glance down at it. But, just like he always did, Mattheo had thought of everything. With a shiver, you felt the piece of paper slide up your leg like a slithering snake.

It slunk over the curve of your knee and seemed to wait for you to grab it. Ignoring the thought that it seemed to be alive like some sort of bug, you slipped your hand beneath the table and pulled the slip of paper toward you. Discreetly, you opened it up and looked down at it.

How do you want me to take you today? was scrawled in heavy, broad strokes across the sliver of parchment.

You bit back a smirk. That little fucker.

But, no. With the inspiration you had today—the inspiration to push Mattheo Riddle as close to the edge as possible—you weren’t going to allow him the satisfaction.

In fact, you were going to ignore him entirely until he cracked. That was the plan and you were settled with it. While this likely wasn’t the best thing for your own health, you weren’t too concerned. Mattheo Riddle was an asshole, but he wasn’t a murderer. You were pretty sure, anyways.

Satisfied with your decisions, you smiled lightly and pushed the piece of parchment into the first pocket of your school bag. As soon as you returned to your room, it would be placed with all of the other notes he had passed to you. Even though you weren’t wildly impressed with Mattheo’s performance so far, it was still nice to have the dirty, little notes sitting around for a rainy day.

- - -

And throughout the rest of the day, you stuck to your plan like glue. Every stare, every sneaking touch, every whispered word from Mattheo was met with a brick wall. You simply weren’t interested in any aspect of his usual antics, today. He needed to earn what he refused to admit he wanted so badly, which was you.

And by third period, you could tell he was nearly ready to explode. His jaw was clenching and unclenching, his fists were wrapped so tightly together, the knuckles were almost completely white. He was fucking angry—possibly angrier than you had ever seen him. And that was exactly what you had wanted. You wanted him to know that you were a million times different than any of the other girls he’d romanced so far.

He tried once more to entice a little desire from you just toward the end of class. The two of you sat in the last two rows at the very back of the classroom.

The room was elevated with the back rows at the highest point of the room, overlooking the rest of the class. Any secret movements were noticed simply by the backs of heads and a nonchalant teacher.

Mattheo sat directly behind you with one of his unnamed friends to his left, and another to that boy’s left. You were alone on your row. The class was not that big. But this was exactly the kind of environment a sly boy like Mattheo Riddle loved. He would take any opportunity he could to slide his dirty lips against your ear and whisper any deviance that popped into his head at the moment. And that’s what he’d done.

His head had settled just beside yours. You’d heard his breathing before even notice the heat from his skin radiating onto yours. A shiver passed through your body at his proximity. Annoyed at your body’s involuntary reaction to the dark boy, you slipped your arms beneath the table to hide the chills sprouting across your flesh.

He must have seen them, though, because a small breath of a smirk passed across his face in your peripheral.

“I don’t know what your game is, little girl,” he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “But you’d better straighten that attitude up, or I swear, I’ll fix it myself.”

He didn’t say another word before he leaned back against his own seat, leaving you to wonder whether or not this was a good idea. You reminded yourself that intimidation was his shtick. That was the majority of the reason everyone was so frightened of him. You couldn’t even remember the last time he’d actually beaten anyone up or done anything to anyone who’d wronged him. Like you’d said, he was all bark.

Still, despite his threatening words, you simply flipped your hair over your shoulder and completely ignored him. He scoffed, seemingly suppressing a laugh. He was mad. But he wasn’t going to admit that to you right now.

Besides, you were sure you’d never hear the end of it once it was all said and done.

Once the teacher had announced that class was over and recited the homework assignment to a crowd of deaf ears, you gathered all of your things quickly and made a beeline for the door. You hadn’t even given Mattheo a second to gain a bit of awareness before you were out the door and halfway down the hallway.

You didn’t have a fourth period, but Mattheo did. He had Potions for the next hour, giving you just enough time to spruce up your appearance a bit and prepare for the storm that was brewing. You knew Mattheo well enough by this point to know how this evening was going to go. He would threaten your body within an inch of its life, ask if you ‘knew who he was,’ then he’d fuck you. Just like he always did. There was too much of a pattern. Not enough spontaneity to keep you occupied—you needed more. Hopefully, today was what did it for him.

The dormitory you shared with your mates was completely barren due to their schedules. Out of the five of you, you were the only one that had chosen fourth period as your free period. It seemed odd to you that they would rather have a late start to the day, than an early end. In your opinion, you’d wake up as early as you had to, if it meant you did not have to yawn your way through the last classes of the day.

You dropped your bag onto your bed and made for the small desk that was positioned just beside the headboard. It was stocked with all of your personal hygiene products—organized impeccably—and various bits of stationery for schoolwork. It served as both a desk and a vanity for you while you were getting ready in the mornings—or getting ready to see Mattheo.

You hoped he would be desperate all through his class. You hoped his eyes would be flickering around nervously, his knee bouncing rapidly, sweat dripping down his throat. It would be a sight to behold.

Mattheo was gorgeous—there was no denying that. It was just his attitude that needed adjusting. You smirked to yourself before taking a seat at your desk, glancing at your appearance in the small mirror you’d propped up against the stone wall.

And before you were even able to apply a second layer of mascara, the large wooden door in the corner of the room rattled violently. Three aggressive knocks permeated the silence so roughly the dust motes illuminated by the sun shuddered wildly.

A chill of anticipation settled in your stomach. Surely, that couldn’t be him. Fourth period had barely even begun.

You rose from your desk and crossed the length of the room, every step echoing through your body like a cannon. Why were you so nervous? The possibilities of consequences of your own actions were really starting to rattle around in your skull.

Your fingers wrapped around the bronze door handle and pulled.

Sure enough, on the other side, stood Mattheo Riddle. A malicious smirk was printed across his lips. He glanced around a few times, seeming to scan the surroundings of your dorm.

“Hi, is there anyone else here?” he asked, his voice sickly sweet. The courteous role he was playing made you all the more nervous. He never acted this way, even when he’d come to your dorm in the past. He was usually just as brash as he usually was, no matter who was in the room.

“No, there’s not,” you said, your voice annoyingly shaking just a bit. “And if you don’t mind, I’m actually pretty busy—”

Just as you started to push the door closed again, Mattheo’s foot slammed against it, completely blocking its path. You tried to push against him, but he was much too strong for you to defend against.

“I’m sure you can spare a few moments for a quick chat,” he nearly growled, never dropping the fake smile planted on his face. His strong arm pushed against the door, rendering your protection of it completely useless. He pushed through and into the room as if you’d never been holding it in the first place.

He kicked the door shut behind him as soon as he stepped through, the door clunking shut with a rough thud. You suppressed a flinch at the loud sound, refusing to show any sign of vulnerability. You couldn’t pull away from your plan now that you were feeling his anger—that was cowardly.

“Mattheo, I’ve asked for you to leave,” you warned.

“Yeah? Just answer one question for me, baby…” he said, stepping directly into your personal space and invading it in every way possible.

As if asking for permission, he raised his hand slowly and let it hover just next to your cheek. When you did nothing, he placed his fingers along your jawline. They stroked gently across a small surface area, insisting that you felt every searing second of contact.

His face came impossibly close against yours. His warm breath fanned slowly across your cheek, hints of fire and cinnamon lingering beneath your nose. The feeling of his lips skirting slightly over your skin on the way to your ear sent a myriad of chills down the length of your arms and a pool of heat between your thighs. You silenced a shudder on its way through your lips.

“Did you act that way on purpose?” he whispered. His lips caressed the curvature of your ear, his hot words curling around the room. “If not, I’ll find a new girl to open her legs when I want. But if you wanted this, I will make you regret ever having turned away from me.”

You swallowed thickly, the sound piercing the blanket of silence that fell around the room the minute Mattheo stopped speaking. It irked you to no end, that the entire world seemed to hold its breath to wait for this boy. This dark, irritatingly impossible to resist boy. It was more than you were able to handle, no matter how determined you were to prove a point.

“What I wanted…,” you trailed off coldly. “Was for you to prove to me that you’re not exactly like every other Slytherin that waltzes in here, comes in ten seconds, and then asks me if I’ve finished. I’ve been waiting for that special something to jump out at me, but it just hasn’t. I’m getting bored of you, Mattheo.” You took a deep breath, gaining enough courage to flatten your face and select your next words perfectly. “Speaking of, I was wondering if your friend, Enzo, was single.”

You struggled to not smirk at his reaction. If you didn’t know Mattheo, you’d have assumed he was going to crash out and leave the room. But you knew him and his destructive tendencies. His rage, though extremely stigmatized, was something to be in awe of, and you were ready to see it. And to be the target of it.

His eyes darkened until they were barely reflecting any of the dim light around the room. His lips parted slightly, just enough for an evil smirk to stretch across his face. He was all dark eyes and sharp canines, and it looked as if he were desperate to sink them into your flesh.

“You’re fucking done,” he whispered menacingly.

Then his hand was around your throat, firm and bruising. He walked you backwards until your back roughly hit the stone wall, the cold rock biting into your shoulder blades. His lips met yours with a fervor you’d never seen before.

His tongue cruelly parted your lips and laid claim to the entirety of your throat. You could hardly breathe with the pressure he was applying around your neck and the force of his kiss. Yet, still, you could not deny the heat building within your stomach and radiating downwards.

His free hand wrapped around your waist, the fingers slipping slyly beneath the waistband of your uniform skirt. Just as always, in the midst of the fiery storm, his fingers were able to imitate some form of softness just long enough for his hand to prepare to rip your skirt away. Despite the roughness he provided everywhere else, his fingers were gentle as they slid along your skin so as not to pinch it against the wall. It was just thoughtful enough to melt your heart down into a broiling golden puddle.

His strong hand gripped the material of your bottoms and pulled them roughly down, revealing the absence of anything beneath, save your blackened tights. When he lifted his hand once more to tear your panties away, he recognized the lack of material within his fingers and growled against your lips.

“You fucking wanted this, you dumb slut,” he spat, his pearlescent teeth sinking down into the flesh of your bottom lip. With a whimper and flash of white across your vision, he finally released you, leaving behind a thin slathering of blood across your teeth.

“You wanted me to tear you to pieces,” he whispered, his hand finally freeing your throat, but only to get to work on ripping your uniform shirt apart. The buttons clattered wildly across the floor, rolling freely each in their own directions.

You moved to protest but Mattheo shoved you back against the wall. He shook his head as if in disbelief you’d even try to get away from him at this point in time. In his mind, this was well-deserved punishment. If you were his girl, you were going to fucking listen to him. You knew what you were getting into when you first laid your lips on his.

With your shirt split down the middle, the only thing standing between his lips and your heaving body were a lacy bra and a pair of tights. The cold, gray air hit your soaked body so aggressively, you thought your teeth might start clacking together.

“All this going to waste because you couldn’t ask me for what you wanted,” he whispered. “I’m going to have to destroy this gorgeous body, when it should be worshiped.”

To your disbelief, he sank down to his knees and placed his hands gently on the back of your thighs. His scorching mouth made contact with your thighs—still covered in the thin material of your pantyhose—and he began to place wet, biting kisses along your flesh. He moved slowly from just above your knee to the top of your thigh. Each mean kiss ached as if they were done by a wild animal, but—just as he always fucking did—he soothed them with his skilled tongue afterwards. Never letting you hurt for too long.

Once he reached your core, fluttering in anticipation, he took a deep breath. The scent of your desire filled his senses as if it was his last meal. Just from how he’d loved in the past, you could tell that he was refraining from devouring you. But this was a punishment. No matter how sweet or caring he so often was, he was never going to let you have what you wanted.

“But that won’t do today…” he whispered against the surface of your tights just above your core, so close that his lips brushed across the sensitive skin. You withheld a whimper.

“Seems like it wasn’t happening any other day, either,” you chuckled breathlessly. You weren’t dropping this fucking routine. You wanted this and every inch of teasing Mattheo wanted to give you.

He laid a biting slap across your left thigh. The sound of it echoed throughout the room, only being interrupted by the cry that left your lips at the sudden abuse.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” he demanded, his hand soothing the sore flesh.

He pressed one more kiss to the blossoming handprint, before sliding a short nail against the hosiery, ripping it instantly.

You gasped at the sensation, watching as he pulled on the material. It shredded down your leg, exposing your bare thighs to the pale light. Flaming red fingerprints bloodied the soft flesh and marked you as his.

Despite your annoyance at his lack of excitement during the last few times you’d fucked, the feeling of possession that he’d laid on you always made an impression. You felt like you belonged to him in every aspect of the word.

Then before you were able to let another smart-ass comment fly, he slipped his hand beneath the large shear in the tights and ripped a hole right across your aching groin, baring your searing cunt to the world.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

Even though he was intending to punish, Mattheo couldn’t help but appreciate your body just a little bit. Though he wouldn’t admit it just yet, he could die happily buried within you.

Seeming to realize his “punishment” was a bit too sweet, he gripped your hips roughly and flipped your body around to face the wall. You helped aloud as the craggy stone bit into the skin of your breasts through your bra. The lace mixed with the cold wall made your nipples prick almost uncomfortably.

“Gonna fuck some manners into you, baby,” he murmured, his gravelly voice echoing against the curve of your spine. His mean fingers traced each nodule of each vertebrae until he reached the dimples imprinted in the small of your back.

His thumbs pressed deep against them, rubbing an easy massage into them for just a second.

“Feel good? You got any other dumbass things to say?”

“Why waste my breath? I’m gonna have to fake my fucking orgasm in a few seconds.”

You bit back a moan as he reached through your legs, gripped the hole he’d ripped in your tights, and widened it between your thighs. He pulled it up and over your ass.

“Yeah? You fake it every time, baby?” he growled into your ear, his heavy bulge pressing into your bare ass.

“Yeah,” you gasped, your voice barely more than a whisper. Your hands were settled against your desk, fingers tightened around the edges, nails scratching into the wood. Your back was arched uncomfortably against his core, begging for every slight thrust he pressed into you. You could practically feel him within you already.

“You fake it every time you cum all over my cock, huh?” he asked. Behind you, you could hear him wrestling his belt out of its loops and dropping his trousers.

“Answer me, bitch,” he demanded, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling your head back against his chest.

“Fuck, Matty, that hurts!” you whined. It was a good, searing kind of pain but you didn’t want him to know that. Didn’t want him to know that your arousal was dripping down your legs by now.

“Yeah? That hurts?” he taunted. “That’s nothing, baby. You can take it.”

Then suddenly, his hot core was leant against the top of your ass. You were biting back a moan and running your fingers into the desk so hard they were going numb. Still, you weren’t going to give up.

“We’ll see if you can give it—fuck!”

He shut you up by slamming himself into you. The force of his intrusion hit your cervix at a sharp angle, sending stars into your eyes.

“Let me hear you fake it, yeah?” he groaned as he pulled himself out of you all the way to the tip before pushing himself back into you.

You couldn’t hide it anymore. Though you could still force some mean comments out every once and a while, you were unable to repress your moans.

“I’m basically an expert at this point!” you moaned.

“I bet,” he growled, his hips increasing in pace. “I know the way you clench around me everytime I take you from behind—” every sentence was pushed out between deep groans that echoed in your womb— “I’ve memorized every possible way you can scream my name…and I’ve learned every single thing I have to do to make that pretty pussy cum all over me.”

Following his words, his right hand snaked around your hip and pressed directly against your clit. He rubbed perfect circles into the sensitive spot, demanding a finish from you as soon as he could pull it from you.

“You’re a bit too cocky for my liking,” you breathed against his ruthless pounding. “I’d still like Enzo’s number.”

And with one final thrust, he pierced the bubble of pleasure that had bloomed rapidly in your stomach. You came impossibly hard, with the evidence of your high embarrassingly gushing around him. He pulled away from you and let your desire cover his stomach.

He laughed almost maniacally at the way your orgasm stretched out for what felt like hours.

And then, as you were finally coming down, he was pumping himself noisily into his hand and coming all of your lower back, painting the dimples he so loved to touch.

He moaned breathlessly, a slight crack in his voice, as he slowed his movements down and came down from his own high.

A tired laugh left his swollen lips as he trailed his finger through the remnants of his spend on your back and pushed his coated fingers into your sensitive entrance.

The overstimulation sent a flurry of ice up your spine. You cried at the sensation. Your legs fluttered before giving out.

On your way down to the floor, he caught you against his arms. Your knees were impossibly weak, but he was ever so strong.

“You faking this too, baby?” he clicked his tongue before settling you against your bed.

“Fuck you,” you sighed, your eyes fluttering against the ceiling. The lightheaded feeling floating through your skull was nearly too much for you to handle, but you were still high up on your pedestal and refused to come down.

Distantly, you could hear him pulling his pants up and rearranging his clothes.

Gently, he slid the remainder of your hosiery down your legs, unhooked your bra, and lifted you up off of the bed bridal-style. Somehow managing to cradle you with just one hand, he used his left to yank your comforter back, and settle you beneath it.

He leaned down beside your ear and pressed his lips to your temple. Just before he pulled all the way back, he began to whisper.

“The next time you wanna act like that—just remember that I fucked you to sleep, brat.”

- - -

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Text

CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR ⋆✦⋆ sakusa kiyoomi

synopsis ➸ you and sakusa have always hated each other, but when atsumu suggests it’s all just sexual tension, it forces you both to rethink everything—and now your arguments take on a whole new meaning

tags ➸ enemies(?) to lovers, making out, masturbation, dry humping, grinding, biting, dirty talking, degradation, hair pulling, implied atsumu x reader, unprotected sex, blowjob, face fucking, deep throating, throat bulge, fingering, orgasm denial, creampie, praise kink, pet names, squirting, manhandling, begging, atsumu is tired of your shit

wc ➸ 12k

"Say it again, Omi-kun. I dare you."

Your voice positively dripped with challenge as you leaned across the dining table, glaring daggers at the smirking figure lounging opposite you. Sakusa Kiyoomi regarded you evenly through those heavy-lidded eyes, handsome features arranged in an expression of haughty nonchalance.

"I said," he drawled slowly, relishing the way your fingernails dug grooves into the wood, "that your pitiful attempt at laundry left everything drenched in bleach. Again."

A muscle in your jaw ticked with barely restrained fury. You opened your mouth to unleash the torrent of vitriol building in your chest when a loud clatter from the kitchen interrupted.

"For fuck's sake, you two!" Atsumu groaned, stomping into view with his hands buried in his hair. "Can't ya give the bickering a rest for just one goddamn hour?"

You and Sakusa both ignored the blond's outburst, locked in an intense staring contest from across the table. The air crackled with unresolved tension, neither of you willing to be the first to back down.

"Well?" Sakusa eventually prompted, lips curving into that maddening little smirk he knew got under your skin. "Gonna try to tell me I'm wrong again?"

That did it. You shoved away from the table, the chair clattering to the floor as you surged to your feet.

"Why you arrogant, condescending prick! Like you'd know the first thing about doing your own laundry!" you spat. "That stick so far up your ass must be why you're constantly—"

The rest of your retort dissolved into wordless sputtering as Sakusa rose to his full, intimidating height as well. He leaned forward, elbows propped on the table as he pinned you with that heavy-lidded stare.

"I'm sorry, did you have a point or were you just enjoying the sound of your own voice again?" He spoke slowly, each word dripping with disdain.

Fire licked beneath your skin and you stepped forward without thinking, fists clenched by your sides. "That's rich coming from Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Constipated over here! At least when I speak, it isn't just to revel in my own ego for once!"

Beside you, Atsumu groaned again and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Not this shit again...am I gonna have to get the hose or something to break you two up?"

Neither you nor Sakusa paid him the slightest mind, too busy sizing each other up in a heated battle of wills. Adrenaline hummed in your veins, face flushed with righteous indignation at Sakusa's unrelenting arrogance. You itched to wipe that stupid smirk off his infuriatingly handsome face.

"Well?" you demanded when he just kept staring at you silently. "Nothing else to say now that you're called out, huh? Typical coward."

Something dangerous flashed in Sakusa's gaze. He took a single step forward, now well within your personal space as you held your ground defiantly.

"Be very careful what you wish for," he murmured in a low tone that sent an unexpected shiver down your spine. "You might just get it."

Your breath hitched at the implicit threat simmering in those words. But before you could formulate a retort, Atsumu hurriedly inserted himself between the two of you. He planted his hands against both your chests, forcibly separating your bodies as he shot looks of sheer exasperation in each direction.

"A'right, that's enough outta the two of ya horny bastards!" he huffed. "I can't take another second of watchin' you two go at it before things get legitimately X-rated in here!"

You blinked dumbly at Atsumu's outburst, barely registering the dismissive scoff from Sakusa behind you. Your roommate pinned you with a pointed look that brooked no argument.

"Omi-kun, you're leavin'. No more tormentin' my roommate tonight." He then swung his severe gaze to you. "And you! Take a cold shower or somethin', yeesh! The sexual frustration is chokin' the whole damn apartment at this point!"

You opened your mouth to retort but Sakusa leveled you with one last burning look before turning on his heel and stalking towards the door. Atsumu gave you both a warning look before following to show him out.

Left alone in the tense silence, it finally started to sink in what exactly your supposedly oblivious roommate had been implying. Surely he couldn't think there was...that you and Sakusa...

As if on cue, a vivid flash of Sakusa leaning over you resurfaced in your mind's eye - all intense gaze and parted lips whispering those cryptic words. The image sent an undeniable thrill skating over your skin like a physical touch.

Across the apartment, the front door slammed shut and Atsumu reappeared, pinching the bridge of his nose again. You glanced between him and the empty space Sakusa had occupied, perturbed realization dawning.

"Oh..." You breathed the word on a soft exhale.

Atsumu snorted indelicately. "Yeah, welcome to my own personal hell, Roomie. Told ya you were both horny idiots."

For once, you found yourself rendered utterly speechless as certain puzzle pieces finally clicked into place with searing clarity. And though the implications should have struck horror into your heart, a tiny, secret part of you couldn't quite quell the spark of salacious interest now burning brighter than before...

You tossed and turned restlessly, sheets tangled around your legs as vivid images from earlier tormented your mind. Every time you closed your eyes, memories of Sakusa's smoldering gaze and the dangerous timbre of his voice resurfaced with alarming intensity.

"Be very careful what you wish for..."

His murmured words echoed in your head, stoking the embers of a treacherous curiosity you'd been ruthlessly suppressing for who knows how long now. Because if you were being truly honest with yourself, the antagonistic spark between you and Sakusa had stopped feeling like genuine animosity ages ago.

No, what fueled those heated exchanges and barbed insults was something else entirely - a slow-burning friction that ignited every nerve ending and left you breathless for reasons beyond just anger and frustration. You squeezed your eyes shut as flashes of Sakusa's powerful build looming over you infiltrated your mind again, heat blossoming low in your belly.

You couldn't deny the undeniable pull of attraction simmering beneath the surface, no matter how often you masked it with irritation or acid-tongued taunts. Deep down, on some primal level, your body craved the delicious friction of Sakusa's presence in a way that had nothing to do with combativeness.

The realization came with a dizzying rush of arousal that left you squirming between the sheets. You tried to dismiss it, chalk it up to a sleep-deprived lapse in judgement after an eventful night. But as the minutes ticked by, visions of Sakusa's chiseled features and unholy smirk persisted in tormenting your senses.

You gave in with a low whine, chasing the forbidden images as your hands wandered across your overheated skin. What would happen if you stopped retreating from the tension between you? What if you finally let yourself lean into those heated exchanges with abandon instead of biting your tongue?

Perhaps Atsumu had been onto something about scratching a certain itch. You shuddered at the thought of finally submitting to the magnetic pull drawing you towards Sakusa, of letting go and allowing instincts to take over instead of fighting tooth and nail against this undeniable chemistry.

Your fingers dipped past the waistband of your shorts, circling your swollen clit with a practiced rhythm as you pictured the man himself. You imagined what Sakusa's hooded gaze would look like if aimed anywhere lower than your face. How his voice might drop into a sinful growl of approval as you gave in fully to your salacious urges right in front of him, consequences be damned...

A twisted moan escaped your lips as you worked yourself higher with each fevered thought. Yes, you realized dimly. You were well and truly addicted to the slow torture of this constant foreplay between you, hooked on that tantalizing friction no matter how much you'd pretended otherwise.

And tomorrow? Tomorrow when Sakusa inevitably showed up and resumed your sensual battle of wills, you decided right then and there that you'd abandon the pretenses entirely. Just to see what would happen when the spark you'd been smothering finally ignited into an all-consuming blaze.

The thought spurred you towards a shuddering orgasm, back arching off the mattress as you rode out the waves of release with Sakusa's name staining your lips in a breathless keen. Only then did you finally relax again, boneless and tingling in the wake of relinquishing your stubborn denials to the oblivion of sweet surrender.

Because win or lose, you realized there was no longer any escaping the pull of this slow-burning inferno you'd both helped fan to roaring life whether you wanted to admit it or not.

The following morning dawned bright and clear as you reluctantly roused yourself from the tangled sheets. An odd sense of anticipatory tension thrummed through your veins while you went about your usual morning routines.

You kept picturing all the various ways you might be able to rile Sakusa up today - subtle touches and low-hanging innuendos he'd never seen coming from you. A sly grin tugged at your lips as you recalled his scathing insults and thinly veiled disgust from last night. How quickly those disdainful expressions would drop the second you disarmed him with a little bold flirtation instead of sputtering recriminations.

Just the thought of his domineering gaze snapping wide while you trailed fingertips over his chest or leaned in to murmur something filthy had your pulse racing. Maybe you'd casually brush up against him, sway your hips enticingly and see how flustered the normally stoic Sakusa grew. Make him finally admit there was more behind his contemptuous facade than—

"Morning, Roomie!" Atsumu's overly chipper voice cut through your heated musings. "Nice of ya to finally join the rest of us today."

You startled slightly, blinking at your roommate as he deposited a plate of toast dripping with butter on the table. He shot you an amused look over his shoulder.

"Whoa, someone kill your favorite puppy on the way over? What's with that 'cat who ate the canary' look first thing?"

Heat flooded your cheeks as you realized where exactly your thoughts had wandered. You shook your head vehemently, refusing to take the bait or acknowledge your brief lapse into an entirely different fantasy.

"Shut it, Blondie. I just had a good night's sleep for once now that the human embodiment of tension headaches wasn't around."

The reminder of Sakusa prompted a flicker of last night's...revelations to niggle at the corner of your mind. You suppressed them ruthlessly, trying to cling to the irritation you'd used as camouflage for so long instead. After all, he'd be arriving at any moment and you needed to be on guard against letting anything slip—

"It'll take much more than your simple attempts at deflection to fool me, [Y/N]," a low, familiar voice drawled in your ear.

You jolted again, whirling around to find Sakusa suddenly looming over you with that infuriatingly smug look plastered across his features. How the hell had he gotten so close without you noticing? More importantly, what exactly did he mean by—?

"Although I must admit," he continued in that same arrogant purr, eyes raking over you lazily. "Judging by those lovesick puppy looks you keep tossing my way, it's clear even you've realized the little game we're playing here now."

A muscle twitched in your jaw and you straightened fully, squaring off against his proximity and heated gaze with defiance even as your heartbeat kicked up a notch.

"Game?" you echoed flatly. "What the hell are you on about now, Omi-kun?"

His nickname dripped with acid as you enunciated each syllable. Rather than react with his usual disdain or irritation, however, Sakusa simply smirked wider and leaned closer until you could practically taste his clean, minty scent with every inhalation.

"You know exactly what I mean," he murmured, all predatory heat and sinful promise as his gaze dipped lower. "This little dance of denial you've got yourself caught up in, trying to convince yourself you aren't hopelessly afflicted with the same inconvenient cravings for me that I've been—"

The rest of his whispered taunts dissolved into a startled grunt as you lunged forward mindlessly. Only vaguely aware of Atsumu's choked curses from behind you, you seized fistfuls of Sakusa's crisp button-down as he instinctively caught your hips to brace you flush against his powerful frame.

"You arrogant prick!" you hissed, glaring up into those hooded onyx eyes roiling with sheer masculine possession now. "What makes you think I'd ever crave—?!"

"Woah! Hey hey hey, break it up assholes! We're not doin' this here!"

Atsumu wedged himself between your bodies, glowering at you both as his hands connected with both your chests to shove you apart with surprising force. All at once, you became aware of just how tightly clenched in Sakusa's unbreakable grasp you'd been mere seconds ago, and a dizzying rush of heat flooded your senses.

"I swear to God, you two are gonna give me gray hair before I'm even 25 at this rate," your roommate groused, pinning Sakusa with an exasperated look. "Sakusa, kindly take a cold shower 'cause my poor roommate can't handle whatever filthy material you're whispering about again."

He then turned and took you by the shoulders, steering you bodily towards the front door even as you sputtered half-formed protests.

"And you!" Atsumu huffed without slowing. "You're goin' for a nice little walk around the block to cool off before you try jumpin' that constipated weirdo's bones or something, capiche?"

He bundled you swiftly out the front door with a none-too-gentle shove. You whirled back to him in outraged confusion, mind still whirling from the sheer hunger in Sakusa's fiery gaze you'd been drowning in just moments ago.

"Wait, what the hell, Tsumu?! I need to teach that arrogant jerk a—"

"Tsk tsk," Atsumu chided, that severe expression melting into one of fond exasperation as he shook his head. "I gotta keep you two horndogs separated until you actually deal with all that pent up tension properly. I ain't dealing' with a screwin' match on my livin' room floor."

You felt your jaw drop at his blunt words and transparent implication. He sighed heavily at the look on your face and placed his hands on his hips.

"Look, not that I don't enjoy watchin' you guys torment each other until one of ya literally jumps the other out of sheer desperation," your roommate continued, "but there's a time and a place for that kinda stuff, ya know?"

He arched one eyebrow at you pointedly and you felt the heat in your cheeks rising once more under his exasperated scrutiny. Of course because no matter how you tried denying the reality of what just happened, or the nights spent fantasizing feverishly, Atsumu could see right through you—

"Like Bokuto's birthday in a couple days?" he supplied, jarring you from your whirling thoughts. "Surely you dolts can keep it in your pants and behave for that, yeah?"

Oh. Right. The event you'd been simultaneously dreading and looking forward to ever since the invites went out. Bokuto's annual raging party guaranteed to be a complete shitshow on top of all the usual chaos of his social gatherings. With you and Sakusa's rising friction now exacerbated by Atsumu openly confronting you...yeah, things were likely to implode.

"Tch, be a little easier if your weird ass friend would stop intentionally trying to goad me into destroying him in public," you shot back defensively.

Atsumu sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose briefly before fixing you with a long look.

"Just...try to chill for a bit, alright? Cool off, think long and hard about whether you want to actually pursue where Omi-kun's leadin' things now. And if you do decide to go there, for the love of God, do NOT spring it on him publicly at Bokkun's—"

The sudden wail of a cell phone cut your roommate off and he grunted, digging into his pocket to scowl at the screen. He shot you one more look before swiping to answer the call.

"Yeah, yeah I'm on my way," he griped, turning to head back inside. "Don't get your panties in a twist, Omi-kun hasn't killed my idiot roommate...yet."

You watched as he slipped back inside, leaving you standing alone on the sidewalk to gather your scattered thoughts. Frustration and residual heat still swirled through your veins, fanned anew by Sakusa's unsubtle taunts and the scorching image of his intense gaze. But underneath it all, Atsumu's knowing words and sly insinuations stoked fresh questions you weren't sure you were ready to examine properly.

Did you really want to give in and embrace this undeniable tension instead of battling it any longer? And if so, what would that mean—especially with the chaos of Bokuto's bash on the horizon?

You groaned and raked your hands through your hair, already dreading whatever fresh hell awaited you with that upcoming powder keg just waiting to explode. Either way, you sensed this little game between you and Sakusa was about to reach a fever pitch you could no longer run or hide from.

The music thumped through the car like a physical force as Atsumu pulled up to the curb outside Bokuto's place. You eyed the clusters of people spilling in and out of the front door apprehensively, the bassline vibrating through the soles of your shoes even from this distance.

"Looks like the party's already in full swing," you remarked, twisting in your seat to shoot Atsumu a sidelong look. "Think Bokkun will even notice when we roll up fashionably late or what?"

Your roommate scoffed and killed the engine, slinging one arm over the back of your seat as he turned to face you properly. His gaze was unusually severe, golden eyes narrowed beneath that swoop of blond bangs.

"Listen up, beautiful," Atsumu began without preamble, leaning closer. "I'm only gonna say this once before we get inside and all hell inevitably breaks loose."

You swallowed thickly despite yourself, feeling heat prickle along the back of your neck under his intense stare. Atsumu rarely took on such a no-nonsense demeanor in casual settings, and his solemnity made your stomach twist anxiously for reasons you couldn't quite place.

"You and Omi-kun have been dancin' around this..." He waved a hand vaguely, "this unresolved thing goin' on for way too damn long now, ya hear? All the flirtin' and teasin' has reached a boilin' point."

Your heart began thudding painfully in your chest as Atsumu pinned you with an inscrutable look. He knew. Of course he knew how badly you'd been craving release from these simmering tensions with Sakusa - especially after last week’s explosive confrontation and subsequent...personal reflections.

"So I need ya to promise me," your roommate continued, voice pitched low and gaze unwavering. "Whatever happens between you two crazy idiots tonight - and ya know as well as I do that somethin' is gonna give - just...try to keep it under wraps around the others, alright?"

Heat flooded your cheeks as indignant protestations bubbled up instinctively. But before you could release the torrent, Atsumu held up a hand to silence you.

"I ain't judgin' or anythin'," he stressed with surprising gentleness. "I just...ya know how batshit Bokuto's parties get. Wouldn't want you two finally lettin' off steam to end in a situation that can't be easily, uh...rectified later."

He arched one eyebrow meaningfully and your mouth snapped shut with a sharp click. Because really, what could you even say to refute his point? Between your rising provocations and Sakusa's indisputably unresolved attraction, there was only so much holding back either of you could sustain before fracturing entirely.

Letting out a heavy exhale, you reached for the door handle and pushed it open. You paused and glanced back at Atsumu over your shoulder, offering a tight nod of acknowledgment.

"Don't worry," you rasped out after a beat of weighted silence. "I'll...try to keep things low-key as possible."

The corner of Atsumu's mouth kicked up in a wry smirk at your careful non-answer. He shook his head wryly but waved you off with a theatrical flourish.

"Good enough for me. Now let's go get shitfaced and hope for the best, yeah?"

You couldn't help but snort at his return to his typical snarky cadence, the anxious knot in your gut loosening fractionally. Sliding from the car, you were immediately swept up in the roar of Bokuto's raging party as whoops and laughter echoed around you.

It was easy to get caught up in the madness at first - bodies pressed close together as you jostled your way inside. Random acquaintances and half-remembered faces called out greetings and raised glasses in drunken salutes as you passed. By the time the writhing knot of people finally parted, you were face-to-face with none other than the man himself.

"[Y/N]-CHAN!" Bokuto bellowed directly into your ear, big arms sweeping you up in a vice-like bear hug. "You made it! I was beginning to think you got lost on the way!"

A startled laugh bubbled up as you fiercely returned the embrace, familiar affection swelling at Bokuto's typical enthusiasm. Before you knew it, he was dragging you further into the melee with an iron grip around your shoulders as he called greetings to every acquaintance in range.

Familiar faces and conversations swirled around you in a headier rush than even the drinks being pressed into your hands could account for. You laughed and joked and danced, losing yourself in each friend's anecdotes or salacious gossip offered up for entertainment.

But no matter how raucous the music grew or how many distractions presented themselves, a tiny sliver of hyper-awareness lingered in the back of your mind - always tracking the nearby crush of bodies for a particular head of artfully mussed curls and a towering, brooding presence that could command any room with scant effort.

You knew Sakusa was here somewhere, likely tucked away in a quieter corner with Atsumu and the other teammates they still tolderated regularly. And though you continually told yourself to relax and simply enjoy the party without complications tonight, that same insatiable itch that tormented you constantly in his presence prickled stronger with every passing minute he went unseen.

It didn't help that flashes of last night's lurid imaginings and lingering heat kept resurfacing unbidden behind your eyes. Your wandering gaze sought Sakusa out almost instinctively, half dreading and half yearning to feel that heavy stare sear over your skin from across the room soon.

So attuned were you to this frenzied frequency, that when a familiar lithe figure finally broke through the human current nearby, you keyed in on his presence immediately. You froze mid-laugh, mouth parting around a startled exhale as your eyes drank in the sight with ravenous hunger.

There he was, striding through the crowds with his usual self-assured grace. A fresh cocktail dangled from his fingers with leonine disregard, eyes hooded and lips twisted in that same arrogant curl that always made your insides flutter deliciously.

Without conscious thought, you found yourself breaking away from your drunken companions and weaving a path right towards him through the masses. Sakusa's gaze, keen as ever even in chaos, snagged on yours instantly - twin sparks of heat and challenge igniting in their depths as your locked stares collided.

Some magnetic, unstoppable force drew you both together like filings to a lodestone. You didn't even realize how rapidly you'd closed the distance until Sakusa loomed directly over you, an immovable mountain of dark intensity radiating dizzying auras of poise and primal power.

"Well, if it isn't the neighborhood pest come to harass me yet again," he drawled in that razor-edged purr still tinged with amusement. "Color me surprised."

You stared up at him defiantly, chin tilted and jaw set even as your heart ratcheted higher in tempo. He was doing it again - pushing and needling like always with those arrogant words that got your blood boiling every single time.

"If by harass you mean have the good fortune of running into your pretentious ass at a party, then guilty as charged," you shot back, tone dripping with acid. "But don't give yourself too much credit, Omi-kun."

Rather than look affronted or irritated, however, Sakusa's eyes simply danced with dark mirth. He cocked one hip and lifted his glass in a sarcastic toast, leaning just close enough for his cologne to tickle your senses with sudden intensity.

"My, my. Such sharp wit as always, pet," he practically purred. "Although if memory serves, you were the one utterly tongue-tied and fawning over me this time last week."

Heat flooded your cheeks as vivid recollections of your late-night reverie starring Sakusa threatened to unhinge you completely. He knew. Of course he knew exactly what he was doing, pushing you until you snapped again like that morning.

Before you could collect the necessary vitriol to spit back, however, a drunken partygoer collided with your elbow from behind in their haphazard dancing. You startled and stumbled forward, the precarious contents of Sakusa's glass directly in your trajectory as you flailed.

It seemed to happen in slow motion - your forehead connecting with his chest in a blunt collision, his tumbler upending with a splash of amber liquid that sprayed across his crisp button-down in rivulets. You froze in open-mouthed shock as the soaked fabric clung revealingly to Sakusa's sculpted form, droplets slowly trailing beneath the waistband of his pants as the heady tang of spirits cut through the crowd's musk.

"W-Woah," you stammered instinctively, coming back to yourself in a sloppy rush. "Omi-kun, shit I'm so sorr—"

"So what else is new?" he cut you off with a sneer of clear disdain, raking a dismissive glance over the mess you'd caused before his inscrutable gaze snapped to you once more. "I swear it's like you were born without functioning motor skills or brain cells sometimes."

Your jaw clicked shut with an audible snap, renewed heat flooding your face that had nothing to do with earlier embarrassment. No, Sakusa had ignited the familiar, smoldering embers of belligerent fury you always felt in his presence with those contemptuous barbs.

Before Atsumu's stern words of warning could even register in your whirling thoughts, your lips curled in an acid simper as you tipped your chin up further to meet the onyx storm roiling in Sakusa's heavy-lidded eyes.

"Don't worry your pretty little head, Omi-kun," you growled in a biting coo meant to get directly under his skin. "I'll make sure to replace your precious drink immediately since I know you need it to wash down that enormous stick shoved up your—"

"Woah hey!" Atsumu's panicked voice cut through the music abruptly, hand clamping around your elbow in an iron grip as he wedged himself between your snarling forms. "Easy there, kiddos. I think we could all use a refresher, yeah?"

He leveled you both with the same imploring, strained expression that just begged you to back down before things escalated any further. On your other side, Sakusa's free hand clenched into a white-knuckled fist as you glowered at each other over Atsumu's shoulder in a heated stand-off.

This wasn't over, your screaming instincts howled even as your roommate inserted himself as a buffer once more. Not by a long shot. Not when you tasted rapturous victory over Sakusa's insolent slights so close you could practically inhale it already.

Without warning, you plastered on a tight, saccharine smile and stepped back from Sakusa's bristling frame - offering an exaggerated shrug for Atsumu's benefit.

"You know what? You're absolutely right, Tsum-Tsum," you cooed without breaking eye contact with Sakusa's intense glare still boring into you. "We could all use a fresh round right about now. One sec and I'll get my friend Omi-kun's sorted out pronto!"

You winked at Sakusa then, all bared teeth and challenge as you pivoted on your heel towards the makeshift bar stations. This had stopped being about keeping things under wraps or sticking to protocols long ago. Because after that last scorching slight to your pride?

Sakusa Kiyoomi had once again set the bar for mutual destruction in motion entirely. And you had absolutely no qualms about leaning into each gloriously unholy crest and fall anymore - all under his smoldering scrutiny and gleeful provocation at long last.

The bartender passed your order across the sticky countertop and you snatched it up before whirling on your heel to head back towards the writhing dance floor. A triumphant grin split your features as you surveyed the crowds for that artfully tousled mane of dark curls, mind already whirring with plans for payback.

Sure, leaving Sakusa stewing in his own self-righteous agitation was immensely satisfying on a petty level. But where was the fun in simply walking away after he'd goaded you with those scorching taunts of his yet again? Especially when you already knew exactly which buttons to mash to send the usually stoic spiker into a spiral of indignant fury.

By the time you located his towering silhouette still flanking Atsumu in a quieter corner, the twisted smirk was plastered across your face - brimming with perverse delight at the prospect of sparking whatever delicious meltdown awaited. You wasted no time slipping through the press of partygoers until you stood directly before his chiseled form once more, drink outstretched with an air of saccharine innocence.

"There you are, Omi-kun!" You called sweetly over the pulsing music, watching those hawkish eyes zone in on you with a mixture of wariness and brooding intensity. "I went ahead and got you a new cocktail since you seemed so devastated over losing the last one."

"Tch...like I need favors from a clumsy, ill-mannered cretin such as yourself," he growled out flatly. But despite his venomous tone, Sakusa's gaze tracked the tumbler with poorly concealed interest betraying his parched thirst.

You pouted exaggeratedly, swaying your hips in a movement you knew would draw his lecherous study whether he admitted it or not. Sure enough, his dark eyes sharpened infinitesimally before flicking back up to meet your taunting smirk.

"Aww don't be like that now!" You scolded in a rich coo brimming with challenge. "It's a peace offering from me to you, Omi-kun. I even put a little...extra somethin' in there special!"

Sakusa's brow furrowed at the clear invitation behind your words, lips parting as he drew a sharp inhalation. Atsumu was wise enough to extricate himself from the brewing confrontation and move to join a cluster of rowdy teammates, leaving you and Sakusa alone at last.

"The hell are you blatherin' about now, pest?" Sakusa rasped at length, eyeing the proffered drink with unconcealed suspicion and a hint of intrigue. "Did you spit in it or something to try continuing your vile routine?"

Rather than deflate or offer denials, however, you felt a fresh thrill careen down your spine at the unspoken challenge hanging between your bodies. Yes, of course he'd deduced what fresh torment awaited behind the gesture - he knew you far too intimately by now for it to go unnoticed.

"Well," you began in a sultry murmur, tongue darting out to wet your lips theatrically. "Why don't you take a nice, big sip and find out for yourself, Omi-Omi? I was simply trying to be...considerate for once."

You stepped closer, breaching his personal space until the weight of your shared heat charged the scant distance into an electrified field. Sakusa eyed you for a long, tense heartbeat through lowered lashes stained in blatant consideration. Then, with agonizing leisure, he plucked the glass from your fingertips and swiped his tongue over the rim in a filthy glide - never once dropping your stare.

Your breath stalled out completely at the brazen gesture, heat blooming low in your abdomen at the sinful promise laced through every unhurried motion. Sakusa tipped the glass back and drained the liquor in two deep pulls, throat undulating with each swallow as you keened silently from between parted lips.

Only when the final drops vanished past his swollen mouth did he finally lower the empty tumbler and inhale a shuddering breath. And rather than erupting into disgusted fury like you'd expected, Sakusa remained unnervingly composed - eyes half-mast but gleaming with something darker and more ravenous than mere irritation as he regarded you.

"Well?" You managed to rasp out after several charged beats. "I'm sure it tastes exactly how you expected, doesn't it?"

Sakusa remained perfectly still, coiled and predatory as those piercing eyes drank in every subtle shift and hitch of your chest in rising anticipation. Despite all your childish antics and provocations leading to this point, some instinctive part of you found yourself inexplicably pinned by his unwavering intensity.

Then, before you could summon up another petulant rejoinder, Sakusa surged forward with the speed of a coiled serpent - powerful hands snarling in the fabric of your dress until you were hauled flush against his unyielding frame. The breath punched from your lungs in a ragged gasp, body igniting in a conflagration that seared straight through to your tingling extremities.

"You twisted little gremlin," he growled out low and wrecked in a way that made your knees liquify. "Did you honestly think poking this particular bear was wise when you've been skating on such thin ice with me already?"

You opened your mouth to fire off another heated retort, determined not to let Sakusa gain any more ground with that smoldering stare alone. But before the words could rip free, he tugged you forward with bruising force - chest colliding against yours as your startled gasp muffled against the searing brand of his mouth crashing over yours hungrily.

Despite the rough handling, you found yourself melting against Sakusa's unforgiving frame as his tongue lashed past your lips in a scorching glide. An embarrassing whine punched from your throat at the first velvet sweep claiming you fully without preamble. Any lingering pretense of calm detachment shattered as your hands shakily fisted in the front of his ruined dress shirt.

Rather than shrink beneath his ravenous onslaught, however, you instinctively pushed back - all teeth and nails as you savagely nipped at Sakusa's pillowed mouth in furious retaliation. He growled in clear approval, hips canting to grind his swelling arousal against your pelvis in a blistering promise of consequences to come for your impetuousness.

"Always. So. Damned. Difficult," Sakusa bit out in a wrecked rasp against your slick lips between each punishing reclamation of your mouth, large hands bracketing your shoulders to keep you pinned in place.

You keened breathlessly at the rough vitriol still laced through his gravelly timbre, nails scoring down the sculpted ridges of his back in open challenge. Sakusa shuddered against your provocation, enormous palms dropping to seize twin handfuls of your ass and haul you flush against his writhing form with a harsh groan.

"R-Rich coming from you, bastard," you managed to gasp out before his mouth was on yours again in merciless possession, tongue sweeping between your parted lips on a searing glide.

Coherent thoughts became an impossibility as the two of you grappled for dominance through the molten exchange - all snarling clashes of teeth and desperate whimpers punctuating each greedy inhale for more. Desire throbbed through your veins in concussive waves, rapidly whiting out every fleeting impulse beyond surrendering into the delirious rapture of Sakusa's lithe power sheathed over your quivering curves.

You bucked against the rigid plane of his abdomen shamelessly, palms cupping the sharp cut of his jaw with feverish ardor to keep his mouth sealed over yours without pause. Sakusa growled low in the back of his throat, the rumbling vibration cascading across your melding nerve endings in further waves of unbridled longing. You writhed against him, already dampening through the lacy barrier of your panties with the scorching promise of how relentlessly he would claim you fully when the time came.

Despite your best efforts to give as good as you got, it rapidly became clear Sakusa remained undaunted - subjugating your thrashing form against his with single-minded intensity. Before you realized what was happening, deft fingers were already trailing beneath the hem of your dress, gliding up the slick skin of your inner thigh—

"Oi! What the absolute fuck is going on over here?!"

The bewildered shout lanced through the haze of your heated tussle with Sakusa, his tongue still tangled with yours in a filthy glide. You startled apart at the familiar rasp of Atsumu's voice cutting through the thrum of music and chatter.

"Seriously, you horny bastards?" Your roommate's tone dripped with a mixture of exasperation and dark amusement as he folded his arms, surveying your rumpled states. "Couldn't keep it in your pants for one goddamn night, huh?"

"Piss off, Miya," Sakusa growled, glaring at Atsumu through hooded lids still glazed with naked hunger. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips possessively as you panted against his rigid frame.

Rather than looking remotely contrite, Atsumu simply arched one brow higher. "Don't give me that look, Omi-kun. The last thing we need tonight is Bokkun catching you two in the middle of..." He waved a hand vaguely at your entangled bodies, lips twisting wryly. "...whatever the fuck twisted shit this was inevitably spiraling into."

"And why the hell would Bokuto have any say over what I choose to do?" Sakusa practically purred, the low rasp making you shiver against him instinctively. "Unless you're implying we require supervision now like misbehaving children, Miya?"

Atsumu's eyes glinted with a flash of something harder for a beat. "Cut the attitude, asshole. You know damn well I'm just tryin' to keep your dumb ass out of hot water here." His pointed stare flickered over to you briefly, naked concern warring with exasperation in his expression. "Both of you."

You bit your lip, flushing slightly at the undeniable truth in his words. For all his bravado, Sakusa would hardly thank you for being the catalyst to potential fallout with Bokuto. Especially not over something as stupidly petty as whatever messed up courtship ritual had been unfolding between you until Atsumu intervened.

"He has a point," you rasped out at last. Sakusa cut you a sidelong glare, clearly put out by your backing down even fractionally. You met his heavy-lidded stare steadily, lifting your chin in silent challenge. "We could just...go somewhere more private instead?"

The air fairly sizzled with charged tension as your suggestion hung between your tangled bodies. Atsumu looked vaguely nauseous by the implication, shaking his head slowly as if to dislodge the mental images no doubt flooding his brain. Sakusa, on the other hand, simply stared down at you hungrily - chin dipping in an infinitesimal nod that made your belly swoop.

"A sensible suggestion for once," he murmured, blatantly ignoring Atsumu's derisive snort beside you. "I'm sure there are plenty of places we could...relocate to and get better acquainted, hmm?"

Without warning, he looped one arm around your waist and hauled you flush against his chiseled torso - the other hand coming up to cup the back of your head as he dipped towards your parted lips with dark intent. You inhaled sharply at his bold manhandling, arousal spiking as his tongue swept inside to taste you with possessive fervor. Your palms came up to brace against the firm plains of his chest on instinct, nails raking across the muscled expanse in retaliation.

"Woah-! Easy there, big guy," Atsumu cut in dryly, though his reproach sounded distinctly lacking in any real heat. "You're gonna scar me for life with the visual of you sucking face with Roomie here."

"Mmm...jealous, Miya?" Sakusa rumbled against your swollen mouth, drawing back just enough for the words to rasp across your sensitized lips. "Should I have [Y/N] bend over the nearest flat surface to help you work through whatever repressed issues you're still wrestling with?"

You flushed hotly at his lascivious suggestion, torn between scandalised outrage and a fresh wave of reckless arousal pooling in your core at the mental images his words conjured. Atsumu, however, looked utterly unmoved by the jibe - simply rolling his eyes at his teammate with exaggerated weariness.

"Uh, no thanks," he shot back, emphasising the refusal with a sarcastic pat to Sakusa's shoulder. "I'll sit this particular freak show out. Just do me and the rest of us poor, innocent bystanders a favour - use protection so we don't gotta deal with little Omi juniors runnin' around terrorising the rest of us in nine months, yeah?"

Sakusa regarded him in stony silence for a beat as you gaped between them, flabbergasted by the crude exchange. Then, without ceremony, he bent and hoisted you clean off your feet into his arms as he straightened. You squeaked in surprise, instinctively looping your arms around the broad span of his shoulders as he adjusted his grip beneath the curve of your ass.

"Hey!" You protested as he began striding away purposefully through the throngs of bodies, your thighs bracketing his narrow hips with dizzying intimacy. "What are you doing, asshole?! Put me down already!"

"Quiet, pest," Sakusa growled down at you without breaking stride, his baritone laced with dark promise that made you shiver. "Unless you'd prefer to put on another show for our dear teammate to get his kicks from?"

You snapped your mouth shut, leveling him with a defiant glare he simply returned with an arrogant smirk - entirely unrepentant in your damsel-in-distress position cradled against his granite frame. He turned to toss a parting shot over his shoulder at Atsumu, tone almost idle despite the tension radiating off him in sizzling waves.

"Oh and Miya? Do keep those wise words of caution in mind when you're inevitably imagining the different 'uses' I'm about to put your little Roomie through in the very near future..."

Before Atsumu could formulate a response, Sakusa had already spirited you away into a secluded room away from the raucous main party. The moment you were out of view, he promptly locked the door, hiked you higher and pinned you back against the wall - weight settling snugly between your parted thighs as your harsh pants mingled between your fevered frames.

Any pretense of deference imploded as his mouth crashed over yours in a filthy reunion, tongue lashing inside to taste you thoroughly with muffled groans of relief resonating from his chest. You clung to him helplessly as the uncompromising waltz of his hips undulated into yours over and over - determined to claim and conquer until not a single inch of territory remained for denial between your writhing forms.

"K-Kiyoomi..." you whimpered against his pillowed mouth when he finally drew back enough to catch your breath. To your mortification the sound emerged high and needy, lashes fluttering with naked want you couldn't quite smother even if you'd wanted to.

Far from sounding smug or victorious, however, Sakusa merely raked you with a weighty stare hot enough to sear you straight through to your very marrow. "No more posturing or pretending or fighting it, [Y/N]," he rasped in that sandpaper growl, flexing his hips in an unhurried grind that had your head thumping back against the plaster. "The dam's been breached past the point of no return now, don't you see?"

You swallowed thickly at the heated vow glittering in those depthless obsidian depths, insides liquefying beneath his potent stare alone. In that suspended heartbeat everything crystallized with blinding certainty—that you were both scrambling at the precipice of no return, with any attempts at clawing your way back into the comfortable ambiguities of before inevitably doomed to collapse in failure.

Sakusa braced his forearm alongside your head, face dipping to sear your parted lips with a fresh clash of bruising possession as you melted against him helplessly. One indomitable palm slid beneath your dress to rake searing lines across your inner thigh with unapologetic worship, rasping a promise of much greater indecencies yet to come against your fevered skin.

"No more taunts or masks or holding back," he growled as your kisses spiraled into delirious re-initiation once more. "Tonight I make you fucking mine at last, pet..."

Sakusa disregarded you abruptly, mouth crashing over yours in a filthy kiss that tasted of possession and dark promises. His tongue lashed inside with unapologetic fervor, stoking the scorching embers of lust already lapping at your senses.

You clung to his powerful frame helplessly, whimpering into the sinful waltz of his mouth claiming you thoroughly. Sakusa's hips surged forward in a calculated grind, pinning you flush against the wall as every nerve ending in your body sang with naked yearning.

"Fuck...Kiyoomi," you managed to gasp out when he finally allowed you a desperate inhale, fingers tangling in the soft curls at his nape demandingly. Far from sounding meek or cowed, your tone dripped with pure challenge - stoking the simmering flames higher. "What are you waiting for?"

His lips curved into a predatory smirk against yours, eyes glittering with roguish heat. You panted together in hazy intimacy as Sakusa leaned in until your noses brushed with blistering promise.

"Always so impatient and insatiable, aren't you pet?" He rumbled, sending shockwaves of depraved lust ricocheting through your very marrow. "Miya gave you that wise little warning about wrapping my cock up nice and tight before letting me go to town on that greedy little cunt of yours..."

His hand shot out to fist in your hair, yanking your head back to bare the stuttering pulse at your throat to his searing scrutiny. You whimpered high and needy at the rough handling, arousal spiking as he dropped open-mouthed kisses along the fevered column.

"But you want me buried in that tight, dripping heat raw and throbbing, don't you?" Sakusa growled against your racing pulse, tongue laving over the tender hollow between your collarbones. "Want to feel every brutal inch stretching you open on my cock with nothing between us, don't you slut?"

"You arrogant prick," you bit out through gritted teeth, nails raking over his shoulders furiously despite the fresh gush of slick tingeing your underwear at his crude words. "Don't act so high and mighty like it isn't exactly what you're desperate to feel too, asshole!"

He groaned in clear approval, licking a searing path up the line of your throat to capture your mouth again in a bruising clash. You gave as good as you got, all teeth and venom - furious lust spiraling ever higher.

When Sakusa finally broke away, you were both panting harshly. He leaned his forehead against yours with a snarl, flexing those powerful hips in a slow grind that had you seeing stars.

"That's right, baby girl..." he rasped with dark satisfaction. "Keep running that pretty little mouth while you still can. Because once my cock is hilted so deep inside you that you're choking on it, the only sounds coming out will be pathetic little whimpers begging me not to stop ruining you."

You keened at the promise blazing in his gaze, hips bucking shamelessly against his rigid bulge. But you refused to be cowed, dragging your nails down his chest with enough force to sting deliciously.

"You're all talk, asshole," you spat with naked defiance, upper lip curling. "We both know you're too jealous of Tsumu and me to really commit to fucking me properly anyway."

Sakusa stilled instantly, a dangerous calm settling over his frame in warning. You smirked up at him triumphantly until his jaw flexed and he dipped to graze your lips with his own in a deceptively tender brush.

"Baby, that poor excuse for a line wasn't even worth a half-assed attempt at riling me up," he murmured with an intimacy that clashed with the simmering venom in his tone. "We both know there's not a single part of Miya that's ever piqued my jealousy or interest at all."

You opened your mouth to retort but Sakusa abruptly rocked his hips forward, grinding his scorching hardness against your molten core with punishing friction. Your protest dissolved into a broken moan, head thumping back against the wall.

"No...the only thoughts keeping me green with envy?" Sakusa husked directly in your ear, undulating in a tantalizing rhythm as one hand slipped under your dress to palm your dripping heat. "Are how many chances Miya's had over the years to bury his face between those pretty thighs and drink you down until you're ruined...opportunites I've only dreamed of indulging in."

Your breath hitched as he dragged his palm up to thumb over the slick lace covering your pulsing clit teasingly. Arousal crashed over you in sweltering waves, clawing and slick at the crude reminder of just how excruciatingly long Sakusa must have burned with repressed lust for you both.

"So believe me, sweetheart..." he growled softly, sealing his mouth over yours again to plunder you thoroughly with dark intent. "Once that needy little cunt is finally wrapped around my cock with nothing holding us back?"

Sakusa thrust his tongue into the velvet cavern of your mouth until you were delirious, pliant putty in his unforgiving embrace. Nipping at your lips for emphasis, he sealed the wicked promise with a lick of searing venom:

"The last fucking thing on my mind will be caring about where Miya's thoughts happen to wander during the main event..."

One hand buried itself in his inky curls, tugging sharply until his hooded eyes locked onto yours with a fresh spark of challenge smoldering in their depths. Rather than rise to your predictable goad, however, Sakusa's mouth curved into a sinful smirk that had your belly clenching with anticipation.

"My twisted little minx," he husked against the fevered hollow of your throat, stubble deliciously abrading your sensitized skin. "I fucking live to watch you crumble apart beneath my attentions over and over until that bravado bleeds away completely..."

He punctuated the filthy vow by grinding the insistent ridge of his cock against your cotton-clad heat in a blistering grind of friction that had you writhing for more. You threw back your head with a high, plaintive whine as your thighs instinctively cradled him closer—already molten and aching to be split apart on his thick length without further preamble.

"Oh? Is that slimy bravado I'm still detecting woven through your bluster too, Omi-omi?" You managed to pant out in a breathless coo once you'd regained a sliver of coherence. "Don't tell me the great Sakusa Kiyoomi is still clinging to the last pathetic shreds of feigned indifference over my pussy?"

At that, Sakusa let out a low, resonant growl from deep in his chest - a thrilling vibration that lanced straight to your neglected pussy with relentless intensity. Before you could so much as process what was happening, he had hoisted your other thigh over his narrow hip to bracket his waist completely, the scorching brand of his dick cradled snugly against your drenched heat through twin barriers of flimsy fabric.

"I'll give our mouthy friends a reason to keep their judgmental warnings about 'precautions' to themselves," Sakusa snarled with hot finality against the fragile curve of your jawline. His teeth found purchase along the sensitive span of tendon in an unhurried graze, forcing your head back as he rolled his hips in a tight grind that had you whimpering unabashedly. "Because make no mistake [Y/N]...the only thing I plan on claiming with total, reckless fucking abandon is that soaked little pussy gripping me so sweetly right now."

You keened shamelessly at the sheer, uncompromising lust dripping from each gravelly syllable - utterly unmanned beneath Sakusa's merciless onslaught of words and tongued promises against your electrified form.

"And once I'm buried inside you at last?" he continued in a hoarse snarl, punctuating the rhetorical question with a shallow thrust that dragged his scorching length against your neglected pearl deliriously. "I'm going to ruin you over and over until the entire damned party can hear just who you truly belong to loud and clear..."

Despite the dominant cadence flowing through every word like a malediction, you detected the faint fractures subtly wavering beneath Sakusa's arrogant mask of lascivious control. Little hitches in his breath and slight tremors rippling along his flexing frame as he seemed to surrender more mental footholds to the smoldering conflagration consuming you both inch by searing inch.

Perhaps Atsumu had sown enough seeds of doubt to prick at even Sakusa's unwavering certainty in whatever forbidden desires were now scorching unchecked between your entangled forms after all. A fragile tendril of awareness that you weren't the only simmering powder keg primed for rapturous detonation within this incendiary rendezvous at last...

You curled one hand around the nape of Sakusa's neck, delighting in the way his throat bobbed convulsively at the intimate caress even as his hooded stare tracked your every breath with ravenous captivation. Slowly, you feathered the other palm across the ridged vee of his abdomen - savoring the way each corded muscle spasmed beneath your teasing caress until your fingertips grazed the hard swell of his arousal straining obscenely against those sweat-dampened sweats.

"Mmm...bold words from someone so clearly struggling to keep their composure already," you murmured in a smoky taunt, tracing reverent lines around the swollen heat radiating off his turgid arousal. Sakusa's jaw twitched noticeably, hips rocking into your tormenting touch in minuscule thrusts he clearly couldn't stop himself from chasing despite the flinty mask attempting to remain impassive. "What's wrong, Omi-kun? Can't stand the thought of me calling your bluff and making good on that promise right here and now?"

He sucked in a sharp hiss when you palmed his erection boldly, thumb brushing the wet spot darkening the grey fabric. The muscles in his thighs visibly flexed, as though straining to resist the impulse to buck into your grasp with animalistic urgency.

"Fuck," Sakusa hissed through clenched teeth, hips canting into your ministrations without his volition. You could see the internal war raging within him as his pupils dilated further, nostrils flaring as he struggled to smother the urge to surrender to the depraved fantasies he'd clearly harbored for far too long.

But the moment Sakusa's dark stare flicked up to yours with renewed determination, you knew his ironclad willpower had won out. He surged forward to crush his mouth to yours, devouring your gasps of protest as his fingers found your swollen pearl through the slick lace of your underwear.

"Oh, my greedy little brat..." he purred, breaking away with a satisfied smirk at your whimper. Sakusa's fingers curled possessively into the elastic of your underwear, tugging them aside to brush his bare fingertips through your soaked folds. You jolted against him with a choked moan, hips stuttering against the teasing caress. "The only reason we're not fucking in that bed over there right this instant is because I'm going to take my sweet time breaking you down completely..."

Sakusa pressed the pad of his middle finger against your entrance, the faintest pressure that had you whining in frustration. He smirked at the obvious hunger flushing your face and chest, clearly enjoying the way your neediness spurred him on.

"Because I want you absolutely dripping by the time I slide that pretty little cock inside you..." he husked, nudging forward incrementally as his fingers curled around the hem of your dress. You trembled with need as his palms dragged up the backs of your thighs, thumbs digging into the tender crease where your legs joined your pelvis as he hiked the skirt up and bunched it at your hips.

"I want to see your mascara run down those flushed cheeks while I ruin you," Sakusa continued with a dark growl, fingers finding your clit to roll in tight circles that had you panting openly. You squirmed against him, unable to bite back the wanton moans rising in your throat as your head thumped against the wall. "I want your hair in tangles and your lips swollen and puffy, and for every inch of that perfect skin to be covered in bruises and my cum..."

He punctuated his filthy declaration with a sudden thrust, burying two fingers knuckle-deep inside you without warning.

"FUCK, Omi," you sobbed, thighs clenching around his narrow hips as he curled the digits inside you. The rough stretch was almost too much, your walls already fluttering helplessly around his intrusion. "Kiyoomi, please—"

"Such a dirty little mouth," he murmured in a voice laced with gravel, tongue swiping over his lips as though eager to sample the profanities spilling forth from yours. "Let's see how it fares once I've got you on your knees and my cock down your throat."

Your mouth fell open in a silent scream when Sakusa suddenly began pumping his fingers with slow, measured pumps. He smirked at your incoherence, the pad of his thumb grinding against your neglected clit mercilessly as the thick intrusion of his fingers speared deeper into your sopping channel.

"God, the way your greedy cunt is swallowing me up, pet..." he groaned, eyes fluttering closed briefly. Your walls contracted at the broken moan that ripped from his lips, a surge of wetness gushing down his fingers. "So fucking tight and wet for me, baby girl. Do you think anyone has ever filled you up as well as I do? Does Tsumu get this sloppy mess creaming around his cock?"

The lewd taunt should have enraged you - but all you could do was whimper at the raw, unfiltered need dripping from Sakusa's words as his pace quickened. Every filthy syllable had your pussy throbbing, aching to be filled until the burn eased.

"Fuck," he hissed, gaze raking over the way his fingers were disappearing between your trembling thighs with feverish hunger. "You're so wet and warm, sweetheart...just begging to be used. So why don't we give those greedy little holes what they really want?"

He punctuated his demand with a punishing thrust, crooking his fingers against the bundle of nerves that had you crying out. You clenched around his digits, a rush of wetness soaking your thighs and dripping down his knuckles as you neared the edge.

"You're so close, aren't you, darling?" Sakusa murmured, leaning forward to ghost his mouth over yours. He licked a searing path from your chin to the soft shell of your ear, sucking the delicate lobe into the hot cavern of his mouth.

"Yes," you moaned, fingers fisting in the damp fabric stretched across his shoulders. Sakusa growled at the sharp bite of pain, his tongue tracing the edge of your ear in a featherlight caress that had you shivering.

"Good," he purred, abruptly withdrawing his fingers from your clenching cunt. You cried out at the loss, tears prickling the corners of your eyes as you glared at him accusingly.

"Kiyoomi, if you don't finish what you started—"

"Shut up," he snapped, cutting you off mid-threat. Before you could so much as draw breath, Sakusa had hoisted you over his shoulder and was stalking towards the bed with purpose.

You yelped as he flung you down onto the mattress with little care, your head hanging off the edge of the mattress. But Sakusa didn't give you so much as a second to regain your bearings before he had dropped his sweats, letting them pool at his ankles before stepping closer.

You stared up at him with wide, hungry eyes, drinking in the sight of his thick, rigid shaft jutting proudly from a nest of neatly trimmed curls. You had no time to register anything else about the delectable specimen hovering mere inches from your face, however, before he was sliding a hand around his length and dragging the dripping tip along your cheekbone.

"Now..." Sakusa began in a dark, velvety murmur. You swallowed hard, trying and failing to ignore the way his cock jumped as your breath ghosted across the sensitive flesh. "Open wide, brat. Show me that your filthy mouth is good for something other than backtalk."

You opened your mouth to let a witty retort fly, but your eyes widened when Sakusa seized the opportunity to drive his hips forward, feeding the thick head past your parted lips with a hoarse grunt. You gagged slightly, hands flying to his thighs only for him to catch your wrists and pin them to the mattress on either side of your head.

"Hands off, slut," he commanded, rolling his hips shallowly. Your jaw went slack at the salty, tangy flavor of his arousal, a fresh wave of moisture gushing between your thighs. "Just lie there and look pretty while I use your throat, yeah?..."

You groaned low in your chest, a fresh rush of slick dripping from your folds at the filthy praise. Sakusa's grip tightened, holding you down as his hips snapped forward. His cock slid across your tongue, bumping the back of your throat and making your eyes water.

"Fuck, your mouth feels incredible," he moaned, withdrawing only to roll his hips forward again. His movements were slow, methodical, savoring each shallow thrust as you fought not to gag.

Your fingers flexed against his palms, nails digging into his skin in silent retaliation. Sakusa hissed softly, but didn't pull away. If anything, the slight sting of pain seemed to spur him on, hips beginning to thrust faster, balls resting snug against your nose.

You could feel him pulsing against your tongue, a steady rhythm that had your cunt clenching emptily. Each drag of his cock against your palate sent another jolt of arousal straight to your clit, the heady musk of his arousal flooding your senses and making your head spin.

Sakusa was panting above you, his movements becoming more erratic. You could feel him growing thicker against your tongue, the vein along the underside throbbing in time with his racing pulse.

"So good," he growled, fingers digging into your wrists almost painfully. You could feel him beginning to tense, the muscles in his thighs quivering as his movements became more urgent. "Such a good girl, taking my cock so well. But you can do better, can't you, sweetheart? Take it deep like a good little cock-slut."

You whined around him, the sound vibrating against his length. His hips stuttered, a strangled groan tearing from his lips. His pace quickened, his thrusts becoming deeper, harder, the tip of his cock sliding down your throat with each brutal thrust.

"That's it, just like that," he moaned, his words tumbling over themselves. He was close, you could feel it in the way his muscles tensed, the way his breathing grew more ragged, the way his thrusts became more erratic. The last push he needed was the sight of your throat bulging around his girth, each movement visible through the smooth column of skin.

"Holy—fuck," he gritted out, hips jerking forward one final time. You felt him pulse against your tongue, his cock twitching once, twice before he pulled out with a groan, thick ropes of cum painting your face in messy streaks.

You gasped, eyes flying open as his spend coated your lips and chin. He released your wrists to grasp his shaft, pumping the last few spurts of seed out onto the exposed curves of your tits and throat. You whimpered, arching into the hot spray as his cock continued to pulse, your walls fluttering in desperate need for him.

Sakusa panted heavily, his hooded stare drinking in the sight of your thoroughly debauched appearance as he wiped the head of his spent dick against your parted lips. You swiped your tongue out to catch the salty fluid smeared there, eliciting a low groan from the man looming above you.

"Such a good girl," he purred, tracing a line through the sticky mess painting your lips. You could feel the tension humming beneath his skin, his fingers flexing against your cheeks as his darkened eyes burned through your form. "And so goddamn beautiful like this, covered in my cum..."

Sakusa leaned down to capture your parted lips in a searing kiss, the taste of his release heavy on your tongue as he plunged his into the molten depths of your mouth. You groaned into the heated embrace, fingers curling around his forearms to cling to him desperately as your tongues swirled and tangled together.

But just as suddenly as he'd initiated the languid assault, Sakusa pulled away - leaving you dazed and gasping as he straightened. Your eyelids fluttered open to see him gazing down at you with hooded, lust-darkened eyes. His pupils were blown wide, his nostrils flaring and the sharp planes of his face drawn into an expression of carnal hunger.

"On your stomach," he ordered, voice thick with need. "Ass in the air."

You obeyed without hesitation, scrambling to roll over and lift your ass in the air. Sakusa gripped the bunched skirt of your dress and yanked it up to bare the slick curves of your ass, a soft hiss of satisfaction leaving him as he took in the sight.

"Fucking gorgeous," he rasped, his hands gliding up the backs of your thighs to knead the swell of your ass. You whimpered into the mattress, hips grinding back into his touch instinctively.

"Please, Omi," you moaned, your voice muffled against the duvet. You couldn't even care that you were begging, that you were practically mewling like a bitch in heat - you just needed him, needed to be fucked so badly that you could hardly think straight. "Need you inside me, need your cock filling me up."

Sakusa groaned, the sound a mixture of approval and impatience. He tugged your soaked panties aside and positioned himself at your dripping entrance, the head of his cock sliding between your embarrassingly wet folds.

"Is this what you want, pet?" he asked, rubbing his length through your folds teasingly. You shuddered, the sensation nearly sending you over the edge as the swollen head brushed against your clit.

"Yessss," you hissed, arching back against him. Sakusa chuckled darkly, one hand reaching around to grab a handful of your hair. He yanked your head back roughly, the bite of pain sending a fresh wave of desire crashing through your veins.

"Beg me," he ordered, the tip of his cock bumping your clit again. You choked out a moan, your entire body trembling as his hips rolled in slow circles, grinding the aching flesh against your throbbing nub. "Show me how bad you want it, baby."

You sobbed with need, the sound coming out somewhere between a plea and a curse. Your whole body was buzzing, your mind completely blank save for the need burning white-hot in the pit of your belly.

"I-I'm sorry," you moaned, barely able to recognize the needy, pleading tone that spilled from your lips. "Omi, please, I need you so bad. I'll do anything, just please fuck me!"

The last word came out as a scream as Sakusa suddenly surged forward, sheathing his cock to the hilt in a single thrust. You were already so close, the sudden fullness was all it took to send you over the edge, your pussy spasming around him as hot, searing liquid gushed around his girth.

"F-fuck," Sakusa groaned, his grip on your hair tightening. He didn't bother to wait for you to come down from your high, pulling out and slamming into you again with a low growl. "Such a needy little thing, coming on my cock before I even got started."

"Omi," you mewled, his name the only coherent word you could manage. The room spun as your head swam, the sensation of his thick cock splitting you open overwhelming every sense.

"Tell me who owns this pussy, princess," he snarled, fingers digging into the curve of your hip as he picked up the pace. Each punishing thrust had you keening, the angle allowing him to bury his girth to the hilt with each snap of his hips. "Whose cunt is this?"

"Yours," you gasped, back arching to grind back against him. You could feel his balls slapping against your clit, the delicious friction sending shivers down your spine. "Omi, I'm yours. Please, make me come again."

"Shit," he growled, his hold on you tightening. He began to fuck you in earnest, his strokes growing deeper and more frantic. The head of his cock slammed into the tender bundle of nerves, forcing you closer and closer to the edge. "So fucking perfect, taking my cock so well."

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, accompanied by the obscene squelch of your soaked folds. Sakusa was growling with each thrust, the guttural groans spilling from his lips urging you closer and closer to the breaking point.

"You gonna come for me again, sweetheart?" he gritted out, his movements becoming more erratic. His free hand reached around to circle your clit, middle and ring finger sliding up on either side of the swollen nub to squeeze in a firm pinch.

The added pressure was too much, and you screamed his name as you came apart beneath him. You convulsed around his girth, the waves of pleasure washing over you, drowning you. Your vision went white, and the only thing you were aware of was the same feeling of hot liquid gushing from your core.

Sakusa hissed as your walls contracted around him, the wet, sloppy sounds of his cock sliding into your dripping pussy sending him over the edge. He let go of your hair, his hands moving to grasp both your hips. He used the leverage to yank you back against him, slamming into you one last time as his own orgasm crashed over him.

"Fuuuck," he groaned, his fingers pressing bruises into your hips as his cock twitched, releasing the last of his load deep inside you. You could feel him pulsing against your inner walls, his release mingling with yours and filling you to the brim.

You collapsed bonelessly onto the bed, whimpering when his softening length slipped out of you. Sakusa groaned at the sight, his thumbs parting your cheeks to watch as a trickle of pearly liquid dripped from your swollen folds.

He gave a satisfied hum, a lazy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He slid his index and middle fingers up through the mess, pushing the slippery mixture back inside.

"That's a good girl," he crooned, pumping his digits lazily. He relished the way you writhed and clenched around him, the sight sending a shiver of satisfaction through him. "Keep all my cum inside that tight little pussy."

He pulled his fingers out with a soft pop, and you shuddered at the loss. You lay sprawled out across the mattress, panting heavily. Your limbs felt like jelly, and your core ached deliciously.

You were still floating somewhere in the clouds when Sakusa climbed up onto the bed behind you, the mattress dipping under his weight. He gently turned you onto your back, his dark gaze sweeping over your debauched form with an appreciative hum.

"You alright, princess?" he asked, the husky undertone of his voice sending a fresh rush of arousal straight to your core. But despite your lingering need, exhaustion was creeping in, weighing down your eyelids. "Ready for round two?"

You opened your mouth to reply, but all that came out was a tired, unintelligible moan. You blinked up at him, eyelids heavy and vision blurring. You heard him chuckle, and felt his fingers slide along your jaw, tilting your chin up so you were looking at him.

"I’m just kidding, sweetheart," he murmured, leaning in to brush his lips over yours. The gesture was surprisingly tender, a marked contrast to his previous treatment. "We’ll work on your horrible stamina some other time."

"Fuck off, Omi," you mumbled, trying and failing to muster a glare. Instead, you leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering closed. "Just hold me."

You heard him laugh softly, the sound accompanied by the rustling of sheets. Sakusa wrapped an arm around your waist, tugging you into his chest and cradling you close. You nuzzled into him, sighing contentedly.

"Whatever you say, baby."

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader smut #sakusa x reader smut #kiyoomi sakusa x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa smut #msby sakusa #sakusa x reader #hq sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi #haikyuu sakusa #hq sakusa kiyoomi #kiyoomi x reader smut #kiyoomi smut #kiyoomi x reader

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foxy-eva · 5 months

Text

Rite of Passage

Summary: Spencer is home alone with his daughter when she gets her period for the first time

Request: Spencer and Reader are married. They have a teenage daughter who gets her period for the first time (initially requested to @imagining-in-the-margins)

Pairing: Technically Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader but it’s mostly about Spencer and his daughter!

Category: Comfort, Fluff

Content Warnings: mentions blood, menstruation, period hygiene, cramps, female anatomy and biology, crying, food

Author's Note: I wrote this for @/imagining-in-the-margins Kid Fic Writing Challenge!

Masterlist

Sunday mornings always brought a certain calmness with them. Spencer was still half asleep when you kissed him goodbye, leaving for a little day trip with your friends when the sun was barely up.

Spencer mumbled something that should have sounded like I love you before he closed his eyes once more, looking forward to some father-daughter quality time with your wonderful kid Marie.

That was until he was awoken by shrill screams coming from her room.

You were long gone when Spencer jumped out of bed, all of his years working with the FBI having him expect the worst. He rushed into his daughter’s room, finding her sitting in her bed, a look of horror spread across her face.

“Are you okay!?” Spencer almost yelled when he reached her bedside.

His daughter slowly shook her head while pulling back the blanket, revealing small blood stains on her pajama pants and the sheets. It only took Spencer a split second to realize what was happening. His facial features softened instantly.

He thought he still had a few more months, maybe even another year, until this would happen. He had also hoped that you would be home for this occasion, certainly handling this a lot better than he ever could.

“Oh sweetie,” he cooed while sitting down on the edge of her bed. “I think you got your period.”

Instead of saying anything, Marie just buried her face in her hands and started wailing. Spencer wasn’t sure if she was still in shock or if the general discomfort made her cry.

“It’s okay. It just means you’re becoming a woman.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he wished he could have taken them back. He hated the thought that his little girl was actually growing up more than anything. And it certainly didn't help in this moment.

Without thinking about it, he did what he was most comfortable with and started rambling, “We talked about this, do you remember? It means that your uterine lining is shedding which results in the discharge of blood through your–”

“Dad!” She cried. “Please stop talking about my… you know! It’s weird!”

“I’m sorry, I’ll stop.”

His little girl wiped away some tears from her cheeks before muttering, “Where’s mom? I wanna talk to her.”

Spencer sighed. He would have liked nothing more than to be able to let you take over right then. “She already left for her day trip. She won’t be home until six.”

This explanation only led to more crying. Spencer reached out his hand to offer comfort with a gentle touch on her arm but Marie shied away from him.

“I feel gross,” she whined.

“Why don’t you hop in the shower to get clean and then change into fresh clothes?”

It seemed like he finally said something helpful. Her sobs simmered down as she got up from her bed to walk over to the bathroom, locking the door behind her. Spencer quickly changed the sheets and put out some clean clothes for his daughter before disappearing in his bedroom.

He let out a loud breath as he reached for his phone to call you. Before you could say anything, he blurted out, “She got her period and won’t stop crying and I don’t know what to do!”

“Oh my poor girl! Is she with you right now?” You wanted to know.

“She’s in the shower. Can you please come home?”

You knew that he wasn’t being serious. A quiet laugh escaped our mouth before you said, “Don't be so dramatic, Spencer. I’m sure you're very capable of handling this.”

“I told her that her uterine lining was shedding. It was not helpful,” he sighed.

“Yeah, maybe hold off on the biology lesson for now. You know where my pads are, right?”

“Oh yeah, right. She's gonna need them.” Spencer paused for a second. “Oh god, what if she wants to use a tampon? I can’t explain that to her. That conversation will make the both of us cry.”

“Give her a pad for now, those are self-explanatory. I can talk to her about tampons later if she wants.”

“Okay, okay, yeah. She just turned off the shower, I gotta go!”

“Good luck! And stop panicking!”

That was easier said than done. Spencer almost jumped when he heard Marie knocking on the bedroom door.

“You can come in!”

His daughter, tightly wrapped in a bathrobe, stepped into the room. She had stopped crying but still seemed upset. Spencer’s heart always broke a little when he saw his little girl in discomfort.

“I’m still uhm…bleeding,” she whispered.

“Yes, that's gonna last a couple of days,” Spencer replied with a soft voice. He disappeared in the master bathroom for a second to get a pack of pads. “Here. Do you know how to use them?”

“I’m not an idiot, dad,” she snubbed.

The tone of her voice gave away how irritated she was. Usually Spencer would remind her to be more respectful but decided to let it slide this time.

“I know, Mimi. I just wanted to make sure,” he said instead.

The use of this nickname for his daughter was yet another reminder of a time that seemed so long gone right then. Marie had trouble pronouncing her own name as a toddler so she’d say Mimi instead. Spencer loved it so much that he stuck with it ever since.

Without saying another word, she disappeared in her room. Spencer rubbed his temples for a moment before getting ready for the day himself. He decided to give his daughter some space and prepare breakfast in the meantime.

He was focussed on not burning the chocolate chip pancakes he was making when Marie stepped into the kitchen.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” she mumbled.

Spencer turned his head to smile at his daughter. “It's okay, sweetie. I know you aren’t feeling well.”

She placed her hands on her lower stomach and muttered, “It hurts.”

“Here,” Spencer said as he reached for the hot water bottle he had already prepared. “Heat has a proven effect on relieving period cramps.”

“Thank you.”

A timid smile appeared on her face when she realized her father was preparing her favorite breakfast. She stepped closer to catch a glimpse of the pan while chirping, “Chocolate chip pancakes?”

“You know I’d do anything to make you feel better, Mimi,” Spencer spoke in a soft voice while offering his daughter a hug.

This time she accepted, tightly wrapping her arms around him. Spencer was relieved that he didn’t mess up yet another thing. Marie was very bright and realized something Spencer had thought about earlier, too.

“Wait,” she said as she stepped back. “You always make mom her favorite meal when she’s in a bad mood.”

“You have a lot in common with your mother, “ he explained. “I figured I should try what works for her.”

“Now you’ll have to deal with two cranky girls in the house,” Marie laughed while taking out two plates.

“I really don't mind,” he sincerely replied. “I can’t imagine what it’s like to have all kinds of uncomfortable side effects during your period. Taking care of your mom – and now you – is the least I could do.”

After a moment of silence she said, “Earlier you said that I’m becoming a woman now. I thought about that when I was in the shower… What if I don't wanna grow up yet?”

“I don’t know if that helps, but… You’ll always be my little girl,” Spencer responded while filling both plates with pancakes.

“So you’ll still watch Disney movies with me?”

A wide smile spread over Spencer’s face as he took the plates to walk over to the couch. “I was hoping you'd ask!”

Please like, reblog and leave a comment! I need your lovely words to stay motivated to write more stories.

Taglist: @nomajdetective @reidsbookclub @gspenc @samuel-de-champagne-problems @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @malindacath @reidselle @alexxavicry @frickin-bats @spencersprettyslut @sebs-oxygen @happymangospot @cynbx @hotchandspencearedilfs @emiliaserpe @thenerdthatwrites @velvetthunder93 @saturnstringz @missabsey @guacam011y @hugyourlungs @reiderwriter @enamoradax @hales-17 @cham9ions @loaksulluyswife @ecneremili @xserenax-13 @grumpyy-bearr @luredwithpretzels @castiels-majestic-wings @super-nerd22 @pleasantwitchgarden @yeonalie @r-3dlips @evvy96 @torigorie @meyaareads @luvdella @luvley2k @bunnylovesani

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #dr spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid comfort #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction

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reminiscingtonight · 1 month

Text

You Should Talk

Georgia Stanway x Reader

Word Count: 2k

A/N: Inspired by the one and only Fletcher song

[WOSO Masterlist]

The room falls silent the second the door slams shut behind you.

An uncomfortable tension settles as you breathe out noisily through your nose.

It’s hard to temper the anger simmering in your veins, your glare sharp enough to shake even those who have attempted to stay on the sidelines.

“Out. All of you,” you bite out, eyes never leaving your target.

Georgia glares back, raising her chin just a bit back in challenge.

Your hackles rise on instinct, eyes flashing dangerously when no one moves.

“I said leave.”

Clothes are shoved haphazardly into bags as the last stragglers shoot out behind you, none of the girls daring to meet your eyes as they escape to safety.

The benefits of being one of the last ones to the locker room generally meant less girls hanging around while you get your things together. A downside is catching conversations that clearly weren’t meant for your own ears.

Keira pauses awkwardly in front of you, grimacing when you stare right through her, eyes never leaving Georgia’s. “Sorry. Don’t take it out too much on her. You know how she is when she’s unhappy.”

Sometimes you love how caring Keira is. How she’s always driven to mediate and fix things even if she’s not involved.

Today’s not one of those days.

Keira sighs when you don’t acknowledge her, throwing a glance over her shoulder at Georgia before slipping out behind you

You barely wait for the door to click shut before you’re stalking forward.

It’s no surprise that everything’s led to this. From the moment camp started things have been frosty. Leah and Keira have been doing their best to keep you two separate, nothing good ever coming out of a volatile break up. But that didn’t stop the snide comments, the muttered insults. Everywhere you turned it was like Georgia was there with her prickly tongue, each word cutting as much as the last.

The last straw were those words you heard her complaining to Keira just mere seconds ago.

“You're one to talk, Stanway. I’m the insane one?"

Georgia rolls her eyes, arms crossing in front of her.

“I’m the one who ruins everything? Tell me how exactly me wanting to spend time with my girlfriend ruins things.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“No I apparently don’t! Because why am I the insane one for being upset that you never wanted to spend time with me?”

Georgia scoffs, pushing up to meet your fire with fire. “I play in Germany! It’s not like I could pop over for an hour every time you wanted to see me!”

“Oh my god, that’s not what I meant and you know that.” You press an accusatory finger against her chest, making sure to add pressure every time Georgia tries to brush your hand aside. “All I wanted was more effort. You want to tell me how many video dates you blew off so you could be out with your German friends? Or how many times you canceled plans to come home so you could jet off somewhere else?”

“Well I’m sorry for actually having a life. When you have a girlfriend who spends her time bitching at you about everything she thinks you’re doing wrong you’d skip out on calls too.”

“Oh fuck you!”

“You wish!” Georgia shouts back.

Though you scrub angrily at your face, you’re not fast enough to hide the evidence of just how hard Georgia’s words have hurt you. Georgia’s face flickers a bit, her brash demeanor softening a bit when she catches the tears rolling down your cheeks.

Unable to stop the stinging in your eyes, you push past her to your locker before she can say anything else. If Georgia wants to act like you’re the worst person to ever walk the earth you’ll just have to do the exact same.

In the back of your anger hazed brain, you register the way Georgia lingers. She headed for the door the second you started shoving your clothes into your bag, neither of you wanting to spend more time arguing about how much you hated the other, but for some reason she just hasn’t left yet.

You throw your bag over your shoulder, rolling your eyes when you spot Georgia uselessly tugging at the door. “What are you doing? Just open it.”

“You think I’m trying to spend more time than necessary with you?” she shoots back. “This bloody door just won’t open.”

“What do you mean it won’t open?”

“What else could I mean?” Georgia scoffs before banging on the door again. “Hello? Can anyone hear us? We’re trapped in here!”

“Clearly no one can hear us otherwise we wouldn’t be locked in here.”

“Great. Just fucking great,” Georgia mutters before sliding down onto the floor. Might as well get comfortable if you’re going to be here for the foreseeable future.

“Being locked in a room with your ex girlfriend that miserable of an act for you?” you can’t help but laugh bitterly.

“You broke up with me,” she grits out, purposefully not looking your way.

You roll your eyes. “That’s why you’ve been acting like a child all camp? Because I broke up with you?”

If you cared more about your own personal safety and peace of mind you should maybe do a better job of keeping your mouth shut. Because the way Georgia’s nearly snapping her teeth at you tells you just exactly how endearing she finds the lip you’re giving her. But you're too far gone to care at this point, wanting Georgia to feel nothing if just a piece of how you've been feeling these past couple months.

Georgia scoffs but you cut her off before she can say another word.

“No, you listen to me, Georgia. I broke up with you because you gave up first. You clearly wanted an out so I gave it to you.”

“Don’t do that!” she snaps. “Don’t blame it all on me. It takes two to fuck things up.”

“Don’t give me that ‘woe is me’ crap. You gave up long before I did and you know it.”

“What did you want me to do? You kept pestering me about your mum and then you showed up where I work to fight about it! How am I the bad guy here? You’re the insane one for doing that!”

“For the last time, I didn’t go to Bayern to fight with you, you self-centered asshole!” You throw your hands up in frustration. What you really wanted to do was throw your boots at her, but the thought of having to help Georgia stop any bleeding if you actually made contact was the only thing stopping you from doing so. “I was touring the training grounds because they offered me a contract. I wanted to check it out before making any decisions.”

The day you landed in Germany still haunts you. You traveled straight from the Colney to the airport to Bayern’s practice grounds. It was only ever supposed to be a quick trip. Explore the training facility, talk with a few of the execs, maybe surprise Georgia with a quick dinner before returning to London.

What you didn’t expect was to run right into your girlfriend after making your first loop around the area.

Georgia was elated at first, but you could spot the apprehension settle in just as quick. Making your excuses she had grabbed your wrist and dragged you into a deserted room.

Accusations were thrown.

“Are you seriously here to lecture me in person about missing your mum’s birthday next week?”

“What’s so wrong with me being here? Got a secret girlfriend you’re trying to hide?”

Old wounds were rehashed.

“Stop being so bloody insecure!”

“Quit being such an attention whore then!”

By the time you left it was with a broken heart, a broken relationship, and a newfound resolve to stay the hell out of Germany. The national team was something you couldn’t, and wouldn’t, get out of, but spending everyday playing club level with your ex was something you’d never do.

When your words sink in, Georgia freezes. Her mouth drops open, face one of surprise and conflicted regret. “I didn’t-- You… No one told me.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” you mutter, picking at a thread on your sweater. “So much for that.”

The bad times were bad, you won’t deny it. Both you and Georgia are hotheaded enough that arguments weren’t rare to come around. You always end up resolving them, but frustrations about being so far away from each other mixed with emotions neither of you could adequately express bubbled over until you called it quits.

Yeah, maybe you should’ve tried harder, but in the end you were just too defeated to do so.

Although things crashed and burned horrifically, however, you couldn’t deny how much you still loved her. There would always be a part of you that belonged to Georgia, no matter how infuriating you found her.

You’ve known each other since you were children, the relationship something everyone expected to happen. Everyone always joked about the two of you dating when you were younger, the affection you had for each other always superseding those of regular friends. When Georgia asked you out in the middle of the night during one of your youth camps, you couldn’t help but say yes.

For years the two of you made the distance work. Georgia was always in and around the Manchester area while you were in London yourself. You always made sure to carve out enough time to still travel to see one another, quality time important to the two of you.

So no, distance wasn’t something new to your relationship. But for some reason the distance between England and Germany proved to be too much for the two of you to bear.

Germany was something you could never take away from Georgia. From the moment she told you about Bayern’s offer, you knew she was going to accept it. It was something you knew Georgia has always wanted to do, play in a new league, experience a different environment. And of course you were happy for her. You’d never be anything less than proud of everything your girlfriend has achieved. But if you had known just how badly the move would’ve messed up your relationship maybe you would’ve tried harder to convince her to stay.

So who knows, maybe in another universe the two of you made the distance work. Maybe you brought up the things that bugged you before they turned into something bigger than it was. Maybe you made the move to Germany and the two of you lived happily ever after.

But this is here and now, and there’s no denying how much Georgia’s hurt you (and how much you’ve hurt her back).

“You’re an asshole, Georgia Stanway.”

Georgia sighs, shutting her eyes as she lets her head thump against the locker behind her. It’s a thump of defeat, one that tells you everything you need to know about how much Georgia wished she did things differently. “I know. I’m sorry.”

You’re silent for a moment as you take her in. It’s hard to miss the bags under her eyes, the barely existent chewed down nails, the minute details that showed just how much Georgia’s been hurting too.

You let your head thump backward too.

“I’m sorry too.”

When the doors are unlocked hours later, Leah finally having enough mind to read her texts and discover the lock-in, she’s expecting nothing short of carnage. What she sees instead is the two of you asleep, your head on Georgia’s shoulder as your hands stay clasped together.

#georgia stanway x reader #georgia stanway imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #Ace writes

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deliciousangelfestival · 14 days

Text

The Imperfect Couple - 2

Character: politician!Bucky x ex-wife!reader

Summary: A separated couple must pretend to be happily married while the husband runs for Vice President, dealing with old issues and political pressures during his election campaign.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 , -

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

As the flash of cameras blinded you, a reporter stepped forward, her voice eager as she asked, "How are you feeling now? We heard you were seriously ill while working abroad."

You forced a smile, nodding. “I’m doing much better now, thank you. The treatment was tough, but I’m fine.”

Another reporter, sensing an opportunity to dig deeper, asked, “Can you tell us how you two met?”

You exchanged a brief glance with Bucky, before turning back to the crowd with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Well, we met at a music festival. I was in the corner trying to charge my phone, and this guy”—you gestured toward Bucky with a casual wave—“came over asking to borrow my charger. We started talking, mostly about music—our favorite artists, the ones we didn’t like. After that, we kept hanging out, and, well… it led to this.”

You smiled at the cameras, but there was a hint of something sharper in your eyes. “But, you know, not once did he ever mention his dream of going into politics,” you added, the words tinged with just enough edge to make Bucky flinch.

Bucky chuckled, the sound forced. “I didn’t want to scare her off.”

The press continued to bombard you both with questions, but most of them were directed at Bucky. He answered each one with the polished ease of a seasoned politician, while you stood there, feeling increasingly out of place and suffocated by the whole charade.

The situation you found yourself in—the pretense, the constant spotlight—filled you with a simmering frustration. You hated every minute of it.

As the car doors closed, you finally exhaled, the chaotic blur of cameras and flashing lights now safely behind tinted windows.

“Well done. You’re fitting right in,” Bucky said, his voice carrying that infuriating mix of arrogance and ease as he loosened his tie.

You turned to him, your eyes narrowing. “Do you think I’ll just stay silent? I could write an article that would burn everything you’ve worked for to the ground.”

He smirked, leaning back in his seat, crossing his arms with a casualness that made your blood boil. “Are you blackmailing me, babe?”

“Don’t call me that,” you snapped, rolling your eyes.

“We have to start acting like a happy couple. Nicknames are part of the package,” he replied, his smirk never fading.

“I fucking hate you,” you hissed, your voice barely above a whisper, loaded with every ounce of resentment you’d been holding in.

“I don’t, though. I never did,” Bucky responded, his tone softening, almost sincere.

You faltered for a moment, your defenses momentarily shaken. His words, no matter how simple, had a way of cutting deeper than you expected. But you quickly recovered, crossing your arms defensively.

“If I get elected, I promise your independent news company will have us as a sponsor,” Bucky continued, his tone now all business. “Isn’t your boss stressed out, looking for investors? Independent news still needs money to pay employees.”

You clenched your jaw. He was right, and you hated that he knew it. Your company was struggling, and his offer—no matter how twisted—would keep it afloat.

“Consider this a business relationship,” he added, his eyes locking onto yours, challenging you.

You leaned in closer, voice laced with sarcasm. “Oh, no, no. Whatever Bucky wants, Bucky always gets.”

Bucky’s eyes darkened, his smirk disappearing as he met your gaze with a seriousness that sent a chill down your spine. “Not this time. This time, I’m making sure we both get what we want. But don’t forget, if you decide to play with fire, be ready to get burned.”

The next thing, he did is made a video call, his eyes never leaving the screen. The call connected, and the familiar voice of your brother, Tim, came through the speaker.

“Hey, the numbers are looking great, bro,” Tim said, his enthusiasm evident even through the screen.

Bucky nodded approvingly. “Good. Oh, there’s someone who wants to see you.” He turned the phone to reveal you.

Tim’s eyes widened in surprise. “Omg, you’re back! You’re really here!”

Bucky chuckled, his expression smug. “I know, right?”

You were momentarily stunned, seeing your brother working for Bucky. The betrayal stung, making your heart twist in your chest. Tim’s presence here was a stark reminder of how deeply involved Bucky was in every aspect of your life now.

Tim pointed at you with a half-serious, half-playful expression. “Don’t mess this up.”

Bucky exchanged a few more words with Tim before ending the call. He looked over at you, his gaze intense. “He seems happy working with me. His hard work would be ruined if the truth got out, wouldn’t it, big sis?”

The words hung heavy between you, the implication clear. Bucky knew how protective you were of Tim and how much you cared for him. The tension in the car felt suffocating, every second stretching out as you tried to process the double blow of betrayal.

You turned away, staring out the window as the city lights blurred past. The weight of the situation pressed down on you, the realization of being trapped with no easy escape. Bucky was holding all the cards, and you were left grappling with the enormity of it all.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

The car navigated through a series of well-manicured streets, finally pulling up to a grand, sprawling estate. Your eyes widened as you recognized Bucky’s house, an imposing structure that spoke of old money and inherited power. The sight only deepened your sense of dread.

As you stepped out, you glared at Bucky, frustration etched on your face. “Am I going to stay here?”

Bucky gave you a sidelong glance, his smile barely masking his amusement. “Oh no. We’ll be staying at another house. I just wanted to introduce you to the team.”

A sigh of exasperation escaped you. “Urghh… is your mother here too? I hate her.”

Bucky chuckled, his tone laced with mockery. “No filter, huh, babe? She’s here… but then again, you two have always had differing opinions.”

You shot him a withering look. “She’s the main reason I left. She hated me from the moment you introduced us. Remember? She called me a ‘poor bitch from Monte Cristo.’”

Bucky nodded, his expression a mix of amusement and resignation. “It’s her signature move.”

“Bucky, the longer I stay with you, the more I want to snap. If you put me in the same room with your mother, I might just lose it,” you snapped, your frustration boiling over.

Bucky’s smile remained, but his eyes grew colder. “Good thing you won’t have to share the same roof then.”

As you walked through the house grand entrance, one of Bucky’s team members approached him with an enthusiastic smile. “Introducing her to the public really boosted our numbers. Great move, James.”

Bucky glanced at you with a victorious grin, as if he’d just won a major battle.

Soon, his siblings made their appearance. His brother, a tall, disheveled figure with an air of erratic energy, was clearly under the influence of cocaine. He flashed a toothy grin at you before turning his attention elsewhere. His sister, reserved and quiet, offered you a polite nod, barely acknowledging your presence.

Then, his young nephew Nate bounded up to you, his face lighting up with recognition. He wrapped his small arms around your leg.

“Hey, Nate!” you said, surprised and touched that he still remembered you. “It’s been a while.”

Nate looked up at you with wide eyes. “I remember you! You used to play with me.”

You patted his head gently, feeling a pang of nostalgia.

Meanwhile, Caroline Barnes, Bucky’s mother, observed you from the corner of the room. At seventy, she looked every bit the part of the icy matriarch, dressed head-to-toe in Chanel. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, were framed by a carefully styled silver coiffure. She held her champagne glass with a delicate but dismissive grip.

“Something about her, I always hate. I can’t explain why,” Caroline said with a sneer, her gaze never leaving you.

Julius Barnes, Bucky’s father, stepped in. With his full gray beard and military posture, he exuded authority. “Be nice, Caroline. It’s crucial for her to be here. We can’t afford to lose this opportunity.”

You looked at Julius and Caroline. Both had clearly aged, their faces lined with the stress of the campaign.

Caroline forced a thin smile. “Welcome. It’s so delightful to have you here. I’m sure you’ll find the atmosphere… inspiring.”

You gave a tight-lipped smile. “Oh, you’re such a fucking liar.”

Caroline’s eyes widened in surprise at your boldness. “You’re really brave now,” she said, a hint of shock in her voice.

“Because I’m not part of your family anymore. The marriage between me and James was supposed to have ended,” you retorted, your voice cold and steady.

Caroline’s smile faltered, but she quickly regained her composure. “Well, dear, you must be quite the sight to behold for us tonight.”

Julius stepped in, trying to defuse the tension. “Let’s keep this civil. We have important matters to discuss.”

You glanced at Bucky, who watched the exchange with a bemused expression. It was clear that this charade was far from over, and you were trapped in a web.

As you and Bucky prepared to sit down on the plush couch, the campaign team busied themselves in the background, setting up for the next presentation. You moved to take a seat, but Caroline's voice cut through the murmur of activity with a sharp edge.

“Na-ahh. Put a blanket under her,” Caroline said, her tone dripping with disdain. “We don’t know what kind of virus she’s brought back from another country. And this is a $50,000 couch.”

You stared at her, incredulous. “What the fuck? Is that a joke?” You turned to Bucky, eyes flashing with irritation. “Because strangling her is a joke for me.” You chuckled darkly, “I think it's funny too.”

Bucky’s face tightened as he stepped between you and his mother. “Stop it, Mom. I need her more than I need your attitude.”

Caroline’s eyes narrowed, her face a mask of thinly veiled disdain. “Well, isn’t that just charming,” she said, rolling her eyes as if the very act of speaking to you was beneath her.

Julius, standing nearby, shot Caroline a stern look, his military bearing evident in the rigid set of his shoulders. “We’re trying to keep things civil. This isn’t the time for your petty grievances.”

Caroline huffed, crossing her arms with an exaggerated sigh. “Fine, fine. Let’s all just pretend we’re one big happy family, shall we?”

You took a deep breath, trying to suppress the growing anger bubbling inside you.

The room felt charged with tension, and it was clear that the facade of civility was wearing thin. Bucky gave you a reassuring glance, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of frustration.

Greg part of the campaign team, a wiry young man with an anxious energy, took center stage. He adjusted his glasses and began to explain the next phase of Bucky’s campaign strategy with a mix of nerves and enthusiasm.

“So the next plan is…” Greg said, his voice slightly shaky. He clicked through a series of slides on the screen behind him, each one detailing the upcoming events. “We’re focusing on increasing voter outreach through targeted social media campaigns and local meet-and-greets. We’ve also got a major fundraising event coming up next week.”

Bucky nodded, his expression a mask of professional detachment, though his eyes flickered with a hint of approval. You, seated beside him, tried to maintain your composure, though the tension in the room was almost palpable, especially with Caroline still glaring at you.

Greg continued, his tone growing more frantic as he reached the final point. “And the last thing…” He took a deep breath, glancing nervously between you and Bucky. “Both of you will need couples therapy.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, a sarcastic smirk tugging at your lips. “Oh, isn’t this just wonderful?”

Greg’s face reddened as he tried to recover from his awkward announcement. “I mean, it’s just… well, it’s a suggestion. You know, for the campaign’s sake. Sometimes, a little… uh… harmony at home can be beneficial.”

Bucky gave a tight smile, his gaze fixed on Greg. “I appreciate the suggestion, Greg. We’ll definitely consider it—maybe after we get through the rest of this circus.”

Greg nodded vigorously, clearly relieved to move on from the uncomfortable topic. “Right, of course. Well, let’s focus on the campaign, then.” He hurriedly wrapped up the meeting, leaving you both alone.

You sighed and turned to Bucky. “Did you wake up this morning and decide you wanted to be Vice President, or was it just a spontaneous career choice?”

Bucky leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a smirk. “Oh, you know me. I was just lying in bed, thinking how I could add ‘Vice President’ to my list of hobbies. Figured it’d be a nice change of pace from ruining your day.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, unamused. “And here I was thinking you might have a bit of humility left.”

Bucky chuckled, lifting an eyebrow as he shifted in his seat. “Humility? That’s for people who aren’t trying to get elected. But don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll find some way to make this circus amusing for both of us.”

He leaned forward, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Honey, I’ll give you the ticket.”

You raised an eyebrow, incredulous. “A ticket? To what, exactly? Your endless charade?”

Bucky’s smirk widened as he leaned back, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “To the front row of the greatest show on earth. It’s going to be quite a ride, I promise.”

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slu7formen · 6 months

Text

luke castellan x fem!reader

You knew that your friend, Luke, was a tease. What you didn’t expect, was that he was going to be a tease to you.

while I finish writing part two of this story (btw, thank u so much for all the love it’s getting) , I drop this one out here for the wait <3

warnings: teasing, praising, drinking, kinda s3xual tension

reminder: english’s not my first language so I apologize for any spelling mistakes

₊˚⊹♡

The bonfire crackled merrily, casting flickering shadows on the faces of the demigods huddled around it. The air thrummed with the low beat of stolen music from a borrowed radio, a symphony of laughter and easy conversation punctuated by the clinking of ice inside your plastic cups. Exhaustion from a particularly harrowing week of monster attacks had finally settled in, driving the older campers to this clandestine revelry deep within the safe haven of the camp's woods.

Across from you, Clarisse was emerged in a play-fight with his brothers, not truly a good idea based on the drunken state they were in, but who would tell them otherwise? Travis and Connor were huddled together, their whispers punctuated by bursts of laughter that hinted at some upcoming evil plan or prank. You could practically see the gears turning in their heads. Silena leaned towards Katie’s ear, whispering some secret that boys couldn’t know about, her voice barely a murmur.

And Luke Castellan sat next to you, his presence warm and familiar. His profile bathed in the golden glow. You'd known him for years, a bond forged in shared battles and late-night training sessions. But lately, you'd begun to see him in a different light. The way his muscles tensed beneath his t-shirt as he tossed another log onto the fire, the glint in his dark eyes - it all sent a delicious flutter to your stomach.

Reaching for your empty plastic cup, you realized with a groan that you'd polished off your cranberry juice and vodka concoction. Glancing sideways at Luke, you noticed his cup held a suspicious-looking red liquid that gave off a pungent, almost medicinal smell. "Let me have a sip of yours" you declared, leaning towards him without even questioning.

A ghost of a smile played on his lips. Your cheeks, flushed from the alcohol and the warmth of the fire, were undeniably red. Your lips, slightly puffy and wet, was not something his eyes would miss either. But he'd never admit the effect you had on him, not here, not amongst their friends.

"Not sure that's your thing, doll" he pointed out, looking down at his drink for a second. "You won´t like it"

You knew you were pushing your luck, but the defiance simmering in your blood, thanks to the vodka, wouldn't be ignored. "Come on, Luke" you pout, placing your chin on his shoulder. “If you can drink it, why can´t I?”

He chuckled, a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. "I don't think you can handle it" he said with a little smirk on his face, the playful challenge in his eyes impossible to miss. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the way he was looking at you, but a spark of competitive spirit ignited within you.

“Oh, yeah?” you challenged. “Just watch me, then” you declared, snatching the cup from his hand before he could protest. You were so sure of yourself. The liquid was a fiery red, the strong scent even more potent up close. You took a tentative sip.

It was horrible.

It was like drinking liquid fire infused with cough syrup. A strangled cough escaped your lips, your eyes watering. Luke chuckled slightly. You sputtered, almost spitting the liquid out in disgust.

Before you could fully react, Luke's hand cupped your chin, surprisingly gentle despite the rough calluses that adorned his palm. His eyes held a mischievous sparkle. "Take it all down now, you told me you could handle it"

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the way his words sent a thrill down your spine, but you were determined not to back down, especially not in front of him. Fueled by a mix of pride, the burn of the liquid fire, and a strange flutter in your stomach thanks to Luke's closeness, you took another swig, then another, determined to finish it. You ignored the way your throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper and the fire that seemed to erupt in your gut.

Suddenly, a loud "Chug! Chug! Chug!" broke the silence. Travis and Connor, who had been watching the exchange with amusement, started a rhythmic chant. Silena and Katie soon joined in, their cheers echoing through the clearing. You choked down the rest of the concoction, gasping for air as it burned its fiery path down your throat.

The cheers reached a crescendo as you slumped back, eyes squeezed shut, your head swimming. As the commotion subsided, you dropped the plastic cup with a clatter. You felt dizzy, and your throat felt like someone had lined it with sandpaper, but a sense of accomplishment washed over you. You'd done it.

Suddenly, a gentle touch on your chin startled you. You blinked your eyes open to see Luke leaning in, his gaze holding a playful spark. With his thumb, he brushed away a stray droplet of the red liquid that had escaped your lips during your valiant chugging endeavor.

The simple gesture sent a jolt through you. It was so unexpected that your breath hitched in your throat. Then, in a move that stole the air from your lungs completely, he lifted his thumb to his lips and sucked off the red droplet. Eyes on yours, the whole time.

"Good girl" he murmured.

He turned away then, casually rejoining the conversation with Chris about their upcoming training session. But you couldn't tear your gaze from him. The playful glint in his eyes, the lingering warmth on your chin from his touch – it all played on repeat in your mind.

Gods, you thought, your head swimming from a potent mix of alcohol and newfound desire. You really wanted to be anywhere else right now. Anywhere with him, away from the prying eyes and teasing laughter of your friends. You felt crazy in the matter of just a few seconds. You couldn´t let this slide, you just couldn´t.

You couldn´t deny the wet patch on your panties either.

You stood up, maybe a little too fast for the state you were in, but you managed to look down to Luke, who was already looking into your eyes the moment you stood up.

“I´m going for a walk. Care to join me?”

inspired by this right here, with a little change <3

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #luke castellan smut #pjo series #pjo #luke castellan x you #luke x reader #luke castellan one shot #luke castellan fic #luke castellan imagine #pjo x reader #pjo x you #pjo smut #luke castellan x female reader #luke castellan x fem!reader #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan imagines

787 notes · View notes

sunsburns · 3 months

Text

naked in manhattan

pairing: tashi duncan x fem!reader / implied art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: you’re just hours away from a flight that will change your career forever—one that will take you to london, england, for the 2012 olympics, a milestone you never thought you’d reach. thrilled yet trembling with nerves, you find yourself at the hotel bar, celebrating alone. it does not help when you run into art donaldson and… his wife?

—or: you and tashi rekindle an old flame

word count: 6.9k

contains: SMUT 18+, smut with a lot of plot, semi-public sex (a gym at the middle of the night so idk if that counts), mid-challengers movie (a year after the atlanta scene with tashi and patrick), angst with no comfort, fingering, homewrecking, cheating but also not cheating but also a worse third thing, no use of y/n, old situationship best described in terms of “casual” by chappell roan (iykyk), art is lowkey a shit starter

author’s note: so i finished this a while back and added it to my queue and did not realize i put it for july instead of june so LOL MY BAD. this is kinda like a prequel to “good luck, babe!” but you don't need to read that to get this. alsoooo thank you for all the love and feedback in “good luck, babe!” i’ve read every single message and tried to reply to all of them! you guys are so sweet and inspired me to write more! thank you thank you <3 i hope you enjoy this one!

Manhattan, New York City, 2012

"I hope you're planning on getting laid tonight."

Your drink is cold, the ice cubes clinking against the glass as you swirl the straw absentmindedly. The dim lighting of the hotel bar casts a warm, golden glow over everything, making the polished wood of the bar counter gleam. Around you, the murmur of conversations, bursts of laughter, and the occasional clinking of glasses create a lively yet intimate ambiance. You glance at the TV mounted in the corner, where a muted sports channel displays highlights from a basketball game.

You try not to snort into your drink at the words of Patrick Zweig on the other end of the call. You push your phone closer to your ear, unable to bite back the grin spreading across your face.

"Are you serious?" you ask.

"What?" Patrick's tone is mockingly innocent, full of playful mischief.

"I thought you called to say something a little more... I don't know, sincere? Heartwarming?"

He lets out a loud, boisterous laugh that you can practically feel through the phone. In the background, you hear the faint sounds of a city—honking cars, distant chatter, and the occasional bark of a dog. The noise fades slightly as Patrick likely moves to a quieter spot, and you can almost picture him getting in his car in some other state—you think he's in Arizona.

"The only kind of warming I wanna hear about is cockwarming," he retorts, his voice dripping with mock seriousness.

You make a face, "You're disgusting."

"I mean it," he insists, still laughing. "I'm actually so jealous of you right now. You qualified for the Olympics, for fuck's sake! How's your mom doing? Did she have a heart attack? Did she call you already? I hope she packed you some condoms. There's gonna be such a wide variety. Literally every country in the world."

"Shut the fuck up, Patrick."

Your mother did call, her voice crackling with emotion over the phone just before Patrick rang you. She told you how proud she is of you, how she can't wait to watch you play and tell everyone she knows that her daughter is an Olympic tennis player. A gold medalist, maybe.

Her words echo in your mind, filling you with a warmth that battles the nerves simmering beneath the surface.

You take a sip of your drink, savouring the blend of fruity and bitter flavours, a welcome distraction from the whirlwind of thoughts. You try not to spill it on your Ralph Lauren sweater, custom-made, just for the Olympics, with your name stitched on the arm.

Around you, the hotel bar is alive with the buzz of other athletes celebrating with their teams. The fellowship is appreciable as laughter and cheers fill the air. But for some single athletes, like yourself, it's a different story. You feel as if you're in high school all over again, too awkward to make friends, hoping someone braver than you will come by and say hello first.

"You better not be sitting at the bar alone, drinking that orange juice you like."

"A sangria isn't just juice, you dick," you retort, rolling your eyes.

"You're such a loser."

You do feel a little bit like a loser, sitting alone at the bar, but you know you shouldn't. You're hours away from your flight to London where you'll have the chance to play tennis in the Olympics. This is all you've ever wanted since you were a child, all you've been working for—sweat, blood, and tears. You can't even remember a time when you've dreamt of something other than this.

Tennis has always been your escape, your sanctuary. You remember those early days when you played with second-hand rackets and makeshift nets, the local court becoming your second home.

And then there was Patrick, your closest… friend(?) and fiercest rival. His encouragement, his competition, and his company kept you grounded and motivated. When the going got tough, the dream felt too distant, and all of it made you feel far too guilty as if you had stolen someone else's life, Patrick was there to reassure you that you deserved it just as much as the next. Without him, you likely would have walked away from the sport you love.

"I can't believe you made it to the Olympics before me," Patrick's voice pulls you back to the present, a mix of envy and pride lacing his words. You can almost see the playful smirk on his face, a familiar expression that often surfaced during your countless matches together.

"I wish you were here, Pat." Your voice softens, the longing evident. It was hard to track down Patrick Zweig, especially while he was constantly on the move, hopping from state to state, playing as many challengers as he could sign up for, each match a stepping stone toward his dream of winning the US Open. And you think he will. You've played against him enough times to know he's better than you at hitting a ball with a racket.

There were nights when you'd both crash in a shabby motel or back at your place after a gruelling day on the court, strategizing and critiquing each other's play styles (sometimes in more than just tennis). His tenacity was a beacon for you, pushing you to strive harder and to reach further.

His voice softens, becoming more earnest. "Yeah, me too. I'll try to get tickets for one of your games in London. If not, I'll catch up with your mom and watch it with her. Is your dad still in the picture?"

You roll your eyes, a reflex to his familiar teasing. "Oh, my god."

"I'm just asking," he chuckles. "Listen, I'm gonna let you go, 'cause I've got a date tonight. But call me when you land."

"Oh, yeah, okay." You try not to let the disappointment seep into your voice, but it's hard. It's not like you and Patrick were together, at least not publicly, at least not in the sense that you couldn't see other people. But even as you tell yourself that, a knot tightens in your chest.

It feels a bit teenageish, you think, messing around with friends and acting like it means nothing just to avoid making things awkward. Yet, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were leaving something unsaid, something unacknowledged. Patrick was one of the few people in your life who kept you on your toes and made you feel good—truly good.

Now, the idea of him with someone else, going on dates while you chase your dreams, feels like a betrayal you can't quite articulate. But what right do you have to feel that way? You never made things official, never dared to cross that line.

You never bothered to search for love outside of tennis.

"Have fun on your date," you manage to say. It comes out more brittle than you'd hoped. "Talk to you later."

"Bye!" he says, oblivious to the turmoil in your heart. His voice is light and carefree, and why wouldn't it be?

You end the call and set your phone down on the bar with a bit more force than intended, the hollow thud echoing your frustration. The bartender glances your way and you try to flash him an honest smile before ordering another drink. The TV overhead flickers, switching from basketball highlights to a recap of the latest tennis matches. You watch the screen without really seeing it.

The bar is still lively, yet you feel an overwhelming sense of solitude. You can't help but feel like you're stuck in limbo—caught between your dreams and the reality of your personal life.

You take a deep breath and a long sip of the rest of your first drink, the cool liquid doing little to ease the heat of frustration building inside you. You tell yourself you should be happy, grateful even. But right now, all you can think about is Patrick, and how much easier it would be if he were here with you.

But he's not. And maybe he never will be.

Maybe no one will.

Maybe you will die alone, your tennis racket as your only companion.

"This seat taken?" A familiar voice breaks through your thoughts.

You turn, startled, "No-" you start, but then the blur of blonde hair comes to focus and you're stumbling over your words, "Art? What- what are you doing here?"

"Oh," he smiles, a shy faint red blush already growing on his pale skin. He sits beside you, almost hesitantly, "Just stopping by the city. I saw you and thought I'd say hi."

"Hi." You return his smile, albeit a bit warily.

It's been years since you last spoke to Art properly, though your paths have crossed a few times. You've seen him in magazines, TV, and brief passings usually at major tournaments—Wimbledon, the Australian Open, the US Open. Each time, there were shy smiles and waves from across the room, lingering eyes, and awkward conversations where mutual friends tried to reintroduce you as if you hadn't once known each other

Art looks different every time you see him. His hair, now a little shorter than you remember, still maintains that boyish shagginess. There's a darker tan on his skin, evidence of his time spent under the sun. Some days he has a brighter smile, other days, it's a smile that never reaches his eyes.

As he sits there, you can't help but think of how golden his hair used to look whenever he wore his old Stanford hat, the one he used to pull low over his eyes during your college days. The memory makes you aware that you're staring, maybe a little too long. But he's looking at you too, his blue eyes trailing from one end of your face to the other, as if trying to memorize it all, capturing a photograph of who you are now.

A warmth spreads through you under his gaze, and when he finally looks away, you turn too, tapping at your empty glass, pretending to seem interested in the way the ice has started to melt.

But your eyes betray you, slowly trailing back to him. You watch the way he sits, the way he calls over the bartender and orders himself a glass of water. You try not to notice the deep timbre his voice has gained over the years, and how it resonates in the noisy bar. He looks at you, then the empty seat on your other side, and finally scans the room anxiously, as if he's searching for someone or something.

"He's not here," you finally say, breaking the silence that has grown too heavy. "If that's what you're wondering."

He nods, trying to act nonchalant but failing miserably. "What city is he in now?"

"Vegas, I think."

He makes a face and rests his chin on his hand. "There's no challengers in Vegas this month."

"Then he's just visiting. I don't know." The truth is, you don't want to talk about Patrick right now. Especially not with Art. Not after the way they ended things. You watch Art shrug, and the bartender sets your drink in front of you. You take a grateful sip, savouring the blend of flavours. Art holds his glass carefully, and the two of you sit in strained silence for a moment, the noise of the bar fading into the background.

You can't help but ask, "What are you doing here? In Manhattan?"

"I have an interview tomorrow. For the New York Times," Art says, leaning back slightly. He seems a little surprised as if he expected you to sit there without acknowledging him for the whole night. It makes you wonder what he thinks of you. "They're doing a piece on my career, the highs, the lows... the beginning and stuff."

You study his face, trying to gauge his emotions. You know what it's like to be interviewed, to have a team of people making you look your best for photos and another team crafting answers to help you maintain your reputation. It’s exhausting and thrilling all at once. "Congrats, I'm happy for you."

"Thank you. If anything, I should be congratulating you. Olympics? That's huge..." He continues talking, his lips moving, but you’re barely registering the words. For the first time that night, he seems genuinely enthusiastic, a faint spark in his eyes as he talks about you, about London, gesturing with his hand in excitement.

That's when you notice it. The gold around his finger. It glimmers under the warm lights of the bar, catching your eye like a beacon. You can't stop staring at it even after he's done talking.

"Oh, yeah. It's great." The words feel hollow as they leave your mouth. You struggle to find the right response, not wanting to be rude. "You're married?"

His face falls, and he looks down at his hand resting on his lap. "Oh, yeah, yeah. We, uh..." He scratches the back of his head, his eyes darting up to meet yours briefly before looking away. He seems nervous, like he's bracing for your reaction, worried to tell you, as if you weren’t supposed to know at all. "We got married last year. We kept pushing the date for a while because we were... we were busy... and stuff just kept getting in the way."

"We...?"

"Tashi."

"Tashi," you echo, the name tasting foreign and bitter on your tongue. "You're married? You married each other?"

He nods, "Yeah, we've been engaged for a few years now. You haven't heard?"

You feel a lump form in your throat. "No, uh. My coach tries to keep me away from certain news... my mom suggested it. So I don't get uh, distracted."

This is exactly the kind of situation your team has been trying to avoid.

The reality of his words sinks in, and you feel a sharp pang of something—loss, regret, maybe even jealousy. The air around you feels thicker and harder to breathe. Each word he says feels like another brick being laid on your chest, pressing down, making it harder to stay composed.

"Oh. Yeah, that makes sense."

You force a smile, but it's a fragile thing, threatening to shatter at any moment. "That's... that's great, Art. I'm happy for you. Really. How was... how was the wedding?" Your mind races with thoughts of broken promises and missed opportunities. You imagine Tashi in her wedding dress; you know she looked beautiful. The image stabs at you, and you wince.

"It was beautiful. Both our families came in, and we kept it traditional, in a church. It was..." He pauses, watching you before adding, "It was a small ceremony. Private. Just family."

His words twist the knife deeper. Tashi's family used to see you as such. "No, yeah, I get it. Wouldn't want any trouble at the wedding. I'm happy for you. I'm happy for the both of you." You turn to the bartender, desperate to keep your voice steady. "Hey, can I get another drink? Something stronger?"

Patrick was right; your stupid orange juice won't get you through the night.

Art watches you with concern, his brow furrowing. "How many of those have you had?"

You laugh, but it sounds hollow even to your ears. "Not enough."

"Does your coach know you're drinking?"

"Does yours know you're talking to me?"

Art leans back, his posture stiffening. He turns to his drink, the ice clinking softly against the glass as he takes another sip. The silence that follows is thick and uncomfortable. You watch as he processes your words, his expression shifting from defensiveness to something more pained. You instantly feel a pang of guilt, realizing you've struck a nerve.

You've heard all about Tashi's coaching with Art. Whispers in the locker rooms during tournaments, hushed conversations about how she's pushing him until he cracks. You never wanted to believe it, never wanted to think that Tashi, of all people, would be the one to break him down.

"She calls you Ace, you know."

You make a face at the name. A journalist had written an article about you a few years ago when you won your first US Open, nicknaming you Ace since your serves were almost impossible to hit. The nickname stuck, plastered across headlines, magazine covers, and merchandise. People even bet on you becoming the youngest tennis player with the most aces in history before the season ended. You were only off by a dozen.

"Does she?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, unaffected.

"You do have a killer serve."

You scoff, shaking your head. "Killer." The word feels bitter on your tongue. "Tashi used to hit those back at me like it was nothing."

Art nods, taking another sip of his drink before pausing to look at you. "Only 'cause she knows you."

"Knew," you correct him.

The silence stretches again, heavier this time. You're about to say something, anything to break it, when Art speaks again, his voice softer, more earnest.

"I miss you."

What. The. Fuck.

"I do," he insists, leaning forward, his eyes searching yours. "I miss hanging out with you. I miss playing with you. Watching your games live and not recorded on my TV."

"Art, c'mon." You feel the dread crawling up your throat, wishing you had left the bar sooner. Every word he says seems to pull you deeper into a past you've been trying to escape. Art has done nothing but throw you off your game all night.

"I miss you outside of tennis, too," he continues, his voice tinged with regret. "I miss our late-night walks, studying in the library. You remember those?"

"Of course I do."

"Tashi misses you, too," he says, and you can tell he's crossing a line, testing your patience. You can feel the corner of your mouth twitch, your eyes unable to meet his. "She tells me every night. She's always keeping up with your stats, watching all of your games, rewatching your old ones. She makes notes for you, how you could improve. She wants to coach you."

"Art, stop it," you finally snap, turning to face him. The night feels ruined, any semblance of peace shattered. Was this all some elaborate scheme against you? After all these years, is this how they repay you? Out of spite? Is that what it is, a way to get back at you because you somehow got it all, and Tashi's taking whatever she can scrape off from Art?

"I don't want her to coach me. And I highly doubt she wants to coach me either."

"I booked the hotel," he says suddenly, his voice softer, more sincere. "She doesn't know you're here. And I really think it will be good for you two to talk." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small piece of paper, placing it carefully on the bar in front of you. "Here's our room number. I'll be out tonight with some friends, so the room is yours till late. Just, don't kill each other or break anything if you fight."

"I'm not going—"

"She really does miss you," he interrupts, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you might understand, might relent.

You stare at the piece of paper, feeling its presence like a burning brand. Art stands up, hesitating for a moment as if he wants to say more but thinks better of it. "I mean it. Think about it," he murmurs before turning and walking away, his footsteps echoing in the hollow space of your mind.

You watch him go, each step he takes pulling at the threads of your carefully constructed facade. As he nears the entrance, your eyes follow him instinctively, and that's when you see her. Tashi. She's standing there, with her bags looking around with a familiar intensity, her eyes scanning the room until they lock onto yours.

You feel sick.

Meeting Art was a pleasant surprise; he makes your heart race and your cheeks burn. But Tashi makes your heart stop and your brain shut off.

She looks different—older, more mature, hair straight and cut to a mid-length but also a lighter colour—but still heartbreakingly familiar. Her eyes widen slightly as she recognizes you.

She opens her mouth as if to say something when Art stands next to her, pressing a kiss to her temple, but no words come out.

Your heart hammers in your chest.

The weight of her gaze is too much. You're the first to look away. You stand up abruptly, nearly knocking over your drink in the process. "Excuse me," you mutter to the bartender, slapping a couple of bucks on the counter. Your voice feels distant, and detached, as if it belongs to someone else.

You push through the crowd, your mind a chaotic whirl of emotions. You need air. You need space.

As you reach the elevator, you can feel Tashi's eyes still on you. But you keep moving, your footsteps quickening with each step. You need to focus on tennis. That's the only thing that's never let you down.

Tashi had once picked tennis over you, and now it was your turn to do the same.

You reach your room and close the door behind you, leaning against it as you finally let out the breath you've been holding. The walls seem to close in on you, and you slide down to the floor.

You need to remember why you're here. For the game. For the dream. And that has to be enough.

Only one problem.

You can't sleep.

Hours later, you find yourself in the hotel gym, the quiet hum of the machines the only sound in the stillness of the night. Your mind is racing, a chaotic swirl of thoughts and emotions you can't control. Desperate for an outlet, you hop on a treadmill and start running, hoping to exhaust yourself into some semblance of peace.

Anything is better than sitting in the hotel lobby, scouring the internet on the public computer for any proof of Art and Tashi's marriage while drinking wine straight from the bottle.

Art was right, it was a small wedding. There were almost no photos of it caught by the paparazzi, only articles upon articles talking about it, magazine covers and everything. God, how could you have missed this? How out of the loop were you?

There was only one photo posted, and it was from Tashi's Facebook and Instagram from less than a year ago; a picture of just her hand holding onto Art's, where you can see her wedding ring. There was no caption. But the photo had millions of likes.

You wonder if Patrick knew. He probably did. He stalks her account religiously and only recently started to tone it down. And then there's you, who had her blocked on everything since your last argument.

The music playing in your ears drowns out the world around you, a heavy beat pulsing as you hum along. Your eyes fixate on the rising numbers on the treadmill screen, sometimes glancing out the window at the city skyline, other times catching your silhouette in the glass reflection.

Sweat makes your clothes cling to you like a second skin, rolling down your spine in rivulets. You're still a little tipsy from your drinks, the taste lingering in your cheeks, but you think you're sober enough that a few more miles will drain it all out.

Art's words are burned into your mind. The wedding you were never invited to, how he suddenly wants to be friends again. You can see where he's coming from; tennis is lonely. You're lonely. You press the button to go faster, your legs burning as you push yourself harder, trying to escape the thoughts that chase you.

You don't hear the door click open, and it takes a few seconds for you to spot the reflection of someone walking behind you in the window's reflection, rolling out a pink yoga mat. But they don't step onto it, they don't move, and even worse, you catch their eye in the reflection.

Fuck.

It's Tashi Duncan.

Your heart lurches in your chest. You quickly look away, panic setting in. You turn your music up higher and make the treadmill run faster, the machine whirring louder in response. Your pulse races, not just from the exertion, but from the presence of the one person you can't bear to face right now.

In the corner of your eye, you see her approach you. When you hear her call out your name between songs, you pretend you can't hear her. You pretend to be captivated by the sight of the city at night, pretend that you're lost in the music as P!nk's voice blares into your ears, cursing out one of her old lovers.

You wonder how long you can keep the act up.

Tashi moves with a determination that you've always admired and feared. She walks around your treadmill, eyes locked onto you with a fierce intensity. Without hesitation, she reaches down and unplugs the machine from the wall, forcing it to power down abruptly.

Not long enough.

"What the fuck?" You huff, yanking out your earbuds. "What's your fucking problem?"

"You're my problem," she says, her voice steady, unyielding as she rolls her eyes.

"I haven't said a word to you."

"And that's my problem. I'm talking to you," Her gaze bores into yours, refusing to be ignored. You can see the resolve in her eyes, the same decisiveness that made her a force to be reckoned with on the court.

"I'm busy," you snap, and your breath comes in ragged gasps, both from the exertion and the emotional storm raging inside you. You feel trapped, cornered by the very person you’ve been trying to avoid.

You bite your tongue, stepping off the treadmill and walking around her when she steps in front of you. You make a straight line for your bag, watching her from the mirrors as she follows you closely.

"Can you listen?" It's more of a demand than an ask, "I just... Art told me what he did. He's a little shit, I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that. You have other shit to worry about."

You're taking long chugs from your water, staring at her without saying a word. Part of it is because you have nothing to say to her, and another is because you're afraid that if you speak, she'll see through you.

Tashi's eyes roam over you, lingering on your shorts and the way the wires from your earbuds snake from your iPod, under your tank, and peek out from under your sports bra. Her gaze is both appraising and filled with something unresolved between you. When you don't respond, she sighs. "You look great, by the way. On the court. You've changed your approach. You're vicious."

The compliment stings more than it soothes. You still don't say anything, letting the silence stretch between you like a chasm.

"...Or maybe you've always been. I haven't seen you in a long time. So a lot could've changed, I don't know."

You lower your bottle, swallowing the water. It feels cold as it runs down your throat, a stark contrast to the heat of your rising anger. You can't help the way your eyes drop to her hand when you pull your hair down from its ponytail. The sight of the ring on her finger feels like a punch to the gut.

She notices.

"We didn't want you to find out this way."

Your eyes snap up to hers. "And how was I supposed to find out?"

Tashi looks taken aback for a moment, her confident façade faltering. She takes a deep breath, as if bracing herself. "I don't know. Maybe we should've told you. Should've invited you. But I thought... I thought it would be easier for you if you didn't know. I didn't want to hurt you more than I already had."

Your laugh is bitter, devoid of any real amusement. "Easier?

"Look," Tashi begins, her voice tinged with a hint of impatience, "I'm not a fan of the way I ended things. But I think that keeping a grudge for this long is embarrassing. We were teenagers."

"You're right," you concede with a bitter chuckle, "it is embarrassing. But you know what's even more embarrassing?" Your voice rises, fueled by a mixture of frustration and hurt. "Having your husband come to me and tell me how much he misses me. And how you miss me. But you don't have the guts to tell me that yourself, do you? Do you miss me, Tashi?"

"Of course I miss you," she scoffs, her tone defensive. "You were my best friend. My serving partner. We played and won doubles together."

"Is that all I was to you?"

"Was there supposed to be anything more?"

There it is, the moment you've been dreading, the confrontation you've been avoiding. You can feel the familiar ache in your chest, "You know I fucking loved you, Tashi," you admit. "And yeah, whatever, everyone loved you. No one could get enough of Tashi Duncan. But you know damn well I loved you for more than just that."

"Loved?" She steps closer, her eyes searching yours. "You don't love me anymore?"

"No," you tell her. "I don't. I dropped out of your groupie a while ago."

"What do you love, then?" Her voice is almost a whisper, the distance between you closing.

"I love tennis," you confess, your gaze never leaving hers. "I love winning. Turns out I'm great at both. And I love that too. And people love me. That's more than you could ever give me. Or Art."

"Even Patrick?" The mention of his name is a sharp jab; she's trying to get under your skin.

"I don't know, you tell me." You're taunting her. And you love the way she falters for a split second. "You saw him at the Open last year, didn't you?"

The air drifting between you is almost palpable, shrinking smaller and smaller like it’s terrified of being trapped between you. "Listen," she says, her voice dropping lower, "I just came here to tie some loose ends. For Art's sake. He says It'll be good for me."

"Okay," you reply, seizing the opportunity to turn the conversation in your favour. Hook, line and sinker. "Is there anything else you want to get off your chest?"

Hook.

Tashi's eyes narrow slightly, but she takes the bait, her expression shifting to one of determination. "You raise your arm too high when you serve. You're gonna dislocate your shoulder one day."

"I bet you're waiting for the day I do."

"I can make you the best."

"Am I not already?"

Line.

"You're one of the best at most. But not the best. I'd be surprised if you bring back bronze. You're too short-tempered for silver. Let me coach you. I'll make sure you bring back gold."

"I don't need you," you say, the words catching in your throat.

"We both know you do," she whispers, her breath warm against your lips.

And sinker.

In that moment, everything else fades away, leaving only the two of you suspended in time. The words hang in the air, a silent challenge. You can feel the heat radiating from her, the closeness almost unbearable.

Without another thought, your lips crash together in a desperate kiss, a release of all the pent-up tension and longing that has simmered between you for far too long.

It's a whirlwind of heat and passion, each touch igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume everything in its path. Her hands are in your hair, pulling you closer, and you respond in kind, your body pressed against hers with a fierce urgency.

The kiss deepens a symphony of desire and desperation, all the words you couldn't say pouring into it with a fervour that borders on reckless abandon. You can feel yourself start to become absorbed into the bubble that is Tashi Duncan, it sucks you in, and it scares you, makes you feel as if you're sinking into the bottom of the ocean.

She grips the back of your neck, hard enough that her nails dig into the skin. Tashi waits for your gasp, and when you do, she pushes her tongue into your mouth, past your teeth until it collides with your own.

You're moaning, groaning into her mouth with the way she shoves you until your back hits the mirror behind you. You're arching into her at the way she fucking smiles against your lips at your reaction.

It's pathetic. You're pathetic. Almost in the same way Art is. You know it. She knows it. But in your defence, it's been a while since you've been kissed, it's been a while since someone's touched you this way, with heat and flavour. You're a little dizzy from it, cheeks flaring with embarrassment.

Tashi sucks your tongue into her mouth and you buck your hips against the thigh she's pressed between your legs.

There's a sweetness that lingers when she bites your lip, you wonder if she's wearing lipgloss, maybe chapstick. You hope she can't tell you've been drinking, that talking to Art made you spiral, that you've been bluffing since the moment she walked into the gym. Since the night she packed her things and told you she was leaving Stanford, her scholarship has no use since she can't play anymore.

When her hands run down your neck to your waist, gliding over the sweat on your skin, you can feel the cold touch of her wedding ring. It's frigid, making you shiver when Tashi starts to lick up the column of your throat. You almost feel bad about how wet you've become.

"Tashi..." you huff, her hands found their way to the base of your ass, guiding you to rock faster against her, only making you whine. Her grasp is tight, wanting. She pulls at your hips, slowly, dragging your crotch closer to hers and then pushing you back down on her leg. She repeats the motion a few times, rolling her own hips up into you a little more with each motion, and soon your muscles start to work so you can grind down onto her.

Tashi rewards you with a quiet moan—oh, you want her to do that again, you're going to make her do that again, louder and louder—and then, with a touch so light you could cry, she traces one hand over your hipbones and down to your pussy.

You can feel your stomach nearly drop, "You're married, Tashi."

She pulls away just to laugh at you. One finger traces your slit through your shorts, and you hear yourself moan. She raises her brows, a challenging look in her eyes, "Are you jealous?"

You try to scoff, but the cold glass of the mirror behind you squeaks when you shift. Even just this feather-light pressure through two layers of fabric, and every nerve ending in your body sets alight at once.

"What would Art say?" You try to say, your hair falling over your face as you try to collect some kind of morality. If you were caught, you can already imagine the headlines and the stories people would write about you. "What would he do if he found us right now?"

"I don't know," Tashi hums, leaning closer. She pretends to think as if the answer isn't obvious, teasing you a little when she gets close enough to kiss you but doesn't. "He'd probably ask to join."

You can't stop the way that thought alone makes you melt. You remember the jokes Patrick used to make back when you were in college, of you and Tashi being his wet dreams. You can almost imagine, how he would moan at everything, want everything, his whiney moans too similar to the ones he makes when he's on the court.

Tashi rubs gently at your pussy a few more times like she's exploring you, and then suddenly she taps right where your clit is. You cry out, and she sighs against your mouth. "You're so wet. You like it when I touch you?"

"Yeah, please... touch me." You nod. And in your head, you're telling yourself you only like it because you haven't been with anyone since Patrick left for his tour.

Tashi kisses you again, and it's a tangle of teeth and hands and smiles kept hidden, as you slip your fingertips beneath her shirt she starts to fumble with your waistband, and you're both angry and resentful and incredibly destructive, but it doesn’t matter yet.

Her fingers are clumsily slipping into your underwear and then she's there, her fingers are brushing right against your clit—you're so wet that her fingers brush right through your folds, gliding like silk, and by the time she reaches your hole, two fingers easily sink in right to the knuckle.

Tashi leaves you gasping and she teases you for it. "So sensitive," she taunts against your lips, pressing her thumb against your clit so she can see you squirm, pumping her fingers at an urgent pace to hear you moan. "So needy."

With each movement, she scissors her fingers a little, spreading you wider every time, and she starts to mouth at your neck with hot, wet kisses. "Do you like that, yeah? Am I making you feel good? I am, aren't I? I'm exactly what you need. C'mon say you want me. Tell me you need me, Ace."

"Maybe—" You're breathless, and the nickname has you tugging at her hair again, "Shit, I saw the way you made Art. He... oh god... he wouldn't be half the athlete without you. I also... I also wouldn't want to ruin my shoulder... while—while serving."

"I'm not talking about tennis."

For a moment, you worry that you've fallen for a trap, that you've said too much. You're vulnerable, a little drunk on lust and wine, and Tashi isn't stupid to not catch your sapphic crush on her since the two of you became friends, an old high school love that's never really disappeared, from slumber party kisses and how you've gawked at her, at her husband and even her ex-boyfriend.

"C'mon, Tash, you're always talking about tennis."

"Not this time."

You barely catch onto what she says. Your body feels like it's going through the most intense orgasm of your life, especially now that she's given up on pumping her fingers in favour of curling them in rapid beats against your g-spot, but you know that you're not even coming yet: you're close, though, judging by the way the room is spinning around you, and the pressure building in the pit of your stomach—"I think I'm close... oh, I don't—fuck—keep touching me like that."

She bites your neck until you say her name. You pull her hair until she moans. Her touch is blistering against your skin. She says your name in a breathy drawl like she's pleading with you, humouring you, wanting to take everything from you.

"Keep going, please, please don't stop," you all but shout, and Tashi continues the massaging movement right up on your g-spot: the positioning of her hand means the heel of her palm is dragging over your clit, and your hips are frantically grinding up into her hand—you're gonna come, the world feels like it's crashing down around you.

Every muscle in your body tenses up and through it all you hear Tashi whispering, come on, that's it, I've got you, come on, come on, and then you're coming—

Distantly, you can feel her fingers continue their movements inside of you, unrelenting—and the other hand keeps a firm grip on your hips, grounding you onto her lap—but other than that, all you know is the pleasure slamming into each nerve in your body, one by one and then all at once. A hot sting against your skin that reminds you of the sun whenever you're on the tennis court, deep into the game you've turned into the love of your life.

It can't have possibly been this long since the last time you've gotten laid, right?

Then, suddenly, you're back in reality. Tashi is heaving for breath against your shoulder and her fingers are back to a slow, steady pumping, in and out of your swollen pussy. "You're so pretty, you know that? No tennis talk."

You lean your head back against the mirror, a slow grin forming on your lips, "You don't think I'm pretty when I play."

"I think you're hot when you play."

You peek a glance at Tashi, meeting her eyes as she watches you, watching the way you catch your breath, skin shining against the fluorescent lights of the gym, similar to how you shine on the court. Yeah, you're a sight for sore fucking eyes.

Tashi takes slow, taunting steps back and away from you, and then she brings her fingers to her mouth and sucks, moaning around the digits, and through hazy eyes, you can see the most fucked-out look on her face just at the taste of your cum.

She licks her fingers clean—you feel your pussy clench down again at the sight—before opening her eyes, fixing you with an intense stare, and panting, "I'll be in my room," she rolls up her pink mat (which she never used) and picks up her bag, "I'm sure you know the number. I'm hoping you can return the favour and touch me or something. You know, before you leave in the morning."

tags 🏷️: @begoniaespresso / @sceletaflores / @too-deviant / @wolflover384 / @sevikasblackgf / @supercutszns / @diorrfairy / @24kmar / @apolloscastellan

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