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wannab3-writer · 11 days

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Game, Set, Love

ART DONALDSON X READER (18+)

Mature Content Warnings: spoilers if you SQUINT , Forbidden Love, Second-Chance Romance, Age Gap, Mentor and Protégé, cheating ( sorta, not on reader), SMUT, NOT PROOF READ.

WC: 13.2 k

description

After walking away from tennis at the height of his career, Art Donaldson finds himself drawn back into the sport as a favour to an old friend. His new charge, Katrina King, is a talented but emotionally young player navigating the intense pressures of the professional tennis circuit. Art and Katrina's connection deepens as they train for the 2020 US Open but a single night changes everything.

2020 BEVERLLY HILLS CHALLENGER

August 31st, 2020

Art Donaldson sat in the shaded section of the stands, his arms resting casually on the armrests. He'd made it clear to everyone—Tashi and the media—that he was done with tennis. But Martha King, a long-time supporter of his and Tashi's tennis foundation, insisted that he attend, going so far as to cover all his expenses for the weekend so he could attend. Her daughter, Katrina King, was playing her final challenger before qualifying for the US Open, and Martha believed it was something he couldn’t miss.

"It's just one set; I'm not going to sit here and beg you to coach her or anything. Just watch, Art. I think you'll find it worthwhile."

Art nodded slightly, keeping his expression neutral. "I’m here, aren't I?" he said, keeping an aloof facade. He glanced toward the court, where Katrina was preparing to serve and begin the last set. Her movements were fluid and purposeful. He'd heard about her talent and determination, but he wasn't ready to be pulled back into the tennis world.

The game began, and Katrina's serve was powerful, almost explosive. Art watched with mild interest as her opponent, a seasoned French player, struggled to keep up. He watched her body move, head to toe, taking her in. She was tall and lean; her body was nothing less than an athletes that was for sure.

"She's impressive," Art commented, a hint of genuine appreciation in his voice. Katrina’s mother smiled, her perfectly manicured fingers resting on her lap, glancing over towards him.

"She works hard," she replied. "A lot like Tashi used to. I remember watching her play when she was just starting out. She had the same intensity, the same drive."

That had left a bad taste in his mouth.

Art's gaze lingered on Katrina as she moved around the court with confidence and agility. Each shot was precise. He found himself leaning forward slightly, and his interest piqued despite his best efforts to remain indifferent.

Martha noticed the shift in his demeanor and cocked a brow. "It's good to see you out here, Art. I know you didn't want to come, but I'm glad you did," she said, her voice soft yet firm. Art nodded, his eyes fixed on the match.

"I'm just watching; nothing special, really," he replied, unsure if he was convincing himself or her. — Another ace, and the crowd erupted in applause. Art found himself joining in, clapping slowly, though his eyes were locked on Katrina. Something about her—the energy, the focus—reminded him of the early days, the days of fire and ice, Stanford, Wimbledon, and Tashi. It was electric.

As the match progressed, Art's arms uncrossed, and he sat forward, his attention fully on the game. Katrina was dominating, each point building momentum until she reached the match point. The rallies were intense, and the shots were sharp and strategic. With one last ace, Katrina secured the game and title, and her triumphant fist-pump met with a roar from the crowd.

Art stood, clapping with genuine enthusiasm. It had been a long time since he'd felt this kind of excitement watching a match. Martha looked at him, raising an eyebrow, her expression expectant.

"Well?" she asked, her voice warm but with an edge that demanded a response.

Art hesitated only briefly, the words coming out almost involuntarily. "I'll do it," he said, realizing that he meant it. The idea of coaching Katrina suddenly seemed like an opportunity he couldn't pass up.

Martha smiled, giving him a tight-lipped smile. "I knew you'd come around," she said. "Katrina will be thrilled."

Art nodded, his gaze returning to the court where Katrina stood, smiling at the applause. Turning towards the crowd after a few seconds, she found her mother’s gaze, and then — Arts, and she held a fiery look in her eyes, sporting a raised brow and sly smirk for what felt like at least a minute. One thing was sure for Katrina, on August 31st, 2020, the match wasn’t the only thing she had won that day, and maybe, just maybe, tennis had a place for him again.

THE MEETING

Katrina King walked down the narrow corridor backstage, sweaty, hot, and short of breath, the adrenaline from her victory still coursing through her veins. She was basking in her win, her smile broad and confident. But her mother's text just minutes after the game was clear: "Come to the players' lounge. Now."

She pushed open the door and saw her mother sitting at a small table with Art Donaldson. Katrina knew who he was—everyone in tennis knew. A former tennis champion, the US Open winner from a decade earlier.

Art looked up as Katrina entered the room, his eyes scanning her with a mix of curiosity and appraisal. Her long hair was tied back in a tight ponytail, and her eyes sparkled with a mix of intensity and confidence. He noticed the subtle tilt of her chin—she was used to winning, and it showed.

"Katrina," Martha said, gesturing for her to join them. "You remember Art Donaldson, don't you?"

"Of course," Katrina replied, extending her hand. Art stood, his movement deliberate, and shook her hand firmly. His hair was longer than she remembered, resembling his past self, his Stanford days, and recalling his games she'd seen on YouTube. His grip was strong.

"Great game today," Art said, his voice measured. "You played with a lot of confidence. That last ace was a killer."

"Thanks," Katrina replied, a hint of pride in her tone. She could tell he was assessing her and weighing her potential. She didn't mind—she'd done the same with him, reading up on his career and his playing style as soon as she found out he was attending her game. He was known for his

Martha cleared her throat. "But," she said, her tone turning sharp, "there were a few things you need to work on. Your backhand was a bit sloppy today. And you were late on a couple of volleys. If your opponent had been more aggressive, you could've lost points."

Katrina's expression hardened. She knew her mother was right, but the criticism was not something that needed to be said in front of Art; for God sake, she was a 20-year-old woman but felt like she was a child getting scolded in front of her peers, especially after a big win. Art watched the exchange, noting the dynamic between them.

"I'll work on it," Katrina said, her voice steady. "But I got the win, didn't I?"

"You need to be prepared for tougher competition. Complacency is the enemy." Martha replied. “If you think you can win the grand slam playing like that, you’ll be in for a rude awakening, Katrina.”

Art leaned back in his chair, watching the interplay. Katrina definitely had the spark and the drive, but there was also a stubborn streak in her.

So Tashi

When she was younger, she was always pushing boundaries and never satisfied with just a win. He could see the potential for greatness.

"She's got a point," Art said, jumping in. "There's always room for improvement. But you played a solid game today. The key is to keep that momentum going without getting overconfident."

Katrina glanced at him, assessing his words. She appreciated his straightforward approach. He wasn't coddling her, but he also wasn't tearing her down. It was a balance she could respect.

"I'm not planning on slowing down," she said, meeting his gaze. "I want to keep getting better. Whatever it takes."

Art nodded. He liked her attitude. It was raw and unfiltered, just like he had been. But there was also a hint of something else—an edge that could either make or break her career. He'd have to be careful, tread lightly, and guide her without pushing too hard.

"Good," he replied, a faint smile on his lips. "Because coaching isn't just about winning. It's about building a mindset, a work ethic, and knowing when to listen. You up for that?"

Katrina raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You wouldn’t have agreed to coach me if I wasn’t.”

PRACTICE

Art Donaldson stepped into the grand foyer of the White residence, feeling a slight twinge of unease. The housekeepers greeted him politely, their voices formal and distant, leading him through the opulent hallways.

The backyard was large, with meticulously manicured gardens and a full-sized tennis court at its center. Katrina was on the court, stretching with the fluid grace of a seasoned athlete. Her dark hair was tied back in a ponytail, and in her matching tennis outfit, everything was neatly upheld, even Katrina.

"Hi," she said, her tone somewhat neutral, almost formal. "Ready for practice?"

Art nodded, his expression detached.

Katrina stretched a little longer, glancing at Art occasionally. He stood with his arms crossed, his posture stiff and unwelcoming. The silence between them felt heavy, and neither seemed eager to break it. Katrina was used to coaches being more engaged and enthusiastic, but Art seemed distant, as if he was doing this out of obligation rather than passion.

"Let's get started," he replied, keeping his voice level. He placed his bag on a bench and scanned the court, taking in the pristine surface and the quality equipment. It was clear that the King family spared no expense on Katrina's training facilities.

Art finally spoke, outlining the plan for the day. "We'll start with your serve. There's a lot of power, which is why you can get so many aces in, but you need better footwork if you want to avoid long-term injuries. Then we'll work on your defense, and after that, we'll focus on your shot selection."

Katrina listened with a mix of uncertainty and skepticism. Art Donaldson wasn't the type to mince words, and despite his unbothered demeanor, his comments were sharp and to the point. What puzzled her was how much he seemed to know about her style, despite only seeing her play once.?

Art continued, his voice even and matter-of-fact. "I've reviewed some of your past games, mostly the ones you lost. It's clear you have the raw strength and power, but you rely on them too much. That's great for getting those aces, but without proper technique and precision, you're risking injuries and inconsistency. We need to refine that raw power and give it more structure."

Katrina couldn't help but feel a flicker of irritation. She knew she was strong, and her serve was one of the best on the circuit, but hearing someone dissect her game so quickly was unsettling. This was only their first practice; they hadn’t even started playing yet, but somehow Art already seemed to know her weaknesses better than most of her previous coaches.

Art continued, unaware of her internal resistance. "So, I've created a set of drills that will help improve your footwork and balance. It's not just about hitting the ball hard; it's about control and accuracy. If we don't work on these areas, you're going to burn out before you reach your peak."

Katrina folded her arms, her brow furrowing slightly. She wasn't one to take criticism lightly, especially from someone who'd barely spent time with her. Art had a point—she'd heard similar comments before—but his bluntness felt a bit too forward for her liking. Who was he to tell her she needed refinement after only seeing her play once?

As much as she wanted to dismiss him, she knew, deep down, that he was right. Her strength was a double-edged sword; it gave her an edge, but it also left her vulnerable. She'd suffered minor injuries in the past due to poor technique, and she'd lost matches because of these errors. Art's critique, though harsh, had truth to it.

Art noticed her hesitation and the slight edge in her expression. "I know this might sound a bit blunt," he said, softening his tone slightly. "But I'm not here to sugarcoat things. If you want to make it to the top and stay there, you need to listen and adjust. This isn't about criticism—it's about giving you the best chance to succeed."

Katrina sighed, feeling her resistance wane. Maybe Art was a bit too forward, but he wasn't wrong. He had seen something in her that others hadn't—or maybe he was just willing to point it out where others had stayed silent. She was stubborn, but she wasn't stupid.

"Okay," she said, her voice steady. "Let's give it a shot."

Art nodded, his demeanor slightly less rigid. "Good. Let's start with the footwork drills. I'll show you what I mean."

As they moved onto the court to begin the practice, Katrina felt a cautious sense of optimism. Art was a mystery; she had only met him once before and couldn’t recall him being this cold, but there was something about his straightforwardness that felt refreshing, even if it rubbed her the wrong way at first. Maybe this coaching thing would work out after all—if she could just learn to trust his instincts.

Art watched her for a while, his arms still crossed. He occasionally offered a brief correction, but his tone lacked enthusiasm. "Keep your elbow in on your serve. It'll give you more control," he said without much inflection.

Katrina adjusted her stance and served again, this time with better accuracy. "I got it," she replied, glancing at Art to gauge his reaction. He simply nodded, his face expressionless.

As the practice progressed, the tension between them slowly eased. Art started giving more detailed feedback, explaining why certain techniques were important. Katrina listened intently, realizing that, despite his aloof demeanor, he knew his stuff. His advice was sound, and when she followed it, she could see near-immediate improvement in her game.

"You're not bad at this coaching thing," she remarked, trying to lighten the mood. Art gave a faint smile, the first she'd seen from him. "Just repeating what I've heard a thousand times," he replied.

Katrina tilted her head, curiosity getting the better of her. "Didn't Tashi coach you your whole career? There must have been an adjustment when you two decided to retire, huh?" After those words left her mouth, she knew she had hit a sore spot.

Art's expression changed, the brief smile vanishing. "Yeah, she was." She hadn't meant any harm; really, it was an honest question. Art had a successful career with more than enough titles under his belt, not to mention a prior injury; it only made sense to retire when he did.

His voice grew colder. "Alright, breaks over." He turned away, signaling the end of the conversation.

The rest of the practice was more focused, with Art providing steady guidance and Katrina working hard to apply his advice. As the session drew to a close, Katrina felt a subtle shift in Art's attitude. He seemed a bit more relaxed and engaged in the process.

Before they wrapped up, Katrina decided to ask a question that had been on her mind. "Art, why did you agree to coach me?" she asked, her tone softer, almost hesitant. “No offense, but you didn't seem the most pleased when you got here.” She stopped and laughed. “And I know my mother's paying you well, but I'm sure you do good for yourself on your own.”

Art paused, considering his response. He looked up to the sky in thought, licking his lips only to settle his gaze on her while she rolled out her quads. "When I watched your game, I saw the determination and drive for tennis that I haven't seen in a long time," he said, his voice softer, almost reflective. "Not since Tashi," he added, his eyes distant. The memory of Tashi's knee injury and the end of her career lingered in the air. “It honestly felt like I was watching her for the first time again.”

Katrina nodded, sensing the heaviness in his words. "Thank you," she said quietly. She knew there was more to Art's story, but she also knew it wasn't her place to press further. She got up after her stretch, dusting herself off.

Art nodded, "We'll meet again tomorrow at the same time," he said, his voice returning to its usual calm. Katrina agreed, sensing that this coaching relationship would take time to develop but feeling that they were on the right track. “I think it would be a smart move to sign you up for some challengers; we’ll be able to fully gauge your abilities after a couple of weeks of training and see what we need to adjust.”

AFTER PRACTICE

Katrina stepped out of the shower, the hot water having done little to soothe the tension in her shoulders. The first practice with Art had been intense, and her muscles were starting to feel the strain. Wrapping a towel around herself, she took a deep breath, wondering if she'd made the right choice in agreeing to work with him.

As she got dressed, the scent of dinner wafted through the air, a rich aroma that made her stomach rumble. She hadn't eaten much during the day, and she hoped her mom would let her have something substantial.

Katrina entered the dining room, where her mother was already seated at the head of the table, a glass of wine in hand. The table was set with a carefully arranged selection of dishes, but Katrina noticed the absence of anything remotely indulgent. No desserts, no heavy carbs, just the usual assortment of protein and vegetables.

"Good evening, Mom," Katrina said, forcing a smile as she took a seat. Her mother looked up from her phone, her eyes bright but her expression serious.

"Katrina," Martha replied, her tone even. "How was practice with art?"

Katrina shrugged, picking up a piece of grilled chicken. "It was fine. He's... intense, but I guess that's to be expected from someone like him." She paused, then added, "How did you even get him to come to my match? He's been avoiding tennis for ages."

Martha's smile was tight, the kind that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Art and I have a history; we’ve always been interested in his foundational work. I just reminded him of the impact he could make by coming back, even if it was just for one match. And you know, he doesn't say no to me, not when your father and I are as generous as we are during his charity events."

Katrina raised an eyebrow, sensing the hint of manipulation in her mother's words. "So you used the foundation to guilt him into coming?"

Classic

Martha's eyes narrowed slightly. "It's not guilt, Katrina. It's connections; your father and I do a lot for you and your career. There's a difference.” She paused. “The money we put into the foundations were investments for you; we would have preferred Tashi, sure, but after Art retired, she went off to coach some European girls, so we got the second best.” She was irritated. “Besides, I thought you'd be happy to have a coach like Art. You said yourself you needed someone with real experience."

Katrina sighed, realizing that arguing with her mom was a lost cause. "I guess," she said, taking a cautious bite of the chicken. She glanced at the dessert tray on the far end of the table, spotting a small dish of fruit tarts. Her mouth watered at the sight of them.

Martha followed her gaze and shook her head. "Don't even think about it," she said firmly. "Your dietitian would have a fit. You know you're on a strict regimen."

Katrina rolled her eyes, but she didn't push back. Her mom was relentless when it came to her career, and any deviation from the plan was met with immediate correction. "Yeah, yeah," she muttered, feeling her appetite wane.

“Where’s Jayden and Judea?” Katrina asked only now, noticing her siblings were missing from the dinner table.

“They went out to dinner with the rest of the kids that train with them and coach Pattcheo.”

“mmh.”

After dinner, Katrina retreated to her room, closing the door behind her. She felt a mix of frustration and curiosity. Frustration with her mom's overbearing attitude and curiosity about Art.

She opened her laptop and started searching for Art's social media profiles. His Instagram was sparse, mostly old tennis photos and a few promotional shots, brand deals, and the foundation. Barley has no pictures of his daughter and no recent ones of Tashi. His Facebook was similar, with long gaps between posts. There were articles about his career, but nothing stood out.

"For such a big shot, there’s not much for me to stalk," she muttered to herself, scrolling through the limited content. It was clear that Art wasn't one for the limelight, preferring to keep a low profile. Katrina found herself intrigued.

She searched for videos of his old matches, curious to see him in action. She found a few highlights from his glory days, watching as he moved across the court with precision and grace. It was easy to see why he'd been a champion—his technique was flawless, and his focus was intense.

"Not bad," she said to herself, watching a particularly impressive rally where he had dominated his opponent.

As the night grew darker, Katrina closed her laptop and leaned back in her chair. Art was weird, and she wasn't sure how to feel about him yet. But one thing was clear—he had a depth that she'd have to uncover if she wanted to make the most of his coaching. And maybe, just maybe, he'd be the one to help her reach the next level.

SIX DAYS BEFORE US OPEN

It was six days before the Open, and Art stood at the far end of the court, watching Katrina as she moved through a set of agility drills. The sun was beating down, but Katrina was relentless, her movements swift and precise. As he took her in, he marveled at how good she looked. The thin layer of sweat that covered her form made her glow in the evening light, with her baby hair clinging to her face as she hit ball after ball. He drank in her curves, nearly forgetting what he was actually here for.

Art was calling out instructions, his voice clear but encouraging. Clearly, the past five weeks of training had brought them closer, both in skill and in the ease with which they interacted.

"Remember to keep your weight centered," Art said, pointing toward her feet. "Don't lean too much into the shot; it'll throw off your balance. Other than that, you’re looking good."

Katrina nodded, adjusting her stance. She enjoyed the sound of his voice, especially when he was praising her. It felt genuine, not just a coach’s platitude. She could sense an unspoken tension between them, but she couldn't quite define it. It was there, in the way his eyes lingered a fraction longer than they needed to, in the way he sometimes reached out to correct her form.

"Nice volley," Art said as she expertly returned the ball over the net. "You're really getting the hang of these drills."

"Thanks," Katrina replied, giving him a small smile. "I learned from the best."

Art chuckled, shaking his head. "Flattery won't save you on the court, but it's appreciated." He watched as she moved into position for a backhanded hit, a play that had been a weak point for her. She swung, and the ball clipped the net.

Maybe she was just tired, or maybe he just looked too good; either way, she was distracted. How was she supposed to focus when he was standing with his broad shoulders and arms crossed and that damn backwards Sandford snapback observing like a hawk? She understood that’s his job; he’s quite literally getting paid to be here. Something was different though; the look he gave her five weeks ago, shit even two weeks ago, was nothing near the way he looks at her now.

“Stop.” He says, and she halts her hit.

Art moved closer, taking a pause, before walking behind her, closing the distance between them. "Here, let me show you," he said, reaching around her to correct her grip on the racket. His breath was warm on her neck, and Katrina tensed, feeling a heat that wasn't from the sun. His touch was gentle but firm, guiding her into the proper position.

"Like this," Art said, stepping back slightly but still close enough to feel his presence. "Keep your elbow straight and your wrist firm."

Katrina nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. She took a deep breath and swung again, this time clearing the net with ease.

“There we go, atta girl.” He whispered while cracking a smile.

She felt hot, oh god, and it definitely wasn’t the sun. How could he say that so casually? She didn’t have to just deal with the fact that she’s now all hot and bothered, but also the guilty embarrassment of realizing she has a fat crush on her 30-sum-year-old tennis coach, who just happens to be a husband and father.

Right

Pulling away, she changes the subject, considering he’s been silent for the past minute and a half. "How's your daughter doing? And Tashi?" She felt the atmosphere shift as Art cleared his throat, stepping back.

"Lily's doing well," he replied, his voice controlled. "She's on tour with Tashi, who's coaching her for the season." He left it at that, his eyes avoiding hers as he focused on the court. "Keep hitting the ball with that form," he added, his tone all business now.

Art adjusted his pants, his expression tight, and turned to leave. "I'll be right back," he said. "I just need to run to the bathroom."

Katrina watched him go, her heart still racing from the moment he'd been so close. She tried to push the thoughts aside, focusing on her training, but the lingering warmth of his presence was hard to ignore. The open tournament was coming up, and she needed to be at her best, both on and off the court. The challenge would be to keep her focus where it needed to be.

“Oh, what the fuck, Art?” feeling his own disappointment, he said to himself as he did his best to fix the hard-on that was growing by the second. What would he give to be able to take a cold shower right now?

Scurrying to the bathroom, he quickly shut the door behind him. He takes a deep breath and leans against the door, contemplating what just happened and palming himself.

“Fuck” was uttered in a raspy and hushed manner.

He turns to look at himself in the mirror. He felt guilty forgetting hard for a girl over a decade younger than him. But that wasn’t what he really felt guilty about. He felt guilty because he liked it. She was fiery; she was driven, and the way she looked at him, with admiration, was long since Tashi looked at him with any emotion of the sort. Katrina made him feel good about himself. And fuck, was she hot. He was almost certain that as the days of training passed, the length of her skirt shortened and her tops got tighter, or maybe he just started paying attention to it.

He needed to stop thinking of her for his sanity and his cocks, because leaving every practice with blue balls for the last week and a half hasn’t been pleasant.

Splashing himself with cold water and tucking his dick into his waistband, he walks back out before she starts questioning anything.

"All right, that's it for today," he called out, clapping his hands to get her attention. "Good work. We'll take it easy tomorrow, then hit the road the day after."

Katrina straightened, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. "Thanks," she said, her voice a little breathless from the intense workout. "I feel good about it. I think we're ready."

Art nodded, watching her carefully as she walked toward him. There was a grace to her movements, even in her exhaustion. She carried herself with confidence, but there was also a vulnerability that he'd come to recognize. It was in the way she sometimes hesitated before speaking or the way her eyes softened when they shared a joke.

"Thanks for, you know, doing this," Katrina said, her eyes meeting his. "I know you didn't have to, but... I'm glad you did."

Art felt a strange warmth in his chest, a sense of connection that he'd been avoiding, or perhaps suppressing. There was something about Katrina that made him want to stay, to guide her through the ups and downs of the game. And it wasn't just about tennis. It was something deeper, something that made him feel almost protective.

"It's been a good few weeks," he said, trying to keep his tone light. "You've got a lot of potential, Katrina. I wouldn't be here if I didn't think you could go far."

She smiled, a genuine smile that made her eyes crinkle at the corners. "Thanks. It means a lot to hear that from you."

There was a moment of silence, a charged pause where neither of them moved. He knew he should step back and create some distance, but he found himself drawn in, his gaze lingering on her lips, then her eyes. There was something about her.

"All right," he said, finally breaking the silence. "Get some rest tonight. We've got a long drive ahead of us, and I need you focused."

Katrina nodded, her eyes locking with his. The tension was palpable, a mix of excitement and something else, something neither of them wanted to name. Art felt the stirrings of something almost primal, a desire that had been dormant for a long time. He knew it wasn't appropriate, but it was there, simmering just beneath the surface.

"Good night," she said, her voice soft, almost a whisper.

"Good night," he replied, his eyes lingering on her a moment longer than they should. "Rest up. I'll see you tomorrow." With his things packed, he walked off the court, leaving her to stretch.

The US Open tournament was coming, and with it, a new set of challenges—both on and off the court.

THE DRIVE TO SAN DIEGO

This was unexpected. Somehow, Katrina was sitting in the passenger seat of Arts Blue Bronco and had managed to snag herself a one-on-one tournament weekend with the Art Donaldson himself. Her mother had only missed three of her games throughout her entire career. The first time was when Katrina was 12. Her mother didn't attend because Katrina had just started playing tennis, and her mother assumed she wouldn't be good enough to watch, so she spent her time on holiday with the neighborhood housewives and was pleasantly surprised when Katrina returned with her first trophy. The second time was when Katrina was 16. Their grandmother had passed away, but Katrina's mother insisted that Katrina should play in the game instead of staying home to grieve like a normal person. She told Katrina that every win was one step closer to a successful career; bad things happen all the time, and you simply “need to get over it and move on." The third time was today, when Katrina was 20, after her little brother's appendix unexpectedly burst at 4 a.m. in the morning, and he and their mom had to rush to the hospital.

"How do you feel about your mom not being here this time?" Art asked, leaning back in his seat. He took a sip of his coffee, glancing at Katrina's expression carefully.

Katrina shrugged. "Honestly? I'm kind of happy she's not here. It's like a weight off my shoulders. I don't have to worry about her criticizing every move I make or every shot I miss."

Art nodded, sensing the relief in her voice. "Your mom seems pretty tough on you."

"She is," Katrina replied, swirling her drink. "She talks a big game, but sometimes I think she doesn't really know what she's saying. Like when she criticizes my plays—she doesn't really get the game, you know? She just wants to be involved, but it's not always helpful."

Art felt a twinge of sympathy. He'd known parents like that, always pushing, always expecting perfection without understanding the sacrifices involved. "I'm glad I could be here for you, then," he said. "You shouldn't have to go through all this alone. It's hard enough without extra pressure from someone who isn't really helping."

Katrina shrugged, her lips curling into a small, ironic smile. "It's been like that since I was a kid. I never had much of a childhood, anyway. The little bit of teenager-like stuff I did, I had to sneak around to do it. Mom was always watching, always pushing me to be the best and to win. I never really got to be a kid."

Art felt a pang of something deep in his chest. It wasn't just empathy—it was a sense of injustice, of the things Katrina had missed out on. He'd seen it before in other athletes whose parents lived vicariously through their children, expecting them to carry the weight of their own dreams. It was a burden no young person should have to bear. Shit went through it himself with Tashi, and it eventually cost them their relationship.

"That sounds rough," he said, his voice gentle. "Everyone deserves a chance to be a kid—to have fun, to make mistakes, to figure things out without a constant spotlight."

“I definitely have to make mistakes." She paused and giggled in embarrassment. “This might be T.M.I. But my first time was with a random guy around my age that was dragged to a dinner party at his parents house.” She side-eyes Art for a moment. “Of course, while the adults did whatever adults do, we snuck off into the liquor cabinet, got so hammered, and then decided to go up to my room.”

Art only looked at her with a raised brow, waiting for her to finish.

“Long story short, by the time we were done, everyone was looking for us — of course we were too stupid to think that anyone would notice we were missing for over an hour.” She sighs with a smile. "Anyways, it turns out they were serving desert, and when the housekeeper came in looking for us, she couldn’t hold back a scream. It's safe to say I can’t even remember how long I was grounded for.”

Art was fully laughing now, not sure if it was from second hand embarrassment or because of how unexpected this was.

“Mistakes aren’t something; you escape, believe me.” He seemed nostalgic.

"Yeah," Katrina replied, her gaze dropping to the table.

“Anyways, I’m sure instances like that’s what made me basically one of the strongest tennis players of all time,” she concludes, sarcastically exaggerating.

Art sighed, leaning forward slightly. "Strength isn't just about winning," he said. "It's about finding your own way, making your own choices, and being okay with who you are, even if it doesn't fit someone else's expectations."

Katrina looked up at him, her expression thoughtful. "That's what I want," she said. "I want to play because I love it, not because I'm trying to prove something to someone else. I just... I wish I had more time to figure it all out."

Art nodded, understanding her struggle. "You'll get there," he said. "You've got a lot of potential, and you're doing it for the right reasons. Just remember, it's okay to take a step back sometimes. To enjoy the game, to find joy in the small things,

Katrina smiled—a real smile that reached her eyes. "Thanks," she said. "I needed to hear that."

Art returned her smile, feeling a connection that went beyond coach and player. It was a moment of genuine understanding, the kind that made all the effort and hard work worth it. He knew the road ahead wouldn't be easy, but at least they had each other to navigate it together.

AT THE HOTEL

After a two-hour drive, Art and Katrina King arrived at the hotel where they would be staying during the tournament in San Diego. The hotel was upscale, with modern decor and spacious rooms. They'd been given a suite with two separate bedrooms connected by a shared living area. It was the perfect setup for coach and player.

Art had just finished unpacking when he decided to knock on Katrina's door. It was only 7 p.m., and he thought it might be nice to have dinner together. A little bonding before the tournament might help ease some of the tension they have been feeling lately. There is no harm in a friendly dinner.

Right?

Katrina opened the door, her eyes widening in surprise when she saw Art standing there. "Hey," she said, her voice softer than usual. "What's up?"

"Want to grab dinner?" Art asked, keeping his tone casual. "There's a nice restaurant downtown I've been meaning to check out every time I come down here."

Katrina hesitated for a moment, then nodded with a hint of a smile. "Sure, why not?" she replied. She felt a slight flutter in her stomach—this wasn't just a quick meal at the hotel lobby; it was a proper dinner out.

"Great," Art said, checking his designer watch. "Meet you back here in 40."

Katrina agreed, closing the door to get ready. She picked out a simple black dress, something a little fancier than she normally wears. Her brown hair, usually tied back in a ponytail, cascaded down in curls. When she checked her reflection in the mirror, she felt a mix of excitement and nerves. This was just dinner, right?

When she stepped out of her room, Art was already waiting in the living area. He glanced up and immediately did a double take. Katrina looked stunning, the soft curls of her hair framing her face perfectly. Her dress hugged her figure in a way that made it hard to look away. Art felt like a high school boy going out on his first date. He could already feel himself stiffen.

Blinking, he gives up a smirk. "You look great."

Katrina blushed slightly. "Thanks," she replied, feeling her cheeks grow warm. "You don't look too bad yourself. Nice seeing you outside of tennis attire."

The place was dimly lit with candlelight, adding to the intimate atmosphere. As they sat down, Art felt a sense of ease with Katrina that he hadn't felt in a long time. It was nice to know that for once, something in her life wasn't just about tennis; it was about getting to know each other on a personal level.

As time passed, they got into a comfortable conversation, talking about anything and everything.

"So," Katrina began, looking across the table at him, "you mentioned your daughter earlier. Tell me about her."

Art smiled at the mention of Lily. "She's great," he said. "She's 10 and a total fire cracker; she’s starting boarding school next year. She’s got this energy that lights up a room. She loves tennis, too, but I'm trying not to push her too hard. I want her to find her own path."

Katrina nodded, appreciating his perspective. "Sounds like you're a good dad."

Art chuckled softly, then his expression turned a bit somber. "I try to be. Things have been complicated at home. Tashi and I are technically still together, but it's more for Lily's sake than anything else." He paused, glancing at Katrina to gauge her reaction. "We're not really happy, but we're making it work—for now. Nothing has really been the same since I retired, you know."

Oh, that makes sense. She tensed.

Katrina felt a guilty glimmer of hope. If Art and Tashi were essentially separated, then maybe her fantasies weren't so impossible after all. The thought made her blush, and she took a sip of water to hide it.

As the dinner progressed, they subtly flirted with each other. Art ordered a bottle of wine to keep the conversation going, which prompted Katrina to raise an eyebrow. "Isn't this off-limits?" she teased. "My mother and my dietitian would be so disappointed."

Art smirked. "You have to live a little," he replied, pouring her a glass. "Besides, a glass of wine won't ruin your career. It's all about balance, right?"

Katrina laughed softly. "Isn't it ironic that a thirty-something-year-old man is telling a twenty-year-old to have fun?"

Art chuckled, the sound deep and warm. "Maybe I know a thing or two about loosening up," he said with a playful wink. "Life's too short to be serious all the time."

“You sure look like you know how to have fun,” she said in a teasing tone. It was clear her words had a double meaning.

Art smirked and quipped, “I do; you just have to pry it out of me, I guess.

As the evening went on, the tension between them grew more palpable. The candlelight, the soft music, the wine—all of it added to the atmosphere. There was an undercurrent of attraction, a pull that neither of them could ignore. By the end of the night, you could’ve cut the tension with a knife.

Art leaned in slightly, his voice lower. "We should probably head back," he said, his eyes locking with hers. "I don't want to overdo it before the tournament."

Katrina nodded, feeling her heart race. "Yeah, probably a good idea," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

As they left the restaurant, the night air felt cooler against their skin, but the heat between them hadn't cooled at all. They walked back to the hotel in comfortable silence, each aware of the unspoken desire simmering just beneath the surface, steeling glances here and there.

The tension had been building throughout dinner. As they reached their suite, Art turned to Katrina, his expression neutral but his eyes holding a hint of warmth.

"Well, I guess we should call it a night," he said, reaching for his key card. He didn't want to cross any boundaries, especially with the multiple games she had tomorrow. But the way Katrina looked at him during dinner made it difficult to ignore the desire simmering just beneath the calm exterior.

Katrina held up a finger. "Okay...” she paused, feigning a thought. “But we didn't finish the bottle of wine," she said with a playful smile. "And my mom's going to be back for the second day of the tournament. This might be our only chance to… get to know each other; we’ll have to throw it out if we don’t finish it tonight, just sayin’."

The wine was definitely hitting.

Art hesitated, then nodded. "You're right. It'd be a shame to let it go to waste."

They moved into the shared living room, which had a small kitchenette and a comfortable seating area. Katrina grabbed the bottle of wine and two glasses while Art flipped through the channels on the television, settling on a random movie for background noise. It was an action film with a lot of explosions and fast-paced scenes, but neither of them paid much attention to it.

As they settled onto the couch, Katrina poured them each a glass of wine. The atmosphere was relaxed, but there was an underlying current of flirtation. They started talking about the tournament, about tennis, and then about life in general. The conversation flowed easily, punctuated by laughter and playful banter.

"You know," Art said, taking a sip of wine, "I didn't think I'd enjoy coaching, but I'm glad I came back for this."

Katrina raised an eyebrow. "Coaching? You're more like a mentor," she teased. "Plus, you're not that old to be called a coach."

Art chuckled. "Careful, or I'll make you run extra laps tomorrow," he replied, giving her a mock stern look. "I'm not that old, but I've seen a lot in my time."

"Sure, sure," Katrina said, rolling her eyes. "You're practically ancient."

They both laughed, the sound filling the room. As the conversation continued, they found themselves leaning closer to each other, the space between them shrinking with each passing minute. The flirting became more overt—the playful touches on the arm, the shared smiles, and the lingering glances.

Art felt the tension building and the pull growing stronger. He knew he should keep his distance, but the way Katrina looked at him, her eyes sparkling in the dim light, made it difficult to resist.

"You know," he said, his voice low and smooth, "you're more than just a talented player, Katrina.” He looked at her with a dark gaze. “There's something about you that makes it hard to stay away. Even when I know I should."

Katrina's eyes widened slightly, her heart racing at his words. The air between them felt electric and charged with anticipation. There were no words left to be said; they leaned in without even noticing, and there they were, on the hotel couch, lips smashed together. The wine glass in Katrina's hand tilted, spilling a few drops onto the couch, but neither of them seemed to notice or care.

The kiss was intense, filled with the desire that had been building for weeks. It was risky, even dangerous, given their roles as coach and athlete. But in that moment, none of it mattered. The world seemed to melt away, leaving just the two of them caught in a whirlwind of emotion and longing.

Sprawled out like a couple of horny teenagers making out on their parent’s couch, it was almost comedic.

When they finally pulled apart, their breathing was ragged, and their eyes locked in a mix of surprise and exhilaration. The movie played on in the background, the noise a distant echo as they sat there, close together, knowing that everything had changed in a single moment.

“We shouldn’t do this.” Art broke the silence first.

“Yeah, we really shouldn't.” She pulled back for a moment. “But we already did.” She moved up to fix his nonexistent collar. “Unfortunately, I have this really good coach, and he’d hate to see me not finish something I started.” Sha gazed up at him as she finished giving him a cheeky smile.

She was giving him that look, a look that said nothing less than fuck me.

Art couldn’t do anything more than chuckle and give in. “Well, I’d hate to be the reason you disappoint him.“ He told her as he lifted her up into his lap.

“You’ve gotta live a little, you know.” She said it in-between kisses. His lips, his neck, and his jaw. There wasn’t an inch of him; she wasn’t going to kiss tonight.

“You’re right.” Their mouths dance together, their tongues fighting for dominance. Arts hands were taking all her in. Her dress pooled around her waist as he slipped his hands under it, grasping her tits. “You don’t know how much I’ve wanted this, Katrina.” He breathes out in a hushed manner, biting at her lip.

“Prove it to me, Art.” She says she is pulling her dress over her head. He stopped taking a moment to drink her in; she was beautiful.

“Holly fuck.” He rasps out, unclasping her bra, leaving it to be forgotten, much like the wine.

Katrina could feel the raging hardness beneath her. Grinding into it, she lets out a moan as he kisses and sucked on her exposed breast. “Every time I’d walk on the court, and I’d see you wearing your tight little tennis outfits, god,” he rasped while bighting his lip. “All I could think about was how I wanted to bed you over and fuck you right then and there.” He picked her up and started walking to her bedroom. “Now, I get to be a good coach and teach you a thing or two.” He threw her on the bed, peering over her with hungry eyes and breathing heavily. “Will you be a good student and let coach fuck some knowledge into you, huh, baby?”

“I’ve never let you down, have I?” She answered him, looking up at him from the bed, her big doe eyes saying everything for her. “Show me how it’s done, coach.” She wet her lips seductively.

“Well, first, pretty girl, it’s important to get warmed up. You need help warming up, babe.” Art drags his finger from her thigh to her stomach and back down to her panties. Slowly pulling them off. Kneeling at the foot of the bed, he gazes up at her with hooded eyes. He kisses along her thighs, sucking now and then, making his way up to her sopping cunt. When he does reach her, he begins lapping at her like a man who’s been deprived of water for forty days and forty nights.

“Oh my God, Art, it feels so good.” She could feel herself getting short of breath. It was so good, better than anything she had fantasized about while taking the shower head for a spin. Grasping his hair in her hand, she can’t help but grind her pussy in his face, making both him and her a sloppy mess.”

“You’re so good for me; you've always been a fast learner, you know.” He pulled up, leaving trails of kisses as he made his way up and onto the bed. “My pretty girl,” he says, looking down at her with a smirk, his chin wet with her juices. He gets off the bed and starts to strip. His shirt comes up first, giving her the opportunity to get up on her knees and run her hands over his toned abs as she continues to kiss his neck. He follows with his. Belt slipped off his pants, his cock springing up, strained by his boxers. Katrina can’t help but feel her mouth damn near water. Pulling his boxers down, she lets a glob of her saliva leak on his cock before taking him into her mouth with a moan. Art only grabs her hair in his fist before letting out a deep moan and letting his eyes roll back. “Really got a mouth on you, huh, pretty girl.” He caresses her cheek. “Taking me all in.”

He pulls out, a string of saliva following, only to drip down from her chin onto her chest as he motions for her to lay back down on the bed. “You ready to get that pretty pussy fucked?” he leans down, sucking on her nipples. “You’ve warmed up enough, don’t you think?”

"Yes.” Its barley is above a whisper.

“What was that? You’ve got to use your words, Kat." He says, slightly pulling away from her lips, waiting for a better response.

“Please fuck me, Art.” She moans out, “I need you now."” She pulls him back down for a kiss, lining her hips up with his. He’s teasing at her entrance for a moment before she grabs his lower back and pulls him in the whole way. They both let out a sigh of relief as she felt her walls stretch around his length and he felt her wetness embrace him.

He’s fully thrusting now, with his whole strength, his hips snapping into hers with purpose. Grunts and moans are coming out of both their mouths.

"Switch,” she says, suddenly pushing him back a bit, only for her to get on top, grinding her hips in circles while riding him. “You’re so good, Art; you make me feel so good,” she’s breathless, guiding his veiny hands onto her chest. “I’ve ouched myself so many times fantasizing about this, thinking about how I’d take your cock.” She slips his fingers into her mouth, sucking on them for a second. “Even better than I dreamed,” she smirked. She could feel the pit inside her tighten; she was close, and she could tell that he was too.

She looked down at her and motioned for Art to open his mouth, and when she did, she let her spit trickle down into his mouth with a satisfied grin. That was it for him; after she did that, he started hammering on her mercilessly.

“Oh my god, harder art.” She says this with her head tucked into the crook of his neck. He obliged his vice like a grip.. Her ass was so hard, she wouldn’t have been surprised if it bruised tomorrow. His pace was uneven with labored breaths; he let out one loud moan before pulling out and cumming all over her stomach, some even getting on himself. She didn’t even have the time to process what happened before she was pushed onto her stomach.

There he was again, nose deep in her aching pussy, only this time it was from behind, and he was going between her cunt and her asshole. Moaning into a pillow, it didn’t take long for her to finish all over his face, collapsing onto the bed, flat on her stomach.

After a long and hot shower, Art lay on his back, his arm around Katrina as they were in bed, enjoying the stillness of the night. The hotel room was dimly lit, casting a soft glow that created an intimate ambiance. Katrina's head rested on his shoulder, her hair cascading over his chest. It felt comfortable and natural, like they belonged there.

Art turned slightly to look down at Katrina, her face peaceful and relaxed. He traced his fingers gently along her arm, a simple, affectionate gesture that made her shiver slightly. It was a closeness that was rare for him, something he hadn't felt in years, and he cherished it.

"You're something else, you know that?" He said, his voice low and warm. "You've got this way of making me feel like I'm twenty again. I don't know what it is, but you bring out a side of me that I thought was long gone."

Katrina smiled, her eyes still closed as she nestled closer against him. "That's a good thing, right?" she asked, her voice a soft murmur.

Art chuckled, his hand gently stroking her hair. "Yeah, it's a good thing," he replied. "I really enjoyed tonight. It was... different from what I'm used to, but in the best possible way. I wasn't sure I wanted to get into coaching, but being your coach has been one of the best decisions I've made in a long time."

Katrina opened her eyes and looked up at him, her gaze warm and inviting. "I'm glad you did," she said. "I don't know where I'd be without you. It's not just about tennis—it's about everything else. You made me realize it’s not just hitting a ball with a stick."

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, a simple, tender gesture that spoke volumes. "You've got a lot of talent, Katrina," he said.

Katrina blushed, feeling a sense of warmth that had nothing to do with the physical closeness. "Thanks," she said, her voice soft. "That means a lot coming from you. I feel the same way, you know. You make everything seem a little easier, like it's all going to be okay."

Art nodded, his heart swelling with a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time. It was more than just affection—it was a sense of connection, a bond that he knew was special.

Katrina sighed contentedly, her head resting against his chest. The rhythm of his heartbeat was soothing, grounding her in the moment. She felt safe, secure, and genuinely happy. It was a feeling she hadn't had in a long time, and she wasn't ready to let it go.

Art tightened his arm around her, holding her a little closer. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes about the depth of their connection. He knew the road ahead wouldn't be easy, but with Katrina by his side, he felt like he could take on anything.

THE TOURNEMENT

Katrina woke up to an empty bed. The warm spot where Art had lain the night before had cooled, and there was no sign of him in the hotel room. She rubbed her eyes, feeling a twinge of disappointment. It was early, but she figured he had probably gone to start prepping for the tournament—they had a busy day ahead. It had been a long night.

She sat up, stretched, and looked around the room. Everything was in its usual place; nothing seemed out of order. Art's clothes were gone, and her things were neatly put away, almost as if he had never stayed there.

Strange

Katrina didn’t dwell on it. It made sense that he might have moved his things back to his room to get ready for the day. After all, he was her coach, and today was important.

She got dressed in her tennis gear, taking her time in the bathroom to brush her hair and freshen up. The uncertainty about where Art had gone was starting to creep in, but she pushed it aside. There was no need to get worked up—he'd turn up soon enough.

Katrina made her way to the living room and kitchen, expecting to find Art there, but he was nowhere to be seen. She checked her phone, but there were no messages from him. It was odd; usually, he'd leave some sort of note or text. She grabbed one of her pre-prepared meals from the fridge and ate it while waiting for him to return, her mind running through the drills they’d be doing later that day.

After what felt like an eternity, Art finally walked in, holding a cup of coffee from the café downstairs. Katrina felt a rush of relief. "Hey," she said, trying to sound casual. "You went out for coffee?"

Art nodded, but his demeanor was noticeably colder than usual. His eyes were distant, and his responses were curt. "Yeah," he replied, taking a sip of his coffee. His tone was flat, lacking the warmth she had come to expect from him.

Katrina felt a flicker of anxiety. "Is everything okay?" she asked, trying to engage him in conversation. "You seem a little off."

Art shrugged, barely looking at her. "Just focused on the tournament," he said, his voice detached. "We've got a lot to do today."

Katrina felt a pang of confusion. This was a complete 180 from the night before. They had shared something special, something she thought was meaningful. She wasn’t expecting a proposal. But now he was acting as if it had never happened. So she pressed the issue.

"Art, why are you acting like this?" she asked, her tone edged with concern. "Last night was... well, it was nice. What changed."

Art set his coffee cup down, his expression hardening. "I'm being a responsible coach," he said, his voice cold. "You have important matches today. We can't afford distractions."

Katrina was taken aback by his abruptness. "Distractions? Is that what last night was to you?" she asked, her voice rising slightly.

Art sighed, rubbing his temples. "Katrina, we can't do this. You need to be focused. What happened last night." He stopped, choosing his words carefully. "It was a mistake, and I need you to be serious about this tournament."

Katrina felt a surge of anger and hurt. "A mistake?" she said, her voice sharp. "So that's it? We just pretend it never happened. You can't just switch like that!"

Art's expression was stern. "You need to act like you've got an important game today, because you do. And I have to be the coach you need, not something else."

Katrina felt her heart sink. This wasn't the Art she knew. The warmth and connection from the night before were gone, replaced by a wall of professionalism and distance. But there wasn't time to press further—they had to get to the court and start their warm-up drills.

The argument left Katrina feeling disoriented and hurt, but there was no time to dwell on it. She had to focus on the tournament, even if her coach seemed to have turned into a different person overnight. As they headed out the door, she tried to shake off the feeling, knowing that the game ahead demanded her full attention.

FIRST MATCH

The stadium was buzzing with anticipation as the announcer's voice boomed over the loudspeakers, introducing the players for the Challenger tournament. The crowd applauded as Katrina King and Alexis Grace stepped onto the court, each acknowledging the fans with a wave. Art Donaldson watched from the sidelines, his eyes focused on Katrina as she moved to her position.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the first match of the US Open," the announcer said, continuing on.

Art knew it would be a challenging game. Alexis was a good opponent who could hold her own, but based on states alone, this should be an easy win, for lack of better words. Art felt a pang of guilt for how he'd acted that morning. He'd been cold and distant, trying to maintain professionalism, but it wasn't what he wanted. He wished he could go back and handle things differently, but now wasn't the time for regrets—Katrina needed his support.

The first set began with Katrina serving. She delivered a somewhat strong shot, but Alexis returned it with ease, sending the ball back with a blistering forehand. Katrina scrambled to keep up, her movements swift but slightly off-balance. She managed to return the shot, but Alexis was already at the net, volleying the ball with precision.

Art watched, his heart racing. Katrina had the talent, but he could tell she was getting into her own head. The missed points seemed to weigh heavily on her, and she was starting to lose her composure. He couldn't blame her—his behavior hadn't helped.

Katrina's next serve was strong, but Alexis anticipated it, returning the ball with a slice that landed just out of Katrina's reach. The crowd murmured, sensing the momentum shift in Alexis's favor. Art clenched his fists, trying to stay calm. He needed to be there for Katrina, even if she didn't want to hear it right now. Her errors were becoming more frequent. A double fault here, a missed volley there—it was starting to add up.

Art's internal thoughts were filled with frustration and guilt. He knew he had to do something to help her, but he also knew her head wasn’t focused on the game. As the set progressed, the tension in the stadium grew. Katrina's shots were becoming more erratic, and Alexis capitalized on every mistake.

Finally, the set ended with a decisive point from Alexis, securing her the first set. The crowd erupted in applause, but Art felt a sinking feeling in his chest.

Katrina King sat on the bench, her racket resting between her knees, and tried to catch her breath. The set break was supposed to be a chance to reset, to gather her thoughts, and to prepare for the next game, but she couldn’t stop her mind from racing. Her body felt tense, and her heart was heavy with doubt.

This match was supposed to be a warmup, and I’m making a complete fool of myself. She thought, scrunching her brows as she looked up at the sky.

Her hand gripped the racket tighter, the familiar texture offering a semblance of comfort.

A mistake

This morning kept replaying in her mind, each word like a weight pressing down on her. It had thrown her off and shaken her confidence. She couldn't understand why he'd suddenly turned so cold.

What the fuck did I get myself into? She wondered, feeling a mix of anger and confusion.

She glanced at the sidelines, where Art sat, his arms crossed, watching the court with a distant expression. He was focused, but not on her. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, and his detachment made her stomach twist. It felt like a betrayal, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she was alone out there.

He's just a coach. I don't need him to win. I've been doing this on my own for years.

But the more she tried to convince herself, the more her emotions swirled. Last night felt like a turning point, like they were connecting on a deeper level. And now, all that warmth and all that understanding were gone. It left her feeling hollow and unsure of her next move.

Forget about this morning. Forget about last night. Forget about Art. Just play the game. That’s all you're good at anyway.

She couldn't forget, not when it felt like her world was shifting beneath her feet. The pressure of the tournament, the expectations from everyone, and now the unexpected 180—it was all too much. She needed to find her focus, but it felt like she was battling more than just an opponent on the court. She was battling her own doubts and her own insecurities, and it was starting to show.

The umpire's call signaled the end of the break, and Katrina stood up, her legs feeling heavier than usual. She couldn't afford to let this slip away. She had to find a way to center herself and regain the focus and determination that had brought her this far. But as she walked back onto the court, she knew it wouldn't be easy. The shadows of doubt were growing, and she wasn't sure if she had the strength to push them back.

The final set was about to begin, and the energy in the stadium was electric. Kat had lost the first set to Alexis, barely clawed her way back to win the second, and now faced the challenge of closing out the match.

A whirlpool of frustration was consuming her. She knew she should be playing better than this. Alexis was a competent player, but she shouldn't have been able to pressure Katrina like she was doing now. The missteps, the errant serves, the missed volleys—it was all spiraling out of control. She knew she had to get her head back in the game.

"Come on, Katrina," Art muttered under his breath, his frustration growing. He knew he should’ve never said what he had this morning, and God did he regret it. Not even because it threw her off her game, but simply because it wasn’t true.

I didn’t mean it, Kat.

Alexis returned Katrina's second serve with a deep forehand, forcing Katrina to run to the back of the court. She managed to get the ball back, but it was a weak return, and Alexis took advantage, hitting a powerful backhand down the line. Katrina struggled to reach it, her footwork sloppy.

The crowd murmured, sensing the shift in momentum. Katrina felt her frustration bubbling to the surface. "Get it together," she told herself, trying to drown out the negativity in her mind. She took a deep breath and prepared for the next point, knowing she couldn't afford to lose her composure.

Art clenched his fists, watching Katrina's struggle. He wanted to shout words of encouragement; right now, he needed Katrina to find her focus and to play like he knew she could.

The next few points were a back-and-forth battle. Katrina managed to win a couple of rallies, showing glimpses of her usual skill, but Alexis was relentless. Katrina's errors were piling up, and Alexis capitalized on every mistake. A missed serve here, a poorly timed volley there—it was all adding up, and Katrina felt like she was falling apart.

He knew he had to do something to help her, but he wasn't sure what. She was slipping, and he could see it in her eyes—the doubt, the frustration. He wished he could just rewind the morning and start over.

Katrina's frustration boiled over as she missed yet another shot, sending the ball wide of the sideline. She clenched her racket, her anger turning inward.

What the actual fuck kat? She felt herself slipping.

Art watched as Katrina's confidence seemed to crumble. Every point felt like a battle, and she was struggling to keep her emotions in check. The crowd's cheers seemed distant, drowned out by her own inner turmoil. She needed to find her focus and remember why she loved the game in the first place.

Katrina King stood at the baseline, bouncing the tennis ball as she prepared to serve. The pressure was immense. The score was tied, but this was match point for Alexis.

"Just get this right," she told herself, bouncing the ball one more time. "Keep it simple, focus on your form, and breathe."

She threw the ball up and swung, her serve powerful but lacking the usual precision.

The umpire's call was clear: "In!"

Alexis immediately raised her hand, signaling her challenge.

Katrina tensed, holding her breath. Fuck. She had already accepted defeat.

The electronic system, designed to track the ball's trajectory, sprang into action. The large screen above the court displayed the replay, with the lines highlighted in bold white against the blue surface.

The slow-motion replay showed the ball’s descent, curving slightly in its flight. It landed, from this perspective, millimeters inside the line, causing the crowd to murmur in anticipation. The pause felt longer than it actually was, with everyone waiting for the official verdict.

Alexis stood with her racket resting on her shoulder, her expression tense and unimpressed. She glanced at Katrina, who remained at the baseline, her stance rigid.

The electronic system confirmed the umpire's call: "In!" The word flashed across the screen, accompanied by a graphic showing the ball's exact position—just inside the line. The crowd erupted in applause, and Katrina allowed herself a small smile. She was relieved that the serve was good, but she knew she couldn't let her focus slip.

Alexis nodded curtly; her challenge was unsuccessful. She adjusted her grip on her racket, preparing for the next point. The moment of doubt had passed, and the game resumed its intensity.

Art saw Katrina's moments of ease, but he also saw the hesitation in her footwork and the slight tremors in her hands.

Alexis's return was a deep shot to Katrina's backhand, forcing her to pivot quickly. Katrina reached for it, but her timing was slightly off. The ball clipped the net, but it went over. Katrina breathed a sigh of relief as Alexis scrambled to reach it. and get her racket under the ball just in time.

The volley was clumsy, but it kept the rally going. Katrina's heart raced as she tried to regain her rhythm. She could feel the momentum slipping away, and she knew she couldn't afford another mistake. Alexis, however, was relentless, keeping the pressure on with precise shots to the corners of the court.

Art clenched his fists, chewing his gum while watching Katrina's struggle. He felt the intensity of the moment, knowing that this point could determine the outcome of the match. He wanted to find a way to ease her nerves, but all he could do was watch and hope she could pull through.

The rally continued, with Katrina barely managing to keep up. Alexis played a drop shot, and Katrina lunged to reach it. She got there just in time, but her return was weak, giving Alexis the upper hand. Alexis moved in for the kill, smashing the ball toward the baseline.

Katrina dove to reach it, her body hitting the ground as her racket connected with the ball. It went over the net, but it was a high lob, an easy shot for Alexis. Alexis jumped, delivering a powerful overhead smash that Katrina couldn't hope to reach. The ball hit the court with a decisive thud, and the umpire called the point.

Art felt a pang of disappointment as the crowd erupted in applause. He knew Katrina had fought hard, but the internal turmoil had cost her the match. He saw the frustration on her face as she stood up, brushing off the dirt from her fall. She glanced toward him, her eyes filled with a mix of anger, defeat, and tears.

Katrina knew she had given it her all, but it hadn't been enough. She felt the weight of the loss, knowing that her own doubts and the fight with Art had played a part in her performance. As she walked off the court, she felt a mix of disappointment and a lingering sense of confusion about what had gone wrong—both on and off the court.

Art made his way down to talk to Katrina. She was sitting on the bench, her head down, a towel draped over her shoulders. Art approached, trying to keep his voice steady. "Hey, it's okay," he said, his tone gentle. "It's just one game; you’ve got three more today. You can still turn this around. Just focus on your game, okay? Don't let this get in your head." He finished and tried to embrace her in his arms for some sort of comfort, but his efforts proved futile because before he could fully hug her, she pushed him off.

Katrina looked back at him, her eyes watery, cold, and distant. "Oh, now you're being supportive?" She shot back, her voice laced with sarcasm. "What happened to the coach who was so concerned about being professional this morning?"

Art winced, feeling the sting of her words. He knew he deserved it, but it still hurt. "I know, I messed up," he said, trying to keep his voice calm.

Katrina shook her head, her expression hardening. "I don't need your fake support, Art," she said, standing up. "Just let me play my game."

“Kat, don’t be like that.” He said he was stepping forward, trying to get a hold of her.

“Be like what, Art?” she said, feeling her anger rise. “I shouldn’t act like you treated me as if I were a late-night tinder hookup.” She paused, her lips trembling. “I wouldn’t be like this if you would have had the human decency to treat me with a little respect, even if you regrated it!” She took a breath. “You know what the worst part is; you could have waited for the tournament to be over to shit on me, on us, like that. At least I would’ve left this stupid fucking weekend with a champion title and cup.” She started walking away from the locker rooms. “Guess once your balls are empty, you come to your senses, huh?” She hadn’t even bothered to turn around for the last bit.

"Kat, wait!" he said, grabbing her arm gently but firmly. "Please, just give me a minute."

Katrina turned, her eyes blazing with anger. "What do you want?" she snapped. "Haven't you done enough today? Did you finally decide to be a good coach?"

Art knew he deserved that, but he needed her to hear him out. "Just let me explain," he said, his voice desperate. "Not here. Let's go outside, away from everyone."

She hesitated, clearly still furious, but she didn't pull away. Art led her through a side door and out into the area behind the arena, where it was quiet and they could talk in private. He released her arm, taking a deep breath to calm himself.

"Katrina, I'm sorry," he began, his voice soft but urgent. "I'm sorry for everything I said this morning and for telling you it was a mistake. I didn't mean it. I was just... scared."

"Scared?" Katrina's eyes narrowed. "Scared of what? Scared of actually caring about someone? Scared to give up the overdone, nonchalant act you’ve got going for you?"

Art shook his head, struggling to find the right words. "I was scared that I was crossing a line," he said. "I was scared that I was too old for you and that being your coach and being with you would mess up your career. I was worried that we'd end up like... like me and Tashi."

Katrina's anger flared. "I'm not Tashi!" she shouted, stepping closer to him. "So stop comparing me to her; I'm my own person, and I'm nothing like her!"

"I know," Art replied, his voice gentle but firm. "I know you're not her. But that's what scared me. I don't want what happened to me and Tashi to happen to us. I didn't want to mess up your game, your career, or... anything."

Katrina huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Well, you sure did a good job of that," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Look at what happened today! I lost because you couldn't make up your mind about what you wanted!"

Art felt a pang of guilt, knowing she was right. "I know," he said, his voice low. "I was selfish. I shouldn’t have acted like I did. I just didn’t want you to get hurt because of me. But now I see that I hurt you anyway, and that’s the last thing I wanted." He is groveling.

Katrina looked at him, her eyes still blazing. "So, what do you want now?" she asked. "Are you just going to apologize and then go back to being cold and distant?"

Art stepped forward, taking her cheek gently in his hand. "I don't know what we are, Katrina," he said, his thumb tracing her cheekbone. "But I know I don't want to stop whatever this is. It's special. You make me feel things I haven't felt in a long time, and I can't keep ignoring that."

Katrina's anger softened, her eyes searching for any sign of insincerity. Art felt the connection between them, the tension that had been building for weeks, and he knew he couldn't let it end like this.

"I was wrong this morning," he continued. "I was scared, and I acted like an idiot. But you... you're amazing. You didn't deserve the way I treated you, and I know the game today was my fault. You were distracted because of me, and I'm sorry. But I know you're going to win this. I believe in you. I always have, and that hasn’t changed."

Katrina's expression softened, her anger giving way to something else—something that felt like forgiveness. Art leaned in, pressing his lips to hers in a passionate kiss, his hand still gently cupping her cheek. She responded with equal intensity, her arms wrapping around his neck as they pressed against the concrete wall.

The kiss was long and intense, filled with the emotions they’d both been suppressing. When they finally pulled back, their breathing was heavy, and their eyes locked in a shared moment of understanding. Art pressed a soft kiss to her forehead before laying his against hers.

“Are you ready to bring another title home, pretty girl?” He says, gazing into her eyes.

She looked up, her eyes glistening with a familiar spark. “You wouldn’t have agreed to coach me if I wasn’t.” She held a soft smile, bringing him in for another kiss.

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson fic #challengers #challengers fic #challengers x reader #mike faist #mike faist x reader #challengers universe #x reader #smut #Art donaldson x oc

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mahadisblog · 2 years

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See Hear All-in-One Nail Technician French Kit

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dongpinbeauty · 2 years

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Where To Buy Smart Spa Tools And Devices

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productreview13 · 2 years

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Light, Electric Manicure Set with Adjustable Speed, E-File for Manicure and Pedicure, with Storage Case

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toji-girl · 2 months

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all mine | t. fushiguro

tags: 18+ ONLY content + explicit smut: minors and empty blogs DNI + fem reader + repost from my old blog + not beta read + feedback such as comments and reblogs are helpful + spit play + handjob + spit as lube + really no prep + fingering + unprotected sex + dry humping + preestablished relationship + pet names

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” Toji asked watching you from the doorway as you removed the makeup you put on before the dinner for your boss’s retirement.

It was boring more than anything until you found one of your co-workers with her fresh manicure running up and down the expanse of your husband’s chest.

He was still in his suit, his tie loosened, the sleeves rolled to his elbows and his jacket slung over his shoulder. You turned to look at him with daggers while you rolled your eyes.

“Overreacting? I heard what she said that she’s surprised I was able to get a man like you.”

Toji kept a straight face as he unbuttoned his shirt slowly. “Get in the bed, face down, and ass up, princess.”

It didn’t matter that it was you who slid the silver band on his finger or that it’s your mouth that gets to suck his cock and she most certainly doesn’t know the sheer pleasure he gives you, but it didn’t dull the fire raging in your chest.

You were quick to scramble on the bed getting into position, Toji was grateful you wore a dress that was a bit tighter than you were used to, the fabric rolled up and over the curve of your ass exposing the deep red satin panties you picked for tonight.

Toji chuckled behind you rubbing his chin while standing behind you as his gaze fell to your ass and your cunt that was straining against the fabric, he leaned in running his finger up and down between your folds making you shiver.

“Does she know how to make me happy like you do? I didn’t even hear what she was fucking saying anyway, I only thought about your legs squeezing my head, but since you want to throw a little pity party I guess I’ll remind you that you’re my wife, not her, but you baby girl.”

His words were like electricity running through your veins, zapping all your nerves and senses, your cunt gushed when he pressed in more against your clit, and you heard the clicking of his belt buckle and the rustling of his pants.

Followed by him getting undressed you felt the cool leather from his belt run over your pussy then he pulled it away and yanked down your panties bending at the waist gathering his drool and spitting it on your cunt.

“Toji!” You gasped feeling him smearing it in, his other hand settled next to you as he leaned in more letting the rest of his spit drip down, the sound soon became lewd and wet as he smeared it in before sliding two fingers inside you with a loud squelch.

You surprised him by sitting up when he pulled his fingers out and kneeled in front of him running your hands over his chest and abs. “You don’t need to remind me of anything, it’s me who needs to remind you.” You whispered wrapping your fist around his tie and pulling him down on the bed.

His hands found purchase on your hips as you rutted against the thick bulge in his pants. “You’re right, and she will never know the way you growl when you fuck me senseless.” You said scooting back and resting on his thighs as you quickly unbuttoned and unzipped his pants pulling them down enough to free his cock.

More times than not Toji and you preferred for him to get you off at least twice, once on his tongue then the second time with his tongue and fingers but all you could think about was her touching your husband.

“Fiesty, maybe I should go to the gym shirtless next time.” He teased making you roll your eyes as you struggled to wrap your fingers around the base of his dick, just like Toji, it was big and thick, the length quite impressive, and heavy balls to match.

“Then I’d just fuck you in front of everyone.” You replied jerking him off and leaning forward, giving him the same treatment, he watched you spit on his swollen head and drip down pooling around the base, you bunched your dress up more and hooked your finger in your panties moving them to the side.

Toji helped keep you stable as you rubbed his head against your clit before slowly sheathing yourself halfway past the tip, he could feel you clenching around him, the stretch stung as you lowered yourself down more gasping and reaching for his hands. “You can take it, baby.” He whispered.

You looked down at him and leaned down pressing your chest against his as you slotted your mouth against his fully sitting down, both of you moaned against each other’s lips, slowly you found a perfect rhythm of rolling your hips sitting up looking at him once again.

Toji rested one hand behind his head watching you claim what’s rightfully yours.

#Toji smut #Toji x reader smut #Toji Fushiguro smut #toji x y/n smut #toji x you smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk toji smut #reader x toji smut #toji x yn smut #toji fushiguro smut #toji jjk smut #toji thirst #Fushiguro Toji smut #toji x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x reader smut #fushiguro toji x reader #toji x you

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cevansbrat0007 · 2 months

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New In Town

Summary: Introducing Chapter One of my Sweet Renegades Series. Sparks fly when you accidentally find yourself sitting next to Bounty Hunter, Ari Levinson.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Mentions of Death and Grief, Mentions of Book Boyfriends, Allusions to Disordered Eating, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Major thanks to @curls-and-eyeliner for helping me plot out this chapter. This story is part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. Thanks for reading!

It was happening again. You could feel him doing it. You knew without turning your head that the bastard had gone back to staring.

At you.

Gritting your teeth, you make a point of adjusting the skirt of your dress before returning your focus to Reverend Turner at the pulpit. Trying your best to ignore the hum of electricity in your veins, you find yourself wishing that you’d opted to stay home today. After all, you hadn’t been to church in ages.

So what on earth possessed you to return today?

It’s not like you were concerned for your immortal soul or anything. On the contrary, you and God were good. You were even on speaking terms again – now that you’d finally forgiven him for calling your Uncle Leon home before you were ready to let him go.

That had been nearly three years ago.

These days, your grief has taken a backseat in favor of running the town’s only bookshop, Baubles & Quills. Once owned by your Uncle, the store had become your sanctuary as you’d struggled to cope with the loss of the only family you’d ever had.

And now that you’d deemed life worth living again you’d apparently decided that attending Calvary Baptist Church’s Sunday morning service was a good idea. But the one thing you hadn’t counted on when you’d politely – and strategically – taken a seat in the pew closest to the door was that you’d end up sharing it with the likes of him.

That bounty hunter fella that you’d been hearing about for the last week. His arrival had practically sent your little town into a regular feeding frenzy. Word on the street was that he was investigating something that had to do with your old high school pal, Martin Westbrook.

At least that’s what Charline Marshall had said when she’d stopped by your shop to return a book she’d purchased because she didn’t care for the ending. While you weren’t usually one for gossip, you’d been intrigued by her, ah, description of the handsome stranger that had taken up residence just a few blocks south of where you lived.

Two Days Ago…

“His name is Ari Levinson. Kinda strange, right?” She’d whispered conspiratorially, running a hand through her copper colored tresses . “But he’s a tall drink of water with the prettiest blue eyes I‘ve ever seen.”

“Oh really?” You’d mumbled, frowning at the crease that adorned the spine of the paperback book in your hands. Another one for the discount rack.

“Mhm. He’s handsome all over.” Charline had continued, picking up one of your more elaborate looking bookmarks and pretending to study it before using it to fan herself. “And not only that, but…” She’d leaned in then, allowing her freshly manicured nails lightly graze your arm. “I think he likes me.”

“Oh? Has he come out and said that?” Your eyes had gone wide with feigned interest. Because of course the man would be into Charline Anne Marshall. Who wouldn’t be? The woman was beautiful and, what’s more, she knew it.

“Well, I mean…not yet.” The woman had let out a disappointed little sigh. “But I’m almost certain he will. I’m just giving him time to get settled in, you know?” She’d said, her perfectly painted lips curving into a smile as she held out a hand for her change.

“How kind of you.” Good Lord how you wished you could hurry things along so you could go back to enjoying your peace and quiet.

“Ari has already interviewed me twice. He even gave me his number, just in case I happen to remember anything else.” She’d tucked the cash from her return into her purse. “I think I might call him up and tell him that my memory works best after a couple of drinks. Think that’ll work?”

“I guess you’ll never know if you don’t try.” Even though you were annoyed, you’d pasted on a fake smile and closed the register, hoping that might be enough to convince her to end the conversation and move on already.

“Why, I think you just might be right.” Your unwanted guest held up the bookmark that was still in her grasp, her unspoken question left hanging in the air. “And this?”

“It’s on the house, Charline.” You’d patiently replied, bracing your elbows on the counter. “Best of luck landing your bounty hunter beau.”

“Well, aren’t you just a gem?” She’d all but squealed, sounding positively giddy as she took a step back. “You know, I bet if you spent a little more time out in the real world instead of holed-up in here with all these books, you’d probably be able to land a man too. You’d be awful pretty if you’d just put in a little bit of effort into it. I mean –”

“No thanks.” You’d simply shrugged, unable to summon up enough energy to be outraged by the dig.

It wasn’t worth the breath you would've wasted trying to explain why you were better off keeping the company of your book boyfriends. A real man required too much care and feeding for your tastes.

“If you say so, sugar. But–” She’d responded as she strode towards the door. “Oh! You should come to my next party. We’ll let Mary Kay sponsor your makeover.”

'No offense, Charline, but I’d rather put a campfire out with my face than attend your next Mary Kay get-together featuring you and ten of your mother’s closest friends.' You'd thought to yourself.

“Uh, maybe. We’ll see.” You’d hedged before turning on your heel and heading in the direction of the stockroom. “Enjoy the bookmark!” God, you’d never been so happy to hear someone exit your shop than you were at that moment.

Which brought you back to the present. You’re startled out of your reverie when the congregation erupts into thunderous applause, signaling the end of Reverend Turner’s sermon. You knew you were going to have to move quickly if you wanted to avoid any unwanted attention from other members of the flock.

Or worse yet: be forced into making small talk with Ari Levinson. Assuming that beast of a man actually possessed enough brain cells to actually string together a sentence or two. Which was a shame because he really was easy on the eyes.

Unfortunately for you, you don’t realize that now you’re the one who’s staring until you notice the corner of his mouth tilt up in a smirk. Shit. The cocky lawman nods his head in your direction before having the audacity to mouth the word: “howdy”. It almost makes you wonder what his voice would sound like.

Would his southern drawl be thick and rough, or smooth and easygoing? Assuming he was southern, that is.

Feeling your cheeks heat, you make fast work of grabbing your things before scooting out of the pew, doing your best to sneak out of the service before everyone is formally dismissed. The absolute last thing you needed was to have this man thinking you were like every other woman in this town who was willing to practically trip over herself just to get a good look at him.

On your way out you brush past Sister Mary Jo Winans, who is all too eager to follow you out the door and halfway down the front stairs.

So much for making a clean getaway.

“You’re not staying for the potluck?” She wheezes, gripping the railing as she struggles to catch her breath.

“Afraid not, Sister Winans.” You tell her while digging through your purse for your keys. “I’ve gotta go home and change so I can head over to the shop.”

“But it’s Sunday, honey.” The matronly woman huffs, adjusting the angle of her wide-brim church hat. “This is the day that the Lord has made. We are to rejoice and be glad in it. It’s all right there in the good Book.”

“Be that as it may, Sister, I’m afraid I can’t stay. Plus I wouldn’t feel right about eating when I didn’t bring a dish to contribute, so…” You offer up a one-armed shrug. “Next time.”

You also weren’t a fan of eating in front of people. You were always self-conscious about whatever you put on your plate, convinced that you were being judged for your choices. Your stomach growls at the mention of food, reminding you that you’d left some cottage cheese and fruit behind at the shop. That would just have to do until you found the wherewithal to make it to the grocery store.

“But–”

“Next time. I promise.” You kindly interrupt, hoping that she would just let the issue drop. “By the way, I set aside a copy of Joyce Meyer’s latest book for you.”

“You did?”

“Yep.” You confirm as you begin walking backwards towards the nearby parking lot. “Stop by anytime. We’ll consider it an early birthday present, alright?” Smiling when she nods, you toss her a little wave before speed walking the rest of the way to your car.

Unlocking it, you climb in the driver’s seat and slam the door before gunning the engine. Finally free, you peel out of the lot and turn onto the empty street. Needing to focus on something other than your thoughts about a certain bounty hunter, you decide to turn up the radio, praying for your traitorous brain to cooperate.

Yeah, no such luck.

“Fuck you, Levinson.” You spit, wishing that he was close enough to hear you right then. Because the way you saw it, the sooner he packed his shit and moved on, the better off you and everyone else in this godforsaken town would be. And if he knew what was good for him, he’d stay far away from you.

He’d have more luck getting information out of a drunk Charline than he would trying to get you to spill your guts. And the moment he threatened you, you were planning to call Bell’s Creek PD to let them deal with it. Until then, you had some empty shelves to stock. But first…

You were gonna need to find someone to cut you out of these damned spanx.

END

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jessmaybank · 11 months

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Meddle About - Rafe Cameron

(based on the song Meddle About by Chase Atlantic)

Outer banks x chase Atlantic masterlist

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Pairing(s): Rafe Cameron x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.7k

Summary: a collection of the readers sinful encounters with Rafe, as they both slowly fall in love with each other through sex.

Warnings: mention of drugs, SMUT, oral (both f&m receiving), unprotected sex, hair pulling, nipple play, fingering.

Well, come and get it now

Come and get it now

Baby, show me what your doing

Come and turn around

‘Cause it’s not just a figure of speech

You got me down on my knees

It’s getting harder to breathe out

Beautiful sins, like beautiful things, are the privilege of the rich. Some think human beings can't see anything in this world without wanting to destroy it. Rafe argued that statement to be true as he peered at her from across the room, observing how the hem of her summer dress rode up as she crossed one leg over the other. He definitely wanted to destroy her.

From the moment his lustrous electric blue orbs fixated on her, the rest of the party at tanny hill was seemingly invisible. His audacious self just knew he had to have her, and his jeans began to tighten at the thought.

It had taken him all of twenty minutes to lure her into his bedroom, her innocent aura proving to be a fraud as she began to tremble under his touch. An alluring moan left her lips as Rafe’s tongue found her clit, mouth agape and eyebrows furrowed.

He was on his knees in front of her, swirling his tongue over her bundle of nerves harshly as she sat on the edge of his bed, manicured nails gripping into his cotton sheets. His crimson red lips were coated with her arousal, and to him, she tasted like heaven. His pupils were so blown out you would of thought he was on coke.

Her breath hitched in her throat, struggling to breathe as she bucked her hips to meet his tongue. Her dainty hands entangled themselves within his dirty blonde hair, the unorganised knots on his scalp a symbol of his frantic thoughts as his head was buried between her thighs.

We only met each other just the other day

But you already got me feeling some type of way

Now, if I could figure it out

I’d take you back to my house

So we could meddle about

She gasps as he pins her against the wall in the hallway of the island club, his aggressive tactics a reflection of his darkest desires. Rafe lifts his arms to either side of her head, cornering her in, as if he was scared she would bolt at any given moment.

But she never would. Leaving was the last thing on her mind as she grew infatuated with the lust painted within his eyes, engrossed in everything Rafe Cameron. She innocently licked her lips as she gazed up at him through her eyelashes, and Rafe swore she was hell-bent on testing his self control.

“Rafe” she says, her angelic tone causing an abrupt wave of frustration to swarm his insides. His name had never sounded so pretty until now.

“I can’t get the taste of you out of my head” he says, his breathing unorganised as he recalls his sinful actions last week. His enchanting scent of vanilla and whiskey engulfed her, and she lazily brought her hand up to his belt, pressing their bodies closer together.

This time, they found themselves tangled in the sheets within her bedroom, the evening light painting her vivacious figure in the most delectable way as she sat on all fours, face scrunched into her pillow as he pounded into her from behind.

Rafe grabbed a fistful of her velvety hair, wrapping his ring clad fingers around the strands, determined to fuck her as deep as he could. Her back arched into the most divine angle as he lifted her head, a thin layer of sweat glistening on her skin.

“Your pussy is addictive” he says, his zealous thrusts becoming sloppy as the pleasure overwhelms him. She couldn’t even bring herself to respond, too wrapped up in how full she felt as he fucked her into a euphoric oblivion.

We could meddle about

Whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh

We could meddle about

No-whoa-oh-oh-oh-ooh

We could meddle about

She didn’t know how it happened, completely bewildered by his seductive tactics. When the party started, she was with her girls, adamant on having fun with her friends. But currently, she found herself straddling Rafe’s lap in the corner of the room, somewhat hidden from the party goers around them.

The faint fog of weed smoke blurred their vision as they bore into each others eyes. She took in his distinct chiseled features, a crooked smile playing on his lips as he did the same, admiring her appearance.

“I can’t get over how beautiful you are” Rafe says, his husky voice making her cheeks blush with a faint redness. He lifts one of his arms from their place on her hips, bringing it up to stroke the soft skin of her cheek. Being with her made Rafe feel inferior and superhuman all at the same time, and it was unfamiliar feeling.

“Yeah?” She asks, moving her hips to grind against his shorts ever so subtly, but he picked up on it. She sucked her bottom lip in, biting on the skin with a blissful but amused look on her face.

To the random stranger, you would think she was an innocent and timid girl, her fragrant citrus perfume giving off nothing but purity. Only Rafe knew different, and he adored the fact that she kept her sins hidden from everyone but him.

His eyes travel down to the bottom of her dress, watching her hips squirm on top of him. She could feel him harden beneath her, and her pussy started to ache with desire.

“As pretty as you are…” he starts, bringing his ocean blue eyes back up to meet hers.

“If you don’t want me to fuck you, right here, in front of everyone, I suggest you behave” he says lowly, before grabbing either side of her hips and grinding her clothed pussy against his erection.

Her lips parted at the sensation, and she had a revelation.

“I can never behave myself around you, Rafe”

Girl just scream it out

Tell me that your thinking

No, I wanna see you undress now

I wanna hear you confess now

“Fuck, you take it so well” he says, watching as she retracts her bruised lips from the tip of his cock, replacing her mouth with her hand as she pumps him vigorously.

Her mascara was smudged halfway down her cheeks, her eyes drizzled with tears as she peered up at him, fluttering her eyelashes. His mouth hung open as he stroked her hair, the comforting gesture making her even more eager to please him.

The faint sound of water running could be heard in the distance, but they both drowned it out. They were supposed to get in the shower, late for a party, but they never made it, seemingly distracted by each other.

She took him in her mouth once again, hollowing her cheeks to fit him all in. Rafe threw his head back in pleasure, small groans leaving his lips as he bucked his hips into her, the sounds of her choking muffled by his cock.

Her hair was a mess, but that’s exactly how he liked it. Her clean persona becoming nothing more than a facade as soon as she stepped into his bedroom.

“Shit, I’m ganna cum” he says, his voice horse as his climax gets closer. His soft strokes on her hair become harsh pulls as he bucks his hips once again, bottoming out in her mouth, before hot cum spills out of him. She swallowed it all, like she always did, and wiped her glossy mouth with her finger to swallow whatever excess was left around her mouth.

Rafe cups her face in his hands, and she rises off of her knees, standing up to face him. He’s still breathing heavy, the image of his bare chest rising and falling a beautiful picture to her.

“We should probably get in the shower now” she says, turning her head to the bathroom door, not forgetting that the water is still running. It’s a good thing the Cameron’s have money, otherwise she would of felt bad for wasting their water.

He nods his head gently, an indication of his exhaustion, but a small smile still frames his lips. He lifts his fingers to her shoulders, pushing the straps of her dress so the material falls, bunching on her waist. She always wore dresses around him, a prevalent need for her to give him access to her body.

His fingers gently trace over her bare breasts, pinching her hardened nipples ever so slightly. A blissful look creeps up on her face as she warms under his touch, a small whimper spilling out of her.

His hands snake down to her waist, pushing her dress down her legs and onto the floor. She steps out of the thin cotton, and let’s him guide her into the bathroom.

Rafe takes his time washing her in the shower, smothering her sun kissed skin in his favourite body wash, happy he has another excuse to explore her body.

“I have a confession to make” he says, resting his hands on her lower back, their faces just inches away from each other.

“Then confess, Cameron” she says, a smirk gracing her wet lips.

“You drive me fucking crazy. In a good way” he says, letting out a small chuckle. Her heart beams at he speaks, a gentle adrenaline fluttering in her chest.

“I want you, all of you. I want you to be mine” he says, bringing one hand down to squeeze her ass. She gasps, lips parting as she registers his words.

He makes it difficult for her to concentrate, bringing two fingers down to her pussy, running them through her slick folds before pushing them inside of her. She moans as she presses her forehead to his, arm reaching to the shower wall so she could stable herself.

“Then I’m yours” she says, eyes lidded as she submits herself to the man she’s only just realised she’s fallen in love with.

We only met each other just the other day

But you already got me feeling some type of way

Now if I could figure it out

I'd take you back to my house

So we could meddle about

#obx #outer banks #drew starkey #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe obx #rafe cameron imagine #rafe outer banks #rafe x female!mc #rafe x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe x y/n #outer banks smut #obx3

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x0xomady · 18 days

Text

sex, drugs, etc.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

summary: it’s 1980 and harry styles is the biggest rockstar around. life is full of drugs, music, and girls. that is until he meets his flower.

warnings: drugs abuse, smut, cursing, pet names, degradation, alcohol. 18+

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

show today. show tomorrow. shows everyday.

that’s all life is. one big fucking show.

sure this is the life i wanted. i have all the drugs i could need, sex every night, and better yet i’m making music i love.

it’s just all so damn tiring.

i haven’t been able to sleep for more than 4 hours in months. there’s always another girl and another line i’m chasing.

here we go…

i grab my red electric guitar and walk out on stage. immediately the stadium erupts in chants and cheers. but i don’t care.

there’s girls flashing me, people jumping around, my band mates playing loudly. everything is overwhelming as hell.

the show goes by quickly. i zone in and before i know it we’re walking off stage.

i probably have dissociation problems or something but… it’s like when i’m on stage… i’m not even there mentally.

i’m not anywhere mentally. i’m always in my head

when the band started a few years ago it was so different. everything was so exciting and new. i was so into it at every who no matter what. now i’m lucky if im not absolutely wasted on stage.

i walk down the halls of the backstage completely out of it. there’s people slapping me on the back, handing me shit, and girls asking for a hookup.

i should probably say yes to one of them.

my thoughts are starting to get out of hand when i feel another, smaller, body run into mine.

“oh! i’m so so so sorry!” the small girl stumbles back and blushes brightly at me.

i’m about to cuss her out and glare, when i notice how cute she is. this girl couldn’t be taller than 5’6, she was wearing a little pink frilly skirt and a white tank top.

however, i’ve seen this before. slutty girls going around dressing all innocent and sweet so that guys will be into them. i have experienced my fair share of fake innocent girls.

“where you heading flower?” i smirk down at the girl. she was looking up at me nervously. a faint blush was painting her cheeks and neck. cute.

“o-oh! you’re harry from the band?” she asked with a worried look on her face. i watched her manicured fingers clutch the little notebook she was holding tightly.

“that’s me. who might you be?”

“i’m y/n! i was hired to interview you- and uh-” she stuttered as i leaned down a little to hear her better. “i would really like the chance to talk to you… if right now doesn’t work- i can find another time!”

fucking media girl. should’ve known. i would usually flip them off and walk away, but i’ve never met one this attractive. i couldn’t help the way my eyes wandered from her fluttery doe eyes down to her lips. she was wearing sparkly lipgloss and i just wanted to have a taste.

“now is fine.” i nod at her and smirk while watching her eyes widen and a small smile spread across her lips.

“oh that’s great thank you!” she had a sweet little smile on her lips that was tempting me.

i nod and start walking to my dressing room. i can hear her little kitten heels tapping lightly behind me.

we walk into my dressing room. there is a black couch in the middle and a rack of clothes on the side. i have a bottle of whiskey on the table and some pill bottles that my band mates must have left there.

i turn back towards y/n and see her nervous little eyes search around the room. she follows me so obediently it’s adorable.

“sit flower” i nod and her to sit on the couch. hesitantly she sits down on the black leather couch. she clutches her notebook closely and looks up at me nervously with those big doe eyes.

“s-so… harry… um can i start by asking you a few questions?” y/n asks. poor thing. she was so nervous. i can see the little pink splotches across her smooth skin.

“ask away pretty girl”

she clears her throat and sits up looking at me. “so… what’s your favorite song of the album, and why is it your favorite?”

“i like ‘kiwi’ a lot” i shrug and allow my eyes to wander her delicate little body.

“kiwi? i love that song!” she smiles sweetly and writes down in her little pink notebook.

i smirk and nod. “thanks flower. i’m glad someone so sweet looking like you likes such a dirty song.”

y/n instantly blushes but tries to brush it off as if it was nothing. she sits up a little more and looks back up at me. “o-okay. and what is you play guitar correct?”

“right. i play guitar, piano, and bass.” i nod at her and lean back against the couch.

“wow three? that’s so impressive.” she smiles sweetly at me. fuck. “and what’s your favorite of those three?”

“electric guitar probably.” i shrug and take a swig out of my whiskey bottle. she writes down in her little notebook and continues asking questions.

for the next 10 minutes y/n asks me about my music interests, inspirations, and other typical interviewer questions.

if i’m being completely honest my answers were total bullshit. i was so caught up in staring at her that i was just kind of saying whatever came to mind.

y/n has the most gorgeous little face i’ve ever seen. her lips looked fucking delicious. i just wanted to-

“harry? are you alright?” i snap out of my daydream when i hear her sweet little voice asking me a question.

no. i want to fuck you.

“yeah i’m fine. what was the question?” i ask looking back up at her fluttery eyelashes and big eyes.

“oh i was just asking how your dating life is on tour. it must be hard to connect with someone if you are constantly traveling to different cities.”

“my dating life hm? it’s just fine.” i shrug and lean forward resting on my arms on my knees.

“so do you have a girlfriend at the moment?” aww she is so naive. her little purple pen writing down every word i say as she looks at me with interest.

“i don’t no. but i do have a pretty little interviewer sitting in front of me” i smirk and lean forward towards her.

y/n’s eyes instantly widen and her face turns a light pink. she looks absolutely speechless at my comment.

“o-oh. uh” she stutters and looks at me nervously.

“hm? you like it when i compliment you flower?” i smile and look at her in the eyes.

“harry- ”

“yes pretty girl?”

“what are you- ”

“i’m just trying to talk to you. is that okay?” i smile innocently.

“yeah…” i see a small smile tug on the corners of her glossy lips.

“good come here.” i sigh and lean back against the couch. my hand makes a motion telling her to walk over to me.

y/n looks hesitant at first but she nervously walks over to me and stands a few feet in front of me.

i reach my hands up and grab her hips gently. she blushes wildly and stands there unsure.

“what in the world is a delicate little thing like you doing at a place like this?” i say while my eyes drag down her body. that white tank top was doing nothing to hide her body from me.

“i- im just here for an interview- ” she stutters out and gasps quietly when i pull her so she’s standing in between my legs.

“that’s it? just an interview? you don’t want anything else flower?” i smirk.

she nods hesitantly and stands there as i squeeze her hips gently.

“mm but i could give you so much more. don’t ya want something?” i say looking up at her.

“j-just an interview” she nods and looks at me nervously.

i nod and trail my hands from her hips to her slender waist. “so can i have something from you?”

“what do you want from me?” she asks unsure.

“i want a kiss”

y/ns face drops slightly and her eyes widen. “y-you want a kiss from me?!”

“course i do.” i shrug and continue leaning back while admiring her. “come on flower… just give me one kiss.”

y/n takes a deep breath before leaning forward and giving me a cute little peck. she pulls away quickly blushing brightly and looking flustered as ever.

i smile and put a hand on her head bringing her back to kiss me again. i deepen the kiss, wrapping y/n closer to me and slowly pulling her onto my lap.

y/n let’s out a little gasp of shock when i pull her so she’s straddling my lap. her hands grip my shoulder for support as i wrap an arm around her waist.

“such soft pretty lips.” i mumble and push my thumb against her lips softly. “can i do something for you flower?”

y/n nods quietly and watches me carefully as i grab her hips again.

as soon as i get the confirmation i pick her up and lay her on her back against the couch. y/n lets an adorable little sigh leave her lips as i kneel in between her legs.

i lean forward so i’m hovering over her. y/n puts her hands in my hair and pulls my head down to kiss her again. i moan against her lips and adjust my arm so im holding her hip and jaw tightly.

y/n moans softly as i kiss down her jaw and along her neck. “h-harry”

“yeah?” i smirk and kiss her collar bone softly. goosebumps fill her skin as my kisses make their way from her jaw to collarbones.

“i-i need you to” she hesitates and looks at me nervously.

“hm? what is it you need pretty girl?” i smile knowing damn well what she wants from me. “i can’t read your mind y/n… gonna need you to tell me what you want.”

she breathes a little heavier and blushes from the eye contact i make with her while kissing her chest and collarbone. “i want you…”

that’s it

“yeah? need me? well if you want me that bad then who am i to deny such a gorgeous girl.”

i waste no time in reconnecting our lips while pushing my hand down to her little skirt. y/n moans softly against my lips as i rub her waist gently and kiss her one last time.

“gonna let me take this cute little skirt off?” i smirk and kiss her neck again.

“yes… please harry…” she whines softly as i suck a little mark on her neck.

“oh if you insist flower.” i say grinning against her neck. my hands desperately tug down her flouncy skirt. i shove it down her legs and throw it to the side. underneath is a cute little pair of pink panties. my mouth instantly waters at the sight.

y/n blushes wildly and closes her legs nervously.

“oh nuh uh. none of that.” i tut and grab both of her knees pulling her legs apart. i can see the sweet little outline of her lips underneath that pink lace and it makes my knees weeek.

y/n laid there nervously as the intimidating rockstar stared at her most delicate parts with a hungry gaze.

“fucking need you flower…” i moan and lean my head against her knee. “gonna let me?”

y/n hesitated for a moment but then nodded eagerly as i leaned against her thigh.

i smirk and kiss her thigh. the kisses lean from her knee down to that sweet little pink lace. continuing to keep eye contact with the media girl underneath me, i pressed a gentle kiss to her clit. the lacy material did nothing to shield the feeling on her little button throbbing for me.

immediately i kiss her in that spot again but a little harder. y/n tries to close her legs again out of sensitivity but my hands hold her thighs apart.

after a few more kisses to that dainty little fabric, i hook my fingers in the waist band and tug the pink lace down to her ankles.

i look to y/n for consent once more i wait until she nods. as soon as i see that nod im on her. my fingers spread her apart as i press kisses along her slit and puffy little clit.

y/n gasps and moans softly as her legs squeeze my head tightly.

my fingers run along her slit as i wrap my lips around her throbbing button. i wait until she’s dripping before i nudge my first finger into her hole.

“damn it flower. you’re so fucking tight how is this possible?” i groan and pump my middle finger in and out of her pussy slowly.

“please harry- need more!” y/n moans desperately and tightens her legs around harry’s curly head.

as soon as i hear those pretty whines leave her mouth i add my second finger to her wet cunt.

y/n’s orgasm doesn’t take long to arrive. after a few minutes of sucking against her clit and pumping her full of my fingers she starts clenching hard.

“how’s it this tight? fucking he’ll flower” i groan against her and continue sucking harshly.

with the stimulations from my mouth and hand i feel her clench tightly and cum around my head.

i smirk up at her and get up from my spot between her legs.

y/n whines from the loss of stimulation between her legs which just makes my grin grow even more.

“aww poor baby. want me to fuck you?” she nods and wraps her legs around my hips. “and her i thought you were an innocent little flower. guess i was wrong”

she moans softly as i grab my cock and press the head against her clit. i look up at her as i run the head from the tip to the bottom of her weepy hole.

“harry please” she whines and pushes her hips against mine.

without warning i start easing the head past her entrance. “fucking hell- tightest pussy i’ve ever felt.” i moan and push my hips to the hilt. the feeling of her squeezing me is euphoric as i reconnect our lips.

“move please harry- please move” y/n moans and presses her hips up to mine.

i grab her hips and start moving in and out of her hard. my hand down snakes down her soft skin until i reach her little button.

“cmon flower i want you to give me another one.” i moan into her neck as i thrust up into her cunt quickly.

y/n moans desperately and fucks her hips up against mine as i thrust quickly.

i grab her hips roughly and flip her onto her stomach. y/n pushes her hips up to mine. “yes! please harry more!” she moans pathetically as i slam my way back into her tight cunt.

“so fucking dirty.” i groan as i snap my hips into hers. “here i thought you were some innocent little media girl.” i smirk and thrust against her hard.

“g-gonna cum!” she moans into the couch pillow as i rub her clit quickly.

“yeah? good girl. cum for me.” i thrust into her one more time before she tightens like a vice around me.

“fucking milking me aren’t you? fuck.” i groan and pull out. my hand wraps around my cock and i tug it quickly using her juices. my release hits me quickly as my cum paints her soft thighs.

the two of us sit there panting for a minute before i wipe my forehead and look back up at her.

“still got that little journal of yours?”

“yeah.” she nods and hands me the pink note book and purple pen.

i smirk and write my phone number on the first page.

“Call me flower”

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love my rockstar bf

-xoxo ⋆⭒˚.⋆

#harry styles smut #harry styles #one direction #harry edward styles #dom harry styles #x0xomady #wattpad #fanfiction #sub!harry #fluffy #harry styles x reader

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oddlykilledghosts · 2 years

Text

Someone That Actually Likes Me - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Working at Family Video and constantly being a witness to Steve’s neverending flirting, reminds you of how much you want to be liked by someone and like them back. It just so happens, at the same time, Dustin is up for some meddling between two of his elder friends.

I may or may not be thinking of making a part two?? depending on how this goes?? who knows?? no it should have a part two

Word Count: 4.2k

Pairings: Eddie Munson x reader, FamilyVideo!reader

The day was starting to become boring. There didn’t really need to be three workers at Hawkin’s local Family Video (even on a Saturday), but you had come into work anyway and pulled yourself together enough for the first couple hours. You tried looking your best, fixing your hair and putting on some fun makeup, as well as applying some electric blue eyeliner and smiling at yourself in your mirror when you topped it off with bubblegum pink lip gloss. You might not have been the preppiest person, but you sure loved the colorful makeup the 80s had brought on the masses. Hopefully it was at least enough for your flirting to be successful in getting customers to rent more movies. Unfortunately however, one of the only customers that the store had had all morning was Dustin, looking for another copy of Neverending Story (something about his girlfriend, Suzie, that you didn’t bother asking about further) and he had not even bothered to ask about your day (something about a pressing D&D campaign that was happening that very night). The other, a girl Steve was chatting up about what you were pretty sure was Pretty in Pink, even though you had never so much heard him mention ever even seeing that movie before. You rolled your eyes at the sight of the two; Steve, leaning up against the wall his body tilted toward the girl, and the girl not even the slightest bit self-conscious in the way she placed her hand on Steve’s bicep and laughed at something you were sure wasn’t that funny.

You felt a shoulder brush yours, and suddenly Robin was at your side seemingly done with rewinding the old tapes. “You’re sulking.” She said plainly, but even without looking you could tell she had a smug smile on her face. You and Robin had become fast friends. Faster, because you both loved to make fun of Steve.

Sighing, you shrugged and said, “Maybe. Is it so wrong?” When Robin didn’t respond you resorted to turning your body away from the couple so that you could look at your friend and you found her giving you a disappointed look. Yet the smug smile hadn’t vanished. “What’s so bad about wanting someone to like me enough to pretend to like Pretty in Pink?” You definitely were sulking. Steve flirted with almost every girl that came into the store, it couldn’t possibly be that deep. But again, no one had quite been desperate enough to be an expert on a movie they’ve never seen for you. It had been awhile since you had felt seen by someone worthwhile. Flirting with customers felt hollow, however much it may have helped your job.

Robin laughed and headed towards the computer to report the intake of tapes she had just finished with, typing fast on the keyboard. “I think it’s wrong when you’re longing for someone to pick you up with a Steve Harrington move.” She paused, feigning thought and continued, “But maybe it isn’t wrong. Maybe it’s just sad.”

“That hurts Robin.” You pointed to your heart and faked a pout, “Right here.”

Steve and the girl, who you assumed was now going to rent Pretty in Pink as it was held in her perfectly manicured hands, were now making their way over to the register. This meant you and Robin had to make busy and not totally fail at watching the couple out of the corner of your eyes. The girl couldn’t stop giggling. You almost scowled, but held back your facial features. It wasn’t embarrassing for her, you couldn’t care less whether she giggled for the rest of her life just because of this small encounter with Steve, but it still felt maddening to listen to someone else be so happy when you just felt bleh. Finally, before leaving the girl wrote down her number on Steve’s hand. Which would only be unfortunate for the boy if he found another girl to flirt with later in the day. The good thing for him was that you were close to closing and he could go home, wash his hand and be able to start anew the next day. Woefully, you would be there to watch.

You watched painfully out of the corner of your eye as Steve skillfully aced what boring small talk came out of the girl’s mouth as he checked out her rental. Gag. When the girl finally left, Steve’s demeanor changed and he was back to his regular self. Still handsome and charming, just putting on less of a show.

Robin beat you to speaking first by saying quickly, in a hushed chuckle, “Y/N wants you to flirt with her.”

Steve’s gaze immediately fell onto you, cocking his head in what was obvious confusion. And yet a smile tugged at his lips, “Is that so?”

The heat in your cheeks burned furiously and while you knew Robin was joking, you felt the undeniable urge to duck your head under the counter and stay there until everyone left. “No. That is not what I said. I merely want to be flirted with. By someone,” You shoved past Steve and picked up a pile of tapes that needed to be reshelved, “That actually likes me.” This time you really did duck behind the shelves, putting back the tapes where they belonged, thankful for the cover and blissful in not seeing Steve’s reaction to what you had said.

Steve’s voice followed you into the racks of movies, “Who says I don’t like you?” You hadn’t realized he was now standing at the end of the aisle you were in and bumped into his chest on your way to exit, dropping the remainder of the tapes that had been in your arms. Sometimes, you wished you had Steve’s effortlessness he used while flirting. You would definitely run into people a lot less.

The two of you then simultaneously leaned down and began to pick up the movies when the bell to the door rang.

A new customer.

“Hello?” A new voice rang out. “Anybody here?” Apparently, Robin had been quick to hide in the back of the store and pretend to be busy while you and Steve worked with the small amount of foot traffic that made its way into the store. She often did this when she decided she deserved a break, and for all it was worth, she dealt with you and Steve almost every day so you’d say it was pretty well-earned. Footsteps sounded on the linoleum floors. “Helloooo?” This time the voice held onto the word in a singsong tune until it petered out softly into the store. The guy's voice sounded playful and amused as if this (aka a Family Video in Hawkins, Indiana) was all such fun.

Still busy with the tapes, Steve didn’t react to the newcomer and instead whispered a soft, “I got this.” to you before shooing you away in hopes that you would be able to deal with the customer. If the stranger to the store had been a murderer, you would’ve had to fend for yourself. Well, of course you had Robin but it was obvious you would die first in such close proximity. But clearly, when you stood up and found the long mess of wavy hair staring at you from the top of the shelf you were behind, that was not the case. He was smiling satisfyingly and his brown eyes gleamed from behind the rack of tapes when you popped up from the floor.

“Hello.” He said pleasantly.

As you walked out from behind the stack, the customer followed. And when you finally reached the other end closer to the register and the door, it gave you both the chance to view each other fully. Your eyes went immediately to his shirt, and it triggered some sense of deja vu that settled in the atmosphere. The devil logo sneered playfully back at you as you stared at the guy’s chest. Unlike your unwavering gaze on his torso, his eyes, unbeknownst to you, hadn’t left your face. “You must be Y/N. Didn’t think you could be prettier up close.” When you looked back up, he gave you a smile that reminded you of the Cheshire Cat. Playful, but somehow devious. A new feeling shook through your body, ending up in your cheeks which were now charmingly warm.

Your hands went instinctively to your face, where the new warmth was homed, in an act of sudden shyness and you smiled softly, “And you must be…?” Then you knew where the shirt had popped up in your memories. Of course. Dustin wore one just like it constantly. You looked further in your mind as Lucas and Mike also popped up in your head wearing it on certain school days. Days that always came with some obligation on their end. Then it struck you. D&D. Which meant that this was…

“Eddie.” He said with another overconfident smile. He didn’t hold his hand out to shake or anything, but was pleased when you kept your own grin. Of course you remembered him from school, even though his hair was a lot shorter in your recollections. He was your age too, although he still hadn’t graduated (unlike you and Steve who had done so the year before). Truly, you should have recognized him sooner. It wasn’t like Dustin constantly talked about him as if he were some mythical creature to be worshiped. That was totally not the case.

“Right,” You said sincerely as you shook your head and led him to the large counter in the center of the room. As if by magnets, your eyes kept trailing to his leather jacket. Had you ever noticed how attractive leather jackets were before? You’re sure you had, just not in such close observation. Quietly you chuckled to yourself as you continued, “I should’ve known too. The shirt says it all. Dustin’s a part of your campaign, right?”

Eddie’s performance of a smile shifted into more of a genuine beam as you got another thing right. The first was your unwavering smile, people’s expressions usually didn’t hold steady with him. Yet because he was still a little surprised you knew what a campaign was, he didn’t answer your question. People usually skipped over the D&D terms and just called it a club as it said so on the shirt, but it was nicer when people paid attention to the details. Especially about something most people in Hawkins considered so nerdy. Something people would usually turn their heads at when they found out it was led by a freak like him. You were trying, though it was obvious you didn’t know much on the subject. And that itself was different.

There was a beat of silence between the two of you as Steve, at long last, popped up, seemingly having finished picking up the remainder of the fallen tapes. He made a load of noise as he struggled to get up and his sneakers squeaked awkwardly on the floor. Then, as if to further his inopportune entrance, the boy looked suspiciously between the two of you, trying to send you a secret look that asked if you wanted him to take over as Eddie’s guide to Family Video. You didn’t miss the message Steve was trying ‘ever so subtly’ to send you, but you ignored it. Dustin’s opinion mattered some, and you wanted to learn a bit why he looked up to the boy in front of you so much. Eddie was definitely different from most of the crowd you rolled with (though you could see Robin losing her mind over a nice leather jacket) and in this case, different was refreshing.

Taking things into his own hands, Steve walked over to your side of the register and leaned against the counter slyly. You noticed, amusingly, a piece of hair had fallen in front of his eyes and he was trying not to jump up and fix it. “Did you need any help finding anything?” His head was directed at Eddie, but his eyes stayed on you.

“And here I thought, Y/N was being ever so helpful.” Eddie mocked Steve, an innocent look on his face. You thought back to high school…they didn’t have anything against each other, did they? Sure, there was that rivalry that Steve had fully concocted on his own because he was jealous that Dustin had another older boy to look up to. But other than that it seemed as if the boys had barely interacted. Then again, not everyone had gotten over “King Steve” as easily as you and Robin had. No one had seen just how nerdy and awkward (and sure, you could say endearing) as Steve Harrington really was on his off days of being a former high school douchebag.

“Well,” You said as you flattened the creases in your work pants. “I was about to be.” This time you turned your head to Steve who was now a breath away, “I don’t think that Eddie will want your expertise on Pretty In Pink anyway, Harrington. I’m sure Robin needs help in the back.”

Steve squinted at you while you saw Eddie hold back a small laugh. He, at least, thought your comment was amusing. “I don’t think-” And there were those brown, puppy dog eyes. Save them for the next girl, Harrington, you thought to yourself.

“No, I’m very sure that Robin needed help. It’s a mess back there.” You pushed Steve back out from the counter and towards the back room where Robin was most definitely not busy. “It’s one customer Steve, take your break.” With him sulking, you had to push him all the way into the back of the store, where you did happen to catch a glimpse of Robin watching Teen Wolf (just as Micheal J. Fox turned hairy) on one of the old TVs they kept back there.

When you got back to the register, Eddie had made himself a little more at home. He was leaning against the counter, albeit the opposite side from you, and was playing with some of the rings on his fingers. You tried not to stare at his hands and the intricacies of his jewelry, wondering quietly where he got them all. And yet he had not made a move towards any of the movies in the store. The best thing about Family Video was the browsing, in your opinion. Sure, you had limited choices. It was only one store. But being able to actually have the options in your hand, and sift through favorites and classics was one of the reasons you liked working there. It was a tangible way to like films. And still, Eddie had not moved from the spot you had left him. Usually, no matter how helpful you seemed to think you could be, the minute you stepped away customers went with their bad selves in the store. Most of them thought they knew more than you. Which was rarely true.

Eddie almost looked uninterested, and a little nervous. But it was such a stark contradiction to how you had just perceived him that you questioned your own perceptions of things and moved on.

“So,” You started looking at Eddie and placing your hands on the counter in front of you. “What are you looking for?”

“War Games.” Then, after a beat, “The one with the computer. Want to play a game?” He said in a robotic cadence, copying Joshua’s voice. You ignored the fact that in the actual movie, it says ‘shall we play a game?’.

“Yup, I know the one.” You mused. Truly, you had seen most of the movies the store offered. Keith, the manager, made it practically part of the job. ”With Matthew Broderick, right?” You motioned for the boy to follow as you began making your way to the section of the store that you knew the tape would be in. “I really enjoyed that one. Sure, it’s fiction, but it shows just how far technology can go.” You weren’t sure why you were rambling, but Eddie just followed nonchalantly behind you, his hands stuck in his pockets as if he were a little kid with sticky fingers.

When you reached the section you grabbed the tape and turned back around to be met inches away from the D&D player’s face, almost knocking heads. He backed away first, suddenly shy. Then when he spoke, he backed away another step as if one wasn’t enough. You didn’t notice, however, that as he talked his body subconsciously tilted towards you. If you had noticed, it would’ve reminded you a lot of how Steve and the girl from earlier looked. “It’s actually for Dustin, I owed him a favor.” Then with a more sarcastic spirit, “As if I don’t have things to do. Said he meant to get it and the only other time he could come back was during our session so…”

“As the leader, don’t you have minions for that? And isn’t Dustin one of them?” You laughed lightly, still waiting for Eddie to take the tape from your hands.

“Yeah but Dustin’s-” He didn’t mention how much he liked it that you knew, at least in some capacity, that he was the dungeon master.

“Special.” You finished, nodding with the secret knowledge you, and only a select few had of Dustin Henderson. “Yeah, I know. But wasn’t Dustin already here today? He could’ve picked it up then.” The tape remained in your hands as you talked, with no movement from Eddie indicating that he was going to take it any time soon.

Eddie’s dark eyebrows knit together, harboring a soft annoyance there, although it didn’t spread to the rest of his face. Then like a light turning on, so slowly, “I think Dustin is trying to set me up.”

You smiled, especially since you knew Dustin would scheme to do just that. He meddles too much. “In what way?”

Eddie’s voice was low this time, all of his former confidence gone, scrubbing the surface of a softer interior, “With…you.” If it had been winter, you could’ve sworn that you would’ve been able to see one clear breath exit your lips at his words; as if all the air in your lungs had decided to vacate at once. Yes, it made sense to you that Dustin would try to set up his friends. But it didn’t make sense why Eddie came to that singular conclusion so quickly. And yet, you’d heard so much of Eddie over the past two weeks. Had you really tuned out Dustin that much? That the constant compliments weren’t just brags? That they could’ve been for your benefit. They surely weren’t for Steve’s.

Then, as if in an instant, it all turned back on and Eddie straightened his back, “Well, this has been nice. But I actually have some unsavory activities to get to and I’m sure-”

Without thinking, you grabbed his arm stopping him from leaving the aisle of movies you were in. He protested for a second, stopping in his tracks, but turned back to you easily. Still guarded from the prying eyes of your coworkers as you stayed behind the stacks, you questioned the brunette, “Wait. What are you talking about?”

Eddie studied your eyes for hints of deception and insincerity, thinking that there must be at least some trace there for the simple fact that you hadn’t fun away yet. “Dustin, he’s a troublemaker. And here I am. In the making of his trouble.” Hints of Eddie’s mask were being put back up, and it looked as if he wanted to run out of the store.

“No,” You shook your head. “Go back. Why would Dustin set us up?”

“Right. Because ‘we’ wouldn’t make sense.” There was that wall again, still playful but defensive.

You felt your eyebrows knit, “No. It just-” This time you were the one searching his eyes. Again, there were your memories flooding back up. Just as clear as day you had graduated last year and there was Eddie, floating around in your mind. In his band. Late nights passing each other after respective basketball games and D&D sessions. In the cafeteria. And in every single one, you found those deep brown eyes staring back at you through your own mind. The reason Dustin was talking Eddie up was because Eddie liked you. And in those memories, no one else paid him any mind. But you had.

Had Eddie Munson talked about you to Dustin?

“Ask me out.” You said finally, letting go of his arm that you hadn’t realized you had still been holding. It had probably kept him from running initially, so no harm done.

Eddie laughed, suddenly taken aback, “What?” Then realizing you were serious, “I don’t think it counts if you tell me to do it.”

“Do you want me to do it?”

He thought for a moment, pretending to be vexed. “You realize if I ask you, we’re doing what Dustin wants.”

“Mm-hmm.” you hummed as a small response.

Eddie straightened again, this time with truer confidence, “Will you, Y/N…” He leaned forward, bowing a bit in front of you for show, which made you laugh, “Go out with me?” Then he perked up and placed his hands on his chest as if to protect himself from impending doom.

“Would you still want the movie if I said, yes? I have a quota.” You joked as you wagged the film in the air with your hand.

Eddie squinted at you, and yet a small smile tugged at his mouth and he staggered backwards. He struggled out the words as he held his chest where his heart would be, “I’m sensing that you’re saying yes.” Then he recovered slowly, his hands beating up and down where his chest would be and added, “My heart just grew three sizes.”

“Oh did it?” You smiled through a loud laugh as you put the tape back on the shelf. “I think you’ll still need a receipt though.”

Before Eddie could protest, you quickly walked back over to the register, leaned over the counter to grab a post-it and wrote your number speedily on the small piece of paper. Then, again, when you turned around to walk back you bumped into Eddie this time steading yourself by holding onto his arms. You had been walking faster than usual, with an excited energy around you, but was glad when you were able to touch him. Because yes, Y/N, he’s really there. Instead of feeling self-conscious, you stuck the post-it to the front of his shirt playfully. “There. Transaction done.” At the same time, you decided to ignore the two spying heads peeking out from the back room.

Eddie peeled it off his shirt gingerly and looked at it with a cocky grin, “You’re one of the good ones, Y/N.”

“Like it or not, so are you Eddie. At least,” You smirked at him. “From what I’ve heard.”

And then he and his leather jacket were gone. Not without him looking back at you as he left, for good measure.

You reminded yourself to hit Dustin over the head and thank him.

It took no longer than five seconds after the Munson boy had left for Robin and Steve to emerge from their hiding place. Usually, they wouldn’t have provided you any privacy during your interaction so you had to at least be somewhat thankful (even if you didn’t say it aloud). You sighed, turning around to face them, “What’d you hear?”

Robin, of course, exploded with energy the minute you invited her to talk, “Um, everything?” She immediately slid into the counter, leaning towards you and talking excitedly about how she wanted to help you get ready, even though she wasn’t sure she shared the same fashion sense as you. Really, she wasn’t sure she wanted to help with the fashion at all, but just wanted to be there before the date. Before you could remind her that technically there was no set date yet, she started prattling on about how you needed to prepare. Maybe Dustin could lend you a D&D book. She was sure she had at least one Metallica cassette somewhere. You were switching into a different social circle after all, you needed to know these things. You could tell Steve had filled her in on Eddie while they had been hiding together, though you knew she had been there on occasions as well when Dustin couldn’t shut up about him. This continued for a while, even after you assured her that you don’t need to change your whole personality to go out with Eddie. If you were lame and preppy then so be it. And then, to get his attention because the both of you had practically forgotten he was there, “Steve…?”

Steve, who had gone back to reshelving some of the videos that had been misplaced by Dustin earlier in the day and didn’t seem as interested in quelling Robin’s ramblings as he usually is, smiled sheepishly, “I think Y/N found someone to flirt with. Someone that actually likes her.” He just quoted you, back to you. Get your own lines, Harrington. And stop pretending to be a responsible worker.

“And he didn’t even need to pretend to like Pretty In Pink.” You said, raising your eyebrows smugly in Steve’s direction.

“Ha. Ha.”

4K notes · View notes

svteclipwze · 2 months

Text

𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝕯𝖊𝖘𝖎𝖗𝖊𝖘 :- His obssesion |Kim Mingyu

Pairing:- Kim Mingyu x f!reader

Genre:- Minors do not interact, 18+content only, smuts, hard/Dom mingyu, sub reader, kissing, stimulation, swearing, petnames (darling, babygirl, baby, sweetheart, my slut etc), dirty talking, oral(f! m! receiving), squirting, unprotected sex, rough sex, shower sex,couch sex, kidnapping, spanking , spitting. (Let me know if there's more)

Wc:- 30k +

Synopsis:- In the ruthless underworld ruled by Mingyu, his dark aura commands obedience and his word is law. Women flock to him, but when his gaze locks onto her for just a fleeting moment, Mingyu's insatiable desire ignites. Determined to possess her, he embarks on a relentless pursuit, where passion blurs the lines between love and danger. As Mingyu navigates the treacherous world of power and desire, he must confront his own demons to claim the ultimate prize—her heart.

warnings:- minors strictly do not interact/you'll be blocked asap.

A/n:- this is my first fic on Tumblr,no reqs this is my own idea, hope you like it , your comments and reblogs and support means alot to me.

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Y/N, the epitome of sass and style. As the only daughter of a prominent family, she reigns supreme as the queen bee of her social circle. With an undeniable allure and confidence, Y/N effortlessly commands attention wherever she goes. Her magnetic personality draws others in, while her impeccable sense of style sets her apart as a trendsetter.

Despite her self-assured exterior, Y/N possesses a complexity that transcends mere vanity, revealing glimpses of her ambivert nature and inner depths. In a world where every boy vies for her affection, Y/N navigates the complexities of popularity with grace and poise, leaving a trail of admirers in her wake.

Her laughter is like music, tinkling with the promise of mischief and merriment, while her eyes sparkle with the fire of a thousand stars, daring anyone to challenge her authority.

With a flip of her glossy locks and a flick of her perfectly manicured nails, she commands the attention of all who cross her path, her aura suffused with the irresistible charm of a modern-day princess.

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In the sleek, modern elegance of her luxurious bedroom, Y/N lounges on a plush bed adorned with sleek linens and designer pillows, her phone cradled between her ear and shoulder as she multitasks with effortless grace.

The room is bathed in the soft glow of contemporary lighting, casting a warm ambiance over the space as music streams from state-of-the-art speakers, filling the air with pulsating beats and infectious rhythms.

As she blows on her freshly painted nails, the soft scent of her favorite face mask fills the room, its luxurious ingredients working their magic on her skin as she indulges in a moment of self-care amidst the hustle and bustle of her glamorous lifestyle.

On the other end of the line, her friends chatter excitedly about their plans for the evening, their voices a symphony of laughter and anticipation that adds to the electric atmosphere of Y/N's bedroom.

"Oh my gosh, you guys, I just found the perfect outfit for tonight!" one of her friends exclaims, the excitement palpable in her voice. "It's straight off the runway, and I swear, it was made for me!"

Y/N's laughter rings out, a tinkling melody that dances through the air like champagne bubbles. "I can't wait to see it! You know we're going to be the best-dressed squad in the club tonight."

As they discuss the details of their evening plans, ideas fly back and forth like sparks of creativity, each suggestion more daring and exhilarating than the last. From trendy rooftop bars to exclusive VIP lounges, the night is ripe with possibilities, and Y/N can feel the excitement building in the pit of her stomach with each passing moment.

"Let's start with drinks at that new rooftop spot downtown," another friend suggests, her voice filled with enthusiasm. "And then we can hit up that exclusive club that just opened up. I heard the music there is insane."

Y/N's eyes sparkle with anticipation at the thought of the night ahead, her pulse quickening with the thrill of adventure. "Sounds like a plan," she agrees, her voice a confident purr. "Tonight, we're going to paint the town red and leave a trail of unforgettable memories in our wake."

With a final exchange of laughter and well-wishes, Y/N bids her friends farewell, the excitement of the night ahead coursing through her veins like electricity. As she sinks back into the plush comfort of her bed, she knows that tonight will be a night to remember—a night of laughter, luxury, and the kind of exhilarating freedom that only comes from being young, rich, and fabulous.

As Y/N meticulously applies her makeup, her skilled hands deftly tracing bold, glittery patterns across her eyelids and accentuating her features with a touch of glamour, she can't help but admire the striking reflection that stares back at her from the mirror. With each stroke of the brush, she transforms herself into a vision of beauty and confidence, her lips painted a vibrant shade of red that demands attention and commands respect.

As she slips into her chosen outfit—a short, revealing bodycon dress that hugs her curves in all the right places, leaving little to the imagination—Y/N feels a surge of empowerment wash over her. The fabric clings to her like a second skin, accentuating her assets and showcasing her undeniable allure with every step she takes.

With a final flourish, she runs her fingers through her hair, coaxing it into sleek waves that cascade down her shoulders like liquid silk. As she gazes at her reflection in the mirror, a smile tugs at the corners of her lips, her eyes sparkling with confidence and self-assurance.

"You look fabulous, darling," she murmurs to herself, her voice a husky whisper that carries the weight of her undeniable charisma.

With a playful wink and a blown kiss to her reflection, she turns on her heels and sashays out of the room, ready to conquer the world with her intoxicating charm and unapologetic confidence.

Y/N descends the staircase with the grace of a queen, her heels clicking against the polished marble floors with each confident step. As she reaches the bottom, she finds her father reclining on the couch, his eyes fixed on the television screen, while her mother bustles about in the kitchen, the sound of running water mingling with the gentle hum of conversation.

"Where are you heading now, young lady?" her father inquires, his tone laced with a hint of concern as he tears his gaze away from the television to look at his daughter.

Y/N meets her father's gaze with a cool confidence, her lips curved into a playful smile. "To have fun, Dad," she replies, her voice carrying the unmistakable lilt of mischief.

Her mother, still busy at the sink, chimes in with a note of caution. "Wearing that—"

But Y/N cuts her off with a wave of her hand, her eyes flashing with defiance. "Mom, chill," she interjects, her tone tinged with exasperation. "I'm a big girl now. I can handle myself."

With a flick of her hair, Y/N turns towards the door, her resolve unwavering. "Anyway, don't worry about me," she adds, her voice softening just a fraction. "And don't wait up for me. I'll probably stay at Amira's place tonight."

Her parents exchange a glance, their expressions a mixture of concern and resignation. But before they can protest further, Y/N is already out the door, leaving behind a trail of uncertainty and unanswered questions in her wake.

Y/N steps outside to find her friends Amira and Isla waiting for her in the sleek, gleaming car, their faces lighting up with excitement as they catch sight of her. With squeals of delight, they eagerly beckon her over, their laughter echoing through the night air as Y/N approaches with a confident swagger.

"Girl, you look absolutely stunning!" Amira exclaims, her eyes sparkling with admiration as she takes in Y/N's flawless ensemble.

Y/N strikes a pose, her hips cocked to the side and her hand resting on one perfectly sculpted hip. "Thanks, but do I look fat?" she asks teasingly, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

Her friends exchange a knowing glance, their lips curling into matching grins. "Fat? Girl, you couldn't look fat if you tried," Isla retorts with a playful roll of her eyes. "You look fabulous, as always."

Y/N throws her head back with a laugh, the sound ringing out like crystal bells in the cool night air. "Fabulous of all time, huh?" she quips, her voice dripping with sass.

Amira nods enthusiastically, her excitement palpable. "Absolutely! Now let's get this party started, ladies!" she declares, her words punctuated by a chorus of cheers and high-fives from the group.

As they pile into the car, the air crackles with the energy of anticipation and the promise of adventure. With Y/N at the wheel and her friends by her side, they set off into the night, ready to conquer the world one fabulous moment at a time.

And as the city lights blur past them in a kaleidoscope of color and motion, they know that tonight will be a night to remember—a night of laughter, love, and the kind of unforgettable memories that can only be made with your closest friends by your side.

Or maybe not.

As the car glides to a stop at the entrance of the rooftop bar, Y/N and her friends step out into a world of luxury and excitement. The bar is an oasis of modern sophistication, with sleek furnishings and an open-air layout that offers breathtaking views of the city skyline. Twinkling fairy lights and flickering candles cast a warm glow over the space, creating an atmosphere of intimacy and allure.

As they make their way to a cozy corner booth, the sound of laughter and lively conversation fills the air, mingling with the soft strains of music drifting from hidden speakers. The bar is alive with energy, the air thick with the scent of exotic cocktails and the promise of endless possibilities.

With a round of drinks in hand, the girls settle into their seats, the clink of glasses and the hum of conversation punctuating the pulsating beat of the music. As they sip on their colorful concoctions, the night stretches out before them like a canvas waiting to be painted with memories.

Y/N leans forward, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she raises her glass in a toast to her friends.

"Here's to us," she declares, her voice ringing out clear and confident above the din of the crowd. "To nights like these, where the drinks are flowing and the possibilities are endless."

Amira grins, her cheeks flushed with excitement as she clinks her glass against Y/N's. "Cheers to that!" she exclaims, her enthusiasm infectious as she takes a sip of her cocktail.

Isla nods in agreement, her eyes alight with anticipation. "I love nights like these," she admits, her voice soft with emotion. "When we can forget about the stresses of everyday life and just focus on having fun together."

As the night wears on and the drinks continue to flow, the conversation becomes more animated, the laughter more raucous.

And as they dance beneath the star-studded sky, the world falls away, leaving only the intoxicating rhythm of the music and the electric energy of the night.

In that moment, Y/N felt a bit dizzy as she excuse herself and went outside.

As Y/N steps outside the bar, her mind still swirling with the effects of the alcohol, a sudden pang of panic shoots through her chest as she realizes her phone is missing. Frantically patting down her pockets and searching through her purse, she curses under her breath, her heart racing with apprehension.

Before she can fully process her predicament, she finds herself surrounded by a group of imposing figures, their menacing silhouettes looming over her like shadows in the night. Her pulse quickens as she takes in their intimidating presence, her voice trembling with uncertainty as she demands to know their identity.

"Who are you guys?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes darting nervously from one face to another in search of answers.

But the men remain silent, their expressions stoic and unreadable as they close in around her, their movements coordinated and deliberate. Panic rises within Y/N like a tidal wave, threatening to overwhelm her as she struggles to make sense of the situation.

Before she can react, her surroundings seem to blur and darken, the world tilting on its axis as she feels herself slipping away into unconsciousness.

With a last desperate gasp for air, she collapses someone's arm, the sound of her own heartbeat echoing in her ears as everything fades to black.

In the darkness, her mind races with questions and fears, her thoughts a jumbled mess of confusion and terror. What do these men want from her? Where are they taking her? And most importantly, will she ever see her friends again?

As she drifts into unconsciousness, a sense of helplessness washes over her, leaving her feeling vulnerable and alone in a world gone mad. And as the darkness claims her, she can only hope and pray that someone, somewhere, will come to her rescue before it's too late.

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As Y/N's eyes flutter open, she finds herself enveloped in darkness, the air thick with an oppressive silence that presses down on her like a weight. With a groan, she sits up, her head spinning and her heart pounding in her chest as she tries to make sense of her surroundings.

"Hello?" she calls out, her voice echoing off the walls of the dimly lit room. But there is no response, only the eerie stillness of the empty space surrounding her.

As she struggles to push herself off the bed, a cold shiver runs down her spine as she realizes that her dress is gone, replaced by a small red nightgown that clings to her skin like a second skin. Panic rises within her like a tide, threatening to drown her in its suffocating grip as she frantically searches for her belongings.

Her hands shake as she rummages through the room, her fingers fumbling over every surface in a desperate attempt to find her phone. But it's nowhere to be found, leaving her feeling exposed and vulnerable in the darkness.

Fear tightens its grip around her heart as she realizes the gravity of her situation. Who are these people? What do they want from her? And why has she been stripped of her clothes and left alone in this ominous room?

With a sense of urgency driving her forward, Y/N hurries towards the door at the end of the room, her fingers trembling as she reaches out to twist the knob. To her surprise, the door swings open with ease, revealing a dimly lit hallway.

As Y/N cautiously makes her way down the dark hallway, her heart pounding in her chest, she can't shake the feeling of unease that gnaws at her insides like a hungry beast.

As she reaches the bottom of the stairs, her senses on high alert, she is met with a chilling silence that echoes through the empty space like a death knell. The air hangs heavy with the scent of ancient wood and musty velvet, a stark contrast to the opulent surroundings that surround her.

Heart racing, she takes a hesitant step forward, her mind racing with thoughts of escape and survival. But before she can make a move, her hand brushes against a nearby vase, sending it crashing to the ground with a deafening clatter.

"Fuck," she curses under her breath, her heart sinking with dread as she realizes that her clumsy mistake has likely alerted whoever—or whatever—lurks in the shadows.

But before she can make a run for it, a deep, husky voice cuts through the silence like a knife, freezing her in her tracks.

"Where are you going, babygirl?" the voice rumbles, sending a shiver down Y/N's spine as she whirls around to face the source of the sound.

Her eyes widen in terror as she finds herself face to face with a figure cloaked in darkness, their features obscured by the dim light that filters through the murky depths of the room.

Fear grips Y/N like a vice as she struggles to find her voice, her mind racing with a thousand questions and a million possibilities. But in that moment, all she can do is stand frozen in place, her breath caught in her throat as she waits for whatever comes next.

As Y/N's heart races with fear and uncertainty, she struggles to make out the features of the figure emerging from the shadows. With a shaky breath, she manages to stammer out a question, her voice trembling with a mixture of defiance and terror.

"Who are you?" she demands, her words echoing off the walls of the dimly lit room.

As the figure steps into the light, Y/N's breath catches in her throat, her eyes widening in shock and disbelief at the sight before her. Clad in a black shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of chiseled chest, with perfectly tailored pants and sleeves rolled up to reveal strong, muscular arms, the man standing before her exudes an aura of raw power and undeniable allure.

His hair is impeccably styled, framing a face that could only be described as sculpted by the gods themselves. With piercing eyes that seem to see straight into her soul and a jawline sharp enough to cut glass, he is the epitome of masculine perfection—a Greek god in human form.

But it's not just his appearance that leaves Y/N breathless—it's the aura of danger and intrigue that surrounds him like a cloak, the way he carries himself with a confidence bordering on arrogance, and the glint of mischief in his eyes that sends a thrill of fear and excitement coursing through her veins.

He takes a slow, deliberate step forward, his movements fluid and graceful as he closes the distance between them, a tumbler of whisky clutched casually in one hand.

"I'm the one who's been waiting for you, babygirl," he purrs, his voice low and husky, sending a shiver down Y/N's spine.

Y/N's heart pounds in her chest as she struggles to find her voice, her mind reeling with a million questions and a million more emotions.

Who is this mysterious stranger? What does he want from her? And why does his presence fill her with equal parts fear and desire?

But as she looks into his smoldering gaze, she knows one thing for certain—her life will never be the same again.

Y/N's voice quivers with a mix of fear and bravado as she confronts the enigmatic stranger who stands before her, his presence casting a spell of uncertainty over her senses. With a trembling hand, she gestures towards herself, her words dripping with defiance.

"Do you even know who I am?" she challenges, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and bravado. "If my dad finds out about you, he will kill you."

The stranger's lips curl into a sardonic smile, amusement dancing in his eyes as he regards her with a mixture of amusement and intrigue. With a casual shrug, he takes a sip of his whisky, the liquid burning a fiery trail down his throat as he savors the taste.

"Oh, is that so?" he replies, his tone laced with a hint of mockery. "And just who might you be, darling?"

Y/N's jaw clenches with frustration at his dismissive tone, her pulse quickening with a surge of adrenaline as she struggles to maintain her composure in the face of his unflappable demeanor.

"Yes," she retorts, her voice dripping with icy determination. "You have made a grave mistake by kidnapping me. My father will stop at nothing to find me, and when he does, you will pay dearly for your actions."

The stranger chuckles softly, the sound sending a chill down Y/N's spine as she braces herself for his response. With a predatory glint in his eyes, he takes a step closer, the air crackling with tension between them.

"Ah, but my dear, you underestimate me," he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous. "I am not afraid of your father, or anyone else for that matter. And as for your so-called 'kidnapping,' well, let's just say that things are not always as they seem."

Y/N's voice trembles with a mix of anger and defiance as she steps forward to confront the towering figure before her, her petite frame dwarfed by his imposing presence. With fire blazing in her eyes, she squares her shoulders and meets his gaze head-on, refusing to back down in the face of his intimidating demeanor.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, huh?" she demands, her voice laced with venom as she levels a fierce glare at him.

Mingyu's lips quirk into a smirk at her boldness, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he regards her with a mixture of intrigue and admiration.

With a casual shrug, he takes a step closer, his towering height casting a long shadow over her diminutive form.

"Finally, a nice question," he replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he meets her gaze with a look of unabashed amusement. "As for who I am, well, that's a bit more complicated."

Y/N narrows her eyes, refusing to be swayed by his smooth words and confident demeanor. She knows that there is more to this man than meets the eye, and she is determined to uncover the truth no matter the cost.

"Cut the bullshit," she snaps, her voice cracking with pent-up frustration. "I want answers, and I want them now. Who are you, and what do you want from me?"

Mingyu's smirk widens into a grin at her defiance, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and something darker, something more primal. With a predatory glint in his gaze, he leans in close, his breath hot against her ear as he speaks in a low, husky whisper.

"Oh, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice sending shivers down her spine. "You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into. But don't worry, all will be revealed in due time. For now, just sit back and enjoy the ride."

"Enjoy the ride well fuck that shit, I am leaving." Her defiant words hang in the air like a challenge, her determination shining through despite the fear that courses through her veins. With a determined glare, she turns to leave, intent on escaping this nightmare and reclaiming her freedom.

But before she can take a single step, Mingyu's powerful grip tightens around her throat, pinning her against the wall with a force that leaves her breathless. The air rushes from her lungs in a desperate gasp as his touch sends a jolt of electricity coursing through her veins, igniting a fire that burns hot and fierce within her.

"Step one foot outside this mansion, and you won't like what comes next," he warns, his voice low and dangerous as he leans in close, his breath hot against her skin. His words hang in the air like a dark promise, a chilling reminder of the power he wields over her fate.

Y/N's heart races with a mixture of fear and desire as she meets his intense gaze, her pulse quickening with each passing moment.

Despite the danger that surrounds her, there is something undeniably exhilarating about being in such close proximity to this enigmatic stranger, something that sets her ablaze with a hunger she cannot ignore.

But even as her body betrays her with its response to his touch, her mind screams for her to fight back, to break free from his grasp and run as far and as fast as she can. She knows that she should be afraid of him, that she should despise him for what he has done to her.

And yet, as Mingyu's eyes bore into hers with a fierce intensity that threatens to consume her whole, she cannot deny the undeniable pull she feels towards him, the magnetic attraction that binds them together in this dangerous dance of desire and despair.

In that moment, as their bodies press together in a tangle of heat and urgency, Y/N knows that she is teetering on the edge of a precipice, her fate hanging in the balance as she grapples with the overwhelming force of her desire for this dark and dangerous man.

"Don't touch me." Her voice comes out as a barely audible whisper, her breath hitching in her throat as Mingyu's smirk widens in response to her plea.

With a casual shrug, he backs off slightly, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he holds up his hands in a gesture of mock surrender.

"As you wish, princess," he murmurs, his voice laced with a hint of mischief. "I won't touch you unless you give me permission."

Y/N's heart pounds in her chest as she meets his gaze, her body still pressed against the wall as if rooted in place by some invisible force.

She can feel the tension crackling in the air between them, thick and palpable as desire courses through her veins like a wildfire.

But before she can respond, Mingyu speaks again, his words sending a chill down her spine even as a shiver of anticipation races down her spine.

"From now on, you belong to me," he declares, his voice low and commanding. "Whether you like it or not, you will do as I say."

As he takes a sip of his whisky, the amber liquid glinting in the dim light of the room, Y/N's mind races with a thousand questions and a million fears. She knows that she is in deep trouble, that she is at the mercy of this dark and dangerous man who holds her fate in his hands.

"And don't even think of running away," Mingyu continues, his tone ominous as he fixes her with a steely gaze. "Because no matter where you go, I will always find you."

Y/N's breath catches in her throat at his words, her mind reeling with the implications of his threat. She knows that she is trapped, ensnared in a web of desire and danger from which there may be no escape.

Y/N's voice trembles with a mix of curiosity and apprehension as she repeats the question that has been burning in her mind since the moment she laid eyes on Mingyu.

"Who are you?" she whispers, her words hanging in the air like a challenge, daring him to reveal the truth behind the enigma that is Mingyu.

Mingyu lets out a soft sigh, his gaze drifting away for a moment as if lost in thought before returning to lock onto hers with an intensity that sends a shiver down her spine.

"Again with the same question," he muses, his tone tinged with a hint of amusement. "You're persistent, I'll give you that."

He gestures for her to come closer, his voice soft and coaxing as he invites her to join him on the couch. But Y/N shakes her head defiantly, refusing to obey his command.

"Alright, if standing is more comfortable for you," he concedes with a shrug, settling back onto the couch with a casual grace that belies the tension simmering beneath the surface.

But Y/N refuses to be deterred, her determination fueling her courage as she meets his gaze head-on once more.

"Who are you?" she demands, her voice stronger now, tinged with a hint of desperation as she searches for answers in the depths of his dark eyes.

Mingyu's lips curve into a knowing smile, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of mischief and intrigue as he leans in closer, his breath warm against her skin.

"I am whoever you want me to be, babygirl," he murmurs, his voice low and seductive as he reaches out to brush a strand of hair away from her face. "But for now, let's just say that I'm the man who's going to make all your wildest fantasies come true."

Y/N's heart races at his words, her pulse quickening with a heady mix of anticipation and fear as she struggles to resist the pull of his magnetic charm.

Y/N's frustration boils over, her patience worn thin by Mingyu's evasive answers and tantalizing charm. With a fierce determination, she cuts through the tension with her words, her voice ringing out with a mix of desperation and defiance.

"Please, stop playing games with me," she implores, her voice cracking with emotion. "Just tell me, what's your fucking name?"

Mingyu's laughter fills the room, a rich, melodious sound that washes over her like a wave, stirring something deep within her as she watches him with a mixture of irritation and fascination.

"You curse a lot from that pretty mouth of yours," he observes, his voice laced with amusement as he meets her gaze with a playful glint in his eyes.

Y/N's cheeks flush with embarrassment at his comment, her anger momentarily forgotten as she grapples with the unexpected compliment. Despite herself, she can't help but feel a surge of warmth at his words, a thrill coursing through her veins at the thought of being the object of his attention.

But even as her heart races with the heady rush of desire, she knows that she cannot let herself be swayed by his charm. She needs answers, and she won't rest until she gets them.

"Stop deflecting," she insists, her voice firm as she meets his gaze head-on. "I want to know who you are, and I want to know now."

Mingyu's expression softens, a hint of something unreadable flickering in his eyes as he regards her with a newfound sense of respect. He stood up from the couch and walks towards her.

"Alright, alright," he concedes with a sigh, his tone more serious now as he leans in closer, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that sends a shiver down her spine.

"My name is Mingyu," he murmurs, his voice low and intimate as he reaches out to brush a stray lock of hair away from her face.

A smirk tugs at Mingyu's lips as he leans back, his gaze locked onto Y/N with a smoldering intensity that sends a shiver down her spine. With a casual flick of his hand, he brushes off her question as if it were nothing more than a passing breeze, his voice dripping with confidence and arrogance.

"I bet you've heard of me," he says, his tone low and smooth, laced with a hint of amusement. "I don't need to explain myself, do I?"

Y/N's breath catches in her throat at his words, her mind racing with a thousand thoughts and a million questions.

Mingyu's reputation precedes him like a dark shadow cast over the city, his name whispered in hushed tones by those who dare to speak it. He is the epitome of danger, a force to be reckoned with, and his mere presence strikes fear into the hearts of those who cross his path.

As the leader of one of the most powerful crime syndicates in the country, Mingyu commands respect and obedience from all who serve under him. His word is law, his will absolute, and those who dare to defy him do so at their own peril.

With a ruthless cunning and a steely resolve, Mingyu has built his empire from the ground up, leaving a trail of destruction and chaos in his wake. He is a man of few words, preferring to let his actions speak for themselves, but when he does speak, his words carry the weight of authority and power.

But whether he is capable of redemption or destined to remain a prisoner of his own ruthless ambition remains to be seen. For now, Mingyu is a man of mystery and danger, a figure of awe and dread whose name strikes fear into the hearts of all who hear it.

But even as fear gnaws at the edges of her mind, there is something undeniably thrilling about being in the presence of such a dangerous and enigmatic man, something that sets her pulse racing and her heart pounding in her chest.

"What do you want from me?" she demands once more, her voice trembling with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

Mingyu's smirk widens into a knowing grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he leans in closer, his breath warm against her skin.

"What do I want from you?" he muses, his voice low and seductive as he reaches out to brush a stray lock of hair away from her face. "Oh, sweetheart, the possibilities are endless."

Y/N's heart races at his words, her pulse quickening with a heady mix of excitement and fear. She knows that she should be afraid of him, that she should run as far and as fast as she can.

But in that moment, as Mingyu's eyes lock onto hers with a fierce intensity that threatens to consume her whole, she cannot deny the undeniable pull she feels towards him, the magnetic attraction that binds them together in this dangerous dance of desire and despair.

.⋆｡⋆˚｡⋆｡˚｡⋆. .⋆｡⋆˚｡⋆｡˚｡⋆..⋆｡⋆˚｡⋆｡˚｡⋆. .⋆｡⋆˚｡⋆｡

Y/N stands on the balcony, the soft satin gown clinging to her curves in all the right places, accentuating her every movement with an air of effortless sensuality. Her hair cascades in loose waves down her back, the soft glow of the moonlight casting a halo around her as she gazes out into the night.

It's been one week since she was kidnapped by the infamous Mingyu, and despite her initial fear and apprehension, she can't deny the strange allure he holds over her. There's something about him, something dangerous and forbidden, that draws her in like a moth to a flame.

Unable to resist the pull any longer, Y/N turns on her heels and makes her way out of the room, her heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation.

The bodyguards stationed outside simply bow their heads in acknowledgment as she passes, their silent presence a constant reminder of the captivity she finds herself in.

As she steps into Mingyu's room, the air is thick with the scent of musk and spice, the darkness enveloping her like a warm embrace.

The sound of water running draws her attention to the glass wall shower, the steam obscuring her view but heightening her senses in the process.

With hesitant steps, Y/N approaches the shower, her pulse quickening with each passing moment as she imagines the man behind the steam.

She knows she shouldn't be here, knows she should turn and run before it's too late. But something deep within her compels her forward, driving her towards the unknown with an irresistible force.

As Y/N pushes open the shower door, her breath catches in her throat at the sight before her. Mingyu stands beneath the cascading water, his sculpted physique glistening with droplets of water that cling to his skin like liquid diamonds.

Every muscle is defined and taut, his broad shoulders tapering down to a trim waistline, exuding an aura of raw power and masculinity.

But Mingyu is unaware of her presence, lost in the blissful oblivion of the steaming water as it cascades over his toned form. Y/N's heart races with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation as she steps closer, her fingers trembling with the desire to touch him, to feel the heat of his skin beneath her fingertips.

With hesitant steps, she approaches him from behind, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as she reaches out to caress his back.

Mingyu's body tenses at her touch, a low growl rumbling in his throat as he turns around to face her, his eyes dark and smoldering with desire.

Their gazes lock in a silent exchange of longing and passion, the air thick with tension as they stand on the precipice of temptation. Y/N's heart pounds in her chest, her pulse quickening with each passing moment as she meets Mingyu's intense gaze with a fierce determination of her own.

"I didn't expect to find you here," Mingyu murmurs, his voice low and husky as he takes in her appearance, his eyes roaming over her satin-clad form with hunger and longing. "But I'm certainly not complaining."

Y/N's fingertips trace the contours of Mingyu's chiseled abs, her touch sending a jolt of electricity coursing through his veins as he watches her with a smoldering intensity.

His breath hitches in his throat as her touch ignites a fire within him, desire roaring to life like a raging inferno.

But before he can react, Y/N suddenly backs away, her movements filled with a mix of uncertainty and longing. Mingyu's heart pounds in his chest as he watches her, his desire burning hotter with each passing moment.

Without a word, Mingyu closes the distance between them in a single stride, his hands reaching out to grab her arms and pull her into his embrace.

Y/N gasps in surprise as he presses her against the steamy glass wall of the shower, his lips crashing down on hers in a fierce and demanding kiss.

Their mouths collide in a clash of tongues and teeth, the taste of desire and desperation mingling on their lips as they lose themselves in the heat of the moment.

Mingyu's hands roam over Y/N's body with a possessive urgency, his touch igniting a fire within her that threatens to consume her whole.

The steam swirls around them, wrapping them in a cocoon of heat and passion as they lose themselves in each other, their bodies moving together in a primal dance of desire and need. Mingyu's kisses grow rougher and more insistent, his hunger for her driving him to new heights of ecstasy.

Y/N moans into his mouth, her fingers tangling in his hair as she surrenders to the overwhelming sensation of pleasure coursing through her veins.

Mingyu's touch is like fire against her skin, his hands leaving a trail of heat in their wake as they explore every inch of her body with a fervent hunger.

Y/N gasps as Mingyu's hands roam over her body, his touch igniting a fire within her that threatens to consume her whole.

She can feel the heat of his desire pulsing against her skin, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her ass as he pulls her closer, his lips trailing hot kisses along her neck.

Her breath comes in ragged gasps as Mingyu's lips find their way to her neck, his mouth trailing a path of fire across her skin as he sucks and nips at her sensitive flesh.

She arches into his touch, her hands clutching at his shoulders as she surrenders herself to the overwhelming sensation of pleasure coursing through her veins.

"Mingyu," she moans, her voice a breathless whisper as she presses herself against him, her body aching with need for him. "Please, I need you."

Mingyu's response is a low growl of desire as he captures her lips in a bruising kiss, his tongue tangling with hers in a fierce and passionate dance. Their mouths move together in perfect synchrony, their desire igniting like wildfire as they lose themselves in the heat of the moment.

Y/N's breath catches in her throat as Mingyu's fingers trail lower, tracing the outline of her soaked panties with a tantalizing touch that sends shivers of pleasure coursing through her body.

She gasps in anticipation as he teases and tantalizes her, his touch setting her alight with a burning desire that threatens to consume her whole.

Mingyu's fingers dance over her panties with a skillful precision, his touch sending waves of ecstasy crashing over her like a tidal wave.

She arches into his touch, her body trembling with need as he presses her against the glass wall of the shower, the water cascading over them in a torrent of heat and desire.

Their eyes lock in a silent exchange of longing and passion, the air thick with tension as they surrender themselves to the overwhelming sensation of pleasure that courses through their veins.

Mingyu's lips find hers in a bruising kiss, his tongue tangling with hers in a fierce and primal dance as they lose themselves in the heat of the moment.

"I want to feel you," Mingyu murmurs against her lips, his voice rough with desire as he trails kisses down the curve of her neck. "I want to taste you, to make you mine."

Y/N's heart pounds in her chest as Mingyu's words send a thrill of anticipation coursing through her veins. She moans in ecstasy as his fingers slide past the barrier of her panties, teasing and tantalizing her with a skillful touch that threatens to drive her to the brink of madness.

The water cascades over them in a torrent of heat and desire, the steam swirling around them like a veil of passion as Mingyu presses her against the glass wall, his fingers plunging deeper into her with a fierce and unrelenting hunger.

Their bodies move together in perfect synchrony, their desire igniting like wildfire as they surrender themselves completely to the ecstasy of the moment. Mingyu's touch is rough and demanding, his fingers driving her to new heights of pleasure with each passing moment.

Y/N moans in ecstasy as Mingyu's lips find hers once more, their kisses growing more urgent and passionate with each passing moment. She clings to him desperately, her nails digging into his skin as she surrenders herself completely to the overwhelming sensation of pleasure that washes over her like a tidal wave.

Y/N's breath hitches in her throat as Mingyu's fingers plunge deep inside her, filling her with a delicious sense of fullness that sends waves of pleasure crashing over her like a tidal wave.

She moans in ecstasy as he thrusts and pumps his fingers with a rough and relentless urgency, driving her to the brink of madness with each powerful stroke.

Mingyu's touch is electric, igniting a fire within her that threatens to consume her whole as she surrenders herself completely to the overwhelming sensation of pleasure that courses through her veins.

She arches into his touch, her body trembling with need as he drives her higher and higher with each passing moment.

"Oh God, Mingyu," she moans, her voice a breathless whisper as she clings to him desperately, her nails digging into his skin as she surrenders herself completely to the ecstasy of the moment. "Don't stop, please don't stop I am close."

Mingyu's only response is a low, guttural growl of desire as he continues to fuck his fingers into her with a rough and relentless urgency, his movements becoming faster and more frantic with each passing moment.

He can feel her walls tightening around his fingers, her body quivering with the promise of release as she teeters on the edge of ecstasy.

"Come for me, baby," Mingyu murmurs against her ear, his voice rough with desire as he drives her higher and higher with each powerful thrust of his fingers. "Give in to the pleasure, let go and let me take you there."

Y/N's whole body tenses as she feels the sweet release of orgasm wash over her like a tidal wave, her cries of ecstasy echoing off the walls of the shower as

Mingyu continues to drive her to new heights of pleasure with his skilled touch.

"Just fuck me already".Her breath hitches in her throat as she utters those words, her desire burning brightly as Mingyu smirks in response, his own desire evident in the glint of his eyes.

"Your wish is my command, babygirl," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire as he lines up his throbbing member against her slick entrance.

With a swift thrust of his hips, Mingyu plunges deep inside her, their bodies becoming one in a frenzy of passion and desire.

Y/N moans in ecstasy as she feels him fill her completely, her walls tightening around him in a delicious embrace as he begins to move inside her with a rough and relentless urgency.

Their bodies move together in perfect harmony, their movements synchronized in a primal dance of lust and longing. Mingyu's hands roam over Y/N's body, his touch igniting a fire within her that threatens to consume her whole as she surrenders herself completely to the overwhelming sensation of pleasure that courses through her veins.

Their moans mingle together in the heated air of the shower, the sound of their passion filling the room as Mingyu's thrusts become harder and more frantic with each passing moment. Y/N's nails dig into his back, her body arching into his touch as she rides the wave of pleasure that threatens to consume her whole.

"Mingyu," Y/N moans, her voice a desperate plea as he thrusts deep inside her, their bodies moving together in a frenzy of passion and desire. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure coursing through her veins, her senses overwhelmed by the intoxicating sensation of being filled completely by him.

Mingyu's movements are rough and urgent, his need driving him to new heights of passion as he seeks to claim Y/N as his own. Their bodies collide with a primal force, the sound of their skin slapping together filling the air as they lose themselves in the heat of the moment.

Y/N's nails dig into Mingyu's back, her body arching into his touch as she rides the wave of pleasure that threatens to consume her whole. Every thrust sends her closer to the edge, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she surrenders herself completely to the overwhelming sensation of ecstasy.

Their moans mingle together in a symphony of passion and desire, the sound echoing off the walls of the shower as Mingyu's thrusts become faster and more frantic with each passing moment.

Y/N's body trembles with the force of her release, her cries of pleasure filling the room as she surrenders herself completely to the overwhelming sensation of pleasure that washes over her like a tidal wave.

"I'm close, Mingyu," Y/N moans, her voice thick with desire as she feels the heat building in the pit of her stomach. Mingyu's own moans mingle with hers, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he nears the brink of ecstasy.

"Me too, baby, me too," he groans, his movements becoming more urgent and frantic with each passing moment. He leans in close, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispers, "Just tell me where you want it."

Y/N's heart pounds in her chest as she struggles to form coherent thoughts, her body consumed by the overwhelming sensation of pleasure that threatens to consume her whole. "Inside, fill me up," she gasps, her voice barely above a whisper as she surrenders herself completely to the ecstasy of the moment.

And with a final, desperate thrust, Mingyu drives deep inside her, his release pouring into her like a flood as they both surrender themselves completely to the overwhelming sensation of pleasure that washes over them like a tidal wave.

Mingyu gently sets Y/N down on the counter, their bodies still intertwined in the aftermath of their passionate encounter. He reaches for a nearby towel, his movements slow and deliberate as he begins to clean her up, his touch gentle and tender against her skin.

Y/N sighs contentedly as she leans into his touch, her body still humming with the lingering echoes of pleasure. "That was amazing," she murmurs, her voice soft and breathless as she gazes up at Mingyu with a mixture of awe and adoration.

Mingyu smiles down at her, his eyes softening with affection as he meets her gaze. "You were amazing," he replies, his voice filled with warmth and sincerity as he continues to gently wipe away the traces of their passion.

They fall into a comfortable silence as Mingyu finishes cleaning her up, their bodies still pressed close together in the intimate space of the bathroom. The air is thick with the scent of their lovemaking, a heady mix of sweat and desire that lingers in the air like a tangible reminder of their passion.

Finally, Mingyu sets aside the towel and reaches for Y/N's hand, his touch light and reassuring as he intertwines their fingers together. "I'm glad you're here," he says softly, his voice tinged with vulnerability as he gazes into her eyes.

Y/N smiles up at him, her heart swelling with affection as she returns his gaze. "I'm glad too," she whispers, her voice filled with emotion as she leans in to press a soft kiss against his lips.