Sleepy💤

The close relationships you had built with each of them mattered too much. You couldn’t throw everything away.

“We didn’t want you to feel weirded out, you know?” Katara finally broke the silence as she scooted closer, until her chest pressed against your arm.

“Oh, no, I would never—”

Your breath caught in your throat the moment her hand landed on your thigh.

“Is that okay?” Katara asked softly, fingers resting there carefully.

You could barely answer her.

You nodded quietly instead.

“I want to hear you talk,” she pushed gently, her hand slowly sliding higher up your thigh.

“It’s okay,” you breathed out shakily.

“You’re blushing like crazy,” Sokka snickered as he leaned back on his palms, eyes never leaving your form.

You threw him a glare, but the second your eyes locked with his, you couldn’t hold it for long.

Yeah.

For the first time, you actually felt intimidated by Sokka.

“Are you too hot right now?” Katara spoke again, making you look back at her. “You’re burning up,” she continued while your breathing turned more uneven with every second. “Should I help you?”

She offered it so casually, like she wasn’t making your entire body heat up with just a few touches.

You would’ve liked not to answer so fast. But you did.

She barely even managed to finish speaking before a nervous “yes” left your lips.

Toph and Sokka immediately giggled while Zuko and Aang sent you sympathetic looks, though neither of them looked much calmer themselves.

“Come here, then. Lay your back against my chest,” Katara instructed gently, though there was still firmness hidden beneath her soft tone.

You nodded quickly and shifted towards her, settling between her legs until your back rested against her chest comfortably.

“Tell me if it’s too much, alright?” she whispered near your ear.

Then you felt her hands slide downwards until they rested over your breasts beneath the dark green robe you were wearing.

Your breath hitched.

Katara hooked her fingers into the fabric and slowly dragged the material aside, exposing your bare breasts to the entire room. Cool air brushed against your skin immediately, making your nipples harden from the sudden loss of warmth.

Sokka whistled at the sight before Zuko nudged him hard in the side.

Aang stayed quiet, but his eyes were completely focused on your chest now.

“Nothing underneath?” Katara questioned with a knowing smile tugging at her lips.

“I— you all appeared out of nowhere— I didn’t have time—” you tried to explain quickly.

“She’s lying,” Toph interrupted with a grin.

Your face burned hotter as you looked down at your lap.

Katara raised a brow at you expectantly.

You took a deep breath as you closed your eyes, avoiding their eyes.

“I wore nothing on purpose,” you finally admitted on a quiet tone.

A moan instantly slipped from your lips when Katara’s hands squeezed your breasts, kneading the soft skin slowly.

“Oh,” she whispered against your ear. “Then maybe we’ll have to punish you for lying and for the other times you did things on purpose.”

Her fingers squeezed your nipples harder.

Then suddenly, you felt something freezing against your skin.

You jolted.

Looking down, you realized the tips of Katara’s fingers had turned icy cold, frost slowly forming against your heated skin. The sharp contrast made your entire body squirm in her lap.

She kept rubbing your nipples between her fingers, making shaky cries leave your throat from both the sting and pleasure of it.

“Mhm— ah!”

Your head fell back against her shoulder.

“Need some warmth?” she teased softly.

Before you could answer, you heard heavy footsteps approaching.

You lifted your head slightly and saw Zuko walking towards you before lowering himself onto his knees between your legs.

His large hands rested carefully against your knees first before slowly sliding upwards over your skin.

“That okay?” he asked quietly, eyes fixed on yours while waiting patiently for your answer.

You nodded automatically.

Katara immediately pressed colder fingers against your nipple in punishment for your non-verbal reply, making you jolt with a whimper.

“Yes! Yes, it’s okay— I’m sorry,” you gasped out quickly.

Zuko’s lips curled into a small teasing smirk before he slowly pushed aisde the material of your robes, completely revealing your legs along with your undergarments.

Then his palm slowly went between youe legs, pressing directly against your clothed core.

Your hips jerked forward instinctively at the warmth of his hand against your sensitive heat.

Katara’s lips brushed against your ear at the same time, making another shiver run through your body.

You had Katara’s cold hands on your breasts and Zuko’s warmth pressing down on you through the material, the contrast making your head spin.

You were so lost in the moment that you didn’t even notice Aang and Sokka stepping closer until they settled beside you on either side.

“Gonna help us out a little too, right?” Sokka asked with a grin.

“If you want to, of course,” Aang added with a soft voice, offering a nervous smile.

How could you even refuse them?

“I’d love—mhm— love to,” you say, a lot breathier than intended.

Sokka’s grin widened after hearing your reply. He then took your hand that rested on Katara’s leg, while Aang carefully lifted your other hand, fumbling slightly with his trousers.

Normally, you probably would’ve giggled at how awkward he looked for a second. But Zuko and Katara already had you dizzy from the overwhelming contrast of hot and cold sensations moving through your body.

You let both boys guide your hands where they wanted them, your eyes slightly widening when you saw them pulling out their half-hardened cocks.

Sokka was bigger than you expected, not overly thick but long enough to make your throat tighten. Aang was thicker, with more prominent veins running along his length, making you wonder how would it feel inside you.

Both of them were already leaking precum, feeling their wettnes the moment your fingers wrapped around them. Quiet hisses and groans filled the room as you started moving your hands slowly, thumbs spreading the slick fluid over their tips before stroking up and down carefully.

Sokka’s hand quickly caught your wrist, encouraging you to pump him faster, while Aang seemed to enjoy slower movements more.

So you tried your best to give both of them what they wanted.

But it was hard to stay focused.

Katara was still kneading your breasts like they belonged to her, earning soft whimpers from you every few seconds before icy jolts shot through your body whenever her cold fingertips brushed over your sensitive nipples too harshly.

At the same time, Zuko’s palm kept rubbing over your clothed core, thumb brushing your clit, pressing down and spreading his warmth all over, making your hips twitch forward helplessly.

When he finally stopped moving and pulled his hand away, you almost whimpered at the loss. But then your gaze dropped towards Toph, who was crawling towards you with a grin spread across her face.

“What—”

“Shh,” Katara cooed softly into your ear, her warm breath brushing your skin and making your heart race even faster. “It’s okay.”

Toph reached you and immediately pushed your legs apart wider while Zuko’s hand suddenly caught your chin, forcing your attention back onto him instead.

You blinked in confusion at first, only for your breath to catch when you realized he was freeing his cock too.

Slowly, carefully, he guided the tip against your parted lips.

“Just a little?” he asked, voice low as the tip brushed against your lower lip.

“Yes,” you breathed out quickly before Katara could punish you again for staying quiet.

That was all Zuko needed.

He pushed into your mouth too fast at first, making you gag immediately as tears burned at your eyes. He muttered a quick apology under his breath before pulling back slightly to let you breathe. Then he moved again, slower this time, more careful. Though you could still tell he wanted to go faster.

Your watery gaze dropped towards Toph, who was already pulling the rest of your clothes away completely. The second she exposed your cunt, her fingertips slid through your folds curiously before she chuckled softly at how wet you already were.

Your hips instinctively moved towards her touch, the sudden movement making you gag around Zuko again.

Toph only grinned wider at the sounds.

She lowered herself between your legs completely before hooking them over her shoulders.

Then her mouth was on you.

The first slow lick along your folds made your entire body shake. A second later, she sucked harshly at your clit, earning louder muffled cries from your throat around Zuko’s cock.

Katara kept whispering soft praises into your ear while stimulating your nipples relentlessly. They were probably swollen and red by now from how much attention she gave them, but the sting only turned you on more.

Your grip around Sokka and Aang loosened slightly as your focus completely shattered from all the sensations hitting you at once.

Zuko thrusting into your mouth.

Toph licking between your legs like she was starving.

Katara torturing your sensitive chest.

Sokka noticed immediately.

He firmly grabbed your wrist and guided your hand faster along his length, using your grip to help himself chase his release.

Aang stayed gentler instead.

He slowly rocked into your hand while one of his palms moved into your hair, carefully massaging your scalp and trying to comfort you despite how overwhelmed you already looked.

The room slowly filled with sounds.

Your muffled moans.

Sokka’s groans.

Aang’s shaky breaths.

Zuko’s rough grunts.

And the wet slurping noises coming from between your legs every time Toph sucked harder at your clit.

Meanwhile, Katara stayed steady behind you through all of it, paying attention to every reaction your body gave her. Every twitch. Every gasp.

Every tear gathering at your eyes whenever Zuko pushed too deep into your throat or Toph sucked your clit too harshly.

At one point, your eyes fluttered shut completely.

There were too many sensations at once. Too many hands touching you everywhere — your breasts, your waist, your stomach, your thighs.

“I’m close,” Zuko suddenly grunted.

Your eyes opened halfway.

Steam curled faintly from his skin and through his nose, while veins stood out sharply along his neck as his thrusts became rougher and sloppier.

Then, with a sharp breath, he finally pulled out and spilled over his own palm instead.

You inhaled deeply the second your mouth was free, finally able to breathe properly again—

—but the relief barely lasted two seconds.

Katara’s hand grabbed your chin firmly and turned your head towards her before she crashed her lips against yours.

The kiss instantly turned messy.

Teeth clashing. Lips biting.

Saliva slipping down your chin as she kissed you greedily, swallowing every shaky whimper that left your throat. At some point, her hand slid back down between your thighs, fingers pressing directly against your clit while Toph kept licking at your folds below.

Toph hummed against you, tightening her grip around your thighs.

You moaned louder, hips moving faster now until you were practically grinding your pussy against Toph’s face.

Your toes curled hard and a hot feeling started tightening inside your stomach, growing stronger with every touch, every movement, every hand on your body.

Then suddenly, another hand tilted your chin upwards.

Aang.

He lowered himself closer before pulling you into another kiss immediately after Katara let you go. You thought he would be a bit more composed, but with the way his tongue pushed into your mouth desperately… it was far from that.

Your hand still stroked him through the kiss, feeling him twitch harder and harder in your grip. He whimpered against your lips, both hands tangling into your hair as he pulled you closer.

The kiss quickly became sloppy and desperate. Then his whole body tensed suddenly.

You felt hot cum spill over your hand while his movements faltered completely. Small apologies left his lips between kisses, breathless and embarrassed.

You couldn’t help smiling faintly against his mouth.

But before the moment could last, another strong hand wrapped gently around your throat, pulling you away from Aang.

Then Sokka kissed you next.

He no longer needed help to finish as he did the work by himself since you were so lost in the moment.

Your jaw hurt and your lips were completely swollen because of the kissing. You were still trying to focus on reaching that feeling that felt so close.

You let out a moan as you let Sokka’s tongue leave your mouth, while your hips rose up to meet Toph faster. But before you can feel that sweet pressure finally snap, you heard Katara’s voice behindyou.

“Stop,” her voice came out strong and firm, making you shiver.

Toph’s movements slow down as she leans back, while Sokka’s mouth leaves yours.

“But—” you try to complain.

“Where would be the punishment if we let you get what you want?” she smiled at you, but her eyes gave you another message… one that stirred something in you. Something heavy and dark and… curious.

You’ve never thought you’d enjoy feeling so many hands on you, so many mouths, so many bodies… but you did, and you wanted to see how far this will go.

Katara patted your leg to get up, and you tried, but you almost fell due to your wobbly legs, yet Aang moved faster and caught you in his strong arms.

“Easy,” he whispered in your ear, making you look up at him, seeing how fond he was looking at you. He had that kind smile on his face.

Before you can even thank him, you heard Katara’s voice behind you, sending shivers down your spine.

The bar is loud, bustling with folks holding half-empty beers or glasses of whiskey. Music plays softly overhead, and a few small groups sway to the rhythm. Glasses clink against the bar, pool balls crack together, and the wind blows softly against all of it from outside. 

Scott Miller is watching you. You’ve only had half of a beer, meaning you’re still fairly sober, but he’s almost positive he knows what you’re doing as you talk to Javi. You’re just a little too close, your StormPar shirt having been discarded somewhere, leaving you in just your tank top and jeans. 

Scott is trying to ignore it, he really is. Who gives a shit if you and Javi are…Whatever you are? God, not him. Sure as hell not him. It’s not like he spends an extra ten minutes in the shower jerking his cock to the thought of you on your knees, pressing your tits together while you open your mouth to take his load. Nope. No fuckin’ way.

Besides, you and him aren’t a thing. Never have been, never will be. It doesn’t matter that he drives you around from time to time, or that he feels your eyes lingering on him while he’s pushing his hair out of his face, or that at least two days out of the week you end up in his motel room. Fuck no, that doesn’t matter, because you’ve clearly got eyes for Javi. 

Why shouldn’t you? Scott knows Javi’s a nice guy. A gentleman. Opens doors, uses his manners, chooses his words carefully. You deserve a guy like Javi, he guesses. Not that he cares whose bed you’re in, anyway. 

But he can’t ignore the way his stomach is twisting at the sight before him. Seeing you belly-laugh at Javi’s jokes has him feeling more ill than driving full-speed in tornado weather ever has. You never laugh like that with him. Scott supposes that he isn’t a terribly funny guy, though. That’s it, that’s what it is. And that's just fine. It’s not like he wants you to be in love with him. That’s fucking ridiculous.

Scott takes a final swig of his beer – it’s room temperature, now, anyway – and then pays the bartender before approaching you and Javi and the others. You glance over, and when he catches your eye, you look him up and down. He’s pulling his pack of gum out of his pocket and popping a stick into his mouth. 

“I’m out,” Scott says. “You comin’?”

You glance at Javi, then at your watch. 

“It’s only nine. Are you sure you don’t wanna–”

“I’m pretty sure,” Scott says. He glances at Javi, then looks at you again. “I’m going. Take it or leave it.”

You sigh. Knowing Javi, he’ll be out until past midnight, and Scott was your ride here, afterall. You nod, then take a final sip of your beer before handing it to Javi. 

“Behave,” you warn him playfully before crossing the bar to grab your StormPar shirt off one of the stools. Scott’s jaw is clenched as he watches you closely. You know what you’re doing to him, he’s positive of it, now. Behave? Behave? Jesus, what is this? What was that?

Scott’s jaw works as he chews his gum, arms crossed while he follows you with his eyes. You approach him, nodding as you do. 

“Let’s go,” you say. He says nothing, instead turning and walking ahead of you as he pulls the truck keys out of his pocket. You smirk to yourself as you look him up and down while you follow him. With a surge of confidence, you rush forward and give his ass a playful squeeze. Scott glances at you, chewing his gum aggressively as his brows furrow. 

“What was that for?” he asks snippily. You shrug. 

“These pants look nice on you,” you say simply. Scott shakes his head. 

“You’re drunk,” he huffs as he unlocks the truck and opens the driver side door. You walk around the side with an eyeroll. 

“I am not. I can just appreciate when your ass looks good.” Scott says nothing as the two of you buckle in, and you glance at him. Something’s off. It isn’t hard to tell. He’s chewing the hell outta his gum, his brows are set, and his eyes are dark. “Scott.”

“What?” 

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” he says shortly as he sticks the key into the ignition and backs out of his parking space.

“You’re lying.”

“Since when did you care?” he asks. What a silly thing to say. You figured after working together for nearly a year, he’d know that you care. Sure, you pick on each other, but that doesn’t mean you don’t care about him. 

“What–”

“You’re asking so you can make sure you haven’t done anything wrong? Is that what this is?” Scott asks coolly. You’re still looking at him. 

“No, I just wanna make sure you’re okay. That’s it.”

He hesitates. Scott, who always has a witty comeback or a calculated answer, hesitates.

“Why are you being so nice?” he asks as he drives along. 

“I’m always nice.”

“No, you’re not. You’re nice when you’re stuffed full of cock, but otherwise–”

“Uncalled for.”

“-- You’re a total bitch. And you just want me to reassure you that I think of you as Little Miss Perfect.”

“Why are you being like this?” you ask sharply. 

“Why don’t you spend the night with Javi instead if you don’t like the way this is going?”

You pause. Oh. That’s what this is. You sigh, eyes closing briefly. You shake your head. 

“Javi and I have known each other for years. I tell you this every single time. He’s my friend, we joke with each other–”

“Didn’t look like a joke when he touched your lower back.”

“He’s a touchy guy! That’s all!” 

Scott shakes his head and pops his gum as he stops at a red light. 

“You’re sleeping around, aren’t you?” Scott asks as if he already knows the answer.

“Fuck you.”

“No, tell me. If I’m wrong, just deny it.”

“You’re calling me a slut,” you say angrily. You’re almost to the motel, the bar having been just around the corner, just a few roads over. “Let me out, I’d rather walk than be in here with you.”

Scott locks the doors. 

“Answer my question,” he insists as he pulls onto the road the motel is on. 

“I’m not sleeping around!” you practically yell. “And if I was, that would be my fucking choice. Since when do you care whose bed I end up in, anyway? I’m not your girlfriend. I’m barely your friend. You hate me.”

“I do not hate you–”

“You act like you do. Let me out right here.”

“No.”

“You’re an asshole. Let me out.” 

Scott pulls into the lot, and you shake your head. 

“Javi wants you. It’s not hard to tell.”

“And who says I want him back?” you snap, glaring at him as he parks. “Why were you telling him to behave?”

“It was a joke, Scott! For fucksake, unlock the car or I’m–”

Scott unlocks his own door and gets out. He’s walking around to your side, you realize, and you unbuckle your seatbelt. He opens the door, and you shove at his chest to get past him. He catches your wrist, and you tug away. 

“Let go of me.”

“Listen–”

“No, you listen. I can sleep with whoever the fuck I want. I’m not sleeping with Javi, but if I were, I bet he’d be a lot fucking nicer than you are. Maybe I should sleep with him. I bet it’d be an upgrade.”

It’s Scott’s turn to glare at you, now. 

“That was shitty,” he says. 

“You’re shitty.” You bump against him when he moves forward, and you feel his half-hard cock through his pants. “Oh my god. You’re a freak.”

“Tell me something I don’t already know,” Scott says, still holding your wrist. Gently, he presses you against the side of the truck. Your breath catches, and your core gets hot. “So. You don’t like Javi.”

“Ah, he finally grasps what I’ve been saying for months,” you say condescendingly. Scott fits his knee between your thighs, and you weakly shove at his chest as he leans down to kiss your throat. 

“Be nice,” he warns. 

“Or what?”

He draws back to look at you, then glances at your cleavage and gives your breasts a squeeze, pushing them together in your top. You roll your eyes. 

“One track mind. Jesus Christ. Get off me, someone will see.”

“Go on, lead the way,” Scott says, squeezing your ass as he reaches into his pocket to pull out his room key. 

You should leave. You should go to your own room and not speak to him for the rest of the night. It would be so easy to leave Scott high and dry, to tell him to fuck off and use his hand for once.

But you want him. 

You’ve wanted him all fucking night. 

All that dancing, all those fake laughs, all the seductive looks you threw his way…God, he didn’t catch any of it. He’s such an idiot. 

So, when he lets go of you, you don’t head straight to your room at the other end of the motel. You hold his wrist and lead him towards his room. You even grab the key from him to unlock the door. He’s on you as you do, kissing and nipping at your throat with those skilled, plump lips of his. Fuck him. Genuinely fuck him.

You get the door open, and Scott’s large hands smooth over your waist. You let him press you against the door once it’s kicked shut and re-locked. When he rocks his hips against you and you feel his erection, you don’t pull away. Your skin is on fire, burning with want and arousal. You hate him. You hate that he does this to you. You hate that you want him to. 

You throw his cap to the side, then run your fingers through his hair and give it a harsh tug down so you can kiss him. He hums against your mouth, fitting his knee between your thighs again. You grind down against it, desperate for friction. He chuckles, and you tug his hair again. 

“Shut up,” you mutter.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You laughed.”

“I wasn’t laughing at you.”

He presses his hands against your breasts again, this time using the force of his touch to pin you against the wall. He pinches your nipples through the tank top, through your bra, and you gasp into his open mouth. 

“I ever tell you how much I love these fuckin’ things?” he asks. You bite his bottom lip. He tastes like mint and beer and something that is so painfully, familiarly him. 

“Maybe once or twice,” you say. He pinches your nipples again. You flick him with your index finger. “That fucking hurts–”

“Don’t whine at me,” he says, tugging you forward and off the door. Scott pulls off your tank top, throws it aside, and reaches around to unclip your bra. He throws that away too, then cups your breasts in his big hands. Your nipples are hard from being played with, and he hums at the sight. “Oh, yeah…These’re nice…”

“You’re so weird,” you say as you unbutton his StormPar shirt. You get rid of it, then push your hands beneath his undershirt to feel his firm, warm stomach. 

“You’re into it,” Scott says, nosing at your neck. “Don’t even try to pretend you aren’t.”

He pushes you down onto the bed, and your body bounces. He grabs your ankle and begins to untie your boot. You watch him with a small smirk. 

“You could give me a show while I do this, y’know. I’m being really nice.”

“A show, huh?”

“Play with your tits,” Scott says. You roll your eyes, but bring your hands to your breasts anyway. You massage them, pressing them together over and over, and Scott hums as he throws your boot and sock to the floor before grabbing your other ankle and untying that one, too.

“Pinch ‘em.”

“Fucking perv,” you say quietly, biting your lip as you pinch and roll your nipples between your fingers. Scott gets rid of your other boot and sock, then grabs both ankles and yanks you to the edge of the mattress so he can get to the buttons on your jeans. You run your hands along his biceps as he unbuttons and unzips them and tugs them down. He throws those aside, too. 

“How would you feel if I just fucked your thighs?” Scott asks, taking a moment to pull off his undershirt, leaving his chest, arms, back, and stomach on display for you. You gawk at him, barely registering his question. “Or your tits? Huh? Leave you hangin’? Make you take care of yourself on your own?”

“...What?” Scott rolls his eyes, then pushes at your hip. 

“You’re obnoxious. Roll over,” he tells you. You do, and he pulls your hips back so that you’re on all fours. You bite your lip, letting out a soft moan as he spreads the lips of your pussy and leans in to tongue at your entrance teasingly. 

“Fuck, Scott…” you breathe, looking back at him. He’s gripping your hips tightly, holding you in place as he tastes you. You’re so wet already, and feeling his tongue, hot and wet and muscle-y, makes you squirm in place. 

“Enough teasing,” you tell him.

“So impatient,” Scott breathes, suddenly plunging two fingers into your pussy. “I’m making sure you’re wet enough to take my cock.”

You roll your eyes and moan at the same time. He moves his fingers quickly, his fingertips massaging your spongy g-spot, and you feel a sort of building sensation in your abdomen.

“Fuck, Scott, o-oh my god—“

You squirt on his fingers suddenly and without warning, gasping as you do so. Scott hums. You’re positive that he’s smirking. You look back at him.

“I-I told you to stop fuckin’ teasing me,” you breathe. He hums, then sticks his arousal-soaked fingers into your mouth. You suck on them eagerly, and he gives your head a gentle shake.

“You’re so pretty when your mouth is full,” he says. You hum, sucking on his fingers before he pulls them away.

Scott gives your ass a smack, and then you hear the sound of him undoing his pants. Your back arches in anticipation, and Scott gives your ass another harsh smack. 

“Already know what to do, hm?” he hums. You hear him pumping his cock a few times, presumably smearing his pre-cum over his member, and your core clenches around nothing. You give your ass a playful shake. 

“Hurry up,” you breathe. He grips your hip with one hand and guides his leaky tip to your pussy with the other. You bite your lip, head falling forward as he presses in. “F-Fuck…”

“Shut you right up, huh?” Scott comments. You clench around his tip. 

“Fuck off,” you whimper, gripping the comforter tightly. “Oh, god, c’mon, put it in already–”

Scott thrusts all the way in suddenly and without warning, making you gasp. It stings – it always does, no matter how wet you are – but it quickly fizzles out into pleasure as he moves in and out, in and out, in and out. You gasp, jaw slacking and eyes fluttering. You feel a hand on the back of your head, and it pushes your face down into the mattress as you’re fucked faster and faster. 

“There we go,” Scott grunts. “Mmm…So much prettier when you’re quiet…”

“S-Shut the fuck up,” you breathe. “O-Oh, shit…”

Scott chuckles, then gives your ass a smack. 

“Gonna fill this p-pussy up…” he babbles. You’ll never admit it, but you love it when he talks like this. “Get you all full of me…”

“I’ll keep it all,” you breathe. “K-Keep it all inside…”

A condescending chuckle. 

“I know you will,” Scott says, plowing into you. The bed rocks and creaks with the force of his thrusts. “Such a good little cum dump.”

“R-Romantic,” you breathe, hardly registering his words. You’re so blissed out, so hot on his cock. You’re an exposed nerve – hot and quivering and accepting of all sensations. Scott grunts. 

“You like it,” he says. “I know you do. Y-You love it when I use you.”

He reaches around and rubs your clit in tight, firm circles. You whine loudly, eyes squeezing shut as he pleasures you. Your walls flutter, heat flooding your core, and Scott hums at the feeling. “Gonna cum?” he asks. “Hm?”

“S-Soon,” you moan. “Oh, god, yeah…”

“Me too,” he grunts, hips rutting faster and faster as he rubs your clit. “Hurry up…Cum for me…”

You feel your orgasm rising, rising, rising, and then–

“Oh, fuck!” you moan, walls spasming around Scott’s cock as you fall over the edge. Your thighs shake and warmth washes over you. “Fuck!”

Feeling you orgasm forces Scott over the edge, and he grunts lowly as he pulls his fingers away from your throbbing clit and grips your hips with both hands. He cums deep inside of you, filling you to the brim with his hot, sticky seed. You moan at the feeling, face still pressed against the mattress, and when you feel his thrusts begin to slow, you hum softly. 

“Took me so well,” Scott babbles breathily. “Jesus fucking christ. Always taking me so well. Your pussy’s so pretty when it’s full of me…” 

You squeeze his cock with your walls, and he hisses as he begins to pull out. 

“Don’t do that shit,” he says. You hum, smirking to yourself as his softened cock slips out of you. 

“Why not? S’fun to tease you,” you say. He smacks your ass and you roll over onto your back to look up at him. Scott leans over you to nip at your throat. 

“Javi could never make you feel that good,” he whispers against your skin. You sigh, running your hands through his hair. 

“Scott…”

“Say it.”

“Are you serious?”

He pulls back and looks into your eyes. For a moment, you swear there’s something unfamiliar shining in them. 

“Say it,” he tells you again. You touch his cheek. 

“Javi could never make me feel that good.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

rynwritesstuff, 2025

It started with a comment about how they looked so much alike. Scott adamantly denies this and Clark only gets flustered when you insist that they’re both equally handsome. For some reason, it ends up with your face pressed against the bed and your hips raised to meet them.

Scott pushes you down into the sheets, your face mushed into his mattress, where you’re suddenly breathing in his scent. It’s a heady, masculine cologne that engulfs your senses, intoxicating in a way that only Scott could be. Your heart nearly beats out of your ribcage because you can’t see them. The only way you know that it’s Scott’s hands on your hips, positioning you in front of him, is because Clark is whispering in mild irritation, “This isn’t right, Scott. This is so disrespectful to her.”

“You gonna stop me, Kent? You’re telling me you haven’t been imagining what this pretty pussy looks like all this time?” Scott chuckles, tracing a finger up your bare thighs beneath your skirt. He flips the flimsy fabric up over your ass. “And a thong too — Christ, you’re such a slut, sweetheart.”

“Scott,” Clark chides again and you can imagine the disappointed frown marring his face.

Scott chooses to ignore him, instead focusing on how your pussy’s started leaking already. You can feel your slick folds, even more so when Scott digs his thumb in, pushing the thin string into your moist cunt. “She’s so wet already,” he groans, “you’ve been waiting for this, you little minx. Always fucking pushing our buttons when all you wanted was our cocks, is that it?”

Your denial is muffled even as you turn your face to catch a glimpse of them, a peek at Clark’s guilty face tainted with the greedy way he drinks in your pussy, a look at Scott licking his lips as he pushes his thumb just slightly deeper.

“Why don’t we play a little game?” Scott hums, hooking his finger on your panties as he drags it down your thighs. He doesn’t even bother removing it completely, lets it hang off your right ankle as if to say, you asked for this by wearing this.

“W-what game?” You manage to rasp.

“We’re going to have you figure out who’s who.” Scott murmurs, brushing your hair away from your shoulder as he presses his palm between your shoulder blades again. “We’re both going to fuck you, take turns sinking our cocks into this pretty pussy of yours, and you have to guess whose cock it is.”

Your heart lurches into your throat.

“And if you can get it right five times in a row, you’ll get to cum. How does that sound?”

Like heaven, you traitorous pussy says. Your brain and heart are in a losing battle when you can feel the warm pulse between your legs.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Scott chuckles. “You ready?”

You quickly learn that their similarities extend to the length between their legs. The first time one of them pushes their cock inside, all you can focus on is the burn. They’re big, bigger than anyone else you’ve ever had. This person doesn’t do shallow thrusts, they bury themselves completely inside you until you can feel their hips against your ass. 

“I don’t—” you choke when they pull out and thrust back in, hard. “How am I supposed to know? I’ve never been with either of you,” you whine pathetically, words crumbling into moans as your pussy stretches around the girth. 

“You know us, should know our cocks too.” Scott’s voice is a little breathless.

“Fuck, this is Scott. You’re fucking me,” you whimper. 

“Good girl, but I made it too easy for you. That one doesn’t count.”

“But I guessed correctly!” 

The cock slips out of you with a lewd pop, your own juices leaking down the back of your thighs as you shakily prop yourself up on all fours. You try to turn but the squeezing hand on your hip stops you. 

Then you feel them — two fingers tentatively dragging up the slick down your legs, a subtle little moan, as they spread the sticky mess back up to your pussy. The fingers trace your pussy lips, the carefulness in the movements signal awe, as if you’re being observed like a specimen. 

The fingers ease into you, thick, wiggling until you feel their knuckles against your folds.

“Now whose fingers are these, sweetheart?”

Long, long fingers. They brush up against that spongy part deep inside you that has you twitching. A shudder wracks through your body as they spread said fingers, stretching you out to see inside of your pussy.

“Scott…?” You guess meekly. This has to be a trick question. 

Smack! You jolt forward, more so from the shock of the slap on your ass. The area where the hand landed throbs dully with the sting. “Wrong.”

God, fuck. Tears prick your eyes. Whether it’s from the intensity of the situation or the fact that the people pleaser in you has failed, you can’t tell. 

“Clark,” you moan as he slowly pushes his fingers in and out of you. 

“Good girl,” Clark coos sweetly, “doing so good for me, honey. You’re dripping all over my fingers. Making such a mess, it’s going down to my wrist.”

Your heart beats against your ribs, guilt gnawing at your bones. “‘M sorry, didn’t mean to.”

Clark shushes you with another deep push of his fingers into your quivering cunt. “It’s okay, no need to be sorry. You’re so pretty for us, leaking all over like this. Just means you like us too much.”

“I do, I do,” you agree numbly. 

“We’re going to, um, put—”

“We’re going to fuck you again now,” Scott interrupts, you imagine the roll of his eyes at Clark who would just press his lips together. “Try and focus.”

The cock that slides into you next… feels exactly the same. Same length, same girth, same fucking burn. Your frustration builds in your chest into a vexed whine that slips past your lips. 

Another slap on your ass that catches you off guard. “Focus,” Scott barks, but you can hear the smirk in his voice. 

You do, you’re trying. The cock fucks deep inside you moved in a slow, steady rhythm to the beat of your heart. All you can think about is the delicious stretch that fuels the spark that’s been lit between your legs. 

It feels damn good. Whoever this is knows how to find those little spots inside of you, your trigger points that hurtle you forward into a delirium of pleasure. Every thrust feels intentional. Every thrust is specially made for you.

“C-Clark,” you breathlessly whimper.

The cock stutters inside you, an interruption to the tempo. Your heart drops to your gut with fear.

“There you go,” Scott grunts, “see, you’re getting the good hang of it. Now we’re really ready to play.”

Ready to play— “Haven’t you been counting?” You snap, a little more irritated than you intended. 

“You have to get it right five times in a row. If you mess up, we’re restarting the count.”

We. Scott’s twisted little game and he’s dragging poor, sweet Clark into this.

They take turns soaking their cocks with your cunt. Every time one of them enters you, the burn starts all over again. You’re stretching around their cocks, pussy molding to the shape of them, loosening slowly until you’re moaning with each dip into your little hole. You have bruises in the size of their fingertips on your hips, rough grips on you every time they fuck deep inside of you. 

But Scott doesn’t relent on his game, no matter how close you get. They drive into you like men starved, moans bouncing off the walls like a symphony. The pleasure builds and nearly crests, each time you even come close to guessing five, you always somehow manage to get the last one wrong.

“A-are you doing this on purpose?” You pant, hair a tangled sweaty mess on your face. 

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” Scott says coolly.

A gasp wrenches out of your throat. “Have you just been telling me I’ve been getting it wrong to keep going?”

“You calling us liars, sweetheart?” Scott slaps your ass again, his handprint tingling in the spots he’s been hitting you. “You cum when we want you to cum.”

“M-maybe we should let her, Scott,” Clark groans and you know it’s his cock pushing deep inside you again. He’s gentler between the two of them, but you can feel his self-control faltering when he fucks you a little deeper, a little harder each time. “This isn’t right. She doesn’t want this.”

“Your mouth’s been saying no, Clark, but god, sweetheart, you should see him right now. He’s enjoying this premium pussy if yours. Trying so hard not to moan. Doesn’t she feel so nice and tight? Perfect little toy.” 

A moan climbs out of Clark’s chest, deep and guttural. “Perfect. Perfect toy,” he echoes dumbly. Your cunt clenches around him and he whimpers. “You’re squeezing me so tight, honey. Feels so good. You’re so good to me.” 

“And you—” Scott starts with a pinch of your ass, “you want this as much as we do. Pussy’s gaping now, ready for our cocks. We stretched you out so good, didn’t we? Tighten up that cunt for us. I want to feel it squeeze around my cock when I fuck you next.”

You’re nothing if not obedient, ready to please him — them — because Clark’s fingers sink deeper into your waist as he feels you clamp down around him. 

“You’re so tight,” Clark rasps, “she feels so good.”

“‘Course she feels good,” Scott huffs as he circles you and lifts you to prop up on all fours. He taps the head of his cock, leaking with both his and your arousal, against your lips. “She was made for us.”

Your jaw instinctively drops open and Scott slides him along your tongue. 

“Just like that,” he hisses, “you taste us, sweetheart?” You can only groan in response. 

Scott uses your throat for a while, fucking your mouth by grabbing your head. Your tongue drags along the underside of his cock, eliciting a shudder out of him before he yanks you off again.

“Too close,” he gasps, “I want to cum inside your cunt instead.”

You don’t know how long you stay there, game nearly long forgotten if it weren’t for Scott taunting you over again, laughing when you get it “wrong.” At this point you don’t know the difference, answers tumbling from your lips in a garbled mess.

Every time you get close, whoever it is drags their cock out of you. They bring you to the edge, so close to the peak, only to drag you under again. You’re crying and babbling, begging them to put you out of this misery. 

It’s like being trapped in a maze with no exit, each dead end another point of pleasure that you can’t seem to reach. 

Scott shows no mercy, only coos, “Come on, sweetheart, whose cock is in you right now? Why don’t you use that pretty little head of yours to guess?”

You sputter incoherently, thighs shaking with the weight of your desire. You’re so close, the burning between your legs intensifying to a point where you can practically taste your orgasm. But it may just be delirium — it’s like your climax now feels unfamiliar on your tongue. 

“Let me finish her, Scott, she's crying. I can finish her,” Clark tries to plea on your behalf. 

The cock that’s driving hard and fast abusing your pussy abruptly disappears as Clark stumbles backward, Scott pushing him out of the way. “No, pretty baby can't use her head to figure out who's fucking her, she needs to learn her lesson. We’re gonna keep testing her until she gets it right.”

“Scott, please.” 

“Use your head, you can do it.” 

Through your cockdrunk haze, you only begin to decipher the difference.

It’s not the shape, nor the size, because they’re too close. Too similar. But the way they move, how hard they’re holding you.

Scott is quick and dirty, chasing quick satisfaction for himself in a way that bullies your cunt into submission. Each thrust of his hips is about pace and a test of self-control for him. 

But Clark listens to how you whine and moan, drives himself deep in a slow burn that drags out the pleasure in your core. His hands on your body are firm, but not enough to harm. 

Scott guides the game and gets you close, but it’s Clark who delivers the final blow.

“Clark. It’s Clark!”

“Fuck, she got it right, Kent. She can finally cum now, do you want her to cum?” 

Clark’s face is flushed a deep red, veins on his neck pulsing with his resistance. His jaw is clenched tight, teeth kissing as he hisses when you squeeze around him to Scott’s words. 

“Yes, please, gosh — feels so good. Wanna cum. Wanna see her cum.”

“Flip her over.” 

He doesn’t miss a beat, pulling out of you for barely a second only to turn you on your back and plunge his cock back inside you. He folds your knees into your body as he fucks into you with another needy moan. 

“Feels even better like this,” Clark rasps, “I can see everything. You look so pretty, honey.”

“Clark’s so sweet on you, isn’t he?” Scott chuckles, his fist finding his cock. “Pretty girl deserves some pretty treats. Why don’t you give it to her, Clark? Cream inside her. Look at her, she wants it.”

Clark’s eyes find yours but you can barely keep them open. Not with how good Clark’s giving it to you, his fat cock stretching out every inch of your pussy as he leans down and presses you in deeper into the mattress. You can see the vein on his forehead pulse, control fighting against his need to devour. 

“Can I, honey? Can I cum inside you?” He asks you. So soft, so sweet. So desperate to give you what you need that it makes you whine as you arch off the bed. 

All you can manage is a nod before Clark is shooting his cum inside you, landing warm and sticky, clinging onto your walls. Your pussy squeezes around him, pulsing like a second heartbeat as you tumble down your own pleasure. 

His breaths are hot against your neck as his hips jerk with the last spills into your pussy. You can feel it beginning to leak out from where the two of you are joined, dribbling down your ass and onto the sheets. 

“Alright, Kent, gonna need you to move,” Scott mutters, using his own body to shoulder Clark out of the way. 

Clark’s legs can barely hold himself up, the weight of his climax still hanging off his shoulders. His chest heaves with labored breaths as he watches Scott position himself in front of you, sandwiching himself between your parted legs. 

His thumb pries your pussy open from the lips to see Clark’s cum seeping out. With a hiss, he uses the head of his own cock to nudge that cum back into your cunt and fucks it back into you. “Shit, you feel so good, sweetheart. Clark’s cum is so warm inside you, the perfect lube to fuck you.”

“S-so sore, Scott,” you whimper, the ache between your legs throbbing. 

“I know, baby, but I need to cum too. I won’t take long.”

And he delivers — it only takes him a few more thrusts, every time he enters, he punctuates it with a praise. Fucking beautiful. Look at you. Gorgeous tits. Then he’s finishing inside you and you feel as if you’re about to burst with how much the two have filled you up. Your entire body feels like jell-o, not a single bone or muscle to move you. 

Clark swipes the sweaty strands of hair from your face and presses a kiss to your forehead. Scott drags his cock out of you with a heavy groan. 

The two of them watch in sick, rapt fascination as both their cums leak onto the bed. By this time, Scott’s mattress is a mess of stains — your arousal drenching the sheets and the cum that’s slowly pooling at the edge. 

Even so, Scott only grins, “Think you can tell which cum is whose?” 

clark is saving (taglist): @houseofhyde @phoenix-in-writing @averyhotchner @hailmary-yramliah @catclaw1 @pinksplace @lunexiax @esunarint @nikkitabarnes @lunaryoongie @sergeantsebastian @avgdestitute @natskisses @parker-barnes-af @kelbrave @steviebbboi @onecojg @clarknsun @/kryptidfiles @wildflowersandvibranium @stegosaurussims @angelryex @mollymal @evelynstanmarvel @lokisgirlie @lynnidc @winnichu173 @zhaixiaowen @macbaetwo @rach2602 @garfieldhollander @my-drvidess @deeninadream @lillilam @fruitypebsworld @vivshome @ella-rowen @reenielane @smorgasbrods @jbennsquared @royaljewellerycurator @ruptureedspleen @yelanare @take-it-on-the-run @ghostgirlwrites @hellooiosworld @anon-188 @a-very-fictional-girl @misswhiddless @femmewithmommyissues2001 @stanmarvelous

You sigh and cross your arms over your chest while you look down at the ground between you. He scoffs. Cuts his own sentence off and lowers his voice. When he steps a little closer to you, he roughly asks, “Am I bothering you? Being an inconvenience?”

You don’t look up at him. Too tired of his bullshit. Through another dramatic sigh, you mutter, “Yeah. You are bothering me, and you are an inconvenience.” 

He laughs. It’s dark. A little hateful, even. His usual.

“That’s cute. You sure you wanna talk to your boss like that?” 

An eye roll is all you give him.

“Can you just get on with it? I have shit to do that doesn’t revolve around you, you know, and—and it’s hot as fuck out here! I wanna go back inside!” 

Scott’s eyes trace over your hand when you gesture toward the office building you’re stationed in this week, then he hums. With an infuriatingly loud pop of his gum and a plastered smirk on his face, he closes the gap between you completely. 

One of his mean hands wraps around your jaw and roughly lifts your head so you can look up at him. The gasp that leaves you is unintentional. He squeezes your cheeks, forcing your lips into a pucker as you lock eyes so roughly that you might piss yourself out of fright.

“I’m getting real fucking tired of this smart ass mouth. You’d better get it under control when you’re talking to me, sugar.”

He bends down to get a little closer to you. When his face is this close to yours, you get the chance to pick up on the mint on his breath and see all the spoiled brat rage in his eyes. That rage that’s probably been the same since he was a kid and his mother had the audacity to tell him he couldn’t do something. 

“And you better look at me when I’m talking to you. I won’t be ignored by someone I’m paying the fucking bills for,” he harshly hisses. That false bravado he puts forward always makes you sick. He might have been hot for a second—if it wasn’t for his big fucking mouth. 

It pulls you back down to earth and has you clearing your throat to swallow down your bile. You wrap one of your hands around his wrist and claw into it. He tries to hide it when he winces at the way your nails cut into his surprisingly soft skin. But when you laugh at him and dig deeper into it, he knows you heard him. That his jig is up. His eyes twitching and widening in embarrassment tells you all you need to know about that. 

“And you’re gonna get your hands off of me, you fucking pig,” you seethe while you push him off of you, voice low and unforgiving. Much like the way he talks to you. The part of you that noticed how solid his chest was when you pressed your hands against it is your least favorite part of yourself.

“You wouldn’t survive out here without me, so I suggest you stop talking to me like that.”

“I’m gonna talk to my assistant however I want to. If anything, you should stop talking to me like that. Especially if you wanna keep this cushy job I gave you, sweetheart,” Scott spits. 

“Cushy?” you gawk. “You can’t be serious. You made me run to three separate shops today because you wanted a particular type of coffee.”

“And you did it, so, clearly, you need this fucking job.” 

Usually, you can’t look at him on account of how fucking sick he makes you; which is unfortunate, because you have to be around him all the time for this stupidly well-paying job. 

Right now, though, you can’t keep your eyes off of him. His face is bright red. Eyes are wide and so fucking angry that you think they might pop out of his head. That sharp jaw of his is somehow even sharper whenever it’s tightened from his often self-inflicted rage. Gets tighter every time he chews on his gum, pulsing beneath his skin. His barrel of a chest is rising and falling so much quicker than usual.

You’re getting to him.

You smile at him when your eyes return to his. Real big and fake. Full of that saccharine sweetness that you know will only serve to piss him off more.

“Oh, how precious.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” 

You reach up and flick the tip of his nose. He swats your hand away and, somehow, his face flushes a deeper red. 

“Scottie,” you coo. “Am I pissing you off? Getting under your skin a little bit?” 

He rolls his eyes and takes a step back. When you look him up and down again, you’re almost certain he squirms. 

“You’re on the clock. Get back to work,” is the gruff, hateful retort you get back, but he doesn’t seem like he’s releasing you. His eyes staying glued to you tell you that much. 

“Yeah? You want me to get back to work? You don’t wanna talk my ear off anymore ‘cause I got you all worked up?” you tease. Loud enough to get a few people to turn their heads before they continue working on whatever it is they’re doing. Not that it matters to you. This weird battle you’re in with Scott’s taking precedence over everything else. 

Speaking of, your annoying employer grumbles something beneath his breath. Runs one massive hand over his face and continues backing up.

“Just shut up and do as I tell you. Have you always been thicker than pig shit, or is that a recent development?” he spits. 

You follow after him. Every slow step he takes backward, you take one forward. 

“You’re being extra bitchy today. I think you need a lesson on how to speak to people.”

“And you’re capable of doing that?” he shoots back at you. Smirks at you and pops his gum. “Thought you were only good for coffee runs, sugar.” 

You hum.

“Wanna bet?”

Scott’s head falls back onto the headboard behind him with a thick, dull thump that makes you laugh at him. Laughing at him never felt so good. 

“You’re so fucking annoying,” he groans at you while you tighten the restraints around his wrist. He pulls at them almost immediately; the wooden posts of the headboard they’re tied to don’t budge. Don’t give him any sort of relief. He doesn’t deserve it. 

You shake your head. The click of your tongue echoes in the tiny little space between your pressed-together bodies. You’re so close to him that you can practically hear his thoughts, perched on top of him and straddling his thick thighs while you grind against his thick, hardening length. You can feel it through his jeans. So much for him being able to claim he hates you. 

“That’s the exact type of talking that got you in trouble earlier, Scottie.” 

He tugs at the restraints again. They don’t budge. Again. 

“Stop calling me that,” he growls. “You’re not pretty enough to call me that.” 

That one makes you roll your eyes. Another laugh tumbles from your lips as you slip your hands down from his shoulders to his chest. While your fingers are toying with and unfastening the buttons of his stark-white work shirt, your mouth is busy telling him, “Shut the fuck up. You think I don’t see the way you look at me?”

“I don’t care about you enough to look at you any kind of way,” he sasses back while his eyes glue themselves to your fingers. 

“You must be seeing shit. Making up a story in that dumbass head of yours.” 

“You’re really digging yourself into a hole,” you reply. Every time he opens his mouth, it gets more aggressive, and it’s perfect. You haven’t been able to wipe the smirk off of your face since you got him in your bed. 

“You can act like you don’t want me. Scream about it ’til you’re blue in the face, for all I care.”

Your right hand slips lower between both of you. Lower than his stomach, lower than his happy trail that you’re trying not to drool over, lower than his belt that you unbuckle as swiftly as possible. When you slip your hand into the front of his pants, you find he’s already achingly hard. He jolts and tilts his head back, sighing in something mirroring relief when you start palming him through his boxer briefs. 

“Because that ugly fucking mouth of yours can lie all day, but this body can’t.” 

A shaky, sarcastic laugh punches out of his chest. “Yeah, sure, just…whatever.” 

His unfocused, jumbled words make you smile. He wants to fuck you so bad that he looks dumb. That he sounds dumb. You lean forward and press a few featherlight kisses on his jaw and neck, and although he’s complaining about not wanting you, he leans into those kisses. His breath hitches in his throat when your teeth ghost over his pulse point. His hips roll against your hand while it’s still working his cock through his boxer briefs. 

Your free hand travels up his stomach and chest, fingernails slowly scraping over his soft, warm skin. He groans and shudders when you slip it up to his hair and tangle your digits into his thick curls to give it a tug. You had no idea his hair could be so curly. He’s always wearing a hat; this might be the first time you’re seeing him without one. 

You take your hand out of his pants and earn a deep, agitated growl from him. 

“Fuck you,” he breathes while bucking his hips up, chasing after your hand so desperately that he loses the final whisper of credibility he had when he told you he didn’t want you.

You pull back from littering his neck in kisses. You raise an eyebrow. 

“What’d you say?” you ask. Your other hand slips out of his hair. Down toward his face. He sends you an ugly glare, but the way he shivers when your thumb runs over his sharp cheekbone and the way he glues himself to your palm tells you all you need to know. 

“Fuck you,” he repeats. 

SMACK. 

One rough slap across his right cheek. Quick and harsh enough to suck all of the air out of the room, to have him looking at you with so much anger and confusion and lust that you can’t help but laugh at him. He drops his mouth open—no doubt to berate you—but you cut him off instead. 

“That wasn’t very nice.” 

“What the fuck was that?! You crazy bit—”

You cover his mouth with your hand. His words die against your palm immediately. Probably a good thing if he wants to keep himself from getting hit again.

But he’s got his jaw clenched, and his right cheek is steadily turning pink, and his hips are stuttering and bucking when your fingers tease over the elastic band of his underwear. 

“You’re gonna learn how to talk to me tonight. You say nice things, you’ll get rewarded. You say mean things, well,” you pause and lean up on your knees to tug his pants and boxer briefs down to his thighs.

“I think you know what’ll happen,” you whisper while patting his cheek where you just smacked him so hard that your hand stung. He grumbles some barbarous insult beneath his breath. One he thought you didn’t hear, one that gives you a chance to prove you’re not lying.

SMACK.

Scott tosses his head back and squeezes his eyes shut. He whines. Bucks his hips up again, this time hard enough to make you shift in his lap. You giggle at him and gently rub his cheek. His skin is already hot. Flushed red, now; whether it’s from his embarrassment or from the force of your slap, you have no idea.

You pull your panties to the side and take your hand away from his face just to guide him into your pussy. Both of you hiss when you sink down on top of him. When he’s buried to the hilt, you whimper and shift back and forth, side to side, up and down, trying anything you can to get used to his size. He’s so much bigger than you thought he’d be. 

“Stop all that God damn squirming,” he aggressively growls when he finds his voice again. 

“If you’re gonna fuck me, at least do it right. Are you too stupid to figure it out?” 

SMACK. 

It’s so hard this time that his head snaps to the side. He’s the one squirming and whimpering now.

“You wanna try that one again?” you breathlessly ask while you start to roll your hips back and forth. Steady and slow. He shakes his head. Clenches and unclenches his jaw. Rolls a few words around on his tongue in order to decide what to say to you. 

“Just shut the fuck up and keep moving,” he pants, head lolling back against the headboard when you do as he says. 

But that first half of what he said can’t be ignored, right? 

SMACK.

“Shit,” he hisses, teeth clenched, face burning hot, hips roughly bucking up and forcing his tip to slam against the sensitive spot deep inside of you. You squeal and dig your nails into his shoulder. Scott yanks at his restraints once more. His biceps flex against the tightness of them, fingers curling around the pieces of fabric in a way that makes you feel jealous of them. 

All of it makes you feel woozy. Your head’s swimming with ecstasy, with the thrill and the heat of it all. With all of your hatred for him bubbling to the surface, blurring all the lines between you as you ride your boss in some shitty motel room that’s steadily disappearing around you. 

Your hips still. It’s all too much. You need a moment. 

“I told you not to stop,” Scott growls, denying you of said moment. 

“I knew you wouldn’t do this right. Can’t fucking do anything right, huh, sugar? So fucking pathetic.” 

SMACK. 

He groans. His body tenses and his back arches a bit. His cock twitches inside of you. Reminds you that you have the upper hand in this moment. Makes you giggle and start rocking your hips back and forth again, this time a little bit faster.

“You’re about to come already, aren’t you?” you tease. “I thought I wasn’t fucking you right?” 

“You’re not,” he lies right through his teeth. 

“No?” You shoot him a wicked little grin. 

“Fine. I’ll just stop, then, since I’m not doing it right.” 

When you stop your hips for the second time tonight, Scott lets out a rough, frustrated sigh. Looks you right in the eyes and, with all the confidence in the world, he growls, “You’re such a bitch.” 

SMACK. 

He yanks on the restraints again, this time hard enough to make the wooden posts groan. His chest heaves as he squeezes his eyes shut and throws his head back. He moans, a sing-songy little thing that makes your pussy flutter and your hips buck. 

Then he explodes. 

In the blink of an eye, he’s coming inside of you. Shooting rope after rope of his load into you while he pathetically cries out your name and buries his face in your neck, hips erratically rolling and twitching against yours. 

You tangle your fingers in his hair and yank his head out of your neck. He’s too busy coming down from his high to care about your roughness. When he opens his eyes a few seconds later, you raise your eyebrow. 

“Am I still the pathetic one? You came without me even moving.”

He laughs at you. Sends you a smile that’s actually genuine—albeit exhausted—for once. You pat his cheek, and he flinches from the contact, but that smile on his face only grows. His skin is searing hot. If he was a better person, that might have made you feel bad.

“You can be whatever you wanna be as long as you keep fucking me like this, sweet thing.” 

You hum. When you lean forward to kiss him, he accepts it. Kisses you back like this is normal, like he’s been wanting to do it, like his lips slotting along with yours is as natural as breathing. You giggle against his lips and start rocking your hips back and forth again.

Through your panting and soft whimpers, you teasingly mumble, “Look who’s finally playing nice.” 

Good sex was what you expected from anybody decent enough to make it that far with you. It was the kind people talked about casually with their friends, the kind that came up over drinks after someone asked, “So, was he good?” Good sex happened on Tuesdays after work with the guy from Hinge who insisted on taking you out somewhere too expensive for a second date. You split a basket of fries, drank half a beer because you still had work in the morning, drove home with exhaustion sitting heavy behind your eyes, then let him fuck you well enough to sleep for four uninterrupted hours. 

Good sex was practical and predictable. It convinced your body you were living a normal life.

Great sex was different. Great sex happened after work parties when your mascara was already smudged and your heels were in your hand by midnight. It happened on weekends with nowhere to be the next morning. You never talked about great sex because it sounded exaggerated the second you said it out loud, like you were overselling a man nobody else would understand. Great sex made you cum or at least brought you close enough that your stomach tightened every time you remembered it afterward. You thought about great sex while driving long stretches of empty highway, your hands steady on the wheel while your mind wandered somewhere warmer. 

Great sex stayed in your body for days. You caught yourself replaying parts of it absentmindedly while standing in line for coffee or brushing your teeth before bed.

Then there was getting fucked…

There was no cleaner way to define it. It lived somewhere between fantasy and urban legend, passed around between women in half-serious conversations that always dissolved into laughter. Everybody claimed to know someone who’d experienced it but nobody could explain it properly. Getting fucked was the kind of sex that distracted you in the middle of the day badly enough to make you stop what you were doing and change your underwear. It sat dangerously close to the limits of what sex could actually be before the whole thing collapsed under its own weight. 

If a guy treated you too much like an object, it fell apart immediately. 

If you didn’t orgasm, it didn’t count. 

If you weren’t still thinking about him six months later at red lights and in grocery store aisles and during lonely hotel nights, then it wasn’t that either. 

Getting fucked sat at the very top of the scale, lit up like something obvious and somehow most men still missed it completely.

Being made love to was worse and more dangerous, honestly.

For somebody like you, it could become embarrassing fast. Storm season kept you on the road for months at a time, bouncing between states, sleeping in motels with stiff sheets and weak air conditioning. Off-season meant office buildings, weather models glowing across multiple monitors, long meetings about funding, new equipment and data collection. Your life moved constantly and men liked that at first. A woman who was smart, busy, gone half the year, financially stable and difficult to pin down. 

Men loved the idea of you because it excused the fact they never had to give very much. Most of them thought they were in love but really, they just liked access to somebody they found impressive.

Before all of that, you used to think being made love to meant passion…intimacy. That it was slow sex with somebody who knew your body so well they could pull an orgasm out of you patiently and confidently, like it mattered to them as much as breathing did. You imagined hands lingering at your waist, sleepy conversation afterward, somebody brushing your hair away from your face before kissing you again.

Instead, you ended up underneath men who mistook enthusiasm for intimacy. You stared at ceilings while they grunted above you, listened to them breathe your name like they were performing something instead of feeling it. Sometimes you felt your stomach turn from the boredom alone, your body rocking mechanically with theirs while your mind drifted somewhere else entirely to storm reports, grocery lists and whether you needed to change your oil before the next drive west.

You never let them finish once you realized you hated it, that was the one thing you refused to fake. You pushed them off, sat up and reached for your clothes while they blinked at you in confusion. You told them it wasn’t going to work, sometimes you said it gently and other times you just didn’t bother. Either way, you watched realization settle over them while they sat there flushed and humiliated, their ego bruised worse than their feelings ever were but somehow your harsh words still made them cum…

Needless to say, after a while, you stopped having sex altogether.

You were in your rental house after a long day spent staring at storm data and listening to Javi ramble about whatever breakthrough he thought he’d made this time. It was late, the entire house felt heavy and warm, every light dimmer than usual and lately, you weren’t alone nearly as often as you used to be.

Scott sat at your dining table with your laptop open, shoulders slightly hunched, completely absorbed in columns of numbers and radar models. You’d known him for two years and he’d been your partner for one of them. 

People were right about him. He was direct to the point of rudeness, arrogant enough to make most people defensive within five minutes and mean when he thought someone deserved it but unlike most men in your field, Scott had learned how to admit when he was wrong, far from gracefully or happily but still, he did it.

The two of you were impossibly stubborn in almost identical ways, so sharing space with him sometimes felt like being trapped in a room with a sharper version of yourself. Separately, you were both good at what you did but together, you were nearly impossible to beat.

You couldn’t pinpoint when “coworkers” had turned into Scott walking into your house without knocking, helping himself to your fridge and sitting at your table like he paid rent.

“Best orgasm you’ve had during sex?” His voice came from across the room, casual and flat, like he’d asked you about rainfall percentages. He didn’t even look away from the laptop while he said it.

You’d forgotten he was meeting you there before the two of you drove to the bar together, which was why you were still walking around in sleep shorts and a bra, trying to find something decent enough to wear without looking like you’d spent an hour trying.

You took a sip from the beer he’d already pulled out of your fridge and nearly snorted into the bottle. “You think men do that?” you asked as you disappeared into your bedroom.

“To you?” Scott finally looked up. His eyes tracked your movement automatically while he reached for the beer the two of you were apparently sharing now. “I hope so.”

He took a drink as his eyes followed your movement.

You walked back into view holding two dresses on mismatched hangers. “You’re a fucking idiot,” you said plainly. “And maybe a pervert.”

Scott pointed at you immediately. “You’re changing in front of me. I could probably keep count of your bras at this point and I don’t. That actually makes me less of a pervert.”

You disappeared back into your room. He could hear hangers scraping against the closet rod while you searched through clothes with growing irritation.

“Just because it doesn’t make you hard doesn’t make you not a pervert,” you called back, your voice muffled through the wall.

“How do you know I’m not?” he shot back instantly, sounding almost offended by the assumption.

Silence followed but about a minute later, you walked back out wearing a dress he’d never seen before. It was simple, fitted enough to make his eyes stop for a second before continuing downward automatically. You crossed the room toward him, letting your heels drop onto the hardwood before slipping them on one at a time.

“You’re not attracted to me, Scott,” you said flatly.

He looked up slowly then, his eyes dragging over the length of the dress with enough attention to make most people nervous. On you, it just made you impatient.

“You seem awfully confident about that.”

“I am.” You adjusted the strap on your shoulder before glancing toward his laptop screen. “So don’t say shit that makes me sound stupid.”

Scott looked back at the laptop fast enough to make the movement obvious. He pretended to scroll through data he’d stopped reading the second you started undressing in the next room.

“I’m ready,” you said. “Good to go?”

“Need five minutes,” he muttered.

You walked behind him toward the front door, tapping his shoulder as you passed. “The data will still be there tomorrow. C’mon, Scotty.”

The teasing grin in your voice made something in his jaw tighten. You disappeared outside before he could even think of an answer.

Scott closed the laptop harder than necessary and stood, quietly adjusting himself through his jeans with the irritation of a man betrayed by his own body. He shut off the lights one by one and grabbed your keys from the counter before locking the door behind him.

The porch light was off so you couldn’t see the tent in his jeans. Thank fuck for that.

“Scotty was an eight-year-old with chubby cheeks,” he muttered while locking the deadbolt. He glanced over at you waiting by the passenger side of his truck. “It’s Scott.”

“It’s whatever I decide it is,” you replied easily.

He rolled his eyes and walked down the porch steps, unlocking the truck with a sharp click.

“Come open my door.”

“Since when do you need me to do that?” he complained, already circling the hood anyway.

“Since you got comfortable commenting on my bras.”

Scott stopped in front of you to stare before reaching around your waist to pull the handle open. The movement brought him close enough to smell your perfume underneath detergent and beer.

You smiled to yourself while climbing into the passenger seat because for once, Scott didn’t have anything smart to say.

Talking about sex with your coworkers was probably the least professional habit you could develop but professionalism stopped mattering after twelve-hour drives, shared motel rooms, gas station dinners at midnight and enough close calls together to make normal boundaries feel unnecessary. There were barely any women in the field to begin with, which meant the few of you that existed clung together fast and Scott, despite being deeply irritating most of the time, was easier to talk to than most people. 

Brutally honest people usually were.

At some point, conversations that started as jokes during long drives turned into real discussions about relationships, sex, exes and every disappointing person either of you had ever slept with. It happened slowly enough neither of you noticed the line moving until it was already somewhere far behind you.

HR would’ve had a heart attack.

That night, you learned Scott Miller did not do good sex. If good sex existed to him at all, it involved two people fully clothed and standing on opposite ends of a room.

The bar was more crowded than you expected, packed wall to wall with storm chasers, meteorologists, researchers and people who somehow always smelled faintly like dust and gasoline no matter how clean they looked. Whenever women in the field found each other, there was an unspoken tendency to group together immediately, so you spent most of the night at the bar talking with another researcher from Oklahoma while music pounded so loud you felt it vibrate through the floor beneath your heels.

Eventually Javi appeared beside you carrying drinks you absolutely weren’t going to refuse. He handed one over before leaning closer, lowering his voice.

“What’s wrong with Scott?”

You blinked at him. The question caught you off guard enough to make your brows pull together immediately because nobody ever asked about Scott. People either tolerated him, argued with him or avoided him entirely. Whatever problem Scott had, he usually fixed it himself before anyone could notice it existed.

Your eyes scanned the crowd automatically until you found him near the back corner of the bar with a soda in his hand. Of course he wasn’t drinking, he stood half-shadowed against the wall looking deeply unimpressed by the concept of social interaction…and staring directly at you.

Your eyes narrowed slightly until Scott finally got the message and looked away first.

You turned back to Javi. “Do you mean tonight or in general?” you asked dryly. “Because I’m pretty sure he was dropped as a child, but you’d have to ask his mother for confirmation.”

Javi frowned harder. “I mean tonight. He looks tense and it’s making me uneasy.”

“It’s Scott. He always looks tense.”

“More than usual.” Javi glanced over his shoulder carefully. “Tell him to relax for once…and to make some friends. That’s literally why we came here.”

You pointed at yourself immediately. “Why am I responsible for that?”

Javi shrugged like the answer was obvious. “Because you speak ‘Scott’ fluently. Translate what I just said into something he’ll actually understand.”

Your gaze dropped to the drink in your hand. “You’re bribing me.”

“And that drink cost me twenty-five dollars,” he replied. “So yes. Go.”

You snorted into the rim of your glass. “Pretty sure stress is what’s making you bald, by the way…not Scott’s burning gaze.”

Javi adjusted his baseball cap defensively. “Just go talk to him.”

You shook your head, already grinning despite yourself and pushed through the crowd toward the back of the bar, which Scott noticed immediately. 

The music got louder the closer you got to him, voices bleeding together into useless noise, so instead of trying to shout over it, you reached forward and hooked one finger through the belt loop of his jeans.

“Outside,” you said simply, tugging once as you moved toward the exit.

Scott followed without argument, that alone should’ve concerned you more than it did.

The plan was for him to ask what you wanted once you got outside. Instead, somewhere between the crowded bar and the exit door, he got distracted watching you walk ahead of him. Your dress moved against your hips every few steps, exposing flashes of leg skin under the low bar lights and the muscles in your bare back moved subtly every time you pushed through another cluster of people.

Inevitably, Scott’s eyes dropped lower before he caught himself.

By the time the two of you stepped outside into the cooler night air, he still hadn’t said a word.

You finally let go of his belt loop once the two of you were far enough from the entrance that the music had dulled into muffled bass behind you. You turned to face him properly, folding your arms across your chest as you looked up at him.

“What’s your current issue?” you asked.

“Current?” Scott repeated, brows pulling together.

You nodded once like the question made perfect sense.

“When’s the last time you had sex?”

A startled laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “Excuse me?”

He shrugged carelessly, shoving one hand into the pocket of his jeans. “What? Are you the only one allowed to ask those questions?”

You laughed again, this time shaking your head as you pointed at him. “Yes. Obviously.”

Scott snorted.

“And those are long-drive questions,” you continued, motioning vaguely toward his truck behind you before pointing back toward the crowded bar. “Not ‘parking lot outside a packed bar’ questions.”

“You still need to answer.” He shrugged again. “Those are the rules.”

“Have I ever told you how stupid those rules are?”

“First time I’m hearing complaints since you’re the one who made them,” he replied with a grin.

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered under your breath before taking another sip of your drink.

Scott stayed quiet as he just watched you over the rim of his own soda, patient and expectant in a way that immediately irritated you because he clearly thought he was getting an answer eventually.

“Are you seriously gonna make me answer?”

“I can’t make you do anything,” he said calmly. “But I can wait. I still have to drive you home.”

You looked up toward the entrance of the bar. Through the windows you could still see people packed together under neon lights, laughing too loud, talking over each other about work, storm patterns and equipment failures. You’d already reached the point of the night where conversations started blending together into white noise.

“Can we leave now?” you asked.

Scott didn’t answer verbally. He just pulled his keys from his pocket, unlocked the truck with a click, then held his hand out toward your drink.

“Get in and lock the doors,” he said as he took the glass from you and turned back toward the bar to return it.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you called after him while walking directly to the passenger side and doing exactly that.

Honestly, you didn’t mind answering the question. The problem was that once you actually thought about it, you realized you weren’t entirely sure how long it had been. It had been long enough that you had to start considering technicalities and long enough that the answer became embarrassing and unfortunately, thinking about sex while sitting alone in Scott’s truck immediately led your brain somewhere unhelpful…

Scott eventually climbed back into the truck and shut the door behind him. He didn’t start driving right away, he just sat there in the dark, one hand resting on the wheel while the dashboard lights cut sharp shadows across his face…waiting, because the thing about car questions was that silence usually came first.

“A year and a half,” you blurted out finally. “Give or take.”

Scott’s head turned toward you so fast it almost looked painful. “No,” he said immediately. “I don’t believe that.”

You laughed in disbelief and looked toward him. “Believe whatever you want, Scott. I answered the fucking question. That’s the game.”

“A year and a half?” he repeated, staring at you like you’d confessed to murder. “What the hell do you even do on weekends?”

“Currently?” you replied dryly. “Sit in your truck while you annoy me.”

“No,” he said, already turning the key in the ignition. “You’re irritated because you’re sexually frustrated.”

You barked out another incredulous laugh. 

“And you’ve been sexually frustrated since I met you,” he continued as he shifted the truck into reverse. “Which explains why you piss me off every single fucking day.”

“Excuse you?” You turned toward him fully now, half laughing from sheer disbelief. “First the bra comments and now this? What’s next? Are you gonna set me up with one of your friends so he can fix me?”

“Put your seatbelt on.” The command came out flat and automatic.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Don’t fucking tell me what to do, Scott. I’m not drunk enough to–”

The words died in your throat the second he reached across you.

His arm slid in front of your chest while the truck reversed smoothly with his other hand still turning the wheel. His forearm brushed against the underside of your breasts accidentally…or maybe not so accidentally and your breath caught hard at the sudden closeness. Scott grabbed the seatbelt beside your shoulder, pulled it across your body in one sharp movement, then clicked it into place at your hip without looking away from the rear window once.

You drove home in complete silence.

No radio or conversation, just the steady sound of tires against asphalt and the occasional flick of the blinker while Scott kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead. You’d heard every version of his voice over the last two years, sarcastic, irritated or sharp enough to make grown men defensive in meetings but hearing him tell you to put your seatbelt on while his arm pressed across your breasts had done something deeply unfortunate to your brain.

This was entirely your fault. You were the one who made sex an acceptable topic between the two of you, you were the one who turned it into a game, into background conversation during long drives and late nights. Somewhere along the way home, your definition of good sex had rewritten itself around that precise moment. 

For most people, that probably counted as foreplay, but for you? It counted as a serious fucking problem.

By the time Scott parked outside your house, your thoughts had spiraled so badly that you barely registered the truck stopping. You stayed seated even after he cut the engine, staring forward blankly while the silence settled heavier around you.

Scott got out first without saying anything and walked around the front of the truck toward your side.

The passenger door opened. You looked up just in time to feel him lean in and reach across you again, fingers brushing lightly against the fabric stretched over your waist as he unclipped the seatbelt. The contact lasted maybe a second but that was already too long.

Only then did you finally move. You climbed out quickly, making an effort to keep close to the truck instead of brushing against him, then headed straight for your front door while digging through your purse for your keys even if it was practically empty and somehow that made it worse. You found lip balm…receipts…some loose cash, everything except what you actually needed.

Scott followed behind you quietly.

You still hadn’t found the keys when his arm appeared beside you, reaching around your body with frustrating familiarity. He’d had your keys the entire night, he usually did whenever the two of you went out together because you constantly lost track of them.

The metal clicked softly as he unlocked the door for you.

Your breath stalled as Scott stood so close behind you that you could feel the heat coming off him through the thin fabric of your dress. His chest nearly touched your back, one arm still braced near your shoulder while he turned the lock. It boxed you in completely, your body caught between the door and him and the worst part was that it felt good.

The sharp heat low in your stomach made that painfully obvious.

Good sex, apparently, was standing fully clothed on your own porch while your coworker unlocked your front door…all while standing right behind you.

The lock finally clicked open. You pushed the door open and stepped inside fast to put distance between you before turning back toward him. 

Determination sat stiffly in your chest now…You were staying dressed. Whatever this weird tension was had to be alcohol-fueled, temporary, deeply stupid or preferably all three and gone by morning.

Unfortunately, Scott looked unfairly good standing on your porch under weak yellow light.

At some point he’d taken off his cap, you didn’t know when and hadn’t realized until now. Why did he look dreamy!? His hair was messy from running his hands through it all night and the expression on his face had settled back into that unreadable calm that somehow made things worse.

“Night, Scott,” you said quickly, then shut the door directly in his face…very determined to remain dressed.

“Are you gonna set me up with one of your friends so he can fix me?” That sentence replayed in your head later for one humiliating reason: Scott Miller had never been the kind of man to hand off work he could do himself.

You’d been wrong earlier, completely wrong.

Great sex didn’t happen on weekends or after parties or during long-awaited moments with somebody you trusted. Sometimes it happened five minutes after you slammed your front door in a man’s face and tried convincing yourself you still had common sense.

You stayed standing by the door after closing it, palms warm against the wood, waiting to hear his truck start. You expected the familiar sound of the driver’s side door opening, shutting and the low rumble of the engine before he pulled away but nothing happened.

At first you told yourself you were imagining the silence because you were still too aware of him…then a full minute passed…followed by another and then three more.

Five long, miserable minutes where your brain refused to focus on anything except the fact Scott was still outside your house.

You opened the door expecting embarrassment or maybe annoyance, maybe him realizing he forgot something. Instead, he was still standing there in the same position with that same unreadable expression, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans like you hadn’t just shut the door on him…five minutes ago.

You stared at each other for a second too long.

You never figured out what exactly snapped first. Pride, self-control or curiosity…maybe all of it at once again.

One second he was standing on your porch and the next you were grabbing a fistful of his shirt and pulling him forward hard enough to make him stumble into you as your mouth crashed against his.

The moment the door clicked shut behind you, the fragile determination to stay dressed shattered. You didn't just invite Scott in, you practically hauled him across the threshold, pulling him into a kiss that tasted of alcohol and months of suppressed frustration. It was messy and desperate, a collision of teeth and tongues that left you both breathless.

You stumbled backward, the friction of your bodies fueling a fire that had been simmering for far too long. As you navigated the space, your heels clicked erratically against the floor until you kicked them off with frantic movements, one flying toward the wall and the other sliding away as you backed into the dining area.

You hit the edge of the heavy wooden table and Scott didn't miss a beat. He gripped your waist with bruising force and hoisted you up, the sudden elevation making you gasp into his mouth. He didn't stop kissing you but his path shifted, lips sliding down your jawline to your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. His hands were everywhere, frantic and demanding, sliding up the fabric of your dress and bunching it up around your waist until your thighs were bare and shivering against the cool wood.

You felt his fingers hook into the elastic of your panties, tugging them down with a sharp, decisive motion until you could kick them off, exposing you to the air. As he lowered himself, his mouth found the swell of your breasts through your dress, biting lightly against the fabric on his way down between your legs.

"You don't need to do that," you managed to moan, your voice trembling as he moved your weight, sliding you toward the edge of the table until you were perched precariously, your legs naturally falling open.

"Shut up," Scott muttered against your skin, his voice a low, arrogant growl that sent a jolt of electricity straight to your clit as he finally settled himself firmly between your thighs, the heat of his body radiating against your wetness. 

Then, he dipped his head. The first touch of his tongue was a shock of heat, it was wet and precise. He dove right in, tongue licking upward from your perineum to your clit in one long, sweeping stroke. You arched your back as a loud moan escaped you since it had been so long since you’d felt anything this raw, this focused. You were starving for it and Scott was feeding off of you with a primal intensity that blurred everything else out.

He used his hands to grip your hips, pulling you closer to the edge so he could bury his face in you as he kneeled. He began to lap at you with a rhythmic, punishing speed, his tongue flattening out to cover as much surface area as possible before narrowing into a sharp point to flick relentlessly against your clit.

The sensation was overwhelming. You began to squirm, hips jerking instinctively against his mouth as your fingernails clawed at the tabletop. You weren't just enjoying it, you were unraveling.

"Fuck…Scott...please," you whimpered, though you didn't know what you were asking for.

He responded by changing your position. He pushed you flat onto your back on the table, the hard wood pressing into your spine and hauled your legs up, draping them over his broad shoulders. The position left you completely exposed, your pussy flared open and glistening in the dark room.

He didn't stop the oral but added more by sliding two fingers deep inside you, stretching you open while his tongue continued to hammer away at your clit. The combination of the internal pressure and the external friction was too much. You were shaking, breath coming in short, jagged gasps as your feet drummed against his back.

He could tell you were close, encouraging him to increase the pressure, fingers curling inside you to hit your G-spot while his tongue sucked your clit into his mouth, creating a vacuum of pleasure that felt like it was pulling your entire soul out through your cunt.

“Holy s-shit!” Your head thrashed from side to side, a loud, unrestrained scream tearing from your throat as the orgasm hit you like a freight train. It was violent and all-consuming, your internal muscles clamping down hard on his fingers as waves of intense pleasure crashed over you, leaving you whimpering and twitching on the table.

As the peak slowly subsided, Scott didn't pull away immediately. He stayed there, his breath hot against your sensitive skin, slowly lapping the remaining juices from your pussy. He cleaned you thoroughly, his tongue lingering on every inch of your swollen cunt until you were completely spent, lying limp and shivering on the table, finally satisfied.

He straightened slowly from between your legs, chest rising hard with uneven breaths that matched your own. His mouth was swollen and wet when he licked across his lips absentmindedly, eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made heat crawl back under your skin even while your body still twitched from the orgasm.

From your place sprawled across the dining table, you stared up at him in stunned silence. Your thighs were still trembling now against his sides and you were almost certain your expression looked ridiculous, wide-eyed and dazed in a way you hadn’t allowed yourself to look around another person in years.

Scott held a hand out toward you and you took it automatically.

He helped you sit up first before guiding you carefully off the table, one hand steady on your waist while your legs struggled to cooperate beneath you. The second your feet touched the floor, your knees nearly gave out entirely.

Scott wiped his mouth with his palm. “Goodnight,” he said and the gentleness of it caught you off guard more than anything else that night had.

His hand slipped away from your waist and the two of you just stood there for a second, staring at each other while trying and failing to breathe normally again.

Then Scott turned and walked toward the front door.

You stayed frozen in place while he opened it and left your house without another word. A few seconds later you finally heard the sounds you’d been waiting for earlier, the truck door opening, shutting and the engine starting before he drove off into the night.

You tried walking toward your bedroom afterward and immediately realized your legs barely worked. You ended up half stumbling down the hallway, one hand dragging along the wall for balance because your entire lower body still felt weak and oversensitive.

Great sex…that had been unbelievably, painfully great sex.

You thought about it constantly afterward. In the shower, during calls and meetings, while sitting in traffic or lying awake at night staring at the ceiling with your thighs pressed together. You didn’t mention it to your friends or talked to Scott about it, even during the long stretches of silence that filled the truck during drives. The two of you understood what happened without discussing it directly, you’d crossed a line and both of you seemed aware that talking about it too much would probably drag you over it again.

The following mornings, you waited for him outside on your porch instead of letting him walk into your house like usual. Mostly because you’d spent the entire week masturbating to the memory of him between your legs on your dining table before getting ready for the day and you didn’t trust yourself to survive seeing him inside your kitchen before sunrise.

For one solid week, you slept perfectly. No insomnia or late-night work spirals, no pacing around rooms or answering emails at one in the morning just to keep your brain occupied. Whatever tension usually sat under your skin had disappeared completely and now it sat between you both instead.

Every drive felt heavier, the silence stretched longer and every sharp inhale from him made your stomach tighten unexpectedly until eventually you got sick of pretending neither of you noticed it.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” you interrupted suddenly.

Scott glanced toward you briefly, eyes leaving the road for barely a second before returning forward. “Do you want to?” he asked.

“I don’t,” you admitted. “I feel like you do though.”

“You’re right.”

You snorted quietly and looked back down at the laptop balanced across your knees. 

“I thought you liked being right.” Scott added.

“Fucking love it,” you replied automatically before grimacing. “Usually.”

Silence settled again until you broke it. “Okay,” you sighed eventually. “Maybe one thing.” You turned to him properly this time. “I wasn’t that drunk that night. Actually, I wasn’t drunk at all. I had that one beer before we left my place and the rest were mocktails.”

Scott turned his head enough to study your face for a second. “I wouldn’t have touched you if you were drunk,” he said flatly. “I’m an asshole, not fucking stupid.”

You leaned back against the seat slowly. “Even that’s changed.”

His brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”

“The coffee for starters,” you said. “The lunches, too. You stopped buying disgusting gas station sandwiches and now we actually eat dinner out like normal people.” You gestured vaguely toward him. “You used to hand me coffee with five sugar packets on the side because you couldn’t remember how I took it. Now it’s magically perfect every fucking morning.”

Scott adjusted his grip on the steering wheel.

“I thought eating around other people would make this less weird,” he admitted. “And I got tired of sugar packets all over my truck.”

“Our truck,” you corrected automatically before pointing at him accusingly. “And nothing about this is normal, Scott! You ate me out on my dining table!”

“Stop yelling at me.” His tone stayed frustratingly calm.

“Why?” you shot back. “Is it making you hard?”

Scott shifted in his seat hard enough that you noticed instantly. Both his hands locked tighter around the steering wheel while he stared straight ahead at the road. The tension in his jaw became visible because unfortunately for him, you weren’t wrong.

The last week had changed things. You looked less exhausted and less tightly wound. You hadn’t snapped at him once during work and he hadn’t gotten a single unhinged one a.m. email from you all week because for the first time since he’d met you, you were actually sleeping.

“So when are we doing it again?” he asked finally, against every ounce of common sense he had left.

NEVER…that should’ve been the answer. It was the logical answer, the responsible one, the answer two coworkers with already questionable boundaries should’ve landed on immediately.

It just wasn’t the truth.

You had always maintained that getting fucked couldn’t happen in motel rooms. It didn't matter how good the sex was, the second cheap carpet, bad lighting and a rattling air conditioner got involved, the whole thing dropped several levels automatically. 

Motel sex could be great, sometimes even memorable but it couldn’t be that, so the next time it happened definitely wasn’t in a motel room.

The weather that day had turned bad enough to keep everyone grounded but not dangerous enough to send your team chasing storms through three different counties. There was heavy rain, low visibility and too much lightning for comfort but not enough rotation to justify going out.

At some point, without either of you actually saying it outright, waiting the storm out in Scott’s apartment became the plan instead of sitting cramped inside the truck for hours pretending the tension between you didn’t exist.

You still couldn’t pinpoint who made the first move once the elevator doors closed behind you.

One second you were standing beside him soaked at the edges from the rain, listening to distant thunder through the concrete parking garage and the next, Scott’s hand was inside your pants like it belonged there.

You gasped hard into his mouth as his fingers slid against you immediately, already somewhat familiar with exactly what made your hips jerk forward. The kiss that came after barely counted as one, it was messy and distracted, interrupted constantly by your breathing and the quiet sounds you kept failing to swallow down.

The elevator ride lasted less than a minute but by the time the doors opened onto his floor, your orgasm was already hitting you in sharp waves around his fingers while your forehead pressed against his shoulder to keep yourself standing.

If you weren’t already fucked, you were about to be.

You’d been inside Scott’s apartment before. A handful of times after late nights working or when weather reports needed reviewing somewhere quieter than a crowded diner. You remembered the big windows first, stretching across the living room area with a full view of the skyline in the distance. Tonight they framed heavy gray clouds and rain pouring so hard that it blurred the city lights into smears of white and yellow.

Scott barely gave you time to look around because the second the apartment door shut behind you, his hands were on you again. He walked you toward the living room with rough impatience, pulling your pants down from behind while you stumbled against the edge of an armchair. Your underwear followed immediately after, dragged down together in one quick motion before pooling around your ankles.

The air in Scott’s apartment was heavy, charged with the static of the storm raging outside. The gray light of the overcast sky filtered through the windows but the atmosphere inside was scorching.

"Kneel," he commanded as he pointed toward the armchair, his voice a low, authoritative rumble.

You didn't hesitate. The tension that had been building between you for weeks, the unspoken glances and lingering touches, had finally snapped. You sank to your knees on the plush seat, your heart hammering against your ribs. You leaned forward, gripping the headrest with both hands, body already trembling in anticipation. You were completely exposed to him, your ass tilted back and waiting.

Scott disappeared for a moment, leaving you in a silence broken only by the distant roll of thunder. When he returned, the sound of a foil packet tearing echoed in the room. You heard the metallic click of his belt unbuckling and the slide of a zipper.

The anticipation was agonizing. You heard him roll the condom on, followed by the wet sound of him spitting on the head of his cock to make the entry smoother.

He stepped up behind you, heat radiating against your backside. He lined himself up and then, with one powerful, decisive surge, he thrust deep inside you.

You let out a sharp, strangled whine, your fingers digging into the fabric of the headrest. It had been so long since you’d felt a man inside you and Scott was massive. The initial stretch was borderline painful, a blunt force that filled every millimeter of your tight, starving pussy. You blinked rapidly, tears pricking your eyes as your body struggled to accommodate his size, your breath hitching in your throat.

Scott didn't give you time to adjust. He reached forward, his large hands clamping onto your hips with bruising force and yanked you backward, pulling you deeper onto his cock until there was no space left between you.

"I wanna see you," you moaned, your voice broken and desperate, trying to twist your torso around to look at him.

He didn't let you. Instead, he leaned in and sank his teeth into the skin of your shoulder, a sharp bite that made you moan despite your best efforts. His hand moved from your hip to your jaw, gripping it firmly to keep your head pinned forward.

"Just focus," he rasped calmly against your skin, the contrast of his steady voice and his firm grip sending a shiver of submission down your spine.

He let go of your jaw and began to thrust. He didn't start slowly, he hit you with a rhythmic, punishing intensity. The apartment was suddenly filled with the sound of your sudden, loud moans and frantic curses. You collapsed forward, your chest pressed against the headrest, your body jarring with every hit.

As he hammered into you, Scott reached around, his hands finding your breasts. He didn't bother undressing you further, he grabbed your boobs firmly over your clothes, squeezing and kneading them with a rough, possessive grip that matched the violence of his hips.

"I'm gonna fuck you on every surface of this apartment," he growled. "You'll be seeing a lot of me."

The sex quickly became raw and primal and so, so fucking good. The sound of skin slapping against skin, mixed with the wet, rhythmic thud of his pelvis hitting your ass filled the room, competing with the roar of the thunder outside. Every thrust shook your entire frame, quaking your body from your head to your toes. You were whimpering loudly now, the pain of the initial stretch having completely melted into an overwhelming, white-hot pleasure you never thought you could feel.

Your eyes watered, staring out into the distance of the room, the world blurring as the friction built. It was fast, harsh and so perfect that you found yourself wanting to bite the armchair, your teeth sinking into the fabric as your back arched violently. You were unraveling, the long period of abstinence making you hypersensitive to every inch of him.

"I'm right there, keep going! Scott, please! Don’t fuckin’ stop." you whined, voice echoing through the apartment.

He didn't, he instead increased the pace, his thrusts becoming shorter and more frantic, drilling into you with an obsession that felt like he wanted to merge his body with yours. The thunder peaked with a deafening crash that seemed to trigger something inside you.

Suddenly, your internal muscles spasmed. A wave of heat exploded from your core and you felt a sudden, uncontrollable gush of fluid. You were squirting, something that had never happened to you before, the hot spray soaking the armchair and your own thighs. You began to shake uncontrollably, your legs giving out as you sobbed out of pure pleasure into the headrest.

Scott let out a guttural groan, the feeling of you flooding around him driving him over the edge. He loved it, hell, he was obsessed with the way you were falling apart under him. He kept going, ignoring your tremors, continuously driving himself into you as you peaked into a mind-blowing, screaming orgasm that left you completely breathless.

With a final, deep thrust, he groaned loudly, coming hard into the condom.

The momentum stopped abruptly. He stayed buried inside you for a long moment, both of you frozen, chests heaving in unison.

Slowly, he withdrew, the wet sound of his exit punctuating the silence with an obscene pop.

You both watch the rain lash against the glass, the gray light illuminating the wreckage of your passion. You took a long, shuddering breath, body still twitching from the aftershocks as your pussy twitched around nothing, back arching further needily, earning a smack from him.

"Holy fuck," you both breathed simultaneously, the weight of the encounter settling over you in the heavy, humid air.

There was no going back after that day. Not to abstinence, not to disappointing hookups or to pretending sex was something casual and forgettable that fit neatly between work schedules and storm reports.

Once Scott got his hands on you, everything else lost appeal embarrassingly fast.

What started as isolated incidents quickly turned into a pattern neither of you seriously attempted to stop. It was a terrible idea professionally, obviously, but somehow the two of you functioned better afterward. Meetings became easier, long drives felt lighter and you argued less viciously because the tension always had somewhere to go now instead of festering under your skin for weeks.

You started going home together most nights under the excuse of saving gas money. Then showering together afterward became another practical decision because apparently water bills mattered too now. Somewhere between shared coffee in the mornings and him keeping spare clothes for you at his apartment, things moved quietly into something neither of you had planned for and the worst part was that it worked.

The sex stayed incredible. Sometimes rough enough to leave hickeys along your skin and fingerprints fading across your thighs and hips by morning, or other times slow enough that you ended up tangled together for hours afterward while thunderstorms rolled outside the windows. Every now and then he fucked you hard enough to leave you shaking afterward, staring blankly at the ceiling while he stood in the kitchen making you food like that was a normal sequence of events but eventually you realized it wasn’t just about that anymore.

You started having actual dates without calling them dates, it was dinner after work that lasted until restaurants closed around you. You went grocery shopping together because both of you were too exhausted to go separately and you began falling asleep on opposite ends of his couch while weather models played quietly on television screens neither of you were really watching.

Off-season made it worse.

Without constant travel, motel rooms and adrenaline keeping you both distracted, there was finally time to explore whatever this thing between you had become. You drifted naturally between your house and his apartment depending on whose place seemed closer to the office that day. Half your belongings somehow ended up at his place and vice versa. You texted each other constantly during meetings despite sitting twenty feet apart, phones hidden beneath desks while coworkers talked around you.

Scott started bringing your coffee to your desk already made exactly how you liked it before you even decided you needed one. You started buying his preferred cereal without asking if he wanted any. He slept better with you in his bed and you stopped grinding your teeth in your sleep when he stayed over.

So naturally, being made love to finally happened exactly the way you once thought it would and it wasn’t some exaggerated version of romance men convinced themselves they were capable of after two drinks and mediocre conversation.

It sort of snuck up on you. It was Scott pulling you into his lap while both of you were exhausted after work, kissing your shoulder absentmindedly while you read through data on his laptop. It was him waking you up slowly on Sunday mornings with his hand sliding under your shirt and nowhere either of you needed to be. It was sex that lasted forever because he knew your body well enough to take his time with it, knew exactly what made you gasp, what made your legs tense and what made you hide your face against his neck when the pleasure became too much.

He paid attention and it made all of the difference. Scott learned your body like he learned storm patterns, thoroughly and obsessively, until touching you became instinct to him and it showed…

The morning light filtered through the curtains of your bedroom in soft, golden slats, painting the sheets in hues of amber and cream. The house was silent, save for the rhythmic sound of your shared breathing and the distant chirp of birds welcoming the dawn. You were tangled together, skin on skin, the warmth of the duvet trapping the heat of your bodies in a private, humid cocoon.

There was no rush, no storm to outrun and no urgency born of desperation. There was only the heavy, sweet weight of Scott pressing you into the mattress. You were both fully naked, your limbs entwined in a lazy, possessive knot.

Scott began slowly, his lips tracing a path of fire across your collarbone. He wasn't just kissing you, he was tasting you, tongue swirling against your skin in slow circles that made you shiver. He moved lower, mouth finding the sensitive curve of your breast as you let out a soft, airy moan. He took your nipple into his mouth, sucking firmly while his thumb and forefinger pinched the other peak, twisting it just enough to send a jolt of electricity straight to your core.

You arched your back, your fingers sliding into the thick hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. The friction of his chest against your breasts was intoxicating, the rough hair of his torso grazing your sensitive skin.

He shifted, sliding his body up so he could look into your eyes. His gaze was dark, filled with an intensity that felt more overwhelming than any of the rougher encounters you'd had. He didn't move to flip you or push you into a different position, instead, he settled between your thighs in a classic missionary stance and pushed inside. There was no latex barrier this time, no clinical snap of a condom. It was raw, wet and absolute. 

The sensation of his bare skin sliding against yours was a revelation. You gasped, your eyes fluttering shut as you felt the full, throbbing heat of him filling you completely. It felt different, more intimate and permanent. The lack of a barrier made every ridge of his cock feel amplified, every pulse of his blood echoing against your own internal walls.

He didn't start with the punishing pace of the past. Instead, he began to rock, his movements slow and agonizingly deep. He pressed his palm flat against your stomach, pushing down firmly to tilt your pelvis, ensuring that every thrust hit the deepest part of you.

"Gripping me like a fucking vise…so perfect." he groaned, his voice a gravelly morning rumble that vibrated through your chest.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles to pull him even deeper. You were lost in the rhythm, the slow, sliding friction creating a build-up of tension that felt like a tightening coil in your belly. You ran your hands through his hair, your nails lightly scratching his scalp as you moaned into the first rays of the morning sun.

The intimacy was suffocating in the best way possible. As he continued to rock, his movements grew slightly more urgent, the slow glide turning into a passionate, driving force. He leaned down, his lips brushing against yours, tasting the salt and sweetness of your skin while he continued to pinch and tease your nipples, hand roaming your curves with a familiarity that spoke of a deep, obsessive knowledge of your body.

It didn’t take long for your breath to become shallow, chest heaving as the pleasure began to peak. You could feel the walls of your pussy clenching around him, milking him with every deep stroke. Your body tensed, toes curling into the sheets as a wave of heat crashed over you. You cried out, a long, melodic sound of surrender, as your orgasm ripped through you in slow, pulsing waves that left you shaking beneath him.

Scott didn’t slow his pace as his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing heavily. He continued moving, the intimacy of the connection almost too much to bear.

"Want to be done?" he whispered, his voice strained, muscles trembling with the effort of holding back.

You looked up at him, eyes hazy with pleasure and affection. The thought of him pulling away felt wrong because you wanted everything. You wanted the weight, the heat and the mark of him.

You shook your head with an escaped whimper, pulling his face down to yours. "Don’t you dare pull out…’want you to come inside." You breathed.

The request broke the last of his restraint. Scott let out a guttural sound, a mix of a groan and a sob and began to drive into you with a renewed, primal intensity. It was a desperate, loving hunger. He hammered into you, movements strong and deep, each thrust a claim and a promise.

As he reached his limit, his grip on your hip tightened, fingers digging into your skin. He thrust one last time, burying himself as deep as physically possible and you felt the hot, thick bursts of his cum flooding into you. The sensation of him filling you from the inside out was the most intense feeling you had ever experienced, a physical manifestation of the bond that had grown between you.

In the height of his release, as his body shuddered violently against yours, he gasped out the words he had been holding back.

"I love you," he choked out, the confession raw and unplanned.

The world seemed to stop for a heartbeat. You felt a surge of emotion that rivaled the intensity of the orgasm, a warmth that started in your chest and radiated to your fingertips. You tightened your hold on him, pulling him down for a deep, searing kiss.

"I love you too," you whispered against his lips.

He collapsed onto you, heart drumming a frantic rhythm against your own, both of you spent and glowing in the morning light, finally and completely entwined.

A few years ago, you would’ve hated the idea that Scott Miller of all people would end up teaching you everything worth knowing about sex. It would’ve bruised your ego badly, especially considering how seriously you once took those stupid categories and scales in your head before Scott showed up and ruined all of them completely.

Good sex stopped mattering. 

Great sex became expected.

Getting fucked became routine enough that you lost count somewhere along the line, usually around the third orgasm of the day and definitely before he started dragging you into his lap halfway through work calls just because he felt like bothering you…with his hands and dick.

But somehow, even after all the rough sex and ruined schedules, Scott still managed to make love to you exactly the way you once imagined it should feel.

So if somebody offered you the chance to go back and do it all over again, you would without hesitation.

You were an absolute HR nightmare now and what a fucking delight that was!

A/N: If you enjoyed this story, feel free to explore the archive for more! Liking and reblogging helps others discover my writing and comments always make my day, they’re a huge encouragement for me to keep creating. Thank you so much for reading!

Look at him just chewing the FAWK out of that gum 😭 (wait chew me next)

his breath catches as you drop to your knees unceremoniously, the gentle press of your lips to his knee turning him rigid instead of its intended effect.

"you're gonna give me a complex." he comments, petulantly, rolling his shoulders in an effort to soothe his nerves.

you shoot him a grin, thumb circling his forearm, "have i told you how much i love you?"

his head tips with an unimpressed look, "only when you want me to do absurd things like this."

"well!" you rise up to sit on your thighs, "i gotta take measurements for before. and then after. some self-control?" you point out, with your hands tugging at his waistband.

"telling me to have self-control with you on your knees like that is a big ask. but wait. before and…after? after what?"

"measuring you when you're soft, and when you're rock hard." you say simply.

"oh good gosh. you've thought this through. don't tell me there's a chart?" the prospect of it horrifies him, but it’s strangely arousing all at once.

gently, you guide clark's very soft cock out, teeth caught on your lower lips, all eager with anticipation. at the very first glance, you're mesmerised.

"whoa…i've never seen it close up this soft before."

clark lets out a sharp exhale at the sudden brush of cold air, body tensed like a rod as you make your initials observations. "yeah, well…it isn't exactly a state i…would prefer to show off."

you hold the hefty weight to your palms, tilting it, "mhm.."

clark's hips involuntarily jerk at your touch, gripping tight around the vinyl, "geez…you're staring at it like it might grow two legs and walk off."

"i mean..it's really pretty." you mumble, thumbing gently over the skin covering his shy tip, to the veins that were visible down his length, "well, in the general baseline as far as dicks go."

he twitches in your palm, and you shoot him a warning glare. "easy there, tiger. i need the before measurement."

clark groans audibly, jumping at the sound of the measuring tape being expanded. you thoughtful angle it flattened onto your palm, "five…six…wow! not as big as i expected."

"hey!" he bleats, cheeks flushed even more, "i-it's cold, you're staring, i demand a re-measure in more…favourable circumstances."

you snort, "that defeats the purpose. it's supposed to be smaller when you're soft, dummy."

clark lets out a pained sigh, finding the entire situation a fate he'd eventually accepted. "you know what i meant."

"oh come on. now's the fun part. right?" you shuffle closer between his parted thighs, pressing a kiss to his soft tip. "we gotta wake him up."

he winces, letting out a low curse. "that's…hardly 'waking up.'"

you look up at him through your lashes, a grin curling at the corner of your lips. "greedy." his cock twitches in your hold at your tease, and you lower your head, kitten-licking along his length.

the tape measure remains forgotten next to you as you devote your attention to him. but after a good amount of effort, "huh. you don't usually take this long to get hard."

he gasps, offended. "really? you're measuring my…my junk out in the open. it's hardly a turn on. confusing, sort of…hot? but mostly confusing."

"if it's hot then get hard."

clark's jaw steadily flexes at the slow dribble of your spit, coating the base of his cock as you pump it up his tip. his head falls backwards onto the headrest, breathing turning more strained.

"okay. okay…it's…working."

"good?"

"m-mhm. yeah. real…good."

your eyes glint at his visual appraisal, and you wrap your mouth around the tip of his cock. the reaction is instant, hips jumping, bucking further into your hot, warm mouth.

"sh-shit. definitely, definitely working."

he's fully hard in your mouth now, thick and heavy against your tongue. the wet, drag of your tongue along his veins has him lifting off the chair. panting harder, "o-oh gosh, like that, not gonna…l-last—"

as quickly as his bliss had come, you'd cruelly pulled away with a loud pop! clark blinks at you, eyes hazy with frustration, confusion, and a dawning reminder as you pick the tape back up. but all he can focus on were how you lick his pre from your lower lip.

"seriously? now?"

"it has to be when you're still hard!" you counter.

"it's not a one-time-thing," he rasps, flinching as the cool metal tip meets his skin once more. he's breathing hard, chest rising and dipping in the wake of his arousal. gaze pleading for you to hurry up.

"mm. seven…eight," then, you gasp suddenly, "whoa! almost nine inches."

clark's head snaps down, in equal disbelief. "wait, really? no way."

you pause, frowning at him, "why the hell are you surprised. it's your dick." you angle him slightly with the measuring tape, "8.7 inches. that's…fully hard."

"i…i don't know. it's not like i actively measure myself. and —" he lifts his gaze, only to see your deeply perplexed one.

"are you…upset?"

"this is what's been in me the entire time," you begin, accusative, "no wonder i'm always fucking aching!"

clark straightens, his mouth agape in shock, "you're actually upset."

"no shit! i wanna go back to when i thought you were just six inches."

he slumps back in a long-drawn-out groan. with his cock painfully throbbing against his abdomen, he was certain this opened pandora's box was about to be a pain in his ass.

the thrill that moves through you has you gasping into his mouth, pussy fluttering from how easily he overwhelms your senses. melting into him, letting him kiss you stupid. growing too horny to continue this way, you hold onto him and somehow manage to get him to lay on the couch.

his back resting on the cushions with you straddling him. "i wanna ride you," words spoken soft and tantalising, hand slipping under his shirt again to rest where it once was.

gojo's shirt rides up with your touch, the warm pressure of your soft palm has his cock twitching in his pants. "are you waiting for an invitation?"

"more like a plea," you challenge his glib attitude.

"pleaseee sit on my dick, pretty," his hands slide up your thighs to grip your hips, "i'm aching for it." and as if to prove his point, he ruts his hips up under you. grinding his erection against your clothed cunt.

your nails lightly scratch against his skin, lungs shuddering from the much needed stimulation. you're digging your teeth into your lower lip to stifle down any pathetic sound he might be able to pull from you. failing completely when he tugs you down at the same time that he's rutting up.

"fuuuuck– hold on– hnn– this feels soo—" he doesn't finish his sentence, head tilting back as he keeps dry humping you.

his skin is all flushed and radiating heat, eyes dazed and lost in the muted pleasure he's gaining from this. he's acting like a dog as he keeps relentlessly grinding against you. a small and pitiful whimper leaves him and you're keening into it. hands tugging his shirt up more, palms perched on him as you meet his grinds.

"wait– wait– hng– i'm gonna—" even though he's asking you to wait he doesn't stop his hips, continuing until he's shuddering through his own orgasm.

his pants growing damp as he cums in them, gojo can feel the way his seed clings to his clothes. coating his dick in his own sticky release. if it hadn't felt so fucking good he'd probably be embarrassed but he's in complete bliss right now.

"did you just cum?" you ask him, somehow even more aroused. his relaxed and borderline fucked out expression making you want him more.

he's panting softly, eyes glazed over as he answers, "you shouldn't have looked at me like that."

you sat on his knees like you did a hundred times before, but today everything felt off. toji grabbed your waist and yanked you up onto his thighs, right on his bare, rock-hard cock.

god-tier cock. huge, veins popping and throbbing at the base, with a thick head already leaking pre-cum. you felt it even through your shorts. "toji… people will see…"

"shhh. you earned a treat, you worked so hard today."

he started moving you back and forth slowly, making your shorts rub against him, but you still felt how hard he was and how he kept twitching under you. "we ain't supposed to… mmnh… if they see us..."

he didn't even let you finish, just hoisted you up with one hand 'cause his left one was gripping your ass hard enough to leave marks. he jerked your panties and shorts to the side and sat you down on his dick. the whole damn thing.

you let out a loud moan — couldn't help it, couldn't even catch your breath because he filled you up to the hilt. you slapped a hand over your mouth right away, digging your fingers into your lips, terrified someone might hear.

after all, you were in a public gym.

"watch that pretty mouth," he purred. "we don't want 'em to catch this fine little pussy swallowin' her coach's cock, do we?" his dick was tearing you up inside, your muscles twitching all crazy around him trying to take it all, but it was too much. you just sat there frozen, shaking and wet, with your mouth wide open, just letting out a silent sob.

"count." he sits up. you feel his abs tighten under your fingers, the way they crunch as he curls up. his shoulder blades leave the mat and that dick inside you moves — up, even deeper if that's even possible, and you feel it hittin' so damn deep.

"on— hahh!" a high, whiny moan rips out of you. you can't catch it, can't close your mouth — you just roll your eyes back and dig your nails into his shoulders, making him laugh. "i said count." his hand stays on your thigh, keeping you from just riding him like a total slut and screaming his name through the whole gym. "that one didn't count. start over."

he slowly sinks back to the mat, his cock almost slips out an inch, maybe two — and you feel every single vein as it slides. right until it’s almost gone.

your hips twitch on their own — you just wanna drop down and feel him inside. "h-nngh! toji...hnnn! just stop bein' such an asshole!"

he peeps you with a raised brow. "babe, i'm gettin' old. ain't gonna wait all night."

"on…"

"can't hear ya."

"one! mmnghh!"

he lifts his torso again, muscles rolling under his skin. he comes all the way up until you're face to face, his cock plunges back in — deep and hard. "h-ahh! two! two!"

you wanna lean on his shoulders or his chest, but he catches both your wrists with one hand and yanks them up. your palms end up over his head, your back arches, and your chest pushes forward, showing off your rock-hard nipples. he leans in and licks 'em right through the top, then takes one in his mouth and starts sucking. there's a wet spot on your top when he pulls away. "such a good girl."

then his hand slaps your ass, making a loud smack echo through the gym. he goes down — and up again, crunch after crunch. he works like a piston, driving you onto his dick with every single lift.

on the sixth rep, you feel a knot tighten inside you. "nngghh! t-toji! i'm gonna cum, oh god, i'm gonna cum right now!"

he speeds it up. the crunches get shorter, meaner. his upper part is working at the limit — you see how strained his muscles are, how the sweat glistens on his belly. his breath gets shaky and raspy.

he hoists his hips up, going in as deep as it gets, and stays like that for a few seconds. his dick is so deep you feel it throbbin' inside.

"one left. c'mon, babe."

he lifts his torso one last time — your legs are shaking in a cramp, wrists still pinned up, you can't move, just grinding your hips in circles. "mmgh! haa-aahh! i'm cummin', i'm cummin', i'm cummin'! tee-e-en! nngghh!"

you come with a loud moan, couldn't even stifle it — no air to breathe, no brain to think. just wave after wave rolling through you, muscles clenching around his cock all jerky and greedy, squeezing every drop out of him.

suddenly, the lights flick on and you hear a muffled voice. "what the fuck are y'all doin' in here?"

you’re used to it by now. you’ve adjusted to this life of yours as one of sukuna’s concubines. his favourite at that—which automatically makes you a victim of verbal (and sometimes physical) harassment. the other women in the sorcerer’s harem can’t stand you.

your eyes are glued to the path you’re walking on. your lady-in-waiting doesn’t utter a single word as well, holding her head low as she follows behind you.

you know that the concubines will immediately pick on you if you make eye contact with one of them.

it’s moments like these where you actually miss sukuna. his intimidating presence and (in)direct threats would immediately make the others fall silent. you wouldn’t have to hear them call you nasty names.

though, unlucky you, sukuna’s out on business. uraume is left as a temporary supervisor of the entire estate. to make sure nothing goes wrong. despite all of that, you still find yourself in an unfortunate predicament.

“hey. we’re talking to you,” a female voice rings from behind you.

it isn’t your lady-in-waiting, but the brown-haired woman whom you recognise as one of sukuna’s concubines. her name. . . you can’t recall.

she forcefully pushes your shoulder with two fingers. you stumble backwards, nearly tripping over the material of your kimono. you look down at the hem and notice a subtle muddy stain on the cloth now that you’ve accidentally stepped on it.

you curse the woman out under your breath. the kimono is one of your favorites since sukuna had it made and tailored to suit your taste.

“my apologies,” you mumble politely. you do not wish to make a scene as much as you want to defend yourself. not in front of those poor servants who are simply minding their business and tending to the garden.

the lady scoffs. another one joins. soon, four of them surround you, leaving you no place to escape the situation. with every step you take back, they take one forward. it’s intimidating, though you try to make it seem like you’re not afraid of their words.

“tell me,” the blonde one speaks up and her hand trails up your arm. she twirls a strand of your hair around her index finger before harshly tugging at it. you wince, but she doesn’t budge, “tell me what sukuna sees in a worthless slut like you.”

it’s about sukuna every time. you’re getting sick of the way they treat you because of something you can’t control. you don’t know why he favors you out of all the other women at his service. the way you’re treated because of something that you cannot change is getting frustrating.

the brown-haired woman follows the other lady. she pushes you until the back of your shoe bumps against the edge of a fountain. the grande fountain in the yard that you always love to admire.

the tugs at your hair get stronger. your patience is wearing thin. you take some time to reply to the other concubines, hoping to silence them for now.

you look up at the group surrounding you—a grin tugging at your lips as you decide to taunt them. you scoff, “hah. you can’t blame me for satisfying my lord better than all of you could do together.”

audible gasps sound from the group of concubines. they can’t believe you had the audacity to talk back and be disrespectful about it. the comment you made clearly struck a nerve. or in this case multiple.

“oh, you slut!” the blonde one shrieks, clearly more than upset by your doubts about her services as a concubine.

in a flash of rage, she gives you a firm push, sending you backwards until you fall into the fountain with a loud splash.

your lady-in-waiting is the one gasping this time. she looks at you with great worry in her eyes, not knowing if she needs to go fetch uraume or not. she doesn’t have much say in the matter either way.

you’re humiliated by this. you can feel the water seep into the robes of your kimono, staining the beloved material. your hair is wet as well, the water droplets falling off the ends of your locks.

“pah, you look pathetic,” one of the lower ranking concubines chimes in—giggling at the unfortunate situation you got yourself in. the others follow with their own high pitched laughs, “serves you right.”

you don’t even know what you should do. your body feels heavy because of the water wetting your clothes. your nails drag along the fountain’s surface, trying to compose yourself before you do anything irrational.

you grit your teeth and take a deep breath. you’re shaking, both because of the cold settling over your body as well as the anger simmering inside of you. you open your mouth to say something, only to be interrupted.

by someone you didn’t expect to see any time soon.

“enough.”

the deep tone sends chills down your spine. the volume of the male voice nearly shakes the ground. it’s powerful, dominant and quite aggressive. as if the owner of the voice is pissed. no, more than that.

the group of concubines freeze, not even daring to turn around and face the unexpected visitor. you notice your lady-in-waiting immediately falling to her knees, bowing at the man whom you know very well.

“my lord,” you stammer out, being the first to speak up and address him.

you’re surprised to see sukuna back this early from his business trip. he normally stays away from the estate for days on end.

sukuna’s footsteps are heavy. his strides are menacingly slow. the aura surrounding him makes the others shake—one concubine being smart enough to bow to him. the king of curses is not one to be messed with, especially when he’s angry.

“tsk. have you lost all your respect while i was gone?” sukuna growls, seeing how the group of concubines are frozen in place with fearful expressions on their faces.

the fact that they’re not bowing before him worsens his temper, “kneel.”

he raises one hand and they all knew what was going to happen. you squeal and shut your eyes, hearing that familiar and dooming sound of slashes around you. it doesn’t sound like they’ve hit anything, so you peek through your eyelashes.

you see how the group of women have dropped to their knees the instant sukuna raised his hand in that specific manner. everyone knew just what that meant; death to anyone who’s got their head held high in his presence.

you’ve all seen enough people get decapitated by that same action to know that the sorcerer was not playing around.

sukuna scoffs. he walks up towards you, ignoring the pleas of the other concubines that are begging for his forgiveness. his bottom set of eyes look down at them with disdain before focusing on your figure again.

he silently stands still at the edge of the fountain. his large frame looms over you and you find yourself struggling to get up from the water to bow at him as well. you keep your eyes on your lap, “i’m sorry, my lord.”

sukuna hisses at your apology. a warning for you to shut your mouth. you’re apologising when it’s not your fault and that irritates him more than anything. two of his strong arms reach down to pick you up from your vulnerable position.

the king of curses hoists you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing. he’s not bothered by the fact that you’re dripping wet. in fact, both of his left arms wrap around your torso in attempt to warm you up.

“stay. you’ll all be dealt with accordingly when i return,” sukuna harshly orders your aggressors as he turns around and walks away from the group. he carries you in his arms, not sparing a single glance at his concubines.

he doesn’t even care that he stepped on one of the women’s hands as he passed by. the high pitched shriek only serves to annoy him, which you notice by the way he squeezes your waist in response.

it’s silent between you two for a bit. sukuna steps inside of the estate, his ominous aura making you hesistant to speak. you decide to stay quiet for the sake of keeping the peace. for now.

sukuna’s breathing is a little heavy. he’s trying not to lash out or say anything hurtful. he doesn’t like raising his voice at you—but sometimes he feels like he needs to. especially when you land in situations like those.

“how long has this been going on?” sukuna asks through a heavy sigh. his red eyes are focused on the end of the hallway, where his chambers lay. the veins in his neck look like they could pop out any second now, “and don’t you dare fuckin’ lie to me, y’hear?”

you gulp. you’ve never been so nervous to answer him, ever. you attempt to respond, “uhm, for quite a while, my lord.”

sukuna breathes in sharply at the revelation. the fact that you did not specify your answer only made him think that it’s worse than you’re making it out to be. he stops in his tracks, two hands on your waist as he forces you to face him.

your body dangles in the air as sukuna makes you look at him from up close, showing you that dangerous look in his eyes. you do not dare to avert your gaze from his as he speaks.

“you should’ve told me the moment they started disrespecting you like that,” sukuna grunts. another big hand grabs your jaw firmly, squeezing your cheeks together. you whine as it hurts a little.

he scoffs and releases your jaw with a light push, “pathetic.”

you feel your body get thrown into your original position once more. your head is upside down and your legs hang limply over his shoulder.

you try to defend yourself in a quiet tone, “i thought you were too busy. i didn’t want to bother you with such unimportant matters.”

it’s true. as much as you wanted to tell sukuna about the mistreatment you were receiving, you knew how busy he was attending to more urgent business. you didn’t want to annoy him with your own problems that you could easily solve.

if only you could stand up for yourself.

“nonsense,” sukuna raises his voice in a moment of weakness, though remembers that you’ve probably been through enough for the day. he doesn’t need to add to that by treating you like shit as well.

he simply sighs it off in annoyance, “unimportant, huh? ‘s that how you think i view you?”

you raise an eyebrow at sukuna’s last sentence. you’re at a loss for words. you know sukuna values you more than any of his other concubines—it’s the main reason you’re getting bullied for—yet you never heard him speak to you in such a surprisingly soft way.

almost like he’s disappointed that you don’t realise the extent of his favoritsm. he cares about you more than you actually think he does.

“i-i’m sorry, my lord,” you stutter. you really do not have a clue about what to say. all you can do is apologise as you’re left overthinking that one little sentence he said.

“brat,” sukuna quickly regains his usual stoic and stern composure.

he reaches his chambers and enters his personal bathroom before putting you down on your feet. he looks down at your short stature, feeling the warmth of your body leave his skin once you’re separated.

sukuna watches you shiver. he wants to get angry at you for not telling him about anything that’s been going on while he’s not present, though he simply cannot at the moment.

he’ll let you off the hook for now. but, he’s surely going to give you your own special scolding after he’s taken care of the other concubines. the man grabs a large towel from nearby and messily wraps it around your upper body.

sukuna turns around to walk out of his bathroom, looking over his shoulder once more, “get dressed into somethin’ else before you catch a cold.”

he calls for a couple servants to tend to you while he’s away to take care of those deviant concubines. sukuna watches the three maids rush to your service, preparing you a new set of clothes as well as trying to dry you off.

his gaze lingers on you for more than is necessary, his jaw clenching at the sight of you trembling from the low temperatures you’re experiencing. sukuna’s going to make sure those other women pay for what they’ve done to you.

he leaves the bathroom after that, though not without leaving you an order to follow;

“y’re staying in my chambers tonight.”