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summery: you didn’t meant to send nudes to the cute guy in your business class, obviously.
content: 18+ smau
⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･
imessage
josh 🚨❌
Pls yn, let’s talk
I promise i’ll change
Shes nothing like you
“can you believe the nerve of this guy?” hannah asks, handing back your phone after reading through the messages.
allie just sips her juice. she’s back on that ‘weird and green’ liquid diet again. “sounds exactly like sean. it’s not even worth it, babe”
you sigh, adjusting your bag. “i’m not going back to him, aj. i just wanted to show you guys in case he totally bombards us on the way to class and you don't know what to say”
“he’d actually do that?” hannah asks, her eyes wide.
“oh, they’ll do that and more” allie chimes in, setting her green juice down.
“well, i have to get to my business class” you stand up from the couch and head toward the door, pausing just before you grab the handle.
“oh, wait! can one of you swing by my dorm later? see if those dresses by my bed fit either of you. i might need to retake your measurements, han, i think i lost the old ones”
“yeah, i can totally do that” hannah reassures you.
you shout a quick goodbye and slip out the door.
instagram
yourusername
yourusername lil catch up :)
comments
user so stunning
user lovee
summer.d my girllll
user fashion major girlyyy
hannahwells very needed talk
↳ yourusername veryy
tap to load more
imessages
my girls !!
aj
movie night tn?
you
yess
han
can’t, tutoring
ava (roomie) <3
who?? bruh, cancel rn
aj
garrett graham 🥵🥵
han
sigh
you
WHAT
ava (roomie) <3
WHAT
instagram
yourusername
yourusername digicam hardlaunching han’s..idk
comments
user waitttt teaaaa
alliehayes thanks 4 the coffee
↳ yourusername anything 4 u ;)
user wait i love them tg
graham44 send me that pic
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imessages
han :)
garrett is friends w that cute guy in ur business class
you
🤨 ?
han :)
i could totally put in a good word for u
you
HAHAH i love u but no
han :)
whyy don’t get stuck on josh now
you
it’s not that LOL but like we are classmates, wouldn’t it be awk?
han :)
ur not classmates forever
you
the rest of the semester is long enough
plus if i rlly wanted him, i already have his #
han :)
well, text him !!
you
so adamant
why
han :)
🤷♀️ u need to get laid?
you
HA, bye han
han :)
think abt it
think about it? of course you have! you’ve done more than just think about it — just not out loud.
well, maybe a little out loud. you mentioned it, very briefly, to hannah and allie, but that was back when the semester had just started and hannah wasn’t all buddy-buddy with the whole hockey team.
plus, jocks weren’t really your type anyway.
instagram
yourusername
yourusername don’t remember last night but ;)
comments
user cuteee
joshuaap 😍 so hot
user what camera ??!!
alliehayes don’t drink ever again
↳ yourusername i’m scared
↳ alliehayes no, ur screwed
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* @j.logan started to follow you *
you don’t really remember how it happened.
you were at the bar, building up the courage to finally talk to the cute guy from your business class — john logan, you’d remembered his name. hannah and allie were both there, hyping buying shots you up and pushing you to just go for it. but the exact second garrett, hannah’s new (and totally fake) boyfriend, showed up, your courage completely plummeted. you couldn’t believe you had actually been about to walk over there.
it wasn’t just the loud, unmistakably energy garrett brought with him everywhere he went, but the sudden realization that every other athlete on the team probably pulled that exact same level of attention. and you weren’t exactly wrong. by the time you downed your third— and what you had hoped to be your last — shot, logan was already chatting up a cute redhead. her hand was resting on his arm, and she was leaning in, giggling at whatever he was saying.
your disappointment didn’t last long, though. a few quick texts to josh, and you were out of the bar, hooking up in the back of his car.
which brings you to right now, a couple of days later.
you're standing here in a black, incredibly skimpy lingerie set. maybe it’s just your hormones, or maybe it’s the fact that ever since that night, the one you still can't fully piece together, logan has actually been making an effort to strike up small talk with you.
your head can handle it just fine. you can keep the conversation easy and casual. your heart, though, not so much. so, you pushed it away.
you snap another picture, your hair tossed messily to the side, framing your body perfectly. that makes three photos in total. josh will like them, of course he will. they’re simple and direct, and what guy wouldn't? you're horny, josh is a guy, and he’s easy. he’ll drop whatever plans he has to come over, satisfy you, and leave.
no strings, no effort. that’s what you wanted.
you open your contacts and type 'j' into the search bar. you don’t even hesitate, automatically assuming josh’s name will pop up first because he was the most recent. you hit send without a second thought, tossing your phone aside to change back into your cotton shorts and pj shirt.
imessage
you
*attachment: 3 images*
need you so bad
come over pls ;)
you understand he might be busy, but in josh time, twenty five minutes of silence after receiving nudes is crazy.
maybe he’s jerking off? whatever.
you open your phone again to look through the pictures you sent. there was the one on the bed, back arched and boobs pressed up. another one, taken through your computer's webcam, showing off all your curves. the last one is what you’d consider the most revealing, in the mirror, legs open, your fingers playing with your own arousal.
as you go to exit the chat, your eyes catch the icon at the top of the conversation, and you feel like you might actually go into cardiac arrest.
you freeze in bed, then slowly sit up. you might honestly have to erase yourself from planet earth, because there is absolutely no way this is happening to you. in the mindless, stupid, totally checked out state you were in, you didn't just send those pictures to the wrong person, you sent them to someone who makes you want to end either your own life or his.
fuck.
meanwhile, those exact images were popping up on john logan’s screen just as he was wrapping up practice.
he’d noticed your name flash on his phone earlier, which was weird since the cute girl from his business class had never texted him before. he figured maybe you just needed the lecture notes. but the second practice ended, his sweaty, bruised body won the debate, and he decided to hit the showers before checking his messages.
only ten minutes had passed since you sent them. half the team was already out of the locker room, and the few guys who remained were packing up to leave. it had been a genuinely shitty practice, with coach o’shea forcing the d-men to stay late for extra drills. but the moment logan actually opened your message, every ounce of that exhaustion completely vanished from his mind and body.
holy fucking smokes.
he blew a heavy breath out of his mouth and leaned back against his locker cubicle, his eyes locked onto the screen, unable to look away for even a second.
his dick seemed to work a hell of a lot faster than his brain did, because before he could even process what he was looking at, he was already sporting a semi.
he couldn’t tell if ten seconds or ten minutes had flown by, but he finally snapped out of the million racing thoughts in his head, one louder than all the rest.
this wasn’t meant for him. no way.
sure, he’d received plenty of unprovoked nudes from girls before, but you just didn’t seem like the type to do that.
fuck. he knew for a fact those pictures weren’t meant for him, but he couldn't simply just look away, and—
before his thoughts could spiral any further, another text from you flashed across the screen.
imessage
you
omg wrong person!!!
don’t look at those, or save them
not for u obvi
fuck, i’m sorry
john logan (business class)
sure, but only if u tell me who were they for?
because i’m pretty sure your pretty little pussy isn’t going to take care of itself.
you
???????????
just forget abt this pls
john logan (business class)
i can’t, baby
*attachment: 1 image*
you don’t understand anything anymore.
one second you are dying of total embarrassment, practically booking a one way flight to antarctica while begging john logan to forget about your... completely indecent, completely accidental pictures. the next, your airway almost entirely shuts down at the sight of his text, showing a clear image of logan gripping his dick right through his sweatpants.
oh my gosh. this cannot actually be happening to you right now.
you're usually the good one at texting. your friends always come to you when they need the perfect reply written for them, but you never, in a million years, thought you’d find yourself in a position like this.
you
thanks ?????
thanks? you truly are an idiot.
meanwhile, logan chuckles. yep, you definitely don’t do this very often, or ever, by the looks of it.
based on the last text he sent, he had been hoping for something a little more than your dry, unintentionally funny response.
he had already walked out of the arena by now and was sitting in his car. logan isn't blind, he obviously finds you extremely attractive. jumping from simple classmates to a quick, accidental hookup doesn’t sound like a bad idea at all to him. he knows you aren’t usually the type for that kind of thing, but maybe he can sweet talk you into it.
john logan (business class)
c’mon, don’t u need someone to take of u?
i’ll make it worth ur while, i promise
he almost gives up when five minutes pass and there’s nothing but a 'read' receipt under his message.
almost, though.
john logan (business class)
pls, baby
want u so bad
his dick twitches in his pants when he reads the message that comes through.
you
🙄 bristol house, door #67
he smiles at your text and immediately turns on his engine. before pulling out, he sends a quick reply.
john logan (business class)
good girl, i’m omw
i rlly like the set but im sure i’ll like u better without it so don’t bother having it on when i get there.
instagram
j.logan
j.logan thanks for letting borrow the cam, babe❤️
comments
deandilaurentis pussy whippeddddd 🤣
↳ beaumaxwell @alliehayes
↳ alliehayes pls 😭
user so cute
hannahwells i recognize that camera anywhere 🧐
↳ yourusername 🤭
j.tucker as long u don’t bring her around my kitchen anymore
a jealous ilya rozanov x figure skater f!reader ❄️⛸️
the lights were dimmed, pale blue and silver washed over the ice. you looked ethereal. short sparkling dress hugging every curve, hair pinned perfectly, gliding across the rink with effortless grace beside your partner. the music swelled and he lifted you into a perfect throw jump. you spun and theb landed. his hands steady on your waist, guiding you into the next lift like you weighed nothing.
from the stands, ilya rozanov sat rigid, jaw clenched so tight it could cut glass. arms crossed, eyes dark, that white jacket from earlier now looked too tight across his broad shoulders.
the routine ended with a dramatic final pose, your partner dipping you low, face inches from yours. and the crowd erupted.
you bowed, smiling politely, cheeks flushed from exertion. but the second you stepped off the ice, ilya was there. towering, waiting like a storm cloud in human form.
you spotted him immediately and smirked, still catching your breath.
“ilya. you came.”
he stepped close, voice low and rough, english clipped and heavy with that delicious russian accent.
“da. i came. who is this… boy touching you? lifting you? holding you like he has right?”
you raised an eyebrow, twirling a loose strand of hair, still riding the post-performance high.
“that’s my partner, rozanov. we’ve been skating together for two years. it’s called pairs skating. not a crime.”
ilya’s eyes narrowed. he didn’t shout. he never really did. he just got… quieter, more intense. one big hand caught your elbow, pulling you gently but firmly away from the barrier, closer to his chest.
“is not right,” he muttered, struggling a little with the words but making his point crystal clear. “he holds you here—” his palm brushed your waist “—and here—” fingers ghosted your lower back. “too close. too fucking long. i do not like.”
you laughed softly, tilting your head up at him with that sassy little grin.
“that’s a you problem, ilya.”
his nostrils flared. for a second, you thought he might just throw you over his shoulder and drag you out of the arena. instead he leaned down, breath warm against your ear, voice dropping into that dangerous rumble.
“a you problem?” he repeated, accent thickening. “da. is my problem when other man touches my girl. makes me want to break his arms. then put my hands on you instead. Show you how real man holds what belongs to him.”
you shivered despite the cooling rink air. “possessive much?”
ilya’s lips twitched, the closest thing he had to a smile.
“you like when i am possessive, malen’kaya. do not lie.”
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simon “ghost” riley + 15kgs dumbbells + and your intrusive thoughts. 🌶️
ghost lay on the slightly inclined bench press, mask firmly in place even now, because of course he would. broad chest glistening, loose black workout shorts riding low on his hips. in each massive hand, a 15kg dumbbell rose and fell with controlled, punishing rhythm, biceps flexing, triceps carving deep shadows under the harsh overhead light.
you watched from the doorway for all of three seconds before your intrusive thoughts staged a full coup.
bare feet silent on the concrete, you padded over. without a word, you swung one leg over his waist and straddled him, settling your weight right where it mattered most.
ghost’s next rep stuttered, the dumbbells paused mid air.
“the hell are you doing?” his voice came out low, rough, laced with equal parts warning and amusement. he kept lifting anyway. stubborn as ever.
you grinned, slow and wicked.
then you rolled your hips.
a deliberate, filthy grind that dragged your heat along the growing bulge beneath those thin shorts.
“love,” he grunted, the single word both gentle scold and plea. his arms never stopped their steady rhythm.
you grin widened. you grind down harder, slower this time, letting him feel every deliberate circle.
his breath hitched. “you’re gonna pay for that.”
you bit your lower lip, eyes sparkling with pure mischief, and answered by sliding both hands up his sweat slick chest until your palms framed his thick neck. thumbs pressed lightly just enough, over the sides of his airway. not choking. not yet.
your hips picked up the pace, shameless now, riding the hard ridge of him through the fabric.
a deep, guttural grunt tore from his throat. then everything shifted.
in one fluid motion ghost sat up, dumbbells clanging heavily onto the floor on either side of the bench. his massive hands hooked under your thighs, fingers digging into soft flesh as he yanked you flush against him. the sudden closeness stole the air from your lungs.
his masked face hovered inches from yours, dark eyes burning through the skull plate.
“your time to play is up, sweetheart.”
the warning dripped with delicious threat. one hand left tour thigh to fist into your hair, tilting your head back just enough to expose your throat.
The ballroom was too bright, too loud, and far too full of Fae who thought themselves important.
I leaned against a pillar, my amber gown flickering like firelight under the chandeliers, my wine glass half-empty.
From the corner of my eye, I saw him cutting through the crowd, the winged brute that could only belong to Rhys.
Cassian.
The Night Court’s obedient hound.
I didn’t turn when he stopped beside me. He stood close enough that the scent of leather and steel drowned out the perfume and wine.
I lifted my glass, pretending to be interested in the dancers, all their fake smiles and forced laughter spinning in endless circles.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Cassian said, voice thick with amusement. “I thought your prince would prefer to handle his own diplomacy.”
I forced my best political smile, the one that didn’t reach my eyes.
“My lord is occupied tonight,” I said, my voice overly sweet. “He sends his regards.”
Cassian’s mouth curved into a grin, amusement flickering in his hazel eyes.
“I bet he does. Must sting, though, being left to play emissary while your prince hides behind his title, taking all the glory.”
I turned then, slow, deliberate, my gaze dragging up his body, expensive Night Court finery stretched over muscle.
He looked like a battlefield made of flesh, and I hated that my throat tightened when I met his eyes.
“You’re awfully bold for someone who fetches when called,” I said, voice cold and flat.
“Bold?” His smirk deepened. “No, sweetheart. Honest. You don’t like it here any more than I do, but at least I’m not pretending.”
“I don’t pretend,” I hissed.
He chuckled under his breath.
“No? Then stop staring at me like you want to find out what a bastard feels like.”
The words hit, sharp and unexpected. My mask cracked, and his grin turned wicked when he saw it.
“Watch yourself,” I whispered.
He leaned in, his eyes flicking to my mouth. I turned before I could say or do something I’d regret.
“Enjoy your night, bastard,” I muttered, walking away.
“Stop with the flattery, sweetheart,” he called after me, and I could hear the smirk in his voice.
I scoffed, rolling my eyes as I finished my wine, setting the empty glass down with more force than I meant to.
My heart was still pounding as I made my way toward a group of courtiers and emissaries, forcing my usual smile back into place.
Before I reached them, a man stepped in front of me.
I almost ran into him.
“I didn’t get to see you when you first arrived,” came the voice I’d been trying to avoid.
Rhysand.
High Lord of the Night Court.
My body went still, his magic brushing over my skin like cold smoke. I forced myself to bow, my chin lowering in submission.
“Please, Y/N,” he said, amused. “We’re well past formalities, especially after you called my general a bastard. Besides…”
His eyes glinted with amusement.
“We both know formality was never your strength when it came to me.”
My stomach twisted, and the words made my blood run cold.
I straightened, meeting his gaze.
“I see you haven’t changed,” I said.
“Neither have you,” he murmured, stepping closer. “You’re exactly as I remember, fire wrapped in silk and a tongue sharp enough to draw blood.”
“I don’t remember you complaining,” I said, before I could stop myself.
His eyes darkened, and for a moment, the ballroom seemed to shrink around us.
“No, I remember you screaming my name.”
My breath caught, and he smiled like he’d just won a game I didn’t know we were playing.
“A dance,” he said, extending a hand, “It would be rude to refuse your host, wouldn’t it?”
I hesitated, every instinct screaming at me to turn and run. Every instinct told me to refuse, but refusing Rhys in his own court wasn’t an option.
So I slipped my hand into his.
His fingers closed around mine, and that touch was enough to make my stomach twist.
“Good girl,” he murmured, just loud enough for me to hear.
The words made my cheeks burn.
He led me toward the centre of the ballroom, the music slowing. My breath caught as his hand found the small of my back, pulling me closer, my chest pressed against his.
“Tell me,” he said quietly, lips brushing my ear, “is this what Eris trains his emissaries for? To seduce their hosts and insult their generals?”
I forced a soft, sweet laugh. “From what I recall, it was your general who started it.”
His hand slid down my spine, and I shivered, his magic tightening around me.
We moved together, every step I took, he mirrored. Every breath I drew, he seemed to steal. His magic pressed against my skin, curling and pulling at my thoughts like invisible threads.
“I can see why Eris keeps you close,” he murmured. “He always hides the ones who burn too brightly.”
“Don’t speak about my lord,” I snapped before I could stop myself, my steps faltering, my hand tightening in his.
“Always so protective,” Rhys whispered, pulling me closer still, his lips grazing my ear. “He sees you as a pretty fae to do his bidding. We see you as something far more intriguing.”
My heart raced, and the tips of my fingers began to burn with Autumn heat.
“You don’t know my relationship with Eris,” I said, voice low, trembling as his hand slid lower to the curve of my ass.
“No, I don’t,” he murmured. “But the desire I smell from you has nothing to do with Autumn’s heir.”
I stopped completely, my grip on his hand tightening until my knuckles turned white.
“He was right,” I sneered, all court politeness gone as I ripped my hand from his. “This court is filled with brutes and bastards, and the Night Court’s own High Lord is a manipulative, overgrown ba—”
Before I could finish, his lips crashed onto mine, silencing me.
The world spun, his hands gripping my waist, pulling me against him, and my fingers tangled in his shirt, dragging him down to me.
The music, the crowd, all of it vanished beneath the burn of his mouth.
For a moment, I forgot where I was, forgot the politics, the danger, forgot everything but the feel of his lips on mine and the way his magic wrapped around me.
He started to pull away, but I caught him by the collar, my fingers tangling in his hair as my mouth found his again.
I was burning, hotter and hotter, as I pulled him closer.
He kissed me harder, held me tighter, until I was a breath away from pulling him down to the ballroom floor.
This was bad.
This was wrong.
Not here, not in the middle of a ballroom full of Fae who would already be whispering my sins back to the Autumn Court.
When he broke the kiss, his lips still brushing mine, the words slipped out before I could stop them.
“I want you, and the general,” I whispered against his mouth, the words reckless and desperate.
Rhys’s laughter was low and dark against my mouth, curling down my spine like smoke. Darkness rose around us, swallowing the golden light.
In the next heartbeat, the ballroom vanished, replaced by the chill and silence of a dark corridor.
My back hit something warm. Hands slid around my waist.
A breath brushed my ear, and I shivered as Rhys’s mouth trailed down my throat.
My head fell back, straight into another chest.
Cassian’s chuckle vibrating against my skin, sending the familiar burn of desire through me.
“You called for me, sweetheart,” he murmured.
His hands slid lower, pulling me tighter against his hardening cock.
I couldn’t suppress the breathy moan that escaped my lips as Rhys’s mouth trailed down my throat, his teeth grazing my skin.
My head fell back, resting against Cassian’s chest, his hands roamed higher, his touch relentless, his fingers tracing the curve of my waist, my breasts.
“You really wanna know what a bastard feels like, huh?” Cassian growled, his grip tightening, his breath hot against my ear.
I shouldn’t be doing this, I thought, but my body betrayed me, my mouth pressed against Cassian’s, my toes barely touching the ground as Rhys’s hands tore at my gown.
The fabric Eris had gifted me fell to the floor. Leaving me exposed, vulnerable, and achingly aware of their eyes on me.
The three of us stumbled further into the corridor, the shadows curling around us.
Clothes discarded. My hands fumbled with Cassian’s trousers, my fingers trembling as I freed his cock, thick and heavy.
Rhys’s hardness pressed against my back, his breath ghosting my neck, his hands roaming my bare skin. I felt his lips press against my throat, his teeth biting sensitive skin, sending shivers down my spine.
Cassian’s hands gripped my thighs, lifting me, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, our naked bodies pressing together.
“She’s dripping for us,” Cassian taunted.
Their laughter echoed through the hall, their cocks throbbing against my skin.
Cassian’s hands tightened on my ass, his cock pressing against my entrance. He thrust into me, his cock filling me, stretching me.
I moaned, my head falling back, my hands gripping his shoulders, my body adjusting to his size.
Rhys’s hands moved to my ass, his fingers circling my tight hole, prepping me with a slow, deliberate movement that made me whimper.
“Imagine what Eris would think,” Cassian said, his voice filled with humour, “knowing his emissary is getting fucked in both holes by the men he hates most.”
The words sent heat rushing to my cheeks, shame twisting through me, but still I clenched around him.
I let out a breathy groan as Rhys’s cock slid into me, stretching me, filling me, his groan hot in my ear.
I was full.
So full.
My body trembling, my mind blank except for the overwhelming sensation of them.
Cassian’s thrusts quickened, his hips snapping against mine, his hands bruising my hips as he held me tight.
“Fuck, you take it so well,” he growled, his voice rough with need, his cock pounding into me.
“Harder,” I gasped, my voice breaking. “Please, harder.”
Their rhythm became frantic, their cocks pounding into me, stretching me, claiming me.
Rhys’s hands guided me, his breath rough against my neck as he thrust into my ass, his cock pushing into my tight hole with a force that made me scream.
The music from the ballroom was a reminder of the reality beyond this corridor, but all I could focus on was the way they filled me, the way their bodies moved against mine.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Cassian moaned. “I’m gonna fill you to the brim.”
His grip tightened, his thrusts desperate, his hot seed spilling into me, filling me with his cum.
“The more I fuck you, the better you feel,” Rhys groaned.
His cock pressed deeper before filling my ass. I screamed, my body shattering around them, my orgasm tearing through me till I saw stars.
I was limp in their arms, my mind a blur of pleasure, their cocks still buried deep inside me.
“Next time,” Rhys said, his breath hot on my skin, “we’ll make him watch.”
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Summary: He knows exactly how good you look, and he wants you to see it too.
Warnings: nsfw, smut, manipulation, dom/sub dynamic, spanking, degradation, humiliation, no aftercare, intense sexual scene, explicit language
Word Count: 386
Day 7 | Kinktober Masterlist | Day 9
I braced myself, fingers twisting into the sheets. His thrusts were brutal, relentless, each one stealing the breath from my lungs and leaving me a trembling mess.
A groan escaped my mouth, muffled by the pillow I’d bitten down on, desperate to stifle the cries. I didn’t need to fuel his arrogance any more than I already had; he knew exactly how to break me.
How to turn me into a whimpering, screaming wreck.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he grunted, his voice rough.
Cassian’s hands gripped my hips, fingers bruising my skin, as he pulled my hips back to meet his. One of his hands tangled in my hair, yanking me up from the bed.
I gasped as my face lifted from the sheets.
“Open those eyes. Look at yourself, look at how fucking wrecked you are,” he growled.
I forced my eyes open, the mirror at the end of the bed showing me every detail.
There I was, on all fours, tears in my eyes, mouth parted. My hair was a mess, sticking to my skin, as I was held in place by his grip.
The angle was perfect; I could see him behind me, his tan skin glistening with sweat, his hazel eyes gleaming, as he smirked at me through the mirror.
His hand slapped my ass, the sting sharp against my skin, as he pushed my face back into the sheets.
His thrusts grew harder, deeper, merciless.
The pain twisted into pleasure as he hit the spot again and again, the same spot that had me swearing, grunting, a mess of pain and pleasure.
“Fuck, I don’t know how you’re still so tight after everything I’ve done to you,” he growled.
The mirror reflected it all, the way our bodies moved in perfect, filthy sin.
Cassan wanted me to see it.
To own it.
My body was spread, bruised from his pounding, my pussy dripping as his thick cock stretched me, filled me, and I could feel every inch of him.
“Fuck, I’m close,” he growled, his voice a warning, a promise.
I whimpered, my body clenching around him, desperate to keep him deep inside.
“That’s it,” he moaned as he thrust into me, his cum slicking my thighs. “Look at yourself being used.”
karnak cowboys!marc spector + being caught doing the deed.
based on this thirst post of mine.
you were the fourth member of the karnak cowboys. you and marc were always chewing each other out during briefings even during actual operations. he’d insist there was no need for a fourth member, and frenchie would just sigh and point out marc’s “occasional instability.” marc would only shake his head, muttering something under his breath.
at least, that’s how the both of you behaved in front of frenchie and plesko. they’d just exchange glances and leave whenever your “disagreements” got too heated.
but in the dark, when it was just the two of you, the truth was, you couldn’t keep your hands off each other.
—
at the hideout, while plesko and frenchie were busy at the helo, marc lifted you easily, setting you atop a wooden crate. he stepped between your legs, kissing you hard and hungry. his fingers fumbled with the straps of your vest, lips tracing from your jaw to the curve of your neck.
he tugged the vest off, yanked up your shirt, and when you gasped his name…
“marc-”
he hushed you with a rough “shh.”
in one practiced motion, he unhooked your bra and tossed it aside. you propped your hands on the crate, not noticing you’d knocked something over until a clang echoed through the room. you turned to look it was frenchie’s wrench lay on the floor.
marc caught your jaw and dragged your gaze back to him, kissing you again, desperate now. his hands were everywhere, squeezing, grabbing… then his mouth found your pulse, biting down just enough to make you gasp.
“marc-”
“marc!”
this time it wasn’t you. the voice was deeper, familiar- and currently irritating.
marc didn’t even flinch. he only shifted his body to cover you, more possessive than protective.
“what?!” he barked.
robert stood at the doorway, eyes wide, then you saw him grin. “yeah, just what i thought. can you pass frenchie’s wrench? or do you want me to come get it myself?”
“fucking hell,” marc muttured.
—
it was the night before the cairo mission. right after the briefing, marc had pulled you into one of the rooms in the safe house. and now, you found yourself riding him.
“fuck- we have to be quick,” you panted, pace picking up.
“take your fucking time,” marc groaned, pushing lazily, stubbornly deep.
“don’t—wanna—get caught—again,” you gasped between breaths.
his grip tightened on your hips. he drove into you, steady and unrelenting.
then…
“get the fuck out.”
you froze, blinking. “wh-what?” you whispered, startled, hurt.
marc didn’t answer you. he was glaring at the door. “get the fuck out, frenchie.”
you heard frenchie’s amused chuckle. “how did you know it was me?”
you could practically hear his hands lift in surrender. and you, flushed to the ears, realized, marc still hadn’t pulled out.
“get. out!” he shouted.
there was a grumble, a door closing, and then a meek knock. “sorry,” came frenchie’s muffled apology- to you, not marc.
you hid your burning face in your hands. marc just groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck still buried deep inside you.
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Ways That Fear Can Show Up (Without Saying “Fear”)
When it creeps:
• Foreboding — the air feels wrong before anything actually happens.
• Ominousness — silence that feels almost... purposeful.
• Misgiving — your instincts tugging at your sleeve, whispering, "Don't."
When it hits fast:
• Shock — your brain blanks
• Startled— your heart slams, you inhale
• Panic — thoughts fracture; your instincts beg for escape
When it lingers:
• Tension — jaw locked, shoulders up near your ears.
• Anxiety — background noise that lingers in every thought
• Dread — knowing something bad is coming and having to wait for it.
When it turns physical:
• Shivers — cold crawling up the spine.
• Sweat, dilated pupils, skin gone pale — your own body betrays you.
• Weakness — knees like jelly, grip unreliable.
When it overwhelms:
• Terror — too big to think around.
• Horror — something has gone wrong.
• Paralysis — body refusing orders.
When it distorts reality:
• Paranoia — patterns where there are none.
• Suspicion — every sound feels intentional.
• Unease — the sense of being watched without proof.
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