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hoshigray · 3 months ago

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𝐂𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐓𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 | s. gojō + s. ryōmen

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Three powerful empires, two childhood companions, and one you. What is supposed to be a peaceful alliance is slowly turning into a rocky relationship between royal friends...Is there any way you can save it?

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Gojo + true form! Sukuna x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - royal-like + fantasy AU! - porn with plot - Gojo + reader is age 28 + Sukuna is older; mid-30s - mutual pining + confessions - size differences - threesome - double penetration; anal & vaginal - virginity loss - fingering (f! receiving) - back-to-chest + cowgirl dp positions - clitoral play - cerfix-fucking - overstimulation - unprotected sex (psa: wrap it up, or get tf up) - pet names (baby, cutie, dove, human, little one, pet, sweetie) - marriage proposals - cameos: Utahime and Miwa - Gojo and Sukuna can't stand each other, obvi - humor + drama - mention of drool, blood, spit and tears - will be proofread later.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 15.4k words (BRUH, i hate it here.)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: aight, after 10 whole months, it's FINALLY dropped! this took foreverrrr, ughhhh. anyways, sorry for the long wait, hope you enjoy this one, and thanks again for 11.2k starlings, ilysmmm!! ☆☆

“…”

“—y Lady…My Lady!”

“Huh?” You blink and face the door where the voice is coming from. “Oh, I’m sorry, Utahime. You can come in.”

“Jeez, I was knocking for a whole minute.” Your lady-in-waiting, Utahime, closes the door behind her when entering your chambers, walking up to where you were sitting by the mirror. “And I thought I told you to refer to me by my last name, my Lady.”

You smile at the reflection of the other coming behind you, kneeling and readying the iron basin filled with warm water and rose petals. Her hand and the washcloth swish the surface for the floral scents to enter your nostrils. “Well, we’ve been friends for how long? I’ve referred to you by your first name for all my life, even before you became my handmaiden.”

“Hmph, even then,” Utahime scoffs before taking your feet and dipping them in the warm water. “You don’t see me dare call the sole, precious child of this empire’s greatest warrior by their given name.”

“No, but I always tell you I don’t mind. Besides, you usually do it when we’re alone, and that’s enough for me.”

“If that’s what makes my Lady hap—“

“It does.” You look at her with a pleasant aura, and the dark-haired one snickers before straining the washcloth.

“As you wish…Y/n.” You puff your chest with satisfaction; however, your handmaiden isn’t done talking, “But I know the matter of my name isn’t something that’s having you lost in your thoughts.” Her observation takes you slightly aback, and her brown orbs peer up to capture your attention. “Would you like to tell me what’s corrupting your mind?”

With a heavy sigh, your back touches the chair as you slouch. Your eyes glance to the open window as the blinds drift gently with the calm wind. The swaying motions of the curtains almost convince your stress to wither away along with the quietness. Almost.

“Utahime,” you begin with her name, still facing the window. “…What do you think about Lord Satoru Gojo?”

“Tch,” you didn’t have to turn to know that the woman had the most disgusted expression, the click of her teeth was telling. “What is there to think?”

“Hehe, well, we’ve known each other since we could walk—“

“Yeah, and — pardon me, my Lady — but that bastard is such a nuisance, even if he just became the crowned heir of the Gojo bloodline and the holder of the Six Eyes.” The dark-haired woman scrubs your feet with vigor, but you don’t say anything, containing your laughter. “That man–ugh! Every time he visits the palace, he will never stop teasing me for deciding to leave my family and become your lady-in-waiting. Who does he think he is!”

The laugh you try to hinder seeps out in hushed giggles. “Well—ahem—what about Lord Ryomen?”

Utagime stops her hand and washcloth between your toes, her face in your direction. Both brows trenched with a thin line of her mouth. “……As of recent…Scary–no, intimidating would be an understatement...my Lady, perhaps the visit and stay of the two lords is what have you down?”

Another heavy sigh, “I guess that would be the case…”

You reside in the founding empire of the great continent. In the ancient past, it is said that the Great Saint Tengen came from the heavens and blessed this world with miracles, living in the country that you’re standing in right now. It was said that Tengen was the benevolent child of Gods and the Parent of Beings who graced everyone – both human and non – with compassion, kindness, and love through their sorcery. When they disappeared, the world fell into a divide, their people sticking amongst themselves while following the teachings and words of Saint Tengen.

As the centuries came following this tale, the countries of this world have maintained a relatively peaceful union. However, the main continent – your continent – is home to three major empires: the North, the East, and the West. As mentioned before, you live in the founding Western nation, also known as the homeland of Tengen.

You are a royal of this land and the sole heir to the throne right after your father, a mighty war soldier and sorcerer respected by his people and allies. As the crowned king of the Western capital, your father has done his job in using his strong leadership to maintain a functional structure for the people, using his wisdom to tread on matters with a tranquil mind, and making decisions that would not only benefit his own people but also his allies. Sometimes, you forget that such a great man could be your father. Yet his undying love for you, his sole child and princess, proves how lucky you are.

In the Northern Lands above are known as the land of Sorcery. Your father may be a powerful sorcerer, but the empire he rules does not harbor the majority of the population who practice sorcery (or lack thereof). That would go to the snowy Northern Empire, a land where many of Tengen’s scholars and practitioners have come from and implemented their teachings. The current head of this nation is bestowed to the affluent House Gojo, who recently crowned their heir after the death of its late king. Satoru Gojo, the first royal after a century gifted with two of the most intense abilities made by Saint Tengen – the Six Eyes and Limitless – sits on the Northern throne. And is also a dear family friend.

To the East lies a country mostly comprised of harsh deserts and dangerous forests, filled with creatures that aren’t of the human imagination. Once referred to as the land of “Tengen’s True Children,” the eastern empire is known worldwide as the Demon Country. Creatures reside in this part, beings that can easily overpower the average human – or worse, kill. They are ruled by the King of Demons, Sukuna Ryomen. As the scariest, cold-hearted, and violent beast of the empire, Sukuna is regarded as Tengen’s “Fallen Star,” a soul that embodies the precise opposite nature of the saint. And yet, this brutal master is also a cherished companion in the company of you and your father.

“What about their visits seems to make you upset?” Utahime lifts the bottom of your nightgown to scrub further up, the warm, damp towel scraping the skin of your left femur.

“I don’t know…I suppose it’s because things are different than a decade and a half ago.” It was one way of speaking the truth.

“Why, of course, things would be different now. You expect I’d be looking after a tiny heir all my life?” She giggles. “Although, that would be quite nice.”

“Oh, to be young forever would be a treat, wouldn’t it?” You add on to her humor. “Yet, that’s not what I meant. It’s been so long since the three of us been in this palace together – let alone in any space together. The War of the Blood and Magic has been ongoing for years now. Whenever my father wishes to speak with them about an issue, one must be here while the other is in their respective territory.“

“Mmm, I have observed that…But still, even with this war going on, it shouldn’t negate the fact that you three have been friends for so long. I still remember the day young Gojo came to the garden where you and I were making flower crowns.“

You smile at the memory. “I remember how upset you were when he grabbed my hand one day and took us to his guest room to show his Limitless.”

You try your hardest to keep in your laughter when she glares up at you – not at you, but at the recollection instead. “That fool, even as a child, knows nothing of boundaries. He was a bright boy — still is, I’ll give him that. But my Gods, the way he would do everything in his power to impress you was so cocky of a young lord, especially in the presence of the next heir to the continent. The nerve of him…And then! The time he had the nerve to question me when I told you I wanted to be your handmaiden. That little blue-eyed weasel said, ‘You? The daughter of a mediocre house, as the princess’ personal maid? You should try and aim lower or marry someone who’d tolerate your un-ladylike attitude.’ I was too stunned to speak…I should’ve choked his ass out!”

“—Pfffthahaha, stop, you’re scrubbing too hard!” You halt your lady-in-waiting with stiffened giggles, the poor woman sighing for displaying such aggression unbefitting for her title. “You could never stand him, and to think I thought you had a crush on him.”

“Please, my Lady, never say that aloud, or else my father would try to make my worst nightmare become reality.” She shakes her head, putting your left leg into the basin and switching to the right.

“And the day I introduced you as my maid to him, you had the smugest smirk that couldn’t be wiped off that night.”

“You’re goddamn right, my Lady!” That coarse remark had the both of you in a fit of cackles, water damn near splashing out as you wiggle your legs. “Ahhhh, but those were the days. I believe Lord Ryomen came into the picture after that. I remember the first day your father accepted the young demon king’s wish to seek an audience; he was a bit shorter than his current eight-foot-tall stature. Four arms were tiny like a teenager, and his,” she waves a hand up and down over the left side of her face. “This was distinguishable.”

You hum along with the description of the once young teenage demon king. “His human mother died during childbirth, and his father a demon who was exorcised for impregnating the poor woman. He was the first hybrid sorcerer of his time to utilize sorcery with the dark techniques of demon arts, becoming the most powerful and making a name for himself in the Eastern empire. He was alongside my father during the Great Demon War, using his powers to take down opposing cursed forces from outside nations. The two earned each other’s respect – more on my father’s part.”

“That, he was…truly a hard one to read, outside of always looking like he’d cut something out of boredom. I worried for the day he’d catch sight of me looking at him the wrong way and slice my throat,” the mere thought of the deadly being’s scowl was enough to send goosebumps up Utahime’s way. “Even the spars he had with your father and Gojo, I’m amazed to see this palace still standing in one piece.”

“Hehe, imagine how I felt when he’d catch me watching and then pull me aside to train with him — not asking, demanding that he teaches me how to wield a weapon.”

“Ohhh, my Lady, my nerves were never calm whenever he instructed you. Fearing for your life was my biggest sport. He couldn’t stand the fact that the sole heir of the greatest warrior didn’t have the drive to wield and charge.” She places your other leg down, rinsing the washcloth with more water before asking for your right arm. “It’s not like your father ever dared to entertain the thought of you entering battle anyway! That man, truly a scary thing…”

You throw your head back, resting it on the rail of the chair. “For my eighteenth year, he gifted me my own sword — handmade and light for my hands.”

“Men.” Utahime shakes her head once again. “Yet, despite how odd he and Gojo are, they seemed at ease whenever you were around. Whether it be visits from them to discuss with the King or attending events here at the palace, those two acted a lot more…calm.”

Her observations stuck with you, closing your eyes to think more. “I only wonder if we could revert to those days when we were close. Unfortunately, with this current war between the two, this vision is impossible to imagine….”

You and the two lords have been friends for years – decades, even. And you were no fool; it was apparent that this relationship would dwell into something less familiar once the two become distant. And the war between the two empires proves this statement true…

It was your twenty-fourth year when you heard the news of the War of Blood and Magic. A year prior, an incident in the northern empire occurred where a sorcerer and his company were butchered by invading demons. Enraged, many men would go down to the demon continent to pillage and exorcise demon villages and towns as a form of justice. However, it only sparked the increasing tension between the factions into a conflict past the phase of talk and civilized words.

Taking matters into his own hands, Sukuna found the men responsible for the rampage and had their bodies sliced within seconds, sending their bloody, severed heads back to the North as his declaration of war. In the coming years after that, there was nothing but ongoing bloodshed between the two; every battle and atrocity shared with your father made you squeamish – not just because of the brutality, but also the loss of Sukuna and Gojo’s relationship with every passing day.

It made you feel sick — powerless in wanting the two to remember their merciful ways and talk like men. But you knew that was child's play — the time for miracles and fairy tales vanished with Tengen. And now, as the fourth year of this constant battle between humans and demons of this continent shows no signs of stopping, your worrying nature is on edge more than ever.

“It may seem impossible to imagine, but it doesn’t mean it’s not worth the execution,” Utahime’s voice rings you back to the present, alternating to your left arm to wipe before dismissing herself from the night. “I’m sure your father believes that as well; otherwise, he wouldn’t have invited the two here for the first time in four years. I think he and all the people of this empire grow worrisome for the fate of this continent if all that’ll be left is a clash between two factions.”

“That may be true,” yet your tone was somber. “But if he can’t convince his two trusted allies to cease this fight, then I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do but see who comes out victorious. And I’d hate to see one stand and the other down in a pool of their blood…”

Utahime hums and lets the silence take over for a few seconds. And then she speaks again, “….Maybe, if not your father, then you should be the one to bring the two together.”

Me? “Me?”

“Yes, my Lady. You may be the princess of the greatest warrior, but you are also the dear friend of his allies. Your word means law to them — they trust your input when asked and see you as a perfect successor in line.”

“But that’s just based on titles and old conversations that don’t hold up to the now…Out of the three of us, I was the one who stayed put in this castle while the others played dirty, severing limbs and creating craters on this sacred continent. We are not children anymore, yet I feel like the one who’s still a naive babe with hands clean.”

“Now that is not true, my Lady!” Fierce brown eyes bore to you. “Just because you don’t have blood on your hands doesn’t make you unfit as a leader. You are the sole child of the King of the Western Empire, the land that Tengen once slept and walked on. That makes you the one next in line after your father.”

“That is my stated birthright—“

“And so!” You held your tongue; she was not done yet. “You have proven that birthright true from what you’ve done so far. I can count on my hands and toes all the times your father came to you for advice on a matter that didn’t sit right with him, knowing that your wisdom and compassion aid your judgment. And let’s not forget how you’ve kept a neutral stance on this issue thus far, knowing it’s the best and safest option for your father and his people. You are his child, after all…What I’m saying is that people change. And that goes the same for you; you’ve become a face I can trust and depend on, and I’m glad to have the right to watch over you until you see fit.”

You knew she meant every word, so you kept silent for her to finish.

“So, I say this with all the genuineness in my heart. I believe you can smack some sense up those two’s minds. You are the princess, but you are a friend above all else. Lord Gojo had just arrived today, leaving Lord Ryomen on his way in three days' time. Express to them how you feel, that you wish for nothing but an end to this bloodshed and to restore whatever’s left to rebuild their past alliance.”

There was nothing wrong with her words; everything was well-spoken with a perspicuous style and valid points. She was your closest friend – no one knew you better than she did. So, there’s no reason to try and find whatever flawed construct that was in her argument.

Finally, after she was done dapping your arm with the washcloth and drying your feet after taking them out of the metal basin, you smiled. “Perhaps you’re right.”

“Of course, I’m right; I’m your best friend!” Utahime stands with a puffed chest filled with pride, picking up the basin by the handles. “And as the right one, I reckon you should turn in for the night. Leave this matter for tomorrow so the solution you’re looking for will be easier to find.”

“Mmm, your advice is well-received like always.” You stand from the chair, stretching your limbs. When she approaches your door, you bid your handmaiden farewell for the night, “See you in the morning, Utahime.”

With a wink, she parts before shutting the door, “Sleep well and tight, my Lady.”

The warm presence of your friend is missed now that you’re alone in your room. The candles around your chambers exhibit a warm glow that should make you feel safe, but that wasn’t the case today. Even after your night routine, the cold still resided in your skin. You sigh again through your nostrils; the invisible weight on your shoulders makes it impossible to lift them.

You turn back to your mirror – your reflection brings up the conversation with your best friend minutes ago. Examining your features, placing your hand on your cheek to sense your skin, alone with your thoughts. Did I really change that much? Your face tilts to the side, but the different angle doesn’t seem to help give a proper answer. Hmm…Perhaps it’s something I’m not supposed to see.

With a yawn, you stand straight again, deciding to take up Utahime’s advice and retire for the night. You face your queen-sized bed, anticipating your figure sinking into the soft, comfortable mattress.

What you didn’t anticipate was releasing a big gasp when turning to your bedding, your body going rigid, and your blood stopping circulation.

“Hey.”

Something was sitting on your bed. No, someone was on your bed. And judging by the deep, guttural timbre of their voice, you are familiar with this person.

You turned to your left once you heard a word. A figure was coming into the lighted room from the dark of the balcony – a giant, no, ginormous figure. Based on the height, he was inches from touching the entrance frame, way taller than any royal you’ve ever met — or, at least, any human royal you’ve ever seen.

The body was broad and could engulf you even from ten steps away. Four burly arms protrude from the torso, and black nails that resemble claws match the black tattoos painted on his shoulders, biceps and triceps, wrists, back, and chest. The markings also reside on the right of his face that’s morphed with another, which holds four red eyes instead of two, along with earrings that stretch his big earlobes. Aside from his bloody orbs, one thing that contrasts his appearance is the rusty salmon color of his hair. And that was the first thing you saw — the first thing that had your mind recollect him.

“Lord Ryomen.” His name didn’t feel proper to say. It’s been almost a year since you last saw him, but he was still the same brutal man you’ve heard about all this time…yet a companion of yours nonetheless. “Father told me you would be here in two days. How did you—“

“You know I’m not one to wait.” He crossed his lower arms, the upper ones covered by a black robe that matched the black hakama pants he wore. “Especially when it comes to visiting this place.”

“And of Uraume?” The mention of the demon king’s trusted adviser quirks his brow. “Is it okay to leave them alone without you to watch over?”

“You think I’m weak on my own?”

“N–No, of course not!” You were quick to refute — you had to be when it came to him. “It’s just that I would feel bad; they’d worry about where you are.”

“And here you are worrying about them worrying about me. Hmph, humans,” he scoffs, and the mouth on his stomach grins. “Uraume knows to look after the ship when I’m gone or be my eyes when I’m not around. I’m not a child that needs protecting.”

You bow to him. “Of course you aren’t, my Lord. Forgive me for having you think as such.”

He hums, tilting his head while examining you. “Good. Lift your head.” You do as you’re told, watching him take a few steps closer to you. “It’s cold; why is your fire not set?”

You look at what he’s referring to, seeing that your fireplace harbored no flame. “I told my maids that I would be fine tonight without it, the heavy blankets will do—“

Your eyes travel back to Sukuna, only to see he isn’t where he stood. He vanished, nowhere in your room to be found. You turned behind, but he wasn’t there either. But once you heard heavy feet thunder on your floor again, you spun around to see the beast carrying four logs, one in each hand. You were marveled; you only heard talk of his speed, now it was a little scary seeing the real deal.

Sukuna bends down in front of your fireplace, setting the logs down perfectly. “Ignoring the cold’s existence is an ignorant game. A princess should be warm during this time of night.” Once the logs are set, he makes a sign with his upper right hand, bringing his thumb and forefinger together to his mouth. He blows, and a string of fire spits out to the logs. The sound of crackling bark from the flames confirms his work. “You are not me; you should fear the cold.”

You nod to his lesson. “Thank you, Lord Ryomen.”

“There’s no one here. You have the right to refer to me by my first name.” Sukuna straightens himself up. The light from the fire has his face aglow, and the crimson in his eyes flicker while they hook onto you.

You don’t know why — maybe it was because of the instant heat touching your neck instead of the sudden allurement you’ve noted from the demon king. Regardless, you avert your gaze downward. “Yes, Lord Sukuna.”

“Hmm.” He croons, walking towards you to prompt your chin up with a hand. Your eyes widen at his action; this is the first time in forever since he’s laid a hand on you. Talks of those he touches die shortly after spark in your mind. “You still have the sword.”

It wasn’t a question – an observation. He noticed the weapon lodged above the fireplace, like a memento meant to be honored rather than used. You smile, “Yes, I make sure it’s nice and clean from dust.”

Sukuna scoffs. “I give you a present, and you treat it like a trophy.”

“It would be wise to treat a gift from the demon king like a treasure. It wouldn’t sit right with me knowing I used or damaged a present given to me by someone I care about.”

He tilted his head again. “And when I give a weapon to someone I wish to protect,” The word caught you off guard. Protect? “I expect them to use it as it’s intended. I will allow it this time, but I won’t be too forgiving the second. Understood?”

You heard him, but your mind was still wrapped around the word. Protect? Lord Sukuna wants to protect me? What for?? You didn’t mean to say it aloud; it just slipped. “Protect?”

His mood shifts into neutral. A subtle softness is displayed in that inhuman structure of a face — or maybe you imagined it because of the late hour. Your breath hitches when you feel his lower hands pull and wrap around your right hand; the way your palm dwarfs in his hold is appalling. And then he kneels. Sukuna, the eight-foot-tall demon king, kneeling before you. This was a bizarre night, candidly.

“Princess,” he starts with your name. It was the perfect method as he fully has your undivided attention. “You know why the King has wished to see me despite what’s occurring outside these chambers. He believes there is still room to talk, and I believe he's wasting his time because I'm close to setting the entire Northern front ablaze and nailing this score for good.”

You knew he meant that, and it scared you because if he really could, he would. He actually possesses the mentality and the drive to do it. And yet, all three parts of the continent continue to stand. Why?

“But that would result in more problems for me. I’d have the entire world after my head for terrorism. All the leaders will not rest until I’m gone — your father would have to come put me down. And I would kill him, all of them.” His eyes were on you, dead serious. “…But that would make you upset, and it pisses me off that you'd hate me for my drive for survival.”

“My Lord,” it was your turn to speak. “I wouldn’t hate you. Being upset would be justified. But when it comes to war, survival is the paramount destination. I only wish to avoid such significant losses – both for the people of our nations and the people I hold dear.”

“Mmm.” He took your words. There’s no need to say anything, knowing Sukuna heard your piece is good enough. “I can see where you stand in this, stubborn and naive like your father. So, I come to you with a proposition. Something I need for you to listen before I consider seizing this battle.”

The way he spoke had you on edge, truthfully. Yet, if he’s coming to you in the middle of the night to hear your piece, who are you as a friend to push him aside? You give him a nod, “Yes, my Lord?”

“Princess, I want to—“ he stops mid-sentence, his pink-slitted brow suddenly drew up before it furrowed at the next second. He lets go of your hand in a hurry, standing up in a flash. It had you squeak. “He’s here.”

The sudden change in tone had you blink up at the giant, startled. “Wh–Who?”

“….No, they will not be seeing you. The hour is late; they are heading for bed!”

“Oh, c’mon Utahime — an hour, give me one hour!”

“Don’t you DARE open that door—HEY!”

You and Sukuna’s eyes dart to your chamber door, which opens with an abrupt vigor as if it was kicked open — it was kicked. The foot that was prominent at the front goes down and swings in a figure that brightens the area. Baggy white paints contrast with a black dress shirt mixed with white, intricate, and alluring designs. Subtle blue patterns map around the black collar and cuffs, dancing down the white material behind gold buttons. It’s covered by an ocean-blue shawl that drapes the figure’s left side. But the most significant detail that gave away who the person was – outside of their voice alone – was the snow-shite hair that decorated the top of his head.

Your wide eyes take in the person before you, and a dainty smile comes to your lips when you say his name. Unlike Sukuna, who sucks his teeth with a deep scowl. “Lord Gojo, it’s—“

“PRINCESS~~!” Chipper as ever, Gojo greets you with a happy tune that is so familiar to the ears. His sky-blue eyes gleam and narrow whenever he’s in your presence, just like he’d do during your childhood years. “Glad to see that I’ll be able to see your beautiful face tonight, after all. And I thought I told you to call me by my first name, like when we were kids!”

His jest has you giggle, “And I thought I’d told you from the last visit to knock on my door before entering. You have my poor handmaiden chasing after you at this hour.”

“I second that notion wholeheartedly, my Lady.” Utahime comes into view, approaching from Gojo’s shadow. If looks could kill, she’d stab Gojo’s throat with dual-wielding daggers. Not that the white-haired man was paying her glare any mind. She sighs heavily before bowing to you, “My apologies, my Lady. Lord Gojo caught me leaving the stairs towards your hall, figuring he’d come to speak a word with—Holy Tengen!” Your lady-in-waiting gasps when she lifts her head to see that you aren’t alone in the first place. “L-Lord Ryomen!? F-F-Forgive me for not noticing your grace before.” She quickly returns her head for a bow, hoping the trusty, short right-hand retainer and advisor, Uraume, wasn’t here to lecture her.

But thankfully to her anxious stars, the demon king grunts, “You’ve been forgiven, human. I came here not too long ago to discuss matters with the heir.” His red eyes leave the bowing woman to look at Gojo, whose lighthearted cadence is stilled. “Alone.” The final word was all for the white-haired lord’s watch to switch to a silent, menacing tone, shaded by his bangs but perfectly seen by Sukuna.

“Yes, my Lord, I shall leave you two to yourselves then,” Utahime replies to the salmon-haired creature, lifting her upper body ready for dismissal. But she then grabs for Gojo’s arm and tugs. “That includes you as well, Lord Gojo.”

“Ehhhh, me? What about the giant freak across from me?” Gojo questions the woman who pulls him to the doorway. “I also have things to discuss with the princess I’ve expressed earlier for when I have the time, which is now. At least I made my appointment known. Unlike him, who came into their quarters unannounced.”

“And here you are, barging into their room!” she almost popped a vein; you worry for the poor woman dragging the tall figure out of your room. “Kicking their door and making yourself known doesn’t modify the definition of being unannounced. Come back tomorrow – I’m sure my Lady will be available to listen to your quarrels then.”

It was now that you finally decided to interject. “It’s all right, Utahime. Sleep still evades me for me to rest.” You look to Sukuna, his gaze already on your figure, and then to Gojo, who awaits your assertion. “…I will listen to both Lords and have them dismissed before I retire for the night. You may let Lord Gojo go now and get sleep yourself.”

Utahime gives you a concerned look, yet she silently lets go of the man when you give her a tiny nod. “As you wish. Have a good night, my princess. Lord Sukuna. Gojo.” She slams the door at the last name she says, her stomping footsteps and grumbling curses fading into the night.

And now here you were, alone in your room, with the two lords of two superpower empires – two childhood friends. Nevertheless, it’s back. The suffocating tension you’ve mentioned before returns and drapes over the three of you that the word “friend” feels teeny within it. You can’t lie to yourself; you’re weary to have either of them in your chambers, let alone be in the same space as you. You knew there would be a day when the two would come together; however, you were far from being prepared for said event.

Then again, it’s better now than never, right? You three used to be the best of friends – close companions that you could depend on and trust. Close companions that you desperately wish to continue trusting and having an unbreakable bond with. If not for you, then for your father’s and respective empires’ sake. So, with a deep breath, you exhale and think of how to go about this predicament. Be the heir that your father raised you to be.

“So,” You turn to Gojo to start with. “Lord Gojo—“

“Oh, c’mooon, what did I say about using my last name?” Gojo flashes a quick smile at you. “We’re friends, no? It’s not fair you refer to Maiden Iori by her first name; you should know mine like the back of your hand!”

His little pester does help swade a bit of stress off your shoulders. “My apologies, Satoru. It’s just that I must be respectful to my royals, even if we are long-time friends.”

The white-haired man chuckles, taking steps to be closer to you. “Even so, I want my princess to call me by my name, for you are the one I trust and hold dear the most. And I don’t want our familiarity to be tarnished by titles.”

“…If that’s what will make you happy, Satoru.” The address to the northern prince made you avert your gaze to the ground, and your cheeks dial in warmth. Who knew that he thought so deeply about a little gesture? And then there’s what he referred to you as—

“Your princess?” Sukuna’s voice snaps you back to the present situation: you and Gojo are not the only ones in your room.

Gojo takes his eyes off you and places them on the giant behind your shape. He taunts, “Yes, my princess, as they are the fair heir of this great empire who will rule after their great father. I’d say they are as much my princess to me as the other Lords and Maidens. But I’d be lying since I see them as more than that.”

Sukuna’s quadruple eyes darken as they narrow at the man before him. “Every time I see your scrawny self, you prove you’re the biggest fool than all the other senile jokes of Lords I’ve ever dealt with.” Two steps is all he takes to be right behind you. You can practically feel his shadow on you. “The person before us is indeed a royal above many – above you. So, I find it amusing that you would be dumb enough to emphasize such a ludicrous claim. You fail to know your place when in their presence. And in mine.”

Oh, that ticked something inside Gojo. Because the prince was no longer smiling, his attention was wholly on Sukuna. Many wouldn’t dare to glower at the giant creature the way Gojo was — let alone look at him. “Hah, you sure know how to make unfunny jokes, Sukuna. Because I’d rather eat demon shit than have you think for a moment that you are above me.”

“Hmph, I’m surprised your childish behavior has gotten you this far,” you can see from the shadow on the floor that Sukuna folds his lower arms. “Don’t think that you’ll be lucky with me.”

“Oh, believe me, my childish manner has gotten its fair share of tongue lashings and trouble, but I’ve been able to talk my ass out of shit ever since I was a kid. But I guess talk is too cheap for an oversized brute like you, huh?”

“Very. I’m a being of action—“

“Action? Or destruction?” The light blue of Gojo’s eyes shifts to that of a deep, cold shade under his bangs, with no sign of backing down. “Because from all I’ve heard about you, everything can crumble beneath you with just a swipe of the fingers. Outside of your lands, who’s to say you’re worthy of ruling when your methods and policy are more forbidding than mine? Or better yet, who gave you the gall to think that such a monster like you has a right to even be amongst civil people like me and the princess? Hell, the fact that you snuck in their room as you please sickens me to the core.”

“I can say the same for you, Satoru Gojo. Your entire occupancy does worse than bore me. Standing here with the man governing the family who’s killed many of my kin and demons fills me with inextinguishable anger. You have no idea how much excitement I’ll have for the day I cut that head of yours clean off, but because of my business with the princess, your death will be pending.”

“Not if my business is taken care of first.”

The demon growls. “Like hell, it will.”

“My Lords, please!”

The tense atmosphere is relieved by the abruption of your voice, bringing the lords’ quarrel to a standstill to face you. You squeak when their eyes land on you, forcing yourself to turn to the fireplace and deal with the growing storm of anxiousness inside you.

Gods, I should’ve had Utahime here with me! You curse yourself for being in this situation. Why tonight of all nights must you deal with this? It was as if your lady-in-waiting had this all planned — or worse, your father, having you treat the matter of your allies. You groan internally to your hands, letting your frustration be released.

You twirl back to face the two men before you, a deep inhale before saying, “Lord Satoru, what would you like to discuss with me at this hour?”

“Hah?” The disapproving mood of the demon king had your heart sink to the floor. “I was here first.”

“Yes, you came to my room first tonight. But Gojo was here first at the palace. He told me earlier that he wanted to speak, so I should hear him.” You could only hope your reasoning satisfied the tall being, who puffs his tattooed chest. And Gojo quickly flashed the other a vexatious look at Sukuna before you pivoted to him. “Now, Lord Go—“

“Aht aht!”

“…Lord Satoru,” He beams a big grin. “What do you wish to speak with me?”

“Well, although this is something meant for the two of us,” meant to be a stab to the other person in the room, who couldn’t care less about his presence being unwanted. “But this’ll suffice; it doesn’t hurt to have an audience.” You watch the silver-haired man take your left hand, the rough pad of his thumb rubbing on your knuckles.

“My Lady,” he looks at you with delicate azure eyes, his gaze so captivating that it locks you in position. “I’ve known you for quite a long time. Before I met you, my life as a royal was barren. Nothing sparked joy in me. The mundane tasks to uphold as the next heir, being pampered and sheltered as the gifted member of the Gojo House. I felt trapped in a mold — a mold that I resented having as my birthright, so much so that I wished to claw my eyes out at the age of five.”

You could tell he was speaking from the heart, his hands gripping yours tighter.

“But then, three years later, my father took me to meet the King of the western lands; at the time, it sounded like such a chore having to meet all these old, disgusting guys that I had to ‘maintain a good relationship’ with. And then, like the sun peeking through dark clouds, I saw you. I’ve met many royal kids before me, most snobby or kissing up to me for my good graces. Yet, none of them have been as alluring and breathtaking as you have been.” He pauses for a light chuckle. “I can still remember how your sweet voice addressed me when our fathers introduced us together. You stood tight to his leg, but your grace was ever present.”

“Mhmm, and I recall how angry your father was when you didn’t take a knee and instead greeted me with a handshake.” The two of you share a laugh, unaware of the disdained aura of Sukuna right next to you for a moment. “There are many things I hold close to my heart — you and our friendship being part of them.”

“I agree. I mean it when I regard you as one of my greatest treasures. This friendship we’ve had these years – decades, even – has been a blessing that I do not want to take for granted. Even with this war on my shoulders, I wish for it to be put to rest so I can finally have you by my side again. And that’s why…”

Gojo lifts your hand to his face; the soft feeling of his pillowy lips on your fingers has you holding your breath. Just like Sukuna…

“Princess, merciful child of Tengen’s Blessed Ground, I ask for your hand in marriage.”

It all took one second — one mere second.

One second for your world to come to a complete standstill, the cracking of the firewood no longer poking your eardrums and the breeze from the outside no longer grazing your skin. Your body instinctively refuses to move so much as a toe to disrupt your processing.

One second for your thoughts to absolutely vanish. No words of your own occupying your brain, no guesses on where this conversation was going. There was nothing. Nothing except the last seven words Gojo said that replay in your head. Over and over and over again.

One second for you to be in a perfect state of perplexity. Right before Sukuna grabs your free hand and yanks you to his side the next. Three giant hands wrap around you while one grips your wrist tightly.

He snarls, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Gojo sucks his teeth before straightening yourself. “Ehhhh, is your demon brain screwed on right? You don’t know what a marriage proposal is?” His question struck you more than it did the beast. Huh? A marriage proposal? Marriage!?

The fingers of Sukuna’s upper left-hand grips your shoulder, claw-like nails poking your skin as if to draw blood. “Hmph, the nerve of you humans never fails to disappoint me. Especially you, Satoru Gojo, who remains a thorn in my foot. Must I kill more of your men to keep you at your place as you did to my demonfolk?”

“Khh, don’t act like you ever cared about the lives sacrificed on your behalf. It’s gross.” Gojo takes one step, and Sukuna swiftly lifts his upper right hand at him, his fingers positioned at the same sign when he made flames for your fireplace. Your eyes widen, please, not in my room! Gojo takes a stance for battle. “Acting human doesn’t suit you at all, fuckface.”

The roar of laughter that the demon bellows out was chilling to hear. The vibrations coursing from his body to yours rocked you to your core. “Hah! Me, human!? There’s a reason I let go of that part of myself a long time ago. It made me weak – held me back from my full potential. You are right, though; it’s beneath me to care for those below me. However, I don’t tolerate those that mess with what’s mine.”

The word had Gojo’s eyes taper. “Let them go.”

“No. If anything, I should skin you here and now for even laying a finger on them in front of me.” You peered up at Sukuna, your anxiousness refusing to settle down during this high-stakes scenario. “Because any man that dares touch my wedded deserves to be torn and shredded by my hands alone.”

You couldn’t hide your gasp. It snuck past you – the perfect reaction to what you heard. H–His wedded? Me? Lord Sukuna’s wedded-to-be!? No wonder he was acting like that…!

“Your wedded?” Gojo was just as taken aback as you were. “You’ve got some huge balls to declare that right after bearing witness to me proclaiming my request for their hand.”

“Tch, bastard, why do you think I was here before you?” Sukuna flashes his big teeth, pride exuding from his form. “Did you honestly think I’d allow the princess to end up with the likes of you? Now, aren’t you too old for fairy tales?” You’re still in shock of this madness. Two marriage proposals within the same hour? Both from your childhood friends who unequivocally despise each other’s existence? Any regular person would feel as if they’re experiencing a whirlwind right now.

Wait a minute…

“Oh, we’re talking fairy tales, you repugnant jackass.” It’s Gojo’s turn to get a kick out of this. “From what I can tell, the princess is meant to spend the rest of their life in comfort with a handsome human prince who swears to protect them and those they care for. Not a creature whose source of joy comes from killing and mayhem. You? Capable of love? Heh, be real. Not even your own dead mother was able to show you real love for her abomination of a—“

He stopped talking when he felt something warm roll down his cheek, a red fluid streaking to drop from his chin. You see a cut and blood, and a wave of dread hits you like a wall. It was Sukuna’s doing, no doubt. Your best friends were fighting in front of you, in your safe space. Your nerves have long forgotten what it meant to be in a state of calm.

Please, wait, stop—

“I already told you your death has been postponed, you northern shit,” red eyes darken, Sukuna's tone and aura unveiling a sense of brutality that shadowed your very being. It had you trembling. “But I don’t mind severing your tongue to make a point.”

The skin around the cut on Gojo’s skin begins to morph to find each other, seaming itself back to mint condition with a blue glow. Healing magic fixed his cut and cleared his blood, but the anger boiling inside him was prevalent in those striking eyes. Wanting nothing more than a bleeding head between his hands. “I’d like to see you try, you ugly prune.”

NO, STOP IT!!

This was all too much for a single night. This whole ordeal was far from your expectations. It was already stressful enough thinking about what would happen when the two lords were in this palace together. Now, in your quarters, you’ve never experienced a more life-and-death crisis having your friends — companions you used to laugh and engage with together — wanting to rip each other’s throats, especially for your hand in marriage. And, Tengen forbid, if you were to accept one’s proposal over the other…that would ignite a war above all wars. The bodies that fall on this mainland would all be in your undoing. The thought enough was too much to bear!

“I accept both!!”

The hostile complexion of the room vanished into the air in the blink of an eye. The sound of burning logs and dancing flames filled the space like before; the crashing ocean waves could be heard from your balcony. Nature was speaking without noises to interrupt it. It was quiet, too quiet.

You didn’t know what you just said until the last morphemes left your tongue. You silently remove your figure from Sukuna, covering your mouth in disbelief. And without having to see for yourself, you could tell that the two lords were just as flummoxed from your sudden sentence. What…What did I say just now?

“What did you just say?” As if he could read your mind, Sukuna relays your inner turmoil to be addressed.

Your heart was beating at an unbearable rate, your ears ringing like they’d soon set off and bleed. The trembles get worse with every second, and wiping your face off this Earth at this exact moment is all you wish for. You were so nervous that you were mere seconds away from the brink of tears. Oh, Tengen, why did I say that? What was I thinking?!? What am I to do? What do I—

“…Express to them how you feel, that you wish for nothing but an end to this bloodshed and to restore whatever’s left to rebuild their past alliance…”

And then, like a strange flash of an angelic tune, the words of your lady-in-waiting come back to you, instantly calming you down and reminding you who you are. You are the princess of the Western Front, the next heir after your father. This matter was bound to fall onto your lap one way or another — preferably less drastically and excitingly like this.

I am the princess, but their friend above all else…You remove your hands from your face, exhaling a shaky breath before standing tall. “….I accept both marriage proposals of my Lords.”

The men’s bewildered expressions were expected, just like the dismay in their voices. “Both of our—…! Surely you don’t mean that—” Gojo was the first to speak, silver brows screwed with confusion.

“I do.” A deep breath before you answered him. “I will only accept the proposals of both you and Lord Sukuna.”

The demon took one thunderous step, the vibrations crawling up your bones. “And just why is that?”

You exhale through your nostrils, chewing on your bottom lip. “Understand that I am humbly flattered by your perspectives — it fills me with gladness to know I can be hospitable to my dear friends again…As you both mentioned, I, too, cherish the two of you profoundly, and my trust for you two will never be extinguished. To be asked for my hand by either of you is an honor I’ll forever appreciate….But I cannot choose one over the other.”

“Bullshit,” Sukuna folds his upper arms, the lower resting on his hips. “You can; you just choose not to.”

“No, I care for you both, and choosing one alone would have people hurt. Both between us three and the people of this continent…” You maintain eye contact with both lords while your hands fidget with your nightgown to ease yourself. “A rivalry is happening between the Eastern and Northern fronts; blood’s already been spilled and soaking Tengen’s soil. If I were to choose one proposal, I can’t be guaranteed that this onslaught of violence will cease. Or, would either of you guarantee that you wouldn’t take the life of the other?”

That question had the two royals look at each other briefly, followed by their scowls and groans. Gojo is the next to speak, “What happens between us shouldn’t concern you, my princess.”

“You’re wrong; it concerns me tremendously. It is a concern that’s been eating me alive, watching my allies – my friends – fight each other on the sidelines, refusing to pick a side with my father. Now, you two come here, bend your knees, hold my hands, and ask for my hand, silently requesting my involvement for more bodies to drop like flies under my reign?… No, I would not find rest from this night forward, knowing that more innocent lives plummet from my answer.”

“It wouldn’t be blood on your hands.”

“…But it would be blood that I paint with my very shadow.”

The response sounded foreign to him, yet you stood tall, making sure your heart didn’t falter with your stance. Silence welcomes the three figures again, an old friend that goes well with the tense atmosphere. Two pairs of red observe you, like cerulean orbs that stay on your appearance.

A few seconds go by, and Gojo screws his eyes shut. “So, that’s it, you accept both proposals.”

A curt nod. “Yes, my Lord.”

“Your final decision?”

“Correct.”

The snow-haired man nodded aimlessly, slouched with a large sigh, turned, and headed for your bed to flop face down — like it was his bed. “Haaaaaah, you are your father’s kid, all right,” you could make out his words even with his face in your sheets. “A pacifist heart.”

“Hmph, such a dumbass reason,” Sukuna huffs with absolute annoyance, and you’re amazed he hasn’t already skinned you and Gojo. “You are not a child anymore. You can’t possibly be serious about taking up two husbands for the sake of peace.”

“You’re right: I am no child, for I’ve never been as serious as I am now.” Look at you, sticking up for yourself in the presence of the demon king. Although, you know he can hear the quiver in your voice trying to crawl out. You swallow, “It’s either both of you or nothing at all.”

His left eyes squint as they examine your features, the mouth on his belly gritting its teeth. “Tsk, both or nothing…Meanwhile, you know I can’t be in the same room with him. Not even Tengen could command me to share you with this brat.”

Gojo swifts on the covers to lie on his back. “Finally, something I can agree with the devil himself. He’s right, though; there are many things in my life I would rather not share with anyone — you being the top of my list.”

You take their concerns with patience and a lifted chin. “I understand you both, but if you two can’t let the fog clear and talk with each other, how can I see myself—“

“Let the fog clear?” Sukuna repeats with furrowed eyebrows. “Sorcerers came into my land and ransacked my villages — sorcerers from this bastard’s empire!”

“An action that validates your anger and course of action,” you remind yourself to take tiny breaths. “…However, Satoru didn’t order the attack himself; they went against procedure and stormed your country with poor judgment.”

The tall demon rolls all of his eyes and clicks his teeth. “Ridiculous.”

“No, what’s ‘ridiculous’ is how you fail to acknowledge why those sorcerers went to your zone.” Gojo’s turn to interpolate. “One of the noble sorcerers and his company died because of your demon folk invading my country without permitted passage. That noble had a family, students that followed his footsteps—“

“Are you saying my people didn’t have kin of their own to return to, Gojo Satoru?”

“Your people sure kill like they don’t—“ Another swipe of Sukuna’s fingers glid the air; this time, Gojo’s Infinity was on guard, ricocheting the cleave to mark a scratch on one of the curtains. “Hah, just like their leader.”

Sukuna flexes his knuckles to crack, black fingernails appearing sharper. “The demons who killed that sorcerer acted on their own accord. Just like the many men of your land who came to mine, whom I corrected for your lack of oversight.”

“Then allow me to fulfill my mistake,” the silver-haired man’s eyes glow. “And let me kill the demons responsible — just like you did to my men, fucking cretin.”

“Over my dead body, human trash.”

“My Lords!” The men concurrently exchange their gazes back to you. “This is why I will not be accepting either proposal solely. You come to my home to ask for my hand because you see me as of value, correct? Well, you both are people I care deeply for, and the thought of walking beside either of you for eternity is something I’d accept unmistakably under different circumstances…But, please acknowledge my position in all of this: I am the princess of an extraordinary continent and heir to the throne after my father, a man who has maintained peace and harmony all these years. Now, that peace is hanging on the brink of death and will soon be a matter I should issue alone, and the men who’ve grown with me and cherish me combating each other until one stands tall….or none stand at all.”

Word spilled after another as if a dam had broken down — fingers jitter even when clasped together. Your throat dries up after every sentence, yet your unwavering resilience pushes you to keep going.

“I’m sorry if what I’m saying or doing is selfish, and…you may be right that I’m going at it with the whims of a child. But, please,” Do not cry, do NOT cry. “Standing idly every passing day watching the men I’ve grown to—“ Love? Isn’t that too intimate of a word to assume? “…treasure kill themselves and others without doing anything wounds me enough. And if you think I can sit here in this palace and watch my intended go far and yonder to kill another person whom I cherish with no guarantee that they will return to me wholly, think twice.”

Your shoulders threaten to tremble; of course, you’re frightened beyond belief by what you’re saying. But you’re sure if she was here, Utahime would pull you in for a hug and acclaim how well you’re following her counsel.

“Please, I just…can’t bear it.”

Uncomfortable muteness gnaws you alive within the muteness of your room. You’re bound to draw blood on your bottom lip with how much you’re chewing it. If only your father were awake in this hour, his guidance at a moment like this would be beneficial, or merely observing from afar how you’re managing would give you some hope. Alas, you know he’s in deep sleep halls away. It’s just the three of you in this space — or just you versus the huge opposing auras thick enough to be slit by Sukuna’s cleaves.

Speaking of whom, the demon king watches you the entire speech. Same with Gojo, whose blue eyes dwindle back to their typical hue. The two men don’t dare break the silence as you stand before them, mentally swimming in thoughts alone to yourself….Well, at least the northern prince wouldn’t dare to do so first because Sukuna initially ripped the stillness to shreds. He says, “And how would your father respond to this feckless plan of accepting two marriage proposals?”

A worthy question to ponder. “…I’m sure he’d come to an understanding once I explain my reasoning,” the belly of the eastern king grumbles. “I’m sure he’d be contended at the fact that his two trusted allies would want to join houses.”

Gojo sits up straight atop your bed. “Well, that sounds all nice and dandy on that front. But, the problem still lies in us acting like…a ‘real couple.’ Face it, princess; you may seem okay with being with us both, but that doesn’t mean we’d be on the same page.”

Sukuna nods curtly. “I’d rather eat every human alive than entertain the thought of someone other than me touching you.”

The other shrugs. “Even if the world’s fate depends on it.”

The men’s grievances are valid arguments for why your plan can backfire, particularly when suggesting a relationship where two people can’t stand each other. What you’re posing is an action that has been practiced before yet isn’t entirely favored in the public eye. Nevertheless, your stance doesn’t change; you refuse to go back on your word, believing that it’s a better alternative to condone than the others. The only tricky part is convincing your childhood friends…

…Which is why what you’re about to do is indubitably unlike you.

“…What are you doing?"

But despite that, it’s a course of action that highlights your determination.

“—Woah!! Princess?! Why are you undressing??!”

Even if it’ll go down as the most downright humiliating thing you’ve done to yourself.

Your nightgown meets the ground of your feet, the cool air wrapping your nude frame with the heat of the fireplace hovering on one side. Arms free of sleeves, nipples easily spotted now with the dismissal of clothing, the region between your lower thighs bare, and delicate skin exposed for only the men in the room to see. And even then, your face doesn’t decline the miserable hotness. Embarrassed? No doubt about it.

“My Lords,” you croak, balled fists muster to contain whatever left of dignity you can. “This form…isn’t meant for any regular eyes to see — an offering only a slim few I’d trust to witness. Tonight, I want you two to see me like this.” You slowly step forward, gradually getting closer to Sukuna’s giant size. “As your princess, I offer my whole to you both, as you are mine…and I am yours.”

Sukuna blinks at your small figure close to his; the intensity of his stare is enough to have your heart sink into a pool of regret. Until he bends to scoop you with his lower arms, you yelp at the sudden action with hands finding his sturdy shoulders to grab. Now, he is way closer than you anticipated, his very chin inches away from brushing your naked chest. Holy shit.

“You are mine, and I am yours?” he lifts his eyebrow. “Was that not true already?” You gulp thickly before answering, daring to cup his cheek with a hesitant hand. Again, you’re surprised to see it still attached, let alone see him lean to your palm.

“You’d have to prove it true — here and now, make this ceaseless battle end by claiming me as yours…You too, Gojo.” You and the demon holding you turn to the man sitting on your bed. The pale skin of his face now harbors shades of pink that cascade across his cheeks and the dip of his ears, expression dumbfounded to what he witnessed. “Demonstrate how serious you are for my hand, or you and Sukuna can leave my room.”

Sky-blue eyes blink absentmindedly, words hard to pick and choose for the human prince in this bizarre minute. Sukuna then speaks with a huff.

“Well, are you going to start moving or what? Because whether you stay or not, your princess will become mine tonight.” He grins before leaning in to lick your skin, and you hold a whine when the mouth of his navel lightly chews on your tummy. “And on the many nights coming after.”

The beast’s words flip a switch, causing Gojo to chuckle and shake his head while unbuttoning his shirt. “Not if I have something to do about it, four-eyes…”

You drew in breath while watching Gojo undress, more of his milky skin stripped out of his clothing, revealing parts of the prince that you could only imagine in your fantasies. Heat flourishes to your ears, and another gasp is pulled out when Sukuna sneaks his free lower hand to cusp your buttcheek. He then brings an upper hand to your chin to face him and his sneer.

“You’ve made this night a whole lot more interesting.”

And that was the last time the sound of the fire cracking caught your attention.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Mmmm…Ahh—Ahhh!!”

“Keh, sure are tight as hell; definitely a virgin.”

“Fuck, I can hear the sounds from here…Oh, fuuck…!”

The sea breeze climbs up to your terrace, crawling into your room to swing the curtains of your canopy. The candles around your room continue to flame and provide light for the room to glow. The scent of lavender and rose from your bath and lotion an hour earlier remains in the air and sticks to your skin. The midnight hour isn’t yet, but the sky is dark enough past the twilight hues.

Expected as the former home of the Great Saint Tengen, the palace is as enormous. Harboring many rooms, halls, and floors for the company of the royal family and their subjects, the castle is unchallenging for a newcomer to get lost inside without a proper guide. Every room is catered to a specific event, person, meeting, or occasion in this place. On top of that, multiple guest chambers are meant for the guests invited under the King’s audience to rest.

…But it seems that Gojo and Sukuna are not retiring for the night anytime soon.

How could they sleep when you’re being a courteous host, letting your childhood friends spend the late hours in your room? Just like when you were young and playmates or learning to master a weapon. The only thing is that these two aren’t the same as two decades ago; they are men, branded with titles and responsibilities, blood already stained their knuckles, and duties hold them to a high expectation that you know all too well.

And, like all men, they have a salacious curiosity only appropriate for the bedroom. An interest you knew would one day be prevalent in your life if you agreed to take either as a husband…Yet, you’re not as prepared on the chance you’d face both realities simultaneously.

All three of you are stationed in your bed, clothes decorating your floor to leave you all bare for each other to see and marvel at — more so on your part. You lie on your back to a giant broad chest and stomach, Sukuna right behind you with his lower arms holding your feet by the back of your knees. Knees spread apart, your naked lower half is out, free for the monster to insert a single thick digit of his left upper hand into your wet chasm while the right fondles your left tit.

Never in your life did you think you were capable of producing such indecent noises. Low whimpers are embarrassing to recollect as the demon king plays with your most tender parts. His big fingers tweak your nipple, and the digit – way thicker than yours – inside your cunt is enough to stretch your opening, wiggling and scratching the inside. Fingering yourself never felt like this, your body experiencing a refreshing sensation you hadn’t known of. And to have the eastern king of all people to bestow this feeling on you brings just as much awe as humiliation.

Nonetheless, that indignity doesn’t cease. Gojo stands on his knees before you, propped between your sunder legs, while his hand strokes an erect limb. Yes, as a virgin maiden, tonight would be the very first time you ever see a living, breathing member, and the northern lord takes that honor with a lustful smile. His solid cock gets stiffer with every jerk, a left curve protruding the more your appearance excites him. To be observed and used as material as your slit is fingered? How lewd!

“Nnnn, ahaahn…” Sukuna’s finger rubs on your velvety surface, your legs wanting to squirm despite the monster’s hold. “Oh Gods…Ohhh!!”

“Damn, you look so good,” Gojo mutters under his breath, precum drizzling his fingertips. “Looks like it feels good, huh, princess?”

“Sure feels like it,” every word that Sukuna utters causes tremors to pass down his abdomen to your back, the very vibrations crawling on your skin like the tongue that licks your back to make you arch. “Hm? Tell us how you really feel, little one.”

The usage of that name causes your vaginal walls to twitch; he has never called you as such, and picking such an intimate time to do so makes your frame feel awkward and warm. “…I-I—fffmm!—don’t know…”

“Hmph, you dare lie to me,” he bends to your ear, and his deep chuckle ignites your stomach to knot itself. “Like your body doesn’t speak for itself, clenching on my finger like you want to snap it off.”

“Th-that’s not—“The graze of your upper wall cuts you off, and your hands struggle to find places to grab, gripping the skin of Sukuna’s thigh and grabbing tuffs of his apricot hair.

The demon king snickers more when his middle finger teases your taint, pressing a kiss on your cheek before a quick bite. “Only one finger in, and you’re already wailing like a common whore; be lucky that I haven’t added another, then you’d really be prepared for me…” You feel something brush up against your back, the tips of Sukuna’s cocks reminding you of his eventual promise.

“Wooow, calling the future heir a whore; must’ve forgotten whose room we’re in.” The white-headed man had something to say about that, satisfyingly ruining the mood for the demonic being.

“They don’t seem to mind, at least their cunt doesn’t,” uncouth cords that speak truth, your vulva squeezing his finger constantly. “Who would’ve thought the beautiful, refined, and compassionate princess,” each enunciated word has consequences that are a lick and bite to your helix. “Was, in fact, a dirty, nasty girl?”

“Holy shit,” Gojo’s hand goes faster, his dick ready with stiffness. The image of you melting under the Fallen Star’s hold is too hot for the young man to witness. “God, I wanna fuck you so bad, baby…”

Sukuna clicks his teeth. “Well, hurry the hell up and do it before I change my mind and fuck them myself.”

“And have them bleeding to death because of your giant dicks on their first time? Fuck that,” He ignores the four rolled eyes as he maneuvers closer to you, Sukuna pulling his finger out of your wet slit and slithering further down to your anus. He coaxes you to relax your tense muscles, pushing his digit into your puckered hole second by second. The gasp you release once it’s added sends shivers up Gojo’s shoulders. “A princess should be treated like a pearl – tended to with the utmost care.”

“Go–jooo…” You whine as the human heir cups your cheeks to squeeze.

“What did I say about using my family name?” He scolds with a cheeky tune, gauging your reaction as he disposes his cockhead to the folds of your vagina.

“…S-Sa—Mmmph!” The push of his pink tip is a new sensation.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” He coos, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “Relax, just focus on me.” Your eyes lock with his, distracted by the twinkle and swirl of his azure irises, like a whirlpool sinking into the darkness of his dilated pupil. “What’s my name, cutie?”

“Saaa…Sato—Ohhh!!” And just like that, the tip of his limb enters inside, bypassing your knowledge until the wince of pain snaps you out of your distraction. “…to’ruu…”

His teeth glisten under her grin. “That’s my good girl.”

Gojo keeps propelling himself inside you, gradually shoving every inch of his lengthy girth. You bite your quivering lip at the stretch of your opening, accommodating the foreign body part burrowing inside your inner channel. The left curve of his has his penis rubbing on parts of yourself you hadn’t thought possible; a graze of your G-spot causes your legs to quirk and toes to curl.

But then, once his silverish pubes meet your outer labia, he reaches the depth of your cervix and gives it a chaste kiss. And your frame suddenly shuts down briefly, your senses running cold before you cry aloud without knowing. Your hands rush to cover your mouth, but the damage is too late.

Sukuna raises a brow. “What a shout.” He then uses your reaction to add another digit into your ass.

“Ahhhh, there it is,” Gojo swallows thickly, hips speaking for themselves as they sway. “That was cute as hell–the way you twitch feels so good…” Another poke to your cervix, and your legs can’t help but wrap around Gojo’s waist.

“Satoru, please…!” You plead with knitted eyebrows. “Pleasee, be gentle with me…”

Blue eyes narrow. “God, who told you to be so adorable?” Gojo angles down to your face, his nose mere centimeters to yours. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll treat you right tonight…Hmmm.”

The man leans in to place his lips on your forehead before his own, and the pace of his thrusts quickens to mediocrity. The rubs on your silky texture become frequent, lightly pounding his shaft into your to till his testes knock your chasm, the whimpers you try to repress boost to a louder volume. His left curve spikes up your nerves with every push and pull, easing the itching heat that permeates around your lower half.

Hands writhe around to calm around Gojo’s cold back; you say his name in prayers. You can feel something coming, and if he keeps rutting to you like this, it’s bound to come earlier than expected. “—Nnaaa, Sat’ruuu, w-wait!! I can’t—Ahaann!!”

“—Mmmm! Yeah, just like that, princess, keep gripping on me like that…” He doesn’t listen, too lost in your warmth and wetness that he can’t stop. The flex of his abs increases, plunging into your pussylips desperately as if he can sense the eventual you fear.

“T-Toruu, wait, go slooww!!” Words mean nothing, hips not declining in their needing cadence. Oh Gods, I can feel it; it’s coming! Nerves climb to a peak way too fast for your comprehension, nails digging into Gojo’s skin before your orgasm hits you, choked squeaks leaving puffy lips as your cunt contracts around the prince’s girth and your asshole clamping around Sukuna’s fingers.

And Gojo is right there experiencing your climax with you, moaning under his breath and pressing his forehead to yours before he completely melts under the fluttering motions of your genitalia. “—Mmfff, ffffshit, so tight…!” He can’t stop thrusting into you, moving his pelvis slowly to draw out the sensation before he sinks into a crescendo of his own. “Fuuck! Yeah, cutie, that’s right; ride it out,” he snaps an abrupt drill to your aching entrance. “Ride it out…”

Sukuna scoffs lightly before whispering in your ear. “Done already, human?” Patronizing attitude to make you fidget. “Better be ready for me still.”

“Ehhh, but I’m not done here.” The snow-haired man retorts, massaging your waist out of the quakes.

A thread snaps in the wake of the other’s words, and Sukuna’s lack of patience drives him to push you and Gojo off of him. The two of you roughly position to where you are essentially straddling Gojo, his erection still inside your slick-coated cavern. The devilish man swiftly ends up on his knees before contorting his massive figure to dwarf both humans beneath him.

“Gahhh!! Sukuna, what the fuck w—Mmmph?!?” With the spawn of a mouth, the eastern king shuts the northern man up by slamming his upper left hand onto his mouth for an unexpected kiss. Gojo muffles under the other’s palm, the tongue shoving itself inside.

“Shut up,” Sukuna orders with annoyance. “So damn chatty…And you,” he uses his lower hands to steady your ass, and you stifle a yelp at the contact of something pressing up against the opening of your butt. “Stay still, or I can make it hurt real bad.”

His warning is enough to keep you immobile, following his instructions and stationing your breathing to a steady rhythm. Your hands-on Gojo’s chest ball to fists once Sukuna pushes his tip to your asshole, your mouth forming a permanent ‘o’ shape once he eventually gets the cockhead inside. Just when you thought this night couldn’t get any more extreme, you had forgotten about the taller individual’s well-endowed self: two hefty, girthy limbs that you NEVER, in your wildest dreams, imagine would put inside your body — not even one!

However, tonight was the night that would be put to the test, and at the very least, Sukuna compromised, using one of his members to ravage your interior while the other skims the crevice of your asscheecks. He goes excruciatingly slow; rather than just ramming the entire thing in one go, it’s better. Gods, no, you’d be shedding more tears than you already are. Every inch that’s plunged inside you pushes out shaky breaths, sobbing from the intrusion and bits of drool slowly escaping you.

“Daahhnn, ohmyG—Nnnm!!” It’s finally all in, all swallowed up by the ridge of your bottom. You call to him, “S-Sukunaa…fuull, so fuulll…”

“I bet you are.” He adds more weight, scrunching down, making it worse by caging you under his bow. Sukuna grinds his hips, which evoke sharp cries, “Hmmm, fuck, so tight…”

The salmon-haired behemoth rocks his enormous hips, the propulsion strong enough to rock you and Gojo concurrently. This time, unlike the northern man under you, Sukuna’s movements exude dominance; from his firm grip on your waist to the confident pull of his hips, everything he does is marked with a purpose. You can tell by how his big, weighty balls smack on your sexed union with Gojo.

Speaking of whom, the polar royal subsists in the kiss with Sukuna’s hand. Yet as the seconds turn to a minute, his expression morphs into a less perturbed display. Instead of fighting it, he kisses back with the palm and bucks his hips into you. The action of his cock rubbing on the sweet spots of your vagina while the one carves and churns your butthole and the other glides on your crack grinds your brain to turn into mush. Your nerves have yet to calm down from the prior orgasm, senses overloaded with constant commotion going on in your private parts.

Sukuna’s pushes become quicker and mightier, and the more he ruts, the more your clit grinds onto Gojo’s pelvis, sending shocks straight to your head. There’s no room for rest…! “—Ohhh, hooooh’Kunaaa, Kunaa, pleaseee…!”

“‘Please, please,’ please what?” He mocks you, knowing you’re powerless to reprimand him in this predicament. “Just whining and whining like a bitch in heat; have you no shame, princess?”

“Ohhh, I’m gonna—shtoooop!!” He licks your ear as you moan aloud, steamy tears striking down your hot cheeks. The pace increases, and so does the swipe of your clit and the bump of your womb. “Ohhhfuck, fuck, fuckfuuuuck…!!”

“Kehaha, look at you; the poor princess finally breaks their poised picture,” dark, pleased chuckles seep out of the demon king’s lips, biting onto your shoulder harshly to make you scream. And judging by him licking your added wound, you’re sure he drew blood.

“Ahhsshh—ohmyGod, ohmyGod!! S’kuna, don’t!!” Desperate pleads slur out. “I’m gonna break; y’re gonna break meee…!!!”

“Good, I want you to be broken,” he sneers as his upper right arm pushes you to face him. “Break for me; think of nothing else other than being mine. Right now, your mind, body, and soul are mine to torment and tear apart. You are my little dove, small and easy to break from now till your dying breath. Am I clear, pet?”

Scared? Of course. The way his scarlet orbs bore holes into your very being had you petrified; he doesn’t need his hellish aura and brawny hands that can snap a tree in half to assimilate fear into your heart. Witnessing the true power of the King of Demons with just his stare, nothing scarier than that…And yet, your anus and chasm can’t stop squeezing like crazy.

“…Yess, my Lord,” you croak, his finger wiping the saliva on his fingertip. “I am your pet from this—nnmm!!—this moment until the…very last.”

Anxiety doesn’t diminish when he broadens a devilish smile, but it transforms into perplexity once he slams his lips onto yours—your first kiss, taken by the eastern King, along with the chastity of your rear hole. And there’s Gojo, who is the very man who has taken claim of your virginity. Two men, your childhood companions, taking your firsts! Tonight, indeed, is marked down as an eventful occasion for you.

You sink into the passionate kiss, your tiny tongue swirling around with Sukuna’s, his fangs grazing the muscle teasingly before he nibbles on it to hear you shrill for him. All the while, his hips go erratic, motivating Gojo to increase his tempo. The feverish rhythm leaves you breathless, crying in the company of lust and rapture to the point that you’ve become numb. Your vision becomes blurry, your head foggy, and the air between you three misty. Noises of skin smacking onto each is all you hear, drowning you further into another spazz you couldn’t adequately foretell.

Gojo and Sukuna chase their climaxes together after your walls quirk and spasm uncontrollably, letting their fluids burst inside to fill your holes to the very brim. You howl in Sukuna’s mouth, who chews on your bottom lip roughly, same with Gojo’s with the palm before snatching his hand away. The snowy-headed man huffs and pants, nearly choking on spit as his midsection flexes with every jerk of his ejaculation. And the giant above you groans while rutting into your ass, not stopping until his high passes through, the free girth ejecting semen to paint across your sweaty back.

For a few seconds, it’s utterly hot and cold at the same time, your figure trembling with the acute shocks coursing through your bones. Eyes roll to the roof of your canopy, and limbs wobble and give way for you to slump after Sukuna releases you from his breathtaking kiss. Luckily, Gojo is there to catch you, the comely noble attending to you with kisses to your temple.

“Look what you did,” he spits to his left, wanting to rid his mouth of whatever remnants Sukuna left with that disgusting kiss. “You weren’t kiddin’ when you said you wanted to break them.”

“Hmph, don’t ever take me for a liar,” the demonic man stretches after withdrawing his length out of your butt, chortling at the sight of his essence sticking to you. “Oi, dove, you hear me?”

“Princess, you all right…?”

Whatever words the two were saying to you had begun to fade away despite their proximity. Your eyelids refuse to fight the urge to close, and your skin allows the cold breeze to blanket you. Everything goes black, your breathing returns to balance, and the sound of the fire cracking comes back to sing you to sleep.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“My Lady, are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

“Huh?” You snap out of being zoned out for the sixth time today. Your vision is now present with the gazebo view, the ocean glistening from the morning sun in the distance, contrasting with the beautiful greenery of your garden. Many flowers of different shapes and sizes, various colors painted on top of the veins and roots separated from the yellow brick road coursing around it.

You sit at the gazebo for your morning tea; it’s part of your morning routine after a nice bath and Utahime helping you pick what to wear for the day. Usually, when you sit here, you admire the tranquil sounds of the outside space and the sweet taste of your hot beverage.

“—Mmmm! Yeah, just like that, princess, keep gripping on me like that…”

“Stay still, or I can make it hurt real bad…Hmmm, fuck, so tight…”

Memories from last night flash one after the other, ringing your ears with nothing but the erotic noises and voices from the night before. Your cheeks dial in warmth, recollecting the senses of having both men — your childhood friends — so intimately close to you. The hotness of their breath touching your skin, the wet, teasing licks of the tongue from Sukuna’s stomach, Gojo’s slender fingers swiping and pinching your clitoris as he sucks on your nipple, and Sukuna using one of his arms to restrain your hands behind your back as he uses two others to keep your hips still to hammer your holes with his girth.

“Princess…” the way Gojo says your name, your stomach flips to the smooth tone of his voice. His striking blue eyes survey your expression like you’re his lost treasure. His hard body meshing together with your sweaty, soft figure is a sensation you’ll probably never forget…

“Princess…” Sukuna, with his red eyes and demonic face structure, put you in a paralysis spell, and his intimidating aura suffocates you to submit to his gaze and hold. Under his bow, you felt as though you were nothing but his and his alone. And you can’t tell if that is scary or intriguing…

“…—dy Lady….MY LADY!!”

“Y–Yes!?” Your attention swerves to reality, Utahime’s face mere inches from yours. Her brown eyes filled with worrisome confusion, scanning your expression.

“What on Tengen’s Earth is going on with you?” She says with a sigh, “Are you sick? Did you not get enough rest last night? Tsk, it must’ve been Lord Sukuna and that blue-eyed jerk. My apologies, my Lady. I hope their intrusion didn’t keep you awake for too long.”

You shake your head to your best friend. “No need to apologize, Utahime. And it’s all right; the Lords didn’t give me too much trouble.”

She gives a nod to your response, observing you picking up your teacup and taking a sip before setting it back down gently. “Still, I find it odd that both lords wished to see you so late at night. At the same time, too…If you don’t mind me asking, my Lady, what did they wish to speak with you?”

Again, she is your best friend, so you can trust her with the information you’re about to give. “…Apparently, both Lord Sukuna and Lord Gojo wish to have my hand in marriage—“

“MARRIAGE!!??”

“Shhhh!!” With haste, you stand from the table to cover your lady-in-waiting’s mouth from uttering another word. You swiftly survey the entire garden to see if anyone from the castle heard the shout. Luckily, it was just the two of you. “Please, Utahime, not so loud.”

The woman with her mouth covered blinks once, twice, before giving an assured mod for you to release her lips. She now speaks in whispers with you, “My apologies. But…marriage??”

“I know, it surprised me, too. It seems my father gave them his blessings to ask for my hand. It could be for the sake of our families and relations or to strengthen the bond of our empires to maintain the powerhouse that is our continent.”

“Mmm, those are valid reasons to consider, especially after the Great War, and that the bond of the three empires would give a good message…Or perhaps, did the Lords wish to wed you for more personal reasons?”

They did. That’s what you wanted to say. But instead, all you could do was think about their proposals from last night. The way they both stood on one knee and took two hands. Gojo’s eyes never looked so sincere and soft when looking at you, placing his soft lips on your left ring finger to gently kiss it. He looked like his princely self. But that night, he showed the caring and soothing cadence you had fallen in love with all these years. And Sukuna, oh Lord. Never did you think you’d live to witness the day this giant being before you took a knee for anyone – especially for you. Your right hand easily dwarfed in his grasp, brought to his lips that you’d only ever dream to have touch you. And those piercing eyes of his, red like blood, examining every single feature of yours as if you were the thing that made him strong yet weak. It was subtle, something only meant for your eyes to see. But most of all, it was genuine.

“…That might be it, as well.” You mutter under your breath, your cheeks becoming warm while reminiscing the scenes to yourself.

However, your chambermaiden was no fool at all. She could tell from your wandering gaze that something, in fact, did happen between the three royals that night. She lifted a brow at your response, “I think that is the case, seeing as though you’re trying to hide the smile from me.”

You squeak, immediately facing in her direction, seeing the foxy grin on her beautiful, scarred face. “I’m smiling?”

“Aha!” Oh no, I fell for it. “Gotcha! Oh my, it seems my Lady is having troubles with the heart. Could it be you are considering the marriage proposals?”

“W–Well…I don’t know myself,” it was an honest answer; you didn’t know the answer yourself. “The matter caught me off guard; I wasn’t expecting either of them to come to my quarters, let alone propose to me on the night of their arrival—“

“That’s not my question, my princess.” You gulp when she cuts you off, Utahime narrowing her feline eyes as she speaks. “It made you incredibly nervous that the three of you would be here at the same place, thinking those two would go at each other’s throats. Now, two Lords still stand, asking for you to be by their side, and you can barely keep a straight face. If you ask for my piece, I’m relieved they came here with the thoughts of marriage rather than spark up talk of another war in this continent.”

You hum along to your maiden's words, taking in her reasoning. Yet she continues, “And judging by how fidgety you appear to be on this fine morning, something tells me you’re on the fence of accepting. Who will take my Lady’s hand? Lord Ryomen? Gojo? Ugh. If it’s the latter, I’ll only deal with him for your happiness. And Lord Ryomen, oh my. Being the spouse to the most powerful beast of Holy Tengen's continent , it’s something out of a fairy—“

“Utahime, calm down!” You stop the lady from her excitement bubbling into something substantial. You can tell she’s itching to plan your wedding – whenever that be – once your tea time is finished. “I…I didn’t accept their proposals, not yet.”

The dark-haired woman drops her jaw; how unfortunate it is for you to lie to your best friend. “What do you mean!? You didn’t? Then how come you three were discussing for such a long time? I saw Lord Gojo return to his quarters in the middle of the night, and I figured it was because you all had an in-depth discussion.” You open your mouth, but your words are caught on the back of your tongue. You couldn’t formulate a proper excuse or lie in time. Because of that hesitation, Utahime’s brows draw upward with wide eyes, her mouth changing into a small “o” shape. It was at that moment that you realized you dug yourself a grave.

“Princess,” her voice was still hushed, speaking slowly as if not to jump so hard to her assumptions. “…What exactly were you doing with Lord Satoru and Ryomen?”

“PRINCESS! PRINCESS!!”

Saved by another voice entering the fray, you and your lady-in-waiting turn around to see another person coming to the garden, running down the brick road to your destination. As they came closer, you could tell from the bright blue hair and uneven bangs that it was Utahime’s apprentice, the lower-status handmaiden Kasumi Miwa. Your lady-in-waiting was the first to correct her before getting closer, “Maiden Miwa! I’ve told you about running so freely around the castle. What if you were to bump into someone?” When Miwa is in the presence of the two of you, she’s huffing and puffing. “And stand up straight!”

“Eek! Sorry, Lady Iori, but I come bearing news for the princess!” Miwa fixes her posture and messy blue hair while trying to situate her breaths steadily. “Princess, I’m here to tell you that Lords Sukuna Ryomen and Satoru Gojo wish to speak with you!”

Huh??!! “Pardon??”

“Yes, they wish to discuss their proposals with you from last night. At least, that’s what they told me…Oh, there they are!”

“Miwa, shhhh, don’t point!”

You pay no mind to your chambermaid lecturing her young student because your eyes follow the brick pathway up to the castle steps where two figures stand. Sukuna and Gojo stand at the entranceway to the garden, both wearing their respective clothing. Not that it matters, though, because the memories from last night with your nude bodies being connected still haunt your senses. And now they’re here, big grins on their faces that share the same reason. They know, and they know that you know. Who knew that such a night full of unexpected passion and heat would happen to you and with your closest friends since your little years, who have grown to become such strong, handsome, and powerful men.

Perhaps this was the union you’ve wished for — the union that could finally bring you three back together…Perhaps.

“…Tell them that I’m available to speak.”

4K notes · View notes

sceletaflores · 21 days ago

Text

I COULD PLAY THE DOCTOR (I CAN CURE YOUR DISEASE)

pair: logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, established relationship, logan's pov, written with origins!logan in mind, nat veering dangerously closer to a/b/o territory with every passing day, rut cycles, oral sex (fem!receiving), fingering (fem!receiving), multiple orgasms, gratuitous amounts of dirty talk, p in v, rough sex, biting, hair pulling, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, one (1) single use of the word daddy, scent kink, pain kink, breeding kink ofc, knotting (don’t look at me…), squirting, porn w/ plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: don’t look at me…i don’t know how many times i swore up and down i’d never write something like this but i’m a confirmed liar apparently so…here. i mean i just figured i'm in a rut artistically so therefore the only answer is writing logan in a rut physically...i can do what i want and i don't need to explain myself or my horny thoughts. also, i debated posting this in the wake of everything that's gone down over the past two days that is still escalating and will continue to escalate in the coming weeks, but i think everyone could use a little escape from how scary things may seem right now. take a break from all the terrifying news sites and read about logan wanting to breed you :) kisses!

divider by angel @saradika-graphics!

it's been another six months, and logan needs your help...

The burn starts on the walk home from work, a pulse of heat deep in Logan's gut that grows with every step.

It spreads slowly, sinking into his muscles and seeping up his spine as he rounds the last corner, your place less than a block away now.

It caught him off guard this time, an itch burying itself under his skin earlier in the day only to get worse and worse as he worked.

He usually knew the signs well enough to feel them start creeping in, and he was dead sure it wasn't for another few weeks.

Apparently, he was wrong.

Logan’s jaw clenches as he picks up his pace, every nerve ending in his body straining to break into a full blown sprint at the thought of you, all alone and waiting for him.

His fingers curl into tight fists, nails pressing into his palms to ground himself, though it’s hardly enough. The faint scent of you drifts up from his shirt, not even a long day at the lumberyard enough to drown it out.

By the time he reaches your door, his heartbeat is a heavy thud in his ears, syncing with the building ache of desire wracking through his body like the earth rattling boom of a raging thunder storm.

He fumbles through getting his key into the lock, hands unsteady as he tugs the door open with a little more force than necessary and finally steps inside.

The second he closes the door behind him, the heat surges, thrumming through his veins and flooding his chest. Your scent fills the air completely, stronger now, wrapping around him so thick and sweet.

"Darlin'?" His voice comes out rougher than he intends, but he's beyond caring.

Your voice floats from the other room, casual, warm enough to send a jolt through him. Logan drops his axe from his shoulder, leaning it against the door as he starts down the familiar path to your bedroom.

You're spread out on his side of the bed—oblivious, curled up with a book, wrapped in one of the flannels he must have left the last time he stayed over.

Just the sight of you does something to him, like a match dragged against a strike pad, damned on setting everything ablaze.

You glance up, and the soft smile on your lips falters as you catch sight of him.

Logan knows what he must look like, his eyes all dark and predatory, chest heaving as he rakes his hungry gaze over you like a wolf watches a lamb grazing too close to its den.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just stalks toward you with a purpose that’s as undeniable as the heat pouring off him in waves.

The book slips from your fingers, forgotten, as you lean back, the small sound of your breath hitching under the weight of his gaze is music to his ears.

Logan pauses at the edge of the bed, towering over you, letting himself drink in the way you look. So soft and serene, like some kind of invitation that begs him closer. His flannel draped loosely over your shoulders–shrouding you in his scent.

The urge to pounce on you fights against his normal instinct to savor every second, to draw it out until the heat pooling in his gut becomes downright unbearable.

“Been thinkin’ about you all damn day,” he mutters, voice thick and dark as molasses, rough from restraint he’s quickly losing. His knuckles brush against your thigh, then tighten, holding you in place as he leans down, his breath hot against your neck. “Thinkin’ about what I was gonna when I finally got my hands on you.”

Your skin blooms with warmth beneath his touch, and he grins against your neck, the edge of his teeth grazing you just enough to make you squirm. He growls low in his throat, that itch he’s been fighting nearly all day clawing its way up to the surface with a vengeance.

The primal urge inside of him screaming to claim claim claim take take take mate mate mate breed breed breed.

You tilt your head to the side with a soft sigh, freeing up more space for him to nose along your skin. “Is it time?”

Logan's breath catches as your question hangs in the air, thick with anticipation. The soft simplicity of it ignites the wildfire burning in his gut, every ounce of restraint slipping away like sand through his fingers.

“Yeah, baby,” he growls, slipping his fingers under the worn cotton of your shorts, feeling the bare skin beneath. “It’s time.”

You shift, hands going to the buttons of his flannel like you’re going to take it off. Logan stops you, taking your wrists in his free hand.

“Don’t,” he breathes, shaking his head hard enough that his hair flows with it. “Leave it on.”

The thought of you covered in his scent, of his scent mixing with yours to claim you on a level only he can discern sends his mind buzzing.

You look up at him with those wide, trusting eyes, and something in him cracks wide open. The tenderness of your gaze pulls at him, like a tether pulling him back from the edge, but that heat still smolders in his blood, fierce and unyielding.

Logan runs his thumb along the racing pulse of your wrist before he drops them. His hands venture lower, fingers pressing against the inside of your thigh, tracing a deliberate path that makes your body tremble under his touch.

You let out a shuddering breath, the scent of your arousal swirling through the air is enough to make him crave more.

In one rough tug, Logan yanks you towards the edge of the bed as he falls to his knees. Your hips held tight in his hands as he lurches forward, burying his nose in the soft junction where your leg and inner thigh meet.

He inhales deep, greedy lungfuls of your scent. A guttural growl rumbles through his chest, his eyes screwing shut at the sheer amount of too much that courses through him. He feels dizzy with it, high on the pheromones pumping from you in waves.

You’re soaked already, the wet fabric of your shorts melded to the shape of your cunt. He can’t help but run his nose along the slick seam of you, reveling in the way your legs twitch on either side of his head, in the short gasp you let out.

“Logan.” Your voice is nothing but a mewl, pleading and desperate.

“Missed you,” he rasps, his voice rough, almost unrecognizable. The edge of need in him makes his hands shake, sliding up your thighs, urging them even further apart as he settles between them.

Logan’s fingers dig into your skin, he lets his thumbs brush up, hooking them into the waistband of your shorts to tug them down your legs in one sharp yank. He groans at the sight of you completely bare, no underwear.

“Fuck, look at you,” he grates, his thumb coming down to slip through your dripping cunt. Your hole flutters desperately around him, needy little clenches like it’s trying to suck him in. “She’s all ready for me, huh? Been waiting for me to come home and give her some attention?”

“Please,” you whimper, your voice thick with longing, the sound going straight to his head, clouding his thoughts.

Logan’s pulse races as he watches your body arch instinctively toward his touch, the desperate need in your eyes igniting the raw urges coursing through him.

He can’t deny you; he never could. You’re a feast laid out before him, and he’s starving.

Logan leans closer, letting his tongue flick out to taste you like he’s wanted to since he left for work this morning.

“Fuck,” he breathes, closing his eyes and losing himself in the moment. He licks a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit, savoring the way your body responds, the way your legs tremble and your hips twitch against his mouth, seeking more. “Tastes like fuckin’ heaven, sweetheart.”

The taste of you is intoxicating—sweet and tangy, flooding his senses with every drag and swirl of his tongue.

Logan can’t help but moan against you, the sound vibrating through your body as he dives deeper, his nose nudging against your slick entrance as he shakes his head back and forth like an animal—rubbing the plush skin of your inner thighs red and raw with each rough drag of his coarse beard.

Every flick of his tongue sends a shockwave through you, and he revels in the sounds you make—each whimper, each moan, a siren’s call urging him deeper. He laves his tongue around your clit, sucking it gently, pulling at it with his lips as you writhe beneath him, begging for more.

He keeps your thighs spread wide, two strong hands pinning them to the mattress so he can devour you just the way you deserve, the sharp dig of your heels into his shoulders only spurs him on.

Your hands bury themselves in his hair, tugging him closer, and he groans into you, letting his tongue delve deeper, seeking out every bit of sweetness he can coax from you.

It’s pure sin, each sound you make, each shiver that runs through you as he takes his time, drinking you down like a man starved.

The ache in him intensifies, his own need growing, pulsing. He’s hard, has been hard since he walked through the front door.

His cock strains against the zipper of his jeans, need pulsing in time with each pump of his blood through his shaft, circling around the base, threatening to expand even without the tight grip of your pussy surrounding him. His hips jerk up on their own volition, desperate for any friction.

“Just like that, Logan,” you gasp, voice breathy and trembling with pleasure.

The way you say his name—raw, desperate—makes his blood run hotter. He grips your thighs tighter, anchoring you to the bed as he drinks you in, wanting to lose himself in you completely.

Logan pulls away just long enough to catch his breath, looking up at you with lust-drunk eyes, drinking in the sight of your sweaty cheeks, your heavy-lidded gaze, the way your chest rises and falls with each shuddering breath.

The pulse of his cock intensifies, urging him to speed things along. The base desire of his own instincts is getting harder and harder to ignore under your adoring stare.

He feeds his fingers into your clenching hole with no warning, a satisfied smirk tugging his lips up at your sharp gasp. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, the entire lower half of his face still shining with your essence.

Your cunt swallows him, two thick fingers sinking into the velvety heat like it’s nothing.

Logan groans as he feels you clench around him, your walls fluttering and drawing him in deeper. “That’s it, baby,” he mutters, his voice hoarse with need. “So fuckin’ ready for me, so ready for daddy’s fingers in your pussy.”

Your mouth drops open in another devastatingly desperate noise, your hands twist his hair roughly, soft breasts rising and falling each time you gasp for air. The dim light of the sunset filters in through the blinds, highlighting the curves of your body, slick and shining with a thin sheen of sweat.

Every clench of your walls around his fingers shoots a thrill straight to his cock, making him ache with the urge to bury himself inside you. The overwhelming need to take you completely, to mark you and fill you, pulses through his veins until he feels like he might explode.

But he’s not done tasting you yet. Not until you’re practically dripping onto the sheets.

He lowers his mouth back to your core, sucking your clit into his mouth as his fingers pump faster. The sudden intensity makes your thighs shake around his head, and he grins against you. He wants to see you fall apart—wants to feel it.

“Logan—please, I…” You can barely get the words out, voice breaking as your whole body strains against him, desperate and needy.

The wet slap of his palm against your spit soaked cunt is loud in the quiet of your bedroom, blending with the loud keens that fall from your parted lips. He crooks his fingers, rubbing at that soft, spongy spot inside of you.

“Come on,” he mutters, slick lips brushing against your clit as he speaks. “Give it to me, baby. Show me you're ready for my cock."

He drags the sharp edge of his canine against your pulsing clit with barely any pressure, and you're coming.

Your whole body tenses, back bowing off the mattress as you let out a broken cry of his name. The bite of your nails digging into his scalp feels harsh enough to draw blood, a feeble attempt at grounding yourself against the onslaught of pleasure.

Your trembling thighs tighten around his shoulders, gripping him like a vice as your shaking cunt gushes around his fingers. Logan groans at the feeling, eyes slipping shut as you drench his wrist and chin in your juices.

Even then, he doesn’t let up, fingers pumping relentlessly as he draws out every pulse, every aftershock of your climax, every tiny spray of your release splashing against his wrist.

He’s lost in the feel of you—slick and trembling under his hands, the scent of your release filling his lungs, thick and intoxicating.

You slump back against the bed, body limp and spent. His own need is a driving, aching force now, clawing at his insides, demanding more.

He slips his fingers free from your dripping heat, dragging them through the wetness coating his chin as he licks them clean with a growl, savoring every taste.

“Good girl,” he purrs, voice thick with pride and satisfaction as he pulls back, leaving your thighs twitching in the wake of his touch. But he still isn’t finished. Not even close.

You barely have time to catch your breath before Logan crawls up the bed, his eyes locked on you, pupils blown with need. He looms over you, hands planting on either side of your head. His cock grinds against you through the rough denim, and you can feel just how thick and hard he is, throbbing through the fabric, demanding to be freed.

With a low groan, he shifts his hips, dragging his bulge along your soaked cunt, sending another jolt of pleasure racing through you. His hands are all over you, gripping your waist, hot and possessive.

“Feel that?” he asks, pressing his lips the wild flutter of your pulse, the need to sink his teeth in the soft skin of your neck raises the hair on the back of his neck. “That’s what you do to me baby. Got me hard as a fuckin’ rock, just aching to be inside you.”

Your arms circle his shoulders, clawing at the fabric off his shirt. “Need you inside me, Logan. Please, want it so bad.”

The pure need lacing your words, your scent calling out to him, the way he can feel the front of his jeans getting soaked through with the slick pouring from your cunt all pull him deeper into the recesses of his hind-brain.

The mounting desperation to stuff you full of his cock finally reaches a fever pitch.

With a deep growl, Logan rears back as far as he can bear, just enough to tear his shirt over his head before he fumbles with the heavy buckle of his belt to free his aching cock.

He shoves his jeans down, boxers quickly following until there’s nothing separating him from the cool air of your bedroom. His cock springs free, hot and flushed an angry red color, drooling from the tip enough that it drips down to stain the pretty floral sheets of your bed.

Your eyes zero in on him, mouth dropping open at the sight. His cock so heavy it doesn’t curve upward to slap against his stomach, instead it hangs down to sway between his thighs as he moves closer.

Your legs spread as he nears, slick covered thighs parting to make room for him to slot between them. So obedient, so good, so well trained.

Logan takes himself in his hand, nearly wincing at the blazing temperature of his skin. He secures his hand around the base, squeezing where his knot threatens to pop before he’s even got in you.

He slips the angry head through the folds of your cunt, slapping it against your clit with a wet ‘thwack’ sound. He can feel the way it twitches and shakes, just as desperate as him.

“Look at that,” he mutters darkly, eyes glued to where he’s laid his cock flat against your stomach, leaking pre-come all over your soft skin. “How’s it gonna fit, baby?” He shifts his hips, sawing his length back and forth to see just how deep in you he’ll be.

Your glassy eyes drop, a broken moan passing through your slack lips when you take in the sight. Your hips rise off the bed, grinding your cunt along the seam of his heavy balls, along the prominent vein trailing up the underside.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Logan grits out, eyes hooded and dark as he watches you grind against him. “You’re gonna take it all. Gonna make you feel every last fuckin’ bit of me.”

He groans, gritting his teeth as he presses in further, each inch a battle against the tight, molten heat that grips him like a vice. Your body shudders as he fills you, your slick warmth pulling him deeper and deeper, and he sinks down until he’s fully seated, his hips flush with yours.

The pressure is mind-numbing, your walls clenching around him in rhythmic pulses that make his vision blur. He stills for just a second, savoring the way your body stretches around him, hugging him in a way that feels like it was made for him alone.

Logan watches your face as you adjust to the stretch, your brows pinched together, each breath coming fast and shallow, your eyes glazed with pleasure.

Then, your hands come to his shoulders, nails digging little crescent moons into his skin as you nod your head, ready.

It’s all the confirmation he needs. His hips pull back before he slams in again, the force of it jolting your whole body. He presses his forehead to your shoulder, teeth bared as he muffles a snarl against your skin.

Logan thrusts again, and again, and again, hips setting a merciless pace as he watches the way your breasts bounce with each thrust, each little shudder.

His mouth waters with the need to taste, to sink his teeth into your supple skin hard enough to pierce clean through, hard enough to scar.

Sweat drips down the length of his spine, across his brow. It mats down the hair scattered over his chest, his dog tags slick with it when they bounce off his skin with each thrust. The grip of his hands tightens on your hips, it’s taking everything in him to hold back and yet he knows you’ll still bruise tomorrow.

Pretty hues of dark purples and yellows in the shape of his fingers, ones he’ll catch you admiring in the bathroom mirror, pressing your own fingertips into them to feel the dull ache—to remember this moment.

“Made for this, aren’t you?” he rasps, his voice dark and possessive. “Made to take me, to be mine.”

The words barely leave his mouth before he’s bending down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries as he drives into you, pushing you both closer to that sweet edge.

“Fuck, Logan,” you gasp, breaking the kiss as your body trembles under him. “Can–ah!–can feel you in my stomach…”

Your hand drops from his shoulder, slipping between your bodies to rest over the sweaty expanse of your belly. Logan’s eyes follow your path, a feral growl bursting from his chest before he can stop it.

He’s transfixed by it, sure that if he pressed his hand to the soft skin of your lower stomach right over your own, that he’d feel it. Feel the way his cock punches up against your insides, so deep it's like he’s rearranging your guts to make room.

“Fuck.” His voice is nothing but a gravelly rumble, hoarse and dark as midnight. His hips speed up impossibly faster, chasing the feeling of your clenching walls choking the length of his cock so tight he thinks it might snap off at the base.

The flimsy headboard of your bed slams against the wall, creaky mattress springs screaming under his ministrations.

You feel like salvation, like the first rays of light after too many years spent in the dark.

He feels it with each kiss of his cock against your cervix, in the way your lips fit in the junction of his neck, in the red welts your nails leave on the skin of his back. He feels alive, truly alive, for the first time in decades.

“Say my name,” he grates, his hand cupping the back of your neck, coaxing you to look up at him, lips close enough to taste the heat radiating from his skin. “Tell me who you belong to.”

"Logan," you gasp, your voice breathy, edged with desperation as he pushes you closer to the brink. "Yours. Only yours."

A broken, shaky noise falls from his lips as he buries his face in your neck. He mouths at your skin desperately, presses his nose to where your scent is the strongest.

Flashes of his release spraying your insides play behind his closed eyes, thoughts of drenching you so thoroughly that it has to take only forcing his hips to slam against the rippling muscle of your ass like you have your own magnetic pull. He feels it building, the slow swell of his knot presses against your folds, ready to burst.

“Come on, honey,” he begs, thumb coming down to rub slow circles over your slick clit. “Come with me, soak my cock. Show me how much you love it, how much you love me.”

Pathetic little uh uh uh’s fall from you with every thrust, broken up only by the breathy whines of his name as he pounds into you hard enough to push your body higher up the mattress. Finally, with a loud roar, he stuffs his growing knot inside of your cunt.

Logan’s teeth sink into your neck before he can even think twice about it, the thick spray of his come filling you as his hands pull your hips down even further over his cock. He needs to be as deep in you as possible, to press forward until he can’t anymore, until his aching balls are flush with your gushing cunt.

He watches with rapt attention as you come with a loud wail, just from the feeling of his knot slotting into place. The clamp of your thighs over his hips is nearly as tight as the way your cunt seizes around him like it’s scared he’ll leave.

He groans at the over stimulation of your cunt milking his cock. Your slick leaks around the base of him, your shaking hole plugged so full it can only slip along the creamy ring to splash weakly against his thighs and hips.

Logan licks along the spot where his teeth pierced your skin, planting one last kiss before he’s taking you in his arms and rolling onto his back atop the mattress. The plush comforter sticks to his skin, your own sweaty body slipping against his as he tries his best to not jostle you too much while keeping you stuffed full of his cock.

He holds you to his chest until your breathing evens out, until your body stops trembling on top of his, until you’re nosing along the column of his neck.

“Logan?” Your voice is tiny, hoarse and scratchy. He feels your hand drawing absent minded shapes along the skin of his stomach. A circle, a star, a figure eight, a heart.

“Yeah baby?” he says, pressing his lips to the crown of your head, eyes slipping shut at the content feeling that spreads through him.

“Love you,” you murmur, voice soft but sure, the words slipping out without hesitation.

It’s the first time you’ve said it today, and hearing those three words from you sends warmth flooding through him.

Logan shifts slightly, pulling you even closer, his hand moving to the back of your head, cradling you with a kind of tenderness he used to think he’d never be capable of. “I love you too, darlin’. More than you know.”

Your body relaxes against him, the lingering effects of your shared intimacy still buzzing through your limbs, but now there’s a sense of peace, of safety, and a deeper connection.

He can feel the way your fingers curl lightly against his skin, the quiet smile that must be tugging at your lips as you press a kiss to the side of his neck.

And in that moment, with everything settled around him, Logan knows that this, right here, is everything.

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3K notes · View notes

eddies-ashtray · 3 months ago

Text

white hot forever

Pairing: Logan “Wolverine” Howlett x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Most days exhaustion plagues him. But tonight, with his last dregs of energy, Logan cooks for you. Though he’s hungry for something far more enticing.

WC: 5.6k

Category: Smut (18+ ONLY, minors dni)

Content: Implied (non-specified) age gap, kissing, Logan throws reader over his shoulder/carries her, cunnilingus, unprotected pnv, reverse cowgirl, dirty talk, petnames (baby, old man, etc), beard burn, 1 single spank, some light nipple play, spitting, kinda dom logan/sub reader, light teasing/mocking, a dash of humiliation kink, lots of manhandling, an inordinate amount of animal metaphor/simile, mentions of logan’s exhaustion/aging due to the adamantium poisoning.

♡*♡*♡

His biceps strain against the thin cotton of his white button-down–the sleeves rolled up–as he finely chops a red pepper. His heavy hand lends to the particularly booming sound of the knife landing on the wood cutting board. But you don’t mind, content to observe from your ideal spot on the countertop of the island.

A half empty wine glass sits in your palm as your gaze lingers on the smattering of dark hair beneath the low-cut tank he wears under the button-down.

The kitchen smells of the sweetness of the cooking oil he used and the warmth of nostalgia. Faint memories from childhood of your mother bustling around the kitchen as she prepared dinner linger at the edges of your mind, brought on by familiar scents. When you breathe it in, you also catch lingering traces of Logan’s shampoo and, faintly, sweat.

“You ever…Ya know,” you pause, swirling the white liquid around. “Use the claws to chop an onion or something?”

Doing your best to suppress a smirk when Logan looks up at you from beneath his brows and pins you with a stern gaze, you hold his eyes.

You quirk a brow, waiting for his response as a snort threatens to bubble up.

A smirk cracks through his intense facade, crows feet deepening slightly. With an endearing shake of his head, he huffs a laugh through his nose. Logan’s a bit of a grump—even more so now that his hair has greyed and he’s let his beard grow somewhat unruly—but he’s not without a sense of humour.

“No,” his voice, though signed with a note of playfulness, is as gruff as always when he rests the knife on the cutting board. “But as you know, they’ve been useful for…other things.”

The word ‘other’ is loaded with intensity as the hand that previously gripped the knife handle lands deceptively gently on your right knee. It skates roughly up your thigh to thumb at the edge of your skirt.

You only hum in response. Despite the warmth of the kitchen, a chill runs up your spine and you shiver involuntarily. You’re not sure how he does that. Dial things up to 100 before you can even blink. It keeps you on your toes, even a few years in.

Now it’s his turn to quirk a brow–ever expressive–when his heavy gaze finally lifts from your legs.

Warmth begins to seep into your chest and stoke a small fire in your belly.

But the growing tension vanishes the moment a timer dings, shrill and intrusive.

Pulling himself away from your skin to tend to the sound, Logan bends at the knees to pull a steaming dish from the oven.

The crack of his joints is a quiet popping sound compared to the low grunt he releases when he stands back up to his full height to place the dish on the stovetop.

He tosses a worn out dish towel over his shoulder–the same one he’d used to pull the food from the oven.

Watching him carefully as he spins around in search of his whiskey glass, you remark, “You look handsome like this.”

You pass him the liquor, his large hand wrapping around the glass.

“Handsome like what?” he asks, a hint of a chuckle in his voice.

It’s not often Logan has the energy for this. Long days drain him now. Like sweet syrup from a tapped tree, a slow drip that takes and takes.

“Just–in the kitchen with me. Cooking…Taking care of me,” you say.

Another soft smile graces his lips and he presses a tender kiss to your cheek, a hand at your hip, and your face warms.

Gulping down a healthy sip of his drink, his throat bobs as he swallows the auburn liquid. When the glass clinks against the marble as he puts it down, you notice droplets linger in his beard. Once you’ve placed your own glass down you reach to thumb away the beaded liquid.

“Hm?” he hums, though it’s more of a growl when he does it, the sound rumbling up from deep in his broad chest.

“Just got some…” you trail off, expecting him to come to the natural conclusion himself when you lean in and cup his jaw. Feel the roughness of his beard against your palm as you swipe away the small droplet. “There.”

Logan leans briefly into your touch to kiss the soft skin of your palm in thanks. The gesture makes your heart ache.

You’re about to pull away, but Logan grasps your wrist in one strong hand, savouring your touch. He’s looking at you with an unexpected hunger behind his eyes as he feels the skin of your wrist beneath his rough palm. You can’t deny the way it revives the searing heat in the pit of your stomach.

“What?” The word comes out more breathy than you’d intended.

“Nothin’.” Logan shakes his head, holding your gaze. He releases your hand gently.

The word lingers in the air between you.

The way he says it–like it’s not really nothing–wires you right up again. You know he knows it too–his overly keen senses able to pick up the rhythm of your heart hammering against your ribcage.

You need to expel the energy or let the tension snap but can only think of the intoxicating scent of whiskey on his breath. “You know, I’ve never tried whiskey.”

He’s quick to respond. “No? You want to?”

“Okay.” It comes out in a whisper. The atmosphere feels too fragile for any other tone.

Logan grabs the crystal glass, just another sip or two remaining. He steals another as he steps in front of you, his left palm falling to your knee to push your legs apart so he has room to stand between them.

He lingers above you and you lick your lips in anticipation, catching the way hazel eyes darken beneath furrowed brows.

Then, Logan looks away and you watch as he places the glass down on the counter and his palms flat beside your thighs, effectively caging you in so you’re trapped in his space. Logan is all you can breathe, all you can see, all you can smell as your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths.

Eyes finally returning to yours, his head tilts to the side–cocky, challenging. “Then give your old man a kiss.”

A whimper nearly escapes you before you’re wrapping your arms around his neck and hungrily pressing your lips to his like it’s an order. It may as well have been, gruff as he is.

Logan grunts in response to your quick action, pulling your leg around his waist so your heel digs into the small of his back.

The roughness of his beard rubs your chin and cheeks, a pleasant sting against sensitive skin. Though you’re soon distracted when his hand leaves your calf in favour of greedily running up your thigh. They leave heat and tingling skin in their wake, and you gasp into the kiss when he gives the meat of your thigh a generous squeeze.

His desperation for you is matched only by yours for him as you wind your other leg around his hips to tug him closer. Grunting at your forcefulness, Logan finally slips his tongue into your warm mouth.

The whiskey on his tongue is overpowering as he kisses you like he’s starving for it–the meal he was making long forgotten. Warm hands brush up the length of your spine, eliciting a subtle shiver, before one of his large palms cradles your skull like you’ll shatter without the support.

His nose bumps yours as he deepens the kiss, licking into your mouth with fervour now. When his spare hand coasts over your chest to grab at your tits over your top, you arch into his touch with a moan like he demands it.

When you bite his bottom lip he growls, long and deep. A renewed sense of desperation claws at your skin as your kisses become increasingly wanton and sloppy. Tangling tongues generate sounds bordering on obscenity.

His claws may as well be dragging down your body, leaving bloody marks in their wake with the way his touch makes your skin sing. You hope he leaves bruises when he grasps at the flesh of your hips, pulling your lower-half flush against his pelvis.

You can feel him, hard and straining against his black slacks. It’s impossible not to moan, lips leaving his as your mouth falls open to release the breathy sound.

For a moment, you grind against his cock with your forehead pressed to his, using your hands wrapped around his neck as leverage. Feeling back muscles flex under your warm palms. The delicious slide of your soaked panties against his hardness is enough to drive you wild.

A gasp is pulled out of you when your clit catches briefly on his tip beneath clean slacks. Logan growls through clenched teeth, pressing you into him harder, fervently rolling his hips. The sound makes your pussy clench around nothing.

“Logan,” you whimper, aching for him as you pant into each other’s mouths. “Please.”

“Fuck,” he rasps before he’s scooping you up off the counter, hoisting you up over his shoulder. Squealing at the surprise demonstration of his great strength, Logan strides through the kitchen and towards the living room.

Desire burns deep in your belly as he carries you across the house like it’s nothing. He’s all broad chest, bulging biceps, and thick thighs. It makes you dizzy. You can’t help but reach out and pinch the meat of his thigh.

“Hey!” He barks.

Unsurprisingly quickly, Logan delivers a sharp smack to your ass and you yelp in shock, jolting against him. “So fuckin’ naughty.”

The lingering sting coupled with his gruff tone has you squirming in his hold, whining low in your throat.

In a single sudden motion, Logan manoeuvers you off his shoulder, dropping you onto the couch. And suddenly you feel deliciously small pinned beneath his hooded gaze. He towers over you. His staggering height emphasized from your perspective where you lay against the cushions.

He’s assumed that authoritative stance that has every atom in your body buzzing–his arms crossed over his chest. This paired with his hard gaze is a lethal combination. He’s got that look in his eyes, like what am I gonna do with you?

“Sorry.” Insincerity bleeds through your tone. You like to get him like this. To rile him up until he is more animal than man.

Hazel eyes narrow as he grunts, disbelieving your weak apology.

“You wanna be sorry?” He asks with a quick flick of his chin in your direction.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you nod. His chest rumbles with a deep sigh.

Unable to avert your gaze from his face, you bear witness to the glorious sight of Logan shedding his button-down. Your hips wiggle subtly in anticipation–though Logan would call it impatience. The cotton article is tossed carelessly over the chair by the couch.

He crouches down with a soft grunt, nods. “Okay.”

Swiftly, you are tugged to the edge of the couch by Logan’s hands on your hips. Your skirt gets rucked up your waist, exposing you to the warm air of the house. Though it feels far more jarringly cool between your legs where you’re hot and wanting, pussy weeping for the older man before you.

“So fuckin’ soaked already,” He mutters, more to himself than to you. The comment has pleasure boiling low in your belly.

“Logan.” He glances up at you briefly then returns his eyes to your cunt.

You watch with rapture as his nostrils flare, no doubt overwhelmed by your scent this close to your centre. A predator ready to devour its prey.

For the briefest of moments, Logan admires the wetness seeping through your panties, presses his thumb against the clothed, leaking well just to see your hips jump. Biting back a pathetic whine is far more difficult when his lips twitch into a faint smirk.

There’s a change in his eyes in a split second where brows lower and pupils dilate. It’s then that he rips your panties down your legs and you swear you hear the distinct sound of fabric tearing. Gasping, you toss your head back between your shoulders, panting and warm all over.

His chest rumbles with a guttural sound, savouring the sight of you spread open wide and dripping for him.

Logan’s rough hands rub up and down your thighs, hungry. When they pause you swear you can feel his gaze burning a hole into the column of your throat.

“Eyes,” He demands.

You obey, catching a glimpse of him stuffing your panties into his back pocket from where he kneels on the floor between your legs.

The anticipation eats you alive, hips flexing, unable to remain still. Logan pins them down in an instant.

Everything quiets. Tunnel vision casts out any and all sound or sight besides him.

“Don’t move,” Is all he says before he’s diving in and devouring you, tongue hot on your sensitive skin.

“Fuck!” you cry, hands plunging into his hair.

He’s groaning the second his tongue licks up your cunt, dining on your taste. He gorges on you like he’s been deprived of your taste for far too long and he’s hollow without it.

You’re drunk and dizzy on the way his beard scratches against your skin. The way the thick hair rubs against your cunt and sensitive inner thighs. A carnal craving satisfied. He’ll pull away after and be covered in you, unable to kiss you without smearing your desire across your own chin.

The rough tug you give his hair causes him to grunt into you. He eats you out with zeal, an energy that so often eludes him these days.

“Feels so good…Shit…So-” you babble on, only half aware of the praise spilling from your mouth.

For now, you are not sorry about his overzealous approach. But you will be. After, when the burn becomes a sting. When you are unable to walk for a week straight without feeling the roughness of his beard between your thighs. When he’ll reach over while he’s driving and squeeze your thigh meanly as a reminder.

For now, you moan unabashedly as he nips at your clit harshly. Free roaming hands find warm skin, grabbing fistfulls of you. Rubbing your thighs, grabbing at your hips, spreading possessively over your stomach. Soon, his hand snakes under your top to squeeze at your tits, and you gasp sharply when he pinches your nipple between thumb and forefinger.

The fire in your belly rages on, burning bright, spitting ash.

“Logan,” You whine, long and drawn out, when he shakes his head back and forth animalistically, coating more of his beard in your wetness, your scent. He grunts against your pussy at the sound of his name hot on your tongue, the vibrations it causes driving you mad.

His roughness makes your cunt throb. You derive as much pleasure from the sensation of his tongue licking up your slit and circling your clit as you do from simply watching him like this. His eyes shut in concentration, locked in as he laps up your juices like it sustains him. Like he is taking his fill of you before he hibernates for the winter.

Just the obscene sounds of his hunger, the slurping and the groans emanating from deep within his chest are enough to prompt your hips to grind up into the pleasure his mouth provides. And he accepts all of it enthusiastically.

You get lost in it, his wet muscle prodding at your entrance, licking up your slit to spread the wetness he’d collected over your clit. He sucks it between his lips, causing you to groan.

Briefly, Logan pulls away, and you whine in protest. But his pause allows you to glimpse the parts of his beard that are now matted down with wetness. The sight causes warmth to spread across your chest, equal parts humiliation and pleasure.

“Taste so fuckin’ good, baby,” he pants against your thigh, warm breath fanning over your puffy cunt. “Look at you,” he slurs, thumb rubbing over your pussy, spreading the wetness all over.

Your hips jump and you whine again. Logan growls a quiet, desperate sound before diving back in, practically making out with your pussy and inserting two of his thick fingers into your heat.

“Shit! Lo-” his name gets cut off with a girlish moan, a high sound only he could pull out of you, body completely overwhelmed by the excess of pleasure.

“There she is,” he drawls, voice muffled and thick with lust before enveloping your clit in the warmth of his mouth and sucking. Your grip in his hair tightens as your hips grind into his mouth and down onto his fingers. Fingers which curl up into the gummy walls of your cunt, languidly brushing that sensitive spot inside over and over.

Soon, slow movements evolve into quicker, but still consistent and deliberate, pumps into your weeping hole. It is precisely then that the ever-growing fire in your belly begins to consume you entirely. The moment Logan’s jaw goes slack and he begins to desperately lap at your cunt with a near entire loss of coordination, your vision goes white.

Your orgasm crashes over you, an all-consuming force as Logan continues to fuck you with his fingers. It’s like you are bursting at the seams, coming apart in his hands. Every cell in your body catches fire as you roll your hips into his hand, riding out the waves of your climax.

You’re panting as you come down, hips slowing to a stop as your body becomes over-sensitive to his touch. You twitch as Logan slowly pulls his fingers from you, his head falling to rest on your trembling thigh.

“You know…For an old man, that was-”

You suck in a sharp breath, hips jumping at the harsh sensation of Logan intentionally rubbing his beard over your already burning inner thighs. He chuckles lowly at your reaction, but is quick to soothe you, laying tender kisses across heated skin.

Your hands trail down from his hair, and stroke a thumb softly over his cheek. He allows the sweet touches to continue for several moments before he pushes off his knees with a grunt. Logan falls onto the couch next to you, legs spread wide. Eyeing him in your periphery, you can tell he’s just as exhausted as you; his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

You’re still panting softly as you watch him, your limbs like Jell-O, skirt hastily pushed up past your waist, and top askew. The sight of him licking his fingers clean of you makes your clit twitch despite its sensitivity.

Finally, he finds your eyes.

“C’mere,” Logan rasps, patting his thigh.

It takes great effort for you to crawl into his lap, and you don’t do it without some assistance. Logan’s hands grip your waist, pull you so you’re seated sideways over his thighs so as not to further irritate the burn.

You wind an arm around his neck, tenderly stroking the hair at his nape.

Logan rubs over the dough of your thighs, thumbs caressing between the split of them. Later, he’ll help you gently rub soothing lotion into them, but for now he’s all desire as he gazes down at where his hands press lightly into your legs.

“How’s that feel?” he asks quietly.

You can’t help but squirm in his lap a little, feeling him hot and hard beneath your thighs.

“Mmh,” you muse, staring down at his hands on you, legs raw and tingling. “Good.”

You can feel his eyes on the side of your face, the warmth of his body beneath yours. “Yeah?”

You nod, meeting his eyes before cupping his jaw and scratching softly at his beard, feeling the lingering wetness there. Briefly, his eyes drift shut and he groans quietly.

“How’s that feel?” you repeat his question back at him, teasing.

Logan growls, grabs the back of your head, and desperately presses his lips to yours in answer.

You moan softly into the kiss, holding his face in your hands as you lick into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue more than the whiskey now.

Then you’re trailing your hands down his chest and pulling away only briefly to tug his white tank off before your fingers deftly begin to undo his belt. The metallic clink it makes, the sound of leather sliding against cotton as it comes off, only makes your pussy clench around nothing as you whine into his mouth.

Your ardour makes Logan chuckle, breaking away from your lips in favour of kissing roughly down your neck. His hands now cup your jaw, allowing him to tilt your head back as his lips leave a trail of wet kisses across heated skin. You sigh as his beard tickles your neck.

“So needy,” he mumbles into your skin.

You groan and feel his smirk against the skin of your chest before he’s pulling your skirt and top off over your head and tossing them aside.

Wanting hands find their way into his hair again when he pulls away from your skin momentarily. He enjoys having you completely naked in his lap while he’s still mostly clothed. You can tell from the way his nostrils flare when he drags in a deep breath, the way his tongue wets his mouth before he pulls you close and latches onto your nipple.

He greedily licks and sucks and bites at one while palming the other in one large hand.

“Logan,” you breathe his name like a prayer, pulling him closer with hands locked in his hair.

His teeth graze your nipple, tugging it gently. Gasping in shock, your face twists up at the intense mix of pleasure-pain that swirls around in your gut. He releases your breast, breathing harshly over your now damp skin.

Impatient and needy, you can’t help but squirm in his lap, rubbing yourself over his hardness. Surely, you’ll leave a damp patch on his clean slacks. The thought only spurs you on, movements becoming desperate.

His cock twitches beneath you, tip probably an angry red and leaking sticky precum you selfishly wish to lick up. “Fuck, need to feel you, sweetheart.”

The whine his proclamation elicits borders on pathetic, and in a rush you’re helping him tug his slacks down just enough that his cock can spring free.

“So pretty,” you whisper, dragging your middle finger across prominent veins that run down his length, prompting him to twitch and hiss through his teeth.

Saliva begins to pool in your mouth, but you’re tugged back to Earth when Logan grabs your waist, ordering you to ‘turn around’.

Body buzzing in anticipation, you allow him to manhandle you into the right position, savouring the feel of his hands manipulating your movements.

“There ya go,” He praises, pulling your back flush against his chest. His hand sneaks up your chest. When it reaches your neck, he presses gently so your head falls against his shoulder.

Your eyes meet as your chest heaves.

“Open.”

Eyes remaining on his, you part your lips.

“Don’t swallow,” Logan instructs gruffly, brow quirked. He may as well have pointed a finger in your face, stern as he is.

You nod quickly, and he leans forward slightly to spit thickly onto your tongue. It’s so obscene a tremor wracks through your body as heat spills into your gut.

Hand below your chin, Logan closes your jaw for you, allowing his saliva to mix with your own before putting his hand in front of you, saying, “Spit.”

You obey a little messily, some ending up dribbling down your chin.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he says, smearing the sticky mess over your already messy cunt. You whine, all high and breathy. Still slightly sensitive.

Finally, he adjusts you, shoving you forward in his lap so he’s at the right angle to thrust into your wet heat.

Tandem groans are released into the air the moment he fills you. A millisecond to adjust. To savour how deeply he fills you before his hands are at your waist to help guide your movements.

Using your own hands on his legs as leverage allows for slow, deep thrusts that make your body quake. Those first sweet drags of his cock against your slick walls are enough to make you shudder.

Reaching a steady rhythm, you begin to pant, the exertion it takes to ride him like this tiring you out quickly. Though Logan is quick to help, supporting you with strong hands as he guides you up and down. Still, you’ve yet to lose your vigour. Entranced by the slow roll of your hips, the way his cock reaches the deepest parts of you in this position. His strong thighs bracketing your body.

“That’s it…That’s it.” Logan grunts lowly, nearly delirious and wholly mesmerized by how your body takes all of him. How you stretch around him to accommodate his size. Hypnotized briefly as he hungrily watches the place where you connect.

A gasp evolves into a moan as one of his hands leaves your waist in favour of seeking out the sensitive button at the top of your cunt. Clumsy fingers toy with your clit, slipping around messily. Flames lick at your nerve endings. On occasion he loses his place, unable to maintain a perfect rhythm from behind you, but just as quickly returns to circle the bud.

Another hand moves to your belly, pulling your body backwards, his sweat-slick chest now pressed up against your back. You wish you could drag your nails down his broad chest, watch as he loses himself in the feeling. But the closeness this position allows is worth the sacrifice.

Being nearly immobilized pressed up against him like this, giving him full control of your body, it feeds some deep desire. It’s the reason your head has gone a little fuzzy. He knows it too. He knows it when you let a whine slip past your lips. When you begin to grind back against him needily.

“Feel good, baby?” he rasps. At the same time, he rubs his middle finger over your clit in time with a deliciously deep thrust. All you can do is throw your head back against his shoulder, another wanton moan clawing its way up your throat, directly into his ear. That’s all the answer he needs.

Logan grunts in response. Pistoning hips setting a rhythm that is both intimate and punishing, making you dizzy. His closeness makes you dizzy. Those low grunts in your ear are enough to drop pearls of pleasure into the pit of your stomach. All of it contributing to the growing fog in your mind.

You writhe against him, an arm wrapping around the back of his head, keeping him close with a hand buried in his hair. Your other hand remains locked onto his forearm as it flexes with each rub of your sensitive clit.

Logan begins to grunt animalistically into your ear, unabashed about his desire for you. You feel it in the way his strong arms grip your body, ensuring your security. In the way he lets moans and grunts and groans rumble up from his chest, unafraid to let you hear what you do to him.

His hands all over your body, the deep strokes of his cock that reach the deepest parts of you, his soft grunts in your ear–it all feeds the flames in your belly.

“Fuck. S-so full,” you mewl, overwhelmed tears springing to your eyes.

“I know, baby. I know,” he placates, tone edging on mockery. His voice sends shockwaves through your body. The sweet humiliation it brings presses into your skin like a brand, leaving it white-hot.

More. You need more of him.

Desperately, clumsily, you grind back into him enthusiastically, writhing in his grasp. The rhythm turns staccato and messy as a result. But it doesn’t matter. You just need more.

You whine, turning your head towards him and he gets the hint, meets you halfway and licks hotly into your mouth the moment your lips meet. Your hands twist in his hair.

It’s messy and uncoordinated and your neck hurts twisted to kiss him like this. But then there’s the fiery taste of whiskey. And you. And him, his cigars. And the pain–it’s worth it. It’s necessary.

When you break away, only a thin line of saliva connecting your mouths now, it’s to gasp. Your brows furrow, pleasure twisting your insides.

You go cross-eyed trying to hold his gaze, and he grins. It’s a wolfish thing. A flash of his teeth, lips kissed red and puffy. The sight makes your pussy clench around him.

A smile tugs at your own mouth, probably fucked out and hazy with pupils blown wide. It only grows when the hand gripping your waist skims over your hot skin. On its journey, he grabs at your tits, pinches your nipple. Every sensation now blends together, overwhelming you with pleasure.

His hand pauses at the base of your neck where it grazes over the stretched expanse of skin.

A teasing squeeze. Once. Your brows knitting together. Twice. Your mouth dropping open. His grip not quite tight enough to cut off airflow and elicit that floaty feeling. But enough to make you whine low in your throat. You are at his mercy.

Eyes drifting shut, you cry out, feeling your climax building at the pit of your stomach. Breathy moans escape you with each rub of his finger over your sensitive bundle of nerves, edging on overstimulating. Each sharp thrust drives you closer to that edge, setting your body alight.

“Y’gonna come, honey?” Logan pants, voice hoarse.

These escapades exhaust him now. You’ve witnessed the way it sinks into his bones after. But there’s also the hint of a grin in his voice. Along with desperation. Desperation to feel you fall apart. An indication that the pleasure he provides, the pleasure he receives, is worth the exhaustion. It’s rewarding for him.

Your answer is the most pathetic whine, high and wanton as overwhelmed tears blur your vision, threatening to spill over. “Uhuh.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asks, and you swear his fingers were made to make you come apart at the seams when he rubs over your clit like that. Like it gives him pleasure too.

“Yeah,” you say, breathless, barely moving over his cock as he pounds into you from below, his strong legs beginning to tremble.

“Yeah,” Logan repeats. Mockery is thick on his tongue, a faux pout playing at his mouth. You lose it.

Everything else falls away. Tingling heat spreads beneath your skin as you finally let go. Your body thrums with your release, the feel of his damp skin at your back, his hands on your body, how full of him you are.

Logan has little room to be cocky. Because the moment you begin to clench around him–cunt pulsing with each wave of your orgasm washing over you–he’s grunting curses into your shoulder, leaving bite marks on the tender flesh as his warm seed spurts into you.

He shudders with his release.

“Fuck,” he growls, grinding up into you, his grasp on your body tightening.

In a flash, he removes his hand from your throat. And, distantly, past your post-coital fog, you hear the sound of metal unsheathing rapidly. You glance to your right.

Retracting claws reveal three deep holes pierced into the faux leather, showcasing thick wire springs and white stuffing.

Blearily, you drag your hand down his arm, running over hair and slowly aging skin. Reaching his wrist, you bring his hand up to your mouth, cup it in both of yours. You smooth your thumb gently over the edges of his knuckles, watch for moments as the holes very slowly begin to close.

You kiss his knuckles thrice. Once over each slowly healing wound.

Eventually, the skin will mend. The wounds will be nonexistent. They will heal in time. But his body is exhausted. And every time the claws come out, the cracks in his skin take longer and longer to repair themselves.

He collapses beneath you, rugged breaths pulled from tired lungs.

Carefully, he slides out of you and you help him tuck himself back into his boxers. Press a kiss to his forehead.

A whisper of, “Be right back.” against heated skin before leaving on unsteady legs to clean yourself up. His desire is a slow leak down your thighs now.

If he were a younger man, still full of strength and agility, he’d have done this part for you. You know he wishes he could. Part of you wishes he could too. But you like to take care of him too.

When you return, he’s still sunken into the couch, chest bare and sweaty. He accepts the glass of water you bring him, gulps it down thirstily.

Cuddling up next to him now, you brush the sweat-damp hair back from his face. You’ll allow him to pull you close. You’ll hold each other, stroke the skin beneath his eyes tenderly. The fresh dark circles there. And he’ll press soft kisses against the lingering bite marks on your shoulder, whisper praise into your ear.

When his honeyed eyes catch yours, you know he longs to spoil you. To scoop you up in his arms and take you to bed.

But this takes a lot out of him now. It will be days–maybe more–before you’ll be able to do something like that again.

So, you’ll take care of him. He’ll insist on having you underneath him. Begrudge the fact that the exhaustion will have yet to be leached from his bones. But acquiesce the moment your hands reach beneath his belt.

♡*♡*♡

Thank you for reading! Reblogs are greatly appreciated :)

3K notes · View notes

gumified · 6 months ago

Text

PRICE TO PAY

pairing: god!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary: you had prayed and prayed for the drought to finally end, for the village to finally be granted rain, so when meeting one of the gods you strike a deal and pay the price.

content: 4.4k, smut, pwp, big dick!gojo, virgin!reader, praise, degradation, dirty talk, cunnilingus (fem. receiving), ice play, bondage, gagging, fingering, squirting, orgasm control, overstimulation, public but also not public sex

note: have fun :D

The heat beat down on your face as you walked up the hill, buckets of water straining your shoulders. Your throat was parched and you were drenched in sweat. You were so thirsty it was unbearable. It had been months since the last rain and the nearest stream was miles away. Your village had long since lost hope, abandoning their faith in the gods. But not you. You knew they were up there. You believed they would help.

While everyone else assumed the drought would eventually end, as it had before, you couldn’t wait. Your brother was so young; he might not survive much longer. Water was life and without it survival was impossible.

“Hey, Ren.” You forced a smile for your brother. His face was flushed, and his clothes were tattered. “Come on, you need to drink this.”

Ren coughed, struggling to sit up. “Y/n, you’re back.”

“Yeah.” You brought the bowl closer to his lips, urging him to drink. He sipped weakly. “How have you been feeling?”

“I feel really hot.” You felt his forehead and sighed when you felt it even warmer than before. The fever he had was burning through his body. Ren wrapped his arms around your waist, clinging on you tightly. “Y/n you won’t leave me will you? Not like mum and dad.”

Brushing his hair out of his eyes, you felt your heart break a little. “Of course I won’t leave you. You’re gonna be stuck with me for the rest of your life, promise.” He grinned, giggling. There’s a small bit of you that wished that this would end soon but you knew better.

“I love you Y/n.” Ren mumbled, eyes fluttering shut.

“Love you too Ren.”

You were shaken awake and you nearly screamed when you caught sight of a beautiful face in front of you. His jaw was perfectly chiselled and his lips were plump, kissable almost. You felt your cheeks flushed. His eyes were what captured you most of all. Sapphire swirls painted his eyes, you felt yourself being pulled towards him.

“You mortals really do sleep like - what’s the saying? Oh yes - like the dead.” His sneer transformed his handsome features into something far more menacing. “Don’t you know it’s disrespectful to spend the night at a temple?”

“I-I’m sorry, I must have fallen asleep by accident.” You tried to move away but it was like an invisible force was keeping you from moving your limbs. He smirked, crawling closer to you so that you were inches apart. “W-Who are you?”

“Little mortal doesn’t know who I am.” His tongue flicked over his lips. “You’re in my temple, little one.”

"Y-Your temple…" The cogs in your brain turned and you let out a frightened gasp. "Y-You're a God."

He grinned, a low chuckle escaping his lips. "Smarter than you look. It's Y/n isn't it?" Words failed you and you felt your throat grow dry. He twisted a strand of your hair around his finger. "You've been praying for a heavy rain season for weeks. How could I not remember your name."

"Does that mean you'll help me?"

"I'm afraid the weather is in my brother's domain. I control the oceans, mortal."

"I know who you are, Satoru Gojo, God of the oceans and earthquakes. Your brother controls the sky and its weather." You said meekly, feeling your cheeks burn at how close he was. The tapestries had always depicted him as a handsome man with bulging muscles. But something about seeing him in real life had you so enamoured.

Satoru smirked, the blue in his eyes growing even brighter. His body glowed with a soft, golden aura. You gulped, unable to meet his gaze. "And yet you knew that, but still came to pray to me every day, making sacrifices as well."

"W-Well they say you're the most generous s-so I thought…"

"You thought I would help you?" Satoru cocked his head to the side. "Don't you know everything comes with a price?"

"And I'm willing to pay that price."

A silent pause passed between the two of you before a smirk crept up on Satoru’s face. You noticed his eyes grow darker, the bright pigment transformed into a much more seductive hue.

“My, my, little mortal’s brave.” You felt his eyes trailing over your body and you felt like you’re being hunted. “So you’ll do anything?” His fingers brushed over your thigh teasingly. You nodded.

A wicked grin spread across his face. You squeaked in surprise when his mouth collided onto yours. The intoxicating scent of the ocean filled your senses and your eyes fluttered shut. Satoru’s lips moved ferociously against yours, it made you feel dizzy yet they tasted sweet at the same time. You could taste the sugary taste of leftover ambrosia as he delved into your wet cavern, tongue exploring each and every crevice.

Your arms remained by your side, unsure of what to do. But when Satoru tugged you forward, they wrapped around him tightly, and you felt him smirk. Your hands wandered over his rippling muscles, trying to carve the feeling into your memory. He bit down on your bottom lip, drawing the slightest bit of blood.

The taste of your own blood mingled with the sweetness of ambrosia, created a heady mixture that made you gasp. Satoru pulled back slightly, his breath hot against your skin. "Everything comes with a price, little one." He murmured, his voice a velvety whisper. "Are you sure you're willing to pay it?"

You nodded, breathless and trembling. "Anything, just please help us."

Satoru's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and something darker. "Very well, mortal. But remember, once a deal is struck with a god, there's no going back."

His fingers traced patterns on your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "You'll belong to me," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. "Body and soul."

You felt yourself growing hot as he ravaged your mouth, a soft growl emitting from his throat. You weren’t familiar with his actions, you had never been bedded, too busy tending to your sick brother. The people had called you many names but you didn't care. But now, with your minimal experience, you were nervous, scared even at the thought of a God deflowering you. Nevertheless, you started to grow wet, your pussy started to stick to the thin piece of cloth that covered you.

Satoru pulled away yet again, a single strand of salvia connected the both of you as he awaited your answer. You panted, out of breath and slightly intoxicated from just the sense of him.

“Do you accept?” His voice was deep and sultry, something about him was so deliciously seductive that you couldn't help the way your thighs squeezed together involuntarily.

"I accept."

Satoru's eyes flashed with satisfaction. "Good. Then let our pact be sealed." He captured your lips again, this time more possessively, his hands roaming your body with a newfound intensity. You let out a moan as his tongue slithered back into your mouth.

He sunk two fingers into your folds making you whimper at the stretch. Your hands gripped his biceps, nails digging down. Satoru licked his lips, continuing to pump into you, gradually increasing the pace. The lewd noises that filled your ears made a blush rise to your cheeks. Never in your life have you felt so dirty, so shameless.

"You're dripping, my sweet. Who would've thought you'd be this turned on." His tone was laced with unmistakable lust and hunger. "Been watching you for so long. Couldn't wait any longer to be inside you." He growled, fucking into you faster, drawing louder moans out of you.

"S-Satoru…" You gasped as he plunged another digit into you, manoeuvring his fingers so he hit all the right spots. "I-I…"

He stared at your core, your juices all over. For a second he slowed down, giving you a chance to breathe and relax before he picked up the pace. Curling his fingers, touching your sweet sensitive spots in your velvet walls. His thumb rubbed your clit, playing with your sensitive nub. A tight hot rope seemed to wrap around your stomach as Satoru continued to fuck you harder. He smirked as your walls squeezed his fingers. You let out a gasp when he touches a particular spot within you.

"Close my sweet?" He whispered, lips brushing against your ear and it sent you closer to your high. All you could do is nod fervently, the twisting feeling wrapping around your stomach tightened. You mewled as he fucked you faster, adding another digit. “You can’t cum just yet, got to make sure you’re ready for my cock.” He hummed.

You clenched around his fingers once more, tears pricked your eyes as you threw your head back at the pleasure you were receiving. Satoru surged forward, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. He swallowed your moans and whimpers. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving soft open-mouthed kisses in his wake. Your noises were like music to his ears as he drank in every moan, whimper, mewl - the breathy gasps and the lewd pants.

“You know my sweet, there’s something that I love about being a God.”

You gazed at him through your lashes, his lips curling up into a devilish smirk. An ice cube appeared in his hand. You weren’t sure what to think until he slid it up and down your hot wet folds, then you were gasping at the coldness that hit your core. There was a rush of newfound delight that filled you up and you were rutting your hips, asking for more.

Satoru simply grinned, pushing the cube of ice further inside you watching your reactions bloom in front of him. His fingers were dripping with both water and your arousal. You let out a soft hiss when the ice cube is pressed harder into you. The coldness contrasted with the warmness of your needy walls. It spiked through your body as it made your blood rise and your head became light at the overwhelming feeling. You were clutching onto Satoru with so much force that it would hurt him but he didn’t care, not when he was in the midst of unravelling you.

“Let’s see how many you can hold.” It shocked you into a frenzy when you felt another ice cube get pushed inside you, the last one still slowly melting.

“Mmmph. Too much, ngh, feels weird, ‘s too much.” Your mind seemed to explode as you babbled incoherently. “F-fuckkk ‘toru it’s cold a-and-“

You were unable to finish your sentence as Satoru reached out his hands to pinch your clit causing you to jolt forward at the sudden gesture. You felt a rush as you gazed up at him. watching his smirk grow as he looked at your sopping pussy.

“You’re so beautiful!” He teased your folds, rubbing against them harsher. “Take more for me okay? You’re such a good girl, my sweet, keep that dirty pussy dripping as I stuff you, okay?” Satoru’s lips brushed your ear. “Then I’ll let you cum.”

You felt yourself spiralling into euphoria when he slid his finger down your pussy. His tongue flicked over his lips as he admired your fucked out face. Morals left your body and you let your urges take over. All reason and thought left you as you were reduced to a whining needy mess. Your pussy clenched pathetically around the ice cubes, the cold still surprising you. Satoru did nothing but coo at you, tucking strands of loose hair behind your ear.

“Come on my sweet.” He urged. “You're doing so well. This pussy is so pretty, she’s just so gorgeous, fuckkk, wish you could see her.”

“A-Ah, ‘toru good f-feels so g-good.”

You were writhing beneath his grip, a feeling of overwhelming pleasure surged through you as he continued his actions. Your pussy constricted around his fingers and you felt something grow within you. Your nerves and senses were heightened as you felt his fingers nudge at your swollen clit.

“I-I feel somethingg, ngh, f-feels weird like I’m gonna burst-” You gasped out, unable to keep the noises within you.

“Awwww.” Satoru’s tone was mocking as he watched your tiny frame twist and turn under his grip. A wicked grin spread across his face. “You’re close, my sweet, beg to cum and maybe I’ll be nice enough to let you.”

It was almost painful but the pleasure was so uncontrollable that it overtook any pain you felt. Satoru slid another freezing ice cube into you, making you scream. Your mind was dizzy and you could only feel yourself getting stretched repeatedly with the cold object. Your pussy walls were both cold and hot, the mixture that Satoru had concocted dripping from them. Sweat covered your body, glistening as the sun shone down. You felt like you were on the verge of collapsing, so desperate for an unknown pleasure to come to your saviour.

“S-Satoru...cum, p-please. W-Wanna cum…” You stuttered helplessly, silently shrieking at the contrast of temperatures.

“More, beg more.”

You screamed at the feeling as his fingers thrusted in you making your head light as you desperately gripped onto his shoulders, clawing at some sort of way to tether you to the present. His words were laced with seduction as he continued to tease you.

“C-Cum cum cum, please pleaseee, needa cum so b-bad ‘toru fuckkk! P-Please let me cum, ‘s too much need it s-so bad, please please please!”

Satoru laughed as he buried his head in your neck, placing kisses on the empty space. He loved your desperate pleas, the breathy moans that would fill the gaps and the tears that followed as you begged him for something you had never experienced before.

“You’ve been such a good girl.” He purred, his deep voice making you clench around him. “And good girls deserve to cum. Go on my sweet, let it all out on my fingers, make a mess of this pussy.”

You felt a wave of ecstasy rush over you as he pressed his fingers down, biting into your neck. Your body shook at the sensation that overcame you. You rocked against Satoru as you felt your pussy squeeze and constrict. A newfound feeling gushed from within you and you felt yourself scream at the pleasure. Your mind was reduced to filth as you moaned, the ringlets of your release jolting through your body. Satoru groaned at the way your cum coated his fingers and he stared at your desperate cunt, watching the aftermath of the mess you had just created. You didn’t know what to think, your mind cloudy and confused.

“You fucking squirted, dirty fucking girl.” His eyes were transfixed and suddenly you felt embarrassed at the wetness between your thighs. He reached his hands out forcing you to stay open for him, exposing your most private part for him to ogle at. “Who knew this cute little pussy was capable of such filthy things. You’re just a whore in disguise aren’t you?”

Your pathetic mewls convinced him of nothing. Satoru stared in wonder at your pussy, watching as you clenched around nothing. He slid his fingers in his mouth, tasting every bit of you. A low moan was heard before he dived down licking up your mess. Still sensitive, you cried in shock, threading your hands through his hair. He sucked harshly at your sensitive bud, lapping at your juices. The feeling made tears bleed from your eyes and you tug on his wispy locks.

“Like it, my sweet?” His voice sent tingles down your spine and you held back the urge to scream. “Can’t hear you?”

“L-Like it so much ‘toru…” You let out a shaky breath, beads of your tears clinging onto your lashes. “P-Please…”

He lapped at your cunt greedily, swallowing every single drop. Your arousal dripped from his chin with a mixture of his salvia. His ears were blessed at the loud squelch that would emit from between your legs. Everything was so messy but he didn’t care as he continued to play with your pretty cunt. You could only whine and quiver at the feeling. Your legs shook, still sensitive from your previous orgasm. Blissful thoughts whizzed by as he kept you locked in an euphoric sensation. You struggled to not cry out and sob when white dots blurred your vision.

Satoru flicked his tongue against your engorged clit, plunging the wet muscle inside. His mouth was hot and you felt his tongue circle your swollen clit messily while you stuttered out pleading moans. He pried open your thighs, desperate to access deeper into the precious new heaven he had discovered. You felt your eyes roll to the back of your head at the overstimulation, finding it hard to focus on anything as your senses overloaded. Your mouth hung open as sweet whines constantly fell from your lips. All you could do was lie there letting Satoru ravage your pussy like a man dying of thirst.

“C-Close, close so so so close!” You gasped when you felt him release with a pop before diving back down to continue to suck. “Too much, ‘toru ‘s too much, feels t-too goodddd…”

It wasn’t long before you were cumming again. Another round of your wet arousal coating his face and he licked it clean. You were drooling now, salvia running down your chin as you felt the tears run down your face. It was too much and you feel yourself fall into a new world of pure pleasure. You could feel Satoru’s lustful grin against you as he sucked your pussy. Your thighs shook, chest heaving up and down. Despite the fact you had just released it never stopped the god from indulging you in his carnal desire.

"Sweet little Y/n." He cooed as his thumb ghosted circles around your puffy clit. “Think you’re ready for my cock?”

It was a question that didn’t need an answer but you still nodded your head lifelessly. Your body was limp in his grip and you struggled to hold yourself up, relying only on him. Satoru smirked from above you, pushing you down on the marble floor. His hands were big and warm and the simple touch had heat blossoming at your pussy. You barely registered what was happening until you had your hands tied together. A thin golden cord wrapped around your wrists and Satoru bit his lip. You looked so beautiful, so pretty, so submissive.

“I like you this way my sweet. All tied up and ready to be used.” He frowned and you panicked, scared you had angered him. He snapped his fingers and you found a piece of cloth in your mouth, stopping you from speaking. “That’s better, as much as I love your noises I find this much more appealing.”

Your eyes widened when he reached down to release his cock from its confines. You had never seen something so big and dare you say pretty. Satoru’s cock was red and flushed, pre cum oozing out of the swollen tip, dripping like pearls as they rolled down his fat cock head. You felt yourself drool at the sight and you didn’t think you would want something in your mouth so bad. He grinned smugly at your reaction, knowing you were unable to say anything as you stared transfixed at the sight before you.

“Don’t worry my sweet, I’ll make sure to make you feel so good. I know how much this pussy loves to be filled up.”

The words are dirty yet you couldn’t help but let out a muffled whine as he picked you up. His tip pushed past your folds, nudging into your pussy hole. You shut your eyes letting yourself feel the stretch that he gave you. His cock was so big and every bit of your body felt like it was on fire as he continued to push inside. He paused letting you adjust, whispering into your ear quietly. Filthy praises that only made you drip and mewl. It felt like magic and you whimpered into your gag helplessly. Satoru’s fingers brushed through your hair and he peppered sweet kisses across your face.

It was like your world had imploded as he thrusted into you. Nothing else mattered as you moaned and squirmed at his touch. Your senses went into overdrive as he quickened his thrusts. He pumped in and out of you. He filled every crevice of your sex. His pace never slowed even as you felt all the energy leave your body. You screamed into the gag when he hit that particular spot that had you keeling. You felt your eyes roll to the back of your head and you gasped for air through the gag.

“Fuckkk you’re so tight, such a slutty virgin pussy. Look at how you’re gripping on my cock my sweet, she’s so loud.”

His words only made you keen with desire as you gave in to the carnal temptation that bloomed within you.

“Mmmmph!” Your moans grew louder with every harsh thrust as his cock touched every part of your gummy walls. “Ah-Ah-Ah! ‘toruuuu!”

Satoru showed no mercy as he pounded into you. Cock plunging in and out of your pussy. Wet noises echoed through the walls of the temple and a small part of you felt bad for doing this, here of all places. It was inappropriate but it felt so good. Too good even. He continued his movements and the binds that once bound you vanished and you assumed that this was a sign that Satoru wanted you to touch him so you obeyed. Your fingers dragged down his back, sure to leave marks. Fingers fluttered from place to place, desperate for something to anchor you.

“You look so beautiful, pussy sucking in my big cock. Such a good girl for me.” He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. Everything he did felt amazing. “Moan for me my sweet, go on let me hear those filthy sounds.”

You obeyed his command letting the lewd sounds tumble from your lips as you gasped for more. Your hands roamed the vast expanse of his body, the taut muscles that lay under your hands, each touch ignited sparks. His grip on you tightened, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling just enough to make you gasp again. Every brush of his lip, every stroke of his tongue, every bite and nibble was a reminder of his power and you couldn’t help but give in completely.

The vigor that he fucked you with was compared to no man and you couldn’t help the lustful sounds that escaped your lips as his hips snapped to yours. It made your mind reel with the feeling of pleasure. His hair fell into his eyes and you reached your hands to sweep through his locks. Satoru was so handsome. He was a god after all and you couldn’t help that your heart pounded whenever you looked at him.

You felt your orgasm approach and you clenched your hands around his toned biceps, nails digging into his skin and he hissed. You moaned repeatedly into the gag as your body shook frantically from the pleasure.

“A-A-Ahhh! ‘toru ‘toru ‘s too much, nghh.” Your body thrashed in his grasp, wriggling and writhing as you felt the immense feeling build up again. Every movement magnified the intensity as you felt the shock ricochet throughout your body.

“It’s okay my sweet.” Satoru whispered but his thrusts were unrelenting. His fingers brushed against your clit, circling the bundle of nerves as he drew out your orgasm. “It’s okay, let's cum together. Soak my cock Y/n, such a good girl.”

Your juices overflowed and you felt his cum pump into your body, filling you up until you were so so full. Warmth blossomed throughout your body and you felt yourself wringing his cock with every drop of cum. The feeling was incomparable and you gasped for air once he removed the gag with the snap of his fingers. Satoru kissed you, his lips were demanding, moving against yours with raw hunger. The taste of the ocean filled your senses, salty and intoxicating. He pulled out to place a kiss on your thighs, on your pussy. You were so sensitive and you felt his cum as it flowed out of you. He stuffed two fingers in your pussy and you squealed at the sudden gesture. His fingers curled in and out of you before he slapped your core. The sting sent shock waves through your body and you couldn’t help the moan that tumbled out of your lips.

“Keep it in there my sweet, I’ll be visiting again.” His voice was a husky whisper, deep and seductive.

Then, with those words, he disappeared, leaving you a naked mess on the temple floor. You were breathless and reeling from the pleasure that he had just bestowed upon you. You had just given yourself to a god, one that had just stuffed you so full of his cum. You stared at the place where he had been in shock, your head felt light from all that had just happened. Your legs gave way when you tried to stand up, they were sore and achy, covered in splatters of both of your cum. His smirks and groans filled your senses once again and you felt yourself flush at the memory.

Satoru Gojo had just introduced a lustful desire that you didn’t think you would be able to forget for a very long time.

You gathered your belongings with shaking hands, urgently attempting to steady yourself as you stood. The wet splashes that painted your body were a stark reminder of what had just happened, and you tried your hardest to conceal them along with your flushed, fucked-out face.

You hobbled your way back to the village, heart pounding in your chest. Every glance from a passerby felt like they could see right through you. The sheer thought that someone would stop to talk to you had you eager to get home unnoticed.

Unbeknownst to you, Satoru was watching from Olympus, his eyes never leaving your retreating form. He grinned, a sense of satisfaction washing over him as he saw your tiny self hurry home. The memory of your trembling body and flushed cheeks was seared into his mind and he felt his cock harden again at the thought. He knew you were thinking of him, longing for him, and that was exactly what he wanted. When the time was right, he would come for you again, and induce you in a pleasurable haze once more.

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beautysamour · 1 year ago

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sitting on miguel o’hara’ face ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

— a/n: i’m ovulating. so.

warnings ﾟ𐦍༘⋆: some vulgar language

“Just sit.”

Miguel loudly sighs as he tugs on your thighs for the nth time, his dick painfully straining against his pants as he watches your wet pussy leak right in front of his face. The cum from the last round dripping down the side of your right leg.

“Miguel,” you whine. Your thighs shake as you weakly try not to fall right onto his mouth.

He tugs again, “Cariño, are you trying to edge me?” He whines out.

You moan, the very thought of him cumming inside his pants just from eating you out causing all coherent thoughts in your brain to rot.

“Come on, mi vida.”

He tugs a little harder and it does the job. You let go of all the resistance in your body and fall straight down onto Miguel’ open, watery, mouth—and you swear you almost pass out at the sensation of his wet, thick, tongue immediately plunging itself deep into your pussy, the squelching noise you hear almost makes you want to cry from the embarrassment.

You close your thighs around Miguel’ head and push yourself down into his mouth, your breath hitching in your throat as the nub of your pussy brushes against his nose.

“Miguel—“ you choke, a moan immediately escaping you when he moves his entire head with a long stroke, his nose rubbing against your clit.

He hums and your hands fly up to the headboard of the bed, and you grip on for dear life.

“Miguel,” you say and it come out as a wispy breath, “Miguel—!”

You arch your back as his lips close around your clit. Your mouth hangs open forming an “o” shape and Miguel’ hands go from your thighs to your ass to keep you on his face and to push you down even more.

The twitching of your body only gets worse when he starts to move you, you’re practically grinding his entire face now.

“Mi—Miguel,” you stutter as his hands start to roam up and down your hips and lower back, “C—close—!”

His hums and mumbles something into your pussy—the vibrations send you to the very edge and you’re right there, ready to go over the edge, ready to suffocate him with the intensity of your orgasm if you haven’t already with your pussy—

But then it stops. His hands travel up to your hips stilling you completely and then he lifts.

If you were embarrassed by how wet you were, that is nothing compared to how embarrassed you are now.

Below you was actually the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen. Miguel, wet hair clinging on the sides of his face with your wetness spread all over his face, some even trailing down his neck as most of you was on his lips.

You couldn’t help yourself, you were way too close to the edge and he was way too beautiful for you to keep your composure, so all the prior wetness on his face was now mixed with your very new cum.

With half opened eyes, thanks to your cum, he smirks as he licks his lips.

Fuck, had he shown a fang you probably would’ve came again right then and there.

“S—sorry,” you say in between stutters. Having an orgasm while getting eaten out is one thing, but having one from just looking at him? The embarrassment was too much.

He lets out a deep, low chuckle before moving you away from his face. He fights back a moan as your wet pussy hits his chest.

“I’ll go get a towel for you,” Miguel grips your thighs before you can start moving, wetness leaks from your pussy.

“No need, mi amor,” he looks down at your pussy then back up at your eyes, his own still half lidded, “‘m not planning on wasting any of it.”

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara atsv #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara across the spider verse #miguel smut #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara x you #miguel x reader #miguel x you #atsv miguel

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viaisms · 2 months ago

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twenty questions

summary: penelope accidentally mentions that someone has a crush on you, she can't say who it is but you make it into a game so she can :) warnings: spencer reid x bau!reader, gn reader, mentions of drinking wine, pg-13 language, talk of bugs?? its a nickname,,, lots of use of pet names lol, fluff, no mention of y/n yeehaw, pining, you're completely oblivious about how much spencer wants you, not proofread </3 authors note: first fic!! i haven't officially written a fic in. gosh, years?? since the pandemmy :( i really want to get back into writing, so have this little blurb that i thought of! by all means i am here for any constructive criticism you may have<3 wc: 2.7k

The clatter of fingertips tapping against a keyboard filled the dimly lit BAU office. You sit at your desk, eyes fixed on the glowing screen as you scroll through reports, cross-referencing case files and taking notes. The quiet hum of the building has long since settled into a lull; you barely realize how deeply you've fallen into your work,

The distant ticking of a clock finally breaks your trance, but it wasn't until you feel the hairs arise on the back of your neck that you become fully aware. You slowly blink with a quiet groan, glancing at the time at the bottom of your screen.

10:58 PM. Shit.

You align your fingertips atop of your keyboard, the soft clatter filling the office once more before you hear the all-too familiar voice.

"Babes, what are you still doing here?!"

You turn and see nobody else but Garcia, finally emitting from her bat-cave. Her arms cross against her chest, a disappointed hum coming from her pressed lips. "You, my love, should be at home in a nice hot bath with a glass of wine."

Your lips splay a lazy smirk as you lean back in your chair, stretching your body with a quiet groan. "I was just about to wrap up, Pen, I promise..." You assure your colleague, feeling the strain of staring at a screen all day every time that you blink.

"Good deal my beautiful bug," Penelope chirps as her arms drop to her side. She's just as tired as you are, having spent all of her day digging through databases to find information on a potential UnSub. Her heals click as she goes to turn away, walking back towards her office.

"You know, you have to get your beauty sleep for your lover boy in the mor..." Her once confident words grow timid as she begins to trail off.

Penelope's breath catches in her throat as she realizes the words that so effortlessly flew off her tongue, her blood running cold at her grave error. Spencer is going to kill her.

"My what?" Your eyes narrow, scoffing in a confused manner.

She stills, yet she doesn't turn to you.

"Nothing! I... I didn't say anything..." She mutters with a nervous stammer of your name, the rhythmic clicking of her heels continuing as she speeds to her office.

You stand, the wheels of your office chair sliding out from under you as you feel a weakness in both of your legs. You stretch once more, trying to think of when the last time you even stood was.

"Penelope Grace Garcia!"

Her hand is resting on the cold, slick material of the doorknob that has the potential to separate her from this deep abyss that she just dug herself into. Instead, she stills for another moment before turning to you once more.

Penelope has to think of a lie, and quick.

"Obviously... I was talking about Morgan!"

There is a reason why she does what she does for a living, and is rarely out on the field with the rest of the crew unless her technical skills are needed.

Your eyes squint with a tentative hum. You don't believe Garcia, not for a second.

"You do know I'm a profiler..." A grumble of amusement comes from your chest at Penelope's attempt.

"Right..." She murmurs, her voice quiet as she breaks your gaze. She's mentally kicking herself for blabbing, such a rookie mistake in the game of workplace gossip.

Your eyebrows raise as you await Garcia's confession. However, she stays strong, not uttering another peep from her velvet-painted lips.

"So...?" You sing after a beat of silence, stars of hope glistening in the pools of your eyes.

With a whine, Penelope's shoulders drop.

"Look... I love you, sweetness, I do..." Her lips droop into a frown. Penelope's eyes greet your own somberly with a shake of her own head. "But I promised I wouldn't tell..."

You feel a weight of disappointment on your chest, and with a sigh, you decide to drop it. Penelope sees the way the sparkle in your eye begins to dim, eliciting a whine from her barely audible to your own ears.

"But!" She chirps, trying to share some of her own light with you. Penelope shouldn't be doing this, and she knows it. However, she is far too nurturing to let a beautiful smile like yours falter for even a second. "If you guess it... it's not technically me telling you, right?"

"You know? I like the way your mind thinks," You hum, reveling in the fact that you got your way. "Twenty questions?" The cold sensation of the faux-leather hits you as you sit back in your chair.

The corner of Penelope's lips twitch upwards as a combination of guilt and excitement course through her veins. "You know I love a good game, hit me..." She murmurs, her voice self-assured as she pulls a chair from a nearby desk, her legs crossing as she sits next to you.

"Okay..." You mutter with a shaky sigh. The pounding of your heart fills your entire body, your stomach slightly cramping with nerves. "Is it someone I know?"

"Uh, duh?"

Your eyes flutter shut, raking through potential victims that fell for whatever love trap you didn't even intent on setting. "Male or female?"

"Acht! That's not part of the rules my curious friend and you know it," Her dark eyes narrow as she playfully scolds her colleague. "I'm totally counting it though, eighteen more questions..."

With pressed lips, you weigh out the obvious individuals who are least likely to be a contender. Penelope sees how deep you are in thought, and she can't help herself but quietly scoff.

How can you not know it's Spencer? She thinks to herself. Everyone around the office sees it -- everyone but you, apparently. As you think, her mind wanders to about two months prior, where Spencer came to her for love advice. Penelope, being herself, already knew he was fawning over you. She picked up on it the moment the genius somehow grew more awkward every time he were to speak to you.

However, also being herself, she refused to give him any sound advice until he spilled who the lucky contender was; which just so happened to be you.

The sound of your voice pulls her out of her own mind.

"Do I see them often?"

The corners of her lips prop upwards, almost tauntingly. "Very," she affirms.

Someone you see very often... you mentally walk through your day-to-day routine, retracing every step no matter how minuscule. You awake every morning to nobody in your apartment but your cat, besides the occasional sleepover with a friend every now and again. You ready yourself for work alone, your first stop in the morning being the local coffee shop down the street...

"Ooh! Is it someone from the coffee shop?" You chirp, your heart beginning to race at the idea of an unspoken stranger admiring your beauty from afar. Individuals you see there on a day-to-day basis flood your mind, although it completely falls empty for the exception of one person; a barista behind the counter, roughly your age who is not bad looking in the slightest.

"That would be a negative..." Her red-painted lips press together, a slight pang of disappointment hitting you in the gut that it wasn't the barista.

"Darn..." You tut, your mind trying to silently place the pieces of the puzzle together. Someone you know, someone you see often, not someone from the coffee shop...

Penelope can't believe how oblivious you are. How do you not pick up on the fact that Spencer follows you around the office like a lost puppy? Or the fact that when the two of you are on the field together, he insists you go with him or vice versa because he feels the need to protect you?

"No way that it's a colleague?" Your brows stitch together, your head slanting as you throw the inconceivable idea into the open.

Penelope's head slightly tilts downwards as she gazes at you through the top of her frames. She flashes you a sly, almost flirtatious grin at your not-so-far-fetched theory.

"And if it is?"

The feeling of your heart hammering in your heart is felt throughout your entire body, your cheeks warming as you feel blood rush to your brain.

"Who?!" You exclaim, completely forgoing the rules to the game. This narrows your options to about seven. Your hands fumble with the cotton on the hem of your shirt as you narrow your options down even further, a shuttering breath falling from your lips.

"How do you not know?!" Penelope is quick to match your energy, an actual pain shooting through her chest at your own naivety. Her brows raise as her eyes widen, her fists balling as she folds herself back from blurting it out.

Your lips part as you're about to exclaim something quick and witty back to your colleague when it hits you. Like a fish gulping for water, you feel the soft skin of your lips quickly snap shut.

The memories hit you all at once: the mornings you're in a rush and you forget your coffee - Reid excusing himself for a moment with a muttered excuse before returning with it minutes later, the nights you return home from a case and he offers to spend time with you because it pains you being alone after what you saw, the countless facts he will ramble to you on the plane because damn it, you're the only one that actually listens to him.

"Oh my god, Reid?" Your jaw drops as you gasp, your arms numbing as your nerves shoot past the roof and to the stratosphere.

With a relieved sigh, Penelope's palms slap against her thighs, planting her leg down onto the floor with her other one. "Finally!" She groans, almost feeling a sense of comfort that you know and the weird tension around the office while the two are around would soon come to an end.

"Since when?!" Your heart ticks against your chest so hard that you can hear it in your ears. Never in a million years would you assume it would be Spencer that would be silently pining over you. Reid?!

"Since like... forever, buttercup!" Penelope giggles. She can see the dots being connected in the pretty little brain of yours, and god, she loves it. Her voice softens, a warm, almost maternal intent behind them. "We really should be getting home..." She groans, her gaze flicking to the clock on the wall. "Since you two are totes madly in love already, let me know when one of you decides to make the move, okay?"

With a roll of your eyes, the back of your hand ever so gently strikes the side of Garcia's arm. She notices the way blush speckles across your face, a knowing grin playing against her own. You can't ignore the way your chest fuzzes over at the thought of Spencer feeling about you the way you feel about him, it makes your stomach ache with desire; you don't know if you love or hate the sensation.

"Goodnight, Garcia..." A mix between a chuckle and a sigh of contentment is emitted from you. She mumbles a quick 'good night' with a quick, playful wink before standing from her chair, returning it to its original home.

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

The next morning you're in a hurry to get to work, oversleeping by a long shot as it took you forever to wind down last night due to your wandering thoughts.

You get to your desk with merely minutes to spare, a tired, overwhelmed groan falling from your lips as you place your bag in your desk and splay your jacket against the back of your chair.

"Long night last night, agent?"

You don't even have to look up to know who it is... your body freezes for a moment, not sure if you're prepared to deal with this; not yet, anyways.

With a soft sigh, your gaze is lifted and immediately greeted with Spencer's. His large, curious and caring stare. His hazel eyes almost bare into your own, causing a tingle to run down your spine. You try to ignore the butterflies that patter within the walls of your stomach, yet they're hard to confine.

"Yeah... I'm fine, Reid," You nod, your lips tentatively pressing together. "Just didn't sleep worth the damn last night... just... thinking about the case..." You trail, the sound of your voice growing softer and quieter like a beautiful decrescendo.

His lips part for just a moment, an inaudible 'ah' coming from him before giving you an understanding nod.

"I figured... Garcia told me you were here late last night and I kind of... presumed this may happen," He muses with an awkward chuckle. "Which is why... I brought you this..."

Reid's tall frame trails away from your desk for a moment, which draws out a soft hum from you as you tap your fingertips against the smooth, cool material of your desk.

His long stride is quick to return, your heart almost leaping out of your throat as he sees what's within his long, slender fingers.

Your favorite coffee.

You accept the gesture, your stomach doing flips as you take the cup within the confines of your own grasp. You mumble something quick and playful, telling Spencer that he is your favorite person in the world right now for such a small action.

The feeling of someone else watching you is burned into the back of your skull, a sensation churning in your gut that you can't shake. Your gaze flicks over to the side, in which you're immediately greeted by Garcia.

She not-so-subtly flashes two thumbs up at you, her nails painted a shade of dark purple. "Go get 'em!" She mouths in approval, your gaze quickly turning over to the male in front of you in attempt to hide Penelope's matchmaking attempt.

"Hey... do you um... maybe want to get coffee at this place together sometime?" You attempt to thickly swallow down your nerves, trying to soothe the heartbeat creeping out of your chest.

Spencer is silent a moment, his lips twitching upwards in a sign of approval at your suggestion. You see the thoughts shifting through his mind, the rates of his blinks increasing in a sense of disbelief that you're actually asking him this.

"I-- um... yeah! Let's do tomorrow before work? If... you're okay getting up that early, if not we can totally do a different time, perhaps--"

"Tomorrow it is..." You cut him off, something you rarely do. He nods in agreement, a quiet 'tomorrow' mumbled from his lips as he attempts to conceal his excitement.

You’re not sure how to shake off the butterflies in your stomach, but Spencer’s shy smile is enough to make you feel warm all over. You take a sip of your coffee, letting the moment linger. Before you can say anything else, Garcia’s voice breaks through your thoughts, louder than life.

"You two better not cancel on me! I want details!" she teases from across the room, flashing a mischievous grin your way. You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the chuckle that escapes your lips.

Spencer, now fully aware of the matchmaker’s antics, lets out a soft laugh, running a hand through his hair, looking even more flustered than before.

You meet his gaze again, a new kind of tension settling between you—a mix of nerves, excitement, and something deeper that you’re not ready to name just yet. You take a breath, feeling that the next chapter of whatever this is has already started, and it’s thrilling.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then,” you murmur, unable to stop the grin that’s threatening to split your face. Spencer nods, his smile small but genuine, as he turns to head to his desk.

As he walks away, you catch a glimpse of Garcia again, this time with an exaggerated wink. You shake your head, but you can’t suppress the warmth blooming in your chest. Tomorrow’s going to be interesting, to say the least.

And maybe... just maybe, things are finally falling into place.

#spencer reid x reader #penelope garcia x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #fanfic #spencer reid #x reader #via’s fics<3

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yanderenightmare · 3 months ago

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♡ TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, yandere, captive reader, dehumanization, dollification, patronization, condescension

♡ FEM reader

This is his playroom. It’s got puzzle-piece foam flooring and is filled to the brim with all sorts of different toys—including you. He’s got stuffed animals, pretty dolls, toy soldiers, Lego builds, and a gaming station with all types of fun—and parental safety restrictions, of course, no talking to strangers for you. Your controller is a pretty baby pink, and his a cool camo-green. But today, they’re left on the floor, untouched.

Because today, he only wants to play with you.

“You’re gonna be so pretty…” His voice is as grating as always—synthetically childish, making you grit your teeth. Sitting with you between his legs before the mirror, working diligently.

You look at the floor to avoid your reflection.

He’d gotten you a brand new baby-blue dress and painted you himself—done your eyelids up in matching clear skies, black lashes moth-like and fluttery, cheeks a rosy pink, and lips a sheer gloss extra plump and pretty—no need for tint—you bite them so cutely, they’re already his favorite color. Your hair’s done up in curls and ringlets, so bouncy and soft, beribboned with plentiful white bows.

“This color suits you so well. Makes you look like a cake-topper. Bite-sized. I could eat you right up.” He hums behind you, fiddling with the many intricacies, doing them up perfectly—no rush.

Looking up, the person staring back at you looks no different from a life-sized porcelain doll. Pristine, mint condition, fit to be put behind glass. In your frilly dress, petticoat and stockings. Just like Alice down the rabbit hole.

The only thing that betrays the illusion is the leather collar on your throat and the chain running from it to the middle of the floor. But no matter.

He’s got a giddy smile on his face— chest swelled with pride at his work. You’re his most prized possession. You really are! There isn’t a single toy in this room that can compete with you.

He’s not wearing anything special to match. Bedhead, undressed, still in his pajama pants. Why wouldn’t he be? This is his playroom, after all—his downtime—where he can be a boy with his toy. Though, calling him a boy isn’t exactly right—what with him being nearly in his thirties. Not to mention that he’s about two heads taller than you, with abs like an athlete, toned and chiseled and hard to the touch, hard enough to strain your wrists when he bears down on you. Oh, and that thing in his pants.

You bite your tongue and steal yourself. It would be easy to cry, but he only gets weirder about it then. So you stifle it, even though you look so stupid you want to act like an animal. Tear the dress to shreds and rub your makeup into a mess—scream, bite, spit on him. You’d done all that once before to no avail other than punishments that still keep you up at night. Once was enough. He didn’t play nice with you.

But then again, when does he ever?

“Hmm, think I’m done…” he announces after having dallied with the lace of your corset for a quarter-hour—it’s so tight you have to appreciate every breath. “Time to have some fun.”

He treats you no different from a doll either. Scooping you up into his arms like an inanimate object and carrying off to the princess bed—the one that looks like a girl’s birthday cake with a veil on top, and mountains of pillows all too soft.

He places you down on top of the duvet and it seems to swallow you like an ocean. He dives after, covering you like a fishnet. You take a final breath before he can drown, your hand on his chest, holding him at a distance.

“I was thinking, uhm…” you start, the words coming out odd, barely recognizable as your voice—only noticing now how long it had been since you’d spoken last. “I was…” you restart, but it’s still no easier. His eyes are large and unblinking, staring down at you as though he’s just as surprised as you are to found out you speak. “Hoping we could play… a little differently this time?”

He blinks at the request, having fallen completely still above you.

“Really? How?” The suddenness of his words make you flinch. You don’t know what you had expected—maybe a smile and something dismissive. It had been a while since he’d spoken directly to you like that—and not to himself in absentminded comments about you.

You recover some time, seeing him stare down at you all expectantly in wait. He follows when you guide him into sitting instead of looming over you, putting yourself in his lap—straddling him. “Mh, like this. Maybe?”

It’s a gamble. He’d never had you on top before, nor ever shown an interest in it. Setting aside the time you’d been sprawled on your belly over his thighs, his hand riddled in your hair and his other hand branding your ass with his very own toy company logo.

His expression is unreadable—perhaps a little confused if you were to take a guess.

“Oh!” he erupts with a smile you hope is the good sort. “You mean I play the toy and you the master?” He laughs brightly, falling on his back with a hand over his face, cackling through his fingers as though it were the most absurd proposal he’d ever heard.

But despite his obvious amusement, you still feel it—his toy poking into you from beneath.

He settles after a moment. “Alright then, why not?” Looking up at you—his hair a tousled mess splayed upon the bed, eyes as gleeful as the quirk on his lips. “Who knows… it could be fun.”

He props his arms behind his head, lounging comfortably.

“I did call you a cake-topper, after all,” he snickers. “I’ll lie perfectly still, like a good toy, while you play with me. Sound good?”

You can’t believe how open he was to it. Still a little apprehensive, you nod your head.

And then the game begins…

He doesn’t exactly stay true to his word. But you suppose that would be too much to ask. His head still rests pretty on the pillow with his eyes closed, smiling in satisfaction—for now, sated with your performance. Groaning in absentminded bliss, “You’re right. This is fun~”

But he hadn’t stayed perfectly still like he’d said. He’d reached out when you’d finally begun riding and now his arms keep you snug against his chest, fine-pressed sweaty skin against your frilly bust, more in a lock than a hug. It makes it kind of difficult to do what he wants, but you try your best—knees and toes planted in the mattress for stability as you jerk your hips on his lap. It’s awkward, but riding him like this is still better than the alternative, after all.

You keep your arms around the back of his neck, resting your face in the cradle it creates beneath his chin, panting lowly—eyes closed in focus away from the pain, brows tight with your tongue between your teeth, trying to maintain the rhythm despite the blossoming ache that’s started to spread from your hips down your thighs—another ill sting in the small of your back crawling up your spine. It’s hard staying bent over like this, and your movements are turning sluggish…

There’s a sigh from above you, pitchy and just awful. “Aww, is it really time already?” he whines—previous satisfaction dwindling—bordering on something else entirely now, the opposite and so much worse—boredom with a hint of disappointment—a spoiled child with a toy that’s run out of battery.

You shake your head, burying your face in his neck and tightening your grip, stealing yourself with newfound strength to maintain the tempo you had before while muffling out a desperate, “No, I can keep going—”

He lets out another sound, this time in thought. “Hmm...” It doesn’t give you much confidence—how lax a sound it is—as if he isn’t even close to being spent yet. “I don’t know… You’re so slow. I’m gonna get soft if this is all you got, y’know?”

He starts moving—sitting up. He takes his own hold on your hips, and you know what that means. And you can’t handle being played with, not when he damn near breaks you each and evert time.

“No, wait! I can keep going, please, just a little longer?” you insist, both palms pushed flat on his chest with your round eyes looking at him hopelessly in plead for a second chance—even though you know he isn’t one with the patience to give you one.

He stares blankly back, big-eyed in surprise at your outburst. Though still not convinced it would be worth humoring you. If he was being honest, he’d enjoyed it more than he thought he would but had now had his fill and wanted to take charge as usual and finish the job. However…

Oh, you’re being so uncharacteristically cute today—and that pathetic look of desperation on your face is truly something else…

He smiles deceptively softly, so brightly it reaches his eyes. He very nearly looks innocent like that, but you know him too well—so well that the sight of his lips curling gives you nothing but a churning stomach.

“Okay then, doll. You convinced me.”

Suppose it doesn’t hurt letting you have your way sometimes. You have been on very good behavior lately, after all. He ought to reward you.

“I’ll be your toy a little longer.” He murmurs with a lazy smirk, nose-kissing you—patronizing, as though he’s doing you a big favor.

It doesn’t grant you any peace, and neither does the way he keeps his hold on your hips, rubbing smooth circles into the fat leisurely, letting you know he wouldn't be removing them—it serves as some type of encouragement as you start moving again.

It’s easier now when you’re upright. Holding his shoulders, you can jump rather than buck—up and down, up and down, up and down—it’s simple enough. Or it was for a moment, at least, before he planted your hips down.

“Not like that,” he shakes his head softly. “Like this.” He moves you after his will, wanting you to grind instead—putting you back in square one.

Your movement staggers, and you mask a wince with a moan—fuck, your muscles are so sore, maintaining this movement is enough to make your loins scream, feeling all but set on fire.

With one hand keeping you seated, the other takes hold of your leash and pulls you in close, his lips on the dew of your rouge-dusted cheek—you feel the grin, and like prey threatened by a hunter’s teeth, you shiver in respect of it. “Come on, dolly, ride or die, faster,” he simpers, voice laced with mockery and amusement.

Your thighs are shaking now, tightened up in anguish, begging for a break—soon to take it without your permission. How much you can take reaches a point, and everything goes slack not a second too soon.

“And now you’re done,” he snickers hotly under his breath, planting a kiss on the side of your glossy lips while you exhaustedly and gingerly take your break with a feeling of defeat. He speaks low, and you dread every eerie lick of his words, “My turn to play.”

You want to protest, but you know it’s no use. He’d made up his mind now, and challenging it any further would only turn you into a nuisance—toys are supposed to enjoy being played with, after all—best take it with grace and shut up before he reminds you.

He flips the both of you around with ease, reclaiming his spot—on top. He loves you like this, splayed out beneath him like a puppet—just waiting to have all your strings pulled.

It was good while it lasted, you think—maybe if you get better, you can make him finish and not have to endure what comes next.

“Don’t pout, dolly—that was fun,” he kisses you lips as they start to tremble. “But you suit being my toy so much better.”

♡ BNHA – Deku, Denki, Mirio ♡ JJK – Mahito, Gojo ♡ HQ – Oikawa, Miya twins, Tendou ♡ BLLK – Nagi, Bachira

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

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pucksandpower · 3 months ago

Text

Princess Protection Program

Logan Sargeant x Princess of England!Reader

Summary: when your safety is compromised due to escalating threats, the decision is made to send you overseas for your own protection, with one caveat: no one can know about your true identity (aka the fix-it fic we desperately need right now)

The sun streams through the ornate windows of Buckingham Palace as you pace anxiously in your private chambers. Your fingers fidget with the hem of your designer blouse, a habit you’ve developed when stress creeps in. The weight of the situation hangs heavy in the air, thicker than the plush carpet beneath your feet.

A sharp knock at the door makes you jump. “Come in,” you call, trying to keep your voice steady.

Your father, King Edward, enters with a grim expression etched on his face. Behind him, your mother, Queen Charlotte, follows closely, her usual poise wavering slightly.

“Darling,” your mother begins, her voice soft but strained. “We need to talk.”

You sink into a nearby armchair, bracing yourself. “Is this about the threats?”

Your father nods, his jaw tightening. “I’m afraid so. The situation has ... escalated.”

“How bad is it?” You ask, dreading the answer.

The King exchanges a look with your mother before responding. “Bad enough that we can no longer ignore it. The security team believes your life is in genuine danger.”

Your heart races, but you force yourself to remain composed. “What does that mean for me?”

Your mother moves closer, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “We think it’s best if you leave London for a while, sweetheart. Just until we can neutralize the threat.”

You stand abruptly, shaking your head. “Leave? But I can’t! I have responsibilities here, engagements planned for the entire summer!”

“Your safety is our top priority,” your father interjects firmly. “Everything else can wait.”

“Where would I even go?” You ask, exasperation creeping into your voice.

Your mother hesitates before answering. “We’ve been discussing options with the security team. We think it’s best if you go somewhere ... unexpected.”

You raise an eyebrow, curiosity momentarily overriding your anxiety. “Unexpected how?”

“Florida.”

You blink, certain you’ve misheard. “I’m sorry, did you say Florida?”

Your mother nods, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the gravity of the situation. “Your Aunt Maggie and Uncle George have that lovely beach house in Fort Lauderdale, remember? We visited when you were younger.”

“But ... Florida?” You repeat, still struggling to process the idea. “It’s so ... American.”

Your father chuckles softly. “Exactly. No one would think to look for you there. It’s the perfect cover.”

You begin pacing again, your mind racing. “For how long?”

“We’re not sure yet,” your mother admits. “But we promise to bring you home as soon as it’s safe.”

You pause, turning to face your parents. The concern in their eyes is palpable, and it hits you just how serious this situation must be for them to suggest such a drastic measure.

“Can’t I just stay here? Increase security or something?” you plead, making one last attempt.

Your father shakes his head firmly. “The palace is too exposed. There are too many variables, too many potential weak points. We need you somewhere more ... inconspicuous.”

You sigh heavily, knowing deep down that they’re right. “When do I leave?”

“Tonight,” your mother says softly. “We’ve already begun making arrangements.”

Your eyes widen. “Tonight? But I haven’t packed, I haven’t said goodbye to anyone-”

“I know it’s sudden,” your father interrupts gently, “but the quicker we move, the safer you’ll be.”

You nod slowly, reality sinking in. “I understand.”

Your mother pulls you into a tight embrace. “Oh, darling. I know this is difficult, but please try to think of it as an adventure. A chance to experience a different kind of life for a while.”

You lean into her hug, drawing comfort from her familiar perfume. “I’ll try, Mum.”

As she pulls away, your father clears his throat. “There’s one more thing. While you’re there, you’ll need to ... blend in.”

You furrow your brow. “What do you mean?”

“We think it’s best if you adopt a different identity,” he explains. “Just temporarily, of course. To throw off anyone who might be looking for you.”

“A different identity?” You repeat, the concept both thrilling and terrifying. “Like ... a commoner?”

Your mother nods encouragingly. “Exactly. You’ll be staying with Maggie and George, of course, but to the rest of the world, you’ll just be their niece visiting for the summer.”

You take a deep breath, trying to wrap your head around it all. “I suppose I could use a break from royal duties,” you admit with a small smile.

Your father’s face softens with relief. “That’s my girl. Always looking on the bright side.”

A knock at the door interrupts the moment. “Your Majesties,” a voice calls from outside. “The security team is ready for the briefing.”

Your father sighs. “We’d better go. Darling, start packing what you can. Someone will be up shortly to help you with the rest.”

As your parents move towards the door, you call out, “Wait!”

They turn back, concern etched on their faces.

“I just ... I love you both,” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “And I know you’re just trying to protect me.”

Your mother’s eyes glisten with unshed tears as she rushes back to embrace you once more. “We love you too, sweetheart. More than anything in this world.”

Your father joins the hug, his strong arms encircling both of you. For a moment, you’re not a princess facing a crisis, but simply a daughter cherishing her parents’ love.

As they reluctantly pull away, your father says, “Remember, this is only temporary. Before you know it, you’ll be back home, safe and sound.”

You nod, forcing a brave smile. “I know. I’ll make the best of it, I promise.”

With one last loving look, your parents exit the room, leaving you alone with your swirling thoughts and a suitcase to pack.

You move to your closet, running your hands along the rows of designer gowns and tailored suits. How do normal people dress in Florida? You wonder, realizing just how much you’ll need to adapt.

As you begin selecting clothes, a bittersweet excitement begins to bubble up alongside your anxiety. It’s terrifying, leaving everything you know behind, but there’s a tiny part of you that can’t help but wonder what adventures await in this unexpected journey.

You’re lost in thought when another knock sounds at the door. “Come in,” you call, expecting to see one of the staff sent to help you pack.

Instead, your best friend and lady-in-waiting, Olivia, bursts into the room. “Is it true?” She demands without preamble. “Are they really shipping you off to America?”

You sigh, nodding reluctantly. “Florida, to be exact.”

Olivia’s eyes widen. “Florida? Land of alligators and questionable fashion choices? Oh, darling, no.”

Despite everything, you can’t help but laugh. “It’s not that bad. I hope.”

Olivia moves to your side, helping you fold a blouse. “How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Until they catch whoever’s behind the threats, I suppose.”

Olivia’s face softens with concern. “Are you scared?”

You pause, considering the question. “A little,” you confess. “But also ... I don’t know. Maybe a tiny bit excited? Is that weird?”

Olivia shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Not at all. It’s like your own personal Princess Protection Program, but with better weather and beach access.”

You snort, grateful for her ability to find humor even in the darkest situations. “I’m going to miss you so much, Liv.”

“Oh, please,” she scoffs, though her eyes are suspiciously shiny. “You’ll be having so much fun living your secret Florida life, you’ll forget all about little old me.”

“Never,” you promise, pulling her into a fierce hug.

As you embrace, Olivia whispers, “Just promise me one thing?”

“Anything,” you reply without hesitation.

“If you meet some devastatingly handsome American and fall madly in love, you have to tell me every single detail.”

You pull back, laughing. “Liv, I’m going there to hide, not find romance!”

Olivia winks mischievously. “The best love stories always happen when you least expect them, darling. Trust me on this.”

As you continue packing, chatting and joking with Olivia, the weight on your shoulders begins to lift slightly. Yes, you’re leaving behind everything you know. Yes, there’s danger lurking in the shadows. But with the love of your family and friends behind you, you feel a flicker of hope.

Whatever awaits you in Fort Lauderdale, you’ll face it head-on. After all, you’re not just any ordinary girl — you’re a princess. And princesses, as you’ve always been taught, are made of stronger stuff.

As the sun begins to set, casting long shadows across your room, you zip up the last of your suitcases. Olivia helps you change into a simple outfit — jeans and a t-shirt, clothes that won’t draw attention during your journey.

A soft knock at the door signals the arrival of your security detail. “Your Highness,” a voice calls. “It’s time.”

You take a deep breath, looking around your room one last time. “Well,” you say to Olivia, your voice barely above a whisper, “I guess this is it.”

Olivia pulls you into one last fierce hug. “Go show those Floridians what British royalty is made of,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “And don’t you dare come back with an American accent.”

You laugh, wiping away a stray tear. “I’ll do my best. Take care of everything while I’m gone, okay?”

“Of course,” Olivia promises. “Now go, before I change my mind and hide you in my closet instead.”

With one last smile, you open the door. Your security team waits outside, their faces a mask of professional calm. As you follow them through the winding corridors of the palace, each step feels both like an ending and a beginning.

At the private exit, your parents wait. Your mother pulls you into a tight embrace, whispering words of love and encouragement. Your father, ever the king, maintains his composure, but you can see the emotion swimming in his eyes as he kisses your forehead.

“Remember,” he says softly, “no matter where you are, you carry the strength of your ancestors with you. You are a princess of the realm, even if you’re pretending not to be for a while.”

You nod, standing a little straighter. “I won’t let you down.”

“You never could,” your mother assures you.

With one last look at your family, at the only home you’ve ever known, you step into the waiting car. As it pulls away from the palace, you don’t look back. Instead, you fix your gaze forward, towards the unknown adventure that awaits.

Florida, you think with a mix of trepidation and excitement, I hope you’re ready for me.

***

The Florida sun beats down mercilessly as you step out of the air-conditioned car, squinting against the bright light. The humid air immediately wraps around you like a warm, damp blanket, a stark contrast to London’s typically cool climate.

“Welcome to Fort Lauderdale, sweetheart!” Your Aunt Maggie’s voice rings out, full of warmth and excitement.

You turn to see her hurrying down the driveway of an impressive Mediterranean-style villa, arms outstretched. Behind her, your Uncle George follows at a more leisurely pace, a wide grin on his face.

“Aunt Maggie, Uncle George,” you greet them, trying to infuse your voice with enthusiasm despite your jet lag and lingering anxiety. “Thank you so much for having me.”

Aunt Maggie pulls you into a tight hug, her floral perfume momentarily overwhelming your senses. “Oh, darling, we’re thrilled to have you. Aren’t we, George?”

Uncle George nods, giving you a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Absolutely. Our home is your home, princess. Er, I mean-”

“Just Y/N,” you remind him quietly, glancing around to ensure no one overheard. “Remember, I’m just your normal, everyday niece visiting for the summer.”

“Right, right,” Uncle George says, lowering his voice. “Sorry about that. Old habits, you know.”

Aunt Maggie loops her arm through yours, leading you towards the house. “Don’t you worry, dear. We’ve briefed all the neighbors. As far as they know, you’re our lovely niece from England, taking some time to experience life across the pond.”

You nod, grateful for their thoughtfulness. As you enter the house, the cool air conditioning washes over you, providing instant relief from the oppressive heat outside.

“Now,” Aunt Maggie continues, “I know this must all be very overwhelming for you. Why don’t you freshen up, and then we’ll give you the grand tour?”

“That sounds lovely,” you agree, realizing just how grimy you feel after the long journey.

Uncle George appears with your suitcases. “I’ll show you to your room. It’s got a great view of the pool.”

As you follow him up the stairs, you can’t help but marvel at the casual opulence of the house. It’s certainly luxurious, but in a relaxed, lived-in way that feels worlds apart from the formal grandeur of the palace.

Your room, as promised, is beautiful. Large windows overlook a sparkling pool surrounded by swaying palm trees. For a moment, you feel like you’ve stepped into a holiday brochure.

“I’ll let you get settled,” Uncle George says, setting down your bags. “Take your time, we’re on Florida time now. No rush.”

As the door closes behind him, you sink onto the plush bed, finally allowing yourself a moment to process everything. You’re here, in Florida, thousands of miles from home and everything familiar. The reality of your situation hits you anew, and you feel a lump forming in your throat.

A soft knock at the door interrupts your thoughts. “Y/N, dear?” Aunt Maggie calls. “I’ve brought you some iced tea. May I come in?”

“Of course,” you reply, quickly composing yourself.

Aunt Maggie enters, carrying a tall glass of tea so cold that condensation is already forming on the outside. She hands it to you with a warm smile. “I thought you might need this. The Florida heat can be quite a shock to the system.”

You take a sip, the sweet, refreshing liquid instantly soothing your parched throat. “Thank you, Aunt Maggie. This is delicious.”

She sits beside you on the bed, her face softening with concern. “How are you really doing, sweetheart? I can only imagine how difficult this must be for you.”

For a moment, you consider maintaining your composed facade. But something about Aunt Maggie’s gentle demeanor breaks through your defenses. “I’m ... scared,” you admit quietly. “And I miss home already. But I’m trying to be brave.”

Aunt Maggie wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Oh, my dear. It’s okay to be scared. What you’re going through, it’s not easy. But you are brave, just by being here.”

You lean into her embrace, allowing yourself this moment of vulnerability. “I just feel so ... out of place. I don’t know how to be a normal person.”

Aunt Maggie chuckles softly. “Well, I’ve got news for you. None of us really know how to be normal. We’re all just figuring it out as we go along.”

Her words bring a small smile to your face. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Tell you what,” she says, giving your shoulders a squeeze. “Why don’t you get changed into something cool and comfortable, and then we’ll show you around the neighborhood? It might help you feel more settled.”

You nod, feeling a flicker of curiosity despite your apprehension. “I’d like that.”

After Aunt Maggie leaves, you dig through your suitcase, realizing with a start that you have no idea what constitutes “cool and comfortable” in Florida. You eventually settle on a light sundress and sandals, hoping it’s appropriate.

Downstairs, Aunt Maggie and Uncle George are waiting. “Oh, don’t you look lovely,” Aunt Maggie coos. “Very Floridian chic.”

Uncle George grabs a set of keys from a hook by the door. “Shall we take the golf cart? It’s the preferred mode of transportation around here.”

You blink in surprise. “We’re allowed to drive golf carts on the streets?”

“Welcome to Florida, kiddo,” Uncle George laughs. “Different rules apply here.”

The next hour is a whirlwind tour of the neighborhood. You zip along palm-lined streets in the golf cart, waving at neighbors who call out cheerful greetings. Aunt Maggie provides a running commentary.

“That’s the Johnsons’ place — lovely people, but their dog is a menace to squirrels everywhere. Oh, and over there is the community pool, although everyone just uses their own pools, really. And that’s where we have our neighborhood barbecues ...”

As if on cue, a man watering his impeccably manicured lawn calls out, “Hey, Maggie! George! Don’t forget the barbecue tonight!”

Aunt Maggie turns to you with a bright smile. “Oh, that’s perfect timing! What do you say, Y/N? Feel up to a little neighborhood gathering?”

You hesitate, anxiety bubbling up at the thought of meeting so many new people. But you remind yourself that this is part of your cover, part of being normal. “Sure,” you say, trying to sound enthusiastic. “Why not?”

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of unpacking and preparation. Before you know it, you’re walking down the street with your aunt and uncle, a dish of something called “ambrosia salad” in your hands.

The barbecue is in full swing when you arrive. The air is filled with the smell of grilling meat and the sound of laughter and cheerful conversation. Children splash in a nearby pool while adults mingle, cold drinks in hand.

“George! Maggie!” A jovial man with a impressive mustache approaches, clapping Uncle George on the back. “Glad you could make it. And this must be your niece!”

You smile politely, remembering your cover story. “Yes, hello. I’m Y/N. It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Welcome to the neighborhood, Y/N,” the man says warmly. “I’m Bill, by the way. Now, let me introduce you to some folks. Can’t have you standing around like a wallflower, can we?”

Before you can protest, Bill is leading you through the crowd, making introductions left and right. You smile and nod, trying desperately to remember names and keep your story straight.

“And this here is Logan,” Bill says, stopping in front of a young man about your age. “Logan’s our local celebrity, drives race cars for a living.”

You look up, meeting a pair of startlingly green eyes. The young man — Logan — smiles, and you feel your heart skip a beat.

“Hi there,” Logan says, his voice a pleasant drawl. “Logan Sargeant. Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“Hello,” you manage, suddenly very aware of your accent. “You’re a race car driver?”

Logan nods, a hint of pride in his smile. “Formula 1, yeah. I drive for Williams Racing.”

Your eyes widen in recognition. You’ve attended a few F1 events in your official capacity, though you’ve never paid much attention to the drivers themselves. “That’s impressive,” you say genuinely.

“Ah, it’s just a job,” Logan says with a self-deprecating shrug, though his eyes sparkle with obvious passion. “What brings you to our little slice of paradise?”

You launch into your prepared story about traveling abroad, surprised at how easily the words flow. Logan listens attentively, asking questions that show genuine interest.

Just as you’re starting to relax into the conversation, Aunt Maggie appears at your elbow. “Y/N, dear, come meet the Hendersons. They’ve got a daughter about your age.”

You turn back to Logan with an apologetic smile. “It was nice meeting you, Logan.”

“Likewise,” he replies, that charming grin still in place. “Hope to see you around, Y/N.”

As Aunt Maggie leads you away, you can’t help but glance back over your shoulder. Logan is still watching you, and when your eyes meet, he gives a little wave.

For the rest of the evening, you find yourself scanning the crowd, hoping for another glimpse of those green eyes. But between meeting what feels like the entire neighborhood and helping Aunt Maggie with hostess duties, you don’t get another chance to talk to Logan.

As the sun begins to set, casting a golden glow over the gathering, you feel a mix of emotions washing over you. There’s still a lingering sadness, a homesickness that sits heavy in your chest. But there’s also a tiny spark of excitement, a feeling that maybe, just maybe, this unexpected adventure might not be so bad after all.

Uncle George finds you as the party begins to wind down. “How you holding up, kiddo?” He asks gently.

You consider the question for a moment. “I’m okay,” you say, surprising yourself with how true it feels. “It’s all very different, but ... I think I might be able to get used to it.”

Uncle George smiles, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “That’s my girl. Now, what do you say we head home? I don’t know about you, but all this socializing has worn me out.”

You nod gratefully, suddenly aware of how tired you are. As you walk home with your aunt and uncle, the warm night air filled with the sound of cicadas, you feel a sense of calm settling over you.

This isn’t home, not really. But maybe, for now, it can be enough. And as you climb into bed that night, your mind drifts to a pair of green eyes and a charming smile, wondering what other surprises Florida might have in store for you.

***

The Florida sun has barely crested the horizon when you step out of your aunt and uncle’s house, running shoes laced tight. You’ve taken to early morning jogs as a way to clear your head and adjust to the new time zone. The neighborhood is quiet, save for the occasional chirp of exotic birds and the distant hum of sprinklers.

As you round the corner, lost in thought, you nearly collide with another runner coming from the opposite direction.

“Whoa there!” A familiar voice calls out, hands reaching out to steady you.

You look up, startled, into the green eyes of Logan Sargeant. He’s dressed in running gear, a light sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead.

“Oh! Logan, I’m so sorry,” you stammer, feeling heat rise to your cheeks that has nothing to do with the morning warmth.

Logan grins, his hand lingering on your arm for a moment before dropping away. “No harm done. I didn’t know you were a runner.”

You shrug, suddenly self-conscious. “I’m not really. Just trying to ... acclimate, I suppose.”

“To the heat or to Florida in general?” Logan asks, falling into step beside you as you both slow to a walk.

“Both, I think,” you admit with a small laugh. “It’s quite different from home.”

Logan nods understandingly. “I bet. I’ve been to England quite a bit since Williams is based there. Beautiful country, but yeah, not exactly known for its tropical climate.”

You’re about to respond when your stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud growl. Logan’s eyebrows shoot up in amusement.

“Sounds like someone worked up an appetite,” he chuckles. “Have you tried the coffee shop down on Atlantic Boulevard yet? They make a mean breakfast burrito.”

You shake your head, realizing you haven’t ventured much beyond the immediate neighborhood.

Logan’s face lights up. “Well, we can’t have that. What do you say we grab some breakfast? My treat, to make up for almost running you over.”

You hesitate for a moment, your ingrained caution warring with the genuine warmth in Logan’s smile. “I wouldn’t want to impose ...”

“Not at all,” Logan insists. “Besides, I could use a coffee after this run. What do you say?”

Against your better judgment, you find yourself nodding. “Alright, that sounds lovely. Thank you.”

The walk to the coffee shop is filled with easy conversation. Logan asks about your impressions of Florida so far, and you find yourself relaxing as you share some of your culture shock moments.

“Wait, you’ve never had a key lime pie before?” Logan asks incredulously as you approach the quaint storefront of the coffee shop.

You shake your head, laughing. “I had never even heard of it! Aunt Maggie was scandalized.”

Logan holds the door open for you, the aroma of fresh coffee and baked goods washing over you as you enter. “Well, we’ll have to remedy that. They make a pretty decent one here, actually.”

As you settle into a cozy booth by the window, you can’t help but marvel at how ... normal this feels. Sitting in a cafe with a handsome boy, discussing pastries and local cuisine. It’s a far cry from formal state dinners and carefully orchestrated public appearances.

“So,” Logan says after you’ve placed your orders, “what brings you to Fort Lauderdale? Your aunt mentioned something about you taking some time off?”

You nod, reciting the cover story you’ve practiced. “Yes, I wanted to experience life outside of England for a bit before graduate school. My aunt and uncle were kind enough to let me stay with them.”

Logan leans forward, genuinely interested. “That’s cool. Any specific plans while you’re here?”

You shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. “Not really. Just ... experiencing life, I suppose. What about you? Shouldn’t you be off racing cars somewhere exotic?”

Logan grins, a spark of excitement lighting up his eyes. “Usually, yeah. But it’s the summer shutdown right now. All the teams take a break for a few weeks. I always try to come home when I can.”

“That must be nice,” you say softly, a pang of homesickness hitting you unexpectedly.

Logan’s expression softens. “You miss home?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak for a moment. Logan reaches across the table, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Hey, it’s okay. Homesickness is rough. But you know what helps?”

You look up, meeting his eyes. “What’s that?”

“Making some good memories in your new place,” Logan says with a warm smile. “And I happen to be an expert in South Florida fun.”

You can’t help but smile back. “Is that so?”

Logan nods solemnly. “Oh yeah. In fact, I’d be happy to be your official tour guide. If you’re interested, that is.”

Before you can respond, your food arrives. The conversation flows easily as you eat, Logan regaling you with tales of his racing adventures and you sharing carefully edited stories of life in England.

As you finish your meal, Logan glances at his watch. “I hate to eat and run, but I’ve got a training session in an hour. But hey, if you’re free later, maybe we could meet up at the beach? I could show you some of the best spots.”

You hesitate, knowing you should probably decline. But the thought of spending more time with Logan, of experiencing a slice of normal life, is too tempting to resist.

“That sounds wonderful,” you find yourself saying. “What time were you thinking?”

Logan’s face lights up. “How about three? I can meet you at the public access point near your aunt and uncle’s place.”

You nod, already looking forward to it. “Three it is.”

As you part ways outside the cafe, Logan gives you another heart-melting smile. “See you later, Y/N. And welcome to Fort Lauderdale.”

The rest of the morning passes in a blur. You help Aunt Maggie with some gardening, your mind constantly drifting to thoughts of green eyes and easy smiles. By the time 3 o’clock rolls around, you’re a bundle of nervous energy.

You spot Logan waiting by the beach access, a backpack slung over one shoulder. He waves as you approach, that now-familiar grin spreading across his face.

“Ready for Beach Life 101?” He asks as you fall into step beside him.

You nod, breathing in the salty air. “Lead the way, Professor Sargeant.”

Logan laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “Oh, I like that. Maybe I’ve found my post-racing career.”

As you walk along the shoreline, Logan points out various landmarks and shares local trivia. You find yourself captivated, not just by the information, but by the passion with which he speaks about his hometown.

“And over there,” Logan says, pointing to a stretch of beach dotted with volleyball nets, “is where I learned that I am absolutely terrible at beach volleyball.”

You giggle, the sound surprising even yourself. “Oh? Do tell.”

Logan dramatically recounts a particularly disastrous game from his teenage days, complete with exaggerated gestures. You’re laughing so hard you barely notice when you stumble over a piece of driftwood.

Logan’s arm shoots out, steadying you. “Whoa there. You okay?”

You nod, suddenly very aware of how close you’re standing. “Yes, thank you. I’m not usually this clumsy.”

“Must be my sparkling wit distracting you,” Logan teases, his hand lingering on your arm for a moment before dropping away.

As the afternoon wears on, you find yourself relaxing more and more in Logan’s company. He’s easy to talk to, genuinely interested in your thoughts and experiences. For a few blissful hours, you almost forget about the circumstances that brought you here.

As the sun begins to dip towards the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks, Logan leads you to a quiet spot away from the main beach.

“This,” he says with a flourish, “is the best place to watch the sunset in all of Fort Lauderdale.”

You settle onto the sand, marveling at the view. “It’s beautiful,” you breathe.

Logan sits beside you, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his sun-kissed skin. “Yeah, it really is.”

For a moment, you sit in comfortable silence, watching as the sun slowly sinks into the ocean. Then Logan turns to you, his expression suddenly serious.

“Can I ask you something?”

You nod, a flicker of nervousness igniting in your chest. “Of course.”

“Why do I get the feeling there’s more to your story than you’re letting on?”

Your heart races, panic threatening to overwhelm you. “What do you mean?”

Logan shrugs, his eyes searching your face. “I don’t know. There’s just something about you. The way you carry yourself, the things you say ... or don’t say. It’s like you’re holding part of yourself back.”

You look away, focusing on the horizon. “I’m just ... adjusting. To being here, I mean.”

Logan nods slowly. “I get that. And hey, if there are things you don’t want to share, that’s cool. I just want you to know that you can trust me. If you want to, that is.”

You turn back to him, struck by the sincerity in his eyes. For a wild moment, you consider telling him everything — who you really are, why you’re here. But the weight of your family’s expectations, the very real danger that drove you here, holds you back.

Instead, you offer him a small smile. “Thank you, Logan. That means a lot.”

He returns your smile, reaching out to squeeze your hand gently. “Anytime. Whatever brought you here, I’m glad it did. It’s been really nice getting to know you.”

As the last rays of sunlight disappear beneath the waves, you find yourself wishing you could freeze this moment. Here, with the sound of the ocean in your ears and Logan’s hand warm in yours, you feel more like yourself than you have in years.

But as the sky darkens and the first stars begin to appear, reality starts to creep back in. You know you can’t stay in this bubble forever.

“We should probably head back,” you say reluctantly, breaking the comfortable silence that has settled between you.

Logan nods, standing and offering you a hand up. “Yeah, I guess so. But this doesn’t have to be a one-time thing. Maybe we could do this again sometime?”

You smile, surprising yourself with how much you want that. “I’d like that very much.”

As you walk back along the beach, Logan’s hand brushes against yours. After a moment’s hesitation, you let your fingers intertwine with his. It’s a small gesture, but it feels monumental.

At the edge of your aunt and uncle’s property, you pause. “Thank you for today, Logan. It was ... wonderful.”

Logan’s smile is soft in the dim light. “I’m glad. And if you ever need a break from acclimating, you know where to find me.”

Before you can overthink it, you lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Goodnight, Logan.”

As you hurry inside, your heart pounding, you catch a glimpse of Logan touching his cheek, a dazed smile on his face.

In your room, you sink onto the bed, a whirlwind of emotions swirling through you. You know you’re treading dangerous waters. Logan is everything you shouldn’t want — a distraction, a complication, a risk to your cover.

But as you drift off to sleep, your dreams are filled with green eyes and the sound of waves crashing on the shore. And for the first time since arriving in Florida, you find yourself looking forward to what tomorrow might bring.

***

The gentle lapping of waves against the hull of the boat fills the comfortable silence between you and Logan. You’re sprawled on the deck, basking in the warm afternoon sun, while Logan sits nearby, his fingers absently tracing patterns on your arm.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Logan’s voice breaks through your reverie.

You turn your head to look at him, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Just thinking about how surreal this all feels. A few weeks ago, I never could have imagined ... this.”

Logan’s eyebrows quirk up in amusement. “What, lying on a boat in the middle of the Atlantic? Or spending time with an incredibly charming race car driver?”

You laugh, playfully swatting his arm. “Both, I suppose. Though I’m not sure about the ‘incredibly charming’ part.”

“Ouch,” Logan clutches his chest in mock hurt. “You wound me.”

Sitting up, you lean against the boat’s railing, taking in the endless expanse of blue around you. “It’s just ... I’ve never felt this free before. This ... unburdened.”

Logan’s expression softens as he moves to sit beside you. “What do you mean?”

You bite your lip, choosing your words carefully. “Back home, there’s always ... expectations. Responsibilities. Here, with you, I feel like I can just be myself.”

Logan nods thoughtfully. “I get that. It’s kind of like how I feel when I’m racing. When I’m in the car, nothing else matters. It’s just me, the track, and the speed.”

“That sounds exhilarating,” you say, genuinely curious. “Is that why you love it so much?”

Logan’s eyes light up with passion. “Partly, yeah. But it’s more than that. It’s the challenge, you know? Pushing yourself to the absolute limit, always striving to be better, faster.”

You listen intently as Logan delves into the intricacies of Formula 1 racing, marveling at the depth of his knowledge and the intensity of his enthusiasm.

“Sorry,” he says suddenly, looking a bit sheepish. “I tend to ramble when it comes to racing. I’m probably boring you.”

You shake your head emphatically. “Not at all! I love hearing you talk about it. Your passion is ... inspiring.”

Logan’s smile is warm as he takes your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Thanks. You know, it’s nice to be able to talk about this stuff with someone who actually listens. Most people just hear ‘Formula 1 driver’ and make assumptions.”

“What kind of assumptions?” you ask, curious.

Logan shrugs. “Oh, you know. That I’m some adrenaline junkie who doesn’t take anything seriously. Or that I’m living some glamorous, carefree life.”

You squeeze his hand gently. “But it’s not like that at all, is it?”

“Not even close,” Logan admits. “Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do. But the pressure ... it can be overwhelming sometimes.”

“How so?” You prompt, recognizing the weight in his voice.

Logan leans back, his gaze distant. “It’s not just about driving fast, you know? There’s the physical training, the technical knowledge, the media obligations. And then there’s the constant pressure to perform. Everyone always questioning whether you deserve your seat.”

You nod, understanding all too well the burden of constant scrutiny. “That sounds incredibly stressful.”

“It can be,” Logan agrees. “But then I remember how lucky I am to be living my dream, and it puts things in perspective.”

You smile, admiring his positive outlook. “That’s a wonderful way of looking at it.”

Logan turns to you, his green eyes intense. “What about you? What’s your dream?”

The question catches you off guard. For so long, your life has been dictated by duty and expectation. The concept of a personal dream feels almost foreign.

“I ... I’m not sure,” you admit quietly. “I’ve never really thought about it in those terms.”

Logan’s brow furrows in concern. “Really? There must be something you’re passionate about, something you’d love to do if you could do anything in the world.”

You ponder the question, thinking back to the interests and passions you’ve had to set aside for your royal duties. “I’ve always loved art,” you say finally. “Painting, specifically. But it’s always been more of a hobby than a serious pursuit.”

Logan’s face lights up. “That’s awesome! Have you painted anything since you’ve been here?”

You shake your head, a twinge of regret in your chest. “No, I ... I didn’t bring any supplies with me.”

“Well, we’ll have to fix that,” Logan says decisively. “I’m sure there’s an art supply store in town. We could go tomorrow if you want?”

The thought of picking up a paintbrush again sends a thrill of excitement through you. “Really? You wouldn’t mind?”

Logan laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “Mind? Y/N, I’d love to see this side of you. Maybe you could even paint me sometime,” he adds with a wink.

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks. “I’m not sure you’d want that. I’m terribly out of practice.”

“I’m sure you’re amazing,” Logan says with such conviction that you can’t help but believe him a little.

A comfortable silence falls between you, broken only by the sound of the waves and the occasional cry of a seagull. You find yourself studying Logan’s profile, admiring the way the sunlight catches in his hair and highlights the strong line of his jaw.

As if sensing your gaze, Logan turns to you, a soft smile playing on his lips. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say, returning his smile. “I’m just ... happy.”

Logan’s expression becomes tender as he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah? Me too.”

The moment stretches between you, charged with unspoken emotion. Logan leans in slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away if you want to. But you don’t want to. Instead, you meet him halfway, your lips brushing together in a soft, sweet kiss.

When you part, Logan rests his forehead against yours. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now,” he admits.

You laugh softly, your heart feeling lighter than it has in years. “Me too.”

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of conversation, laughter, and stolen kisses. As the sun begins to set, painting the sky in brilliant hues of orange and pink, Logan steers the boat back towards the docks.

“So,” he says as you dock, “what do you say we go on a proper date tomorrow? Dinner, maybe? After our art supply shopping trip, of course.”

You nod, unable to keep the smile off your face. “That sounds wonderful.”

As Logan walks you back to your aunt and uncle’s house, his hand warm in yours, you can’t help but marvel at how much your life has changed in just a few short weeks. The weight of your royal responsibilities, the constant fear from the threats that drove you here — it all feels distant, like a half-remembered dream.

At your doorstep, Logan pulls you close, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Goodnight, Y/N. Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight, Logan,” you reply, reluctant to let go of his hand.

Inside, you lean against the closed door, your heart racing with a mixture of excitement and an emotion you’re not quite ready to name. For the first time in your life, you’re experiencing something that’s wholly yours — not dictated by duty or protocol, but born from genuine connection and shared moments.

The next few weeks pass in a whirlwind of stolen moments and shared adventures. True to his word, Logan takes you to the art supply store, insisting on buying you the best paints and brushes despite your protests.

You find yourself rediscovering your passion for art, spending hours capturing the vibrant colors and energy of Fort Lauderdale on canvas. Logan is always eager to see your latest creations, his genuine enthusiasm bolstering your confidence.

One evening, as you sit on the beach watching the sunset, Logan turns to you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “What do you say we go for a swim?”

You laugh, gesturing at your sundress. “Now? We’re not exactly dressed for it.”

Logan shrugs, his grin widening. “So? Live a little, Y/N. When was the last time you went swimming in your clothes?”

You think back, realizing with a start that you’ve never done anything so spontaneous. “I ... never, actually.”

“Well then,” Logan says, standing and offering you his hand, “there’s no time like the present.”

Before you can overthink it, you take his hand, allowing him to pull you to your feet. Together, you run towards the water, laughing as the cool waves crash around your ankles.

Logan pulls you deeper, until you’re both waist-deep in the ocean. The water is refreshing against your sun-warmed skin, and you can’t help but giggle at the absurdity of it all.

“See?” Logan says, pulling you close. “Isn’t this fun?”

You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck. “It’s perfect.”

As you float together in the gentle waves, the last rays of sunlight painting the sky in brilliant hues, you’re struck by a sudden, overwhelming realization. You’re falling in love with Logan Sargeant.

The thought should terrify you. After all, you know this can’t last forever. Your real life, your responsibilities, they’re all waiting for you back in England. But in this moment, with Logan’s arms around you and the vast ocean stretching out before you, you can’t bring yourself to care about the future.

“What are you thinking about?” Logan asks softly, his fingers tracing patterns on your back.

You look up at him, taking in the warmth in his green eyes, the gentle curve of his smile. “Just ... how happy I am right now. How I wish this moment could last forever.”

Logan’s expression softens as he leans in to kiss you. It’s a kiss full of unspoken emotion, of shared dreams and secret hopes. When you part, Logan rests his forehead against yours.

“Me too, Y/N,” he whispers. “Me too.”

As you float in the warm Florida waters, the stars beginning to twinkle overhead, you allow yourself to fully embrace the moment. You know that reality will intrude eventually, that the carefree days of this Florida summer can’t last forever. But for now, in Logan’s arms, you feel truly, completely free.

And for the first time in your life, you dare to dream of a future shaped by your own desires rather than the expectations of others. It’s a dangerous thought, a seed of hope that you know might lead to heartbreak. But as Logan pulls you in for another kiss, you can’t bring yourself to regret it.

For now, you’re just a girl falling in love under the Florida stars. And for now, that’s enough.

***

The sun is setting over Fort Lauderdale as you and Logan stroll hand in hand along Las Olas Boulevard. The street is alive with the buzz of restaurants and boutiques, but you’re barely aware of your surroundings, lost in thought about the conversation you know you need to have.

Logan’s voice breaks through your reverie. “Earth to Y/N,” he says, gently nudging your shoulder. “You okay? You’ve been pretty quiet tonight.”

You force a smile, trying to quell the anxiety bubbling in your chest. “I’m fine. Just ... thinking.”

Logan’s brow furrows with concern. “Anything you want to talk about?”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “Actually, yes. Logan, there’s something I need to tell you-”

But before you can continue, a flash goes off nearby, startling you both. You turn to see a man with a camera, his lens pointed directly at you.

“Princess Y/N?” The photographer calls out, his voice a mix of disbelief and excitement. “Is that you?”

Your blood runs cold as more flashes go off. Suddenly, it seems like cameras are appearing from every direction, voices calling out your name and title.

Logan’s hand tightens around yours. “Princess?” He repeats, confusion evident in his voice. “Y/N, what’s going on?”

You feel panic rising in your throat. This isn’t how you wanted him to find out. “Logan, I can explain-”

But Logan’s already pulling you away from the growing crowd, his jaw set in a hard line. He leads you down a side street, away from the main thoroughfare, until you reach a quiet park.

As soon as you’re alone, Logan drops your hand, turning to face you with a mixture of hurt and bewilderment in his eyes. “Princess Y/N? That’s who you are?”

You nod, your heart racing. “Yes. Logan, I’m so sorry. I was going to tell you-”

“When?” Logan interrupts, his voice sharp. “When were you planning on telling me that everything about you has been a lie?”

“Not everything,” you protest, reaching for his hand, but he pulls away. “My feelings for you are real, Logan. That’s not a lie.”

Logan runs a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell me? Did you think this was funny? Playing at being a normal girl, slumming it with the commoner?”

His words sting, and you feel tears pricking at your eyes. “No! Of course not. It wasn’t like that at all.”

“Then what was it like?” Logan demands. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve been playing me for a fool this entire time.”

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. “I came here because my life was in danger. There were threats, serious ones. My family thought it would be safer if I disappeared for a while, if I lived like a normal person.”

Logan’s expression softens slightly, but the hurt is still evident in his eyes. “Okay, I can understand that. But why didn’t you trust me enough to tell me the truth?”

“I wanted to,” you say softly. “So many times. But I was scared. Scared of how you’d react, scared of ruining what we had.”

“What we had,” Logan repeats, his voice bitter. “And what exactly was that, Y/N? Or should I call you ‘Your Highness’ now?”

You flinch at his tone. “Logan, please. What we have is real. My feelings for you are real.”

“Are they?” Logan challenges. “Because the Y/N I thought I knew wouldn’t have lied to me for weeks. The Y/N I was falling in love with wouldn’t have let me make a fool of myself, talking about my problems like they were anything compared to being actual royalty.”

His words hit you like a physical blow. “Falling in love with?” You repeat, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s expression crumples for a moment before he schools it back into anger. “Yeah, well. I guess that just shows how stupid I’ve been.”

“You’re not stupid,” you insist, taking a step towards him. “Logan, I love you too. That’s why I was so scared to tell you the truth. I didn’t want to lose you.”

Logan laughs humorlessly. “Well, great job there. Because finding out like this? With paparazzi swarming us? That’s so much better.”

You feel tears starting to fall, but you make no move to wipe them away. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“What did you think was going to happen?” Logan asks, his voice softer now but still laced with hurt. “Did you think we could just keep playing pretend forever? That your real life wouldn’t come crashing back in eventually?”

You shake your head, feeling the weight of your reality pressing down on you. “No, I ... I don’t know what I thought. I just knew that when I was with you, I felt free. I felt like myself for the first time in my life.”

Logan’s expression wavers between anger and sympathy. “And who is that, Y/N? Because I’m not sure I know anymore.”

“I’m still me,” you insist. “The girl who loves art and quiet moments on the beach. The girl who laughs at your terrible jokes and feels safest when she’s in your arms. That’s all real, Logan. The only thing that’s different is my title.”

Logan scoffs. “Only your title? Y/N, you’re a princess. Do you have any idea what this means? The media frenzy, the scrutiny, the expectations ... it’s not just your title that’s different. It’s your entire world.”

You feel a flicker of frustration ignite in your chest. “You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t lived with that pressure every day of my life? That’s why being here, being with you, has meant so much to me. For once, I got to just be myself.”

“But it wasn’t really yourself, was it?” Logan counters. “It was a version of you. A version without the weight of a crown.”

His words hit too close to home, and you feel your own anger rising. “And what about you? You talk about pressure and expectations like I couldn’t possibly understand. But I do understand, Logan. More than you know.”

Logan shakes his head, his voice rising. “It’s not the same thing, Y/N! I chose this life. I worked for it. You ... you were born into it. And you lied about it. To me, to everyone here.”

“I didn’t have a choice!” You shout, surprising yourself with the intensity of your emotion. “Do you think I wanted to lie? Do you think I enjoyed keeping this secret? I was trying to stay alive, Logan. I was trying to protect myself and the people I care about. Including you!”

Logan takes a step back, his eyes wide. For a moment, silence hangs heavy between you.

“Protect me?” He finally says, his voice low. “How does lying to me protect me?”

You take a shaky breath, trying to calm yourself. “The less you knew, the safer you were. And ... the more I fell for you, the more I wanted to keep you separate from that part of my life. To keep this — us — untainted by all of that.”

Logan’s expression softens slightly, but the hurt is still evident in his eyes. “Y/N ... I get that you were in a difficult position. I do. But relationships are built on trust. How can I trust you now?”

His words cut deep, and you feel fresh tears welling up. “I don’t know,” you admit quietly. “But I want to try. Logan, please. What we have ... it’s worth fighting for, isn’t it?”

Logan runs a hand over his face, looking suddenly tired. “I don’t know, Y/N. This is ... it’s a lot to process. I need time to think.”

You nod, your heart sinking. “I understand. I just ... I hope you can forgive me. Eventually.”

Logan looks at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “I hope so too. But right now I think we both need some space.”

As he turns to walk away, you feel a piece of your heart go with him. “Logan,” you call out, your voice breaking.

He pauses but doesn’t turn back. “Yeah?”

“I really do love you,” you say softly. “That was never a lie.”

Logan’s shoulders slump slightly. “I know,” he says, so quietly you almost don’t hear it. And then he’s gone, disappearing into the growing darkness of the park.

You stand there for a long moment, tears streaming down your face, feeling more alone than you ever have before. The sound of distant camera shutters reminds you that your private world has well and truly shattered.

With a heavy heart, you pull out your phone to call your aunt and uncle. It’s time to face the music, to deal with the fallout of your exposed identity. But as you dial, all you can think about is the look of betrayal in Logan’s eyes, wondering if you’ve lost him for good.

As you wait for your aunt to pick up, you gaze out at the Florida skyline, the twinkling lights now seeming cold and distant. For a fleeting moment, you allow yourself to imagine a different life — one where you’re just Y/N, an ordinary girl in love with a boy who races cars. But reality crashes back in as your aunt’s worried voice comes through the phone.

“It’s time to come home,” she says, and you know she doesn’t just mean back to the house.

Your summer of freedom, of love and normalcy, is coming to an end. As you give your aunt your location for pickup, you can’t help but wonder … was it worth it? The joy, the love, the heartbreak — would you do it all again, knowing how it would end?

As you spot your uncle’s car approaching, you realize with a start that yes, you would. Because for a brief, shining moment, you knew what it was like to be truly, completely yourself. And no crown, no duty, no threat could ever take that away from you.

***

The Florida sun beats down mercilessly as you sit on the porch swing of your aunt and uncle’s house, listlessly flipping through a magazine. It’s been a week since the paparazzi incident, a week since your world turned upside down. The threats back home have been neutralized, your security team assures you, but it feels like a hollow victory.

Your aunt’s voice drifts from inside the house. “Y/N, darling, are you sure you don’t want to come to the beach with us?”

“I’m sure, Aunt Maggie,” you call back, forcing a cheerfulness you don’t feel into your voice. “You and Uncle George go ahead. I’m fine here.”

As the sound of their car fades away, you let out a heavy sigh. Fine is the last thing you are. With only a week left before your scheduled return to England, you feel like you’re in limbo, caught between two worlds and belonging to neither.

The sudden roar of an engine pulls you from your melancholy thoughts. A sleek sports car you recognize all too well pulls up in front of the house. Your heart leaps into your throat as Logan steps out, looking as devastatingly handsome as ever in jeans and a simple t-shirt.

For a moment, you both freeze, eyes locked on each other. Then Logan takes a hesitant step forward. “Hi,” he says, his voice carrying a mix of nervousness and determination.

“Hi,” you reply, barely above a whisper. “What are you doing here?”

Logan runs a hand through his hair, a gesture you’ve come to recognize as a sign of his anxiety. “I ... I needed to see you. To talk to you. Can we ...” He gestures vaguely towards the porch.

You nod, moving over on the swing to make room for him. Logan sits, careful to leave space between you, and for a moment, neither of you speaks.

Finally, Logan breaks the silence. “I owe you an apology,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “The way I reacted when I found out ... it wasn’t fair to you.”

You shake your head, feeling a lump form in your throat. “No, Logan. I’m the one who should be apologizing. I lied to you, kept this huge part of my life secret. You had every right to be angry.”

Logan turns to face you, his green eyes intense. “Maybe. But I’ve had time to think. To really process everything. And I realized something important.”

“What’s that?” You ask, hardly daring to breathe.

“That it doesn’t matter,” Logan says simply. “Princess, commoner, whatever — it doesn’t change how I feel about you. Because the girl I fell in love with? She’s real. Royal title or not.”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes. “Logan ...”

He reaches out, taking your hand in his. “Let me finish, please. I talked to my family, tried to sort out my feelings. And I kept coming back to one thing — how I feel when I’m with you. How you make me laugh, how you challenge me, how you see me for who I am, not just what I do.”

“I feel the same way,” you whisper, squeezing his hand. “Being with you ... it’s the freest I’ve ever felt.”

Logan’s thumb traces circles on your palm, sending shivers up your arm. “I know we have a lot to figure out. The distance, the media attention, our careers ... it won’t be easy. But Y/N, I think what we have is worth fighting for. If you’ll have me, that is.”

You can’t hold back your tears any longer. They fall freely as you launch yourself into Logan’s arms, burying your face in his neck. “Of course I’ll have you, you idiot,” you mumble against his skin.

Logan’s arms tighten around you, and you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head. “Thank God,” he murmurs. “Because I don’t think I could bear losing you again.”

You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze. “I’m so sorry. For lying, for putting you in this position. I never meant to hurt you.”

Logan cups your face gently, wiping away your tears with his thumbs. “I know, sweetheart. And I’m sorry too, for not giving you a chance to explain. For letting my hurt and pride get in the way of what really matters.”

“And what’s that?” You ask, though you think you already know the answer.

“Us,” Logan says simply. “You and me. Everything else ... we’ll figure it out together.”

You lean in, pressing your forehead against his. “Together,” you repeat, loving the sound of it. “I like that.”

Logan’s lips curve into a smile. “Me too. Now, can I please kiss you? Because I’ve been dying to do that since the moment I saw you on this porch.”

You laugh, a sound of pure joy and relief. “I thought you’d never ask.”

As Logan’s lips meet yours, you feel like you’re coming home. The kiss is tender and passionate all at once, an apology and a promise wrapped into one. When you finally part, you’re both breathless.

“So,” Logan says, his arms still wrapped around you. “What now, Princess? Because I have to say, I’m a little out of my depth here. Is there some royal protocol for dating I should know about?”

You can’t help but giggle at the mix of humor and genuine concern in his voice. “Well, traditionally, you’d have to ask my father for permission to court me. Preferably while wearing a powdered wig and breeches.”

Logan’s eyes widen in mock horror. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

You pat his cheek affectionately. “About the wig and breeches, yes. About talking to my father ... that might actually have to happen at some point.”

Logan gulps audibly. “Right. Talking to the King of England. No pressure or anything.”

You snuggle closer to him on the swing. “He’ll love you. How could he not?”

“I hope you’re right,” Logan says, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Because I’m not giving you up without a fight, royal decree or not.”

You sit in comfortable silence for a moment, enjoying the simple pleasure of being in each other’s arms again. But reality begins to creep in, and you feel Logan tense slightly.

“Y/N,” he says softly. “What about ... I mean, you’re leaving in a week, right?”

You nod, feeling a pang in your chest. “Yes. The jet is being sent to pick me up next Saturday.”

Logan takes a deep breath. “And then what? I mean, for us?”

You sit up, turning to face him fully. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I want to make this work, Logan. More than anything. But I won’t lie to you — it won’t be easy.”

Logan nods, his expression serious. “I know. The distance, our schedules ... not to mention the media circus that’s bound to happen when word gets out.”

“Are you sure you want to deal with all that?” You ask, voicing the fear that’s been nagging at you. “It’s not too late to back out, to go back to your normal life.”

Logan’s hand comes up to cup your cheek. “Y/N, look at me.” When you meet his gaze, he continues, “My life stopped being normal the moment I met you. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Whatever challenges we face, we’ll face them together. Okay?”

You lean into his touch, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “Okay,” you agree softly.

“Besides,” Logan adds with a mischievous grin, “dating a princess might actually be good for my image. Think of all the sponsorship deals I could get.”

You gasp in mock outrage, swatting his arm. “Logan Sargeant! Is that all I am to you? A ticket to better endorsements?”

Logan laughs, pulling you back into his arms. “Busted. It was all an elaborate scheme to get my face on a tea towel.”

You can’t help but join in his laughter, marveling at how easily he can lift your spirits. As your giggles subside, a thought occurs to you.

“You know,” you say slowly, “there might be a way to make the distance a little more manageable, at least for a while.”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “I’m all ears, Princess.”

You take a deep breath, hoping you’re not overstepping. “Well, the F1 season isn’t over yet, right? There are still races in Europe ...”

Logan’s eyes light up as he catches on. “Races where a certain princess might be able to make an appearance?”

You nod, feeling a flutter of excitement. “It would be a good opportunity to show support for British motorsport. Purely diplomatic reasons, of course.”

Logan’s grin widens. “Of course. Very diplomatic. I’m sure the press won’t read anything into the Princess of Wales suddenly becoming a racing enthusiast.”

You lean in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Let them talk. As long as I get to see you, I don’t care what they say.”

Logan’s expression softens. “You really mean that, don’t you? You’re willing to face all the scrutiny, the gossip, just to be with me?”

You nod, your voice firm. “You’re worth it. We’re worth it.”

Logan pulls you close, burying his face in your hair. “I love you,” he murmurs. “God, I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice thick with emotion. “More than I ever thought possible.”

As you sit there on the porch swing, wrapped in each other’s arms, you know that the road ahead won’t be easy. There will be challenges, obstacles, moments of doubt. But looking into Logan’s eyes, seeing the love and determination there, you know you can face anything as long as you’re together.

The sound of a car approaching breaks the moment. You recognize your aunt and uncle’s vehicle coming up the driveway.

Logan tenses slightly. “Should I ... do you want me to leave?”

You shake your head firmly. “No. Stay. It’s time they met the real you, not just the boy next door.”

As your aunt and uncle pull up, looking surprised to see Logan there, you stand up, hand-in-hand with the man you love. You’re ready to face whatever comes next, be it nosy relatives, prying media, or the complexities of a long-distance relationship between a princess and an F1 driver.

Because now you know — home isn’t a place. It’s not a palace in England or a beach house in Florida. Home is wherever you and Logan are together. And that’s a feeling worth fighting for.

***

The Florida sun is just beginning to peek over the horizon as Logan’s car pulls up to the private airstrip. The sleek private jet waiting on the tarmac is a reminder of the reality you’re about to step back into. Logan cuts the engine, but neither of you move to get out, both reluctant to face the inevitable goodbye.

“So,” Logan says, his voice barely above a whisper, “I guess this is it, huh?”

You turn to him, taking in every detail of his face as if trying to memorize it. “Not it,” you insist. “Just ... see you later.”

Logan manages a small smile, reaching out to take your hand. “Right. See you later. In England. Where you’ll be a princess again.”

You squeeze his hand. “I’ll always be me, Logan. Title or no title.”

“I know,” he says softly. “It’s just ... it’s going to be different, isn’t it? You’ll have responsibilities, obligations. And I’ll be ...”

“The man I love,” you interrupt firmly. “No matter what.”

Logan’s eyes soften at your words. “I love you too. I’m going to miss you so much.”

You lean across the center console, pressing your forehead against his. “I’m going to miss you too. But we’ve got a plan, remember?”

Logan nods, his breath warm against your skin. “Right. The plan. Want to run through it one more time? You know, just to make sure we’ve got it down.”

You can’t help but smile at his attempt to prolong the moment. “Okay, let’s see. You’ve got ten more races this season, right?”

“Yep,” Logan confirms. “Zandvoort, Monza, Baku, Singapore, COTA, Mexico, Brazil, Vegas, Qatar, and Abu Dhabi.”

“And I,” you say, sitting back slightly to meet his gaze, “will be making surprise appearances to as many as I can. To support British motorsport, of course.”

Logan grins. “Of course. Very diplomatic of you.”

“Then,” you continue, “once the season’s over, you’ll be spending more time at the Williams headquarters in Grove.”

“Which, coincidentally, is just a short drive from London,” Logan adds with a wink.

You nod, feeling a flutter of excitement despite the impending separation. “And I’ll make sure to have plenty of reasons to visit Grove. Lots of ... local businesses to support.”

Logan laughs, the sound warming your heart. “I’m sure the people of Grove will greatly appreciate the royal attention.”

“Then there’s Christmas,” you say softly. “I talked to my parents, and ... they want to meet you. Properly.”

Logan’s eyes widen slightly. “Christmas with the royal family. No pressure or anything.”

You cup his cheek gently. “They’ll love you, Logan. How could they not?”

He leans into your touch. “I hope you’re right. Because I plan on sticking around for a long time, Princess.”

“Good,” you say firmly. “Because I’m not letting you go that easily.”

Logan’s smile fades slightly as his gaze drifts to the waiting plane. “We should probably ...”

You nod, feeling a lump form in your throat. “Yeah. We should.”

With a deep breath, you both step out of the car. Logan moves to the trunk to retrieve your luggage while you take a moment to compose yourself. As he joins you, bags in hand, you’re struck by how domestic this feels — and how much you wish this was just a normal trip, not a return to a life an ocean away.

“Your chariot awaits, Your Highness,” Logan says with an exaggerated bow, trying to lighten the mood.

You roll your eyes fondly, but play along. “Why thank you, kind sir. Your service to the Crown is most appreciated.”

As you walk towards the plane, Logan’s free hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers. “You know,” he says casually, “I’ve been thinking about taking some flying lessons. Might come in handy for, oh, I don’t know ... surprise visits to England?”

You laugh, squeezing his hand. “Logan Sargeant, are you planning on becoming my personal pilot?”

He grins, that mischievous sparkle you love so much dancing in his eyes. “Well, I figure if I can handle an F1 car at 200 miles per hour, a plane can’t be that much harder, right?”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works,” you say, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice.

“Details, details,” Logan waves his free hand dismissively. “The point is, I’m going to find ways to see you. Even if I have to learn to fly, sail, or ... I don’t know, teleport.”

You stop walking, tugging on his hand to make him face you. “You know you don’t have to do all that, right? I mean, I love that you want to, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to change your whole life for me.”

Logan sets down your bags, taking both your hands in his. “Y/N, listen to me. You are worth changing my whole life for. But that’s not what this is about. It’s about finding ways to make our lives fit together. Because that’s what I want — a life with you in it.”

You feel tears pricking at your eyes. “I want that too. So much.”

Logan reaches up to brush away a tear that’s escaped. “Then we’ll make it work. Whatever it takes.”

You nod, leaning into his touch. “Whatever it takes,” you repeat softly.

The sound of someone clearing their throat breaks the moment. You turn to see the pilot standing a respectful distance away.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Your Highness,” he says, “but we need to begin boarding if we’re to make our departure time.”

You nod, straightening your shoulders. “Of course. Thank you, Captain. I’ll be right there.”

As the pilot retreats, you turn back to Logan. “I guess this is really goodbye.”

Logan pulls you close, wrapping his arms tightly around you. “Not goodbye. Never goodbye. Just ... until next time.”

You bury your face in his neck, breathing in his familiar scent. “Next time,” you murmur. “The Netherlands, right?”

“The Netherlands,” Logan confirms, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll be the one in the Williams car, trying not to crash while looking for you in the stands.”

You can’t help but laugh, even as tears threaten to fall again. “Please don’t crash. I quite like you in one piece.”

Logan pulls back slightly, cupping your face in his hands. “No promises. You’re pretty distracting, Princess.”

Before you can retort, he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that takes your breath away. It’s tender and passionate, a promise and a farewell all at once. When you finally part, you’re both breathless.

“I love you,” you whisper, your foreheads still pressed together.

“I love you too,” Logan replies. “Now go, before I decide to jump in the cockpit of that plane and fly us both to some remote island where we can just be us.”

You laugh, reluctantly stepping out of his embrace. “Don’t tempt me. That sounds pretty perfect right now.”

Logan picks up your bags again, walking with you the last few steps to the plane’s stairs. “Your royal carriage, m’lady,” he says with another exaggerated bow.

You shake your head fondly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it,” he counters with a grin.

“I do,” you admit softly. “I really do.”

With one last lingering look, you start up the stairs. At the top, you turn back. Logan is still there, watching you with a mix of love and longing that makes your heart ache.

“Hey, Logan?” You call down.

“Yeah?”

You smile, feeling a sudden surge of certainty despite the impending separation. “We’re going to be okay, aren’t we?”

Logan’s answering smile is like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. “Yeah, Princess. We’re going to be more than okay. We’re going to be amazing.”

With those words echoing in your heart, you finally step into the plane. As you settle into your seat, you watch through the window as Logan returns to his car. He stands there, hand raised in farewell, until the plane begins to taxi.

As the ground falls away beneath you, you close your eyes, already counting the days until the Dutch Grand Prix. The path ahead won’t be easy — you know there will be challenges, misunderstandings, moments of doubt. But you also know that what you and Logan have is worth fighting for.

You’re leaving behind the carefree summer days of Florida, returning to the responsibilities and expectations of your royal life. But you’re taking with you something precious — the knowledge that you are loved for who you are, not what you are. And that, you realize, is the greatest gift of all.

As the plane soars over the Atlantic, you allow yourself to dream of the future — of stolen moments at race tracks, of quiet evenings in London, of a love that bridges oceans and transcends titles. It won’t be easy, but then again, the best things in life rarely are.

You’re a princess and he’s a race car driver. On paper, it shouldn’t work. But as you drift off to sleep, Logan’s last words replay in your mind.

“We’re going to be amazing.”

And you believe him. Because with Logan by your side, how could you be anything else?

***

The Texas sun beats down mercilessly on the Circuit of the Americas as Logan adjusts his fireproofs, preparing for another round of interviews. It’s his home race and the pressure is palpable. He’s been struggling all season, the weight of expectations and the constant comparisons to his teammate wearing him down.

As he walks towards the waiting journalists, Logan can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment. You had told him you couldn’t make it to this race, citing royal obligations back in England. He understands, of course, but the thought of racing on home soil without you in the stands feels hollow somehow.

“Logan! Over here!” A reporter waves him over, microphone at the ready. “How are you feeling about today’s race?”

Logan pastes on his media-ready smile, falling into the familiar rhythm of pre-race interviews. “I’m feeling good, you know? It’s always special racing at home, and the energy here at COTA is incredible.”

“There’s been a lot of talk about your future with Williams,” another journalist chimes in. “Any comments on the rumors that your seat might be in jeopardy for next season?”

Logan’s smile falters slightly, but he recovers quickly. “I’m focused on doing my best in every race, including today’s. The future will take care of itself.”

As he continues answering questions, Logan’s gaze drifts over the bustling pit lane. Mechanics scurry about, making last-minute adjustments to the cars. Team personnel hurry back and forth, clipboards and tablets in hand. It’s a familiar scene, one he’s witnessed countless times before.

But then, something catches his eye. A flash of familiar hair, a silhouette he’d recognize anywhere. Logan blinks, sure he must be seeing things. But no — there you are, walking down the pit lane as if you belong there (which, he supposes, you do in a way).

“Logan?” The interviewer’s voice seems distant. “Logan, can you tell us about your strategy for today’s-”

But Logan isn’t listening anymore. His jaw goes slack, eyes wide with disbelief as he watches you approach. You’re dressed casually in a flowing maxi dress, your hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. To Logan, you’ve never looked more beautiful.

“I ... uh ...” Logan stammers, completely losing his train of thought. The interviewer follows his gaze, her own eyes widening as she recognizes you.

A hush falls over the pit lane as heads turn to watch your progress. You seem oblivious to the attention, your eyes locked on Logan. A brilliant smile lights up your face as you break into a run.

Logan barely has time to brace himself before you’re launching yourself into his arms. He catches you instinctively, spinning you around as laughter bubbles up from his chest.

“Surprise!” You exclaim, pulling back just enough to see his face. “Did you really think I’d miss your home race?”

Logan shakes his head in amazement, still not quite believing you’re here. “But you said ... how did you ...”

You grin mischievously. “I may have told a tiny white lie. Royal prerogative and all that.”

Logan laughs, setting you down but keeping his arms wrapped firmly around your waist. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” you reply with a wink.

It’s only then that Logan becomes aware of your surroundings again. The entire pit lane has gone silent, all eyes on the two of you. Cameras flash incessantly, capturing what must be the most undignified public display the Princess of England has ever made.

Logan feels a moment of panic. “Y/N,” he whispers, “everyone’s watching.”

You shrug, seemingly unconcerned. “Let them watch. I’m just a girl supporting her boyfriend at his home race.”

The casual use of the word ‘boyfriend’ sends a thrill through Logan. Despite the months you’ve been together, sometimes he still can’t quite believe this is real.

A throat clearing nearby breaks the moment. Logan turns to see James Vowles approaching with a bemused expression.

“Your Highness,” James says with a slight bow. “This is ... an unexpected honor.”

You turn to face him, your arm still wrapped around Logan’s waist. “Mr. Vowles,” you greet him with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I hope you don’t mind me dropping in unannounced. I was just so eager to see how our British team is faring.”

James nods, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. “Of course, we’re always delighted to host you. Perhaps you’d like a tour of the garage?”

“That would be lovely,” you reply, your voice sweet but with an undercurrent of steel that makes Logan’s eyebrows raise. “I’m particularly interested in discussing team strategy. And driver management.”

Logan feels you tense slightly beside him, and he suddenly realizes what you’re doing. His heart swells with a mixture of love and awe.

James seems to pick up on the shift in atmosphere as well. “I see,” he says carefully. “Well, I’m sure we can arrange a meeting after the race-”

“Oh, I think now would be perfect,” you interrupt, your smile never wavering. “After all, I’m quite invested in the success of this team. Particularly when it comes to nurturing young talent.”

Logan watches in fascination as James visibly squirms under your gaze. He’s never seen his usually unflappable team principal so wrong-footed.

“Of course, Your Highness,” James finally manages. “Shall we step into the hospitality area for some privacy?”

You nod graciously, but before following James, you turn back to Logan. “For luck,” you murmur, pulling him down for a quick kiss that leaves him breathless and the watching crowd buzzing with excitement.

As you walk away with James, Logan overhears snippets of your conversation.

“I do hope, Mr. Vowles,” you’re saying, your voice light but with a clear edge, “that Williams is committed to giving all its drivers equal opportunities to succeed. It would be such a shame if rumors of ... unequal treatment were to reach certain ears.”

Logan watches in awe as James nods frantically, clearly understanding the implied threat behind your words.

“And these whispers about potentially dropping Logan,” you continue, your smile never faltering. “I’m sure they’re just baseless rumors. After all, it would be terribly short-sighted to let go of such promising talent, don’t you think?”

As your voice fades into the distance, Logan stands rooted to the spot, a goofy grin spreading across his face. He’s vaguely aware of the chaos around him — journalists clamoring for comments, team members and rivals alike shooting him curious glances — but all he can think about is you.

You, who flew across an ocean to surprise him. You, who jumped into his arms without a care for protocol or propriety. You, who’s currently backing his team principal into a corner with a smile and a veiled royal threat.

In that moment, Logan Sargeant knows without a doubt that he has never been more in love.

A hand on his shoulder startles him out of his reverie. He turns to see Alex grinning at him.

“Mate,” Alex says, shaking his head in disbelief, “when you said you were dating a princess, I thought you were having us on. But that? That was ...”

“Yeah,” Logan agrees, still a bit dazed. “She’s something else.”

Alex laughs. “Understatement of the century. You better hold onto that one, Sargeant. And maybe put in a good word for the rest of us with her royal highness? I wouldn’t mind having that kind of backing in contract negotiations.”

Logan chuckles, finally snapping out of his stupor. “Sorry, Albon. This princess is spoken for.”

As Alex walks away, still shaking his head and laughing, Logan takes a deep breath. The pre-race nerves that had been plaguing him all morning have vanished, replaced by a surge of confidence and determination.

He may not know what the future holds — for his career or for his relationship with you — but in this moment, he feels invincible. Because no matter what challenges lie ahead, he knows he has you in his corner.

With renewed purpose, Logan heads towards the garage. He has a race to prepare for, after all. And now, more than ever, he’s determined to prove himself worthy of the faith you’ve placed in him.

As he reaches the garage entrance, he catches sight of you emerging from the hospitality area, James trailing behind you looking slightly shell-shocked. You spot Logan and wink, giving him a thumbs up.

Logan grins, blowing you a kiss before disappearing into the garage. He has a feeling this is going to be his best race yet. And win or lose, he knows he’ll have you waiting for him at the finish line.

And really, what more could a guy ask for?

1K notes · View notes

monamipencil · 7 months ago

Text

an ode to mingyu's tiddies

genre; smut, mdni <3 | warnings; mingyu's tits, reader is OBSESSED with his tits, reader has existential crisis throughout the entire fic, perverted thots, a mention of magic mingyu, mentions of food, mentions of fever (she's just horny af), mentions of public indecency, dry humping, tits sucking (m. receiving), face sitting, oral (f. receiving), mingyu is a shameless thot. | a/n; here she is. fought demons writing this. hope you guys like it!

you’re obsessed. to say the least.

the first time you actually noticed them was quite early into the relationship. he pulled you into a bone-crushing hug, effectively smushing your face against his chest. and you honestly didn’t mind dying like that, squished in between his pecs. nonetheless, something was awakened inside you that day.

and it doesn’t really help that mingyu loves flexing his muscles. his chest is one of his best assets that he shows off. especially to you. goddamn him and his damn tight-fitting tank tops. you can’t help but watch with an ajar mouth as he works out, his chest pushing out under strain. oh, how you would love to fondl- “take a picture. it lasts longer.” he smirks at you, leaving you flustered and embarrassed.

mingyu also notices the way you stare, or should he say, where you stare. pride swells in his heart each time you glance at his muscles. and well, he loves the attention. so he does what he does. he flusters you every chance he gets. with his tits.

he foregoes his shirt in bed. every. single. time. the first time it happened was not long after your epiphany. you didn’t pay much mind to it since it was after sex. but then, it became a routine. cuddling to sleep meant having his tits pushed up against your face or back. and, in some cases, you get to fondle them as you spoon him.

and you know what? scratch that. he’s entirely shirtless around you. all the time. might as well get naked and start living in nature at this point. and well, who are you to reject adam in the form of your boyfriend, mingyu?

christ’s sake. the things that he makes you think and do.

the very rare times that you are not bombarded with magic mingyu would be when you’re both outside. being his girlfriend also means being his workout buddy. it also means fighting demons that whisper the filthiest things about him to you as you help him with his workout. well, the demon might just be your brain.

you keep—try to keep your eyes on his face, sipping from your water bottle after your workout. and he does the same, maintaining eye contact with you as he hydrates himself too. mingyu can make anything hot. even the most innocent things like eye contacts or cooking. or maybe you’re just a pervert.

you internally sigh, breaking the eye contact and look around the almost empty gym. it’s pretty late, and only a few night owls are in sight. but empty enough to get away with him pushing you against the mirror and fucking the life—that’s enough. this man has reduced into a degenerate at this point.

with embarrassment in your veins, you quickly kiss his cheek, promising to use the shower quickly and reunite with him to go home. you again fight demons as you sprint to the shower area. you could just go home and shower with him. and have some more ‘workout’ too. shaking your head, you quickly take your shower.

…

“is everything ok?” mingyu asks, concern etched onto his face. you haven’t even touched the food he made, and you’ve been like this since coming back from the gym. you hang your head down in shame and shake your head, shifting on the couch. he’s worrying about you, and here you are, thinking filthy things about him.

his big hands wrap around your wrist, pulling you closer. “shit, you have a fever?” he tilts your face up and lays the back of his hand on your forehead. the other hand lays on your waist, feeling ticklish and hot on your skin. your skin burns more at the question. oh that? no, i was just thinking about getting folded in half and being fucked by you. nothing else haha…

“no,” you manage a grunt out, feeling shy under his gaze. “what are you talking about? you’re burning!” he counters. you sigh, and all the escape routes close, leaving only one path open.

with great courage and greater embarrassment, you admit, “just horny,”

“hmm? can’t hear you baby.” he leans in closer, eyes big with worry.

“i’m horny and i wanna fuck you.”

mingyu does a double-take at your words. you’re burning up for him? you’re almost seated on his lap now, looking at him with lust-clouded eyes and parted lips, and he feels the waves of heat seeping from you. the post-workout adrenaline is yet to wear out, and he feels so drunk on you. he leans down in a daze, slotting his lips on yours and pushing his tongue into your mouth right away.

you moan into his mouth, gladly accepting his warm tongue with your own. he pulls you onto his lap, resting his hands on your ass and squeezing them through your thin sweatpants. you tug on his hair, earning a groan from him before feeling up his muscles. mingyu shivers when you caress his back. then you rub his biceps, feeling the hard muscles before settling on his pecs.

he yelps when you pinch his nipple, breaking the kiss. you don’t give him time to think, pushing him back on the couch and removing his shirt. he breathes shakily as you palm his chest and thumb his nipples. a pathetic whine erupts from his throat when you kiss down his jaw, sucking on his tan skin.

you lick up a stripe on the column of his throat, and his hips buckle up, pushing his needy cock into your warm, clothed cunt. you nip at his sensitive skin, leaving behind patches of wet saliva as you descend down. mingyu grips your ass, pushing your hips down as he grinds his hard cock against your core.

you finally reach his pecs, littering kisses all over them but then he pulls you away, causing you to pout and whine. he matches your frustration, whining about his cock. “please, i need to feel you.” you huff, discarding your pants hastily and he does the same. you stop him when he tries to take off his boxers and he looks at you confusedly.

confusion turns into neediness when your hands wrap around his cock, freeing it, but you leave the boxers on. his veiny, hard cock rests heavily in your hands as you push aside underwear, guiding his cock inside it. but you don’t let him inside you, instead resting his cock against your cunt, and the thin material of your panty is stretched by cock. he moans, feeling the cloth pressed against his aching tip. his eyes roll back, feeling your arousal coat the underside of his dick when you grind against him.

you resume where you left off, sucking hickies on his pecs. mingyu lets you take charge, lazily grinding against your wet cunt. his mind goes blank, and his nerves fire up with the need to be inside you. your warmth is driving him crazy, and he can only whine as you move against him, his tip stimulated by the material of your panties.

mingyu moans loudly when you wrap your lips around his nipples. your tongue flicks at the hardening bud, sucking hard on it. your hand plays with his other nipple, pinching and probing at it. the sensation throws him off the edge, and he completely loses it. whining, he moves his hips at a faster pace. you release his nipple with a wet pop, only to suck on the other.

your wetness coats most of the underside of his dick now, but you’re still dripping. you whine against his nipple as mingyu grinds faster, and your pussy throbs against his length. with a bite to his bud, you pull away, gripping his shoulders and grinding back against him.

he rests his head on your neck, biting down on your skin to stop his whining. but it’s fruitless as he humps you faster, feeling his orgasm building up. you tug on his hair, pulling his head back to kiss him. you lick into his mouth, kissing him deeper and grinding down harder.

he breaks when you bite his lower lip, immediately cumming with a loud groan. his large hands lock behind your back, pressing you down, which causes the material to stretch over his tip. the pearls of cum oozing out his slit gather at one spot before oozing out the cloth as well. you groan in unison at the lewd sight, and you rub the cum, spreading it and rubbing his sensitive tip.

pulling him out, you rest against his chest and sigh. feeling sated even though you didn’t cum. he chuckles, and his chest reverberates at the action, causing you to look up at him with a smile. “what?” you kiss the corner of his lips.

“no wonder you’ve been ogling my tits for the past few weeks. you could’ve just asked, y’k?” he smirks, brushing his knuckles against your cheek, and you flush. so, he did notice. your cunt throbs again, and you gulp, feeling shy under his gaze. like you didn’t just suck his tits.

“caught you red-handed?” he brushes his lips against yours, one hand resting at the base of your neck and the other caressing your hips. you pinch your eyes shut, hiding in his chest, and he chuckles again. “i don’t mind, baby. you can be loud about your fantasies.”

he drums his fingers on your ass, humming, and you practically feel his smirk. cocky bastard. you huff, opening your mouth to make a sassy comment, but instead, you yelp when he moves under you quickly. he lays on the couch and repositions you over his face.

you gasp, feeling his warm breath hit your wet cunt. he presses a kiss over your panties, and you have to grip the couch to not lose balance and end up suffocating him. “you fulfilled your wishes. now it’s time for mine.” he whispers against your core, smirking up at you.

his wish? having you suffocate him with your cunt as he laps at your juices. (and that’s the only thing that has been running through his mind, watching you work out in the damn spandex pants.)

tags; @seungkwanschicken @aaa-sia

#mingyu smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #kim mingyu #seventeen #mingyu drabbles #mingyu hard hours

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valkyriexo · 3 months ago

Text

Silence | Bang Chan

ᑉ³pairing; Boyfriend Chan x Reader

ᑉ³genre; Angst , Smut

ᑉ³warnings; SMUT MDNI ,dirty talk, swearing, Fingering, oral f reciving, begging

ᑉ³Authors Note; 1k event Commisson giveaway winner @chrizzztopherbang (sorry it took so long :((( )

The restaurant was bustling, filled with the chatter of people enjoying their Friday night.

But at your table, a tense silence hung in the air.

Your parents sat across from you, glancing at the door every few minutes, waiting for the man they’d heard so much about. But as the minutes ticked by, Chan’s absence became glaring

Your stomach churned with anxiety, but you kept a smile on your face, holding onto the thin hope that maybe he was just running late. He had to be coming—this was the night you were finally introducing him to your parents, the people who mattered most to you.

Your phone sat face-up on the table, dark and motionless. No missed calls. No texts.

Not even a simple message to say he wasn’t coming.

You checked your phone again, the light of the screen glaringly bright in the dim restaurant. Nothing. He hadn’t reached out. No explanation. No apology. You swallowed the growing lump in your throat, trying to keep the disappointment from showing on your face.

Your mom glanced at her watch, then back at you with a sympathetic smile. “Honey, maybe he got caught up in traffic or something. We can wait a bit longer.”

Your dad, on the other hand, wasn’t as forgiving. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his face a mask of thinly veiled frustration. “It’s been nearly an hour. If he can’t even make it to dinner with your parents, what does that say about him?”

You opened your mouth to defend him but stopped. You couldn’t deny that this wasn’t just an isolated event. Over the past few weeks, Chan had been slipping—forgetting dates, canceling plans last minute, or worse, just not showing up. But tonight, of all nights, was different. He knew how important this was to you. To both of you.

And he still wasn’t here.

It felt like a punch to the gut. You’d been nervous about tonight for weeks, planning every detail in your head. Your parents had flown in just for this. And Chan, the man you’d been dating for months, wasn’t even here

“Maybe something came up…” you offered weakly, though the words felt hollow, even to you.

Your dad sighed, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, a man who cares about you doesn’t let ‘something’ come up on a night like this. He makes time.”

The words stung because deep down, you knew he was right. You’d been making excuses for Chan for weeks, convincing yourself that his work, his schedule, was just overwhelming, and that it wasn’t personal. But this? This felt personal.

Your mom reached across the table, squeezing your hand gently. “We don’t have to stay, you know. We can reschedule, or…”

The thought of leaving without even hearing from him made your stomach drop. You wanted to brush it off, pretend like it didn’t matter, but it did. You wanted your parents to see the man you loved, to understand why you were so devoted to him. But right now, even you were struggling to remember that reason.

The waiter approached, a polite smile on his face. “Are we ready to order, or should I give you a few more minutes?”

You hesitated, glancing at the empty seat beside you, before shaking your head. “No, I think we’re ready.”

The rest of dinner was strained, your parents trying to keep up light conversation, but the tension in the air was undeniable. Every few minutes, your eyes drifted to your phone, but it remained painfully silent.

No word from Chan. No explanation.

By the time you made it back home, the weight of the evening settled heavily on your shoulders. Your parents had been kind—understanding, even—but their disappointment lingered. You could feel it in the hug your mom gave you before she left, the look your dad gave you as he told you to "think about what you deserve."

And he was right. You deserved better than this.

When you finally walked into your apartment, the quiet was suffocating. You dropped your bag on the couch, sitting down with a heavy sigh, staring at the blank screen of your phone once more. A million thoughts raced through your head—maybe something had happened, maybe there was a reason he couldn’t make it, maybe—

Your phone lit up, and your heart leapt for a split second. But it wasn’t Chan. It was a notification from some random app, and the disappointment hit you like a wave.

You leaned back against the couch, the realization sinking in. He hadn’t forgotten tonight. He’d just… not shown up. And the worst part was, he hadn’t even bothered to tell you.

There was no last-minute excuse, no frantic apology, no explanation. He had simply left you waiting.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, staring at nothing, feeling the weight of it all. But eventually, the front door opened, and Chan walked in, looking exhausted but casual, as if it were any other night. He saw you on the couch and smiled, dropping his keys onto the table.

“Hey, sorry I’m late. Long day at the studio,” he said, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t even look guilty.

You blinked, staring at him in disbelief. “Late? You didn’t even come.”

Chan frowned, confused. “What are you talking about? I’m here now.”

“You didn’t come to dinner,” you said, your voice shaking with a mixture of anger and sadness. “I waited for you. My parents waited for you.”

It was as if the weight of what you were saying finally hit him. His eyes widened, realization dawning. “Shit, wait—dinner. That was tonight?”

You stood up, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yeah, it was tonight. The dinner where you were supposed to meet my parents for the first time. The dinner we planned weeks ago. And you didn’t show up.”

His face paled, guilt creeping in, but it wasn’t enough. Not this time. You had waited, excused, and forgiven too many times before.

“I’m sorry, I really am. I didn’t mean to—” Chan started, but you cut him off.

“No, Chan. You didn’t even tell me you weren’t coming. You didn’t call, you didn’t text. You left me sitting there, waiting, with no idea where you were.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but you shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep being the one who waits.”

Chan’s expression crumbled as he stepped forward, but you took a step back. “Please, I’ll make it right. I swear—”

But you’d heard it all before. And this time, it wasn’t enough.

The silence that followed your words was thick, suffocating. Chan stared at you, his face twisted in guilt, but it wasn’t enough this time. Nothing he could say would make up for the way you felt tonight—alone, forgotten, like an afterthought.

"I said I’m sorry, okay?" His voice was low, almost pleading. But the apology felt like it was more for his own peace of mind than for you.

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. "Sorry? That’s all you have to say? You didn’t even care enough to send me a text, Chan! You didn’t care enough to let me know you weren’t coming to meet my parents!"

“I do care—” he started, but you cut him off, voice trembling with the frustration and hurt you’d been bottling up for weeks.

“Do you? Do you really? Because it feels like I’m the only one putting any effort into this relationship!” The words spilled out before you could stop them, years of unsaid feelings finally surfacing. “I’ve been bending over backwards for you, making excuses for you, and for what? For you to just forget about me over and over again?”

Chan’s jaw clenched, his eyes flickering with anger, but he kept his voice calm. “It’s not like I’m doing this on purpose. I’m trying to juggle everything—the studio, the group, the deadlines—it’s not easy.”

“Don’t you dare try to make me feel guilty for that.” Your voice cracked, and you took a step toward him, fists clenched. “I’ve been patient. I’ve understood every time you’ve had to cancel plans, every time you’ve been late because of work. But this was important, Chan! You were supposed to meet my parents! You were supposed to be there for me for once!”

He flinched, as if your words physically hurt him, but he still tried to defend himself. “I know it was important, but I can’t always be everywhere at once. I’m doing my best, and sometimes things slip through the cracks.”

You stared at him, feeling a bitter mix of anger and heartbreak. “I shouldn’t have to feel like I’m slipping through the cracks in your life.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Chan’s face softened as he realized how deeply he had hurt you. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. You could see the guilt in his eyes, but it was too late. The damage was done.

You turned away from him, your arms wrapping around yourself, trying to hold in the tears that threatened to spill. “I need space, Chan. I need to think.”

“Wait,” he said, stepping forward, his voice desperate now. “Don’t shut me out. Please, we can talk about this.”

You shook your head, your voice cold and distant. “There’s nothing to talk about right now. I just… I need time.”

Without another word, you walked past him, retreating into your bedroom, leaving him standing alone in the living room, guilt and frustration etched across his face.

The next few days were a blur of silence. You avoided Chan’s calls, ignored his texts, and when you saw him, you barely acknowledged his presence. The silent treatment weighed heavily on both of you, but you weren’t ready to face him. Not yet. The sting of being let down, again and again, was too fresh.

At first, Chan tried to give you space, respecting your need for time to process. But as the days went on, he began to grow more desperate. The messages started coming more frequently—apologies, explanations, everything he could think of to get through to you. But you remained silent.

One night, you were sitting in your living room, laying on the couch and scrolling through your phone aimlessly, when you heard a knock at your door. You didn’t respond, hoping he’d go away, but then the door opened slowly, and Chan stepped inside.

He looked exhausted, his usual confidence replaced by an unmistakable vulnerability. He stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say, before finally sitting down at the edge of your bed.

“I know you’re mad,” he started, his voice low and hesitant. “And you have every right to be.”

You didn’t say anything, keeping your eyes glued to your phone. But the tension in the room was thick, and you could feel him watching you, waiting for some kind of response.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I messed up. I know I did. And I can’t stand that I hurt you like this. I’ve been trying to fix it, but I don’t even know where to start anymore.”

Still, you said nothing, but your heart ached at the sadness in his voice. You wanted to forgive him, to let it go, but a part of you needed him to understand just how deeply his actions had hurt you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “I’m so sorry I made you feel like you don’t matter. Because you do. You’re the most important person in my life, and I hate that I’ve made you feel otherwise.”

You glanced up at him, and the sight of him—his eyes red, his face etched with regret—made something inside you soften. But you weren’t ready to give in just yet.

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this,” you said quietly, finally breaking your silence. “I can’t keep waiting for you to show up, wondering if I’m ever going to be enough to make you prioritize me.”

Chan’s eyes widened, and he shook his head quickly. “You are enough. You’re more than enough. I’ve just been so caught up in everything that I lost sight of what’s really important.”

He reached out, taking your hand gently, and for the first time in days, you didn’t pull away.

“I can’t lose you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know I’ve been an idiot. I know I’ve let you down more times than I can count, but I’m begging you… please don’t give up on us.”

Tears stung your eyes as you looked at him, the vulnerability in his expression breaking down the last of your defenses. You could see how much he meant every word, how deeply he regretted the pain he’d caused you.

“I don’t want to give up on us either,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “But something has to change, Chan. I need to know that I can rely on you, that I matter.”

“You do,” he said quickly, his grip on your hand tightening. “I swear, things will be different. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll be better. For you. For us.”

Before you could respond, Chan sank to his knees in front of you, his eyes locked on yours. The raw vulnerability in his expression made your heart ache. “Please,” he said, his voice breaking. “I know I’ve let you down. I know I’ve been a mess. But I’m begging you, please don’t give up on us. I need you. I’ll do anything to make this right. Just give me a chance.”

You stared at him, shocked by his sudden desperation. The image of him on his knees, pleading with you, was almost too much to bear. The hurt was still fresh, and though his words and actions were sincere, you struggled with the weight of what he’d done.

You looked down at Chan, kneeling before you, his eyes filled with a mix of regret and desperation. His plea hung in the air, heavy with unspoken promises and fear. You could see how much he wanted to make things right, but the pain and disappointment you felt were still raw and unsettling.

“I don’t know, Chan,” you said finally, your voice wavering. “I want to believe that things will be different, but I’m not sure if I can just forgive and forget. You’ve let me down so many times. How can I be sure this time will be any different?”

Chan’s face fell, and he lowered his gaze, his shoulders slumping. “I understand if you’re not ready to forgive me. I really do. But please, just give me a chance to prove it to you. I know I’ve been a fool, and I’m sorry. I’ll work every day to show you that I’m worth your trust.”

Your heart ached at the sight of him, so vulnerable and earnest. You wanted to believe him, wanted to reach out and pull him up from his knees, but the scars of past disappointments were still fresh. You needed to see more than words. You needed to know that the change he promised was real and lasting.

Before you could voice your doubts, Chan moved closer, his eyes never leaving yours. The intensity of his gaze was disarming, and you felt your resolve waver as he closed the distance between you. He reached out gently, cupping your face with his hands, his touch warm and tender.

As he leaned in, his breath mingling with yours, you felt a surge of emotion that you couldn’t ignore. You wanted to push him away, to maintain your boundaries, but the vulnerability and sincerity in his eyes made it hard to resist. When his lips brushed against yours, it was soft and hesitant, a plea for forgiveness more profound than words could convey.

You hesitated for a moment, your mind racing with conflicting thoughts, but then you found yourself responding, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was both passionate and desperate. The connection was electric, and for a brief, fleeting moment, it felt like the world outside ceased to exist.

Chan’s kiss deepened, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you closer. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he seemed to pour all his remorse and longing into that single, heartfelt kiss. It was as if he was trying to erase the distance that had grown between you, to bridge the gap left by all the unfulfilled promises.

You leaned back, pulling him with you, your body arching into his touch as his hands trailed over your skin. The sensation was intoxicating, and you found yourself lost in the moment, all rational thought fading away. You needed this, needed him.

His hands continued to trail, and one made its way to your clothed heat.

Your breath hitched as you felt him rub you through the fabric, a delicious friction building.

"Channie..." you breathed out, your voice barely a whisper.

"I need you, Y/N," he mumbled, his lips grazing your neck.

The battle raged on around you. Your body ached for him, for his touch, his kisses. As his fingers slipped underneath your panties, the warmth of his skin against yours, you felt your resolve crumble.

You wanted him, needed him, despite all the hurt and disappointment he had caused. In that moment, none of it mattered. All you could focus on was the way he made you feel.

Chan's eyes were dark with lust as his fingers slipped between your wet folds, the pressure of his thumb on your clit making your breath catch in your throat.

"God, Y/N, you're so wet," he murmured, his voice low and husky. " I missed this.."

As he continued his teasing, you could feel yourself giving in, the pleasure clouding your judgment. Your hips rocked against his hand, seeking more, and a moan escaped your lips as he slid a finger inside of you.

"You like that?" he whispered, his lips ghosting over your ear.

"Yes," you breathed out, your voice shaky.

The feeling of his fingers inside you, curling up just the way you liked, was almost too much to bear. His palm pressed against your clit, the heat and pressure driving you wild, his other hand beginning to slip your clothes off.

Your mind raced, conflicting thoughts tugging at you. Part of you wanted to stop this, to keep your walls up and protect yourself. But another part of you needed this, needed him, more than anything.

"I want to taste you.... To apologize with my tounge in places my words couldnt reach," he whispered against your ear

Chan's voice was thick with desire, his eyes dark and hungry as he looked at you. Your mind was spinning, but all you could focus on was how good it felt.

As he sank to his deeper into his knees in front of you, his face inches from your heat, you knew there was no going back. His breath was hot against your skin as he leaned in, and the feeling of his tongue against your folds was enough to make you moan.

Chan was relentless, licking and sucking at your sensitive flesh, his hands gripping your hips to hold you in place. The feeling of his lips and tongue on your most intimate parts was intoxicating, and you could feel the pleasure building inside of you, a delicious heat spreading through your body.

"Fuck, Y/N," he murmured, his voice muffled against you. "You taste so good."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn't help but let out a moan as he teased your entrance with his tongue.

"Channie..." you breathed out, your voice shaky.

You could feel the pressure building inside of you, your muscles tensing as his tongue lapped at your clit, his fingers pumping in and out of you.

The pleasure was overwhelming, and you could feel yourself losing control. Your hips bucked against his mouth, and you dug your fingers into his hair, holding him against you.

"Don't stop," you gasped, the words spilling from your lips without a thought.

You were teetering on the edge, your body aching for release but he wasnt gonna let it end there.

He was apologizing right?

You could feel it coming, the sweet relief just out of reach. You needed more, needed him deeper.

"Please," you moaned, the sound desperate and needy.

Chan responded immediately, his fingers pumping faster, his tongue swirling around your clit. He was relentless, his pace increasing, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

Your muscles tightened, and the pressure inside you was almost too much to bear.

Then, suddenly, everything went white. You cried out, your body shuddering as the orgasm crashed through you. Your vision blurred, and all you could feel was the intense, pulsing pleasure coursing through your veins.

As you came down from the high, your breath ragged and your heart racing, you could feel the tension in the room.

But that wasnt the end for Chan

He continued to eat you out, wanting to give you another one.

You were exhausted, physically and emotionally, but Chan's hands held you in place, his tongue tracing patterns across your clit. The sensations were too much, and you could feel yourself quickly building toward another release.

"C-Chan," you whimpered, your voice shaky.

"Let go, baby," he whispered, his words sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. "Come for me again."

As his fingers curled inside you, and as he found that perfect spot, you knew you were done for. Your muscles tensed, and the pressure inside you threatened to burst.

"P-Please" You say without thinking, the pleasure taking over any rational thoughts.

"Oh no, no... this is my apology to you, baby. Im going to make you cum until i'm forgiven"

And then, with one final, torturous swipe of his tongue, you were gone.

Over and Over and Over again, until you could no longer remember why you were even mad at him in the first place.

ઇଓ Taglist

@skzstarnet @supernovanetwork @k-labels

@kayleefriedchicken @stellasays45 @beautyandmentalbreakdown @bo-fairykim @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad

@onlyhyunjin @oddracha @karatlima @everythingboutkpop @grandma143

@ayyonoona @iiriam @dandelions-143 @dithammack @ch4nn13luv

@chrizzztopherbang @Palindrome969 @skzruby @Miss-delaneyrose @kimahreummm

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pseudowho · 7 months ago

Text

Behind the Wall

Who was this stressed, suited man...and how could you love him so easily?

A Higuruma Hiromi glory-hole story.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, feral smut and falling in love with a stranger.

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You knew him only as the man in the black and white suit. You had only seen the briefest glimpse of his clothes through your glory hole, after all.

"I don't normally-- I've never done this before...not that kind of guy--" he apologised, on the other side of the wall. His voice was smooth, deep and kind. You felt a little bubble of affection in your belly already.

"...well...I'm not that kind of girl," you teased, peeking a single come hither beckoning finger out of the glory hole, inviting him to your mouth, "...but something's got to pay the bills."

You heard the man's breath hitch, a shudder. You heard him unzip himself, and you settled on your knees, wiggling in anticipation. Waiting for a job to come up in a legal office was long...and while this wasn't the best use of your Law degree, you couldn't help but feel the thrill of doing something so sordid.

A cock, only half-hard and uncertain, but still so long, thick and pink-tipped beneath his silky foreskin, was eased gently through the hole. His voice sounded worried for you on the other side, and you pressed your fingers over your mouth, suppressing a smile.

"I'm...I'm not sure-- are you...are you sure?" The man in the suit stuttered. You leaned forwards, ghosting your lips over his cockhead, and the man gasped and moaned, a little trickle of salty pre-cum wetting your lips;

"Shhhh...you sound stressed," you cooed, "and I enjoy this, too. So let's have some fun." You held his length in your hand, and were satisfied to hear him whine and tremble, the dull knock of his hands and a knee pressing against the other wall. His cock swelled in your hand, twitching, and you rolled your thumb over his wet cockhead beneath the stretching hood of his foreskin.

"--so-- so stressed," he whined, pleading and begging you, "...you don't even... don't even know how bad...how bad my week has been..." His moans fractured as you began to pump his cock with your hand, from ball to tip, and he rutted forwards into your fist, "...haven't cum...can't remember the last time...so long...haaaah fuck, perfect, pleasepleaseplease, feels so good..."

"Yeah?" You whispered, bottom lip between your teeth, eyes closed as you drank down his little moans and gasps, purring at him, "Does that feel good? You sound desperate, baby. I bet you work so hard."

He whimpered into the affection; "--g-god yeah...feels amazing...your hand, fuck-- work so hard, s--so so hard...not got...don't have...have anyone, shit-- ohhhh-hhhhh--hh not gonna...not gonna last..."

You felt his cum-tight balls as you reached through, pulling them gently through the hole to massage them at the base of his cock. Your man cried out, all strained whimpers and cursing, and you heard his fingernails scrape against the other side of the wall; "Tell me what you want, beautiful stressed boy...how can I help you?"

"--spit--spit on my cock pleasepleaseplease in your mouth, pl--" He broke off into delirious shudders to feel your hot little mouth slick tightly around his cockhead, squeezing your lips into a tight ring, and using them to push his foreskin down as you sucked him into your mouth. With your tongue cupping his length while you sucked, bobbing your mouth around him, smooth and tasting his little spurts of pre-cum, his moans shot straight through you.

You hadn't felt as aroused as this, pleasuring a client before, but something about his frantic, begging desperation set your clit throbbing. Your hand drifted lazily between your legs, slipping between your glossy wet folds, rolling your clit under two fingers. You moaned around his length, and he cried out, cock throbbing, close to the edge.

Pulling your mouth back, and jacking off his red, aching cock with your spit and fist, you whispered, just loud enough for him to hear; "You sound so pretty, you've even got me touching myself--"

That was the last straw; your man in the rumpled suit came with a bark, sandy curses and whimpers. You took him back into your mouth, feeling heavy pulses of seed spilling out onto your tongue, flooding your mouth-- it obviously had been a long time for him.

"--arrrrghh god yes, shit, thank you-- so perfect, fuck, thank you-- oh ffff--ffuuuck in your mouth too...you're too good-- don't deserve-- dont deserve you--...haaaah...ahhhhh..."

You heard the wall tremble as your man came down from his high. His ears ringing, he vaguely heard your swallow. A weak whimper left him, and you giggled as another spurt of cum dampened your lips. You licked him clean, leaving him shivering with overstimulation, before placing a sweet little kiss to his cockhead.

"...come see me again?"

"F-fuck yes, absolutely-- absolutely."

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You had barely worked that week, lost in job-hunting, coming up empty-handed at every turn. It was five days before you made it back to the glory hole, happily receiving a generous payment, and wondering vaguely about your stressed, lonely man in the rumpled suit. You settled in your booth; it took him just a few minutes to find you.

"...is it...is it you?" He asked tentatively. You grinned, nudging yourself forwards on your knees, just out of eyesight behind the gloryhole. You blushed, shaking yourself off as being ridiculous.

"...do you mean me?" You offered. You heard his sigh of delight. He laughed, a deep, rich sound.

"I worried I'd scared you away," he teased. You heard him start to unzip himself, before hesitating, "Uhm...can we...?"

"Quick," you whispered conspiratorially, "put something in my mouth before I start talking at you." He laughed again, a sound that sent flutters of butterflies through your tummy. His cock, already rock-hard and glistening at the tip, was pressed through the hole. You reached through to cup his balls, softly bringing them through. He shuddered; he had clearly been hoping you'd cup his sensitive balls for him again.

"You like it when I do this...?" You teased, rolling his heavy balls in one palm. Hearing him groan, and sigh with relief into your touch, you leaned your cheek against the wall, admiring the weight of him in your hand as you massaged him.

"...I...never knew I did, but...you're so good at it...shit, feel like I could cum-- cum just from that--"

"Hush," you mocked him, just to hear his shaking laugh again, "you deserve so much more than that." Taking his cock into your mouth, determined to take him into your throat this time, you revelled in the dulcet tones of him falling apart inside your hot little mouth again. You swirled your tongue around his cockhead, swiping into his leaking slit, suckling, examining, measuring him with your throat.

Your stressed man bucked involuntarily to feel his blunt cockhead stroke the back of your throat, and you gagged, swallowing around him. He wasn't able to last long, feeling the sides of your throat stretch around his leaking cock.

"--haaa--aaahhhhh fuck'msosorry...feel s'good...like this...haaahh fuckkkk....do you...do you like to read?"

Your throat convulsed around his length, sputtering as you burst into laughter. Your rumpled man convulsed too, swearing and stuttering as his orgasm hit him like a bus. You tried to catch his cum in your hand and mouth, but knelt, still laughing, his seed dripping down your cheeks as he groaned, bucking forwards, cock bounding thick spatters of seed onto you.

"...do I like to read?" You laughed, masturbating him to bring him down from his high. He whimpered into your wall again, a sound which was gradually conditioning you, into pussy-aching wetness.

"...I'm sorry, I...I just...fucking ignore me, I'm an idiot, I just..."

You laughed again, the twinkling sound shooting through him like daggers.

"...just...wanted to get to know you," he mumbled, and you could hear the mortified little pout through the wall.

You couldn't wait to see your rumpled man again. You didn't know how you resisted looking through the hole at him as he walked away. You called after him, and heard his footsteps hesitate for a moment, before he snorted with mirth.

"I love to read!"

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"I want...to try something different this time. Please."

Your rumpled man sounded hoarse. His voice was tight, clipped. You could feel the stress pounding off him in waves, through your little window to him.

"...what would you like?" You answered, as if to a lover, not a client.

"Can you...can you come to the other window, instead?"

Ah...the gloryhole for fucking. A little flat bench where your ass, pussy and legs could lay, your body separated by a wall and curtain. Your eyelids fluttered to imagine the cock you knew well by now, stretching your pussy open, your mystery man clutching your thighs as he fucked into you. You imagined those desperate whimpers and moans for your cunt, instead of your mouth, and it made you throb.

"I mean...I don't normally..." you hesitated, feeling a twang of regret to disappoint him.

"No," he urged, sounding so fractious and desperate, "not that. I promise, not that. You...another time. Another way. I want...want to eat you out. Please."

You faltered again, arguing with him; "This is meant to be about you, not me, I'll take care of you--"

"Trust me," he begged, his palms flat on the wall now, "...this...this is what I need. I mean it. Please. Please."

God knew you couldn't resist his begging. You felt a trickle of arousal seep out of you, dampening your panties. The thought of that groaning mouth around your clit set you on fire.

"Well...alright then. If you insist." You moved round to the next window, and heard him follow, pacing and predatory. You shimmied out of your panties, swallowing thickly before you crept your ass and legs out of the window, down the table. When you settled, legs open, feeling so exposed, his palms held your thighs. You heard him curse under his breath.

"Fuck...you're beautiful." Your man said it so sincerely, in that lusty-low voice, that you blushed, your hands over your face as you lay on your back. You felt your thighs confidently lifted, draped over strong, broad shoulders. His voice was deep, hungry.

"...hope you've got something to hold onto, back there, my love."

Fuck, how you saw stars. You cried out in genuine bliss as he sunk his face between your folds. You tried climbing up desperately on your elbows to see him, but were woefully obscured by a black curtain. You could feel a powerful, prominent nose bridge nuzzling across your clit, that clever tongue plunging into your hole.

Those familiar groans, husky whispers and moans, were now muffled by your pussy. Your rumpled man was drinking the life out of you, making you twist and writhe, sucking your clit into his mouth with such force that you instinctively shied away up the couch. He gripped your thighs, yanking them back over his shoulders as you squeaked. He growled, sinking his prominent front teeth into the soft inner squish of your thighs.

"No. Get back here so I can fuck you with my mouth." You sobbed against the pleasure, your toes curling against the backs of his shoulders. Crying out as he shook his head from side-to-side with a rusty growl, you twitched and jerked, having never felt yourself dragged to orgasm so forcefully.

"Oh my fuc--fucking god, you're so good at that-- oh fuck don't stop-- don't stop don'tstopdon'tstoppleasepleaseplease--"

You didn't need to beg to make him continue. Already feeling on the edge of a savage high, you felt three long fingers, bunched together and lubricated with his own spit, plunge into your hole. A high, keening cry left you, and he found your soft spot immediately, fucking his fingertips against your belly.

"--thassit--fucking amazing...beautiful girl, c'mon...deserve the best, shit--"

One final suck of your clit into his mouth had you rolling over the edge. Silence rang from the other active booths around you, the clients and girls listening in awe as you moaned and whimpered your way through the most spectacular orgasm you'd ever felt. Your hands plunged past the curtain into his hair, tugging on it, thick and silky between your fingers.

Your rumpled man was groaning, whimpering, those familiar sounds you knew he only made when he came. Ths silence rang loudly through the booths, as you both came down from your highs.

One little voice from somewhere across the room; "...fucking hell." A few smattered laughs, and the slow sounds of others continuing their work of mouths and hands. You were dazed, lost on cloud nine, panting. Your hands came back to you, some inky black strands caught between your fingers. That familiar voice between your legs, so much less tense now.

"...so, uh...reckon I could get a job here? Do I pass the interview?"

You couldn't help how you laughed.

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"...have you...do you see anyone else...apart from me?"

Why did you feel so guilty?

"I...I do, yeah. No regulars though. And nobody I actually enjoy, like...like you." It was true. Your goofy, stressed, rumpled man had ruined you for anyone else. You felt a jealous prickle from him on the other side of the wall.

"...I....do you have to keep doing this?" He pleaded with you.

"...well...can't find any legal secretary jobs, so--"

"Excuse me?"

You faltered. Had you said something wrong? You began to repeat yourself, but he interrupted you.

"All this time...I'm a-- I'm a lawyer," he choked out, and you ran cold, stunned. You laughed nervously.

"...so that's why you're so stressed." He laughed with you, swearing quietly to himself.

"I'm sure..." he offered, sly and sincere, "...I'm sure we could do with another legal secretary."

You knelt, stunned, your mouth dry and heart pounding in anticipation. You heard him speak again.

"Listen... how about you come out here, and say hello properly...and I take you out for dinner? No strings, no expectations, just...dinner."

You were silent. He begged.

"Please...I've got to see you. Please."

Trembling, pulling your clothes on, you acquiesced. Before stepping out from behind the back curtain, your shaking voice joked; "Well, you asked for it...drumroll please."

You laughed to hear him patter two hands rapidly on the wall. You stepped out.

Tall. Black-haired. Hooked-nosed. Hangdog-eyed. And, staring into you, as if you were a goddess made flesh. You had never felt so beautiful. He turned, and blushed, his hands cupping his mouth and nose as he looked towards the ceiling. He groaned, mortified at his past behaviour.

"...you never told me you were so lovely."

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v6quewrlds · 2 months ago

Text

❝ pretty little thing, j. burrow. ❞ ‎ ‎ ┉

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: it is a rare quiet morning for you and joe. while you plan to sleep in and take it easy, your husband has other more active plans.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: my first joe fic, everybody cheer!! i did not plan for it to be this long but she's fresh, she's cute, i like her. i hope you all like it <333 requests are open for headcanons, texts, blurbs, fics, etc.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. language, sexual content, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, penetration, very slight praise kink, fingering, joe is pussy drunk fr fr.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: joe burrow x black!wife!reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 6.7k.

You stirred in the bed, the morning light creeping through the blinds. The soft hum of the city outside barely registered in your sleep-laden ears. The bed shifted as Joe's arm snaked around your waist, gently pulling you closer. "Morning, beautiful," he murmured, his breath warm against your neck.

Your eyes fluttered open to meet his playful gaze. "Mornin'," you mumbled, still clinging to the last vestiges of sleep.

Joe leaned in, kissing you gently. "No meetings today?"

You yawned, stretching languidly. "Nope, not a single one."

Joe's grin grew wolfish. "Perfect," he said, his hand sliding down to your thigh. His voice was low, his eyes dark with desire.

You giggled, swatting at him playfully. "What are you doing, you hornball?"

Joe's grin only grew wider. "What does it look like I'm doing?" he replied, his hand continuing its journey under the covers.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't hide your smile. "It's barely seven in the morning, Joe."

"Exactly," Joe said, his hand reaching its destination and squeezing at your ass, causing you to gasp. "We've got all day to do whatever we want."

"And what is it that you want to do?" You asked, your voice teasing as you felt his fingers dance along your skin.

Joe's eyes lit up with mischief. "I want to fuck my gorgeous wife," he said bluntly, his voice thick with lust.

You rolled your eyes again, feigned annoyance lacing your tone. "Always so romantic," you teased, even as your body responded to his touch.

"Well, it's been a while since we had a morning like this," Joe said, his hand moving between your legs, stroking you lightly. "I want to make it count."

Your giggles turned into moans as Joe's fingers found their mark, his touch sending waves of pleasure through your body as they danced over your sensitive pearl. "You're insatiable," you murmured, your manicured hands gripping the strands of his blonde hair as your lips found each other again in a heated kiss.

Your foreplay grew more intense, Joe's hand working your body with the precision of a maestro, drawing out your pleasure with every stroke. Your breath hitched as his thumb circled your clit, your legs trembling against his muscular thigh. You could feel him growing hard against you, his arousal pressing into your side.

"Fuck me, Joe," you whispered, your voice needy as the ache between your legs grew.

With a low growl, Joe complied, rolling you onto your back and positioning himself above you. He kissed you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours, as he entered you in one smooth thrust. You arched your back, your nails digging into the bed sheets as Joe began to move. He was rough and unrelenting, your bodies slapping together in a rhythm that filled the room with the sound of passion.

Joe's eyes never left yours, the intensity of his gaze matching the force of his movements. "You're so fucking tight," he murmured, his voice strained with effort. "I can't get enough of you."

Your eyes rolled back in your head as Joe's words sent a jolt of pleasure through you. "You talk too much," you gasped, your own voice laced with desire.

Joe chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Oh, I'm just getting started," he said, leaning down to nip at your earlobe. He knew exactly how to push your buttons, how to make you crazy with want. His hips slammed into yours, the headboard knocking against the wall in a steady beat that echoed your passion.

You wrapped your legs around Joe's waist, pulling him deeper, urging him faster. You were wet and ready for him, your body responding to his every touch like a finely tuned instrument. He groaned, the sound vibrating through you as he picked up the pace, your bodies moving in a symphony of need.

Your lovemaking was raw and uninhibited, a dance you'd perfected over the years. You knew each other's bodies so well, every curve and dip, every sensitive spot that could send the other spiraling over the edge. As Joe thrust into you, your eyes locked, a silent communication passing between you that was as intimate as your joined bodies.

“Come on, baby, take this dick,” Joe urged, his voice gruff with desire as he pumped into you with a fervor that left you gasping for air. You could feel the tension building within you, your core tightening around him with every powerful stroke. The bed creaked in protest under your combined weight, the sound melding with your moans and gasps.

“You’re going to make me come, Joey,” you panted, your eyes glazed with passion.

“That’s the plan,” he replied with a wicked smile, increasing his pace. He watched your chest rise and fall rapidly, your breaths growing shallower with each thrust.

Your walls tightened around him, your moans turning into a high-pitched whine. Her nails dug into his back, leaving trails of fire on his skin. The sight of your pleasure, the feel of your body clamping down on his, was too much for Joe to resist. He bit his lip, fighting to hold back his own climax. But as your cries grew louder, he lost all control, driving into you with a fierce growl.

“Shit, baby.” Joe groaned as his climax neared, his hips moving erratically. He felt your body tense, your legs quivering around him. “You gonna come for me?” he asked, his voice thick with passion.

“Fuck yes, Joe, I’m coming!” Your moans only served to push Joe further into his trance. “Wanna come for you,” you whined into his ear.

“You’re gonna come on my cock, be a good girl for me, aren’t you baby?” Joe whispered, his eyes gleaming as he watched the ecstasy play out on your face. You nodded, your breaths coming in short pants, your eyes fluttering closed.

The tension between you grew palpable, until finally, your back arched off the bed with a scream of pleasure. Joe’s eyes rolled back in his head as he felt you tighten around him, your muscles pulsing in a delicious rhythm that sent him hurtling over the edge. He filled you with his seed, your bodies shuddering in unison as you reached your peak.

You lay there for a moment, panting and spent, your hearts racing in sync. Joe’s chest heaved with the exertion, his body slick with sweat, as he collapsed onto yours, his weight pressing you into the mattress. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, savoring the feeling of his warmth against your skin.

"I love you," Joe murmured, kissing your neck softly.

"I love you too," you whispered, your voice still trembling from your orgasm.

As you lay there, Joe’s mind drifted to his morning routine, his thoughts of a hard workout fighting against the post-coital bliss. He propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at you. "You coming to the gym with me?"

You groaned, playing coy. "After that performance, I might need a nap first."

Joe chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Come on," he said, kissing the tip of your nose. "It'll do you good."

You sighed dramatically, but the twinkle in your eye gave you away. "Fine, but you're carrying me there."

With a smirk, Joe didn't need further prompting. He hoisted you over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, your squeals of surprise turning into laughter. Her long coils cascaded down his back as he marched towards your closet, his bare feet cold against the hardwood floor. You playfully slapped at his backside, trying to wriggle free, but his grip was firm.

"You're not getting out of this," he said, his voice filled with good-natured determination.

"Put me down, Joe," you giggled, your cheek pressed against his shoulder as you attempted to squirm away.

"Nope, you said you'd come with me, so you're coming," Joe said with a smug grin, his muscles flexing as he set you down in the walk-in closet, turning to find your workout gear.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't deny the thrill of excitement that shot through you. It had been too long since you'd had the energy to keep up with Joe's intense workout routines. You watched him rummage through your neatly organized space, his toned ass on full display in his boxer briefs. Despite your protests, you felt a familiar stirring of excitement.

He pulled out matching sets of black workout clothes, tossing yours onto the bed. "You can thank me later," he said, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

With a mock pout, you slipped into your gear, your curves hugged tightly by the spandex. You had to admit, it felt good to be out of your business attire and into something that allowed you to move freely. Joe couldn't help but steal glances at you as you made your way to the home gym. You caught him looking and shot him a playful glare, which only made him grin wider.

Once in the gym, Joe turned on his workout playlist, the bass-heavy beats filling the space and setting the mood. You warmed up together, stretching your muscles in a tug of flexibility and strength. You couldn't help but feel a sense of pride as you watched Joe move with such grace and power. He'd always been fit, but his dedication to his career had sculpted him into something truly awe-inspiring.

You began your workout, Joe lifting weights that seemed impossibly heavy while you hit the treadmill. Despite your initial hesitation, you found that your body was responding well to the exertion. You pushed yourself, the endorphins flooding your system as you picked up speed, feeling the burn in your legs. The scent of sweat and effort filled the air, a heady mix that was oddly intoxicating.

Joe caught your eye from across the room, his own workout taking on a more intense edge. You were both so focused on your routines, yet couldn't help but steal glances at each other. The way your breasts bounced with each step on the treadmill, the way Joe's biceps bulged with every curl. You were both aware of the effect you had on each other, the sexual tension building again as the minutes ticked by.

You stepped off the treadmill, your body glistening with sweat. You grabbed a towel from the rack and wiped your face, watching Joe from the corner of your eye. He was doing lunges now, his thighs flexing with each powerful movement. You couldn't help but lick your lips, remembering how those same muscles had felt under your fingertips earlier.

"You okay over there?" Joe called out, a smirk playing on his lips as he caught you ogling him.

You laughed, snapping out of your daze. "Fine, just admiring the view," you said with a wink, grabbing a set of dumbbells.

Joe's smirk grew into a full-blown grin. "Keep that up, and I might have to show you some more of the view," he teased, not missing a beat in his lunges.

You rolled your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks gave you away. You began your dumbbell routine, the clanking of the weights a metronome to the pounding bass of Joe's playlist. You worked out in tandem, your movements synchronized despite the different exercises. Joe couldn't help but admire your dedication, and the way you pushed yourself despite your initial protests. You'd always been strong, not just physically, but mentally as well. Her resilience was one of the things that had first drawn him to you all those years ago.

The air grew thick with your exertion, the scent of sweat and pheromones a potent cocktail that only added to the tension. As Joe moved to the bench press, he watched your ass dip as you did squats, your toned muscles flexing with each descent. His eyes traced the lines of your body, memorizing every curve, every inch. It was all he could do to focus on his own workout, his thoughts wandering to the delicious ways he'd like to explore your body again once you were done.

You felt his gaze on you, and you couldn't help but push yourself harder, a smirk playing on your lips as you caught his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors. You knew exactly what he was thinking, and it only served to stoke the fire within you. You'd always had a bit of an exhibitionist streak, and the idea of Joe watching you, wanting you, was incredibly arousing.

You pushed through your routines, the room echoing with the sound of your breaths and the clank of metal. Your muscles began to burn, but you didn't stop, your eyes never leaving Joe's reflection. You could see his own workout was taking its toll on him, his face a mask of concentration and effort. Yet, you knew he was just as aware of you as you were of him. It was a silent game of seduction played out amidst the grunts and groans of exertion.

As Joe finished his last set of bench presses, he looked over at you, who was now doing some ab work. Her stomach muscles rippled as you worked through the last of your crunches. With the final crunch, you sat up, catching Joe's eye and sticking your tongue out playfully. He chuckled, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks. You'd always had this playful, competitive streak in your relationship, and it was clear you was enjoying pushing his buttons as much as he enjoyed pushing yours.

You decided to take a quick break, chugging water and wiping the sweat from your faces. You couldn't help but lean into Joe's side, feeling the heat of his body against yours. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you in tightly. "Shower?” he suggested, his voice low and filled with promise.

Your eyes sparkled with mischief. "Race you," you said, taking off at a sprint towards the bathroom. Joe chuckled, following close behind. You stumbled into the shower, your laughter echoing off the tiles as you both struggled to get the temperature just right. The water cascaded down your bodies, washing away the grime of your workout and leaving you gleaming.

Under the spray, Joe's hands found your body, his touch gentle, cherishing the casual intimacy as the warm water hit your skin. You leaned into him, your head tilting back to allow the water to run down your neck and over your breasts. The shower was a cocoon of steam and sensuality as you took turns washing each other, your eyes locked, smiles playing on your lips.

“Alright, what’s going on up there?” You asked as you looked at Joe, your eyes twinkling with loving concern, and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “You’ve been avoiding having any real conversation all morning, Joe.” Her voice was soft, not accusatory, just curious.

Joe sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as he leaned against the shower wall. The hot water beat down on his broad back, the steam obscuring the tension in his face. There was no point in hiding his thoughts from his wife. You knew him better than anyone else, and you’d be the first to call him out on his mood swings. You knew exactly what made him tick.

"It's the team," Joe began, his voice echoing off the tiles. "We're playing like shit." He paused, his eyes closing briefly as the warm spray washed over his face. "The defense is a joke, and the coaching...it's just not there."

Your eyes softened, and you reached out to gently rub his chest. You knew how much the game meant to him, how much he put into it. "You're doing everything you can, Joe," you reassured him, your voice soothing. "Everyone can see that you're playing out of your mind. best QB rating in the league, over 80% completion, anyone with a brain knows you’re not the problem Joe.”

Joe leaned into your touch, his eyes still closed. "It's just...frustrating," he admitted. "I feel like I'm carrying the whole team on my back."

Your hand stilled on his chest, your expression serious. "You know I'm here for you, right?" you said, your voice steady. "Through all of it."

Joe's eyes snapped open, meeting yours. "I do," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "And I'm sorry for taking it out on you. I know I’m a dickhead sometimes with my moods. It’s just hard not to let it get to me."

"You are a dickhead sometimes," You teased lightly, your fingers tracing the contours of Joe's abs, eliciting a chuckle from him. "But, unfortunately, I love you for it. I love seeing how passionate you are about your work.”

The warm water cascaded over you, mixing with your laughter as Joe leaned in to kiss you. It was a gentle kiss, one that spoke of your deep connection and understanding. It was moments like these that made you realize how much you'd missed in your usually hectic lives. You pulled away slightly, your gaze searching his.

"Thank you," Joe murmured, his eyes meeting yours with a rare vulnerability. "For everything."

You nodded, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw. "Always," you said softly. “I’d do anything just to see you at peace. You know that."

Joe's arms tightened around you, his eyes searching yours. "I know," he murmured. "You’ve stuck by me through everything, even when I didn’t deserve it." He leaned in to kiss you again, his hand sliding down to cup your waist, pulling you closer against him.

“From the minute I touched down at LSU, you were there, pushing me to be better, supporting me when I doubted myself,” Joe said, his eyes filled with gratitude. “You’ve been my rock through all the shit, babe.”

Her own eyes misted over, you leaned into him. “And you were there for me when I needed it most,” you whispered. “When my whole world was falling apart.”

Joe nodded, remembering your darkest days, post-surgery. The pain, the doubt, the fear that you’d never play your sport again. He’d held your hand through it all, encouraging you to keep pushing, to find a new passion. And you had, in him and in the success of his football career.

You stood there, bodies entwined, the water beating down on your skin, sharing a moment of quiet understanding. It was in these moments that you felt closest, stripped of your public personas and your individual ambitions, just two people in love.

"You know," you began, your voice still soft, "You could always talk to someone about it. Maybe it's time to have a sit-down with the coaches?"

Joe sighed, his eyes closing briefly. "It's complicated," he said. "I don't want to be the guy who throws the team under the bus."

You nodded, understanding his dilemma. "But Joe, you're not throwing anyone under the bus," you said, your voice firm. "You're expressing your frustration, and that's okay. It's not about blame, it's about finding a solution."

Joe looked at you, his gaze intense. "I just want to win," he admitted. "For the team, for the city, for us."

"I know," you said, your voice soothing. "But you can't carry the weight of everyone's expectations on your shoulders. It's not fair to you when you’re playing your ass off and they can’t give you some help."

Joe nodded, his grip on you tightening slightly. He knew you were right, but it was hard to let go of the pressure he felt. "I'll talk to them," he said, his voice a little defeated. "But I can't promise anything."

You leaned up to kiss his neck, your teeth grazing his skin. "That's all I'm asking, baby," you murmured. "Just talk to them. Maybe it'll help."

Joe nodded, his resolve strengthening as your lips moved down his body. He knew you were right. He couldn't keep carrying the weight of the team's failures on his own. He had to trust that his voice would be heard and that changes could be made.

You stepped out of the shower, the cool air a stark contrast to the steamy warmth you'd just shared. You reached for a towel, wrapping it around your body and releasing your hair from its confines underneath your shower cap. As Joe toweled off, he couldn't help but appreciate the artistry of your singular tattoo, the way it danced over your muscles as you moved. It was a constant reminder of the fierce strength that lay beneath your softness.

"Come on," he said, taking your hand. "Let's get dressed and order some breakfast. I'm starving."

You couldn't help but laugh. "Fine, but no more distractions," you warned, swatting him playfully on the ass.

"Scout's honor," Joe said with a grin, his eyes lighting up mischievously.

In the bedroom, you quickly dried off and threw on your clothes, your bodies still humming with energy from your workout and the passionate kiss you'd shared in the shower. Your mind wandered to the kitchen, picturing the ingredients you had in mind for a hearty breakfast to fuel Joe for the day ahead. Heading downstairs, you felt a thrill of excitement at the prospect of cooking for him. It was a small gesture, but one that you knew meant a lot to Joe, especially when his days were packed with practice and meetings.

Joe followed you, his eyes tracing the way your hips swayed in the oversized LSU Football shirt. Despite his earlier promise to behave, he couldn't resist slipping his hand under the fabric to squeeze your ass as you walked in front of him. You shot him a glare over your shoulder, but your smile gave away your amusement. You knew he was just teasing you, trying to get a rise out of you. It was a dance you'd been doing for years, and you found it both infuriating and endearing.

“Instead of ordering, let me cook for you today," you offered as you descended the stairs, the plush carpet cushioning your bare feet. "It's been too long since I've had the chance to take care of you."

Joe's eyes lit up. "You don't have to, babe," he protested weakly, knowing full well that he'd lost that battle the moment you'd suggested it.

"I know," you said with a smirk. "But I want to make sure my man eats good. You give it to me so good, I wanna reward you. Now sit down, I'll handle it," you instructed as you pushed him onto one of the high-backed chairs at the kitchen island.

Joe obeyed, watching as you tied your hair back in a messy bun, revealing the nape of your neck. He found himself craving another taste of you, but he knew he had to be good for now. He leaned back, his eyes tracing the curves of your body as you moved around the kitchen, pulling out pans and ingredients with the ease of a seasoned chef. The sound of sizzling bacon filled the air, and his stomach growled in anticipation.

You began to prep a feast fit for a king. You whipped up eggs, topped with cheese and chives, crispy bacon, and a side of avocado toast. You knew Joe's diet was strict, but today was a day for indulgence. Plus, you knew he had earned it.

“Ja’Marr’s been complaining about that dinner we had to reschedule last week, says you owe him a home-cooked meal next home game,” Joe said, scrolling through his phone. He watched your expression as you cracked eggs into the sizzling pan, your brows furrowing slightly in concentration.

You chuckled. “Tell him to wait his turn. I’ve got my hands full cooking for one hornball Bengal today. I don’t need another one begging me for food,” you teased, flipping the eggs with a practiced flick of your wrist. “Matter of fact, tell him to bring his child next time he wants to eat my food. Maybe he’ll learn some manners from his son.”

Joe’s laugh echoed through the kitchen, his eyes never leaving his wife as you worked your magic. You had always been so fiery, so full of passion and sass. It was one of the things he loved most about you. “You’re gonna have to text him that yourself, babe,” Joe said, holding up his phone. “But maybe save the hornball comment for when we’re alone. I don’t need to hear it from him all week at practice.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile that played on your lips. You grabbed your phone from the counter and shot a quick text to your friend. “Consider it done,” you said, setting the phone aside to focus on the meal. The kitchen was alive with the sounds of sizzling bacon and the occasional clang of a pan. The smell of breakfast filled the room, a comforting aroma that seemed to melt away the last of Joe’s tension.

As you moved around the kitchen, Joe’s eyes followed you, taking in every movement, every curve. Her body was a testament to your dedication to maintaining your health, your strength and grace evident even in the simple act of cooking. He felt himself growing hard again, his body eager to claim you once more.

"I swear, if you don't stop looking at me like that, this breakfast is going to be ruined," you warned, tossing a piece of bacon at him. He caught it with a grin, popping it into his mouth and chewing slowly, his eyes still glued to you.

Joe couldn’t resist. He slid off the chair and approached you, his bare feet silent on the cool kitchen tiles. His hands slid around your waist, pulling you back against him. You giggled, trying to shoo him away with the spatula, but your protests were weak.

"Joseph," you scolded, but your voice was playful, not stern. You could feel his arousal pressing into your backside, and you had to admit, it was tempting.

"Come on, honey," Joe murmured, his breath hot against your neck. "Just a little taste," he begged, nibbling at your ear.

Your resolve wavered. You could feel his hands roaming over your hips, his fingers inching closer to the apex of your thighs. "Joe," you warned, your voice laced with amusement. "I'm trying to do something for you."

"And I'm trying to do something for you," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. He pressed closer, his erection nudging against your backside. "Let me just return the favor."

You felt the heat pool in your belly, the flames of desire flickering back to life. "Baby," you warned again, this time with a hint of a whine.

Joe chuckled, his grip tightening as he kissed your neck. "Please," he whispered, his breath tickling your skin.

You tried to resist, but Joe's hands were already working your magic. He reached around and cupped your breasts, his thumbs circling your hardened nipples. You gasped, dropping the spatula as you leaned back into him. He took that as the invitation it was meant to be and ground his hips against yours, his length pressing into you. "See?" he murmured, his teeth grazing your ear. "I know exactly what you need."

Your body betrayed you, arching into his touch. "You're so annoying," you managed to say, but your voice was thick with need.

Joe chuckled, his hands sliding down your body until they found the hem of your, or rather his, t-shirt. He began to lift it, his knuckles brushing against your bare skin as he revealed your stomach. You squirmed, trying to focus on cooking, but it was a futile effort. His touch was intoxicating, his presence overwhelming.

"Joe," you said, your voice a breathy whisper. "The food."

"Fuck the food," he growled, his hands continuing to lift the shirt from your body. He tossed it aside, revealing your bare breasts and a black g-string he didn’t recognize. His cock twitched with approval. "What’s this? New lingerie for me?"

You turned in his arms, your own desire flaring up at his words. You pushed him back playfully, your eyes dark with passion. "If you want to eat, you'll let me cook," you said, your voice a seductive purr.

Joe's smile didn’t reach his full expression. His blue eyes darkened as he took in the sight of his darling wife, half-dressed and flushed with arousal. He stepped back into his position behind you, giving your ass a firm spank before squeezing a toned cheek in his large hand. Your head fell forward with a gasp as you tried to compose yourself, a moan slipping past your lips involuntarily at the sudden roughness.

If he heard your challenge, he paid it no mind. Hand coming up once more to deliver another smack to your ass, he watched the flesh jiggle before bending down to kiss the tender spot he’d just abused. His tongue darted out to taste your skin, sending shivers down your spine. Your breath hitched, the heat between you palpable as Joe’s hands wandered further down, his fingertips tracing the damp fabric that barely covered your sex.

“We can multitask,” Joe murmured against your skin, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot where his hand last made contact with your ass. His fingertips danced over the fabric of your underwear, teasing the entrance to your warmth.

Your hands tightened around the handle of the spatula as you bit back a moan. "Joe," you protested again, though your voice was less steady this time. You knew he could feel you tremble against him, could see the way your pussy was already growing wet. You tried to push him away, but your legs felt like jelly, your resolve dissolving with every touch.

"Cut the stove off," Joe said, his voice a low growl. "I'm gonna have to eat something else." His hand slipped the g-string to the side, his fingers finding your slick folds. Your knees nearly buckled as he began to circle your entrance, your eyes fluttering shut. You knew you had lost.

Your hands scrambled to turn the stove off, the sizzle of the bacon fading into the background as Joe’s touch grew more insistent. He didn’t wait for permission, sliding the panties down with a groan of appreciation that echoed through the kitchen. Your slick heat was all he could think about, all he wanted to taste. He dropped to his knees behind you, his eyes feasting on your bare ass and the smell of the glistening pussy he could already see fluttering with desire.

“Put your knee on the counter,” Joe whispered, his breath hot against your skin. You looked over your shoulder, your eyes meeting his intense gaze before you complied, your heart racing. You knew where this was heading and you couldn’t wait.

Joe swore to himself as he watched your pussy spread for him. Your hands grasped at the counter for balance as your pussy continued to flutter with anticipation. He hummed in appreciation as his strong hands gripped your ass, pulling you even further apart. His tongue flicked out, tasting the sweetness of your arousal as you gasped, your body taut with need. He took his time, savoring the moment, exploring every inch of you with his mouth.

You couldn’t help but lean further over the counter. Her pretty little pussy was on full display to him, almost begging for his mouth. Joe took full advantage, burying his face in your wetness. He sucked eagerly at your clit while one of his thumbs circled your entrance, sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your moans grew louder, echoing through the kitchen as you lost yourself in the sensation. Her hand reached back to grip his hair, pulling him closer, silently demanding more.

Joe was more than happy to oblige. His tongue delved into you, tasting you deep, feeling your muscles tighten around his thumb. Your hips began to rock back into him, your moans turning into cries of pleasure. You were so close, so beautifully close to the edge, and Joe could feel his dick throb with the anticipation of watching you fall over the edge. He picked up the pace, his tongue flicking faster against your clit, his thumb pressing deeper into you.

Your legs began to wobble as the intensity grew, your knuckles turning white as you clutched the counter. "Baby," you gasped, your voice strained. "You’re so good."

Joe groaned in response, his mouth never leaving you as he felt your orgasm building. He knew your body like the back of his hand, knew exactly how to push your buttons, how to make you scream his name. And scream you did, your body convulsing as you came, your juices flooding his mouth. He drank you in, loving the taste of you, loving the way you felt as you lost control.

When you finally went still, panting and trembling, Joe stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Fuck, you taste good," he murmured, his voice gruff with desire.

You turned to face him, your eyes glazed over with satisfaction. "Are you going to let me cook now?" you asked, though the playfulness in your tone suggested you didn't really mind the interruption.

“Nope. I need you to squirt that goodness all over me again, baby,” Joe said, his eyes glinting with mischief as he stepped closer to you, his own length straining against his sweatpants.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at his audacity. But as he stepped closer, you felt your resolve melt away like butter in the pan. You leaned back against the counter, your body still humming from your orgasm. Joe stepped between your legs, his erection pressing against your stomach as he kissed you deeply. He gently lifted you up onto the counter, laying you back as his hands drew your long legs to rest on his broad shoulders.

He slid your thighs apart, revealing your glistening pussy to his hungry gaze. His cock throbbed in anticipation as he leaned in to kiss you again, his tongue delving into your mouth. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, your hips raising to meet his as he rubbed his clothes cock against your wet folds.

With a groan, Joe reached into his sweatpants and freed his erection, the tip already slick with pre-cum. He positioned himself at your entrance, his eyes glued to your pussy. You nodded, your breath coming in ragged pants as you gave him the unspoken permission he needed. With one swift movement, he slid into you, filling you completely. You both gasped as your bodies connected, the heat and friction setting off sparks that seemed to light up the kitchen.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so wet for me,” Joe growled, his voice thick with need as he began to move, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease. Your eyes rolled back in your head, your hands reaching for your breasts to pinch and squeeze your nipples as Joe’s rhythm grew more intense. You could feel your orgasm building again, the sensation coiling in your belly like a tight spring.

Joe’s grip on your thighs tightened, his hips moving faster, the slap of your bodies filling the kitchen. He leaned down to whisper dirty words in your ear, his breath hot and ragged, his eyes never leaving yours. "You like that, don’t you? Being fucked like this?"

“Yes, baby, yes,” you moaned, your eyes fluttering closed as Joe’s cock filled you completely, his strokes hitting all the right spots. You felt your climax approaching, your body tightening around him like a vice. “Fuck me.”

Joe’s eyes darkened at your words, his pace quickening as he pounded into you. He could feel your pussy grip him, your walls pulsing with each thrust. The sight of you spread out before him, your legs trembling with pleasure, was almost too much to handle. He leaned in to kiss your neck, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin as he whispered more dirty words into your ear.

“Come for me, baby,” Joe urged, his voice strained with his own need. His strokes grew faster, more erratic, as he felt himself approaching the brink. “I wanna feel you come around me again."

Your eyes snapped open, your gaze locking onto Joe’s. You could feel the tension in his arms, the way his muscles flexed with each thrust. You knew he was close, and that knowledge only served to push you closer to the edge. With a cry, you shattered, your pussy clamping down on Joe’s cock as waves of pleasure crashed through you.

Joe groaned, his eyes squeezed shut as he felt your orgasm wash over him. He didn’t hold back, giving in to his own need as he thrust into you one final time, his cock pulsing with his release. You held onto each other for a moment, your breathing ragged, your bodies slick with sweat and desire.

Finally, Joe pulled out, his cock glistening with your combined juices. He stepped back, his eyes raking over your flushed body, still sprawled out on the kitchen counter. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride at the sight of you, so beautifully wrecked by his touch. "Fuck," he murmured, his voice filled with awe. “You’re so sexy when you come like that, babe."

You couldn’t help the smug smile that curved your lips as you watched Joe try to compose himself. You knew you looked a mess, your hair sticking to your face, your body flushed and trembling, but you felt alive, more alive than you had in a long time.

"You think so?" you asked, your voice teasing. "Maybe I should just stay like this all day."

Joe chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped closer to you. "As tempting as that is, we both know we’d never get anything done if you stayed naked all day," he said, his eyes traveling over your body with a mix of admiration and desire. He reached for your hand, helping you hop off the counter. "But I'm not saying we can't revisit the idea another day.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, your body still humming with the aftershocks of your orgasm. "Maybe next time, you can actually let me cook breakfast," you said, though the smile on your face suggested you didn’t mind the detour.

Joe leaned in for a kiss, his lips capturing yours in a passionate embrace. "Deal," he murmured against your mouth. "But only if you promise to let me eat you out again."

Your cheeks flushed, a giggle escaping you as you swatted his shoulder. "You're so horny all the time," you accused, though the spark in your eyes suggested you liked it.

"Can you blame me?" Joe retorted, his gaze roving over your naked body with a hunger that hadn’t been sated. "Look at you”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t keep the smile from your lips as you bent down to pick up your discarded underwear. "You're so annoying," you teased, tossing the garment at him.

Joe caught it in midair, holding it up with a grin. "But you love it," he said, stepping closer to you. He stepped into your space, his own body still flushed from your recent activity. "And I'll never get enough of you."

You couldn't argue with that. You stepped into him, your body fitting against his perfectly as your mouths met in a kiss that was as sweet as it was passionate. You felt the heat of his body, the steady thump of his heart beneath your palm as you wrapped your arms around his neck. For a moment, the kitchen and the world outside it faded away, and all that mattered was the two of you, your love and your desire.

When you broke apart, your smile was soft, your eyes warm with affection. "Let's get cleaned up and then eat," you said, your voice still breathless. "I didn’t make this food for nothing."

Joe nodded, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer before he turned to help you plate the food. He placed a delicate kiss on your shoulder, the warmth of his breath making you shiver. You ate at the island, leaning into Joe’s muscular body as you stood naked together.

The scent of the crispy bacon and the eggs filled the kitchen, making your stomachs growl. You took your first bites, savoring the flavors that melded together perfectly. Despite your earlier distraction, the breakfast was heavenly, a testament to your culinary skills.

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