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Audree

Source: merletails

An Artful Arrangement

Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (threesome)

Summary: A private art lesson with Benedict becomes something else when a Viscount is your subject...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, MMF threesome, no incest. Very mild restraint with hands, sensation play, smidge of breast play, vaginal object insertion, vaginal fingering, oral sex (M to F), masturbation, vaginal sex, voyeurism/exhibitionism.

Word Count: 7.7k

Authors Note: Request fill for Anon, who wanted Anthony as a life model for one of Benedict's private art lessons. This request is from last year and I started writing it before the whole Benedict gives up art thing of s3. I hope artist Benedict returns in s4. Anyway, thank you to @colettebronte for beta-reading this monster. Enjoy! <3

“I’m not sure about this, brother,” Anthony frowns, surveying the jumbled art studio at Benedict’s London townhouse. 

Sunlight is streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the rear of the property, but Anthony is grateful for the translucent voiles that drape over them; at least there will be some privacy from the surrounding buildings for this embarrassment.

“Too bad,” Benedict shoots back, bemused, fiddling through a pile of paintbrushes.  “A bet is a bet, and you lost.”

“You do not need to revel in my misfortune quite this much, though,” Anthony pouts.

“What can I say? The mallet of death does not always ensure victory at Pall Mall,” Benedict chuckles, readjusting one of the two easels in the room. “And I can assure you, this student will be worth your efforts,” he adds enigmatically as his trusty valet appears in the doorway.

“Ms y/l/n is here, Mr Bridgerton,” Mr Smith announces. “Should I see her in?”

“Certainly,” Benedict nods brightly, observing in the periphery of his gaze how Anthony’s interest is piqued at that announcement.

“A Ms?” Anthony echoes quietly as Smith slips away. “I did not think you offered private art tuition to the unmarried lady,” his voice filled with concern, patently preoccupied with the Bridgerton family reputation should Benedict be inviting innocent young women to his bachelor lodgings unchaperoned.

“Do not concern yourself,” Benedict sighs, knowing exactly where the Viscount's thoughts have gone. “I indeed do not do that. I would not wish for that reputation. Widows who have reverted to their unmarried name, however….” Benedict trails off.

“Oh… right….” Anthony nods in understanding. 

That, indeed, is an entirely different prospect.

—

You enter the room and suspect you may have interrupted a private moment between the two men before you. Both turning towards you, Benedict looks happy to see you once more; the other man - you would recognise his older brother, the Viscount, anywhere - seems taken aback, but you don't miss the tiny uptick in the corner of his mouth, hopefully also pleased to meet you.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” you nod courteously and move towards Benedict, allowing him to take your hand and kiss the back of your glove in greeting.

“Ms y/l/n,” he rumbles, “it is so wonderful to see you again.”

“Likewise, Mr Bridgerton,” you answer, enjoying the warmth of his lips through the silk, that trademark flare of exhilaration in your ribcage when your flirtation with him rears. 

This is your fifth private lesson with Mr Bridgerton, and while art has been a wonderful new pastime, you do wonder how much of your enthusiasm correlates to your tutor’s attractiveness. He has been nothing but a gentleman in his actions, almost to your chagrin, although sometimes his glances have felt heated and laden with something that makes your insides glow.

You turn towards Anthony. “Viscount Bridgerton, it is a pleasure to meet you finally. I have seen you from afar at many an event.”

You take a few paces and offer your other hand for him to kiss, but it takes him a moment before he returns to himself and amends his frozen look of surprise.

“Miss y/l/n, the pleasure is all mine,” he replies, and there is something just as velvet in his tone as his brother's, his lips also warm and plush as he kisses your other hand.

Oh, my goodness. They are both entirely too charming and handsome.

“I apologise. When my brother informed me I would be modelling for a widow, I did not assume such a person as yourself,” he explains, his cheeks sporting a delightful dot of colour.

“I was widowed at age 24, my lord,” you explain, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “My late husband, 10th Earl of Pembroke, was a great deal older than me.” 

“Should we not address you as Dowager Countess?” Anthony checks, concerned at any potential faux pas.

“Please do not,” you instantly respond. “It is why I reverted to my unmarried name. I have no wish to be addressed as such. The title lives on in his eldest son, the current Earl, and his wife. Who are indeed older than me. I was my husband's second wife. A companion for his senior years after his first wife died.”

Anthony nods in understanding. “It must have been an interesting union,” he offers politely.

“I was seventeen, and the man was nearly sixty,” you sigh. “My parents saw an opportunity to climb the social ladder and took it. I did not dislike the man completely, but I cannot say I was particularly distraught at his passing,” you explain plainly. “I am, of course, grateful his estate provides for me now.”

Having explained your situation as thoroughly as you wish, you turn back towards Benedict, who appears thoroughly entertained by your bluntness.

“Is this my easel?” you enthuse, pointing to the one nearest the windows.

“Indeed it is,” he returns with a smile as he strides past you and clicks the door closed.

“Now the question is, would you prefer your model be clothed or unclothed? You have not done a piece yet on the naked human form,” he points out.

You look over to see Anthony’s face morph into a thousand reactions.

“That was not part of the deal, brother,” he warns lowly through gritted teeth.

“Maybe not, but I think the lady should get to decide, do you not, brother?” Benedict challenges in a tone laced with amusement, his eyes sparkling.

You can see the war on Anthony’s face and decide to offer an olive branch. “I would not wish to make the Viscount uncomfortable in any way…”

“It would not,” Anthony cuts in very quickly. “I was just pointing out it was not my expectation to do so,” his gaze softening as it slips from his brother to you. “However, if you wish it, Ms, I shall remove my clothing.” something in the way he says it causes a frisson down your spine.

You have only seen one naked man in your life. And that is your dead husband—a portly man of advanced years. Something about the look of the Viscount’s tailored clothing suggests his naked form would be very different. More akin to the rugged gardener you have occasionally seen topless at your country home and, yes, touched yourself while thinking of. You are not sure you could keep your wits about you to paint such a fine specimen of a man.

“Let us just remove our jackets for now, brother,” Benedict suggests. ”The lady may then decide if we shall proceed further,” his tone conciliatory as he removes his.

You smile at his gentlemanly offer. 

“Now,” he continues, rolling up his white shirt sleeves distractingly. “You may choose to pose your model as you see fit.” 

Anthony is doing the same with his shirt, and you find yourself staring at him as well, at the play of muscles in his forearms as he rolls the material. Behind him is an emerald green velvet chaise, and you ask him to sit upon it. He does so and then looks at you expectantly for further instruction.

“Perhaps place one forearm on your thigh,” you suggest, but the pose he adopts isn't quite what you had in mind.

“You can place him in the position you wish,” Benedict chuckles, seeing the knit in your brow, gesturing for you to go to Anthony.

Your heart skips a little as you approach the Viscount, his eyes almost trepidacious as you place your hands tentatively on his shoulders. They are so broad and warm through the thin white cotton of his shirt. You position his arms, noting the latent power in his biceps, fingertips lingering on the material, eager to trail your hands down onto the dark hair dusting his forearms. 

“Would you mind raising your chin, my lord?” you ask quietly, and when he tilts his head up, you almost gasp at the intensity of his gaze boring into yours.

“Like this?” he murmurs.

“Yes, please,” you whisper back, “the light catches your face perfectly.”

“Much as it does yours,” he returns softly and something warm spreads under your ribs as you drink in his handsome facial features, almost glowing in the sunlight—a want to run your fingertips over his cheeks, trace the lines of his strong jaw dusted with a trace of afternoon stubble.

“Are you happy with your placement?” Benedict’s voice rings out, cutting into your reverie.

“Yes, Mr Bridgerton,” you reply but do not move, seemingly rooted to the spot.

“Then please return to your easel,” he tutors, with a hint of sharpness you have not heard before. 

Part of you is tempted to spin around and ask if he is jealous, but instead, you shoot Anthony a tiny smile that he returns before withdrawing. 

You round behind your easel and pick up your charcoal, sketching an outline, as Benedict does the same. A few minutes pass pleasantly as you draw, glancing at Anthony around the edge of the easel to ensure accuracy. You could swear every time you do so; his lip twitches in amusement, almost as if he is trying to distract you.

“Benedict,” you call softly when you think your rough outline is done, “please could you check my sketch?”

It's a flimsy excuse you have used more than once now—a wish to have your teacher move closer. He doesn't disappoint. He takes a few strides and then stops close to your back, assessing your canvas.

“I would say that is an excellent start,” he assesses, his exhaled air wafting through tendrils of hair near your ear. “Except maybe here…” His arm curls close around your side, ghosting your dress, and taps the canvas where you have sketched Anthony’s left arm. “I think you flatter my brother with a shoulder that broad.”

“Perhaps…” you concede, and then your tongue runs away with itself. “It may indeed be easier to ascertain the correct proportions for the Viscount were he in less clothing.”

They both chuckle at your bold assertion, so obviously a flimsy excuse. But there is a vault behind your ribs as Anthony rises to that challenge—a glint in his eye as he stands up and plucks open his waistcoat, shucking it quickly from his shoulders, staring you down. 

You swear you can feel the heat radiating from Benedict behind you as Anthony unwinds his white cravat and then, with a smirk, tosses it towards you. It lands draped over your easel; you reach out unthinking, grabbing an end, caressing the fine silk absent-mindedly as you stare covetously now.

Anthony is indeed built like your gardener, possibly even more sculpted. A dark thatch over his chest tapers to a line of hair over his abdominals and trails temptingly into his trousers. You want to see where it leads to. You suspect something much better than you have ever encountered before. With a hint of swagger, he retakes his seat in the pose you had put him in, the stance making his bicep bulge out.

“I do not think I was very incorrect in my proportions, Mr Bridgerton,” you opine tacitly, turning your head a fraction so your temple is brushing Benedict’s jaw, knowing you are goading him.

“Then draw what you believe you see,” he returns, his voice a low whisper, his lips so close to the shell of your ear that your heart pounds in your chest.

Your eyes hold Anthony’s as you daringly glide your fingertips over the back of Benedict’s hand, lingering on the raised tendons before you push the charcoal between his knuckles.

“Perhaps you can guide my hand?”

“With pleasure,” he hums.

The charcoal glides over the canvas in guided unison for a few laden minutes as you draw under Benedict’s tutelage. Anthony’s chest rises and falls steadily as you glance at him every few seconds—a tension in the air that is portentous, crackling. Your traitorous mind wanders—a jumble of images of you laying with both of these men, bringing you untold pleasures with their mouths and hands.

“Are you even paying attention to the artwork?” Benedict's rich voice lilts in your ear as you realise your hand is almost limp under his.

“I… I must confess, my thoughts may be elsewhere, Mr Bridgerton.”

“Tell us. It could be something we would be most pleased to hear,” he posits duskily, his breath hot on your cheek, letting slip that he likely suspects.

“I am thinking… of other artful arrangements of human bodies,” you offer somewhat opaquely.

“Whose bodies?” Benedict presses, this time his lips grazing your earlobe, as you spy a vein throbbing in Anthony’s temple, looking like he wants to stalk over and claim you.

“The three of us,” you confess breathily.

There is a noise from both men that is a beeline straight into your core, and there is a mouth on your skin. You gasp, eyes closing as you sway backwards into Benedict, his lips travelling the column of your neck as your back collides with his solid chest. The gentle suction and warm wetness set your skin afire, tingles running down your arm. Your lashes flutter open, and your blood runs hot to behold Anthony’s face like thunder until you bite your lip and, feeling emboldened, you mouth to him…

‘Your turn’

Instantly, his mien morphs into one of desire, jumping to his feet as you slide a hand into Benedict's thick hair and grab a handful, making him groan into your skin. 

“You are entirely too clothed compared to your brother, Mr Bridgerton,” you coquette, untangling yourself from his arms and spinning to look back at him with a raised brow, backing away without looking, knowing you will soon collide with Anthony.

Sure enough, you inhale sharply as toned arms haul you into a firm embrace, the hair on his chest tickling the skin above the scooped back of your dress.

“The lady is not wrong, brother,” Anthony provokes, his tone smug now that you are in his arms instead.

Teeth nip lightly on your earlobe while you watch Benedict fight with his waistcoat, almost wrenching it from his torso. Anthony is more taciturn than Benedict, communicating with his fingertips instead, raking over your dress, silently telegraphing his desire through the gauzy layers. Benedict’s stare is heavy upon you as he unfurls his cravat, you melting into Anthony’s lips skimming down your throat. Benedict makes quick work of removing his shirt, throwing it aside, his smooth chest heaving slightly as he advances upon you. Then his lips descend and claim yours in a breathtaking kiss. 

If this is the Bridgerton boys competing for your affection, then you would do anything to keep provoking them. Sandwiched between their bare torsos, Benedict's tongue opening your lips, lathing yours, as Anthony’s mouth skates your shoulder. The taste and feel of them both has you suddenly impatient. To do things you never thought you would even moments ago. A forbidden fruit too tempting to resist. It makes you desirous, unbounded, a keening want to be reckless.

“Take off my dress, gentlemen,” you implore urgently as you and Benedict break apart, twisting to capture Anthony’s mouth now. 

His kiss is just as demanding, equally fervent, your heart racing as four hands trace the contours of your figure. You are not sure of who undoes the buttons down your back or who pushes the loosened fabric from your shoulders. Both unlace your stays, tugging almost impatiently until the garment relents and are certain both of them pull your gathered chemise loose, it falling from your shoulders to form a circle around your light summer shoes. Both make a noise as they realise you are now naked. It was supposed to be a little illicit thrill for yourself, foregoing stockings and underwear in Mr Bridgerton’s presence—little did you know how provocative that choice would be. 

As you toe off your shoes, the atmosphere seems as heated, the sun’s rays upon your back through the translucent window covering. There is a moment where you exchange laden looks with them, their eyes slipping down your naked body before Anthony leans in and retakes your lips.

“Touch me…” you implore, twisting briefly to address his brother before returning inexorably to Anthony’s hypnotic kiss.

Benedict's fingertips ladder up your ribs from the dip of your waist, his lips dragging hot over your bare shoulder blades. And then you gasp into Anthony’s searching mouth as those large hands seize both of your breasts, covering them entirely, your nipples snagging between his elegant knuckles.

“Here perhaps…” Benedict rumbles as you tear away from Anthony to meet his captivating gaze.

“Yessss,” you hiss hungrily, your breath catching as he plucks gently, tweaks that send a zinging bolt between your legs. You cling to the back of his sturdy neck and crash your lips into his. 

“Have you ever laid with two men before?” Anthony’s voice is like velvet in your ear as his warm hands grasp the flare of your hips, his teeth nipping at your neck.

“I have only laid with one man,” you admit as you pull back from Benedict's kiss. “And he looked nothing like either of you.” Your hands rake greedily down both of their honed outlines, a yen to see and touch more.

They puff with pride at your words as Benedict's fingers loop behind your left knee. He roughly pulls your legs up around his hip, surging into you so the rigid mass of his cock, straining in his trousers, presses your mound, making you gasp. Anthony pushes into you, too, his equally sizeable cock passing over the cleft of your bottom, so hot through the fine wool. 

“Did he worship you like you truly deserve?” Benedict queries, his cadence achingly seductive.

“I am not sure what that might entail…” your intentional evasive provocation makes him smile crookedly and lean in closer, his eyes glinting enticingly. 

“Did he feast on the bounty between your legs with his tongue until you screamed for mercy?” his words dripping from his lips like dangerous weapons, heat pooling rapidly right at that very spot.

“H-he did not…”you stutter over a slightly laboured breath.

“Oh, my poor lady,” Anthony tuts sympathetically. “You deserve to know true pleasure,” he adds, surging his hips again but also taking your hand and kissing your knuckles tenderly. 

“Lay down here,” Benedict smiles as he leads you back to the plush chaise. 

Both offer their hand to assist you in reclining, the velvet a plush tickle under your spine as you settle down, looking up at them towering over you, your hands itching to tug open their trousers and find what lies beneath, the fabric straining temptingly.

“What do you have in mind, brother?” Anthony asks, his eyes following Benedict as he turns away and appears to grab something from the bench at the side of the room, the sunlight dancing across the freckles across his back. When he spins back around, he is holding three clean paintbrushes.

“I think a sensual experience…” he replies, looking down to gauge your reaction.

“I thought our art lesson abandoned, Mr Bridgerton,” your gaze fixated upon the brushes of various sizes and bristle lengths.

“With my brother as the subject, I concede maybe so,” he remarks casually. “But I believe you to be a much more interesting prospect anyway….” his voice smoky as he looms over you, his eyes raking over you in a way that you can feel fizzling on your skin.

“Agreed”, Anthony chimes in, taking a proffered brush from his brother as they kneel on either side of the chaise, a silent exchange between them.

You want to ask what they will do, but the words die in your throat as Benedict's tongue darts out and wettens the end of a fine-tipped brush. Then, the damp bristles are upon your clavicle, tracing the arc of bone, leaving a thin, wet streak cooling rapidly, goosebumps erupting over your sternum, nipples pebbling. Without needing prompting, Anthony drags a dry, fanned brush over your ribs, tracing each contour. The sensation is different, ticklish, to the point your abdomen ripples, and you instinctively curl up a fraction, biting your lip to tamp down a giggle. Anthony smirks casually as a large hand wraps around your shoulder and pushes you back flat.

“No, no.” Your clit pulses at the warning tone Benedict employs, his hold secure but not painful, staring you down as Anthony repeats the same move upon the other side of your ribs. Your body rolls yet more, rebelling and pushing against his grip. “Stay still. Or he may desist.”

You bite your lip and exhale shakily as Anthony continues teasing brushstrokes over your stomach, each one a flick that makes your skin shimmer. Benedict releases his hold to paint his wet brush across your other collarbone, leaving a trail of his saliva along its ridge and then continuing down over your breastbone. Your breath catches as he trails under the curve of your left breast, just as Anthony’s brush sinks lower. Your instinct is to clamp your legs shut, a sudden wave of timidity, but both men grab your knees and pull your thighs wide apart. Air swirls around your slit as Anthony leans over and captures your lips in an enticing kiss.

“Do not be shy now….” is Benedict’s hot whisper in your ear, his teeth capturing your earlobe as Anthony’s tongue rolls with yours, swallowing your moans as his brush caresses the patch of hair at the apex of your thighs before he glides it between your legs, passing over your clit. 

Just that featherlight touch is enough to make you arc upwards off the chaise until again Benedict holds you down, brush stored expertly between his knuckles as warm fingertips press upon your diaphragm, and he hushes you. You have to bite the inside of your cheek as Anthony flicks a few strokes, his warm eyes blazing right above yours. The motions have you throbbing, desperate for more, and you can only gasp as he slips lower, pushing just a fraction of the brush into your soaked pussy. When you do not protest, he grins and pushes a fraction deeper as you bite your lip, wanting so much more for it to be his cock. You whimper as instead the paintbrush withdraws, and Anthony makes a show of bringing it to his mouth, sucking its dripping tip covetously.

“Delicious,” Anthony offers silkily, his face inches from yours, a thronging need low in your pelvis, aching for relief, something you never felt with your late husband. His lips are on yours, lust burning in your belly as you taste yourself in his mouth. 

Benedict chooses this moment to swirl his wetten brush tip around your areola, and that has you moaning into Anthony’s kiss, your fingers raking into his lush hair as your other hand shoots out to grab Benedict’s bicep, a need to touch them both at once.

“Please…” your voice cracking, greedy for them both.

“Please, what?” Benedict chuckles darkly, his lips brushing your hairline, again holding you down to Anthony’s sensual onslaught.

“More…”

It's all you can say, tilting to look into his hazy eyes, clouded with lust, enjoying watching you squirm and pant and blossom under their attentions.

“Greedy…” Benedict volleys light-heartedly before kissing you, both of them dropping the paintbrushes, clattering to the floor.

Anthony’s fingers slither back down your centre line, tracing over the sensitive skin beneath your belly button but not stopping until they rest tauntingly over your weeping slit. You gasp into Benedict’s mouth as Anthony pushes a finger into you, his approving groan into your shoulder as you leak down his knuckles has you clenching around his invading digit. He adds another and begins to pump slowly, rocking his fingers rhythmically as your tongue parries with Benedict’s. 

Benedict breaks the kiss to brush his lips down your throat, hot kisses over your collarbone, lower still until his mouth is on the swell of your breast. Anthony adds a third finger, wet, filthy sounds from between your legs as your pussy clings to him, feeling so filled. His thumb hooks under your clitoral hood and starts to flick your sensitive nub in time with his finger thrusts just as Benedict's tongue swirls around your nipple, making your back curve up from the chaise, pushing your breast into his open mouth.

“I could watch this for hours…” Anthony asserts with a wicked little quirk of his eyebrow.

You squirm under them, so achingly aroused you feel on the edge of reason. One of them would be more than you have ever experienced before; both at once is almost lethal.

“Me too…” mirth laces Benedict’s response as he trails the point of his nose over your nipple. 

They glance at each other, telegraphing ideas silently. Benedict swaps to your other breast as Anthony moves, the angle of his fingers changing inside you, twisting as he rearranges between your splayed legs, pushing your thighs wide open, draping them on either side of the chaise.

The muscular swipe of Anthony's tongue through your slit has you crying out his name, a spike of pleasure so rough it catches you unawares, this act entirely new to you, something so intimate about his whole face buried into the wet heat between your legs.

Benedict kisses his way back up your neck as Anthony’s strong arms wrap around your hips, the solid mass of biceps curled into you as he drives you relentlessly, his tongue a spear lashing your swollen clit. Benedict swings around from kneeling at the side of the chaise to leaning over the curved back, fingers spidering down your skin from your shoulders towards your breasts.

“Is this the artful arrangement of bodies you envisaged?” His words are whispered hotly into your ear, your eyes fluttering closed at the decadent, smokey cadence.

You mumble something incoherent, the rush washing through your system stealing your thoughts, just as Anthony’s fingers start to move inside you again as he feasts upon you, closing his mouth around your sensitive nub and sucking hard with his lips.

“What was that?” Benedict chuckles, a teasing lilt that has you nuzzling your cheek into his lips, his fingertips dragging agonisingly slowly lower, over the round of your breasts, your nipples, still damp with his saliva, pebbled painfully even in the warm room, tingling for his firm touch.

“Yessss…” your reply is a sibilant rasp; he must know this is even better than what you had imagined, but he seems to enjoy hearing your affirmation regardless. Such investment in your pleasure amplifies your need.

Your hand shoots down to tug Anthony’s luscious hair, pushing your pelvis up into his face as he groans his approval of your wanton actions, chasing pleasure covetously. His fingers are buried deep inside you, curling and dragging over a spot that has you climbing so fast. Then Benedict roughly pinches your nipples, throbbing in sync with your clit under Anthony’s tongue, and you are sent stratospheric dizzyingly fast, a touch of rough treatment just what you need to push you over the edge you have been skating.

Benedict swallows your screams as you ride Anthony’s face in a wave of pleasure, clenching hard around his fingers, trying to expel them as he fights to stay inside you. Benedict's mouth is hot, possessive over yours, not letting you up for air in a way that only heightens your pleasure, a tingle zipping over your scalp as you burst and fracture under them.

For a few seconds, everything is blotted out, just a rush of blood in your ears and white-hot pleasure coursing through you. Their touch turns softer as you float down, Anthony’s fingers withdrawing from you with a wet noise as you lay dazed, utterly overwhelmed by the sudden intensity.

“Now that was a work of art…” the filthy poet opines velvety, a handsome, lopsided grin claiming his face as you stare up at him hovering over you, your view upside down. 

You are still too stunned even to form words, a stuttering noise that sounds more like a whimper, the only thing escaping your trembling lips.

“I think we may have stolen her power of speech,” Anthony observes wryly, crawling up, dropping pecked kisses onto random spots of your dewy skin.

He settles his muscular body over yours, his chest hair tickling your nipples, his face glazed with your arousal, and his sizeable cock brands your thigh through the material of his trousers. He moves in to steal a kiss that tastes tart, rolling your flavour onto your tongue, seemingly wanting you to savour it as much as he does.

“I've never enjoyed losing a bet more…” he rumbles enigmatically as you break apart, your brow knitting in confusion.

“He would not have been your art model today if he had not lost a bet,” Benedict supplies, his fingers massaging your scalp soothingly, dropping a kiss onto your forehead.

You smile blissfully, head swinging to look at them both, knowing it will broadcast your response, as well as anything spoken could.

“You might be right about the power of speech, brother,” Benedict jests gently as they rearrange on either side of you.

Hands running lightly over your arms and torso. You just assumed, as with your previous husband, that they would immediately move on to pursuing their pleasure, so when they do not, you are slightly confused, especially as their unhurried, sensual caresses reignite that flame deep in your core. After a few minutes of gentle intimacy you are unable to censor your curiosity any longer.

“Will neither of you take me?!”

You don't mean it to sound quite as indignant as it does, even though a large part of you enjoys their shocked expressions, neither expecting such boldness. But then both of their faces morph into a dangerous, smouldering look so similar you can see their shared genetics. It has you biting your lip on instinct.

“We both will if you employ that sort of tone with us…” Benedict threatens sonorously, leaning in so his lips graze your cheek, giving away that is precisely what they want too, a shiver running down your spine at all the possibilities, your soaked clit throbbing anew.

“Is that a promise or a threat, Mr Bridgerton?” You volley back, raising an eyebrow, this new play far too beguiling to resist.

“Insolent little thing…” Anthony growls.

Hands clutch you tightly, blunt fingernails digging into your soft flesh, both of them demanding a kiss, pulling you in each direction to plunder your mouth in turn. A thrill zips all the way from your head to your toes with this sudden change of pace—the gauntlet of challenge you have thrown down, unleashing something primal in them both. 

Before you know it, Benedict is standing up, and the sound of buttons popping open makes you inhale sharply around Anthony’s tongue, wanting so much to crane to see him stripping off, but your entire field of vision filled with the powerful Viscount, his hand seizing your jaw.

“Look at me,” Anthony demands, perhaps a tinge of jealousy that you may even dare glance elsewhere when he is kissing the life out of you. Your eyes meet, all blown pupils and damp lips, and it's blazingly intense like he is peering into your very thoughts. “Oh good girl…” he drips praisingly, and something hot and molten unfurls behind your ribs. The smirk that engulfs his face tells you he knows precisely what those two little words have done to you, lust roaring back to life in your veins. “Such a live wire…” he breathes, and you can see it is nothing but admiration. “I will be back…” his promise trailing off as he withdraws, your eyes tracking his movements away from you, taking a seat in a nearby wingback chair, that handsome smirk still there. It makes you want to reach out your hands and beckon him back, a slight pout that he has left you so soon.

But you inhale sharply as warm, ropey thighs part yours, and your attention is pulled back to Benedict, prowling over you on all fours, naked now. The glimpse of his rigid cock bobbing between his legs catches your breath before he claims your mouth and lowers himself upon you. So much heat and lithe, supple musculature. He doesn't even ask; your knees spreading wide is the open invitation that he takes, angling his hips and slipping into your waiting weeping pussy with one decisive thrust that has you grasping his shoulders and calling out. The blistering stretch is unlike anything your previous husband could achieve, and you are grateful for just how aroused you are, the feeling just the right side of painful. He holds still buried to the root, his handsome face rightfully smug as you adjust to this novel feeling of utter fullness.

“Is that what you needed?” He leans down and whispers those words in your ear, your breasts crushed under his smooth, hard chest. The tone is doused with brazen provocation that you can't help but rise to, one of your hands sliding covetously down his back.

“I think you know the answer you seek. Impress me, Benedict...” you incite as you grab his shapely rear, his responding groan vibrating your entire being. He withdraws and surges back in, your toes curling into the light fuzz on the back of his calves, what you have fantasised about for many weeks now, better than anything you have idly thought during each art lesson with him.

Benedict nuzzles into your neck and starts to set a rhythm that has you panting with each stroke, your back chafing the rich velvet fabric of the chaise, engulfed in his heat and woodsy scent, caged around you, his hands hooked under your shoulders, pulling you down onto his invading cock, his lips murmuring encouraging words onto your throat. 

Movement out the corner of your eye distracts you, and you twist your head a fraction to see Anthony naked now, too. That dusting of dark hair on his chest tapers over his toned stomach, a thin trail leading all the way down to the patch around the base of his cock. He has taken himself in hand and is watching you intently, eyes trained on you as his brother fucks into you over and over, rolling with him.

‘I want you…’

You mouth to Anthony, a need to have him desperate and wanting. His nostrils flare, and he bears his teeth, his grip on his cock vice-like, speeding up, a glistening bead of moisture squeezing from his tip at your very words. 

“Call her a good girl,” Anthony snarls, an instruction as much as a suggestion.

“Why would I when she is looking at you while I fuck her?” Benedict scolds satirically, and that has you swinging your attention back to the man inside you, a little flare of guilt in your gut that you are unable to divide your attention between them, wanting them both. “There she is,” he teases gravelly as his lips ghost the shell of your ear. “There’s my good girl….” he adds for good measure, the lowest register you have ever heard from him, and you cannot help your body’s response.

You clench around him, and he groans long and low, his grip on you harsher, snapping his hips so forcefully his hip bones dig deep into your splayed thighs, your eyes rolling, his tip grazing your hilt.

“So fucking perfect…” he curses, his mouth opening yours, raiding you, setting a pace so punishing now you can only cling to him, moaning loudly, him nudging your swollen clit with each stroke. The chaise squeaks under the onslaught now, feet scraping hard on the polished wood floor.

Still, you cannot stop your stolen glances at Anthony as Benedict huffs into your neck. He looks so majestic, knees splayed, eyes trained on you. You want to climb into his lap and ride him until your teeth are rattling. You can feel yourself climbing higher, each jolt to your clit another step closer, a gentle flutter in your pussy you know Benedict can feel, him emitting little groans with each involuntary constriction.

“You are so close. Come for me again; I need to feel it,” Benedict pleads breathily, pulling up to meet your gaze, a sheen across his forehead as he ploughs into you, never faltering in his athletic pace. 

One of his hands sweeps down your flank, long fingers squirrel between your bodies, unerringly finding their target, a scream ripping from your lungs at the extra stimulation. A few flicks from him, and you are gone for a second time, hurtling towards the stars, bowing upwards, tensing hard, each muscle snapping taught as body and mind are flooded with ecstasy. 

Distantly, you hear Benedict growl, more animal than man, a litany of filthy praise you can barely decipher tumbling from his lips as he pulls out abruptly, you whimpering at the sudden loss, your pussy bereft, rippling around nothing now as his hot seed spills onto your belly.

He collapses onto you for a few beats; his weight is heavy and cloying, his lips meeting yours in an artless kiss. Then you feel him climb off of you slowly, a soft rag dragging over your skin as he cleans you of his seed and mingled juices. He kisses your cheek chastely, but his words are interrupted by Anthony calling out across the room. 

“Are you ready for more?”

Your attention immediately snaps across to the Viscount. Without thought, you are springing to your feet, gait uncertain, like a newborn fawn finding its legs as you take a few shaky steps towards him, an exquisite ache between your thighs from all that has transpired.

“Are you coming to me?” Anthony coos impressed, his hands shooting out to steady you, gripping your waist.

You nod enthusiastically, utterly drunk on the tide of pleasure coursing through you, which greatly entertains him. You climb into his waiting lap and draw him immediately into a filthy, wet kiss. Your tongues tangle as you shuffle forward into the wide, comfortable chair, his hips sliding forward to meet you, and without preamble, you rise fractionally and sink onto him, your puffy, swollen channel suctioning onto his thick veiny cock with a filthy sound. He groans beautifully as you sink, taking him into your pussy, the stretch of him just as mindblowing, perhaps even a shade thicker, like his physique. You stutter a curse, eyes to the ceiling, wrapping your arms tight around his neck, your nipples pressed into the fur of his chest, his balls pressed between your bottom cheeks as you sit speared upon him. 

“Are you going to ride me?” His question is rich like chocolate, buzzing against your chin where his mouth is now hooked open, his teeth grazing the bone there.

“Yes,” you slur, tilting your gaze down to look down at him, already knowing you would do it until your body gives out, so desperate again to feel that high only they can provide.

“Good girl.”

They know it's a weapon now and deploy it with gleeful abandon. Reflexively you contract around Anthony’s cock, both of you calling out, his muscular thighs tensing under your weight, his toes lifting from the floor. He utters a curse, too, a hand wrapping around the nape of your neck, then cupping the back of your head, tugging the hair at your scalp between his knuckles.

“Ride,” he commands, low and slow, a menacing tone that has you stuttering with restoked arousal. A burning need to please him, to do precisely what he tells you to. And so you push up until his head is just inside your pussy, then drop back down, shuffling your stance wider to get a better range of motion. He watches you with a hooded, scorching gaze; a devastating quirk of his eyebrow has you moving steadily. Pressing all of yourself into him, with each pass, his hard abdomen scuffs your distended clit, your pussy lips so puffy now with so much arousal and repeated blows.

He nudges your face aside so he can teeth your earlobe. “You feel exquisite. All swollen with lust,” he croons, his breath gusting hot, his choice of words making you flare hotter, driving onwards with renewed vigour, a slight burn in your thighs as you rise and fall upon him, feeling yourself dripping down onto him, needing to cling onto him to keep seated.

“Could we do this on the floor?” you murmur into his stubbled cheek, realising your range of motion is slightly restricted by the shape of the chair.

His response is immediate; without leaving your body, he effortlessly takes your weight, wraps an arm around you and somehow manoeuvres smoothly onto the floor, his spine now resting on the front of the chair cushion—so much vigour and athleticism from both of these men. 

“Turn around, sweet girl,” you startle and whip your head over your shoulder.

There sat on the chase, lower half now wrapped in a drape of crisp white fabric, looking like a Grecian statue made flesh, is Benedict—a sketchpad and charcoal in hand. 

“Turn around so that I may draw you in the throes of passion,” he clarifies, that dangerous crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You look back to Anthony, suspecting from the twitch of his lip he is more than happy about this development. Silently he spins you both around and lays prone on the polished floor underneath you, still rock hard and buried deep in your pussy. Placing your hands on his chest, you lean forward slightly, take a deep breath and then start to ride again, slowly, the slight discomfort of the hardwood under your kneecaps heightening your pleasure somehow. The range of motion possible now allows you to experiment, to test the delicious drag of his cock by tilting your pelvis in each direction, then in a circular motion, hitting a spot inside that has you hissing and your nails scraping through the thick thatch of hair there.

“Take what you need…” Anthony advocates through gritted teeth, reading your every signal. 

Your eyes ping up from his imploring expression to Benedict, his gaze holding yours daringly as you start to fuck his brother again. Wantonly, luxuriating in the rapt audience you have. A liquid cascade of heat deluges you, the scrape of charcoal on the page spurring you on—to be more daring, leaning back to grab Anthony’s knees as leverage for your movements, your breast pushed high into the air, more performative knowing this carnal moment is being committed to paper.

Benedict mouths words of encouragement as you glance down to see Anthony’s eyes now screwed shut, his biceps bulging in stark relief as his hands clamp your waist, and his hips rock upwards with each downstroke you take, chasing his peak with the same vigour you are, each press of his cock better than the last. Your muscles scream from all the effort, but you do not stop, a bead of sweat sliding down your spine as you ride roughly, with abandon. Anthony’s eyes are open again now, his hands cupping your breasts and pinching your nipples so hard you stutter. Greedily you mash his thick cock right against that same spot that has your mouth slack, head tilted up, and fingers curling into his flesh, shocked at how close you are yet again in such rapid succession.

“Say it,” you grit out, staring up to the ceiling, not looking at either, not sure even you know who you are even asking. 

“Good girl..” it's in perfect unison, and that is what pushes you into oblivion.

You grind to a halt, pussy contracting in waves around his cock as he writhes under you, him gasping loudly as you again float far away, that blissful cloud almost making you miss his urgent call, him eventually hauling you off of him, just in time for him to paint your belly with a thick arc of seed, his whole body jerking with the almost violence of release.

He collapses under you, quivering, utterly spent, and you do the same. Faceplant into his chest, rubbing your nose into the musky dampness of his chest hair as you huff breaths, bone-deep but sated exhaustion from the exertion.

Pliantly, you allow Anthony to slip out from under you and you feel him pick you up bridal style as you curl into him, fatigue lapping your edges. He places you onto the chaise, and then both men are flanking you, limbs tangling and gentle kisses as they entwine around you. It’s a few quiet, tender moments before curiosity again gets the better of you.

“May I see it?” you query quietly, abashed, pressing your nose into Benedict’s shoulder, not willing to meet his gaze.

His laugh is rich and resonant, reaching around to grab his pad and show you. There, in elegant charcoal lines, is a scandalous but beautiful rendition of you, naked, your peaked nipples standing proud, head thrown back. The detail is perfect, even down to the patch of downy hair at the apex of your thighs. There is no rendition of Anthony, but at one glance, you can tell it is a depiction of an erotic capture of a woman riding a man. The very picture of passion, just as he promised.

“It is stunning,” you gasp.

“It is yours,” he rushes out.

“I… I want it to be yours,” you confess ardently, your hands sliding to grasp Anthony’s arm draped over your belly. “Both of yours..” you confirm.

Warm lips kiss your cheek on either side. 

“We will treasure it.” Anthony asserts as Benedict nods sagely.

You stifle a yawn and nuzzle into their warmth as Benedict suggests you all retire to his bedroom upstairs. 

“Tis only 3pm...” your protest is nominal at best, and you allow him to pick you up, wrapping you in another sheet as Anthony does the same, trailing behind you as Benedict ascends the stairs.

“When is your next art lesson?” Anthony queries as the door to an opulent bedroom swings open.

“Tomorrow?” you riposte cheekily, and they both chuckle as you add: “If you will have me…”

“I do believe that can be arranged,” Benedict confirms fondly as he approaches a handsome four-poster bed.

“Artfully…” Anthony adds wryly as you share a laugh with them both, falling into their welcoming joint embrace.

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when i tell u i would die for mei-chan from the toba aquarium….

Santiago Cabrera as Captain Cristóbal Rios in Star Trek Picard S01E03

Don’t tell your daughter that when a boy is mean or rude to her it’s because he has a crush on her. Don’t teach her that abuse is a sign of love.

Cronchy

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Sound on 😺🔊

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Please Please Please

List of works

Pairing: Hugh Jackman x F!Reynolds!Reader

Summary: You just dealt with a very public breakup with your long-term boyfriend and are visiting your father. What you don't expect is to find yourself in the arms of his best friend.

Word Count: 8.5k

Warnings: Best friend's dad. Forbidden romance. Slow burn. Fluff. Some angst. Age gap (reader in late 20s/early 30s, hugh 55). Swearing. Pining. Mentions of cheating. Reader was in an unhealthy relationship (NOT WITH HUGH). SMUT--- Oral (female receiving), fingering, handjobs, protected p in v, teasing, some dirty talk, pet names

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Tag List: @rosecentury @white-wolf-buckaroo @pleasantlycrazyworld @shycollectionwolfstuff

Before You Begin...I was never planning to write real person fic, but here we are. For those who don't know, I had someone send in an ask about if there were any Hugh fics where the reader was Ryan's daughter. I looked and couldn't find any. And i initially wasn't going to pursue it. Then ideas started pouring in my head.

I'll be honest, I had so much fun writing this! If you all want me to do more real person fics in the future, whether be for Hugh or any other celebrities, please let me know. And despite the fact that I have plenty of other series going on at the moment, I wouldn't be opposed to making a sequel to this either. 🤷🏻‍♀️

I do not own Hugh, Ryan, Blake, or any other famous person mentioned in this fic. This is purely fanfic fun. Also, let's just say that the It Ends With Us drama never happened in this universe. Sorry not sorry. I'm super bad at these disclaimers because I've never written RPF so I apologize if this sounds cringe at all lol.

Also, just a head's up, Reader was previously in an unhealthy relationship. There's not too much detail, but it's just something to keep in mind.

To say you are exhausted was an understatement. You got up at 5am to go to LAX. Your flight was at 8:25am and after a stop in Chicago, you were finally in New York. Now, it's 11:30pm.

Your eyes are only half-open and you drag your feet as you make your way to baggage claim. You pray to God that nobody recognizes you. You adore your fans, but you do not feel like signing autographs or taking photos. All you want is some sleep.

After you pick up your suitcase, you text your dad. He says to meet him right outside. You're grateful that he drove the car right up to the front of the airport instead of parking it in the garage. You don't feel like walking all that way. Your legs are stiff from all of the sitting.

You walk outside and recognize him right away. You're impressed that your father looks so awake. You inherited plenty of aspects of your father's personality but being energized no matter what was not one of them. He's beaming from ear-to-ear with Blake standing by his side. She looks just as excited to see you.

"Butterfly!" Your dad shouts in excitement, using the nickname he had given you when you were a child. It was a long story...

You hugg them both and exchange greetings. Then your father jokes, "You look different since I last saw you. Did you grow two inches?" You can only smile sheepishly. Your dad then you gives a pat on the shoulder, "You look good, kid."

After a few pleasantries, your dad loads your suitcase into the car. Blake asks you, "So, how was your flight? Or should I say flights?"

"They were fine," you answer. "Long. But I'm happy to be here."

You get in the car. It's an hour long drive from the airport to your dad's home so you make yourself comfortable, but not too comfortable. You don't want to fall asleep right now.

"So, just so you ladies know," your dad says after you finally leave the airport, "I will only stay till the morning. Then I'll be off to Disney World. You two and the kids get the house to yourself and I'll be back...Butterfly, remind me what day you're leaving again?"

Both you and Blake playfully roll your eyes. "Don't worry, Y/N," Blake says, "Your father may not be excited to have you home. But the kids and I certainly are."

Your heart warms at this. You're very thankful that you have a good relationship with not only your parents, but your mom's husband, your father's wife, and your younger siblings. Especially when you hear about so many kids becoming estranged from a parent after a divorce.

You especially need them at a time like this.

But that's not on your mind now. Something else is: "Wait, where are the kids?"

"At home," your dad answers.

"Alone?" you say in alarm. "You left them home alone? I expected this from Dad," you tease, "but Blake, you should know better!"

Both your dad and step-mom laugh. "Don't worry, Butterfly. I'm not a completely irresponsible parent. Hugh as at home watching them."

Your heart beats at this. Hugh was someone you and your family had known for quite a while. He and your father first met on the set of X-Men Origins: Wolverine. They got along but didn't really grow closer until later. What started as a fake rivalry grew into a close friendship.

You had actually gotten to know him in 2016 when one of your best friends was filming a movie with him. He was always so kind and friendly to you. You had met so many actors who had looked down on you and your friends for being of the younger generation. But Hugh wasn't like that. He respected you.

But you also felt extremely guilty. You had developed a little bit of a crush on him even though he was married at the time. And his wife seemed like such a nice person, too. But you quickly moved on with the guy who would go onto be your long-term boyfriend. So by the time Hugh and your father became closer and you saw him a few more times, you had moved on.

But now Hugh and his wife are divorced. And you and your boyfriend are no longer together. This is bound to be interesting.

******

You tried but you didn't sleep that well. You were out like a light by the time you got home to your room. You rub your eyes. You thought about getting some more sleep, but you are too excited to see the kids. So you decide to get up and take a shower.

It feels so good, washing away the exhaustion and smell from almost a full day of traveling. You don't want to depart with the hot water, but alas you do. You feel a cold shiver and begin drying off your hair and body. But just when you go to put on your clothes, you realize something: you forgot to take your clothes to the bathroom.

You cuss under your breath. You are so used to having an apartment all to yourself where you can just keep your clothes in your bedroom. But you shrug it off. Nobody else is probably up yet and as long as you make a dash for it and keep yourself covered, you will be just fine.

But life is not on your side. As soon as you open the door and begin to run to your room, you collide with someone else. You let out a yelp. You almost drop the towel but you catch it just in time. You look up to see who it is.

"Hugh." You can't help but smile. It has been a while since you have seen him.

"Y/N." He says cheerfully in his adorable Australian accent. He looks good. He's starting to grow his beard out a bit and there are a few grays present. "Good to see you."

"Good to see you, too," you say sincerely. The two of you just stand there for a while, smiling at each other and appreciating the other's presence. But then you realize you are basically naked in front of him and your smile turns into a look of embarrassment. "Sorry, gotta go, bye," you quickly say before scurrying down the hall and slamming your bedroom door behind you. You lean your back against the door. You are not looking forward to the next time you see him.

That isn't too long after. You come downstairs and Hugh is sitting on the couch, texting somebody on his phone. You think about just heading back upstairs. But when you turn around, one of the steps creaks and Hugh lifts his head to look in your direction.

"Hi, Y/N!" He still sounds chipper, as if he didn't just see you with barely any clothes on.

"Hey, Hugh." You awkwardly wave as you walk down the steps. He lets out a chuckle and you ask, "What's so funny?"

"Oh, sorry, it's just...do you remember that video your dad and I shot when we announced Deadpool 3?"

"The one where he asks you if you want to play Wolverine again?"

"Yes. When you just said, 'Hey, Hugh,' it sounded just like the way he said it in that video. It's funny."

You smile. Part of you is sad by the reminder that this man is your father's best friend, but another part of you loves the fact that someone just compared you to your father. You look up to him and when someone points out how similar you were, it makes you proud.

"I'm sorry about what just happened there," you tell him as you sit next to him on the couch. There is some distance between you two, but you secretly wish there was none.

"Oh, with the getting out of the shower thing? That's no big deal, darling. You weren't completely naked."

You find it so hot that he called you "darling." You always found that to be one of the sexiest terms of endearment but with the way he said it---you scold yourself for thinking this way. Despite the fact that you are both single, it is still wrong to have feelings for your dad's best friend.

"Good," you nod. "Glad we can just forget that and move on. How have you been?"

"I've been alright," Hugh shrugs. "Still recovering from the press tour."

"Congrats, by the way! On the movie being successful. It really deserves it. And I'm not just being bias because my dad's in it. My friends and I went to see it recently and we had a great time."

"Bias 'cause your dad was in it? Or bias 'cause your favorite person was in it?"

"My favorite person?"

"Me!"

You snort in laughter. Hugh gives a cheeky smile and shrug.

"No, but it really was good. I was actually going to go to the premiere, but I was---"

You stop. The mood of the conversation changes. You can only sit there as you recall the real reason you didn't go to the premiere of your father's movie.

You were out of town. Your boyfriend Chad took you to Hawaii. Despite the fact that you told him you couldn't go that week because of the premiere, he told you that it was the only week that worked for him. But when you made other suggestions of how to work it out so you could do both, Chad reprimanded you and said to do what he wanted since he was being nice by taking you on this vacation.

Anyway, the first days of the resort were nice. But then everything went to shit. You were laying in bed when Chad's phone pinged with a text. He asked you to go get his phone and to read him what it said. But unfortunately for him, they were texts from some young woman. A young woman who had sent him a nude picture. You ended things and left the resort, angry and hurt.

And of course it didn't take long for the world to find out about it. Both you and Chad were well-loved people in the entertainment industry. But you were the woman. And he had plenty of fans who were teenage girls. That combination made people take his side and assume it was your fault. Even though you didn't care what the media had to say, it still stung. Especially since you were also dealing with the end of a relationship that had lasted almost a decade.

You wanted to move on but Hugh, being well-intentioned, puts a hand on your shoulder and says, "I'm so sorry about you and Chad, by the way."

You can't be mad at him. He's looking at you with so much concern and sympathy. How could you not love this man?

"I'm doing okay," you say. "Things have gotten much calmer."

"Just so you know," Hugh says sincerely, "if you ever want to talk to anybody or need anybody, I'm here."

Your heart grows three sizes at this man's kindness.

"Or if you need me to hunt him down and punch him I can do that, too."

Both of you erupt into fits of laughter. "You'd have to get in line behind my dad for that. He said almost the exact same thing. Not that I'm complaining. I think both Deadpool and Wolverine would scare Chad into not bothering me again."

You both chuckle in unison. You were more than thankful for the relief in the tension.

Hugh opens his mouth to speak, but he is interrupted by a, "Good morning, you two!"

Both you and Hugh greet Blake. Then the man's phone starts ringing and he excuses himself to go talk to his kids. Blake invites you into the kitchen. You two decide to make breakfast for everybody.

"So," your step-mom says in the middle of baking, "how you holding up?"

You don't need to ask her what she's talking about. "Meh."

Blake's heart breaks and she says, "Sorry about that, hon."

You were actually hoping to discuss this with Blake privately. She had called you before to offer her sympathies, but you didn't really get a chance to have a conversation with her. She was the only important adult female figure in your life who you hadn't opened up to about it.

"Blake, can we actually talk about it?"

"Of course! You know I'm always here."

You sigh. "I just...it's so weird. I'm in that stage where I feel like I'm over him and know he's a piece of shit. But at the same time...I miss him. And I don't know why. I feel weird about that."

"Well, you were with him for a very long time. I say that's totally normal."

"I just wish there was a way I could forget him?"

"Well, why don't you try flirting a bit? Not in the sense of getting into a serious relationship. But more as a way to have fun. It may help you take your mind off Chad."

You thank Blake for the advice and really think about it. You definitely know you don't want something serious right now. But you do like the idea of maybe being a little flirty or even having a hookup. But it's also weird to think about. You haven't been with anyone other than Chad. He was the first and only guy you ever had sex with. And considering that he whisked you away on a romantic Hawaiian vacation, you always assumed that would be the case. But you suppose it wasn't meant to be.

You're actually excited to be with someone who isn't Chad. You're excited to flirt with new guys. To hook up with new people. The possibilities are endless.

As if on cue, Hugh comes back into the room. He says hello again and asks you and Blake if he can help in any way.

But you don't know if Blake says yes or no. You're too busy. Not with making the chocolate chip pancakes. With fantasizing.

Part of this new plans was to try and take risks. To go wild. Because you had been with Chad since your early 20s, you hadn't really gotten the chance to have at least once wild moment. You didn't get to break any rules or do anything crazy. Well, now might be the time to make that change.

And what could be more wild than hooking up with your dad's best friend?

"Y/N? Y/N?" His voice snaps you out of it. "You okay?"

"Yes," you say a little too quickly. "Just thinking...I'm...thinking about how...how fun I'm going to have here!"

But it's like Hugh knows. He quirks an eyebrow and gives you a suspicious look.

But it's not like you're lying. You are going to have fun while you are here.

******

The next few days are fun...in more ways than one. For one, your younger sisters are very excited to see you, leaping into your arms and hugging your legs as soon as they see you. Olin is still a baby and too young to comprehend how much of a beloved figure you are in this household. But he loves when you play peekaboo with him and when you sing him lullabies.

Most days are spent lounging around the house. You play games, watch movies, laugh, look at family photo albums, and try to soak up the last few days of summer by tanning by the pool. One day the whole family spends a day in the city, even meeting up with Hugh for dinner.

Speaking of Hugh, you don't get to go through with your plan on seducing him. You don't see him too much. Aside from the trip into the city, the only time you see him is a bonfire in the backyard. You two have a few little moments. Like when he licks his finger and uses it to wipe some marshmallow off your face or when you put a hand on his arm as you laugh at a joke he makes. But the highlight of the night is him leading your sisters in singing almost every song from The Greatest Showman. To you, there is nothing hotter than a man who is good with kids.

Then on the fifth day, your dad, Blake, and the kids have a back to school event to go to. They ask you if you want to go, but you decline. You tell them it's because you want to have some time to yourself. But in reality, you have a feeling there will be a lot of elementary school aged fans of Chad there and you don't feel like dealing with it.

Your dad, step-mom, and siblings leave. You call your mom, text some of your friends, watch a scary movie, and listen to some music. It's a pretty chill and mundane day.

You decide to go for a dip in the pool. You wear a yellow triangle bikini that you had initially gotten for the trip to Hawaii. But it doesn't make you sad to wear it, and you are glad for that. It't not the bikini's fault that your ex-boyfriend is a shitty person.

You are just wading in the pool when you hear someone say your name. A voice you do not expect. You turn around to look at who is standing in front of the glass slide doors. A man who causes you to become both excited and nervous.

"Hugh!" you exclaim. "Hi!"

"Hi, darling."

"What a nice surprise! What are you doing here?"

As Hugh makes his way closer to you, he explains, "Well, Ryan and Blake called not too long ago. They were worried about you. Thought you could use some company. But don't tell them I told you that."

You should have known. Your father and step-mother are fucking mind readers.

"Aww, that's so sweet of you," you say, "and them." You contemplate coming out of the water and showing him your bikini. "Did you bring a swimsuit?"

"Damn it!"

An idea forms in your head. "Oh, it's ok. I don't mind. I'm probably going to come out of the water anyway." You start to make your way to the steps.

"Oh, sweetheart. You don't need to do that. You can just stay in there and I c---"

Hugh doesn't finish. He's too entranced by you as you rise out of the water, your yellow bikini on full display. Water droplets run down your skin. You run your fingers through your hair. It's an attempt to get knots out, but you try to make it look as sexy as possible.

Well, based Hugh's expression, you think it works.

"Oh, no, Hugh, it's fine," you tell him. You walk until you're right in front of him. "I was thinking about tanning anyway." You think you've just made him speechless.

"Y-yes," Hugh says. "That's nice."

You smirk. You think you're going to have fun with this. You go to the chair and grab your towel. As you start drying off, you ask, "You know what I just realized?"

"Hmm?"

"This swimsuit is yellow. Isn't that Wolverine's color?"

"Y-yes it is."

"Isn't that funny?"

"Y-yes."

When you dry off, you grab a bottle of sunscreen, extend it to Hugh, and ask, "Would you do me a favor? Would you rub some on my back? I wanna tan but I think that the pool water washed off the sunscreen."

Hugh gulps. You do feel bad for teasing him, you just want to have some fun. And it's not like you actually expect him to give in to your flirtations.

As he grabs the bottle, you request, "I would just like some on the back of my neck please. I can handle the rest."

Hugh simply nods. He squirts some lotion into his hand and finally, fucking finally, touches you. Or more like the back of your neck. His large hands rub your skin, and you imagine how it would feel if he were to rub your thigh. Or your chest. Or your crotch.

But all of a sudden, your confidence starts to slip. You don't know what has come over you. Because when Hugh is done, you simply thank him and refuse to look at him. He asks you what's wrong. He sounds worried, which made sense considering just a few moments ago, you were trying to draw attention to your sex appeal.

And Hugh is having none of it. He takes your chin between his thumb and pointer finger. It causes a knot in your stomach and a rush of arousal to wash over your body. Hugh tilts your head up so you are looking straight at him.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?" he asks in concern.

"N-nothing. I just...I just get nervous."

"Nervous? You don't have to be nervous around me. If me being here is making you uncomfortable I can---"

You don't know what came over you. But you jump right to your feet and kiss him. It was a quick kiss, but a kiss nonetheless. Hugh doesn't look shocked. He's not an idiot. He knew what you had been doing just moments ago.

You immediately regret what you did. "I'm so sorry, Hugh. I didn't mean to do that. I really didn't. I guess I just---"

He place his hands on both of your cheeks and crashes his lips onto yours. You immediately reciprocate. You open your mouth so your tongues could tangle with each other's. You had never imagined a kiss with an older man. Not just because you had been in a serious relationship for so long, but because you had never really been attracted to any older men other than Hugh.

Well, now you're considering sticking to older men from now on. Or just sticking to kissing Hugh. He might ruin all other men for you with the way he's kissing you. Or the way his scruff tickles your cheek. Or the way he's desperate in his kisses and his touches.

You throw your hands behind his neck. Hugh, never breaking the kiss, moves his hands. One slides down to your lower back and caresses your bare skin. His other finds its way at the back of your neck. He lightly squeezes the skin between his fingers and guides your face further to his. If that's even possible.

You break the kiss apart and murmur, "Should we take this inside?"

Hugh doesn't give you a verbal answer. He just takes your hand and guides you back inside. You immediately pick up where you left off. You begin leaving kisses along his face and down his neck while Hugh plays with the string of your bikini. You beg him to take it off and kiss your breasts.

But before he can do just that, you hear something. It causes you both to snap out of your lusty daze. On instinct, you move several inches away from Hugh. Your heart beats fast from what just happened. You're hoping you two could find a way to continue this later.

But not now. Your whole walks into the kitchen. Well, Ryan and Blake, who is holding Olin, walk in. Your three little sisters race into the room. They start to make a beeline for you. But when they see Hugh, they immediately go up to him and start jumping around him. They plead for him to lift them up, and then argue who should be lifted.

"Okay, okay, okay," Hugh tries to calm the girls down. He's smiling, but you can tell something is off.

After a few minutes of "how was the potluck" and "what did you do today", Inez tugged on Hugh's shirt. He immediately looks down at her.

With a mischievous twinkle in her eye, your little sister says, "Uncle Hugh, you know what I think would be nice? If you and my sister got married!"

Inez, along with James and Betty, erupt into a fit of giggles. Even Blake herself chuckles. You and Hugh look at each other. Did your 7-year-old sister see right through the both of you?

Your dad plays along. He walks right up to Hugh and says, "You're not dating my daughter, are you?" Even though you know your dad is joking, it makes Hugh feel uneasy. He does not have a good poker face. It makes you nervous. You hope and pray that your father doesn't pick up on anything.

He jokes, "'Cause you know I got a shot gun in the shed, right?"

"Ryan!" Blake berates him. "Not in front of the kids."

Your father apologizes before turning back to Hugh and saying, "You look worried. Don't worry, bud. I know you wouldn't do that."

Your heart sinks. You always had a feeling that your dad would never approve of your relationship with Hugh if you were to date. And he probably wouldn't like it if the two of you hooked up, too. Unless he never knew...

Blake decides to break the tension. "Did you go swimming?" she asks you. You nod. She suggests, "How about we all go hang out by the pool! Hugh, you care to join us?"

"I actually have to head out," Hugh says with regret. "Got a meeting with my agent in the city." He starts to leave.

"I hope you're not offended by what I said," your dad says. "It was just a joke."

A joke that he'd kill Hugh if he found out you two were to together or a joke that he wouldn't approve of the relationship?

"Oh, don't worry, Ryan," Hugh quickly assures him. "I know that's not the case at all. I really do need to head out."

You all say goodbyes. Hugh can't even look at you as he leaves.

******

The next few days of your visit, you don't hear from Hugh. He doesn't come by to visit. You overhear a conversation between your dad and step-mom talking about him and it sounds like they're on speaking terms which you are thankful to hear. And you're especially thankful that they're suspicious with the way you and Hugh both acted. But you find yourself missing him. You think about texting him several times, but you stop yourself before you can press the "send" button.

You feel conflicted. On the one hand, you really enjoyed the kiss. And you feel like if your family hadn't come home, you two would have taken things to the bedroom and would have gone all the way with him. And you want that for yourself. You want to hook up with at least one guy to get Chad out of your system. And Hugh is a good guy. You know he would treat you well.

But there is also the elephant in the room: the fact that he's your dad's best friend. Your sisters call him, "Uncle Hugh." But he never felt like an uncle to you. You didn't meet him until you were in your early 20s and despite the small crush you had on him, you saw him in a mostly platonic way for a long time. At least you think that's the case. Maybe he was always in the back of your mind?

You have no idea. You feel so confused. And you know the only way to know for sure is to go and talk to him.

It's your eighth day in New York. You'll be leaving in about 48 hours. You tell your step-mom and dad that you're meeting up with your friend Florence in the city. They buy it. They ask if you need a ride, but you decline saying you will take an uber there. You dress up nicely in jeans and a floral tank top and make sure to bring sunglasses and a head scarf so people don't recognize you. You won't risk the paparazzi getting a photo of you. You hop into the uber, give the driver Hugh's address, and you're on your way.

You arrive at Hugh's penthouse. It's around 5pm. You wonder if he's even home. But you ring the buzzer and you hear his voice ask, "Who is it?"

"Me," you say."

"Who's me?" he teases.

"Y/N," you say.

"Oh!" Hugh sounds surprised. You can't tell if it's in a good way or bad way. "Come in."

He rings you up. You take the elevator to the tip top of the building where his penthouse is.

You take in the penthouse. It's large with a grand view of the city. Elegant, but still very cozy. Kind of like Hugh himself.

Speak of the devil, he walks down the steps. Even if you both sense a serious conversation happening, he still smiles and greets you warmly.

"Hi, Hugh," you say.

There is awkward silence as he joins you at the bottom of the steps. You wait for the other to make the first move. Finally, someone does...

"I'm sorry about the other day." / "We need to talk."

...you both make the first move. You're amused by this, but decide this is a serious matter. You make your way over to the couch, where it seems like all serious conversations take place.

"You first," Hugh says.

You begin: "I'm sorry about the other day. I shouldn't have kissed you like that. Or flirted with you like that. It was completely inappropriate and I'm sorry."

Hugh hesitates for a moment, but then places a hand on your knee. Oddly enough, it doesn't feel sexual. All you can focus is on his compassionate hazel eyes.

"You don't need to apologize, Y/N. I'm the one who should be sorry."

You give him a puzzling look. "What did you---"

"I know you've been going through a lot recently with...he who shall not be named. I really hope it didn't come across like I was taking advantage of you. I felt like a creepy old man afterward, especially because you're the daughter of my best friend."

"You weren't taking advantage of me, Hugh. I wanted this. I'm the one who kissed first and made the first move."

"But I kissed you back. The responsible thing for me to do would have been to---"

"I'm not a child, you know."

"---I know you're not. But I'm still significantly older than you. You're closer to my kids' ages than you are to mine."

"Blake and I are pretty close in age."

"Yes, but at least Ryan...your dad isn't older than Blake's father."

Shit. You can only nod. Hugh did have a good point. Hugh was eight years older than your father. While you found it hot, you understand why others may find it disturbing.

You just say, "But it doesn't matter. I---"

"It does matter, Y/N," Hugh argues. "Not so much the age difference, although that is a pretty big factor. It's the fact that you're the daughter of my best friend."

"I get that's a hick up. But it's not like James, Inez, Betty, and Olin where you're watching them grow up. We met when I was an adult. And you shouldn't care about what my dad says. He'll come around to it eventually."

You reach to grab his hand, but Hugh doesn't take it. It crushes your soul just a tiny bit.

"You don't know that, Y/N! What if this ruins your relationship with you and your father? I can't have that happen to either of you. You could get seriously hurt."

"Oh, it sounds like you just think of me as a fragile child who---"

"Sweetheart, you know I don't see you that way. You're a strong woman. But..." He choses his next words very carefully. "I just wasn't sure if you really wanted this."

"Yes, Hugh, I did!" your voice starts to raise. "I will admit that initially I was going to seduce you as a way to take my mind off Chad. But at the bonfire I realized that I didn't just want you as a distraction. I actually wanted you for you. Sorry if that doesn't make sense at all."

"It does."

You get quieter and more emotional. You're on the verge of tears as you say, "Look, I'm sorry I shouldn't have come here. I'll just go."

You quickly get up to leave. You try your best to hold in the tears until you're in the elevator. But despite your best efforts, a tear escapes and rolls down your cheek. More tears follow. And before you know it, you are overcome with emotion. You place a hand over your face and sob into your palm.

You're stupid, you're stupid, you're stupid. Just like what Chad used to tell you when you'd make a mistake. You don't even flinch when you feel someone gently place an arm on your shoulder. You turn around and Hugh welcomes you into his arms. You sob into his chest, no doubt leaving teardrop stains on his crisp white shirt.

He guides you over to the couch and continues to embrace you. He cards a hand through your hair and places a gentle, comforting kiss on the top of your head. He rocks you gently and murmurs assurances and apologies. Hugh tells you, "I got you." You've never felt safer in the arms of a man.

When your tears stop, you look at each other. Most likely you're not looking your best. Your eyes are red and your face is puffy. But Hugh wipes your few remaining tears away with fingers and places a sweet kiss on your forehead.

"C-can I stay, please?" you ask.

"Of course, darling," Hugh says without hesitation. "I can order in and we can just have a relaxing night in."

******

The evening ends up being lovely. Hugh orders some take out from a local Chinese place and it's delicious. What was even better was the night you shared. You two laughed and shared stories about filming and even gossiped a little bit about your father (you both made a promise that's what was said in this room stays in this room). The whole atmosphere was very relaxing. You two forgot about any drama. There was only you and Hugh.

It was around 9pm. You and Hugh were reminiscing about when he filmed The Greatest Showman and you had visited the set because Zendaya, one of your closest friends, was his co-star. You also shared a funny story that happened the day that you and Tom, her now boyfriend, visited the set.

"How are they doing by the way?" Hugh asks.

"They're doing great," you tell him. "They live in London now so I barely get to see them. But we keep in touch."

"That's great to hear!" Hugh exclaims.

"However, I do have a sneaky suspicion that he is going to propose soon."

"Oh, and what makes you think that, detective?"

"Call it instinct."

"Or elementary, my dear Watson," Hugh says in a posh British accent. It makes you giggle because it makes you think of Kate and Leopold, one of your favorite films of his. Hugh's eyes sparkle as he watches you laugh.

Then, something changes. You notice how his eyes flicker down to your lips. He looks like he's contemplating something. Hugh takes a deep breath and asks, "Can I tell you something, darling?"

There's that word again. It makes your heart flutter and a heat grow between your legs.

"Of course," you tell him.

Hugh gets a little bit closer to you on the couch. "You know that kiss we shared, the other day?"

"Of course I do." You smile at the memory of his lips on yours. You very much enjoyed his kiss and it relieves you when he tells you...

"Well, I wasn't going to tell you this, back I think you deserve to know that I-that I enjoyed it. And I would very much like to kiss you again."

You could feel your heart pounding and your mind racing. You thought your kisses at your dad's house would be the only kisses you two would ever share. You tell him, "You don't even need to ask me."

Hugh grins and cradles your face in his hands. He smashes his lips to yours. It starts off sweet and endearing. But then it starts getting heated when he guides you into his lap. Your kisses become open-mouthed. You both start letting out lewd sounds. You start to unbutton his shirt until Hugh grasps your hands.

"Look, I want you," he tells you. "I really do. I've wanted you ever since that day you walked out in the towel."

"You did?" You are genuinely excited to hear this, but you start to grow more impatient, especially when you feel some wetness in your panties and something hard against your leg.

"I did," Hugh says as he caresses your face. "But we need to keep this a secret. I don't want your dad to kill me. And you. And then me again."

You laugh and say, "Hard agree. Remember what you said? What happens in this room stays in this room." Hugh chuckles as you repeat the words he said less than an hour ago.

"And another thing." Hugh smirks. He guides you off of his lap which makes you pout. "Don't worry, darling," he teases. "I'm only taking you to bed." This already made you horny, but then when he scoops you up in his and says, "It's what a princess like you deserves," you fear there's no going back. You're going to sleep with this man no matter what.

You wrap your legs tightly around his waist and try your best to move your crotch against his stomach. Hugh takes notices this. "Patience, sweet girl."

He finally starts to make his way up the stairs to his bedroom. You kiss every inch of his face yet he remains focused on his task at hand: to get you naked in his bed. And once you two finally enter, he carefully places you on the bed. He hovers over you and resumes kissing you.

Before you know it, he is yanking off your tank top and asking you to sit up so he can remove your bra. When he does, both garments of clothing get tossed off to the side. But Hugh doesn't care about the clothes. He only cares about the bare breasts right in front of him. He stares at them in awe.

You grow impatient and guide his hands to your boobs. And then, he begins massaging the flesh. You whine at the sensation but Hugh shuts you up by returning his lips to yours. But you can't help the moan that escapes when he pinches your nipples between his fingers.

After a while, you reach to unbutton his shirt. But to your disappointment, you don't see the glorious, perfect body he worked to maintain for Deadpool and Wolverine. You see a fucking white tank top.

Hugh chuckled. "You know you look cute when you're confused, princess."

But you don't have time to be charmed by him. His tank top rises above his head and you toss it to the side. You glide your hands up and down his torso, feeling his muscles against yours. You remembered thinking that one scene in the movie was so hot when you went to see it with your friends. Now you're seeing it in person and it's a dream come true. You lick and kiss the skin and Hugh's hand tightly grips your hair and you whine.

As you're busy with that, Hugh unbuttons your jeans. He asks for you to briefly stop so he can take them off and you comply. You do the same for his trousers. Now, all both of you have left on is your underwear. His in his briefs and you in your pink lace panties.

Just as you reach to tug his trousers off, Hugh's hands stop you. He tsks. "Lay down on your back." It sounds commanding and gentle at the same time. You didn't even know that was possible.

But you can't possibly refuse so you do as he says. "Can't wait to see your cunt, sweet girl. Been thinking about it." You didn't think you could possibly get more aroused. He hooks your fingers under the fabric. You think he's going to yank off your underwear like he did with the rest of your clothes but to your shock, he doesn't. Instead he asks, "Don't you want me to pull this down?"

"Yes!"

He continues to tease more, "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Please take them off, Hugh. I need you now."

"Absolutely sure? I actually think---"

"No, Hugh, please," you beg. "Please take off my panties! Stick your tongue and fingers in me before you fuck me! Please!"

Hugh is stunned. He's never heard you say something like that. Heck, you're stunned, too. But he must also seem to like it a lot because he rips your panties off. You spread your legs so he can get a better view. He is completely bewitched by your glistening cunt.

"Can I touch you, princess?" Hugh asks. He's so polite even if he's asking permission to do the most vulgar things. You hum. But he puts one on your inner thigh, close to your pussy but still not touching it. "Didn't your parents ever teach you manners?" he tuts.

"Yes, Hugh!" you beg. "Please, touch me. Been fantasizing about you touching me."

"As you wish." Hugh winks at you and then finally moves his hand to where you want him to. He merely cups your pussy at first. You squirm at his cold hand. He then begins to run his fingers through your folds. He collects all of your juices and shows you his fingers. They're glistening. He gives you a mischievous look. You wonder (and worry) what he is going to do.

And that's when the menace that is known as Hugh Michael Jackman sticks his fingers in his mouth. You swear you're going to cum from that alone. You buck your hips up to signal to him that you want more.

Hugh releases his fingers from his mouth with a loud popping sound. "You said you imagined how it would feel if I touched you? Well, I fantasized about how you would taste."

You feel your skin heat up at this. To hear that your father's best friend had thought about how you'd taste turns you on more than it should.

"And?"

"Delicious."

"Hugh?" you ask.

"Yes, darling?"

"What else did you fantasize about? With me?"

That signature wicked smirk returns. Hugh leans close to your ear and whispers, "Have you ever heard of the term Aussie kisses?"

"I've heard the term, but I don't quite know what it means." You had a few British friends so you've heard the word get thrown around a lot, but you never bothered to ask what it meant. You think you know the meaning, but you don't tell Hugh yet.

"Would you like me to show you?"

You eagerly nod your head. Hugh doesn't even tell you to use your words. You can tell he's excited about what's going to happen next. He bends down and hooks your legs over his shoulders. Then he dives his face into your cunt.

Your toes curl as he licks a stripe all the way from top to bottom.

You tightly grip the sheets when he begins lapping up your juices with kitten licks.

You're moaning at the way his teeth graze your clit and he begins sucking on it like his life depends on it.

He then adds a finger and murmurs, "So good for me, princess," against your core. He grips your thighs. You can tell he's enjoying this just as much as you are.

You're vocal the entire time:

"Oh, Hugh!"

"Fuck."

"Oh God, yes! Yes!"

"I think I'm going to cum!"

"Yes, sweet girl!" Hugh murmurs again. "Cum for me. You deserve it!"

You feel your stomach getting tighter and your body getting hotter as you reach the peak of your pleasure. But Hugh doesn't stop. He coaxes another orgasm out of you, this one making you moan louder than the last.

As you catch your breath, Hugh removes his mouth and fingers. You already miss them. But you don't have to wait too long. He kisses you, and you could taste yourself on his tongue. And you feel some kind of liquid on his chin. You wonder if it's you...

When he stops kissing you, he presses his forehead against yours and you tell him, "That was very, very nice."

Hugh smiles at this. He strokes your cheek and says, "God, how are you both sexy and adorable at the same time?"

Something about this comment makes your heart beat faster than it already is. Maybe it's because it's the nicest compliment you have ever received from a guy. Or maybe you love the way it sounds with his Australian accent. Either way, it makes you feel so good about yourself. You place a kiss on the inside of his palm.

You take a moment to catch your breath before Hugh is reaching over to the side table to find a condom. He takes one out of the box. But then you say, "Oh wait, you still have your boxers on!"

Hugh immediately looks down and says, "Oh! Silly me."

He takes off his boxers and your jaw drops. His erect cock is big. Not as huge as you pictured in your head, but still not a disappointment.

"Whatcha lookin at, darling?"

Hugh's cheeky voice snaps you out of your thoughts. You shake your head rapidly like a dog after a bath.

"C-can I-can I touch it? Please?"

Hugh moves closer to you and says, "Well, because you asked so nicely..."

You grab it. You briefly worry your tight is too grip based on his reaction, but then you realize it wasn't a scream in pain. It was a groan in pleasure. You decide it's your turn to make him feel good. You rub your hand up and down his member. You can feel the pre-cum on your fingers. You feel prideful over the fact that you're the one who has given him this erection. You're the one who's making him feel good.

"God, princess," he exclaims, "you're making me feel so good!"

You don't finish. He says he's more than ready to fuck you. And then it finally hits you: you're going to fuck him. Hugh. The man you had a crush on years ago. The man who's been so kind to you all the times you have met over the years. He rolls the condom onto his cock and you spread your legs.

Hugh hovers over you. He looks at you with hunger. But there's also a softness to it. He kisses your lips. Then he kisses and lucks from your collarbone to the valley of your breasts. He kisses the crown of your head. You don't even realizing he's been lining his cock up to your entrance until he slips in.

It's only the tip, but it still makes you gasp. He looks concerned for a minute, but you assure him you're fine and the worry melts away. He slips further in. You've only had one other cock inside you and it feels weird. But it also feels right.

Hugh stays just like that for a while. He asks you if he can move. When you say yes, he complies. They start off very slow. But then it starts to feel good.

"Fuck me," you whisper.

"I am, darling." Hugh smiles. You both laugh. You actually like how he isn't afraid to tease you during intimate moments. To you, it makes it sexier.

"You can go a bit faster."

Hugh does as you say. The faster he moves, the greater the sensation becomes. You grip tightly onto his shoulders. Your feet press into his ass. It's your way of telling him to go faster. He listens. You let out a wanton moan when he goes a little bit deeper.

"Oh, Hugh! Fuck! Feels so good!" you barely get out your words.

"Doing so good for me, princess," he grunts. His finger finds your clit and begins rubbing it.

"Please, please, please!" You moan.

"Please what? Tell me what you want, sweet girl. I'll give it to you. I'll give you anything your heart desires."

"I want-I wanna cum. I'm so close." Sure enough, you feel the familiar knot in your stomach.

"Yes, sweetheart. Cum for me. Let it all out. I've got you. You've been a good girl. My good girl. You deserve to cum."

It's the way he calls you his good girl that finally tips you over the edge. You let out the loudest, most pornographic moan all night. You feel your cunt close in around his cock. You feel so good. You pray to God that this never ends. That you can remain in Hugh's arms forever.

It doesn't take long after for him to cum as well. You wonder what it would feel like if his cum was spilling inside you. You then wonder if he could have. You are on birth control after all...

But it doesn't matter. This night, this moment, was perfect regardless.

Hugh stays inside you for a little bit longer as you both come down from your highs. You pant rapidly, but feel your breathing slow down when you feel a hand once again on your cheek. You open your eyes to see Hugh kissing your nose.

"You okay?" he asks you sincerely.

"I'm wonderful," you sheepishly grin. "How about you?"

"Amazing," he says.

You hold his face in yours and bring him in for another searing kiss, your tongues tangling once again. You then cradle his head to your chest and you play with the hairs at the nape of his neck. You don't want this moment to end.

Alas, it does. After a few moments of holding him like this, Hugh slips out of you. He goes to the bathroom to throw the semen-filled condom away. You're too exhausted to get up. You're still reveling in what just happened. You had just had the most mind-blowing sex ever. You didn't realize how much you were missing by sleeping with only one person.

And you couldn't be more thankful that it was with someone you trusted.

Hugh came back into the room. He was smiling that adorable smile that you loved so much. He sat on the side of the bed next to you. You two don't even say anything. You just touch each other and feel each other's presence.

You both know you're going to have to talk eventually. About whether your relationship will purely be sex. About what will happen when you go back to L.A. soon. About how you'll sneak around and keep this from the world, and most importantly, your dad.

But you don't want to think about it now. You just want to stay just like this: naked and in the arms of a man you care deeply for.

Closing remarks...Again, thank you all so much for reading! Please let me know what you think. Send in your questions & comments either in the comments section or my inbox. I'd love to chat! All rude comments towards the story, the people who like this story, or me will be deleted. If you don't like it, then don't read. Don't forget to reblog and follow me @princessanglophile for updates and other content. Have a lovely day everybody!

Sy’s 69

Attn: Sooo from the title you might be able to guess what this is about, but truthfully… it got away from me lol. Enjoy the porn 🥴👀

Word Count: 977

Pairing: Sy x Reader

Summary: You and Sy having a nice time together on date night.

Warnings: 18+, cock riding, 69, dirty talk obvs, spitting, squirting, creampie

After a date night with your sweet man, one thing had led to another and the two of you ended up back at his place. You’d been dripping for him all night. He hadn’t done anything particular, not that he had to. Sy was devilishly handsome, so strong and masculine, ever the gentleman. It always got you so hot for him. “Whatcha wanna do now darlin’?,” he’d asked when the two of you got back out to his truck. “You,” you’d said sultrily, which lead to right now.

He’d stripped you down before pulling you on top of him. “Ride my cock baby. Wanna see you,” he breathed against your lips. You were happy to oblige. You sunk down on him slowly, never quite getting used to how unbelievably thick he was. “Fuuuck,” you whined when you hit bottom. He rubbed your thighs soothingly, before thumbing at your clit. “Look at you. My perfect girl. Takin’ me so well like you always do. Swear you were made for my cock baby,” he rasps, making you moan.

You braced yourself, hands on his hairy chest while you began sliding up and down his length. “Mmm,” you whimpered. “Yes, fuck yes,” he encouraged, always getting off on your pleasure. You swore sometimes he only cared about making you feel good. His eyes glazed over at the sight of your tits bouncing with each movement. “Sy,” you pouted. “That’s it baby. Cum for me. Cum on my cock,” he said, and with one more stroke you did, thighs shaking around his body as you cried out.

“Good job baby. Deserve a reward for bein’ so good for me,” he says before gently maneuvering you to where he wants you, which is sitting on his face while you’re spun around facing his cock. You eagerly suck him into your mouth before his tongue darts out and starts lapping at you. “Mmmm,” you moan against him. Sy’s always been amazing at giving oral, but for some reason it feels particularly good tonight. You’re losing your rhythm and pretty much just have him sitting in your mouth. He’s holding your hips, keeping you in place and you’ve gone completely dumb under his ministrations.

Soft whimpers continue to vibrate against his cock, and the closer you get the more tense you feel. You think to pull back, the tip of his cock just within your lips. Finally you move your head to the side, not being able to hold back any longer. “Oooh. ‘M sorry. S— sorry,” you babble as your orgasm rips through you. “What are you sorry for darlin’? Didn’t you cum?,” he asks confusedly. “Y— yeah, but I was trying to suck you off and I— I just was scared I was going to bite you,” you stammer as you roll off him. “That good huh?,” he smirks before pulling you to the side of the bed and lining up with you. “Mmhmm,” you groan as he pushes back into you.

He runs his hands up the back of your thighs, opening you up for him. “Such a sweet little pussy, so pretty,” he murmurs as he begins pounding into you. “I… oh fuck,” you gasp as he pulls you closer. “That’s right. Been so good for me baby. Need one last thing though,” he says with a grunt. “I— harder. Please. Fuck me harder Sy,” you nearly squeal. He comes up onto the bed, pushing you upwards and bracing the headboard. He ruts into you hard and fast, letting go with one hand to palm at your breast before deciding he wants both hands on your hips.

“You drive me crazy, do you know that?,” he asks, running his thumb over your lips. You suck it into your mouth greedily, before he pulls it out with a pop. He takes the slick digit and begins rubbing it against your sensitive clit. “I can’t. Sy please,” you beg. “Yes you can. I know you can because you’re my good girl. This is my pussy ain’t it?,” he says. “It’s all yours,” you sob, tears running down your face. “Then let it gush for me baby. I want it,” he says.

He pushes in deep, letting his fat cock fill you. He thrusts his hips at rapid speed before removing his thumb and spitting on your clit. You gasp before looking up at him. He smirks and goes back to rubbing you. “I’m—,” you manage before you start squirting heavily around him. “Fuuuck yes,” he says as you moan nonsensically. He can tell how fucked out you’re getting so he leans down and wraps you up in his arms.

“With me baby?,” he murmurs against your ear. You wrap yourself around him and nod. “Naw. I need to hear it,” he tells you with a kiss. “I’m okay,” you say, tears still in your eyes. “You’re amazing darlin’, you know that? Do such a good job for me. I’m gettin’ close,” he groans. “I want it,” you breathe. “Yeah? Want me to cum deep in this perfect little pussy hmm?,” he asks. “Please,” you say softly. He kisses you as he starts to swell. After a moment you feel him pulsing inside you, making you feel all warm. “All for you baby,” he says against your lips.

Once he’s done he kisses you languidly as the two of you hold one another. “Again,” you tell him. “Baby I think you’re a little past the point—,” he says before he notices your pout. “Now why would you do me like that,” he groans. “I want more,” you tell him. “You know I can’t deny you,” he then says before kissing you again, letting his softening cock harden once again. “I sure do love you,” he says fervently when he pulls back. “I love you too Sy,” you say before kissing him once more.