#shelton

[househunting]

$499,000/46.77 acres

Shelton, WA

[unteriors]

Dasher Drive, Shelton, Washington.

[midnightcowb0ys]

“The Maples” photographed by Stephen A. Sheer, Shelton Connecticut, 1979

[charlieluver]

Physiotherapy

(Ben Shelton × physiofem!reader) Word count: 740 Warning: lil steamy, suggestive

💋⋆˙ᝰ.ᐟ

Shifting from being a physiotherapist for women tennis player to men's was a big change. Change in necessity, massage movement, pressure points, sexual tension.

So when you were appointed as Ben Shelton's physiotherapist, not to mention the only female on his team, you were a little nervous.

You are around Ben's age, to make it more easier awkward for you. You stuck to your professionalism while Ben stuck to making you feel flustered. He loved how you squirmed at every flirtatious remark, how your eyes would go wide when his sigh during massage of the thigh almost sounded like a moan, how your face reddens when he asks you if he is hot. Everything about you drove him crazy.

But what he also noticed was your dazed face when you saw him shirtless, the lip bites you would do when you thought he wasn't watching, the way your hands will slide up a little higher along his thigh during sessions. The unspoken sexual tension was thick, and both of you knew it.

And it was bound to snap.

A gruelling 5 setter semi final was finally over in Ben's favour. He required a comparatively longer session with you, to prevent injuries from the 4 hour match. You started the usual stretches, along his back, shoulders, his toned biceps in the physio room. You stopped yourself from blushing when you faced towards him on the bench, massaging his arms, as his gaze held on your face. "You look pretty like this", he spoke, his voice low. "Like what?" "You in between my legs," he whispered in your ears, faces inches away. "Ben," you look at him, nose almost brushing against his. "How bad would it be if I kissed you now?" his brown eyes stared into yours, his breath falling on your lips. "I-I could lose my job, its against my contract, and-" "So you don't oppose the idea of us making out? he chuckles, hand now resting on your hips, pulling you onto his lap. "Ben, i-its wrong" "Why so? No-one needs to know about this." "Ben," You look at him, lips parted, your heart racing. "Fuck this" , he grabs your face with his hands and smashes his lip on yours. He puts his yearning and pent-up frustration into the kiss, his hands travelling to your thighs, as he grabs it. You melt under his touch, hands sneaking up behind his neck, fingers pulling his locks. Lips moving against each other, the air filled with his gasps and your whimpers. He grabs your hips, tracing his fingers over your flimsy skirt as he puts his flexed thigh against your core. A gasp left your lips even before you realised what happened, hips bucking involuntarily. Ben smirks. "You like that? You like grinding on my thigh? Knowing that anyone can walk up on us right now?" Your thighs tighten around his, your core throbbing from the pressure Ben's thigh applies on your clit. You let out a moan, your hand trying to cover your mouth. You hear him groan. He lets you grind on him, flexing his thighs further, hands trailing under your shirt to your chest, kneading your breasts through your bra. You hold his shoulder for support, whimpering. "Knew you weren't so innocent" Ben smirks against your skin, his lips prepping kisses down your neck. Your movements are desperate , grinding faster and Ben senses that you are close to your high. He captures your lips into a rough kiss as his hand finds your clothed clit. His touch makes you quiver, you moan into the kiss. His fingers toy with your clit, making you moan louder with every flick he does. "Ben I'm close-" "I got you." his raspy voice was the last straw. The orgasm washes over you, heart pounding your chest, blood rushing to your ears. Your arousal glistened on his thighs. Ben caresses your hip till your breathing becomes normal. He was mesmerised by the sight in front of him, you on his thigh, your cheek flushed, lips swollen and red from the kiss. A knock on the door flinches both of you.

"Are you both done?" his manager says, behind the door. "Y-yeah just a minute, last set left" You yell back, barely steadying your voice. "Wrap it up quickly." You hear footsteps becoming fainter. You look back at Ben, who is staring at your face. "What?" you ask. "Still care about the contract?"

💋⋆˙ᝰ.ᐟ

my first steamy ish fic 😬 (he is so cvnty with the tongue sticking out welp)

masterlist

[orofeaiel]

View from the High Steel Bridge | Mason County, WA

[marksteinmetz]

Mark Steinmetz

Shelton, Connecticut 1985.

[deaconsleatherpants]

❤️ for Deacon OR ❤️‍🩹 for Shelton (because I know you’d tear it up with that 😮‍💨👌🏼👌🏼)

send me an emoji and I'll write a fic for a kiss | @tellcherhesgone

❤️‍🩹 [ Scars ] - A gentle kiss on the partner’s scars

Shelton's place felt different, now that the gang had left. Emptier, certainly; it was only natural that it would feel as still and quiet as it did, when it no longer served as the de facto headquarters for an entire criminal operation. But there was something deeper to it too, the house itself - and Shelton - seemingly haunted by the mere memory of the way things had been.

It had taken him time to recover physically from what had happened, and mentally... well, that was still a bit of a work in progress. But even though Shelton had lost so much of what he'd worked so hard to build here in Thames, he still had you, and you saw things getting better day by day.

Sometimes, you found it hard to believe that things could really be this simple in the end. That the two of you could just exist here, lying with bodies tangled together in the dim shadows of Shelton's bedroom; no gang, no prison - just him, and you, and every possible form of all the love you had to give each other.

You shifted with a low sigh and rustle of bedsheets, nestling your head into the slight padding of his bare chest. The gentle thump-thump of his heartbeat against your temple was reassuring, pounding in a steady, slow pattern that made it impossible to forget that he was alive (against all odds) and here with you (against even more odds, if you were honest with yourself).

"You're doing it again, you know. Actin' like I'm gonna die if you take your eyes off me for a fucking second."

He laughed, but there was no real mockery in his voice, and the touch of fondness laced through his words was enough to prove that he didn't mind you being so sentimental.

"You never know," you said, smiling against his chest as you made a sound that you hoped came across an awful lot like a scoff, because it was meant to. "Can't be too careful."

There was a soft clinking sound of metal against metal when you ran one hand down his chest, rolling fingers over and through the delicate chains of the gold necklace that always looped around his neck and pooled in the dip of his throat; his pulse thrummed here too, maybe just a touch faster under your hand.

Your touch skimmed lower and down his side, pausing when your fingers brushed against the edge of the thickened burl of scar tissue that still marked the spot where he'd been shot. The bullet that really should have ended his life, and it was truly a miracle it hadn't - the thought was instantly sobering. You frowned, dipping your head just enough to ghost the lightest of kisses over the wound, your lips barely touching his skin.

To his credit, Shelton was quick to sense your shift in mood - he lurched upwards on an elbow, the bedsheets sliding down to bare his chest - but you were already mired in thoughts of how nobody had cared when he'd been left for dead in a steadily spreading pool of his own blood, left to die without so much as a glance from his own sister. How, even now, his sister hadn't even cared enough to -

Shelton's hand came to a rest on your back.

"Hey."

His voice broke you from your increasingly derailing train of thought, and when you pulled back just enough to meet his gaze you were surprised to see him smiling back at you with that soft, genuine smile he seemed to have reserved only for you. He always was able to tell what you were thinking.

"I'm not dyin' on you again, right? Promise."

"I know," you said, and your voice was remarkably steady for how you felt. "I just... it’s hard not to think about it."

Shelton nodded, moving to tuck you closer into his chest as he settled back down against the pillows. "Yeah. I know." Somewhere in the distance, the sound of a police siren swelled, peaked, then faded back into silence.

You reached for his other hand where it remained slung over your hip, his fingers tracing patterns over your bare skin so lightly that it barely registered. Shelton let you take it, hold it, not saying a word as you ran your fingers over the backs of his knuckles and traced the thin, faded scars that crisscrossed over them in faint white lines. You pressed your lips here too, ghosting soft kisses over what remained of these old wounds until he made a noise in the back of his throat, one caught somewhere between awe and embarrassment.

“I, uh. Didn’t always know how to work out my anger without getting into fights when I was younger. Still don’t, really.” His tone was sheepish, but you didn’t say anything as you continued to kiss his knuckles almost reverently, the ghosts of his past displayed here in stark contrast against his skin.

You finally pulled back to look up at him, illuminated by the dim light that filtered through from the hallway, and you returned his hand to its fitting place on your hip. You wanted to say so many things - about how he seemed to have calmed down in the years you'd known him, or how could he know nothing would happen to him again - but he said nothing, and so for a very long moment you said nothing either. But it was okay. It would all be okay.

[tri-ciclo]

Along the Road Mark Steinmetz, Shelton, Connecticut, 1985