Jan 23, 2017
"Cute Space Girls!!"
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"Cute Space Girls!!"
style influencer yn doing her once a week styling my boyfriend for a date… for work… for a concert… for seeing my parents… for an event AND ITS bakugou just standing there in shorts and a vest quietly while you show the camera what you picked out for him and why. when you say you chose this slightly cropped shirt because bakugou’s got a shorter torso and it shows off his waist and bakugou lovesssss it. loves you talking about him like he’s not there and you saying things he didn’t even know about himself. like you pay attention to him that much! he takes it all very personally even though it’s literally your job.
lets you manoeuvre him around. using him as a male model and talking about him as body parts. grins when you say things like “katsuki’s got big biceps so i like to emphasise them just for myself.” “now katsuki doesn’t have the average build so it’s fun to work with his body.” “yeah? that’s right?” slapping his arm.
when he tries something on that didn’t go as well as you expected. “jeans are so difficult with you! these ones are way too tight on the thigh!”
and he’s got a mother as a designer, he’s never dressed badly in his life but you have your own style and what you love to see him in. he likes being your ken doll once a week.
“and i found this scarlet tie when thrifting, i bought it because it matches his eyes!!!”
and bakugou’s, “i like it baby.”
moments when he holds you by the waist, head on your shoulder as you’re explaining something to the camera.
you in a layered, well thought out outfit while he’s wearing his boring base outfit at the beginning LOL
you show two options that would go well and you let him choose.
“the denim feels rough. the other one.”
and bkgs done modelling and photoshoots before so he’s very good at the ending solo shots when you show the viewer the outfit. stands with his hands in his pockets. rotates around. you flashing him behind the camera to make him smile and his smirk is to die for.
asking his opinion for the whole outfit at the very end, holding a mic to his face because you don’t mic him up for the videos, just yourself.
“you always dress me better than i dress myself. it’s fuckin sick,” adjusts the jacket, looking at himself off camera. “woulda never have put myself in these.” he undos an extra button to his shirt.
“oooo sexy.”
“you think?” he grins at you.
and now you both match like it’s clear you’re going to the same event together. a stupidly attractive well dressed couple. not to mention that bkgs pr team loves the videos too. tells him to hold off on the groping you at times but you include it in the videos so who’s to tell you how to do your job.
editing out whenever you bend down and he thrusts against you. whenever he slaps your ass. when you’re adjusting the way something drapes, standing super close to him and he kisses you, little makeout where you have to tap his chest for him to stop. “we’re recording!”
also you rolling your eyes at people thirsting over your boyfriend. it gets engagement and views though.
Hot & Bothered | myg — date no. 1
✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader ✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: You’re horny af one night so you login to your fave hook-up app for a quick fix. You match with Min Yoongi, expecting a cocky rapper with a filthy mouth, but instead, you get a soft-spoken man in a designer shirt and a gummy smile. He keeps asking you out, but there’s no kiss, no sex, nothing. Each date winds you up tighter than the last, your patience (and your lingerie) hanging by a thread, and now you can’t tell what’ll snap first: his restraint or your self-control. ✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluff, smut, strangers to lovers, non idol ✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: 18+ MDNI, eventual smut... ✎ ˎˊ˗ Chapter Warnings: king min yoongi being wholesome, MC needs to be locked up in horny jail, MC is a little brand-conscious being in the fashion field but she’s not like a gold-digger okay lol she got her own coin, feeling of being blue-balled lmao, small reference to another ktown fic, unbeta'd so yk the drill <3 ✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: ✨NEW SERIES ✨This is inspired by a request from @theuselessdaydreamingidiot to write about a sexually reserved Yoongi. Honestly, I think this is gonna be one of my cutest series. <3
Masterlist | Series Masterlist
Date No. 1: The Black Button-Up
You meet Min Yoongi on a hook-up app.
Or, technically, you meet his friends’ idea of him, because halfway through your lychee martini in a bar in Itaewon, he tells you, almost shyly, that he didn’t actually make his own profile.
Your ears perk. Catfish alert?
The bar’s dim, all amber light and vinyl grooves. A lamp’s glow casts a warm halo over the table, turning your drinks into little points of light. The table is small, just enough for two. The booth is a little tight so your closeness is unavoidable. Your knees brush, and in this proximity you’re able to appreciate his arms, sleeves rolled just enough to show pale wrists and a silver watch. It’s a fuckin’ Rolex.
“They said I needed help,” he explains, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Not really good at meeting people.”
Huh.
Seeing the gears turn in your head, he quickly adds, “I read it though, the profile. I mean, there’s nothing there that’s untrue. I promise.”
He says it so earnestly that you can’t even think he’s lying. But what’s sus is that this man, this fine shyt, in his perfectly pressed black button-up and dark jeans that fit like they were tailored, is telling you he can’t pull somebody so much so that his friends are staging a digital intervention? Min Yoongi looks too put-together, too composed, too hot to be wasting his time on a fuckin’ app.
You, on the other hand, are not above a good, quick lay. A few hours ago, you saw his photos and thought, okay, he’s probably one of those cocky, low-effort types who made being a rapper his entire personality. But since he looks like he can dick you down real good, you bite.
You’ve been on the app game long enough to know what you’re doing. You like it for the most part. The thrill, the flirting, the freedom of no strings attached. You’ve got a healthy sex life and you’re not shy about it. You’re a modern woman who likes sex. Sue you.
Still, every once in a while, when you’re scrolling through half-naked mirror pics or the classic male holding up a bass fish pose, you think maybe it’d be nice to have someone real someday. A homie you can actually bring home and not throw out the door at 3 a.m. But you haven’t met him yet. Not one person in Seoul is decent enough to survive dinner with your parents, which is probably why, for all your experience, you’ve never actually had a boyfriend.
But what you do have is a type. And it’s this guy times a trillion. You’ve always had a thing for feline eyes and bony fingers (both of which you immediately clock in that one pic of him holding a black mic).
Sitting beside him now, his voice low, his smile small but charming, he’s nothing like the overconfident fuckboy you assumed he’d be. He’s polite, careful with his words. Almost, dare you say, old-fashioned, like the whiskey he is nursing.
God you’re so confused!
“You’re my first match,” he admits, eyes flicking up from his lowball to meet yours.
Your stomach does this stupid flip, but you scold yourself, because this is a line, right? It absolutely has to be. This is not your first rodeo, but is he really saying this is his?
“First? Really now?” You clarify, one eyebrow shooting up to your hairline.
“Yeah,” he chuckles. “Didn’t think anyone would swipe right.”
LMFAO, please. He’s ridiculous! “You can’t be serious, Min Yoongi.”
“Deadass.” His smile tilts. “My friends tell me I have no game.”
You scoff. “Right. Because hot men who look like blind box collectibles are known to struggle on apps.”
He laughs under his breath, his arms rubbing against yours as his shoulder bobs. “So you think I’m hot?”
“I think you know you’re hot.”
“Mm.” He takes another slow sip and even in the dim lighting you notice his ears are burning red.
“I also said you kinda look like a Labubu.”
“Not the first time I heard that, so…”
You’re not sure if it’s the gin, the low purring sound he just made, or the way his tongue licks his lower lip, but your thighs press tight. He looks delectable and you’re more than ready to get a taste tonight.
But you try to reset your brain before it fries itself, keeping the banter going. “I’m curious. What would the real Min Yoongi have written if his friends hadn’t hijacked his phone?” you ask, swirling your straw.
He takes a beat to think of his response. “That I’m not just a rapper. I like to think of myself as a well-rounded musician more than anything, and… that I’m good with my hands.”
“Oh?”
“I make beats. I play instruments. What did you think I meant?”
“Oh my god,” you try to stifle your smile, leaning forward to let your hair cover your face. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
When you look sideways, though, his gums are pink and he’s smiling, too.
Conversation flows easily after that.
You watch the way the light catches the line of his jaw, sharp but softened by that damn smile. There’s a warmth to him that doesn’t match the black shirt, like he’s too gentle for his own cool aesthetic.
You talk about his music, about how he writes to clear his head. He asks about your work, expresses interest when you mention magazines and brands you work with. If his passion is in music, yours is fashion. He asks thoughtful questions, almost like he’s really trying to get to know you, not just filling the air with words before the inevitable, as how nights like this usually go.
“Okay music man,” you say, tracing the rim of your glass. “What kind of stuff do you make? Anything I’ve heard on Spotify?”
“Depends,” he replies, raking his fingers through his silky inky locks. “Mostly hip-hop. But I like taking something old, traditional melodies, random sounds, street noise, bits of conversation, and blending them into something that feels new, fresh.”
“That’s kinda sexy,” you blurt before your brain catches up. Maybe it isn’t, but his raspy voice makes everything sound like it is.
“Which part?” he teases.
“All of it,” you buckle down anyway. “Ever sneaked in something personal? Like you know being intimate with someone and hid it in a track?”
“Mm,” he hums, clearly amused. “You have a very vivid imagination, Miss Y/L/N.”
“And you’re not denying it.”
He smiles, enigmatic, before shifting gears slightly, to your mild dismay. “I don’t perform much these days anymore though. I like composing, everything from producing to lyrics, more on the back end—ah, you probably find this boring.”
“No, no,” unintentionally, your hand curls against his thigh.
He glances at your cerulean tips glinting under the bar lights over his trousers, a small grin playing on his lips.
You squeeze his thigh, and when he doesn’t flinch, you decide you’d leave your hand there for now. “Trust me, this is very interesting. Any artists I would know?”
“I recently wrote for this new rapper named P-dogg...”
“Wait… I thought rappers wrote their own shit?”
He gapes at you like you’re a genius. “That’s what I thought, too. But, eh, he’s a nice dude. And for the most part, his story is similar to mine. Struggled with the same shit, you know. Grew up poor, parents didn’t really get the hustle...”
Then he shifts the discussion to you. “What about you? You said you were a stylist?”
“Yeah. I’m a freelance fashion consultant. I do shoots, campaigns, sometimes event styling.”
“You like it?”
“Love it,” you reply. “It’s chaos I enjoy.”
“You do look like someone who thrives in chaos.”
“You callin’ me a hot mess?” You furrow your brows. “Or was that a compliment?”
“It was.” He leans forward slightly that you catch a whiff of what could be Invictus if your nose doesn’t fail you, and there’s something sincere in his eyes. “You seem like you know what you want.”
You tilt your head, hand sliding higher. “Do you?”
There’s both amusement and hesitation etched in his perfect face. “Working on it,” he says softly, before grasping the back of your hand and depositing it gingerly on your lap as he excuses himself to go to the bathroom.
Spine slouching against the leather backrest, you don’t know what to make of his escape. It’s really hard to get a read on him. But you’re not about to give up.
Cause that ass tho?
After another round of drinks (he opted for soda while you had another martini, dirty this time), and thirty full minutes of push-and-pull, you’re really worked up. Probably soaked down there, if you’re gonna be crass. There’s something about his pretty face that you just want to sit—
He clears his throat. You shake them nasty thots out.
Later on, he offers to drive you home and, of course, he owns a sensible SUV. His car smells like leather and a hint of something musky. It’s clean, but not zodiac killer clean.
Throughout the drive, you keep sneaking glances at him, waiting for some kind of move, anything to signify this is about to go down like you expect from meeting someone in a hook-up app.
However, there’s nothing. He’s not dropping spicy quips or hitting on you in that dirty way you were hoping for and you’re a tad bummed.
Yoongi keeps his hands on the wheel, knuckles relaxed, focus steady on the road. He’s even humming lowly to the bubblegum pop track on the radio.
You think about it. Of course, you can make the first move, lean over, and say something suggestive. Maybe you can place your hand again on his thigh, and if he smiles, you’ll close in on the package and give him a handy on the way back to your place.
Hold up. That’s probably unsafe. You need to think of another approach.
But before you can form your seduction plot, he randomly asks about your favorite kind of food. You answer ‘japanese,’ and he excitedly tells you about this restaurant his friend owns which has ‘unbelievable sashimi’. Your mouth is watering and you’re not sure if it’s because of the food he is describing or the way his lips are forming a pout. He talks about the restaurant a bit more and it actually seems like he is building up to book a second date. It’s just that your mind is well and truly in the gutter so you can’t process that right now.
Minutes of casual conversation pass and your confidence wanes. This comfortable dynamic between you feels too good to break with a sleazy move on your part, even though you’re wetter than tuna and you need him to…
“Hey, is this you?”
You glance out the window, and oh, you’re home.
He shifts the car into park, and looks at you with that cute, cat-like smile again. Why’d he have to be so god damn decent?
“This was nice,” he says.
Apparently you’re mute, but the voices in your brain are loud as hell. Nice? You could scream! You were hoping to do the verb without the S in front, but you’re not so lucky.
He steps out, walks around to open your door (because apparently he’s the kind of man who does that). You accept his hand as he walks you up the steps of your house and you notice how his fingers are a little cold and clammy. Man, you’d be so willing to warm him up if he’d just let you.
When you reach your doorstep, heart pounding, expecting at least a kiss… Yoongi goes in for a hug. But you can’t even be annoyed, because it’s warm, and solid, and feels like the comfort you didn’t think you needed. His shirt feels nice against your cheek. You squeeze him a little harder, just a second longer, enough to communicate without words that you appreciated this night, too. Even if it didn’t go exactly as you thought it would.
Finally, he pulls back and says, “Goodnight. I’ll text you, okay?”
Your teeth slide against the gloss on your lower lip as you nod, fingers tightening around your clutch, while butterflies flutter in your tummy.
You’re not sure if he’ll text you. It’s been a long time since you went on a date that didn’t turn into something else. It felt almost like a proper first date and you don’t quite know what to do with that information.
As you tuck yourself into bed that night, you think that maybe, just maybe, Min Yoongi is who you need to remind you that in a world full of douche bags, you got the one sporting a Valentino.
And that’s not a bad thing. Not a bad thing at all.
So Min Yoongi ghosted you. Of course he did.
At least that's what it feels like.
A week passes of no texts, no follow-ups, not even a like on any of your insta posts. You tell yourself it’s cool. You’ve been on dating apps long enough to know that silence usually means disinterest. And it’s not like you were expecting miracles. The man was dressed like old money meets underground musician. He was probably out of your league from the get-go.
Saturday morning comes. You still have eye boogers when you unlock your phone to an unexpected message on Kakao.
Yoongi: Hey. Dinner tonight? Remember that sushi place I told you about…
To be continued... [Date No. 2]
A/N: So....? What did we think? 👉👈
I'm really stoked about this one, so I hope y'all are, too! <3
See you in the comments and please reblog this with your review if you enjoyed. It’s the best way you can show your support. 💜
Thank you for reading, you lovely, beautiful human xo
And in case you’re curious, this is the pic in Yoongi’s app profile:
Swipe ➡️
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Divider by: @/solitary-serendipity
don't start
sypnosis: you keep bothering manon in class...after she clearly doesn't want you to, so she takes you back to her dorm and does something about it
pairing: dom!gp!manon x bratty!fem!reader
warnings/tags: nsfw content, spitting (sorry), choking, p in v, creampie, fingering, finger sucking
word count: 1.3k+
a/n: thank you to my friend mani for describing how she wanted me to write this lol
you sit next to her this time.
not behind. not across the room. right next to manon, thigh barely brushing hers every time either of you moves.
she notices immediately.
“don’t start,” she says, eyes still on her laptop.
you lean back in your chair, way too relaxed. “start what?”
she glances at you, unimpressed. “that look.”
“what look?”
“that one,” she says, finally meeting your eyes. “the one that says you’re about to be annoying as fuck.”
you smile. slow. deliberate. “you make it really easy.”
she scoffs, shaking her head, but the corner of her mouth twitches like she’s fighting a smile.
the professor starts talking. you pretend to listen for maybe thirty seconds before leaning closer.
“do you actually understand this manz?” you whisper.
she whispers back, “yes.”
“explain it to me.”
she exhales, clearly entertained despite herself. “you’re not even trying.”
you let your knee press against hers, just a little. “maybe i just like hearing you talk, baby.”
that gets her.
she straightens, eyes forward again. “stop flirting with me.”
your voice drops. “you’d tell me if you really wanted me to stop.”
her fingers pause over the keyboard.
you spend the rest of the lecture doing little things—passing her notes that say straight brainrot, bumping her elbow when she laughs at something dumb you whisper, watching her get more aware of every inch between you.
by the time class ends, she packs up fast.
“you’re trouble bruh,” she says, standing.
“you keep sitting next to me,” you reply. “sounds like a choice.”
she grabs your sleeve this time, tugging you along with her like it’s nothing. like she’s done it before.
“come on,” she says.
“taking me somewhere private already?” you tease. “i knew you liked me.”
she shoots you a look over her shoulder. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”
-
her dorm door shuts behind you, and suddenly the teasing feels heavier. quieter. the air shifts.
she drops her bag, turns to face you. crosses her arms.
“you enjoy pushing my buttons,” she says.
you step closer, unbothered. “you enjoy letting me.”
her eyes flick to your lips for half a second. just enough for you to catch it.
“you don’t know when to stop,” she murmurs.
you tilt your head. “you haven’t asked me to.”
that’s when she closes the distance.
not touching yet. just close enough that you can feel her warmth, her breath, the tension buzzing between you.
“careful,” she says softly. “or i might do something about it.”
you smile, heart racing. “promise?”
her lips touch yours, and it’s not gentle. her hands come up to frame your face, holding you in place while she kisses you hard, messy. you can feel her smile against your mouth.
she pulls back just enough to look at you. “you talk too much.”
“so make me quiet,” you breathe.
her eyes go dark. that’s all she needs.
in one smooth move, she turns you and pushes you back toward her bed. your knees hit the mattress and you fall onto it, looking up at her. she’s standing over you, pulling her shirt off. she’s lean, all muscle and intent. you can see the bulge in her jeans already.
“take yours off,” she says, her voice flat. not a request.
you scramble to pull your shirt over your head, fumble with your pants. she watches, not helping, her expression bored like she’s waiting for you to hurry up. when you’re finally naked, she unbuttons her jeans, pushes them and her boxers down just enough to free her cock. it’s already hard, curving up against her stomach.
she climbs onto the bed, knees on either side of your hips. she doesn’t lie down. she just stays there, looking down at you.
“you wanted this,” she says. it’s not a question.
“yeah.”
“say it.”
“i wanted this.”
she leans down, one hand bracing beside your head. her other hand slides between your legs, fingers sliding through your wetness. you gasp, arching up. she presses a single finger inside you, just to the first knuckle, then pulls it out.
“so fucking ready,” she murmurs, almost to herself. she brings her wet finger to your lips. “taste.”
you open your mouth. she presses her finger against your tongue. you taste yourself, salty and sharp. she watches your face as you suck her finger clean.
then her hand moves to your throat.
her palm is warm. her fingers press against the sides, not squeezing yet, just holding. a threat. a promise.
“you’re mine right now,” she says, her voice low. “you understand? you do what i say.”
you nod, the movement small against her hand. “yes.”
“good.”
she spits. it lands on your lips, a warm, wet shock. your mouth opens on instinct and she spits again, this time into your mouth. you swallow, your eyes watering a little. she smiles, a real one this time.
“fuck,” you whisper.
she kisses you again, messy and deep, her tongue in your mouth. you can still taste her spit. her hand leaves your throat, moves down between your bodies. she guides herself to your entrance, the head of her cock nudging against you.
she doesn’t push in. she just rocks against you, the pressure maddening.
“manon, please,” you hear yourself beg.
“please what?”
“fuck me.”
“since you asked so nice.”
she pushes in.
it’s a slow, brutal stretch. you gasp, your nails digging into her shoulders. she’s big, and she doesn’t stop until she’s all the way in, her hips flush against yours. she lets out a shaky breath, her forehead dropping to yours.
“fuck,” she breathes. “you feel so good.”
she starts to move. slow, deep thrusts that make you see stars. she keeps most of her weight on her elbows, caging you in. every time she pushes in, your back presses deeper into the mattress. the sound of skin on skin fills the room, wet and loud.
her hand comes back to your throat. this time, she squeezes.
not enough to hurt, not really. but enough to make your head swim, to make the pleasure feel sharper, brighter. your vision blurs at the edges. you can’t look away from her face, from her focused eyes watching you fall apart.
“you like that?” she asks, her thrusts getting harder, faster. “you like when i take what i want?”
all you can do is nod, a choked-off sound escaping your throat.
she leans down, her lips against your ear. “come for me. right now.”
your body listens. the pressure that’s been building snaps, flooding through you in hot, endless waves. you cry out, your back arching off the bed, your walls clenching around her.
she groans, a rough, broken sound. her hips stutter. her hand tightens on your throat for one perfect, dizzying second as she pushes deep and stays there. you can feel her pulsing inside you, hot and wet.
she collapses on top of you, her weight heavy and perfect. her face is buried in your neck, her breath hot on your skin. you can feel her heart hammering against your chest.
for a long minute, neither of you moves. the only sound is your breathing, slowly coming back down.
she shifts, pulling out of you gently. a messy, wet feeling follows. she rolls onto her side beside you, one arm thrown over her eyes.
“holy shit,” she says, her voice rough.
you turn your head to look at her. “told you i was cute.”
she laughs, a short, surprised sound. she turns her head, looks at you. her eyes are soft in a way you’ve never seen before. she reaches out, brushes a piece of hair off your sweaty forehead.
“annoying as fuck,” she says, but she’s smiling. “and yeah. cute.”
you settle into the quiet, the warmth of her body next to yours. your whole body feels liquid, used, perfect.
she props herself up on an elbow, looking down at you. “so.”
“so.”
“you’re staying the night.”
drew and actress!reader as celebrity substitutes
masterlist | actress!reader masterlist
based on an ask + bc i love this series so much. i know they usually have them do a “lesson”, but for this i just did the q and a because its so cute lol
You’d think speaking in front of an audience would be pretty easy for a pair of actors, right? Well, not if that audience consists of fifth graders with lots and lots of questions for their new substitute teachers, Drew Starkey and Y/n Y/ln.
The outfit planning for the interview had been quite fun, with both y/n and Drew getting the chance to put on their best “teacher outfit”. For y/n, that consisted of a tiered, gingham skirt, a chunky cardigan, and a handful of some of her more fun jewelry pieces she’d been looking for an opportunity to wear. For Drew, that consisted of a sweater over top of a white button down and a pair of jeans. Y/n had tried to convince him to wear a pair of glasses, but…
“They’d make you look studious.” Y/n said, holding up the glasses. Drew sighed, taking them reluctantly and putting them on his face. Y/n’s eyes immediately widened as she let out an involuntary noise that made Drew furrow his brows in confusion.
“Acutally,” y/n reached up to quickly snatch the glasses away, “I don’t think I can be calm if you wear those and we need to be good examples for the children.”
So, after some time getting briefed on what their “lesson” for the day would entail— an acting class taught by two distinguished actors— it was finally time to begin. They stood outside the classroom, Drew’s hand falling to smooth along y/n’s lower back absentmindedly.
“Alright, one last thing before we send you guys off…” the teacher whose class they would be “substituting” said, “it is time to give you your official substitute name tags!”
Y/n and Drew grinned as the teacher came forward and placed “Mr Drew” and “Ms Y/n” nametags on their shirts. She glanced over at him, the two of them smiling widely before straightening up and making their way into the classroom.
The children let out excited squeals, waving enthusiastically as y/n and Drew entered the room. Drew hunched down slightly, getting a bit closer to the children’s height.
“Hello, boys and girls, here are your substitutes for today!” The interviewer said, gesturing to the two of them as they waved once more to the children.
“Hi, I’m Ms Y/n.” Y/n grinned.
“And I’m Mr Drew.” Drew said. As soon as they finished introducing themselves, a barrage of hands shot up.
“Oh, well, it looks like you’ve got a lot of questions, so I will leave you to it!” The interviewer said with a chuckle before exiting the classroom.
“Oh, wow, you guys are very curious.” Y/n laughed before choosing one of the eager students.
“How did you get to be so tall?” A young boy asked, pointing at Drew. Drew tried to stifle his laughter, sparing a quick glance at y/n who was doing the same.
“Um, I don’t know,” Drew said, “I guess I just… made sure to eat all my vegetables.”
A couple of the children let out exasperated gasps and “yucks!”.
“That is good advice, Mr Drew.” Y/n teased before picking another child to ask their question.
“How do you remember all the things you have to say for the movie?” One of the kids asked. Y/n nodded, letting out a hum.
“Well,” y/n explained, “we have to read this thing called a script, which is like the story for the movie, and it tells you all the things you have to say, which we call lines. So, what I do is I make sure to read my lines a lot and do a lot of practice so I can really make sure I remember them.”
“Yeah,” Drew agreed, “and sometimes it can be very helpful to practice your lines with a friend.”
“Do you guys practice your lines together?” The child asked.
“Sometimes, yeah.” Y/n grinned before selecting the next child to ask a question.
“Have you ever, uh, been in a TV show?” A child asked.
“We have,” Drew said with a nod. “Actually, that is how we met.”
“Yep,” y/n continued, “we met on a show called ‘Outer Banks’... maybe a little bit too old for you guys, might have to wait a few years before you watch it.”
“Lots of fighting and kissing, you guys don’t want to see any of that gross stuff.” Drew teased, causing y/n to giggle.a
“Did you— have you ever kissed someone in a movie?” The little girl asked bluntly. Y/n laughed out loud before quickly containing herself. Drew’s cheeks flushed bright red.
“Wow, these are great questions,” y/n laughed. “But yes, I have. Sometimes the script has you do that.”
The little girl’s mouth fell open dramatically, her hands slamming on the desk.
“Have you had to kiss Mr Drew?!” A naughty student blurted out with a giggle, his comment quickly throwing the room into a mess of even more giggles. Y/n and Drew’s mouths fell agape, y/n clamping a hand over her face as she let out a guffaw.
“Oh jeez.” Drew sighed, running a hand through his hair.
“I, uh…” Y/n felt her cheeks warm as she glanced over at Drew. “I have… for the TV show, of course.”
Y/n winked playfully, the children still oblivious to y/n and Drew’s relationship. The children erupted into shouts and giggles, the children jumping up and down excitedly. Y/n’s eyes widened, shocked by the children’s over the top reaction.
“Ok, ok, no more questions about kissing!” Drew said with a chuckle. Another kids’ hand shot up.
“I have a question for Ms Y/n.” The child said, pointing at y/n.
“Mhmm?” Y/n hummed, listening intently.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” The kid asked. Y/n shook her head with a chuckle before looking over at Drew, the two of them sharing a glance and wondering how exactly they let the situation become so out of control.
“I, umm…” y/n laughed. “I do not have a ‘boyfriend’. I am actually married, so I have a husband.”
The kids let out amused hums.
“Is your husband an actor too?” Another child asked.
“Haha, yes he is.” Y/n laughed, noticing a smirk spreading across Drew’s lips.
“Is it Timothee Chalamet?” A young girl asked, which caused y/n to let out a sputtering laugh.
“No, no it is not.” Y/n chuckled. Drew, noticing an opportunity to really blow the kids’ minds raised his hand slightly to get the squealy children' s attention.
“Do you guys want to know something really crazy?” Drew said with a wide smile.
“YES!” The children practically screamed in unison, a few even slapping at their desks with ripe anticipation.
“I am her husband.” Drew said, raising his eyebrows with a satisfied smirk. “I’m married to Ms Y/n.”
You would’ve thought a bus crashed into the classroom with the chaos that erupted. Y/n threw her head back and let out a cackle, Drew chuckling as he draped his arms across her shoulder and shook her playfully.
“I can’t believe you encouraged them like that.” Y/n whispered, wrapping her arm around Drew’s torso as the two of them stood side by side in front of the kids.
“Ah, you love it.” Drew brushed her off with a chuckle before turning back towards the chaos of the classroom.
“Alrighty, guys, do you have any more questions?” Drew asked, nearly all of the children raising their hands excitedly.
“About acting.” Y/n clarified… all of the children’s hands went down.
taglist: @ladyatwalmart @lilfreakjez @starkeyslutzz @maiya-16 @wolfcin04 @rana030 @sophiesmovingcastle5 @blushmimi @awrad2 @kaiparkerwife @starkeyjoseph @barnes70stark @ethanthequeefqueen @drewstarkeybroughtmehere @lukewearingbeanies @spideysquake @ethanthequeefqueen @bbybrunetteee @drewstarkeyswife-7 @rayasromances
ONE SHOT : ADDICTED TO YOU
Pairing : Hugo Ekitike x Black reader
Summary : As the frontiere between love and hate is thin, sometimes breaking up is the best option, but what happens when a story is unfinished.
Warnings (+18) : angst, sprinkle of toxicity, mention of miscarriage and SMUT (not for the kids) - WC: 5.9
A/N : My first Hugo one shot. When I started to write it, I kinda liked it but now I find it meh. Haven't wrote smut for months so I lowkey find it cringe 😅 Please be patient, I'm just getting back to it. Tell me what you think tho. Thanks for the love and support despite my inconsistency. 2026 and I'm still incapable of writing short stories lol.
Writing takes a lot of time, if you enjoyed, please reblog, comment and interact. Don't be shy. That's why the anon button exists. English is not my first language.
The doorbell resounds in the two-bedroom apartment. The loudest sound she has heard in a span of two days. She jumps in surprise, forced out of her TV show and the comfort of her blanket. In a hurry, she opens the door, her heart jumping in excitement and joy. Although it has been more than a year, being away from her baby girl for more than 48 hours is still a difficult task. The five-year-old girl barely waits until the door fully opens. Within seconds, she is tightly hugging her mother with all the strength her small arms could gather.
”Oh, hi, baby. I missed you so much.”
”You too, Maman."
Forty-eight hours is all it took for her to switch to French as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She sniffs her bubblegum shower gel, savouring each second of her small frame wrapped around her neck as if she were the most precious plushie in the world. Before having her princess, she always thought mothers were exaggerating.
”Yeah, you’ll see when you meet her. That love is something else.” All those made-up sentences are actually not fabricated. To this day, she is unable to explain how her heart swells with love each time she sees her daughter. That sandalwood skin tone mixed with her father’s features for the most part: eyes, lips, cheekbones, and curls. Her nose being the only feature genetics had granted her daughter.
”Look at my new hair, Maman. Papa asked his hairstylist to braid my hair. You like it?”
Her body tenses, reviving sour memories. She silently inspects the hair while cautiously ignoring the man behind her daughter, who also happens to be the father of her beautiful princess. The two buns she previously had were traded for twists decorated with pink bows and pom-poms. Her favorite color. A cute and appropriate style for her age.
”I love it. You look great, princess.” She grins, admiring one of the reasons why she always wanted to improve and become the best version of herself.
”Bonsoir, madame," Hugo says, reminding them of his presence.
The response is evasive, rapid, ”Hi, Hugo,” but courteous enough to not alert her daughter. From her five years on earth, she could read rooms better than 60% of adults. The little girl could feel tension, genuine love, or sadness from a mile away. Her eyes carefully avoid Hugo’s as she joins the living room. He is right behind, his eyes shamelessly checking her ass in high-waisted jeans. Somehow, his jaw is tighter than usual, displaying the calmer and more serious side of him. Surprisingly, she notices how he slowed down on hair bleach. The short black curls on his head perfectly complement his white and blue tracksuit. She spots it all but prefers to ignore it and focus on her baby.
”Tell me what you’ve done with Dad this weekend.”
”I watched him play at Anfield, maman. It was super cool!” she joyfully explains, putting a smile on her parents’ faces. ”I want to be a baller when I grow up and play for Liverpool too, like Papa."
"Not like Papa. Better than Papa,” he surrenders with his French accent. The same accent she found irresistible six years ago. Her heart almost melts at the sight of her baby running to her dad only to be pampered with kisses all over her head. No matter what happened between them, Hugo is a fantastic dad. She could never deny it. Their eyes meet for a second, and she looks away. Not out of fear or regrets, but more because she refuses to make the same mistake over and over again.
****
Their little princess has fallen asleep in her pink princess-themed bedroom, leaving Hugo and her alone in the apartment. The agreement was clear. He stays until bedtime and then leaves. That innocent soul never asked for such turmoil.
The minimum they could do is put their issue to the side for her well-being and balance. Through the door she peeks at him, leaning over her, his face gently caressing her head as she boards for dreamland. She spots the sadness in his eyes. It never fails. Common goodbyes do not mean easier.
”Papa t'aime, ma princesse. Quatorze jours sans toi, c’est long. Tu me manques tous les jours.” - Daddy loves you, princess. Fourteen days without you is long. I miss you every day.
Her heart sinks. Despite not being able to speak, she understands French quite well thanks to him. Very unserious but efficient teacher. Probably the best she ever had. Fourteen days without seeing his baby – she can only imagine how difficult it must be. However, she is not changing her mind. They split for a reason. What was once deeply passionate turned into something borderline toxic.
Hugo soon joins her in the kitchen. The sadness is now replaced by something she could spot from a mile away: frustration.
”It’s great to see how happy she is when she comes back home. Before she used to cry and all…" She stops with a head shake, rejecting that silent heartache. "Anyway. She’s asleep. You should probably leave.”
”I’m not in a rush, madame.”
Her eyes close in an attempt to keep her cool. ”Can you stop calling me madame, please?”
”Why not? It’s a form of respect.”
She rolls her eyes in annoyance. ”It’s getting late, Hugo. I’m working tomorrow.”
”Yeah. I plan to leave, don’t worry. The jeans look very nice.” Another eye roll as she focused on her meal prep for the week. Why don’t you hire a cook? I give you money each month, and I pay for the apartment. So money isn’t an excuse.”
”I know, but I enjoy cooking and keeping myself busy. Helps to keep a clear mind.”
”Clear mind about what? About us?” His tone is subtle, daring, yet confident.
That conversation was coming. It never fails every time she opens her bedroom door for him. “Hugo, we’re simply coparenting now. There’s no us.”
”Hum, is that because of that doctor?”
She calmly put down the glass recipient before turning to him. Her eyes scanning him from head to toe as her heart beats faster. Little princess probably ran her mouth a bit much. He was not supposed to know.
He adds with that low flirty tone, ”Had fun last night, hum? In your red tight dress. You’re bad, my love. You know red is my favourite colour on you.”
”I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was chilling at home.” As long as he has no tangible proof, she can deny.
He rests his back against her fridge, taking time to observe her. ”Pfff. You’re lying now? What I know is my princess isn’t a liar. She heard what she heard and saw what she saw.”
Yeah, her own daughter certainly overheard something she should not have. For the dress, yes, she should have avoided trying it in front of her daughter. Still, she could not resist the little girl's excitement each time she tries new clothes in front of her. Kids, kids, kids. No secrets are safe with them. Dating is something new. After years, she finally has decided to give it a try. The last thing she needs is her baby daddy policing her.
”That’s none of your business anyway. You’re not my man anymore.”
”Not your man, but you’re still fucking me? Very funny.”
”There’s nothing funny. You're sleeping with other girls too.” She pauses, crossing her arms. ”By the way, I don’t ever want that bitch to touch my daughter’s hair. She had done enough damage, and you still allow her to be around my baby.”
Hugo lightly chuckles, which often happens when he is uncomfortable. ”I’m not stupid. It’s not her. It’s another one who never saw me naked, if it can make you feel better.” The smile disappears on his face when he notices her serious posture.
”I…just thought that it’s better for you if I take care of that. You have more free time.” He reassures. The intention was cute, but she could not fall for his antics once more.
”I highly doubt you’re bringing that doctor around to check on my baby tho.” Even during fights he always delivered responses that flirted with goofiness and provocation. "The good news is she already has a great doctor, her grandpa.” She had a hard time swallowing as anger slowly built in. After everything that has happened between them, he had no right to comment on her life.
”I date whoever I want, Hugo, and there’s nothing you can tell me. I’m not like you. I’m not bringing my hoes around my baby.”
He slightly opens his mouth in shock. "Who do I bring? Name one hoe.”
”That ex-hairstylist of yours. I told you from day one she was thirsty and you should be careful around her, but no… You didn’t listen. What happened next?” She takes one step forward, her fingers angrily gesturing in the air. Two years later, the loss still hurt all the same. Time does not necessarily heal. You just learn to live with the pain.
”Say what happened next, Hugo. You got all that mouth and energy. Come on.” Her voice gets higher than intended. The venom of resentment audible behind every syllable. The room goes quiet as they both stare at one another. The ghost of their past hanging over their heads.
”My baby boy would be there if it wasn’t for you and your foolishness.”
Hugo looks away, gulping to hide his guilt. It’s unfair, mean to blame it on him, but anger and resentment often remove common sense from the equation.
”That’s not fair… You know it. I never wanted to kill my baby.”
”I never said that.”
”Yes, you’ve said it once… Weeks before we separate. It hurts. It really do. If I could go back in time, I’d change everything.” The pain suddenly feels too heavy to carry. So much so, she bursts out in tears. That interaction is sufficient enough to remind them why they broke up in the first place. Each day was similar to this one.
Fight, cry, have temporary peace, great sex in between, and then replay. She played and played until she had no energy left to click on replay. Instead, she pressed quit.
Hugo rushes by her side, gently patting her back. She wishes her body and heart were connected with her brain. Those fingers should not make her heart jump the way it does. Hugo gently leans in and kisses the top of her head. Out of anger, she firmly frees herself from his embrace. The flashback comes back uninvited.
****
Her on the road, crying her eyes out as she drives to her parents’ house. After their seventh fight of the week, she prefers to leave before things get out of hand. The text messages were clear. He slept with his hairstylist during their two-month break. Basically confirming what she feared the first time she met her. Envy was written all over her pupils.
If it were not for the long corridor separating their room from hers, their little princess would have woken up. "Instead of thinking about us, you were out there sticking your dick out. Fuck you! Va te faire foutre, as French people say. Cherry on top, she's still coming home as if nothing happened. Do you even care about me? About us?”
He tries to de-escalate without much success. ”Love, calm down. Of course, I care. She’s just coming to do our baby’s hair, nothing more. It only happened during our break, I swear.”
”I don’t give a fuck. I’m out. I’m going to my parents' house before I do something very stupid.”
Another attempt to stop her, another failure. The quickness with which she frees her wrist from his grip says it all. She is not mad. She is furious. ”It’s late, madame. You’re pregnant. Please, calm down.”
Stuff is thrown in a Bottega duffle bag. One he randomly gifted her after she had a tough day, just because the smile on her face meant the world for him. Right now all she needs is a fresh breath of air. An atmosphere that has not been polluted by Hugo’s presence. ”Yeah, I’m pregnant. I don’t need all that useless stress. I hate you so fucking much, Hugo. You have no idea. I warned you ten times about that bitch, but you fell for it anyway.”
Remorse eats him alive as he once again desperately catches her wrist. ”Stop it. We can talk it out.” She vigorously frees herself from his grip. Thank God, anger could not morph humans into animals or creatures. If that were the case, Hugo would be facing a dragon, spitting fire on him.
”Talk with the wall. I’m out. I’ll be back tomorrow to pick up my princess.” Threatening Hugo to take his princess away is like pressing a silent trigger that shot him straight in the heart. It could not happen. Not today, not tomorrow.
”No, princess is staying here. You’re not going anywhere with her.”
The tension in the room escalates. She stops, her eyes observing him like a mad man. ”Why not? You don’t deserve our family. You deserve nothing, you fucking liar. I asked you three times to be honest before we get back together, and you lied to my face.”
Hugo chooses to ignore the fingers agitating in his face. The way her words cut deep. His priorities lay somewhere else. ”It doesn’t matter. My princess isn’t going anywhere.” His tone is firmer. The usual chill posture he often displays, replaced by seriousness.
”Want to bet?”
”I’m not playing these games with my baby’s comfort.” He pauses, his chest rising rapidly as he tries to push his own frustrations to the side without much success." Don’t act innocent either. Bryan told me you were on a date with your fucking colleague. The one who always gifts you jewellery for your birthday. I swear on my life, if I see him one day…”
She nervously laughs. ”You’re so pathetic, it’s almost funny. If you had asked, you’d have known that it was a business dinner. Nothing more. He’s leaving the company next month. If I really wanted to sleep with him, I would have. Unlike you, he can see my value."
Hugo takes the jab and closes his eyes. ”Yes, I should have said the truth, but we wouldn’t be together if I did, so no regrets. We have a baby boy on the way. So I regret absolutely nothing.”
”I do regret something.” She pauses. ”I regret not sleeping with my colleague.” The acerbic tone is more pronounced than usual. She means what she just said, a pill Hugo could not swallow.
”Don’t say shit you don’t mean. Sleeping with him while my baby is in your womb? I dare you.” He pauses before repeating louder than before. ”I dare you to.”
”I’m not doing it because my babies come first. It’s not because of you or us.” Without adding another word, she exits the room, heading to one of the most painful experiences of her life.
The road is calm. Nothing particular to signal. Yet a mere second is all it took. One moment of inattention. One thought about Hugo. A small heartache. That was enough for her not to see the car coming on her right as she entered the roundabout.
The car's lights blinding for her a moment before the collision happened. The four-month baby growing in her stomach and her little girl are all she can think about. Then she remembers waking up in a hospital where a doctor brought the bad news. She was no longer pregnant.
****
The weight of guilt brings her back into the present moment. They allow the silence of unsaid confessions to linger over their heads. Hugo finally breaks it. ”If I could go back in time, I would have handled things differently because I care about my family. I care about us and I hate that new distance.”
”No, Hugo. If you really cared, you would’ve been honest that day.”
”Yeah, I made a mistake that night, but you can’t keep accusing me as if I killed my baby.” The small crack in his voice makes her heart sink in her chest. She is harsh, she knows. It was not his fault, nor hers. Even though it took time to get to that conclusion.
She defends herself, ”I never said that.”
"This is what you imply every time we bring the topic.”
”It doesn’t matter. It’s too late. There’s no coming back.” Hugo silently stares at her, his eyes full of guilt and regrets. Apparently not sufficient enough to stop his natural audacity.
”I agree. The past is behind us, but some realities are there. You’re a mother. Safety is important. You shouldn’t let random men near you.”
She explodes out of laugher. The audacity of men will cease to amaze her. ”You’ll never change. Almost two years later and you’re still ridiculous. Time to leave, it’s late.” The Cartier watch he gifted her, almost in his face as she points to the golden face.
The gesture was apparently vain. Hugo barely moves. ”If you’re messing around with him, I need to know because last time I checked we’re still fucking.”
That sentence hits, a brutal call back to reality. She cannot have her cake and eat it too. Only two options are left: really moving on or keeping pretending. Lose him for good or close the doors to new meetings. For now, her heart and mind had a different conclusion.
She finally responds with a calmness that even surprises her inner voice. ”Don’t worry, you have nothing to fear. Being your baby mom is more than enough. I learnt my lesson.”
”What you mean you learned your lesson? You regret having our princess?”
No matter how it ends between them, there is no universe where she regrets giving birth to such an amazing human being. Her little baby, her princess who unlocked new levels of love. If she had to do it all over again, she would. ”Don’t play dumb. This isn’t what I mean. I’d never regret my baby.”
”Our baby. Last I checked, if it wasn’t for my sperm. No baby.”
Unfortunately, she bursts out laughing, hating herself for it. The same silly jokes are one of the reasons why she fell in love in the first place. ”Get out of my apartment, Hugo.” That attempt is even worse than the first one. Her front is gone, drowned by uncontrollable giggles.
”Is he as funny as me?” Her silence comforts him. There is still hope for them.
Hugo crosses his arms, a smirk plastered on his face as he confidently says, ”Knew it. No one can make you laugh like I do.”
This time her tone is a bit firmer: ”Don’t get too cocky.”
”Oh, please not that word.”
She rolls her eyes to stop another giggle. A very difficult task seeing the grimace on his face. Unfortunately, she fails once again. The memory behind that word is too funny for not stay composed.
”I can’t believe you thought that 'cocky' meant having a big cock back then.” She laughs, her belly trembling under the uncontrollable laughter. Hugo cannot resist and joins her. The tension gradually dies down as they both remember that specific moment.
”I was young.”
”Not that young, Hugo.”
”I’m a changed man.” She grimaces with a fake frown before refocusing on her meal prep.
”Need any help?”
”No, thanks. I’m trying to avoid food poisoning.”
”Very funny.”
”Don’t take it personally. I don’t trust you near a kitchen.”
”Okay, I’ll keep you company then.”
”No, you should go home. That was the deal.” She warns him.
”I won’t bother, promise.” Another promise he failed to uphold as time passes. It first started with regular, innocent conversations about football and work gossip.
”No, swear? Jasmine and Harry were messing around?” His curious tone and expression only added a component to a chemistry that could explode at any time.
She nods vigorously, clearly more invested in that conversation than she should. ”I told you. Something was off. You didn’t believe me.”
”That’s crazy! Give me more details. Did his wife file for divorce?”
In less than a minute, one of their old weekly rituals is back to life. Small gossip sessions, they commented like TV reality shows. She was not a big gossip fan, but Hugo's opinion and comments changed her perspective. The more they shared, the more distance between their bodies shrunk until his arms rested on her chest, just how she liked being hugged from behind.
Even months, years after the breakup, her heart resisted the test of time. The small jumps are still there, as loud as they were in the past. The only difference relies on her brain. That gesture can no longer fool her. The feelings persist, but the fantasy has crumbled like a house of cards.
”Hugo…You’re getting way too comfortable. Two laughs and a gossip moment don’t mean anything.” That protest sounds as convincing as a politician's speech in the middle of a campaign. If she does not believe her words, Hugo probably will not.
His hot breath on her neck and the whisper in her ear trigger the desire she miserably fails to tame each time they end up alone. ”It’s not the laughs, we both know.” The tone of his voice is deeper, his French accent heavier than usual. A subtle switch that rings home.
”I know nothing.”
”Don’t you miss that?”
Funnily enough, she has not even tried to push him back or free herself from his warm and sincere embrace. The miserable pleas she pronounces will not save her. ”Hugo, please.”
”Look at us and you’re ready to throw that away, hum?” Hugo pauses, humming her expensive powdery perfume. ”You're going to give my pussy away?”
”Your pussy? Listen, my daughter is sleeping. Don’t piss me off.” This time, she gets out of his embrace, letting the coldness of the room hit her. Hugo does not move. Instead, he smiles, almost laughing at the situation.
”Yes, my pussy. That’s what you were saying two weeks ago, non? That it’s mine and mine only.”
She gulps, remembering how their bodies perfectly moved in unison. How his name slipped out of her mouth like silk on skin. How she kept repeating yours each time he asked who that pussy belongs to. Her skin burns in shame and lust, but she stays composed.
”Stop taking me seriously in bed. I’d say whatever to reach my peak.”
The giggles he tried to contain for the longest finally come out. ”Lies. If it was just for your peak, you’d stay quiet. You have too much ego and a big mouth.”
”You’re lucky. You’re my baby daddy.” She replies, stopping the curses that wanted to spill out. ”I warned you anyway. What happened two weeks ago will never happen again. If we’re really serious about our separation, we shouldn’t do that… I also don’t want our baby to suffer or be confused about the situation.”
”How do you...?" He hardly has time to finish his question.
”She asked last week. Why did Daddy stay in your room? Are you back together?”
He looks down, guilt flashing through his eyes. ”Merde.” - Shit
”We’re not only hurting ourselves, we’re hurting her, Hugo.”
The hope sparkling behind her brown eyes still lingers on her mind. For the first time, she realised that their foolishness could impact their baby.
”I cannot help when I’m next to you. I miss you, love.”
”Hugo, please. We broke up for a reason.”
Love and hate share a thin frontier she had no desire to cross. The toxicity became unbearable. For the sake of their family, she had decided to put an end to their story. Of course, it hurt as she still loved Hugo.
”Don’t you think we can do better?”
”Hugo, please.”
”I give anything to be your man again.”
”Hum. You’re just getting jealous, Hugo.”
”Stop lying. Last time I told you.”
She sarcastically laughs, ”After nasty sex? That doesn’t count.”
”We should try therapy. Please. Something. I want my family back.”
”I heard that before. That’s the issue. Are you sure you're not saying all of that to get in my panties?”
”Pfff, no need to. If I really wanted, you’d already be screaming my name.”
She snorts with annoyance. ”You love gassing yourself up with lies.”
”That’s not a lie. I know that body like I know the ball.”
”Once again, you’re getting cocky.”
”Should I remind you?”
”No, I’m fine.” Each caress on her ass gets harder to resist. Instinctively, her behind pushes against his big palms.
”Lemme make you feel good one more night. Just one night.”
”I hate you.”
”No, you don’t.”
Hugo's hands start to travel all over her hips and ass right before landing on her breast. She turns her head to the side, facing him. Their eyes lock. Her mouth opens up, ready to receive attention.
"I miss you." A murmur against her lips without even touching them. Two years later those words had the same effect on her. She gulps as the inside fight between her heart and mind roars.
There is no time to process as Hugo delicately grabs her chin to claim her lips. No more holding back, she gives in. Her body warms up as their lips move in perfect unison. Protected from the storm of their breakup.
It is feverish, explosive and reveals a desire none of them could fight even if they wanted to. His tongue finds a way in her mouth, and she lets him. All she cares right now is taming the burning heat of her body. His grip tightens around her waist and chin, leaving no space between them. She moans in his mouth, grinding and pushing her hips against his hardening member.
"You feel that? It's just for you." She looks in his eyes before scrunching her nose against his. Both of them grinding, thirsty for some friction. The roll of her hips is intentional. She gasps, feeling him against her ass.
"Hugo..." she pleads with need. Something needed to be done about her wetness.
"Sssh. I'm right here."
With both hands, he firmly grabs her hips. That French accent thickens as he whispers at the shell of her ear, "Going to show you how much I know that body."
The warmth of this tongue against her ear fuels her desire. His fingers leave her hips to gently surround her neck. She is directed against the fridge. Her heart starts to race with excitement, prepared for what is coming next.
"You're doing such a great job with our princess. You deserve to feel good." His free hand passes over her collarbone before groping one boob.
She moans out loud, enjoying the warmth of his palm against her hard nipples, perfectly massaging her. "Your period is coming soon, non? They're tender than usual."
If only she could prove him wrong, but the feeling of his thumb brushing against her nipples distracts her. The small gentle pinch pushes the tension within her body to the max.
"Told you I know that body, love."
Before she can protest, he is nibbling on her lower lip. Waiting is not her forte, so she crashed her lips against his, gripping his curls to push his mouth on hers, holding him as close as she can while his palm plays with her boob.
"Hugo! We should go to the bedroom. I don't want her to see us...we never know."
"She's a heavy sleeper, don't worry."
"Hugo! She can—"
"Please." He pauses, tenderly grabbing her chin. "Think of the present. How good you're going to feel... stop worrying. You know she never wakes up like that."
Hugo takes the opportunity to remove her top and bra, revealing fuller boobs than usual. Yes, her period is right around the corner. Her back is now against the cold fridge as he hungrily sucks her nipples.
"Hugo. Please. I..."
"You what, love?" He responds with a prideful smile on his face. Her panties are ruined by the time he hastily unbuttons her jeans. The grin on his face spoke before he could, "Red lace thong. My favourite. Nothing should happen between us, but you're wearing that when I'm around."
"Coincidence. Relax."
"You know what that ass does to me, bébé. How crazy it drives me." His palm finds its place on her right cheek, gently squeezing it. Without wasting more time, he sinks on his knees. One of her legs is placed on his shoulder.
"Hmm. I'm going to remind you why it's my pussy and no one else's." The first lick leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. She needs him bare with no lace between them. Knowing him, she will probably have to wait.
"So good, love."
Then came his mouth around her clit. Sucking on it with the pressure that drives her crazy. She throws her head back, savouring his mouth on her. Everything builds up. That familiar sensation in her stomach grows. Saying that she did not miss that would be a lie.
Her thong is pushed to the side before the warmth of his tongue teases her entrance and collects the proof of her arousal.
"Putain. All of that for me? I'm such a lucky guy." He sucks on her clit earning a gasp from her. It is intense. Unconsciously, her hips start to rock forward, riding his face, chasing her high. She grips the curls on his face as he flattens his tongue, collecting her wetness.
"Look at how desperate you are...grinding on my face."
She places her free hand on her mouth to stop the screams. The situation is confusing enough. From her slit to her clit, she gets attention from his tongue. He gives her a minute to recover before resuming his task.
"Give me my favourite juice. Let me taste you."
Her legs start to shake as her vision blurs. The wave of pleasure taking over as she follows the flow. He keeps slurping, coating his chin with her essence. That view could suffice to send her back there.
"Mets la moi maintenant."
"Taste yourself first."
He rises from his knees before sliding his tongue in her mouth. Her hands find his curls, pushing his mouth against her own. She grows wet each time her tongue plays with his. When they split, she keeps her mouth open and tongue out. He grins before spitting in her mouth. With enthusiasm, she swallows.
*****
"Hands on the fridge." His tone is firm just like the grip on her hips. It might not be their first time in the kitchen, but using the fridge is a premiere. Usually everything happens on the counter.
She hears some ruffles before the fresh air hits her bare, throbbing core. A small scream escapes when he feels his palm against her cheek.
"I love that ass. I hope you know that."
"Hmmmm. I think I know." The memories of him eating and licking her back door flood her mind. Very nasty, but coming from him, nothing surprises her.
"Next time, I'm eating that ass again."
She teases, "Who told you about a next time?"
"You're going to in a minute."
The first stroke knocks the air out of her lungs. She moans desperately, her hands pushing into the fridge.
"Fuck...big..." Her words no longer make sense, not when her pussy is getting stretched by him.
He slowly pushes his hips forward. She refrains a scream by grabbing his free hand and placing his fingers inside of her mouth.
"That's it. Suck on them, love."
Drool falls down to the floor, but neither seems to care. Too preoccupied with their pleasure. Her juice running down her thighs makes the most sinful sounds.
"Damn...I thought you were done with me, ugh. Why are you so wet then?"
Deep and slow, just how she likes it. Rubbing against the spot that drove her crazy. She wants to scream his name. Let the world know how good he makes her feel. Fortunately, his fingers muffle the sounds. One of her hands finds her clit and rubs. Horniness is driving her crazy. He grabs her hair, forcing her to arch her back and go deeper. Their eyes lock and she pushes her hips back on him.
"That's my pussy or not?"
"Yours. Fucking take it."
”Say that again.”
"Oui all yours." Hearing him speak French sent her over the edge. Both of her hands hardly grip the fridge as her walls throb around him, coating all of him. She does not stop. She wants his cum too. She is greedy.
"Give me your cum, bébé. I need it."
”Putain.” - Fuck. He pulls out, rubbing himself until spurts of cum cover her bare ass.
They both panting in the kitchen, sweat glistening all over their bodies. Hugo gently grips her chin, kissing with passion. As if they never broke up two years ago.
Once the wave of pleasure calms down, reality hits. Out of panic, she quickly puts her clothes back on. Terrified at the thought of their daughter finding them. Hugo replicates the gesture with that pending smile on his face.
She teasingly slaps his face with the kitchen towel.
"Ouch. I just made you come. That's rude." The smile on his face reveals pride and satisfaction.
"You should leave. I need to shower."
"Hum. How about I help you scrub your back and stuff?"
"That's not a good idea. If she wakes up and sees you again...it sends the wrong message."
"Take me back then."
"Hugo – "
"I suggest therapy. Couple therapy so we can start fresh. It's so hard... I miss living with my girls."
"Please...stop. You're literally messing around with other girls while fucking me every two weeks."
"That's not true. I've been focusing more on football and religion. I'm working to get my family back because it's the most important thing."
The tone of her voice sounds softer than usual. ”Hugo… We're tied for life... I don't want to hate you one day."
"You won't because I'm going to be a better man. That's why I offered therapy."
"I'll think about it, okay? You should go home now."
”I’ll run you a bath before. You deserve some rest, love.” She gives him a death glance but the man disappears in the corridor. The sudden silence in the living room confronts her heart and mind. What about their princess? Could she survive another separation? She ignores how much time passed when Hugo calls her from the bathroom.
The bath has a vanilla and rose scent, her favourite. The smell that eased her nerves. Hugo stood there against the counter, his arms crossed as he observed her.
”Thanks.” She said with hesitation.
”The bathrobe is there. I’ll bring you some tea, a bottle of water, fruits then I’ll leave. Okay, love?”
Before he passes the door, she finally declares, ”I… Let’s see how it goes. Step by step. I refuse to hurt our little princess.” Hugo backtracked, excited to hear her decision. His arms wrapped around her waist.
”I agree. Let’s take our time so we can come back stronger.”
”If you mess up again, there will be no second chance, Hugo.”
”I’ll fight for you, for her and for us.” He kissed the top of her head. ”I’ll bring the drinks and leave. Step by step.”
prove it. — yeonjun x fem!reader
cw. yeonjun is implied to be an idol but it's not super relevant to the story, reader is jealous of another woman, established relationship, chubby!reader implied, friends to lovers implied, kissing, cunnilingus, nipple play, fingering, use of a butt plug, penetration (protection not mentioned), eating ass (f. receiving), a bit of exhibitionism, multiple orgasms, hickeys, marking, edging, masturbation, joi, "fat" as a positive descriptor, "I love you," pet names (baby, babe, love, my love), swearing, lube, mostly porn w little plot tbh, aftercare. notes. hello! i haven't posted in forever and i feel like i haven't written smut in a while so i may be a little rusty, lol. wc. 6.3K
Looking down at the city through the glass railing that lines the rooftop, you draw your knees to your chest. No matter how hard you try, staring at the city isn’t enough of a distraction to divert your mind from the images of them. But your jealousy is unwarranted; you know that. You weren’t even dating him at that time, but he knew how you felt and he felt the same way about you, but the timing simply wasn’t right. You were about to leave for three months and that’s no way to start a new relationship. He did anything and everything to try and get you off his mind—drinking, partying, sleeping with strangers, dyeing his hair, and…dating her.
Thinking about you sitting in endless hotel rooms, longing for him while he was kissing, hugging, fucking another woman is too overwhelming. That’s why you’re here. You’d wanted to surprise him after a long work day, but instead of finding your Yeonjun taking a coffee break alone in a dance studio while he scrolled Instagram, you found her all over him.
You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. It didn’t matter if he was calling after you. You just ran and found yourself on the roof. But he knew where to find you. He explained he was trying to put a stop to it, but it still hurt. You couldn’t stop yourself from asking who she was even if you tried. But he always told you about his relationships and dates. He was your best friend; you told each other everything. But he kept her a secret from you.
“We never overlapped, did we?”
“Of course not. You know I wouldn’t do that.” Reaching for your hand, he brushes his thumb across your knuckles and asks, “You okay?” You nod, but he knows you too well. “Stop lying.”
“I dunno…” you shrug. “I can’t sit here and say I didn’t hook up with anyone while I was gone, but I never dated anyone. Just kinda stings.”
“I’m sorry,” he says seriously. “Listen,” he sighs. “I know it’s weird I dated her then, but I love you more than anything. You have absolutely nothing to worry about.” And you want to believe him, really you do. Especially while you look into his eyes only a few inches away from yours while on the rooftop of his agency, stories above anyone else, alone as the breeze chills your nose and he looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“Prove it,” you say softly. He hums. “Prove it. Prove you love me more than anything.”
Seconds pass before he pulls you by your ankles, wrapping your legs around his waist and his lips fall into yours, kissing you so amazingly. His kisses still make you dizzy. Then he guides your body to lay on the ground, trailing his lips down your neck and chest, pulling down the hem of your shirt to access your skin, all while working at the button of your jeans.
“What if someone sees us?” You ask, breath heavy. There’s a low chance of that happening, but you can’t help but think about it.
“Let them.” Fully pulling your jeans off your legs, goosebumps prick your skin as it makes contact with the cold air. Stuffing his nose into your pussy over your panties, he inhales while his hands wrap around your thighs. Shaking his head to dive deeper, his nose teases your clit.
“Yeonjun…” you groan, letting your head fall back while his hair slips between your fingers. He’s not wasting a single second. Desperately moving your panties to the side, he spreads your pussy lips, dragging his tongue up your pussy so deliberately you may faint. The tip of his tongue teases your clit forever, never quite touching it.
When he finally flicks his tongue over your clit, you gasp and your back arches off the roof while your hip rolls accompany his movements. God, he’s so fucking good at eating you out. Sometimes you can’t believe it. It’s genuinely the best oral you’ve ever had. Slow at first, getting you all worked up and wet, then he dives right in, making your head reel.
Then he slides two fingers inside you, curling them up, perfectly hitting the exact right spot. He is absolutely gonna be the death of you. You moan, blissfully watching as a plane goes by thousands of feet above you. Can they see you? You’re not quite sure. Either way, it’s thrilling to think about. A couple hundred people watching as the sexiest guy in the world makes you feel like the sexiest woman in the world.
“Oh my fucking god,” you say, your chest heaving. He comes up for air, but doesn’t take his fingers out of you. As he makes his way back up to your face, he kisses you slowly, letting you taste yourself on his mouth, and finishing it off with a lick across your bottom lip.
“Let me take you inside,” he suggests. “I wanna worship your body for hours,” he whispers against your lips, nudging your nose with his own. “Wanna show you how much I love you. How much I crave you. How much I need you,” he says, punctuating each power word—love, crave, need—with a stroke against your g-spot. “Wanna make you feel things you’ve never felt before. Wanna make you forget every word you know except my name,” he keeps adding on to this incredible list, leaving wet kisses all over you. “Wanna make you so wet you drip all over my bed. Wanna make you cry from how good I’m making you feel. Wanna make you cum so many times you’re begging me to stop,” he says. “And then I’d make you cum again. Wanna taste every inch of you.” Finally taking his finger out of you, he sucks and licks every last bit of you up. “Wanna leave marks on you that stay for days so you never forget how much I love you.”
Which is more delicious? Him whisking you off to his bedroom to fuck you raw or him fingering you on the roof? The way your heart races at every glance of each glowing window across the street is almost too good to give up but the thought of him filling you to the brim with his cock is too tempting. And when he pulls his face away just enough to look down at you with those gorgeous-as-fuck eyes and his black hair barely hanging in front of his face and asks—
“Is that okay?”
Your body crumbles to dust. That contrast of whispering the dirtiest shit you’ve ever heard along with the sweetest form of gaining consent—literally asking—is overwhelming. Part of you scoffs at how something so bare minimum, something so basic decency as consent, turns you on so much.
But fuck you need him more than ever.
“Fuck yes,” you say confidently.
He barely gives you enough time to slip your jeans back on before lifting you to your feet to lead you to the roof access door, down the elevator, into his bedroom, and onto his bed.
While you wait on his bed for whatever’s about to happen, you watch as he takes his time unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. What shall he do with you? So many parts of him want to rip your clothes off and ravage you with fast, hard, and dirty sex; cover you in spit and sweat and cum until you’re trembling and begging for rest. But another part of him wants to do exactly what he said: worship your body for hours. Slowly, carefully, intentionally, tenderly.
Ditching his t-shirt, he smiles at you—not in an I’m gonna fuck you so hard way, but in a You’re perfection kinda way. Letting him take your clothes off so carefully like he’s unwrapping a vintage book waiting to be adored is one of the best parts of it all. Showered in love and kisses and attraction and compliments for who knows how long.
“I love your body so fucking much,” he says as his lips brush your collarbone, but his hands are everywhere else—your tits, tummy, hips, ass, thighs. Taking a beat to look into your eyes, he says, “I meant it.” You nod. “I’m gonna worship your body for hours.”
“I don’t know if I can wait that long to come, babe…” you trail off.
“Hm…” you can feel his smile against the sensitive skin under your breast. “Who said you have to wait? You can come as many times as you want.”
Relief floods every part of your body. You could already tell you weren’t gonna last long but he absolutely loves making you wait. Edging you until you’re begging him to let you—wait. His words from earlier, Wanna make you cum so many times you’re begging me to stop—echoes in the back of your mind. A couple orgasms is exactly what you need right now.
“Lay on your tummy, love,” he says gently. Face down, you hear him rummage through his bedside table drawer. The smell of eucalyptus lavender massage oil fills the air before his strong hands work through your tense shoulders, back, and ass. Perhaps you dozed off because the next thing you know, he’s turning you over to lay on your back. Then his fingers work through your arms, kneading your tits so good your breath hitches in your throat, then up and down your waist.
As you start to drift off again, his hand carefully slides up your thigh to gently cup your pussy—nothing vulgar or pushy, just resting his hand there while his other hand brushes all over your skin. You succumb to him, letting your hips roll as gentle as his touches. Then your body slowly welcomes his middle finger inside, no deeper than his first knuckle.
Are you floating? Flying? Spinning? You can’t tell—just that it’s warm and dizzying and that you can’t get enough of it. Then his fingers spread your pussy lips with slow precision and your breath catches. Your eyes burst open, but he shushes you, brushing his thumb across your brow, coaxing your head back onto the pillow. Your lashes flutter closed, the weight of everything melting under his hands. You ache at the loss of his finger from inside you, only for him to circle your pleading clit with a maddening patience. The touch is slick and deliberate, then his other hand finds your breast, palm gliding over your nipple in slow, teasing spirals. Every nerve is tuned to him as everything shrinks and dissipates like he has all the time in the world.
No more than three lazy circles later, he stops teasing your clit. One thumb stays on your nipple, warm and firm, while he leans down to flick his tongue over the other. Oh. He knows how much you crave this—how nipple play drives you crazy—and this time, he’s drawing it out. Every touch, every word, every slow stroke leading up to now has left you raw in the best way, so keyed up you don’t know whether to squirm away or pull him closer.
It doesn’t take long until you’re gasping, rolling your body involuntarily, and feeling so on edge you’re about to fall off something. And all he’s doing is playing with your nipples—rubbing then circling, biting then licking, teasing then soothing. Spit covers your nipple before he backs off, blowing cold air to perk it up. Gentle bites flicker your body like sparks, subtly like fireflies. Internally begging for something—his cock, his tongue, his fingers, anything to be inside you—but you don’t say a word because this alone feels too good to stop.
Then it sneaks up on you, a shiver that starts somewhere deep and unnamed. You’re holding it, but only for a second. Then you let it overcome your entire being. It crashes over you, an orgasm so strong it’s hard to believe it came from nipple play alone shocks you until you’re seeing stars. But it’s no longer those gentle fireflies. It’s lightning—bright, electric, and unstoppable.
While you catch your breath, he waits patiently and silently, not daring to ruin this moment. Giving you space to relax for a moment while he hums against your collarbone, skating his lips across your skin while he leaves tiny kisses that make your ears burn.
And fuck. It finally sinks in. You came. Just from him playing with your nipples. He’s never gonna let you live this down after tonight. And you know he’s gonna beg you to try it on him.
Right now, though, he doesn’t care about himself. You’re the only thing on his mind. And he’s ready to get back to it.
“That’s my girl…” he murmurs, smug and low. “You’re so fucking sexy like this. I want to memorize every way your body falls apart for me.” And fall apart you do. Your legs are still trembling from the last orgasm, but he’s already bringing you back up for another. “I just want you to feel good for me,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. “That’s all I care about.” His middle finger finds your clit again, slow and careful, drawing soft circles that make you melt all over again. “You feel that?” he asks.
But there’s no way you can form a sentence, but he doesn’t really need an answer—he can feel it in the way your body responds. You simply nod with a blissed out, closed-mouth smile across your lips and he chuckles, basking in how right he is—he makes you feel so fucking good.
It’s almost embarrassing how much you crave this: slow, gentle, sweet, simply caring for you in the best way possible. Is it selfish that you want this to last all night long? Are you not allowed to be selfish once in a while? And it’s not like he’s not enjoying this—you can tell he loves this from how hard he is alone. But his subtle hip thrusts make that even clearer.
“Baby…” you whine pathetically.
“What is it, love?” He asks sweetly. “I’ll do anything you want, just tell me what it is.”
“Your mouth,” you murmur.
“Of course,” he hums, placing a gentle kiss to your shoulder, then your arm, and makes his way down toward your pussy where your clit is begging for his tongue all on its own. It doesn’t take long before you’re edging on euphoria again. You’re chanting his name, which then makes you chuckle as his Wanna make you forget every word you know except my name, plays in the back of your mind again. And you suppose he noticed too because you feel the smile tugging at his lips against your core.
How was he able to get you here again so quickly? Your body craves his touch and it surrenders to him every time. The heat builds low and fast, curling and billowing in your stomach like a firework ready to fire. There’s no point in holding back. Not only has he proved how much he loves you, he’s proven he can pull another orgasm out of you like it’s nothing.
But that doesn’t make this one any less intense. It’s sharp and deep and crashes through you in an insistence that leaves your fingers clawing at the sheets and your breath caught in your chest. The fireworks fill your body like a night sky—sudden, bright, and everywhere at once.
“How many orgasms are you planning on giving me tonight?” You ask breathlessly.
“Hm…at least five,” he says. Can you even handle five of his orgasms in one night? You’re not even halfway through and you’re exhausted. But who are you to say no? “I’m just trying to figure out what to do with you next.”
Still breathless, you mumble, “My plug—” trying to support yourself on your elbows, but he slyly encourages you to lay back down; he’s not letting you lift a finger tonight.
“Oh…” he says cheekily. “Oh, fuck,” he chuckles. You hum in question. “Just thinking about it in your little asshole. Made my cock twitch,” he says matter-of-factly as he starts looking through his bedside table drawer. It doesn’t take him much time to find it but first, “Get on your knees, my love.”
You do as you’re told, shaking your hips to put on a bit of a show. Well, as good of a show as you can give when your legs feel like jelly. Then his big hands grab your hip fat. To simply feel and squeeze. You can’t hear, “I love your body so fucking much…” enough. Your heart flutters every single time as if it's the first time you heard it. And, “I love you so fucking much, baby…”
And he’s continuing to prove it, you’ll give him that. Then he spreads your cheeks, shoving his face right between them while his tongue circles your hole, earning an insatiable moan as you resist the urge to double over in pleasure. How do you always forget how good it feels when he eats your ass?
It’s simply so vulgar—going from him worshipping your body in such a loving way to absolutely devouring your asshole with his strong hands on your hips, squeezing so harsh you’re certain he’ll leave marks and groaning as if you’re the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted.
He’s always had a thing for your taste, even outside of the bedroom. Can’t help it; you’re too yummy…he’d whisper after licking your neck once the elevator door closed you off the world. Or leaving the tiniest kitten lick on the back of your hand before a kiss. Just a little secret between the two of you. But when you’re in bed, his fascination is on full display. So many parts of you glisten with his spit—tits, thighs, collarbone, lips, clit. One harsh spank to your asscheek wakes you up again, fueling the need for more.
“Baby, please…I feel so empty.”
He chuckles—low and amused—and you hear the soft click of the lube bottle opening. A beat later, the coolness hits you as he rubs the gel around your hole with his thumb. It jolts you, making everything feel hotter in comparison—your skin, your breath, his body behind you. But he’s not rushing. He never does. You picture his face: focused, patient, and just a little smug.
Then you feel him shift, and you know he’s slicking up the plug, almost certainly more than necessary. You relax as best you can, bracing for what’s about to happen. It always takes a bit of time. There’s the stretch, the sting, that moment where your body wants to resist—but he knows how to help you through it. And fuck, it’s always worth it in the end. The way it makes you feel full, needy, desperate—like he’s taking care of you in the filthiest way possible.
“Tell me when it hurts, love.”
“I know,” you say with a smile, voice soft but sure. He always checks, always looks out for your comfort. He presses in slowly, carefully, the plug stretching you open millimeter by millimeter. At first, it’s fine—just pressure—but then the burn edges in and your breath catches. “Okay…hurts a little,” you murmur, not quite wincing but close.
Immediately, he pauses and pulls back just a bit. “Take a few deep breaths for me,” he says, his voice low, grounding. One hand stays on your hip, steadying you, the other rubbing soothing little circles along your lower back while you focus on your breath.
It becomes a rhythm. A slow, patient dance of pushing in, holding still, easing out, and beginning again. Each time he sinks in a little deeper, your body adjusts a little more, until the edge dulls and gives way to something warmer, thicker, heavier. Then it’s finally fully seated inside. You let out a sigh of relief, giving yourself time to adjust to the feeling of it with more breathing and relaxing. He’s perfectly content watching the shimmer of that cute pink heart gem poking out of you.
Then he rubs soothing strokes down your hips and asks, “What now, hm?”
“I told you I feel so empty,” you whine.
“I’m not fucking you yet.” A strangled noise escapes your throat, unintelligible yet unmistakably disappointed. “You’re getting at least one more orgasm before I’m inside you.” Rummaging through his side drawer again, you know he’s going for a dildo but—
“I don’t want anything else inside me before you,” you say. “I want the first thing I feel with the plug in to be you—just you, nothing else.” Moving awkwardly behind you, he’s unsure of himself for the first time tonight. “Guess you’ll have to figure out another way to make me cum…” you sing.
“Get on your back,” he says, voice smooth but firm. His hands trace the curve of your hips, obviously killing time while he brainstorms. “Hmm…” His eyes search everywhere, and you can’t help but giggle. You’ve got him stumped. But then that smirk appears, slow and wicked. “Touch yourself.”
“What?” Your voice is higher than you’d like, breath catching in your throat.
“You heard me.” He tilts his head, eyes darkening. “Touch yourself.” Heat blooms across your skin, embarrassment and arousal twining together. You haven’t felt this flustered since the very first time he undressed you—that same nervousness, that same raw vulnerability. “Don’t be shy.”
You bite down on your lip, dragging your hand lower, fingers trembling. You’re caught in that delicious limbo, equal parts exposed and excited, your face hot as you fight the urge to hide under the covers.
“It’s okay, baby,” he coaxes, voice low, a little rough. “Why are you nervous?”
A shaky breath escapes and you look away. “I dunno…I liked you being in charge,” you say, the words slipping out in a rush.
“What if I told you how to touch yourself? Would that be better?” Reaching for your dominant hand, he kisses your palm, closing his eyes to savor the feeling of your skin against his lips before turning your hand over to kiss the back of it. Once he flips it back over and his lips meet the pulsepoint of your wrist, your spine tingles. Then he sucks on your thumb before letting spit pool in his mouth to douse your first two fingers, making them slippery and wet. “As if you need any help getting wet.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask with a laugh.
“Touch your nipples for me,” he whispers, dodging your question while you do as you’re told. With the fire your body’s been feeling all evening along with the shyness you feel, they’ve become soft and tired. But, under your touch, they spark back to life, pebbling once again. “That’s it, baby.” It’s silly how much of an affect those three words have on you. “Look at you…” he groans, tilting his head to look at your pussy. “Check.”
“Huh?”
“I made you so wet you’re dripping all over my bed,” he says, casual as anything. “Just checking that off my list from earlier.”
You roll your eyes, a smug smile playing on your lips. “Pretty sure I did this to myself.”
“The first two orgasms didn’t contribute?”
You shrug, playing coy. “Nah. You just warmed me up.”
He snorts, brows lifting. “Oh, is that right?” He moves like he’s about to stand, brushing his hands off dramatically. “Well, if you’re so good at it, I guess you don’t need my help.”
“Wait, come back,” you say, the words slipping out before you can catch them. He turns around immediately, grin wide and shameless. “You’re still missing something off your list.”
“What’s that?”
“You haven’t left any marks. I might forget how much you love me.”
“Oh, that’s right,” he says, drawing it out, his eyes bright with that mischievous gleam. “You want me to leave some marks while you touch yourself?” You nod, perhaps a little too eagerly. His grin widens as he leans in, his lips a whisper away from your neck. “You’re not touching yourself yet, are you?” he asks, voice all slow and syrupy. You hum, shaking your head. “Good,” he says, sinking his teeth into the soft curve of your shoulder.
He takes his time, leaving one dark mark, then another, each hickey followed by a slow, soothing lick. “Start moving your hand down to your pussy,” he says. “But don’t touch yourself yet.” He nips at your ear, hot breath making you shiver.”Just drag your fingertips across your skin.” Your stomach jerks at the tickle and it makes your breath hitch. “Now the insides of your thighs.” Your hand inches closer to your center, your breath coming out in shallow, shaky puffs.
“Tell me you love me,” you gasp.
As his expression softens, his thumb traces slow circles over your hip. “I- love- you-” he says, each low and velvety smooth word punctuated by a kiss. He closes the gap between his lips and your neck again before whispering against your skin, “And I’m gonna make sure you don’t forget it.” He sucks gently, then harder, a deep, deliberate mark blooming just above your collarbone. His tongue soothes over it, slow and lingering. “Want everyone to look at you and know how good I make you feel,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.
“Can I touch myself yet?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whimper.
He pulls back just enough to catch your eyes, his gaze heavy and intense. “No. Not yet.” He pauses, his thumb stroking over that fresh mark. You nod in defeat. “Remember earlier when I pressed my palm over your pussy, baby?” You nod again. “Do that again.” You follow his instructions, your palm pressing down, letting relaxation spread through your body as you sink deeper into the mattress. His lips are a paintbrush, each hickey blossoming like a petal against your skin. Some marks are soft, faint as the blush of a rosebud. Others are darker, deeper, rich as crushed violets, spreading slowly beneath his mouth like flowers unfurling in the dark. “Feel how wet you are.”
“I’m so fucking wet for you,” you say, a whimper escaping you.
“I know you are,” he says. “Cup your pussy again,” he whispers. “Grind your hips against your palm,” he says, telling your body exactly how to move. “But that’s still not what you want, is it?” You shake your head. “I know,” he soothes. “I’ll get to your clit in a bit.”
Clenching your jaw, it takes everything in you not to touch exactly where you need most. He chuckles evilly. “Please…”
“Not yet, babe,” he chuckles. “Touch just around your clit, not right on it. I love hearing you whine and beg for me.” He takes a few deep breaths, trying to steady himself.
“Baby, please let me touch my clit. Please…”
“Go ahead. Touch your clit.” You finally indulge in yourself, letting your moans and body rolls roam freely. “That’s it.”
“God, you feel so good,” you say, throwing your head back.
“That’s all you,” he coaxes.
“I love it when you talk to me like this.” The knot in your stomach tightens—his voice along with your fingers are delicious. “I’m so close,” you say, close to being out of breath.
“Don’t stop,” he insists. You don’t change anything—you don’t need to. You know your clit better than anyone and the way he’s playing with your body and leaving marks adds that much more pleasure.
“Cum so good for me,” he says and you push yourself over the edge for the third time that night, moaning loudly through gritted teeth, letting the sparks fly, lighting your whole body ablaze once more. “Just like that,” he praises, along with all kinds of sweet things.
“I could do this to you forever…”
“Look how well you listen…”
“You’re such a good girl for me…”
When you finally open your eyes, your vision is hazy, your body weightless above the sheets. His gaze is waiting for you, dark and warm. He’s leaning over you, hair tousled, chest heaving like he’s just as wrecked as you are.
“That was fun,” you say, a breathless laugh spilling out, caught between a moan and a sigh.
He smirks, his thumb tracing one of the love bites on your chest. “Yeah?” he asks, voice dipping low. “Liked being good for me, huh?” You nod, a shiver running down your spine when his thumb presses a little harder, enough to remind you how each mark got there.
Two more left.
And thank fuck because he’s finally on top of you, stroking your pussy lips with his hard cock. If you thought he’d finally jump straight into it, you’d be wrong. He teases you with his words and hands, brushing your most sensitive spots and whispering dirty shit to you.
“Can’t wait to feel you squeeze around me like you don’t want to let go…”
“I’m so lucky I’m the only one that gets to make you feel like this…”
“You belong to me and me alone…”
But he’s still just teasing. “How long do you think I should make you wait again?” He hums, watching you writhe. “How long should I keep my cock from you?” You whine while he circles your clit with the tip of his cock. “Right there?” You shake your head. “No? You were begging me to let you touch your clit ten minutes ago and now you don’t want me to?” He tsks.
“Please,” you practically shout. “I can’t take it anymore…”
“Yes you can, baby,” he smirks. But he places his cock right at your entrance and his own confidence falters, groaning at the slightest touch of your pussy. “Shit,” he chuckles. His hips inch forward so slowly, letting his head inside, his mouth falling open. Already full from just his head and your plug, you feel everything just that much more. Then he pulls back out. You groan again, throwing your head back in a fit.
“Fuck you,” you laugh, resting your forearm over your eyes. He snickers but doesn’t know if he’ll last much longer than this himself. But you’ve still got two left. Either he needs to get you to cum as fast as possible—which might be difficult after three orgasms already—or he needs to pace himself significantly. Teasing you again, he lets his head prod your pussy, but then he finally pushes in as slow as he can physically force himself. It’s exhilarating and sensual and romantic and dirty.
The way the plug makes you feel along with him inside you is incredible, perhaps a bit too much but in the best way possible. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so full and so his. Your eyes go wide at the sudden intensity, your body caught off guard by how overwhelming it is. But then you exhale slowly and surrender to it and let yourself bask in the feeling, relaxing all your muscles to feel everything—the shape of him inside you, the way his cock presses onto your plug, his hands on your hips.
The muscles in your body melt like glass in a fire, slowly and gently as you relax into the sensation of the thick weight of him inside you. The plug is tight inside, pressing just right while his cock shifts and nudges against it with every slow thrust, sending sparks through your spine. His hands are firm on your hips, grounding you, guiding you, worshipping you.
Speechless. That’s the only way you know how to describe this. You let him fuck you slowly and deliberately, succombing to the feeling of him and nothing else. Your body is slack as you let your throat react by itself, not holding any sounds back—you can’t even hear yourself over the immense amount of pleasure he’s giving you.
There’s this intense sense of trust and security in it, in letting him overcome your body; you know you can let your guard down with him. He’d never do anything you wouldn’t want. Everything is sparks and glitter and sugar. You can’t even hear him, if he’s even talking at all.
Then he rubs your clit with his thumb and you wake back up. “Fuck—” you gasp. It must’ve been a bit more sudden than you realized, because it made him pause, but it wasn’t long before he started back up with a smile. When he adds his other thumb to your nipple, that’s it. An echo of an orgasm is in the distance, like he’s calling you from across a valley, urging you to jump, telling you you’ll fly.
And you believe him. You answer him, doing what he’s asking by jumping off your cliff, but you don’t fall. You fly just like he said you would. Your orgasm is swift like a tornado and carries you through it, gusts of pleasure and want and need swirl around you as you let yourself trust him in the rawest way possible.
The tornado settles into a gentle breeze, bringing you back down as he holds you there, letting you feel everything gently, knowing exactly when to stop pushing your buttons so you don’t get overstimulated and it becomes impossible to make you cum again.
“How was that?” You can only muster up a lazy nod. “Can you give me one more, baby?” He asks, rubbing soothing strokes up and down your thighs. Blissed out, you nod happily. “Of course you can.”
He might start out slow, but once you’ve adjusted again to the feeling of him sliding in and out of you, along with the plug stretching you comfortably, he picks up speed, finding the speed that both of you like. The way his demeanor shifts once he’s taking what he needs takes your breath away. His eyes darken, his brows furrow, and his jaw is clenched tight with desperation.
It’s fast and rough and downright nasty the way he fucks you. He’s got your legs spread wide open while he holds them in his arms, thrusting into you fast and hard, skin slapping on skin making it sound that much more desperate, and he’s breathing so fast you know he’s not holding himself back any more.
And this new dirty way of fucking you makes your pussy and ass feel so full and sensitive and overstimulated after the four orgasms tonight. Your nipples are tired and spent, clit’s worn out and puffy, lips swollen and red from kissing, hips and neck and chest covered in hickeys and love bites, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want more, more, more.
It should be impossible to come again after all that’s happened tonight, no? How the fuck does he do it? How does he still make your pussy clench around his cock after hours that should’ve left you immobile? You can’t help but give credit to the amount of care he’s taken with you. Not just tonight, but every single time you’re together. The way he looks at you—it’s the same whether you’re across the room or spread open right underneath him: an aching adoration that you feel in your core. Like literally nothing could ever tear you two apart.
But it overcomes you once again. Bursts of pleasure whip around your body as he fucks you right through your fifth orgasm that night. Five. What the fuck? Sometimes you don’t even cum five times a week, let alone five times a night. And to make it even more delicious, he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t stop thrusting into you until his hips stutter while he spills inside you, filling you with cum while his mouth drops open, groaning like it’s the best he’s ever felt.
And it very well could’ve been. Fuck, edging himself for hours to lead up to one of the best orgasms he’s ever had. It was all so worth it, worshipping your body for hours, showing you just how much he loves you and can’t imagine being with anyone else but you.
You’re still coming down from your high when he pulls out, the sudden emptiness makes you miss him already. His hands are firm on your hips, but these are gentler squeezes this time. The room is thick with the scent of sweat and sex, the silence heavy before he presses his forehead to yours, still slightly out of breath. He says confidently, “I love you so much, baby.” You may be the giddiest you’ve been all night—doesn’t matter how many times he’s said it tonight.
It doesn’t need to be said how exhausted you are. You whimper as he eases the plug out of you, and his hand immediately returns to your thigh, steadying, soothing. “I know,” he murmurs, voice thick with something more than lust. “You did so well.” It’s worship in its quietest form—soft touches and whispered reminders that you’re his favorite person in the whole world. He moves slowly, gently. Not just because you’re weak and spent, but because you’ve given him everything, and he knows it.
The towel is warm and damp when he presses it between your legs, and you can’t help the soft sigh that escapes you. “Up,” he says gently, patting your leg, and you groan in protest. “I’ll carry you if I have to, but you’re going to the bathroom.” You try to glare at him, but your body is too soft, too pliant, too thoroughly taken apart. Still, you shuffle up onto wobbly legs, bumbling to the en-suite.
By the time you’re back in bed, he’s already waiting, holding out a glass of ice water and you can’t help but think that maybe this is what true love really looks like—your body aching, your heart steady, your mind blissfully blank—because he knows how to care for you even when the sex is over. Especially then.
You curl onto your side, and he’s there immediately, pulling you back to his chest, tucking you into the warmth of his body. You belong here. His fingertips trace lazy paths along your arm, slow and soothing, like sand slipping through fingers—gentle, rhythmic, grounding.
Up and down. Over and over.
The world fades. Your muscles unwind. And with his breath against your neck and that soft, steady touch guiding you, you sink into sleep—safe, satisfied, and loved all the way through.
Congrats on 2k!!! You deserve that and so much more! For the celebration could I request 🎱 and the build your own smut prompt for Tig with 17, b, and 𓃟? Thank you soso much!
title; big talk, big tears (Tig Trager x fem!reader)
prompt/s; ꒰ 17 ꒱ a pair of teary eyes, ꒰ B ꒱ gasoline, and ꒰ 𓃟 ꒱ “what happened to all that big talk, hm? gone all quiet, just because i’m inside you?” — from build an nsfw fic
warnings; unestablished relationship but they’ve been fucking/fooling around, she kinda calls him out for ‘only wanting sex’ lol, some back and forth between them, some petnames (baby, doll, sweetheart), tig says she has an attitude (which may be true? idk really..), smut, minors do not interact!!!, unprotected p in v, creampie ofc, some teasing and dirty talk from tig, semi public sex, they fuck in gemma’s office and on the desk!, someone pulls into the lot at the end, allusions to sex later (tig says it as 'a gift' for her finishing her work lol) i felt super rusty writing this.., uh that’s it tho? if i missed any please lmk !! (1,966 words)
a/n; there's something about tig in this scene that just gets me going and i can't explain it
2nd a/n; reading this back and i think i deadass just forgot the gasoline part?? like maybe i did add it but i don’t recall.. my bad if i didn’t add it
sin 2k win masterlist | main masterlist
— thank you for joining my sin2kwin celebration || submissions are now closed !!
you had been working with Gemma for the past week, mostly just handing back keys and booking people in.
but there was one task she wasn’t paying you for.
every time you were alone in the office, Tig always seemed to make his way towards you, which always ended in a heated makeout session.
just like now.
Gemma had left you to hand back the last couple of keys for the day while she ran an errand, which gave Tig the perfect opportunity to corner you again.
the smell of his cologne hit you first, quickly followed by the smell of gasoline from the garage and the other smells that lingered in the air.
it was heady combination that set heat flooding throughout your body and your underwear growing wet in their core, but only for Tig.
he sauntered into the room with his usual confidence before he moved over to you, both of his hands cradling your face as he crashed his lips against yours.
“hey doll”
Tig greeted between kisses, already pressing his lips to yours in another kiss before you could find the words to reply to him.
his lips stayed against yours while his body pressed you against the wall, the hard outline of his cock pressing against you through his jeans.
a gasp slipped from your lips, your head lulling back and your lips breaking away from his.
“Tig.. i have things to do”
you told him, pressing your hands to his chest and pushing him away gently.
he chuckled at you, shaking his head in amusement while moving his hands to his hips, in that way he always does.
“stop thinking with your dick, you’re a whore sometimes, you know that?”
Tig laughed at your words again, amusement written all over his face while he gave you a look, one that usually meant he was allowing you to have your fun before he retook the reins.
“all you think about is sex..”
his eyes followed you as you moved back towards the desk, easily flicking through the paperwork left on top.
but Tig wasn’t one to give up.
heat crept up your neck as he pressed up against your back, his crotch flush against your ass and the outline of his cock pressed against you while his hands squeezed at your hips.
carefully, his right hand moved from your hip to the front of your jeans, easily popping the button and tugging down your zipper to slip his hand under your waistband.
the rough pads of his fingertips grazed along the centre of your underwear while he smirked into your jaw, a triumphant look on his face as he murmured against your ear.
“don’t tell me you don’t want this”
your hand closed around his wrist, attempting to pull him away but it was no use, he knew your body better than you did.
he chuckled against your ear, using both his middle and pointer fingers to tease you through your underwear.
“your body is telling me everything i need to know”
a whine fell from your lips as his fingers continued, easily making another pass around your clit and causing the coil to tighten in your core.
“you’re an ass”
you grumbled, your eyes screwed shut and your head lulled to the side as you tried to fight of the burning need Tig was building in your body.
but his fingers continued, as did his teasing.
“am i? or are you just embarrassed because you want this so badly?”
his fingers made another pass around your clit, earning a buck of your hips while Tig smirked into the corner of your jaw.
“your body is doing all the talking, doll. give it what it wants”
instead of granting him an answer, you nodded in response, which made Tig’s smirk widen.
he withdrew his hand and quickly positioned you on the edge of the desk, his hands making quick work of your jeans before he started on his own.
you watched through lust riddled eyes as he unfastened his belt, his cock springing free as he shoved down his jeans and settled between your legs.
another gasp fell from your lips at the feeling of Tig moving the head of his cock through your wetness, his smirk bright on his face while your eyes screwed shut in a mix of pleasure and annoyance at his teasing.
“what’s wrong? i’m giving you what you want”
Tig cooed, his hips jerking forwards and the head of his cock pressing against your entrance.
“you’re still an asshole”
he hummed at your words, his left hand hooking under your knee to pull your leg around his waist while he pushed in in one smooth thrust.
both of you moaned at the feeling, your head lulling back and Tig’s lips crashing against yours in a suddenly desperate kiss.
his hips pushed against yours, sinking the whole length of his cock into you until he bottomed out.
“mm call me whatever you want, doll. you still let me fuck you”
there was a smug tone to his words, easily stoking the flame of arousal in your core while Tig kissed you again, hungrier than his previous kisses.
you whined against his lips, your arms moving around his neck and your fingers tangling in his hair to keep his lips against yours.
“just shut up and fuck me”
he chuckled, kissing you again and swallowing down your moans as he began rocking his hips. his hips pulled back until only the head of his cock remained inside, before he was pushing right back in and starting up a brutal pace.
your arms tightened around his neck and your fingers grabbed a handful of his hair to pull him down and into another kiss, moaning into the embrace and making Tig’s smirk widen.
the hand Tig had under your knee helped him deepen his thrusts, each thrust causing a broken moan to slip from your lips.
“you’re mouthy tonight”
Tig murmured, chuckling to himself as you shoved at his shoulder but made no effort to push him away or loosen your hold on him.
his lips crashed against yours again, easily swallowing down your moans as his thrusts continued.
“pretty little thing, just need to stop fighting me”
another moan fell from your lips, a mix of the pleasure coursing through your body and the words falling from his lips.
“Tig..”
you whined, your walls fluttering around him and earning another sharp thrust from him in return.
Tig kissed you again, and again, while a slew of moans left your now parted lips at his unrelenting pace.
“so good when you stop fighting me, you know that?”
a whine left you while pleasure painted itself across your face, the effort of Tig’s thrusts filling the office with your joint moans and the slapping of skin on skin.
“you like the fight”
he hummed at your words, his free hand moving to your face before wrapping lightly around your throat, squeezing lightly and eliciting a gasp from your lips.
protests from the desk joined the sounds you and Tig were making, harmonising together and filling the office in the lewd sounds.
“don’t kid yourself, Tiggy”
at your words, Tig angled his hips to hit that one spot with a newfound precision that had you moaning out loudly.
“oh fuck!”
you cursed, your head lulling to the side as you began hurtling towards your climax.
Tig chuckled again, thrusting into you again and again while your walls fluttered around him, before he groaned against your lips.
“thought we weren’t supposed to be doing this, that’s why you were fighting me in the first place”
his words didn’t receive an answer from you, the pleasure buzzing through your body too much to find the words to answer.
“Tig..”
you mewled, teeter on the edge with a needy whine as the head of his cock hit that one spot again and again.
each thrust Tig gave pushed you closer and closer, his smirk growing at the way you pulled him down and into another kiss.
“what, baby?”
he asked, smirk firm on his face as he rocked into you over and over, until it all became too much.
the moans falling from your lips were loud and desperate, growing needier with every rock of Tig’s hips while tears began to prickle at the corner of your eyes.
a gasp fell from your lips at the slight sting of tears, the warmth of them mixing with the pleasure buzzing throughout your body.
“shit sweetheart, crying because of me?”
Tig was teasing, you knew that, but it didn’t stop the curling in your core that his words caused and the new sudden spark of want.
“you get some dick and lose your attitude?”
another moan fell from your lips, unable to throw a retort in his direction, and instead focusing on losing yourself in the feelings taking over your body.
his hips moved against yours in rhythmic rocks and snaps, each movement pushing you closer and closer until your walls clamped down around his cock.
“what happened to all that big talk, hm? gone all quiet, just because i’m inside you?”
he teased, smirk still on his face while you mewled in pleasure, a moan quickly bubbling past your lips.
“gonna cum for me? make a mess of the dick you basically own?”
you moaned again before cresting over the edge and into your orgasm, your head lolling back and your lips parting in another slew of moans.
Tig hummed in approval, his right hand cradling your face and his thumb brushing away the tears that streaked down your cheek.
“that’s my girl, make a mess doll”
a strangled groan fell from Tig’s lips as your walls spasmed rapidly around his cock, his rhythm faltering while your release soaked his cock.
“oh Tig..”
you whined, wrapping your arms tighter around his neck while clinging to him like a lifeline, using his body as a weight to steady yourself in the peak of your orgasm.
his hips rocked into you again, rhythmless now as he chased after his own peak. he groaned against your lips as your walls gave a sensitive flutter around him, almost a silent plea for Tig to give in to his release.
“you want it, baby?”
he didn’t need an answer, both of you knew that.
Tig kissed you again, hot and hungrily, while his right hand cradled the side of your face to hold you in place.
a low groan left him as he gave a final thrust, burying himself to the hilt and rutting shallowly while continuing to kiss you.
the hand he had under your knee pulled your leg higher around his hip, earning a gasp from your lips before he spilled himself into your warmth, his cock throbbing inside you and his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck.
you giggled above him, the sound almost wet from your tears of pleasure, while you moved your fingers through Tig’s curls.
“you’re so fucking pussy whipped”
he lifted his head at your words, his smirk returning and a flicker of mischief twinkling in his eyes.
“there’s my girl”
his lips crashed against yours, claiming this time, and a little possesive while his hips gave a renewed thrust of interest.
but the moment was interrupted by the sound of a car coming into the lot.
both of you parted with a frustrated sigh, Tig pulling out with a haste he never had when he was with you.
quickly, he tucked himself back into his jeans before helping you get redressed and presentable, only parting from you with a soft kiss and a low murmur.
“we’re not done yet, finish your job and i’ll give you a gift later”
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