Love the off Campus content n fics ur writing, ur genuinely on a roll! but I'd love more drew starkey or Rafe cameron fics, only if u could ofc
Rafe Cameron's NSFW Alphabet (Rough/dark Kook Rafe x pogue edition)
Pairing: Rafe Cameron x fem!reader
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a/n: You will get much more when season 5 comes out, right now I'm very much out of requests for Rafe but if you guys like this I could make a softer Kook x Pogue version, a Kook x Kook version and a season 5 fugitive Rafe and Pogue version!
Classification and content warnings: Smut +18 | Intense power dynamics, rough physical intimacy, degradation, drug references, marking/bruising, mention of spitting, breeding kink, cum play, possessiveness, jealousy, risky/exhibitionist elements and a highly toxic, addictive relationship dynamic with class tension.
Word count: 5,3k
Divider by me ;)
A - Aggression: Rafe Cameron doesn’t do gentle, especially not with a Pogue like you. The second he has you pinned against the side of the Cameron’s boat house or shoved into the back of his truck after a party where you weren’t even supposed to be, his hands are bruising.
He’s all teeth and territorial growls, biting down on your shoulder hard enough to leave marks that you’ll have to hide under hoodies for days while you’re slinging beers at The Wreck.
“You think you can just look at me like that in front of my friends, huh? Dirty little Pogue slut,” he’d rasp against your ear, voice thick with coke, contempt and something darker that he only lets out with you.
His fingers dig into your hips, yanking you back onto his cock with punishing snaps of his pelvis, no warm-up or mercy. You’re soaked anyway, because the hate-fuck chemistry between a Kook prince and a Cut girl is filthy and addictive. He’ll choke you just enough to make your vision spark while he pounds you, whispering filthy praise that sounds like insults sometimes, “Fuck, you take me so well…better than any of those brats on Figure Eight.” When he cums he doesn’t pull out, just grinds deep and fills you, then makes you walk home with his cum dripping down your thighs under your shorts as a reminder of who owns you now.
B - Bruises: You wear his fingerprints like jewelry. Rafe loves marking you up, on your inner thighs, throat or the soft underside of your tits with dark purple spots that bloom overnight after he’s had you bent over the pool table in the abandoned house on the marsh you showed him.
He’ll press his thumb into a fresh bruise while he’s fucking you slow and deep in missionary which is rare for him, watching your face twist in that perfect mix of pain and pleasure.
“Look at you…all fucked up and pretty for me,” he’d murmur, almost tenderly, before his hips snap forward hard enough to make you cry out. As a Pogue you know how to hide shit with long sleeves or makeup, but Rafe gets off on the risk. He’ll suck fresh hickeys onto your collarbone right before you have to go meet JJ and Pope, then laugh darkly when you shove him away.
The ache the next day is constant, a secret throb that makes you clench around nothing every time you think about his cock splitting you open.
C - Coke: Rafe does lines off your body. He’ll have you naked on the expensive marble counter in the Cameron kitchen when the house is empty, chopping fat rails right along the curve of your spine or between your tits.
“Stay still, baby,” he commands, voice already wired, then snorts hard before burying his face between your legs like a starving man. The high makes him feral, his tongue laps at your clit with ruthless precision, two thick fingers curling inside you while he rambles about how you’re the only one who gets him, the only one who can take his shit and still beg for more. When the coke hits peak he fucks you like he’s trying to break you, flipping you onto all fours and railing you so hard the counter creaks. “Tell me you’re mine,” he demands, voice cracking. You choke it out between moans, Pogue pride long gone, because in these moments Rafe is your drug too.
D - Degradation: He loves reminding you of the class difference while he’s balls-deep inside you.
“My dirty little pogue whore…spreading your legs for Kook dick like a good slut,” he’ll groan as he fucks you against the wall of your tiny house when your parents are working double shifts.
He makes you repeat it back to him while he slaps your clit or spits in your mouth. The humiliation burns so good because underneath it you can hear how obsessed he is. He’ll make you suck him off on your knees in the dirt behind the country club after he’s ditched his friends, gripping your hair and fucking your throat until tears stream down your face. “That’s it, choke on it. This is what you were made for.” But after he cums across your tongue he pulls you up and kisses you messy and desperate, like he needs you more than air.
E - Exhibitionism: Rafe gets hard at the thought of getting caught. He’ll finger you under the table at a kegger on the beach, two thick fingers pumping while you try not to moan in front of your Pogue friends.
“Don’t make a sound or everyone’s gonna know what a needy little slut you are for me,” he whispers, thumb circling your clit. Or he’ll pull you into the bathroom at the Island Club during Midsummers, bend you over the sink and fuck you fast and raw while the party goes on outside. The mirror shows your wrecked face, smeared makeup and his hand clamped over your mouth. He cums inside you and makes you go back out with his spend leaking down your legs, smiling at the Kooks who have no idea their golden boy just ruined a Pogue in their bathroom.
F - Filthy talk: Rafe Cameron’s mouth is a weapon all on its own, especially when he’s buried deep inside his secret Pogue girl. He doesn’t just fuck you, he narrates every dirty second of it in that low, wrecked Carolina drawl that makes your pussy clench even when you’re trying to hate him.
Parked deep in the marsh in his truck, windows fogged up, you’re riding him reverse cowgirl while the radio plays low. His hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise as he forces you down onto every thick inch.
“That’s it, baby, bounce on that rich cock. Fuck…look at this greedy little pogue cunt swallowing me whole. You were made for this, weren’t you? Made to take Kook dick behind your friends’ backs.”
He’ll lean forward, biting the shell of your ear while his fingers find your clit and rub tight, mean circles. “Tell me how much better I feel than any of those loser Pogues you hang with. Say it. Say ‘Rafe’s cock ruins me for anyone else.’” You gasp it out between moans, pride crumbling because he’s right, nobody fucks you like he does. He keeps going, voice getting rougher as he gets close, “Gonna fill this dirty pussy up until you’re leaking me for days. Walk around The Wreck serving tables with my cum dripping down your thighs and nobody will know their little pogue princess got fucked raw by Rafe Cameron.”
The filth never stops, even when he’s got you on your knees sucking him off in the back of the country club after hours, he’s praising and degrading you in the same breath, “Good girl, choke on it. Deeper…yeah, just like that. My perfect little pogue whore…bet JJ would lose his shit if he saw you like this.”
G - Greedy: Rafe is never satisfied with just one orgasm from you. He’s greedy in every sense, greedy for your body, your moans, your submission and the way you come apart only for him.
After a party where he spent the whole night watching you from across the bonfire, pretending not to care that you’re there with your Pogue crew, he drags you into the trees. He drops to his knees first, hiking your sundress up and eating you out like a man starved, two fingers buried inside you while his tongue works your clit relentlessly.
You cum hard, thighs shaking around his head but he doesn’t stop. “Give me another,” he growls against your soaked folds, adding a third finger and curling them just right. “I’m not done with you yet.” By the time he finally stands up, spins you around and bends you over against a tree, you’re already a mess of weak legs and throbbing pussy.
He fucks you hard and deep, hips snapping with punishing force. “One more. Cum on my cock like the needy slut you are.” He reaches around to rub your clit again, overstimulating you until you’re crying out, the tears mixing with sweat. Even after he fills you with his release, he’s not done, he fingers his cum back into you, whispering how he wants you addicted to him, how no one else will ever be enough.
As a Pogue scraping by, you’re used to wanting things you can’t have but Rafe makes you feel wanted in the most overwhelming, all-consuming way possible. He’ll text you at 3 a.m. demanding you sneak out just so he can have you again in the back of his Range Rover, greedy for every second he can steal with his forbidden girl.
H - Hair pulling: Rafe loves controlling you with his fist in your hair, yanking your head back so you’re arched perfectly for him. He’ll do it while he’s taking you from behind in the Cameron’s boathouse, the slap of skin on skin echoing off the water. One hand wrapped around your throat and the other buried in your hair as he pulls until your scalp burns deliciously.
“Look at you, all stretched out for me,” he rasps, pounding into you with long, brutal strokes. “You love when I use you like this, don’t you? My dirty little pogue fucktoy.”
The sting makes everything sharper, your moans grow louder and your pussy wetter. He’ll pull your head back to kiss you messily over your shoulder, all tongue and teeth, before shoving your face down again and railing you harder. During blowjobs he’s even more possessive, gripping your hair to control the rhythm, pushing you down until your nose presses against his pelvis and holding you there while you gag and drool. “Fuck yes, take it all. Good girl.” When he finally lets you up for air, strings of spit connect your lips to his cock and he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in his chaotic world.
I - Intoxication: Everything with Rafe feels like the strongest drug. Whether it’s the coke he does off your tits in the empty Cameron mansion, the cheap beer you shotgun together on the beach at night or just the intoxicating danger of your secret relationship, he gets you drunk on him. High Rafe is unpredictable and addictive, sometimes he’s vicious, like when he’s fucking you against the wall of your tiny house, hand over your mouth so your family doesn’t hear, growling “Quiet. Wouldn’t want them knowing their daughter’s getting ruined by a Cameron.”
Other times the high flips him soft and needy. He’ll bury his face between your legs for what feels like hours, mumbling against your skin about how you’re the only one who understands him, the only one who can handle his darkness. Then he slides into you slow and deep, eyes locked on yours. “Don’t leave me, baby. I’d lose my fucking mind without this pussy.” You ride the high together, bodies slick with sweat, until you’re both trembling. The comedown is always dangerous, he gets clingy and possessive, leaving more marks and whispering promises about taking you away from the Cut.
You’re intoxicated too, chasing the rush even though you know it could destroy everything.
J - Jealousy: Rafe’s jealousy is explosive and terrifyingly hot. If he sees you laughing with JJ or talking to any guy on the Cut, he loses it. He’ll text you to meet him immediately, then drag you into the nearest secluded spot, maybe the old lighthouse or the back of his truck and fuck the jealousy out of his system.
“You think that pogue trash can have you? No. This pussy is mine,” he snarls, slamming into you with punishing thrusts, one hand wrapped around your throat. He’ll make you repeat it over and over while he rails you, “Say you’re mine. Say no one else gets to touch you.”
The sex is rougher than usual until you’re sobbing his name and promising anything he wants. Afterward he’s almost tender, kissing the marks he left and holding you close but the possessiveness always lingers. He’ll make you wear his hoodie home, cum still leaking out of you too, of course, as a silent claim. You hate how much it turns you on, how the danger of a jealous Rafe makes you wetter than anything else.
K - Kinks: Rafe’s kinks run dark and extensive and he explores every single one with his willing Pogue. Choking is a favorite, he’ll wrap his long fingers around your throat while he fucks you missionary, eyes locked on yours as your vision sparks. Spanking leaves your ass sore and throbbing after he bends you over his knee in the truck. He loves light bondage, using his belt to tie your wrists to the headboard in some abandoned beach house so he can tease you for hours, while breeding talk gets him feral, “Gonna pump this pogue cunt full until you’re knocked up. Tied to me forever, baby.”
He edges you mercilessly, bringing you to the brink again and again before finally letting you cum.
L - Love/hate: It’s the most toxic, addictive mix of love and hate. Rafe calls you his “dirty pogue slut” while he’s balls-deep but afterward he holds you like you’re fragile, stroking your hair and whispering how you’re the only thing that quiets the noise in his head. You hate him for everything he represents, the privilege, the violence and the way he looks down on your friends yet you crave him more than air.
He hates how much he needs you, ‘this girl from the Cut who sees through all his bullshit’. The sex is always charged with that push-pull. He’ll fuck you angrily after a fight, then desperately kiss you like he’s scared you’ll disappear. “I fucking hate how much I need you,” he admits one night, buried inside you in the dark. You feel the same, it’s love disguised as hate and neither of you can quit.
M - Morning after: The rare soft mornings are almost more dangerous than the rough nights. Rafe sneaks into your room at dawn, still smelling like last night’s party and coke. He slides under the covers with you, hard and insistent, sliding into your sore pussy while you’re still relaxed and begging him to make you feel good before your day starts.
“Shh, baby. Just need to feel you,” he murmurs, fucking you slow and deep with one hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. Every thrust is possessive as his lips remain on your neck leaving fresh marks. After he cums he doesn’t leave right away, he watches you get dressed for your shift at The Wreck, eyes dark with satisfaction at the way you wince when you sit. He’ll pull you in for one last bruising kiss before slipping out the window, leaving you marked, sore and already aching for the next time your worlds crash together. Those mornings make the secret even harder to keep because you’re falling harder every single time.
N - Neediness: Rafe’s need for you is bottomless and borderline unhinged, especially when the coke wears off and the demons creep back in. He’ll show up at your tiny house on the Cut in the middle of the night, banging on your window like a man possessed, not caring if your parents might hear. “Let me in, baby, I need you right now,” he growls the second you crack the window, already climbing through and pinning you to the bed before you can even speak and obviously, you need him too.
His hands are everywhere, pulling your sleep shirt up and shoving your panties aside so he can bury two thick fingers inside your still-sore pussy from the last time. “Fuck, you’re always so wet for me. This pogue cunt knows who it belongs to.” He doesn’t wait, just frees his cock and pushes in raw, groaning like he’s finally home.
The sex is desperate and messy, hips snapping hard while he buries his face in your neck, mumbling half-coherent confessions between thrusts, “Can’t sleep without this. Can’t breathe without you choking on my dick or creaming around me. You’re the only one who makes the noise stop.” He fucks you through multiple orgasms, chasing his own like he’s afraid you’ll vanish, then collapses on top of you while still inside, holding you so tight it hurts.
In the afterglow he’s clingy as hell, tracing the bruises he left earlier and whispering how he’d burn Figure Eight to the ground if it meant keeping you. As a Pogue you feel some power in how badly this rich, broken boy needs your body and your presence, even if it wrecks your life.
O - Obsession: Rafe is obsessed in the most ridiculous and all-consuming way there is. He stalks your shifts at The Wreck, sitting in the corner nursing a beer just to watch you move, then drags you into the storage room on your break to bend you over crates of beer bottles.
“Been thinking about this tight little pussy all day,” he admits, slamming into you from behind while one hand muffles your moans. “Pictured you on your knees for me while I was supposed to be at some family dinner. You’re in my head every second, pogue.”
His obsession shows in the risky texts he sends that are mostly dick pics while you’re with JJ and Pope. He’ll fuck you for hours in some abandoned beach house he “borrowed,” tying you up with his belt and edging you until you’re begging and crying. “Tell me you’re obsessed with me too. Tell me no one else will ever fuck you like this.” The class difference fuels it, he loves corrupting the good Pogue girl, making you crave the Kook prince who represents everything wrong with the island.
After he fills you up he stays buried deep, kissing you slow and possessively, like he’s marking every inch of your soul as his.
P - Possessiveness: He marks you inside and out, cumming deep and then pushing it back in with his fingers so you’re claimed for days. “This pussy is mine. Say it while I fuck it,” he demands, pounding you against the side of his truck parked on a deserted marsh road.
He’ll choke you lightly while staring into your eyes, hips rolling deeply. If any Pogue guy even glances your way at a bonfire, Rafe pulls you away immediately, fingers digging into your wrist as he finds a dark spot to rail you senseless.
“You belong to a Cameron now, not some worthless Cut rat.” The dirty talk eventually mixes with genuine obsession, “Gonna knock you up one day so everyone knows you’re tied to me forever. My pretty pogue wife, full of Kook cum.” He loves making you wear his clothes home after an encounter too. The risk of your friends finding out only makes him harder and more determined to own every part of you.
Q - Quickies: Rafe lives for risky, adrenaline-fueled quickies that leave you both wrecked and wanting more. Between parties, during family events or right before your shift, he’ll pull you behind the dunes at the beach, shove your bikini bottoms aside and fuck you standing up against a lifeguard tower. “Gotta be fast, baby but I need this pussy,” he pants, one hand over your mouth, the other lifting your leg so he can thrust deep and hard.
The thrill of possibly getting caught makes him feral, he bites your shoulder to stay quiet while he pumps you full or in the bathroom at the Island Club while Sarah’s outside. He bends you over the sink, fucks you fast and raw while the party music thumps through the walls. “Look at yourself getting ruined by me,” he growls, forcing your eyes to the mirror. You cum hard from the intensity and the filth, then have to walk back out flushed and leaking his cum, smiling politely at the Kooks who have no idea.
R - Rough: Everything with Rafe is rough, from his hands to his thrusts and words. He fucks like he’s punishing you for making him feel this much. In the Cameron boathouse he’ll have you on all fours, slamming into you so hard your knees bruise on the wooden planks. “Take it, pogue. Take every fucking inch like the slut you are for me.” Yet underneath the roughness is raw need.
After a particularly brutal round where you’re sobbing from overstimulation and pleasure, he’ll pull you into his chest, stroking your back and murmuring, “You’re so good for me…so fucking perfect,” and the contrast wrecks you every time. As a Pogue used to hardship, you match his roughness, clawing his back and calling him “psycho Kook” while he rails you, which only makes him go harder and deeper.
S - Spanking: Rafe loves spanking your ass sore with his big hands. He’ll pull you over his lap in the driver’s seat of his truck, yanking your shorts down and spanking you hard while fingering you from behind. “Count them, baby. Tell me who owns this ass.”
Each smack echoes, the sting blooming into heat that makes you drip onto his fingers and then he fucks you just like that, bent over and ass throbbing, pounding relentlessly while praising how well you take his discipline. “Such a good little pogue, getting wet from getting spanked by Kook hands.” He’ll do it during sex too, smacking your ass or thighs in rhythm with his thrusts until you’re clenching around him and cumming harder than ever.
T - Teasing: Rafe is a sadistic tease when it comes to his favorite girl, drawing out every encounter until you’re a dripping, begging wreck who’d do anything for his cock.
He’ll sneak into your room while your family is home, the risk making his eyes darker and spend what feels like an eternity between your thighs. His tongue laps slowly at your clit, circling and flicking but never giving you the pressure you need, while two thick fingers pump lazily in and out of your soaked pussy.
“Not yet, baby,” he murmurs against your folds, voice low and mocking as you whimper and try to grind against his face. “Pogues have to earn it…beg like the desperate little slut you are.” You hate how easily he breaks you by whispering filthy promises about stretching you open later while he edges you closer and closer, only to pull back at the last second.
In public it’s even worse, at a mixed kegger on the beach he’ll pull you onto his lap in the shadows, slipping his hand under your shorts to rub your clit through your panties in torturously slow circles while you try to keep a straight face talking to JJ and Kiara nearby.
“Be quiet or they’ll hear what a needy pogue whore you are for Kook fingers,” he whispers hotly in your ear, grinning when you clench and soak his hand. Only when you’re trembling and biting your lip bloody does he finally let you cum, then fucks you hard and fast right after in the dunes, making sure you know the teasing was all part of owning you completely. The power trip of controlling your pleasure and of making the independent Cut girl fall apart so thoroughly, gets him harder than anything.
U - Unpredictable: Rafe’s moods make every meeting with you dangerously unpredictable, one moment he’s the vicious Kook prince spitting degradation and the next he’s almost vulnerably desperate for connection.
You never know what you’re getting when his truck lights flash on the marsh road. Some nights he storms in after a fight with his dad, slamming you against the wall of the abandoned fishing shack you use as a hideout, ripping your clothes off and railing you with brutal, punishing thrusts. “Fuck this pussy…take my anger, baby. You’re the only thing that shuts my head up,” he snarls, hand around your throat while his hips snap so hard your back scrapes the rough wood.
Other nights the coke and the loneliness flip him soft, he’ll lay you down gently on a stolen blanket on the beach, kissing every inch of your body like he’s worshipping a secret goddess.
“I don’t deserve this…don’t deserve you,” he confesses between deep, rolling thrusts that hit every perfect spot, eyes locked on yours in the moonlight. “But I’m keeping you anyway…my dirty little secret who sees the real me.” The switch keeps you hooked, right in between the adrenaline of never knowing if tonight will leave you bruised and sobbing in ecstasy or being held close while he murmurs promises about running away from the island together.
As a Pogue you thrive on the chaos he brings, matching his unpredictable energy by clawing his back and calling him names one minute, then cradling his face and letting him lose himself in you the next. It’s toxic, intense and utterly consuming.
V - Voyeurism: He loves the risk of public or semi-public spots where anyone could stumble upon the Kook prince fucking the Cut girl raw. He’ll park his truck on a bluff overlooking a popular Pogue bonfire, windows cracked just enough for the distant sounds of laughter and music to filter in while he has you bouncing on his cock in the backseat.
“Imagine if they walked up here and saw you creaming all over my dick,” he groans, hands gripping your ass to guide you faster. “They’d know their friend is nothing but a cock-hungry pogue for a Cameron.” The danger makes everything sharper as your moans are muffled against his shoulder, his dirty talk constant and filthy as he thrusts up into you. Sometimes he makes you touch yourself in front of him first, watching hungrily from across the room in some empty vacation rental he broke into. “Spread those legs wider…show me how you play with that pussy when you’re thinking about me instead of your loser friends.” He strokes himself slowly, building the tension until he can’t take it anymore and pounces, fucking you against the window where the risk of outsiders seeing silhouettes feels electric.
The voyeuristic edge heightens his possessiveness, he wants the world to know you’re his without actually letting them see everything, keeping the corruption of his perfect secret Pogue all to himself.
W - Worship: Beneath all the degradation and roughness, Rafe worships your body like it’s the only pure thing in his fucked-up world.
He’ll spend hours exploring every inch of you in a rare slow night at the Cameron boathouse, lips and tongue tracing scars from your hard life on the Cut, sucking marks onto your inner thighs while murmuring praise. “This pussy is fucking perfect…so tight and wet just for me. No one else gets to taste it.”
He eats you out like a man starved with long licks and deep tongue-fucking until you’re shaking, then slides into you inch by inch, savoring the way you clench around him. “Look at you taking me so deep…my beautiful pogue girl was made for this.”
The worship also mixes with filth, he’ll praise how well you suck his cock, how pretty you look with tears and spit on your face and how your body was built to be ruined and cherished by him alone. After intense sessions he traces every bruise and bite mark with gentle fingers, kissing them softly while still buried inside you. “You’re mine to break and put back together.”
For a girl used to scraping by and being looked down on by Kooks, his twisted worship feels like the most addictive drug, making you fall deeper even as you know it could destroy you both.
X - X-Rated: Everything between you and Rafe is pure, unfiltered X-rated filth that would make even the most jaded islanders blush. The visuals alone are obscene, imagine his thick cock stretching your pussy wide, glistening with your cream as he pounds you relentlessly in the back of his truck. The sounds are even dirtier, wet and obscene slapping of skin mixed with your broken moans and his guttural groans and filthy commands.
“Fuck yes, listen to how sloppy this pogue cunt is for me,” he growls while filming a quick, risky video on his phone (always deleted after) just so he can show you how wrecked and cock-drunk you look. He describes every detail while he fucks you, “Watch my cock disappear inside you, baby. See how your greedy hole grips me? This is prime Kook-pogue porn right here.” He loves making you watch in mirrors or reflections too, bent over the hood of his car at night, forcing your head up so you see your own face contorted in pleasure while he rails you from behind.
The explicitness extends to taste and smell, him making you lick his cock clean after he’s filled you or the musky, sex-soaked scent that clings to both of you afterward. Every encounter is raw, pornographic and addictive, blurring the line between hate and desperate love in the most explicit ways possible.
Y - Yearning: The yearning you both feel when apart is constant and painful, like a physical ache that only his body can soothe.
During long days apart with him stuck at Figure Eight events and you working doubles at The Wreck, Rafe blows up your phone with increasingly desperate texts and voice notes describing exactly what he’s going to do to you. “Been hard all day thinking about burying my face in that sweet pogue pussy. Miss the way you moan my name like it’s the only word you know.”
You feel a throbbing emptiness between your legs, thighs clenching at random memories of his roughness.
When you finally reunite it’s explosive. There’s tearing at clothes, desperate kisses that bruise and him lifting you against the nearest surface and sinking in bare with a shared groan of relief.
“Fuck, I missed this…missed you creaming on my cock, baby. I’m never letting you go again.” The sex is intense and marathon-long with the both of you chasing the high of reconnection through multiple rounds, switching positions and him filling you over and over as if trying to erase the time apart. The yearning fuels the obsession, making the secret relationship feel inevitable and all-consuming despite the class lines and dangers.
Z - Zoned out: After the most intense, soul-shattering sessions, you both zone out in a hazy, blissed-out afterglow that feels like the only peace either of you gets. Rafe will collapse on top of you in the bed of his truck or the rickety mattress in your hideout shack, still buried deep inside your pulsing pussy, bodies slick with sweat and cum.
His breathing is ragged against your neck as the world fades, from the crashing waves to the distant party noise and your own racing heart, all blurring into background static. “Just…stay like this,” he mumbles, voice wrecked and softer than usual, arms wrapped around you securely.
In these moments the toxicity quiets, he strokes your hair, presses lazy kisses to your marked skin and whispers confessions he’d never say otherwise, “You’re the only real thing in my life... I don’t know what I’d do without my pogue girl.” You zone out too, floating in the satisfied subspace he puts you in, pussy still fluttering around his softening cock as his cum leaks out.
The calm never lasts long as reality finds a way to creep back with the risk of discovery but those zoned-out minutes are sacred, a brief sanctuary where you both feel like you could actually belong to each other. It’s in that hazy after-space that the love/hate bond feels strongest, binding you tighter than any bruise or load ever could.
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“Think you’ll fit all of me tonight, darling?” George’s voice is a low, tantalizing murmur that sends a ripple of warmth through you.
You were standing in front of your vanity, hands braced against the edge, when he stepped up behind you. The mirror reflects the way he towers over you, his presence commanding, his hands sliding firmly onto your hips as he pulls you back into him.
You glance up, meeting his gaze in the mirror, and the intensity there makes you shiver. He’s watching you with that same smirk, his eyes dark, savoring every reaction.
A thrill shoots through you, anticipation pooling as you take in the contrast—the way his frame eclipses yours, making you feel delicate, drawn into him as he presses against you, unyielding.
“Maybe I’ll finally be able to take all of you,” you murmured, a hint of challenge in your tone, though the thought alone makes your breath catch. It’s an admission of just how much you want him, and he knows it.
His smirk deepens, and in one smooth motion, he turns you to face him, his hand cupping your cheek, his fingers spreading over your jaw with a confidence that feels almost possessive. You have to lift onto your toes to meet him as he leans down, his gaze locking with yours, and the height difference makes your heart race faster. His hand cradles your face, his thumb grazing your cheek as he guides you closer, and you’re struck by just how much of you he fills—fingers splayed with an ease that both thrills and overpowers you.
As his lips capture yours, his other hand settles on your lower back, pulling you into him, and the strength in his hold is undeniable. His kiss is slow, deliberate, each movement deep and consuming, as if he’s savoring every second. You press closer, feeling the firmness of his chest against you, and the sensation is dizzying, grounding you even as it leaves you craving more.
As his kiss deepens, you feel his hands slide down to your thighs, gripping firmly before he lifts you effortlessly, pulling you flush against him as your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. Now, eye-to-eye, you don’t have to strain to reach him; he’s right there, filling your vision and your senses, his strength enveloping you completely. There’s a thrill in being held this way, your weight supported by his solid frame, his hands pressing possessively into your thighs as he moves with a steady confidence toward the bed.
His lips part from yours, but he keeps you close, pressing a lingering, teasing kiss to your lips before he pulls back, his gaze flickering with a dark promise. “You’re going to feel every inch of me tonight,” he whispered, his voice low and smooth, a seductive whisper that ignites heat in your core.
Then, without warning, he dropped you onto the bed, letting you fall back against the mattress with a soft gasp. The ease with which he tosses you down reminds you just how effortlessly he can handle you, his control over your body a potent reminder of his strength. His figure looms above you as he watches you sprawled on the bed, a look of satisfaction playing across his lips as he takes in the sight of you, breathless and waiting, entirely at his mercy.
You barely have a moment to catch your breath before he’s hovering above you, his hands braced on either side of you as he lowers himself, his gaze devouring every inch of you.
George trails a finger down your cheek, slow and deliberate, his touch featherlight, making your skin prickle in response. His hand slides down your throat, pausing just long enough to feel the rapid beat of your pulse beneath his fingers, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips as he registers the effect he has on you.
“Look at you, already breathless,” he murmured, his voice rich and smooth, each word laced with that unmistakable edge of control. “I haven’t even started yet.” He leaned in, his mouth brushing against your collarbone, leaving a warm trail of kisses as his hands roam, grounding you and keeping you exactly where he wanted you.
Your hands slide up his arms as you whisper his name, feeling the strength in the muscles beneath your fingertips as you cling to him, his closeness leaving you heady, as if every brush of his skin on yours sends sparks through you. His touch moves lower, his fingers splaying across your waist, and he lets his weight press against you just enough that you’re acutely aware of the difference between you—of how effortlessly he holds you beneath him, his broad frame enveloping you completely.
Slowly, almost reverently, he begins to peel away each piece of your clothing, his fingers gliding over your skin, heightening every sensation as he bares you to him. His gaze is unhurried, devouring every inch as if memorizing you, savoring every vulnerable, exposed part of you. When the last fabric slips away, you’re left entirely open, laid out beneath him, your pulse racing with anticipation.
He trails his lips over your body, his mouth warm and gentle as he worships every inch with deliberate, lingering kisses. He starts at your collarbone, his breath hot as he works his way down, brushing over your chest, your stomach, taking his time as he moves lower. Occasionally, he pauses, glancing up at you through hooded eyes, and the intensity of his gaze alone makes your skin tingle, each shared look igniting sparks between you.
When he reaches your thighs, he shifts, settling between them, his hands parting your legs gently but firmly. He presses a kiss to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, then another, and another, each touch of his lips sending shivers coursing through you as his mouth inches closer. You feel your body tense, waiting, every nerve ending alight as he moves near—so close you can feel his breath, warm and tantalizing.
But he stops just shy of where you crave him most, his mouth leaving a teasing kiss just above your clit, achingly close, yet withholding. A smirk flickers across his lips as he sits back on his haunches, letting you feel the loss of his warmth. His hands move to his shirt, and with one steady movement, he peels it off, revealing the expanse of his chest, every line and contour catching the dim light.
His gaze returns to you, his eyes dark with hunger, and the tension between you feels almost tangible as he watches you laid out before him, waiting, yearning for his next touch.
George slides back between your legs, his hands firm and steady as he lifts them, draping each over his broad shoulders, positioning himself close, so close that you feel his breath ghost over your bare cunt.
“Let’s make sure you’re ready for me, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice sending a thrill racing through you. His hands press into your thighs, holding you open, watching how you clench around nothing but air in anticipation. His lips graze over your skin in featherlight kisses, each one inching closer to where you’re aching for him.
When his mouth finally reaches you, he begins with a slow, teasing stroke of his tongue, his warm mouth exploring you with deliberate precision, savoring every reaction he draws from you. His tongue flicks over your clit, building a rhythm that has you arching into him, each movement intensifying the pull of desire coiling within you. His hands grip your thighs tighter, keeping you firmly in place as he presses deeper, his tongue working you until you’re slick and wanting beneath him.
Then, with a lingering, satisfied hum, he slides his finger in your cunt with an unhurried ease. His touch is deliberate, sinking deep and filling you with a slow, measured pressure that leaves you wanting more. His gaze is heavy-lidded, watching your body’s every response as he draws his finger back, only to press in once again, deeper this time, building a rhythm that’s both gentle and maddening.
As he slides a second finger into you, he moves slowly, each thrust deep and intentional, like he’s savoring the way your body responds to him. Every inch he explores draws out a new reaction, each one coaxed and studied, his gaze fixed on you with unwavering focus. His fingers press into you, finding a rhythm that has you clinging to him, your breathing ragged, your lips parting as you murmur that you’re ready for him. A plea, soft and breathless, in hopes he’ll finally relent.
But instead, he lets out a low hum, the sound vibrating through the air between you as he clicks his tongue in playful admonishment. His gaze sharpens, a knowing smirk curving his lips as he shakes his head. “Not yet, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice a smooth caress wrapped in command.
Then, he adds a third finger, the stretch drawing a cry from you as he curls them in just the right way, finding that sensitive spot that has you trembling beneath him. His mouth returns to your clit, lips wrapping around it as his tongue flicks in time with the slow, deep thrusts of his fingers. He builds a rhythm that has you squirming beneath him, each motion drawing out needy, desperate sounds from deep within.
You’re so close now, your body tightening, your moans mingling with the wet, slick noises from your pussy as he works you closer to the edge. Pleasure coils tighter, your entire being centered on the steady, relentless pace he sets, the way his fingers press and curl inside you, coaxing you toward that sweet release. Just as you feel yourself tipping over the edge, his mouth pulls away, his fingers stilling, leaving you breathless and aching, hovering on the brink.
He looks up at you with a wicked gleam in his eyes, his voice low and full of promise as he says, “You’ll only cum around my cock.” The words send a fresh wave of heat through you, leaving you needy and desperate for the release only he can give.
He pulls away from you, and your body immediately protests the loss of his mouth, the warmth that had enveloped you retreating too soon. The anticipation crackles in the air as you watch him shuffle off his pants and boxers, revealing himself fully to you. Your breath hitches at the sight, your heart racing in your chest as he stands before you, his impressive cock straining with desire, glistening slightly in the dim light.
He wraps a hand around himself, a slow, deliberate stroke that has your mouth watering and your pussy clenching in response. His gaze locks onto yours, the intensity of it both thrilling and daunting, as he watches your every reaction. You can see the playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, a knowing expression that tells you he can feel the effect he has on you.
Your eyes widen, a mix of awe and apprehension flooding through you. Despite having him before, seeing him like this is different. The reality of his size sets in, and you know, deep down, that all of him won’t fit. Yet the need in you was insatiable, overwhelming, and it drowned out any lingering doubt. You can’t help but plead for him, your voice thick with desire. “I want you—all of you.”
He grins and the way he leans closer makes your pulse quicken even more. “You’re going to take me, sweetheart,” he promises, his voice low and sultry, each word sending shivers through your body.
As he parts your thighs once more, George positions himself right at your entrance, teasingly pressing in just the tip. You feel the slight stretch, your body instinctively adjusting to his size as he slowly coaxes himself into you. His thumb finds your clit, moving in gentle, hypnotic circles, and your wetness only intensifies, easing his way. The sensation has you gasping, your head falling back as you arch your body toward him, your fingers gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you brace yourself for more.
Gradually, he inches deeper, each deliberate thrust filling you a little more, the stretch both exhilarating and intense. When you realize there’s still more of him to take, you adjust, parting your thighs even further, inviting him deeper. He meets your gaze, a flicker of concern and excitement in his eyes, and when you nod, giving him permission, he pushes further. The sensation is overwhelming, pleasure mixed with a delicious ache, and you can’t stop the cry that escapes your lips as he fills you, your body tightening around him instinctively.
George holds still for a moment, letting you feel almost every inch of him, sensing that last stretch might be too much. With a steady rhythm, he begins to move in slow, deep thrusts, his movements designed to allow you to adjust to his size, savoring each inch he gives and takes back. The pace is deliberate, every stroke stoking the fire building within you, each thrust brushing against that perfect spot that leaves you gasping, clinging to him as you surrender to the waves of pleasure rippling through you.
He watches your every reaction, his gaze dark with desire as he moves within you, his voice a low murmur against your ear. “Look at you,” he whispered, his tone laced with satisfaction. “Taking me so well… better than I could’ve imagined.”
His words send a fresh thrill through you, and you tighten around him in response, drawing a pleased groan from his lips. He chuckles softly, leaning down to press a kiss just below your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Is this what you wanted, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice filled with that teasing edge that only makes you crave him more. “Just like what you begged for?”
“Yes,” you breathe, your fingers threading into his hair as you pull him closer, barely able to get the words out between gasps. “I need you, George. Please.”
He smirks at your desperation, thrusting a little deeper, his movements becoming slightly rougher, more intense. “Oh, you don’t have to beg, love,” he murmurs, his lips grazing along your jaw, savoring every whimper that escapes you. “I’m going to give you everything—until you’re so full you can’t think of anything else.”
George’s other hand slides up, wrapping around your throat with a possessive, careful pressure, his fingers splaying out to cover the delicate curve of your neck. His thumb brushes along your pulse, feeling the rapid beat beneath his touch. He smirks as he looks at how small you are beneath him, how easily he envelops you, his hand completely covering your throat, making you feel every inch of the power he has over you.
“Look at how perfectly you fit under me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. His hand tightens just slightly, enough for you to feel the weight of his grip, making your breath hitch as you gaze up at him. “Every bit of you belongs to me, doesn’t it?”
A shiver runs through you at his words, at the way he fills every part of you, both overwhelming and anchoring you. “Yes, love…‘m yours,” you manage, your voice a soft, needy whisper under his hold. “I love how big you feel… how much you take up inside me.”
The contrasting sensations—his possessive grip on your throat and the precise, torturous pleasure building at your core—have you unraveling almost instantly. Your body tightens, a rush of heat flooding through you, and you feel yourself teetering on the edge, every nerve alive with anticipation.
A gasp escapes you, though it’s barely a sound, more of a breathless plea, your eyes locking onto his as you feel that final push of pleasure coiling tighter. His gaze holds yours, unwavering, as he thrusts just a bit deeper. “Cum for me,” he commands, his voice dripping with control, and with that, your body surrenders. A wave of pleasure crashes over you, your entire body arching into his touch, tightening and pulsing around him as you fall apart around his cock.
His eyes stay fixed on you, watching every shudder, every desperate sound that escapes your lips, and a smug smile spreads across his face as he keeps you pinned there, savoring the way you come undone completely under his control.
George pulls out slowly, letting you feel every inch as he withdraws, leaving you gasping and spent beneath him. Before you can catch your breath, he grips your hips, turning you over onto your hands and knees, his firm touch guiding you into position.
Without hesitation, he slides back into you, filling you as much as he could in one powerful thrust that has you arching your back, a desperate moan escaping your lips. His hand tangles in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head down, pressing you against the mattress as he thrusts deeper, each movement harder and more intense than before. His other hand anchors around your waist, holding you steady as he drives into you, his pace unrelenting.
In this position, with your back arched and your hips lifted, you feel him pressing deeper than before. The angle allows him to slide in even further, his thick length stretching you, filling you in ways that leave you gasping for air. Every inch of him sinks into you, right down to that last bit you hadn’t been able to take until now.
When he pushes forward again, that final inch pressing in, a sharp, overwhelming pleasure bursts through you, and you cry out, your voice muffled by the mattress but unmistakably needy. The sound only seems to spur him on; his hand in your hair tightens as he drives deeper, each thrust sending you higher.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice low and satisfied as he watches you struggle to take him, fully claiming every inch. “Taking every inch… just like you wanted.” The words send another wave of heat through you, your body clenching around him, every thrust leaving you breathless and wanting, completely at his mercy.
As his thrusts grow harder and deeper, you feel yourself spiraling, every nerve in your body ignited with raw pleasure. Each drive of his hips presses him so deeply inside you that it feels as if he’s reached parts of you no one ever has. His hand tugs on your hair, tilting your head just enough that you can barely catch a breath between the endless waves of sensation, leaving you utterly at his mercy.
Your body responds instinctively, clenching tighter around him with every movement. The sounds spilling from your lips are uncontrolled and endless—a symphony of gasps, moans, and cries that tell him just how completely he owns you in this moment. His grip tightens, grounding you even as he pushes you over the edge, sending you into another release that feels all-consuming.
George pulls out, his hand replacing the tight warmth of your cunt as he groans, his breath ragged and uneven. The sight of you, arched and glistening with sweat, still reeling from the aftershocks of your shared ecstasy, is enough to unravel him completely. He takes a moment to admire the beauty of your form, his gaze tracing every curve and contour. Your hair is a tousled cascade, tangled from when he had it clutched tightly between his fingers, the strands shimmering in the soft light. The way your round ass sits, perfectly shaped and flushed from the heat of your passion, draws his eyes like a moth to a flame.
With a deep groan, his cum splatters against your back and ass, each thick pulse leaving a slick trail that feels both intimate and electrifying. The warmth envelops you, creating a delicious contrast against your already heated skin.
As he revels in the sight of you, he leans forward slightly, his breath hot against your ear as he murmurs, “You’re incredible.”
Then, with a firm yet gentle grip, he scoops you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly, carrying you towards the bathroom for round two.
As he strides toward the bathroom, his breath hot against your ear, he murmurs, “I’ll make it fit every time now, you know that, right darling? Until you can permanently feel the stretch of my cock in your tight little pussy, even when I’m not inside you.”
Soft sunlight filters through the thin slats of your bedroom window shades, casting patterns of light and shadow across the room. It’s not abrupt, but rather a slow increase in brightness that touches your closed eyelids, warming your skin and pulling you out of your dream. The room becomes bathed in a soft, golden glow, and as you blink awake, the light feels like a quiet reminder of the world waiting outside.
However, behind you with an arm draped around your waist and soft snores coming from his slightly parted lips laid your boyfriend, Nicholas, making you want to tell the world to fuck off, turn off the lights, and try again another day.
A soft sigh escaped your lips as you rubbed your eyes and stretched your arms making a half-asleep Nicholas stir. You smile softly and turn to face him with his eyes still shut. You ran your fingers through his tousled hair, briefly wondering how bad your own must look, before softly whispering, “Good morning.”
He hums softly, wrapping his hand around your wrist as it rests in his hair and brings it to his lips, placing a chaste kiss to your pulse. In a raspy voice, he murmurs, “Good morning, baby.”
“How’d you sleep?” You ask, your voice still low, not wanting to disrupt the stillness of this peaceful moment. It’s only Nick’s second time spending the night in your New York City apartment, the first just two nights ago.
He exhales peacefully, drawing you closer until your legs are tangled with his. “Your bed feels like sleeping on a cloud,” he murmurs.
You giggle at the sudden movement, watching as Nick plays with your fingers. Then he looks up and asks, “What are your plans for today?”
You groan at the thought of returning to reality. “I have to be at work by 8:30. I’m presenting a pitch for a headline, so I should probably start getting ready since it’s—” You stop to glance at his watch as he gently strokes the back of your hand.
“8:29?! No, no, no—fuck!” You quickly untangle yourself from his arms and get up, Nick’s shirt skimming the tops of your bare thighs as you fumble to put on your slippers. Just as you’re about to rush out of the room, Nick grabs your wrist and pulls you back into bed.
Before you knew it, your back was against the mattress again, pinned beneath Nick’s steady gaze.
“I love that shirt on you,” he uttered softly.
“Nicholas c’mon.” You ignore his remark, wiggling beneath him trying to free yourself. He however, seemed to have taken that as a damn challenge.
A smirk tugs on his pink lips before he leans down to ghost his lips against yours, teasing. It was almost like a test to see if you were gonna resist. But when you didn’t, he leaned down once again, capturing your lips between his in a slow, deliberate kiss.
In that moment, it felt as if the world slowed and everything narrowed down to just the two of you. The softness of his lips brushing against yours, a gentle pull, sparked a sensation that coursed through your entire body. There was an unspoken connection, an effortless sync as you responded to each other’s movements, and the kiss deepened naturally. His breath mingled with yours, and his touch was both tender and intense, filled with desire. Time became irrelevant; you could have stayed in that moment forever. Nothing else mattered except the feeling and Nicholas.
Nicholas. Nicholas. Nicholas...
He was all your mind could focus on.
His lips parted from yours with a soft, wet sound before trailing down your cheek, behind your ear, and slowly along your neck. The slow descent of his kisses gave your mind a fleeting chance to gather a coherent thought.
"Nick— I really need to get going," you breathe, trying to summon a resolve that feels distant in the moment.
"Do you, now?" he murmurs against your skin, gently nipping at your neck before soothing the spot with his tongue, drawing a gasp from your lips.
He knew all of your vulnerabilities, every spot that made you gasp for air, craving more, and he was definitely using it to his advantage. But you weren’t exactly upset about that.
Nicholas was feeling it just as intensely. Your sweet sighs and tugging of his hair as he suckled on your neck made all the blood in his body rush straight to his cock, leaving him a needy mess. And it didn’t help when he sucked on that sweet spot behind your ear, making your back arch into him and accidentally grazing his hard, throbbing bulge.
He let out a low groan at the small amount of contact and was desperate for more. Once again, his lips were on yours, more hungry and ravenous than ever. You felt the air leave your lungs when he rolled his hips into yours feeling every inch of him. The repeated action of his hips grinding into yours made you let out the softest moans against his lips, and that sound alone was enough to make Nicholas go wild.
He pulls away for a second to catch his breath as you do the same, though his hips never stop their mindless rutting against yours. He was so drunk on the taste of you, he couldn’t help but start rambling.
“Feel that? Feel what you do to me, pretty girl? Hm?” He’s breathless against your lips as he ground his hips against yours more intently, making you feel him through the barrier of your blue lace panties and his black boxer briefs.
At this point, you were ready to get fired.
Nothing would be able to drag you away from this moment with Nick, not even your fucking job.
All you could do to respond is moan into the air, hoping he wouldn’t stop. His fingers trail down to the hem of his t-shirt on your body. He lifted it just enough to reveal your navel and abdomen, kissing along the fabric as his head traveled lower and lower.
You wasted no time in discarding the nuisance item of clothing leaving you in just your underwear.
Nicholas left gentle kisses along your abdomen, trailing down in between your thighs, all the way to your ankles, then back up again.
“You’re perfect,” He whispers against your skin, his words sending shivers down your spine.
His eyes darkened as they lingered on what he craved the most, groaning in approval at the wet spot left on your underwear. You were soaking and Nicholas was ready to have a taste of your sweet nectar.
He planted a gentle kiss on your pelvis just above the little blue bow of your underwear, dragging his lips against you until he stopped right at the center.
Looking up at you through his long lashes, with a raspy voice he asks, “is this okay?”
You nod, breathlessly answering “yes.” And with that he wasted no time.
His lips pressed against your clit through the fabric, stealing your breath away. When his tongue slid slowly over the damp fabric, you couldn't hold back the moan that escaped, and he smirked against you.
“Look at you. So wet for me," he rambled, pulling the lace to the side to finally see you.
His finger glided through your folds, and he brought it to his lips, sucking it clean with his eyes closed in satisfaction.
The sight before you is so pornographic it makes you rut your hips up instinctively in hopes for some kind of friction which has him chuckling. He stops teasing you and discards your last item of clothing, leaving you completely exposed and bare to him.
Without warning, his flattened tongue swept a long, slow lick between your folds, making you cry out, your body reacting on its own as you ground against his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair.
You become dizzy as he begins to lap at your heat like a dehydrated kitten and your hips suddenly have a mind of their own, grinding against his face, hand shooting out to tangle between his brown locks.
His lips suction on your bundle of nerves and as your back arches, he plunges a finger in you starting a pace that has your eyes rolling.
“F-fuck!” You cry out, clenching around his digit as his tongue flicks your clit in different patterns that sends shocks throughout your body, that is until he inserts a second finger.
It’s amazing and almost pathetic how quickly he has you crumbling to pieces with just a flick of his tongue and fingers. Soon enough, you felt the knot in your lower stomach tightening, and Nick sensed it as well with a knowing smile, watching how tense your body was becoming.
“Gonna cum for me, princess? Huh?” He mumbles against you, never slowing the relentless pace of his fingers, feeling you clench around them so tightly, it makes him chuckle.
“C’mon baby, soak me. I wanna taste you,” His words push you over the edge off the cliff you were hanging on for dear life.
A string of moans leave your lips as your body begins to shake and convulse uncontrollably. His tongue rides you through the utter bliss, suckling and suctioning causing aftershock waves to jolt through you.
Nick runs his hands up and down your thighs, whispering praises, peppering you with kisses all the way up to your lips as you catch your breath.
“Feeling good?” He whispers, brushing your messy strands of hair out of your face with a soft smile. You nod, returning his smile, glancing at his sheen chest, running your fingers up and down it.
Your gaze then drifts down to the bulge in his briefs, begging for attention to which you trail further down, palming him with light pressure.
Nick’s head falls into the pillow beside you, a low moan escaping his lips at the friction his cock was aching for.
“Fuck— baby, don’t,” He babbles, gasping as you reach into his briefs and release his shaft from the tight confines, pumping him slowly.
You feel the heat in your belly flare up again at his desperate sounds of relief, and begin to tap the tip of his cock against your clit, teasing the both of you.
Nick crashes his lips to yours in a needy haze, both gasping as you line him up with your entrance and start inching forward so slowly it’s practically torture.
You’re so slick with arousal, there’s minimal resistance to his intrusion as you feel your muscles stretching to accommodate around him. You both let out a euphoric moan when he fills you completely, stilling himself and relishing in the feeling of your warm, wet walls.
“God—” He strains against your mouth, “I don’t think I'll ever get over how amazing you feel, angel.”
You moan softly at his words, rutting your hips against his, “please...” you beg, voice trembling.
He smiles against your lips giving you a quick peck, “please what, baby—hm? Tell me what you need.”
You whine in frustration, rocking your hips up once again, to which he takes as an opportunity to sneak his arm under the small of your back and pin you up against his chest. “What do you need, love?”
Before you could form a coherent sentence, he thrusts his hips forward once, the slap of your skin on his echoing in your bedroom which pulls a sharp gasp from your lips.
Then again, and again, and again.
“That what you need, sweetheart?” He pants, starting a pace that has you a mess of strained moans, matching the rhythm of his hips. “Need me to fuck into you like this huh?”
You can't help when your hands tangle in his hair, pulling on it as you cry out when his hips pull back and slams into you with such force, it makes your entire body jolt.
His pace quickens as he rests his forehead against your own, the small actions of you tugging at his hair seeming to enrage him more.
The sounds that echoed in the softly sunlit bedroom were the wet slaps of your skin colliding and a string of profanities and pants coming from the both of you, your walls clenching tightly around him as the tip of his cock hit your sweet spot over and over again with each thrust, sending you into a spiral.
You could feel the knot in your lower tummy starting to get tighter and tighter, your muscles flexing around him as you feel yourself quivering and he can certainly feel it too. His head drops down next to yours letting out low groans, never stopping his ruthless thrusts and determination setting.
“That’s it baby, one more, please.” He whines in your ear, kissing your neck and fingers landing on your bundle of nerves to spur you on alongside his sharp thrusts.
“Fuck— Nick, I’m gonna come,” You warn, feeling yourself start to clench around his cock, to which he keeps his relentless pace to finally push you over the edge.
You let out one last strangled moan as the knot inside of you snaps, digging your nails into his back, your head thrown back as your entire body convulses.
He buried his head into your neck, slamming into you so feverishly to drive you deeper into ecstasy and once you come down is when his thrusts start to become sloppy and moans louder.
He suddenly jolts forward, sobbing out moans through his teeth, feeling his warmth paint your walls white. He collapses on top of you, both breathing so heavily as the aftershocks of your orgasms rolling out of you.
Neither of you could move, relinquishing in each other’s company and trying to recover from the sensations you both just experienced.
After a while of sweet silence and whispering sweet nothings and praises to you, he rolls onto his side, bringing you closer to him.
He plants a soft kiss to the side of your head, drawing patterns on your arm with his fingers.
“I should probably call off now,” You suddenly say to which he responds with a snort.
He reaches down to level himself with your plump and swollen lips, stealing a kiss. “Yeah, you’re gonna be pretty busy the rest of this afternoon, angel.”
riding oscar’s face and literally crying when his nose occasionally bumps your overstimulated clit (im crazy obsessed w his nose), but his hands just hold you down so you can’t squirm or move off of him. you can def feel him smiling against your clit
first oscar smut?!!! thank you anonnie <3
oscar had been begging for you to sit on his face for the past few weeks, scoffing in your direction whenever you'd argue that you'd squish him. as nonsensical as it sounded he'd settle for being between your thighs instead, hips elevated with a cushion as he'd eat like a starving man — only pulling away from you once you tugged harshly at his hair, desperate to clamp your legs together as you walked shuddered hysterically at the overstimulation he was subjecting you to.
yet you couldn't get the thought out of your mind, the mental image of you riding his face being something you couldn't get rid of. the bubbling hot in the pit of your stomach as you finally managed to swallow your insecurities and propose the idea mid-make-out, your question shaky and almost inaudible as oscar pouted playfully, "i didn't quite catch that princess, what did you say?"
and you'd raise your voice, a firm "i want to sit on your face" sounding like music to his ears as he kneaded the flesh of your ass beneath his palms. the both of you were slumped against the bed, propped up by the headboard as your fingers traced the adam's apple bobbing in your boyfriends throat as he groaned.
the sensation felt different, not what you were used to. head pushed back against the cushions oscar helped you steady yourself above him, your underwear discarded somewhere between the sheets as he stroked over your outer thighs. he could sense your wariness, peppering small kisses to your warm skin as he waited for you, patient as you took your time to finally lower yourself. your eyes fluttered, blurry as he snaked a hand between the two of you, pointer finger and middle finger spreading your cunt just enough for him to settle between your folds.
"that's it baby, i've got you..." his words were muffled, vibrations surging through your body at the sensation. oscar's tongue movements were slow, languid as he traced over your wetness. paying particular attention to your clit he moaned softly, suckling the bundle of nerves between his lips with a deliciously wet noise.
your hips rocked against him, hands gripping the headboard for leverage as you cursed his name. with a whimper you felt his mouth leave you for a split second, adjusting until his tongue lapped hungrily at your clenching hole. you were desperate, chest heaving as you felt the tip of his nose brush your puffy clit.
from the start of your relationship oscar had always put your pleasure first — whether that be worshipping you with his hands, his mouth or his cock. whatever you needed, you would get. and although he loved making you feel good in whichever way you desired, there was no denying that he loved tasting you. in fact he craved it.
your waterline was brimming with tears as you rocked against his face, the sound of oscar beneath you filling the room. the air was hot, heavy, as he mercilessly ate you; his lips parted as his tongue brought you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. you could tell that you'd be cumming any minute if he continued like he was, your excitement glistening on his cheeks and chin as he whined to his own tune. he worked your body perfectly, the pads of his fingers gripping your waist as he held you down, not letting you lift your hips at all for relief, "c'mon baby, give it to me— show my how good you are."
the cockiness oozed from his words and you knew that he'd have a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. you tried to respond, eyes screwed shut as you threw your head back, but words completely failed you — instead replaced with cries as the tip of his nose bumped over your clit again and again, the soreness of his jaw forgotten about as he felt you shake.
In which you get punished for flirting with Sebastian’s teammate
Warnings?; Smut, name calling(slut, brat), cursing, degradation, hair pulling, lip biting, small blood mention, p in v, unprotected sex(a big no no), mean seb, orgasm denial,slight ass play…, pet names, porn with a plot basically, I apologize for any errors!
"Sebby please!" You babbled to the man behind you, his hands holding yours behind your back as he pounded into you.
"Shush Meine Liebe, take your punishment like a good girl." He spat, his pace never faltering as he pushed your face further into the pillow below you.
"Just wan a kiss." You whined into the plush pillow, the cotton of the case no doubt now covered in your tears and spit.
You could hear his growl from behind you as his hips somehow sped up, the sound of his skin slapping against yours filling the space of your bedroom.
"I don't kiss little sluts that think it's okay to flirt with my teammate." He spat.
Your eyes rolled towards the back of your head as he reached a hand between your thighs and begins to rub your clit. He guided a scream from your throat as he pinched the small bud between his fingers before returning to slow and teasing rubs.
"Fuck." You cried as you felt the warmth growing in your lower stomach.
"Don't you dare fucking cum." Sebastian spat in your ear as he could feel your core tightening around him.
At the sound of a pathetic sob Sebastian slowed his hips and pulled his hand away from your clit, leaving you with little to no friction as he pulled almost all the way out, only leaving his tip resting inside the warmth of your walls.
"No, no, please! Seb please let me come." You cried.
The German smirked behind you as he felt your pussy clench around his tip desperately searching for more. His cock was glistening from the wetness of your pussy as he spread you plump ass cheeks wide and spit on your puckering hole.
He basked in the gasp you let out as his thumb circled around the ring, passing time as he let your growing orgasm die.
"Seb please baby, I wanna see you." You begged attempting to fuck yourself against him but the slap he laid against your ass quickly made your movements halt.
"Hmm, that's a shame. Would fuck you however you wanted if you didn't throw yourself all over mark." He shrugged despite you not being able to see him.
"Didn't throw myself at him! Was just being nic-" a scream broke through as he thrusted into you hard, his nails digging into your flesh as he gripped your ass cheeks firmly.
"Don't be a fucking brat." He growled in your ear as his body leaned over yours, damp chess pressed against your back.
He finally let your hands go as he tangled one of his own into your hair and pulled, pulling your body flush against his as he stood on his knees and fucked you hard.
"Oh god!" You cried feeling your orgasm quickly approaching.
The feeling of his lips moving around the skin of your neck caused a feeling of need to fill your chest as you wished for his lips to be against yours.
"Can I please have a kis-fuck!" You cried body slumping forward slightly as he loosened his grip a bit.
"If I kiss you, will you shut the hell up?" He spat.
"Mhm, please."
You shrieked as you were let go and quickly flipped over, Sebastian wasted no time before slipping back in and fucking you fast as your legs wrapped around his waist
One of his large hands came up to wrap around the base of your throat as his lips swallowed yours in a hard kiss. It's nothing but pure ecstasy as he kisses you, you kiss him back as his tongue sweeps along your bottom lip and pulls it into his mouth.
You cry out into his mouth as his teeth nip at the skin, the metallic taste of blood floating between you two as he seems to kiss you harder.
He pulls away from your lips at the feeling of you clenching around him, "You gonna come soon?"
"Mhm." You nodded, fucked out eyes staring deep into his pretty blue ones.
"Ask nicely brat." He scolded, leaning back and pulling on of your legs over his shoulder a smirk tugging at his lips at the moan you let out.
"Oh!-can I come? Please, please sebby can I come?" You babbled below the man, the feeling of euphoria just moments away from taking control of your body.
"Go ahead slut, come for me." He encouraged basking in the way your legs shook on his shoulder and how your head snapped back into the soft pillow below it.
The moan you let out as your climax took over was downright pornographic, the multiple denied orgasms from earlier in the night finally catching up and roaring through your body.
Sebastian watched as you babbled random things off as he continued to fuck you, chasing his own climax. His thrust stayed just as deep but grew faster as he felt it approaching, heat flooding his body as he began to curse in German.
With one last thrust you watched as he stilled inside you with a deep groan, his abs clenching while his mouth dropped open. He leaned down to pull you into another hot kiss as he began to soften inside you, one of his hands tangled in the hair at the nape of your neck while yours cradled his cheeks.
"You gonna flirt with my teammate again?" He asked firmly as he held onto your chin.
"I wasn-oh! Okay no I won't." You cried as he thrusted his hips, yearning him a deep cry from overstimulation.
"Mm, that's my good girl." He smirked before placing one last kiss on your lips and pulling out.
He took a moment to admire your spent and well fucked body, hickeys were scattered from your breasts down where nobody but him would be able to see them.
You watched as he walked into your master bathroom to get a warm washcloth before coming back and taking his time cleaning you up gently.
A little while laster you were dressed in one of his shirts while you dozed off with your head against his chest, and one of his hands running through your hair.
"Goodnight darling, I love you." He spoke softly as he kissed your head.
"I love you more Seb." You smiled as you snuggled deeper into him.
summary: everyone loves when landon’s little sister attends races, especially the racers. 2.4K
warning; multiple people are interested in reader. fluff. reader gets so extremely spoiled.
notes; i got kinda lazy towards the end :( hope you all still enjoy! thank you for reading, comments, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated :)
. . .
“What do you mean little norris is here?” Carlos Sainz spluttered, looking around the group of men, seeing the same bewildered expression on their faces.
It was two hours before the race, Charles, George, Oscar, Max, Carlos, Daniel, and Lando were catching up inside of Mclaren’s hospitality, that was until Lando dropped the bomb, his sister, more well known as little norris, was there.
“Yeah, I’m going to go meet her at the gate,” Lando muttered, turning around to the couch and picking up his phone before pocketing it. “You could join me-” he turned back around, only to find that the space, which was previously occupied by his friends, was now completely empty. Looking around, with furrowed brows, he scoffed, “Assholes.”
Walking up to the gate, Lando smiled at the sight of his baby sister, he was well aware of the cameras on them. And while he was very well used to it, you still seemed slightly uncomfortable. It had been a while since you had come to a race, a year or so. So being around this many cameras, was not your usual day-to-day.
Still, you smiled brightly walking up to your big brother. Greeting each other, you hugged tightly, although you hadn’t been at a race for more than a year, you had Lando had seen each other less than a week ago. Only a year apart, you two had always been close, basically being best friends since your birth.
“Can you explain why your friends are very persistent about me visiting them today?” you questioned, now in the great comfort of Mclaren’s hospitality, you sipped on your orange juice, raising a brow to your brother.
Confused, Lando questioned who and what you were talking about. You explained that for the past ten minutes or so, you had been bombarded by messages from some of his closest friends. All begging you to visit them.
“Those Muppets!” Lando scoffed loudly, shaking his head in disbelief. “The second I brought you up, they ran away to do god knows what!” he rambled.
You shrugged, pausing for a second before pulling yourself up with a groan. Lando watching your movements in confusion. “Where are you going?”
You avoided eye contact, pursing your lips, and slowly walking towards the exit. “You’re going to see them!” Lando pointed an accusing finger at you, standing up and staring at you with betrayal.
You sped up, looking over your shoulder with a frown, “I’ve missed them!”
. . .
Your first pit stop was the Ferrari garage. Charles had been the most persistent of the group, pleading with you to meet Leo, his new puppy.
You felt out of place in the sea of red, but you trotted through, making it up to hospitality with only a handful of dirty looks.
“Mon Amour!” a loud, excited voice broke through your thoughts. Charles. Smiling brightly, you look up to find Charles quickly making his way to you, the brightest smile on his gorgeous face.
He wrapped his arms around you with lightning speed, swaying side to side, placing what felt like hundreds of kisses on your cheek. “It’s been too long,” he murmured sweetly. You laughed, leaning deeper into his chest, “You visited me two months ago.”
Two months ago, you were met with the surprise of a very cheerful Charles in your college dorm, claiming he ‘couldn’t go another day without seeing your face.’ He had only stayed for a day in a half, but you had to admit, it was nice to have a distraction from your studies.
“Too long.” He murmured once more. You pulled away, choosing to ignore the deep frown on his face. You reminded him of what you came here first for; Leo. With a pout on his face, he led you to where a cute tiny puppy stood on the ground.
Getting on your knees, you cooed, “Oh you’re so beautiful.” you muttered, too entranced with the adorable puppy, to see Charles slip away for a quick moment.
Charles walked over to a Ferrari employee, continuously turning to make sure you were still focused on Leo. The employee slipped him a tiny paper bag, Charles thanked him, and without another word, he walked back over to you.
You continued playing with Leo, ignoring Charles, making him scowl. He was aware Leo was cute, but wasn’t he cuter?
“Amour?” he called for you, looking up, you raised a brow, and he held out his hands for you, pulling up. “I got something for you.” he led you to the red couch, placing you down as if you were a delicate doll.
And it started. You thought. Every time you would visit the paddock, you were bombarded by different gifts from some of Lando’s closets friends. Not that it bothered you. It was probably wrong, but getting so much attention, by so many gorgeous men, ignited a flame in you. And you never wanted it to stop.
“Oh, yeah?” you batted your eyelashes up at him, and you visibly saw him gulp. He sat next to you and nodded vigorously while handing you a small paper bag. Looking inside, you saw a velvet box, your eyes widened. Jewelry?
Pulling out the box, you blinked at Charles, he smiled at you reassuringly. Opening the box, you gulped loud enough for someone on the other side of the room to hear. You were used to nice gifts from Charles, but this? This was next level. Inside the velvet box was a tennis bracelet that no doubt cost more than your entire outfit combined.
You blinked, looking up at Charles, who was staring down at you with puppy eyes, “Do you like it? We can exchange it if you don’t. It just…your brother only told us you were coming like ten minutes ago, and I needed to get you something-” you cut off his rambling, by placing a small kiss on the corner of his lips, he instantly froze.
“I love it.” You breathly mumbled, carefully taking the bracelet out of the box, “Help me put it on?”
. . .
You were beaming as you walked out of Ferrari hospitality and into Carlos’s garage. The bracelet Charles had gifted you was gorgeous, and it made you feel like you were walking on air. Lando could die, and you would still be shining.
Arriving at the garage, you frowned, not seeing Carlos anywhere. You spent the next five minutes looking around, but no trace of him. Just as you turned to leave, you saw him. He ran into the garage with a giant bouquet of red roses in hand. He looked around urgently until his eyes landed on you.
Everyone in the room noticed how when he set eyes on you, it was like he became entranced. His eyes looked you up and down about ten times, in between the time when you walked over to him.
You didnt speak, instead choosing to bring him into a tight hug, smelling of his expensive cologne. You spent the next seconds in each other’s tight embrace. Out of everyone on the grid, other than your brother. You knew Carlos the longest, and it was evident with how tightly you clung to each other.
You felt the bouquet digging into your back, pulling back, Carlos instantly held it out to you, “Para ti,” for you.
“Thank you, Carlos,” you took the flowers with a pouty smile, they were bigger than your head.
“I got you something,” he muttered, pulling you towards a corner in the garage, shielding you from prying eyes. You tilted your head, eyes trailing down to his perfect lips, he reached into his back pocket, pulling out two tickets.
He wordlessly handed them you to, taking the flowers with one hand. You stared at the tickets confused, you gasped, reading them. Greece, June 15, one-person ticket. You flipped the ticket looking over the other one, Greece, June 15, one-person ticket. You looked by at the Spanish man, with a gasp, “You didnt.”
The man smiled, leaning closer, “I did.” he whispered, placing a deep kiss on your forehead. “For us?” you held up the tickets, needing clarification.
“For us.” he confirmed. Holy shit you were going to Greece.
. . .
You hadn’t been in the paddock for more than thirty minutes and you already had a tennis bracelet, a bouquet of flowers, and a trip to Greece.
Then came the ethical dilemma. Was it okay to take all these gifts, knowing they were given to you with the intent they had, probably not. Did you care? No.
Some might call you shameless, but you didnt care. You loved feeling loved. You loved knowing you had these men wrapped around your finger. You loved knowing they would do anything for you.
It had been this way for years, them buying you things with the hopes of a relationship. And you weren’t planning on putting a stop to it any time soon. It might seem impossible, but you loved them all. And you didnt see why you had to pick one. Why couldn’t you have them all?
And it’s not like they don’t know about each other. They do. Each one of them are aware of the others. That just makes it all more competitive. And with more competitiveness, came more gifts for you. Perfect.
“Max!” you laughed, feeling someone pick you up from behind. The broad shoulders and ruff hands gave it away. You heard him let out a deep chuckle, leading you to some high chairs.
Once he placed you down on the chair, you were finally able to get a good look at him, he was perfect as always. “Hi.” you whisper as he wraps his arms around your waist, with a content sigh.
“Hi, schatje.” he leaned into your neck, placing small kisses, not caring about those around you too.
“How are you?” you whispered, placing your hands around his neck, but he didnt answer, he focused himself on your right wrist, where the bracelet Charles had gifted you lay.
Silently, he turned to you with a raised brow. “Charles?” he guessed with an eye roll. You nodded, giggling brightly, “It’s cute, no?”
“Yeah, adorable.” he grumbled, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his phone. You frowned, not liking how his attention wasn’t on you. That was until he handed you his phone, nuzzling back into your neck without a care in the world.
You took the iPhone, holding it up to your eyes. “A boat?” you questioned looking down at a smiling Max, he hummed, nodding. On the phone was a page, dedicated to what you assumed was selling boats.
“You bought one?” you whispered in wonder, swiping through teh pictures of said boat. It was huge, with three stories: the bottom deck, the middle deck, and the very top deck. Your eyes widened looking at the price tag. Holy shit that was a lot of money.
“For you,” he mumbled, placing a final kiss on teh side of your neck before standing up straight, looking at you expectingly.
You froze. No fucking way. This, this was crazy. “Max-” you started shaking your head, but his puppy dog’s eyes froze you in place instantly.
“Just take it okay?” he leaned his forehead against yours, “I need to one up Charles.”
. . .
“Daniel!” you laughed in joy as he wrapped his arms around you swinging you around.
“Little Norris!” he cherred, carefully placing your feet on the ground, and pating your hair down with a beaming smile.
He stood staring for a smile, admiring your beaming smile as you looked up at him, “How did you get even prettier?” he wondered in amazement.
“The same way you got prettier.” you grinned cheekily, he blushed, taking your hand and learning you out of the garage.
“Remember when you told me you wanted to take golf lessons?” he reminisced, waving over to some fans who were calling out for his attention with his free hand.
You nodded thoughtfully. You had talked about wanting golf lessons for years, never having the time to actually do them.
He stared down at you with a glint in his eyes, you paused, gasping with a big smile, “You didn’t!”
He laughed, wrapping his arms around you once more, “I thought since you were finishing school soon, it was the perfect time.”
You stared up at him in adoration, “Have I ever told you how much I adore you.”
“Hm.” he whispered in your ear, “I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.”
. . .
“Don’t you look pretty?” Georges’s voice cut through your thoughts, as he walked over to you, placing a deep kiss on your cheek while holding your hands.
You thanked him, pulling him down to the couch, and leaning against his chest. Yawing. He chuckled, wrapping his arms around you, “Tired?”
You nodded, closing your eyes, “It’s so tiring being wanted by so many handsome men..” you sighed dramatically, George laughed loudly, leaning against your back as his body shook in joy
“Cheeky girl.” he giggled, before placing a smooch against your head. “Ready to know what I got you?” he whispered.
You rolled your eyes with a smile, “I guess..” you sighed, turning to him, and giving him a chaste kiss on his cheek, letting him know you were just joking.
He handed you his phone, you quickly scanned through the screen. You opened your mouth in shock, throwing his phone down on the couch, “You got me land on the fucking moon?”
. . .
“Like the actual moon?” Oscar gasped, staring up at you with an open mouth, he was lying on your chest, you were both in his small drivers room, passing time.
“The actual fucking moon.” you laughed, shaking your head. You had just finished recalling your encounter with the others, Oscar sighed, “How am I going to top that?”
You frowned, “I don’t think anyone would ever top that. I mean…” you shuddered, “it’s the literal moon Oscar. The moon.”
“That is pretty cool.” he leaned closer to you, “But I’m still going to live the rest of my life trying to top that.”
You smiled at him, suddenly bashful, “You don’t have to.”
“But I want to.” he held your hand with a teasing smile. “Ready for the spa day tomorrow?”
That was Oscar’s gift to you, a very luxurious day with him, where he will take you shopping, get you pampered, and eat at the best restaurants Monaco has to offer.
“I’m so ready.” you groaned, “Walking around all day was exhausting.”
“But worth it, no?” he glanced at the tennis bracelet on your wrist, you giggled, nodding vigorously, “Totally worth it.”
Oh my gosh I love your text fics they're so sweet ❤❤❤
If requests are still open (🤞) can I get a text fic where maybe the drivers accidentally text y/n (who is their close friend or maybe a work colleague) saying that they fancy her and they don't realise they have texted the wrong person until y/n's replies.
oops! wrong number ☆
summary: f1 drivers text their bestfriend about yn. but turns out they're texting yn!
warnings: fem pronouns, curse words, slightly suggestive, mentions of food.
an: omg thank you for this ask, youre so adorable anon 😭. i tried my best, hope you like it! thank you for the cute message. it made me smile.
Warnings/Contains: reader is AFAB with she/her pronouns, swearing, inappropriate employer/employee relationship, dry-humping, a lot of heavy petting, implied age gap, effective-infidelity (reader tested, tashi approved), oral sex (f!receiving), art is a bit of a pervert and mega-pathetic (endearing), references to religion (worship).
Word Count: 5.8k
i white knuckled the steering wheel on the way home from this film thinking about art donaldson- this is, essentially, an ode to that
Youth tennis lessons, $20/h, call for details
Finding work was hard, keeping work was harder.
Cleaning, baby-sitting, pet-sitting, pet-walking. There was virtually nothing you hadn't tried.
Odd jobs, odd hours, and the occasional odd employer.
You'd played tennis for the last couple years of college. Nothing remotely competitive but you and your friends had looked cute in the skirts and they'd give you whole hours out of class to play.
You were above average with a good arm and better patience.
Another odd job to add to your growing list.
You'd been particular about where you'd posted the ads, the neighbourhoods you'd chosen. Only the ones with manicured lawns and white picket fences.
Tacking the paper to boards in upmarket cafes, fancy supermarkets, ladies-only gyms.
The kind of people that want their kids playing tennis and could find their way to increase your pay- if you did well.
You always did very well.
So your little car looked a little out of place in this neighbourhood, fingers holding the scribbled post-it note with the address. Your scrawling handwriting detailing the "Donaldson's" were enquiring within.
Pulling up outside the house, you had a quiet inkling that you might've been out of your depth. Whoever owned this house deserved more than an above-average-ex-college-student that only learnt the sport to spend time with friends.
But they'd requested you, you'd have to let them come to that conclusion on your own.
Your knuckles only hit the door once before it was being swung open by someone that looked destined to be a security guard, like he'd come out the womb with his future decided.
What the fuck had you gotten yourself into?
He'd left you in the "formal lounge" to sit smack-bang in the centre of a couch that wouldn't even fit in the lobby of your apartment building- let alone the apartment itself.
As you admired a painting on the wall that you'd only ever seen in books, high heels on the stone floors made you jump in your seat.
The most beautiful woman you might ever see in your life appeared before you and said your name in a way that had you standing from your seat.
Your face faltered just enough that you hoped she didn't notice. There was something about her that told you she noticed everything.
Fuck me, that's Tashi Duncan.
If you know a thing about tennis (or even just watched the news) you know exactly who this woman is. You remember her more from your childhood but you remember her all the same.
The woman that once held the world by the balls.
She apologised for her husband's absence, that he was busy. It wasn't lost on you that the "husband" she casually referred to was Art Donaldson, US Open champion.
The Donaldson's.
Ah fuck.
Tashi went on the explain that they were wanting to begin lessons for their daughter Lily. You assumed this was the one you could hear running circles around the informal lounge.
"With all due respect, am I not the least qualified person in this home for that?"
You watched a perfectly formed cheekbone lift in what was nearly a smile. Strangely enough, something in the pit of your chest was dying to make her do that again.
There was something about her that demanded to be impressed.
You were no exception to the rule.
"My husband and I have seen some of your matches, we liked what we saw."
How? Your 'matches'- if you can even call them that, were nothing of note. You don't even think faculty bothered to watch them. You weren't quite sure why they'd even recorded them.
A silly part of you began to wonder how they'd even got a hold of them- until you remembered who they were.
The Hermes and Peitho of tennis.
"You did? I always thought of myself as more of a casual player."
"And that's what we liked, we know better than anyone how brutal tennis can become. We want someone to help Lily enjoy the game."
Oh, okay then.
You'd made a quasi-college-career out of purely enjoying the game. You were sure you could foster the same spirit for the six-year-old performing the entire 'Encanto' soundtrack in the other room.
Tashi laid down a tight schedule, Monday to Friday, 3pm to 6pm. You would teach Lily the wonders of the game on the court behind their home.
Their home you'd come to find out was a luxury rental when you'd complemented Tashi on another of the art pieces that'd apparently come with the place.
You'd also come to find out they typically live in hotel rooms, but they'd settled in this area for the time being as Art had a good thing going with a regular playing schedule and a sporting-goods deal.
You nodded along like you could begin to understand a life like that.
As she showed you back to your car (the one you suddenly felt humiliated for her to see you own), she called your name one last time from the doorway.
"You undersell yourself, we'll give you eighty an hour."
She left you choking on your tongue with one foot in the car and the other on an Italian cobblestone.
You were never going to walk or sit another dog again.
Lily was going to win her first Grand Slam by ten if that's what they'd pay you.
As your peeled your car from their turn-around area, you watched a Jeep Wrangler slow as it passed you. You couldn't see through the tint but you just knew it was him.
And you knew he was watching you.
-
The minute you'd told your roommate the situation you'd come into, she'd called bullshit.
A few texts from Tashi's now saved icon and a weird little photo you'd taken from inside the guest bathroom, it'd been enough to convince her.
"Fucking hell, are you God's favourite or something?"
You'd argue you were quite the opposite, she of all people should know. She'd seen some of the states you'd come home in after your other random jobs.
Felt good to be the winner.
Even just once.
In the air of some girlish fascination, she brought up a Youtube video of "Tashi Duncan Career Highlights" courtesy of "tennisguy779."
You'd protested it, rolling your eyes while feigning disinterest. No use, the minute you caught her out the corner of your eye- you were captivated.
It was entirely possible to imagine she hovered above the court, like there was a greater force placing her exactly where she needed to be, exactly when she needed.
It was even easier to believe she was just that good.
As you watched her play, listened to the sounds the game could draw from her- you wondered if this was how she and Art had felt.
Had they curled up in their informal lounge like you were right now? Had Tashi studied your every move meticulously like you assume? Had Art passed comment on your form? Did he think you were any good?
Tennisguy779's lineup changed quickly to "Art Donaldson Career Highlights" and you felt your chest constrict. An inexplicable feeling washed over you.
Like you'd been caught with God's forbidden fruit.
Your roommate had tried to question why you'd effectively flown off the couch, only to be met with a muttered 'goodnight' as you shut the bedroom door behind you.
Thin walls meant you drifted off to sleep that night with the rhythmic sounds of Art, grunting his way through an ATP Challenger.
It was no surprise you dreamt of him.
-
The Donaldson's tennis court was down a steep set of stairs, set back into an oasis of lush greenery.
Perfect for a 6-year-old's first lessons.
You didn't know if it was the grand balcony that overlooked the court or the fact a well-manicured Tashi stood atop it, but you felt positively observed.
Lily was in the midst of showing you how she could do a cartwheel (she couldn't) when the voice in the back of your head started echoing a promise of $80/h.
"Alright, lets channel some of that into your elbow."
Give a six-year-old a racquet half the size of her and she's going to blow effective chunks, but at least she has the spirit. Maybe it's her energy, maybe it has been a while since you've been on the court-
The kid's running you ragged.
Coupled with her height, you're spending more time bent over than you are up straight and it's all going to your head. All you can hope is Tashi isn't up there watching you stumble after the ball.
But you're sure there are eyes on your back.
Lily is a quick learner and you work out a tradeoff of one tennis skill for one spinning heel kick (mandatory that you watch).
Roll on 6pm and she's dog-tired, however, she's managed to hit the ball at least twice. Surely that's earned your keep. She lays star-fished on the turf and murmurs something about a piggyback.
You know you're about to earn your keep.
By the top of the staircase, you're more than happy to hand over a Lily-shaped-sack-of-potatoes to Tashi's mother. As you emerge from behind an ornate gargoyle, your suspicions proved correct.
Art Donaldson had been watching your every move.
Left alone on the balcony with him, you're acutely aware of the fact he's standing between you and your exit, and he's just had a full show of you bent over and flitting about his tennis court.
That and you still haven't said so much as 'hello' to the man.
You dwell on it for a moment and then there's that feeling back in the pit of your stomach, like any minute you'll be caught with fruit in hand- in throat.
The Original Sin.
Luckily, Art made the decision for you, crossing the space to shake your hand. If he noticed the way your hand trembled, he didn't seem to mind.
"It's nice to finally meet you."
You wished you had more to say to him, or maybe something more intelligent. Something better than a quiet "and you."
He was the better conversationalist, thankfully. Head motioning to the court, he looked down his nose at you when he spoke.
It should've felt condescending. It didn't.
"How did she go out there?"
"Yeah, really good- not a Disney character I can't name now."
He laughed.
Really laughed, like the joke was better than it was.
Like there was a preening little flutter inside you that said "do it again!"
You shrugged your shoulders like making him happy came naturally as you squinted up at him, as if he was the sun.
"You were watching? You must've seen her picking it up?"
Because he was the expert. Because he is the champion.
He hummed as he nodded, eyes skywards like there might've been something more important behind the clouds.
"Must've been distracted."
Within an instant- his eyes flickered to your own and you were sure he watched them change. He must've seen something he liked, the corner of his lip quirked up before he spoke again.
"Come on, I'll sort your payment and then we'll let you get home."
And for whatever reason, his hand fit perfectly in the small of your back as he lead you inside.
-
And how quickly did you become a strange piece of furniture in the Donaldson's home- in their life?
An ottoman for Tashi to rest her tired feet on.
An abstract piece on the wall for Art to admire when he passes it.
A projection of constellations across the ceiling to keep Lily bright behind the eyes.
At least you belonged- there was no doubt that this was where you belonged.
That wasn't to say your tennis skill had improved any, lesson after lesson you still couldn't wrap your head around why they'd even signed you on, let alone kept you.
"Ok, don't watch that one either- maybe just do what I say and not what I do."
You hadn't nailed a single one, at this point you couldn't blame Lily for skipping around pretending her racquet was a horse.
Wasn't like she'd be learning anything if she was paying attention.
"Ok, here we go just- ok right, when your parents ask how today went, please be kind."
"Your elbow is too low."
It was a miracle you didn't scream.
Art entered the court with a swagger that you could only assume struck fear when he was your opponent.
Right now it struck pure embarrassment and Lily wasn't helping.
"Daddy, she didn't hit a single one!"
"Alright, I don't think daddy needs to know that-"
"Daddy knows, daddy's been watching."
Daddy really needs to stop calling himself that.
Lily and her racquet took off for another tour of The Grand National as Art approached you with quiet determination.
It was like waiting for impact, his eyes never wavered off his daughter as he made towards you. At the last moment, he snapped his attention in your direction- with a smile that should've felt condescending.
It wasn't.
"If your elbow is too low you lose topspin and power."
If you deserved the $80/h you were earning, you might've known that.
As Art stepped up to you, the turn of the planets on their axis slowed down and it could've been entirely possible to believe it was only you two.
And Lily upon her trusty steed.
The gallops of her tennis shoes thinned out as Art placed one hand around your elbow, lifting it higher. His other hand held your waist as he pulled your back flush to his chest.
"Lily, go find grandma."
Then it really was just you two.
Your heart hammered against the shell of your ribcage, blood rushing around your ears as you felt Art's chin perch at your shoulder.
"If your elbow is high enough," His hand lifted it up and you let it stay there. "And your hip is turned."
He didn't have to say it with the gravel in his voice, but he did. He didn't have to hold your hips as he moved them, but he did. He didn't have to stay without so much of an inch between the two of you, but he did.
With one hand in the curve of your waist, he tossed the ball into the air with the other- then he whistled.
Like the obedient thing you didn't know you were, you raised the racquet and sent the ball flying through the air without even blinking.
As the streak of green hit the court and rolled away, you found yourself lying in wait, as if you were waiting for something- your next command?
"Good girl."
There it was.
Under the all consuming effect that Art Donaldson just seemed to have on people, you'd entirely forgotten you were in a position you could be 'caught' in. By his all consuming wife, of all people.
So, you should've moved.
Quite honestly you should've straightened up and cleared your throat and thanked him and told him it was time for you to go home.
You should've moved.
But Art wasn't moving. If anything he was staying purposefully still at your backside.
Obedient thing you seem to be.
"Show me that again?"
So,
You teach Lily the bare basics of tennis for three hours and receive $80 on the hour.
Then Art spends three hours of his spare time teaching you to perfect your swing- in a way that couldn't ever vaguely resemble professional.
A simple transactional arrangement.
Your tennis improves on a slow but sure basis and he gets the most off-court action he's seen since college.
Even if it is just heavy petting on astro-turf.
A hand under the hem of a tennis skirt. A pressing hip against your own. A deep breath as your hair brushes past him.
You figure Art will take what he can get.
And it's never enough to raise alarm. Sure, there's that fluttering in your chest that warns you might get 'caught' but you're never quite sure what one might 'catch' if they found you out.
It's undoubted who that 'one' is though.
The one who holds the cards- holds the throat, maybe.
Tashi, who's presence precedes her perhaps more than her reputation. Even when she isn't there, she's there.
So, when Art's hand lingers too long on the outside of your thigh and you think you can feel it verging into the territory that'll change everything- it's Tashi on your mind.
You're beginning to think your conscience sounds a lot like Tashi.
-
Who are you if not obedient to the Donaldson's?
Chasing Lily around a court.
Adhering to Tashi's every request.
Being Art's fantasy.
Being Art's.
Most of the time, anyway. Three hours a week.
Something to keep him bright behind the eyes, maybe. Something to keep him happy. Something to keep him-
Winning?
He tells you he plays better with you around. The way he says it makes you giggle, a girlish little noise that sort of just slips out. He serves the ball with his eyes on you and, sure enough, it lands smack where he wanted it too.
Everything where he wants it. When he wants it.
Shy and inconsequential touches and glances shared just between you.
Until, well- until they weren't.
"Would you like a coffee?"
Tashi's mother had taken Lily off to bed, leaving you and Art separated by an island. Kitchen island.
He braced both palms against it as he watched you watch the door, wondering if you should cut and run, wondering if someone else might come through it.
Talking yourself out of it. Whatever it might be.
"Yes please."
Even he looked surprised, brows raising an inch as he turned to the Nespresso machine. You took the moment to watch his back, the muscles moving under the cool-dry fabric of his shirt.
You spent all your time pretending not to notice him that actually allowing yourself the chance to study him made you lightheaded.
Had he always looked this captivating?
He broke your focus with a coffee cup, sliding it towards you as he rounded the bench. His eyes didn't even waver off you as he took a sip of his own.
It wasn't lost on you that he managed to tongue foam off the tip of his nose.
This was the longest you'd stuck around after a tennis lesson, longest you'd allowed yourself to be in his presence. You weren't quite sure how big this thing could get.
Your mouth was opening before your brain had decided it was a good idea.
"Mr. Donaldson-"
"Art."
"Uh, Art- I really appreciate the help you've been giving me- uh, you know- with tennis."
He placed his coffee mug down, nodding as he did it. "My pleasure."
Naturally.
That brain of yours was still firing off at a mile a minute. There was a very tiny voice right at the back that said it was up to you how this night would end- you had a choice to make.
Placing your coffee mug beside his, you scanned his face to find him already looking at you. Perhaps the choice was already set.
Maybe it was fate.
All he said was your name, it could've been the way he said it- but your whole body was losing the rigidity it'd formed when he first asked you to stay longer. When he'd made the choice.
Crossing the small gap between you two, Art was careful to keep one hand on the kitchen bench as the other hovered beside you. Not touching you,
Yet.
One step closer and the tip of Art's nose was touching yours. You think you might've been able to smell the coffee off his breath.
It thinned out- leaving you with his sweat. Musk. Art.
A sudden surge of morals overcame you, your voice broke out as a gasp.
"What about Mrs. Donaldson?"
"Actually, it's still Duncan."
You screamed.
Right in his face.
Tashi's voice made you jump out of your skin.
However, Art didn't move. As you turned your head to gauge the way his wife stalked across the kitchen, you felt his nose brush against your cheek.
Tashi retrieved a tall bottle of Pellegrino from the fridge, taking a poignant sip as her eyes flitted between the two of you.
What a fucking sight.
Her husband, eyes shut and face pressed pathetically to their daughter's tennis instructor- his hands itching to close around your waist.
You, young and bleary eyed looking utterly caught. Staring up at her like she might decide your fate.
It took all your strength to find your words.
"I’m not here to teach tennis, am I?”
“No, of course not. You’re frankly terrible at tennis.”
There's the Tashi you were expecting.
Her words should've stung, but they didn't. They couldn't, not when her husband was laying his hands against your back and rubbing soothing circles down the length of your spine.
Not when his lips were mouthing wet kisses along your cheek.
Not when she was right. Spade's a spade.
"Why am I here?"
She snorted, a real dissatisfactory sound- like she hoped you were smarter than that. She was halfway to her bedroom before she cut you loose.
"Careful, he makes that sound before he cums."
-
And he had, just like she'd said.
Art had cum in his shorts, pressed up against your thigh with his face still smushed against your own.
And you'd taken it, obedience in spades.
You'd stood there and let him hump your leg like a bad dog and you'd even pat his head and whispered kind words in his ear after the mess he'd made.
Then you slipped out the front door to your car and you'd pretended not to notice that there were two bedroom lights on upstairs.
You hadn't even divulged the freaky details to your roommate when you got home.
But the showerhead knew all about them.
Visions of Art on the clouds of steam- replayed in your head the sounds he'd made right in your ear.
How he'd whimpered your name when he splashed his boxers like a fucking teenager.
It was no surprise you dreamt of him.
You even showed up next day, valiantly. You didn't run for the hills or even straight to a tabloid about how weird the Donaldson's really were.
And maybe that's why you hadn't told your roommate either.
Because telling someone what Tashi allowed? What Art liked?
That'd mean you'd have to admit your dirty little secret.
You loved it.
When you showed up, something was different. No usual chatter in the house, no shoes by the front door. You checked out the front window to see what you'd missed when you arrived.
Tashi's car was gone.
"She's taken her mom and Lily to the ballet."
At least you didn't scream this time.
You were lucky your back was to him, lest he see the self-righteous little smile that broke when the words settled.
"Oh, ok."
"I'll see you on the court."
Oh, ok.
Lest he see the disappointment that took over.
Following him close behind, you didn't know why you were effectively surprised that he still wanted to continue with your lessons. You'd half expected- hoped, he'd bend you over the kitchen island.
Tennis was fun too, you guess.
Thinking about it, something that bold didn't seem the style of the man who'd nearly blacked out rubbing up on you. Beckoning you onto the tennis court with two fingers and a wry smile did, however.
You fell into your usual position, hip turned and elbow curved on your side of the court. You waited for him to appear behind you, chest melding into the curve of your back.
It never came.
Art took long strides towards the net, vaulting it in one smooth motion. He ended up parallel to you, waiting with a ball and racquet in either hand.
The smile had left his face, a rather blank expression taking over as he sized you up. And there was that fear- knowing what it felt like to be on the wrong side of him.
This was going to hurt.
From the moment he pressed the ball to the neck of his racquet, it was all over. Your feet were never in one place for more than a second, your arms burned above you, your head permanently on a swivel.
Art didn't look like he'd broken more than a sweat.
You knew he had, you could see it in the neck of his shirt. But he didn't look it.
He looked calm, he looked in control, he looked-
Like he was enjoying himself.
For every rally that you managed, you thought you saw an inkling of pride set in his features.
For every serve that you missed, you knew you saw unbridled lust.
Not a point scored in your favour, you hit the ball towards him one last time before you collapsed to the turf. Flat on your back, reminiscent of your first lesson here.
You watched the clouds shift over your head, listening to your pulse thick and fast in your ears. Just underneath it, you could hear footfalls approaching.
No hurry, but impending.
Soon, the sun above you was eclipsed by Art Donaldson. His golden hair shone with the halo of light behind it.
Now this was God's favourite.
"You can't be giving up this easily?"
Forcing a laugh, you threw your arm up and over your eyes. "Wanna bet?"
Turns out he did- turns out Art struggled to do anything but win.
Somehow, you found it within yourself to stand back up. This time it was only a practice, you weren't brave enough to face off against him another round.
This was more your speed.
The hand that wasn't holding your elbow was curving around your front, the pleats of your tennis skirt lifting over his fingers. You felt a warm hand slowly moving across the front of your underwear.
Two fingers migrated south, pressing against the seam of you- he must've felt the pure heat radiating beneath his fingertips.
Turning your head even an inch, you found the curve of his nose pressing into your cheek.
"I didn't give up."
He hummed, the vibration rolled across your shoulders.
"Mmm, you didn't."
The hand sans-racquet dropped between your thighs to press his palm into your cunt. It was Art who flexed your fingers and cupped it.
"Where's my prize?"
There was no trophy, no podium, no medal.
But there was Art between your legs, slinging a knee over each shoulder like he might've been the real winner.
You'd never been inside the 'changing shed' behind the court, of course it was nicer than your actual home.
Your head made contact with the hard wood behind you, bench digging into your ass as you felt a hot mouth moving against the seat of your underwear.
Running your fingers through his hair, your gripped the ends of it- tugging him closer until you felt the flat of his tongue through the thin fabric.
Needy fingers tugged the ruined garment down your thighs, tucking him into the pocket of his shorts. You knew all too well that you'd never see them again.
You were sure Art would be seeing a lot of them.
His tongue ran up the split, one long stroke before you felt the curve of his nose press to your clit. The ridge of it moved as his tongue retreated back to your entrance.
With everything he had.
Your eyes had been rolling back in your head as you arched your back, the moment you were able to find a semblance of control- your gaze fell before you.
Naturally, Art was already looking up at you. Two hands splayed across each side of your hips as he pulled back to wrap his lips around your clit.
You couldn't help the hazy little smile on your face as you watched his eyes.
Utterly devotional.
The more you tugged on his hair, the hungrier he seemed. Pulling from the root seemed to spur him on, seemed to tell him 'good job' and he was responsive.
His tongue flicked beneath your clit, pressing it to his upper lip as he brought two fingers to your entrance. He stroked a couple times, making your hips twitch against him, before he sunk in to the last knuckle.
Turns out Art had a style about him. One he brought to the tennis court and, seemingly, to the floor of his changing shed.
The style was calculated.
Every move he made was engineered to get something out of you- a reaction, a whimper, a twitch. He was doing what he did best.
Playing a game.
Art struggled to do anything but win.
"Fuck- Mr. Donaldson."
"Art."
Even muffled against your cunt, you were good at following his orders. Even more so when he was the decider of your imminent orgasm.
You threaded your fingers in the sides of his hair, pulling his face flush against you so you could ride his mouth. Taking every last thing from him you could.
It drew the most pathetic moan you'd ever heard, straight out of his chest and hit you straight at your core. The burning coil tight within your stomach was unraveling quickly.
You heard the murmurings of words, among the blood rushing in your ears. Easing up just enough, you let him pull back to speak.
"Tell me this feels good, please."
Your chest thumped, the sight of Art helpless between your legs was one thing. Hearing him beg?
You might black out.
"Art- you feel so fucking good," Dragging him right back where you needed him, the tip of his tongue drove against your clit. "You're gonna' make me cum."
He whined.
A heady drawn-out sound that quite literally sent you over the edge. Your hips lifted off the bench, the heel of your foot digging into his back and making his whine turn into a whimper.
Your orgasm broke you apart until it felt like white-hot flame licking up your sides. Of course, Art never relented, drinking in everything you could give him- literally.
The moment you felt the peak begin to subside, the urge was ramping right back up. Like he knew what he was doing, his eyes locked back onto yours as he sucked at your clit.
He was going for gold.
A quick second orgasm hit, seemingly out of nowhere. Your thighs clenched around Art's head, his hands coming to each of them.
You relaxed yourself a bit, feeling like it might be too much- until you felt him pressing your thighs even harder to either of his ears.
Oh, ok.
Art Donaldson knew what he liked.
You physically had to push him off you, watching him fall back on his outstretched palms as you let yourself breathe for what felt like the first time.
Wet eyes, wet chin, chest rising and falling like he'd run a marathon- Art sat sprawled out before you like he'd stumbled upon an alter (he had).
Breathless, you gestured towards him. Your hand dropped a little as your eyes fell between his legs, wordlessly offering a deal.
A deuce.
His cheeks flushed, more so than they already were. His eyes fell an infinitesimal amount before he spoke up.
"Uh- I already have."
Of course he had. He makes that sound before he cums.
Instead, you heard him shuffle back onto his knees as he all but crawled towards you. He draped his upper half into your lap, head resting against the soft cotton of your skirt.
Coming off the other side of a high, the reality of your situation began to settle for you. Why they'd really called you here- what purpose you really served.
All you could do was gently stroke a hand across Art's head, feeling him go limp against you. Boneless, but not spineless.
He must've known you were going to speak, he must've heard the intake of breath or just felt you shift. He cut you to the chase- beat you to the punchline.
Art nuzzled his face further into your lap as you felt him mumble against your thigh.
summary; oscar randomly revealed that he was married young and it sends the grid into chaos and confusion. what he reveals after made everything more chaotic
note; tbh this was originally gonna be a written fic but i decided w smau lols
masterlist !
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liked by yourusername, landonorris, and others !
oscarpiastri: 7 years of being with you, 4 years of being married. thank you for always being by my side and giving me one of the greatest gifts, our daughter. happy anniversary, i love you.
tagged; yourusername
yourusername: osc🥹🥹🥹
yourusername: oscar jr and i love you so much🧡🧡
landonorris: OSCAR JUNIOR?????
oscarpiastri: his name actually isn’t oscar dumbass
landonorris: whyd she say oscar jr🙄
yourusername: bc i happen to carry her for 9 months only for her to look exactly like the man who participated for 5 mins 😔
oscarpiastri: she’s my mini me😁
username: TJIS IS NOT A DRILLLL
username: omg he’s A GIRL DAD????😧😧😧
username: that’s so perf for him omg
logansargeant: happy anniversary to my favorite couple!❤️
oscarpiastri: 4 years ago we partied like miami frat boys wow😮
yourusername: thank you, logan<3333 i’m bringing sugar cookies tmrw btw!!!
logansargeant: SCORE!
alex_albon: share w the rest of us🙄
logansargeant: no
charles_leclerc: A CHILD HAVING A CHILD???😀😀😀
oscarpiastri: i’m 23 actually
charles_leclerc: A CHILD BASICALLY????
username: wait omg high school sweethearts this is so cute 🥹🥹🥹
maxverstappen1: damn with a child too??
oscarpiastri: well, yes!
lewishamilton: fatherhood suits you! congrats to you both❤️
oscarpiastri: thank you, lewis!
yourusername: akkdoakxkdkxoskxosdo lewis knows who i am alsnakdk
username: y/n is so me actually
pierregasly: yk what, hiding a wife and child is such a you thing.. congratulations though!
oscarpiastri: 😺😺
username: never beating the cat allegations i fear
