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omgeto · 8 months

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☆ WHEN YOU HAVE SEX WITH YOUR PROFESSOR — NANAMI, TOJI, GETO, GOJO.

summary: you have sex with your professor. for many different reasons.

wc: 4.2k (each of these were meant to be 500 words long so idk what happened)

cw: smutty smut afab!reader who's in university, mutual masturbation, spanking, semi public sex, toji is not a professor but a gym coach who rails you in a supply closet, but theres a lot of sex on a lot of desks so mdni.

an: theres actually a smidge of plot in this just a tiny bit if you do a deep squint, but the smut id personally say is my best yet. so give it a chance people, but come for the smut stay for the dialogue. hope you enjoy! not proofread ignore mistakes pls

☆ NANAMI

nanami kento, was the strictest teacher you have ever had. you couldn’t get away with your usual tricks that you did with some of your other professors — strutting past their office during office hours in your skimpiest clothes to get a better grade. it was as if nanami was immune to all your devices.

but with a big exam coming up, you knew you had to make something happen since studying was not your forte. so you were prepared to do anything to get that A.

“come in," his deep voice calls from inside.

as you enter his office, you are met with the sight of your professor, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, reviewing a stack of papers. he glances up at you briefly before returning his attention to his work.

"what can I help you with?" he ask, his tone professional.

“i wanted to see if we could talk about the exam you set for us tomorrow,” you start to say, his eyes still focused on his papers, not sparing you a glance. “i was thinking we could figure out a way for me to get extra credit… sir.”

you had his attention now. technically you’ve always had his attention — yes nanami was different to all the other professors you’ve ever had but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t a man at the end of the day.

he always noticed the way you’d sit in his classroom, your pouty mouth always gnawing at your pencil as you never had a clue what was going on. nanami always had to hide his dick feeling tight in his trousers whenever you walk into his classroom. little did you know that you actually would’ve failed his class a long time ago, but because he just couldn’t let go of the sight of how your pretty tits bounce everytime you raise your hand, he always made you pass.

“well what are you willing to do for that extra credit?” he says, his tone slightly amused.

“whatever you want” you respond a bit too eagerly, you were coming onto him hard. but it was working, you could already see the crack in his usual stoic facade. “c’mon professor nanami, i need to pass this class,” you practically beg.

“oh yeah, you definitely need to pass this exam, you’re one more failed exam to flunking my whole class,” he affirms — lying through his teeth. “so i think you should come sit up here, and show me what you’re willing to do huh.”

suddenly, you start to feel nervous. usually you’d have control of the situation, you’d flaunt your ass, fuck your teacher and get an A, easily. but this time, you could see in nanami’s eyes that from when you entered his office — that he was running the show.

you saunter over his desk, and he pushes his seat back allowing you to have room to perch on his desk in front of him. “take off your shirt,” he commands, and you’re quick to fling off your top — that was barely covering anything anyways, “wow no bra, why am i not surprised.” he stares at your hardened nipples smirking as he continues to say, “you know i see your nipples peeking at me through your shit all the time in class.”

“really?” you question coyly.

“you don’t think i see how you practically fuck yourself in your seat when i’m doing a reading,” he continues, his arms folding as if he was telling you off, “a bit disrespectful, right?”

“no i-it’s just i really like the sound of your voice,” you stammer, embarrassed at him calling you out. you couldn’t deny that your professor was hot, everybody thought so and you hated school the only thing that got you through your classes was your day dreams of him fucking you.

“oh really, well i wanna see you get off to it for real this time.”

“wha—”

“touch yourself,” he demands with a grin, “fuck yourself on your fingers, put on a show for me,” he loosens his tie, and unbuttons his cuffs, ready to watch you perform for him, “and if you do well, then we could talk about your extra credit.”

you take off your pants, your hands moving directly to your throbbing pussy — since of course you had no panties on. you press your thumb down on your clit as your fingers work their way into your cunt. you were already soaked, just from hearing your professor speak to you, so it was easy to slide your digits in and out of you.

nanami’s grin grows wider, loving the way your work your pussy, “you not gonna play with your tits?” and you take his hint, your other hand sliding up to cup one of your boobs, your fingers pinching and pulling at your nipples. “good girl,” he praises.

you add another finger inside of you, writhing down hard on his desk against your digits. you quicken your pace, rubbing your thumb vigorously against your clit. his gaze on you served as an encouragement, your ultimate goal was shifted, at this point you didn’t care whether he passed or failed you — you just wanted to put on a good show for him.

“you gonna cum for me?” he taunts, the sound of your pussy squelching around your fingers as you drive them in is like music to his ears. you barely even noticed him fisting his dick, stroking it hard — matching the pace of your fingers hammers your cunt. “you gonna make a big mess for me all over my desk?”

“professor i-” you whine, wanting more than just your own fingers inside of you, “please i need—”

“professor? what was it that you called me earlier?” he teases, “remind me of that and then maybe i’ll give you what you’re begging for.”

“s-sir please,” you sputter, barely being able to string a sentence together. you could feel you were about to cum hard. your fingers were still drilling into your pussy, and your hands were still suctioned on your tit and nanami's dick was taunting you. “i need you.”

“you need me hmm?” he mocks, his eyebrow tilting as he stares at your fucked out face.

“yeah p-please i need your dick,” you beg, your pussy was gushing all over your fingers, as your strokes got sloppier, “i need you i-in me.”

“oh really?” he asks with a smirk, a slight chuckle as you nod eagerly, “well too bad.”

“wha—”

“you really thought i’d put my dick in a slutty student that’s not even smart enough to even pass my class?” he lectures, he tuts his teeth, shaking his head, “now finish off for me and leave office hours end in a few minutes.”

“f-fuck,” you moan out, you could barely even process his words, too busy focused on cumming all over your fingers to think about how he just denied you of what you really wanted, your hand falls off your tit, your head jerking back as your release over his desk. he’s quick to cum too, biting down on his fist to surpress the loud moan threatening to come out

“you really made a mess for me huh,” he observes, swiping his fingers across the pool of cum you left on his desk and bringing it into his mouth, “sweet.” you were at a loss for words, you were just coached through one of the best orgasms you ever had from your professor — and he didn’t even touch you — yet you still don’t know whether he’s gonna pass you or not.

“so about that exam…?” you voice trails, as you put back on your shirt, hopping of his desk.

“i’ll think about it, sit the exam first and i’ll see what i can do,” his voice turns serious, and he nods his head in the direction for you to leave indicating for you to get up out of his office. but just before you're about to leave the room he calls out to you, “oi.”

“thanks for the live show.”

☆ TOJI

“why do we always have to fuck in such awkward spaces,” you complain nearly tripping on a basketball as toji holds you upright.

“you know you love it baby,” he smirks, pressing a kiss to your cheek, thrusting up into you further.

you were in the gym supply closet, having your weekly sex with your university's gym teacher. you don’t even know how your little routine came about but once he started to hammer into you every friday after basketball practice, you’ve never missed a meet up.

“don’t call me that,” you groan out at the use of his pet name.

“why not?” he grumbles, cupping your tits with his hands as he stands behind you, “aren’t you students s’pposed to listen to your teachers and all that.”

you take a sharp inhale as his large hands smother your boobs, his thick things toy with your nipples, “but y-you aren’t a real teacher, in case you forgot.”

“am too,” he mutters like a child.

“a-are not,” you spit back just as childishly.

“am, too,” he persists, thrusting into you hard. pushing you down by your nape, forcing your hands to grip onto some random gym apparatus. he uses his foot to spread your legs apart wider so he can fit right behind you. fucking into you with something to prove.

“you teach gym to a bunch of brain dead j-jocks, wouldn’t say that classifies as being an actual professor toji.” you continue riling him up, biting your lip as his hammers into you harder. “you’re more like a glorified personal trainer than a teacher.”

he drives into you deeper, “oh and your just an uppity bitch, who still ended up fucking this ‘personal teacher,’ in a gym closet,” his mouth moves close to your ear, as he whispers, “so what does that say about you baby?” he presses a kiss underneath your ear lobe, before lightly sucking on it.

his words go straight to your core, him calling you an ‘uppity bitch’ had the exact effect he intended them to have — you throwing your ass on his dick, fucking him back as hard as he was fucking you.

he sends a smack to your ass, biting his lip as it ripples at the contact of his palm. his slaps were merciless, having you scream out every time he hits your cheek. “how’s this for a glorified personal trainer huh?” he coos in your ear, feeling dignified as you rut against him more feigning for more of his dick in your throbbing pussy.

“ah you f-fill me up s-so so good,” you mewl out, as his dick pumps in and out of you stuffing you with every thrust. his mouth latches onto the nape of your neck, sucking on it as he ploughs into you deeper, hitting your spot with pinpoint accuracy.

“i know i do baby, i always stuff you good don’t i?” he groans out, your pussy was a vice grip on his dick, had him suppressing his moans whenever you clenched around him, “don’t know why you fuck around with these lame ass boys in your classes, they can’t fuck you like i do. do they?”

“well…” you voice trails in a teasing tone.

“dont f-fucking play with me,” he sputters, feeling himself about to bust all inside of you, “i’m the only one you fucking right,” when he doesn’t hear an immediate answer, he shoves himself into you his hips pushing right against your ass, “right?”

“y-yes fuck, right,” you sigh rolling your eyes at his act of possessiveness — ignoring how you pussy got even wetter at his words. “you’re the b-best i ever had, toji.”

“you’re damn right i am,” he scoffs out giving your ass one final slap as he says, “you going finish all over my dick, c’mon baby coat my dick with your sweet sweet,” and you do just that. you cum with a cry, releasing all over toji, as he shoots into you a loud groan leaving his mouth.

“aww i forgot how loud you get for me,” you tease him as he pulls out of you, turning to look at him with a grin, which he huffs out, “anyways what did i tell you about cumming in me, i'm not one of those cheerleaders you run around with,” you fuss swatting at his chest.

“yeah you aren’t one of the cheerleaders i run around with,” he repeats, “hence why i can cum in you, you know you’re my favourite fuck out of all my students”

“ugh you’re so gross.”

“you say that with my cum running down your legs,” he says, giving you a pointed look, his eyes staring down at your thighs, “i do have another hour till my next class i gotta teach, so i could clean it up for you?” he offers, already going down to his knees, knowing that was a suggestion you would not deny.

“if you insist.”

he starts to suck against your thighs as you lean against the wall, sandwiched between a goal post and a hockey stick, but just before his lips latch onto your pussy, he looks up to you with a pout, “do you really think gym coaches aren’t teachers?”

“oh shut up toji,” you mutter, pushing his head to your cunt.

☆ GETO

you storm into your professors office, pissed off. professor geto was the worst teacher you’ve ever had. he was cocky, arrogant and most of the time he didn’t have a clue what he was teaching.

“ah miss know it all,” he muses, his personal nickname he created for you during his first semester of being your professor, “to what do i owe the pleasure this time.” you were no stranger to geto’s office, you were practically the only student that actually used his office hours. geto didn’t mind it though. the unplanned visits, your impoliteness — he was amused by it.

“could you explain why you gave me a B, on my last paper?” you interrogate, waving said essay in his face furiously, “when we both know that this is easily worth an A.”

“i just think you could do better,” he shrugs nonchalantly, “i just think you haven’t harnessed your true potential, that’s all.” geto knew you were smart, the smartest person he’s ever taught. he just needed to get you in his office. and he knew a below average grade on an essay, that didn’t even matter, was the way to do that.

“and what do you know about potential?” you mutter, more to yourself than anything, “i don’t even know how you managed to get this job.”

he rolls his eyes at your comments, “do you really want this A?”

"of course i want the stupid A," you reply, your tone determined. "i've put in the effort, and i've met all the requirements for this paper. there's no reason for you to give me a B except for your own personal bias against me."

“personal bias? some may argue that you’re actually my favourite?” geto leans back in his chair, a sly grin on his face. "but alright, then. here's the deal," he says, folding his arms. "if you can convince me right now, in this very moment, that you deserve an A for this paper, i'll change your grade. but you'll have to persuade me.”

“persuade you?” you retort, “what you want me to do a powerpoint presentation or something…?”

he chuckles, shaking his head at your naivety, for someone so smart you somehow lack social awareness, “no i wanna see if you taste as good as you look.”

“you mean…” your voice trails, finally catching on to what he was getting at.

“come lay down on my desk,” he says casually as if this was a usual ordeal between the two of you. he could see you hesitating, “you do want that A right?”

your feet were stuck in the ground, you never wanted to be one of those girls — ones that had to fuck a teacher just to get through university. but, regardless of your below A grade, you were more curious about what it would actually be like. especially with a professor that looked like geto.

you lay down on his desk, nervous, you could feel his breath on your stomach as he slides down your jeans. he was kneeling down, his face at the same level as your pussy. he toys with your underwear, pulling at it and snapping it against your skin, giving you a smile of approval in your choice of panties. but just before he pulls them off you he asks, “you sure you want to do it smarty? you can run back to your dorm if you want?”

“anything to get the A,” you grit out, basically lying, since getting your grade improved was the last thing on your mind as he pulls off your underwear.

he takes his hair — that was usually tied up in bun — down, releasing his long hair, “just in case you need something to pull on,” he smirks.

his fingers slide across your wet slit, spreading your lips. he presses a kiss on your clit, slightly nibbling on it before working his mouth down to your pussy. you gasp at the contact as he latches his mouth on you, his tongue darting into your cunt at a quick pace.

geto hums in satisfaction as you hands immediately go to grab his hair, pulling at it as his tongue gives you long strokes, lapping up all the juices already spilling out of you. “i didn’t think my star student would be this needy, if only the class could see you now.” he taunts lifting his head up, “i guess they wouldn’t be surprised though, your as hungry for my tongue as you are to answer questions in class,” he finishes with a chuckle pressing a kiss to your thigh.

but you’re quick to silence him, clenching your thighs against his head, “s-shut up,” you whine, thrusting your hips up in his face to meet his tongue. your head was swirling, you could barely remember how you ended up on your professors desk in the first place. but all you were focused on was clawing your fingers through his scalp as he slurps and sucks on your pussy.

“oh m-my god,” you murmur, soaking his face. he could tell by the way you pushing his face deeper into your cunt, his nose forced into your arousal that you were close.

“ready to let me taste you” he asks, his voice sending vibrations over your pussy, “wanna taste you so fucking bad.”

“fuck d-didn’t think it’ll be this g-good,” you whine out. he brings his thumb to you clit rubbing it as fast as he could taking you over the edge. you moan out, practically squealing, as you squirt all over his face. he smirks, trying to get as much as it as he can.

“i didn’t know my star student could squirt,” he teases, his mouth glistening with evidence of you, “or should i call you my star squirter.”

“haha, very funny…” you deadpan, becoming slightly shy at seeing him lick his lips wiping the last remains of you off of him.

“i guess my theory was right,” he concludes.

“what theory?” you ask, puzzled, forgetting the whole reason you let him eat you out in the first place.

“you do taste as good as you look,” he comments with a pleased grin, already reminiscing about you squirting all over his face.

“so about my A?” you ask pulling up your jeans, and collecting your things.

“yeah i’ll expect your rewrite on my desk by friday,” he shrugs, going back to his nonchalant persona.

“rewrite? did you not promise me an A if i can ‘persuade you,’ at how badly i want it?” you question, going back to your original state of being pissed off, “did i not persuade you mr ‘you do taste as good as you look.’ this is so unfair”

“ask me if i care about fairness?” he smirks, a laugh leaving his lips as he watches you storm out of his office, “hey! you left your underwear,” he calls out behind you, his laugh growing as you say nothing, putting up your middle finger at him and slamming his door shut.

☆ GOJO

“do you want to lose your job?” you chastise, “shut the fuck up.”

“but i can’t help it,” he purrs, nuzzling into your neck to suppress his non stop moans and whines that he was doing as he pushed his dick in you, “your pussy’s just too good.”

you were leaning against the desk of your professor gojo’s lecture hall, your legs wrapped around his bag as he hoisted you up, grinding his body against yours as his dick drives in your pussy.

it was after hours, and gojo forgot to lock his classroom doors. as soon as your peers left the room he was quick to put his lips on yours, throwing all the stationary on his desk on the floor in the most dramatic fashion ever.

you don’t know how you got entangled in a relationship with your teacher. since you didn’t actually benefit from it, and he was needier and clingier than an actual student your age. but the mind blowing orgasms he gave you every now and again made you forget all of his ‘bad qualities.’

“c’mon don’t tell me it’s not making you feel wetter,” he murmurs in between kisses, “the idea of someone walking in on me fucking your pretty little pussy.” you ignore him, your arms tightening around his neck as you bounce on his dick. “tell me that doesn’t make you hot,” he eases his dick out of you slightly, drawing both of your attention to his member already covered in your juices. his eyebrows raise when you look back at him as if he’s just proved his point.

“whatever, i guess the idea of us getting caught isn’t that bad,” you lie, knowing it was causing you to get better, “but if we do get caught then it's your ass gojo.”

“aww you’re so thoughtful,” he coos, “you really care about me and my job, will you miss me if i get fired?”

“well i’ll miss my on campus dick,” you mutter, scratching at his back, as he thrusts into you deeper, “but i’ll be able to replace you quickly i guess.”

“oh how you wound me,” he mocks, pulling you into a deep kiss, desperate to taste you. that was gojo’s favourite thing to do to you, of course your pussy was great, but your lips were his favourite thing. sometimes he’d even drag you out of the hallway into his office —not a care in the world if anyone was around— and pull you into his lap just shove his tongue into your mouth and fondle your tits.

for a lousy professor, gojo sure knew your body well. he knew every spot to hit, every place to kiss, every stroke to make and you loved it. the scratches you were giving him on his back, encouraging him to go deeper, stuffing you to the brim. “f-fuckk you take me so so well,” he moans in your ear, whining and grunting as you tighten your hold around him.

“i’m close,” he mutters, his pace slowing. he lowers you down so your back is laying on the desk and he swoops his mouth down to your tits. enveloping your left breast with his mouth, greedily suckling at it.

“wow already?” you taunt, “you’ve really lost your touch professor, when i was an undergrad we could go at it for days.” his mouth pauses, as he looks up at you with a pointed look that reads as ‘girl really? as if you aren’t close.’ he wasn’t wrong, from his deep long strokes in your pussy, and his tongue twisting on your nipples, you were ready to cum all over him.

“gojo shit,” you curse, your hand coming down to your clit, flicking at it fast to speed up your orgasm. but gojo slaps your hand away, almost offended that you would try to cum off of something other than his hands and mouth. he bites down on your nipple, punishingly and that sends you overboard. you let out a shriek as you cum all over his dick, your hand quickly coming over your mouth to suppress your whines.

“what happened to being quiet huh?” he mocks your warning from earlier, “don’t want to get caught, do we now?” but he’s quick to let out a deep moan, as he releases into you, spraying your walls with all your cum. he slumps over you, exhausted, and wanting to just feel you — gojo was always needy after sex.

after you both come down from your highs and clean up — thankful that nobody stumbled across you. gojo pulls you into his lap, dabbing kisses all over your neck, “so when you gonna let me take you out, outside the classroom?”

“y’know that’s not allowed right?” you remind him, looking at your professor as if he’s lost his mind, “what we’re doing now isn’t allowed, but out in public is a no go, gojo.”

“not allowed?” he retorts, as if it’s news to him, “i thought it was just heavily frowned upon?!”

an: sooo what did you think? which one was your favourite. me personal lame gym coach toji really did it for me. tagging my girl @jabamin mainly just for nanami. but yes ALSO IDK WHY I MADE THE READER DUMB IN THE NANAMI FIC, but I juxtaposed it by making you super smart in the geto fic so it balances it out. anyways lmk what you thought, thanks for reading!! DONT USE MY DIVIDERS

#stampedwithanE★#jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #toji x reader #toji smut #nanami x reader #nanami smut #gojo x reader #geto x reader #geto smut #gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk fic #geto suguru x reader #nanami kento x reader

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inkdrinkerworld · 10 months

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i feel like miguel def gives rly mind blowing orgasms but not on purpose tho??

18+ONLY, MDNI smut,

you're not wrong!! it's his attention to detail that makes him amazing in bed! miguel is like hyper-aware of your reactions and what makes your breath quicken or makes your legs shake and he'll just continue to do that and when you do come it's overwhelming because he's reading your body so well that it makes your head cloud and you feel dizzy as he draws the orgasm out of you! what helps too is that he talks you through it too! like he's not coaching you, more so just asking you, 'like that, amor?' or 'more, nena?' or he'll give instructions like, 'just lay still and let me take care of you, vale?' he's just very attentive and thorough so when it comes to you he's going to apply that same logic and your orgasms are always intense and they make you dizzy because he never rushes you through it, he lets you ride the complete wave of your pleasure and many times it causes one orgasm to roll directly into another. he's just the perfect lover in that sense.

#miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o'hara x black!reader #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara x yn #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara fluff #miguel o’hara one shot #miguel o’hara imagine

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peachesofteal · 12 days

Text

Cool girl

ghoap x female reader / 18+ warning: the boys are foul - could be considered dub con / part one / part two

Two (three) can play at that game.

"When you're done being a brat, call us."

You decide within a week, that you're very much not done being a brat.

And you're very much done with them.

Fuck them, you coach yourself in the mirror as you fix your makeup. Fuck them both. And her, whoever she is, though you know she doesn't deserve your wrath. She probably has no idea the tangled web she's walked into, she's the one stuck in the trap, now.

The doorbell rings, and you check your reflection one more time, satisfied with your dress, the way it gathers across your breasts, how it flatters your shape. It's a tad short, there's a bit of cleavage, little pieces that make it more than perfect. Something about this style, the way it fits, always drove the boys nuts, so it should be more than good enough for your date.

Fuck them.

You bring him to the dive. It's a safe choice, the bartender knows you, pays attention. You feel safe here, familiar. It's a great option for a first date.

And because you're a cool girl, you don't know how to play pool.

Of course, he's happy to teach you.

You start with a tequila. It scalds on the way down and settles like fire, but it takes the edge off. One turns to two, and it's enough to get you closer, allowing him to rest his hand on your knee at the bar, allowing him to keep a hand at the small of your back as he guides you to the finally empty pool table.

He's handsy, and normally, you'd be a little put off.

But not tonight.

"Okay, it's simple. You use the white ball to break." He lines up your shot for you, folding you into place, bending forward, hand brushing against your thigh as he leans beside you.

You intentionally short the shot, barely breaking the triangle of balls free. He chuckles. "Not bad for a first go."

"What do I get if I win?" Your smile is shy, and it's only half forced. You do like this guy, he's very nice, very attractive. Tall with a strong jawline, kind eyes. His fingers find yours, and his touch is gentle, patient.

"A kiss?" He ventures, testing the waters. You nod.

"Sure thing."

You're halfway through the game when the energy in the bar shifts. It's like everyone freezes, a collective whoosh of air washing through the bodies hunched over at the bar, loitering on the walls, perched on the wrought iron chairs out back.

The regulars look at one another and then return to studying the TV, or each other, their half empty drinks.

You don't need to look, to know.

You can feel them.

Apparently, so can your date.

"Don't look, but there are two guys staring at you, across the bar." You bat your eyelashes.

"Who?" It's innocent, this kind of play. Playing dumb. It's pure, until your chin turns over your shoulder and find them, white knuckled and focused, Johnny alight with anger, Simon stoic as ever. Sadness, and rage, roar inside your head, and you force yourself to look them in their eyes. Force yourself to be brave.

After a second, you turn away and into your date. He pulls you closer, palm resting on your lower back, mouth dangerously close above your ear. "Are they bothering you?" What a nice guy.

"No." You assuage immediately. You know what would happen, if he tried to be your knight in shining armor. You know how it would end.

With blood. Broken bones. And tears.

"Let's keep playing." You suggest. "Will you show me how to hold the stick?" Your teeth hold onto the last syllable, hand wrapping around the polished length of the wood, slowly moving it up and down. Your heart pounds, but a thrill rushes through you at the same time. Fuck them. Your date raises an eyebrow, mouth cocking into a sly smile, and nods.

After your third drink, you can't delay using the bathroom anymore. Skin tingling from all the places his hands have traversed, you're dizzy with the pulse of power, the high of your performance. It's wrong, and twisted but...

they deserve it. They deserve worse.

"I'll be right back." You promise, tracing a fingernail down his arm. "Get another round?" He trots off, eager to please.

The chairs scrape as soon as you turn into the dingy hallway, and their shadows fill the air, sucking it dry. You resist the urge to turn, palm flat against the swinging door of the toilets.

"What are ye doin'?" Johnny rages, and you turn to mouth off, only to jerk backwards at the realization of how close he is. You can count the flecks of gold around his irises, see the shimmer of cerulean blue. Simon stands at his back, a wall blocking out the rest of the hall, hiding you from view.

"I'm on a date." Simon laughs.

"You call this little show a date, sweetheart? Is that what you think that is?"

"Not sure you'd know what I'm like on a date since you never took me on one." You spit, and Johnny goes rigid, muscles hardening.

"Not sure that little boy would know the first thing about handlin' ye."

"Handling me?" The squeak your voice makes is embarrassing and incredulous at the same time. "Handle me? You think I need handling? I'm a full grown woman. I don't need-" He presses closer, close enough you can smell him, and your mouth drops open when he pushes you against the wall, cock hard under his jeans. "J-johnny."

"Aye, we think ye need handlin'. Ye're only supposed to be handled by us. Not by some sad wank who cannae stop droolin' like a dog."

"Stop." The resolve in your voice wavers, your resistance cracking and crumbling as Simon appears beside him, mouth pressing to your ear.

"You think that boy has a fat cock to feed you, sweet girl? Think he knows how-" One of them cups you between your legs over the fabric of your dress, palm grinding against your clit, and you grit your teeth against the friction, the moan it tries to pull from your throat. "to take care of this pussy?"

"She's high maintenance, ye know." Johnny snickers, lips dotting your cheek, down to your neck. He cups a fistful of your breast, thumb stroking where your nipple strains beneath your bra. "Ye think he'll be able to make ye gush for him? Make ye cum on his cock?" You're boiling, anger and desire feeding twin flames, trying to sputter out a response.

"What's going on here?" Your date practically shouts from the edge of the hallway, and Simon's grin turns feral. Predatory.

Fear strikes, and turns you cold.

"D-don't." You try to implore.

"Are you okay?" Your poor date catches your gaze, and you try to will him away with your eyes.

"Leave him alone." You plead.

"Fuck off mate. This is between us and our girl. Ye're done here."

"Excuse me?" He steps closer, and Simon pushes off the wall. Desperate, you latch onto his forearm.

"Simon, please. He's not-"

"He said you're done here." Simon snarls. "Run along like a good boy."

"Fuck you." He postures, and you shake your head frantically, trying to step out between them. Johnny doesn't budge, keeping you half pinned against the wall.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? Maybe you'd like to watch us fuck her, after we make you beg for it. After we stretched out your neglected little hole." Johnny laughs, a cackle full of crow, smart and mischievous, and you nearly faint. Your date looks sick.

He takes one look at you, another look at the boys... and then flees. Johnny whistles. "Coward."

When they both turn back...

you burst into tears.

#lmaoooo #peaches writes #ghoap x reader #its a milkmaid dress for sure #simon riley x reader #john mactavish x reader #unedited

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pucksandpower · 21 days

Text

Newsflash

Charles Leclerc x reporter!Reader

Summary: after two years as a paddock correspondent, you’re convinced that Charles Leclerc hates your guts for no apparent reason … but maybe everything is not what it seems

“Wake up, Y/N. It’s race day!”

Your colleague, Natalie, bursts into your hotel room without knocking, as usual. You groan and pull the covers over your head, not ready to face the chaos that is sure to ensue in the paddock.

“Come on, sleepyhead! We have to be at the track by seven this morning for pre-race meetings,” Natalie says, yanking the duvet off you.

“Alright, alright, I’m up!” You grumble, slowly swinging your legs over the side of the bed. “What time is it anyway?”

“5:30. Which reminds me, I need coffee,” Natalie says, already headed for the door. “Meet me in the lobby in 20!”

You spend the next 19 minutes hastily getting ready — putting on minimal makeup, throwing on your favorite jumpsuit, and frantically gathering up notes and gear for the day. You take one last glance in the mirror, trying to smooth down your bedhead, before resigning to just throw a cap on over the mess.

Hustling down to the lobby, there’s a rush of personnel all around — mechanics, engineers, PR reps, and media darting about with coffees and laptops and headsets already in place. You spot Natalie nursing a large black coffee and beeline over.

“Ready to do this?” She asks with a grin.

“As I’ll ever be,” you reply with a shrug. The truth is, the nerves are already bubbling up in your stomach. You love your job as an F1 reporter for Sky Sports, but the pressure and scrutiny is immense.

The two of you pile into a car with the rest of the broadcast crew and head to the track. On the ride, you glance over your meticulous notes on the teams and drivers one more time, paying special attention to Ferrari.

Ever since you started covering F1 two years ago, one driver has basically refused to give you the time of day — Charles Leclerc.

For some reason, whenever you are around, he bolts in the opposite direction. When you have attempted interviews, he literally turns and speedwalks away without a word. Other drivers will chat with you, joke around, and give thoughtful answers to questions.

But Charles? Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

You can’t figure out why he hates you so much. You’ve scoured your past comments and coverage looking for anything that could have offended him, but come up empty.

Is it something personal against you? Were you mean to him in a past life or something? It hurts, to be honest. You try to stay professional, but his obvious disdain for you still stings.

Sighing, you put your notes away as the car pulls into the paddock. It’s going to be a long day.

After hair, makeup, mic checks, and a final meeting, it’s nearly time for the broadcast to go live as cars start lining up on the grid. Nerves buzzing, you watch Charles warm up with his performance coach across the pit lane, headphones in and clearly in the zone. As always, he walks right past you without a flicker of acknowledgment.

Your heart twinges, but you swiftly push the hurt aside. It’s showtime.

The next few hours are a blur of rushed interviews, sound bites, stats flashing across screens, and organized chaos. After the race finally ends, there are more interviews, podium ceremonies, and press conferences to wade through before you can take a breath.

“Man, that was brutal!” Natalie huffs as the two of you finally plop down in chairs in the media room later that afternoon. She cracks open a Red Bull and takes a long drink. “You hanging in there?”

“Yeah, I’m alright,” you reply half-heartedly. The truth is, you’re drained — physically and mentally. And of course, the interaction with Charles, or lack thereof, is weighing heavy.

“Why do you let that pompous twerp get under your skin so much?” Natalie says with a frown, seeming to read your mind. “He’s a rude, stuck up jerk who isn’t worth the energy. Forget about him.”

You shake your head with a sigh. “You’re right, you’re right. I just … I don’t know, I never did anything to the guy, and it still stings.”

Just then, the door to the media room swings open, and Charles himself strides in. You inadvertently tense up as he approaches the couch, looking calm and confident in his usual Ferrari polo, and folds himself down between Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton, who rounded out the rest of the podium.

Here we go again, you think with an internal eye roll. Just gotta get this over with.

“Hello,” Charles says with an easy grin as he settles into his seat, “What have you got for us today?” Various reporters immediately start firing off questions, undoubtedly looking to get a headline from the race winner.

You gather your courage, take a breath, and call out “Charles, Y/N with Sky Sports here. Can you walk me through your thought process behind that daring pass on Lando in Turn 12?”

To your shock, the second Charles hears your voice, his whole demeanor shifts. He seems to freeze, shoulders hunching slightly, grin dropping from his face as his cheeks instantly flush deep red. He looks panicked almost, eyes darting around the room, before landing briefly on you.

“Uhh … b-bathroom. Need to go. Bye.”

And with that, he leaps up from the couch and practically sprints out of the room.

A stunned silence falls over the space as everyone stares, stunned, at the empty space he left. You feel your stomach drop through the floor, tears of embarrassment and humiliation prickling at your eyes.

What did you do wrong? Now he’s made a total spectacle, running away from you in front of your peers. Mortified, you shakily stand up, chair clanging backwards, and rush from the room as well. Needing air, you bolt outside until you find a secluded spot out back of the paddock, leaning against a wall as the tears flow freely.

“Hey, hey … what’s going on? Are you okay?”

The soft, concerned male voice startles you, and you gasp looking up. There stands Charles, looking alarmed and guilty.

“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to freak out like that. Please don’t cry!” He moves closer, though still keeps his distance.

You blink rapidly, beyond confused. “What … what are you doing out here? I’m clearly the last person you want to be around.”

He sighs heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “This is really hard for me to admit but … I like you. As in, I have the biggest crush on you. That’s why I get so flustered and basically black out anytime you talk to me. It’s pathetic, I know.”

Your jaw actually drops open in disbelief. “You … what? You like me? Is this a joke?”

“No! No, I swear, it’s the truth,” he says, face turning red again. “I know I come across like a total jerk, I just freeze up around you because honestly? You’re just so stunning and brilliant, and I get unbelievably shy and nervous. The words won’t come out. It’s like an out of body experience! I chicken out and run away like an idiot every time.”

You stare at him, trying to process this. All this time, all the hurt and embarrassment … it was just because he developed a crush?

“I��m so sorry for how I’ve treated you. I know it must seem like I despise you. The truth is, you make me feel like a stuttering teenager with my first crush again,” Charles continues, looking at you beseechingly. “I understand if you think I’m a total tool, and I have a lot of work to do to make this up to you. But I swear, I really do like you, Y/N.”

At this, his face splits into a sheepish grin, eyes twinkling with mirth. You feel a laugh bubble up in your chest as relief washes over you.

He doesn’t hate you. In fact, it’s quite the opposite! You appraise him, really looking at him for the first time. From his twinkling green eyes to his adorable dimples to the lock of chestnut hair falling across his forehead, he’s unbelievably charming.

You shake your head, smile growing. “So this whole time, you’ve just been acting like an awkward schoolboy instead of giving me any indication of your true feelings?”

Charles laughs self-consciously. “Embarrassing, I know. Look, I promise I’ll do better-”

“Yeah, you’ve got a lot to make up for,” you say, crossing your arms and giving Charles a playful but pointed look. “All the grief and heartache you’ve put me through the last two years? This calls for serious groveling, mister.”

Charles immediately drops to one knee dramatically. “Y/N Y/L/N, light of my life, apple of my eye. I am but a humble driver, unworthy of your affection. But if you would do me the extraordinary honor of allowing me to court you properly, I vow to spend every day showing you how enchanted I am by your wit, your beauty, and your strength.”

You can’t help but giggle at his over-the-top chivalrous display. “Oh get up, you goofball!” You grab his hand and pull him back to his feet. “I’m just teasing. Well, partially teasing. I do expect you to apologize to me properly. Take me to dinner or something.”

Charles visibly brightens. “Dinner? Really? Yes, absolutely! In fact, let me take you right now. We’ll go to that little trattoria down the road. You deserve to be wined and dined for putting up with me.”

You consider this for a moment, taking in his eager, handsome face. The truth is, despite his past behavior, you find yourself captivated by Charles now that you understand what was really going on. His confidence, talent, and intensity are wildly attractive. And the way he’s looking at you now, with softness and admiration in his eyes .... it sends tingles down your spine.

“Alright, lead the way, hot shot,” you say with a wink.

Charles’ grin stretches even wider, if possible. “After you,” he gestures forward with a flourish, then falls into step beside you as you head towards the exit.

“I really am sorry for being such an idiot around you,” Charles says quietly after a moment of walking in comfortable silence. “The way I’ve acted was totally unacceptable. You deserve so much better.”

You glance over at his earnest expression and feel a little pang in your chest. “It’s okay, really. I get it now. Just think how close we could have been this whole time though if you’d just … I don’t know, talked to me like a normal human being!”

Charles chuckles ruefully. “Oof, so true. Honestly, I’m impressed you didn’t write me off ages ago as a complete lost cause. Clearly you’re far more patient and forgiving than I deserve.”

“Yes, I really am,” you agree teasingly, giving his arm a playful shove. You both laugh as you reach the paddock exit and emerge out onto the bustling street, taking in the energy of the crowd.

You jokingly elbow Charles’ side. “Still though, as dashingly handsome as you may be, don’t think you’re completely off the hook! I expect to be wooed and romanced properly going forward. No more running off scared like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“It’s a deal,” Charles says easily, looking thrilled. “Romance and wooing, coming right up.”

Reaching the charming little restaurant, Charles opens the door for you with a sweeping bow. You grin and step inside. Somehow, you have the feeling this is going to be the start of a wonderful evening.

No more misunderstandings. Just the two of you, getting to know each other properly over a delicious meal with the slight chill of the evening settling in around you.

And you can’t wait.

***

The next few race weekends are a whirlwind as Charles seems to do a complete 180 in his behavior towards you.

Gone is the shy, nervous wreck who could barely look you in the eye. Instead, he goes full-steam in the opposite direction, seeking you out constantly and showering you with attention.

It starts the following week after Friday practice. You’re standing in the paddock scribbling notes when you sense someone approaching. Looking up, you see Charles striding over, helmet in hand, usual calm confidence exuding from him.

“Ah, Y/N, just the reporter I was looking for,” he says with a warm grin, sidling up beside you. “Walk with me?”

Flustered by his forwardness but flattered, you quickly nod. “Uh, sure!”

Charles immediately links his arm casually through yours and starts leading you away down the paddock, journalists and crew members glancing over with raised eyebrows. You catch Natalie’s eye and she mouths “WTF?” at you with a stunned look. You just give a tiny shrug, feeling your face heat up.

“So tell me, what did you think of my lap times today?” Charles asks once you’re a few paces away from the crowd.

You blink, surprised he’s looking for actual feedback. You decide to give an honest assessment. “Well, I think you were sliding the rear end quite a bit too much through Sector 2 and losing time. The car didn’t look fully settled-”

“Brilliant analysis as always, Y/N. I knew I could count on you to give it to me straight,” Charles interrupts with a respectful nod. You feel yourself preen slightly at his praise. “Some changes to differential settings should sort that out, I think.”

He then launches into a surprisingly technical explanation of his plans to adjust the setup. You find yourself nodding along, captivated, as he outlines the various weight transfer issues and how he aims to mitigate them.

He’s speaking to you like a true engineer, not just a reporter. You realize with a jolt that he’s never gone into this level of detail with you before in any interviews.

“Sorry, I’m rambling a bit here, aren’t I?” Charles says sheepishly when he pauses. “I don’t want to bore you with too much technical detail. But you just have such a good eye and ask such insightful questions, I find myself wanting to really dive into this side of racing with you.”

He gives your arm a soft squeeze. “Anyway, let me know if you have any other observations or advice. I trust your analysis completely.”

Before you can properly respond, the two of you round a corner only to nearly walk directly into Sergio Perez, who’s heading the opposite direction. He does a comical double take at seeing the two of you arm-in-arm together.

“Ah, hello Checo!” Charles says breezily, not releasing you or missing a beat. Sergio looks hilariously confused.

“Uh … hello?” is all he manages before Charles is steering you onwards.

“See you around, mate,” he tosses over his shoulder with a wink.

You glance back to see Sergio frozen in place, staring after you both looking utterly bewildered.

The weekend continues in this vein, with Charles constantly pulling you aside to chat at length about setups, strategies, even asking your opinion on development directions for next year’s car.

He treats you with the utmost seriousness and respect, like you’re one of his most trusted advisors. It’s shocking and flattering after the cold-shoulder treatment for so long.

Whenever the broadcast crew has a break, Charles inevitably finds you and whisks you off to look at telemetry data together (which sends a poor PR officer chasing after the two of you with an NDA after the first time Charles decides to pull you into the garage) or watch video, going into painstaking detail to get your thoughts.

By Sunday, it’s become a bit of a running joke among the team, with people exchanging amused glances whenever Charles appears to disappear with you once again.

“There goes Loverboy Sharl, dragging poor Y/N off yet again to pore over spreadsheets and onboard footage,” Natalie jokes with an eye roll during a break, making the crew laugh. “How does that man ever find time to, you know, actually race?”

You shoot her a heatless glare, though you have to admit — as sweet as it is having Charles’ undivided attention, as a reporter the over-accessibility is becoming a touch much.

When the race concludes later that afternoon, Charles immediately finds you amid the chaos of the media scrum.

“Y/N!” He beams down at you, still sweaty and in his racing suit with the top half unzipped. “Come take a look at the race data with me? I want to walk through my lap times and tire deg, see if we can spot any areas to improve ...”

“Actually, I’m sort of totally swamped right now,” you gesture at the sea of people around you. “But maybe later?”

His face falls slightly. “Oh. Well I suppose I did already monopolize a lot of your time this weekend. No rest for the media?”

He gives you a lopsided smile but there’s a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. You feel a little stab of guilt.

“Tell you what though,” he continues, brightening again. “Come find me later before we fly out. I’ll have a surprise waiting for you.”

“A surprise?” You ask with a raised brow. “What does that mean?”

“Ah ah ah, no hints!” Charles laughs, wagging a finger. “Just trust me. Don’t leave without seeing me first, okay?”

With that, he leans in and unexpectedly gives you a swift peck on the cheek. You freeze, eyes going wide, feeling your face flame. Pulling back, Charles winks cheekily at you before turning and sauntering off.

Dazed, you lift a hand to touch the spot he kissed, feeling the heat radiating from your cheek. Did he really just … right out in the open like that … with the cameras recording live?

Glancing around, you see Natalie and a few other crew members staring with mouths agape. Toto Wolff is even giving you an amused look as he walks past, one eyebrow arched knowingly. Utterly mortified, you duck your head down and hurry off to find a quiet corner to collect yourself.

The next race sees the flirting and PDA ramp up even higher. Charles can’t seem to resist finding any excuse to drape an arm around your waist, stroke your arm, or playfully tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Every interaction has an undercurrent of flirtation and innuendo. And the cheek kisses become almost routine, pressed on you in front of other drivers, team bosses, cameramen, you name it.

“I can’t take you anywhere, can I?” You finally say in flustered exasperation after he ambushes you with a very public, lingering kiss on the cheek in the paddock one day. You struggle to sound annoyed, but a pleased grin tugs at the corners of your mouth as you say it.

“Sorry, ma chérie, I just can’t seem to resist around you,” Charles replies, absolutely zero shame in his voice or demeanor. “You’re lucky I have more self-control than to start making out right here in front of everyone!”

You gasp and slap his arm, scandalized, as he just throws his head back and laughs heartily.

Meanwhile, the double-takes and stunned looks from everyone around just keep coming. Even the normally straight-faced Fred Vasseur can’t seem to hold back smug grins whenever he sees the two of you getting cozy.

“Go on and get a room already, you two!” He finally chuckles one day as Charles passes by in the paddock with his usual arm draped around your waist.

“Don’t tempt me!” Charles quips back without missing a beat, giving you a roguish wink.

Soon, literally everyone in the paddock and broadcast team is aware of and commenting on the developing romance between you and Charles.

He makes no attempt to hide it whatsoever.

“Honestly, I think they’re the most nauseatingly adorable couple I’ve ever seen,” Jenson Button jokes to the rest of the broadcast team one evening as they all watch Charles throw his arm around you yet again and plant a smacking kiss on your temple.

“The honeymoon phase never ends with those two,” Natalie agrees in a wry tone, rolling her eyes. “It’s like they’re a pair of horny teenagers making out behind the bleachers.”

You just shake your head with a bashful smile and accept the good-natured ribbing. The truth is, despite Charles’ very public displays of affection causing some embarrassment and teasing from your colleagues, you find it hard to truly mind.

There’s an earnestness and joy in his demeanor whenever he’s with you that makes your heart swell. You’ve never seen him so openly happy and carefree as these past few weeks. Gone is the tightly wound, intense competitor. In his place is a warm, playful soul who can’t help but let his delight in your company shine through.

And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find his romantic attentions flattering and thrilling. The way his gaze smolders when his eyes meet yours, the tingle of electricity you feel whenever his hand brushes yours, the butterflies that erupt in your stomach when his lips graze your cheek — it all makes you deliriously giddy, like a lovesick teenager yourself.

So you endure the good-natured eye rolls from Natalie and jokes from the broadcast crew with an easy smile. Because the truth is, you’ve realized how deeply you’ve fallen for Charles in return.

“You’ve got me utterly love drunk, you charming fool,” you murmur against his chest one evening.

The two of you are tucked away in a quiet corner, Charles’ back against the wall with his arms wrapped around you as you stand embraced, soaking in a few stolen moments of intimacy together.

“The feeling is mutual,” Charles replies easily, resting his chin on your head. “I’m not sure I’ll ever recover from this madness.” He pauses, absentmindedly stroking your back. “Honestly, I half expected you to get sick of me hanging around all the time by now.”

You pull back to meet his warm green eyes. “Are you kidding? I love having you around. I still have to pinch myself that you actually want to be with me after the way you treated me for so long!”

A flicker of regret passes across Charles’ features. “I truly am sorry for being such an ass before, Y/N. I hope with time you can forgive me.”

“Already forgiven,” you assure him softly. “We’re here now. That’s what matters.”

Relief blossoms on his face and he leans in to nuzzle his nose against yours. “Thank you, ma belle. For being the most patient and kind woman on earth.”

You grin, eyes fluttering closed as his breath tickles your skin. “Mmm, I wouldn’t go that far. But I guess I do possess some super-human tolerance for broody and aloof superstar drivers with commitment issues.”

Charles chuckles at that and you can feel the rumble of it against your body. “Lucky for me then, or I would still be utterly lost.”

His mouth finds yours then, soft and intoxicating. You melt into the kiss, savoring his warmth, his scent, the gentle stroke of his fingertips along your jaw. All semblance of poise escapes you when you’re pressed against Charles like this. He never fails to make your head spin and body thrum with want.

A polite cough from nearby causes you to break apart abruptly. You blink, dazed, to see Natalie standing with an eyebrow arched sky high.

“Hey lovebirds,” she says in a wry tone. “Sorry to disturb the sunset groping, but they’re calling for final broadcast checks in 10.”

Face flaming, you duck your head and extract yourself from Charles’ embrace. He just shoots Natalie a cheeky grin, entirely unabashed.

“Better get going then,” Charles says cheerfully, giving you a quick peck on the cheek. “Wouldn’t want you to be late because of me … again.” He winks.

Natalie rolls her eyes hard. “Oh I’m sure that would be a first. See you in 10, Y/N.”

With that, she turns on her heel and heads back towards the pits. You glance up at Charles shyly.

“I should … uh ...” You gesture vaguely.

“Yes, yes of course,” Charles says, squeezing your hands affectionately. “Work calls. Don’t worry, I’ll be waiting around the next corner to steal more kisses as soon as you’re free.”

You laugh and give him a playful shove. “Go on then, you impossible man! I’ll see you in a bit.”

Heart fluttering, you watch him saunter off before heading for the pits yourself, still feeling delightfully dazed.

This is really your life now. Surrounded by racing, the thrill of competition, the roar of engines … and consumed by budding love every time Charles Leclerc is near.

As far as dream jobs go, you think with a lovestruck smile, you’ve really hit the jackpot.

2K notes · View notes

kafkasmuses · 14 days

Text

KITTY KAT — art donaldson + reader : art has a tendency to show up late to your lessons.

tags: mdni, tennis lessons, coach!art donaldson, p in v sex, fingering, art is kind of an asshole, cheating (not on reader)

a/n: sorry to tashi… this goes out to my dear @murdrdocs

thirty minutes ago.

art donaldson was supposed to be here thirty minutes ago, your teeth grit against each other, foot tapping impatiently against the concrete floor below you.

art was a sweet guy, sure, but his time management was beyond infuriating. it almost made you feel like he thought himself above you, like you weren’t worth his time.

“one to talk,” you mumble to yourself, dragging your racket on the ground, “rich from the guy who was coached by his wife.”

ahem.

you spin around, and of course, he’s standing right there, looking the same as he always does. his dirty blonde hair was messed up and falling over his eyebrows, blue eyes, with a mix of brown, staring directly at you with an almost amused expression.

you blink at him, once, twice.

a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips, “sorry for being late.”

it sounds condescending, like he would never actually mean it, especially not after what he heard, it felt like a sort of karma for what you were previously saying about him.

and he knows that, of course he does, so he masks it with a sense of sweetness, one that would typically gaslight people into thinking they’ve been forgiven, but you know better.

you’ve been coached by art for a while now, and his little habits became far too predictable. this was odd, though, you couldn’t make out the glint in his eye, especially when you mumble a, “sorry, i didn’t mean—“

“let’s get started, yeah?” art cuts in, bitter, yet his voice still sounded like it was dipped in honeysuckle.

he whisks right past you with that same, tugged up smirk, he reeked of rich cologne and mint.

your lips press together and you silently, albeit ashamed, nod in agreement.

maybe silence will earn points back from your coach.

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🎾

silence did not earn anything.

art served hard, hit the ball hard, it was as if he wanted to make the ball break through your racket and hit you square in the face. he clearly took your miniscule words personally, and he was testing you, trying to break you down, to see how much you could take until your bones turned soft and you felt like giving up.

the first time you called a pause, art smiled, “don’t tell me you’re giving up.”

“pause,” you repeat through heaved breaths, sweat sticking to your skin underneath the relentless sun. art had that same playful look in his eyes that he always did, he knew that what he was doing was working, he knew that he was getting under your skin, and as cruel as it sounds, he really did enjoy it.

if you ever were to ask him about it, he’d just shrug and say it’s all a part of the practice, it always happens in tennis, especially professional, he’s just preparing you. but deep down, he really just wanted to say that he was doing it for those reasons but for his own personal pleasures, karma comes in many forms, but art picks the harshest form first.

he watches you drink water with a desperate urgency, stifling his own chuckles, “you sure you’re okay?”

“‘m fine,” you speak after gulping down the last drop, finally satisfied, “let’s keep going.”

art’s brows furrow ever so slightly, but as soon as you’re back to being ready, he rolls the tennis ball in his hand a little, observing it, before throwing it up in the air and sending it your way. he’s so casual with every hit, despite his grunts and the way his nose scrunches whenever ball meets racket, he makes it look like it’s nothing.

to make it even worse, he starts trying to conversate between passes, “you know—“ smack! another grunt leaves his lips, “it’s really rude to—“ smack! “speak about people behind their—“ smack! “fuck.. backs.”

you’re so busy trying to decipher his words you almost miss the next hit, but thankfully you snap out of the trance quick enough to hit it last minute, which he chuckles at and quickly sends it back.

smack! “‘m sorry, art, really—“ your shoes scratch against the concrete below, smack! “i was being very—“ smack! “childish, i apologize.”

he hums, content with your apologies, but still not outwardly saying he forgives you, instead his hits start to soften, he’s less trying to kill you with the ball and now rather trying to actually play tennis. “you’re all good—“ he confirms, smack! “just make it up to me, yeah?”

ball meets floor, his words had completely caught you off guard, and you missed your hit on the ball he sent your way. you felt almost stupid, standing there, staring at him and trying to decipher what he meant by making it up to him.

and of course, he didn’t elaborate, he never did, he simply just picked up another ball, smiled at you, and said, “ready?”

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🎾

art said he forgave you, right?

ever since that day, he’s been acting.. off. he was more focused on your figure now, not in a crude way, but in a way where he wanted you to position yourself correctly when playing. he watches you serve the ball, then his tongue prods at the inside of his cheek and he stands, “hey, hey, wait a second— your uh… your stance is wrong.”

“it is?” it was the fifth time he’s corrected you, today, and it’s safe to say you were getting annoyed, he picked up on the bitterness of your tone as he approached you.

“‘ts not my fault, kitty cat,” he shrugged simply, noticing the way your eyes narrow in frustration at his nickname, he only smiles. he leans in behind you, “may i?” his hands are ghosting over your arms from behind.

“whatever helps,” you remark.

“good,” it’s softly spoken at the shell of your ear, making you swallow thick, his fingers wrap around your wrist, other one holding your fingers grip on the racket’s handle. his grip is tight, yet gentle at the same time, veins flexing against his flesh with every movement as he helps you move into the right position. “just gotta.. do it like this,” he’s still whispering against your ear, nearly making your knees buckle.

once he’s satisfied with your position, which is far too quick for your liking, he backs off and lets you serve the ball again. he smiles once he’s gotten what he’s wanted, “perfect.”

eventually, after a while of hitting the ball, you decided to take a break. there was a silence between you and art, a tension you couldn’t place, you had nothing to blame it on, nothing to apologize for, and he constantly looked like he was trying to say something indescribable.

“hey,” he starts, before tugging his bottom lip under his tongue for a mere second before continuing, “remember when i said you had to make it up to me?”

you stare at him, curious, “yeah, of course.”

“you know,” his hands smooth over each other, skin underneath his right eye twitching as his pupils dilate in thought, “i’ve been having a.. problem, lately.”

“with tennis?”

“nono,” he laughs nervously, moving to scratch the back of his neck, “it’s personal, y’know? well— not entirely, since ‘m telling you, but uh— actually, nevermind.”

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🎾

you and art hadn’t discussed much after the last meet, you found yourself standing in the court yet again, whilst he was no short of an hour late at this point. you wanted to ask him what his deal is lately, what his problem is, but he wasn’t even here to be questioned. it was almost ridiculous, like he was toying with you.

“i like your skirt,” it comes out of nowhere, but it’s the same, smooth voice that art holds.

yet again, you find yourself spinning around to meet him, he’s closer, now, clearly eyeing you— but that’s.. weird, is it not? he has a wife, he shouldn’t be complimenting your obviously short skirt, or eyeing you like that, or wishing to tell you things that he had apparently not told anyone else because it’s personal. but who are you to question his relationship? maybe he’s just.. being nice, really.

“thank you,” you offer, nice, short, sweet.

he rolls his shoulder, meeting your eyes, flickering his gaze to your lips for a mere second, then saying nothing and walking by. rich cologne and mint. that’s what wafts into your senses immediately, as if it was some sort of distraction from his odd behaviors.

“do you always call people kitty cat?” you eventually ask him, it was something you’d been wondering, truly, especially since you’ve never been called that before.

“to pretty girls with an attitude, yeah,” art says it so casually.

“like your wife?”

“like you.”

art corrected you.

he corrected you, and his correction didn’t annoy you like how they always did, it made your stomach churn in a way you couldn’t decipher, you couldn’t tell if it was good or bad. you liked it, maybe, but isn’t that so sickening? art seems to think no big deal of his own words, as he doesn’t even react, so you try to be nonchalant about it as well.

the whole entire test match you play with him, he has a certain glint in his eye, his grunts are louder, his shorts look tighter, he looks like he’s having some sort of reaction to playing tennis, to playing tennis with you. your tongue runs along your lips between breaks, noticing the way his eyes linger on it, the way his pupils widen at the shine of saliva over your lips with each swipe.

at the third break, art was convinced you were doing this on purpose.

“why do you keep doing that?” he asks as he’s walking over to grab his water bottle, right where you’re sitting on the concrete floor. you blink up at him, watching him hover the bottle near his lips and squirt the water into his mouth. did he always look this good when sweaty?

gosh, maybe you’re just tired, maybe your mind is just foggy.

“what?” you frown, confused.

“licking your lips,” he speaks after swallowing the water, towering over you. his muscles were nearly bursting out of his white t-shirt with every movement, especially when he puts his water bottle down and crosses his arm, head cocking to the side. sweat causes some of his hair strands to stick to his forehead, lips puffy from how much he bites them when playing.

“my lips are dry,” you explain, so simple.

“yeah?” again, another smile, he had to be toying with you, “do you need some other help with that?”

“what do you mean?”

art hums, not explaining anything when he opens his mouth and swipes his thumb along his tongue, moving down to rub the saliva from his tongue onto your lips, memorizing the pillowy soft touch. your eyes widen, slightly, “art, this is—“

“not helping?” art tuts in faux disappointment, mumbling a small, ‘why don’t i..’ before he leans down further, licking his own lips and getting closer and closer until his lips are brushing against yours.

“wrong,” you mumble out, but you sound unsure, like you don’t really believe what you just said, you don’t think this is wrong, you’ve always thought art was attractive, it was his wife that kept your crush on him at bay. you mumble against his lips, “you have a wife, art..”

“do i?” he smirks against your lips, a near chuckle slipping out, “i must’ve forgotten.”

“art,” it sounds like a warning, but again, you wanted nothing less than for his lips to fall against yours right now.

“make it up to me, yeah? remember that?” his hand moves to hold your cheek, tipping your head up at him, eyes meeting yours in such close proximity, “i’ve got some marriage problems right now, so why don’t you play wife for me, hm?”

you nod at him, ever so slightly, he clocks it immediately, and that’s his que. his eyes flutter shut, and he’s leaning in only a mere centimeter before his lips fall against yours. the kiss is soft at first, sweet, new, but then art starts taking the lead, and it quickly becomes something on the faint lines of cannibalism, he kissed you like he wanted to eat you, like he loved you.

when he said he wanted you to play wife, he wasn’t lying.

he pries your lips open with his own before his tongue makes it’s way inside your mouth, tasting the peppermint of your gum on your own tongue, memorizing the noisy breaths that leave your mouth and move into his. your nails are quick to run along his arms, making him pull back to speak, “hold on, kitty cat.”

“you call your wife kitty cat?” you watch him peel off his sweaty shirt from his skin.

he tosses the shirt to the side, exhaling a breath that showed he hated the feeling of the wet fabric on his skin, “mm, i call you kitty cat, ‘nd you’re playing my wife, so.”

“right,” you agree, letting his cold hands brush against your skin when he takes your clothes off of you, of course looking at you for approval beforehand, which you nod to.

“did you start wearing shorter skirts on purpose?” art questions when his fingers reach the waistband of your skirt, ever so slowly dipping underneath.

“no, ‘course not,” you speak breathlessly, feeling his fingers move under your underwear as well until his fingertips meet your clit. you swallow thick, lashes fluttering as he starts moving his fingers in an almost cruel slowness.

“look at me,” he whispers a simple command, free hand holding your chin and forcing you to look at him. his fingers move further down, immediately feeling how wet you are, he chuckles in surprise, “god, you’re this wet for a married man, huh?”

“for my husband,” you mumble out, playing the part.

“that’s right,” his middle finger circles your entrance for a second before ever so slowly dipping it inside. he watches your lips fall apart, the way your eyes get glossed over, the way your hips push up against his finger. “needy.”

he doesn’t take long to push another finger in, letting go of your chin so he could guide your hand to his clothed cock, hard and pushing against his flimsy shorts. as soon as you start rubbing his dick through the fabric, his breath shudders slightly, as if he’s been waiting too long for like, as if he hasn’t had sexual pleasure in weeks.

soon enough, only a mere minute or two in of foreplay, art gets antsy and he has to have his dick inside of you, he pries his fingers from your cunt and takes your skirt off next. “lay down for me, yeah?” he smiles at the fact that you do it immediately, even spreading your legs for him.

he hisses at the feeling when his bare knees meet the concrete floor below, harsh on his skin, he tugs his shorts and boxers down ever so slightly until his cock is finally freed. you inhale sharply upon seeing it, he had a big dick. he spits in his hand, coating his dick with a grunt before he finally lines himself up with your entrance.

“ready?” he hushes out.

“yeah, yeah,” you’re barely able to finish the last yeah before his dick is moving into you, his nose scrunching from the tightness of your walls around him, it’s like you were purposefully squeezing his cock with an attempt to milk him dry already.

“fuck,” he grunts out, pulling back, then moving back in, earning a pathetic moan from your lips. it sounds like music to his ears, so he keeps going, his thrusting was slow at first, gentle, kind— but just like the test matches, or the kiss, he gets hungry, and he wants more.

his thrusts turn relentless almost immediately, maybe even like he was taking out some sorts of sexual frustrations out on your poor cunt. whimpers, whines, moans, all of those leave your lips, matching up with the grunts and the occasional whimper from his own mouth as well.

sex was intoxicating for art, and there was something so dangerous, so forbidden about this, you weren’t really his wife, he was married to another woman, he was solely your coach. some sick part of art loves that, maybe that’s why he leans down and starts nipping at your neck, sucking at the delicate skin until maroon and blackberry starts blooming on the blank canvas.

“art, oh my god,” you moan out, hands moving to scratch at his bare back, and maybe art should be smart enough to tell you not to leave marks, but he lets your nails dig in as his thrusts get harsher, surely drawing blood, or at least noticeable scratches.

in fact, the feeling of you tearing into his skin only makes his orgasm come on faster, soon enough wracking his body and making his hips stutter. he keeps going though, despite the overstimulation that makes him pathetically whine softly, just until you’ve reached your own orgasm.

he pulls out, panting, smirking down at you, “thanks, kitty cat.”

#୨୧ (jules yapping) .ᐟ #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #mike faist #mike faist x reader #mike faist x you #art donaldson smut #art donaldson challengers #challengers #challengers smut #mike faist smut #mike faist challengers

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mrrharper · 3 months

Text

Academic requirements

Coach received some worrying information about one of his star players, DE1. His performance at practice and during games was still very good, great even. But it was all overshadowed by some disturbing reports. DE1 's grades have gone up since last season and he was seen walking around campus with a textbook in his hand. Moreover, his turnout at frat events dropped below 100% and he has been seen interacting with multiple nerds at least three times within the previous two weeks.

This was enough for Coach to get concerned, so he invited DE1 for a chat in his office. The jock entered the room and sat in a chair in front of Coach's desk. DE1 was one of Coach's finest specimens - he was absolutely huge. 6'5 and 260 pounds of pure muscle, with arms ready to tackle a mountain, pecs and shoulders prepared to withstand the pressure of the entire offensive line and legs the size of tree trunks. An absolute stud, and perfect advertisement of Coach's training methods.

Coach greeted DE1 and explained why he asked him to come - he laid out all the concerning rumors that were spreading withing the building of the Athletics Department - about his focus on studying and interacting with non-jocks. DE1, in turn, was confused by what he heard and didn't really know how to respond to his Coach's words.

He didn't have time to come up with anything to say though, as right after he finished speaking Coach turned his computer around and DE1 was now looking straight into a monitor displaying a condensed version of one of Coach's trusted hypnotic videos. The jock's attention suddenly shifted towards the screen, forgetting about anything else. His whole body relaxed in the chair, his legs now wide apart and showing off his bulge, visible through his shorts.

As the video showed shirtless jocks working out, then jocks in full gear tackling each other during a football game, then jocks partying and drinking while dancing with only boxers on, DE1 began drooling. As he did, subliminal messages continued to make their way into his brain

DUMB

BRO

FLEX

OBEY

LIFT

PARTY

JOCK

DAWG

The sounds encoded within the video only amplified these commands. Coach looked from behind the screen as his best edge rusher took in everything Coach wanted and slowly, but surely, returned to his proper ways - a jacked brute, capable only of lifting, partying and sacking every QB he encounters.

After a while the video came to an end. Coach took back his computer and DE1 blinked a few times, then wiped most of the drool form his face and scratched his crotch.

"uhhhhhhh, Coach.... what... happened, bruh?"

"Everything's fine. Let me ask you a few questions. What's your name."

"DE1, Coach, duh."

"And who are you?"

"Am the best DE in the conference, Coach!"

"What's your approach to college and classes?"

"Duuuuude, that's some nerd shit, lemme tell ya, Coach, I do just enough to go above the NCAA threshold for scholarship athletes, bro, huhuhuhuh"

"Good, DE1, and do you stay in contact with people who don't play football?"

"Ugh, dude, Coach, me? With a fuckin' nerd? Bruh, am doin' just fine with the dudes on the team. Ain't no one else I need to stay in contact with, Coach"

Coach grinned as DE1 responded exactly the way he was supposed to.

"Thanks, DE1, you're free now. Don't be late to tomorrow's practice"

"Will do, Coach!"

A day later Coach was notified of DE1 posting a shirtless photo on Instagram with the caption reading "who ready for that Alpha Phi beer fest bruhs?"

#jock #football jock #football machine #jock hypno

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goldeunoias · 4 months

Text

Temptation.

Synopsis: Heeseung fucks a fan 💕 (let the delulu begin)

Please let me know if I should keep as a oneshot or do a part two of the story!

__________________________________________

He slipped you a piece of paper into the fangoods you'd brought to be signed, whispering a quick a "don't open it" before smiling and taking a picture with you. He moved onto the next person to talk to at the send off as if nothing had happened, holding your goods against your chest for the fear the thing he'd given you would slip out.

You looked over to your friends and wondered if you should tell them or keep it to yourself, heart racing in your ears as you tapped on their shoulder.

"I-I have to go to the bathroom, meet right by the doors so we can leave together," you rushed out, maneuvering your way through the crowd until you found a corner of the venue hall that wasn't too crowded, mostly filled with staff working on cleaning up.

You shook your stuff to let the piece of paper fall out, a string of colorful expressions leaving your mouth as you saw what you surmised to be Heeseung's hotel and room number.

Quickly gathering yourself you stood up with your heart thrumming in your ears, swallowing thickly as you made your way over to your friend.

"U-um, do you wanna just stay at a hotel instead? It's. a pretty far drive back and it's probably safer that way...don't you think," you excused, giving your friend a smile that you hoped didn't look too suspicious. "I'll cover the cost," you added on hoping that would convince her.

"No can do, remember I have to be at a networking event tomorrow," they responded. You chewed on your inner cheek and tried to think of the smartest way, going up to the police officer that waited by the door.

"Um excuse me could you escort her to her car so she won't be alone?" The guard looked perplexed but nodded your friend giving you an equally confused look when leaving. You mouthed an "I'll explain later" and called yourself a car to his hotel room, wondering how the hell this was going to play out.

When you finally found yourself outside the aforementioned hotel room you took three breaths before knowing a couple of times, your heart thrumming against your chest when opened Heeseung.

He'd removed his concert makeup and was back in his clothes before the show started, giving you a half-grin as he stepped to the side to let you in.

You squeaked out a "thank you" and went to his bed, feeling your cheeks burn at how surreal this felt.

"No need to be nervous and you can of course leave or stop at anytime," he soothed.

"Should I shower or something beforehand I mean I've been standing all day and I didn't really freshen up" you rambled out, unable to make eye contact with Heeseung as you sat at the head of his bed, keeping your eyes on your hands as to not stare anyway for too long.

Heeseung closed the door and laughed, coming to kneel down in front of you.

"Would it make you feel better if we showered?"

You nodded, your heart racing from how mischievous his eyes looked.

"Only if we shower together-"

"I don't think we'll both fit in there," you interjected standing up before he could say anything because you weren't sure if you could mentally handle a wet-bodied Heeseung.

Heeseung chuckled but relented, flopping himself on the bed as he stared at the ceiling. You used the shower as a means to prep for the ordeal you were about to divulge yourself in, giving yourself a coach pep talk before you walked out in the hotel bathrobe, cheeks shiny from the steam of your shower.

Heeseung gave you a glance that made your heart leap out of your chest, backing yourself against the wall when he stood in front of you. Your breath hitched when his hand slid on your cheek to behind your ear, rubbing your earlobe gently.

"You have a shower to take r-right," you stuttered out. The eyes you gave him made Heeseung want to ravage you on the hotel floor.

"If you give me a kiss," he teased, laughing when you put your hand up to your mouth and shook your head.

"No. I don't kiss men who won't shower," you huffed, using your strength to push him into the shower. He relented once more because he just found your mannerisms too adorable to say no, and you wondered if he could hear how loud your heart was beating.

When Heeseung finally opened the bathroom door you closed your eyes by covering them, just in case he tried to come out naked.

"You don't have to do that, I have pants on," Heeseung remarked, coming down and kneeling between your legs.

You swallowed thickly as his warm hands enveloped yours, kissing along the skin of your knuckles. His hair was darker now from how wet it was and droplets were trickling onto rosy cheeks, making him seem borderline ethereal.

"That was a pretty short shower. Are you sure you're clean," you remarked to fill the silence in the air. Heeseung broke composure and laughed into your lab, kissing your knees as he rose his head again.

"I am I am. You can check for yourself if you like..." he trailed off, rising up and gently pushing you onto your back. Your heart rate picked up speed and you tried not to let your mind run while as Heeseung lifted your leg and softly kissed your ankle up to your knee, smiling against your skin every time you looked away from him.

"Princess, I was thinking about something in the shower," he began, going underneath your bathrobe to massage your warm thighs.

Your chest rose as you felt calloused hands move against your flesh, his head lowering to kiss your lower thighs.

"Have you ever gotten off to me? Slid your pretty fingers inside yourself hoping I'd get the places you couldn't?"

The lewdness of the question made your mind halt and you stuttered out a weak "no". Heeseung chuckled and nipped at the soft flesh of your thigh, raising a brow.

"Are you sure? You got so shy when I asked you," he came up to your face his lips practically speaking against yours, "You can tell the truth princess. To be honest, I'm dying to see such a pretty doll like you get yourself off to the thought of me," Heeseung panted out.

Heeseung pressed some of his body weight down against you and your eyes widened at what you felt, Heeseung smiling against the skin of your neck when you realized.

"The thing you feel against you is how crazy you've already made me princess. Let me see your hand?" You let out a "sure" and let him take your hand and press it against his hard-on, your ears burning at how hot it felt.

"You're the one who did this to me, so can I watch you princess? Please," he almost whined.

"I'm not sure if I-I can give you a show that you likebutIcantry," you awkwardly rushed out, pushing him off of you so you could sit at the head of the bed with your legs spread.

Heeseung uttered a breathy "thank you" as you lowered your underwear, a groan leaving him once he saw how soaked you already were.

You closed your eyes and did your best to imagine him not in front of you but in your head, hyping yourself up for some courage. You started teasing your chest and bit down on your lip when you tugged at a hardened nipple, never realizing that having someone watch you could make the experience that much more tantalizing.

By the time you'd slithered your hand between your legs rubbing your swollen bud elicited sopping noises from your core, your back arching after teasing yourself so long.

"What are you imagining princess, talk to me," Heeseung groaned, his eyes trained on how puffy your clit had gotten from your teasing.

"I-I've always wanted to be edged or" a whimper left you and your toes curled for a moment, "o-overstimulated but I can't do it myself, so I imagine...you doing it," you murmured, your entrance starting to ache in a way you've never felt before.

"And in my head at least...I think you'd be good at fingering," you whined out, your breath getting heavy.

"Oh yeah? Why don't you try doing it then," he teased, his heart pounding in his ears as how turned on he was becoming.

You shook your head and whined, pressing down against your clit harder. "It doesn't feel good when I-I do it, I need...your help."

God you were going you were going to be the death of him.

Heeseung hissed through his teeth, inching closer to you. "Open your eyes princess and let me take over, I'll give the Heeseung you see in your dreams," he promised, on his breaking point.

You figured it must have been a while since he'd gotten any action and relented, Heeseung grabbing your slick-soaked fingers and sucking them clean before letting them fall to your side.

You watched with blown-out pupils as he licked his lips clean of your slick, moving you so his head was comfortably between your legs

"Shit princess you have such a nice pussy," he groaned, wasting no time before wrapping his soft lips around your swollen bud. Your back instantly arched into the sensation as you felt the heat and coarse texture of his tongue circle the bud slowly.

"Y-you're teasing me," you huffed out between heavy breaths, noticing how he made his licks borderline tedious. He chuckled and arched and brow, feigning innocence as a thick digit circled your entrance.

"Princess catches on quick I see. But weren't you the one who wanted to be edged and overstimulated?" he clucked through his tongue, borderline snickering at you when your tight walls were met with his thick digit.

Your head already felt dizzy as your walls pulsed around the intrusion, the harsh but slow licks on your clit only making your hyper aware of what you were feeling.

He tsked and nipped at your thigh to get your attention, already noticing how hazy your stare at become.

"Don't let me lose you now princess," Heeseung teased as he slid in another digit, the stretch remedying the ache you were feeling in your core. "Where does princess like to be fingered I wonder...here?" he remarked innocently, curling his fingers too shallow on purpose.

You shook your head and tried to grab his wrist to guide him, Heeseung clucking his tongue as to not. "Nuh-uh princess, you gotta talk to me not just show me. How else am I to learn your special spots?"

"Deeper, go deeper," you rapsed out, closing your legs around his hand when you felt the pads of his fingers press where it felt best. Heeseung hummed at your reaction, scissoring your core to stretch out the muscle as much as possible.

"Poor thing, how am I supposed to edge you when you're giving me such soft eyes," Heeseung cooed, speeding up his fingers as his tongue wrapped around your clit and sucked harshly.

You whined and tried to push your foot against his shoulder to get him off of you, the knot in your lower tightening to the point where your legs were shaking.

"w-wait, slowdown," you breathed out, trying not to be too loud so the people next door wouldn't hear you.

"My name," Heeseung ordered against your puffy and abused clit, licking it over with the tip of his tongue before flattening his muscle against it. "Say my name."

You widened your eyes and shook your head, wondering how insane he had to be to want you to moan out his name in a crowded hotel.

He scoffed and moved himself so his face was directly above yours, his two digits now stilled in your heat.

"There are other people on t-the floor," you reasoned, tensing up Heeseung licked a wet stripe up your neck and to your ear lobe. He licked the shell of it before nipping at it.

"What are you doing focusing on other people princess?" He remarked through a pout, sliding in a third digit and sucking on your bottom lip as your jaw went slack. "Aren't you supposed to only be focusing on me?"

"I-I'romise I am," you keened out, your nails digging into the sheets as you felt the knot in your lower belly tighten.

"So say it," Heeseung cooed against your lips, emphasizing his point by speeding up his fingers.

"H-heeseung," you croaked out, your inner thighs becoming slick with arousal as you got close.

"Good girl~, and who's making you feel this good?"

"Hee-" you bit on your lower lip to quiet a loud moan, "seung, Lee Heeseung."

"Good girl~, now g'head and cum for me so I can fuck you nice and good yeah?" Heeseung sweetly asked, holding your face in place so you could only make hazy eye-contact with him as the knot got too tight before snapping.

His name now fell from your lips like a waterfall as his fingers continued pressing against your special spots, unable to stop shaking as he stood up on his knees.

Your eyes widened as he lowered his pajama pants and you were faced with something that you weren't sure was gonna fit, though your eyes were trained on the copious amounts of precum that had leaked from the tip.

"See this princess? I told you you're driving me crazy," Heeseung panted through gritted teeth, a strangled groan leaving him when he squeezed at his base, more droplets leaking from his reddened tip.

You squeezed your legs together in anticipation as he then reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a condom, pressing it against your lips softly.

"Rip it for me yeah?"

You nodded and gently ripped it with your teeth, watching intently as he slid it on and position himself back between your legs.

"Shit princess~," he groaned when he saw your core drenched in syrupy arousal, rubbing his tip against your folds to collect the drops.

"I was afraid you weren't going to be wet enough but you're fucking drenched," He hissed as he pushed his tip past your folds. You immediately tensed up at how large the stretch was, whimpers leaving you mewls of his name following in suit.

"I know princess, it's okay, in through your nose out through your mouth like this," Heeseung soothed, watching you intently as you mimicked his breathing pattens, his hips slowly inching in every time you breathed out.

When he'd bottomed out you couldn't help but squirm as you felt his tip push against your cervix, the foreign but tingly sensation it elicited making you want more.

"You can move now, please," you added on, wiggling your hips to satiate the tingle you felt in your lower belly.

"How can I say no to someone who's asking so sweetly," Heeseung remarked sweetly, moving his hips so every time his tip was pressing against your stomach.

You keened out his name before covering your mouth to silence yourself, ragged breathing leaving through your nose as a consequence.

"Nuh-uh princess, let them hear everything," Heeseung whispered against your ear, grabbing your wrists and pinning them against your head. His gentle ministrations had now been swapped for languid but intense thrusts, though you could tell he was only giving you half of his length.

"H-heseung it's not'nuff," you panted out, moving your hips against his desperately to satisfy yourself. Heeseung chuckled at how whiny you were becoming, such a stark contrast to the timid girl that walked through the door.

"It isn't?" he pouted at you, rolling his hips in to you to tease you, "does princess want a kiss then?" he offered up, already leaning in.

You shook your head and covered your mouth and his, Heeseung furrowing his brows.

"K-kissing is what people...in relationships do," you stuttered out.

Heeseung let it off with a smile to hide the tinge of jealousy he felt in chest, his lips instead going to your neck to mark it as his.

"Come to my next show princess," Heeseung offered up, nipping at the skin over your jugular as he squeezed your hands. "I'll give you every inch if I get to see your pretty face at my concert next week," he teased, his hips starting to move out until you were left with just the tip.

"You're crazy," you panted out, whining when Heeseung continued to kiss across your chest and neck, humming in agreement.

"I'll cover airfare and hotel," he continued, unfazed. He'd never been so possessive nor obsessive before but the thought of letting another man touch your skin made his crawl and he refused to let that be a reality.

"At t-that point you're just being my sugar daddy," you reasoned, your hands gripping at his hair when his warm mouth attached to a pert nipple, leaving your core completely neglected.

"We can go out to dinner that night and split the check then," he countered, giving you teasing eyes. "Pretty please?" he added on, giving you soft kisses across your sternum.

Your back arched at the soft sensations and you blamed the endorphins from sex as the reason you panted out an "okay", Heeseung wasting no time pushing all of his inches into you.

"H-hee wait-" your sentence was cut short by his tip making contact with your cervix, your toes curling as Heeseung lifted one of your legs and draped it on your shoulder.

The sounds coming from your core made your face burn but Heseung was reveling in it, desperate to mold your walls into a shape that only he could fill.

You instinctively went to bite down on your lip to silence your sounds, Heeseung tsking and pushing himself impossibly deeper.

"C'mon princess, tell the people on the floor who's making you feel this good," he grinned, his teeth tugging at your ear.

"H-heeseung," you choked out, feeling another knot tighten in your lower belly.

"Mhmm, and who's about to make you cum?"

"y-you." At this point your mind was truly a mess, whining out a "I'm close" as Heeseung pressed you into a mating press, desperate to make you both cum.

I'm not letting you go...

He thought to himself as he watched you leave scratch marks down his chest and breathy moans fall from your lips.

Why should I have to let you go?

He continued as he felt something tight form in his own stomach, begging himself to hold out a little longer so he could cum with you.

I won't.

He concluded, coming into the condom with a strangled groan to match your breathy moan.

You both lay there shaking for a moment as you came down from your highs, Heeseung resisting the urge to plant a kiss on your parted lips.

"If I'm in the front row will I distract you?" you wondered after awhile, giggling when Heeseung scoffed and rolled his eyes. Heeseung sat up before gently easing himself out of you, throwing the condom away and leading you to the bathroom for a round two.

"If you wear the skirt that you did tonight you will."

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THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR READING!

please please please let me know if you guys want this as a part two as well or keep it as a oneshot! comments, reblogs, and anons are the reason why I write so much for Heeseung so please keep them coming if you want more Heeseung content from me >_<

#enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #enhypen fanfic #enhypen hard thoughts #heeseung smut #lee heeseung smut #heeseung hard hours #heeseung hard thoughts #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios

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ozzgin · 4 months

Note

I love your work! you have such a fun take on yandere's and I would love to see what kind of yandere hcs you could cook up for a host-club / paid to go on dates with you yandere ❤️ double points if you can make it so that the reader is never really one to cross a line or think the yandere really likes them...

If you don't want to do this prompt tho I completely understand ❤️

The idea makes me a little nostalgic as it gives me Ouran vibes. Also reminded me I've never played 'Men of Yoshiwara' past the prologue, which also has male courtesans ready to service you. In any case, it's definitely something I can expand on! :)

Yandere! Host x Reader

You've never considered yourself to be the type frequenting host clubs. Yet the loneliness is becoming noticeable and perhaps it's your lack of experience keeping you out of the dating scene. Mingling with paid professionals could prepare you for a future boyfriend. Except your assigned host has other plans in mind for you.

Content: gender neutral reader, inexperienced reader, obsessive behavior, manipulation

Ah, you definitely don't belong here. He can tell within seconds and he hasn't even reached the table yet. You're nervously readjusting the sleeves of your shirt - do you usually not wear such outfits? - and merely glance around the room for a brief moment before casting your eyes back down in sheepish modesty. Well, not necessarily a sight of unpreceded novelty. Many people are intrigued by the idea of a host club, so even just idle curiosity is enough incentive for one to end up among the charismatic crowd of paid affections. Today it's you who has stumbled into the hungry mouth of the wolf, and he happens to be the one to entertain you away from whatever unpleasantries are currently consuming you.

He gently stretches his slender fingers across your shoulder, a feathery touch light enough as to not startle you. You look up and acknowledge his presence, ready to stand up for introductions. His hold on you is firm, letting you know there is no need to leave the comfort of your sofa. "Now then, this isn't a job interview. You don't need to be so formal." He explains with a chuckle. You nod. Embarrassingly enough, your eyes are glued to his face for longer than what you'd consider polite admiration. A waste of good looks is your immediate thought. Surely someone as stunning as him could've worked as a model or actor. You suspect he isn't as enthusiastic to meet you as his voice leads one to believe, so the ability to pretend certainly isn't missing.

One peek at the table next to you, and the answer quickly presents itself. An older woman is inspecting the menu, surrounded by multiple bottles of champagne whose name even you recognize. You doubt the average acting career could provide this amount of luxury. The corners of your lips curl slightly upwards in a pitiful self awareness. Sadly for this guy, you're not a big spender. Whether he, too, is aware of this disappointing fact is impossible to tell. His handsome features remain cheerfully relaxed. "Tell me about yourself. What brings a darling like you here?" He inquires graciously, resting his chin on the back of his hands as he settles before you with an intent gaze.

You narrate your hardship: whether because of your looks or your awkwardness, something impedes you from having acquired a partner; and so the idea of gaining experience through less orthodox means came to fruition. Your host listens carefully, refilling your glass every now and then with a compassionate frown, lips parted in unspoken sympathy. Of course, he understands. Naturally. Once you're finished, he straightens himself in newfound determination: worry not, he will be your coach in love.

Thus begins the unusual partnership. You hadn't expected the man to readily agree to such a ridiculous request. A handful of visits have made it clear to you he's in high demand, most likely one of the top earners. Why would he waste his precious (and otherwise profitable) time with a humble customer like you? Maybe it's bad form to refuse lower paid offers too often, so he's keeping you for balance. You'll never know. His professionalism betrays no hint of annoyance.

You cannot help but marvel at his masterful lying. It becomes quite clear to you why so many people fall helplessly in love with paid hosts. Everything is executed with the utmost care for detail. The loving caress of the cheek he occasionally initiates, seemingly unprompted. The long, ardent stares into your eyes, as you must practice your eye contact. His hot lips brushing against your fingers while he spoils you with diminutives and sickly sweet words of appreciation.

You frequently have to remind yourself that everything is dictated by a contract. A code of conduct meant to be replicated for you and all other clients coming afterwards. How many other poor souls fawn over this alluring devil? You wouldn't want to burden him with an additional customer who forgets boundaries. You know your place too well.

Admirable manners. Frustratingly so. He wishes you'd just give in already and drop the shy act around him. You've caught his interest from the moment he spotted you in that cluttered, crowded room reeking of overpriced alcohol and solitude. Everything about you signaled blindingly clear: you're someone others can easily take advantage of. To think you would've landed right in his hands, to be molded as he pleases. The little sob story about being inexperienced with men, your clumsy attempts to follow along his flirts. Oh, you're just begging to be defiled. Again, and again and again, until there's nothing left of you. Then he'd caringly patch you back together and start anew. His very own corner of innocence.

The indecent daydreams are cut short when you proudly announce, during one of your dates, that you finally feel confident enough to pursue a genuine partner. You have booked a nice hotel room for this occasion; One last gesture of grandeur to show your gratitude for all the advice and love (even though it wasn't genuine). He's sitting on the edge of the plush mattress, dumbfounded, fiddling with the thick, ornate border of the bed runner. Huh? What the hell are you talking about? He's spent all this time getting to know you. What gets you flustered and bothered, what makes you excited, sad, anxious, angry, bored. He taught you how to come out of your shell. Why, so you can go ahead and waste yourself on some fucking idiot?

"My, aren't you eager. You haven't even had your first kiss." He says with a cheeky smile. "I think I can manage-" you want to say, but he quickly interrupts with a curt: "No one likes an amateur kisser". You're immediately silenced. His voice sounds cold, with a hint of anger in it. "I'm sorry, darling love, it's true." He resumes in an entirely different tonality, dragging his words with an eerie kindness attached to them. He tuts a little, turning towards you and patting his knees. There, there, don't look so deflated. If a simple observation like his hurt you this much, how would you handle the much meaner, downright heartless world out there?

Such is reality. Men are cruel and you had the bad luck to be born with a gentle heart. He delicately guides you to sit in his lap, cupping your burning face between his large hands. He knows this expression too well - you're humiliated. And thus, can he truly allow anyone else out there to see you so vulnerable like this? No, this kind of intimacy is reserved for him. You must understand. He has disciplined you to his liking, and simultaneously learned all the nooks and crannies of your being. It's too late to go back to a simple host and client relationship.

"Why don't you practice with me first, love?" He breaks the silence, placing his lips against your forehead in encouragement. You feel a sudden pressure faintly throbbing underneath you. "T-the kiss?" You ask hesitantly, trying to ignore the sensation and squirming in his tightening hold.

"Everything."

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere host #male yandere x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere imagine #yandere imagines #yandere male #yandere oc #yandere original character

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studioghibelli · 4 months

Text

the body of christ - a joel miller x reader

summary: running from a past life full of alcohol, drugs, and sex, joel miller sought repentance through the priesthood. all was going fine and dandy, until one fateful day, you found yourself in his church. (rated explicit, 18+, mdni!)

warning: priest!joel, religious trauma, age gap ( unspecified college age/50s), actually quite a bit of fluff scattered throughout, inaccurate catholic terminology, mentions of the bible and religion (obvs lmfao), so much fucking smut (semi-public sex, slight exhibitionism, blowjob, pussy eating, dirty talk, overstimulation, slight mention of crying, unprotected sex, creampie, daddy kink, soft sir kink, soft dom!joel, sub!reader, slight mention of male masturbation, kind of guided fem masturbation??)

note: if you are deeply religious, i’d turn the other cheek to this. if catholic/religious conversations or themes disturb or trigger you, do me a favor and don’t attempt to read this. (respectfully) thanks! xx (as always this is not spellchecked bc bad bitches HATE spell checking. i'll do it eventually!! love u bitchez)

Joel remembers the first time that you walked into his church.

Bright, innocent eyes, full of light and curiosity. They traced over each painting on the wall, each portrait, gazed upon every pew and carving etched deep into the wood, fingers grazing over in amazement.

He remembers the look that flashed across your face when his eyes met your own, the way your jaw went slack with attraction and lips parted in surprise. He watched your eyes darken, full of something that bordered dangerously close to arousal, something that shouldn't be felt in the church.

Joel would be lying if he said he hadn't felt it, too.

That tug. That magnetic pull. That incessant nagging by something deeply instinctual and primal that had since laid dormant within the cage of his ribs. Something he had not felt since his thirties, when he was still taste testing all the pleasures life had to offer. Psychedelics, parties, women, liquor.

When he looked into your eyes, he felt that unsettling feeling of attraction, the unbearably strong kind that wouldn't leave his head. Not when he was in the confessional booth, not when he was preaching the Holy Book during Mass, not when he was passing out communion or coaching on-the-brink of divorce couples about the sacrament of marriage. Never. Never, ever.

And ever since that Sunday, that haunting, looming, awful Sunday, you spent every church service diligently listening to him.

The truth be told, you had struggled with your faith for as long as you could remember. The idea of a Big Man in the sky who oversaw and overheard everything was, well, frankly quite terrifying to you.

When you were younger, you were scared God could see you undressing, scared he could hear you singing in the shower, scared he could see you exploring your body, scared he could see you lusting after boys throughout middle school.

God scared you. That's what they always preach, right? The fear of God? That it’s normal, healthy, wanted.

Oh, you certainly feared Him. The fear soon grew into shame. Shameful about each and every decision you made.

You felt shame for not settling down, insisting instead upon going to college. You felt shame for masturbating, for not only reading your favorite pieces of erotica, but for enjoying them. You felt shameful for questioning Him, for doubting Him, for letting your mind wander.

This shame lead you straight to your local priest's office.

Joel Miller.

The first time you caught his eye, you were unsure of why a man who looked like him would ever even think of becoming a priest. He was beautiful. Rugged, masculine, and charming, there was nothing about him not to love. His brown eyes were big and round, full of rich soiled Earth and swirls of wooden umber. His lips were plush and they looked soft to the touch, perfectly nestled behind a thick moustache and a thin beard with patches of gray that made your mind buzz with excitement.

Joel Miller was the most attractive man you had ever laid eyes on, and on your search for a shame free life, you realized he was only contributing to that terrible, looming feeling.

How could he not be?

The night you first met him, you went back to your dorm and masturbated until the God damned cows came home. You must have orgasmed at least six times before you finally began snoring, lulled to sleep by the thought of his touch, what his cum would taste like, what his spit would feel like dripping down the valley of your breasts.

Oh, you craved him. You yearned for him, Jane Austen style. He was always on your mind, the thought of him lingering like a scented candle, wafting through the halls of memory in your mind.

That's how you found yourself, yet again, in his private office, hoping to seek solace from the painful prison shackles he had unknowingly burdened you with.

"Father?" You asked softly, staring at him. A pair of glasses rested on the bridge of his nose as he flipped through a book about something or another.

"Yes, Angel?'

Angel. He had always called you that. Joel gave you the nickname the first time you ever spoke, and it had followed you around like a ghost.

Angel. Angel. Angel.

Oh, how sweet it was, to think that you were his only Angel, that you were his chosen saint. Like the Renaissance portraits of the Virgin Mary, you wore the halo of his affection with pride.

"Um. Have you ever struggled with... uh, thoughts?"

Joel looked up at you behind the brim of his book, his dark eyes sparkling with the playful hint of amusement. "Well, yes. I do. In fact, I think quite often." He snickered, the Southern twang of his voice softly tugging at his syllables.

You felt your cheeks heat up with embarrassment. "N-No. I'm not talking about.... just any thoughts."

Father Miller hummed out, eyebrows furrowing together tightly as he set the leatherbound book down upon the mahogany desk. He stared at you, long, hard, as though he were searching the depths of his mind for what to say next.

"Care to elaborate any further?" Was all he asked. Your stomach clenched with nerves, and you were starting to wonder if you should have even brought it up.

You looked down at your lap, rolling the material of your skirt between your index and thumb. "Lust." You managed to croak out. "Do you struggle with it?"

"Honey, I'm a fuckin' man." The curse word made your neck snap up. You could already feel the familiar tinge of arousal searing its way through your belly, straight to your aching cunt. "Of course I feel lust. Is that what this is all about?"

You buried your face into your hands, groaning softly. "Father," you heard him hiss a soft breath of air between his lips, "I can't get away from it."

Joel reached his hand across the table, gently grabbing your wrist and pulling it away from your anxiety laden face. "Angel girl, look at me." His voice was hushed, gentle, uncharacteristically soft. "There ain't nothin' wrong with lust."

"But the Bible-"

"Fuck the Bible."

You couldn't help but widen your eyes at what he just said. Wasn't that sacrilegious? You gulped thickly, slowly nodding at his words.

"Do you know how many times the Bible has been translated?" He asked after a long moment of thick, palpable silence.

"How many?"

"The King James Bible alone has undergone 30,000 changes. It's been rewritten in so many different languages, surely loads of it has gotten lost in translation. It's just a fuckin' book. It's paper. Trees." His thumb gently swiped across your knuckles, and that's when you remembered he was holding your hand.

Father Miller was so warm. So, so, so warm. His rough palms scratched against your own in a way that made you shiver, and his fingers laced into yours perfectly.

His fingers.

You glanced down, examining his digits. They were thick and long, and you couldn't help but wonder how they would feel buried deep inside you, how they would taste dripping with the nectar of your arousal.

You swallowed again, garnering enough courage to look up and meet his steady gaze.

"If God is real, and I'm still not all too sure about that, I don't see how he'd let us have all these.... feelin's, if they weren't right."

"That makes sense." You murmured sincerely.

"I thought maybe turnin' to the cloth would help me discover somethin' about the world. But in truth, all its done is confuse me even more. Religion is such a God damned mind fuck, you know that?" Joel's eyes lit up at the sound of your giggles, and he couldn't help the feeling of excitement that erupted within his chest.

"I don't know if.... if I can get rid of all this shame." You finally admitted after a long moment of thinking. "That's what really upsets me. The shame. The-the guilt."

"Well, I can always help with that, Angel. Just say the word."

"Help me? How?"

Joel leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he inhaled a deep breath through a pair of flared nostrils. His eyes, dark and mysterious, swirling with something you had never seen within them, met your own. "Ever thought that maybe the reason you feel all that shame is because the sex you've been havin' ain't all that great? It's easy to lust, easy to get all horny lookin' at some stud on a magazine- but when you act upon it, well that's a whole 'nother issue. I bet you start worryin' about your eternal soul, whether you'll be sent straight to Hell. And I bet it's easy to feel guilty about all that shitty sex, it's easy to feel shame about wastin' a perfectly good chance of goin' to Heaven on some limp dicked little boy who don't know his hands from his feet. Am I right?"

You stared blankly, blinking rapidly and dumbfoundedly. How could he read you so well? Before you could speak, Joel started speaking again.

"But good sex? Well now... Darlin' that's an entirely different thing." The priest leaned forward, taking your hands inside of his own. Your faces were now inches apart, so close you could feel the heat of his breath fanning across your face.

You had never seen his features this close before. The faint creased lines of his forehead, the crows feet by his eyes- all of these little marks and scars, wrinkles and freckles, they made him even more handsome. Disgustingly handsome, actually, and it made you want to throw up.

Joel relished in the nerves which radiated off of you. He knew the affect he had on women, but he only cared about this so called affect he had on you. "I can make you doubt it all, Angel baby. I can fuck you so good, make you cum so hard, you'll start beggin' to go to Hell if it meant I'd be down there with you, pleasin' that little pussy of yours."

You felt dizzy, like you could genuinely pass out and fall off the chair at any moment.

How did you end up here?

Joel's index finger traced down your cheek until it reached your chin, where he grabbed it in his firm grip, guiding your gaze to meet his own. "Like I said. Just say the word, okay? My office is always open, my confessional booth is always waitin' for that pretty ass. You understand?"

"Y-Yes, father."

His eyes darkened once again, and you watched his adam’s apple bobble up and down as he swallowed. Joel stood, extending his hand as he walked you towards the door.

"Oh, and you have my number. I don't typically make house calls, but I'm more than happy to oblige you."

You were too flustered to speak, but you watched with precise eyes as he brought your small hand to his lips, pressing a searing kiss into the soft skin of your fingers.

"Have a good rest of your week, Angel."

That night, you came seven times to the thought of Joel Miller.

• • •

For two weeks you wondered if you should take him up on his offer. Univeristy work had flooded your life, making it rather difficult to do anything except go to classes, eat, and sleep. You hadn’t even had time to masturbate!

As the canvas of winter slowly started tearing, the lively chirps of Spring soon began bellowing through the air, replacing the gray clouds of February with the bright blue skies of March. That’s when you decided it was time to go and see Joel.

It was Tuesday. That meant he was working the Confessional.

Your legs were carrying you as your mind wandered with delicious thoughts of Father Miller, until you found yourself in front of the charcoal colored Cathedral, ornately designed and powerfully exuberant. You pushed open the thick wooden doors, etched with scenes of the Ascension and Crucifixion, before making your way to the Confession booth.

You slid quietly into the booth, the screen protecting your face from the person on the other side.

“Speak, my child. What do you wish to confess?” Father Miller asked in his most priestly, professional voice.

A sudden wave of confidence rushed over you. “Well, father, I’ve been a pretty bad girl.”

You heard him shifting in his seat, before a honeyed chuckle escaped from the back of his throat, gritty and intoxicating. “I was startin’ to think I scared you off, Angel.”

“Oh no, you never could. School just got in the way.” You explained softly, tracing shapes over the exposed skin of your thigh.

“What are you wearing?” He finally asked, and you began chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“A sage colored dress, a pretty strappy number. Stops in the middle of my thighs. You can see the lace of my bra, too.”

“Oh, how scandalous.” Joel snickered, feigning a sense of surprise. “I bet you look real pretty.”

“I can come over there if you want me to.”

“Oh yeah?” You could hear the smugness of his voice.

“Yeah.” You responded flirtatiously, words hot and thirsty.

“You stay over there for a few, get yourself ready for me.”

“What do you want me to do,” a breeze of bravery swirled over your chest, so you added: “Daddy?”

You heard the priest moan at the name. Through gritted teeth, he responded. “Spread those legs for me.” You did as Joel commanded, awaiting his next words. “Take off your panties and stuff them in your bra.” After a few beats, he spoke once again. “Have you done it?”

“Yes sir.” You responded cheekily, a giggle evident in your voice.

“Good girl. Touch your thighs, Angel. Brush your fingers over them, real light like.” As your nails swirled patterns into the sensitive skin on your legs, you shivered with delight.

“Now what?”

“Just keep doin’ that. Listen to my voice, darlin’. Just keep touchin’ those sexy thighs of yours.” Joel’s voice was like velvet to your ears, and you heard the zipper of his pants being pulled down.

Your breath hitched, pussy aching and sore.

“I know you’re gettin’ wet, know that little cunt is weepin’ for me.”

You moaned in response, wanting nothing more than to touch your swelling clit. “Y-yes.”

“Don’t worry, little Angel. Daddy’ll make that pussy feel real good. Do you want that?”

“P-please. Now. Please.” You were begging now, willing to do just about anything to feel his cock deep within your walls.

“Now, now.” Joel responded smugly, and you heard the movement of his arm, up and down and up and down, slowly pumping at the length of his hardened cock. You nearly wept at the thought. God, please, you just wanted to feel him. “Jacob served seven years just to see Rachel again. Surely that pussy can wait a few minutes, yeah?” You could hear the smugness dripping from his tongue, like venom on the fangs of a viper.

“Oh, shut up.” You grumbled.

“There there, now, pretty baby, don’t you worry. It will be well worth the teasin’ when I’m pumpin’ my cum in that little hole of yours.”

You hissed through your teeth in excitement, whimpering as your clit throbbed with the promise of his reward. “You promise?”

“Baby, ‘course I do. I’ve been waitin’ for a taste of your cum, you know. Since I first laid eyes on you.”

“Really?”

He chuckled at your naivety. “Oh yeah. Prettiest girl I ever laid eyes on, tha’s why I started callin’ you Angel, you know. Beauty like yours, well, that’s fuckin’ celestial.” You heard Joel grunt, no doubt from his fist wrapped around his length.

“Please.” You begged, thighs clenching together as you continued tracing lines in your skin. “Can I please move to your side?”

Joel thought for a moment, before he spoke. “Yes. Make it quick. Don’t want nobody seein’.”

You obeyed, adjusting the skirt of your dress before stepping out. The church was empty, except a few people praying before a statue of Jesus on the crucifix, backs turned to you. You slowly opened the door, finally face to face with him. You sucked in a breath of air as his appearance crashed over you, quickly shutting the door behind you.

His eyes met yours, hands dragging to your waist as he pulled you closer. Now you were standing before him. Joel leaned forward, placing his head to your chest, exposed by the low dip of your dress. You heard him inhale your perfume, before feeling his tongue flat between your breasts, licking a strip from there, to your neck, where he suckled gingerly on that sensitive spot right beneath your ear.

“God, been dreamin’ of this.” Joel whispered, kissing at your jawline softly, the scruff of his beard tickling against your skin.

“I have, too.” You admitted your secret as you grasped his shoulders, broad and muscular beneath your grip. Joel continued his assault on your neck, his lips trailing down to your collarbones, teeth gently digging into your skin, as his hands wandered down to your bare thighs, hiking your skirt up slowly. His fingers dug into the soft, supple skin beneath your ass, nails gently imprinting creases on your upper thighs.

Joel pulled away, slowly removing his hands. The corner of his mouth twitched, and he suddenly grabbed your chin, a smirk playing on his face.

“Kneel.” He commanded deeply, voice thick with seriousness.

You knelt before him, tilting your head up until you were faced to face with his throbbing cock, which he had ever so politely tucked back into his tightening boxers.

“You’ve been bad. You’ve sinned.” Joel explained, running his fingers through your hair. “It’s about time you seek repentance.”

You batted your eyelashes up at him, glossy lips parting. “And how should I go about doing that, Father?” Your feigned a sense of faux innocence with your words, doe eyes wide and sparkling for him.

“The Body of Christ, you see.” Joel hummed, moving your hand to his bulge. “To partake in the body and blood of christ, the Eucharist. To…. suck, and to swallow.” He smirked down at you, eyes glittering with mischief.

“Yes sir.” You purred, slowly pulling his underwear down, until his thick, angry cock popped out, gently slapping against his belly.

“Suck on it.” Joel ordered, hand pressing to the back of your head. You smiled, leaning forward.

The mushroom of his cock pressed against your lips, his salty precum mixing with your strawberry lipgloss. You opened your mouth, lips accommodating to the sheer width of his length as you took him gently into your mouth, tongue swirling around the tip. You felt him shiver beneath your movements, fingers knotting tighter into your locks.

That’s when you heard the door on the other side creak open. You went to pull away, eyes wide with fear, but Joel firmly kept you in place, beckoning you to continue on with your so called repentance.

You clenched your thighs at the nature of what was going on, head popping, taking as much as you could without gagging. You didn’t want to risk making any noise.

“Hello, father.” A feminine voice on the other side of the wall spoke, and Joel clenched his jaw, gazing down at you.

He didn’t look up when he finally spoke. “Welcome, my child.” Joel’s voice was solid, unwavering, there was absolutely no hint to his tone that could possibly give away what was going on. “What is it you wish to confess?”

The woman sighed a deep huff, and you heard what seemed to be a piece of paper being unfolded. “A lot.” She admitted.

“That’s okay. God is always forgiving.”

“Amen, father.” She agreed.

Joel thumbed your cheek gently, watching your lips wrap around his cock, up and down your head went, finally growing used to the size.

His cock was perfect. Thick, veined, just the right length. It was the biggest you had ever seen in person, but then again, your previous references weren’t much to brag about. You swirled your tongue around his dick, slowly pulling away until you were faced to face with it.

Joel watched as you leaned forward, tracing the underside with the tip of your tongue. He shuddered again.

“-And then I called the cashier at Publix an idiot for ringing in my chocolate milk twice. Oh, I feel awful about that. Jerry and I- you know Jerry, don’t you? My husband? Well, he and I got into a fight. And I was taking it out on this poor teenage girl-” As the parishioner continued her rant, you realized neither of you were really paying attention.

The priest’s eyes had been blown full black at the sight of you servicing his dick, enamored with the way your soft tongue looked pressed into his skin, swirling and tracing and tasting. Your nails were digging into his thighs, straight through the cloth of his trousers, but Joel didn’t mind one bit. In fact, he liked the added bit of pain, it only added to his pleasure.

“And finally, I yelled at my kids teacher. All week he worked on this project, and she has the gaul to give him a B-! As if, he was-”

You worked his length back and forth, his tip hitting dangerously close to the back of your throat. You felt his cock tightening, straining with the promise of an oncoming orgasm. Keeping the same pace, you licked and sucked, head bobbing as his free hand came up to rest on your head.

Spurts of hot cum painted your throat as Joel began speaking to the confessor, as though on cue. “Salvation is co-oming, my child. God will forgive you, he always does.” He hid it rather well, teeth gritting as his head was thrown back, nails gently scratching into your scalp as you milked him with your mouth.

“What should I do, father? How should I repent?” She asked worriedly.

“Uh, a few Hail Mary’s or something.”

Joel wasn’t really paying attention to her. He was looking down at you as you suckled the rest of his cum from the top of his dick, hand gently patting at your head of hair. His gaze was gentle, full of some sort of admiration as he watched you clean his cock up, tongue obediently lapping up every drop of his sperm.

“Is that- is that all, father?”

“Yes.” Joel responded curtly.

“Peace be with you.” She said, before you heard the door open.

“And with you.” Joel mumbled, a love sick grin spreading across his face. He swiped a dribble of his cum off the corner of your mouth, holding it to your lips. You slowly leaned forward, licking it off his skin before pulling away with a beaming smile. “C’mere.” He whispered, patting his lap.

You straddled him, hands moving to his shoulders, before crawling up to his curls, gently running through them. You eyed the gray in his chocolate colored hair, smiling at the salt and pepper locks. God, he really was so handsome.

Joel gently kissed your knuckles, arms wrapping around your waist.

There was a knock at the door, and he stiffened.

“Father Miller, there’s to be a meeting between the bishops in five minutes. We would like you to oversee it.” A man spoke through the door, and you leaned forward into his neck to stifle a groan.

You were practically leaking onto his lap, pussy sobbing at the thought of his touch.

“Please,” you whispered in his ear, fingernail tracing down the line of stubble on his jaw. “Make me cum.”

Joel’s hands grasped ahold of your ass, and you had to try your hardest to stifle your yelp. “I’ll be there soon.” Joel snapped, and you heard the figure jogging away. He turned to you, rubbing his nose into your soft cheek. “Angel girl, I swear on my life I’ll make you cum until you cry tonight. I swear it.” You leaned into the touch of his nose, nodding slowly.

You knew he was a man of his word.

“Okay.” You murmured, albeit dejectedly. You were so turned on your could barely think straight.

Joel’s ears perked as he looked at you. “I have an idea….”

• • •

You don’t know how he talked you into it, but as you curled beneath the wide desk in his office with your legs spread and dress pulled up to your belly, you listened in on the meeting.

Joel had given you three strict rules:

1) Rub your clit for the duration of the meeting.

2) Do not, under any circumstance, stop.

3) Do NOT cum!

And so you stared up at him as the bishops talked about upcoming projects and fairs, discussing how to spend the month of March doing charity work and putting on a Spring Festival. Every so often he would glance down with a satisfied grin tugging at his lips, soaking in the picture of you rubbing at your clit.

It was the first time Joel had ever seen your pussy. Soaking, sloppy, and a drool worthy shade of pink. Your clit was swollen, begging for his tongue, and the perfect inner lips of your pussy were clenching around- unfortunately- nothing.

Your wetness was dripping down on to the floor of his office, coating your thighs with slick as you stared at him, noticing the strained bulge against his black pants. You smiled at the thought of you being the one to make him feel that way. He had cum in your mouth. He had given you his number. He had told you he could help.

You.

You, you, you.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he cared for you. The thought made your face beam, a look that Joel did not miss, despite the conversation he was taking part in.

It felt as though he were purposefully dragging the meeting out. Asking questions, giving ideas, receiving a scripture here or there. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. He was right, however. Good things do indeed come to those who wait.

As time dragged on, it was becoming harder and harder to stifle your moans. You wanted to make noise for Joel. You wanted to whimper and mewl and beg and cry out for him. It was always for him, wasn’t it? You knew, he knew. All the pretty dresses, fixed up hair, perfect makeup- it was for him. In fact, deep down, you knew you hadn't been to church for the man in the sky for quite some time.

"Alright, it was a pleasure meetin’ with you all. I look forward to putting on the Spring Festival, I'll be in touch soon with the event info." Father Miller spoke professionally, calmly, as though you weren't half naked beneath his desk, touching yourself in front of him.

The door shut and locked the moment everyone had filed out, and his feet shuffled slowly towards where you sat. When your eyes met Joel's, a smile threatened the side of his mouth.

"Up, Angel. Sit on the edge of the desk for me."

You crawled out slowly, thighs slightly cramping up, before grabbing the hand he had offered and pulling yourself to your feet. You eased your ass onto the table, scooting back before spreading your legs, a shy grin falling to your face as he kept his hand tightly threaded with yours.

"Oh, honey. Look at this poor pussy. She needs me real bad, don't she?" He purred out his words with a saddened pair of eyes, sitting on his chair as he wheeled it forward, face to face with your soaking cunt. "Should I taste you?" His words were meant to tease you further, finger tracing over your inflated, tingling clit. "Should I make you feel better for being so nice and patient with me?"

"Please, daddy. Please."

Joel hummed in approval at your answer, leaning forward to wrap his lips around your pinkening bud. Before he even began sucking, you had thrown your hand over your mouth to stifle your moans, all at the simple moment of contact. He worked your little button slowly, gently sucking as his free hand ran up and down your thigh, gently giving it a squeeze as he lapped and licked.

You tangled your fingers in his curls, watching as he worked your clit masterfully, the tip of his tongue pressing gently, setting that bundle of nerves on fire perfectly.

Joel moved his palm beneath his chin, fingertips exploring the entrance of your pussy before he pushed his middle finger in straight to the hilt, searching for your G-Spot and finding it victoriously after a few short moments. You whimpered out at the first point of contact, drawing his head in closer by his hair as your hips grinded mindlessly, your back falling onto the desk. You had accidentally knocked a few things over, but admittedly neither of you cared, both wrapped up in your ecstasy as the priest worked on making you cum for him.

Joel moved his hand away from yours, instead opting to wrap it around your body, holding you tight and close to him as he ate you out. You already felt your orgasm approaching, climax chugging up that rollercoaster hill of emotion, right at the top before he added a second finger, pumping and thrusting up, right where Joel knew you needed him the most.

You groaned as he pulled away, no more contact on your clit. His umber eyes dragged up the length of your body, meeting your own. They sparkled with adoration. In that moment you were his purpose, his salvation, his religion. He worshiped the idol that was your body relentlessly, boundlessly, and knew he was done for for all eternity. If he were to burn because he fell in love with your body, so be it. Joel Miller would happily burn to have a taste of you.

His kissed your thigh, still fingering your tight cunt, eyes still locked with yours.

"You're so beautiful." He murmured, leaning forward and licking your clit slowly, tongue flat against it. He continued doing this, his eyes never leaving yours. You hadn't dared to look away, whimpering and brushing your digits through his hair as he kept up the slow, steady, perfect pace of movements. "I'm done for, you know. I'll never stop wantin' a tase of you."

You giggled breathlessly, nodding with his head cradled in your palms. "It's all yours."

"That's all I needed to hear, pretty Angel." Joel mumbled, going back to sucking on your clit as his eyes fluttered close.

That did it. The tightening string broke, your climax flooding over you as you chanted his name, grinding and bucking, body spasming with orgasmic pleasure as he kept his mouth firm on your body, continuing to lick and suck until he had lapped up every last drop of cum from your pussy. He pulled away, the lower half of his face glistening, and helped you sit up gently, hands moving to your waist as he stood up.

His cock was straining against his pants, and you cheekily grabbed the loop of his belt, bringing you close to him until his clothed bulge was pressed flush to your sensitive cunt. You shivered at the contact, gently pressing your hands on his broad, sturdy chest.

“Fuck me. Please. I need to feel you inside of me.” You whispered into his ear, pressing a gentle kiss to his lobe.

Joel nodded in response, pulling away to look at you. He gently cupped your face in his calloused hands, leaning towards your slightly open mouth. The curve of his sturdy nose gently pressed into your own, lips brushing yours as your breath hitched, chests now taut with one another. He had just eaten you to the best orgasm of your life, and now your hands shook with nerves as he began kissing you, sweetly and meaningfully. It felt like home. They melded together like iron, as though your mouths were made for each other, crafted by the hands of some ethereal power with the knowledge that, one day, you two would find the other.

He drew you in closer, deepening the kiss as your fingers fumbled with the zipper of his pants, freeing his cock from his boxers as it sprung out, gently hitting your bare knee. You giggled softly into his mouth, finally pulling away to eye level.

Joel grabbed your hips, lining himself up with the entrance of your cunt. His thumbs gently brushed your waist soothingly, and he let you take his cock in your hand as you guided the tip up and down the folds of your pussy, soon pressing it against your entrance. With his eyes on yours, he slowly pushed in, all the way until your clit was pressed to his stomach. He reached down, gently rubbing it, allowing you to acclimate to the sheer size of him.

"This okay?" He asked, voice gruff and raw.

"Oh, yes. It's perfect." You breathed out, throwing your arms around his neck.

Joel began to fuck you slow and deep, each time pulling all the way to the tip of his dick, before pushing himself back inside, until your clit was back against his belly. Your moans were music to his ears, guiding him like a siren song towards the ocean of your body, waves of pleasure blanketing over him as he fucked you.

Admittedly, Joel had not had sex for many years. He had no problem picking up women before the priesthood, but when he left school to become the head of a local church, he knew he had to keep himself in line. People would talk, he would be kicked out, and there would be nowhere for him to go. Ah, but for you? Well, he was willing to risk it all. You were everything he had ever dreamed for, and he wasn't going to let the time of your chance meeting ruin that.

Kind, understanding, intelligent- you were perfect, and Joel knew the moment he saw you, he would fall deeply in love with you. He had been holding off for months now, knowing that if he ever had the chance to fuck you, he would be done for, completely and totally for you. Fuck God, he didn't care about God. You were the one he wanted to worship, you were the one he wanted to sing songs for, read to, sacrifice for. You. You, you, you. You were his Heaven.

The priest was pulled from his thoughts at the sound of his name falling from your mouth, and when your eyes met, he shot you the hint of a smile.

"Thatt'a girl." He mumbled, holding you tightly. "Tha's a good girl, taking me so well. So fuckin' beautiful."

You moaned at his words, stomach tightening with the threat of your second orgasm as he continued rubbing your clit.

His cock was pounding harder now, walls fluttering and clenching against the veiny length of his dick as he fucked you like a devil. Beads of sweat were gathering at his temples, the lines of his forehead creased as he focused on you. You saw his dark eyes full of something you hadn't seen before, and if you were a foolish woman, you would say it was love.

You reached up and gently wiped the sweat away with your fingers, head falling back as his mouth latched on to your neck, suckling and marking you with proof of his devotion. You shivered as he hit against a sweet spot right beneath your ear, teeth gently digging in as he kissed and licked.

"Gonna cum soon." You murmured, nails digging into his shoulders as he continued taking you, balls slapping against your ass as he pounded, continuing the same pattern of movements that made you weak for him.

"Give it to me, honey. Cum on this cock, cum for me. Let me know who's makin' you feel this way." Joel's words were hot against your ear, his breath fanning your skin as his fingers skillfully worked your clit.

Your orgasm finally broke, but Joel didn't waver. He continued rubbing your clit despite your whimpers, fucking you harder until the only sound was his heavy breath and the slapping of skin, your moans of ecstasy hidden as you buried your face into his shoulder.

"F-fuck it's too much. Feels too good." You cried out, body shaking. Joel didn't stop, he continued rubbing you, setting something aflame within your body, pushing you towards the brink of becoming deliciously over stimulated.

"'Member how I said I was goin' to fuck you until you cried?" Joel's voice was more of a beasts than a man, deep and throaty in your ear. "I'm a man of my word, darlin'. I ain't quittin' 'till you're crying for me. You understand?"

You whimpered in response, nodding your head as he continued hitting deep within you, the tip of his cock finding your G-spot, the soft spongy part of you that made you shiver and shake. You were coming undone again, his middle finger relentless on your swelling, throbbing bud, pleasure bordering on pain as the priest before you kept taking you.

You felt your throat tightening at the feeling of his throbbing cock, until your vision went blurry, mind fuzzing at the world around you. All of your emotion came crashing down, the feeling of him rubbing your pussy, the length of his cock buried deep within your cunt.

You couldn't take it anymore.

When your third orgasm hit you, you couldn't stifle your noise. You screamed for him, head thrown back as your body spasmed. And this time, Joel did as he said- he made you cry. He watched your pretty eyes well up with tears, watching as they cascaded down your cheeks. He groaned at the sight, a beautiful portrait of pure, raw, animalistic ecstasy. Your chest was sticky with sweat, hair pressed into your forehead, and perfect eyes wet with tears.

He couldn't hold himself back. His fingers dug into your thighs as he leaned forward, attaching his mouth to yours as his own climax overtook him. Joel snarled and growled, hips jittering as his hot cum painted the walls of your cunt white. When his orgasm died down, and his mouth became much gentler on yours, you realized just how full you felt.

Full of him, full of cum, full of love.

Joel pulled away slowly, gently running his fingers down your face. "You okay?" His voice was soft, eyes sparkling down at you.

"I am, actually."

He knew you were being earnest.

You watched as he took some tissue and cleaned you up, holding on to your hands as he helped you balance yourself on the ground, knees shaking from the weight of your previous pleasure.

"There you go, good girl." Joel helped slide your panties up your legs, gently giving your ass a squeeze. He relished in the sweet sound of your giggle.

A moment of silence passed, before he took your hand. You looked up at him, and he knew now was his moment.

"Do you want to go grab some dinner?"

You had never said yes faster.

You always thought shame and guilt were integral parts of the religious experience. You always thought chastity and purity were the best ways to feel God.

But that was before Joel Miller. That was before he took your body and idolized it. That was before he pleasured you in ways no man had dared to do before. When your bodies danced as one, when your souls became tangled beneath the bed sheets, on the desk, in the confession booth, you weren't thinking of God, you weren't thinking of Heaven or Hell.

Oh, no.

You were thinking of Joel Miller, the man who you willingly and happily chose over the promise of eternal salvation. And there wasn't an ounce of shame present.

2K notes · View notes

girlgenius1111 · 2 months

Text

say it again

alexia x reader something... slips out accidentally. alexia is more into it than you expected. smut. 18+

cw: mami kink. breeding kink. thigh riding. fingering. strap on use. dom/sub dynamics. praise kink.

-----

Both you and Alexia had been busy beyond belief in recent weeks. So, when she slid out of bed early on the day you were both supposed to have off, you latched onto her shirt and refused to let go.

“Amor, I have to go,” Alexia whispered, although she slid back into the warm cocoon of blankets, and wrapped you back up in her arms.

“No. Stay.” You grumbled, tightening your arms and wrapping your legs around her too, for good measure.

“I have to go,” she repeated, kissing your temple and attempting to slide out of your grip. You were about to remind her that neither of you had training that day, when you remembered somewhere in your sleep-hazed brain that Alexia had mentioned coaching a game at the Barça academy that morning. An idea found its way into your brain, and you forced yourself to sit up, allowing Alexia to escape the bed. She looked at you suspiciously as she headed for the bathroom, never having seen you give in so easily. In fact, she still had 10 minutes to lay in bed with you, having set her alarm early because she knew you’d capture her for more cuddles.

“I’m coming with you.” You declared, smiling happily at your girlfriend when she poked her head out of the bathroom, a slight frown on her face.

“Bebita, you will be bored, and you will distract me.” Alexia was referring to your rather interesting habit of watching Alexia. There was a certain look you got on your face when Alexia took charge on the pitch that made her crazy. You both kept it under control when you played together, but when one of you was out injured or on the bench, there were few games that didn’t end in rather passionate sex once you arrived home. You both loved to watch each other, and you really loved to watch Alexia be in charge. This was why Alexia absolutely did NOT trust you to accompany her to coach this youth game.

“No, I won't, I promise. I’ll sit in the stands the whole time. No one will even know I’m there. ”

Alexia simply raised her eyebrow at you doubtfully, before turning away to head to the closet. You scrambled out of the bed and followed after her, wrapping your arms around her abdomen. She chuckled, but continued to rifle through her sweatshirts, picking out the right Barça one for the day.

You kissed her shoulder blade, peeking out from the small tank top she was wearing. “Please, Ale. We’ve barely seen each other these past few weeks. I miss you.”

Alexia melted, turning around and wrapping her arms tight around you. “Okay, bonita. If you promise not to distract me.”

-----

You’d had every intention not to distract your girlfriend, really you did. Watching her with the kids, though, was much more challenging than you expected. It wasn’t stern Alexia that you got; it was soft Alexia, and it was making something inside of you melt into a puddle.

Alexia with a whistle slung around her neck, leading the very little kids through some basic drills. Patiently directing them around the pitch. Very softly kicking the ball in their direction. Shouting words of encouragement every second, even when it was just in response to one of the kids falling down and getting up.

Alexia, standing on the side lines, whistle caught in her mouth, hands on her hips, taking the match just a touch too seriously.

Alexia in a tight pair of athletic shorts, ass on full display, although it always was, regardless of what she was wearing.

Alexia rushing onto the pitch when one of her players fell; it was nothing more than a scraped knee, but she carried the sniffling boy off the field and over to his parents, ensuring him that he was being very brave.

You’d never really gotten the appeal of being pregnant before. And sure, you wanted kids, but you’d never craved them, never desperately wanted to watch your partner turn into a parent with you. Sat in the stands, though, watching Alexia interact with these kids like she was born to do it, you rethought all of that.

You were staring, and you knew it, eyes firmly trained on your girlfriend as she turned around, bringing her shirt up to wipe at her face. It was a hot day, and she was standing directly in the sun. Her eyes caught yours as she did so, lips pulling up into a very small smirk, before she turned back around, taking a sip of water. You realized your mouth was, embarrassingly, hanging open. The things Alexia could do to you, without even trying; it wasn’t fair.

The midfielder could feel your eyes on her for the remainder of the match, and she struggled to stay focused. Her mind, too, was elsewhere, somewhere in the future. Where she was coaching your guys’ kid, with you watching proudly from the sidelines. She wanted it, desperately, and it caught her off guard. The rest of the match passed slowly as both of you were eager to get home. Even though you’d known what you’d been signing up for when you forced Ale to let you come watch, you couldn’t help but feel a little starved for attention. It was ridiculous, but you weren’t one to shy away from the things you wanted. So, when the match ended, and Alexia led the kids to shake hands with the other team, you headed down, impatiently waiting for her. The hug you brought her into was one that belonged at the end of a difficult match, not at the end of a children’s match where most of the goals were accidental.

“Hola,” she sang softly in your ear, feeling you inconspicuously press a light kiss to her neck. Your lips didn’t leave, though, and Alexia pulled you back, giving you a warning look.

“You are all red, amor, are you warm?” The question was paired with an adorable look of concern washing over her face; Alexia was always very aware of your less than impressive heat tolerance, and she grabbed the hat you were holding in your hand, placing it on top of your head.

You were warm, but the redness was due more to Alexia’s close contact with your body, when you were already very aware of her, than the heat, although it wasn’t helping.

“It’s warm out.” You agreed anyway, before smiling innocently up at her. “Can we go home, baby?”

Alexia’s lips twitched. “Of course.”

-----

Alexia had parked in a different parking lot than the rest of the attendees, and by the time you made it over there, you were debating whether you could wait until you arrived home for Alexia to touch you. The way she led you through the parking lot, hand in yours, body hovering protectively in front of you even when there was no one around, was only increasing the deep need for her to do anything to you.

You decided to take matters into your own hands, noticing that the area around you was devoid of other people. When Alexia opened your door for you, something she insisted upon even though you were completely capable of opening your own door, you smacked her ass, climbing into the car like you hadn’t done anything. Alexia jumped slightly, and her eyes narrowed at you as she shut the door behind you.

The minute your girlfriend was in the driver's seat, you were leaning over the center console, attaching your lips to her neck. Alexia exhaled sharply, minutely tilting her head to the side.

“You promised to be good.” She said quietly, and you noted the very slight shake to her voice that told you she was, in fact, feeling the effects of what you were doing to her. You pulled back briefly, nipping at her ear as you did so.

“Are you not enjoying this?”

“It does not matter. You promised to be good, and you are breaking that promise.” She warned, gently shoving you back to your seat. You blinked at her, not used to the hard edge her voice had taken on.

“Ale,”

“No. You will take what I give you at home.”

You couldn’t pretend the way Alexia was looking at you disapprovingly wasn’t filling you with arousal. As badly as you wanted to be good for her, you also desperately wanted her to make you be good for her. And it seemed this was her plan.

-----

You trailed into the house behind her, not quite sure what to expect when you were behind closed doors. It wouldn’t be the first time Alexia was rough with you, and you enjoyed it. Something seemed different, though, and there was a tension in the room you couldn’t quite identify. Or, if you could, you weren’t quite willing to admit it yet.

Alexia backed you up against the wall just inside the front door, her face mere inches from yours, capturing your wrists in her hands and pinning them behind you. She was looking at you, sternly, but also so… softly. Like she would take care of you, even if she made you work for it first. Your stomach was filled with butterflies, in a way it hadn’t been in a while around her. You were beginning to have an idea of what you wanted, you just weren’t quite sure she wanted it too.

“You have been very bad today, bonita. I do not know what I am going to do with you.”

“M- Ale, please, take me to bed.” You almost slipped up, and you blinked at your girlfriend, hoping to god that she hadn’t caught it.

Alexia leaned back and was quiet for a moment, her eyes searching yours.“What was that?”

“What was what?” You replied, feeling blood rush to your cheeks, avoiding your girlfriend’s gaze at all costs.

“You almost called me something… it sounded like it started with an M…” Alexia whispered, moving closer to lay kisses on your neck. She knew where your head was at, somehow, as she always did, and she was very on board. It had been something you’d both been thinking about for a while, but neither of you were brave enough to bring it up.

“Alexia,” you whined, struggling to form a single coherent thought.

“That is not my name, amor. Not right now.” She whispered, her teeth capturing your ear and tugging lightly. You went practically limp in her arms, a low keen escaping your lips.

“Mami,” you whispered, feeling Alexia’s grin against the skin of your neck. You realized that Alexia liked the title just as much as you did, if not more.

“There you go, bonita. Mi mala niña, you can listen, hmm?”

“I can, I am listening. I’m your good girl.” You argued, pressing your forehead to the blonde’s somewhat desperately.

Alexia tutted quietly. “You were not listening before. I am not sure you are mí buena niña.”

“I am, mami, I promise,”

You’d barely finished speaking before Alexia was capturing your lips in a heated kiss, her tongue licking into your mouth, her teeth nipping at your bottom lip, in a manner that was almost overwhelming. She pulled away from you with a wet smack, her smile beyond devious as she took in your blown pupils, the downright submissive look on your face.

“You want to prove to me you are my good girl?” She murmured, dragging her finger lightly down one side of your face, watching as your eyes fluttered shut, struggling to answer her.

“Sí, por favor. Let me show you.”

“Vamos, mí zorrita.” With that, Alexia swept you up into her arms easily, throwing you over her shoulder and heading for the bedroom.

It wasn’t unusual for Alexia to take full control, as she was doing as she carefully placed on the ground, removing her clothes and directing you to do the same before scooching up the bed to lean against the headboard. What was new, though, was the feeling filling your body, like Alexia didn’t even need to ask you to do anything; you’d just do it if it was what she wanted. Making Alexia feel good would make you feel good. And Alexia knew better than anyone on the face of the earth what you needed.

So, the minute she gestured for you to move on top of her, you were scrambling forward. Ignoring the slightly condescending smirk Alexia sent your way, and the blush that lit up your cheeks as she did so.

Alexia settled you on one of her thighs, the smooth skin hitting your core perfectly. You barely contained a whine at the contact, and Alexia smirked up at you.

“You are wet for mami, no?”

“Yes, for you, only you,” you stuttered, feeling incredibly turned on considering Alexia had barely touched you at this point.

Alexia’s voice was low and possessive when she spoke next.“You want to make a mess on my thigh, bebé?”

“Yes, please,” you begged, her hands still keeping your hips completely still, even as you tried to grind down against her,

“Yes please what?”

“Fuck, please mami, please,”

“Buena niña,” she replied softly, the quiet, affection filled tone she was using making you fall against her, wrapping your arms around her neck almost desperately. Your motions were stuttering, no rhythm to them. Your head was too empty, your body too aroused to get you where you needed to be. “You need my help, bebé? You need mami to do it for you?”

You thought you might be dying. Everytime Alexia said the word, you crumbled just a little bit more. You’d never felt this desperate, this needy before in your entire life. It was almost beyond words. You just needed her. And at the same time, you couldn’t do it yourself, couldn’t get yourself to move the right way.

“Need you,” you cried out. Luckily, Alexia seemed to take mercy on you, her hands beginning to guide your core to slide against her thigh. She leaned up, pressing her lips to yours in a slow kiss, almost as if she knew you could only take so much at once. It was intoxicating, being pressed up against her, feeling her wet thigh on your dripping cunt, her hands in your hair, her teeth tugging on your lip.

You whimpered pathetically into her mouth, encouraging her to speed her motions up.

“Am I making you feel good, princesa? Tell me.” She murmured, pressing her forehead against yours, her face so close you could feel her hot breath on your lips.

“So good, mami. You feel so good,” you whined, and Alexia almost moaned, too, at how entirely gone you sounded.

“You are being so good for me, hmm? Do you like it when I take control? When I help you get yourself off on my thigh like a needy slut? Does it make your pussy drip, princesa?”

“Jesus christ,” you replied, every word she spoke edging you closer and closer. It had been minutes, only minutes, and you were already about to fall apart on top of Alexia.

“I want you to come on my thigh, sí?” She said lowly, and suddenly, as soon as she said the words, you were teetering on the edge, just one perfect movement away from coming.

“Mami, fuck, please,” you gritted out, teeth clenching together as Alexia worked you harder and harder against her, until your body tensed for a minute, and you fell silent.

“Que buena, princesa, que bonita.” The blonde woman whispered, watching your face in awe as you collapsed against her, breathing heavily. Her hands slowed their movements, until you were left rubbing yourself against Alexia’s thigh very slowly, and very jerkily.

Alexia didn’t wait very long until she was easing you away from her, gripping your face in between her hands.

“I want to fuck you,” she whispered, watching as your breath stuttered. “Can I fuck you?”

“Yes, mami, I need your cock,” you begged, knowing you said exactly the right thing when Alexia rolled you off her with a smirk, and headed for the bedside drawer.

Alexia liked to fuck you from behind, more than anything. She loved your ass, loved to watching it as she fucked you, so you rolled onto your stomach, looking questioningly at her when she tapped your side.

She was kneeled behind you, gazing down with a hungry look on her face. “No, on your back. I want to see your face when I fuck you wide open,”

You barely withheld a moan, then, as you rolled over and spread your legs. Alexia roughly pushed them to the side, settling in between them, and plunging a finger into you without warning.

“Shit,” you cried.

“You are soaked, mi amor. You need mami to fuck you now?” She asked, quickly adding a second finger when it was clear you could take it.

If anything was hotter than calling Alexia mami, it was hearing her call herself mami.

“Need you, mami,” you repeated for what felt like the 8th time so far. It was all you could think or articulate. You just needed her.

When Alexia pressed her cock in, you knew instantly that you wouldn’t be lasting very long. You were already gripping the bed sheets in your hands, and Alexia was already starting an unforgiving pace.

Alexia fucked you harder than she ever had before, her hands pulling your hips to meet her thrusts, her thighs burning, her breath heaving as she worked herself in and out of you. She was getting worked up herself, watching the way her cock disappeared into your dripping cunt, the way your clit throbbed, the way you looked up at Alexia like she was the only other person in the world.

You were so far gone, so lost in the pleasure, and you knew Alexia was getting close too by the way she whimpered every few thrusts, a sound very un-Alexia, but one that made you bite your lip all the same. You wanted more from her, needed more. And what did you have to lose, really?

“In me,” you muttered, almost completely incoherent as Alexia moved herself in and out of you.

“Que?” she asked, not slowing down for even a second.

“Inside me, please,” you begged, blinking up at her with a look in your eyes that she’d never seen before.

Alexia was confused, momentarily. She was already inside of you. She watched you grow closer and closer, suddenly hit with your meaning.

She pressed her hand down on your lower stomach, and your back arched right off the bed. You threw your head back, practically screaming at this point at the sensation.

“Mami, mami, please,” you cried.

“You want me to come inside you?” She gasped, absolutely pounding into you now.

You nodded frantically. “Fill me up, mami, I need it”

“Mierda,” Alexia groaned, she was close too, suddenly, even though normally the friction of the strap wasn’t enough to get her off. Everything you were doing, though, everything you were asking for was almost overwhelming to her, and it was all she could do to keep pumping in and out of you, moving her free hand to circle your clit.

Your voice cut off abruptly, and your eyes slammed shut. You reached for your girlfriend, and she reached for you, too, removing her hand from your stomach and lacing her fingers with yours. Her forehead fell to your shoulder as she got louder than you’d really ever heard her.

“Gonna come, princesa, gonna come in your pretty pussy,” she managed, her words making you shudder underneath her.

It was the most intense thing you’d ever experienced. You felt yourself tighten around Alexia’s cock deep inside you, felt Alexia thrust one more time stop, frantically grinding herself against you as she, too, fell over the edge. Pleasure washed over the both of you, and you held tight to each other, as if your lives depended on it.

When it was over, you fell limp into the mattress, every clenched muscle unclenching as Alexia’s full weight dropped on top of you. It was the most comforting sensation, her hand shakily running through your hair, her hot and rapid exhales on your shoulder blade as she came down. You were still throbbing around her, and it was becoming too much, she was too big, too deep.

“Out, Ale, pull out,” you murmured. Alexia broke out of her mindlessness, sitting up and very delicately removing her cock. You whined deeply when she pulled it out all the way, brow scrunching as you squirmed underneath her.

If someone had asked you your name or what club you played for at that moment, you weren’t sure you’d be able to respond. You weren’t sure you could form words at all, really, only capable of reaching out for Alexia again, and sighing happily when she laid back down, pulling you to lay flush on top of her.

“Are you okay, amor?” She asked after a minute, when you still hadn’t spoken, and your eyes were still shut, face crammed into the crook of her neck.

You only hummed in response, barely registering that she was speaking to you. That was not good enough for your girlfriend, though, and she rolled you both over, until she was hovering over your body again, finger delicately tracing a pattern on your cheek. You opened your eyes, a faint smile on your lips.

“Bonita, are you okay?” She asked again.

“So good, Ale. My god. So so good.” You promised her, your smile only growing when Alexia’s face broke into one of relief.

“Muy buena,” she murmured, ignoring the annoyed whine you let out when she sat up off you. Alexia was undeterred, even when you reached out for her. The blonde left the room, briefly, and you felt your eyes inexplicably filling with tears.

When Alexia returned with a water bottle and granola bar in hand, she quickly grew frantic when she saw the tears dripping down your face. She dropped the items onto the bed, sitting you up and pulling you into her, your back against her chest.

“What is it, what is it?” She asked, panicked, wiping away the tears so gently, you almost started to cry again.

“I don’t know,” you cried, the words somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “I don’t know why I’m crying,”

Again, Alexia deflated, relieved, knowing that she hadn’t upset you. “Okay, that is okay. Drink some water for me please?”

The adorable grin on her face as she held the uncapped water out to you had you reaching for it without question, taking a few sips before handing it back to her.

“You too.” You reminded her. Alexia dutifully took a few sips, placed the bottle back on the table, and manhandled you until you were laying down next to her, her body wrapped around yours.

“Love you, love you, love you, love you,” she murmured in your ear, and you laughed in response, feeling happier than you think you’d ever felt in your whole life.

“I love you so much.” You whispered back, feeling Alexia smile hugely into your neck.

“Mi princesa,” she sighed. “How are you so perfect?”

“Because I’m with you,” you replied easily. “And you’re perfect.”

Alexia disagreed. In fact, she thought the opposite. She wasn’t going to argue with you now though, not after you’d made her deepest desire come true. Instead, she tugged you closer, kissing your neck repeatedly. There’d be time to remind you of your perfection later. Now, though, both of you were drifting closer and closer to sleep, and all Alexia wanted in that moment was to hold you close to her forever.

You’d happily let her.

------

this has been in my wips for actual weeks im im thrilled to be done with her i hope you like :)

#woso imagine #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #woso fanfics #woso one shot

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kissitbttr · 5 months

Note

omg I am in LOVEE with frat!miguel and cheerleader reader 🙏💕 I was picturing reader somehow getting injured at one of Miguel’s games (maybe a player slams into her or she hits her head), and him literally RUSHING off of the field to help her and people are shocked to see him getting so soft!!!! Ofc, this could be the other way around too, but soft!miguel would be such a shock, especially considering his reputation, and so cute to see 🥲🤲 Xoxo

“y/n watch out!”

your cheer mate scream at you with eyes wide, and before you could turn around, someone else’s bigger physique crashes into you. causing your body to fall and your head lands into the ground with a loud thud,

the audience let out a collective of gasps and surprised, worrying about the small girl getting concussed by the large linebacker who hurriedly get on his feet before spitting countless of apologies,

but nothing compares to how miguel reacts when he sees his girl falls,

his blood runs cold, aggressively taking off his helmet and let it fall into the grass before sprinting towards you in full speed,

“muñeca !!” he screams, voice filled with worried while ignoring the coach calling out his last name. as the rest of the team begins to exchange glances, wondering what the fuck happened to miguel.

because he’s never been the one to leave his position in any circumstances. football means a lot to him, he lives and breathe football.

so to see him completely dismissing the game is a shock to the rest,

“f-fuck i’m so sorry, i didn’t—“

“what the actual fuck was that?!” miguel roars once he gets to see you close, but his angry eyes move towards the guy who just crashed into you. his big hands violently shove the man out of your sight,

“didn’t you fucking hear the rules?! this area is off limits! there’s a line drawn here el hijo de puta!!”

“the fuck?! the ball was—“

“i don’t give a fuck if the ball went through here!! you leave it as it is!! someone could get seriously injured! you want someone to fucking die or something?!”

the team has never seen miguel so angry and red, it’s almost like miguel could actually snap that man’s neck in half. his eyes are filled with vengeance as he continues to call the guy names for hurting you,

beck’s face goes pale. “oh fuck” he mutters, jogging towards miguel and hurriedly put a space in between them. “okay okay, man! easy, easy! don’t start a fight, need me to remind you what happened to chuck last year?!”

beck searches for any significant changes on miguel’s face. heavy breathing combines with a deadly look on his expression before he shakes his head,

“okay good. let me take care of this and go to your girl. she’s still hurt” he pats on miguel’s shoulder pad before he walks off,

miguel is still burning with anger but that soon subsides when he hears you call out his name,

“miggy?”

he never turns around so quickly, bending down to your level as his arms begin to cradle your fragile body before pulling you close. “you good, baby?” his voice is now gentle and soft. “let me see”

his fingers move underneath your chin, gently tilting it back and winces when he sees a small scar across your forehead.

“dizzy?” he asks, you nod in response, hand holding your head. he then looks up to one of your cheer mates,

“get a medic, now!” he yells out, putting your head against his chest so you can rest comfortably,

“o’hara! get back here, game isn’t over!” his coach yells angrily

“i’m not moving until my girl is taken care of! go get someone off the bench to replace me if you have to!” he responds by looking over his shoulder for a moment

the coach’s shoulders slump, brows dipping into a frown as he shakes his head. “the fuck? this kid—“ he grumbles before turning around,

glen nudges beck’s side with his elbow, looking as confused as the rest.

“I don’t get it. he never asks someone to replace him. not even when his knee was busted.”

beck looks over at the two of you, watching how miguel intently taking care of your injured self.

“yeah, I don’t get it, either” beck mutters but with a small smile. seeing how his best friend completely fallen for you was definitely not on his bingo card. it’s a good change, he supposed,

he’s never been this in love with his previous girlfriends. not dana nor xina. you’re pretty much the first. he guesses, you must be the one for him,

beck gets it. he does.

#miguel o’hara blurbs #miguel o’hara #frat!miguel

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stxrslut · 20 days

Text

dealer!jj who coaches you through your first ever bad trip :(

he’s seen plenty of his clients have bad trips before, he knows sometimes the body goes haywire, he doesn’t often acknowledge it much. If they text him frantically he’ll just mute their number. if they call, he’ll tell them to drink a glass of water and then hang up. if they happen to be at his place when it happens, he’ll do the courtesy of driving them back to their own home to deal with it by themselves.

but when you stumble up onto his patio, looking distressed and far too pale for comfort, he’s up in an instant. you’re one of his more… lightweight clients, he’ll admit that. but something more than that is going on right now.

“jj— help,” you whimper, tripping over and nearly falling, but he catches you just in time. he looks panicked, his eyes wide as he looks you over and tries to figure out what’s happening.

when he catches on he immediately calms down, because he knows how to handle this “oh oh— okay. you’re okay.” he gently guides you over towards the couch and onto his lap.

you curl up and cling to him, his body is warm, and it’s soothing compared to the freezing cold you’re currently experiencing. “what’s happening to me?” you’re voice shakes as tears stream down your cheeks.

he shushes you, brushing a stand of hair out of your face “you’re havin’ a bad trip sweetie. It’s okay.” he presses a kiss to your temple. “told you not to smoke the whole thing at once…” he murmurs, still doing his best to soothe your panicked self with gentle touches.

“I didn’t mean to,” you sniffle “but everyone was tellin’ me to and- and I didn’t- I couldn’t say no!” jj’s gaze is sympathetic, he’s been subject to peer pressure a few times himself, and he knows that it’s even worse when the consequences suck.

“gotta stop lettin’ people walk all over you sweetie— gonna get you hurt one day.” he chastises gently, trying his best not to be accusatory in your vulnerable moment. you just cry more “stop tellin’ me off!” you wail, hitting him on the chest weakly as you try to out your frustration. “okay— okay. you’re okay. we’re gonna get you feeling better in no time…”

the next few hours are a bit of a blur, at one point you got real dizzy, at another point you couldn’t stop laughing, at another point you vomited all over yourself.

jj takes good care of you, he changes your clothes and calms you down when you panic. he cuddles up with you so you can find some solace in his touch. it’s very late at night when you finally start to come out of it.

you’re curled up at jj’s side on the couch, exhausted. he’s got one of his shitty old dystopian movies playing on the tv, and he’s helping you take sips of water every few minutes.

your head hurts, jj had told you to expect that when you sobered up. “I think m’ feelin’ better…” you murmur, burrowing further into his chest, eyes half lidded already.

“yeah? s’good sweetie.” he smiles, giving the top of your head another kiss. he knows he’s being too touchy, but he’s decided that until you’re back to 100%, then it’s excusable.

“think I might be hungry…” you muse, and he chuckles, “‘m afraid you probably don’t want anything from my pantry, unless you have a taste for stale beer and mould..” he scratches the back of his head awkwardly, and then speaks again “actually I might have some soup— oh…”

he stops in his tracks when he realises that you’ve fallen asleep on him. he lets out a sigh of relief at the fact that you’re finally better, before attempting to move from under you.

you whine, pulling him back down, face set in a sleepy frown. he chuckles, laying back down where he was. “okay— I’ll stay…”

#i kinda hate this #dealer!jj #jj maybank prompt #jj maybank concept #jj maybank blurb #jj maybank outer banks #jj maybank smut #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank

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pucksandpower · 3 months

Text

To the Moon and Back

Lando Norris x astronaut!Reader

Summary: not many people can say “I love you to the moon and back” literally … but you’re the exception

Based on this request

Happy Valentine’s Day, my loves 🫶

The roar of the engine echoes through the car as Lando revs the McLaren 720S Spider. You glance over at your boyfriend and can’t help but smile. His eyes are bright with excitement beneath his helmet.

“You ready for this, love?” He asks, giving your hand a quick squeeze.

You nod, adrenaline already pumping through your veins. “Let’s do it.”

As an astronaut, you’re no stranger to G-force. But taking a hot lap around the race track with Lando is a different kind of thrill. The track marshall gives a thumbs up and Lando eases the car out of the pit lane. He takes it easy for the first few turns, warming up the tires.

“How’s it feel?” He asks.

“Smooth,” you reply. “Can’t even tell we’re going 200.”

Lando grins. “Oh just wait.”

He floors it down the back straight, pinning you back against the seat as the speedometer climbs towards 320 kilometers per hour. The G-force builds as he brakes hard into the next corner, expertly controlling the slide.

You let out an exhilarated whoop. “Now that’s more like it!”

Lando chuckles. “Barely getting started, babe.”

The next few laps are a blur of adrenaline and speed. Lando dances the McLaren through the corners, braking impossibly late before powering out in a controlled slide. You relish the forces pressing you back into your seat, so similar yet so different from a rocket launch.

As you pull back into the pits, crowds of fans erupt into cheers. Lando parks the car and hops out, pausing to take off his helmet and run a hand through his curly hair before coming over to help you out.

“So, what did the astronaut think?” He asks with a playful grin.

You’re still catching your breath, heart pounding. "That was insane! What a rush."

Lando looks pleased, keeping an arm wrapped around you as you’re swarmed by fans seeking autographs and photos. Most want a moment with their favorite driver, but a few recognize you as well.

“She’s the astronaut girlfriend, right?” Someone asks.

You nod, giving a little wave. “Yep, that’s me!”

The fans seem impressed that you were able to handle Lando’s hot lap so easily.

“Wow, you took those Gs no problem!” A teenage girl remarks.

You laugh. “Well, I have some practice from launch and re-entry.”

“You must be fearless to be an astronaut,” adds an awe-struck boy.

“It’s intense for sure,” you agree. “But so rewarding.”

Lando smiles proudly, giving you an affectionate squeeze. “My girl’s a badass. Takes a lot more than some high-G corners to phase her!”

You laugh and pose for a few more photos before Lando regrettably has to head in to prep for free practice. After a quick kiss goodbye, you wander through the bustling paddock, enjoying the infectious excitement in the air on race day.

You’ve just grabbed a water bottle when you hear rapid footsteps behind you.

“Y/N, wait up!”

Turning, you see Lando’s performance coach approaching. He gives you a polite smile. “Got a minute?”

You nod. “For you, always. What’s up?”

He falls into step beside you. “I wanted to run something by you. Lando seems distracted lately during training and physio. Have you noticed anything off with him?”

You frown, thinking back over the last few weeks. Now that he mentions it, Lando has seemed a little distant at times.

“I have noticed he’s been quieter than usual,” you admit. “But I figured it was just nerves or fatigue going into the season.”

Jon nods thoughtfully. “Could be. I know he really wants to impress this year. But as his girlfriend, I thought maybe you’d have a better sense of if anything else is on his mind.”

“I’ll try to talk to him,” you promise.

“Appreciate it,” Jon says. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

You part ways and head out to the pit wall to watch the start of the race. But your mind is only partially on the action, thoughts preoccupied with concern for Lando. He’s normally so upbeat and energetic, but thinking back, you realize there has been a muted quality to him lately that is unusual. You wrack your brain trying to pinpoint if there was a specific incident that triggered this change, but come up empty.

After the podium, you pull Lando. “P3! What a freaking drive," you give him a quick kiss.

His eyes brighten momentarily. “Thanks, love. Feels good to start the season off strong.”

You study his face, wishing you could read his thoughts. “So … can we talk later? Maybe grab dinner in the city before heading back to the hotel?”

Lando shrugs. "Sure, I guess so."

You frown slightly. His response is lacking his normal enthusiasm. But the paddock is too crowded to dive deeper now. “Great, it’s a date!” You say brightly, taking his hand as you both head out to spray champagne. You’ll get to the bottom of this tonight.

After a flurry of post-race obligations, the two of you finally slip away to a quiet restaurant downtown. When the waiter steps away with your orders, you reach across the table to take Lando’s hand.

“So, what’s really going on?” You ask gently. “And don’t say nothing. Everyone can tell something’s been off lately.”

Lando sighs, avoiding your eyes. He runs his free hand through his curls. “It’s stupid, really …”

You squeeze his hand reassuringly. “If it’s bothering you this much, it’s not stupid. Talk to me, babe.”

He’s quiet for a long moment before responding softly. “I’m worried I don’t deserve you.”

You rock back slightly, caught off guard. “What? Where is this coming from?”

Lando keeps his gaze down. “It’s just … you’re this badass astronaut. You literally go to space! And I’m just a guy who drives cars in circles.”

Your heart aches for the vulnerability in his voice. You give his hand another supportive squeeze. “Lando, you’re so much more than that. Yes, I love space. But racing is your passion and you’re incredible at it. You bring joy to so many people. That matters.”

‘I know, but …” Lando trails off uncertainly.

You lean forward, gently tipping his chin up. “No buts. You deserve the world. I’m the lucky one here.”

He finally meets your eyes. “Really?” The doubt is clear on his face.

“Really,” you confirm. “I fell for you, Lando. Not your job or your fame. Your kindness, your humor, your giant heart … that’s what I love.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “When you put it like that …”

“It’s the truth,” you say firmly.

Lando lets out a long breath, his shoulders dropping as the tension eases. “I’ve been in my own head about this for weeks. Should have just talked to you sooner.”

“Well, you have me now,” you remind him. “No more keeping worries bottled up, deal?”

“Deal,” he agrees, lifting your hand to his lips for a gentle kiss. “Have I mentioned lately how amazing you are?”

You laugh. “It’s always nice to hear.” Your heart swells with happiness to see the sparkle back in his eyes.

Just then your food arrives, and Lando insists you try a bite of his pasta. The conversation flows easily again as you trade stories and banter. With the worry lifted from his shoulders, Lando’s charm and humor are on full display. By the time you meander hand in hand back to the hotel, the moon is high in the sky.

Lando pauses outside your door. “Thank you for tonight. And just … for everything. You’re my whole world.”

“I love you to the moon and back.” You gaze at him adoringly for a moment before adding, “Now, I believe a celebration is in order for that podium today …”

You open the door and pull him inside by his collar as he laughs. As you kiss him deeply, you make a silent promise to always be the safe space he can turn to when doubts creep in.

You’re the luckiest girl in the world to be loved by this incredible man. And you plan to spend every day proving he’s worthy of the same boundless love … to the moon and back.

***

You take a deep breath as you stare out the small window of the shuttle, watching the Earth get smaller and smaller as you ascend into the sky.

This is it. Your first mission to the moon.

You’ve dreamed of this moment since you were a little girl, gazing up at the glowing orb in the night sky and imagining yourself walking across its cratered surface.

As an astronaut with NASA, you’ve completed years of intense training to prepare yourself mentally and physically for the rigors of space travel. But nothing can fully ready you for the surge of emotions that hits you now as your childhood fantasy becomes reality.

Excitement.

Awe.

A twinge of nervousness.

And above all, gratitude. Gratitude for the opportunity to push the boundaries of human exploration. To boldly go where only a handful of people have gone before.

You think of Lando. How his eyes lit up when you got the call informing you that you had been selected for this mission. How he immediately started planning a big celebratory dinner, inviting all your friends and family. How he held you tight before you left for quarantine and launch preparations, whispering “I’m so proud of you” and “I love you to the moon and back.”

Your relationship with Lando has always been anchored in mutual love, trust and encouragement. As a Formula 1 driver, he understands the demands and dangers of your job, the laser focus it requires. When he races, you’re trackside or glued to the TV, cheering him on. When it’s your turn to take the spotlight, he’s equally in your corner, hyping you up and telling anyone who’ll listen that his girl is an astronaut headed to space.

You chuckle thinking back to when you first met Lando at an Engineering for the Next Generation event. Him in his McLaren gear, standing out like a beacon in bright papaya. You in your crisp blue flight suit, NASA insignia shining. Sparks didn’t just fly, they erupted into fireworks.

Fast forward five years and here you both are, thriving in your dream careers, happily together and each other’s biggest fans.

Your daydreaming is interrupted by the voice of the commander crackling over your headset. “Prepare for trans-lunar injection burn.”

It’s time.

You watch attentively as the burn commences, adjusting the shuttle’s trajectory until you’ve escaped Earth’s gravity and are hurtling towards the moon.

The next few days pass in a blur of course corrections, equipment checks, meals, sleep, and anticipation. Then finally, the moment arrives. You feel the shuttle tremble as the engines fire, slowing you down until you achieve lunar orbit insertion.

For the first time, you’re gazing upon the entirety of the moon’s pockmarked surface rather than just a slice of it in the night sky. It’s simultaneously familiar and foreign, a world both near and far.

“We are go for powered descent,” comes the voice of Mission Control. The shuttle shudders as the lander separates, ferrying you and your crewmates down to the awaiting surface. Through the window you watch the grey, dusty terrain rise up to meet you. A perfect landing kicks up plumes of powder.

You’ve arrived.

Stepping outside in your bulky space suit, you marvel at the stark beauty surrounding you. The pitch black sky, dotted more vividly with blazing stars than you could have ever imagined. The rolling plains and hills in muted grays. The unfiltered rays of the sun overhead. And above all, the profoundly silence, unlike anything you’ve experienced on noisy Earth.

You bend down and scoop up some lunar soil, letting it sift through your gloved fingers.

The next two days pass swiftly, filled with collecting samples, setting up experiments, and traversing the alien landscape. Too soon, it’s time to depart. As the shuttle lifts off in a spray of dust, you take one last look at the moon’s cratered face, etching it into your memory.

Returning to Earth, you’re met with great fanfare. Lando wraps you in an enormous bear hug, his relief and elation at having you home safe and sound is infectious. “I’ve missed you so much! Can’t wait to hear all about it,” he holds you tight and refuses to let go.

At the dinner he’s arranged, surrounded by your closest friends and family, you regale everyone with stories about your lunar experience.

Walking in spaces so silent your own heartbeat sounded thunderous. The inexplicable lightness in your limbs from the reduced gravity. Seeing Earth hover above the horizon, a blue and white marble in the void. The sense of wonder at walking upon a heavenly sphere humans have gazed upon for millennia but few have ever touched.

“I’ve always loved you to the moon and back,” you tell Lando, taking his hand. “Now I can say I’ve literally loved you to the moon and back.”

You see his eyes widen as you pull out a small pouch and tip glittering gray dust into his palm — a moon rock. “A little piece of the moon, just for you,” you close his fingers around it.

Lando is momentarily speechless, touched beyond words by your gesture. Then a grin spreads across his face. “You are simply out of this world,” he laughs. “This is going in my trophy case for sure!”

Over the next year, Lando has the moon rock fashioned into a ring, which he wears on race days for good luck. Sure enough, he scores his first ever victory that season, a thrilling achievement after years of near misses and podium finishes.

Standing on top of the podium, Lando whoops and thrusts his trophy high. Then he gazes straight into your eyes and says words meant only for you. “This one’s for the person who has always loved me to the moon and back.”

You beam with joy, pride surging through you. In that moment, all the years of supporting each other through the highs and lows to follow your passions feel profoundly worth it. Because at the end of the day, whether it’s launching into space or racing on Earth, you’re always each other’s biggest fans, connected by a love deeper than any distance — even 768,800 kilometers to the moon and back.

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heartshapedmisery · 5 days

Text

𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐧 𝐮𝐩 | art donaldson

summary ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖ art is your tennis coach, but after he tells you to "loosen up" a bit, you're not sure if your boundaries are strictly professional anymore.

warnings ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖ MINORS DNI ! ( 18+ ) | language, graphic smut, unprotected sex ( wrap it before u tap it y'all ), soft!dom!art, sub!reader, sexual tension, art gives reader a massage, praise kink, p in v sex, fingering, if i missed anything, please let me know!

word count ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖ 3.2k +

pairing ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖ standford!art donaldson x fem!stanford!reader

author’s note ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖ saw challengers the other day .... its all i can think about rn so i made a fic! hope u enjoy! also i know nothing about physical therapy so if this makes no sense I'm sorry

tags ― .ﾟ‪‪ ˖ @madnessandobsession @hashtagtobefuckinghonest @mitskilover23

A bead of sweat rolled down your temple as your feet carried you quickly across the tennis court, your eyes refusing to leave the bright yellow ball that was coming towards you from the opposite side of the net.

"Keep your eye on the ball, sweetheart!" Art barked, a few blonde strands of his hair falling in his eyes as he watched you simply miss the ball once again.

The nickname caught you off guard, dismantling your focus and causing you to falter your movements. Your arm swung out far enough, but your racket was just below the ball, allowing it to fly right over it and hit the concrete behind you. A tinge of pain seared through your right shoulder, making you wince.

"Shit!" You grumbled in annoyance, your eyes refusing to meet Art's since you knew he would scold you for your miss.

You threw the racket in your hand down at your feet, irritated that you hadn't kept the ball going back and forth between you and Art for more than 2 times in your last 5 tries.

Your mind was somewhere else; normally you were a beast on the court, dominating your competition (all thanks to Art). Today, not so much.

"What was that, the 6th time?" Art scoffed, waving his racket about in the air. "What's wrong with your shoulder?" he pointed his racket in your direction, a look of concern written on his face.

You didn't answer him, walking off the court over to the bench and grabbing your water bottle. He followed you, taking the bottle from your hand when you were done and squirting the liquid into his mouth. Your eyes watched him carefully, following the water droplets as a few fell from the corner of his mouth.

"You're tense, I can see it all over you when you're moving around out there," he said, motioning to your shoulders and neck. Your eyes caught the way his polo clung to his toned chest, sweat starting to seep through from his constant movement.

"I'm fine," you told him, shrugging his words off. "Just a little distracted, is all."

A lopsided grin cracked across his face, not buying your excuses.

"Come here," he motioned for you to move towards him, which you hesitantly responded to before walking to him. Carefully, his hands grabbed your shoulders and spun you around, your back meeting his front harsher than you had expected.

Your heartbeat quickly picked up, the feeling of his hands on your bare shoulders felt hot and heavy on your skin.

This wasn't the first time Art has caught you off guard like this. You had noticed over the past few months how touchy he could be, whether he was correcting your form or bidding you good job after a match with a rub on the back.

And no matter how much you denied it, you couldn't help but love every second of it. Despite being your coach, he had an effect on you that no one else did. He drove you wild, but of course, he never realized that.

At least, you thought he didn't.

"Your shoulders are very tight, especially your right one. That's why you're not getting a lot of movement," he spoke softly in your ear, his fingers running up the sides of your arms before finally gripping your shoulders. His fingers squeezed your flesh gently, burning against your skin enough to make you let out a sigh he undoubtedly heard.

"You need to loosen up a little bit, sweetheart. All this stress is messing you up, and we can't have that." his voice was smooth and sultry, a total contrast to what it had been only moments before on the court.

His fingers kneaded at the muscles at the top of your back, working out all of the kinks and knots that inhabited your shoulders. Your eyes quickly fell shut as you leaned into his touch, getting lost in the feeling of his hands on you.

"Ah," you breathed out, the feeling of his thumb reaching a spot that unraveled the tension in your right shoulder. "Right there."

You couldn't see it, but a wide smile bloomed across his face at your words, his thumb moving to massage the muscle deeper than before. You let out a breath groan, which (as much as he hated to admit it) indubitably went straight to his lower half.

He didn't expect you to be so responsive to his touch. It surprised him, but that didn't mean he was opposed to it.

"Yeah?" He breathed. "Does that feel better?"

He knew exactly what he was doing, even though you were so oblivious to his shenanigans.

"Yes," you groaned, allowing your head to fall back slightly. You breathed in deeply as he continued his work at your muscles, watching you revel in the relief at the top of your back.

To anyone else, his actions only looked like a coach helping his player work out an injury. But to you and Art, this was months of tension finally boiling over. The way his hands worked across your skin, the pleasurable sighs you let out. It was the two of you crossing a boundary you had never expected to abandon.

"Art!" a voice sounded from the opposite side of the court, making your eyes snap open. His hands stopped their movements, but he didn't remove them from your shoulders as he looked over his shoulder at whoever was trying to get his attention.

It was Mike, the Athletic Director at Stanford.

"Mike," he stated, greeting him with a nod. His voice almost sounded disappointed, not appreciating that he had interrupted the two of you. "What can I do you for?"

His hands finally left your shoulders, your skin feeling dull and light from their wake. You quickly snapped yourself back to reality, brushing away the hot feeling in your chest as you watched the exchange between Art and Mike.

"I just have some paperwork for you to fill out for the semester," he said, "Won't take long."

You watched Art's expression lighten, giving him a slight nod before agreeing to meet him in his office and Mike dismissing himself from the court.

Your gaze met Art's as he turned back to grab his gym bag off the bench and slung it over his shoulder. You watched him carefully, before taking your own bag off the bench.

"Put some ice on that shoulder," he pointed to your right side as he slipped his Ray Bans onto his face to shield his eyes from the sun. "I'll come check on it later, okay?"

You nodded, your mind already racing at the thought. You watched him as he walked away from your view, a feeling of excitement and confusion bubbling in your chest.

You didn't see him again until after lunch. You had been wandering around your small apartment in nothing but a tank top and pajama shorts (due to the blistering California heat outside) with a bag of ice taped around your shoulder, trying to keep your mind occupied until Art arrived.

Your afternoon classes had been canceled so you decided to take it easy at home, trying to keep your arm relaxed as much as possible.

When you heard a simple knock at your door, the feeling from earlier that morning had returned, rising in your chest and making your neck hot at the thought of him. He stood nonchalantly at your door when you swung it open, greeting him with a warm smile.

"Hey," you said, moving out of the way to let him in. He sent you a small smile back, following you into your tiny living room.

"How's the shoulder?" he rasped, taking a look at the ice pack on your arm that was starting to leak.

"Pretty good, hasn't really changed much. Still a little sore, though." you told him honestly, still confused as to why you had tweaked it so bad.

"Mind if I take a look at it?" he asked, gently running his hand up the side of your arm. The sensation sent chills down your spine as you nodded simply. He had to stop doing that or else you were going to go crazy.

"Here, sit down between my legs with your back towards me," he motioned to the couch, sitting behind you before moving to remove the athletic tape from the ice pack. You could feel his warmth behind you, his breath hot against your shoulder as he peered at your injury.

Your breath hitched as you felt his finger hook under the right strap of your tank top, your head turning slightly to catch his eye.

"Do you mind if I move this down?" he asked gently, eager to make sure you were okay with him touching you like this. You nodded, a little quicker than you had anticipated.

"Yeah, that's fine," you breathed, before turning back around. Carefully, he pulled the strap down, exposing your bare shoulder to him. Your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of his calloused hands against your smooth skin, his fingers slowly beginning to knead at your muscles.

"I feel a lot of tension here still," he told you, his hand gently moving to raise your arm up slightly over your head. You felt a pop in your joints, an instant feeling of relief washing through your shoulder. A breathy moan escaped your lips at the movement, grateful that it felt better already.

"Shit," you breathed, thankful for his skillful hands. "That feels good."

Art let out a breathy laugh, making your heart swell. "Lean back against me, I want to try something."

You followed his instructions, your back meeting his toned chest, sinking into his embrace. The smell of his cologne invaded your senses, making you sigh.

Carefully, he wrapped his arm around your collarbone, his left hand laying flat against the front of your shoulder while his right hand gripped the back of your bicep where your arm met your shoulder.

His hands were slow and gentle but still had you unwinding more with each movement. His left hand gently pushed your shoulder back as his right pushed your arm forward, earning another pop in your joints.

"Oh my god," you groaned under your breath, your hand subconsciously moving to grip his muscular forearm without realizing it.

"That's it, sweetheart," he cooed in your ear as you let out a sigh of relief. "Does that feel better?"

'So much better," you told him honestly, still holding onto his arm. Your eyes quickly fell down to it, an idea circling in your mind before your hand slowly began to move. He watched you carefully, his eyes following your freshly manicured hand moved to settle over his, before carefully moving his hand down your chest.

"But I think I'm still a little tense, Art," you breathed, biting your lip as his fingers ghosted over your hardened nipple before you moved it down further to your abdomen. His mind finally caught on to what you were trying to get at, a sly smirk cracking across his face.

"Could you help me?" you whispered, settling his hand on your lower stomach, dangerously close to where you wanted him most.

He didn't respond, his hand simply moving from underneath yours and allowing his fingers to slip underneath the waistband of your skimpy shorts, your breath hitching. He moved his free hand from your arm and down to your thigh, gently spreading them apart.

You felt him exhale a deep breath, before finally answering your request. "Of course. Anything to help my star player."

His fingers broke the barrier of your panties just as the words left his mouth, dipping into your soaked core without warning. You let out a moan as his lips pressed gentle kisses to your bare shoulder before moving up your neck and settling just below your ear.

His middle and ring fingers played at your clit, rubbing it gently before dipping back into you, curling his fingers inside of you sweetly.

A moan sounded from your plump lips, your head falling back on his shoulder. Your hand gripped his bicep as he continued to give you what you wanted, writhing in pleasure at his movements.

You could feel his hard-on press into your back as you sunk into his embrace, turning you on even more.

"How does that feel, baby?" he rasped, kissing your temple as he could feel you beginning to unravel on his fingers. "Is this what you wanted?"

You whimpered, biting your lip as you nodded your head. "Yes!"

As his fingers moved quickly inside of you, you felt his free hand wrap around your torso before moving up to your chest, his fingers ghosting over your hardened nipple.

"Please, Art," you whimpered, so close to your high. He took your words as a sign to keep going and allowed his fingers to fondle your breast, which sent you over the edge.

"Fuck, I'm-" you whined, your words caught dead in your throat as your orgasm washed over you, a defeated moan sounding from your chest.

He was mesmerized as he watched you, the way your head kicked back against his chest and you gripped his thigh as you came down from your climax. The pure ecstasy was seeping from you, and it drove him wild that he brought you to this state.

Carefully, he removed his fingers from your soaked core, bringing them to his mouth before sucking them clean. Your head snapped around to watch him, going feral at the way he reveled at the taste of you. You couldn't tear your eyes away from him.

Your hands cupped the sides of his head, your fingers running through his blonde locks of hair. His eyes fell on your wet, plump lips before he smashed his own against them without warning.

A whine of approval sounded from the back of your throat, your body quickly crawling into his lap, straddling him as you sunk deeper into the kiss. His hands ran up the sides of your thighs before settling on the flesh of your ass, squeezing it as he held your core down against his hard-on.

His lips finally pulled away from yours, both of you out of breath as you met each other's gaze once again. He was quick to attack your neck, leaving sloppy and wet kisses all over your skin as he rocked your hips over his erection for any sort of release he could get.

Your fingers tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck, earning a low groan to sound from his chest, which went straight to your core. You were growing impatient, pulling away from him in order to tug your tank top over your head. His eyes fell to your bare chest, a look of pure lust haunting them.

You quickly stood up from his lap to remove your shorts along with your underwear, giving him the opportunity to rid himself of his clothes as well. Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head as his hard-on slapped against his lower stomach once he pulled his boxers off, his tip reddened and already leaking with precum.

"Come here, baby," he said soothingly, his hands pulling you back into his lap once more, your bare chest flush with his. Your faces were inches apart, your lips parted as you watched him reach between your bodies and grasp his cock, slowly giving it a few pumps before he aligned himself with your core.

You raised your hips a little, hovering over him to allow him to guide himself into you, a deep moan ripping from your chest when you finally sank down on him.

"Fuck," he groaned, the feeling of your wet core overriding his senses. You stretched around him so sweetly, taking him so well he couldn't help but moan.

Your hands settled comfortably on his shoulders, using them to help stabilize yourself as you began to rock your hips into a steady motion. You couldn't help but bite your lip, unable to keep your moans from falling out of your mouth.

He filled you to the brim, reaching a part of you deep inside that had never fully been satisfied. It made you ecstatic; you couldn't get enough of him.

"Fuck me, Art," you moaned, pulling at the hair at the nape of his neck. "Fuck me hard."

He let out a shaky breath at your bluntness but obeyed you nonetheless. His hands gripped your hips roughly before he began a steady pace of fucking up into you, making you reel your head back in pleasure.

"Look at you, taking me so well," he moaned in between whimpers of pleasure, gripping your hips harder as he quickened his thrusts. You were a blubbering mess at this point, your head falling to the crook of his shoulder to muffle your cries.

His arm wrapped around your torso to keep you steady, his free hand moving to rake through your hair and pull your head back up to meet his gaze. He watched you intently as tears formed in your eyes, your orgasm not too far away.

"So pretty," he cooed, cupping your face. "All for me, right?"

"I'm yours, Art," you whimpered, clawing at his bicep as you felt yourself tipping over the edge. "All yours. Fuck, I'm close!"

Your moans were like music to his ears, sounding so melodic as your eyes fluttered shut in lust. With a few quick final thrusts, your second orgasm washed over you, making you writhe with pleasure as a nearly pornographic moan ripped from your chest.

He gripped your hips as he stilled his movements, his eyes intently watching you as your face contorted with your climax. He nearly came at the sight, letting out a shaky moan as you slumped back against him, completely fucked out.

"Fuck," you breathed, looking up at him as he panted heavily, a lazy smile on his face.

Suddenly, you remembered he hadn't come yet, and your body was already sliding off of him and sinking to your knees between his legs before you could even think otherwise.

"Wait, no you don't have to-" he assured you as he sat up, but you were already shushing him and taking him into your hand, gently pumping him as you gripped his thigh for leverage.

His eyes were blown out with lust as he watched you jerk him off, relaxing into your touch as a whimper escaped his throat. You looked so sexy sitting in between his legs, so eager to help him reach his climax. It didn't take long before he was letting out a guttural groan and painting your chest with his release.

His chest heaved up and down as he pulled himself back together, taking in your appearance before him. He never wanted to forget you like this; your face flushed and dewey with sweat from the orgasm he had just given you.

"Sorry, baby," he breathed, sitting up to grab your tank top and wipe you clean with it. You sent him a small smile, thankful for the gesture before you got back on the couch next to him and curled into his side. He grabbed the blanket that was hanging over the back of the couch and laid it over the two of you, trying to make you as comfortable as possible.

The sudden realization that you had just fucked your tennis coach began to seep into your brain as you felt the warmth of his skin on yours, goosebumps running down your spine at the thought.

Fuck, this was going to make for an interesting practice tomorrow. . .

#art donaldson #art donaldson smut #mike faist #challengers #scarlet was here!#mike faist smut

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